[b]Whispered Promise![/b]

Smokeless Jade Fires is a thousand hands, a shadow of fractal tails on the wall, and a volcanic cloud rising to meet this giant of a woman, this inexorable One Day Defender. And then, miraculously, they coalesce and out of them roars Jade, the huntress, with a spear in one hand and the cords in the other. All around you, chains lash and writhe, silver-smoke, living serpents, seeking to coil and lock and constrain. But they do not descend upon you in a pile and bury you under their weight. You still have your eyes (like liquid silver, wet as a kiss) and your feet (shifting, careful, thoughtful) and the goddess has not stolen either. She could. You know that she could. You’ve read the reports of the first pilot she ever overcame.

This is your first victory, as Little Sister Fire fills the room with dizzying light, with mirage-butterflies with thirsty chains behind them, as the thump-a-thud of scampering feet fills the hearts of a pilot and a goddess. She has not overcome you in one shot. She plays the game with you. A battle is a question: who is to rule?

She tells you how she has seen you with the kiss of her spear against your cheek. You feel the skin split, shallow; you feel the sting. Danger, incredible danger, a dance of giants in a beautiful bullet curtain, each movement precise. Chains behind butterflies. Instincts screaming to chase them. The bespoke throb of pain. One of you will be trapped in them; one of you will be the dancer. And you know that it will not be you.

Smokeless Jade Fires cannot give you control. You must take it. But she is letting you reach your hand out. Her pride and her need war. (See how she dares to touch you? How she rubs against you in the pass? How she pins you with her spear and pushes you towards a chain, which wraps about your ankle like a kiss?)

And if you win— no, when you win— you will have won the right to her submission, one which cannot be given freely.

[Jade hits a [b]7[/b] on an Entice, and Whispered Promise may win as she pleases.]

[hr]

[b]Dolly![/b]

Every breath drags in [i]territory[/i] and [i]heat[/i] and [i]need[/i] and [i]claimed[/i] and [i]desired[/i], the feelings drenching the cloth pulled over her nose, the air dragged across the lusty musk of a dozen pirates. Her pores sweat submission. Her mouth is a leaking lake stoppered and dammed, her cheeks packed sore, her cheeks throbbing heat. Her eyes are heavy and her body keeps leaning forward without her permission, putting her weight on the ropes holding her in place, because it knows better than her how badly she needs to be touched, licked, scruff-bitten.

Jade, she’s [i]sorry,[/i] she tries to think. It’s just that. It’s just. Ten thousand years of a sensitive little nose, of communication by more than chirps and tail-twitches, is a stone weight in her gut. She leans forward, and the padlock on her collar jingles softly, and Valynia doesn’t even [i]notice.[/i]

The courier has, though. The one bringing in manifolds and taking out boxes, slipping easily in and out of the room, who is a [i]witness.[/i] Who can’t touch her ([i]wanted desired claimed property[/i]) but can see her ([i]straining silent tight drooling[/i]) and the mark of Valynia on her arm ([i]sting throb kiss untouched[/i]) and it’s more electric than being on display for Jade’s entire temple (she’s sorry she’s sorry she’s sorry she’ll do penance when she’s rescued but [i]you can take your time[/i]) and she drags the breath in and there’s no give in the ropes and all her squirming does is give the courier a show, and Valynia won’t even turn around ([i]butterflies— butterflies?[/i]) and she huffs a garbled whimper out but it melts uselessly in the air like snow on a finger, if it even escapes the pirate-stinking cloth.

This isn’t the best day she’s had in her life. It can’t compare to the joy of being seen, of being wanted by a goddess, of being promised everything she’d ever wanted, of an endless night of muffled screams and prayers…

but it is definitely [i]up there.[/i] Her stupid treacherous heart is a trophy, too, and it must be Jade’s blessing that Valynia is busy, that she’s just a trophy, because the only sort of seduction she could manage right now would be clinging and agreeing and daring, begging Valynia to treat her like a [i]pirate.[/i] To kiss the mark she’s left. To bite the back of Dolly’s neck. To rub her paws all over Dolly’s claim-swaddled face. And to make that padlock swing and bounce and jingle.

Or even just to stare at her! To look at her! To think she’s a worthy prize! To pay attention! (Jade pays [i]so[/i] much attention.) To value her! Valyyyyy! Please, Valy!

But she has to dangle there, and be quiet, and huff the love of the Red Band (mingling with her own, and isn’t this room warm?), and imagine the air conditioning kissing her right on her mark of Valynia’s claim, and will Jade want it removed? Will she even want it? [i]Will Valynia insist on giving it to her again next time?[/i]

(Because even as she knows she [i]will[/i] be rescued… she’s already hoping there will be a next time. With these brutish, rude, presumptuous, inappropriate, [i]musky[/i] pirates, and Valynia, who, admittedly, did deserve to be hit with a purse… but now she wants to do it again hoping that somehow, some way, Valynia will just smile and make the punishment even worse, and, and, what if Angela tries to save her, [i]and[/i]…)