Deia
@Spoopy Scary &
@LC
If she was wine on the turn to vinegar, Isai was a fine wine not yet fully aged. Unfinished. A boy dressed in a man’s confidence. Let him think himself clever and I shall dance beyond his reach. Deia tilted her head, listening, absorbing him. Her stare softened with the curiosity that sparked at the edges and brought on a storm cloud of hush while she replayed his woven words in her mind. "Such a pretty little thing, this Esquire of Cheydinhal." In her mind, the Khajiit's accusation of his flirtation frayed around, a game. A game.
A breathy chuckle ghosted from her lips and she lifted a hand to catch his presented wrist in a grip that was far too gentle. She turned his palm up and let her eyes flicker over it as though reading a divination, then pressed her own palm to it. Her touch was fleeting, a whisper of something electric; Static. Restrained but present. A singular arc that greeted him, slipping between her skin to his. A caress with teeth. "Deia," she answered with her fingers uncoiling and drawing away. "Just Deia."
Then, with a slow, deliberate motion, she lifted her same hand to the bars.A game.
The scent of metal grew stronger like a sourness in the cell. A flicker of violet curled around her fingers and ran down the iron of the bar like spilled ink, restrained again. They groaned beneath her touch and vibrated. The filth on them was seared away in an instant. A set of blue, jagged shadows emitted within the cell momentarily. Deia watched Isai from the corner of her eye. "Now, this..." she let her fingers glide along the bars, a wicked static shuddering in her wake, "is a tongue that can turn locks." As if to further her point she moved her face to the bars exhaling a warm breath against them. Gathered energy still pulsed and her tongue flicked out for just a taste at first. A hiss of contact. A jolt. A sharp, snapping thrill that danced from her mouth down the column of her spine. Then she pressed into it fully.
Her body jerked and her breath snapped in a sharp, electric gasp at the voltage that bit back, sharp and raw. And gods, she laughed at it. Her eyes fluttered with the sting, a breathy broken thing that had been cracked open with delight. The taste of storm lingered on her lips and she sighed; dreamy and satiated. Whatever anxiety her spell had caused the guards to have, had now been turned to instant disgust.
"I could eat him," she mused, glancing at the Khajiit after a pained silence. The Khajiit who had brought himself over to sitting. "He is well spiced, don't you think?" she toyed as the air shifted in the cell again. A game. Sniffing at Isai, she grinned. "Marinated in his importance. Sweetened just so with his honeyed words... Something foul in his belly from the ceiling." She would think of the way Kiffar had broken his own cell. Effortless as anything, yet sat now with little more than idle gazing. Just watching. "A creature that unchains itself and stays caged,” she mused playfully, tilting her head to let her tongue run slow over her teeth. "Tell me great cat, do you watch to judge? To enjoy the sight of me eating? Or for the sight of our sweet, sweet Esquire being devoured?"
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