Wednesday, August 17, 2011

Keon looks in the mirror and frowns. The man he sees before him seems from another time, another place. Gone is the vivd blue streak that is his link to Cassie. He touches the strand, feeling it tingle beneath the dye. His fingers trace over the spot that usually bears a near white scar of the spell he cast on himself, just to be with the woman he loves. His eartips swivel as he catches the sound of practiced footsteps of his guide.

The Drow woman comes into the room, eyes to the floor. The gaze that darts to take in his appearance is quick, but critical. Her words are soft and he nearly misses what she says. "The robe won't do. You are as dark as the assassins."

Keon's eyes narrow as he watches her. She keeps her hands tightly clasped, using only a few gestures. It is when she motions for him to walk, that he sees the webs between her fingers. She folds her hands together in what seems to be habitual. He says nothing, but she looks into his eyes for a moment and turns away.

"Hide the pity M'Lord. I am beneath notice. I am halfbred. Your coloring and bearing marks you as one of the Deathwieders. The only person who would know you are not one of them is the Priestess. Even the Deathwielders do not know each other on sight. If someone should bump into you, stare through them. If someone would speak to you, keep a blank face. Even the Nobles step lightly around them." She frowns at him, "If you blow it, we are both dead."

Keon stares at her, dark eyes seeming to spear to her heart and slide right on out her back. The woman shudders and swallows hard. "Just like that. One would think you were born to the Guild."

A small smile touches Keon's lips. Instead of being reassuring, the halfling finds herself stilling as if in the presence of the Priestess herself. She licks her lips before speaking. "You have done this before."

Keon merely blinks and the Drow's third lid flicks nervously. His voice is cold, tone clipped, words nearly bitten off. "How are you called?"

She lowers her eyes. "Eite. It means,"

Keon cuts her off. "Fin in the celtic languages. You are called for your webbings?"

She swallows hard and bows her head. "For my deformities. The webs and the dorsal fin along my spine. Thankfully my gills are hidden by my hair."

He touches her chin forcing her head up. A warmth touches his eyes. "They are not deformities."

The girl snorts. "Don't say things like that in Underdark. It proves you are not Drow. Can you do that? Or are we done already?"

His eyes go cold, becoming bottomless pits of the abyss. "What do you think?"

The girl shudders. "Then we go now. Hide the shell beneath your shirt and put this on." She hands him a scarf, helping him to tie it in the proper fashion. "Pull it up over your nose just before you dive in. It is the Drow version of the Merrow's cap. You will breathe as if on land."

She turns and leads the way to another tunnel. The Siren and several Murdhuacha are waiting. Just before they dive in, she adjusts the scarf over Keon's nose. "Follow me. I will take you in through my private tunnel."

The arc of her body is graceful as she slices through the water. Keon blinks, seeing Cassie's beloved image for a moment. When he looks around, the water Fae are have gone deep. The Siren nods and bids him Fair Waters and Good Hunting. His own dive is flawless. Eite waits for him, motioning toward darker water. The Murdhuacha wait for them to take the lead.

The tunnel she takes is narrow and twisting, lit by phosphorescent plants and glowing rocks imbedded in the walls. She moves through the water with a seal's grace and Keon is half surprised to see her legs have not fused into a tail, or flippered. He soon realizes they are alone. The Murdhuacha have secreted themselves somewhere among the tall seaweed. Angling upwards, she points and is suddenly spearing out of the water. Keon follows more slowly, taking a moment to look around before hoisting himself out of the water.  She bites her lips and looks up at him from under a fall of wet hair.

"We will be seen leaving here. There is only one reason one of the Dark Ones would seek a halfing out." Keon raises a brow. "To use us. And it is never gentle."

Keon rises and looks around the cavern. There is a bed and a chest, and little else. He turns to her and reaches out, his long fingers twisting in her hair. With a yank, he pulls her to her feet. She yelps and he forces her close to his body. His words are low, just in case. "How long do we have?"

She swallows hard. "I have the night to myself. It is a necessary concession to my deformities. I need to be in the water." She grins into his chest. "But they don't know for how long..."

He pulls her closer, thrusting a hand between her legs. "Someone watches?" She shrugs, mouthing the word listens. He loses the softer tone, slipping into someone more commanding. "And when was the last time you were used."

"It's been a while. No one wants to fuck a freak, unless it is for show. Or you like something... "strange". She gasps as Keon scrapes his fingers hard, the wet fabric of her tight fitting leggings is forced into her crotch.

"What do those who listen expect."

She blinks up into his dark eyes. "To hear me scream." He smiles. "Beg..." There is a gleam in his eyes. "and to show signs of it in the morning."

He lifts her to her toes, hand twisting hard in her hair. His thumb follows the slight outline of her sex, rubbing roughly. She whimpers. A low growl trickles from between his lips and she shudders.

"That, I can do."

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