06.20.3013: Hostages

This log is Rated R. Not Safe For Work.

Summary: Nitrim and Devon spend a night together. They share stories of their coming of age.
Date: 20 June 3013
Related: Takes place just before Setting the Stage
Nitrim Devon 

Nitrim's Apartments
A small two-step set of stairs lead into this recessed room that is lit by hooded, indirect lighting that casts a somber, golden glow over its mostly red and black features. Various pieces of art, both photography and moving hypervisual, line the walls. Darkly shaded marble flooring stretches out to a small seating area with a pair of sofas in front of a mounted InfoSphere videoscreen that serves as the centerpiece of the room. To the left of the entryway is a comfortable chair seated next to a table and bookshelf that rest near a wide balcony that overlooks Volkan below. Along the far right wall is a snake habitat on a raised platform tht is protected by a mostly transparent energy shield.

The rear of the room supports another small two-stair reach that leads up to a lavish bedroom setting with a draped four-post bed in black and red dressing. Lastly, a small double door off to the side of the bedding section leads to a washroom with a walk-in shower and a large soaking tub set next to a window.

June 20, 3013

As the sand in the hourglass drained to the bottom, Nitrim and Devon fell upon each other in a tangle of limbs and naked flesh in a dance practiced only once before. The moon crept over the sky to the tune of the rocking bedposts and feral, animalistic sounds that came with their mutual, slightly predatory instincts that they leveled towards one another until they collapsed to the mattress gasping for air and wiping the sweat from their eyes. After their breathing returned to normal heir bodies, salty and slick from exhaustion, peeled from the bed and traveled across the floor into Nitrim's washroom and into the luxurious glass, walk-in shower. With his fever slowly returning, he reached past her and turned on the water, smirking as he nudged body under the downpour first…ever the gentleman.

Devon hardly resists the gentlemanly nudge under the downpour of water, though she offers a bit of a warm and earnestly genuine laugh as she slips under the spray, letting the water strike her skin and hair and mix with the salt of her sweat, and slowly blends with her blue-dyed hair. Though it will take much more than simple H2O to fully wash away the temporary dye, though already are pale rivers of blue water begin to trickle over her frame, following the curves and lines of her skin. She lifts her hands, brushing fingertips through the waves that, long ago, were pulled from their braid and twist. She is soothed by the water, standing there to bask in it before she turns to look over her shoulder at him. "I expected you to be ready to sleep by now," she murmurs.

She catches a glimpse of his eyes travelling over her back, watching the trail of the blue dye as it streaks over her hip and down the side of her leg. He looks up to find her crystaline eyes watching him, and he cracks a smile. "I should be." One of his hands slides from her hip to his chest, rubbing his tattoo softly before he leans in over her shoulder and douses his head in the water. Long, stringing droplets trail over his face as he pulls away, brushing a hand through his hair to slick it back. "I don't know, maybe this is the turning point? I've never done this before but I knew I didn't want to sleep without cooling off first."

His hand finds her hip again, using her body for balance to stave off the dizziness in his eyes. It's a necessary act, but the softness that he holds to her hip is affectionate. "So in three days you've risked scandal, sneaking into my room, learning my darkest secrets, burrowing yourself into my troubles." He laughs softly. "So now it's your turn to talk…" A pause. A smile. "…what do you do to entertain yourself when you're all alone? Tell me about you. Or would you prefer we keep things simple?"

Devon steadies him with a well-placed hand to his shoulder. Her glass-colored eyes wander along his own frame as the spray of shower water until they alight on his own green gaze. She does not shy away from him as he asks those questions, though she does start to laugh in a warm note that is neither as shrill as a music box nor as deep as a cave. She lofts a brow as she turns more to face him. "I have been a busy girl," she half-teases as she shakes her head. "I don't tend to enjoy loneliness, and it is hard to be alone in the Pit. If there is no one of flesh to talk to, I talk to the Gods." She tilts her head a bit, offering him a softer smile. "I was born on Mare Maris, if you desire to know my life story. I became a hostage of House Grantham when I was six years of age, and have been in their care ever since. My husband was a Grantham, my children would have been Granthams. I know nothing else by the law of the Pit and the roof of the Red House."

Something in Nitrim's returned smile falters at the mention of her hostage, rise and fall, and the mention of her long passed husband, though out of practice of keeping his cards face down the smile doesn't disappear entirely. His head tilts, matching the same angle as hers as he steps forward to press his chest against hers. Then, with a smirk, he wraps his arms around her hips and draaaags her out of the water so that he can slip under it for a moment. His eyes trail down her form as he lowers his head, letting the water cascade down his shoulders. "I became a bit of a hostage myself, though…I'd never compare. I was a fussy, Awakened baby that sent the nanny and my mother walking away quickly, waving my senses about like a knife. I was sequestered in an almost chaplain-like manner." His eyes tilt back up to hers, sympathetic and understanding. "It's conflicting isn't it? Being raised in a house you can't help but wonder if you're a stranger in."

The warm press of their bodies sends a relaxed shudder through her frame, and incites a smile at her lips. She tilts up her chin a bit as she is danced about the shower, giving the young Khournas his due under the spray of water. She watches him for a long moment, weighing his words carefully. "I was a stranger, for a long time, but I am now more of a stranger in House Volen than I am in House Grantham. Lady Grantham's son… he showed me how to love my capturers. And I do. Lady Grantham is like a mother to me, her brother like an uncle. I am closer to her children than I am to my own siblings. It… wounds my brother, and confuses my sister, but it is… what it is." She offers him a slight smile. "I am a Grantham."

"Fair enough. You grew up on Ignis and are a child of the Ash. Being raised away from my brothers and sisters made me feel…alien from them. Even now I can't help but feel like I'm not really Jevon's son, but more a product of him. It's a rift that's been in place for years, despite how close I am with some of them." Bringing both of his arms up, bent at the elbow, he runs his hand over his face and dips it back into the water. Cooling off some more, he drops his head, dark green eyes watching her from beneath brows that trail water as he rubs the sweat from his well-toned abdomen. "Are you happy?"

Devon lifts her eyes at the question, her gaze lingering on him for a long moment before she dares to answer. "Happiness… I suppose so. Was I once happier than I am now? Certainly so, but I am not… unhappy." She arches up her brows a bit, staring into his green eyes. "A confused answer, I know… but you should value my honesty." Her smile curves lightly before she touches the side of his head softly. "Are you?"

"With our polite society, Devon, honesty is a commodity to be cherished so long as it doesn't come in the form of a knife to your chest rather than your back." His head leans into her fingertips as he sloshes some water of the back of his neck. He quiets, eyes locked onto hers as he hesitates to answer her question. He shakes his head from side to side and motions for her to turn around. "Not always. I have moments that peek through, but I've always felt more of a casual observer of my own life than an active participant. These last seven days have changed that, a lot. I feel like I'm starting to breathe for the first time in years instead of just let it all go by." He reaches for a bottle, dumps some of its contents into his hand, and then reaches for her long, blue hair. "So after all you've been through, Devon, where do you want to go from here? It's something I've been asking myself a lot these last six days."

The Grantham widow does not shy away from his hands, but tilts her head back to allow him access to the long waves of artifical blue. As he lathers up her hair, the dye easily lifts from her perfectly golden-white hair. She glances up at him while he works, her smile light and easy. "There is a war going on… that is where my thoughts are for now. You will be fighting alongside House Grantham soon, and that is where your thoughts will be as well." She tilts her head. "I suppose… in time… I will want the House of Grantham to find a use for me. I am still young, I can still be married, but the match would have to benefit the House, and… a widow and hostage are two features that are hard to negotiate with."

"Once my thoughts are no longer oh-gods-oh-gods-the-headaches then yes, when I'm not healing my thoughts will be on the war. We're all putting ourselves into the field. It would be nice to die along such pleasant company." Nitrim smirks, streaking his soapy hands through the long strands, kneading as he goes to ensure her hair gets clean. His hands travel up to her temples, massaging his fingertips laden with shampoo into her scalp. The smile at the corner of his lips is no longer so guarded, having waded away from her troubles as a hostage somewhat. The cloud has lifted. "Do you feel like you have to evolve to make this happen?" His eyes flit to hers before he goes back to his work. "Maybe, like me, this is your chance to reinvent, become something stronger, dare I say more revered?"

Devon laughs as he massages through her hair, though it is laced with a bit of relaxed sighing. Her eyes begin to flutter closed as she focuses on the wonderful feel of his fingers. "I don't know what I feel, Nitrim, or where my path yet lies," she confesses. "Though, for now, I believe the Gods have brought me here to help you evolve, help you become reborn… and once that is done, perhaps we can see what purpose the Gods have for me beyond that." She tilts her head as she admires his green eyes. "I have already been reborn… though compared to others of the Legion, I am a mere infant."

"Well, you said that the Gods said you would find a great gift…" Nitrim's voice trails off as he laughs softly, reaching for her hips. Again, he draaaags her back so that she can get under the hot, tension-relieving water. Playfully, he raises his arms over his head to drape over a bar that hangs over the shower, lowering his head to watch her wash off. "…maybe in doing all of that you'll get something from it. Find a part of yourself or find a way to be happier." He smirks softly. "But widow or hostage, you should know, you're beautiful." His voice softens, complimenting her. "Far from some mere doe-eyed pretty girl that dolls up to appear what the rest of society wants. Just enough pain to let someone know the difference between when you're looking at them and seeing them. Just enough hope to show them you've endured enough to know the difference. It's…" He trails off, trying to find the word. "…what I notice."

Devon lifts her eyes to him as the water starts to wash away the soap, and with it the rest of the blue. Her hair is long, soft, and white like winter wheat. Somehow, the lack of dye makes her younger to the eye. Though, there is a touch of age in the way she looks amused, the way her brow arches gently. "Careful there, Little Drake… I may start to think you are trying to woo me." Is there some defense measure in that statement, some sort of emotional armor? Pieces of a broken heart, fear of what might stand before her. So much. She shakes her head. "But… thank you." She says softly before she hesitates. "Just a little longer… I should put you to bed."

The eyes that stare back to Devon are older than they truly are, bearing the weight of years of solitude and practice at what he suspects being human was supposed to mean. He reaches out to her cheek, brushes it softly, and then leans in close to dunk his head under the water one last time. "You're welcome." His arm brushes past her hip, pressing in the shower's controls. The water flow creeps down her back until all that is left is the soft pat-patting of the last drops. He leans back, wipes at his eyes, and reaches past the glass to offer her a towel. He flashes her a bright, toothy grin. "This is what you get for venturing into my lair. I own a pet snake you know. You should have suspected I had a way with words."

Devon leans her cheek into his knuckles as they brush against her skin. Then she turns to regard the movement of his hand, and as the water ceases its fall, she feels a momentary shiver course through her. She reaches for his own hand, sliding her fingers with his. "Yes, well… perhaps I will show you what sort of creatures I keep back at the Pit…" Then she gives his hand a squeeze before she takes the offered towel, wrapping it about her middle. She starts to step out of the shower even a she wrings out her hair.

Stepping out after her, Nitrim comes to a stop atop a shaggy floor-towel to catch the water. He leans out to his right, plucking a fuzzy towel from a hook and drops it over the top of his head. He brushes his hair dry, slicks it back, and then wraps the towel around his waist. "And the moment you offer guestright, I'll be yet another creature kept at the Pit. I'd like to meet them, though. Perhaps I'll bring Daliah to mingle." He muses, leaning down to press a soft kiss to her shoulder. With his lips pressed to her skin, he rounds around her as if her shoulder is a pivot-point, and takes her wrist in his hand. Without asking, he draws her back towards his bedding area with an almost childish chuckle. Ten steps later and he lets her hand go, staring down at the destroyed bed with a smirk. He was exhausted and would have to fix it before getting some rest.

"Why don't you let me get this one?" He asks to Devon at his side. With a sigh, he gathers the sheets, whipping them towards the head of his bed. Minutes later he was slipped inside of them and began to rest again to face his continued detox after some sleep.

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