10.08.3013: Summoned From the Trees
Summary: Nitrim and Cyrielle's mini-vacation at her treehouse is interrupted by an ominous missive from Lord Khournas.
Date: 19 September 2013
Related: The Kraken Dowry
Cyrielle Nitrim 

Relevent parts included in log.
Tuesday, October 8th, 3013

It’s a lovely night out in the Spine, especially in Beacon. Then again, almost every night in Beacon is lovely. The temperature is always in that perfect place that just wraps around and hugs your skin, without being too warm or cold. There’s certainly humidity to contend with, but one is never chased indoors by extreme heat or cold. The sky above is clear and the moonlight casts a pleasant glow over the treetops and expanses of land and home below. It is like for this very purpose that Cyrielle ensured the treehouse had an upper deck where one could recline and relax.

She’s wearing a short, red gown — of the intimate variety — and nothing else. It’s just her and Nitrim now, alone in her treehouse. She’s curled in the corner of a sofa; one of those in an L configuration; wide and deep to provide optimum comfort. The brunette is staring up at the sky- waiting for the Khournas lordling to complete whatever he was doing down below, in the treehouse proper.

The sounds of soft footfalls approach from the stairs beneath as Nitrim arrives. Shirtless with a pair of black drawstring pajama pants that hang perilously low on his hips, he's carrying his data tablet in hand as the sight of her stops him. A broad, victorious grin forms on his lips as he steps closer to her and slides into place beside her on the sofa.

"Guess who just a message that my friends the Granthams are holding a Hallow's Eve costume party not too far from now?" He asks as he steals a kiss, handing her the tablet to read the message for herself.

Adjusting to the additional party on the couch, Cyrielle shifts. She moves to lean into him, curling her legs up beneath her. The kiss is warmly reciprocated; a comfortable gesture. She takes the tablet and starts reading over it. “Well that sounds fun. Who will you be taking as your date?” Lips curl in a bit of a mischievous smirk as she rests her head into his shoulder, lifting chin to see his response.

"Oh this really attractive girl I know," Nitrim plays along as he slides an arm around her hip, nestling in to offer her his neck and the scent of his skin and cologne. "She's this really hot brunette who has a treehouse and sends me amazing messages when I least expect them, but if she shoots me down I think I'm going to ask you." He smirks darkly, reaching out to tap the screen. "Question is, what do myself and my date attend in costume? I know Jane Wyre, I should mail her asking if she has a costumer and makeup artist we could borrow."

It’s a comfortable position to be in, settled against Nitrim. Cyrielle tilts her head in towards the Khournas for a moment to inhale deeply. Her eyes partially lid as she looks back to the tablet, lifting it so they can both see and access the screen. “Well, I shall keep my schedule clear just in case.” Lips twitch in amusement.

“Mmm. Costumes. I can’t say that’s ever been my forte. You’ll certainly need something you can dance and seduce all the women in, though it can’t be too seductive… wouldn’t want you appearing in the tabloids yet again.”

"Maybe just myself and my date in the tabloids because I heard that things are going pretty well for her and I." Nitrim replies, loading up an InfoSphere page for costume ideas. "Because I'm not so interested in seducing all of the women anymore, maybe just this one in hopes she'd take me home with her afterwards - Oh, chainmail bikini? I like that." He laughs quietly, pressing a kiss to her temple.

“I don’t think the tabloids care much for happy endings,” Cyrielle muses in a somewhat droll tone. She’s still smiling, nonetheless. In the midst of the banter, there are happy things. Resurgences of quiet promises. Change for the better at one’s own accord; she likes that. If he wants to change for the better, that’s good. She’ll support it, of course. And in her? She’s seen a better world. Somewhere she can be happy.

“Oh, I don’t think your date would like that at all,” she says with a laugh, swiping to another photo. “They pinch and chafe.”

"You say that like you have experience in one of those. Intriguing." Nitrim laughs, lowering his head to her shoulder and wrapping his other arm around her firm stomach. The couch shifts as he tries to get his leg behind her, slipping behind her back to offer his chest as the true sofa. His eyes widen at what shows on the screen. "Oh, I don't know if I could wear that, that's barely a sock. The plastic sword that comes with that would cover more of my ass." He giggles, sighing afterwards.

He reaches out from her abdomen to swipe to the next picture, an executive move. "I think the tabloids might make an exception in my case. My cousin, Lyrienne Orelle, could help. She's been through my kind of trouble before, but I might get stuck babysitting her kid, Marus, for the trouble. She says I should be seen behaving, rather than hiding."

“I tried one on once. Had a few red marks for days.” Cyrielle shifts with Nitrim, allowing him the room to get situated. Her night gown tugs and shifts in different ways, but she doesn’t seem to mind. As he goes through more photos, she lifts a hand back and up, tangling fingers into his hair a bit. “She’s right, you know,” she says after a moment. “If you hide, they may think there’s something worse. Or people will forget for a while, before remembering all the bad.”

Shifting, turning her head slightly to place a kiss on his jaw, she muses: “Should we perhaps go for a… combined theme? That would make a statement.”

"A paired match, that sounds like a good time." Nitrim leans into the kiss to his jaw, brushing his hands over the satiny fabric of her nightgown, feeling the way it brushes under his fingertips. "The question is what. You know, my head immediately goes to something dark, like from the horror movies. Something devil-esque."

Loving the feeling of her hand in his hair, her arm bent and wrapped over the back of his head, he lifts a hand to brush up and down her arm, his eyes lowering to the screen. "Maybe after this party we should be seen, having lunch with Lyrienne and Cedric, being normal and tip off the press. We'd have to get your father's permission to court first, though."

“Well, I am enjoying the horror movies. They’re fun. A good way to get the heart racing before bed…” Not to speak of other good ways to do as such. Cyrielle continues to brush her fingers through his hair, simply enjoying the quiet moment. “Perhaps we could take influence from one of your favorite movies, draft up some designs. I dabble in sketching from time to time.”

“Ah, yes. My father… I really need to figure out approaching that. I’m a bit scared, to be honest.”

"Maybe get your brother to help you with it? Or maybe we could double-time this sailing lesson?" Nitrim offers, his hands moving to the back of her neck to rub softly at the tension that forms there. His hands, confident and firm, knead at the knots while he continues to watch her sift through the costume ideas.

"Well there is that one where the girl goes into the underworld we watched," Nitrim comments, his chin rising and falling against her slender shoulder. "All of that dark leather, sickles, hooks, and demonic skin. Is that something you'd go for that night? We could do something special with your cane, like, turn it into a scythe or some kind of hellish thing like a boat hook. Boat hooks have that torture look to it, and would be rather Hollolas. We could spend the entire night with white eyes."

“I don’t think Ephraim would have the right kinds of suggestions,” Cyrielle murmurs with a soft laugh. “Let’s get the sailing lesson scheduled. Perhaps I can have a letter delivered to him around the same time. So he can’t hunt us down immediately.” To either bellow or try to show off embarrassing childhood photos. There’s no telling with Lord Hollolas.

Her hand lowers from his hair as he works at her neck, eyes hooding slightly as a small sound of enjoyment and appreciation rises from her lips. “I think that’d be fun,” she says searching the Infosphere for a few good images for inspiration. The tablet is lowered to her lap after a moment though, head rolling forward lightly. Some hair spills forward across her breast with it. “Oh, drake, that feels fantastic.”

Her pleasure at the neck rub brings a pleased look to Nitrim's face, one she can't see but perhaps feel the curve of his lip as he kisses the base of her skull. Thumbs pressing and rolling softly to either side of her spine, he draws a knee up to rest alongside her hip, pulling her back to rest against his chest. "This is where I tell you that you worry too much for a change. We've cast the ritual and the nerves are going to be far worse than the end result. I promise." Nitrim offers as he guides her to lean forward, working his hands down her spine.

"And we're going to look hot at this party. Are you sure you can handle a whole night in costume without leaving early for a room?" Nitrim asks, a breathy chuckle falling from his lips. "I keep seeing a short, short skirt in your future."

“I think I’m justified in worrying,” Cyrielle opines, but with a soft laugh. She lets him adjust her, moving her legs to accommodate leaning forward. She moves her hair to all drape over one shoulder, baring her back in the sheer red fabric, with the thin straps over her shoulders. She places the tablet on the sofa before her as she continues looking up ideas.

“Oh, I can handle the whole night,” she says, grinning into the soft glow of the device. “So long as you can behave yourself.”

"You know, just because I've chosen to not behave myself doesn't mean that I can't." Nitrim replies with a bit of challenge to his voice. "You'll find when I set my mind to something I am completely unshakable, so in this case I'm going to be some demonic lord, right? I think you'll have a harder time behaving than I will."

When his hands get down to her lower back, kneading as he goes, he flecks a finger against her side, trying to find a ticklish spot that he doesn't know about yet. She is still new to him, with so much to explore. "It's nice up here. Really quiet and secluded."

“Oh, you do, do you? What sort of outfit do you intend to wear? Most demonic lords seem to be more on the grotesque and less on the sex-EE!” The last is not a gross mispronunciation of the word ‘sexy,’ but more because he found a spot that is, at least for the moment, ticklish. Cyrielle nearly drops the tablet as she tries to squirm away. One free hand lifts to swat at his, “No, no, no!”

"A sexy demon which is why you'll have to help me with th—NO YOU DON'T" Nitrim growls, laughing aloud over the treetops, sending a clutch of birds flapping away from the nearby trees as he traps Cyrielle with an arm around her waist and presses against her back. Slap as she may, he's found a spot and he wrestles with her, trying to get at it. "I'm a paramount lord you have to do what I say!" He laughs, accidentally kicking a pillow off of the sofa mid-struggle.

With hands mostly free for the moment, Cyrielle fights back. She won’t let him get away with it that easily! In the midst of giggles, she tries to squirm and push at him; wresting him away from her. “You’re in my lands! You should do as I say!” If he’s going to play that game, she’ll try her own. The tablet does clatter to the ground — thank the Six for futuristic, durable tech — in the midst of her fight for dominance in this mock-war that has broken out atop her treehouse. Someone, somewhere, might be wondering what is happening within the woods on Hollolas land.

Lunging to try to keep her in his arms, Nitrim ends up on one knee atop the sofa and with one final tug she tears free and he flail-stumbles. Falling forward, his knee bangs against the coffee table and he falls into the foot-space between the sofa and table with with a groaned ha ha OW. Giggling, he holds his knee with one hand and reaches out for her calf. "Oh is that a fact now? I've got to do what you say here? I'll remember this when you're at Volkan." He dares.

Let go with enough force, Cyrielle falls back into the sofa. She’s laughing in the process, tone a bit high-pitched from the lack of air that comes with such a spirited struggle. She rights herself, pushing hair away from her face. It’s well on its way to being a tangled mess. Mock concern etches her features and she reaches for his leg, trying to touch fingers around the knee in a soothing fashion.

“Mmmhmm. That’s a fact.” Dark eyes dart up to his, lips curving. “Best take advantage of it before I take your name and we’re on even footing.”

Nitrim, perhaps not thinking straight, lets her have his knee as he sprawls out onto the floor and stretches his body to reach for the tablet. Picking it up, he looks to make sure there are no cracks and he slides it onto the top of the coffee table with a rattle.

"Even footing? What's this even-footing thing you're talking about?" He grins up to her, reaches out to smack the inside of her knee with his palm as a warning. "Even with my name we are both very aware who's in charge here." He starts to scoot away, something about that look on her eye. "This is your treehouse but it's MY Blackspyre."

Eyebrows rise somewhat in response to the smack. Cyrielle had been in the process of sliding his pants’ leg up. Perhaps to do something evil to him, but now there’s no telling! Cyrielle leans back and perches on the edge of the sofa. She sets to smoothing the thin fabric of her nightgown, carefully keeping her gaze from him.

Her hair falls forward, perhaps hooding the smirk that forms on her lips. The Hollolas’ woman’s eyes white over and she gestures a hand towards him. The motion and her Awakened state call up a small spark that she sends his way. Just a small bit of static shock, aimed for one of his feet.

Nitrim's foot jerks back suddenly at the shock and his knee hits the table again. A barked laugh is suddenly cut off by another OW as he scoots back on the wooden floor. His hands extend towards her and his eyes glaze over into white orbs, and the serpent of his aura rears into place as he grins an evil grin. "Oh now you've gone and fucked up," Nitrim taunts, generating a pocket of cold air and brushing it up the inside of her leg, towards the hem of her silken night-dress. Bold, the lordling rises to his feet, trying to establish Awakened dominance.

The initial laughter at Nitrim’s response is cut off as his knee bonks into the table. Cyrielle does look concerned, but that fades when she sees him slip into an Awakened state as well. She lets her touch into her power increase, vines growing up around her in their ethereal way. Green and pops of color in bloom meld with the gown and she squeals at the cold air.

“What, you dare to trifle with me?” She elicits a giggle in herself at her words, extending a hand towards him and gesturing. She’s trying to poke him, telekinetically, in the few spots she’s learned to (or suspects may) be ticklish.

"I dare trifle with you on your own land, in your own hou-" Nitrim's body jerks to one side to get away from the telekinetic force that brushes his ribs. He gives Cyrielle a look of warning, a don't rouse the drake look as he twists away from the invisible hand with a laugh. Looking to her hip, he reaches out and sends a slap of telekinetic force to her backside and points at her, giving her the official angry face.

"I'm warning you, Cyri. You keep this up and I'm gonna line the couch in the room with ROCKS and you'll have to sleep there." Of course, if it were her room, she'd have more say, but he doesn't go there. He giggles lightly. "You don't want to fuck with Nitrim Khournas. Lord Nitrim Khournas."

There’s a brief squeak of surprise at the invisible hand on her rear and Cyrielle stumbles forward a step. Her eyebrows rise at the threats and she tosses her hair back over her shoulder, straightening. The vines continue to wend and wind their way about her, even as arms cross at hip-level. She grasps the fabric at each side and with a small wiggle as she raises her arms, uncrossing them; undresses.

The shift is dropped to puddle by her feet and she lets her arms lower slowly, watching him all the while. “Would you really make me sleep on the couch?” She knows where her strengths lie.

Nitrim stops dead in his tracks. Naked woman. SCREECH. His heel even squeaks on the waterproofed wooden floor as he watches the fabric flutter to her feet. He swallows and his telekinetics hold back the follow up damage he was about to do. Looking her over, he chews his lip and then has to release it to laugh and point a warning finger at her. "Fuck you." He laughs, waggling his finger, curling his hand into a fist. "No. I couldn't, but…" Her nightgown starts to rise from the floor with telekinetic force. He bats her lightly in the shoulder. "…you're not playing fair."

“Am I not?” Cyrielle looks surprised, grabbing the gown from the air as it rises. She laughs as she squirms back into it, smoothing it out over her hips. “I thought we were in anything goes territory.” Her lips continue to tug in a smile; one that’s parts relaxed and amused. A wash of affection is sent telepathically to the Khournas as she extends a hand to him. The white fades as her eyes return to their natural hue. “C’mere, my drake. Shall we kiss and make up?”

Lowering his guns as she does, he steps back over the coffee table and takes her hand into his. Smiling quietly, he presses his lips to the back of her knuckles and scoops her up into his arms so that he can hold her to his lap as he sits back down. "It's okay, that you don't play fair is one of the things I like about you, you know." Nitrim adds as he settles into the corner of the sofa with a pleased sigh. "There's so much sky here…" He comments as he looks to her eyes, then her lips. "…we will have to keep coming back here."

There’s a light gasp of air as she’s swept into his arms. It’s likely obvious, even without the telepathic connection, that it’s simply something she’s not used to. Still, by the way her arms go around his neck and she presses into him… it’s something that Cyrielle enjoys. Once he’s settled into the sofa, she adjusts slightly in his lap, curling in against him.

“I always loved watching the stars. Just wait until you’re out on the skiff… there’s so many more.” She presses a light kiss at the corner of his lips. “Of course we will. That’s why I’ve discussed shared custody with Ephraim.”

Nitrim opens his mouth to reply, but is cut off as a message indicator chirps on his phone that sounds like a warning siren. Nitrim's face slackens and turns to look at the tablet. "That's the old man." He grumbles, holding onto her as he leans out to take the tablet into his hands and turns it on. Eyes to the screen, his teeth audibly grit against each other as he reads.

"Fuck." It's the word of the day, but this time in the same way as one would say if their horse broke a leg, or that we ran out of water rations manner. "I'm being called home as soon as possible. Looks like he's received one too many complaints about my reputation and is specifically stating he doesn't mind you visiting but wants us chaperoned. Which is…good and bad; mostly bad. He's gonna rip my face off when I get back."

There’s a few blinks form Cyrielle as she waits for him to read the contents of the message. She loses some color from her cheeks as Nitrim explains. “Oh,” she says, lifting a hand to press fingers into her hair. “I… well… at least he’s not forbidding you from seeing me?” She’s trying to look on the bright side for it.

“Guess we may be relying on Bethe and Ephraim a bit… It means the sailing trip isn’t off, since we won’t be alone.” She laughs softly, closing her eyes as she leans back into him. “Fuck. If I wasn’t terrified of meeting your father before…” She definitely is now. “Well… let’s just… look at this like maybe it’s… a form of approval from him. If he didn’t like us together, he’d forbid you completely, right? So… contact your cousin. Let’s do that lunch soon. That’s a good sort of date that will look good for you, right?”

"He's not that bad, well," Nitrim cringes, dejectively tossing the tablet back onto the coffee table as if it were a piece of unnecessary garbage he doesn't want to deal with any longer. "He can be a massive prick but I've always wanted his esteem, which means…I'm going to have to pack and head back tonight." With a kiss to her jaw, Nitrim sighs and sinks back into the cushions, hooding a hand over his eyes. "We'll do this, we will still go to this party, but this could only help things in the long run and it is what I wanted." He smirks. "You'll write me, aye?"

Frowning softly — in concern — Cyrielle leans into Nitrim as he sinks into the couch. She rubs a hand, soothingly, on his arm. “Maybe this is a good thing,” she offers, leaning her head into his shoulder. “It will suck on the short term, but… as you say, you want his esteem. Do well by him, we’ll show up in public on our best behavior and find chaperones for anything else. I’ll visit from time to time and spend time with Bethe, which can only help further since she seems happy enough with me so far.” She tilts her head, studying him from a slightly different angle.

“It’ll be hard, but you’re a drake. You can weather this. And I’m meant to weather storms. We can open a video feed each night and I’m certain we have friends enough who can serve as chaperone. My brother, I’m certain, will be willing to do so.”

"Then I guess not a lot is changing and we do have a bit of a support network. This is the way things are supposed to be anyway and I do need to patrol with Bethe." Nitrim's hand drops to brush through Cyrielle's hair, frowning a little as he straightens. "I've bought this with my behavior and if I mess around any further it'll lead to bad things, so now is the time to be legitimate." Turning at the hip, he draws his arms around Cyrielle in a hug, leaving his chin on her shoulder, a bit of a preliminary goodbye. "I can't stay tonight. I have to leave. Soon."

As he leans into her, Cyrielle wraps her arms around Nitrim. A bit tight, as if she doesn’t want to let go. She nestles her head against his on her shoulder, exhaling in a small sigh. “I believe in you, Nitrim,” she murmurs softly. Words meant just for him, even though they’re alone. “You can do this. We can do this. We’ll play the part of Lord and Lady beginning a courtship, being seen in public places and formal events. Having family play chaperone when necessary. And in time, we’ll announce a betrothal.” Turning her head, she kisses at his cheek. “Because you said your father is open to me visiting. That, I think, is as much approval as we can expect at this juncture.”

She leans back, eyes searching for his. “I’ll miss you, but we’ll work this out.”

A long silence overcomes Nitrim as he looks into her eyes, searching them for meaning and truth, something beyond the norm he searches for in others. Reading her expression, a small smirk forms on the corner of his lip. "Okay. I believe you." He murmurs back to her as his arms tighten around her shoulders. "We will work at this right and know that while I do all of this, don't forget the reason I do all of this." He leans in to brush his lips against hers, long and slow. The kiss breaks and his words are mumbled against her lips. "What do we do with our last hour of alone time, then?"

That smirk reassures Cyrielle; that spark of Nitrim within the brooding young man. Oh she knows the reasons and understands them. She’s prone to brooding herself. But that humor and wit beneath is something she loves to see. Her response to the kiss is a warm one, leaning up into him. Oh, she won’t forget. Just as she hopes he won’t. Her lips move against his as a smile forms.

“Shall we enjoy our last night of freedom beneath the stars?”

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