Private Tales Of Sand & Dragonfire

A private roleplay only for those invited by the first writer
Seteta smiled, returning Aron's hug, then reached up to give his wrist a friendly squeeze as he patted her cheek.

Her smile faded, but didn't disappear, as she listened intently to his instructions. Her expression turned serious by the time he finished speaking, though.

"I have fought for my life before," Seteta stated simply. "Against the sands, against wild beasts, and against men. I will not panic, though I'm sure the sensation of dying here within the Well will be something new entirely."

She eyed Aron's extended fist. "I am ready but... is there some tradition that I need to know about... that?" she gestured toward his hand.

Chaceledon
 
There was laughter in the crowd at Seteta’s words, a few leers and wolf whistles from some of the rowdier men. Aron chuckled. “Not like this, girl.” He said, a solemn note in his tone. He nodded to his fist. “Combat only ever starts when you put your hand around this fist. No way to misconstrue that. Combat only ends when you raise two fingers above the sands. That’s giving up. The idea here is that you’re learning how to fight without that magic of yours. I’ll teach ya a few things, we’ll see what sort of weapon you’re gifted with, then whomever is in charge of that discipline will teach you.”

“It is similar to what we all went through when we first entered the Well.” Rheinhard informed her. “You will get used to pain. After a while, it becomes an ally.”

“That in mind...” Aron nodded to his fist. “I’ll put you under the sands three times, then teach you how to deal with the idiots who think a metal stick is the solution to all problems.” He gave a wry grin.

The moment she put her hand around his fist, Aron exploded into motion. One foot, swift as a cat, wrapped around her ankle and yanked it forward. His fist aimed for her face, while the other was held up to guard against whatever punch she may throw. He aimed to get her down on her back, then a knee across her throat, strangling her. Some of the other Volkers roared wildly like wolves in a cage, clearly excited by combat. Rheinhard kept his eyes on Seteta and Aron. Despite his shortness, Aron was strong. He used short, fast jabs to make the most out of a short distance.

Seteta
 
Seteta couldn't help but roll her eyes at the leering smiles and wolf whistles, but kept her attention on Aron, and nodded when he explained the rules, and reached out to grab his fist.

Having never even seen him fight before, Seteta didn't know what to expect and how to defend herself, so she focused simply on reacting.

When she felt his foot brush behind her ankle, she let him drop her, narrowly missing taking his fist straight into her face, and wrapped her legs around his other knee and yanked him forward, trying to knock him down as well as she twisted to the side to push herself back up.

Her undoing was the fact that as soon as her hands touched the sand, she instinctively tried to draw on her magic, and she swore as Aron shoved her back onto the sand, scowling as his knee pressed into her throat. She tried to get some leverage, to throw him off somehow, but he was too heavy and she couldn't budge him. Even so, she didn't stop trying until her lungs burned and nearly felt like bursting and her vision faded to black.

Breathe in, and slip into death, he said, she thought to herself. But how am I supposed to breathe in when he's strangling me?

Chaceledon
 
Aron waited. He leaned his weight into her, pinning her, watching that light fade from her eyes. With a simple twist and crunch downward, he collapsed her trachea. Seteta sank beneath the sands, and into blackness. The sands swallowed her up, and Aron stood up.

The Arena vomited her back upright forcefully, flinging her out of the sands and up onto her feet. It would feel very similar to ones bed being a springboard, and simply launching a person from a dead sleep to upright.

Right into Aron’s fist. This time, it was less gentle. He pummeled her, his fist meeting her nose again and again and again. This time she was put into the sands, dying and gurgling on blood. Again it springboarded her up, into Aron’s waiting hands. “Easy, easy.” He held up two fingers. “Easy there. Right. Now that we’ve gotten a few deaths out of the way...let’s learn some countermeasures.”

Aron stepped back a few paces. “It’s easier to redirect a blow than it is to stop one. The strongest part of your arm is the side of your forearm, here.” He patted the outside edge of his forearm. “When I punch at you, I want you to perform this,” he put his fist to his breast, the edge of that forearm out, and swung it in a simple motion outward. “- catch the side of my arm, and make the punch go past you. Women tend to be less strong than men, but your kind are faster. With the exception of Klaus but the jury’s out on whether he’s a woman or not.”

“Could make you into one!” Klaus called from the stands, to raucous laughter.

Aron smirked. “Nevermind him. Now. Block the punch. You’ve felt the worst I can do. Dont be afraid of it. Just make it go past you.” He threw a straight left jab for her face.

Seteta
 
Seteta heard her nose crunch before she felt it, and with the pain that followed due to Aron's repeated pummeling, she lost consciousness long before she actually died this time. When she was shoved back into the Arena again, she tried to be on the defensive, a snarl twisting over her face, but Aron held up two fingers and she bit back a growl and took a breath to calm herself.

She listened and watched as Aron explained how to block him, mimicking the motions he showed her with each arm.

She couldn't help but snort as he poked fun at Klaus, though the man's voice from the stands made her skin crawl.

Chaceledon said:
Aron smirked. “Nevermind him. Now. Block the punch. You’ve felt the worst I can do. Dont be afraid of it. Just make it go past you.” He threw a straight left jab for her face.
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Honestly, she wasn't sure what sort of comfort you've felt the worst I can do was supposed to be, and she still couldn't fight the instinct to pull her head away from the punch, but she did manage to throw her right arm up and outward. It wasn't quite fast enough to fully knock his blow away, but it did at least only graze her ear.

Chaceledon
 
Aron smiled and nodded. “Again. Watch what I’m doing. If you watch a man, you’ll see his chest and stomach move to drive him forward. It’s only a second or two of warning, but it will be enough.” He struck at her again, and again, on both sides, until he was confident she had it. He stepped back a moment. “Now I’m going to grab you. What I want you to do is try to catch my thumb. Either hand. Push up with all your might, and twist inward like you’re trying to make my index finger touch my armpit. If you can get to that position, you can lead a man around with his arm bound like a chicken’s wing. He won’t be able to touch you, no matter how hard he tries.”

Aron seized her wrist, sharply. “You won’t be able to pry my fingers off, but a man’s thumb is his weak point. Up and inward, go on.” He kept a firm grip, and waited for her. If she did it right, she would have his elbow up and forward, while his thumb was stretched uncomfortably far toward his ribs and spine. She could walk a man around like a dog with that.

Seteta
 
Seteta nodded, and watched Aron closely. Her eyes were sharp, and once she knew what to look for, she caught on quickly countering his moves with increasing ease. She knew it would take much longer, though, before it became second nature.

When he stepped back and explained what he wanted her to do next, her brow furrowed and her mouth twisted with concentration. She couldn't quite picture what he was asking, but she would try.

Aron grabbed her wrist, and rather than try to grapple for his thumb on his free hand, she quickly twisted the wrist caught in his grip to grab his own and hold it in place. Then she swung her free hand over, and slipped her fingers under the webbing at the base of his thumb, trying to break her captured wrist free as she began to push his hand in and backward.

"Like so?" she asked, really not sure she was doing it right at all.

Chaceledon
 
Aron chuckled. “Yes. Now keep pressing. Hard as you can. Remember, I’m already dead, yes?” He gave her a wry and sad smile. Unlike the others, who could be released from the Well if the weapons they used in life were destroyed, it would take a miracle to release him. His hands were the only tools he’d used, and they were buried somewhere far away, covered over by hundreds of layers of dirt and rock. Even if the others left...he and his father, also weaponless, were lost here. Forever. Aron didn’t entertain thoughts of leaving, or being free, because there was no freedom for him. All he had were moments like the previous night...and Seteta’s refreshing company.

“Now...keep that hold. It shouldn’t take a lot of strength. Walk behind me, keeping your free hand pushing my elbow up toward my ear.” Aron instructed patiently. “Sitting duck now.” He smirked, and tried to break from the hold. Dropping didn’t work, nor did trying to twist out of her grasp. He was well and truly stuck. “See now you can strike from behind. My knees with your feet are a prime target. Right, now go ahead and release me love, this is damn uncomfortable.”

“Why don’t you let someone else have a crack?” Came the jeering calls. Aron rolled his eyes.

“No one asked you lot to get involved! You’re all bored!” He snapped, to a chorus of hisses and boos. “I hope you know how to use a weapon...but even if you don’t, we can help you.” Aron patted her and rolled his shoulder. “Any weapons you’re comfortable with, lass? We’ve handled everything from knives and tiger claws to explosives.”

Seteta
 
Seteta grinned, but it was tempered by the sadness in Aron's eyes. She kept pushing, though, and followed Aron's instructions to end up behind him, making sure to keep her grip as he tested it, showing her how it incapacitated him. Her eyes momentarily scanned the crowd, though.

They are all dead. All these souls should be resting somewhere, not trapped here with no hope of peace. Oor's sins are great, not just against these men, but against all gods and laws of the world. But how those sins could be set right, Seteta was not sure... and she brought her attention back to Aron's instruction.

Chaceledon said:
“See now you can strike from behind. My knees with your feet are a prime target. Right, now go ahead and release me love, this is damn uncomfortable.”
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"I've finally caught you and now you want me to let you go?" she smirked, forcing her thoughts back to happier things. "That seems foolish."

She relented a moment later, though, smiling as the gathered throng of Volkers threw their opinions around. It was kind of overwhelming, but she didn't envy their limited existence here, and if she could bring them some small amount of joy or amusement while she visited, then that was a bonus.

Except for Klaus. She didn't care if Klaus was miserable here. Not after that stunt the very first time she met him.

Chaceledon said:
“Any weapons you’re comfortable with, lass? We’ve handled everything from knives and tiger claws to explosives.”
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"I have a fighting knife I like," Seteta answered. "But I, ah... didn't bring it with me this morning?"

She really wasn't sure how all of this worked, other than that whenever she was in the Well, she had access to whatever was on her person when Rheinhard brought her in.

Chaceledon
 
Aron chuckled. “No worries. Knives tend to be a popular weapon around here.” He said. He wrung out his arm a bit to work the aches out of it. She had a talent for that; if he had more time to work with her, she might grow that into a genuine talent. Of course they weren’t going to get that with the rest of the Volkers watching. They hadn’t had a playmate in a long while.

“Well, our knife specialists are Rheinhard and Klaus...I’m guessing I can figure out who you’d rather go with. You can try any weapon you like here.” Aron told her. He bent down, picked up a handful of sand, and when he offered it to her...it was a perfect copy of her knife. “We can construct things from memories here. Weapons, places, even people.”

Seteta
 
Seteta resisted the urge to seek out Klaus' gaze in the crowd. If she was to do anything with him, she would definitely prefer to have Chaceledon there as a buffer. Even if she couldn't die here, and even if there were moments where she might enjoy a certain type of pain, she had no desire to be tortured merely for the sake of it.

"Definitely Rheinhard," she agreed with Aron, then laughed and shook her head when he offered her a reconstructed version of her knife.

She reached out and took with a smile, the weight of the jade-handled Telling steel settling into her palm with a comfortable familiarity. "Perfect."

Seteta may have only owned the knife for a few months now, but she'd practiced basic drills with it to grow accustomed to it, and it was similar in style to the previous knives she'd carried. But she was not, by any means, a master with the blade, and she turned to Rheinhard, easily spotting him where he had settled beneath the stands.

"Will you teach me, Rheinhard?" she asked with a grin.

Chaceledon
 
Aron bowed to her slightly, and straightened up. A blade caught him in the back of the skull, and he sank into the sands. Rheinhard stepped forward and looked up in the stands, where Klaus was making a rude gesture with the fingers he’d used to throw the blade. “Lesson one: never drop your guard.” Rheinhard nodded to the corpse sinking into the sand. Aron had dropped his, thinking the others would honor the rules of the game. Thinking Klaus would, after taunting him.

Rheinhard kept his back to the safer stone walls, with the gallery in front of him. He wasn’t turning his back on any of them. Aron popped up out of the sands, rubbing the back of his head and spitting in Klaus’ general direction. He caught the next one in the teeth, and sank down again. Rheinhard ignored him. Baiting Klaus was a sure fire way to make the entire thing go to hell quickly.

“Ignore all notions of fairness, or clean fighting. There is no such thing in the battlefield.” Rheinhard told her. “Up on the balls of your feet. Weight between your legs, knees slightly bent. Show me how you would hold your blade.”

Seteta
 
Seteta grimaced when Aron went down with a knife to the back of the head, but made a concerted effort to ignore Klaus. She was already on his radar enough as it was.

Chaceledon said:
“Lesson one: never drop your guard.” Rheinhard nodded to the corpse sinking into the sand.
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She simply nodded. She hadn't yet dropped her guard here, between being surrounded by hundreds of Volkers who may or may not have it out for her, the sparring, and then being acutely aware that she was within an elaborate spell while magic was acting up, and there wasn't actually any of her own magic that she could use here.

Chaceledon said:
“Ignore all notions of fairness, or clean fighting. There is no such thing in the battlefield.” Rheinhard told her. “Up on the balls of your feet. Weight between your legs, knees slightly bent. Show me how you would hold your blade.”
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She took the stance that Rheinhard directed her to, glad that she was used to the way sand shifted beneath her feet as she adjusted her footing, then carefully extended her arm, displaying the knife clutched in her hand.

"Like this," she said. Her fingers were cradled, without room to slip or slide, on the handle between the quillions, her thumb resting along a gentle curve along the back of the knife where the front bolster met the spine. She'd tried a few different grips, but this was the one that felt most secure in her hand.

Chaceledon
 
Rheinhard drew closer and looked at the way she held it. “Hand and the knife are one.” He told her, touching the top of her thumb and the way it connected down to her arm. “One line. You hold it at the balance point. At the tang, usually.” He stepped back, satisfied with her stance, and circled her. As old as he was, Rheinhard moved with the grace of a large predator. He allowed his knees and ankles to absorb most of the impact of his steps, making him seem fluid.

He stood facing her. “Attempt to attack me.” He told her. He drew no weapon. If Seteta was experienced as he thought she was, he didn’t need one. Rheinhard had a blade in his hand almost as soon as he could hold one properly. He had been flung in this arena time and time again. He was comfortable here.

Seteta
 
Chills swept up her spine when Rheinhard began to circle her, and she instinctively tightened her grip on the knife. Sand easily absorbed the sound of footsteps, but with her elven ears and the fact that she was a creature of the desert, Seteta easily tracked Rheinhard's position around her. He didn't make a move toward her, though, and came to face her again.

Chaceledon said:
“Attempt to attack me.” He told her.
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Ignore fairness and clean fighting, he'd said earlier. With Aron, she would have been pleased to simply knock him off his feet. With Rheinhard, she could do no less than try to make a kill.

With the gracefulness of a desert cat, she darted across the sand toward Rheinhard, sweeping the up and across as soon as she was close enough in an attempt to slit his throat.

Chaceledon
 
Rheinhard watched her lunge at him, and leaned back. Her swipe barely brushed his neck. He helped her backswing along, seizing her elbow and keeping the blade from him as he stepped close. His mouth darted for her neck, and he seized her throat in his teeth. Her arm held aloft, the knife was useless. He clamped down, shaking her to collapse her windpipe like a dog with a rabbit. Klaus cackled wildly from the stands as Rheinhard released her to let her body sink.

Up she sprung again. “Never attack first in a direct confrontation.” Rheinhard told her. “The throat is easier to protect. It is a narrow object, hard to hit, requires strength to sever, and aiming upward costs you.” He didn’t seem bothered at all by her blood around his mouth. “Think of your target areas. Where would hitting me be more advantageous than the throat?”

He stepped closer to her and held up two fingers, to show he wasn’t going to attack. He tapped the side of her knee. “The weakest point of any two legged creature. The sides of the knee have tendons that hold the entire man up. Here,” he patted the inside of her thigh, far too close to her crotch to be decent. “-is a major artery. Hit it, and a man will bleed out within seconds.”

Rheinhard ignored the catcalls. He had no interest for what was between her legs. “Kidney.” He touched an area just above and inside her hips. “Gut wounds are advantageous in that they will kill even if you must flee. A man will take months, even years, to recover from one.”

Seteta
 
Seteta flinched as Rheinhard's teeth closed around her throat, silently swearing as the last sounds she heard before yet another death was Klaus cackling.

When she was... revived again, she scowled at Rheinhard.

Chaceledon said:
“Never attack first in a direct confrontation.” Rheinhard told her.
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"You told me to attack, sebav," she muttered, the Abtat word for teacher slipping sarcastically from her tongue, but she listened carefully to the rest of what he said. When Rheinhard stepped toward her, she started to raise her knife again, but relaxed her stance when he raised two fingers.

Rheinhard's touches didn't bother her, and she carefully made note of the tendons, arteries, and organs he pointed out. She recalled some of it from many years ago, when those of her tribe had trained her in basic defense, but she hadn't worked to keep the information.

She'd become too reliant on her magic over time.

A smile teased over her lips when he mentioned a gut wound. "That one I know," she murmured. "I used it on Klaus that night we met Gaal."

Chaceledon
 
“And your first response was blind obedience. Not a good beginning.” Rheinhard responded. “Atacama.” He called back to the stands. A stern looking creature rose and made his way down, dropping the few feet from the seats to the Arena gracefully. Atacama was much taller than either of them, approaching six and a half feet. He didn’t have a kind face by any means; it was cold and stern. A massive tattoo covered most of it, a trio of nested triangles reaching behind either eye and dipping below his chin.

“This is Atacama Volker, also known as Bellic of the Wild Hunt. What I want to do is watch you. Use your blade, and watch him carefully when you fight. Short, quick movements. You have a short reach, will need to get close, but you are smaller and faster. Use it to your advantage.” Rheinhard told her, and stepped back.

Atacama didn’t wait. He backpedaled and unfurled a long whip, chained with ragged pieces of bone and metal that would tear flesh from bones. He moved to begin circling her, using a very similar stance. The whip snaked out at her ankles, testing her footwork, and as quickly as it was within her space it was gone again.

“Wolves fight things larger than themselves by running in, striking, and retreating.” Rheinhard told her, and settled back to watch. He’d chosen Atacama for a reason; there was a delay between snapping out the whip and pulling it back to regain momentum again. Rheinhard would target all of his attacks toward that ‘hitch’ in movement.

Seteta
 
Seteta's lip curled into a snarl and Rheinhard's scolding, but she wiped it away and watched curiously as he called one of the others over.

She nodded when Rheinhard introduced Atacama, and gave his advice.

As soon as Rheinhard stepped away, Seteta brought her blade up and darted forward to lessen the distance between herself and Atacama. The whip teased at her ankles, small strips of blood appearing where it kissed her skin, but she leapt away in time to not get tangled in it.

Chaceledon said:
“Wolves fight things larger than themselves by running in, striking, and retreating.”
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Like the Zephyr wolf, she thought. And how I got caught in my own magical backlash.

She darted forward again, ducking low and to one side as Atacama pulled the whip back again. It whistled past her, and she resisted the urge to flinch away and flung herself forward the last few feet, aiming her blade for the place next the knee where Rheinhard had pointed out the tendons.

Chaceledon
 
Rheinhard watched the pair of them spar. Seteta would need quite a few more sessions inside the Well, but she was learning. With every death, she would embrace pain as the Volkers had. With every strike, a lesson was learned. He kept her in for a few more hours. She would perfect that knee strike, and become comfortable with darting in and back. Such things could save her skin on the road, especially with magic becoming unstable.

When he finally pulled his mouth from her eyes, Chaceledon was there. The dragon wiped her face with a towel, a smirk on his face. He’d taken full advantage of the pet house while they practiced; his nails were repaired, he’d put a lovely green around his eyes, fading into copper just below his brows, and was wearing a silk bathrobe. It was a soft peridot color, embroidered with florals and birds. Underneath he was wearing some of his creamier undertones, so as not to take away from the lovely needlework.

“Are you ready to pack the wagon and leave?” Volker asked quietly.

Chaceledon sighed. They had to. Oor knew where they were, and now they were trying to beat the man to the chase. “Yes...I’ll start packing our things.” he muttered. He clearly wasn’t happy about it. He kissed Seteta’s cheek, and wandered up the stairs.
Volker wiped his mouth, and rolled his jaw. They had been inside for a good long time.

“You learn quickly. Practice drills with your knife, and focus on speed. Speed is the ally of the woman and the knife fighter.” Volker told Seteta. He shook his head, working cricks out of his neck. The men in the Well thought better of her now than they had yesterday; she had taken deaths without getting angry, had listened, and improved. She was easier to teach than most of the Volkers.

Seteta
 
Seteta was surprised at the amount of weariness she felt when Rheinhard finally led her out of the Well. She didn't have aches and bruises from fighting, but she was utterly stiff and sore from staying in one position in the real world. When she opened her eyes, though, she was greeted with Chaceledon's cat-that-got-the-cream smirk, and she took in his appearance with a glance, then laughed softly and rolled her eyes. Then she closed her eyes and let Chaceledon wipe her face.

She leaned into him when he kissed her cheek, and sighed when he pulled away and went upstairs to start gathering their things.

Rheinhard was apparently feeling the same physical soreness she was from the way he rolled his jaw and his neck, and Seteta winced as she stretched her shoulders and wiggled her toes.

Chaceledon said:
“You learn quickly. Practice drills with your knife, and focus on speed. Speed is the ally of the woman and the knife fighter.” Volker told Seteta.
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"I will," she promised, and glanced hesitantly toward the stairs. "I will... try to rein him in, and keep only what's necessary from the pet house, and what we can sell within reason."

Then she glanced around the room, trying to judge if the maintenance spell was still holding. It seemed so to her, though perhaps a few cobwebs and cracks were appearing that hadn't been there before.

"It's quite late in the day already, though," she commented. "By the time the wagon is packed, we'd only have a few hours of travel before we needed to stop to make camp. Perhaps it wouldn't hurt to stay one more night. Give the horses a rest and let Rations heal a little more.

"Who knows when we'll get the chance to rest again," she finished in a whisper.

Oor already knew where they were. Where they were headed. A day's delay would make no difference.

Chaceledon
 
Volker followed her gaze up the stairs. "Two bottles of bath things, he can take a few bits of makeup but no large jars of powder or heavy creams. No bedding, and he will fight you on that. We'll launder our clothing before we leave to lessen the blow." He told her. "I will pack the supplies. Food, dry storage, pickled items. There are four sacks of rice there that will last us weeks if we are careful, and pickled vegetables and fruits will save us in the desert. We must be careful about this; if Persian turns us away, we must be ready to travel a week or two with nothing but the cart and the clothes on our backs."

She proposed staying one more night, and Volker nodded reluctantly. "There are geese down in the cellar I will dry out and salt, and racks of bacon that can keep if we submerge them in oil pots. I believe I saw sour beef down there as well. It will take the night to get everything together. Rest yourself, and sharpen that blade of yours."

Volker rarely rested. Rest meant he had more time to work, and he got to it without preamble.

Chaceledon was excitedly gathering things. There were fifteen pots of different makeups, face powder, face creams, small razors to clear unwanted hair from his face, huge duvets he'd obviously snuck from another room, piles of pillows he was clearly still sorting, and he was draped over the pile of bedding in his robe. He had a glass tray settled next to him, and he grinned at Seteta. "Koiros, we no longer have to travel like animals. I can't believe one of these people had chocolate and those stupid Anirans didn't take it!" he laughed and popped a chocolate in his mouth, sighing happily.

"I can't believe we're going to sleep on silk duvets stuffed with rabbit fur and real pillows. Gods, bathe with sponges, and look at all these scents! We don't have to smell like horse." Chaceledon giggled, and waved her over.

Seteta
 
Seteta nodded at Rheinhard's instructions. "Once we are in the desert, I'll be of more use. I'm accustomed to surviving out there with nothing but what I can carry."

When she met Chaceledon upstairs, her eyes widened with both amazement and horror.

Chaceledon said:
"Koiros, we no longer have to travel like animals. I can't believe one of these people had chocolate and those stupid Anirans didn't take it!" he laughed and popped a chocolate in his mouth, sighing happily.

"I can't believe we're going to sleep on silk duvets stuffed with rabbit fur and real pillows. Gods, bathe with sponges, and look at all these scents! We don't have to smell like horse." Chaceledon giggled, and waved her over.
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"Oh sehejib," she murmured, smiling fondly as she settled next to him, "do you recall the size of our cart? We have to prioritize food and things that we can sell along the way, remember?"

She tucked a strand of hair back behind his ear and softly kissed him. "For bath things and cosmetics, you can take what you can comfortably carry yourself. And no, it cannot be a bag stuffed full plus what you can carry in your hands. You have to be able to use your hands for other things. I might be able to convince Rheinhard to take a duvet and a pillow or two, though, if you sit up front in the wagon with him instead of lounging in the back."

Chaceledon
 
Chaceledon welcomed her into his nest of blankets, putting a fond arm around her waist. He returned her kiss, tasting of chocolate and sweetness. He offered her one of the little dark tablets, kissing her ear and neck. “We have enough room in the cart, darling...” he whispered into her ear. “We can pack the blankets flat and I’m more than happy to ferret away my things under the seat. I can make it fit, trust me.”

Chaceledon ran a hand up her leg. “Darling if there’s one thing I know how to do it’s make the most of a small space. Just let me take a few more bath things..?”

He leaned over her for a moment, looking under his lashes at her. He wanted to take the cosmetics and most of the bedding. Sleeping in a bed after a tent for a few weeks had just made everything sweeter. He was reluctant to let it go, and he wasn’t above using his wiles to get what he wanted. Rheinhard was completely immune to his charms, and Oor had grown dull to them over the years, but Seteta was infinitely suggestible.

Seteta
 
Seteta practically purred as Chaceledon's arm wrapped around her, savoring the sweet chocolate on her tongue as he kissed his way down her neck. She shivered as his hand slid up her leg, and her heart pounded when he leaned over her, but she couldn't suppress a giggle at the look on his face.

She pulled him over on top of her and hooked a knee over his hip, trailing her fingers down his chest where the silk robe parted.

"The blankets and pillows I will... perhaps concede on," she proposed, pulling his mouth to hers for a lingering kiss. "But where, sehejib, do you think you will find enough water in the desert to bathe?"

Chaceledon
 
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