• Mature • [Memory] Strength in Numbers

[Zana]

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Ymiden, 714

"I know you're on a break, but there's five of them and they came in together," Jaq, her handler told her as he adjusted her clothing. Zana looked up at him and smiled, but she did not speak simply allowing him to fuss as he needed to. She was wearing a pretty baby-doll negligee which was a soft peach color and her hair was loose. Jaq lifted her chin and kissed her deeply, pulling her to him and burying his hands in her hair. Then, without pause or consideration he stopped. "Perfect. Now, you look a little mussed, a little rumpled. Go make money."

Zana shot him a smile and made her way into the room where the five young men were. Biqaj, young and determined to have fun was the immediate impression she got and she smiled. They had paid up front and they would be content when they woke in the morning, if she had anything to do with it. Looking around, Zana considered which of them she should give her attention to and she saw that one, particularly, stood out for her.

It was like he was here but he was not and the scantily clad prostitute with blonde hair and ice-blue eyes watched him. She observed how he took part, but did not. So, whilst his friends were engaged with the other girls there and he had sat down and was watching the proceedings, Zana moved over and sat next to him.

Her skin was pale compared to his, her hair blonde and light. "Hello," she said, her voice soft and her gaze on him intently. Ice blue eyes watched him as she lifted her hand and gently, oh so gently, stroked his cheek. "Is it your birthtrial?" The smile she allowed herself was soft and she tried to tip his face towards her with her hand. If he went with that, it made her next move easier, but either way she leaned forward and kissed him. Just a brief, teasing and fleeting kiss. "Happy," another kiss, this one more insistent and lasting just a little longer. "Birthtrial," this time the word was murmured against his lips as she continued to tease, her hands now moving to his chest.

"Do you have any presents you'd like to unwrap?" Zana asked with a smile, turning so that she was kneeling on the couch next to him, facing him. As she did, she handed him a slender ribbon which attached, somehow, to what she was wearing and she smiled at him.

Pleasure in the job puts perfection in the work

[Pash Raj'oriq]

In all his arcs away from Ne’Haer, Pash had never thought he’d come crawling home. Not like this, anyway. He’d been warned, he had, and yet the truth was still there—the ultimate price of being able to see how others felt, how they really felt, was that you often saw more bad than good, even in the people you thought cared about you.

Or the people you cared about.

It had been a lonely, oppressively quiet sail back from Rharne, and, honestly, he’d yet to really say anything to anyone about Ari’nne or his sudden need for the familiar other than shallow, listless conversation or an accidental mention in some moment of totally not sober weakness. He’d already been home a season, and while his family had welcomed him (if by welcoming him meant his father had promptly handed him a hammer and stuck him on the closest boat in queue to finish it), it was a strangely awkward place to nurse emotional wounds now that he’d been on his own for so long. While holding cute infant relatives, playing music in familiar haunts, and getting ridiculously drunk with old friends felt better, nothing quite felt the same, either.

Still, it was better than being alone, even if the healing process felt so damn slow.

And then, without warning, it was his birthtrial. Immortals save him if half the shipyard didn’t want to take him out for a drink or cajole him with distractions. Everyone and his second cousin (literally) had a remedy for a broken heart and a good birthtrial. The thing was, Pash wanted—needed—to be entertained. Restless, impatient, and hungry for stimuli, the seafaring minstrel finally gave in to the assurances that, yes, of course his cousin Torim had the best plan ever to celebrate …

A few breaks of tavern-crawling, music, and laughter later, and somehow every new suggestion became better than the last. Far from sober, the tall Biqaj was quite sure he had not at all agreed to this particular part of the plan, this brothel excursion, at all. But then again, he wasn’t sure if he’d disagreed to it, either. That part was fuzzy. He hadn’t paid a single coin for whatever fancy, well-kept, far from his normal expectations place was, so the onus was on him not to complain … even if he found the concept somewhat contrary to his usual methods of such intimate indulgences.

“C’mon, it’ll be fine. Lookit, there’s lotsa pretty ones.” Torim had exclaimed excitedly, arm around his cousin’s shoulder possibly more for support in his inebriated state than anything else.

“Totally how I forgot my last one, too, y’know.” Djet may have been attempting to whisper, but actually said quite loudly, grinning and red-faced, “An’ pro’ly th’ one I left at home now that I’m here.”

Everyone else had similar sentiments, and while the parade of pretty flesh and practiced petting was distracting enough, it was clear to the sensitive shipwright’s son that this was an employment venture for the women, not an unexpected adventure. It was like busking, really, but the tune was desire and the melody curves and heat. Pash hadn’t any expectations, and the truth was he wanted to welcome the forgetfulness that could be wrapped up in such physical pursuits. He just couldn’t justify paying for pretend fun when falling into it was more exciting to him—this wasn’t any real game of seduction, it was a bribed mockery of the same experience.

And, to top that off, all it took was one curious glance past a flushed face and underneath a barely-clothed exterior for the fledgling Empath to feel the dull-colored weight of so much boredom, apathy, and disillusionment to really kill his mood, the tangled negative threads making for tapestries far less appealing than dolled-up exteriors would ever want him to know. Pash enjoyed his job, but magically looking into the emotions of alluring prostitutes only served to confirm his suspicions of how disingenuous the experience was for everyone. He squirmed his way with real reluctance from under the well-practiced attentions of one perfectly lovely paid in full example, unable to unsee her feelings and how much they belied the eagerness of her touch. She blinked at him in confusion, breathless and unsure if she should be insulted or amused, before Torim kept her from feeling too lost too soon with a meaty hand and a laugh.

In some strange moment of unpoetic irony, Pash found himself alone in a brothel.

It was only for a few familiar beats of his pulse, however, for suddenly next to him was someone new, someone who had certainly not been in the original crowd his friends had emptied their pockets of hard-earned nel for. She was fair and blonde and she looked at him, really looked at him, with a pale blue, crystalline gaze. She was, well, different. He didn’t shy away from her touch—he was supposed to be having fun, after all—but his smile at her question was subdued by something distant,

“Aye, that it is.” The tall Biqaj answered quietly, closing his eyes lest he be tempted to look further beyond the smooth, pale surface he was presented with while tilting his head at the motion of her hand and allowing her birthtrial wishes. He even smiled a little against her lips, opening his eyes again at the brush of fingers on his skin,

“Y’almost sound sincere.” His Rakahi-accented baritone bordered on the sarcastic to reveal he wasn’t quite convinced, but he it wasn’t entirely his intention to be mean. Pash’s internal dialogue was fueled by alcohol and disappointment, and while his body and normally hedonistic nature clamored loudly that he should respond in a more enjoyable way, his blurred mind made it difficult to do so.

The blonde pressed a ribbon into his hands and sat before him, her question teasing in its implications that she was a gift that actually required unwrapping, considering how little she was already clothed in. He allowed himself a hesitant moment to roam the expanse of her mostly revealed person not at all displeased by what he could see, but his answer was honest, even as he turned to face her, willing himself to be distracted by her game if only to keep himself from having to continue to watch his friends in entertain themselves without him,

“No’ really, no—“

The shipwright’s son did not remember seeing her with the others that now giggled and sighed lustily in the room with them. If she was volunteering, someone would have to pay for that eventually.

“—’re y’ supposed t’ be my present? Did my cousin pay for you, too? Look, don’ take this as ungrateful, but my boys o’er there ‘re prob’ly way more excitin’ than me, birthrial ‘r no’. ”

Off Topic

Bummed Pash is extremely difficult to write. He resists. And yet, it sort of happened. Also, this is super long. Sorry.

[Zana]

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"Almost?"

Zana looked at the biqaj next to her and her ice blue eyes lit with amusement. "Aren't you a little young to be quite so cynical?" Her hand moved as he held the ribbon she gave him but he did not seek to 'unwrap' anything. Zana looked at him and she tilted her head to the side. "Everyone in this room, myself include, is bought and paid for and awaiting your pleasure." She shifted slightly, almost sitting in his lap as she put one arm around his waist and lifted the other to his cheek.

"But there's a difference between me and the rest of my kind." Leaning forward again she kissed him once more. This time she lingered a little longer in that kiss, deepened it before pulling back. "Just like there's a difference between you and the rest of yours." Her thumb stroked his cheek and her smile was practiced, but her eyes were knowing.

"It's the same difference you know." Zana spoke in tones so quiet that only he could hear her, leaning forward so that she could whisper in his ear, her breath tickling his skin. "We aren't pretending. My colleagues are pretending to want your friends. They, in turn, are pretending that this isn't exotic and exciting." Her eyes were ice blue and she moved and kissed him again, this time allowing her hand to trail down and unbutton the first button of his shirt. Just the first, no more.

"I have a job I love and I like it best when I meet a man who doesn't pretend but just wants me back." There was a very clear message there, she thought, but it was also a very honest one. "I chose you. Now, I'm all paid for and I gain enormous pleasure from my job." One eyebrow raised slightly and she looked at him with a challenge in her eyes. "So, why don't I take you by the hand and lead you into the bedroom just through that door? Your friends will be happy that they have done a good thing and then you can decide what you'd like to do with your break."

With a swift movement, she plucked the ribbon out of his hand and her expression turned into one of amusement, "and, of course, you can decide what you'd like to do with your gift." If he wanted to talk, to sing, to dance or to undertake any of the more usual activities, that would be just fine with Zana. "Unless, of course, you have an alternative proposition?"

Pleasure in the job puts perfection in the work

[Pash Raj'oriq]

“Is ‘t your job to please me ‘r to criticize m’ age?” The Biqaj smirked, though his tone wavered somewhere between teasing and serious—it was neither but both at the same time. He was well aware that everyone else’s job here was to deliver pleasure in exchange for coin, though Pash was philosophically unsure as to whether the entire transaction destroyed the context of enjoyment or just altered the meaning in some similar way magic could alter a person—on the inside. He'd had way too much to drink in the breaks before being dragged here and he was far too broody to have any sort of cognitive filter, but he somehow managed not to awkwardly blurt out just how much an arc could change a man completely, regardless of their age.

This had been that arc.

“I'm no’ bein’ cynical. 'S pretty obvious. I'm sure y’know how t’ read people—’at's part o’ your job, right? Mine, too, inna way.”

Pash would not have objected had she actually sat in his lap, wanting to point out the individuals and their emotions one by one—how the brunette with his cousin was brimming with self-loathing or the freckled one in some lacy number was blindingly bored. He’d seen it, felt it, and while he’d expected as much out of prostitutes, it still only served to rub salt in his wounds that had yet to heal:

People lied about their feelings all the time. It was normal, acceptable even. Until you loved a liar.

The tall Biqaj allowed her to settle close enough, arm around him, her hand on his trials’ old unshaven face. He said nothing about what he did for a living, however, and had he been in a better mood he would have played coy about it. He wasn’t. Still, the seafaring minstrel couldn’t ignore that her attentions were distracting, that he didn’t find it easier to kiss her back the longer she lingered. It was, however, her lips against his ear that caused him to shift a little in his seat next to her, eyes fluttering closed even as currents of violet washed into the lagoon blue of his irises,

“Different—” Pash whispered in echo of her words before she kissed him again, the blonde’s fingers toying with his shirt. He chuckled at her words, subdued but curious, still doubtful of her admission that she enjoyed everything her job entailed just as much as he was stirred by her blunt intolerance for pretend—how could she stand what the shipwright’s son could only perceive as contradiction? His hands wandered of their own accord, sea-worn and dark against pale skin, and he caught her bottom lip with his teeth before she pulled away, though the tone of his response was still distant,

“—I’m in no mood to pretend.” His violet gaze met her crystalline challenge directly, and he fought his inebriated curiosity to peer deeper, to peer beyond her admittedly alluring surface to judge whether or not she meant at all what she said based on her hidden feelings he alone could see. Instead, he looked away to glance briefly at his friends, only to find he wasn’t up to being a spectator, either,

“I don’—this proposition’s been paid for, as y’say. You’re no’ dressed for a walk, that’s for sure. Go on.” The Biqaj offered both the fleetingest of smiles as well as taking her hand, aware that should anyone notice his exit, he’d most likely be cheered at every step of the way.

[Zana]

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Was it her job to please him or criticize his age? "I can do both," she smiled at him teasingly. "I'm clever like that. Multi tasking." Besides, he liked the banter, she thought and maintained her scrutiny of him. There was no argument from her, though, when he said that she was good at reading people. He was right, she had to be good at that in order to provide the best product she could, to ensure that everyone left happy.

He was conflicted, she thought, about something and Zana briefly wondered if it was a woman who had caused this young man to be so broody. He started to respond to her, to her words, the movement of her hands and the meeting of their lips. The shifting color of his eyes was not lost on her and he repeated that one word. Different.

His hands began to explore her and Zana smiled in pleasure at the sensation of his callouses against her soft skin. There was no doubting her physical reaction to his touch and when he caught her lip she moaned softly and pulled herself against him, reaching for the next button and lowering her head to kiss his chest. However, when he said he was in no mood to pretend, Zana looked up at him and her eyes met his. He seemed unwilling to keep eye contact though and he looked away.

Why did he avoid looking at her, she wondered? Yet, he accepted her proposition and she put her hand into his before leading him to a door off the room where they were. It seemed that his friends were adopting a more 'group' approach and were already using their time to the fullest. However, Zana thought that her client would prefer the privacy of a room. So, she moved in to the well-appointed room and turned to close the door.

Then, she turned and stepped in to his arms, wrapping her hands behind his head and kissing him with more intensity and passion. "Why don't you look at me?" Zana asked, her hand moving, trailing down his face until she cupped his chin. Once more, she pulled him towards her and kissed him deeply. "If you look at me," she murmured against his lips, "you'll see I'm not pretending." Ice blue eyes lifted and she watched him with fascination and curiosity. He was an interesting one and well put together too she considered, as her hands roamed under his shirt.

Pleasure in the job puts perfection in the work

[Pash Raj'oriq]

For a moment, Pash wondered just how many inebriated men with more nel than him in their pockets told all their deepest, darkest secrets to or shared their heaviest burdens with whores on a regular basis. It seemed reasonable enough—they were paid to be enjoyed and sometimes being listened to was the simplest of pleasures. The seafaring minstrel knew this well, not only given his profession in sound and story but also because he had taken the time to develop the skill of being a good listener.

“ ‘Cause I see things others can’t.” He admitted quietly, having allowed himself to be led away from the spectacle of debauchery his friends were making of their hard-earned nel without him. The blonde’s professional persistence was wearing on him, a warm current in the far reaches of the Orm’del sea. The hurt that dragged like a sail improperly tied made him listless, and while he preferred more spontaneous experiences, what she was offering him wasn’t all that complicated—it was just sex.

Or, at least, it could be. If he let it, that is.

Breaks before, he’d admittedly been a more cheerful creature to be around, but too many drinks had slowly scuttled his smile, among other things. While his wounded self had already wasted so much time nursing a scab that should have long-since healed, regardless of the scar of emotional investment (magical and true, both) that would be left behind, his hedonistic, self-pleasing nature was already working against him, whittling away at his resolve to resist the enticing touch and warm lips of a whore simply because he’d convinced himself her desires were entirely disingenuous.

She’d claimed to have immense enjoyment from her paid acts of pleasure. Pash’s magical musings of her co-workers had proved otherwise, but this one, attractive and blonde, this one insisted. Her words sparked his insatiable curiosity while her hands against tanned skin under his shirt stirred much baser interests.

“I can see feelin’, that’s the simplest way to put it. I don’ jus’ have t’ be lookin’, though.” The shipwright’s son smirked, the first real hint of amusement to cross his features since he’d been in the brothel, and allowed himself to meet her crystalline gaze. Violet and gold swam like their own sea creatures in the lagoon blue of his eyes, and he leaned into her hand on his face, turning just enough to kiss her palm before reaching to move her hands back to the task of removing his shirt instead of just toying beneath it, appearing more willing to play along than he’d originally seemed, “Touch works as well. If no’ better.”

If the scantily-clad blonde indeed finished freeing him of his shirt, revealing the unfinished inked patterns that wandered up both arms and a body shaped by labor and life at sea, he would step closer than expected, no longer entirely allowing her to lead with her hands as she’d been doing already. Skin against skin, Pash gave in a little to her physical influences and kissed her, his own hands moving upwards over her mostly bared flesh to cradle her face in both his calloused palms, fingers reaching into her pale curls. He held her there, taking the time to enjoy her lips and explore her mouth, staying close enough that when he pulled away, she could see in his irises no blue remained: just violet rimmed with gold,

“What’s your name? Can I ask that?” He blinked, the baritone of his voice quiet and subdued even as he felt a rush of warmth crawl under his skin, faltering slightly in his resolve to see her feelings in their sudden proximity, wanting to prove her a liar like the others but also enjoying the way his body was reacting to her (this was, admittedly, a new experience for the tall Biqaj and one that aroused his curiosity in more than one way), “Y’say you’re no’ pretendin’, an’ I’ll admit I don’ believe you. In all th’ brothels in Ne’Haer, an’ y’want me to jus’ take ‘t as truth that you’re th’only one that really, really likes your job? Sounds like swabbin’ th’ deck with bilgewater to me.”

Pash looked at her, really looked, studying her crystalline gaze until he began to see past the pale, gem-like color and nearly equally insatiable curiosity. It was only a breath or two before he could see the tapestry of her feelings, expecting the deep violet of apathy and loathing or the maroon of bitterness. Their bodily contact would intensify the brightness of the tangled strands of emotions to an almost blinding vibrance, the seafaring minstrel wanting to see for himself how this particular prostitute felt when she gave her answers, but he also didn’t mind the physical effects of her warm, underdressed body against him in the least, resolve crumbling a little more in the privacy of the well-kept room she’d brought him to.

It wasn’t so bad to forget, even for just a break, how much he still felt betrayed and alone. It was easier not to think on these things when someone wanted to undress him and spend the kind of time with him that didn’t have strings attached,

“What makes ‘t different for you that you enjoy yourself so much?”

[Zana]

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Had he asked her about the number of men who had whispered their secrets to her, Pash might have been more than a little surprised by the answer, even though he expected it. Zana was god at her job, a good listener and a willing partner in every way. She genuinely believed that a large proportion of her clients were willing to pay for her in order to have someone who really paid them attention, really listened to them; sex was a secondary part of what she did for them. What they really paid for was to leave feeling better about themselves.

He saw things others couldn’t? Well, that was interesting and Zana glanced at him as he said it. He’d tell her more or he wouldn’t, she figured, so she waited and did not ask. He was emotional, there was no doubting it, but Zana thought that he was also a little disappointed in his friends. Perhaps disappointed wasn’t the right word but this one, whatever his name was, was a thinker. He thought and considered deeply and it would be a poor whore who tried to get him not to. Spontaneous and exciting could and should still happen for him, and she suspected it did, but still he needed to have made peace with it first.

Leading him into the room where they would be alone, where her attention would be entirely on him and, more importantly she thought, his would be entirely on her, Zana knew that she would bed him tonight. That was already inevitable, with his wandering hands and his soulful gaze the man was intriguing. What she wanted, though, more than that was that he would leave feeling better.

Her hands on him provoked exactly the sort of reaction she wanted and needed from him and Zana felt her own response growing, her desire for him increasing as she saw and felt his reactions. He spoke again, though and he explained. He could see feeling? Her eyes watched him as he kissed the palm of her hand and then moving her hands back to his shirt. Zana smiled in pleasure at that and pulled herself tight to his hips as her fingers slid buttons out of buttonholes. But not just see it, apparently, touch worked as a conduit for his reading of emotions, too. Zana smiled at him and turned her gaze from his torso to his face.

Then, the table turned as she slid the shirt from him. She let out a moan of anticipation as he stepped closer to her and her hands moved over him, exploring the newly revealed bare chest. He cradled her face in his hands and Zana watched him as he moved forward and kissed her, a gesture she returned fully and with no hesitation. Her lips moved with his, her tongue explored his mouth and she pulled herself against him, the moan of anticipation turning to a deep sound of base and primal pleasure.

”Zana. My name is Zana. Would you like to tell me yours?” Her voice was whispered, breathless and thick with desire for him. When he said that he didn’t believe her, she smiled at him. ”Then look. Look at me, touch me and see what I’m feeling. I don’t think I’m the only one, no. But I know my own truth.” Zana watched him and, as his gaze searched what she felt, he would find her to be entirely truthful. Filled with desire and curiosity, amused and wanting him.

Then, he asked what made it different for her and Zana chuckled. She leaned forward and slowly trailed kisses down his neck and then back up so she could whisper in his ear. ”I am the daughter of an Immortal, sired by Delroth with his blood in my veins. I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t want to be.” She looked at him, stopping for just a moment. ”I want you. I also want you to enjoy being with me. When you look at me with desire in your eyes it makes me feel beautiful. When you touch me, it makes me feel wanted. I want you and when you want me back it escalates in a wonderful swirling of desire. I want you. So look, see the truth. Do you believe me yet?” With a smile, she watched him, one hand straying to his belt and a questioning look on her face. "May I?" she asked, although then she took the ribbon in her other hand and held it out.

"Or would you rather see your gift?"

Pleasure in the job puts perfection in the work

[Pash Raj'oriq]

“Pash Vy’ryn.“ He breathed his name quietly, unsure whether he was more distracted by her words of wanting, the pleasurable sounds he could easily elicit from her with well-practiced ease, or her pale hands on the tanned skin of his chest.

Pash was never entirely confident in what to expect when he peered beyond the masked, fleshy surface of other people in order to view the richly woven tapestry of their internal, emotional existence. He’d had varied experiences thus far, though, just as he’d been warned, so many of them had been negative. Still, the seafaring musician had begun to learn to navigate that sort of heaviness, to weave himself beyond the ugly in order to see the bright and beautiful colors of feelings such as happiness, excitement, generosity, and desire. Manipulating feelings—the actual strumming of threads he wanted to see acted upon by a person or the tying off of those he didn’t—were not really magics he had any intention of attempting with the blonde, though he had certainly done such things in the past with others such as generous-looking strangers on the street or belligerent drunks in a tavern. She didn’t require any convincing, obviously.

He inhaled sharply at all his fledgling Empathy allowed him to see, her tapestry so unexpectedly bright and vibrant with her purposeful touch, the tangled cords of her feelings thick and almost alive in a way that he’d never seen before. It was as if she was, indeed, cut from a different cloth. Gold flecks danced in the violet of his eyes, solidifying into a bright rim on the edges of his irises, and for a trill or two, Pash simply stood, pressed against her, not skilled enough to entirely process what he was seeing through the magical sight granted him by his spark. It was as if it took a whole heartbeat or an entire deep breath to focus, so blinding were the threads of her tangle that her very honest and very real feelings of desire and curiosity were consuming of his senses, his limited control and sensitive personality not forming a strong enough filter against their influence.

Pash exhaled a noise which could have been surprise or excitement or confusion or all of those things, closing his eyes in an attempt to end the flood of emotions. The tall Biqaj obviously enjoyed her lips on the now-flushed skin of his beck and against his ear, his hands pausing at her hips, though he may have been just as aroused by all he'd seen than simply her attentions alone. Either she was better than the average prostitute at hiding her true feelings or she was actually honest in her desire, and Pash was more or less convinced that the latter was the truth, that Zana enjoyed what she did and (importantly in this moment) that she wanted him.

Daughter of Delroth, she’d whispered. Immortals mingled with mortals, this he'd heard, but that they made children he'd only thought fantasy. And yet in further fantasy, she claimed she wanted him. The seafaring minstrel sighed, far too curious and admittedly turned on by her honest persistence in spite of how he was aware that this sort of seduction was her profession.

As well as her choice, it seemed.

His, too, now—heatedly needing to know what difference the blood of an Immortal made in mortal pleasure.

Pash opened his eyes when she teased him with another choice, her fingers at his belt that he was, at this point, aching to be free of, and her offer for him to undress her as if she were still a gift,

“I thought y’could multi-task, Zana ?”

He hummed coyly, adding her name with a wry sort of smile that revealed he was reluctant but willing to capitulate to whatever was to be his present, tugging gently at the the ribbon while shifting his hips in a way that implied she had his permission to continue, “What can th’ daughter o’ Vanity do that a daughter o’ man cannot? You’re no’ lyin’ that you’re different, that much I've seen in your sincerity. Show me, then.”

[Aeon]

Pash

Skill Knowledge:

Negotiation: It’s hard to say no when drunk
Psychology: Empathy magic can make you jaded
Rhetoric: It’ll be fine, there’s plenty of pretty ones
Empathy: Not everyone enjoys their job
Empathy: Some people are honest
Empathy: Touch makes everything more vibrant
Seduction: Honesty is sexy
Seduction: Not my coin, still my party

Other Knowledge:

[NPC] Torim: Pash’s second cousin
[NPC] Torim: Takes family to brothels for birth trials
[NPC] Djet: Serial infidelity
Brothels: You don’t think they’re genuine
Prostitutes: Fake it sometimes
Zana: Prostitute
Zana: Your birthtrial present
Zana: Chose you
Zana: Really does enjoy her job
Zana: Mortalborn, Daughter of Delroth
Zana: Finds honesty refreshing

Loot:

N/A

Injuries:

N/A

Fame:

N/A

Devotion:

N/A

Magic:

These points can be used for Empathy

Points awarded:

15

Zana

Skill Knowledge:

Cosmetology: How to look good in a negligee
Cosmetology: The "mussed" look is attractive
Cosmetology: A strategically placed ribbon.
Persuasion: Gentle teasing
Persuasion: Explaining how you're different
Persuasion: Finding common personality traits
Seduction: Showing your own desire increases theirs
Seduction: A kiss to accentuate each word
Seduction: Present yourself as a 'gift'

Other Knowledge:

Loot:

N/A

Injuries:

N/A

Fame:

N/A

Devotion:

N/A

Magic:

These points can NOT be used for Domain Magic

Points awarded:

15

Comment:

What a beautifully written thread. That's it; Beautifully. Written. Nothing more, nothing less. I enjoyed reading it, and I'm gonna go read the follow-up right now because I want more of your writing in my brain. Lol.

Feel free to PM me if you have any questions or concerns. Have a wonderful day!