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Taming the Wind

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It began as an experiment. A test of your abilities at calmly manipulating situations and keeping them from bubbling over. Meenah proved a highly worthy challenge in this regard, but this provided an entirely new set of variables you were unused to working with. Her reputation both daunted and drew you, until at last you said to hell with it. You would see if you could reign in the notorious Porrim Maryam.


As it turned out you could. She took to you quite quickly, expressing an addictive desire to spend her time with you. In reality she handled you, with her coy smiles and deft hands. That hadn’t been the plan and so often you were caught up in the excitement of it all that you forgot the purpose of it. You intended to examine your efforts. To look back on the various situations and ponder the results of your skills. Your truly flushing for the woman was fine, but you had something to study.


You did until you almost entirely forgot about that portion of the affair. It is nearing half a sweep into your matespritship with Porrim and you have tossed away your original intent. You instead simply move along with the matter, letting it occur as it does. Observations are made, but no longer are they your primary concern. No, as you bury your face into her chest that is but a secondary purpose. For the moment you merely wish to listen to her deep breathing as she rests. You wonder what it is she is doing on Prospit. She radiates a small bubbly warmth that washes over your mind. Whatever Porrim is up to on that golden moon she is at the least enjoying herself. In a calm fashion that lacks malice. You quite adore that about her. So many of the others can be so high strung all the time, yet Porrim is so very often grounded and mellow. It makes for the lovely respite from Meenah's excitable spite filled mirth or the nigh overpowering spirit behind Kankri's joy as he rants.


Which is not to say you dislike them. Quite the contrary. Still you can't help but smile and attempt to drown yourself in Porrim's delight. You close your eyes and nuzzle her lightly, hoping not to wake her. A part of you hopes she does, however, and it is that part of you that is satisfied. She stirs, shifting her head and searching about for you with a hand. Her movements are so much less graceful when she first awakes, but she still elicits a shiver from you as she playfully slides her nails up your back before pulling you into a loose hug. You take note of her mood shifts as well; you can't avoid doing so. She moves from a warmth to a fuzzy frustration. Only to slip into joy once more, one greater than the last. So you feel as she nibbles on your ear and says, “Ary, you really do hate to have anyone sleep near you, don't you?”


She giggles at you as you frown at her jab. “Really now, Porrim, it sounds as though you have been commiserating with Meenah. Must my tendencies be so assaulted first thing as you wake?” you question while attempting to squash the smile that dares come to you when she presses her lips against your head. You fail and take to hiding your face in shame, burying it yet further in her chest.


It does little and it's so futile. Porrim laughs that hearty giggle you have come to love. “Perhaps I have, though at the least I haven't called you Windfang,” she says while tightening her hold on you just so much. The change would mean so little to others, but it means worlds to you. So much so that you cannot respond to her and take instead to nipping lightly at her bare flesh. The action brings a blush to your face and you wonder if she knows that. Porrim is not an empath, but she is devilishly good at reading others. “Oh my. Is my little Ary striking a rebellion?” she coos at you while running her fingers in careful circular motions on your back. “Soon I will be besought by her grandiose speeches and clever verbal assaults. What a fiendish girl she is.”


Your plan completely backfired as it so often does with Porrim. She is drifting peacefully through a cloud of amusement while you search for words. It's so damned hard though when you feel it, that all encompassing wave of flushed affection that is directed towards you. It's so calm, yet so hideously passionate. Almost paradoxically so and it threatens to swallow you up. Still you find something to say. You need to talk. “Yes. My dissertation is carefully plotted, penned down in full. It addresses exactly and wholly, every vital point explaining why it is crucial that I be so 'long winded', as some of the others may deign to call me,” you say, your voice muffled by her skin.


Porrim giggles again and you feel ever the happier that she can't see your face. “Is that right? And how shall you combat my own argument, Ary? You know how I love a good struggle,” she answers back. The tone she uses in that last sentence, low and sultry, is almost enough to work you up. Only almost. It's that infectious need for you that comes forth from her, melding with your own emotions, that gets you.


You bite your lip and try to convince yourself that you just woke up from such activities. That there are far more important things to do. Still you can't ignore that Porrim wants you and badly. And so you say, “What rebuttal would that be?” knowing full well what will happen next.


She doesn't fail to satisfy. Your chin is lifted up and your face revealed for her to see. She's grinning at you and you wait desperately for the answer that you already know will come. You all but melt as she intones, “This,” before pressing her lips to your own, her tongue easily snaking its way into your mouth. No work will get done this day either.



Three more days pass and still no significant progress in your session is being made. Order is being kept, however, and that is important. Very much so. Meenah is being kept out of trouble. Being kept from wrecking hell upon the game for no other reason than the “shell of it”. Kankri is being carted around by Porrim to keep him from driving the others into rages. Sadly this typically just upsets Porrim so you attempt to take over her duties in handling Vantas. The two of you trade on and off with him and the system appears to work. Indeed your group of friends, while largely useless, are at the least peaceful. You pride yourself on this.


Things are not perfectly packaged up, however. Much to your mounting upset. You knew when walking into this the dangers involved, yet you went anyway. For the sake of exploration and knowledge. You have kept with it because you have truly grown flushed, amazingly so. Still it gets to you, her romantic inclinations.


You visit her land, a maze of cloth and amphibians. Silk and Frogs. The frogs lay trapped in silk, only appearing as beautiful embroidery. You quickly find her at her hive and catch a glimpse of Latula. Pausing you take to hiding behind a pile of silk. Latula's presence isn't so strange. She is the Knight and so designated to aid Porrim in her duties, but they aren't discussing the puzzles of this world and its consorts. They are drifting off to talk about tattooing, something wholly unimportant.


And it is there. That warm intensity and tugging pull. It runs over you and you turn the feeling over a few times, examining it. You know it so well though and a stab of pain makes you take a step back. You shake your head and assure yourself that you are being silly. Very silly. You aren't though. No matter how you look at the situation that desire radiates not from Latula, but Porrim. She is trying her damnedest, you know it. After that fight she has for months now. Her movements are strained, reigned in. You should be singing with pride, knowing that you have conquered Porrim Maryam. That she is now your matesprit and tied down. However you haven't won completely and you know it. The feeling makes you sick. It's tinged with a touch of remorse.

So you walk away, needing to clear your mind. You're being unfair to her. It is all you can do to ask that she keeps your matespritship exclusive. You can't police her every waking thought, even though a part of you wishes to. Because it pains you to know that she looks to others smoldering with the same want she has for you. You must ignore it though and so you trudge through her land looking for clues. Notes are carefully taken and sketches lovingly made. You are distracted for a time as you take into your hands a lovely piece of silk. The pattern is unlike that which you've seen before. It's charming, wonderful, with its unusual wave like designs. You captchalogue it, intending to bring it to Porrim as a gift. It shall serve nicely. You continue to pad along gazing on at her land and it comes back to you. She is flushed for Latula and lightly flirting with her. Grumbling you adjust your glasses and keep to your mission. You need to find clues. To take notes. But really the notes are so useless. You just need to get away.


A large room opens up, lit by gas lamps. Large bolts of silk tower above you. They could quite easily crush you if upset, but you rush in between them regardless. A maze is found beyond those first pillars of fabric and soon you are lost in a world of color. You trail a hand lightly along the silk, turning your mind to the feel of the fabric. It is smooth and lovely to the touch. And you have not been keeping track of your location. You typically sketch out a rough map of the mazes. They are not always accurate, but they are a great help to you. Now though you have nothing and your heart falls. You have not paid attention and you cannot gaze over the mountains of fabric. You are lost.


Looking back you spy a fork. Just your luck. The player who heals with fortune is damned by her own aspect. The irony is delightful. Or would be if you weren't hopelessly lost. Which is so far from optimal it deserves its own reward for this. It keeps you active though. You travel throughout the maze, this time taking down notes and you are blissfully distracted. It's frustrating and you can't find your way out because you keep arriving at the same dead ends, but you are distracted. That is what matters. You sit to rest and have a snack as you plot out a new strategy. The new strategy that is just the old one.


You continue on in this fashion for around two hours before at last you find a source of hope. Over the walls you can hear a call of, “Ary?” The sound is dampened by the fabric, but it's her. Porrim came looking for you. A rush of joy and relief hits you and you make to call back to her. You pause though, held back by implication. She came looking for you. She knew. Your stomach turns with guilt as she calls for you again. Her concern can be felt. She isn't far off and you know it, but it pains you. You choke up and lean against a bolt of silk, resting your face against the soft fabric. Porrim calls out again and you can grasp onto the feeling more. Worry, concern, regret. A calm torrent of pain twisting and writhing about, digging deeper and deeper.


Still you can't leave her to it. Nor yourself to your own pain. You push yourself up and though you feel weak you cry out, “Porrim!” The creaking in your voice annoys you and so you call out her name again. Your tone is more even now and your pitch louder. It steels you some.


“Ary! God there you are, girl,” she shouts back to you. Why must she hide things you ponder as you walk nearer to the source of her voice. At least you think you are walking towards her. “Well aren't really, but I'll find you soon enough. Getting lost in a maze isn't a very Serket thing to you, you know.”


You're walking away from the sound and correct your path some, keeping close watch over her mood as well. At the least that is a constant for you. You really don't want to though, you feel as you answer her, “I have decided to take to unpredictable courses of action as an experiment. To test my capability of keeping with it as well as to observe the reactions of others.”

She laughs, she is so very close now. You two no longer need to shout you think, but you will regardless. The laugh chills you though. Porrim needs to bring you both to joy once more and she is trying her best. She can't hide things from you though. None of them can. “Perhaps we could experiment in other ways, Ary? I've a few ideas of my own that I'm sure you'd enjoy,” she calls out.


“Porrim now is hardly the time for such discussion!” you retort. A small bubble of giddiness rises up in you, as well as annoyance. She is truly ridiculous.


But as she laughs again you realize that she is doing it again. She is bringing you back. “Really? This seems like the perfect time, honestly. No one around for miles while we're lost in a maze. Could certainly spice things up a tad,” she says lowering her voice. She sounds so jubilant. Yet she doesn't feel it. Not entirely.


Still you're too distracted by the frown that comes to your face. Porrim truly is loving, but god help you if she isn't careless. “You mean to say that you haven't been keeping track of where you have been going? In any form? Not even mentally?” you ask while peering down a corner. She is not there, smile on her face and simply glad that she can watch over you. Even if you're both damned by a lack of forethought.


“You mean like you have? You''ll have to share you maps with me, Ary,” she answers back sarcastically. The sound is closer and you pause to think on where to turn next. Left is a bad choice, though right could be a dead end. Hmm.


It's hard to though, when you want to glare at her and refuse to speak to her. Unlike everyone else you know she attests that your tendency to ramble is adorable. You wish she was lying. “I admit I have faltered in that area, but shouldn't my knight be more prepared? Saving a maiden from a burning tower is hardly useful if the two perish due to lack of proper planning on the heroine's part,” you state while still looking on at the fork. You will go left. Surely it will lead around to her, the right just being a dead end. You wait though, still ruminating.


“Ary I'm not a knight, planning isn't a part of my skill set,” she says while you listen on, trying to locate the direction of the sound. It's muffled still, but you feel that is may be coming from the right. Perhaps. Or behind you. Drat.


“Then how is my maid to save me? Are we to wander, powered only by concern and our discourse on the nature of the term maid and its gender biased implications?” you ask knowing that it may send her into another rant. You enjoy them though.


A rant does not come. Instead a pair of arms slide around your waist and you are pulled back. Though you know it is her your body still tenses briefly. You relax as she rests her cheek against yours. She lightly nuzzles you and gives you a small nip. It brings a smile to your face. As does the feeling of relief she feels. It wells up inside her, overwhelming her and driving away her worry, her guilt. You are safe.


You are still flushed for. That thought gives you pause. You cannot tell if it is her own feeling or your own wishful interpretation of her emotions. It troubles you and you tell yourself that you are being ridiculous, selfish. She presses her lips to your cheek, smiling into the kiss. “We can discuss our plans to give my title a gender neutral term once I have rescued you, Serket,” she says as she nuzzles you once more, rubbing her nose against your ear. She gives you a small nibbling while tightening her hold on you.


“Porrim this is hardly conducive to saving our lives. If anything it shall expend a deal of energy we can't chance to squander so easily. Not to mention that imps could be slinking about the maze unbeknownst to us,” you state. She chuckles again and, though you wish not to, you close your eyes, taking in all that she is. Just for a moment you lean against her and bring a hand to brush against her own. You rest it against hers and you turn your mind to her emotion. She is so warm and grateful, so very flushed for you. You treasure it. Porrim adores you, prizing you above all others. As you do her.


“Oh my, Ary. Quite the dirty mind you have there,” she starts, “I thought you were the prude between us. God, I must be a good influence on you.”


“Don't flatter yourself, Porrim,” you shoot back. Not because you are frustrated with her, but because you are with yourself. There are important matters to attend to. Ones that don't involve the teasing hand on your thigh. “I apologize. Honestly though we really must get somewhere safe and soon. I do have provisions and we are equipped to handles dangers, regardless it's best we make haste,” you say.


She hums lightly, the sound ringing through your very being, before letting go of her hold on you. As her hands slip away from you you feel relieved, yet disappointed. “I supposed you have a point,” she says with a hint of affected sadness. A wry grin cracks on her face and she adds, “Besides we always have time for that when we get back.” You notice then that one of her hands has lingered on your waist. The fingers trail away from your form, teasingly and you must be blushing because she giggles at you.


You turn away, draw in a breath, and say, “Yes indeed, such matters of a private nature could indeed be dealt with in the future. For now though let's be on our way, Porrim.” With a pit of awkwardness growing inside you you take a step forward, then another. She follows.


“I'll hold you to that, Ary,” she says while the two of you being your journey proper. You say nothing in response and merely frown at her briefly before flashing a smile her way. It is now time to focus on getting out of the maze of fabric you so stupidly trapped yourself in. As well as note the falling of Porrim's mood. It is gradual, slight. A slow chiseling away of her simple cheer and relief, but it is there. A gnawing feeling that you can only interpret as regret. You do not bring it up. Past experience has taught you that others find it rude and disturbing to have their emotions bared by you. Even if they know you can't help but notice them. It grows as you pass by a corner and continues to as you ponder over where to turn next. Until at last she says, “I apologize.”


You do not need to ask what for and it would be stupid to do so. A stab of guilt runs through you as well. It is your own, distinct from Porrim's for it is far more volatile. “I must admit to guilt as well. I'm sorry,” you say while trying to settled the feeling. You cannot still it so easily, however, and it lingers, biting away at you.


“Don't be,” she answers back. You search for a hint of dishonestly or uncertainty. Perhaps resentment. There is none to be found. Merely shame.


There are no words to give her. None that she will accept and so you say, “I see,” and nothing more.



A week later the two of you take to exploring her land. You mean to search for clues on how to free the frogs along with the Denizen quest, still hopeful that perhaps you can salvage the session correctly. Soon you are off track once more though. As you pad your way through LOSAF Porrim complains of Kankri. “I mean honestly the boy has a stick so far up his ass it's actually rather amazing. And he wonders why no one wants to listen to his 'sermons',” she states, arms folded in front of her and a frown on her face. She is smoldering with genuine upset, a small bubble of discontent.


It's not her typical annoyance with Vantas either. That is one marked by a slightly hint of affection. You have seen her like this before and you must confess to yourself at the least that you find it a rather intriguing thing to note from her. Even searching for a touch of arousal turns up nothing from her. Porrim is merely seething in a terribly platonic fashion and you hope that you can handle the situation well. You look across the way as you plan your response. A gap in the ground has come to you. It stretches far across the land yet it is so very narrow. You leap across it with some trepidation. Your feet find easy purchase and a rush of excitement and pride runs through you briefly. Mindfang can handle all dangers, you think as you smooth your skirt; it is a lovely piece Porrim made from that fabric you found. Porrim follows your example though she trips upon landing. To her side you hurry, but she pushes herself up on her own. Still you look her over just to make certain she is fine. Plans are laid to rest, for a moment.


“Like what you see?” she says teasingly with a grin. She's still burning with upset, but she is trying to set it aside.


You won't let her. With a small adjustment of your glasses you say, “Quite. You're far from injured, fatally or otherwise, and that's always a pleasure.”


She frowns at you before chuckling, “God you're no fun, Ary!” You feel a small rush of anxiety. She can't run from you and she knows it.


“No? That's a shame. I suppose I will have to join Kankri in the club of eternally insufferable bores,” you reply in a light joking tone. Perhaps you're being too pale right now, but things need to come out and order must be kept. And it's always so interesting to learn of her.


You push that down though as she walks on by you. Her mood has fallen to deeper annoyance and it hits you hard, threatening to pull you down with it. You don't let it and can't, following on behind her. “That's some threat there, Serket. You really want to join the little brat?” she asks.


She is shifting towards greater upset, yet it's still her own calm brand of such. Your challenge now is to keep her like this and bring it down. That's simple though. Porrim isn't like Meenah or Kankri. She's the hardest push over. Not including yourself of course. This in mind you fold your hands behind you and continue to keep pace with her. “Oh, I never stated that I would aid him in particular. Merely that I would join him in the designated no fun club,” you state as you eye her carefully. Her gait is just ever so more tense.


“Ary, Kanny isn't in the no fun club. He's got a club all to himself. Ranting to his blood pusher's content in his own personal stuck up buffoon rave,” she answers with a tone dripping with more discontent than you are accustomed to with Porrim.


“I suppose that might do us an initial favor in terms of keeping order. However on the large scale I don't believe such would be of particular use to us,” you say as you hop over a bolt of silk. Blasted things are everywhere. “While his role is not as crucial to our goals as your own, he does still have a great deal of utility to bring to our metaphorical table. Shouldn't we maximize our chances of victory?”


“We can maximize them just fine without Mr. High Pants deciding that he's emperor of everything important,” she shoots back. As you suspected it had to deal with her championing of female rights and gender equality. What Kankri dismissively referred to as “feminism”.


“Kankri is far from such and there is a place for all of our individual issues. We are seeking to create, of our own imagining, a new universe after all,” you say while taking into account your own mood. Her malcontent is flavoring your emotions, pulling you down. Yet everyone has a purpose and a right to speak. You can't let her feelings drag you down and you force yourself to stay on point.


“Now if only our darling trigger obsessed loony would realize that,” she says as the pair of you walk towards a maze. She pauses before entering it and turns to the right instead. You come to a grand chamber lined by rolls of fabric, thousands of feet high. There is no sky to speak of. Only fabric. Porrim grumbles before continuing, “Just because our species doesn't provide defined roles in matters of reproduction doesn't mean that it doesn't elsewhere. There's an ocean of bullshit he refuses to see because, oh, we have an empress!”


She is nearing her edge and you scramble to her away. “This is quite true or so I have come to understand after a great deal of research and rumination,” you begin while trotting up beside her. You lay a hand on her waist lightly, fingers trailing down to her hip. “Given time I'm certain that Kankri may come to realize such as well.”


Porrim laughs and says, “Kanny couldn't change his mind if the truth hit him in the snout and pulled his pants down.”


“And if he doesn't then we shall continue our work towards normalizing our society as best we can regardless.”


“What society? If you haven't noticed Beforus is rather dead and gone. There's twelve of us and one of them has decided there's nothing at all wrong with our gender roles,” she answers while pressing herself to you. Your hand slides across her form as you push nearer to her as well, drawing her into a loose embrace.


“The one we will seek to build, Porrim. You surely have as much say in its makeup as Kankri,” you say while you note her reluctance. She wishes to give in. To what you are not certain, but you are sure your guess is 88% likely.


“And until then we still have his insufferable raving about things he refuses to understand,” she states, her tone weakening some. She is bubbling with a small hint of desire. For you and simple times.


That thought brings a wide smile to your face even as she leaves your grasp. She steps forward and examines the fabric about her as she more than likely tries to fight for her frustration. You walk forward yourself and open your mouth to speak. The words do not get a chance to leave you. A sickly black tentacle runs through her chest. For a moment you are shocked into inaction. You can but look on as she staggers forth, stumbling over herself. Her hand flies to the wound, clutching at it; that creature pierced her heart. You look over the way to see an imp. It had been hiding among the trees of silk and now it had made its strike. Your knees feel so weak and you can barely make out that you have a body at all. Tears begin to fall as you watch her fall to the floor. You can't move. You can only look on as she fingers the floor, trying in vain to find aid. Or you.


A wave of fear hits you and boundless concern. Shame too. It yanks you down and you can't bear it. You drop to your knees and bring your hands to your head, pulling at your hair. The feeling will not cease and it is so very strong. It surges through you, beating at you relentlessly. Even as it ebbs away it overwhelms you. You sit there helpless and you feel her flame burn out, dwindling. And at last there is no more. Only your own feelings an you feel so horrendously sick. You yourself have felt it so vividly, the pains of death. Still you live and not she. And you did nothing to help her.


You open your eyes and see the imp slinking its way away. It means to escape while it can, but you will not let it. The creature has dared to steal from you and has ended a being's life who deserved something more. You should ignore it and let it be. There is still time to revive her. You cannot though. To your feet you rise and from you modus you retrieve the fluorite octet. It shall die. You toss the octet and the dice tumble across the floor before giving you a result you had hoped it would. A sword materializes before you and you take it in hand. You rush forth, stopping to gather the dice, and you begin your chase. The imp spies you with dread and scurries off. You won't let him get away, however. He has burned you and he must pay for it. The octet is sent out once more and it grants you another favorable result. You watch the imp's legs go limp, causing it to fall. It pales with fright and tries to pull itself away, using arms and tentacles to try and escape. Before it you stand and you bring the cutlass down upon its neck. The carapace is sliced through and through and the imp explodes into a shower of grist and ink. You can't care for the loot, however. It is ignored and you reach down to grab the octet. Your sword leaves you. Revenge has been had.


Still Porrim is dead and as you take a breath it finally dawns on you. You may have damned her. The window for resurrection is so small and you left it be, chasing after a pointless feud instead. You are supposed to be better than this and you turn to look upon her corpse filled with guilt. There still may be time. You run to her and struggle to lift her. It takes a moment, but you succeed in turning her over and pulling into your lap. The warmth of her body gives you some hope and without hesitation you press your lips to hers. You hold the kiss, praying that she will stir. She does not. Her body lay limply as it did before. You cling to the chance that resurrection will take time as you watch her. She does not move and your heart falls. Your vision blurs as tears well up. Porrim is dead. You hug her body as tightly as you can. She remains dead because of you. Never again will you awake to see her wry grins. You have killed her and you can but hold her as you weep miserably. She doesn't so much as twitch as you bury your face in her hair. Heat is leaving her slowly. Porrim is dead.


A rush of confusion hits you. Desire follows. A sort of primal hunger that is so alien to you though it bears a hint of familiarity. You pull her closer to you, hoping that it comes from her. The feelings make so little sense and they dizzy you, but it brings you hope. As does the groan she elicits. You made it in time. You saved her. Nuzzling her you can't but feel so relieved. Even though that hunger has grown into a predatory sort you feel so relieved. She lives once more and that is all that matters.


Until she moves at last. First you are overjoyed and can’t find your voice to tell all that you must. Next you are filled with fear as a pair of fangs sink into your flesh. They penetrate deep and she grabs you with a force quite unlike her. You gasp in pain and wince as your skin is torn open. A flow of blood can be felt and you whimper in distress. Still yet you are hit by a need for more and it horrifies you even as you can't suppress a small moan. Her tongue works on your neck hungrily, lapping at your cerulean blood with a desperate fervor. It's so strangely pleasant to feel even as you fear for your life.


The hungers dies down and confusion hits you once more. Your body goes limp in her arms and concern comes to visit you. It calms you some for it is so bright and warm. It is her. Still you are so weak now that you can but lay against her. You hear her say, “Ary? Ary, come on now you're gonna be fine.” She loosens her hold on you some and pushes you lightly off her. Your head is swimming and you're so happy yet so damned horrified. A light, brighter than any you have before seen, radiates off her. It threatens to blind you.


“Oh,” is all you can manage to say. You really mean, “Oh you are a rainbow drinker” or something similar, but you cannot manage it. The shock and blood loss have gotten to you.


She looks down at you in worry and it eases you to know that she is still herself. You crack a weak grin at her as she pulls from her modus a first aid kit. She digs through it and grabs a cloth that she presses to your neck. “You just hang on there, Ary. You'll be fine, just fine. Oh god fucking hell,” she says while looking through the kit for gauze and tape. The items are tossed in front of her and she removes the cloth for a moment to look at the wound. She frowns and takes to cleaning it. You can feel her upset; she is so angry with herself. How badly did she tear you up? More than she accepts is okay is all you can garner as she bandages your neck. She looks you over and cracks a remorseful smile. “You okay down there, Ary?” You can't speak but you nod and grope about for her; you're so numb you can't tell where she is. Even as she takes your hand in her own you can't feel her. “I'm going to get you back to my hive, all right? Just going to carry you there and you'll be fine. You'll be fine,” she says while snaking an arm under you, “You ready?” You nod and she lifts you carefully. The world spins about you and you grasp at her as you try to find your bearings. “Ary?” she asks.


She is so very concerned for you and so very alive. You will be fine. The smile on your face widens and you say, “I'm fine, dear.”


Porrim looks down at you, hesitant to go. You nuzzle her lightly and rest against her. At last she is convinced and beings her way back. You will be fine.



A month has passed and at last you can say that everyone is accustomed to Porrim's new found unlife as a rainbow drinker. You and the others have set up a rotation schedule for her feedings. It was a long, arduous process filled with much argument and bizarre tangents. As well as one particularly long fight between Kankri and she. Still, stressful as it was, it was necessary. Individuals needed time to allow their necks to heal. Even if it makes you grumble and fume silently to know that she must flirt and tease with everyone she feeds on. You tell yourself it's just part of her charm.


It seems to work and when she returns from feeding off Damara you can only feel a slight twinge of jealousy. She grins widely at you as she waltzes over to you. You are seated on a small pile of silk, studiously reviewing your notes, and she pulls you into an embrace. She rests her chin on your shoulder and nuzzles you lovingly as a hand sneaks its way to your thigh. Her fingers graze your skin lightly and they peak just ever so slightly under the hem of your dress. There is a tiny burn of arousal that hits you. You set her feelings aside as well as your own. At the least you attempt to as you say, “Hello there, Porrim. You are aware that typically a verbal greeting is standard before such intimate touches, yes?”


She giggles at you and plants a kiss on your shoulder. “Always have to be the traditional one don't you, Ary?” she states while hitching your dress up, “Healthy deviation from the norm is rather fun I think.”


You look down at your notes still trying to ignore her efforts. It is difficult when pangs of want hit you from both yourself and her. Still you have work to get done. A brief annotation is made as you say, “I daresay one of us needs to be. A more vanilla approach can be just as rewarding after all. The build up prior to the encounter creating a delightful mounting in mood and the simplicity bearing with it a sort of charm.”


“All this coming from the girl who wanted to play pirate in bed one night,” she says jokingly. You feel a brief spurt of pain from her, yet also her amusement at giving you a good ribbing.


“I hardly find that instance relevant to my typical style,” you say with a frown. You know she is joking and that the wound is mostly closed yet still you can't help but feel so foolish for it all. Her habits and beliefs were known and yet you stupidly decided that the word wench was a fine and lovely one to use.


She must notice your discomfort as she tightens her hold on you. “Oh but it is. There's a little deviant in you, Ary,” she says in a sultry tone before giving your ear a light bite, “She's quite the lovely thing as well. So very fond of tying me up.”


Except when you let a word slip that you shouldn't have and then strive to defend yourself. Perhaps she is too sensitive about it, but you hassled her and called her things you should have not. You think of how you fumed in your hive, alone and wearing that ridiculous gamblingnat hat that you adore. A charged and ultimately embarrassing journal entry was penned. You push the thought away and look instead towards her want. It is brimming up inside her and she has taken to nibbling on your ear persistently as she presses herself closer to you. You find words,” While there may be veracity in this claim, I must remind you that you're not quite the eternal master of salacious debauchery that you present yourself as.”


“Oh?” she intones while nuzzling you. Her mouth travels down from your ear to your neck. She kisses you and says, “There's an innocent troll in me is there?”


Her hand has sneaked its way to the hem of your panties. Two fingers slide between the fabric and your skin, teasingly. You are finding it hard to be upset, though you are also finding it hard to work. The pen in your hand is so very useless for the time being and so you set it down. It rolls off your lap, but you can't bring yourself to care as you answer her, “You do indeed have a fondness for the simpler and more traditional side of these matters. Just as I may harbor a fondness for the more risque in bed.”


“May harbor?” she asks while sneaking yet more of her hand in, her fingers now resting against your bare pelvis.


You are blushing, you know you are. So you wriggle about a tad as you say, “Yes. May harbor.” A sharp bite is given to your neck that makes you gasp in pleasure. The thought of her, a lovely rainbow drinker so skillfully bringing a pirate to her knees, metaphorical or no, comes to you. It's distracting and you must finally admit, “Perhaps it is more definite than maybe.”


“Is that right?” she says before laughing a deep, husky laugh into your neck.

“Yes indeed it is,” you say as you bite your lip. She is brimming with joy and anticipation, and that need for you that drives you mad.


“Good,” she says while sliding her hand out from your panties. “I'm not feeling in the mood for simple at the time. What about you, Ary?”


There is a frustrating ache and you can't but love her for it. Your hands travel to her dress and you cling to the silky fabric as you answer, “At the time being I must answer in the negative.”


“Good,” she says once more and for a moment you believe that you are fine with matters. You cannot tame the wind, but would you love her if you could?