08-27-2014, 07:43 AM
Jaxen made sure to hide his uncertainty behind a gossamer smile. The guy didn't sound too convinced about his so-called titles, but what else was there to call it? Jaxen was actually quite alright with being called a god.
Tarin put his hand on Jaxen's forehead like he were seeking a fever, which given his history was not too alien an idea, but a sensation rippled like worms under his skin and Jaxen immediately tensed, poised to spring up and round a defense against the man. The accompanying sharpness in his eyes was dangerous, even if his tongue forked silvered coaxing, but he gripped the armrests and remained still. "Shouldn't you buy me dinner before mind raping me?"
Whatever Tarin did, it was over fast, and Jaxen sat back in his seat, considering, but not particularly aggressive. He still felt like himself, and if his good bits had been swirled around inside, he couldn't tell.
So they called him Tarin. What a strange ass name. Then again, given the circumstances, his name fit right in.
In turn, Jax drummed his fingers on the arm rests and crossed one leg over the other. His cashmere coat fell away at his waist, and the sinuous lines of a tattoo peeked across his chest, obfuscated by the opacity of his shirt. He had a moderate to slender build, one that fit with the charming way in which he wormed into the center of people's attentions. He was additionally a pleasing looking fellow on the eye, but when the intensity of his focus turned on Tarin, it swallowed the man whole. Judging by Jaxen's posture and clear-eyed gaze, there was little else but the two of them.
"Let's see. Back home they call me all kinds of fond pet names. I think my last lay called me a 'precious little flower.'"
A showman's grin flashed, but only to transform into a simpler answer. Tarin had outright asked his name, after all. "But in regular circumstances, my name is Jaxen."
He was proud of his name. It slid across the tongue like a finger on ice: smooth and chilling.
Tarin put his hand on Jaxen's forehead like he were seeking a fever, which given his history was not too alien an idea, but a sensation rippled like worms under his skin and Jaxen immediately tensed, poised to spring up and round a defense against the man. The accompanying sharpness in his eyes was dangerous, even if his tongue forked silvered coaxing, but he gripped the armrests and remained still. "Shouldn't you buy me dinner before mind raping me?"
Whatever Tarin did, it was over fast, and Jaxen sat back in his seat, considering, but not particularly aggressive. He still felt like himself, and if his good bits had been swirled around inside, he couldn't tell.
So they called him Tarin. What a strange ass name. Then again, given the circumstances, his name fit right in.
In turn, Jax drummed his fingers on the arm rests and crossed one leg over the other. His cashmere coat fell away at his waist, and the sinuous lines of a tattoo peeked across his chest, obfuscated by the opacity of his shirt. He had a moderate to slender build, one that fit with the charming way in which he wormed into the center of people's attentions. He was additionally a pleasing looking fellow on the eye, but when the intensity of his focus turned on Tarin, it swallowed the man whole. Judging by Jaxen's posture and clear-eyed gaze, there was little else but the two of them.
"Let's see. Back home they call me all kinds of fond pet names. I think my last lay called me a 'precious little flower.'"
A showman's grin flashed, but only to transform into a simpler answer. Tarin had outright asked his name, after all. "But in regular circumstances, my name is Jaxen."
He was proud of his name. It slid across the tongue like a finger on ice: smooth and chilling.