The Bird and the Barbarian(closed)

[Benedict Marsten]

From his arrival the clansmen king was active.  The action appears quite the norm for such an occasion, approaching beautiful women and charming them. If one looked long enough they would see his type. Oddly enough he left all he encountered with no more than a chaste kiss and a few with disappiontment.

The king was in between raven haired suitors and nursing a wine glass. In the process of rejecting a petite young lamb, the movement of black feathers causes the yellowed skull to pull up sharply to the left. The empty dark sockets centering on the pale white skin contrasting those feathers of the beautiful Raven. "Pardon..." He does not complete his sentence or let his eyes of the bird, but simply leaves the lamb standing behind.

Approaching the new distraction from behind he reaches out to lightly touch her shoulder. "Excuse me, Raven. Are you on a silly lowland maesters errand to deliver a message or might a man of the blood of the First Men have a word." Surely a far cry above the spoken language of most clansmen, but it accentuated his costume all the same.

[Gwyneth Drakeson]

The Lady Raven turned around and looked up at the skullface hovering before her.

"You may have a word if you like, but mind those words well. Ravens never forget what they hear. This is a secret the maesters will take to their graves. Ravens listen, and ravens know."

Gods, this was fun. Everything else aside, Gwyn was enjoying spouting drivel at people and having it sound somehow profound.

Her eyes roved over the man in the costume, and the costume itself. She concluded that he had seen clansmen, most likely in action...because most who saw the clans in battle gear did so while they were raiding, or fighting. The mask was especially well done...Gwyn hadn't seen a whole lot of skulls before, but this did look like dried bone. She couldn't think of anything else that had that subtly porous texture.

Ye gods, had someone actually made a mask of a skull? What a madman! How delightful!

"So, man of the moon mountains, what missive shall I bear for you?"

[Benedict Marsten]

A crooked smile parts his thick auburn beard at what most would consider her nonsensical words. His eyes cannot help but pass over once agian, lingering for a brief second on her bare shoulders and neck. "The first men know this to be true. Though I doubt your Maesters know or believe such. And they would squeal it out to save their sorry hides from death and the grave. This I know. This means you hold a great many secrets little bird. Making you a valuable prize to be ... taken or ... set free."

This Bird was obviously noble, the workmen ship of the costumed showed this. The choice was alluring. The raven was truly a powerful part of all westerosi culture. She suited it well, lithe, mysterious, yet powerful under it all.

"My missive? Tell the Andal women of the moon the true protector of the Vale comes." His words are followed with a wink, almost missed through the withered socket of his skull mask. His choice of words amused him, so close to truth, but distant enough from identity. Truly he wished to let Corrine know he was here and truly he was named Protector of the Vale by Lady Arryn.

[Gwyneth Drakeson]

A wink?

Something crashed thunderously in on Gwyn.

He thinks he knows who I am. His words aren't just part of his costume; they're some kind of recognition code.

Everything swirled, re-aligned. An accurate clansman costume. Protector of the Vale. Was this someone she knew? Kevan, perhaps? Benedict? Surely not, he was too stodgy by far. Unless...maybe if Corrine had put him up to it? Gwyn thought Corrie would melt into a puddle of embarrassment three steps into this place, but people COULD surprise you.

More likely coincidence. A hedge knight with some tourney winnings, or an officer in the Marsten or Tullison forces who'd saved his money. Seven Hells, would Dunstan come to this? That thought brought a helpless grin to her face. He might attend...but she didn't think he had it in him to dress up like this. He'd dress like a hero out of the Age of Legends, in shining mail and a greathelm. Set loose from all propriety, he would indulge his old fantasy without restraint.

Oh, gods...the kind thing to do would be to gently set him straight and let him keep trawling for whoever he was really looking for. But where was the fun in that?

"Will you tie that note to my leg?" she inquired huskily, moving one leg forward so it parted the feathers of her skirt, showing it well up along the thigh. She let him have his look, then drew it back beneath the concealing black pinions.

"I will need more than just a bit of food to fly for you tonight though." Gwyn offered a slim, pale arm. "Dance with me."

[Benedict Marsten]

His eyes widen and his lips form a tight "o" when her leg moves out from its feathered hiding spot. "These hands are meant for two things. Unfortunately that is not one. Though I could think of much better things to do with that graceful limb. Some may even involve tying." He couldn't help but chuckle. The thought of this all was still a bit absurd.

Gently he took the proffered arm, where the skin contacted it was easy to detect numerous scars. Hidden skillfully behind makeup and paint. "How much could a little bird like you require?" Though he had the feeling this bird could be quite demanding.
That feeling led him to believe this was not his intended prey.

She may be playing full well into this strangers act. If not she was by far one of the most interesting companions he had met so far this evening. No gluttonous sexual desire, gross drunkness, or pitful conversation. Just mystery, underlying power, and raw beauty. He would dance and enjoy her company. No harm there.

[Gwyneth Drakeson]

And so they danced.

If there'd ever been doubt that the Raven Lady was of noble birth, three steps with her dispelled that notion. She moved with all the poise and confidence of step that he'd grown accustomed to in his Lady wife...though the longer they danced, the more differences he could spot.

She seemed to take some perverse delight in teasing him though, throwing a bit more sway into the dance than was strictly required, and improvising a few twirls that did very interesting things to the feathers of her gown without ever quite going too far. Flashes of leg, of midriff, of hip. One moment she would step in and be pressed against him, warm and soft and shaped to fit against him...but on the next beat of the music she would be at arms length again, or spun away and in need of recapture. And always those emerald eyes, laughing at him from behind the black bird's mask, enjoying his reactions.

The Raven led a merry chase, always close enough to take hold of, but never quite in his grasp.

[Benedict Marsten]

Dancing was a skill learned late in Ben's life. He didn't learn till he was a squire at house Marsten. His beautiful young teacher and partner quickly became his young heart's desire. She was ever graceful and patience with her pupil. Though she did love to tease him.

This dance was no such dance. He felt a racing pulse and a building anticipation. It was like a furious duel or game, where winning was the only option. His hand brushed soft skin for a half breath before it was gone. The moments of soft pressure sent his mind racing and his body to do what was natural. His eyes widening a bit in embarrassment before grinning at his own state. Nothing of which slows him in his pursuit. By the end the Ravens playful eyes were leading him, not the flesh. The same glowing emeralds as his teacher.

Laughter breaches his restraints at how far from ridiculous that would be. He plays it off as joyfulness at the game they play. "Your are every bit a dangerous little bird. Quick and powerful."

[Gwyneth Drakeson]

"And cruel, sometimes," Lady Raven admitted, a giggle in her voice. "Though in truth, it was not my intention to tease you so. Your attention flatters me, and it is very...hard...not to perform for you."

Her fingertips landed at his waist on the word 'hard,' perilously close to his condition, but again maddeningly not quite where the animal in him wanted them to be.

Then she looped her arms around his neck, embracing him though she had to stand on her toes to get a good hold.

"You haven't tried to lead me away, nor even put a hand wrong upon me...so tell me, clansman. Is there a particular woman of the Vale you're going to 'protect' tonight? Or is it the beak?"

[Benedict Marsten]

As her talons land in their so close but so distant position. A short deep exhale escapes him. His teeth clench his bottom lip and his eyes close tightly for the briefest time.

The change of attack does little to relieve his growing burden. It now being trapped between them. God's damn it! Think you fool listen to her words not her pulse.

Instinct overrides his addled brain. His own hands falling to her backside with a gentle but firm presence. Before his head can start the natural tilting motion, his senses regain.

"Little bird, I can tell there is more to you than sexual deviancy. You could have any piece of flesh you wanted. You could have had it at the drop of that dress. You tease and toy with the control you have. Making it very hard to resist your sensual power. Many a lusty fool must have spoken a many a word to you this evening. Ravens listen and Ravens know. It was a fun game though." He squeezes just a bit for emphasis.

"I will confirm your own cunning. You are right on both accounts. There is a Lady." His right hand moves slowly up to cup the sable mask. "And that damn beak does make thanking my dancing partner difficult. Perhaps it secondary purpose?" In control again he allows the reflexive position of his chin to imply his intention, but ever the gentleman, awaits acknowledgment.

[Gwyneth Drakeson]

"It has been fun," the Raven agreed. If she had an issue with the clansman's impertinent hands, she didn't show it.

She pressed herself against him again, as unselfconscious as a cat in her sensuality. It was impossible not to wonder how thick those feathers were...what if anything was underneath. Her head tilted up and to one side.

It was a thrill, Gwyn had to admit, holding a man prisoner in his body like this. As much as she loved her husband, familiarity bred a kind of reserve...they had no surprises for one another now. It didn't make them less passionate, but it did make moments like these more difficult to capture.

With pressure from her arms, she guided the taller man to where cushions in a pile made a kind of seat.

"Sit," she said. When he had, their eyes locked on one another, the Lady Raven continued to say, "Nothing makes thanking me difficult but your own limitations. Allow me demonstrate."

And then she was pressing her face down and forward against the skull, the raven mask against the mask of death. Their lips never touched, but there was a kind of connection even so in how their bodies came together, in how their faces slid across one another. Her hands found his cheeks, and her fingertips just barely worked under the edges of the skull...as if to pry it away, though she did not. As his fingers tightened on her backside, she let some of her weight down onto them.

Then she straightened again, pulling a bit away from him and breaking the 'kiss.'

"You see? We are not wearing masks tonight. These are our faces. Kiss your lady from the Vale like that, and I am sure what follows will be even more worthy of thanks than our short dance together."

[Benedict Marsten]

His mine screams at her returned pressure and the thought of what little, kept him from her at this very point. Both in terms of material and control. He collapses onto the cushions with no resistance. Wait. Wait. Resist. This would go no further than a thank you he assured himself with conviction. The blood in him continues to deny his mind, as she closes in on him.

Calling his hands to catch hers before she can raise his mask is futile. They simply tighten their current grip. A large rush of air leaves him as she pulls back. He now realizes he has been holding his breath. The departure of her warm body, brings about a cold chill, notifying him of his current state, devoid of her presence.

The strong grasp eases as his hands slide around to her hips. His thumbs resting lightly over the bones there. His mind searches for a dynamic response or even some witty banter. It does not come. Take action fool! With that he uses his new found grip and her feelings of control to reverse their positions. The tactic finds him kneeling between her now seated legs hands still firmly on her hips. "I thank you, Lady Raven. And tell you that any man who finds himself where I am now, by your choice, is a lucky man."

[Gwyneth Drakeson]

"Or a very frustrated one," Raven quips with an audible smile. "Though I suppose that isn't mutually exclusive"

There was a temptation to keep going, to see if she could break him, but she knew that this was straying quickly into murky waters. Fun was fun, but there was a point where it turned dark, where it became something destructive. If she hadn't crossed that line, she was very close to it. Hopefully the worst outcome of all this was that this man's wife or...whoever it was he was after...would be getting an especially vigorous evening of sport, and that she would be missing Baelon a bit more than usual. No one was hurt yet, in hearts minds or bodies.

But there was a child's fascination with the game lurking in her heart. The same fascination that compelled them to squish ants or pull dogs' tails. What happens if I do this? Can I make you do that? It cared nothing of consequence, of empathy...it just wanted to see how far it could go.

Maybe he was lucky after all.

"Good night, mountain man," said the Raven. She let her fingertips brush along the front of the skull's forehead. "It's time for me to fly, or your lady will not get your message before you can track her down and make up for lost time. You will protect her...but who will protect her from you?"

Her tone was light, jesting again.

[Benedict Marsten]

The physical allure of the Raven was more than most men's dreams, but it was not what had kept him enthralled. It was her skillful control of the situation and of he himself. It was that she was able to manipulate him out of his normal path of action. She made his body command physical attention, ... but not hers. The body she could goad, not his heart. That thought remained present like a knight in vigil. She had lead him were very few ever had. One in particular came to mind.

"Again thank you, my Lady Raven. I have met very few with your ability to control. One in particular who took hold of me as young sq-man." His mind almost betrayed him. "Eyes like, my ladies as green as mountain hillocks, lured me from my chores for some grand adventure. It was an enjoyable if ... unfulfilled time. I wondered if she knows of the beating I received from my master later or if she cared." With the soft groan of one who lives with incessant pain of a warrior, he rises. As he does his fingertips trace from her hips across her still open thighs to her knees. The new discussion did little to subside the state she had worked him into. Politely shifting his stance to the side he offers a her his callused hand.

"One last question before we part, little bird. Do you players often care about us pieces or are we just that?"

[Gwyneth Drakeson]

Gwyn did feel a stab of guilt at that question. Was that what she'd been doing?

Don't play innocent. You know perfectly well what you were doing.

"A heartfelt question, so a heartfelt answer," she replied. "But I don't know if it will satisfy. The answer is sometimes. Especially when one is young, and learning what one can do, the practice of such a craft races ahead of the awareness of the consequences. In those times, we can hurt those we do care about...sometimes without understanding that we're doing it. I don't see the world in players and pieces. There are people. Some are useful, some are not, and there is calculation in that. Some I care about, some I do not, and that is from the heart."

She paused and added, "Were I to meet some of the people from my past, the ones I hurt without appreciating it, I would offer apology and not offer excuse. It is my hope that I have learned better than to casually tread on the ones close to me now, even as a squire, or man, might learn not to threaten the brother at his side with every swing of his sword as he did when he swung wildly and without discipline."

"But of course, no apology can remove the scars of past offenses, by sword or by subtler arts."

The Raven took his hand and stepped back a little, tugging him to bring him back to his feet.

"Yet, for all you suffered, you have turned out to be a man of great honor and devotion to every test I can put you to. I may not be able to speak for your green-eyed temptress, but you have my sincere admiration."

[Benedict Marsten]

"And you mine for your honesty. I say those apologies may help more than you know. Just the acknowlegement alone may be enough." At first her words or play of them seem to him as if she knows. It could not be. She simply took his words and what little information he had given her fit them to seem so. Squire, warrior, scars. Exhaling a small laugh at his far-fetched idea, he begins to back away her hand still in his own.

"Good evening, my Lady. And may you remember all you hear tonight and use it wisely." His fingertips hold to hers as he reaches a distance away.

[Gwyneth Drakeson]

In a fit of amusment, the Raven slips her hand around Ben's, taking it as a knight might take a lady's hand. She raises his knuckles to her lips and kisses them before releasing his hand.

"Good evening."

[Benedict Marsten]

Ben can do naught but laugh. "Silly little bird."

(ooc: anymore sage wisdom, Westerosi twerking, or goofy antics? Or is that scene?)

[Gwyneth Drakeson]

(smells like teen scene! Danke sir!)

[Sponsored content]