Thread: Open Skies, Smoking Guns(Myself x F R O S T)

As much as the view was wonderful, she was still a little uneasy, admittedly. While the blonde didn't feel much in the way of fear, she was, at least for the moment, still bound and at the dragon's mercy, and she didn't want to anger him, lest his wrath spill her undoing. Still, she couldn't help but notice that, far from angry or on edge, he seemed almost....playful. It didn't make her feel much less like prey, but now at least she figured she would be the kind that was toyed with, rather than the prey that was chewed up and spit out. Whether that was better or not was hard to say, but, well, she had read quite a few tales of dragons, and they painted them in....a playful light, to be sure, but, at least with Quicksilver dragons, like Mercury, less likely to draw blood or injure her, more likely to....she didn't want to dwell on the thought, but with a shirtless dragon in front of her, and a damn pretty one at that, it was hard not to let her thoughts go there. Damn her habit of reading dirty legends and myths. She was going to be her own undoing! Well.... She began, perhaps with some slight amount of hesitation, wanting to make sure he didn't have more to say about warriors and their dreams before she continued. When it seemed safe to proceed, she picked back up. I imagine that if you can't die in battle, it speaks well of your prowess. After all, if none could strike you down, that left you the greatest warrior. Albeit, there were plenty of problems with that, and it was unlikely to happen, since it didn't take much more than someone with a gun to put down a warrior, no matter how skilled. Plenty of other ways one could go out, too, that didn't involve the glorious melee of combat, but dwelling on those didn't tend to do anyone much good. Better to think yourself likely to go out fighting. Not quite as climactic, though. She pointed out. Both getting gunned down or passing away quietly in your sleep were far less flashy, less honorable, less desirable methods of going out. There were worse ways, but those didn't rate up there with the ideal of glorious combat. It would be quite the story to best a dragon. Even if I were to die doing so. She agreed, though she did feel compelled to add on. But dying to one less so. Plenty of people were killed by dragons. Unless she did something special in the process, that would hardly rate her a mention on the side in tales and legends. Her gaze lowered, lingering only briefly at his waist before she tore it down to his legs, watching his talons tap thoughtfully against the ground, making an interesting clicking noise as they did so. She had noticed as much when he had first approached, too. The noise almost seemed to lend an air of gravity to his actions, the slow approach, the thoughtful tapping. All very dramatic, and probably not even intentional. Just went to prove why dragons were so revered. Mere moments later she got a good look at his fangs, too, gleaming white and every bit as deadly as the rest of him, but as with his demeanor in general, there was a predatory, delighted look in his smile. Assuming human expressions translated over, he was no doubt enjoying himself. Her eyes flicked ever so slightly downwards when he tilted his head, taking in, briefly, his chin and neck, but she was doing an admirable job, for the most part, of holding his gaze as she spoke. Piracy was a given, but it was good to have it spelled out again, clearly, for her. She wanted to make sure she knew what she was getting into when, and more importantly, if, she agreed to sign on with the crew. Fighting was definitely in her blood, and while she could probably manage well enough with a cannon, or a rifle, she would doubtless be most at home on the deck, with steel in hand. She could only hope that if she ended up there, she didn't have to cross blades with any of her old comrades. She would hesitate, she suspected, and that might be enough to get her killed. She didn't intend to let her mind linger on that thought, though. It was unlikely and unpleasant, and there was a lot of other information she had to process. Chief among that information was the fact that she wouldn't be stuck doing grunt work, which was a relief. Much as it would build muscle and character, there were far more pleasant ways of managing that, which Merc would cover shortly after by mention of sparring. Another look at those fangs as he chuckled, which was more pleasant than foreboding, and she could almost swear that she felt his laugh as much as she saw it. I don't intend to hang for piracy. She assured her, a statement of fact as much as a promise. Whatever form getting out of that took wiles, dying fighting, or cutting her way to freedom, she would not be on her knees when she died, unless it was with a sword driven through her. Besides, with how rife corruption was, there was surely someone that could be swayed to aid her, if she, by some miracle of whatever gods her opponents swore by she was captured. Arcadian Sky Knights? Truly it would be a strange day to find herself pitted against them. They would have to vex someone important, or consistently thwart regular authorities for that to happen, but she would concede it wasn't entirely out of the question. She wasn't fooled by his feigned shiver, but that wasn't to say that the slight vibration along his body wasn't appealing. The view didn't get any worse as he knelt before her, her gaze following him down, and continuing past his eyes to drag slowly along his leg, cursing the cloth that hid away his thigh and the rest of what she was interested in seeing. So caught up in her thoughts was she that it took her a long moment before she understood that purpose behind him feeling along her curves, finally getting a hint for what lay beneath her outfit. She didn't have a chest to compete with the neko, but she wasn't without curves, either, as he would find out, likely cutting quite a striking form beneath the brown and steel colors she wore. Her muscles weren't overt enough to conceal her shape, only leave it firmer, and if he was bold enough to let his grasp stray near her rear, he would find it deliciously firm and curvaceous. It took until he had withdrawn the plain, but deadly looking knife, which he would need to reach into her outfit to retrieve, for her to regain her composure, at least enough to play coy. No idea how that got there. Not that it would fool him, though he might be too distracted by her only slightly successful attempts to beat back the scarlet creeping onto her cheeks as he searched her to care about the flimsy excuse. Was she almost a little disappointed at not being tied up by the big bad dragon anymore? Perhaps. She did, however, rub her wrists to get the circulation going, the binds not uncomfortably tight, but the position not particularly desirable, either. One hand came to rest near, but not on, the blade left at her side. She was still a warrior, after all, and old habits died hard. She couldn't tell if he was introducing her to the crew or lap dancing for her at this point, reality blurring the lines with the perverted little fantasies up in her head as he ran his talons along his upper body, her eyes eagerly following the hypnotic motion down to his belt, not missing the sultry look he shot her, but finding the rest of the view too enticing to linger long on it. That was a valuable coin, make no mistake about that. In another situation, the mention of how he had taken it from the merchant might cause her to murmur an embittered comment about how they might have been paid well. The money went to her commander first, after all, and then trickled down through the ranks. There would be no missing the discontent there. As it stood, though, she found her throat dry, and she didn't want to risk shattering the perfect picture in front of her by speaking unnecessarily. No, but I've...heard.... many ...tales. The blonde began, though the comment didn't last long on her tongue before tapering off, once more rendered speechless as he let out a slow, languid stretch, watching his wings expand to fill the space of the room that they were in, unsure of where to look and, as a result, greedily drinking in as much as she could, eyes drifting all across his exposed, and frustratingly covered, form. Damn, where had the time gone? Before she knew it, the stretch was over, and he was merely standing before her, no longer arching his back and presenting that delicious form, slender but far from soft, to her. The talk of him disliking clothing, not to mention remembering the subject of the tales that she had so casually brought up, causing the scarlet color to resurface on her fair cheeks, nodding slowly. N-no, I would like that very much. Sparring too She was ready to be on her feet, though, and so she slowly grabbed the knife, leaving her hand in plain sight so he didn't think her hostile, and reaching out for some purchase to pull herself up. For better or worse, the closest thing was directly in front of him, the dragon's belt. Whether it was intentional or happenstance, the blonde was left either way using it to pull herself to her feet. Risk of disclothing Merc aside, it would be ever so interesting to know what tales she had heard about his kind. Most telling, though, was the unmistakable scent of arousal, if only budding, that Merc would find impossible to miss so close at hand. He certainly was having an effect on the warrior, and he would probably delight in that.