Thread: Wolves Hunting Wolves~ Sir Broken && Evette

Her heavily lashed eyes drank in the sight of claws and fur wrapped tenderly around a glass jar of strong dark ale. The dying embers of the firepit emitted a flush of orange that entangled the fur, looking more unreal than real, and Ambrosia felt her breathe hitch in her chest for a moment no air escaped her lips. Fear whispered a cold chill upon her neck, and an inkling of excitement touched the beating of her heart. It is moments such as these that test the blood what we are made of, isnt it, dear? She though laughably to herself, trying to comb through the unease that threatened to botch her plans. Ambrosia was no warrior, but that just meant her weapons werent a sword or steel. She was not one to scared away or intimidated by just anything. Courage could come in many forms stupidity, mischief or even, at times, boldness, and Ambrosia galvanized her feelings, taking in the wholeness of his forearm, following her eyes up his bicep, armored shoulder and finally, a glance at his face. Peering over her clothed shoulder, she flickered her eyes over his, mustering all of her fear and turning it into something else, something more dangerous. This wolf was her challenge, and in this instance, her eyes revealed no fear. Instead, a playful smile touched her lips. Ambrosia was not new to the taste of mischief, never really doing as she was told in her previous life, and getting used to the new skin in brightly colored skirts, scabbed knees and dirt-beneath-the-fingernails was nothing she couldnt handle. Not to mention, being unlady like enough to sit on a bar counter, was something she could get away with as Ambrosia the transient, not Ambrosia the lady. Smiling at his obvious lamentable attempt to divert her attentions, she did just that. Turning herself around, she pushed herself up onto the wooden bar top, facing him now with crossed legs and exposed knees. Peacock green and caramel brown skirts lifted to just above her shins, naked ankles and sandaled feet. You must be mad, then, she said, amused, reaching back she deftly grabbed a bottle of Marian Ale the gypsys back arched against a red corset as she leaned back deftly, revealing her wears of a loose chocolate dress and baggy sleeves. Her skin wholly clothed saved for the naked skin of her legs, she turned to face him completely, knowing now that she could take in his full appearance. She played along with his sobriety then, drawing her eyes from his to the glass in his fingers, Ambrosia carefully reached down to place her hand over his, tilting the large glass to an angle so that she may refill it. ..As you see.. she began, only mad men can turn away a lovely kiss of ale on this ere Winters Eve. Perhaps you are in no need of warmth, then? When the cold comes, love, it aint that lovely coat that will keep you warm when it grows dark an fires die. Again, she smiled, pulling her own glass from behind the counter and pouring herself a second. She placed her chin on her palm, delicate fingers over her lips as she turned her attentions back to the warrior-beast. A heart beat of silence as she drank in his appearance again, though with a friendliness, she tapped her mug to his, the head spilling slightly as she did so. I am not interested in boyos , stranger, a flash of white teeth crept her mouth as amusement laced her dried petal-like lips. Pardon me, for I never learned to make introductions save after a drink to make a stranger no longer a stranger. Sparked my curiosity, you did. She then turned her head to one side and lifted the glass, taking a large sip, wiping the frothy head from her chin. The gypsy turned her sights upon him again, the fire light hitting the soft contours of her face, the olive-tone of her skin and the green of her eyes and spark that lit them. The name is Ambrosia, sir, that is ahm-bro-zuh , and I am not from around here much. She leaned back slightly, tilting her head to one side, waves of red hair falling around her face. His face was shadowed in a silhouette, leaving her in a deep wonder. The mystery made her afraid, though Ambrosia wore the fear like armor, loaded her arsenal with it and made the fear the give power to her crouch to have him for herself. Fear could be useful, and it made the prize more desirable. The question is, where did you come from? she challenged audaciously, wondering the nature of whom she knew was not just a man.