Thread: streetlight swag

Naila stood like a feather in the wind and rain, fighting to not be blown over, hair wiping around her face. A few members of the crew were working to separate the boats from each other. Above, the sides of the barge were lined with the women she had abandoned, who were watching the scene unfold. She was better off on this vessel, Naila assured herself. If she had chosen to stay with the women, they would have surely turned to ravens come the next sunrise. She was given such a grand opportunity to travel to Miribar and slay her fiancs killer Naila was not going to let her be killed. There was too much at stake and revenge was far too sweet. Licking her salt lined lips, she wiped water from her cheeks where her skin stung from the wind. Swallowing slowly, Naila eyed the men that were doing the same to her. She could only imagine the looks on their faces as they humped her, getting their thrill from fucking her mercilessly. They would have eyes closed, mouth open, and knuckles white from gripping her thin body tightly. The men frightened her, and she was sure they realized that. Some continued to thrust into the air, hands clenched into fists, eyes closed with their tongues hanging out. It appeared that they were ignoring the words their captain was speaking, and with good reason. She pulled the fabric on her dress closer to her arms, trying to ward away the cold. Hopefully she would be allowed to huddle on the bottom floor of the ship with a blanket. The man who had been her rescuer was now being crueler to her than he was when he had slain Kosan. Naila had thought him to be a sensible man, someone who was a protector, not some monster who found pleasure in being a donkeys ass. Her hands curled into fists, similar to the crews, and she resisted the urge to hit him. If she had dared strike him, Naila was sure she would be killed right on the spot. He still had his sword on him and was probably a quick draw. You are wrong. I have not once spread my legs for a man, for anyone, for that matter. I am from Miribar, we speak with intelligence, whereas you seasea vermin do not! Her gray eyes darkened, brow furrowing as she became like a bottle of champagne right before the cork popped out. I do believe that I questioned about your name first. Tell me yours and I will tell you mine, it is only fair. Breathing heavily, Naila pressed her hair away from her eyes. The man standing next to the captain looked as if he wanted to rip her to shreds given the chance. -- Moments before he was able to doze off, lulled to sleep by the sound of Samosas breathing and the crackling of wood in the fire pit, his fianc began speaking. He gave a small smile, lazily lifting his head to listen to her. That sounds like Greece, Troen commented slowly, brain and speech lagging by his desire for slumber. He felt like he was drunk on the night, his body beginning to shut down limb by limb. Have you been? Twisting, he spoke with his eyes closed, hand drawing a picture in the air. The water is the color of turquoise, perhaps made of glass, like you have stated. Houses the sizes of shacks are built into the cliffs, a winding staircase of stone down the mountain. It is a grand place. Troen paused for a few seconds, waiting to think of what he would say next. I try to make it there at least once every few moons. Perhaps I will bring you there on our honeymoon. Greece would be a lovely place to create our child. What if they went to Pala for their wedding and then Greece for their honeymoon? It would be definitely uncharacteristic for a Miribarian to have a celebrated wedding anywhere but Miribar. But, he was the ruler now and would bend and shape the rules to fit his liking. That way, if the couple did have their merging in Pala, they would be able to connect the two kingdoms, maybe rule as a larger force. Troen, in his sleepy stupor, attempted to remind himself to look into the idea. He doubted he would remember come morning, but the fact would be brought up again later in time. Letting out a frustrated sigh, as his earlier state of tiredness had been pulled from him, Troen sat up in bed. His eyes lazily latched onto the dancing fire, waiting as the red and yellow embers settled into black and light brown stone. I think that wine has given my mind too much to think about. My arm is smarting, Troen crossed his legs beneath the blanket, tenderly rubbing the healing portions of his arm, kneading the bandage into the cuts. The physician would have to give him a seed of poppy mixture for breakfast and perhaps he could stay in bed for the morning. Tell me more about your home, love. He beckoned, looking at her with lusty and lazy eyes. It calms me and my wounds seem to be numbed by your words.