Thread: The Menagerie  >>Haruchai and Gypsy<<

It was a just dream, a vividly intense one at that. Had it not been a figment of her imagination, Lorelei would have been utterly exhausted. What commenced as an innocent yet private performance before the Ringmaster in his wagon as per his request altered into a risqu exhibition which advocated hands-on interaction well into the night or so she dreamt. Consciousness dawned on her prematurely, before any salacious feat could begin in her reverie, and freed her from the tendrils of her subconscious in the middle of the night. Any attempt to succumb to slumber was thwarted by her restive mind and perspiring body, a peculiar reaction on a hyemal September night, leading to her denuding. Only when it was the crack of dawn did fatigue decide to embrace her with sleep. However, the reprieve was short-lived when a deep baritone and a noisy clattering reverberated in her mind, shattering her time of repose like fragmented glass. The presence in her tent was unquestionable, for only one would ever dare enter her quarters so early in the morning without consent. The Ringmaster's ambiance was power personified, energy harnessed, commanding the attention of even those who straddled the line between wakefulness and unconsciousness. As if to ratify her presumptions, the intrusive prodding of a familiar staff on her rear justified her thoughts. Not only did it elicit a disgruntled groan from Lorelei, it also conjured a long, sable and furred prehensile tail which emerged from the thin sheet, resembling a spider monkey's. It curled about the Ringmaster's cane and, with an abrupt yank, filched it from his grasp. I had hoped to sleep in, Ringmaster, Lorelei muttered as she rose, a vision of disheveled locks with dark, sleepless shadows under her eyes , masking her nude form with the coverlet as she twisted to face the root of her insomnia. I'm terrible company for the morning today. I hardly slept. At the tip of her tongue rested her refusal but before it could be uttered, the esurient growl of her stomach contravened it. No longer would she be able to deny him if the hunger pangs already manifested audibly. Employing his cane as her support to slide off the pallet, she stood and ventured to her trunk. But my appetite needs to be replenished, it seems. Modesty was the last thing she had in her sleep-deprived mind. The sheet she swathed her body with scarcely concealed her rear as she procured her garments, exposing a generous view of her lightly tanned back, her shapely posterior and the slender caudal appendage protruding from her coccyx. Her customary apparel soon clothed her in swift efficiency without granting the individual she knew could not be ushered out from her tent so easily a chance to take a gander of her nakedness. A dark green turtleneck top and a sepia-toned chiffon salwar garbed Lorelei, revealing a taut torso that would soon be hidden underneath a mahogany raincoat. Slender fingers adjusted the fabric cinched around her neck such that it aptly veiled the tattoo that surfaced on her flesh the first time her abilities was tapped. It was an eye-catching embellishment on her skin with its silvery white luster against her complexion, the primary reason why she kept it hidden, for it illumed whenever she exercised her powers. Then, she lifted the flap of her coat to display the attire which vastly differed from the mode of dressing in London to the Ringmaster. I'm almost certain I would be frowned upon in these clothes if I were to reveal it, she stated, returning the cane to him after the foreign tail faded. I have none of those dresses the women wear, and frankly, I don't care much for them. They look far too uncomfortable for breathing.