Thread: Man Witch [Goody + Prince]

The feeling of frustration Deidarmia had just then was not even remotely foreign to her as she regarded her life long friend with a narrow-eyed sneer. The feeling in particular was one that made her want to grab him by his shoulders and shake him, like the information he was omitting was hidden somewhere on his person and she could shake it off of him if she tried hard enough, and the only reason she resisted that calling was because he looked... exhausted. Whatever they were putting him through in those hallowed chambers, she already didn't approve of it-- magic was, so she'd seen and heard, an excursion that put weight on everything a person was, so it was to be expected she supposed that he'd have his limits tested... but her worry was overriding her sense on that matter, especially when she'd been present for all of those black outs, those moments lost for Quinn to see him conduct magic in ways that were deemed quite impossible specifically because he was a man. She was about to scold him, to use their friendship to twist some more admission out of him about the trials he was being put through when he lit his cigarette, silencing her and provoking all the more. And then there was the girl. The fifth girl, yes-- her eyes sliding towards the woman mentioned. Gods, they were lovely out here weren't they? Deidarmia felt almost embarrassed-- she'd hardly concerned herself with a dress since she was a child, her garb quite similar to Quinn's own if not for the fact that she was wearing a blue, billowing shirt tucked into brown slacks that buttoned high on her waist, the shirt itself laced closed a the throat but capable of opening to the middle of her breasts. She'd used that particular shirt to get them out of plenty of trouble, and as a result it was her favorite, the deep navy color of it carefully preserved since she'd always make sure it was gently washed, hung to dry, tended and hemmed to last as long as possible. The witches that wandered about casually on the beautiful marble walk ways were all in dresses, cut and fastened and decorated with such variety that Deidarmia wondered just how such imaginings could come to be. The female form was beautiful in all of it's shapes stark naked-- who had the mind to imagine so many different shapes and colors on it? As she was shoved and prodded she belligerently shoved and prodded back, quite used to having miniature fights with Quinn, of rebuking his teasing with her own playful jabs to his ribs or a teasing shove at his jaw. Deidarmia was only half paying attention to his suggestion though, half admiring the girl who was smiling behind her knuckles at Quinn's flirtations, half wondering if a dress like that might look good on her. Deidarmia was, despite her roguish appearance, lovely in her own right after all. She certainly had more curve than half the ladies here-- magic didn't necessarily call for muscle, and a lot of witches didn't end up being military folk or mercenaries. These girls were pretty, sure... but she preferred a bit more curve-- she liked the women back home, women who toted their own water and kneaded dough with powerful hands... these ladies were.... soft. Deidarmia herself had plenty of feminine charm, full hips and bust, a soft, heart shaped face with pretty almond eyes dark enough to seem black from afar but certainly a lush, chocolaty brown, and a mess of long, wild hair that was just then half thrown up in a ponytail, half spilling all over her shoulders, unwilling to be kept. She was arguably closer to a man with her dress and care for fashion when surrounded by the sophistocated ladies of Valheru, and while she wasn't sure what feelings she was having then as Quinn teased her, she could culminate them into something like lust mixed with the unfamiliar sting of intimidation. Oh shut up-- give me that. She hissed at him, snatching his cigarette from his lips and placing it between her own, taking a long drag and reaching to ruffle and tug his hair. You're not going to be any use to anyone in bed with what these matrons are putting you through, idiot. If you told me more than maybe while you're in there getting your ass handed to you I could go get you something to raise your spirits. Something that isn't spiced ale, don't ask, the answer is no. She threw her arm casually around his shoulders, so used to this level of closeness with him, but also submitting herself to some of her protective feelings, the innate desire to guard him from those witches coming out to ask him for another go. My test isn't until night time-- bet I'll walk away less of a wreck than you are. She chided, taking another drag off of the spiced cigarette before offering it back to him. How many more times are they going to make you go in there and perform like a dancing animal? It should be obvious to them you've got the stuff they're looking for here-- it's plenty obvious to me. She argued with no one, grimacing at Quinn with a glint of teasing in her eyes. You reek. Is this what masculine magic smells like? No wonder it's so rare, it's dreadful. Hopefully they'll let you shower before they dress you up in one of these pretty fluttering skirts and send you to your classes. Won't that be fun? You'd look ravishing in a skirt I'm sure. She provoked, reaching to poke her friend in the cheek and pinch at it like a grandparent gushing over a baby.