Salutations [Petra]

[Nnerka]

A pleased hum left the spider as she regarded her interviewer. On some level, it would be interesting to see who would take to the barely existent curves the other woman had. On another, the fae wasn’t all that curious about it. The elaborate on how the scholar handled her more carnal desires was something she hadn’t asked for, but received with the measured sort of patience one had for entertaining talk they didn’t want to dwell on for long. There had been plenty of clients in the past that would just barely scratch the surface of being dullards with equally dull interests.

“Demons take maidenheads? So they are no better than men.” Her brow twitched, upper eyes rolling at the thought. Maybe there were some women who were similar, but the cliente she’d encountered wanted something…particular. “Desires can vary, but.” An almost musical sigh left her as she shifted her weight the way one might cross their legs. A squint of all sets of eyes as she considered her words. “To understand another, you need to understand your own.”

Coming here to ask about the desires of others didn’t make much sense to Nnerka. But then, she thought more (at least since her arrival in the city) on an individual basis. That might have had to do with the lack of kinfolk she was close to. That did make her feel a little ill at ease, but it could be moved on from. She could come to think of herself as a unit again, perhaps. A solemn expression had taken hold of her features.

“So.” She shook herself from her stupor, a smile small enough as to not pull on the slits of her mouth appearing. “What do you desire, little bird? Surely there is more to it than this.” She gave a vague wave of her left hands. “Surely there is more you intend than to skulk around dens of sin to achieve some sort of answer to what desire is?”

[Petra]

"Demons are neither better, nor worse, than men. Men are demons - the only difference is the variance in our causes." Petra makes the heretical remark casually, with the most absolute certitude. It is as if she is remarking that the sky is blue, or that fire is hot. A statement of the obvious, hardly worth the breath used for it. Her ink-demon scribbles on the page, its arms moving akimbo and in tandem to record every syllable the moment it is spoken. As a stenographer, it is beyond compare.

"My desire is mundane. I want to be God."

She lets the word hang in the air, unqualified, for a moment. Yesod fills the silence. It purrs, with a growl of metal-on-metal that is positively inhuman. It is an affectionate purr of sentient machinery, a scraping of metal that is a false and mocking imitation of human emotion. It contorts and shudders at Petra's comment, and stills itself after only a moment of what can only be assumed to be an inhuman monstrosity's equivalent of ecstasy.

"The world is not as I would like it. I want to correct that deficiency. If there is a difference between me and the majority of the world..." She pauses to think for a moment, searching for the right words.

"...it is only that the rungs of my ladder are more widely-spread, and I have set its zenith higher than most."

Yesod slinks an inch closer, and his shadow darkens on Petra's body. It is ink that stains her, and dyes her colors dark.

"Merchants make money. Swordsmen hone skill. Scientists find knowledge. Politicians hunt election. All are fragments of divinity. Mine is no different." She does not need to indicate to Yesod to show what she means.

"If you want my manifesto, I suppose I can write one up. But that seems like counting chickens before they're hatched. Don't you agree?"

[Nnerka]

Surprise, intrigue. Two emotions that rarely visited her. And yet, there she was feeling them at once as she let what the scholar before her stated sink in. The Fae’s response was laughter. Started small and bubbled up as she nearly teared up with the force of it. God? This tiny thing desired to be a god? Such lofty aspirations for a frame so small. The thought propelled her into more laughter and the movement of all four arms.

Her hands hooked under the scholar’s armpits, lifting her effortlessly to bring her closer. “Shall I look upon the face of a future god more closely?” Amusement colored the musical notes of her voice, smile wider than before. Enough that the visage of a pretty woman would be marred by mandibles and teeth. Her amusement remained even as her smile lessened and her laughter ceased. Lower hands held Petra close, upper cupping her face. Long nails raked over skin, surprisingly gentle in their caress.

“Perhaps it is a little mundane.” The slightest scrunch of her nose as she further considered it. “I think I understand more of what you want from this...search of desire. But with a goal like that.” She inhaled deep, sighed. There was a pause as if she were falling deep in thought, only for more laughter to bubble up. A shorter bout than the first, tailed by what could almost be described as a squeal. Almost.

“Yes, I should like to see you try to become a god.” How utterly amusing. Perhaps it was no so much the idea of her goals, but the struggle that would inevitably be involved in it. The prospect of failure was always there for any goal, and yet — what would failure to become a god look like? Would it twist the doll-like scholar’s expression into something akin to despair and terror at that magnitude of her failure? Nnerka would like to see that, indeed. “But before that, you should consider dressing the part. I have been considering a new hobby. Perhaps I could make you something more...fitting of the station you wish to achieve. But later.”

A desire to be god. Another soft chuckle, another caress with the back of her hand. “You’re an interesting one, little bird, little Petra.”

[Petra]

Petra's breath hitches in her throat as she is picked up. Her skin prickles where hands grab it. It is such a rare thing, human contact. So utterly unfamiliar, after so long without. It is a difficult memory to rely on, and her body is not ready for the unfamiliarity. She shudders, and inches back, but she does not disturb the hands on her cheeks. She lets them stay. She feels the breath on her face - so close, Nnerka's laugh is palpable.

Yesod does not disturb them. On an instinct, Petra's fingers draw lines of unreality, as if about to summon something else, but they snap shut in an instant. Utterly inappropriate.

But then, what isn't in this madman's paradise?

She is a bird in the hand. She is wrapped up in the arms of another. She is possessed, wholly and completely. She does not so much struggle in Nnerka's arms as shift her weight to and fro. She nestles herself deeper, if anything. Her head instinctively rests on Nnerka's shoulder. Her legs instinctively curl around Nnerka's other arm.

There is a strange fluttering in Petra's chest. She resolutely tries to ignore it. Her heart is beating faster than it should be. She tells herself that it is fear, and nothing more.

If there is one thing I am good at, after all, it is lying to myself.

"I'm glad you agree." The ghost of a smile brushes Petra's face, too. Coddled in the woman's arms, the thought of being dressed by her seems neither strange nor unappealing. In fact, it seems rather welcome.

"Your clothes can be my first offering. Well before I deserve one."

She fidgets, and realizes with a start that her elbow is rubbing against Nnerka's breasts. Too embarrassed to pull it away, she instead simply stops it, and tries not to notice the softness on her arm. For such a pale woman, she does not blush very much, but what color there is, Nnerka no doubt notices.

"...You're very interesting too. I'm... very glad you agreed to this interview."

[Nnerka]

Nnerka had not much thought of how the scholar might have reacted to the gesture. It was simply something she’d wanted to do — been wanting to, in fact, but that had more to do with her appetite and she didn’t think she’d be eating Petra now — and consequences were a distant thing. The word docile crossed her mind briefly as Petra rested her head on the fae’s shoulder, wrapped herself around her arms for better comfort. How precious — a god that wished to be coddled. That might have been what most wanted, she supposed, but perhaps not like this. Not quite so literal in the word.

But with this proximity, the flutter of a heartbeat was like the drum of fingers over skin. The pace the scholar’s heart had taken was an interesting one. Too fast to be calm, and every bit like the heartbeats she’d pressed her hands to against in intimacy — and to feel the life fade from prey. But a heartbeat of a heart rarely moved was one that echoed even without that firm press. Especially with Petra nuzzling closer. A curious action from who had been all so guarded in her reactions.

Even more curious: the smile. A faint thing. Nnerka was no expert on divinity and could not rightly say if gods were supposed to be expressionless beings, but that could have been Petra’s domain if she wished it. Maybe. Her efforts would tell. “So, you can move show some emotion. I was beginning to think you would make yourself out to be another masked god.” The words themselves were musical, accented with a hum as her fingers brushed over the corner of Petra’s mouth, tracing the edge of that tiny smile.

However, her attention was drawn the wash of color that hit the girl’s skin as she spoke once more. Her giggle was subdued as she observed the red that filled her cheeks, rocking Petra slightly. “It’s okay to touch.”

“I thank you for that compliment. Hopefully, I’ve been of some help to you. We can stay like this for longer, if you would like.”

[Petra]

"I am always showing emotion. I am an open book. Just... one written in a different language."

Yesod shudders, and her stenographer-demon notes the words. She is attended by a demonic host, even as she is coddled and held by a woman twice her size. She is watched by the inferno, even as she lets herself sink into the pleasant feeling of being possessed, however temporarily. Sycophantic demons, bound by her power, and she uses them for this. Petra feels the revulsion at herself in her gut. Waste, waste, waste. That is the problem with the world, a problem she promised herself to fix. But now...

Petra's hand reaches up when Nnerka bids her. Her hand ghosts over Nnerka's neck. She's unfamiliar with the alien biology, but she finds the equivalent of the carotid artery. Her nails are sharp, for a human's. Her hands are strong, for a woman of her size. A hard press, a dig of the nail, and...

Petra brushes her thumb away, and moves it along Nnerka's jaw. "All faces are masks, of a kind. No doubt even the gods wear them, as you do. As I do. Set me down, please."

Petra asks politely, and resumes her stand just in front of Nnerka. "My mask is rather less appealing than yours, that is the only difference. None pay to see mine. Only attempt to pry it off me. A failure of design." Petra waves a hand, and there is a snap in reality. Her steographer-demon vanishes into air. Banished back to whatever hell it hails from. Yesod grinds its metal.

"...I have what I came for, and more. I'll be sure to call again. I look forward to seeing more of you."

[Nnerka]

“Perhaps I should add it to my list of languages to learn, then.” Maybe she would, maybe she wouldn’t. Nnerka was not one to make empty promises, but the bird in her grasp was an interesting one. She had no inclination to pluck the scholar and flay the skin from her body to get to the ripened organs within. Even now, as she could so easily crush the other, smothering her with little effort.

Wandering hands bring her back to the present moment. Hands that trace the lines of neck, nails that graze skin. They paused over a vein, pressing down — Nnerka’s brows rose. Was the would-be godling questioning the mortality of things around her? The fae had seen plenty do that before, usually before they came to understand their own at her hands or of those of her family. Hushed am I dying?s. Quiet, morose begging that they knew would never be heeded. But then Petra moved on to her jaw, as if rethinking her thoughts and brushing them off.

“Perhaps you wear a mask because you cannot face what lays beyond it.” Petra’s weight was like that of a doll to a child to Nnerka’s stature. She was careful in setting the scholar back down, leaving a lingering pat on her head. “Not a failure of design. A mask is meant for a variety of purposes; yours may be to protect. Like mine may be to entice.”

A breathy sigh left her as she used a nail to trace the edges of Petra’s face. She leaned forward, pressed a kiss to the scholar’s forehead. “Little bird, little god. Maybe you should be thinking about masks and no desires. Or masks and desires. If we’re all wearing masks, to what ends do we wear them?” A tap of a nail against the other’s head as Nnerka smiled. “Just a thought for that pretty little head of yours. Do tell me what all you discover on your next visit.”

[Reviewer]

REVIEW TIME

Nnerka

Lores: (14 Eligible, 12 Requested)
Architecture: Networking webs
Bodybuilding: Lifting someone smaller than you
Detection: Picking up footsteps
Detection: A heartbeat up close
Detection: Blush on pale skin
Psychology: People like to use big words to seem smart
Seduction: Fear play
Seduction: Giving someone what they want
Seduction: Gentle touching
Seduction: Allowing them to touch
Seduction: Size matters
Trapmaking: Setting up networks to detect when others approach
Architecture: Testing the strength of materials
Seduction: Terms of endearment

Loot: N/A
Injuries: N/A

Points: 8 XP, not usable for Magic

Comments: What an interesting thread for sure. And boy is Nnerka savvy, I love her mentality, you certainly don't just write her as a human in a Fae's body.

---

Petra

Lores: (13 Eligible, 8 Requested)
Summoning: Erotic Bargaining
Summoning: Binding Fae
Etiquette: Prostitution
Seduction: Use of Danger
Seduction: Size Difference
Seduction: Power Dymanics
Storytelling: Metaphor
Disguise: Hiding Emotion

Loot: N/A
Injuries: N/A

Points: 8 XP, 8 of which can be used for Summoning. (Summoning [Expert])

Comments: Petra on the constant climb for her goal. I'm enjoying the research, the negotiations, the sacrifices. I can't wait for the next step.

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