Houdini [Prp]

[Malakai]

Liam has always had a way with words where Malakai had struggled. Though she may be a versed politician, creating endless lines and shapes it was only a matter of warping what already existed. Even as a child she'd never been quite the story-teller. Much more inclined to repeat word for word the tales of other woe or merry legend.

But whatever normal feelings of being outdone or usurped she might have had under normal circumstance are dulled into a forgotten throbbing with the help of the expensive wine. Its nowhere near enough to get her drunk, but it strays her tongue from her beady teeth.

With a breath of fresh air she notices for the first time his apartment taste like exotic fruits and once upon a time exotic women.

I never shoulda let ye from me bosom, should I.' That's what she would tell me."

Liam finishes, and Malakai does not have any sarcastic or shaky retort. She is settling enough to recline comfortably in her chair and cross her leg's at the ankle. But it wouldnt be like Malakai not to say anything, although the air around her voice is rich and playful as she responds, "I cant say I see it in you! Aye, I suspect as sweet as a green apple." and laughs.

Liam disappears into the kitchenette to grab the last of the bottle, graciously filling up her glass with the remainder. Malakai can hardly recall when she let him take it - but she does not turn down the wine as he offers it to her. Grateful for a distraction perhaps. There are too many things she worries and frets about on a daily basis. It frays her nerves dull, and she must always be sharp. A little vacation, or atleast ''coping'' is welcomed with open arms.

"What? Is it such a sin to wonder how the great stoic woman I have known for nigh on, Oh, fifty years? Sixty? Is it such a sin to wonder how she would make love?"

Liam grazes her hip and Malakai moves over. Allowing the irish man friendly intimacy as they converse. A rare reward for his musings. One not often offered.

"Not a sin --" She begins, rambling as she touches lip to her full glass. "Perverse however. Although I shouldnt speak much of the devil, I am no better." Before Lyra she'd had strong feelings when it'd come to sexual interaction with the same gender. No years of lust or social acceptance would have swayed her it was ''right'', but love oddly enough had. Truly slaying the foulest of dragons.

"I assume it's very much like your rutting with your late wife." She says absently, tongue far too loose for her liking. " Except," she begins, eyes full of comical memory and infatuation. Somewhere down the animal inside promising to lie all kill and threat at the fairy's feet. "Lyra's got the most beautiful climax I have ever heard, given I'd only heard a few prior to her -" Most of them blanketed with bloodlust and glory, "No angel sings as heavenly as she does."

But pauses doe-eyed when something dawns on her and she reddens with embarrassment. "Liam! Be appropriate!" And she sets to narrowing her eyes and glaring at him effectively. How appropriate the fox would take advantage of her intoxication! And that somehow she'd allowed it.

"With that wit of yours I could make you a very rich man."

[Liam]

"Not a sin --" "Perverse however. Although I shouldnt speak much of the devil, I am no better."

He laughs hoarsely, hollow and sound all at once. Sincere and tired. "I suppose I've been called worse."

She makes room for him and Liam stills for a moment, surprised his hand on her hip is not accompanied by fingernails dug into thin skin and bones being crunched together. The wine has done more to sweeten her temperament than he had hoped. With a lazy sort of smile he slides in next to her, loosely slips his hands beneath her knees and lifts long legs over his lap. If Malakai gives any protest he is quick to lift his hands away, lean back in his seat with the innocence of a freckled boy.

"I assume it's very much like your rutting with your late wife."

The warmth of her body settles his mind, grounds him and he sniffs the air like any good hunter, draws in her familiar scent and that of her lover. "I do not rut," The man protests, his pride wounded and nose twisted in grievance to such rough words. "I make love." It is an artist's statement, of his finest craft, his proudest workmanship, but something softens in his eyes and Liam's shoulders slump, broad hands briefly squeezing against her ankles and calf. "At least to her I did." The stream of words the alcohol's uncorked seems to end on his part, but still spills forth, like a river suddenly freed of it's damn from Mal.

"Lyra's got the most beautiful climax I have ever heard, given I'd only heard a few prior to her -" "No angel sings as heavenly as she does."

They are praises Liam never thought to hear from Malakai's lips and he watches her fondly, watches the way the words form from sharp, white teeth and her clever tongue and spill forth into the world, float through the room and into his ears with some sort of laziness and bragging that again, sounds so foreign from her mouth.

"Liam! Be appropriate!" "With that wit of yours I could make you a very rich man."

By now her second glass is almost emptied, as well as his and Liam thinks he has had just enough to do this. His eyes never leave her's, though he tilts his head to the side in a curious way, as if observing an event he can not quite understand, but thoroughly enjoys none the less. From her smooth calves he draws his hand, setting it gently against her cheek and in a move that is neither fast nor slow (depending all she stays still and doesn't try to viciously murder him in the meantime) he kisses her. The length of it rests soley on Malakai's shoulders, but the depth is there, rather it lasts a second or a minute. He draws away before long, sighs and rubs his face, standing to gather their glasses.

"I've wanted to do that for a very long time."

She tastes like red wine and joy, old memories sweet on the tongue with perhaps an edge of bitterness, right on the ending note. And on the cusp? On the cusp of it is great adventures through dark streets and a young man, and a young woman, who put together are perhaps just as old as the streets themselves, arguing and laughing in a breathlessness given only to those escaped the jaws of death himself.

Liam licks his lips and if she allows him, slides away to the darkness of the hall, empty glasses, a sip of liquor between them still sticky in the bottom of their rounded wells, left to stand shuddering against one another on a book shelf.

[Malakai]

"I suppose I've been called worse."

Malakai disguises discomfort with a honest tone, batting away Liam's curious hands absently as she retorts. "Havent we all?" And hadnt they? Any man or woman under the sun rather they had immortality under their belt or just a smart mouth and pipe dreams.

"I do not rut, I make love. At least to her I did."

''Making love''. Malakai couldnt say she saw much of a difference. It was not a intentional thought to jab unnecessarily at the volume of her and Lyra's relationship (perhaps they had not quite reached the levels of lust beyond self satisfaction and the need to share something so .. private with another being.) But it spiraled Malakai off into sincere thought. Enough that her eyes glazed over and she faded out some. The last of the alcohol tasting like bitter nostalgia at the tip of her tongue.

It's enough of a distraction that she's unable to thwart Liam's attempt, and for a moment maybe even confuses him for someone else. But the moment is brief, and the reaction is violent and predictable.

Liam may be staying in the kiss but Malakai's fist have already aimed in a clumsy but effective attempt to bludgeon him right off of her and into the couch. And if she hits him it's once, and it's dizzying, but there is the promise of more as she stands and leaps away from him with accusation in her glare.

Of course, she'd forgotten she sat comfortable in a fox's den and now her shoulders would forever wilt with the guilt of her carelessness. Lyra - in her minds eye - would leave her for someone more loyal. She'd be so heartbroken and jaded she'd let the entire company rot, Icus would open his arms and gracefully take her back and feed lies into truth of a broken woman's existence. It was all step stone now, a flashing unfortunate events playing before her dark eyes.

"I've wanted to do that for a very long time."

Malakai does not practice foul language. She'd been raised in a day and age where a woman's image meant everything. But she is seething and livid - and perhaps a little hurt as she snarls. "I should have known," and lowers her voice a octave with out right rage. "Fuck you, you street urchin, you rat!"

Because here she'd been! Conversing with him like a old family friend. And he'd sat there with nothing but the intent to get in her pants.

The hound rises in a smooth notion and aims a disastrous blow at his glass table. Looking very much like a gorilla as she smashes it to glistening pieces and gashes open her palm and arms. Liam (if he tries to stop her) is next in her assault and the aim will be redirected to his chest, pummeling and smashing as if trying to cave in the breast bone and seize the beating heart beneath.

But the wine has gotten to her head a little more by now, and she feels it swirling just beneath the surface. The shuck is completely unable to stop the tears that flow freely like the blood at her arm. A combination of her fear and anger stirred into a tipped over brewing cauldron.

She cleverly blankets chao's with destruction, and leaps for the fox's throat in a attempt to clutch it and perhaps throttle him until he ceased to exist -- but the attack falls short and Malakai wobbles dangerously. Intoxicated and overwhelmed, after catching herself she chooses instead to say, "Do not phone me, do not write me, do not anything me. Stay out of my bloody way, or I'll fucking kill you."

And like that gathers up whatever dignity she has left and flies out of the door.