(121-04-26) Throwing Knives
Throwing Knives
Summary: On the road to Oldtown, Alaeyna and Alia entertain an intimate little wager.
Date: Date of play (26/04/2014)
Related: none

It's dusk and the Dornish entourage have decided to make camp and tend to their sand steeds, having ridden them hard over the dunes for the better part of the day. The spot is along the bank of the Torentine river, about a half day's ride north of High Hermitage. A fire's been built to serve as a grill for whatever catches they might pull out of the water, the horses watered and the silk tents pitched. After tossing her white goshawk a few shreds of raw meat, Alaeyna slips its hood over its head and encloses it in its travel cage for the night. Her round shield has been strung over a low hanging branch on a nearby tree and she withdraws a throwing knife from a sheath worn on her thigh, under her copper-colored silk robes. "Shall we have a game?" she asks, turning the blade point over end and offering it to Alia, her mischievous smile resulting in a flash of bone-white teeth.

For her part, Alia is entranced by the movements of the men and women poking about in the shallows for fish or eels or whatever they may find. Slender fingers trace along her jawline as she watches, head canted with an entirely lazy, approving smile. "Ahh, hmmm," she murmurs aside for Alaeyna's interruption, dark eyes still transfixed… and finally, she snaps her face aside to bestow the same inappropriate smile on her friend. "But of course, Alaeyna," she says with her strong Rhoynish lilt, coupled with a shrug that dislodges her loose cheesecloth dress from her shoulder and sets chains of gold about her neck a-jangling. "When you lose a toe by my horrible throw, I suppose you will be wanting me to sew it back on for you?"

Alaeyna seems more interested in the prospect of a diversion than the hustle of making camp, her delight plain when Alia indulges her whim. Her smile is a mirror of the Sand siren's own, the tip of a slender finger toying with the point of her blade, if for no other reason but the thrill of its caress upon her skin. Of losing toes, she says, "At the very least, I'll expect a score of soothing kisses to drive the pain from my mind." She draws nearer to Alia, extending her the blade. "Should I help you aim?"

Alia moves in, sliding across the sand underfoot. One hand reaches for the blade, of course, but the other wends its way about Alaeyna's waist. She is deceptively short, and in so close, Amarei's bastard daughter flexes up on her toes to bring her cheek up to her friends: "A score of kisses for every little scratch, my darling," she whispers into the other woman's ear, before twisting away abruptly. "So." She is careless with the knife, wielding it by the blade-end and squinting at a rock a few feet away. "Your help would be much appreciated, my love, tell me… where do I start?"

Cheek to cheek, heat positively radiates from Alaeyna, as if her supple, bronzed skin were steeped with the Dornish sun. The flame crackles through the brief contact, even lighting a fire in her dark, fierce stare. The way Alia handles the knife prompts a charmed, melodic laugh, drawing Alaeyna close once again, "As in all things, a nice firm grip will do you well." Alaeyna slides a palm down the length of Alia's arm and over her hand, encouraging a different hold on the blade. She eyes the shield, dangling off the branch of a leafless tree. "Train your eye on its center, and let your arm do the rest."

Laughter doesn't bother Alia, she crooks another lazy smile for prompting such a sweet sound. "Mmm," murmurs the little Sand, tucking in nice and close to that sizzling heat when Alaeyna comes to correct. She adjusts her grip as shown, bronzed brows waggling as her attention is drawn again by the fishers close by. "They are so terribly distracting," she complains good-naturedly over her shoulder close to Alaeyna's jaw, before fixing her eyes upon the shield. "I look at it's center," she says, squinting again. "And then… I throw?"

Maybe for want of an excuse to prolong their contact, Alaeyna slides her palm around Alia's slender wrist, gently demonstrating the flick it should make when the blade is released. "Just tell it where it should go," she says, her voice silky against Alia's ear. When the fishing folk are mentioned, she too lets her attention wander that way, a wicked grin spreading across her face. And then, as if remembering something crucial, she remarks, "We've overlooked the matter of a wager."

"Ohh, I just order it around like an eager little fisher-boy, my darling," Alia jokes, breaking into a delighted little chuckle. She lifts her chin then, tilting her head back against Alaeyna as she makes her aim, drawing the blade back close to both of their faces. "This, I can do," she promises, and though she makes to flick the knife away, she stops. "A wagerrr," purrs the Sand? "But of course. What would you like to wager me, my love?"

"Just so," agrees Alaeyna, her grin lingering to share in Alia's delight. She faces childlike indecision in trying to settle on a wager to ask for, the possibilities too endless and enticing to readily call one to mind. Eventually she proposes, "The victor of each round wins a favor from the other, which she may claim whenever she likes." She beams with the confidence of her ability to rack up said favors.

Liquid brown eyes dance with amusement as they watch Alaeyna over her shoulder, and Alia clicks her tongue. "You have only to ask a favor of me to receive it, my love," she chides in her gentle drawl, "But very well. I accept, but I do not think you shall be winning many favors, Alaeyna." Highly amused, she sets about aiming at the shield again promptly, and releases the knife in an amateurish arc.

It sails valiantly at it's mistress's bidding, but falls faster than it should; the blade embeds on the very edge of the shield, hilt pointing toward the ground.

"Ah, but if I do, I'll have the added pleasure of reminding you each time I collect how hard won they were," coos Alaeyna in turn, with similar good nature. She offers Alia a brief, appreciative whistle when the knife is launched at the shield and connects, albeit at the edge. "It listened, but not as well as you might have liked, I think." She wastes no time in palming another blade from the band of them worn in a sheath upon her supple thigh, moving with the liquid grace of a dancer as she launches it. It soars through the air, thrumming as it solidly embeds at the heart of the shield.

Alia emits a bright laugh, pleased that her efforts bore any fruit at all. "Perhaps it is a stubborn lover, this knife," she responds through her laughter, ringing louder again as Alaeyna launches one and soundly succeeds. She reaches down, fumbling behind her back for the sheath at her friend's thigh, seeking another knife. "One favor hard won for you, my love, though you do make the winning look so easy."

Demurring over just how easily the victory came to her, Alaeyna teases, "I wouldn't want you to be discouraged when I've only just the one favor against you. I'll want a half dozen, at least." The deft hand slipped between them in search of another blade from the sheath triggers her to claim her first favor, on the back of just having won it. Her voice is impish when she speaks. "You know I've never been good with delaying pleasures. Perhaps I'll have you take the knife 'tween your teeth, and spare me a kiss while you're there."

Alia pauses, captivated by the sound of that voice, what with her hand so perilously caught between them. Fingers curl into flesh of that lovely thigh, and the Sand turns, lust in her dark eyes as they fix upon Alaeyna's. "You are so impatient," she scolds through a smile, but there is no refusing; she sinks to her knees slowly, peeling back silk to bare skin. Gently, she presses her palms to the back of Alaeyna's thigh, brushing her cheek along the top whisper-light as she draws her teeth — bared to chomp threateningly at the air — up, rather than down toward the sheath. "With my teeth, my love," she murmurs in low question, eyes flitting upward.

When accused of impatience, Alaeyna brooks no denial, nor does she make effort to mask the wanton anticipation that brims in her very being as she gazes down upon the beauty knelt at her feet. She tousles Alia's wavy locks, winding her fingertips amorously through the lush, loose curls. "Need you even ask?" she replies, answering a question with a question, her tone carnal.

Alia laughs in response, not bright, but low and quiet, dipping her head to press a firm kiss to the curve between hip and thigh. "But of course I must, my love," she says, lips dragging every syllable insistently over Alaeyna's skin as she works her way down. Down, down, alas, sucking another, stronger kiss, before delicately biting teeth upon the hilt of a knife. She tugs, pulling it free of an initial resistance, and drawing it teasingly slow from the sheath.

At the touch of lips and the points of teeth to her thigh, Alaeyna arches her back, a shiver running down the length of her spine causing her to quiver in spite of the desert heat. Her palm slips from curls to cheek to deliver Alia an appreciative caress. With the blade sprung skillfully from the sheath, she offers Alia a hand in rising, musing aloud, "Perhaps the knife shall obey you better now that it has known your kiss."

She presses her cheek into Alaeyna's hand, the point of the knife slipping carelessly along with the movement. Alia will take a hand up gratefully, sliding her tongue teasingly alongside the blade's hilt before she withdraws it from her mouth. "Mmm," she purrs again, "Perhaps it might, darling, but if not…" She shrugs. "It is no matter. I would kiss you all night long, and all the day tomorrow, if we had not to ride for this town with my sisters." She turns, wiggling her hips back against her dear Alaeyna's again, and makes to throw the knife; it sails again, this time completely short of the mark, and lands flat against the ground a foot behind.

Alaeyna grins wickedly, in no small part due to Alia's tantalizing purring. When the knife misses its mark, she asks, "Shall I sport a blindfold and even the playing field?" She plucks a fourth knife from the sheath, letting it zing through the air with an effortless toss that delivers it right smack dab to the center of the shield again. Not being a particularly gracious winner, she nuzzles into the nape of Alia's neck, painting it with her lips in a sensual kiss.

"But if you sport a blindfold, I can think of better things than to throw knives at than some shield, darling," Alia protests with a laugh, unashamed by her failings. She watches on as another blade tumbles neatly to pierce its mark, tilting her head aside already in gracious deference to Alaeyna's skill; that she's rewarded with a delicious kiss is a boon. It is her turn to tangle fingers in the lengths of dark hair, commanding attention that she's already being given. "Fuck the knives, Alaeyna," she whines, "I grow tired of your game, now."

Alaeyna catches the lobe of Alia's ear between her teeth, drawn there by the fingers buried in her wild, windblown mane of dark hair. "Weren't you just accusing me of impatience, sweetling?" The tease is whispered lowly against the same lobe she'd just been nibbling on, her lips brushing against it anew with each of her quiet words. With a shameless suckle of the tender morsel of flesh, she extricates herself from their libidinous embrace, striding across the sand to the hanging shield, working each of the knives free one at a time. Fish are being grilled over the open fire at the camp in the distance, the sweet smell wafting its way over. Replacing each of the blades one at a time, she says to Alia, "Share a tent with me tonight." She doesn't bother to invoke the favor.

Several lewd noises escape Alia's soft lips, uttered as she presses quite desperately back against her lady love, at her mercy. She whines again, as Alaeyna extracts herself, and leaves her standing wanting. Vexedly, she runs both her hands through her long, heavy head of hair, massaging her scalp and shaking out the lengths as though it might help her shake herself free of desire as she watches the other woman stride across the sand. It's something of a catchphrase, but no less sincere when she responds, "But of course," with a smile, adding, "My darling. You will enjoy the attentions of my littles Yva and Jana, too, I think."

Once the last knife has been plucked from the shield and returned to the sheath, Alaeyna returns to Alia's side, having watched her attempt to shake off the heat of her lust with a knowing grin. She's just as rife with it, but rather than attempt to put it aside, she revels in it, placing a hand to the small of Alia's back, letting it wander south for a handful of the woman's curvaceous backside. "Nightfall cannot come quick enough," she says. "In the meantime, shall we whet our other appetites?" At camp, a number of their fellow travelers have already gathered to split up the fresh catches pulled out of the river, and she guides them back that way at a slow but deliberate pace.

Alia clicks her tongue again, welcoming Alaeyna back into her embrace with open arms. Their respective heights seem to be what dictates where her arms wrap: firmly about the other woman's shoulders, drawing her as close and closer than that hand placed on her back. "I had not even noticed my hunger, darling," she admits tormentingly close to Alaeyna's lips, before darting her gaze aside to the river — oh, but they have finished that errand, after all. She withdraws reluctantly, guided over to the fire to sate one hunger, another after.

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