It's a strange phenomenon, the way the Incubus appears. It is between blinks, between breathes, with a faint shimmer of reality itself, as though a kiss given to smooth water, the ripple across reality would last for only a moment, returning to crystalline clarity as quickly as it arrived, though in its wake would leave the crimson form of the Carnal Prince reclined languidly within his booth, one sinewy arm curled upon the table with the other riding the back of the bench he claims, legs bent out in front of him, posture devoid of worry or care as eyes, pupil-less cauldrons of glossy cream, peruse the thinly occupied room with mild interest.
Delicacy, timidity, fragility; all terms most befitting a butterfly's form.
In the dainty tracery of fine, organic powders and a most breakable body, in fluttered a dark form with a startling set of butter soft yellow striping and blue dotted tails. Its path was direct yet crooked, as most winged insects would be. Where had it come from? Somewhere distant and dark down the back end of the Inn's hallway, and before that? Perhaps a crook in a door left too long ajar. It was spring's herald, that's what it was, a sign that winter's grip had finally gone and the promise of sun was just around the corner. Into the common sprawl it fluttered until barely there legs found a perch on the edge of a dirtied bar glass.
Faltering, the butterfly staggered for a moment before finding a good purchase and fanned its brilliant wings slowly.
On any other day the Incubus would have paid little attention to a creature so small and insignificant, seeking to slake an eternal hunger that thrived on lust and debauchery as sustenance with a creature far more eager and feminine. But this day was different, leaving him drenched in boredom, and slowly his infernal gaze took hold of the insect as it made its way across the room. That mild interest would wane even more as he began to turn away, reaching out to sample the sensations of raw emotion that were residual of the previous evening. Willing to test the waters and see what passions lingered within the room.
Look away, look back, look away again; see it glimmer in the corner of your eyes like a river drenched piece of quartz catching just the right light in the lazy afternoon sun. What was dark flickered a subtle bright white, before reverting back.
Was it a combination of the butterfly's wings and some damnable play of shadow? Perhaps. Odder things and sights and sounds befell the realm of Rhydin, and always would. The butterfly would not stay long, however, it lifted back up, it's path oddly straight and direct; it fluttered towards the office door. Landing beside the knob, the butterfly stilled its wings and slipped through a bit of space between the jam and the frame.
Gone.
There was no magic to what happened next either, but there would be a weight behind the door. Out of sight, out of mind was the reasoning here right? At least the figure there would hope.
The incubus? vanilla basins would slowly fall closed behind claret lids and a soft breath would be sucked between straight white teeth as he fed on the enduring echo of forgotten emotions. Anger, lust, envy, it would all be devoured within crimson flesh, leaving chiseled sinew to shudder with excitement and dark elation. At the sudden emergence of sensation from behind the office door, however, those eyes would snap open, locked upon the sealed chamber with an almost feral intent flickering inside.
With a dangerous ease, succulent red lips would slowly coil into the most fiendish of smiles.
A true figure had emerged from the butterfly's cocoon, disproving all manner of experts to flora and fauna to such a point they might have to pause and scratch their heads. The transition was effortless, like water really, Estelle?s body changed from the inside out, cells and blood and heart and limbs assuming the very essence her mind's eye held. Back to herself with legs that boasted a bit more steady going than those wings she'd been not a breath before, the librarian touched about the room with silence in mind. She knew the creature in the main sprawl of the bar, and she'd been doing her damnedest as of late, to keep as many forms as she could other than her own.
The carmine trickle of the incubus? fingers graze along the smooth surface of the table as he watches the door, swallowing back the growing anticipation as he again reaches out with an incorporeal touch to explore the emotions that permeate from her.
Fingers spilled to the desk as Ms. Gianna laid eyes to what she?d come for. Papers unfolded from the oversized nature of her jumper's pockets. A spring jumper sweater, actually, that fell in a sweetly chorded length that fell just right about her frame; leggings and a belt, boots and a ban clip to keep back the tumbleweed gold of her curls. It wasn?t long before the papers were exchanged, and the few ledgers collected, that Elle turned to face the door. Every inch of her was prickling with discomfort.
Sure, he can't see her, though with astral eyes he has little use for the material realm. Searching for every color of emotion across the spectrum of feeling, he reclines back, focused and intent. Those slender red digits draw lazily draw a picture upon the table, seemingly nothing, and yet upon completion the form of a book would appear beneath his sinful touch.
Hands moved of their own volition, it was only natural the fingers followed; Elle swallowed as a sigh shook along her form, her wrist a limp thing as it aimed pale fingertips to the bulbous knob of the door. Cradling her new collection of things close, she moved forward through the door with all the drudging manner of a prisoner through the gate of his cell when he knows the gallows wait.
The feeling of being so easily touched by the gravity of another?s will? It was a thing that always haunted her, something she could never seem to escape from.
Her pace was brisk once through the door though, brisk and busied and as a result, the librarian barely sparing the incubus a look, red and attention stealing as his presence was. So hasty were her movements and so close the quarters between the office door and the bar, Elle tripped?
? and the demon would be gone. Her eyes would find nothing but the empty bench of the booth where he just moments before her stumble sat. Before her falter he was there, bathing her in the indecency of his enticing leer, etching her form to memory, and then after he was gone. No movement, no indication of departure. Simply gone.
As the world fell askew the poor creature nearly found the ground as swiftly as her things did. What little grace she could retain was found with hands to the edge of the bar and a yelp swallowed down in the back of her throat. Her hair was suddenly pink, her glasses shaken crooked, and mortified beyond belief, she lifted her eyes to the demon a deer caught with the scent of a predator's presence.
Perhaps it would take a moment to refocus and reclaim her barring, though when they were, she would realize the soothing heat that enveloped her fingers, and the 'edge of the bar' felt as though chiseled stone had been wrapped in pliable velvet. With a look she would see that her hand was firmly pressed into the alluring definition of a swollen pectoral, and that those eyes that explored her from a distance just moments ago, were now looming above her
Vivid images long left to the darker times they came from reflected in the back of the empathetic creature?s too dark eyes; they were a horrifying conflict to the sudden torrent of otherworldly touch creeping along the length of her lower body. Invisible fingers, seeking things, creeping things; each one more fluid and ghostly than the last?
Elle flinched visibly on two levels. One was the bright of her hair; gone was the pink, back were the curls of sweet corn and cream, though each curl was tinged with a withered black. Her eyes melted from brilliant sapphire to a startling white-pearl. Were they a reflection of the creature before her, perhaps? The tinge of red streaking through her fingertips where they met the hellion?s body might also strengthen this theory.
Swollen with emotion, the librarian removed that red tinged hand as if it had been set a-fire. There came a soft noise, diminutive and pained beyond words, and it stole out through the suddenly dry creak of her lips. Assaulted from the outside and within, her body jerked, her feet suddenly too heavy as she moved to stagger back. She'd seen too much, felt too much, knew too much. It was all the power she could muster to not weep with the beautiful horror of it.
Aukai would not make a move as she retracted her touch, deciding instead to merely stand and watch. The sight of him was a visual masterpiece, with cords and ridges of perfectly sculpted crimson masculinity upon display. He wore nothing, baring every secret he had to offer, from the tips of his spiraling black horns all the way down to his bare feet. Those eyes would not blink. He didn?t dare to take away the sight of her for even the most minute spans of time, leveled upon her with heavy and renewed interest. Finally the idle stance would be broken by the forward extension of his arm, showing to her the familiar sight of a book in his hand, one that she had lost weeks ago.
?I believe this is yours.? His words a caress to the ears, carried upon the most soothing of melodic inflections.
The mundane service of his words played too fierce in contrast to the every ounce of him so shamelessly bared before her. But oh the salve of his voice and it's mollifying nature, the curl and coil and lick and lav of the incorporeal that continued to seek and sweeten the hidden spaces beneath the corded thick of her jumper. Had the woman not already staggered and found a greater purchase to the far counter at her back, she most certainly would have fallen.
Too sensitive, too easily roused, too heart swollen and fragile with every evil of a world. Elle hiccupped quietly, her nose suddenly stuffed and her throat constricted. Though overwhelmed, the force that kept her walking each day chose to rise above, directing her eyes back, and then to the book he'd crooned about. Indeed, she recognized the volume. And with fingers that seemed too numb and tingling to be her own, Elle reached out, determined and trembling.
"T-thank you..." Politeness, it seemed, was a fall back. What else could she say?
Touch; it came with her claiming of the book.
The extension of one slender red finger would find the back of her hand and deliver with that brief caress a charge of unabridged emotion. The impact of the rush would not a collision, but a slicing...a laceration, if you would, of the thick and heavy palisade of emotions she used to keep others at arm's reach. This infusion of craving and elation would seek to soothe her guard and embrace it, covering it in a veil of understanding and refuge.
A moment is all that she would be gifted with before the touch departed, and with it stole that haven. His head would tilt as he leaned back against the bar, spilling thick locks of scarlet hair along the swollen bulb of a shoulder.
?You are most welcome, small one. We've met before, though only briefly. I don't seem to recall your name.? Came his slow, soothing reply.
Pleasure and joy of such nature were not of Elle?s world. She was a creature that knew little happiness other than the rigors and heart-lightening touch of a job well done and a smile well deserved. Books, babies, biscotti, a quiet, safe night within the nouveau curl of her apartment and it's high, crooked little overlook onto the city's square and the library's glassy face? The incubus held too great a duster of things about him, her empathy was always a curse, but now she was just left damned by it. For all the emotion he offered and let lap at her unprepared shores, the notary's voice still seemed to work as she regained a proper, albeit slow stand.
"Ms. Gianna." Her response was almost automatic; it held a hint of her work voice. The presence of others as they began filtering into the bar sent an undiluted wave of calm and relief through the overly stimulated empath. Kai's lightness of heart, especially, with Elle's defenses so scattered, seemed to give her the greatest boost.
?Ms. Gianna.? The name was slowly drawn out, as though each word was savored with both lips and tongue, cleaned of flavor. A blink brought him back to her, and the exchange of emotion with the arrival of the newcomers; a small woman-child with flaxen hair and oceanic eyes caught his attention. It gave him insight as to what she sought as protection. He leaned back against the bar, a curled arm bracing him as that fiendish gaze drift away to find the sight of the small blonde so boisterously bounding down the inn?s back stair. So young and innocent in appearance, the weight of his lingering, devouring stare would be felt along every swell and curve of her feminine form from head to toe.
"D-don't." Came her sudden utterance as she felt the incubus' attention shiver to the maid. It was sharp and unintentionally passionate, and it's residue lingered in the sunken pit of her stomach. Her tongue still felt too thick, but move it continued to do. Realizing herself, her tone quieted as the realm of his study fell back to her. It wasn't much better, but Elle often chose to take evil now, it seemed, than let it befall another.
There was a pause, a consumption of some sort, and then slowly he looked back to the Librarian. ?Now I remember. You fancy the library??
Drawing what strength still lingered, there would come a watery attempt at a smile across the amore-drawn nature of lips. "I do... I-I." She paused to clear her throat, still finding it too thick. Assuming her one dominant roll in life. "I am the head notary and head clerk. I assist the public works and literature exchange program for the library's book-master."
?I see. Then I suppose I now know where to find you. Forgive me for my sudden departure, though be assured that my return will be quick. There are things that I seek, and you seem to possess some of them.? The fluid camber of his torso into a flamboyant bow would spill that silken claret mane down his shoulders and across his darkly empyrean visage. Eyes would flicker with starlight, and between breathes, between blinks, between one moment and the next, the incubus would simply be gone.
The urge to crumple up and fall to the floor like a bug stricken by the blow of a passing newspaper roll was strong, but Elle managed not to succumb to the shambles her body and senses had fallen into. There would come a great rush of breath though. Had she been holding it and not known? Possibly.
Slowly but surely, back spilt the true sapphire blue of her eyes and the pale, wheaten blonde of her hair. Control was long from being fully regained, of course, but Elle could at least hold herself together enough to look normal, if a bit waxen from her encounter.
With the flamboyance bubbling up around in from the others, the librarian felt some small comfort attempting to rebuild itself on the wreckage of her insides.
