Board Thread:What Would You Do?/@comment-27950421-20180703040122/@comment-30014014-20181021012156

The night gives way to the day, as the moon dances with the sun, retreating to the blanket of blackness. It's blessing, given to its boiling comrade in the cosmo to shine its unfiltered light into the heavens. Said light strays from beneath the scarce clouds, flushed into the windows, the chimneys and otherwise looking glasses into the domains of so many still caught in the moon's rocking motion of sleep.

One in particular awakes within the yellow glass adorning her windows. In a building reminiscent of a monolith, sheltering blackened brick and steel, as flesh and bone of this sturdy architecture. The mayor's office, standing larger, at the very heart of her dominion.

She wanders her personal quarters, tip-toeing within and without, devoid of her business attire in the moon's reflective color, as her hair is. Rather, it embraces the vast beauty of space, in almost utter darkness, dressing itself as a nightgown. A stark image to wake up to for a man looking to begin his day. Unfortunately, her own faithful, ever a early worm, had already departed, to act as her eyes and ears, not, at the very least, without a morning coffee for her to indulge and a waking kiss.

Bess stretches her snow-white wings, leather in marine blue between the gaps, passing a yawn in between sips. Her glasses tightly fixated on her nose, she sighs as the birds and harpies scratch the sky with their talons, singing alongside sirens in a lullaby manufactured for a disdain on groggy awakenings.

A bell tingle around her finely pointed ears, not unlike elven kind, prompting her to turn to the elevator, who, at every level reached, tingles once more, never louder, always constant.

The last bell tingle is prolonged, showcasing the opening doors of metal. Another winged lady bursts out, leaving barely any time for the doors to fully open. Paper hides her secretary by the visage, who's horns curve upward in a half-moon. Bess smirks, her crimson globulaes overtaken by her eyelids, watching with a quiet pleasure as her secretary just realizes her boss strands in a less-than-desirable attire...or so she thinks.

"Oh dear! Oh dear, I'm so sorry! I'll just--

"Now, now, margaret. No need to feel so shameful, have you something for me?"

"W-well..."

The secretary wavers her paper in hand, hands lunged as much as possible, forgetting the considerable distance between the boss and subordinate. Bess tweaks her head sideways, somewhat dumbfounded her rigid's stance. This does shift to a more sincere smile as her cloth shifts to a more formal set.

"You know, I can't quite reach what you have here. Mind coming closer?" she asks, leaning against her desk, metallic on the surface, melded with polished with a dark painted marble. Her eyes are set on Margaret now seeing her boss more conveniently dressed, shaving off the initial sense of rigid discomfort. Her leap is gentle, the turbulence of her wings barely present. Her paper, revealed more to be a file within a dossier, passes from hands to hands.

Bess, ever the vigilant boss under her easy-going demeanor, is quick to notice the rough color of the dossier "Margaret, this is not ours, is it?"

"Actually, no. It would seem like one of the nearby cities has issued information needing of your attention".

"Really?" Bess walks around her quarters, under the pink eyes of Margaret. The folder is unceremoniously opened and emptied, left back to her secretary's hands once more "Thank you!".

Sitting at her desk, Bess spreads the sheet of papers left inside, depicting pictures of a man's appearance taken from multiple angles. Health files are also stacked among, all thoroughly scrutinized by Bess' crimson glare "Tell me, Maggy, did the one dropping this mention anything while doing so?"

Margaret jolts a bit, somewhat unused to the name her boss had lovely issued to her. Never the less, it gives her pride to feel close to her superior. The same one, who dislikes speaking in a detatched tone on her underlings. She shakes her head "The lady who came with it told me to avoid 'glancing at it, as it was to be for your eyes only. A rather moody minotaur, if you ask me".

"Really?" Bess chuckles, lifting her eyes form the paper to her lady "Shame she didn't say anythong about eavesdropping...I'll need you to make a call for me dear".

"Of course, miss mayor!" Margaret puts a hand in the confines of her blouse, as pink as her eyes. Searching vigorously, her fallen limb breaks out form the enamoured chest she bears, comparable to her boss. The sheepish timidity is shattered, her demeanor brought to the same level as Bess' "Who should I call, miss mayor?"

"Get me the Peacook's Handler this instant", the mayor commands, a voice stranded between booming and snide.

"Your husband?! What would you have him do so early in the morning?"

"Simple, my dear..." Bess rises from her desk, looking back to her open windows. She watches as many of the city are out, awaiting their beginning in whichever profession they confess to. One of many she catches happen to be a duo, walking hand in hand or, arm to arm, to be precise. A priestess sporting a blackened attire of a nun walking in the company of a man carrying a set of bags. Bess smiles faintly at the imagery, her mind pulsing with the prospect of many more similar wondering in her domain, before prompting returning to her own "...looks like one of my sisters had been caught in a...problem".

"Problem, ma'am?" Margaret asks, daring a seat before the desk.

"Quite so" a reply comes, a mere second of interval before the next "You see, there has been someone she has been trying to 'conquer'".

Being monsters, both Margaret and Bess had the knowledge of such words. A man, yet to be coupled with someone compatible via intimacy, the sole proof of their marital status. In many cities, including her own, such a state is prone to benefits, be it human with human, or human with monsters.

"Ohh? I thought the lady of the west had already been wed" Margaret recalls, mind flashing with memories of mentionned lilim's declaration, given not in words, but by sleep-depriving moans echoed throughout the west capital.

"Yes, but, not her own 'conquest'. Rather, one of her citizens. A man with a most intriguing quip. Thinking I'd be unable to bring that one to coupled jubilee. Because, my dear sister has yet to understand the vast power I wield with the odd ones. Like the Ram Drifter she thought he'd pass by with no consequence, like he did at her capitol".

"Oh yes, this one. One would think drifting so much would have impeded of one's predilection on culinary feats".

"Quite so, my dear. Looks like my sister needs a reminder of my...perseverance. So, to do as such, I need the Peacock's Handler, my own sworn mate, to do a little investigation on said man, hence my demand for you to call to him. With the info, I shall device a tangible solution to her 'problem' and thus, spray cold water in her own predilections of my way of life and those under my rule".

"Now..." Bess returns to the window, gazing once more at the people walking underneath. A set of eyes reflect her own, for a man sporting the glyph of a ram, the same one with bags, wavers back, an earnest smile accompanying his gesture. Also, the wave of the priestess,  who then preferred a small bow, long before they return into the mausoleum that is the central church, flodding with masses for a sunday prayer. Her voice stands amidst the mundane joy "...if you would be so kind..."

"He's on the phone, ma'am" responds the secretary, standing besides her boss "The speaker is enablde, he's all clear for orders".

"Have you need of me, madam?" the voice bounces as if to confirm Margaret's words.

"Dear, change of plans. Proceed to the Sunder-Scapes. There is a...recent matter I need your eyes and ears to".

"Already on my way." the voice concedes, a hint of familiarity directed at the mayor. Business-like, yet warm and devoid of separation, from either side "Sounds like the handful"

"Another turtle who no longer bears the will to glance outside".

"Wouldn't be the first one. The Overwatch Protocol is enabled. Live feed coming in..."

--

"Come on already!!!" a voice roars in flame. Busy among the streets, to unfazed individuals, a woman booms in anger. Jagged horns spread from the polar opposites of her head, brim with cinder. Green scales tipped one after another at the very extremities her feet and arms. The wall besides her is dented, cracked to a point, punched over by failures.

"Gah! What are you, a boy!" she bellows, sending a heatwave from the confines of her throat, pointed teeth fastened in a man's vision. It fails to faze him, completely relaxed, sight fixed at the heavens, sky now drafted in orange and red, the augur of evening.

His pants are dangled down, their beginning, a slashed belt tossed at the winds. His back pressing against the warmth floor, the man sighs as he recounts the time lost since this moment. Cornered and coerced by a dragon, did he try to unfasten his gown. All too slow, she said, with one claw sending it spiraling away, exposing his underwear...and intimacy.

"No one's ever denied a dragon!" the woman boasted, ripping her shirt away to reveal a heavy set of breasts, eager to please.

Hours later, tears of denial swell the dragon's eyes as her breasts find no purchase upon the man, despite rubbing his manhood between them. No hardness, no 'rod' standing for attention. The man barely gave her any attention, further scorning the dragon's pride, who by this point, had spend the last coin of patience "Rahhhh! Worthless man! To spit on a dragon's service unabaited!"

"Huh uh, huh uh. Been there, done that" speaks the man, no ioda of reaction in his voice "I'm sure many told you this was a waste of time".

"Tsskk! Never have I found such a limp dick! Beloning to a spineless mollusk, no less!" she spit, fire erupting with every word, a last ditch effort to get a reaction. A spurned pride. An attempt to jest him into a duel of the flesh. A waste of effort.

"Yea, yea, yea, whatever, go hoard some shiny bit or something, it's getting late", the man scoffs, eyes still frozen to the sky, all under the dragon's hissing teeth, wind sent down the alley with her flight, her bossom still unhinged from the attire of her choice.

The man sighs, lowering his gaze to his broken piece of clothing. Using one hand, he forces a knot on his pants to avoid them falling yet some more, the other, craddling his fallen belt. Torsion marks the middle, now in half. He lets yet another sigh "And this was my favorite belt..."

Slowly, he makes his way back home, constantly scrutinized by the remaining dwellers of this city, the Sunder-Scapes. Variations of the monster citizens include hellhounds, their eyes and grins blazing in the encroaching darkness, the only thing visible as of now. Minotaurs can be seen, many hitched at the local gym, opened 24/7, locked on the few men working out on thin cloth, gym cloth. Ogres dwell as well, most of them hitched with a man, whom serve as menials. A rough treatment, to his eyes. Dark elves, oni, amazonesses, this town, but a den of rough people, with an equally polarizing leader, or mayor, convinced that every man entering the place at day and night, a fair game.

How grating, then, it must be for one unable to conceive and maintain the sought-after jewel monsters covet so much: an erection. With a hard on, the switch's on their side, to toy and play with. Flaccidity, the anathema, the switch switches to his side, the man who mastered the art of 'turning' himself on and off. A funny leisure of watching the toughest gals fail in their endeavors to claim him, this habit soon turned to annoyance, as a chorus of ripped clothes and broken belts, as well as wasted time began to take their toll on him.

Regardless, none could ever hope to get a literal rise out of him. Hilarity became a daily laught for him, even surmounting the constant cloth refill. As he walks pass some, they whisper rather harshly about some mystical comeuppance "Hey look! It's the flaccid mollusk!"

"Ugh, he's as pathetic as ever. Looks like some poor chap tried her hand with this heap trash..."

"Yea, I heard about it. Flew off in a rage. Tsk...one day, someone is going to ring his head silly for this".

"I'd love to watch it unfold, his dumbass face overwhelmed with the pleasure of surrender, to become some righteous gal's boytoy".

"You and me both, hopefully before he bolt out like a slimy pansy".

Looking at them, he brings a most sincere 'hello' gesture, a grin invading his visage. He might as well have thrown water in their faces with the way they fly off the handle, gunning for him in a murderous rage "You little shit-stain! Get over here!"

The man gives them no mercy in his sprint, leaping and hopping like a hare graciously ducking and jumping away from harm, all to the twin hound's increasing anger, fuming flames from the gap of their teeth, all the way home where his door meets one of their faces. Fumigating as the coal ladies were, entering one's house without his explicit permission is forbidden. One of the only rules given to men, likely to avoid a male drought within the town.

They know full well he won't open up, no matter what they say and depart...well, not without a kick on his door, bending slightly inward. Hearing them wander away, the man, Randy, breathes in relief "Man, sure was a close one".

Perhaps, closer than he still thinks, for a knock hits his door, all softly. No force, no brutality with which the denizens of the Sunder-Scapes are all too willing to deliver. The voice behind the door, further from the gravel-like voice Randy liked to use when thinking of the speaking tone of the people nearby, instead flowing like music to his ears "E-excuse me? Is anyone here?"

Randy thinks of shrouding himself in silence, having had his laugh for the day. He knees down, only for the floor to creak. He holds his breath, only for his nostrils to make a cacophony of respirations. His grace had fallen, from the hare to a stumbling horse dozzing halfway in its vision, crashing and breaking every possible item with an ioda. Whoever happened to be on the other side, giggle subtly, knocking all the more "Hello? Would you be so kind as to open up? I wish no harm upon you".

Once more, he tries to finesse his way to the door. His feet, no the gracious fleet of his proficient hare, but the rumbling vroombing of a drunk struggling to find his way to the stairs. Looking through the eyehole of his door, his sight is fueled by the azur presence of fur. A tanned woman who's skin stops where the fur begins. Said fur patches appear but at the end of her hands, who they, collide together under her waist. As it is the case with so many, her chest is enamoured, enough to serve as a pair of pillows, should both recipient wish it to.

Her clothing is of the same brand, jeans material, short. Short, but nay all too short to the point of debauchery, a tease to Randy, who dares a glance at her face. A gentle stare returned, unsure of where to place her azur irises, as they dart ever so slowly in random directions. Once again, she knocks "Please. I need but a shelter to spend the night. I hear this domain would suit me just fine".

Her accent is pastry dish to his ears, a certificate to her legitimatacy. Spoken with no harshness, like so many did before. HIs heart, in fact, skips a beat. Regardless, he musters up and opens the door, presented with the woman herself. A mightly more impressive image now that she is unfiltered. Joining the other senses assailed by her mere immediate close proximity, his smell is invaded by her frosty ambience.

"Seems like whoever spoke of leaving the land and it staying is true". Randy speaks those words before his brain can process what he uttered. Embarrassement follows soon as the lady giggles another time, having a marked effect on him, though all too brief to be felt. "Well, I do hold on dearly to my native land" she speaks, showcasing an amulet, crafted in solid ice, yet perfectly substained.

Putting it back in the fold of her jacket, she continues, taking a step forward "I do apologize for my instance behind the door. My name is Yariela, a traveler at heart. I found myself on this city, seeking a shelter and was told this area would suit me well for the night"

Yariela makes a formal bow "I humbly request a stay for a few nights, if that is of no burden to you. I shall repay this act with whichever way you demand of me",

"Yea, sure, go right ahead" Randy speaks, once again before his brain has the time to run his sentence back "...what?"

"Ohh, thank you, kind sir! I shall not make a waste if this generosity!" the yeti lunges in for a hug, giving her host no time to duck. A smooch between bodies colliding as Randy just now spots the silky scarf adorning his guest's neck.

The elegance with which it lays throughout her back, curving around her voluptuous rump, shining at the tip with a subtle cool refresher. Randy could see it, feel the softness of her fur, of her skin. This is a problem. His resistance, already tested...

A stark discovery as the man forces himself out of Yarelia, the latter unfastening with surprise "Ohh? Have I induced too much output around you? I dearly apologize, kind sir".

"No, no, no. It's fine. Just not used to this" he dismisses, keeping his calm amidst his self-inflicted storm brewing in his mind.

"Ohh, well, I must induce a fair warning to you, gracious host. I do provide a certain amount of embraces for it serves as my way of acknowledging another's kind gesture. I do advice you to prepare for them, for they will come at abnormal timing as I see fit" she speaks with smile on her face.

Randy tunes in his ears for motivation. A subterfuge? A snare? Trap? Anything? Anything he can use as motivation. He pries his mind for anything...trying...trying...still trying.

Nothing...

"Well, alright then" Randy takes the speech once more, keeping a tightly shut lid on state of mind "There's a bed upstairs. You can sleep on it for the night and I guess we'll figure thigns out next day or something..."

"How kind, but, is it not your personal quarters? You need not sacrifice your comfort for my, sir".

"No, no, don't worry, I got another place to sleep. Can't have a host just dozzing on the couch, now can I?" he insists, already making his way to downstairs. He waves a hand, not waiting to see as Yariela unfastens her bag full of traveling assortment. The quicker he was out, the better...

-

The morning dawns on the Sunder-Scapes, seeing no end to its share of howls and moans, almost beastial in lieu of the citizenry living in its walls. Randy had long deviced earmuffs to sidestep this issue, as many of the more subtle, should that word fit the mind set of said people, had the provocative idea of mating near his walls, a way of giving him a 'taste' of things he oh-so unfortunately bars himself from.

An abject failure, surely they know, yet it continues to this day. Randy had long assumed it was now out of spite, although, considering the intensity, a poor man must be the scapegoat sundering under his beloved.

With signs of it dying down as always in the morning, Randy rises from his bed downstairs, hidden behind a ceramic door, covered with inconspicuous mats. He never really trusted the rule of the 'single shelter' despite it working for so long,always on the lookout for anyone growing tired of his charade and forcing her way home.

"Man, what a fine day. Slept like a baby...hold on, why did I use the vacate room again?" The sound nap he had taken played with his memories, a backlash returned tenfold as he walks up the stairs, finding his guest in the kitchen.

Seeing her slender legs unbarred, save for her underwear slightly overcame by what looks to be a pyjama top, all of it, heat on his cheeks. Heat he hadn't felt for so long, ever since his 'training'. One of the very first steps to his undoing.

Randy keeps quiet, watching Yariela tend to the kitchen, likely making breakfast, her back to him. Whispers among himself "She's dangerous. I don't know why, but, better keep to myself". He turns to the door, waiting to get away from here...straight to the mini table besides the doorframe downstairs. The rattling of the vase is enough to bring attention to him. A grave tactical error.

Before anything, Randy is fiercely embraced by Yariela at the speed of sound "I bid you a good morning, good sir! I do dearly hope you've had a satisfactory night!"

Assailed once more, the heat he barely felt climbs up around his cheeks. Anymore and they'd be in a deep red. His hands stand far from his guest's hips, looking for a way out.

"I have cultivated breakfast for the two of us, kind host. I do pray you are into a classic set of eggs and bacon!"

"Yea...yea, that's great and all, but, I...uhh, I need the bathroom" he speaks, as quickly as possible. A lie. Being a resouceful one, he had a bathroom outfitted in his hidden compartment.

Fortunately, Yariela takes the snare "Ohh, my apologies! I shall remove myself with utmost haste. Do be quick to it, the meal will get cold otherwise ". Her words go unheard, as Randy rushes to said bathroom. A singular clap protudes from his fingers, gaze focused on the mirror, running water from both the tub and sink "Man, what the hell was that? This one is contesting your iron will. Why is sweat running down your forehead, man? Not supposed to happen!"

He walks around the bathroom, the place gradually fogging, prompting him to wash his hand across said mirror to remove water condensation, speaking to himself as resumed "How the hell can she even put a dent in you, man? How?! Of all the crazies out there, this one isn't even going for the meat and potatoes...get a hold of yourself, this instant!"

His self-depreciating speech is rendered moot by the pack of knocks on his door, ever gentle, ever subtle. Randy forces the strains on his traits as he puts on a war face "Ok, you've got this! She's just as shallow as the rest! Just as invasive! Hut, hut...go!"

He opens the door to a low-eared lady, branded with worry "Are you unhurt? I have overheard an increased in vocal audition and tone and thought you may have been in a predicamment". Her eyes are flustered, scanning the steamy room, seeing all but the increasingly worried face on Randy, quick to banish it, with less success on his mind [Oh shit...she heard me! Too loud, too loud! Think of something, quick!]

"It's fine, I've stubbed my toe by the sink, pain makes me spout nonsense". A mental sigh is peers out with the sight of Yariela's satisfied look.

"Then all is merry! Come quick, your morning meal is getting cold". She clapses his hands with no time for reaction, once again subjecting him to her smooth skin, somehow putting a strain on his frosty demeanor. No way out of this one, he rolls with the punches...

---

Randy was spotted hastily departing his own domain, wasting no time stranded. The door barred behind him, he powerwalks away, not sure where he intends to end. His ears ignore the hisses thrown his way by the married and single monsters, not bothering to return their hostilities with a snarky wave as he used to. Lots of puzzled minds concerning this sudden change, though many others note the not-so-confident look in his face, gushing in a rare sight indeed.

Randy cares not, stumbling around until he finds himself at the park. Randy being Randy, he picks up the furthest bench, least attractive of all, to sit on. He sits and thinks about his impendent prolonged exposure to Yariela. Obviously, she has access to something, anything, to have such an effect on him. He know not what nor how, therefore reinforcement, his only grace.

Randy spends the day running from shop to shop, purchase of peculiar items fit for 'reinforcement'. The nature of said items, to be paralysis. Things made to impede one's vigor or strength. Faces re-kindled with his odd demands in a city where gaining vigor is the norm. Men not seen in long times, until today...

The day falls to the evening under a orange-tainted sky. "Ok, you're going back here, where she's still around. Get in. Rush to the basement. Spend the rest of the day in. The night in. Craft. Drink. Revere! Ok? GO!" He giggles his arms in an effort to pump himself up, holding the brown bag bsdeis himself.

He opens the door and quickly barges in, his eyes locked on the downstairs leading to his hidden room. One step, he prepares himself, in a sprint motion.

Two steps, he feels the impromptu embrace of Yariela hugging him with all the heartfelt she can muster, her voice feeding directly in his ear "Welcome back, kind sir! I pray you have found no inconveniences on your day".

[Not good...not...good] his mind spurns, trying to find a way out of this bind, slowly feeling its surrounding melting. The soft skin of her cheek rubbing agianst his own, accompanied by the gentle brush of her fur tailing the rest of his body. The strong, yet considerate arms conveying her happiness to meet once more. All converged into one devoted woman. And that's without speaking of her feminity which plays against his physical resistances.

All of her, tempting his mind into giving in. To be caressed by the foreign lady, dozzing in her arms, leving his guard unattended. [She's...dangerous] he utters within [Think of something...].

"Hum, happy to see you too, but I need to get some things done" he says, trying hard to ignore the overwhelming signals sent to him. Again, to his relief, it works as Yariela lets go of him, a honest smile adorning her chocolate lips, a mistake for him to dare a look. She speaks "I have commited to supper and am confident in my cooking. Would you be kind as to join me for dinner later?"

Randy's eyes search for deception, honed by the years of failed attempts on his person. Nothing. Nothing dicernible. He holds back a sigh, looking at his guest with affirmation "Why not? I haven't really ate anything in the day".

"Fantastic! I trust that my stew will fill the gap in your empty stomach. Be quick for it awaits" she chimes, another hug he is unprepared for, though lasting for five seconds and no more. Yariela returns to the kitchen in a walk of elegance, its holdon Randy still manifest. His head mode erratically in an effort to thwart whatever hold she has on him, fleeding downstairs.

Inside his shelter, Randy starts dsplaying his items from a shaky point of view. His hands still recoil at sentiments not felt since long. Obviously, this means a unfavory condition of work [Damn it, she's good at this. Can't work with my hands sweating like that.]

He'd have to wait for his body to stabilize, wrestling with long-departed feelings. Feeling growing from it, to her? Hypnosis? Perhaps, he was not sure. But his remedy was sure to remedy to this. Until then, eating sounded pretty good, even with the possibility of her lacing her stew with 'substances', the most common, aphrodisiac.

He climbs the stairs, hoping to whatever out there that Yariela had since long been done. Seeing her patiently waiting for him, ears perking up with the sight of him filling her eyes felt more like a middle finger from the gods...or at least, he tried to summerize it as such. Seeing any other would perfectly tailor his mind to a antagonized thought, seeing her bright face made him skip a beat instead. A missed beat he felt. He sighs...

Randy's feet carry him to his designation, weary of what she may try. His mind is alert, his body, a lesser degree. His spoon carries the first bit of stew and beef to his mouth, immediately picking up on the dish. HIs body, while trying to keep a neutral profile, completely caves on the delicacy, to Yariela's spurn of pride and confidence, tailored in a earnest contentment.

A small recurring of spoon clashing with ceramic dishes. Yariela look up to Randy, who's eyes are fixated on his bowl. She speaks "I just realized I forgot to ask occupies my host's time during the day. If you don't mind indulging me..."

"Ohh..." Randy straightens up, unsure what to make of this "Well..."

Thinking no harm of this, he lays out his profession as a chemist, one diddling in the management, research and improvement of chemicals, whichever the source. The science behind, the work he does. Apparently, according to him, a profession such as that appeared lackluster to many in the Sunder-Scapes, reason why so few monsters are present. Rather, most vacancy spots are filled with men, perceived as lesser and thus, fitting for the jobs required little physical input.

Then it switches as he asks about her travels. In jubilee, Yariela scoots her chair next to him, sowcasing a map of everywhere she travelled before hand, each town stamped with the insigna of a cauldron. With it, she talks about how she's been a cook at heart and went from place to place with the sole desire to share her culinary delight.

"Well, it sure works on me" states Randy, his bowl emptied close to one passed through the sink. Once again, a bright smile adorns Yariela, quick to unconsciously kick the chair as she bounces up like a spring. A heat-seeking hug, locked on Randy, who, with no surprise, is tackled with no recourse for evasion.

"Oh, thank you so much for these kind words! They really imprint at my heart!" she gushes, softly embrcing the flustered man, feeling the heat rising to his cheeks once more in a much redder pigment. Sweat begins to pour down his forehead, his mind unable to withstand the aroma of signals his body was conveying. His heart skipping more than one beat, the cheeks refusing to recede, the sweat flooding down like a broken dam. His breathing also accelerating, somehow passing under Yariela's radar.

Too bad every else didn't, a demonstrated by the end of the cheek-to-cheek embrace, her eyes diving into his own. Then his cheeks. Curiosity replaced by a giggle "My apologies! I seem to have underestimated the amount of spice I've infused into this supper".

A break for Randy, who knew all too well this was no mere heat rush "Y-y-yea...I'm ki-ind of a softie in the pepper resistance department". His try to dot on his objective, only to be swayed by Yariela's obstructing presence, one he couldn't bear to turn from.

The yeti places a hand on Randy's, slowing pulling it to her hip "Perhaps...". her azure lips barely opens, muffling most of her words "...perhaps I could be of service".

"!!?" The cards have finally revealed themselves. A snare to wither away one who cannot be claimed from the inside, poised to pounce on him in his weakened state, mercilessly--

Her voice swats away such thoughts back in the darkest pits of his head "My roots are bound in the cold climates, you see. As such, the words of one about their home never leaving them is a more literal sense. Hencefore..."

Her paw puts just enough strength to press his hand, immediately introducing a feedback akin to a chilly climate, from his palm to the rest of his body. Bound in her sweater, Randy still somehow managed to feel a 'taste' of her cool skin, periodically reeling from frosty and delicate pulse of cool temperature washing over him. All under her gentle snow-like voice "...I offer the cold company of my entire body for you to cool off, should you need to..."

Her face descends from the duty-bound guest, awaiting his answer. A faint smile returns all the more, plunging Randy into a dilemma. What game was she playing? Why not pounce and make her attempt? Why offer something else than what the rest had forcefully demanded? And...why was it working so well on him? He is at a lost as to how to maneauver around this, assailed by her warm, yet cool body, so enticing. Welcoming, no less. Her words playing chords in his head, displaying a tone of sincerity, likely to snare him.

"I...I'll be fine, don't worry" Randy answers slowly, witness to Yariela's smile lessening without evaporating completely. Her hand loses its grip on his own, flopping down, one after the other.

"Very well then. I shall return to my rented quarters for now, as it is night. I wish you a comfortable sleep, kind sir". Yariela turns from Randy, slow to climb the stairs to the bedroom, leaving him to his thoughts. He notes how the light in her eye are damped. Sadness? Likely another trap waiting to spring.

Alas, this one had worked its magic on his body. Looking at her climbing, his eyes turn to her rump, making his hand shake, reeling in dismay at an abrupt separation. This is bad, he had little time to stabilize his body, who's already fighting against him. All of it, working to the dreadful area.

He flees to his hidden room, clumsily putting the items before him, his station. His thought is plagued with the voice of Yariela, her touch, interfering in his work. Suggestions of acts long-forbidden. Her lips, whispering the same words the rest had shouted to him, devoid of the same rage, the animosity. How would they feel, rubbing against his very own? What taste would they convey?

This overpowering thought refusing to depart from the front center of his head, shatters what once was unbreakable. Randy's eyes buldge open, as another thing does. "No...no, no, no..." Heavy sweat pours once more, as he dares a direct sight to what he felt "No, no, no, no..." His pants, once flat as a board, is sprang as a tent, hiding a biological function, unseen for years.

No, no, no, no! No! NO! Why do I have an erection?!!?" Randy's mind melts down at the sight of his body reacting in a way bound to make an impression on any lady, where she to look down for a second "Oh god, no! Not here, not now!!!"

He cannot work like this, his bulging 'stick' growing harder by the second as his mind continues to display scenarios where he hungrily kisses Yariela, her moans enticing him further, yet all of it, done in a touching manner, devoid of violent movements or unbound desire. He grabs a capsule over the counter to his table lying next to his bed. SSRI, or selective serotonin reuptake inhibitors. An emergency option for one needing to recede his functions.

"Damn it, damn it, damn it! Open now! Shit!" he spouts, the sweat piling up in his fingers to a slippery degree. A 'pop' sees the cap dropping as Randy downs two pills. The thoughts are washed like a stain on a wall, his 'lumbering jack', losing steam and prowess. It lies, flaccid inside his pants.

His debate with himself had wrenched much energy from him, rendering him incapable of anything but sleep. Which he does, falling face-first on his pillow.

--

The dawn dawns on him through a miniature hole. His dream, one involving Yariela on his lap, wactching his face close, arms ensnared behind his neck begging for a kiss with shut eyes. They sit atop a mountain coated in snow and ice, yet the environment gave no fight, put no strain. His warmth, kept afloat by the extreme closeness of his guest. A blizzard blows across the landscape, yet his sight in locked on her and her only...

Randy shakes his head, trying to remove himself from the dream's recollection. He moves away from his bed, looking at his table. The stuff he bought, wasted. Broken, Spilled. Seems like the struggle from yesterday had cost more than anticipated. Another set would have to be bought.

Randy walks up the stairs, gulping down yet another SSRI pill, hopeful it will mend him down for further interaction. His mind proves him right, swept from his feet via the first step out. Yariela's scent drafts over him, however finding no purchase on his psyche "A profitable new dawn, I wish upon you, good sir!"

"Good morning to you too" he replies, sounding a bit more confident in his proverbial shelter, far from whatever technique she's fond of.

Dropping him by his feet, the host keeps hold on his hands, a gaze lowered. Her voice breathes worry "My host, I see you had a most unsavory sleep".

"Ohh, don't worry about it, just a nightmare".

"A haunted dream?" Yariela tightens her grip on his hands, embedded in her furry reflection "Dreams are often the reflection of one's day or experience. Judging by your tired appearance, I'd make the gamble that perhaps, you much to release. If you would allow, I'd love to welcome whatever issue plagues you with open arms..." A faint blush appears on Yariela's cheeks, almost as if she had deviced the origin of said nightmare.

The SSRI pill, Randy's life buoy, punctured by the skip of a heartbeat. Him emergency, a failure. Her words entice him once more. So sweet, so soft. He can't stay here, or risk another incident. Randy looks to the toilet, turning away from her "Sorry, I really need to go to the toilet. Kind of been holding it for a while now".

"Ohh, very well. My apologies" Yariela lets go of his hands, watching the man run off to the bathroom. Her sense of worry is rescinded by curiosity. One of her fingers rest under her chin, watchful ever the more.

From here on, repetition sets in, from his peek talk, to his discovery of his host's culinary talent. Outside during the day, inside by the night. Her enthralling hugs, words, scent. A struggle against his mind spilling forth in the real world in the shape of a man's erection, prompting him to grab more SSRI pills, rendering him unable to manufacture his sought-after mixture, to reinforce his sense dullness.

Again, and again, the laughter of nearby walkers, gushing at what they assume to be his body's neglection biting back. Teasing him with provoctive gestures, though, their acts and words yield no bite from their snares. Content enough to see what appears to be karmic retribution, some more daring make sure to conduct debased acts before him, sending yelps of pleasure through the walls.

Again, these fail to find a hole to latch on, as it all slides down his physical and mental entity, as rain drops on a rain proof coat. And yet, for all of this fruitless assault, he was wearing down in the shelter of his domain. His pent-up exposure to the presence of Yariela worsening, threatning to detonate the bottle that is his mind...

-

Supper had been served, a beautiful mix of steak chopped into a more refined set of cuts awaiting patiently next to a well-dressed salad assorted with berries. All of it, graced by the presence of a chilly 'crème brulée' on another cup, perfectly frozen, every with the ambient temperature of the room.

All of it, eaten to the last drop by Randy, who faced a warm hug by his long-standing guest, like a trade for each compliment given. Half of him wanted no more than to fully embrace her, enrolling his arms around her sublime waist, to bask in the unnaturally hot skin of a winter-dweller, adorned with a ice-cold scarf permanently docked at the base of her neck.

The other, spouted the tired excuse of sleep and exhaustion to his guest, soon departing the kitchen to run off to his hidden compartment. The monthly repetition had finally found a wrench in its cogs, displayed by Yariela's grab on his arm. Randy's arm gets rigid from her touch, trying to fight off the gentle sensation. Her voice joins the brawl "Kind host..."

Randy finds himself unable to say anything, this grab being a first among the routine that had set up between the two. Her voice is laced with empathetic worry, as is the rest of her composition. Eyes, face, gesture, everything, strongly directed towards the man "I feel as if you've been keeping to yourself for long. I worry this retention is affecting your health in a negative manner. Please, if you need to be soothed..."

"No, no, don't worry. My job has been slightly more demanding, that's all" he brushes off, his mind uselessly hounding on any trace of deceptiong from Yariela. He fights the idea of opening the lid, his mixture, ever undone. A lossing fight, depicted by the heat rush on his cheeks.

"But sir, you're been keeping a distance for long. I can sense a longing---

"Trust me, ma'am, it's fine. I...just need some rest, alright" he forces out, a weight on his heart. He turns to his room, feeling the distance of her hand. The fight in his mind turns for the worse, as his thoughts were already beginning to unravel the buried yearn accumulated throughout the years.

Slowly, like a dripping faucet, ever subtle, ever away. A torrent, as someone had turned it on, with the coming of Yariela. Her kindness, her sincerity. Her worries, spoken to him. At a much more clear tone. Every attempt to dismiss it, a stark failure, strengthened by the sour look from her face, the last thing he saw as he went down. A woman's feelings, being outright rejected, as if she had done something against her precious one.

Once more, Randy isolates himself in his hidden room, his hands struggling to craft [Come on, come on! I need this right now] His hands move irregularly, constantly contradicting his desired movements.

Images of Yariela spin in his head, entwined with him [Damn it! I don't need this! Just work!] They persist, growing more frontal. Hugs, re-kindling her touch, the sensation. The shaking in his hands unending.

[Come on! It's just magic! She's just deceiving you, can you not see that?!!] he amps himself up, with no success as now, his mind displays thoughts of a sworn kiss. The woven lips unto one another. Her breath, misty. Her taste, a sweet vanilla. Her touch, a blanket of clouds. He was losing, fast.

[Damn it all My pills! Where are my pills?!!] Drowned in a haze of his own sweat and suggestive imagery, Randy takes hold of his capsule, holding a few pills left. With two fingers, he begins his process. Unfortunately, the sweat alters the same process.

[Come on, just open!] His fingers keep slipping, fightning his hold.

[Open up!] Another slip.

[Just...] And another...

[Open...] Yet another

[UUPPPPP!!!!] HIs forceful grab mixed with the sliming fingers moves the capsule like a stray bullet, bouncing off the metal walls. His hands clench in frustration, assailed still by the thoughts of Yariela in her feminine form, waiting for his touch, laying on the bed, undressed. Bare.Vulnerable.

The unfathomable happens, once again. His earnest feelings breach into the material world. His pants tighten with unmistakable design. Amidst his mind, images of Yariela in her sublime feminity. Amidst his body, a towering erection hard as stone, awaiting the years of pent-up yearn and desire to be released.

A loss on both worlds. Frustration broken swelling in. His immunity to the touch, lost. The peak of anger takes over his reasoning, a furious yell burning forth "DAMNIT! DAMNIT, DAMNIT, DAMNIT! WHAT IS WRONG WITH ME!"

He flips the table off, smashing everything underneath, a viscous liquid oozing form the aftermath "YEARS! YEARS OF HOLDING OFF AGAINST A BUNCH OF PSYCHOPATHS AND THIS ONE...! THIS ONE JUST..."

Enthralled by his fury of failed saves, Randy grabs the feet of his table and launches it against the wall, breaking it further in pieces "HOW THE HELL DID THIS ONE MANAGE TO GET UNDER MY SKIN LIKE THAT?! WHY HERE!! WHY NOW! WHY HER! WHY ME?!! WHY COME TO ME WHEN THERE WERE OTHERS! So many others that could have taken her! But NOO! I HAD TO PLAY THE NICE GUY AN DROP MY GUARD!"

Unsatisfied with the mere shatter of the wooden table, he runs off to the toilet installed in his hidden room, turning to the mirror "You could have re-directed her elsewhere. You could have outright not answered. But nooo. You had to WELCOME. HER. IN! AND FOR WHAT?! SO YOU CAN PRETEND SHE'S DIFFERENT!? HUH?! IS THAT IT?! JUST TO ACT LIKE SHE WOULD BE DIFFERENT!? JUST BECAUSE SHE DID JUMP YOU YET?!...hahaha...hahaha...HAHAHAHA, YOU REALLY ARE A SPINELESS PIECE OF SHIT, AREN'T YOU? LOATHING LONELINESS AT SUCH A DEGREE YOU HAD TO JUMP ON THE FIRST WOMAN WHO DIDN'T OUTRIGHT TRIED BOSSING YOUR STUPID ASS AROUND!!! HAHAHA...HAHAHA, YOU WORTHLESS, SPINELESS JELLY WEARING THE SKIN OF A MAN!!!"

His fist collides through the mirror, sending shards across the room. It lies shattered, not enough to blur out his reflection. He punches it again....

...and again....

...and again.

Sending more shards splatter to the wall behind him. The leftover had turned red, jagged cuts pertruding his fingers. Blood mushed to the broken remains, flooding his mind with pain synapses, a red tide drowning the images. His injured hand shakes, a small drippling of blood further seeping out. The pain distracts him from his perceived failure, so far as to ignore the vigorous erection poking his pants out, now threatning to whimper out at the casual display of violence.

His anger substained is challenged by the knock outside the door to the basement. His hidden room lies underneath, yet he could hear it just fine, followed by a voice "Gracious host, are you alright? I have overheard aggressive voices and a cacophony".

Randy looks at the outside of his shut barrack. Silence. He speaks not, awaiting her departure. Meanwhile, his attention turns to the unbroken cabinet, from which he opens up. Medical equipment. He rubs off some alcohol on his wounds, wincing under the procedure, then follows up with a wrap of fresh gauze over. By then, she have thought it nothing...

"Are you hurt? I'm coming, sir!" she speaks, tension in her voice followed by what sounds like steps.

"It's alright" he shouts "Just had a false movement and fell off the bed".

Silence...

"It sounded like more than a mere fall..." she retorts "...much more malicious. I-I...I'm coming in"

"You don't need to" Randy tries to argue, his rage mostly gone. Once again, her voice had mellowed him out "I'm telling you, I'm unhurt..."

She didn't answer, instead walking literally over the roof of his head. Looking down, he could see his 'incident' had recovered in force with her mere voice. Clenching his unwrapped hand, he curses himself again as the damage in the hidden room becomes apparent. A destroyed tabled, splattered liquids over the floor, a broken mirror at the hidden bathroom.

He ups to the door of his barrack, standing behind. He can hear Yariela's footsteps clear as day, frantically searching for the opening, only to stop, thumping a few times directly over his ear. He would have to be quick about it "Ok, just rush up once you open up, alright? Just--

His auditive senses are assaulted by grinding metal and breaking wood. Yariela was tearing the hidden door out. With all of his subterfuges, Randy had essentially forgotten that she was monster like everyone else. His eyes widen as he witnesses her lifting the average-sized but heavy door over her head with little effort. The trauma the floor substains with the drop on the door sends tremor under.

Yariela looks down, seeing Randy standing by the door. Seeing but his head unhidden, the yeti guest speaks with a sworn voice, a hand on her chest "I've came as fast as I possible could. You sounded unwell".

"Well, I'm sorry I woke you up like that. I am well, don't you worry. I just need to get the broom to clean up some stuff dropped". His voice is wavering, his stance, crouched. The 'vigor' proudly prodding his pants is at an overload, seeing his person of desire in nothing more than a sweater and a pair of blue underwears.

Yariela scans the man, noting his odd position, although that can be attributed to the stairs. Wanting to believe him, she can't find the strength to carry on and returning. Her senses are in alarm galore, whispering what she knew she heard. Taking a step forward, she declares "I'll lend a helping hand then. I'm sure you wouldn't have any problem with that".

"Please, that is no way for a guest to act. You go back to sleep".

"I can't. Not before we get this slight issue sorted out" she refuses, going for the broom. Coming back, she is greeted with Randy taking hold and going down. Of course, in his attempt to masquerade, he forgets, there is no door.

Barely able to make the first step in, a gasp passes through his ears "I...I knew it..." Her presence is overwhelming, undeniable. Her sight, unmistakable. The broken remains stand out across the room.

Randy turns, intent on explaining himself. HIs words never come out, blotted out by Yariela's closing distance. Her hands gather his under them "What happened? This, this is no accident!"

"Well...it's nothing important---

"Don't tell me that!" she spouts. Her eyes peer deep in his pair, pain swelling within "You've told me as such so many times before! Yet, everything I see tells me the opposite! The voices I've heard, so violent, so harmful. Whom were you speaking against? Did someone call you?"

His yells, louder than he had anticipated. His eyes look down, attempting to drift away from Yariela, the latter seeing but a measure of distance. Her hands cling strongly to his. This...distance, persistent over the month, with someone she was sure to make a connection with. The pain of his silence, unbearable "You won't let me get close, why? Have I visited harm upon you? Tell me, please! Let me undo my misdeeds!"

Mistakes...she has commited none, save for being the most approachable individual in this place. Randy can't stand to hear her speak as if she had commited a crime or violence on him. She was sweet. Everything about her is. His thoughts, washed away by injury, returned in force, intense in nature. Eyes bulging out, he turns back to her "We'll talk tomorrow about this, alright? Right now, I need to go".

"Why? Does it have to do with the things spilled? Are you cut? Are you poisoned? Tell me! I can't stand watching you like this" she pleads, narrowing the distance as if it wasn't enough. Her body presses on his, sandwiching his behind the wall.

Randy looks back at her. Eyes swelling to the point of, crying? Why so? All this time, he was convinced she was here to make another attempt at claiming him, yet there she was, about to tear up. Tear up for his sake. Tear up as he kept putting road blocks between them. Every opportunity, left to the cold for his genuine well-being.

He realized, at this point, she wasn't here to gobble him up like so many had tried. More still, his 'responses', nothing more than earnest feeling crawling through the barb wires of his snide, distrust and years of accumulated poisonous experience. She cooked for him, spoke to him.

Then she hugged him.

They connected, shared their experience, laughed, stood in silence.

Then she hugged him.

She saw his issues, blurred by his deceptive words. Tried to reach out, wanted to, only to be led astray.

But she hugged him anyway.

There was nothing wrong with him. No poison, no aphrodisiac or palarysis. Nor were there any spell, artifact or item here to wisk his will away.

His last excuse had crumbled away by sincerity, as his body's aversion, to tender care.

As a result, Yariela, who was pouring her words out, stopped outright "What is...?"

Randy knows all too well what occured. Looking down, the yeti, who had nothing in the way but a underwear spots his 'package'. A whisper atop her lips "What is this..."

Randy now had the unfortunate display of his failed training. An erection, firecely pressing on her, refusing to withdraw. She looks back at him, showing reddening cheeks "Sir...is this what you've tried to hide?"

He didn't answer, his shame binding his tongue shut. She asks again, as soft as ever "Is this why you've pushed yourself from me for long?" Nothing. Nothing but averted gaze. She takes a gander to his spilled and battered table, watching the oozing chemicals.

"Yes..." he whispers. He didn't know what else to say. She had given him nothing but kindness, and this was how he felt about her...

"Is that so?" she returns. Her cheeks are as red as cherries. Silence pre-falls the two, the bubbling of the wasted components dying down "Is that why you yelled at yourself so harshly?"

"...yes" he answers. This causes Yariela to lower her head for a few seconds, breathing once. He didn't know how she managed to hear him so clearly, but she did. Perhaps her heart spoke of those.

Never the less, the yeti turns to the stairs leading upside. her feet start taking her here with a hand attatched to Randy's, bringing him with her. Up the stairs to the basement. Up the second flight. All the way to his old room where she sleeps the night.

Barely within, Yariela turns to Randy, backing up as he walks. A smile adorns her face as she sit, pulling him at her side. Unaware of what is to come next, he sits with no resistance, unprepared for her crossover. Her smooth legs cross behind his back, prompting his attention. Denied, as she lifts a hand to his chin, re-directing his gaze to her body "Ha-ah-ah. I am over here~

His cheeks had remained as red as possible. Her own match his. Everything he denied about the sensation of her body came back. Warm and cool. Soft and smooth. He wanted her, everything about her. And yet, he held himself. Yariela shakes her head "Still so rigid, are we? Alright, let me begin~

With that said, she slowly plunges her lips on his. His thoughts flare up, swept away by the kiss. All of it, a severe downplay on how it really was. All of it, true, if dilluted. Time blurs out around them. They passed as grains of sand all until their separation.

Randy looking like he just came out of a dream blinks multiple times, unsure of whether this was one of his delirious dream. Yariela giggles, gently colliding her forehead with his own "How long?"

This slight bump called him back to his spot. It was obvious what she asked "Guess it'd be after the second day".

"Which one? Your dreams or your..." her eyes lower to his pants, where his 'piece' stand, fiercely re-supplied by the kiss, hungry.

"Both, really".

Yariela giggles, relief laced in this string "I'm glad, really. My feelings are returned." Her eyes close as she speaks, sighing in contentment.

"I'm surprised you had anything in for me, to be honest". Randy's hands clapse on her waist, revering in the sensation of a unnatural body, seemingly tailored for him. The mind with it, a match for him.

"Well, I can't say I wasn't enticed by the challenge of bringing love to the so-called 'spineless jelly', now can I?"

"Ohh, you heard that..." he blushes harder, unsure of what is to happen, when he feels her hands gently pushing his back to the bed.

"I did. From many, actually. And you too..." her smile is as genuine as ever, commited to a true experience. One of her hands comes to reach for his own, knitted together. The other, through his pants.

"Wait, wait! What are you--

"I wish to witness this 'spineless jelly's' manhood~ she whisper, no hint of base lust in her voice. Rather, it melts down with her yearn to be in the company of whom shall soon become her own.

"Hold on, at least wait for a moment--" Randy had long the thought process of monsters in this kind of act, forgetting his phallic's state was what she sought. And a prize she unveiled, it immediately rising at attention.

"This is your feelings toward me, is it?~ her lips coo, free hand reaching for her underwear. A subtle tear scratches the void of the room, falling free from her legs "And you've kept it from me for so long~

Unable to wait a second more, Yariela's hips rise while she holds his 'meat' just under her intimate place. Her eyes wince but slightly, feeling it in her hand. Underneath her presence, his sight catches her split-second of doubt. Her first time?

She looks back, sensing his thoughts. As to protest, she takes a breath and lowers herself in one go, filling herself with his manhood, an act not without consequences. Randy's mind is overloaded with waves of pleasure, almost going to the brink. His only salvation, the warm sensation spilling from her legs where his phallus is deeply buried. Blood.

Guilt gripes his heart "I'm sorry. I didn't think you'd be unexperienced like that". Breathing heavily, he tries pushing his mind away, to re-kindle with his cold exterior, to incite his sense of distance, the way in which he enable his ability to turn off his aching desire.

It fails, as Yariela gently falls on his like a set of pillows, her lips open for another kiss. It spurns the opposite, rendering his phallus harder. "Please..." she pleads between kisses. They started making love, her hips moving up and down. His hands cling to her waist "...don't do that..."

"Then, let me be gentle with you" he states, washed over by her tears. The pain of virginity given to his hunger pales in comparison to connecting to a kindred spirit. Pulling out would only ruin this moment. Rescind her joyous tears.

Words could no longer communicate when they felt for one another. Pleasure outpaced pain, leaving the door open for a flood of moans, chored together. Years of teasing, finally erupted in a impromptu honeymoon. They reach the heavens, going beyond many surrounding them, as the inexperienced lovers catch themselves unsure how to react, yet stll entwined. A sleepless night, exploring each other's bodies, claming it for the other...

The white night had become a bright dawn. The sun shines brighter than usual. It fills the open windows of recent lovers left to the night's desperate grip, dozzing in harmony. Yariela in particularity, seemed at peace, cleansed of the pain many face in their first times, content over Randy like an individual with a body pillow, if said pillow had the instrinct ability to feel. And encapsulate heat. And had arms encircling one's waist.

The first to sleep, she get the honor to wake first, yawning all the while. Her face, slowly unfastening the shackles of awakening, takes a gander at her sapient pillow. A smile stretches on her face ~A good morning to you, my dear sleepy head~

Her shout filters his ears in a delicate whisper, a hand going for her cheek in a caress. He opens up an eye "Yea, yea, good morning to you too". He speaks with absolute sincerity, unbased even by the grog of sleep.

She raises her hips from his own, a sharp pain briefly crippling her, forcing a wince out of her. With accuracy, Randy rises as well, further extending his clock as leaning pole, pulling his 'guest' to his side "Looks like even with monsters, that's still a pain to deal with, huh?"

"Unironically so, unfortunately." she responds, breathing in relief as the need to stand becomes inexistent. Minutes pass as she turns to him, a smile yet again "Well, now that you've went out the back door to greet the chef in person, you've free reign to hold the goods".

"Ohh, which ones. Breakfast, or...?" he ends his question with a carress on her hip via his occupied hand, lightly squeezing her thigh, prompting a light jolt from her, although welcomed ~Hmm, hmm, both~

"Two for the price of one, I like it".

~Get used to that~ she whispers to his ear, feeding them with her angelic voice before she suddenly turns to the window. She rises up, forsaking the slight pain gradually receding, dropping remains of their lovemaking. She takes seconds of just breathing the air outside. A sunny day, quiet streets, quality of air. And yet..."Hum...darling?"

"Hmm?" Randy looks at her curiously dotting the outside.

"Has the air always been so...murderous?" she asks, plunging Randy into confusion as he walks to join her, bearing a pair of jeans.

"Murderous? What do you mean by--

...

He groans in frustration, pushing Yariela to concerns "Darling? Are you---

"You know that part where you  told me you heard the name 'spineless jelly' in my stake?"

"Well, yes. I have overheard many using the name when talking about you in particular. Why so?"

Randy sighs as he partakes in window shopping, feeling the cool warmth of Yariela at his side. A letter unopened at his balconey, directly before them. The front reads "The halcyon labs needs you!!! Meet us at the Lost continents for further information!!!"

"Frankly my dear, I think we could use a different setting..." he drops, watching as other people begin going out of their homes. Women, especially, going to their daily grind, glaring back at him. Their eyes give no congratulations, no happiness. Anger. Rage. Fulmigation. Fuming fury. All of it, from most of them, invading the peacful air into a blood-soaked intent...