User blog:MockingJester/Slip and slide

Blank.

Such is the stare the man gives her. Although in his defence, his face, shrouded by a paper of steel mail probably didn't help that much. His armor tethers in the ornated variant, and yet not so distinctive compared to paladin Charles. Oh, how his mighty armor shines with splendor in the sun of this land, his light bright as a beacon. How elegantly he thrusts his blade against the violet woman in drago flesh anf foxy tint. How magnificient...

...his slide occurs as he crashes against a enarby tree. To his defence, the tree did collapse on impact, leaving his armor spotless...which would be the case were the soap not encroaching in the edges of its frabic, perverting the golden trims with purple shades. "By the goddess, this foul liquid is polluting my pure armor!" he spits in spite as he looks at his hands and surrounding, keeping a semblance of poise with his spiked golden knees.

Alas, his hold on the world below turns thin as he slips yet again, falling flat on his back. The only man standing among the circus of slippery slopes is but a private wearing his particular armor. In spite of his rank, he seemed to have a better foot on the situation, literally, than the rest of the remaining platoon.

"So, mystery man, are we going to dance? Or are you scared to join the sloppy end like your skating captain?" the woman taunts, leaning forward deep enough to let her chest fully visible over the scales she bears. To her curiosity, the man called 'Ottoman' by the rest of the group did nothing to acknowledge her. No, his pace is one going back for his captain paladin, somehow ignoring the saturation of sliding soap lingering under his feet as a tint of green seem to confirm his feet's presence.

With his spear attached to his back, the ottoman knees down, grasping the soak-devoid plates of his captain, hitching him up with little effort. With his touch, sir Charles could now afford to ignore the object of his humiliation for the past 30 minutes. He grabs his golden sword firmly, pointing it at the mizu "Disgusting abomination! I'm not done with you"

Her lean had long since ceased, replaced by one of her hands crossed under her chest with the other vertically reaching for her chin. A leering expression accompanies her stance "You're not? A shame I am. You're a really bad dancer". Her cheeks puff briefly, sending her on a light laughter.

"Shut that sewer of yours, wench! Actually, never mind that, I'll shut it for you!" he shouts at the top of his lungs, pushing aside Otis the Ottoman. His eyes are riven on the beastial woman, his weapon advancing with his steps, pressing one of his foot backward to push him forward with a leap "Have at you, sickly thing!"

Otis, all the while, scratches his head in disbelief. His captain, as mighty as he was had d been humiliated by a singular monster for a little more than 30 minutes, effectively following suit of the entir platoon, but he still thought he had yet a chance? Improbable. But Otis was but a foot soldier. Glorious battles, as inviting as they were, were not for him to carry. He turns his eyes away, slowly helping the rest of the soaked soldiers up, most of them trying to scrub off the soap clinging to their armor with their ration of water.

Their beginning of the path to cleaness is once again splashed with obstacles as the relenting scream of their defeated captain slides yet again in the midst of them. The gooey soap used to expel him splishes and splashes on the nearby men, or, all of them, really, causing them to lose their grips on their weapons, helmets, armor and most importantly, their footing.

The mizu laughs again as a concert of stumbling soldiers occurs despite their desire to stay afoot. Her claws strike against the rampart of each other in a rythmic pattern, mocking disappointment "I heard that the shiny men were attrocious dancers, but this...talk about more bark than bite".

Her grin is visible, witnessed to the men's collective failures to get themselves up and staying up. And then, her shut eyes return once more to the lone Ottoman soldier, only one looking to stan with little effort. "Ohh, sorry about that..." she crosses her arms, speaking in his direction "...perhaps now would you like to try dancing with me?"

The man with the mail mask crosses his arms but soon turns to his captain. The soap used was this time painted in purple instead of what seemed to be the classical white with a light tint of the former. Aligned with his thought, this soap had a much more slippery surface and clinging power on the unfortunate Durmain, who is faced with a more stringent hardship to stand. HIs greaves are rended as useless as socks on polished wood.

"So you noticed, huh?" the mizu speak, confirming his thoughts "That was about the third time this guy had tried for a homerun. Now he's out".

Otis turns for a brief moment back at the mizu, the woman grinning in full teeth trying not to laugh at Charles Durmain's repeated attempts at holding grounds. With each fall, the man spit motlen insults, prompting the lone soldier to walk once more toward his superior, at the mizu's visible dismay. While still shut, Otis could swear she looked disappointed.

Once again, he picks his leader up, the man covered from head-to-toe with concentrated soap."Napkin. Now" he speak in a monarch tone whilst shooting death glares at the mizu. Otis pulls out a few napkins of his back seated beside his spear. Durmain quickly takes hold of them and wipes himself clean with the blessed fabrics, wiping off the slippery liquid off of his face.

"Good thing I've thought of gathering these around" he boasts proudly as he drops the now soiled rags on Otis. He walks forward, cleaning his blade, his glare returned to the woman, a grin as a compliment for her soaked welcome "Now...where were we?"

The mizu's cheeks puff in protest, willfully ignorant of the golden man standing forward. Her close gaze are centered on the ottoman going around wiping off the soap on the other soldiers with his blessed napkins. Their constitutions seem to be somewhat entitled, considering those yet to be off the soil were eagerly awaiting their share.

"Well?" asks the captain paladin Durmain, taking yet another step toward the woman holding them all in line. Her gaze briefly shines on him, though the lines on her face are simmered with boreom as her tone is flat "I think you should avoid taking anothe step". With this said, she returns to the ottoman soldier, who by then had finished wiping all of the men present.

"Ohh, afraid that I might hurt you up close? Well, that's all goo to meeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee--

His voice stretches as he slips for the fourth time, perhaps more than counted, sending him crashing against yet another tree. He was worn out. Fighting the natural inertia of the slippery surface while wearing a half-ton armor with gold was increasingly sapping throughout the campaign. Falling this last time has corroded the remaining of his strength.

Once again coated woth soap, his crash had attracted the attention of Otis. He turns back to the mizu, who shurgs with her shoulder reacting to her complecent attitude "I warned him did I not?"

"Wretched abonimation! When I get up from here, I will--" his smear campaign is interrupted by another slip. Try as he might, his boast is without bite. He is stuck on a soap pool. The men under his command see him, but none of them feel the confidence to fight her. Not that she wanted another dance with them.

Her face is pointed Otis's direction, the latter reaching for his spear, awaiting her next action. A wise decision, as he dodges one of her bubble streams with little movement. One of his hands, the one away from his spear is sheltered on the left plastron of his olive plate. The mizu takes a less complacent stance, clearly intrigued by his evasion "Of course, the best is always left for last. In this case, looks like you're my dessert".

Not a shroud of emotion is displayed, all hidden by the literal shroud of chain and metal hiding his face like a piece of paper. Neither does the voice come out, instead, the hand on the shaft of his spear passes over it to reach a miniature bag. The bag containing countless napkins blessed with holy magic. He tosses it to a nearby soldier, the latter looking quite disgrunsted over his action "Do I look like a maid to you?! You're the one with the--

Otis simply points to the captain, to the man's confusion. Then his arm went back to him, showering more with the same bewilderement. Once again he spits his disagreement "But that's your responsability! We're not the--

In a split-second reaction, Otis brands his spear before the man's face, startling him as well as those around him. Wanting to question this sudden hostility, Otis brings brief strength to his bearing arm as his spear is slightly budged by another stream of bubbles rushing in to tackle the soldier's face. A more panicked gesture moves the man away from the spear.

Otis had kept his hidden eyes on the mizu, cackling with a false sense of failiure as her shot was intercepted. The man feebly takes the bag to his side and slowly gets himself up "Right...clean the captain". Otis makes a singular no toward him while pointing to himself...and then at the mizu. Speaking of the woman, she looked rather teething with anticipation upon seeing the quiet man march forward "Ohh, so you're finally going to play with me? Splendid! Hopefully that demonstration of skill is more than the sum of what you can do!"

She shoot another torrent of bubbly fury, this time, directed at Otis. Wind picks up at the sight of his furious spear spinning in a windmill. The jade trinity secluded on the sharp edge of the tip invades the entirely of the thing, acting as a reflection against the slipperness. Their sliding demise is instead inflicted on the leaves of the nearby trees. Soon, the surrounding explode in a velvet orchestra, the soil splashed with the viscous liquid.

"You do look like fun playmate" she shouts, completely discarding the complacent stance she had been holding. Her hands rise to a more combative stance, taking the shape of a dancer, her eyes still shut. The same kind that had annoyed captain Charles Durmain and the rest of the squad to submission. A hand risen towards the heavens. The other, swaying in front of her, moving like silk in the wind. One of her leg rises in a triangular motion on the other, leaving her standing on one foot. An invitation to her dance partner, Otis "Your move, mystery man~

Otis lowers his spear behind him, slashing the ground beneath him. The soap unerneath, evicted by his rash action, a song humming at the tip. A dim shine permeating the blade in jade. His feet clamp down in the same jade light, but with a different shine.

His foot ramps in, propulsing him in front, tip first, aimed at the mizu with his feet in the air. Anticipation preludes her action, a diagonal backstep, leaving her hand gliding in the air, shaping a shpere of soap ready to burst in a concussive blast. "Your lead is strong, but blind" she mocks, leaving the midsize projectile ready to explode on his weapon. Something like this would be more than enough to toss the grip from his hands.

-Chak-

His spear is suddenly halted, planted on the ground. Otis leaps in the air with this momentum created by the shift in his energy. Using the strength of his arms, he pushes himself further in the air, ripping the spear from the soil with earth clinging to it. It rises in a clock-wise motion, puhing the man tumbling like a barrel gripping with force his weapon.

A brief ioda of surprise embraces the mizu's visage before she realizes his aerial motion. A warning coming in the form of sharp wind putting a miniature cut on her cheek "A slash? From behind?! How crafty!" There is a bit overwhelming joy in her voice. Otis would note that.

Otis had this calculated. The movement she used. The steps she managed. The degree of  might she mustered with each action. She didn't take any of them seriously. And why would she now? Their captain lays down, defeated, wiped by napkins. The rest of the platoon, unable to muster the will to face her, either by inferior tactics or the inability to sooth their represse but very present desire for this woman's shape and form. Despite her eyes closed, he could sense she did see at least a fraction of those she faces. And he was only barely more distinguishe than the rest. A slight color change at best. He thought about it all so she wouldn't expect awareness from his end.

He should have succeded and struck a decisive blow against her. Alas...

-Chink-

A metallic reverberation his overheard clear in his ears. Because of his action, Otis wanted to chance to be left ahead and used his whole body to spin, including his head. A managed risk on his end. But looking back at her, he spotted her tail between her and the jade spear. His greenish tide of energy assembled at the first blade repressed by hardened tail spiked from her back.

That's right! She's some sort of dragon, isn't she? The tail, tethered in scales, became a pretty strong indicative of this. "A very clever chain of actions. Good thing I came with my own toys!"

A dismissive grunt escapes the man while his feet now firmly planted on the ground pushes away from the mizu. Before anything, a quick laughter escape her hand-covered mouth, eyes winced in a grin-induced pleasure "So you do have a voice, huh? Hmm, let's see whether I can draw it out some more, shall I?"

No measure of response came in time for Otis to display, the mizu shooting yet another hall of bubble in a stream. His reaction comes in a short leap to the left, giving as little to shoot as possible.

"Gotcha!" she springs in with a viscous liquid beam directly under his pre-ordained landing. Otis' hea nooks down, spotting the mass white shining underneath. Instinctively, his hand brings down the three tipped spear in his hold down in a violent slash. Reactive to his increased momentum, the blades shine once more in a jade light, splashing the viscous soap away before landing. His feet regain the dim glow he once had.

The mizu ponders about his movement, somewhat impressed but slightly disappointed that this little chain of actions did not spout any word from the man. Otis spins his spear while holding it from a short grip, reducing his range. "Ohh? What dance move would that be--

The mizu jumps out instinct, briefly confused about her actyion, only for her eyes to finally catch up to the sudden extension of his jade spear at the las spin, threatening to lacerate her abdomen. Otis stops his spin, instead another piercing rattle echoes. His spear is driven to the earth, his head nooked to the left. Ready his body language, the mizu decipher ciuriosity from the man. Why so?

His hand reaches for the place on his face where his eyes should be. The mizu blinks twice before a startling realization comes to her. Her hands reach to her eyes. She sees them. She sees them clearly. He made her open her eyes with this simple technique. She, who managed to dance around the captain paladin and an entire platoon had been swindled by this singular man who presented himself as no more than a footman.

Not a group of decorated individuals. Not the innumerable archers who littered the sky with arrows, nor the paladin hero who played right in her hand.

But a single footman, who by the way he paraded around, seemed to be the menial caretaker.

And she loved it...

Laughter erupts from her, prompting Otis to pull out his spear, standing at the ready. Anything but a series of clapping from the woman who's eyes are infused with renewed vigor "Bravo! Bravo!" She walks a bit in his direction, sharpening the man's stance further. "You may be one of the few who managed to make me gaze openly on my dance partner. I. Am. Impressed".

A miasma of opaque aura is breathing a second life on her very flesh, producing secondary layer over her. Almost like she was wearing a coat over her entire body. Her eyes' irises sharpen to fox-like slit, claws shading in purple "With that said, let's continue! You made me wince by reflex. Now, it's my turn to lead the dance".

She stops, the gestation of her new state finalized and ready for use, looking back at the man she fought. She nooks her head on the right, seemingly awaiting an answer from him with her excitement halted for a moment. Otis merely plants his spear down, a flow of green light flowing to the earth beneath. The mizu raises an eyebrow, only to feel the rumble around them. Once again, with the instincts buried deep with any monster, her feet elegantly departs from her current. "Another trick you have?"

A pillar of jade erupts from the spot she previously stood in, bursting forth like a geyser of gems and bits of rocks. "Upgrading your dance moves, are you? I'm up for it, let's dance!" The mizu dashes forward with her radiating skin. Otis turns the blade of his spear in a frontal slash while still buried and raises it.

The mizu's response comes in a illusinary sidestep producing afterimages, effortlessly moving away from the blade "Nice initial step, but too strong". Otis reacted with a reversal pole stab, using the other end of his jade spear to swipe the legs off of the mizu, only for her to once again defy his action with a halt in her step, essentially breaking all velocity on a coin. Her legs and tail lift her in the air in an arc over the footman "An excellent hidden step from my partner, but a bit forced".

In midair over the man's head, she pokes Otis's helmet from each side with two claws "Peek-a-boo, mystery man!" A wink is briefly notable from Otis' point of view below before the rush of a blade went overhead, a second too late, as the mizu had simply disappeared, traces of her lunged to the other side of the area. An afterimage.

"Over here, mystery man!" a voice speaks to the right, where his attention focuses. The mizu is leaning behind her, on her tail, her hands in the heavens in an arc where the tip of her fingers touch. One of her legs arcs itself to the other, shaped in a triangle.

Otis brings his jade spear back to its neutral stance, being besides him in a lowered position and takes a hardened stance...that almost sends him sliding. His head nooks in an alarming pace over the sudden slip. Had he unveiled his eyes right now, they would be a mix of incomprehension and confusion. His body had, however, already acted upon this suden reversal, driving his spear back in the earth to give a sense of equilibrum. Rather than reeling his foot back, Otis has his spin in an arc, noting its glow had dissipated.

"So you noticed?" she calls out to him, returning to her fighting stance, a leg up, and one hand drawn toward him "I must admit, you have quite the reflexes to avoid sliding away. But we are yet to begin, my dear. You've yet to have spoken to me, you see? ". Otis lets the wind carry his mute response, a more encroached pout echoed back to him "You know that is kind of rude to utter no word to a lady, right?"

Her pout dissolves soon, confident of her incoming act "I've yet to dazzle you, my dear. I will get something out of you yet!" With that said, she starts circling the man, surrounding him with the afterimages waiting for an opportunity. Any opprtunity.

Alas for Otis, the marches he suffered through the jungle had waned him down to a crawl. The final burst of power slowly fading away. Ceaseless and ruthless, draining him to his utmost limit. His mask hid his facial exhaustion, but his body, while disciplined, betrayed his vulnerability. A weakness the mizu, a monster amply able to read a man from his body language, easily sees.

"Ohh, at the last of your prowless? Well, what do you say we get to the fun part?" she asks, shooting a bubbly beam out of her tail over to the man. The state of weariness well known on his boy, a combat roll is all he could muster to do, narrowly avoiding the stream, his spear still firmly planted. "Well done! With that walk this clown of a leader made you go through, I'm surprised you still didn't collapse. But I'm not done yet~

Another volley invades his personal space, this time, much closer to home. With his arms at their absolute limit, he reaches for the deepest mantle of discipline in his mind to force his body into an aerial jump, his spear as the vault. Bracing his frontal protective gear for the fall, Otis leaves the mizu out of his mind, a fatal mistake as his spear begins to feel slippery. His landing shakes any ioda of strength left in his palm, the slippery soap that had invaded his palms expelling his spear from him like a fish escaping a net through the ropes.

To make things worse, Otis had fallen upon a pool of soap, causing his limbs to disperse in a flat display, resulting in his mail meeting the soil in a rather forcefull manner. His attempts to lift himself while clutching as much untainted earth as possible is staggering, shaky and unstable. His head barely manages to catch a glimpse of the mizu, cheeks flustered with impending laughter "That dance really wa-a-a-as--hahaha something, mystery man. Unfortunately, it seems your leader's march has exhausted you to the point of novice mista-a-a-akes--hahahaha!"

Her laugh erupts form her lunges, unable to containt herself as Otis's attempt at grappling the extreme edges of the soap pool he is stuck in fail miserably, once again resulting in him falling flat in his masked face. Trying for the edges was futile. Another solution had to fill the gap between his capture and escape. So, he claws, inciting the mizu's curiosity between burst of laughter.

Her laugher only gets more strigent upon witnessing the man, pressing his gauntlets to the dirt meld with the soap, soaking the surrounding away. One of his press and rip, akin to a cat clawing at a cushion became blunt and rash, the last thing anyone would have wanted in his situation. This in itself causes a chained reaction, the momentum caryring his arm sideways, forcing the rest of his body to follow through. The result: an olive man spinning upon himself in a marinated pool of soap like a roller pin.

The mizu couldn't help but laugh. And laugh. Laugh as hard as she can, her afterimage stance dissipating, knowing full well that the man could fight no longer, let alone stand by himself. Her laughter enfeebles her knees, twitching and falling in a frontal leap, making her sit on them, still gripping her stomach, laughing as much as she can.

Another voice soon comes to join her in joyous laughter. A voice she didn't hear before, but immediately tethered to the man of quiet demeanor. Somehow, he had been able to keep himself on his knees, mustering that act with his sheer willpower, though his stance is woobly. Not that is mattered now that the two inividuals were laughing their hearts out.

"Hahahaha! You really didn't see the puddle under your feet?" she asks, caught between giggles and unable to pronounce more.

"I must admit, I really didn't. I've made a bad step and discorded the choreography" he answers, his laughter more humble then the mizu. As they continue, his own tone gets more somber, almost deeper.

Seconds pass, however, the toxic aroma of laughter dissipating in the air. The mizu breaths one gasp of relief after putting her funny bone to its optimal performance. Her legs garner their stability, allowing her to walk over to kneel face to face with the man she fought.

The mizu sighs in a state of contentement, putting her chin over one of her hand "Maybe so, but you gave me an intense show compared to so many before. I'm glad for that, it was fun~

"Yea, it was" he nods in agreement, his parole earning him a giggle from the mizu who nooks her head sideways, her splendid eyes shut.

Otis sighs next, his hands reaching for his helmet, to the mizu's curiosity. Straps, four of them spread out from within. He unfastens each, one by one, a metallic click occuring with each unlock. By itself, the simplistic dome of protection that adorned his head falls victim to gravity, a poof escaping the space between refined iron and soil.

The mizu slightly recoils, her smile fading away like a painting. Slowly degrading with the fall of his mail mask, kept nitched to his visage by a set of twin bands, one overhead, the other, under his chin.

His face, revealed to the world around them, a cheerful visage that tries to cover its resigned state to the beastly woman kneeling before him. He smiles, yet her eyes see a doomed expression. The corner of his lips are asymmetrical, his eyelids, half closed, the shine of his irises, departing from their home.

"What's your name?" Otis asks, his tone meld with a somber pitch, one that the mizu had heard so many times before. Her own eyes waver "Lucy...why do you ask?" Her mind spike against her body, knowing full well what sort of answer she could expect from him. And yet...

"I'm Otis. Otis the Ottoman. It's been nice meeting. Know that I hold nothing against you, Lucy..." His head lowers as he repeats the last word, this time in a much more somber tone, completely resigned "Nothing..."

His body, previously tense and ache, now released the muscles in his entirety. The man's eyes shut whole, a badge of the order falling from his chestplate. Despite literally kneeling on slippery bubble, he seems to somewhow ignore it, though his legs are worke greatly. She could see them shake subtly, a violent one, but still. His hands join in a hidden prayer. His sigh, a heavy one, heavier than usual. He now spoke not, awaiting...

"No..."

No? Otis keeps his stance, his top body now leane on the floor, avoiding her eyes as even if they were to be open, they would be fixing the ground, a grim thought in his mind. All that come to response...

"No, I'm not doing it".

"Won't what?" These words slip from Otis without his conscent. His body dared mercy with this basic sentence, a hope that he had dug deep within his heart.

"I'm not killing you, footman".

"What do you mean by that?"

A callous frown scars her gentle visage, outrage by the mere feint of ignorance "Oh come on, now, you're in a kneeling stance. Asking me to end your life. I don't want to, mostly because it's a drag, really."

"But I lost...in a duel, against you, a monster. The least I could do is accept my fate. A quick or slow death, you carry the dagger". His body protests at his words, instincts in riot over the counter productive acts Otis puts.

Lucy was not intending on giving in, not at all "Well, I already threw the thing far in the river after breaking it in half, so I'm sorry, but I lack the tool to effectively end your life, not that I had any to begin with".

"..." Otis' was at a loss. He didn't know what to do, considering he was told that monsters killed men whenever they could.

"I don't know what boogus teaching they give you, back at your shrines, but they're very much false about our general output on life and else. I mean, think about it. Did any of you sustained a mortal injury?"

Otis dares raising his head, meeting a face of slight incomprehension, but devoid of any stern judging. Seems like she was tyring to show a point. So, answer he does "No...maybe except for broken bones".

Lucy giggles a bit "I said mortal, mystery man. But anyway, on my second point: did I, at any time in our 'dance' ever acted in a more violent manner?"

"No..."

"Did I ever render you functionly inept at any point?"

"Well..." Otis looks down, seeing his struggle to keep himself still on a slippery puddle.

"I meant in a permanent way, silly" Lucy giggles once again, clearly trying to lighten the mood.

"No..."

"See? Even with you running at me with a green spear, even with the rest of your novice dancer buddies trying to swarm me in and even with your 'Hero' paladin throwing lightning bolts at me, never did I think of murdering one of you lads. No, I just wanted to have some fun. I eman, right now, I literally hold you life by my hands, but, did you even feel some sort of encroaching end?"

"No, I did not".

"Well, there you go" She bounces up, hands behind her back "If I really wanted to see blood, throwing the clumsy spectacle that is your platoon wouln't be how I'd go by it".

"But why? I've heard so many stories of those who came before us and never came out".

"Well, all that killing and destruction is old stuff, to be honest. Can't have fun if everyone you meet ends up dead. I mean, dance partners are usually better alive and able, not dead and decaying".

"That would make sense..."

"Most people we ghet around here are either jaded soldiers of the shiny britches or strangers disregarded by the same because they come from foreign lands. Too bad for them, those guys you hear never coming back have made a fine addition among us with their unique abilities. They certainly know more about dancing than the tighted butts this incompetent clad of shiny men could ever hope to be".

"Really? Never thought of that" Otis speaks, his initial resignation faing away. Lucy approaches, dispatching the soap under his feet, kneeling in a more face-to-face conduct.

"Well..." she takes one of his hand in her "...I'm not surprised, you seemed like the butler of these buffoons".

"Ohh?" Otis turns his stare away "You noticed that?"

"Oh dear, I've been around your platoon's clumsy walk left and right, men getting stolen everywhere. I've seen how they treat you, like you're their personal servant, despite being well above any of them, perhaps even beyond that clownish Hero". One of her claws gently cups one of his cheeks, her other hand keeping his in while she turns his stare to face her eyes "Tell me, are you from somewhere else?"

"If the armor's color didn't give it away, then chain mask should have" Otis responds with a faint laughter..

"Well, that figures" Lucy departs her hands form the man, joning them with a smirk "No wonder I still smelled competence in this clown brigade".

"Wait, clown brigade?" Otis questions, accumulation of laugh in his throat, shaking his head in disbelief "Were we that rash?"

"Dear, your gang of walking 'public reputation' have made such a ruckus that most of the wild life have come about just to watch the cart-wreck that would inevitably occur. Speaking of the cart-wreck..."

Lucy suddenly takes one of his hand and starts pulling him in her sprint "Come on! The show isn't over!"

"Wait, hold on!" Otis was at a loss of breath, not prepared for a power-sprint, his legs still recovering from trying not to slip.

"No time, I'm hearing the falling curtain's act, you need to watch this with me!" she conrinues, making naught of his protest as they run further in the jungle. Going for the shortcut, their path is littered with branches and bumps, obstacles that they avoid, mostly thanks to the puddle in which they run in. Otis noticed how easier his legs had it with the pond spreading under them.

Eventually, the two reach a rocky cliff embedded in moss and grass. Lucy sits down the edge, patting a place next to her while turning to an exhausted footman "Won't you come sit?~

Otis was too tired to protest or say anything, instead going to the edge as well, traking seat as his legs dangle in the air. The mizu scotts over, making sure no gap lies between them, a bit of red appearing in the violet cheeks. The man felt equally flustered, but the warmth was worth the sudden rush.

"So, those guy who left you as the scapegoat have essentially wondered in a raptor's lair. One that is pretty famous for 'taming' shiny britches". Lucy speaks, spreading her left hand over the area.

"Really? What's the synopsis?" Otis asks, as figures started becoming more visible in his eyes.

"Well, I don't have the details, but apparently, some former hero's squire went running here out of the blue, with almost nothing on him, yelling in the caves as soon as he was inside. Man was fueled with raging mushrooms, courtesy of a shaman couple that he, another squire and their hero had wronged".

"Really? Wouldn't be surprised considering our 'politics'".

"Well, ever since he was relentlessly 'drained', they became somewhat specialized in dealing with the shiny britches. And guess where that clown platoon is going...well was going".

Otis' eyes open up in stark realization "No way...here?!"

"Yep!" Lucy giggles, pointing directly at a precise spot. Scores of men laying flat on their backs were not fully visible to Otis. First thing he could see was that their leggings were torn asunder. Being one of those people more grateful of their common sense, his mind easily put two and two "Are they? Were they..."

"You may not have known before, but there's a thing we monsters love. Well, two. With love, comes a yearning for more physical contacts" Lucy answers, leaning more obviously on his shoulder, her pointed finger now clinging to his plated chest, a subtle laughter escaping her tender lips "However, for these guys, they decided to skip the romance and get to table".

"Ohh...didn't expect that." he utters, the faint rush of heat more concentrated then before. He welcomes it, his perception of what he was fighting obliterated now that he had a closer look. A much closer look.

Returning to the scenery of the men 'drained' and exhausted, was Charles Durmain, standing among his men. His sword was broken in half and tossed away. A raptor stood close, a stare of scorn in her eyes, with one of her feet standing over his shattered blade "Ohh, looks like we got ourselves a cruel one, ladies. So far, no one else had tried executing his own men with the justification of their 'charity' toward us".

The surrounding raptors roars in acclamation, spreading their claws in the air, all speaking in a cacophony of disdain and promise of discipline, only for their leader to halt their screams with one hand "Does he not remind you of that other man who boasted before? Two years from here?"

Again, they speak in unisson, all agreeing as the collective memory rushes in of a guy running in a frenzy, 'drained' and 'feasted' by the collective. Charles Durmain widen his eyes upon hearing her statement "What? You dared putting your vile claws on nobles before!? I shall have your--

His speech, interrupted by her claw reaching for his mouth, she pushes him down, pinning the man under her impressive strength "See how easy they are to subjugate thanks to the  shaman's gift?"

The pack speak in vigor, all clmbing the spot to witness once again the 'initiation' of a high ranked by their leader. They wait in anticipation, their leader slipping her claws on the holding braces of his armor, the heavy plates falling apart around Durmain, who once again protested "This can't be happening! I will have your head for this!"

"Now, now, perhaps next time, you can stay away with your delusions of glory, rampaging in our otherwise peaceful and giving forests. Unfortunately for you and your men, there isn't going to be a next time. How fortunate that each of my pack member gets a man of her own".

"If you think we're just going to stay captive in your forsaken caves, then you've got a thing or two coming your way, abomination!" he spits out, spitting once on her face...

...earning him a immediate disposal of his pants. And underwear in the fold. His 'member' now exposed, the leader of the pack takes place, her own private area also exposed. Seeing this, Durmain once again tries making use of his Hero strength, forgetting yet again that most of his prowless had gone in a slippery slide back then.

"Ohh on't worry about that, 'hero'..." the leader speaks, inches to his face, gazed both by the spectactors that are her pack, plus two distant watchers "After that little friendly fire stunt you tried with your underlings, I'm sure they'll be more than welcoming of our hospitability, even with that slightly rough start"

With no more time lingering, she starts her 'male initiation' via lowering her member directly under his own. Otis, watching from afar, couldn't help but wince "Ohh, that's not going well for him".

"Don't worry, partner, she's not going to eat him after this. 'Eat' him, however, yea..." she speaks with a giggle, looking over at the man she leaned on. With a smile, she reaches for his chin, turning him eyes to her own "...then again, I suppose we have seen enough. Right now...".

Lucy laspes her left leg in a 180 rotation to the right, enabling her to sit directly over Otis' own legs, the latter startled by her sudden but graceful movement. Another giggle escapes her "Right now, I'm looking for a more 'permanent' dance partner. Seeing as you were the best candidate I've had, you think you can fill the bill?"

Otis, coming own from his initial shock, encircles his hands around her waist "Well, I never really got a certificate indicating my qualification, did I?"

"Actually, you got one. Not sure I've told you that, but among my kind, there isn't really anyone able to catch us and keep us here. Seeing as you've got your hands ringed on my hips like that..."

Otis ponders her words for a second, nooking his head left "Really? Only takes that?" he shakes his head, thinking the process to be quite extravagant, considering his attempt.

"Yep! Just like this. But, I need a real way of convincing you, do I?~

Before the man can say anything, Lucy leans on his face, stealing a long kiss from him. Her body creeps closer as she does, wanting no gap between them. He takes her all in, falling on his back with her leaning on him, ignoring the myriad of yells steeming from the arena before them, Durmain's among them. His pleads were mute to their ears.