A cup of tea is offered to the merchant. It's steam is inviting but the color is a tad unusual. The dark, sickly green practically asks for a cartoonish skull and crossbones to be plastered on it. Sunday's smile creases the edges of his eyes for once. He isn't even trying to hide it.
"A coworker of mine introduced me to the flavor. It reminded me of you."
Prompted | No longer Accepting @celestial-sword-dance
From where he sits, Luocha's eyes look impassively down at the cup offered to him. It certainly didn't take a silver spoon to detect whatever was going on in there, nor did the merchant think Sunday had any reason to hide his intent.
But, he may as well have some fun.
Smiling serenely, Luocha lifts the cup to his nose, inhaling its scent as if it were nothing more than an ordinary brew. His posture remains picture perfect, retaining all the form of an elegant nobleman at afternoon tea. With all the leisure in the world, he takes in the herbal scent, mixed with a tinge of almond, before raising the cup to his lips and taking a long sip with verdant eyes closed.
There is not a hair out of place or even hint of a flinch as the poisoned liquid slides down his throat.
“Your colleague has intriguing taste, I must say,” the merchant hums, gliding off of his chair soundlessly as he makes his way towards Sunday with an all too innocent smile, poisoned teacup remaining within his dainty grasp. He moves with the grace of skater lazily drifting over ice, his tail coat fluttering seamlessly behind him. Pointed heel clicks resound in the air until he pauses directly in front of the winged man, leaning into the Halovian’s space until the only thing between them is their bated breaths, Sunday’s back crowded against the lip of the table.
Then, Luocha opens his eyes, the ethereal glow of Abundance glowing dangerously under golden lashes. His hair mocking angelic light.
“Care to reminisce in the flavor? It’s only polite, after all."
A gloved hand presses flat against Sunday’s chest, a warning, before pushing the grey haired man’s back flat against the table’s surface. Not a drop of tea is spilled from the teacup’s lip.
Looming over Sunday’s body, Luocha climbs over him, his knees splaying over the Halovian’s thighs with his impassive gaze unchanging. He only pauses when he’s able to drape the latter’s face in a silken curtain of gold, ensuring that the man’s eyes could wander no where but him.
Then, the blonde grips at Sunday’s jaw, forcing his mouth open with leathered fingers. Slowly, meticulously, he tips the cup so that honeyed liquid pours into the struggling man’s mouth. Some tea spills messily over the corners of his lips, however, there is a certain precision in Luocha’s movements that indicate that the mess was intentional.
“Oh? Come now, show me your faith and devotion to your Lord,” he coos so sweetly, running a gloved hand gently over the priest’s throat, massaging his larynx to encourage it to instinctively contract, “Surely in THEIR grace, you will find mercy."
