#mvstra

All of the cats proceed to fluff up, backing away from each other and then running in all different directions--

This was, certainly a situation, wasn't it? But not one he was currently keen on complaining about. His attention was firmly on the goddesses words as she spoke aloud, while his fingers were also paying her attention elsewhere.

He had to admit, he was impressed at how she seemed to not even skip a beat. Either that, or his skills were rustier than he'd thought. Yet she hadn't made any complaints, so he chooses to believe the former for the moment.

"That does make sense." He mumbles, pressing soft kisses to her shoulder, then her neck. "Tell me more?"

@mvstra | Cont from here

He'd almost forgotten his own little 'transgression' by the end of the day. So there's some measure of surprise as he finds himself dreaming of Mystra. Except... no, this isn't a dream is it? Even if it was strange enough to qualify as one.

No, it just seemed Mystra was that petty.

"Oh it must have killed you waiting all day for this. Did my words truly irk you so much?" He couldn't deny the hint of satisfaction the thought gave him. That he'd pissed her off enough to make her confront him. Her face was one he truly never expected to see again.

"Hello, Mabon." The words are spat with a sarcastic venom as he crossed his arms. "I see not even death is enough to keep you down."

The Sharran pauses, his brain seemingly stuttering to a stop at the quick kiss. He watches, dumbfoundedly as the woman rushes out of the room.

His hand moves to touch the spot on his cheek, feeling a warmth there he scarcely felt these days.

He'd been spending quite a bit of time with the woman he knows as Mabon, and some part of him did feel... a measure of guilt. He can't imagine her hands holding a blade the way his do. Part of him hoped she wouldn't get in that deep, that she would skirt across the surface of this place unscathed.

He pushes down any sense of shame that might have bubbled up, and he goes to return to his home. He was to leave before nightfall, being sent out to find out about a supposed Selunite enclave nearby.

"It doesn't have to be perfect--" The elf protests, though it's a weak one. Her hands are gentle, soft and he can't find it in himself to pull away.

He's not sure what she's doing, but it feels nice. Yet that simple fact leaves him feeling uncomfortable, and it makes another, still raw part of him ache.

He remembers soft, petite hands running a brush through his hair after the bath. How he'd always do the same for her, his little autumn wind.

The elf has to bite back the smirk that threatens to cross his face as he looks down at the goddess. Touched a nerve, did he? Yet Lyrthindor didn't seem phased by the womans wrath.

Oh how amusing it was, to have to look down at the great goddess of magic. "My, is that anyway to treat an old friend?" There's an edge of mockery laced into that last word. Gods, he hadn't been there for her fall, but he would have loved to see it. She'd thought herself clever, hadn't she? Trying to infiltrate his cloister, but to what end? The goddess still perished, even in his absence.

"Your little plan failed, didn't it? How did it feel?"