#seafo4ms

KISSES + SUBTLE NSFW// accepting . @st4ysoft @seafo4ms + 「 INNER 」 : for sender to kiss along the inside of receivers thigh + 「BITE 」 : for sender to bite the receiver (inner thigh) + 「 SLIP 」 : for senders hand to slip between the receivers legs. + caging your lover against a wall with your arms to kiss them

   "For one with such careful and knowledgeable hands," Maxima hums, facing the other completely, centre stage between the two arms that keep her in place. The woman was a diver, even beneath the loose shirt she'd be able to tell even while not knowing much about the trade. She had, of course, watched Natalin work by the shore and on the ship - how she felt comfortable, content doing that sort of job would never be something that Maxima could understand.

But again, Maxima's own job was not one that many wanted. Coveted? Yes, but the work? The work attached to it was a beast of a different caliber entirely. Plucking at the button on her left sleeve, then up the loose fabric of her sleeve - finally at the collar that was always so easily open. A woman that never had a single time of worry about rain.

Or being stabbed, not if she could stab right back. Sighing heavily, Maxima rests her head against the wall "I must admit that trapping wouldn't have been the approach I expected out of a pearl diver." her tongue clicks as her dark eyes move to Natalin's. A dangerous and sharp thing "But from a master assassin, hm?"

She hums, leaning forward as to allow her lips to barely graze Natalin's. A barely there brush of her tongue as the Magister pushes herself off the wall, leaning down from the other's arm - confident she'd be allowed to move.

   "Now that is a different story entirely..."

She hums to herself, looking around the room and pushing the large waves of beautifully brushed hair over her shoulder quite carelessly. Her robes are removed from her shoulders and arms like the swiftness that knew the intricacies of how the garment had been crafted - if had, after all, had been done with Maxima and only Maxima in mind.

The robes are left over one of the many beautiful couches, but Maxima does not stop to look, instead she works on the sides of the dress, untying the trappings she knew by heart that kept the beautiful fabrics against her body, removing it softly as she walked towards the larger chaise long, closer to the larger windows that overlooked the sea. She could understand, how one could fall in love with a view and choose to never leave. It was still not better than that of her gardens, but then, it wasn't Maxima who had to live with it.

What is left by the time where Maxima comes to sit down is an almost transparent layer of a chemise - it has a shift not to unlike that of a beautifully polished shell in the sunlight. Around her neck were a few of Natalin's own pearls. Red lipstick, shift and pearls.

Maxima crosses her legs, resting her back on the comfortable seating. Perhaps, indeed, the woman would stab her - she would not be the first. But there were some dangers that were worth the risk - and Maxima was nothing if not a gambler.

   "I've seen you work." Natalin now stalks closer, her eyes on her body and Maxima's on her reaction. She approaches and bows, first, then lowering herself to her knees before her - with a hand against her knees in the form of a request. A request that Maxima allows as she relaxes "I have great expectations."

YOU ARE EATING AN ORANGE // not accepting . @st4ysoft . @seafo4ms

Maxima's brow shoots up at the question, wondering what she had done had indicated that she should be prompted about such matters. It is such a bewildering question that the expression remains on the woman's face for long than she likely would have allowed it for any other situation.

It was an odd question to be asked. An odd question especially coming from someone like Natalin. Why did it matter if she was mean, it was part of it was it not? Plus, Maxima thought that anyone that got to survive in a position such as hers, or Maxima's own had to hold onto some level of meanness. Pettiness, perhaps. How else would they be expected to survive it? Being who they were? Maxima didn't care for meanness unless it came with meaningful threats, she could deal with mean. She had enough time to return in kind, not that many these days thought it wise to go toe to toe with her.

   "I don't think so." she pauses, still with her brow arched though far less pronounced now. Pausing, she licks her lip, tilting her head to the side and allowing the long waves of auburn hair sway softly with the motion "Do you think you are mean to me?" surely that was the case, otherwise why ask the question?

She saw something different amongst the crows.

Though perhaps Maxima simply had not been truly looking. For all the interest in their politics and how they were depicted in many a romance books in Orlais, Maxima had found them - for the most part - mundane. Not too unlike Tevinter except that they still presented themselves as a single united front, a lot of talk of family, of unity, of loyalty to Antiva. And yet Maxima knew enough of how thick blood truly was.

It was a joke. A veneer that was painted or covered above them but as thin as a veil. Somehow it made people feel safe, covered, even if they were completely nude underneath. Maxima weaves the thin pearls into a single string. Hearing the soft, dull thud of the two pearls touching it other, Maxima hums. Putting down the string and pearl, Maxima pushes away the loose hair from her shoulder, allowing it to fall as it saw fit over her shoulder, down her arm.

In the end, the thickness of blood meant nothing. Not when your own brother would prefer to have your blood on his hands over having you be the face of one's house. Not when the patriarch was a monster that destroyed not only their own blood but the lives of those that served him. Not when the mother wished to twist her children to fit exactly the mold or rather have them disposed of, hidden behind large tower walls. Blood meant to the crows, their ties were built on name rather than blood.

And names? Names were even more flimsy than blood. They ripped easily, lost their shape quickly, their meaning grew dull on tongues unless given inventive. They flew in the wind with barely an invite.

  "A city burning." she finally says, her green eyes focusing on the other. The side of her fingers push aside the darker strings of hair that frame her face; she carefully pushes behind behind Natalin's ear "An Empire falling." Maxima whispers with her smile, punctuating every word with a pause. Her smile grows as sharp as a dagger.

Leaning forward, Maxima's face does not touch the other's, but she can feel her breath brush against the side of her own tilted face. Green eyes hooded in a smile "And a pearl diver playing the lyre, watching it all go. "

   "Maybe Antivan men."

It comes too easily, and yet it is the tone that denotes the conviction in her words. Maxima finishes exhaling the smoke, waving the smoke out of her face with the hand that held the cigarette "I know at least a handful of Tevinter ones that are worth their weight in gold."

True, there were some truly awful ones. Like her father and about ninety per cent of those she worked directly with. However, the reality there and the reality there in Antiva was that being awful and a terrible waste of air had hardly anything to do with gender. Raising her brows, Maxima shrugs putting the cigarette once more to her mouth "Sounds to me like an Antivan problem."

   "that's real nice, honey."

Maxima smiles, red lips parting to show a row of pearly white teeth. What was? Her image upon the large mirror, the half pulled shirt to expose her clavicles or the pearl that hang just in front of it where a choker might find itself in the near future. It is the first time that she looks away from the mirror; the jewelry that she was already planning with the pearls that Natalin had shown her would be something that would have made anyone with a proper eye for the worth of investments pay attention. And by others, well, it would simply be seen as another frivolity - that too played a part.

The Magister allows the auburn hair to fall, her long fingers allowing the waves to fully cover her shoulders. The other hand, the one that held the pearl, remained in place. Her attention returning once more to the mirror as she moves it now up to her forehead: perhaps a diadem, instead?

   "Truly?" Maxima asks with a small smile. Deciding against the diadem she places it back down on the small cushion in which she had been presented the pearl in. If there was one thing that she could not deny: each time that she visited Antiva she hardly felt that the treatment was lacking in any way.

Natalin moves closer, lowering herself to appear beside her in the mirror. Maxima can hear her steps only because the other allows it, she is sure. As part of the unspoken agreement, the magister does not lift her eyes, choosing instead to set aside the pearls that she would be taking back with her. The underlayer that was kept under the heavier white robes - now discarded over one of the many couches in the Nero estate - was of a softer fabric. Easier to slip as it did from over her left shoulder.

Frankly, really nice was hardly fitting at the scene before them, and perhaps that too was part of this game. There were many things that were really nice. Nero's house was really nice, the silks she wore were really nice, the food was really nice. Even the pearls, beautiful as they were, perfect as they had been while picked by Natalin's very expert hands and cared for with the single intent of being shown to her - were very nice.

Maxima Aurum was not really nice, Maxima Aurum was transcendent.

   "How about a kiss?" Maxima lifts her green eyes, finding the other's frame just behind her. Like a shadow behind Maxima and watching her just as intently. The magister cannot see the other's lips but she can hear it in the question.

Her back straightens and the long, carefully brushed waves fall over her skin covering most of it as her smile grows in the reflection. Turning to face her, Maxima's eyes finally leave their reflections to look upon Natalin, still with wet hair and her exposed neck. Maxima's hands are warm when they press against the soft curve of her neck. The thin golden rings offer little resistance as her nails find the base of the other's head. Her left hand touches her lips, gently turning the other's head.

The lips part softly, easily as Maxima rests her body against Natalin's. It always surprised her how firm it was - unsurprising so, given the woman's training from both her callings. A joke immediately forms in her head and its mirth makes her way to her mouth.

The small death and something about a diver's ability to hold ones breath - alas - not the time. Not the place.

   "No," she hums, her dark eyes on Natalin's lips as her thumb briefly grazes against her sharpened tongue. Biting into her lower lip she keeps herself from pushing further "I don't think so."

There was work to attend, such as finding a pearl that was as transcendent as her that would prompt a better response than real nice.