Onillren took in the scene of Aiya's place with a discerning eye. The quiet structure of the household was quite welcoming in contrast to the busy, near depressing scene of the current state of Taivas. He watched as Tyro plopped down into the comfort of the chair, as Aiya's servants went about their business and tasks, and as she exited to change into her outfit. While they tried their best not to stare and appear rude, he couldn't help but notice the wayward stare of her servants when they crossed gazes with him, as well as Tyro. Though with as fast as they recomposed themselves it would appear that they were fashioned to this form of business or happenings. Onillren would immediately take a mental note of this as Aiya once again reappeared and once again made the offer of hospice.

"I shall be content when the food arrives. Until or after that you will find that I am not a demanding guest friend Aiya. I thank you for this moment of rest as I am sure that our journey on the morrow shall find it rare."

With the end of his words he simply walked around the apartment, checking the windows and doors. The three of them made a formidable looking force that for much could not be underestimated. However with such a distinctive and diverse appearance that the three of them composed it would unfortunately not be that easy to not appear a target. Granted if the enemy did employ assassins it would be hard for either of them to make themselves blend into any crowd.

Thus did he reach into his pouch to reveal a small runic stone. He briefly lifted himself into a bout of concentration, muttering a small incantation before holding the stone with both hands, a brilliant cerulean glow would permeate in the room, following Onillren as he walked towards the main door and windows, drawing a line with his fingers upon the ground that one would step upon if they were to walk inside the apartment as well as underneath the windows where a foot would tread given one attempted to enter unwelcome.

From where his fingers traced a line the cerulean glow would leave a trail, instantly revealing five arms, void of flesh wailing about and the slightly audible sounds of moans from the abyss that they were trapped. After he felt as though enough were cast, he turned to look at his comrades and the others that were in the Apartment.

"You will have to forgive my caution. But I feel as though our quest requires the utmost in protection and security. Fear not the effects if a mishap should occur. The trap is but a sensory one at most. For if an intruder were to appear the desolate hands would grasp at their ankles, and a large wail will pierce the silence and draw our attention."

He turned to look at Aiya, bowing solemnly before speaking out again. "I suggest you leave a note for Jada upon her return to knock upon the door thrice before entering. That way I'll have more than enough time to resolve the trap so that she is not taken by their ever reaching grasp."

At the end of his words he turned around and knelt down on his knees, eyes closed in small meditation while both hands rested upon his thighs, right above the kneecap. A small smile crept upon his features as he sat in the middle of the room. "Tyro can have the mattress. I will be content here. For as far as things that I need shall go, I am a simple man thus only company would be nice, and conversation. What I am curious the most about is how the two of you shall defend yourselves given we come under attack, the route that we shall take northeast, and some things that the two of you like."

He took a deep breath again, mentally checking to make sure his traps were kept under control.

"Silver is my favorite color..." he spoke, waiting to hear the voices of his comrades. He would remain like this until their food was served, and until he was bade the next day to begin their perilous quest.

"Oh take the mattress!" Tyro said through sagging eye-lids. It was a ever greater stampede into the right. Night! I mean night. Soory. *ahem* Sorry. Obviously, Tyro's dwindling attention thanks to tiredness is catching. Even to the omnicient narrator.
"I will sleep literally anywhere. Heating cupboard, pile of washing, a wardrobe with a padded card-board box." But Onillren was trying to get the convosation going. Well! He would be rude not to join in. And he hadn't had dinner yet.,
"I quite like red on white on black." He said. But he had something pretty good for a convosation. But was he really in the mood? Actually, he was always in the mood.
"And I have eight kids." And away that one flew into the air. Or was it too soon? But this was one of those 'get to know one another conversations'. He was fine. But he;d better sit up a little bit. He'd better look like he was paying some attention.

Lykus had grabbed a Merc's arm as he tried to punch Lykus. He then flipped the Merc over his shoulder sending him sliding across the ground. The next merc had tried to kick Lykus in the chest, however he caught the foot before it made contact. Lykus then swept the other leg from under the Merc causing him to fall heavily on his back. The last Merc tried to hit Lykus with a barrage of punches while stepping forward each strike. Lykus dodged each punch before the merc overstepped one and shifted his balance forward. Lykus saw this balance shift and stepped beside the Merc, pushing him forward in a pivot. The merc fell flat on his face.

Lykus did not strike any of the Mercs, he only deflected and redirected their momentum. The Mercs were beginning to stand again when Erik intervened. Lykus let out his pent up breath, happy that he wouldn't have to completely trounce the fellows. Lykus then smiled to Erik's comment, "What can I say? I try." he said, alcohol apparent on his breath. "One last drink, eh? Then we shall rest. Nothing sends a man into an easier slumber than good booze." Lykus said, his regal air disappearing.

Erik laughed as he and Lykus re-entered the bar. They walked to the counter and took seats there.
"I'll have one." Erik said to the portly bartender, who gave him the evil eye. "You know where the facilities are this time."
Erik nodded as a pint was thrust into his hand.

He drank it slowly, he assumed it wouldn't have as much of an effect on him, a single one never did. But he never had more than just one.
Time passed, people got rowdy, then calmed down, then got rowdy again. Erik noticed a pattern in it all until finally he and Lykus put down their mugs for the last time.
Erik wished the bartender goodnight, who gave him a rude gesture in return. Erik only laughed.

Erik entered his room and noticed the bed was a bit too small. The innkeeper looked up at him and said nothing. "I'll just curl up I guess." He closed the door behind him and headed to the bed knowing that he'll be sore in the morning.
He didn't fall asleep till late that night, the bar could be seen from his window and he watched people walking in and out, every one of them was acting differently, depending on the amount they had to drink.

Erik finally closed his eyes and had a dreamless sleep.

Aiya barely resisted the urge to scowl. Not only were intruders locked out, but now she was effectively locked into her own home. Without speaking she reached behind her to the pad of paper and pen resting on the end table. She did what he advised, though her mind raced even as she moved slowly and carefully. No matter how she thought about it, it seemed that a group field trip was unavoidable. Neither Tyro nor Onillren seemed likely to take her word now that they had established their little sense of comraderie. She sank slowly back onto the couch and folded her legs underneath her. The feeling of being locked in was unpleasant. It reminded her of memories from long ago, of days spent alone in her room with food being shoved through a crack in the door. Asahara's punishments were geared more towards her own temperment and amusement than Aiya's crimes.

"While being able to sleep anywhere is quite a useful trait, I would appreciate it if you would stick to more appropriate areas," she said, rolling her eyes. She could only imagine how long it would take Clara to clean the fur out of the cupboards. She kept her mouth shut on the subject of his children. Offspring had the ability to drive rational adults to insanity. She liked to avoid even the subject. Luckily, it seemed to be her turn to throw out a fact about herself.

"I don't think I have a favorite color. They're all the same. As for my ability to defend myself," she rolled up the sleeve of her long-sleeved black shirt to reveal the hundreds of thin needles strapped to her forearm. "I've trained with them for centuries. I don't miss much anymore. Then, of course, as a vampire I am endowed with certain abilities. Strength, speed..." She shrugged. "The usual."

"Wha, wha, wha, what?" The V word. Oh dear...Wait? Come on, relax! Firstly, she's fine. She's unlikely to come and give you a bite. She's not going to turn you or anything. That's already happened, in one way, and you ended up fluffy. In her way, you managed to worm out of it! You can survive a little blood letting. You can survive decapitation! Anyway! You know a vampire! And if Sonja can keep herself from killing you then surely Aiya can too. You are, after all, a massive soft toy squirming over a fellow freak. She's not a spider and your not arachnophobic, so to speak. Just save the situation and try not to look like you have a little problem with vampires.
"I would never have guessed!" He said, fully aware he was bolt upright with his tails stood to attention too. At least the slight grin was deliberate. She looked a little pale if you had to twist his arm...Just calm down. "I thought you were just cold..." he said as he sank back slowly and gesturing to his own face to symbolise Aiya's complexion. This does explain a few things...Like the rather antisocial gloom she has and the starch like way she conducts herself. I suppose if your doomed to live forever, sustained by drinking blood of anyone you can, you probably can't keep the upbeat demeanour he has for very long.

Aiya raised an eyebrow and shot Tyro a glance. The stages were always the same, no matter species or century. First was panic, then caution, then plain old fear. Then they would give her a real long look, taking in her stillness, her calmess and it would occur to them that she hadn't killed them yet, so maybe she wasn't an out-of-control, bloodthirsty beast. That was normally followed by a few polite remarks, usually made in a voice pitched high with fear while the person practically oozed dread. Tyro seemed to have puffed up to twice his normal size. Cold he said. This time Aiya really did roll her eyes.

Boring as always.

"I make it a priority to be sure that no one can guess," she told him. "There are those who would try to shove a bit of wood through my chest first and ask questions afterward. Still, you have no reason to panic." She'd meant to make him feel better, or at least to get his pulse back down, though she lacked the ability to sound very reassuring. "Most of us don't survive very much longer after our human lives due to the bad reputation, but I'm old enough to have perfected my self control." A small smile crept across her face as she watched the color return to his face. "There's not much point in taking by force that which may be obtained through persuasion. But, that is an entirely different subject." She reached behind her again, this time for a small sharpening stone. She settled it into her lap and began sharpening her needles, one by one and replacing them in their holsters. "If it would make you feel safer, you could always lock your door tonight. I'm sure Onillren could stop me before I got to you."

"Nah!" Tyro said, waving a hand as he settled again. "I'm over-reacting. I mean, I know one quite personally. She's having a problem with the old blood. Errrmmm...keeping off it seems to nearly kill her. Its Griffin that keeps feeding her." He looked up, having missed most of the stare."She might like a chat."
She was sharpening needles? What? She took her sewing seriously? Years and years of a limbo existence needs a hobby...
"If it would make you feel safer, you could always lock your door tonight. I'm sure Onillren could stop me before I got to you." Aiya said.
"No! I'm sorry! Old habits die hard!" Tyro said, sitting up a little. "I mean, its hardly pleasant with the whole neck thing, so ummm...anyway! You can do what you like."
You can do it once. You can do it again.
"And Samurai's tend to get the same way around me when I look like this." He said, looking from one to the other. "Stories of the Kitsune tended to be around teaching the greedy ones a lesson."

Togron looked at the pathetic creature, master of the Ki’natorei? Bah, this was another elf with aspirations of godhood. He was familiar however; as Togron dredged up his deepest memories from before the Imprisoning a smile reached his eyes.
“It is good to see you again Daeseliat.”
He knocked the sovereign unconscious with his gauntlet and summoned his Gorem lieutenant, Wuldum. Nearly as tall as Togron himself and wearing the obsidian armor traditional to his corps Wuldum was truly a sight to inspire fear.

“Here take the elf and restrain him, break his arms and feet and have the goblins outfit him with wards. We don’t want him setting our sentries ablaze.”

Wuldum bowed and took the royal from Togron’s fist and making a point to snap every finger and toe, even going so far as to break two of his ribs.

“Careful Wuldum, I want him restrained not dead. An example must be made of this mortal. To stand before the Forsaken is to stand trial by my hand.”

Wuldum rushed off back to the main camp and Togron returned to the frontlines. Already the effects could be seen of his defeating their leader. The shield wall began to falter in places, and the arrow storm had staggered and at some places along the wall had come to a complete stop. Togron rushed back into the fray, taking note of the Gorem battalion hidden just under a nearby ridge. They could sense that the tide had begun to turn in their favor; even the walls seemed to despair as cracks began to appear along them more readily.

Togron watched as three boulders pounded the walls consecutively in the exact same spot. It seemed as if the goblins had finally calculated the proper trajectory and the projectiles’ lethality had increased tenfold. A fourth boulder sailed across the sky, lazily at first but at its apex it picked up speed, crashing into the same spot as the previous boulders.

The wall groaned mightily as it fell apart, no longer able to take the beating handed out by the Forsaken’s Might.

The Gorems rushed from their hidden position, vicious piranhas among sheep. Fresh and their morale high for their god had returned as promised, they tore through the elvish ranks like a single blade. They filled the breached wall into the city tearing at every enemy they saw, a surgical operation with a single mind. In less than twenty minutes every archer on the wall lay dead or dying. Every magus unconscious, bound and gagged. And any resistance quashed beneath the blades of the Gorem. Half an hour later Togron’s banner sat on the walls alongside the mark of the Forsaken.

The civilians were unearthed from their hiding places throughout the remainder of the day. Troll spears brought any who tried to run down. Orcs tore through the pockets of resistance, this generation feasting on elf flesh for the first time in millennia. Their addiction grew alongside their bloodlust. The women and children were rounded up and stripped of all dignity. They were herded like cattle from one group in the camp to the next till every monster’s lust had been filled, twice.

When every hunger had been sated and every revenge met, they were moved to the city center and slaughtered one by one. Their blood filled massive distilleries and casks. Elf blood was a high-priced commodity in the black market being an inebriant second to angel tears. Also being a magical race in general lent a certain degree of arcane qualities in the body. Togron had just murdered an entire city-state; there would be plenty to go around.

Togron sat on the drained elf bodies like a macabre throne as the magi of the city kneeled before him, many crying as he had forced them to watch their families’ destruction. He spoke to them as a general assembly:

“I have fought your fathers before you and they fell to me. What made you think,” Togron glared at all of them meeting one of them in the eyes, “you could defeat me now?”
The one whose gaze he had met blanched in both complexion and hair color and fell on to his side soiling himself.

“The Ki’natorei will be mine, the Forsaken have willed it.”

Daeseliat looked up at him, pain clouding his vision and his will having disappeared with the hundredth child he had been forced to watch die. Togron nodded at Wuldum who motioned the Gorem forward. They stood behind each bound magus, daggers at the ready.

“Now tell me, how do I harness this power? No, answer? Then die!"

The Gorem began slitting each of their throats, laughing gleefully like a child in a candy shop. Togron watched Daeseliat’s reaction as he was being forced to watch his arcane champions slaughtered before him. The eldest and mightiest of the once great city of Tongarah, brought to the ground in less than a day by Togron’s power. Daeseliat shuddered and began to cry once more. Togron simply chuckled and Daeseliat spoke over choking sobs,
“You monster, the Ki’natorei will never bend to your will.”
“I have goblin engineers to deal with that problem, now lead me or risk losing my mercies. Would you prefer to see your remaining women thrown in with the orcs?”
Daeseliat shuddered and wept harder,
“Below the city there is a crypt, my ancestors are housed within and carry in each of their tombs the secrets they’ve gathered and added to the legendarium of the Ki’natorei. Now be done with the dead and have your Gorem slay me quickly.”
Togron’s smile was a graveyard of the living, buried alive and screaming for repose. He motioned for his goblin engineers.


It took two hours but the various traps and curses were tamed. The scrolls had been unearthed by the goblins and turned over to Togron. He pored over them and howled his delight, throwing them into his war chest he stepped outside his pavilion and beamed at the sight before him.

The city was the daydream of a fire-starter turned reality. The flames rose high above the city and licking the sky and painting it a gruesome blood red that disturbed all who saw it. Even the animals had started avoiding this place, seeing the taint that had formed and spread as a result of Togron’s military victory. And Daeseliat sat, bound, forced to watch his beloved city burn to ash. The zenith of a thousand years of uninterrupted peace crushed in a single day. Its secrets plundered and its people utterly destroyed. He no longer cried but it did not take an idiot to see that the remaining part of his mind and spirit had fled.

When the fire consuming the city had finally eaten the last of the walls, as daemon fire tends to do, Togron ordered Daeseliat’s back skinned and tanned. The goblin’s plucked his eyes from his head and scalped him to add to Togron’s ghastly necklace. Kept alive by dark troll magics he was dissected, aware of the pain as all his entrails and organs were removed from his body. He was to serve as a warning to all that the Forsaken had returned to claim what was stolen from them. His soul remained in his body as it was dipped in boiling gold and mounted on a stake entering the base of his spine and exiting his mouth. His back flesh was cursed by orc shamans inscribing upon it,
Daeseliat lies here
Master of the Ki’natorei
Ruler of Tongarah
And First to fall to the Forsaken
And their Avatar of War,
Togron Goremmach.
His body was displayed for all visitors to see upon the piece of wall that had remained after the inferno.

The next day Togron and his unholy force marched upon the city of Rauncelsus. And soon Taivas itself.

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Tiroch and his troll Shadowdancers rode their mounts into the ground several times in their search for the Southern Moon. And when no replacements could be found they ran, constantly on the move they were bound by the Northern Sun to find his sister or suffer dire consequences.

Tiroch knew he wouldn’t fail however. He had yet to fail his god and now wasn’t going to be the first time. It was when they came upon abnormal tracks that Tiroch realized he was headed in the right direction. They belonged to no common creature of the Old World and Tiroch suspected they would belong to the soldiers of the Southern Moon, the avatar of fear; it would make sense that she would pick an unearthly creature as her main force.

Moving silently to the vine walls of the mysterious city of Biyong, the small task force of the Southern Moons army perfectly blended in with the darkness. Many guards were patrolling the great wall, completely unaware of the impending doom. It was near midnight in Hessil, and the attack had nearly begun.

Taking a rest from a long patrol, one of the guards and a fellow soldier were sitting on some stools looking out. "It's been a long day," said one of the guards. The other smirked, "Ya, and the whole day I could see blurs everywhere, but it was just the trees." The guard then stood up, and leaned up against the wall. "I think I should quit this job. My wife keeps saying we need to move to Taivas, and find something safer." Below, the task force had begun climbing the vines that hung all over the wall. The other guard stood up and put his hand on the others shoulder, "Ya, I kept thinking I want to move to a quieter place, away from all the beasts." A few of Lilla's soldiers had made it over the wall, and they started on the hunt. A few were now surrounding the talking guards, timing their movements past the flames mounted on the wall.

"It's a deal then, tomorrow we'll both move to Taivas," they shook hands and smiled. After they finished, on the them picked up his helmet. Putting it on, he saw something dart past the flame nearest to him. Picking up his spear, he held it at the ready. Slowly stepping forward, he jabbed at the darkness... but hit nothing. He turned around saying, "Hey, you know-" his sentence was cut off. His friend turned around, "Do I know... where'd you go?" He grabbed the torched next to him, holding it in front of his with his sword in the other hand. "Stop fooling around," he had a little bit of fear in his voice. Taking a few steps forward, he tripped on one of the stools, causing it to fall down and him with it. On his way down, he dropped his sword and torch. The sword clanged on the stone as it fell off the side. His torch was barely in front of him, and as it flickered, he saw a brown boot.

The original numbers surrounding him had become smaller as they went to clear the wall. The remaining three were playing with him, having some fun. "Why are you on the ground?" He stood up, picking up his torch. Holding it far out, the light climbed up the body. It ended on the neck line, since there was nothing left to light up. The had of the dead body had been severed, causing a pool of blood to gather at the mid-neck line. The guard let out a small yell, but it was gargled as blood climbed up his throat. Having barely enough time before he died, the flame had shown the face of a beast, the likes he had never seen. He dropped to his knees and then fell to the ground, a knife sticking out of his chest.

All across the wall, dead bodies were littered. The next task was to open the gate, making anyone amount of noise to alarm the rest of the city, it was under attack.

Asahara felt herself different, unique among her siblings, although she acknowledged that the difference may be her collasal ego. The nature of her being, of her power was such that she could feel the rumors spreading, the caution mounting, the emotional climate of the Old World ever so slightly turning towards fear and dread, anger and hate. The feeling, the slow trickle of her name slinking across the globe and regard for her Forsaken... well, there was nothing like it. And now, with the last dregs of ice gone from her mind, she felt it more acutely than ever. She reveled in it every night as she lay down to sleep and every morning before she began her day. She paused during quiet moments to breathe it in. Fear had a deep, musky smell, like the smell of bodies shared under the stars.

Beautiful.

There was a heavy thud, and a large, dark shadow hit the ground hard. There was a groan and the man rolled onto his back, the moonlight catching his face. He was bruised and bloodied, one eye swollen shut and the other rolling madly in its socket, watching images that weren't there. A soft voice sighed sympathetically from the deep shadows.

"Why do you keep doing this to yourself?"

The man sucked in a shuddering breath, clamping his hands over his ears. His lips moved unceasingly, though he never made a sound. The sigh came again and Asahara stepped gracefully from the pitch corners of the room. She knelt next to the man's head, laying her hand over one of his.

I love your strength. I love your determination. But really, I have taken the will millions of men and implanted my own. Do you really think none of them tried to cover their ears? Asahara supressed the pleased grin that tugged on the corners of her mouth when he shuddered, his eyes rolling even more frantically. I'm already in your head, Coloras. Stop fighting me and it will stop hurting. It hurts me to see you--

With a roar Coloras lunged, locking his hands around her slim forearm and shoving so that she was under him. He snarled, one of his hands tightening excuciatingly around her arm while the other went for her neck. Asahara didn't even bat an eye. No sooner had her backc hit the ground than Coloras's weight was gone. There was a sickening crack and a wail of pain while she sat up and brushed the dirt primply from her sleeve. Clarissa emerged from the shadows, taking Asahara's arm gently to help her to her feet, all the while eyeing Colaras with black eyes. Her leathery wings came forward around her, pulling her closer as her pale fingers held onto the back of her dress posessively. Only feet away, a tall, lean vampire with black hair held Coloras off of the ground by the neck, his eyes bleeding red and his fangs exposed. Asahara could hear their thoughts just as clearly as she hear Colaras's. They didn't like the danger she put herself in, they didn't like this rough disrespectful human, they didn't understand why she insisted that he stood among them.

"Put him down, pet," Asahara murmured. The vampire cut her an incredulous look out of the corner of his eye, but promptly obeyed her. He receded back to the shadows without a word. Clarissa, on the other hand, stepped closer and slid her touch up to the back of Asahara's neck.

"Mistress..." she murmured. Asahara turned slightly and smiled for her and then stepped out of the cocoon of her wings. She knelt once more at Colaras's side, tisking.

"Beautiful, isn't he?" she asked, turning his face forcefully. "His name is Kur'uk... as quick as a striking snake and just as deadly. And her, over there. She is a siren from the southern edge of Schiendi. When I met her, she had no song and had been shunned. I was the one who discovered the quickness of her blade. I suggest you stop trying to hurt me, before you discover it as well."

"I want her to kill me," Colaras grunted. Asahara smiled. He hadn't meant to say that aloud. She was almost through. When she had first met him, the barriers around his mind had been huge and strong. He had been damned from that moment forward. Either she would have control of him, or no one, including himself, would. But he was quickly losing control of himself, even as he locked her out. She continued the assault on his mind, screaming, whispering, swiping, stroking, tearing, even as she soothed him with her hands and her voice. He had a strong will. She delighted in the challenge.

"You don't want her to kill you," Asahara replied in a low voice. "I certainly don't want that." She slid forward with Clarissa and Kur'uk's footsteps shadowing closer as well. Can't you see the weight, the purpose in their eyes? They are more than happy in their service to me. They are fulfilled. I can give this to you.

Colaras choked on his words, only shook his head weakly.

Say it.

Tears slid down his cheeks.

Say it

He sobbed,

Asahara smiled. I can give you the world. But only if you give me something back...

There was a great silence, into which Colaras took a shuddering breath. He looked up at her and Asahara felt his walls tumbling down, an image of his wife and children the last coherent thought that was fully his own. She would have to be sure that he was made aware that she had them killed a few hours ago.

"Mistress," he said, gazing into Asahara's eyes. Clarissa and Kur'uk smiled simultaneously.

"Welcome, brother," they said in unison as Asahara stood, turned, and strode from the room.

"Kill him," she said over her shoulder as the door slid shut behind her.

"You intrude nothing, Sir Lucius. My history is of no secret to anyone whom wishes to know." She said, resting a hand on his shoulder, as if not for his comfort, but for hers. "I'm sorry to hear about your family. But your grypon is not your only close friend as of now." She said, smiling. She honestly only said that, to see if he would react positively as she thought he would. He seemed like the kind that would've had a lot of friends. Good ones at that. But she would wait to hear his response.

"Aye, Lucius." She said, for the first time casually. "Let us make camp here." The two would land, before the paladin would tell his Gryphon to go off somewhere, which it happily did, and would probably find something rather large and tasty...perhaps a horse or llama. But she again digressed, and would look around. "Will we be staying long here?" She asked, looking him over. She honestly didn't know what his full intentions were, but by all means, was willing to listen. She wasn't a very good leader.

"So?" The hopeful girl, her button nose and brown eyes wide with anticipation.
"Hmmm?" And there's Tyro, usually oblivious to the wonders of implied meanings.
"Chris? What do you think?" She seemed to grab his arm to stop herself from falling over from the leaning in.
"You, wait, of course you want to know. You wont like it. I'm not entirely keen."
"What? Why? What's wrong with him?"
"He's been almost silent the entire time."
"He's nervous."
"Then why did he agree to come along to this?"
"He wanted to come and meet you." Tyro crosses his arms and looks down at his daughter.
"Ah come on! He's here for you! I'm a small distraction from the real show that should be going on upstairs."
"Daaad!" He raises his hands in defence to the disgusted scowl.
"I'm just saying, your wasting valuable time!"
"You just want to be left alone with Rachel."
"Yes! Bugger off!" He waved her away before walking to the conservatory. The baking summer heat soaked through his fur, seemingly magnified by the glass. He looks up to the red vixen in the swim suit. Senseless to be in anything else with this whether. Her deep blues where framed perfectly by her specticals. Arms slip around his neck. The eyes close as she moves ever closer.

"Hmmm!?" Tyro suddenly says as he blinks repeatedly in the light. The hard chair hasn't done anything kind to his muscles, especially now as he tries to use them to raise himself from its folds. He looks from Onillren to Ayia, a little embarrassed.
"Must have drifted off there. Sorry. Its getting late."