;;Nasrin Cavendish;;
âI should have known. I thought I felt a womanizer around here somewhere.â She shot back at him at his easy admittance to be looking for her. He was grinning and Nasrin was not sure how she felt about the the warmth in his eyes. She blinked as he ran the pad of his thumb over her nose, and though taken by surprise, promptly snapped her teeth at his hand in an attempt to drive it away from her face. However she did not jerk backwards, merely shooting him a somewhat resentful look. âBelieve me, it would not hurt so much if you had not been there at all to crash into.â
She scowled a bit when he figured out that something was worrying her. Nobody really paid enough attention to her to ask her about things that were on her mind. What was she supposed to say? She would not lie and say there was nothing bothering her. But to tell him about her thoughts wasâŠwell, she wasnât sure how to explain it. âFine then,â she muttered under her breath, walking the short distance to the marble bench in the garden and sitting.
âI was just thinking about the war,â she told him simply, knowing that everyone was as well. A quick, easy answer. She pursed her lips momentarily, knowing that she had not even told him half of what was making her anxious. And of course, as a person who liked to be honest, it bothered her. âWith the warâŠI am worried about the innocents in the crossfireâŠand my mother.â She said finally, pretty sure that Dante would persist even if she refused to tell him. Or at least that was how she justified her answering him. âMy mother in the country.â
In truth, she was not supposed to talk about this. She was not supposed to talk about this at all, not when Lady Cavendish was right here in court along with her father. Not when she was supposed to be her mother, and Nasrin was supposed to be her daughter. But she wasnât. âLady Cavendish isnât my mother,â she admitted, looking up to the sky instead of him. âMy father is my father, as much as I loathe him, but Lady Cavendish is not my mother.â Her voice became slightly hard towards the end of her sentence. She despised her father and her âmother.â She still missed her real mother, missed her childhood home.
âI wasnât raised to be the heir of the Cavendish family. I grew up as a country lass until I was eight.â She picked a nearby flower and distractedly peeled the petals off of it until there was nothing but a pile of pale pink on her lap. âIt was near the woods. There werenât a lot of children, but there were forest animals. They wereâŠmy friends. And my mother, she wasâŠâ Her voice was not cold or sarcastic as it usually was, merely the voice of one who was reminiscing their pastâwarm, slightly nostalgic. A genuine smile graced her lips as she stared out, far away from the garden in her mind.
Suddenly Nasrin blinked, as if she had caught herself drifting off in such a manner she hated to be in. She looked rather sharply to him, almost as if to start and reprimand him for just being there, but she stopped herself. No, she had told him, it wasnât as if he had made her. She looked back away from him, embarrassed that he had heard her speak like that with an idiotic smile on her face. âW-well,â she stammered, her voice stubborn once more though there was a flush across her cheeks. âItâsâŠIâmâŠYouâre notâŠnobodyâs supposed to know about my mother. Donât you breathe a word, orâŠor Iâll stomp on your feet for an eternity.â Nasrin knew that that was a horrible (not to mention childish) threat, but it had been the first thing that had come to her mind. Then she proceeded to stomp down on his shoe for good measure.
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;;Sirena D'Airelle;;
Sirena threw back her own alcohol as she drunk herself to a stupor that was shared with Ammon. It was horrible and tasted cheap as dirtâsomething the young woman disliked, but this was more trying to get flat-out drunk than trying to taste something exquisite. A bad taste, but still capable of intoxicating. At the moment, she was past caring whether the swill tasted like soap suds or ground up sea scum. You just drank more and more because it made you fall even deeper into drunkenness.
At his words to her she smirked at Ammon, her fingers, still coordinated despite the alcohol, sneaking into his short hair. She waited for him to tell her, a glint in her eyes as she looked up at his fine visage. Sirena accepted his kiss readily; he tasted better than any of the finest wine in the whole world, perhaps the one thing her whims would never go against. He was, after all, her most regular and favorite bedmate. She licked her lips slowly as they parted, in a very good (and drunken) mood. Really, these times were some of the best times of a day in her life.
She let out a drunken laugh at his suggestion, also leaning into him in a strange sort of a shared balance. âThe red haired one though, she looks like she could hold her liquor,â she observed. âBut yes, yesââ she laughed again, her arms briefly tightening around himââWhat a night that would be!â That little princelingâoh, or was she supposed to call him âhis Majestyâ?âwas looking better in her eyes after seeing him defeat Jans like that. She liked a man who could think on his feet. She tilted back another gulp of the horrible swill before turning her attention back to Ammon again with a mischievous smile.
âWhose bed tonight?â she inquired in a low whisper, a saucy smile tugging at her lips before they stumbled off, their intentions firmly in their minds.
âI should have known. I thought I felt a womanizer around here somewhere.â She shot back at him at his easy admittance to be looking for her. He was grinning and Nasrin was not sure how she felt about the the warmth in his eyes. She blinked as he ran the pad of his thumb over her nose, and though taken by surprise, promptly snapped her teeth at his hand in an attempt to drive it away from her face. However she did not jerk backwards, merely shooting him a somewhat resentful look. âBelieve me, it would not hurt so much if you had not been there at all to crash into.â
She scowled a bit when he figured out that something was worrying her. Nobody really paid enough attention to her to ask her about things that were on her mind. What was she supposed to say? She would not lie and say there was nothing bothering her. But to tell him about her thoughts wasâŠwell, she wasnât sure how to explain it. âFine then,â she muttered under her breath, walking the short distance to the marble bench in the garden and sitting.
âI was just thinking about the war,â she told him simply, knowing that everyone was as well. A quick, easy answer. She pursed her lips momentarily, knowing that she had not even told him half of what was making her anxious. And of course, as a person who liked to be honest, it bothered her. âWith the warâŠI am worried about the innocents in the crossfireâŠand my mother.â She said finally, pretty sure that Dante would persist even if she refused to tell him. Or at least that was how she justified her answering him. âMy mother in the country.â
In truth, she was not supposed to talk about this. She was not supposed to talk about this at all, not when Lady Cavendish was right here in court along with her father. Not when she was supposed to be her mother, and Nasrin was supposed to be her daughter. But she wasnât. âLady Cavendish isnât my mother,â she admitted, looking up to the sky instead of him. âMy father is my father, as much as I loathe him, but Lady Cavendish is not my mother.â Her voice became slightly hard towards the end of her sentence. She despised her father and her âmother.â She still missed her real mother, missed her childhood home.
âI wasnât raised to be the heir of the Cavendish family. I grew up as a country lass until I was eight.â She picked a nearby flower and distractedly peeled the petals off of it until there was nothing but a pile of pale pink on her lap. âIt was near the woods. There werenât a lot of children, but there were forest animals. They wereâŠmy friends. And my mother, she wasâŠâ Her voice was not cold or sarcastic as it usually was, merely the voice of one who was reminiscing their pastâwarm, slightly nostalgic. A genuine smile graced her lips as she stared out, far away from the garden in her mind.
Suddenly Nasrin blinked, as if she had caught herself drifting off in such a manner she hated to be in. She looked rather sharply to him, almost as if to start and reprimand him for just being there, but she stopped herself. No, she had told him, it wasnât as if he had made her. She looked back away from him, embarrassed that he had heard her speak like that with an idiotic smile on her face. âW-well,â she stammered, her voice stubborn once more though there was a flush across her cheeks. âItâsâŠIâmâŠYouâre notâŠnobodyâs supposed to know about my mother. Donât you breathe a word, orâŠor Iâll stomp on your feet for an eternity.â Nasrin knew that that was a horrible (not to mention childish) threat, but it had been the first thing that had come to her mind. Then she proceeded to stomp down on his shoe for good measure.
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;;Sirena D'Airelle;;
Sirena threw back her own alcohol as she drunk herself to a stupor that was shared with Ammon. It was horrible and tasted cheap as dirtâsomething the young woman disliked, but this was more trying to get flat-out drunk than trying to taste something exquisite. A bad taste, but still capable of intoxicating. At the moment, she was past caring whether the swill tasted like soap suds or ground up sea scum. You just drank more and more because it made you fall even deeper into drunkenness.
At his words to her she smirked at Ammon, her fingers, still coordinated despite the alcohol, sneaking into his short hair. She waited for him to tell her, a glint in her eyes as she looked up at his fine visage. Sirena accepted his kiss readily; he tasted better than any of the finest wine in the whole world, perhaps the one thing her whims would never go against. He was, after all, her most regular and favorite bedmate. She licked her lips slowly as they parted, in a very good (and drunken) mood. Really, these times were some of the best times of a day in her life.
She let out a drunken laugh at his suggestion, also leaning into him in a strange sort of a shared balance. âThe red haired one though, she looks like she could hold her liquor,â she observed. âBut yes, yesââ she laughed again, her arms briefly tightening around himââWhat a night that would be!â That little princelingâoh, or was she supposed to call him âhis Majestyâ?âwas looking better in her eyes after seeing him defeat Jans like that. She liked a man who could think on his feet. She tilted back another gulp of the horrible swill before turning her attention back to Ammon again with a mischievous smile.
âWhose bed tonight?â she inquired in a low whisper, a saucy smile tugging at her lips before they stumbled off, their intentions firmly in their minds.