MADE BY VEL OF GS + WW

[attr="class","isratalk"]

Her hands settle on the table in front of her while she listens to him, eyes following to where he guides them. She finds herself comfortable in the space next to him despite how the contents of the book's pages should make her anything but. Though she's far from done with dissecting what it has to offer and she'll spend time later confirming her suspicions about the information within it is not something that was meant to be seen by outsiders. At least not some of it.

"Yes and no." he questions her and she can't give him a straight answer. "Outside of the Sinnoh branch most of the other parts of the family- of us are a bit.. estranged." she's not sure its quite the right word but it's the best she can come up with and it shows. At least without getting into the specifics of a sort of inter familial and religious set of politics that would take far too long to answer.

Her eyes move back to the book, she's not sure what to think of it. "Most of the others are much smaller, our numbers are concentrated mostly to Sinnoh, the next largest being here in Hoenn and the rest are mostly seen as stragglers that are there for one reason or another. Galar is no different."

"I have heard pieces of these stories before, seen this part of the record keeping in other records and this name in particular-" she reaches out to it again, to Aris with an unusual hesitation. She can't help but think it was not meant for the eyes of an outsider, they rarely understand. She takes a breath, and says it anyway. "The name by itself means little but with the image next to it means I can tell you almost exactly which one she is, especially with that kind of time frame."

"But it also means this should have never left our records, and the fact that you found it some catacombs is... odd." she's questioning the nature of it and it shows when she looks at him, because she knows how particular they have always been and whatever this is about, whatever the details on these pages are for were enough to break rules that had existed since long before this book may very well have.

There are missing pieces, and it bothers her.

Remiel Calcifet
<3

MADE BY VEL OF GS + WW

[attr="class","isratalk"]

If it weren't for the things he didn't know about her she might have written him off then and there but she doesn't. It wouldn't be the first time the Nightingale name was caught up in something of such a caliber, if anything it was more likely to be true than not. Though they were only one part of a much larger playing card they themselves carried a certain weight to them that the others didn't. Or perhaps, couldn't.

Isra stays behind when he stands, opting to watch him instead. As if she might gauge the truth of his words from how he carries himself while he says them. Pessimism says she's being played and it wouldn't be unlikely, many take her for being brainless and blind and she lets them. It gives her room to do as she pleases. The only thing stopping that train of thought is the fact he's given her no reason to believe that's the case up until now.

"Well I suppose it's a good thing I'm not the worrying type them." she stands, smoothing out her dress as she does so. Moments like this make her wonder why she wears them so often, but the image of a lady is well crafted and not easily let go of. "Because that almost sounds like I should be worried when I leave here tonight." she's teasing of course, though she doubts he knows the extent to which she does not worry.

She crosses the space between them with ease, sparing one more glance at the book before she leaves it behind for now. She'd like to see the rest of it but pressing too much too soon does little good when there is much about it she'd like to make certain of first. The rest come come in pieces.

"Before I say anything else Remiel, is this all you know of my Family?"

Because if nothing else, she needs to know how much it is safe to say.

Remiel Calcifet

MADE BY VEL OF GS + WW

[attr="class","isratalk"]

The smile is barely there at his tease. She finds it more amusing than most might given the circumstances, who he's saying it to. While she doubts he hasn't gone looking, not if he's found as many missing persons as he says she doubts he's found the full scope of what they are.

And beyond that, which one he is speaking to.

"Is that an invitation then?" she tilts her head ever so slightly to the side, as if out of curiosity. She has no intentions of staying of course, because that means something quite different to her than him. The woman cannot leave in the morning when the sun is up and her worries quieted. He doesn't need to know that of course though.

Isra approaches and only stands close enough to steal his wine glass when he gestures with it, a motion more fluid and delibrate than most expect of her. Boundaries mean little to her and taking a sip of his glass seems like just as natural a behavior as taking one from her own, but she has no plans to go retrieve it.

The flirty and coy visage hangs loosely over her, a distraction from how she really feels on the topic of her family. "I see." she returns his glass to him just a little less full.

There's a moment where there's too many questions and too many things to be skeptical about, but curiosity over powers it. Truth be told despite the happenings of the region this may very well be more amusing than anything else that has happened until now. Isra cannot decide where else she wants this conversation to go, and as such leaves it to him to speak again.

Remiel Calcifet

MADE BY VEL OF GS + WW

[attr="class","isratalk"]

Watching him finish the glass, Isra suspects she's made a bigger impact than she thinks. She always anticipates a slow game, a crawl to the finish and the back and forth in between only ever serves to make the end more desirable. When he closes what little space between them is left Isra becomes quite certain he doesn't play by the same set of rules that most do. Her eyes are instinctively on his and alert to the boldness of his movements. The way his eyes drift over her make her smile, just enough to matter, enough to approve.

Isra doesn't stop him, makes no move to resist. If anything he'll find an encouraging look in her eyes. Hadn't she told him once before? She quite likes forwardness, boldness, she has no time to waste on anything less and he's proven to have it aplenty so far. The reward is subtle but its there in how she lets him play with her hair, his too gentle touch guides her to him and there's an almost-chuckle on her lips when they meet.


It certainly favors him tonight.

One hand reaches for the fingers on her chin because they don't need to be there anymore. Pulling his hand away she seeks to lace their fingers together just as they had been for most of the festival. A surprisingly affectionate gesture, something she might normally forgo but she finds she likes him more than most. He keeps her interest without trying and it shows in how easily she reciprocates. There's a certain delight in how he still tastes of the shared wine.

She shifts closer to him, eating away at the space between them. Her other hand finds its way up to the back of his neck, fingers dancing in his hair as if she might be able to coax him into staying, continuing. Not because she needs to, faintly, vaguely she thinks its because she wants him to. Him. A curious idea for a woman who cares so little for people, who rarely finds anyone to be worthy of interest. Company is hollow and nothing more than an act of filling a void she can't place a label to but he is a rarity amongst the company she keeps, one of very few.

Even when the inevitable parting of lips comes, Isra makes no move to put distance between them and the looks in her eyes says the only thing that needs be said: She seeks for more, if he's willing to give it.

Remiel Calcifet

MADE BY VEL OF GS + WW

[attr="class","isratalk"]

With each passing movement he becomes a little more intoxicating, a little more difficult to pull away from. She could get lost in him, if she lets herself and she almost does. He meets her expectations and then some, surprising her even with his willingness to act on his want- it only serves to make him more enticing. Her head is filled with the taste of his lips and the feeling of his skin beneath her's. She doesn't think he needs her coaxing and when they're lips are forced to part her hand drifts down the side of his neck, a barely there touch, a ghost of a tease.

And then he grins and she's his.

Her hands move to his chest when his land on her waist, there's a warmth in the gentleness of his touch that makes her draw a breath she doesn't expect. His hands stay there and in a way she finds them comforting. Unlike before, back at the festival when he'd caught her off guard, the touch unexpected she welcomes it now. Her own hands find their way to his waist to pull him in closer, forcing him to devour what little space could possibly be between them in her stead. Slender fingers trail across his surface, a feather light touch, an exploration of him. Seeking more than she has already been given, unsatisfied in the surface of their apparent want for each other.

His actions are slower now, more deliberate, and Isra suffers her impatience, weathering it with the belief that it will pay off better than she thinks. He makes it worth her while as slow savory kisses turn into delicate nibbles at her skin, she indulges in his want to take the lead, letting him spoil her. She will return the favor in time, never one for feeling like she's in a place of owing. She'll let him spoil her until she's had her fill and then she'll return the favor until they are mutually fulfilled, satisfied in their indulgence of each others touch. Perhaps more so tonight than most, impatient as she is, Isra is willing to wait.

He speaks and she steals the moment to nibble on his ear, staying close so her lips brush against his skin when she answers. "I'm your's til the sun rises."

Whatever misgivings she might have had are soon gone, lost to the little momentary promise of herself to another. Fingers drift until they find the hem of his shirt, porcelain fingers dancing over his skin.

Remiel Calcifet
>>ftb!

MADE BY VEL OF GS + WW

[attr="class","isratalk"]

That's more like it. She thinks, a mutual acceptance leaves little room to hold back and when two individuals with overbearing confidence in their actions meet head on the only option is an explosion that'll either leave them both in flames or dulled to ash.

Isra has a feeling which of the two this will end in and she cannot wait for it. There's proof enough of it in how he takes her hint, the temporary vacancy on her skin as potent as the return of his presence and she nearly clings to him when he does, fingers trailing across his skin. She soon finds she likes how he handles her, rewarding him with small kisses that she sneaks in between his own, trailing across him like she might find some hidden treasure if she seeks for it long enough.

Despite her own eagerness there is a clear contrast between them, just like the night he stumbled upon her in the streets of Lilycove. His intensity is met with something surprisingly delicate, something slight and barely there but the potency of it does not change. She slips in between the cracks in his passion, like a ghost reaching across the divide. She is not a woman who sinks her fangs in, she coaxes him to her, encourages his actions, emboldens his passion with her own until it might devour them both.


She couldn't possibly sleep, not really. Her own bed is always empty and a life in a different world makes her sleep light and yet for just a moment she finds herself almost falling into such a trap beside him, tired and worn and far more comfortable with the idea than she would like to be. He has undeniably he has won her over with the nights affairs, a taste of another part of him tucked away bellow that stone surface. It's only the nagging feeling in the back of her mind that stirs her, slipping away while she can, while he's not awake to coax her into staying out of turn with his questions and curiosities. It takes more effort than she would like it to, limbs heavy beneath the weight of their night together. She finds it hard to find someone as insatiable as she is and the fact he kept up with her is evident in the feeling sinking in.

There's time to spare, at least a little. She takes it slow, back tracking over the path they left through the penthouse, a chuckle light on her lips at the thought of how they couldn't keep their hands off each other. Why would they when neither of them seemed willing to say no? No, they were far too caught up in it, they meshed together too well, a matching set in too many ways. From boldness to untamable desire to the scars they both bore on their skin when the illusions of perfect posture and slight daintiness fell away. Isra thinks for just a moment that she would like to trace her fingers over the pattern of his skin again, the stories held within every break in it.

But her keeper comes calling from just beyond the horizon, reminding her that she will soon be over staying her welcome. She cannot dwell on the scene she walks through for as long as she might like. She must gather herself back together, replacing every piece of the illusion he's seen a crack in from the shawl around her shoulders to the heels in her hand. Isra takes great care to ensure the little moon from the start of their evening is tucked away where she cannot lose it before she takes her leave of the place.

There is not sound of clicking heels to signify her exit, she leaves like a ghost. No feint traces left behind for him to find but the ones in his skin, of which there should be plenty enough.

It was too bad he wasn't going to get to see the liveliness in her eyes as she left the building.


When he wakes enough to emerge from his room and bares witness to the scene himself he'll find a curious addition to the painting they've left crooked on the wall. Placed just bellow it, almost as if to caption it is a sticky note, an item that surely doesn't belong in either version of the scene, the sleek and modern penthouse or the passionate trail that had been made through it. Closer inspection will reveal two darling little doodles, sketched out in pen with as much care she can spare. In one corner sits a waving banette, the one opposing it holds a tipping sinistea and written out somewhere in between is the one thing she had not gotten to say, unable to sneak it in between touches:



Remiel Calcifet
>>You're perf <3 but i already told you that i guess