Atlantic Roleplay Community Boards

[Dealthagar]

---

Dealthagar smiled and hummed lightly as he worked. The feel of fresh vellum under his fingertips was always a welcome and pleasant sensation, but after the changes she had made to his hand, it had taken on a special meaning. Every tight whorl he wrote was a stolen kiss. Every broad stroke was a longing-filled caress.

Her pillowcase was folded neatly, and he wore it around his neck like a scarf, pausing to caress it absently from time to time. He could still smell her; taste her on it.

The screaming, accusation-filled, venom spewing argument from the day before lingered in his mind. In the space of a few hours they had been on the brink of disaster and the height of extacy multiple times. Undoubtedly, the Drow had a far different opinion of the Technocrat after seeing him curled in her lap like a pet, speaking plainly and crassly of anyone and anything that displeased him. The Saerelai smoke was a easy excuse for the Oracle of Control to let go of the rigid facade and act as foolish or non-conformist as he wanted. The fact that it sharpened the focus of what he could see with the Gift of the Damned was a minor consideration.

Clearing the daydream from his mind, Dealthagar returned to the schematic he had been drawing since she left after they awoke. The tightly detailed gear and sprocket work for the automaton he wes designing made him throb as his fingers danced with the quill. it made focusing harder, but it made his detail-work far more exacting. After a few more sketches, Dealthagar simply dropped the quill, closed his eyes and began running his bare fingertips across the heavy vellum.

His breaths came in sharp heaves as he savored the minute imperfections in the sheepskin. His upper lip quivvered and he bit it as his hand trailed off the paper and the texture changed to the smooth cold marble of the worktable. opening his eyes, he lifted his hand, and thrust it into the stand his various quills were in, the feathers and dimpled woodden grips randomly splitting between his fingers. His spine shook, and he nearly collapsed at his desk.

After a few deep breaths, Dealthagar felt his heart slowing down and his breath coming at a regular pace. Rising, he crossed the room and opend an armoire, taking out a pair of very fine kid leather gloves and slipped them on. She understood the sort of creature he was. Perhaps it was time to test how well he understood her.
_________________

The Three Truths of Singularity
Do something to the best of your abilty or don't do it at all
Feel to the fullest of your ability, cutting yourself off from your emotions leads to spiritual death
Control your being, your existance, your destiny.
www.adriandrake.com