Askaree Bint Bahar

For the love of Christ and all things good and holy... his hair was atrociously distracting. It was appalling, truly; the manner in which it hung over his eyes in such an unkempt tangle an unfortunately perturbing thing for Askaree. Should the truth be told in its entirety, though, the quite pronounced aversion she found herself quickly falling victim too was, mayhap, among the myriad side effects of the particularly aggressive strain of ADD that seemed only further upset by her advancing level of inebriation. Regardless, the unruly platinum mop drew her attention from whatever dribble sloshed about within his obviously oft-used mouth... really though, what was he on about? To her merit, though, the young woman does not allow her distraction to capture her attentions in any outwardly-apparent manner, a fox-like simper drawing to the supple lines of her own lips. "Among other things, yes," she replies just as flatly, her tone every bit as smooth as his had been as she offers him little more than the curtest of nods.

Bereft are her features of surprise with his acquiescence to what had certainly been a less-than-vaguely apathetic challenge, for surely a gentleman who deemed himself the most exciting point of another individual's evening would hardly miss a chance to prove it so. Dutifully do her chocolate eyes venture a slow and deliberate trajectory to the waitress of earlier, another purposeful draw pilfered from the tumbler in her hands, the stoic expression upon her chiseled features obscuring whatever delight she leeches from this bystander's apparent distress. As the flighty girl is ushered into a nearby booth by her fellows; however, Askaree turns her waning attentions back to the self-proclaimed "man of the evening". So, he supposed that he had taken her to task on her own challenge then, yes? Well then, what manner of creature would she have been not to rise to it appropriately? "By chance, has anyone ever told you that you're annoyingly pretentious?" A predacious grin pulls against the Egyptian's darkly attractive features then, though her own gifted magic has already begun to slither its way towards and into the unfortunate doe-eyed gentleman who had, it is clear, chosen to oogle the wrong patron at the woefully wrong moment.

Unseen does her power begin to press against his lungs, the slippery lump of his heart, wrapping about his thorax as some invisible constrictor bent only to compress... to bring about his labored breathing and interrupted heartbeat in as few moments as it had taken the flaxen-haired gentleman to begin roasting the innards of the unknowing barmaid. Only in the moment that he collapses to the floor does Askaree grant him reprieve from the attack he has not seen and cannot suspect, patrons and employees alike rushing dutifully to his aid. Never once do her eyes deviate to the prey now at her back, her lips just forming about the words that linger upon the barbed curl of her tongue, poised to tell this presumptuous man-child that it was now, in fact, his turn to kindly fuck off when...

Respectively do her eyes and leanly-muscled frame turn to greet the unsurprisingly scantily-clad vixen who had seen fit to address her. She was quite lovely to look at but, then again, were she homely this would hardly have been the place for her to whittle away the hours. The manner in which the establishment's matron chooses to acknowledge the presence of the man at her side, all cool glances and a single irritated huff, does not fall by the proverbial wayside, instead quite carefully seized upon and hoarded away within the trappings of Askaree's astute mind. "You're very kind, but if he gets to be too much of a nuisance I'll just remove him myself and save you and your staff the trouble, yes?" Her syllables are cool, precise, her accent alluring, hand outstretched in a show of uncharacteristic formality to this Nadya. "It's a pleasure, Nadya. I am Askaree... new in town and apparently incapable of deciding the wrong sort for myself. Thank goodness Justin Beiber here was gentlemanly enough to intervene." Draining what remains of her ever-dwindling tumbler, the Were turns her eyes once again to the robe-wearing entrepreneur, curiosity sparking devilishly within her eyes. "Tell me, who choreographs your numbers?"