askaree

The vibrations had already found their way inside of her, sending her innards gyrating while the erratic beat rattled her bones straight down to the marrow. With every footfall that brought her closer to the rust-caked cargo ship did they grow stronger, more insistent... playing a crude and volatile tempo against a body that was, by design, far too sensitive for such an assault. The ophidian beast within her bellows its unequivocable discontent as the Egyptian tranverses the border between dock and deck, the thudding of her rubber soles against the ship's muck-stained floor lost to the Ark's feverishly beating heart. Askaree would have normally avioded the Ark as a firmly-established and general rule, much preferring to leave the dilapidated tugboat to the wee little beasties that frequented it on any given evening in favor of her own brand of smut-hole filled to the brim with an alternative, and much preferred, brand of beastie.

So why was it that the reptilian minx found herself cavorting about within the confines of this glorified tin can that she found so terribly loathsome?

Well, because curiosity had killed the fucking cat... and something had, apparently, brought him back. At least that is the story as it had been told to her, though the finer details had been mangled quite severely by the demon drink under whose influence she had been at the time. Whatever. The single detail that mattered, and the only one worth investing any amount of time in, was that someone had snuffed out the Kitten King's torch only for him to have appeared significantly "un-snuffed" weeks later. Which, of course, begged the question of how the fuck he had managed to pull that off?

A question that would surely have some measure of light cast upon it in due time; however, first things must come first. Askaree, being ever the vigilant seeker of truth (bahahaha), found it prudent that she first lay eyes upon the supposedly resurrected feline monarch for herself for it was the custom of those large of mouth and small of mind (a modest portion of the population, let's be honest) to concoct such tales as these for the sake of amusing their teeny-tiny brains. Thus was she here, exhibiting no insignificant measure of personal inhibition given her distaste for the locale and its patrons, for the sole purpose of setting her eyes upon him.

It was a feat that proved hardly challenging as she drew ever nigh to the chainlink "ring" around which the majority of the Ark's patrons seemed to coagulate, the swelling in volume of the raucous crowd and the frantic exchange of last-minute bids signifying in no uncertain terms the imminent beginning of another of the sweaty tussles for which the Ark was a proverbial mecca. And there, seated above all of the others, was Lionheart himself. A devilish grin pulls taut at her darkly alluring features as her eyes scout the details of his face as if for the very first time only to land with no small amount of weight upon the pheonix that hung about his neck. How beautifully fucking poetic. A dismissive chortle rattles about within her gullet as her power tugs ever so gently at the dazzling talisman to pull it across the expanse of his chest just enough so that the tail of the creature might point in her direction. A surprisingly suble move was it from a woman who had always been anything but. Effective though, and she knew it the moment that his emerald eyes fell upon her. A lasciviously beckoning look is all that she offers to her temporary "partner in crime' for a moment, maybe two, before the cushions of her lips purse into a phantom kiss.

Look what the cat dragged in...