strangetrip | Exercise in Futility - OTA - Backdated to April 24 Dawn

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Exercise in Futility - OTA - Backdated to April 24 Dawn

He was deep in the jungle when the warm humidity became cool and crisp and the dark earthy smell suddenly held a hint of salt and sea. Midnight became brighter, the sharp sliver of new moon suddenly large and ripe and more than half way to full.

It disoriented him, the wolf immersed in the hunt and the night and the man deep within who registered the shock and then the anger as he shifted back to human form and recognized where he was. The far outskirts of the world of the inn was dry and spare and seemed neverending until you found yourself dumped back where you began and he knew with the awareness of an animal that where he had been was a long way off.

And so were his pants.

He swore viciously, not sure what made him angrier the loss of a pair of pants or that the other world hadn't afforded him a way home. That it had in fact been a sop, from whoever was holding them here, to make them feel less like prisoners. And that for a short while it had worked.

He wandered the emptiness, then the woods as he worked his way back to the inn, the wolf hunting for... what he didn't know. Restless and pacing like a caged animal more than really searching for anything specific.

Then as dawn broke he found his feet on the well manicured lawn of the inn, shifting back to human form as he made his was wearily to his room.

[ooc: When the other world went away at midnight he got dumped back in the little world of the inn and he's annoyed. He also has no pants. He isn't really concerned by his nudity but please feel free to notice.]

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There was in fact a beat where he didn't know what she was going to do, and the blow when it came was a surprise.

He swore, he'd feel that one tomorrow, and his nails (not as sharp as her raked over her shoulder as he flipped her over his head so she hit the ground behind him.

Hopefully hard enough to take her breath as he got back to his feet in one lithe movement and faced her again.

Hard enough. Just. And it left Yasmeen a little slower than he'd been getting to her feet, but she did it in style, rolling back over her shoulders and then springing forward. She faced him, feinted with a lunge and swipe of her claws that intentionally came nowhere near him and then followed with a kick to the muscle of the thigh.

It wasn't the practiced dance of sparring with Raleigh, but there was still a grace and intimate beauty to the way she moved with him. Evidence, if he'd been wanting it, that she'd told him no lies.

He hadn't been, but he noticed it anyway as she kicked him.

He went down on one knee, moving to knock her off her feet once more, his shoulder in her gut.

She laughed as she twisted aside, catching his shoulder to the point of her hip. It would bruise, but it was worth it to be able to go airborne and flip over his head. Intentionally over-rotating, she made a three-point landing facing away from him and quickly spun around, ready for the next flurry of moves.

He shifted, keeping sparring distance for the moment.

"Why am I the only the bleeding?" He growled, but he was less angry, more amused now, even if his frustration simmered there beneath the surface.

"Because I'm not trying to kill you and you'd rather take the beating than pound the stuffing out of me," she offered with another feral smile. "Doesn't hurt that I'm hot."

Hot. His word. They didn't use it that way in her world and Raleigh preferred sweeter words.

She fanned her claws and showed off her fangs again. "You want some more?"

"You are pretty hot," he shifted though, almost as if about to leap. "Would be a shame to mar that."

He left the rest unanswered, and flexed his shoulders. "I could go another round - if you promise not to bite."

"I heal." Her voice dropped, then, husky with a hint of a purr. This time when she sprang across the space at him, she did so with claws retracted and fangs covered. No biting, no clawing--just good old-fashioned fists to the torso and gut.

"Good to know," he grunted as she came at him, and this time his resistance to hitting her was less marked and he did as much swinging for her kidneys as he was trying to block her blows.

Yasmeen grunted as the blows connected. "Rabbit punching from a wolf?" she snarked and broke the hold that would probably have her pissing blood in a few more blows. Truth was, she didn't like fist fighting near as much as hunting and stalking, but it didn't stop her from circling and looking for another opening.

"If it works," he was a brawler when fighting hand to hand if he wasn't going to go straight to the throat for the kill. As she broke the hold his fingers slid across the fabric of her shirt and it tore across.

"Hope that wasn't a favorite."

Growling softly at the loss of one of the few blouses that worked with her bustier, Yasmeen leapt at him again and unleashed a flurry of blows. And when she bounced out again, she said, "I'll find another."

Or not. Raleigh would probably be glad to see her dressing in more modern tops (but he'd never complained about the leather pants).

He eased close, right hook, then a kick aimed if not at her head in the vicinity - but with enough forecasting she would be able to deflect the blow.

"Do you have to?" Because let's face it, the bustier was hot.

That earned him a hoarse laugh and a flash of fang. For a brief moment, she regretted letting their sexual relationship slip away before getting to know this version of him, but it faded before she'd even raised her forearm to deflect the kick. She closed while his foot was still high and used it to drop him to his back.

"That's what you said the last time you tore my clothes in public."

He fell with an oof but was quickly back on his feet, this time in a crouch like he was ready to spring.

"Anyone who doesn't say it, id either dead or blind."

Yasmeen's gaze tracked his movements and then pointedly lingered where his prick neither dangled nor jutted but rose to half-mast between his thighs. "Two things you're not."

She beckoned with the crook of her fingers for him to come at her if he was going to.

His laugh was a rough roar, she was right of course, and before it finished he was moving. Sending them both tumbling to the ground.

Once brought to the ground, Yasmeen declined to move again. Instead, she sprawled in the grass, scarf askew and revealing her ears, hair fanned around her, and arms outstretched. It wasn't 'uncle', just a convenient pause in a sunbeam. She was part cat after all.

He felt the fight ease out of her, and tumbled next to her face in the grass cool and damp and smelling like earth. He was still frustrated, and he was still trapped but he felt immeasurably better.

"I can't believe you bit me," he growled, turning his head to look at her. "That's going to leave a mark."

And not in the fun way.

"Good thing you're naked. With that whining, I might confuse you for a bitch," Regina heard Yasmeen saying as she approached.

Word had reached her that a naked man matching Dyson's description was pacing on the lawn. She'd guessed at what might have happened, retrieved a pair of blue jeans from the boutique (it hadn't been difficult to match her mental image against the sizes hanging there) and poofed herself to a respectable distance so he'd have some warning of her impending arrival.

And yet, in the short time it had taken her to put aside her work and do him the courtesy of bringing him pants, he'd managed to engage in strenuous foreplay with Yasmeen that involved biting.

Of course, she was too close now to leave without being seen, so she stalked across the lawn, ignoring the heels of her boots when they stuck in the grass, and through the jeans at his crotch.

"Foolish me, I thought you might need these. I should have known you lack any sense of decency." The shrewish bite to her tone made her wince--why should she care what he did with Yasmeen if Raleigh didn't? But she couldn't deny that the entire thing raised fire in her belly.

Well he was a dog. He caught the jeans, and they were welcome though Regina's face didn't seem open to thanks.

"Hardly my fault Songrun went away and took my pants." Decency hardly came into it.

"Hardly Songrun's fault that you went and tore Yasmeen's blouse," she pointed out sharply, then turned on her heel to leave.

Yasmeen's eyebrow lifted at that, but she knew better than to get between Regina and someone she was mad at, cared about, or both. Yet she did take note that it was Regina who'd brought him the pants. Not a minion and not Her Majesty, evil or otherwise. That boded well for Dyson surviving her current pique.

"That was mostly her fault," he was getting annoyed again, mostly because she was so annoyed. Damn it he'd burned off most of his ire.

Yasmeen had sort of instigated the fight, mostly. A little.

Regina rolled her eyes, hard, and then flipped her hands over and up. It looked like some obscure enchantress version of flipping him the bird--until purple smoke roiled up from the ground, enclosed her, and when it cleared, she was gone.

Yasmeen waited until she was positive Regina had gone to elbow him in the side and give way to husky laughter. It was like watching a slow motion shipwreck before the crew knew they were fucked.

"Don't start," he growled before giving her a friendly shove as he rose to put on the jeans. He wondered if he should follow Regina, though with that little trick she could be anywhere her scent was still on the air and he knew he could track her down.

But should he. And did he want to.

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captaincorsair - 2017-05-06 02:35 (UTC) - Expand

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