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She had a feeling that her nervous energy would be much abetted after a little physical exertion. She was no stranger to the joy of her muscles singing with use and sweat running down her spine. How would it feel to stand before all these people and have them witness her reckless abandon? At first, the glimmer of thought running left in her brain decided it would be cheapening. They would see her flaws, her nervousness at being presented, and they would judge her as a homely woman. A frown settled on her lips. Not, of course, if she had no shame, no nervousness, like the women before her. Then, she’d be powerful, she’d be autonomous, and she‘d be liberated. Free
. The word sounded oddly enchanting in this situation, especially considering how she hadn’t been able to draw in a full breath since she donned her corset. Would she never really do such a thing? She shook her head. Of course not, to do so would be to do everything she stood against. Reputation, her mother had said, took a lifetime to build and an instant to lose. Still, to feel like that, like those lost women, her hand brought up the glass and she smiled against the rim of it, distracted from her companion.<br><br><br>
However, his announcement that she was incorrect shocked her back to attention. She knew, generally, this is where ire rose up within her. Being wrong was something she did not allow from herself. She was a scientist, mistakes were forgiven but could potentially ruin your whole career, and a tactician, mistakes, if severe enough, could end with your own neck split on a knife; however, she was also drunk, or well on her way to it, and the usual feelings did not appear. Instead, she fixed him with an exaggerated quizzical stare. As if, for an instance, he had lapsed into some foreign language. As he continued her rebuttal, Aphelia found she couldn’t entirely object. People, she knew, could be plied with many things to force a change of opinion, a revolution or a massacre really wasn’t all that difficult to excite, if you knew how. Even now, she was the perfect example. Because, as she listened to him talk, her eyes focused with an odd sort of tunnel vision upon his moving lips. They were lovely. She wondered why she’d never taken the time to really see him before. Her fingers twitched, desiring to break out of their bindings of propriety, and still them so that they would be easier to examine. Her hand, however, remained contained, despite the fact her focus drifted in and out. Was this man really as bad as she’d imagined? He seemed hardly threatening now, maybe even a little amusing to her rummed brain. His meaning arrived finally from the muddle of words it had arrived in… he wanted her to stand and dance?<br><br><br>
Laughter erupted in her throat, unable to be contained. Obviously, he was making a joke. Still, his face did not contort in the usual way. The way humanoid faces did when they had told something funny and ridiculous, as if they were vaguely apologetic and content in the same moment. It dawned on Aphelia that he was serious only after he’d continued with his mockery of her, giving her the small incentive
or large, more rightly, given the amount of alcohol she’d imbibed
of paying for this nights tab. He could have still escaped, though. It wasn’t too late for him. Aphelia’s eyebrows were arched, her head cocked, and her lips slightly agape in the shocked stupor of drink, but she didn’t have the same broken appearance as others in the bar. She held her youth, for once, in her face and a wildness in her eyes. Her sense of affronted honor, though, was fading away. It seemed silly to let him ruin her good mood. Vaguely, she felt amusement and something else swelling in her belly… what was it? How did you express such a feeling? He spoke, interrupting her thoughts, giving her the privilege of her clothes. There it was, the noose synched about his neck. The feeling surged back into her, and though she couldn’t express it, she knew what she wanted… she wanted to do it just because he thought that she wouldn’t, she wasn’t capable of such a thing. And, a little bit, she wanted to do it because she grew entirely bored sitting and plying herself with alcohol. <br><br><br>
The smile that took her lips, one she was certain him nor anyone at the facility had ever seen, should had been the first clue that this wasn’t the woman he was used to dealing with. Aphelia had hung her at the door, and was free. Free
. She intended to exercise that freedom, over and over, until it got boring as well, and then she’d pass out in the beds upstairs and not wakeup until at least dawn the next day. Beautiful. She began to rise from her chair, but paused-- her hand came up, consumed by the desire to feel flesh against her own, brushing the back of her knuckles down the slope of her chin. Scruffier than she expected, but warm. The exhaustive use of title and surname discarded, she called him by name, “Oh, Kazimir. Let’s find something to wipe that filthy smirk off you face, aye?”
She used the hand, still radiating with a tingle where she’d stroked him, to withdraw her gun and place it on the table before him. “Don’t lose that.”
Then, she moved away from the table, called towards the swaying figures of the women. She brushed by men calling for her to join them, calling her kitten and less kind things. They had no idea what she had planned, things such as it simply did not happen. However, rogue selkies more than a little tipsy with nothing to lose were frequently not in their company. She caught the eyes of one of the women from across the dance floor. Her hand came up and pulled out, pin by pin, the delicate coiffure on her head with a few sugar curls hanging down. The locks tumbled down in a wave around her shoulders. It caught the woman’s attention. She smiled mightily, pleased to have such pretty prey as this, and began to approach. Her eyes were pure white, obviously an Orc. Aphelia was fine with that, it made things easier, if anything. Meeting the woman halfway, she bent her to the shell of her ear and confessed loudly, so as to be heard over the commotion of the music, “I was wondering if you could assist me. My companion thinks I lack the resolve and ability to perform with you. I think I have what it takes. Unfortunately, I find myself incredibly covered in clothing, and it would be difficult to move as you do… without some small assistance.”
The woman had not stopped moving. No, she had merely taken to undulating close to Aphelia’s own. Without words, which was a blessing because it was difficult to hear anything other than the driving beat of drums and melody intertwining, the woman moved her hands to Aphelia’s waist. There was a flicker of hesitation in that moment, however she moved her hips as the hands directed her to do. The woman’s lips peeled back to reveal a pleased, heady smile. She continued to direct, moving her body closer and more intimately until Aphelia could merely follow the woman’s body’s direction. Her hands, she felt, snaked up her back. They found purchase at the ties holding the casing of her dress and began to untie them. Halfway down, she heard a call from the tables, a whoop of admiration or approval. Moments later, her dress slid to the floor. She stepped out of it, as if she was shedding her skin. <br><br><br>
Aphelia breathed with relief when the women pulled off the shift and loosened her corset so she could breath and move more fully. However, then she realized she had barely anything but that and her stockings on. In an half-hearted attempt for decency, she pulled her belt from the discarded clothing and strapped it around her waist. Better cover than nothing, she decided, but her body was already being summoned by the woman. Her back was warmed by the comforting sway; she matched it with her own ebb and flow. She closed her eyes, leaning her head back to rest upon the taller woman’s shoulder. Her hands, taken in the woman’s hands, were raised above her head, one finding purchase in the woman behind her, her instructor’s hair. It lasted only for moments before they separated, passing some final examination, and the women left her swaying on her own. Her hands cut the air and molded it into shapes around her. Aphelia felt magical, felt powerful, felt beautiful… more than she had remembered feeling in a very long time. Her hips churned in graceful arch and circles, knocking back and forth sometimes to the beat, finding it to be more seductive in practice than is viewing. She rolled her body and felt the corners of her lips turn up. Nebulous, a thought drifted through her head, was Kazimir watching? As the music switched, she discarded it to ride the beat.
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<br>♥ kazimir gregorzski
dances in the snow ♠ drunken survivors of gin house "aquarelle"
avalanches of the violent disharmony ♦ the tune
ooc: ohohohohohoho~ mylaughisaneviiiillaugh.