ooc. It appears my muse is not done with Ceri yet. Regardless of whatever i decide. So therefore....

And remember, everything in my journal is ooc only. Anyone caught metagaming because i'm writing, will be lined up against a wall and shot. Got it? Good.

DANCING - Sometime in December

Ceridwyn had been sitting in the library, surrounded by books and tomes, reading when she was interrupted. She was so engrossed in the tome, turning pages carefully, making notes, coordinating a plan on how to deal with the contents of Natalia's haven, she missed the figure standing in the doorway, watching her every move. He'd hidden his beast, and appeared mortal to all intents and purposes. He was dressed incredibly well, a beautifully cut suit, black brushed bowler hat, the very figure of a successful man. She by contrast had long auburn/brown hair hanging down her back, a bright red tee shirt, and cargo pants, and bare feet. Her body was curved, and she moved fast, naturally impatient. As she read she muttered softly "Kincaid… I need that case….." and trailed off.

The figure in the doorway stepped into the room, clearing his throat, smiling. She looked up, on alert immediately and he closes on her, getting into her space, charm working overtime as he bows over her hand.

"Good evening Lady Hierophant, I am the Hermes." The words are as much a flourish as the bow. Ceri suppresses her amusement, only her lips quirking slightly, for a moment forgetting that her hand has remained in his.

A memory flashes across her mind… standing in a hotel room, Vittorio looking down at her, eyes filled with emotion as he saw his Gwynefar, and wrapped her in his arm after centuries apart….

She gestures him to a seat away from the desk, and sits herself, crossing her legs, all elegant grace, a change from her movements before as her mind segues from Ceri’s animalistic predator to the charming elegant young woman she was as a mortal.

The Hermes sits, smiling charmingly as he watches her, taking her measure, noting the changes. They talk, dancing around each other, testing defences, getting close. He enquires about her family, it is clear they are a force to be reckoned with, and she closes up, drawing back at the invasion. He steps back, noting her boundaries, weaknesses, strength, gathering information. The dance continues, and he leans into her, drawing closer as he speaks. She falls silent for a moment, her defences lowering, a look of recognition….

Flash across her mind, sitting at her dresser, wiping the blood from her mouth from where those men had hit her…. And then Vittorio, bending down to the drops of ruby liquid as his tongue snakes across her mouth, gathering the blood….

The memory is brutal in its intensity, packing a punch to her heart, and Ceri forces her defences back in place, as she smiles and chooses her next question.

"Why do you want this alliance?"

He answers, watching her reaction. She listens, thoughtfully, measuring each word, her expression neutral.

"That was your free question. Next one will cost you."

She smiles, her eyes lighting as the game comes into view. The verbal dance begins again, a tango this time, all control and deliberateness. They each win and loose some, a game of verbal chess, each look, flash of eyes, curl of lips, hand adding layers of meaning. As the meeting comes to an end, he stands and takes her hand, lips brushing her knuckles and notices the subtle shift to her body language.

After he leaves, she stands in the centre of the room, one hand to her mouth as the memory floated around her. Her ribs tighten, like a corset laced around her, held prisoner, and her eyes drift closed for a moment, memory of the two kindred colliding – lips stroking across her knuckles in a kiss, and a phantom mouth against the nape of her neck…

"Well… this alliance proposal will be interesting…." she trails off, sighing slightly "I really need that case of lacrima now, Kincaid…" She sits back down.



March 2009

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