Game of Cat and Mouse

An impressively sized galleon for such a… uniquely sized crew, not at all like a child wearing their father’s shoes, it was more akin to a monkey claiming the whole jungle as its home. A particularly ostentatious monkey at that. The hull– of the ship, not the monkey as monkeys don’t have hulls– was made of finely polished serpentwood, surprisingly unmarred for the travels and adventures some of the crew have boasted. Then again, magic has healed more complex wounds than wood before. Funnily enough the bowsprit’s figurehead was, of all things, a monkey. Not ostentatious– okay maybe a little–, not particularly friendly looking or cute– depending on your definition of cute and friendly for that matter–, not– okay I’ll stop saying what it is not and just say: It was, and is, demonic. Mouth open in a screech showing the large fangs all monkeys have, long pointed horns above its brow, spiked tail hanging down, carved along the prow. There were also fairy wings carved into the hull either side of the infernal monkey’s head, and the whole thing was painted in a way that would make the Feywild jealous, but that is beside the point. Demon monkey. Why and how anyone could see that and not take it as a warning sign I have no idea... Colors do have a way of being very persuasive though. Similarly colorful yet ominous on the boat– other than the crew– was the name emblazoned on the side, and I do mean emblazoned. Other than the rainbow, and then some, of embellishing decor surrounding it, the name was burned– scorched more like– into the wood with gilding at the center to make each letter pop: OBSIDIAN FANTASIA.

The heart of the Obsidian was indeed pitch black, in the sense of dark and the sense of it smelling like resin and tar. Not the usual below decks darkness, neither, they thought, noting not just the oddly resilient shadows but the addition of brimstone and unseasonal autumn leaves to the more common ship smells. Twelve steps across to the other bulkhead, door to the right… no, not anymore. They grinned. This boat was a labyrinth with a mind of its own. They’d been slipping aboard for days, in and out of the crew, borrowing their faces just long enough to get on and guests’ just long enough to leave without being questioned too closely. Every time they’d come down here after whatever they could lift, the layout had shifted - sometimes subtly, sometimes enough to make them question if the inside of the ship took up more space than the hull. Stealing from pirates, thieving from thieves, is traditional. A circus ship full of pirates with unpredictably complex topography was far more than they could have resisted. Just the crew performers’ trunks were a wonder of beautiful, occasionally powerful, trinkets. Would’ve been wiser to stop there, take what they could pocket from the crowd and crew, and drift out again. Thank gods they weren’t wise. What fun would that be?

If just navigating the shifting maze of nooks, holds, and an uncertain number of galleys wasn’t temptation itself, they would’ve come back for the chakram. Not the biggest or most valuable they’d seen, even during the single fire and blades performance in which they featured, but by far the most perfect. Gold and red steel, etched with flames that reflected the fire they’d danced with. That he’d made them dance with, the tattooed man with green curls, worn longer than one might think plausible on a pyromancer. Then again, this ship was half full of infernals, so who knew how fire resistant he was by nature? They couldn’t tell just from the shape of his thoughts, not at that distance, though fortunately those thoughts were distinct enough to track through this darkness. The fae minds that made up the rest of the crew weren’t all that different - the exact mix of arrogant joy and total lack of compunctions varied more by individual than by heritage. Kissing cousins, one might say. Quite a lot of that, among other things, they grinned to themself as they slipped past a very emphatically occupied niche and down through another trap door. Find the man, find the metal.

A small wisp of gold light. It flitted back and forth and then around a corner.

So much for surprise. What kind of idiot follows fae lights at all, much less in the small hours in the middle of a funhouse ship with a bloody devil monkey for a figurehead? The look of insulted irritation gave way to another grin. This kind of idiot, obviously. Let’s play. They followed. It twisted and turned, led up and led down, until, without the distraction of finding the path themselves, the other minds of dreamers and those lost in their late night vices were no longer enough noise to drown out the now closer, louder, more awake, amused and equally curious thoughts. Wonder who you are, hmm. Lost lover maybe. A fan. A thief. A stowaway. Someone looking to play a game with Fey and Infernals. Turning quickly to spot the new player, a shape in the dark disappeared back up through an opening. The game of cat and mouse became a lot more corporeal as the mouse continued to disappear around corners of its home and the cat continued its hunt. Eventually there was a last– unbeknownst to the cat– turn, through some hanging cloth and into a lit cabin. And there the mouse sat.

Literally, there was a mouse– well, a rat, technically. Underneath the mottled grey rat, were tawny hands cradling it, and under those hands were crossed legs wearing black silk pants with slits up the sides, and under the butt of the owner of those legs was a corner of a cabin tossed with an assortment of pillows of various shapes and colors. Other than the pillows, the cabin had an intricately patterned rug, a couple trunks, a small altar of sorts, and– a wall of chakram, including the pair of gold and red steel ones. With the flame-shaped blades. The figure on the floor smirked up at them– loose long curls, light green that faded to a pale blond, pooled on the ground. The lack of a shirt revealed a scattering of scars and patchy lace-with-embellishment tattoos on golden bronze skin, along with scratches and small bruises that hinted at their previous activity. Their passion-marred neck led up to longer than elven ears with nicks and gold rings and studs. One bright ocean blue eye… and the other covered by a black patch with gold-stitched butterfly– “G’evening stranger.”

Literally, there was the cat. Well, a - what? Something between a tiger and his own reflection, or as his reflection might look in the mirrored surface of the chakram they’d come after. Gold tan a shade lighter, long curls in firelight variegated reds. Rough black shalwar that, paired with a lack of shirt (or anything else immediately apparent), revealed a scattering of scars and black - were those flame tattoos or stripes? Longer than human ears that would’ve made more sense on a tabaxi. Gold cat eyes, one spanned by a fading vertical scar, in a face whose planes were sharper, made unfamiliar by reflection. The look of blatant, amused appraisal and accompanying smirk would’ve looked right at home, though. “Good evening, [strange mouse, -Infernal-].” He blinked slowly, inhaled a fraction, “You might’ve introduced yourself earlier, though it would have meant greeting your friends. Being a gentleman or just keeping me to yourself, hm?”

Bright laughter bubbled out from the lounging Fae and the rat scurried away. “Hmm?” The sound was reflected back up at them, drawn out. They placed their hands on top of each other out in front of them and repositioned on their knees to stretch their back– not unlike a cat, just arched the other way– speaking along with the motion. “Not sure what you mean, [Rakshasa Visitor, -Infernal-].” He raised back up, arms above his head, stretching back the other way, falling onto the dragon’s hoard-esque pile of fine pillows. “You’re not [one of ours/mine, -Infernal-]. Not of [-something in Sylvan-].” They tilted their head playfully and the gold rings on an ear glittered enticingly– so did everything else in the room– and clinked together. “Want to be?”

The fractional pout that twisted their mouth was a you’ve beat me to that line mock-complaint, but they didn’t pursue it. Or the fact that he’d recognized them from the niche tangle he’d passed on his way in. Too busy watching. They tilted their head to match, gold eyes wide in the dim light and totally intent even as they moved to look down at him, so close their bare feet almost touched his. A flicker of suspicion at the possibility that their arrival wasn’t all their own idea if Fae fascination was in play here, but they dismissed it with a shrug. One way or another, here they were. And here this Fae was, taking up a surprising lot of space on the pillows for one that slightly built. Nice trick, that. They decided to take it as a challenge and dropped to insinuate themself into the space at his side, close enough to share body heat but pointedly not making contact. “Hmm?” They reached out slowly, delicately, almost as if to brush his face, but at the last moment turned what might have been a surprisingly intimate gesture into playing with his earrings with the points of their claws as if the glittery metal, not the person lounging half an inch away, were what interested them.

Their mouth twisted into a smirk that could only say you’ve fallen right for my bait. In one sudden but fluid– experienced– movement the small-framed but lithely muscled Fae was straddling the red-haired Rakshasa. He leaned forward slightly, hair cascading around them both, like curtains drawing closed on the final act, eye glittering with light in spite of being backlit. “We could talk around each other all night, handsome [-something in Sylvan-]. Or–” they leaned closer, toned abdominals holding them apart, rather than weight on their arms that they had tucked behind their back, “--we could have some fun and you could wake up here in the morning… Rather than slinking away in the night with whatever you’ve taken. Hmmm?”

Clearly accustomed to alternating the roles of aggressor and tease, the reversal threw them as much as might be expected of a cat turned on by a mouse. They should have known better. Stupid underestimation. They did know better. What they knew was very irrelevant in the light of that eye, even as theirs reflected nightshine gold back to him. For a moment they seemed almost stunned, just breathing under the Fae’s weight, eyes locked on his face. For fuck’s sake, don’t make anything this easy. They arched their back, closing as if to meet, but twisted aside at the last moment. Poised to whisper some kind of clever rejoinder, they made it as far as the inhale - and hesitated.

Nearly cheek to cheek, the Fae took advantage of the position– and hesitation– and licked a short distance along his guest’s jaw. They pressed a finger against the opposite side so they were nose to nose. “Something wrong, [mighty Rakshasa, -Infernal-]? Rat got your tongue? Aren’t you the one who is supposed to have mine?”

They turned a soft growl of confused frustration into comedy by overdoing a petulant look. I know what you’re doing, it’s working anyway, I can recognize a cue when I’m sandbagged with it and I’m not quite indignant enough about it to not enjoy it. Slow but deliberate, they tilted their jaw up and shifted their own weight to bring - alright, rat - forward. A missed collision into an unceremonious kiss, and they were a mirror once again - since the rat had been considerate enough to tuck one hand behind his back, the rakshasa secured it there with one hand and the other at the wrist. Leverage and muscle enough to make the roll an exercise in you can’t or won’t stop me. Delicate enough that when they had trapped both their arms under the Fae and pinned wrist to floor under just enough weight, they made a great show of taking their time to coax his tongue into their mouth enough to bite - not hard, but immovably. “Hmm?” The sound was a muffled but obvious 'that better'?

If the earlier soft gleeful giggling and moaning from the first kiss on wasn’t the answer, then the disappointed huff at the teeth-punctuated pause and attention demanding shifting of arms and legs would be. Fuck. Me.

And so, the cat got the mouse & the Fae got exactly what they wanted. That is just how the world works, nothing to be done but play along…

friends

Felix. Cesa. Azarak.

[ the cat to my mouse ]

So many names, so many forms... A headache for those keeping track. What else to expect from such an old Rakshasa? I'll stick with calling them cat.

Kamosrin "Rose" Gralhund

[ noble. hero. hot tiefling. ]

Too romantic. Too attached. Too religious. Too powerful and connected. Too many green flags and too hot for his own good. I don't know where the cat found this one, but he's a bit much. Isn't he? Not that I won't bite...

Trevor Nollyx

[ silly inventor ]

Best way to pass the time: teasing Trevor. He says that I'm annoying him, but he'd try a lot harder to get rid of me if that were true.

Aeon

[ fey and friend ]

A Shadowfell cousin and talented mage. Baggage by dozens, who doesn't, but we bonded for love of the stage. They're brilliant, their resilience, there, guilty. Fairer fey and phare weather, friend.

Everything you've heard? Completely true.