-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- he kicks amidst the tangled sheets. a wild animal trapped in a sense of luxury that is odd and almost insulting to his feral ways. his eyes stir beneath his lids, in a dreamlike state. his pale lids reluctantly are drawn open, exposing the azure eyes to the dim light of savannah’s bedchambers. a squabbling redhead hovers above him, thin red brows knitting two small triangles of flesh above her eyes.

a evil gleam soaks his features as he recollects the past night. he delights in the native tongue spilling forth from the redhead’s pursed lips, and consoles her with native ecstasies in their shared foreign tongue. he raises a brow and tackles her, unaware of any misconduct. a stranger to the court, he is oblivious to the customs of the court, the customs of Lamia as she has reached full-blown womanhood. he is ignorant to the principal idea that a woman needs hours to get ready for a ball--whether she goes unclothed or not.

his arms leap back to catch his fall with a lively grin. he realises the heart of his folly and rests there quietly, elbows fighting a trivial war against sinking into the softness of the mattress. he picks himself up slowly, rising up over the child servant threateningly, his bare front facing her menacingly. "Get me a drink while you’re at it, child." he turns to Lamia. "Well, I suppose it’s about time for you’re ball now, isn't it?" he wanders over to splash some water across his face. "Well, I’m about ready." -------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- he stumbles backwards to his carrying pouch to seize his round stone bottle and tucks it under his arm, the cold stone pressing against the warm flesh of his sides. he snorts indignantly and follows her into the hall, a light smirk touching his features. he would place a light kiss upon her seething little cheek had he been in the mood for a quick swing at the face. he wonders at Lamia’s garments, he himself being completely unclothed. this did not bother him, conversely, he was pleased to have a custom of his sun drenched homeland brought to this seemingly cold and formal castle of hers. he thinks of the latter evening, of the wild animal-like passion that went on amidst Lamia’s sealed bedchambers. naturally, this would have been the talk of the day, were Lamia not so cross with him. his eyes twinkle innocently, hoping his darling sister would not remain irritated with him for the evening. he did smile at the thought of how endearing she looked half naked wearing that pout across her cross little face. he trudged on behind her to the ball room, apprehension bubbling within him.

he runs his fingers through his seemingly and indeed greasy rats nest. he chuckles at his appearance, wondering if it would have been wiser of him to drape himself in something a little less concealing. he notes that his appearance is his decided punishment from Lamia for causing her to sleep in. what could the stallion say? he was exhausting. with a whole day’s sleep, his strength was replenished--his drive intense. he stood out wildly as he entered the ballroom, and as he felt the predictable glances on his bare member, he held his round stone bottle of liquor in front of him, effectively concealing his most private of parts. he stopped mid-entrance, reminding himself of his promise to Lamia to shine with genteel. "After you, Lamia." he padded her scarcely clothed behind through the large doors with a wry smile. -------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- his smile fades at the brat’s ill temperament. he resolves to put a drink or two past her pursed lips by and by and she shall loosen up and accept his fault. he lays claim to the mix up, although he is completely aware the mistake was entirely mutual between the two siblings. as his arm is curled around hers, leaving only one hand to clasp the round stone flask covering him shamefully, he jumps. he barely manages to catch it from smashing to the ground and resolves to keep it at his side, regardless of the view it left to the other guests. and indeed it left quite a view as they approached Ophelia, arm in arm. he watched Lamia carefully, his glance peeking at the dark haired monarch’s slender form only when Lamia’s watchful eye was turned from him. self-consciousness was never an issue for the wild male, yet he was apprehensive about the crowd of strangers surrounding him. paranoia seized him and at once he was sure that there was another out to claim ill fate upon him. he sighed, and bowed to the dark featured monarch, waiting placidly for introduction.

he smiled and took the soft, pale hand of the dark haired monarch in his large, worn one. he brought her hand to his insipid lips to plant a light kiss on it’s back. innocent azure eyes meet hers and a charming, crooked smile envelops his dark features. "How do you do, Ophelia?" he bows for her, and, had he hat on his greasy dark head he would have removed it for her in an enchanting sweeping gesture. eyes now raising to savannah, he withdrew slightly, aware of the brat’s tendency for a resentful attitude when it came to his suggestive actions. -------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- he frowns softly eyes darting from Ophelia to Lamia. he smiles kindly as Lamia’s curls around him possessively, his arm embracing her hip, large, worn hand touching her bare flesh lightly. in light of the ball’s commencement, the thought occurs to the foul-looking male that it was about time for a drink. the faces around him seemed so menacing, paranoia threatened him with every step. he brought the stone flask out from it’s place, tucked under his broad muscled arm. he tugs at the cork, letting out a delighted chuckle as it lets out a small pop upon it’s release from it’s stone prison. the foul smell is then released, a hazy green cloud rising up from the emerald liquor. he raises it to his ashen lips, eyelids drooping slightly as the harsh liquid enters his throat. the fluid reacts harshly with the tender flesh of his throat as he forces back his first sip. absinthe. a lethal drink if not a deadly drug. the first sip is always the most awful. he grimaced only slightly, an experienced one with the harsh drinks of the east. the sip buzzed within his head slightly, and he handed the stone flask to his now amiable sister. "Forgotten how to hold your liquor, Lamia?" his gaze was testing, although, he was certain the challenge would be readily accepted. -------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- he grins thoughtfully at his sister as she takes back the emerald liquid. he pours himself another of the deadly drinks, this one a trifle more absinthe in it than that of Lamia‘s. he follows suit, dribbling a little laudanum into the glass. placing a sugar cube atop the small fork. as he raises the water to be trickled atop the sugar he loses his grasp. the fork falls to the stone floor, azure eyes widen. a small smirk envelop his features as his gaze is held by Ophelia, now stock stark naked. he peels himself away from the somewhat pathetic sight of the dark haired monarch. he lays a hand softly on Lamia’s arm, leaning in to support her softly. "Lamia? Are you all right?" her breath reeks of the hint of lickerish, always a hearty smell to him. he knew at once she was drunk, and, had she been any other maiden, and not his savage beast of a woman, he would be worried for her sake. this was not the case. he worried not for her, but for himself, or any other than might stumble across Lamia’s drunken path. he shrugged, saying quietly aloud, "If you can’t beat ‘em, join ‘em." he picks up the fork, trickles the water over the tumbler, and shoots it down. he closes his eyes painfully. a very large shot of the emerald liquor he had poured. it was an awful taste, yet somehow, more pleasant than the first. he swaggered slightly, and decided it would be best if a servant pour their drinks, lest they spill some of the precious emerald liquor. he calls a hovering servant to his side, placing the round stone flask in his arms preciously. "You--ugh--Now, you pour that--And don’t spill it!" he is startled and frustrated, realising his genteel has vanished. the drug has taken hold, all charm shall be likely lost. he sighs in his drunkenness, swaying over Lamia thoughtfully. he turns to Ophelia, fear pounding inside his chest. the prince hated balls. he had never learned to dance. he learned to hunt. he learned how to please a woman in bed. he never learned how to please in any ball room. his pride stiffened and he tried to blink away his drunkenness. it faded, slightly, into a genteel that was false yet polite. "Ah, yes, Ophelia--darling--" he contains a belch. "I am as savage as my sister. I’d think, well, I’d think a little more." he swaggers a little as he takes her hand, trying to put the dark haired monarch into the lead. -------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- he snorts resentfully at Ophelia’s comment, retorting back with a hiss into her pale ear. "Not savage enough for you, darling?" secretly, he had been waiting all night for a challenge of this kind. he embraced her, tongue seeping into her mouth, lips bruising hers in a firm kiss. his sharp teeth grazed her bottom lip in a snarl. his arms reached around her back, his naked body pressing against hers firmly. with a fiendish sneer he untied the hastily tied up knots in her curtain attire. he pulled away slightly, allowing the curtain to drop to the floor before he seized her now naked body tightly. his hands caressed her pale flesh hungrily, azure eyes aglow with malice. he snickers harshly in her ear, "Savage enough?" he hisses lickerish breath into her ear, hands searching out her tender sallow flesh. he runs his tongue along her cheek, his world spinning slightly. her dark tresses hang over his face and he staggers under her grasp. without warning, the green liquid bubbles with in him and he begins to sway from side to side, large bare feet tripping over her petite ones. the world has that unique swirled quality to it. he feels the loss of his basic motor skills, the blurred vision, his mind recoils in terror, unable to connect with the spinal column. he finds himself in a ball room full of strangers, in the clutches of a raven haired woman. a beautiful raven haired woman. his sister is off beating up another guest, seemingly captivated. his wild panic subsides and he looks down at the woman, unable to recognize her as a figure of authority. his tarzan instincts take over. in his eastern home, kaleign took what he wanted. he ravaged towns, stealing their food, clothing, booze--and of course woman. this one was exceptionally beautiful and appeared to be drunk. it was not long before he found his tongue massaging her inner oral cavities, and his bare pelvis pressing into hers hungrily. -------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- he lets out a harsh cry as his greasy hair is almost pulled from his scalp and he is flung to the side like some old shoe. he stomach is immediately upset and fights off the distant urge to begin to retch, there, on the fancy carpet, in a ball room where he’s a stranger. he suddenly wonders where the fuck he is and what the fuck he’s doing. his thoughts are pushed aside to see Lamia, quarrelling with a remotely familiar raven haired woman. he can still taste her on his pale lips. he lays there on the floor, a drunken mass, looking up at the two. the sombre look on Lamia’s face denies interjection of any sort what-so-ever. he whines, a dirty, naked, pathetic mass, and at once longs for the old ways of the jungle.

he watches the fight, almost indifferently. he had done this. he had been in the court not even a week and already he had put his sister against her beloved. he ached inside, not just from the absinthe that tore at it, but from guilt. a sad sinking feeling overwhelmed him, and he stalked out of the ballroom unnoticed, off to rest his greasy head. -------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- he staggers up the stone corridor, only vaguely familiar with his surroundings. he always had a good sense of direction, for landmarks, but in the jungle. he was in a hallway, and there were many more just like it. he wandered for a while until he found a familiar piece of artwork hanging on the wall beside him. he studied it momentarily before trudging on, and on, and on. he finally stumbled into Lamia’s bedchamber, and lay down in her bed, silently begging her to leave his pounding head be when she retired. he pulled a silk sheet around his cold naked body and closed his drooping lids a sigh escaping worn lids. sleep was upon him almost immediately. deep, dark, restless sleep. --------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------