Fear is the most ancient and deep experience that all the world can know. Mutable and constant it exists in all forms and all ways, from simple hesitation to paralyzing and catatonic states: long lasting effect or short term… it matters not- in the end it consumes everything and everyone. The ocean is a similar creature, long existing before time: before life and death, stretching across the vast expanse and consuming all things as its lapping waves erode stone and earth alike.
She is both of these things, and yet? So, in a way, is Ivar.
Porous and rubbery the fleshy tendrils function in a way that allows her to not only feel the smooth flesh and fur- the cold glittering scales, and even the pulse of the heartbeats in his chest; but to taste the very salt upon his skin, the sweetness of flesh without biting, and more so they allow her to recognize the fragrant scent of blood, and of ocean, of algae that may coat his skin in time.
Tender as he is she can feel the breath upon her appendage and the sensation of the soft lips and maw pressing for a moment, as if he considers unleashing the fangs she well knows exist in his maw; but pull away she does not, rather she presses the paddle-like tendril gently onto the front of his nose… of his mouth, and the secondary from her other shoulder stretches before her own and lingers in front as she chuckles and speaks. “Sshh,” almost gentle, almost, she draws away from her own mouth and extends that the stroke the Kelpie’s cheek before pulling both tentacles back and resting them across her back.
Though she is not some monolithic beast of great size and proportion: she rises to her full height then, and lifts her head in such a manner that for seeming moment she might’ve grown some odd inches. The spattered gray and blue flesh shudders and the dark color somehow deepens as shadows cast from the tendrils across her frame. The voice is still riddled with an accent long lost to time; but more so now than ever it haunts the very words she says: slurs the r’s and rolls the consonances in a manner that deepens her smoky tenor. “Later,” she begins to say: unaware of the tickling hypnosis and trickery.
“Is a dangerous game.” she continues with murmurs and soft purring. “I am not the only one- you are not the only one, Pangea and Ischia both have others who seek to call them theirs. Letting them grow comfortable? Never.” the latter word is haunting, laced with poison and bitterness. Though she admits to herself a desire to simply stay and haunt the warm coastal water with the Kelpie: the burning cold-fire of ambition blackens her heart and mind. She feels the strings plucked, the allure and wanton Ivar presents her, and she inhales the smell of salt and sea- of the Kelpie.
Desire is a strange thing, and her maw shifts as she tentacles come to point and slither, to curl and scratch at the flesh near the beak beneath the mass. She abides her thoughts for a time, roves and explores her opinions; but in the end the hypnosis is for the moment effective and she lingers while he caresses and teases… her skin shivering at the breath and touch. Addendum of course provides her some moment of curiosity and her gaze rests on Ivar with a genuine sense of intrigue. “As much as I enjoy these, precious moments: we’ll have to see what we make of our futures.” she mulls over it as she speaks.
Her brow would’ve lifted, but, instead Yidhra chuckles and tilts her head. “After all, I can’t rightly accept an invitation to come back- to stay… if you have no place your own.” its subtle, quiet and low- the pulse of something beneath her skin- the blue blood and shivering. Feverish and yet? Comfortable, Yidhra mires and lingers, stands watching him and easing into soft caress and touch.
Abiding the close of distance for the time she extends the soft throat and maw, allows the appendages on her face to tickle and touch: to caress the muscles and curves of his throat. Her beak is cold, hard, and strange in its dagger-like shape… the edges of it teasing his flesh as she purrs. “A bite, for a bite- lover.” though she doesn’t snap immediately- in the end she still snaps the beak as it rushes forward. Seeking to catch, to bite: to take from Ivar what he had once taken from her. Perhaps it’s a promise fulfilled in finality, or simply the acknowledgment of some understand between them: still- there is a moment where she considers him- prey, or fellow predator…
Yidhra
@[Ivar] :3c