Ah, but this land was plump with the aromas of so many, many. They danced past his nose, filling his lungs to the point of overwhelming his mind. His step was seemingly taken with ease, his head was held high and his long, straight mane was evidently properly brushed and groomed. He was not one to appear unprepared. No, Apollinaire was always taking care of himself, for a fine individual such as himself cannot be neglected.

And so as all these unremarkable scents were wafting past him, the night began to fall upon this land and he appeared to need shelter. Not too long after he began his search did he find a small opening in fine red rock. While it was no familial kingdom, he preferred to avoid laying underneath the stars. The slender Dieudonné moved inside the darkness, settling within its grasp as if it was his second home.


@Úlla

it's been too long since she last came out into the neutral territories. the lack of sea salt catching onto the winds make her feel like she's in a completely new world. the lagoon has become something special. whereupon it was a source of bitterness at first, now it has turned into a true home. she's content enough to stay where she is, but sometimes úlla does wonder about her hollows. but it's not her time to go back yet. she still needs to mend her health and strengthen her muscles back to what it's used to be. a trek among the dunes would be a good exercise for now. the darkness of the shadows quickly consumes her as she makes her way forth. in due time, scent of another lion catches the woman's interest. with a flick of her tail, úlla looks around, and quietly speaks who's there? @Apollinaire

image © argent 2021

The french man sprawls upon the stone floor, resting his large head upon his front feet, his tail swishing back and forth. The sleep began to consume him, but a single eye lid slid open at the footsteps of another. The lion perked up, studying the darkness until a feminine voice inquired. "I am, mademoiselle," The darkness responded.

The slender lion smirked, the prospect of meeting another so soon was enticing. "Come forth, mon chéri." He beckons, his burgundy eyes searching the distance for her shape. Was she tall, lanky? Was she curvaceous and feminine? Were her edges sharp? He wanted to see her. Come.

@Úlla

a sauve silken voice slips forth, the familiar accent making her fur rise along the nap as bright green eyes gaze into the shadows. it brings forth memories aplenty, enough so that ulla's lips twitch. with a flick of her tail, she narrows her gaze and spots the masculine form of a lion staring out at her. it's hard to see what colors he hold and what type of emotion is on his face. still, úlla is certain that it feels like her companion is smiling. you're not the king here she says, voice a hiss, but loud enough that the man ought to hear. and i am so very tired of playing. it's the brand of sigrun aggression that only few have seen. but even this display is a diluted version, as it's truly saved only for the rike and her most dastard of enemies. @Apollinaire

table by ferus

Sanguine eyes pierce through the dark veil before him, desperately wanting to catch a glimpse of his new company. Disappointment follows, for the footsteps cease to echo, her approach halted and only an irritated voice reaches the Dieudonné man. He is amused by the aggressiveness of this woman, his long tail flicking on the stone ground like a snake dancing to the tune. "Ah, non, mademoiselle," His accented voice continues, clearly unbothered by her bad manners: "I am not zhe King of anywhere." But he needed no title, no kingdom - he was an exceptional individual, his blood of the highest quality, and he was of noble descent. This petty creature before him couldn't know that. No, how could she? Her tiny little brain couldn't comprehend. "Tired of playing, hmm? Why is that, mon chéri? But life is a game!" He made a dramatic gesture, even if she couldn't see him. It was a display for himself just as much as for her. "— Or are you tired of life?" How very coincidental that Apollinaire had just the solution for her woes.

@Úlla

in the dark there'll always be an ease to things. though she is accustomed to it, she is conscientious of the fact that others may find it even more compelling. but she is no longer the little girl walking into the web of a spider. now, úlla makes certain that she wears her defense upon her body. perhaps it was the rogue attack that made her so...tense. but the added tension between her and this almost unseen male bleeds forth bad memories. i am tired of you and your game she says, as if on auto. come out and let me see what you are. she does not want to indulge the male, but it seems like playing his little game is what she will be doing. the man is as good as a spider lying in wait, and oh how devilish even the most harmless one can be. @Apollinaire

table by ferus

The stone voice is cold, brass and quite impolite for a lady. She continued to stubbornly demand he shows himself, but the dark-faced hellion saw no need to heed her orders. Who was she, to think that Apollinaire would answer her insistence? He remained unmoving, sprawled lavishly against the floor of his chosen nightly chambers. She declared her exhaustion of their mind-games and of him, his eye-roll dramatic and evidently only for himself because the dull female couldn't see it in the darkness.

A scorned scoff rang against the cavern walls, vibrating from the depths of his throat. "No one gets tired of me, amoureuse." His onyx lips twisted in a devilish smirk, confident and pompous. Come out. Ah, a command! An order! How very... insulting. He chuckled again, this time louder and sharper. His laughter stopped at once, just as quickly as it had erupted. "How about we play a different game, zhen?" He paused, crimson eyes scouring the darkness. "A name for a name. Fair, oui?" Polite. Proper. Not rude and demeaning like she wants it to be. Have her parents not taught her manners?

@Úlla

i am tired of you, úlla's frustrated thought is reigned in at the last second. for her mouth has slackened, ready to speak those words into form. they are dancing a never-ending game, one which úlla wouldn't even continue if the man is a cub. his accented words give her great distaste, for it triggers bitter memories that lingers still. but, maddeningly, it brings her relief that the man changes the subject - or rather, the game. lady's first, of course. it's as if he had already spoken so úlla can see no reason to begin. i am úlla sigrun, if it pleases you to hear me say it she says, keeping her voice calm. she makes sure to keep her surname distinct and clear. even if he may one day be enemy, he will still remember who made him one. and since i gave you my name, you ought to give me yours.

table by ferus

The darkness stays still even as the heathen peers into it, expecting to see a sliver of his companion who so stubbornly hid behind it. In the end, she had waltzed into his chosen bed chambers tonight, which made her his guest. He was enjoying this fact very much so, for he always had fun playing around with unsuspecting strangers. Their reactions were always different, but hardly disappointed. And while he may be displeased with her lack of courtesy, Apollinaire doesn't seek to stop the game. No! Instead, he generously makes an exception for his highly esteemed guest tonight, and she is kind enough to agree to the new game he'd composed. Úlla Sigrún. Short and quite peculiar, he humms as if tasting the syllables against his tongue. "Úlla... la-la," he sings a rhyme, smiling at the tiny melody he'd come up with. "It pleases me so!" The man announces with a higher, triumphant tone.

@Úlla seeks that his promise is kept, and he chuckles at her seriousness. She was a gruff woman, that he could tell only from her voice and spoken word. He wondered if she was a warrior. Perhaps much older and scarred than himself? Who knows? Only the darkness that pressed tightly against her flank knew who she truly was. He was left questioning, blindfolded. There was something thrilling about this amaurotic first meeting. "Apollinaire Dieudonné. A pleasure to meet you, mademoiselle." He sketched a bow only for himself and out of habit, but it was a beautiful movement nonetheless.