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Thread Contributor: Arjay Lo'RanGraphic Sexual Content Late night interludes
Dungeons and Dragons-Forgotten Realms

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#1
Time in the Hub, Arjay knew, didn’t feel like it passed consistently for anyone, depending on where they were from, where they went, and what they did. There were, of course, night and day, particularly here in the center where things were stable. However, the length of the days didn’t always match up to what one would expect from their world. Coming in from a borough, where day might never come (in some strange situations) or where time might pass at the rate of the world it reflected instead of the pace of the Center, one might jarringly find it suddenly day or suddenly night. The businesses, therefore, all had to find their own way of dealing with this situation where travelers might show up at any hour needing food, needing supplies, where the passing of the day might even be at odds with their own biology. At the moon, it was less of an issue, since the inn by necessity was always open, but Arjay did, at all times, keep several clearly marked indicators in the tavern, all magically set to show how long it was until the kitchen and the tavern would be closing, and all people would be turned out. Some nights he was lax about the rules, letting the last few travelers stay and marinate their tales with a few more pints of ale, sitting and passing the hours with them in that companionable way adventurers always managed with each other. Some nights, though, the hours until he could turn out the last drunks and degenerates passed far too slowly for his preference.

Tonight was one of those nights. A melancholy had settled around the elf, one that didn’t lift with the noise of the raucous tavern, one that he could only really appreciate once the tavern was empty, the cook turned in, and the elf had the room all to himself. He’d smiled, patted an over-concerned barmaid on the hand fondly as she hesitated and fussed over him before leaving, and settled himself at a table with a bottle of wine. The room was pleasantly dark, lit only by a few candles here and there, one of them on the thick wooden table the elf sat at. The darkness seemed to somehow bleed into the silence of the room, making the echoes deeper, the sputtering of the flames carry farther, the slightest disturbances louder. He could break the silence any way he wished, of course. He had his lute, he had his magic, he had any number of devices at his disposal, but he didn’t wish to. The atmosphere fit his mood: Deep, dark, empty, yet safe, comfortable. No one brooded quite like Arjay, because at this stage in his life, he didn’t find it particularly depressing. He simply felt, and could appreciate the feeling for what it was, what it meant, without making it some implication on his life. It was a mood fit for drinking, although not for getting very drunk, and so that was what he did as he sat there in that empty tavern. He cut a small piece from the block of cheese he’d brought out from the kitchen (the privelages of owning the place), poured a glass of the dark wine into his glass, then sat back, feet up on the table, taking his time with both.

The inn wasn’t closed, of course, the door was still open to admit those who needed a bed, or those who had one and were returning late (or leaving early). There wasn’t even anything to discourage people from coming in, but most people knew it would be a few hours before the kitchen opened again.

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#2
It was impossible to shake the bleary eyes out of the intrepid traveller's expression. As she stumbled slightly, she mused to herself. It had been a long time since she had last needed to find a bed.

For that matter it had been a long time and yet no time at all since she had simply needed a bed. The perks of not possessing a soul.

Queth had stumbled out of her garage not an hour ago, her car in the middle of being reassembled, and by extension, not somewhere she could crash and get fourty winks. It had taken more time than she'd like to admit to to come up with a place she could sleep. Even more embarrassingly, she was friends with the owner and still couldn't come up with it quickly.

It was at least good of grim reality to be nighttime. Queth didn't know that she'd handle bright light all that well at the moment. It was too bad that it was so late- but Queth's stomach would forgive her if she waited until tomorrow to feed it.

She opened the door quietly so as not to disturb anyone else sleeping, before looking around for someone to speak to. She managed a smile around her yawn when she saw the other elf at his table. Padding along quietly she waved a greeting before she was close enough to keep the quiet and still converse.

"Arjay." She started with a smile. "It's good to see you- I don't think I have since we both drew cards."

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#3
As the door opened, Arjay cocked an eyebrow, peering across the dim tavern. With a flick of his wrists, he sent slowly spinning orbs of red light up to the ceiling where they orbited, casting further illumination down to the room. Smiling slightly in recognition, he dismissed the spell with a flick of his hand, then sent a chair near him gliding out from the table for her in invitation. The elf was, in general, fairly lively and hands on. Only in one of his strange melancholies was he so apt to use magic so liberally to prevent the need to move any more than was necessary.

“An interesting day, that,” he admitted. The iuon stone he’d gotten that day no longer orbited his body, since he’d finally taken the time to have it implanted in his skin. The process had been painful, of course, and he wouldn’t have risked it with his previously weakened constitution. Still, it hadn’t been anything he couldn’t heal magically once the process was done, and he had certainly found situations where not needing to breathe was quite useful that would have been impossible with it spinning about his head. Still, the greatest gift he’d gained that day, even more so than the new friend it had drawn him from the planes, was the fact that his body was once more whole.

Also, he realized as he studied Queth, he wasn’t the only one who could be described as whole now. He peered at her a bit more curiously in the candlelight, smiling slightly. “And it would appear that we both gained something we were missing that day,” he added. He made another lazy gesture, drawing a second cup from the other side of the bar and setting it to rest in front of Quethadia. “I suppose that this is the gods’ way of telling me that I’m not to be drinking alone tonight.” He reached over, tipping the bottle of dark, strong Drow wine into her glass.

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#4
Queth had a number of options for how to use her magic nowadays- though she was not even remotely as used to it as Arjay was. Still, after the lights had her blinking to accommodate the change in vision, she smiled at him and abused her magic. A bit of crank to keep her awake a little longer. Catch to pull her chair in under her. Magic hands to take the glass from him and lift it to her physical hands. "Thank you." She offered politely, taking a sip of the drink before deciding it was good.

"Yes, interesting is a good word to describe it, though it may be a bit of an understatement." She replied softly, rolling up her sleeve to show him where her cybernetics ended. "This is it now. The only body part I have replaced with metal." She added, trusting that her explanation would suffice to explain the difference in her.

Without asking permission- the impudent individual she was- Queth reached with her magic and sliced herself a piece of cheese to quench her hunger for a time. "Does mean that I have to actually sleep now." She continued with a grumble, setting her glass down and laying her head on her arms. "How is one supposed to handle the constant exhaustion? I require sleep every night now. Which. What?" Queth mumbled, hands waving slightly in the air to punctuate her words.

Sighing and taking another drink she tipped her head at him. "Did I interrupt your musing?"

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#5
The girl was using magic… that one was new. Arjay smiled slightly as he watched her, observing the effects. He could tell there were similarities between the magics of their worlds, although she didn’t appear to have pushed her exhaustion back anywhere near like his spells could have. Granted, hers seemed to cost her quite a bit less energy, so he supposed he couldn’t expect it to have. He smiled at her as she accepted the wine, moved aside slightly so that she could get at the cheese, and had to marvel at the changes in her body. Quethadia had been practically nothing but machine the last time he saw her… now? He leaned forward, reaching out, running his fingertips lightly along that joining where flesh met synthetic. “I know,” he said, his lips twitching up in something that couldn’t exactly be called a smile, “I could feel you when you sat down. Although… I need be curious if you can feel me in turn.” His fingers traced lightly down her skin, crossing over to the mechanical part of her arm, where he drummed his fingertips lightly. “And is this loss by choice?” he asked, indicating the inorganic part as he sat back in his seat again, hand returning to his wine glass. “Its replacement could be arranged, after all, if you wished it.”

As for her other troubles… Well, he couldn’t exactly give any personal experience there. “Elves of my world don’t sleep, so I’m afraid that I can’t answer that,” he admitted. “We enter reverie… partially a wakeful trance, organizing our thoughts, processing our experiences, and partially a communion, sinking a bit closer to Arvandor, closer to all the rest of our people, that we might not feel quite so… alone.” He gave one short little laugh at that, drinking back his wine and pouring another glass. “Obviously, it works better some times than others. No… I’m quite capable of musing with company, my dear, you aren’t even slightly interrupting.”

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#6
Queth's spells could do plenty to wake her up- however unlike the magic of Arjay's world, hers had some nasty side effects. Which is to say that abuse of it would quickly become an addiction. She knew mages who could not sleep unless they were put under- and she had no desire to be one of them.

Also unlike Arjay however, she had theoretically unlimited magic. She didn't have to count how many spells she had used that day. Hell, if she needed to, she could take an average spell and turn it overwhelmingly deadly if she pushed it hard enough. Likewise, all of her spells were scaled- the more she put in, the more she got out.

Yeah Queth was okay with having the potential side effects in exchange for how much easier it was to be a mage in her world.

She smiled at his touch, twisting her arm so he could see all the sides. His question made her laugh, much louder than she intended, though another spell cut the sound from travelling outside of their area.

"Of course I can." She replied automatically, smiling as she did. "Even if I couldn't, Arjay you're a damn Christmas tree in astral-" She paused before chuckling again and rubbing the back of her neck. "Which is the opposite of toaster. You have so many magical items that you glow." She explained, nibbling at her stolen piece of cheese.

"Not by choice, but not something I'd undo either. I think I'd be uncomfortable if I was entirely flesh- this arm tells the story of a different lifetime and I don't want to give that up. Also because it's fun to turn my arm into a cannon." She replied automatically, tracing her fingers across every mark, divot, and engraving that made this chunk of metal specifically hers.

She nodded at his explanation, before smiling at his acceptance. "I'm glad. I don't think we've spoken in the entire time I've had my soul back fully."

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#7
Arjay chuckled quietly, not really knowing what a Christmas tree was, but getting the general idea of what she was saying. “Now now… I don’t need things to… light up my presence and draw all of the pretty moths in,” he teased halfheartedly. It was true, too, if he chose to make it happen, and for just a moment he did. He was a Chosen, after all, and his spiritual, magical presence could be intense, imposingly alluring, even captivating, but he only drew on this nature for a second. He wasn’t trying to intimidate or seduce her (yet), he was just playfully proving a point. If that proof was impressive… well, he’d been compared to a peacock in the past, he supposed. What peacock didn’t like to make sure everyone knew how impressive he was?

Something about that thought seemed to sink a hook into the general melancholy of his mood, probably who it was that used to call him a peacock.

He supposed he could understand having a level of utility she wasn’t willing to let go of anymore. He gave the arm an appraising nod, then shrugged, sipping his wine again. “Well, just an arm is certainly an improvement. I shudder to think of what it must have been like regrowing as much as you did…” It did sting a bit, he had to admit. He’d been willing to use his powers to heal the damage to her body and/or her spirit, but his offer had been rejected quite… explicitly. By her getting up and running from the room, if he recalled correctly. “My own wish was fairly… unpleasant when it took hold. Obviously I knew it couldn’t be fatal, it would defeat the point of the wish, but…” He shuddered, peering into the seemingly-black surface of his wine, remembering that sensation of his heart being grabbed, crushed, torn and reformed in his chest while it still beat. Wishes really were the worst.

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#8
Arjay was as impressive as Queth remembered him- perhaps even more, now that she could comprehend the intricacies of his magic. Lucky for her that she had memory storage, it took her only a moment to dig through such to prove to herself that- no- something had in fact changed. He was, somehow, more than he had been previously.

She had been hearing rumours of his Goddess in the area, so it was possible that contact with the source of his power was strengthening his abilities.

In reply, she crossed her arms with a smirk, leaning forward as mist filled his senses, her scent turning addicting, each flaw of hers diminished and layered under spells designed to ensnare. For a final touch, she reached forward and trailed her fingers along his skin, confident that the hint of euphoria that would crawl along his nerves would paint her picture well. Cutting her spells equally as quickly as Arjay had, she winked easily. "Yes but that goes without saying for many spell casters." She purred, thinking idly of many times where such spells had done the job and then some.

She didn't miss the way he soured slightly after- and it seemed a clear conclusion to her that he was upset she had turned down his offer. Smiling crookedly, she brought up the wrist that bore her commlink, producing a hologram of her brother, sister, and parents. "I didn't wish for me. I didn't care if I had a soul or not- I didn't care if I was metal or not- I wished for a way to prevent my family's deaths. Despite it having happened so many years ago." She moved from the old photo, to one that was more recent. Her siblings and their significant others- her parents doting over their sole grandchild- Queth chasing down the family dog who was running away with her shoe. More life was in that static photo than Queth had felt in so many years of her first life.

"It was strange to say the least. Rather than regrow everything at once- seeing as preventing my family's deaths also prevented me from being in the incident that took my body from me- as we grew closer to our goal, I started to sort of- waver. Sometimes, I would go for my gun, only to find that the cavity I had been able to open moments before was now flesh. It was more emotionally taxing than anything. I was in a state where at any moment I may or may not have a soul, and you saw how much of a shell I was with the damage I had taken to it." She shivered idly, remembering the panic inducing fluctuations in her emotions- one moment, able to handle anything, the next, so unused to fear that the site of a fork pointed at her would find her hyperventilating.

With a small shrug, she lifted the bottom of her shirt to showcase her scars. "The majority of these, I got in a car accident when I was 60. The second time I was 60. I do not know how I remember both lives. But I can look at these scars, and tell you that they were not there last time we met. I can look at you, and remember you, remember who I was when I came to the hub."

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#9
Queth’s restoration (healing? Renewal? Rebirth? Arjay completely didn’t know how to classify it) had apparently restored her to the point that she could use magic, much to the contrary of her original form and claim. Arjay let her work her spells on him with an amused interest. The blessings that Sune had given him kept him from being ensorcelled, but he could let the more pleasant of the sensations roll over him. “Entirely true,” he said, turning his hand over to let his fingers brush the bottom of her wrist as she drew her arm back. “On the other hand, there’s quite a bit to be said for being able to manage the job without magical assistance. Which I’m quite confident that you are capable of, naturally.”

Her story of how she had regained herself was, naturally, completely intriguing. Arjay leaned forward in interest, that lonely melancholy sliding aside for the moment. “Time travel… we don’t attempt such things on my world. I think that the spells are divinely banned, honestly. My understanding from a few texts that came to us from other worlds suggests that you simply can’t change the past even if a time travel is possible, things just proceed as they would have by and large.” One day, perhaps, he’d visit that strange place called Krynn… or perhaps not. He made a conscious decision that he wasn’t going to ask into the means of the feat she accomplished. Some things were best not toyed with, and changing the past, he judged, was one of them.

No matter what sort of missteps he could correct in his own past…

He leaned forward further to study the scars she was showing him. Idly, he reached out, running his fingertip over one scar on her now completely organic stomach. Changes in the past or not, her world’s healing spells weren’t plentiful or effective enough to prevent this… although there was an appeal to having some scars. Glancing up at her, he cocked an eyebrow. “Are you attached to these?” he asked, curious. He was, after all, a preserver of beauty. It was up to her, though, whether she’d prefer the beauty of unblemished (or less blemished) skin, or the strange sort of beauty that scars could give a person.

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#10
It was absurdly unsurprising that Arjay took that chance to flirt with Queth. She may not have known him yet while she had a soul- but her memories were plenty to know what type of man he was. Part of her was tempted to push him back in his chair and climb in his lap- but... that could wait for later. "There's also something to be said-" She began replying, pausing to look out from underneath her eyelashes and add drama. "- For the use of such spells on a willing participant." Queth finished softly, forcing him to listen hard for her words.

She winked at the end, recognizing that he may have more pressing questions than what her preferred position was. Queth shrugged at his reply. "I can't begin to explain how it worked- seeing as I don't know either. All I know is that it did, and there are people alive who otherwise would not be." She offered easily, comfortable with her actions that day. She may not have been planning such a dramatic change, but what had happened had happened.

It hardly hurt the world to have a handful more metas running around. Not much anyways.

She couldn't help the giggle that welled up as he ran his fingers along his scars, automatically she shifted away from the tickling, though her grin said she wasn't upset. She smiled more softly at his offer. "Thank you for offering Arjay- but I like them. And I could fix it myself if I wanted." She replied, waggling fingers that sparked with arcane energy.

She ran her fingers up the skin of his forearm with as her smile twisted into a playful grin. "Besides, are you telling me you don't have any scars?"

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#11
The difference between this Queth and the old Queth was... profound. In some ways they were the same, but she had much more of an intensity, more life, which he was sure she'd say was obvious since now she was more of a person than she had been then. "Well, if recreational spells are going to be used, I can't particularly say that I've ever had an issue with someone being willing," he admitted, a hint of humor flickering over the melancholy elf's lips.

As for the subject of her little time travel excursion, Arjay waved the issue off before speculation on the 'how' could begin. "Hardly matters how it worked, it did. I'd sooner not know how it worked. That's a tool that ought be kept well away from someone who's collected enough regrets to want to use it." How many dead would he need save, were it possible? His father? His brother? His wife? So, so many friends, and that didn't even start to touch on those who'd been damaged instead of killed outright. "I'm glad that it worked in your case... you deserved it. I'd just as soon the means remain veiled in impossibility though."

He shrugged when she stated that she didn't need him to heal away her scars, finding one a bit lower to trace his fingers over. "Well, I can see the appeal," he admitted, "But it's much like trying to judge a painting by tugging aside the corner of its coverings. But no... myself, I don't have any scars. I used to, naturally. I had an eye put out that only lately I managed to regrow, I had acid burns that took quite a long time to fade from my face and chest. Sword scars, torture scars... but they've been healed away now. My healing spells are particularly effective for any... let's call them 'aesthetic blemishes,' and presently I heal naturally without scarring. My goddess likes it that way," he said, smiling a bit more.

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#12
Queth rolled her eyes good naturedly- holding back a small chuckle. "I knew you were going to say that." She mused idly, not bothering to comment on whether or not she agreed. Sex was easy- especially when one had magic- but it wasn't always the be all and end all. For her it was more like chocolate- enjoyable, but not fulfilling.

She saw the look in his eyes- and held back any further details about the event. She knew that look, that same haunted expression that so many runners held when you tried to learn about their past. As you tried to ask why they felt so strongly about one plan versus another. As you asked what they had to go home to.

She did reach out and pat his hand with as much comfort in the motion as she could muster. "Thank you for saying that, Arjay." She added softly, a smile still pulling at her lips with the thoughts of her family.

Her uncontrollable laughter fell away to a breathy sigh as his hand traced lower- it wasn't what she had been expecting that evening, but she'd be lying if she said she wasn't interested. "More like a statue- that is all the more incredible for the wear and tear it shows- each mark an indication of the time that they have survived through." She did pause as her mind hooked on his comment. "Your goddess hm? I'd heard rumour she was in the hub- should I be worried about spending time with you now?"

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#13
"There are some times when it isn't bad to be predictable," Arjay mused, then shrugged a bit. Kindling that interest was never really the trouble. After all, even Queth was interested, he could tell, thought not as much as she might be. He was, after all, in a bit of a less outgoing mood than usual. Maintaining that interest, though, or keeping those who might be interested alive, though? That was another matter. His past lovers all fell within two categories: Those who cherished his memory, but felt called to move on from him, and those who cherished his company right up until they met some untimely demise.

"Very well, a statue, then," he allowed. "I'm still, however, judging it through the curtains, so we can consider any opinion I have to be a very educated inference." The smile on his lips as he sat back and poured more wine was still a thin thing, but it was at least sincere. "My goddess is not currently in residence, so she can hardly fault you for taking up attention that wouldn't otherwise have been hers." He shrugged a little as he took a drink. "And if she were to show up at any moment, I'm sure that she'd say that more company only made the moment sweeter. Well, something like that, although she would probably make it sound much prettier than I can."

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#14
Queth grinned slightly, leaning forward. "Is that So?" She hummed, glancing through her eyelashes as much as she could at someone who was notably shorter than her. "I usually find that being spontaneous is much more fun." She purred, reaching out and lightly caressing his knee.

She laughed out loud at his remark. "I thought you were saying my scars covered my beauty- but of course you were referring instead to my clothes." She shook her hair out of her face before smirking.

"In that case, let's play never have i ever." Queth offered easily. "You finish the sentence with something you haven't done- and if the other person has, they take off a piece of clothing."

She bit her lip slightly, hands already on the edges of her jacket. "So you could say 'Never have I ever been partially robotic' and i-" she peeled the leather garment off her shoulders as seductively as she could. "- do that. Last one to have clothes is the 'winner' though I don't think there is a loser in that situation." Queth explained with a wink.

"I'll go first. Never have I ever climbed a mountain."

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#15
“Well, that entirely depends on what your aims are,” he pointed out. “There are some times when it’s a bit of a comfort to know what people expect you to do, and sometimes that it makes… hm, shall we say, greatly needed diversions come your way.” He wasn’t going to fool himself, really. He could think of any companionship that he came across as a comfort, but there lay the way to setting himself up for more heartbreak. Sometimes, he took that leap willingly, of course, but other times, he did feel the need to guard his heart a bit, knowing that for whatever lady he let himself love, he’d be, in the end, nothing more than a diversion.

He let his fingernail trail along one thin scar, likely from a very sharp blade, that was little more than a white line that barely raised the surface of her skin. “Perspective, my dear,” he said. “Clothes can accentuate beauty, obviously, but they always conceal, always raise tantalizing questions. Scars, though? Scars become a part of you. They can mar beauty, obviously, but most of the time, they simply mark your life upon you. They are a part of you, for good or for ill. Besides…” He closed his eyes, and let his fingers be his guide, taking the measure of that small patch of exposed skin, “Sight isn’t the only sense that measures beauty.”

He cocked his eyebrow at the type of game she suggested, and immediately saw that if she kept herself in a rather naughty mindset, he would be doomed to fail. Likewise, he couldn’t keep his in such a mindset, because he really didn’t think that there was anything that he wouldn’t have done that she would have done.

He had the time that it took him to remove his boots (because really, who HADN’T climbed a mountain?), chosen because it took time to unlace them and he needed to get his mind set before he took his turn, but once he had his mind set to the task, his first turn seemed easy enough. “Very well. Never have I ever fired a gun.”
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#16
Queth laughed slightly, waving off his pretty words, though she was more than content to let him continue exploring her skin. She hummed slightly when his fingers traced skin that felt nicer, squirming if his fingers found a ticklish spot.

She didn't mind when he took his hands back, though she suspected that might have something to do with the fact that he was doing so in order to begin undressing. Not that feet were particularly attractive, but it was a piece out of the way. His reply had her laughing again. "That is annoyingly well chosen." She said, shaking her head in amusement.

Queth took a second to decide what piece of clothing to stuck before deciding that distracting him would work well for her goals. With a wink she pulled her t-shirt the rest of the way off, half rolled up as it was.

Pursing her lips, she thought for a second before making her choice. She didn't want to target things she already knew were true- but didn't want to lose either. So she targeted things he had probably done but she didn't know for certain.

"Never have I ever ridden a horse." She stated simply, though her smile conveyed her firm belief that he had.

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Dungeons and Dragons-Forgotten Realms

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#17
Arjay relaxed in his seat, his eyes slowly following the progress of her shirt as it slid up and off of her body. Queth might compare herself unflatteringly to the bodies of human women, but then she had grown up in a world dominated by them, and dominated by their standards. To Arjay's eye, who had grown up around others of the fair folk (even if they weren't usually as tall as her), her features were distinctly feminine, even if it was much more pronounced when clothing was removed. "Tonight I get reminded that I can wax as poetic as I like about beauty, but talking is never as rewarding as seeing," he mused, that mischievous twinkle in his eye.

That twinkle disappeared into a look of wry defeat at her next turn. Arjay gave a good-natured sigh as she called one more thing that he'd, naturally, done. He had this rather distinct idea that the competition was going to come down to whoever had the most pieces of clothing on. They each had enough knowledge of the other and came from such disparate worlds that they had a wealth of options that were safe picks to get the other undressed.

"Whyever do all of your Earth worlds decide that it's better to make smelly machines than to ride horses," he sighed. "The sheer number of such worlds makes me weep for the multiverse." As he spoke, he unfastened his shirt, slipping it off, not going for an easy pick like boots this time. His build always appeared slender, given the nature of his race, particularly under the rather concealing shirts that those of his world's fashion-conscious favored. Once it was removed, though, the lean muscles of a swordsman pressed out from his skin, unmarred by scars just like he'd said.

"However, I suppose that's an important distinction to make. Never, my dear, have I ever driven a horseless coach." That, he supposed, was the best way to not get caught in some technicality, like 'I haven't driven cars, I drove trucks' or what not. Now, at least, he could have a reason to feel glad that Dean hadn't had a chance to show him how to drive during their little excursion to Luthien's world.

As she started to take off her next piece of clothing, though, he leaned forward, that mischeif shining in his eyes again as he caught her hand. "Are you rather sure you wouldn't rather I did that?" he asked, that melancholy she'd found him in quite vanished.
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#18
Queth smirked with the finish of quirks to the corners of her lips. She glanced appreciatively at the elf as he spoke, shifting closer to lean on the table still between them. "And seeing is little compared to touching." She added, voice lowering, her words coming out as though she were short of breath.

Being fair, her breath did catch as his tunic was likewise removed. She bit her lip in anticipation even as she replied. "Because motors do not become temperamental at random. Because as long as they are in working condition, we can get places hundreds of times faster than a horse is capable of. And since you've been around horses- you should know as well as I do that horses are plenty smelly on their own."

She had started removing her boots before he had said anything. His next line had her snickering automatically however, forcing herself to stifle true laughter. "Valiant effort, but the definition of coach is a horse drawn carriage. I have driven a coach- but I have not yet bespelled one to work without the aid of horses. You could have said vehicle and then it is true but..." Queth explained, wiggling her toes in her boots triumphantly. "If you succeed in scoring another piece of my gear removed, perhaps I will let you help." She grinned.

"Never have I ever been on a boat with sails." She added automatically, having no clue how close arjay had been to large bodies of water.

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#19
"Horses are hardly the most pleasant fragrance that there is, no," Arjay admitted, "However, worlds that use them instead of your contraptions tend to smell much, much cleaner as a whole." He'd experienced that when they were off on the quest together, and his understanding was that that world was still much better than most.

Her next reply, though, elicited a flat look from him. Really. That was how she was going to play this? Granted, of course, that on his world he didn't need to worry about differentiating between words for wheeled vehicles since they were all drawn by horses...

He briefly considered making a similar move, claiming that the vessels he'd sailed on were ships, not boats, but he preferred playing to the spirit of the game, unlike some people that he could name just at that moment. Nevertheless, it wasn't exactly with a playful look that he stood up and undid is breeches, tossing them onto the table with his tunic as he resumed his seat wearing only his underclothes. "Never have I ever been friends with an orc," he said, flatly, peering through the empty bar at her.
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#20
Queth couldn't help but laugh lightly at the look he was laying at her. After he sat down again but before he spoke, she toed off her boots. His intention had been a car of some sort- she was just being bratty. "I will actually let it slip, but if it's relevant again- go with horseless vehicle or motorized vehicle." She explained with a wink, even as she took her socks off to equalize the playing field.

His follow up comment earned a poke in the chest. "Hey, just because you are speciesist..." She joked, standing up and moving to stand between his legs. Taking his hands and placing them on the waist of her jeans, she smiled at him.

"I believe you said you were going to help me out?" Queth purred, sliding a hand down his arm before moving to pop the button in the center. She had no idea how familiar he was with jeans, and she was hardly letting a few technical details get in the way of a good time. Stepping out of her jeans, she straddled him without seeming to consider that action, her face playfully pensive as she hummed.

"First off," She explained idly. "You should know that I like to win, and I could have pulled out lines like having not met a goddess, having not been born an elf, not knowing how to play the flute and more." Queth leaned forward to purr the words into Arjay's ear before grinning wickedly.

"And with that in mind." She said slowly, reaching back and unclasping her bra. "Never have I ever time traveled. Oops. I know you haven't and I have..." Slinging her arms around his neck, she tossed the excess garment out of the way.

Walking her fingers down his chest, she smirked. "But if you'll allow me to try again.... Never have I ever lost an eye- which isn't true. I suppose we'll both just have to undress." Queth tugged on the top of his loin cloth, far too pleased with herself for what amounted to throwing the game.

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