Burning Man -- Logs

The three angels seem to very much enjoy being back together all in one place, even if the days in the interim were lovely for everyone involved. The night passes as much with whispered conversation as it does with caresses and lovemaking. None of them seem to feel the need for sleep and the sun rises with Bella sitting tailor-fashion with Rosie's head in her lap, fingers playing over his beribboned braids. Shateishael is lazily stretched out nearby, watching his beloveds together as the sun rises. He rumbles contentedly,

"Early morning sun:
luminous inspiration;
jewel-glowing Light."

Rosenstern is curled up before Bella, gently rubbing his head against her hand as he lies there lazily. One of his free hands rests upon and languidly caresses Slate's shoulder. Shateishael isn't in any hurry to move... but eventually he rumbles contentedly, "Y'all look so pretty t'gether... so whutch'all wanna do t'day? Got any pref'rences?"

Bella smiles, "Well, I wanted to give Rosie his present, at least..."

Rosenstern peeks open his eyes, looking up at Bella curiously. Shateishael says, "Yeah! Good idea. Lemme get it, so's y'all don' hafta move." He rolls up to a sitting position, going through one of the trunks, "Wuz in here, yeah, lover?"

Bella grins at Slate as he goes through the trunk and nods, trailing her fingers down over the hollow of Rosie's throat, "Yup. Little black velvet bag."

Shateishael makes an 'aha!' noise, turning with the little bag in his large hand, "Here y'go, sweetheart." Once he's given it to Bella he stretches out again in his former spot, a cheerfully anticipatory grin on his face.

The Bright starts explaining, "There was all that talk about something to show the folk in the Winter Court that we're bonded..." She lays the little velvet bag on Rosie's chest, "So I got the flower ladies to help me with something."

Rosenstern sits up curiously as he takes up the little velvet bag, coming fully awake as he carefully opens it up. "You shouldn't have!" he says, blushing and smiling to Bella. Inside the little leather bag is a ring made of delicately twisted silver wire. The setting is three stones: a garnet, an aventurine, and a topaz. The gems are arranged in a triangle with the garnet topmost and the ring is sized almost perfectly to fit Rosenstern's left ring finger. Rosenstern ooohs! his breath escaping him. Very delicately he puts the ring on his left finger, looking at it entranced by the way the gems catch the light. "Bella, it's gorgeous!"

Bella lays her right hand on Rosie's chest so he can see the ring she wears. It has the same three stones, only smaller and arranged across the band with the aventurine in the middle, "I talked to Peony about things to show us as bonded and she suggested jewelry that incorporated the same symbols. Rose and Lily helped me with the designs."

Shateishael smiles quietly, his eyes almost glowing with happiness, and slides his right hand under Bella's, on Rosenstern's chest, so Rosie can see both of them. Then he tilts his head thoughtfully, intrigued, "Bellisima, there some significance t'Rosie's bein' on his lef' han'?" His ring is on his right hand... he curiously looks to see which hand Bella's wearing her ring on.

The Bright smiles, "Uhm... well, the right hand is supposed to be the active hand and the left the receptive... not that Rosie can't be very active, even an activist, but I thought in this situation..."

Rosenstern blushes and smiles to Bella. "That's appropriate, yes...." He gently reaches up with his newly ringed hand and places his hand atop his lovers'.

Shateishael gently curls his fingers around his lovers' smaller hands, rumbling quietly, "Whutever happens at Winter Court... jus' want y'all t'know how much y'both mean t'me."

Bella smiles crookedly and laughs, "Whatever happens in any of this." Slate smiles, leaning to gently kiss her hand, then Rosenstern's.

Bella laughs quietly, "So... we've got four days until they burn the Man. Is there anything the pair of you are just itching to do?"

Shateishael grins, rolling onto his back like a big, lazy lion, "Not offa toppa m'haid... had th'mos' 'mazin' time already, truth be tole!" His expression softens a bit as he looks at Bella and Rosenstern again, and he rumbles quietly, "Got ever'thin' I really want already..."

Bella laughs and makes a face at Slate despite the fact that her own eyes are warm, "You're a big sap."

Shateishael grins cheerfully, "Yes'm! How 'bout you, Rosebud?"

Shateishael says, "Oh, yeah... I promised y' 'nother tango, Bellisima... 'n one f'Rosie too. 'S 'bout it that I c'n think a'... but 'm thinkin' we might wanna try dancin' at th' 'Thereal court, not near y'r mom?"

Bella chuckles quietly and nods, still playing with Rosie's hair, "Mmm... I think you're likely right there. I don't know that I want to tempt mom with you tangoing."

Shateishael nods amusedly.

Rosenstern considers, thinking, then shakes his head. "There's nothing that I need to do, no. Not right away. I... would like to see Soma before we leave, of course...."

Shateishael says, "Almos' got inta trouble that las' night."

Shateishael nods relaxedly to Rosenstern, "Soun's good then. We c'n jus' take it easy, play, 'n get t'know th' fae folks better, yeah?" He grins, "Soun' like fun?"

Bella eyes Slate, "Define trouble there, big guy."

Shateishael chuckles easily, "We were dancin', 'n she got innerupted by a girl c'llapsin' on her, which innerupted th'dancin'. 'Ccordin' t'her after that she needed t'take a break, so's she din' hafta 'xplain t'pretty Joe th'next day why she'd slept wi'someone else. But I tole her p'litely I wu'n't innerested in her that way, 'n she seemed fine wi'that."

The Bright seems to be having an exceptionally difficult time keeping her hands off of Rosie this morning, her fingers tracing his collarbone and the lines of his jaw. She pauses in the caressing to arch a brow, "Jesus, Slate, do half the people at this thing want to sleep with you?"

Shateishael snorts amusedly, "Y'r silly, sweetheart. 'M bettin' she wuz jus' 'xaggeratin' f'effect. It's Rosie folks're fallin' all over, not me." He pushes his unruly mane back, sitting up and grinning at his sweethearts, "So, y'all wanna go wand'rin', see pretty thin's t'day?"

Shateishael adds amusedly to Bella, "'Sides, there's a big diff'rence b'tween sex 'n lovin', 'leastways t'me."

Rosenstern blinks a little in surprise at Slate as well, even as his fingertips are gently touching Bella's hand. "Do you think she still has plans for you?" he asks. "To... you know... jump you into bed?"

Shateishael tosses his head back and laughs! "Man! You guys're good f'th'ego, but 'm thinkin' y'r worryin' 'bout nuthin'. She's got pretty Joe 'n two other lovers that adore her already. Whut's she want wi'one cranky Seraph?"

Bella smirks slightly and shakes her head. She reaches down and takes Rosie's hands, crossing the Mercurian's wrists across his chest with an impish little grin, "But we've got pretty things here..."

Shateishael grins, his eyes getting a mischievous glint as he drawls, "Well now... y'c'd talk me inta stayin' right here f'th'day...!"

Rosenstern erps? softly, and doesn't squirm more than is somewhat cutelly when Bella takes hold of him. He blinks to Slate, grinning softly and hopefully invitingly.

The day is spent in relaxed, quietly loving mutual exploration. The strong (and somewhat unexpected) physical recognitions of their closeness and bonding are both exhilarating and a bit alarming, so a bit of time to slowly renew with each other helps pull them all emotionally together again. The long shadows of twilight are starting to dim the interior of the tent by the time they have sated themselves with joy, lying in a puppy-like heap of glowing pleasure.

Bella declares the need for a shower before they go the the Ethereal encampment and slips out with her towel, thinking there's probably a solar shower out there still warm from the heat of the day.

Shateishael yawns hugely, stretching his arms and legs out vaguely like a big cat... then rolls over onto his stomach, rumbling contentedly as he gently strokes Rosie's slightly quivery skin. "Mmm... y'wanna show'r too, pretty petal?"

Rosenstern is curled up on the rug of the tent, purring in his half-snoozing afterglow. He stretches out, shivering with Slate's caresses, giving a bit of a yawn. "Mmm, maybe...."

Shateishael grins lazily, "'Kay... lemme get coupla towels, 'n we'll go join Bellisima." A few moments later he's thrown a couple of towels over his shoulder, casually scooped Rosenstern up, and is heading out of the tent towards where they have their solar shower pole set up.

Rosenstern yeeps! a little as Slate scoops him up, and giggles softly as Slate carries him out.

The shower is slightly delayed because putting the three of the naked and wet together is too tempting, even despite the day of debauchery. Once cleaned off, Bella slides into a pair of cut-offs and a t-shirt, ending up with hiking boots, "I'd dress up, but the glamour always changes us."

Shateishael chuckles, "Yeah, there is that." He's slipped on cut-offs and hiking boots, and tied a twisted bandanna about his head to keep his wet hair out of his face. With the water sleek on his skin still, his chest and legs shine a bit. "So, y'all ready t'roll?"

Shateishael lets one hand fall to slide slowly over Rosie's rump as the slight Mercurian dresses, watching with obvious pleasure... then he grins at Bella as he finishes his question.

Rosenstern gets into little more than denim shorts and a short=sleeved tee shirt, and sandals. He squirms against Slate's hand comfortably as he gets changed.

Shateishael contentedly slides an arm about Bella's waist, and takes Rosie's hand, if they don't mind, as he heads with them to the Ethereal encampment.

The glamour over the camp tonight is the transformative one, showing bustling human forms through the almost-visible dome. Ethereals cross back and forth over the border, apparently many of them are taking tonight to eschew court and mingle with the humans on the playa.

Shateishael hms thoughtfully, "Looks like a light night here. Still, usually fun here." He grins at his lovers, "Shall we?"

Rosenstern beams and nods, "Let's!"

Shateishael steps through, pausing amusedly to see what they're adorned with, if anything.

Crossing the glamour transforms the angels, as they knew it would. The Bright finds herself clad in black latex, a high-necked catsuit outlining her body with the sheen of fresh oil. Her waist is emphasized by a cincher in a red so deep that it, too, almost seems black until the light catches it. On her feet are a pair of high-heeled sandals that lace on with intricate delicacy, showing her crimson-painted toenails. Her fingernails are painted similarly. Her hair is loose down her back and tiny horns sprout from her forehead. As on their first night in the encampment, her canines have taken on a pronounced point. Shateishael looks startled... then gives a slow, admiring whistle!

The Seraph is wearing black jeans that fit him as perfectly as any pair he has at the ranch. His feet and calves are clad in English-style riding boots, as one sometimes sees on motorcycle cops. His torso is wrapped in a snug leather shirt that has flap pockets on each side of the chest and sleeves short enough to show off his work-hardened biceps. The golden mane of Slate's hair is pulled back and tied off with a leather thong.

Rosenstern blinks, looking at Bella -- well, more to the point, staring at Bella. He briefly looks so entranced that he reaches towards her to touch the slick surface, before drawing his hand back quickly and blushing. Shateishael looks down at himself... then grins at Rosie's reaction to Bella, "Ain't she gorgeous, pretty flow'r? Soma mus' be feelin' pretty modern t'night!"

Bella licks her lips and leans toward Rosie, eyes twinkling a bit, "Go ahead, sugar, touch me." It sounds almost more like a command than permission. Shateishael grins, watching with almost lazy-looking pleasure.

Rosenstern drags his gaze back to Slate, and blinks and looks entranced again. "I... oh my, you both..." He blinks, looking back startledly at Bella, then swallows and nods quickly, gingerly touching Bella's shoulder and running his fingertips down along her arm.

Rosenstern, as usual, matches his lovers. The bodysuit he wears covers him from groin to throat and biceps to wrists in latex in the same almost-black shade of red as Bella's cincher. The cut of it leaves the sleeves almost detached, baring his shoulders. Below the waist is covered by a pair of shiny black patent leather pants that are almost completely covered by thigh-high boots with platform heels that add six inches to the slight Mercurian's height. They fasten with cross-laced straps that hug his legs deliciously, making him feel slightly restricted with every step. On his wrists are a pair of heavy rubber cuffs with a pair of D-rings each.

Bella sighs and wriggles into Rosie's stroking and she smiles, "Damn... I wish I could take some of these clothes home with me."

Shateishael draws a slow breath, watching his lovers together, and rumbles in slow, heartfelt tones, "Oh, yeah..." He steps behind Bella, stroking his hands slowly down the sides of her head, caressing her throat, sliding along her shoulders and down her sides... letting his fingers trail teasingly lightly along the smooth curve of her rear.

Rosenstern blushes at Bella's sinuous movements, then wonders why the snugness he feels about the groin of his clothing feels so deliciously slick. A glance at himself almost makes him topple over, blushing even more. "Oh, my...."

Shateishael swiftly reaches one hand out, catching Rosie's arm. His eyes are alert on Rosenstern, "Y' 'kay, sweet rose?"

Bella lets her eyes close, leaning into Slate's touch and tipping her head to bare her throat to him, lips parted in a smile that seems to emphasize the points of her exaggerated canines, "Mmm..." Despite her distraction, she reaches out to curl her fingers in the waistband of Rosie's pants and pull him close, "I think he's just realized how delicious he looks."

Shateishael nods quietly, "Yeah... jus' don' wan' him fallin' over 'n hurtin' himself. Y'got him?" Once he's sure Bella's got a hand on Rosenstern, he lets his own hand slide down Rosie's arm, as he tilts his head to lightly kiss Bella's throat... although the mingled scents of latex and leather are a delicious distraction, and he finds himself gently nipping her throat a moment later.

Rosenstern swallows, nodding shakily to Slate. "N-not how I look... h-how I feel wearing this. It... it feels funny..." He purrs softly, leaning against them both, watching Slate kiss Bella's throat with rapt attention.

Bella smirks wickedly and tugs upward gently on the front of Rosie's pants, drawing attention to part of his anatomy she is almost certain is reacting quite strongly to the feel and sight of the clothes, "I like how it feels myself..." Her voice has dropped several notes into almost a growl as her throat is nipped. Rosenstern makes a soft pitched sound, almost a muted yelp, squirming a little against the sudden tightness and most definitely enjoying it. His gaze is bright but attentive, already quite on the verge of being in that wonderfully submissive state of mind.

Shateishael slides his arms around Bella's sleek form, pressing her close as he rolls his hips slowly against her. He rumbles distractedly, "Funny how, li'l Rose?" His lips brush Bella's throat as he speaks... then he grins and lazily licks her soft skin, sighing warmly to give her the tingle of air across dampness. Before the angels can get too distracted with one another, there's a discreet (and amused) clearing of someone's throat behind Slate. Shateishael huffs in soft amusement against Bella's throat... then raises his head to glance over his shoulder, "Mmm?"

Bella's eyes look almost intoxicated as she tries to focus on the person behind Slate. It takes her several long seconds to recognize the person standing there as being Bacchus. She smiles languidly and wraps an arm around Slate's waist like she's afraid he's going to step away. Her body language is definitely sensual and definitely possessive of the two pretty men. Rosenstern freezes, not quite in subspace enough to not care who's there. He slowly glances over his shoulder. Shateishael chuckles at Bacchus' expression, rumbling lazily, "Hey now, Soma dressed us. We're jus' 'ppreciatin' his..." his grin gets wicked, "sense a' style!"

The satyr is standing a respectful distance away with his hands folded in front of his body. Unusually, he wears a simple X-shaped leather harness over his normally bare torso. He also wears something like a smirk, "Yeah... seems something's gotten into him tonight."

Shateishael laughs! He eyes Bacchus amusedly, "Um... yeah, guess so?" He looks around, getting a faintly curious look, "Wonder whut...?" His voice trails off as his gaze ends up on Rosenstern, and he gets a suddenly knowing grin. Rosenstern blinks up at Slate, blushing as he realizes why Slate's grinning.

Bacchus chuckles and shrugs, "There's some dancing going on tonight inside. I was just off to find my kilt. I don't normally bother wearing it."

Shateishael smiles, pulling himself together a bit -- although he doesn't move his arms from around his lovers, and he too has a rather... almost aggressive gleam in his eyes, "Well now... whut c'n we do f'ya, Bacchus?"

The satyr laughs and shakes his head, "Not answering that, Slate. Already been told no." He winks and saunters off, not changing the positioning of his hands until he's got his back to the angels. His tail is actually flicking as he wanders off toward his tent.

Shateishael grins, shaking his head, "Man, soun's like ev'ryone's feelin' their oats t'night!" He chuckles, nuzzling Bella affectionately, then rumbles, "C'mon... le's go have fun!" He murmurs half under his breath, as his hand slides smoothly down Rosenstern's leather-clad rear and squeezes gently, "Feels like's gonna be a night, 'm thinkin'!"

Bella laughs and hooks a finger into a belt loop at the front of Rosie's pants, "Mmm... all we're missing is a leash for the pretty Rosie," she purrs. She starts toward the main tent, almost strutting. The strength of the glamour is nearly what it was the first night, almost as strong as the pull of the Bower.

Shateishael thinks about that for a moment... then grins mischievously, checking his pockets. Rosenstern grins softly, blushing, then blinks to Bella. "A leash...?" He sounds intrigued by the idea, and is unable to keep his gaze from drifting down Bella's form.

Shateishael rumbles amusedly, "Y'r wish is my command, lovely Seductress!" He grins, his eyes bright with delight as he flourishes the short leather leash he's just found rolled up tight in his back jeans' pocket. He snaps the end on the bright silver D-ring on Rosie's high collar, then hands the end to Bella with a cheerful bow. Bella laughs and takes the leash, using it to pull Rosie in for a kiss, mouth covering his like she would like to devour him. Her free hand reaches blindly for Slate, as if she doesn't want to lose contact with either one of them.

Rosenstern blinks at the leash, taking in a soft breath as Slate clips it on, his breathing quicker now and clearly enjoying it. Even so the sudden, hungry kiss from Bella takes him by surprise, least of all the involvement of the leash. He makes a soft, yielding sound, his eyes closing as he surrenders to Bella's kiss, giving himself to her with his lips. Shateishael wraps his arms around them both, practically pinning Rosenstern between he and Bella, rubbing himself gently against the slight Mercurian and rumbling quietly with pleasure as he watches both his beloveds responding strongly. He's solid and steady for them both to lean against if necessary.

Bella seems to drink in the attention her boys are paying her like it was strong wine. When the kiss breaks, her tongue slides over her lips as if savoring the taste of Rosenstern on them, voice still husky, "Sweet little pet. Definitely time to take you inside." She nips at Rosie's bottom lip with those slightly sharp teeth, then smiles past him at Slate, "I'm buying you a shirt like that when we get home, Slate."

Shateishael grins lazily, "Good. I c'n wear it while y'r wearin' y'r black latex catsuit I'm gonna get you, beautiful." Bella's laugh carries over the sound of some modern, bass-heavy music that seems to be coming from the pavilion. This is definitely different than the other nights they've been with the fae. Rosenstern looks up at Bella with half-lidded eyes, unable to do more than make a quiet sound of agreement, shivering deliciously with the lick of her tongue. The thought of Slate in that shirt and Bella in that ccatsuit back at the ranch makes him feel very, very warm inside. Shateishael looks startled at the sound of the music, as he raises his head to stare at the pavilion. He murmurs thoughtfully, "'Kay now... this's def'nitely diff'rent..." He grins then, turning to look at his lovers, "Le's go find out whassup!" He slides an arm about the waist of each of his lovers, then heads for the pavilion, his stride a bit eager, and that slightly aggressive glint still in his gaze.

The inside of the pavilion is torch-lit and looks... different. The rest of the time they've visited it has been made up in a very comfortable, if archaic, way. Tonight it looks strangely modern. Perhaps some of it is the large speakers set up in the quarters, playing music that is at once sensual and aggressive. The bass beat is much like the drumming the night Slate got so lost in the dance with Lilith. Some of the Ethereals are scattered around the edges of the pavilion, but many of them are dancing in the middle. The clothing, for those that are wearing any, runs heavily to rubber and leather and shades of black, deep red, eggplant purple and even a few glints of deep blue or green.

Soma is visible across the crowded dance floor raising a large mug to take a drink. He is also dressed in uncharacteristically dark clothing. Midnight purple pants sheathe his legs in leather and his torso is clad in a black latex shirt with a high collar and no sleeves. Armbands that match the pants hug his biceps and heavy silver bracelets adorn each wrist. The boots he wears have a four-inch platform across the whole sole and fasten with a series of seven buckles, the black leather looking like it's well-loved.

Shateishael draws in his breath slowly, looking around... then his eyes light up with a fiercely gleeful light as he drawls lazily, half-under his breath, "Oh, ye-e-aah!"

Rosenstern is... unused to this sort of thing, despite having been a very social angel. He appears quite dizzy, albeit taken with the vast array of sights and sounds -- so unusual to be seen in the fae encampment. He can barely let out a breathy, "Oh, wow...." And then he spots Soma, and his breath catches as he stares.

Bella's grin widens as they enter the large tent, tongue tracing over her lips and the points of her canines again, "This is going to be just fine, I think." Shateishael's chuckle in reply to Bella is almost a low growl... he can feel the strength of the glamour tugging at him, and he's got an almost erotic mix of dancing and fighting thoughts tangling in his head currently!

There are familiar faces, welcome and not-so-welcome both, in the crowd. The diminutive form of Peony is on the dance floor, moving sinuously with one of the male leprechauns. The redheaded female is dressed in a flared skirt made of something shiny and a halter-top of the same material. The color is scarlet. Unlike many of the dancers, her feet are bare. Bella lets her eyes scan over the crowd, wrapping Rosie's leash around her fist once and continuing to smile, "Should we go find Soma, or do we just want to plunge right into the dancing?"

Rosenstern swallows and looks up to Slate for his decision. For his part, Rosie looks like he's already well into doing whatever they say. Shateishael's low rumble is even deeper than usual -- almost growling as he murmurs, "Think we better siddown. Gonna hafta do some quick negotiatin' wi'th'li'l Rose..." His voice trails off as he noticed Peony, studying her avidly for a few heartbeats before he grins, "Swing dancin'!" He takes a breath, closing his eyes and shaking his head once to clear it -- then he looks at Bella with a grin, "'M guessin' this's why lotta th' 'Thereals were headin' out -- not alla them're innerested in modern stuff." He nods to a free table with two chairs at it, "How 'bout that'n, lover?"

Bella follows Slate's gesture and nods, guiding Rosie over with the leash. She insinuates herself into the chair -- sitting just doesn't quite do the motion justice -- and tugs the Mercurian around, motioning to the ground between the two chairs, "Knees."

Shateishael paces silently in after Bella and Rosie, initially looking around almost broodingly... but then he's distracted by the way his lovers are walking in front of him. Rosie's almost tentative steps accentuate the alluring insecurity of his balance, while the assured swing of Bella's rear make Slate draw a slow breath and put his hands behind his back. He sits down next to Bella and rumbles quietly to her, "Y'know y'gotta walk c'd melt icebergs there, gorgeous!" He wonders suddenly if this is why Bella often walks behind him and Rosie -- he gives a sudden bark of laughter at the thought, his eyes glittering with amusement.

Bella smirks and slides her hand down Slate's hip, "Mmm... I can have when I want to." Rosenstern slips down onto his knees obediently, feeling a warmth rising to his chest and cheeks, a wonderfully ardent sensual sensation shivering through him at her command. He settles his hands onto his knees, feeling comfortable and content and very, very aroused to be between his lovers this way.

Shateishael chuckles quietly, leaning to lightly brush his lips across Bella's temple... then he gently runs one large hand along Rosie's hair, leaning to rumble quietly to the kneeling Mercurian, "C'n y'unnerstan' me, sweet blossom? Need t'talk t'ya bit b'fore anythin' happens t'night." He studies Rosie's eyes, and the warm, utterly trusting look there gives him a sudden internal tingle of pleasure. He licks his lips slowly, gently sliding his fingers under Rosenstern's chin so he's the entire focus of the little angel, "Y' 'member y'safeword, beautiful?"

Bella strokes Rosie's hair, purring, "Good boy." She smiles at Slate as he starts laying down the rules for the sweetly submissive angel for the night. Her attention does get drawn out to the knot of bodies moving in the center of the pavilion, eyes almost hungry. Across the pavilion Soma is moving onto the dance floor with a familiar-looking nymph. She looks like the one that was with Bacchus the night Bella gave her little belly-dancing lesson. The pair of them move like they've danced together before.

Rosenstern prrrrs long and deeply with the petting, and nods beatifically as Slate tilts his chin up to face him. "My safeword is 'Uncle.'"

Shateishael nods, "'Kay, 'at's good. Now, 'm guessin' sumpin's up t'night wi' Soma, 'n that means it's gonna be up wi'ev'ryone here -- c'n feel th'glamour pullin' even on me. So, wanna be sure y'r safe, so me'n Bellisima 'n Soma're gonna be th'on'y ones t'hold y'r leash t'night, 'n I wantcha t'obey 'em same's y'd obey me, if'n they gotcher leash. Soun' good, sweetheart?" He wonders a bit, internally, just what Soma is up to. It's worrying him just a touch -- he's got a somewhat alarmingly strong desire to get into a fight tonight, and he's not sure why it's happening! He firmly reminds himself: dancing is fine -- he can dance all he likes to work off his seething internal energy.

Rosenstern nods his head. "Yes, Slate. I will only let yourself, Bella, or Soma hold my leash, and I will obey them, depending on who's holding my leash, as I would you." As the angels negotiate, Bacchus re-enters the main tent and looks around with a slight squint. When he spots the angels, he moves toward their table.

Shateishael sighs quietly, faintly relieved, and leans to gently kiss Rosie's forehead, "Good boy." He leaves his hand resting on the kneeling Mercurian as he straightens and rumbles to Bella, "'At means we gotta be sure he's not left 'lone 'tall t'night too, gorgeous. I'll talk t'Soma, 'n make sure it's 'kay t'hand Rosebud off t' either a' us." He's silent a moment, musing, then adds, "If'n y'gotta take 'im out f'r some relief, jus' let one a' us know -- Soma 'r me -- so we don' worry, 'n I'll tell Soma same thin', 'kay?" He thinks, then adds, "I f'get anythin', beautiful?"

Bella's eyes half-close as she thinks for a moment, crimson lips curling into a smile, "I'll try to remember to actually get him outside before using him for relief." Rosenstern's only reaction is to give a soft purr at that. Shateishael snorts amusedly, leaning to cup the back of her head gently with his free hand and draw her to him for a hungry kiss. Bella kisses back just as eagerly, fingers of one hand gripping the collar of Slate's shirt. There's a sound dangerously close to a moan coming from her throat.

There's another of those discreet coughs, only a little louder to get over the music. Rosenstern is taking the opportunity of Slate and Bella kissing, to run his hand along Slate's calves, while he rests his head on Bella's knee. He only feels a twinge of self-consciousness when he turns his eyes to whomever has arrived -- oh, it's Bacchus.

Shateishael is growling softly low in his throat as Bella's hunger lights him on fire, his hands tightening slightly despite his care. For just a fraction of an instant he feels a flash of real irritation at whomever's interrupting him -- then he rigidly reins himself in -- he's a warrior, not a butcher! He has to try twice to disengage from Bella, though -- he's never been good at denying her anything, and he's breathing hard when he finally straightens and gives Bacchus a dryly amused look, "Y'r timin's gettin' either better'r worse... not sure which!" He chuckles, taking a deep breath, then rumbles quietly, "Whut's up t'night, Bacchus? This... I c'n feel th'glamour pullin' on me...?"

Bacchus smiles wryly, "Sorry about that..." He doesn't actually sound too contrite, "I was just going to warn you, but I think you're feeling it. Something's kick-started Soma in a big way. I have a couple of ideas, but people are being a little less... constrained." He tips his head toward the dance floor, indicating that several of the couples and groups are being shameless about sensual and even erotic touch.

Shateishael raises an amused eyebrow, glancing at the dance floor, then back at Bacchus, "Well now, 'ppreciate th'warnin'... but we did kinda notice durin' th' clothin' change!" He pauses, then curiously growls, "Any idea who put a quarter in Soma?"

The satyr is dressed in a simple leather kilt that seems to match the harness he's wearing. He snorts and grins, something wicked in his eyes as his gaze falls on the kneeling Mercurian, "I have a good guess. But it's been a long time since I've felt things flare this strongly."

Shateishael nods thoughtfully, "This's lot more modern'n I've ever seen here b'fore, too." He hms, then rumbles, "'Kay... need t'talk t'Soma anyways." He glances up at the satyr and nods politely, "Thanks f'th'heads-up. We likely t'hafta shove anyone off, 'r folks still able t'take a p'lite 'no'?"

Bella finds herself looking Bacchus over with a new perspective. She blinks as she realizes that the glamour is having an effect far stronger even than the first night when she couldn't keep her hands to herself. She laughs as she realizes she doesn't actually mind. Her hand moves, passing the end of the leash off to Slate. Bacchus chuckles and smiles as he catches Bella's thoughtful look, "They'll take no, but they're likely to be more bold about asking." As he's finishing, Soma appears out of the crowd. The tall blue-skinned sidhe is almost gliding across the ground.

Shateishael's attention is grabbed by Bella's action, and he glances at her inquiringly -- then at the leash. He takes it reflexively, then frowns in a bit of perplexity. How to attract Soma's... he snorts quietly to himself. Dumb question! He nods to Bacchus, then murmurs with quiet amusement to Bella, "Have fun, lover." He lightly strokes Rosie's hair, waiting for Soma to come over.

Bella leans over and hooks her fingers into Rosie's collar so she can give him a hungry, possessive kiss before standing, "I think if I don't go dance some of this off, things are going to get out of hand."

Shateishael nods a touch ruefully, muttering, "I hear that..." He carefully keeps his gaze away from the dance floor, curbing his intense desire to move. Soon... just not quite yet. Rosenstern makes a soft, eager whimper as he returns/surrenders to Bella's kiss, then smiles to her as he watches her move off, curling up beside Slate's leg and resting his head on the Seraph's knee, almost but not quite wrapping himself around Slate's boot. Shateishael is gently, absently stroking Rosie, concentrating on self control.

Smiling that same languid grin, Bella curls her hand around one of the straps of Bacchus' harness, "You're going to dance with me." Without actually waiting for him to answer, she turns and heads toward the floor. The satyr blinks in surprise and then laughs, "Yes, ma'am." He trots off after her, sketching a salute to Soma as he passes.

The fae lord has a pair of mugs in his hands as he moves up beside the table; he sets them down wordlessly in front of Slate and lowers himself into the just-vacated seat. The Ethereal is breathing a bit heavily from his dance and his eyes are like miniature novas, "I had wondered if we'd see you tonight."

Shateishael nods to Soma, his expression faintly amused, "'Course, Summer Lord. Thanks." He has a long draught of his ale, then tilts his head. He studies the slender butterfly fae's dramatic outfit, then drawls amusedly, "Gotta ask, man... whut got inta you t'night?!" He leans forward to offer the little Mercurian a sip from his mug as well, still amusedly watching Soma. Rosenstern lifts his head up just enough to take a small sip from the offered mug being held for him, though his eyes are bright and welcoming to Soma.

Soma looks down at Rosie with naked hunger flashing across his face, "I crossed over and spent some time in Zareh's garden, thinking. This seems to have followed me back." His eyes follow the line of the leash from Slate's hand to the collar Rosie wears and he smiles, "Though I was feeling things trying to... rise up... when the sweet petal stayed with me."

Shateishael nods thoughtfully, his fingers going back to playing with Rosie's hair after he's set the mug aside. "'Kay, 'at makes sense. Whut were y'thinkin' 'bout, though, if'n y'don' mind m'askin'?"

The Ethereal king's laugh is low, intimate, "When, Slate? Just this instant, or when I brought the glamour into being tonight?"

Shateishael says, "Th'glamour, man." He shakes his head, looking for a moment like a baffled lion, "Keep wantin' t'get inta fight t'night -- that ain't like me, usually!" On the dance floor Bella and Bacchus have lost themselves to the music, moving together like they've always been dance partners. The Bright is leading, seeming to draw the satyr to her like steel to a magnet. Shateishael grins tightly, "That, 'r dance someone's legs off... think that'd be better, all thin's considered..."

Soma smiles slowly, "I haven't had this much to work with in a long, long time, Warrior... I think it may be trying to get away from me." One hand reaches toward Rosie, but doesn't actually touch the kneeling angel, "Perhaps you should work some of your aggression out with Rosenstern." Rosenstern tilts his head to the side, and looks merrily and a bit hopefully up at Slate. Soma's smile widens slightly, "And later I think I would like a similar chance with him."

Shateishael nods quietly, "Prolly will, but b'fore then wanted t'ask ya if'n y'd be willin' t'help out me'n Bellisima t'night wi'th' li'l Rosebud. Wanna be sure he's safe, so he's t'on'y obey whoever got his leash currently." He absently slips the leash over his wrist as he speaks, and with the other hand gently leans Rosenstern's head against his thigh.

As he's talking to Soma, Slate starts half-automatically braiding the strands of multi-colored hair behind Rosenstern's left ear, "Y'willin' t'be one 'a th'folks we c'n han' his leash off to t'night? He 'members his safeword, 'n there's no sharin' 'less it's wi'Bella 'r m'self, 'course. 'N if'n y'cain't wait 'n needta take him outside, jus' let one 'r t'other a' us know so we don't worry. That 'kay wi'you?" He glances down at Rosenstern, taking note of what he's doing, and mutters a thoughtful, "Hunh," at the slender braid he's got half finished. He pauses, looking up at Soma, "'N y'gotta piece a' cobalt blue thread on ya?"

Soma laughs throatily and has to drag his eyes up from what Slate's fingers are doing to Rosie's hair to actually look at the Seraph. "I'd be honored to be one of those people, Slate." He shakes his head to the question about the thread, "Will this work instead?" The fae winces very slightly as he tugs three long strands of his own hair out and holds them out on his palm. Somhairle's gaze falls back to Rosie as he waits for Slate's answer, eyes sliding over what his magic has done to the slender angel's appearance, "And I will be certain to let you know if I need to ravish your pretty pet."

Shateishael smiles, accepting them and starting to weave them into the braid, his large fingers moving with careful delicacy, "Yeah, tha's nice; thanks. Figger th' li'l Rosebud'd like t'have alla his lovers woven inta his lover's braid." Since Soma's hair is by far the longest, Slate has plenty to use to tie off the slender braid and leave a nice tasseled end as well. He smiles again, gently stroking Rosenstern's hair and admiring the effect, "Y'like it, Rosebud?" He chuckles at Soma's words, "Hey now, be nice... tryin' t'share, like wi' frien's, 'n this's still new t'me."

Rosenstern makes a warmly contented sound as Slate pulls his head against the big Seraph's thigh, rubbing his cheek against Slate. He brightens visibly as Slate starts to weave Soma's hair into the braid, veritably purring as he does so. When it's done, he looks like he's ready to start glowing himself. He bobs his head quickly to Slate. "I love it; thank you, Slate!"

Shateishael smiles quietly at Rosenstern, his fierce gaze softening a bit at the little Mercurian's obvious pleasure. Then he takes a breath, looking up at Soma again, "Thanks; jus' wanna be sure he's 'kay. Don' wanna get inta any fights t'night if'n I c'n help it."

Soma chuckles and reaches over to stroke the side of Rosie's face, fingertips barely touching the skin, "You've done wonderfully at sharing, Slate. I'm simply acknowledging that he's yours above all else." His hand eventually comes to rest on Rosie's shoulder, "I will hope no fights bring themselves to you, then." He tips his head toward the dance floor, "Go dance... I think I'd like to watch the way the two of you move together."

Shateishael smiles a touch ruefully at the butterfly fae... then gives Soma a curious glance at his last comment, "Y'sure? C'n wait a bit if'n y'wan' some time wi'Rosie?"

Soma smiles slightly, tongue sliding over his lips, "Oh, I'm sure. Sometimes things are made sweeter by the ache of anticipation." The way his clothes sheathe his body, it's clear what he means by anticipation.

Shateishael chuckles quietly, nodding, "Oh, yeah, gotcha on that'n." He looks down at Rosenstern, his eyes brightening a bit, "So, pretty flow'r... wanna dance?" Rosenstern beams to Slate, bobbing his head. Shateishael is listening to the music to check what dance they'll be doing, as he carefully stands -- he doesn't want to accidentally step on Rosenstern. He leans to offer Rosie a hand-up as well. "C'mon then, pretty... le's use up some energy, eh?" He absently adds, "Y'know any dances, li'l Rose?" as he listens.

Rosenstern grins, looking a little less drowsily submissive and more active, taking Slate's hand and standing. "I know a few," he purrs demurely. "Though this is the kind of mood for a samba... or a tango, but you and Bella already danced one of those," he adds, eyes twinkling mischievously. The music is fairly modern dance music, but it's not the eleventy-million beats per minute stuff -- it's got a sensual beat -- meant to get bodies moving together.

Shateishael's voice is a bit throaty, and the drawl more pronounced than usual, as he rumbles amusedly, "Bella made me promise t'dance a tango wi'ya b'fore Burnin' Man finished, so this'll do jus' fi-i-ine, 'm thinkin'." He neatly flips the leash about Rosie's neck so it lays flat and is tucked in, then slides one arm about the little Mercurian's waist. His grin is a bit predatory, "So y'know how t'tango, lovely? Y'know it's a story, 'n th'story don' hafta be true t'be 'vocative 'n beautiful, yeah?"

Rosenstern mm-hmms, grinning and slipping his arm around Slate. "I was dancing tangos in Berlin, love, before some madman started the First World War. Rrrr, but I admit I've never danced it from this side...."

Shateishael's eyes are heavy lidded as he rumbles lazily, "Firs' time f'ev'rythin', sweet blossom... c'mon..." He leads Rosenstern out onto the dance floor, taking a moment to catch the sway and rhythm of the music -- then, with a warning tap of his fingers on the slender Mercurian's waist, he whirls Rosie into the dance!

Soma leans back in his chair, wings flaring as he watches Slate lead Rosie out onto the dance floor. He's smiling to himself, sipping from the second mug he brought to the table. Though he's ostensibly watching the pair of them, most of his attention is on the way Rosenstern moves and the way the clothes the glamour brought into being hug his little lover's body.

Rosenstern's eyes are bright as he looks into Slate's eyes, and then suddenly he's within the throes of the tango; his movements become sultry and sensual as he writhes into the steps of the dance. His body becomes alive in Slate's hands, sinuous as he moulds his body against Slate's when the dance calls for it.

Shateishael's tango for Rosie is different from every other one he's danced so far at Burning Man. In other tangos his role in the story has been pursing or suspicious lover, but tonight Rosenstern and the glamour are bringing out something different in Slate -- he is aggressively, magnificently confident. His lover is his, of this he is sure, and his casually possessive movements allow the little angel to shine within the dance, but never permit him out of Slate's casually caressing hands. Like any other careless lover sure of his conquest, Slate's hungry gaze roves across future possible conquests, even as his firm grasp on his delicate partner restrains any attempt at straying. His slight lover's soft, heated gaze is for he alone; he alone shall possess and satisfy his achingly sweet leman!

Rosenstern catches the story of this tango fairly early on, and surrenders himself to it as easily as if Slate had simply told him to wear something specific. It does no less to mute the lithe angel's desire, though, and he gives in to it earnestly. Slate -- his lover, his dominant, his master -- consumes him, becoming a flame to which Rosie is drawn to achingly and ceaselessly. Every caress given him is a treasure, making him want nothing more than to give himself body and soul to his lover. And so his eyes are for Slate alone, his body a receptacle for his lover's lust and passions, every sinuous arch of his back or curl of his leg being nothing more or less than a submission to Slate's passion, a prayer that it might never be slaked.

With his gaze wandering, Slate can see Bella moving through the music with a young Ethereal that looks half-familiar. He wears a black tank top and simple jeans with motorcycle boots. Though the male is clearly the larger of the two, it's the Bright that has control of the dance. The pair of them are barely touching, one of his hands on Bella's vinyl-slick hip, one of Bella's hands against the back of his neck.

The big Seraph is deeply into the dance's story -- his body language reflects sudden greed at sight of a new conquest awaiting. His hands whirl the little Mercurian almost casually about him, dipping the lovely little submissive deeply, then lazily running his fingers slowly and lightly along Rosie's bared throat. The possessive gesture tantalizes his partner even as it invites attention from another lover. His eyes glitter with a hard, almost raging need tightly reined in, full of promise for a lover who dares provoke such temptation unleashed.

On the sidelines, Soma's gaze is riveted, as is the attention of several other people in the room. The monarch has been joined by the slight form of Peony, who is murmuring to the sidhe with a mischievous grin. The summer lord laughs and nods, eyes going heavy-lidded as he answers. On the dance floor, Rosenstern's eyes are closed in rapture with the slow touches that his lover draws along his body, giving himself desperately to his dominant so that he might be caught by his diminutive lover's charms alone. His motions, his touches upon Slate are teasing and yet almost blatantly sensual, eager and willing and inviting and pleading; yet at the same time tempting, trying to draw Slate into the pleasures of the flesh that he is desperately trying to convince his lover are his and his alone to give to his dominant and master.

Bella and her dance partner, who is obviously Ajax in human guise now that they're closer, have moved into orbit around the Seraph and the Mercurian. The Bright's eyes catch Slate's, seeming to ignite with lust as she gazes at the big blond over her current partner's shoulder. She moves in, pressing herself against the young Ethereal's body and drawing him away, heat showing in every line of the glamour-wrapped centaur's body.

Shateishael's body language practically shimmers with lust, and his chuckle is a low growl -- she may spurn him now, but he'll have her yet! His attention still on her, he plays his little partner like an instrument -- a shining testament to his skill in awakening a lover's passions. Rosenstern is lifted and lightly whirled, his body arched gracefully in Slate's powerful arms; just as easily he's set gently on his feet and twirled out to the full extent of Slate's reach -- then swiftly drawn back in for a few close pirouettes where Slate leans his head to murmur sensually tantalizing promises to his luscious little lover, his lips brushing the soft skin of Rosenstern's throat even as Slate's eyes hungrily devour Bella. His naked pride in his skill is palpable in his every powerful, demanding movement.

Rosenstern's sensual surrender is almost complete now; he has given everything to his lover and continues to give, to try and draw him into his submissive once more and forevermore. With each time, his presentations of his body to his dominant become more and more bold, more complete. Each chance he has, his body becomes a sinuous, living accessory, draping himself upon Slate's arms with every suggestion that his lover might take him back for good. His gaze is heavy-lidded and needful, watching Slate with unabashed desire.

Soma is leaning over the table, breathing obviously speeding up as he watches Rosenstern in Slate's arms. The glow from his eyes has spread to his skin, and tension sings in the set of his shoulders, the flick and flutter of his wings. Peony and Bacchus have moved away, leaving the Summer Lord to himself. They've joined the Ethereals on the dance floor, but have managed to resist the pull of the magic enough that they are simply dancing together.

The centaur follows the Bright, pulled along by her fist curled in the cloth of his shirt. She leads with her hips, each step backward starting with a sensual roll that moves down her latex-clad leg and ends with the drawing back of an exquisitely shod foot. Ajax's hands rest on her waist and the archer watches her like there's nothing more fascinating on the face of the planet. With the glamour clinging to everyone, it's hard to tell where the story ends and true desire begins.

Shateishael chuckles quietly again, a ferocious passion alight in him. His aggressive confidence is outlined in the sure movements of his strong hands, the proud lift of his head as he tosses back his blonde mane, the powerful intensity in his devouring gaze. She's showing off for him -- he has her attention now, and soon she will submit to his appetites. But for now... he will sate his tempestuous hunger in the delicious little lover he owns so thoroughly, body and soul.

Rosenstern's motions finally submit to the inevitable, that his lover and master will always have his gaze taken by another, and for now all he can do is give himself completely and totally. Even so the lithe dancer knowingly is driven by his own passions and needs and desires, and those are all given lease in the strong arms of his lover. With a passionate inevitability, he continues to offer up his body to his partner and lover, if not to slake his lover's thirst for desire than to drown himself in that same passion. As the music swirls into the final crescendo, Slate slides Rosie out low, near the ground -- then draws the slight Mercurian back as he straightens, one hip outthrust and his gaze turned almost disdainfully away, leaving the little angel stretched out along Slate's booted leg and side, one hand reaching out almost pleadingly.

The song crashes to an end and finds the two couples that have been orbiting one another standing so close that Ajax's back is almost against Slate's. The young centaur is looking half-dazed, but he's smiling down at Bella easily. He ducks his head close to murmur something to her that makes the Bright laugh softly. The Bright hugs him and they step apart, the edges of the sensual tension from the dance still there but in a way that both of them seem OK letting slip away. In the pause between songs Bella's voice purrs, "I think I need something to drink." Ajax's rumbling laugh follows and he murmurs, "I think I'm going to step out for a breath of air." As the centaur moves past Slate and Rosie, he nods in acknowledgement, eyes twinkling.

Shateishael is breathing slow and deep as the music stops -- ordinarily he can shed a dance's story easily, but the glamour is a gently distracting tug on his senses. He turns his head to look down at Rosenstern, his pupils contracted almost to pinpoints, and has to visibly pull himself together before he leans down and easily lifts Rosie to his feet. He nods distractedly to Ajax, then murmurs quietly to Rosenstern, "Y'okay, li'l Rose?"

Rosenstern purrs softly as he presses gently up against Slate, sliding his arms around the big Stone angel's waist. "Just... perfect," he whispers.

Shateishael sighs in quiet relief, holding Rosie close as he heads back towards the table, "Good. Sorry, that wuz... more 'ntense th'n usual f'me..."

Rosenstern smiles slowly to Slate, reaching up to touch his fingertips to Slate's cheek as they walk. "Mmm, I liked it, Slate. Intense is goo-o-od."

Bella has moved back to the table with Soma and claimed what was left of Slate's drink, head thrown back as she drains the mug in one long, thirsty swallow. Soma has settled back in the chair but he can't seem to pull his eyes off the male angels. Shateishael grins at Soma's hungry gaze, murmuring quietly to Rosenstern, "Well now... think mebbe 'm gonna take a break, 'n give ya t'Soma f'a bit. Y'okay wi'that, li'l Rose?" He casually unloops the leash, turning his head to lightly kiss his lover's fingers as they walk.

Bella chuckles breathlessly, catching the end of the conversation, "Mmm.. intense is one word for it."

Rosenstern purrs then, and nods, delicately touching Slate's lips as his fingers are kissed. "Yes, love. I think that sounds wonderful."

Shateishael smiles at Rosie, then grins lazily at Bella, holding out the end of Rosie's leash to Soma, should the butterfly fae wish. "Mmm? Whutcha think a' it, then, lover? 'N..." he glances around, then back at Bella, "Wanta 'nother drink? Mite thirsty m'self too...?" He's quietly relieved the tango ended when it did... he's uncomfortably unsure how he'd react to Ajax had he gotten even more deeply into the dance role!

Soma comes to his feet as Slate and Rosie approach from the dance floor, skin bursting into intense light as he realize he's being offered the little angel's leash. His fingers curl around the leash possessively and he pulls Rosenstern in against him, free hand tangling in the hair on the back of the Flowerkin's head, voice a rasp, "You are the most beautiful thing in this court, petal."

Shateishael smiles quietly, watching Soma and Rosie with a simple happiness in their joy in each other. One hand lightly strokes down Bella's back in a gentle caress. Rosenstern blushes, shying a little even as he nuzzles against Soma. "It takes two, as they say, to tango," he murmurs, looking merrily to Slate.

Bella wraps herself around Slate, seeming to draw some kind of reassurance from the solidity of the Stone angel. She nuzzles against his leather-clad chest, breathing in the scent of him and watching Rosie with Soma. She tugs Slate's head down if he'll let her, murmuring, "I'm going to check on Ajax. The glamour's... it's not quite like the Bower, but it's intense." Disengaging herself, the Bright moves toward the door, leaving Slate to gather drinks. Shateishael chuckles quietly, then nuzzles Bella's temple gently before turning to get drinks for the table... and maybe a few more chairs!

Soma laughs softly and follows Rosie's gaze, releasing him gently but still keeping hold of the leash, "Or in that case, four. It was a gorgeous display."

Rosenstern grins sheepishly, wriggling a little in pleasure. "I'm very glad you enjoyed it, my Lord."

Shateishael looks a little worriedly after Bella, suddenly realizing Ajax might have been hurt by the dance. He looks irresolute -- should he go too? At Soma's words he looks back at the butterfly fae, rubbing the back of his head a bit sheepishly, "Yeah, um... jus' realized Ajax got caught in that... he likely t'unnerstan' it's a story, or did we jus' mebbe hurt his feelin's?"

Soma smiles quietly, petting Rosie's back softly, "I don't think you'll have hurt his feelings. We are a people made of stories, after all."

Shateishael looks relieved, "Oh, good. Thanks. Um... 'kay, gonna get some drinks then." He turns and paces off for some ale. His stride is unselfconsciously long and prowling again, now he's sure he's not harmed someone unwittingly. Moments later, Bella returns with Ajax and both of them are laughing. The young centaur gathers up extra chairs to put around the table, offering one of them to Bella in a rather courtly manner. The Bright settles in and smiles across the room at Slate gathering refreshments. Ajax has taken the seat on the other side of Bella, putting the Bright between himself and Soma.

Soma has settled into his chair again, smiling quietly at Rosenstern, "I think the Seductress had the right idea earlier. You looked comfortable on your knees, little lover." Rosenstern looks up to Soma, smiling with bright eyes as he slips down onto his knees, purring and putting his head on Soma's knee. Soma's hand comes to rest on Rosie's head, stroking his hair softly and looking down at the Mercurian with an utterly besotted expression. He leans down, almost whispering, "I didn't realize what I was going to unleash tonight, but I'm glad I did."

Rosenstern half-closes his eyes, smiling softly as he lightly rubs his head against Soma's hand. "Rrrr, so am I, my Lord...."

Shateishael glances around with interest at the strikingly dressed members of the court -- this is still quite fascinatingly unique to him! He smiles and holds up 4 fingers to the entity manning the keg, wondering if he can get a few more dances tonight. He still has that slightly bristly, aggressive feeling... but he figures a few more dances should help abate it. Pan, as usual, is with the kegs. He smiles to Slate, and is dressed in something approximating an old-fashioned diner waitress outfit, but in patent leather. Shateishael raises an eyebrow, his gaze going slowly down Pan's front, then up again... then he grins, "Man, wish't I knew how t'keep some a'th'clo's we're seein' t'night! Y'all ever figger out how t'do that?"

Pan laughs and puts his hands on his hips, "This came in with me, Warrior." He laughs again and smoothes the little apron, "Granted, I do drag shows in my non-court life."

Shateishael's eyes widen a bit -- then he tosses his head back with an easy roar of laughter! A moment later, when he's back under control, he grins, shaking his head amusedly, "Eyah, guess I asked f'that! Ah, well... we c'n allus try t'find sumpin' similar once't we're home 'gain, I guess." He collects up the four mugs of ale, grins and thanks Pan, and heads back toward the table, still looking around with great interest at what others are there and wearing. He's starting to realize, a little uncomfortably, there's a lot more pressure due to the glamour here and now to be a Warrior... and he's also keenly aware picking a fight just for the exercise and joy of it would not be right! He's going to have to figure out how to shed some of this energy fast -- he can feel it coiling up inside him like an earthquake waiting to happen.

The Ethereals present all seem to be wearing quite modern and, in most cases, quite provocative and sensual clothes. At least one of the female sidhe seems to be wearing nothing but a pair of X's made of some black tape over her breasts and a pair of black panties. The satyrs in the crowd are almost all wearing trousers or kilts of some kind, which is far from the norm over the last week and a half. Almost before Slate has had a chance to put the mugs down at the table, Peony has appeared again, eyes bright, "So... would you fancy another dance with me, Slate?"

Shateishael blinks a bit bemusedly down at Peony, his thoughts still elsewhere... then grins, "Love to, Miz Peony! Gimme justa sec..." He carefully sets the mugs down, then has a long draught of his. After that he gently strokes Rosie's hair with a finger (trying not to loom over Soma, who's currently holding Rosie's leash), then leans to kiss Bella's cheek and murmur to her that Rosie can have Slate's ale. He grins and nods politely to Soma and Ajax as well, "Later, guys, yeah?" He turns and starts to offer his arm to Peony... hesitates... then tries the more familiar and friendly offer of his hand instead?

The tiny leprechaun takes the offered hand and smiles, "You seem a little more comfortable with this music than the music the first night we danced." She's very careful to let Slate do the leading out onto the floor.

Shateishael chuckles quietly, "Bit more f'miliar wi'this music than Celtic, swee- er, pretty lady." Unfortunately he doesn't notice Peony's courtesy, mostly because he's already scanning the floor eagerly, striding swiftly out with his pretty partner to dance. He adds a bit sheepishly, "Also, lot easier t'do stuff wi'th'glamour pushin' me." He tosses his head back, drawing a deep breath and growling low in his chest with pleasure. The music suits his mood -- or perhaps his mood is being created by the music -- dark, sensuous... he has the uncharacteristic urge to run his hands lightly over the little leprechaun as they dance, to press her close to him, and for a moment his eyes flare with passion as he looks down at her... and then he takes another deep breath and shakes his head once, sharply, to clear it. Amusedly he thinks to himself, [Dancing, boyo, not sex!]

Peony grins and nods, "We've got Pan to thank. He works at clubs as a DJ and entertainer when he's not with us. He brings the sound system... I think Soma asked for the mood of all this..." She looks around and picks up her pace enough so that Slate doesn't have to drag her.

Shateishael mms at Peony's words, his eyes half-lidded as he swings around and simply starts dancing in place -- he can't wait any more! He leans to rumble to Peony over the music, "Where's he work? Wanna go dance there too, if'n it's like this!"

The leprechaun's eyes widen a little, recognizing the difference in Slate. This is a whole realm away from the diffident, almost nervous aspects she's seen of him. Grinning, she starts to move with him, close enough that she's obviously his dance partner but not quite pressing herself against him. Her hands actually move through her own hair or down her own hips, "Mmm... here and there... think his home base is in the Seattle area."

Shateishael nods thoughtfully, "'Kay... might stop by next time we're inna area f'th' Renfaires 'n stuff. Know th'name a'his club?" His gaze is slow and intensely avid on Peony as she strokes her hair, "An... that where he does th' drag shows? Tha's where guys dress up in women's clo's, right?"

Peony has closed her eyes, moving through the music, letting it carry her through it. [Keep the hands busy; don't grope the big blond...] she's thinking very intently and misses the first question. She spins, unthinkingly putting her back to Slate, hands stretching over her head as if reaching for something out of her grasp, "Mmm... more than that, though. Pan in women's clothes is hard to tell from an actual genetic woman..." Her hands go back to her hair, pulling it upward and baring her back from nearly the base of her spine up to the nape of her neck.

Shateishael reflexively reaches for Peony's hands as she reaches up, his large hands sliding smoothly down her arms and sides to her waist -- there's a moment's hesitation, and then he laughs, stepping gracefully into the moves of a swing dance. Peony's lifted easily up off her feet and swung up to arch her gracefully over Slate's shoulder, then back down again, settled lightly on her feet. Slate tilts his head thoughtfully, watching her to see if she reacts correctly for swing or not. Peony does a very good job of not freezing when Slate touches her, and when she's swung up over his shoulder she laughs delightedly. Put back on her feet, she reaches for Slate's hand, bare feet doing a quick out and back step that's something like a very simple jitterbug.

Shateishael brightens noticeably, his eyes lighting up as he follows her steps. A moment later he steps in again and sweeps her gracefully up into a few of the more acrobatic moves of a good swing dance -- to the left, to the right, down and then up again! He's careful to pick moves which require her only to look good, since he's still not entirely sure how much swing she knows... but if she seems to have a good handle on it, he's happy to get more athletic with her! Not only does she shift into the moves Slate is spinning her through, she moves to compliment him, bare feet shuffling and kicking through the steps, shoulders moving to the rhythm as she spins around him and dips herself into his arms, trusting the big angel to catch and pull her back to her feet.

Shateishael laughs again, delighted at his partner's skill and comfort with the dance. He responds in kind, grinning and moving more exuberantly, his hands roving carefully over Peony's body as he spins her in whirling pirouettes, flips her effortlessly over his shoulders, swings her down between his legs and back again -- he seems determined to go through every acrobatic move ever created for swing! Peony is laughing and actually squealing delightedly at times. The spins, flips, and twists seem to come quite naturally to the leprechaun, possibly unsurprisingly after her display of acrobatics during the exhibition night. On one particularly exuberant pirouette her skirt spins out into a nearly flat plane, revealing that the halter is apparently a type of body suit, cut high at the hips but otherwise fairly modest. She doesn't seem to mind.

Shateishael's eyes are aflame, his teeth bared in an almost insatiably excited grin as he dances madly with the pretty little leprechaun. His training is good enough that he's automatically careful not to get into anyone else's way, but past that he's completely lost within the dance, utterly absorbed in the music and his agile little partner. Swing is a fabulous dance to show off a graceful, lithe woman, and Slate seems quite determined to make the entire court jealous of him!

Swing is wonderful also for being flirtatious and physical without being lewd or too personal. Peony seems to adore every second of being spun, flipped, and twirled. The increasingly energetic moves of the dance mean that the acrobatic, athletic Ethereal spends quite a lot of time with most of her legs bare to the Court and the other dancers. As the music and the dance comes to an end, Slate spins her around into another of those pirouettes that flares her skirt almost flat before the dance pulls her out to the farthest reach of their arms, to pull her back -- body sliding down and between his legs -- only to be swooped back and upward, ending with her pressed against his chest, feet clear off the ground. Her head is back in a joyous laugh, a very slight sheen of sweat across her forehead, hair a tousled mess.

Shateishael grins down at Peony, alight himself with the passion of the dance. The scent of violets and slightly sweaty woman distracts him -- his arms are full of her, and her soft hair brushes silkily along his bare skin, causing a tingling shiver. Her entire length is pressed distractingly close along his front... his head starts to dip down towards hers, his gaze hungry, almost feral -- and then someone applauds and he catches himself, straightening and taking a deep breath. Slowly he lets her slide down his front, setting her decorously on her small feet with his large hands resting on her slender waist still. He takes another deep breath, then grins down at her with a touch of rue, hoping she missed that almost-loss of self-control, "Y'r fantastic dancer, ma'am."

Peony's eyes are wide with the joy and exhilaration of the dance, holding her breath for an instant as Slate leans toward her. She actually blushes when the applause distracts the big Seraph from the not-quite-kiss, [Dammit... get a grip on yourself, girl...] She manages a wide, friendly smile despite wanting badly to throw herself back up into his arms and kiss Slate instead. Instead she curtseys, a twinkle in her eyes, "I'm not the only one."

Shateishael grins a touch more broadly, flushing with pleasure as he offers her his arm to leave the dance floor, "Thanks, ma'am!" He draws another slow breath, carefully reminding himself to behave tonight -- grabbing at the ladies of the court would not be appropriate! Instead he rumbles cheerfully, "Wanna drink?"

Peony takes the offered arm, fanning herself with her free hand, "Something cold and nose-numbingly alcoholic, I think."

Shateishael chuckles, heading for Pan's kegs, "We c'n do that, 'm thinkin'..." He sighs quietly, trying to relax a bit as he rumbles to the satyr, "One f'th'lady, please?"

The very theatrical dance with Peony seems to bring attention squarely onto Slate. Before he's barely had a chance to bring the cold drink to the still joyously grinning little leprechaun, someone else is tapping him on the shoulder. Once he turns around it turns out to be Ayra, dressed in a knee-length pencil skirt of black velvet and a poet's blouse with a dramatically scooped neck in rich rose pink. It's possibly one of the most delicately feminine outfits in the room. Her shoes are not quite stilettos, but the heels are high. Her hair is in a fanciful and intricate up-do and her makeup is dramatic. She looks a lot less fresh-faced and wholesome than before as she says, "My turn."

Shateishael blinks, looking Ayra up and down politely... then smiles at her and says honestly, "Y'look really lovely t'night, ma'am." He courteously excuses himself from Peony, then offers his arm to Ayra, "Got a p'tic'lar dance in mind, then?"

The dryad takes the offered arm and laughs, "Slate, I don't know any actual dances. If you tried what you just did with Peony, I'd break an ankle." The music has slowed down from the high-spirited, raucous tune the Seraph danced to with the little redhead. It's almost torchy by now.

Shateishael raises a mental eyebrow at Ayra's general demeanor... he thinks he's seen this 'look' before. What was it... a dark haired girl that everyone thought was terribly sexy... Beth, no, Betty something... "Ah! Bettie Page! Y'look like her!" He grins, "Very nice, Miz Ayra." He chuckles at her comment, sliding an arm smoothly about her waist and taking her left hand in his right hand, "Then if'n y'don' min', le's jus' close dance, 'kay?" He gently presses her body correctly close to his, then murmurs, "If'n this's too much, jus' say so, 'kay? Don' wantcha t'be uncomfy..."

Ayra's eyes twinkle, "I've been told that before..." she murmurs and fits herself against Slate in that same close-but-polite way. She can't resist, however, the urge to peek up at him through the heavy fringe of her eyelashes. The dimples still show, no matter how vampy she might look. "I'm not uncomfortable. It's the glamour. I promise not to take advantage," she teases.

Shateishael chuckles quietly, swaying gently with the graceful dryad and keeping the simple steps slow and close together. He murmurs amusedly, "Dunno 'f I'd notice if'n y'did, ma'am... been tole I don' catch that kinda thing real well." He's soon humming quietly along with the music, and at some point he simply sets her left hand on his shoulder, so she can practically loop her arms about his neck, and slides both arms about her waist, swirling her carefully and gently around him in the dance. With her arms looped up around the Seraph's neck, the dryad sort of snuggles in and puts her head against his shoulder, smiling quietly, body moving sensually against the big man. A moment or two on, one of her hands (which have been tipped with deep red nails) moves up to the back of Slate's neck. The nails drag over the skin there as she lets him move her through the crowd of people. There are a few admiring glances directed at them -- some toward him, some toward her, and quite a few at the image they present.

Shateishael finds himself growling quietly in pleasure a few times as they're dancing, although he's not quite sure why -- he hastily cuts them off, not wanting to alarm anyone around him. Instead he concentrates on enjoying the feel of her willowy form pressed close against him; the way her back and hips shift against his strong, enveloping arms... and when the music swirls to a close he turns them both in a lazily close pirouette, curiously reluctant to spin her out and away from him. He sighs internally, chastising himself when he recognizes he's dangerously close to sliding his hands along her smooth rear, and steps firmly back from her. He takes one of her slender hands and bows courteously over it, "Ma'am, thank you f'th'dance. Wuz lovely."

Ayra steps back and lets her free hand slide down the front of Slate's body, fingertips brushing down the front of his hip as he kisses her other hand. Her eyes are not quite half-open, "It was, definitely. I may drag you away for another tonight if you don't mind."

Shateishael straightens with a small smile, feeling curiously... steamy inside, "Ma'am, I'd be honored." As he walks back with her to the edge of the dance floor he wonders slightly at the unusual sensations he's getting inside. It's pleasant, but it feels like... like a slow-growing pressure, gradually increasing... he wonders if this really is what a building earthquake feels like -- and finds himself not worried, but rather dreamily entranced at the prospect.

After escorting Ayra off the floor there's a moment when one of his new female acquaintances isn't immediately dragging him off to the floor. Bella has been escorted out -- if the nearly worshipful way the young male leprechaun moves with her can be called escorting -- and is dancing in a way that's half belly dance and half simply moving in a way that calls attention to the way the low lights shine on the slick-looking cat suit.

Bast is on the edge of the crowd with her Djinn companion. The lady herself is dressed in something that seems to be made primarily of leather straps wrapped in such a way to approximate a shoulderless knee-length sheath dress. Her arms are adorned with spirals of silver chain that attach to her paw-like hands with rings over all eight of her fingers. The other ends attach to a bright metal collar around her throat. The Djinn wears only a collar and seems entirely comfortable that way.

One of the blue-winged butterfly girls is wearing a dress that's almost Victorian in its lines. Her slender waist is nipped in even tighter, giving an hourglass shape to a normally willowy figure. The high neck goes all the way to her chin and the sleeves all the way to her wrists. However, most of the bodice is sheer black lace, revealing far more than a proper Victorian lady would have dared.

Shateishael smiles when he notices both Bella and Rosie are happy, then decides he'd like another dance too. Hmm... he glances around, considering. He doesn't want to spook anyone, though... he might do best to ask someone who already knows him. He nods to himself, then grins and paces over towards the cat lady. He pauses before her, putting his palms together and giving a slight, polite bow to her, then her djinn companion. To her he rumbles courteously, "Greetings, Gracious Lady. Might you honor this one with the pleasure of a dance?" He's a bit surprised at the... very abbreviated nature of the djinn's outfit this night, but 'reads' it as the young-seeming Ethereal being very much Bast's liegeman.

Bast takes a long moment to look Slate over from head to toe and smiles, ears flicking, "It would be my pleasure, Warrior." She turns and kisses the Djinn on the cheek, handing him the glass she'd been sipping out of. "Hold this. I want you right on this spot when I come back." Velvet-padded paws slide over the dark-skinned Ethereal's chest in a way that makes the djinn go very still and smile sleepily. She turns back to Slate and tucks her hand into the crook of his elbow without being asked.

Shateishael smiles quietly at the interplay between the two, getting a lovely sensual inner tingle at the way it reminds him of Rosie. He politely escorts the ancient, beautiful, and inhumanly graceful lady onto the dance floor, then turns to face her, listening for what kind of dance they'll have. He's not willing to be quite so tactilely familiar with her as he was with his beloveds, or the two other women he knows better... so he carefully holds her paw-hands and smiles at her while he's listening to the beginning swirls of music.

The song has a drum beat that echoes a slightly elevated heartbeat and a sensuous, sinuous tune that's overlaid with sounds that seem almost to sparkle. The lyrics start out quite appropriately to the gathering: "Please to bend down for the one called the green man, he wants to make you his bride..." As the song starts Bast slides her hands up along Slate's arms to rest them on his shoulders. She fits her body against his so that when her hips begin a slow roll in time to the music, he has the choice to move with her or just let her slide against him.

Shateishael slides his arms about her slender waist, enjoying the sharp scent of leather and the slightly musky scent of cat. He moves with her at first in the dance, not precisely sure how to properly partner a former goddess, and not wishing to inadvertently offend. There's an amazing amount of sensual input this close to her -- the soft, warm purr of her breathing; the cool tickle of the chains along his bare arms, the heartbeat-raising warmth and pressure of her extraordinarily lithe form against him... he's having to concentrate hard on reining in the weird sense of pressure the glamour's been instilling in him tonight.

Once Slate starts to move with her, the former goddess turns one of her paws so that the cool chains and the velvety soft fur covering the back of it stroke over the side of his neck. She seems to have just given herself to the music and the press of the glamour around them. The feline form is pliant in his arms without being submissive, seeming almost to challenge the leather-clad angel to match her in the way her body moves. After a moment she turns herself in his arms, her tail wrapping loosely around one of his legs, leaving his hands resting on her stomach as she moves with him, still leading with her hips but letting the lithe movement slide out along her limbs as well.

Shateishael looks a bit surprised as she turns in his arms, then smiles -- he can do this. He tilts his head down a bit to the light stroke of her arm, his focused gaze entirely on the beautiful, sensual lady in his arms. As she dances, leaning lightly against him, he concentrates initially on matching her movements... then, when he's a bit more confident, on harmonizing with them. The music reminds him of a belly dance, and all the male dancers he's seen in those served as dramatic foils for the lithe beauty of the women -- this he knows how to do, and do well. His size gives her a strong base to dance from, and he accentuates her graceful, swaying movements with light, stroking touches of his hands, emphasizing her sinuous beauty with pleasure.

Bast seems to enjoy teasing Slate slightly, perhaps because he has been so carefully formal with her even during their first dance. The brush of her fur comes more often against the bare skin of his arms, seeming to roll her body into the stroking of his hands. It's a very feline way of moving, and eventually it's obvious she's quite literally purring under the touch. Further into the song, as Slate has begun harmonizing with her rather than just following, she turns to face him again, a flick of her tail brushing along his hip as she does. Shateishael grins lazily at Bast as he starts to relax and let go with the music and the dance, his half-lidded eyes getting a hungrily appreciative gleam. At no point does he touch her rudely, but as she sways into his hands more often, they move slower and more caressingly. When it's clear she's purring, he'll lean at one point to gently nuzzle at the base of one soft-furred ear, swaying easily with her in the swirling cocoon of music and sensation they've created between them.

The nuzzle makes the purring go up a notch and there's another sound with it -- a more human sound of appreciation. The ear flicks at the nuzzle and she leans herself into him, the whole of her body moving along his for a moment. Though he seems to be trying not to be too familiar, she seems to have no trouble in quite obviously teasing him with the textures and pressure of her body against his. When the song fades down, she licks her lips as if trying to get the last traces of cream from her whiskers, looking up into Slate's face with her mouth partially open and her pupils dilated so wide that the green of her eyes is almost completely obscured.

Shateishael enjoys the feel of the graceful woman pressing close to him, strangely unruffled by her clear sensuality this time around. As the music fades he also slows, studying her feline face with silent fascination, and gently stroking a savoring hand down the warm, smoothly furred curves of her back and the sleek slickness of the leather straps... he gets the oddest feeling she's waiting for him to do something, but he doesn't know precisely what. He wishes he did... he sighs softly, still smiling, and murmurs, "Y'dance as beautifully as y'look, Bright Lady."

With a throaty, half-purring laugh, Bast pushes herself up until she can nuzzle her cheek along the side of Slate's face, whispering close to his ear, "And you are as enflaming as you were in your fire form." She slides back to stand flat on her feet and inclines her head, turning and slowly swaying her way back to the djinn, who has been watching with hungry, hooded eyes. Shateishael does the same small, courteous half-bow and watches her walk away... if that graceful sway could be referred to so mundanely. He draws a deep breath, smiling, and shakes his head once to clear it again. [Damn but she feels nice! And so nicely complimentary too. Mmmmaybe... no. Behave, Shateishael. Her djinn's been waiting very patiently.] He looks around, breathing slow and deep to try to defuse the pleasant, increasing pressure he's feeling inside... does he dare ask someone to dance that he's not been introduced to yet?

While Slate scans the crowd, a pair of hands moves from behind him, coming to rest on his hips. He raises an amused eyebrow, tilting his head to see the hands, then look behind him with a lazy grin, "Mmmm?"

The hands belong to Bella, whose eyes are practically smoldering as she purrs, "Dance with me, love." He's been catching glimpses of her with other partners as he danced -- and that peculiar way her hair seemed to move with no wind during the first night in the pavilion is starting to manifest again. The tip of her tongue traces over her small fangs as she leans close to whisper, "Please."

Shateishael looks almost slightly dazed for a second -- then draws a sharp breath, gathering her close to murmur fervently against her shining hair, "Any time y'wan', m'heart's song." His hands stroke smoothly over Bella's back and sides -- almost her rear as well -- he inhales the musky-sweet-smoky scent of her, eyes half closed as he re-remembers her graceful, achingly beautiful self to his senses. For a moment she's the entire universe to him, and there's no one else there at all.

Bella laughs throatily and slides her arms around Slate's neck and her body against his in a way that seems to invite more than a simple dance. Her voice is still a little breathy as she starts walking backward, guiding him to the floor, "Mmm... I thought it might be safest, the way I'm starting to feel, if I stick to dancing with you or our little Rose." She arches into the stroking of his hands, tongue tracing over her lips again.

Shateishael growls quietly from the sheer sensual ecstasy of Bella in his arms again. He has to concentrate a moment to remember how to move -- then, a bit stiffly, he forces himself to follow her out onto the floor. By the time they're in place he's moving naturally again, although unless she insists he doesn't let her out of his arms. He rumbles quietly to her, "Y'feelin' it too? Been havin' t' remin' m'self r'peatedly t' b'have m'self. Keep wantin' t'..." His voice trails off as he draws in his breath again, trying to suppress, or at least control, the deliciously tingly shiver rolling through him. He sighs softly, relieved at being able to surrender to it now, and hungrily leans to kiss Bella's gleaming lips. He wants to drink her in, to drown in her!

Bella almost growls, "Keep wanting to touch them like I touch you..." Her hands slide down his back until they rest on his behind, tucked into the back pockets of his pants. As the kiss draws out and they both sink into it -- the Bright kissing back so hungrily that it's almost a demand -- the music starts again and she starts to move without even thinking about it. She follows her body and the song and her increasingly raw desire. The song is familiar, but the fact that it's Witchy Woman doesn't even strike her as odd or funny.

Shateishael nods slightly in agreement, but conversation past that is a bit beyond him currently. His strong arms are firmly wrapped about the lovely Bright, his breathing getting ragged as he leans into her, gathers her avidly up to him, sways slowly with her supple form... he's almost overwhelmed by the compulsion to love his exquisitely arousing beloved, and the glamour is utterly forgotten in the suddenly urgent pressure he has built up within him, raging for gratification and release.

The Bright can feel the tension in Slate more clearly than normal. Before she's even aware that her hands have moved up around Slate's neck, her fingers start undoing the buttons on the leather shirt he's wearing. Soon she's tugging the open shirt's tails out of his pants and sliding her hands up over his bared chest to his shoulders as if she means to push the garment off him. Shateishael shifts only as he's gently pushed to do so; aside from that he's completely, utterly engrossed in the kiss he's sharing with Bella, raptly absorbed in her lips, her scent, the soft sounds she makes, the taste and feel and sense of her. Just for this moment there is nothing else but her in his world.

Bella makes a little frustrated, whining sound when she can't get the shirt very low because of Slate's arms wrapped around her. That frustration is what makes her break the kiss -- with every intention of simply stripping the shirt off of him. Once the contact is broken however, she becomes marginally aware that they are on a dance floor, surrounded by Ethereals. Shateishael leans to follow the kiss, breaking contact only reluctantly. His eyes are aflame with a ravenous, almost passionate exaltation, and his gaze is locked to her. He growls quietly, trying to gently draw her in again, his big, calloused hands carefully urging her closer. Bella reaches up and puts her fingers over Slate's mouth, voice hoarse, "Either stop kissing me and dance with me, or take me outside, Shateishael," she murmurs. Most of her body doesn't seem to actually resist being drawn close, however, hips shifting against him in a motion that comes close to lewdness in its eagerness.

Shateishael doesn't actually look like he's all there currently -- he rumbles in lazy pleasure, then simply takes her fingertips in his mouth, teasing them ticklishly with his tongue. One arm draws Bella snugly close as he stands there with his shirt pushed halfway off his powerful torso, and his shaggy hair drifts distractingly half across his face. His free hand is caressing gently down her cheek, along her jaw line, the fingers feeling for the zipper tag... and then, almost disappointingly, reason comes back into his eyes. He blinks slowly, going still... then sighs softly, lifting his head and rumbling in quiet amusement, "Better tell me whutcha want now, sweetheart... cuz 'm havin' trouble thinkin', th'way y'feel jus' now."

The nibbling of her fingers nearly pulls Bella back into that no-mind space, but she struggles to keep enough of her wits about her to start walking backward toward the opening of the pavilion, one hand curling into the front of Slate's pants to pull him after her, her other hand reaching for the zipper tag at the front of her cat suit, "Out."

Shateishael chuckles rumblingly, his eyes afire with a growing need. He follows her eagerly -- sweeps her up into his arms as he moves past her, in fact -- and a moment later they're outside the pavilion, Slate's breath warm on Bella's throat as he rumbles softly, "Where, heart's desire?"

Bella waits until they are outside the pavilion to wrap herself around Slate, leaning in to nip and suckle at the side of his neck, "Don't care... out." Shateishael growls, the sound breathlessly urgent, and turns blindly towards the tents. He has no idea where to go yet -- all he knows is the driving need to get them both someplace private.

Bella looks around, thinking as clearly as possible in her current state of mind. She uses her chin to point toward the back edge of the encampment where there's much less light and many fewer tents, since no one seems to want to be all that close to Karl's forge, "Back there..."

Shateishael heads that way swiftly, trying to focus on getting there rather than the incredibly distracting way Bella feels in his arms... and how her lips feel against his throat. He's taking slow, deep breaths, not quite mumbling, "Focus, Shateishael!" under his breath to himself.

The shadows are deep here, the pavilion itself serving as a block for the torches and fires in the rest of the encampment. The angels are barely out of sight of the various tents and can see the damped-down glow from the big centaur's forge -- but the shadows here will conceal them from casual scrutiny. Bella takes a deep breath, "Here... don't want to leave the dome.... here."

Bella doesn't let go of Slate, panting against his neck and shivering slightly as she holds herself against him. Shateishael's chest is heaving, but his grip on Bella doesn't release. He's rather strongly not in his right mind currently, but there's enough consciousness left to remember not to drop his beloved. He bows his head again, resting it against hers and panting as well... and his lips curve up slightly in a quietly joyous grin. Several moments later, when his heart isn't racing quite so much he whispers, "Love you, beautiful..."

Bella laughs softly and reaches up a hand to brush strands of hair off his temple, "Love you... too..." She pants just a little and starts to unwrap herself from Slate once she trusts her own knees. "Ohh... thank you." Shateishael rumbles in quiet pleasure at her touch and her careful movements against him, shuddering slightly as she shifts. When she seems ready he gently -- almost reluctantly -- lifts her up and sets her on her own feet... although he'll gather her close to lean against him if she lets him. He feels almost overwhelmed for a moment with emotion -- Bella has never seemed more amazingly beautiful, more incredibly precious and awe-inspiring to him, and the urge to wrap himself protectively, adoringly around her is very strong just now.

Bella leans against Slate where he's been leaning against a heavy table Karl has outside the forge for laying out finished pieces to wait for their owners. She rubs her cheek against Slate's bare chest, one of her tiny horns just brushing his skin. For a moment, there's a flash of thought, [This is what it is to be home. This is belonging together.] Shateishael sighs quietly, his breathing evening out finally as he rests his cheek lightly against the top of her head. One arm is about Bella, tucking her warmly close, while his free hand reaches into his back pocket for a handkerchief. He murmurs softly, "Here, lovely, if'n y'wan'?" as he tucks it gently into one of her hands. He'll use it once she's done, he figures.

Bella laughs softly and cleans herself carefully, zipping the cat suit closed. She grins up at Slate after a moment and slides down to her knees to clean him up herself. After a moment she laughs breathlessly again. Shateishael groans in quiet pleasure, his large, calloused hands resting lightly on Bella as she does so, his eyes half closed. He shivers again when she laughs softly, grinning a bit ruefully at her and making a faintly inquiring noise. Bella looks up at Slate, eyes twinkling and hands resting on his hips, "I don't know if it's just me or the glamour, but even that just seems to pushed things back... I get down here to clean you up and find myself wondering if you're recovered enough..." Playfully, she gives a strangely chaste kiss despite it being bestowed in a rather intimate spot, and then starts to push herself back up to her feet. Her hair seems to be behaving as hair should and not moving except in the natural wind.

Shateishael shudders slightly at the kiss, responding to her despite himself, then laughs softly, "Mmmknow whutcha mean, lover. Certain 'dvantages t'bein' 'n angel, 'guess." Eyes glowing with happiness, he touches her shoulders lightly -- the gentlest of invitations for her to stay there if she wishes? The invitation is accepted with apparent eagerness, letting the pair of them get lost again in one another. Eventually Bella finds herself snuggled against the front of Slate's legs, cheek resting against the front of his hip as she works toward coherent thought again.

The only reason Slate's still standing is his ability to lock, Stone-like, into place... one hand is gripping the table still, and the other gently stroking Bella's hair while he pants again. He chuckles quietly once he's got his breath back, rumbling, "B'loved, w'd dearly love t'stay here all night wi'ya... but m' thinkin' we might wanna head back, 'case Soma needs t'leave f'a bit too? We did insist he tell one a' us b'fore leavin', after all." He smiles a bit, feeling her hair gently tangling about his fingers -- such an odd but pleasant effect the glamour's causing! He wonders if there's something his body is unwittingly doing also, just as her hair seems to possess a life of its own.

Bella laughs softly and gently fastens Slate's pants before standing and starting to button his shirt closed again, "Oh, fuck... uhm... I completely forgot about that for a second." It takes her a moment to make sure she's also put back to rights. Her hands slide over his forearms for a minute, "You feel like you have a fever."

Shateishael hms inquiringly, not really fighting the urge to run his hands over her in gentle caresses as she tidies them both up. A moment later he looks down curiously at one bare arm, "I do? Huh... nobody said nuthin' while dancin', though... don' feel bad 'r anythin'..." He checks, holding one hand over his forearm to see if he can sense the change of temperature, or if he's glowing or anything. His arm does actually seem to be glowing slightly. He's not got sparks coming off his skin as he did once before, but there is a definite faint light. Shateishael huhs puzzledly, rumbling, "Wonder whut this is... don' hurt 'r nuthin'." He looks inquiringly at Bella, "Not too hot f'ya, sweetheart?" He utterly misses the possible innuendo, alas.

Bella shakes her head, smiling and then snickering -- then giggling. Eventually she manages to say, "No, not too hot at all." One more deep breath and she slides her hand into Slate's, "Back inside?"

Shateishael blinks a bit bemusedly at Bella, a faint, puzzled grin on his face, "Whut? Uh, sure...?" He'll walk gladly along with her, very much enjoying how they both feel currently. He grins quietly at the faint glow, deciding it's just as well he doesn't have to sneak anywhere... he suspects he'd show up like a beacon in the night!

As they're headed back to the pavilion entrance, there's a movement from the shadows. It sounds like quiet footfalls, as of someone trying not to be heard. Shateishael's reaction is absolutely, reflexively unthinking -- he drops Bella's hand and whips around, lashing out with one hand for a grab. The low, ragged snarl that bares his teeth has an ugly, dangerous quality to it. He yanks whomever it is into the light, his eyes ablaze at whomever dares try sneaking up on his beloved- er, his... [Whoa, get a grip, Shateishael!] He takes a deep breath, trying to pull himself together, and lowers the raised fist, checking to see who he's collared before he does something violent.

The being Slate's holding by its collar looks almost like a leprechaun, but the characteristically red hair is pure white and the skin is only a shade or two darker. It's dressed in a simple black turtleneck and what look to be black leather jeans. It also looks like it might be ready to faint. Shateishael tilts his head curiously at the creature, then rumbles with his usual bluntness, "Who're you, 'n whutcha doin' sneakin' 'roun' us?"

The creature is almost squeaking, its voice is so nervous, "A-angus! N-name's Angus..." His feet are not quite touching the ground and his pale-blue eyes are huge, "G-got told c-come find you..."

Shateishael says, "Who by?" He studies the small creature curiously, then sets it gently on its feet, "Whut are ya, if'n y'don' mind m'askin'? 'N... y'okay?"

Angus swallows nervously and pushes his hair back off his head. He's actually a little smaller than the leprechauns and once put back on his feet, it becomes very obvious that he's not at all steady on them. It's also getting obvious that he's had a lot of something to drink, and it smells stronger than the ale, "Gaelach... want... wanted to know where y'd got to."

Shateishael chuckles quietly, "Ah. Well, le's go tell 'im, eh?" He hasn't released the smaller creature, and he turns now, heading for the pavilion and leading Angus along. Conversationally he adds, "Whutcha been drinkin', Angus?" He offers his arm to Bella with a grin.

Bella takes Slate's arm and moves with him, falling into the sensual sway of a walk that the heels necessitate. Angus stumbles along after Slate a little bit, "Uhhh... whisky... and... something clear."

Shateishael rumbles relaxedly, "Mmm? Y'drank sumpin' 'n y'din' know whut it wuz?" He's careful to not crush the little creature where he's holding him... but his grip doesn't relax enough to wriggle free.

The little Ethereal's voice is indignant, but it's also a little slurred, "Knew it was alcohol!" Shateishael chuckles quietly, then straightens a bit, pacing proudly next to his lovely lady as he steps into the doorway of the pavilion. He looks around, searching for Gaelach. Bella takes a deep breath as she's escorted into the pavilion, eyes closing slightly. The amount of sheer attraction concentrated here makes her feel slightly intoxicated.

Gaelach is standing in half-shadow, seeming relaxed and comfortable as he talks with a pair of winged fae, one male and one female. They are dressed in matching corsets and skirts. Only the fact that one has breasts really points out the difference in their gender. The Warrior archetype is almost Singing through Slate's veins, intoxicating and throbbingly alive -- if he had a crest or a tail he'd be carrying it high and proud! He feels heated, aggressive, eager for a confrontation... there's no subtlety in him tonight whatsoever. When he spots Gaelach his eyes flare ferally for a second, and he grins tightly, then bellows cheerfully, "Hey, Gaelach! Y'r li'l frien' says y'wan'ed t'know where we were. Here we are! Whutcha want, 'n why're y'sendin' folks sneakin' after us?!" He gently pushes Angus forward, putting his fist on his hip and standing proudly next to the alluring Bright Seductress. His grin is almost mocking by now.

Gaelach looks down at the extremely pale fae and arches a brow, "I mentioned to the clurichaun that I had wished to entreat the Seductress to a dance, but had lost sight of the pair of you."

Shateishael laughs, "Ah, a clurichaun, 'at's whut he is! Well, now, guess y'll jus' hafta ask her y'self, eh?" The Ethereal's statement doesn't feel quite like a complete fabrication to Slate, although it also doesn't feel like the complete truth... and so even though Slate's quite well aware he's potentially backing Gaelach into a corner should Bella publicly refuse the fae... he finds he doesn't really care.

Angus tries to meander off, but it's really more of a rolling stagger. Gaelach arches a brow at Bella and offers his arm, "A dance, Seductress? I promise to be a perfect gentleman."

Bella chuckles quietly and purses her lips thoughtfully, "A pledge to behave in a gentlemanly way... what do you think, beloved? Do you believe him?"

Shateishael winces at Gaelach's deceitful statement, then laughs aloud at Bella's question and rumbles amusedly, "Dear Goddess, does he painfully jangle th'Symphony!" He eyes the staggering Angus, then rumbles to Gaelach, "Y'need t'take better care a' y'people, dude."

Bella clucks her tongue and steps up to Gaelach, licking her lips in a way that makes the moth-winged fae concentrate very closely on her mouth for a moment. She leans a little closer to him with each word she speaks, "I. Don't. Dance. With. Liars." The very last word is a breath away from kissing him and then she leans back into Slate's arms. Shateishael smiles with quiet pride down at Bella, gently wrapping his arms around her... then he looks up at Gaelach. There's a dangerous glint in his eyes... a warning and a promise, if the fae tries anything stupid just now.

Gaelach is looking dangerously close to closing the distance to a kiss himself, but he's left blinking when Bella leans back. It takes him an instant to get his bearings, but when he does he laughs and shrugs carelessly, "Forgive me. There is something about you tonight that I think prevents utter chivalry." The moth-winged fae is wearing a specially cut coat that looks almost like a cassock. Beneath it is a form fitting black sleeveless shirt and a pair of black jeans. He wears cowboy boots on his feet. His comment seems directed at the Bright.

Shateishael's hand lashes out in reflexive speed again, catching one of Gaelach's arms. He growls very quietly and evenly, "You c'n badmouth me all y' wish... but if'n y' ever insult Bella again I will personally hurt you... very, very badly, 'n wi' great pleasure." He feels a fiery, smoldering heat within himself, as if he might burst into flame at the pressure of restraining himself from simply backhanding the insolent fae across the pavilion... he draws a slow breath, his fierce gaze unwavering on Gaelach for a second... then he releases, turning away with contempt, and murmurs to Bella, "C'mon... stinks here."

Gaelach goes very still, but smiles slightly, "Understood, Warrior." He turns back to his companions, apparently without a care as the angels move away together.

Bella leans close against Slate and murmurs, "I think you need to dance a little more or something, love..."

Shateishael wanders with Bella over to where they left Soma, still feeling like flame should shoot out his mouth if he opens it... he nods a bit tightly and rumbles softly to Bella, when he's fairly sure he's in control again, "A'mos' slapped him 'cross th'tent. Don' think that'd been quite neighborly."

Bella nods and strokes Slate's hair slightly, "Definitely need to dance, I think." She grins and laughs softly, "Unless you can find someone to spar with."

Shateishael sighs a bit wistfully, smiling quietly at her touch, "That'd be darned nice... but don' think anyone's exercisin' jus' now." He glances back, his Nature nudging him to make sure Angus has at least gotten out of folks' way, and isn't going to get trampled by accident. He adds a bit absently as he's looking, "'N dancin's awful nice too." Angus, in fact, has been herded to a table by a pair of leprechauns. One of them is Peony, who seems to be scolding the white-skinned Ethereal.

Bella grins, giving Slate a little nudge, "Then go ask someone to dance." Shateishael nods to himself, satisfied Angus is in good hands -- although he does wonder why a friend of Peony's would have anything to do with Gaelach... gold, maybe? He looks back at Bella, tilting his head curiously at her at the nudge, then turning to see where she's looking. Is there someone in particular she's just spotted?

The place she's looking is toward Ayra, who is standing and laughing easily with her father. Bacchus himself is nuzzling against the temple of an emerald-skinned being who is wrapped in something that looks like a toga made of black satin. Shateishael grins and turns back to gently kiss Bella's forehead, murmuring with his lips against her skin, "Y'r wunnerful, y'know tha', beautiful?" He listens to the music for a moment as it swirls through the introductory chords, then grins, "Yeah, nice slow one... hopefully she'd like this'un?"

Bella slides her hands down Slate's sides and smiles up at him, "I just like watching you move and I just got you back in here. Too soon to drag you out again." The song is indeed slow, once again torchy. The female singer's voice is smoky and whispery, the kind of voice most often heard at 3:00 a.m. after a long night of lovemaking.

Shateishael's eyes are bright with happiness as he smiled down at Bella, and then he turns and heads for the lady she pointed out to him, humming with quiet pleasure to himself. He paces over and stops next to the threesome, waiting for them to notice him so he's not interrupting. Bacchus is the first one that notices Slate, smiling. "Well, hello there, Slate." Ayra turns and smiles up at the Seraph. She's got a mug of the ale in one hand and her hair has started to come down a little from its elaborate curls around her face and the nape of her neck.

Shateishael grins, giving a polite nod to both the satyr and the unknown woman, "Evenin', Bacchus, ma'am." He glances inquiringly at Ayra, "Y'mentioned y'might wanna 'nother dance t'night, 'n I think this's a nice slow 'un?"

Ayra laughs and hands her father the mug, turning to Slate, "Oh, I did, didn't I?" She glances over him, blinking, "Are you... are you glowing?" She doesn't sound put off, just a bit surprised, and even as she's asking it she's moving toward Slate for the dance.

Shateishael looks down curiously at the arm he's offering Ayra, "Am? Huh... guess it's gettin' stronger." He grins and shrugs ruefully to the dryad, "Dunno why; sorry," as he turns with her towards the dance floor.

Ayra slides her hand through the offered elbow, moving so that her hip bumps into Slate very gently with the sway of her walk. The glow is indeed a little more pronounced. The dryrad drags her nails along Slate's forearm, smiling, "I've not seen anyone but the sidhe glow like that."

Shateishael rumbles a bit bemusedly, "'Fore this, ha'n't seen this on anyone but Gabriel's folks." He studies his arm thoughtfully, then gives Ayra a slightly worried glance, "'M not burnin' 'r anythin', right?" He has a sudden horrified worry about a tree-lady too close to him if he's burningly hot -- that's something he fervently wishes to avoid!

Ayra shakes her head and smiles, "You feel... a little feverish, but not dangerous to me." Once on the floor she folds herself into Slate's arms the way they were dancing before.

Shateishael nods, reassured, "'Kay. If'n that changes, feel free t'pull 'way, Miz Ayra -- don' wanna acc'dent'ly hurtcha." He gently wraps his arms around her, swaying easily with the dreamy, lilting music and humming quietly along with it. Looking down at her, he notices an escaping tendril of her flowing hair, and lightly brushes it back behind her ear, where her head rests against his shoulder. His voice is a soft, lazy, rumbling purr along with the singer, pitched so only he and his partner can hear it, "What a wicked game you play... To make me feel this way! What a wicked thing to do... To let me dream of you..."

The dryad leans into the angel's body, her nails stroking along the back of his neck again. She closes her eyes and smiles as he tucks the hair back behind her ear, breath catching just a bit at the touch. The velvet of her skirt rustles a little against the jeans the big angel wears, and the whispering of the song leaves her nuzzling her cheek against Slate's shoulder.

Shateishael's voice trails off in a low, rumbling purr as Ayra runs her nails along his skin, and this time he catches what's causing his desire to growl at just that moment. He smiles quietly, deciding it's okay -- she wouldn't do it if he were scaring her, after all. He lets down his careful guard and doesn't worry about the glowing. If he lights up, he suspects no one will mind... instead he simply flows relaxedly with and through the music, half cradling the graceful woman in his arms as he sways easily with her... for that moment it's just the two of them, speaking gently to each other with their bodies through the language of music.

The dryad doesn't even seem to be trying to be flirtatious, at least not consciously, though she does shiver pleasantly at the little growling sounds that emanate from Slate's chest as the music carries them. The glow of the Seraph's skin does indeed intensify, golden with red undertones as if something molten is flowing just beneath the flesh. Shateishael finds himself gently stroking Ayra's shoulder and back with one large, slightly scarred hand, and he tilts his head with a hint of curiosity when he notices how he appears to be changing. He smiles faintly, deliberately choosing to remain unruffled and in this softly pleasant, shared euphoria with Ayra... she's been so kind and helpful to them. He tries to express that gratitude through a sort of tactile generosity given in the dance, offering her what she seems to enjoy... gentle touches, dancing slow and close with her, warm and reassuring and completely focused on her.

Ayra seems content to just be held and guided through the dance, perhaps basking in the single-minded attention that a Stone angel can bestow on a person. She's not demanding, but her body moves sensually, enjoying the gentle touches and the moment where the truth is that the only two important people in either of their worlds during this dance are the Seraph and the dryad. Shateishael finds himself once again almost reluctant to stop dancing as the song ends. Once the last wistful strains have faded away he sighs quietly, a bit ruefully, and looks down at the pretty dryad, still holding her with gentle care as he rumbles, "Was lovely dance, ma'am; thanks much."

The dryad stretches up and kisses Slate's cheek. She has to stretch a lot to do it and it makes her press quite close against him as she murmurs back, "Thank you, Slate. You have a knack for dancing, I think."

Shateishael chuckles quietly, rumbling, "Nex' bes' thin' t'a good rumble, 'm thinkin', ma'am." As she settles back on her stiletto heels he lets his hands slowly slide away from her, courteously offering her his arm to walk off the dance floor. He adds with faint amusement, examining his other arm as they go, "Good way t'shed excess energy when th'glamour's pushin' me quite s'hard t'be th'Warrior too... hadta catch m'self once't'r twice t'night a'ready t' not overreact."

Ayra laughs quietly and leans her head against Slate's arm as he escorts her back over to her father and his companion, "People are all having issues with urges tonight. That's why a lot of them have left, I think."

Shateishael says, "That it?" then nods amusedly, "Yeah... c'n see that." He bows politely as he settles Ayra next to her father and his companion, wondering idly if his face appears to be turning to molten lava also, "Bacchus, y'daughter's a lovely 'n gracious lady 'ndeed... remin's me a' her mother." He grins, adding, "'N she's got y'r grace unner pressure!"

Bacchus looks up at Slate from where he's claimed a table and had apparently been whispering into the verdant Ethereal's ear in a way that was making her laugh and smile a bit impishly. He laughs, "No, she gets that from Zareh as well."

Shateishael grins lazily, bows once again, and politely excuses himself... he's suppressing a sudden urge to just ask the satyr about his True Name as half-spoken by Zareh -- and Slate's quite sure that's inappropriate! He paces slowly along the edge of the dance floor, vaguely heading back towards Soma and Rosie last were, curiously examining the skin of one arm as he goes. Sit for a bit and see if he really starts burning, or more dancing? Hm... he grins -- that's easy! More dancing. He looks around thoughtfully, taking stock of his surroundings again.

The shimmer and almost flow under his skin seems to be intensifying slightly, taking on a redder tinge. Soma and Rosie are still at the table and the fae lord is leaning over to murmur in the Flowerkin's ear. Bella is seated at the table as well, but she seems to be engaged deep in conversation with the young centaur, Ajax. The crowd has actually grown slightly since they first arrived -- Ethereals of every description are present, and one young lady is dressed eye-catchingly. She seems to have been painted in stripes of sparkling blue latex, almost like tiger stripes. The material has been carefully placed to preserve her modesty, at least nominally. The skin beneath also seems to sparkle, either with glitter... or perhaps that's its normal appearance.

Shateishael smiles, pleased to see both his beloveds seem happy. As he looks around his eyes brighten -- almost literally at this point -- with interest as he studies the young lady. It doesn't occur to him that he's staring, since she's not yet noticed him, and his pace turns slightly towards her. He heads towards her, hoping she'd like a dance perhaps -- or if not, a moment to talk. He's curious as to what she is, considering how beautifully striking she looks. The young lady is nearly as tall as Slate and what of her hair that he can see is a sea foam white with a tinge of green to it. She moves like she's flowing somewhere and her eyes are deep, drowning blue. Shateishael's eyes widen a bit, although he's getting more bemused. Someone that tall would surely be a sidhe... and yet he sees no wings. He paces over to stop near her and wait politely until she notices him.

She notices him coming from quite a way away, as if she'd been keeping half an eye on him. Closer, it's obvious that what's making her quite that tall are some simply enormous platform heels. Without them she would still be almost six-feet-two. Catching the big blonde's interest in her, she smiles and mimes a curtsey. Shateishael nods politely as he heads towards her, then bows more courteously once he's next to her. He hesitates, suddenly unsure whether he should be bothering someone he's not yet been introduced to... then takes a breath and straightens. He's the Warrior... if she doesn't want him around she'll let him know. He rumbles quietly, "Ma'am, folks call me Slate. If'n y'wan'ed, I'd be innerested in a name f'ya, 'n a dance?" He smiles ruefully and adds, "Y'look quite strikin'ly lovely t'night too, ma'am."

She laughs and the sound comes out like water over rounded stones, "Deirdre, and I'd love a dance... Slate... even if you do look as if you'd turn water to steam."

Shateishael brightens, again quite literally, as he offers her his arm, "Water! Ah... y'r 'n undine, Miz Deirdre?"

Deirdre laughs again -- that musical, bubbling sound -- and slides her arm carefully through his, "Yes, that's one word for me. And you're an angel, yes? I haven't met one before..."

Shateishael says, "Yes'm, one a'th' Seraphim." He grins, "Never knowin'ly met 'n undine neither, ac'sh'ly." He adds reassuringly as they head out onto the dance floor, "Been tole m'temperature's higher'n normal, but not uncomfy... but if'n I'm a pain, feel free t'jus' tell me t'back off, 'kay?"

The undine laughs and turns to face Slate as they reach the dance floor, waiting for him to set the mood of the dance. Her body language is as relaxed and sensual as everyone else's seems to be tonight and she seems curious about the way the colors move under Slate's skin. Shateishael is a bit curious about that himself, truth be told, but it would be discourteous to ignore the lady in order to examine himself. He listens to the music for a second, hoping it's not too wild -- he suspects platform shoes that tall weren't designed for leaping athletically about the dance floor! Then he grins at the music, letting his hands slide to take Deirdre's and swaying into a simple cha-cha along with the bouncy, almost silly sounding singing.

The undine laughs and lets herself be led in the song. She apparently doesn't know it, but she's a good enough dancer to pick up the steps as Slate leads her through them. She also moves in the high platforms like she's utterly comfortable in them, the motions almost hypnotically liquid. Shateishael is quietly impressed with how well she moves, and as he's reassured he's not going to have to catch her suddenly, he starts being more willing to move more dramatically with her in the steps of the dance. He enjoys watching her move -- the stripes almost seem to flow with her as she moves smoothly through the dance. He finds himself humming along with the catchy tune, grinning cheerfully at his startlingly tall, graceful partner.

The more dramatically Slate moves her through the dance, the more the undine plays into it, tossing her head and grinning with teeth that have the sheen of pearls. She reaches for the angel casually, running her fingertips over the side of his face and along his chin before pulling her hand back. Shateishael raises an eyebrow at the touch, not quite sure he's comfortable with that level of intimacy... but he dances cheerfully and politely with her nevertheless. She looks lovely, she's graceful and mostly polite-seeming, and despite the fact he's got an uncomfortable feeling she's the 'Deirdre' he was warned against by Peony earlier, he decides he will be a gentleman and make sure she's happy with this dance, if he can.

The easy rapport of his other partners isn't quite so easy to obtain with Deirdre. There's something about her that seems a little tempestuous and perhaps unpredictable. When the song ends, she smiles and lays a hand on his shoulder, pretending to brush something off the leather, "Thank you for the dance, Slate."

Shateishael bows politely, "Thank you, ma'am." He offers his arm to escort her back to where she'd been earlier, adding curiously, "What'd y'jus' do t'm' sleeve?"

Deirdre blinks and slides her hand through Slate's elbow again, "Pardon?" She sounds a little taken aback, perhaps confused.

Shateishael waves a hand to indicate the sleeve she'd just touched, "Jus' now, there?"

The undine laughs and reaches across Slate to repeat the gesture, "That?"

Shateishael smiles and nods, "Yes'm," as he paces back towards the sidelines with her.

She folds her other hand over the one resting on Slate's elbow, "I was making an excuse to touch you," she admits, those bright teeth flashing.

Shateishael gives her a curious look, "Howcum?"

Another of those brook-like laughs and the undine tips her head, smiling and still looking a little confused, "You mean besides the fact that you have lovely arms and I wanted to see if you were just shy about making the first move?"

Shateishael nods interestedly, "Yeah. 'N first move a'whut?"

Deirdre gives him a look that's actually fairly common upon the Seraph's first meeting with creatures used to speaking in banter, "The first move of a flirtation," the look that says they're gauging if Slate is teasing or in earnest.

Shateishael says, "That's why y'touched me?"

The undine smiles again, lashes fluttering, "Why would I need another reason to touch you? Do I seem dangerous?"

Shateishael wonders why people keep looking at him that oddly gauging way... maybe he's slurring a bit? Except... he hasn't drunk enough to be slurring, really... he sighs quietly, then smiles politely, "Y'look lovely, ma'am." He stops where he met her, stepping aside and bowing courteously to her, "Thanks f'th'dance, Miz Deirdre," then heads off, looking around for an Ethereal he knows and trusts. He wants to have them tell him if he just got a spell or Ethereal Song or something put on him.

The closest familiar face would be Peony, where she's still sitting at the table with Angus and apparently still giving him a tongue lashing. The extremely pale Ethereal is clutching a mug of something and looking abashed -- well, when he's not pouting. Shateishael heads over, making sure Peony can see him approach -- it doesn't occur to him in his current preoccupation that he's going to suddenly appear behind poor Angus again! He rumbles once he's there, "Miz Peony, c'd I trouble y'f'r some advice?"

The rumble of his voice makes Angus jump, eyes going huge. The Seraph can't see it, but Peony does and rolls her eyes, putting a hand on the clurichaun's shoulder before he can bolt. "Sit. He's not going to rip your head off because you were too drunk to realize Gaelach was using you." She smiles somewhat tiredly up at Slate, "I'd be pleased to give what advice I can, Slate."

Shateishael looks a bit startledly at the pale skinned creature, then rumbles quietly, "Angus? Sorry t'scare ya, guy. Jus' wan'ed t'ask Miz Peony if'n I sh'd be worried Deirdre brushed her han' over m'shoulder, 'n then kept dodgin' th'question when I as't her whut she'd jus' done?"

Peony blinks and stands up, keeping a hand still on Angus' shoulder as she asks, "Show me where?"

Shateishael politely drops to one knee so they're closer to eye-level, and indicates his shoulder, "Right here 'bouts, ma'am?"

The leprechaun leans in and actually appears to be trying to catch the scent of something on the leather. Her nose wrinkles slightly and she frowns, "Maybe a charm... nothing strong."

Shateishael growls quietly under his breath, then rumbles, "How d'I get it off, please?" He glances around, then back at Peony, "Soma c'd r'move it, yeah? 'R w'd it be p'liter t'ask Bacchus 'r someone else?"

Peony looks around, saying, "Salt would do it, but I don't see any shakers. Uhm... I don't know that Bacchus could. He's wonderful, but magic isn't his strongest suit... you might have to ask Soma."

Shateishael nods, rising with a slightly grim look on his face, "Right. Thanks, ma'am." He drops a hand lightly on Angus's shoulder, rumbling, "Take care, guy." He turns and heads immediately towards Soma, where the butterfly fae is seated with his lovers and some other folks. Angus emits a slightly comic squeak as Slate pats his shoulder, making the angel wonder a bit absently if that's a Gaelic thing as he paces off... he doesn't think so. He doesn't remember hearing it before?

Soma is still sitting with Rosie, though it looks like they may have shifted a bit. With all that's been going on, they may have danced or may have been here the whole time. The azure-skinned sidhe is caressing the back of Rosie's neck. Shateishael rumbles quietly, "Hey, Soma, gotta favor t'ask a'ya, please? Think Deirdre th'undine mighta putta sumpin' on m'shoulder -- couldja tell me f'sure 'r not? 'N if'n there is one, I'd right 'ppreciate it if'n y'd get th'damn thing offa me?" He steps around so he can drop to one knee again next to the sidhe, waving a hand to indicate where, "Peony said it might be a charm, but nuthin' strong?" It doesn't occur to him to be subtle; he's vaguely revolted at the thought of someone slapping him with a curse (as he thinks of it) like that, without even asking him. [That deceitful brat!] he thinks irritatedly.

Soma looks at Slate uncomprehendingly for a moment, as if it takes a few seconds for words to filter past whatever he had been murmuring to Rosenstern. Then the Summer Lord reaches out and brushes his fingers over Slate's shirt where indicated. He sighs and shakes his head, "She was right. It is a charm, and it's nothing strong. More an urge than a binding... or an attempt at an urge." Soma rests his hand on the spot for a moment and a look of concentration comes over his face. There's a very soft ripple in the Symphony and he removes his hand, "You needn't worry further over it. Do you wish a confrontation with her now, or would you rather it wait so as not to completely spoil the night?"

Shateishael growls quietly, glaring in the direction of where he left her -- if she's watching he wants her to know he knows and he's not pleased with her! He mutters, "Whut kinda 'urge' we talkin' 'bout?" The undine is no longer where Slate left her, nor is she anywhere easily in sight. Shateishael snorts amusedly -- he can guess what happened. She saw him go to Peony, and fled. He waits for Soma's answer, vaguely noticing the pavilion is brighter here for some reason.

Soma's lips twitch into a wry smile, "From the hue of your skin I am thinking your anger has been riled, Slate. It was literally a charm. To attempt to attract you to her." Slate's skin is much redder in tone, but not a flush. This is the color of fresh lava.

Shateishael rises easily, looking around to be sure she's gone... then he looks down at the seated Soma curiously. "Hue a' m'..." He looks down at his arm, then blinks, murmuring quietly, "Whoa..." He holds out a hand cautiously towards Soma, "'M I gettin' hotter too? Need t'know if'n I sh'd be takin' a walk outside?"

Bella turns at the conversation, blinking as the effect she'd begun to notice during their tryst has intensified. She whistles through her teeth and reaches out towards Slate's arm at the same time Soma does. The fae king shakes his head, "You feel feverish, but I doubt you will combust any of us.

Shateishael nods, reassured, then simply growls, "She's y'rs, Soma, not my r'sponsibility... so I think it'd be best t'leave her t'you, 'less y'think otherwise." He adds in slightly irritated explanation to Bella, "'Member Deirdre? She jus' tried t'put a charm a' 'ttraction on me." He draws a breath, then snaps, "Li'l brat!"

Soma nods quietly, "I shall explain to my people that such small inducements are not to be tried."

Bella arches a brow and snorts through her nose, "It seems to have backfired."

Shateishael snarls crankily, "Feel free t'tell 'em pisses me th'hell off too if'n y'want, Soma!" He scowls at Bella's words... then blinks, thinking about it. "That... yeah, tha's right. Wonder why..." He looks curiously at Soma, "Whut sh'd it 'a done?"

Soma smiles, "It should have drawn you to her -- attraction, sexual or romantic. With Deirdre, probably romantic."

Rosenstern is still a bit wordless at Slate's coloration, but is a bit taken aback at the vehemence in Slate's voice. He glances to Soma. "Is it possible that... a charm can reverse like that?"

Soma shrugs and smiles, "Anything is possible with glamour. But I suspect that it simply was not strong enough and Slate's annoyance further overrode it."

Shateishael growls at Soma's words, his head swinging around to glare around the pavilion again. The rational part of him knows it's likely a good thing Deirdre departed so swiftly -- but another part of his Nature is intensely irritated at being lied to like that! Then he draws a deep breath and rumbles, "Think I better take a quick spin 'roun' th'pavilion 'r sumpin'... wanna shed some a'this irritation 'fore I feel like clobberin' someone." He leans to lightly kiss the top of Bella's head, murmuring, "Back inna bit, beautiful," then paces swiftly towards the pavilion's opening.

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Last modified: 2006-Dec-07 15:15:59

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