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Ish’talla Side
Andr'ial and Ati'yya
Chapter 02 : 10
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Blue slitted eyes close as her head sinks down into her crossed arms, sighing contently as clawed hands carefully trace over every aspect of her skin, oil slicked fingers travelling ever so slowly up towards her thighs. He touches her during these times as if he were attempting to commit her body into his memory through his exploration alone and she has come to thoroughly enjoy it. Each place his fingers touch send a sort of electric sensation blossoming beneath the surface of her skin, causing the subtlest of shivers to slide along the length of her spine and draw a small gasp from her mouth. As Andr’ial’s hands continue their slow deliberate movements she uncrosses her arms and slips them out from beneath her head, her sky colored gaze never opening as she reaches out behind her to touch webbed fingers to his legs in return, the very tips of her claws dragging lightly over dampened toned skin. Andr’ial smiles, happy as she returns the touch and continuing with his motions over her skin as it slowly absorbs the oil. A soft knock on the door interrupts them and the horned man rises with a small, disappointed sound coming from Ati’yya’s lips as he moves out of her reach. He returns soon after with their meals and another small cake for his Siren to try. Setting them off to the side, Andr’ial returns to his task and finishes slowly spreading the perfumed oil over skin, finishing up with webbed fingers that he takes his time examining. Her hands fascinated him, they were so delicate and he loved how the iridescent webbing shined in the light, eventually tapering to small but very sharp claws and the near hint of scales on the back. His lips meet her palm and she smiles before he lifts her up, gathering his Siren in his lap and handing her the bowl of small fish. Ati’yya smiles as she settles back against the horned man, legs crossing above the ones below her and the bowl of fish splashing in-between her own. Pupiless white eyes stare down in amusement as she spears the first, a quick and well practiced flick of its head against the bowl’s lip to kill it before she begins to eat. Andr’ial reaches to his side and pulls his own food to his mouth a little absently while he watches her make her way through the others as well before slipping his arm in-between hers to lift the bowl free when the last of the skeletal remains hits the contained water to set it to their sides and allow her to bend down toward the new cake to take her usual exploratory sniff. His gaze slides down to the back of her neck when drying sky colored locks spill forward to reveal the new brand and as her tongue is sliding out to lick at the confection, he can’t help but touch the mark with the very tips of the claws on his free hand. Ati’yya gasps when his fingers begin tracing along the raised pattern at the base of her neck, the sensitivity of the burn lessened considerably since the night before but there just the same. She waits until his fingers have slipped away, her slitted gaze closing while the sensations of his touch ripple through her until his hand is trailing along the length of her spine. In’irda had said that these marks are symbols of their houses, that the one she received shows all others of his kind that she belongs to him and him alone. As she re-opens her eyes and slowly sits up, she slides her head back against Andr’ial’s chest to meet his white eyes with the blue of her own. The night before she did not want to be branded or hurt, she did not want a mark at all but as she stares up into a gaze that reflects only happiness and affection down at her, she finds herself feeling that having his mark might not be a bad thing after all. Andr’ial places his plate down, nosing through drying blue locks until his lips meet a webbed ear, nipping the tip lightly before pulling back with a smile and handing her the cake. White eyes move back to her neck as she goes through the motions of taste before she finally decides it’s alright to eat. The brand was still very red and probably painful but despite all that was gone through to get it, he’s proud that she wears it. The silver haired man loves the mark that means she belongs to him. He waits until Ati’yya has finished her cake, licking the remnants off her finger tips before parting her hair gently, pushing long, sky blue locks over delicate shoulders to he can examine it more closely. It was amazing how fast they could heal, even if something like a burn did linger as a scar. That’s probably why it’s done that way, even tattoos eventually fade on them but these marks last forever. Andr’ial leans closer, his lips skimming just above the brand, smiling as he feels the slight shiver run down her. Ati’yya owns him now just as much as he owns her. Clawed fingers trace over her shoulders, pushing Ati’yya forward slightly as the horned man reaches off to the side, opening the drawer of his nightstand to retrieve a shell-inlaid comb. Sky blue locks are brought back behind her and Andr’ial begins the long process of combing through the partially wet strands. Blue slitted eyes close as the comb trails through her locks and a smile forms on her face, Ati’yya enjoying the feel of the inlaid bone traveling across each strand. Her orange eyed suitor used to comb her hair, just a lazy sort of grooming that she liked very much. He’d always told her how pretty her hair was, that the color matched the sky above them and made him feel as if he were touching the place where the stars rested when he played with her hair. She wonders what Andr’ial thinks of her hair… if he likes the color in comparison to all the others of her kind’s hair. Her people are vivid when it comes to their coloring and to her it was always so natural and not much she’d thought on. From the events of the night before and from the times she’d been on that boat to the time she’d been taken here she’s seen that his kind while colorful, are not as colorful as her own and so she wonders if this is one reason his people want to own hers in the way that they do. Ati’yya’s gaze slips to the slide when her captor leans forward to shift a section of brushed locks over one of her shoulders so he can continue tending to the rest and she catches a glimpse of his own long silvery hair. She reaches over and wraps her fingers around it, the one behind her movements stilling as she pulls it to her front to twist the lock a little in the bright morning light. She likes the way his hair shines… almost glittering like the very same stars her other suitor had often talked about while his eyes reflect the clouds in the sky. She lowers the lock and slides her blue gaze up to meet white and smiles a smile that he fondly returns. Sliding her arm up while their eyes remain locked, she taps the tip of her claws at the comb in his hand and motion to it with a sound. She wants to be able to understand him better, to understand his language completely so she can eventually ask him if he likes her hair in return and the best way for it to happen will be to have him teach her. Andr’ial smiles, holding up the comb and speaking its name. He loves that she wants to learn and he wants to teach her. Over the past few weeks he noticed there is much variation to the squeaks and chirps that come from his Siren’s mouth. He knows they have a language, but the theory was that it was very base, only conveying simple ideas. The complexity of her words has revealed itself to far more than that and he wonders why this was ever thought. Her kind may live primitively, but their minds are very on par with his own kind. Her emotions range as any female’s would and her learning and understanding of ideas very quick. These creatures could be their equals if they only knew how to fight back. He supposes that by locking their voices away, they’ve eliminated their main defense. While he can never speak her language, he would still like to be able to understand her, just as she can never speak his own. It was rather selfish of him to expect she be the only one to take on the extra burden. Andr’ial says the object’s name again, then motions to her, tapping on her lips in an effort to ask her to repeat the name in her own language. At first Ati’yya only looks at Andr’ial in slight confusion when she repeats the word and taps her lips as she was sure that he understood by now that she cannot pronounce anything that he says. She tries though when he does it again, but when the only sound to leave her lips is a soft chirp that sounds nothing like what he’s said, he just shakes his head and indicates she should stop. He says the word once more, then over exaggerates the motions he’d just taken before while an expectant and hopeful look forms on his face. It only takes her a moment longer to understand and she smiles wide, finding herself happy that he wants to learn from her in return. But the item he holds, the ‘comb’ is something she had never seen until she was brought into his world and so she’ll try to show him a similar meaning instead. Ati’yya rocks herself forward before she twists her lithe frame easily around and slides right back into his lap, long bare legs straddling his robe covered own. Taking his free hand in one of her own, she pulls it up while using her other hand to slide her sky colored locks over her shoulder before pressing his fingers forward until they’ve threaded into her strands. Guiding his hand down in a short combing motion she tells him what this means, a short series of sounds following each movement she has him make. She lets his hand go and reaches over to pull his other towards her, repeating the same motions with the comb he holds and saying the same words, a pleased smile forming when he nods that he’s understood. Andr’ial’s smile matches her own and he leans in to press his lips to her when a loud knock reaches their ears and both turn in the direction of the sound. A frown forms on the horned man’s lips as he eases himself away from his Siren and rises, the servants know not to knock so forcefully. A quick stream of words and his wards are removed, followed by and annoyed grunt as he swings open the door. His annoyance wanes instantly when he sees his cousin holding In’irda, shaking and battered. Andr’ial steps back to let them in as Hir’itel gently leads the golden haired Siren through the door. “What happened to her?” “My father did. Andr’ial you can’t do that, you can’t tell him he can’t have something. It would have been fine if you had just left them, he would have taunted her a little until he got it out of his system then he would have passed out drunk and left her alone. Because of you, he made me call her out of her room then took her all night.” The silver haired man wasn't quite sure what to say. That was never his intent, he only wanted In’irda to be safe from his uncle. “She was terrified. She should not have had to face that embarrassment in the first place.” He closes the door behind them as they walk towards the middle of the room. In’irda bursts into tears as she sees Ati’yya and pulls herself from Hir’itel’s arms to race toward her friend. Hir’itel sighs. “She’s a Siren, Andr’ial, or have your forgotten they’re property? He technically owns her and can do whatever he wants with her. I’m pretty damn lucky he gave her back at all for how angry he was. I know he can’t physically take you on but you hurt his pride and he needed to take it out on something.” He looks away for a moment before his voice goes low. “That’s not all… I have something else to discuss with you.” He hands Andr’ial an official notice . White eyes skim the paper and the horned man nods before gesturing that they take their leave. Both men look back at the pair on the bed, In’irda sobbing as Ati’yya holds her, doing her best to comfort the other Siren before they leave, closing the door behind quietly. Blue slitted eyes watch the two men until the door has closed completely as webbed fingers gently stroke long locks of golden yellow hair. In’irda says nothing as she’s held close to Ati’yya’s lithe frame, only able to sob against her bare chest while she rocks her gently, doing what she can to comfort. Anger wells inside of her as she turns her head down against blonde hair, the entire night’s ordeal renewed and made fresh with her friend’s shaken form. Why were you hurt? She whispers while her fingers still comb through gold strands. Why did he mark you in this way ?
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