[ P ] spell on you

Circe stood backlit by the full light of the moon streaming in through the nearby window, and a hush fell over the crowd. She took a long moment to lap up blood red wine from the roughly hewn bowl on the stage, and when she straightened up, she slid her pink tongue across her lips in an obvious move that had those in the front row of the crowd salivating. And then, after the pregnant pause had grown long enough to start some patrons tittering excitedly, she began to sing.

"I put a spell on you,
Because you're mine."

Her voice was rich and husky, the voice of a mature woman who had stood on this stage many times before and charmed crowds of similar sizes. The audience grew quiet as she again dragged out the silence, and then:

"You better stop the things you do,
I tell you, I ain't lying."

She sauntered towards the front of the stage, claiming it with every sure-footed step. In the half-light, her patchwork coat shone, and her bicolored eyes glowed like gems. Someone whooped as she flirted with the edge of the wooden platform that raised her a few heads above the seated patrons. She glanced towards the bartender, who was pushing drinks out easily but watching her with a sidelong eye. She had even the staff in her thrall, but that was usual. She was a frequent singer at the Drunken Seagull, and her act was known far and wide as a showstopper. This was her last song of the night, and after this, that same bartender would give her free drinks and feed her free food and heavily imply that he'd give her free lodging below, too, if only she'd share his bed.

"You know I can't stand it,
You're running around.
You know better daddy,
I can't stand it 'cause you put me down,
Oh, no."

Her voice rose in volume. She had a voice like smooth, dark chocolate, like the smoke of a fire, like the moan of a wind.

"I put a spell on you,
Because you're mine."

The crowd burst into raucous applause, cheers, cries of, Circe, Circe! She smiled at them in a way that was sharp, her eyes knowing and glittering in the dark, and she swept into a languid bow. She let them fawn over her. "Thank you, my loves," she said as she straightened, that sensual smile still flitting across her lips. "As always, you have charmed me. Perhaps I'll be back. But for now --" The crowd's cries turned desperate; stay, Circe, stay! "-- please enjoy the next act."

She sauntered off stage left, into the little backroom where her successor-in-show stood waiting to ascend. She passed him without a second glance, that mystical smile swiped from her face, the glint dulling in her eyes. She moved with a prowl through the back rooms, alone, until she reached her dressing area. She stared into the cracked glass mirror for only a moment before she fixed that same smile back on her face and waltzed out the hidden door and back into the din. As the next act began singing something like a jig, she sidled up to the bar, purposefully knocking elbows with a dark man sitting there. "I hope this seat isn't taken," she said coolly, turning those jewel-like eyes towards the stranger.

""

table by ferus, image by amphi, bg from unsplash

It was not often that he made his way down south into the more 'civilized' areas of Rionnach but he was eager to find someone. No, not someone... Lye.

He had managed to slip past the border patrols unnoticed (and unknown to him) and make his way to Sussex; more specifically the Drunken Seagull. He'd heard through whispers from the shadows that this might be the place to go should you be looking for someone willing to do a less than savory job. He was tired of this game he played with himself and he was tired of pretending anything would take away this burning desire in his chest. It had been so long since he'd seen her and he'd tried his best to keep his mind off her but nothing seemed to work and so here he was, at a... a bar, he supposed, waiting to run into someone willing to do the dirty work for him. He didn't know how this all worked or if it he'd been led astray but he hadn't exactly found this place by asking. He was good at being ignored by most and good at listening to things that didn't concern him.

So he plotted and planned, mulling over the idea in his mind until it festered, putrid and vile. He had decided to take her away from this so-called husband she'd claimed to have and keep her with him until she could see reason. Until she could love him again. Sinclair didn't think much past that goal, to reconstruct the life he'd once known in some manner. Maybe then they could leave this place and be rid of the past-- strike out together and start anew. He knew that his children would remain here for he would not seek them out. They likely hated him, or resented him from being absent either way they probably didn't need him in their lives at this point; grown beyond the need for a late father.

His mouth twitched as he slid into a seat at the bar. He didn't know how any of this worked. The way these wolves lived in Rionnach was far different from the life he'd lived. It was all so foreign that it distracted him from his task at hand momentarily. His ears twitched as he noticed a crowd form, hooting and hollering for someone on stage. Sinclair blinked and looked up, his burning eyes lingering on the patchwork figure before him. She was...

A breath left him as she began to sing and he watched from afar, from the shadows of the edge of the bar, until she finished her act and disappeared backstage. He pondered the feeling in his chest that urged him to follow her but he doubted he'd get close before being thrown out so he returned to his own plotting, though strangely less interested than moments before. The bar keep offered him something but he declined, having no means to pay for it, and strangely enough he was offered a small drink on the house. A drop of poison to get him hooked, no doubt, and begging for more. Sinclair thanked the man and pawed the bowl curiously. He was deep in thought when something knocked against his elbow and he looked up, bristling, only to be face to face with the beautiful woman from the stage earlier.

"I hope this seat isn't taken..." she said, her mismatched eyes glinted in the low light. She looked... nothing like Lye. The complexity of her coat was endearing and the way her eyes sparkled might have run a shiver down his spine if he were younger and more nervous. He cracked a half-smile. "It's not." he said. He didn't know why she was bothering to talk to him, of all the wolves in this place, but it made him feel special somehow. She'd had all those eyes on her and now her eyes were on him.

"I'm Sinclair." he offered, turning his head back to his drink and circling his paw around the bowl listlessly.

She was probably used to men fawning over her; and why shouldn't she be? He huffed softly to himself and then returned his gaze to hers. "You have a beautiful voice," he admitted. He recalled the name everyone had been chanting. "Circe." he said, his tone almost breathy.

art + code: clae

The tunes of another filled her ears and yet she did not hear them as all focus lie upon the stranger who darkened the bar, shadows enveloping more than just the seat he’d taken as vibrant eyes greeted her in turn. Though that teasing grin never faded as lidded gaze peered up at him, a muzzle ducked as if she paid him little mind when in truth all focus lay upon him in these moments. Rumbling lyrics a welcome distraction from the drone which rose around them - from the jaunty jig so many where being drawn into in their drunken stupors. It was the same every night.

But this man was not. For even the aroma upon his coat radiated distant pines where the air was not drowned out by musk and entangling perfumes. In a way she were almost envious of him yet she would never dare trade this life for another. All she worked for - all she received upon whispered phrase and the passing of coin - that was something she could never give up. Thrill and danger all too tantalizing a lure not to flirt with; those who so eagerly fawned for her were no different. Even if they did not immediately jump at the opportunity. A game of chase even better in the end for some.

To confirmation she offers no more than a soft hum as she took him in, settling ever deeper into her seat until a name dripped from his lips. Sinclair. An illustrious calling though whether he lived up to was another story entirely. Surely he were no saint haunting a bar such as this but the corruption of one? That was all too enticing a possibility to ignore even if it only lasted for the evening. The sorceress’ talons clicked lightly upon the bar, a silent summons for its keeper to slide forth her usual poison and it would not take long for such requests to be heeded.

A muzzle dipping to lap at the ruby liquid even as glimmering sapphire dared not leave temporary company. Breathy laughter fled her lungs - one so practiced in finding false modesty to praise, when she so relished in it.“You flatter me love,” it was nothing she hadn’t heard before though lyrics hardly faltered in feigned sincerities. He spoke her name like so many others. Enchanted by song, by the sights which graced that piercing gaze.

Attention she craved, something never turned away from as she leaned a touch closer, “Tell me something Sinclair. Yours is not a face I’ve had the pleasure of seeing before, are you new to Sussex?” Or had he simply melded into the crowd? Either way there was promise of some form of entertainment behind his stare, even just a drink would do.

""

table by ferus, image by amphi, bg from unsplash

It was like all rational (or irrational) thought had slipped from his mind as he watched her. Her languid movements drew him in without even trying and somehow he found himself enamored with her within seconds. A small part of him argued that he was simply looking for a way out of more rejection and whatever he might face when capturing his heart again but what exactly was wrong with that? Maybe he was looking for a way out and maybe Circe could it to him.

His nose twitched slightly as she tapped the bar, beckoning the man behind it to get her a drink. He obliged quickly, granting her a ruby liquid that had a strong odor just as the drink within his own bowl did. The intensity with with his watched her heightened as her tongue flicked out to meet the liquid, drawing it up daintily as if she were a queen sipping her wine. He couldn't stop himself from imagining that tongue on his skin, what it might feel like... Her laughter rung him from his thoughts and he blinked, lashes fluttering slightly as a the curve of his lips tightened.

"Of course I do," he murmured softly, his violet gaze lingering on her two-toned eyes. "Have you not seen yourself?" he questioned, though it was more rhetorical than anything else and meant in jest. He was not the best at jokes, as a youth he'd never been able to pick up on them but as he grew older he learned somewhat.

His body stiffened as she leaned in closer and he inclined his chin toward her as she spoke, questioning him. She was so close he could touch her but he didn't dare, not yet. "You could say that." he said as he began to relax. "I've lived in... Rionnach for some time but I keep out of the cities. But I guess I live in what you now call Saora," he admitted, his voice quiet. It was not hard to keep their conversation somewhat private with the loud backdrop of singing and carousing. He didn't yet understand the politics of the world around him but he wanted to learn, if only for his benefit. "The way you wolves live is unlike anything I've ever seen. I admit, I know little of any of it." Would this make him less appealing? He could see that glint of interest in her eyes but would it fade out at the mention of his station or lack thereof?

art + code: clae