The Sentinels legs and hands, thumbs together

“You always were high handed, Don.” 

His voice dripped with honey and hers cascaded like a fine-spun silk and together, they wove a most sensuous and sumptuous fabric. Indie was not in the least bit immune to his wiles, though Indie often wished she was — but there was no helping it! Yes, her puppeteer’s deft hands had sculpted her to match his [what Indie thought to be an unattainable] chimera, to fulfill his ever whim and fantasy… and as a result, he wanted her so…but his satisfaction did not come at Indie expense. After all, would a man like Donovan have composed a woman who was not bewitched by his power and in love with his mind, completely bound to his success and indulgences? Indie’s visceral need to please and inspire pride within her tutor might as well have been written into her DNA, as it had been inscribed upon her psyche since she had been an inky babe. Indie wanted him just as much as he wanted her [she always had], but in the end of thing, neither of them would be left wanting. 

Donovan laid his chin against her and she held him up proudly, gently pushing her neck and chest into him to feel his form, his framework, his muscles, his very being against her own. Indie was still quite starry eyed at the fact that Donovan was even here, but there were other quite consequential matters at hand. Donovan had traveled long, it seemed; and though the thought of parting with Donovan was painful, his place was not with the Nereides. Indie knew this immediately and knew she would never — could never — ask him to join her there. If he did, Donovan would cease to be all the things she loved. Or, perhaps the strongman would rage against his chains and become even more of the things she loved. The latter sparked a fire curiosity within her, but losing him to indentured servitude was a risk she was not willing to take. Really, it would have been so easy for her to leave the Neredes, but there was still so much for her to learn. Indie wasn’t finished with the Nereides yet. Donovan’s place was not beside her yet. The golden world was not theirs yet. 

But it would be soon.

“We must find you domicile.” Indie said, flicking her sibilant tongue as the words ran across it. Indie pulled herself from his embrace and backpedaled several steps, gathering herself up and letting a look of ‘serious business’ settle upon her visage. It was a face he would recognize easily, and the mummer wished to elicit a laugh from him by harkening back to their past in such a way; but there remained an air of gravity about it. If they were going to do this damn thing, then they needed to have a plan. Donovan and Indie always had a plan

“There are these women, called the Nereides…  I travel with them,” Indie almost felt ashamed of not immediately not throwing all her plans with the Nereides aside to be with him, but she knew her preceptor would understand. The group of amazonian was newly formed and there was much opportunity to be had [should she stay amongst their ranks]. Indie prayed that the gangster might even be impressed with her dedication to their mutual cause.   “Oh Don, they call themselves sirens and they are all magnificent and quite amusing!” She giggled, excited to one day preform the siren’s vivid ocean stories for her comely audience of one. She cocked an all-knowing brow at the brute before continuing on. “But, amongst their ranks you would not do well — the Nereides treat their men as they would treat prisoners.”

“and you…” she emphasized “You’re the farthest thing from a prisoner.”

Suddenly, her molten gaze flashed and a wry smile tugged at her lips. “North.” Indie stated as if Donovan would understand her exact meaning. The vamp quickly continued, as the idea had come over her quite suddenly. “There’s a pack up north on the coast — there’s a woman named Thuringwethil amongst them.” Yes, diversify their portfolio! It was a tried and true tactic of the best spies - have you fingers in everything. know everything. know your competition. understand the playing field. This was so much more accomplishable with two rather one. “You should try them on, see if they are to your liking.”  In her excitement, she had begun to tap her toes against the ground and step in a circle around him, holding Donovan in the center with her strong gaze, coming nearer and nearer to the statuesque man with every completed circuit about his being.

“and if they are not to your liking, then we will melt their crowns to shape our own!” Indie wasn’t entirely sure if she meant this, as she rather liked the woman Thuringwethil [but, quit honestly, knew nothing about her] — but Indie was a stream-of-consciousness kind of poet and possessed a hedonistic and unfettered mouth that spouted only the words that tasted good upon her tongue. And yes, those words did taste good upon her tongue.