Firefly Ravine no one wearing a crown comes in the name of peace

As they began their ascent, with the wanderer's hope for the fog to thin, Aure willed the fog of her own titillation would fade altogether. She hustled herself up the ravine's incline, feeling her breast expand with nonconstraint — finally. "That, we may agree on," she trilled back to the cardinal, ever-concious of the arc of her ivory neck as she curved it in speculation of their heady surroundings. No other would be allowed near that trip-hammer of her pulse; all the same, though...

"I hold no love for strife, myself. I am utterly artless, where war is concerned. But this fancy" — not for him, obviously — "for ze enchantments of this world will never leave me. It is known to my soul." Aure decided she would make it a point to tell him just how well-traveled she was, flaring with an unbidden indignation brought on by a something of his character. In her rush to hold some sort of prestige above this established male, she had pirouetted with the fever of her arousal and the petulant fury that came with it.

It was with a scrape of ivory talons on stone and an irregular, airy shriek that Aure then fell through a blue, sunless world.

Her last thought was an enraged and beloved one; of Vercingetorix who, after inquiring of what'd caused her death, would laugh his cock off at how it'd been through distraction by horniness. And his cock should die with her, after all— oh, nevermind! Death first, daydream later! 

lesgeit, death. fucking motherfucker— 

With a wild, winter snarl, nasty with desperation, Aure swivled, twisting through the air as she used the momentum of her fall to lunge towargs Jagtooth; for any outcropping should he have rushed for her. The sound grappled its way from her anguished throat the same way she made to grapple for some goddamn footing.