Greatwater Lake [m] I lift my head and all is born again.

Mature Content Warning

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The participants have indicated the following reason(s) for this warning: Most likely angry sexual themes.

Summer was on its way; the world shimmered around her, and the lake was abuzz with life as mosquitos drifted in hazy clouds across the bank, and a small flock of mallards floated upon the still waters. There was the hum of cicadas in the deeper brush. Everything was tinted a cool blue thanks to the cloudless sky—and Zharille, she paced alongside her lake feeling the change.

Her bellow crooned across the water, seemingly amplified by the stillness there, carrying in every direction as she called for @Kaxwaan, to let the world know she was ready and wanting a man.

When her scent is enough to make a mans blood kneel, it is not his name that she calls for. Mesen-ka flares behind her with a high tail. The swine! "Zharille." He commands attention as he looks down upon her with a lifted head. "Your payment is to the desert." Or it is her lake on the line. He reminds her. If he should have the other mans head in his teeth to entertain her, so be it.

The one who came to meet her call was not the feral frost-giant she had wished for; it was the desert's answer to her need, and Zharille was angered upon seeing his face. At the same time there was allure, because he was a man and she had her desires; but she was resistant to his presence, lifting a lip and snarling a warning.

The desert chose you, she remarks, Zharille did not. Beyond that, she had agreed to take a husband of Senmut's choosing and to provide warrior children to the palace, but that did not mean they were the same thing. Mesen-ka could father bastards somewhere else—but so far as the palace was concerned, he was indeed this husband.

She called again for Kaxwaan, a bellow that shifted towards a deep, masculine howl. Where was her chosen? He who would father Greatwater's true heirs?

"You chose me when I was laid before your eyes at the borders." He is quick to stand beside her, leaving a yard of space. So be it if she feels violent, then he will simply have to work with it. Rashepses will surely riot hell into the lake if he brings another mans children into the palace! "You play foolish games, lake woman." He has fed her, he has prepared her, he has courted her over these weeks! Then let her stand in the fury of her heat and make a decision to call for another man, let her make the wrong decision, the kingsguard will let the audacity of it fuel into his lungs. 

Fire wants to erupt from his nose, and its instead the woman's own that creeps into his bloodstream. She is intoxicating, and it shows from how he attempts to steady his heartbeat beside her.

A poisonous draw from her, and he gives in to turn his nose ever so slightly in her direction. "Do you believe the desert will bend to this? I could pleasure you through your days until you are raw at your hips," he can make this a promise. He huffs away her scent, only to be met with it rougher in the next breath, "and you call for this man who hides his face from a priest and guard?" He stayed shadowed in their arrival!

Think what he will, Zharille knew the truth of that exchange. She could not rip the throat from the little snake man when he had come—but here and now, this was how she exerted control. If Mesen-ka continued to enforce the will of the desert he would get nothing but teeth in return.

Still, he was here and Kaxwaan was not. The urge to succumb to her heat was there; and this desert man promised hours and hours of fulfillment if that was what she wanted—all to fuel her womb and strengthen his desert lords. A sneer laces her lips.
Pleasure? I want children, sand-rat. Her teeth click in the air close to his face, followed by a derisive huff as she is forced to listen to this man claim strength, when he required the enforcement of this Rashepses above him. If he wanted something he would take it; that was what Zharille did.

Bring Rashepses, then. A low chuckle, deep in her throat, counters the harsh glare in her eye.
Bring Rashepses to Zharille. Take big man to bed, not little sand-rat.

She is infuriating. She bends what she can, she bites at what she must. Feral and deceiving, a lake witch with a siren scent. The anger that is now gas in his bloodstream runs ablaze. He does not want her. This will not work when she is so enraging of a woman, so difficult. Needy, too, as she calls for a man that is still not him and he may very well begin to bleed from his skin if he has to hear it again. "Then, I will fill you whole with my children and give you as many more as you can take in your womb." He does not want her!

 "Rashepses will see to it that your blood is raised with his own scuttling spawn, or is that not wicked enough for you, lake woman? You still bend for a cowering man instead of the one who can take you upon the ground now?"

It's desire that draws out the snarl from his lips as he moves towards her, rough breath to her nape, and displayed teeth. Is that how she wants to be treated? Like an animal? He is angry, because he wants her. And to display to her boytoy the things he could do that he would not, should he show his face. Jealousy now turned into angry lust. Rashepses! Rashepses! Coward man! Coward man!

It is exciting to see what changes befall the man before her, and she watches him become more creature with each goading word. She listens as he threatens her with seed. Does he not see it? That the children of her womb are promised to the palace he serves? That his own sons will be lesser beasts because of her? Why would he be so pleased to bring forward life when it cannot be free? He is a loyal dog; all who live within the desert-place are dogs, Zharille thinks.

The anger in Mesen-ka brings a rise to his furs, a sharpening to his wit. Zharille wonders if he will follow through—is he a beast? Is he as wild now in this moment as she demands her lovers to be? No; he is not there, not yet. He is more words than action, and beyond that he is humiliated.

Sand-rat won't take Zharille; scurry to Big Man! She had been serious.
Ra-shep-ses. Had he mis-heard her? Was that not the word for this superior man?

There was little chance he would comply; but either he followed her order and found a way for this, or he found the strength to take what he wanted. If he failed in his choice she would be sure to make him suffer. To make this cement itself within Mesen-ka's mind, the ogre shoved at him to push him away, and snapped, and did not pull her punches.
If she tasted blood, she would be pleased.

Rashepses! Rashepses! Rashepses! She says his name as if he is a man she can summon to her waters. She says his name as though he is already less than him by how the letters sound in her mouth alone!

Rashepses! Calling upon anyone but him, he who stands by her now and feels less of a man and more of an animal by second. Seething, heavy to think that he could raise blood not his own. Rashepses would not make him. Surely, he would not? Suddenly she makes him question it. That there is a world where she walks away from him, and comes back with children sagging her stomach that aren't his own. Mesen-ka knows she plays with him, finds humor in her games. Scurry to big man, she says.

He is not sure what comes over him when he feels her teeth sink into his skin. A desirous growl was exiled from his throat when the queen met his blood. If this did not work, and he did not make it, what then of him at the palace? There is no choice but to make them work, play her games.

His wrists are to her ogre waist while blood soaks his tongue. And so let him be the animal that she calls for. Be the vision her little shadow toy sees if he chooses to show his face to them now. Mesen-ka will be rough and a wolf today, tonight, tomorrow and the next. By lakeside, they will breed for all to watch. He will accept she is not ugly when dry of insults. Courts order. For both.

The drawing of his blood marks the final shift in the desert man.
It is as if she has loosed his true nature by cutting the skin, that his blood leaks and so does the truth of himself; and he is grabbing for her with his own teeth, pulling her close, heaving himself across her back. She feels their hips connect even as she fights him—goading him, even as he succeeds in what he's after.
Zharille's snarls become rumbles of pleasure as Mesen-ka exerts his will, and for a time she forgets her demands and she forgets what is owed and she forgets Kaxwaan.
All she wants is a full belly and Mesen-ka is devoted to the cause.