Firestone Hot Springs Wild Childs, Lookin' Good

Backdated to the 4th

After the camp had been set, Machi asked to be excused, patrolling the surrounding area with an unusual level of initiative and intrigue not typically displayed by the vain fellahin— unless, of course, he was up to something.

When he finally returned, the sun sunk low in the sky, painting the heavens in hues of amber and rose. The pale man pranced into camp, scanning for the familiar form of the little imp like a homing missile locking onto its target.

@Legend, he attempted a whisper that was about as quiet as it was subtle. With a playful bound, Machi greeted her with a hefty ramming of his head into her flank, nuzzling along her side with devoted exuberance. His eyes, more pupil than color, glistened with mischief and delight as he met her gaze.

Hello, my love, he purred, his voice dripping with warmth and affection. I'm so happy to see you. You'll never guess what I found. Machi’s tail swished eagerly behind him, a feathery plume of motion that mirrored the fluttering in his chest. He leaned in closer, his breath warm against her ear as he continued, I found a secret, he whispered, dissolving into a fit of giggles that he tried to subdue with a paw to his muzzle.

Steam rolled over head with a baclit glow from a quiet moon. Fireflies danced in a blur in the distance under a canopy of evergreens. Limestone heated warmly, where beddings of moss nestled between their cracks.

Night flourished in a vibrant darkness, and the stars kissed through the pour of cirrus clouds. The imp lay stretched forward by one of the many pools, forelimbs in front of her chest with a lean in her pinched waist. The tip of her tail curled over her hind leg. Fur intertwined with fur where her shoulder met the press of soft cheek, and there she watched the swirl of hot spring water below.

Foggy hues searched at approaching steps. and they met the toned legs of Machiavelli's. The changelings tail unraveled. Greeted with a nuzzle into her flank, she answered gently, airy. "Hello." Her head turned into his cheek, brushing the sides of their muzzles against one another's, trailing warmly down the side of his neck. With closed eyes, breath heated the back of her ear. It flicked down softly against his nose. "Really? What have you found?" An interest piqued.

Opening to meet his gaze, her nose turned into his once more, and eagerly, a smile tugging at the edge of her moon-sheltered lips. "You must show 'secret,'" she urged.

Don't worry I will, the man tutted, turning and dropping a pouch to the ground with a squelch, which earned it a disapproving glare. I also, most generously if I might add, have found dinner. Machi added proudly, unraveling the bag to reveal a bundle of herbs and several large hunks of meat. His feathery tail began to wag excitedly as he inspected his haul, tickling Legend's nose. There's also a few rabbits buried not too far from here, but I'll need help carrying them. I've been very, very busy today as you can see, Legend dear, The fellahin said, turning around to face the woman expectantly.

With a dramatic flourish, he wrapped the bag again and began to take large, exaggerated steps, his movements more a dance than a walk. His path swayed and zigzagged as if he were navigating an invisible obstacle course.

He searched for a small spring among the pools, his eyes scanning the ground with intense if not somewhat unfocused, concentration. When he finally found a suitable spot, he dropped the pouch into the spring with a splash, wobbling backward to avoid the steaming water, his fair head crunching into his neck as if he were a turtle. Yeah, that looks good enough, he appraised with a sniff, voice dripping with confidence and a hint of slurred authority.

Rounding back on the jackdaw with a conspiratorial, devilish grin, he fell to the ground in a dramatic heap, pulling his lithe body along like a drunken snake. Let's go before they see us, he whispered, or rather attempted to whisper, his voice carrying more than he intended. His eyes, wide with mischief and glee, sparkled in the dim light.

As he slithered forward, he couldn't help but giggle, the sound bubbling up uncontrollably. Shhh, Legend, he said between fits of laughter, we're on a secret mission. No one must know. He paused to dramatically peek around, ensuring no one was watching.

He continued his crawl, occasionally pausing to look back at Legend, his expression a mix of excitement and deadly seriousness. Come on, my lovely accomplice, he urged, his voice a theatrical stage whisper. We must retrieve the rabbits. Our feast awaits, and we shall dine like kings... or at least very well-fed peasants, he added with a throaty cackle.

Water formed in her mouth, and the dilation of her eyes could have frothed. “Ah! Ah!” The bag hit the ground, and she was soon in front of him, tongue swiping over the cloth of hide.

“Machi is a good chef,” a rich coat of blood subtly washed over her tongue. All the while, staring into the rich ivory of his eyes with an intense stare. “She is sure it to be good.” Behind him again then, resting. Machi would make it good.

Failure, a very far and few world for the fellahin. Failure, perhaps a broken world for the fellahin. And for the yaret, a beautiful land of white roses. Trickled from her mouth, a silent laughter as her nose was tickled.

Feline, she stood, bounding with each sway to his step, falling into place with his highs, with his lows. Her spine curved, bended, stretched, and when it would lock to his sides, he would move away once more. A pull and give, and she would follow the moth of his flame. Often times, swept to his front, nudging the underside of his chin with her nose, a clip of her teeth in playful goads, before falling behind again.

“Here?” Machiavelli stumbled backwards, and from behind, she lurked forward with kyanite eyes slipping over his shoulder. The remnants of the bag, dumped into the pool.

The angel-man turned, curling around her frame as her nose chased his features. Gone, he was, slipping away in a devils laughter. The other devil laughed back. Chasing the snake of his tail, soon upon the ground in a dive. “Shhhh,” she mimicked. And the accomplice followed.

“Show, before they come,” her nose pushed him forward. Faster, faster! A play, and a taunt, and still a title he then was crowned, “King.”

No, no, no, the man rebuked, tapping cat's paw to the woman's head, Not for beasties. With a gentle shove, he pushed her back behind him, holding her in place with the possession of a dragon claiming his horde, a hind paw acting as his loyal sentry. Mine, he finished sternly, meeting the imp's stare with his own dinner-plate gaze. Rabbit is hers.

When no more compliments befell him, he turned sullenly, a pout forming on his lips like a dark cloud threatening a nice summer's day. If nothing else, he guessed he was a good chef, though the lack of praise left him melting to the ground like a deflating balloon.

He stumbled through his pit-fall path unafraid of the bubbling pools that threatened to engulf him, for if he strayed too close, Legend would be there to guide him back to safety, and it was under her teasing corrections he would stay until his belly met the sturdiness of the earth.

King?, he echoed with a swish of his tail, hmm, I think not. I'm not that old yet, you cougar, he teased, batting her lightly before slithering away into the prairie grass.

When the grass swept overhead like great silver towers, Machi gave up his sneaking. And so the devil would regrow his wings and leap featherlight into the air as he passed over the lofty foliage as a patchwork dolphin over moon-woven waves.

“Greedy!” She hissed!

Machi would not share! Greedy, greedy man!

Swatted, her eyes winced and she scrunched her head away roughly. Crinkled nose, squishy eyes. Cougar, and her tongue suddenly fell out in a disgusted plummet. Somehow, he lost all of appeal in a single second. Just enough to earn his own swat of a hand, landed upon his face, and perhaps if she pushed down hard enough, it might drive a memorable scar through his skin. If only it had not been as gentle as a rodents touch.

He glided over the foliage, and it was under it in the movement of deepened shadows, shifting grass, that her figure could be tracked. Mink-like, before his feet would crash down next to hers, and he would leave her once more to see over the rivers of grass. A ceiling of moonlight opened up, and closed once more. 

Oh? He purred, flinching away from her swat. Did you not like that, my twitchy, witchy, tawny darling? he crooned, he crooned, leaning in with a mischievous grin that could hardly contain his delight in teasing her. Nip at my neck all you want, it won't change the fact that you're old enough to be my grandmother, the villain smirked. Revenge tasted sweeter than honey and was worth twice as much!

With a theatrical flourish, he pranced away, leaving her to nip at his ankles as he floated over swaths of spun silver. His feathery coat gathered around him in great heaps before being pulled back to earth in a cascade of movement. Each bound left the man convinced he was the epitome of elegance, swimming among the stars in a display of the dangers of inebriated confidence.

And then something caught his eye, a glint in the twilight, and the comet was veering off course. He called out to Legend in willowy tones as he left the sea of tall grass and ventured into the shorter plains.