Tigress M wrote...

Prompt: Tattoos. Wearing them, making them, admiring them (or not), anything goes.
Frightening AppearanceTime: 1 hr
Prompts: 2
"This is... a lot of ink, my dear Warden." Zevran looked at the charcoal sketch, then up at Adriana Cousland. "A Dalish elf would think it was, perhaps, a bit much."
"No, Zev, it's
just right." Adriana practically vibrated excitement, beaming over his shoulder at the picture. It showed her own face, features masked by a pattern of tiled scales around her eyes. Faux horns swooped across her forehead, into the hairline, and the snout covered her own nose, mouth and chin. Scales even descended her neck. Two spots near the bend of her jaw were about all that was left bare.
He hadn't minded covering her arms with scales. Her back was a larger project, and he had to start to wonder if maybe she was taking the dragon theme a bit far. Once the back was done, though, it only made sense to continue the tail, wrapped around her right leg. He'd been expecting a request for the other leg to come soon, but her face?
"Adriana," he protested, "you understand... this does not come off, yes? Your lovely face will be wearing this mask always."
She poked him in the shoulder, hard. "I'm not an
idiot. Yes, I know it doesn't come off. I'm not a lovely person, Zev. I
know things, about pain and blood, power and death." She leaned forward, suddenly soft against his back. "You even taught me some of them," she said, low in his ear. "The Wardens taught me others. And the dragon... the dragon taught me most of all."
She said she didn't believe the dragon was the Risen Andraste, as Kolgrim called her. That was... somewhat reassuring. But she idolized the great lizard all the same, to lengths that he'd thought were eccentric... until he remembered some of his own excesses, upon becoming a full Crow. Whatever had passed in the Frostbacks, it had made a new woman out of Adriana Cousland, and that sort of rebirth could cause all sorts of enthusiasms.
"Yes, of course. I have practically transformed you
into a dragon,
amora," he said, tilting his head back to look up at her. "I may be somewhat jealous of this dragon, in fact."
She laughed, a hard sound. "Awww. You like my pretty face?" Her features set. "I hate it. It's...
false. And I'm not some Orlesian bard, hiding behind
pretty. I'm a terror in the dark, and they should
fear me."
He reached up to touch one of her sun-kissed cheeks. "I would miss this, yes," he said, trying a smile.
Unexpectedly, she grabbed his wrist roughly. "I don't care! It's
mine," she hissed. "There is
damn little left in the world I can say that about. It's
mine and I'll do with it as I please. If you won't do it, then I'll find someone who -- "
"Warden!" he protested. "I did not mean... of course, of course it can be ask you desire." She
would have it done, whether he liked it or not. He would still rather be her artist; if anyone was going to mark her so, it should be him. And he might be able to... soften the design some, make the lines more graceful. "Let me... let me practice the designs, perhaps craft a variation or two to show you, and you tell me which pleases you best."
The iron grip on his wrist eased, and she pressed it to her lips for a kiss. "Sorry, Zev," she mumbled into the fine skin there. "Didn't mean to get so angry. But I
know what I'm doing. Really."
He turned in place, sketch fluttering to the ground. Ideas for abstracting and softening the design dissolved as he ran his fingers through her hair. "Of course, my fearsome Warden."
Modifié par Corker, 27 janvier 2011 - 04:40 .