Social Juggling

Zaida picked Dvorah out amongst the food stalls. The forewoman was munching away on a qatayef - a cream-filled sweet dumpling. She was leaned over the the stall's counter, her rear sticking out very conspicuously. Several festivalgoers shamelessly ogled, spurring Zaida to hurry lest someone swoop in and steal Dvorah away.

The older woman turned as she heard Zaida arrive at her side. "Are you quite all right? Are you ill? Do we need to call off the night?"

"A thousand apologies." Zaida could not help but to bow as she said so. "I'm fine, there were simply some matters that demanded my attention-"

"Listen to me," Dvorah said sternly, cutting her off. She took a step forward, crossing into the bigger woman's personal space. "There ought not be anything else that draws you away from me. You are mine tonight. Mine. Do you understand?"

The intensity Zaida saw in the eyes that stared into her own was almost enough to remind her of Yorresie. "Yes."

"Good. Now then..." Dvorah grabbed her half-eaten qatayef off the stall. "You took so long that I couldn't wait any longer and had to start the foods on my own." She said this like it was a mortifying thing. "Try this." She held up the dumpling for Zaida to take a bite.

Not used to allowing someone to feed her, the knight awkwardly bit off a mouthful. Unsurprisingly, she was left with some the dessert's cream filling on her lip. After she swallowed, she went to clean it away but Dvorah stopped her.

"Allow me." She reached up and gathered the cream from Zaida's face with a single, slow stroke of her thumb. She then held it before the knight's lips. "Go on and finish it."

Hesitantly, Zaida extended her tongue to taste the cream, but instead of holding her thumb still and letting the other woman come to her, Dvorah took the parted lips as an invitation and pressed her digit into her mouth. She laid her thumb on Zaida's tongue, simply waiting and feeling as the muscle and saliva washed the sugary filling away. Yet still the finger did not withdraw. Dvorah felt around, almost as if she was massaging that maw. To her credit, Zaida was quite patient as her mouth was fingered. She remained calm and wondered what exactly the older woman was after.

Dvorah gently opened Zaida's mouth. She pulled the jaw down and the cheek wide, gazing into that now-sloppy tunnel. Continuing her examination, she took a hold of the tip of the knight's tongue and slowly pulled it to see how far it would go. She must have been impressed as her eyes widened a tad as the final centimetres stuck out.

"My, you've got a lot to work with," the smaller woman remarked.

May I have my tongue back now? Zaida wondered.

Dvorah closed the mouth and used the plentiful lips that surrounded her thumb to clean much of the spittle from it as she withdrew. She did not say anything, even as she held Zaida's gaze and finished off the qatayef. Only after she had finished cleaning her fingers on a napkin did she speak in a perfectly typical tone. "What are you craving next?"

Markil's heart beat excitedly as he prowled the Festival. He would have to wait until tomorrow to get what he wanted - same as the rest of Isolt's agents - but just as they were each indulging in early gratification, he too was searching for something to buy himself time before the true victory.

Yes, if he was to get the most out of this, then he would have to choose carefully. Someone with a big enough ego, loyal enough companions, and full of just the right amount of drink to keep things interesting.

He saw a knight guffawing with comrades. He looks like he's been drinking, and his friends are likely to defend him, but it wouldn't do to go stirring up trouble with other knights.

He saw a duo surrounded by a small audience as they arm wrestled. That's plenty of ego right there, but I can't be certain that anyone there knows anyone else.

He saw a monk haughtily roll by with others in similar dress. Ego: check; associates: check; but I wouldn't bet a gremlin's pocket lint on him having had anything to drink. The proud prick is probably too disciplined to fall for anything sober.

Markil considered lowering his standards when he spied a giant of a woman downing tankard after tankard as her peers cheered her on. When she finished, they cheered for her and clapped her on the shoulders approvingly.

Perfect, the royal knight thought as his lips curled in a nefarious grin. An imposing figure with something to prove... and no connection to the knights... just what I'm looking for.

Making a beeline for her, Markil scooped up a half-consumed tankard while its owner's back was turned. He parked himself just behind the big woman, close enough that most any movement from her would contact him. He barely had to spend a minute pretending to mind his own business before an elbow bumped against his own arm. He exaggerated the collision, practically throwing the contents of the cup over himself. The woman spun to see what she had nudged and he sprung into action before she could apologise.

"My drink!" Markil exclaimed in feigned tragedy. He swiftly swapped to fury. "Watch what you're doing, you damned clod!"

"Ease off there, mate," the woman said. It was clear from her expression that she understood the fault was her own, but that her victim's volatility put her off. "It's just a bit of spilled beer. I can-"

"The hell it is!" he cut her off. "I can't go back to my date like this. They'll think me a pig, and I'll have to explain that it's no fault of my own, but a pig's to be sure!"

"Mind your tongue there, mate." The woman's features darkened.

That's it, now we're getting somewhere...

By then some of the woman's friends had decided they did not enjoy this man's temper. They had begun insisting she teach him a lesson.

"What, am I wrong?" Markil continued to push. "Dressed and mannered like you are, I'm surprised you didn't show with more mud on you. Might I find your ma in the nearest sty?"

"That's it!" At her breaking point, the woman wound back a heavy fist.

Bring it on, you gullible rube. Markil stood his ground, bracing himself as he watched the punch fly in.

There was a meaty thud as her knuckles met his cheekbone. Had he been human, the blow might have put him out then and there. As it was, he only staggered back a step. It was definitely going to leave a mark, but if he could take a hit from Isolt, then there was nothing this simple yokel could hope to do. Raising his own hands, Markil threw a low punch at the woman's gut. It was nothing special, and if the woman was half as tough as she looked, then it would barely affect her for a moment before provoking a more aggressive response - exactly as Markil hoped. He wanted the fight escalated to a point where he would not have to hold too much back. If he let loose too early, the party would be over before it started.

As expected, the second the human got over the blow to her gut, she came at him again with an even more wrathful expression. Better still, some of her companions had come round to encircle Markil. Without completely taking his attention off the woman, he noted the way the others hesitated to engage him.

Out of fear, or some misguided sense of honour I wonder... Just show some nerve and swing already!

After weaving away from an uppercut from the woman, Markil feinted a punch at one of the dolts behind him. He gave a derisive laugh when the human flinched.

Take the bait, you tidbit... Wouldn't want to look weak in front of your friends, would you? Come get your ****...

As if he had eyes on the back of his head, Markil pivoted clear of the punch aimed at his blindside and returned with a cross that sent the human stumbling into his associates. That was seemingly the final straw, as the ring around the royal knight collapsed with the commoners all surging forward to get a piece of him.

Yes. Yes! Come get a taste! I know I'm going to...

It was no small feat, but Zaida did succeed in escaping Dvorah without enraging her to the point of dropping her as a date. Bearing the weight of three ladies waiting on her, the demon-in-hiding slinked off to locate Marisol. With any luck, Tivra would yet have her entirely distracted and unaware of exactly how long Zaida had been absent. Returning to the games and contests, she found them not far from where she had left them. Tivra was speaking to the courier, who was herself leaning against a tentpole; her posture one of disengagement. She barely even half faced the knight. When her gaze found Zaida, her expression awoke like the knight was rainfall after a year of drought.

"Ah, would you look at that," she said loudly and abruptly, severing Tivra's sentence. "My darling Zaida returns!" She left her place against the tent pole with swift strides and threw her arms around the bigger knight. "You have to get me out of here," she hissed in her ear.

"Tivra spoke with you about the merits of a closer dynamic between the knights and the postal serv-"

"Uh-huh, yep, mhm," Marisol nodded vigourously. "Yesyes, she has given me much to think about. I will have to get back to her on it after a period of deliberation. But for now, I won't keep you waiting, sweetheart." She took Zaida's arm and looped it through her own. "Show me that thing you were so eager to." Already she began walking away, towing the larger woman.

"What thing?"

"The thing," she said, face bright, but teeth clenched. "You know. The one you spoke of earlier."

Surrendering to the courier's insistence, Zaida suspended her remaining questions and went along, only offering a parting wave to the knight they were so hastily leaving behind.

Tivra returned the gesture, plenty aware of Marisol's momentary interest and motivation, but taking no special offense to it.

"Throbbing thorns," Marisol sighed once they were well away. "I don't think I've been lectured that relentlessly since I put a ball through Mother LeTessie's window."

Zaida looked concerned. "Was it that bad? I haven't known Tivra to be an especially severe person."

Marisol scoffed. "Dear, severity had nothing to do with it. I came here to enjoy myself with you, not discuss the logistics of revising delivery routes."

"Ah, I see your point..." Zaida cringed.

"Enough of that though. I was fortunate to be rescued by my brave heroine, and I intend to make the absolute most of my night with her."

"Ah-ha," Zaida chuckled awkwardly. "And did you have an idea as to what would give you 'the most' of the night? After all, it's only fair that you should pick after having been tormented so."

"What a gentlewoman," Marisol grinned. "You know what sounds splendid right now? A dance. Yes, you must take me for a dance."

BAD IDEA. BAD IDEA. BAD IDEA. Eposi is still there and she'll undoubtedly be looking for me.

"Are you c-certain that's what you want?" Zaida suspected sweat would be beading on her brow at any moment. "I mean, after your impressive display at the adult games, surely you would enjoy a more leisurely activity?"

"Ah, my dear, this is just my sort of leisure. And besides, whatever happened to it only being fair that I should have my pick?" She gave a cheeky smirk.

"I did say that, didn't I?" Damnation!

"Come!" Marisol surged forward, yanking on Zaida's arm. "Come on! Before the bands wear themselves out!"

Oh, so THOSE humans can tire?