Snippet #1481141

Faera nodded, making her own way to the mess, as she had gathered it was called for short (which was rather unfortunate in her opinion). The smells and sounds of food and eating were unmistakable, and she navigated mostly by smell, gathering what she judged to be an assortment of vegetables (relatively fresh) and some bread with cheese. Fae was not a vegetarian, but she was not excessively fond of the taste of most meat, and whatever they were cooking this morning did not seem particularly different in this respect.

She seated herself at the end of a table, and it wasn't long before Beelzes parked herself on the other side, plate heaped with so many different things that Faera almost had difficulty picking them out. Did she smell both eggs and... jam? She chose not to ask. The Deep human warlock always seemed to attack everything with enthusiasm, and food was no different, if the hasty stab of silverware against the ceramic plates they were provided with was any indication.

"So, you're really only half-sisters?" her self-appointed teacher asked by way of conversation, and Faera nodded.

"Mm-hm," the dark elf replied. "Our mother is the same. Tala's father was killed at the very end of the war between the Primah and the Civee,and I'm not really sure who mine is." She supposed people were supposed to be bothered, talking about things like this, but she had never been. How could she miss someone she'd never known? The only parent she'd ever had was also her sister, and that was simply the way of it for her.

"Huh. Well, guess that explains it then. It's not a secret or anything, is it?"

Fae shook her head. "Not really, but then I doubt it's really the sort of thing that comes up in casual conversation, is it?"

Beelzes laughed. "Clearly, you haven't met all my friends, Little Shanir." Fae wasn't exactly certain how to take that, but assumed that maybe some of the warlock's old friends were just as adamant about studying magic as she was? Would that make genealogy a valid topic, perhaps? "Don't think about it too hard," her friend chastised with amusement, and Fae smiled.

---

Neira did not take the proffered seat, but did move further inside arms still crossed as the fledgling general explained himself. When he reached the words "birth defect" she chuckled darkly, but waited for him to finish before she bothered speaking.

She knew the answer to his question, of course. He was precisely half as Nightmarian as she was, and she knew that if she showed him how, he'd be able to feel it too- the call of the hive. Ah, how she hated it. What use was the hive to her? The bloody hive did nothing useful, it hadn't in a while, for that matter. The hive grew weak, pathetic, reprehensible, and she had done everything mentally possible (and for her, that was a lot) to blunt her connection to it. Now, she only heard it when she let her guard down, or when she was too weak to maintain the block she had placed around that particualrly annoying little corner of her mind.

But he knew none of this, and she wasn't about begin by explaining that. No no, there were much more entertaining ways to go about it. Neira inhaled deeply for a moment, the slow, half-feral smile blooming over her face. He was doing it unintentionally, of course, giving off those pheromones, but it was giving her rather amusing ideas. If he wanted tangible proof, there was a very easy way to go about getting it.

"Hmm..." she drawled languidly, bringing herself out of her standstill and assuming a deliberate, predatory stalk, circling the officer with her hands now clasped loosely behind her back. "Nightmarian blood, you say? An... intriguing possibility." Her circles got smaller and smaller as she pretended to ponder this, until with an almost-lazy movement, she tapped the plate on his collarbone, flicking her eyes to his face. "Allow me to put it this way... if it is true, I'm about to make you very uncomfortable, at least for a bit."

Having said this, Neira stepped to the side, still turning circles, but letting her chitinous hand trail languidly around his neck as she moved, consciously doing what he did not appear to have control over: releasing Nightmarian pheromones into the air. They had some effect on anyone, but nothing quite so potent as would be felt by someone with the proper genetics. "Well?" she purred wickedly. "If I were male and you of the blood, you'd probably want to kill me right now. As it is, the feeling should be distinctly more... pleasant, no?" He might still want to kill her later, depending, but she could almost guarantee that no such thought was in his head at the moment.

It had occurred to Neira more than once that she might be irredeemably vile, but she did so enjoy it.