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WELCOME TO THE SALTBURNT NETWORK
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( parisa has sat through a decent number of symphonies that barely hold a flicker of a flame to the pleasure found in emmrich's laugh, particularly when it's pressed up against her, like some secret etched in the threads of her skin. it makes her smile back, generously adoring. still, she goes as she's moved to, pressing her knees in the space beside his head, satisfaction curling up her spine when she sits, feeling the fresh shaven parts of his cheeks brush up against her inner thighs. the only time she has any height on emmrich is when he's horizontal, and she enjoys the view, trailing the tip of one finger down his dignified nose to end with a gesturing flick against her clit. )
My, aren't you sweet? ( such politeness from a man between her legs, what novelty. parisa can't help smiling at him, her unbrushed, static-y hair falling over her shoulders in loose waves as she arches over him, settling her cunt on his mouth with a breathy ) Oh.
( what is so lovely about older lovers — they don't need instruction. there's no mentor part parisa could play that could teach emmrich anything he doesn't already know, which is most of the fun of the role to begin with. she has a real substitute teacher vibe to encouraging him, arching her back and finding his hand at her hip, threading their fingers together. she loves to touch him, partly because she never has any doubt he wants her to. you don't have to be a telepath to see that emmrich is written in the old storybook way, one of arthur's most chivalrous, most romantic knights. gawain, she thinks. most definitely.
rocking down on him, a full body shiver courses through her, hand flexing in his. she's careful with her weight, keeping it on her knees instead of his chin, but it's clear she's still antsy, still hungry for it. ) Don't tease. ( parisa whines, because she knows what the most chivalrous, most righteous, most romantic thing to do is. give the knight a maiden who needs, let him be the hero of parisa's orgasms. he already is. )
My, aren't you sweet? ( such politeness from a man between her legs, what novelty. parisa can't help smiling at him, her unbrushed, static-y hair falling over her shoulders in loose waves as she arches over him, settling her cunt on his mouth with a breathy ) Oh.
( what is so lovely about older lovers — they don't need instruction. there's no mentor part parisa could play that could teach emmrich anything he doesn't already know, which is most of the fun of the role to begin with. she has a real substitute teacher vibe to encouraging him, arching her back and finding his hand at her hip, threading their fingers together. she loves to touch him, partly because she never has any doubt he wants her to. you don't have to be a telepath to see that emmrich is written in the old storybook way, one of arthur's most chivalrous, most romantic knights. gawain, she thinks. most definitely.
rocking down on him, a full body shiver courses through her, hand flexing in his. she's careful with her weight, keeping it on her knees instead of his chin, but it's clear she's still antsy, still hungry for it. ) Don't tease. ( parisa whines, because she knows what the most chivalrous, most righteous, most romantic thing to do is. give the knight a maiden who needs, let him be the hero of parisa's orgasms. he already is. )
It is less that we are asked, [ Emmrich says, careful in his choice of words, ] than that we are the only ones capable of it. Who will listen, when the dead call.
[ His head cocks as he considers the next questions posed, Johanna's visage flashing before his eyes. He's more of a mess of contradictions than he appears: a necromancer with a fear of death, a soft heart matched with steely determination. ]
Must you kill? Can you not drink from another without draining them completely? To take blood is not to take a life.
[ His hand falls away from his face, curling into a fist atop his desk. ]
You have a soul. You are as touched by suffering as those you would claim to inflict it upon. Are you, too, not deserving of my time and my attention?
—I would, if it was what was demanded of me. Commit to evil, in order to save others from it. Is that not a small price to pay? One soul — mine, not that of another — exchanged for many. I fear it less than I fear the veil that separates us from the dead, and even that, I fear less than I once did.
[ His head cocks as he considers the next questions posed, Johanna's visage flashing before his eyes. He's more of a mess of contradictions than he appears: a necromancer with a fear of death, a soft heart matched with steely determination. ]
Must you kill? Can you not drink from another without draining them completely? To take blood is not to take a life.
[ His hand falls away from his face, curling into a fist atop his desk. ]
You have a soul. You are as touched by suffering as those you would claim to inflict it upon. Are you, too, not deserving of my time and my attention?
—I would, if it was what was demanded of me. Commit to evil, in order to save others from it. Is that not a small price to pay? One soul — mine, not that of another — exchanged for many. I fear it less than I fear the veil that separates us from the dead, and even that, I fear less than I once did.
A thin veil, these days.
[ Pensive words from the dead man in the chair, before he lapses into silence for a few moments, considering Emmrich with his tea-coloured gaze. Darker, when he's not exercising his power, closer to the shade they were as a human. ]
We can drink without killing. But it requires control, which can only be gained with experience. By the time a vampire reaches that point, they have already been killing, one or perhaps two a day, for many years. Hundreds of deaths. And even if we leave our victims alive, who can say if they will survive our attention? It requires care and time to recover. Some never do. Who can say that it is the better option, to fade slowly away?
[ He pauses again, considering his words. Glances away, then back again. ]
What is it you would do with me, given your time and attention?
[ Pensive words from the dead man in the chair, before he lapses into silence for a few moments, considering Emmrich with his tea-coloured gaze. Darker, when he's not exercising his power, closer to the shade they were as a human. ]
We can drink without killing. But it requires control, which can only be gained with experience. By the time a vampire reaches that point, they have already been killing, one or perhaps two a day, for many years. Hundreds of deaths. And even if we leave our victims alive, who can say if they will survive our attention? It requires care and time to recover. Some never do. Who can say that it is the better option, to fade slowly away?
[ He pauses again, considering his words. Glances away, then back again. ]
What is it you would do with me, given your time and attention?
[ It's so much — so much more than Emmrich had expected given the relative ease with which the vampires here seem to exist. Maybe he ought to have expected it; they're all, by his understanding, well into their years, no longer fledgings and used to controlling their hunger. But one or two a day, for years—
To have another question to ponder is a blessing, muscling past Emmrich's natural instinct to try to find a solution to the problem that's been posed to him. His gaze re-finds its focus, returning from the nebulous distance past the rise of Armand's shoulder. ]
What would you ask of me?
[ Simply put, in contrast with his usual penchant for spooling on. And he could go on, but they've suggested the shape of whatever words might follow already: unlike many of the souls and spirits that Emmrich deals with, Armand requires no interpreter. ]
To have another question to ponder is a blessing, muscling past Emmrich's natural instinct to try to find a solution to the problem that's been posed to him. His gaze re-finds its focus, returning from the nebulous distance past the rise of Armand's shoulder. ]
What would you ask of me?
[ Simply put, in contrast with his usual penchant for spooling on. And he could go on, but they've suggested the shape of whatever words might follow already: unlike many of the souls and spirits that Emmrich deals with, Armand requires no interpreter. ]
Nick, Ash, Armand.
Those are three who paid the blood price for your research, though I know there were more who perished. Those are the bodies I saw with mine own eyes, as I tried to keep us safe. A boy, no older than my sons. A husband, beloved by his partner. And a man who has surely suffered enough in his long life.
Will you offer your services to them as Alina has aided her Paul?
[ because it isn’t alina’s job to fix all who have been broken. she exhausted herself in the game. she risks herself now by coming forward. this is supposedly a necromancer’s specialty, is it not? ]
Those are three who paid the blood price for your research, though I know there were more who perished. Those are the bodies I saw with mine own eyes, as I tried to keep us safe. A boy, no older than my sons. A husband, beloved by his partner. And a man who has surely suffered enough in his long life.
Will you offer your services to them as Alina has aided her Paul?
[ because it isn’t alina’s job to fix all who have been broken. she exhausted herself in the game. she risks herself now by coming forward. this is supposedly a necromancer’s specialty, is it not? ]
[ A good question. Armand weighs it carefully for a few beats, holding the necromancer's inscrutable gaze. What does he want? Vengeance on such a man seems unnecessary, not to mention pointless. He's already got what he came for -- as close to an explanation as he's likely to get, as well as some interesting insight into Emmrich's personal philosophy. So, what's left?
After a moment, the air shivers where he used to be, pages ruffling in a sharp breeze. Armand is abruptly on the other side of the desk, standing beside Emmrich and looking down at him. He raises a hand, slowly, drawing his fingertips through the air close to the necromancer's jaw. His expression is pensive, a little distracted. ]
Honesty. Your order cares for the dead. Could you come to care for someone like me?
After a moment, the air shivers where he used to be, pages ruffling in a sharp breeze. Armand is abruptly on the other side of the desk, standing beside Emmrich and looking down at him. He raises a hand, slowly, drawing his fingertips through the air close to the necromancer's jaw. His expression is pensive, a little distracted. ]
Honesty. Your order cares for the dead. Could you come to care for someone like me?
[ That her natural inclination is to run — an instinct born from the dark nooks and crannies of her mind, impossible for him to navigate without her guidance — doesn't make her any more difficult to love. They're a perfect match, in that way; not the sun chasing the moon across the sky, but the loving pull of the moon and the tides. Ever reacting to each other, ever in sync.
As their fingers intertwine, he sighs, breath cool against the wet part of her legs, the ghost of sensation followed in the next moment by the press of his tongue, licking a slow stripe along the folds of her cunt. But he's never been one not to follow instruction. Don't tease, she says, and so he doesn't, his mouth chasing the taste of her, each twitch and shudder of her body. Below, his cock twitches, hard against the plane of his stomach, a clear sign of desire that would be difficult to ignore if not for the fact of her. His pleasure is in watching her, catching and filing away the way her sweet lips part, the way her face flushes — the proclivity of a former teacher's pet, aware of each point of sensation, from the silk of his robe caught between his arm and her back to the brush of his carefully combed mustache against her pink flesh.
The only shame is that his tongue is too occupied to tell her just how beautiful he finds her. Granted, the soft moan that echoes in his throat gets most of the point across, half-formed and pliant, undone to a degree only she's ever allowed to see. She's so lovely — she'll always be lovely to him. ]
As their fingers intertwine, he sighs, breath cool against the wet part of her legs, the ghost of sensation followed in the next moment by the press of his tongue, licking a slow stripe along the folds of her cunt. But he's never been one not to follow instruction. Don't tease, she says, and so he doesn't, his mouth chasing the taste of her, each twitch and shudder of her body. Below, his cock twitches, hard against the plane of his stomach, a clear sign of desire that would be difficult to ignore if not for the fact of her. His pleasure is in watching her, catching and filing away the way her sweet lips part, the way her face flushes — the proclivity of a former teacher's pet, aware of each point of sensation, from the silk of his robe caught between his arm and her back to the brush of his carefully combed mustache against her pink flesh.
The only shame is that his tongue is too occupied to tell her just how beautiful he finds her. Granted, the soft moan that echoes in his throat gets most of the point across, half-formed and pliant, undone to a degree only she's ever allowed to see. She's so lovely — she'll always be lovely to him. ]
[ Not too long after the message is sent: ]
Of course.
[ Then, a beat. He thinks, again, of Alina's message. The daily offering of blood. He can't ask that of them, not when he's responsible for how much they've given up already. Formless, shadowy thoughts begin to coalesce as he reads over Alicent's message once more. ]
It ought not to be their burden to bear.
Of course.
[ Then, a beat. He thinks, again, of Alina's message. The daily offering of blood. He can't ask that of them, not when he's responsible for how much they've given up already. Formless, shadowy thoughts begin to coalesce as he reads over Alicent's message once more. ]
It ought not to be their burden to bear.
[ Armand's question seems to startle Emmrich more than the quickness with which he flits across the room, suddenly so close, his skin buzzing under the phantom of the vampire's touch. He blinks, but manages not to flinch or tense — his brow furrows as though he hasn't understood what's been said, lashes fluttering as he vies for clarity. But there's only a beat of silence that passes between them, instinct pulling two plaintive syllables forth from Emmrich's chest. ]
Of course.
[ As though he couldn't imagine why Armand would ask, despite the preceding conversation, all their talk of good and evil and monsters in the world. But— that's his nature, to be so in love with the world despite his place in the kingdom of death.
And then, suddenly, his expression breaks, a breath of laughter escaping his parted lips. ]
—We might begin by your sharing your name.
Of course.
[ As though he couldn't imagine why Armand would ask, despite the preceding conversation, all their talk of good and evil and monsters in the world. But— that's his nature, to be so in love with the world despite his place in the kingdom of death.
And then, suddenly, his expression breaks, a breath of laughter escaping his parted lips. ]
—We might begin by your sharing your name.
Tis already their burden.
[ You fool of a maester. She rubs her temples. ]
I expect to hear you’ve made inroads with them in due course.
[ You fool of a maester. She rubs her temples. ]
I expect to hear you’ve made inroads with them in due course.
[ He's learned, already, the futility of clarifying — that he knows, that he means it in sum — the evidence of it plain to see in the last time he'd really engaged with the network, painting him as cold rather than caring. Still, he reads over her messages again, guilt sitting like a stone in his chest (which he supposes is the point). ]
Of course, Your Majesty.
Of course, Your Majesty.
Then we’ve an accord, for the moment.
[ a beat. ]
Tell me if I can assist you. I am no necromancer or maester, but I am well known in this place, and my son is deft with a blade, as you well know.
I cannot bear to see my fellows suffer any longer.
[ though she knows that she will. she always does. a woman marked for sorrow. ]
[ a beat. ]
Tell me if I can assist you. I am no necromancer or maester, but I am well known in this place, and my son is deft with a blade, as you well know.
I cannot bear to see my fellows suffer any longer.
[ though she knows that she will. she always does. a woman marked for sorrow. ]
Edited 2025-04-01 21:44 (UTC)
[ Dorian admits to considerable curiosity, at the invitation. He is, at this point, accustomed to Emmrich's gentle rejection of his flirtations, and doesn't take it personally-- so it's a pleasant surprise that they're skirting around something, though Dorian couldn't say what exactly that something is.
Perhaps their tea date will be illuminating, or at the very least stimulating. He arrives fashionably late, after freshening up, still favoring oversized knits with taupe leather in the early spring chill.
Sliding into his seat across from Emmrich, and offering a congenial smile, ]
This is a quaint little spot, isn't it? [ His gaze sweeping the menu, and the jars of herbs covering the counter, ] I don't suppose they have anything harder than tea.
Perhaps their tea date will be illuminating, or at the very least stimulating. He arrives fashionably late, after freshening up, still favoring oversized knits with taupe leather in the early spring chill.
Sliding into his seat across from Emmrich, and offering a congenial smile, ]
This is a quaint little spot, isn't it? [ His gaze sweeping the menu, and the jars of herbs covering the counter, ] I don't suppose they have anything harder than tea.
[ Emmrich is, similarly, dressed as he usually is, a crisp white shirt worn under a burgundy waistcoat, gold accents visible no matter the eye may wander. He's quick to smile back, nodding as Dorian sits.
Strange — he doesn't feel nervous at all. ]
We could always relocate to the pub, or one of the few bars, if that's more to your taste, [ he offers, as he casts a gaze around the shop. ] But I was considering the Earl Grey, myself.
Strange — he doesn't feel nervous at all. ]
We could always relocate to the pub, or one of the few bars, if that's more to your taste, [ he offers, as he casts a gaze around the shop. ] But I was considering the Earl Grey, myself.
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