Pairing: Female Inquisitor/Sera
They've been playing a game of Wicked Grace, just the two of them. Not for coppers or silver, not even hard gold sovereigns or Orlesian royals; clothes were their currency in the privacy of the Inquisitor's chambers.
"It's only a skull." the Inquisitor retorts, her eyes barely darting towards what she perceived as only a ornamental tool of her magic. The once casket of reason of some man or another now rests on the fireplace mantle, its eye sockets glow with jewels and a dim aura of lyrium, the bones polished and adorned with runes wrought in golden threads. It is alive with a low hum of a spirit residing within, something only a mage could perceive.
"Not true. You did weird magic things to it and now it's staring. Creepy. See the creeps it's giving me?" the elf protests, waving her arms in the mage's face, all covered in goose-bumps, hair rising to attention.
"It's the chill, Sera." she says, pointing out several open windows and the waning embers inside the fireplace that she would otherwise stir into a flame with magic.
"Is not!"
Near naked as she is, the elf springs from her seat, stomping her bare feet—a gesture as unconvincing as it is childish.
The Inquisitor nearly lets out a sigh, "You're being silly."
"Am not!" she insists, grunting, "Ugh, cover it up or something!"
The other woman rises, her steps brisk and sound; although scowling, her annoyance is merely a pretence, a snare planted for Sera to lose her guard. The firm grip of her hands is on the elf's hips as she unlaces her garish plaideweave underpants and throws them at the skull.
"How's that for covering it up?" she smirks.
The elf cackles, as expected, and continues to laugh and snort hysterically even as they both fall onto the bed, bare bodies pressed against one another.
