[D2 LE] No Aphrodisiac (Chantelle’s Apartment)

[Chantelle Rossette]

There was something knowing in Chantelle’s eyes as she poured the wine. It was fruity and dry, but not so tart as the cheap vino they’d been serving at the crawdad boil. While her glass was as deep as possible to accommodate her beak, the egret was mindful of the beast’s crushing grip, and had provided him with a sturdier vessel.

“‘Ere we go, beb,” she placed the glass next to him on the table, letting her eyes drift down his furred body and plumed tail, smirking a little as she met the gaze of those feathers. “Mais, make yourself comfor’ble while I fetch sometings,” and with that she swept down the small hallway in a swirl of dress and rustle of feathers.

She returned with a plastic basin, setting it on the bench and taking some clean towels from within. Shaking one out, she wrapped it about Marcus’ shoulders, having noticed the dampness of the fur. “Now, don’ you go fussin’ wit dat,” she caressed his cheek, thoroughly engrossed in her role of caretaker.

[Marcus Kendall]

The beast smirked when saw that he had been provided with a sturdier cup. His tail, still coiled around the chair, opened its 'eyes' slowly, managing to look bemused. Marcus raised the cup to his snout and inhaled deep. He could smell the fruity wine, the sweetness of it all, the scent of Chantelle's rooms and, among all the other scents, the scent of his hostess.

Nodding to Chantelle, the beast poured few drops into his slavering mouth even as he watched her disappear for a moment. He smacked his mouth, sounding more nightmarish beast than a human. "Very sweet. Too fine for me." Marcus added, drinking bit more. "Thank you." Somehow he managed to recall his manners, even if he was leaning against her table as if he owned the thing.

He let her close, gingerly laying the cup on the table before leaning back. When Chantelle touched him, she could feel that he was a little tense. Yet the beast said nothing, letting the egret to work her 'magic'. With Chantelle closer to him, he could smell her better, smiling wolfishly as the tones of her scent ticked his nose. She too likely could smell him, the smell of the damp fur mixing with the earthy smells of the bayou.

[Chantelle Rossette]

“You shy li’ a houn’ dat’s been hit more dan i’s been petted,” Chantelle observed, picking up her smart phone and tapping at it a few times, music wafting from speakers near the TV. It wasn’t bluegrass, but the first song was easy listening jazz, featuring acoustic guitar instead of banjo; there were no lyrics.

The egret filled the basin with warm water at the sink. She placed the basin next to his feet, arranging her legs beneath her, smoothing the full skirt down and hiding them completely. “Shall we do someting abou’ dose muddy paws?” Looking up at the beast, she had long, full eyelashes, “may I touch your fee’?”

[Marcus Kendall]

The beast harrumphed, puffing air through his nostrils. "There wasn't much petting going on the other side. Lashes a plenty." She could feel there was something he wasn't telling, but that hardly came as a surprise. Most changelings were shame and/or terrified of the time they had spent in Arcadia. Men were nothing but toys to the Fae - a realization that scarred all the changelings, one way or another. "Caged in with others like me." Marcus grimaced. "So yeah, you got that right." there was a hint of scorn remaining in his voice. "Who would pet a beast like me?"

"Uh, they are awfully dirty." the beast murmured, taken aback by her offer. "I mean, you may but, uh, a fine lady like you really shouldn't." Meanwhile, his tail was rolling its many eyes.

[Chantelle Rossette]

“Dir’ is de bed of life, wit’out it, noting coul’ grow.” Chantelle guided his feet into the basin and began washing away the mud, “asides, de less mud you ge’ on my floor, de less moppin’ I ‘ave to do lata,” her tone was playful, not chastising.

She didn’t linger over the task, moving with efficiency, roughly towelling his now clean paws, folding the towel and placing it under his feet. “Mais, you wan’ some socks to warm dem feet?” The egret dumped out the basin, dried her hands, and picked up her glass, dipping her beak into the wine.

[Marcus Kendall]

"Eh, suppose so. Farmers are all sorta dirty folks." the beast replied, still bit unsure how a dainty lady, albeit in a shape of an egret, was washing his feet. "I'm more used to dipping myself into the bayou - or having a shower when I can. This.." he carefully wiggled his, large, clawed toes. "Is strange. Not bad." he added hastily. "Not bad at all." the beast tried to lean back and to make himself comfortable, but his size made that hard.

"I don't think there are socks that fit my feet." the beast murmured, sounding grateful. "And my own fur does just as well, when it's dry." His coat was good two to three inches thick across over his sturdy frame. "Bit awkward out there, but really handy at the sea. Don't get cold at all." the beast smirked as only beast could. "Ma'am is awfully kind." Marcus noted even as he eyed egret, tilting his large head to the side. "Can't remember when someone has been this nice to me."

[Chantelle Rossette]

Chantelle was thinking about stretchy, fluffy socks that would fit those big paws, formless enough to take the shape of his toes and claws, but that was something to worry about tomorrow. Right now, she returned to the beast, almost gliding across the small space, “dat’s a righ’ shame, beb, I’m glad I coul’ offa you a lil slice of comfor’.”

Taking the towel off the beast’s shoulders, she stroked his fur, examining it with a critical eye. The light here was better than by the lake the previous night, she could see how shaggy his fur was beneath the bedraggling of needing a good brush. Chuckling, “mais, you won’ be no ped’gree, bu’ I think I can a’ leas’ ma’ you feel a bi’ betta.”

[Marcus Kendall]

"Dunno, never saw it that way." he shrugged. "Guess you are right, Chantel. Chantelle." Marcus seemed to struggle a bit with her long name. "Still, you are awfully kind." Marcus noted, looking up to Chantelle. Even when seated he was almost as tall as her. "I'm bit flabbered by all this. You said you'd sing to me, but here you are, washing my paws. Makes me wonder what did I do to deserve this."

"I ain't nothing but a hound dog." Marcus chuckled, softly leaning into her touch. She could likely spy small pieces of lichen clinging to his fur, more sparse around his shoulders and growing more thickly between his shoulder blade and along his spine. "Your place smells nice." he murmured, closing his eyes even as she grabbed her brushes.

[Chantelle Rossette]

“I don’ hear no cryin’,” Chantelle teased, “an’ don’ you worry, I’ll still sing fo’ you.” It would take a lot of words to explain why she wanted to do this for the beast, and she wasn’t entirely certain she understood as much herself. Selecting a comb, “mais, I know a big beastie li’ you won’ be afrai’ of a lil pullin’,” and she began to tease at the matted fur. She was gentle, knowing how to hold the fur so she didn’t yank on the roots, but there was no helping the soft pull as she worked. Seeming to settle into the task, the egret began to hum to the music. The song changed, and she stopped humming, waiting for her cue before starting to sing.

[Marcus Kendall]

"Eh, I don't feel much." Marcus replied, staying still despite wanting to shrug. "It's probably all tangled there. I've kept my claws good, but that's it. Hard to hold a brush with these." he raised one of his paws for her to see. "Don't really want to lick myself, no ma'am." the beast sounded dead serious. "Don't think I taste any good." Again, something remained unsaid.

As she began humming, Marcus closed his eyes, his tail following in suit. "That feels pretty nice actually..."