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ohana_oharu
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Oharu left his window open in the days leading up to Ohana's return. Whenever the journal arrived he knew it would only be a matter of time. She'd probably sneak into his apartment through the window and stare at his current work in progress, still hanging on the loom.
He was a little surprised the night when she turned up, staring at his most recent weaving. It was lovely and in a strange way it tied them together, a loose bond of similar hobbies. He'd chosen a lot of sea colored threads for this particular carpet, though it didn't have a buyer yet. He liked it better that way; he could make the carpet look however he wanted. Not that looks had much to do with the magic involved in weaving such carpets. This piece was nearing completion and within a week he'd be out scrounging for new materials for the next carpet.
Ohana ran her finger over the carpet still hanging on the large loom that stood in the corner of Oharu's living room. "She's a fine work," she said lightly to her brother as he entered the room.
He smiled happier to see his sister than to receive her compliments. "She is," he said with a well earned sense of pride. "Have you been in town long?" he asked. She'd been away for a few months, off on her usual wandering way.
"A bit," she said, leaving it at that. She didn't inquire into his comings and goings and he never bothered to look too deeply into hers. They volunteered information if they wanted to share. It wasn't disinterest, as much as how they were; they'd been this way since childhood, never asking too many questions. "Would you like to go out tonight?" she asked.
He smirked. When Ohana was in a mood to go out she'd bring them to some bar on Silk Road, pay for a lap dance and get thoroughly drunk. "Perhaps," he said vaguely. He should have known she was in the mood just from the getup she was wearing. That little red dress and those leopard print boots always spelled adventure. "Are you buying?"
She placed her hand on her hip and gave him the usual look. "You can't tell me you're out of money already Oharu Shi."
He shook his head. No, he could not. "Halfsies then," he offered with a glance towards the door.
"Ready already?" she asked, wondering if he'd go out for such revelries in his less than decked out state.
"I will pale in comparison to you, oh sister mine." He smiled and offered his arm. He wasn't about to climb back out the window with her and hoped she'd go through the front door with him.
"You always do," she teased, though they both knew it wasn't entirely true. She took his arm and they ventured out of his apartment, towards the night life that always waited on Silk Road. "I haven't been this way in months," she commented, admiring the scenery of lights and noise.
"You should come around more often," Oharu prodded, though he doubted his sister was ever the type to settle in any one place for long. Her infrequent returns to New Meridian always pained him, as he loved to spend time with her. He never seemed to focus on that when she was in his life however. Only a passing comment would mark his loneliness in her absence.
She smiled quietly, allowing the comment to pass. She wasn't about to argue with him about her way of life. She steered him toward the best road for night life and ducked into the first bar she found.
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Isabella was making her way back to Hotel Mosaique. Slowly. She was sated, a little overly so, after finding a mage who'd been stealing from others in a dark part of Silk Road. Not stealing for food or to support himself. Just stealing because he could, to have what other people had and he wanted, and hurting them in the process. She watched long enough to be certain he was the twisted little deviant he appeared to be, before swooping in for breakfast.
It had taken her a bit to dispose of his corpse, especially in such a way that if he were found, vampirism would not be assumed as his cause of death. She liked covering her tracks. She stopped into a bar as she headed home, deciding to check in on one of her thralls. A mage who thought himself older than she frequented this place, and Hotel Mosaique when he could, but the former wasn't often enough to keep the attachment she'd cultivated with him as strong as she liked. She wondered if he was there that night. She headed inside and started canning the crowd.
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"Flatterer," Isabella remarked, but she was clearly pleased. She caught his glance and her legs and, smiling, clinked her glass against his. She sipped her wine, slowly, letting the robust red flow over her tongue and down her throat.
She licked the remnants of wine from her lips, and leaned closer to him again. "And to the most charming man I've met in ages," she added, her voice taking on a lower, almost purring sort of tone.
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She could feel his breath against her lips, and it would have had hers curving in response, if they weren't occupied. As it was, she merely took his invitation and slipped her tongue into his mouth, slanting her mouth against his to deepen the kiss.
Her fingers curled in his hair, and she shifted forward, closer to him, her legs brushing and then pressing not at all accidentally against his. She could feel him responding, slowly, whether because of his shy reserve or mere desire to taking it slow. It didn't matter. They had all night together, and Isabella didn't mind taking her time.
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