Yooct282003.htm

Trump call...

The image of Jurt's image is upside in Yosannah's mind as he hangs from his feet in the air. A slight swing. "What's happenin'."

To the image of Jurt, Yosannah's gaze begins to focus on him after a short moment. She sits at a research carol in a rather large library. A slight smirk grows on her lips as she regards him, "Heh, not much until now." She tilts her head about 90 degrees in an effort to get a better look at him, "Are you working out or something..."

The image of Jurt shakes his head, gesturing vaguely. "Just swinging. Gets more blood to brain. Give you a different perspective on things. Lets me look up your dress. Stuff like that."

To the image of Jurt, Yosannah slumps in her chair and crosses her arms over her chest, "Well, thank goodness for me I'm not wearing a dress."

The image of Jurt nods invertedly. "So I noticed. What a disappointment." His eyes roam around her. "So what's up with the library? Book report?"

To the image of Jurt, Yosannah looks to the items before her. Writing materials, a few tarots - some torn. "Book report, hardly." She gathers up the cards that remain in one piece and arranges them in some semblance of order, "I don't suppose you're calling to offer me some distraction, Jurt."

The image of Jurt smiles winningly. "Is there any /other/ reason I call?" His face is a little flush, but fails to turn a darker shade of red from the blood supposedly rushing there.

To the image of Jurt, Yosannah tucks the items away, lowers her chin and attempts to suppress a smile. She fails. "Not thus far. Why start now."

The image of Jurt extends a hand. "Come hang with me then." He offers to pull her through.

To the image of Jurt, Yosannah furrows her brow in consideration. She fiddles with the buttons of her jacket and ensures that everything about her person is in order and then slides her hand outward...

Jurt's Byway in Sawall...

The walls in this split-level chamber are solid rock, covered in tiny cracks that glow with a greenish iridescence. The lower half of the room is a semicircular platform of stone, with a wide moat of liquid green ooze separating it from the curving walls. Up a broad flight of steps, mostly curtained off by black drapes, is a sleeping area of sorts. A huge bed, several bookcases, an armoire, and a gun rack occupy points of interest on the upper level. Apart from a burning hole in the wall on the lower level, there don't seem to be any exits. The air is somewhat sulfurous and damp.

Jurt draws her through, up, so as she steps through she is left dangling with him, right side up. With his feet somehow sticking to the ceiling of the two story chamber, it's a good fifteen feet down. His grip strong and his tone casual, he asks, "Did you want to dance on the ceiling a bit, or should I let you go?"

A moment passes as she flicks her gaze about the room, disoriented. The sensation obviously disturbs her as she clutches, one arm going about his neck, body pressed tightly to him as she states, in close, "You enjoy this, don't you." The question is clearly rhetorical.

Jurt insists, "I'm innocent, I tell you." Jurt takes a few dance steps on the ceiling, a little zig-zag motion, then moves more into a box-step waltz, easily supporting her and letting his feet do the work for them both. Humming a bit.

She draws on her lower lip, amusement on her visage as he leads her about. "Of course you are." And then, "Is this the distraction you had in mind? We're going to dance on the ceiling all night? And what if I can't keep up with you."

She can feel the pull of gravity, maybe a little lighter than normal at present, as well as Jurt's secure grip. In reply, the man blithely shrugs, insisting, "Nobody can keep up with me. I try not to let that get me down, however." Apparently his version of a waltz includes a dip as he bends her back. One of his legs wraps around hers, helping to keep her from flipping entirely horizontal.

A soft moan escapes her lips as she's thrust from the dip to an 'upright' position, hair brushing over her face. "Then I concede. Figure me for sufficiently impressed."

Jurt huhs, ceasing the dance. "Really? You should see how fast I unsnap a bra." That said, an arm around her, he scuffs one foot and murmurs some faint word, and the sorcerous connection between his feet and the surface of the ceiling is broken. They both fall...

There is a quick inhale of breath resulting in a gasp. With little time to roll her body into a more suitable position for impact, she clutches at him, nails from one hand sinking, perhaps, more deeply into his skin then she might intend.

The hard floor of the lower chamber of Jurt's byway quickly approaches, and Jurt is calm, of course, just the barest hint of concentration, and just before impact ... <foom!> ... feathers everywhere. They sink into pure down, deep down, nothing but whiteness everywhere. Above, below, a few feathers floating between her face and Jurt's. It takes a few seconds for the seemingly infinite bed of down to absorb her fall, landing roughly on her side. He remarks, as an afterthought, "I hope you're not allergic."

She swipes at the fluff before her eyes in an effort to clear her line of sight to him. A sound not all that unlike that of blowing out candles comes from her lips as she attempts to extract a feather out of her mouth. "Pthfft. Jesus. Pthfft." As the down settles she rolls her head, shoulders and arms - ensuring that everything is in one piece. She bites at her lip and smiles at him, offering, "No. And I'm not cleaning this up. In the event you were wondering that too."

Jurt looks a little puzzled. "Clean it up? Not at all. I keep this here year round ... uh, for emergencies. You know how many planes I've been thrown out of?" Having stirred up a lot of the feathers, they keep slowly floating down, covering over the pair. Somewhere during the brief fall, her bra seems to have come undone.

She chuckles lightly and brushes a hand through her hair, ruffling it free of the down. "I'm sure." Glancing down at her own form she peers into the knit top under her jacket. Shoulders slump and her green eyes roll as she reaches a hand down the shirt, fishing out a few feathers. And then, "What the..." She fidgets this way and then that but ultimately sets her gaze upon him, "You've got some nerve." She removes her jacket, scoots near and turns her back to him, "Fix it."

Jurt starts to protest, "I didn't-" Then hacks, coughing on a feather. A spitless spits as he gets it out. Wiping feathers from his face, he blinks at her back. His hands grab at the bottom of her shirt as he says, "If by fix you mean remove, then I'll have to get this little shirt off first..."

She looks over her shoulder at him for a long moment before shaking her head. Reaching her hands behind, she lifts her ivory top, revealing the small of her back and an obviously unclasped, pink, laced bra, "Come on now. Fix it."

Jurt smirks like a devil. With a sigh he concedes, "Right, right ... ooh, lookie here, pink." He clasps both ends, attempting to stick them back together, but it takes him a few tries. He admits, murmuring, "I don't have much practice hooking them."

She peers over her shoulder again to inspect his work. Her eyes roll to the ceiling where the two danced moments before and asks to no one in particular, "Is anyone here prepared to say just what they mean or is that impossible."

The floating feathers, so thick, obscure the ceiling, if it's still there at all. But up is still up, currently. Jurt scoffs, her bra clasped. "Please. I almost always say exactly what I mean. You've got me confused with the wrong Sawall." Was there a little edge in that remark? Helping pull her shirt back down, there is a subtle little pull on the back of her jeans, near the waist, Jurt's green eyes peering down. Just real quick.

Yosannah's hand immediately goes to her waist. Turning on her knees she regards him coolly. Whether this is in response to his last comment or the tugging of her jeans is unclear. The expression fades, however, just as quickly as it found its way across her features. She scoops a handful of feathers and thrusts them in his direction, "Right. If you're hoping I'll make out with you again, it might just be easier if you came out and said it. Skip all this cat and mouse crap." She nods matter of factly.

Jurt postpones his reply in favor of turning his head and keeping feathers out of his mouth, taking them on the cheek instead. With a hand over his mouth and the other fanning the feathers away from his face, he patiently explains, "I was just curious if the downstairs drapes matched the upstairs curtains, is all." Above, spots of blue actually peek through the feathers now as they finally become more dispersed.

"Well, of course they... do..." She peers upwards, wincing as she does, "What the hell."

It's a clear blue day here in ... wherever it is. Set in a large bowl of earth, a depression, the feathers tend to pile up to waist, if kneeling ... probably deeper if standing. Laying down, now on his back, Jurt has only a small layer on him, his weight dispersed. The edge of the feathers is a solid twenty feet away from the center where you now are, and it looks like a difficult prospect to walk? swim? to the edge. Beyond there is nothing. Nothing but empty green acres as far as the eye can see. He muses, hands going behind his head, "It sounds like you're more of a talker, and I'm more of a doer. Which I guess is okay long as we can find some middle ground."

She sits for a long moment, hand in her lap as she takes in their location and then, head turning in his direction, she takes in Jurt's form. Shoulders slump and her cheeks billow as she blows out a gust of breath. Attempting to clear a path as she crawls over the bed, she slides beside him, laying on her side and propping her head up in her fisted hand. "I didn't even notice. We've been here the whole time then. Since you dropped us."

The feathers are so deep that clearing is a futile prospect at best. Brushing feathers aside only leads to more beneath as the depression slowly refills itself with falling feathers. The sheer number of feathers, however, creates an almost unparalleled cushion of softness, and perhaps prompts a curiosity about just how high could one safely fall into this pile. Or maybe not.

Jurt merely blows a feather off his nose. "Mmmhmm. Sorry, did you want something flashy? Maybe strong jerk like a Logrus tendril? You totally missed the layover in Albuquerque."

Yosannah's gaze follows the single feather as it floats away from his face, "Nah, flashy's not a requirement." She leans nearer in an effort to kiss his cheek and, while she is successful, it's not without a few more feathers getting caught in between the contact, "You don't need flash to impress me. Truthfully," she looks at their surroundings, "you don't need feathers either."

Jurt doesn't seem to mind the feathers at all, long as they stay out of his mouth. "Well, good ... though really the feathers were less of an attempt to impress, and more along the lines of assuming you'd be pissed if I let you bounce roughly off the stone floor. That rock doesn't give much, believe me." He doesn't stop the kiss, of course. With a bit of effort, he keeps his hands beneath his head. Hips shift slightly, legs crossing. Lower lip chewed on a little, green eyes, quietly intense, looking up at her.

Her gaze finds his though she seems to peer into their depths with something of a scrutinous eye, "You're probably right, you know." Closer, so that her lips might brush over his before distancing again, "We're a mismatched pair. Not that I'm implying... anything. Just that common ground is difficult to come by sometimes."

Jurt's body shakes slightly from the quick rocking of his foot, like a nervous energy. His lips part just slightly as hers brush by, but he doesn't lift his head, doesn't reach up and grab her. It looks like there is just the slightest hint of strain to him, just a little tightness around his eyes. So he says, "Well, in a universe of infinity, commonality /does/ become a touch rare, yes. Which is why in my opinion it's more important to ... well." He pauses, reconsidering. "Well, you know. Just sort of go with it."

She slides a hand over his chest and reaches, tracing a fingertip along the outline of his lips, "Easy enough." She notes, now, the tension about his eyes and brow and inquires, "Why aren't we sinking into this mess?"

Jurt hmms? "Oh, uh laws of density, I believe." His jaw works, once. Momentarily cross-eyed as he glances at her finger. "You know jello crossed my mind too, if that's more along your interest. I was all for it ... I just know girls usually hate it if you suddenly get them all messy without warning." Slightest of shrug, expression unbelieving. "Go figure."

Yosannah nods, repeatedly, in agreement, "Really. They don't know what they're missing then." A smile followed by lips pressed firmly against his - in the event he does not protest. The hand that brushed a finger over his mouth now traces painted inger-nails along his jaw line.

He indeed does not protest. Quite the opposite, he's very ready to kiss back. Eager at first. Hands slide from behind his head, instead slipping behind hers, gripping a bit greedily.

She exhales a long slow breath, sweet and warm while a smile plays lightly across her lips. Almost as if - what? She is pleased with him? Or, perhaps herself. Reaching for one of his hands she slides his fingers nearer to her lips and traces her tongue along the tip of his thumb.

Jurt looks at his thumb, teeth biting air a few time. Soft, stuttering a little, distracted by her tongue, "I uh, you know, unfortunately I can't, umm, just fount into it. Jello." Clears his throat. "I don't actually keep a place, mmm, in head, err, mind. Upstairs. Idiot that I am. But you know I find just about anything with Logrus and a few minutes of ... un, undistracted concentration..."

She offers him an agreeable nod as her moist lips slide between his fingertips and his open mouth. Looking upon him with a lazy gaze she mutters, "Mm hmm." Closer, her hips rock against him and her chest rises and falls with quick breath, "Too bad... you won't have a few minutes of... undistracted concentration. Not for a long while anyway."

Jurt swallows, murmuring something about having to manage and future reference. His foot has since stopped twitching as his attention, and energy, is direct elsewhere. Is thrown at her. Hands fill themselves with her long hair, and the intense focus he commands busies itself with barely restrained motions. Lips lock on hers, settling for nothing less. Even his boots rub against her feet.

She is obviously content to play to his urgency and, despite his nearness, her gaze remains intent upon his face, green eyes flowing with light and passion. Her kiss is warm, fevered and her cheeks are flushed pink. Long fingers travel along the length of his body to his waist where she systematically pulls at the portion of his t-shirt that remains tucked within his jeans before turning their efforts to the buckle of his belt.

Jurt's lips feed along her cheek, down to her neck, mentioning as he goes through deeper breaths, "Wouldn't it be fitting ... if I told you to fix that belt ... when you had it undone."