The Saint Martial penthouse was the very pinnacle of serenity. The simple and tasteful decor was accented here and there with the occasional trophy or scroll of Calligraphy scribed by the current occupant of the room.
Lady Nogitsune opened her writing case and unrolled a fresh scroll. With skill gained through lifetimes of practice, she prepared the sumi-e ink, meditating on the truths she would impart in graceful strokes of the brush. She allowed her mind to wander briefly through her time as a kit so long ago and the shock of sentience on gaining her second tail. She flowed into graceful motion, inking the hundreds of characters necessary for the first of thirteen scrolls for her latest scheme.
She repeated the task twelve more times, each time focusing her will on different parts of her long existence. Satisfied, she set the scrolls to dry and instructed one of her newest kunoichi recruits who showed the most promise to roll them when they were dry. She stepped into the next room, which was awash with the activity of her six most trusted underlings. Kareshi, resplendent in her geisha attire, placed the penultimate touches on the ornate scroll cases which would allow Nogi to convince the Tsoo that the recently finished scrolls were genuine ancestral relics.
She smiled to herself and took a seductive pose, looking over her shoulder with eyes full of promise. "Anata," she breathed as Mace Mac Hine embraced her from behind, the pattern of the tattoos on his arms complementing the embroidery on her kimono.
"Hey, babe," he said, chuckling. "I'm back in the Isles, did ya miss me?"
"This one has indeed missed her beloved," she replied, twisting in his grasp to place a gentle kiss. "This one has been keeping herself occupied in his absence, however."
"Oh? Anything I should watch for?"
She smiled, her features taking on the tell-tale foxy grin. "Ara. This one would hate to spoil the surprise!"
In a fit of girlishness, she dragged her husband to a private location. After all, one did have to look after conjugal duties....
''We don't just borrow words; on occasion, English has pursued other languages down alleyways to beat
them unconscious and rifle their pockets for new vocabulary.''
-- James Nicoll
Lady Nogitsune opened her writing case and unrolled a fresh scroll. With skill gained through lifetimes of practice, she prepared the sumi-e ink, meditating on the truths she would impart in graceful strokes of the brush. She allowed her mind to wander briefly through her time as a kit so long ago and the shock of sentience on gaining her second tail. She flowed into graceful motion, inking the hundreds of characters necessary for the first of thirteen scrolls for her latest scheme.
She repeated the task twelve more times, each time focusing her will on different parts of her long existence. Satisfied, she set the scrolls to dry and instructed one of her newest kunoichi recruits who showed the most promise to roll them when they were dry. She stepped into the next room, which was awash with the activity of her six most trusted underlings. Kareshi, resplendent in her geisha attire, placed the penultimate touches on the ornate scroll cases which would allow Nogi to convince the Tsoo that the recently finished scrolls were genuine ancestral relics.
She smiled to herself and took a seductive pose, looking over her shoulder with eyes full of promise. "Anata," she breathed as Mace Mac Hine embraced her from behind, the pattern of the tattoos on his arms complementing the embroidery on her kimono.
"Hey, babe," he said, chuckling. "I'm back in the Isles, did ya miss me?"
"This one has indeed missed her beloved," she replied, twisting in his grasp to place a gentle kiss. "This one has been keeping herself occupied in his absence, however."
"Oh? Anything I should watch for?"
She smiled, her features taking on the tell-tale foxy grin. "Ara. This one would hate to spoil the surprise!"
In a fit of girlishness, she dragged her husband to a private location. After all, one did have to look after conjugal duties....
''We don't just borrow words; on occasion, English has pursued other languages down alleyways to beat
them unconscious and rifle their pockets for new vocabulary.''
-- James Nicoll