Ashe swayed and stumbled his way to the bathroom. The tavern was swimming in a blurry swirl of raucous inebriation. The sounds of revelry - cheers, music and laughter assaulted his ears in a comforting sea of noise. He was drunk, of that he had no doubt. He'd lost count of how much he'd had somewhere around his tenth tankard of mead. Were there some short measures in there somewhere too? He thought perhaps there was, he was dimly aware of a slight feeling of heartburn in his chest, a regular symptom if he'd had too much whiskey.
His bladder was fit to burst, aching in fact. He'd gotten so swept up in the tales and yarns and laughter that it must have been hours since he'd last urinated. Besides, he didn't want to miss anything, this was his night. His celebration, his party. Appearances may have dictated it was a memorial for the fallen, but in reality it was a selfish blend of ego massage and therapy session for himself. A chance to flaunt his wealth and his status, and to gain favour among anyone who would give it to him. He was buying friends, buying respect and trying to erase all thoughts of the previous day's massacre from his mind. Six months left and counting; that's all he had left on his service and then he was done.
The corridor spun in front of him like a carnival illusion. He steadied himself against the wall and closed his eyes in an attempt to right the tilting ground. He heard vague whispers addressing him as he tried to focus. 'Ashe!' 'Look, it's Ashe Marvel.' 'He looks drunk!' 'Typical, just like him.' He was, however, for the most part left alone. The Swan was no stranger to people of status, it was one of the most exclusive bars in the Capital and a frequent favourite of his, he was no outsider here.
"Ashe!"
He opened his eyes, squinting for the source of the voice, trying to focus the surrounding blur into some semblance of clarity. A flowing streak of gold appeared in front of him. A woman, smiling, leaning casually against the wall, matching his own position.
"Ashe?" she asked again, moving her head to catch his eye.
He concentrated, and noticed a passing server carrying a tray and asked him for a glass of ice water to be brought to where he was standing. The server nodded in acknowledgement and disappeared. Ashe returned his attention to the woman in front of him, her face slowly began swimming into focus, but it took him remaining perfectly still to achieve the effect.
"Are you okay?" she asked.
Suddenly, his focus required no effort. Her face appeared through the haze, her eyes locked onto his. All feeling of needing to urinate vanished, and he could have sworn he even sobered up a little. She was beautiful, and her aroma was intoxicating.
Her eyes were almost turquoise, a piercing mix of blue and green that seemed to grip his attention and refuse to let go. Her full lips framed an immaculate set of teeth in a smile that made his heart race, and he could already feel the rising wave of primal desire below his waist. He couldn't look away from her, he both knew her and did not; his alcohol-addled mind was struggling to find the familiarity in her beauty but it was the smell that made it hard to think. Her scent was an intense mix of sweet floral, and sophisticated musk; both every aroma, and none of them, and every time he thought he could name an ingredient it would slip away from his mind as if it were the remnant of a dream. He'd never felt this before, normally after a quick scan of a person's body he'd make his decision there and then if it was worth a ride but this one - Ashe couldn't remove his eyes from her gaze, and couldn't concentrate for the smell.
"I'm sorry...have we met before...?" He was confused, uncharacteristically so. His head was foggy, but no longer from alcohol.
"I'm sorry, I just assumed... I'm sure all your fans blend into one," she said, suddenly bashful. "We met this afternoon, at Primrose Strip. I took a photo with you....we kissed."
She briefly looked away, a shy smile touching the corners of her mouth.
I want her, Ashe thought. Now. He knew he could, he could have almost anyone he wanted, it was just a case of playing the game. But this particular woman? Ashe had never felt desire like it before in his life. It was primal, uncontrollable.
Her reminder had finally jogged his memory. Of course. She was part of the group he'd met that very afternoon. He'd signed autographs and taken pictures, the kiss was harmless fun, but definitely not unpleasant, although he didn't recall feeling like he did now at the time. Perhaps his focus had been elsewhere, soaking up the group's attention and publicity.
"Of course, of course," Ashe said. "My apologies. Ashe Marvel."
He held out his hand, she took it, and shook. "I'm Polly." Her voice was light, playful. Confident yet hesitant.
Ashe lifted her hand and kissed it. "Tis a pleasure to meet you properly, Polly."
She giggled, breathy, and took a sip of her drink which Ashe had not noticed until that point. It was something lilac with ice and spices. He flashed her his most dashing smile.
"It compliments your eyes," he said, then started laughing. She joined in. "I'm sorry, not my best line. Doesn't even make the list if I'm honest."
She waved away his self-depreciation, still giggling. She took another sip, never removing her eyes from his. He touched her hair. He barely noticed he was doing it.
"Wow," she said, looking around awkwardly. "I can't believe it. I'm in The Swan of all places...having a drink...with Ashe Marvel!"
"I get this all the time. It's perfectly normal," Ashe said with forced modesty.
"Could I, maybe, buy you a drink?" Polly asked.
"That's very kind, I would love -"
"Your water, Mister Marvel."
The server had returned, holding out the ice water on a tray.
Ashe fired a quick look of embarrassment at Polly, fumbled for a moment then took the water with a shrug.
"Thank you,' he said. The server left and Ashe raised the glass. "It's important to stay hydrated. First rule of competing."
He downed the water in one and felt the cold liquid hit his stomach. It protested the invasion of any non-alcoholic liquid with a sickening rumble. He suppressed a belch and focused desperately on trying not to vomit.
"Are you okay?" Polly asked with a concerned smile.
There it was again, a waft of that aroma, it seemed to instantly soothe his stomach and clear his head.
"I'm fine...." he searched for her name again.
"Polly."
"Polly! Of course. I'm sorry, sorry. I'm absolutely fine."
She sipped her drink again, her eyes peering at him over the rim of her glass. He reached for her hair again, ran his fingers through it. It was like silk.
"So, what brings you here tonight?"
"Mister Marvel, is a girl not allowed a little mystery?"
"Oh she's allowed some, but someone as...alluring as you must have at least something she can tell me? What is Polly about? Who is she?"
"Not much to say," she said with a flirtatious shrug, once more briefly looking away. She raised her eyes and locked them on his with an intensity that made his groin ache. "I'd rather show you."
This is a sure thing, Ashe thought. He didn't even try to hide his increased swagger, or his excitement.
"Are you always this forthcoming?" His voice quivered with anticipation, he barely noticed.
"Only with the men I want," she said, her face serious. Her eyes burned with desire.
Ashe could no longer contain himself. "How about this," he took her glass from her and downed the rest of the drink in one gulp, not even paying attention to what it was. "We'll just put this here glass down and you can have the undivided attention of Ashe Marvel for the rest of the evening."
He handed the glass to a passing patron, who ignored it. The glass plummeted to the floor and shattered.
"Oops," Ashe said. They burst out laughing together.
"Let's pretend that never happened," he continued, holding out his hand. She took it as he shook off excess glass fragments from his boot.
"Have you ever been to the Outer Court?" he asked.
"Never," she said, excited.
"Well, allow me to show you." He led her through the tavern and through the crowd. He ignored the occasional whisper of gossip and the looks of envy from other women. Polly gripped his hand tighter as they made their way through the throng until they finally emerged into the night air.
The breeze was like a cold slap to the face. A fresh wave of nausea rolled over Ashe from head to toe and he wavered, stumbling. Polly was there, holding him upright. He shook his head, a brief moment of intoxicated clarity washing over him - he realised how sick he felt. He needed to vomit urgently, and he could feel the wave turning into a storm.
"Would you excuse me, I just need to -"
She was on him. Polly turned him around and pressed her lips to his, parting them slightly. She held the back of his head and put her other hand on his shoulder. He held her waist, breathing deeply of that intangible smell as he kissed her back. They remained that way for a few moments, under the glow of The Swans entrance light. Her lips and tongue explored his and with every second that passed Ashe felt better; clearer headed and less nauseous.
Polly pulled away, and he noticed under the soft light that her skin was flawless, almost glowing with its own light.
"Take me," she said simply.
"I intend to," he replied.
They clasped hands and turned back towards the tavern. The entrance host, who had attempted unsuccessfully not to watch their entire exchange, smiled and stood up straight, failing to mask his awkwardness.
"Can you call us a cart? And make haste." Ashe handed him a folded Chroma bill.
"We already have several waiting nearby, Mister Marvel, one will be with you imminently," the host tapped away on his datapad, inputting Ashe's details into the cart's auto-nav booking system. The cart rounded the corner less than three minutes later. Polly stroked Ashe's neck and hands as they waited. Her touch was electrifying.
He remembered little of the ride back to the barracks. It was a blur of kissing, caressing, petting, and the nauseating driving motion that somehow never quite reached his brain.
He had no idea how long it took the cart to reach the Southern watch gate of the barracks, but before long Ashe had checked them both in past security and they were strolling towards his lodge. They laughed, talked, touched, and stopped every few metres to taste each other once more. The night was clear and the moonlight from Yang - Lemuria's primary moon - shone down creating artful shadows and shapes of darkness that the two of them flitted between, taking advantage of the occasional patch of blackness to playfully fondle each other or kiss. In his intoxicated and infatuated delirium, Ashe became aware of how incredibly romantic the entire evening had become. A statement he repeated blearily to Polly on several occasions during their stroll, prompting laughter and gropes of agreement.
They reached his lodge and after fumbling with the thumb lock, Ashe pulled Polly inside. It was expensively decorated with pieces of art and abstract sculptures and ornaments that sat at odds with the utilitarian design. Lush throws and rugs covered the floor and lounge area. The display of wealth was somewhat tasteless and unnecessary, although it was positively humble compared to the condo he owned outside the city, on the Katoa Bluffs. Ashe was used to a certain standard of living, and if the Capital insisted he live on site, then he certainly wasn't going to sacrifice any of his comforts.
They crossed the threshold, hungrily kissing and clawing at each other. Polly had already pulled off his jacket when he managed to pull away briefly to slur out a few words.
"Can I get you another drink -"
She silenced him with a kiss. "Shut up," she then said, dropping her small shoulder bag and pushing him to the floor.
They didn't make it to the bedroom. Polly straddled atop him, unlacing her jerkin. Her toned and lithe legs clasped his waist. The short skirt she wore revealed everything she wanted to show him, and everything he needed to see.
His delirium mixed with his desire in a hazed frenzy, and he ran his hands up her legs, grasping the smooth roundness that was hidden under her skirt.
"You know," he said, now entranced by the smooth, curvaceous torso that was being revealed above him, "I'm writing an autobiography..."
"And I'll be sure to read it cover to cover," she lowered her bare breasts to his face before kissing down his neck and tearing his shirt open, seemingly ignoring the small belch that he couldn't hold back.
Their sex was passionate and adventurous. Although for Ashe it was like a dream. He felt an uncharacteristic distance from his own body and among the moans and gasps he felt somewhat detached, despite never taking his eyes off the beautiful, flawless flesh that was atop, in front or under his body. Her skin was flawless, her hair shone in the lamplight, and that aroma - her scent was pure bliss.
She's like a goddess. He'd never experienced a woman, anyone for that matter, like her. She caused repeated waves of pleasure to course up and down his body with her skill and confidence.
"I can't believe I'm here," she gasped under him at one point.
"Well, dreams can come true," he said, distantly aware of the words and their shameless arrogance, but he didn't care. He'd lost track of himself and of all passage of time, he had no idea how long their love-making lasted.
When they were done, they lay entwined in each other's arms, breathing heavily, slick with sweat. Even by his own standards, Ashe was extremely pleased with his performance and how the night had unfolded.
"That was amazing," he said. Unaware that all need to urinate or vomit had long since vanished.
"Who wouldn't want to savour every moment with the Ashe Marvel," she said, rolling over and propping herself up on her arm.
He laughed. His head was still foggy, and the room was spinning. The waves of drunken exhaustion seemed to wash over him again. His lids were heavy and he knew he was ready to pass out.
"I expect you to be here tomorrow," he said confidently.
"Oh, I'm not going anywhere. The rest of the girls aren't going to believe me. I'm going to get as much as I can."
There was at that moment, a brief flicker in Ashe's subconscious, something he was unable to grasp or articulate. The thought was hidden under layers of alcohol and endorphins and was gone as quickly as it came, buried once more.
"As long as I won't just be a trophy like all your other girls." Polly's eyes were suddenly wounded, her voice sweetly innocent. Ashe's heart skipped a beat as his mind finally started to shut down.
"No...no...." he murmured. "You....you're something special....." his voice trailed off into a snooze. As he drifted off into unconsciousness, breathing deeply of Polly's musk, the thought once again tried to rear its head over the tide of inebriation. If Ashe had been able to recognize the thought, swimming around the rim of the soup of his subconscious, it was that he didn't recall any of Polly's supposed companions being anywhere in the tavern. No tag-alongs, no goodbyes, and no other young women clamouring for a slice of his attention. He would have known it was unusual in a clearer state of mind, but all he could think about as he fell into sleep, was of he and Polly's passion and the comforting thought that she would be there when he woke.
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