Django and the Art of Seduction

Hazel eyes fluttered and creaked open, their owner roused from sleep by the sound of a thump and his beaded curtain rattling and clacking as someone stumbled through it. Though the hut was dark, Kin'tai could see the lean, ruffled form of one rather persistant intruder. Pushing himself up with a groan, the fortune teller sat up on his pallet and rubbed his eyes, glaring at the rogue across the room.

"Loa, D'jango, whaddo'ja wan' dis time?" he groused, annoyed that he had been awoken from his sleep by the sexual deviant yet again. Not for the first time, he wished his darling Giri was still alive, the broad shouldered warrior would've taken care of the stupid Darkspear's lust quite soundly with a thorough pounding.

Strangely enough, the Cerulean colored troll squawked and turned wide eyes on the former scout, his ears tilted back as if he'd just been scolded. After a moment, he looked back outside, then back over the hut.

"Oh," he said in a quiet voice, a sheepish smile tugging at his lips. "Dis be ja hut, don'et?" he giggled, pushing himself to his feet and passing his hands over his body.

The slim Amani watched in vague amusement as the Darkspear seemed to take inventory of himself, making sure all his limbs were attached and all the vital pieces remained. The Scout almost laughed when he loosened his pants and counted out loud, ensuring that he still had both his balls. Kin'tai could only guess what kind of trouble the unlucky rogue had gotten into this time, but he was sure that if he asked, he'd hear something concerning Zul'jin's bedchambers. As if he would be so lucky...

Satisfied that he was still in one piece, D'jango gave a quick nod of his head and swaggered across the hut, making himself comfortable on the pallet next to Kin'tai. "So, while I be here enyway," he began, giving the scout a queasy sort of smile he must've thought looked dashing or roguish or anything other than how it really looked.

Unfortunately, Kin'tai could see what was coming a mile away, and without waiting to hear the end, he pulled his hand back and brought it down sharply on the rogue's cheek, earning himself a yelp of surprise and a look much like that of a kicked puppy. He knew better than to fall for that look, however, for the rogue was the type to take and inch and make it a mile.

"I tell joo once, I tell joo again," the fortune teller huffed, giving D'jango a stern glare. He knew inside that fool head, the rogue was thinking that such a fierce look only made him cuter, but he wasn't going to let that stop him. "No mean no, an' I ain't changin' mah mind. Now get outta mah bed."

"But-but-!" D'jango whined, his ears tilting back and brow furrowing in confusion. "But I gotta be much bettah company den dat silleh ol' skull!"

Though he knew that D'jango meant no real disrespect to his former lover, however, that didn't stop Kin'tai from being offended. With a low growl in his throat, the former scout struck the hapless rogue across the face again and pointed outside, his ruddy eyes glowing with anger.

"Out," he demanded, one arm clutching Giri's skull tighter to his chest. "Out, b'foh I call de gaurds on ja."

His eyes widening with fear, D'jango scuttled and tumbled his way away from the glowering Amani's pallet, his limbs flailing wildly. "Joo wouldn'!" he protested, his voice squeaking in a very unmanly fashion.

"I useta be a scout, I cin yell VEREH loudly when I gotta," Kin'tai threatened, his eyes narrowing as the rogue squeaked again and scrambled towards the exit.

"I goin'! I goin'!" the rogue squealed, scampering out on all fours, putting as much distance between him and the enraged fortune teller as he could.

With a slight bob of his head, Kin'tai smirked to himself and settled back down on his bed, nuzzling the top of Giri's skull affectionately. He had just about fallen back asleep when the deep bellows of the gaurds filled the air, followed soon after by D'jango's cowardly shrieking. Served the fool right for insulting Giri's memory like that. He hoped the gaurds caught him this time, though he doubted it. The bastard was as fast as a raptor at full speed, and as slippery as an eel, when he was scared enough.

And judging from the feminine pitch of D'jango's screaming, he was pissing himself in terror.