A Tender Hand from a Violent Crest

Shall we dance among the Trees?

"Oh I... You, You want to dance?" Bela asked a bit confused, and more than a little charmed. Her hand rested over her chest as her mind grew near as hot as her cheeks might have, had she had a heart to pump. She stared into the eyes of her would-be suitor. Beautiful brown eyes that swirled just at the edges with flex of gold. Her long, thick, and curly red hair sat messily over one shoulder while those rough lips smiled somewhere between a smirk and a sincere, if suggestive grin. She stood nearly a whole head above the vampire-like woman, and may even have weighed a half time again as well more than her with broad shoulders and powerful arms that were dotted in scars. She wore simply the tattered remains of her old uniform, some kind of suit from america, currently torn down to a barely hung blazer, a torn up white button up and with the pants having been replaced with some nice sweatpants that Bela had managed to steal off one of Cassandra's latest playthings before they had gotten messy. The only other clothing were the bandage wrappings that she kept tight below the button up to keep her breats in place. Something she had never let Bela see when she took it off to replace.

Bela had found that strange, but nothing to really care about. The lady had a touch of privacy left to her, and until she was ready, Bela was alright to keep from pushing. She found her among a group of agents from america that had been slaughtered by the werewolves nearby, yet she had survived and escaped to a cave. The number of werewolf corpses she had found when she first caught the massacre were staggering. There must have been dozens, leading right to the mouth of the cave that had been drenched in blood in some macabre method of warding off more attackers. She had been badly sliced up, but stable. She nearly stabbed Bela, even having pinned her somehow against the wall before she revealed she meant no harm. Bela was so astonished that a human had done this, doubly so when she discovered the sheer bulk of the woman who had.

"Of course I do Bela. Do you not like to dance?" The tall woman asked, her voice a softer tone as always. She had this slow, deliberate and thoughtful way of speaking that made it seem like she was always aware of her own tone and words in a way humans normally weren't. So many spoke and acted with such emotions, not that her own family were very different, that meeting someone who in such a dire situation still patiently thought through even her words, it had caught Bela by surprise. She even at times seemed aware that Bela could actually hear and see faster, that is, interpret what those senses felt at a higher speed, and would sometimes shift her behavior with that in mind. She couldn't tell yet if she was doing it intentionally, such as speaking much softer whenever they felt someone nearby, practically at volumes no human could hear, or she was just subconsciously aware and her body acted accordingly.

"I love to dance, but it's not every day I get invited to," she responded as she slowly took her rough hand. Bela's were soft as ahe always wore gloves when she handled prey, and was the most aware of her personal care where her sisters believed their bodies to be inconsequential, and left any sort of imperfections to their healing. Bela, however, had worked with the lady mother to discover ointments and lotions that could actually affect her unique skin, and keep it soft and unmarred without relying solely on their healing. As a result, she had the softest hands that were perfect for handling the more delicate flowers she used around the garden at home. It took a very steady touch to implant the right kinds of bulbs into eye sockets without damaging them.

"Well, I guess I'll just have to ask you to dance on the daily," she responded with a big and hearty smile that made Bela feel aflame. If she had a heart, it would be beating nearly out of her chest. Her hand squeezes onto her suitor's with a passionate grip, just before the anxiety seized her thoughts. In the week since she had found and slowly grown close to this woman, who had asked to be called Jane, she had never once spoken about her home life. Snippets here and there of the fact she came from money, and that her family may not approve of their interactions, but given Jane was american, she may simply assume that she had meant that both were ladies. That was what Bela had hoped in the beginning, but now it had begun to feel like lying. She had become far too fond of Jane in this short week to simply hold that facade aloft, so when Jane kissed her hand, and kicked her radio to start playing, Bela's eyes turned away with a hint of guilt.