Hesitantly, you knock. The door is opened almost instantly by a tall man of deep ebony. His chest is bare, his muscles evident. He looks down on you, a seeming pillar of stone, his facial expression unreadable. At long last, he smiles, shockingly white against the darkness of his skin.
"Come in," he says, his voice a smooth baritone purr, deep in his chest. He stands aside and gestures toward the inner cavern. "You'll find the Cathairte in there." You nod weakly, and walk in.
The cathair is painted a serene evergreen, the carpet (another luxury) a warm wheat color. The room is a semi-circle, and the entire thing is framed by elevated rectangular cushions of gold, upon which lie dozens of pillows and a few cashmere blankets in rich hues of red. Upon the walls, strings of twinkle lights glitter festively. A magnificent starry dragon is curled in the right corner of the room.
The Cathairte is seated at a simple desk in the center of the room, apparently busy with some documents concerning chases and the like. At your entrance, she looks up, her face stern at the interruption. However, at the sight of you it relaxes into a gracious smile. She stands and comes around the front of the desk to greet you.
Operye is not tall, but she stands so straight and exudes such an aura of confidence that she seems incredibly powerful. She could not really be termed slim, but her body is athletic and toned; she is endowed with shapely curves in exactly the right places. Her skin is a deceptive alabaster--it tans at the slightest hint of sun--and smooth. Operye's hair is cut exceedingly short, and is a shining dark chocolate, so dark that it seems almost black, save two thick strands of hair that frame her face and are about two inches long. These strands are a creamy white, blending into a pale gold, and tipped with black.
The Cathairte's eyes are large, lined with black, and hypnotic like a cat's. They are a molten gold, mixed with green, and unnerving to meet. Her eyebrows are arched elegantly, and her lips are small and the color of a pomegranate. Her ears are pierced and hold small emeralds.
The dress Operye is wearing is a stunning cream-gold asian cut, with a high, buttoned collar that opens briefly at her breast in a miniature "window" of sorts. The dress hugs her lovingly, and is slitted at the center of her right mid thigh, flowing down to her feet and flared at the bottom. The outside is edged with gold silk trim, and the inside is a fetching jade green. On her feet are flat, cream silk shoes, asian style again.
She speaks. "I, as you probably know, am Cathairte Operye. I took over after an unfortunate accident occurred with the late Anaess, her Cathairix, and their daughter, Avirie. Anaess' younger sister, once appointed junior Cathairte, did not wish to shoulder the burden of running the Cathair, and so I, as Anaess' closest remaining confidante, was chosen to take the reigns."
Three small dragonchen alight from their various positions around the cathair and go to Operye's shoulders, jostling for space and bickering in a friendly way. Operye takes the camoflaged one into her hands and strokes her absentmindedly.
"These are my chen--the tan male is Mifki, the grey male is Zendri, and my little girl here is Banzai. I inherited them from Anaess after she...died..." Operye swallows, a look of great sadness and strain revealed on her face for a split-second, quickly replaced by the mask of calm capability. "I...I loved Anaess and Ambrek. They were my friends. They didn't deserve to die like that...torn to pieces by Tabriz...and their new little daughter only just born..." Her eyes glittered. "After I became Cathairte, my starry dragon renamed herself Umuminaenth, in honor of the dead one. Cathairix Vynwe's copper did the same--after Undasheth, that is."
She gestures to the cushions to her left, and you jump as your eyes follow her pointed finger. Upon the cushions, stretched supine, lies another young woman, leaning on her elbow. Her amiable, freckled face is amused, and she grins at you. You hadn't noticed her there; she had been so quiet.
"Are you Vynwe?" you ask, incredulous. "I thought a Cathairix had to be a man..."
The woman nods. "Yes, that's me. And that's the tradition, but Undasheth and I have never been very good at following the rules." She runs one hand through her short, auburn curls and winks.
The Cathairix is about half a foot taller than Operye, and reminds you of a tiger; her eyes are a wild grass green. Her thin body is taut, and crunches have obviously benefited her; beneath her tight "wife-beater" green tank top are rock hard abs. She wears black capris with a lot of silver loops and zippers attached; they cinch below the knee, revealing muscular calves. Her feet are bare. Her look is purposefully masculine, though her face is delicate and elven.
Operye looks proud of her compadre, shooting a fond glance at Vynwe. You catch it, and wonder aloud, "Are you two...you know...involved, then?" Operye laughs.
"Well, technically, no. I have a lover who is not a dragonrider; his name is Cat, and you'll probably meet him in a bit. But then again..." she trails off, her cheeks warm. Vynwe chuckles.
"The answer is yes, and no." The Cathairix stretches languidly, then gets to her feet. "I'm going to go take Undasheth for a flight; he says he's getting bored, and that's never good. Do you want me to send Cat in?"
"That would be fine, thank you." Operye walks back to her desk, lifting herself to sit upon it's surface. Vynwe walks out; a moment later, a man walks in.
He is taller even than Vynwe, and his hair is a polished onyx. He is wearing a suit of dove grey, and his black shoes sparkle as if new. His eyes are black as a raven's wing, and his expression is vague and pleasant. You are suddenly certain that his vague look is a mask similar to Operye's--only hers hides her true feelings, while his means he is at his sharpest. He smiles at you quizzically, then looks to Operye.
"A visitor," she explains, and he nods thoughtfully, extending his hand to you.
"Pleased to meet you," he says in a carefully cultured voice; his accent is persuasive and intelligent, such as an Englishman's would be, if you were on Earth and not Danach. "I'm Cat." He moves to Operye's side and kisses her cheek; at once her eyes sparkle with hidden passion. He sits in the chair behind her desk, legs crossed.
"Er," you say, shifting uncomfortably, "I'd really better get going, and leave you two to your business." Operye laughs slightly and nods, getting up to show you to the door. The same ebony man waits there to open it with a smile, and you go out...
Your last glimpse of Operye is her sashaying back to her lover, the masks dropped from her face and his. You blush slightly as they embrace, and take your leave.
