Goodnight my angel.
Time to close your eyes.
And save these questions for another day.
I think I know what you've been asking me.
I think you know what I've been trying to say.
I promise I would never leave you.
And you should always know,
I never will be far away.
Goodnight my angel, now it's time to sleep.
Veira very rarely get sick, due to not only their superior immune systems, but their base temperature as well. Most of the time, bacteria is well off to simply remain for a day or two in their body, and most ailments they are inflicted with are usually of the viral kind.
While some things of erogenous nature pair up with Humes when it comes to Viera biology, there are notable differences. Viera nipples are relatively numb in senses, lacking the sexual gratification Humes can find from them. Another being that their stomach are actually high sensitive, and simply kneading the stomach of Viera can send them towards crescendo.
Viera, being highly akin to their beast counterparts, are very affectionate in the form of grooming when it comes to mates. They like to nuzzle against one another, sharing their Scent thusly, and brush out the others’ mane. Ear touching and nibbling can be affectionate, but due to how sensitive their ears are, tend to be a precursor to more intimate encounters.
In her youth (generalized age being before her century birthday) Fran was exceptionally violent. If one angered her, she was not afraid to all but slaughter them. When she joined the Caravan however, one of the owners poisoned her mind some. The sly Bangaa began to lead her down the path of slave collecting, using her anger as a crux. As such, if one angered her badly enough, she would sometimes simply knock them out and sell them as slaves; typically through the aforementioned Bangaa.
While she never deals with them, and has forbidden her Partner to do so as well, there is a currency fondly known as ‘Crowns’. They belong in the slave and ‘entertainment’ business, and in comparision to Gil, are quite expensive. Only the best can be bought with Crowns, and should she say such, it is a double edged compliment.
Fran is highly untrusting of beings of greater power, especially those who can manipulate time. They bring forth too many negative memories of the Occuria, and for one to gain her trust would be a large feet indeed.
|OKAY, SINCE 2 AND 12 WERE JUST ANSWERED. 17. and... 18. :||
17: Any OCD tendencies?
Fran’s main obsessive quality is how she takes care of things in her possession. This ranges from all the weapons she owns, to the Strahl, to the Humes and others she keeps care of.
The easiest seen point of this however is when she is making arrows, Vaan having learned the hard way by a bloody calf not to disturb her while she works.
18: What is their taste in music?
Fran has very mellow tastes in music. She prefers piano and flutes to just about anything else. Though she has been known to take a liking to certain operas, more than once seen on top of an opera house with her Hover due to the fact she can still hear it perfectly from the outside.
|2. 4. 12.|
4: What is their favorite flavor?
Fran’s favorite flavor is that of clove and nutmeg. While spices were not rare persay in the Wood, she still did not get to enjoy such indulgences until she moved out into the world of Humes. She is rather taken with pumpkin pie or cookies, because of this.
1: What is their favorite color?
Without a doubt, Fran’s favorite colour is Hazel.
While it may seem otherwise, this colour has won her heart, all due to a certain Hume she holds dear.
|ooc: 2, 5, 12|
2: What is their scent? (natural or with products)
Fran has a very muted scent, for the most part. She tends to have a lingering scent of moss and snow, as her natural base. She accumulates the scent of gun powder and oil however from working on the Strahl and using the pistols so much. Her clean scent of snow and ice never vacate her, however.
5: In what position do they often sleep?
Fran sleeps fairly straight, typically on her left side. That is, if she sleeps in bed. More often than not, she prefers to sleep in chairs, letting her body drape over the arms. It helps her back and also allows her greater movement of freedom just in case someone should try to attack her in her sleep.
12: Are they a good cook?
That depends on who you would ask. Ask Vaan in XII and he would say yes, due to the fact Penelo’s cooking was so bad at that point. Fran is a mediocre cook, in truth, able to handle a kitchen fairly well. She prefers open fire cooking however, and is known for liking her meat very raw, and thus Balthier has taken to cooking for the most part.
It was pleasantly warm that eve, with fresh pelts draped over two pairs of shoulders. Their hide was splattered with blood, as was their silk, but it was no matter. Red became red, and the crimson ink would only add to the appeal to the pair of Vieras. Such is why high spirits were strung between the pair as they made their way back to their small camp in the wood, their common ground in the meager months allowed for such endeavors. The endeavors being courting.
“Your shot is magnificent.” His deep rumbling voice was smooth and soft, the familiarity of their birth language shared kindly between the pair. In truth it was harsh, more of a snarl than speech, but it was pleasant to her ears. Such is why she let her head tilt towards him, sterling curls cascading all about the bloody fur and hide, a soft smile touching her lips. “Your claws are sure.”
To an outsider, such compliments would seem hollow, useless; perhaps they were. Kinship was to be shared, in either ability or emotion, but little else. He was allowed here with purpose, and nothing more. The segregation of the genders was absolute, as it always had been. This is why when his claws gently trailed up her ear and plucked off those pelts, she did not fuss. His body was warm against hers, strong and smooth, but patient. His patience is why she only allowed his courtship, only hunted with him in these rare months of summer. His lips were pleasent, his taste soothing, his body a promise to her when she deemed herself ready.
A shame he was slayed.
“Fran.” Her body was being shaken, a soft hand gripping her shoulder and tossing it again. The elder finally opened a crimson eye, directing it upwards were a pale Hume face looked down upon her with worry. Ffamran next to her side in her bed, now rubbing down her bare arm in a soothing way. “You were crying.” The tenderness in his words, how his blunt nailed digits brushed over streaked cheeks, it made that eye close.
A shame, a shame.