(Scars do not appear to be cause of death –shock ... - Bad Request

"Eh?" Annah blinked. "Are yeh sayin' I should play the harlot?"
I looked her up and down, arching an eyebrow, "Well, why else are you
wearing that thing? I thought that was your whole plan."
Annah followed my gaze, looking down at her outfit, then back up. "I just get
hot, I do; it's my blood, I think. This vest lets my skin breathe."
It certainly takes my breath away... "Well, you add a few more slashes to the
front of that, and your marks aren't going to care if you're picking their
pocket or not. Now, watch my hands - when you are about to cut the purse,
you need --"
As I reached out to show Annah, she stiffened.
"What now?"
"I cannae help it - it's your fault!" Annah squeezed her eyes closed. "Yeh
shouldn't have said anythin' about the vest, now I'm all a-thinkin' about it, I
am."
"Look me in the eye -- now just calm down."
Annah gaze locked with mine. She was still stiff, and her fangs were
exposed, biting her lower lip.
"Look, I'll show you quick, and we'll be done with this."
I leaned in, and as I did, Annah suddenly pushed herself into me, and her
hands wrapped around my back. She held me gently for a moment, then
squeezed tightly, her light limbs firm yet supple like willow branches. She
sniffed slightly around my neck, then up along my cheekbone. Her breath
tickled. "I... I like the way yeh smell, I do." Annah's brogue was a little softer
then, that sharp tiefling edge was muted, and her voice was low like a
whisper.
She rubbed her cheek against mine. Her skin was smooth as milk, and her
rust-red hair grazed the tip of my nose. It still smelled smoky and sharp, but
there was a softness to it, something feminine despite the steel edge to her,
"Yer skin's like leather, it is."
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