#[ kafka: inquiries. ] apologies for interrupting your little get-together. but I’m sure once you’ve heard my request; you’ll forgive me.

[iniziare]

A, B, M, W for kafka (yes bladie made me-)

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex). She lingers in the aftermath, without ever relinquishing the physical contact entirely. That's fundamental and paramount, actually, it's that the physical connection isn't ever lost, even after the act of sex is over. It's the 'coming down from' concept, it's settling the energy, it's not just fatigue that concludes the moment, it's the energy that needs to calm down, rather than be worked back up (unless that's the desired outcome, of course.) So as the physical touch creature that she is (within the realm of affection and intimacy, at least) it would manifest as a trailing tip of a finger to the shape and shades of a shoulder, it's the tracing of a jawline, or the lines of those pectoral muscles, or it could be lower still, or it could even be something much softer like drawing sweat-covered strands of hair (rest assured) out of the other's face. And outside of a hand that never quite leaves, a leg will always, always seek to either rest atop, or tangle themselves with her partner's. Embedded in her web, if you will.

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s). For herself? Considering the attire and focus on specific elements, I think it's safe to say that Kafka likely is appreciative of her own waist/hips, and even legs. Hands that either grasp, and trail over the curve of her waist, or anchor themselves to her hips, or trace the length of her legs (even with their lips?) Yeah, instant turn-on. As for a favorite body part on her partner? Oddly enough, the shoulders (and by proxy, the neck, and to a slightly lesser degree: the line of the jaw). The way they tense, and relax, especially during moments of passion? It's part of the reason why she insists to often stay physically close, have her hands rested right atop them, or around. Same goes for the neck, for her lips are rarely far, but it's not usually to kiss, it's simply to exist right next to the tension caused by what they're engaging in.

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going). Contrary to popular belief: encroach into her space, in a way that she would do to you. Confront her in return with the intimacy that is almost rooted into her overall being, and it's going to entirely catch her attention, to a degree where you become the focal point. This also plays into the fact that she's a woman of the five senses, you take away the ability for her sight to stray to anything else, she'll hear more of you than she would at any more respectable distance, you encompass her sense of smell, and touch— taste aren't far behind it if you will it. Like I once said, 'You must fear rejection.' Try your hand amidst that slow burn, and you'll see.

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character). Because it's so difficult to get her in such close proximity, let alone one of such intimacy because she holds such control over her restraint (and interest, to be fair), she relinquishes it almost entirely in the bedroom. Don't confuse this with 'submission', but kind of— there is no dominance there, except to aid in elevating the moment, or perhaps she simply chooses that the moment has arrived to do it (a glimpse of control returning for only a split second), and she will surprise her partner in one way or another. An example could be a pause amidst the act as she pulls herself up and onto a lap, stilling his movements, and have a hand stray down, just a touch, just a stray of fingers— just enough as to elicit the response of a gasp from him, until it's taken from her again.

Prompt: NSFW Alphabet // @daybreakrising

[iniziare]

"Is this fate or am I just lucky to have run into you?"

It is perhaps rude to intrude upon a lady without any warning but Aventurine never importunes without reason. Most of the times said approaches amount to mere scout work, the more he knows of the players the better and he'll take any reaction to his behavior as clues to the person's inner self. This woman however, is not a regular player to his gambles, nor is she a chip he has to account for his plans. If anything, he should be fearful, Kafka has earned herself quite the reputation within the cosmos, especially with the likes of the IPC.

She may not know who he is but he knows her. From the alluring smile to her empty gaze, downright to ever increasing number of her bounty, Kafka is perhaps the most wanted Stellaron Hunter. The reports on the numerous attacks on Pier Point should be enough to caution him, but Aventurine's never been one to be afraid of people. What they may do to him, is a whole different story.

"Not everyday one runs into a hunter." He does omit the title, partially. While he wants her to know that he's onto her, he doesn't need the rest of the room to be aware of her presence. The lounge is discreet, he only really visits when he has free time as it allows him to rest from his image and enjoy the quiet of being unknown. It seems perhaps, he's not the only one to indulge in such respite. How terrible of him to peak through Kafka's veil.

"I'll have what she's having."

He would not prompt an immediate response, but he would enrapture a gaze soon enough, coax it to his person as had surely been done to many before her— but she was hardly one like the masses, was she? Though before it would stray in any such way, it'd linger on the rim of her glass for a moment longer, the temptation to sip almost too great. And so the silence stretched between them, heavy, but hardly uncomfortable, at least not to her. But how long could she ever deny fate, or the mention thereof— a concept that was weaved between those gloved fingertips, or at least in some hypothetical. Ah, her lips quirked in slight, until a whisper of a smile that never quite reached her eyes settled amidst her countenance. "Fate," came in certain echo, as if weighing the word against her own amusement. "It does love its disguises, doesn't it? Sometimes a mere accident, sometimes an inevitability, dressed in coincidence. Makes it easy to believe in." The glass turned between her fingers, deliberate, languid. "Or perhaps you’ve strayed too far, and found yourself somewhere you were never meant to be." The words did not cut, did not accuse, but it simply hung between them in curiosity, ever so feather-light. It was never a warning, merely a possibility: a door left half-open, should he dare to step through. She was hardly fond of being at a disadvantage, after all. And so the moment stretched in hush, the cadence of her voice betraying neither invitation nor dismissal, only a soft lilt of idle amusement. But there was something to be said about a man who approached anyone so comfortably— too comfortably. Especially one who deemed her familiar.

"How bold." The smile was faint, but there— there, in the curve of her lips, was the trace of something. A teasing amusement that lingered without fully, really revealing itself. "To share in the taste of a stranger, without the slightest inkling of its flavor."

The booth, quiet save for the soft hum of conversation around them, seemed to frame her in a manner that was hardly ordinary— yet perhaps it wasn’t meant to. The shift to one side was a delicate movement as though the space she created was the natural course of things at the behest of... hm, perhaps curiosity, but certainly not of concession. The gesture was made without haste, her posture remaining wholly unruffled. Her fingers, ever elegant in their precision, grazed the edge of a long skirt, smoothing over the fabric with the meticulousness of one who understood the art of presentation. And she did. A quiet pause followed then, encompassed by a slight adjustment of the cuff of her blazer, the subtle action adding an air of carelessness that wasn’t entirely carelessness at all. It was an extension of a careful control that she wielded over each gesture, a simple shift in attire, a deliberate smoothing of creases that seemed to capture the attention without demanding it. And then, her gaze shifted towards him, finally, though never quite meeting it, but acknowledging him nonetheless. "Come then." Her voice was soft, one low as it lingered. "You have me curious, Diamond Eyes."

Prompt: Ever so unprompted many moons ago. // @aventvrina

[iniziare]

salutations ! i've got a quick question for your hcs on ka/fka~ is she proficient w/ a violin (and other instruments, perhaps ?) or do you feel like she might be overcompensating a bit (idk how to word that betteR) with humming ?

Salutations in return! Bless you for this, I miss little inquiries like this one, they're fun and unexpected, so thank you! And also, I have a soft spot for Ms. Kafka, so I always enjoy talking about her. Now luckily (as in, the fact that you'll get a prompt response to this), I actually touched on this topic already a little while back, because I think that the part of her character that is tied into the violin. and music as a whole (for instance, the gramophone in her light cone), is overlooked and I think that's detrimental.

Any way, if this topic truly tickles your curiosity, I would suggest giving the post I linked a little peek, but as a bit of a preface or TL;DR if you will, I do think Kafka is capable of playing, and is proficient in the violin, and the piano may come hand in hand— simply because it has a reputation of being the go-to instrument for many musicians when it comes to building a bit of a foundation. As for the humming, I don't actually think you're far off with the assumption! Or at least, let me see if the following is something you can see, or even agree with: I think that the humming plays into the same thing as her mimicking the violin play (and the piano, when you 'see her' on the Astral Express post-Belobog), which is a sense of yearning to do something that she once did habitually. I think that it plays into the concept that I tie to Kafka very firmly in regards to many things about her, as I think it's a recurring theme, which is 'presence in absence'. I think there's a lot about Kafka that speaks to 'she has this' or 'she does this', but not in an actively present way, it's almost like the remnant of something, if I'm making sense? It's something that she no longer has, or at least not presently, but is very present on and/or around her character. That's how I see the violin, as a whole. I would ramble more, but I would suggest giving the post a little skim! But I'm here for any other questions at any given time. Thank you so much for this, and have a wonderful one!