A Drop in the Pond. [M]

[Draconian]

Grace accepted the clothing, eyes to the ground with her head down.

He said to look used.

Grace wasn't really sure what that looked like so she supposed being all quiet and subservient would do. It wasn't unlike how she normally was so... That was good. Sort of.

Turning into a wall, she dropped the fur and quickly got dressed. Or at least tried to. The skirt was easy enough but Grace frowned at the ties on the chest covering. Did it tie on the side? Was that even what they were for?

After a few minutes of trying to tie up the chest piece she frowned at it. Fingers fumbling. Would she get yelled at for taking too long? Grace got it eventually and looked down at herself. Out of place. Her long blonde hair hung to her hips and her skin contrasted with everything on her.

Grace pressed her hands to her exposed midriff. It was just like being naked.

A gentle frown and she looked at the fur on the ground before she took a few steps forward, looking at Motark before hesitantly stepping beside him, curling her arms around herself while her heat seeped away. "I'm ready," She looked down at herself, not sure if she'd even put it on correctly, "I think."

[DaGlobster]

Motark looked down at Grace, and he saw that her chest piece was a bit off. Promptly, he reached down and plucked it downwards a bit, evenign it out and making it more comfortable for her.

"Do not worry. Things will be fine."

[Draconian]

Grace tried to smile up at him, but it was more of a grimace. At least her clothing was fixed. A quiet 'thank you' and she looked around, glanced at his hand. Was she supposed to hold his hand? Swallowing carefully she looked down at the ground and then at the tent flaps.

"What do I do now? Just... Be quiet and look... Happy? Sad?"

[DaGlobster]

"I know it is difficult, but try not to look sad," Motark said.

He finished donning his armor, and with it on, he managed to look even more impressive, like one of the great warlords of ancient lore. Given his bloodline, that assessment would be more accurate than one might think.

"Are you ready?"

[Draconian]

No.

"Yes."

Grace rubbed her hands on her arms and moved closer, tucking herself against his side as stare at the tent flap. A brief glance up at the green man and she hesitantly placed her hand on his arm. Grace was hesitant more than sad. This was still better than the Mage camps... Maybe.

[DaGlobster]

[okay, so just for the sake of simplicity, anytime Motark is talking to anyone other than Grace or an orc is talking to Motark (or another orc), just automatically assume it's in orcish unless specified]

The hand on his arm got his attention, and he glanced down at her. He couldn't quite decipher her behavior, as he'd never dealt with anybody quite like her.

He motioned with his head, and started walking, taking her through the flap, into his throne chamber. One of Motark's guards approached them and spoke.

"The Underchiefs will be here shortly for the Moon Council."

Motark nodded, and sat down on his throne.

[Draconian]

Was she supposed to stand beside him?

Grace did the only thing as could think to do. Besides not look sad.

After Motark had seated himself she gave him a hesitant look and sat on his lap. Her heart raced and she bit her lip in a nervous gesture before she looked over her shoulder at him, hesitant. Her hair was pulled over her shoulder and she waited to either be pushed off or pulled closer.

[DaGlobster]

Grace's decision to sit on Motark's lap caught the momentary notice of the guards in the room, but they lost interest rather quickly.

Motark pulled Grace a bit closer.

"Don't be afraid to get comfortable, Grace. We're going to be here a while."

[Draconian]

Grace looked at him, eyes wide before she leaned against his chest.

"You're so warm," she mumbled, pressing against him closer, glad to not have been pushed off. A brief smile at Motark and she shuffled to get comfortable. Which, ultimately was uncomfortable but better than nothing.

[DaGlobster]

It was at that point when the entrance opened, and ten powerful looking orcs strode into Motark's tent. They all carried the iconography of the Red Sun clan, but they also had their own little quirks and additions to the designs. The Red Sun clan was an amalgamate of several smaller clans. A grand majority, no doubt, were Red Sun, but every tribe brought under Motark's fold had a representative.

An Underchief.

Not one to miss a chance for some theatrics, Motark wrapped an arm around Grace's midsection, as if claiming her to be his.

"Impressive bauble, chieftain," one of the Underchiefs remarked, motioning to grace.

"She was a gift. A rather nice one, as well."

The Underchiefs snickered amongst themselves. Motark continued to speak.

"Come then, let's get the Moon Council underway."

The Underchiefs all sat in two rows of five at the foot of Motark's throne.

[Draconian]

The arm around her waist sent a shiver up her spine. That was sensitive flesh and not only was it exposed it was being touched. Grace hadn't exactly been a real lady but having someone's hands on her flesh was a new thing entirely and she wasn't sure she liked it.

Getting comfortable, she gave a weary look to the chieftains before she curled in closer to Motark. Lifting her chin a little before she rested her head against his chest.

[DaGlobster]

The Moon Council wasn't exactly the lengthiest of affairs. Essentially, all of the Underchiefs would meet with Motark, and report on the status of the clans they represent. Decisions are made, comprimises are reached, and matters discussed.

All in all, the process took about two and a half hours, and when it was done, Motark rested his head backwards against his throne, stress evident on his face.

[Draconian]

Grace had braided and unbraided her hair more times than she could count. Finally when it was all said and done and the other orcs had left she looked towards Motark. Her only chance of survival. Gently she gnawed on her lip, casting a look around the room before she gently placed a hand on his chest. Not wanting to speak just incase. She wasn't supposed to make him look bad. She was supposed to be a pretty bauble because then someone worse could get her.

Grace let out a slow breath, resting her cheek to his chest again and giving something that resembled a hug.

If she was nice to him... Maybe it would work in her favour.

Maybe eventually he'd let her go.

[DaGlobster]

Motark didn't acknowledge the gentle hand placed on his chest, but he did feel it when she hugged him, right there on his throne. They were alone in the throne room for now, the guards having left in order to escort the Underchiefs.

Motark looked down at Grace, an inquisitive glimmer in those fiery red eyes of his.

"Grace?"

[Draconian]

Her name had her sit up quickly and she cleared her throat, looking away. Feeling perhaps a little awkward.

"I'm sorry. You looked like you needed one."

[DaGlobster]

Motark sighed, just a tad bit amused with Grace's awkwardness.

"I did. Thank you."

[Draconian]

A hesitant little smile and Grace snuggled back into the warmth that Motark seemed to freely give.

"I can be your hug buddy," again, she was hesitant, chewing on her lower lip.

"Um. Earlier? Did I do wrong by sitting here?"

[DaGlobster]

"You might've been a bit forward, but you did no wrong," Motark said, and he let grace snuggle up against him yet again. She really seemed to like doing that, didn't she?

"What's a hug buddy?"

[Draconian]

"Someone you get hugs from when you're sad or lonely. Or when you just need one."

Grace closed her eyes, her voice drifting off. An attempt to peel her eyes open and she snuggled in farther. It didn't take long for the warmth to overcome her, and on her keepers lap, Grace fell asleep.

[DaGlobster]

"I..."

Motark didn't get to finish, because Grace was now asleep on his lap, and watching her sleep made him tired as well. And he figured there was no harm in going back in for a catnap.

Motark tried to lift Grace in a way that wouldn't disturb her sleep. Preferrably into some kind of cradle hold or something.