Olivian couldn't remember seeing the grand hall of his lineage populated like this. Not that the admittedly clumsy structure of mud, stone and wood had ever been a grand sight to begin with. Still, his father -and his father before him- had repeatedly dictated the importance of such ancient places to their kind. All manner of rituals and rites of the utmost important to the tribe were practiced on these hallowed grounds. Oh, how his ancestors' spirits must be wailing in the afterlife now.

Once these halls had been filled only with the most respected and noble of his feline brethren. The occasional dignitary from another tribe might have sought an audience with the king here, granted, but now Olivian's stomach churned upon seeing the foreign creatures here. The newly welcomed hyenas practically skulked around every corner. Their whooping laughs overpowered the volume of any reasonable conversation.

Olivian was admittedly just the third son of two elder children sired by his father, the king of the pride. I am still a prince, damnit! I should not have to dwell in the presence of these uncultured barbarians spilling their ale all over the floor. But what could he do? The carefully brokered peace accord put and end to years of conflict and he could not risk jeopardizing that. It was then that a splash of ale landed at his bare feet. Droplets of foaming fluid wetted the fur of several frowning leonine, including himself.

"The next rounds' on that guy! Ha!" The culprit wailed to his small pack of yipping followers of which he was surely the alpha. The male stood at least a head taller than his grinning compatriots. He must have outweighed them too given the relative size of his muscles, all of which were visible since his only garb was a snug fitting cloth wrapped around hs waist and crotch out of modesty. Well, that and the small medicine pack on his belt that carried who knows what. His empty mug blatantly gestured towards the sour looking prince as if the bring him in on some joke. Whatever humor was meant to be communicated was lost to the grouchy prince. To hell with this stupid peace accord. Who the fuck does this mongrel think he is?! The prince walked with a sneer towards the howling hyena busy gesturing to the crowd with his raised mug.

Those mutts didn't seem to understand how to behave in the presence of royalty. He would show them how to behave. That is what Olivian had decided, at least. The pair met face to face moments later. One had a semi-lucid glaze of a mind swimming in ale. The other a silent snarl that radiated humorless scorn. Differences between them only grew more obvious now. Olivian's toned athleticism paled in comparison to the burly physique of the hyena. Such a body might have been worth looking over were Olivian in a better mood.

"Show some manners you filthy dog," Olivian growled out through his gritted teeth. "You're only welcome in these halls by the grace of my father's permission." That little display earned a round of rolling belly laughs from the small crowd standing around the leader's position. The prince's hands tightened into fists from being mocked so openly. That furnace of a temper started to roar within the smaller male's chest.

"Ah, yer the prince, yeah? Figures! Ya look just like yer papa," the hyena interrupted before the tension could grow any further. That jovial disposition never faded regardless of much his royal audience scowled. "Didn't mean nothing by it, just tellin' the boys how friendly and accommodatin' you cats have been. Got ahead of m'self is all," he lazily waved a hand apologetically as if that would magically excuse his social faux pas.

"What makes you think you can just-" a large hand came down upon Olivian's shoulder in the midst of his protest.

"Relaaax! I get it, yer mad about the mess. Won't happen again, yeah? I'll even get you one to make up for the one I spilt. Just you wait here, 'livia." Without another word the muscled hyena turned his back and headed down to the other end of the hall. A series of wooden barrels were stacked against the wall ready to replace the ever-dwindling supplies. Various hyena patrons took their turn filling their clay cups from the makeshift spout in one of the barrels. Olivian stalked after him paying no heed to the giggling pack behind him.

"You listen to me now, it's prince Olivian to you, and I don't drink." His protest seemed to go unheard.

"S'kerrith!" The hyena barked, clearly referring to himself, then turned around to shove a frothing mug into the lion's grasp. "And yeah, ya do drink when you're chattin' with a fancy foreign dignitary like m'self," he declared with a proud thump to his own burly chest. "We got plenty to discuss now."

Olivian peered into the mug of ale that foamed just over the rim. It smelled of fermented grains and some spice he could not recognize. "Foreign dignitary, what are you babbling about?"

S'kerrith only concentrated on filling his own mug to the absolute limit before turning his attention back to the prince. "What, just because I don't got fancy gold and gems like yer kind, I'm not important?" he reached out to tug at the various affectations covering the prince's royal body. He had all sorts of glittering necklaces, bracelets, anklets, and loose-fitting adornments around his waist. They must have seemed frivolous to the eyes of a hyena.

"Don't touch those!" Olivian swatted away the hand fondling his royal heirlooms. The bratty reaction made S'kerrith's face widen into a grin.

"Relax, 'Livia. See this paint here?" he gestured to the white lines that spiraled along one half of his chest and neck, "Same thing, now drink up already. We got matters to discuss." S'kerrith tapped his mug against Olivian's own with some force then took a mighty swig. With his free hand he gestured to a vacant bench tucked away in the corner of the leonine hall and lead the two of them on. The prince hissed and grumbled the whole way.

"It's prince Olivian", he corrected, yet again. The prince tossed a scowl S'kerrith's way as he seemed not to be listening. The large man's attention was drawn to something he had hidden away in the palm of his hand. Whatever it was, it gave off an eerie blue glow. The light paled in comparison to the various torches which illuminated the shadowy stones around them though.

"Right, right, 'Livian," he said tucking the odd trinket away into a medicine pouch on his belt. This time it seemed like it was his accent that got in the way rather than some poor attempt at humor. "Look, there's some stuff we got to cover between us, man to man, got it?" He said in a surprisingly serious tone all without losing that greasy grin plastered on his muzzle. "Your papa, his fancy council of nobles and m'self just finished a long meeting about this big treaty."

It was only then that Olivian recognized the markings on the big hyena slouching forward in his seat. Him and his pack of noisy followers had been part of the envoy that arrived a few days earlier. That same envoy responsible for negotiating the very treaty which kept them in the same room now. Ice filled Olivian's veins as the thought sunk in. His ears flattened back in recognition of the gravity of the situation. Before he could speak to the situation the hyena butted in.

"Things are stressful in there, right? Everyone's all tense. The last thing I need is the king's brat whining at me all night. It'll make tomorrow's talks stressful, y'get me?" There was a clear threat veiled behind those words. S'kerrith wasn't the dimwitted drunk Olivian initially took him to be. "Now, relax a bit and drink up." This time S'kerrith reached straight for the mug in the prince's hand. He guided it straight up to the feline's mouth with some insistence. Olivian hesitated with obvious discomfort. His head turned prematurely but the rim of that mug kept approaching. It didn't stop even as it tilted and began pouring the brew out. It was a lecherous glare, without a doubt. One, two, three mouthfuls were taken and swallowed. Despite the series of coughs his actions had earned a hearty chuckle from his apparent drinking compaion.

"Ung-khoh!! That swill is awful," the prince sputtered. Excess droplets were wiped away with his forearm.

"Nah, s'not so bad. It's good, actually. Real good stuff. Better than any of the watery brew we make ourselves." S'kerrith waved a had dismissively at the prince's complaints.

"I wouldn't know. I don't typically drink anything besides tea or water." Something about his drink's flavor lingered on the lion's damp lips. It was a seemingly mundane admission, but it caught the larger male utterly by surprise.

"Yeah well, y'do now. Entertaining our customs and such, yer expected to do that kind of shit, right?" S'kerrith didn't really wait for a response. Instead he opted for standing up and fetching a refill of both their mugs as they were now currently empty. Momentarily left to his own thoughts and isolation, Olivian mulled over his situation. He was already lucky that his little outburst didn't cause more than a drunken curfuffle. It could have already put a tense dimplomatic situation in a troublesome spiral. The absolute last thing that he needed was another reason for his father to be angry with him. Spirits know there was enough tension between the two of them already. So all this barbarian wants is a royal drinking companion for the evening? Fine, I can accomodate him here. No problem.

With his attention centered on his own thoughts and the din of the crowded hall, Olivian didn't notice S'kerrith returning. He carried both full mugs tucked within one arm. The hand had slipped somewhere else. A dab of two wet fingers dragged along the back of Olivian's left shoulder blade. "Gah!" he shrieked and stood in a panic, looking down to see what it was that had marked his fur.

"Hah! Relax!" bellowed S'kerrith's clearly amused voice. He only barely succeeded in suppressing of his race's teltale laughs before explaining. "Just a bit of the M'karra paint, y'see? Harmless." He gestured to his own shoulder where a similar swirl decorated the shoulder mirroring Olivian's now white-stained fur.

"Wh-what was that for? Don't just rub that filthy-" a heavy calloused hand landed on the grumbling prince's unmarked shoulder. He turned his gaze meet the intensely unimpressed look on S'kerrith's face.

"Don't be talkin' bad about the M'karra," his voice was masculine, grave and without a trace of humor. "I don't give a shit that you're some royal brat. These markings mean a lot to us, yeah?" He tilted his head towards a couple of the other hyenas of the tribe roaming about the hall. They too had various elaborate designs staining their stripped furs. Interestingly, so did many of the leonine who shared their company as well. "It's an honor of ours. Count yerself lucky that get to have any marking at all, aside from those glittering...things," he said, setting down both their drinks on the tabletop. "Now drink up, relax, and don't move. If you make a mess of this you'll have 'cunt' written all over your fur, hah!" All at once that obnoxious humor was back. The momentary gruff expression returned to the wide-lipped grin it had always been.

Olivian stayed as still as he could and cradled cold clay mug in his hands. It seemed once again he'd narrowly averted some cultural catastrophe. Stupid, stupid stupid! He cursed at himself mentally, trying to pay no mind to the large hyena moving to stand behind him. A sensation of wetness renewed itself as dabs of white paint were applied to his body in some pattern he could not know. This was just the kind of impetuous thoughtlessness he'd been lectured on as of late. Maybe there was something to those endless droning lessons his father gave him. Perhaps, but perhaps not. He could decide later some other day when his head was clearer.

That was the first time the feline had even noticed that his head wasn't entirely clear. There was a gradual hazing of his visual field. Every time he turned his head to look elsewhere, the tunnel of his vison narrowed for a moment and hesitated to follow him. "Ey, keep still," S'kerrith chided. No question that the ale was startng to affect him now. The prince's lack of familiarity with alcohol made him all the more vulnerable to its effects. Truth be told, the buzz he experienced wasn't all that disagreeable. He drew the rim of his glass to his lips for a more casual drink. Again his lips encountered the odd -but not unpleasent- spice mixed within the ale's expected grain flavors. Perhaps he could get used to this drink and its pleasing taste.

"There, y'look proper now," the busy hyena declared, obviously finished with his work. He returned the small gourd full of the paint back to a pouch on his belt and reclaimed his seat opposite the white-marked leonine. "If yer wonderin' how it looks, just picture mine, but backwards, get it? You've got pretty much all the same marks now, except the ones on the front obviously! You'll grow to like these ones a lot," He pointed towards his own chest and midsection. Curiosity alone was enough to pull the prince's gaze to examine the markings closer. He'd never really given too much thought to what the arcane symbols meant, nor as to how they were supposed to be applied.

S'kerrith had telltale traces of the paint all over his muscular body. A good portion of his impressively seized pectorals had some tracings of the white, spiraling out from the nipple. A trail of the white flowed down towards his midsection. A strong looking midsection too. Olivian could see traces of firm muscle under the scruffed fur around his belly and waist. Olivian caught himself staring at that moment. He'd followed the markings all the way down to where they vanished behind the table's obscuring view. It occured to the prince now that he would have continued staring even if that paint had covered the wrapped loincloth of the other man. Damn, what's gotten into me?

None of what just happened slipped past S'kerrith's notice, of course. For the moment he didn't acknowledge it. He just leisurely took another drink before reclining somewhat in his seat. "Finish yer drink there and I'll tell you what they mean, yeah?" The sly hyena was quick to empty his own cup too. Olivian looked into the dwindling pool of ale in his cup. It shimmered and wobbled almost as much as his own vision did. It only took a moment before he finished the brew off and set it aside. Satisfied, he turned his focus back to the lounging man seated across from him. "Strength," he said bluntly, pointing to the spiraled design that decorated his proud chest. "But you could'a figured that out yourself, heh. Doesn't take a shaman to decipher that riddle. Besides, I caught you lookin' earlier."

"Wait, what? No you didn't...I wouldn't leer at you that way." it wasn't outright denial on the prince's part. All at once blood seemed to rush to his face. Pure shock and embarrasment dominated his features for a moment before he regained composure. Or at least whatever composure he could now that his mind was rippling with the strange effects of his ale. He seemed far more aware of himself, his companion and his senses in general. Has it always smelled so strong in here?

"Sure did! You think I'm blind or somethin'? Besides, all sorts of your kind have been checkin' me out since I got here. Comes with the territory. So go on, look all ya want." S'kerrith shrugged. He seemed to just accept that his raw physical attractiveness was an immutable fact. Olivian did just that. With the way S'kerrith was lounging with arms crossed behind his head there was so much of him on display. Tufts of manly hair poked out from under his armpit. The already impressive girth of his biceps seemed enlarged by the position. So strong, so powerful. The previous control Olivian had on his thoughts was slipping. Damn ale, this is why I don't touch the swill. His legs were pretty big too...

"C'mere, let me finish the markings on your chest too, then we'll match. Y'look rediculous with just your back painted." S'kerrith's voice seemed more cordial than ever before. Plus, he had a good point; what self-respecting prince could walk around with only his back marked with foreign white symbols? "You' can stare at m'legs too." Olivian was half-way into sitting down in the corner seat when he heard those words. An odd coincidence to be sure. Yet the invitation was there. The allure of the man's body was strong. Very strong.

Now that the two sat side by side in their private little corner they had some modicum of privacy. Or at least decreased traffic compared to before. Much of the other crowd had dissipated as the evening wore on, though some remained behind to continue discussions of all matters political and personal. S'kerrith resumed his earlier task of applying carefully aranged styles of paint onto Olivian's body. In turn, the trembling feline gave into the subtle temptations that floated around his booze-addled mind. His gaze dropped and fixed on the seated hyena's legs. Sure enough, they were just as sturdy and muscular as the first time he checked. There was no reason he needed to check. None at all.

"Strength, in kind. Now we match," S'kerrith commented after he finshed decorating the prince's chest with the appropriate markings. At some point the burly hyena had leaned forward and placed his mouth closed to the leonine's ear. It ensured that his voice would travel no further than ther table. At the same time the pungeont aromas of masculine essence added to the musty air filled with sweat and torch-smoke. Mostly sweat. Mostly musk.

"This next symbol means 'appetite'. For good digestion and fufilled hungers," S'kerrith's husky voice rumbled out straight into Olivian's quivering ear. The feline wasn't paying much attention to the words any longer. How could he when the nearly naked man beside him was rubbing his fingers all over his bare stomach now? That's what it felt like at least. In truth the two fingers swirled their signs and stained that pristine belly.

"O-oh, that feels really nice," muttered the lion. His eyes didn't waver from their lowered trajectory.

How had Olivian not noticed how amazingly handsome S'kerrith was until now? Olivian failed to draw a connection between the drugged ale he swallowed and his growing need to get his hands on those swollen pectorals. Or shove his tongue into that grinning mouth. Or shove his face into that bulging loincloth hanging between sturdy looking thighs. Fuck, had he ever been hot for a hyena before?