(1310-03-02) Courtesan Talk
Summary: Julette nó Lis d'Or pays a visit to the Salon de la Glycine and enjoys a cup of tea with the Orchis Second Cochonnet. And she gets the chance to admire more than one of Cochonnet's oeuvres. WARNING: Unfiltered Coco, which means nudity in places plus certain explicit props
RL Date: 02/03/2018
Related: None
cochonnet juliette 

La Glycine — Night Court of Marsilikos

The glorious dome of La Glycine rises overhead here, ribs of veiny marble with studs of bronze inset at measured intervals rise to meet at the wide mouth of the oculus above, through which a shaft of light moves over the course of the day, wending its way from one side of the atrium to the other in an insistant caress. The floor is a patterned sequence of white marble squares inlaid with green marble trellis patterns, at the center of each of which is a round golden circle around a stud of glistening emerald. In the middle of the floor, directly underneath the oculus above, is a round pool of rainwater with a high rim for seating and a collection of fish and turtles living inside.

The lofty space is open with a pair of giant bronze doors leading to the courtyard to the south, and the north wall is largely taken up with the descent of a massive stairwell which provides a dramatic route of entry down into the atrium from the Northern Wing and beyond. The Eastern and Western walls each sport two smaller archways; both the eastern archways lead into the Baths, while the two to the west grant access to the Gambling Hall and Hall of Oddities.

Furnishings are strictly at an ad-hoc basis, temporary for the need, but may occasionally include furnishings hung from the studs in the great domed ceiling.

When looking out of the windows, you see: It is a winter morning. The weather is cool and snowing.


Banqueting couches have been arranged octagonally about the low impluvium in the center of the rotunda-style Atrium of La Glycine. The beam of sunlight from the oculus is mottled, today, but when it shines through it marks the third hour on the checkered marble floor, and a flurry of white flakes is dallying in a dizzy column from above, most of the flakes rendered incorporeal by the heat of the braziers set around to keep those lounging warm. A golden tripod has been set in the center of the impluvium, which can only mean that those banqueting couches are filled with eager novices flipping their shallow wine-bowls around crooked fingers, trying to hit the target in a playful bout of kottabos practice, laughter ringing off of the marble walls and archways. Cochonnet herself is sitting at the foot of a couch, legs tucked up under herself and skirts spreading bounteously about her, making her look like some sort of half-couch centaur as she observes the competition and turns a big black dildo over and over again in her hands, dipping her fingers now and again into a silver pyxis of some sort of dense oil which she is rubbing into the leather bit by bit. There is a tea table being set up further to one side of the atrium, near the entryway to the hall of oddities, where Cochonnet will visit with her little friend from across the plaza, if the snow doesn't keep her.

Why Juliette no Lis d'Or enters the atrium of Glycine will be swiftly explained through the letter she carries in her hand. A letter she could have easily handed off to a novice or other attendant at the door, but it seems, the courtesan of the salon of refinement is perfectly content to linger for a bit longer in the impressive entrance hall. Dark curls can be glimpsed before they are fully revealed, in the instant she lowers the hood of her warm cloak, a few snowflakes still clinging to her tresses, but melting swiftly, from the pleasant warmth of the house. Hazel eyes glance up to witness the play of snow outside through the glass, and with her gaze dropping to take in the current excitement and play, a smile warms her pale and comely features. A bit of Caerdicci blood is apparent, in her face, but it is Lis d'Or grace with which her fingers reach to undo the clasp that holds the cloak fastened close to the collarbones.

"A bit of mulled wine, if you have," Juliette murmurs to the novice she hands the cloak to, the smile encouraging and kind. Straightening she steps closer, letter still in hand, observing the kottabos practice of the young Glycines with evident glee. The Court de Nuit is a small place, a realm of its own within the city, and all courtesans living here know each other by sight and name. "Good day, Cochonnet!" Spotting the Second of Orchis, the Lis d'Or adept steps closer, more into the light of the sun rays, that caress the peach colored dress of latest fashion, a fashion that does its best to pronounce the slender physique of the brunette halfblood. Spotting the object in Cochonnet's hands, her kind smile shifts into a smirk. And Juliette sits down, right beside Cochonnet, tilting her head a little to the side, as she inspects the aide d'amour, the Glycine is preparing. "You expect to use this later, no doubt?", Juliette inquires. "Judging from the size, I suppose it will take quite the effort to fit it in?"

Cochonnet is, for her part, in a beautiful gown of black to match the item in her oily hands. It's not a usual color among the courtesans of Orchis, but her face and bouncing bosom are framed between the black of the gown and the black of her hair, and she leans aside to press a red-lipped smooch to Juliette's cheek. "Jules, baby girl," she greets in a low, effusive purr, a laugh playing ever at the corner of her lip. "Oh, this? No, it's not for me. A commission," she has quite a sideline going, her craftsmanship in the realm of fun bed toys somewhat renowned in the city and beyond. "But that doesn't mean I can't send it home having been tended with all due affection," she adds with a cheeky little grin, and, capping the lid onto the silver pyxis, she turns the phallus in both hands and aims it at her chest, as Ajax with his blade, about to die, then slides the oiled length down her already burgeoning cleavage, tucking it into the front of her bodice and making the fit even more snug by the time the bulging black testes are resting about the level of her collarbone. Tipping her chin down, she offers one side of the sewn leather sack a small kiss, then, reaching out a hand for Juliette, "Come away from here before an ill-aimed shot stains your pretty peach dress. I have tea set for us over there," she points to the little table with her eyes.

It is a spectacle, and Juliette cannot help but acknowledge it as such, her eyes following the impressive pleasure tool, to where Cochonnet stows it away. The corners of her lips lift, and she chuckles, unable to prevent the silvery sound of her laughter from slipping through. She receives the kiss to her cheek and gives one back in turn, lips pressing lightly against Cochonnet's face slightly above the corner of her mouth. "A commission, hmm? It is treated with all due affection…", Jules jests lightly, leaning away before she rises to her feet, following along where the Orchis Second leads her. "I've brought a letter along, from Madame Veronique to Monsieur Bertrand.", she offers in brief explanation. "She did not know, that I would be coming here anyway." There is a grace in Juliette's movements, trained in year long practice in the salon. "How have you been? And…", here she pauses, glancing towards Cochonnet with a lifted brow, "do you intend to come by for the evening of entertainment, Madame is holding at Lis d'Or in a few days? She'll insist on more proper attire though," her hazel eyes brush the assets so open on display with their gaze, admiring them for a moment. "But you know Lis d'Or… We have our admittedly high standards."

Cochonnet rises from the couch without a glimpse of her legs even becoming visible, so marvelously expansive is the gown she wears — at least below the waist. When she sweeps off of the couch she reveals a little novice who had curled up on the couch under there for a nap and who subsequently blinks at the sudden light and chill from the oculus above. "I'll take the letter; Monsieur Bertrand is out just now but I'll deliver it to his writing desk," she promises, holding hands as sweetly as you please and even strolling with a deeply austere poise, a comical contrast to the strange sight of the object ensconced in her bosom. The nice lads who'd set up the tea draw out both seas for their respective occupants, and Coco's dress swallows her own seat up before she sits down in it, making the extreme sides of it swell up with a puff of air. "I may be able to come. I have a personal performance for which I'm presently preparing, and have reached out to the gent in question as to his schedule, so it may come down to it," she speaks in a manner unaffected if grammatical, brainy but down to earth. "And how is the baby girl faring?"

"A personal performance?", echoes the lovely Juliette, with only a hint of worry apparent in her features. "Now you got me curious as to know what kind of performance you have in mind…" Or who that mysterious 'gent' might be. This latter thought remains unspoken, tact and discretion a rule for all courtesans within the Court de Nuit. "As for the baby girl…?" Her dark eyes warm slightly at the name, Cochonnet elects to give her. "I am doing quite nicely. I shall pay the marquist another visit soon, as to have him continue the work on my back. A dear acquaintance…", and here her smile dims into a slightly more pensive cast. "…Has returned from sea, and I am glad. As they have proven pleasant company." The letter she had given Cochonnet as soon as she offered to take care of it, and now Juliette finds herself considering the dress. "This is an interesting gown," she comments, and reaching out takes a cup of tea to warm her hands that are still a bit chilled from her (however brief) venture outside. "It certainly commands attention." Hazel eyes flit up to meet Cochonnet's gaze. "I shall perform as well, on that evening, or so the Madame has told me."

"If your curiosity sustains you through tea, I'll take you to my workshop and show you the costume I'm finishing up for the role in which I have been cast," Coco's eyes shimmer like the sea at sunset, all mischief and temptation, while all the time her back sits ram-rod straight, posture pristine, arms held in a delicate roundel and fingers poised along the ceramic of the teacup so exquisitely she might have dallied in house Camellia. It's an act, of course, as most things with the bosomy Orchid. "Oh— yes, your Captain, whom you have so expertly hooked and reeled in from the waves," she trills with a giggle at the image. "Good work on that one," is a little bit more sincere, punctuated by a refined sip of tea. "Oh, this old thing," she lowers a hand to feel the elegant loose-swelled pleating next to her hip, "I thought to dress up for tea, but I didn't want anything that might be easily marred by the kottabos. I only hope I don't scare anyone into thinking that someone has died," she grins.

"My curiosity would," Juliette smiles. "And I hope I can actually stay for a moment, but… My presence might be missed at Lis d'Or. Veronique expects me to be back sooner rather than later." And there, Coco mentions the Capitaine, and a bit of rosiness creeps into the adept's cheeks, who sits so gracefully opposite of the Orchis Second, cup held in one hand, while the other arm leans upon the armrest, fingers arranged in a manner to offer support to her chin. "It is not… the usual kind of assignation, Cochonnet. It is more like… to enjoy each other's company, in an oddly abstaining manner." The smile fades, when Juliette realizes she is already too much information as would be proper for a Servant of Naamah. Changing the topic, or rather gliding along the topic change, the Glycine so elegantly brings about. "The black color looks more like Mandrake to me, the spectacular cut as well. Just… apart from the… neckline." An understatement, that. Brought forth with an amused glitter in her eyes.

"What's this I'm hearing? I know someone first hand who saw you board La Medouse in your Captain's company, and yet you were not thoroughly ravished before disembarking? Oh, the scandal," Coco twitters, sipping hastelessly at her tea and letting it rest on the ballsack of the dildo between her breasts as she remains leaning slightly forward in interest, nonetheless allowing the matter to pass by, teased on by the nod to her old house. "Yes, I suppose you can take the pledgeling out from House Mandrake, but you can never really remove the dark stain." It's hardly despondent; it's a stain well-earned, and, to her mind, a formational part of her personage. "But come, if you're short of time, we'll drop the letter for Monsieur and I will show you my new gloves, at least."

"I do enjoy the roll of the waves," Juliette responds all earnestly. "And it was pleasant to see the ship, for myself. The cabin of the capitaine… it was a nice experience to see it. Like, one's room clearly says so much about them." Her head does not move, a mere flick of her eyes has them focus once again on Cochonnet, lips curving even more as she notes just where Coco places that cup, in that unmistakable coincidental Orchis bawdiness. "I doubt one finds as much humor and mirth in a Mandrake," the Lis d'Or adept declares. "And you, I cannot even imagine with an unrelenting stern look in your eyes, oh Coco!" And here more laughter spills from Juliette - and luckily not the cup she is sipping from now and then. A cup, that will be set down, now that the funny Glycine offers to show her part of her quite diverse vault of odd garments. "You know me too well, and yes, I am curious.", is the muttered confession as Juliette follows along where Cochonnet leads her.

Cochonnet sets down her tea properly in its saucer, not so gauche in her current garb as to drain it to the dregs in the middle of the atrium. She rises, nearly taking the chair away with her but for that she remembers to ease her massive skirts up and over it instead of dragging the delicately wrought bit of furniture behind her. "Wise Jules, so wise. They knew even when I was a child I couldn't stop myself from smiling. I will content myself to torment those who would be tormented by more humorous humiliations," she beams brightly, taking Jules' hand in her own and skipping along through the atrium and up the grand stairwell into the northern wing. A brief pause at Monsieur's office takes really only as long as Coco is held up trying to get her skirts through the doorway once and then again. Then to her workroom. Which is also her bedroom. But definitely not a place she takes her clientele. Not unless they have a clutter fetish. It wouldn't do for them to see the great amount of work that goes into producing each and every wildest fantasy.


The Second's Chamber looks to have been blighted by a maddened genius of recent. There are piles of building materials and fabrics heaped in a chest and spilling out of an armoire along the eastern wall. The clutter continues across a large work table which is positioned directly before the window in order to make the best use of the light. Detailed plans, sketches and designs are scattered here and there, as well as the odd empty wine bottle and burned-out candle-end. At any given time at least two or three dildos are in various stages of construction on the tabletop, as well as a half-sewn bit of costuming.

The western side of the room is given over to the Second's bed, which seems to have not been made in a good long while, but which looks cozy enough with a mad sworl of blankets and pillows strewn across it. Next to her bed is a more orderly armoire which holds her fairly bizarre collection of outfits, and a small bedside table with a journal and lamp upon it as well as another bottle of wine.

When looking out of the windows, you see: It is a winter morning. The weather is cold and snowing.


Patron rooms are for entertaining patrons, and the private chambers of courtesans will perhaps rather be shown to sister or brother of the salon than to a complete outsider. Juliette hovers somewhere inbetween, being not a Glycine but of the Night Court. A room she cannot yet call her own, being an adept she shares a dormitory with other adepts of her salon. It may explain the awe upon her face, when she enters, right after Cochonnet, the way her gaze darts immediately to the table with the many scribbled notes and plans and designs. The bed only receives a fleeting glance, a faint smile indicating that such disorder - even in the private room of a courtesan - would not be tolerated at Lis d'Or.

Cochonnet is a perfectionist, first class, but that doesn't mean her process is tidy. Only that the process is hidden, and the final product of remarkable quality. A room says a lot about a person, it's true, and the inside of Coco's chamber is like the inside of her head; a thousand things happening at once, and only she knows where everything's been left. A messy creative, let's call her, but look at the glory of that piece she's extracting from her bosom and setting on a stand high on the windowsill, leaning over a pile of things on her work table in order to do so. It glistens in the grey winter sunlight, looking ferocious and ready for action; one can almost see it throbbing. Having admired the finished product for a moment, Coco kicks out her chair with one foot and sweeps a pair of mittens off of the tabletop, stepping up onto the chair and sitting down on the edge of the table, beckoning Jules in closer. "Close the door and come hold out your hands to me," she bids the young courtesan. It's not harsh, at all, but her words come like a blunt club to the back of the head— hard to ignore, easy to go along with.

When finally the dark leather item finds its spot in the light, Juliette is silent for that moment of final consideration, Coco gives this product of her craftsmanship. "I shall say, whoever commissioned this shall be well pleased," the Lis d'Or adept remarks with a fine smile and the similarly fine humor as is cultivated in her salon - despite the obvious and intended double entendre. Juliette turns and closes the door as told, she is after all an adept and used to following the orders and requests of higher ranking courtesans. With the door closed, she turns and approaches, arms lifting as she offers her hands to Cochonnet, for whatever she may intend with them. Slender fingered hands that never knew harsh labor, fine pale hands that look delicate and soft; the sort of hands a certain clientele wishes to feel upon them, for the illusion that they were Naamah's own. Jules glances down at her hands, and then looks up, as a certain impatient curiosity flickers briefly in those hazel eyes of hers.

Cochonnet takes a moment with her mittens, black as they are, hidden in the black velvet folds of her giant gown. She watches the image of Naamah approach, "Ohh," she coos softly, distracted even from the sweet little jest by the sight. "Why, no wonder half the city would fall down at your feet, baby girl. You'd make a fine kitten, too, but I'd need to fit the rest of the costume to you. These, though— these should fit," and she takes one mitten and guides it to Jules' left hand, coaxing her in at the wrist and helping guide the fingers and thumb together into the snug bondage of the warm cocooning fabric. They're probably a little looser on Jules than on Cochonnet, who had a rather larger frame, all told, but they're meant to hold the hands in a vague semblance of a stereotypical kitten paw, fingers and thumb held together in one softly curving scoop. The outside of the mitten is done in bear fur, treated over time to be thinner, softer, sleeker, delicate to the touch with satiny softness. It presents the image of a human-sized kitten paw, complete, should Jules turn it over to look, with pink silken pawpads. When the second mitten is in place, Coco takes a deep breath and lowers her chin in an eager gaze, "Alright, now… slow as you please, try to straighten out your fingers," she instructs.

"Oh…" Realization hits Juliette in the moment it becomes obvious in the soft sound that rides on her exhale. "Mittens… Indeed! Oh, Coco, they are so soft! And feel so… real!" The adept's hand slips fully into the mitten, fingers moving slowly when the Orchis Second tells her to. "Yes," Juliette makes, noting how the mittens slightly resist the movement of her fingers, while eventually yielding, splaying out into individual kitten toes and each one even extending a little needle-sharp claw that had been hidden tucked inside. "Oh, Companions! You've worked actual claws into them? This is amazing!", the Lis d'Or exclaims. Her fingers give in, curling slightly which will make the claws withdraw instantly. "You are a true artist, Coco."

Cochonnet's eyes are wide with brows popped high to watch Jules play with the new toys she's crafted. Yes, the claws need pressure to remain extended, which is a nice safety feature in a toy that could be dangerous in … or on … untrained hands. Coco is basking in the moment of her glory, more than she will be able to do when she displays the fruits of her labor to the client who contracted her to play this role. She sets a hand on one of her breasts, a flattered pose, "An artist is nothing without her muse. Here's to all the lovelies out there kinky enough to wonder about humping a baby cat. Love as thou wilt," she pledges, obviously taking this motto to the extreme.

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