(1310-04-16) Kusheline Cousins
Summary: A lord and a masked lady pay a visit to the salon of La Rose Sauvage.
RL Date: 16-18/04/2018
Related: None yet.
dior xenia_npc esekiel_npc 

La Rose Sauvage — Night Court — Marsilikos

A huge hearth of black marble, with gargoyles of stone adorning the mantlepiece, governs the foyer of the Salon de la Rose Sauvage, which emanates a certain dark air, the interior design of the more heavy sort, that could easily be encountered in a gentleman's club, especially with the dark cherry wood wainscoting used on the walls. Dark leather upholstery is predominant in the furniture of chaise longues, couches and long-backed chairs that are arranged in a half-circle, leaving space in the center for courtesans (or patrons) to kneel for an inspection. Three tall windows with circular stained-glass insets are framed by dark red curtains of heavy brocade, a few golden threads worked into the fabric catching occasionally the light of flickering oil lamps at the walls. The lamps light a pair of portrait paintings, of the two founders of the salon, Edouard Shahrizai and his cousin Annabelle no Mandrake, resplendent in their dark Kusheline appeal; and a cabinet in a corner, holding a number of quality wines and a flagon of uisghe.

The foyer has a high ceiling, and a gallery beyond a balustrade of dark teak wood, carved in the shapes of gargoyles. Sometimes a few veiled creatures can be spotted up there, stealing glances at what is going on below; from the gallery, which can be reached by ascending some winding stairs at the back of the foyer. Beside the stairs leading up is a hallway on ground level, leading further into the building to where the offices of the leader of the salon and his two Seconds can be found, along with the two wings of private quarters for roses of Mandrake and Valerian canon.

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

Chill clings to this spring, especially as the day moves towards evening. A fire crackles in the hearth, spreading a warmth in the salon of Rose Sauvage that is only moderately populated at the moment. Sounds from a carriage coming to a halt can be heard from outside, a few words exchanged at a lower volume, before the door opens and a pair enters the house of the thorny roses. An odd pair, lips twisted into conspiratorial smiles, even if the features of one of them is mostly covered by a black half-mask. The man at the side of the woman has his pale face fully on display. A handsome man, of dark hair and grey eyes. His clothes are kept to a darker hue of blue, and as he leads the woman on his arm further into the place, his gaze sweeps the interior and who is present, perhaps waiting for someone to bid them welcome, as would be expected at a salon of the Night Court.

Today is one of the days where Dior has decided to both confuse and tempt patrons at the same time. The lithe male with his long crimson hair is dressed in an elegant top and matching pants of ivory silk. The off the shoulder top is studded with glittering silver beadwork and clings to his lithe chest baring just a bit of his flat stomach before the pants begin. Those pants fit rather snugly at the top, highlighting the shape of his rear before flaring out as they move down his legs only to be gathered neatly as they reach his ankles above the pair of silver toned sandals he wears. The look he is going for is one of submissive innocence, the style of the attire made to appear slightly feminine and to flatter his figure. His hair is left down falling down his back and over his shoulders in a cascade of crimson.

As the couple arrives Dior peers over that way curiously and begins to gracefully pad over that way the sandals on his small feet making no noise as he approches and bows low for the pair. "Greetings and welcome to the Salon de la Rose Sauvage. I am Dior, can I help you in finding what you seek this evening?" Those emerald eyes lift slightly studying the pair with gentle curiousity and patience.

Dior truly is an appearance that draws the eye, and for a moment he does just that - attract the attention of the black-haired nobleman and the elegant lady in his company. Her dress is no less dark than his color of attire, long-sleeved dark green satin shimmering faintly where it catches the light of the lamps and candles in the parlor. Dark hair is pulled back to vanish almost completely beneath a hat that adds additional shadows to her face, the black velvet of the half-mask fitting snugly against the upper portion of features, leaving only slits from where eyes peek attentively at the young red-haired adept. Her gaze flicks to the man in her company, and she smiles, a contained but also somewhat commanding smile, conveying her wish to the lord without need for words.

The man straightens, and beholding Dior as the adept approaches, he assesses him in all his feminine allure. "I believe so," the lord says, Kusheline accent evident even in this short sentence. "I take it this salon offers diversions for the more…" His lips pull into a faintly feral grin, "refined tastes. "Dior. Can you tell me and my cousin a bit about this place? Perhaps it is just what we are seeking, hmm?" His chin dips just so as he recalls some basics of courtesy, and offers an introduction in turn. "I'm Esekiel de Charlot, and this here… Is my cousin." His grey eyes shift to the masked lady, "Xenia." The way the grin pulls at the corners of his mouth make his words appear as a jest, but who can tell? "Let's sit down for a bit, shan't we?" And with the determination of someone quite at home on Mont Nuit or in salons as these, Esekiel moves towards one of the comfortable chairs, making sure his cousin sits down, before he chooses another beside it.

At first there is a subtle hint of surprise at the name Charlot, as though it means something more to Dior. But that surprise is quickly masked by a soft smile. "Indeed, I would say it does my Lord Charlot. But then perhaps I could also be considered biased in that regard. Still it is a pleasure to meet you both, please come and make yourselves comfortable." Dior's tone is soft and respectful baring just a hint of subtle teasing humor to it as he mentions being biased. He lets them choose where they wish to sit and then kneels down between them with smooth a single graceful movement. Resting his hands on his upper thigh he peers up at them with a soft gentle smile. "You wish to know more about this salon yes? I suppose the best way to explain it is to describe a garden with white and red roses and thorny briars all growing in harmony. Rose Sauvage does cater to more refined and selective tastes, our traditions are that of the teachings of Mandrake, Valerian and Alyssum. You can find all of those canons here." He lets those emerald eyes sweep from the woman over to the nobleman, studying them both carefully and with a gentle yet subtly assessing gaze. "Is there anything in this garden that interests either of you my Lord and Lady? It would be my pleasure to assist you in finding whatever it is you desire."

<FS3> Dior rolls Perception: Success. (2 5 5 5 3 4 7 4)

Kneeling before the two, Dior will have a better opportunity to study Esekiel. With Dior's mother being a Charlot, the adept might remember some of that extensive family visiting, but then on the other hand, Dior was a very young boy back then. Still. Esekiel seems somewhat familiar, at least he shares the looks of some Charlot relatives Dior can remember. The name does not ring a bell, however. Neither is the name 'Xenia' one he remembers from relatives of the Charlot line.

Said Xenia sits now on her seat, and her eyes glitter with faintly intrigued interest as they study Dior, while the adept replies to Esekiel's questions. "You are one of the Red Roses?", the woman asks after a moment. Her voice, even if soft and somewhat velvety, is showing the same Kusheline trace of an accent. She tilts her head a little, as she considers Dior, assessing him in his kneeling pleasantness.

"The Valerians and Alyssums may be what we are looking for," the Charlot lord opines. He is in his mid-thirties, and now and then he glances towards Xenia, as if to gauge her depth of interest.

Keeping his curiousity subtle Dior studies them both carefully through slightly lowered eyes. He cannot place their names and faces so he lets the matter drop for now in his mind, filing it away for later. He might have to write his mother to ask if she knows how and if they might be related. The question from Xenia draws a soft smile and a slow nod of his crimson hair head. "Yes my Lady. I was trained in the ways of a Valerian." He peeks up at her with those emerald eyes, those orbs sparkling with a combination of excitement and innocence. Glancing over at Esekiel he nods slowly once more smiling softly. He bows his head demurely. "As you wish. I can fetch a few of my fellow roses for you to choose from if that would please you? Unless, you had something else in mind?" He peeks up slowly as he says that last part his gaze a bit bashful as he smiles once more.

Dior's reply provokes a reaction, a deep inhale through the nose flaring nostrils of the masked woman. She might be of similar age as her male companion, long dark hair spilling from where the strap of the mask is keeping it in place. Her smile intensifies a little as she leans forward in her chair to touch the hand to Dior's cheek, fingers curling just so that nails will be felt against the smooth skin as she drags them lightly over it, leaving nothing but the possibility of marks being actually left there later. "I don't think you need to call over any Rose brothers or sisters," Esekiel de Charlot assures, and there is something chilling in that assurance. "Unless you can fetch someone to deal with the necessary formalities of a contract, Dior nó Rose Sauvage."

He will wait for an answer and then he will move to rise, slowly unfurling from his kneeling position with easy grace and moving to fetch one of the courtesans who oversees assignations with the Valerian adepts. It doesn't take long and soon he is back with the courtesan in question who goes over the particulars of the contract quietly with the pair and enquires if they have any specific or special requests they desire. Dior waits patiently while the official business is handled gracefully dropping down to kneel between the two sitting nobles once more.

The courtesan in question would be Séverine, usually, but she seems to be absent, away on an errand, or perhaps engaged in some assignation of her own. It will be the head courtesan, Jacques Verreuil nó Rose Sauvage who Dior will return with. The leader of the salon who is also in charge of the Mandrake branch. Dark eyes study the pair, as Jacques introduces himself to them, standing as he is, a dark looming figure. "You wish to contract Dior?", he inquires, his voice crisp and yet smooth as it cuts through the silence of crackling fire in the hearth with the precision of a knife. "Might I have your names? But…" And here a faint grin pulls at the corners of his lips. "I'm discourteous. Come and accompany me to the office, so that we can settle details there." A glance towards Dior tells the adept to stay put, while the Thorny Rose waits for Esekiel and Xenia to rise to their feet and follow where he leads them, towards the hallway at the back of the parlor. Holding the door open to the pair, before he enters his office, casting one last glance over his shoulder, towards Dior. An odd flicker there in his gaze, a slight narrowing of his eyes, before the door shuts behind him, leaving Dior on his own.

It will take a moment or two. Enough time for Dior to wonder what may be taking them so long.

Dior waits patiently, staying put where he kneels with his head slightly bowed. He did take note of the odd look Jacques gave him and he quietly ponders over it and what it could mean while he waits. He doesn't seem rushed or impatient, content to kneel and wait quietly until they return or so it would seem. His head stays ever so slightly bowed, his hands resting neatly on his thighs as he subtly watches the room through slightly downcast eyes and long lashes.

It takes another moment or two, and Dior can hear they are talking within that office. Until everything seems to be settled, and the door opens, Jacques arriving in the frame to wave the young adept to join them. "Two final things are missing, Dior, and we need you to add them to the contract," the Thorny Rose informs the young adept. Stepping aside to let him in, Jacques closes the door once again once Dior has stepped inside. What the adept will note is the slight differences in the interior of the room, the polished dark stone floor, the dark furniture, especially the table upon which the contract is waiting already to be signed.

Another piece of parchment has been deposited beside it, a folded note, now unfolded, showing a delicate handwriting. Jacques reaches for it and stows it away in a pocket, but maybe Dior was able to glimpse some of the words written there. "The assignation is to happen here. The Lord and Lady of Charlot leave the choice of room to you. It will be mostly the Lady, whom you are to entertain. The Lord will stay around to make sure she is entertained well.", Jacques informs Dior in a low, matter-of-factly tone. "You need to write down your signale, and place your signature on the contract." The contract itself seems fairly standard. The signale will be the one means Dior has, to stop the proceedings at any point, permanent scars are not allowed to be left upon him.

<FS3> Dior rolls Perception: Success. (7 4 3 5 3 5 4 5)

Dior manages to catch a few parts of sentences, '…count on your discretion', '… remain unrecognized…'. And a signature, that is a bit hard to decipher, were it not for the elaborate 'M' that starts off the name.

Dior is as subtle as he can manage glancing briefly at the note through the corner of his eyes. He does his best to hide any suspicion, instead focusing on the contract. He picks up a quill and writes out his signale in smooth elegant looking handwriting, the word reads 'burgundy' which just so happens to be his least favorite color. Then he follows up the word with his signature 'Dior Baphinol nó Rose Sauvage' in that same smooth script. Finishing up he puts the quill back in its proper place and steps back smiling softly to the Lady and her companion while keeping his eyes respectfully lowered. "It seems I am yours for the evening now, My Lady. Please follow me and I will find us a room?" His tone is soft and if allowed he will lead the pair towards one of the patron rooms.

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