(1310-06-28) The Innocents vs the Big Bad Wolf
Summary: There is quite the confrontation at the market place - between a drunk Philippe in a dark mood, a number of flowers, some innocent and some only supposedly so, a scarred Skaldi woman, an Akkadian and a Tsingani trader. WARNING: explicit language
RL Date: Thu Jun 28, 2018
Related: None
philippe marielle lois abraham violetta frida reza 

Market Promenade

Two massive promenades, separated by a narrow row of alternating planters and plinths supporting marble statues from all over the known world, make up a marketplace that extends in a narrow space far to the north of the grand plaza to the south. Each walkway is two two-meter marble slabs wide, one gleaming white, the other greyish-blue, and they alternate to and fro in coloration all the way down each promenade, their intersections marked with a series of equal-armed crosses in shimmering black stone. While there is plenty of space for vendors to set up ad-hoc establishments to hawk their wares, to each side of the double promenade are stoa of fluted marble, holding up a terra-cotta tiled roof over a shady, cool walkway, punctuated here and there with doorways and windows open to a long series of indoor shops, each marked with a hanging sign outside the door.

Every twenty meters or so, five stairs lift the level of the promenade as the marketplace works its way uphill, to a smaller plaza at the northern end where all the most exclusive and expensive shops are established. This smaller plaza also has an obelisk of red granite in the middle; it's shorter, and more slender, but when the change in elevation is taken into account, its tip is at the exact same height as the massive obelisk in the town square to the south.

The heat permeates but receives a temporary reprieve from the drizzle. Puddles have collected and present challenges to leisurely strolls down the promenade. Walking without a single care in the fucking world about puddles large leather boots splash and have no regard for those who might receive a splash. The massive Victomte holds an axe in one hand and an apple in the other. He uses the axe to peel pieces off which he plops into his mouth; apple giblets litter his dark beard and he reeks of liquor. His face is reddish from heat and his hair wet and damp from rain. He cares not about the weather as the infamous butcher at sea does not scoff at a little storm. The beast of a man lingers in place as he eats his apple. Natural contempt for life lingers in the man's dark eyes.

With delicate grace the veiled Marielle, who is dressed in a gown that boasts of being modest but there are tell tale signs of it not being as modest and pure as first glance might lead one to believe of the girl. THe panel of cloth on the back part of her gown is very sheer, completely revealing her Rose Sauvage marque. With her is a couple other White Roses, likely a 'family' shopping trip. Marielle gives a pause as she studies the arket likely she is trying to decide where it is she wishes to go shopping this time. In her glance around MArielle's eyes fall on Philippe and her lashes lower to obscure her eyes. The courtesan is likely trying to assess how she should handle his less than sober state.


Apparently happy about the challenge of puddles, albeit treating it quite contrary to what a usual person in their right mind would do, a young maiden hops from one puddle into the other, hands on her skirts lifting them as far as her knees, the cloak jumping in belated echo to the girl herself. Red hair is worn in a braid that follows the cloak's example, and the wide grin upon freckled features is only fading momentarily when Lois glances towards her very grim looking chaperone, a tall young man wearing loosely fitting pants and shirt, of a special design that displays the Marque of Salon de Coquelicot on his back, the red poppy flower. Lois' enthused little exercise comes to an end as she beholds the grim looking man, and she stands, -beside- a puddle, the abrupt halt making her cloak drift forwards until it covers almost all of her attire - a modest dress of beige color, dotted here and there from previous splashes. The three White Roses receive a curious glance from Lois, who cants her head a little to the side, features an unashamed display of excited curiosity.

While the weather may be a deterrent for some, the humidity from it another reason to stay it, it does not seem to bother the White Roses. Veiled like the others Violetta glances around with wide eyed curiosity at the wares on display, her eyes appearing perhaps all the wider for the lower half of her face being covered. A smile brings a slight crinkle to her eyes as Marielle pauses, but the smile easily fades when she comes to face the larger mountain of a man with the axe and apple decorated beard. Likewise, her lashes lower to cover her eyes, almost brushing at her cheeks in the demure move before cutting towards Marielle briefly and inquisitively, seeming to follow her lead.

Phillipe could have guards. He could be escorted in dignity and nobility. Instead he choose to be alone. There was once a day when Philippe Morhban d'Erresse did not posses a rounded belly and when movement did not convert him into a mouth-breathing behemoth. Those days had fallen and his youth had decayed. He is still a force of nature though with his soft laden musculature. His worn mitts are calloused from sea and axe alike; for a noble the man was no stranger to neither violence nor toil. The last few years though since the death of his beloved daughter and (hated) wife the fire in the man's eyes has dimmed to be replaced with the bloodshot stare of an often angry drunkard.

Philippe takes the axe and carves out the last bit of apple and he pops it in his mouth. He drops the core with a splash where he stands in a puddle. Dark eyes shift to catch the look of the familiar Marielle along with her entourage. Those dark eyes stare and then go down the gown and then drift back upwards. A smirk replaces his common scowl and he turns to start on his way to find a young maiden before him with her hands lifting up her skirts for puddle butchering. He cants his head, what was once a smirk is replace with a smile as the man stares at Lois. Then as the memory of his youthful daughter in joy fades to the recollection of his dead daughter's diseased and bloated corpse absent all life that smile yields to something far darker. Philippe straightens and his hand tightens on his axe; white-knuckled a moment before he sheathes the weapon before he gives into the wig-splitting urges that permeate his person these days.

"Probably ought not be running around flashing your petticoats and quim to every Francis, Louis, and shit-stain around." Sweet advice from a sweet soul it is not.

Leading a grand courser of a lavender grey with black tops to his white socks and a thick black mane and tail, Frida walks next to Reza, soeaking with the Akkadian in her native Skaldic tongue. <"I managed to get a good price on the tack for Ehre, they'll take the old gear in partial trade. It'll fit a smaller horse fine."> Placid, the geoding plods along with an easy clip-clop of hooves as Frida angles towards the leatherworkers. Spotting the large frame of Philippe, she lifts a hand and calls out a typical greeting in Skaldic.

"My Lords and My Ladies," a man's voice loudly speaks up in the market street, "May I interest you in acquiring a couple of beautiful and unique trinkets? Monsieur, Madame, maybe you, Mademoiselle? Fashionable bags and bracelets, and pendants. Design comes from Ephesium and Hellas, Illyria and Khebbel-im-Akkad. Be the first to attract attention and raise jealousy in an upcoming festivities!" The voice becomes even louder and it seems it belongs to a young man who has a bit darker skin, short black curly hair. He wears colorful unbuttoned shirt what reveals many various pendants hanging on his chest. He also carries about nine different shoulder bags. If that is not enough, Abraham has a dozen bracelets together with even more pendants hanging from his arms on leather chords. He excitedly demonstrates his treasures to all who pass him by.

"Mademoiselle," he addresses Lois when he gets closer to the young woman. He shows her one of the leather bracelets adored with dark blue gems, "This one absolutely reflects the beauty of your eyes. And if I may," he turns toward another lady - Violetta, "You, m'lady, would you be interested in this pendant? It's delicate as your light clothes and matches the colors."

<FS3> Lois rolls Reaction+Reaction: Good Success. (7 7 1 8 3 5 3 2)

Walking at the side of the scarred faced skald is a tall Akkadian man with dark hair and eyes. He's dressed in flowing clothing in dark blues and blacks with an embroidered robe like jacket covering his clothing to protect it from the rain. At his hip is sheathed a curved blade sword and opposite it is a large curved fighting knife. Nodding his head he smiles from time to time as he speaks softly with Frida. His dark gaze turns to take in the market and then the man his companion greets. The other man gets a polite nod as Reza allows his gaze to take in the various others standing nearby with a curious eye.

Violetta is given a light assuring touch to the arm when Marielle notes the fading smile. When she notes the smirk then the less than pleasant tone Philippe gives Marielle shifts slightly more into the innocent flower of the salon of darker pleasures. She knows that kind of tone, after all. To Philippe Marielle moves, her arm purposefully brushing along his to distract him from focusing his darker on Lois. "My lord, it is a pleasure to see you again. Have you been well?" As per usually except her eyes the veils she wears hides anything Marielle might legitimately feeling. She merely has that sweet, gentle tone. Frida's Skadic draws her attention and a dip of her head is given in greeting to her. For the moment, Marielle is distracting grumpy wrath to herself so she doesn't approach. She does keep an eye on Violetta and the other White Rose, just in case she needs to intervene on their behalf as well. She heard and saw Abraham approach her, after all.

<FS3> Lois rolls Composure: Success. (5 5 2 8 5 2)

At first the bulk of Violetta's attention is focused on the larger-than-life Philippe, though she does allow herself to be distracted, quite easily, to turn towards the merchant. While there is idle curiosity in her dark eyes as they fall to the pendant, she gives the slightest shake of her head. "Thank you, but perhaps not this day." Her words are soft spoken and she tries to ease the whole 'no sale' bit with the beginning of a smile beneath the veil that, while it cannot be seen, perhaps it can be heard in her voice. As more gather, her eyes skitter over them each one by one, a dip of her head in silent greeting.

Lois is quick. A mind too young perhaps to be yet emburdened by considerations. A commoner? The man in her company suggests she is of the Night Court. And yet, such an unusual novice! With her attention in part on Philippe still, she catches the motion of his hand from the corner of her eye, and in leaping forwards, manages to catch the apple's core before it lands in the mud. A fact that makes her face alight in a triumphant grin, and she straightens as she presents it to those assembled. "My lord?", she asks, noting the expression that warms gruff looking features. "Do I know you?" Her voice is melodious, pleasant on the ears, which by the consequence of Night Court training. That she backs away a touch, is caused by the dark stare he gives her then. "I suppose not.", the young novice murmurs. "I did not mean to offend." Staring at Philippe with wide blue eyes, as he imparts his vulgarly phrased advice to her, makes a blush stain faintly freckled cheeks. "Only my calves and shins," she protests, and looking down, lifts the skirts as far as slightly below her knees. The girl must be in her mid teens, perhaps already nearing the day of her debut. Those skirts fall back in place in the moment, Abraham approaches her, and after giving the leather bracelets a longing glance, she shakes her head. "I am sorry, Monsieur. I don't have the coin." Shifting a step further back from Philippe she gives Marielle a look at her intervention. A look both grateful and inquiring.

"Ah, Mademoiselles, you shall not worry," Abraham smiles at the young ginger woman and Violette who seems to try and focus her attention on a large man, "Maybe a generous lord like you," he points toward Philippe, "is ready to brighten up Mademoiselles day with a small gift? There is nothing more calming and pleasant to a man than a lady's smile. And, m'lord, you have a chance to earn two broad smiles of appreciation if you are ready to spend just a few coins in order to please this beauty with a pendant," he points at Violette and then gestures toward the younger girl, "and this fiery child with a bracelet?"

Philippe stands tall in all his beastial glory; worn like a mountain from the unwavering winds and he serves as a living representation of a defiant angry middle finger to life. The skaldic tongue that flitters about catches the drunk man's ears. Nostrils flare as if he could discern who was who through scent alone. Meaty fingers shift and find his flask. Philippe pulls the cork and he guzzles a few gulps before he exhales and wipes at his mouth with his rain trodden sleeve. He grunts and then narrows his eyes at the man selling his wares as he searches for the woman's voice he recognizes. He is not the sort to bedazzle his person and so the merchant does not earn much of the Vicomte's attention. When he spots the Skald Philippe smirks a bit and greets in her native tongue, « Still ugly. Not that I mind the port; the ugliest ones are often the most entertaining, no? » This he states with a grin.

The covered arm of Philippe gets a look and his eyes settle on the interceding Marielle. "I haven't killed, there is no urgent war among the tides, and so no — I am not fucking well. All there is to do is fuck and drink. And both are beginning to bore me. What is one to do, no?" He retorts.

When the girl catches the core he takes her in again, "You didn't offend. What red-blooded man does not enjoy a little peep." He then asks her, "And who might you be girl?" He inquires of Lois. "I am the Vicomte de Lunel. Philippe Morhban d'Errresse."

And at the pitch from Abraham he answers, "Perhaps you have not heard of me nor my reputation. I am the least generous lord and I could give a fuck if savages came in, ravaged them and ransacked your wares." Philippe then pauses, "Except that I would get to finally bury my axe in the tender breast of life once more. So unless your wares earn me some pleasure and there is a direct exchange; they will have to go through the day without their smiles. But I'm sure there is some wet behind the ears noble around who still cares about the fancy of skirts. One who has not bedded enough in his lifetime to realize a fundamental truth — it isn't worth it."

<"She's too young for you, Philippe. And too much drink makes the cock weak. It hapoened to my fa— Aldric often when visiting his property."> Frida calls out, oh so helpful as she slows the gelding to a stop. Unbundling her armor, shield, and sword from the gelding's rump, she passes him along to be measured for his new tack, turning to move more towards the gathering group while buckling her belt around her hips, then starting on the buckles for the brigandine she'd lightly slung on - the lean strength of the half-breed lass no joke. Nudging Reza lightly with her elbow she lifts a brow and tips her head towards the others. "Marielle. It is good to see you." she says, speaking slowly and with care to string the words together the roght way, rather than the broken pidgin she usually uses.

<FS3> Philippe rolls Intimidation+presence: Good Success. (4 8 8 4 1 3 8 2 5 6 4 6 3 6 3 2)
<FS3> Lois rolls Composure: Success. (6 4 3 2 8 1)

The same fleeting feeling of assurance is given to Lois by the look from Marielle. The White Rose smiles at Philippe, seeing very much unphased by his words, save for she looks a little flustered. He did mention bedding people, after all. Which, naturally, makes an Alyssum get embarassed. "Have you nothing else you wish to do, my lord? Perhaps there is something I could do for you?" She shifts herself, oh so casually, between Philippe and Lois.

Philippe's reply to her seems to please the young redhead novice, and as a proper night blooming flower would, she dips into a curtsey, executed with the outwardly effortless grace of year-long training. "Did you look?", is the question that jumps from her lips, her brows wrinkling just a touch from the implications, before she introduces herself. "Lois Rachelle, my lord. Novice of the salon de Coquelicot." With her blue-eyed gaze shifting towards Abraham then, a smile blossoms on her features and Lois looks then again towards Philipp, perhaps curious for his reply. It is… a reply that causes her to blink, perhaps a bit startled at his use of language and disturbing imagery. This quiets her at least for the moment, and makes the novice shoot a glance towards the Coquelicot courtesan watching over her. Once Marielle gives her that reassuring glance, the young redhead meets it, with a smile. Perhaps it is reassuring as well, to see someone else flustered by his words. That Marielle brings herself between Philippe and herself, gives her the opportunity to shift one step further away from him. Fingers curled about the apple core as it were some sort of prize.

"I see, m'lord," Tsingani merchant nods to Phillipe, "I must say that some of my works may actually give you a pleasure. I do not have them with me, but I have a small workshop at the side of the town. I also make scabbards to your swords, and belts to keep your axe close. M'lord, what I do is of high quality and my leather can also be easily used to sharpen your blades! My prices are best compared to what offers the rest. How about you pay me a visit? It's a small cabin I live in and you will easily recognize it by all leather works around!" Abraham even dares to raise his hand up and offer a pat on the man's broad shoulder, if Philippe is not going to push him away. His dark eyes are full of excitement and even a wink is sent to the grumpy one before the man focuses on the rest around, "Anybody can come to my small cabin to seek for even more treasures. Of course, when you have coins, when you have coins," He winks at the ginger lady saying this and then focuses on those who just arrived. "Would any of those bags, bracelets or pendants interest you?" He suggests to Frida and her companions.

The tall Akkadian rakes his fingers though his damp hair to comb it back as he watches event unfold in the market. A look is given to Frida as Reza follows to watch as she greets those she knows. There is a slight smile given to the words spoken in the skald's native tongue. Reza's focus is taken by Abraham though and he shakes his head to say simply, "No thank you, I'm in no need of anything I have seen you offer here. Though, I may see if Frida would want to join me in seeing the leather works you have and if found to be well made and worth the coin, there could be some custom work requested."

Wordlessly, Violetta looks between the brash and outspoken axe wielding man and to the merchant who had attempted to get a bauble purchased for her. Immediately, denial is her first reaction. "Oh, no," a head shake accompanies the words. "I.. I was not hinting that something be purchased for me." Trying to remove herself from the equation, she steps closer to Marielle instead of the merchant and appears to be trying to ignore Philippe and his brand of crass all together. It draws her gaze to the approaching scarred woman whom she watches with unabashed curiosity as she speaks in a foreign language to the other, as well as the Akkadian in her company. A dip of her head in greeting, she keeps her lashes slightly lowered to shield her gaze in a more modest fashion.

All the world fades from Philippe's conscious absorption as he takes his drink in hand and wets his face. The red hues of intoxication and rain mingled sweat lingers on this brow. Errant strands of dark hair scatter across his forehead and his thick beard is damp, littered with apple, and his breath could likely be lit on fire. "As much as my eyes could gather." Philippe states to Lois with a shallow and callous expression that does not place much value on the girl as a human being.

To answer Marielle the massive Vicomte shakes his head, "Perhaps." Dark eyes settle on Marielle, "But to answer you — no… life is empty of joy except the physical pleasures. I take no joy in it but for the day's return — only fools and children see the beauty in this world." With Marielle coming close the butcher's arm shift and extends. Meaty fat fingers reach for the small of the former noble's back. "What did you have in mind?"

Phillipe glares a moment towards the merchant for touching him, "Don't ever presume again." It's not angry or rife with the promise of violence. It's the one warning. One expects the man isn't the sort to repeat warnings, "But yes, I need some good sea-worthy gear. Is your shit good enough to not fail me and put at risk the villages and common folk safe from rape and fury of invaders? Can't have it failing when I need to kill."

«There is no such thing as too young for me.» The Lunel tells the Skald. And my cock, is never weak — it spits at the notion of impotence. And when it does tire I merely blame my partner for their lack of creativity. The true noble way. »

"Aye aye, m'lord," Abraham says to Philippe, "I work fast and that has no bad influence on my quality. Just come and see yourself when you have time," Tsingani man smiles to the interested lord, looks at others and repeats one more time, "You all are free to come and take a look, and maybe you, m'lord, would be interested to acquire something now?" Abraham withdraws from the large company when he catches a sight of another more aloof lord. He is quick to place his hand on the lord's shoulder and start suggesting various trinkets.

When she is drawn in closer by the hand of Philippe resting upon her back Marielle flushes even more, "I can not find you a war but I can help with the.." She pauses and looks even more embarassed as her voice drops, as if the words were hard to speak, "..more physical pleasures." When she notes Violetta drawing closer she cants her head towards Lois very subtly for the younger White Rose to check on her. Her hand slides to Philippe's arm to very subtly try turing him so MArielle is between Abraham and the Novice and Adept. She is extra protective of those of the Night Court, after all. Frida and Reza are kept in her mind as well, though, Reza is left alone until he feels the eed to speak to her, if he does. To Frida she says, quietly, in Skaldic, "How have you been? Settling in better?"

With all those people moving in between Lois and the Eresse Vicomte, the young novice instinctively moves to her toes, a hard thing to do with the boots she has borrowed from a Coquelicot brother with small feet. But there, she tries, angling her head so that she can catch another glimpse of the grim looking visage of Philippe, as if trying to memorize it for the future. Before her light frame is dragged away, by her Coquelicot chaperone, much to her dismay. "It has been a pleasure meeting you, my lord…", her voice tries to get through to him, even as the distance between them grows with every moment passing. It will be no sooner than they are out of hearing range, that the Coquelicot courtesan stops and turns to hold her a brief lecture. A lecture she receives with a sort of stubborn obedience, lowering her gaze. Following him then off the market promenade, back to the Court de Nuit. Most probably for a bath and a few… enlightening words of rebuke by the Dowayne or a Second of her salon.

The departing merchant's back gets a stare from the not-so-gentle of tongue or hand giant. The dread Philippe splays his fingers against the back of Marielle. Their wide net cast across the small of her back and takes up space on the rise of her backside as he listens to her, "A shame on the war." He muses, "I thought you sorts." Those with vaginas, "..were all the rage in stoking up rampant and ungloried death and violence, no?" The drunk Vicomte inquires. He then flashes the whites of his teeth of the Eresse to her, "But yes, we'll work out how you can temporarily quench my fire with your body a bit later." Those dark eyes though go to the young one and linger a moment. He catches the gaze of the courtesan. "Perhaps it will be your pleasure again at your debut." He threatens?

Frida arches an eyebrow at Philippe's reply, studying him before nodding slightly. <"I imagine impotence would be favorable to a premature finish."> she taunts, listening to Reza and the Tsingano before smiling. "It be good, new thing for road." she says, struggling with the language, and really, displaying a whole different personality between the languages. Finished with the buckles and straps, she slings the shield up to lay across her back.

<"Things are well, Marielle. Finding work and coin and mischief to stay busy with. And you?">

Reza gives the whole group a soft laugh and then a nod as the merchant moves off. There is a wave to the strange man as the Akkadian turns his attention to the skald to say softly, <"I need to go check on a few things nearby. I will catch up with you soon."> A nod is given in her direction as the rest of the group gets a polite wave of his hand before he slips into the crowd and away from the market.

The future of her fellow White Rose set by the more undesirable lord has Violetta remaining protectively by the side of Marielle even as Philippe lays claim to her later. There is nothing she can do about that, but she does search over the expression of Marielle to ensure only herself she was content with the idea. It is an inquiring look she gives even as she continues to avoid direct eye contact with the elder lord. As the others seem to be departing for the most part, she staunchly remains there with Marielle, not willing to leave her alone.

The splay of Philippe's fingers against her back get a small shiver from Marielle, clearly not of displeasure for ever so slightly she leans in closer. Though, the smile she gives never falters nor does the gentle tones she uses when speaking to others. "I have been keeping to Rose Sauvage. I recently had a discussion with Viscomte Antoine." This is all spoken is Skaldic. Noting the look from Violetta the courtesan lifts a hand to slide soothingly along the arm of the younger girl, trying to lay her worries to rest.

The round mound of visceral and violent delight offers a hard telling look that promises of later physical carnal delights to Marielle. The lecherous aging mass of the man is not beyond the range of desirability and instead lingers on the fringes of what some might desire. He is not everyone's cup of spunk though and that much is evident with the way his callous demeanor is cast about without a care in the world. "And you are?" The question is not state in the manner that dictates an answer is at all optional. His tone is firm and expects compliance as he questions Violetta.

Those fingers linger in their territorial claim. His dirty nails curl and settle their pressure through the fabric of the woman he touches. His hand shifts and he hooks her hip to draw her against the muscle and beer padded bulk of his side. He resorts to the common tongue with Frida tiring of speaking the guttural language she is adept in, "So long as I finish what does it matter?" He asks the Skald.

Frida watches Reza head off and might pay attention to the man's ass before turning back to the shrinking group. <"I am not sure I've met him. I have an interesting contest with the novice of your Salon, though."> Frida says to Marielle, then laughs at the crude man. "No one want man not feel good." she says with a shake of her head. "You are a bad man." And she's not talking about his murderous ways.

Up until now, Violetta had managed avoided being targeted by any hard, telling and intimidating looks of the elder man. As she feels his eyes land on her, she shivers much like Marielle, but perhaps not in the exact same way her fellow White Rose does. Lowering her eyes, they stick briefly on the bits of apple in his long beard before lowering to his booted feet. His commanding tone has her jumping to comply though, "Violetta Valais no Rose Sauvage, m'lord. A White Rose much like Marielle," only lifting her eyes slightly to rest on the other girl. For the first time she understands something Frida says and a blush rises in her cheeks though it brings her round full circle to rest on the large man at the accusation from Frida.

If Marielle is phased by the physical looks and the lewd mannerism of Philippe she skillfully does not show it. There is a reason the Alyssums can fake innocence constantly. A small squeak is given by Marielle as she is fully drawn in by Philippe, flushing even more. She settles against his side, easily enough heeding his demands. Though, she still keeps ever mindful of Violetta, likely to fully distract again if she needs too. She, entirely, noted the reaction of Violetta. Then to Frida she looks and gives a smile to her. She does not seem bothered by continuing to speak Skaldic to her. The voice of Marielle is soft, after all, so it probably sounds more delicate from her, "Which Novice? We have few of them."

He is a bad man indeed. The Vicomte smirks to Frida and shrugs his shoulders. He had been called worse by far. He brings the drink back to his beak. And this big bird indulges liberally in his libations, "I'll be a bad man with blood and money over just about any other life any day." He states with a laugh, "Better to be bad then hungry or struggling to survive while your body decays absent health or nourishment." He finishes drinking and then shakes the skin. Empty. An angry frown. His next comment is not truly meant for Frida and rises only out of the alcoholics anger at his empty skin, "Better a bad man then a barbarian flailing in society, no? At the end of the day I'll lay my miserable head down on my pillow, roll around in my silk sheets, and be tended to by my servants. Ugly or not that is my fate. What is yours?"

As the White Rose answers the man grunts. "Aha, perhaps a twofer then?" He asks the women with a sick grin. "Unfortunately I have to fucking go get a refill. Where might I find you later?" He asks of the Whites.

"Servant not…" After a pause to find the word, Frida slides back into Skaldic. <"I've a two thousand ducat commission, I'm paid handsomely by the l'Envers family, and fall into whatever bed I wish at the end of the night. Wothout the fear with a slave or servant I've stuck my unwanted cock into will cut my throat in my sleep. I would say my fate is going to be death on the field of battle in full strength and glory that rotted out from within by sorrow and drink and loneliness. A death that will not see you join the Gods at their table."> Inclining her head, she seems alright with lingering, though she does fold her arms across her brigandine covered chest and shift her weight to cant out her hip - posture challenging, even if the words aren't, directly.

Knowing how Violetta reacted Marielle sees, spoken just so to get he Viscomte's rankles up a little, "Perhaps we should see if you pleasures can be sated by me. Or you worried you will need a break from me?" The words are spoken to both irk him and challenge him but mainly to distract from Violetta. Though, should the Adept White Rose express willingness she does nothing further to stop the possible contract for her with Philippe. She is merely offering the girl an out if she takes it. Frida is handling her own so Marielle does not try to protect her.

Without offering discouragement or encouragement right away, Violetta gives Marielle a smile from beneath the veil. A contract is a contract after all and if she put her heart into it, she could attempt acting as if it wasn't distasteful, perhaps? A studying look is given the big man, however brief, before she finally responds softly, "As you desire." Dipping her head in the same demure manner in which she had earlier. The foreign language she does not understand and while she does not try and decipher it, she can perhaps hear the sarcastic undertones, so she only offers a not in response to Frida.

Frida takes a breath, watching Philippe head off in search of more drink. Letting it out in a sigh, she seems to try and shake him off with a roll of her shoulders and a rub of her hand across her face. <"I don't know the words in d'Angeline, but I would not trust him to take to bed. Not without a high fee. He reminds of the man that raised me. And won't have the control of a Mandrake to go with his temper."> Knowing Violetta won't understand, she draws a finger along the scars on her face while watching Marielle with a pointed look before swapping to the clumsier speech of the d'Angeline tongue. "Man drink, mad. Angry. Wife and child die. Dead." Correcting herself. "It is time of year when dead. Die."

A serene smile is given to Frida at her attempt to shelter the White Roses, "I am not concerned for a D'Angeline going where they should not go with a courtesan. They know the way of it." The response is pointedly in D'Angeline this time. A subtle indication that Marielle is warning Frida she is stepping over the line, "No Courtesan has to take an assignation they do not choose to take." The hand of Marielle lifts to gently touch Violetta's cheek, the veils acting as a barrier too straight contact, "If you do not feel comfortable with a contract with him do not feel you have too. I know a few you might enjoy the company of more." Marielle does not really do jealousy of her patrons so she is content to share.

In fact, Violetta does not understand Frida, nor the hints as she tries to relay the dangers. It is the return of Marielle to the other woman that hints at what may have been insinuated. Her eyes widen, "It is true, we only take the contracts we wish to have." Comforted by the touch to her cheek, her eyes soften and a smile crinkles around the edges of them. "I would only consider it today and save the answer for another day. Thank you for the reminder and I leave you in his hands, however demanding they may be." The smile widens a touch and she laughs softly. "Only please do be careful. He does seem so rough."

Frida blinks at the rebuke from Marielle and scowls before laughing, but it's a bitter sound. <"How d'Angeline of you to get offended, while being one of the few I can even fucking speak with properly. Yet you would rather get offended by the fact that I care enough to stay, ready to stick my sword in some asshole, to offer a bit of safety, than /explain what the fuck I'm doing wrong/. Thanks for that."> She says, a sour sort of humor in her voice before she flisp her hand in a brushing off motion and turns to go find where Reza has gotten off to.

"There is nothing wrong with being protective." says Marielle quietly in Skaldic, giving no indication if Frida's words bothered her, "I merely explained how it works with a person fo the Night Court. If you had done something truly wrong I would have indicated as such." She still speaks Skaldic. Then to Violetta she says, "I make sure people understand I was not trained in the way of the Red Roses. My safety is never a factor with me."

Scene still in progress

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