(1310-08-06) When a Courtesan, a Lord and a Lady Join the Same Bench
Summary: Lord Eneas d'Aiglemort joins a bench on which lady Irene d'Eresse is perched. The pair is later joined by a Olivia d'Albert nó Rose Sauvage. When a courtesan, a lord and a lady join the same bench, many interesting stories are told.
RL Date: 6th of August, 1310
Related: None
eneas olivia irene 


Fortune laid the foundation for the grand port of Marsilikos; look how the arms of the land spread wide to embrace the setting of the sun, welcoming a bay of still waters rendered all the more peaceful by the presence of a small island to the south, on the flanks of which the waves cut themselves into powerless ripples as they move in from the sea. But what Fortune gave the D'Angelines their cunning and craft has improved to a hum of efficiency and culture. The natural bay has had its curved shores sharpened into straight edges bolstered with ridges of heavy stones on which the tides have left long mark when the waters are low, algae and barnacles hung onto the rugged stones. Then stone foundations have been piled out into the harbor to hold up wide wooden pillars and the great treated slats of the piers and boardwalks which extend into the bay, now at wider intervals for massive trading vessels, now at shorter intervals for private fishing and pleasure yachts.

The southern arm of the bay is reserved for the great sourthern fleet of the Terre D'Angan Navy, which is headquartered here in Marsilikos, and is ever a hub of activity, the giant slips outfitted to haul the massive warships up into the air for repairs, while further inland on the southern peninsula a forest of masts rises into the air where new ships are being built and old ones repaired in full drydock. Between the naval slips and the drydock rises the stately edifice of the Southern Naval Headquarters, glistening with huge latticed windows on the upper floors. Beyond the headquarters rises the massive fortified promontory of the Citadel, with bleached-white parapets and fluttering banners.

Markets and vendors throng the plaza at the innermost fold of the harbor where civilian and military seamen alike might find a bite to eat, supplies for their next mission, a good drink or a little bit of companionship. Far in the bay, that little isle sports a lofty lighthouse to guide the ships in by night.

It is a summer morning. The weather is hot and clear.

It has been a few days since his return to Marsilikos, and yet here he is at the port again. Eneas walks with some purpose along the busy and bustle of the ports, apparently on the way to one of the piers, stopping from time to time to speak to one of the sailor or dockhands to inquire where a certain ship has docked. "No, no. The Ardente. She arrived here about a week ago.", Eneas explains once more, which might explain why his features appear to be a little frustrated and annoyed.

In tow is young man, who might be dressed like a guard. Of note, however, is that the poor man has a cast set over his nose, as if it recently got broken.

While majority of the people are busy with their own daily routines at the port, there is a young woman sitting on the bench, swaying her legs and simply staring into the wide horizon. She has an old notebook laying on her lap though. A pencil is lightly held by her fingers and she taps it to an empty white page. Her attire suggests that Irene should be a noble. Her long rosy gown has quite wide puffy floral skirt. Many silver bracelets are glimmering on her wrists. A large deep red gemstone pendant hangs on her chest and a rosy ribbon adorned with some more shiny gems keeps her long black curls gathered up into a rich bun. Irene also wears a wide and friendly smile together with an early morning blush.

With yet another sailor not quite sure where the ship is laying, Eneas nods his head, giving the man a few coins for his trouble anyway, before he steps a few paces away to peer at the mess of masts and rigging in the distance. It is Renauld that steps up to him, placing a hand on his shoulder, and indicating with a headnod towards Irene, wordlessly. Eneas soon follows the gaze, studying the young noble sitting there, then glancing left and right for a moment and not spying any obvious guards, he sighs. "Oh, for the love of…", he half mutters, giving Renauld a dirty look, as if to argue, then rolls his eyes. "Fine. You're not helping!", he tells the man, who just smirks at him.

Stepping forward, Eneas does approach Irene then, one hand on the pommel of his sword, mostly to make sure it is controlled and not smacking anyone in it's sheath while he navigates the traffic to her bench, with Renauld trailing a few steps behind him. Once the bench is reached, Eneas only stops for a moment in front of it, before he turns around, and unasked and uninvited, plops right next to the young lady. "At least it is not night, yet.".

Irene looks at the stranger beside her and smiles broadly, "Port looks magnificently beautiful during the night, m'lord. Torches glimmer in the waves of the sea." She lowers her gaze down to an empty page. "The light dances on the sails and wood. It's very quiet during the night. So, you can hear how wind whispers and how old ships wail. A little bit scary but also very inspiring. Especially, if the moon is bright." The petite lady draws few lines on the page. These lines are added in quite an abrupt manner and have no meaning yet.

Eneas blinks at that reply. Okay, this is worse than he thought. For a moment he just peers at Irene, then at the sketch book, then back at her face. "You've been here at night.", he echoes that information, as if to make sure he heard her right. A glance is given to Renauld, who has moved to the side and out of the main foot traffic, politely out of earshot.

"I suppose there is one or two in every town.", he finally murmurs, almost to himself, before he reaches out with his left hand to try to take Irene's right hand in his, boldly, once more unasked, and likely interrupting her sketching.

Irene was ready to comment on the man's loud thought when she suddenly feels his touch. She quickly tries to withdraw her hand and slide a bit away. Her wide eyes focuses on the stranger. "Excuse me?.." She tries to chuckle in order to hide her confusion and a mild stress. "I am… I am not from any Salon. And if I would be, I believe you would have to sign a contract, m'lord." She explains closing her notebook as if to hide her soul from a bold man. After all, sketchbook is an artist's mirror.

Ah, there it is, the reaction he was waiting for. The moment of distress, of outrage, and a touch of fear. Eneas cannot help but to smile faintly at her words, nonetheless. He watches her recoil, his hand hovering were she drew away from only for a moment. He does not chase her, he is not quite that cruel — yet. "Salon? Ah, you think I mistook you for a Servant Of Naamah?", he wonders, then shakes his head. "No, dear, they know better than this.", he gestures with his other hand vaguely as if to encompass the whole scene, then uses his index finger of his left hand to point at her jewlery, one after the other. "Each of those, dear, are worth more than each one of those…", he indicates to passing sailors, "…make in a month. Perhaps even more, as I can see you are a woman of refined tastes.".

He let's that sink in for a moment. "And that is not taking into consideration the ransom you might be worth, m'Lady.", he adds the title, to let her know how obvious it is she is of noble blood. "You make a tempting target for robbery and abduction even by day, not to mention by night. And that is not even considering the sailors who do not hail from Terre d'Ange and would think your beauty might fetch a better price yet on akkadian or bhodistani market as a harem slave. They have tales of how we d'Angeline are very skilled in such…matters.". So calmly is all of this delivered, before finally the faint amusement is draining from his eyes. "You should not be here without guards.".

Irene sighs in relief and is quick to burst in laugh. "Oh, m'lord! You were trying to teach me a lesson? Fear not, I would never come here without a guard. I am an artist. I take at least two guards if I want to draw a port at night. Even now I have a guard. But he is keeping his presence unknown. I want to feel free not preassured by his heavy feet standing on my shadow. Take a better look around. One raise of my hand and he would show up." She squirms settling in more comfortably on the bench. Irene opens her notebook again and continues to work on her sketch. Just a few lines before she looks up at the stranger, "I am Irene d'Eresse. To raise my value for a ransom, I am also lady in waiting to our Duchess. You can try your luck!" Lady giggles and focuses back on a drawing.

As she laughs, Eneas tilts his head, only to have her reveal she has two watching over her. He does swivel his head to see if he can spot them. "Well, if they are too far away they might be too late. I have seen snatching go over very fast. Though admittingly, not by opportunistic riff-raff.", he concedes her half a point, perhaps. "Well, I am glad I was mistaken about you being another air-headed noble brat, then.". Gasp! Did she just put it that crudely what he thought of her moments ago? Yep.

As she introduces herself, teases him about her randsom, Eneas cannot help but to laugh softly. "Oh, very tempting. But I think I will have to plan my abduction better now armed with the knowledge of your two guards. Also, I am freshly out of black cloth bags to slip over your pretty head.". A smirk is given there. "I am Eneas d'Aiglemort. With nothing to boost my randsom. I am afraid I am just worth what you see.".

Irene sets her pencil down and raises slightly frowned gaze at the man. Smile is still dancing on her lips and she just uses the frown to look more serious when she judgmentally looks the man over. "Well… what can I say, m'lord… I would consider kidnapping you and making a head of my PPS! A personal protection squad." Irene grins even broader. "Welcome to Marsilikos! You will find yourself lost for a couple of days but it's easy to find one's footing." When Eneas looks around searching for her guards, he will notice one man sitting on the bench and other talking to him. At first they might appear as guards on a break. But they do wear d'Eresse symbols. One with a skill in heraldry would recognize them as Irene's escort. "What brings you here," an artistic lady asks.

As she jests like that, Eneas has to chuckle faintly, giving her guards a look, before those eyes turn back to Irene. "Funny you'd say that.", he comments. Which part? Well, apparently every part. "My contracts abroad have concluded, so I decided to come back home. I admit I have not been tasked with protecting a lady in quite a while.", he says, smirking. "The lords in Unitas apparently don't trust us d'Angeline men near their wives and daughters. I wonder why….", he teases. Just ignore the light lick of his lips there. Ahem.

"Did you enjoy being a guard of a lady? I could use a new more cheerful protector. You do have a good taste in humor! A kinda guard I would enjoy. Also, I am an artist as I said. I need to go places. So, you wouldn't be bored. Trust me!" Irene explains. Jesting. Or maybe being serious. But she giggles. Quite a lot. Like it is proper to a young lady of her age. "What kind of a contract did you have abroad? Did you enjoy your work there?"

Eneas cannot help the curve upwards of his lips at that question. A glance given to Renauld standing nearby, who just gives him a lofted eyebrow back, because he cannot overhear the conversation, but apparently the man knows Eneas too well for he just shakes his head in a faintly disapproving manner. "Oh, my Lady d'Eresse. I would never be so crude to boast about my enjoyment of such duties with a Lady.", he claims, mischief in those blue eyes for a moment. As for her attempts to hire him as a guard? Eneas laughs softly at that. "Ah, not bored at all, I am sure. Hours of travel to pretty places, then more hours where you fuss over just the right color pigment to use for that lake you try to paint.". He even dares to hand gesture and play-act laying a noose around his neck and hanging himself from it!

Only for a moment, does he keep the charade up, the question about the work sobering him up a little. "Mostly organizing and training of people. Yes, guard details for wealthy or noble families. Sometimes their retinue or other troops. Advising in military matters.", he shrugs, "And the odd more hands-on mercenary work, especially among the provinces that border Skaldia and Unitas.", he explains. "It was well enough a living. Has its ups and downs.".

Merchants, sailors, foreigners that arrive on ships that have made harbor in the port of Marsilikos, prove a severe contrast in their colorful clothes to the woman that now walks amongst them. Emerging from between the tall gates that guard access to the Citadel, a serene figure in white silks now turns and heads along the road that spans the front of the docks. In her company are two burly guards in the livery of Rose Sauvage, their pace matched to her's, though they follow a step or two in her wake. Were a person familiar with the Night Courts in any manner, then an educated guess would place the woman in white to be of the Alyssum canon, especially given the veiling of her hair and facial features, save a pair of brilliant blue eyes that watch with amusement the comings and goings of daily port life. They settle upon the bench where Irene and Eneas sit, and given that there's room enough for three, she stays her step and heads that way. The softness of a blush that darkens her complexion shows through the sheerness of her veils as she quietly asks, "Would you mind if I sit quietly on the end for a moment? There is nowhere else to eat my food."

"Well, m'lord, it's your loss not mine," Irene comments when the man decides to hang himself on an invisible rope. "You see, you are very wrong here. I do not paint. I only sketch. That leaves me at ease while choosing colors!" She laughs and turns away to look down at the sketch book on her lap. She continues drawing. Now the lines start to shape a ship. When she raises her gaze up to horizon, the lady catches the sight of the white silks. "Beautiful…" she whispers. But then her attention goes briefly back to the man. "That sounds quite interesting. I will let my brothers know of your arrival. Who knows, maybe they will want some advice!" She offers a smile and a nod to Olivia. "No worries. Have a tasty meal." She gestures at the free spot and slides a bit closer to Eneas in order to make space for a courtesan. But a proper distance is kept from the lord.

That Irene takes it with humor makes Eneas grin more, even as she points out she does not paint. "Ah, just shows what I know of art!", he relents, but apparently not very heart-broken about the loss of opportunity. Apparently he thought she was jesting anyway. Sneaking a peek as she works on her newest sketch, Eneas does not interfere this time, letting her work, only to glance up at the comment from the lady about the approaching night-flower. "She is…", he agrees, only to chuckles at her offer to talk to her brothers. "Why, thank you, M'Lady. Perhaps they do.", he offers, politely enough. He can imagine how that talk will go: I met this stranger at the port, he says he can teach you some tricks about troops! Ahem.

As Miss Sensation White stops at their bench, however, Eneas chuckles. "Oh, don't look at me. This is the good Ladies bench, I just invaded it.", he quips, then smirks as Irene scoots a tad closer. "…and the brave lady is even offering herself up as a defensive barrier from me, so you should be save to enjoy your meal.".

Olivia's eyes widen just ever so slightly at the tease that Eneas makes of her, that blush on her cheeks deepening further as she looks between the pair and Irene scoots up. "I. Oh…" She hesitates. "Thank you. That is very kind of you." Whether she means the granting of the permission to sit, or the fact that Irene has been teased about being made a barrier of between her and Eneas, is anyone's guess, but she nevertheless lowers herself to sit on the end of the bench alongside Irene where a place has been granted. She has with her a linen-wrapped package that's tied about with string, and when it's placed in her lap, the knots undone and the cloth unfolded, the comforting smell of still warm and freshly baked bread curls into the air. She breaks it in half, then half again, and offers some of it over to the others. "I am Olivia d'Albert nó Rose Sauvage, and this is the best bread to be found in all of the City. I would be honoured if you would share it with me."

Irene laughs at the lord's wits. "Well, you threatened to kidnap me but were lacking a bag to put over my head. I know men of your type! You would not even consider a bag to kidnap someone as beautiful as this young woman," she compliments Olivia. "So, I shall protect her." Irene's attention is quickly stolen by the smell. "Now that you mention it, I am starving. It would be an honor!" She reaches out for a piece of bread. "I am lady Irene d'Eresse. Pleasure meeting you." She leans back in her seat to make sure that the lord could take a slice of bread as well and she wouldn't block it. "Where do you get it?" She asks courtesan about the bread.

Irene's accusation makes Eneas laugh, blue eyes to widen a little. "I am hurt, my dear Lady d'Eress. You paint me as such a cad and villian.", he claims, before giving the Courtesan a once over, smirking. "I would think that faced with such beauty, I would at least invest in a black bag before absconding with her.". Yes, Eneas, that was the part you were supposed to protest about. Ahem.

As Olivia introduces herself, however, Eneas lofts a brow. "Olivia d'Albert no Rose Sauvage.", he echoes, as if mulling it over in his mouth like wine. "That's. Yes. Quite a mouthful.", he dares to quip, smirking. "Eneas d'Aiglemort is my name and…", he trails off, to accept the offered bread. "…you obviously know that the path to a man's heart is through his stomach.", he continues to tease, before he dips his head slightly. "Thank you.". Look. He knows good manners. He just ignores them!

Olivia passes over a piece of the bread to Irene, and another to Eneas, rubbing crumbs from her fingers on a corner of the linen, before claiming a piece for herself. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Lady d'Eresse and Lord d'Aiglemort." Her eyes meet briefly with each as she greets them by name, before quickly averting and being directed instead towards where the citadel towers over the port. "One of the bakers from the shop in the Market Promenade supplies the Citadel. She was arriving as I was leaving, and offered me some." The sheer veils that cover her face billow a little beneath the breath that carries her words. "Forgive me, my lord. But dare I say that you cannot possibly make such an observation as you just did. You cannot know for certain whether I am beautiful or not…" Her voice tails off, though there's humour to be found in her tone, her eyes daring for just the briefest of moments to steal a glance in Eneas' direction.

Irene seems having nothing to add. So, she focuses on her meal. A young lady takes a bite. Chews. Swallows. Mmmmm. Tasty. She takes another bite. A couple of crumbs ripple across her chin and fall on her sketch book. She chews. She tries to swallow but then… Absolutely not lady-like, Irene starts to cough. She curls her fingers into a small fist and taps her chest twice gently. Deep blush creeps up her cheeks.

Oooh, she did not, did she? Eneas gives Olivia a look as she claims he cannot make such a statement. He then glances at Irene, with an expression that seems to ask: You heard her, too, right?. "You think your veils protect you from such observations?", he asks, and oddly enough his voice seems suddenly more serious, the jesting and quipping of earlier evaporated as quickly as it arrived. "There are many forms of beauty, my dear. Perhaps the features of your countenance are veiled, but you know full well that it reveals just enough, even if one ignores those eyes of you. Or the way you glide across the street when you walk, the attire you chosen, or the tone of your voice.". There she is dissected for a moment, into the parts of her beauty he could observe, and from the way he opens his mouth again, there would have been more to come, but it is interrupted by the coughing fit beside him, and he blinks, attention shifted to Irene. He even dares to brigh one hand down to the back of her to lightly tap as well. "You all right?", he wonders, before he waves Renauld closer, so he can get a field water bottle off the man that is hanging off his belt. It is even water, and not wine. For once. Ahem.

Once it is clear Irene is not dying, Eneas has to chuckle, however, giving Olivia a glance. "I…think there is a fairy tale where one beauty gives another food and it is bespelled to kill her, but instead causes her to fall into a deep slumber, is there not?".

Olivia's attention is instantly claimed by Irene's coughing fit. "Oh no, my lady! Are you alright?" What blushing might have remained in the upper reaches of her cheeks, instantly pales, and a horrified look is shot Eneas' way. "I would not, my lord! The bread is not bewitched, I swear it!" It would seem that she's taking Eneas' words completely at face value, her own piece of bread remaining caught between her fingers somewhere between her lap and her mouth. "Lean forwards, my lady, it will help to dislodge the food." Apart from what is perhaps advice that's errs on useless or redundant, she's little else to offer, and whereas she might have thumped Irene between the shoulder blades, that's already been taken care of.

"Oh," Irene lets out a sigh after coughing is over and she gets a gulp of water. "I am so not used to a dry meal." She looks apologetically to Olivia. "It is really tasty but I will finish it at home." She opens her pouch and puts there a piece of bread, sketch book and a pencil. Her eyes then look at Eneas, "Oh, thank you my saviour! You would be a great guard, indeed." Then she raises to her feet adding. "It was a pleasure meeting you both. I am pretty sure one of you did not want to poison me and the other did not want to kidnap me. Have a great day!" And the lady heads off together with her guards.

With the help of Renauld's water bottle, Irene is saved. Yay! As she packs, however, Eneas hands the bottle back to Renauld, nodding to the man, who moves to get out of the way again. "Oh, were all savings that easy.". A faint smirk soon curves his lips upwards slowly again, when she claims she is sure he did not want to kidnap her. "Well, i have not made up my mind yet, M'Lady. A man got to earn his keep somehow, right?". Tsk! Flirting with Crime like that.

Still, as she makes her departure, Eneas is soon left without that defensive barrier between himself and Olivia, and his attention is soon back on the Courtesan. Or rather, the bit of bread he still has in his hand. Which he then lifts, inspecting it, left, then turning it over to look from the other side. Wordlessly, he peers back at Olivia, as if still suspicious of her claims of lack of bespellment, before he finally leans forwards to take a bite from it.

Olivia doesn't have time to move her bread from her lap and get to her feet to offer Irene a curtsey before the lady is gone. "Oh. She is gone." It seems that it's Olivia's lot to point out the obvious today. Back straight and her shoulders held perfectly, she twists her head to allow herself the luxury of looking at Eneas once more. "I think my Lord finds pleasure in teasing." Quite deliberately, she drops her own piece of bread back into her lap, her eyes cutting to the piece that he himself holds as he lifts it to his mouth and then eats it. "Not bespelled my lord, but did we cover the possibility of it being poisoned? Perhaps I am not a shy and delicate creature of the Night Court, but an assassin hired by a foreign dignitary." So quietly spoken are her words, and so perfectly timed to be only delivered once the bread is in Eneas' mouth, that it might just give him pause for thought, and in defiance of her canon her eyes meet once more with his. Digging. Searching.

The accusation of him enjoying to tease? Well, Eneas does not even bother to deign it with an answer. Obvious indeed, and so he just goes on with the act of inspecting the bread, before finally sampling it. Such timing by the night flower, then, delivering that seed of doubt just when he takes a bite. Does it give Eneas pause? Yes, for a moment the piece of bread is kept in his mouth, before lips curve upwards and he chews. Once. Twice. And then just swallows, meeting those eyes of hers as she regards him in turn. Once he can speak again, he smiles. "Perhaps you are.", he admits the possibility. "But who would be your target? The poor Lady Irene? And I a mere collateral?", he wonders, before he scoots closer to the Lady, perhaps to see if she will dare to keep the look as steady when he moves suchly.

"Or are you send by one of the Caerdicci lords who I made jealous by talking a bit too long with their wives…or daughters?", he wonders, smirking. "Perhaps I deserve that fate then, and poor Lady Irene is the collateral?". He grins, apparently not truly taking her serious at such, but enjoying the game nonetheless. "Of course, it is obviously slow moving poison. So there is time yet to foil your dastardly plans, if they are discovered.", he reasons. "Of course, you would have to be…unmaksed first.".

Oh. OH! Did Eneas just move closer? Warmth blooms instantly in Olivia's cheeks, her pupils dilating in reaction to the boldness of the man. There's a unseen fluttering of her pulse, and she breaks that contact with which her eyes hold his, casting them downwards to find her hands. She wears no adornments on her fingers, no rings and no trinkets, though the observant would notice the peek of something silver that wraps her right wrist. It's a delicate heart of silver that's strung on a filigree chain, and she twists it between her fingers as she responds. "Caerdicci, you say? Perhaps I have mistaken you for another, my lord. Does that make both you and the Lady Irene collateral of my error?" Her veil get's caught to the crease of her mouth with the small intake of her breath that follows, a faux sigh punctuating her words. "I am mortified."

An eyebrow raises when that simple scoot earns him such a reaction. For a moment, Eneas just studies her, as she breaks the eye-contact, as she is back to shy and blushing, and yet, murmuring of such pretend-crimes. Of murder and poison. Tsk, what a wicked mind Olivia has. Who is the bold one, one has to wonder, that she would engage in such with someone she only just met. Then again, that is assuming she _is_ playing, right?

For a moment this seems to give Eneas pause again, but it is only a moment of uncertainity, for as she declares he is the wrong man, he has to laugh softly. "Oh, that is a relief.", he says, instead, at her mortification. "I'd would have pained me a little bit on my way to Terre d'Ange beyond to think my attempt to save the good Lady from the riff-raff of the port would have caused her demise by mere proximity to myself.", he states. "But if it is you who made the mistake, then I am absolved of that guilt, no?". Oh, how pragmatic of him, and he slips even a bit closer yet. "It is not the way I thought I would die, but surely there are worse ways to go than in the presence of a creature as you?", he comments. "But would you deny a dying man a request or two, then?"

Horror of horrors, Eneas moves closer. It's only a small move closer, a few inches, but it does mean that it's now down to Olivia to yield a little of her claim on that bench. Which she does. She moves herself to the edge of the seating, her shoulders drawing towards her ears as she resolutely refuses to look his way. She clears her throat, and tucks back a stray length of hair that's escaped from her veils. It's blonde. "Only the Companions might know the manner of our demise, and the when," she says quietly, with only the smallest trembling in her tone to betray his effect on her. A breath in, and another out, her veils billowing at the edge that's closest to him to affort the smallest glimpse of her jaw and her mouth. Unpainted. Untainted. Her lips betray her mood, curved as they are towards their outer extremities, hinting at the smile that plays upon them "A dying man, no my lord. I would deny him nothing. Certainly not a request. Or two?"

Surely Eneas has not been gone _that_ long from his homeland that he does not know the woman is playing. Alyssum indeed, and yet, in a roundabout way, it is refreshing. Much less free to love as they will, Caerdicci women would surely act often in the same manner, shy away, but it would be much less played, with a society judging them much less harshly. So the glimpse of amusement, the knowledge that she is safe from judgement of that kind might be liberating.

Still, when she scoots back, runs out of bench to retreat to, Eneas has to grin, perhaps a touch shark like. Oh, how his form tenses a little, one arm to be placed on the back of the bench they are sitting on, a hand to grasp the edge of it, as if he is about to scoot closer. Again. And yet, he does not. Yet.

"Well, you were prepared to eat of your pasty yourself. So clearly there is a antidote in your possession. I would ask that you save the good Lady Irene with it.". Aww. How noble of the itinerant Lord, right? He lets that sink in, let her ponder such a humble request, not for himself, but for the poor Lady caught in such horrible circumstances. "And the second, of course, would be to ask that I see the face of my angel of Death.". Ooh, irreverent of the Companions, is he there, or at least skirting the line. Then again, surely she knows by now that is what he enjoys: To see where those lines are and skirting them all right! And of course now it is that he scoots closer once more. Surely she can only endure it now, or stand up to escape him! Or would she scoot off the edge of the bench and tumble to the floor? Of course, if she stays, that hand will loft from the edge of the bench to — slowly — try to move to that veil of hers, to…assist. Ahem.

Olivia is left veritably clinging to the edge of that bench when Eneas presses hard his advantage. Ever heard an Alyssum squeak? Olivia SQUEAKS!. "My Lord!" The remains of the bread in her lap are forgotten as she moves swiftly to deflect his advances. A hand to his chest, her fingers splayed and her elbow locked — the other to the side of her face to trap her veils firmly in place. Veils locked. Arm locked. Position precarious on the verge of a tumble. "I did not eat!" Oh ho ho. She didn't. Or did she? Certainly what's left of the bread in its linen wraps looks to be wholly untouched, and did Eneas actually witness her slipping any of it beneath her veils and into her mouth. The silver heart on it's chain at her wrist spins with the quickness of her move in planting that hand to his chest, reflecting the brightness of the sun where it catches. A gasp behind those veils. "I have no antidote…"

Stopped! is Eneas by the defensive posture of the night flower and he does not push further yet, once more, though surely, with her hand on his chest, she might feel more than hear the faint rumble of a chuckle from Eneas, especially at the squeek. Even his advancing hand has stopped, for now, as she locks down her veils from his impertinent attempt to unmask her indeed! Delayed is he, by her comments and he nods. "I never said you ate. I said you were prepared to, surely you would have to if we refused to partake before you do.". Oh, he has her there. Then again, it might reveal that the Lord has given to such things throught before. Perhaps he had been tasked with warding off assassins in the past? He pauses, then, however, his expression taking a more stern turn. "Oh, I see. You realize I was not your target, and you think you will require more of it when you meet him, then.". Eyes narrow then, drawn to the dancing, glittering heart-pendant and there might be a hint of mischief and perhaps a touch of cruel intent passing behind his eyes. Too bad Olivia will miss it, as steadfast she is with avoiding to look at him! Ahem. He does not go for heir veil with that hand that stopped. He goes for the pendant, attempting to seize it in his fist, though mercifully does not seek to jank it off her wrist, unless she does it herself with a startled movement. "It's a hidden vial in there, isn't it?!". Let's see how she squirms out of this.

<FS3> Olivia rolls Composure: Good Success. (8 2 8 2 6 3 2 1 8 2 3)

Olivia stills quite suddenly with the capturing of the locket by Eneas. As close as his fingers are to her wrist, he might be aware of the elevation of her pulse which is caused by the rapid flutter of her heart where it beats in her chest. "Please…" Her voice is a broken whisper, and that single word catches in her throat as, all of a sudden, it'd appear that their game has crashed to a close. There's such an air of fragility about her in that moment as he holds her captured by the tiny pendant that's it's quite tangible in their air between them, and the intake of her breath is tremulous as her gaze lift back to his. Her eyes fracture into a thousand shades of blue, her pupils blown with a distress that he like as not cannot fathom, though through it she manages to hold her arm steady so as not to cause the delicate links upon which her heart is suspended to break. "Please," she repeats once more. "Please."

The dangers of the game they played, without any rules or signal. In some fashion Eneas knew it was a move that would be hostile and cruel, but perhaps not quite to what extend. What was supposed to be a swipe under her defense, her guard, turned out that it was going for her throat. For a moment time seems to stand still, between them.

"Please…", she says, and Eneas' eyes move to meet hers, the tension between them to both change in quality and increase in intensity. Such things take time to be processed, and Eneas' smile does fade, blue eyes to take in her distress, in some way drinking it in, but there seem to be no enjoyment drawn from it, merely curiosity. And when she calls out twice more, his fists unlocks, one finger after the other, like a flower would unwind petals, perhaps it is released from the captivity it was taken. There is no disappointment, no judgment in her calling their game to such a sudden stop. In fact there is a faint, genuine smile on Eneas' lips as the hand lowers to let the pendant dangle free and instead moves to take the hand from his chest, if she allows, to give it a proper little chaste hand kiss. "It was a pleasure to play with you, Lady Olivia d'Albert no Rose Sauvage.", he tells her, using her full name and title, no less. "And even more a pleasure to meet…an aspect of you.". And with that he releases her, even scoots back a touch, giving her the space he previously claimed for his own.

Olivia rises swiftly to her feet once released. The bread in its wrappings slides to the ground, and her arms quickly wrap her midriff, fingers curling into her silks to hold herself tight. The locket on its chain, the cause of so much anxiety for her, is hidden once more by the fall of her cuff upon her hand, and she takes a quick step back, placing distance between herself and the bench upon which Eneas sits. "Twas just a foolish game," she admits, echoing his own words back to him. She can't bring herself to meet his eyes with her's however, but neither does she bolt and run, despite her body language screaming that she's on the verge of doing so.

Tsk. Wasted food tumbling to the floor. There are poor kids that go hungry, surely the Courtesan knows! Ahem. Yet, when she rises like that, flees his presence in such a matter, Eneas remains deliberately unmoving, save tracking her movements with his eyes and head. That she does not bolt is a small mercy. Having two women do so from his presence within a week might have him start to wonder if he has lost his touch. "…just a silly game.", he echoes, calmly, carefully. Surely if they say it three times it will be so? A deeper breath is taken by him then, and he leans forwards to pick the bread that dropped from the ground, frowning a little. "I am sorry I made you ruin your meal. Perhaps I can make it up to you at some time. A lunch perhaps. Or a refreshing drink, when you are less busy in the coming days…?". Is he giving her an easy way out of this, to save face still hidden by veils?

<FS3> Opposed Roll — Eneas=Perception Vs Olivia=Subterfuge+4
< Eneas: Failure (1 3) Olivia: Amazing Success (7 2 1 2 8 7 3 5 7 8 4 7 2 8 1 3 3)
< Net Result: Olivia wins - Crushing Victory

How much of an Alyssum can truly be divined when a person has but only their eyes and the emotions that they betray to act upon? Olivia's silks drift about her, caught by the gentle breeze that rolls in from the sea. They mould to her where not caught by fingers, arms and hands; hinting at the slenderness of the figure beneath. There's a vulnerability to her in the manner in which she stands before him, the head that's dipped to avoid his gaze, remaining piquantly so. Eyes firmly downcast, she allow a long and drawnout second or two of silence to fall between them before she speaks again. "I… would like that." Like what?? Lunch? A drink? Him making it up to her? There's few clues to be found in her simple acceptance of his invitation, save the fact of it that it is. Acceptance.

It is an oddity, perhaps, that Olivia and Eneas met like this. That game turned to cutting too close, or so it seemed at least, and that now veiled words are passed between both of them. And so while others might find it infuriating that she does not speak openly what she would like, Eneas seems not perturbed by it, at least in this instance. Not a single word offered by either since the pendant was released meant what it usually meant, so why should her reply? "I am glad.", he offers, still studying the Courtesan as she stands before him. Irony, that their make-believe-game of poisons and assasins had more truth to it than this exchange. For surely, if he truely meant to invite her to lunch or drinks, it would be now that arrangements would be made how to reach each other to set an appointment?

Instead, Eneas considers it a matter closed, a line overstepped and retreated from again. And so it is his turn to find his feet, stand up from the bench to offer a dip of his head to Olivia, not quite merely a nod, but not deep enough to be a proper bow. "I look forward to our next meeting then.", he claims. Acceptance will do. Veils back in place.

And so it is to be the Cinderalla scenario; not the Snow White with the poisoned food offering, nor the Sleeping Beauty with the falling into of the deepest of sleeps. Alas, it's to be the fleeing of the scene with future arrangements unmade as to the how, the why and the when of their next encounter. Except Eneas has got Olivia's name and the name of the salon to which she's attached. Doesn't he? A curtsey, deep and respectful is made, silks and veils a whisper in the air as she turns on her heel and walks away. She's joined a second later by her guards, one to her right and one to her left, and is soon swallowed up by the crowds that ply their trade on the docks.

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