(1311-05-31) Red Rose Debut
Summary: The debut fête held for the Red Rose Lillian nó Rose Sauvage. (Warning: suggestive theme, this is after all a debut of Valerian canon).
RL Date: Fri May 31, 2019
Related: None
boniface ciarrah clara farah foulque jaide lillian marco ortolette severine yves 

La Rose Sauvage — Night Court

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.

Tonight, the salon of La Rose Sauvage has been rearranged to host a fête for the debuting Red Rose. And so, certain pieces of furniture have been rearranged to offer enough space in the middle of the parlor, for a construction to be set up, an arch of twisting, dark stained wood made to look like vines intertwining, with red roses slipped into the spaces between the vines by the stem, near the top. Dark is the wood, and the manacles dangling from above on chains have a slightly untidy and rusty look to them.

But for now, there is no treat restrained there, for the delight of others. Not yet. An ominous teaser, if there ever was one.

Shades of lamps have been replaced for tonight, exchanging the usual matted white glass with those of red hue. And seats have been arranged in groups, all of them arranged to face the wooden arch, even if in differing angles.

At the doors leading into the parlor, those that are entering will be pointed to a basket filled with masks of various kinds. Domino masks of black and red lace are available, as well as full animal masks, birds of prey, wolves, bears. While no visitor is required to wear a mask, some will most readily accept the thin and deceiving veil of anonymity.

Whether masked or not, once people venture deeper into the salon they will be greeted by the Red Rose Second, Séverine nó Rose Sauvage. She wears a black sleeveless gown with red roses embroidered onto the fabric. It makes her skin look all the more pale and her complexion sort of frail. Even if she didn't wear that half-mask of red samite, there cannot be any doubt of her position, given, how she greets each noble with confidence and authority. A fleeting glance now and then, she casts towards the hallway at the back, perhaps checking if the leader of the salon will join them in person. But then her attention sweeps back to tonight's guests of the salon, and each of them can be sure to receive comfortable seating as well as a beverage of choice, whether it is a fine red vintage or the more potent and exotic drink of a glass of uisghe.

Boniface, it seems, choose not to wear a mask. The young vicomte arrive, dressed in dark reds and blacks- perhaps trying to be on theme? He also arrives wearing a his usual bright, excited smile- tinged perhaps with -just- a little bit of nerves! In any case, the young man is happy to be here. Odd.

Jaide has never been to a fete such as this one, its a new experience for her. She does her best to maintain a look of lady like composure, yet a touch of her excitement is written in her steel blue eyes. Her choice of gown is a airy white silk number with wide sleeves trimmed in black lace. Blonde hair has been pinned up into a half updo by clips in the shape of black roses. She steps inside hesitating at the masks a moment before shaking her head lightly and straightening her spine, steeling herself and moving further in with a gentle smile and nod of greeting to the Second of the Red Roses. She spots Boniface and smiles softly to him as well, dipping her head in greeting as she collects a glass of uisghe from a passing novice as she moves to find herself a seat with a good view.

Marco slips inside with an easy smile, no mask and an air of familiarity. his bright green eyes wander the decor first and then the people as he drifts farther in searching the mix of masked and unmasked faces as if for someone in particular. One hand eventually reaching out to collect a glass of the dark red wine.

To say that one is out of place, is an understatement with Ciarrah nic Ronan, Ambassador from the Eire. She is, entirely, an obviously, out of place and confused and unsure, but she was told about this and she needs to experience the culture to know it better. So, here she is, in all her proper Eirian regalia, a full length dress, diadem upon her forehead, et all. Once entered, and guided like the child lost in the woods that she is, she manages to gather her composure and does her best to remain silent and watchful. As one who is an outsider, shold.

Walking into la Rose Sauvage in a timely and orderly manner, the young Lord Yves Valliers is wearing his usual assortment of red and white. A long jacket with a high collar hanging to his knees with filigreed stylings along the cuffs and along the collar. On his feet he wears proper leather boots with a heel. His hair is slightly styled, perhaps someone else's touch, and he looks freshly shaven, though that's nothing remarkable given his youth as it barely shows. Pausing at the mask bin, he examines his options and chooses one of wolf ones, because that's pretty neat. A few steps further along, the mask now covering his face somewhat, though his distinctively thick hair is still on display, he finds himself before Severine and bows a little. "What do I do?" he asks ever so quietly, and when guided to a table, seems very pleased not to have made a fool of himself. Though the mask spares others from having to watch him blush his way to the nearby tables.

Ortolette is, for her part, not new to a debut — but only barely. She attended one last year, for the sake of attending and not much else, and when she enters, to-night, she does so with a general air of savoir-faire about her, a confidence of bearing and a cool composure of her expression that belies the chair in which her dutiful Cassiline Girard pushes her along, stooping to pick up the wheeled invalid's seat if they come across any impediments to its gliding silently along. She lifts a hand in gracious forbearance of a masque; her chair alone would make any effort toward anonymity, however flimsy, a mere farce, and she does not fancy to be styled so fancifully. She is dressed in her usual colors, bright whites and creams, but today her bodice is wound about with a ribbon of black which stands out against the pale colors. Over her lap she wears a blanket of irregularly shaped fur dyed a vivid blood red, over which she holds her folded hands. She issues delicately voiced but imperiously issued expressions of appreciation for Severine on her welcoming her into the event, as well as her best felicitations for her newest red rose come to bud.

Séverine spots Boniface, and she offers the young Eisandine vicomte a smile. There may even be a bit of a glitter in her eyes as she notes how he chooses not to wear a mask after all. "Good eve," she greets him, and then Jaide, as the lady offers a nod to her. To Marco, the Red Rose Second offers a discreet wink of recognition. But then there is the Eiran ambassador, and Séverine offers a curtsey to the woman, while she gestures for a Red Rose adept to come over. "Your Excellency," she greets gently. "You honor us with your visit. I am not sure how well acquainted you are with the canons of this salon. It is perfectly fine to ask questions if you are unsure, and also, we have our lovely gardens should you feel the need for a breath of fresh air inbetween…" The Red Rose adept Severine summoned will make sure to provide Ciarrah with a drink, should she wish for it. Another Red Rose takes care of Yves, guiding the young man over to a seat, when he seems to be a bit lost.

"My lady," this Séverine addresses to Ortolette, dipping into a curtsey, her gaze downcast for a moment. "You do this salon great honor by attending. Let me know if you have any special wishes or needs that are to be seen to…"

Enter another foreigner, this one of the slightly duskier sort. Farah steps into the salon with her chin lifted in a bit of stubborn pride. She hesitates when confronted with the choice of masks, but then she chooses a domino mask of fine black lace, nevermind, that her identity would not really be concealed. She wears a long flowing gown of olive green color, in the more lax fashion that fits the Night Court. Skin is shown at her back, of course devoid of any marque. Spotting Marco, her dark eyes widen, and she saunters over to where he gets settled. No word of greeting is offered to the Second, but at least she nods towards the woman.

Severine gets a bright smile from Boniface when she greets him. "I made it! It was a -very- near thing," he admits as he chooses a glass of red wine from a passing adept, "But you were right- it -is- important to be there." That out of the way, Jaide is given a little nod and a smile, before he finds himself a place to wait. Nervously. Odd.

To Severine, Ciarrah smiles warmly and bows lightly. "Thank you kindly, truly, I am at a loss as to the whole workings of your night court. Any such guidence, would be most welcome and I very much would like a drink." She pauses a moment to look around, "I intend to just simply sit and watch, and, learn."

The first sign of the prize's impending entrance comes from the slow, rhythmic beating of a large drum, the deep vibrations felt as much as they are heard, muffled as they come from another room within the Rose Sauvage. A door opposite the gathered bidders opens, and out steps a muscled, hairy man of incredible height and darkly tanned skin. He's dressed in a costume meant to invoke the famous satyr myths of the Hellene countries, tales where beasts of its ilk steal innocent maidens, and heroes and Gods sometimes rescue them, and sometimes do not. Wearing a heavy ram's mask, large and imposing horns curling backwards, he's clad in little more than it and large loincloth, and in his right hand he holds a long ribbon of crimson silk.

Attached to the other end of that silk ribbon? Tonight's treat. Lillian nó Rose Sauvage. She's clad in a white peplos robe, in the style of a Hellene woman, the toga-like robe made of soft white cloth that's strategically thin, so that teasing silhouettes of her bosom may be seen if light gets between her and a viewer, but otherwise keeping her modesty. In her hair is a crown of blue flowers, stems interwoven to create the tiara, with a very short veil of sheer fabric hanging from the crown on all three sides but her face. Barefoot, with her wrists bound together by the silk and stuck out in front of her, Lillian's led along behind the 'satyr' with her head downcast, face partially obscured by locks of long, light brown hair. There's another 'satyr' behind her, matching the first in height, hair, muscles and tanned complexion, with many a vicious scar on his chest, holding a spear in his right hand.

Lillian's being led into the room between the pair, but pauses so that a red lamp is between her and the gathered crowd of attendees, showing all an outline of her form through the peplos robe. Those bright blue eyes peer up to look upon all the men and women who are going to be bidding for her body tonight, her eyes quivering, watery and shining in the dancing light of the fireplace. Right on cue so the outline is only a quick tease, the 'satyr' behind Lillian gives her a firm jab with the butt of his spear that causes her to stumble forward, and she continues onward, to the wooden arch at the center of it all.

The novice's hands are quickly pulled high above her head, arms forced straight up, and the rusty, cruel looking iron manacles locked about her wrists. Though it looks quite uncomfortable -and indeed, the position is for her- things are eased by the fact that the red silk rests between her delicate skin and the sharp rust, ensuring that the only thing to mar her flesh tonight will the auction's winner. A 'satyr' wraps the excess silk ribbon around the chain from which the manacles dangle, allowing her a bit more support than simply putting all her weight on the metal. Both of the men step back and to the side of the arch, and the tribal drumbeat stops, Lillian's eyes looking once more on the crowd, moving from person to person, and struggling to maintain eye contact, knowing full well one of these people will have her, soon enough.

Ortolette observes Severine's enhumbling posture, acknowledges it with an appreciative nod and then bids her with a slight gesture of one hand to rise. "I will be certain so to do, Naamah's blessed servant," she issues, and then, with a scant turn of her head to indicate with her eyes the direction she wishes to go, a Girard quite used to following this sort of subtle direction takes her over beside a table, letting it rest beside her rather than pushing her legs beneath it. For a drink she will have a glass five parts water and the sixth of wine. She glances beside her to take quick stock of who else is seated at table with her, offering up a smile that seems a mote too innocent for someone just settled in at a debut of a Red Rose — but soon enough the drums are calling her attention to the processional and presentation of the night's offering.

Clara waits until Lillian has been given her pride of place — such as it is — in front of the crowd before she steps in from the back carrying a bottle of expensive wine which she begins circulating with, offering refills and making sure that the bidder's needs are attended to. She is dressed in a dark red backless dress, with a simple red mask gracing her features, and pads barefoot among the patrons. All in all despite the full marque on her back it is clear that she is here tonight to be supportive of her house, and her housemate's debut, not to steal any of the spotlight for herself. As she passes Yves, recognizing her cousin, she reaches out to squeeze his shoulder as she passes. "Wine, my lord?" She offers, with an impish smile on her face while her eyes stay moving, to make sure no one is going without.

Boniface's eyes go wide at when the procession starts, and he can't help but stare at the spectacle- but of course.. that's probably the point. The excited smile he wears on his face starts to fade somewhat into a much more complicated expression- one would be hard pressed to tell if the young man is still excited… or horrified. or perhaps some cominglation of the two.

Ciarrah, is, stunned. The look of abject confusion and worry upon the Eirian Ambassadors face is, obvious, blatant, to any and all that look at her. Her heterochromic eyes locked on to, to, whatever this is. There is, nothing like this in her homeland, nothing like this at all. She stands, watching, mouth almost literally agape.

From his seated position amongst the seated mass, Wolf-Yves glances towards the doors at the sound of the beating drum. Reaching up under his wolf mask he scratches at the side of his nose curiously as he watches Lillian being led and prodded into the room and waits to see if others will applaud or just watch with rapt attention. Once the moment is past, he turns his attention to the others seated nearby, wondering if he knows anyone. He spots Ciarrah of course, who he'd spoken to less than a day ago and he pauses in his look to wonder if he should approach and offer greeting, in the process his eyes come across his recent lovely table mate. Though he blushes a touch to be so forward as to start a conversation unintroduced, he moves his chair ever so slightly to angle it toward the young woman. "Hello there, that was quite an entrance wasn't it?" he asks, actually sounding a bit like he's uncertain if it was quite an entrance or not. He doesn't get out to these sort of things often.

Glancing over at the touch to his shoulder and the offer of wine, Yves returns the touch to his shoulder by temporarily grasping Clara's hand for a brief moment and then nods and lifts his goblet for her to refill. "Please, and thank you very much," he says to her, not wanting to be too social given that this is her duty. He'd barely touched it, but it was not so bad to keep his cup filled. It'd help lubricate the social situation.

Séverine had stepped aside when Lillian arrived with her entourage of grim looking satyrs. A fine smile plays upon the frail features of the Second as she observes the entrance, and the subtle reactions of the debutante. There is of course a murmur going through those in attendance, as many pairs of eyes have their gaze rest on the young Red Rose. Some of them hidden behind masks, while others are not.

"This here is Lillian, our newest Red Rose, the one that will finally pass the threshold from novice to adept tonight," Séverine announces, raising her voice with an ease of a Second's authority. "While those wishing to win this debut may pass bids on to me, through notes," she gestures towards several Red Roses, ready to provide pen, paper and ink, "they should also approach Lillian and offer her whispers of how they envision this very first night of hers to go. The auction will be silent. But I shall announce a highest bid now and then, to encourage those pondering to place a higher bid." She smiles. "But who knows…? Maybe your whispers manage to impress upon Lillian? Both bid and whispered suggestion will be taken into account, when we determine the winner of tonight's debut."

Marco's eyes catch on Severine and her wink and he gives her a warm smile and a raising of the red wine glass. Ortolette also receives a warm smile but his eyes continue until they catch on a dusky beauty. He beams as he offers warmly, "You decided to join. Come sit." He says guiding her to a seat and handing her the wine. His eyes twinkle as he pulls her to his lap and murmurs, "It begins."

Farah is silent when Lillian enters. There is a certain tension in the posture of the young Akkadian lady, the way her nostrils flare as she stares at the Red Rose that is then secured to those rusty manacles below the arch. With a bit of hesitation, she moves to sit beside Marco, and she lifts the glass of wine to her lips, drinking absently. That is, she intended to sit beside Marco, but then he pulls her into his lap, and her cheeks flush instantly. Murmuring something to Marco, she straightens, making sure not to get too comfortable.

There is a long moment of thoughtful silence on Boniface's part- and if one were watching, one could almost see the wheels in his head turning. After a moment more of consideration longer, he calls a Red Rose over to secure the means to make a bid- which he quickly does, jotting it down and passing ti back.

Before the bidding has a chance to begin in earnest, the spear-wielding of the two 'satyrs' steps around back of the arch, and uses the point of the dull weapon to catch on a loop atop it, hidden to the audience. He pulls it down, and with it the chain from which the manacles dangle is pulled up, forcing Lillian onto her tiptoes. Body stretched as thin as it'll go without being hurt, the Red Roses novice's full chest juts out against the material of her robe, better outlined than before by the material that's pulled more tautly over them, just the slightest of poking pushing through at each. Her stomach's stretched taut in this position, and its smoothness is easily visible now, the robe tailored to cling there in such a position, dipping into her belly button so its dimple is seen in the white cloth.

The other 'satyr' fingercombs through Lillian's hair so that it's all out of her face, and firmly grabs the back of her head. Starting at the right side of the audience, Lillian's made to stare into the eyes of each and every attendee, letting each see the fear and anticipation coursing through her veins, clashing in the most wonderful of ways. She can't help but wonder what thoughts are running through their heads right now. What beautifully cruel things they'll whisper in hear ear, when the time comes, knowing full well that even the most innocuous among them may harbor deliciously sharp desires. All the while, the spear-wielding 'satyr' is watching Lillian's reactions, ready to lower the chain when it becomes necessary for her comfort.

A tall man in black on black, shiny satin slashes through his more muted velvet doublet, with distinctive long silver pale hair is watches, deep blue Shahrizai eyes admiring the novice as she appears. Foulque's smile deepens as he lifts his glass to take a long sip, the red wine rolld slowly,, but he does not make a bid ..yet.

Clara smiles to Marco and reaches out to refill the glass that he offers. "You're welcome, my lord." She murmurs, before she looks to Ciarrah who he had spoken to, and smiles at the woman. "My lady, may I interest you in some wine?" She asks, holding up the bottle in offer.

Ciarrah is, still, taken aback, and despite having finally closed her mouth, is somewhat off in lala land. She manages to snap back to reality though, and turns slowly to look at Clara, "I, yes, please…" she responds quite plainly.

One part of his obligation taken care, Boniface stands slowly, finishing his glass of wine in one swallow before setting it aside and making his way up to the 'stage' where Lillian awaits. Provided someone else isn't in the process of whispering, (in which case he will wait his turn with nervous anticipation!) he will lean in close and start..uh.. whispering.

Farah looks up, startled, when someone suddenly seems to arrive at their side. Dark eyes study Clara as she gives Marco a refill, and then look towards the Eiran woman who seems to be as startled by the proceedings as Farah herself. Keeping her glass of wine safely held in one hand she decides to slip off of Marco's lap, to sit beside him. She does offer Ciarrah a reassuring smile that comes with a little overwhelmed roll of her eyes.

"Truly stirring, my Lord," answers Ortolette, her voice small, like a little doll's, and yet, also, so very earnest in her appreciation for the display from which she hardly draws her eyes except to fix them upon Clara's when she comes to tend at their table. "One can feel the drumbeat in ones vitals — or is it she herself which stirs the blood so?" she asks, taking up her very diluted wine when it might come to her.

Red Roses can be seen kneeling before masked lords and ladies, but facing away from them, offering their backs to be used as a table upon which notes with bids can be written.

Those same Red Roses pass the notes on to Séverine, who unfolds the messages, one after the other, as she notes down the bids in her mind. Looking up then, she watches Boniface approach the arch to which Lillian is currently chained, and a faint smile plays across her lips, the upper half of her features hidden away behind her mask of red samite. "Our current highest bid, my lord and my ladies, is at 15,000 ducats," she announces then, loud enough for everyone to hear.

Clara beams a smile to Ciarrah, and either fills the woman's glass or produces a glass which she hands to the woman full of the scarlet wine. "Don't be alarmed, my lady," she reassures with that same grin. "I can guarantee you that Lillian is having the time of her life," she murmurs. "This is what she has trained for." She holds out the bottle to Ortolette as well, as she moves between the tables. "Wine, my lady?"

As if to throw Lillian even more off guard before the first whisper, the spear-wielding 'satyr' tugs down on the hidden loop of chain behind the arch, and forces her a quarter of an inch higher. It's not much, but it makes all the difference in the world, as now she's balancing on the very tip of her tiptoes, struggling and whimpering quietly until the other satyr pushes a hand into the small of her back. It forces her to arch forward, so she's an even more alluring curve to her torso, but it also means the large male can help support her body weight without ruining the illusion. Those bright blue eyes quiver in fear as Boniface approaches, following the man across the room, and growing wider as he gets so close. Whatever he whispers, on the last word she gasps a quiet 'No'! and audibly slams her knees together. Whatever his final word was, it's got her knees knocking together, and the novice panting, cheeks rosy, trying to calm herself with hard swallows that intersperse the heavy breathing.

Sitting with Ortolette, the wolf masked Yves is seated with his eyes alternating between his table mate and the Rose of the evening. Taking a pen and a small piece of paper from one of the attendants he writes the sum he'd come prepared to spend, properly modified so that he can make a second bid within his means, and then perhaps a third. It'd undoubtedly be topped, and his words to Lillian would undoubtedly be amongst the most mild of whispers offered to Lillian, but he'd said he would be here and would bid. So he does. Sipping at his wine, he looks to Ortolette at her words and seems to think about it. "A bit of both, perhaps, do you think I should wait for the second round before I go up to speak to her? I'm supposed to speak to her, right?" he questions, his mask tilting to the side slightly as if he were puzzling something out. Seeing others approaching the fair Rose, he nods to himself — and promptly takes up a pen to write a second bid and submits it.

Wine is consumed, in the hope of providing a distraction, but Farah is not at all distracted, her gaze fixed upon Lillian. That reaction, when the young and handsome d'Angeline lord whispers to the debutante, makes Farah's eyes widen, and she empties the glass. It takes her another moment to realize that she downed it.

It's the "No!" the audible No, that freaks Ciarrah out, a lot. She starts to rise up from the seat she had taken, but remembers, this is not her land, not her way. Now is not the time to impart one's own lack of understanding upon others. So, back to her seat properly she sits and the wine glass? Downed in the span of only a few seconds.

<FS3> Severine rolls Perception: Success. (5 6 1 6 5 5 4 5 1 4 8 6)
<FS3> Severine rolls Empathy: Failure. (3 5 2 4 1 5 3 1 6)
<FS3> Ciarrah rolls Composure: Good Success. (4 2 8 4 7 2)
Severine spends 1 luck points on reroll Empathy, because I don't want to suck at it.
<FS3> Severine rolls Empathy: Good Success. (8 8 7 5 4 5 6 2 1)

Lillian's reaction seems to surprise Boniface as well- and the young vicomte's cheeks color some- his eyes widening.. but there is no mistaking the look of desire he gives the bound novice.. before slowly making his way back to his seat. To wait.

Separating from Ortolette, Yves crosses the room to whisper to Lillian when there seems to be a pause. His wolf mask hiding his shyness which no doubt lurks beneath, he spends several moments speaking, perhaps because the directions are elaborate, or perhaps because he just takes a bit of time to convey his thoughts — when the words are all offered he turns in place and returns to his seat at the table with Ortolette.

"I take mine a sixth part with five parts water," Ortolette tells Clara, when offered wine. It's perhaps a rare request, but for one of her constitution it is heady enough, and she doesn't and will not apologize for having things set the way they suit her. For such a frail little creature, her eyes carry steel and her voice cool shade-chilled marble, in giving her order to the Red Rose in service at the debut. "You should do so, yes," is for Yves, noting the number of bids he's making. "You mean to win her," she remarks, when he returns.

The Red Rose Second catches some of the reactions in the audience, and her gaze falls upon Ciarrah. "My lady," Séverine addresses the Eiran lady gently. "Don't be alarmed. Everything is in order. This debut follows the canon of House Valerian. It is one of the two canons of sharper pleasures. Displays of this kind aren't for everyone." She pauses. "And despite of how it looks like, our debutante is very much thrilled, I assure you." She needs to step aside then, as more notes are brought. Red Roses with writing utensils make their rounds, in case there will be more notes of bidding that need to be written.

Clara does not look put out at all by the request from Ortolette. She simply nods, and gestures to another member of the House. "It will be brought right out for you, my lady," she says — her smile never faltering. "Please, if you don't have it in a moment or two let me know," she offers with a polite curtsy. She blinks at Ciarrah's reaction, and looks like she might say something before she steps back as Severine comes to address the issue. She stays behind her second, in support and to be at hand if someone is needed.

Lillian's objection to the whisper is loud and quivering, soft pink lips shivering between words, and after she finishes speaking. "You can't..! You can't treat me like that..That's humiliating..I'm going to be an.." the next word comes pained "..adept.." seeming as if she's suddenly realized her station isn't such a high one, when on an assignation. As if to drive home whatever that humiliation might be, the satyr holding the chain suddenly lets it looser, and Lillian collapses right down to her knees, kneeling before Yves for a few moments, arms still stretched above her head, offering the crowd a nice, long view of the prize on her knees.

The satyr's voice is rumble as he orders a simple "Up, girl." and pulls the chain up to force her to stand. By now, her knees are so shaking with shameful desire at whatever that degradation is, that she 'can't' stand straight. Instead, she's bent over at the waist, torso horizontal to the floor, arms above her and slightly bent so the elbows facing forward, wrists still dangling in the manacles. The 'satyr' strokes a hand down her back to arch it to the floor, and her hair's messed by the sudden fall earlier, blue eyes peering through voluminous brown locks towards Yves, following him to the seat, and briefly settling her gaze on the wheelchair bound woman, noting someone of high status is watching this beautiful humiliation.

Marco continues to keep his arm around Farah as she sits beside him. he strokes her shoulder at her concern, "Is it familiar?" His tone curious as he offers, "It is a show… a Fantasy a display of her ability to create… any fantasy one might desire… isn't she talented?" He murmurs as his eyes flit between Farah and Lillian.

Ortolette lifts her finger at the proper moment to summon one of the writing utensils to her hand, and a bit of paper to the table beside her, on which she begins to write a figure before looking to Yves speculatively. Clara's dutiful reply is met with a pleased incline of her head, a sharp corner of a smile. "Good girl," she whispers. She then takes her folded bid onto her lap and, seeing the debutante on her knees and thus less loftily elevated, she nods to Girard, who takes her, in turn, closer, such that the girlish-toned whispers that flit from betwixt her lips may meet the debutante's ears only.

Ciarrah gives a nod to Severine, "As you say. My apologies." She turns to attempt to grab Clara's attention again, "Another, glass, please. Something stronger if you have it." With that, she goes back to watching.

"I don't want to half-attend, but no, I already can't bid that high," Yves shares with Ortolette quietly at barely a whisper, not wanting to upset bidding by making it appear that the bidding might not increase more. His mask turning a bit as he regards his table companion and her chair. He'd only seen it the one time previously from this proximity, on the night in the Ducal box at the theater, but never had he had quite the opportunity to examine while wearing a mask to somewhat obscure his curiosity. He ought to wear a mask more often!

<FS3> Farah rolls Composure: Good Success. (7 8 3 6 5 6 5)

Foulque has not bid yet, his left hand resting around the silver pommer of the cane he wears, the other one lifting his glass of wine, as he follows the challenges..and the reactions of the delightful little Red Rose. He also studies those in the room, the ones who are clearly familiar with this sort of proceedings..and the ones that are shocked.

"I'm fine, thank you," Farah tells Marco in a somewhat composed manner, never mind the dark fire in her eyes. Her attention shifts back to the display, and her demeanor turns a bit pensive. "It is… extreme.", she murmurs into his ear. "I haven't seen anything like that before." Cheeks retain a certain rosiness, but that could be very well be due to the wine.

Where other whispers brought a sudden protest from Lillian, or a shaking humiliation, this one brings a naught but pure, unhidden fear. Eyes widening, the irises dilating large as they peer at such an unassuming figure in the form of Ortolette. The shock that such an innocent, weak looking thing could whisper as such causes her lips to part, close, and part again, repeating the gesture a few times, like words struggle to come to her lips. They do, in a quiet whisper, voice cracking. Only a few of the cracking, high pitched words can be heard by the audience "Th-that's against the law.." shaking so hard in abject terror that the chains clink audibly above her. Her throat visibly moves up and down with clenching swallows, fingers curling to clench so tight they turn white.

"No need to apologize," Séverine counters softly to Ciarrah. "But perhaps… when this is over, you may wish to speak with someone, about what you have seen. In case you seek answers, I'd be willing to offer enlightenment in regards of what pertains to the Night Court, and this salon in particular." Her eyes scan the crowd of those in attendance, and Séverine's grey eyes flicker as she spots the white-haired Shahrizai. But then there is Lillian again, her reaction to Ortolette's whisper, and Séverine turns and watches, curiosity flashing in her mien.

<FS3> Ortolette rolls Composure: Good Success. (7 4 7 3 5 4 4 5 6 4 1)

<FS3> Ciarrah rolls Composure: Success. (3 5 7 3 3 5)

It's hard, precisely, to tell whether Ortolette is pleased or offended by the accusation the debutante throws her way in reply to her salutation. At any rate, her chin lifts with an arrogant pout, though at a certain angle one may construe it for a sort of simpering smile. She issues a few further words, not more than one or two, and nods to Girard to return her to table.

To Severine, Ciarrah nods, "I would have your guidence and instruction if you will give it. Thank you kindly for the offer, as I do, infact, seek answers." Lillian's new reaction, causing Ciarrah to have to yet again, attempt to maintain herself. It, is, difficult, but she has been assured and this is not her lands. She has to keep reminding herself of this, and perhaps, all the better to seek out drink instead to help push through all this so that she can gain understanding later.

Marco leans in to murmur something quietly to Farah. The viscomtes eyes twinkling with mischief as he speaks and then adds, "She is in such a predicament, shall we help?"

Farah blinks at that murmur, then turns her head to face Marco as he addresses that question to her. "What do you suggest?", she asks, her voice with a certain firm tone, of stubborn pride. "That you will bid on her debut? To save her from the villains?" A hint of sarcasm laces her tone, but then she looks towards Lillian again, content to leave the exchange at that.

Whatever the factual basis for Lillian's unintended accusation, it's clear she's enamored by what was whispered, those fear filled eyes following the wheelchair bound Ortolette and her handler with rapt attention, pale cheeks flushed and lips still dumbly parted. Rather embarrassingly, a drop of spittle forms on the left corner of her lips, one that's quickly dabbed away by a Red Rose novice, whom Lillian whispers something to. With the blonde Mereliot gone, the 'satyr' sees fit to pull up her chain again, so that she's balancing on her tiptoes, but not so much that it's uncomfortable.

The Red Rose novice Lillian whispered to goes to the Second, and begins to whisper to her, too, before returning to the duties at hand.

"Welcome back," Yves says to Ortolette when she returns and starts to sip at his wine a bit more. He does not anticipate winning, so his evening will likely not be encumbered with any sort of task to perform, but he doesn't mind getting a bit more relaxed. "What sort of thing does a person whisper to get that sort of reaction?" he inquires, his hands resting on the table. Not because he expects an answer, but because the resulting reaction is provocatively curious. He couldn't afford a further bid, so it was mostly just a waiting game now. Glancing in the direction of Ciarrah again, he catches a touch of the conversation in an abstract manner, and looks back to Ortolette again.

It's been some time since Boniface had made his bid, and several bids have been placed since then. And so he places another one, writing hastily on the back of a red rose.

Ortolette returns to her spot and both checks to see whether her wine has been a) poured and b) poured in correct proportions, and also holds up her folded bidding note between two fingers for someone to pick up and take to Severine. She turns a girlish smile upon Yves. "I only told her what was in my heart for her, to see whether her heart would answer mine back, my Lord."

Bids are taken and delivered discreetly to the Red Rose Second. Unfolding one note, Séverine looks over to Ortolette, and then as she seems already about to announce, another note is brought and she has to check on that before she makes her next announcement. "Apparently, we are receiving very high bids tonight. The highest bid at the moment is at 22,000 ducats." Waiting a moment to let that sink in, she then puts the notes aside and takes a flagon of water along as she walks over to Lillian. "The auction is still open, my lords and ladies. You can still place a bid.", she informs the room as she leans forward and pours some water into a bowl, holding it out then for Lillian to sip some water from.

"Only that?" Yves questions of Ortolette with a half-caught laugh and though his face can't be seen his wolf-mask tilts slightly to the side again in a look that might almost be considered both curious and amused at the same time. "It has been nice to meet you, even if I don't know your name," he says quietly to Ortolette and starts to rise to his feet, standing near to his chair and hers so that he can stretch his arms a little, and continue to circumspectly observe the others still present. "I wonder if the same people turn out for every debut, or is there selectivity based on preference?" he wonders aloud. Hearing the explanation from Severine, he shakes his head to himself. So rich. He could never compete with that.

Farah continues to exchange whispers with Marco, her dark eyes momentarily lingering on Lillian. The Akkadian lady shakes her head then and lowers her gaze.

As the bowl of cool water is held up for Lillian, the 'satyr' not playing with her chain again fingercombs through her hair, so it's not dangling into the water. Rather than /just/ aiding the virgin in getting some much needed refreshment to sooth her throat, the man grabs a fistful of hair atop her scalp and pulls back, forcing her chin up and grabbing the bowl from the Second, which he proceeds to tilt up, forcing the liquid to flow into her mouth, the expanding and contracting of her throat visible to all. As is the half-lidded look of relief from the soothing liquid, eyebrows raising and lids lightly fluttering, quite purposefully playing up her reaction so the crowd might enjoy the sight of a girl seeming to enjoy the forcefulness. With the bowl pulled away and empty, a Red Rose novice quickly dabs her lips with a crimson cloth, and she pants heavily, chest rising and falling.

"Only that," Ortolette confirms with great conviction of purpose. She takes heed of the rise in bidding with an illegible expression, a slight quiver of a lash is all, even upon boldly watching the debutante be handled so roughly and her throat laid so bare, pulsing with the water she's forced to take. Once finally capable of turning aside, she does so, and, to Yves, "You need not hint. If you wish to know my name you may ask it of me," she both allows and commands in one fell swoop.

Even with the rather drastic play of water and the bowl, those in attendance will note that the Red Rose Second is now whispering with the new blooming Red Rose. There is that moment, when Séverine's gaze meets the eyes of Lillian, and the Second nods, a faint smile curving her lips as she turns around to address those attending. "It seems, the matter has been decided.", she announces. "Lillian nó Rose Sauvage will withdraw and prepare. The winner of the debut will be notified. For anyone else… feel free to linger if you like."

"Very well, may I have your name, my lady? I am Yves Valliers," Yves introduces himself quietly, lifting his wolf mask for a moment to share his face. It wasn't quite like a masquerade, since some people were going without, so he didn't feel like it was compulsory or socially unacceptable to ask. His eyes also follow the water being given to Lillian with a curiosity, and while he is certainly blushing under his mask, he maintains his gaze for far longer because of the recently returned mask. The announcement signals that he'll be able to leave soon, and he promptly nods to himself before scooping up his wine again for another, likely last of the night, drink.

There's an unmistakable gleam of excitement in Lillian's eye as she returns her Second's gaze, the heart fluttering anticipation pushing through all the fear and nervousness for now, as the moment she's been training for for all these years is finally here. A gentle, barely there smile shows, nodding back to Severine, then returning to her submissive, downcast posture of a maiden captured. The manacles are undone and her arms fall limply downward, having been drained of some blood from so long being held, and she's lead out much as she was led in, to one of the backrooms of the Salon to await whatever wonderfully sharp fate her first night's to give her.

"Ortolette," the so-named hazel-eyed malade gives her own name, as promised. "Mereliot." That would be the Duchesse's second daughter, who generally needs little introduction on account of her way of sort of standing out in a crowd, as it were. Then the announcement is made, and she takes a quiet look at the maiden being taken down to her fate. She does not yet know who has won; she will learn, and not too long from now. "Are you satisfied to have enjoyed the festivities?"

"A pleasure to meet you, my lady. I believe you were in the box when Desarae brought me up," Yves says, curious, returning the goblet to the table. Looking at Ortolette at her question, he thinks for a moment and then shrugs slightly, being honest. He doesn't seem to react to her name too much, where she is the daughter of a duchesse, he is the son of a duc, it's just another in a long string of high born acquaintances made. "It was a spectacle, and I think it was interesting to watch, but I don't think I enjoy it as much as some. I wouldn't normally be, engaged, as I was here, if not for the promise I'd made to my cousin," he mentions and gestures over towards Clara, one of the attendants.

Ortolette follows the gesture and recognizes the Rose who served her this evening. "Oh, yes, your cousin is very pious, isn't she? It's kind of you to come support her," she smiles rather less coolly than as previous. "I think that it is time I withdrew, my Lord Valliers," she makes her excuses — without any actual excuses. "It was a pleasure to make your acquaintance outside of the unfortunate incident at the opera. Have a fine evening, do."

"I suppose she is, yes," Yves confirms amiably, and seeing as the fete is finished, he pulls the mask from his head and lets it hang at his side. The blush on his face rather mild, his eyes however, immediately become a touch more downcast and uncertain. "And a pleasure to make yours," he confirms and bows a touch from the shoulders, making space for her to withdraw and follows soon after himself.

Foulque has been mostly silent, and hasn't bid, maybe interested…but since he hasn't met the novice before, it might have seemed like an intrusion. His curiosity is peaked though and the Rose Sauvage will definitely see him show around more. He looks to see what other guests have remained to enjoy the comforts of the House.

Ciarrah decides now is as good a time as any to withdraw and make her way to her home for the night to go overall of this in her head.

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