(1312-03-10) Getting Salty
Summary: Our inquisitive visitor from Podgrabczyna manages to wander into yet another salty d’Angeline conversation…
RL Date: 10/03/2020
Related: The Tail End of Winter.
andrei cyrille dante niobe 

Wine Cellar — Noble District

Stairs lead down to the heavy oak door, above which the sign of the place, the likeness of a Hellene amphora spilling over with wine painted upon wood, swings lazily in the occasional breeze. Beyond that door the entrance hall comes into view, where various kegs and casks of differing sizes are arranged in oenological allure before the roughly hewn walls of ancient stone. There is a chill down here on hot summer days, that will be efficiently battled in the colder months through the heating of a giant hearth to the back. The place has a decidedly cavernous character, alcoves to the left and right offering seating at small tables for two or three. Lamps are dangling by chains from the ceiling, shades of milky glass work from La Serenissima offering sufficient lighting. There are no visible windows, which means lamps will be in use even during the day.

Further to the back there is a small hallway branching off from the main area, leading to a medium sized chamber where the bigger barrels are stored. Here, a larger group of up to eight people can sit about a round table of heavy oak, while they are being served the rarer vintages or even the heavier spirits that are stored in a wooden cabinet to the back. Staff is mostly male, clad in black breeches and white shirts with dark red vests, knowledgable sommeliers of superior training that will be glad to wait on guests in person and offer insight into the variety of wines, red and white, from Terre d'Ange and a variety of specialties from abroad, that are available here.

Just outside, chilled wind abates the morning goers and helps to usher them along indoors, the winter air calm and still, but still very much -there-. It seems one of the morning goers has found a quiet table in the Wine Cellar to sit with a book in hand. Lord Cyrille de Rocaille lounges at a table with a glass of wine on the tabletop in front of him, and his usual pair of guards a table over, to keep watch over the Lord as he is deep in whichever book it may be that has stolen his interest this morning.

The waft of cold air that swirls around the ankles and ruffles Niobe's skirts as she enters is enough to make many of the few patrons enjoying a morning's breakfast look up. The majority of those are content to take in the view as the courtesan weaves her way between tables and over sit at the bar, gathering her skirts neatly to one side and giving the bartender a warm smile. She's apparently regular enough that a raised brow from the bartender and a little nod from her is enough to have him heading off to place her order with the kitchen, and when he returns it's with a steaming cup of some beverage or other, for which he's thanked quietly and a few coins change hands.

Danté is out and about this morning as he makes his way into the Wine Cellar the cold air swirling in behind him as he pulls the cloak a bit tighter before he removes it and folds it over his arm walking over to the bar himself, "A hot cider please." He's looking around a bit, spotting Cyrille he offers the young lord a nod of his head but since he's fairly engaged in a book he doesn't disturb the man. At least not yet. Then he looks over at the arrival just before him and offers her a nod of his head, "I don't know about you but I'm ready for spring to arrive and this cold weather to be behind us already."

With the arrival of Niobe, Cyrille peeks up from the top of his book to spot her. His eyes trace after her form as she moves about the room, certainly taking in the view of her long legs. Though by the time Danté casts his greeting towards him, his cheeks flare into a shy blush, and he bobs his head back towards the Thorn. One hand peels away from his book, scooping up his glass of wien and bringing it to his lips for a light sip.

Niobe rests one elbow on the counter, swivelling on her seat to grant Dante a small smile and a nod of agreement. "The sooner the better, I'll agree there. The cold and snow was a novelty in October, but I'm about ready for it to give way to a bit of colour now. Let's have a few flowers, hm? Something to relieve the monotony of grey and white and sludgy brown."

Danté chuckles and nods as his cider is delivered to him and coins are exchanged, "A few lovely flowers would be nice. I also look forward to finally shedding the extra layers of wool for something that actually feels like it belongs against my skin." He smiles some as he looks over at Cyrille, "M'lord don't be shy come join us. Unless you're expecting company?"

As Danté calls out to him, Cyrille's cheeks turn a brighter shade of red, something to help offset Niobe's dismay of the colors that are out and about. Still, he pulls a silk ribbon from his pocket and slides it between the spine of his book, folding it closed and rising to his feet, wine glass scooped into his free hand as he moves towards the pair of courtesans. "Good morning." He greets in his low tone towards them, dipping his head at them both.

"My lord," Niobe offers in a low voice, smile appearing impishly on her lips as she spies the young lord's blush. "How pleasant to see you again. I see you've found Marsilikos's worst kept secret? Try the poached eggs and bacon on warm toasted bread, with the lemon and egg yolk sauce. You won't be disappointed, it's heavenly."

"Miss Niobe." Cyrille murmurs softly, his lips curling as he takes up a seat next to her, leaving her flanked by both him, and Danté. The book he had previously been reading is placed on the bartop as he turns his posture to face the other two. "A pleasure to see you again as well." He purses his lips for a moment, and then they curl into a soft, pleased smile. "That is a particularly specific breakfast request, and certainly saves me from having to decide what I'm hungry for." He mentions, peeking over at Danté. "Are you hungry as well, sir?"

"We all know that Thorns gain their sustenance through the tears of their patrons," Niobe teases, nonetheless flicking a glance to the other courtesan in case he would like one ordered, too. No? No. "Could you make it two then please, Marcel?" she asks the bartender with a brilliant smile. "If it's not too late to ask. I apologise." And he, faced with that dazzling expression, smiles in return even as he rolls his eyes and returns to inform the kitchen to make two. She turns back to Cyrille, explaining, "He always cooks the eggs so they're so soft, and just melt and ooze over the bread and bacon." She closes her eyes, letting out a purr of anticipation. "So, so good."

Danté shakes his head a bit as he sips on his cider, "No not hungry. I appreciate the thought but I'd eaten earlier. The tears of my patrons tend to be quite filling." He looks over at Niobe and offers her a smile… And a proper introduction, "And I don't believe we've met. I'm Dante no Rose Sauvage. A pleasure to meet you?"

"Is that so?" Cyrille murmurs towards Niobe, tilting his head a bit to peek at Danté as well. His lips curl with a touch of amusement, and he peeks back at Niobe as she begins to detail the breakfast situation. "My, that does sound… Absolutely delicious…" He murmurs, one hand reaching up to brush his finger tips along his bottom lip. "The more you describe, I fear I may begin to drool, Miss Niobe." He mentions, a bit of mirth in his tone. "Quite unsightly so."

"It's an occupational hazard," Niobe notes cheerfully, cradling her cup one handed and lifting it to her lips for a sip. "Monsieur Dante," she offers in return to the Thorn. "You must be new to Marsilikos, then. Niobe nó Coquelicot. I've been away for a few years, I'm afraid so you'll have to catch me up. You've come from the Court de Nuit at Elua?"

Danté nods a bit, "I was. A Mandrake before I moved to Marsilikos and joined the Rose Sauvage. And a pleasure Mademoiselle Niobe. Coquelicot, I've not had the opportunity to spend much time with members of your Salon. Although I'm sure some of my patrons have after I was finished with them." He looks over at Cyrille, "Now now m'lord no drooling you'll just give me lovely things to tell my counterparts when they're available."

"It seems that way, certainly." Cyrille mentions, lifting his wine to his lips for a light sip. As Danté and Niobe begin to share pleasantries, he turns his attention to the rest of the room, peeking out at the other patrons while postured towards the other two, half listening, and half watching the people of the Cellar. Though at the teasing of the Thorn, his cheeks flare into a brighter blush, his eyes darting towards the other man, his shy smile etching its way onto his lips. "I can hardly imagine that feeding me would be the worst of what they might imagine to do?"

Niobe laughs aloud as she sets her cup back down. "Gentlemen, if I'm in your way do please let me know and I'll remove myself." She fixes Cyrille with a look and flashes him a quick wink. "Far be it from me to stand between you. Will you still want the eggs first to give you strength, my lord?"

Danté shakes his head a bit, "It wouldn't be feeding you m'lord. Depending on what you're wishing it could be humiliation as well. Most of our feminine thorns are quite good at that" He looks over at Niobe and smiles shaking his head, "Oh the young lord here has made his wishes for a firm feminine touch to be clear. Our Second of Thorns is looking to find him a suitable adept or courtesan to serve his needs. I just find anybody who blushes so easily absolutely entertaining for torment. And since the White Roses aren't supposed to be tormented like that I must seek my sport elsewhere.." Smiles some as he takes a sip of his cider.

Those cheeks flare up even more brightly first for Danté's correction, and then for Niobe's suggestion, Cyrille's head shaking lightly as though to deflect her self removal offer. "No no." He murmurs shyly, then as Danté clarifies, he squirms a touch, lifting his wine glass to his lips once again. This time, it's for a sip, and then perhaps… To hide behind, a bit.

"A firm touch sounds more like our canon than yours, monsieur," Niobe teases, eyes gleaming as two hot, steaming plates of eggs benedict are brought out, the savoury, citrusy scent filling the air and tempting the senses. If between the pair of courtesans they didn't yet have the attention of the closer patrons of the bar, the eggs certainly perk up any remaining interest. "Your touch goes far beyond firm and into the realms of hard. Stiff, perhaps?" Again she flashes that easy, relaxed smile back at Cyrille, enjoying herself immensely, and takes up a fork to tuck into her breakfast.

Danté hmmms a bit and nods, "I suppose one could say stiff. Or unyielding touch. Even a sharp touch. But a firm healing touch. Definitely not our canon. In fact we're more likely to send our patrons your way after our touch is done with them so they can come back for more later." As the plates are delivered he looks over at them and smiles, "Those are delightful looking eggs perhaps I'll come back another morning to try them."

The teasing that Danté and Niobe levy on poor Cyrille continues, the blushing Siovalese Lord failingly hiding behind his glass of wine while speak. Finally, to his relief, food is presented, and he hurriedly scoops up his fork and begins to spear it into the food. Thankfully, he saves his grace, calming himself and taking a much more delicate bite of the meal. One befit someone of his station, in public. "I could see how that might be… Necessary…" He manages to murmur, after his first bite of the meal.

Niobe gestures to the sauce on her eggs with the tines of her fork. "It's egg yolks, lemon, and melted butter. Absolutely delicious, did you want to try some?" she offers, cutting off a section of egg, bacon and bread together, smothered in the hollandaise, and holding it up for Dante. "Although you know if you break them too hard we'll refuse to send them back to you, monsieur. Why repair a cup if you're only going to smash it again?"

Who knows where a foreigner goes at night, or to whom? Perhaps the question one should be asking in this particular city should be, does anyone give a damn what a foreigner does? Either way, the foreigner in question — a tall, blond bloke — wanders in to the Cellar with the quiet air of someone who isn't entirely familiar with the place but is being lured by the promise of food after a long night. He's well dressed for a member of the merchant class but no amount of good tailoring can hide the dark smudges under his eyes as he wanders towards whoever distributes seats around here (or indeed, food, food is important).

Danté smiles a bit and hmmms before he leans over to steal the bite of food and he sighs from the taste, "Oh it is delightful. I will have to come back later for that." He nods a bit as she speaks of not giving them back, "Oh I'm sure you'll want to keep them but if that cup takes extreme pleasure in being broken then I'm sure it'll find it's way back into our cupboard." He follows with a sip of his cider, "But I try not to break my cups too badly. It's fun sometimes but it's more enjoyable for me for longer term tormenting."

Unyielding torment, it seems. And he doesn't even have to pay for it? How could he NOT be happy. Except, Cyrille is a blushing, flustered mess. His hand reaches somewhat suddenly for a supply of pepper nearby, but ends up knocking the salt over in the process. Which only happens to make his blushing more deep as he quickly moves to right his wrong. Once the shakers are corrected, he abandons them both to return his attention to his plate, pepper be damned.

Niobe absently takes a pinch of the spilt salt and flicks it over her shoulder. "Well, my lord," she concedes, watching Cyrille with some amusement, "if you're sick of being broken, come and see us. Our cupboards are… less severe?"

Anghelescu is mercifully served a cup of something warm pretty much on sight; the servant taking pity on him apparently has a fair idea of what he might order, or she is a good guesser. He smiles at her with a mix of fatigue and gratitude before turning to head for a table — and then stops and blinks as suddenly, his chicken broth is salted, rather unexpectedly. He shakes his head quietly and murmurs, "Lady Niobe, you underestimate my health. I -am- still capable of navigating my way to a salt jar."

Danté smirks just a bit although he looks over at Andrei as they settle in a bit more offering the man a nod before looking over at Cyrille, "And they do have a firm hand. Maybe not as rigid but it does work out all the… kinks." Then he looks over as the salt lands in the newcomer's broth, "Well can't say she never gave you anything? Come join us. We're trying to see how long the young lord here can blush before he passes out."

At least Cyrille has a bit of fortitude to him? While the teasing continues unabated, he takes the time to clear his throat, and lift his head a bit higher, as though the motions are enough to give him some degree of composure. Then his eyes shift over to peek at Niobe, for her offer, his blush simply growing even more. "I'd love to." He manages to murmur, though his voice is low enough, that it may be a challenge to even hear him. As Andrei is getting salty though, he pivots in his seat to face the foriegner. "Um, yes… Please, join us."

Niobe turns as she's addressed, both brows raising in surprise. It takes her a moment to establish exactly what's happened, then she lets out a laugh. "Ah, I do apologise, Anghelescu. Let me get you another?" With which she rises to her feet, long legs stretching down from the stool, then gives an elegant curtsey and cedes the seat to the foreigner while she goes to have a word with the bartender.

"I'm sure this is still quite edible. But I'll take the offer of a chair, certainly, if I am not interrupting a private conversation." Without much further ado, the foreign merchant pulls up a chair and settles on it, curling long, gloved fingers around the cup of (somewhat salty) broth. "I take it that this is becoming a national sport? I feel your pain, my lord. Last month I was the new arrival in the city and goodness, people did invest quite a bit of time and effort into finding out who occupies my bed, and how."

Danté glances over as Niobe gives up her seat to the newcomer and then chuckles a bit as he finishes up his cider setting the cup down on the bar as he turns to lean against it some, "I find most broths I've had only get better with a bit more salt. Haven't put too much in yet so don't know if there's an upper limit."

As Niobe rises, yielding the seat she had previously claimed over to Andrei, Cyrille peeks first at her, drinking in the sight of her a bit, and then finally peeking towards the foreigner in question. "It's a natural curiosity here, yes." He murmurs towards Andrei, his fork poking at his own plate of food. Then he spears a piece of the egg, and takes a bite. "And to be fair, I'd be worried if a Thorn didn't enjoy teasing at least a small bit."

"I'm sure we can return to teasing you, Anghelescu, if you'd like?" Niobe offers with a bright smile as she takes up a spot on the other side of Dante and leans across him to retrieve her plate of half finished breakfast. "It's really the least we could do for a guest." Plate safely back in front of her, she casually reaches for Dante's wrist, adding, "Craving salt, no appetite… any nausea or dizziness?"

Danté shakes his head, "Not that I have no appetite. And I mean… I'm a Thorn we crave the salt from the tears of our patrons." He grins as Niobe grabs his wrist, "But no nausea, no dizziness and I'd eaten before I left the Salon so no appetite from having a meal already in my belly. I wasn't planning on stopping here just didn't realize it was that silly cold outside." He looks around some and hmmmms, "We're teasing somebody else now?"

"Please, by all means, continue to focus the city's attention somewhere that isn't me." Anghelescu tastes his broth and seems to decide that it is in fact not quite bad. And then he demonstrates his foreignness not just by the accent but also by the question: "Do tell me, though, what is a thorn exactly? I am assuming that we are in fact not discussing the sharp end of a rose bush:"

With the teasing finally dying down, Cyrille takes a few more bites of his meal, and some sips of his wine as his cheeks slowly begin to return to a more natural color. His eyes shift over towards Niobe as she claims the seat on the otherside of Danté, and then back to Andrei as he becomes the center of some conversation. "As it happens, Danté is the most qualified to enlighten you."

"You're not a million miles from the definition, though," Niobe agrees, releasing the wrist once she's satisfied and instead taking up her fork again to delicately slice off more of the bacon and egg. "The sharp end of the Rose Sauvage. Pleasure by domination," she's happy to explain, before popping the mouthful between her lips which necessarily silences her. Polite conversation is one thing, but she's not about to let her breakfast get cold when it's this good.

Danté smirks a bit, "That's exactly what we're talking about. I'm a Thorn. A member of the Rose Sauvage Salon and the sharper end of the sharper pleasures." He nods towards Niobe's description, "That's accurate. But not all domination will end up being painful though."

"To each their own, whether it comes to pleasure or their choice of profession. It's Marsilikos, I should have guessed." Anghelescu hitches a shoulder lightly and then — adds a bit more salt.

Having eaten what he intends to from his own plate, Cyrille pushes it aside, lifting his glass of wine to his lips for another sip as the pair of courtesans school Andrei. Then he peeks at Danté, and once again towards Niobe. For the most part, however, he doesn't speak up quite yet.

"It's Terre d'Ange," Niobe corrects, before having to pause to eat another mouthful of her breakfast. "Love as thou wilt. And, Monsieur Anghelescu," she scolds, "if you continue to love that much salt you'll do yourself a mischief."

Danté chuckles a bit, "Love as thou wilt. Such a wonderful phrase. And she's not wrong. Too much salt will pickle your pickle. It's a tragic thing."

Anghelescu offers a small, lopsided smile to Cyrille. "And thus, my lord, the assault on your dignity is deflected. I've listened to this for five weeks. You grow used to it. I recommend finding yourself some nice arm candy and flaunting her a bit, it'll probably make most people lose interest in you short time."

While for his part, Cyrille is mostly just enjoying the deflected attention, his lips curled with amusement as he sips on his wine and listens to the courtesans tease Andrei now, it seems. Though as the foreigner turns to speak with him, he grins a bit and rolls a shoulder. "To be fair, I usually avoid such teasing when I lock myself into my chambers for a few good books. Perhaps you should try such measures yourself?"

Niobe grimaces at the thought, finishing off her eggs and setting her cutlery down neatly on the plate. There's a quick, grateful smile for the bartender, then she leans forward so she can eye Cyrille down the length of the bar. "My lord, you really do enjoy being punished, don't you?"

Danté smirks and just shakes his head before he waves the bartender back over, "Another hot cider please." Coins and drinks exchanged he looks back over at the others, "Oh Monsieur, not sure you'll manage to deflect my teasing too much. You're not seeming to react to it appropriately. Although the idea of arm candy is appealing I should find myself a new long term pet…tron patron."

"If I decide to perhaps find more permanent residence in Marsilikos I might acquire a few books," Anghelescu murmurs. "My family's collection is a little… out of reach, at the moment. Can't say that I had the impression that intellectual pursuits was something people here boasted. You have a world class university but never speak of academic interests as if they are worthy of people of class."

The sudden attention he receives from Niobe has Cyrille's eyes widening, his glance shifting towards her as his cheeks flare into another deep blush, his lips parting with some surprise. "Uh.. Um..?" He sounds out, trying to muster words in his confused, embarrassed state. "I don't… Understand your meaning, Miss Niobe?" He pauses, a bit of stammer in his tone. "Why do you ask?" Andrei's comments though, seems to bring him a touch out of the stupor, and he eyes him for a moment. "I… Think I should take offense to that?"

Danté looks over at Anghelescu and raises an eyebrow, "Interesting theory. I don't know. I studied as a Courtesan but I've gone to learn languages of some of my patrons from other countries just so that they'll be more comfortable in conversation with me." He shrugs some as he looks over at Cyrille and his sudden stammering.

"You're in Eisande," Niobe replies easily, leaning an elbow on the bar and her cheek on her hand. "We boast great healers here, rather than intellectuals. Travel to Siovale and you'll find noblemen falling all over themselves to show you their latest theory, their research or their treasure trove of books." She gives a delighted laugh as Cyrille's cheeks go red again, then a kindly smile. "My lord, I was referring to my own distaste for study and superimposing that on your own requirement for a firm hand. I apologise, I shouldn't tease. You're here for breakfast, not to warm the room with the heat of your own cheeks."

"I certainly intended no offence," Anghelescu nods and continues to sip the broth that apparently makes it out for the somewhat thin foreigner's breakfast; at least he has not made any orders beyond that. "I am somewhat amused by the city and its culture, that is all. You can tell a lot by a city and the people who live in it by listening to what they talk about. Let me maintain some level of politeness and say, for Marsilikos, it is rarely philosophical discourse. That said, I am actually quite delighted to hear that this may indeed be different in other provinces — this whole notion of people's natures depending upon what angel they are descended from is still quite alien to me."

Those cheeks of his remain bright red as he hears Niobe's commentary, Cyrille shifting a bit to adjust himself in his seat. After a blink, he nods his head towards her, then lifts his wine to his lips, sipping the last swallow left in the glass away. "It is quite alright, Miss Niobe." He murmurs softly, setting his empty glass aside, and turning to face her. Then he turns his attention to peek back at Andrei. "If you're wishing to discuss philosophy, science and theory, I have a slew of conversations we could share in. Though, I keep a few thoughts of mine close to my heart, for my own reasons."

Danté looks over at Anghelescu and shrugs, "We were descended from angels… Why wouldn't our natures mimic the divine blood coursing through our veins?" He takes his cider and sips the steaming liquid, "I'm not sure the philosophy you're looking for but perhaps seeking it out in a more appropriate venue?"

Niobe holds up one hand. "If this isn't a place where a high brow conversation can happen over a glass of wine, Monsieur Dante, then where is?"

"In my country, Lord Thorn, people are not descended from angels, nor are we accustomed to thinking of the possibility. It is part of what makes Terre d'Ange interesting, I'll admit. The way that your natures seem to be very much dictated by whom your divine ancestor were exactly."

"I should think it rude to further dismiss Andrei, wouldn't you agree, Monsieur Danté?" Cyrille muses towards the Thorn, his tone still held low as he casts a glance aside to peer towards the clerk behind the bar, gesturing for his empty glass to be filled. Then his attention turns back towards Danté once more. "I hope you may forgive him, I trust that Monsieur Andrei is simply still rather unfamiliar with our culture. I'd say that for as long as he's been here, he's doing exceptionally well already."

Danté nods, "I agree m'lord." He looks over at Niobe and shakes his head a bit, "I didn't mean it couldn't occur here. I was attempting to imply that this isn't the venue where one would normally stumble across the conversations. It would be a fine place to sit and have a conversation but you'd have to have brought the like minded people with you first." He looks over at Andrei and shrugs just a bit, "Our angelic nature doesn't define us. I'm descended from Naamah. One would assume that my nature would be more in line with a Jasmine rather than a Mandrake."

"And pray tell, what is the nature of a jasmine and a mandrake? To me, one is a flower that gives off scent at night, and the other is a magical amulet. I suspect neither is what you refer to." Anghelescu quirks an eyebrow, clearly curious. "Naamah, I believe I recognise at least. The angel of healing, yes?"

Niobe takes up her tea to drain as she listens, idly polishing a spot of grease on the bar with one thumb. "I think, from what our Chowati friend was saying earlier, he's been thrust into d'Angeline culture rather thoroughly. And you're thinking of Eisheth," she adds. "Hence Eisande is the home of some very great healers." There's a small pause before she adds with a smile, "and me, too, before you accuse me of blowing my own trumpet."

"Naamah is the bright lady." Cyrille explains towards Andrei, his attention shifting towards the foreigner. "She is the founder of the region of Namarre, and was the Consort of the Blessed Elua, the first of Blessed Elua's Companions." Then he pauses, peeking towards the pair of courtesans, and back towards Andrei. "Though, perhaps I should allow a follower of Naamah's ways to educate you instead."

Danté nods, "That would be Eisheth. Naamah is known for her loving nature. And those are Courtesan canons. Jasmine is for pleasure's sake. Mandrake is the traditional canon that the Thorns are founded on." He holds up one finger and turns to display his marque for Andrei showing off a Mandrake marque. "They're both flowers. Here they're part of the Night Blooming Flowers."

"I've had some experience with your talents, Lady Niobe." The foreigner tosses half a smile the courtesan's way, still holding his broth in both gloved hands. "I will say on the matter that the lady is very talented and that her ministrations certainly do what they are meant to do. I will put my head on the block before I call them pleasant, though." He glances at the marque that Danté demonstrates and nods. "I assume that there are specific traditions and services associated with the various flowers."

"You, Monsieur Anghelescu, have barely touched on most of my ministrations of the more pleasurable sort," Niobe counters, turning to lean back against the bar and stretch out one leg then the other. "My own canon is that of Balm, or would be if I were in Elua. In Marsilikos, our salons are more… what's the word I'm looking for? A combination. Bits of several different canons. We look to comfort, whether that be to help heal your mind, body or spirit."

Once again, Cyrille quiets to allow the pair of courtesans to further educate Andrei on their canons. He has received his second glass of wine by now, bringing it to his lips for a light sip once again while he turns to listen to them speak. "There are a number of canons to suit your needs." He murmurs towards Andrei. "I'm sure you can find someone to point you in the right direction."

Danté looks over at Niobe and chuckles, "Oh the idea of a balm for some relaxing and pleasurable ministrations even appeals to me." He looks towards Andrei and hmmms, "If you're looking for some of the arts perhaps Lis'd'Or might be more suited for your tastes? I've met a few from that Salon and their skill at dance and music are quite amazing."

"I've already found what I am looking for," Anghelescu observes with a small smile. "A competent healer. The lady has not disappointed me in this regard. Her ministrations are painful as hell but they do help."

Niobe half smiles, mischief never far from her face. "Or," she suggests, "you might be sick and tired of everyone trying to guess your sexual preference all the time. Love as thou wilt, hm? And perhaps your own desire is to be left alone. On which note however gentlemen, will you excuse me? I have a parrot I've already left alone far too long and I don't doubt my chambers look like an explosion happened there by now."

Cyrille listens to what Andrei has to say, granting him a gentle nod and then casting a glance towards Niobe as she speaks. His cheeks turn a bit red, and he nods his head towards her as well. As she rises, he grants her a soft smile. "Of course. It was good to see you again, and I look forward to our next meeting."

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