(1312-07-20) Indentations
Summary: A gathering in the Wine Cellar— pretty chill :)
RL Date: 7/20/20
Related: Any Foot Ball related.
cochonnet sylvie yves zabien 

** 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, knowledgeable 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, not only d'Angeline but a variety of specialties from abroad, that are available here.

It's been a long few weeks for one Cochonnet "Coco" Cocotte. The Fetish Ball is in that awkward stage of planning where there's all at once too much to do and not enough that can be done now, for the sake of keeping the salon more or less clear and open for business until at least a day or so before. So cue a few straight days of her stomach twisting itself in knots, inwardly, while outwardly she manages a mien of unbounded calm and optimism. If she weren't the Piglet of Glycine (so called), she would certainly be better likened to a duck. But instead of webbed feet paddling under the water, she has a hundred irons in the fire for this ball, several assignations and crafting commissions. And instead of water beading off of her back, she's emptying a cup of wine over her tonsils, drinking hard alongside the boys nor fading back in tiny, bird-like sips. Silken knickers, a corset-laced faux-doublet with an open bosom, and one of her signature massive codpieces don la Coco, as well as a pair of tall boots with about a thousand buckles each and a heel of which she has no need in order to tower with her amazonian frame.

Still being quite new to Marsilikos while her father convalesces, Sylvie has setup residence in House Shahrazai in the interim. She had heard rumors of an impending ball, but so far more on the outskirts of any social circles for the time being. The young Shahrazai has currently spent her time getting the lay of the land with an albeit bored house guard in tow. She had heard of the Wine Cellar and decides to trial its wares this evening.

The black-haired girl enters with an albeit bored expression sitting coolly upon remarkedly D'Angeline features. She's dressed modestly, a blue gown with a moderate bustline drapes her slim frame. Sylvie definitely notes the Amazonian Coco as she sidles up to the bar with a twitch of her skirts. Her voice is low, like a fine whiskey as she inquires after a recommended glass from the bartender.

Cochonnet manspreads liberally across a half of an alcoved table, a couple of guys on the other side from her engaged in ardent speculations about one topic or another. But the unfamiliar Lady in the modest blue catches hr eye and she just— sort of keeps track of her, idly, with a predatory trail of her gaze across the establishment, all the while carrying on the end of a conversation where she is, leaning over to kiss one of the men on the cheek, the other on the lips, then swatting the first one on the rear when he scoots to emerge from the alcove. Her most recent drinking-companions having departed, her eyes lid by half nnd she can be a little less subtle in watching Lady Blue get upon her seat at the bar.

Sylvie can't help but notice Cochonnet and her bevy of men in their alcoved table. The bartender brings her a glass of Riesling and she accepts it without comment. The guard shadowing his mistress wears the common black and gold of Shahrazai to the discerning eye. Dark blue eyes meet Coco's eventually across the way and a hint of a smirk plays across Sylvie's face. She lifts her glass in cheers to the Amazonian woman before turning slightly towards the bar to take a long draw from it.

Well, two is hardly a bevy— but be assured they weren't the first two, either. She's got something white in a tall glass with barely a stem— it might have bubbles, it's hard to tell from all the way at the bar. But Coco tips up her chin, giving a little air kiss and a flicker of a wink hello across to Lady Blue, whose name she may even learn, one day— but, for now, Lady Blue will do. Or won't she? On, why is Coco's brain filled with filthy punnage? Comes with the Orchid marque, one might suppose. At any rate, she's about to break, grinning to herself about the potential wordplay before she half-hides the chuckle behind a sip of the white.

Sylvie laughs and pretends to catch that air kiss, turning ever so slightly back toward the bar and murmuring something to her guard. The man nods and moves further down the bar, catching the bartender's attention as he dips his head towards Coco and her table. A waiter brings another round to Coco's table, whatever the trio had already been enjoying with the comment, "Courtesy of House Shahrazai.." and goes about his business. Tracing a finger around the delicate crystal edge of her glass, Sylvie dips her finger into the translucent liquid casually. Glancing to Coco out of the corner of her eye, she licks the flavor of the wine (quite innocently I might add) from the palm to tip of her index finger.

Cochonnet leans back, drawing one arm overhead to serve for additional neck support, leaving one arm free to hold her wine glass easily at chest level, lifting either for bibation or gesticulation, as need serves as a few others file past her table to say hello, one of whom she allows to touch her codpiece, murmurring something no doubt scurrilous to the laughing maid who has her hand to it. And then comes the waiter with the refill, and she straightens somewhat from her comfortable repose, holding out her glass for the next round and having a few quiet words with the man, as well, and her eyes return to Sylvie, watching her rather provocative display while her free hand moves to stroke her codpiece a few slow times in idle faux-masturbation… as great a round of applause as one can expect from the Sex Clown.

Sylvie laughs as Coco wanks her quite impressive 'member' in a gesture of thanks. The girl shakes her head slightly, a smile breaking her features at the woman's response to the proffered round of drinks. Her skirts swish as she crosses one leg over another upon her perched seat near the bar.

Entering the Wine Cellar, Lord Yves is wearing his usual combination of Camlach-approved heavy garments in the colors of his family, red and white with an impressive blade at his hip. Coming in out of the hot and rainy weather, his hair is a bit slicked down around his face and he pauses at the entrance to sweep it back from his face and get some of the water off his jacket. Pulling off his gloves in the long process of acclimatizing to the new environment. Spotting Coco being Coco, and a new face at the bar, he snakes his pinky into his ear in thought. Making his way over toward the woman, he has a single word, "What?" and signals for a server. "A bottle of red, I guess."

The door to the Wine Cellar opens up, as three figures walk in, all dressed in black, trimmed in gold. Two of the men, move off to the side, but the other heads further into the cellar proper. A youth, barely of legal age with sable curls and saphyre blue eyes walks to an empty table. Catching Cochonnet's "wanking" towards the young woman, causes him to cock his head. The young Shahrizai looks at Sylvie for a moment. Zabien offers a polite nod and smile. He raises his hand, gesturing towards the bar to get the attention of a server. There is no need to raise a raise one's voice, when a simple gesture would suffice.

Cochonnet made her laugh; it's an Orchid triumph, and Coco seems pleased enough with herself for making the mark. She downs her newly refreshed glass and sets it down, giving Yves a feral slice of a grin and giving him a head-start in chatting up the new face in town. She's got to get herself out of her booth, and, well, she's more of a workaholic than an alcoholic, for all her bravado in public libation, and this place is… comfy. Her butt is in a pleasantly butt-shaped indentation, you know?

Zabian is a slightly familiar sight, one distantly related member of a House to another. Sylvie inclines her head toward him with a smile as he situates himself at a table. She doesn't dally long at the bar after he is settled and instead rises to join the young man with hair as dark as her own. Sliding into a seat across from him, she flashes a smile and offers, "Well met cousin, how has the evening found you so far?" Raising the glass of Riesling for another sip, her attention drifts briefly to Coco and Yves before returning to Zabien.

Oh, hey, no, Yves is coming over here. No need for Coco to extricate herself from her comfy lounge just yet. She just sets her newly re-emptied glass down on the table and rolls her neck to the side and back, casting her sky blue eyes up to Yves. "Pat-a-cake, pat-a-cake, baker's man," she greets him, intoning the words rather than sing-songing them, which somehow makes them seem less ridiculous, not more. Oh, and Zab's going to chat with Lady Blue, which Coco notes in her periphery.

Taking a seat across from her, Yves smiles a little at the words, not nearly so blushing and awkward as the last time they'd met for more than a moment. "Indeed, how have you been Coco? And are you teasing her or is this part of some elaborate assignation?" he asks, settling into his own ass-shaped indentation across from the woman. His hands drumming lightly on the table while he waits for the drink to come around, and accepting it with both hands when it does for a quick sip before he sets it down.

Cochonnet draws her knee up toward the bottom of the table, once Yves has taken his seat, and , leaving her heeled slipper on the floor, she straightens her knee to outstretch her leg and rest the curve along her Achilles' tendon between heel and calf along his, using him at an easy footrest. "The Lady in Blue by the bar? I've never met her, but she seems pleasantly amenable," she grins. "Do you know her? I'm well. Just… five days left. We're in the last leg sprint here."

Zabien's smile widens as Sylvie sits across from him, "Well, hello, cousin. And here I thought that I was a rarity here in Marsilikos. I am quite surprised to be mistaken." He cants his head, "I am as well as I can be exiled to here… " Please allow me to get you something to drink." He flashes his smile again, "I'm Zabien."

Taking her foot, Yves rubs it absently under the table a few times in thought. With a smile, he says, "Yes? Tell me about it? I wasn't really feeling like drinking, let's go see your preparations?" he proposes, as a way to allow her to keep working with some company. Sliding from the booth, he scoops up his bottle, leaves the appropriate money behind for the servers, and holds out a crooked arm for the woman.

A delicate brow arches ever so slightly at Zabien's mention of exile, "Mm, it would seem House Shahrazai always finds ways to multiply in number doesn't it?" she smiles softening the tone of her comment. "A riesling please…" she offers in response to his query of another drink, tucking an errant strand of black hair behind her ear. Settling back into her seat, "Sylvania, or as I'm sure you'll hear sooner or later, Sylvie… We've just returned from Caerdicca Unitas, and well.. So far our trip home has been delayed for the time being.."

Cochonnet wiggles stocking-clad toes into Yves' touch, then even closes her eyes a little bit when he hits a spot that's been carrying a lot of tension. Speaking of feet, she's been on hers and running around pretty much non-stop the last few weeks, since the new date for the fete was made public. There's a lot to do. "That sounds lovely," she tells Yves, casting another brief glance toward the bar, but content enough to let The Mystery linger on that front, drawing her foot back down and re-heeling it before she gets the leverage to slide her butt onto the cooler seat beside her, then to stand and take Yves' arm in both of hers, giving him a little swat on the hip with her phallus and a batting of her eyelashes as she chatters on pleasantly re: the Foot Ball.

As the server comes over, Zabien orders Sylvie's riesling and a bottle of sweet red for himself. He looks over to Sylvie, "You really must tell me all about it." And he seems to genuinely mean it. "I have recently some here from the city of Elua." He sighs softly, "I miss the courts there…" He then smiles again, "I left under… some encouragement from Father… when the Duc orders, you do."

"The city of Elua?" Sylvie asks, accepting the glass from the waiter with a smile, but her attention remaining on the young man seated across from her. "Mm.." she pauses, taking a sip of the riesling, "I'm sure I must seem completely backwater by comparison then!" Sylvie laughs, leaning forward to set her glass back upon the table. She glances down as if to examine her nails and offers simply, "Father sought some potential alliances among the Caerdicci lords, we shall see if any prove fruitful.." The white of her teeth flashes as she chews on the corner of her lower lip in an almost absent fashion as she considers Zabien's final comments. Upon a whim, she grasps his hands, her smile warm and dazzling, "Unfortunately old men have a tendency to take our fun away, but fret not cousin, I'm sure you and I will find a way to leave our mark in this old port town."

Taking a sip of his wine, the tip of Zabien's tongue darts out to taste the wine from his lips. "I am quite sure that we can if we put our heads together." He cants his head slightly, "So Sylvie… tell me… what kind of fun do you like to get into." He grins, "I am trying to get a feel for the salons here in Marsilikos… they are nothing like the ones in Elua…. I had found a courtesan, and independent, but things did not work out…"

Releasing his hands, "I'm glad we agree!" Laughing, Sylvie settles back into her chair, a tip of her finger tracing along the delicate rim of her wineglass. "I am afraid you have me bested in that arena for the time being…" she dips her finger into the glass, swirling her wine, "Father promised we would stop in Elua on our way back to Kusheth, and well… I've yet to experience much of Marsilikos beyond its port, Eisheth's temple, and well, getting my lost a few times within the districts. " She chuckles at herself, rolling a shoulder in a casual shrug, "I've heard rumor of the Night Court in Elua and I hope to savor its flavors when able, however…" she grins, pulling her finger from the wine glass and daintily sliding her tongue up the length of her finger. That finger goes to tap innocently against the corner of her mouth as she thinks…

"Horses.. I think that's much to Papa's chagrin, but I digress.." she picks up her glass and takes another draw of the sparkling liquid within, "Dice… " she pauses and thinks thoughtfully, "… pets, of the 4-legged and well, 2-legged variety as well."

Zabien leans back, "Well, I understand that in a few days, one of the salons is holding a fete of sorts… " He grins, "I have never had the opportunity to avail myself of the Valerian and Mandrake trained salon. I was planning on doing so soon… perhaps we could go together…" He sighs and shakes his head, "Horses, are not one of my favorite things. I am a terrible, terrible rider." He shrugs, "I suppose that it is a good thing that I have known the city life thus far."

"Oh? "Sylvie inquires, "That sounds like it could be quite fun. I think that would be a wonderful idea.' Whether she's agreeing to the fete or a joint venture of the Valerian and Mandrake salons is unclear. "Perhaps we can fix your poor riding while I'm in town.."

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