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[P]  Sun dried figs and goblets of blood

Offline Philippi Oct 31 2020, 3:10 AM
#1
  • Dorsum
  • Age: 27
  • Gender: Female
  • Race: Dire
  • Rank: Viscountess
  • Total Posts: 2
  • Played by: Rosie
280 Mana · ?
She was powdered and oiled with mixes of spices to smell like citrus, cinnamon and saffron. Dressed in light breathable mustard yellow fabrics to sustain the sun, heat and dust that they would find in this place today. Her dark hair half pulled back in a braids that ran from either side of her crown to point in the middle. Her face saving nothing but her eyes, that moved and danced between areas intently, as if always trying to read and uncover the new elements of a report or book. Though of course, instead of papers, the eyes of the tempest lingers upon the faces and what purpose there she can sense instead.

“Viscousness Wilde.”

She smiled darkly, a light in her eyes. “Excuse me sir?” An unintentional error she suspected, though she was not offended but amused. But there is something more testing by the way she grins. Lacking from any gentle reassurance.

“-Viscountess – of course,” the man at the gateway spluttered quickly, trying to regain such confidence. She ghosted a glimpse of another among them, looking at him with a silent subdued sense of dread.

The sun was high in the sky at the point that the Dorsum Viscountess and her small entourage had arrived. Entourage because of course, she best enjoyed watching the show when she had a horse in the race. – And she had a knack for finding talent. Although her contestant, and their keeper and what other support was tending to had already been tended to in checking them in and now the Dorsum noble was wanting her nice booth.

“Better,” she smiled now again, one more toothy. Showing white gleaming teeth as she then opened and closed her mouth quietly like biting on open air, as if just to display what she would like to do to him otherwise.

A man appeared in the room, most quickly and silently with soft clothed slippers, and just as quickly pushed the boy aside. He was dressed more nicely in a cream tunic that had the lustre and hint of gold, and a sash of orange silks from his left shoulder to his right hip, the latter apparently showing no purpose – except that he could afford it.
“You. Are. A….VISION today, viscountess,” he says still. With great emphasis here and there, whilst gesturing to the noble dire with two hands.

“Just today?” She asks, tone playful and light, but her eyes dark and intense. As if baring down on every minutest detail and movement of his person or face. Like the apex predator that waits in the long grass for the exacting time to pounce. Not because she is even irritated at all - just a creature instead seeking an excuse for violence, a reason to escalate.

“Each and every day – more beautiful than the next.” He says, matching her pace for pace with his words and no hesitation whatsoever. A sense of ease even under the scrutiny, a sign she felt was common with many who held businesses. “Ahhh –and with quite the silver tongue.”

“I fear you are more silver tongued than any of us…” Philippi says sweetly like honey, although in her slight and deeper pause, her words are dark with unfinished meaning. ’Silver tongued,’ too common a compliment that was now used for anyone who could sustain a conversation. Although it suited him. “-I hope that you aren’t looking to replace me in my seat,” she says, where the previous honey of words reaches a sharp point at ‘seat.’

He laughed, portily. A hand on his belly, but for a moment. “No, no – me? I enjoy watching a more visible and bloody kind of melee,” His laugh died off quickly, almost as soon as they began. Although his smile remained, if not…not widened but deepened in the corners. Becoming somewhat tighter still as if he were caught in something – or was tuned into the implication of the viscountess’ own tastes for being here. The look knowing, although he did not say it. “What can be more exciting than the moment where one individual rises up as a champion and the other tastes the dust." A savant of performance and keeping his customers cool headed. Even when their product was violence.

“They are…the easier to understand,” she said in agreement, “usually,” she says as he gestures up the path and she moves to follow.

“Though of course, that is not why the lady enjoys it so much so,” he says assumingly so. It was not clear whether it was for her, or the one at her side, or for the other attendants at the front. But the candor and confidence was only possible for being in the position of knowing that the viscountess had appreciated him enough, and this arena, for so long that she would not be plotting ways to remove him of his head.

“If you would follow,” he speaks, as he starts moving around the corner to go up the steps.
Barton, her servant or attendant moved soundlessly, falling in behind her with grace as she moved to lift at her skirts to raise her legs above the stairs. It was here in parts like these that she could play the lady. And just as the dire does so-

She catches a hint of movement in her peripheral vision, with a hand laid upon his shoulder for him as if to be ushered away and assigned to something or someone more easily manageable.

“Bring the boy,” she says, without the slightest hint of doubt or hesitation. And either by the directness of her eyes as they lifted from beneath thick eye lashes to her host, or because of what was already familiarity and habit in the viscountess’s visits, they needn’t even had to ask what she meant or which one.

Nervous did that one look, but there was no move to oppose her request. And he said nothing much more unless she spoke to him, requesting answers to questions about himself and his life although he sounded confused by it nearly every time.

There was not a person in the booth that they had escorted her to when they had arrived, although many already had filled in the seats in the mess pit or the more public sweating quarters below. Barton remained as well as the boy that she had requested as either an attendant or a guard, the former seated comfortably while the other remained standing, as the dire noblewoman herself stood for a good long moment at the edge, touching on the railing. Scrying through all the expansive space, and dust that looked like gold clouds below.

The guarding boy that they had stolen from the front, after a while cleared his throat and leaned forward to the attendant just a little to whisper. "What is it that your lady is looking for? Can she spot some advantage by the weather or winds?"

Unbeknownest to them, as she's turned away, she smiles.

"No, while you may have tired of these amphitheatre, there are those like the Viscountess - a true fan of the colloseum who never tire from seeing more blood spill. She's salivating," Barton spoke.

Although she looked neither dire or barbariac, as the yellow light-weight fabric tossed over her shoulder and her hair moved gently with the breeze and was crescented by the light. She closed her eyes for but a second, as she held onto the rails a bit more tightly - knowing enough that there were those that might not find her face a friend. Savouring the alive vividity of the crowd, and again like a dream, the heated embrace of the sun.