Post by Yvan-Etienne d'Lantier(D) on Jan 20, 2008 19:28:07 GMT -5
A week before the L’Envers Wedding
We entered into the Black Boar. Not my usual hunting ground, but I liked the fact that it was busy, filled with rowdy Albans and Eirans – mostly because that allowed us to remain inconspicuous. Besides, it was still rather nice. "Let's find someplace a little out of the way," Cilla told me, her voice more demanding than asking. "That way we can entertain each other without to many prying eyes."
"Yes, of course," I replied, my stuttering gone at last, though my manner remained that of a lackey. There was an alcove a little further down, one at the end of the room, and so I guided her there, nodding in understanding to the red-haired Eiran lass who tended that section.
In no moment, she came by, and I smiled, offering first pick to my tablemate. "Well, what will you, My Lady?"
For myself, it would be whatever she chose, another sign of submission, even though I did usually enjoy my whiskey, not matter what the company.
She seemed to contemplate on the matter as though it were a rather important one. Damnit, woman, I wanted to say, it’s only a god-forsaken drink! She was exhasperating, but none of it showed as my face remained the mask of patience.
"I will take a glass of Eiran wine, "she said with a smile, blatantly, rudely ignoring the serving lad. With that, she then turned to me, "and what do you drink?"
"The same," I replied with a sheepish smile. "What wonderful taste you have," I added with a grin that was intended to be a bit idiotic.
Eiran wine. What a choice, when mead and whiskey were so much higher on the scale of quality.
She smiled at my compliment (if the chit only knew what I was thinking, I thought, amused to no ends, though none of it was on the surface) and asked, "do you have any wives or lovers I should be concerned with?"
"No-one you should be concerned with," I replied with a smile that looked purposely dazed. Oh, she should rather be concerned with Ideaus, yes she should, if her presence troubled him so. But that was not for me to tell her now - it was hers to find out, as soon as possible. I was already having visions of all she would endure for her naughtiness. Punishment worthy of Kushiel, no doubt, was in her close destiny. Eh, I was already doomed to punishment myself - I may as well add blasphemy and murder to my long list of sins, heretic that I was.
I nodded, seemingly satisfied. The boy returned and she took her drink, still not giving him much mind. "Tell me something interesting about yourself," she asked.
"Something interesting," I replied with a sheepish grin. "I think it's rather interesting that I am interested in you," I stated with a smile that was intended to be just a little stupid. "Will that do, or shall I add some small trivia about Edouard de Tierlan, artist extraordinaire?" I asked, concluding my question with an artful flourish of an incline.
She smiled knowingly at my comment, as if one should find her interesting. "An artist you say?" she repeated me, drawing out the words as if she found great interest in it. "What sort of art do you do?"
I never tell the truth to those I do not intend to let live.
"I am a musician," I replied. "I am a song master - I make people sing." And indeed, I did. She was next on my list of pupils, and she would sing beautifully.
She inclined her head slightly, "a musician? What sort of things do you write?" she asked. As she awaited my answer she brought her glass up and drank, deliberately letting some of the wine stick to her upper lip. Gods, but she lacked subtlety. She then slowly licked it off, teasing me.
Ah the minx. She was playing predator, yes she was. No matter. In the end, she would see who was the master and who was the slave.
“Songs of love, songs of woe,” I replied evenly. “Whatever my masters orders, I write. But perhaps I shall write a song for you then, that you may sing at last?”
Oh, the irony. To seduce her with promises of my skill. I love being me.
She raised a brow as I mentioned being a master, but did not pursue the matter. "I do not know how well I can sing, but you can write a song if you like." She smiled a little and leaned in toward me, "perhaps you could teach me to sing."
"I would very certainly love to teach you to sing," I replied submissively. "But I've no doubt you will sing beautifully."
Oh, that she would. I had already plans to wrap her in chains, to make her squeal and weep and scream until her throat gave only a pitiful wretch of a sound, until her battered body was naught but a shattered thing. Singing! Ah! There would be more than songs to be heard, if I could contrive it.
She nodded a little, but her voice was nonchalant as she said, "well, if you like we can sit here and talk about singing all day or we can leave this place and make a song of our own."
"Then, let me take you home," I replied impatiently. "I would love to hear you sing, my beautiful snow-queen."
Oh, yes, yes. I was delighted that she was to fall in the pit of despair I was preparing. It was absolutely perfect.