Aimless Paths of the Wanderer

[Jasper de Montchrestien (D)]

One of the few otherwise negligible advantages to being self-employed and impoverished is that there is no particular obligation to be self-employed and impoverished in your actual shop, especially when business was not much slow as inanimate. So I closed the shop, pulled on my threadbare coat and went to be self-employed and impoverished by the central fountain of one of the open courtyards you can find scattered about the more fashionable areas of Mont Nuit.

I don’t quite know what draws me to such places, especially in such cold weather, but I find it peaceful. The sound of splashing water soothes my restlessness and the open space appeases the usual bustle of the narrow streets. I think it may the urban equivalent of a mountain top, mortifying the flesh and liberating the soul and all that.

I sat cross-legged on the wide marble rim of the fountain, tucking my coat tightly about me to afford some protection from the harsh fingers of the wind and the occasional chill benediction of the fountain itself. I had brought a loose-left folio of papers with me and I had a stub of a pencil in my pocket but mainly I watched the people who passed me by and let my thoughts wander, awaiting inspiration … from without or within.

[Khalidah Clavel (I)]

It was bitter cold as I made my way back to the Night Court. I hated the cold, almost missed the heat of Tamir the dry warmth that drained the moisture from everything, but was still...warm.

I paused in an open courtyard, a fountain and several people filling it. Sunlight was washing down and I turned my face up to it, seeking even the illusion of warmth. Ah! Even Bright Sammash shone in this cold realm. I smiled for a moment and remembered home. I could almost feel the desert.

[Jasper de Montchrestien (D)]

As I was sitting there a thin shaft of sunlight broke the cloud cover painting the courtyard in shimmer of gold. It was winter sun, though, bright but still cold, sharp and swift like a blade. I shivered a little. It was almost like the sudden regard of a merciless deity … or not so much merciless as careless, equally and arbitrarily capable of tender caresses and utter destruction.

I turned to catch the sparkle of the light upon the clear waters of the fountain and then back again to see the spill of sunlight across the stone and, as I did so, my attention was caught by a small figure, stilled among the passing crowds, her face turned up almost in worship to the glimpse of sun. I thought at first it was a child, she was so small and slender, and the gesture filled with such child-like wonder, but even that simple movement was possessed of a grace and strength that could never have belonged to a child. From my current position I could see little of her face, but the attitude, the expression I wanted to capture.

I grabbed clumsily for the nearest sheet of paper. It already bore a half-started sketch of Caresse no Mandrake that had somehow become interrupted and wasn’t one of my better efforts by any means (I can only suppose I had been somewhat distracted during the process of drawing it), so I turned the page round and began instead upon the outlines of the girl-woman across the courtyard.

[Khalidah Clavel (I)]

There! The almost warmth of the sun kissing my skin felt good, even if it was more illusion than fact. I turned my head slightly, angling my face more fully into the glare, eyes closed and muscles relaxed. The hood of my cloak slipped, revealing my loosely bound hair and exposing the nape of my neck.

I shivered as a chill draft blew across my neck and down my back. Winter was coming, and the days of sunlight were coming to a close. Longest Night was fast approaching too, and the Masque. I sighed. Another fete, another evening of strangers and assignations. Calandria no doubt wanted me to perform.

Reluctantly I turned away from the sun, resigning myself to returning to Eglantine. My gaze swept the square, and narrowed on a young man furiously sketching by the fountain. He looked so intent, and I wondered what he was so captivated with.

He looked up at me. Bent back to his sketch then looked up again. Me. He was drawing me!

[Jasper de Montchrestien (D)]

Within seconds, I was completely absorbed, frowning over my sketch with fierce concentration, glancing up quickly every now to make sure what I was producing on paper was in some way comparable to the original. I usually make an effort to capture only the ideas of people, the essence of what made me want to draw them in the first place, rather than themselves. It has always struck me as somehow ill-mannered to do otherwise, until they have given me their permission. For all I had spent several nights trying (and failing) to re-create the insubstantial grace of LaValle no Alyssum, I had certainly never drawn him, although the next time he visited me I might pluck up the courage to ask.

Unfortunately, I had got rather carried away with myself this time, and had produced less of a sketch than a likeness. The little drawing was suffused with a melancholy I had not consciously realised had been there … as if the subject sought with upturned face something that the everyday world denied her. It was a hasty, clumsy thing, nothing to what I can do with time and attention, but I found I rather liked it regardless. Probably I would change my mind in a couple of days and destroy it. I seem to be somewhat mercurial about my work.

I glanced up a final time and found that my subject was staring straight at me, her face surprisingly solemn amidst the loosely-bound spirals of her hair. And her eyes … astonishingly bright and clear. There was a colour it would take considerable ingenuity to re-create in paint. I wondered it I could mix it… And then, realising the direction of my thoughts and, also, that I had been caught in taking something of a liberty, I felt a shamed blush heating my cheeks.

I made a clumsy gesture as if that would somehow excuse my behaviour and, at that moment, the chill wind seized the paper with cruel, playful fingers and whipped it across the courtyard to deposit it at her feet. I hissed a curse; there was nothing for it but to run in pursuit.

[Khalidah Clavel (I)]

Gently I retrieved the parchment wrapped around my feet before it could blow away again. On one side was a half finished sketch of a woman. Her smile was cruel and her eyes alight with glee. And on the other was myself, face upturned in rapture to the sun, only my profile visible. And in every stark line was yearning.

He ran over, ostensibly to retrieve his sketch, the tell tale flags of a blush riding his cheekbones. He had curious spectacles on his face. Thin constructions of wire and glass. Most curious.

"Is this how I look, to everyone who sees me?" My voice was curious and a little worried. Was I so transparent, so easy to read?

[Jasper de Montchrestien (D)]

Despite the chill, I felt flushed with heat, as though I had been caught in some strangely shameful act. I held my hand out for the drawing, clumsy with eagerness, possibly fearful for its safety, possibly conscious that she held something that felt rather like a part of me, even though it was a representation of her.

She looked up from the paper, her expression hard to fathom but she sounded anxious. I shook my head. “Hardly. It was how you looked in that one moment, when you thought nobody was watching.” As ever, I sounded more abrupt than I meant to be. “I should apologise,” I said, blinking at her, “I don’t usually capture so close a likeness without asking permission first. I’ve discovered that people don’t tend to thank me for it.”

[Khalidah Clavel (I)]

I looked at the sketch once more before carefully passing it to him. He seemed most eager to have it back. I felt relieved though. He had just captured a moment, I wasn't so transparent to the world.

"You draw beautifully. I was just surprised to see myself on the page, looking so... yearning. I never knew I could look thus just thinking about the desert. Thank you." He seemed so out of sorts, awkward almost around others, even me. I smiled softly at the idea. Finally, another perfect D'Angeline as uncomfortable with people as I. No doubt he was just flustered that I had caught him out, and had impeccable manners other times.

[Jasper de Montchrestien (D)]

I grinned at the praise, feeling rather sun-warmed by her smile which peeped out as though it visited it only rarely. There’s nothing like a compliment to something you hold dear to make you relax. “Thank you … I draw … erratically. Sometimes I think I’m a genius, and sometimes I think I’m deluded. But this has turned out well.”

I wondered if I could make more of it than a hasty sketch … colour, she needed some colour but, then, perhaps it was just a moment and I’d ruin it in an effort to make more of it. I’d done that sort of thing of before. Perhaps some things are never meant to be more than a moment. Now there was a thought.

“Um,” I said, still flying on the wings of the thoughts that had come to me painted in the bright colours of inspiration, “if you genuinely like it you can have it. It is you after all, so you have as much right to it as I have. Perhaps it could remind you of home.”

[Khalidah Clavel (I)]

My smile faltered and dimmed. Not much here in this land reminded me of home. I looked at the sketch in my hands and remembered the cruel sprite on the back.

"Ah, but I am not the only female you depicted. What will the other woman say to you when she learns you gave her likeness to a mouse? Otherwise I would be honored to keep it." Again that soft smile. I didn't smile much, and here he seemed to pull them from me.

"As with all art, don't do it for others, do it only for yourself and your love of it. It is the only reason I dance. And so it should be when you draw."

[Jasper de Montchrestien (D)]

Her smile faded as quickly as it had appeared, leaving her face stark and sombre once more.

I turned the paper over and could not quite repress a shudder at the ghostly lines of Caresse no Mandrake. “Ah, yes, a beautiful monster. She would be an ill-omen indeed. And not one of my better pieces, either.”

I nodded as she went on speaking. She may have called herself a mouse but there was nothing of the mouse about her when she mentioned dancing. It made her eyes burn brightly. “You have discovered my passion, and now I have discovered yours. A dancer, you say? I should have guessed from the way you move and hold yourself.”

[Khalidah Clavel (I)]

I tilted my head and really looked at him; he did not look like an adept, and the only artists I knew where from Eglantine.

" I think your work quite fine, and I live among some of the finest artists. You are not from Eglantine House are you? I would have remembered your face. I am Khalidah." My given name, why hadn't I told him Celestine? I remembered the sketch he had drawn of me, and Celestine was not evident in any of those lines.

[Jasper de Montchrestien (D)]

At the suggestion that I could be from Eglantine I gave a bark of laughter, my eyes glittering at her from over the silver rims of my glasses. “Surely you can’t think I’m an adept? Why, I’d starve to death if my face and body were my main sources of income.” Hmmm…even though they weren’t my finances were shaky at best. I grinned at the irony. “No, I’m a Marquist by trade, a gentleman by birth and an artist by nature.”

“Khalidah…” I repeated her name softly. The syllables sounded alien on my tongue, but I could hear their music. “Does it have a meaning? Oh my name is Jasper, by the way. Jasper de Montchrestien.”

[Khalidah Clavel (I)]

Carefully I listened to the details of him. Jasper de Montchrestien. I had heard of a few adepts going to see him rather than Javier, the Court Marquist. Rumors were he was good. Interesting.

And no, he was no more fit to be an adept than I, but in this world, it hardly mattered. The ink and charcoal staining his hands gave him away as an artist. And as he was more spare than lovely, as most D'Angelines seemed, he was still striking. Unlike myself. My only beauty was in my movements, and in the hallmark Clavel eyes. I smiled at that. Not even my vaunted brothers had the Clavel eyes.

"It means 'immortal' or 'divine one' in Sanskrit. I was named for the Princess my Grandfather wed when he was a young man and in high favor with the Sultan. In D'Angeline, they call me Celestine, but I do not really care for it. How does a man of such varying backgrounds come to find himself in a cold square sketching strangers? I would think you had much business to attend to, or at the very least, a willing model or two to pose for you?" I blushed a little at my audacity but kept my solemn gave level with his. I was curious and wanted to know. His sketches were good and I thought it strange he would be here.

[Jasper de Montchrestien (D)]

She had an eerily attentive look as I rambled on about myself, as if she was storing everything I said more, I think, from a sense of social duty than any particular interest. Perhaps a different kind of man – one who did not look to closely - might find it flattering.

“It suits you far better than Celestine. Khalidah has dignity and grace and power … like you. I fear Celestine is the name of a prissy girl in a ruffled dress. Why do you let them call you it, if you do not like it?” I tilted my head slightly as I looked at her, surprised that she was blushing. She had far too much gravity to be coy.

I gave a lazy shrug. “Business has been as slow as toffee and my muse seems to have abandoned me, fickle wretch that she is. And I like to watch people, and this is a good place to do it. Occasionally inspiration saunters past. Or,” I offered a faintly self-conscious grin, “stops to stare at the sun.”

[Khalidah Clavel (I)]

He was right about my name. Celestine was not who I was. Khalidah Al-Zarifa, 'Divine Dancer' is what they had called me. I could almost see my mother's kind smile as she patiently showed me how to dance, the scent of cinnamon and sandalwood rising from her skin. She was so beautiful, my mother. She would not have liked the name Celestine either.

She also would not have liked how I had permitted myself to be sold into bondage, and done nothing to free myself. I hadn't. I knew what I had to do to free myself, and I balked at it. Mayhap there was another way.

I carefully considered my words before speaking.

"If your business is so slow, then perhaps this is a sign telling you to pursue your art. Being a marquist must be challenging, but no more so than any other artist. Mayhap you should try to create and sell one of your works. And as for inspiration... if you can draw so skilled a sketch seeing me for only a moment, what could you do with hours?"

I held my breath. Would he want me for a model? Posing for a painting could be no harder than taking an assignation I suppose, and if this worked, I could perchance earn enough to pay off my debt and finish my marque.

I looked at his hands. They were well shaped and strong, capable of wielding a needle and tapper, or deftly hold a brush and render beauty. Yes, I could see potential in those hands, and the quicksilver of his eyes behind his flashing spectacles. Here was someone who could create beauty the likes of which none had seen, I knew it, as surely as I knew how to dance.

[Shaye Sellick(D)]

I found a small house run by a tsingani woman that was cheap and was still standing to stay at. She was nice and the deepness of her eyes made me wonder what she was smiling at. She looked at me as if she were looking through me not at me.
"Thank you ma'am. I appreciate this very much."
She just smiled at me and nodded her head and walked away.
My room wasn't really all that small. There was a bed and a table and chair to write at and a closet and space to pace. She had put me in a very nice room. It over looked the east side of the city and I could not help wondering what the sunrise might look like from here. Smiling I washed up and decided to head out.
Walking out of the boarding house and into the narrow streets of Nights Doorstep I realized that this city had more people than I had originally thought there were. Stunned by the thought I stopped at a large fountain that was nicely populated and sat just staring around at all the people.
There was a young girl. No wait a young woman by her features standing in the square looking up at the sun peaking through the clouds.
I could not help but stare at her. She was enchanting. She was small and delicate looking. Almost as if she was a doll and yet she had this aura of fierceness about her. She was wonderful. I could not take my eyes off of her and it seemed I wasn't the only one. There was a gentleman sitting not far from me on the fountain sketching wildly he seemed not to notice anything else around him but her and his sketch. It was amazing how his hands just flew across the paper and looked like they never wanted to stop, but then they did. They both stopped and stared at each other and I dropped my head so not to be noticed staring. I watched out of the corner of my eyes while his sketch went flying to her feet and she picked it up so carefully, as he walked to her and they started to converse. They stood there talking and she smiled. Again and again she smiled and my heart lifted every time I saw it. It warmed me to the core. She was beautiful when she smiled. Her soft gold like skin seemed to glow with an exotic light. Her eyes when I finally saw a flash of them were of such a pale blue that it reminded me of the lake water near my home town in the heat of summer. She made me ach for home and yet never want to leave the city again only for the chance to glimpse her again. I gave up trying to hide my looks. I didn't care who saw me. I was trying to take in as much of her as I could before she left my sight.

[Jasper de Montchrestien (D)]

Her gaze seemed to drift for a moment, rather as it had when she had stood and stared at the sun. I suspected her thoughts were far away from this wintery land that could not see the beauty in her true name. I waited patiently for her to speak. Silence has never bothered me particularly … and one can watch people as they think. My eyes ran across her body, but it was the artist who looked, not the man. Beauty is easy compared to grace. Beauty is a flower: stillness and artifice and composure. Grace is the butterfly you watch from the corner of your eyes as it vanishes in a flurry of impossible colours. I wondered if I could draw that … or if it would be like trying to hold the early morning mist with grasping human fingers.

But I almost ached to try.

When she next spoke, she seemed to have chosen her words with care, and my heart leapt to hear then. And fell again almost instantly. The things I could afford could be listed on a fingernail, and it seemed rather likely that the time of an adept was probably not one of them. I do not regret the actions that have led to my straightened circumstances but I am not accustomed to them. I don’t suppose anyone who grew up in a noble household could ever become accustomed to poverty. But, at times like this, I hated it. It was like a lived in a golden cage, limited on all sides by spaces and money.

“I … I …” I said, feeling suddenly almost feverishly warm despite the weather. Financial matters make me self-conscious. “I … I’m afraid, although I would sell my soul without a second thought for the opportunity to have you pose for me … my soul is pretty much all I have left to sell. You would do better to take assignations, Khalidah.”

I felt almost stifled with my own bitterness and yearning and glanced out idly across the square. There was an attractive young man some distance away … staring so fixedly at Khalidah that it was a wonder his eyes weren’t watering. I looked away again hastily

[Khalidah Clavel (I)]

Disappointment made my next breath hitch. No. Assignations were not for me. I saw him look away, the same disappointment and yearning in his face. And shame.

I would not let this chance pass.

Swiftly I grabbed one of his hands in my own small ones. Turning it over I studied the lines on it and looked at him imploringly. "Pay me if you sell your work. Until then I will pose for free. I have few responsibilities, and... no heart for assignations right now. Please. Look at your hands, in your heart. You can create, and I believe you will sell your art. And if not, you will have lost nothing. Please..." Begging was not like me, and yet here I was, in an open courtyard begging this man to have faith, and to let me pose for him. What depths had I sunk to that I would beg rather than sell my flesh and honor Namaah?

I dropped his hand and bowed my head. "Please forgive my forwardness." I tried to muster even a hint of pride, and failed.

[Shaye Sellick(D)]

Seeing the young artist with her made me wonder of their relationship. he blushed as he spoke to her and i saw her face fill with a sort of despair and my heart dropped. what ever he had said she did not like. she grasped his hand and my legs tightened as i strained to stay put. he who made her heart sink should not be worthy enough to be touched by her. when he looked at me i straightened up and flushed. I had been caught but not by her. my eyes met his and i could feel the jealosy coating my eyes like a shroud. i kept his gaze strongly and waited to see what Fate had in store for me on this blistery winter day.

[Jasper de Montchrestien (D)]

My eyes flew wide behind my spectacles as she seized my cold hand in hers but I did not protest. Her reserve cracked and it was like some yawning fissure all the way to her soul, and I was both moved and shocked by the yearning in her pleading eyes. There was passion in every line of her body and in every word she uttered and it was like the glare of the sun – almost unbearably bright. My heart gave a painful twist to witness such passion borne only of desperation and despair, and I wondered what had happened to Khalidah no Eglantine to inspire it.

When she released my hand, I reached out impulsively and lightly touched her arm, although I do not really consider myself a tactile person. "I will sell it," I said, fervently. And as I spoke, I realised I believed it. And that was partly, in fact almost wholly, because she did. I think perhaps she was the only person I had ever met to evince such confidence in me. My parents thought my aspirations foolish and inconvenient. Even Carresse no Mandrake thought me an eccentricity she occasionally indulged. "I will,” I said again, my eyes bright with conviction, “And I will be worthy of your trust. We shall show the world beauty the like of which it has never dared dream before.”

I gave a chuckle, and whispered, trying to lighten the mood: “If all else fails I’m sure we could sell it to him.” My eyes flicked to the entranced young man.

[Khalidah Clavel (I)]

I smiled, and it felt radiant. I wanted to laugh out loud at this success. He had agreed to try, not just with words, but with the brightness shining in his eyes. Thank you, Mother Ishtar! Thank you.

"You will show the world, I'm just your model. Thank you." My smile reached my eyes and I covered his hand on my arm with one of my own, squeezing softly. It was a first step.

My eyes followed his and alighted on a young man sitting on the fountain. He was pale, so very fair. And he stared unabashedly at me. It was disconcerting. My smile faded a little and I remembered then that my hood had fallen down, and that my customary face veil was still sitting in my rooms. A childhood of Akkadian conditioning and modesty was hard to break. I looked away and gracefully pulled my hood back up.

"So, Messier Artist, when shall I come by for your first sitting?" My face was solemn again, but not unhappy, as it so usually was.

[Jasper de Montchrestien (D)]

I had seen her smile a few times. Her face was so grave and still that you marked it when she did. But this was utterly different, utterly transforming. It made her eyes sparkle like a sun-warmed sea. It was also the sort of smile I suspect they would teach to adepts – the sort of smile that makes a man bask and preen and feel himself a giant – but there was nothing tutored in Khalidah’s, and from what she had said about assignations it didn’t seem like her patrons often inspired it.

“If you think you’d be just a model, then you need to learn something about art,” I said, smiling my own crooked smile at her. “People don’t look at a drawing or a painting that touches them and think ‘my, what a fine artist.’ They stare and they gasp and they say ‘who is that beautiful woman’ or ‘why is she smiling’ or ‘what does she yearn for.’ And then they grow confused because however much they think about the smile or the look or the beauty, they can never truly possess it or understand it. Although,” I added, widening my eyes, “hopefully they will think of the artist a little and remember to pay him.”

I noticed that the attention of the young man across the square seemed to be making her uncomfortable so I moved a little to intercept his gaze. “The end of the week?” I asked, eagerly. In truth I would have liked to say now, come now, but we both probably had work we ought to be doing. And my shop had been closed for too long. I could have missed … oh … maybe even one whole customer by now. “If you don’t have any prior commitments.”

[Shaye Sellick(D)]

I let my gaze soften as i saw her smile and the artist look at me and chuckle. He was using me to make a joke probably. they usually did. i never thought of myself as a handsome young man and artists always told me i was nothing special. but i didn't care. the way she moved while putting on her hood and how she moved to gain his attention was so graceful and full of power. i... well i don't know how i felt about it. i knew i liked it. but there was more there than just mere like.
I sat down again and i brought my feet up under me and sat thinking. staring down at the fountains water i couldn't help but remember the look on her face when the sun had shone down on her. it was intoxicating. then my mind wandered more. the beauty she has and the grace she must be an adept.oh what an adept she must be. i glanced over at them and saw a yearning look in the artists eyes as he stood in front of her probably waiting for an answer. He was a lucky one to me. so lucky.

[Khalidah Clavel (I)]

He looked so excited, and in all honesty, I felt it too. No doubt if Calandria found out I was helping a non-House artist, and taking money from him, she would see me skinned alive. She was kind, but she was still an adept, and my Dowayne. No matter. I would turn over the monies as part of repayment of my contract and I would be free of that place.

"The end of the week will be fine, it's just a few days away. as much as I would love to start now, I needs must clear my days, and no doubt you must prepare as well. Will the afternoon work? I should have that time, and well into the evening free, unless an assignation is made for me." I grimaced a little. I hated that Calanadria had free license to sell me whenever and to whomever she wished.

[Shaye Sellick(D)]

my head popped up as i realized what i was thinking... she WAS probably an adept. which means she has in's in the houses. Carla is looking into completing her training here. she has already started back home. if only i could speak to her about hw i could present my sister to them...i looked at the young woman and i sat up straighter and decided to stand. i would try and aproach her once the young artist was out of the way.

[Jasper de Montchrestien (D)]

“The afternoon is absolutely fine. It will give me time to buy some new supplies. As you can see,” I added, with a scowl, “I’m starting to recycle paper.” Could I afford what I needed? I did a quick calculation in my head, my eyes narrowing to slits as I thought. Could I? Did I care? The shop was well stocked, as always, which was my concern. And probably I could have done with a better coat, and there was a hole in the sole of my left boot but it wasn’t that cold and it didn’t look like it would rain for a week or so at least. Mind made up, I nodded. “Yes,” I said again, “perfect.”

I glanced across the square again. The eager young man was still there, still staring. “Would you like me to walk you home?” I asked.

[Shaye Sellick(D)]

when i saw the artist look at me i composed my self and tried to send a look of trust across my face. i slowly bowed my head in his direction and continued to watch them both.

[Khalidah Clavel (I)]

I followed Jasper's eyes, the young man was still standing there, still watching us. Watching me. It made me nervous, to be looked at so hungrily, even though he had an innocent looking face. Jasper just watched me, eyes unreadable behind those odd silver spectacles.

"Thank you, I would greatly appreciate that. Even we Servants are accosted now and again and I... thank you. It is not far." I gestured in the direction of the Houses and tucked my cloak more firmly about my body. It was so very cold for me. I wondered how he could stand it, his coat being so threadbare and all. I tucked that thought away to think on later.

"How long have you been a marquist, if I may ask?" I was curious, having known only d'Channing and he was not very talkative.

[Shaye Sellick(D)]

I decided to try and approach them. i dropped my hands to my sides with my palms towards them trying to show i was not going to threaten them. i slowly started to walk up to them and when i reached with in about 5 feet of the two i stopped and bowed.
"Miss and Missure. My name is Shaye Sellick from Siovale and i am new to the city. I do not mean you any Harm but i have never seen a true Servant of Namaah before." i kept my head lowered and stuck in my bow.
"i do apologies for staring so and i hope you accept it. it was quite rude of my but your beauty is unparalleled."
I stayed bowed and i could feel my heart racing as i waited for her answer.