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Post by Landis d'Ames nó Mandrake on Mar 27, 2010 22:10:54 GMT -5
The bell over the door to the marquist's salon chimed cheerfully when I pushed it open, standing aside briefly to let a fellow adept pass before heading inside, trusting that my patron would follow me. I had barely taken two steps inside when the marquist emerged from the back, wiping his hands on a cloth.
"Landis, what a pleasant surprise," he said by way of greeting. "Have you finally found the money to finish your marque, boy? I swear, it took your mother half as long to finish hers!"
"Just how old are you, old man, that you were around to put my mother to the needle?" I replied, grinning as I removed the emerald from deep within my cloak. "Now, to business. Will this finish my marque?"
Messire d'Channing plucked the emerald out of my grasp and gazed at it, turning it this way and that as he inspected its quality. "By my estimation, it is more than enough, Landis," he cupped the emerald in his palm and grinned at me. "Well, I guess we better get you strapped in, eh?"
I nodded, and then I remembered that I had brought someone with me. "Messire d'Channing, I was wondering if mayhap my patron here could witness the marquing? He is curious regarding our traditions in the Night Court."
"Well, Mandrakes usually do need someone to hold their hands during the marquing," he chuckled, then glanced at Asfandiyar, sizing him up. "I suppose he could witness it, so long as he behaves himself."
"Thank you, Messire," I said, motioning for my companion to follow us to the back room.
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Post by Asfandiyar Azarkevanejad on Mar 27, 2010 22:31:46 GMT -5
The salon smelled of oak boll, slightly acrid but not unpleasant. I slipped in behind Landis, a little unnerved by the way the other adept had eyed me as he passed. It was that look… the confused one, like the looker was seeing somewhat he couldn't add up, and didn’t like it. Though I was used to it, it never ceased to make me feel less than human.
But I was with Landis now, and what negative could ever overcome that gift? I bowed to the marquist, thinking of Darien. I had not thought that I would witness this art before returning to his salon. "Thank you, Aghaye d'Channing. I am grateful for this opportunity. If I should get in your way, I welcome you to just… heave me out the door!" I smiled at him and chuckled a little, excited.
Following Landis, we three ducked into the marquing room, and I had the sense that I was entering a sort of chapel to my Master's achievements. My eyes were wide, looking around curiously. Clean, cozy, innocuous enough. But what pain was wreaked upon that table? I shivered to imagine it.
"Now, Landis, you know the procedure," d'Channing said, batting Landis' cloak lightly. "Disrobe whatever needs disrobing and we'll get started straight away. If I recall aright, there isn't much more to be done." He circled around the table, fiddling with his tools. "Think you can handle all of it in one go?"
I had to smile over at Landis at that little dig. I'd imagined him to be so stolid until my little slip during the assignation. Apparently I was not the only one who knew he was not fond of pain.
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Post by Landis d'Ames nó Mandrake on Mar 27, 2010 22:49:01 GMT -5
I sighed and rolled my eyes, but still managed to smile at the comment. "I believe I can handle much more than one or two inches, Messire. You wound me with your words!" But I obeyed his directions, stripping without regard for anyone's modesty. They had both seen me naked on other occasions, after all.
Now that I was divested of my clothes, I stretched out on the table, remaining perfectly still as the marquist's fingers slowly made their way up my spine.
"The unfinished part is near the top," I supplied helpfully, grinning at my own jest.
"Stay quiet!" Messire d'Channing snapped. "Mandrakes always chatter to mask their fear," he said, and I knew it was mostly directed at Asfandiyar.
"I do not fear your little needles, old man," I muttered, focusing on relaxing all the muscles in my back to prepare for the pain that I knew would come.
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Post by Asfandiyar Azarkevanejad on Mar 28, 2010 1:21:16 GMT -5
Little needles, indeed! They sparked light through the air as the marquist prepared them, inspecting them for flaws no doubt, so there would be no surprises. They were perhaps not as ostentatious as the needles Landis had used on my skin, being smaller and able to be set into a perpendicular handle, but I guessed that perhaps the needles at Mandrake were derived from these ones. That one art should beget another, and then circle back to its source… the symmetry of the idea sat very nicely with me.
I was still not quite adjusted to how quickly and guilelessly Landis could disrobe, so I blushed and turned my eyes downward reflexively when his garments started falling away. I wondered for a moment how it must feel to be so confident in one's form, but my ill-behaved eyes found their way back to his flesh, and distracted me from my thoughts. He looked so flexible and strong, stretched out across the marquist's bier, and I enjoyed the pale curves of him, glowing against the flames of his hair, when he laid flat on his stomach.
I smiled sweetly when the marquist chastised the Mandrake way of displacement. Though, I could certainly sympathize.
"It's... a little like a sacrifice, isn't it?" I said timidly. I wondered if the marquist ever saw it the way I was looking on the scene now. It was difficult as a child of temples not to, though. "Blood is to be spilt. A... beautiful specimen of the gods' creation ... laid out on an altar of sorts, with the trained marquist officiating. Your tools are even ritualistic. Used for nothing but this refined work." I suddenly thought perhaps my observations would ring too dire, so I chuckled lightly. "Ah… Bebakhshid, my thoughts go straight to my lips. And I give away my own upbringing."
I looked around me self-consciously for a place to perch that would not be in the way. "There," said the marquist with a gesture of his flat hammer, and I found the stool, dragging it to a place against the wall where I could maintain a clear view of my Master's face through these proceedings. I wanted to observe his reactions, look into his eyes as he suffered. I felt I could catch glimpses of something sacred if I did. To attempt to understand him… my lifelong drive to truly know mankind was sharpened to a much keener point with him. But there was more to it that I just couldn’t put my finger on.
Landis seemed to be breathing himself down into a meditative space, and so I settled in to perfect stillness, watching his impossibly alluring face in repose. I thought 'I will seek to truly see him.' I did not think many had been afforded this unique opportunity. I would make absolutely certain not to miss anything.
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Post by Landis d'Ames nó Mandrake on Mar 28, 2010 9:40:19 GMT -5
I gave my patron a pointed look. "The image you have just given me, my dear, while appropriate to the context, is completely unwanted at this time." There was almost a romantic quality to his description: all these years of service, ritual preparation for this moment, the moment I would finish my marque and be able to serve on my own terms.
I remained perfectly still as the marquist made a few measurements. "Oh, come now, man! Have you not marqued many Mandrakes by now that you know their proportions?"
"Quiet!" He snapped, and I heard the sound of the calipers being replaced. "Other Mandrakes don't have as much fat on their backs..." I heard him smile as he patted my shoulder. "Now, shall we finish this, boy? Once I've started, you're to endure it until I've finished, is that clear?"
I took a deep breath. "Bring the pain, old man."
I met my patron's eyes as the needle touched my skin and began to blaze a trail of white-hot fire along the surface of my back, biting the inside of my cheek to keep from crying out with the pain of it. "This...feels worse...than it looks..." I grunted, my eyes never leaving my patron.
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Post by Asfandiyar Azarkevanejad on Mar 29, 2010 2:13:16 GMT -5
The marquist's directions were almost as I'd imagined Landis might deliver them to someone else… In a much different context naturally. But then again, not so different. I had to smile slyly through the tendrils of hair that came down around my face. I found that I liked this d'Channing.
I folded up onto the stool, my back to the wall, slight proportions easily balled on the seat so that I could hug my knees and rest my chin on them. When Landis' eyes found mine I met his gaze guilelessly, though astonished that he should choose to use me as his anchor through this little storm.
As the marquist's hammer began to beat a soft rhythm on the needle mount, I could read Landis' pain writ large in the tensing of his jaw, the dilation of his pupils inside their echoingly green irises. I studied his face intently, seeing every momentary nostril flare, every tiny twinge of his brow, feeling each expression pass over him as though his suffering was my own. Though, I was quite rapt… at such times I rarely betrayed my thoughts or feelings outwardly. I had heard it said that when I gave my full attention to anyone, it was like an invisible box closed out all the world but myself and that person. I had been told by many who came to beseech my aid that my eyes pierced flesh, even unto the soul. Echoes of my grandsire, and hardly complimentary. Perhaps it was indeed dark magic, I could not know for sure. But seeing into people, all their little faults and flaws and fondest imaginings, had always been a strange sort of skill for me.
And Landis was so fascinating. His perfect features - chewed by pain, as though his inmost resistance was a delicacy for those demons who live by human suffering - betrayed the most surprising insecurity. He didn't want to show weakness, and probably to anyone else it would not be visible, as it was to me. He wanted to be brave. No… bravest. Between those two degrees lay an interesting motivational gulf. And I suddenly understood his mien, the unswerving, swaggering confidence he used to bend my knee, make me want to worship him. A bloom of tenderness went through me when I saw it, though it did not in the least diminish my worship. In fact, if anything, I adored him more.
I reached out with a soft touch and brushed an errant filament of his beautiful fiery hair out of his eyes, trailing my fingertip over his cheek before withdrawing it. That touch, full of my veneration, tinged with the sweet beginnings of understanding him. "Hmm… you seem to hold your own against it though, Ma Ratu," I said with a tender smile, my eyes only for his exquisite torment.
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Post by Landis d'Ames nó Mandrake on Mar 29, 2010 10:49:46 GMT -5
His touch was a soothing balm to the burning that slowly crept up my back as the marquist took his sweet time making sure everything was coloured properly. My fingers began tapping out a tune on the edge of the table, a poor distraction, but it was better than nothing.
"Landis tries not to cry during his marquings," the marquist murmured. "His mother never cried."
"I...never cry...old...man!" I gasped, closing my eyes. "She strips them...and whips them...'til they bleed. 'Yield all' is...her creed...I forget...the rest." I would think of an ending to the song when I wasn't in horrible pain.
I was not aware of the passing of time on that table, but when the pain eased I imagined I was half-dead and unable to process the sensation, but then the marquist spoke:
"I'm going to apply the salve now, Landis. It's finished."
I sighed with relief as the salve touched my flame-kissed skin, smothering the discomfort I felt.
"It's over...it's over..." I murmured, as if to convince my mind that it was so. It was over in more ways than one.
"Yes, yes, now lie still, damn you!" The marquist snapped. "You'll only injure yourself. Damn Mandrakes, squirm as much as Valerians and then pretend they do no such thing..."
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Post by Asfandiyar Azarkevanejad on Mar 29, 2010 15:00:53 GMT -5
He was so… pretty… in pain. My cheeks were flush with the strange attraction it wreaked within me. I could feel a tingling building in those parts which had lately been kindled by my own pain. The scent of Landis' blood mixed with acrid ink wafted to my nose, and I wanted to close my eyes and drift in the intoxication of it. Landis' little song, no doubt about Mandrake House, threaded in and out of my foggy reverie, a crystalline quality about it… Mm, what was that heady, exhilarating perfume? My temples beat groggily, and I could feel that familiar brazen humming in my breastbone.
'What… no…' My confusion jolted me out of the strange drifting sea I had fallen into. It was like the room resolved back to focus and light was restored. I vibrated like a plucked string, and felt slightly weak. Where on earth had that all come from…? I rubbed my eye.
Thankfully the marquist was vehemently scolding my Master, and the force of it tied me firmly back to reality. He was rubbing his salve in a little too harshly, Landis writhing a little under the touch.
"It…. It's done? Your marque is done?" I asked Landis, looking from his dampness-sheened face to d'Channing's, my happiness knifing the curtains of fog that were too slow to disperse. I was so proud to have helped him in this… in any way he would have. "Oh, congratulations, Ratu… what does it mean? What now?"
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Post by Landis d'Ames nó Mandrake on Mar 29, 2010 15:44:03 GMT -5
I turned my head to gaze at him, who had sat patiently through the entire ordeal. "It means that my patron gifts are now my own. It means that I may leave Mandrake House and open my own salon. It means that my heart is my own." Those were the more obvious reasons, known to almost every adept in the Night Court. It was more than that for me, however, it was the continuation of many years of tradition. It meant, perhaps, that I was worth something, to my family at in general, but to my father in particular.
I pushed all thoughts of my father out of my head for the time being and slowly sat up so that I was facing my patron, the marquist hovering over me the whole time.
"There are...words...that we say when we present our marques to the dowayne for inspection," I explained, giving him a small smile.
"Will you see, Asfandiyar?"
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Post by Asfandiyar Azarkevanejad on Mar 29, 2010 16:31:13 GMT -5
Heat travelled through me at the sincere tone of his query, and I felt somehow nervous, as though a heavy mantle of responsibility had fallen over me. I was honoured. Landis was free now, to be and do whatever he wished, and I tingled to know I had witnessed the last tap of the marquist's needle, which was the very moment he made that transformation. I knew implicitly that this was a great privilege, and unfolded from my seat with shy grace.
"That you should grant me the honour to look upon it first… Of course I will see."
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Post by Landis d'Ames nó Mandrake on Mar 29, 2010 16:50:04 GMT -5
I nodded, planting my feet on the floor and rising with the practiced grace all adepts learn to cultivate. Slowly, I turned until I was facing the marquist, who was even now preparing his tools for the next time they were put to use.
"Well?" I asked, and it seemed I should not have spoken at this moment, that, even though we stood in the marquist's salon on a perfectly normal afternoon, this was a sacred moment.
"Is it well with you, Asfandiyar?"
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Post by Asfandiyar Azarkevanejad on Mar 29, 2010 17:13:08 GMT -5
The pale expanse of his back was as stirring as ever, but with its slight red weltedness, the light sheen of wiped blood and ink across his shoulders, I wanted to run my hand over it. I did reach out, but my fingertips only hovered close to the inflamed flesh, feeling its radiant heat. I did not want to cause him any more pain. My hand travelled his marque reverently as I took in the twisting chains, the harmonious shades of the mandrake plant etched there, whose colours so complimented his flesh and hair. Indeed, the marque of his house was so reminiscent of his own white, red and green palette that it looked made for him alone. The wide spread of the mandrake's speared leaves emphasized the pleasing proportion of his neat, triangular torso. And of course, d'Channing's lines were perfect. Such skill, to be able to render that level of fine detail with such an unwieldy tool.
"It's… well, it's magnificent, Ratu," I said with an honest sigh of pleasure. "Aghaye d'Channing has the gifts of a master; you should be very pleased. And these colours couldn't suit you better. Like they were designed for your decoration. You're… very beautiful." I rested my long hands on his hipbones with the lightest of pressure, afraid to displease him, but couldn’t stop myself from placing a little kiss between his shoulder blades, just below the abraded swelling of the new work. I inhaled deeply of his scent, lips murmuring meekly against his back. "Are you certain it's alright that I have been the first to see? I am hardly worthy…"
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Post by Landis d'Ames nó Mandrake on Mar 29, 2010 17:51:55 GMT -5
I could not help but smile at his words. "Oh, I am certain the dowayne will not flay me in a fit of jealousy if he discovers he was not the first person to view my marque. Fear not, my dear." I turned and walked over to the tall mirror, turning until I saw my finished marque reflected in its surface. "It appears you are correct," I breathed. It was almost unnerving, seeing the same design that adorned my mother's skin now inked on my own flesh. "Naamah's grace, it's complete..." My mind began racing: there were letters I had to write, tasks I had to accomplish, paths I had to choose to walk. Concentrate, Landis! Focus on the present time, the future can wait until after Ignace has seen your marque."I need to return to Mandrake post-haste," I said, voice full of conviction. "Messire d'Channing, I thank you for your service...all these years..." "It's about time, pup, or should I say 'fox'?" He smiled, making a dismissive gesture. "Go on and live your life, the gods know you've been waiting long enough." I inclined my head in response to his dismissal. "Come, Asfandiyar. We should leave Messire d'Channing to his work." I hoped to all the gods that the dowayne was in his office at this time of day. ((All together now: www.youtube.com/watch?v=dy5eGK026HE Landis: *does victory dance* Marquist: Landis, no dancing on the table! Landis: ......Sorry, Messire. ))
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Post by Asfandiyar Azarkevanejad on Mar 29, 2010 18:52:51 GMT -5
Landis was already dressing and moving to the door when he called me. I jumped at the swiftness with which he vanished from under my hands. His jittery excitement was like a fourth presence in the room… naturally, he should be overcome with excitement. This was the achievement to which he had aspired for… well, judging by the fade of the low part of his marque, it must have been years.
I sketched a hasty but deep bow to Aghaye d'Channing, blushing with pride at the part I had played, and feeling the influence of Landis' gleeful agitation. I back and forth rapidly from him to the marquist, knowing I would be forced to make my thanks brief. "Mamnoon, Aghaye d'Channing, for this rare opportunity to view you at your art. I will not soon forget it." Landis was half out the door already. "Er… wait… Ratu…" I jogged out after him, not certain how much longer I'd be allowed to remain at his side.
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