Indulgence - The Ultimate Playground

OOC Thread & Sign-up is here. Please read it and post accordingly before proceeding into the thread itself, thank you.​

Simply Another Day...

The Director simply sat and stared at the tall, lean man who sprawled comfortably in the wingback chair before his broad and meticulously polished and dusted mahogany desk. The man was relatively nondescript – Caucasian, with silvering dark hair and the blank, unlined face of the casual male. Yet on his dark blotter were splayed a half dozen manila file folders, and he tapped a finger to one that was a barely noticeable shade of yellow.

“And this one?” His tone was courteous, his eyebrows politely raised. His guest shifted in his chair and a subtle white clip-tag swung into view, headlined with the title Director of Security. Beneath it was the man’s face, some data encrypted in bar code form, and a subtle script at the bottom that simply read, ‘DynCorp Logistics’. His companion shrugged, and the Director frowned.

“Con man. Worth noting, but not worrisome yet as he has no history of betraying contracts or contacts. Simply… keeping an eye on things.” The Director of Security – John Adams – had a low and mellifluous voice as well, speaking in the clipped accent and rounded vowels of the American North East.

“Excellent. Thank you, John, a pleasure as always. You will let me know when his helicopter arrives?” Both men had stood up now and were shaking hands, light smiles tugging at their lips and eyes. Adams nodded his head before taking the obvious cue to withdraw, turning towards the large double doors of the office.

“Of course. Nothing is below notice, sir – but we’ll keep you apprised. Have a good day now, Director.” The him in reference was a Saudi oil Prince – young and relatively untried, but sent here for some ease of mind for his parents, since his behaviors were bringing notice and the rumor of revolt in his parents domain.

“You too John, thank you.” The Director stood and quickly flicked through the folders contents – encrypted digital copies would of course be available in his email, but like the previous director, he enjoyed some of the more old fashioned aspects of documentation and data tracking.

Director Wesley Price had begun at Indulgence – thirteen years ago, now, he mused idly – as a cabana boy. He had, within a year, earned a promotion to bartender, then guest services agent in the hotel. He made concierge on his fourth year, and had shown such a knack for the politics of the game that he had then moved into administration a couple years after as on office assistant. He had spent six years as Assistant Director under the former Director – a man who had moved into the more silent side of espionage and information trading – and found that while he understood the banalities of Indulgence; he found its safe-keeping and security a far more time consuming and exhausting, yet fulfilling, task.

It was never easy to staff a business whose ultimate goal was flesh peddling – but it was eased by knowing which people and positions were more predictably apt to be drawn into daily service. One intentionally planned on over-staffing, and when people’s posts were abandoned, it became expected. Tracking guests preferences also made it easier to predict choices, and provide suitable availability, and the data required to compile such dossiers was exhausting.

DynCorp was known for its military contracting, but thanks to its connections to the intelligence community – and it’s now shady reputation for being caught participating in the human slave trade market – they made ideal protectors and defenders of all things Indulgence. Their relationship was a mutually beneficial one, more of trade and less of money, then anything else – the political and media pull that Indulgence had was staggering, when one saw its membership roster – and DynCorp, in turn for special protection rights, could rotate in security, train their own staff, do background checks and use the intelligence community to the benefit of both companies without fear of exposing or over-extending itself, since the umbrella that Indulgence operated under was international, regardless of its base of operations being state-side.

The Assistant Director walked in just then, and Wesley found himself gratified to see her – she was visually plain, of average height and build with brown hair and brown eyes. The power and strength of will she contained, however, spoke volumes through her mesmerizing eyes, which were painfully intelligent and all too knowing as she smiled up at him.

“Good morning Wesley. I’ve just finished the rosters for next week’s staffing, but I thought I’d let you know there’s a hint of a Japanese delegation in the works, if you’re interested. I’ve already got staff pulling our youngest and tiniest, but Mr. Takagawa’s presence…” She let the words trail off, gesturing with one graceful hand, its slender fingers splayed slightly. Wesley simply sighed and nodded.

“Yes, well, big blonde amazons for him it is. Better if they barely speak English – maybe something Scandinavian or Norwegian?” The two smiled at each other – an intimate exchange, one that spoke volumes without words, even as she inclined her head to him, managing to look dutiful and regal simultaneously.

“Of course. It will be my pleasure to see to it immediately, sir.” The words were soft – the pliant, yielding manner of her behavior causing the most primal of male urges to rise violently in any who saw her; it even affected Wesley, to his chagrin.

“Thank you, Sandra. Care to join me for a walk-through?” Slang for a visual inspection of the property and its staff, but one easy to interpret as the Assistant Director quickly tucked his folders into his locking fireproof safe and secured it.

“As always, it is my utter delight to accompany you, sir.” The words mien was serious, but her eyes were laughing and her mouth caught in a lopsided half-smile as she threaded her arm through the crook of Wesley’s elbow.

“God, you are such a tease,” he said in a low voice, making her soft, husky laughter echo through the room even as they slipped through its doors, leaving the sun filled study behind them.

The premise is, relatively obviously, a sexual playground and entertainment environment for staff and guests alike. There are plenty of systems in place in the resort itself, which I will go over later. If you don't understand the premise of the thread, give it another careful read-over, or check the OOC thread.

GM's rules:
1. We will always treat each other with respect, regardless of roleplaying roles, storylines, etc. (OOCly)
2. Posts will be appropriate, story-like paragraphs with no net-speak or chat-like RP demarcation.
3. All disputes - indeed, all posts that are out of continuity or character shall go in the OOC thread - will be resolved by me, the GM.​

Another Day in the Life Of...

Wesley Price and Sandra Young began their walk-through by visiting the security suite that was next door to the administrative offices. It was only a satellite office – the primary security headquarters was located close to the gated entry leading to and from Indulgence by road – but it was well-equipped, and well-staffed to judge from the many figures hovering over computer screens and video monitors that filled the very large room.

Unlike typical staff at Indulgence, Price and Young did not wear their name tags or even their identity badges. Their security and door keys were tucked out of sight and readable range – secure in radio- and scan proofed envelopes. As the ultimate employees and most knowledgeable of not just the workings but of its staff and patrons, their security was far more important than their ability to be recognized, or to get in and out of doors.

The security men in the room, however, had both gleaming silver name badges with the Indulgence logo (an elaborate cursive I, wrought in delicate vines) and visible DynCorp IDs. Unlike most staff at Indulgence, they were technically independent contractors – trained on multiple levels, capable of K9 work, personal security, computer and technology, psych-tested and evaluated for their sexual capabilities and desires, and trained to deliver the utmost in top-level Indulgence service. Surprisingly enough, their effectiveness as a team was enhanced by their ability to seamlessly slip into the darkest and most dangerous recesses of what occurred both in and outside of the property.

A tall, genial looking young man with striking good looks approached the pair, reaching out large, tanned hands to shake theirs eagerly.

“Directors, how lovely to see you this morning!” he says brightly, beaming a smile white enough to practically blind beneath the fluorescent strips in the ceiling.

“Shawn,” said Price genially enough, sharing a smiling glance with Young. “Just popping in to see how things are flowing with the ground troops today.”

“Ah – everything’s tip-top sir, of course! There’s a party scheduled tonight for the Mooreland beach, so I’m bringing in some extra hands tonight, but we haven’t any big issues on the horizon we aren’t well prepared for.”

“Wonderful, Mr. Shawn, thank you,” murmured Sandra warmly, offering the exuberant young man a gentle smile. For all his apparent youth, the man’s eyes were gleaming, canny, and Price could see the agile brain behind them even as Shawn spent a moment assessing his Assistant.

“Carry on, Shawn, let me know if –“ The Directors words were cut short when a man hovering over a quad panel of monitors gestured at Shawn, the on duty supervisor. The trio quickly moved to join him, passing video feeds of dark hallways, gleaming kitchens, empty elevators, and a couple of computer monitored audio stations.

“Sorry to bother you, folks, but we’re having some kind of concern on the hotel’s desk,” said the tech, his attention focused on what appeared to be an irate guest pointing an irritated, jabbing finger at a female guest services clerk whose body language spoke clearly of her uneasiness.

“Not a problem, Shawn – Sandra and I will resolve this ourselves,” the Director quickly said, and even as the Security Supervisor nodded and murmured his thanks, the pair slid out the doors and into a nearby elevator.

“That appeared to be Davoud Shirazi,” began Price. Young nodded, continuing on his train of thought.

“An oil shah, of Armenian and Persian descent. Very passionate and, from what I understand, of a magnetic personality.” The doors slid open and the pair moved in a quick but graceful manner towards the twenty-foot wide marble desk where guests were assigned personal quarters for their stays by the hotel staff. As they were sidling up to the chest-high counter, a plump, petite woman was swiping her badge through the door next to it, rushing to the aid of the girl cowering behind it.

“This is ridiculous! This reservation was made three months ago! Do you know who I am? My family has been members here since inception! This is no way to treat a guest – especially one with as much money as I have!” The dark complexioned mans thick black brows were beetled together, his dark eyes angry ebony pits in his ire. The girl behind her desk held up two pale, placating palms, shying away another couple of inches.

“Sir, I do apologize – I am completely aware of your position, and this oversight was simply due to a burst pipe ruining one wing of that building last week. I assure you…” The man made an imperious gesture with his hand – slicing it through the air – and she fell silent.

“Mr. Shirazi, please,” broke in a new voice. It belonged to April – the industrious, devoted Manager who tended the front desk like her own personal garden, watering her employees and guests alike with bright smiles and encouragement, kind words and praise galore. Price had found her to be an extremely valuable asset, since they brought her on over a year ago – she was devout and fierce in performing her duties, taking every task personally and attacking with diligence all issues and concerns brought to her attention. She had actually come recommended from a guest, for service completely unrelated to guest service – yet her personality traits had shaped her into the ultimate being for customer relations. Early thirties, she was a petite woman, barely reaching five feet tall, and well rounded. Price knew she spent at least an hour a day in the employee gym, everyday, in an attempt to chase off her round figure – ‘fluffy’, as her staff called it – but the thick, ebony braid that trailed down to brush the backs of her thighs was the true glory she valued, without shame.

“Mr. Shirazi,” continued April, “What happened was, quite frankly, beyond anyone’s control – and it is lucky for us it happened before you came, because the water ruined your usual Harem Suite something awful.” She had one hand offered towards the man, and was smiling sympathetically as she let him take a moment to regain a semblance of control. A relatively plain woman, she had little to recommend her aside from the exotic tilt of her eyes and the long rope of hair trailing behind her.

The hotel portion of the property was an all-suite affair, with some simply termed ‘Hospitality Suites’, lavish and lush by any travelers standards – but the majority of their suites were themed, running the gambit from the Amazon Suite to the Vampire Suite and Zebra Suite. Some were popular enough to have many versions, such as the Turkish Bath Suite, the Dungeon Suite, or the Waterfall Suite, while some were relatively unused except for a select few – the Nursery, for example. They actually did have a couple of Harem Suites, but Price was sure they must all be occupied to incur this crisis.

“Please,” spoke up April. “Let us extend the hospitality of any other suite we have that can suit your needs. We will even be happy to offer you,” she glanced down quickly at the computer screen beneath the level of the desk, and her smile widened until it was almost beatific. “One third off your entire stay – for the inconvenience, mind you, and because we really do enjoy having you as our guest. I also see here that you plan to be with us for the next three months, and I truly would hate for anything to come between you and your pleasure while you are with us here.” April’s expression and tone were utterly sincere, and she now extended both palms towards him in a supplicating gesture similar to the one her employee had used.

“Well,” began Mr. Shirazi, “I suppose… I mean, if that’s the best you can do then who am I to go against the will of Allah.” He emitted a long, resigned sigh – but from the slow slump of his shoulders it was obvious he had accepted the inevitable. April’s face, however, lit up and her eyes were dancing as she tapped her employee on the shoulder and began nodding happily. “But you had personally better ensure that there or no other errors or flaws, because I refuse to be treated by a second class citizen at the retreat my family helped build.” The statement was pure exaggeration, of course – but April simply bobbed her head eagerly, gathering the paperwork and passing it across the marble counter for him to sign.

“Absolutely and completely, Mr. Shirazi. I will talk to you everyday – call you if I have to – in order to ensure that your service is flawless and without any complaint.” The woman solemnly bowed her head to him, lifting it with a slow smile as her clerk took back his registration form. “Do you have a preference on a suite type, sir? Might I suggest the Turkish or Roman Suites – they are very luxurious. However, I do think the Thieves Den is open as well, if it pleases you.” The last was said with a teasing smile, and Price realized that April already knew the choice he would make, and was indeed working very hard to make him feel lucky to get it.

“Oh, well if the Thieves Den is open then I’ll have to settle for that.” Mr. Shirazi’s tone of voice was now one of marked indifference, but the beaming smile April bestowed on him was priceless. Wesley was now close enough to lean one elbow on the far side of the counter, his amused gaze taking in the entire tableau with an air of fascination. The clerk quickly programmed two plastic key cards, and April tucked them into a protective sleeve. As she worked, Davoud’s eyes blatantly skimmed her and the other girl, finally zeroing in and coming to rest on April’s gleaming silver nametag.

The name badge carried April’s name in the elegant Indulgence script, the tiny tag of ‘Guest Services Manager’, and beneath that laid two small but vividly colored symbols. The first looked like a lower case letter k in lurid red – but its vertical line was almost four times as tall as the two diagonal vines twining from it. The second was the symbol for female, inverted, and colored dark blue. The first symbol was known as a kef, and told that April was trained in the Gorean style. The second was her sexual and service preference – she served under (inverted) men (blue). Those two symbols, when interpreted according to the club’s legend, meant that she was a Gorean slave girl (or kajira). While not a complete picture of her personality, ability, or skills, it spoke to those she was most skilled at – and enjoyed the most.

Wesley watched Mr. Shirazi gaze at those symbols for several heartbeats, until April was leaning across the desk and offering him his keys.

“No. You will accompany me to this suite, now.” Posed as neither a question nor demand, it was simply a statement – one issued in a low, growling tone of voice. April barely paused or batted an eye – and Price watched in fascination as a veil seemed to fall over her features. Instantly, she lowered her eyes even as she raised her chin.

“Yes, sir,” was all she responded. She removed her magnetic name badge and slid it across the counter to him as well, then proceeded around the desk and through the door next to it, where she walked behind his right shoulder as he made his way to the bank of elevators. The other desk clerk picked up a phone and dialed an in house number, quietly speaking to the next manager on the duty roster. Price simply hoped Mr. Shirazi observed protocol and kept things relatively normal until they were inside his suite, and turned with a soft laugh – only to find Sandra watching him curiously from the corner of one eye.

“Ah. I forget – you are a voyeur.” She was smiling as she said it, and Price found his fingertips gliding across the name tag tucked in his jacket pocket – one with a beveled V cut into it, beneath his name and title.

“Yes, well – I am often busy enough that I, too, forget,” he answers her, laughing softly. He points behind the front office, to where the HR offices are, and at the open door of the company psychologist. “Shall we continue our little look-see?” he inquires politely, already moving in that direction without waiting for Young’s answer.

Elisa Farnsworth

Elisa had found the entire situation with her father’s funeral… unsettling, to say the least. A socialite’s child, she had simply been the obedient one, never questioning nor investigating – content to accept things as they came. As a youth it had been her duty to be a beautiful and dutiful debutante herself, and as it faded she had accepted gracefully impending spinster-hood. Her intention had been to carefully attend to her aging parents and their home, continuing in her role as dutiful daughter and sister to her two older, and far more robust and rambunctious, brothers.

For her father to have died of an aneurysm at fifty five was obviously unthinkable, catching the family quite unawares. Her poor mother had gone ‘wilted dove’, incapable of more than sniffling and dabbing at her constantly wet eyes, her gaze downcast and mien absolutely miserable. Her brothers had been atypically solemn, standing around and shuffling their feet with awkward discomfort. The brunt of duties had fallen to Elisa’s shoulders, and for the first time in her life she found herself capable, competent, and knowledgeable. Their father’s paltry life insurance barely covered the cost of the funeral – and the shortcomings of their assets became painfully apparent within mere days. Her brothers, well-placed in their careers yet burdened with their own families and spouses, were silent on the matter. With calm, irrefutable logic, Elisa sold her family’s heritage – first the brownstone on St. Charles, and then their collection of valuables; the silver, china, assorted bric-a-brac and collectible knick-knacks. Eventually they were left with only a small mound of debt – and their mother. Her eldest brother, Matthew, agreed to take the shell of a woman in temporarily, ‘until other arrangements can be made’, so he said.

In the midst of resolving this crisis, one of the associate lawyers in her father’s firm had taken her aside with a patronizing smile and a gentle hand. She had been pondering her usefulness beyond this – classically trained and with a European finishing school, her credentials were practically worthless in this age of modern technology and training, and all her friends were indulged social wives with little to no advice or experience to offer on her circumstance. The lawyer, a somewhat younger version of her father, had asked about her future intentions and then handed over an embossed card. It was on heavy board, with tiny gilt letters and obviously very expensive.

“Indulgence? I’m afraid I’ve never heard of it, Mr. Barnes,” Elisa had said softly, mindful of the rooms of mourners filling the house.

“A lovely retreat for the international business and affairs set. If you can follow directions and keep your mouth shut, they pay very well, Ms. Farnsworth.” His voice had been indulgent, as was the warm hand curled lightly on her shoulder. “Been a member for years there – feel free to use me as a reference.”

With that obscure phrasing, he had disappeared into the throng of visitors, and Elisa had made her way to the music room – to her one solace, the piano, which she played as quiet accompaniment for the wake.

A month later she was being sent through a dizzying process of training. The sum of money offered was simply staggering, especially when one considered that all staff had their room and board provided for on property, and their income was their own and not susceptible to tithes or fees aside from regular federal taxes. Her flower arranging abilities, genteel skills, finishing knowledge, and housekeeping history had led them to place her into the aesthetics department – a fancy title for a group of women (and a pair of gay men) who fluttered around the buildings making things look and smell pretty for all the guests.

The weeks of orientation had been a little overwhelming for the poor sheltered young lady, and the idea that guests and staff were physically intimate with each other a little unsettling – but her experience with men had been limited to some juvenile games in closets during junior high, a trio of rushed and rather disappointing encounters in high school, and a long and altogether unproductive engagement to a Mr. Jeremy Warrington-Hart (not to be confused with the Hart-Warrington’s, of course). What little experience she had partaken in led her to believe it a simple exchange requiring little of the woman, and she had never found herself particularly stirred unless one counted the heated ‘bodice-rippers’ (her mother’s affectionate, laughing name for them) she had occasionally found lying around the house.

Elisa had always considered herself plain, if only in that she moved in a society of incomparable beauties, and was always labeled as ‘rather mousy’ or ‘common’ by her peers. Her eyes were gray – a very clear, crystalline hue, one that sometimes drew slivers of blue or green from her clothes or surroundings – and her figure willowy and petite, narrow at hip and shoulder and barely taller than five feet. Her features were relatively nondescript – a small, pert little nose and thin, fine eyebrows arching high over her deeply set eyes, a gently rounded chin and a broad mouth, slightly upside-down as her upper lip was a smidge thicker than her lower. Her hair, what she considered her only vanity, had spent decades pinned into careful arrangements and up-do’s, and only with the encouragement of her new co-workers had she found the boldness to leave it down like it was today – a wide silk ribbon keeping it neatly out of her eyes and behind her ears, yet allowing its thick, loosely curling tresses to tumble around her hips while she worked. Its color was a pale, almost ashen blonde, but her careful care of it meant it was shining and clean, soft and buoyant, fragrant and truly appealing – as if to make up for all the other shortcomings she seemed to possess.

Bemused, confused, and more than a little dazed, so it was that Elisa found herself standing in one of the many beautiful hallways of Indulgence, carefully arranging a fresh bouquet of star-gazer lilies, occasionally indulging herself in a deep sniff of their beautifully trumpeted blossoms as she worked, humming softly to herself – and unbeknownst to her, smiling.

Garret Meets Elisa

A scrawny young man with short cut brown hair and brown eyes to match exits from his room. His suit and tie all nicely put on, shoes shined, everything seemed to be in place. Walking down the hall humming a tune to himself merrily. He was in a remarkably good mood today but something was nagging at the corner of his mind. It was like he was forgetting something but, he was far too preoccupied in feeling good to bother worrying about it too much.

He was stopped by one of the other workers, one of the guys he would drink with from time to time when they could squeeze it in.

"Hey Garret, does a guest have your name tag?" he asked.

"Not unless they came in and took it in the middle of the night, why do you ask Vince?" Garret asked, completely oblivious to where this was going.

"I was just wondering because you don't have it on you. You've forgotten it a lot lately and I don't think the supervisors are gonna let it slide this time," Vince says, "I don't know how you manage to forget it so often, it's kind of important."

Garret curses, "Agh not again seriously?! Thanks for the tip Vince! Gotta go find it before I get reamed again!"

Without another word he turns and dashes off on a mad search for his name tag.

He searched his room frantically for 20 minutes looking for the thing before finally finding it. His eyes caught the time and he cursed loudly again.

"AAahhhhhhh I'm so late! I'm gonna get yelled at anyway!"

He bolts out of his room and charges down the hallway, rounding a corner too tightly he sees another employee, a woman, who as arranging some flowers.

"LOOK OUT!"

Swerving to the side to try and avoid her his foot catches on the rug and he falls down on the floor. The name tag he was clutching in his hand coming loose and bouncing across the floor.

The young man groaned, "That wasn't particularly swift of me,"

Sitting up he looks up at the woman arranging the flowers, and laughs nervously, "Hi there . . . sorry to disturb you."

Elisa was watching the piano out of the corner of her eye. It was a beautiful Hardman, its case decorated with gentle scroll work. It's appearance was beautiful, but the siren song those gleaming ivory keys sang to Elisa's soul was even more so. She had brushed against it earlier - by accident, of course - and the hammer movements were almost silent, just enough noise to make the ear start to attention just before the velvety notes slipped out of the piano's sounding board. Just imagining it made Elisa's palms practically itch with need, and yet still - she hesitated.

She knew she was near employee quarters, yet there was enough guest presence to make her hesitant and shy. She had always loved music, yet her inhibitions were high enough she didn't fee inclined to play - yet. It did not, however, stop her from gazing with longing at the gleaming ebony case of the baby grand, nor prevent her from humming 'Fur Elise' beneath her breath. Trite as it was, the song was and always had been a favorite, ever since childhood.

Her pleasant reverie was broken by the raucous noise of someone barreling down the hallway with thudding footsteps, and moments later a dapper dressed coworker spun around the corner. "Look out!" he cried out in warning. Elisa shrunk behind the table and into the corner against the wall, but her precautions turned out to be unnecessary. since the man tripped over one of the runner carpets and slid across the hardwood beneath in an ungainly sprawl. His name tag went skittering across the floor, landing at Elisa's feet. Without even thinking about it, she picked it up with pale, delicate fingertips, moving towards him with a commiserating smile.

"That looked awful, poor thing. Are you alright?" she asked,moving to crouch besides him, offering to help tug him back to his feet. "Seems like you were in a hurry, I'm sure you have somewhere important to me. I doubt that arranging flowers has anything to compete with that kind of excitement." She seemed taken aback by her own chattiness and fell silent, then leaned back, biting her lower lip. and silently offered the gentleman his name tag, glancing down at it as she does so.

Garret continues his talk with Elisa

The name tag reads Garret Hest, the Triskellion's colors appear as, Upper Quadrant Gray, Left Quadrant Red and Right Quadrant Blue. Beside the Triskellion was an inverted pink male symbol. The other two markings being G and a Swingset.

The young man accepted the help from this woman he had just fallen flat on his face in front of. Getting back up to his feet and accepting his name tag with one hand extended, with the other one placed beneath the elbow of the arm that his extended hand was attached to. Bowing shortly as he took it he said, "Thanks so much for the help. I'm quite alright, thanks for your concern. It's more than I've gotten in the past week or so,"

He brushes off the dust from any dirt he got in it from his fall, fastening his name tag onto his clothes so he couldn't forget it again.

"It's not that I have somewhere important to me . . . just that I'm really late . . . again . . ." he sighs, continuing to pat himself down.

"I might as well not even show up today at this rate. Claim I was ill or something I suppose. Maybe . . . you could be my alibi!" Garret rambles on.

Tapping himself on the head lightly, "Ah where are my manners, asking you to help me without even introducing myself. My name is Garret Hest, I'm basically a filler if you will around here, hence why I don't have my position on my name tag. And you are?"

"Ah...."

Elisa bit her lower lip and found herself taking a hesitant half-step backwards. Her quiet world, so narrow up until this point, had been slowly reinforced by her seclusion and quiet job tasks - decorating the guest areas, both in and out, to be beautiful, fragrant, soothing and yet intimate. While she had only been there for a couple of weeks herself, she was surrounded by beautiful people who were passionate, empowered with their knowledge and ability, skills and confidence in their place. She, on the opposite hand, was quiet, demure, practical - a flat brown wren hen in a lot full of the exotic, the rare, the exceptionally unusual. All these things had made it easier for her to fade quietly into relative obscurity - a position that pleased her to no end. She quietly went about her job with devotion and found joy in it, her ethic allowing her nothing less, her personality and identity blooming slowly yet surely in the silent liberation her new career opportunity was offering by dint of its mere existence.

On the other hand, this coworker was like a tightly wound spring, and his rapid fire speech and rushed actions were more than a tad unsettling. But like the well-bred woman her mother had reared her to be, Elisa simply offered a tentative, if genuine smile, and offered one pale palm to him.

"It is lovely to meet you, Garret. I'm Elisa, and I'm afraid I am new here at Indulgence and not exactly... clear on what assistance I can offer. I'd be happy to explain I perhaps requisitioned your time and strength with something... taxing - like perhaps carrying a stack of flower boxes?" Her voice is low, her words slow, her accent the drawling clip of consonants and drawing out of long vowels. A gentle, slightly teasing smile tugs at her lips and she tilts her head at the table - where indeed a towering pile of white cardboard boxes from the greenhouses is stacked with precise delicacy. "I am awfully sorry you are so ... worried. Everyone here has been very generous and kind to me, thus far. Yet, if there is any way I can ease your... concern, I am more then happy to do what I can."

Garret and Elisa continue

"It's wonderful to meet you Elisa, and I'd be happy to help you carry those boxes wherever they might need to go."

Smiling graciously he reaches out to take hold of Elisa's hand to bring it up to his mouth to kiss it lightly, "Thanks so much Elisa, not only do I get to help a fine lady such as yourself but I get an alibi to boot! This couldn't have worked out better!"

Rolling up the sleeves of his suit jacket Garret grabs onto as many of the boxes as he can manage to hold. His scrawny frame looking like it should buckle beneath the weight of the boxes he is carrying. The majority of Garret's face is hidden behind the white boxes in his arms and he turns to face Elisa.

"So where do these boxes need moving to?" he asks, looking somewhat comical. Merely a pair of eyes and some brown hair poking over the top of the boxes.

While his earlier fall might throw doubt upon any claims of good balance he seemed to be doing quite well now. Weight evenly distributed, standing upright and all of that good posture and balance stuff.

Now that the problem of figuring out how to dodge being chewed out for being late again was solved his words came much less rushed. His actions slower and methodical, although they were still rather fast paced. He seemed like the type of person who always had somewhere he had to be, always with something to do.

"Oh, yeah . . . there's no need to be so shy Elisa. Speak up a bit, you've got things you want to say right? So say 'em, I won't mind,"

Marylena

Marylena strode down the granite hallway, her stiletto heels making clipped noises on the stone floor. She swayed from side to side with each step, her passage drawing gazes like flies to honey. Completely unaware of this, her laser-like gaze was pinpointed on a girl hunched over at the marble desk, eyes bent downwards to something she was working on out of sight. Marylena leaned over the desk, one long, slender and accusatory finger pointing at the girl with all the authority of a whip.

“You – Patricia. Stand straight, girl, don’t slouch. It’s very unprofessional, not to mention unbecoming and extremely unattractive.” The voice was low, sultry, smoky, and barely audible in the quiet, hushed environment. Its accent was all slow, syrupy southern drawl, the lips framing the words in carmine and lush plumpness, full as they slowly and carefully spoke each word with precise and strident tones. Marylena straightened and smiled at a passing guest, gently inclining her head in the graceful way of the southern belle.

Indeed – Marylena was the picture of southern gentility and beauty, her shoulder-length black hair full and bouncy with its shining ringlets, her skin so pale one could see blue and pink shadows beneath, hints of her arteries and veins. High cheekbones, full lips, a pointed chin and pink cheeks beneath heavily lashed, deep set eyes. Her eyes themselves were a bright, electric blue, especially clear and practically sparking with energy. Even her sharp, thin eyebrows sang of aristocracy and wealth in a bloodline as old, if not older, then the south itself.

But she was tall, a woman barely an inch short of six feet tall, and especially taller with her heels on. Her dark cotton pantsuit shifted flawlessly as she stalked across the lobby, draping her as if she wore silk instead, its flared pant-legs billowing beautifully in the air her movements made. The low cut vest she wore beneath the open jacket hinted at a dark red bustier piped in black silk and lace. The invisible cloak of authority and power that seemed to radiate from her added to that impression of size and menace, and the employee she spoke to straightened up with a visible wince, her brow puckering as she stumbled over a hasty apology.

“I – I’m so sorry, Miss, I apologize, it won’t happen again,” she stuttered, hastily folding a piece of paper and putting it away.

“See that it doesn’t, girl,” Marylena replied, propping one elbow on the desk as she canted a hip against it and turned to watch the gentle ebb and flow of guests and staff through the pillared area, decorated in dark gray granite and pale beige columns, veins of gold lining the floor and walls, echoed in genteel Louis furniture whose scrolling edge-work was world-famous.

Marylena snorted to herself, imagining a plethora of pictures of Indulgence in catalogs – both public and private areas – and glanced behind her to ensure the staff were back on task, attentive, warm, receptive, and above all else standing straight and tall and proud in their uniforms.

Her name tag simply read ‘Marylena – Director of Training’, a black rose laden in thorns beneath her title and above the Indulgence script.

Elisa Farnsworth

Elisa couldn't help it - Garret's kiss to her hand had her laughing, albeit softly. She smiled - a huge, beaming grin that brought a radiance to her face that was almost beautiful. Then she tucked her chin to her chest, and lowered her eyes, and moved on with the task of the day hour.

"Ah - yes. To the lobby, I have to refresh the vases there. And then... well, I'll be done with that, although I'm sure I couldn't presume what they might have you off doing."

Garret had plucked up the heaviest boxes - but for all their bulk and size, they were not particularly heavy. They had started out with a dozen flowers in a dozen different varieties, but were now reduced to less then half a dozen in each box. The dead heads and trimmed blooms, dessicated stems and various discards, Elisa had gathered in one box which had no top, and this she picked up now. She gracefully tucked it against one narrow hip, letting the weight of her arm pin it in place as she moved beside Garret, gesturing with her free hand for him to move towards the long, broad, beautiful stately hall that was the lobby.

"Ah - I would not presume anything I have to say to have any value," Elisa said - this time happy to laugh at herself, quietly and under her breath. She did offer Garret a sympathetic, if thankful smile.

Then they were before the great, cast hall - and Elisa was making herself dizzy, staring up at the huge ceiling for several breathless moments before rolling her eyes downwards.

They only landed on the darkly imposing figure of Marylena, standing at the front desk. and she found herself swallowing audibly. Tall, dark, painfully beautiful, she honestly scared the ever living bejesus out of Elisa. She found her palms growing hot and damp just thinking about the remote possibility of her noticing the pair, and Elisa quickly gestured for Garret to join her at a side table holding a vase full of day lilies. She gestured for him to place the boxes next to the vase so she could sort through them and find more lilies, her eyes pleading with him silently. She swallowed, finding there was no saliva to moisten her through and mouth, and resorted to pleading desperately with her eyes, her gaze locking onto his.

Jason steps down from the helicopter ten minutes before he's supposed to be crossing into the air space around New Orleans. He smiles seeing the place. Classic southern charm and anything you could desire. His lithe frame is a masterpiece tool of his craft, and a map covers it, showing the paths a rocky life has taken. His features are rugged, wild as a gypsy, a cajun, or a brave of one of the great tribes. Maybe all three.

He is a man who knows exactly what he wants, when he wants, and he goes after it, sooner or later getting it. If you happen to think you own it... Sucks to be you. The only person he generally listens to is an aunt whose been complaining about needing an heir and carrying on the line. However "None of those tramps you cohort with will do. She will be the finest Southern stock. Go to Indulgence. They have been instructed what you will require for your stay. Then you can go back to your fun. Nice job with the the Monet and also with the Hope Diamond. I treasure it." So here he is, not exactly unhappy anyways. Handpicked, well bred, intelligent beauties to be bred...? This should be fun.

Garret's Talk with Elisa in the Lobby

During the trip down to the lobby Garret remains mostly silent. It would seem he's devoting much of his concentration on not falling over again with the stack of boxes cradled in his arms. Taking the queue from Elisa to put

"Come now, everyone's got something worth saying . . ." Garret says, "Okay . . . maybe not everyone, my direct supervisor doesn't usually have things worth listening to,"

Placing a reassuring hand on her shoulder he smiles, "Deep breaths now Elisa, she's just another woman like anybody else here. Sure she's kind of imposing . . . " he says tossing the woman by the front counter a look over his shoulder, "But that doesn't mean she's cause to freak out over . . . okay . . . I'm terrible at this considering I was freaking out earlier over being late but . . . that's besides the point!"

"So what's the deal with tall dark and imposing over there Elisa? Is she your supervisor?" Garret asks, leaning in towards Elisa. The young man seems entirely un-phased by her panic. Maybe it's because he was trying to be Elisa's anchor or he is really oblivious to any impending trouble. It was hard to tell with the rather carefree attitude that Garret was taking.

Elisa's eyes widened and she turned towards Garret, sighing and her eyes dropping. Her nervous hands finally found occupation along the line of burying themselves in the stem of the flowers, checking each one for moisture and strength, pulling dead leaves and flower heads out without conscious thought. The work her fingertips were devoted to seemed to free her tongue - at least temporarily.

"That's Miss Marylena. You haven't met her yet? Oh... Lord. She is in charge of training. She ... is nice enough. She's just ... um, very assertive." She offers a tentative smile and then lowers her eyes, giving a soft sigh beneath her breath. "She is extremely particular and very difficult to please," she adds, acting as if this clarifies things.

The lobby seems to have emptied out beneath the piercing gaze of Marylena, and despite their isolated location, Elisa couldn't help but feel like the emptiness of the massive chamber makes her and her newest friend stand out like sore thumbs. However, knowing that eyes will find her easier, she becomes more devoted to the task at hand - pruning the lilies vase to an ascetic level before sliding open the other box and pulling out clean, fresh flowers to refill it.

"She scares me," Elisa finally confided in a deep, almost silent whisper, leaning close enough to breathe on Garret as she barely says the words to herself, let alone him.

Sandra Young

Young was quietly preparing for an afternoon of leisure in her personal suite when there was a curt rap on the door. Since employee quarters were isolated and relatively well-protected, logic made it easy to predict it would only be another staff member. And, since Young was the administrator on call for the weekend while Price entertained a group of high profile representatives from the British Government – including, rumor had it, several MI6 higher-ups – it was reasonable to assume it was something to do with working. Whatever personal feelings she had on the matter, her professional mask was well in place by the time she had the door opened.

“Ah – Mr. Benson,” she said, smiling gently at him. “How unusual, I’m afraid I wasn’t expecting you. What can I help you with?” Benson was the Assistant Director in Security. Considering his superior’s name was Mr. Adams, some uninhibited portion of Sandra’s brain wondered if the last names were codes, ordered in alphabetic order of rank or value. Fortunately she was smart enough not to entertain the notion, but its passing fancy did make her gaze more piquant as she peered up at the tall, slender, middle aged man.

“Ms. Young. I apologize for disturbing you in your personal time,” he began, but of course she simply gave a little shake of her head and a smile, gesturing for him to come inside the lovely foyer of her personal rooms.

“Not at all, Royce, that’s what I’m here for. I’m just sorry I didn’t have a radio so I could be reached easier. What is going on?” She was now almost concerned, because an apology first meant news she wouldn’t like later, and a faint front tugged at her brow.

“We’ve got an incoming. We just got notice from air traffic control, and according to the system, we weren’t expecting this guy for at least another five days.” Young’s frown instantly smoothed away, and a faint breath hissed through her teeth.

“Ah – Schmidt,” she said softly in understanding. Royce Benson gave a little dip of his head and she sighed audibly, her shoulders sagging this time. “Well, we’ll do the best we can. You’re right though – his file was still in workup with Dr. Arlington, as the communications we’ve received have been none too clear. Is his background and financial work done, at least?”

“Oh, yes – had that done ages ago. Director Price hasn’t had a chance to review them yet, but…” Benson shrugged and Sandra again nodded.

“I do understand – his arrival is a little … surprising.” She smiled graciously and stood, smoothing her silk slacks as she did so. “Well, I’ll just go throw on something nice and go welcome him, shall I?” She idly rubbed one side of her head, eyes narrowing. “How long do we have until he gets here?” Benson grimaced and she couldn’t help it – Young laughed. “That soon, huh?” she teased,

“I think we’ve got about twenty minutes or so, ma’am,” he said, somewhat sheepishly it seemed. “I’m afraid it took my staff a little longer than it should have to figure things out after we got a report on his flight plan.” The older man actually managed to look chagrined, and Sandra placed her fingertips on his arm comfortingly, even as she was tugging him out of his seat.

“It happens, Royce, not to worry. I’ll hurry up and make myself pretty and see if I can’t get a better breakdown of things from Dr. Arlington while I do so. Thank you for letting me know, I’ll personally get this smoothed over. Please tell your boys not to worry their pretty heads,” she added in a teasing voice, gently guiding the ADS out the door and closing it firmly in his wake, right in the midst of another grateful thank you. She snatched up one of the secure radio and phone devices the facility used, noticing with dismay that she apparently turned it off, and reactivated it. She dialed Dr. Arlington’s number immediately, and was answered by a perky receptionist that she gave instructions to find the psychologist and have her call Sandra immediately.

Ten minutes later she was finishing up a light makeup job when the radio beeped at her, and she snatched it up and open, engaging its scrambling mode.

“Young,” she answered brusquely, scooping up a long, luxurious brown cashmere wrap and coiling it quickly around her shoulders before letting it drape behind her in a lovely draping form of cape that looked almost natural. Then she was slipping out the door and down the hall for the elevators.

“Sandra, its Lorraine. My receptionist said you needed me urgently?” The older woman’s voice was calm and unhurried, but Young didn’t have the luxury in her responses.

“The Schmidt boy is touching down at the helipad in a moment, and I need to know if we’ve got a clear direction on what we’re doing here. You know I can’t go out there looking like a complete idiot, and we would never let a guest leave unhappy.”

“Of course, of course,” Lorraine agreed, and Sandra could hear the background sounds of her opening a metal filing cabinet. “Let’s see here – our point of contact has actually been a relative, but according to our gathered intelligence…”

Five minutes later, Sandra was standing beside the helipad, one hand held to her hair and the other shading her eyes as the landing vehicle tried to blow her sideways. The engine and rotors cut out and then she was leaning sideways into a nonexistent wind, her ears still singing with noise no longer present. A uniformed employee was darting back into the main building, en route to set up some very specific arrangements with Guest Services that Sandra wouldn’t have been able to relay via radio over the noise of the chopper. A darkly clad, lean figure stepped out of the helicopter, and she stepped forwards with a smile, offering a hand as she did so.

“Mr. Schmidt! Welcome to Indulgence! I’m Assistant Director Sandra Young, and we are so happy you chose to join us!” The words were exuberant but said in a gentle voice, the smile tendered to go with it equal parts warmth and genuine pleasure.

Garret and Elisa cnt.

Considering Garret knew next to nothing about tending to flowers he just stood nearby Elisa, shifting his weight from foot to foot as he looked around the lobby.

"So I take it she was the one who trained you when you came here to Indulgence? Does she . . . have something else to be doing other than standing around in the lobby?" Garret says, seemingly oblivious to the fact that's what he is more or less doing at this point.

He starts fiddling with the buttons on the cuffs of his suit jacket while the two of them stand around in the lobby. While he appears to not be paying attention, his eyes keeping track of the work that Elisa is doing intently.

When she leans in to whisper to him though, all he hears is something that sounds like a sentence from her.

"Hmm? What did you say?" Garret says, bringing his ear closer to her mouth. He places an arm around her shoulder, "Come ooooonnn you can tell me,"

Ms Marylena

Things had quieted down in the lobby itself – being mid-morning, most guests were off to pursue their daily interests, or sometimes simply back off to bed or their suites. The ebb and flow of the human tide was never surprising, and always amusing, mused Marylena, her gaze scanning the lobby itself. Without people to distract, she could now see the flaws – tiny crumbs on tables, little paper detritus left behind in their wake like droppings, grains of loamy dirt from the landscaping and paths left in clumps on the floor. Frowning now, and grumpy about the poor condition the space was in, she turned back to the desk and pointed another imperious finger at Patricia, the clerk on duty.

“You – call housekeeping and get someone out here with a cart. This place is in despicable condition, you should be ashamed of yourself.” The slow, drawling words seemed to belie the harshness of the words, but their stung was felt as the girl bobbed her head and picked up the phone.

“Of course Ms. Marylena, I’m so sorry, I’ll get right on that,” the poor thing blubbered. Marylena almost felt sorry for her – almost. The girl looked like she was on the verge of sobbing or otherwise making an ass of herself. The sadist in Marylena found it purely delightful and chuckled softly, smoothly gliding towards the large arch that led towards the casinos – there was always something to criticize there.

Her attention was caught, however, by a pair of employees skulking against one of the side tables. There was a pile of boxes and the little girl – ah, she knew her, little Elisa, the new mouse that had been purely devilish joy to chase and torment – was being enfolded by a larger employee who seemed to be comforting her or something. Marylena snorted and strode over – her sharp heels going silent on the thick Berber carpet.

“Hmm? What did you say?" the man says, bringing his ear closer to Elisa’s mouth. He places an arm around her shoulder, "Come ooooonnn you can tell me,” he continues to wheedle.

“Elisa was just telling you that you should get to work so she can finish what she’s doing,” Marylena’s voice, soft, super-sweet and yet all too cutting in tone and acerbity, breaks shameless into their private reverie. “Otherwise, she knows I’m going to paddle her shapely little rump until she can barely sit down.” The lobby is empty, cavernous, and yet the sibilant whisper travels no further than their pair of ears As if to test Elisa’s experiences with Marylena, she swats an empty pair of fingers towards the girls rump, imagining a slender little crop in it and even making a soft, taunting little noise beneath her breath. “Thwock. Run along now, little girl, your … friend here is in need of some training – the old fashioned way, by hand, I think.” And threading between them comes a low, mockingly soft laugh.

"Good Afternoon Miss Price. I know I am considerably early, but I shall make recompense for any extra work or imposition it makes. I am certain the outlined needs shall be met. I hate to be wherever I am supposedly going to be exactly when I should unless I absolutely have to." His coal black eyes sparkle merrily. He has always enjoyed the chase, being on both ends of the hunt. He usually comes out a step or two ahead.

The young man is in his mid twenties, or at least appears so. It is not certain, his eccentric parents having lived in the wild tribal lands. He was tracked down when word was sent to his aunt. He is deeply tanned, his hair wavy, as dark and glossy as a wolf's pelt. He looks as though he should've come from a horse, galleon, or pirogi, not a helicopter. His movements are lean, graceful, economical, almost predatory.

His fingers are calloused, but his nails are well manicured. His smile and tone match hers. He is eager to see what will happen, and loves stirring up the pot a bit. "I do hope all the information got here in time. I was advised this would be that absolute earliest I could skip ahead, and that things still might not completely ready. Even if not, I am very happy to be here as well. I look forward to the accommodations offered by your establishment."

Garret speaks to Marylena

Garret groans loudly, "Come on now Ms. Marylena, cut the girl some slack,"

Seemingly rather calm considering the situation, he is speaking in a rather informal tone.

"I can understand being strict but it seems like you might be taking it a tad too far," he says, holding his fingers together with a minute space between them.

He looks over Elisa to see how she's doing before turning his attention back to Marylena.

"Maybe we can strike a bargain here? I hate seeing a lady in terror, so what if from now on any of the times that she screws up," Garret pauses to take a deep breath, then points his thumb at himself and puffs up his chest, "I'll take whatever beating it is that you want to give to her."

Garret shrugs his shoulders, and says in a "Not that you should probably be using beatings to correct your workers in the first place,"

With one hand he reaches up and grasps a small lock of his hair inbetween his fingers and begins to twist it between them idly.

"Although you might find me a lot less fun to torment," he says with a smirk.

Sandra Young

Sandra was both pleasantly surprised and relieved by Jason’s first words. She, above all others, understands the perversity of human nature that drives one to behave counter to expectations, or against what is desired. Knowing this, she smiles in truth, her shoulders relaxing as relief lightens her imagined burden, and she offers the man a warm, true, and interpersonal smile. Her eyes, dangerously canny, are also dancing merrily.

“Ah, Mr. Schmidt, please – do not apologize. I'm afraid I'm actually Ms. Young - Mr. Price is sadly elsewhere. I am only sorry that we are not better prepared for your arrival. It’s a pity we don’t have more … spontaneous clients like you – I think it would behoove us to be better prepared at all times.” The silence descends thunderously, and her soft chuckle twines through it even as she once more bows her head to him gracefully.

“We are, of course, delighted to have you join us under any circumstances. Please, if you’d like to join me, we’ll get you squared away with a suite so that you can … indulge yourself.” Laughing at herself, she led the way down the graveled walkway and towards the domed verandah that was considered the rear entrance to the main house. There were a couple of guests sunning themselves on the verandah, or simply enjoying the balmy, sunny day with a book or newspaper – and a smattering of staff seeing to their needs. Price smiled at everyone, gesturing with one graceful arm movement at the relaxed, comfortable atmosphere.

“As you can see, Mr. Schmidt, we specialize in pure Indulgence – hence the name.” A wry smile tugged at her lips. “I’m not sure how much of our … policies you’ve had a chance to review – but our primary function is pleasure, and our only restrictions are privacy.” They proceeded through a pair of double glass doors and into a columned hallway, the granite floor topped with sumptuous runners that quickly absorbed the sounds of their movement. “Inherent in those promises are of course, mutual promise to everyone else to allow them those same privileges.” She lifted an arm as they entered the monstrous lobby, her gaze rising to the beautifully sculpted dome overhead before she headed towards the broad marble desk.

“I’m afraid the information I have on your proclivities has not given me any kind of an idea as to what kind of suite we can accommodate you with,” Sandra continued, laughing now at herself with sincere humor. “We are of course, eternally at your pleasure, but you do seem like the kind of gentleman who knows exactly what he wants.” This concession tugged at her mouth and made her eyes dance with unspoken mirth.

Elisa Farnsworth

Eilsa had exhaled a shuddering breath, bracing herself for the revealing of her soul when Ms. Marylena's voice cracked between them like a whip. A soft squeak escapes her, and she finds herself jumping slightly to the side - although whether she's escaping Garret or Marylena isn't really clear.

“Elisa was just telling you that you should get to work so she can finish what she’s doing,” Marylena’s voice, soft, super-sweet and yet all too cutting in tone and acerbity, breaks shameless into their private reverie. “Otherwise, she knows I’m going to paddle her shapely little rump until she can barely sit down.” The lobby is empty, cavernous, and yet the sibilant whisper travels no further than their pair of ears As if to test Elisa’s experiences with Marylena, she swats an empty pair of fingers towards the girls rump, imagining a slender little crop in it and even making a soft, taunting little noise beneath her breath. “Thwock. Run along now, little girl, your … friend here is in need of some training – the old fashioned way, by hand, I think.” And threading between them comes a low, mockingly soft laugh.

Click to expand...

Garret's intervention is not timely, because the flicking of Marylena's fingers and soft imitative noise do drive a response from Elisa, a hasty little jerking jump and a soft little whimper, that seem to pass unnoticed as Garret practically thrusts himself into Marylena's face.

Elisa cannot see the woman's face - indeed, she is hesitant to even acknowledge her presence because to do so would mean giving in to the fear that has her heart beating at a thousand beats per second, fast and hard and heavy and strong enough that she imagines it will beat itself right out of narrow chest.

"Absolutely Ms. Marylena, I'll get right on it, I am so sorry ma'am, please forgive me," she exhales in a breathless rush - scooping up an armful of boxes and dashing to the next table and its vase, eager to lose herself in the peaceful world of her flowers and pianos and potpourri, leaving Garret to Marylena's ministrations.

Sadly, she can already tell it is far too late - the air between Garret and Marylena turns electric, sizzling and carrying enough voltage to fry the senses, as he throws down a virtual gauntlet at Ms. Marylena's feet. The entire tableau seems to freeze into place, and Elisa feels ice run through her veins until she swears she is frozen and being electrified, all at once.

Ms Marylena

Marylena was not amused – in the least. This boy probably thought he was being amusing – appealing, gallant, perhaps, even. A smile tugged at one corner of her lips as she imagined the poor decisions such things as chivalry had led civilization to over the ages, all in the name of things like nobility, and humanity. The thinning of the gene pool… well, best not to go off on that tangent, she mentally chided herself.

“Do you like your job, boy? Your paycheck?” Marylena purred softly, peering around him for a moment. Elisa was beneath notice now – not simply because she had assented to instructions and run away, but because Marylena was focused on something completely and entirely different. “I love mine… and I love earning it.” Her smile now is salacious and sadistic all in one, her crystalline eyes dancing even as she slowly, softly drawls the words.

“You see, there is more to good discipline of one’s employees then penalizing them. Negative reinforcement is more motivating, but positive reinforcement more adhering. The human mind – what motives it, what brings about cause and effect in our actions is a fascinating animal, and one I’ve been taming for a long, long time.” She slowly, softly purrs the words in a sibilant tone, the pitch low – dangerously so. There is a soft noise from the next table over where Elisa has dropped a vase a little too hard, but Marylena will not be distracted, and finds the girl unworthy of her attention.

“As sweet as your … gesture is, Elisa knows her skinny little white ass is mine to do with as I please. A pity you don’t know where your loyalty should lie, as she does. You signed a contractual employment agreement with Indulgence, Garret,” she continues to coo, her gaze dropping to his name tag. “It states that you are, unequivocally and without argument, the property of this company until such time as you voluntarily terminate said employment – or we terminate you. That means you serve the company, and it is your boss, your owner, your god and master. When phrased into such terms, do you not think that the company should be your priority, and not twiddling around with your fellow possessions?”

Now Marylena is smiling – a beatific smile, one that is, truly, painful in its beauty and purity. It is also painful in the sublime pleasure it brings her, and the razor cutting edge it brings to the light in her eyes. It is feral, almost primal, and animalistic in appearance – a predator scenting prey.

Then Marylena hears the Assistant Director stepping in with a new client in tow, and her razor edged smile dims into the obsequious, and she taps Garret lightly on one shoulder with a single fingertip – the movement of shoulder, elbow, and wrist speaking the swinging of a weapon of a different sort then a digit altogether.

“Attend to your duties – now. I will deal with your insubordination and reprehensible behavior later, Garret Hest.” Marylena speaks softly and under her breath, tilting her head to the side and speaking as she moves away from the duo of staff members.

If the Assistant Director is escorting the client, he is a VIP. If he is a VIP, then Marylena would be derelict in not extending the full hospitality of Indulgence – not that she would not do so for any guest, however, in light of Young’s presence, it would behoove her to make an extra effort. With those thoughts in mind, Marylena makes her way to join Sandra and her new arrival, a placid smile in place.

"Ah, Ms. Young. I was told someone by the name of Price would be greeting me. The contact was choppy enough I didn't hear mr. or ms. However, I am nearly a week early. You are the assistant director from what I was told?"

He matches her steps, gliding beside her easily as she points out a few of the amenities. He likes her smile, her easy laughter. The packet he was given was quite explicit about anything going long as you didn't intrude on other guests at play. "Yes Miss. I have indeed. Anything you want as long as you don't spoil another's time here. Or tell too much to the wrong people. Neither of which should be a problem for me."

His eyes are drawn to the three others in the entry hall. He catches the look of terror of the girl, and the predatoriness of the woman berating the pair of menials. He isn't sure which excites him more, causing his slacks to become somewhat tighter. "I like open spaces, with a good view at night. Something rustic like pelts for beds, or the old Arabian styles might be nice for accommodations. I heard you have a Gypsy themed suite? That might do quite nicely unless it is occupied. I like to explore the world through cooking, so most anything is acceptable there. Except for spinach, as well as liver. I don't care if Ramsay or Puck say Goose Liver pate is divine. Still doesn't do it for me."

Marylena walks up just as he is about to expound upon his other proclivities. He nods to her, then a predatory grin breaks across his face as he steps around the pair. He studies the new woman intently, from head to toes, taking in the aristocratic air, the finely carved features, the eyes so clear, so blue, its as if they pierce like icicles. The manner he knows he saw is gone, replaced with subservience. The pantsuit flatters her form.

"As to the women that will be required, Marylena here might be perfection I think." This is directed to Ms. Young. As would any other staff known, or at least appearing to be off good bloodlines. I'd hate to disappoint Aunt Beth. I also greatly enjoy redheads. Busty is a plus, as are breeder hips." He looks to the raventressed woman, addressing her directly. "You may call me Gambit or Sir. I think I'd like to learn more. Here two minutes and I think I've found my first choice. What does the black rose indicate? Also, are you able to bear children?" He is blunt, direct, having been taught it is often the best way, especially in scenarios such as this.