East of Eden (Closed)

[satindesire]

Chloe passed a mirror in the hallway, pausing only briefly to gather her appearance.

She was a slender, boyish redhead, with a creamy complexion dusted with copper freckles. Her most prominent feature were her large brown eyes, which belied some foreign blood that her family had introduced some years ago, far before her own birth. It was not easy these days having red hair, often she had heard whispers of witchcraft in other towns that women of her coloring had often been blamed for. She knew that her offer to work here on the Ravencroft grounds, far above the petty and gossiping villagers, would be a wise one. The Ravencroft family was wealthy, and no one would dare blame her for witchcraft when she was under the protection of such an influential name.

She had expected there to be spiderwebs and ghosts haunting the halls of the inner chambers. But it was not the haunted place she had expected, the stone glittered brightly from the reflection of many lit braziers that lined the walls. But even for all the trappings of humanity, the decorations and the cheerily blazing fires...there was a sense of foreboding in her that only grew stronger with each step towards her destination.

The veiled figure in front of her vanished around a corner, and she quickened her steps to keep pace, even though she struggled with trying to remember why she had agreed to come in the beginning. The chamber she had been led to was strikingly dark, and she blinked to adjust her eyes in the sudden shift in lighting.

Chloe looked down into the stone pit that was centered in the ceremony room, feeling icy chills crawl along her limbs. She had seen her share of horrors in her time here, but none such as this. The pit wasn't black in the way she had known the color in her few mortal years, but a sort of empty lightlessness that made her feel dizzy when staring down into it, as if she were looking not into a mere hole, but a fathomless abyss that stretched limitless miles into only God knows what hell.

"Disconcerting, isn't it?" A voice from beside her made her jump in surprise, a hand shooting to her throat to stifle a scream. She laughed, more out of nervousness than humor, and stiffly nodded. The mage's face was indistinguishable, deeply shadowed in the hooded robe he wore, making her feel doubly uneasy. "No time for regrets now, mortal."

Again, she nodded, still unable to form words around the thickness in the air that impressed upon her such a desire for silence that she wondered if it could have been sentient. There was no way she could imagine such a force.

Dozens now....they came now from both opposing staircases, on silent feet, the whispers of their cloth hems the only sound between the stone walls besides her ragged breathing. As they took their place in a circle around the pit, strange circular markings on the floor beneath them began to faintly glow with an unwholesome, blood-hued light.

"The gathering must be whole to wake her. Our power must be fierce to claim her spirit from Torpor."

The mages raised their hands in eerie unison, all but one, the man who had spoken to her before.

"The blood in this child will raise you once again, Black Widow, Speaker of Demons. Arise..."

As if from very far away, Chloe saw the mage raise her arm by the wrist, as if in supplication towards the pit, her hand dangling over it's hungry gaping maw. Then, the flash of fire on metal, and a blade was in his hand. It met her arm with the sound of tearing silk, and from some distance she thought she heard herself scream.

The sudden gush of her vein's life fell into the pit, splitting the smoky depths as if sunlight were parting fog. A pale figure lay, shriveled and shrunken, a mockery of human form. Female, to judge by the width of her hips, but the dehydration and almost total mummification of the body made it hard to tell.

The blood spurting from her wound landed wetly on the figure, cloaking the body in a gruesome mask of crimson. She viewed this distantly, wondering why she hadn't felt any pain from the knife, but her thoughts soon turned to further horror when she noted that the other mages had circled tightly around the pit, baring their own arms for the sacrifice. Gouts of mortal blood began to spill from their naked flesh, thickly filling the stone pit until the bottom was completely covered in a thin sea of red and the shriveled corpse was lost in it's liquid depths.

A sudden hard, painful pressure on her arm, she cried out, shrinking like a wounded animal, only to be drawn up by firm hands. The mage bound her wrist tightly with a cloth soaked in a green-tinged liquid, and as the spell that had bound her wore off, the pain came fresh and sharp. Malicious eyes fixed on the shadowed face, she opened her mouth to chastise him for such treatment, to ask him what had happened, but the movement from the other mages brought her pause.

They had stepped back from the pit, closing their own wounds in cloth similar to the ones that had bound her arm. They filed out, as silent as before, leaving her with the man, and the bloody pit.

"What's really happening here...?" She murmured at him, and although she could not see his face, she felt the humor radiating off of him, cold and unhealthy.

"You will see soon, my girl." She turned back to the pit, compelled by the sudden scrape of flesh on stone. The words froze in her throat, choked by the terror that blossomed like a rose, as hot as fire in her cheeks.

The body had not been a corpse, but something far greater. Shrunken no longer, before her horrified eyes the body began to plump and fill out, from a macabre skeletal frame to the lusciousness that only bones cannot hint at. Joints creaked, skin regained it's living sheen...Dry aged hair became glossy and black once again, breasts filled in with youthful and aggressive sexuality, the face losing it's terrible skull-like cast but maturing into a fearsome mask of blood-soaked beauty.

Streaming red from stark white skin, the imperious creature lifted an arm, motioning to the mage. "My robe." Chloe realized that the mage had released her some time ago, and she slunk back against the far wall, choking for air.

The mage bowed, plucking a luxurious garment from the wall and handed it to her. The woman?...demon?...creature? nodded brief thanks, then fixed her eyes on Chloe, who wished nothing more at that moment than to become invisible.

"And this is?" The mage cleared his throat, nodding "Yes, madame Ravencroft."

The woman licked her lips, gleeful malevolence glittering in her crystal-glass eyes.

"My first meal..."

Chloe did not know how a human could move that fast...obviously this woman was far more than human, but before she could flinch in fear, or plead for her life, the figure was upon her and she knew nothing more.

********************************************************


It was far too late in the evening for customers, the sun had long gone down, leaving the square empty but for a few lone stragglers who had long ago turned up their collars and started scurrying back to the safety of their homes. A woman paused briefly in front of the storefront door before opening it, accompanied by the ringing of bells. She removed her bonnet politely, casting a few curious glances about at the various objects that crowded the floor.

 

[Vixo]

Nicholas cared little for store hours as the world knew them. As he didn't sleep in those standard hours, what point would there be in his shop abiding by them? This was how he'd done things for well over a year now, abiding by expectations only in the first few weeks of his opening; he needed to seem welcoming, after all. Now he felt that his talents had afforded him the freedom to keep the hours that he wanted to keep, the ones which came naturally to him, unpredictable though they were to an outside eye.

That is to say, all of the hanging lanterns in his shop were lit when he should receive his visitor, and there was no indication of when he might close down. His frustrations were eaten up and pushed aside in the solace of work, which presently involved a diminishing figure of wood set atop a stool. The vague shape had already been cut down, crude wings spreading behind a figure that would soon take on a feminine, angelic appearance. He was beginning to think that this work might be easier on his table for the time being, as he'd yet to carve in such a way that his 'doll' might stand on her own, without the wings causing her to topple in the absence of his steadying hand. Before a decision might be made however, the bell on the door sounded unexpectedly, at once in reality as in his mind--it was a cue to pause, at this time of night. If nothing else, he had to be sure that no one saw him distracted and took the opportunity to make off with any items they might be able to carry upon their person.

Knife still in hand, he straightened from his stooped, attentive stature and turned heel to regard who had come in. Passing through one of the double doors that had been left open between the show floor and his workspace, he looked at the woman some moments more, unable to decide if she was a strange sleeper like him and simply browsing since he remained open, or if she had a reason in coming here.

"Hello, welcome. Is there anything I can help you with?" His voice was polite, but held a hint of uncertainty in it. Some small part of him distrusted late visitors, rather without any sort of legitimacy--worried they might be thieves or some such. He failed to realize that the small carving knife remained, dangling from his long fingers.

 

[satindesire]

Her creamy cheek was impressed by the deep valley of a dimple in her smile. "Nicholas Ardel I presume?" By way of formal greeting, adding the bob of a nod. Her glossy flame-red curls were tied up into an elaborate and painstaking series of whorls and knots, kept in place by several pearl studded pins that glinted in the dancing lanterlight. She was pale in the way redheads usually were, there was nothing obviously amiss about her coloring except for the supreme delicay of her complexion, as if it were nearly transluscent, lined at the throat and temple with faint bluish veins...and the fact that no pox had marked her skin with imperfections or scars.

Wealthy, coming from a wealthy family, at the least. "Chloe Blount. Pleased to meet you."

Her lace-gloved hand touched the table beside her reverently, dark brown eyes drinking up his face as if he were her only focus in the universe. "I was sent here by Madame Ravencroft. She has sent me with a comission." From some sleight of hand, she produced a delicate vellum roll, sealed with crimson wax and imprinted with a ring mark, and handed it to him.

The Ravencroft manor was a sprawling grounds of purebred horses, tobacco, cotton and flax, rare flowers, olive trees and a grove of walnuts and oranges both. Cattle of various kinds roamed the fields, both cows and sheep, and the cheese and wool produced there were one of the city's finest exports.

The real money...well...no one knew where that really came from. But there were occasional whispers.

 

[Vixo]

A pang of guilt touched him on further observation of the woman; why did his mind turn immediately to dishonesty? Were people like himself not to be trusted? Something of her smile was too comforting for him to disbelieve, and so did the uncertainty melt from his expression, replaced with something that wasn't entirely a smile but, in the least, turned out more open to her. His was a face given over to shadows and gloom, as his voice--a smile upon it was a strange thing that seemed to try and redefine the rules it so often followed.

Unused to such formality (as his customers who were actually as noteworthy as they claimed were few and far between), he responded with a faint nod in turn, and a small vocalization between a hum and grunt. He needed no further introduction, after all; the best introduction he might ever give was already hung and displayed around him. Hearing her introduce herself, he drifted closer, but remained unsure--would the customary contact, the gestures of trust, maintain their place in something as this? She seemed come with a particular object in mind, one that she pursued with little hesitation.

He had barely the time to acknowledge her given name before she spoke of her business without prompt, something he accepted well enough, as it might just be too strange a time of night to toy around, especially not when there was work he could be doing.

"She's that busy a woman, is she?" His inquiry passed in good humor, his thick brows raising in a more appropriate smile than might touch his mouth. The roll was taken from her hand, its seal inspected a moment under the waving firelight before he broke it and held the missive before himself to be read.

 

[satindesire]

Slanted, elegant script. Handwritten, by the looks of it in a rich purple-black ink that probably came from her own land. The vellum had a hint of insence smoke still clinging to it's crispness. Chloe was markedly silent as he read, speaking only after the missive had drooped.

"Madame is...a very private woman." Said so simply that fathoms could have been inferred by such speech. But her smile was rich with welcome, and she stepped closer, eyes glittering with firelight reflection. "But you'll meet her, soon enough."

The Comission Read:

Mr. Nicholas Ardel,

I have heard of your artistic talent and have been quite impressed by what I've seen. I would be honored to press you into service for the comission of one portrait, in the medium of your choice, and would pay you whatever fee you asked. If you agree, I will see that you have a lodging, meals, and a personal servant to attend to your needs for the duration of your labor.

In return, I ask that you do not reveal your place of residence during your stay here, nor do you replicate and/or sell the portrait, nor do you ever disclose any information you see or hear during your residence. Also, I ask that you do not take any item that does not presently belong to you away from the Manor.

If you agree, I will agree to any fees and fines you deem necessary, plus an allowance extra for any additional artistic supplies you may need.

Once you have read and memorized this vellum, please destroy or burn it.

I will take your safe arrival here with my servant as agreement on these terms.

Sincerely Yours,

Alais Ravencroft




What could possibly go wrong?

 

[Vixo]

His brow furrowed as he read the letter over, having never received something so. . .weighty before. He was to stay in this woman's home? Did she presume that he had no other obligations? Expression slightly sagging at this thought, it occurred to him that, beyond having a pet, this was quite accurate, really. He could easily depart from his home for days or weeks at a time, and would be missed by no one save the aforementioned Rosalind, for whom he might easily make arrangements. To pass up a lucrative opportunity simply on account of a cat wouldn't make any sense.

He did not entirely trust the idea of his work being kept a secret, though some of her other demands did not bother him--he had never before reproduced a commission for sale. As it went, the only human portraits he had to sell were those made without commission, without any sort of arrangement at all. His morals in this respect were marked; if he were of a mercenary personality, he would certainly have sold every painting he'd ever done of the Lady Ayresaelian, including the ones hidden in his attic that she forbade to meet the public gaze.

Art was his work out of necessity and little more, for his pride would never have allowed him to graze steadily at the funds he had been left, nor would his heart allow him any less creative a task. If they were not sold, where would all of his work have gone? Taking commissions provided him with a new challenge for each, and a sense of accomplishment when these tasks were fulfilled to a client's liking. This commission in particular sounded like a massive challenge, though he remained uncertain.

Lowering the parchment, he held it against his torso and looked down thoughtfully on the mentioned servant. She had a warmth of expression which compelled him, but doubt, as ever, plagued him. That this woman was anything beyond eccentric failed to occur to him (for he felt his art resided in some special safe place that ill intentions couldn't possibly penetrate), but the idea of being in a stranger's house for the duration of a commission didn't sit well with him. He would have to keep up his professional facade for the entire time.

"She means for me to stay in the manor the entire time?" That this was a point of contention could not be more blatant, but he failed to dismiss the prospect outright. His hands held the missive against his person, fingers tightening aback of it, faintly fidgeting. At this point his lips often opened, twisted, fell together again. Even he wasn't sure if he wanted to speak. Did he want to discourage this part of it, or was he simply having misgivings?

 

[satindesire]

Her eyes searched his, the warmth fading ever so slightly, a hint of scorn chilling the warmth. Measured, calculated, weighing him and seeming to find him wanting.

Or was that merely his crushing self doubt and fear coloring what he thought to be her expression? It seemed after that fleeting glimpse of mocking, her face had resumed it's present pleasantness...perhaps he had just imagined it. Surely no one could shift moods an matching facial cues so keenly, or so quickly.

"Indeed, Master Ardel, you are to be given a separate apartment in the manor, with all the amenities of home, including a kitchen and greatroom, formal dining room, a foyer, laundry and water closet, bathing chambers and an attached bedroom to an art studio, for your convenience." At the last of her speech, she bowed her head ever-so-slightly, delicate hands closing about each other politely. With a tilt of her chin, she added "Arrangements for any responsibilities you may have can be fit into the allowance."

A pregnant pause, the quirk of a ruddy brow "Has her offer been found wanting, Nicholas?" Knowing full well it was well past generous, indeed.

 

[Vixo]

"Wanting? It isn't that. . ." His response was immediate, but the speech slow, still considering. He knew he had nothing to lose in this, but shouldn't he think of what he had to gain as well? Money wasn't especially important to him. What he desired more was respect, and a portrait of this type would do nothing to further that goal, for the world would never know of it! All the same, esteem in an individual had a way of seeping out into the world.

Already he felt this woman's judgment. She sneered to think he fancied himself in any position to decline her Madame. He knew little of who this woman was, but gathered that she must be of some esteem to have these amenities at her disposal, to even have this servant approach him so. . .though he could easily afford such a servant for himself. He simply wasn't of that commanding mind, and would be overtaken by the guilt of having someone employed entirely with his convenience in mind. That anyone would find it a pleasure to serve and, further, find it a pleasure to serve him was an utterly alien idea.

Swallowing, he pressed the blade of his knife into its casing at last, abandoning the tool to his pocket, wherein he searched for another. In a significant gesture, he lifted the parchment and, as instructed, set it aflame, employing the primative oil lighter he'd produced. He seemed unafraid of the fire in spite of his subdued nature, and only let the flaming thing go as it crept dangerously close to his precious hand. The fire continued to eat the paper on its slow descent, to a point where there were few embers to fall to the floor--these, he easily and harmlessly stomped out.

"Take me there." There were so many other things to consider before he simply marched out to this stranger's home--changes of clothes, and of course the care of his precious cat. . .but the most important thing to express at the moment felt to be his agreement to the proposal.

 

[satindesire]

The tension in the room tactically released, as if some battle was suddenly over.

She tilted her head towards the door, fixing her bonnet beneath her chin. "Master Ardel, at your leisure." And followed him out, as quiet as a kitten.

Mid October, and the wind bit hard with a promise of frost by morning. Not quite All-Hallows Eve yet, but coming closer with each passing moonrise. The mentioned celestial was missing tonight, the bleak starry depths seemed wan in wanting. The feeble light from the street lanterns gave no comforting illumination for the sight that welcomed him on the cobbled square.

Four black beasts, straining sinews beneath glossy ebony flesh, furred hooves stomping impatience. A fine painted carriage indeed, trimmed in ebonwood with gleaming handles of gold. The footman, smart in high leather boots and a cap on his forelock, opened the door with a tilt of a nod for the young woman, handing her into the perfumed depths which she seemed to settle in with ease.

"Master Ardel." He murmured politely, touching his brow.

The interior was as luxurious as a carriage could be, the pews clad in velvet and cushioned heavily for the jarring ride. A trace of a smile lingered upon his companions lips, as if she were gloating privately over some won prize. Perhaps her mistress would be better company.

The carriage jolted soon into a steady rocking pace after the snap of a whip sent the equine monstrosities agallop.

"You can return at your pleasure to collect your things, Master Ardel. Madame would surely be happy to send a man back with you should any of the items be ungainly to move alone."

Now studying her, there was something amiss about the girl. Even in the intense darkness of the carriage her eyes glittered like a cat's.

 

[Vixo]

It was strange to be abandoning his work all at once like this. Some small preparations were made before he exited with her, of course; he took his partly-finished angel and put her away in the back, for instance, and went about the room blowing out lanterns, lest his absence trigger some catastrophe and see the entire row of shops that his belonged to fall to ash. His tolerance for cold was next to nothing and, by consequence, when he did exit his shop, it was wrapped in a woolen greatcoat. People who knew him would find it laughable that he should use anything associated with a soldier, to say the least, but the garment was warm and, he thought, afforded him a certain dignity. It was better than the cloaks so many in these parts seemed to prefer!

This was unlike him. Why did he drop everything to cater to this woman, a woman he'd never even seen? Was it only to avoid an argument with her servant? This Ms. Blount was much too dignified to argue with him, however; she would have likely said 'very well' and departed if he had declined this offer. . .would she not? His carriage was stiff as he followed her to their destination, his considerations as a physical weight which pulled at his every limb, back toward those places where he had control. To agree to live in this stranger's home and so, by her rules, was to throw that away. . .and for what? For money?

At the man he merely stared, similarly unused to his formality as he had been with the woman's. This time his mind was too clouded for him to make a similar effort at reciprocation, however. He cast an eye at the horses before stepping up and settling himself inside the carriage. As the moment of seeing the woman behind the missive crept closer and closer, his nervousness grew.

"Ungainly? No, no, I haven't got anything like that. I'll, ah. . .need to have my cat taken care of, that's all." A wince passed across his face. His cat? Really? That wasn't to say he wouldn't return, of course, but beyond a suitcase of clothes and a small measure of personal effects (razor, a lotion for his hands and so on), he had nothing to carry with him. His eyes, lifted again to the woman presently across from him, assessed her again. Something strange of her. The artist's gaze grew worried, something he could only wish to hide; his expressions were things to mold his brow into the perfect shape of his attitude however, and he only found himself able to hide such things when it didn't matter very much (as in performance). Defeated by himself, he hung his head and clasped his large hands between his knees, falling quiet.

 

[satindesire]

At the mention of his pet her expression visibly softened. "How delightful..." she murmured softly.

The manor was full of animals, the Madame was known for her love of them. She had several cats who slept with her, as well as hunting dogs and her beloved personal charger, Loki. Chloe was quite accustomed to the animals, and had a personal fondness for the Madame's feline companions.

"If you wish to bring your cat, I'm sure Madame would have no objection. She is an animal lover herself." She was not looking at him when she said this, saying it to the dark window of the carriage instead. So many sudden shifts in tone, so many confusing mannerisms. One minute she was warm and welcoming, one moment scornful and distant. Which one was the real servant, and which one was a facade?

The altitude of the carriage grew steadily higher, as the temperature dropped steadily lower. Eventually Chloe began to shiver (Ah! So she was human after all!) and fetched from below the seat a large fur drape which she offered to Nicholas. "You will need this, the journey only gets colder from here."

 

[Vixo]

He smiled at her, strangely eager, when her expression softened; he'd expected her to snort and roll her eyes at him. Wasn't it the lonely women who were supposed to eat up gaps in their lives with a cat? Still, he constrained himself, not wanting to open up a discussion as this. He remained uncomfortable with the arrangement, a feeling that only grew as did the chill. He'd never been into the mountains before, his home tending in quite the opposite direction, descending to sea level.

"I'll do that, yes. She'll be all right for the time being." How should he be in this case? Was it ungrateful to dismiss his own needs and therefore diminish their opportunity to be hospitable toward him, or simply more convenient? Indulgence wasn't a part of his personality, at least not as he liked to acknowledge; he fancied himself able to cope, even against all indication otherwise.

As earlier indicated, he had no tolerance for chill; it ran quickly and visibly through his body, and before he could think of manners, he quickly snatched the offered fur close about himself.

"God, I should hope the inside's warmer than this."

 

[satindesire]

The dread he felt, was it a natural occurrence or some otherworldly sense pressing him to flee? Was it not the same that Chloe had once felt, the very same sickening rush in the guts that spoke of an untraceable but very real wrongness that was thick in the air?

Chloe simply nodded agreement at his statement, fetching a matching drape for herself beneath the seat. She tucked it securely around her narrow body, grateful for it's heavy insulation against the biting cold that was seeping around the joints in the doors. For some time they rode in silence, whether it was companionable or awkward was anyone's guess.

Finally, the carriage slowed after what seemed like a frozen eternity of hell and the thunderous gallop ceased and left a ringing absence in the occupants' ears. The footman opened the door, his face red with the cold. "Miss Chloe? Master Ardel?" Chloe nodded, her breath flaring a puff of hoarfrost from between her lips. "Yes, indeed, let's hasten where the frost isn't snatching."

Without much formal ceremony due to the chill, Nick was ushered out of the carriage.

The visitor's square of her grounds was fairly impressive, a fairy-tale landscape of manicured lawn, a fountain and carefully maintained greenery all now touched by the glittering hand of ice. The wind was bitter, but came in gusts, in between the silent landscape marred only by the crack of water freezing and ice weighing boughs.

The manor itself was Columned stone and gleaming marble, several rather impractical stories in an unfamiliar palatial style. There were two separately distinguished wings as well as a smoking house peeking from the farthest end, next to the frozen orchard.

"I would be happy to send you on a tour sometime later, after it thaws. But for now, you should come in before you catch your death of cold." Some private joke, it must have been. Humor glittered in her chocolate cats eyes.

Inside the white marble foyer, Chloe shed her fur, accepting a bundle of papers. "Something warm to drink, Master Ardel?"

 

[Vixo]

His nervousness was growing. Holding the throw tightly around his person, he did what he could to glance out of the small carriage window, trying to see if anything familiar passed by him. It didn't. He would have to learn the way back to town when they returned to retrieve his belongings. He'd play closer attention then, force himself not to be fixated on the chill. Still, it was difficult to chase away the severe discomfort which came with not knowing where he was, with not being able to go home without someone taking him there. This was doubly true as he didn't own a horse and couldn't imagine controlling the massive beasts which led the carriage. He'd freeze before finding his way back! What was he getting himself into? Why had he agreed to this, despite his misgivings? Didn't he trust his instincts?

Having worked himself into a minor panic by the time the carriage stopped, he stared at the redhead as she exited the carriage, his eyes wide; they followed, too, the unfortunate footman. . .who were these people really? He could take no more pause however, and did his best to compose himself as he pushed away the fur and descended from the carriage. His mind was in too dark of a place for the vision of the majestic grounds to offer comfort. Rather than beautiful, everything looked covered in frigid, killing ice to him, perhaps aesthetically appealing but suggesting nothing positive in the end.

His movements were impatient as he followed the others inside, not saying a word until he was spoken to. He could have dashed to the front doors so much more quickly if he would have been allowed! Yet such a thing was hardly appropriate, and he was already speaking too little for propriety. His first thought of her joke was, inexplicably, You intend for me to be here that long?, before reason caught up and suggested that she simply expected they'd part on good terms, and so he might be invited back for that particular purpose.

"Yes, yes, certainly," he murmured hurriedly, trying to contain some of his eagerness to get inside; he could feel the wind whipping at his poor hands, writing white cracks into their knuckles and between their fingers. When at last they were inside, the relief was immense.

"Good God, yes." Unfastening the many buttons which held the greatcoat snugly across his form (something which might lead his companions to believe he was overreacting to the weather, as the garment was designed to keep him quite warm), he fished in its pockets before taking it off and having it put somewhere, producing a small bottle of lotion.

"What miserable weather." At this rate, he cared little of any appearance of virility, popping the top off of the bottle and shaking some of the chilly cream into his palm. The top was returned with his fingertips and the bottle this time abandoned to a trouser pocket. He'd still be rubbing it carefully into his hands as he was led about the house.

 

[satindesire]

A young woman entered from what appeared to be, the formal dining room, bearing a silver tray. "Mulled cider and hot chocolate." she murmured, greeting them both with a curtsy. It was a wonder she balanced the tray so well, laden with the kettles, fine bone china mugs and a delicate bowl filled to overflowing with cubes of black sugar...stirring spoons, milk, and a bowl of sugared dried fruit.

"Thank you, Amelie, set it there..." and Chloe motioned towards a delicate side table where a large mirror set above it. The servant placed the tray down, nodded politely, and excused herself. Chloe's hands were still shaking from the cold, but she managed to pour herself a mug of cocoa and spooned in a lump of sugar. "What's your pleasure, Master Ardel...? Ah, this cold will be the end of me, surely. Forgive me if I spill."

Before she could raise her hand to the kettle of his choice, she paused and looked over to the wide staircase to their left, as if movement had caught her eye. She dropped her hand, straightening, and bowed from the waist.

"Madame Ravencroft."


"I trust the journey was not too difficult, Master Ardel..." Smoke and sex, a knife cloaked in silk, the voice of a chorister. She stood at the top of the stairs, the long talons of her brightly laqured nails resting lightly on the ebonwood railing.

Foreign blood. It could be seen in the strange upward tilt of her luminous crystal eyes, the color of cracked ice, a spark of silver glittered in their darkly kohled depths. Narrow cheekbones, a square and arrogant chin. In another woman, those features might have been unduly masculine, even unattractive, but the fullness of her wide Nubian mouth and the heavy fall of loose ebony curls that sprung wildly from her forehead softened these into a striking vision of strength and pride, and the vanity of feminine wiles. The awareness of beauty, attractive and repulsive at once, "yes," her eyes seemed to say, "I am worthy of worship." Beneath that, the body in question was firm with youth and the fine sinewy musculature of a thoroughbred horse, with broadly curving hips and breasts that could have been a bit too generous for such a frame, although that never did a woman any harm.

Strange enough that she would greet her guest at such an hour...it was late enough when Chloe came to the stop, and the trip had to have been at least an hour more. Stranger still that she was in riding gear, and MEN'S riding gear at that, complete with fitted buckskin breeches, glossy leather kneeboots, white buttoned blouse, and a vest that only served to further highlight the curve of her generous body.

"Please excuse my attire...I didn't expect you so soon."

 

[Vixo]

A gracious smile was given this new servant, though his eyes turned more readily to the steam rising from the drinks she was offering them. Foreign as the idea of having his own servants was, he'd grown quite used to seeing them in the homes he worked for. Most people of wealth didn't have his same misgivings with hiring help; he only employed people to tend to the lawn and gardens about his estate, as that much would be literally impossible for him to do alone. Why the presentability of these things mattered to him could not be said, as he wasn't the sort to have any guests at all, disregarding the lavish parties thrown when Ayresaelian remained with him. Despite appearances, this simply wasn't his society!

While the chill did get to him, it was not nearly so dramatic as with Chloe. Once the lotion was properly massaged into his hands, then, he found himself hovering close to where she began pouring the cocoa, battling the urge to take it from her and serve himself. He had to remember that, indeed, this was not his society, and to do so would not seem helpful, but rude.

"I'll have the cocoa as well, but with a bit less sugar, please." He was so eagerly awaiting the passage of the warm liquid down his throat that a frown of disappointment touched him when she paused in giving it to him, an expression quickly rectified before he himself turned in the direction of the Madame. No longer bent to retrieve his drink, his stature was tall, remarkably so, but his own gesture of respect a stunted half-bow, as he was unsure of what he was meant to do. He was not her servant, after all.

"Good evening, Madame Ravencroft. I look forward to working with you." So saying, he gave a sincere but subdued smile, following the odd curve of his mouth but careful not to reveal his teeth.

 

[satindesire]

Chloe faithfully poured his cupfull and offered it to him, instead of adding sugar, she merely left the tray on the table for him to add his own fripperies to his liking. Bowing once again, she excused herself and left the two to their business.

His smile was welcome to see, if reserved. She was a stranger, after all, and potentially his future employer. The Lady of the house descended the stairs, pausing a foot or so from wher he stood by the foyer table. "I didn't expect you to be quite so tall." she murmured pleasantly, her tone reserved and private as if she were almost whispering a secret to him. She perched lightly on the edge of a chair next to a flower stand, placing her clasped hands over a knee. "I see my faithful girl has set you up with all the necessary provisions." she looked, with a mite trace of longing, towards the tray. The scent of the mulled cider and cocoa was wonderful, filling the high-celinged chamber with a warm and homey feel. Besides that, the foyer was strikingly impersonal, with minimal furniture and little in the way of decoration.

She was silent for some moments, watching him shake off the cold and enjoy his drink, her level gaze unblinkingly thorough. It had been some time since she had enjoyed the company of a person who wasn't employed by her.

"So shall I trust that my business is agreeable with you, that the....terms...are suitable to you?" She stated, after a time, tilting her inky head in a catlike gesture of curiosity.

 

[Vixo]

Nicholas was not yet at ease, and so continued standing. With deft usage of the implements provided (though his hands were obsessively clean), he split one of the larger lumps of sugar apart and stirred half of it into his cocoa. He couldn't be sure what was in the cider, and so although it had its appeal, he decided to go with what he knew. Besides, it was something of a rare indulgence for him, while the cider became quite common in the autumn months. Both cup and dish were held before him as he took his first sip, the set dwarfed by his large hands. At first glance they looked entirely too large for the arms they were attached to, but this was difficult to deduce, as he wore a three-piece suit of extreme modesty.

Despite himself, a knowing sort of smile rose to his mouth as she mentioned his height. Though the precedent of his thoughts for the night was disgust--that is, that the servants and so the lady would be disgusted with him--he took some shallow show of admiration from her tone, never a terrible way to start off with a client.

Taking another sip from the small cup, he nodded shortly. "Yes, I've been treated quite well already." The chocolate was as delightful as he'd hoped it would be, just under scalding and leading a wide ribbon of warmth down to coil pleasantly in his stomach. After a short time, he found himself leaning gently against the wall as he drank, sensing no need to continue their exchange just yet; he needed to forget the wintery chill of the outdoors first.

Placing the cup and plate down when he was through, he admitted to her, "I haven't done things this way before, so it's a bit of an odd thought that I'm to be spending most of my time away from home. Did you want to do the portrait beside a window or something like that?" The idea that she would want to sit with a backdrop of moonlight, should want its presence naturally in her portrait, had just occurred to him. Considering where she lived, it was a bit more practical for him to simply spend his nights here. What would the trek back down to town really be worth?

 

[satindesire]

Nodding to his question the Madame shifted, leaning back in the seat, studying him lazily as if a lioness studying her prey. "I understand it may be a strange request...please...humor my..." and the word seemed to humor her greatly "...eccentricities."

But to the comment about a window, she laughed. She laughed openly, her large, square white teeth catching a glitter from the overhead lighting, the pointed canines just a little too feral-looking. "No, Master Ardel, not a window. I was hoping to allow you the option of choosing what the background would be, to the limits of what can be done in the studio. I trust your artistic skill."

He seemed so vulnerable, so guarded. Wounded. A frisson of bloodlust arced through her like adrenaline.


A fine hunt this would be.

 

[Vixo]

While the average person in his sort of work might suggest a customer get entirely what they pay to receive, Nicholas looked at this a bit differently. For whatever reason, she desired to have a portrait of her painted and, furthermore, painted by him. Thus: "No worries, I've been considered a bit strange myself. It's no reason to deny you a portrait, though. If anything, the eccentric ought to be immortalized in this way, lest history forget that there are individuals in every generation." Considering his trend of silence, this was quite a lot for him to say at once, and even he was conscious of this--an open mouthed smile moved quickly across his face, there and gone almost before it might be recognized for what it was.

His face fell when she laughed openly at him, as this meant searching for a new reason for his being summoned here at night. To some the truth might be an obvious direction for their thoughts to travel in, but Nick trusted his gut in this regard. It failed to twist and tighten, to drum him up into his usual panic when he found himself - accidentally, of course - in the company of such fiends. Accordingly, he trusted that she was exactly as she said, eccentric. She'd simply learned to wake at night and sleep during the day at some point. What was the trouble with that?

"Mm. . .alright." Momentarily he was stiff against her laughter, recovering from the embarrassment of an apparently naive assumption. He soon warmed again however, standing straight and moving closer in a few light steps. "I suppose now's a good opportunity to give the room a look, then, isn't it?"

 

[satindesire]

She watched the play of emotion and expression across his face with obvious delight. He was delicious, as raw and human as an open wound, and bleeding almost as fiercely. The Thirst jumped hungrily in her, sharpening her senses. She stood suddenly from the chair as he stepped closer to her, backwards towards the staircase and gripping the railing with a fierce amber-skinned fist.

Like a gazelle walking towards a cheetah. Foolish boy!

Feeling the sharpness of teeth on her lip, she clenched her jaw, willing herself to focus. Hunger was the best spice, it had been said. She intended to let herself starve for quite some time. All the better to slake herself with, my dear.

In control once again...her eyes narrowed with her welcoming smile.

"Indeed, Master Ardel, a delightful idea."

She loosened her grip from the railing, offering an elegant motion towards the upstairs. "Please, follow me."

 

[Vixo]

He didn't fail to notice something amiss about Ms. Ravencroft's reaction to him (his mind remained uncertain on what name to call her by), but was quick to dismiss it. Some people were simply awkward, after all. While this didn't seem suited to a woman of her status, it made sense to him that this was why she should be so secretive. Perhaps she had inherited this manor, this wealth and status, and didn't want to tarnish her family's history by letting the world know that her behavior was less than perfect. This was something that he identified with in some small way, a reason he made himself as scarce as he possibly could at parties without being blatantly rude. Often he kept himself behind the piano, a gesture that seemed a courtesy but was really just a way of hiding. The only strange thing was that her reaction didn't appear to speak of fear, exactly, as a part of him was used to from some people. It wasn't rare for people to find his height alarming in close quarters, but this. . .this was different. He decided not to worry himself over it. Suspicion was no way to begin a professional relationship. As she offered her home to him, he imagined this wasn't going to open up his usual avenue of work, wherein a sitting had him taking extensive sketches and notes to assist a photographic memory, and he painted in their presence only by request.

He said nothing to her, all the same, offering a smile he thought was warm and comforting before beginning to scale the stairs behind her. His eyes were fixed on her hair, following where it fell along her body, considering the way it moved with every step. He'd need to study her as best he could before she formally sat for the portrait, trying to draw some of her natural expressions out, that he might know what to look for and how to guide her later.

 

[satindesire]

Come into my parlor, said the spider to the fly....




The stairs curved into a long L-shaped hall that opened into a sitting room on the far end, where a large double-harpsichord and several other musical instruments were housed. There were six doors in the hall, then another staircase at the close end. She motioned towards the second case, then ascended it silently.

The hair in question ended just below the rise of her generous rump, a glossy mass of true black with a faint purplish undertone. Had it been shorter, one could tell by the texture that it would have been curlier, but the sheer length pulled much of the spirals down into a loose leonine wave. It was inappropriate to see a woman's hair undone, specifically a Lady's. To society's eyes, it suggested a wanton personality and a loose reputation. To the Madame specifically, it was simply too long for many of the fashionable curls and styles, and more comfortable loose anyway.

Once they reached the top, and stepped into a second hallway, she stopped and motioned towards a set of heavy double doors. "This is where your studio is accessed from the hall. Your sleeping chamber has another door into it, for your convenience." She opened the door and allowed him inside the marble and stone room.

"Since I'm suspecting you will be staying with us for some time, please fell free to take as many things from your quarters and your studio as you see fit." Chloe had not had a moment to mention his kitty-cat, so naturally the Madame didn't assume, but she did impress a firm "Allow me to take care of the remainder of your needs during your stay. Consider it part of your commission."

 

[Vixo]

While aware of the expectations this society placed on those within it (especially upon women), it remained difficult for him to assimilate them into his own. As his looking at her went on, he found himself admiring that hair; it seemed soft and silky, without a single split end or other indication of weakness and breakage. He dare not reach out and test this theory of course, but it was becoming steadily apparent that the small changes he might make in a portrait of another woman would not need to be made with her. She might be painted with startling realism and still seem an artful exaggeration. Of note was the fact that his gaze found no fixture on that luscious figure to which her hair did lead it, not for lack of interest but for strict restraint. He was determined that he shouldn't fall to lust with his clients, for one moment of weakness would open itself up into another, and his reputation would soon dwindle as a result. . .he doubted his talent enough to allow the public to lovingly dismiss a tendency to take his frequently stunning subjects to bed. Such was only done of the truly revolutionary.

"Yes, this has been told to me already. I hope all of it occurs to me when I go home again, because at the moment I can't imagine what I'll need beyond my clothing and some supplies from town. . .and my cat, of course." He smiled at recalling her, at once fond of his pet and a bit sheepish of that reaction. "Ms. Blount told me you'd be just fine with having her stay here with me. Thinking of it, I'm not sure she'd accept any lesser arrangement." Ahh, appending human emotions to an animal. . .a sure sign that he'd lived alone a bit too long. He ground his teeth against a sigh.

 

[satindesire]

She turned her head to look back at him over her shoulder, laughter dancing in the one visible eye. "Ah, an animal lover!" She mused warmly, then motioned outwards into the nearly empty studio. It was a windowless room, with a large mantled fireplace at one end furthest from the door that must have led to his bedroom, and a long bench built into the marble wall strewn with pillows and cushions and various pretty blankets and throws. "Anything you need, canvases, paints, brushes, mediums of any kind, furniture, please let me know. I'll have them purchased immediately and sent up."

She paused, walking towards the bench. "And speaking of animals..." bending at the waist and causing the heavy mane of hair to slide across her back, she picked up a very large long-haired cat, as inky as her owner's curls. "One of the three that I have. Inside at least, there must be at least a dozen barn cats in the stables."

The cat seemed incredibly placid and lay in her arms calmly. Alais stepped back towards Nicholas, scratching the feline absently on the top of the head. "Do please bring any of your pets. The extra company is welcome."