Être Dans de Beaux Draps [Closed] - Printable Version
+- alonimi (https://alonimi.net)
+-- Forum: Archives (https://alonimi.net/forumdisplay.php?fid=72)
+--- Forum: Complete (https://alonimi.net/forumdisplay.php?fid=84)
+--- Thread: Être Dans de Beaux Draps [Closed] (/showthread.php?tid=715)
+- alonimi (https://alonimi.net)
+-- Forum: Archives (https://alonimi.net/forumdisplay.php?fid=72)
+--- Forum: Complete (https://alonimi.net/forumdisplay.php?fid=84)
+--- Thread: Être Dans de Beaux Draps [Closed] (/showthread.php?tid=715)
RE: Être Dans de Beaux Draps [Closed] - SolitareLee - 04-05-2017
She heard a voice call for her; she was relieved at the direction. Her steps were short and nervous as she tried to get used to walking in heels. She'd done it before, but not in a long time, and not often like these, high and narrow, requiring to put her weight forward onto her toes. She knew she could get the hang of it, though. It would be nice to have a bit of time to practice, since putting her in cripplingly uncomfortable high heels had been a strategy to keep her from running in the past. She followed his voice into what appeared to be a kitchen. That surprised her for several reasons, but she supposed it shouldn't have. Rich people liked to feed in this city. She would not complain. There was a plate of... something. Slices of apple she recognized; everything else was a mystery. Some sort of... pizza? Pie? She had no idea. And there was some white... ssssssomething, with the apple slices.
More weird rich-person tomfoolery, like at the restaurant.
Her eyes were on the food, his eyes were on her. She didn't even notice until he swept over to her, closer. His eyes were very pale and very blue, in ways they had not been before. She hadn't been expecting it; it shot a bolt of startled fear through her.
It wasn't as though everyone who hurt her had blue eyes.
Just the ones that hurt her worst.
Her chin went up as automatically as if he had touched her, but she was glad that he hadn't. It would take her a few moments to get her racing heart back under control, and grabbing at her, while expected, would not have helped. The compliments did, though, a little. She wouldn't have minded fine jewelry or lipstick or a salon. It would have been even more like playing dress-up. Although more permanent things like nails or make-up would need to be shed quickly after leaving. They were far more trouble than they were worth, attracted the wrong kind of attention. A solid 50% of her defense was that she could pass for a small homeless boy as easily as a small homeless woman.
"I... have?" she asked, a little hopefully. She'd been pretty much flying blind the whole time, in every single thing she'd done from taking a bath to crying in the bath to getting dressed afterwards. It was a miracle she'd managed to do one of them successfully, let alone all three.
Feeling a bit more cheerful at the prospect of having done a job properly, she followed his casual command to sit and eat. There was a fork present, which she went for immediately. When in doubt--eat with a fork. Better to be thought silly for eating pizza with a fork then thought silly for eating steak with one's hands. She'd learned that the hard way. When in doubt. Fork. And she was very much in doubt. "Um, yes, please," she answered, a little uncertainly, vaguely hoping he wouldn't ask her what she wanted to drink.
The pizza-pie thing had a soft, fluffy texture and a savory taste that did absolutely nothing to help her figure out what in the hell it was. It was good, though, and that was enough for her. The white stuff turned out to be a soft cheese, she was pretty sure, that actually match deliciously well with the apples. She could have inhaled them. She forced herself to eat more slowly, however, at something only slightly above 'normal human casually eating.'
This was great. She could save the granola bars, peanut butter, and the stale crackers she'd found for later. She hadn't eaten yet that day, but had become accustomed to regular meals over the least month or so. She was, to be frank, ravenous. Ruka had learned that upon giving her a plate with six very expensive pancakes on it and then having to field requests for bacon.
Still. Manners. Also, she really didn't want to get food on her dress, which she vaguely suspected was much more valuable than her, so she was having to eat a little more carefully than she might otherwise.
"Your, um, eyes," she managed, deciding conversation was a good way to pace herself. Plus, they were talking straight with each other, right? Hopefully still? She gestured vaguely at her own, palest blue. "They weren't... like that before? Were they?"
RE: Être Dans de Beaux Draps [Closed] - Tindome - 04-05-2017
He'd frightened her, somehow; he wasn't complaining, but it hadn't been expected at this juncture. Had she noticed his eyes? Was she simply feeling vulnerable at being approached while so dressed?
His eyes flared brighter until the moment passed.
"Oh, yes," he assured her. "You did everything that I asked in exactly the way that I hoped you would, you clever girl." Something about her craved praise, and he couldn't help but offer it freely when she was being so biddable. It was such a rare trait, really. At least the kind that was useful to him.
It was early and she was small, so he poured her a simple glass of apple cider. He set it gently in front of her, watching her try to pace herself. He cut her another slice of quiche without asking, and slid it onto her plate. He added a little brioche bun beside it.
"They were not," he agreed. "As I said – you did a marvelous job, and I am quite satisfied with your performance." The corner of his mouth crooked. "Ask what you like. I may not answer, but I do not mind."
His eyes flared brighter until the moment passed.
"Oh, yes," he assured her. "You did everything that I asked in exactly the way that I hoped you would, you clever girl." Something about her craved praise, and he couldn't help but offer it freely when she was being so biddable. It was such a rare trait, really. At least the kind that was useful to him.
It was early and she was small, so he poured her a simple glass of apple cider. He set it gently in front of her, watching her try to pace herself. He cut her another slice of quiche without asking, and slid it onto her plate. He added a little brioche bun beside it.
"They were not," he agreed. "As I said – you did a marvelous job, and I am quite satisfied with your performance." The corner of his mouth crooked. "Ask what you like. I may not answer, but I do not mind."
RE: Être Dans de Beaux Draps [Closed] - SolitareLee - 04-05-2017
Okay, yes, his eyes were definitely, most certainly changing color, and it was definitely, most certainly kind of scary. There was nothing wrong with it as a concept, but she had a certain allergic reaction to very pale blue eyes and someone whose eyes could turn that and then fade away into something slightly more comfortable... It was like a cobra's hood or a dog's growl. The bigger the flare, the louder the growl, the paler the eyes. It was quite likely nothing of the sort, but the instinct was felt just as keenly.
She decided not to look at them, focusing on the food, which was reproducing. If she didn't pay attention to her manners, she'd probably start wolfing food down like the little gremlin she was, anyway. Bites half as big as she wanted, focusing on chewing and not just swallowing it whole, sipping rather than gulping.
She also focused on the compliments, though she tamped down the little wiggle-hop the pleasure of being praised made her want to do. She may have wiggled a little. It was a rat trait, one that Clarke had never quite broken her of but, thanks to his trying, she was very aware was incorrect social behavior.
"They, um... Why do they do that?" she settled on. "Change color, or, um, get lighter, I guess? Does it mean anything? Also, um, why did I do... what I just did? I don't mean the obvious, because-you-asked-me-to, and I understand if you won't tell me, but..." She'd like to know, because it had been very weird.
RE: Être Dans de Beaux Draps [Closed] - Tindome - 04-05-2017
It was certainly his eyes that were scaring her. How peculiar. She knew full well that he wasn't human, and surely his teeth would be scarier.
What a cute little wiggle. Like she was wagging her tail. It was tempting to pet her on the head.
"It is… hm. In your case, perhaps we could say it means that you have pleased me?" He sighed, drumming his fingers on the counter. "To speak of these things in explicit terms strikes me as vulgar, and so I ask that you please do not think that I am being deliberately obtuse." He started to tug his gloves off of his hands, setting them aside; the nails of his right hand were neatly trimmed, but those on his left came to long points. Points that he used to tear idly into a little brioche bun.
"To be more accurate," he said, "when they are darker, I am not as strong as I could be. I am not satisfied with this phrasing, still, but it will have to do." He used a cheese knife to smear a bit of brie across the bread he held, and nibbled at it. "It is also why I asked of you to do what you did, and why it seems only fair that I feed you now. Yes?"
What a cute little wiggle. Like she was wagging her tail. It was tempting to pet her on the head.
"It is… hm. In your case, perhaps we could say it means that you have pleased me?" He sighed, drumming his fingers on the counter. "To speak of these things in explicit terms strikes me as vulgar, and so I ask that you please do not think that I am being deliberately obtuse." He started to tug his gloves off of his hands, setting them aside; the nails of his right hand were neatly trimmed, but those on his left came to long points. Points that he used to tear idly into a little brioche bun.
"To be more accurate," he said, "when they are darker, I am not as strong as I could be. I am not satisfied with this phrasing, still, but it will have to do." He used a cheese knife to smear a bit of brie across the bread he held, and nibbled at it. "It is also why I asked of you to do what you did, and why it seems only fair that I feed you now. Yes?"
RE: Être Dans de Beaux Draps [Closed] - SolitareLee - 04-05-2017
Meant she'd pleased him... So, literally the opposite of what her instincts said, then? That would take a lot of getting used to. She'd just try not to make eye contact, for now. She'd done the same thing with Ruka; it helped to an extent. It wasn't that she was always scared of blue eyes, it was just that sometimes they made her do stupid things she knew she shouldn't do. And that made her scared. She considered the riddle pieces he'd given her. An orgasm or crying were equally good to him. Things he could enjoy from a distance? Pale eyes meant happy, pale eyes meant strong. So, something that both an orgasm and crying had in common made him happy and strong.
Feed her now...
...Feed?
She blinked, slowly. Was that even possible?
She chewed and thought, considering. Well, he said it was vulgar to speak of directly, so she wouldn't offend him by asking point blank. It probably was possible, but she still had more questions. She didn't have all the pieces, but she was starting to see the shape of the puzzle. She wondered, idly, if there were any books on what he was.
If there were, he probably wouldn't give them to her. The librarian who sent her here might know more... She supposed it also might have been none of her business, but that had never once stopped her in her entire life. She watched curiously as he removed his gloves. One hand with trim nails, one hand with claws like the creature in the church, although less thick, more like fingernails.
"I think I understand," she said finally. "Thank you. I'm glad it wasn't for anything gross." She wouldn't have objected if it was, but it was nice to think that it wasn't. She wasn't really sure if something could eat strong feelings. But if she considered how drained and tired she'd felt afterwards, after crying and orgasms both, she could sort of see it. There was a sort of energy there, right?
"If I'm understanding right..." she said thoughtfully, fork pausing in the strange eggy pie thing. "It's kind of nice." She hunted for the right words. "I don't normally have something that's useful to someone else that I don't need and don't mind giving," she settled on finally. It didn't quite sum up the feeling, but it was close. It hadn't been pleasant, exactly, but the things around it had been, the bath and the clothes and now the food. Work didn't have to be pleasant, anyway, and it was much, much better than things she'd done for much, much less.
"And I'm sorry for asking you to talk about it if it's unpleasant to talk about," she added as an afterthought. "We could talk about something else." She considered briefly. "What sort of things do you like?" That seemed safe. Books, obviously, but she didn't want him to think her speeding him along to giving her what she'd come for. She was actually sort of enjoying the food, and definitely enjoying being indoors, even if she missed her rats.
RE: Être Dans de Beaux Draps [Closed] - Tindome - 04-06-2017
Watching her mind work was sort of fun. She wasn't guileless, necessarily. She had instead assessed the situation, and determined the futility of guile. She respected him as a thing to be feared, and didn't trust him necessarily, but accepted that the best thing to do under the circumstances was put herself at his mercy.
And it had worked out so well for her!
He grinned wide and crooked, and immediately set to cutting off a slice of cake to slide onto her plate. "What a lovely girl you are," he said, and he meant it. "I do not mind talking about it, but most people are not so understanding as you. I think they feel as if I am stealing, though it is no more than a flower steals from the sun."
If the flower could prod the sun into burning brighter without any care for the consequences.
He put a scoop of ice cream onto her slice of cake. "If you ever need anything else, I will be happy to have you again." Surely such a girl would find herself in need of things again – clothes, food, a bit of money. This would be a far less dangerous arrangement for her than some others she might be offered. Particularly when she had made herself so agreeable, and so quickly managed to learn how her half of the bargain could be met.
"I have not yet decided what I like," he said. "I used to like parties, and unfortunate things, but I think that I would prefer to like something else now." He sighed. "I like beautiful things, things that are pleasing to the senses. When you have finished eating, may I paint your lips? I have something in a shade that I think would match your shoes, and I cannot stop myself thinking how wonderfully it would complete your outfit."
And it had worked out so well for her!
He grinned wide and crooked, and immediately set to cutting off a slice of cake to slide onto her plate. "What a lovely girl you are," he said, and he meant it. "I do not mind talking about it, but most people are not so understanding as you. I think they feel as if I am stealing, though it is no more than a flower steals from the sun."
If the flower could prod the sun into burning brighter without any care for the consequences.
He put a scoop of ice cream onto her slice of cake. "If you ever need anything else, I will be happy to have you again." Surely such a girl would find herself in need of things again – clothes, food, a bit of money. This would be a far less dangerous arrangement for her than some others she might be offered. Particularly when she had made herself so agreeable, and so quickly managed to learn how her half of the bargain could be met.
"I have not yet decided what I like," he said. "I used to like parties, and unfortunate things, but I think that I would prefer to like something else now." He sighed. "I like beautiful things, things that are pleasing to the senses. When you have finished eating, may I paint your lips? I have something in a shade that I think would match your shoes, and I cannot stop myself thinking how wonderfully it would complete your outfit."
RE: Être Dans de Beaux Draps [Closed] - SolitareLee - 04-06-2017
This time, when she finished off the slice of egg-pie, it was replaced by a cake. A weird sort of cake, but a cake nonetheless. And ice cream. There was no such thing as weird ice cream, she was pretty sure. It was ice cream. She was enormously pleased; she hadn't had ice cream in years. Fond memories of ice cream parlors in the summer, sometimes with Clarke, more often alone, to attract the wrong sort. Either way, she'd gotten ice cream. "You asked first," she pointed out. "That means it's not stealing." Also, she personally was of the opinion that anyone thought that stealing wasn't the sort of person who knew what it was to have something--even something intangible--taken from you. It wasn't as though you couldn't steal such things. Innocence, trust, childhood, they could all be swiped away. But that felt a lot different than this.
"Would I be doing the same thing again?" she asked curiously. This would be a nice sort of place to come when she needed baths. Especially if this was really all there was to it. It might not be; she was used to the concept of the slow con, but wasn't entirely certain something like him needed to be slow.
He, unlike Ruka, had a very clear understanding of their respective places in the world. Some might find that frustrating, hurtful, or even condescending. Ren just found it to be a relief, in this case. It made things... easier, in some ways. Ruka had been, perhaps, objectively kinder. But she liked the feeling of being useful and not just... to be helped.
"Alright," she agreed gamely. She was finally starting to get comfortably full. She probably could have gorged herself further--she knew she could have, in fact, she was an expert at eating ludicrous amounts without getting ill--but she didn't want to be rude. Ruka had promised her infinite pancakes. Mr. Cernunnos had promised no such thing. "I don't mind if you add things to me," she said, picking her words with careful consideration. "But I would appreciate it if you asked before taking anything away."
She didn't mind playing dress-up, and didn't think it odd he had makeup when he had an entire trunk full of women's dresses. This was clearly a thing he did with some regularity.
"I like rats, and watches and music boxes and other stuff like that," she said, with the tone of suggestion. "You might like music boxes. They're pleasing to the senses. They're hard to find, since people don't have a lot of them and only throw out broken ones, but sometimes I can fix them. I somehow don't think you'd have any problem getting proper ones, though."
RE: Être Dans de Beaux Draps [Closed] - Tindome - 04-06-2017
"I should imagine so," he said. "If not exactly the same thing, something quite like it. Some days I may find myself in the mood for something in particular, but you will always be free to refuse me, or offer something else."
He knew better than anyone that he could be tempestuous, subject to whims. He did not think she would be in any danger from him, regardless. At worst, he might ask for a particularly painful memory. He could not always predict his own moods, but he was quite sure of this. His most destructive impulses preferred targets that could at least try to fight back, or those who had already frustrated him in some way.
He was trying to be nice. But he was learning how to be realistic about it. So long as his targets were deserving, surely no one could fault him?
"Perfectly reasonable," he said, amused by her careful use of language. Ill-used, but genuinely clever. Was she a quick study, or had she learned this lesson at hands more harsh than his?
"If you return," he wondered, "would you be happier to see a functional item, or something you could fix?" Precise and complex mechanisms, she might have appreciated their artistry on the whole or she might have been a tinkerer at heart. A certain sort of person found it disappointing when an item did what it was meant to, leaving them nothing to play with. He'd had many broken pocketwatches in his day. He'd smashed most of them.
"You may set aside as much brioche and as many apples as you would like for when you go," he said as he headed back toward the bathroom, gesturing to the bread. "Quiche and cake are not so portable, I fear."
He did not buy makeup often, because he did not wear makeup often. Still, shades caught his eye just often enough to have a not-insignificant collection. He chose two colors that would match her shoes, and one of many little disposable brushes.
… so few women let him dress them up. It was a tragedy, really. He was better at it than most of them.
When he returned, he held the makeup where she could see for her approval. "I think, souris, that you do not like my eyes. Mais, I will need to touch you – only a little – and I do not know if you will be comfortable closing your eyes under such circumstance. What do you think?" His eyes by now had darkened to a brilliant sapphire as she grew more comfortable, and his hands were still bare.
He knew better than anyone that he could be tempestuous, subject to whims. He did not think she would be in any danger from him, regardless. At worst, he might ask for a particularly painful memory. He could not always predict his own moods, but he was quite sure of this. His most destructive impulses preferred targets that could at least try to fight back, or those who had already frustrated him in some way.
He was trying to be nice. But he was learning how to be realistic about it. So long as his targets were deserving, surely no one could fault him?
"Perfectly reasonable," he said, amused by her careful use of language. Ill-used, but genuinely clever. Was she a quick study, or had she learned this lesson at hands more harsh than his?
"If you return," he wondered, "would you be happier to see a functional item, or something you could fix?" Precise and complex mechanisms, she might have appreciated their artistry on the whole or she might have been a tinkerer at heart. A certain sort of person found it disappointing when an item did what it was meant to, leaving them nothing to play with. He'd had many broken pocketwatches in his day. He'd smashed most of them.
"You may set aside as much brioche and as many apples as you would like for when you go," he said as he headed back toward the bathroom, gesturing to the bread. "Quiche and cake are not so portable, I fear."
He did not buy makeup often, because he did not wear makeup often. Still, shades caught his eye just often enough to have a not-insignificant collection. He chose two colors that would match her shoes, and one of many little disposable brushes.
… so few women let him dress them up. It was a tragedy, really. He was better at it than most of them.
When he returned, he held the makeup where she could see for her approval. "I think, souris, that you do not like my eyes. Mais, I will need to touch you – only a little – and I do not know if you will be comfortable closing your eyes under such circumstance. What do you think?" His eyes by now had darkened to a brilliant sapphire as she grew more comfortable, and his hands were still bare.
RE: Être Dans de Beaux Draps [Closed] - SolitareLee - 04-06-2017
"Alright," she agreed readily. A little variety could be interesting. "If you don't mind, please give me an acceptable minimum and maximum number of visits over time." She didn't want to overstay her welcome. It was best to be clear. He'd probably want strong feelings each time; it'd be sort of like she was cooking for him, in a sense. If he wanted pain--though she was loathe to admit it--she had plenty. She rarely dwelt on the past, because if she did, she found she... well, turned into someone she didn't much care for. She didn't mind being angry, being bitter, and she could feel each of these things in sudden bursts of whim. But if she thought about it too long, didn't do other things, to stay distracted, sometimes... reality caught up with her. The little flashes of awareness that she'd never be anything but this, if she was lucky, because anything else she could be was worse, and then she'd die. Of exposure, or at the hands of one of the many monsters she'd met. And in a town full of monsters, the latter was looking, just, super possible.
Although to be completely frank, the only one who'd injured her thus far had been, far as she knew, utterly human. And that wound had already scabbed over, and was hidden by even the relatively short hem of this dress. Still. The world didn't need werewolves and gargoyles and fairies to be dangerous. In her experience, men could manage to be monsters just fine on their own.
...My, but she'd gone to a dark place there while enjoying cake. That was silly. He could probably taste it. The dark place, not the cake. "Sorry," she said, because it just seemed polite. "I was thinking." She'd have to get used to the concept of someone chewing on her moods. She didn't have the best control of them in general, though. Although, someone who asked for pain probably wouldn't mind a bit of melancholy as a side dish. Still. It was the principle of the thing.
She considered his question, which was a much happier thing to consider than the whims of men and her place in them. A functional thing could be a joy to behold, when everything lined up just so... But when you didn't know or see things lining up, it was just a thing. Things that worked, she tended to take apart to see how they worked. People... objected. Often. Loudly. With thrown objects.
On the other hand...
"Something I would be allowed to fix," she answered, once again choosing her words carefully. Something broken was just sad. Something she could fix was a learning experience and a fun time to boot. Although, her definition of "to fix" was perhaps broader than his, since taking three watches, a computer mouse, and an old boombox, and turning them into a clockwork mouse was fixing. They hadn't been a mouse, and now they were. Voila. Fixed.
A backpack full of bread and apples, too! Classic, good homeless fare. Bread and apples was right about on the money for things she deserved to be given, in a general sense, and could be carried around, traded, and shared, without risk that people would decide she was worth the trouble of what else she might have in her pretty bag. (Rats. The answer was always rats. And then the screaming started.)
She rose to follow him when he moved, but he gestured for her to stay, finish eating, so she did. She then went to wipe her mouth on her sleeve, only to remember she was wearing a very sheer dress and had nothing in the way of sleeves and definitely nothing she should be wiping her face on. She settled for brushing her face off like a rat cleaning, over the plate to catch crumbs. Though despite her attempts at being a decent eater--always a challenge--she had crumbs on her dress, as well. She stood and brushed them off. Such a shame there wasn't a rat here to clean up her and the kitchen both, properly. She sighed. No accounting for taste.
She was still standing when he came back, checking her mouth with her tongue and lips with her hands. They were about to be used, and most people objected to crumbs or bits of food. That's why they normally fed her after they got what they wanted out of her mouth. It couldn't always work out so well for them, though.
His callout made her flush, however, and for the first time, her voice came out a little grumpy--it was her natural reaction to embarrassment. "I'm sure they're perfectly--I mean, they are perfectly fine eyes," she said, her primary concern one of offense. They had been darker when he entered, but were lightening a little now, probably due to her discomfort. Her mind still wanted to tell her it was because she'd made him angry. "I don't mind either way. What could you do, whip it out and start rubbing on my face? Keeping my eyes open wouldn't--" She paused, vaguely aware of a Clarke-like voice in the back of her head, furious with her for being so crass. "Erm." She cleared her throat. "I'm fine either way," she repeated, opting to pretend like that sentence hadn't happened. "If they startle me, I can always close my eyes."
She glanced around the kitchen. "Would you like me to sit, or...?"
RE: Être Dans de Beaux Draps [Closed] - Tindome - 04-06-2017
"No minimum," he said, waving the thought away dismissively. "If you do not care to stop by, that is your business and none of mine. For now we shall say no more than three times a week? My sense of time it not what it could be. More than that and I may think you never left. Stop by in the mornings, when the shop is yet closed – easier that way. I shall have you for breakfast! If I do not let you in it will mean I am not in the mood for you, and you must not take it personally."
What a tidy little arrangement this could be.
"I do not mind if you allow yourself to wander," he assured her. "Do let me know if you ever require assistance wandering back." He might not give it, but then again, he might. It couldn't hurt him to offer, it wouldn't hurt her to ask. Difficult to make promises when he could not know what kind of man he would be the next time he saw her, whenever he saw her, whatever happened between one moment and the next.
Her embarrassment at her own fear made him laugh. Still treading such a cautious line, she still wanted some certain amount of respect, though her definition was her own. Few would find his treatment of her thus far to be respectful, but he respected her more for it, if he was honest. "Go ahead and stand," he said, "I like it better this way." He had to bend lower than he would if she was sitting on a stool, but he liked that. It made her feel more like a doll for him to paint. He opened the darker shade of red to touch one side of the brush to it, before capping it and setting it on the counter with the other.
Leaning down, his left hand held her jaw steady, careful with the points of his nails against her skin. "Open your mouth a little, dear – yes, lovely, thank you." His eyes were on her lips as he painted a careful outline, filling in more near the corners. "I did not mean to tease," he assured her, which was not entirely true. But they were being honest, after all, and he wanted to be clear that he was well aware he'd triggered something. Such things were tricky business for a man like him. He needed to know what they were if he was going to manage them properly. "I have to be so careful, you know, with some people." He let her go long enough to switch colors, coating the other side of the brush in a lighter shade before holding her still again. "They seem to think that if they take their eyes off me for even a moment, my cock will make its way into their mouths by magic – wishful thinking on their parts, n'est-ce pas?"
He blended it as best he could, in a few spots using one of his fingers to pat gently at it and smooth the transition between light and dark. Then he stood, admiring his handiwork. "Ah! As I suspected, you look divine. With more time I could do more, but such was not our agreement today. Nonetheless, you must admire yourself in a mirror before you go. Will you be taking your old clothes with you, or shall I destroy them?"
What a tidy little arrangement this could be.
"I do not mind if you allow yourself to wander," he assured her. "Do let me know if you ever require assistance wandering back." He might not give it, but then again, he might. It couldn't hurt him to offer, it wouldn't hurt her to ask. Difficult to make promises when he could not know what kind of man he would be the next time he saw her, whenever he saw her, whatever happened between one moment and the next.
Her embarrassment at her own fear made him laugh. Still treading such a cautious line, she still wanted some certain amount of respect, though her definition was her own. Few would find his treatment of her thus far to be respectful, but he respected her more for it, if he was honest. "Go ahead and stand," he said, "I like it better this way." He had to bend lower than he would if she was sitting on a stool, but he liked that. It made her feel more like a doll for him to paint. He opened the darker shade of red to touch one side of the brush to it, before capping it and setting it on the counter with the other.
Leaning down, his left hand held her jaw steady, careful with the points of his nails against her skin. "Open your mouth a little, dear – yes, lovely, thank you." His eyes were on her lips as he painted a careful outline, filling in more near the corners. "I did not mean to tease," he assured her, which was not entirely true. But they were being honest, after all, and he wanted to be clear that he was well aware he'd triggered something. Such things were tricky business for a man like him. He needed to know what they were if he was going to manage them properly. "I have to be so careful, you know, with some people." He let her go long enough to switch colors, coating the other side of the brush in a lighter shade before holding her still again. "They seem to think that if they take their eyes off me for even a moment, my cock will make its way into their mouths by magic – wishful thinking on their parts, n'est-ce pas?"
He blended it as best he could, in a few spots using one of his fingers to pat gently at it and smooth the transition between light and dark. Then he stood, admiring his handiwork. "Ah! As I suspected, you look divine. With more time I could do more, but such was not our agreement today. Nonetheless, you must admire yourself in a mirror before you go. Will you be taking your old clothes with you, or shall I destroy them?"
RE: Être Dans de Beaux Draps [Closed] - SolitareLee - 04-06-2017
She nodded in agreement. It was nice not to have a minimum--she could lose track of time sometimes, herself. Or get, uh... temporarily kidnapped. If that sort of thing happened, she'd rather 'accidentally offending Mr. Cernunnos' not be on her list of concerns. Three times a week was also a very nice number of baths per week. Even just one bath per week sounded like heaven. Between him and Ruka, she really would be living the high life in this town. If she could avoid all the uh, werewolves, vampires, fairies, demons, and gargoyles.
The idea of him having her breakfast gave her a weird sort of feeling in her gut--well, a little bit lower than her gut, to be perfectly honest--but she waved that off. Save it for when she inevitably needed masturbatory material. She'd have to work on that if she didn't want to spend every single bath thinking about--ugh--Clarke.
She couldn't really reply while she was playing the part of the mannequin. She very much liked the feel of her nails against her skin; it reminded her of the creature in the church and his carefully maintained control. Nails down her spine, around her neck, digging into the wood when he came. She suppressed a pleased little shudder because she didn't want to wiggle when Mr. Cernunnos was doing such careful work.
His finger on her lips was also a welcome sort of sensation, particularly because it stayed on her lips and didn't push into her mouth. Pleasant, without being demanding. She resisted the urge to purse her lips, not wanting to smudge his work. She wasn't used to wearing this sort of thing. She'd have to work on it.
"I just don't see why they think closing their eyes would matter. It's not like cocks only move when you're not looking at them." She gave a little roll of her eyes. "And a mirror sounds great." She'd like to get a really good look at herself before she had to leave. She'd probably never look this good again. Well, unless he really did want to dress her up every time. That could be fun, honestly.
"Please don't destroy my clothes," she said quickly. "I only have so many and they keep getting destroyed on their own." She needed clothes to wear. That was one of the minimums. She'd had enough of wandering through this town half-naked for an entire lifetime. "Also I'll need something to wear out of your house and all my other clothing is in my bag outside," she pointed out. The bag he didn't want her to bring inside. Therefore, she would very much be needing her old clothes.
RE: Être Dans de Beaux Draps [Closed] - Tindome - 04-07-2017
"Humans have never been rational creatures," he said with a shrug. "I suppose they think that if they watch me, they will catch me if I try anything. As there is little they could do to stop me, they are lucky I have no interest in putting my genitals where they are not wanted." He rubbed his fingers together to buff away the little bit of lipstick that had gotten on him.
How interesting, the way this little game seemed to please her. He would not press her for details of what she liked in particular, lest she misunderstand what he wanted her for. She seemed like the sort of girl who'd been asked for sex often enough that she might offer it out of habit, and he had no interest in that kind of offer. He found it… depressing.
He paused. "Ah! I think you have misunderstood." He gestured to her using the lipstick brush. "This is yours now. You will not be putting those other clothes back on while you are under my roof. Yes? You will leave here looking pretty as a picture, as all good girls should." He put his left hand under his right elbow, put the handle of the makeup brush in his teeth to look her over. "Would you have picked a different outfit, if you have known?" he asked, a touch disappointed. He had been so delighted when she'd chosen so well.
"At any rate," he said, setting the brush aside to walk through the kitchen, "here are your books." He tapped the cover of the book on top of the little stack that he'd set onto one of the counters. "Take as much of the brioche as you would like, and many apples. Leave me a few of those, at least, so I have something to pair with the brie. You may retrieve your clothes whenever you are ready to go – make as many trips as you must to avoid bringing your bag back inside. If you would prefer to sit a while, I do not mind."
His house was comfortable. The street was not. He did not begrudge her wanting to enjoy it while she was able.
He pulled his gloves back onto his hands, but did not bother with his cane. He was feeling cheerful and magnanimous and well-fed. "I shall retrieve a mirror for you, to appreciate your transformation." He headed back to that locked room, where this time it took a bit of digging to find the full-length floor mirror. The frame was carved from cherry wood to look like a wreath of blossoms, and it was tall enough that he could see the whole of himself, if he wanted. He set it in front of the door to the backyard, in the hall so it would not take too much work to return it to storage.
How interesting, the way this little game seemed to please her. He would not press her for details of what she liked in particular, lest she misunderstand what he wanted her for. She seemed like the sort of girl who'd been asked for sex often enough that she might offer it out of habit, and he had no interest in that kind of offer. He found it… depressing.
He paused. "Ah! I think you have misunderstood." He gestured to her using the lipstick brush. "This is yours now. You will not be putting those other clothes back on while you are under my roof. Yes? You will leave here looking pretty as a picture, as all good girls should." He put his left hand under his right elbow, put the handle of the makeup brush in his teeth to look her over. "Would you have picked a different outfit, if you have known?" he asked, a touch disappointed. He had been so delighted when she'd chosen so well.
"At any rate," he said, setting the brush aside to walk through the kitchen, "here are your books." He tapped the cover of the book on top of the little stack that he'd set onto one of the counters. "Take as much of the brioche as you would like, and many apples. Leave me a few of those, at least, so I have something to pair with the brie. You may retrieve your clothes whenever you are ready to go – make as many trips as you must to avoid bringing your bag back inside. If you would prefer to sit a while, I do not mind."
His house was comfortable. The street was not. He did not begrudge her wanting to enjoy it while she was able.
He pulled his gloves back onto his hands, but did not bother with his cane. He was feeling cheerful and magnanimous and well-fed. "I shall retrieve a mirror for you, to appreciate your transformation." He headed back to that locked room, where this time it took a bit of digging to find the full-length floor mirror. The frame was carved from cherry wood to look like a wreath of blossoms, and it was tall enough that he could see the whole of himself, if he wanted. He set it in front of the door to the backyard, in the hall so it would not take too much work to return it to storage.
RE: Être Dans de Beaux Draps [Closed] - SolitareLee - 04-07-2017
She would make a quip about him not needing to put his genitals where they weren't wanted, for the doubtlessly high quantities of places they were wanted... if not for the fact she knew many perfectly attractive men who were very interested in finding places they weren't wanted, specifically, to stick their dicks. Lucky for her, and women of the world in general, that he wasn't one--or professed he wasn't, at least. She was inclined to believe him, because he hadn't tried yet, but it wasn't as though it was impossible to lie about such things, particularly to a girl you had no such interest in. Of course, not being a rapist, or just not being interested in raping her, they had the same end result for her, so she supposed it didn't really matter.
Her eyes widened to saucers at the implication she'd be leaving in these clothes, however. "Wh-what?" She glanced down at herself. Her first instinct was to say she would have selected something less expensive--but they had all been like this, really--or more practical--but none of them had been practical. There hadn't been a large coat there, or a useful number of pants.
But she couldn't sleep outside in this. There was a one thousand percent she would be kidnapped within five minutes of lying down. She'd have to change... what would she do with a dress this fine and shoes this beautiful? Sell them, maybe? Or maybe she could somehow keep them from getting too dirty, put them at the very bottom of her bag, and wear them the next time she came here, so as to offend him less? That idea had merits, but what if he was grumpy at how wrinkled the dress would no doubt become in the intervening time, spent in a backpack?
"No," she settled on as an answer to his question, finally. She considered informing him it was because all of the options were just as impractical. She decided against it. "...Maybe different underwear," she admitted, flushing slightly at the admission, which had been for the sake of continued honesty. She didn't want him to get the wrong idea; she hadn't picked anything sexual. But she didn't tend to wear white.
The books! More valuable than the clothes, at least to her. She'd have to really thank that librarian; she had been absolutely right about coming here. These looked alarming and esoteric and like exactly what she needed.
She began her many trips outside while he fetched the mirror, noting the lack of cane. Perhaps it was an affectation, to make him look more harmless, or more human, or both.
She was very enthused to see her rats. They were very enthused to see her. There were four more than when she'd gone inside. This was something of a professional hazard. She was, however, shocked to find that the one she'd suggested poke around his house had done nothing of the sort. He would do it now, she could tell. But in her absence, he simply hadn't. She wasn't used to that happening. How odd. Rats were so friendly and suggestible, normally all you had to do was point out the obvious or make a request, and they'd be right off to do it. How bizarre.
She relegated all of them to side pockets, firmly. She had things she could not get rat poop on now. She tucked the books carefully into one of the large, main chambers of the backpack, informed all of the rats very sternly that no one and nothing was allowed to open that one. Anyone who tried would immediately receive all the furry wrath they had to offer.
She made many more trips, with more bread and apples than was probably reasonable for one person. But she had hungry mouths to feed; she left several of the rolls and fruit out on the ground and invited the rats to help themselves to it, which they immediately did. She placed a few more down. There would probably be ten rats by the time she left. They just had a way of finding her.
She wondered, idly, if she could ask him for a slice of the cake. Even if it got smooshed. It wasn't for her; she'd been leaving frosting and the like at the church, during the day. She wasn't sure if he could even leave the church, but she'd left it, both to discourage him from coming after her, and to give him something to do. It must get really goddamn boring there, alone all night. No wonder he was so enthused to the concept of rubbing his dick on things when he got a little company. She could bring him cake; there was still time before sunset. Hell, if she hurried, she could even use the privacy of the church to change back into clothes more suited to the street.
It meant she wouldn't be able to stay and enjoy being indoors, but that was okay. She'd make her apologies.
"Excuse me for asking," she said as she wandered back through the house to find both Mr. Cernunnos and the mirror. She had been expecting something fall smaller, and was momentarily startled by her own reflection. Her hair had dried, and the shampoo had left it fluffy and light. The glitter in both it and on her skin absolutely looked intentional in this sort of dress. Her lips were indeed a beautiful bright red. She forgot what she had been about to ask, immediately enamored with her own reflection.
The shoes, especially. She enjoyed being taller, and enjoyed how long they made her legs look. It really was a shame that no homeless girl like her would ever get to enjoy such nice things for long. She'd need to even remove the makeup, probably... although... just lipstick, who would even get close enough to notice? She'd have to take it off eventually, but surely she could leave it on for a little right? Maybe find a broken mirror or something to look at her reflection in, admire it while it lasted.
She was being a little narcissistic, she suspected. But it was like seeing a different person entirely in the mirror. Her collarbones were still stark, her limbs thin, but less thin than they'd been before a few weeks of good eating with the traffickers. With clean hair, in such a pretty dress, with such nice shoes and lipstick... Well, the markers of homelessness were still there, if you knew how to look for them, but they might also just be mistaken for a girl very concerned with her figure. That was something she'd learned about with Clarke, when she'd put on a lot of pounds all at once and people had teased her about it, asking if she'd be dieting.
Idiots.
Oh, right, her question. She cleared her throat, finally glancing away from her own reflection. "Do you think it would be possible for me to take a slice of that cake with me?" she asked, apologetically. "I'd like to give it to someone; so it won't have the chance to get squished or make a mess." No point in ice cream, it would be melted before he woke up.
RE: Être Dans de Beaux Draps [Closed] - Tindome - 04-08-2017
As she looked at herself in the mirror, he moved behind her in as nonthreatening a way as he could manage. It was still a little threatening. It was a natural consequence of his size that he loomed. Standing behind her made her look smaller, and made him look larger, and he very much liked the effect. Her little touches of red matched his gloves and his waistcoat.
He leaned down closer. "I am not oblivious to the impracticality of this outfit for your lifestyle," he said. "I assume you will be changing after you have left – what you do with them after that is none of my concern. Pawn them, if you like, though I think it would be a waste of shoes that look as good on you as these do."
Would such an outfit cause her problems? She did not, in his estimation, look like any kind of street walker. A certain appearance of class could be protective, leading to assumptions that she had resources and that there would be consequences for hurting her.
But it had been a very long time, indeed, since he had been anything but large and powerful. He could only vaguely recall the streets as they had been, or even the streets when he had sometimes stalked them more recently. He knew nothing about what wandered through the further sprawl of the city, because he did not care to learn. He was quite content where he was.
"You will find that you are safer nearer to my house, souris," he informed her delicately. "If you will be staying in Valesport, it is something to keep in mind."
He straightened, and stepped away from her. "How generous you are," he said, but that was always true of those with the least to give. "That will be no problem at all."
He re-entered the kitchen, put the ice cream back in the freezer in the process of finding a box. He did not have many plastic or glass storage containers, instead had baskets and bowls and cheesecloth and folding boxes of printed cardstock. He found one with a little polka-dot print that seemed the right size, and cut a generous slice to place inside it on waxed paper. Then he folded the lid, and hunted for his kitchen ribbon.
He had a great deal of ribbon, for a great many occasions.
Tying a little bow around the box, he checked that he was satisfied with his work before presenting it to her like a gift.
He leaned down closer. "I am not oblivious to the impracticality of this outfit for your lifestyle," he said. "I assume you will be changing after you have left – what you do with them after that is none of my concern. Pawn them, if you like, though I think it would be a waste of shoes that look as good on you as these do."
Would such an outfit cause her problems? She did not, in his estimation, look like any kind of street walker. A certain appearance of class could be protective, leading to assumptions that she had resources and that there would be consequences for hurting her.
But it had been a very long time, indeed, since he had been anything but large and powerful. He could only vaguely recall the streets as they had been, or even the streets when he had sometimes stalked them more recently. He knew nothing about what wandered through the further sprawl of the city, because he did not care to learn. He was quite content where he was.
"You will find that you are safer nearer to my house, souris," he informed her delicately. "If you will be staying in Valesport, it is something to keep in mind."
He straightened, and stepped away from her. "How generous you are," he said, but that was always true of those with the least to give. "That will be no problem at all."
He re-entered the kitchen, put the ice cream back in the freezer in the process of finding a box. He did not have many plastic or glass storage containers, instead had baskets and bowls and cheesecloth and folding boxes of printed cardstock. He found one with a little polka-dot print that seemed the right size, and cut a generous slice to place inside it on waxed paper. Then he folded the lid, and hunted for his kitchen ribbon.
He had a great deal of ribbon, for a great many occasions.
Tying a little bow around the box, he checked that he was satisfied with his work before presenting it to her like a gift.
RE: Être Dans de Beaux Draps [Closed] - SolitareLee - 04-08-2017
His appearance in the mirror startled her, a little. My, but he did loom. Still, she had recently been accosted by a much larger sort of creature that loomed even more effectively, so she could only be so alarmed. "Lifestyle" was a very polite way to phrase "vagrant."
"I was thinking I'd hold on to them, for the next time I stopped by?" she said, hesitantly. So that she would be less offensive to his senses, instantaneously. She would still like to bathe, and it was nice to think about perhaps trying on other dresses or other shoes. But he might like her better if she looked slightly less shitty from the outset.
It was dumb luck she'd settled in this area. The church was further down, away from the nice houses. She couldn't quite sleep in the gutter in this neighborhood, but if she stuck between there and here, maybe she'd be safe. Safe-ish. Nothing had happened last night, at least, but she was more than a little nervous, thinking about werewolves and vampires and demons and fairies and the like. She'd stay close. Close-ish.
She snorted. "It'd be more generous if it was actually my cake," she laughed. "It's your cake; that makes you the generous one. I appreciate it." That gargoyle would probably like cake. He'd liked cupcakes well enough.
She was shocked and enamored when he presented her with a pretty little cakebox. It was tied up with a little ribbon.
The ribbon had a little charm on it.
How delightful! She hoped the gargoyle wouldn't mind her keeping it and just leaving him the cake. She gave an excited little hop as she accepted it, before catching herself and pulling herself back under control. She couldn't go hopping around like a loon.
"Thank you!" she said, with all the enthusiasm and sincerity of someone who could not remember the last time they had been given a present in a box. Possibly never. "This is amazing. He'll love it." She loved it too.
It was almost a shame to leave. She should probably give it at least three to seven days before she came back. To give him space. But this way, she could head to the church and take care of her business, and still have a bit of time before dark to settle in somewhere safe-ish, nearby-ish.
"Thank you for everything," she said happily, on her way to the door. "Especially the books." When she opened the door, there were, in fact, ten rats on his doorstep. She glanced down at them, frowning slightly, and they all scurried into various pockets of her backpack in unison. She picked it up then, shifted it onto her back. She'd drop this off, find a place to sleep. Maybe start looking for a regular gutter or overhang. A rich area like this wouldn't have a lot of homeless to share with, but also, if she got caught, it was that much more likely the police would be called. There was a balance to be struck.
She was pretty good at finding those balances, though.