presents...
|
Please note: Contains adult situations. Exercise reader discretion.
The Summer King
She had thought it was going to be a blood transfer.
That was what all the gossip had said. Countess Odessa was supposed to be arranging for someone to repeat Dr. Ravenhild Hibbot's famous experiment that transferred blood from a healthy sheep to a wounded sheep, saving it. Except, because it was the countess, it would probably involve kobolds or something. Maybe even people.
Granted, this was probably better than a blood transfer for her purposes. Certain people would be very interested to know that Countess Odessa was dressing up in strange Avalonian outfits and enacting some kind of fertility rite on her lands. So lady Manon Fauchon dutifully took mental note of as many details as she could - the raven feathers on the countess's headband, the bronze-tipped spear she carried, the wreath of wild roses the youth wore, the strange herby-incensey smell coming from the one tent. Focusing on these details - paying close attention to them - greatly helped to distract her from the fact that dear sweet Theus he's just doing that girl in the dirt in front of all these people. And most of the people were watching with an intensity that was just off-putting. Some seemed to also know the ritual well enough to say the right words - she tried to make a note of them as well. Whether or not they believed in this stuff or they'd just been to enough of these little shows to follow along, she didn't know.
When the ceremony was over and they all adjourned to the large tent with the food, she snuck a glance at Achille. He'd been sullen most of the way here - he wanted nothing to do with the countess, and wouldn't have come if his lord Boniface hadn't fairly ordered him to. But now he was smiling and pleasant; if he'd been the least bothered by the show, it wasn't on his face. Well. She wasn't going to be shown up by him. She smoothed out her face and started paying attention to whatever it was lady Bernadette was talking about.
Her composure didn't last too long. The older attendees had already helped themselves to the food and were lounging about, mostly on pillow and bolsters thrown liberally around the tent. Well, that's certainly informal. You'd think that there would be a table or... Then the guests starting trading kisses and caresses, and the group of young nobles exchanged a wide-eyed look. Were they... they were seriously at a... well, an orgy? They clustered together unconsciously, glancing toward their hostess. The countess sat in a high-backed chair, flanked by the two young people who'd just performed the rite. A servant brought her a plate of food, which she accepted, and she spoke graciously to guests who approached her, but was apparently not going to be joining them on the floor.
People were actually going to... dearsweetTheus. Yes, they were. Right in front of the buffet, too. How was she supposed to get some supper?
Bernadette and Davide looked at each other, linked arms, and made a beeline for one of the smaller tents that had been erected away from this main pavillion. They'd been lovers for a few months now, and that was the easy way out for them. Manon and Sibylle looked at each other uncertainly. "What are we supposed to do?" Sibylle whispered.
Manon couldn't help herself. She raised an eyebrow. "What, you don't know?"
"Be serious! Are... are we in trouble if we don't...?"
"I don't think so... but we might not get any further invitations." That was the trouble. She was supposed to find out what was going on out here in Rachetisse, and more invitations were the way to that. And more invitations meant being a good guest.
A fifty-year old admiral lifted a glass in her direction and winked. You know what? To the Abyss with this; that man's three times my age. Uncle can get his own damn invitations.
"No more invitations!" Sibylle wailed quietly. "But these are the parties to go to, and I just don't know what I'll do if I can't..."
"Hey hey, look, the admiral, he likes you!" All right, it was sort of cruel, but it was better than the alternatives: dealing with him herself or listen to Sibylle whine. "There's your chance."
Sibylle sniffed thoughtfully. "Well, if I can get some wine first..."
"You do that. Go on, go on." Manon gave her a light push. There. Well, if this was going to be her last party, she'd better make it count. That tent with the burning incense might be interesting to look into, and she could maybe ask the countess a few - oh, someone was coming over.
"Buona sera. Como siete, ma donna?"
Manon recognized the handsome Vodacce that had been at the countess's last dinner party. Her new favorite, if rumor was right. He offered her a glass of wine, which she took. "Grazie. I'm sorry, that's all the Vodacce I know. Lord... Salvador Donati, wasn't it?"
He shook his head in mock sorrow at the language barrier. "Salvador, si. Eh... donna Manon?"
"Yes," she smiled, absurdly pleased that he'd remembered her. She offered a gloved hand, which he kissed, holding her gaze the whole time. She felt herself flush - wasn't that silly? Didn't she get her hand kissed all the time?
Countess's new favorite, she reminded herself. She took a breath and looked meaningfully towards the high-backed chair. "Aren't you and she...?"
He followed her look. "Ah!" He smiled and shook his head. "Non stasera."
"Non?" He wasn't?
"Non stasera. Habla castillano? Esta noche, no." She looked at him blankly - all she spoke was Montaigne. He shook his head, apparently dismissing the topic, and gestured at the buffet with a questioning glance. In turn, she gestured toward the guests entwined on the floor about it and made a face. He bowed gallantly and went to get food enough for two.
She arranged some bolsters at the edge of things so they could sit. He turned, offering her a plate with a smile and a bow. She couldn't decide if she liked his smile or not; it was... no, the smile was open and friendly. It was something in his eyes. She remembered what the countess had said about predators and prey at her parties.
Well. Forewarned was forearmed.
Odessa smiled faintly as she watched Salvador. The language difficulty was a large one, but he seemed to be handling it well. Such a charming creature... he'd gathered a small bowl full of the strawberries preserved in honey and was feeding them to the girl... Fauchon dul Motte, if memory served. The game was amusing them both, and he was leaning in closer and closer each time. The countess rolled her eyes, tolerably amused. It was almost too easy, when they were so young.
The wine had nothing to do with it. Manon had an excellent head for drinking. She knew that, she knew she had good reflexes, so she wasn't too worried about sitting close to lord Salvador. He was very good company, even if they couldn't really speak much to each other - she was laughing quite a bit. She was laughing when he started singing to her, too, but not for very long. He wasn't clowning, but singing something very sweet and sad-sounding in his mother tongue. She didn't know what the words meant, but the flow of them and the sound of his voice were very beautiful. As he went, he sang more softly and she leaned in to hear. He leaned further, until he was practically singing in her ear. She was suddenly very aware of the closeness of his body and his soft, warm breath on her neck. When the last note of music faded away, it seemed entirely natural that he should kiss her there. And if continued to kiss her, well, that was... that was actually very nice. And there was little harm in kissing. He eventually moved from her neck, planting a row of small kisses along her jaw until he found her mouth. He kissed sweetly and gently, not at all like the fumbling boy she'd tried last winter in la Motte. Lord Salvador must be a bit older... The thought evaporated as his kisses deepened; he was caressing her bare shoulders as well, which was much nicer than she'd have thought it would be. When his fingers brushed her throat, she stiffened, and he immediately removed them. He drew back and gently touched the side of her face, looking at her carefully. "Siete buona?" he asked quietly, with concern. "Bon, bon," she reassured him, smiling a little shyly. With some hesitation, she reached out to run the backs of her fingers over his cheek; he leaned his head into the caress. Emboldened, she ran her hand through his black hair and leaned into another long kiss.
Patience. Really, it was the cardinal virtue of seduction, the countess reflected. After enough kisses, she would long for further caresses. When he'd give them, she would not protest. And then, after another while, her garments would seem an intolerable barrier to the full sweetness of their play. When he'd loosen her lacings, she'd be thankful. There was still some shyness; she noted, out of the corner of her eye, lady Manon checking to see who might be watching. No one was; it was early yet, and the other guests were all still enjoying each other's company. Even Danu and the Summer King had left her side to join the general throng. Their inattention, and Salvador's continued attentions, were eventually sufficient for her last inhibitions - and chemise - to be shed. Odessa sighed, resting her chin on the back of her hand. Really, they were a beautiful sight. She turned her head slightly, considering tableaus: Amora and Guer? Salvador was a little slight to be Guer. Velme, perhaps. On a red ground, with gold - it would set off her hair and his complexion. She'd have to paint it, sometime. There was a pause; he was saying something to her. She wouldn't understand the words, of course, but the intention was clear enough. How nice of him to ask, she thought, rolling her eyes in amusement again. The girl's cheeks and lips were flushed and he'd had her naked and moaning for at least the past fifteen minutes. Refusal at this stage seemed unlikely... Oops. Did I jinx it? The girl's glazed eyes had drifted, met her own, and widened. Odessa smiled. Yes, I'm watching you. Does that alarm you? Manon put one elbow down - Gloves still on? I didn't think Fauchon dul Motte was a sorceress... - and started to push herself up when Salvador turned her head towards his and simultaneously twisted his own torso, blocking her view. Out of sight, out of mind. Good boy, give her something else to look at.
Finding the countess's eyes on them had startled her. Her favorite, is or was... she smiled and that's usually bad and - "Ohh. Oh, ma cher!" She arched her back and closed her eyes for a delicious moment; opening them, she found his face inches from hers. "Per favore?" he asked. The note of need in his voice flattered her. "Oui, yes of course, ma cher, please do..."
Back to Game 14 log.
|