(1866-11-14) An Extraordinary Complication
An Extraordinary Complication
Summary: Three months after they dined together in Four Corners, Baroness Gisela Quinn and the courtesan Julieta Scuderio are reunited in Rikton for Carnival. News is exchanged; terms are reached; the future begins to look up… (Disclaimer: some grown-up content, what with one thing and another.)
Date: Novembre 14th, 1866
Related: Anything to do with Gisela and Julieta and/or severed heads.
NPCs: {$npc}
Players:
Gisela  Julieta  

Rikton - Arkanin Manse - Gisela Quinn's Chambers
See scene, sort of.
Novembre 14th, 1866

In Rikton it is understood without question that the Pearl of Four Corners is to be accommodated in a small but comfortable chamber in the manse occupied for the duration of Carnival week by House Arkanin and its vassals. She isn't offered a choice; her belongings are simply installed there, she herself likewise; and she's hardly been beneath its roof two hours, hardly had time to unpack and to bathe and to dress again, before she hears that the Baroness of Ghost Hills has herself just arrived likewise with a party from Wayston.

Indeed, it would be hard not to know about it — the commotion in the courtyard beneath her window, the footsteps running up and down stairs, the chatter in the corridors in this building already full almost to bursting with Waystonian nobility and their hangers-on eager to partake of the delights of Carnival after their two months or so of warfare and apprehension. The word on everyone's lips seems to be 'Buckvale', the story of the battle there being better-known amongst these people than it was in Firen.

Should curiosity — and those three months of letters, gifts, concern for her wellbeing and flawless arrangements made to promote it — prompt Julieta to venture out of her chamber (at least once her appearance is absolutely to her liking) she might well encounter the following.

An open door further along the passage. The low, resonant voice of Gisela Quinn calling, "Get out!" Two maidservants each bearing a pair of empty buckets, stampeding away in unison with Lady Rosana Brexos bringing up the rear. And, to make sure they damn well do as they're told, another even more emphatic, "Out—!" uttered by the lady herself, framed within that doorway clad still in travel-stained dark green brigandine, gauntlets, and riding boots.

Her hair is cropped shorter now, her face more deeply tanned. There's a two-inch scar on her cheek, healing well, fading away. Her expression of grim fury fades likewise at the sight of an excessively comely courtesan a few yards away along the corridor; a breath later a small smile tugs at her lips.

"Good afternoon," she offers drily, leaning one hand upon her doorframe. "I see you… got here all right." Though her eyes, traveling slowly over this woman she saw last sleeping peacefully in a bed they shared, can reasonably be expected to be seeing rather more than that.

Time spent at the Charing manse in Firen had proven an interesting if a little odd experience for the Pearl of Four Corners. First of all, the presence of a courtesan in those walls provoked many a question, and more than one false assumption had to be clarified in a polite yet determined manner. Julieta had been a guest, nothing more, and as such, was happy to provide a bit of conversation and the occasional entertainment with her lute playing on dull evenings, in return for the hospitality she received there. To keep her stay from becoming in any way complicated, she had abstained from seeking new acquaintances, or even refresh older ones. Only a brief note had been sent to the Palace, to inform a certain Romante of her presence, a letter that earned a reply, brief and declaring in a rather detached tone that current business kept the Prince of Fools, but that he was glad to hear she was well.

The prospect of travelling to Rikton for the Carnival had come as such a relief! And on a stroll through the market of Firen (well guarded, of course, by guards of House Quinn, and another, less obvious individual watching over her safety) a costume had been found, just in time before Julieta was to depart once again with the Quinn retinue on a ship (!). A discomfort she had to put up with, and in fact, this time her sea travel was graced with a far less tumultuous tide.

Her accommodations at the Arkanin Manse had led to a bit of surprise, even so, the Pearl had not objected. If necessary, she could always move to the manse set aside for guests from Four Corners later. Even so, she is already well settled when the familiar voice draws her out of her chamber, the Pearl attired in a rather modest dress of dark blue she had mostly worn during her stay in Firen, her dark brown tresses worn in a fashionable hairdo, pinned up at the back of her head with a few strands framing the unblemished alabaster skin of her beautiful features. Hazel-brown eyes widen when Gisela appears in the door, and Julieta Scuderio approaches, an encouraging smile given to the female squire and the two servants hurrying past her, before she stands before her acquaintance whom she has not seen in three months. "Baroness." The title used as address instead of the possibly inappropriate first name. At least on this hallway. "Yes, I did," the courtesan intones, her smile deepening, as her gaze flits briefly downwards - perhaps caused by the intent stare of the Quinn baroness? "However… I am so glad to see you again." A bit of concern there in her gaze as it brushes the fresh scar in the angled face of Gisela. "In one piece." The warmth in her tone and the expression of her eyes genuine, it would seem.

To give the Baroness credit, her eyes do meet Julieta's again a breath later, no matter the distractions even such a demure dress offers to one who recollects what's where beneath it. She quirks her eyebrows, wry good humour seeming to have come upon her from who knows where; “Oh, yes, one piece,” she agrees vaguely. I am entirely well, she wrote in that letter to her mother, more than a week ago, when that cut and whatever else may have accompanied it must have been all the more fresh. “I'm sorry about the ship,” she adds, “but time was short… We’re near enough to your home now that it’ll be a brief ride for you when the time comes. Less arduous all round, I hope, though I must say travel doesn't appear to have done you any harm.”

She clears her throat. “Come in and talk to me for a moment?” Her dark head, marked with the imprint of a helmet and its liner, inclines toward her own chambers behind her. “I know you've hardly arrived and there must be a great deal you wish to see to — but you understand I'd rather not ask Felicia for the news from Firen,” she drawls. “Not unless I'm knocked on the head and all I want to know about is the new hats.” With which pointed though amply justified remark at her cousin's expense she steps back, holding the door for the courtesan whose demeanour has indicated a provisional willingness to pass ‘a moment’ in her company.

Naturally one of House Arkanin's wealthiest, most powerful, recently favoured vassals is accommodated in several chambers to Julieta's one. Double doors stand open to a bedchamber wherein a steaming bath has been set up before the fire (they must have started filling it the instant her party was sighted at the far end of the street); here, in the sitting-room, another fire blazes, a few odd pieces of gear, saddlebags and so on, have been carried this far and no farther before Rosana’s dismissal, and the largest table has been swept clear — quite literally. The floor to one side of it is a chaos of broken crockery, spilled kaffe and ink, unlit candles fallen from a newly-dented candelabra, quills, and parchment endeavouring belatedly to soak up the spillage. The only thing still on the table must, by process of elimination (as it were), be the offending item: an opened letter, pinned in place by a dagger of fine Metalmire steel driven hard into gleaming polished maple.

Having shut the door behind Julieta and passed a calculated moment in admiring the rear view of her as well (objects of art do deserve to be looked at from all angles, the better to appreciate the entire composition) the Baroness limps across to that table, pulls the letter loose with a soft sound as steel slices parchment, wads it up, and tosses it into the fire. Her aim is true. "How was my lady mother, when last you saw her?" she inquires conversationally, even whilst plucking the dagger from the table and restoring it to a sheath deep in her boot.

Julieta is by no means taken aback by the appreciative study of her attire, indeed, her eyes will sparkle with a hint of amusement when she meets Gisela’s gaze, once it is able to draw itself away from such extensive contemplation. One shapely brow is lifted, when the Pearl’s lips curve into an amiable smile. “I’ve favored a less extravagant attire of late,” is given in brief explanation, in reply to what could have been the reason for the stare, when both are aware it is not. An elegant shrug of the shoulders is given to the matter of the sea voyage. “Oh. I survived that, as you can see. It wasn’t as bad this time.”, is admitted, when the courtesan’s hand lifts, one finger twirling one of those strands in a slow contemplative manner, hazel eyes still locked with Gisela’s.

“As for news of Firen…”, she sighs softly, following along into the chambers when she is invited inside, her gaze brushing the interior briefly, noting the disorder and the letter that somewhat reflects the sentiment of the recipient with the manner in which it has been pinned to the table. “I hear, the dispute between the Houses Arkanin and d’Armaz has been settled?” Not commenting on the Quinn’s remark on Felicia and fashionable hats, Julieta falls silent then, observing the letter being ripped from the table and then burned with a raised brow. “I see, you still favor your old habits,” she remarks after a moment, as she moves to take a seat somewhere near the hearth, fingers running over her skirts to adjust them as she settles herself. “You mother was well enough,” the courtesan states then, tilting her head a little to the side. “And I believe I shall send you her best regards.”

Her— oh, yes. It seems an age since she was last chaffed about her custom of burning letters. "That one deserved it," sighs the Baroness, no longer furious but undeniably pensive, taking up her copper-headed walking stick from where it was left propped against the wall beside that unfortunate table (her latest victim) and carrying it with her to sink into the chair opposite the one Julieta selected. The stick does well enough against the arm of it. "Good… good," she agrees. "She wrote something similar of you, and a compliment upon your playing — she rarely touches her lute anymore, because of the pain in her hands," which explains a reluctance rarely expressed and never questioned (goodness no), "but she was your equal once, I think. It's a Charing habit, the pursuit of music." And Gisela Quinn, half-Charing herself, slowly strips away her steel-plated and steel-knuckled gauntlets from hands more accustomed to the use of a sword.

"And how," she inquires carefully, skipping straight past her chickens as the gauntlets drop to the floor beside her, "is that girl I left waiting upon her…? Virginia."

The poultry proved true to type during Julieta's stay in Firen. Lady Vivona Quinn was sweet as honey to her face, flawless in her speech and in her deportment, and then adopted quite another tone when she supposed the courtesan absent — Julieta might for instance have overheard her remarking upon her mother's "disgusting" habits; Mistress Ilaria Fane was friendly always, free with explanations of familial undercurrents if such were solicited, and did her best (her success was mixed) to control her curiosity about the most glamourous creature in their midst despite developing a wee bit of a crush on her. Baroness Quinn's custom was to write officially to her mother, enclosing a letter to Julieta and sometimes a shorter missive with Ilaria's name inscribed upon it, to be passed out later in private, the scheme of both Baronesses being to spare the ladies Vivona and Felicia the public shame of not being included — though Sir Gisela's preferences are readily comprehensible to anyone resident for long in that household.

Meanwhile Virginia, a fair girl of the same age as the others, a craftsman's daughter from Murias occupied lately in reading aloud to the elder Baroness Quinn and sorting the silks for her embroidery, who'd be plumply pretty even if she weren't glowingly expectant with the child she'll bear in the new year, was too shy always to say more than 'Yes, Mistress' and attempt a curtsey. Her baby has no father to speak of, or at least none that is spoken of: Ilaria once after an extra glass of wine at dinner (she dines with the family when they haven't guests) asked Julieta if she happened to know who was responsible, because she, Ilaria, still did not.

“Oh, I am glad to hear, your mother enjoyed my playing,” Julieta smiles, even though her manner does not really express surprise at the praise. After all she has spent many years to improve her skills on that particular instrument. Her gaze is lowered when Gisela speaks of her mother having possessed equal skill once, her lips remaining curled as she considers. “A rare thing, such advanced affinity to the arts…”, is her benign comment, uttered with a soft melodious chuckle. As for the chickens… The courtesan looks up, at the inquiry. “Virginia? I believe she is well. Given her state, but yes, they say women with child carry that certain inner glow.” Not voicing the question once posed to her by Ilaria, the Pearl seems content to leave it at that, not willing to press Gisela for any replies on questions that most likely are none of Julieta’s business anyway.

The Baroness lifts an eyebrow and lowers it again. No more than the momentary expression of some thought of her own which may or may not be encompassed by the suggestion that, "Some women have time enough to pursue such things…" A weight seems to lift from her at that confirmed news of Virginia's health — as though she had some personal concern in the matter, improbable though it may be. The shift in her expression is subtle enough, likewise the breath she lets out. But of course the Pearl of Four Corners is a woman of acute senses.

Her hostess hesitates; and then rises again, reaching for one of the brigandine tasses buckled about her thighs and attached somehow, not quite visibly, to something underneath her brigandine coat. All of which Julieta saw once displayed on an armour stand in a spare chamber in a rented manse in Four Corners, but has not before seen on, where it adds something to its wearer's bulk, but also to her natural air of consequence.

"You don't object, I hope? It's stifling in here. I suppose they thought I'd prefer a warm welcome," and the first one drops upon her gauntlets, "though I think you may recall my chambers are usually cooler." Her fingers are quick and practiced and soon the second follows to add to the pile. Poor woman, her brow is glistening rather at the moment, sitting so near to the hearth — no wonder, with all that chainmail beneath, and goodness knows what else. She begins to unbuckle the coat too, strolling slowly away in her spurred and scuffed boots. "Nothing alarming, then, to report? The usual… domestic this and that?" Her tone is not yet quite reassured, not yet quite comfortable. Though there might be many reasons for that.

Perceptive as the courtesan is supposed to be, in regards of reading the reactions and moods of others, Julieta does not fail to notice the signs of relief in the baroness to her remark about Virginia’s good health. She shifts in her seat, shaking her head ever so slightly to Gisela’s inquiry, a fine smile curling her lips as she observes. “Of course, I don’t object. I’d offer assistance, but I truly doubt my hands are used to dealing with such a task adequately,” – after all, the squire had just been sent away just few moments prior – “it would give a poor picture of my talents.” A slightly apologetic chuckle there. “Even though… if you insist, I could try,” Julieta adds, straightening in her seat into a helpful attitude, head tilted to the side as she regards the Quinn baroness with a glint in her hazel eyes. Both brows are lifted, when the Pearl hears Gisela’s next question. “Nothing alarming, that I didn’t write you about,” she intones softly, mischief dancing in her gaze. “A ploy to find a well-situated boring match for you to spend your days with, once you should find battlefields too tiresome.”

Who, in the world, really, is likely to refuse an offer to be undressed by Julieta Scuderio—? It’s just one of those things so far-fetched that nobody of sound mind and body would place a bet against it. The buckles of her coat well under her control, Baroness Quinn shrugs it off and, draping it over the back of quite another chair, she turns to remark, “Ah, yes. The proverbial.” She sniffs. “I don’t know how much you know about Wayston men, but — if you’ll pardon my language,” an eyebrow lifts, “it’s always a pissing contest. If I lose, I lose — if I win, I also lose. Nothing there for me, I’ve known these past twenty-five years. And if you don’t mind…?”

This, as she comes nearer, clad chiefly in her chainmail hauberk and leggings: “You might get my boots off a damned sight easier than I could. Leverage,” she explains reluctantly, perching on the edge of the opposite chair, offering a foot to be pulled. That’s all there is to it. Yank on one, then yank on the other, and the job will be done. Rosana’s job, customarily, one of her many; but then, she was dismissed, and… do they really want her back?

“Of course,” Julieta intones in a purr, “I am aware that your mind is not set on another match… Nor that there is the danger of such, when eligible noblemen usually seek wives of younger age and less political momentum.” Slender fingers close about the boot, before she pulls it off of Gisela’s foot with less difficulty than her previous announcement had led to expect. With attention shifting to the other boot, the Pearl continues in a conversational tone, her lips curling slightly: “I hear the Viscount of Ironhold got himself a young wife half a year ago. Youth is easier to control, or so these noblemen hope; less prone to cause problems and even have an opinion that might differ from their own. As for the delights in the bedroom… I fear they rob themselves of the delicious advantages of experience.” She chuckles softly, amusement there in her gaze as well as some other sentiment. The second boot comes off and is placed beside the other, as the Pearl raises her gaze to meet Gisela’s. Without shifting her eyes to where the bath has obviously been drawn, she inquires: “Is there anything else I can do for you?”

There's no shame but also no glory in Gisela Quinn's woolen stockings, a deep and vivid green with the heels since taken off and replaced in a subtly differing hue. They really just mean that someone who knits, loves her. She draws each leg away firmly in response to Julieta's tugging upon her boots, doing her bit to help — breaking free, nodding her thanks, framing a word on the subject from which she is swiftly distracted by the sheer pleasure of listening rather than speaking.

And then she can't help but smile, her exhalation perhaps the precursor to laughter. Or… perhaps not, given that she shows her feelings discreetly, most of the time. "I can't speak to the secret yearnings of noblemen, or to the compromises they may make between what is required and what is desired… though I imagine it's only a man with his posterity uppermost in his mind, who could see an advantage in virginity," she drawls. "You and I know better." In which instant her eyes lock with the Pearl’s, for just long enough. They may be apart in age; but in certain matters they appear upon the same side of the divide. The Baroness at least trusts they have one or two common interests, or dare we say, common pleasures.

She stands again, hovering first with her fingers gripping the lower edges of her hauberk. But then, as casually as she can, she takes hold of the walking stick left leaning against the arm of her chair. "I am going to get in the bath in a minute," she says seriously, "for if I don't I'll end by killing somebody or another tonight; and they frown upon that during Carnival." She offers a quick, sardonic, not entirely theoretical sort of smile. "Talk to me or not, as you like."

From some of the Pearl's admirers it might be a calculated move — but the bath has been here longer than she, and it was obviously (just look at that dusty brigandine!) a long day on the road till twenty-odd minutes ago, and the Baroness's wish should be understood to be perfectly sincere, no matter the alluring company in which she's stating it. With her stick in hand, her tall and solid form gleaming with well-made chainmail, she retreats those few yards through the open bedroom doors and out of Julieta's sight, quickly finding another place to prop her cane as she sends those weighty but oh-so-protective mail leggings right down to the floor. She's feeling lighter by the minute, lighter and altogether better: it's a miracle—!

The stockings do draw Julieta's attention briefly, colorful as they are, still with the task seen to and those feet removed from her radius of activity, the courtesan leans back in her seat and meets Gisela's reply with a raised eyebrow. "I was not speaking of virginity, Gisela, just the amiable ineptitude of those so very new to the arts of the bedroom." She smirks faintly. Of course, she does not count either of them to be in that group, as the amused glint in her hazel eyes betrays.

"Oh, you are?", the Pearl echoes with a bit of faux surprise, used to tease the baroness. "Then I shan't keep you from it…" She rises to stand as well, but not with the intention to head out immediately. "Talk?", she smiles. "If you like, I could attend to you - while we share more conversation." And without the usual shyness of someone loosely acquainted Julieta steps towards the door, watching as baronial limbs are freed from their chainmail confines.

‘Shyness’ is likewise a quality absent from the Baroness’s demeanour as she pulls her hauberk over her head, and dresses the back of a chair in her chainmail for lack at this stage in the unpacking of a more suitable place to keep it. The look she gives the Pearl is slightly odd, but no, not shy. Perhaps ‘wondering’ is the phrase for it. At any rate, unbuttoning her plain and well-worn linen breeches and planting herself in that same chair the more comfortably to pull them off, she raises no objection — but instead points out, “You are my guest, you know.”

Her breeches and the smallclothes previously beneath them land on the floor in the same instant (no effort wasted there) and then she strips off those colourful green stockings, pursuing instead the other thread of their conversation. “In Wayston bridegrooms expect and prefer virginity — bad news for Virginia, alas,” it’s impossible not to give in to a quirk of a smile at the coincidence in her name, “but she’ll do well enough in her way when the time comes. You know we’re an odd lot, in my part of the world.” A beat. “Not so bad when you get to know us, I trust?” The second stocking drops at her feet and she begins briskly unbuttoning her shirt.

Hazel eyes meet the odd look of the baroness, as the Pearl tilts her head a little to the side, her eyes narrowing just a tad as her smile deepens – a rather brief impression that is soon fading into an attitude of attentive helpfulness. “Of course…?”, she replies to Gisela’s statement, of her status as a guest, as she takes a seat on the other chair in the room, her eyes momentarily lingering on those interesting stockings as the baroness takes them off. “Is that so? How curious indeed, when such is not at all the custom in other areas of Galenthia.” A chuckle escapes Julieta at the remark of Virginia, “Alas… But she is of common birth, is she not? Commoner circles do have different rules than nobility, I thought…?” While the Quinn continues to disrobe, the Pearl remains where she is, seated in that chair, her hands folded above legs that are elegantly crossed. “What is it about this Virginia, that she seems to be of such significance to you…?”, comes the question, that Gisela’s question from earlier and her remark just now provoke, Julieta mien, as she poses it, innocent enough.

The Baroness’s shirt is as age-softened as the breeches worn with it, garments suitable for living out their days hidden beneath armour and dampened by perspiration because of it. She adds it to the pile of discarded clothes upon the floor and, otherwise nude, rises whilst seeing about the undergarment charged with the heroic task of suppressing her bosom.

If Julieta has a good memory she may note that the other woman appears leaner, perhaps as though being in command of an army again has brought about a moderate exchange of fat for muscle; that she has no new tattoos; that she’s acquired however a number of fading bruises, including an enormous one across part of her ribcage, which to judge by its present size and rainbow hues must have been an extraordinary contusion a couple of weeks ago, presaging perhaps some greater, more internal damage. She seems to be weighing up her companion’s words: as she unabashedly approaches her bath, tossing that final bit of clothing behind her to fall with the rest, she looks into Julieta’s eyes and admits it.

“There’s little harm now, I think, in telling you, though given the threat to your own life I’m sure you’ll understand my preference for secrecy, for putting nothing in writing, and that you’ll keep this news to yourself for the sake of all concerned.” She tests the water with her fingertips, finds it good, and adds as she steps in: “The child Virginia carries is my son’s.” Her lips form a smile which, despite its small size, is unconsciously indicative of both pride and possession.

Yes, Julieta. Feel free to add up the months and subtract the days. That night in Four Corners, Sir Gisela Quinn was already a grandmother-to-be…

The Pearl’s eyes will linger on Gisela with fond curiosity, by no means a stare that could be taken as obtrusive, and in fact, she does rise and step closer when the Quinn tackles the task of removing that undergarment, offering her assistance there to loosen the straps that keep the baroness’s torso so restricted, slender fingers brushing coincidentally over her shoulders as she does so. The new scars are inspected, a light twitch of her eyebrows occurring when Julieta notices the bruise on the baronial ribcage. Her gaze follows the garment as it is tossed to the ground, then lifts to meet Gisela’s eyes. “Oh.” A faint smile curls the courtesan’s lips as she tilts her head slightly to the side. “Then I am to congratulate you, am I not?” Not that she does mind, by the look of her amiable countenance, that playful smile curving her lips. “I assure you, this secret is safe with me.”

It’s perhaps more attendance than the Baroness was bargaining for; and so Julieta’s hands, so helpful by nature, are a little too late to be of real use, and offer only an ephemeral sensation of gentle fondness before they’re left useless and a woman intent upon her bath steps into it. A lovely big oval tub, by far the most capacious this manse has to offer, oh yes.

But, as is only polite, she arranges herself and sinks down into that cleansing heat with her face towards the chair the Pearl has claimed as her own; and she offers a glance over her shoulder which is not on the one hand inviting but not on the other reproaching. Merely — comfortably acquiescent, to the presence of another in this chamber, at this time. “Good,” she concedes; and then, a breath later, after she has let out an exhalation which might almost lead one to suspect the presence here of the liver of a specially fattened goose, she adds, “I think so, certainly; I’ve had a hell of a time disapproving of my son’s wayward behaviour when all I want to do is to kiss him and tell him he’s done a bloody good job. But then, I suppose you don’t know all the story,” and she sighs, sounding weary, lifting her hands from the hot water about her to splash it over her face and rub her eyes with the heels of her hands.

Maybe… the gesture did not aim so much to be helpful, but rather, to bring Julieta's presence back to Gisela's attention. Hazel eyes shift to the tub, Julieta’s lips curling as she inspects it - from afar, as she moves to resume her seat, facing the baroness, who is now soaking so delightfully. The courtesan becomes a drape to the chair, leaning to the side in a graceful manner that may catch the eye, her hand removing hair needles, dark brown tresses falling about her shoulders for a brief moment, before the Pearl twirls her long hair anew, and fastens the somewhat fixed (albeit there was no need for fixing it) hairdo with the same needles. "Hardly," Julieta replies to Gisela's remark, raising a brow, her smile indicating curious attentiveness. "Even though you see me surprised. What advantage does this…", she shrugs, her voice assuming a slightly ironic tinge, "wayward behaviour of your son earn you?"

The next words from Baroness Quinn are: "One above…” Hardly spoken, only breathed, and less in gratitude than because the blasphemy is an apt expression of her feelings as her bad leg is immediately soothed by so much hot water. She brushes her hair from her face, changing its style by slicking it back with her wet hands, and looks up at Julieta's admittedly rather transfixing activities with graceful needles and hair so much longer and more lustrous. She's quiet for another long moment, considering again, before she sighs and drapes her muscular, tattooed arms along the rim of the bath and answers the question. It's not a subject conducive to a romantic atmosphere; but then, she's in two minds about that tonight anyway.

"You don't know, then." Her strong-featured face remains impassive. "I was… not intended to be what I am, Julieta. My elder sister died of a complaint resulting from her fourth miscarriage; my mother never bore a son, for all she suffered in the attempt; my cousin Gervais, the only Quinn lord of his generation, takes woman after woman without achieving any result," she utters, crisply, as though rattling off a familiar (and familiarly dismaying) litany. "For my son to give such early proof of his potency…" She shrugs, for once with both shoulders, her hands hanging lazily over the inside edge of the bath. "Thadeus could sire a dozen bastards before he's wed, and leave me to pay for a dozen mothers, and I'd find the coin somehow whilst I was dancing in the streets. He’s what matters most these days,” she explains.

Naturally. The last thing the head of any noble house wishes, is for her line to die with her. And a lusty young male heir is the absolute best guarantee against the latter eventuality.

That small manoeuvre of fixing her hair may have been not that coincidental after all. But then again, courtesans that have been so thoroughly trained to be graceful creatures cannot discard those enticing mannerisms easily, even in what could be considered their leisure time. The sigh from the baroness elicits a smile on the Pearl’s comely features, content as Julieta appears to be with observing such blissful relaxation instead of having any part in it. She shifts in her seat, her feet slipping out of a pair of elegant shoes as she draws them up beneath her, rearranging her skirts that they cover her legs completely, one arm positioned on the side rest as she assumes a slight sideways lean – all of this done in a matter of a mere moment, displaying the graceful ease of a dancer.

The Pearl of Four Corners listens attentively when Gisela elaborates on the reason for her appreciating the yet unborn bastard of her son. “No, I didn’t know,” she intones, shaking her head ever-so-slightly. “Well… then you must see the proof of his fertility as a gift of the One above.” That smile curving her lips intensifies. “But I assume he is still too young to be matched anytime soon?” A hidden compliment, that? “There is another thing I wanted to ask you about…”, Julieta continues after a moment, as her head turns a little, hazel eyes still lingering on the Quinn baroness, as her teeth catch her bottom lip.

‘Enticing’ is a paltry word for those mannerisms — the Baroness, at ease in her bath, makes no pretense of looking anywhere but at her guest. Even in reaching to find the small barrel-shaped pillow laid out for her on a table with other bathing necessities, and tucking it between the back of her neck and the edge of the bath, the more comfortably to lean back and regard her with those attentive and measuring dark Garaili eyes.

Either she misses a compliment most women soon to become grandmothers would appreciate, or she just doesn't care: “Not too young for me to be looking,” she says sincerely. “He’ll marry when he's knighted, in two years, perhaps three — and when it comes time to negotiate the contracts and it transpires the girl's parents have heard our family history, I'll have something to show ‘em.” Which thought, and the whole matter of Thadeus's boyish indiscretion, seems to be cheering her: she displays a brief and feral grin, and then when she gives a sigh subtly dismissive of that matter some degree of amusement lingers on in her gaze.

“I don't know how,” she offers, “you have me always speaking at such length… Or rather, I do. What's your question?”

Julieta is well aware of the eye contact she holds with the baroness. It does not keep her from drawing the attention even further, through those little gestures - the mere adjustment of a strand of hair, shifting the way she holds her head, and thereby the display she gives; glancing aside offers such a pleasing variation of the view she presents, showing off her profile, that perfectly shaped nose, the curve of her lips; all done with just a hint of calculation, because… the courtesan has become which she is to embody, a paragon of beauty and grace, why, she would not ever be able to move clumsily if ordered to do so, those principles of carrying oneself have been so deeply absorbed into her personality that it would literally cause her great discomfort.

One hazel eye (the one visible in her current position) lingers on the Quinn baroness as Julieta listens, her lips curving into a smile as she inclines her head in an elegant nod. "I can see why such must make you feel much more at ease," she remarks softly, a melodious chuckle leaving her lips when Gisela comments on her own talkativeness in the Pearl's presence. "I'll take it as a compliment," she smiles, her head turning now to face the baroness. "I am said to be a good listener."

Even if encouraged to pose her question, the Pearl of Four Corners hesitates for a moment, before she voices it. "I am aware, why you chose to have me brought into safety. At the Charing Manse in Firen, I stayed as a guest." Stressing the word perhaps in a slightly odd manner. "I find myself wondering what my current status here in Rikton is…? A guest? Or did you insist on my staying here at this Manse for reasons, that go beyond seeking the occasional delight of conversation or some lute playing entertainment on dull evenings…?" Just making sure.

Oh, so she noticed that too.

The hot bath seems no longer so relaxing to the Baroness; she draws in her outstretched arms and folds them, unconsciously armouring herself with Garaili tattoos and her own house’s symbol inked into her skin; her eyes upon Julieta grow more pensive. It's not easy to look dignified sitting in a bath but at any rate she appears sure of herself, entirely at home, as she inevitably does… If you're the head of House Quinn wherever you are is the correct place to be, for you're the one who chose it.

“The city is crowded during Carnival,” she begins, “as you may have noticed coming here today through streets normally wide open and now thronged.” Her lips quirk. “Most accommodation was taken weeks ago, months ago, by persons intent upon enjoying the holiday themselves — at the short notice at which I invited you here and offered you escort, it would have been difficult to bespeak more than a garret or a cellar without the aid of, say, a Duchess.” This explanation of Julieta's pleasant little chamber is delivered with dry nonchalance and the lift of a brow. “Knowing as much how could I have brought you here and left you to shift for yourself? It would hardly have been civil. Yes, you are my guest,” she repeats. “Beyond that I can't tell you what I don't know myself, Julieta. We have at present no arrangement, nor I any assumptions.”

She does however have that tired look again about her eyes, as though this conversation was all it took to remind her of the day she's having and briefly, by courtesan alchemy, forgot.

There is a light rustle of Julieta’s skirts as her legs unfold from beneath her, and a pair of shapely feet appears briefly beneath the seam of her dark blue skirts as they touch the floor. Slender fingers adjust the fabric, as she sits there, upright, her head tilted to the side, hazel eyes lingering on the baroness and her impressive Garaili tattoos. “A guest then,” the courtesan smiles with a soft sigh. “If that is what you prefer…” Leaving the choice indeed to her admirer. “I am of course very grateful for you offering me this… hospitality. The civility of not leaving me to my own devices.” Her lips curl into a light smirk.

There is a shift in her balance as the Pearl leans forward, then suddenly stands, in one fluid motion of effortless ease. Graceful steps take her over to the door that connects the two chambers, the courtesan draping against the doorframe, as she glances down at Gisela, allowing her eyes to briefly roam over the view, before they focus on the features of the baroness. There is a slightly mischievous twinkle in her gaze when the Pearl leaves her position and takes a slow turn about the bathtub, her bare feet moving over the stone floor, as she continues: “How convenient then, for you to know that I shall be staying so close to your quarters. That… whenever you should wish to renew such an arrangement…” Her fingers brush casually but so very gently over Gisela’s shoulder, she now positioned behind where Gisela’s head rests against that small pillow protecting her neck from the edge of the bath. “… I shouldn’t take long to respond to your request.” The last words breathed against a baronial ear, the slightly disfigured one, as Julieta bends forward to deliver the message in a seductive whisper.

The dark eyes of Julieta’s hostess follow her, unavoidably, for once one has the Pearl of Four Corners within one’s sights it’s difficult to let her go; she sits there listening, breathing, until her shoulder shifts under that touch in something not unlike a shiver and it’s at last a little more than flesh and blood can bear. A wet hand rises swiftly from the bath to stroke upwards over the courtesan’s cheek and tangle in her hair. If she was about to draw away — well, she’s held close for a moment, as with the choice bestowed in one direction and so swiftly returned, it’s made at last. “Really,” she drawls. “How long, do you suppose, if I were to reveal such a wish—?” If she hadn’t just already, as plain as day.

There may have been the inclination to draw back, but when Gisela’s hand comes up, and moist fingers brush over the delicate skin of Julieta’s cheek, there is a change of plans, the courtesan remaining as she is for a moment, before she leans further forward, and her own hands come to rest upon Gisela’s shoulders. “If I’m not kept through other engagements…”, the Pearl smiles with her head turned, facing at least one side of Gisela’s features. “Instantly.”

The Baroness’s head, with its short-cropped silvering hair, its strong features and quick dark eyes, instead of turning further towards her turns further away, facing the far wall as she draws in and lets out a contemplative breath. Her hand remains in Julieta’s hair, but after those first instinctive instants its grip has lessened, it’s quite escapable. “I wonder, how many other such engagements do you foresee—?” she inquires with an almost successful pretense at lightness. “I’m sure you must have no shortage of friends present at Carnival. The nobility of half the world, if not three-quarters… A very good week for you, one way or another.” Her tone isn’t really one thing or another, a little rueful, a little resigned, a little weary, a little jaded.

If she would indeed be inclined to escape. Despite the grip on her hair lessening, Julieta remains where she is, noting the manner in which the baroness does not seek to meet her gaze. The question brings about a smile, and the hint of a chuckle. “That was a rather theoretical remark,” the courtesan states, her tone emanating slightly amused ease. “Actually, I don’t foresee any new engagements to happen at this Carnival. The nobility of half of the Edge? Seriously? Currently, I have only two favored acquaintances, from the other of which I haven’t heard in awhile. I am not even aware if he is here in Rikton currently… But, to tell you the truth, the manner of making acquaintances at a Carnival – with the use of masks and costumes – it usually holds little appeal for one such as me. I am here to enjoy the festivities, but not to indulge in frivolities with strangers that are hiding behind masks.” And fail to offer adequate tokens of appreciation. One hand leaves a baronial shoulder for the gentle caress of a cheek. “It shall be a good week for me, though. As I’ll have the pleasure of your company. Which I trust you will grant to me…?”

Something reassuring is in those words, and that touch — something which has a ring of credibility, quite frankly — it reaches even into Gisela Quinn’s increasingly foul mood, and halts further developments in that direction. “You know it,” she sighs. She still doesn’t look. “You’re the most extraordinary complication in my bedchamber, wherein I don't usually allow anything of the kind. A courtesan, my guest, and…" Her shoulder lifts beneath Julieta's hand, to indicate the unfathomable other aspect of their association. "We hardly know one another; our third meeting is longer already, I think, than our first; this isn't a game which can be played by my rules, and I don't know yours… But I’ll pretend a while,” and her fingertips softly stroke the courtesan’s scalp, beneath those luxuriant dark brown tresses slipping from their amended arrangement in response to her attentions, “I’ll forget a while. The pleasure of it is far too much to deny… You know I’ve been waiting, already, for such company.”

“I’ve never been called a ‘complication’ thus far, by anyone,” Julieta replies with a soft melodious chuckle issued not too far from Gisela’s ear, before that chuckle fades when the courtesan listens to what the baroness has to say on the matter of games and rules. “Why should it bother you so much…? It isn’t like I bestow my favors on anyone, really. No, you can consider yourself fortunate,” she opines in all sincerity and the obvious absence of modesty, “that you are among those few I hold dear. I am picky.” Leaning into the touch of Gisela’s hand, a brief flick of her gaze observing the strands escaping her own hairdo as her smile deepens. Her hand stays there, on the opposite side of Gisela’s face, Julieta’s hazel eyes study fondly at the moment, before she leans forward and presses her lips gently against the baronial cheek.

Away from Julieta’s gaze, an eyebrow lifts at that blatant statement of worth — but it can’t be disagreed with, can it, by one who has reason to know; and meanwhile either Julieta’s fingers or her lips must surely feel that healing scar, relict of a recent battle.

A small, musing sound escapes the Baroness’s lips as she holds the younger woman just a little more tightly again, fingers twining more possessively through her hair. Another pretty, polished needle falls out and is lost on the floor. “If no one has ever before named you a complication, my dear, your other friends were less honest than I. You have it in you to set a person’s life on its head, and to break all bounds. One might easily do for you what one might not for any other — especially as, in my case, that night, I knew the banners were to be called, I knew what was ahead…” A deeper sigh. “I’m not certain it’s behind us even now; and yet — here we are. In a city of masks. Will you,” and there’s a new note in her voice, low and inviting, making up in sincerity what it lacks at this hour in passionate enthusiasm, “stay with me this week, Julieta? Let’s not speak of anything before, or after, or… Only these few days.” It’s on the tip of her tongue to add some hint as to her generosity, but if that isn’t yet understood— and in any case it would be too appallingly crass, in such a moment as this. It’s understood, or it isn’t.

Keeping her head in its current position, there will only be a slight downwards flick of her eyes, as Julieta hears the light pling of her hair needle as it hits the stone floor. Attention soon back on her host, as Gisela continues on the Pearl’s potential of complication. Her head shifts slightly, leaning just so into Gisela's touch, when the baroness poses the question. There may be a slight moment of hesitation - or maybe Julieta is just so thrilled by the sudden plea that she needs a moment to digest it. Even so, it does not need the verbal promise of any monetary reward - this indeed she will take for granted - to make her lips curve into a smile that can be felt, when the Pearl leans once again in for a kiss - presumably to the cheek, if Gisela should not turn her head to meet her gaze. "Of course,” she murmurs, once she draws back. "I would be so delighted."

So acutely are the Baroness's senses turned upon the woman she isn't even looking at, that the instant of possible indecision is somehow felt — it's half a breath too long before Julieta speaks. But there might be a number of reasons for that, mightn’t there, and it's what is spoken that matters. Yes. And those lips soft as rose-petals smiling against her cheek. If it's something which had to be decided, what a pretty decision — and one knows one can prove to her, in rather less than the full week, that it was the correct one. Perhaps if one asks such again, one day, there may not be a hesitation—? One is getting ahead of oneself.

Later on Gisela will trace the loss of her own hesitation to the touch of those hands upon her bare shoulders and the impossibly sensual memory thus conjured up… The loss of all good sense, of course, that's what happens when one’s grasp upon Julieta Scuderio’s hair shifts, one’s hand curling warm and still damp about the back of her neck, to pull her into a true kiss. As always it begins with a tender courtesy which soon fails to conceal the very real hunger beneath, the sentiment Julieta could hardly have doubted for all her talk of her ‘status’ here. Guest or no guest, she knows what she is — and how these stories tend to end.

Long moments later her admirer (thoroughly declared as such, once again) draws away without letting go. “I think we may after all require kaffe, or a bottle of something,” she suggests wryly. “What would you like?”

The neck pillow, needless to say, is on the floor with the hair needle. And Julieta’s shoes; and every scrap of clothing the Baroness had on a quarter of an hour ago; and, in the other room, the previous pot of kaffe. O fortunate floor.

The Pearl will certainly not refuse such a true kiss when she sees Gisela’s face thus turned towards her, pressing her lips against those of the baroness, and if she is surprised by the passion so suddenly unleashed within her admirer it does not show. There is a slight pinkening of Julieta’s cheeks though, as the kiss breaks, a slightly more pronounced smile that expresses her appreciation of the kiss just shared, and its implications. “Why… A bottle of ‘something’ sounds quite promising, I’d say,” the courtesan opines with a soft melodious chuckle. “We should save it for later, though.” The Pearl’s fingers move over Gisela’s, freeing her own dark brown tresses gently from the possessive grip first and the remaining hair needles next. “As right now, I have other things in mind,” she offers, her lips curving upwards, and hazel eyes glinting with mischief.

The fortunate floor is about to receive more offerings, when a rather modest dress creates a pile of dark blue fabric, soon to be joined by a silken undergarment, fluttering through the air as it is tossed elegantly towards the floor.

One shapely leg after the other steps into the tub, a soft content sigh leaving Julieta Scuderio's lips, when she chooses to become an extraordinary distraction, the weary baroness will have to deal with.

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