i'm a burning effigy of everything i used to be;

[apostatised]

Who: Martel with Irene Adler and Marie-Sixtine St. Vincent (separately).
What: An auction.
Where: The Vault.
When: Coardi evening.
Notes: I am assuming none of you wanted your character to buy a nude of Martel. Also I'm not apologizing for the cut text, annnnd if you're interested in having your character attend this, just drop me a line and we may be able to figure something out. I am also amenable to people who were in attendance but did not speak to Martel who may wish to reference it later!
Warnings: Martel's dick is ever-present in this one. llllladies.

Currently occupying pride of place on one of the Vault's smaller stages is a portrait, its subject unmistakably a younger incarnation of the gentleman currently circulating the floor with drink in hand; he had been all of twenty-one, his hair already a shock of white, his body shaped by training but not yet scarred by experience. The deft hand (wearing a ring on the left that currently occupies a locked box in Martel's study) of the artist is visible in the painting itself, Martel posed standing before a long mirror, lit warmly by an open window to a summer's afternoon, his back to the artist whose image can be partially seen in the reflection. Jewelry is all that they both wear; his the Pandion medallion, silver, resting heavy on his chest with its chain around his neck, not quite yet the noose he'd think of it in later years. Her body and much of her face are hidden by the canvas she works on, but her crossed knees and slim, similarly bare arms and wrists are mostly indicative of what it had taken to persuade him to get undressed in the first place.

Or to get undressed for this. That they had only so few brushes with unintended parenthood was sheer luck more than anything else - Elenes, for you. Unabashed in bed and antsy as unbroken horses with sensuality outside of it, but the small, almost private smile Martel offers over his wine glass to those interested in the painting's subject speaks to having grown up some, compared to the long-suffering and skeptical look his image is offering the mirror. (Despite taking pains to obscure her own face in the painting with the careful hang of her long, dark hair, she'd signed her name neatly at the bottom in Elenic characters: Petrana.)

The auction itself is scheduled later in the night; it had been suggested to him that an opportunity to appreciate both the piece and its subject might encourage interest, given how quickly he wants the thing off his hands, giving little enough time for suitable advertising. He is the advertising, with red wine, tailored suit and ready, low conversation. The man can be charming when he wants to be-- always easier when he's getting something out of it.

Comments

[thedominatrix]

"Well, now-" She likes that opening; what have we here? It's a bit schoolmistress and a bit threatening, and if you say it suddenly enough sometimes people jump. It's lovely.

Irene is here to work, but she doesn't believe that should mean she can't have fun- in fact, if work wasn't fun she wouldn't do it, simple as that. It does mean, of course, that she's dressed interestingly- but this is a sex club, most people are.

"-what a moneyspinner."

She has this habit of just descending on people as if they're old friends and this is a conversation they began years ago which has been going on for so long, intermittently, that there is no need for greetings nor introductions. Sometimes she goes further and, just for her own entertainment, invents past history, as you told me at that darling little restaurant you took me to last year- oh, you remember the one, out of curiosity as to whether the stranger she's talking to will carry on or not, out of a desire to push people.

She doesn't try that with him, but there is a sense of this being a demand, or a dare; react to me. It doesn't matter how.