<div class="floatleft">(http://i.imgur.com/OV6LkpI.jpg)</div><strong>Name:  Chantal (https://elliquiy.com/forums/index.php?topic=266077.msg13129713#msg13129713)</strong><br/><br/><strong>COURTESEAN</strong><br/><br/><strong>Situation:</strong>Getting Ready<br/><br/><br/><br/><br/><strong>Tagging:</strong>Open<br/><br/><strong>Content Warning:</strong><em>None</em><br/><br/><br/><br/><hr/><hr/><br/>Chantal's dressing area was neat, and the rack that held changes of costuming behind her was meticulously organized, with the skimpy corsets she favored in front and more elaborate outfits in back.  She favored purple and black, but red, dark green, dark blue and some white were also represented.  She detested dim, muted colors and pastels and never wore them.   She had been taught from an early age to wear stays and corsets, and her waist was narrow, emphasizing an hourglass shape, and she was proud of it, proud of the work she had invested -- and, however odd it might be, she was also proud of her beauty.  At least it had brought her here, though the Bazaar had taught her that beauty truly was in the eye of the beholder.<br/><br/>Tonight, she wore the outfit that she usually wore when the desire she felt, the need to catch the eye, to be looked at, wanted, desired, touched, was unfeigned, even in the smallest degree.  It was a corset of her favorite colors, over lace that covered her backside and hips. Garters, stockings, and heels far higher than she'd ever worn before the bazaar were the whole of the costume.  Her hair was worn down, and if it was not long as some, it was thick and black as a raven's wing, shining with hints of indigo and blue beneath the lights.   It was an outfit that invited exploration, and tonight ... tonight that was what Chantal wanted.<br/><br/>Around her neck was a shiny black ribbon, fastened with an old fashioned piece of jewelry, complete with a large amethyst the same color as her corset.  Chantal loved gems that glittered and shone in the light, and the clients who brought her such gifts, whether the stones were precious or only pretty, often won her passions in truth, and there were some who cared about such things.<br/><br/>For a long moment, she stared into the mirror, her fingers stroking the raven feather fetish that was held in a slender vase beside the mirror.  Her nails were long, strong, and perfectly lacquered with black polish, as were her toes, though those were encased in her violet toned heels.  Her legs were slender but strong, dancer's legs, she had been told, though they had been toned more by labor than dancing before she came here.  The dances here were strange, but she loved to dance -- from the stately waltz to those dances which were as much foreplay as a dance.  Perhaps tonight ...<br/><br/>But it did little good to wonder.  Far better to finish her preparations and present herself, and see what the loa had in store.