<div class="floatleft">(http://i.imgur.com/OV6LkpI.jpg)</div><br/><br/><strong>Name:  Chantal (https://elliquiy.com/forums/index.php?topic=266077.msg13129713#msg13129713)</strong><br/><br/><strong>COURTESEAN</strong><br/><br/><strong>Situation:</strong>making the acquaintance of a potential client<br/><br/><br/><strong>Tagging:</strong>Araxis<br/><br/><strong>Content Warning:</strong><em>None</em><br/><br/><br/><br/><hr/><hr/><br/>There was a change in the air, a certain tingle as the loa that always lingered about Chantal beat a hasty retreat.  Even here, at the Bazaar, such a thing rarely happened.  Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the one whose eyes she had met as she crossed the room, one whom Madame Celeste treated as a peer, approaching.  Her posture, already quite proper and straight, straightened even further as her heart stuttered once as she tasted the fear, and swallowed it down so that it was part of her strength rather than weakness.<br/><br/>When he bowed, she turned fully, giving him the attention that was his due.  He was finely formed, and even if she strongly suspected that this form was not the one he first walked in any more than the one the owner of the brothel called her own.  That mattered little to Chantal, though, for it was the form that one had made for themselves that was the one that truly mattered, the one that spoke the deepest, darkest truths of what lay within.  His was a form worth the seeing, and the sapphirine blue of his eyes suggested to her a soul that saw more clearly than most. What did he see in her, she wondered?  Was it her body alone?  Whether the answer was no or yes, the answer was equally strengthening, and exciting.<br/><br/>He extended his hand, and Chantal laid hers upon it, sinking low in a curtsy without regard to the scantiness of the black ruffled lace that could, possibly, serve as a skirt.  The movement displayed the tan skin of her bosom, pushed up by the movement and the corset, an invitation to the eyes, and she held the posture until his eyes moved, signaling a desire to see more than the soft fullness of the tops of her breasts.<em>  “Araxis.  I am Chantal.  It iz an honor to make your acquaintance.”  </em>Her voice was rich, cultured, and despite the magic of the bazaar, certain of her consonants gave a faint buzz reminiscent of the accent that she had cultivated to enhance her native tongue.<br/><br/>Before she could say more, a commotion broke out to their right.  It seemed that Snogflog had found a suitor for the evening.  Chantal hoped that he proved worthy of it, and did not suffer too many bruises, though perhaps he would wear them with honor, like she wore the jeweled ribbon about her neck.<br/><br/>It did, however, give her good excuse to move closer to Araxis, which she did as her heart thudded more forcefully in her chest, and she made no move to remove her hand until he gave some indication he desired it.<em> “I have zeen you here before.   You are not one who iz forgotten, if I may be zho bold.”</em>Certainly, not by those who he had chosen for the night, and not by any other, if they were wise.<br/><br/>And wise or not, she could not resist the lure, the chance to glimpse at least something of that which lay beneath the shape of a man.  It was both her pleasure, and her curse.<br/>