<div class="floatleft">(https://elliquiy.com/elluiki/images/2/2f/AviciaB_zpscg0eysap.jpg)</div><br/><br/><strong>Name:  Avicia (https://elliquiy.com/forums/index.php?topic=266077.msg13173582#msg13173582)</strong><br/><br/><strong>CLIENT</strong><br/><br/><strong>Situation:</strong>Just arriving<br/><br/><br/><strong>Tagging:</strong>OPEN (possibly Celeste?)<br/><br/><strong>Content Warning:</strong><em>None</em><br/><br/><br/><hr/><hr/><br/>Avicia stood on the sidewalk, poised to enter the bar before her, willing herself to move. And yet her feet somehow remained still, as fixed in place as the pavement.<br/><br/>She had been preparing herself for this moment for days.  Everything was perfect, as it should be; each carefully-chosen detail radiated cool, serene confidence.  She was freshly bathed.  She was lightly perfumed with vanilla and ambergris.  Her gown, a cool grey satin, was modest, but still elegant and flattering.  Her hair was perfectly coiffed, woven with the grey and white pearls that studded her bodice.  She was ready.<br/><br/>And still she stood at the entrance to the hookah den, motionless as stone, looking up at the sign, her eyes wide and her breath shallow.  Her soft white hands, half-hidden in her heavy satin sleeves, were folded together before her, long fingers entertwined; and though a casual onlooker would have missed it, her hands were clutched together so tightly that her knuckles were white.  If she relaxed her grip on herself, she might lose her nerve.  Her stomach and her throat were clenched as tightly as her fists, and wave after wave of fear and doubt battered against her resolve.<br/><br/>But nothing -- not the fear, or the doubt, or the painfully tight grip of her hands -- could still the piercing, trembling tendrils of excitement that coiled in her belly and shot through every part of her, making her heart race.  She had waited for this night.  She had prepared herself for this night as well as she possibly could.  She was ready.<br/><br/>Avicia would never have heard of the One-Night Bride -- indeed, would not be standing here at all -- but for her new servant.  Tiye had avoided saying how she knew of the place; Avicia had chosen not to press the matter, but she suspected that the pretty, lively girl had once been employed there.  If it were so, Lutolf was surely shaming her from his grave.  But however that may be, Avicia's interest had been piqued by Tiye’s stories, each one more humorous, or more romantic, or more salacious than the last.  The things that Avicia’s sisters and closest friends spoke of only behind closed doors, and in hushed whispers and giggles, Tiye told aloud, as though the acts she spoke of were not shameful, and the pleasure from those acts was not shameful either.<br/><br/>And somehow, though Avicia was at a loss to explain it, what had started as amusing and risqué tales had turned into a plan.  A plan that had brought her to the door of a disreputable hookah bar,  to learn of things that it would be sin to know.  Or so Lutolf would have told her, with his usual great conviction.  In her mind and in her heart, she could hear the words he would have said, and the scorn and disappointment in his voice.<br/><br/>Wide brown eyes narrowed slightly at the thought of Lutolf.  Thirty years, or near that.  For thirty years, Avicia had been a dutiful and obedient wife, guided by her husband’s wishes.  For thirty years, she had honored him by being the gracious hostess, the ornament on his arm, the mother of his children.  And in return he had given her wealth and comfort.  But no more than that.  He had not required affection or companionship from his wife, nor had her offered any.  The things other women expected from their husbands, in at least some small measure, had been denied her from the moment of her marriage.  Was she now to allow him to rule her from his grave as he had ruled her in life?<br/><br/>Avicia took a long, deep breath, held it for a moment, and forced her feet to move, one after the other.  Graceful as always, she entered the shop with a serene and gentle smile that gave no hint of how hard her heart was pounding, or how the blood was singing in her temples.  The mingled scents of tobacco and -- well, something -- engulfed her, and she looked around, blinking in the dim light.  Almost immediately, she found herself to be the focus of the attention of two burly men.  She gave them her most brilliant smile.<br/><br/>“I was told to order the Marrakesh Gold,” she said to them, pleasant and polite, her voice shaking only slightly.<br/><br/>She was ushered through a small, private room; and a few moments later, Avicia stood inside the place Tiye had spoken of with so much enthusiasm.  She was no stranger to luxury and elegance, and still the Great Room of the One-Night Bride took her breath away.  She paused for a moment at the edge of the marble floor, eyes wide with delight, and took in her surroundings: the music, the artful genius of the colors and fabrics, even the scents that floated through the vast room were exciting and exotic.  Why, it was finer even than the Emperor’s palace!<br/><br/>The room before her was so lovely, so beguiling, that for a moment Avicia forgot why she had come there.  Relaxed and at her ease, she let her gaze drift from one beautiful setting to the next, one handsome couple to the next, until her eyes suddenly came to rest on a tall, exotic woman, exquisitely gowned, statuesque and regal.  Could that be...  surely that was Madame Celeste?<br/><br/>