<div class="floatleft">(http://i.imgur.com/OV6LkpI.jpg)</div><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>gauging the crowd, letting herself be seen<br/><br/><br/><strong>Tagging:</strong>Open<br/><br/><strong>Content Warning:</strong><em>None</em><br/><br/><br/><br/><hr/><hr/><br/>It was not often that Chantal was among the first of the girls to enter the fray.  She preferred a later entrance most times, and she was grateful that Madame Celeste did not dictate their presence from opening to closing, save for when they serviced clients.  It was, she thought, the difference between those who were confident enough in their power not to have to flaunt it and those who worked most of all to convince themselves of their own importance.<br/><br/>There were new faces among the crowd, and familiar ones as well.  The large man with hair the color of wheat whose eyes always sought out Tzascha, one among the staff who chose not to give herself over as bride or groom.  Perhaps one day, she would see what she could do to arrange that which he longed for, as there were many in the Bazaar who could make it so that fire did not melt ice, for a time.  The flesh of a man was no hotter.  Yet if he had not done so himself, there was likely reason, and she had learned that the loa oft extracted a hefty price for meddling, so she contented herself with a smile, moved on, reaching out to touch where it was invited, touching with her eyes where invitation must be obtained first.<br/><br/>Another familiar face caught her eye, that of the man whose eyes were akin to sapphires, a worthy gem.  He had sought Madame Celeste's company before, she knew, but if the proprietress had favorites, Chantal did not know of it, though she took to her bed those it pleased her to do so.  It was a power that Chantal envied a bit, even if the envy was remote.  While she could turn down any client she chose to, sometimes she did not choose, if only to remind herself of her own power over her fear.  Whether tonight would be such a night, she did not know.  When his eyes fell upon her, Chantal inclined her head low, but did not presume to stop.    He was one of those who knew his own power, but, she thought, expected others to know it too, and acknowledge it openly.<br/><br/>A fresh face caught her eye, another man with a young appearance, dressed as an entertainer, and equipped as one as well.  He tossed his balls high into the air, with flair, and Chantal watched for a moment, smiling faintly before something else drew her attention to a smiling waiter whose head came up to just about the height of her breasts.  He bore upon his tray, with a score of other drinks, a green tinged concoction garnished with a mint leaf, and handed it to her with a flourish.  He liked, she thought, the view, and she dipped low in curtsy to allow him a better one, the game between them old but made not boring by the glint of humor in his eyes.<br/><br/>She liked to have something in her hand as she wandered, feet and eyes, though she only sipped, humming softly to herself.   The night was yet young, and she came from a culture where speed was oft linked to both powerlessness, and desperation.<br/>