Fractured Iron {Somnifera~x~EnglishMaster}
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		<h2 id="linktree">Play-By-Post: Bondage, D/s, S&amp;M =&gt; Bondage: Exotic Solos =&gt; Topic started by: Somnifera on 17-01-2015, 19:26:26</h2>
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				Title: <strong>Fractured Iron {Somnifera~x~EnglishMaster}</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Somnifera</strong> on <strong>17-01-2015, 19:26:26</strong>
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				This morning began the same way most mornings did at La Font manor; a touch after dawn a well but functionally dressed figure strode from the warmer rooms and down the cool hall leading to the wide, cold expanse of the studio as if calmly tracking down the very source of the cold with her clipping bootsteps. It made no sense to heat the building that had been an addition to the house- a forge claimed one of the shorter walls in the stone quarters, waiting to burn and consume.<br><br>It was dim, this room, and beneath thick lashes, golden irises dilated and adjusted. 'Sprawl' was not a good word to describe the manner in which her 'smithing necessities had been arranged within the long, spacious workshop. Instead, there was a decided order to the array; one table alone bore no marks of being worked upon and rather seemed to exist merely to display an organized fanning of tools that could measure, pinch, pull, cut, shape and hammer anything from the size of a pin to the siding of a vehicle. The brick wall behind this table boasted more of the same- heavier items hung from hooks, decorating it with angles of black and dusty grey. It was a good, solid, functional space, and Frizya looked right at home in it; tall, dark, strong.<br><br>There was a letter on the desk near the cistern. There were many papers there- orders, designs and so on, organized by date and priority. The letter was errant and unwelcome.<br><br>It had been there for weeks. It was a summons to the Institute, detailing a course study beginning soon. Today. In seven hours and twenty-three minutes.<br><br>Frizya stood with a pocket watch open in her palm. Her eyes had drifted from the delicate black hands and to the letter across the room as if magnetized by the gold wax seal. Nothing in this space was gold, save for the fire and her eyes. Nothing in her home was gold. It was not allowed for those in her caste.<br><br>Faintly berry-hued lips tensed as the engineer sighed nasally. Her bags were packed. They had been for three days now. However, she was not at all excited to be so rudely thrust from the solid, familiar walls of her home and the steady pace of her work to be sent off to philosophize about anything at all. That is not, however, what she thought of the matter. Not consciously.<br><br>Being called into the presence of of an Aurn for any reason whatsoever was an incredible honor... and stress.<br><br>It was an internal pressure that had been seeded when the official note had arrived, and over the following weeks it had grown, staunched by Frizya's dedication to her current project of designing the automated vehicle that would make up a small municipal refuse collection fleet in Auvern province. But that project's designs had been mailed yesterday, exactly on time (as per the recalculation she had done following the arrival of the letter form the Institute of Clarity), and now, without distraction, the pressure had grown considerably.<br><br>Frizya clenched her jaw&nbsp; until her teeth squeaked, and tucked the watch away. Seven hours and twenty-one minutes. That was too soon. Too long to wait.<br><br>In the meantime, there was art. An unfinished sculpture of twisting iron awaited.<br><hr>Six hours and forty minutes later Frizya sat in the back of a cab, her thoughts undermined by the low electric hum of its engine. She had combed and french-braided her thick, wavy hair, slicking it back smartly from the sides of her head. and around her short, angled horns. It wouldn't do, she had decided, to leave the whole of it out, for a meeting such as this. Of course, she was not without the curtain of black that fell loosely over half of her face. She stared out the cab's curtained window (of course she hired an expensive cab- she wasn't a <em>pauper.</em>) over smoked glass lenses with a look of disinterest that belied her jumbled thoughts. Here and there, buildings of stone and wooden crossbeams were interrupted by larger, grander structures of solid stone. These oft clumped together like a flock, proudly displaying black granite inlay, gold-painted signs, silver door-knockers and so on. People walked briskly in the cool air, some holding coats over an arm, others being trailed by someone who held their coat for them, so to speak. The car's hum cut as they cruised downhill on a turn, and a tall building loomed into view, all but framed by the rows of shops and businesses leading up to it, in the distance. Tall spires adorned every high point in multiple, lancing the clouds with gold-tips above buttresses and arches. Circular windows gleamed, and Frizya imagined the Institute being as illuminated as one would expect, even without lamps on.<br><br>The car turned again to drive toward it, and she stared through the etched-glass divider. She would arrive early.
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				Title: <strong>Re: Fractured Iron {Somnifera~x~EnglishMaster}</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>EnglishMaster</strong> on <strong>18-01-2015, 09:38:19</strong>
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				Conchis itched.<br><br>He had tried to train the Escribo machine to understand his spoken words, convert them into print and present them to him, but the thing was created by residents of the capital who assumed everyone spoke with their accent, so all sorts of silly errors crept in by that route.&nbsp; So he was one of the few writers left who insisted on creating their own essays by the movement of his arm, holding an inked implement, over an eraseable screen.&nbsp; There was something sensual about the very process, grasping the vpen his father had once used in his long elegant fingers, a sensuality which fitted the – dangerous – thesis he was presently embarked upon: the primacy of the corporeal over the cogitant.<br><br>He lifted the hem of the one-piece <em>shephardi</em> – shepherd's gown – that he wore when he was relaxing, and scratched the place on his buttocks where he'd been sitting too long.&nbsp; He got up to stoke the fire – another idiosyncracy, he could imagine the Zyngots in Administration sighing to each other, that damned fire – still, Conchis, he gets the job done, his lecture-approval ratings are high, his essay-quota is always met, his one-to-one student-ratings through the roof, so we must indulge him somewhat.<br><br>They wouldn't, however, indulge him if he did not take care with the 'Primacy of the Corporeal'.&nbsp; There was something dangerously democratic about asserting the body.&nbsp; The prevailing political orthodoxy was not, of course, logical, but it had all the appearance of logic; and logical works produced by the Institute of whatever – Disputation, Aesthetics, Facticity or his own, Clarity – had always somehow to find a way of accommodating themselves to such appearances.<br><br>So he was wondering if all this body-stuff in his thoughts was because he himself was so relaxed in his long lanky body, and at the same time something in his brain was searching for an alternative phrase for 'primacy' when, dammit, hadn't he told Admin not to disturb him?&nbsp; So why was the intercom ringing?&nbsp; (With that melodic three-tone chime that he'd installed himself instead of that awful buzzer it came with?)<br><br>But he glanced at his marvellous gold-plated simulation of an old-fashioned time-piece on the mantel and saw in its workings that an appointment was imminent.&nbsp; Agh: the smith!&nbsp; He had read her notes (presuming the notes were accurate and she preferred <em>her</em> to <em>his</em> or even a neutral <em>their</em>) but he had meant to spend a few minutes in idle contemplation before her arrival.<br><br>No matter.&nbsp; She was early.&nbsp; <br><br>'Five minutes, if you would,' he murmured into the mouthpiece.<br><br>Squatting on the rug his aunt had given him, - the skin of a mountain goat, at least that was the doubtful tale she'd told of it - he opened the slim folder to look at the smith's face: the severity of an official photograph had failed to disguise something profoundly unsettling about the arrangement of her features.<br><br>He lay back and closed his eyes and reminded himself of each part of his body in turn: feet, calves, thighs, cock and balls, arse, back, belly, shoulders, arms, head.&nbsp; Mama, he always said to himself in self-calming.&nbsp; Mama.&nbsp; Mama.&nbsp; Mama.<br><br>And yes, he was ready.&nbsp; He no longer itched.&nbsp; He felt comfortable.&nbsp; He didn't stand.&nbsp; It was always an enjoyable beginning, to disconcert the arrival by being recumbent.
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				Title: <strong>Re: Fractured Iron {Somnifera~x~EnglishMaster}</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Somnifera</strong> on <strong>18-01-2015, 18:14:59</strong>
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				Frizya had stopped off for coffee at a nearby boilery (well, that was a bit of a colloquialism, though a rational one; those small cafeterias seemed to serve everything based on boiling water: soup, tea, coffee, steamed pastry and not much else, no matter how fine) for a strong black brew to help her focus. She'd taken it sweeter than she'd have liked, the better to soften the odor, and had a bit of fennel and parsley soup which easily handled the rest of her concerns, though where her hunger was concerned it hardly existed.<br><br>She was still thirteen minutes early.<br><br>Now in the proverbial shadow of the Institute of Clarity, Frizya could see the way it stretched left and right on its own lawn, erecting its upper towers almost as battlements against the decay of mind. A reflection pool paralleled either side, making the establishment look so grand that it not only extended into the sky with its long, reaching spires, but down into the earth as well. For a moment, Frizya thought poetically about the meaning of such an image- something about knowledge radiating down to- ugh. Pointless. She snapped herself back to the present moment, watching the cab driver gather up two modest pieces of luggage- one large and one much slimmer- and resisting the urge to grab them both in one hand and bring them up the smooth stone stairs herself. The man Of Import looked like she could have killed him all too easily. When he was ready, she walked up the path and stairs to lead him. Her stride was heavy, as one might expect for her size, but there was a smooth, rolling quality to it with a bit of elegance <em>somewhere,</em> likely in the placement of step. But there could be no mistake, she was not delicate by any means, and much of what seemed beautiful about her gait was the strength and lack of clumsiness in it.<br><br>The driver, for what it was worth did his best not to be transfixed, and did so by keeping his eyes on the steps and his mind on the bronze and leather handles in his hands. What he was at risk of focusing on was the mesmerizing sway of that pendulating black braid...the way it swung and bounced back and forth over the heavy curves of her backside clad in tight pinstripe slacks...<br><br>Above her the lintel loomed, three concentric golden rings over circular glass, representing states of mind. <em>Of all the Institutes, </em>why summon her to this one? She hadn't been called to the Institute of Facticity, and her Preparatory term had been done at none other thanThe Institute of Aesthetics. There were <em>options.</em> But it was indeed a glorious and formidable building, a work of art in and of itself. Of course, Frizya viewed it all through a tinge of warm grey and strands of black.<br><br>The arched doors opened for her with not a hand touching them, and she entered the lobby by breaking its quiet. Five heavy bootfalls clopped dully onto the polished floor and echoed under the vaulted ceiling. Conchis' newest pupil cut a fine figure as her bags were set beside her. Her legs were long, but were more likely to be described as 'shapely'. The height&nbsp; and length of her heelless boots elevated the bows and swells of her from calf to hips, and high-waisted slacks that buttoned on the side disappeared into a high collared double-breasted waistcoat. She'd normally never bother with the layer but she'd honestly not felt like wearing her coat only to take it off once inside. It smoothed and bracketed her torso and minimized her chest to a degree. A bit of blue silk peeked at her throat, but was hidden as she bowed to the room and whomever may be in it- for they would all be <em>Ferra</em> like herself or above. The arm that crossed her belly as she bent filled the white of her sleeve somewhat impressively, and she placed her hand beneath her throat as her braid slipped weightily from her well-built shoulders. Of course, the driver bowed with her, and when they both stood a tip exchanged hands and she knelt again to lift her bags as she was approached by the secretary. <br><br><hr><br>In the end, she'd been brought to a contemplative 'library'. This <em>library</em> in particular had only five books, all elevated on winding pedestals and spread open to invite reading. Frizya did no such thing. She was here to meet directly with Philosopher Conchis and would not insult this appointment by giving value to any distractions. She also didn't <em>care.</em> Instead, she sat in one of the many comfortable seats around the books and waited. Her bags were at her feet. She thought of plans to sculpt an articulated iron equine skeleton. When she was summoned, she was found leaning forward in her seat, one elbow against a knee and a fist tight around the propped wrist that lifted her knuckles to her lips. On the fingers of this hand were two rings- one was simple and black with a silver spark inlaid and symbolized that she was a Ferra who was favored by Argents for her artful craft. The other, on her pinky, was black as well and featured a thin golden sword pointed flat along the digit. A Ferric who had been recognized as serving the military. She looked as if deep in contemplation, but truly she was just stressed over the introduction, and digging her thumb into the leather band under her shirt cuff. Her gaze was already on the smiling woman that entered. Frizya caught the eye of a silver pin on her robe and bowed her head in deference to her rank.<br><br>"Ah, has a reflective state found you already?" She mused.<br><br>"No. Forgive my disagreeing with you, but I was merely thinking of work." Her voice was flat and resonant.<br><br>And nervousness. Frizya approached a door that would soon be opened for her, and she clenched her jaw, subtly but inadvertently accentuating her striking bone structure. Her mouth was set in a faint frown beneath an aristocratic and faintly convex nose. And then the door opened, and she dropped her bags beside her.<br><br><strong>What in the hell was this?</strong><br><br>Her eyes snapped wide behind her glasses and she faltered, lips parted for a second. Caught halfway between an obeisance and a concerned lean, Frizya bent and stared worriedly. <br><br>"Philosopher Conchis, <em>honored am I to speak your name,</em> are you ..<strong>well?</strong>" But her expression turned to irritation and then was schooled into neutrality as the woman behind her remarked quietly and tellingly: "He is quite well."<br><br>What kind of...? Frizya dropped heavily to one knee and then the other, and bowed deeply, her braid spooling on the floor as she held one hand beneath her throat and spread the other on the surface below. How <em>irritating.</em> This was no way for an Aurn to conduct themselves, not that she had any right to criticize. "Forgive me, Philosopher Conchis, for being unprepared to see you in the..comfort you are absolutely afforded. Would that I could be the floor below you; if you would like me to prostrate myself before you I would gladly do so." It all rolled off of her tongue (muffled in the space between her chest and her arms) quite <em>perfunctorily.</em> It was trained, skillfully obsequious, but there was something underpinning it. She, for what it was worth, felt as if she'd break out in a sweat. He'd likely not see it, but a muscle twitched in her jaw as she clenched and re-clenched it.
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				Title: <strong>Re: Fractured Iron {Somnifera~x~EnglishMaster}</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>EnglishMaster</strong> on <strong>19-01-2015, 09:34:57</strong>
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				He propped his head up on one arm.&nbsp; My grandmother's spirits, he thought, but a read through the file and a call to one of the references had not led him to expect this – this – this manifestation.&nbsp; She wasn't beautiful, not exactly, nor dangerous in any of the senses Colchis, as teacher and mentor, had long prepared himself against.&nbsp; Prettiness, or less obviously practised obsequiousness, or an unexpected acquaintance with his more obscure works on meta-clarity thus betraying an excessive research into his biography – he was used to all these.<br><br>Frizya, though, had presence.&nbsp; Were Colchis not inured to the strange ways of his sexual organs, he would have been alarmed at the signals they transmitted instantly to the four corners of his nerves.&nbsp; Oh dear: desire.&nbsp; <br><br>'Prostrate?&nbsp; By all means, prostrate yourself, but not before me.&nbsp; Beside me, please, face up.&nbsp; Go on.&nbsp; You will see I have had the ceiling decorated with a simplified map of the night sky in – can you tell what season?'<br><br>Oh, come now, he said to himself, don't be mean, just because she emanated some aura that sent that surge of current through you, there's no need to set her impossible tasks straight away to humiliate the poor, ahm, creature.<br><br>'Lie back, lie back, I appreciate you aren't dressed for relaxation as I am but close your eyes.&nbsp; Soon we will be practical and philosophical and all that bla-di-bla but go on, close your eyes.&nbsp; What I do for myself then is say Mama, Mama, Mama.&nbsp; Chant something.&nbsp; That's all.'<br><br>He closed his own eyes.&nbsp; He needed, in any event, to control his tumescence, dressed in this one-piece gown, before it became obvious and unphilosophical and all too claritus.&nbsp; 'Mama,' he said aloud, 'Mama, Mama.'<br><br>He would give her and himself a few minutes to recover, or for her to respond in some enjoyable way, and then they would to business.&nbsp; He was amazed, behind his closed eyelids, to see her vividly, although he had scarcely glimpsed her for more than a few moment.&nbsp; Her extraordinary hair.&nbsp; Her slate skin.&nbsp; The very structure of her.&nbsp; Oh my grandmother's spirits.
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				Title: <strong>Re: Fractured Iron {Somnifera~x~EnglishMaster}</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Somnifera</strong> on <strong>19-01-2015, 14:20:45</strong>
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				It could never be argued that Frizya was pretty. It could, however, be argued that she was beautiful; that depended, of course, on the context in which she was viewed. Did she have a warm, matronly mien to her? Absolutely not. Was she elegant? Not by most of the populace's standards. But as an animal she was very fine indeed, and to be fair she was fetching by Eternian standards which rarely rewarded the fairness or femininity found in other cultures. It was an unfortunate coincidence, however, that Frizya had an inadvertent habit of ruining the balance of her striking countenance by covering half of it with that forelock of hair, and interrupting it with her dark, rectangular lenses. All that was left to take in <em>clearly</em> was her undainty nose, the angle of a bold jet eyebrow, and the way her cheekbones sculpted downwards into what appeared to be an overly sensuous mouth; a saving grace, really, for her consistent faint frowning might have been far less intriguing and more injurous to her looks had her lips not been so full and tinted with that cool flush.<br><br>As an <em>animal</em>, she was indeed gorgeous...in theory...when working. In the city she was a very boldly shaped figure in tailored clothes. She was often expected, at a glance, to have served in the military.<br><br>But Conchis gave himself precious little time to see all of that before taking a sledgehammer to her introduction.<br><br>At mention of being beside the Philosopher, Frizya rocked back to one knee and lifted her horned head. Even with the smoky lenses before her hawklike eyes, the expression of severe duress on her face was obvious. The dark Engineer's pin on her ascot- a flattened image of a three-dimensional cube- caught the light as she stared at Conchis in disbelief, feeling her face flush hot. <em>Of course,</em> she reasoned, <em>someone of his rank has every right to give themselves over to nonsensical fancy no matter how absolutely ridiculous...</em> Her double-breasted vest swelled with a breath trapped thereafter on what <em>would</em> have been a sound of utter disbelief if she had dared to make it. She did not.<br><br>As she rose to come to him- fraught with discomfort for the feeling of towering over him (but decidedly unwilling to crawl) Frizya glanced to the ceiling and distracted herself with it as she lowered to a most unnatural and unwelcome position on the floor, a bit of distaste ticking at the corner of her mouth as she did so. "Forgive me, your radiance, but I spend little time on hobbies so beautiful as sabaism." Her voice tightened as she dropped soundly to her bottom and uncurled onto her back with no lack of aversion. On her back and so near to someone of his class, Frizya burned like a furnace and refused to look anywhere but up. This close, and at her side, however, Conchis would see that she was fetchingly cow-eyed; hooded lids and long, heavy lashes contrasted with the classic feral Eternian iris.<br><br>A chant? Her brow dipped and knit. Her jaw flexed. If there was anything she wanted to do less than lie on the floor, it was to <em>be blind in his presence.</em> She closed her eyes slowly and as if it pained her to do so; the diagonal muscle of her masseter flexed. Beneath the layers at her throat, her pulse hammered dangerously fast. This was not relaxing- it was overwhelming. If she wanted to relax she'd be sculpting. <br><br>Vicious and eternal, the moment stretched and she was silent, willing herself to say some repetitive nonsensical anything but she just <strong>could not.</strong> "I apologize," she nearly stammered "for disappointing you, but I prefer only to speak when spoken to." Which was true. She went days without talking, at times. Chanting counted as talking, yes?<br><br><br>
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				Title: <strong>Re: Fractured Iron {Somnifera~x~EnglishMaster}</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>EnglishMaster</strong> on <strong>21-01-2015, 09:57:26</strong>
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				Well, well.&nbsp; He opened his eyes but didn't look at her.&nbsp; It was at times like this that the curve of astral marks in the so-called Cruris Major on his ceiling looked decidedly like a woman's leg.&nbsp; 'This is a place for speaking, Frizya,' he said gently.&nbsp; 'But I will endeavour to find ways in which you find you can speak freely, even if it be without words.'<br><br>Quite to his own surprise, as he rolled himself slightly to get up, her left horn hove into view, and he felt the urge to kiss it.<br><br>She lay there, awaiting instruction perhaps.&nbsp; An unscrupulous man...<br><br>Stop.&nbsp; Stop.&nbsp; He was a scrupulous man.<br><br>He rose elegantly and smiled down at her.&nbsp; She was certainly a vision, sprawled on his floor.&nbsp; 'I presume as a smith you have made shackles.&nbsp; And you would look very fetching in them I daresay.'&nbsp; He turned away slightly, aghast at his own words; was that really how he had meant to proceed?&nbsp; He turned back, to face her, getting a grip.&nbsp; &nbsp; 'The mind has shackles, too, of course.&nbsp; I hope that in your time here you will find a way to free yourself of some of them.&nbsp; Come now, up.'<br><br>He was at the door, getting his big navy-blue cloak off the peg, pushing his big feet into his rush slippers.&nbsp; 'I heard the clomp of your bags outside, meaning the Secretariat has failed to show you your room, which is across the courtyard – this side is entirely for appointed philosophers, you understand.'&nbsp; She was beside him, eager perhaps to stop him taking one of her bags, but too late; he had one in his hand, and left the other for her, egalitarian as ever.&nbsp; There was that faint mist in the courtyard that sometimes polluted the late afternoon; it had a sour tang.&nbsp; &nbsp;He led the way across the cloister without another word, his stride rangy and quick so she stayed a little behind him.&nbsp; At the staircase to the student rooms he stopped and dropped her bag.&nbsp; 'Number 3, key will be in the door, call the Secretariat if there's anything you need.&nbsp; Vespers in the refectory, I shall buy you a glass of mead and introduce you to one or two colleagues.&nbsp; Understood?'<br><br>He smiled at her.&nbsp; She was perhaps unused to looking up at another.&nbsp; Or perhaps he had thoroughly disconcerted her.&nbsp; Fetching in shackles indeed.&nbsp; She was quite unlike any other creature he had mentored.&nbsp; He wondered how to tell from her pallor whether she was blushing.&nbsp; 
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				Title: <strong>Re: Fractured Iron {Somnifera~x~EnglishMaster}</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Somnifera</strong> on <strong>21-01-2015, 17:39:31</strong>
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				That horn would fit easily in someone's outstretched hand; it was not overlarge. The shape it bore was interesting, however. Due to the wavy, almost scalloped striations of growth and the slightly variegated shades of grey, it looked very much like a half-folded bird's wing. Perhaps a hawk's when tightly tucked for a steep dive, perhaps a dove's just as it folded its wings for the night. It was a mere curiosity; the horns of Eternians were flattened helical protrusions that spiraled around themselves much like a stretched clockwork coil. Hers were simply short and had only the one bend.<br><br>She'd have died if he had kissed her there or anywhere, really.<br><br><em>Shackles?</em> Frizya's stomach turned into a rock and dropped. She wanted to correct him, to tell him that no, she had not made shackles and aside from jewelry for Argents, she tended to make very large things...at the same time, she could not bring herself to speak. The hands she had crossed over her belly and laced into eachother <em>flexed</em> for his inappropriate insinuation, gripped with...oh, fear, guilt, shame, anxiety, excitement. Denial. Denial came as she lay there on the floor, feeling absolutely out of place and wanting nothing more than to be working. <em>Not that this wasn't a resplendently divine opportunity to bask in the learned presence of an Aurn.</em><br><br>Frizya considered herself a well-trained, logical and somewhat optimized person, and so Conchis' more relevant comment left her quirking her brow. If anything, she felt that certain aspects of the self <em>should</em> be controlled. Yes, controlled. Reliable, finite, nonnegotiable control.<br><br>Up. Reflexively she followed, pressing her hands to the floor to push herself from the floor. Her sleeves pulled back slightly as her arms bent, and the simple leather cuffs at her wrist peeked into view. There was a thump on the rug as she took to one forcibly shod foot and then the other. Leaving the floor behind felt like leaving that moment behind. Surely, given enough time, she'd repress the whole thing...unless she ended up obsessing over the embarrassment.<br><br>"Of course, your radiance." This, as she tried to take her ba-<br><br>Dear souls he was trying to give her a heart attack. Her ringed fingers pulled back and made an anxious fist in the air. Ah..."Please, there are better uses for your strength than wasting it on the luggage of someone such as myself." ...<br><br>As they crossed the courtyard, she was sweating. Not beads, no, but she could feel the humid heat creeping up her back and chest, down her arms and up the nape of her neck under her thick braid. This man was <em>maddening.</em> Her chest was tight and her jaw hurt, already. There was no way she'd feel his efforts to be a compliment- it was all just so <em>wrong</em> that it was stressing her out. Growing comfortable with it, she reasoned, would surely prove to be a trap.<br><br>Her pace kept her behind the Appointed Philosopher on heavy, thudding bootfalls. She just kept staring at her bag, all the way up to the door. She hardly saw the courtyard.<br><br>Yes. He'd released it. Frizya bent instantly to take it, though she did so slowly; a wash of relief overcame her as her ringed digits closed about the handle. The warmth of another person's grip there bothered her for...reasons.<br><br>Her lips were faintly parted as he smiled at her,for her mind was working with too many things at once. The room number, the sight of her bag in his hand, the whole ordeal on the floor, shackles, his height....<strong>focus.</strong> Mead?<br><br>"I..avoid imbibing libations." She'd never had to <em>tell</em> anyone that, before- it was not something offered! And she ...really did not get out, much. The Aurn would not see a berry flush creep across the Ferra's visage. If anything, she was <em>paler.</em> She stared down towards the hem of his robes, counting her breaths backwards from thirty in her mind.<br>
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			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Fractured Iron {Somnifera~x~EnglishMaster}</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>EnglishMaster</strong> on <strong>22-01-2015, 18:53:54</strong>
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			<dd class="postbody">
				There was nothing to say.&nbsp; People who declared general rules about themselves – <em>I do not speak with Kalira on principle</em> – <em>I avoid imbibing libations</em> – had often in his experience lacked knowledge of their likely future actions.&nbsp; He smiled, bowed as if her inferior not superior, and turned on his heel.<br><br>Lust, an unfamiliar companion of late, seemed to trip alongside him through the mist.&nbsp; Where was I where was I?&nbsp; The primacy of the corporeal – ha!&nbsp; What sort of a distraction was that?<br><br>Peregrinations!&nbsp; He would, then, sit at his desk and catch up on the Inscription Exchange, a gross of dreary memoes and a dozen derivative essays were sure to be awaiting him, just a fingertip-touch away...<br><br>...<em>Dear Frizya</em>, he wrote, my my I am a breathless lover, scarcely have I left the – woman – the – creature than I want to inscribe something to her....<br><br>...<em>Dear Frizya, I notice that the Secretariat has not forwarded to you our Prelude to Mentoring.&nbsp; Do relax this space of time, but if you have a moment, it will provide you with an introduction to our glorious institution</em>...<br><br>And to himself.&nbsp; His face like an irresistible hologram drifted into the top right-hand corner of the video of the prelude, as he recalled, while he spoke in soothing tones of the pleasures of work and how hard it was to be deprived of them, nevertheless this period was also work, work that would enrich the years to come if one's time were used wisely.&nbsp; There would be talks, discussions, artistic workshops (make me a pair of shackles my dear, but perhaps those leather cuffs at your wrists will suffice to bind you to something)...<br><br>Enough of this.&nbsp; He arranged tea with Aliana Matisdottir, a scintillating woman, marvellously beautiful and utterly (sexually) dedicated to her own gender and no other, who nevertheless enjoyed verbal sparring with Conchis as much as he with her.&nbsp; And so what if when he arrived, he was startled to find her not so unattainably attractive as usual (perhaps a simple curved pair of horns or a little more height would enhance her?), at least they would absorb each other in the simple pleasures of tea from the mountains and his regular refusal to get to grips with the gender bias inherent, according to her, even in the workings of the Institute of Facticity...
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Fractured Iron {Somnifera~x~EnglishMaster}</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Somnifera</strong> on <strong>22-01-2015, 22:53:24</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				The points at which Frizya and her better would disagree were many, but perhaps they were unknowingly yet overshadowed by the points at which they could come to some joyous agreement...<br><br>That was far from her mind. She felt that conviction and rules were the backbones of virtue, forming the very scaffolding of an upright personality. She did not imbibe libations. There was no need and they did very little to aid in productivity, and so they held no allure. In fact, she specifically felt their intoxication and laxity to be pitfalls best avoided.<br><br>A grinding flutter alighted in her stomach from that last bow of his, and she bowed deeper and stayed that way for a long moment, hoping that when she lifted her head again, he would be gone. Thank the souls. Upstairs, she found room three, and stood before it, shifting her smaller bag to hold both in one hand while she read her name inscribed on a temporary placard on the door. <em>Friesia Ahgipis...</em>, she thought phonetically, wondering how the scribe had pronounced it to themselves. Probably wrong. They never said the 'z' softly enough...<br><br>She opened the door, took the key, and closed herself inside, dropping her bags by the door as she began to unbutton her waistcoat. It came away and landed on the simple bed with a toss, leaving her in the leather harness and pressed white shirt that hid beneath.Almost immediately she dropped her sizeable weight into the chair by the writing desk and heaved a sigh that was more of a silenced groan. Her body curled forward and her elbows rest on her thighs. This was everything she wanted it not to be. She unbuttoned her shirtcuffs and rolled them up her toned arms in almost ritualistic fashion...<br><br><em>Push it down... down... down... deeper...<br><br>30....29...28....Push it all down.</em><br><br>Despite the presence of a pocket watch on her person, Frizya had managed to slip away from time as she lost herself in slow breathing and pressing her cuffs into the insides of her wrists with alternating thumbs. The spikes were not sharp enough to break skin, only enough to hurt. <em>Pain applied judiciously is sometimes necessary for the control of a population-</em> or the self. She felt much calmer; then that traveling missive arrived and ruined things. She stared in disbelief at the video, wishing she could avoid obsessively taking in every detail.<br><br>She thought back to her time on the floor (regretting it instantly). Shackles.<br><br>She had them, they weren't for her. They were for the times where pain had to be applied to teach a lesson.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Fractured Iron {Somnifera~x~EnglishMaster}</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>EnglishMaster</strong> on <strong>24-01-2015, 00:02:28</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				He wore everything he imagined Frizya might prefer, for drinks and dinner.&nbsp; All the trappings: polished purple shoes with buckle, his dress purple pantaloons, white dress shirt, the gown of the Clarity Institute First Class, on his left little finger the ring of his first and only frasority (a looped C in silver).&nbsp; Oh what a sight he looked!<br><br>He called for her because he wasn't sure she would emerge from her room without his visit.<br><br>He had already fortified himself with a small – libation.&nbsp; Pinker than ever, he knocked and didn't wait to enter, plonked himself down in a sea of bedclothes – these visiting rooms were scarcely big enough to orbit a planet, for his ancestors' sake!<br><br>She looked – ravishing?&nbsp; Was that the word?&nbsp; He was sure&nbsp; Aliana Matisdottir would find something doubtful in it, which meant it was probably what he wanted to say to himself.&nbsp; 'My dear Frizya.&nbsp; I have reflected on our first meeting, and read the notes your old mentors and managers have kindly provided, and realise you will require some rules.&nbsp; Here are some rules for the evening.&nbsp; These are social rules.&nbsp; Infringing them will not lead to any kind of punishment or down-grading, but you should follow them all the same.&nbsp; Every rule you infringe will make you more conspicuous, and I believe you may wish to be – less so.<br><br>Rule 1.&nbsp; Have at least one libation before the meal and one during it.&nbsp; Sip slowly and such torments will not render you incapacitated.<br><br>Rule 2.&nbsp; If you are stuck for something to say to the Professor of Quantum Facticity or anyone you are trapped next to, remember, asking a polite question is unrevealing and easy, even in answer to a question.&nbsp; What are you working on at the moment?&nbsp; What reading do you recommend for someone like me?&nbsp; How do you stay so young for your age?&nbsp; What makes you say that?&nbsp; Why, however did you guess?&nbsp; These are all acceptable questions.<br><br>Rule 3.&nbsp; Flirt a little, if you have such a capacity in you.&nbsp; But not too much.&nbsp; Nowadays there is no need to distinguish between genders in doing this, well, and for all I know you, ahm…'<br><br>Just for a moment he was lost for words.&nbsp; Oh for another libation.&nbsp; He cleared his throat and carried on:<br><br>'Rule 4.&nbsp; I or one of the other professors will almost certainly libate to excess in the course of the evening and make what is known in the trade as a pass at you.&nbsp; Decide in advance who if anyone is an acceptable bed-companion.&nbsp; If not, decide in advance on your getaway line.<br><br>Rule 5.&nbsp; Whisper to me at any time if you face a situation requiring a further rule.&nbsp; I am a bottomless pit of potential rules.&nbsp; A bottomless pit.<br><br>There.&nbsp; Will that keep you going for now?&nbsp; Any questions?'&nbsp; He felt rather proud of himself.&nbsp; He knew he was pink and bright and about to be in his element.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Fractured Iron {Somnifera~x~EnglishMaster}</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Somnifera</strong> on <strong>24-01-2015, 00:26:45</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				With the Appointed Philosopher's face harrying her subconscious mind, Frizya went about the task of opening her luggage and putting things away in her quarters. The Institute had clearly made an attempt to conceal the spartan state of the apartments by offering handsome furniture, but that did not erase the fact that this room seemed to be hardly bigger than the smith's utility closet.<br><br>The larger suitcase- <em>forever tainted by the taboo gift of having been held by an Aurn-</em> held meticulously packed clothing, much of it black. The smaller bag was for effects and so forth; toiletries, pipe kit, watch repair kit and so on, a small collection of things that was as much comprised of things anyone would need as things that would never be needed but were compulsively packed, anyway.<br><br>By the time Conchis arrived, Frizya had been quietly driven mad with the desire to leave. No, she wouldn't have come down without a visit, most likely. She looked absolutely <em>harrassed</em> with stress as he came and sat down on her unused bed and she bowed deeply, her hair swinging halfway to the floor. She took a seat in the writing chair, so as not to stand over her superior. The room still had the pleasant smoky-sweet odor of her cigarette.<br><br>Throughout his directives, she sat there in freshly polished heel-less boots, having changed into a pair of black pinstripe slacks that were tailored to her particularly defined proportions and done in a firm, inky blue-black satin. Her pressed white shirt may have been the same (it was not), and a silk ascot graced her neck as opposed to the casual one from her arrival.<br><br>She stared. Smoked lenses or no, her disbelief was obvious. Her gaze was also <em>avid.</em> Rules. Good.<br><br><em>...Flirt?!</em> Surely he saw the jump of her brow. She immediately resolved to ignore that directive but-<br><br><em>Bed-companion?!</em> That pallor came back into her slate complexion and slowly gave way to a sort of purpled flush.<br><br>"...Pardon me, your radiance...." She began, looking at her knees, "I have not the best sense of humor. Number four- is that some manner of jest?"
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Fractured Iron {Somnifera~x~EnglishMaster}</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>EnglishMaster</strong> on <strong>01-02-2015, 22:56:11</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				The flutter of wings and the accompanying honk signalled to them both that the hawkcab had arrived.<br><br>Conchis gathered up his gown.&nbsp; He felt his talk about rules had rather hit the spot.&nbsp; He saw now the shade of her blush.&nbsp; &nbsp;Thaaaat's it.<br><br>'Jest,' he said, doubtless appalling Frizya by steering her by her elbow to the door.&nbsp; 'Jest is a thing whose subtleties may bewitch the unwary.&nbsp; It is indeed, number four, a rule likely to tweak the mouths and eyes of those humorously-inclined.&nbsp; This does not, however, mean such a rule is not so.&nbsp; On the contrary: quite the best rules are jokes, and yet are sound as a bell.&nbsp; There are no gods, for instance.&nbsp; Now there's a joke for you.'<br><br>He enjoyed the little aftershock that left on the air.&nbsp; The journey together aboard the hawkcab was a silent one.&nbsp; Conchis quite understood the distance his companion's body had chosen to establish from his own.&nbsp; &nbsp;Well, well, the creature must understand.&nbsp; The stars were all in their allotted orbits in the firmament.&nbsp; The gods of the astroturf said so, so it must be true.&nbsp; He might have said it aloud, over a hentail.<br><br>Ah!&nbsp; And soon enough they were in the Great Hall.&nbsp; Canapes and free drinks awaited them.&nbsp; 'You'll find that's the lightest one,' he pointed to the dark liquor on the waitress's back.&nbsp; Some creatures were on these occasions the merest furniture, although he knew this crouching servant for a most extraordinary mimic of those at the High Table, after an encounter and a romp in the Academy Woods one day.<br><br>The dark liquor was of course the strongest not the lightest.&nbsp; He saw Frizya perhaps recognise his untruth; wonder if it was a jest; deliberate whether it was her duty to take the drink anyway, jest or no.&nbsp; 'That's why I shall have it,' he said, selecting the glass.&nbsp; 'Find yourself a glass of something or you will be out of place – ah!&nbsp; Porgia!&nbsp; This is my mentee Frizya, this is the Vice Chancellor, and her present consort, Jax, a poet of no little esteem,' in fact, of no esteem whatever, but a pretty boy nevertheless, if you liked the Sychurian mountain range in the forehead and the greedy, pink eyes.&nbsp; <br><br>And they moved amid the throng, Conchis soon on his second, or was it third libation?&nbsp; Frizya still somewhat frozen in her gaze that looked like wonderment or shock, he wasn't sure which...
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Fractured Iron {Somnifera~x~EnglishMaster}</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Somnifera</strong> on <strong>01-02-2015, 23:41:17</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				The hue that crept into Frizya's cheekbones was but subtle outward evidence of a more gripping pressure squeezing her chest and swelling her veins. The pounding increased as Conchis wrapped his long digits over her elbow. She moved along instinctively, as if she did not considerably outweigh him.&nbsp; Her stomach felt like a cold fist.<br><br>Frizya was not at all a social being. She felt anxious, and silently cursed this man and society alike for forcing her into such a shamefully compromising situation.<br><br>In it all, her fluster showed in the set of her jaw and the decisive focus of her eyes. But her pupils were wide and her brow faintly knit. No gods..? What was this man <em>ever</em> talking about? She did not ask, for she had little desire to speak. As the cab took off toward their destination,a small voice within hoped that it crashed.<br><br>Stop it, Frizya, what a juvenile thought. Have some self control.<br><br>The Great Hall certainly fit its name, and Frizya felt privileged to see it, despite the constant sense of discomfort tainting her experience. Though her head was not bowed by default, she kept her lashes low behind her glasses and managed her features into an inoffensive aloofness. Furtively she stole sliding glances of architecture and drifting bodies, until her eyes settled fully on the living object before her. Here her attention was bolder as she assessed the waitress and the decanters&nbsp; and snifters upon the serving board balanced along her spine.<br><br>She cut Conchis an intentionally empty look (one can't be punished for what they don't do). Liqueurs were by no means the lightest. She blankly waited for a more <em>truthful</em> response, and sullenly picked out something with a berry hue that matched her blood. Unfortunately a precursory sniff revealed it to be all a-fume with alcohol, anyway. <br><br>A sudden need for introduction saved her from taking her first begrudging sip, and she bowed deeply over her glass. "It is a divine pleasure to walk among you, a true gift to be acknowledged, my deepest thanks." She did not see their faces. She did not look that high. Frizya handled introductions with a perfunctory air; as she was trotted around it would become apparent that there was an odd quality to her, in this crowd. Through her shock (yes, it was definitely a lingering state of dissociated shock), her humility seemed to be well-performed and inarguable, but she seemed <em>inherently</em> arrogant in it. She said all the nicest things made all the nicest obeisances...and yet?<br><br>Unable to avoid detection any longer, she took a meager sip of her spirit, eying the liquid with distaste. "Lovely, I'm sure."<br><br>She willed herself to avoid breaking out in a sweat.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Fractured Iron {Somnifera~x~EnglishMaster}</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>EnglishMaster</strong> on <strong>04-02-2015, 19:23:58</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				It was bumping into Professor Orlando on their way into dinner that gave Conchis a perspective on his mentee that he hadn't been considering up to now.&nbsp; Orlando, who thrived on an impression of sexual ambivalence, was giving nothing away tonight: an embroidered gown that, yes, might have been a skirt, mannish short black hair but a most definite bosomly swell beneath a green top, and a newly-cultivated goatee black beard.&nbsp; 'Or,' said Conchis – for that was how the mischievous expert on Early Poetry of the Lost Cities preferred to be known – 'do join us.&nbsp; I don't believe you've met Frizya.'<br><br>They were certainly quite a pair: the one who loved the ambiguities of hermaphroditism, the other – well, Conchis still didn't know what to make of the other at all.&nbsp; <br><br>So they sat together, Or on the other side of Frizya, who seemed bewildered by the niceties of everything in front of her, glittering cutlery, bread and berries and nuts and, all around them, some of the best minds of the unkingdom.<br><br>Conchis bent close to Frizya.&nbsp; My ancestors, I'm a little drunk already, he thought as he inhaled the pleasantly sour scent of her.&nbsp; His arm went round her shoulders as if of its own accord.&nbsp; 'Forgive me if I'm teaching my&nbsp; farmer how to milk quadrupeds, but a few little rules here: Use knives and forks from the outside inwards, as the courses arrive, move to the spoons only when the knives and forks are done; there'll be a different potion for each course but slip some into my glass or Or's and that'll be fine, enjoy yourself.'<br><br>He hadn't seen anyone less likely to enjoy themselves in all his years of mentoring.&nbsp; It moved him; and made his prick erect.&nbsp; (What?&nbsp; No point in beating about the bush, man)&nbsp; He shook his head at himself, and found on the other side of him a haggard victim of bureaucracy, disguised as Masha Knottingley, ready to complain at the latest outrage done to her contract of employment by the powers-that-be if anyone would listen.<br><br>Conchis listened.<br><br><div align="center">&lt;&gt;</div><br>Or knew that hir very presence had sparked something in hir neighbour.&nbsp; Fear?&nbsp; Pleasure at meeting another of one's own kind, so to speak?&nbsp; <br><br>Or sighed and let it be and talked to the woman on the other side of shom about how to make soup without machinery, which apparently was a great joy.<br><br>Or had no intention of making soup without machinery in this lifetime, or indeed the next.&nbsp; Why waste one's time on such frippery?<br><br>It was only when the soup was nearly done that sho turned to hir other neighbour.&nbsp; Such a big clumsy, charming in her bigness and clumsiness, creature.&nbsp; Or didn't believe in unnecessary preliminaries.&nbsp; 'Do you swing both ways and down the middle?' sho asked.&nbsp; 'I'm free at matins tomorrow.&nbsp; So nice to meet a fellow herm.'&nbsp; There was a little surplus soup caught at the edge of the creature's mouth – what was hir name?&nbsp; Or dabbed at the soup with hir napkin.&nbsp; 'There, that's better.'
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Fractured Iron {Somnifera~x~EnglishMaster}</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Somnifera</strong> on <strong>04-02-2015, 22:00:38</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				To some effect, Frizya had considered eating to be a good distraction. It would give pause to this horrid current she was along now, being made to speak to this person and that one and have them all regarding her with a sort of beamingly intense attention that was too great to bear- or that was how <em>she</em> experienced it. Likely these Aurns and the few Argents in attendance thought little more of her than any other transient mentee that came within these halls for their mandatory stint. She would never now, never give it such consideration; she was far too lost in the agitated workings of her own mind. There were so <em>many</em> people and names and while she would likely <em>never</em> need to recall them again, that didn't mean her brain wasn't already going about the task like the machine it was. The sips she'd taken of her cordial <em>seemed</em> to muddle the process further, whether by fact or by her own anti-libation bias...<br><br>And this only frustrated her more.<br><br>So, dinner, she thought, would give her time to settle. That was not so, for she was closer to <em>two</em> people than she had been to any <em>one</em> person in a nonviolent manner in longer than she could remember. Conchis leaned in and her jaw locked as she calmly spread her napkin on her lap. Her hair smelled of dry heat, her shirt faintly held the sticky sweetness of smoke, and there was a note of something sharp and woody on her skin. Her shoulders were tense as stone beneath Conchis' arm. <br><br>"My thanks for the advice, perceptive Philosopher Conchis." She knew how to use a full dinner service, dammit.<br><br>Now, Or had been a jostling addition. From the first mention of hir name a spark had gone through Frizya, but not because of hir presentation, no, though that did strike an accord. 'Oor' was the nickname of the <em>one</em> closefriend she'd had through the years (until a somewhat recent and highly damaging tiff), a slender, fine boned Eternian by the name of Oorfichs. Like Or, they had presented neither 'one way nor the other', though the two had vast differences.<br><br>More Eternians were hermaphroditic than were not- however, a majority of them did not <em>present</em> so ambiguously. Or was, therefore, a bit of a dramatic figure in Frizya's eyes- just not a disturbing one. That was, until sho spoke at dinner. Frizya, when observed, was actually quite dextrous, given her artistic pursuits in sculpture. She was also apparently easy to startle. <br><br>Thanks to Or, she brought much undue attention to herself in a sudden coughing fit.<br><em><br>What kind of a question...!?</em> She choked on a bit of soup going down the wrong way and cleared her throat on a booming rasp. "Excuse me, my apologies..." curt contritions slipped as she reached for the only fluid available to her, alcohol, and rinsed everything down with a punitive burn. Stars willing she kept herself from coughing again and turned her flushed face to Or just to have her mouth dabbed like a baby's. With a muted sound of gratitude she turned away to remove her glasses and dab her watery eyes. Without the smoked lenses her austere face was somewhat more feminine, if only because it left her long, thick lashes more visible. Her eyes, with their off-black sclera, looked like amber rings set in onyx.<br><br>"Uh, I.. don't bother much with relationships for work's sake. I'm sorry but I'm unable to provide you with an equally..salacious answer. Forgive me my lack of entertaining qualities."
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Fractured Iron {Somnifera~x~EnglishMaster}</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>EnglishMaster</strong> on <strong>07-02-2015, 19:01:49</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				Sometimes when you turn away from someone you cease to be aware of them and get back to your regular shenanigans.&nbsp; Conchis, a mouthful of overcooked lebrias leaves, was slightly annoyed to find that turning away from Frizya did not have this effect.&nbsp; He caught himself turning back, ah at a moment when she removed her glasses.&nbsp; Her face was remarkably – what?&nbsp; Well, it stirred something in him.<br><br>He knew now how frightened she was.&nbsp; And yet perhaps she wasn't aware of how self-possessed her defences sounded, as he saw Orlando give up on her, and turn instead to hir wittering neighbour.<br><br>Let her sit on in silence, he thought. I refuse to small-talk the creature just because desire, that guest one does not always expect in others' company, has taken up residence – as it had, in his groin and the prickling of his skin. <br><br>The meal passed.&nbsp; He did not leave her in silence.&nbsp; He turned now and then to talk to her of the portraits on the wall, and whether she had enjoyed the aprticular course she was eating, and once, to intervene benignly when the senile Seneca leant over her lasciviously, reciting obscure poetry that Conchis knew to be lascivious in an obscure tongue.&nbsp; <br><br>In fact, he realised as they strolled together back to the hawkcab, he had looked after her.&nbsp; He had been kind.&nbsp; He wasn't, now, intoxicated enough to make a blundering sexual pass at her.&nbsp; But was he sober enough to feign such a thing?&nbsp; Or – the ancestors forfend – might he have to be, simply, himself?&nbsp; Well-meaning predator?<br><br>In terms of physical strength she could, of course, hurl him to the depths of the urbis with a flick of the forearm.&nbsp; But would she?&nbsp; He gazed down at the polluted landscape and touched her to point – 'See: the ruined chapels of Maxi.'&nbsp; He left his hand around her when they stopped looking.&nbsp; 'Proximity of bodies,' he said, 'is an odd thing.&nbsp; You for instance feel it quite natural to sit on&nbsp; the back of the hawkcab, even though it be a living breathing being' – there was a hawkly squawk in response&nbsp; - 'yet other sorts of proximity are anathema to you.&nbsp; I think we should remedy that.&nbsp; Beginning tonight.&nbsp; Don't you?'<br><br>The ned for an answer hung on the night air.&nbsp; Even the hawk seemed to be listening. 
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Fractured Iron {Somnifera~x~EnglishMaster}</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Somnifera</strong> on <strong>07-02-2015, 19:25:09</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				Stress responses in animals were interesting things. They offered up reserves of strength in times of need, put speed in one's legs or fists, made one <em>focus.</em> The downside, of course, is that they tended to draw their power away from endurance, leaving one exhausted when all was said and done. Another problem, of course, was that to some, parties were as triggering as angry wildcats.<br><br>Frizya was quiet&nbsp; during the meal not only because she was not fond of chatter, but because her mind was an overactive thing if she let it be, and so she trained herself to focus on <em>one</em> subject with little lenience: her meal. She had been calmer, then, while she ate in brief silence, enjoying the relative invisibility of her personage among Aurns too important to consider her. That was good, she thought to herself. The attention of such lofty people was better spent on their own kind.<br><br>When Conchis spoke to her, she replied curtly, but civilly. She offered due consideration to the portraits of influential Philosophers, and spoke somewhat candidly about the richness of the food. It was not, one would find out of they dug deeper into the subject, that Frizya was unaccustomed to good ingredients; it was that she, as a person of strictly un-frivolous sensibility, avoided unnecessary additions to a meal.<br><br>Ah, and then there was the issue of alcohol. She felt it loosening the axle of her head when she turned it, and warming up her blood. It was then that she remembered the thing she most detested about libations in theory- their proclivity for warming the loins. A new distraction entered her mind, and she was eager to get back to her room and sleep.<br><br>In the back of the cab, Frizya was a seated statue, staring coolly ahead through smoked glass like a soldier. Conchis touched her again and her jaw locked; a slow, biding breath inflated her torso. As Conchis spoke, her heart hammered to the point of skipping beats, and she worked her mind carefully to prepare an answer. Something along the lines of the obvious differences between beasts and people... but she never got that far. Her heart fell coldly into the pit of her stomach and a creeping heat raced up her spine. She stared ahead.<br><br>"That is not what I think."<br><br>After a painfully stretched out pause, she spoke again carefully, each word grinding slowly over her tongue. "Interpersonal relationships are irrelevant at large. I cannot say...as I am not the authority here... but it should seem that the subject of Philosophy would be more apt, not that of intimacy."
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Fractured Iron {Somnifera~x~EnglishMaster}</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>EnglishMaster</strong> on <strong>14-02-2015, 23:37:34</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				There was a scent from Frizya, of course, that belied her words.&nbsp; A bitter and yet welcoming scent.&nbsp; Perhaps the winged beast beneath their bodies even sensed it, for there seemed to be a sigh interrupting the rhythmic flapping of his unfailing wings.<br><br>But one does not speak of scents, or at least, only of artificial ones.&nbsp; It's a Rule, Conchis smiled to himself.&nbsp; <br><br>'Well, well, my words were of course the pass you had been led to expect by one of my rules, but if we must speak philosophically, my dear Frizya' – another touch, of his delicate musicianly fingers, on her hardworked knuckle, and a frisson reached Conchis in return - 'then we are deeply social animals who enjoy myths of the irrelevance of interpersonal relationships, perhaps because of the myth in turn of the uniqueness of the individual consciousness.&nbsp; Look at how millions of us gather together!'<br><br>He waved below, into the smoke and the multitudes, all fucking and galumphing about and watching vids of fucking and galumphing even as he waved.&nbsp; Just then the hawkcab began to bank for home.&nbsp; Conchis looked at Frizya; how he liked the rigid set of her jaw.&nbsp; How he might trail his finger along the line of it.<br><br>'Now, soon we shall rest, my dear thing.&nbsp; You will find I have set a puzzle for you.&nbsp; At each corner of your bed, in your absence, will have been affixed a cuff, for I knew you would enjoy a little restraint.&nbsp; Each cuff has two settings: one, that you can release yourself, as long as you have left one limb free for the purpose; a second, that can only be released by a key.&nbsp; I shall wish you,' as they alighted, and he gathered up his gown, anxious to resist the urge to gather the great clumsy creature up on the spot and fuck them to kingdom gone, 'a very good night, and promise to visit you at the time of the Matins bell, at sunrise.&nbsp; With a key.&nbsp; Just in case you should need it.&nbsp; Good night, dear thing.'<br><br>He blew her a kiss.&nbsp; It might have been ironic, but he tried to make his look sincere before he turned on his heel, into the night.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Fractured Iron {Somnifera~x~EnglishMaster}</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Somnifera</strong> on <strong>15-02-2015, 05:35:21</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				The words left her mouth as if her tongue was trying to grasp them and keep them held, but it did not matter. It had been said. Frizya's eyes went distant behind her hair and glasses, her discomfort writ in the set of her jaw and the size of her pupils. Nothing much would assuage it, but that didn't keep her from squeezing one of her wrists as they sat. To hell with the masses below! What had the lives of inferiors to do with her? With him? Why didn't this man <em>act</em> more worthy of the respect she was practically honorbound to offer him? Her hand twitched when he touched her slate skin.<br><br>She was furious by the time their feathered conveyance landed, and she stood before it had fully settled. All the aversion and outrage and anxiety in her had drowned out Conchis' philosophic ramblings moments prior, and now she struggled through the miasma to pay attention. Mention of 'cuffs' of course, snapped her focus right to him, and the statuesque Eternian beset him with a look of pure shock. That shock boiled into a look of insult and then muted panic, and her face went visibly pale, even in the small, dim lights hanging from the cab's frame. How.. how <em>dare</em> he assume-..?<br><br>It was only her adherence to the ordained social codes of Mason that kept Frizya from throwing the robed blond to the dark ground of the court. Her hooflike bootsteps took her away on a fast, heavy cadence, and as she stormed off, her hair swaying behind her, one word rose from her lips: "Disgusting."<br><br><hr><br>How dare he... such a lewd.... it wasn't his business... such an assumption! Frizya didn't quite remember making it back to her room; she was only aware of the ache her rising blood pressure put in her temples. She undid her braid and loosened her ascot, her steps heavy in the room. <em>'I have set a puzzle for you'</em>..Her furious eyes went to the bed, and in a rage she yanked each cuff from its fresh setting on the bedposts. One broke at the chain; shoddy. The rest she twisted apart and wrenched free with the help of a boot. Each one ended up thrown at the door.<br><br>And then she sat on her bed and smoked away her disappointment in herself. You have to have more control, Frizya....<br><br>When the bells rang, the room was wreathed in a thin veil of smoke and Frizya, bearing faint purpled circles beneath her eyes, sat on the bed, facing the door.&nbsp; Her glasses rest beside her and hair curtained one eye. She was hunched over, elbows on her knees and one wrist in the opposite hand. Her sleeves had been pushed up her arms- she'd not undressed from last night. A thumb squeezed the leather cuff, digging hidden spikes into the inside of that wrist. It made her look as if she was massaging a sore wrist, which wasn't exactly <em>wrong...</em>She'd been going back and forth between them all night...for the most part. Her cigarillo, in its holder, dangled from her free hand.<br><br>She was waiting. Her body was exhausted with stress. And should Conchis arrive, her well-rehearsed words came heralded on a blued cloud of smoke. A sick quiver had set into her gut, but her mind was made up.<br><br>"I intend to appeal for dismissal." It was the politest way to say 'I'm leaving'.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Fractured Iron {Somnifera~x~EnglishMaster}</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>EnglishMaster</strong> on <strong>19-02-2015, 12:18:39</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				What a fug there was around Frizya.&nbsp; When Conchis saw her through the smoke he saw the haggard eyes of the sleepless.<br><br>'I intend to appeal for dismissal.'&nbsp; It was so rehearsed it came out like a sentence from an automaton.<br><br>And yet...her long long hair half-concealing her expression, her vague eyes without the glasses...what was he to say to such a creature?&nbsp; Touching her obviously helped to bring all this on, so he resisted the impulse, at first, to stroke her grim slate face in comfort.&nbsp; <br><br>He sat himself down in the uncomfortable so-called 'easy' chair, one, the one that the faculty administrators deemed the appropriate ration for each room.&nbsp; (And truly, there was scarcely room for two guests, unless they clinched on the bed.&nbsp; But think not of that.)<br><br>'None of what has happened,' he said, more firmly than he'd spoken before, 'or is likely to happen during your mentorship, is intended to hurt or frighten you, Frizya.&nbsp; You are here for enlightenment, self-advancement and pleasure.'&nbsp; He saw her squeezing the cuff at her left wrist with her right hand; saw the inflammation that spread into each of her arms from each cuff.&nbsp; Ah.&nbsp; <br><br>'Enlightenment, self-advancement and pleasure.&nbsp; Here,' he said.&nbsp; He shifted his chair in front of her.&nbsp; He grasped each of her cuffs before she could wriggle away: felt under his hands little pinpricks, as if – my word, as if there were tiny tacks on the other side, or some such.&nbsp; 'I have a great deal more knowledge than you of the world, and of philosophy.&nbsp; I am here to offer it to you.'<br><br>He was squeezing; squeezing quite hard.&nbsp; 'I am also a man of ordinary and not so ordinary animal appetites.&nbsp; I am an honest man, and make my desires plain.&nbsp; Thus.'&nbsp; Squeezing.&nbsp; 'And thus -'&nbsp; His head nodded towards the broken cuffs on the bed that had not been slept in.&nbsp; &nbsp;'I believe that the satisfaction of our ordinary animal appetites might assist, not hinder your own understanding.&nbsp; Forgive me, do, if this is mere sophistry of a man who has power over you.'<br><br>He squeezed very hard for two more moments; then let go – ahh!&nbsp; -&nbsp; and took her hands instead.<br><br>'Here is what I propose, Frizya.&nbsp; I propose that you return to your smithy, and work.&nbsp; Make for us four cuffs.&nbsp; Cuffs of your own design, with your own tricks built into them.&nbsp; Chains, manacles, whatever you dream of wearing.&nbsp; And when they are made, bring them back here to me and tell me what you wish me to do with them.&nbsp; It might take a few hours; it might take days; it might take half a lifetime; you might never return.&nbsp; As long as I'm alive, I shall be ready to resume our – our relations if and when you return.&nbsp; What do you say to that?'
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Fractured Iron {Somnifera~x~EnglishMaster}</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Somnifera</strong> on <strong>19-02-2015, 22:47:53</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				Large though she was, Frizya was currently not much more than two-hundred pounds of malaise and festering frustration expending energy she did not currently have in an effort to keep her anxiety buried well beneath her stony exterior. The <em>moment</em> he arrived, Conchis set her pulse to hammering and her skin to prickling. It was <em>exhausting</em>. If he had touched her face now, she'd likely have hit him, if only because then the outcome would be clear: persecution.<br><br>It was clear though, when Conchis sat down, that there would not be a nice black and white outline of the next few minutes. The Eternian felt feverish.<br><br>Her leather cuffs were wide wraps of leather with two simple brass snaps, and at their size they usually kept privy the nature of their existence. But Frizya had been especially harried, this night, and her skin did not escape unchafed, so to speak. Her hand stilled at her wrist as he loomed near and sat, drawing her pupils into panicked dots in an otherwise tense face. Pleasure? The word struck her like some offending odor and left her features twisting with disapproval. Before she could say anything more, his hands were at her wrists. In a snap, she tugged back, but the intent of his eyes (and counterpressure from his fingers) gave her pause. Her lids fluttered, her gaze dropped to their hands, and she huffed...<br><br>..and stopped breathing.<br><br>It was a subtle thing, nothing but a stillness and a silence as she watched him, her pupils dilating out and thinning the stark gold or her irises. She <em>heard</em> Conchis, but though her berried lips faintly parted, she said nothing. It was as if the shock and the growing pain in her wrists- pain he judiciously increased- briefly brought about some sort of tonic immobility. A strong heartbeat thudded in her pointed ears, muffling the clarity of his words while the pain increased and her fingers slowly spread and curled as the tiny metal bits dug into the bundle of nerves and tendons beneath them. She heard him, yes, but her brain just could not work her mouth quite yet.<br><br>He let go, and her panic came back full force, doubled. Her jet brows furrowed, her face went hard, pulling into a mask of disgust struggling through a rush of <em>fear.</em> Yes, he had let go, but to have that comforting hurt applied by someone else, someone so far above her.... it aroused something in her blood and in her loins, which posed an entirely different though similarly painful threat. She needed him to leave.<br><br><strong>"No!"</strong> She wrenched her fingers from his and all but exploded to her feet, angry enough to put aside her conflicted feelings about looming over a superior. He had quite literally needled her for too long, and what patience she had snapped. Frizya was haunted by a dedication to self control <em>because she had a temper.</em>"Is everyone here obsessed with flesh? 'Pleasure'? How can you go so far to act as if your wisdom, your work, even punitive <em>shackles</em>&nbsp; have anything to do with fleeting libidinous urges?" Her face, her neck, and the bit of chest that showed beyond her open collar had gone flushed. Frizya was a tight maelstrom of tossing black hair and clenching musculature. "Are all the loftiest minds in this grand domain just perverts playing bed games? Do you summon us here for your bawdy tricks?" <br><br>Her thoughts went hazy. She should just break this liar. Crack his jaw. It would be worth the prison time. <em>No. No. No.</em> "Ugh." She groaned, as if her strength was being sapped, and her eyes rolled shut for a second. She could feel herself threatening to swell in her undergarments; a new pain loomed near. "Yes, this is absolutely sophistry, <em>if I may be so plain."</em><br><br>Frizya was dedicated, if nothing else. If given the option, she would always take what kept her chaste.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Fractured Iron {Somnifera~x~EnglishMaster}</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>EnglishMaster</strong> on <strong>21-02-2015, 14:04:39</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				Conchis felt Frizya's physical strength, seething within the confines of her body.&nbsp; Involuntarily he pushed his chair back; then realised he'd done so, smiled at himself, and resolved to stand firm.&nbsp; <br><br>'Is everyone here obsessed with flesh? 'Pleasure'? How can you go so far to act as if your wisdom, your work, even punitive shackles&nbsp; have anything to do with fleeting libidinous urges?...Are all the loftiest minds in this grand domain just perverts playing bed games? Do you summon us here for your bawdy tricks?...Ugh.&nbsp; Yes, this is absolutely sophistry, if I may be so plain.'<br><br>He tried to remember her speech.&nbsp; He would write it down afterwards, as much as he could remember.&nbsp; But memory was a fickle thing; he had a little more to say, and perhaps that would banish her words from the spark-plugs of his circuits.<br><br>The pain showing in her face seemed disproportionate to the pressure he had exerted.&nbsp; What was it?&nbsp; Mental anguish?&nbsp; It had an oddly physical look to it: the lift of her chin.<br><br>Well, well.&nbsp; He licked his lips.&nbsp; No more touching for the present.&nbsp; 'The three words I used for what your mentorship might achieve for you were enlightenment, self-advancement and pleasure.&nbsp; These three things are what our Institute is, indeed, obsessed with.&nbsp; So far you have shown me only timidity, bordering on fear, and anger greatly disproportionate to the offence.&nbsp; Come back, as I offered, when you're ready to begin.&nbsp; You clearly aren't ready now.'<br><br>She was still seething but he picked up his file and made an orderly, deliberately officious exit.&nbsp; With, of course, a last remark at the door: 'You understand metaphor, I hope.&nbsp; For my fleeting libidinous pleasure I would indeed enjoy seeing you in four physical shackles of your own devising.&nbsp; But four metaphorical shackles – four things that hold you back from enlightenment, or self-advancement, or pleasure – these would satisfy the philosopher in me, if not the bawdy trickster.&nbsp; Return with four of the one kind, or the othere, whenever you like.'<br><br>He left.&nbsp; Bawdy trickster.&nbsp; He rather liked that.&nbsp; It made him want to skip across the courtyard.&nbsp; He might share it over a libation with a colleague.&nbsp; He imagined it as part of his epistolary signature: Professor of Philosophy and Bawdy Trickster.<br><br>Now, now, he must hurry back to his study and write down the speech of the creature before he forgot it.&nbsp; Would he see her again, he wondered?&nbsp; Oh, he did hope so.&nbsp; He liked her, anguished and angry as she was.&nbsp; <br><br>He would like her in shackles even more, of course, but let us not dwell on that for the present...
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Fractured Iron {Somnifera~x~EnglishMaster}</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Somnifera</strong> on <strong>21-02-2015, 21:05:59</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				Frizya had both forced others to follow her orders and also followed orders with great strength and alacrity in her time in the military. She was capable of far more than these petty dalliances! Of <em>course</em> she was seething with insult, there in that that tiny room. That alone had given her fuel enough to break through with her furious refusal.<br><br>No. No. It felt sinful to say it, to shout it, to hear her resonant voice boom it in her little quarters.<br><br>But it made her feel guilty, immediately. It wasn't right. It wasn't right. But she couldn't care, right now. Her head ached, her veins surged, her heart hammered in its cage. Conchis spoke, but she hardly heard him. It was all trash, every word from his lips. He was nothing but some scandalous pervert. Even now, there was a farce in offering her the 'choice' to come back- Institute Education was compulsory.<br><br>Her dark brows drew down over her vivid gaze, and her eyes burned with an almost feral ferocity, even as she worked to change her expression from "violently ourtaged" to "disgusted".<br><br>"I will not." She tossed her words at his back because she could not do so with her fists; instead she pushed her thick black hair from her flushed face with ringed fingers and watched him go with no lack of scorn.<br><br><hr><br>The trip from the city back to LaFont manor took little time, because Frizya was not much aware of the journey. Her mind was overactive, her head still ached. And when she arrived at her front door....<br><br>There was a letter.<br><br>An hour later, she stared at it. Her tea was cooling. Conchis was a foul man, with an atrociously poor understanding of pain and punishment, she decided. She decided, too, having capitulated back to her proper, respectful self, that perhaps such crude and simplistic matters of control were beyond a person given to such metaphysical thought and endeavors. Pain was not <em>for</em> pleasure. The shackles in the black room at LaFont manor were for the rare occasions on which some lesser person had fallen out of line, and needed to be taught a lesson. It was not the subject of experimental visceral interludes. She gave herself to work, to effort, to servitude. Endurance was a virtue- this virtue was stripped from pain and suffering if it is done only for <em>pleasure.</em><br><br>What an annoying word. <br><br>The first letter was a request for reschedule. The second was a fee for being late, which Frizya paid without a second thought. The third was a demand and a threat of punitive action....She replied with a request to be placed under the tutelage of a different Aurn. There was no response.<br><br>Frizya returned to the Institute on a cold morning, a wool coat wrapping her body and leather gloves keeping her hands warm. Her hair was slicked back at the sides, but unbraided, and her features were distant.<br>
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Fractured Iron {Somnifera~x~EnglishMaster}</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>EnglishMaster</strong> on <strong>04-03-2015, 13:58:56</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				Conchis knew he lived in a dream-world.&nbsp; &nbsp;That was why he belonged in the Institute of Clarity, because he was clear-eyed.&nbsp; 'Our caste society is layered like the layers of the rocks in the earth, and like the earth different top layers appear at the surface in different locations – professors here, smiths there, topographers elsewhere...'<br><br>Smiths were on his mind.&nbsp; Frizya was returning today.&nbsp; There was a tall, gangling woman at the back of the auditorium for his crowded lecture, one whose limbs seemed ever impatient to be moving elsewhere, pent up in their seat – and he found himself looking at her and thinking of his mentee.<br><br>'...and I know there are some Institutes where you will learn the value of facticity, or verisimilitude, but it is my role to cast a melancholy eye across the greensward that lies between our institutes and tell you that simile and metaphor are sometimes the clearest descriptions we have to offer to others...'<br><br>He quoted poetry and popular song.&nbsp; He was popular himself, some scornful fellows alleging that that was because he played to the youthful gallery.&nbsp; <br><br>But he could only be himself.&nbsp; That, once, in a year of mediation in the hills, was what he came down from the mountain thinking.&nbsp; Hypocrite, metaphorician, sexual beast, kindly tutor, occasional heartless exploiter of the vulnerable – he knew who he was.<br><br>It was only after his lectures and his lunch that he went to his study.&nbsp; Frizya would be due shortly.&nbsp; Would she have brought him physical manacles?&nbsp; Or a tale of the ideational manacles that she trailed through life?&nbsp; Or would she have sullenly ignored his instructions, and simply returned because she had to?
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Fractured Iron {Somnifera~x~EnglishMaster}</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Somnifera</strong> on <strong>04-03-2015, 22:21:59</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				Frizya brought with her no such thing, no manacle material or otherwise, and if Conchis truly felt that that had been likely, he was just as delusional as she had accused. Truly, she envisioned him as a social peacock, intoxicated with his own ideas and accustomed to the treatment one of his class would logically receive from similarly dreamy philosophers in that golden place. Simply put, he was out of touch. <br><br>Frizya was a creature of duty and obligation. When something did not fall into those roles, she found her way around it. Thus, when she was <em>made</em> to do something, as she had been in the military, for instance, she accepted the task without question and would gladly suffer to complete it. That was the nature of honor- suffering and laboring <em>for a cause.</em> That was the <em>beauty</em> of servitude and the nature of <em>purpose.</em><br><br>None of Conchis' lascivious advances had awakened that in Frizya, for he was more concerned with the liberation of the flesh than the assertion of power where it belonged, and Frizya was not fond of freedoms. She was aromantic on almost all levels, and chaste to the point of masochism. Wasn't it obvious? Lenience would never appeal to her. To this day, Conchis disgusted her, good looking or no.<br><br>Ever willing to keep Order, however, and perhaps truly brainwashed (Masonites would call it <em>educated</em> ) by the social norms, Frizya still saw all this through a filter of default respect: Appointed Philosophers did not suffer for their carnal flaws because of their inherent worth- they deserved that. However, that near holy status was what made Conchis' idiocy so <strong>frustrating.</strong> He should be better than this. She had been led to believe Aurns were better than this.<br><br>Conchis, however, was as of yet incapable of inspiring Frizya to action, and thus, she staunchly decided, he deserved nothing he wanted from her. She sat once again in the scant 'library' down the hall from his study, proudly empty handed.<br><br>
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Fractured Iron {Somnifera~x~EnglishMaster}</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>EnglishMaster</strong> on <strong>10-03-2015, 15:13:34</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				'Military step,' Conchis explained to Acoria.<br><br>The woman didn't have any trouble understanding.&nbsp; They'd been together in their military service, patrolling the highlands of Shananur, oh how many years ago?&nbsp; Many, many, though they showed no more on Acoria's tanned, impassive face than they did on Conchis's.&nbsp; She was a big-bodied woman who kept herself fit and young in mind.&nbsp; <br><br>Conchis had decided on an impulse to put on a small piece of theatre to help the new arrival.&nbsp; He'd had to go and have a direct, persuasive word with Acoria's boss in the Security detail, but like them, she turned out to be a member of the same guild of ex-soldiers, so wasn't difficult to persuade.<br><br>And so they walked down the corridor to the library in brisk step, side by side, Conchis swathed in the purple gown in which he lectured, the clack-clack of Acoria's mace on the polished floor in time with their feet.&nbsp; They barely paused where the big creature Frizya was waiting.&nbsp; Conchis pointed to the door of his study.&nbsp; 'In.'&nbsp; He said.&nbsp; 'Now.'<br><br>Soon he sat in his chair, the desk between him and the others.&nbsp; Acoria stood at the door, behind Frizya.&nbsp; There wre no niceties of introductions. 'I offered you the courtesy of treating you as an equal last time, my dear Frizya.&nbsp; Clearly it wasn't for you.&nbsp; I can see you have brought me no manacles, and I discern from your expression that you have brought me no metaphorical manacles either, simply your narcissistic conviction that the world is against you.&nbsp; Narcissism, Frizya, is not tolerated here.'<br><br>'My colleague Acoria here will strike you if you do not accede to my wishes for this afternoon.&nbsp; So, Frizya, you are going to remind yourself of the three purposes of your attendance here.&nbsp; What are they?&nbsp; - No, I will spare myself the insult of your sullen failure or refusal to remember.&nbsp; They are Enlightenment, Self-advancement and Pleasure.&nbsp; You will take off all your clothes, squat without sitting in front of me with your legs apart facing straight ahead, interlace your fingers on your head, and chant these three words until I'm satisfied you have them insinuated into your thick skull.&nbsp; Why aren't you already stripping yourself?&nbsp; Acoria!'<br><br>The woman at the door stepped forward.&nbsp; The sound of her mace on the parquet echoed from the walls.&nbsp; 'Sir!'
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Fractured Iron {Somnifera~x~EnglishMaster}</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Somnifera</strong> on <strong>11-03-2015, 02:47:39</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				It was the unusually well-ordered sound of footfalls (and the sharp call of metal on tile) that lifted Frizya's golden gaze. She had anticipated sharing words, however terse, with whomever came to fetch her, but this situation was entirely surprising. In a sweep, the smith looked over them both from the top edge of her smoked lenses, and pushed to her feet with a quickness that was somewhat commendable for a 200 pound person on hoof-like boots.<br><br>Gone was the superfluous banter and the scandalous departure from proper rank. Her body tensed with nervous excitement. Behind her escort, Frizya shook out some of the tension with a toss of her long, wavy hair. The journey down the hall was short but loud, the clack of the mace joined by the resin thud of those heavy equine boots.<br><br>By the time the small group was enclosed in the Philosopher's study, however, the tension in her had risen to a stifling pressure. It shoved the booming of her heart up towards her ascot and left her mind racing around and ahead of his words. Frizya settled into a military stance, feet apart, shoulders back, hands clasped one around the other wrist behind her hips. With her long, tailed overcoat, she honestly looked as if one could give her orders to do something unsavory and finite to someone else under the cover of night. Behind her back, though, she was tightening her grip around the cuff hidden under layers of clothing.<br><br>Conchis gave her no time to offer an oily excuse as to why his equitable treatment was 'not for her'. But of course not! <em>She</em> adhered to the proper social norms of Mason! It was his comment about narcissism, however, that made her black and gold eyes flash from behind her glasses. <em>Is that so?</em> She lifted her chin a little higher, then, her mouth a serious and pensive frown. A prickling heat crept beneath her well-suited clothing.<br><br>As she listened, it became a flush that rushed into her face and ears, the cool hue of her blood giving her a curiously asphyxiated look. Every part of his decree sounded alarms in her mind, and she snapped her gaze to Acoria, her mind reeling. The risk of pain wasn't what made her panic. It was the threat of nudity. Somewhere in her mind, she was also aware of the absurdity of the demand: Between the laces on her boots and the wealth of buttons on her form, undressing was never <em>fast</em> with her, regardless. This thought was not important at the moment, however.<br><br><strong>"I refuse-"</strong> She blurted out, tossing a stare at the security officer. "To engage in this interaction on grounds that risking injury to My person is injurious to the Empire, as I am currently under contract." Her mouth was dry, and she was hyperaware of her underthings as she stared down at her Appointed Philosopher. The ordinance came out quickly, the words rumbling together. <br><br>It was hard to tell if fear or pride motivated her more. In regards to the latter, it was a shame that Conchis hadn't the opportunity to talk more intimately with any officers who had worked with or above F. Agypis in her time in service. Whether they meant to or not, they'd have given Conchis a warning he'd not find in any precursory listing of her military achievements.<br><br><br>
			</dd>
		</dl>
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