You have reached Festival, king of entertainers and entertainer of kings. I'm fairly certain this device will allow you to leave a message. Best of luck with that.
[As awkward as the week of forgetfulness had made things between Festival and Alfred, it doesn't even occur to him that someone like her might have had a worse time of it.]
Ducky,
Now would be quite fine. I can meet you at the elevator if you need an escort, or at the shop if not. I'll be the one wearing motley. Also, I'll be the man-sized cat.
I'll meet you at the shop. Telling the guards you have a meeting with a potential contract opens some doors. They do so want us to integrate into society properly.
Ducky.
It is not long after sending this message that there's a short (five-foot nothing) woman in a grey high-necked dress arriving at Honestea. She carries nothing with her except her network device, and seems thoughtful as she approaches, looking around for, well, the man-sized cat in motley.
Which seems like an interesting choice, the motley. Bright colors, merriment, it's a look that could lead to one not being taken seriously, just the same as her maid uniform (Victorian-style, not sexy maid) can do for her back home. But as Shakespeare wrote, "I wear not motley in my brain." It makes her...not wary, quite, but more attentive.
One of the few times one will be given allowances, unfortunately. I'll see you there.
Festival
Festival arrives first, as he has less of the city to navigate. Just as the last time he met a potential submissive here, he delays ordering until this Ducky (presumably a human, he thinks, though he has no idea of anything beyond that, not even which pronouns to use) arrives with the thought in the back of his mind that a stranger might see something sinister in a drink they haven't been able to watch for trickery since its arrival at the table. He's certainly a colorful character, quite hard to miss, and he does look more than a little the fool in his checkered tunic and gaudy jewelry. All the same, there's a certain fastidiousness to his appearance, his fur sleek and clean and the clothing well-tailored if garish.
Less fastidious is the gawky adolescent raven playing with the teaspoons on the table. Festival's attention is on the bird; he laughs as she hops down onto the cushions of the corner booth where he's taken up residence in order to stash a piece of cutlery in the back of the seat.
"I take it then that you would be Festival?" She smiles as she walks over to the only man-sized cat in the room, even as her gaze rakes over him so she can form a first impression. She's more certain on seeing it that there's something deliberate about the garishness and gaudiness. A form of camouflage. That's not a bad thing, though.
"I'm Ducky. What's the name of your corvine companion, if I may ask?"
She doesn't sit down yet, standing beside the booth, hands lightly clasped in front of her. It seems safer, at least until she knows his preferences, to wait on permission.
"The one and only," he confirms. His expression is guileless, though he gives her a look up and down in return. "And this is Little Thunder. I forgot to ask whether you like ravens as well as cats - or to assure you that I do like apes."
He says it with a cheeky little smile, unable to resist poking the usual hole in people's assumption that he's the odd one here. "Sit, sit," he says with a gesture when he realizes she's waiting for something. "I haven't ordered yet; you'll have to tell me what you like."
"I assure you, sir, I'm a very tame house-ape." She accepts that little jab with good humor as she slides into the booth. "And I'll take a negroni, thank you."
She's from the very early 20th century, when cocktails were still a new thing. Her taste in them will likely seem very 'classic' to most people.
"Shall we wait for the drinks to arrive before getting down to 'business', sir?"
For better or for worse, Festival has been dropped into the world of cocktails without any sort of context for what's in style and what's old fashioned - back home it was simply a choice among ale, wine, or hard liquor. He brightens when he hears her order (he'd been a little worried she'd want tea, and then he'd be obligated to drink the same).
"Oh--good idea. Though I prefer a boulevardier. I'll put in the order; we can wait or start as you like."
Without a waiter currently waiting on them, Festival hops up, taking a second to coax Little Thunder onto his arm before he goes to the counter and engages in brief conversation with the staff member there. If she watches, his body language is loose and he's clearly taking a moment to share a joke or two; it takes a bit longer than it would if he'd only gone over and relayed their orders. Then he's back and slipping into his seat.
She does him while he's up at the counter, taking in what she can of his personality and mannerisms. Once he returns, there's a definite hint of smile on her face.
"I suppose the most appropriate place to start would be to ask what you're looking for, from the next submissive you contract to. You are the Dominant, your preferences are going to bear a lot of weight here."
Okay, she might be deliberately poking for a reaction, hoping to see where his head's really at. But gently, gently.
He pauses in the midst of getting Little Thunder settled, glancing at Ducky with an unreadable expression. It's only for a second, barely anything as he tries to decide how he's going to play this interaction. He could simply be charming, deferential; it would be easier in many ways to simply listen to what she wants and agree to it since he's unlikely to object anyway. But...something's stuck with him, a sort of gravity to these agreements that he's only slowly begun to appreciate in lieu of his earlier approach of simply agreeing to whatever seemed convenient.
He doesn't turn cold or businesslike, but his smile loses some of its goofiness as he turns to face her properly and rests his hands folded on the table.
"Both our preferences will," he points out. "Anyone who'll tell you the Dominant's opinion matters more, you shouldn't contract with. But yes, I do hold a certain level of power, whether or not I want it...and it's only fair to tell you my side of things if I'm going to ask for yours."
He drums his fingers on the table, gathering his thoughts, and adds, "I must confess I'm not quite certain what it is I want. My first partner and I were...it began more or less as a contract of convenience, but by the time he disappeared from the city we were very close. My second, he and I both needed a contract to avoid jail time; we were...not close.
"I suppose what I'd really like is a friend, though I know that's a great deal to ask of someone I've only just met."
"I think in this place, friends are going to be important. Everyone's under pressure from the city, subject to laws and...influences. I hope that my Dominant is someone I can be friends with. It's part of why I'm beginning to look seriously so soon--I don't want to be stuck scrambling, in the end. I've always been best when I can take the time to be thorough."
Her lips curl in a gentle, wistful smile.
"Where I come from, I work as a housemaid to a brilliant, eccentric man. We're close, but I recognize the difference in our roles. I am his servant, he is my master, even if at the end of a long day we sometimes share a bottle of wine and talk freely together. In public, we put on the proper show, aware of the roles that are ours to play. But he means a lot to me, as more than an employer. I imagine my ideal contract might be similar in structure."
Of course, she's not a typical housemaid in reality, but that part of the story is hardly a first date sort of matter.
Festival nods, listening. "I'd always left it to the last minute," he confesses. "It worked out the first time, but less so the second. It's...easy to lose sight of practicalities if one is too focused on his objections to the system itself. You're smart to start earlier. Smarter than me."
He makes a little face even as he nods again at her description. "That's...probably a good way to think about it," he says, "Though I'm not looking for a servant."
"I wouldn't have time to be a servant, working at Creed's as I am. He's got me detangling his accounting, cleaning, and learning some of the woodworking basics." She sounds pretty proud of herself, taking on all that.
"My permission to work comes from a Dominant named South, who arrived at the same time I did. But I won't pursue the idea of contracting with her."
"You're not my only option, but South isn't on my list. My intention is not to rely on my Dominant as the primary person I meet quota with, and currently that's her. My interest in South is...potentially, perhaps more than simply quota, and I think that'd complicate things even worse. I don't want to bring a contract into whatever she and I are doing, particularly before I can quantify and label that."
"That's...probably also wise," admits Festival. "And, ah...not to put too fine a point on it, but I cannot be relied upon for quota, anyhow."
He takes a drink to give himself a moment more to think, then adds, "Some go about it the opposite way. They find there's more comfort to be had in a contract that carries more meaning. I, ah...the partner without a stripe may be forced into the position of administering a punishment if one or both breaks the law. Some would prefer that come from a more intimate partner."
"I can see why people would prefer that, and at some point I might change my mind about what I want or need. I just don't want to jump into that immediately." She shrugs, watching Festival thoughtfully. Well, not relying on him for quota suited her just fine. As for punishment, she had no plans to get caught breaking any laws. Really, no active plans to break laws, yet.
"So I'm definitely looking for the standard three-month temporary contract, not necessarily anything longer-term yet. Though if I find myself compatible with a partner and things seem to work out, who knows?"
"Three months is shorter and longer than you'd think," comments Festival. "I think that's a wise course of action for the start of things."
He thinks a moment. There are logistical considerations, he decides, worth bringing up. "You mentioned you have work," he says. "That would be no problem; I don't see any reason to interfere with your business. Would you want a signoff on purchasing your own home--or to live in mine?"
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
timeasmymeasure
no subject
Date: 2021-10-04 08:49 pm (UTC)Ducky,
Now would be quite fine. I can meet you at the elevator if you need an escort, or at the shop if not. I'll be the one wearing motley. Also, I'll be the man-sized cat.
Festival
text>action (can switch back to brackets if you prefer, I'll follow your lead)
Date: 2021-10-04 08:56 pm (UTC)I'll meet you at the shop. Telling the guards you have a meeting with a potential contract opens some doors. They do so want us to integrate into society properly.
Ducky.
It is not long after sending this message that there's a short (five-foot nothing) woman in a grey high-necked dress arriving at Honestea. She carries nothing with her except her network device, and seems thoughtful as she approaches, looking around for, well, the man-sized cat in motley.
Which seems like an interesting choice, the motley. Bright colors, merriment, it's a look that could lead to one not being taken seriously, just the same as her maid uniform (Victorian-style, not sexy maid) can do for her back home. But as Shakespeare wrote, "I wear not motley in my brain." It makes her...not wary, quite, but more attentive.
I honestly prefer prose for action, so this works!
Date: 2021-10-04 09:40 pm (UTC)One of the few times one will be given allowances, unfortunately. I'll see you there.
Festival
Festival arrives first, as he has less of the city to navigate. Just as the last time he met a potential submissive here, he delays ordering until this Ducky (presumably a human, he thinks, though he has no idea of anything beyond that, not even which pronouns to use) arrives with the thought in the back of his mind that a stranger might see something sinister in a drink they haven't been able to watch for trickery since its arrival at the table. He's certainly a colorful character, quite hard to miss, and he does look more than a little the fool in his checkered tunic and gaudy jewelry. All the same, there's a certain fastidiousness to his appearance, his fur sleek and clean and the clothing well-tailored if garish.
Less fastidious is the gawky adolescent raven playing with the teaspoons on the table. Festival's attention is on the bird; he laughs as she hops down onto the cushions of the corner booth where he's taken up residence in order to stash a piece of cutlery in the back of the seat.
no subject
Date: 2021-10-04 09:49 pm (UTC)"I'm Ducky. What's the name of your corvine companion, if I may ask?"
She doesn't sit down yet, standing beside the booth, hands lightly clasped in front of her. It seems safer, at least until she knows his preferences, to wait on permission.
no subject
Date: 2021-10-05 12:38 am (UTC)He says it with a cheeky little smile, unable to resist poking the usual hole in people's assumption that he's the odd one here. "Sit, sit," he says with a gesture when he realizes she's waiting for something. "I haven't ordered yet; you'll have to tell me what you like."
no subject
Date: 2021-10-05 04:08 am (UTC)She's from the very early 20th century, when cocktails were still a new thing. Her taste in them will likely seem very 'classic' to most people.
"Shall we wait for the drinks to arrive before getting down to 'business', sir?"
no subject
Date: 2021-10-05 12:27 pm (UTC)"Oh--good idea. Though I prefer a boulevardier. I'll put in the order; we can wait or start as you like."
Without a waiter currently waiting on them, Festival hops up, taking a second to coax Little Thunder onto his arm before he goes to the counter and engages in brief conversation with the staff member there. If she watches, his body language is loose and he's clearly taking a moment to share a joke or two; it takes a bit longer than it would if he'd only gone over and relayed their orders. Then he's back and slipping into his seat.
no subject
Date: 2021-10-05 02:56 pm (UTC)"I suppose the most appropriate place to start would be to ask what you're looking for, from the next submissive you contract to. You are the Dominant, your preferences are going to bear a lot of weight here."
Okay, she might be deliberately poking for a reaction, hoping to see where his head's really at. But gently, gently.
no subject
Date: 2021-10-07 04:27 pm (UTC)He doesn't turn cold or businesslike, but his smile loses some of its goofiness as he turns to face her properly and rests his hands folded on the table.
"Both our preferences will," he points out. "Anyone who'll tell you the Dominant's opinion matters more, you shouldn't contract with. But yes, I do hold a certain level of power, whether or not I want it...and it's only fair to tell you my side of things if I'm going to ask for yours."
He drums his fingers on the table, gathering his thoughts, and adds, "I must confess I'm not quite certain what it is I want. My first partner and I were...it began more or less as a contract of convenience, but by the time he disappeared from the city we were very close. My second, he and I both needed a contract to avoid jail time; we were...not close.
"I suppose what I'd really like is a friend, though I know that's a great deal to ask of someone I've only just met."
no subject
Date: 2021-10-07 04:45 pm (UTC)Her lips curl in a gentle, wistful smile.
"Where I come from, I work as a housemaid to a brilliant, eccentric man. We're close, but I recognize the difference in our roles. I am his servant, he is my master, even if at the end of a long day we sometimes share a bottle of wine and talk freely together. In public, we put on the proper show, aware of the roles that are ours to play. But he means a lot to me, as more than an employer. I imagine my ideal contract might be similar in structure."
Of course, she's not a typical housemaid in reality, but that part of the story is hardly a first date sort of matter.
no subject
Date: 2021-10-13 05:00 pm (UTC)He makes a little face even as he nods again at her description. "That's...probably a good way to think about it," he says, "Though I'm not looking for a servant."
no subject
Date: 2021-10-13 05:25 pm (UTC)"My permission to work comes from a Dominant named South, who arrived at the same time I did. But I won't pursue the idea of contracting with her."
no subject
Date: 2021-10-18 03:51 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2021-10-18 04:06 pm (UTC)"You're not my only option, but South isn't on my list. My intention is not to rely on my Dominant as the primary person I meet quota with, and currently that's her. My interest in South is...potentially, perhaps more than simply quota, and I think that'd complicate things even worse. I don't want to bring a contract into whatever she and I are doing, particularly before I can quantify and label that."
How romantic?
no subject
Date: 2021-10-27 05:44 pm (UTC)He takes a drink to give himself a moment more to think, then adds, "Some go about it the opposite way. They find there's more comfort to be had in a contract that carries more meaning. I, ah...the partner without a stripe may be forced into the position of administering a punishment if one or both breaks the law. Some would prefer that come from a more intimate partner."
no subject
Date: 2021-10-27 06:04 pm (UTC)"So I'm definitely looking for the standard three-month temporary contract, not necessarily anything longer-term yet. Though if I find myself compatible with a partner and things seem to work out, who knows?"
no subject
Date: 2021-11-17 09:34 pm (UTC)He thinks a moment. There are logistical considerations, he decides, worth bringing up. "You mentioned you have work," he says. "That would be no problem; I don't see any reason to interfere with your business. Would you want a signoff on purchasing your own home--or to live in mine?"