The Red Banner: The Blossoming of Flora [Sam 26, ET]

[Fauna Winthrope]

The Red Banner

The Red Banner is one of the more prominent brothels in the Inner City, a place as infamous for its underworld connections as it is for it's cheap, desperate whores. The tall and narrow building lies at the edge between the Inner City and the Harbor, just outside the walls. It's regal exterior is well-kept, with soft, subtle coloring that gives the place a warm and inviting appearance. The building is unmarked save for a distinctive wrought-iron lamp bracket just over the front door that features a red-hooded glass and a twinkling blaze at all hours of the night. All of the windows on the first floor of the three-level complex have been bricked up, and the windows above are all covered with strong, iron bars carefully iron-worked to make them almost unnoticeable so as not to detract from the establishment's otherwise inviting image.

Within the door was a taproom that attempted to be elegant and refined, though to the critical eye it was nothing more than gaudy and overdone. Velvet and silk were draped along the walls, both to obscure sound as well as to decorate, all dyed in red and purple to give the impression of wealth. Numerous booths, tables, and chairs filled the room, gathered into smaller groups that were imperfectly separated from one another to leave the impression of seclusion. A short bar centered the opposite wall, its lacquered top marred by countless glasses and tumblers from patrons past. The bar was protected by a line of low stools, each topped with a cotton cushion dyed in the same tones of red and purple that matched the walls. The lighting in the room was dim and obscure, provided by a few discreetly placed lamps that burned pungent and black from fish oil.

New visitors drew little immediate attention from any of the patrons or employees save for the bartender. He was a tall, bald, dark man standing behind the bar, his white shirt and red vest giving him a sharp and distinctive appearance over his chocolate complexion. He was carefully decanting a bottle of red wine, a task to which he devoted the sum of his attention as the bloody fluid was transferred into the decanter below. Without looking away from his task, he spoke, his words deep, resonant, and patient. "Welcome to the Red Banner. May I get you a drink while you wait?"

[hr][/hr]
Samheen 26th, Yahren 1224 AD, Third Mark, Evening Tide

We shall call her Flora now and she moved with feminine purpose along the streets of the Inner City, passed the near empty market place, her figure hidden by her dark cloak, her face obscured by the wide hood pulled low upon her shadowed, flawless face, her blue eyes were the only color that can be seen from that gray darkness.

Flora was neither hurried nor slow, her tread was just normal enough for other passersby to take no notice of this garbed figure bundled and hidden in her large cloak. Her sandled feet fell lightly upon the cobbled pavement, a slight sound under the night, domed sky.

What was her purpose, one might ask. Her direction came from the Patrician's Ring, sometimes taking a furtive glance behind her, checking if someone was following her, her blue eyes under that shadowed cowl could be seen slanting as if peering through the near dimness of the night. She moved passed the empty stalls, passed the closed Shop of Audrey's Otherwear <although she paused for a few flickers, gazing adoringly at the center of fashion world>, passed the noisy tavern of the Burping dragon, her slim hand pulling low her hood and moved along deliberately towards the Outer Gate and stopped just before a regal exterior of the edifice which was her goal.

The Red Banner.

Flora knew her patron and her employer would not miss her that night. He was busy running the Citadel and besides, she was here on his behalf, although he would not know of this, she had decided that in the onset. She was here to protect him and her investment through him. She needed to get more information for him, information that he would not be able to obtain by walling himself inside the Citadel Palace, although she knew, he might have some ways of gathering information, but it would not be as accurate as being there himself.

It was time to know what the commoners were thinking. She knew the Burping Dragon was off limits, a lot of people knew her there, and she had heard so much about this place and in this place, she knew things and news would be floating about like butterflies flittering through the air.

Flora was here for a purpose.

"Uh rid whuyn pliz." She had entered and replied in her exotic accent when she purposely sought the bartender. She looked around her with curiosity and settled her blue eyes, still hidden under cowl, upon the bartender.

"Ay um a duhnzer." Flora said matter-of-factly and professionaly, stating her intentions and questions with just that obvious statement.

[Grant]

The bartender offered only the slightest of nods as he finished emptying the bottle...it was a red from Kislovan, from all appearances...before he placed the decanter to one side to properly breath for a moment. It was from another decanter he poured a strong measure of wine, filling a lovely glass of nearly flawless construction with bloody fluid. While his movements and his accent were largely Citadel, his appearance was clearly one from Amun Rah, and Fauna could readily see her own countryman beneath the local fashion and style that sought to hide his origins.

He placed the glass before her and considered her very briefly. Adam was precisely what was needed in a bartender for a brothel, being discreet, quiet, and almost absent. He was as much a decoration as any of the fine cloths or chairs that filled the room, and given his careful, efficient operation of the bar and his genuinely neuter status...Adam was a eunuch...he was perhaps ideal to work the Red Banner. He was also quite an asset given that he was also very observant, and so it was with some cleverness that he quickly evaluated his newest guest.

The first instinct one would have was that Fauna was a prostitute. She could earn well at the Banner...as much as a crown per night, no doubt, and maybe even more...but Adam shook off this idea as quickly as she spoke. No, she was no would-be prostitute. She was kept by someone...maybe a private mistress...and maybe recently arrived from Amun Rah herself. A slave? guessed Adam, a far more appropriate guess than a prostitute.

But no, no slave could she be. It wasn't unlikely that a slave could be sent on some errand to a brothel in Amun Rah...but here in the Citadel, it was largely inappropriate for her to be sent here all alone. No, this was something else entirely. A client, then? Adam raised one eyebrow only just enough to indicate this as a possibility. Of course, as a client it would make very good sense. She dressed wealthy, she seemed to have means...and now she was here, asking for a drink. It was rather likely that a woman might utilize the Banner, either for a man or a woman...they catered to all tastes...and that was his best guess for now.

And now to test his theory. "Your wine, madam. And...how can we help you at the Banner today? Would you...care to speak to the Madam of the house?" he asked, in effect offering to begin a business negotiation with what might be the Banner's newest client.

[Fauna Winthrope]

Amunite.

He brought her back to the desert dunes of Amun Rah under the hot, weltering sun that pounds the sandy soil like hammer. The Amunite brought her back to the memories of women wearing hooded, gossamer robes and veils, and all untaught, they moved gracefully and danced under the brightness of the desert sun.

Amun Rah...

"May night follow dawn." She greeted him as an Amunite citizen, her accent discarded as she was brought back to the noble culture of the Desert Land. "And may dawn follow night..." Flora ended as she gracefully took the red wine with her gracefull fingers, her face still shadowed by the hooded robe she was wearing. Curiously, she eyed the Amunic Bartender under her cowl, her blue eyes shimmering within that grayness of shadows.

She had started with an accent, although she had dropped it, for the sake of appearance, she decided to continue with it, knowing that the man before him was no dimwit. The dancer gave him a small smile, toying with her wine glass, she took a small sip of it, and placed it back to the bar.

"Gruhziyous Wun..." It was another hint that the Dancer was from Amun Rah, using the prolific title of an unknown man. "Ay wud bi pleezd tu 'av some gruhziyous wurdz wid yur Mihztrez..."

"Tehl 'er..." She paused dramatically, with a gracefull, artful flick of fingers, "dut Gruhziyous Fluhra wud layk tu ohfer my serviz tu her."

[Grant]

It didn't happen all the time, but it was often enough bound to happen. It appeared as if the bartender had been wrong. It didn't appear as if the new face were here to purchase sex, but instead to sell it. Or whatever she would propose to the Mistress. After all, what other kind of service would a lady offer to the Madam of a Brothel? considered the dark man quickly. Bowing quickly and formally, he left the refreshed glass of wine before Fauna before he turned back to his business, offering her no further questions or words. That was a very customary tactic in such a place as the Red Banner.

Charlotte was once a lovely woman. While her body retains a ravishing figure at twenty five yahren, her eyes and face cannot hide the bitter resentment and defeat that wore on her over several yahren, a drawn, pensive expression obvious to any that see her. Her face was not stern, but it's once lovely features....lovely in a very classical, dignified way...was losing a battle against stress, disappointment, and disillusion, leaving her drawn and perhaps weary. Still, when she came into view and spied the newcomer at the bar, she willed her features to shift into something more inviting before she advanced to join Fauna at the bar.

"Welcome to the Red Banner, my lady," she offered, curtseying deeply before Fauna, her lovely dress in very real dangerous of spilling her out of it. She wasn't dressed in a way that might be considered tacky, but she was clearly as interested as any of her girls to display what she had to offer...and it seemed that, unlike so many Brothel Madams, she offered it up as often as her employees, either for extra money or for the sheer enjoyment of it. "I am Madam Charlotte," she continued, rising up and standing just near Fauna. "How can I be of assistance to you today?"

[Fauna Winthrope]

"Gritings, Mazam Tsarlot." Fauna stood and gave the proprietor of the house a bow that she had seen from Lady Rioja, trying to look gracefull and elegant at the same time and hoping that the Madame could not see through her face accent. "Zis perzon iz named Lazy Fluh-rah," Fauna introduced herself with exotic flair, flittering her fingers as she mentioned her pseudonym. "Zis perzon iz 'oping zat she might git employment in yur fine eztablishment, Mazame Tsarlot."

She needed to get information, a safe haven from her enemies and the Red Banner would be the right place to stay and do that. In this place, people were relaxed and in a relaxed state, one can blurt out any thing under the sun. Fauna just needed to be a part of this Underworld, she needed to weave her own connection, a weave of spiderweb, in which she can lay her own layings of traps.

"Zis perzon is 'oping zat the Mazame's eztablishment might be needing a danzer of exotic style, zomething the zitizen of the Zitadel had never zeen b'fore and may'aps, bring your house to glorious fame."

This would be hard, Fauna was used to seducing and persuading the opposite sex. She could not bat her eyelashes nor heave her bosom for the woman before her has the same attributes as her. She wouldn't want the two of them having a tourney on who can heave bosom the fastest.

ooc: Grant, I'm changing the Timestamp from 26th to 27th because someone will be joining. I'm still waiting for a reply from Prof Baldeserrato though

[Grant]

(OOC: You're just trying to give me a migraine, aren't you? No, no, no...don't change the scene! Just make a future appointment...)

Madam Charlotte was...perplexed. Not too perplexed...the girl before her was lovely and alluring, and would no doubt do well in her particular care...but the very thought of presenting a show within the Red Banner was, if anything, little more than a way to advertise their particular style of merchandise. In fact, if she placed this...Flora...upon a stage and set her to dance, and then didn't offer her up the highest bidder for sex...then she would quickly have trouble on her hands. After all, it was typical of the girls of the Red Banner to come down and advertise their assets when they were between clients.

But was she asking to join the house? If she turned tricks, she would do well indeed, exotic dancing and all. However, she hadn't precisely asked, and there were precious few reasons for a woman of her appearance and demeanor to even be in the Red Banner otherwise. Unless she is merely naive, decided the Madam with a small, knowing smile. "Oh, my dear, I have no doubt you would impress our guests immeasurably! Indeed, you would have their attentions, and you would not quickly lose it. But...I don't believe you quite understand what we do here..."

"Charlotte the Harlot! You will...introduce me at once," demanded the approaching man, stalking up from beyond her where Fauna could only just see him. He was attractive to look upon, in a fierce, swarthy way, and clearly very wealthy, his fingers each adorned with a large ring of set stone and his clothes of the finest velvet dyed to a deep crimson. His coloring was dark over pale, white skin, and his eyes were wide, quick, and close-set...the eyes of a very paranoid man. A small collection of his friends were just beyond, having held back to loiter with some of the girls in the brothel, each of them armed and even armored such that they might be more properly described as bodyguards. From their sudden appearance in the brothel's parlor and their current positions, it was clear to Fauna that they had only just entered from within the brothel instead of the front door.

To say that Charlotte didn't like to be called Charlotte the Harlot would have been perhaps insufficient. She stiffened both at the rake's words as well as his voice, her movements suddenly stiff and cautious. Turning slightly, she watched Michael Crane approach...and both ladies witnessed the Crime Lord's close inspection not of Fauna, but of her chest, an inspection he didn't for a moment care to hide or terminate.

"Ah...Flora, this is...Master Michael Crane. Master Crane, this is...Flora. She is a dancer," emphasized Madam Charlotte, the tinge of fear and anxiety creeping into her voice.

[Fauna Winthrope]

“Unzerstand?” Flora asked, her well – plucked eyebrows frowning. Was the Madame of the House declining her ravishing beauty? That is most absurd, Flora thought, did she stumble on a bad lighting, she looked at herself and her dress and figure. Her fanny’s not sagging, or was it? She mournfully looked at her heaving bosom and tried to feel her behind.

What was there to not understand? She was here to offer her service and perhaps, get some connections as well, connections that might be able to help her against her fight with the Fools of the University or perhaps, aid that can help her with the Major Domus. If dancing and showing a little flesh here and there would be part of it, Flora would be more than happy to do so.

“Mazam,” Flora began to explain but was then completely cut off short by a newcomer. With a slight turn of her head, she turned and looked at the approaching man and his entourage of bodyguards. Now here was someone who was oozing with power. If there was a weakness for Flora, it was a powerful man.

She almost giggled out loud as she noticed the apparent outrageous indignation of Madame Charlotte by being called a harlot. Being a woman herself, she knew how insulting it was being called by that epitaph, but then, Flora wouldn’t mind, in fact, it would be a plus to be called by that, a sign that her apparent theatrics was being noticed.

“Mazter Crane…” Flora bowed before the man, a bow that she had seen from Lady Rioja. “It iz a deep plezure to mit you.” She noticed him noticing her breast and she rolled her eyes heavenward and gave Madame Charlotte a disgusted look. Well, she was here with a plan and if this drooling man would like to ogle at her bozangers, well then, on with the show then.

“It iz true, Mazter Crane.” She continued with her exotic accent, a certain catch in her voice when she mentioned the man’s name. “I am a danzer of exotic style, Mazam Tsarlot and I are ‘aving zome zizagreement if she wud be employing me. Per’aps, you would like to see a zample of my exotic zalent?” As she was speaking, Flora was busily rummaging through her small pouch and took out a silken handkerchief and was fully engaged in dabbing that small cloth around the naked flesh of her bosom.

“It iz awfully, ‘ot in here, Mazam Tsarlot, Zon’t you zink so, Mazter Crane?” She asked the man, her fingers slowly trailing the edges of her own exaggerated bust line.

[Grant]

Crane was very quick to respond. "Yeah. I would..." BAM! he slapped his hand upon the bar just nearby. "Up on the bar, hun. Show me what you've got. Maybe I'll have a little surprise for you if you impress me?" he barked. And bark he did, half shouting with just about everything he said, a rather customary situation for the infamous kingpin. Where his hand had come down upon the smooth, polished surface, a series of rather distressing scratches could be seen, the results of his ruby-studded rings damaging the otherwise lovely counter top.

"And you..." Michael glanced over at Charlotte. "GO. Clear the first room up the stairs and stay gone, hun. I'll handle this," he added, sending Charlotte down into a quick, sudden curtsey before she rose up, spared a quick, fearful glance at Fauna, and fled away, disappearing up the stairs just nearby, her footfalls thudding softly through the main room.

Indeed, she fled...and once again, Charlotte knew the same, overpowering misery she felt time and time again. Her relationship to Michael Crane was one of both love and fear, sexual need and horrible, horrible terror...and what was worse, it was now confounded by jealousy. Michael would welcome the new girl in a few burns, taking her into the first room up the stairs and fucking her savagely...and for a time, he would prefer her over anyone else, because that's what he always did. Charlotte should have left...she should leave the Red Banner and never come back...but every time she considered doing this, the mortal, gripping fear overcame her again, the fear that had kept her within these walls for the last six yahren.

Bursting into the first room up the stairs, she interrupted Agnes and her current clients, the poor girl tied to the bed's wrought iron bedposts while all three lounged on the bed around her, having spent the last couple marks taking her all together or in turns. Agnes' face was a puffy mask of tears and hopelessness, but it was all an act, of course...a design to entice and please her clients, and one that worked every time they visited on Rasday.

"Get out. Michael is coming," she shot, words that instantly broke the mood in the room such that all three men rose up at once, a look of concern passing over their faces. Agnes herself, writhing against the bonds that held her, called out to them hopefully. "Untie me. Untie me, dammit!!"

Closing the door once more, Charlotte retreated further into the Brothel, her heart still hammering in her chest. Well, exotic dancer, she thought to herself, stalking to her own room where she would hide for the rest of the eveningtide. I've no doubt this is one eveningtide you'll never forget...

[Fauna Winthrope]

Fauna flinched at the sudden verve of the man before her. Although she knew she was ravishing, she didn’t know that she could ignite this kind of reaction, his reaction that left her body cold and paralyzed. Yes, if Fauna should have seen the hints, if she had known the terror that Michael Crane brought to Madame Charlotte, she should have fled, fled with the Madame of the House and never would have come back.

A small gasp of fear escaped from her lips, and quickly, our Amunic Dancer laced it with a soft, quick moan of a purr, a moan that she hoped Master Crane would mistook as pleasure. Slowly, her cerulean eyes trailed the scratch marks upon the bar and with a slight turn of her cowled head, she watched the same fear that was etched upon the very eyes of Madame Charlotte and with a last beacon of hope, she saw her fled.

You coward whore! Fauna growled to herself, watching the back of Charlotte the Harlot disappeared and hearing her footsteps died away. Her heart thumping wildly with fear, the young blond dancer turned her deep blue eyes once more to the man before her, watching him with an equal, unquailing look, hiding the fear deep within herself. There was no turning back and Fauna should have realized that her story was now turning into a mask of tragic, the mask of comedy fleeing away like Charlotte the Harlot.

“Very Well, Mazter Crane…” Her blue eyes flashed, gone was Fauna, gone was Flora, there only remained the image of a woman Fauna had conjured, an illusion of herself, distant, cold, as if her merest touch could kill, the mirage of Fauna when she was battling a Deamon with Elvin, Ashtallion and Falco.

With all the grace she could muster, with all audacity of braveness she could gather inside her, she serenely stepped up into the bar and there she stood imperiously. Her bosom heaving, her slim, graceful figure still hidden under her cloak, she looked down at Master Crane and smiled predatorily and coldly, as if there was a chasm of distance between them, a cold distance that could freeze any heart.

“You.” She turned exquisitely and imperiously, a move so sudden yet graceful at the same time and her shadowed face looked down at the Amunic bartender, he would notice that her flawless face was as pale as a ghost, her eyes flashing icily at him. “I need muzik of ze zezert. Be it zo!” She snapped her fingers twice, and jerked her blond head back to Master Crane, her blue eyes venomous under her shadowed cloak.

For more than a flicker, there she stood like a regal statue, her chest heaving slowly, waiting for the music to start. If tonight shall be her end, she would dance her last and she will put her heart into it, all of her skills and all of her survival. But there would be no magick involved with this dance, it would be only her skill that matters, and she prayed that it was enough.

[Grant]

In the more external world, they would be called goons. The term was hardly very specific, and it could encompass any number of professional denizens that might be or become useful to a crime lord like Michael Crane. He had several with him, most of which were little more than bodyguards, but there were a couple others that were artists in the article of slaying...and curiously, there was even one that mastered the subtle currents of trade. All told, about a half dozen of Michael's goons were in the room...and they all attended to Fauna with as much attention as their boss.

"MUSIC! Someone play some fucking MUSIC!" came Michael's shout. His shout was a curious thing, with all the audible delicacy of a sledgehammer and all the command of a battlefield general...but curiously none of the effort apparent upon the man himself. Indeed, it hardly seemed as if he strained himself at all to produce such a sound...and in moments, the delicate sounds of a harp could be heard throughout the chamber, the sound of a tune that had no words or even a name.

Turning one of the chairs around, Michael seated himself and gave every appearance of lounging, his shockingly expensive coat of heavy, dark silk flowing around him like a midnight blue river. "Now. You dance," he commanded, watching Fauna with unmistaken intensity and...perhaps ownership.

(OOC: Yeah...we'll mark this thread Impassible for the moment, if you please...)

[Fauna Winthrope]

ooc: The things I do for loyalty of Andolin, you better give me a raise Andi if I get this through. Wait, Am I getting paid for this?

She recoiled back and winced from his eyes. A sudden shiver ran down her spine and fear seemed to creep slowly, taking her to a brink of paralysis. What have you got yourself into again, Fauna? This Master Crane is something beyond me, something to be feared and you do well know how this will end? Be very careful.

The music started, the slow music that for her seemed to be the music of fear and dread. Try as she might, she was cowering, quaking beneath the cloak and she thank the gods that Master Crane couldn’t see the fear that took her very heart, she was a woman, and like any other woman, fear is easy to behold in front of death and demise. By Anasis' Tits, I can’t move! Dance, Fauna dance! She thought with growing panic.

With a deep breath, she closed her eyes, shutting everything away and a voice whispered inside her, a voice that every woman listened to. Breathe. Close your eyes. Strip away the people from Tazlure and remove away your fear and your emotions that hinder you. When the world is empty, strip away even the world but the sound of your own heart and dance, Fauna. Dance like this is your last and tomorrow will end. You are a woman and he is but a mere man. He cannot own you but you can own him. Dance, Fauna… Dance!

She opened her eyes and gone was the fear in her eyes and determination replaced those blue, glittering orbs. With a sudden graceful move, her cloak fell away, slowly falling to her feet. Glorious Fauna was fully revealed, her milky white complexion, the golden curls of her hair gleaming under the soft, dim light of the room, her blue eyes starting at Master Crane and not at him at the same time.

Suddenly, Fauna twirled with such elegance that it could jealous the very butterflies. Her rhythm in tune to the music of the harp, never missing a beat, her hips slowly moving and swishing to a dance of seduction. Exquisitely she knelt down like a snake slithering back to its basket, her arms and hands upward, meeting above her as if a prayer to some strange deity. Another flicker passed, the music slowly moving on and the blond Amunite woman rose like a nymph, her gown shedding away from her like a second skin of a snake and turned once more, twirling back to face the Crime Lord, her eyes closed, her ears opened for the sound of music, her hands and arms exquisitely moving like a wave, her hips gyrating of its own. Slowly, those well-manicured hands touched her own flesh, and she moved sideways, like an antelope, leaving her discarded robe and cloak on the bar and she was on the floor now, wearing nothing but her undergarments, hands touching and caressing naked flesh and she slithered slowly towards Michael Crane. Sweat beaded her face and glistened her skin and she moaned out loud as she twirled around the chair where Michael Crane was lounged and then she swayed in front of him in rhythmic step of the harp. Her pulse pounding with the rhythm of the music, her golden hair gloriously flying behind her and she beat out a harmony with her feet, her blue eyes distant but staring at the man before him. Like a light butterfly, she darted near and moaned seductively in his ears and darted away again out of reach, now a snake, slithering, her hips and arms moving to its own accord.

Unobtrusively, she plunged into the Aetheric Realm, looking for spells that might surround the Taipan. She wanted him and Fauna vowed she would have him, she needed his connection and she needed to know if there were any spells protecting the man before she could plot her plans.

There was only one event that a man was at his most weakest, his defenses unguarded and Fauna would utilize that event to serve her purpose.

[Grant]

Cold. It wasn't that Fauna failed to make an impact on the man...for he was a man, and one unaccustomed to denying his more basic wants...but the look on Crane's face was one of shocking...inhumanity. Indeed, Michael owned the Red Banner on paper, and in a much more realistic way, he owned all the ladies within it, including Charlotte the Harlot. Breaking Charlotte had been a rather simple affair for Michael when he was first given the 'Banner. He couldn't beat her...the ladies lost much of their value if they were disfigured...but he could debase and demean them, tearing away their independence and dignity one layer at a time.

It quickly became clear to Michael that this...Flora girl was very proud. Perhaps it was her Amun Rah heritage? She might have been a sex slave recently, a harem girl that held great esteem in a country where slavery was the norm. It might also have been her appearance, for she was a lovely girl, but there were signs for someone experienced enough to see them. The look in her eyes...the way she tried to watch him without looking at him...and the way she disrobed but didn't disrobe, dropping her robe but leaving her slip in place. Oh, yes. She was proud...but uncomfortable. Possibly outright terrified. No, she wasn't a harem girl. She was a dancer, just as Charlotte had proclaimed.

I'll fuck her anyway, smiled Crane, cocking his head to one side and smiling as he watched her move. Me first. Then she can take clients. She'll make twenty crowns a night. Lifting one hand, Fauna almost missed his gesture as he pointed to the hem of her slip with a pair of long, powerful fingers and hooked them up, indicating that the proud dancer wasn't finished disrobing quite yet.

She almost missed his gesture, for it was then that she checked into the Aether to see what surprises awaited her there. Indeed, surprises were there, and while there were a few to be seen, it was the ring on his finger that drew her attention first. It was bright, and it was blue, and it was clearly designed to protect his person from magic...and if Fauna could regocnize such a thing, the ring literally shone with the touch of Thorkatla.

There were other things to be seen in the Aether, such as the wards in the distance and a few more less significant trinkets upon Michael's goons....trinkets similar to what might be sold from shady hedge hacks that were claimed to ward off evil spirits or to protect from the whooping cough...but none of these were significant compared to Michael's Emerald.

[Fauna Winthrope]

Of all the things that peeved her most, it would be non-responsive audience and here she was, dancing with everything she got and all she could get was… this? Not even a hoot, or a catcall, just this super-human silence and indifference. What? She thought in dread, Did I stumble upon a bad lighting? Or maybe my hair has gone flat! Not that! That was something very dreadful for our blond, Amunite woman, more terrifying than facing a horde of Nether Deamons or more horrifying than caught in an outdated-last season gown.

She saw him crooked his finger as she delved deeper into the Aether and found what she was looking for. Fauna wasn’t surprised, she knew that this man would have some protections, judging by the fact that he surrounded himself with goons, it would be logical that he would be protected against magicks as well.

But how to get it off from him?

“Not yit, Mazter Krane…” She purred. “Diz wud be off… in privit…” She pointed to her chemise and gave him a sensuous smile as she took his outstretch finger and slowly, Fauna leaned closer, opened her small, sweet, red lips and sucked the finger, moaning with theatrical delight, her eyes still delving deeper into the Aether and with easy practice, she tapped the energies and invisibly shielded herself.

Distractions. That was the first step. That was what Fauna was good at, pulling up distractions and illusions, tricking the mind to look at elsewhere. She needed to give him false security first, and with false delight, she suckled the finger with much gusto like a cat in heat, albeit, it wasn’t the finger of the Emerald Ring of Thorkatla. When she was done with it, she moved his fist to her bosom and took the other hand with the enchanted ring. With the same feline smile upon her red lips, she suckled the finger where the ring was and started lubricating the finger up and down with her saliva, moaning in heat.

She needed another distraction. Fauna moaned out loud and reached for his groin, applying soft pressure upon his inner hips and then, with utmost care, using her mouth, she unobtrusively tried to slip the ring off his finger, trying to hide it under her tongue.

“Now?” She leaned closer and whispered upon his ear, almost suffocating the Tai-pan between her heaving, well-proportioned bozangers.

If this would not get your attention, I’d have spilt my oil and my efforts!

[Grant]

For countless, faceless people in the Outer Ring, the goal to staying alive in the Citadel was not to draw attention to themselves. Attention...and prominence...came with a cost, and that cost was, in the best of times, your life. In the worst of times, it was much, much more...and for the ladies of the Red Banner, they had long since learned just how difficult life could be if they drew the right amount of attention from the wrong pair of eyes.

And those eyes belonged to Mike Crane. He had spotted every one of them, and had introduced them to the job himself. He had done whatever it took to leverage them into a lifetime of prostitution, and he continued to apply this pressure to keep them both pliant and profitable for as long as they were useful. And when they were no longer useful...he could always sell them off to his contacts with Kislovan. No, it was never a great idea to catch Master Crane's attention, for men like him humored very dangerous plans for those that manage to do it.

For now, Michael was bent on trying to find out just what would keep Flora working and earning at the 'Banner. He had to offer her something, some need or desire too strong to resist, that would keep her coming back. Money was the most likely thing, and money was something he had...far more than most on the island...and so he would take that tact. But that would be after he finished with her tonight. After all, he also needed to break through that shell of pride she maintained if she were to be profitable...and that would be a far, far easier task. And there was no better time than now to start.

Fauna managed to collect Michael's other hand and draw it up towards her mouth, but he had contrived his own plans for her. Instead of submitting to more attention from her waiting lips, he reached past to the neckline of her slip and grasped it firmly. "No..." he murmured, the closest thing he had to a whisper. "I think maybe we're in private already," he declared, pausing for only a moment before he yanked down, interrupting the soft music with the brief sound of Fauna's slip tearing and interrupting her dance as he pulled her slip down around her waist, pulling her arms down along with them and exposing her chest to the foyer of the Red Banner...including the half-dozen goons, the bartender, and Michael Crane himself.

With his hands already down upon Fauna's waist, he easily pulled her forward upon his lap and against him such that his hot breath could be felt against her breasts. "Now we're gonna try my little dance. Upstairs. And leave this..." he gave a slight tug upon Fauna's ruined slip "...behind."

[Fauna Winthrope]

THADUMP!

Her heart skipped a beat when she saw his hand and the emerald ring went passed her open, sweet mouth, reaching past her neckline and ripping the only remnants of her poise, posture and calmness.

THADUMP!
THADUMP!

Her blue eyes widened in register of shock as she was pulled up short towards the Crime Lord, feeling his breath and her nipples tightening with the fear and cold she was feeling.

THADUMP!
THADUMP!
THADUMP!

There would be no turning back, the tearing sound of her slip still echoed in her mind, slapping her to reality. She was now way beyond the bridge and no escape was in scene, and Fauna, could only look at herself, as if she was outside her body, looking at the scene that was playing with such cold fear, alarm and horrifying panic.

NOT THIS!!! GET OUT!!! The Fauna that was outside screamed with horror at her. She felt helpless as she saw her almost naked body viewed by the people in the Brothel. She felt like a woman, helpless and frightened and like any woman, she reached for the only hope that she could look for. A beacon of light, a beacon of hope and the face of Elaine surfaced in the chaotic turmoil of her mind.

ELAAAAAIIIIIIINNNNNNEEEEE!!!!! She screamed silently with all the hysterical emotion she could muster, frightfully like a lost child looking for her lost mother. HELP ME!

Fauna sobbed a pitiful, helpless cry as she saw her own self standing gracefully like a flawless nymph after her pondish bath. She saw her own face cooly smiled at the odious man as she shrugged off the remaining cloth that covered her flawless body. Slowly, it slid off her long legs upon the floor and she saw her body sidestepped wearing nothing but the night air and then turned and slowly and serenely walked the floor towards the stair and paused, waiting for the man with a sly smile upon that red lips.

THADUMP!
THADUMP!
THADUMP!
THADUMP!

She heard her own heart beating wildly as she looked with alarming horror of what was to come, of what was to be a violation of her own chastehood and she could do nothing but stare, transfixed with growing hysteria and horror.

Elaine... Help me...

[Grant]

...and then she was on her way up, though to Michael's trained eye it was not unlike seeing a lamb willingly walk to the slaughter. She had no experience at this sort of thing...she hadn't even spoken of a price as yet...and that was likely. After all, it wasn't as if he would agree to any terms...or even to a place for her here...until he had experienced her flesh himself. That was the custom, anyway...and it was one he saw no fit reason to violate.

"Keep an eye on things," barked Michael, arranging his troops in the foyer of the 'Banner. In truth, his men were more of an advertisement to his presence more than anything else, and when many frequent patrons saw Michael's goons collected downstairs, they wisely chose to move on for the eveningtide. Michael Crane was not the most dangerous man in the city by far...he was not the most potent man in the city, either...but he was dangerous enough to take notice, and while his tyranny was of the most devilish kind, he was shockingly well connected, both by blood and by association, such that his little world of tyranny might continue on indefinitely.

With his eyes fixed upon Fauna's backside, he rose up the stairs and directed her to the very first door...the one he had ordered clear a short time ago. The door was still open, revealing a chamber that, to the naive eye, might have been a rather customary bed chamber. A large, four post bed dominated the center of the far wall, with woodworked rungs making up both headboard and footboard, and a washstand of hammered brass sat nearby, it's basin already moist and it's pitcher half full of water for washing. A wardrobe sat on the far wall, a closet holding certain items of some interest to the ladies of the Banner, and the floor was dominated by a faded and spotty rug of faded lavender.

Still left upon one of the headboards was a short length of thick, soft rope used by the room's prior occupants. In addition to this, a set of off-white sheets and a burgundy blanket were scattered over the unmade bed haphazardly and invitingly, and a pair of thin house slippers were tossed negligently near the wardrobe, more evidence that the room had been vacated quickly.

"Now put your ass on that bed. We'll see just what you're worth," ordered Michael directly, his hands already moving towards his own belt even before he had entered the chamber.

[Fauna Winthrope]

We shall call her Flora now, for Fauna felt herself shut off and paralyzed, staring transfixed with horror of what was about to happen. Yes, she felt herself move, move with the same flittering gracefulness as before, but it seemed to her that it was another woman, or perhaps, another person, controlling her.

Or perhaps not.

With a small vulgar sniff, Flora's cold blue eyes surveyed the room with indifferent air. Nude, she paused right in the center of the room and turned ever so gracefully, her hands on her hips and cooly looked at the Crime Lord with bemused smile.

"Hold, Mazter Krane," Flora began, flipping back her golden hair with her right hand and looked at her hand as if scrutinizing for a broken nail. "Reflek dat diz, fur ay azhure yu, wud kost yu a viri zubstanshal prayz. Allow me just a bit of a few flikers, pliz, Mazter Krane, befur ay splay and spread myself on the bed. My danzing had kost me my konstituzion. Allow me a brief recuperazion, ay shall, meanwhile, show yu what ay can do wid my talentz bezidez danzing, that iz..."

Flora walked towards him and tried to stop him from undoing himself. She needed time, she needed to strip him of his magickal protections. "Frum the most famous danzer ever to 'onor and graze thiz edifiz, I do 'ope you want more than juzt in and out and away." She tried to take his belt, trying to slowly undress him -- every clothing and apparel that he had, including the Emerald Ring -- herself.

She gave him a playfull smile, "But if that iz all you want, Mazter Krane, I shall freely find you a knothole in the wall!"

[Grant]

Wait? Tired? It seemed like any typical ploy for a frightened little girl to avoid the consequence of her situation, and that was how Michael viewed it. A virgin? How insane is that.... And she wasn't too frightened to try such nonsense either, which meant that he was losing his touch...or she had other motives. Alright...let's see what these motives are, thought Michael, holding up a finger to stall Fauna's attention for a moment. He unhooked his belt himself, talking with it his long knife and his sabre, and these he threw away to one corner of the room such that they were at least out of her immediate reach. After all, she could be a desperate assassin, and he needn't hand her his life so easily.

She wasn't the first that Michael had brought into the Red Banner Family in such a way...and she wouldn't be the last...but she had the best potential, and for this, Michael needed to know what she was about. She could make hundreds of crowns in a week if the right clients spotted her, and so long as she survived the ordeal, she could go on for at least a couple yahren. A portion of that money would go to Michael, of course, and so he would profit from her particular labors as well...so it was worth his effort to take the time and do this right. After all, everyone liked money...and everyone liked sex, too.

"Do as you wish. But if we're not in that bed in ninety flickers, I won't be easy on you," murmured Michael, knowing full well that if she did have some ulterior motive, then it would be harder for her to conceal that motive while pressed for time. That...and Michael was growing somewhat impatient to experience her, impatient enough to consider ninety flickers more than enough time to wait.

[Fauna Winthrope]

Time. What was time but a mere ticking of a clock? In ninety flickers a lot could happen: Citadel might sink under the sea, the Ceasar could be resurrected, a horse might learn how to speak, or Master Crane could die of a massive heart attack. Time. A lot could happen in ninety flickers.

"Izy?" Flora lifted a well-plucked eyebrow and tittered a silvery peals of laughter. "Whu sez anyzing about izy, Mazter Krane?"

Imperiously, the blond woman straightened, and walked gracefully back to the bed and sat on the edge, her long, legs criss-crossed and stared at the Crime Lord as he started to undress. Indifferently, her blue eyes looked at the growing pile of clothes and weapons that was being removed, her red lips pouted amusedly.

"Befur we start and splay myself, Mazter Krane." Flora began, slowly moving felinely inside the bed and stood, her hand akimbo, waiting for the Crime Lord to finish undressing. "I 'av paid a great deal to 'ave zis flawless body." With a flicker of her hands, she presented herself like a bimbo presenting a newly won prize on a game show. "I zo not want any marks or blemishes or wounds done to it. I 'ave paid fifteen crowns to 'ave a sorcerer knit my flower back to its chasteness."

"Thiz?" She flickered her hand over her well-proportioned bozanger, "They cozt me zixteen crownz. And thiz..." She pointed to her nose. "...coztz me eight crownz... So 'ave a care to it, Mazter Krane."

"I want everyzing off." Flora demanded imperiously as if she owned the brothel. "Ringz, necklazez, sharp objketz... Everything! All off zat may mar this godlike bozy in front of you. If you cannot comply, Mazter Krane, I shall walk off now."

[Grant]

Michael paused for a moment. Or you'll...walk off now, huh?

For a few people, rage was a very real problem. There were several reasons for a person to develop a serious anger problem, and the chief among these were things such as an injured pride, failed expectations, or repeated hostile fantasies. Most of those suffering from a sudden bout of rage do so to accomplish some desired purpose or to blame others for their own failures, a process of externalizing blame. Anger can be used to justify oppressing others, to elevate low self-worth, and to hide other feelings...and to displace other emotions such as using aggression to hide fear.

For Michael Crane, anger was a way to compete with his father. Thomas Crane was a powerful, insidious, dangerous man. He was hardly lovely or polished, but he was respected, and he was respected because he was well-connected, brilliant in business, and competent at turning a profit out of absolutely anything. Thomas was also a fine leader, inspiring support from his associates, cooperation from his contemporaries, or terror in his opposition. Thomas was, all told, not a desirable man...but he was a powerful man, and his power often affected everyone around him.

Michael was not a naturally powerful man. He did not command others' respect or fear as easily as his father, and he did not inspire or motivate with little more than his cocky, confident grin is his secretive, firm handshake. Because of this, Michael was left with the hidden impression that he was inadequate to be a Crane, and that he was somehow flawed and incompetent to run the family business. Strangely, both of these things were true...but Michael, in an effort to make himself into the more ideal leader, turned to the most likely behavior that men could use if they were rich and well-positioned. Michael became angry.

Taking great pleasure in debasing and crushing others around him, he ruled his little 'princedom' of the Crime Syndicate with an iron grip that allowed for no dissent or question. No one was allowed to compete with Mike Crane....all other brothels would soon disappear through fire or violence...and if any of his own people expressed even some dissent or question regarding his operations, Michael would happily beat them senseless...and then go on beating them until their eyes filled with blood and their scalps began to leak. After all, beating was a fine way to release his anger...and the looks upon the faces of those around him demonstrated that respect could be earned, naturally or not.

And now, one of his whores was negotiating with him. Worse, she had offered him a condition.

"So...you'll walk out, huh?" repeated Michael evenly, though Fauna could see the burning rage glowing right behind his eyes, a rage that would have made Pan himself somewhat uneasy. "That's a...cute offer. Maybe you can use that line on your clients. Now let me present my counter offer..." He paced beyond the foot of the bed for a moment, naked save for his jewelry and a bandage wrapped around his right forearm, his erection bobbing out ahead of him as he moved. It was almost as flushed as his face...but not quite.

It happened so fast. It was a critical moment when the animal rage took over, a pivotal click! that activated like a switch, hazing Michael's world into red and feeding him so much power and decision that it was nearly euphoric in itself. In a flash, he charged her, one step forward, the next leaping upon the bed, the third crashing into Fauna, his hands reaching for one of her own wrists and her neck. She had perhaps a quarter flicker to react, if that...a quarter flicker in which most girls at the Red Banner could only freeze helplessly as the life they knew came to a sudden, violent end, overcome by a new life of hopeless, fearful desperation.

[Fauna Winthrope]

Oh, but Flora was unlike any most girls, in fact, come to think of it, despite her feminine wiles, immense charm and empty-headed blondeness, there was a snake lurking behind those blue, twinkling eyes; a snake, coiled and ready to strike when deemed appropriate.

A quarter of a flicker was enough. Sure, Flora saw the blinding rage that was building inside Michael Crane. She knew for a fact, that if pitted against his strength, she would utterly fail against him. She neither had the mannish strength of Neit or the swift agility of Raevyn, but to compensate from those attributes, Flora has… a well-proportioned bozangers. And of course, she was prettier than those two ladies that were mentioned, that was a sure fact, a fact that could never be denied. It would be safe to say that the sun would never rise again than to say that Flora was a plain looking maiden.

No. If you’re thinking that she would smother the Crime Lord with her heaving bosom, you are definitely out of your head. Of course, she could do that, and if you ask Becca how it felt like, I’m pretty sure that she would tell you the gruesome trauma of that event, I believe that she never did recuperate from that tragic experience.

But where was I?

Within an eighth of a flicker, Flora succumbed herself to profound, helpless fear and panic. For her, death and violation was in front of her, ready to consume her, ready to paralyze her. Within an eighth of a flicker, she held her breath in utter panic, feeling the tight grip of Crane’s hands upon her neck and wrist. Her blue eyes widened and the very pupil of her eyes, those cerulean lens, dilated with utmost fear as she felt the warm breath of Crane blowing her flawless face and the livid face that was inches away from her.

Time was flickering. But as the flickers flicked beyond the eighth closing to a quarter, she found an opening. Her red lips that were parted with fear slowly changed into a sensuous, small smile. Her eyes gradually slit cunningly and her breathing resumed, raggedly at first, her bosom heaving heavily and then slowly normalized. Sacrifices were needed to accomplish success and although her plans were utterly failing, she knew she could still salvage enough of her plan to succeed. For was it not the first law in Magick was that in every thing, there was an equivalent trade and Flora was ready for the trade, more than willing, as long as she remained the conquering heroine.

She had to take him by surprise. With a feline purr, she hungrily lunged for his lips as her free hand tried to seek his manhood. Crane expected her to cringe with fear and she would not for she was unlike most women, it had to be displayed on the onset, Crane should be shown that she was more than a whore, that with her, there was a promise of…

Power?

“You, by far, Mazter Krane, iz the mozt titillating man I have ever met!”

Yet her arcane mind was busy elsewhere. It was probing tentatively, subtly testing and identifying the protection of the Emerald Ring. Flora knew that she could handle Master Crane, that without his Emerald Ring protection, she could make him his creature, not forcefully of course, it would be a subtle coercion, a very minute seed planted to his psyche, almost like an infatuation. There was only one moment when a man was totally left defenseless, one moment when nothing else matters to a man, and Flora would utilize that moment. But the main obstacle in front of her was the Ring of Thorkatla and she would have damned that woman to the Nether if she only knew who she was.

And then and there, the first piece of the game was moved.

[Grant]

It was bullshit, and Michael just knew it was bullshit.

Now she was playing the heated, randy, anxious lover, a reaction that started making sense. It was as if she would build an illusion of control that refused to accept his dominance as immoveable. Every time he challenged her...every time he broke down her coy, coquette defense...she would fall back on willing compliance, a sure sign that she feared his violent retribution more than his coming sexual assault. And she was good at willing compliance, her hand reaching down to his member and her expression quickly masked to one of warm anticipation. Bullshit! Bullshit, bullshit! But it could earn money. She could be rich. But first, she'll have to handle me...

For a very brief moment, the pair stood, their hands upon each other and her form held against the wall beyond the headboard, both of them standing upon the four-post bed entirely naked (save for Michael's jewelry, which amounted to three rings and a small amulet). Fauna's willing reaction did blunt the spear of the man's rage, melting his expression into one of malevolent amusement. He was much larger and stronger than Fauna, and he could easily shift her...which he did, lifting up upon her neck and then turning to toss her down upon the bed at their feet, leaving her on her back with his own form following her to settle over her, the bed leaping and creaking under the weight of their wrestling.

"So why are you so interested in my jewelry, sweetie?" growled the powerful man, his hands shifting such that he still held her neck while the other took up one of her knees, lifting it up and bending her leg such that Fauna's right knee grazed into her own breast. "Are you a thief, or are you a magus? It's gotta be one of the two, sweetheart, cause it damn sure doesn't have anything to do with safety in the bed chamber."

Amid all of this, Fauna had considerable difficulty keeping her focus. If Michael's continual pressure upon her neck had not been enough to lapse her concentration, his sudden repositioning of her body no doubt did...and he was speaking to her now, but it was clear she would other distractions very, very soon. Thankfully, she did manage to maintain her focus long enough to detect a shield upon the man, and one the likes of which wasn't entirely unknown but wasn't overly common, either. It was as if the element of ice had wrapped around him like a suit of armor, a strong, mobile shield that, while powerful, had its weaknesses...and was often prone to shatter at certain circumstances. For these reasons, it seemed perhaps more ideal to stop mind magic than genuine sorcery.

[Fauna Winthrope]

There was no other options, that much Fauna knew. It would just be simple feat for Michael Crane to snap her pretty little neck before she could even begin her spell. A simple feat for he was stronger than him physically.

What other options were there? Frantically, she fumbled inside her mind looking for a way out, looking for a way of salvation and nothing came, except a sense of foreboding helplnessness and for the first time in her life, Fauna felt nothing but a whore, a mere common whore.

Inside, Fauna screamed as she saw what was to come and she struggled mentally. Her pride demanded that this should not come to pass and powerless, she could do nothing but watch helplessly and sobbed mentally, both in profound fear and panic.

Elaine! She cried silently within the depths of her mind. Help me!

You really are so naive, Fauna. Elaine can't help you, you know. She's but a blind bard and a whore.

No! She's my friend and I know she'll help me!

A small titter of silent, cold laughter.

Poor, poor, Fauna. If she's your friend, she should be here by now. And what can she do? Sing and dance her way in? She'd be raped as well, blind as she is. Only I can help you.

I don't want your help! ELAAIINNEE!

Oh, but you will have my help. You are me, Fauna and I am now you. We were separated before, almost a different entity, but now, so intertwined I am to you that we are one and I will help. Ventella's enchantment only held me, but he doesn't know that the cornerstone of magick is equivalent trade. If you do not want this, come here and let me replace you. A fine trade, is it not?

Where here?

Here, here.

Here?

Yes, here, let me just move a little bit so you can have all the space.

It's dark in here.

You'll like it, I'll see you later.

Who are you?

I am you, dear.

Will I be safe here?

Of course, hun. Very, very safe. Ventella made it.

I like Ventella!

Yes, so do I, dear. Be well here.

O--okay.

"What do you think, Master Crane?" Flora raised a well-plucked eyebrow, a small amused look upon her flawless face. She shifted a little bit, adjusting herself, helping him shift her body. "Who would be more threatened by your ring? A thief or a magus? You do well know the implications of the answer and the..." She paused, feeling the well-placed grip upon her neck.

"...value of the answer that you just asked. Think well on it, Master Crane."

[Grant]

"Threatened? You feel threatened by my jewelry? Oh, well that does answer much. You must be a magus, and one bent upon casting some spell upon me, then. Well, perhaps you'll get your chance? But first...pay attention to this. I want you to feel this properly..." he growled, pressing Fauna's raised leg against her body further such that her knee would nearly touch her face. Bent as she was, it was no difficult thing for Michael Crane to push his way within her, a savagely direct invasion that offered little patience or compassion for her own comfort.

"Ah...there. Is this...the spell you had in mind, dancer?" leered Michael, his face just before Fauna's. He bucked his hips back and fell upon her again...and then once more, his grip upon her neck possibly tightening as his rape continued. "Why don't you...tell me...what kind of...spell you had in mind, dancer? You might find me a...negotiable man...after I've had my...amusements..."

[Fauna Winthrope]

What are you doing?! I do not want him in me! It huuurts! ELAAAAIIINNNEEE!!!

Shut up, Fauna!

Ouch! You slapped me...

Stop being naive and grow up, Fauna. This is what you want, is it not? You crave for power and he is power, he will bring us what we need so just shut up and let him fuck you if he wants until he satisfies himself. This is just only the beginning.

I did not ask for this! ELAAAINNNEEE, where are you?

She is NOT here, the whore will not come to save you, only I can save you!

ELAAAINNE! Are you listening? My hopes have completely shattered and I am so alone, so very alone and I need you. Why can't you hear the sound of my pleading, my voice has completely faltered and I am hoarse to your indifferent ear.

Silent, cold laughter. You will learn to love this, Fauna. He will fuck you more than a dozen times if that will bring us to great power.

Flora grunted as Crane penetrated her, feeling his manhood inside her, smelling his musk and his breath so very close to her flawless face. "Why..." She moaned like a cat in heat. "...Master Crane... You have... Guessed correctly..." She continued between pants of her fragrant breaths and heave of her bosom.

"No..." She groaned with sexual pleasure, "...This is... but..." The blond, dark sorceress met his fascinum with her own chasteness, pushing her hips in the ryhthmn of his bucking, tightening her loins and letting him penetrate deeply.

"...a sample... of my charms..." She grunted, her cold, blue eyes never leaving his. "I have... connections... in the palace... and with you..." Flora gasped and her eyes widened as she felt his manhood penetrated more deeply.

"...I shall... weave..." In the heat of the passion, she reached both her hands and clawed his back.

"...for us... Power..."

Check.

Perhaps this was Flora's final move, a sacrifice of the queen, Fauna's rape, not only by Michael Crane, but by herself; unaptly named by Marius de Winter as Lady Janice. A name she abhored as she decided, like a vain woman discarding a last-seasoned gown, to change it.

This was the beginning to the blossoming of the Lady Flora Misanthrope.

ooc: Thanx, Ker.