Though Natalia had attempted to manipulate the feelings wrought within Sakura of her night spent in Alma's arms she had no way of knowing what had actually befallen the geisha in the demure West End brownstone that evening... nor had anyone else...but it would change Sakura and her path forever.
Leaving Magenta behind at the door, Sakura had moved toward the stairs. One by one she slipped both feet delicately from their geta sandals, leaving the wooden shoes beside the lowest step before she made her way up into the brownstone. As her fingertips slid over the wood of the banniser the sensaton of surrealness drew close. After demurring and pushing off the invitations for so long to finally find herself here in Alma's home was unnerving to say the least. In the bar the blonde creature seemed like a force of nature. One could not think of her as having a home - a bed to sleep in, she seemed more then human and above such petty things as rest and shelter.
Perhaps it was this very presence that drew Sakura so strongly toward the petite woman, more then lust and the overwhelming urge to obey and serve it was the sheer power amassed so oddly in that tiny feminine package that made the geisha's dreams so wonderfully restless every night on end. At last the steps ended and she knelt, a force of long habit, to knock upon the door, each soft rap sounding like a hollow heart beating its last.
At the third rap, as if on hinges of air, the door swung open in front of the kneeling girl. The room she faced was lit with gaslamp and candle, not dim, but with a warm and living yellow light, constantly casting quick dances of shadow and glimmer. It was lush with an antique richness; heavy curtains of maroon and crimson, the furnishings either overstuffed and stately or dark oaken, ornately carved. Facing the doorway, in an oversized armchair that seems to sprawl upon the floor, Alma was curled, her eyes, just peeking over the top of her lenses, seemed to tease, riding the changing light like swift birds on currents of air. She seemed smaller than ever in the huge chair; legs pulled up against herself, barefoot, carelessly wrapped in a loose black velour robe. The combination of the size of the chair and the thick dark robe against pale skin emphasized the peculiar smallness that somehow does not spell vulnerability. Indeed, the flesh of her legs and arms seems child-soft, not toned by exercise but just slender by nature, and looks as if it would give, pliant, to the touch. She held her pose for long moments before pushing up her glasses, the gesture self-mocking, and clapping her small hands, noticiably not gloved.
"Ah, finally, you grace my quarters. Come in my dear."
Sakura's dark head lifted as the door opened to her, decadant dark-chocolate eyes lifting in wide wonder to take in the scene presented before her, like an invisible hand pulling back the curtain on a stage. And there at the center the prima-ballerina, enconsced in comfort that seemed almost superfluous. Still knelt in the doorway, Sakura bowed low, hands swept together, fingertips just barely pressing the floor.
"Forgive my lateness, mistress, and thank you for your invitation."
She rose then in one fluid movement that seemed to require no effort, and shutting the door behind her entered the lush room only to make her way over to the chair in which Alma sat enthroned to kneel again, taking up a spot before her and slightly off to one side, close enough to touch. Soft pink rose petal lips smiled up at the young woman gently, those luminous black pools of her eyes adoring.
"You look lovely out of your tweeds, mistress."
It was cheeky and she knew it but risk taking was what made the geisha's heart pound so deliciously. She herself was clad in that rich, decadantly red kimono with its muted golden leaves painted delicately over its expanse, black as oil obi cinching her slender midsection as taut as any corset could. The fullness of her hair pinned up atop her head with a pair of jade combs.
In a single motion, Alma slipped from the stuffed cushion and onto the carpeted floor next to the girl. The transfer momentrily lifted and spread the robe before it puddled down around her and atop her bent legs again. The momentary glimpses of nakedness, small, pink nippled breast and pale blond nest of pubis, almost obscene in their very unexpectedness. On a low table next to her chair rests an elegant porcelain lily containing warmed Taisetsu saki, and two thimble glasses on matching plates.
Peering over the top of her glasses again (and how does she arrange the candlelight just so in those pale eyes?), she clutched one little hand to the front of her robe, mockingly modest, and the other indicated the table setting.
"I hope this suits your tastes, love, it is not among the beverages I am terrible familliar with."
If the girl noticed such details, she might be surprised to see that Alma's right hand, the hand that clutches her robe, in manicured short and smooth, nails set back from fingertips, their corners carefully pared away and filed smoothe, while the other hand is sports fashionable long crimson nails. Should she notice, and should she wonder the reason for this, she might well catch herself in the heat of a blush.
"Will you serve us, dear?"
Though the sudden sight of Alma's bared flesh made the blossom suck breath so fast she thought she would go lightheaded for a moment, she kept her poise. That breif flash was enough however to leave an indeliable image seared upon Sakura's mind, and it took her a half a moment to turn and see the spread Alma had so thoughfully arranged. And then she could do not but smile warmly at the presentation laid out before them.
"Of course, mistress."
A graceful turn and she lifted the lily carafe, drawing her voluminus sleeve back with the other hand to reveal a slender, willowy wrist, warm soft skin with a gentle pulse throbbing beneith, all in fluid motion as artful fingers grasped and then dipped int he pour, letting the clear wine slip forth in a slow waterfall, filling first one glass and then the other. The carafe replaced she lifted Alma's cup and held it out to her graciously. For Sakura, her life was spent in the details, and she did not miss much, least of all her mistress' mismatched nails. Dark eyes flicked to them, curious, though her face remained perfect in its serenity. Turning to take her own glass in hand she glanced away, her voice conversational.
"Your nails, my lady... such a lovely shade of red."
Pale eyes glittered as they noted Sakura's attention. Freeing the robe, which managed to just gap between her breasts and not quite reveal either again, she stretched forward to take the cup, but before doing so ran the carefully manicured nails along the thin, tender flesh beneath the offering wrist, turning them as she did, making it clear to Sakura that never is there the slightest bite or catch of fingernail against the delicate skin, only flesh on flesh, soft, giving, taking. She accepted the cup and leered prettily into the chocolate eyes.
"A woman who loves women knows when to scratch, and when scratching can ruin the moment...." Her eyebrows arched prettily as she tasted the warm wine.
And blush indeed the geisha did, although with the prettiest of humoured smiles for her lady, only to burry the treasure in her glass as she sipped the sake to cover a soft laugh.
"Mistress... you have a gift for words."
Knees spread, ankles crossed, the pose girlish and careless, the spill of velour covering and revealing at intervals, Alma sipped again, eyes on her guest as if the saki will reveal Sakura's intimate secrets in its heady warmth.
"You are the sole gift worth comment this evening, Sakura dear. Or an I presuming? Do you indeed come here to offer yourself to me, in one fashion or another? Would you taste my mouth and learn my secrets all in a rush, or would you prefer one before the other?"
And here, with the tease and decadent hesititation of the best strippers, she lifted her glasses off and tossed them back onto the fat chair cushion, the nakedness of her eyes somehow more naked than the flesh revealed before.
If she had possesed even an ounce less poise the geisha might have sputtered into her wine at the headlong rush. As it was she swallowed, hard, those delecate throat muscles working in that long, slim throat, and set her glass down with a wry smile before turning to Alma, her eyes sly and smiling like a fox's - perhaps it was the recent argument with Magenta that gave her such audacity tonight.
"I do, mistress. Above all patrons I have met here you fascinate me the most, if I may even be so bold. I came to offer myself to your service, for this night and how ever many you would enjoy them. In my world, mistress a geisha is an artist... we are not concubines. We create another world for our patrons...one made solely of beauty and pleasure. In you I see the ultimate appreciate for this."
Sakura's smile grew wistful as she dropped her gaze to her hands, folded so primly in her lap.
"So...you ask: would I know you? Would I learn your secrets? Yes... I would, I want to... but not in a rush." She lifted those fathomless pools to Alma's naked orbs once more, "As I would hope you would not devour my secrets greedily only to throw me away an empty husk. To do so with you would cheapen all you have to offer."
Two hands, one with nails the color of blood just kissed by oxygen, the other with pale nails pared back behind the delicate fingertips, touched her elegant cheeks as the pale eyes lingered upon the dark ones.
"Surely you do not expect such of me, darling. Surely you are intuitive enough to sense the art I pursue in my own life as well. No, the position..." (and she cannot help but chuckle at the word, eyes teasing) "I would wish for you would be one of long service, and I hope service that never ceases to surprise and please. But first, a hint, and here I am opening forbidden doors to you before I even open my legs to you or yours to me..."
Eye to eye, she let free a quick burst of Presence, its power making her for the moment more than she is, making her the most unimaginably covetable creature in existance, a beauty that could spark wars and cause brother and sister to tear each other with bare hands for favor. She let it free, and blinked, and drew it back.
"That is a sample of what I am, and I will never use such to hold your adoration. Would you know more, and open doors yet more dangerous, my flower, for each door so opened closes behind you and binds you closer to me."
The blossom shuddered at the zephyr that the diminutive blonde suddenly released, its ephemeral arms wrapping her in a grasp so tight her breath was lost, as though all processes consious and unconsious suddenly bent on the driving desire to have, posses, worship this woman - and then just as suddenly as it has struck her it was gone, leaving her heart racing. She gasped a breath and found her hands resting on Alma's wrists, having risen without her bidding. Slowly, so slowly they slid down the pale arms, pushing back silk in their path until she held the other woman by her elbows. She had known there was more then met the eye to this strange beauty - just as there was to the others she had found herself drawn to. I did not frighten her now, and Alma's words were taken, trusted for honesty. She nodded, finding her voice once more in the motion.
"I would know more, mistress... I would know you."
Held by the elbows, her own pale hands slid under voluminous sleeves and wrapped delicate forearms in turn. Her voice is a hush, a caress of sound, touching in unexpected places. All Presence fled, this was just Alma in pursuit, Alma in lust, and perhaps even more. She leaned in, cool lips brushing a kiss upon the ripe mouth, and drew back. Her eyes were terrible in their sincerity.
"See, beauty, see what I am, and do not disappoint me with frail fright, for you have been warned and asked all the same."
Eyes holding eyes, she opened her bright mouth. Slowly, as if shy, from the gums behind her upper lip, the delicate gems of her killing teeth, translucent, the blue-white of skim milk, slip erect.
There is no fright, no fear, only interest and mild confusion mingled in her dark gaze. Sakura comes from a land where there are no kindred, no vampires, not even the myth of them, and thus had no knoweldge of what she was being shown. Even here in Rhy'din among her friends and foes no one has ever mentioned such a thing or warned her against them - and she has even tasted the kiss of one already though she does not know it. Her gaze is gentle as it flicks from the exquisite teeth to Alma's eyes in innocence beyond all measure.
Alma smiled into that gaze, fingertips stroking Sakura's forearms beneath the kimono sleeve. When she spoke, her voice was very faintly lisped by the teeth, however cute the effect, she was determined to make it clear what had been revealed. She is, after all, Toreador, and there can be little more significant to her clan than breaking the Masquerade.
"I am what many call Kindred, flower. A creature apart from humans. Once human myself, I was Embraced--my blood taken by teeth like these and Kindred blood given in return--years ago. The power I showed you in my eyes is part of this gift, as are others of strength and speed. I could be close to immortal, should luck and angst allow me to. I feed on the blood of the willing, flower."
She grinned, with an effort of will the teeth slipped back and her voice returned to almost normal.
"Would you still share my bed, Sakura, for it so its sheets ache for you."
Sakura wavered, listening, not truely fully understanding, and somewhat disturbed by parts of Alma's explaination - feed on blood? immortal? And yet she has run across odder things in her evenings at the inn, has she not? And surely she would not be harmed - she had not thus far. Understanding would come in time.
Slowly, inexorably she lent foward to close that dangerous little mouth with a soft, warm kiss, pulling back only an inch, her forehead resting intimately against Alma's as her thumbs stroked the velveteen skin of her inner arms.
"I would, mistress."
The kiss returned, cool lips and tongue opening warm ones, and in mid kiss, without breaking it, Alma rose, like a flower blooming in slow motion photography. Her arms managed to dip to the side and ease Sakura up in one motion, and in their dipping let the robe fall from her. Stepping back then, fingertips on fingertips, eyes on eyes, proud in her soft, almost girlish, nakedness, she backed toward another open door, toward an expanse of matress, toward a sea of scented silken sheets.
The geisha followed unquestioning.
Leaving Magenta behind at the door, Sakura had moved toward the stairs. One by one she slipped both feet delicately from their geta sandals, leaving the wooden shoes beside the lowest step before she made her way up into the brownstone. As her fingertips slid over the wood of the banniser the sensaton of surrealness drew close. After demurring and pushing off the invitations for so long to finally find herself here in Alma's home was unnerving to say the least. In the bar the blonde creature seemed like a force of nature. One could not think of her as having a home - a bed to sleep in, she seemed more then human and above such petty things as rest and shelter.
Perhaps it was this very presence that drew Sakura so strongly toward the petite woman, more then lust and the overwhelming urge to obey and serve it was the sheer power amassed so oddly in that tiny feminine package that made the geisha's dreams so wonderfully restless every night on end. At last the steps ended and she knelt, a force of long habit, to knock upon the door, each soft rap sounding like a hollow heart beating its last.
At the third rap, as if on hinges of air, the door swung open in front of the kneeling girl. The room she faced was lit with gaslamp and candle, not dim, but with a warm and living yellow light, constantly casting quick dances of shadow and glimmer. It was lush with an antique richness; heavy curtains of maroon and crimson, the furnishings either overstuffed and stately or dark oaken, ornately carved. Facing the doorway, in an oversized armchair that seems to sprawl upon the floor, Alma was curled, her eyes, just peeking over the top of her lenses, seemed to tease, riding the changing light like swift birds on currents of air. She seemed smaller than ever in the huge chair; legs pulled up against herself, barefoot, carelessly wrapped in a loose black velour robe. The combination of the size of the chair and the thick dark robe against pale skin emphasized the peculiar smallness that somehow does not spell vulnerability. Indeed, the flesh of her legs and arms seems child-soft, not toned by exercise but just slender by nature, and looks as if it would give, pliant, to the touch. She held her pose for long moments before pushing up her glasses, the gesture self-mocking, and clapping her small hands, noticiably not gloved.
"Ah, finally, you grace my quarters. Come in my dear."
Sakura's dark head lifted as the door opened to her, decadant dark-chocolate eyes lifting in wide wonder to take in the scene presented before her, like an invisible hand pulling back the curtain on a stage. And there at the center the prima-ballerina, enconsced in comfort that seemed almost superfluous. Still knelt in the doorway, Sakura bowed low, hands swept together, fingertips just barely pressing the floor.
"Forgive my lateness, mistress, and thank you for your invitation."
She rose then in one fluid movement that seemed to require no effort, and shutting the door behind her entered the lush room only to make her way over to the chair in which Alma sat enthroned to kneel again, taking up a spot before her and slightly off to one side, close enough to touch. Soft pink rose petal lips smiled up at the young woman gently, those luminous black pools of her eyes adoring.
"You look lovely out of your tweeds, mistress."
It was cheeky and she knew it but risk taking was what made the geisha's heart pound so deliciously. She herself was clad in that rich, decadantly red kimono with its muted golden leaves painted delicately over its expanse, black as oil obi cinching her slender midsection as taut as any corset could. The fullness of her hair pinned up atop her head with a pair of jade combs.
In a single motion, Alma slipped from the stuffed cushion and onto the carpeted floor next to the girl. The transfer momentrily lifted and spread the robe before it puddled down around her and atop her bent legs again. The momentary glimpses of nakedness, small, pink nippled breast and pale blond nest of pubis, almost obscene in their very unexpectedness. On a low table next to her chair rests an elegant porcelain lily containing warmed Taisetsu saki, and two thimble glasses on matching plates.
Peering over the top of her glasses again (and how does she arrange the candlelight just so in those pale eyes?), she clutched one little hand to the front of her robe, mockingly modest, and the other indicated the table setting.
"I hope this suits your tastes, love, it is not among the beverages I am terrible familliar with."
If the girl noticed such details, she might be surprised to see that Alma's right hand, the hand that clutches her robe, in manicured short and smooth, nails set back from fingertips, their corners carefully pared away and filed smoothe, while the other hand is sports fashionable long crimson nails. Should she notice, and should she wonder the reason for this, she might well catch herself in the heat of a blush.
"Will you serve us, dear?"
Though the sudden sight of Alma's bared flesh made the blossom suck breath so fast she thought she would go lightheaded for a moment, she kept her poise. That breif flash was enough however to leave an indeliable image seared upon Sakura's mind, and it took her a half a moment to turn and see the spread Alma had so thoughfully arranged. And then she could do not but smile warmly at the presentation laid out before them.
"Of course, mistress."
A graceful turn and she lifted the lily carafe, drawing her voluminus sleeve back with the other hand to reveal a slender, willowy wrist, warm soft skin with a gentle pulse throbbing beneith, all in fluid motion as artful fingers grasped and then dipped int he pour, letting the clear wine slip forth in a slow waterfall, filling first one glass and then the other. The carafe replaced she lifted Alma's cup and held it out to her graciously. For Sakura, her life was spent in the details, and she did not miss much, least of all her mistress' mismatched nails. Dark eyes flicked to them, curious, though her face remained perfect in its serenity. Turning to take her own glass in hand she glanced away, her voice conversational.
"Your nails, my lady... such a lovely shade of red."
Pale eyes glittered as they noted Sakura's attention. Freeing the robe, which managed to just gap between her breasts and not quite reveal either again, she stretched forward to take the cup, but before doing so ran the carefully manicured nails along the thin, tender flesh beneath the offering wrist, turning them as she did, making it clear to Sakura that never is there the slightest bite or catch of fingernail against the delicate skin, only flesh on flesh, soft, giving, taking. She accepted the cup and leered prettily into the chocolate eyes.
"A woman who loves women knows when to scratch, and when scratching can ruin the moment...." Her eyebrows arched prettily as she tasted the warm wine.
And blush indeed the geisha did, although with the prettiest of humoured smiles for her lady, only to burry the treasure in her glass as she sipped the sake to cover a soft laugh.
"Mistress... you have a gift for words."
Knees spread, ankles crossed, the pose girlish and careless, the spill of velour covering and revealing at intervals, Alma sipped again, eyes on her guest as if the saki will reveal Sakura's intimate secrets in its heady warmth.
"You are the sole gift worth comment this evening, Sakura dear. Or an I presuming? Do you indeed come here to offer yourself to me, in one fashion or another? Would you taste my mouth and learn my secrets all in a rush, or would you prefer one before the other?"
And here, with the tease and decadent hesititation of the best strippers, she lifted her glasses off and tossed them back onto the fat chair cushion, the nakedness of her eyes somehow more naked than the flesh revealed before.
If she had possesed even an ounce less poise the geisha might have sputtered into her wine at the headlong rush. As it was she swallowed, hard, those delecate throat muscles working in that long, slim throat, and set her glass down with a wry smile before turning to Alma, her eyes sly and smiling like a fox's - perhaps it was the recent argument with Magenta that gave her such audacity tonight.
"I do, mistress. Above all patrons I have met here you fascinate me the most, if I may even be so bold. I came to offer myself to your service, for this night and how ever many you would enjoy them. In my world, mistress a geisha is an artist... we are not concubines. We create another world for our patrons...one made solely of beauty and pleasure. In you I see the ultimate appreciate for this."
Sakura's smile grew wistful as she dropped her gaze to her hands, folded so primly in her lap.
"So...you ask: would I know you? Would I learn your secrets? Yes... I would, I want to... but not in a rush." She lifted those fathomless pools to Alma's naked orbs once more, "As I would hope you would not devour my secrets greedily only to throw me away an empty husk. To do so with you would cheapen all you have to offer."
Two hands, one with nails the color of blood just kissed by oxygen, the other with pale nails pared back behind the delicate fingertips, touched her elegant cheeks as the pale eyes lingered upon the dark ones.
"Surely you do not expect such of me, darling. Surely you are intuitive enough to sense the art I pursue in my own life as well. No, the position..." (and she cannot help but chuckle at the word, eyes teasing) "I would wish for you would be one of long service, and I hope service that never ceases to surprise and please. But first, a hint, and here I am opening forbidden doors to you before I even open my legs to you or yours to me..."
Eye to eye, she let free a quick burst of Presence, its power making her for the moment more than she is, making her the most unimaginably covetable creature in existance, a beauty that could spark wars and cause brother and sister to tear each other with bare hands for favor. She let it free, and blinked, and drew it back.
"That is a sample of what I am, and I will never use such to hold your adoration. Would you know more, and open doors yet more dangerous, my flower, for each door so opened closes behind you and binds you closer to me."
The blossom shuddered at the zephyr that the diminutive blonde suddenly released, its ephemeral arms wrapping her in a grasp so tight her breath was lost, as though all processes consious and unconsious suddenly bent on the driving desire to have, posses, worship this woman - and then just as suddenly as it has struck her it was gone, leaving her heart racing. She gasped a breath and found her hands resting on Alma's wrists, having risen without her bidding. Slowly, so slowly they slid down the pale arms, pushing back silk in their path until she held the other woman by her elbows. She had known there was more then met the eye to this strange beauty - just as there was to the others she had found herself drawn to. I did not frighten her now, and Alma's words were taken, trusted for honesty. She nodded, finding her voice once more in the motion.
"I would know more, mistress... I would know you."
Held by the elbows, her own pale hands slid under voluminous sleeves and wrapped delicate forearms in turn. Her voice is a hush, a caress of sound, touching in unexpected places. All Presence fled, this was just Alma in pursuit, Alma in lust, and perhaps even more. She leaned in, cool lips brushing a kiss upon the ripe mouth, and drew back. Her eyes were terrible in their sincerity.
"See, beauty, see what I am, and do not disappoint me with frail fright, for you have been warned and asked all the same."
Eyes holding eyes, she opened her bright mouth. Slowly, as if shy, from the gums behind her upper lip, the delicate gems of her killing teeth, translucent, the blue-white of skim milk, slip erect.
There is no fright, no fear, only interest and mild confusion mingled in her dark gaze. Sakura comes from a land where there are no kindred, no vampires, not even the myth of them, and thus had no knoweldge of what she was being shown. Even here in Rhy'din among her friends and foes no one has ever mentioned such a thing or warned her against them - and she has even tasted the kiss of one already though she does not know it. Her gaze is gentle as it flicks from the exquisite teeth to Alma's eyes in innocence beyond all measure.
Alma smiled into that gaze, fingertips stroking Sakura's forearms beneath the kimono sleeve. When she spoke, her voice was very faintly lisped by the teeth, however cute the effect, she was determined to make it clear what had been revealed. She is, after all, Toreador, and there can be little more significant to her clan than breaking the Masquerade.
"I am what many call Kindred, flower. A creature apart from humans. Once human myself, I was Embraced--my blood taken by teeth like these and Kindred blood given in return--years ago. The power I showed you in my eyes is part of this gift, as are others of strength and speed. I could be close to immortal, should luck and angst allow me to. I feed on the blood of the willing, flower."
She grinned, with an effort of will the teeth slipped back and her voice returned to almost normal.
"Would you still share my bed, Sakura, for it so its sheets ache for you."
Sakura wavered, listening, not truely fully understanding, and somewhat disturbed by parts of Alma's explaination - feed on blood? immortal? And yet she has run across odder things in her evenings at the inn, has she not? And surely she would not be harmed - she had not thus far. Understanding would come in time.
Slowly, inexorably she lent foward to close that dangerous little mouth with a soft, warm kiss, pulling back only an inch, her forehead resting intimately against Alma's as her thumbs stroked the velveteen skin of her inner arms.
"I would, mistress."
The kiss returned, cool lips and tongue opening warm ones, and in mid kiss, without breaking it, Alma rose, like a flower blooming in slow motion photography. Her arms managed to dip to the side and ease Sakura up in one motion, and in their dipping let the robe fall from her. Stepping back then, fingertips on fingertips, eyes on eyes, proud in her soft, almost girlish, nakedness, she backed toward another open door, toward an expanse of matress, toward a sea of scented silken sheets.
The geisha followed unquestioning.