"Best oranges of the season, sir. Fresh from the markets of Avalon, picked at sunrise this morning..." The merchant holds what has to be a record-sized orange. Even uncut it gives off an incredible scent. One of the many incredible, even overwhelming scents that move in and out of the market, both fair and ill.
     The summer market (like the spring, autumn and even winter markets) is full of merchandise, produce, the wealth of trade carried to this port by the Winds, they say, by the very Winds Themselves. The market is a permanent installation in the squares of the village, open-air arcades stuffed with all manners of things. Some of which Prince Iowerth has brought in himself, though he makes no profit. He gives that money to the needy.
     Iowerth takes the orange in his hand and brings it to his nose. The summer's heat makes wearing the coat impractical (it's on the ship), and so too the rest of the typical fantastical clothes he wears. He is dressed in a t-shirt, which for this reality is about as fantastic as it gets, and a pair of jeans, shocking, and a light blazer, grey and pinstriped, with sergeant's bars on the upper arms, captain's buttons to fasten it shut (though, the blazer is left open), and various band insignias, patches stitched against the lapels.
     "I'll have two for now," Iowerth notes to the merchant, handing him the orange, "...and two crates for the ship... send the bill of lading, Vanni will take care of it."
     The merchant bows his head, and smiling wraps up the oranges for the prince to take now. Iowerth hands him the money for the two. The rest, to be paid upon delivery. Oranges in hand, he continues to meander the crushing crowd of season market-goers, dodging the jugglers and taking a moment to give an eye to the bellydancers.

     "Your highness." Tiernan's arrival is something other than dramatic. He simply makes his way through the crowd, politely dodging out of people's paths with his hat held to his chest in one hand. He wears a loose white shirt with a v front, the fabric folded shut and held in place by the waist of his black trousers and further tied by a silver and blue woven sash wound round his hips and up his stomach. The material is light, his boots black and made to provide little noise to his passage.
     He wears a sword, though more for ceremony than believed use. At present, a scarlet cord ties it into a peace knot. Tiernan eyes you up and down as if trying to figure out what it is that you wear, but no comment transpires. It's ultimately, after all, an excellent excuse to stare...
     "Sorry if I'm late," he says simply, adjusting the weight of Leon on his shoulder. "I got held up by mother as I was leaving." His cavalier cap is set back on top of his head, blue hat and silver feather tipped with black. Simplicity. "How've you been?"

     "Not late," Iowerth smiles, looking you up and down as well. He removes an orange from the wrapping and tosses it to you as you straighten. "The market's still going. And I've an extra orange. I'd say you were right on time...walk with me a while..."
     I sent a flock of birds by earlier... but she was too close. I wasn't sure you'd be able to make it. He walks ahead, turning to make sure you follow. "How are things in the palace today? And I trust you are well also, Leon..." He makes the small-talk of congenial, public conversations...
     But his voice within you plays... creating whirlpools...
     I have some news... something we will... need to sort out...you and I. How much time do you have... we have. Iowerth looks to you, his hair cut and styled in a modern muss (if you knew anything about Modernity, that is). Fiery hair giving off such burnished copper light in its hues as it is spiked and tussled. "It's a lovely day to be outside. And on land for a change..."
     He smiles, he gainly grins, but there is concern at the back of his eyes...

     "Ah, thanks. I skipped breakfast." The orange is caught, one-handed, his shoulders twisting to keep Leon upright. He has a lot of practice at it. So casual, he is. So casual, this is. But it isn't all an act; Tiernan is relaxed this morning, for some reason, giving you a small, sidelong smile as he falls into step with you.
     It's alright. I figured things out, one way or another. I have all day, today - she's gone riding out of the city. Wanted me to come, but she's gotten a new toy, so I was able to refuse. Aloud, he says, "The palace is ... palatial, as one might expect. Mother and her cohorts have gone for a lengthy ride out the east gate, I think they intend to hunt and frolic. I don't know, have you made the acquaintance of Lord Andinous? He and mother seem to have hit it off; as such, my company, though desirable, was not needed."
     And how much of a relief is that? You get another small grin, and he begins to peel at the orange with the edge of his thumbnail. Leon rrowls in the back of his throat. "Leon says that he is well, thank you, and that he is glad to see you. He may choose to ride from your shoulder in a bit, but for now he is still recovering from an attempt to ride atop my hat. It did not end in tears, but it was not to his liking; he now has a better understanding of seasickness."
     Time. He tips his head back, one hand going to hold his hat in place as he looks up to the sun. I have all of today and likely until tomorrow, the answer comes, quietly, a hushed note. A breeze in a midnight garden. She's taken a lover. She'll want to test him out thoroughly. You look ... interesting today ... distracting. Where do you want to talk?

     I have taken a new apartment. For the day. But we should not rush to it. As much as I want to. Yes, you know him. By now, you know him and how he can be when the two of you have been parted for a few nights. Royal blood seems to run hot, even for as cool and aloof as he can be. Iowerth's eyes sparkle lavender in the late morning light. It is not yet noon.
     Strong fingers press into the flesh of the orange, tearing the outer flesh and sending a slight spraying of juice in front of him. It perfumes him, now. His skin will smell of citrus all day. He turns, pivoting as he walks, his body pressing past the strangers that crowd around you. Yes... I am dressed strangely. For this place. I have... received a commandment. From my father. Iowerth nods over to one of the shaded booths. This one sells a variety of oils. Some for fragrance. Others for the...tending of stiff muscles. It smells of all oils ever made, the sweet and the woody, the spicy and warm to the watery and cool.
     "Good day, princes," the merchant woman speaks, her bodice exceedingly full and well-oiled. "Something to interest you today?"
     "Yes," Iowerth answers as if snapping out of a brief reverie. "You still have the moonflower, correct? My mother's mad for it..."
     "Oh, yes, indeed, Prince Iowerth. How many bottles?"
     "Two," Iowerth easily answers, his word only slightly muffled by the orange his is now suckling and eating. "One for each of her husbands. It's a wedding gift. Oh, and lady...if I may...I will need more mandrake oil." That gets a rather delicious look from the buxom, fair woman (who could be his mother, but she doesn't mind if he doesn't). Iowerth doesn't pay her any mind. "Sixteen ounces." He peels off another quarter of the orange as her eyes light up like a cash register...
     My commandment is to take a young man's journey into manhood, so to speak. He wants me to spend time on the material plane. I want you to join me. Iowerth glances to you as the woman packages up the several bottles he is buying. The largest of which is a dark liquid, or at least the bottle is dark. She wraps it ever-so-carefully.
     You can come... spy on me. Iowerth smiles -- that smile is meant for you but given to the woman. Her breasts nearly heave right straight from her overly tightened corset. The prince is such a flirt! I am going to offer you a position... so rich...your mother could not possibly refuse it. And I am going to keep you with me. And... well... if she wants to argue, she can take it up with the son of the high king, hmm? How does that sound...Of course, with her new lover, she might not even notice you're missing.
     The woman offers the packages to the prince, her eyes rolling slightly as she flutters her eyelashes. Such lewdness in the public square! And as she leans forward, the lace of the bodice does ...slightly give way. The woman has borne several children -- her nipple knows when there's a mouth to feed. "Prince Iowerth," she purrs it, "... enjoy, my lord. Hmm... have you ever been shown how to ...employ the mandrake?" Oh, do let me show you!
     Without skipping a beat, without even glancing down to the woman's subtle (and not) exposure, Iowerth smiles sweetly. "If there's one thing I know, Mistress Bobbin, it's how to handle a drake..."
     Well, the woman all but swoons...

     He smiles a little, glancing at you and then down. To the ground, to his feet. I like it when we take our time, comes the inwards drawl to you. I can be patient, when I have to be. He could say more, this clockwork prince, but he does not. Instead, slowly he scribes a circle with his thumbnail upon the orange rind. And he smiles.
     He has your company and he has your attention. What more could anyone ask for?
     A commandment? Tiernan's eyebrows raise, just the merest trifle. But he doesn't press. He lets the wandering take its place, stopping next to you and looking over and along at the array of oils with mild interest, continuing to drag away orange peel and let it fall. Until half an orange sits in his hand, the other half with peel still on in his other, as if he's about to juggle. "What do the moonflower and the mandrake do?" One jet eyebrow lifts in inquiry. He doesn't mind revealing his ignorance; he just doesn't revel in it.
     And he watches you with the woman with something of amusement, a wry humour touching the deep blue of his eyes. Tiernan pulls off a bit more peel, passing it up to his shoulder where Leon snaps at it, seizes it savagely in diamond jaws and rends it to shreds. "Mind the finger, Leon. I can't grow more of them so easily."
     You mention your offer so casually, and his eyes widen, suddenly focusing on Mistress Bobbin's ample bosom. If he looks at you, he will be staring. Abruptly, he reddens, a crimson blush that the world will mark for the flirtation and never know the reason. Quickly, Tiernan moves down along the display, picking up a bottle quite at random. "I'll take this," he says aloud, not even looking to see what it contains.
     You ... are sure? I mean ... I am willing, certainly. You know I would - I would love to go. The words are jumbled, touched by chaos, by confusion, pleasure sparking in the darkness. More and more orange peel - and some orange - is passed up to Leon, who delights in his creator's distraction. He stares at those pendulous breasts so almost entirely revealed as if your face were emblazoned on them; in truth, he doesn't see the breasts at all. I'm sorry, you've knocked the wind right out of my sails today...

     Iowerth smiles. "The Moonflower is one of my mother's favorite perfumes. It supposedly makes hardheaded men fall in love with her and do her bidding." He rolls his eyes then puckers his lips in thought. Mistress Bobbin will completely misread that for lust, of course, and does. She takes in a breath and murmurs: Oh, my lord prince... such the.... delicious wit you are.
     What she means to say is: Oh my lord prince, I could swallow you whole, jump on my body and use my breasts as your pillows.
     "The mandrake... well... it has restorative purposes. They say." Iowerth glances to you, your blushing and he grins. It ...keeps a man's ...constitution high. And hard. Very hard. It also is quite smooth, oily. It makes the flesh hum with pleasure even as it prolongs it. That, my prince, is for us...
     "Oh yes... that too, that's a nice one that. What do you think, Mistress Bobbin?" Iowerth says, leaning in toward Tiernan. (Close enough, prince, that it is almost touching.) "Amber willow," he reads the bottle you've selected. "Good for... attracting the fairer sex?" Why else would a prince buy an oil?
     Mistress Bobbin licks her lips at the prince and then turns her attention to you. You... you are QUITE handsome, aren't you. One nipple over the bodice, one still tucked (if but barely), she saunters to Prince Tiernan and leans in. "It is quite the nice oil. It may be worn...or ingested. I would recommend brandy or wine, should you wish to have a lover ingest this particular potable, Prince Tiernan." Her lips pucker in a delicious smile for you. "It inspires giddiness in girls, but when given to a ... woman," such as herself, no doubt, "... it inspires ... tender lust. So... tender..." She fans herself, the oil on her bosoms wafting upward to you both. She is wearing something spicy, much as her tanned skin would seem to say lies beneath. "It is also a popular lubricant for sore muscles. It inspires... relaxation...yes, as if you would wish to be nowhere else. Would you...like a demonstration... prince?"
     Iowerth stuffs his mouth full of orange to keep from snickering. The woman needs to be hosed down. Or...needs a hose somewhere. "That will be all, Mistress Bobbin. The prince and I must be off. If we dawdle here with you all day, we'll be said to play favorites..."
     "Oh, prince Iowerth," she coos, "...you are so cheeky. So delightful. Let them talk, as if I care." Apparently she doesn't care about what people think of her, one boob exposed and the other barely contained by the fabric. She'll make Mr. Bobbin quite happy later, to be sure. Or one of her numerous other lovers.
     I am very sure. I have never before been quite as sure as this. I am going to make you the first courtier of my court. My attache'. Perhaps ... one day... even my chamberlain. Your mother will not be able to resist such placement. And ... it will allow us anonymity going into the material realm. We can... get to know one another better...without the... glare of public and political life.
     Iowerth hands her the coins she seeks. Mistress Bobbin slips them into her bodice, the coins jingling and chiming even as her breasts jiggle with the motion. She presses the exposed nipple and then tucks it back into the bodice with a dimple and a wink. "Have a lovely afternoon, princes. And... if you get bored with the festival... I'm off the clock at sundown," she husks in a low voice.

     He blushes again, quite unable to help himself. He is as off balance as you've ever seen him. Moreso even than the first time you met him and ... had him ...
     It is your proximity that has him so distracted, but no doubt it'll be read as Mistress Bobbin's welcoming bosom that has Prince Tiernan so distracted. "Quite alright," he says quickly. "No demonstration needed. But I appreciate the offer." Gods almighty, if I were any closer, her hands might be in my trousers. You receive a quick look, a brief indrawn breath and roll of the eyes. "As Prince Iowerth has said - we've things to be about, alas. But I am sure that you would prefer the company of a man of maturity and grace to such callow youths as we," he adds, eyeing those breasts again.
     He takes up his vial, tucking it into his sash, and separates his own coins from his pouch. Regaining his equipoise, Tiernan leans forward to drop the gold coins, one by one, into the valley of the woman's cleavage. "A pleasure, your business. Our thanks."
     I would like to spend time with you, comes the simple response, backed by a mirror-blued glance. This hastiness is I think our worst enemy. Even more than my mother. I ... had been thinking about this ... but not here.
     He's still overwhelmed; can you sense it, smell it? You have him blinking within his shell. A brush of his hand to your wrist, brief, almost accidental. Tiernan's lips frame words echoed by his thoughts. Where to now, o prince?

     Iowerth waves to Mistress Bobbin, a wiggling of his fingers (his father would be tickled; his mother, furious) as he turns and heads down one of the side streets from the square. "I could use something to eat other than an orange," he says for the benefit of anyone in earshot. "I know just the place..."
     From this side street, to an even smaller one. The village is a labyrinth, one his brother knows the best, but one Iowerth has learned to traverse. There is a townhouse of pink stucco that can only be accessed through an alley. Far from the noise of the market, far from prying eyes, the hustle and bustle of a rich port, the alley shows the wear and tear of last night's gambling and this morning's breakfast for the street urchins.
     There's only one way up and one way down: a fire-escape type ladder. Iowerth hops up, his hands grasping the railing, and with his hanging weight he pulls it down. There's no one to see. Not here, not now. This place is as anonymous as it can be in the middle of the village. It won't see action until the latest part of night.
     At the end of the ladder, some two stories up, there is an iron platform and a pair of French doors. He opens it after working the lock and steps into the apartment. "It's owned by Melissande," Iowerth whispers, waiting for you. He will close and lock the doors behind you. "She's a singer for the cabaret. She's given this to me to use for ... today, tonight, tomorrow until midnight if need be."
     The room is quite opulent, all gifts from her many admirers. The bed is an enormous cushion covered in rich fabrics, piled with many different sized cushions of even more exotic fabrics. There are hanging colored lamps, none of which are currently lit. Ah, but come midnight...
     Iowerth twists out of his modified blazer, letting it fall to the motley floor below. He rakes a hand through his mussed hair, the short strands remaining standing and the edges of tattoos peek through at the short sleeves. And can be seen through the shirt where sunlight lands. "We'll be safe here. Alone here. We can... talk freely." Among other things.

     He follows you without question, expression calm, content, as one might expect. Behind that facade, you know him to be dazed; his thoughts swirl with turmoil and muddied colours, no matter how pleased he may be. Blue eyes nonetheless are sharp, alert, taking in his surroundings with rapid glances, marking paths.
     You hoist yourself up, and he waits for you, then follows; climbing with rapidity. He slips through the doors you open for him, sliding aside and leaning against the wall, turning his head to watch you as you again close and lock those doors. "Kind of her," Tiernan murmurs, a wry twist to his mouth. "It helps to be the prince, doesn't it?"
     You twist, and he is watching you, ignoring the opulence of his surroundings. You are more interesting. You are rarer, more valuable. And he takes a deep breath, hands folded behind his back where he cannot help but resist his urges, his desires. "I ... await your pleasure, my prince," Tiernan murmurs, a skip to his breathing for a moment. "What you would wish to speak of, I most ardently await."

     An eyebrow cocks up and he gestures you to have a seat. Relax. "Ardently," he smiles. Iowerth closes the door. He locks it and pulls the shades. The room becomes several degrees more shaded. "I thought you had something to say earlier. If not...we'll... plan later. We ...have all night."
     Iowerth sets the back of oils on the bed. The Moonflower will remain wrapped. But the mandrake... he smiles as he pulls the bottle out of its wrapping. "I've missed you. I've been busy," an exhale, "... but... not too busy to not think of you. And you?" He comes up to you, arms sliding around your waist.
     Mistress Bobbin was... quite inspiring. He's not immune to breasts. Nor immune of the effects from being parted from you. Iowerth closes his eyes and places a kiss upon your cheek. He grins, his mouth sliding across to yours. "Do you want to keep waiting? I don't think I want to keep waiting..."
     His mouth plucks at yours. You taste of oranges, he tastes of oranges. Sweet and citrus, both cool and warm. The coolness of the oranges eaten -- the warmth of his mouth. "Are you excited?" A loaded question, if ever there was one. "You and I... we will be able to have some... peace... we will be able to stay in the same apartment, sleep in the same bed..."
     Iowerth's voice trails off, ending in a throat-held moan as his words at your mouth becomes kissing, suckling and strong. You will be the prince's favorite...the first courtier of his fledgling court... a prince of your own standing... it's our way to freedom, Tiernan. The hold of his arms tighten around your waist.

Posted by rowan at May 20, 2006 09:37 PM