Mesnyi
T
his might be the one she goes home with.Women weren’t bad, really; Mesnyi admittedly had a primary interest in men but truth be told women were less…well, offensive. They also didn’t have any seeds to sow in her fields, you could say, and while they weren’t always respectful or kind, they were, overwhelmingly, more interested in all parties having fun.
So, she reasoned, to go home with Bexley wouldn’t be so terrible.
”Well, alright, golden one. It’s just another syllable, isn’t it?” She glanced around the crowd; many were watching her, still, but some were chatting idly or impatiently. She took another sip of wine. ”I’ve had better, but it’s alright,” she said, eyes sparkling. Bexley was…beautiful, in a striking way, like a thunderbolt or a crown with very sharp tines. Good enough for Mesnyi’s image, then - collector of beautiful things, the scar ruled out the collecting but the rest of her remained worthy. Many of the men whose roofs she slept under were…less than handsome, to put it nicely, and so beside Mesnyi they looked exactly as they were; a patron for a very beautiful woman. Beside Mesnyi, Bexley looked…like an equal. It was a nice change of pace, woman or no.
”The crowd is getting restless, golden one, but if you’ll wait for me…the dance may go on after hours.” She winked and slipped back into the center of the circle, her silks rising up and pushing aside any stray members of the audience. The glass violin struck suddenly against its strings to announce her, shocking the crowd into silence. The unicorn bowed.
Again, she took up a dance, the violin pouring forth something a little slower, more romantic, though tragedy ran in veins beneath it, like all good romances. Her silks gathered together to form a dancer partner of many colors, a second Mesnyi, as it were, though something in the waves of the silks implied masculinity, a broader frame, perhaps, though her gaze made its way to Bexley now and then. It was not a particularly long song, and even Mesnyi could not quite place where she’d heard it before - she must’ve, though, musn’t she? The violin had limits, she assumed, when it was under her control, but it certainly got up to trouble when she left it alone to play…
There went another song, and another, until Mesnyi was satisfied with her earnings. The violin decrescendoed to silence, and Mesnyi dipped in a great sweeping bow, her silks flowing out beside her as a dawn cloud. ”I thank you for you patronage. May we see each other another lovely night.” The crowd departed and she made for Bexley.
"You see, women are like fires, like flames. Some women are like candles, bright and friendly. Some are like single sparks, or embers, like fireflies for chasing on summer nights. Some are like campfires, all light and heat for a night and willing to be left after. Some women are like hearthfires, not much to look at but underneath they are all warm red coal that burns a long, long while."
![[Image: 26y3cfu.png]](https://i.imgur.com/26y3cfu.png)
plotter
please tag the proper character for replies
