Foreign and visiting nobility were hardly uncommon in the capital: or in the Teahouse, for that matter.
Tzilan told himself that as his local hosts, other young men of his age, swept him into the grand, brightly-lit foyer. He was only too painfully aware that the brightly-polished floor cast up no reflection of him back up at himself, and kept his chin high above his stiff, starched collar. Unlike the taller men about him, who rushed in a happy, wine-drunken babble to explain the rules, and the process, he was silent, gliding over the sussurus they made.
This isn't appropriate, he thought, while flashing a pained, faintly awkward smile at one of the men who'd drawn him along. "And so," his quiet voice cut through their chatter, "You... pick which... individual you desire? From the line?"
"Well, ordinarily yes! But we've come to a great agreement today, we were going to be serviced as a group. We often just lo--"
Tzilan's gloved hands twitched at his sides, and his smile slipped a little, just half an instant. And then his dark-skinned features smoothed, and he beamed up. "Now now, that would be quite inappropriate. Before the first transaction, and the ink has dried? In my homeland it's considered bad luck, you know, to celebrate to early," but there was a salacious cast to his eyes, something sharp in his smile--
"So you'll leave us wanting, just for that?" Complained the blonde, wetting his lips briefly as the group of them came to a pause.
"It's only good business to keep you wanting a little," assured Tzilan-- voice pitched to a whisper so that he wouldn't speak over the well-dressed fellow moving forward to greet them across the marble floor. Tzilan's eyes flit from him to the decor, affecting a politely curious interest to mask the anxiety that had his stomach in knots.
no subject
Tzilan told himself that as his local hosts, other young men of his age, swept him into the grand, brightly-lit foyer. He was only too painfully aware that the brightly-polished floor cast up no reflection of him back up at himself, and kept his chin high above his stiff, starched collar. Unlike the taller men about him, who rushed in a happy, wine-drunken babble to explain the rules, and the process, he was silent, gliding over the sussurus they made.
This isn't appropriate, he thought, while flashing a pained, faintly awkward smile at one of the men who'd drawn him along. "And so," his quiet voice cut through their chatter, "You... pick which... individual you desire? From the line?"
"Well, ordinarily yes! But we've come to a great agreement today, we were going to be serviced as a group. We often just lo--"
Tzilan's gloved hands twitched at his sides, and his smile slipped a little, just half an instant. And then his dark-skinned features smoothed, and he beamed up. "Now now, that would be quite inappropriate. Before the first transaction, and the ink has dried? In my homeland it's considered bad luck, you know, to celebrate to early," but there was a salacious cast to his eyes, something sharp in his smile--
"So you'll leave us wanting, just for that?" Complained the blonde, wetting his lips briefly as the group of them came to a pause.
"It's only good business to keep you wanting a little," assured Tzilan-- voice pitched to a whisper so that he wouldn't speak over the well-dressed fellow moving forward to greet them across the marble floor. Tzilan's eyes flit from him to the decor, affecting a politely curious interest to mask the anxiety that had his stomach in knots.