65 Fall 501 AV
“Feel that?”
Geoffrey’s fingers traced down her back. Slowly. Caressing. The touch was resolute – it was almost as if she could feel the sheer will of his concentration. Focused. And yet delicate. His hands were those of a scholar, a poet, and a gentleman. They were not used to work, but used to being worked – a foreign concept in a place such as Sunberth. Siobhan took comfort in it. But it wasn’t what he had been referring to.
Siobhan shifted where she sat, actively trying to keep her concentration from drifting to the pressure at her back. The pair were cross-legged on Geoffrey’s bed, her nestled in front of him, eyes closed. She inhaled deeply, then slowly let the air fall out from between her teeth, repeating the simple action until she felt as if her mind had fallen as still as she could make it.
The room fell silent for a tick, save for the soft rustling of his fingers against the fabric of her shirt. Then, like a snake in a garden, something wound its way through the girl’s mind. It started out subtle, slithering, prodding in such a way that Siobhan wouldn’t have noticed if she hadn’t been distinctly waiting on something to happen. Then, once it got its bearings, the sensation welled up – some form of unpleasant emotion...
Anger? Distaste?
Siobhan hadn’t known what exactly she was to be expecting, but her shoulders seemed to move of their own volition as she shook Geoffrey’s hands from her body, and her lips had pursed into a small frown before she shrugged the feeling from her mind.
She scooted forward, twisting to face the man as her eyes blinked open. The light in the room was dull, hardly more than a handful of candles to combat the dusk darkness. but it was enough to get a good look as his face. His eyebrows were raised slightly in query, though he wore the look of a teacher who obviously already knew the answer to the question just asked.
"You're sweating," she pointed out simply after a breath. She might have answered him, but it was arbitrary to confirm what he already knew.
Geoffrey only threw back his head and chortled. "That I am." He lifted a hand to wipe the moisture that was beading at his hairline with a good-natured grin. "Took a bit of extra effort to get through, since you knew it was coming."
"Well, might've been easier if you could keep your hands to yourself." With a chuckle of her own, Siobhan grabbed on to his shoulders and hoisted herself forward, closer, until their folded knees were overlapping. It had been a mere matter of days since the scholar had guided her through her own initiation to what he called hypnotism, and her curiosity was insatiable. Nearly all her free time was now spent pestering him about one thing or another, and her bombards of questions were greeted were usually greeted with a casual “Oy, slow down girlie.”
Siobhan’s family and friends (that is, her mother and her brothel-community) didn’t seem to mind that she’d suddenly been spending so much time with the fellow – after all, he was always so well-mannered, especially considering that they were more used to the local kind of “charm” that, if one was lucky, might have consisted wholly of an added “ ’cuse me” after belching. They hadn’t even minded when she’d spent those couple of days with him during the course of her initiation. Of course, if they’d all known exactly what the pair were getting up to (rather than assuming they were just doing some good ol’ fashioned fooling around), they wouldn't have been nearly so approving.
Geoffrey’s fingers traced down her back. Slowly. Caressing. The touch was resolute – it was almost as if she could feel the sheer will of his concentration. Focused. And yet delicate. His hands were those of a scholar, a poet, and a gentleman. They were not used to work, but used to being worked – a foreign concept in a place such as Sunberth. Siobhan took comfort in it. But it wasn’t what he had been referring to.
Siobhan shifted where she sat, actively trying to keep her concentration from drifting to the pressure at her back. The pair were cross-legged on Geoffrey’s bed, her nestled in front of him, eyes closed. She inhaled deeply, then slowly let the air fall out from between her teeth, repeating the simple action until she felt as if her mind had fallen as still as she could make it.
The room fell silent for a tick, save for the soft rustling of his fingers against the fabric of her shirt. Then, like a snake in a garden, something wound its way through the girl’s mind. It started out subtle, slithering, prodding in such a way that Siobhan wouldn’t have noticed if she hadn’t been distinctly waiting on something to happen. Then, once it got its bearings, the sensation welled up – some form of unpleasant emotion...
Anger? Distaste?
Siobhan hadn’t known what exactly she was to be expecting, but her shoulders seemed to move of their own volition as she shook Geoffrey’s hands from her body, and her lips had pursed into a small frown before she shrugged the feeling from her mind.
She scooted forward, twisting to face the man as her eyes blinked open. The light in the room was dull, hardly more than a handful of candles to combat the dusk darkness. but it was enough to get a good look as his face. His eyebrows were raised slightly in query, though he wore the look of a teacher who obviously already knew the answer to the question just asked.
"You're sweating," she pointed out simply after a breath. She might have answered him, but it was arbitrary to confirm what he already knew.
Geoffrey only threw back his head and chortled. "That I am." He lifted a hand to wipe the moisture that was beading at his hairline with a good-natured grin. "Took a bit of extra effort to get through, since you knew it was coming."
"Well, might've been easier if you could keep your hands to yourself." With a chuckle of her own, Siobhan grabbed on to his shoulders and hoisted herself forward, closer, until their folded knees were overlapping. It had been a mere matter of days since the scholar had guided her through her own initiation to what he called hypnotism, and her curiosity was insatiable. Nearly all her free time was now spent pestering him about one thing or another, and her bombards of questions were greeted were usually greeted with a casual “Oy, slow down girlie.”
Siobhan’s family and friends (that is, her mother and her brothel-community) didn’t seem to mind that she’d suddenly been spending so much time with the fellow – after all, he was always so well-mannered, especially considering that they were more used to the local kind of “charm” that, if one was lucky, might have consisted wholly of an added “ ’cuse me” after belching. They hadn’t even minded when she’d spent those couple of days with him during the course of her initiation. Of course, if they’d all known exactly what the pair were getting up to (rather than assuming they were just doing some good ol’ fashioned fooling around), they wouldn't have been nearly so approving.
