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For Saracat
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Subject: STORY: for saracat
Date: 12 Apr 92 12:31:14 GMT
Inzachiko considered the chamber; the proportions were good, spacious
enough to be grand, without being so large that formality was enforced
by it's seating. In all, a good place to start intrigue with the oh-so
lovely, oh-so melancholy, oh-so decadent people of this place.
Inza' looked last upon the uburo alcove; she had fretted a while over
this courtly necessity. Everywhere in this city of beautiful people
these alcoves sat like malign beasts, waiting for their prey of unwary
arts to come fill their pretentious maws. Art. Feh. The current rage was
for ikebana, and although Inza' enjoyed the efforts of others, she was
not well suited to this pursuit. Granted, the inevitable crushed chysan-
themums and bruised peony blossoms gave her a certain perverse pleasure,
but this was not at all suited to her needs of the moment. So.
Calligraphy it would be. Gazing upon the ebon torii gate frame, she
smiled, thinking that although her letters may not be the most finely
formed, her verse was always good, and the paper would certainly be
flawless.
With a cracking like wood breaking, Inzachiko set her ink cases at the
foot of the alcove dias. As though on cue, this sound was immediately
followed by the sliding of wood upon wood and the sussurus of sixteen
layers of silk brushing it's way into the chamber. Oh yes, art indeed,
Inza' thought, as she turned to regard Hana. Certainly her best effort
yet, she mused, as she watched the beauty of the woman entering the room.
Inza's first effort towards annoying and fascinating this silly court of
two-legged flowers was to woo and win this creature that had held them in
thrall. Although it was the fashion to abhor the human form, Hana would
have been the exception to such fashion in any place in time; a perfection
of white translucense and rosy human tone, wrapped around a dancer's supple
body, framed in an unlikely wash of unravelled, inky silk that swept the
floor a meter behind it's occupant. That hair. Like most people seeing Hana
for the first time, Inza' saw the hair first and everything else second.
Typically prosaic, Inza's first thought was "how can she dance amidst that
fibrous snare?" and her second thought was not prosaic at all, and had a
great deal to do with why this woman was here, instead of gracing some Heian
dandy's chambers.
"So, my white moon of delight, do you still agree to this little
entertainment of mine?" Inza' watched Hana's body carefully, looking for
betraying tensions. Insidious passions aside, Hana was her friend and co-
conspirator, and she wished her no pain without pleasure and consent.
"Of course! After an ageless year of being pursued by Yohito-who-will-
not-hear-no-and-go-away, the pleasure of knowing his discomfort at seeing me
exposed but untouchable will be worth nearly anything. Besides which Inzachan,
you -are- worth everything. I shall enjoy it."
Having so spoken, Hana broke her stillness with a vulpine grin that
would have appalled the dandy in question. Inza' was the only person in
this city to see that smile, ever. She savored this thought, which brought
an answering wolf-smile to her own lips.
"Well then, oh pearl of Inzanami, into the alcove with you!" Giggling
at the sound of Yohito's favorite simile, Hana swept up the dias and folded
bonelessly between the torii pillars. Weighing the composition a moment,
Inzachiko followed behind, wrapped her arms about Hana, and with a practiced
tug, loosened her obi, causing the many layers of silk it held to start opening
like petals.
"Arms out of sleeves, oh jewel of the night." Allowing her discipline
to wither a moment, Hana quivered with amusement, hearing her lover carry on in
the voice of this evening's unsuspecting guest. Drawing her arms out voluminous
sleeves, she rested her hands in her lap. Quick as thought, Inza' swept
her hands along Hana's arms, lightly scoring them with her fingernails in the
process. Capturing Hana's hands, she raised them up to the top corners
of the torii gate. Working with the cords knotted there, Inza' secured Hana's
hands. Slowly drawing her hands along Hana's arms and down her breasts, Inza'
pulled the bound woman into her arms and the space between her knees. Letting
her hands go where they would, she left a constellation of little red crescents
across Hana's chest, breasts and belly. Claw kisses.
Tiring of that, Inza' caged Hana's breasts in each hand, quickly pulling
her fingers together with an audible snick of fingernails
as they drew crinkled nipples and the slightest trace of blood after them.
Feeling Hana resettle herself atop her feet, Inza' drew back, noting that Hana
was now comfortably sitting on her left heel, and making no effort to hide the
fact. Laughing silently at this little artifice, she decided to allow it. Such
diversion would keep Hana better entertained through the evening, and Yohito
would be sure to notice it and wish he could so blatantly seek relief.
Businesslike again, Inza' gathered up her lover's mane, parting it into
two handfuls. Working carefully, she draped each over Hana's shoulders,
and one side at a time, looped it about and around Hana's arms, ending in
fanciful knots at her wrists. This done, Inza' arranged the pool of silk the
other woman was sitting in, so that the multicolored layers of silk sat in a
ripple of black, white, mauve and vermillion.
Happy with the result, Inza' stepped back from the top of the dias in
the alcove. Opening the lacquer case, she set to work rubbing the stone paddle
across the block of ink, slowly adding tiny amounts of water. When the ink
reached the exact shade of Hana's hair, Inza' selected a brush, let it drink up
ink and thought about her first line.
"Moon white perfection-
Becoming still within, Inza' let the brush become an integral part of
herself, allowing the characters flow from the brush to be as a ripple of wind
on water.
paper and ink hold my thoughts
Continuing in the meditation of wind on water, Inza' was pleased to see
the bottom of the character "hold" pool in a dimple next to Hana's spine.
as blood holds desire."
Surfacing from the otherwhere of meditation, Inza' gave the verse
critical review. The calligraphy was very good, and formed well for it's media:
the characters made a smooth interplay with the rise and fall of Hana's breath.
The verse itself was not a thing of great style, but was suited well to it's
setting and intent. Having approved it. Inza' picked a curious object out of
the lacquer box. It looked like a flower base, but the pins were set in the
pattern of Inza's chop, and were -very- sharp. The smith who made it for her
thought it was meant to arrange flowers, and was charmed by the conceit of
using one's signature for the pattern.
Murmuring wordlessly, Inza' placed one hand flat on Hana's belly, held
the little pin tray flat in the other, and pressed it into Hana's skin, to the
right of her spine just above the sacrum. Careful not to push too hard, Inza'
let it sit for a moment, and then pulled it free with an audible pop. Watching,
Inza' saw the blood bead up, flow together and stop, perfectly forming her chop.
Ah, the benefits of practice.
Seeing that Hana had retreated into a meditation of her own, Inza'
tidied up, gave the room one last appraisal and went off to bathe and change.
It would be a wonderful evening.
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