[OOC] Excerpt from Kushiel's Justice
Below is a sample of Janelle from her canon, specifically the novel, Kushiel's Justice. The following scene is the introduction of Janelle's character.
You can learn more about Janelle's canon here.
~~~~~~~
"Behold!" Mavros flung up his arms. "Bryony House."
Even from the courtyard it stood in marked contrast to Alyssum. It was a grand structure, three stories high, with steep gables. Every window was ablaze with light, and the mullions were adorned with ornate reliefs of bryony vine. When the door opened, laughter and music and the rattle of dice spilled out.
We were ushered in to the receiving salon, which was modeled after the Hall of Games in the Palace. A throng of D'Angeline nobles played at games of chance and skill--dice, cards, rhythmomachy, and other more obscure games. The atmosphere was sharp and charged.
"Lord Mavros!" A tall woman with black hair piled in a high coronet greeted us with a curtsy. Her black gown was cut low in the back, showing off her marque. Delicate tendrils of bryony climbed her spine, sprouting pale flowers above the spade-shaped leaves. "It's been too long." She straightened and appraised me with unabashedly calculating eyes. "Prince Imriel. Welcome to Bryony, your highness."
"Imri, this is the Dowayne, Janelle no Bryony," Mavros said. "Watch your purse."
She tapped his arm with a folded fan. "Never wager what you can't afford to lose, for Naamah will take all you have and more. What are you after, you naughty child?"
Mavros smiled lazily. "Tokens."
On the Longest Night, there are two fetes of note in the City of Elua. One was at the palace, and the other was held at Cereus House, first among the Thirteen. It is a night Naamah's Servants celebrate among themselves, and no one, not even a Prince of the Blood, may attend without a token.
"Is that so?" Her wide mouth curled. "And what do you offer for them?"
Mavros spread his arms. "What would you wager?"
"A challenge!" Janelle no Bryony flung back her head. "Let's put it to the crowd, shall we?" She gestured toward the corner, and an attendant there struck a massive gong. The sound reverberated and an expectant hush followed. "A challenge!" she repeated. "Lord Mavros Shahrizai and Prince Imriel de la Courcel come begging a wager for tokens! How shall we judge them worthy?"
"Mavros," I muttered under my breath.
He nudged me. "Hush. You wanted this."
True and not true. I had argued that we bypass Balm House, next in the alphabet, for I had already been there and experienced Naamah's healing grace. but I didn't understand what gambit Mavros was playing, and whatever it was, it had me on edge.
Patrons shouted out suggestions, profane and amusing and vile. Janelle no Bryony listened, nodding, until she heard one that took her fancy echoed a number of times. "The hourglass?" she murmured. "That would suit. Indeed,so well that I'll take the challenge myself. and I shall choose the contestant." She pointed at me. "Are you minded to accept, your highness? If you lose, I win a forfeit of my choosing."
"I'm sorry," I said, feeling foolish. "I don't understand."
"'Tis a simple matter, sweet prince." Janelle stepped close to me, caressing my cheek. Her grey eyes shone. "I seek to please you in the time allotted," she breathed in my ear, making the hair at the nape of my neck stand on end. "And you seek to outwait me. Will you play?"
"Here?" I glanced at the avid crowd. "I think not."
"No, no, I'll not put you on display." She pointed toward the second story, where a specially constructed chamber overhung the balcony, lined with silk curtains. "There."
Behind her, Mavros was shaking his head in warning, looking dubious. Elua knows what he had expected, but it seemed he didn't like the odds of this wager the Dowayne had conceived. But I thought about Claudia Fulvia and what she had made me endure, and I smiled at Janelle. "All right," I said lightly. "Why not?"
"Oh, very good!" Her nails trailed down my throat and over my chest. "Come."
It was something, it seemed, for the Dowayne of Bryony House to take on a challenge personally. She led me up the sweeping staircase while the throng cheered and laid wagers. From what I could hear, none or few of them favored me. We entered the dais chamber, strewn with cushions and hung with fretted lamps. A pair of adepts closed the drapes behind us, and Janelle opened those facing the salon. Below us, the crowd milled.
"Bring the hourglass!" she called.
A bare-chested male adept with the bryony mark brought forth a tall, slender hourglass capped with silver at both ends, and wreathed in trailing vine. The crowd parted to make a space for him.
Janelle no Bryony raised her hand. "Let it begin!" The adept overturned the hourglass. Sand began to trickle through its narrow neck. Janelle closed the drapes and turned to me, letting her gown slip from her shoulders. Her skin was white in the lamplight, and there was rouge on the nipples of her high, firm breasts. I swallowed at the sight. "You were unwise, sweet prince," she said, her voice soft and mocking. "Have you not heard the first rule of Bryony House's patrons? Never wager against its Dowayne. I will enjoy choosing a forfeit."
I wanted her, badly. But I didn't much like her. I bared my teeth at her in a cold smile. "A Dowayne should gauge her patrons better, my lady."
"Defiance!" One eyebrow arched. "This will be fun."
All of Naamah's Servants are adept in her arts. As the crowd below chanted and clapped to mark the passage of time, Janelle sank gracefully to her knees before me. Her hot breath penetrated through my breeches. My phallus leapt in response, stiffening.
I stared at the draped ceiling.
The Dowayne of Bryony House performed the languisement on me. She did it with excruciating skill. I could feel the muscles of her cheeks and throat milking my phallus. I thought of Claudia and nearly lost all control. No. So I did the only thing left to me and thought of Darsanga. It went on for a long time. The unseen crowd's roar grew louder, clapping turning to stamping. I felt her hands, growing urgent, cupping my testes, squeezing and rolling them; her urgent finger probing my anus. My body went rigid with shock and pleasure, and I overrode it.
"Duzhmata," I whispered. "Duzhushta, duzhvarshta."
Ill thoughts, ill words, ill deeds.
The gong sounded and the crowd of patrons erupted in cheers, demanding to know the outcome. On her knees, Janelle released me. She bowed her head for a moment, then gazed up at me, and there was no mockery in her face, only puzzlement. "Why are you crying?"
I rubbed away the tears with the heel of my hand. "I told you. You should gauge your patrons better." I pulled up my breeches and fastened them. My arousal had faded, leaving behind a dull, unfulfilled ache. I extended my hand to her, then retrieved her gown. "Here."
She dressed without comment and made to draw back the drapes, then paused. "Tell me, highness. Was the victory worth the cost?"
I thought about it. "Probably not."
Janelle no Bryony inclined her head. "Well then."
With that, she opened the drapes and presented me to the shouting throng, sinking low in an elaborate curtsy of acknowledgment and defeat. I looked down at their upturned faces and listened to the sound of my name being chanted. Wagers were settled, coins changing hands. Mavros, his cupped hands overflowing, winked up at me. Janelle fished a pair of ivory tokens from her purse and tossed them to him, and the crowd roared some more before turning to other pusuits and fresh pleasures, fueled by avarice and desire.
You can learn more about Janelle's canon here.
~~~~~~~
"Behold!" Mavros flung up his arms. "Bryony House."
Even from the courtyard it stood in marked contrast to Alyssum. It was a grand structure, three stories high, with steep gables. Every window was ablaze with light, and the mullions were adorned with ornate reliefs of bryony vine. When the door opened, laughter and music and the rattle of dice spilled out.
We were ushered in to the receiving salon, which was modeled after the Hall of Games in the Palace. A throng of D'Angeline nobles played at games of chance and skill--dice, cards, rhythmomachy, and other more obscure games. The atmosphere was sharp and charged.
"Lord Mavros!" A tall woman with black hair piled in a high coronet greeted us with a curtsy. Her black gown was cut low in the back, showing off her marque. Delicate tendrils of bryony climbed her spine, sprouting pale flowers above the spade-shaped leaves. "It's been too long." She straightened and appraised me with unabashedly calculating eyes. "Prince Imriel. Welcome to Bryony, your highness."
"Imri, this is the Dowayne, Janelle no Bryony," Mavros said. "Watch your purse."
She tapped his arm with a folded fan. "Never wager what you can't afford to lose, for Naamah will take all you have and more. What are you after, you naughty child?"
Mavros smiled lazily. "Tokens."
On the Longest Night, there are two fetes of note in the City of Elua. One was at the palace, and the other was held at Cereus House, first among the Thirteen. It is a night Naamah's Servants celebrate among themselves, and no one, not even a Prince of the Blood, may attend without a token.
"Is that so?" Her wide mouth curled. "And what do you offer for them?"
Mavros spread his arms. "What would you wager?"
"A challenge!" Janelle no Bryony flung back her head. "Let's put it to the crowd, shall we?" She gestured toward the corner, and an attendant there struck a massive gong. The sound reverberated and an expectant hush followed. "A challenge!" she repeated. "Lord Mavros Shahrizai and Prince Imriel de la Courcel come begging a wager for tokens! How shall we judge them worthy?"
"Mavros," I muttered under my breath.
He nudged me. "Hush. You wanted this."
True and not true. I had argued that we bypass Balm House, next in the alphabet, for I had already been there and experienced Naamah's healing grace. but I didn't understand what gambit Mavros was playing, and whatever it was, it had me on edge.
Patrons shouted out suggestions, profane and amusing and vile. Janelle no Bryony listened, nodding, until she heard one that took her fancy echoed a number of times. "The hourglass?" she murmured. "That would suit. Indeed,so well that I'll take the challenge myself. and I shall choose the contestant." She pointed at me. "Are you minded to accept, your highness? If you lose, I win a forfeit of my choosing."
"I'm sorry," I said, feeling foolish. "I don't understand."
"'Tis a simple matter, sweet prince." Janelle stepped close to me, caressing my cheek. Her grey eyes shone. "I seek to please you in the time allotted," she breathed in my ear, making the hair at the nape of my neck stand on end. "And you seek to outwait me. Will you play?"
"Here?" I glanced at the avid crowd. "I think not."
"No, no, I'll not put you on display." She pointed toward the second story, where a specially constructed chamber overhung the balcony, lined with silk curtains. "There."
Behind her, Mavros was shaking his head in warning, looking dubious. Elua knows what he had expected, but it seemed he didn't like the odds of this wager the Dowayne had conceived. But I thought about Claudia Fulvia and what she had made me endure, and I smiled at Janelle. "All right," I said lightly. "Why not?"
"Oh, very good!" Her nails trailed down my throat and over my chest. "Come."
It was something, it seemed, for the Dowayne of Bryony House to take on a challenge personally. She led me up the sweeping staircase while the throng cheered and laid wagers. From what I could hear, none or few of them favored me. We entered the dais chamber, strewn with cushions and hung with fretted lamps. A pair of adepts closed the drapes behind us, and Janelle opened those facing the salon. Below us, the crowd milled.
"Bring the hourglass!" she called.
A bare-chested male adept with the bryony mark brought forth a tall, slender hourglass capped with silver at both ends, and wreathed in trailing vine. The crowd parted to make a space for him.
Janelle no Bryony raised her hand. "Let it begin!" The adept overturned the hourglass. Sand began to trickle through its narrow neck. Janelle closed the drapes and turned to me, letting her gown slip from her shoulders. Her skin was white in the lamplight, and there was rouge on the nipples of her high, firm breasts. I swallowed at the sight. "You were unwise, sweet prince," she said, her voice soft and mocking. "Have you not heard the first rule of Bryony House's patrons? Never wager against its Dowayne. I will enjoy choosing a forfeit."
I wanted her, badly. But I didn't much like her. I bared my teeth at her in a cold smile. "A Dowayne should gauge her patrons better, my lady."
"Defiance!" One eyebrow arched. "This will be fun."
All of Naamah's Servants are adept in her arts. As the crowd below chanted and clapped to mark the passage of time, Janelle sank gracefully to her knees before me. Her hot breath penetrated through my breeches. My phallus leapt in response, stiffening.
I stared at the draped ceiling.
The Dowayne of Bryony House performed the languisement on me. She did it with excruciating skill. I could feel the muscles of her cheeks and throat milking my phallus. I thought of Claudia and nearly lost all control. No. So I did the only thing left to me and thought of Darsanga. It went on for a long time. The unseen crowd's roar grew louder, clapping turning to stamping. I felt her hands, growing urgent, cupping my testes, squeezing and rolling them; her urgent finger probing my anus. My body went rigid with shock and pleasure, and I overrode it.
"Duzhmata," I whispered. "Duzhushta, duzhvarshta."
Ill thoughts, ill words, ill deeds.
The gong sounded and the crowd of patrons erupted in cheers, demanding to know the outcome. On her knees, Janelle released me. She bowed her head for a moment, then gazed up at me, and there was no mockery in her face, only puzzlement. "Why are you crying?"
I rubbed away the tears with the heel of my hand. "I told you. You should gauge your patrons better." I pulled up my breeches and fastened them. My arousal had faded, leaving behind a dull, unfulfilled ache. I extended my hand to her, then retrieved her gown. "Here."
She dressed without comment and made to draw back the drapes, then paused. "Tell me, highness. Was the victory worth the cost?"
I thought about it. "Probably not."
Janelle no Bryony inclined her head. "Well then."
With that, she opened the drapes and presented me to the shouting throng, sinking low in an elaborate curtsy of acknowledgment and defeat. I looked down at their upturned faces and listened to the sound of my name being chanted. Wagers were settled, coins changing hands. Mavros, his cupped hands overflowing, winked up at me. Janelle fished a pair of ivory tokens from her purse and tossed them to him, and the crowd roared some more before turning to other pusuits and fresh pleasures, fueled by avarice and desire.