sarai assaratanakul. 32. actress and courtesan. queen anne's white sapphire. the roar of applause at the end of a show; sweet nothings chased by hungry kisses; the best silks and chiffons draped over one's torso; and a beauty more radiant than the sun and moon.
you do not know me but rest assured i know you, 𝙼𝙸𝚂𝚂 𝚂𝙰𝚁𝙰𝙸 𝙰𝚂𝚂𝙰𝚁𝙰𝚃𝙰𝙽𝙰𝙺𝚄𝙻. you are the 𝙰𝙲𝚃𝚁𝙴𝚂𝚂 𝙰𝙽𝙳 𝙲𝙾𝚄𝚁𝚃𝙴𝚂𝙰𝙽. you maybe be known for your 𝙲𝙷𝙰𝚁𝙼𝙸𝙽𝙶 but it is only a mask for the true nature of your 𝚂𝙴𝙻𝙵𝙸𝚂𝙷 ways. however, i am not here to spread slander on the queen’s jewels, though i suspect you are her 𝚆𝙷𝙸𝚃𝙴 𝚂𝙰𝙿𝙿𝙷𝙸𝚁𝙴. the ton says your name reminds them of 𝚃𝙷𝙴 𝚁𝙾𝙰𝚁 𝙾𝙵 𝙰𝙿𝙿𝙻𝙰𝚄𝚂𝙴 𝙰𝚃 𝚃𝙷𝙴 𝙴𝙽𝙳 𝙾𝙵 𝙰 𝚂𝙷𝙾𝚆, 𝚂𝚆𝙴𝙴𝚃 𝙽𝙾𝚃𝙷𝙸𝙽𝙶𝚂 𝙲𝙷𝙰𝚂𝙴𝙳 𝙱𝚈 𝙷𝚄𝙽𝙶𝚁𝚈 𝙺𝙸𝚂𝚂𝙴𝚂, 𝚃𝙷𝙴 𝙱𝙴𝚂𝚃 𝚂𝙸𝙻𝙺𝚂 𝙰𝙽𝙳 𝙲𝙷𝙸𝙵𝙵𝙾𝙽𝚂 𝙳𝚁𝙰𝙿𝙿𝙴𝙳 𝙾𝚅𝙴𝚁 𝙾𝙽𝙴'𝚂 𝚃𝙾𝚁𝚂𝙾, 𝙰𝙽𝙳 𝙰 𝙱𝙴𝙰𝚄𝚃𝚈 𝙼𝙾𝚁𝙴 𝚁𝙰𝙳𝙸𝙰𝙽𝚃 𝚃𝙷𝙰𝙽 𝚃𝙷𝙴 𝚂𝚄𝙽 𝙰𝙽𝙳 𝙼𝙾𝙾𝙽. how scandalous! you have been warned, dear reader, that i will prove if this is true and share every last detail.
Meet Miss Sarai Assaratanakul...
Full Name: Miss Sarai Assaratanakul.
Rank: Actress ; Courtesan.
Date of Birth and Age: 24th of September, 1780 ; Two and Thirty Years of Age.
Zodiac Sign: Libra Sun.
Place of Birth: Mayfair, London, England.
Gender and Pronouns: Demi-Woman ; She/They.
Romantic and Sexual Orientation: Panromantic Pansexual.
Appearance: Raven-black, mid-back length waves ; Soft brown, round-almond eyes with long black eyelashes ; Ivory skin tone ; Beauty mark on the right, upper hand corner of her lips.
Sarai was born to two immigrants, one from Siam (Thailand) and the Austria Netherlands (Belgium), who had moved to Mayfair a year before she was born. While they didn't hold the same amount of money as the nobles of the Ton, they were comfortable, what with her father being a successful merchant who sold considerable Siamese treasures across the globe.
For the longest time, she lived a rather happy life. When it became time for her to marry at eighteen, however, her father had died out at sea in a shipwreck. In her heartbreak, Sarai's mother soon joined afterwards.
While the comfortable townhouse and her family's money was left in her name, the young woman knew that she had to find some kind of work to support herself once the money was gone. Proving to have a singing voice as beautiful as her visage, she'd become an actress.
Over the years, she emerged as a star on the stage. Eventually, she was promoted from a background, voiceless extra, to being an understudy, to finally become the star of numerous shows.
Yet while the coin was excellent, more was deeply needed. Especially to show off her beauty and to live a luxurious lifestyle fitting for her. She soon began to acquire patrons and patronesses, along with some lesser-seen clients. Becoming a greatly loved and cherished courtesan these past five years.
However, six months ago, she was soon struck with how dangerous this lifestyle could be. After two months without her cycle, she soon realized that she was with child with her favourite patron's baby. She hadn't known how to tell him or when, yet fate was cruel—or was it a kindness?—to her when, a few weeks later when she barely began to show, she had lost the baby.
While she has tried to convince herself that the lost was a good thing in the end, her self-denial is only proven by the fact that she still has not told the father about what happened. Nor does she intend to do so either.
Connections...
The Favourite Patron/Almost Baby Daddy: For some time now, this man has been in Sarai's life and has been the greatest contributor to her lifestyle and expenses. He has no idea that she'd been pregnant with his child nor that she's kept this from him for over six months now. So much angst and ideas and ways to go about this!
Patrons, Patronesses, and Clients: I'd love to have some of Sarai's regulars and non-regulars! She is more high dollar, but doesn't mind spending some time with someone who's able to pay a lower fee.
Theatre Fans: I would love to have it where there are some people who are fans of her acting and singing! I think that would be so cute.
The Artist and The Muse: Sarai sometimes volunteers as a model for different arts, whether at the academy or during house parties, so that they can practice working on portraits. This is someone that she has collaborated with numerous times and while there's some juicy tension between them, nothing has happened between them... Yet.
General Connections: Friends, enemies, acquaintances (either positively or negatively), lovers who aren't clients, crushes, those in the same scenes as her, anything and everything!
Words catch her off-guard, and she hurriedly places the thyme back in her reticule, snapping it shut, sealing the aroma in its secret for later. The voice was the one meant to fill up every theater to the rafters, entice a rapt audience to every seat. Evie's ear knew that commanding voice almost as well as they knew her mother's. A smile much like one of a child who was caught sneaking sweets from the jar inched up one side of her face. "Over nothing less salacious than raw herbs," she laughed, "a bloody good time, indeed."
All but skipping up to the outstretched hand, Evie latched on like a child being promised a trip to the shops. Her fingers fell easily between the brunette's. An unlikely pair, surely, the two of them, but somehow entirely logical. Two creatives in their prime, each with measures of whimsy and wiles.
Evie could still taste the bisque on her tongue when Sarai mentioned lobster. "Ooh, it's to die for!" she exclaimed, partially to rub it in a bit that she was being shanghaied, but mostly in jest. It had been only a matter of time before she rejoined the party, anyway, and what better way to do so than arm in arm with a friend, sweeping across the dance floor? The dashing eyelashes and the way she could ice skate down the slope of her jaw was impossible to deny. "My darling, you may have two dances, and thrice as many treats besides."
"We all have our delights, I suppose." And yet, she couldn't help herself any longer. Laughter began to bubble out as she drew closer to the blonde. While she truly believed that Evie was hilarious, she wasn't laughing at her. She was laughing over the situation and how silly it seemed. Here they were, at a fancy event, and it was herbs that was bringing great joy to her dear friend. Truly what a world they live in. "As long as you are happy, Evie dear, I am truly happy for you. Even if that is salivating over raw herbs."
Their fingers intertwining could only help her smile grow. Their friendship truly wasn't unusual in the slightest. If anything, it made perfect sense. With Evie, she was able to be more loose. More carefree and wild, unafraid to look ridiculous. She enjoyed her company and enjoyed the friendship they were creating together. Many have come and gone in her life. The blonde? She was someone Sarai hoped would remain in it for a long time.
"Oh, it is, is it?" Her eyebrow cocked up as she smirked. Her other hand reaching up to capture Evie's chin between her thumb and forefinger. "I thought I saw you enjoying it earlier. Can you still taste it it, even now?" Dark eyes gazed over her striking features. Her head tilting while she smiled. It only grew as she led her out to the dance floor. "Then we best get started, my dear." Giggling, she let go of her chin so Sarai could spin her. Ready to enjoy the night and dance under the stars with Evangeline Huntington.
event | elopement celebration
location | below deck
open starter | open to all, and especially @whispercd, @ofsilksandchiffon, @honeyedache, @promisedhexvens, @rosewcterdrunk, @oferwood, @sprklngdust, @secretgcrdens, & @georgicna
"That's bloody majestic."
Of course the confectioner's daughter was fraternizing with the food. The chef gave her sample after sample, not only because she claimed she could not possibly be satisfied with one plate of scarce selections alone, but because the moment she had a taste of bisque in her mouth and rattled off a litany of ingredients she could identify, he was damn near insistent. Even the fruits were delicious, exotic and fresh, and she could feel her palette bouncing from salty to sweet to savory to umami with each new bite.
Evie returned the tasting fork and found herself with another almost as quickly - a cured sausage, smoked, with fragrant bits of rosemary and thyme browned and embedded in the flesh. The ritual began again: a good look at the presentation, for she knew people ate with their eyes first. Then the nose, nearly pressed against it to let the aroma sweep round all corners of her mouth, like the way the bouquet gives one the first flavors of wine on the tongue. Finally, to the mouth, where mastication and pleasure functioned in equal measure to bring enjoyment and conclusion to the flavor experience.
"Oh, hell," she laughed, mouth still full, "that's ruddy brilliant."
She asked the chef if she could have a bundle of any raw, leftover thyme to take with her back to the parlor - it would make a wonderful essence for ice cream. With that, she thanked him, and excused herself to return to the party - it wasn't every day a Huntington had the chance to experience the dizzying heights of upper class, and she intended to make the very most of it.
Still, on her way out, as she made her way through the halls below deck to rejoin the party, she opened her light blue reticule, picked up a stem, and held it to her nose - this would be a night Evie made sure she would remember.
"You certainly looked like you were enjoying yourself."
Amusement rang out in her words, her tone, and on her features as she looked down at her dear friend. While Sarai had noticed her ages ago at the party, the blonde had been completely lost in her enjoyment over sampling each treat and food the chef was preparing. She had let her friend have her fun, deciding that she would reconnect with her after she was done and free.
The actress giggled happily and shook her head. Holding her hand out to Evie's before wiggling her fingers. "Come—I deserve to share a dance with you at least once tonight. You can return to the delicious food afterwards." Pausing, she decided to play nice. "Or you can tell me all about it while we dance together. I've certainly been eyeing the lobster myself and those treats myself."
Their friendship might not have appeared as the most conventional. One of the King's Theater's top actresses and courtesans with a girl who worked at her family's ice cream parlour. She wouldn't be surprised if people were worried about her corrupting Evie. Not that she could blame them, of course. She'd be happy to do so.
But, she was her dear friend, above all. And as nefarious as she could be, she wasn't one to ruin a good friendship.
She widened her brown eyes and batted them at the blonde. Her lips formed in a pout. "Please dance with me, Evie? I would be most honoured."
location: by the shops of mayfair
opened to: one and all, pls come and love me !
The Mayfair shops. It had been ever so long since Juliet had come along the shops with her maids in tow, dashing in and out of every modiste shop there was, purchasing fancy dress after elegant accessory. It had felt so long ago and yet so close. It was funny how now she was, in a plain, still pretty dress, curls down and natural, her pregnancy four month belly beginning to delightfully show - and how empty all of the pretty accessories now seemed to her. She had rested her hand on her belly, getting a few looks here and there, but Juliet only smiled, warmly, at the idea of her little baby and her going on walks like this - to show them the beauty of Mayfair even now.
When she felt someone bump into her, uttering an insult at her under their breath, she lit up like a lioness, hand on her small tummy in protection. "Excuse me - what ever did you say? If you needn't mind, I would rather you walk away now before you see what a true lioness does when their baby is threatened. Walk away now." She promised, her doe eyes fierce as she bravely, proudly, scared them away. Caressing her belly again, she sighed, a smile on her lips as she looked down, as if speaking to her unborn child.
"Now, we've deserved a good spot of tea now, haven't we, little darling?"
While Sarai rather enjoyed reading Lady Whistledown, she held no judgement toward those written about in those society papers. Especially to Miss Thorpe. Had things been different, she would've been in rather similar shoes to her. She often wondered what her life could've been like had she had her baby. If she would've been a good mother or if her baby would've been better off without her.
If her baby's father would be in their lives or if he would've abandoned them.
She supposes Juliet was lucky, in a way. She had her man, she had her baby, and she had an entire life to look forward to. How could the actress begrudge her for that? Watching the interaction, the raven-haired beauty smirked as she watched the woman fight back. Ready to defend her baby and herself, no matter what. "It seems to me that that baby is quite lucky to have you for their mother," she piped up. Getting up from her bench so that she could get a better look at the blonde. "If you're accepting for a third, tea could be on me."
The word had Alistair smile to himself, even if it was a little rough for a Lady to speak that way, especially in public and to a gentleman. He would not say anything, even if he found it odd. Clearly the resentment for what transpired ran hot through her veins and he would not direct her vitriol at him simply because he found something a little unbecoming. “‘Too convenient’ seems like the most apt way to describe what happened, yes. I admit, I am unclear on all of the terms and how things transpire or work, but…but well…-yes, just yes I agree with you is what I am simply trying to say.” There was no reason to expound on the topic if Leyla had already delivered it succinctly.
Gamble with her life and never her money. The thought gave Alistair pause, enough to stare openly at Leyla. Money more important than her life? The drawn line of what made something important to her seemed unclear to him and just made him that much more curious. “Why…Why only your life? N-Never your money? That seems…-I would not say backwards, as that is the offensive way to phrase it. But that seems…-It would seem reversed. To me; my apologies if I offend.” The question had him shrug once, “Not likely anyone. I just feel like it is…it is not for me, I suppose.”
Her brows quirked up as she watched him. He was quite cute, she'll give the man that. Not her usual type, but she could admire him. "Believe me, I am not passionate about horse races. I'm not even fond of the creatures. But I prefer it when people are honest about who they are and their ambitions. We all know the Alvarados rigged the races; the least they can do is be honest about it." And yet, that was as likely to happen as her becoming the next queen.
Why her life and never her money? "Because I am to live my life, not have it be lived for me. I make my own choices. Good, bad, it doesn't matter. This is truly my own and I will not waste it. Nor will I waste the hard-earned money that I've worked for by gambling. I have much better use for it than that." Her parents had always ensured that she knew what to do with her life. That she was prepared for it. Which meant ensuring that she had the means to live it instead of risking losing it because she was foolish with her money. "And that, we are in agreement. 'Tis not for me, either, mister...?"
The sun bore down on them and with it, Alistair could feel a small bit of sweat move down the back of his neck. But he tried to ignore it for now and instead moved to grab another rock to twist in his fingers. It was an absent action, empty motion- something to do with his hands while he thought on his next words. There was a temptation to throw it into the water, but Alistair chalked that up to the bits of his boyhood still left in his mind and settled for merely twisting the stone.
"I didn't bet anything at the races, but it all feels a little...-I don't know, I do not enjoy what came of that. All of it. Feels...Feels strange, like uneven footing." There's another pause as he turned fully towards the other who sat with him just on the edge of the water, just beside the shade. They would likely need to move soon if the sun kept up like this. "Am I wrong in thinking that? Is that a...a step too far?"
Leyla scoffed softly. "It was bullshit," she mused, then gave him a small smirk. There were things that she loved remembering about the Baron's Cup, and things that she would like to pretend never happened. Either way, she agreed: the race itself was rigged. Even if she hadn't been entirely paying attention to it herself. Still, at least she had been able to tend to Mister Demir's broken heart and bruised ego following the race. Along with the following morning, afternoon, and evening afterwards.
"I gamble only with my life and never my money, but I would most certainly bet that the Alvarados rigged it in their favour. It's all a little too convenient, is it not?" While she was not diminishing the riders and horses' talents, even while despising the latter creatures, even she had to admit there was something fishy about it all. The courtesan soon shrugged before shaking her head. Relaxing back against the bench and regarding the man before her. "Who would you have betted for had it been more equal?"
He took her hand with the reverence of a lover and the irony of a ghost: one part devotion, two parts curse. His fingers curled around hers slowly, deliberately, like a man reading a verse he had once known by heart but hadn’t dared recite in years. Her skin was warm, perfumed faintly something familiar, in the way old wounds are when they ache before a storm. Her fingers still fit perfectly in his palm, damn them. Too well. Far too well. “You say you love a tragedy,” he murmured, his voice a velvet thread drawn tight with memory, soft and intimate as candlelight in a locked room. It curled around her wrist like a ribbon. “And I say you are one. The kind that brings a theatre to its knees. The kind that leaves men ruined and women silent. The kind audiences weep for without understanding a single word.” He tilted his head slightly, his eyes raking over her face as though he were carving it into memory again. “All beauty. All ruin. All art.”
He should have stopped there. But of course he didn’t. He never did. “And what else could I possibly write, if not of you?” The words fell from his lips like petals hiding thorns. That damned lilt of his—part jest, part confession—lingered between them like a held breath. There was no disguising the truth in it. She had been his muse before, his obsession, his undoing. She would be again. That was the danger. That was the thrill. And then she leaned in. Whispered venom in his ear like silk soaked in arsenic. Another man might have flinched. Another man might have fled. Felix only smiled—wide, wicked, wickedly pleased. There it was. The fire. The fury that burned beneath her polished mask. The history in every syllable, barbed with memory and bright with loathing. God, how he adored her.
She agreed. Oh, God help him, she agreed.
Felix laughed—loudly, shamelessly, with the theatre of a man who had long since stopped caring if he made a scene. He threw his head back like a man offering his throat to the blade. “Oh, Leyla,” he breathed, and her name left his mouth like a line of poetry torn from the final act. “What wretched, delightful luck the muses have granted me. You shall be divine. You shall be devastating. You shall make them all suffer—for the privilege of watching you fall.” He leaned in once more, his voice a whisper shaped like a knife’s edge, lips a breath from her ear. “But between us, my darling... do try not to outshine the writing.” Then he straightened, his expression settling into something dangerously charming—too smooth, too careful, too rehearsed. He extended his arm like a gentleman, all silk and suggestion, and waited for her to take it. Felix Julian Everley—damned fool, devoted playwright, ever the architect of his own delicious demise—had done the unthinkable. He had cast the only woman who had ever truly broken him. Again.
She should hate that he took her hand. She should be furious that his fingers curled around hers, reminiscing of how he use to hold her. She should not be angry that she couldn't feel his skin thanks to her gloves, even though she memorized his touch by heart a long time ago. Leyla should be feeling all those emotions. And yet, truthfully, she wasn't. All she wasn't was to take him to the nearest spot away from peering eyes, such as beneath the bleachers, and to kiss him to her hearts content. To feel him, to touch him, to be conjured up moans by him, to feel the most exquisite pleasure she has ever known by him. If he was a flame, then she was the moth: endlessly drawn to him, no matter what logic tells her. It was sickening. It was tragic. It was beautiful. The brunette had to bite down on her tongue as he murmured against her ear, yet the goosebumps on her body betrayed her. "Ever the poet," she murmurs back. "Tell me: do you truly believe the flowery pose you wax? Or is it all just another story that you want me to believe in?" Finally, she peered back into those baby blues that still made her weak in the knees. Those beautiful hues that held a grip on her heart since the moment she first stared into them. "I'm not the only beautiful, ruinous art here."
Dark brown eyes widened, flashing with recognition and fire. "You dickless son of a bitch," she seethed in a low whisper. She had tensed at his confession and tried to settle her raging heart. He didn't... He couldn't... He wouldn't... Oh, but he absolutely would. Perhaps the actress shouldn't be too surprise. In fact, part of her was surprise that this hadn't happen sooner. But yet, in the most naive part of her, she had hoped that he would never go as low as air out their affair. That he would never cross that boundary. That there was some part of him that cared about her so much still that he couldn't do such a thing as use their empirical rise and fall as the premise for a play. What an absolute fool she was to believe so.
Oh, how she regretted agreeing already.
And yet, the crowd was completely enthralled by the prospect of them collaborating once again. She had no choice but to smile pretty and pretend for them that she was an enamored as they are by such a marvelous idea by taking his arm. "Truly such luck, my dear Felix. May the muses continue to bless us in this new venture together." She inhaled deeply at his whispered words—and her grip on his arm tightened. Oh, that was it. "Perhaps we should start discussing the logistics of our new tragedy now, my darling. I am quite sure everyone here understands." She gave one more pretty smile to the crowd before leading him away from them. Straight beneath the crowded bleachers, thankfully covered and hiding them from view while the people above shrouded her words. Leading her to finally put her hands on his chest and pushing him against a beam, her eyes flashing and her teeth like fangs in a snarl.
"How fucking dare you!" Finally, she can drop her act. Finally, she can no longer be the King Theater's perfect actress. She can be Leyla Nilay Turcan, spurned ex-lover. Leyla Nilay Turcan, the woman who still loved Felix Julian Everley with her entire heart—and who hated him with her entire being as well. "First, you pull the shit that ended us. Then, you cut me out of your play. Now, you... y-you do this?! You wretched, despicable, horrible fucking creature!" Scanning over his features, all she could think to say was: "I fucking hate you." Yet all she could think of doing, like the damned fool she is, was how much she wanted to kiss him. A damned, wretched fool.
Charles wasn't entirely sure why he decided to attend this event; he honestly despised horses ever since he scraped his knee falling off one as a child. However, when it had come to his attention that some of his closest friends would be in attendance, he knew he couldn't pass this up. While he hadn't been the best horseback rider, he had somehow been able to befriend the best in town, so it would be pretty hilarious to see them crash and burn in the race if it came down to it, although he probably wouldn't say anything directly to them if it did happen. As he made his way over to the refreshments table, he pinched his nose at the smell of horse manure, he had no idea how the stableboys were able to hold in the smell.
With his drink in hand, he finally unpinched his nose as he got closer to the florist stall. "I suppose it highly depends on who your match is. Are they the kind of person who would like flowers as a gift?" He reassured the other before taking a small sip of his cider. He had completely forgotten about the Queen's attempt at matchmaking the people who had yet to be paired with anyone this season, he was glad he wasn't here for it. "I do believe you just answered your question to me then."
Humming, she supposed he was correct. But, however... "I suppose I am also concerned that she might believe this is more than what it truly is," Leyla admitted. Of course, she enjoyed the older woman. How could she not? And yet, the woman did not want anything more. Neither did the older woman. The idea of a romance... Well, it didn't bode well with her. Especially not after the disastrous ending towards her and Felix's love affair. No, it was much preferable to have lust instead of love.
Looking over the bouquet for a moment, she came to her decision. She set it back down before getting a good look at the man. For a moment, she couldn't fully believed how attractive he is. Then again, she supposed Mayfair was full of attractive people. Hence why she rather loved living here. Or, perhaps more accurately, it was one of the benefits of living here. "Perhaps I am better off not doing so. We have an arrangement; best not to tamper with it. Though what of your match? Are you searching for a bouquet to give to them?"
kit noticed a falter in leyla’s demeanor and hoped he hadn’t overstepped his boundaries. he knew love was difficult — scary. but he was hoping he’d finally found a safe love. the kind of love his father and late mother had. but his father’s abrupt remarriage made him doubt love — how could lord locke have thrown away his love so quickly for a new woman? he hated to think one day he could be cast aside or forgotten. and while he couldn’t read lelya’s mind, he knew something flickered behind her eyes.
“flowers will brighten her day,” he hummed, knowing from experience —anytime he received flowers he felt special, if only for a moment. he grinned as leyla purchased the flowers, knowing the woman she was going to gift them to would adore them. “of course, i’m more than happy to help,” he replied with a friendly smile — but suddenly realized he hadn’t introduced himself and quickly bowed, “how impolite of me, i’m mister kit locke.” kit’s brown eyes lit up until he saw her facial expression change and take a step back as he held up the gardenias — were they not good enough for thayer? a soft laugh slipped through his lips when he realized what was happening and he took a step back, too, holding a hand up to ensure that she knew he had no intentions of causing her any reaction to the flowers. “i didn’t mean to give you trigger your allergies,” he endured her, placing a hand over his heart. “they’re just…his favorite,” he smiled fondly as he thought of thayer, “i want to make him feel happy.”
She nodded. While it wasn't what he believed it to be, perhaps there wasn't much harm in pretending for a moment that it was. Perhaps it was okay to pretend that she was meant for that sort of life. She was an actress, after all. The best one at the King's Theater. She was rather good at pretending, perfected it as an art. She can't help but wonder what he thought of love. If it was worth celebrating or a ruse that poets and romantics made up. It was highly possibly it was the former instead of the latter, given he was perusing the flower stand alongside her.
Glancing back, she returned his smile. "Miss Leyla Turcan," she said. Giving a curtsy back, though biting back her laughter over the formality of it all. He was cute, however. So perhaps it wasn't the worse thing. "It's a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Mister Locke. I have heard of you before, though I suppose I am ashamed that we haven't met until now. Are you not a frequent patron for the King's Theater?" Granted, that's really the only way she knew of any of the noble families in town: if they frequented the theatre or not. While she felt rather anxious over seeing the flowers, she was grateful that he was quick to move them away from her. Though she still kept her distance. "No, no, you're more than all right. You did not know, after all." His favourite... An eyebrow raised and a knowing smile grew. "Ah... I see." Leyla nodded. She might not be too convinced regarding love... But she would be lying if she said it didn't make her happy to see that look on Kit's face. "You should get them for him. I am certain that they will make his day as well. Though... I think receiving them from you will be the best part."
Alice let out a light laugh, her gloved fingers brushing a few stray crumbs from the edge of her gown as she turned her gaze toward the racing grounds. The crowd swelled with energy, voices rising in waves as hooves thundered past in the distance. “I’m enduring it well enough,” she said with a glimmer of dry amusement, though there was no malice behind it. Her tone was easy, practiced—warm with just the right hint of charm. “These events are hardly my preferred diversion, but they are necessary. The Ton loves its spectacle, and I love knowing what my future clients will be wearing while attending it.” She followed Leyla’s gesture, her eyes trailing the sleek blur of riders cutting through the track like arrows loosed from tightly drawn bows. “I will admit, the riders are… captivating, in their way. Graceful, daring, rather pleasing to the eye.” A knowing smile played at the corners of her lips, but it didn’t linger long. “Though I imagine the life of a jockey is less stable than the saddles they ride. Daring does not always pair well with longevity.” Her voice softened, her gaze briefly distant, before she looked back to Leyla. “Still, I do enjoy watching them fly. There’s something enviable about that kind of freedom, even if it lasts only a few fleeting moments.” She tilted her head back slightly, letting the spring sunlight warm her face for a beat. “Yes, the weather has certainly made the affair more tolerable. Mud is no friend to muslin or silk, I assure you. I would have had half a dozen young ladies weeping into their ruined hems by now had the skies turned.” Alice smiled again, this time more genuinely. “But it’s good to be out. I spend so much time tucked behind bolts of fabric, it’s nice to be reminded the world keeps turning beyond the stitch.”
"That and everyone certainly looks rather beautiful," she mused. Forever being one to noticed when someone looked attractive. It was a gift of hers, she believed. That and she was certainly attracted to such a wide range of people. Truly, how could she not be? Looking at the younger woman a bit closely, she finally realized where she recognized her from. "You're Miss Alice Heywood, the modiste, yes? I don't believe I've had the pleasure of visiting your shoppe just quite yet. Though I do pass by now and then. Your dresses are quite exquisite." Though, with Charlotte being her primary modiste, it did feel like she would be betraying the woman by visiting the other shoppe. Especially when Charlotte knows about her... certain little past, from a few months prior. Humming, the actress nodded. Looking back at where the jockeys were stationed at. "I suppose we all crave freedom in some form or another. Though one certainly won't catch me riding on a horse; I find them completely wretched after one bit my hand when I was seven." She had merely tried to pet the beast and it nearly took her fingers clean off. Ever since then, she's found the creatures absolutely abhorrent. "Oh, indeed not. That would've been a tragedy on a Shakespearean or Greek level, for certain. Yes, it is quite not I rather enjoy getting as much sun as possible. Though some of the bugs can be a little troublesome if they deem one offensive, save for butterflies and ladybugs. Bees are lovely to look at but their stings are most unpleasant."
closed starter @ofsilksandchiffon || the baron’s cup
The air smelled of lavender water and secrets. Felix Everley weaved through the crowd like a ribbon of silk caught in a breeze—glinting in the sun, deliberately conspicuous. He wore dove-grey today, the color of well-bred sorrow, with a high collar and a violet cravat tied too artfully for a man not making a point. His ring sparkled as he lifted a glass of champagne, and his smile sharpened when he spotted his mark. There she was. Leyla Turcan. The darling of the stage. His former muse, former lover, former everything—and now, quite inconveniently, the only person who could sell a lie before he had to finish writing it. She stood beneath one of the shaded marquees, laughing at something a viscount said. Felix approached with the ease of a fox approaching a fencepost: not at all interested in the obstacle, but already planning how best to climb it.
“My dearest Leyla,” he purred, voice smooth and dripping affection so well-feigned it could curdle cream, “do forgive me—I’ve been telling everyone you’re starring in my next tragedy, and I fear I’ve done so rather convincingly. You know how patrons are—no taste, all coin. But they do love the scent of certainty, and your name, my darling, is like perfume in a room full of mothballs.” He offered his gloved hand as if they hadn’t last spoken in fury, as if he hadn’t written her into a sonnet then crossed her out just as savagely. His gaze flicked toward the cluster of aristocrats lingering nearby, one of them already watching with mild curiosity. “Won’t you save me from my own brilliance and pretend we’ve come to an arrangement? You may name your price later, of course—though if it’s vengeance you seek, I suggest you wait until curtain call.” He leaned in closer, his smile turned conspiratorial. “Say yes, Leyla. Just for today. Let’s give them something exquisite to believe in.”
Even with an event such as this, there was zero doubt that Miss Leyla Turcan would look her most and absolute best. She was a beautiful woman who must always make appearance, no matter what. And she knew that she looked absolutely radiant in her rose quartz-coloured dress and her curled hair pulled back in a half-up, half-down hair style, her hair tossed over one shoulder. While Leyla held no interest within the horse racing itself, the idea of gaining herself a new patron or patroness sounded rather agreeable. Certainly, her date would've been most agreeable; but alas, she couldn't be her patroness all the time. Though, a certain viscount seemed most interested in such a position.
At least, it appeared that way. Until a certain Mister Felix Everly bounded up. "Darling Felix," she mused right back, her words as sweet as honey yet her smile as sharp as a blade. Her former lover. The man who use to make her smile the most. The man who drove her madder than a hatter. A man so beautiful with a brilliant mind, a man with a talent at writing, yet a man who almost knew her better than she might've known herself. Almost. The actress's eyes flashed at his words. What an abhorrent man. Should they have been alone, she would've given him a piece of her mind—luckily for him, she was always ready to put on a show for any audience. "Ah, is that so? I very do much love a tragedy... I believe we both know of a certain one that's quite remarkable, wouldn't you agree?"
The end of their affair had been most heartbreaking and most infuriating indeed. Though nothing was more infuriating than the very man who once been her everything himself. She took his hand, pushing back all the memories of everything he's done to her with his very touch, pushing back their last venomous words to one another last they spoke. They mustn't let their audience down. "Well... I do believe a rather handsome price could be agreed upon. Though, if the audience truly wants to see me in your next tragedy, who am I to disagree?" The courtesan tilted her head to whisper in his ear: "You best believe how I feel about you, you venomous bastard." Pulling back, she laughed happily and beamed. Ever the starlet, every putting on an applause-worthy performance. "Yes, my darling Felix. I shall happily star in your next tragedy."
