🍻+ “ if anything, what makes you hate a person ?” From Evander to Marcus (probably while eying some other noble out of earshot.)
"A lack of self-awareness for a start," Marcus says with a sigh, swirling the wine in eir glass, "I'd say sycophancy, but it's hard to begrudge it in this environment." Ey turns to look at Evander, the man's mask is a striking piece tonight, gilded and adorned with hanging crystals and chains, "Punching down is a worse offense..."
"When people think they're punching down is quite possibly the most pathetic thing I've seen though."
NGL, I really like the 'yeah you work at my lavish kinky sex parties, but our working relationship is totally normal, respectful and possibly even friendly' dynamic with Evander and those who provide services to said gatherings
Like sure, Yeshe and Coral and The Brewer and The Bouncer have certainly all seen some Very Interesting Things at these parties... but what happens in Evander's gardens, stays in Evander's gardens
...At the same time, I like to think of these characters absolutely talking smack about the canon characters from the sidelines like Statler and Waldorf 😂
Yeshe: "My goodness, I didn't know the good doctor had it in him."
The Temple Painter no longer goes by xir birth name, as when xe became apprenticed to a painter from the Land of Snows xe was given a new name: Yeshe Dorje, meaning 'Invincible Wisdom'. Xe has been known by this name for the better part of xir life.
The Land of Snows is generally considered to be part of the northern Prakran Empire, residing on a high-elevation plateau that makes the climate much, much colder than its surroundings. Political upheavals and clashes with Prakran rule have sent some of their religious leaders out into the world, where their words and ideas have found traction with spiritual seekers of other cultures. Vesuvia is home to a number of their temples, often admired for the vibrant and complex beauty of their religious artworks.
After spending years as a struggling aspiring artist, making ends meet through various odd jobs, a chance meeting with one of the Temple District artists changed everything for the Temple Painter. The older painter took xem on as an apprentice, passing on what he knew, saying it was xir karma that had brought xem here. Through the merit accrued by creating such art, xe might walk the path to eventual enlightenment.
Merit or no, xe found this structured art form to be most agreeable, and spent over a decade doing nothing but this - painting the deities, decorating statues and lintels and temple walls in vivid colors, even gilding the bodies of temple dancers for performances. It was an austere life, living primarily on temple donations and the odd commission for the long life of a lama or a noble, but was a reliable one.
And then xe came to the attention of Count Lucio.
He had already been reigning in Vesuvia for well over a decade, but it had had little effect on Yeshe's little world in the Temple District. Sometimes, xe had even benefited from his showy donations to the temples (it never hurts to hedge your bets when it comes to the gods, after all).
On this day, xe happened to be working on the image of a deity in embrace with consort, representing the union of Wisdom and Compassion, of the transcendence of dualism. All of the ornaments and painted brocades must be carefully gilded and burnished, and so xe was outdoors, taking advantage of the sunlight to work. The bright colors, quantity of shining gold, and subject matter instantly drew the eye of the Count.
It was well-known that to refuse the honor of the Count's patronage was to invite his particular wrath, and there is no proscription against temple painters taking other commissions for pay - everyone has to eat, after all. And so began the long hours of painting the Count's ridiculous imaginings... and the resulting increase in income. Yeshe gritted xir teeth and ground the pigments and resins and boiled the bone glue, preparing the fine gold paint according to the secret recipe handed down from teacher to student, stretching the canvas with the same care xe used for the images of deities. By dint of the Count's patronage, xe was soon able to purchase an abode for xir parents, and then for xemself, making it all worthwhile.
Xe ultimately contracted the Red Plague near the very end of its rampage through Vesuvia, surviving only because xe was fortunate enough to live slightly longer than Lucio himself did. There are numerous lingering effects on xir body, including chronic joint and muscle pain, crushing fatigue, and the characteristic reddened eyes of a Plague survivor.
Xir paintings now collect dust in the Count's wing of the palace, forgotten, which suits xir just fine. There was, however, one final beneficial side-effect to the Count's patronage: coming to the attention of another member of the nobility, one Evander Murena.
~ MORE SELF-INDULGENT AUTHOR'S NOTES :D
Yeshe ཡེ་ཤེས is the Tibetan equivalent of the Sanskrit word jñāna ज्ञान :) I'm sure you see what I did there lmao
Dorje རྡོ་རྗེ is the equivalent of the Sanskrit vajra, the weapon of Indra. It symbolizes something indestructible like a diamond, a force as irresistible as a thunderbolt, so is generally translated as 'invincible'.
Both of these words are very common given names in Tibet and Bhutan. Yeshe is unisex, Dorje is generally masculine, but as the Temple Painter is nonbinary, both are appropriate (something something transcending duality something)
It's very common upon taking refuge to receive a highly auspicious Dharma name that also contains the name of the lama bestowing it (in this case, Yeshe). It's seen as something to live up to, as well as something that potentially bestows the quality itself.
I haven't received a Dharma name yet, but maybe one day I will!
I did come into thangka painting through a total chance meeting - while attending a meditation class, I saw a flyer for a thangka painting course. It really drew me at a very directionless point in my life (I had just had to stop working due to disability), and my teacher seems to have a lot of faith in my ability... so ten years later, here I am lol
My teacher has passed on a lot of knowledge, including the really traditional stuff like canvas-making, bone-glue paint binder, and the use of natural pigments (something I really want to try my own hand at, but it is both expensive and difficult). For the most part, I just use gouache - though I do make my own gold paint in the old-fashioned way, because there is no real substitute for it.
The main parallel here, of course, is that I myself became disabled after a viral illness years ago - I got very sick one winter, and then I never really got better. Ironically, I'm also prone to periodically having one or both eyes become reddened, painful, and light-sensitive (iritis). Woooo creepy plague-eyes woooo~
The novelty of having himself portrayed in the style of an erotic temple painting or wrathful god only lasted so long for Lucio, in his typical fashion. Eventually, more of Yeshe's time went to decorative projects around the Palace in order to please the Countess.
Evander Murena happened upon xem working on precisely this, during one of Lucio's soirees for the nobility. While seeking out Marcus Aquila (who at the time was very young, very new to eir position under the Quaestor, and very stressed), he paused to admire the swirling gilded lotuses Yeshe was painting around the door to one of the many bath chambers of the Palace.
The polite and respectful inquiry from a passing noble rather took xem off-guard. Their conversation ended with an agreement to decorate the bow of Evander's personal watercraft with makara, an auspicious and protective emblem.
Over the course of this, Evander became aware of xir other forms of work, beginning a rather more fulfilling sort of client relationship as Palace demands on xir time began to lessen. In the final year before the Red Plague took hold in the city, xe was largely alternating between xir sacred-art duties and working for Evander - painting doorways, boats, private works, and even the bodies of performers and guests at his exclusive gatherings.
Of course, all of this came to an abrupt halt as the Red Plague rampaged through the city. Yeshe held out longer than most, likely due to the treatments provided by the monks of the temples - over a week. By the end of it, xe was on the brink of death, first delirious, then comatose. Xe then awakened some hours after Lucio's immolation, bewildered and too exhausted to speak... but alive.
Some time after the Plague was confirmed gone from the city, a parcel arrived at Yeshe's residence by private courier, along with a note:
I hope this letter finds you in health. Should you have the inclination, your talents are always welcome. Please accept the enclosed as a token of esteem and a contribution to your work. - Evander
Alongside the note was a carved wooden box, containing small jars of finely ground mineral pigments, and a little enameled container full of a quantity of dun-colored chips, smaller than a pinky nail. Unassuming or even ugly to the uninitiated, these last were in fact a great treasure - pure powdered gold, suspended in drops of binder for safety in travel, imported straight from The Land of Snows. Yeshe was in no shape to make these xirself for some time during xir recovery, but Evander's gift allowed xir to begin painting again, propped up in xir bed.
After a few months, xe was able to be out and about again, albeit with the aid of cane, and wearing smoked glasses to cover xir Plague-scarred eyes. Xe happened upon Heron's booth in the Center City Market, where he donated the magic-imbued necklace that disguises this. In gratitude, xe painted the scarab-and-lotus motifs that decorate the doorways of the eponymous shop. Later, xe was able to make enough money to commission a set of Heron's magically-perfect magnifying lenses to aid xir finer work.
In the present day, xe continues to split xir painting time between the spiritual and the worldly; the one benefits all sentient beings, the other keeps a roof over xir head and food on xir table (and in the bellies of the Temple District's feral cat population).
Synopsis: Jinana takes up Vissenta on her proposition in the intoxicating atmosphere of Evander's lush garden party. (Sequel to Transfixed By the Inner Sound by @vissentasenadz, ~2400 words.)
Notes: Vissenta belongs to @vissentasenadz and Evander belongs to @luasworkshop ; both appear with permission!
Jinana Seraphina Aditya, the child of an actor and a dancer, is well-versed in the arts of charm and grace. S/he is an experienced Dom/me, with more than a decade in the role to hir credit… and a powerful sorcerer, with primal magics at hir command.
These qualities come to hir aid during Evander’s social functions, where the rich and powerful of very singular tastes mingle. Despite hir own more humble origins, these things lend hir an air of such unassailable poise that even the most supercilious of nobles restrain their sneers in hir presence.
Vissenta has shattered that poise with a single question.
What if you tied me up?
For a brief instant, Jinana can only stare at her in naked astonishment. Then s/he smiles, assuming hir rôle like a cloak, covering over hir surprise even as hir hindsight tallies a hundred little clues previously dismissed.
“If that is what you want.”
Vissenta takes a deep breath (appealingly dangerous in this gown) and nods firmly. “I do. Call it… a new experience.”
“Then I would be most honored. Come with me.” Already hir voice has slipped into the mode of velvet command, extending hir ringed, hennaed hand. Vis takes it, and Jinana leads her back through the gardens. The change in their manner alone draws eyes from the other guests as they pass; in this crowd, the exchange of personal power is a palpable thing.
S/he seeks out Evander, resplendent yet restrained in his costume. His mask is fashioned after a carved marble statue, primeval with mosses and cracked with age, the face of a forgotten god. His skin has been painted to continue the illusion; the powerful build of his upper body and even the truncation of his lower limbs only adds to the statuary effect.
The metaphor, s/he is sure, is lost on no-one.
He evinces no surprise, but s/he can tell that hir request pleases him, that his eyes will be upon them for this scene. A wave of his hand summons some of the small army of aides whose sole task is to ensure that every player has what is needed.
As the setting is prepared, Jinana converses with Vissenta in low tones, setting the boundaries of this scene. Practiced, s/he knows how to make this negotiation part of the anticipation, rather than a delay, like the selection of choice morsels from a feast. Shall I do this, or this? Speak your wants, your desires, that I may grant them… if you are good. Hir fingertips trace lightly and decorously over Vissenta’s hands as they speak, maintaining that critical contact, the connection.
The flush on Vissenta’s face and bosom deepens just a little with each choice she makes, each admission of a want. Jinana gives a small nod and smile of approval with each, underscoring that this is a place where it is not only safe, but expected to air such things. These wants exist only within this careful container of fantasy and beauty, like a dream, without consequence.
All the same, she has the power to exit this world at any moment, simply by speaking a word of her choosing.
“Roulette,” Vissenta says, with the inflection of her homeland and a curving of her lips. Taking her meaning, Jinana smiles.
The special bench Jinana has requested is both sturdy and beautiful, adorned with elegant gilded scrollwork and immaculate white leather cushioning, clearly purpose-built. It rests upon a sort of marble dais, backed by lush flowering plants and a spray of gleaming peacock feathers arranged in a tall vase.
“Only the best,” Jinana murmurs into Vissenta’s ear, leading her up onto the dais. Witnessing this, a number of interested parties have begun to assemble, curious. Jinana recognizes some of them, regular observers of hir work.
These avid faces are the last thing that Vissenta sees as Jinana ties the silk blindfold over her eyes, then places hir hands on her shoulders.
“Let us begin,” s/he says softly, defining the threshold. An aide hands hir a bundle of fresh silk cording, then respectfully withdraws.
Jinana measures the cording against Vissenta’s body, noting where to create the magically-infused knots. S/he knows that Vis can hear hir speaking the words, that she can no doubt feel the slight change in the magical currents as the energy is imbued… and the alteration that s/he has made to the spell. Will she know what it means?
“It would be such a shame to damage this,” s/he adds, moving to unfasten the bodice, freeing Vissenta’s body from the gown.
Vis is not shy, and bathing is so routinely a shared activity in Vesuvia. Jinana can’t say that s/he’s never looked. But here and now, it is a different matter - the body as something to be shown, an altar of interpersonal sorcery. Her posture is very straight, as proud as ever, her chin still with that slight imperious lift to it, even blindfolded.
The cords wind around and around, assisted by Jinana's own magic, well-practiced. There is an undeniable thrill in the way that Vis responds so readily to hir instructions to lift her arms, to place them together before her, to stand with her legs apart.
Soon, a harness of shimmering jewel-hued silk wraps around Vissenta’s curves, framing her breasts, with charged knots snugged just beneath the perked nipples with their golden jewelry. The cording winds over her hips and between her ample buttocks, pressing aesthetically into the soft flesh, leading in turn to another strategically placed and magically-charged knot.
Vissenta quietly sucks in her breath when Jinana activates the magic stored in the cording - then gives an equally-quiet ‘oh’ when she realizes what has been done to it.
The knots situated against her nipples and over her clit grow chill, then warm, then thrum gently for a few moments, before starting the process all over again.
“Do you like that?” Jinana asks, though s/he knows the answer.
“Oh, yes.”
“Good. Let us continue.”
S/he leads Vissenta the short steps to the ornate bench, telling her to lean forward. But here she balks - perhaps understandable, given her lack of sight, and the vulnerability of being bent over a piece of furniture.
“I’ve got you,” Jinana says, shading hir voice with warmth beneath the air of command. “Follow my hands.” The pressure of hir palms guides Vissenta’s body, firm but not overly forceful, and she relents, letting herself be eased into place.
Jinana ensures that she settles comfortably against the padded cushions, securing her bound wrists to the frame, spreading her legs just a little more before securing her ankles in turn. S/he then runs hir hand down Vissenta’s spine, over the bonds. “Good girl.” Though Vis’ face remains impassive, Jinana is surprised to feel a light shiver go through her body, and makes a mental note of it. The caress continues down over Vissenta’s backside, ending in a light, playful slap. The impact makes for a delightful jiggling ripple, and s/he repeats it for the other side.
Vis turns her head, as if trying to sense the next move. “Ah ah,” Jinana admonishes. “Stay turned toward your admirers, let them see your pretty face.” Once again, Vissenta complies.
Slowly, Jinana builds up a rhythm - it’s not enough to truly cause pain, just enough to tingle, to tease, to bring the blood to the area. Vissenta has a very fine set of buttocks, and the way they bounce and pinken as they’re spanked makes for quite a show. (Indeed, while some patrons are focused on her face and breasts, others have discreetly moved to get a better view of her backside during these ministrations. At least one produces a lorgnette.)
A complex dance takes shape, Jinana’s hands moving over Vissenta’s body to play her like an instrument. S/he notes what draws a reaction, and where; s/he magically modulates the intensity of the sensations that the imbued knots provide, moves them with little tugs of the cording. S/he allows Vis’ backside a brief respite from the spanking, only to return.
For her part, Vissenta puts up a good front, a stoic air - but to someone of Jinana’s experience, every little twitch and tensed muscle and nuance of the flush under her skin speaks to hir.
“Tell me, lovely, how are you feeling?” s/he purrs, more to engage Vis' mind into the scene than because s/he truly needs such feedback.
“I can take more,” Vissenta says, her voice exaggeratedly calm, at odds with the growing tension in her body. Jinana laughs lightly.
“Oh, I’m certain you can. But I’m not done here just yet.”
Bent over, thighs apart, the dark curls of her groin cannot conceal the response of her body. The cording frames her vulva, too, plump and rosy with arousal, vulnerable to the tugging of the cords as well as the sensations of the charged knot.
Vissenta’s breathing, however, remains controlled, slow, deep and steady, an interesting form of resistance. But Jinana does not expect her to go under tonight, to that place where the mind lets go of its restless chatter, subsumed by the body and set free. (Or so s/he is told; it is a place s/he hirself simply cannot go.)
Even so, Jinana always gives of hir best.
S/he excites and s/he soothes, bringing Vissenta closer and closer to release with each wave, before drawing her back once more. Vissenta finally gives a slight groan of deprivation, her thighs beginning to tremble, bowing her head as if to hide her need. Jinana takes a firm grip on her coiled braid, tipping her head back to the view of their audience, while the other hand administers more of those quick, light slaps that set her ass to bouncing so appealingly. But before the accumulated strikes can tip over into more than a light stinging, s/he once again runs hir hand up and down Vis’ spine in a slow, soothing motion. “You’re doing so good for me, lovely. Are you sure it’s your first time? You take it so well.” S/he punctuates this with more playful slaps and a low chuckle. “My good, good girl.”
S/he once again feels that shiver travel down Vissenta’s body, more strongly this time - then she relaxes under Jinana’s hands in a subtle, curious, but unmistakable way.
Surrender.
Unexpected or not, Jinana knows just what to do. S/he continues the dance, building it up again, and now Vis’ energy is purely feeling - no longer analyzing, no longer resisting at all. Her body undulates gently against the padded bench, her lips parted on her sighs and little sounds of pleasure as the magic-wrought cords and Jinana’s own magician’s fingertips do their work. Tingling sparks of energy add an additional thrill when s/he tweaks Vissenta’s nipples or caresses her swollen clit, in between more smart little slaps to her buttocks. Vis doesn’t strain or try to press herself to the touch; she simply takes what is being given, more and more, a chalice poured full to brimming.
This time, when it all threatens to overspill, Jinana does not draw it back, but bends to speak low into Vissenta’s ear: “Now, beautiful. Be a good girl and come for me.” The shiver becomes stronger, her back arching, quickly cresting over into ecstatic, shuddering climax. Her hands clench convulsively where they are bound, her hips pressing into the bench, half-formed words spilling nonsensically from her lips.
But that is not the end of it. Jinana increases the sensations s/he is providing, with no respite, and in this receptive state it doesn’t take long for a second orgasm to follow on the heels of the first… and then a third, wrenching in its strength, forcing guttural cries from her throat as her body twists helplessly in long spasms of agonized pleasure.
Only then does Jinana allow her to start returning to earth, running light and soothing hands over Vissenta’s flushed and sweat-sheened body. She is slack against the bench, breathing harshly and deeply, like a runner.
“Come back, sweet girl,” Jinana murmurs, slowly beginning to undo the bonds - s/he could cause them all to fall away in a single snap of hir fingers, but s/he senses that the little ritual of patiently unknotting the cords will do more to help ground Vissenta after this experience.
The blindfold is removed last, just as it was placed first. Vis’ makeup is hopelessly smudged, her eyes the yellow-green of a cat’s as they slowly open under the moody magical illumination.
“I’ll help you rise, when you’re ready,” Jinana says quietly. “Take your time.” S/he pushes a few tendrils of loose hair back from Vissenta’s face with a smile. “You did wonderfully well.”
An attendant brings a plush robe, and Jinana assists Vis to get into it and rise from the bench. Her legs are a little unsteady, but she isn’t much taller than Jinana hirself; s/he can support her the short distance to the little aftercare pavilion that has been set up to receive them.
Every detail of this small retreat has been chosen to create a pleasant, inviting atmosphere in which to recover - private, cozy, dimly lit and faintly scented with incense. There are carafes of iced water and cold juices to hand, a selection of cut fruits and finger foods. Jinana eases Vis down to recline against the welcoming pile of cushions. She gives a faint protest, attempting to rise as Jinana pours water for them both.
“Ah.” Jinana holds up an admonishing finger. “I want you to relax.” Hir voice retains its authoritative tone, and Vis immediately acquiesces, accepting the goblet. She takes a sip, then thirstily drains the cup. Jinana follows it with a restorative serving of sweet fruit juice, the essence of berries and pomegranates.
“You are still one foot in the place of dreams,” s/he says, smiling. “Take all the time you need. I will watch over you.” S/he seats hirself close by, and Vissenta allows hir to draw her down, pillowing her head in Jinana’s lap. S/he takes a rosewater-scented cloth from the thoughtfully-provided tray, gently wiping the ruined makeup from Vis’ face.
“Thank you for trusting me,” s/he says, smiling down at her. “Now let me bring you back home.”
