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Post by NinjaCow64 on Jun 1, 2012 19:07:58 GMT -8
Nice RP LH! ;D
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Post by Lady Laiin on Jun 4, 2012 14:22:52 GMT -8
Myra and Jack walked down the street side-by-side, the New Englander staring in awe at the beautiful environs of San Francisco. There weren’t many people out at this time of day – not now that they were off the main streets. Jack was leading her through the various side streets into the expanding suburbs, past incomplete houses on all sides.
“It’s amazing,” Myra murmured. Jack chuckled.
“Not as much as Boston. I haven’t been out there.”
“Boston’s nothing special,” Myra replied. “It’s a bunch of drab, dry buildings and people with no sense of humor. It’s alive but . . .dead, if you know what I mean. This place is just vibrant!”
“You only say that because – hey, didn’t you say you were from Providence?” Jack frowned. Myra shrugged.
“I’ve been to Boston a lot. My aunt had friends up there and I always had to tag along with my cousins and her. It’s a dreary place.”
“Well, this place can be dreary too. It just has different ways of showing it – and it’s different from what you know. Case in point.”
As he was speaking, a cart was passing on the street, with a man holding a whip seated on it, several bags in the back. Myra’s eyes widened with surprise when she saw that pulling the cart was a woman, gagged and with her hands bound tightly, dressed to look like a horse.
“I . . . .” Myra trailed off. Jack chuckled.
“It’s how we do things here. Free love, and whatever you enjoy. She gets paid, and has a good time – everyone wins.”
“It just seems . . . wrong.”
“You’ll get used to it, trust me,” Jack said. “Everything’s relegated by the government – we let people have their fun, but no one gets hurt or takes advantage of someone else. One of the advantages of being a relatively small country is that you can control things like that.”
Myra nodded. “I guess that makes sense. I won’t lie though – I’ve never thought highly of Renfair’s laws.”
“And that’s perfectly all right,” Jack told her. “We cater to the occasional spoilsports who don’t enjoy our kinds of games. As long as you respect our customs and don’t make a nuisance of yourself, we’ll give you the same breathing room. Again, everyone wins.”
“What is that – a catch phrase? The national motto?” Myra shook her head.
“It’s what we try to do. We want everyone to have a good time, to have a good life, and to be safe. Therefore, we have to work at making sure everyone wins. No one’s more important than anyone else.”
“I have no idea how you could even create a nation like that,” Myra replied honestly. Jack chuckled.
“A keen understanding of how dead we’d be if we didn’t all pull together helps. Trust me on that one.” He shrugged, then changed the subject. “Here we are! Home sweet home.”
Myra eyed the two-story house. “Are you sure there’s enough room for me? It looks small.”
“Oh, don’t worry,” Jack replied. “There’s a kitchen and a dining room on the ground floor, a living space and a study, plus two separate bedrooms upstairs.”
“Isn’t that only two bedrooms?” Myra inquired. Jack shook his head.
“There’s also a guest room on the ground floor. Thought I said that – sorry. You can move in there. It’s right next to the bathroom, and has a wonderful view of the Bay.”
“Thank you,” Myra finally said. “You don’t have to do this.”
“You’ll find, Myra, that here in Renfair – well,” Jack said. “We may be perverted and kinky, but our sense of honor burns as strongly as that of the Yamato. No one gets left behind.”
“Thank you,” Myra repeated. “Will your sister feel the same way?”
“She will,” Jack assured Myra. “Speaking of which, shall we go meet her?”
Myra eyed the house one last time. “Alright, I guess.” She hefted her backpack a little higher on her shoulders.
Out of all the places in the world – why god-damned Renfair? I’d almost rather be in the Setting Sun – or the RSA, or England! Anywhere but here!
Jack led her to the door and inserted a key, fiddling for a moment. He pushed the door open and waved Myra inside. She smiled thinly, nerves beginning to claw at her, then entered the house.
It wasn’t what she’d been expecting. Myra wasn’t entirely sure what she’d been expecting. A dungeon, maybe, with handcuffs neatly arranged on tables and whips ordered by size, maker and style in thoughtful rows on the wall.
She was confronted, instead, by a perfectly ordinary living room. There was a couch and two lounge chairs, all of the approximately the same cream color as the carpet. The dark red wall meshed with the white rather nicely, and the shelving unit and wall-mounted television were placed centrally in the room, beside the fireplace. The ceiling fan and a few haphazardly stacked containers and books completed the impression that she was almost in a Reunited States home – not one in the self-proclaimed World’s Kinkiest Nation!
“Not what you expected, is it?” Jack asked with a chuckle. He crossed the room to the couch and quickly shifted a stack of papers and books onto an already-overloaded coffee table – with an honest to God Xbox 9720 hidden in the mess.
“Not . . . really,” Myra admitted, admiring the well-maintained walls. The furniture, floor and walls were spotless, even if there was clutter all over them. There was even a dartboard set up next to the window, all the darts neatly arranged.
“Hah,” Jack chuckled. “You wait here. I’ll get Jess.” With that, he disappeared.
Myra shrugged off her backpack, carefully setting it on one of the chairs. She looked around the room, still surprised at how normal it was. She looked back at the TV.
It was on, surprisingly enough – she hadn’t noticed because the light was on it, making the screen hard to see. She caught a glimpse of a fancy chrome console and the glowing words:
XBOX 1040: PROTOTYPE 64-BIT GRAPHICS LET YOU RELIVE THE GOLDEN AGE.
Myra shook her head and turned away.
There was a faint thud from upstairs. Myra jumped.
“-DID WHAT!?”
Myra felt her blood chill at the woman’s wrathful voice. She quietly grabbed her backpack, swallowing.
“I DON’T CARE – BOUT – HY! GET – HE – OUT OF – HERE!”
Myra flinched. The shouting was audible, but with an entire floor between her and the speaker, there were muffled parts of the shouting that she didn’t quite catch.
All went quiet after that. Myra slipped her backpack on.
He’s about to come tell me his sister says I have to go. Even if he doesn’t, I won’t trigger a fight – I’ll just go to a government housing place.
She waited: a tense moment. Eventually, Myra started for the door on her own. She took a last look around the room, then turned away.
There was another thump behind her. Myra jumped.
“Well, where are you going?”
Myra turned, eyes widening as she saw the smiling blonde at the base of the stairs. She had obviously leapt down the last few with unrestrained energy – but there was a smoldering anger in her brown eyes. Myra opened her mouth.
“Jess, I think she heard you,” Jack’s voice came from the stairwell. Jess laughed.
“I suppose she did. I wasn’t talking about you . . . Myra, right? It was those Setting Sun people. I’ve been dealing with them for weeks.”
“But . . . .” Myra began. “You were saying . . . .”
“I was ranting to Jack,” Jess replied cheerfully. She trotted over to Myra and began to escort her back to the couch. “I do that a lot. He’s a great sounding board.”
“I don’t understand. Jack said you were a management official,” Myra said, frowning. Jess laughed.
“I suppose that’s true from a certain perspective. He always was my modest half. We’re twins, see. It’s more accurate to tell the full truth, though: I’m Senator Jessica Elizabeth Holt of the San Francisco District. Pleased to meet you.”
Myra blinked. Here was a woman, her hair undone, wearing a t-shirt and jeans, socks but no shoes, with no makeup and a hastily-scrawled note in marker on her arm – claiming to be a senator. Of the nation’s capital city district.
“Have I missed something about Renfairian politics, or is this a colossal joke?” Myra asked, taking a seat. Jess and Jack laughed back and forth.
“Well, Myra,” Jess began, dropping onto the couch and tucking her feet under her. “To begin with, Renfair has five Districts. At the moment, at least. There’s that District in Oregon – the Unincorporated District – but we’ll get around to that later. Each District elects a Senator to represent them on a national level, and two Representatives to represent them to the Senator. We have a Senator from San Francisco, a Representative from Los Angeles, and a Representative from some little town up north here.”
“But shouldn’t you . . . .” Myra trailed off. Jess laughed again.
“Shouldn’t I be dressed? Shouldn’t I be in a debate hall, looking all stuffy and bored and trading verbal blows with the other stuffy Senators?”
“Well . . . .”
“Oh, come on, Myra!” Jack chuckled. “It’s the twenty-third century, for kink’s sake!”
“You see, Myra,” Jess began. “I work from my office upstairs. It’s much more orderly than this place, because I ditch the crap I don’t want my fellows to see in there around the house. I do get all dressed up when I go meet with them, but microphones, webcams, and email work just fine for us all. We’ve got good internet in Renfair – thank the boys from Silicon Valley.”
Myra blinked. “I never thought of it that way.”
“Oh, few do,” Jess and Jack agreed as one.
“But, it works!” the woman added.
“And she can take a break to get her butt kicked at Call of Duty Ninety-nine whenever she wants!” the man finished.
“Why don’t we put that one to the test?” Jess asked, looking up. “As I recall, I threw you out a 60th-story window last time. Gotta love the Unreal 101 engine! And you can join in, Myra!”
“I’ve never played a video game.”
Jess and Jack both gaped.
“Your aunt did hate you, didn’t she?” Jack finally asked. Myra forced a chuckle.
“Alright, I’m game. Who wants to beat me senseless first?”
-L
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Post by Lady Laiin on Jun 12, 2012 7:59:43 GMT -8
Three months in Renfair. I must admit, it’s not as bad as I thought.
Myra eyed the dress she and Jess had bought the day before. It was revealing – far more so than New England style dresses had a tendancy to be. Then again, those were less focused on emphaszing the . . . attractiveness of their wearers and more on making them look regal and dignified.
Regal and dignified had their place, even in Renfair. Everyday life in San Francisco was decidedly not it. Myra tentatively raised a hand to stroke the garment – she never would have dreamed it even existed prior to her journey West, let alone that she would ever want one.
Three months here had curbed a lot of Myra’s harder opinions about Renfairian society. In hindsight, she shouldn’t have been too shocked to learn that in some places there were no store mannequins – rather, actual people, neatly bound and posed. Myra still found the practice quaint, but she was getting more and more curious as to why anyone would willingly allow themselves to be tied up – enjoy it, even!
She shivered. She’d been tied up once – but it hadn’t been an enjoyable experience. Her cousins had been playing some sort of game and settled on Myra – as always! – to be their “damsel in distress” while they ran around. Myra had spent a few hours with a scarf wrapped around her arms, locked in a closet, while the cousins played whatever game they’d been playing. The memory still brought up fear and anger.
You’re not being entirely fair to them, Myra reasoned. We were what, seven? Eight? Certainly not an age where malice can be an actual motive. They were just playing a game, and to be fair they didn’t want me to be uncomfortable or angry. Which didn’t change the fact that “someone has to play the damsel, Myra.”
Myra shook her head. Dwelling on the past was something she had little patience for. Far better to move on and think about the future. She stood up from her bed and stretched.
It was her only day free of classes for the week – a rare enough occurrence. Myra intended to use it constructively. She quickly dressed, though she didn’t bother with shoes, and left the former guest room.
She laughed as she remembered her reaction to finding out what school she was to attend. “The Academy of Submission” was certainly a scary title. What had been the real joke was Jack’s reaction to her sudden look of consternation.
“Don’t freak. ALL the places around here have creepy psycho names like that. I once ate at the Drooling Ballgag restaurant. They actually had pretty good food there, now that I think about it, but went out of business for economic reasons. Why are you laughing like that?”
Myra shook her head. The school was actually a very nice one – it offered all the courses she wanted to take, and despite the strange name and the bondage-themed architecture – something Myra by now took for granted – it could have been a school in Boston or Providence.
Well, that wasn’t entirely true. It did OFFER classes on submission, dominance, and proper techniques for all sorts of fetish work, but Jack and Jess – both graduates of the place, for God’s sake – had assured her there wasn’t a single sexual class at all.
“There’s quite a lot more to us than sex,” Jack had said, making Myra blush from his forwardness. “In fact, a lot of bondage activities are completely non-sexual. It’s something that ‘just friends’ can get into as easily as couples.”
Myra entered the living room, pausing on the way to snag one of the omnipresent brownies from the kitchen. She had no idea how Jess and Jack got them – they’d never stopped to buy any when they’d been out shopping with Myra, and she’d never helped them unload and organize any after their own private trips.
Myra chalked it up to dark, kinky sorcery. In this place, that wasn’t a bad guess for anything.
Jack was in the living room as the New Englander walked in, idly flipping through a few stacks of papers. Myra had learned that the Renfairian man was his sister’s secretary – or, rather, one of several. He had just as much education as her, and had once held a job as a low-level management official – explaining his near-encyclopedic knowledge of the local legal code and his continuing interest in local politics. He had been laid off as part of a cost-cutting measure before Prime Minister Lighthearter came to power.
“Useless attempt,” Jack murmured. He looked up. “Oh, hey Myra. Just checking this guy’s claim his consent form was delayed due to poor management. His domme accidentally made him have a seizure and the courts are investigating her. She’s a bit upset – not angry, but shaken.”
“And?” Myra asked, taking a seat and popping the brownie into her mouth.
“And he did file for a consent form and got it filled out, but the management official claims he never brought it back in, whereas he claims he did. I haven’t gotten to the analysis of camera feeds and such yet, but unless there’s a definitive ‘He did bring it in’ somewhere in there this is going to turn into a straight-up slapfight rather than an organized legal thing.”
“Hah,” Myra said, hearing the disdain Jack heaped on “legal thing.” The Renfairian was rather disdainful of the legal process, in a lot of ways.
“Did you hear about Princess Sam?” Jack asked. Myra shook her head. The man pulled a paper from his pile and tossed it to her.
“Seems that the youngest daughter of New Britain’s ruler has a bit of a fetish,” Jack explained. He passed over a copy of the New Sun Magazine. “Jess is over at Klinst’s penthouse right now, trying to calm down a very irritated New British foreign minister. I’m not sure if he’s working on his government’s orders or his own initiative, but he showed up demanding that Klinst let Sam go. Jess is trying to get him to back off just a bit.”
“Yeah, good luck,” Myra said, reading through the article. “Wearing that? And with photos of her coming off the plane, too? The Ambassador has to be flipping his lid. Isn’t he her cousin or something?”
“No idea,” Jack admitted. “I’m not Jess’ foreign relations secretary – just her legal aide.”
Myra raised her eyebrows. “Seriously? That much of a fetish? Two years? I’d not be caught dead wearing that . . . assortment of ropes and cuffs, or wearing a collar like that.”
“Don’t hate it ‘till you try it!” Jack called cheerfully. Myra shot him a glare.
“You just want to tie me up and have your way with me, don’t you?” she accused. Jack winked – seductively enough that Myra snorted. “Okay, I know that’s not the truth. Now you’re just playing with me.”
“Makes us even,” Jack replied, before returning to his work. Myra laughed.
“What, you think my pounding fear of your taking advantage of me was playing with you?” she teased. Jack shrugged.
“Maybe,” he finally said. “But you can never tell with New England women. Always so stuck-up and arrogant – hey!”
The pillow caught him in the shoulder, having missed its intended target of his head. Myra laughed and swung again, causing the Renfairian to duck.
“Oh, you’re just asking for it now!” he called. He caught the pillow on the third swing and pulled it away. He then proceeded to return fire. Both of them were laughing now.
The door opened, followed by the distinctive click-clack of high heels on hardwood flooring. Myra and Jack turned, still giggling.
Jess raised an eyebrow, looking far more formal than Myra had ever seen before. From the very businesslike gray knee-length skirt to the white shirt, red tie and matching gray coat, her bunned hair and white earrings, even down to the barely-visible stockings and the knee-high boots with their stiletto heels, Myra almost mistook her for a New Englander politician.
Hell, she even put on serious amounts of makeup. I’ve never seen her do that before, even for her meetings with other politicians or the Setting Sun ambassador.
The collar kind of threw the impression off a bit, as did the whip neatly hanging from Jess’ belt, but those were the subtle touches Myra had come to expect of Renfairian fashion. Jack’s sister raised an eyebrow at her brother and friend.
“Please, don’t stop on my account,” she encouraged. Myra felt her cheeks heat.
“How’d it go?” Jack asked, obviously feeling no embarrassment about his sister walking in on the pillowfight. “Did you get him to back off?”
“Somewhat,” Jess hedged. She took a seat and eased one of her boots off. “As much as I love heels, these boots are murder. Anyway, Sam’s still with Klinst, and the Ambassador returned to the Embassy, but he insisted on leaving his contact number with Sam and making Klinst swear that she could call him if she ever wanted to leave the country. I have a suspicion that he expects her to call him up tonight, if not sooner, and will freak out if she doesn’t.” She sighed as she slipped her other foot back into the air, then began massaging it. “I have half a mind to go throw these shoes in the bay.”
“Well, under the law there’s nothing we can do unless an Inspector reports it’s an abusive relationship or if the consent form was faked,” Jack shrugged. “And I doubt it was faked. Didn’t Kenzie sign off on that one? She knows a fake when she sees it . . . and usually even when she doesn’t. If she gave it the stamp of approval, there’s no way it’s faked.”
“Yeah,” Jess agreed. She pulled off her stockings. “Honestly, I wish this had come at any other time. I mean, with the chaos in Japan getting worse, the USSR in civil war, the Formatters and the Soviets having a spat, the Setting Sun exiles still building New Havana around Los Angeles . . . jeez. This in the middle of all that?”
Myra leaned back into the couch, nodding slowly. For a moment, she wondered what was happening in New England – she hadn’t kept up with the nation very well since her . . . exile.
Jess tossed the whip onto the table, then removed her collar. “God, I hate that thing. Why can’t a self-respecting domme go around without one?”
Myra frowned. “I didn’t know you were a domme.”
Jess chuckled. “Oh, I come from a long line of them, Myra. Jack’s one too – well, rather, a dom. Unless he’s been hiding something from me?”
“Well, I’d say I’m more of a switch,” Jack countered. “But I do agree you’re 100% dominant, Jess.”
“Don’t you know it,” Jess chuckled. “And what about you, Myra?”
Myra felt a flash of near-panic. “I don’t think I’m really into bondage and such at all. Sorry.”
“Oh, that’s alright,” Jess chuckled, massaging her throat. “Means you’ll never have to wear one of those torture devices. I tell you, collars are worse than whips.”
Jack laughed. “Like I told you earlier, Myra – don’t hate it till you’ve tried it!”
Never happen Myra told herself. Never.
Maybe.
-L
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Post by Thorvald of Lym on Jun 13, 2012 14:53:25 GMT -8
So, with no end in sight for CFC's continuing failure, "official" lock is indefinitely postponed. That said, unless anyone knows of important orders amended/submitted after Post 595, I can start the end-of-turn sequence, since a) the Korean vote will carry over into next turn and the AOZ expulsion would have decisively failed, b) the only battle orders I received concern rebels, and c) I have people's orders copied down separately anyway, so I can do everything but update the map, which comes toward the end regardless.
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Post by Lady Laiin on Jun 13, 2012 14:54:45 GMT -8
Failure? I can load it fine.
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Post by Thorvald of Lym on Jun 13, 2012 15:16:48 GMT -8
Haven't been able to log in for hours now.
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Post by Der Führer Dolfy on Jun 14, 2012 15:49:20 GMT -8
I'm getting a nasty feeling we're never going to see an update in this thread.
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Fegelein
Foreman
Master of Antics
U mad, bro?
Posts: 129
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Post by Fegelein on Jun 14, 2012 15:54:40 GMT -8
I can't say I'm all that concerned anymore. christos turned out to be capable of screwing himself over quite handily, so I'm not sure I'd find much further sport in it.
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Post by Lady Laiin on Jun 14, 2012 15:56:28 GMT -8
I thought this was LH's BDSM RP thread? -L
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Post by Lady Laiin on Jun 18, 2012 5:12:11 GMT -8
Myra spun around, admiring herself in the mirror. The dress was actually quite tasteful, even by New England standards – part of the reason she’d chosen it. It was a light blue color, pooling around her ankles like a puddle of shimmering water, sleeveless and strapless. She matched it with a classic coiffure in the style of her homeland, making sure her earrings and makeup were perfect.
A pair of white elbow-length gloves were next, then a matching sash around her waist, knotted in a perfect bow in the small of her back. For a moment, Myra debated whether to bother with stockings – her legs were hidden, after all – but decided that as long as she was dressing up, she might as well go all the way. After donning the stockings, she slipped on a pair of royal blue high heels, standing back up and taking a few steps to make sure she could keep her balance.
There wasn’t a single trace of Renfairian fashion in her outfit – she might have been going to a gala in Boston, for her clothing. Even the corset was done in New England style, rather than Renfairian.
Myra chuckled, then turned around and left her room. It was almost nightfall, and she could hear Jack making some sort of joke about New Englanders out in the family room.
Again, she paused to take a brownie. Thank God for dark, kinky sorcery. After nearly swallowing it whole and wiping her gloves and mouth clean, Myra entered the living room.
Jack was dressed up too – and in a fairly moderate style, perhaps out of the RSA. A black suit and loafers over a usual white shirt and red tie, his hair slicked back and his face freshly-shaven – Myra had to admit he didn’t look too bad. He had chosen to wear a collar, in his home country’s style, but Myra took that almost for granted now.
Jess was substantially different. Whereas Myra was dressed for a New England gala, the Senator could only be said to be prepared for a night clubbing. Her hair was settled in that decided look of untamed independence that could only be acquired after a few hours of swearing and applying a comb, her makeup flawlessly applied. A lean black dress that reached halfway past her knees, slit up the sides almost to her hips, gave her the look of a streetwalker; the whip coiled around her arm suggested another dimension altogether. A belt, a pair of handcuffs hanging from it, and a pair of very high heels completed the look.
“You look stunning,” Jess and Myra complimented each other at the same moment, each with visible reservations. Jack laughed.
“Let me guess. Myra thinks that Jess looks a little too much like a Renfairian, and Jess thinks Myra looks too New English. Have I hit the nail on the head?”
Both women glared at him. The irrepressible man chuckled again. “Oh, alright. What I meant to say was: ‘are we ready to go yet?’”
“Yes,” Jess and Myra said; again together. Jack snorted and even the women giggled. As much as they had little patience for the other’s fashion choices, Myra and Jess were rather good friends.
It was but a minute’s ride in Jess’ car to their destination. The Chum Bucket was one of the many restaurants across San Francisco that offered a break from Californian cuisine in exchange for something a little more familiar to Myra: New English food.
So it was that for the first time in three months and two weeks, Myra Delfontaine found herself sitting down in a New England-themed restaurant, eating honst-to-God clam chowder. It was heavenly.
Jess, due to a claimed aversion to seafood, was picking at a salad, obviously mulling over some political problem. No one was giving her any strange looks, despite her rather Renfairian outfit, so Myra assumed this place wasn’t strictly New English in its clientele. Probably obvious, upon second thought, but Myra had sort of assumed, since she hadn’t seen any other New Englanders about, that they kept to themselves in places like this.
“Why have I never been here before?” Jack demanded, devouring his own food. Myra hadn’t even paid attention to what the man had ordered – so ecstatic was she that they actually somehow had clam chowder. Maybe there were regular trade lanes open to New England that there hadn’t been three months back?
“Because you’re a man and the place is full of New Englander women?” Jess poked. She resumed her probing of the salad, her eyes glazing over again as she finally bit down on a forkful.
“What’s got you worried?” Myra asked. The Senator sighed.
“Japan. I’ve got friends on both sides of the argument there, and I have a sneaking suspicion war is looming. If the Yamato continue pushing the Shogunate like this, there’s gonna be trouble – mark my words. And the Prime Minister seems adamant that we should stay out of it.”
“You’ve met the Prime Minister?” Myra asked, eyes widening. Jess nodded, as though it was of no consequence.
“Good man. He’s a bit . . . creative, I’ll say, but he’s very crafty. I wouldn’t trust him if my hands were tied and he had a whip, but I’m sure whether I trusted him or not I’d walk out a few hours later wishing he’d do it again, regardless of whether I enjoy being a sub.”
“Um . . . .” Myra felt herself blushing again. “I don’t know what to say.”
“You’ll get used to it,” Jack assured her. “We have different ways of expressing things around here.”
Jess shot Myra a wolfish smile. The New Englander returned to her clam chowder, chuckling at her friends.
“Myra?”
Myra turned around, eyes widening. The red-haired woman behind her seemed equally surprised. She was wearing a stunning silver dress, sewn with glittering streaks that made her shimmer like a disco ball, forgoing gloves and a coif in favor of bracelets and a bun.
“Cassie?” Myra asked, incredulous. She climbed upright and embraced the woman. “Cassie, it is you! My god, I thought you were studying in England!”
“I was,” Cassie Wright replied. Her blue eyes sparkled with cheer. “Then I came home. Mom said you’d decided to come out to Renfair, but I thought you’d have moved on by now.”
“Moved on? Decided?” Myra frowned. “Cassie, she sent me off here. ‘Renfair or the streets’ is what she told me. What do you mean, moved on?”
“Well . . . she said you were on a ‘round the world tour,” Cassie replied, frowning. “Said she thought you were in the USSR by now.”
“She wishes,” Myra sighed. She shook herself. “Sorry, Cassie. I don’t mean to be rude.” She turned to the table. “These are my benefactors: Senator Jessica Holt and her brother Jack. Jess, Jack, this is my cousin Cassie Wright.”
“How do you do?” Jack asked, standing and bowing in Renfairian fashion. Jess merely waved cheerily, smiling. Cassie chuckled.
“You look very capable of keeping up with Myra,” she told them. “Best of luck with that.”
“How are you here?” Myra asked, chuckling. “Why?”
“I came out here to study,” Cassie shrugged. “I’ve always been curious about this place.”
Mrya frowned, then felt her eyes widen just a tad. She hadn’t noticed, but her cousin wasn’t wearing bracelets. She was wearing handcuffs, just with the chain connecting the two halves removed.
“Going native?” Myra asked. Cassie flushed a shade of red.
“M-maybe a little,” she stammered. Myra shook her head.
“I didn’t mean to embarrass you, Cassie. Would you like to join us?”
“N-no, thanks,” Cassie replied, and for a moment Myra was afraid that she’d run off, too embarrassed. But the redhead mastered herself. “I already have a date. She’s waiting for me in here. It was nice seeing you though.”
“Nice to see you too,” Myra nodded. Cassie curtsied to Jack and Jess, then swept on.
“That was surreal,” Myra commented after she was gone. “I haven’t seen Cassie in two years. She left before I did.”
“She seemed happy to see you, if a little embarrassed that you caught her wearing cuffs,” Jess observed. “Did she ever like you more than the others?”
“No,” Myra shrugged. “They all liked me about the same. I was a friend, but not one of the group, if you know what I mean.”
“Maybe she’s finally realized that you’re her family too?” Jack suggested. Myra shrugged.
“I don’t know,” the New Englander said. “The cuffs surprised me a lot though. Cassie was always an aggressive kid.”
“People like to explore sides of themselves that they don’t otherwise in bondage scenarios,” Jess said. “I’m not a particularly domineering person by nature – neither was my mother. But give me a whip and a restrained man, and I turn into someone else. Same logic by which people like to shoot other people in video games: that doesn’t mean they’re going to go shooting them in real life.”
“Yeah, I guess,” Myra said. She took a drink. “Where do you even buy cuffs like that, anyway?”
“Most any store will have some with the clothing accessories,” Jack shrugged. “You planning on getting some?”
“No!” Myra protested. She stuck her tongue out at Jack when he laughed.
But deep inside, she began to wonder if it was a lie. She was becoming more curious about – more drawn to – the idea of being tied up by the day. She had never, ever thought of herself as a person who was into bondage, but the more about Renfair she saw, the more she wanted to at least try it.
After all, how can I make an honest, rational and informed judgement if I haven’t at least given it a chance?
-L
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