#manorama

Eyes the color of honey and skin the shimmer of gold; the Thavnairian beauty stood out among the other yūjo and kagema of the brothel that’d taken the dancer under their wing. The other pleasure houses found Manorama beautiful--everyone found Manorama beautiful--but they were never able to justify taking on such a risk; what if their clientele weren’t interested in such… Exotic flavors?

The Seeker could only puff an indignant laugh at the idea now; they’d become one of the most coveted dancers in their district--so much so that several of the brothels that had turned them away before were clamoring at their ankles when they passed for the chance to woo them into their care. Manorama’s responses were always warm, deep and rich; the cloy of cardamom and vanilla tickling their noses while the Seeker’s painted lips ushered nothing but apologetic declines. It was more than a pleasure to watch their crestfallen retreats back to their hovels, to watch their dismayed faces wrench back into the characteristic, stone-faced neutrality that riveted every angled face that looked at the dancer.

The Far East and their careful neutrality. Did they know how much they gave away?

While Manorama had never truly struggled in this land, they did find themselves at odds with many of the customs and too much of the integral part of mingling with the culture was lost to them. Upper management had considered tossing the dancer back out onto the street several times, but the clientele that the dancer brought to their doorstep wasn’t to be denied and they would lose a very valuable asset to give the Thavnairian back to the hungry streets. It didn’t take Manorama very long to garner regular customers, an even shorter time to garner high-paying clients--it set them at odds with the rest of the women and men they spent their time around daily but none could refute that the dancer was invaluable.

A gem they’d found by complete accident.

Now? A special wing of the building had been constructed specifically for Manorama’s performances to be held; a den of revelry crafted in the fashion of the kothas of Thavnair. A dark room lit only by oil lamps and hanging red lanterns; pearls strung about the lamps while sandalwood burned and smoke wafted from long necked pipes. Heavy curtains funneled the room’s view toward an elongated platform in the center of the room where the dancer would find themselves almost every night; shrouded in silk and mystery.

Tonight was no different, the quiet hum of uncomfortable men settled on lavish cushions--too far out of their usual scenery to know what to make of the infamous Manorama’s den. The regulars of the Seeker’s performances were easy to spot; rings of white flowers adorning their right wrists while they puffed heavy rings of smoke into the air and relaxed in the tension. Others looked nervously about the room and murmured quietly to one another, hoping to find comradery in the other men that’d walked into this bizarre experience.

Very few ever left once the show started, regardless of how uncomfortable they seemed now.

Manorama had been relaxing in their dressing room, reclined over a long couch while they dabbed scented oil onto their fingertip and brushed it along the nape of their neck--fan lashes batting as they watched themselves in front of their mirror. Tonight was to be a special performance; donned in saffron silk and bright alta dipped fingers, intricate mehendi designs drawing attention to their hands and feet. They were the picture perfect image of an exotic dancer; by all names and purposes.

A green headed Miqo’te boy with blunt bangs and a sweet smile popped his head into Manorama’s changing room, the clack of his geta giving him away. “Manorama, your guests await you.”

Golden eyes flit slowly toward the young one, a rolling purr like thunder shaking the room--edged with a laugh of a predator confident in their hunt. To see the upstart shudder in place and divert his eyes gave the dancer a much needed laugh, shaking their head easily.

In a graceful roll, the Seeker rose from the couch and tossed the end of their saree over their shoulder--little round ears giving a distinct twitch. One last gleam in the mirror and they turned away, each step causing the bells wound around their ankles to chime and jingle. That sound alone gets the green haired keeper boy to turn and scamper away to announce the dancer’s arrival.

Each step sure and careful, a single chime each time. The beginning of the performance was always a part of the foreplay, nothing would set the mood more than hearing the beast stalk toward you; knowing curiosity would not let you leave even when anxiety screamed for you to flee. Manorama moved with leveled grace all the way to the thinly curtained pathway--each chime making the audience jump just a little more in anticipation or terror. The path was barely lit, the Seeker continuing their slow, predatory walk until they found the smooth chill of treated wood beneath their bare feet. Just as graceful as they rose, they fell into a sitting position--fingertips lifting in the dark to draw the veil down over their face.

The green-haired Keeper bowed politely and formally to the crowd, reaching up to curl his fingertips around the tassel keeping the curtains drawn closed. “The hour of revelry is among us--May the eyes that greet you be everything you wanted.”

His pale hand tugged the tassel just as several attendants around the room blew out several candles; shrouding the room in the allure of mysticism. When the heavy velvet curtains fell away, nothing was left but the well decorated Seeker posed like someone in the middle of prayer. Porcelain come to life, their hands rose and curled the veil up and over their face; eyes of molten gold searing the room in place--Medusa’s gaze having frozen them. Each one of them caught in the sway of the beauty adorned in silk and shadow