Here is the full description of the statue I submitted to Yadji for Kindred.
Standing about a foot and a half tall is a remarkably life-like woman sculpted from luminous alabaster wax. Her slim arms are raised with her hands sunk into her wanton locks in an attempt to cage and tame it. She is glancing back over her shoulder through the crook in her arm. Her lids are lowered over two polished pewter chips for her eyes while her crimson-tinted lips are curled in a mirthful grin.
Twin rows of shining silver rings pierce the flesh of her back, running from her shoulder blades to just below the small of her back. A scarlet satin ribbon threads through the rings, ending in a bow just above the swell of her behind. The criss-crossing X's of the ribbon grow smaller with the natural incline of her waist before widening again. The lush curve of the underside of one ample breast can be glimpsed under one upraised arm.
Flowing from the soft rounded curve of her full hips is a long, crimson skirt of the finest spun silk. The sheer silk clings to her parted legs, emphasizing the shapely curve of her thigh, the arch of her calf as it descends to a small ankle swirling in silk. She is balanced on her toes with her hips caught in a jaunty sway. The figure exudes an overwhelming sense of enticement, her eyes almost daring you to touch her.
She is standing on a simple oval base of polished cherry wood. Etched on a silver plaque is: Desire's Dance by Lhuvian.
A series of sketches from different perspectives are drawn along the side of the page.
A neatly torn piece of newspaper has been pressed between the pages of this journal. It reads: Those whom fate frowned upon: ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Lhuvian was slain by Young crocodile on Cuspis 24, 281 - 1:27.
I finally find myself in print and it's this rubbish!
As I sit here listening to the cries of the gulls and the slap of the waves against the pilings I have to question my purpose. I have spent more time at home during the past year than in Thrace. I have watched Mitsi grow fat with child. I have visited Mummy's "friend".
Everything is just so dissatisfying.
My dissatisfaction began with that damned reading Relie did at the carnival. She said I would make a decision I regret and I'll be damned if I didn't. I stepped back when all I wanted to do was move forward. Now I do not even know if I can regain the ground I have lost.
Luvi closes her eyes and exhales slowly. She inhales a deep breath of the salty, damp air. Her features set in a look of resolve as she dips her pen back in the little crystal bottle of ink.
While I have been home, I hired Il'Tyvil Orlevirrea to tutor me in the art of sculpture. He is rather disdainful of my efforts, but says I may have potential given enough time. Elves always think in terms of time, as if we all have a couple hundred years to dedicate just to study. I think I just haven't found a medium I like.
I must remember to ask Bael if he still wants me to sit for him. Maybe I am better suited to be a muse than a sculptress. Maybe I am better suited to being eccentric old Aunty Luvi with the wild tales. Maybe I should get back to town before the rain starts and I am stuck at the Chugger's Lair for an indefinite period of time.
I met a new bard today, Alentar Fairlight. I've seen him running around with Elidia, but had not previously had the opportunity to introduce myself. We were in the J4 and someone else asked him to perform. I had to write down the song he did before I forgot all the words. It is simply perfect! I must remember to send a copy to Duvi. He played a mandolin while he sang.
"You can hold the wind for about as long Crimson and laughter flash as they're gone They'll not make you and your treasure part But far worse, they may steal your heart
Friend if you'd dance with those in red Watch your heart, and keep your head You may think you've won, but think again For those of the Crimson nearly always win
They're not all selfish, and not all bad Among them are honest lasses and lads But you'll no more tame one than the sea So if you'd hold one, be able to set them free
They'll remain as long as they choose So don't claim to own one, or you'll loose But show them respect for hard won fame And in the end, you'll find that they do the same."
He has promised to perform this again at our Carnivale. I cannot wait to see what else he will do. All right. I must remember to write more later because I'm completely ignoring Tiella among other's I'm sure.
I had a lovely time having coffee and gossiping with my sisters Relie, Baelynn and Jayla the other day. I've been feeling so displaced since I returned. Both cities are filled with strangers. To those few familiar faces, I am the stranger. If the time I had been gone was any shorter, it would be a serious blow to my ego. I am not that forgettable, surely. At least some have the grace to be chagrinned that they do not remember me, like Master Alarion. I am a stranger even with the Family. I am feeling a bit better now, after getting to know a few of my sisters.
She sets her pen aside and just stares at the horizon. The sun is slowly sinking into the Regallian, each ripple and wave is crested in Gorian orange. The gulls circle around her dock, crying their shrill call. The bravest of them waddle walks right up to her tin of minnows to peck out a briny, succulent treat. The soft sigh that escapes Luvi's lips startles the bird and sends him flying off to join his swooping and swirling brethren.
I believe what Vanora was telling me is true. The look on her face when I mentioned his name said it all. Not that it matters now. He hasn't turned up in weeks, maybe months. The sea is his first love. I think I could accept being his second, but not at that cost. I vowed long ago to never compete with a sibling, to never be the cause of a possible rift with in the Family. I feel no different now than I did then.
I will just be my generation's Uncle Boop. We all loved him when he would blow in to town with his wild stories and wonderful presents. There has been a void ever since he chose not to return to us. I know he was tired, but-
I am not going to rehash this again. It's tired, Luvi. Just tired. Forgive him already. If only it were that easy...
I was walking through the Sablean AG the other day. It was so crowded in the main room, full of magic types doing their thing, soldier types oiling and polishing their weapons, immigrants and youths listening to the older folks regale them with stories of the Wars. And there he was, sitting quietly by the fire, his blue eyes glowing in all that silky black fur, his leather pants hugging his legs like a second skin. Bael Lerralith. I caught his eye, flashed him a quick smile, and went on about my business. No sooner had I unsheathed my sword for a little practice, than one of my sisters was asking if I had been the one to catch Bael's eye.
I sheathed my sword and left the dank depths where I had chosen to practice. I hoped the foul stench wouldn't linger long as I walked the few blocks back. If I can be honest with anybody, I can be honest with myself. I was afraid to face him. I knew my Family would take my disappearance in stride. It is our way after all. But I should have found a way to get word to Bael. I was wrong, but sometimes things that are wrong just don't look that way at home. We are so cloistered there.
He showed me some of the changes he made to his house in the past several years. He showed me his new paintings, both finished and not. He told me some of the things that happened in my absence. I'm glad I was not here for some of those events. He was glad I wasn't as well. He told me he is in love. I want to be happy for him. I am. I am. I am.
I am Uncle Boop. I am not going to become Aunt Gertie! Another long sigh escapes Luvi's lips. She blows lightly on the ink to encourage it to dry. The sun has finally been completely swallowed by the sea. Before the inevitable rain begins, she wants to get everything put away, so she sets her journal open on the dock with her well-worn pen tucked into the spine. She puts the stopper back in the little crystal inkwell, noting that it is almost empty. Maybe I'll try a different color of ink next time. As she tucks the inkwell back into her pouch, she pulls out a small parchment packet. Opening one corner, she dumps the contents over the still glistening ink on her journal. Sand. She blows the sand into the sea, closes her journal and winds the long, leather thong around the cover, sealing it shut. She gathers up her fishing rod, line and hooks, and dumps the remainder of her tin of minnows into the sea. The moon lights her way home.
I went to see Aldurin Tas'Falnur, now a supplicant of the Temple of Mortis, tell a tale in the Lush Courtyard. He looks like he has done really well for himself. He had aspirations of becoming a Ranger and he has achieved that goal. I'm so very happy for him. I have no doubts he shall achieve this goal as well.
I hope he has found love as well. If anyone deserves it, he does. I always enjoyed his company. I should invite him to go fishing sometime. Renew our friendship. I wonder if the sweet boy has grown into a sweet man or if the wars changed him as they did so many others.
A small smile spreads across Lhuvian's lips. She clears a little space beside her on the table, pulls her grey suede journal from a pouch at her side, and places it on the table. Next she pulls out a small crystal inkwell and a well-used pen from her pouch and lays them on the table. She picks up her journal and slowly unwinds the long leather thong that holds it closed. She flips through the pages until she finds the next blank one, unstoppers the ink and begins to write.
Finally! I have met someone interesting today. Evana's nephew, Master Etrival Nimedan, a bard with potential to be a very naughty, interesting man. When I said I feel it's fairly obvious that I am a woman of taste, he said of course, but it's yet to be established if my tastes are good or bad. I responded with the statement that taste is in the eye of the beholder and what some may consider bad other's may find very enjoyable. He seemed quite pleased and stared at me dreamily for several minutes, his mind flooded with naughty thoughts, no doubt, and completely forgetting that he was leaving.
He's dark and swarthy-looking much like the gypsies of Thrace with eyes as green as a deep, flowing river. I cannot imagine he is a very modest fellow, but that's not a very bardic attribute. He was a couple of inches taller than me and lean. I would definitely not be opposed to sharing coffee with him again.
Definitely not
She leans over her journal and blows softly across the wet ink to encourage it to dry. She is so lost in her own thoughts she barely notices the customers coming and going from the J4.
"Oh!" she says with a thought and dips her pen back in the ink. How rude of me!
I ran into Kharum Tyrellin today in the J4 as well. I rather gave him a hard time for not remembering me, as if I am so very forgettable! He made me a delicious tankard of mead as an apology. I forgive him.
Daddy has given me his final answer on the subject. He will not buy me a little townhouse. He said if I refused to behave like a Lady, he certainly would not support me in this charade. I will have a house of my own! It may never be as large or as fine as either Elaeagnus Hill or Campanulae Demesne, but it will be mine. I have lived without his support before and I will show him I am still more than capable of living without it now.
A slightly harrumph escapes Lhuvian's lips as she closes her journal around her pen. Her eyes glint like polished steel, with cold determination.
I have tried to put pen to parchment for weeks but am interrupted every time. No sooner do I get my journal open, pen out and inkwell unstoppered than I have someone tempting me away. The irony of having a travel journal and yet not using it while I travel!
How can I possibly capture a months worth of images and events on a single page in a single evening..? Should I even try? Maybe I should simply let them lie unrecorded. Maybe I'll try later. It has been a long day, I am tired and tomorrow may prove to be even longer. Tomorrow we travel back home.
Luvi lays her pen in the spine of her journal, closes it and quickly wraps the leather cord back around its grey suede covers in an attempt to seal her discontent within its pages. She puts the book back on the table beside her bed as she blows out the candle. She lays in the darkened room, wide awake and dissatisfied.
Millie bustles about the room in a fervor of motion and sound. "Miss Luvi, ma'am, does this mean that you'll be accepting Master Rogrigo?" she asks as she pulls an armful of Luvi's gowns out of the wardrobe and lays them on the bed. She whirls back around, her black wool skirt billowing out like a dancer's, and reaches the wardrobe again in three quick steps. "He really is a fine man. Tomas says he always speaks to him with the utmost respect. If you don't mind me saying, ma'am, he just sets my heart a-flutter." She lays out an armful of skirts neatly on the bed along with the gowns. Mid-step she stops and turns to Luvi, her eyes wide and her jaw dropped open, "Oh! Ma'am, I didn't mean-"
Luvi, standing perfectly still and completely unruffled in the midst Millie's furor, waves her hand dismissively with a passive smile, "Millie, you would have to be dead or blind not to notice Rogrigo. I would hardly take offense at anyone admiring the man. I'm not my sister Kat, after all."
A wide grin spread across Millie's pretty face. She grabs an armful of chemises and spins on her heels back to the bed. "However did you convince Master Chau to let you and Mistress Camistria go to Campanulae Demesne without a chaperone?"
"I told Mummy that I would be Mitsi's chaperone. That it was important that she get away from here to take her mind off of Pedrov. She said she would talk to Daddy," Luvi lifts her shoulders in a graceful shrug and arches her brows bemusedly.
"Poor Master Pedrov, to be lost so young," Millie remarks.
"Rubbish! I am sure he is fine and dandy somewhere in the afterlife, enjoying tea and lemon cookies with Mortis himself. Poor Mitsi is more like it. She loved that boy and now she is left here without him." Luvi runs her fingers back through her hair, lifting the thick mane as it cascades down her back in a flowing river of golden, winter darkened curls. He had better be somewhere in the afterlife for if I ever lay eyes on him in this plane, he'll be sorry he abandoned my little sister.
"Too right, ma'am," Millie sighs with a shake of her head.
"Luvi," Lhuvian corrects.
"Excuse me, ma'am?" Millie asks.
"Millie," Luvi says exasperatedly, "Call me Luvi, not ma'am."
"Yes, m-Miss Luvi. I'm sorry," Millie apologizes as she lays out Luvi's crimson cloak. She strokes it admiringly before laying out a dark green, felted wool manteau, and a fox fur stole. The wardrobe is fairly empty while the bed is piled high with clothes.
"I'm not planning on moving to Campanulae Demesne, merely a short vacation. I don't think I'll need all of my clothes."
Millie ducks her head as her cheeks flush from her normal rosy glow to an embarrassed crimson, "Of course, m-Miss Luvi. I'm just so excited."
"As am I, Millie," Luvi agrees. She saunters over to the window and stares out at the grey landscape. Her mind has moved forward to the upcoming trip rather than the horrid weather for a change. Firmly clasped in her hands is her grey suede journal.
artistic
grumpy
mischievous
discontent