Leef en... [Amsterdam/Public]

((Get prepared for some sub-par rping. /out of practice :I))

Diederik was not the kind of man who dwelled much on the deeper questions of life. ...Or at least, that's what people generally assumed. The frugal, no-nonsense Dutchman definitely didn't seem like the type, outwardly. But in reality, he tended to think quite a lot on things.

His business, for example.

Transporting people (usually without them being properly informed of their fate) to a place where they were caged up like animals--and treated like something less--was nothing close to his idea of a saintly career option. However, he did it, and he put just as much effort into it as he did with the less evil part of his job (shipping imports to the carnival and other similar buyers). Why? Because like any other earthly vice or sin, it was going to exist with or without him. 

So it might as well be with him. He might as well be the one to allow the practice of human trafficking on his ship, so that it could be regulated. So that it wasn't done by some common pirates. So that there was some sort of standard upheld throughout tbe process.

That's what he told himself, anyways, when he counted his money.

At the moment, though, his justifications for his own actions were being called into serious question. It'd been quite some time since he'd been back to the carnival, but he was pretty damn sure that he knew how many freaks he'd transported over the years. He wanted to know why some were suddenly missing.

He'd tried to find Franziska (or as he secretly thought of her as, "that Austrian whore"--) to get an answer--not to mention discuss payment for the new shipment--but she was nowhere to be found.

Until she showed up (he sent his first mate to inquire into her whereabouts), he was left with no choice but to wonder as he smoked, leaning against one of the now-empty cars (The radioactive girl's car, he thought--he remembered her because of how much she fucking cried. All. The. Time.). It didn't make sense for them to set the freaks free, and with the Ragtags being the only other carnival in the area, he couldn't see that they would sell them. He didn't want to think the worst, but...that's exactly what he thought. There was no way he could make his conscience feel okay with bringing people to some kind of death camp, and--

...

...Oh God, was that the Romanov kid?

It was hard to tell in the dim light of the evening, but he was fairly certain that was the familiar form of the Russian passing between cars not too far in the distance. He'd unfortunately forgotten in the midst of his musings that the little shit sometimes skulked around this area. Diederik promptly made for the opposite direction, wanting anything but to get into another long-winded conversation about Piter's beloved father. 

He had the great misfortune of having known Pyotr Sr. back when he was still alive (not that he disliked the fellow sailor--it was Junior who he hated), and was now suffering for the fact. He didn't know how much praise for the late Romanov he'd had to listen to the last time; he must have blocked out the memory. All he knew was that there was no need to recall it.

After gaining some ground, he looked over his shoulder and noted with satisfaction that he seemed to have gotten away. ...Except...now he wasn't quite sure where he was, being unfamiliar with the carnival grounds.

Were these still the animal cars?


((/SUCKAGE. :I Blah, that last bit was not a hypothetical question; it's totally up to you where he is atm, since I couldn't decide where I wanted him to be for his first topic. XD

btw, one of the best-known places that Peter the great visited on his travels was Amsterdam--the small house he stayed in is still there, even, and gets many visitors. B) ))

Auguste was never comfortable with the freaks. No, there was always something about them, something about these complete have-nots that terrified him. He made it his mission to always avoid the animal cages. They wanted to kill him, he knew. They were jealous of his wealth, the wealth that he had earned. They were jealous of his abilities, the abilities he righteously deserved. He could only come to the conclusion that all of them would be plotting against him, were their freedoms not checked. One of them escaped, and the others did nothing to prevent it. That was enough to prove that they were disloyal.

So when someone called Auguste to meet this freak seller, he did not know what to do. It was not like himself to allow others to do his work for him. There was some visible discomfort when this first mate expressed his purpose here (after a deal of confusion over Franze's departure).

If it was up to Auguste there would be no freaks at the carnival. But things were not up to Auguste, they were up to the times, up to money, and up to the carnival lovers. For some reason they fancied this freak show. For some reason, they did not understand the inherent danger in an oppressed mass of people. So he had to oppress them even more. For if they were not strong enough to rebel, then they would not rebel. A number of them had died. He did not want to know their conditions. Ignorance, he knew, was bliss.

But he heard rumors.

But at least he did not hear rumors about their plotting against him. They must know from their conditions, that punishment would be severe. They were neglected, but that was because Auguste wanted them to be neglected. Not because he forgot about them. They did not know what their owner even looked like, but they surely knew that.

"Take me to him." He said after too many seconds of silence. And the first mate led him out in search for the man.

But it was not very difficult to find him. Somehow the man ended up nearby.

And now Auguste wished he did not go out to meet the man. Some new look of disgust crust upon his face when he saw who it was. A familiar face. A face that Auguste unfortunately would not forget. He and his 'father' had brushed up with this man before. This man had placed himself opposed to their interests. From him, Auguste knew nothing but trouble.

But Auguste of course, would be amiable. There was a place for war, and there was a place for diplomacy. It was time for business now.

Reaching out a hand, he smiled. Though they knew each other, they were certainly not friends, and Auguste was much too short to kiss him anyways. Though his hands were broken and scratched under his gloves, a cold handshake was best.

"Van der Linde, bonjour! You would like to discuss the freaks, yes? You are well? Here, we should walk, it has been very nice out."

((Ffff, sorry for just assuming they knew each other. The Dutch were huge enemies for Louis XIV, so i figured, they would probably be familiar with each other. Also, I would probably assume it was something militarily where they know each other? AU-wise I've decided to make Auguste involved with the military, (as it is a big aspect of Versailles, past and present.))

((It's okay, I would assume the same--and as far as the AU goes, I wouldn't say that Diederik was/is directly involved with any national military, but the DE/WITCs were powerful enough to conduct war by their own means. So in that regard, I think he would be able to partake in such affairs, to some extent.
If it's okay, though, I may have to ask to leave the interpretation of their relationship up to you. My guinea pig died this morning, and I'm just not feeling up to doing much research right now, I'm sorry. :( ))

He was just starting to feel that maybe it was okay to be lost if it meant getting away from Romanov, only to come face-to-face with...

Bourbon?

His face broke out into something between a scowl and a grimace, revealing his crooked, yellowed teeth. It was as though this place was just full of people he didn't like, and if he was to escape one, it was only because he had to run into another.

"What's this?" He asked in Dutch of his crewman, gesturing with a flick of his hand at Auguste. "Where's the Austrian?" The former explained in the same language the brief story of the leadership shuffle that had gone down at Mistique in their absense.

To which Diederik had to take a pause to think over. Franze had been bad, yes. Unbearable, no. But he'd never been a fan of the French (Then again, who was?), and of all the Frenchman in the world, it would have to be this one to take her place. Was it possible to do peaceful business with Bourbon? He didn't know, he'd never attempted it. ...But he really had nothing to lose. There were plenty of freakshows out there, it was just a matter of finding them if replacement was necessary.

Squinting shrewdly for a moment at the other man's gloved hand, he grasped it (probably more firmly than was really necessary) with his bared one, calloused and rough from a lifetime of operating a ship.

"Bourbon," He replied shortly (he had a slight accent, and a very even tone, which might have been pleasant if he weren't so gruff about it), releasing the other man's hand, "I was expecting the Austrian woman. But ja, I have a shipment from the east--"

Giving some orders in Dutch, he motioned for his first mate to leave, then took up Auguste's suggestion to walk without really waiting for him to take the lead. He couldn't be sure that the Frenchman would want to go back towards the direction of the animal cars, but that's where Diederik wanted to be.

"Lot of spare cars here," he gestured around with his pipe before placing it back between his teeth, "Suppose you'll have plenty of room for any new freaks. There were more here, the last time I was around." His tone made it clear that it had not been a rhetorical statement. When he wanted to make a point, no one could accuse him of not making it. Tact wasn't exactly his strongest suit.

((fdgkldf ): I'm so sorry about that. Be free to take however long to respond then, until you feel better, and fff okay, whatever feels best for you.))

Naturally they were not pleased to meet each other again, but it was not so hard to pretend it. Honestly, everyone but the French were so seriously lacking in courtesy. It was as if manners did not exist outside of France.

But Auguste could ignore the snub. But, he was slightly less able to ignore the crunch of his fragile bones, from the rough handshake. Teeth clenched, he prevented any noises of pain from leaving his lips.

He would not be polite enough to let the Dutchman lead, as he was doing. And he was leading right to the one place Auguste did not want to be. There weren't even any security guards nearby. And if his life was in danger, he knew the Dutchman could only encourage it.

“You haven't seen the aesthetic improvements I have done to the carnival, I'm sure, let me show you,” he began, with a wave of his hand, increasing his pace, to lead Diederik elsewhere. They had to be elsewhere before they could even begin to answer or negotiate whatever was at hand.

His smile returned once they were a comfortable distance away from the cages.

“Ah, yes, our Austrian quit a number of weeks ago. This demanding sort of position really wasn't suited for someone of her mental capacity. The influence of my family, as I'm sure you know, is a worldwide phenomenon. As we so happened to own a large stake in the carnival, and as times are too rough to take many chances now, I was put in charge in her absence.” He smiled, always eager to talk about himself, or to diss that Austrian whore.

“I had no idea that the business of our carnival was so reliant on you, though.” If his family had any idea, they probably would have done something about it. How many years had this man spent against his family? And now they were secretly supporting him? “Funny, that is so funny, isn't it?” He spent no effort in hiding a laugh, now he forced one out. It would be nice to have this man's nerves grated on as much as possible.

“Our cars are getting a little empty, but I'm afraid, I'm not sure if we need any more freaks. Where someone like Franze would have respected this sort of business...” looking up to the man, he smiled again. “I find it a little....-ah, how do you say....-without taste.”

“The freaks are a costly part of our carnival, and unless you have anything of a little more quality-- Something that would not suck away our money, or run off, then I am not sure we need your services.”

((No, I want to try to respond regularly, since rping with you guys keeps my mind off of things <:) <3))

He would have to have been blind to not notice that they were being lead very pointedly away from the freaks' cars. It seemed that the new leadership was not wholly comfortable with being around them, for whatever reason. Diederik would have liked to know more about it, but it wasn't in his nature to pry into personal matters (if it was, indeed, some sort of personal matter). However, he knew that eventually they'd have to go back, since that was where his crew was currently keeping the newest potential members of the carnival's least fortunate caste.

To the suggestion that he would give two shits about any aesthetic improvement to the place, he could only give a very obvious snort of disinterest. He already thought that the whole thing was too gaudy. He highly doubted that anything Bourbon had done to change it would be an improvement in his eyes.

Nevertheless, he followed his lead, offering a terse, "Hn," to the explanation about the change in leadership. Really, there was nothing to say. It seemed almost inconsequential that the Dutchman was exactly the type not to praise; Auguste threw around enough self-acclaim for two people.

At his next words, though, he removed his pipe from it's place between his teeth so that he could make his words very clear, "There is only one organization similar to mine that ranks as a close second." He leered down at the Frenchman in response to the smile, "And it's run by an Englishman." It was no big secret how the English and the French felt about each other. He assumed that Auguste was no exception. But even if not-- "I can easily take my business elsewhere. When I make port in Amsterdam, I'll refer you to this man; he operates from London."

Diederik was a businessman, not a fool. He knew that whether either of them found the idea of a freakshow very tasteful or not, successful businesses invested into popular demand, not personal interest. If Bourbon didn't know it, as well, then he was in the wrong line of work.

((Okayyy, ): I hope you feel better, though.))

"You know, I don't like the both of you." Auguste sighed. "...If that is not obvious. I do not like the freaks either, so you honestly give me very little to choose from. Really, you make this so difficult for me, maybe I just should switch to the Englishman. It would make you unhappy. Your unhappiness does bring me so much joy, you know?" Another small smile flickered up. It did not last for long.

"The Englishman might have better quality freaks than the trash you give us. I know health defects is part of their wonder, but do you know how much money we have to pay on their medical care? You charged us for them initially, only to have these various charges thrown at us every day to keep them alive. We can't get any money from that." Of course, he was exaggerating a bit. There would be much less medical charges if he actually spent more on their food or sanitation. But that also cost money. To him, though they earned money, more than that, they trickled away money. Some kind of freak that needed less than life's basics would be nice.

"You know, a friend of my family found some little gem in Indochina a while ago for us. Maybe that's what we can do, just find these things. She does not cost much at all really, and was free." He paused, as if he did need to think. He was stuck in a corner here. No doubt, the carnival would lose business if it lost it's freak shows. But they did not need low quality, or non-freakish freaks. There were a reason why so many freaks were dying. It was because they were of low quality.

"I'm not stupid, like that Austrian.... Show me something that you have with actual quality."

((Thank you, I do feel okay, now. <3 Also, I must apologize for what I'm about to write, but I can't help myself--/shot))

Diederik could tolerate a lot of things, but this person was really beginning to grate on his nerves. And it was always best not to push the buttons of someone who could quite literally pick up most people as though they were dolls. As Auguste would soon find out.

Without a word, he heeded the demand to show him the freaks...by lifting him by the back of his jacket and bodily dragging him back to the animal cars. Reaching the space his crew had reserved for the cages of new people (some would be sold here, some would be taken to other buyers), he dropped the Frenchman unceremoniously next to the nearest cage, causing a nearby group of 'exotic' prostitutes he also trafficked (carefully guarded by two crewmen--they didn't need to be kept in cages like the freaks, but they could still try to run for it) to flinch back slightly.

"Here," he gestured at the cluster of cages irritatedly, "Take your pick. Or I'll pack up and go elsewhere."

Meanwhile, one of the 'prostitutes' (she had insisted many times that she wasn't) had been using the captain's absence as her chance to make an escape attempt. She already had one of the guards under a spell, and had been working with the other one, when the Dutchman returned earlier than expected, along with some other man she didn't recognize. But no matter, he seemed to be preoccupied with the freaks' cages. She still had time.

The sailor whose gaze she was holding steadily was transfixed, staring back into the black depths of her eyes with his mouth slightly open. She knew that right now, his mind was floating in a euphoria-like state. The ukiyo. It was like the subliminality of a tsunami, the shape of fire, the pleasure of sex, the taste of water, the beauty of love: indescribable. And desirable.
And the longer she stared directly into a man's eyes, the more powerful the ukiyo pulled him in (it was why she normally kept her gaze down--besides that it was the proper way for a woman to hold herself). Which was why it had taken so long to get the two sailors as zoned-out looking as they were. The other women watched out of the corners of their eyes, wondering, hoping that they might get away, too.

She knew, any second now, and she could make a break for it. It was uncertain how fast or far she could run, but it was better than resigning herself to this indignity. She couldn't see the captain directly at the moment, but she assumed that his attention was still with the stranger from this 'carnival' place. Backing up one step, then two, she turned, lifting her skirts, about to run as fast as she could--

And a heavy hand fell on her shoulder, effectively stopping her from taking a single step.

Feeling her heart sink, she looked up and over to see Van der Linde looming over her, looking unamused. Barking some orders in Dutch, the stupefied sailors were led away, and three fresh men took their place. The other prostitutes looked thoroughly disheartened.

But not as much as Hanako, who was now being steered away with the Dutchman so that he could keep a closer watch on her. Standing her near the freak's cages (which frightened her somewhat, secretly), he gave her a look that said it was in her best interests not to try anything like that again. She could have spit on him, if she weren't too refined to do so. Her virginity had been given to this bastard, and now he treated her like a prisoner just because he'd mistaken her for a dirty whore.

He turned his attention back to the Frenchman, and she took a closer look at this stranger, looking into his eyes just briefly (the same brief look that she once used to make men follow her deep into the flower and willow world...). She didn't know who he was, but she could guess that he must have been doing business with the captain, so perhaps he was the owner of this place. She didn't like it here; all she'd seen were the cages of abnormal people, and it disturbed her. There was nothing beautiful about these 'carnival' things. It was nothing like the world she'd come from.

What a flagrant act of disrespect! The act was like a slap in the face to Auguste, so unimaginably rude in nature, that he hardly knew how to respond. Nobody he was in business with would ever have the guts to do that to him. He was not the type of person to be tossed around! He was not going to make business with someone who treated him as if he was an inferior.

By the time Auguste had back the dignity to get up, that Dutchman was taking care of some other business with one of those oriental freaks. From the back, she did not look like a freak. No, none of them did. They looked like women, pretty and elegant women, but that was what his pet from Indochina initially seemed like.

"What is this?!" He scoffed. "These are fit for the brothel, not...." And his glance was caught on this new girl. She looked at him, all these girls looked at him, but the way she did it... The sour look on his face melted away in to some rare look of awe. Women rarely induced many emotions for Auguste, there was lust, there was always lust, but this, this felt like something more. Auguste flirted around with the idea of love before. It had never happened to him before. But was this sudden explotion of euphoria, of beauty, of lust and joy love? Auguste, who considered his only flaw to be the lack of control over the sexual functions of his body, felt himself losing control of some other part of his body- his mind. He moved towards her. No, he did not even feel himself moving towards her, but she just became closer.

He wanted to touch her, but like an ancient painting, he felt that she should not be touched. He was in a different world, and he touched her, he would leave that world. He did not want to leave it.

He had to. His eyes had to get away from hers. By pulling away, he had to pretend as if his insatiable lust was somehow satisfied? But no, it was not. Looking at her, he had become a starving man looking at some magnificant dessert. He could not devour her yet, but she could only make him so hungry.

It took a few seconds for his eyes to return to the Dutchman. Until his mind was composed, they were almost wild.

"Mademoiselle...." He began with a charming smile, sticking a hand out for her to kiss. His eyes would not make the mistake of meeting hers again, though. They went his Dutch enemy.

"This one, what is she--, ah- you are selling her...? She doesn't belong with the freaks. What are you doing with her?"

((Don't know how her power works exactly, If I'm responding wrongly to it, you can just tell me.))

((I hadn't fully decided yet--I was going to say it was up to the man in question--but I like the way you described it better, so I'm going with that--/shotdown forever XD))

"Ja, those are the whores," he informed him, indicating the cages, "These are the freaks-- ..." He recognized that look on Auguste's face. It was the same one he'd been dealing with on the faces of his crew during the entire journey back from Kyoto. It was the same one he'd probably had on his own face when she'd enticed him into buying her virginity--back when he was rich enough to throw away so much money on such a thing (not that he wouldn't look back on that incident with copious amounts of regret later on; sex with virgins was nothing like it was hyped up to be).

Honestly, he didn't want to deal with this whore anymore. She was way more trouble than he'd ever expected, what with the way she was turning his men into vegetables left and right whenever he wasn't paying attention. And he himself, who had a habit of always looking someone in the eye when speaking, had to train himself to avert his gaze around her. It was quickly becoming clear to him that the sooner he got rid of her, the better.

...And perhaps it would be sooner than he thought.

"That one's a geisha, from the pleasure districts of Japan," he replied, sounding notably less rough, "She's for sale--as a prostitute, of course, not a freak."

At this, Hanako stiffened slightly, though her expression did not change. She would have given just about anything to correct him, loudly and indignantly. But endurance was a beautiful thing, and so she was well-trained in the art of it, showing dignity even in the most adverse situations.

But a hand suddenly presented itself to her, and she looked up slightly in a moment of surprise. 'Mademoiselle'? She didn't know this language, or this gesture. Obviously, he was addressing her, though, so she bowed politely, gracefully. As every geisha was trained to do. She glanced at Diederik to see if this was the acceptable thing to do, but he wasn't looking towards her.

"Geisha spend their whole lives learning the 'art' of pleasing men," he noted casually, replacing his pipe between his teeth, "Interested?"

She refused his hand, and he was refused the chance to feel the touch of her lips on his thinly gloved hands. Only a bow. Maybe she did not understand. Maybe that was how they greeted each other in her country. Or maybe she just wanted to tease his sensations until she was his own. A slight frown creased across his face, as he drew his hand back.

"I....." he wanted to take another glance at this Geisha, but he had to stop himself from doing so. Really, it was almost painful to have to avert his eyes from such a temptatious woman. He was not used to doing so. No, he was used to looking and taking any woman he wanted. Sexual restraint was such a strange and foreign concept.

Where was he, even? What had her gaze done to him to make him like this? He had never been so unsettled by a woman before. Would he feel like this until his body was satisfied? Then he would pay the price, whatever it was, to whoever he had to pay it to. But he had to calm down first. He was so trained in the art of etiquette. One must always be composed, especially in these sorts of situations. His heart raced, but he could not speak, until he had the poise to speak.

"Yes." Normally the buying of whores was left up to the pimp, but Auguste ran the carnival. And he did not want the pimp laying his filthy hands on this gem. She was too pure for him. Auguste may have been buying her body, but she was not a whore. No, calling her a whore would be like calling a flower a weed. She deserved a title of respect. For, like the King's Maitresse-en-titre, she demanded it.

"I am interested... How much...?"

 This man was going to buy her, and she was not sure whether or not this was a good thing. He was handsome, as far as appearances went, but she of all people knew best just how much an appearance could hide. He was not like her. He was an outsider, which meant he did not know her ways, or the ways of her beautiful culture. He would only use her. She could not trust him.

Diederik, however, had no problem dumping her on Bourbon. He considered prices in his mind for a moment, imagining what was the most he could get for her. South Asian girls went for a couple hundred in American dollars, but they were not as difficult to get to. He ran a veritable monopoly on Japan, and a genuine geisha? A well-trained one, at that? She merited a bit more than the average whore.

"One thousand, five hundred, even," he finally declared, firmly, "She's a rarity, so I won't accept any less."

Normally, he might have tried for more (not that he could have really expected to get much more, but that was how bargaining worked), but he was eager to get her off of his ship. Not that he could let this show, though. He had to make it seem like he was not so quick to let go of such a good find.

Hanako, on the other hand, was highly affronted. One thousand, five hundred? That couldn't be much more than one hundred, twenty thousand yen. She had kimono back home that cost at least fifteen times that much! Her cheeks burned beneath her makeup from the indignity of it.

She was trained to be a work of art, not a man-pleaser, as he'd put it. She was a living work of art. Art was worth so much more, so much more...

Auguste frowned, as if pretending the price was too much for him. It was not, though. It seemed too low, actually. So low, that it really was a little suspicious. Diederik and Auguste we not friends. They were not supposed to look out for the interests of each other. No, they were long time enemies, Auguste considered him to be his biggest rival (or well, one of the biggest, next to those British bastards) at one point in his life. So Auguste could only take these circumstances with a grain of salt. A long pause followed. He wanted this woman, there was no doubt about that, but still...

“...Est-elle propre...?” He asked quickly. Unaware what she spoke, he only went with his natural language, and thought that maybe for the moment it would be nice if she was not fluent. Everyone with any education knew French, (or, so Auguste believed) but educated women were usually not sold off. The question was awkward, though. Everything about her claimed that she was clean. Her pure white skin, it could only radiate virginity, weather she was one or not.

“What does she speak....? ...Is her body... it is in perfect condition, yes...? Her mind, as well....? There are not any... medical expenses I will need to pay for along the way...?” Auguste, who had never really engaged in the buying and selling art of human trafficking before, did not know how to phrase the questions. They did not sit well with him, if that was not apparent between the strained thought and the hesitation between each personal question. He had bought dogs or horses before, and only knew how to take it like that.... Even though he was dealing with humans now... Dealing with women.

This was a woman he planned to have sex with. His method for sex usually involved charm. But how could these words possibly charm her...? He was not fit for this type of situation. Looking at her, she did not seem either.

“...And what is her name....?” He had not even asked that question yet. His eyes shifted from Diederik's to get entangled in hers yet again. Those lustful emotions erupted with such force, force that simple arousal rarely produced. He only had time to ask a quick, “My love...your name?” before he could no longer look in to them.

((Aughh, I love how often my computer crashes, just as I finish up a response. :l)

((ffffuuuuu--oh my god, I hate when that happens :\ Even though I already wrote it once before, I don't like to do it again XD))

Diederik was not a man of humor, but he very nearly burst out laughing. Nearly. Perhaps he'd over-estimated the Frenchman's experience in this particular field of business. It wasn't entirely unreasonable to assume that--seeing as how Franze was in charge the last time he and his crew showed up--Auguste had never previously dealt with human trafficking. He considered himself a solid businessman when it came to setting prices, but that said, it had been quite some time since he'd undercharged, accidentally or not (though that part was something he was not even considering laughing about).

Thankfully, the Japanese woman did not speak French, and probably did not even know what France was. If she had heard the question, though, she might have lost her mind with bottled-up outrage. She considered her own people to be the cleanest in the world (despite that she'd never seen the rest of the world)--certainly cleaner than the people in this country, who wore their shoes indoors and didn't even follow the nightly bathing ritual.

Diederik, on the other hand, did understand the question, and thus was able to reply in the same tongue (whether he liked it or not), though considerably more starkly, "J'imagine. The district she's from is walled off from the outside--they regulate who comes and goes. And the women inside are part of a hierarchy; geisha are exclusively for 'high-class' customers." For the most part, he was entirely correct...except that the hanamachi and the red light district were not one place. And yet their methods of confinement and control were little more dissimilar than the appearance of those inside.

"Besides Japanese, she speaks some Dutch and English...in a sense." He didn't know who had taught her the language, but everything she said was so ridiculously formal that he wondered if she even understood colloquial conversation. "And I haven't seen that there's any medical problems, as long as she's been with us--would you like to check her teeth, just in case?" Again, if he were a humorous man, he might have laughed.

"My love...your name?"

Hanako had been listening to the exchange, fascinated by the softness of this language she'd never heard...well, except when Van der Linde spoke it. But she didn't like anything he said, in any tongue. When the question suddenly switched to English and was directed towards her, it took her a moment to process it.
She understood the first two words perfectly fine, but not their implication. It was far too familiar an expression to translate into Japanese, so she left it as it was and focused on what she did recognize: the request for her name.

Reminding herself that Westerners introduced themselves with their given names first, their surnames secondly, she bowed once more. Accent clear but not incomprehensible, she replied in soft, measured tones, "Hanako Yanagi..." Looking up just slightly at him, she added, "Please handle me delicately."

(Diederik, meanwhile, just managed to hold back a snort. Was that how she translated 'douzo yoroshiku'?)

"Please handle me delicately."

The high pitch of his laugh spilled forth at that comment. It was not something he should have done. Auguste had pretty bad English, himself. Others had laughed at his mistranslations before, he did not take kindly to it.

"Delicately....?" The lower, smoother pitch of his voice forced itself back up. "Of course, I will be delicate. I will treat you like the nicest flower in my garden. I could never handle roughly such beauty. I would never destroy your fragility, as I am just so in love with it." He smiled softly at her, and brushed back a piece of hair that must have become loose from whatever she had been doing earlier. There was probably not much room for her to maintain herself in that ship. “Much better than our Dutch friend treats you...”

And he glanced back to Diederik again. He almost wanted to ask why she was being sold for so cheap. It did not make much sense. The Dutch were very cheap. But being cheap was very different than selling things for cheap. He looked over the Geisha again. One final look before the purchase... It was too bad he couldn't try her out first, and then pay.

But that was not how this kind of business worked.

“I'll buy her then... Come to my office, we'll make the deal. I don't like whatever else you have. Come on...” A hand was put out for the Japanese girl. He didn't know if he was supposed to touch her, yet. But what he was and wasn't supposed to do did not matter. “And you too, as I can not wait for my love to join me~”

Hanako was accustomed to entertaining all sorts of men (in the platonic sense), but she was beginning to realize that all kinds of Japanese men were not like all kinds of Western men. For one thing, she'd never heard a Japanese man laugh so much unless a joke had been made, or if he was very drunk. This man did not smell like alcohol, nor did he sound even a little tipsy, so that could not be the case. And she had not been joking, as far as she was concerned, but perhaps in his language, it had sounded that way. It was difficult to know what to make of it.

And then he continued to say 'love', but surely he could not mean that? Love, being the same word as 'ai', in her language? It was much too strong a term, reserved only for something as passionate as say, the bond between mother and child. He must have meant 'like', that made much more sense. But again, perhaps in his language, 'like' did not carry the same connotation as what he was trying to convey.

In the end, she decided (as always) that it was most appropriate to just let her training take over. Hand flat, she placed the tips of her fingers just hovering over her painted lips, to cover the smallest of smiles, without completely hiding it. Dipping her head and shoulders perhaps just a centimeter or two--fluidly, gracefully, it had to seem as though she were always dancing, never forced, never jerky--she was about to give one of her ready-made eloquent responses, but then his fingers brushed lightly against her face, and whatever was about to be said was caught in her throat.

She was a long way from home, indeed. Men did not touch her, not like this. Again, she did not know what to make of it--when she requested to be handled delicately, it might as well have been meant literally. She could not remember the last time she'd been touched gently.

Having forgotten what she had previously planned to say, she lowered her gaze (humility was never a bad choice) and murmured her thanks. He offered her his hand, as well, and again she was baffled. Hesitantly, she touched it just with her fingertips, waiting to see what would happen and if she was meant to do something more. Diederik was certainly no help; having gotten tired of the whole thing (and feeling somewhat sore for having wasted a trip here only to make one sale--unless the guy who ran the brothel showed more promise), he was already calling for someone to get Hanako's things (though she might as well have gotten it herself, they were so few in number) out of the rest of the luggage.

A sailor brought over a lacquer box. Nothing more, nothing less. The woman immediately went over and accepted it from him--though the only proper way to do so was with both hands, and thus she was pulled away from Auguste. But the box was a delicate thing, and seeing it being handled roughly made her nervous. It was best to carry it herself until she had a place to put it safely.

The Dutchman began tapping his foot impatiently, "Alright, let's go." He might as well have added 'let's get this over with'.

Auguste, to say the least, was a little put off by her behaviour. Her mannerisms, they were odd. She was so subtle, maybe too shy for what he had in mind for her. She was a virgin, he could only assume. If she was not, then she acted with as much virginity as a young girl. It seemed strange. Whores, of course, could be very expensive if that was in tact.

Not that he would sell it, though. He was going to have her first.

"I will hold that for you," he offered, taking the box for her without her consent. That was common courtesy. She would not accept his hand, so he would please her like this.

His car, where he did business, was on the other side of the carnival from the freak cages.

"And we go. There is no need to be so antsy for our deal, is it Van Der Linde? This is a good deal, is it not?" He began, despite the somewhat heavy box, he walked quicker before them. He was much more eager than both of his business partners. They made their way to his car, he let them in.

"I have some things for you to sign, it should not take long...." He smiled, pulling some papers out from some nicely organized file, they were handed to Diederik before he energetically walked off to the kitchen.

"You want some wine? I only have the good, expensive stuff, nothing you would like. But I will get some for you, Hanako?"

((Lmaooo this is very low quality. :l Alternating between movies and responses, on someone else's computer, sorry. kind of rusheddd and short, sorrrry.))

((Looks great to me B) I don't mind how long/short replies are, personally, so there's no need to worry about it. XD))

He took the box from her, which was, indeed, appropriate (she would have never let a client at the teahouse trouble themselves so, but this was not there, and he was not a client in the traditional sense). She was left to walk with her poise still intact, which had been a lot to compromise for a box, for her.

It would be a long time until she could figure out this man, she felt. Normally, putting on a shy act (though, it wasn't so much of an act here--and on top of that, she was quite frightened, given the situation she was in) worked well for customers who were a bit more forward. But that was Japan. 'Forward' there, she was starting to see, was still miles behind 'forward' here. Would she accordingly have to adjust her approach to fit what Westerners wanted to see? Was this what they wanted to see? And if not, could she change?

Diederik just snorted in response to Auguste, and Hanako took note of it. It was very rude, to her. Almost unthinkably so. Was it not rude to them?

...No, she couldn't believe that. It was just Diederik.

And then they were allowed inside, and she realized to her dismay that she did not recognize any of these furnishings. Where were they to sit? She watched the Dutchman (who had to duck to avoid the ceiling--he hated being indoors) as he took a seat, but hesitated to do the same. For one thing, the seating was odd and looked uncomfortable--though perhaps she shouldn't have used Van der Linde as an indication, since he just looked displeased anyways. But what if it was not appropriate for women to sit in the presence of men, here? The only safe thing to do was to remain standing, just near Diederik (which wasn't such a bad thing, since she could sneak glances at what he was signing--unfortunately, though, it wasn't in kanji).

"No, I don't want your poison," Diederik grunted as he read over the forms carefully. Hanako was a bit taken aback. Poison? What was that? And what was wine?

"'Wine' is..." She trailed off indicitavely.

"Sake." The Dutchman replied, without looking away from the papers.

Ah. Rice alcohol. She smiled gracefully--she was used to handling the stuff, but was truthfully unaccustomed to consuming it herself. To decline would be rude, however. "As it is yours, I could only be too happy to be allowed to sample it." Like she wanted nothing more, but wouldn't take it from anyone else.

He already had some wine bottles open, but none were right for this type of situiation. All the open bottles were not very special. They were good, obviously, Auguste did not drink bad wine, but they were not as romantic as he would like. He opened a new bottle, one of his more expensive ones. It was just perfect for this evening, though.

"Oh Monsieur, you know, I make it a rule of mine not to offer the English or the Dutch anything good. You people can not appreciate it. You never have to worry about the prospects of having nice foods in my house," he began, in idle chatter as he got out two glasses, for pouring out the dark contents of the wine bottle into. Capping the bottle, he left each on his desk, hovering above to empty seats.

"Sit down and enjoy, my love." He smiled to Hanako, pulling out a chair closer to him than Diederik for her to sit. "You must be tired now? We would not like you getting too tired by tonight. So rest for now. Surely you had such a rough journey under Monsieur Van Der Linde and his Dutch crew? It is difficult for them to comprehend humanity and femininine niceties. They are Dutch, though. We, the French are not like this. You are always completely welcomed in my home."

He was off, again, though, before he could sit and chat with her, as he would have liked. Now, he reached in some drawer for a check, and in some other drawer for a pen. Now, finally sitting down with his company, he signed it off in order to the Dutchman (With handwriting sloppier than usual, due to his injured hands). He'd never thought that he would be paying this man before, well, freely paying him. His family had had to pay reperations of sorts to his family before. But that was only because they had to. This was a little similar, maybe. Auguste had little to no free will to resist the Japanese woman's dark and enchanting eyes.

"You will stay in my room tonight, my sweet, until I can be sure that we have another car for you. It will be no burden on me, and of course, you're welcome." Another smile at Hanako. He imagined she would frequent his room more often than that. Well, depending on how tonight turned out.

"You never have to worry about the prospect of me being in your house again," he grumbled in response, while scribbling his signature in the required places. Next time (if there was a next time), he would insist on doing business outside; his legs were already cramping up in these chairs.

Accepting the seat (which felt so odd to sit in; her legs felt exposed, despite that her dress was long), she inspected the glass--which in itself was strange, with it's perfect clearness and long stem--noting the deep color of it's contents.

"Kore wa sake dewa arimasen..." She said quietly, almost in a tone that would suggest she'd accidentally let the observation slip out.

"It's made from grapes--masukatto, not rice," the Dutchman corrected, not bothering to reply in Japanese, even for the sake of not embarrassing her.

Flushing slightly, she would have very much liked to inform him that she knew perfectly well what 'grapes' meant...just not that you could make wine from them. But she said nothing, and used Auguste's comments as an excuse to hesitate to drink, "The sea travel is a very...interesting experience." ('...Interesting' was practically an out-and-out insult.) "Comfort aside, it strangely feels as though one's insides will never stop turning--but, of course," she added, under a thin veil of innocence, as though she honestly believed this and was therefore not rude for saying so, "Van der Linde-san" (she pronounced it like 'Ban da Rinde') "is remarkably untroubled, at sea. It is maybe because his insides are too heavy to turn, as they are made from coins." This remark was dropped so casually, that it could have gone unnoticed, in a more fast-paced conversation. She smiled at both of them.

Never, ever would she have been so daring as to make such a comment before, but... He was selling her now, about to leave for an indefinite amount of time (she hoped forever, personally), and she could not let him go without somehow expressing, even minutely, her unbearable hatred for him. Her pride couldn't stand for it.

He simply scowled, just narrowly avoiding looking into her eyes, passing over the papers and taking the check without bothering to retort. There was no need to; a thousand vague insults wouldn't change the fact that he'd won here. Getting up without a word, he left the Frenchman with his new purchase, glad to have washed his hands of her. He would try the brothel next, and see if he would have more luck dealing his wares there.

After he left, she became visibly more relaxed--though her posture was still straight and her hands remained folded in her lap. As any decent woman's would.

"You are too kind," she murmured at the invitation (Though was it an invitation if there was no choice? And she certainly caught the implication--no cultural difference could change that a man and a woman alone together could only mean one thing.), looking up and wondering how deeply he'd already fallen under the floating spell. How deeply he would fall until it was broken--if ever. And how he would feel if and when it was. "I am in your service...however," she stared hard at the table, though her voice remained silky, "If I may make it known...geisha are not prostitutes. My only wish is not to be thought of as something so lowly."

It was difficult understanding Hanako. Her accent was very strange. She spoke English different from how his other woman spoke English. Was it different from how he spoke it, he wondered? He had been told that his accent was strong, but those with strong accents rarely knew that they spoke that way. Maybe Hanako was the same.

It took a while for him to get her insult. It almost slipped past his mind without much thought. But shortly after, he realized what she had said, and another laugh broke out. It was good to see Van der Linde in a bad mood as he left. Of course, Auguste would have to conduct business with him in the future, but for now, it was good to see him gone.

And they were left alone.

Auguste smiled. Collecting the papers of the deal, he too, seemed to become more relaxed. Van der Linde did have complete power over this new fling, as he owned her. And the girl, her eyes seemed to have some power over Auguste. Women often controlled him, but that was acceptable. They weren't really able to make much of that control. Men were. Van der Linde would have been able to.

But she was his property now, that was what the papers said.

"Of course...I am not sure what a Giesha is..." He looked at her, but not her eyes. "... but I never called you a prostitute, did I? No," Getting up, he walked behind her to file her papers away. All the other humans he owned had their names in that file. In his carnival, she was not unique. No matter what hold her eyes had on his senses. She still was just like every other woman. She was special, but not that special.

She was probably used to that. On Van der Linde's slave ship, she must have been in the same situation.

"I am well aware that you are much too dignified for that, ...Madame Yanagi. My father, he did not stick to his wife, you know? Others have called his women 'whores', but they were some of the most high classed women I knew. Certain people put too much weight on their ideal image of sexuality. We are not afraid to get things from sex, but that does not make us prostitutes?"

Footsteps slow, almost sultry, he reared up to her chair. Slowly again, he placed a hand on to her shoulder, and then his lips on her ear. Kissing it so slightly. He imagined a slight kiss would be almost satisfying. But it was not. Oh, how much restraint it took to keep from ripping her clothing off and making love to her right then! That illusion her eyes gave him, he wanted it as a reality. His lips stayed there longer than they normally would. Her smell was real, and though she had been on the sea, she smelled so nice. Her flesh was real, as his lips could almost taste. But that was what this small kiss was. It was just almost a taste. He wanted more than that.

But still not yet... That would be impossibly rude. His body hesitantly backed away from hers. With another pause, he returned to the kitchen.

"You must be starved? The Dutch, they feed you very badly, yes? Van der Linde, he was an enemy of my family's, and of course, enemies are rather close people. We have tasted his country's food before. It is very awful? You have not had French food, I am sure? We are known throughout the world as the best chefs. I will make you something."

When he spoke of his father and his views on women, she very nearly exhaled in relief. She could not, however, restrain herself from smiling (though not too terribly much, as it would be improper). "It is somewhat difficult to believe that the concept of a geisha is foreign to you--I have yet to hear a more accurate Western interpretation." She looked to the vague reflection of herself in her glass--so different from the Hanako she was used to seeing. "A geisha is a lover, but never a wife. A pleaser, but not a prostitute." Her gaze went back to him, "Sexuality is not very much a taboo, to me or my people," (Westerners were almost like Buddhists, they were so prudish, it seemed), "But prostitutes do unfortunately have a poor image--of being unclean, or improper in their normal mannerisms. I would not want you to think of me in such a way."

Although, it already seemed like he didn't, which was quite the improvement, compared to the company she'd just left behind. ...Or rather, had just left her behind.

And though she was glad for this improvement, that didn't make it any less surprising, when confronted with so many other changes. He touched her without hesitation, kissed her without pretense. Keeping very still--other than her heartbeat, which was surely audible--she let him do as he will, with as much restraint or lack thereof that he so desired. It was strange, very strange, to have a man handle her so easily and sensually. Since the beginning of her training, she'd been taught that men most enjoy that with can never be--the idea alone of being with a geisha, of living in that same world of transcendental beauty.

It never occurred to her that there were some men in the world that were not satisfied with only looking and not touching. Of course, when the time came, she would give herself up to him, but...perhaps more sincerely than she would have previously surmised.

He stepped away, and it was as though nothing happened. But her makeup, not so opaque as it once was, did not serve so well to hide the lingering traces of red in her cheeks. And his next suggestion did not help much, either.

"Make...make me something?" She fumbled, just once, thoroughly flustered. A man cooking for a woman? Who'd ever heard of such a thing? The Western world was strange, indeed. Gathering her words, she tried to think of what could possibly be the appropriate answer, "Surely, it is too much of an inconvenience... I have never eaten in front of a gentleman; I should rather go hungry than offend you. Though, of course, I could only be too honored to be cooked for--and to try this famous cuisine. I'm sure...it must be preferable to what I have had on my journey." And though she had actually never heard of said 'famous cuisine', there was no doubt in her mind that nothing could possibly be worse than what passed for food on Van der Linde's ship.

A lover but not a wife? A pleaser without being a prostitute? Auguste had to smile, something a little genuine. The French were known as romantics. Auguste could say that he was more understanding than others on these sorts of things. It was sad really. Even the whores saw themselves as whores (He did not like to be lumped up with the other brothel costumers. They were so classless.) But this one seemed to maybe understand how he felt.

"So you are a ...maîtresse...ah- mistress, then? I do not know if that is a foreign word for you? It is as you say. Men can not be pleased with their wives, they need something more. And why should women not be able to use their... abilities to their advantage?" The whole idea was completely against his religious beliefs. With a mostly religious education, he should have known better. But he learned from experience, or from what he saw in real life. His biological father and his adoptive father payed no heed to their wives. Auguste could not just as well stick to one woman. (And one woman was never enough for him. It was impossible for one single woman to give him all the pleasure he desired. Really, God would understand.)

"Ah, no,no, no" He laughed, reaching for some foods and foodmakers. Maybe she did not come from a culture that held food as so important. "Only if you went hungry would it offend me. Women and men are supposed to eat together. Food- sharing food, it is like sharing love, is it not?"

"That is what I want to share with you." Well, maybe not really. If sharing love was the same as making love, he would like to. And eating and making love as well, were not very difficult. They went together quite well, actually.

"Do not let Dutch food give you a distaste for European food. Women in your country- do they cook often? I am afraid I do not know much of your foods... or customs." Obviously it was not as good as French food.

She thought about it, "Yes, this is a foreign word to me. 'Mistress'..." She committed it to memory; it seemed to be the only accurate translation for the true job of a geisha--though she doubted that it truly encompassed all of the arts to be learned, in her profession. The art of conversation, dance, music, poetry, singing...and so many more. Applying the makeup itself was an art form. The true meaning of 'geisha' was, after all, 'artist'. But Westerners did not understand this. She could only conclude that it was because they did not know art. They did not know beauty.

This man, however, was proving more interesting by the moment. If there was one art he knew, it certainly appeared to be that of conversation. He was much more eloquent than the outsiders she'd met thus far.

"Women and men, eating together? I have never heard of such a thing..." She commented quietly, "But there are no men in the okiya--the geisha house--during mealtime, so I can't be sure." She'd never left the hanamachi, had never been inside the house of a regular family (her own childhood being too vague to remember). If such a thing was allowed, she had no idea. It seemed unthinkable, almost, for a man to see her eating.

However, she did feel some fondness, when thinking about the food of her homecountry. "We are very precise, about our foods--as with most things, it must be handled delicately. Like fine glasswork, or a painting...it is art." She looked to him, curiously, "In Japan, traditionally, women cook, and the men work... Is it not so, in the Western world?" How terribly strange, to imagine men cooking and cleaning, and women leaving the home to work.

"Men enjoy to eat with women, here. If I knew a woman was eating alone, I would certainly volunteer myself to eat with them. Here it is an honour, for a man to pay to eat with a woman. It is linked with romance. We often call it a ...date... I suppose I am your first date, Madame?" He smiled, chopping up some of his food. "Then the honour is on me, and not on you this time." How immature, he thought. Or maybe how unusual. All the women he had here were those who qualified themselves as whores. That idea of 'dates' was just as foreign to them as it was to Hanako. He took Crina out a few times, but he got the feeling that she didn't quite understand them as 'dates.' She was used to men paying for her. It was no longer an honour for her.

"The place you lived in... It must have been very strange from us... But you claim to make food just like the French? In Europe, all food, all art , all beauty, all knowledge and all life comes from France. Naturally, food is an art for us, as well. All of the best chefs are men, just like how all of the best artists are men." Stirring something up, now. Vaguely, he wondered how Hanako's food would taste. It was an art, she claimed. But it must be a very different art from the French art of cooking. He should probably try sometimes.

"No, no, most families are still like that here. Though some women do work nowadays, and some men do clean and cook. Naturally, for men living on their own, they do sometimes have to do both. I had a girl for a while who could clean, but she was Austrian. Austrian women do not know how to cook. They only live to poison their men. With their foods, with their emotions, with their words." He laughed bitterly. Even talking about her made him angry. "They're a disgusting people, really. The women know nothing of your art- of pleasing men."

He took a quick break from his cooking (Everything was mostly almost ready. He didn't have much time for anything very elaborate unfortunately. It was a shame that he was caught off guard.) to give the girl a glance. Had she even touched his wine? That was also foreign to her?

"Please, have some wine as we wait, and cheese..." He picked up something from the small fridge and presented it to her. Hopefully cheese was not foreign. (It couldn't be. How could a group of people survive without cheese?)

"It is a shame that I have to keep you waiting, but we can eat as we wait, as well?"