Can Roleplay be Literature?

Every so often, in online roleplaying communities, I see repeated the question, “Is roleplay literature?” I would say that the question is misleading. Literature, by definition, is any written work; and, as it is usually asked in some forum devoted to written roleplay, it is implied that written roleplay is what is meant. Thus, the answer merely an exercise in tautology. By definition, if the roleplay is written down, then the roleplay is literature, but so is the menu at a restaurant or the warning label on a product box, if we are operating under that most broad definition.

Now that we have the most obvious problem with answering the question out of the way, as the answer by the most general definition is clearly not what is intended, we have the problem of then choosing what definition of literature is intended. Most often, when the question of whether something counts as “literature” is asked, what is meant is whether this expression of the written word has risen to the level of “art” in written form, or literary art. To which I respond that any method and medium “can” be art. Painting “can” be art, as can be shown in any art museum, but most would agree that the freshly painted wall behind the painting would not be considered “art” even though it is also painted. Neither would the whitewash on the fence across the street from a painted mural.

Whether or not the method for creating the work is roleplay has no more relevance than asking if visual art is still art because it is made on a computer screen or carved instead of painted. The relevant issues for determining whether a piece is art, or more specifically, if a written piece is literature, are intent and reception. With graffiti, tagging something or just scrawling obscenities is not likely to count as art. It is just action for the joy of the process, not intended to really inspire anything in the viewer, and it is unlikely to inspire anything in the viewer more than the mess left by a dog on a sidewalk would. However, graffiti that is purposefully made to inspire some feeling or idea in the viewer, and is successful in doing so, is quite clearly art.

This is where we reach the real point. The question, as intended, appears to be more properly expressed as “Can the method of roleplay result in literary art?” I believe that it can result in art, but that usually, it does not. First, there is the question of intention. While much visual art starts out as a doodle or sketch, most doodling done in the margins of notes taken in a class or meeting are not art. Most doodling is just done for the joy or soothing nature of the process, not meant to convey anything to an audience. In the same way, roleplay is usually done just for the joy of the experience, with no real intent to inspire any real feeling or idea to any audience, other than perhaps the other collaborators. Also, much like doodles made by a group of friends, many roleplays will never be looked at by anyone but their creators.

To extend the doodling analogy though, where doodles can result in art is when the doodler is inspired by their own creation to go through the arduous task of creating art inspired by it to show to others, and inspire them. A doodle in the margins of notes may be perfected further into a sketch, then a pencil drawing, then be inked, and finally painted or otherwise finished into a polished final form. Where roleplaying results in art is when the roleplayers go through the same process. They are inspired by the rough doodle that is their roleplay, and use it as the rough draft for an outline. They put in the work to find what to take out because it does not contribute to the finished piece, and what to build up or add to strengthen it. They write, rewrite, rewrite again, and edit until they have taken the roleplay and forged it into literature.

There are many novels or otherwise polished stories that started out as tabletop role-playing game stories; for instance, the Diskworld novels by Terry Pratchett or many of the novels set in the Dungeons and Dragons games have their origins in a roleplay. Many such works have been very well received, and are acknowledged by many as literature.

The difference is in the intent to communicate to an audience, putting in the massive amount of work to make it polished well enough that it can be received by an audience, and whether it then inspires that audience. Whether or not something starts out as roleplay makes absolutely no more difference on if the finished work is literature than whether an initial doodle that becomes a painting was done in pencil or pen. The difference is the intent and hard work that it takes to bring it from the rough initial form into something that has become art.

Why is Protectiveness Seen as Dominant?

As I have mentioned in a prior post, I am at the early stages of exploring my local BDSM community. I am thereby being heavily motivated to explore, online and otherwise, many aspects of this culture that I am becoming involved in. I have found many things that I have definite questions about why certain actions and feelings are assumed to belong to one side or the other of the various complementary roles found in BDSM. In particular, many of the traits that seem to be attributed as dominant or submissive seem counter-intuitive to me.

The trait that I wish to discuss today, and why I find the assumptions I am finding about it in the community counter-intuitive, is physical protectiveness. There appears to be a heavy assumption that the desire to provide physical protection is a dominant trait, and a desire to be the one protected is submissive. Now, don’t get me wrong, I am in no way saying most dominant persons are not protective of their submissives, nor am I implying that there is anything less than wonderful about a dominant feeling physically protective towards their submissive. What I am questioning is: why it is assumed to be an aspect of dominance?

I can think of no society where the guard at the gate is viewed as dominant over the royalty they protect. I can think of no time where I have heard of someone feeling that a celebrity or dignitary is submitting to their bodyguards by allowing them to protect them. To my mind, actively placing the physical safety of another above the safety of oneself is overwhelmingly an act of subservience. Yes, a king, queen, or other head of state is often viewed as the protector of those they lead, but they provide this protection by way of commanding the soldiers and others below them that the leader commands to place themselves bodily in danger to protect the whole.

As a switch, I crave both the power of dominance, and the serine clarity of submission. I do admit I feel protective of any submitting to me. However, I feel much more protective of any who I submit to. I personally feel protective of those I care about no matter what role I take on, but I perceive the drive as feeling much more purely realized within the context of protecting one to whom I have submitted myself. I do not know if this is true of others, but I know that it is true for me.

I may be wrong, but it seems to me that this is one of several examples I have observed where, because it is generally assumed that dominance is masculine and submission is feminine, that any trait that is generally assumed to be masculine must be dominant and that any trait that is assumed to be feminine must be submissive. In a homestead environment, it has generally been assumed that the male is the dominant head of household, and is also responsible for the physical protection of all within the household. With some exceptions, such as defense of children, physical protectiveness is generally viewed as very much so a masculine trait. In fact, to many people, the ability to physically protect those they care for is the primary trait by which the value of a man’s masculinity can be measured. Is this accurate? Not any more so than most other gender role generalities; many women have just as much of a drive to physically protect as any man. However, even when the drive is present in a woman, it is often viewed as masculine.

The large number of traits that are assumed to be dominant or submissive, primarily because they are assumed to be masculine or feminine traits, are problematic when the patriarchal assumption that the dominant must be masculine and the submissive must be feminine is called into question. Personally, as a male, while I feel rather masculine when in a dominant role to a feminine female partner, I feel much more at peace with my masculinity when submitting in a masculine manner to a feminine female partner. I realize that this experience is not universal, that there are men who wish to be feminized in their submission that they wish to offer to a dominant masculine female partner. I realize that there are many places in between on all axis involved with this. I just wish to question the assumption that these traits, in this essay specifically physical protectiveness, are inherent to one end or another of the dominant/submissive dichotomy.

I strongly believe in the viability of masculine male submission through protectivity towards the dominant partner. I strongly believe in the viability of a feminine female dominant accepting the protection of their submissive’s protection as an act of accepting the submissive’s submission. I do not feel that this lessens or calls the viability into question of any other dynamic. I believe that, if one accepts that female/male dominance/submission is viable as the male/female dynamic, it naturally follows that assumptions of what dominance and submission are that were formed under the assumption of masculine dominance over the feminine must also be called into question.

I feel the need to repeat, that I do not believe that there is anything problematic with a dominant of any gender feeling protective of those who submit to them. I also do not believe there is any problem with a submissive basking in the protection of their dominant. The only problem I see is the assumption that this must always be the case.

Arm the Hippies

I honestly believe that one of the biggest problems with the two party polarization of United States politics is the political polarization of weapon training and ownership. This does not come from a strong belief in the sanctity of the second amendment or that guns are evil or good in of themselves; instead I believe that, in a democratic society, linking ownership and knowledge of how to use weapons to one end of a political dichotomy is in of itself dangerous.

In a democratic society, the vote works because it is a simulation of who would win if we had a civil war over the given issue at that time. The political campaign and voting process measures manpower, funding streams, ability to organize, zeal, rhetoric, apathy, and many other determining factors that are also applicable in a civil war scenario. As long as this simulation model is accurate, the democratic process stops us having to physically fight to impose our will on the rest of the population. We measure with a vote who would win and the issue is decided with little to no actual bloodshed.

This all breaks down when the training to use, and ownership of, weapons is entirely on one side of the political spectrum. This makes the entire simulation invalid. It makes it so that if there ever was an issue that the armed party was ruled against in the voting process, and they felt strongly enough about it, it would no longer be in their interests to abide by the democratic results.

I don’t know what issue would be polarizing enough to lead to such an outbreak of violence, but if the polarization of weapon ownership and training continues as it seems to be going, it would most likely be a rather swift and one sided revolution. This is especially true with the fact that a large portion of the military and law enforcement personnel in the U.S. also feel pushed towards the gun-toting end of our political dichotomy. In a civil war scenario, which side is the side of serving your country and neighbors can become rather muddled.

I don’t know what issue would be so divisive that one side would be willing to use force on the other, but the historical evidence is overwhelming that one will come up eventually. Eventually, if we continue this way, there will be some issue that the party with guns feels strong enough about that a large portion of them will feel that it is worth a cost in human lives to see it done their way. When this happens, if the vote does not go their way and it is obvious that use of force will go their way, blood will spill. It will be a disaster. It also will have been entirely preventable.

Just as there are American conservatives that abhor weapons, it is important that we recognize that having armed liberals is important to keeping everyone safe and our system on course. Really, I feel much more comfortable with people who hate weapons and abhor violence owning and knowing how to use them than people who have a fascination and love of weaponry. I don’t see passing laws requiring all citizens having weapons training going through, or going over well even if passed; but I would argue for a need to encourage people, especially those who would never want to use a gun, to know how if it is ever needed.

Disarming the population would not be actionable or practical even if it were preferable. If one side of our political system is heavily armed, it is unsafe in the long term for the other side to remain unarmed. It creates the situation where violence does become an easy answer. Violence is much harder to leap to when your opponent may be able to defend themselves than when you have every reason to believe they are helpless.

In all fairness, it is true that having both sides armed will not stop a civil war. My argument just is that having only one side being armed makes it too tempting for the other side. It makes it tempting enough that over a long enough time scale it seems to me to be inevitable.

Arm the hippies to make it possible that they won’t have to fight.

Path of the Kraken Part 1

Richard Howard heard the dark whispers in his dreams for years. He lived his pitiful little life surrounded by pitiful people for years while the whispers spoke of power. For years he went to school like a good little sheep, not ever doing as well as he "should" but doing as well as he was able to bear. In his dreams though, he saw what he could be, and whispers told him how to become it. He had the will, he just needed to shape and hone it.

Willpower grows with practice and exercise just like anything else. Eventually he decided to try what the mad whispering in his dreams prompted. He would be a predator who feeds on predators, not a sheep shorn by the shepherds. His weapon wouldn't be his arm or anything it held. It wouldn't be his hands he would use to grasp for power; it would be his mind.

Richard sat behind his cash register after he dropped out of college for the third time, stooped under the burden of debt and failure. He owed the banks for what they had loaned him. He owed his family for their support. He owed his friends for all they had done for him. He owed the world for every opportunity he had been given and had failed. The pressure in his mind built from the weights of his debts, the weight of what he could never repay. Bearing their weight he became stronger. He did not collapse under it, he walked forward, and he kept failing no matter how much he wanted to succeed. He walked the path of self destructive madness already.

The first mastery of his will was over physical pain. He would poke and prod himself, stand in awkward yogic poses, stretch muscles, and tell his mind to disregard the pain. Pain is only information, he knew it hurt, the signal could stop being sent. He still felt the pain, and it still hurt, he learned to be it's master not the other way around. The day he mastered pain was the day a scar was ripped off of his skin and he poured salt, lemon, and hot sauce into the wound without wincing. This was the first and easiest step on the path of the Kraken.

The next victory was over desire. This is not the victory sought on the path of Buddhism where you seek a place of quiet peace with no desire. This was a victory of a roiling chaos of desires growing higher and higher and honing his will to deny them all. He did not quiet his mind of desires, he sought them, fixated on them, denied them, and then sought more to deny himself. He learned new desires, forbidden desires, impractical desires, and impossible desires. He would place himself by the subject of a desire; focusing on how much he wanted, how much he yearned, pined, and thought he would die without the subject of the desire. He was careful at first not to fixate on desires that denial of could cause him harm. He would fixate on luxuries and forbidden things at first. He fixated at first on what he should do without. Then he branched out.

His search for new desires to fixate upon was twofold. In one direction was self denial of things that verged closer to necessity. On the other hand, he nurtured desires that went further and further into the bizarre and forbidden. He noticed that his occasional satiation of necessary desires merely whetted his appetite for more, so occasionally he tried whetting his appetite for the forbidden and bizarre as well with mixed results. Some of the dark desires were disappointing when indulged. Others did not disappoint in the least.

Some of the darker desires soon eclipsed hunger and the need for warmth. His will grew stronger. He lived an even more pitiful life than he had before he began to walk the path, but his strength had grown so much beyond what he had before been. His desires grew stronger and more ephemeral by the day, but his will became stronger still.

Then came the day when he learned he could hear the desires of others and push them towards or away from them. He learned he could move his hair and flex his fingernails. His will was no longer limited in it's control of his nerves and muscles. He tried to bend his bones to disastrous result. If he had not mastered lesser pains, the pain of manipulating his own skull could have killed him. His skeleton was limiting him though, it needed to go. He focused on the furthest bone on the first finger of his right hand; and compelled it from his body slowly and painfully, as it left he whimpered. He repeated the process over and over until there were no longer any bones in his right hand. He grabbed a steel conduit on his wall and crushed it with his grip that now was subject only to his diamond will. He had not eaten in months, he had stopped needing that long ago. He willed the other bones from his body; every last one, one at a time. The skull was the trickiest.

He washed the blood off in the shower, and stood in front of the mirror, practicing pretending he had bones still. That was when he realized he had much greater weights against which to push his will than desire now. He had the raw physics of the world to push against. He no longer needed to fixate on these desires, he no longer had to deny himself. For a moment he laughed harder than he ever had, and wasn't sure when the realization of what not denying himself anymore would mean hit him, and the laugh turned into a scream.

Desire vs. Fear?

Desire and fear have an interesting relationship. At their core, desire is a drive in favor of something, while fear is a drive to avoid it. They both are a want, just in opposite directions. Also, chemically (and most emotions are chemical at their core) the substances released into one's bloodstream by sexual desire and fear are notably similar.

The hormones and such released into the bloodstream are even similar enough that they can build upon one another when alternated back and forth. This is part of why horror movies will often have a scene of sexual tension or sexualized displays before a scene of fear driven tension or graphic violence. The chemicals released by the viewer's body by the sexual arousal transitions easily into a state of fear arousal without the need for a separate build up of the emotional state. Many will make an even smoother transition by having foreshadowing of the horrors to come or flashes of the impending doom worked directly into the sexualised content itself.

Also, collectively we recognize this connection enough that horror movies, haunted houses, and other such attractions that are intended to terrify are rather popular dating choices, especially early on in a relationship or prospective relationship. We attend a slasher flick with one who we are considering as a potential mate and are placed physiologically in an ideal state to perceive them as attractive. Our hearts are racing, we're flushed, arousal hormones are pumping through our veins, and they are also flushed and out of breath. Exiting the theater, both persons' bodies are most of the way to hot-and-bothered already, and there they are, in one another's presence. The fear in the theater itself likely helped to override timidness at the idea of pressing close together and finding safety in personal contact with one another. Each person, going through this simulated trauma, likely felt protective and/or protected by the other. The fear and horror of this feature has now left them with the feeling, on some level, that they have gone through this experience and survived it together. Their bodies are primed and ready to go. They want to do something with that energy, and guess who is right there?

Even if such feelings aren't consummated that night, the desire will still be there and remembered. Any potential bond will have been likely enhanced by this adventure. (Also, the much less subconscious sexual tension provided by the previously mentioned overtly sexualised scenes will not have hurt the association of the other person with any sexual stirrings.) This is not to say such experiences are any kind of "foolproof seduction methods." They just greatly enhance the likelihood of a fledgling attraction being cemented in the minds involved.

There are other connections between fear and desire, especial if the desire is sexual. Almost everyone remembers their early recognition of their sexual impulses, and likely much later impulses as well, as being associated with fear. Everyone has wanted to go up to that hot someone across the room, and been afraid of knowing what to say. Anyone who has 'asked someone out' knows the gut gnawing fear of rejection. First dates, first kisses, and especially first times in the bedroom, are all full of fears of inadequacy and rejection.

Sexual attraction is terrifying. It has this great power over us, and even the most experienced persons who have devoted their lives to understanding it have only scratched the surface of all it's complexities. You have this want, but that want is a whole other person just as complex and intricate as you. You can simplify and objectify the subject of your desire as much as you want in your mind, but that will not change the fact that any such simplification is a lie. Every person you are attracted to is this whole other world. Trying to take your knowledge of others you have gotten to know, and extend those lessons to this new desired one, is as likely to confuse you further as help, because they are an entirely different and separate creature.

Men and women the world over complain about how mystifying the other gender is. If you listen to the complaints though, many of them are the same, just rephrased based on the gender of the mystifying person. Even listening to persons in a same sex relationship have many of the very same complaints as people in opposite gender relationships. The central point that most of these complaints come down to is that the subject of one's desire is a person with all of the mystifying complexity you have, and as such, can not be easily, if ever, understood.

Sexual attraction isn't simple like hunger. A pot roast is easy to understand. The pot roast isn't trying to understand you back. With sex, the person you are trying to enjoy is trying to find their own enjoyment as well, and you may not be able to fulfill what they are questing for. When you eat a pot roast, it doesn't matter if you are it's favorite kind of chewer. Your swallowing technique only matters insofar as it affects you. Sex is different. Your favorite flavor might not have you as their favorite. With food, if you don't get it, you just are hungry and feel deprived. With sex, you may feel horny, deprived, rejected, worthless, and unworthy when you go without. Also, if you go long enough without food, you eventually die of hunger. With sex, no matter how much you try and put yourself out there though, not only are you not guaranteed to ever succeed, but you can live indefinitely without it. Without food for long enough, you eventually die and are no longer hungry; in regards to sexual desire, you can potentially go all your years trying, and still be forever alone.

That is absolutely terrifying.

Then there is the love and relationships side of this. At least with sex you may find someone who just wants to use you for your body and you just want to use them for theirs. Appearance, performance, and availability are all that need be considered. Most people don't just want that, though. Sooner or later, they want to build a relationship. Sooner or later, most people want to find whatever they define as love. That is an even scarier desire than sex.

Sex has a limited number of axis that have to be considered at once. You can train and fake whatever with enough effort. Heck, with some money and a good surgeon, you can even remodel your body to fit a variety of tastes. A relationship, however, sooner or later, is about every part of you. A relationship is potentially dependent not just on your physicality, but also your intelligence, empathy, understanding, sense of humor, interests, smile, compassion, history, career, age, location, background, family, fertility, beliefs, work ethic, devotion, mental state, health, smell, taste, fashion sense, bank account, ethnic background, genetics, way with kids, dreams, soul, and the endless deluge of traits that make you who you are. It also is potentially dependent on all of those traits from the other person too. That is before one even figures for all of the varieties of circumstance and life situations that can get in the way of a relationship working. Even then, all of those endless stars being right, it can all come crashing down anyways if you or they make the wrong mistake.

Trying to start a relationship is pure fear. It is an exciting fear. It is a fear energized and pregnant with the possibility of what might be. However, it is a fear informed by the endless possibilities of how it might fail, and the full knowledge that the possible failure could end up being entirely your fault. Few things test the full battery of ways one can fear failure like a romantic relationship.

Then there is the fear of what problems the relationship might have that you might be willing or unwilling to push through. Would you stay if they put onions on everything? What if they like the wrong sports team? What if they like or dislike things you like or dislike? What if they are 'so bad' at your favorite game? What if they are better at it than you? What if they believe something you think is stupid? What if it turns out they already have a kid? What if they think what you believe is stupid? What if the sex stops being good or frequent? What if you catch them lying? What if you can't seem to stop lying to them? What if they cheat? What if you want to cheat? What if you can't agree with them what cheating is? What if they do/do not want kids? What if the two of you get pregnant? What if the two of you are not both the child's genetic parents? What if you or they are infertile? What if they hit you? What if you get angry one night and hit them?

Would you stay? Would they stay? What are you willing to stay through? What can you live with them putting up with because of you?

Sex is terrifying; relationships are terrifying; love is terrifying.

So many of us want them so much though. So many of us want to feel what sex, relationships, and love make us feel. So many of us would give anything to feel those ways.

Luckily, for most of us, somehow, fear is sexy.

The Second Knife Sister: Age of Ishtar part 6

Skye escorted Kris Montoya back to where her parents and sister stood watching and discussing. As he released her hand, he bowed and thanked her for the splendid dance. He then turned to Kukri, and with an additional slight bow, asked her, "Would you allow me the supreme honor of escorting you to the floor?"

Her eyes met his, and it took all of his strength not to melt into a puddle on the floor. She reached out to his offered hand, and Skye could swear he felt a warm glow where she touched. Struggling to keep his cool composure, he led her to the floor. Each step felt as though it was taking ages, that he was going too slowly, even though he knew he could not go any faster without his walk being describable as brisk. His nerves made him feel hyper aware, time was slowing down, noises were louder, images were sharper, and her warm hand in his was a fire blazing into an inferno. The breathing helped, but he could swear sweat droplets would be breaking out on his forehead soon. As they reached an open place to begin, he turned, looked back into the depthless pools that were her eyes, wrapped his arm around her waist, pulled her towards himself, and began to dance before he could lose his nerve and turn into a twitching mass on the ground.

Skye would not have believed two women who looked so similar could feel so different if he had not felt for himself. Both were amazing dancers. That could not be denied. Kris had been a willow branch, stiff but yielding wherever the wind blows her; never breaking, yet always returning to where she began. Kukri was water in his hands. Wherever he led she didn't follow, she flowed. She offered no resistance, she almost seemed to move before he directed her; but he wasn't certain if he could stop her if he tried. If he let go and walked away, he wasn't certain she would stop to see where he had gone. Her movement said she would continue the dance alone if she must. Perhaps she would flow to wherever he had gone. Perhaps she would continue until he returned. Dancing with Kris was to dance with a partner who complimented his movements. Dancing with Kukri was almost to become one with his partner. While there was little visible difference in their figures standing still, the feel of their backs as they moved was almost as if they were entirely different creatures. Kris was wiry muscle. Her body was a coiled spring like Skye’s own. Kukri was softer, her subtle curves more passively flowing. She did not lack her sister’s strength; it was just dormant and relaxed.

They danced faster and more complex maneuvers. They flowed through movements he never would have thought possible to guide his partner through with one hand. She read from his body sequences he never would have normally tried with a woman he had not practiced intimately with even with the use of both hands. They didn't talk, at least not with words. There was no need. In the spinning, twirling, entwining, and leaping they communicated in ways that verbal language cannot capture. Other couples stopped dancing. They just stood back and watched, slowly forming a larger and larger open floor in which Skye and Kukri could freely sing their kinesthetic duet. Skye lost track of how long they danced. He thought the song had changed a few times, but there was nothing real in his mind except his wondrous partner.

How long didn't matter to him though, what mattered was that as one they reached a crescendo of movement and stopped, clutching one another in a panting embrace. After a few moments of applause from those around Kukri pulled back her face from where it was buried in his chest against his sling and gazed up into his eyes. The soft brown pools had shed tears that now dripped down her face. She reached up, gripped the hair at the nape of his neck, pulled his head down, stole a sudden sweet kiss, and ran away.

Kukri did not walk away, she did not just briskly leave the dance floor, she ran as if there was some kind of creature chasing her and she dared not look back lest it catch her. Needless to say, Skye was confused. Just a moment ago they had been moving as one. He had been certain that in those moments had known her better than he had ever known anyone in his life. At this moment, he didn't have any clue whatsoever as to what had just happened. Maybe men really were as stupid as they were made out to be, or maybe women were just crazy, but Skye felt he had as much chance of understanding this most recent event of his life as he had of defeating an entire nest of silver scale drakes alone and unarmed.

Couples filled the dance floor back in, and a few men gave Skye hearty pats on the back as he stood there dumbfounded. In a daze he looked for a familiar face, someone to cement him in what was real. Up on a balcony he saw his sister Evangeline conversing with a small crowd of women, and despite her earlier protestations he did notice a champagne flute in her hand. Oh well, she had more than earned a drink tonight. Quite frankly, if she wanted to start a scandal with someone else’s manpet, she had earned that too as far as Skye was concerned. Right now he wasn't sure whether that would be a bad thing. It might even distract his attention from the girl who had addled his brain. His sister’s drunken indiscretions were at least a problem he could understand.

He trod up the stairs, hardly looking where he was going, politely bowing and excusing himself automatically as he moved through the crowd. Soon he had reached his sisters perch, her back now to the railing she leaned against as she regaled those around her with some story or another Skye wasn't certain he would recognize even if he paid attention, although his name was occasionally mentioned in it. When she reached the end and looked around to see how many had properly appreciated her witty retelling she saw Skye and exclaimed with delight, "Here is my blessed baby brother now! You did wonderfully as ever down there. As I was just telling these Ladies, you are blessed kinesthetically to a point of being a credit to your gender. With the softness of mind and harshness of temperament God cursed your kind with for the original sin of the slaying Abel, she was merciful enough to give you something to make you all still worthy of the spark of life. This boy is certainly worth keeping around Ladies. Remember also, a man dancing exquisitely doesn't just indicate he will do well in the arena, it also indicates skills in other more private venues." She winked at her audience and nodded to emphasize the little insinuation she had made.

It seemed no one thought the display after the dancing stopped worthy of comment. Maybe they couldn't see what had happened from this angle. Maybe with the exertion of dancing he had imagined it. Skye remembered the soft insistent press of her lips against his. He couldn't have imagined that, could he? Either way, Evangeline quickly moved into introducing the gathered women to Skye. Most of them were representatives of some small local stable or another. One was an individual who wanted to purchase a man with a fighting pedigree for her own personal use. Three were investors who were there to make sure the stables they were backing made good decisions. Skye wondered if any of them were among the investors for the Grigori stable. Then there were the representatives from two competing intercontenintal mega stables; Horde and Legion. 

Both mega stables had facilities in most major cities around Ishtar. Their gladiators won few major titles, their business philosophies tended towards the idea that maximum profit could be made by buying as many cheap gladiators as they could and planning for mediocre results. Once in a while they would try buying a highly appraised fighter in the hopes of building renown for the entire stable, but not often.  Some said that when they bid on more prestigious gladiators it was just to drive prices up for the other stables so the little ones could afford to bid on fewer of the other men. Even if a mega stable accidentally purchased an expensive one, it didn't cut that far into their budget; and if the guy did well, they still came out ahead.

Mega stables were not buyers he wanted interested in him. Mega stables were where low class gladiators spent their lives and has-beens went from the day they were forgotten until the day they died. The best case scenario when bought by a mega stable is to be resold to an individual as a private manpet. That wasn't a bad life, but it wasn't what he had in mind. There was no good way to "accidentally" alienate the mega stable representatives without possibly driving off the other buyers and investors gathered around, though. The other stables represented might be rather good. As far as the one stable he had allowed his hopes to rise about; one daughter seemed indifferent to him and the other seemed neurotic. Kukri was beautiful, graceful, sensuous, brilliant, and possibly his soul mate if such a thing existed; but seemed most definitely neurotic. Hopefully the mega stable representatives were just enjoying his sister’s stories and had no interest in bidding on him. The gleam in their eyes when they looked at him; however, gave him definite doubts that they were there for his sister’s company, and made him quite aware of the alcohol Evangeline was now on her second glass of since he arrived on the balcony. "How many glasses did she have before I returned?" He wondered to his own dark thoughts.

Too many of his paranoid fantasies from before the ball were coming to life. He had made a fool of himself on the dance floor whether anyone else had noticed or not. His sister was well on her way to sauced. The mega stable buzzards, while not obese, were definitely formidable women, and they were circling. Soon his cosmetics would be tasted and from there his life would end. One of the matriarchs was responding to Evangeline's comments about how much value is added by his certificate of virginity with a "joke" about how lucky it was that there was so little time for him to lose it "accidentally" before the auction. How did that provide a segue into the "face diaper incident" story? "That's the predestined path that my life needs to follow in order to ensure my total destruction," He thought, "That's how."

A Warrior Must Dance: Age of Ishtar part 5

Even having just restarted his breathing exercises as he had approached, the sight of these three goddesses took his breath away. Luckily, fourteen years at a charm school had ingrained in his body a certain degree of autonomy when it came to formal responses. He at least did not feel his face betray him, and his bow came of its own accord; smooth and effortless.

After his own bow, Semias entered into his autonomous recitation, technically flawless in its formality, yet somehow with more than a note comfortable of earthiness, "Monsieur Dumas, may I introduce Milady Estelle Montoya, daughter of Madrid Montoya, Matron of Grigori stable. To her left is Milady's firstborn daughter Kris Montoya, and to her right is her youngest daughter Kukri Montoya. Miladies, may I present Skye Dumas, son of Victoria Dumas, graduate of Monsieur Van Dam Charm School, rookie gladiator, obtainable."

The stable matron was a woman still in her prime. About two decades short of middle aged, she appeared to be merely a buxom seventy years old, with the hints of laugh lines just beginning to set in, and not a hint of grey touching her long obsidian hair. Skye had assumed that since she had chosen Semias as her husband she would be well past her first century like him, but no, it seemed that she just preferred more experienced men. Or perhaps it was his long silver hair. Her daughters couldn't be much older than Skye, if not a bit younger. All three women appeared athletic, they had a poise that spoke less of being drilled to stand up straight, and more of good posture born of vigorous activity and learning their bodies well. Their attire, while elegant and appropriate to the formal setting from the perspective of certain cultures, was definitely designed with form fittingness and ease of movement in mind. Each wore a pistol slung at her hip, and they did not appear to be costume pieces worn for show.

Skye knew that in some places women wore firearms at all times, and in many others they were considered an integral part of a woman’s formal dress. He knew his sisters and mother all had at least a few firearms each, and he had seen his mother’s antique plasma rifles in their locked case over the mantle, but he had never actually seen them worn in person before. There were none in his school; the schoolmistresses were concerned that with all those curious boys around one might get his hands on one. Even if the boy didn't accidentally hurt someone, he would have broken planetary law by even picking one up (not to mention the legal troubles for the owner of the gun if it was determined that him getting it had been the result of negligence). Even if the judge was lenient in their ruling, he would still be forever marked as a registered vicious offender, just as if he had actually assaulted a woman. He would not be allowed near children or disabled persons, he would not be allowed in any government building, he would have to have the operation of his LASH chip tested once a month instead of the standard once a year, his appraisal price would fall through the floor, even in the arena he wouldn't be allowed any weapons that could be thrown, he would be sterilized, he wouldn't be allowed to step foot on any interplanetary vessel that didn't have armed guards, and the list of restrictions and repercussions goes on and on. If a weapon even accidentally flew out of your hand in the arena, if someone said you threw it; that became a serious allegation. A confirmed thrown sword was considered a projectile and could earn you a vicious offender registration.

Understandably, he knew little about guns and was more than a little bit nervous about them. These three women stood with their lithe but curvaceous forms concealed only by their dark skintight attire with instruments of death-from-afar perched on their jutting hips. Skye was intimidated, but he switched to a quieter breathing technique than prana and met the depthless brown eyes of the stable matron with his own cool blue gaze before bowing again, this time to each of them in the order they had been introduced. Each looked back into his gaze with the same soft, unknowable eyes. "I'm pleased to become acquainted with each of you, and hope that I can bring you pleasure with my presence, for to be warmed by the radiance of your smiles is more than I could dare hope to ask."

The two sisters gave one another a quick glance with a small wry grin as their mother responded smiling, "If you continue with that flattery I'm certain that smiles will be given whether you ask for them or not." The light drawl of her accent was soothing and reassuring, "We are pleased to meet you as well, and I would ask that you escort my daughters to the dance floor as it would be just silly for them to dance with one another when so fine a specimen as yourself stands unpartnered. As you are injured, I wouldn't risk overtaxin' you by asking that you dance with both at once though. If you could escort Kris, my eldest, first; I would be much obliged."

With a half bow, Skye extended his right arm out to Kris saying, "I would be delighted if your wishes matched with your mothers to grace me with your presence on the floor."

She nodded with a slight blush, and ever so lightly offered her hand into his, "If she hadn't, I don't think I could have resisted asking myself."

In all the world of Ishtar, there was only one place where men still led women, and that was on the dance floor. In the home, the woman was the head of the household if there even was a man. Government and law enforcement officials were all women. Any profession that carried with it respect, honor, or prestige outside of the arena was solely the female domain. Even in the arena women called the shots. They decided the rules, the penalties, the rewards, who fought who, and everything else. On the dance floor alone men lead women. Well, that is unless you believe those men who say that many women allow or even prefer a man to take charge in the bedroom. He thought that if those stories were true there would have been some explicit mention of it in his marital arts classes.

On to the dance floor he led her, still consciously controlling his breathing. He had danced with women before. Most of the teachers at his school were, of course, female, and they had occasional mixers with one or another of the cities prominent girls’ schools. He had never, however, danced with a woman of such grace and beauty. He had definitely never danced with a woman who moved with the deadliness this woman exuded. Her hand was light in his, like a bird that had alighted for a moment but would fly at any wrong move. Her hand was a bird that if it were to become displeased was within reach of a weapon that could end him in a moment. He didn't actually think she would just shoot him on the dance floor, but with his lifelong training to keep track of threats in the arena, the presence of such a weapon on the hip of the woman he was escorting could not leave his mind.

They reached an open place on the dance floor and he turned to face her. Skye gently, yet firmly, pulled Kris against himself, his right arm around the small of her back. Effectively leading in a dance requires the ability to communicate one’s intentions entirely through touch. That cannot be done with one hand unless the partner is pulled against the leads own body so that he can communicate where they are going. Skye looked into her eyes and tried not to become lost in them, not right now. He must keep his head. She didn’t appear surprised at him beginning with such an intimate stance with a partner he has just been introduced to. Good, just because she was trained in dance and combat does not necessarily mean she is automatically knowledgeable about dancing with a man who has been injured in combat. Her hands came up to rest on his shoulders and they began to move.

Skye started simply, stepping in a box, learning the feel of her and her subtle rhythms. A man can lead a hundred different girls through the same dance to the same song, but the feel could be entirely different with each and every one. How fluid or rigid, how quickly they reacted, natural stride length, how light or heavy on their feet, height, how much momentum they had, degree of trust in their partner, how much they would fight for the lead, what beats within a song they were likely to see as the primary beat, not to mention every tick, habit, or other idiosyncrasy each girl was likely to have. If one added in all of the variables to more advanced maneuvers; strength, the girls weight, what points she balanced at, how much she tried to self-balance in the air as opposed to letting her partner control the balance, rigidity in the air, gripability of all graspable points, jumping power, amount of fear of falling, you could spend your entire life searching and never find any two girls who felt the same to dance with.

She moved easily and quickly to his touch. He added rotation, and then more complexity. She responded smoothly and effortlessly to the slightest change in pressure of his touch. He slowly allowed himself to fall into her eyes, losing himself to her gaze and the dance.

"Do you hunt often?" Kris asked, a thoughtful expression flitting across her face.

"No, I've only fought other men before. I've wondered though, what it would be like to do battle with an opponent who has more than two legs." He answered after a slight pause that did not touch his movement. "Do you?"

"My home region, Terra del Sol, is a paradise for hunters from all over this world. Most of the land that’s livable, and much of it that isn't, is huntin’ preserves of one type or another. I haven't been huntin’ since we moved here to Gascon. It is a beautiful city here, don't get me wrong, but the local wildlife has me less than enthused. The most dangerous animal I've heard of is the occasional stray dog, not exactly my idea of excitement. I was just imaginin' I would enjoy seeing you fight a silver scale drake."

"That does sound like an interesting adventure. I hope I can fulfill that and any other fantasies you might have." A sly grin snuck onto his face as he watched a smile find its way to her lips.

"You might want to beware of makin’ such an open ended offer to women you don't know. It can get you into hot water quick." She warned coyly as he adjusted their path to avoid a drunken couple who were careening around the dance floor.

"I'll try to keep that in mind, but it is hard not to want to do whatever it would take to please you." They narrowly avoided the couple who instead collided with a matronly pair of women who had not been paying as much attention to their surroundings.

"There's a difference though between doing what you think a woman wants, and makin’ a woman happy by doing something you have a passion for. Not saying you should disobey your lady, or not do something she wants. All I'm sayin’ is that you might be able to make a woman happier being the best version of yourself than by being a cheap copy of what she says she wants."

This conversation had taken a much more philosophical turn than he had thought it would go. He didn't really have a charming pat answer, so he responded honestly. "What if she doesn't like me then?" Cracks of vulnerability showed through the exterior of bravado and icy confidence he had been taught to display.

"Then she knows you aren't what she wants and can pass you on to someone who will ‘preciate you for who you are. Also, it helps her find someone who fits better what she's looking for. If a fighter has a rapier but wants a broadsword, they can pretend it's a broadsword all they want. They can call it a broadsword, care for it like a broadsword, and wield it like a broadsword. It's still a rapier. Swung like a broadsword it won't cut well, and soon it'll break. That isn't good for the fighter, and it isn't good for the sword. It's much better for everyone involved if they just sell the rapier, get the broadsword they really want, and let someone who actually wants the rapier have it."

"I've never heard it put that way. It actually makes a good deal of sense. I'd hate to think I was a waste of time and money for a woman who didn't really want me, and quite frankly I would much rather be the property of someone who appreciates who I am." He caught himself, "I apologize if I offend by speaking my thoughts. I just realized you had not asked for them."

"You're right, I didn't ask for them," Her face stern for a moment before breaking back into that alluring coy smile of hers, "but I wanted to hear them. Now, after this little learnin’ experience, what do you think of huntin’ a silver scale drake?"

"I have no idea what one is, nor the first thing about how to hunt one." His confidence was back, but it was no longer the canned confidence of training to look that way. It was the confidence he felt in the arena; the confidence of putting himself on the line with all he had. It was the confidence, not of knowing that he would win, but of knowing that whether he won or lost he would fight well and thereby earn his own honor. "Maybe it would be enjoyable, maybe I would die horribly doing it, but if told to I would go. However, I really have never put much thought towards hunting and could probably benefit from much training regarding it before being put to such a task."

"Thank you for your honesty," Kris's coy smile had grown wider with each sentence of his response into an outright grin, "Your bravery is to be commended, even though a single man against a silver scale would be as good as dead. You would need more than just good trainin’, you would need a whole team, and still it would be risky. Honesty is something that we value highly in our family, and the worlds would be much better I think if more people gave it the proper weight.”

"If I may ask, have I impressed you as little as I believe?"

"I doubt it, but I do believe I have monopolized you on the dance floor quite long enough. My sister does still have a reservation for a dance with you."

Skye reluctantly broke away to bow to her. "It would not do to keep her waiting then." Skye was mentally kicking himself; he had surely ruined any chance he had of getting this stable's bid at the auction. "Let us return to your family."

"I should probably tell you something first though. While I have always preferred the sweepin’ style of the broadsword, my sister Kukri has always been an almost cultish fan of the rapier."