2020-06-07 Her Lunar Cult
Her Lunar Cult
Location: Papille Gustative, Santa Monica
Date and Time: June 7, 2020 9:15 pm
Summary: The depths of fashion's soul
Mood Music: Lady Gaga - "911"
Papille Gustative is a cafe and then some in the center of Santa Monica nightlight on Main Street. Most cafes do not necessitate reservations, but the location of this one requires it--but they have been made and meeting times arranged ahead of time. It is not long after dusk, and the sky is still purpled as if the sun left a parting bruise before taking its leave. Main Street, also, is lit up by strings of art deco style lamps which look like they have been around for a century or more, but in fact were recent re-installations. Mahogani is currently seated at one of the sidewalk tables, tilted just slightly to get a better view of the street. Along with the rest of her outfit she is also wearing a pair of over-sized, cherry-red sunglasses that completely dwarf her face. They would almost look comical, but she wears them with a serene pose that instead makes them look desirable and the epitome of 'cool'. There are two drinks at the table and she rests her fingers delicately on the rim of the one in front of her.
A little late for the meeting, but not atrociously so and still well within what my expected in their industry, Luu makes her way down Main Street in Santa Monica. The outfit she's chosen for the evening is easy overlooked, nothing about it that really stands out. Uni Qlo basics and a messenger bag over her shoulder if anything, might have her mistaken for a courier of some sort. Yet for those with the right eyes, there are subtle touches to the ensemble that make it clear this young woman knows exactly what she's doing; that this is an intentionally constructed look. The basics have clearly been expertly tailored, the sort of thing most people wouldn't even think to do with clothing that's barely two figures. Her eyeglasses are Celine frames with an understated elegance, and her sneakers are so battered and bootleg looking, that there's no way they're not actually designer. As she approaches the cafe, she bgins to slow to look in the windows and for a moment she thinks she got there first, until about to head in the door she recognizes the bone structure hidden behind a pair of sunglasses.
"Waiting for me?"
Mahogani reaches up for her sunglasses as she is addressed, and lowers them on her face to look across at Luu with her pale, wide-eyed gaze, which is possible one of her most memorable features from the shoots that have gotten around. Even when smiling, her eyes always seem to shift her expression toward sorrow, like someone recently grieving, but without all of the realness of red, puffy eyes, just the poetry of it.
"Yes, I think so. Ms. Bennett?" After Mahogani speaks Luu's name out loud, a ghost of a smile touches her lips, which to a casual observer are naturally flush, but there is no doubt skilled application of naturals happening there. She gestures toward the seat across from her, but does not stand or offer a hand. "I ordered you a drink. I hope that does not feel too presumptious. I usually order the Belgian Cocoa, but I tried the Turmeric Glow the other day and--well, I thought you might like it. Besides, it is quite healthful, I hear." Mahogani picks up her own drink, and takes a slight sip--but it is very careful. As she sips she looks Luu up and down, taking in everything, and likely coming to some decisions about that first impression. Finally, she removes the sunglasses entirely and slips them into a charcoal and white plaid handbag. "What are those sneakers? Are they yours?"
"Yep," Luu says with a small smile as she moves to slip into the seat across from Mahogani, "but it's Luule, or usually Luu, really." Right before actually sitting, the messenger bag gets twisted to her front, reavealing it's red-red color and a giant Hello Kitty head. Seated, Luu begins to open the bag and rummage through, placing a number of well used notebooks on the edge of the table. "Turmeric's good for you," Luu agrees, her attention still on getting the books from the bag; and presumably indicating that having placed this order is not an imposition. The last of just over half-a-dozen notebooks stacked, Luu pulls out a small grey pencil case and places it on top of them. Unclipping the bag, she moves to put it at her feet, but pauses to look up when asked about her sneakers. "Golden Goose," she explains to Mahogani, "some of the better leather work one can get in a sneaker form. I don't make my own shoes, at least not at the present." With the bag now wedged between her feet, Luu rights herself, and asks, "Mahogani, yes?"
"Oh, yes, forgive me. Sometimes I get a little lost in thought. If it is any simpler, my friends have always called me Maggie, and I am not at all adverse to that." She pauses for just a beat, "Luule is a lovely name--where does that come from?--but of course, whatever you prefer, Luu it is." Mahogani sets her drink back down, resting the tips of her first two fingers on the lid once more and sliding them back and forth across the rim absently. She watches patiently while Luu arranges all of her notes and notebooks, but does not pry. At one point she looks away to watch passerbys briefly. "Oh, I have worn...a gold pair, if I recall, once, but I have never owned any. I like yours. You would look good in gold, I think. I have been looking forward to meeting you all week. I am excited to see what we might be able to dream up together." The softest of smiles touches only the corners of her lips, and the corners of her eyes as well.
"Not a problem," Luu assures her, "lost in thought, lost in thoughts, lost in a lack of thought. I understand all of those. Mahogani is a great professional name, but I also see why Maggie might work better with those you let close; partly that Mahogani seems almost like someone you don't get to know. That's not intended to offend, it's just a word that seems structurally to defend itself, powerful, an 'aura' to maintain through it's unknowability." Reaching out a hand, Luu moves to pull the mug of Turmeric that has been ordered closer. A slight chuckle is given as she stops and notes, "I feel like this is the exact sort of thing we warn others about. The drink you don't see prepared. At least, in a different context." Apparently not too worried, Luu begins to the lift the mug, preparing to drink from it.
"It's Estonian," she explains to the other woman, "it means 'poetry,' and the diminuitive Luu, means 'bone." Taking a small sip from the mug, Luu takes a moment to consider the flavor and notes, "that's good, but that probably means it isn't actually really as good for you as they say." Another sip gets taken before she continues, "Gold as a color, I have plenty of, but gold as a metal? Not as much, but some." Glancing to Mahogani, Luu wonders with complete seriousness, "What's you're astrological sign?"
"No, you are entirely correct. My name was a gift from my father and he loved beautiful, impossible, unapproachable things, so he gave me a name that made me sound that way. There used to be some mahogany orchards in the hills over there--long before I was born--bur I've seen pictures. I think maybe he remembered them or just had a fondness." Mahogani waves her hand at the drink, laughing softly with her, "I hope that I do not need to require on spiked drinks to earn your interests, but we can switch them if you like, I ordered the same thing." The offer is presented like she is going along with the joke, but there is also just enough seriousness there: she does not take that sort of thing with a grain of salt.
"I am goint to tell you the impression that gives me, since you were free to share how you felt about mine," she says with a pressed smile that is touching her eyes more and more as the conversation continues on, "I hear music--I suppose poetry is appropriate. It is mellifluous, both versions, and maybe death is musical too, dirge-like. But bones are not, I hear stars and celestial bodies in your name as well. Am I coming across too bohemian? I hope you forgive me. I see everything sideways, and I know I am not for everyone, but I am not ashamed of it. If we cannot appreciate the power in beautiful things, why are we even here?" A laugh rings at the end of that sentence.
She pauses, for just a beat, considering that question. "My sun is in Virgo, but my moon is in Pisces and I am Gemini ascending--and better or worse--I think those say more about me than the sun ever will. What about you?"
As Mahogani begins to speak of her name and her family, Luu pulls the top notebook carefully onto her lap, making sure not to disturb the pencil case. "You're from here?" she asks the other woman, "or just your father?" As Luu unzips the pencil case and begins to remove a few pens, both quality one for illustration and cheaper ball points for writing, her deameanor is relax and thoughtful yet slightly dispassionate; perhaps even seeming a bit psychoanalytical to some. Giving a shake of her, Luu also lifts her left hand to further indicate it's alright, a Hello Kitty head tattooed across her palm briefly visible. "Sorry," Luu tells her, "I meant no offense, and perhaps maybe meant it more of a way of indicating trust in the situation. But there was sort of, like, a flash of recognition? But it's mirror image, an opposite." As if to further demonstrate she's not concerned, Luu once more lifts the mug to take a sip.
"It's good to have your own perspective," Luu assures Mahogani, "and no, I wouldn't worry about sounding too bohemian. You're talking to a girl who's name means poetry, who dropped out of art school to bum around Italy." A reassuring grin is given, before she adds, "but you're right on those things, I think, or mostly so. The first things that humans ever recorded, at least that we know of, are the cycles of the moon. This was some fourty thousand years ago, and they made these recordings on bones. But when you chart the moon, you understand it as being feminine, a Lunar Goddess. We see this happening again with first of recording: trade records, narrative art, and poetry. All those firsts? In praise of a Moon Goddess." A beat as she adds, "The thing about that, that's like totally weird to me? These firsts I just mentioned are all taking place in Africa and the Near East forty thousand to four thousand years, so how do we end up with that span of another contintents history embedded within a name of a notoriously difficult and different Baltic language?" A shrug is given, along with a 'search me' sorta face.
"Interesting," Luu responds as she lifts the book from her lap, opening it and flipping forward to find a blank page, ink images and writings passing by in a blur. "What's your guess?" While Luu shares her knowledge of the history of moon goddess worship, Mahogani's gaze drifts away from--not because she is failing to listen, but rather she is searching the sky, as it shifts into deeper darkness, for said goddess. "There is perhaps nothing more beautiful in this world than the moon as she ebbs and flows overhead. And there is perhaps nothing more beautiful in this world than femininity. Why should they not be one and the same? And why should not anyone recognize that no matter what continent they were born on? I love her too. She is my idol, my role model. I aspire carry a fraction of her loveliness." Her smile fades as she muses on it, gazing for several, slightly awkwardly long moments of silence. Eventually, she seems to recollect herself and looks back to Luu. "Oh, yes, I am--my parents too. But I--" she pauses, "They are gone. Nothing tragic, really. Just younger than expected."
She leans forward then, lifting her latte to her lips again, just as delicately as before, and setting it down again. She looks Luu over slowly and directly, eyes wide and brows downturned. "We have only just met, and I do not have much to go on other than what--your career, your adornment, the fact that you asked me to guess. I want you to be Scorpio, because there is always something exciting about not knowing when I am about to become persona non grata, but...you are an artist first I think. And that sings to me of Cancer...or a deeper Aquarius than I have ever met, but I am certain must exist out there. Is that you, a deep sea mystery?"
Pen poised to write, Luu does not. Instead she lets Mahogani take her time to search the night sky, even joining in a bit herself, not expecting to see the stars and yet knowing exactly where they are. Luu does nothing to interrupt the silence, and does not seem perturbed by it, and as Mahogani speaks of her familial tragedy, Luu offers in turn a small empathetic smile. There's a small smirk as Luu notes, "Cancer, you're right there." Taking in a breath, she sits back in her seat, folding her arms across her chest as she takes a moment.
"I didn't say it would surprise me that she was recognized on another continent," Luu finally starts to clarify, "if anything, I think it would surprise me more if I found a place where she was not recognized. But bones and poetry, and a connection between those two things? Those are things not typically assosciated with her, and not in that way. So what becomes interesting to me is that in that one name, you see thirty eight thousand years of her cultic history, and it's sacred religious technology. Because while these things are known now to those who take the time to look, they would at that time be something known only to her priests and priestesses. Which means you have an unbroken chain of transmission of her knowledge across all that time, and across Africa and the Near East, pretty much as far North as you can go. It's there we see a splinter of her embedded in this language that seems to confirm this or is one really amazing coincidence." A beat before she adds, "and beyond that, Estonian is notorious not only for it's difficulty, it's difference from other languages, but in how conservative it is. It does not let it change the way that other languages change; it's preserved." Meeting Mahongani's eyes, Luu adds, "Preserved to this day."
Having what she maent and it's implications, Luu wonders, "so if you feel this way, why don't you fully recognize her within yourself? Virgo, you said you think that says nothing about you?" This time, as Luu speaks, Mahogani tilts her gaze away from moon-searching and toward the other woman. She meets her eyes as well, watching them intently as she describes this centuries-spaning historical connections. Mahogani, while distinctly and unquestionably feminine, still carries something of a stone-like quality, but as she listens it slowly begins to fade and she looks, at least in this moment, softer, and evoking something of a childlike innocense that she otherwise manages to completely supress. Her smile never quite grows enough to be tooth-baring, but it grows as Luu shares with her. Finally she says, "Where did you come across all of these stories? I had thought we were likely close to the same age, but maybe I am wrong--I am willing to be, which is perhaps not a Virgo trait--but you are so well-versed and," she pauses, considering her words, "to me, passionate--at least that dedication has love buried in it somewhere, I feel--but also your career--not an easy or forgiving one--walks in another direction. You are Cancer, though it is not fair that I guessed three times over, but there is this..." she lowers her voice, leaning even closer then, as if she were whispering a very important secret, "deep pool there. Blue and crystalline at the edges, and black and swallowing at the center."
She lets that sit for a moment, seeming to forget street, night sky, and drink all at once to wrap her focus entirely in the other woman, but then eventually says, "I do not mean I am not unlike her, I mean she cannot possibly be my whole story. Some nervous, tightly-bound, perfect thing? I do not want to be that, but--" she pauses, thoughtful for a moment, still meeting Luu's gaze, "I was born when she was full. I do not know if astrologists draw any meaning from that, but I think it is, perhaps, my greatest auspicious point."
There's a small smirk at this, as Luu explains, "I told you this already. The act of recording, writing, trade ledgers, narrative art, poetry, and so much more. These belong to her, and they are preserved, sometimes just in scattered splinters; and yet they're embedded in everything. Our language and our mythology, just to speak on tonight's conversation. They're available to those who seek to find her, hidden in plain sight, for all." Looking up to the sky, Luu wonders, "A Lunar Goddess, did you really think that her temple would be anything less than this?"
"Moon," Luu slowly pronounces, "Goddess." A moment is taken, before she adds, "Do you see the problem there? That particular form?" Meeting Mahogani's eyes, Luu continues, "The night when she was first truly understood, hmm -- " Luu pauses, before correcting herself, " -- the nights. That month spent recording her appearance in the heavens? That's the revelation. That's why that leads to poetry. That's why that leads to civilization. That's why her splinters are embedded in everything. Moon-Goddess-Writing." A beat as Luu wonders, "Did you think her sacred form would somehow not be tripartite? It's hidden away, because her presence, that strength, it frightens those who would oppose her. The worship of any other requires the worship of her. The victory she achieved, so complete, that she allows it to be disbelieved. There is no other worship. She has taken their forms and made them her own, and she hides because she is that strong."
"That's the truth, and it's powerful," Luu tells her, "but she's all mixed-up inside you, and I think you know that. All of her forms are auspicious, all sacred. Yet you play favorites with the way you see her in yourself, or perhaps the way you fail to see her in yourself." There's a beat, before Luu slowly and distinctly pronounces, "Moon Goddess." There's a small smile on Luu's face, a gentle look and yet a look of challenge; not a challenge between these women. No, it is a challenge given from one woman to another woman, regarding herself and the sacred elements contained within that inner temple. A transmission of the priestesshood, in the temple of her world, under her careful watch.
Slowly, Mahogani's head tilts to the side, as she listens. She still does not release that gaze, focused intently on Luu, absorbing, or else being someone who is good at appearing to do so. She reaches up with one hand and absently strokes her earlobe, before taking the same fingers to lower lip, sliding them just under it as she listens. "I am afraid, Luu, that there is not as much substance to me as I might hope--maybe you are right--maybe I am just...blind to it, or maybe there is a part of me that is afraid of it, uncertain, more ready to push it away than to embrace it. I do not know. Every night I learn something new, and I am grateful for that, and tonight I am learning to fall in love with a Goddess that I already knew I loved, but had not actually seen before."
Her head is still tilted just to the side, her expression curious, thoughtful, but also just undeniably weighed down by some unspoken grief which settles most heavily in those big blue eyes of hers. "But I am not retreated when I confess this--I am only saying this--maybe I need some guidance. Maybe I need someone who will see in me what I do not. Maybe I want you to initiate me into your lunar cult and I will never look back on this life again," she laughs again, a social rigor, indicating that something said not entirely in jest is allowed to be interpreted that way. "Or maybe you can zip me up in something that transforms me. That is really who she is, is it not? A transformer? A changer? Something that feels like chaos because it is never substantial, but in truth is a pattern that the oceans and even our blood knows to chase after?"
"/My/ Lunar Cult?" Luu responds, her voice rising to almost anger, and yet amusement is it's true shape. "It's not /my/ Lunar Cult. Perhaps 'Her Lunar Cult' is better, you do have the triparite there. It also makes more clear something I danced around. The nights the Moon was charted on bone? Why do you think they were doing that?" Luu leans in her fingers gripping the edge of the table, as she pronounces almost defiantly, "They were worshipping her. All writings, all records, they are worship of her. Those bones are a record of the night her triumph was fully realized. Everything is built upon those bones. All records, all of civilization, it started there. How can any other be worshipped without worshipping her? How can any cult not belong to her? The Ocean, you see the moon there, no doubt? In it's tides, of course, but even still the sea holds her mysteries in it's depths, and gives birth to her aspects. I think this one you intuit, even if you don't fully understand, or respect. But that's not her problem, that's your problem. You are in her temple, everything you do is worship of her. Anything that you perceive as otherwise? That's simply you, your ego, afraid of her oneness and holding on. I see my self in you, but is that my ego?"
"Maggie," Luu says almost tenderly, before leaning in to more forcefully clarify, "Pearl. Auspicious for me that I found that, it's the birthstone for Cancer, and that time is fast approaching. When it's that time, will you reveal that part of you, or lock her treasures away to hide them from others, to hide from your self? These aspects are within you, who's permission are you waiting for? You have hers. Since you might still think it's my Lunar Cult, I'll let you know that you have permission from me, but you do not need that. You do not need permission from anyon else, just your self, right?" Luu chuckles, quite amused and adds, "Oh, right."
"Do you think Her Lunar Cult is worried about what your father will think?" Luu asks of Mahogani, "Beautiful, impossible, unapproachable /things/ ?" There's a look of disgust on Luu's face as she continues, in a mocking child's voice, "Sounds like daddy wanted you to be a virgin so badly, he turned you into a tree." Dropping the baby voice, Luu turns defiant, continuing, "but a strong tree, because he didn't want to protect you, wasn't going to protect you, you had to do that for yourself. That strength is yours, you have proven that, you have protected yourself. The Earth is fertile, she is fertile. What daddy tried to do to you? That's not virginity, that's a barren womb. He would have you turn the Earth herself into the grave. That's not strength, but it's also not his power. Mommy turned you into a tree. To protect you from daddy and to protect you from yourself. Father Earth? You fear that? Do those words not sound ridiculous to you? Do you not realize that the Earth belongs to her, that these words that bound you belong to her, that all belongs to her, and that all her treasures are available to you?"
Leaning in and gripping the edge of the table with her fingers, Luu grips the edge of the table, locks eyes with Maggie, and softly commands, "You, Maggie. Child of Light. You are one, that is three, that is all. Reveal yourself and do not fear your naked self, for you are clothed in her jewels eternally, and you are always in her temple and her temple is always in you. Gaze upon your self as you are, so that you see her as she is. Virgo, this is your House. Do not fear your Father, do not fear Apollo, for they serve at her Pleasure, and dwell in her Temple." Leaning back, Luu folds her arms across her chest, and tilts her head lightly to the side as she gazes at Maggie, making clear, "Her Temple. All Four Corners."
It is doubtless that there is a lot of that that Mahogani does not understand, through disrespect, lack of experience, or even lack of cognition--but one thing that is not happening here, which could and maybe would even be more likely to happen--is that she is not dismissing this as wild madness and an attempt to scratch at some business that turned out to be more than just a bust. Instead, Mahogani's gaze remains level, certain, almost serene as she regards the other woman, and for a long, long, *long* time after she is done speaking, Mahogani does not immediately answer her. She moves, albeit only slightly, tilting her gaze down, looking at Luu askance, or stroking her pierced earlobe absently. Once or twice she begins to suck in a breath, as if to speak, but instead says nothing.
Eventually, she pushes herself to stand, and for a moment it might seem as if she is about to depart. Instead she walks around the table the crouches beside Luu, close enough to touch, and from where she is crouched below her, she gazes up at Luu with intense, uncertain eyes. That grief that seems to live within them is more powerful than ever because upon close examination, tears, unspilt, well at the corners of them. She shrugs out of her jacket, collecting it in her lap, and then unbuttons her blouse, pulling the charcoal grey silk to the side to reveal her collarbone. Tattood there are creeping, bare branches, but despite their leaflessness, they are unquestionably mahogany branches. She pulls down the collar on the other side are three spheres, one pure white and almost invisible upon her fair skin, save for its outline, the other a half-white, half-black, and the other all black save but the tiniest sliver. "These are the only bones I have ever written upon," she whispers up at the other woman, her gaze fierce and intense despite the moisture collecting in them, "and likely ever will. And my father has been erased from me. I do not know where you are coming from, or where you are going, and more importantly, I do not know why you have come to me, because I certainly imagined a very different kind of tete-a-tete when we agreed to meet, but whatever ire I have inspired in you, it is not for me--whomever it is for is invisible to me--or if I am wrong, and if it is me, I urge you to share that with me in a way that my simple orchardist's daughter's mind is capable of weathering, or else hold that anger without me, because I do not know what you would wish me to do with it."
"No," Luu says in a soft and tender voice, "I have no anger towards you. My anger, if it is that, is for those that caused you pain. Those who have made you feel the need to hide part of your self." Taking a moment, Luu looks towards Mahogani, seeing what she has chosen to write upon her bone. Looking up to meet, Maggie's eyes, Luu gives her a gentle smile, "Those bones are yours to write upon as you wish, they are you and they are a gift to you. There is no need to write on other bones, that was not my point. Those bones were the start of something, the start of the realization of who she is. Upon those bones, everything is built, and that is her temple. In that temple is to be found poetry, and that poetry too is you and a gift for you. That poetry is the start of something, the start of the realization of who she is. Upon that poetry, everything is built, and this is here temple. All of this is worship, there is nothing to fear. Everything is within her temple, and serves at her pleasure."
"I know this is not what you expected," Luu quietly acknowledges to Maggie, "and truth be told, it is not even what I expected. We were brought together, because of shared interests and dreams. If all that was needed was bones to hold up clothing, I could call on anyone and that would suffice. If all you wanted to build upon your bones was clothing, you could call on anyone and that would suffice. Our shared interest is to build something else, a shared poem, sung together. To be truly clothed, the way you want to be clothed, you must first be naked. It is frightening, uncomfortable, and I understand this. But it is something that needed to be done, in order to take proper measurements, and to adorn you in a way that is worthy of who you are, in a way that expresses who you are. This too is worship. The moon's cycles can be seen in fashion and everything else, the length of hemlines rise and fall like empires do. You have now found yourself naked in her temple, did you think you would then be forsaken, not clothed in a way befitting your beauty? Not impossible, not unapproachable. Possible, approached, and realized. I'm sure there are more of her treasures to be discovered that already adorn you, for her ways mysterious and eternal. But those -- " Luu shakes her head lightly, " -- those do not matter at present. What matters at this moment is that you are naked, would you like now to be clothed?" Slowly, Luu reaches out a hand towards Maggie, while connecting with her eyes. There is no attempt to touch, should she wish not to be touched, instead an offer. A squeeze of the hand, a hug, whatever clothing she needs at this moment.
Without flinching, or retreating, or even blinking, Mahogani still somehow manages to convey that sadness and vulnerability as Luu reaches out toward her--and at first while she makes no move away from her, she also does not lean into any offer of succor. She remains where she is, crouched at Luu's feet, looking up at her without her inked clavicles revealed. But then, she takes in a sharp breath and reaches up, cupping that hand in hers and pressing her cheek into it, cool to the touch with the night air, but hot underneath the surface with her welling emotions. It seems that the clothing she wanted was this, because she holds onto it for some time--and certainly for any passers by, of which there are no few at this time of night, it is a strange sight.
Some time passes as she cradles Luu's hand against her cheek before she finally speaks, into it but still up to her--her eyes have not moved the slightest bit away from her this entire time, "I think that if I need to be naked first, that I have not completely offered myself yet. I could stand to lose a lot more layers than I have tonight. But if becoming undone is going to be part of our worship and our creation, I want to be peeled down to my barest self." Touching Mahogani comes with an unrequested vision, creeping into the senses, of the self-same tree she is named for, upon a barren hilltop, underneath the light of the full moon. What is more relevant than the vision of the tree, though, is that it has been tied up with stakes and steel rods meant to shape it, forcing it to grow in a specific, artistic manner. And the parts of the tree which have been engineered this way, almost all of them, seem to be either damaged or completely dead--its beautiful bark is dry and colorless and cracked, if there is any at all, and large rotting holes appear within its trunk...but at the very top, and closest to the light of the moon, some of the straps holding the steel and wood rods to the tree have snapped, or been torn away, and there are several inches of tiny green branches, curling upward toward the light.
Sitting there with Maggie crouched by her feet, Luu looks upon the other woman with admiration of her courage and appreciation of her depths. There is no move to rush Maggie, Luu seems perfectly content to let the woman take her time, she certainly deserves it. Remaining still and quiet, she gazes at the woman, seeing Maggie, but also seeing the divine feminine, and within that aspects of herself. Held between Maggie's hand and Maggie's cheek, Luu's own hand is soft, warm. With a connection of minds, souls, and now bodies, it's no wonder that the difference between the three begins to blur for Luu; and being no stranger to this experience, she let's her eyelids mostly close in a meditative fashion, and let's the experience wash over her.
Experiencing such total understanding brings with it a definite though not overwhelming sadness to Luu. What she feels is not unexpected, not from Maggie, not from any woman in this world. Bound in metals and other woods, the tree's form is perverted, damaged, and almost destroyed. Yet the tree remains unconquered, with a small and yet tremendous power. It is the beginning of Spring, a renewal, but the last of Winter's frost certainly remains. The tree is not alone, not abandoned, having grown the Earth and reached towards the moon, it is watched after and taken care of as it fulfills it's role in a painful part of these ongoing cycles.
As Maggie finally begins to speak, Luu let's her eyes slowly open and then meet the other woman's, and empathetic and sympathetic smile on the woman's face. "That is your choice," Luu responds in a gentle voice, "you have took off more than most will ever understand. It does not go unnoticed, and it will be rewarded. Tonight, though, tonight it has been a lot, and as you know being clothed is more than just being naked. While we've explored your depths, that is not why were here, not the reason people read Vogue. Timeless and personal truths? Those will be woven into our creation, but that alone will not make a fabric fit for adorning you and presenting your inner self to the external world. No, besides your depths, we must understand your shallows, and where the tides lap against the shore. While I feel that I know you very intimately now and I've seen your beauty, what I need to know, is not why you are beatiful, but what makes you feel beautiful. In what ways to adorn you. Really the question is, what can I do to make you feel like a -- " reaching up, Luu pulls down her own lower lip, where she has tattooed the word 'princess' Holding it down for a few moments, she then lets go, offerring Maggie a big smile. "We've got to a deeper meaning," Luu summarizes her point, "now we start to explore your aesthetic."
Even crouched at another's feet, Mahogani is not the kind of person to retreat or suppress herself. Her whole physicality is an experience and she is aware of it, and even if a few people walking by stop and stare, none of that alters her course of actions. She remains, holding that hand, just feeling it, and soaking in its warmth and the healing power of touch and closeness that seems to already be working at mending the grief and fear that escaped her--not in whole of course, but at least in the moment. But then the seriousness of the moment is suddenly broken, and when Luu reveals her lip tattoo, Mahogani smiles brilliantly, revealing the merest sliver of white teeth. "Perfect. Lovely." And she releases the other woman's hand now, pushing herself slow to stand to her full height--which is considerable. He glances back to her seat but before she returns to it she considers the other woman from a different angle, gazing down upon her a touch of mirth to her eyes now. "Yes, of course. How do we appeal to a market that might not care about the message otherwise."
She lifts her hands, buttoning her blouse again, but her jacket is now tossed over her shoulder, not to be worn again--the blouse is sleeveless, and her fair arms seem to almost glow in the nighttime lights. She retakes her seat, recrosses her arms, and reconsiders her turmeric latte, picking up the mug and holding it just under her chin, but not quite sipping it. "I like to be tall, and I like to be the tallest one in the shoot, when possible. And..." she pauses, "I think it might be better to say it this way--I want the power dynamic to be clear, and I want to be the one at the top. I feel most beautiful when others see me that way."
