Double-Blind Date [13 Trandary 4261]
This is why Cani rule the world. Everyone always owes them favors.
The Expression of Confidence
Anoof:"I'm sure you can do it!"
The Expression of Limitation
Anoof:"It's just for one evening. You don't have to sleep with him. Just have dinner, make out a little."
The Expression of Desired Quality
Anoof:"And you're not supposed to make it a good date. I don't want him to think that being traff is a good thing."
The Expression of Failure of the Obvious Alternative
Anoof:"I don't want to ask Ghirbis. She probably would sleep with him."
The Expression of Insidiousness
Anoof:"You can go in disguise. As an Orren or something."
Why I Did It
Anoof:"I do you plenty of favors! You owe me!"
I didn't feel like going as an Orren -- that was sort of, well, dirty. Obviously I couldn't go as Cani, 'cause (a) nobody can imitate a Cani properly to another Cani, and (1) it wouldn't be traff.
I make a rather hulking Gormoror girl, though.
A rather hulking Gormoror girl, all tarted up with fur-ribbons and a purple and brown bodice showing off far more bosom than I have ever been involved with in any way before, and a sparkly purple hat, and a hastily-constructed purple dress.
I was described as "rather fetching". Where the fetching in question presumably consisted of me picking up the lad in question, tossing him over my shoulder, and carting him off to my bower of choice.
The Blind Date
We met at Tamvaus. He spotted me first, of course.
Him:"Hi! You must be ... um ... "
Me:"Yes, I certainly am. And you are...?"
Him:"I am expecting you!"
I'm sure that any Cani in Vheshrame could have identified him by this point. His fur wasn't black -- rather, it looked black, but there was a Mutoc Corpador spell on it, so I suspect that it wasn't really black any other time. He wore a perfume pendant and three little globes of burning incense circling his black floppy hat. The buttons on his jacket were ivory, and his tail was docked, and all of this was temporary.
It is very odd to have a date where the main ground rule is that neither of you should attempt to learn anything about the other.
I had carefully prepared a Gormoror name for myself, but I had somehow left it outside the restaurant and couldn't remember it by the time I needed it. He had (according to Anoof beforehand) insisted on utter anonymity, and (according to Anoof afterwards) felt that the name he had chosen for himself, that of his favorite fictional hero, was too identificatory.
And most topics of conversation were thusly thwarted.
Him:"So, have you ever dated a Cani before?"
Me:"Um ... Most Gormoror think Cani are cute!"
Me:"Have you ever eaten Yistrean food before?"
Him:"No! I mean yes, often!"
Me:(actual)"...know you shouldn't eat that leaf."
Me:(ought)"Why, thank you. You're kinda cute yourself!"
Which, pretty much, left rather immediate discussions as the only ones we could think of:
Me:"Those little pancakes are delicious, aren't they?"
Me:"Can you tell me what's in them?"
Him:"Well, they're spiced with bollard butter, ground burnt cat bones, chissowary, and those hideously hot leaves. But why ground burnt cat bones?"
Me:"I have a Yistreian roo... um ... frequent consort with whom I copulate in the forest groves out of town where picnicking Cani families frequently see us, I mean. The story of the burnt cat bones is thus-and-so."
Him:"That's very ... alarming."
Me:"That's very ... Yistreian."
Him:"I mean about the forest groves and picnics."
Me:"Well, it's not simply enough for a Gormoror to be transaffectionate, you see. We must be boldly transaffectionate. We must take amatory risks which no cowardist would ever dare!"
Me:"And where would you like to go after dinner? I hear the Pillar of Incangiophor is lovely on a spring night."
Him:"That's ... quite ... all right."
The Making Out
Me:"Well, thank you for a very nice dinner."
Him:"It was ever so memorable!"
Me:"Shall we find a leafy bower? Or -- you are a city dog. Is a spot under the boardwalk more to your taste?"
Him:"Actually, I must be getting back home ... I promised my wife and brother-brother I'd ... um ... do something for them. A very specific kind of something, which has to be done between the ... what time did you say it was?"
Me:"A third past sixteen."
Him:"Right. Between a third past sixteen, and a third to seventeen."
Me:"Not even a goodnight kiss?"
He ran away.
I returned to Quelldrie House, and reported utter success to Anoof.
[This may or may not be you. Even if it's you, it's not very much you!]