A pink & purple door trimmed in silver

Paisley, the Princess of Ink. Embossed in silver on hot pink in a sterling silver frame.

You ponder this seemingly contrary description before knocking. You hear "enter" just before the door is opened by a stately middle-aged man in a tuxedo. When you cross the threshold the aura of high society blankets you. Renaissance paintings line the walls (Botticelli & Titian if you're interested.) The carpets are smooth, oak furniture gilded with gold, a chaise lounge upholstered in something undoubtedly expensive. To think this was once a common locker room seemed mad.

On the lounge sits what could only be described as... well... a princess. She wears a fairy tale pink ball gown, the bodice beaded with pearls & diamonds. It must have been tailored to hold in her enormous, plump E-cup breasts, that peek out just a little. Her figure is definitely not thin, but has a pleasing fullness to it. Her face is facing down towards a tablet, but you can see she is immaculately made up, porcelain cheeks & ruby lips. Wavy gold hair that falls into ringlets. All of this is starkly contrasted by her arms, tattooed from shoulder to wrist in koi, dragons, rainbows, flowers. They're dark & bright, rigid & curvy, welcoming & imposing. You're actually mesmerised by them when Paisley clicks off the tablet & stands to greet you.

"John, I presume?" She extends 1 hands out for a kiss.

You struggle to match her style of speech. "Uuuh, yes ma'am, indeed." Then clumsily kiss her hand as an afterthought.

She chuckles politely. "Please, John, be yourself. I didn't come here to be fawned over."

And yet you look like this!

"Well, thanks then. And, sorry too."

"Quite alright my good man. It certainly isn't the first time. Please sit"

She beckons you to a small round table with 2 soft chairs. You follow behind. The generous hips in front of you are a lovely view.

"Stop staring," she quips.

"Was I that obvious?"

"No. Most people do." She takes her seat, robbing you of your view.

"Can you blame them?" You follow her down.

She ponders. "I suppose not. Still, one can hope for better manners."

"It's not as if staring is the most impolite thing we do here."

"Out there perhaps. Back here, we can be more civil."

{if Ambushed by Rose = true}

"Well clearly you haven't met Rose. She ambushed me in the hallway."

Her eyes cast down in regret. "Yes, there is a certain... element, drawn here. The thrill of the contest is plenty enough to drown it out, would you agree."

You smile genuinely. "It sure is."

{endif}

The small talk is interrupted by the tuxedo. "Your highness, the trainer has arrived."

"Thank you Footley." She stands & extends her hand to you. "Lovely chatting my good man."

You kiss it. "You to. See you in the ring sometime." As you head for the door you quip "stop staring."

She laughs heartily.