Courtesans and Clients. (819 hits)
Category: NoneRating: 2 on 16 reviews (Rate this item) (V)
Submitted by helbling (View user info) at 2006-01-05 18:38:10 EST
Part one here: http://www.ubersite.com/m/81634
Part Two here: http://www.ubersite.com/m/81836
I sink into the hot water, fighting the temptation to slump into it with relief; keeping my spine straight. Across from me Jel is investigating the cleansing products provided with a suspicious eye and cautious air. I, in turn, examine the bathing room in which we have been put, but there is nothing of obvious use that would get us out.
We are officially courtesans - or at least, that is what we were sold as. So far, the only positive thing I can think of about this is that it guarantees our physical safety - they paid a good amount for us, and so they will not let any harm come to us that could be avoided - it would simply be bad business not to take care of your investment.
Or at least that was the theory - currently, my lower lip is split and stinging in the steam, and Jel's nose has only just stopped bleeding - if she doesn't have at least one black eye tomorrow I will be surprised.
I protested when they took our clothes, and managed to earn myself a backhanded fist across the face. Jel didn't protest, she fought - when they took us out of the wagon, when they led us inside, when we were sold - she fought at everything, in fact. I had thought she was recovering from Mattie's death, but it seems without her other half to steady and guide her, she has gained a reckless edge that, in our current situation at least, is far from healthy.
She gives a satisfied nod, and tosses me a bar of soap, which I catch, and begin lathering between my hands. She starts smearing a cream-coloured lotion into her shoulder-length bistre hair, which foams as she works it in. We scrub, and then swap - at which point, I look at my own tresses.
My hair - blonde and long enough for me to sit on - had been pulled back into a plait, as it always has been but now, while still in the weave, it has been smeared with dirt, soaked with blood, and gone for about a month without washing. Just from looking at it I know that I will never get it completely clean - yet there are no scissors to cut it with. Jel has apparently realised the same thing, and moves silently to beside me, and we begin to untangle and wash it.
After an hour, the pads of our fingers are wrinkled, but we have most of the tangles out, and have rinsed it three times, but some of the stains and snares are permanent, and far from pleasant to look at. We share a look and exchange mental shrugs - nothing else to be done about it.
We exit the baths, and go into the dressing room adjacent, finding grey smocks that are obviously intended for us. As we dress, smatters of conversation filter in through the door.
"...my Lord Kirit, one of his special requ..."
"..younger girls in hysterics Yin, they've heard the stories who hasn't?..."
"...calling that favour - I'm not here, I don't care what reason you gi..."
"...new girls, which presents a definite possibi..."
"...him to the waiting room, I'll be along in a second!"
The door opens, and an older woman, with the orange-red hair that speaks of years of dyeing, sticks her head in. She catches sight of my hair, and wrinkles her nose as if there is a bad smell in the room.
"You two - follow me!" Her voice sounds like she has spent most of her life leaning over a brazier, and her accent is rough, twisting the words as she spits them. "You've got a job, and on your first night too - the Lord Kirit, and he's loaded, so feel privileged!" She smirks, as if she's just told us something amusing, and leads us out of the room.
The hall is a plain cream colour - it is obvious that we are in the worker's quarters, for all it is not squalid, and reasonably comfortable, but the contrast becomes even more marked when we enter an office, and through a door on the other side of the room, can see the client's section, which is opulently decorated with gold and terracotta red, and screams of decadence. Behind the crowded desk is a woman in her late-fifties, and if my hair is sunlit gold, hers is tarnished brass, and hammered into ringlets, which unfortunately only emphasise the wrinkles at the corners of her eyes and mouth, and the cracks of makeup on her forehead that occur only when you put too much on.
She runs her eyes over us in the same way the market manager used to assess our livestock to decide what entrance to charge us when we went to Great Forks. She raises an eyebrow at the woman who brought us in, and glances down at her ledger, which is open on the desk in front of her.
"Names?" she barks.
"Jel Odinsra," snaps Jel, with an insolent edge to her tone. This causes the woman's eyebrow to twitch again, but she doesn't rebuke her. A moment of curiosity as to why flits through my mind.
"Afina da Sithuroz," I say, watching her note it down.
"My name is Yindra Minkaski, but you may call me 'Mother' - afterall, we're all one big happy family here!" She says this with an ugly smirk that tells us that this could not be further from the truth. Her accent is the same as the red-headed woman, although her voice is slightly more pleasant, which, ironically, makes it sound more grating.
"You're both virgins, yes?" I nod my head, but Jel shakes hers - I had not known this, and throw her a curious look, and receive a barely discernable blush in return that tells me it did not happen sometime on the journey when I wasn't looking, but back in Redstone, with one of the boys that she would never tell even Mattie about.
She makes a mark next to my name, and mutters, "must remember to charge him for that one..."
She produces two small glasses from under her desk, and a bottle, from which she fills the two glasses with a thick brown liquid, and shoves them across the desk.
"Drink those."
Jel and I look at each other, and I can see my thoughts mirrored in her eyes; 'no way of avoiding it.' We each take a glass and throw the liquid down our throats; it tastes like cloves - my tongue immediately goes numb, and the cut on my lip ceases to sting, no matter how I twist my mouth.
She nods at the ledger, slams it shut and then motions to the red-headed woman, who leads us out of the room into the client's section. My head feels ridiculously light, and I am possessed by the irresistible urge to giggle for no reason whatsoever. I want to ask what was in the drink, but my mind feels muddled, and I can't seem to stop staring at the play of the lights reflected in Jel's shining hair. By the time I've gotten a coherent sentence together, the woman has led us down several long corridors and is in the process of unlocking a heavy steel door.
"Why give us the drink?" The words feel and sound horribly slurred.
She shoves us both inside, and starts to close the door.
"Why?" I shout again.
"To help with the pain," comes the reply, just before the door slams closed.
'Then why give it to both of us?' I have time to think, before Jel's shaking hand closes around mine.
"Afina..." she whispers, sounding terrified, and tugs me around to view the room.
My heart drops, and for one moment, a pure spike of fear penetrates the haze of the drink and pierces my being.
There is a bed in one corner and a large wardrobe, but other than that, none of these implements would ever be found in a bedroom. Knives, chains, whips, shackles, a metal table with manacles - in the centre is something that looks almost like the stocks in the marketplace of Great Forks but not quite...
We both look at each other for one horrified second, then throw ourselves at the door that has just closed, shouting to be let out.
I feel someone move behind us, and whirl about to see a black-clothed man step out from behind the wardrobe. He must be less than ten years older than us, heavily muscled with tanned skin and dark hair. His eyes are black, slightly slanted and shine with anticipation, while his smile holds a level of cruelty that surpasses even that of the man that killed Mattie.
Jel's hands are on my arm, and she is gripping me so tightly my hand is going numb.
"Well, hello," he drawls, advancing on us, while we shrink back against the door, and my mind goes numb from terror.
I am small, and my grandmother is a giant, smiling down at me with eyes that shine despite being nearly covered by the deep wrinkles around them.
"Aren't you going to open it?" she says with an indulgent titter, and I suddenly become aware of the box at my feet, wrapped in the most magnificent paper - swirled blue, with highlights of lilac, forked through with deep grey, a bit like angry water in a river during a storm. It is wrapped with a silver ribbon, the ends of which I grasp and tug to open it - but it won't come loose, no matter how I struggle, my pudgy-child fingers working clumsily at the knot.
Gramma shrugs. "Not quite old enough for that one, are we? Never mind, why don't you try this?" She lifts another gift - wrapped in plain brown paper and tied with string - from the small table beside her, and hands it to me. The wrapping practically falls away, and I lift the lid of the box, grinning with anticipation.
It contains Mikal's head, his skin pale and drained of blood, those green eyes rolled back in their sockets.
I cry out and drop the box - it falls onto leaves, root and dirt.
I am in the forest, the light streaming through the branches, just as it did on that day. Across the clearing, Mattie lies on the floor, dead, with the bandits around her. They all turn as one to stare at me, and the leader begins advancing on me, drawing his sword as he does so.
I hear a scream, and turn to see Jel being dragged away by the dark man from the room. I begin run after her, but it's such a struggle just to move, and the bandit is coming up behind me. I fight harder, but to no avail - I hear his sword whistle through the air, and there is a searing pain across my back-
-and I wake with a cry.
The room around me is quiet and empty, but my back, despite the huge amount of foul-tasting elixirs I've been given, feels like a great, gaping wound. Hardly surprising as it is one, and will remain that way for a while - they said it would take about three weeks for the skin to grow back.
The reason for the current rise in pain is obvious - I've rolled over during my sleep, and the blood has leaked out or the dressing and stuck me to the bed linen. Not willing to have to rely on someone else for this, I grit my teeth and remove the fabric, feeling new warmth on my sides as this results in more bleeding.
The bed on the other side of the room almost screams its emptiness. It was obviously intended for Jel, but that will never happen now. I hope they do something decent with her body, but this, I feel, is wishful thinking.
I refuse to think about how Jel died, about what he was doing to me as she died. Instead, I think on what happened after, when Yindra and Raina - the redhaired woman - came to see me as I was being patched up.
The events of tonight, I was told - assured, I'm sure they'd say - are not normal. Far more usual is wham, bam, thank you whore, and any tips you get are to be handed over immediately.
You may not keep any gifts, you may not ask for any gifts. You do not break confidentiality with a client without the House Mother's - Yindra's - say so. You are to act welcoming and pleasant at all times. You do not anger the client, you never disagree with a client, and if you attack a client you will be executed. You will also be killed if you ask a client to 'rescue' you - letting people know that the girls aren't here of their own accord is bad for business, apparently.
If a client harms you, or causes you pain, you do not protest - just tell Yin, and she'll add it to their bill. If you fear for your life, there is a bell-pull beside the bed, ring it, and someone will come to see if you are alright. And here, eat this - one a day - it'll prevent pregnancy.
If they ask why morale here is so low, I will die from hysterics.
But wait! There is hope! If you get enough to pay off the debt you incurred when they bought your contract, you go free. Yin named some sums, seemingly off the top of her head, and with a little mental arithmetic, it works out that even if I get three bookings a night, every night, with the percentage that actually goes to clearing our debts after house, board and managing costs, it'll take me over fifteen years to get out of here.
I'd laugh, but it'd hurt the bruises on my face, and crying with my left eye as swollen as it is makes the very action an impossibility.
I don't know myself - this person who laughs at such odds, even if it is because there is nothing else left to do. I swear inside I am still me - I still see the three of them just behind my lids whenever I close my eyes. This morbid sense of humour that has sprung out of nowhere has taken me by surprise, yet I hesitate to banish it, for it appears to help me somewhat.
Raina opens the door and sticks her head in. Eyes sweeping the room, she seems to take more time checking that all the furniture is still in place than she does that I am alive. I sneer at her as she closes the door with a loud sniff of disdain. It only solidifies the piece of cold iron that has become my will.
I will survive, and I will make them pay.
User Reviews
Submitted by Amontillado (user info) at 2007-05-19 19:49:39 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
No Comment
Submitted by Fey (user info) at 2007-05-19 18:52:21 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
Thank you for not telling what happened in that room.
Submitted by thecaes (user info) at 2006-01-17 19:58:05 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
Submitted by Orgasmatron (user info) at 2006-01-05 19:56:47 (#)
Ranking: 2
This was excellent. Badass and intriguing.
Great decision to not describe what happened in the room.
I can't wait for more.
*******************
Yah
I'm kinda speechless.
Submitted by Benny (user info) at 2006-01-14 04:00:21 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
How will she ever have enough time to kill all the people who have screwed her over? It will be interesting to see how she tries.
Submitted by Brdn_Nkd (user info) at 2006-01-13 12:22:56 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
lost track of these for a while.
Submitted by c1ndy (user info) at 2006-01-12 19:41:25 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
oooh cool
Submitted by Snark (user info) at 2006-01-12 19:27:26 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
So she works for a corporation.
Seriously. Very well done.
Submitted by Hirilnara (user info) at 2006-01-10 18:34:34 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
I can't wait till she gets her revenge...
I refuse to believe that she won't; no author can be THAT cruel!
Submitted by JonnyX (user info) at 2006-01-06 17:56:03 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
No Comment
Submitted by sheckynecky (user info) at 2006-01-06 09:03:06 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
awesome
Submitted by Magicaddict (user info) at 2006-01-06 06:18:13 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
Every bit as good as the others - keep them coming. On a side note, the titling is good as well.
Submitted by LadyPlural (user info) at 2006-01-05 23:40:42 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
Reverend Lovejoy:
Homer, this is really low.
Homer: Not as low as my low, low prices!
Mr. Plow
Goddamnit, I want to know what the guy did that killed whatsherface.
Submitted by Orgasmatron (user info) at 2006-01-05 19:56:47 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
This was excellent. Badass and intriguing.
Great decision to not describe what happened in the room.
I can't wait for more.
Submitted by ruthless (user info) at 2006-01-05 19:49:12 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
Have another. More people need to read this.
Submitted by Jeanneee (user info) at 2006-01-05 19:46:10 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
These just get better and better. This is officially the longest piece of writing on this site that I have ever read all the way through.
Submitted by ruthless (user info) at 2006-01-05 19:37:47 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
Fucking awesome.