Yaris 12th, 2714 - Late, late night.
Clocks she ached, her arms and legs and Gods, every single muscle burned like she was on fire. Her hands were red, blistered from the hoop, along with the bruises that she sported on her legs and arms. Bridgette had pushed her, every spare minute of every day, had her practicing the routine over and over. Yes you’re good, but you need to be better, the older woman would say. Scarlett seemed to be happy at least, she had the only act in the Rose that earned a respectable amount of ging. She’d wanted another warm body to feed Hawke’s business, yet so far Sarinah had managed to make something of an attraction for the Queen. It was clocking brilliant for business.
“M’plum knackered rosh!” Sarinah whined with a soft sigh, deep brown eyes glancing at the woman beside her backstage. Olive skinned hands rubbed her neck with a hiss, trying to kneed out the ache that lingered there. Mistress Wren tsked, looking over the young raven haired dancer with garishly painted old blue eyes. They stood mid way up the stairs behind stage, whilst one of the other girls prepared herself to go on.
“Well that was the last one luv. Why don’t you go wash up and get some rest. It’s nearly time for the place to quiet down anyway.” The raven haired witch reached out to take the older woman’s slightly wrinkled hands in hers with a smile, squeezing them tightly with warmth
“What would I do withou’y Bridgette—‘mean Mistress Wren. Mujo ma!” She let them go, stretching her arms with a wince and a groan. Taking the rest of the stairs, the dancer moved to follow her feet out the back and towards the communal baths. It was a welcome piece of happiness in a place of such carnal woe, and the wick was eager to take five minutes to just relax.
“Hello my pretty Dove.” A voice said from the hallway, stopping Sarinah in her tracks, eyes snapping up from the floor to settling on a woman with fiery red hair and a tight fitted red dress. Scarlett puffed almost delicately on a long thin cigarette, tipping the end at the dancer with narrowed eyes and a vixens smile.
“I must say, Mistress Wren really out did herself with you. The student becomes the master, and all that nonesense.” Walking forward with the grace of a banderwolf, the ex-Pirate reached up to stroke the brunettes hair out of her face, all the while Sarinah stood frozen in front of her. She was afraid of Scarlett, knowing the woman was much crueler than she ever appeared. Much more dangerous too.
“So, so pretty. I can see why they love you. Here, come with me Dove.” Looping her arm in Sarinah’s, the red head guided her beyond the room she shared with Bridgette, turning her away from the baths or even the private bath. They were headed upstairs, away from the back rooms. As they passed through the tavern, the witch looked at her coworkers with a questioning glance, Bridgette cursing softly and looking away whilst others merely smiled or turned away. They knew what was coming, it seemed.
“You know, you make quite the show. Pretty wick girl with your pretty twirls and those lovely lovely lips. Irresistible.” The Queen said with an affectionate tap of a finger on her said lips. Sarinah pressed them together, feeling her stomach turn under the woman’s praise. They were climbing the stairs that led out of the brothel and onto the deck.
“Mujo ma, Madame.” She said politely, looking behind her with a frown, before turning back again. They’d reached the deck and Scarlett paused at the doors of her quarters, wicked smile on her lips.
“You wouldn’t believe the amount of concords some of these fancy gollies are willing to drop for a night with the Dove. I’m actually in awe.” Turning the handle, she opened the door and gestured Sarinah inside with one hand. Obedience born of fear, the young woman stepped inside the garishly decorated room. It was like the tavern, flamboyantly dressed in fabrics of various reds and pinks, the large bed covered in a beautiful scarlett brocaded quilt. A small bedside table held two empty glasses and a decanter of clear mugrobi white rum. The Madame guided Sarinah to sit on the edge of the bed, moving to fill each of the glasses with a shot of the rum and handing the girl one of them.
“To good business ventures my pretty birdy.” She said with a nod and a raise of her own glass, before knocking back the strong spirit with a shudder. The wick looked at her from the edge of the bed, turning the glass in her hand slowly and finding her voice finally.
“Epaemo rosh, but’ent sure why m’here? Didn’y’like t’nights act?” Scarlett made a sound in her throat, as though she found the younger woman’s confusion almost adorable.
“Oh no love. It was perfect. Totally perfect. As always. You should know Hawke is so impressed, he recommended you to his Vienda business partner. In fact...” Holding up a finger, the red head fished out a stop watch and grinned.
“Hold that thought.” Sweeping from the heavily fragrance quarters, Madame Jezebel shut the door behind her. Sarinah immediately stood, placing her glass on a desk below a set of windows that used to look out onto the ocean. She felt sick with a feeling of dread, and contemplated just walking out. Before she could however, the door swung open again.
Scarlett reappeared on the arm of a tall thin man. He wore an expensive looking suit and round wireframe spectacles. His hair was a glossy black and combed away from his face in a neatly waxed fashionably correct set.
“As I was saying, Mister Pollard, we strive to ensure only the very best for the King’s men. May I formally introduce you to Mistress Dove. Come here pretty birdy, let our good Mister Pollard have a look at you. Don’t be shy.” She waved Sarinah closer, golden eyes shining brightly. The dancer stood in place, glancing between the red head and the man. His field pressed against her heavily, announcing him clearly as a galdori. He smiled at her warmly, adjusting his glasses.
“Mistress Dove. I saw your performance earlier. Truly a talent you have there, and strength I am sure. It must be clocking hard to stay on that...the uh...oh what’s the name?” The blackhaired man let go of Scarlett to take the dancers hand gently and plant a soft kiss. Sarinah stared at him wide eyed, looking up sharply as Scarlett moved faster than expected to the door.
“I’ll leave you two lovebirds to get....aquatinted.” She purred, pulling the door shut, the sound of the lock turning from the other side.
“Ne!” Sarinah gasped, tearing her hand from the golly and moving to the door to tug on the handle. It was firmly locked with the key, and there was no other way out.
“Well dear Dove. I suppose we should get to business.” The man said with a chuckle, moving to remove his jacket and hang it carefully on the back of the desk chair. As he undid his cufflinks, the dancer turned slowly, still pressed against the door.
“Ne kov. I’nt like tha’. Y’chen? I jus’ dance, oes?” Reaching for the buttons on his shirt, Pollard smiled again, as though about to offer her a sweet treat.
“I’ve heard. Untouched, Madame Jezebel says, neither by any man here or otherwise. You have no idea how truly wonderful that is to know. It’s almost impossible to find a clean girl nowadays.” He finished unbuttoning the shirt, leaving it hanging open as he placed his spectacles on the desk and reached for his belt buckle. Sarinah averted her eyes with a tearful groan, wrenching around again to bang on the door furiously.
“Help me! Epaemo! Scarlett! Wren! Wesley?!” Faster than a whice taking flight, Pollard was by her side, hands on her wrists with a strained smile full of pristine white teeth.
“None of that thank you. I didn’t pay for a scene. Now. On the bed with you.” The witch shook her head, pulling away with a pleading whine.
“Neee....I’nt a tumble—“ The galdor’s smile fell, and his blue eyes hardened as his field tangibly drew closer, clipped words of monite dripped from his lips. The dancer tasted sulphur on her tongue, before a searing cramping pain wracked her body, causing her to scream in agony and drop to the ground. Pollard finished the spell with a sigh, dragging the dazed and hurting witch to the bed and throwing her on the soft quilt.
“You’re whatever I choose you to be tonight witch.” He snapped, reaching for the fastening of his trousers to finish undressing. Sarinah gasped as her body slowly released her from the vicious spell, achingly trying to crawl up the bed away from the man. He followed her on his knees, pants undone but still on, grasping at her hands as she feebly slapped him away.
“Stay. Still.” He growled, a rough knee between her legs. Weeping, a sudden surge of adrenaline gripped the brunette, and she howled angrily, drawing her leg back to kick him hard in the chest. Pollard grunted, falling back enough to give her the advantage. Sarinah scrambled to her knees, scratching and slapping and punching the man.
“HAVAKDA!” She raged, knocking him off the bed in a tumble of arms and legs, collecting herself to make a break for the door again. Barely half way across the room, Pollard had her by the hair, throwing her forcefully into the desk, glass trinkets and ink pots smashing onto the floor. Sarinah cried out in pain, rolling on her back and kicking at the man again. She caught him on the jaw, and the galdor yelled in surprise, teeth breaking the skin of his lip.
“Son of a kenser!” He swore, blood and spittle dripping from his lip. Growling, Pollard snapped a syllable in monite, pulling the wick into his open hand and gripping her around the throat. With a snarl, he punched her.
Gods, she saw stars.
Raising her hands to defend herself, the dancer was dropped to the floor, where the galdor kicked her for good measure. Rolling on her back, the woman coughed and gasped for air, before Pollard was kneeling over her. He backhand her, and again. And again.
“I. Paid. For. You.” The disheveled man yelled, punctuating each word with a resounding hit. She was loosing her hold on consciousness, and for a blissful moment the witch was okay with it. He was going to kill her, she was sure of it, and at least then she wouldn’t have to worry about what the nights would bring. Or her parents disapproving words that haunted her dreams. It was in that moment a familiar voice drifted through the haze.
“What in the Gods names are you doing?! Get off...” It faded out, the darkness taking hold again. Somewhere in the midst of it all she was vaguely aware of Wesley picking the black haired man up like a child, and Scarlett hovering over her.
“Couldn’t just be a good little birdy, hey Dove? Oh my poor pretty girl.” She turned from the bloodied and battered witch to glare at the galdor.
“You’ll answer to Hawke for this. Nothing you paid covers what you’ve cost him. How’s she supposed to perform like this?! Stupid arrogant...” Finally she succumbed to the abyss, unable to hold onto the light any longer.
No more.
“No more...” Sarinah croaked softly, laying in the bed that she and Bridgette shared. From her side, the older woman stroked her hair gently, old eyes red rimmed from crying.
“Easy now luv, y’safe here. It’s just me’n’you Sarinah. Shhh...” The raven haired witch tried to open her eyes, finding that she could only open one just enough to see the older woman. Everything hurt, and her face was unrecognisable. Reaching out weakly, the dancer grasped at the tumble’s hand with a sob.
“Bridgette...she tried’t sell me. She tried’t...” The tears stung her eyes, and her lip hurt as she cried, split she was sure. Bridgette shushed her, squeezing the girl’s hand and swallowing her own weeping for the bruised brunette.
“I know. I know. It’s okay luv. It’s okay.” She repeated the words in a gentle mantra, as Sarinah sobbed her shock, rage and pain. Eventually, the tears subsided, and she merely lay on the bed reliving the moment over and over again in her head. The greying woman wiped her face tenderly with a cool cloth.
“Scarlett’s furious. Not at you, at the golly that did it. Ain’t never seen her so angry before.” The dancer snuffled thickly, groaning at the way her ribs hurt when she did so.
“I hate her Bridgette. I hate her.” She said bitterly, closing her eyes and trying to ignore the aches and pains.
Never ever would she be a tumble. Not now, not ever.
Clocks she ached, her arms and legs and Gods, every single muscle burned like she was on fire. Her hands were red, blistered from the hoop, along with the bruises that she sported on her legs and arms. Bridgette had pushed her, every spare minute of every day, had her practicing the routine over and over. Yes you’re good, but you need to be better, the older woman would say. Scarlett seemed to be happy at least, she had the only act in the Rose that earned a respectable amount of ging. She’d wanted another warm body to feed Hawke’s business, yet so far Sarinah had managed to make something of an attraction for the Queen. It was clocking brilliant for business.
“M’plum knackered rosh!” Sarinah whined with a soft sigh, deep brown eyes glancing at the woman beside her backstage. Olive skinned hands rubbed her neck with a hiss, trying to kneed out the ache that lingered there. Mistress Wren tsked, looking over the young raven haired dancer with garishly painted old blue eyes. They stood mid way up the stairs behind stage, whilst one of the other girls prepared herself to go on.
“Well that was the last one luv. Why don’t you go wash up and get some rest. It’s nearly time for the place to quiet down anyway.” The raven haired witch reached out to take the older woman’s slightly wrinkled hands in hers with a smile, squeezing them tightly with warmth
“What would I do withou’y Bridgette—‘mean Mistress Wren. Mujo ma!” She let them go, stretching her arms with a wince and a groan. Taking the rest of the stairs, the dancer moved to follow her feet out the back and towards the communal baths. It was a welcome piece of happiness in a place of such carnal woe, and the wick was eager to take five minutes to just relax.
“Hello my pretty Dove.” A voice said from the hallway, stopping Sarinah in her tracks, eyes snapping up from the floor to settling on a woman with fiery red hair and a tight fitted red dress. Scarlett puffed almost delicately on a long thin cigarette, tipping the end at the dancer with narrowed eyes and a vixens smile.
“I must say, Mistress Wren really out did herself with you. The student becomes the master, and all that nonesense.” Walking forward with the grace of a banderwolf, the ex-Pirate reached up to stroke the brunettes hair out of her face, all the while Sarinah stood frozen in front of her. She was afraid of Scarlett, knowing the woman was much crueler than she ever appeared. Much more dangerous too.
“So, so pretty. I can see why they love you. Here, come with me Dove.” Looping her arm in Sarinah’s, the red head guided her beyond the room she shared with Bridgette, turning her away from the baths or even the private bath. They were headed upstairs, away from the back rooms. As they passed through the tavern, the witch looked at her coworkers with a questioning glance, Bridgette cursing softly and looking away whilst others merely smiled or turned away. They knew what was coming, it seemed.
“You know, you make quite the show. Pretty wick girl with your pretty twirls and those lovely lovely lips. Irresistible.” The Queen said with an affectionate tap of a finger on her said lips. Sarinah pressed them together, feeling her stomach turn under the woman’s praise. They were climbing the stairs that led out of the brothel and onto the deck.
“Mujo ma, Madame.” She said politely, looking behind her with a frown, before turning back again. They’d reached the deck and Scarlett paused at the doors of her quarters, wicked smile on her lips.
“You wouldn’t believe the amount of concords some of these fancy gollies are willing to drop for a night with the Dove. I’m actually in awe.” Turning the handle, she opened the door and gestured Sarinah inside with one hand. Obedience born of fear, the young woman stepped inside the garishly decorated room. It was like the tavern, flamboyantly dressed in fabrics of various reds and pinks, the large bed covered in a beautiful scarlett brocaded quilt. A small bedside table held two empty glasses and a decanter of clear mugrobi white rum. The Madame guided Sarinah to sit on the edge of the bed, moving to fill each of the glasses with a shot of the rum and handing the girl one of them.
“To good business ventures my pretty birdy.” She said with a nod and a raise of her own glass, before knocking back the strong spirit with a shudder. The wick looked at her from the edge of the bed, turning the glass in her hand slowly and finding her voice finally.
“Epaemo rosh, but’ent sure why m’here? Didn’y’like t’nights act?” Scarlett made a sound in her throat, as though she found the younger woman’s confusion almost adorable.
“Oh no love. It was perfect. Totally perfect. As always. You should know Hawke is so impressed, he recommended you to his Vienda business partner. In fact...” Holding up a finger, the red head fished out a stop watch and grinned.
“Hold that thought.” Sweeping from the heavily fragrance quarters, Madame Jezebel shut the door behind her. Sarinah immediately stood, placing her glass on a desk below a set of windows that used to look out onto the ocean. She felt sick with a feeling of dread, and contemplated just walking out. Before she could however, the door swung open again.
Scarlett reappeared on the arm of a tall thin man. He wore an expensive looking suit and round wireframe spectacles. His hair was a glossy black and combed away from his face in a neatly waxed fashionably correct set.
“As I was saying, Mister Pollard, we strive to ensure only the very best for the King’s men. May I formally introduce you to Mistress Dove. Come here pretty birdy, let our good Mister Pollard have a look at you. Don’t be shy.” She waved Sarinah closer, golden eyes shining brightly. The dancer stood in place, glancing between the red head and the man. His field pressed against her heavily, announcing him clearly as a galdori. He smiled at her warmly, adjusting his glasses.
“Mistress Dove. I saw your performance earlier. Truly a talent you have there, and strength I am sure. It must be clocking hard to stay on that...the uh...oh what’s the name?” The blackhaired man let go of Scarlett to take the dancers hand gently and plant a soft kiss. Sarinah stared at him wide eyed, looking up sharply as Scarlett moved faster than expected to the door.
“I’ll leave you two lovebirds to get....aquatinted.” She purred, pulling the door shut, the sound of the lock turning from the other side.
“Ne!” Sarinah gasped, tearing her hand from the golly and moving to the door to tug on the handle. It was firmly locked with the key, and there was no other way out.
“Well dear Dove. I suppose we should get to business.” The man said with a chuckle, moving to remove his jacket and hang it carefully on the back of the desk chair. As he undid his cufflinks, the dancer turned slowly, still pressed against the door.
“Ne kov. I’nt like tha’. Y’chen? I jus’ dance, oes?” Reaching for the buttons on his shirt, Pollard smiled again, as though about to offer her a sweet treat.
“I’ve heard. Untouched, Madame Jezebel says, neither by any man here or otherwise. You have no idea how truly wonderful that is to know. It’s almost impossible to find a clean girl nowadays.” He finished unbuttoning the shirt, leaving it hanging open as he placed his spectacles on the desk and reached for his belt buckle. Sarinah averted her eyes with a tearful groan, wrenching around again to bang on the door furiously.
“Help me! Epaemo! Scarlett! Wren! Wesley?!” Faster than a whice taking flight, Pollard was by her side, hands on her wrists with a strained smile full of pristine white teeth.
“None of that thank you. I didn’t pay for a scene. Now. On the bed with you.” The witch shook her head, pulling away with a pleading whine.
“Neee....I’nt a tumble—“ The galdor’s smile fell, and his blue eyes hardened as his field tangibly drew closer, clipped words of monite dripped from his lips. The dancer tasted sulphur on her tongue, before a searing cramping pain wracked her body, causing her to scream in agony and drop to the ground. Pollard finished the spell with a sigh, dragging the dazed and hurting witch to the bed and throwing her on the soft quilt.
“You’re whatever I choose you to be tonight witch.” He snapped, reaching for the fastening of his trousers to finish undressing. Sarinah gasped as her body slowly released her from the vicious spell, achingly trying to crawl up the bed away from the man. He followed her on his knees, pants undone but still on, grasping at her hands as she feebly slapped him away.
“Stay. Still.” He growled, a rough knee between her legs. Weeping, a sudden surge of adrenaline gripped the brunette, and she howled angrily, drawing her leg back to kick him hard in the chest. Pollard grunted, falling back enough to give her the advantage. Sarinah scrambled to her knees, scratching and slapping and punching the man.
“HAVAKDA!” She raged, knocking him off the bed in a tumble of arms and legs, collecting herself to make a break for the door again. Barely half way across the room, Pollard had her by the hair, throwing her forcefully into the desk, glass trinkets and ink pots smashing onto the floor. Sarinah cried out in pain, rolling on her back and kicking at the man again. She caught him on the jaw, and the galdor yelled in surprise, teeth breaking the skin of his lip.
“Son of a kenser!” He swore, blood and spittle dripping from his lip. Growling, Pollard snapped a syllable in monite, pulling the wick into his open hand and gripping her around the throat. With a snarl, he punched her.
Gods, she saw stars.
Raising her hands to defend herself, the dancer was dropped to the floor, where the galdor kicked her for good measure. Rolling on her back, the woman coughed and gasped for air, before Pollard was kneeling over her. He backhand her, and again. And again.
“I. Paid. For. You.” The disheveled man yelled, punctuating each word with a resounding hit. She was loosing her hold on consciousness, and for a blissful moment the witch was okay with it. He was going to kill her, she was sure of it, and at least then she wouldn’t have to worry about what the nights would bring. Or her parents disapproving words that haunted her dreams. It was in that moment a familiar voice drifted through the haze.
“What in the Gods names are you doing?! Get off...” It faded out, the darkness taking hold again. Somewhere in the midst of it all she was vaguely aware of Wesley picking the black haired man up like a child, and Scarlett hovering over her.
“Couldn’t just be a good little birdy, hey Dove? Oh my poor pretty girl.” She turned from the bloodied and battered witch to glare at the galdor.
“You’ll answer to Hawke for this. Nothing you paid covers what you’ve cost him. How’s she supposed to perform like this?! Stupid arrogant...” Finally she succumbed to the abyss, unable to hold onto the light any longer.
No more.
“No more...” Sarinah croaked softly, laying in the bed that she and Bridgette shared. From her side, the older woman stroked her hair gently, old eyes red rimmed from crying.
“Easy now luv, y’safe here. It’s just me’n’you Sarinah. Shhh...” The raven haired witch tried to open her eyes, finding that she could only open one just enough to see the older woman. Everything hurt, and her face was unrecognisable. Reaching out weakly, the dancer grasped at the tumble’s hand with a sob.
“Bridgette...she tried’t sell me. She tried’t...” The tears stung her eyes, and her lip hurt as she cried, split she was sure. Bridgette shushed her, squeezing the girl’s hand and swallowing her own weeping for the bruised brunette.
“I know. I know. It’s okay luv. It’s okay.” She repeated the words in a gentle mantra, as Sarinah sobbed her shock, rage and pain. Eventually, the tears subsided, and she merely lay on the bed reliving the moment over and over again in her head. The greying woman wiped her face tenderly with a cool cloth.
“Scarlett’s furious. Not at you, at the golly that did it. Ain’t never seen her so angry before.” The dancer snuffled thickly, groaning at the way her ribs hurt when she did so.
“I hate her Bridgette. I hate her.” She said bitterly, closing her eyes and trying to ignore the aches and pains.
Never ever would she be a tumble. Not now, not ever.
