28th Hour, 8 Vortas 2719
Meraki stood about ten paces away from the entrance of the Mad Queen. He’d been standing there for nearly an hour. He’d smoked three cigarettes. He’d paced non-stop in a small circle for about ten minutes of that hour. He averted his gaze from the patrons going in, and avoided the workers wandering around the pirate-ridden docks, smiling their smiles and trying to entice him. The young tsat smoothed out the velvet on his borrowed pants and fixed the temporarily borrowed sweater. He didn’t have his vest with him, nor his knuckledusters, nor much of anything except some tallies in his pocket and a red-painted cardboard box in his hand.
He muttered to himself, more than a few times, and then he walked a little farther away. Hyper aware of his surroundings, though with a blurry gaze, he glanced about and then he popped open the little tincture he’d grabbed from an apothecary. The liquid cocaine hit him fast, and it hit him hard; within minutes, he finally got himself to walk forward and past the gangplank onto the Mad Queen. Meraki waved away a rather handsy harlot as she tried to grab onto his arm. Another ran a hand over his leg, as if they aimed to rile him. The young man shook his head and quickened his pace to get past a group of boisterous sailors. He could do this. He could do it. It’d be fine. Everything would be fine. He wouldn’t fuck this up.
Following the flow of patrons, as the place was far more crowded than he would have guessed, he traveled downstairs into the permanently anchored ship. Sweet incense wafted around him, joined with the pleasant scents of a good time. Piano music, accompanied with other instruments, harmonized well with the laughter of merriment and otherwise. It almost drowned out the moans and grunts… almost. Meraki held tighter to the tiny box, and he tried to avoid eye contact with anyone. Especially with the half-naked men and women that draped themselves seemingly on every railing and corner.
Nope, he did not like it here. Not even a little bit. So, he insisted to himself while he left the last step and started through the den of flesh. The clink of bottles and glasses, if it weren’t for all the noises beyond the booths, he would have thought it to just be a rambunctious tavern… but there were the noises. Even in his artificially boosted courage, he couldn’t help but think of Lars while he heard those noises, and he felt rage roil just under the surface. His freckled Anaxi skin burned as red as the décor around the place.
I would kill for you, die for you, but so, too, do I live for you.
I love you.
Two hours, that was how long Meraki spent in Lars’ apartment after he’d left his upstairs abode. He washed in the bathtub, cleaned his hair, cleaned the blood from his skin, picked under his nails, and scraped at his teeth with powder. Clean, clean, clean as he could get himself. He’d found some suitable clothes in his lover’s wardrobe, velvet trousers, a baggy sweater, and the burgundy shirt that he thought looked far better on Lars, but he wore anyway.
The shirt reminded him of the passive’s scent, and he liked to breathe in the aroma at the sleeves. It both energized and soothed him, somehow, in an odd but welcomed juxtaposition. He had removed the bandages from his hands and put a pair of knit gloves on instead to hide the bruises and cuts. He’d scrubbed his boots clean. He had thought to borrow Lars’ coat… but that wouldn’t work, because he knew where it came from. Wearing the pilfered jacket off a murdered client probably wasn’t the best first impression. So, he’d pulled on a rather large sweater over the burgundy shirt instead.
Meraki immediately overheated once inside though. It was kept far warmer inside the Mad Queen than on the outside. He pulled at the collar of the sweater. A light sweat beaded on his freshly scrubbed skin. He got a look around, remembering the slight glimpses he’d acquired through his clairvoyance many days ago… and he eyed the way that had led to the dual red doors… and he started on his path.
It is cruelty, to instill false hopes such as one day flying away again.
Is it not?
He felt the blend of glamours, and even fields, all intermingled in the diverse crowd of patrons and workers. The path took him right back onto the deck, to a pair of red doors that had a sign above it: The Mad Queen. That’s where he suspected the madam would be… should he knock?
In his hands, he clung to the small box of stiff cardboard that’d been painted a vivid red and strung together with a four-way line of thin twine, with a bow on top. He tried not to fidget but found it difficult with the cocaine that ran through the fast pump of blood along his veins. The Queen was far busier than he expected, and practically bustling with all sorts of people. Sailors, and pirates, sure, but other types too. A range from laborers to more suitable gentlemen that wouldn’t be expected to set foot in a place like this, yet there they were like all the rest. Everyone seemed to be going everywhere, and there weren’t any spots of quiet. He was reminded of the busy alleys in the Stacks, that tried to catch drunk people on their way between pubs, to sell and trade various goods that weren’t usually found within the confines of polite establishments.
Meraki wandered back below deck. Even with the cocaine, he felt a bit uncertain about his plan… if one could call it a plan. He simply couldn’t hold his patience anymore. Not after everything, in the last several hours, that had transpired. He couldn’t bear the thought of Lars returning to work at the Mad Queen. Not even for one more hour. Not even one minute. He didn’t know what he might do if he had to just stand idly by and watch as his fragile lover walked back into this place of sin.
His gaze lifted somewhat, on his second trip into the tavern area, and he got easily distracted when he caught sight of a dancer on the stage. There was far more skin to see than not. The tsat muttered to himself, “Now, ent that somethin’…”
“I could show y’ somethin’ more ‘an ‘at, love,” chirped a petite woman beside him.
He looked over, eyes widening as he hadn’t thought he’d been noticed. Yet there she was, looking at him like a hungry cat looked at an injured bird. The harlot wasn’t a terrible sort to look at. She had dark ringlets pinned up in a composed fashion, except for a few strands that had gotten wayward and hung loose around her human bone structure. Her eyes were… some color… but Meraki got distracted by the heaved cleavage that nearly poured out the sloped collar of her dress. From how short she was, he hadn’t expected those.
“Oh… I- uh-” he stammered. His face pulsed with how hot he felt, though it was difficult to tell as he’d been blushing red since he’d stepped into the place. Gods, he felt so angry but also so overwhelmed. “I’m not-”
“C’mon, love, no need to be a fright. Let’s get y’ a stiff one,” offered the woman as she wrapped herself around his arm. Her plentiful bosom pressed against him. She clarified when she noticed his expression. “…a drink, love. Get y’ a drink. Unless…”
“No! That’s- uhm… that’s okay,” he stumbled as he pushed away from her, then accidentally jostled into another man who’d been standing from a table. Meraki paused, and recognized him from working at the docks. The man grumbled, but let it go with a roll of his eyes and a quick silent move away when he recognized Meraki. “Whoops, ah, no. I wanted to- if I could- speak to someone?”
“Speak to someone?” repeated the woman over the din of the crowd. She placed a hand on her hip. “Y’ already got a tumble y’ lookin’ for?”
“Not… not exactly,” he managed. “Iwantedtospeakwithmadamjezebel?”
“Wassat? Speak up, love,” said the harlot, already scanning the crowd for a new potential target.
“I wanted to speak with Madam Jezebel,” insisted Meraki in a bit firmer tone of voice.
The harlot stopped. She placed her other hand also on her hip. “Why’s that? Y’ don’t got to talk to ‘er if y’ lookin’ for so-”
“Yes, I do,” he interrupted. His tone of voice and his expression turned stern. “I must speak with her, if she is able to be called on. I have… a… a very specific request to make. One I… I’d rather not say out here.”
“Oh. Ohhh, I see,” said the harlot. She glanced over him, then shrugged. “Right, y’ stay here.”
Meraki nodded, but as he waited while keeping an eye on the woman, he started to feel otherwise. He felt restless. He didn’t want to stay still. And he didn’t like how the harlot was talking to some very large man while pointing at him like he was…
…yeah, he didn’t like that. Meraki slid aside, ducked behind a group of pirates, then sneaked around to get back up the stairs. He wasn’t about to wait around to get thrown out. The lone tsat hurried back up the path, to find the way he’d seen in his scrying that led into the place where he assumed the contracts were held – which he also assumed must be the same place as the madam for his scry had been unable to get farther than past the open door before it’d vanished.
Holding onto the box still, he took a deep breath. He watched as some random people wandered past, then he knocked on the pair of red doors. Meraki shuffled his feet, boots feeling heavy, glanced around, and he hoped… he hoped the madam was there, and that he might be able to speak with her, and he thumbed the tincture in his pocket some. Maybe he needed to take more. His body still ached, his mind still felt weary, his vision still blurry with spots of bleary lights, but he had taken just enough cocaine to push through the exhaustion.
The tsat scuttled a little farther away. He took out the tincture and drank a bit more of the potent liquid before hurriedly setting it back in his pocket. Meraki inhaled sharply, then turned back around with the full intention to knock on the red doors until someone opened them.