As I followed Esmerelda, I refrained from asking further. If the chef engaged in cannibalism, then that was the chef’s business. Though personally, I still believed the staff to be hazing the new girl. But even if they were serious, investigating the larder for human remains would hardly win me any friends.
And besides. They were likely joking.
So I followed Esmerelda. We avoided the dining area and the bar, instead taking a rear set of stairs up. These stairs bypassed the second floor and went straight to the third, to the same floor I had woken up on.
“Smart,” I said, complimenting the planners and architects. “This is the staff floor then?”
“And the sobering hall in one,” Esmerelda added, before glancing over her shoulder at me as she led, a coy smile on her green-tinted face. “For when young ladies drink themselves foolish.”
My cheeks heated slightly, which I allowed.
“Does that happen often?” I asked.
Esmerelda gave another hand waggle.
“Generous of you to offer that service.”
“If you ask Ma, it’s not altruistic.”
“She didn’t seem the altruistic sort,” I said, thinking back on my conversation with the heavy woman in her surveillance office.
“I know what you mean, but she’s softer than she comes across,” Esmerelda said.
“So it is altruistic then?” I asked.
“Sorta. It is situational. In general, it’s not. In your case though? Take a guess if it’s altruistic or not.”
I could take a guess. It would be bad business to allow the wealthy daughters to stumble drunkenly out into the night. But for as many reasons as I could guess one way, I could guess the other way as well. Afterall, allowing the wealthy sons to ‘escort’ the drunken daughters home would likely proffer some goodwill.
In my case though? A nobody, an attractive nobody? There likely would have been several patrons willing to take advantage of my drunken state.
Ma could have let that happen, no loss to her, in fact, likely a boon to reputation among some crowds. And unless those crowds are undesirable for business, then it really was altruistic. At least, as Esmerelda put it, ‘sorta.’
“Do you do that for everyone that ends up drunk?” I asked.
“For young women? Yes.”
“Regardless of their status?”
“Like I said, it sorta is altruistic.”
“Huh.” Ma had not struck me that way, and I wondered if there was something more to her motivations.
Eventually, we came to a worn door that had several paints, powders, and creme residues staining around the handle and doorjamb.
“--Annnd here we are,” Esmerelda said, adding a flair of drama. She then tilted her head upwards and belted out, “Marianne!”
I flinched from the sudden sound.
Esmerelda chuckled then added, “Head on in there and get comfortable.” She then waved a hand before her face and scrunched up her nose. “Don’t want the girls complaining later.”
My jaw dropped just a tad. But, it was not as though I could protest, for I did stink. The rats had smeared their stench across my clothes, and I was eager to remedy this as well.
I supposed I had hesitated just a tad too long, for Esmerelda gave me a gentle push. “Go on. Get cleaned up. I expect Ma’ll want to put you to work sooner than later.”
She reached across me, her hot breath hitting my cheek, surprising me, but before I reacted her hand landed on the door and she pushed it open. She and I were both fortunate that my false arm chose to ignore the violation of personal space.
“On you go,” she said, before pulling away and sauntering off.
Confused, I entered what could only be called a dressing chamber with plumbing, or more of a mix between a lockerroom and the backstage of a gentlemen’s club. The door shut closed behind me, and I found myself alone in such a room. The air, so heavily laden with perfumes, left my nose itching.
Before the door finished shutting, I found a lantern alongside the wall and turned it on. There was a window along one wall, but the lighting was dim at best, a side-effect of the perpetual overcast.
I sneezed.
With the lantern lit, I saw the stray powders floating through the air. I quickly found their source.
Along one wall, three vanity stations had been set up, with stools, mirrors, brushes, and creams. Several loose pieces of cloth were covered with smeared lipstick, used for blotting wet lips. Clearly, this was where the women painted themselves. I cringed slightly. Hopefully, I would remain exempt.
In the middle of the room, there were several folding wooden partitions, and what might have been a common wardrobe. As I was alone, I thought of peeking to see if anything of valuable was hidden inside, but then I recalled Ma’s surveillance room. Instead, I continued surveying the room.
All my thoughts fell away when my eyes landed upon the far wall from the vanities.
Baths.
Several standing bathtubs, with plumbing. It was all in bronze, with reliefs carved into them. The metal had not been polished or oiled in sometime, as grime filled the cracks, and the rim was scuffed.
I almost felt giddy. It had been ages since I had last cleaned, not counting the forced dunking I had received while a guest of the princess. Approaching them reverently, I trailed my finger over the faucet. There were several knobs, which I assumed meant temperature control.
It was as I was distracted that the door opened once again, and Marianne walked in, finding me reverently fondling the tubs.
“Jackie?” Marianne asked, stalling where she was.
“Yes?” I responded.
“Esmerelda sent me to help get you settled in… did you find the clothes she laid out?”
I shook my head.
“Ah. Then. Why don’t you wash up while I find them.”
“In the baths?” I clarified.
“Yes…? Unless you would rather not? I suppose we could find a douche–”
“-the bath is fine. Soaps?”
“In the cabinet under the window. The scents are separate, you’ll need to add them to the base. One drop should do it–don’t over do it.” She shuddered.
“Personal experience?” I asked.
“Uhh yeah. Trust me.” She was talking more to herself than me at that point. She checked the wardrobe, failed to find what she sought, and then muttered, “Of course she hid them.”
I went to the cabinet and found oils and powdered soaps. The vials of oils were labeled by hand in a flowery script. I held up one to my nose, and even though the vial remained stoppered, I still caught a hint of pine. I put that one back and tried another, and did not stop until I found one that reminded me of cinnamon.
While I searched the soaps and oils, reveling in the choice and the luxury, Marianne called out, “Be right back! Help yourself to the soaps!”
With the soaps, I found brushes and combs, though several had loose hair tangling them. I settled on the cleanest comb. I hoped that between that and the oils that I could condition my hair into something that resembled tame.
Rough travel was, well, rough, on hair care.
Setting everything by the cleanest tub, turning the hot water, letting the steam wash over me… relief overcame me and I slid down and into the tub.
Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.
All too soon, my private moment of bliss came to be interrupted, as Marianne returned, carrying a bundle in her arms.
“Ohh, cloves? Good choice,” Marianne said, her eyes sweeping over the pile of soaps at the foot of the tub. “But you didn’t already mix them?” she asked.
I tilted my head, confused. “I thought I would add it in when I needed to?”
“But where’s the mixing tray?” Marianne asked, lips pursed.
Mixing tray?
Thinking back on the cabinet, there had been a few tray like objects, along with spoons. I had grabbed the containers, and had thought to just grab a pinch as needed. Realizing that I might have seemed a brute, I blushed, though it would have been hard to see with the heat flushing my skin.
“Oh… It’s… it’s been a bit since I bathed properly. I might have gotten a bit overexcited.”
Marianne set the bundle down by the cabinet and rifled through it, laughing at my joke. “No worries. I’ll help you get straightened out. Just keep leaning back and relax…”
The bathing experience was different. I had never been pampered in such a way. Marianne acted as a masseuse and beautician all in one. She used exfoliants lathered with creamy soaps, she anointed my head with oil, which was the equivalent of conditioners here. It was different, and it was nice. If not taboo, I would even say divine.
Of course as she worked we talked. It was as she ran her fingers through my hair, massaging my scalp, that I voiced a question.
“Not that I’m complaining, but isn’t this rather indulgent?” I asked.
“You know,” Marianne answered, continuing to scrape her fingernails across follicles, leaving my leg almost twitching instinctually. I hoped that with my leg submerged, that she would have missed that reaction. It would have been embarrassing. She continued speaking, “You say you’r not complaining, but that sounded like a complaint. Did you want me to stop?”
I had trouble telling if she joked or if she felt offended. Her tone was straddling the line betwixt the two. I would need to proceed carefully.
“No, don’t stop–” I quickly said, before realizing that might have come across poorly, “I-I mean not unless you want to.”
“Then I’m not sure what you’re saying,” Marianne offered. Her fingers paused where they were on my scalp, still applying pressure, but leaving me desirous for more. “So, Jackie. What are you saying?”
“It’s just–” I struggled to find a way to voice my concerns. I struggled to identify my own concerns. I knew that I had them, vaguely, but describing them exactly came with difficulty. However, I soon landed on at least one of the issues. Of times, favors would accrue, and would encourage incommensurate recompense. And that was ignoring the potential for a honeytrap, not that I suspected Marianne of that here. Finally, though, I found a way to voice my concerns with tact. “-It’s just you’re being so nice and generous, and these oils and soaps must have cost someone something. I’m worried that you’re… being too nice?” I finished with an intentional lack of surety.
A moment of silence passed, one where I could feel the weight of consideration. During that time, her fingers did not budge. I could hear her breathing slightly, and though I kept my eyes straight ahead, I could have imagined her worrying her lip. During those heartbeats, I worried I had overplayed my hand, or underplayed it, and I castigated myself for broaching the topic unnecessarily.
I could have handled that much better.
I almost breathed a sigh of relief when she spoke once more.
“That makes sense, but it’s not something to worry about, none of this–” she waved at the cabinet of soaps and the vanities “-is something denied us. We have permission to use this stuff, all of us do…” Her voice trailed off a bit; she sounded embarrassed, “How else would the girls stay in top form? Looks are very important here.”
That made sense. The old adage, ‘sex sells,’ was always true, and then there was the fact that part of the business here was a brothel, and the fact that Ma invested in the aesthetics of the women here made sense. A lot of sense.
Marianne went back to combing her fingers through my hair, trailing downward, until they got stuck on a knot. She tugged delicately on it to confirm, and then began working the oil in, loosening the knot carefully.
“You seem practiced at this,” I said, feeling her slowly remove the knot. It was not the first one she had encountered, either.
“I am,” she said simply. The hair came free, and she resumed her ministrations. I could feel her examination upon my hair. As she continued, she inquired: “Your hair is not such as I’ve seen before. What ancestry do you hail from?”
My hair was out of place in Southbridge. I had seen plenty of people with black hair, some with brown, a rare few with blonde, and a couple of exotics like Esmerelda, Marianne, and Kate, but I had yet to see anyone with purple hair. Not even a hint of it. So Marianne’s question was understandable. Unfortunately, I had no concrete answer to give her. Would she believe that, though?
“I’m…” I said, pausing, wetting my lips, “I’m not sure…”
“Really?” she asked, somewhat surprised. “I would have thought that your parents or relatives–”
She halted herself abruptly, likely sensing she verged on uncomfortable territory. And it was uncomfortable, but for likely different reasons than what she was thinking.
“It is strange…” I said, with a hint of mourning lacing my voice, and a slightly downcast face. I perhaps overestimated my acting, as after that brief respite in questioning, she continued, if with a different tact.
“-The only thing I could think of is the Bejeweled Sands, but even then… Do humans even live there?”
An unfortunate turn. I doubted my Guise was at risk, but it would be best to avoid the topic if I could.
“Where even are the Bejeweled Sands?” I asked.
Marianne snorted, “Far, far to the West, on the other side of the Corpse Seas.”
“The what?” I asked, somewhat scandalized by the name.
“It makes me wonder what sort of education you’ve been given, that you lack this basic knowledge…” Marianne said thoughtfully. “I wonder… are you perhaps playing the fool on purpose?”
She had a playful lilt. She likely believed that I was joking then. Unfortunate. Apparently, almost everyone knew where these locations were, at least broadly.
It limited my options in response though, at least if I wished to avoid offending her and further awkwardness.
“Perhaps,” I answered, attempting to copy her playful tone. I answered no further though, in hopes that the topic would end.
My hopes came to naught, of course.
“This may seem impolite, but I mean no disrespect,” she said. “But if you’ve a distant relative from the Bejeweled Sands, then I wonder if there’s some mixed ancestry in you?”
Now that, that was too forward of her. I had to respond appropriately, or else I would risk revealing more than I wanted.
“Would it matter?” I snapped, then feigned regret and took a calming breath. “I mean,” I said more slowly, “Would it matter if I was?”
“To me?”Marianne said, unbothered by my reactions so far. “No. But to others? Let’s just say it’s best to play it off as a purebred human, at least in these lands.”
I scoffed and shook my head, pulling away from her hands. She had largely finished cleaning my hair by then anyways, and the water was growing cold.
“And are you of mixed ancestry?” I asked, an eyebrow arched, conveying some of the unpleasantness that I should have been feeling at the line of her questions.
To my surprise, she did not outright deny it.
“Perhaps,” she said, with her own small and side smile.
But if that were the case, and it would explain her blue-tinted skin and hair, but if that were the case: “If it’s hostile in these lands, then why stay?” I asked.
“That’s–” she looked off and grimaced, forcing herself to take an obvious breath before answering“-it’s a rather personal question.”
“So it’s alright for you to ask those but not me?” I said, rising from the tub and grabbing a towel to wrap around myself.
“No, it’s not… just… let’s talk about something else?” she said meekly.
I let several breaths pass, while maintaining eye contact with Marianne, before I gave her a terse nod.
“Then, let’s talk about your duties. Nice and neutral…” she finished, more to herself than to me.
While the change in subject was appreciated, I did have several concerns. For what my job would exactly entail had not been made clear. And on the inside, I worried. Afterall, this was a brothel. And while the staff had been somewhat helpful thus far, it could all be a ploy to lower my guard, or to entitle me to them. Or, they could be playing the long game, a path filled with lesser evils, until one day I was servicing men for cash, just like a–
“First things first,” Marianne started.
My breath hitched. Perhaps I was more worried than I had thought.
“-don’t listen to what Tiff or the others about their night business,” Marianne said. “If you don’t want to do that, then don’t. Nobody will force you. And if they try? Get Esmerelda. Shout and scream for her, if you have to. Ma will understand.”
I let the breath out in relief. Marianne noticed and gave a small, knowing smile.
“Second thing–the rest of the work to keep this place running, while not the ‘night’ work, is a little bit more difficult to do. The other girls will foist off everything they can on us, and sometimes they go too far. It’s tough to say for sure though where that line is. So just keep an eye on it, and if it feels like it’s too much, let me or Esmerelda know, and we’ll see if they’re taking advantage of you, or if you need more help getting the work done. Now, for that work that is expected…”
She continued, listing duties that I would likely be doing for exchange for room and board. Those duties would range from bussing tables, washing dishes, to playing the hostess and server. While any particular memories failed me, I was certain this would not be the first I had played such a role. Only this time, the reasons for doing so were my own.
“-And finally, dress codes,” she continued.
Unfortunately, I did not find their dress codes to be to my liking, as I soon found out from the dress and skirting they provided.
I did not like it at all.
Blessings: Rank (1/9)
* Body: 65
* Mind: 75
* Spirit: 49
Talents:
* Athleticism (3/9):
* Climbing I (3/9)
* Featherlight I (3/9)
* Inversion (2/9)
* Stealth I (6/9)
* Trackless Tracks I (3/9)
* Area Coverage (5/9)
* Alchemical Immunity (ineligible for growth)
* Eschiver (8/9)
* Evasion (8/9)
Spells:
* Illusion I (5/9)
* Touch (8/9)
* Guise of the Kitsune (2/9)
* Closed
Gifts:
* Obsession (3/9)
* Closed (0/9)
* Closed (0/9)