Chapter 22: To What Ends?

People don’t realize there are many more kind strangers and outsiders and even wonderful people just a hundred miles away. Youthful and lacking perspective, I thought this was incredibly stupid. I had witnessed outsider and insiders all my life care and love for each other despite their differences, but why?

I was the one with the foggy eyes but couldn’t everyone see it? See the smiles, see the open palms and the skin for all the love they have. All this wonder and beauty, free and without exception! How did they not see it?

Then I realized, it wasn’t about seeing, it was about hearing. What will span the wastes further to living persons? A soft sweetness or a booming hate? Making sense sadly. Sight and hearing make for poor social contact, and even less feeling for the other. Collective ignorance often makes me admire individuality, in its proud bleeding form.

Skaldi, again, is one such individual, questing alone in a sea of rejection. In this new place he found himself, however, he definitely was considered different.

Skaldi was in a gym. Well, he was in the brothel’s gym.

Physical fitness was another sign that you were an insider and that you were wealthy. Being fatty wasn’t considered bad or even unhealthy by the Oligarchs, but muscular forms regardless of species was the fashion of the day. Hell, there were more similarities in the ideals of men and women than differences. Tapering waists, large chests and strong backs, and of course short hair. All of these Iozian standards focused on producing strong mothers that birthed strong soldiers.

For the brothel, its facilities were very progressive and advanced. With an open roof overhead, tiers of floors stacked like coins. Arcades of rooms and gyms on each, and on the bottom was where the daily orders were given. Today was physical fitness for roughly two hours followed by study. Lined up in rows and organized from height, everyone suddenly adopted the role of athlete.

Oil was readily available to prevent dirt and sweat from harming the skin, which all of the people participating in practice were. Each of the prostitutes took care to apply it on eachother, ensuring that everyone was prepared. But Skaldi chose to do it himself, feeling slightly lonely.

He clearly didn’t belong as he wasn’t in the same job field as them. But after that conversation with Potenti, he joined her in the exercise. Competing in sprints, lifting dumbbells, and periodically stretching following each activity. And again, each of the prostitutes worked together competing and in the end, collaborating.

All of this training was paid for by the boss, who had multiple sources of income. In recent months, many of her fields were burned and raided by the Tripol, which forced her to push harder and harder labor on the prostitutes.

The whole routine written by her was classified by ones that toned the muscles, one that strengthened them, and the ones that aimed to… well, produce the most pleasure for their customers.

Skaldi stayed out of those ones.

Another set created for speed and dexterity was the only one that he liked. The rest made him feel inadequate compared to everyone else. But on completing the routine, Skaldi felt emboldened to continue.

Jogging around the complex, the redhead noticed that old and familiar feeling. Sore muscles weakened until an acidy pain filled them. He tried to ignore them but within minutes he collapsed onto a couch. Resting and heaving, Skaldi felt proud. Finally, he was making progress. Then he heard the arrow hit its target.

His ears caught the snapping of the arrow, piecing a thick canvas. And his eyes caught the archer. It was Florato, who seemed to be having trouble zeroing her shot’s to her eyes. She was practicing archery.

Skaldi viewed the actress, seeing her muscles in her back pop out and shine in the light of the morning. For every two misses there was one hit. But that didn’t consider the elf. The only thought in his mind was that she was strong, and he was not.

“Oh! Hey Skaldi. What are you doing here?” Florato said surprised, dropping her quiver and crouching to pick up the spilled ammunition.

“Just went on a jog, felt like taking care of myself. You know the deal.” He spoke trying to sound all cool.

“I see.”

“Well, what are you doing? I thought you just like acting or music or whatever?” Skaldi counted on his hands all of her skills.

“Archery…” She strained out as she fired from her bow.

“Is a… pastime for my… people.”

“Huh. So girls like shooting bullets for fun.” Skaldi chuckled.

“Very… funny… but no, it's… from… my tribe. Used to have whole competitions before the Oligarchs. What about your tribe?” She turned to the lounging elf.

“What?” Skaldi stuttered out, being caught off guard.

“Your tribe. Who are they again?” Florato questioned, now returning to firing at her target.

“Yeah. The Galtians. An elf tribe that has lived in Iozia for thousands of years. Older than bread. Older than wheat. Older than when this place wasn’t called Iozia. When it was called…home.” Skaldi reminisced on his childhood and the great oral traditions his people had.

Wise and elderly storytellers told myth and fairy tales, crafting a world of happiness and wonder. Where evil was found in rotten trees and good in the open sky. In that tradition was also spawned Skaldi, the boy that wished he could be mighty for the world that needed it.

Florato took her time listening to him as Skaldi talked on and on about that history. It reminded her of her own family and of her own parents. Florato believed that he had a good upbringing but some ill act done by the Oligarchs forced into this life. She created a smile, to boost his false love for his people.

“I see, quite the rich history. I can’t wait to see your tribe!” Florato cheered, trying to create some happiness in the exhausted elf. He couldn’t manifest it, since all that was on his mind was how can he be the person he wanted to be. How could he be the role model the world needed?

“How do I become strong?” The redhead abruptly said as the boss was taking care of notes. He entered her office, the only room that didn’t have any curtains or furniture that blocked any sight.

“Its depends. What's you’s wants from strength, form, or functions?” The serpentine offered, which the elf didn’t like. He desired a simple and easy path to his goals. To be masculine.

“I guess form? I just want to look better.” The boss nodded and opened a cabinet. She pulled out a series of charts and pictures of bodies.

“It’ll wills cost you’s ten silver for one.” She spoke without looking at him. Skaldi sighed, and pulled a few gold coins.

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“Here, will this be enough?” The elf spoke as if he didn’t reveal that he was extremely wealthy.

“You’s have gold?”

“Yeah, yeah, money is cool and all. Can I just have the lesson book?” He demanded in an exasperated tone. The boss’s eyes narrowed, looking deeply into the elf’s eyes.

“Do you’s know how to read?”

“No… not really.”

“Would you’s like to?”

The classroom, in contrast to Skaldi’s expectations, was very ambitious. Stone shelves surrounded the students, lined with books and scrolls. Paper and pencil was provided freely, stacked on their rosewood tables. Having three seats, all those that studied here were told to question and listen to one another as the lesson went on. Brass chandelier ignited with long and thick torches, the only source of light at this hour.

Skaldi never had been in a classroom before. A peculiar feeling came to him in that moment, pride.

Education in Peiatus was only limited to the ultra rich or the ones who actually ran the government. As always, exclusivity in academic spaces was present, but it was considerably cheap in the brothel.

Two figures glowed at the front of the room, distant but heard by all. Silent whispers of the students ceased as the master of learning cleared his voice. Skaldi had been enticed.

This lecture on how to construct and sound out words and letters had been led by an old werezebra. He leaned on a cane but always held out his hooves in an authoritative fashion. His thick mohawk calmed Skaldi, for he no longer felt out of place with his own appearance.

What did make him feel out of place was that the elf noticed an oddity. An imitation of a smart person if you would. He discovered that Vega had been standing right in front of him. And had been schooling him on how to write for the past hour.

“Ya see this symbol? This is the character for how to write-write apple!” Vega crudely drew on the board.

The main reason why the education was so cheap was because it was only the werezebra teaching a class of hundred and fifty. Additionally, he employed the help of the vaguely literate wisemen and failed priests he could afford. Today was his lucky day since Vega was sub literate.

“After that character, you want to write this one. Remember, each of them has to connect and flow-flow into one another. If not-not, that’s no good!” The prostitutes were engaged in her teaching. In fact, they were more focused than when the werezebra lead the session.

Conveniently, the old teacher corrected the mistakes Vega made. And I know this might be hard to believe, there were only ten in her writing. Mind you, this does not include the ugliness of her writing style.

Skaldi struggled to sound out the words as the scarecrow’s erratic stutters emphasized certain pronunciations. The redhead pressed on, determined to learn. He needed to. He wanted to.

The class concluded, with the sun now rising out of the horizon. Skaldi forgot how much time he spent stealing. Yet he wasn’t the least bit tired. He was invigorated, having set a new goal for himself.

Walking throughout the estate, Skaldi’s eyes saw the prostitutes working together. Reading aloud to one another, wrestling, and jogging around the complex. A culture of interaction was in place. In this seldom sector of the city, these people didn’t even look starved anymore.

They had been fed a diet of curiosity and uplifting each other, regardless of their inherent qualities.

The elf took a break, heading back into the city’s commercial zones. Markets flooded with drunk Tripolians. All of them demanded a discount on the goods sold. Unluckily, their discount coupon was a spear.

The elf noticed that the raiders this time were accompanied by priests. They were grabbing random individuals and taking them away.

Incomprehensible, Skaldi thought. How could they be fighting and bickering? They were in power, and had everything at their fingertips. Yet when compared to the brothel who was looked down upon and disgraced, the prostitutes were effective and kind.

The ones that were beneath them all still care about one another. A congregation composed of pleasant hard work and a standard, a belief. That if they didn’t give up and worked with each other rather than against, they could improve their lives.

That they could escape their shame and exploitation of their bodies and created greatness from themselves.

Nevertheless, Skaldi’s mind was still attacked by the conversation he had with Potenti. Well, the word that attacked.

“Potenti. What do you want from all of this?”

“...nothing.”

The bluehead elf demanded nothing of the objects she stole. Perhaps they were just tools to inspire value in herself. But, that didn’t work. Nothing worked.

“To be fair, which is quite hard to say, boss is the only one who cares about us.” A lady prostitute shrugged out. Skaldi had taken to arguing with the workers, determined to find out what was wrong with Pontenti.

“Really? Aren’t you saying that because you’re scared of what she’ll do?” Skaldi called out, upset that the workers were defending their boss.

"We’re the only ones surviving really. She’s the only one who pays whether we’re ghosts or not. She’s not good, but she’s better than the killers.”

Skaldi didn’t want to believe it. That these people had it better than he did, yet one had already given up.

Barging into her office, Skaldi’s heart and soul burned with the fury of a hundred volcanoes.

“You don’t care about them!”

A loud silence passed, with the serpentine boss composing a retort to Skaldi’s assault. She collected herself, pooling all of her wisdom into a phrase.

“I do cares about them, in my own way.” Skaldi opened his mouth, but the boss sucked in air, just how one prepares to reveal a past tragedy.

“Did I tell you that I was going to the sisterhood? In my testing, I couldn’t. I’m infertile, not a real woman. That’s what they said” Her scaly hand reached up for a vestal’s cloak, covered in dust. It was never used.

“I’m not nice, I don't claims that. I wish, in my bone’s blood, that they wouldn’t have to do this. To be’s exploited by me, to be stripped of the joy found in love. I wish they didn’t have to trade that for commodities. I know there is a path, and I know they’re really strong.” Hanging up her old cloak, she turned back to the stunned elf. Skaldi felt ashamed that he accused her of any wrongdoing. But she came closer and grabbed his hand attentively.

“But it’s tough getting by and it’s tough trying to be a mother to people who shouldn’t see you as that. They aren’t proud of what they are used for. Simply objects to be used, then insulted.” The boss’s anger rose in her voice, but it wasn’t directed at Skaldi.

“Yets, I knows they are hopeful. That despites their background, despites their lives now, they have survived. That they made it and proved alls that wished them to be dead wrong. That they’re wise and mightier thans alls the rest. That they refused to be condemned to die. Damn those that say they aren’t women, that they’re ghosts!” The serpentine had a fury of a hundred crashing tides.

“They’re my daughters! My sons! My children!” She shouted a ripingly tide towards an inaudible call of hate.

They stood there for a while, taking in each other’s stories and past. Both of their people’s existed long before there was an Oligarchy. In that office, a plan was constructed, to make things right for those that needed it. The boss began to organize.

Leaning against the wall, Skaldi laid his fingers on the thorny rose bush. Stabs stung, but Skaldi still gripped his hand around the flower.

What an elegant beauty. He had chosen to not hold, he wouldn’t have known the love present. The handsomeness present. The strength present.

His mind drifted back to the Tripolians. He wondered why they were taking away the people of the city directly to the Assembly.

At that moment, he realized a solution to Potenti’s problem. All of the brothel wasn’t rich or had any healthy fat. But they did have toned muscles and bright minds. Skaldi understood all of this when he observed the bouncing dexterity and alertness Potenti had.

It needed to be used for a collective good.

He rose up and raced across the estate, hopping and jumping over any structure that was to stop him. He looked for Bolato, likely sleeping in the wagon. What he found however, was the shoulder of the actress.

“Ouch! Watch where you’re going!” She yelled down at him. Skaldi’s momentum stopped, but not his plan.

“Sorry. Sorry, but have you seen Bolato? I need to ask him something.”

“Ask-ask what?” Vega peered from Florato’s side. Change of plans, Skaldi thought up.

“The Tripolians! They’ve been taking people away and-”

“But what do ya need to ask Bolato? '' Vega demanded, crashing Skaldi’s train of thought.

“Whatever! Look, Florato, you know archery right?” Skaldi questioned as he pulled out a pen and note paper.

“I wouldn’t say that, but kinda?” Florato said. She was embarrassed from her last performance and wanted to remain humble. Skaldi didn’t notice that Vega took his paper and started to write down her answers for him.

“Ok, good! Now how many other people were practicing archery with you?”

“Roughly… twenty? Twenty five?” She said, holding her hand on her chin.

“Is that-that two fives or five twentys?” Vega muttered to herself. Skaldi’s face read that he was connecting dots and ideas rapidly.

“And all of the prostitutes-”

“They’re people first, Skaldi.” Florato corrected.

“Who cares! The workers are pretty fit and all work out, right?” Skaldi gestured to get Florato’s true opinion.

“As fit as starving poor people can be. What are you getting?” Florato put her hands on hips, very concerned with Skaldi’s excited questions.

“Ok! Why don’t we start a revolt?”

“...holy shit you’re right.”