Note: This story takes place not long after "A Price Paid."
Note: This is a story chapter with no sex.
***
Chapter One
"What the fuck are you waiting on, girl?"
The man's old, but still smooth voice traveled up her spine and stomped her soul. Again. She'd long ago learned how to respond without actually listening. She could pick up on key words without thinking about it. Her ears picked up on his exceptionally vexed tone and 'waiting on' as she continued to gather the ale and spirits onto the tray to take them out to be served to another night of drunkards and people generally just waiting to fuck. "Just loading up to get everything out, Mr. Roanes."
The lanky figure behind her was unimpressed. "Every time I look, you're back behind the bar for something or other instead out there like you're supposed to be. All you women ever do is fuck around here and in the back. At least the girls fucking around upstairs make me money.
'All you ever do,' touched her ear. "Sorry, Mr. Roanes, it's busy tonight." Never mind that this was how things worked. Orders were taken, then filled behind the bar or from the kitchen, then those orders were taken to the customer. It was a simple process that mandated that at least half her time wasn't going to be out front. Also never mind that when she was out front he was just as annoyed that orders were backing up. There was no winning.
Short definition of my life.
"Get your ass out there and do your job before I find someone else to do it."
That, she heard a dozen times a night, so, at this point, all it did was cue her brain to say, "Right away, Mr. Roanes."
The rest really was automatic at this point. She walked out with her tray into the shouting of profanities and threats, belly laughs, and clanging mugs and steins as another night passed in the brothel, same as the last hundred nights and same as the next thousand, most likely. This place wasn't one of the nicer brothels in the larger cities like Erette or the unofficial pleasure city of the world of Varane. In brothels like those, things were calm, almost sedate. You could walk in, have a fine wine or spirit, and converse with the near-courtesans about about anything, from the specifics of that wine, to the intricacies of court politics. One could spend an entire night there doing just that.
Mr. Roanes liked to call this place a brothel because he thought it gave the place class and that, by extension, elevated him, but this was a whorehouse, and one of not much repute on top of that. But it was enough money to live and just a little bit extra after she paid her rent. So she dropped two ales at the table with the fat man in red and his friend while giving them her usual smile while they never bothered to look up. She gave two glasses of wine to the table with the scruffy, jowly merchant sailor with Lola on his lap, giving her usual smile while making sure to remember that the one diluted to almost nothing was closest to her and that one went to Lola who gave a wink in return for the smile.
And the tankard of stout went to one of the shadowy corners where Betta was already bouncing vigorously on a cock. Sometimes the men were so hard and anxious to get rid of that hard and their money there was no waiting for a room to open up. Mr. Roanes didn't care. As long as they paid it was fine. He also considered it advertising the skills of his girls. She didn't bother to smile at either of them.
At least she didn't have to worry about being groped overmuch like some of the other barmaids. She was young in body, but that's all she felt as though she could lay claim to in the world, as that body was decidedly unremarkable by itself. Small scars from the blemishes almost everyone dealt with as they grew up marked her face. Hints of almost perpetual fatigue sat under eyes, and, for that alone, she subconsciously avoided mirrors when she could get away with it. As much as she was grateful that she could simply do her job in relative peace, she admitted to herself that if someone actually did paw at her once or maybe twice a year it'd be something she could live with.
Looking at herself now, she couldn't imagine herself when she was old.
How much different would it really be?
she wondered in those moments. Some days she felt like she were a hundred years old already, which reminded her of how both her parents looked day in and day out for as long as she could remember. Her father always managed to find a smile and cheer for her and her siblings, though how that happened she honestly didn't know and she'd always meant to ask. He always managed to be grateful for what they had even when it was next to nothing.
Mara wasn't greedy. She didn't need to have more than she could spend in a million lifetimes like any of the High Houses, or be so important that the queen would ask for her company for tea. She just wanted enough to take care of herself, a little beyond that to spend, and not have to work
quite
so hard for it. Or maybe just work in a place not this.
But Mara's life was what it was.
A loud voice and a hard tug at her dress took her from her thoughts. "Lakaberry wine, ya fucking ugly wench!"
She looked down at the man sitting at the table and marveled at the irony of his words given the fact that he was virtually toothless and so gnarled by life that, at first glance, he looked as if he had been born deformed...but only at first glance. She sighed. She'd been called far worse, and the fact that that she had been called ugly by a man whose looks had to improve to make it to ugly actually lifted her spirits in a crazy, backward way.
"Right away," she said, putting on her work smile once again.
"Fuckin' right, right away."
Hearing that seemed to be the cue for half a dozen more patrons to pipe up, but, fortunately, only three of them were in her section. She committed the orders to memory and started to make her way back to the bar to start the cycle over again for what seemed like only the third time out of the infinite number of loops that she would expect to make this night.
That was the moment that Mara realized that this wasn't going to be like all the nights before. The corner of her eye caught the main doors opening. She turned her attention to them fully expecting to see another customer or customers coming in, as it was the time of night where many a young man drank enough courage at a regular tavern to find his way here to drink some more and rent a whore while they were at it and the night was still young. Or the sailors, both merchant and military would come in to spend their money and their time, particularly over the next few hours.
As she turned to look, she registered a female form, which was also not unheard of with women looking for work, looking for their husbands, or looking to use a woman themselves, though the latter were rare because, honestly, there were more female-friendly places to go. Women only came here to use or be used with extra zeal. Or because shame made them wet, and there was plenty here to make them wet. Not only did Mara catch sight of two women, which was something that had never happened before, she caught sight of two women the likes of which she'd never seen in this place that so captivated her that she was compelled to stare.
They didn't belong here, yet they carried themselves as though they were royalty; as though they owned anywhere they were simply because it's where they chose to be. Both tall, the one that was a bit taller had hair as black as the night, her eyes a light brown with gold flecks, and skin slightly lighter than the brown of her eyes. There was pride in those eyes. There was determination and conviction in those eyes. Everything was in those eyes that searched the room, threatening to consume everything with their, even from what Mara could see from here, limitless depth.
The other had hair a sunny blond and eyes an icy blue that, even from here, looked as though they were piercing everything she gazed into, as she slowly surveyed the room. She knew that look from when the soldiers would, on occasion, come in to look for their others who were late in returning for duty. She was looking for threats, despite her casual stance that seemed designed not to provoke. They both wore outfits that fit them like second skins, hugging their curves and lacing at the front much like a corset. The brunette's was as black as her hair, while the blond wore hers in the color of a red wine. And, on the right wrists of both, was a bracelet of brushed silver with what looked like fine engraving. Some of the men catcalled and offered coin for their services which the women completely ignored.
A coin hit her in the head before hitting the floor. "Waiting for a fucking tip, you stupid bitch? There it is, now get me my fucking drink."
She looked down to see an old, weathered, ship's coin, the types of coins that captains gave out to crew members after a term of service as a remembrance of the time. Beyond value to the sailors that received them and occasionally compared them using arbitrary criteria in the moment to decide who would buy drinks, and to collectors, they were only worth the metal they were printed on.
"It's on the way," she said, the words rote and distant as she watched the dark-haired one approach the bar. Mara ended up walking parallel and slightly behind her as they headed for the same place. Behind the bar, she sat her tray down and started pulling out the needed glassware. For once, she was glad for work that she could do without thinking about it, as that allowed her to glance over on occasion and listen in without missing a beat.
The dark-haired woman smiled as Roanes as he spoke, playing at straightening the wrinkles from his shirt so as to feel more important than he was for a moment. "I do have the best ladies in all of Erette. I don't waste effort in making a palace where people just come to wile away the hours talking about the issues of our day. My place is a place where people come to release the tensions of life with some of the most beautiful women in the world. That's where my resources go, and Salli is one of my newest finds. How did you hear of her so quickly?"
The woman's response was smooth and friendly, "Oh, my girlfriend and I are always on the lookout for new treats and she came recommended. Even if she hadn't been, just hearing about her would be enough to bring us by because she's exactly the type of young woman I seek out." Her voice took on a dreamy quality. "I love the ones that are just starting out. They're not broken or jaded yet. The innocence is still there to be seen. It's so," she quivered, "intoxicating."
Mara closed her eyes and set her jaw, annoyed with herself for letting her attention be caught by two women coming in on an otherwise, uneventful night just because they looked different. They were the same. Everyone that came in here was the same. Everyone that came in here did it to use someone, and it was those like them that just took a little bit more from the people they used. It wasn't just enough to use someone physically, even if they paid a token sum for the privilege; people like these two fed off pieces of young souls, getting off on taking a sliver and watching the rest die just a little more inside. People like them were little better than monsters. She went back to focusing on the next drink order.
Roanes agreed. "Isn't it? Salli hasn't even been with me two weeks yet. And, if you're looking for innocence, she certainly still has it."
"Can you get her for me now?"
