21st Summer, 506 AV - The House of Immortal Pleasures
The establishment was like any other she had known across the lands, possessed of similar proclivities and identical client coverage at any rate. Some cities frowned upon the practise, others tried to keep it secreted in the shadows so it was unnoticeable. Ravok, like Sunberth, took a differing approach and openly condoned it – so long as the powers that be were given their cuts. It was a sensible notion to her mind, it solved the problems that followed by trying to outlaw the oldest profession in the world by preventing their occurrence and, on top of that, made a handsome profit by not restricting the clientele with foolish moralities. She spoke, of course, of prostitution and the building she was looking at from the shadows of an alley opposite was, indeed, a brothel.
Clever to make it look like a condemned building too, it means it’s easier to weasel away the troublemakers and the penniless. All businesses should have such a built in filter I think, they’d find themselves much better off she mused as she leant against a damp stone brick wall, arms crossed and mind assessing.
She eyed up the exterior and tried to get a sense of the size of the establishment from vision only, accompanied with a few garbled and frankly second-hand accounts of what went on within and where. From what she had managed to piece together the entrance was small and cramped but quickly swept out into a lounge area, bar included. From there only one entrance to the bedding chambers where the hourly business was concluded – literally in every single case. She held no need for sexual gratification, she merely had heard a whisper that one of the clients wanted something…specific…done. She had also managed to ferret out talk of assassination being contracted here, it would make sense seeing as the list of users was great and they were generally unprotected when nude, however that portion did not interest her.
“Well, I suppose all I will learn out here for now is how fast metal rusts and stone facing crumbles, better get inside and see what can be gleaned” she muttered to herself as she paced across the narrow street, hood up and cloak tightly held around her body in order to render herself devoid of detail. You could never be too careful after all.
Crossing the threshold she was pleasantly surprised after a few moments of recognition and her eye getting used to the interior lighting level, the darkness outside almost absolute in nature. It seemed an expensive establishment to her eye and she had been in a great number of brothels over the years. Shining white marble flooring let light reflect throughout the entirety of what she presumed to be the common room she had been told of. Black curtains and couch backings of what she could only presume was velvet, or some such softer material, were in attendance also – even here the Black Sun held sway over the citizenry, or the slaves more likely here. She paused, taking in the sights and noting how the room was set up, bar at the very end and by the stairs, a smart set up as it forced customers past the wiles of the whores before even getting a drink.
Whole place is a well-designed honey trap indeed she told herself as, refusing the advances of a few burly males wearing little more than loincloth’s she made her way to the bar, at least able to get a casual brush of feminine flesh here and there, much to her liking.
Closer to the bar now she could hear the faint sounds of those in the throw of pleasure unimaginable trickling down the stairs to her left, they too covered by a black veil, thicker in look than the others perhaps. The bar was conveniently placed for intervention too she noted now, near the stairs for a quick ousting if a customer went too far with the merchandise. She pulled her hood back to reveal her scarred countenance to the workers, the bar man included, and the reaction was subtle but quick. The fawners retreated a little, leaving he alone with the bar man who now approached her. She found herself thinking, with reasonable certainty, that they saw many of her nature in the House of Immortal Pleasures, and that perhaps the whispers of death surrounding the building were not entirely unfounded.
“Drink?” she was asked matter-of-factly.
“Red wine, blood dark, please” she asked, the manners gaining a raised eyebrow that told her he was not used to formalities or trivialities – she could live with that.
He placed her glass before her, took the coin she counted out with the resonant sound that coinage always possessed, and left her to her own devices. She was happy enough to become acclimatized and think through her options for a while and so merely nodded her thanks and took a sip of her drink.
