Flashback [The Den] Pain and Pleasure

[Inari Lorak]

Summer, Day 20, 505 AV It was pouring madness out on the streets. Fat, warm drops of rain pelted against fine tiles and shabby planks alike, indiscriminate in their relentless, watery persecution. The air was somehow hotter and stickier than ever, and Inari's sopping, wet skirts slapped against her legs as she stumbled, alone, towards Dry Island. Everything was dark and gray and hidden behind never-ending curtains of water. Brackish streams flooded over roofs and streets, brimming into whatever concavities they could gush towards. Street lamps had all but puttered out, and even the moon looked distorted through all the drops splashing against her eyelids, making her lashes flutter on impact. There was with not another soul in sight. Everyone was either sitting safe and snug by their hearths, or out making merry in taverns with a pint in one hand and the skirts of some pretty lass in the other. Only a heart broken fool with nothing to lose and no one to turn to would attempt to walk out in such a ridiculous downpour. Despite Whitesnake's close proximity to town, it had taken the delirious teen a good bell to get past Reed Park, wading through heavy rain and trecherous puddles and fierce, uncontrollable tears. She'd long stopped trying to keep her vision clear--it was an utterly useless endeavor. Instead, she pushed on in a horrific haze of pain and emptiness, feeling as though any tick now she'd see blood seeping through the damp fabric of her dress, leaking out of her wounded heart. The rain felt appropriately numbing, leaving her only just barely able to make out enough landmarks to cross onto one island after the the other. By the time she found herself standing in front of the peeling, unassuming door of The Den, water dripping from every inch of her being, Inari was about ready to crumple into an exhausted, unintelligible heap. Her resolve, however, remained iron strong. She shook some of the rain from her face and brought a fist to the door, praying someone would answer soon. She was going to do this, and there was nothing, no one, to stop her.

[Jaadis Sitai]

At the sound of Inari’s knocking, someone came running. Even from outside Inari could hear the echoes of voices from within as the would-be greeter was challenged and soon responded. Both voices seemed confused, and ended with the raise of questions. At long last, however, the door opened, and a human face peered out. The man was young and beautiful, and (if the rose brand on his neck was to be taken correctly) a slave too.

“The door’s always open, miss. Don’t ya know that?” he asked quizzically. He answered his own question before Inari even had time to respond: “Oh, I git it. It’s yer first time. Well then. Come right on in, miss.”

The door was left swinging as the young man retreated, a single hand gesture enticing Inari in from the rain. The hallway that the door opened into was long and dark, but at the end…

“Here we go…” the pleasure slave murmured as they slipped within. The Den was not an old establishment. And yet, the red house was already infamous across the swamplands for what went on within its walls. The lounge, as the clientele of the Den knew it, all but reinforced any preconceptions Inari might have had about the pleasure house; the walls been freshly painted the color of blood and outfitted with the finest couches and silks Kenash had to offer, all in some shade of red. For the nonce, however, it was empty, save one; in the back a woman bent over an ebony desk with a quill to hand, her features obscured by the wave of crimson locks that cascaded over her head.

“Mistress, we got some knee boots ‘ere, actually knocking at the door,” the young man called out. “I do believe she got herself a desie, but yo’il have to decide for yerself. She don’t seem to be in’eno.”

“Nat, do I really have to remind you to use proper language again?” The woman responded without so much as looking up. “If I catch you using such vulgar words again, I’ll have Linn whip you.”

The young man dropped his grin and in that moment looked like a boy. “Yes, mistress.” He slunk away on well worn feet.

The scratching of quill on paper continued for half a chime, and then jittered to a stop. Finally, the woman behind the ebony desk arose, and behind the tide of red hair was a sweet smile and a pair of soothing gray eyes. And she couldn’t have been more than ten years Inari’s senior.

“I do apologize for my slave’s rude behavior, dearest.” The dynastic began congenially. “If you wish for him to be reprimanded further, I will have it done so at once. Otherwise, I believe introductions are in order, yes? My name is Jaadis Sitai. I am the mistress of the Den.”

Jaadis swept her way from behind the desk and to the younger girl. A pale hand rose, but was it for Inari to clasp or kiss? Gods be damned if she herself knew.

“It is a pleasure to meet you.”

[Inari Lorak]

For a moment, her heart leaped to her throat as voices erupted from within The Den. Had she made a mistake? Was it too late to turn back now? Before she could make up her grief-addled mind, the door swung open and she was greeted by a young man handsome enough to catch her off guard. His face possessed the highly prized, perfect symmetry of those lucky enough to be born beautiful, and to grow to be much desired. For a moment, she nearly forgot how to introduce herself. But then the young man began firing away in the clipped, vulgar fashion of common folk, and the enchantment wore away. Just a little. Walking as though in a dream, the thoroughly soaked teen followed sheepishly, not knowing where she was being led and not particularly caring. She took in her sinfully luxurious surroundings with unnatural serenity--the blood red walls, the silk couches, the moans and sighs of pleasure from above. Ordinarily, she would have blushed head to toe at the very mention of The Den. But somehow, the girl felt much too far away to care, let alone think much further on what she was about to do. When they finally stopped, Inari found herself standing--and dripping--before a fine, well-polished ebony desk. Behind it sat a women with fire-gold locks and porcelain skin that appeared utterly flawless, save for the intricate rose that marked her as one of the Sitai. Nat, as the woman had called the handsome young escort, began spewing more gibberish, before he was aptly silenced and left with no choice but to slink away in shame. All the while, Inari watched, fighting a slowly approaching onslaught of anxiety, as the flame-haired woman continued scratching away with paper and quill for about half a chime. Just when Inari began to doubt how seriously she was going to be taken, the Sitai abruptly stopped, then swept her way around the desk in a manner that all but oozed sensuality and elegance. Her smile was deep, dark, and sweet, her grey eyes oddly calming, and after all that was said and done Inari found it difficult to judge just how much deference she ought to show. The woman looked not a day older than twenty something, but she had to be at least a little older to run such a notorious, prosperous establishment... Chilled and heart-broken as she was, Inari's lifelong breeding did not fail to kick in when it was needed most. She kept her teeth from chattering, steeled her resolve, then answered the fiercely beautiful woman before her as smooth and even as possible. "The pleasure is mutual, Lady Jaadis," she said with a smile, taking the woman's pale hand in hers and giving a small curtsy, as was customary between a young Dynastic and her elder. Better safe than sorry, she had decided. Her sopping skirts made the gesture a bit awkward, but she managed all the same. "I am Inari Lorak of Whitevane, and I have come in need of certain...services. I...hope I am not inconveniencing you, my lady." She glanced behind Jaadis's elegant curves at the papers and quills lying about the desk, then dipped her head in genuine embarrassment. "I confess, my request might seem a bit odd..."