Confessions (Keating)

by **Cassandra Coven** on April 11th, 2011, 4:19 am

Timestamp: 12th of Spring, 511 AV
Location: Cassandra's room in Tarsin's Boarding House
Reader Advisory: May contain mature themes.

Footsteps could be heard in the halls outside, reverberating through the wooden door that separated Cassandra's room from the rest of the boarding house. The dark-haired woman turned quickly at the portal, hoping that the sound belonged to the visitor she was expecting. But the echoes veered away from her door, moving off to another in the long line of doors across the second floor of the building. It was a neighbor, or a visitor of theirs, and not the person she had been waiting for.

Sighing, Cassandra dropped her head on her hands as she returned to staring at the whorls on her table, the many lines illuminated by the lone candle standing before her. She was not really seeing anything, her mind in a different place altogether. It was one of those days, the ones she disliked because these were the days when her subconscious chose to remind her of her past misdeeds. Or crimes, if she was to be honest with herself. Which she was. Usually.

Cassandra was a woman who liked to live by the day, not really planning ahead, or, at least, not too far into the future, and hardly remembering misfortunes and sad events in her past, and only recalling with fondness happy experiences she had had before. Such a system allowed her to start each day with a smile and in turn project that beaming façade to the tavern patrons she served each and every day.

There were days, however, such as now, when she was reminded of her past transgressions. Such was how her day started, when she woke up from a terrible dream about Semaj, the Isur she had murdered only a tenday before. The short and stout man was naked and had a hole in his chest made by her dagger - the very weapon that nicked his heart and killed him – and he was bleeding in every orifice, a steady flow of blood that stained her dream world crimson.

It was not the ghastly image of the dead that so disturbed her – Cassandra was not a superstitious woman and believed that ghosts did not exist, or if they did, they would not have anything to do with the living (Dira took care of them after all) – but rather the Isur’s presence in her dream. That world had been her refuge, ever since she was young, from the everyday corruption she saw in the waking world. She simply had never had anyone she knew in the real world appear in her dreams before. Even her nightmares were the stuff of shadows and obscure villains, nothing defined and no one she knew.

Thus that one dream shook her to the core.

She was not even sure why she had done the terrible deed, stabbing a man who offered her nothing but kindness, by luring him into her soft embrace before slipping her blade between his ribs, like a spider would attract a fly with the shimmering gossamer strands of its inescapable web. Had she plotted to kill him originally? She did not think so, though she had come to that spot in the wilderness to take someone’s life indeed: her own. She had come there to end her life for she could not stand the guild of killing another, a homeless man she had murdered in the dark alleyways of Ravok in her attempt to seek relief from the maddening pain that was caused by her goddess-given mark. Yet in the end, it was the Isur that died and she did not understand why when, on that day, she had already satisfied her mark’s need to hurt another. She did not need to kill.

And yet she did.

Was it acceptance then that made her draw her blade on an innocent man? Acceptance of what she truly was because of her mark? She hoped not. She vehemently hoped not. Cassandra did not want to be some kind of monster forced to prowl the streets of the city at night in search of a victim to torture, or worse, to kill, in order to sate the bloodlust of her gnosis mark. It was a terrifying thought.

And not one she could hold within her, by herself. And so she sat waiting in her room, hoping that the one person she thought who would understand, who could find a way to help her, would arrive. She had been in her room waiting even before the sun had gone down, having been told by Mama to “go home and rest your weary head” when she was found to be too distracted to perform her serving duties properly. She had left a note to the bouncer to pass it to the one she wanted to meet before she left for home.

But it’s taking him so long to come here, she thought, worried that the man did not get her note, or worse, chose to disregard it. Should she come to his place instead? Tense, she looked up, and her eyes fell on a small black pouch hanging from a hook on her dresser.

Cassandra stood up and crossed the room, taking the item before sitting down resignedly on her bed. It was another problem in her life, for it contained an addictive herb, given to her by a man who had threatened to expose the very secret that had preoccupied her thoughts that very day. Apparently, he had spied on her when she had taken the life of the Isur. He had approached her with a deal: help him create a demand for his drug and she could have his silence. She agreed of course, helpless to go against the man’s dominance.

The drug have been given away as free samples to patrons of the Silver Sliver over the last couple of days and a few had already come to her asking for more. She had referred them to the unnamed man, as agreed. Still, she had a generous bit of the drug remaining in the pouch for a good smoke or three. The temptation to taste the euphoric substance had plagued her ever since the man had forced her to smoke it upon their initial meeting. She had fought it as best she could, distributing it among the tavern-goers as fast as she could so that it would be out of her hands but some still remained with her. And they seemed to be calling to her now.

With her defenses down from everything she was worrying about, it was so easy to give in. Cassandra found herself stuffing a healthy pinch of it in a pipe and walking towards the candle on the table.

Just a puff, she told herself, her hands feeling the twinge of anticipation. Just enough to still my nerves.

She lit it, sucking a bit on the mouthpiece of the pipe with small, experimental sips of air. Never learning how to smoke properly, Cassandra coughed as the violating smoke tickled her throat and filled her lungs. It left her light-headed as the drug coursed faster in her bloodstream, and it only took several minutes before she felt its effects. It was soothing, the way it seemed to calm her, and she found herself inhaling more of it as she relaxed over her chair. The frown that lined her brow smoothed over as the drug worked its magic on her system. Soon, she was sitting immobile with her eyes closed, a small smile of contentment lighting her lips and her only movement was to take a drag from the pipe.

Three solid raps on the door jarred Cassandra out of her reverie, and for a moment, she did not know what was happening. And then she remembered whom she asked to come over and she rushed to the door, pipe still in hand, and opened it, a flush smile on her face as she greeted the person on the other side.

“Keating!”

by **Keating Ash** on April 13th, 2011, 6:35 pm

Annoyed, instead of understanding, Keating had more than a few drinks at the tavern before he would consider leaving. Only when he felt the alcohol’s comfortable embrace pull itself around him, did he push himself away from the small table and rise heavily from the chair. He then made his way to Cassandra’s apartment and stood outside the door waiting for the girl to answer his loud knocks. Normally his impatience would get the better of him, but tonight that feeling was muted. He thought he knew why the pretty barmaid had wanted to see him, and he was a man that was more than willing to accommodate a woman’s desires, as long as his were also met.

When Cassandra finally opened the door Keating knew in an instant what she had been up to. The smell, the light haze of smoke and the girl’s flushed cheeks all pointed to one thing. Drugs. He pushed his way into the apartment. His frame towered over her and the door shut firmly behind him. It was a heavy sound that seemed to match the suddenly hard look in his eyes. Drug addicts... He had seen them before, many times. Prostitutes were known for it, and he had been with many ladies that were users. It didn’t matter to him though, as long as the girls were able bodied and he was able to get his Miza’s worth. But looking down at Cassandra’s small smile, he was surprised. He didn’t think her the type, but then women were often difficult to figure out.

“What are you doing Cassandra?” he asked. His voice was low as he looked at the pipe still burning in her hand. The question held more meaning than the simple words he used. It was hard to read his expression, though the smell of alcohol clung to the air around him. His hand found the back of her head and cradled it in his palm almost gently as he pulled her head back so she could look up into his dark eyes. Her responses were slow, and he said tonelessly, as if to a child, “You’ve been smoking…”

by **Cassandra Coven** on April 16th, 2011, 12:46 pm

Cassandra expected to be engulfed in Keating's embrace as soon as she had opened the door. But he stalked past her instead and for a moment she was left staring at empty air, her open-armed stance ignored.

"Not even a hello?" she pouted, releasing the door knob to allow it swing shut on its own. The reek of alcohol wormed its way past the smoky flavor of herbs and she knew that Keating had been drinking again. Not that she was surprise, that was all she knew the man liked to do, besides, well, what he probably thought he was there for.

When Keating called attention to the pipe that was still in her hand, Cassandra almost jumped with a start. She had forgotten that she was still holding it. Biting her lower lip, embarrassed to be caught in a moment of weakness, the dark-haired woman cast her eyes down, contrite.

"I just thought I would try it out," she said, a bit on the defensive. "It was relaxing the first time I tried it..."

And then his arm was around her, holding her by the back of the head and forcing her to look up to him. She did not know it, but her eyes were glazed over, her pupils dilated. A tentative smile was trying to work its way onto her lips but the expression on her face made her appear somewhat air-headed. The stern expression on Keating's face caused her own expression to collapse into a grimace.

"Life has been difficult for me the last few days, okay?"

Cassandra was a little standoffish now, trying to wiggle free of Keating's strong grasp. Her mood had changed quite unexpectedly, making a complete one-eighty. When she wanted nothing to be with the man earlier, not she just wished he would leave her alone. But if she was honest with herself, she knew she wanted the man before her to offer her comfort, to tell her that everything will be okay. That was her wish, at least.

"My demons have come to haunt me..." she said, her voice trailing, leaving it an opening for Keating.

Take it. Ask me! I need you!

by **Keating Ash** on April 21st, 2011, 7:37 am

Cassandra was being uppity and Keating did not appreciate it. With his hand entwined in her hair, he gave her head a little shake to show her where she stood with him. Then his fingers opened suddenly and released her into the room. Weak Woman. He knew she was under the effects of the drugs; she could not hide it from him. The eyes always gave it away, Cassandra was lit.

Keating watched her like a guard dog watched its property, waiting for one false move of a trespasser before it reacted. The barmaid was not herself, though she pretended to be and he waited to see what she would do with the pipe. In his annoyance, the man appeared to stand taller and wider at the same time. His boots were solid on the hard floor beneath him, he had not moved since entering the apartment.

“My patience is thin Cassandra. Very thin…” Keating answered. She was like all women, from the whores to the wealthy. “You make excuses. At least own up to what you do. You do it because you like it… Admit it.” His fingers curled into fists.

But then, instead of asking for what she needed, or telling him what was going on, she tried to make him guess. And it seemed to Keating that she also whined. Gods! He should have stayed at the tavern. “You want me to coddle you?” He took a step forward, his boots heavy with each step. “You want me to ask, please?” His tone did not match his words, no gentleness lay in them. Cassandra practically begged for comfort, but Keating’s arms folded across his broad chest.

“I think you’d best tell me, right now.” His intense focus was unwavering upon her. Once, long ago he had been kind and generous, but death and loss, and obsession had nearly driven it from him. There was only one woman he was capable of giving comfort to, and she had no wish or need of it. Rose! She was the strongest woman Keating had ever known. And she had taken all she wanted long ago, and every day since, he paid the price. The thought of her made his handsome face grow hard and he said once more, "Right now, Cassandra!"

by **Cassandra Coven** on April 25th, 2011, 1:55 am

Cassandra could not help but flinch as the man raised his voice against her. She could tell that Keating was in a bad mood. Again. He always was lately it seemed, his anger simmering down only once she had given him what he wanted. And what he wanted from her was only one thing, and that was her sating his carnal desires. And yet no matter how much of herself she gave to him, Cassandra felt that she could never fully satisfy the man's needs. It was as if she was trying to fill in someone's shoes and she could not quite make the fit because that someone had set the bar to high for her to reach. Or perhaps that person was the only one who could give what Keating wanted, in which case she was just allowing herself to be used by him. Cassandra did not know how to feel about that.

Questions for another day, she thought, rubbing her forehead wearily. She thought to find comfort and succor in his arms, not more problems to pile on what she already had to deal with. One thing at a time...one thing at a time...

"I'm just... I'm just dealing with a lot of things right now Keating," she replied to him, reaching up to caress his chest. Her voice was amicable and soothing, reconciliatory, trying to calm him down, though how she truly felt was different from what she was conveying through her words and actions. Cassandra knew things would not end well of if she butted heads with the man. Keating had ways to make her regret going against him and some of those things she would...rather not experience again. "L-look... I asked for you here so we could spend some time together. Do...do things you like, that sort of thing. We don't have to talk about my problems, they aren't pleasant things, and they would just upset you."

She held up the still lit pipe, offering it to him. "Here, maybe this would calm you down. I know it did me..."

Cassandra reached up, trying to put the end of the object in Keating's mouth. She was aiming to be playful now; she hoped he could see that. Maybe after a puff and a brief tumble between the sheets and he would be more receptive to her needs.

by **Keating Ash** on April 26th, 2011, 4:09 am

Keating growled lowly in his throat. It was a masculine sound that responded as Cassandra’s hands caressed his chest, and her soft words soothed his agitation. Still, the girl had not spoken of her troubles, but Keating was a man, and with the prospect of physical pleasures before him, he was more than willing to push the barmaids many troubles aside. “If that’s what you want, honey…” he agreed, as he looked down into her face. Gods! She was a pretty girl, and a rare half smile brightened his usually dark features, “you can tell me after.”

His arms lifted to wrap around her waist and pull her body closer; this was why he was here, to try and fill the need that consumed him. And better with Cassandra then some common whore, though he had lain with many over the years. He murmured, “Oh the things I’m gonna do to you…” it was a promise of pleasures to come for both of them. The alcohol still flowed strongly through his veins and he was willing to be conciliatory. But then Cassandra placed the pipe before his very face, and offered it to his lips. The hand that had been trailing the contours of her back changed course suddenly. With an open palm Keating brought it up to bat the pipe away, the force of his hand sent the little pipe clattering to the floor.

“Damnable woman!” The man barked, his voice sharp as his anger returned full force and he snapped at the hazy-minded woman, “Do I look like I need calm’n’? Last time that shyte was pushed on me, it was from a whore. Is that what you are Cass? A whore?” His blood boiled at the thought of smoking anything that might make him lose any more control then he had already lost in his long, pathetic life. Stepping back from the girl, Keating slowly unhooked his belt. With one slow pull Keating had the belt free and it hung dangling in his hand. “If you’re gonna act like a whore, best I treat you like one.” His eyes held more than anger now, as he watched her. The want of her still filled him, and the fact that she was lit, only fueled his desire. Keating had no notions of chivalry. “Now come here… I have a feeling you’ve needed this all along…”

by **Cassandra Coven** on April 28th, 2011, 3:01 am

As Keating's arms engulfed her small frame, Cassandra could feel the familiar stirrings of desire for the man blossom within her breast. It was not hard to achieve; she was sure the rugged Keating's animal magnetism and confident air had worked their magic on many a woman before she came into his life. His promises of pleasure made her blush as she pressed herself against him.

But then she did the wrong thing in trying to entice him to smoke the pipe. Keating's large hand came up quickly and slapped the item away and Cassandra could do nothing but watch as it tumbled across the room, what little of the herbs still smoldering inside scattering on the floorboards. She turned to him in protest, her dark curls following the turn of her head, hurt words and upset questions ready on her lips, to ask him why he had wasted such a precious item.

Cassandra turned to face a Keating as angry as she had never seen him before, however, even angrier than when he had thrashed the masked man all those months ago when they first met. The man's eyes smoldered as he accused her of peddling drugs like a whore and Cassandra could not hold back the sting of tears that filled her eyes at the man's hurtful words.

"I-I'm sorry, Keating!" she tried to apologize, to placate him back into docility. "I didn't know! I didn't mean to - no! Please!"

Cassandra held up her hands now as Keating stalked towards her with his belt, holding them up to protect herself from his rage. She cowered backwards away from him, to try to escape him, but it was in the wrong direction: Keating blocked her way out of the room and the only way out was the opened window behind her, one where a sorry looking plant sat on the sill, several days unwatered and neglected by her. Cassandra glanced at her only avenue of escape but she doubted she could survive jumping out through that. While she would land on water, she did not know how to swim. Left with no recourse, she turned back to the wrathful man before her.

"Keating... Keating... Please, let's-let's work this out," she begged, doing her best to inject a soothing tone in her voice, but she still stuttered from fear. "There's...there's really no need for v-violence. Please, Keating - don't hurt me...!"

The last part she shrieked out as she watched the man raise the hand holding the belt high in the air. She fell to her knees, arms raised to ward off the coming blow, turning her head away to protect her face.

by **Keating Ash** on April 29th, 2011, 5:18 pm

Keating ignored the girl’s protests and apologies as the heat of both anger and desire coursed through him. The hand with the belt was raised in the air, but Cassandra was mistaken about its intent. With it, he grabbed the cowering barmaid around the waist and pulled her to him so she was bent over his forearm, and pressed into his body. Let her fight all she wanted, she was not getting away! The other hand lifted her skirts up roughly, and he delivered three solid smacks against her backside and thighs. The belt would sting, but pushed together as Keating and Cassandra were, it was not the best position to be delivering the message he wanted to convey. But it would do, for now. His heart beat faster and his breath came heavier, as the compromised woman squirmed in his arms.

Her gloved hands were on his skin, with its impersonal, leather feel, which only served to annoy him more. “I’m a patient man Cassandra, but I’ve had about as much of those as I can take!” Turning her swiftly with the belt still in his hand, Keating grabbed her smaller wrists within his large ones and pulled the offending accessories off. A grunt sounded in his throat as he threw them away from the girl, and where he would no longer have to look at them. With muscles taunt from the strain of holding the women, he was about to turn her around once more when he saw her hands, actually saw them for what they were. “God gods Cass! Are you diseased?” he exclaimed pushing the woman and her taint away from him forcefully.

by **Cassandra Coven** on May 1st, 2011, 12:24 pm

The expected blow did not fall and Cassandra looked up to see if her pleading had worked on Keating, only to find herself picked up by the waist and bent over, the man hiking her skirt up to expose her bottom and smacked her there thrice with his thick belt, like a heavy-handed parent would a misbehaving child. It was embarrassing to be treated as such, and dark-haired woman's cheeks burned red the same time her buttocks did from the unchecked blows. Each hit resounded smartly, echoing around the room and surely through the walls, informing her occupants of the adjacent rooms of the maltreatment their neighbor was receiving. Cassandra did not know if she could ever look them in the eye again if she ran into them in the hall.

It did not help that she cried out each hit of the belt.

She clawed at the arm Keating had around her, but she was wearing full-fingered gloves that day and she could find no purchase in the man's grip. The action must have annoyed him however, or the gloves themselves did, for he whipped her around and forcefully yanked them off.

"No!" Cassandra protested, not wanting Keating to see what the leather accessories covered. But the man was too strong, and she could not fight off what he was doing to her. Off came the gloves and were unceremoniously thrown across the room.

And the marks on her hands were seen by the man she desperately wanted to hide them from.

Cassandra knew the instant Keating saw them, feeling his body stiffen first in confusion, then in disgust as he beheld the red veins on the back of her hands. His strength unchecked, he pushed her away, revolted. Cassandra fell hard on the floor, landing awkwardly on her arm when she flung her limbs out to catch herself. She clutched the injured arm to her chest, immediately feeling the pain on the sprained wrist. It did not hurt as much as the accusing tone in Keating's words, however.

"No...no, I'm not, Keating," she told him, tears brimming her eyes from pain and shame. "It's...it's a mark, a - a sign of a goddess' favor. She...is not one anyone would enjoy having the attention of.

"I-I would have told you eventually. But not like this. I don't want you to judge me."

She was crying now, tears falling uncontrollably from red rimmed eyes. The secret was out, the person she tried to hide it from the most now knew. Should she tell him everything? Lying any further would just make things worse, and Keating might never trust her again. He might even fear for his life whenever he's around her because of what the marks would make her do. Yes, she thought, it was time to come clean.

"It's...it's from Krysus. The goddess of murder," she said at last, her voice a soft whisper, as if she was afraid the goddess might hear her and take offense that Her favored was speaking ill of Her. Gods knew, a favorable mark was bad enough for her. Cassandra did not want to find out what a negative mark from the goddess would do to her.

"I've...I've done some horrible things. And I'm still doing them. But please don't look at me like I'm some kind of freak. I'm not a monster, Keating! I'm not!"

by **Keating Ash** on May 3rd, 2011, 5:04 pm

“You would have told me…” Keating’s tone was flat, but it grew in volume quickly, “you would have told me! And when would this have been? Before or after you tried to gut me. Again? I am such a fool” His life was one continuous joke to the Gods! His fists shook. He hadn’t forgotten the time Cassandra had pulled the dagger on him, but stupidly he had been willing to overlook the incident, thinking its source had been the barmaid’s womanly cycle or something. “It’s all very clear now! What do you do, Cassandra? Lure them to your rooms with sexual promises, and drugs… and when they’ve had their fill… you murder them?” His words were as cruel as his eyes, but he tried to understand in his own way. “And me? What about me? Were you just looking for another chance? Is that it?” He looked ready to explode.

Though he gave her no time to respond, he thought she took too long, “Answer me!” He bellowed, “Is that it? Deny it! Go ahead and try to deny it!” He tried to wait, but the murderous thoughts did not stop spinning in his mind and the angry words spewed from his lips, “I got away… what now? Do you keep trying?” Keating ran a shaky hand through his cropped hair. Gods! What a mess! It remained to be seen whether he would strike her again or walk out of her life. Or both. His dark eyes flashed like lightening bolts. “Judge you? Judge you! You kill folks, Cassandra… haven’t you noticed? Does it mean so little to you? The loss of life?”

He refused to say the dark goddess’ name, but he placed his own hand on his arm, over the more positive mark of his own. Bala was life. And growth. Not death… it saddened him somehow, though he refused to think on the whys of it. Why he stayed any longer, he did not know. But he stood staring at her. “Little mouse…” his pet name for her, and he snorted in contempt. He knew how the gods worked, or he thought he did. You attracted their attention. You did things to attract their attention. This was all too much, he needed to leave, but he stopped. “What did you do to garner such an honor? And tell me one more thing… what does it mean that I am still alive?” He had to know before he walked out the door. He had to know. Would he spend the years looking over his shoulder…