Open A Harlot's Guilt

[Zenobia]

6th of Spring 513 God. No. Why? Why did this have to happen to her? Now, at all times? Her body was splattered with blood, all over her legs and arms and stomach… and she still held the knife in her hand, as if she was so frightened by what she had just done that her hand had been stuck to it irreversibly. She looked down at the body by her feet and could feel a mixture of anger and determination rise in her throat. Good, he had stopped writhing. That had been distracting and it was easier to escape mounting feelings of guilt when your victim was not twisting and turning in a delight of agony and death. Oh, but how had this been allowed to happen? She had been so careful, as she always was when picking each and every one of her clients, had not broached the subject of money too early or too heavily and the two men had seemed compliant when she had invited them in, a night eyes officer accompanied by an enforcer, and so healthy! Who would have thought… she turned back to look into the other room at the other one who was lying on the bed, his face against the wall, his body only half covered by a blanket. She wasn’t sure there wasn’t something distinctly poetic about the situation – at least, of the more vulgar type of poetry – the whore with a corpse in her bed, collapsed from sheer exertion, and a corpse at her feet, his throat slit. It was the sort of story men might tell each other in a bid to be wary of women, except that it hadn’t been her fault! How had she been supposed to react when she had realised that the man had somehow had an attack of some sort and died right there and then, her face the last thing he’d ever see, which might have been flattering if it hadn’t been so mortifying? It had started off relatively well, nothing to criticise, and if he had been a little rough, not really out of the ordinary, he had been more attentive than most. Then, a few minutes had passed and she decided that she really couldn’t keep the other waiting, so had initiated the next step, letting him run his hands between her thighs and, at his request, in her hair. Followed, of course, by the actual business of lovemaking. Again and again, to and fro, and then it had stopped, very suddenly, and she thought she heard a yelp as his body fell down hard upon hers, inert. She had lain there for something close to a minute, looking up at the great structure of a man, broad, young and, in his type, hardy handsome with acute confusion and panic. Such a thing must have had terrible odds and, outside the door into the main room, his friend was waiting, ready to take his turn. She knew that he would never have believed her account of events, that if she went out there and he saw his friend immobile on her bed, that she was dead. Stone cold dead. And what if he did believe her? She doubted it would have made much difference or that she would be given the benefit of the doubt. Somehow, she had to get rid of the huge hunk of man and deal with the other. It had taken a lot of trouble to life the cadaver off her. He was far from fat, but he was broad-shouldered, powerfully built and heavy, and his blond hair was in her face. Zenobia moved her hips slightly, hoping to dislodge herself, and it was a small mercy that it worked, but then she had had to turn to the laborious and difficult task of creeping out from between the great, muscular arms, and she was certain that the man waiting would note the silence coming from the door. She hoped that he imagined they were engaged in some intimate situation and would not dare enter, especially on his Night Eyes’ superior. When finally she had liberated herself from this most distressing of embraces, she crept to the door and looked through the keyhole to see what was happening in the room next door. The man looked sleepy, yawning gently and, in that moment, she decided that she must kill him. She had no illusions on life in Sunberth and knew that if there were to be any witnesses, she would suffer retribution for her imagined crime. It was the great thug out there or herself. Her decision made, she tiptoed gently to the table next to the bed and took out a long kitchen knife from the single drawer, before returning to her post at the door. The man was standing with his back to her, stretching. It took a split second for Zenobia to open the door, silently, and run at the man, leaping onto his back, the knife brandished in her left hand. It was clear he had been taken unawares for he didn’t react as instinctively as an enforcer in the Nights Eyes might. While he was grappling to remove his sword from its holder, she passed the knife from her left to her right and, quickly, silently, drew it viciously against the man’s throat. She had never seen so much blood, and never had she imagined that it would come out the way it did, at such an angle. It was everywhere, on her arms and all over the man’s clothes and she was sure that this constant flow of blood would never stop. “Damn you. Damn you both to hell.” She felt like screaming, but it was a feeling expressed in a murmur, a guilty feeling for what cause had she to wish to damn anyone? Life was precious, she had always been taught that, had always thought that, and now she had wilfully taken it away from someone. It was sickening! Had she not always said ‘Pride is no substitute for Life’? Always expressed the desire that, come what may, murder was to be done only in the direst of situations. She had to fight back bitter tears of disillusionment and reminded herself: it was her or them. Was not this situation to be considered dire? The man fell forwards and there was a horrid moment where she thought that, in spite of all, he might get back up again. Naturally this was not the case, and he merely squealed, squealed and cut a shape in the floor like a pig ready for slaughter. Zenobia turned her eyes away and, when she looked back, he had stopped moving, a body in a pool of its own blood. “That’ll take ages to wash off.” She whispered, thinking that she must buy a large rug to cover up the stains until it did. Such a thing would not put future customers at ease. But what about her current customers? Somehow she must get rid of the bodies without anyone seeing. It was close to midnight and, though in her hometown of Zeltiva such a task would have been completed with ease at such a time, here in Sunberth, there was no guarantee of not making an unfortunate encounter. Zenobia went to wash the blood off her body then pulled on a couple of layers of clothing. Stepping out nonchalantly into the street, in order to clear her thoughts and check to see exactly how many passer-by’s she might expect, she was struck by the warm air of a new spring, which in light of everything which had just happened, seemed to her, a small comfort. “What am I going to do?”

[Nemanjak]

Nemanjak has done what he does everyday, burglary. He has been scouting a place fit to do such a job. He has realized that there has to be a, "pay to please" there as a lot of men were coming in, not always the same either. It was night, almost, midnight and the time has came. He snuck out of the tent city without being noticed. He was wearing the usual, camouflage armor and his trusty helmet, and a small knife in his pocket in case things don't go accord to plan. He snuck inside, quietly, not being noticed. He saw a shadow on the wall, and it had a knife, the knife, stabbed the other shadow. It was murder.

He decided to take a peek. He saw a Night Eye and a woman, she was, killing a Night Eye. What the hell is going on?! He asked himself. He pulled out his knife, a small 5 inch blade, sharpened a few hours ago apparently, it was, a bit dark red, the stains of blood which were not cleaned. He thought to himself, to throw the knife at her, to charge and stab her, or to just, ask what the hell is going on. He decided for option three, coming out into the open saying quietly "I see you got a problem at your hand, eh? Don't worry, I wont tell, trust me. Now, is there any way I could help, clean the mess, of course, I'd enjoy a nice exchange, a dozen Mizas or so, eh? He put his hand into the pocket, readying the small knife, all muscles prepared to react, his reflexes at the highest but, he seemed relaxed. Upon a closer look, he had black short hair, he had some muscles, but not too much and of course, a scar on his nose. Apparently that he was a pure blooded Human.

[Michaela Abendroth]

It was pitch dark outside. Nobody would see her land on the roof. She seen a guy sneak into a building looking like he was about to rob it. I had heard some girl talking to herself and not sure what else was going on. What I heard her say though attracted me to this place. Then I seen the guy walk in. I decided that I would wait here on the roof and see what was going to happen; maybe a fight was going to break out. Would he get caught. I have been watching her place for a little while and there was always men going in and out of it, but I have never seen someone try to rob it. I sat on the roof and listened very closely with my ears and awaited to see what was going to happen.