Chasing Enemies [Amorette/Jette/Magnolia]

[Jette]

13th of Summer 510AV - Early Evening The House of Immortal Pleasures A seated area in the brothel housed a large dining area filled with several tables and patrons, some leaning across from their seats to whisper in each other’s ears, and others speaking more casual through chuckles and hollers. One group of men in the far side of the room bellowed amongst themselves, lowering their voices every now and then to share information through scribbled notes. and secret code. And from where Jette sat, she could have almost began to make out the words one was saying by watching his quiet lips move; if it weren’t for an interruption from one of the working slaves. “Care for a romp upstairs sweet lips?” The girl got Jette’s attention and Jette at first straightened up and looked her over. But she wasn't interested in women tonight, and she instead silently leaned back in her chair dismissively of the girl. Jette had plans for the slaves at the brothel but she couldn't be seen conversing with any of them for the time being; all good plans unfold at the right times. “We’re just meeting someone here” Pythe piped up at the girl before Jette could respond, understanding her leader was distracted by the other conversations in the room. The girl caught on to the lack of interest of their table and simply blew a kiss to Pythe before sauntering off towards the front of the brothel. It was difficult to stay unnoticeable when your skin was the colour of dark mud and your eyes like a deadly storm crossing the sea. Jette stuck out like a sore thumb and in some cases this seriously crippled her stealthy plans. However every now and then, like on this night, being noticed has its benefits. “You’re just asking to get thrown into one of those whore restraints they have for the girls here.” A man slightly shorter than Jette pulled a chair out and stumbled into it, inebriated but still fairly lucid. “Girls like you don’t last in places like this. All these girls walked in here one day, just like you, and lo and behold they are still here!” He exploded into jesting laughter, annoying Jette with his disrespect for the slaves that were bound to the dreaded place, and his rowdy manners, making heads turn in their direction. If any of them recognized her none of them showed it, and after scanning several faces, Jette focused back on the bumbling idiot before her. “Well aren’t you just a noble gentleman to be looking out for a pair o' defenceless ladies like us!” Jette and Pythe exchanged exaggerated nods to each other and then Jette leaned in close to coo in his face while fluttering her lashes. Men are too easy Jette thought as his hungry eyes widened. “You must be just aching for a drink on this hot summer evening, Mister...?” She waved a slave over and ordered a large mug for their companion as he smiled and recited his name “You little flowers may call me Brus Tanton.” “Well then Tanton, we are just so thankful to have a strong and knowledgeable character such as yourself keeping your hawk eye on us. In fact, you must be parched from working so diligently to keep us ladies safe, why don’t you relax awhile with some ale, hmm?” Jette looked at him through heavy eyelids, breathing in such a way that her bosom bulged in the thin linen shirt and the slit of her skirt fell open to reveal a bare thigh. “Brus Tanton, Brus Tanton. I am sure I have heard that name before." Jette paused in thought, searching his scrawny face and then suddenly lit up with a well rehearsed facade of excitement. "Correct me if I am mistaken but word around here is that Brus Tanton knows just about everything that happens in this area, that he is the most valiant, and clever of all men on the docks. They say anyone thinking to cross Mr. Tanton would regret it." She was twirling a constricting ribbon around his body, drawing him in tighter and tighter so that she could get what she needed from him. She was now deliberately inflating his ego, even when it was obvious that he was just as twisted and lecherous as the other men who sought out pleasure from the slaves there. “What do you know about that group of men across the bar?” Jette rose and draped herself over the back of his shoulders, her hands caressing his belly as she twirled a sharp finger into the fabric of his shirt. In another moment she settled herself into her lap meanwhile turning his body so he could look upon the group without being seen. The man froze instantly, even with the burning ember of Jette in his lap, his sentences spewing from his mouth like vomit. “I-I recognize those folks, but I couldn’t tell you their names. They’re slavers, and I th-th-think the one in the red coat owns this brothel, but I’m not sure and I’ve never spoken to them myself.” He was visibly trembling, as most did in Ravok; there was the danger of death at every bend and corner. Jette waited in silence, watching the one in the red coat as her ego inflated companion Brus flooded the back of his throat with the bubbly ale. His mug was only half empty when Jette curled her fist into the man’s shirt and prodded him for more information, asking desperately whether he knew any of the other men at the table. “You are asking some very suspicious questions lady, I’m not totally comfor-” his speech was cut off when Jette threw herself once more into his lap, smothering his face into her chest and giving Pythe a worried glance. He was drunk but not quite enough to reveal everything Jette was looking to find. She couldn’t risk the man talking to anyone, so it was time to dispose of him. “Oh Brus the tales about you are true! My loins are burning for you. Why don’t you allow my companion and I to show you what real pleasure is, no charge for such a handsome man.” She smiled wickedly, coaxing him up from the seat and playfully lead him out of the brothel into the alleyway besides the building. At first the man was confused by her proposal, but snapped into cooperation when she suggested that her and Pythe pleasure him in private at the cost of zero gold mizas. The fog from the docks crawled into the entrance of the alleyway, blanketing the sound of deaths from rattling through the city corridors. One particular man’s death was about to be fed to the great beast Ravok, at the hand of two skilled escaped slaves. Distracting him with furious moans and giggles, the pair scoured his body with their hands, pulling on fabric and biting skin. He complained several times about the ferocity of their bites as some drew blood, but he was so drunk he could only lean against the brick wall and groan as his head spun. Pythe was down on her knees in front of Brus when Jette slid her mouth up to his ear and once again asked a series of questions about anyone else in league with the slaver who owned the brothel. “You whore! What is your fucking fascination with those slavers anyways? WHO ARE YOU?” Brus finally raised his irritated voice and tried to stumble away, his pants around his ankles catching him and preventing him from stepping forward. “Hold him!” barked Jette as she unsheathed her short sword. Brus Tanton’s eyes flew open when he saw the blade and immediately opened his mouth to scream, only to be choked by a wad of cloth that Pythe shoved into the back of his throat. The flailed his arms but each of them held them against the wall, Jette clearly overpowering him as Pythe struggled with her entire body strength as his arm twisted. Brus was a bit shorter than Jette and much thinner in stature. He may have been malnourished at the time but the condition of his clothing said otherwise. ”Let’s try this again Mr. Tanton. Are those gentlemen inside the owners of this brothel? What are their names?” Jette breathed seductively, bringing the blade up to his throat and pressing the blade into his flesh. He simply would not concede and insisted he knew nothing. When the well is dry you best stop pumping. She narrowed her eyes at him before helping him up from under her. "I have no desire to kill you. Although I'd like to since you were of no help." When he didn't flinch she moved up to his face quickly, towering over him, boring her eyes into his. "Best be on your way sir, lest I change my mind." Jette often used intimidation to communicate her dominance over others. Often times it worked and she had the respect of many, but she also learned that it wasn't always the most tactful approach. Once in awhile at least, she had to be more human than demon. The stink of fear reeked in the alley, but before it could burrow into weave of their clothes, Pythe and Jette slipped back into the brothel through the door. What had happened there in the alley was done, and soon after it was a damp empty street. Of how many things had happened in that alleyway Jette wondered.

[Amorette la Rose-Noire]

ooc: Nice post, but I would be careful to not assume too much about NPCs that may or may not be in the room without a mod. Just a thought

The House of Immortal Pleasures was well known for its commodity: flesh. Flesh could be bought here in all forms and radiant people of both sexes flaunted their physical selves around the main room, hoping to attract the attentions of patrons. The wealthier the better though really many of the prostitutes would see none of the money. They were owned. Pieces of property that were sold by the hour or the night but always returned at lease somewhat in the same piece. It was a hard life and one that made one age prematurely. It took a strong character to survive, surely.

Amorette did not have this life. She was one of the unique prostitutes that worked for the House of Immortal Pleasures as a self-owned prostitute; she was owned by no one and worked this job by choice. She willingly gave herself to men, and sometimes women, night after night, sometimes multiple men a night. And she collected her own fees, though she still owed the house for allowing her to use it. But she could turn clients away, she could afford to be selective, which saved her much of the pain of this career. But really Amorette was rarely that selective, though, but she was working hard to build up a regular client base.

On this particular evening, Amorette was dressed in her typical outfit for work. She wore a beautiful dress cut of fine black fabric. It draped widely at her shoulder, exposing much of her chest and almost the entirety of her back, just sealing off the pale flesh just above the base of her spine. The sleeves were long and slit so that her arm was exposed from the shoulder to the elbow. Roped around her neck were chains of silver; necklaces she had purchased in Ravok. Her face was exquisitely painted with rare black make-up though most of it was covered by an elaborate mask; it covered her face from the tip of her nose up to the brow of her hair where it was crowned with plumes of long black feathers. There were slits for her dark eyes to peer out of otherwise it was seamlessly constructed from lacquered black wood. Just her black-stained lips were exposed, contrasting the powdered white of her chin. Her hair was done up in an elaborate twist of braids and knots that helped serve both form and function.

Amorette took her time getting to work this evening, feeling no urge to rush for whatever reason. Her heels clicked heavily on the street stone as she strolled along leisurely; her appearance, which showed off her pale flesh, bust, and curves, drew many stares but she did nothing to turn these away. She relished the stares and the attention. Amorette thrived off it, actually, and her gait and the sway of her hips hinted at this. Eyes and gawks were the beats to the tempo she danced to. She loved this live.

The events that were unfolding in the alley were not interesting enough for Amorette even to turn her head and look at. Inwardly, she shrugged her shoulders; it was surely just another mugging or murder or just two slaves getting it on in the alley. For Rhysol's sake why would she care? If they came at her, that would be different. Amorette would be ready for them for strapped somewhere on her body, and a lady never revealed where, was her infamous stiletto blade; thin and deadly.

Amorette strolled right on passed without even a cursory glance in and entered the House of Immortal Pleasures, waiting to see which man was most likely to pay the best and would help her later. She did not jump at the first drunk man, or woman, no. That was not Amorette's way. She liked to stalk her prey first, waiting for the best. Of course, she always enjoyed those that approached her first, smirking as they spoke to her in a way that showed how highly she thought of herself.

No, Amorette was not your common prostitute.

[Jette]

The cool milk of the moon spilled down the side of the building across from them in the alleyway. Ravok seemed to continue its pace smoothly despite the filth that crept in its cracks and a long curtain of darkness had encased the air around Jette and Pythe. Even as they pulled open the door and stepped through, the thick musty air of the alley seemed to draw them back out, pulling with resistance on their legs and arms like tentacles in the dark. They had no sooner escaped the wretchedness of the alleyway than entered the sinister atmosphere of the brothel. Girl slaves of all shapes and sizes dotted every corner, hanging from the arms of guests who frequented the house of flesh. Casually the pair sat at a table in the far corner and ordered food. When it came they smelled it, inspected it. Beef stew with peas, carrots and potato; with no unusual smells included. Pythe took a bite first, she was bold and reckless, and probably depressed. If she were to die it didn’t matter to her, not like it mattered to Jette. A scan of the dining room revealed that the group of men eating their supper were speaking quiet amongst themselves as they finished the last of their meal. Staring at them for too long would draw their attention and so Jette concentrated on the plate in front of her, but she glanced up frequently to make sure they were still around. Jette was used to going for what she wanted, but she was in unfamiliar territory and so settled for leaning the back of her chair against the wall as she listened to the chatter around her.