56 Fall, 514 AV
21st Bell
House of Immortal Pleasures
21st Bell
House of Immortal Pleasures
She was on the prowl.
Siobhan was no hunter, but this must have been what it was like; to operate with such focus, a purpose so distinct she could almost taste it. The internal stillness had seized her not long ago, winding icy fingers around her most inner self, holding any untoward emotions in check for at least the next few bells. Feelings had no business in the House. Only sensations.
And thoughts. Really, they were the only things that were truly still hers to have while she was here. Here, her mind was the only thing that still belonged to her, even if just barely. Her body was not hers, her emotions were not hers, her liberties were not hers. On these nights, everything that would have otherwise been considered inalienably hers would belong to the House. And, through them, her body would become the property of whoever paid the coin to rent it. That was the agreement one made in this business. She might be selling her body to the customer, but she was selling her self to the host.
Either way, her thoughts were strangely quiet tonight. No cynical dismantlement of the whoring system, no broody judgement of those dregs of society who now graced the lounge room with their presence. Siobhan herself lounged in one of the many silk-draped armchairs that littered the corners of the room, settling into a pose that had been fine-tuned through years of practice. Her body was positioned horizontally across the seat to show off her legs, which were crossed but not tensely so. One elbow rested on the arm of the chair, with that hand braced against her neck, and her head tilted towards it in relaxation. The other arm was draped over the backside of the chair, though the look would have been more complete with a glass of wine in hand.
She had come to refer to the pose as the "lazy stalker." That's what it essentially amounted to. It was typically one she used when actively trying to pursue a customer, but one she used when she wanted to draw someone in. Yet, in this moment, she felt a certain force of will coursing through her body. The position appeared passive, but she felt far from passive. The lazy stalker had evolved into an... Elegant predator, she noted to herself with an inward self-satisfied grin. It was a bit of an overstatement, really, but it did capture how she felt.
She supposed that that was what happened when one killed a man, even if by accident. The shock of the incident with that one customer, Jeb, had worn off. This was the rebound. She had gone through something similar following the death of Geoffrey at her hands, though the dark period had lasted far longer back then, when she was still young and emotionally distraught. A part of her recognized that what she was feeling now was not normal, and she certainly ought to be less glad. But it was only a part, and she ought to enjoy this sensation of clarity while it lasted. Right?
Siobhan was no hunter, but this must have been what it was like; to operate with such focus, a purpose so distinct she could almost taste it. The internal stillness had seized her not long ago, winding icy fingers around her most inner self, holding any untoward emotions in check for at least the next few bells. Feelings had no business in the House. Only sensations.
And thoughts. Really, they were the only things that were truly still hers to have while she was here. Here, her mind was the only thing that still belonged to her, even if just barely. Her body was not hers, her emotions were not hers, her liberties were not hers. On these nights, everything that would have otherwise been considered inalienably hers would belong to the House. And, through them, her body would become the property of whoever paid the coin to rent it. That was the agreement one made in this business. She might be selling her body to the customer, but she was selling her self to the host.
Either way, her thoughts were strangely quiet tonight. No cynical dismantlement of the whoring system, no broody judgement of those dregs of society who now graced the lounge room with their presence. Siobhan herself lounged in one of the many silk-draped armchairs that littered the corners of the room, settling into a pose that had been fine-tuned through years of practice. Her body was positioned horizontally across the seat to show off her legs, which were crossed but not tensely so. One elbow rested on the arm of the chair, with that hand braced against her neck, and her head tilted towards it in relaxation. The other arm was draped over the backside of the chair, though the look would have been more complete with a glass of wine in hand.
She had come to refer to the pose as the "lazy stalker." That's what it essentially amounted to. It was typically one she used when actively trying to pursue a customer, but one she used when she wanted to draw someone in. Yet, in this moment, she felt a certain force of will coursing through her body. The position appeared passive, but she felt far from passive. The lazy stalker had evolved into an... Elegant predator, she noted to herself with an inward self-satisfied grin. It was a bit of an overstatement, really, but it did capture how she felt.
She supposed that that was what happened when one killed a man, even if by accident. The shock of the incident with that one customer, Jeb, had worn off. This was the rebound. She had gone through something similar following the death of Geoffrey at her hands, though the dark period had lasted far longer back then, when she was still young and emotionally distraught. A part of her recognized that what she was feeling now was not normal, and she certainly ought to be less glad. But it was only a part, and she ought to enjoy this sensation of clarity while it lasted. Right?
