45th Day
Summer 520
Summer 520
Bron's knuckles pounded on the wooden door.
Wait...why am I here again? She paused, thinking, head pounding in sync with her knuckles on the door.
Oh yeah...
Startled, Bron rocked back a step as the wood in front of her face flew inward. In the doorway, a body was silhouetted by the bright torchlight spilling out. Bron squitted, wincing as the shining light caused her head to pulse with pain.
"Yeah, what ya want?" The figure shifted, blocking the brightness, and Bron got a good look at her greeter. It was an older woman, ancient by Bron's reckoning. The first thing the Syliran noted was how short the woman was; barely reaching Bron's chest. The second was the fact she had only one eye, and the third was that the elderly woman was bald, save several patches of white hair atop a rounded scalp.
"Ya deaf?"
Bron jumped, startled as if she had never expected the woman to speak again. "N-no, Ma'am, I just.." she hesitated, trying to gather her thoughts, "I met a man last night and he..at Pig Foot's..he told me he might be here?" The end of Bron's words came off as a question, but the addled girl added, "um, I need to talk to him." Bron paused, pleased with herself that she had actually made sense, only to have the old bat scowl at her just before the door slammed in her face.
Twisting her staff around to her front, Bron took a step backward, turned, and stumbled to a nearby tree stump that she promptly sat-fell onto, rubbing at her temples. The night before was a mystery of loss memory, all but that man. The man she had been looking for, the one that she thought lived here. The girl sighed, resting elbows on knees.
Since her Father, Matrim, had left to return to Syliras Bron's life in Sunberth had taken a turn for the...what's worse than worse, Bron wondered. Such a big girl she was, refusing to leave Sunberth with her father, demanding he trusts that she was adult enough to make it on her own, survive, and stay out of trouble. Little did the Knight commander know that the family he had entrusted his daughter's care with would suddenly up and leave Sunberth merely half a season after his own departure. Bron kept her word, however, obtaining a job and her own place to live.
Both at a brothel.
Bron cringed.
Her father didn't have to know that, right?
The first and last thought Matrim Druva would have after hearing the news would be 'brothel' all other rational thought would cease to exist with the man, right along with any explanation from his daughter.
"But, Father, I have a job!"
"At a brothel!!"
"But, Father, I'm a guard."
"At a brothel!!"
"But, Father, I have a place to live."
"At a brothel!!"
Bronwen groaned aloud at the thought, bringing new agony to her aching head.
The man wouldn't listen to his daughter explain that she was saving up, planning on getting herself out of the small, damp room she had called home for four moons. He wouldn't even let her begin to explain how she had foolishly gone out alone in the city after dark and had gotten 'accidentally' robbed and thoroughly beaten. He would snatch her up and march her back home to Syliras, he would.
"Not going to happen." she mumbled.
She needed to find the one who had been helping her. The man -or was it a woman- Maybe it was a woman. Gods be damned, why couldn't she remember?! One thing remained driven into her memory, though, and that was what he -or she- had given her. It had made her, oh gods, it had made her better, so much better than better! All pain vanished, taking all her worry, hunger, and even her anger right along with it, disappearing within the mind-numbing haze. The bad part? Damn shyke took her memory too.
The "medicine," as Bronwen preferred to call it, transformed her into a different person altogether. This day, though, it had all came crashing back down on her; pain, anger, doubt, exhaustion. Even her empty belly mocked her. Bron needed a bit more. Just to get through work. Just to stay on her feet. Just to help her sleep. Just to help her wake up. Just to help her function.
Bron just needed that petcher, or, at the very least, find someone else who might have some before she is to report to work.
Work.
Work!
Bronwen's eyes snapped skyward, judging the time and saw that she had run out of it. With an unladylike curse, she stood, staggered, regained herself, and wandered off in the direction of Happy Endings. She'd just have to make due until she could find what she needed. Soon.
The brothel was nearly empty when Bron staggered through the door. However, several customers were already being serviced, judging by the two closed doors and the overly enthusiastic moaning coming from beyond them. Bronwen took her usual post, sliding into the shadows of the sitting room, just beyond the entrance of the brothel. It gave her a good vantage point, and she could see who came and went easily enough.
Clad in a dark leather vest, pants, and boots, hair pulled tight into a ponytail, Bron slumped into the monotonous quiet of the establishment, quarterstaff slung through a shoulder strap. It was tedious work, guarding whores, making sure the customers pay, and their petching time remains peaceful. Today there were three guards on duty; Bronwen, Archer, and Luke. Archer was a short -by Bron's reckoning- bald man, but what the man lacked in height, he more than made up in muscle. Luke was Archer's opposite, tall and lithe, with long dark hair down to his backside that he kept in a long braid.
Neither man was within sight of Bronwen, which suited her sour mood just fine.
The old wooden door of the brothel groaned on ancient metal hinges as two cloaked males strolled through the entrance. Something about the pair had Bronwen straightening, attention narrowing in on them as they were greeted by one of the younger workers. She studied the newcomers carefully, unsure of where the uneasy feeling they rendered her as the worker guided them toward the stairwell.
As they passed by close to where she stood, the guard got a good look at one of the men's shadow cloaked faces and felt her own eyes go wide.
Bron could have sworn that his eyes were the color of rubies.
Wait...why am I here again? She paused, thinking, head pounding in sync with her knuckles on the door.
Oh yeah...
Startled, Bron rocked back a step as the wood in front of her face flew inward. In the doorway, a body was silhouetted by the bright torchlight spilling out. Bron squitted, wincing as the shining light caused her head to pulse with pain.
"Yeah, what ya want?" The figure shifted, blocking the brightness, and Bron got a good look at her greeter. It was an older woman, ancient by Bron's reckoning. The first thing the Syliran noted was how short the woman was; barely reaching Bron's chest. The second was the fact she had only one eye, and the third was that the elderly woman was bald, save several patches of white hair atop a rounded scalp.
"Ya deaf?"
Bron jumped, startled as if she had never expected the woman to speak again. "N-no, Ma'am, I just.." she hesitated, trying to gather her thoughts, "I met a man last night and he..at Pig Foot's..he told me he might be here?" The end of Bron's words came off as a question, but the addled girl added, "um, I need to talk to him." Bron paused, pleased with herself that she had actually made sense, only to have the old bat scowl at her just before the door slammed in her face.
Twisting her staff around to her front, Bron took a step backward, turned, and stumbled to a nearby tree stump that she promptly sat-fell onto, rubbing at her temples. The night before was a mystery of loss memory, all but that man. The man she had been looking for, the one that she thought lived here. The girl sighed, resting elbows on knees.
Since her Father, Matrim, had left to return to Syliras Bron's life in Sunberth had taken a turn for the...what's worse than worse, Bron wondered. Such a big girl she was, refusing to leave Sunberth with her father, demanding he trusts that she was adult enough to make it on her own, survive, and stay out of trouble. Little did the Knight commander know that the family he had entrusted his daughter's care with would suddenly up and leave Sunberth merely half a season after his own departure. Bron kept her word, however, obtaining a job and her own place to live.
Both at a brothel.
Bron cringed.
Her father didn't have to know that, right?
The first and last thought Matrim Druva would have after hearing the news would be 'brothel' all other rational thought would cease to exist with the man, right along with any explanation from his daughter.
"But, Father, I have a job!"
"At a brothel!!"
"But, Father, I'm a guard."
"At a brothel!!"
"But, Father, I have a place to live."
"At a brothel!!"
Bronwen groaned aloud at the thought, bringing new agony to her aching head.
The man wouldn't listen to his daughter explain that she was saving up, planning on getting herself out of the small, damp room she had called home for four moons. He wouldn't even let her begin to explain how she had foolishly gone out alone in the city after dark and had gotten 'accidentally' robbed and thoroughly beaten. He would snatch her up and march her back home to Syliras, he would.
"Not going to happen." she mumbled.
She needed to find the one who had been helping her. The man -or was it a woman- Maybe it was a woman. Gods be damned, why couldn't she remember?! One thing remained driven into her memory, though, and that was what he -or she- had given her. It had made her, oh gods, it had made her better, so much better than better! All pain vanished, taking all her worry, hunger, and even her anger right along with it, disappearing within the mind-numbing haze. The bad part? Damn shyke took her memory too.
The "medicine," as Bronwen preferred to call it, transformed her into a different person altogether. This day, though, it had all came crashing back down on her; pain, anger, doubt, exhaustion. Even her empty belly mocked her. Bron needed a bit more. Just to get through work. Just to stay on her feet. Just to help her sleep. Just to help her wake up. Just to help her function.
Bron just needed that petcher, or, at the very least, find someone else who might have some before she is to report to work.
Work.
Work!
Bronwen's eyes snapped skyward, judging the time and saw that she had run out of it. With an unladylike curse, she stood, staggered, regained herself, and wandered off in the direction of Happy Endings. She'd just have to make due until she could find what she needed. Soon.
The brothel was nearly empty when Bron staggered through the door. However, several customers were already being serviced, judging by the two closed doors and the overly enthusiastic moaning coming from beyond them. Bronwen took her usual post, sliding into the shadows of the sitting room, just beyond the entrance of the brothel. It gave her a good vantage point, and she could see who came and went easily enough.
Clad in a dark leather vest, pants, and boots, hair pulled tight into a ponytail, Bron slumped into the monotonous quiet of the establishment, quarterstaff slung through a shoulder strap. It was tedious work, guarding whores, making sure the customers pay, and their petching time remains peaceful. Today there were three guards on duty; Bronwen, Archer, and Luke. Archer was a short -by Bron's reckoning- bald man, but what the man lacked in height, he more than made up in muscle. Luke was Archer's opposite, tall and lithe, with long dark hair down to his backside that he kept in a long braid.
Neither man was within sight of Bronwen, which suited her sour mood just fine.
The old wooden door of the brothel groaned on ancient metal hinges as two cloaked males strolled through the entrance. Something about the pair had Bronwen straightening, attention narrowing in on them as they were greeted by one of the younger workers. She studied the newcomers carefully, unsure of where the uneasy feeling they rendered her as the worker guided them toward the stairwell.
As they passed by close to where she stood, the guard got a good look at one of the men's shadow cloaked faces and felt her own eyes go wide.
Bron could have sworn that his eyes were the color of rubies.
