With incredibly good editing by R565, I give you...
CHAPTER 5
Roughly an hour and a half later, we finally arrived at the brothel. I could have sworn that the last turn on the Fifth Ward main route was a left but… I digress. As I walked towards the door, holding the key, I noticed Franz, Riga, and Caitriona staring at the hastily repaired portions of the brothel’s edifice, while Kristin and Desiree simply looked intimidated by the looming structure with its gaudy and lurid signage.
I opened the door, and walked into the foyer, and sighed as I gazed at its unpainted walls and new boards. Upon the reconstructed corpse of my father’s enterprise, I renewed my vow that someone would pay, and pay dearly, for this outrage. I turned back from my ruminations, and addressed my underwhelmed band of followers. “Alright, if you go up the stairs to your right, you’ll find a hallway lined with doors. Go ahead and pick a room, and dump your gear. Franz and Kristin, go through the door behind me and drop off the food first.” As Franz and Kristin moved off, I unchained Desiree and Caitriona, and dumped the shackles by the door. As soon as she was unbound, Desiree flinched away from me, and walked towards the stairs as fast as she could. Caitriona did not move, and rubbed at her wrists as I carried the shackles over to the door, watching me the whole time. Riga had not gone upstairs; instead, she leaned against the far wall, and stared at Caitriona. After a few awkward moments had past, Franz emerged, now unburdened, from the door leading to the kitchen. He hooked his thumb back over his shoulder. “She’s starting on dinner; it will probably take an hour or so.” He trudged up the stairs, with a tired and worn look. Caitriona followed him, after a last searching look. I took the elf’s departure as an opportunity to close my eyes, and ponder what else had to be done before I could collapse for the day. When I opened my eyes a minute later, I practically flew backwards with a yelp as Riga appeared before me, her chest filling most of my field of vision. I looked up, and saw her grinning face; apparently, my attempt to jump through a wall was gut-numbing hilarious, as was my subsequent exasperation. “Oh, is the poor little Aliusha afraid of the scary woman?” Franz, having just descended back down the stairs, had an uncharacteristic expression of delight as he watched Riga pat my head, despite my attempts to dodge her heavy-handed mock affection. Finally freeing myself from Riga’s arms, I stomped up the stairs past Franz, muttering deprecation about uppity freed slaves, and pushy barbarians, which somehow failed to intimidate either warrior. In fact, Riga looked fit to collapse!
I retreated to my sanctum, and collapsed on the bed, and reflected on my day. Over less than sixteen hours, I had acquired two slaves, a servant, and a pair of warriors, whose loyalty was dependent primarily on their own sense of honor and attachment. Tonight, I was going to have to put at least one of the slaves to work, out on the streets, to begin recouping my money. I had to start somewhere, and this seemed about as likely as any other way to begin. Besides, this would serve the secondary purpose of advertising the rebirth of the Vasa’s family brothel.
After an hour of planning my grand return, I wandered back down stairs, and into the dining room, where the rest of the inhabitants of the brothel were already eating, or, in Kristin’s case, serving, a meal of beans and rice. I collapsed in one of the chairs that surrounded the large wooden table, and the damn chair nearly collapsed itself. True to form, Franz gave me a dirty look, Caitriona gave me a superior look, Desiree flinched, Kristin coughed and looked away, and Riga near fell out of her chair. It’s become disturbing, the resemblance my life has to a poorly written comedy has at times. Kristin hastily brought me a bowl of beans and rice, and I began eating, staring directly at my food to avoid making eye contact with my fellow diners. After cleaning my plate, I encouraged our server to join us. “Thank you for preparing dinner, Kristin. Go ahead, serve yourself!” Turning to the others, I rapped my knuckles against the wooden surface, attracting their attention away from their food, or, in Riga’s case, prodding a disgruntled Franz with her spoon. “Alright everybody, over the course of a few days, I have spent about 3500 gold on acquiring your services, providing your gear, and rebuilding this bloody building. We have had no cash income during that time, and that changes now.” I paused to briefly check the mood of my audience. Desiree and Kristin looked nervous, Franz and Caitriona had begun imitating statues, and Riga was uncharacteristically serious and silent. “Now, you are aware of why I recruited each of you, so what I have to say won’t be a big surprise. Tonight, Desiree, you will be out on the street, looking for customers; Franz, I want you to be near her, but stay unobtrusive. If she looks like she’s in danger, or looks ready to run, dissuade her.” In the thunderous silence that fell afterwards, I tensed – hopefully, nobody would get restive. Franz nodded his acceptance, as expected, and Caitriona looked both disapproving and relieved, but Desiree looked absolutely crushed. For a brief moment, as disbelief and horror crossed her face, the silence was maintained, only to shatter as her composure shattered, and she began to weep quietly, cradling her face in her hands. “Desiree. Desiree!” She looked up, at me, and for a brief moment a short-lived hope danced through her eyes. “You have no choice; you are not going to have a better option. Cry if you must, but know this – if, in an hour, you are not standing in the lobby with your face and hair fixed, wearing what I will provide for you, I will hurt you, badly. I don’t want to – I spent hundreds of gold to buy you, but if you disobey me, I’ll make you regret it.” Her eyes began to fill with tears again, and as her eyes filled, my patience waned. “Get out of my sight – go to your room, and prepare yourself.” With a sob, she left the table, and stumbled her way out. I turned to Caitriona, who instantly went back to her poker face. “Caitriona, tomorrow, it’ll be your turn. But tonight, you have off, as soon as you help Kristin with the clean-up.” I nodded to the pair, and the country-woman and the elf left the dining room, taking the dishes with them, except for Riga’s bowl, which still held half of her third serving. Franz stood and stretched. “I’ll go and make sure that she's not about to hang herself – or run.” Like a shadow moving under its own power, his black-clad form smoothly slid off his chair, and slowly walked out the same door as the distraught Desiree had.
After the rest of my employees had left, I let out a breath that I’d been holding, and looked over at the barbarian, who was still eating, though at a slower rate than before. I noticed that she had not looked back down at her food, and was still staring at me. “Well, that could have gone better, I guess. Do you have any commentary, Riga?” Still unsmiling, Riga replied with a somber voice. “No, no, I can’t say that I do. Just be careful you know this might break her?” I nodded. “I can’t say that I’m all too proud about it, but I know that this is an efficient way to rebuild capital. And I can say that, in complete honesty, I tried to be as gentle as I could – my father would have slapped her once she started crying, and probably would have beaten her if she had not stopped, before tossing her out onto the streets completely naked.” Riga’s eyes hardened and I was suddenly reminded about why Northern tribal warriors were still feared in this day and age – the rage howling in her orbs made something deep in my soul want to cower and hide. Then, like a summer thunderstorm, the rage disappeared, leaving an unsettling humorous cast to her eyes. “Well, it’s a good idea you did not try that!” She said with a smile. “Otherwise, I’d hate to have to take my employer down a peg!” I exchanged a smile, and stood up. “Well, I’m going to go and get some stuff for Desiree to wear. Mind tagging along?” She shrugged, but stood and followed.
We left the brothel, and walked down one of the many filthy avenues that had been my childhood playground for a short time, stopping in front of a building that seemed to crouch against the pavement, as if the very bricks and mortar were ashamed to be there. Riga looked at me, questions dancing across her face. “It’s a clothing store – no need to give me snide looks.” “Hey, no need to get all pissy with me; I don’t know shit about this town, recall? I arrived at the soldier’s slave pen less than a week ago!” Deciding that I could only force my foot further down my mouth, I abandoned the conversation, and entered the clothier, followed by Riga. After a short conversation with a shop clerk, I bought an inexpensive pair of panties and matching bra for 75 gold. I was pretty sure that I’d been overcharged, but the clerk’s smirk could have been directed at a distinctly unimpressed Riga rather than my foolishness in agreeing to such a price.
As I walked back towards my home, Riga excused herself, and disappeared down a nearby alleyway. While disconcerted at the sudden disappearance of my bodyguard, I resumed traveling, only to stop when a loud, shrill, but nevertheless masculine cry of pain resounded from the side-street Riga had disappeared down. I quickly drew my dagger and recited a cantrip I’d been taught by a street-mage a couple years back, and rushed down the suddenly ominous alley after my errant bodyguard. I almost ran into Riga: She stood in the center of the alley, holding her dripping short sword, looming over a crumpled man who seemed to be trying to crawl away from her. As he crawled, she advanced, and rapidly overtook the bleeding man. He whimpered out a desperate plea for mercy, and held out a hand, trying to ward away his attacker. As I watched disbelievingly, Riga laughed, and swatted his hand away, hard enough that I could hear a distinctive pop as his elbow collapsed. With catlike motion, Riga slowly walked to the man’s side, next to his ruined arm, and squatted down beside his head. I heard a dull murmur, but no distinct words as I stood silent, my dagger forgotten in my hand. Riga stopped talking, paused briefly, and laughed harshly. She stood, and brought her boot down hard on the hand that had presented such a feeble defense, and ground her heel on his fingers. A new shriek of agony pierced the night, which ended in a pain-filled gurgle as Riga almost casually swung her sword in a low arc, tearing through her victim’s throat. Her slash was followed by a stab to the chest, presumably to ensure the kill. She pulled the blade out, and without so much as stopping to check his pockets, walked back towards me, licking her sword with ever sign of enjoyment on her already bloody face. Without a word, I nodded to her, and walked back with her towards the mouth of the alley, trying desperately to stop my treacherous hands from shaking. Without any sort of sign or motive, Riga had brutally hacked apart a beggar for her apparent enjoyment, and was licking her sword clean of his life-blood with every sign of enjoyment. I was well within the reach of her blade – what was to prevent her from deciding that I might be better dead? I knew I could never hold a candle to her fighting abilities, so I resolved to maintain her loyalty for as long as possible – if that meant turning a blind eye to her brutal murder of hundreds of beggars, that was a far better alternative than dying under her blade.
Without exchanging a word, we returned to the brothel. By the time we’d returned, Riga had cleaned her sword, hands, and face of all blood, and had her usual grin stretched across her face. This was even more unnerving than her previous expression of blood-lust and rage, further exacerbated by the lengthening shadows as the sun dipped below the horizon. I entered the brothel, and walked up the stairs, and knocked on the door that Desiree’s name-tag hung from. I opened the door enough to pass the bundle of undergarments through, before closing it with a reminder of “Five minutes!” Returning to the lobby to wait, I made small-talk at Franz, who responded with a variety of monosyllabic words, short sentences, and grunts. Eventually, Desiree hesitantly descended, hands in front of her breasts and groin, trying to further obscure what the lingerie barely covered. I knocked her hands away, and examined her with a critical eye: Her hair flowed down her back, save for a small, central braid that hung down the center of her back; her eyes had a classy touch of mascara, her face as decorated with blush and her lips looked swollen and tasty, outlined in red lipstick. The basic bra and panty set was not the sexiest of all possible outfits, but its bluntness would make her intent unmistakable. I handed her a pair of high-heeled shoes that had not been looted during the ass-backwards attack yesterday afternoon, and gave her a few words of encouragement. “Look, it might hurt, but it won’t be anything that can't be fixed. I know you don’t want to do this, and I’m sorry, but it will get better after this. Trust me or not, it’ll get better.” With a pat on the back, and a nod to Franz, Desiree headed out into the night: The once-respectable tradesman’s wife had been converted into a soiled dove, and, though she did not know it yet, she had yet to truly hit rock bottom.
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