Continued from here, on the 9th of Ashan 722
Of the meeting with Grant after the game, there was very little to tell. Arranging a meeting with a courtesan or harlot was not as involved or unlikely as scheduling an appointment with the Albarech of Scalvoris. Money changed hands between client and pimp in this case, and Woe was introduced to the woman shortly after, who attended their table to show herself off. There was a bit of mummery to the show of a courtesan that Woe always found undignified and degrading. Not that what happened between him and any harlot withi which he'd been with was any less so, but the public spectacle of it, the amalgam of sales pitch and showmanship that was the purveying of flesh never really appealed to Woe. He saw what he liked, and knew what he liked well enough not to need it enhanced by cheap chicanery and trite boasting from the pimp. There was nothing new to be said that would impress him, anyway.
What followed from the sale of her company, purchased with a half onyx, was what Eve often referred to as setting the plate. A vulgar reference to her penchant for syphoning the emotional residuals of Woe's copulation sessions. In a way, the pairing of the exsanguination of emotional energy from the generation of passions in the midst of intercourse might've held some sense of poetry to it that might appeal to a more degenerate mind, such as Woe's. Truth be told, he understood enough of what it meant to syphon energy, whether it be the emotions or the lifeforce, or even ectoplasm. He understood enough to recognize him for the proto-cannibalistic act that it was. The ghost opened up a wound in their soul, and drew in those ambient energies. Woe tried not to think of it thus, but that was essentially what happened every time Eve drank of his life force. Her ectoplasmic maw opened wide and drained a small measure at a time, much like a leech.
But the setting of the plate, as Eve called it, was an more palatable euphemism, regardless of the gritty, ugly reality of the act. One that edged closer to the cannibalistic nature of it, albeit, but was innocent sounding enough that Woe could force himself not to examine the implications too sharply, in the moment. Anyway, Woe wasn't sure if he'd even bother to entertain Eve's appetite for raw emotional energy this night. He only meant to talk to the courtesan, to confirm or get to the bottom of the rumors. Whatever followed from that, was extracurricular.
Yet, she was a pretty thing. Dusky skin and hair down to her back, the color of golden sand. The modest lighting throughout the brothel provided shading and contrast and contour to her form, flattering the presentation of her body and what clothing she wore. Woe could see easily enough how many had fallen for this Gierdre.
Truth be told, he'd yet to see anything.
She led him into a homey room, and closed the door behind them. There was little sound after that from without. At least one could be assured of discretion within the walls of their own room, in this place. While Woe wasn't given to carelessness of his tongue, he could appreciate how thick walls could encourage a raw and honest presentation of oneself.
He could just about feel Eve breathing on his neck, as he allowed her into him, to possess him for the moment in a symbiosis. This was one of the ways she loved to experience life, slipping into his body like a favored garment. She almost didn't have to syphon the emotional resonance to feel what he felt in that state, it was almost as if she were alive for those moments she was able to hold on. And as an expert in the art of possession, she could for a good while.
Woe sat across from Giedre, and accepted the drink she'd brought from Grant's own wine cellar. The onyx oblectation. He smelled it, and could tell it wasn't all just tus tree oil in there. There was more, something he couldn't quite identify.
The smell of night blooms hung on the air, wafting in through the winodws on the sill of the window, from which the flowers grew. She sat down across from him, and just gave him a look with her dark eyes. "So, you wanted me. Here I am."
"Indeed." Woe sipped the wine, and tasted the difference. It was a hint of something else in the brew, perhaps ambrosia of a sort? Or some other narcotic.
Her chin fell into her hand, which was propped up by an elbow on the tabletop. She quirked a brow, "How's the drink?"
Woe sipped at the onyx for just a few trills, and then slid the glass over to her. "Try it."
She smiled, and nodded, taking the glass in hand and drinking. Then she nodded, and set it down, her smile fading slightly. Woe took it back from her, and thought for a few more moments how to break the issue that brought him here. Before or after was a consideration. Yet every moment he spent considering, Eve grew more impatient and volatile. Her impatience bled into his consciousness like the light tap of a slaver's baton. Enough to irritate him, but not enough to draw blood, just yet.
"You paid a good amount for my company sir." She finally broke the silence. Woe finished the last sip of his onyx. "Is th..."
"You're quite fetching." Woe said, and she blushed, showing the quality of act she could put on for a paying customer. Afterall, that was hardly enough to make a whore blush in earnest. He wasn't fooled, but he appreciated the illusion. "You must have a long line of admirers and callers. Have any of them ever called again?"
"I'm clean sir, if that's what you're asking..."
"No doubt." Woe shook his head, holding up a hand to signify no offense. "I only meant that I'd heard that misfortune of another kind seems to follow the men who spend time with you."
Her jaw tightened, and she frowned. "I ... That has nothing to do with me."
Woe nodded, "I know." he said, earnestly, and she seemed to soften her disposition. "It's not you, but the congruence of events and the order they unfold cannot be denied. They say you bear some form of curse of misfortune."
"I ain't cursed." She said, once more tightening her expression. He could see he was losing her now, and so let alone that idea. He could sense she was being honest.
"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to say I agree with the rumors. I just wanted to hear it from you."
"So what, you here on official business, for the council, for the Elements?" She asked, quirking a brow.
"No. But I did want to offer a helping hand, if you need it." Woe said, slidig his hand past the glass, but not reaching. "If there's someone who bothers you, who spends too much time hanging around, a jealous former client or paramour, perhaps?"
She looked to the side, lifting her chin off her hand and crossing her chest. "There's..." She began, but stopped herself a trill after.
Woe nodded, and tapped the table with his fingers for a moment. She was on the verge of telling him, he only needed to assure her that he would keep her safe. He thought he could identify what the main obstacle to her telling him the truth might be. It was all in her body language, a certain insecurity and feeling of being trapped. Not unlike any whore who belonged to a brothel, he supposed, captive to the whims of her pimp.
"I promise you will be safe." Woe said, and almost cursed himself inwardly as he said it.
Eve warned him in his mind, Promises Promises...
Yet, what else could he offer her?
She took a deep breath in, and then exhaled, splayig her hands on her lap, wringing them lightly with the fabric of her skirt. "Where do I begin?" She searched his eyes with her own dark ones. As if searching for a lifelinei or some manner of hope to cling to.
"A name is as good start as any." Woe smiled at her, taking her hand as she reached for his.
Then and only then, she began telling him the entire story, spilling secrets she'd kept close to heart for over a few arcs. Woe held her hand as she confessed.
"Yeoman. Its... I think... I mean I think it's him."
Woe took her hand, and pulled it toward him, caressing her fingers as he set aside his glass, and led her from the table. There'd be time for words later.
To be continued...
