Cassandra hardly encountered anyone along the way, save for the occasional guard doing his rounds. She wasn't sure if the narrower sidestreets, lightless and untouched even by the soft glow of moon, hid ne'er-do-wells but she's mostly given those avenues a wide berth, especially at night. No one bothered her, her figure familiar enough to those within the immediate area from all the time she had spent serving them in the Silver Sliver as well as the few occasions she had been seen hanging off the arms of one particular Nitrozian scion. She supposed that more than anything provided her with some degree of protection against the dangerous sorts who prowled the night.
The dark-haired woman turned a corner and she was in the plaza, the boarding house immediately opposite her entry point. The place was empty save for a small-framed lass shuffling distractedly by the center of the open space. The girl seemed to be preoccupied with patting the hem of her skirt, looking for something. Cassandra's own path towards the apartment would have her passing close to the oblivious person.
Probably a call girl, she thought. She had picked up the term from the tavern, of course, listening to bragging patrons too drunk to keep their voices down. It refered to someone who, for a fee, did...house service, rather than entertain her clients at an establishment like the House of Immortal Pleasures. Cassandra has seen the powdered and pampered women who worked there and she doubted this one was connected to a place as prestigious as that. She tossed her dark locks, somewhat haughtily, and, for some reason she couldn't fathom, felt superior to this stranger before her. She was paid well enough in her regular job, as well as by her Nitrozian patron, to have to resort to anything a low as going door to door to earn a bit of miza.
"Lost something?" Cassandra asked when she got close enough to be heard. The other woman was shorter than her, though even in the light provided by the moon and the many torches around them, she couldn't help but notice that they almost had the same shade and length of hair. Her own clothes may have had random patches of rust-colored spots, the only evidence of her recent ordeal, but at least her blouse's buttons were aligned properly, unlike the stranger's, whose tacky dress seemed to have been put on in a hurry. And was she mistaken or was the girl patting at her own crotch?
The smaller girl jumped at the sound of her voice and upon finding an audience, offered Cassandra an almost embarrassed smile. "No, no. I'll... just go back for it tomorrow," came her vague reply. With a few pats of her short skirt, as if to wipe them free of creases, the girl was off.
Cassandra could only roll her eyes. Slattern.
She gave no more thought to the stranger as she entered Tarsin's Boarding House. The place's keeper was asleep at the front desk as usual. Cassandra did not bother to wake him up to inform him that she was back from... how long had she been away, anyway? She shook her head, not wanting to think about it, opting instead to take one of the many candleholders from the man's table and lighting it from the nearest wall sconce before ascending the stairs to her room.
The door of her small apartment was slightly ajar. Had someone broken in while she was away? But there was nothing to steal! More likely a certain Nitrozian as waiting for her within, she thought, remembering how the man had easily found where she lived the first time they had met. He would certainly have the means to know once she had returned. But one can never be too careful.
Slowly, Cassandra pressed against the door, allowing it to slide open, before creeping in. The smell of sweat and hard liquor, with a trace of a familiar musky scent, invaded her nostrils, and she immediately had an inkling who it was that had moved into her home. But it wasn't until she heard the soft snoring coming from the direction of the bed, and almost tripped on an empty bottle, that her suspicion was confirmed. Raising the candleholder above her head, Cassandra gazed at the prone form of Keating sleeping contentedly on her bed. He was the source of the amalgamation of odors, of course.
She would have let him sleep on, too, and probably slipped in beside him, if she had not spotted the pale hued panties hanging off the headboard.
Instead, Cassandra felt color rushing to her face as the events of the night clicked into place. Without thinking, she grabbed the errant undergarment and assaulted Keating with it, slapping the man awake with her panty-covered hand.
"You bastard!" she shrieked. "What is the meaning of this?! Are you petching around with another woman?! In my house?!"
Cassandra hit the man again and again with her small fist, shoving the offending underwear in his face. It was, perhaps, the first time in a long time she had been moved to violence for reasons other than to alleviate the pain from her Krysus mark. |