Return to Normalcy (Keating)

[Cassandra Coven]

Timestamp: 1st of Fall, 511 AV (maybe) She found herself in a dark alley. It was quiet and empty, no soul in sight. Even the usual cats that prowled the back streets rummaging through the garbage cans left outside the back entrances of the cramped buildings were absent. She dared look up, and the small glimpse of the heavens showed an equally dark sky, the stars visible from her narrow view twinkling like diamonds littering a dark satin sheet. She didn't know what time it was, but judging from the quietness of the streets, she guessed it must well be deep into the night. Taking a closer look at the buildings around her, and finding them familiar, she realized she was near Tarsin's Boarding House. Good, she could use some rest. Her ordeal elsewhere felt like it took several months, so beaten was she mentally, emotionally and especially physically, but in truth it probably only took a week, maybe two. She tried not to think about it. Remembering it just now brought back all the pains she had endured. She didn't want any more of it. Reorienting herself to travel towards the Nitrozian Plaza, Cassandra quietly went off for home. OOCCrappy post. Give me time to get my writing chops back. XD

[Keating Ash]

Keating stood, one arm propped straight against the wall, as he leaned over the smaller woman near the door of the boarding house. The woman smiled seductively and ran practiced fingers along his chest, that ultimately dipped lower. Leaning downwards, Keating kissed the dark haired, petite woman while his other hand cupped one of her full breasts. His thumb caressed the fabric of her silky dress, as if even as she was leaving, he had not yet gotten his fill of her. If the man thought of the missing Cassandra, he did not show it outwardly. The barmaid had been missing for weeks and when she had not returned to her small apartment, Keating had been puzzled. He had waited of course… as long as he was able… but then he grew restless. But still he was not surprised; folks disappeared in Ravok all too often. After the second week with no word, it was plain Cass wasn’t coming back. And while Keating missed her, as much as a man like him could, he had powerful needs. And those needs had been met beautifully by the pretty whore he now kissed. So much so in fact, that the normally dismissive man had actually escorted the woman outside to the steps of the boarding house, instead of shooing her off with a lazy hand as he would have any other time. “I can stay longer…” the woman offered with suggestive slyness, her hand lightly tracing the waistline of his trousers. But Keating gripped the loose hair at the back of her neck, and easily forced her face upwards so he might take a kiss once more, “No darlin’, won’t neither of us get sleep then.” His hand released her hair as he growled, “Now scoot…” The woman was left with no choice but to leave. And Keating offered a rare smile as he watched her go. Returning inside, the dock worker made his heavy and exhausted way up the stairs and into Cassandra’s room. Frowning, he noticed the bottles piled up, all empty… though the rest of the small apartment was still somewhat tidy. He was a man that appreciated order and cleanliness, and always simplicity. Throwing himself on top of the wrinkled and much used bedding, Keating was soon fast asleep and snoring, for soon, the early morning hours would be here, and with it a hard days worth of labor.

[Cassandra Coven]

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.

[Keating Ash]

Snoring filled the room; it was the unmistakable rumble of a contented man thoroughly relaxed. Rising and falling, it sounded like a beast deep within Keating’s broad chest that fought to get loose. One thick arm lay heavy, bent near his head upon the pillow, and the other hung over the edge of the old mattress. Dim light danced through the lightly curtained window to soften with shadows the hard lines of the man’s face. Abruptly, something hit him. In the face. Keating struggled to make sense of this rude awakening, but the relaxed stupor clung to him as the assault continued. Scarred hands tried unsuccessfully to ward of the light, but frantic blows. The man only saw black hair swirling in the unclear light of the single candle. “Leave off Darla! I paid you right well enough!” Keating said with forceful exhalation. He thought she was the whore come back once more, but Keating thought wrong… The soft thing slapped him again, but now small fists also struck him. The assault did not hurt; instead it annoyed and brought up Keating’s dark ire. The woman shrieked, and confused, he tried sleepily to understand. But he heard the words, “in my house,” and he knew. This wasn’t Darla at all. Cassandra had returned. And she hit him again… with the whore’s panties. “Stop it, now Cassandra! You’re making me riled…” Keating said evenly, the tone low in register and full of cool threat. But the woman hit him again and Keating sat up. The light blanket slid from his bare torso; it was doubtful anything covered him below. His hands, so slow to waken, suddenly found their strength and direction and angrily he grabbed her wrists. At first he only gazed at her, disapproving of her actions. Then he pulled her onto the bed, almost on top of him. She was slight, where he was not, and the hold on Cassandra’s wrists tightened further as he pulled them out to the sides, so that she might not strike him again. The panties rocked in his vision. The smell of alcohol was on his breath, but the man was not drunk. It would have been better if he had been. For now the old, heavy rage awoke, though it stayed just below the surface as the last traces of grogginess left him. “That’s enough, Cass! She twern’t nobody! Just a whore. Don’t make it bigger than it is.” Silence filled the charged space between them; he was disappointed with her behavior. “You hear me? She’s not important, and she’s gone now.” It was simple in his mind, why did women have to complicate things? “You’ve been gone… without word, for how long?” Keating asked her, turning the blame onto the barmaid. “And now that you’re back… you’re complaining already? Where was it you were off to girl?” He asked pointedly, this situation was not of his doing, he would not take the blame for it. Still, Keating did not release her. There was the question of trusting her, and he hadn’t forgotten she had once pulled a dagger on him. And the woman hadn’t even been half as angry at him then. This situation felt much worse… especially with that god mark she carried.