[Great Bazaar] Can't Buy Life

by **Matthew** on October 21st, 2013, 10:46 pm

7th of Fall, 513 AV.

"You sweet boy."

A wrinkled hand stroked through his perfectly-combed black hair, causing Matthew to blink in confusion as his white-blue eyes stared up at the elderly woman who was petting him. He opened his mouth to ask what service she would like to purchase, but another wrinkled hand came down to put a finger on his lips and silence him. He stared up at her with rapidly blinking eyes, unsure of what exactly she was trying to do. She clucked her tongue and shook her head disapprovingly, and then removed her hand from his hair to slip it inside of her pocket. A chime later and she had produced a single silver Miza, and pressed it gently upon his lap. "Here you go. You don't need to be whoring yourself out on the streets for money. Use this to try and find something better. Poor thing." Blinking eyes glanced down at the miza, then back up to her, then back down to the miza. By the time he had gathered his wits and glanced back up to try and say something to the woman, she was already shuffling further into the Bazaar. Whoring himself out? He was doing no such thing.

Business Sign :

He glanced over to his neatly written sign (only neat because he had spent much too long trying to do it) and nipped at his lower lip with white teeth. Okay, perhaps he was. But it was more intelligent than simple prostitute. It was escorting. It was different.

There had been a long discussion with a nearby Knight on if he could actually do this, but eventually, the Knight had begrudgingly allowed him to give it a shot. He hadn't been able to afford one of the tables though, so had made do with a little blanket that he had laid out across the cold stone of the Bazaar. He was dressed well, with his open black jacket and a nice white shirt underneath. All in all, he looked to be quite the professional, making it a bit odd that he was to be found sitting on the floor of the Bazaar. There was a nice smell to him as well, something like autumn leaves. It was appropriate to the season, really. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed that his sign had tilted a little bit. Just barely. No one else but him could notice it. It probably wasn't all that big of a deal, so he didn't really need to be paying it any sort of attention. Faintly, he realized that he was quickly tapping out a little beat on the ground with some fingers. The sign drew his attention again, and his blue eyes narrowed at it.

Throb.

Mumbling to himself, Matthew reached forward and quickly adjusted the sign. He leaned back but for a moment before trying to adjust it again, and again, and again, and again, and again. Over and over he adjusted it, only just a small tiny bit each time. He needed to go outside. Somewhere outside of these walls, either to the ship he was watching over or to the hot springs. He needed a bath. Or rain. Or just fresh air.

The sign was still crooked, petch it all.

by **Nya Winters** on October 23rd, 2013, 8:26 am

There was a rawness to the market that drew her. Underground, sheltered, and filled with unwashed bodies Nya disapproved of most of the people she saw there. In a way, the whole gathering was an afront to nature and contrary to what humans should be doing with themselves. There was misery here tinged with desperation and longing. Greed played its own hand as well, walking freely among the unsuspecting. To Nya, the emotions at play in the area colored the scent of the people within and became something tangible and real to her as she passed among them, a predator among prey.

Fear she had no taste for. Nor too did misery draw her. Desperation made her scornful. The men in armor did not represent strength but instead reminded her of compensation for things they were not gifted with at birth. Abashai would have understood her discontent, but to anyone else, her face remained impassive as she passed among the people, tall and dressed in a way that lent other to think she was poor.

Nya's feet were bare, unhindered by boots or any other bindings. The shift she wore was simple, a garment designed not to restrict anything but her own modesty. She was tall, moving confidently on silent feet, as her hair trailed out behind her. Unrestrained and a little tangled, the brindled mass of browns and reds curls held strands of moss green and grey and ash yellow within its mass. Camouflage, but not for here within the stone bowels of Syliras' world. But perfect for outside, deep in the woods surrounding the human world.

Nya kept walking. She read small things here and there, prices on items, signs that people had posted, and studied the venue everywhere she went. She moved through the crowd skillfully, not touching anyone nor letting anyone touch her. Nothing drew her interest and she wondered again why she'd come to prowl the market. Hanging skins barely drew her attention. Certainly the clothing held no appeal to her. Perfumes, dishes, footwear, weapons... nothing seemed remotely worth notice.

But the man with the sign set up on the blanket caught her attention. He was perfumed in a masculine scent that confused her because she was used to only unwashed men or men smelling clean from straight soap. Oil, leather, even horse was common on men, but this one seemed uncommon, almost crafted like some women wore. She read his sign, looked him over again, and then read the sign again.

Raising an eyebrow, she simply stared at him, trying to understand what it all meant.

by **Matthew** on October 23rd, 2013, 2:01 pm

They made eye contact at about the same time, Matthew thankful for a distraction from the throbbing irritation that had momentarilly consumed him. He could sort of read the confusion on her face, though the only real hint she was giving to him was a raised eyebrow. Was he supposed to explain, or was she wanting to puzzle it out herself? Tilting his head to the side, he allowed her a few moments, blue eyes studying her carefully. He was a man with an appreciation to detail, and this applied to those he met as well. While she was studying him, he would be able to study her.

Her eyes were the first thing that caught his attention, and not simply because they were making eye contact. They were an odd shade of green, one he couldn't remember ever encountering before. Then there was her hair, which was incredibly long and just a bit unkempt. He wasn't sure if that was from lack of care, or if it was just because it was such a large amount. Otherwise, she was unremarkable. She did hold herself with some level of grace, which Matthew saw merely because it was one of the ways he tried to hold himself. He found grace alluring, and had practiced it many a time when he was training for his current profession. Faintly, he realized he was still staring into her eyes, which had ensnared him somehow. Blinking suddenly to break the contact, he cleared his throat and spoke softly. His words were well-pronounced and carefully said, just as detailed as the rest of him. "Hello." He paused, hesitating, not actually sure what to do from here. This was the first person who had actually seemed slightly interested.

Well, slightly curious. Close enough.

"Might I offer you a service?" He was pretty, if she was the sort to even notice such a thing. It wasn't a masculine sort of attractiveness, though his snug clothing did show off some muscle. His long eyelashes and lush lips were more feminine than anything else, which stood out in a city filled with testosterone. "Perhaps your hair brushed, or a wash? If you are lonely, I can provide physical comforts as well." His voice softened, not so sure if he would draw the ire of a nearby Knight, though he was known as a worker in the Herald's Arms. "Anything from simple warmth to sex of all sorts." He was straightforward and blunt, without a hint of mockery or awkwardness. He didn't try to seduce her, not seeing her as the sort who would enjoy such a thing. Instead, he merely waited for her response, a polite smile given. His eyes returned to hers, matching her stare again, the bright blue able to contain her reflection if she decided to notice.

by **Nya Winters** on October 26th, 2013, 7:54 pm

The forest cat opened her mouth to snarl at him but paused at the sincerity in his eyes. She thought he was making some sort of human joke, that his sign was a form of humor she didn't quite understand. But he believed what he said. She stepped closer, not because his services interested her, but more because his lack of restraint did.

"I do not like to be touched." She said simply, still moving forward, curious. Nya was not nearsighted, but sometimes it helped to get closer to a person, inside their own energy, to understand them. Humans were the hardest of all. She scanned his form, looking at his features and the way he carried himself. He was confident, arrogant even, though the later he held close to himself and didn't release very often. But there was definitely something wrong with him. She could smell it. A man selling the sorts of services he was selling when others were out there in the world who often would just take them?

And brushing her hair? Washing her? Offering sex with her? "You wish me to pay you coin for you to run a brush through my hair or wash my body? You wish me to pay you coin to thrust your flesh into mine until you spill your seed? Why? I've never heard of such things, even here, where just about everything else is for sale? It should not shock me, but it does. Not that it exists, no, nothing such as that would surprise me. But that you would be so bold about it. Do women actually pay for such things willingly." Nya said, a tinge of disbelief in her voice as she continued to openly study the man in front of her. She couldn't understand.. not really. "That is like asking a bird to pay it to sing or catch the wind in its wings. Some things should not be bought and sold." Nya stated plainly, as if she'd just made up her mind about the whole thing.

"Syliras has changed since I've last been back here." She said, keeping her gaze level with his.

by **Matthew** on October 28th, 2013, 4:22 pm

"I understand." He replied just as simply, tucking the important detail away. Personal space was quite sacred for some, and the firmness in her voice hinted that it was like that for her. He'd do his best to remember that down the road, if he was to somehow ever invade her space. He tilted his head again as she approached, the motion similar to a curious puppy. She was odd, though he couldn't place his finger on it. Everyone was a bit odd though, if he used himself as a comparison. Perhaps she was just different and unique, which shouldn't make him try to examine closer. No, it was something else. His head tilted again and he sunk his clean teeth into his lower lip, listening carefully as she spoke.

It was interesting, because it had been awhile since he had been asked a question similar. It was also interesting how she worded the question. It was very poetic. He let her finish, then gave a very small nod and answered in a polite and soft tone. "They do. Though not here. This is something new I am trying, just to see what sort of customers I get. Women do pay for sex willingly, though in a brothel that is nearby. I am sure you have seen male prostitutes, just as you have perhaps seen female ones? Perhaps not? The practice doesn't seem that recent here in Syliras." He held her gaze, the two of them locked with rather firm stares, oddly comfortable in their bold positions. He had a small feeling that she was like him, and didn't see constant eye contact as anything intimidating or aggressive. If anything, constant eye contact felt quite polite to him. Respectful of the person he was talking to. "I do think there is a difference between having sex and making love, though. I think one can't be bought, and the other easily can. While one requires a certain level of intimacy and connection, the other requires only a male entering a female, a male entering a male, and so on. Some people wish to pay their coin, have their pleasure, and be off. Like how people pay for drugs, or liquid that will get them drunk. They pay for pleasure."

He gestured down to himself, still not glancing away. "And sometimes it isn't as simple as sex. Sometimes they wish to choke, punch, or wish me to do the choking or punching. Sometimes they want me to be tender, like I do love them. Sometimes they want me to brush their hair with the special comb their recently deceased husband always used, just so they can close their eyes and pretend. Everyone is different. Everyone is a new puzzle who comes to purchase a very specific piece to fill some very specific hole. Usually one that was torn from them. I offer my body casually and boldly because to me, it is like selling any other ware. If I am offering myself to be used as an object, I should sell myself as an object. Hopefully that won't one day end with me dead." He often worried that someone's pleasure would be to kill him.

Suddenly, a light came on in his head, and there was a bright flickering behind those intense blue eyes. He broke their stare and glanced from side to side, as if seeing his stall for the very first time. "However... whenever people come to me, they usually come to me in private. In the Herald's Arms, or at my home. You are right. This is a bit bold." He said it as if it was a totally new concept to him. Furrowing his brow, he glanced back and forth over his little sign and seat, and then glanced back to Nya. "I appreciate the insight." From anyone else, it might sound sarcastic. From him, he was genuinely appreciative of her view on things. It had helped him see from a different angle. Offering his services on a public street was bold, and just about any woman or man would be ashamed to approach him for his services.

Boldness. He'd have to check out the boldness of his other actions to see if he was being a bit too much in other areas. "Syliras has changed, from what I understand. I only came a season or two ago myself. Would you like to see the Herald's Arms, a new addition? Or perhaps teach me something I don't know?" The last sentence was a bit out of left field, but he stated it plainly enough. She had taught him one thing, why not more?

by **Nya Winters** on October 28th, 2013, 5:11 pm

He was free with words, which interested her and held her attention for longer than she would have normally given him once she found out what he was about. It would merit further thought, for sure, because while her face was a mask of indifference spiced with an occasional flash of curiosity deep within she was shocked to her core.

Memories flashed across her mind's eye fueled by his words. Her throat felt tight once more, confined by a collar as her knees remembered what it was to kneel upon rough stone, chained down on all fours. He promoted sickness. He even subjected himself to it for money. She believed that all the way to her core as she studied him, wondering why such thing would be.

Nya considered his form as he sat casually sitting on the ground on the worn blanket. Poor. She decided, for he had no table to set wares on and his sign looked hand-made and not written with a practiced hand of a sign maker. He was what humans would consider good looking. But he did not have the strength of body to be a warrior and perhaps his mind lacked the sharpness to be a mage. She was yet uncertain. And while he was well spoken, she could not decide if it was due to his intelligence or the training he must have to talk to people like he was talking to her. It was too soon to tell. And she wasn't sure she wanted to know. But his voice was a soothing one, easy to listen too, and for that she stayed as well instead of turning and walking away.

The kelvic moved from a human posture to an utterly inhuman one, folding herself down on her heels, so she was neither sitting nor standing, but somehow resting on her toes with her rump propped on her heels. It was a gesture that alienated her from the others in the market for it gave insight to the muscle beneath her unassuming shift and the controlled balance it took to maintain such a position of pseudo relaxation without effort. She gracefully put herself on his level, keeping his gaze captured, moving no closer than the edge of his blanket, but still well out of his reach.

"Nya." She said suddenly, unprompted. It was no proper introduction, but it was indeed a name. The forest cat said the word at length, with two syllables, as if she started to say the word 'night' and finished with a soft exclamation of 'ah'. Her hair spilled forward as she relaxed, some of the tips of the tangled mass brushing the cobbles. Otherwise she held still, no signs of discomfort as she continued her study of him.

"Does it not ever feel wrong to you? How must it feel for them to pay for something that they should be able to get at will for no cost? You steal pride from them selling your body and you steal pride from yourself taking coin to please others. Pleasure should not be bought and sold. It should be given freely because it was given unto the world freely as a gift. I wonder, does Cheva weep when coin crosses your palm for the use of your flesh?" Nya said, her hair suddenly tossing in a wind that seemed centralized to only herself. The kelvic broke eye contact with the man and her gaze seemed to track something invisible for a moment before falling back on him once more. He would feel the breeze too, a light playful one, though in the bowels of the castle such things were rare.

"There is no difference between sex and love, not in the physical mechanisms. The only difference is in the voice deep within and what we tell ourselves about what we do. I have experienced both and they are the same. Love is a weakness in most cases, harmless at best, devastating at worst. So too are drugs and liquor." She added, as if to deny his words without too much rudeness.

"You willingly allow, albeit for coin, someone to choke or punch you? You willingly inflict harm to bring about pleasure in others?" Nya's gaze grew almost angry. She could smell, in that moment, unwashed males and hear the sounds of flesh taking blows... her own flesh. Lips peeled back from teeth, though she caught herself before she could truly snarl or growl. She seemed to war with herself for a moment before her face resumed its indifference once more. "You either think very highly of yourself and your looks and skills or you think of yourself none at all. Either way there is a sickness to you. Flesh is precious. In most cases you only get one shot at this life and that body you house. People are very unclean. Minds or body, it does little to matter in the long run. I've seen people that look better than you in nicer clothing appear perfect and smell sick, very sick, covering it well. You should not give or take power so casually. And you should never willingly let another hurt you." She finished, this having been the longest she'd spoken in a great while.

"You wish to take me to a brothel? I know better than to follow strangers home, even benign whores." She said, tilting her head, an amused smile flickering across her face. "And I doubt there is anything you'd wish to know from me." She said, still not moving, holding absolutely still despite her dancing hair as she maintained her relaxed pose balanced on her heels.

by **Matthew** on October 28th, 2013, 6:09 pm

Why was she sitting like that? He slowly tried to mimic her, having this instinctive feeling that it would be a good idea to move slowly. His graceful figure rose to his toes, crouched like her, and then wobbled and fell over quite quickly. Already his toes ached, and he had merely tried. He furrowed his brow, briefly caught up in the acrobatic feat she was pulling off, giving it another try. Once again he wobbled and fell, not getting anywhere close to how she was sitting. He felt a slight bit of frustration bubble up and quickly stamped it out, pausing his attempts for the moment. It was silly to get annoyed over something so simple. While she spoke, he took down his sign, just pulling it face-down so that the words were hidden. "I am Matthew." She already knew, but it seemed an appropriate response to her one word introduction. He lounged comfortably under her gaze, once more peering steadily back up at her.

Did it feel wrong to him? He seriously considered the question. "Get at will? There are many women and men who have never felt a lover's touch. They could be too ugly, too obese, too skinny, too hairy. They could be too shy and simply need seduced, which is a whole new interesting puzzle. Perhaps pleasure should be given freely, but we are talking about people. People have quite a bit that they usually put between themselves and simplicity. It is a pleasurable thing, so one should shamelessly take it, yes? A woman who takes too freely is called a variety of unpleasant names. I agree with you. I think sex should be given and taken as simply as you put it. Is the way I offer not simple? And is it so bad that I ask for a means to support myself in return? I dedicate myself to give pleasure freely and simply, and I feel I ask so little in return. For me, there is mental stimulation. A puzzle, a challenge. I trade the respect of my body, which I care little of, for the stimulation of my mind. So... no. It does not feel wrong to me, even if it may well be wrong." He gave a small shrug of his shoulders, making an effort to aid his words with body language. The sudden brush of playful wind caught his cheek and caused him to blink, the whore turning his head briefly to try and trace where the gust had come from. Wind in the castle? Quite rare. "I don't particularly have any pride, though I am sure I am just unaware of what I do have. As for others, I do not mean to take their pride. If it is something they have, then it likely is tossed to the floor along with their clothes." Once again, his tone wasn't insulting or mean, just a matter-of-fact.

He frowned for a moment, the corners of his lush lips turning downwards just barely. "I apologize, I don't mean to speak in riddles. I hope I am being clear." He had talked a lot, and he wondered if it had all been a bit too much. He certainly wasn't too horribly worried about her not understanding, he was just a bit disappointed in himself for having a hard time explaining.

The anger was sudden, and a single eyebrow barely lifted, intrigued by the flash of emotion on the otherwise controlled face. It was gone just as quickly as it came though, leaving him to ponder it later on. "I know my looks are very attractive to some, and I know my skills are getting better. I certainly don't mind a small bit of pain here and there in order to solve someone's lusts. A sickness, though? I know people are unclean, and I try to take care to keep myself as clean as possible. How can you tell I am sick? What kind of sick am I?" His eyes were open and honest, perhaps a painfully innocent and trusting look to his face as he asked her to explain. He was curious and took her words very literally, like a young boy.

Even he knew not to follow strangers home, so the woman had a good point. But she had called him benign? He was benign? Was that a good trait in a whore? Or was she insulting him? He couldn't tell. She had this little smile that briefly appeared across her face, and then it was gone just as quickly. He had a hard time reading others when it came to anything outside of the bedroom. And she was sitting in such an odd way. He stared at her pose a moment longer before lifting his eyes at her last statement, quick to shake his head. "I grew up in Zeltiva and studied medicine for a time, but then came here to be a whore. I am attempting to learn a bit of alchemy within the very tight restrictions of the Knights and their resident magecrafter. When I first learned to fish, I thought you caught them with your hands. When I learned to swim, I learned that doggy-paddling isn't the only way there is to do it."

He extended a finger, pointing at her pose. "For instance, how do you do that? When I try, I fall over. How do you smell sick, very sick people? Teach me." There was a flicker in his eyes, a craving. Matthew was the sort that liked knowledge. Even something that would seem so meaningless and worthless to learn when it came to anyone else.

by **Nya Winters** on October 28th, 2013, 7:08 pm

A brindled eyebrow rose as he tried to assume her position. She glanced down at her form, then at his, and shifted so she was more kneeling, human-like, rather than sitting like a cat would crouch if it only had two legs. Mentally she reminded herself to try harder, and wondered how Abashai would rest had he been conversing with the man. Ahhh. A memory surged and she lowered herself to the ground fully, crossing her legs and folding them with her hands in her lap. Better. She turned and glared at the breeze as it teased the man and hissed at it silently to be still.

"You speak clear enough. I am just not sure I understand. Your words will bear some ... mulling over." She answered honestly, not offended that he did not readily agree with her assessments. They were not having a debate, after all, just more like a prolonged introduction focusing on him. She liked that, the situation, and it felt like she was in enough control where he asked no questions and demanded no answers. But he was willing to talk about his craft, which was unusual unless he thought she had coin she would eventually offer. He would be wrong. She had none, not a single miza upon her.

His question raised her eyebrow again and she rolled her head a moment as if seeking the right words. She wasn't sure he would understand. Maybe. "I have noticed two sorts of humans in the world. There are those that dwell only in their heads." The forest cat reached up and tapped her skull. "They treat their bodies like a tool, like a pair of shoes or gloves, but only really live within their skull. These people tend to like pain, either inflicted or giving it. I think, no I am sure, that this is because it reminds them that their body is there. That it is real. The other sort of person lives in their entire body. They know it. They feel one with it. And they protect it from pain by training it. Most are warriors, but some are scholars and wizards." Nya stretched out her arm and ran her other hand along it. "I live here too, in my elbow, and in the tips of my fingers. My essense dwells in my wrist and my knees, and in the lungs that carry my breath. I am not trapped in my mind. Those that are so tightly bound that they would give and receive pain to feel pleasure are trapped and hurting. They are afraid of their bodies and living within them. Sometimes they even hate them. It is a sickness. You can see it when you look deep into their eyes and nothing is there." Nya finished, not seemingly to notice that something unseen tied two strands of her tangled hair into knots at the end, tugging the dangling locks and causing mischief.

When he spilled the information about his past, Nya was a bit confused. Medicine to pleasure? It seemed an odd transformation. She wanted to ask him why but he seemed intent on other topics. The forest cat tried to follow the transition from medicine to whoring to magic, more interested in why he was presenting this information unasked.

"You do catch fish with your hands." She said instead of stopping him, agreeing with his initial thoughts. "It works better if your hands end in claws, though." She added, thinking of how good fishing went for bears. As a youngster she'd often attempted to fish and then found that stealing the catch of bears was often far easier than fishing on her own. Normal bears, not Talderian bears, Nya thought as a wistful smile crossed her face. Nya had no idea what doggy paddling was, but the sound of the term was distasteful enough that she hoped never to learn first hand. She could swim and didn't mind the water. Evidently Matthew could too. "I enjoy swimming." She added, keeping up with his right turns in the conversation he presented.

She knew nothing of Zeltiva, not even where it was, so she kept a comment about the city to herself. Was it a rough place? She had no idea, though evidently it housed healers, so it could not be all that bad. Her mind wandered and she blinked as Matthew asked her a question. It took her a moment to realizes what he was asking since she'd shifted her stance to a sitting motion.

"Balance." She said absently. "If you sit fully, you are vulnerable to attack. If you crouch, you are not comfortable. If you rest on your heels and balance, you can spring up and be in motion if you need to be. It is safer here in the crowd to speak with you that way. I can move faster. This way is less preferable. But it is not so... unusual. I blend better sitting like this, like a Benshira." Nya said. "Keep trying and think of yourself as balanced, your center higher in your body, your awareness in your heels. You will find how to do it. Some things cannot be taught, they must be discovered." She added.

"I cannot teach you to smell sickness. You are human, and blind to your nose. But you can see sickness, easily enough. Just look people in the eyes. Darkness will show itself sooner or later either in word or action or indeed the lack of either in the face of need." Nya added, not sure what to say now. He looked so curious for a moment, so in the world to discover. She curled her lip. He could have done much good and had much learning being a healer. Her mind traveled back to that.

"Why did you stop studying medicine? There is much good in that." The woman asked, her voice tinged with curiosity.

by **Abashai** on October 30th, 2013, 5:05 pm

They had parted ways, Nya descending to the bazaar, Abashai to roam the third tier. The Benshiran knew Stormhold fairly well, though this memories were four years old. Some things had changed, a few newer elements of construction indicating what was repaired after the djed storm. His purpose was no more than to look and listen. One thing he had learned in the employ, or enslavement, of a Ravokian Black Sun agent, was that overheard conversations, and careful observation, revealed much of the goings on in a city. Woven together, they began to create a fabric for the dymanics, politics and even secrets of the population and its government. It would behoove Nya and himself to understand the state of the city as they sought to open a lab.

Shai strolled through the narrow corridors, clad in black, a long coat covering a curved dagger in his belt. There was little of interest, it seemed, to talk about in Syliras that day, aside from the weather, and soon Abashai found himself simply examining shop windows. His meanderings carried him down to the lowest tier and into the market. He had little cash to spare, having no income as of yet and living off of what he sold here at the bazaar upon arriving at the city. Still, the Benshiran noted items of interest or usefulness, for future purchase.

Rounding a corner, through the milling crowd, Abashai spotted Nya. She was not hard for him to find, the Unity nudging him of her presence, not to mention the thick mane of unruly mottled hair and the familiar manner in which she was crouching. Abashai drew closer, though not overtly, lingering at the stalls nearby. He knew Nya would sense him as well, smell him, but he did not want to interrupt their conversation. not yet. Finally he could see to whom the Kelvic spoke. He was a young man, well dressed, but sitting on a blanket. A step closer made the sign next to him easier to read.

Abashai grunted, looked again at the finely groomed man then to Nya. Escort. The sign made it sound almost cozy, cuddling and love letters and memories. Abashai's experience with harlots were of the shameless prostitutes of Ravok. They were skilled, manipulative and a source of useful information for an agent of one of the elite families of the city. This male one, almost feminine in features, did not smack of subterfuge and depravity. But whatever the male escort was saying, it had engaged Nya. A twinge of protectiveness came over Abashai, though he knew Nya was neither naive nor defenseless.

The Benshiran heard the last few words of the conversation, and Nya's unique perspective she shared with the curious harlot. He stepped closer, crouching down in a posture that matched Nya's, the long black coat pooling around his feet, the pommel of the curved dagger jutting out from the open garment. Crystal blue green eyes met Matthew's, or so the sign indicated his name to be. A humorless smile creased his masculine mouth. "Yes, harlot, why are you not a doctor?" He intoned with a thick Shiber accent.

by **Matthew** on November 1st, 2013, 10:44 pm

He pursed his lips, glancing down over his body, considering her words. He felt like he matched the description that she gave, that he was the sort of person who treated his body like a tool. He hadn't really intended to do that, but a bit of self-reflection would reveal that it was indeed what he was doing. He didn't particularly like the pain, after all, it hurt. He was indifferent to it, almost. It was just a physical feeling, just like his body was merely a physical shell. He took care of it of course, for he had to if he wanted to live. Had he grown so indifferent towards his flesh that he partook in the selling of it just so he could remember it was there? It was worth acknowledging and considering. "That is interesting. When I see myself, I see myself from the inside. I feel like a little man in a room, and that room exists here, controlling everything else about me." He tapped his skull, pointing towards his brain. "Like a golem with a little Pycon on the inside, perhaps. Not that I am a golem. I am myself. See, now I have complicated things." His face wrinkled in thought as he furrowed his brow deeper, thinking over what she had said. He was open to all sorts of opinions, and hers was quite well thought out.

Claws? His eyes turned from his body to his hands, nodding after a moment. "It would help, wouldn't it? While my hands are useful for a number of things, they aren't very handy when a sharp tool is needed. It is considered attractive to keep them well-trimmed and smooth, or at least it seems to be for most. Some like the rougher, stronger look though." He turned his hands over and around a few more times, absentmindedly nodding at her swimming comment. "Swimming scares me. It feels very vulnerable." He had once wondered why baring himself in front of a man or a woman didn't make him feel vulnerable. He hadn't really ever figured it out.

The harlot found that his body was listening to her advice, even if his mind was blurring through a multitude of different things. Her explanation made sense, and he was soon wobbling on his heels and trying to imagine his center in his stomach. Taking his attention off of his heels only caused him to wobble violently though, and he was soon back onto his knees. He would have to practice. Balance and flexibility was a skill he was trying his best to improve, as he thought it would come in handy with his profession. And in general. His eyes narrowed at the fact that he was blind to his nose, confusion once more raising inside of him. He didn't have much time to dwell on it before she asked why he had stopped studying medicine. Interestingly enough, though it was an obvious question, it wasn't one that was asked much. He opened his mouth to answer, the words coming easily. It was only the sudden appearance of the Benshira that gave him pause, his blue eyes sharpening again and studying the new guest.

He received the same treatment as Nya first had, a quick and observant glance categorizing him within the library of Matthew's mind. He was crouching exactly like the woman. There was a curvy weapon coming out of his coat. He was dressed darkly. Smiling? Thick accent. A sentence that was perfectly integrated into the conversation. He had been watching? Matthew's eyes met Abashai's, and his brow furrowed. He paused for a moment, glanced at Nya, and then glanced back at Abashai.

Are his eyes filled with the sort of sickness you might mean, Nya? Or is that my imagination?

He didn't actually put the sudden thought to words. Oddly enough, he suddenly felt sorry for both people. He pitied them. He didn't know why.

The Benshira was big and slightly intimidating, so Matthew had to take a few moments to find his voice. When he did, he still spoke softly and quietly, glancing equally between the audience. "It was a pre-planned path that I one day decided I didn't want to walk. So I suppose I found the path furthest from it and decided to walk that instead? I was bitter, and it was a satisfying way to strike out. Spoiled, now that I look back on it. My studies do come in handy, though. There are a great many things one can do to a body." Most people studied the body to heal or hurt. He was different. "For instance, did you know that there are very specific areas on the lips that will feel much more when kissed?" He glanced at Abashai, and reached up a finger briefly, then thought better of it and pointed out the location on his own lip instead. "The slope between the outside of the lower lip and chin is a very tiny curve, but it usually feels a lot more sensations than the actual lip itself. That is why sometimes lovers will bite and tug on lower lips. Because of that little area."

The harlot held out a smooth and soft hand, a polite smile given to Abashai. "I am Matthew, it is a pleasure to meet you. Might I interest you in any of my services? If the two of you are a couple, have you ever briefly wished for a third?" His tone remained soft and professional throughout the entire phrase, talking as if it was just another sentence. It all seemed very natural to him.

Closed [Great Bazaar] Can't Buy Life