36 Fall, 514 AV
22nd Bell
House of Immortal Pleasures
22nd Bell
House of Immortal Pleasures
So Jeb was dead. Siobhan kneeled by the bed, still naked, sides aching from the desperate blows he'd delivered before he'd broken free. But he'd been too late, the damage was done. She'd killed him.
Though that wasn't entirely true. The fellow had died of a heart attack just moments after Siobhan had released her grip on his throat. It'd been brought on by the lack of oxygen flowing to the heart, of course, but the involvement wasn't exactly direct on her part. Not that she could have known that, and not that it would have made much of a difference of she had. A man was dead, and she was the whore that had caused it, whether he had brought it on himself or not.
And yet a peculiar, disquieting calm had come over her. She should have been worried, overcome with distress, something. After all, what about her son? If she were imprisoned for this, what would become of him? Her thoughts should have turned to him immediately in this situation. But she could not allow them to. To worry here, in this moment, would be a waste of time.
There was a body in her room. She ought to do something about that.
After only one more tick of hesitation, Siobhan stood and wound her way around the deathbed to Jeb's side. A stolid expression remained on her face. The short and unexpected episode of violence had left her feeling drained, both emotionally and physically. She would have liked to contemplate her actions further, try to figure out exactly what had caused the outburst. The thought of loosing control left a pit in her gut, but there was simply no time. She needed to do something about the predicament first, then reflect later.
Looking down at his body, she supposed it was a blessing that he was completely bare as well -- it would have been a hassle getting any remaining clothes off of his body. His eyes were still open, bloodshot, fixed on the ceiling. A distinct and mottled redness had bloomed in his face. His hand remained at his chest, fingers curled as if to claw his heart out. The drop of blood the had fallen from Siobhan's eyes remained emblazoned on his skin, just barely visible under his fat palm, almost like it had been the source of his pain. The whore found a kind of distorted amusement in that idea, but did not pause in her inspection.
She had killed only once before, out of fear and desperation to save an unborn Leonel, many years ago. But that had been in Sunberth, where there had been no need to clean up because there was no threat of authorities trying to track down the killer. She wasn't entirely sure how to go about it.
The dead man's belongings lay across the room, his clothes in a pile at the foot of the room, his coin purse and another small bag that had been in his possession rested soundly on the night stand. Throughout the events of the night, the hearth's fire had continued to cast dancing shadows onto the walls of the room. The red glow it cast had transformed from sensual to sinister in a matter of chimes. It'd be best to burn everything she could, she mused. The citizenship papers would be first, obviously. As long as they were gone, if the man was found, he would be a nobody. No identification, no protection under the law.
But it occurred to her that the biggest problem here would be getting rid of the body. It wasn't a crime for a man without identification to wind up dead in a whorehouse, but it most definitely would not be good for business. Most men would not want to chance bedding up with a killer, and the ones who did want to likely weren't the kinds of fellows whose business she would be wanting in the first place.
The issue with the body was exactly how she would be getting rid of it. Jeb was a large man, not in stature but in girth. There were no windows that would provide for a somewhat surreptitious escape, and even if there had been, there was no way she would be able to move the old man on her own, much less lift him to any height. She needed to find a covert way of transporting his body through the building and outside without being seen. And she would need help.
From whom, though? The most feasible answer at first seemed to be a coworker. No one who worked here would want it to become common knowledge that there was a killer whore on the loose for the same reason that Siobhan didn't want the body to be discovered in the building. But she knew the whores here, and they knew her -- not always on particularly good terms. There was no sense of community in this house as there was in the one she'd grown up in. There would be very little stopping the accomplice from spreading the truth around, to drag Siobhan's professional reputation down in the name of competition. After all, if she stopped getting clients, it meant more for them. Not to mention the potential for blackmail.
No, it'd be best to choose someone she'd never seen before and hopefully never see again. Someone new to the city, with very few connections, and someone whose side the law would not be on if they revealed themselves to be an accomplice. A non-citizen. They would be easiest to threaten into helping, their silence would be easiest to keep, and a loss of their business would not necessarily be detrimental to Siobhan's income. Luckily enough, mankind could always be relied upon to seek the local brothels after a rough travel.
With a plan taking shape, Siobhan got to work. Making her way around the bed, she tossed the black sheets over Jeb's body until it was completely concealed from plain sight and looked like nothing more than a pile of shadowed cloth that wouldn't be immediately suspicious upon entering the room. Then on to the nightstand, heading straight for the small bag he had brought. If she were right, his citizenship papers would be found inside, since it didn't seem altogether likely that he would have kept then in his fancy trousers or his coin purse. She was right. Paying little attention to the other contents of the bag, she promptly fished out the papers, strode over to the fire, and tossed them in. She didn't wait to watch the flames, there would be time later to make sure the document was properly disposed of.
For now though, she had to get downstairs. Jeb had only paid for a bell-long session, and that bell had passed. If she didn't get back "on duty" soon, someone would ask questions. Stepping over the dead man's pile of clothes, Siobhan snatched her own black chemise from the floor and slipped it on over her bare body. After sacrificing a few moments to smooth out any wrinkles, she made her way to the door. She snatched a small silver key from on top of the chest of drawers that rested beside the doorway, then departed without a second thought, locking the door behind her and tucking the key into the palm of her hand.
Though that wasn't entirely true. The fellow had died of a heart attack just moments after Siobhan had released her grip on his throat. It'd been brought on by the lack of oxygen flowing to the heart, of course, but the involvement wasn't exactly direct on her part. Not that she could have known that, and not that it would have made much of a difference of she had. A man was dead, and she was the whore that had caused it, whether he had brought it on himself or not.
And yet a peculiar, disquieting calm had come over her. She should have been worried, overcome with distress, something. After all, what about her son? If she were imprisoned for this, what would become of him? Her thoughts should have turned to him immediately in this situation. But she could not allow them to. To worry here, in this moment, would be a waste of time.
There was a body in her room. She ought to do something about that.
After only one more tick of hesitation, Siobhan stood and wound her way around the deathbed to Jeb's side. A stolid expression remained on her face. The short and unexpected episode of violence had left her feeling drained, both emotionally and physically. She would have liked to contemplate her actions further, try to figure out exactly what had caused the outburst. The thought of loosing control left a pit in her gut, but there was simply no time. She needed to do something about the predicament first, then reflect later.
Looking down at his body, she supposed it was a blessing that he was completely bare as well -- it would have been a hassle getting any remaining clothes off of his body. His eyes were still open, bloodshot, fixed on the ceiling. A distinct and mottled redness had bloomed in his face. His hand remained at his chest, fingers curled as if to claw his heart out. The drop of blood the had fallen from Siobhan's eyes remained emblazoned on his skin, just barely visible under his fat palm, almost like it had been the source of his pain. The whore found a kind of distorted amusement in that idea, but did not pause in her inspection.
She had killed only once before, out of fear and desperation to save an unborn Leonel, many years ago. But that had been in Sunberth, where there had been no need to clean up because there was no threat of authorities trying to track down the killer. She wasn't entirely sure how to go about it.
The dead man's belongings lay across the room, his clothes in a pile at the foot of the room, his coin purse and another small bag that had been in his possession rested soundly on the night stand. Throughout the events of the night, the hearth's fire had continued to cast dancing shadows onto the walls of the room. The red glow it cast had transformed from sensual to sinister in a matter of chimes. It'd be best to burn everything she could, she mused. The citizenship papers would be first, obviously. As long as they were gone, if the man was found, he would be a nobody. No identification, no protection under the law.
But it occurred to her that the biggest problem here would be getting rid of the body. It wasn't a crime for a man without identification to wind up dead in a whorehouse, but it most definitely would not be good for business. Most men would not want to chance bedding up with a killer, and the ones who did want to likely weren't the kinds of fellows whose business she would be wanting in the first place.
The issue with the body was exactly how she would be getting rid of it. Jeb was a large man, not in stature but in girth. There were no windows that would provide for a somewhat surreptitious escape, and even if there had been, there was no way she would be able to move the old man on her own, much less lift him to any height. She needed to find a covert way of transporting his body through the building and outside without being seen. And she would need help.
From whom, though? The most feasible answer at first seemed to be a coworker. No one who worked here would want it to become common knowledge that there was a killer whore on the loose for the same reason that Siobhan didn't want the body to be discovered in the building. But she knew the whores here, and they knew her -- not always on particularly good terms. There was no sense of community in this house as there was in the one she'd grown up in. There would be very little stopping the accomplice from spreading the truth around, to drag Siobhan's professional reputation down in the name of competition. After all, if she stopped getting clients, it meant more for them. Not to mention the potential for blackmail.
No, it'd be best to choose someone she'd never seen before and hopefully never see again. Someone new to the city, with very few connections, and someone whose side the law would not be on if they revealed themselves to be an accomplice. A non-citizen. They would be easiest to threaten into helping, their silence would be easiest to keep, and a loss of their business would not necessarily be detrimental to Siobhan's income. Luckily enough, mankind could always be relied upon to seek the local brothels after a rough travel.
With a plan taking shape, Siobhan got to work. Making her way around the bed, she tossed the black sheets over Jeb's body until it was completely concealed from plain sight and looked like nothing more than a pile of shadowed cloth that wouldn't be immediately suspicious upon entering the room. Then on to the nightstand, heading straight for the small bag he had brought. If she were right, his citizenship papers would be found inside, since it didn't seem altogether likely that he would have kept then in his fancy trousers or his coin purse. She was right. Paying little attention to the other contents of the bag, she promptly fished out the papers, strode over to the fire, and tossed them in. She didn't wait to watch the flames, there would be time later to make sure the document was properly disposed of.
For now though, she had to get downstairs. Jeb had only paid for a bell-long session, and that bell had passed. If she didn't get back "on duty" soon, someone would ask questions. Stepping over the dead man's pile of clothes, Siobhan snatched her own black chemise from the floor and slipped it on over her bare body. After sacrificing a few moments to smooth out any wrinkles, she made her way to the door. She snatched a small silver key from on top of the chest of drawers that rested beside the doorway, then departed without a second thought, locking the door behind her and tucking the key into the palm of her hand.
