The Rose and the Azalea - Chapter Four

• Posted by The Sunflower Manual April 20, 2018 - Filed in TSC: Short Story - #Harrow  #Sabina  #Rose/Azalea  - 1,320 views

  

   

   

  

   

   

   

   

  

  While roses already take a central significance among Bretons due to High Rock's emphasis on culture and elegance, the flowers occupy an almost religious position in Wayrest, being the symbol of the Knights of the Rose, the official military force and elite peacekeeping unit of the region.
  

   

   

   

   

  

   

   

   

   

                  I felt strangely naked without my armour around me as I stepped out of the coach. Edwin stepped out too, and I frowned at him.

   

                  ‘The point of going without my armour was to not stand out,’ I muttered under my breath. ‘I don’t want to appear conspicuous, or get recognised even while I’m visiting a damned brothel.’

   

                  Edwin said nothing. He simply crossed his arms and stood there, resolutely.

   

                  I sighed. ‘Fine,’ I growled. ‘Then blend in with the crowd. Don’t look like you’re following me.’

   

                  Edwin nodded, then motioned at my coachman, who gave the horses a crack of his whip and rattled off down into the depths of the Meat Street.

   

                  It was quite late into the night already, but for the entertainment district’s brothels, this was the middle of their busiest hours. Edwin had no difficulty melting into the crowds of customers and merrymakers milling both outside and inside the brothel, and I pushed his presence out of my mind.

   

                  Edwin had given me a little background history on the Bouquet as we were being driven to the Meat Street. Apparently the brothel dated back all the way to the Third Era, and was always run by a Khajiit. It was one of the largest legal establishments in the district. Now that I was here, I had to admit the building was well-constructed – large, elegant, and very beautiful, with a recurring flower motif that really helped set the mood. S’hni could take a few hints from her fellow cats. Her brothels were more depressing than relaxing… and the rest of her sex shops were even worse.

   

                  ‘Welcome, welcome!’ The girl who greeted me at the counter was a cheerful Breton with a charming dash of freckles on her cheeks. ‘How can I help you today, ma’am?’

   

                  ‘Just here to unwind,’ I replied, giving her a terse smile. ‘Any recommendations?’

   

                  ‘Hmm,’ she said, tapping her cupid lips. ‘We run a salon a bit further down the hall if you’re in the mood for cards or other games. There’s a collection of smoking rooms too, with the very finest weeds. If it’s food and drink you fancy, the bar and restaurants-’

   

                  ‘I thought this was supposed to be a brothel,’ I interrupted. In all honesty, it was impressive for a place like the Bouquet to have all these extra facilities. But I was feeling far too drained for gambling, I never smoked, and I’d had dinner with the Iron-Tooths. I was about to suggest something like a scented bath, but before I could say anything the girl spoke again.

   

                  ‘Of course, ma’am,’ she said, getting up from the counter with a twinkle in her eye. ‘I’ll show you to some of the boys and girls.’

   

                  I was actually a little bit too tired for sex, but admitting it would make me seem pathetically inadequate, so I simply followed the girl further into the brothel.

   

                  She showed me to the boys first, and I had to admit, the girl had a good eye for customers’ tastes. The first two men I was introduced to were ones I might’ve actually enjoyed sleeping with – a Bosmer with a taut, wiry frame and dark, intense eyes, as well as a Nord, a blonde one, taller than his companion and also more well-built.

   

                  Under normal circumstances, I wouldn't have minded a good bout or two of hard, fierce lovemaking, but the image of what S’hni had done to the Dunmer girl was still lingering in my head. I shook my head and turned the boys away.

   

                  Almost as if she could sense that I wanted more gentle companions, my guide immediately pulled over a couple of girls instead. And she did choose quite a pair – a willowy Altmer with a subdued, noble expression, and still yet another Breton with a smile so bright it would’ve made the sun jealous.

   

                  I wasn’t that much into other women, though. I sent the girls away too and was about to bring up the baths or maybe even the salon again, and then I caught a flash of violet to my right, turned to look, and saw him.

   

                  I had heard ‘breath-taking’ used to describe beauty before, but I had never thought of it literally, or that any woman could actually claim to be so beautiful as to steal the breath from one’s body. But yet there I stood, rooted to the spot, my lungs emptying as if I’d received a pommel blow to the solar plexus.

   

                  No, I fumed to myself as the temptress glided down the stairs. That can’t be a boy. What- what does that make me?

   

                  I felt little spikes of envy stab at my stomach as I watched him. A stride pert and controlled. Akaviri-style robes swishing around a petite body, with a flat chest betraying his sex. Slender, carefully manicured fingers poking out from underneath long sleeves. Hair a deep shade of purple, having a sheen that reflected light almost like a liquid, tied behind his head into an exquisite ponytail that came flowing down to his back, with sidelocks and a long fringe framing his face like a picture. And what a picture it was – a heart-shaped face tapering down to a narrow chin, with proportions any girl would kill for; a nose and mouth both delicate and slim; flawless skin, pale but with a healthy glow; long, elegant eyelashes above a pair of fluttering eyelids painted just the right shade of dark-

   

                  The boy turned his eyes on mine and for a brief moment something broke through the spell. Those silver eyes completed the picture, and were perhaps the prettiest part of it yet; soft, lustrous, with a brightness that rivalled the twin moons themselves… but at the centre, at the very core of all that softness was that something. Something dark, something poisonous, something that left me cold, left me wishing I had my sword at my side, left me feeling as vulnerable as a rabbit facing a snake.

   

                  And then he looked away, breaking eye contact and adjusting his hair with a ring finger like some bashful young lady, and the spell resumed, leaving me feeling like a great fool. What did I have to fear from a little sheboy whore?

   

                  My shame quickly bubbled into anger. I felt like humiliating him, dominating him. I raised a finger to point at him and turned towards my guide.

   

                  ‘That one,’ I growled. ‘I’ll take that one.’

   

  
  

   

                  The Breton girl at the counter led the two of us to a private bedroom, then shut the door behind us.

   

                  There was a very awkward silence for the better part of the minute as the prostitute boy clasped his hands in front of him and tilted his head at me, patient and expectant. I found myself at a curious loss for words. Huffing, I sat down heavily on the bed, grimacing as I sank down into the velvet sheets. The boy tilted his head the other way, a wan smile touching his lips.

   

                  ‘How may I serve you this evening, madam?’ His voice was lighter and softer than mine.

   

                  ‘Dunno,’ I grunted rather clumsily, then felt my temper flare up again as I saw his gentle smile widen by a fraction. ‘Ugh. Wipe that smirk off your face. Let’s start with the basics. What’s your name?’

   

                  The boy bowed, which only irritated me more. ‘You may call me Azalea, madam.’

   

                  ‘Azalea,’ I repeated, letting the name roll over my tongue. ‘Well, Azalea, what are you good at?’

   

                  ‘What any courtesan should aspire to be good at, madam.’ He kept smiling, and my temper was beginning to boil. Courtesan? Fancy word. You’re a whore. A toy. A plaything. A piece of meat. The boy leant closer to me, a few strands of hair falling over his forehead to form a see-through veil over his silver eyes. His robes loosened slightly around his shoulder, and I saw a little hint of his collarbone, a lick of whitish flesh. ‘Would madam care for… a demonstration?’

   

                  ‘Please,’ I snorted, a little more viciously than I had intended. ‘I’ve no interest in fucking someone who’s even less of a man than I am.’

   

                  Azalea tilted his head again, his eyebrows trembling and turning up as he brought one finger to his lips and bit on it mournfully, his smile fading into a pout that somehow, ridiculously, made his face seem even more appealing. ‘Have I displeased you in some way, madam?’ he murmured, looking for all the world like a sad kitten.

   

                  I felt absurdly guilty. ‘No, no,’ I said hurriedly. ‘It’s just… I’ve had a long day.’

   

                  Azalea’s long, dark eyelashes came down to obscure his eyes as he perked up and smiled again. ‘I see! So what can I do to take your mind off the day, madam? If it’s simple company you want…’

   

                  ‘Simple company…’ I chewed on my lip. I knew some guardsmen liked to hire prostitutes just to talk with them. I’d always thought that was just typical men being weak, but after the negotiations and witnessing S’hni’s carnage once again, I felt like doing something similar, letting things out and venting, shoving my troubles against someone else.

   

                  I couldn’t, though. Not here, not now, not like this. So I simply looked up, tired, waved a hand dismissively and said, ‘Do whatever you want.’

   

                  I hadn’t phrased that the best way. I half expected him to leave the room, or to actually try to touch me without my permission – I would’ve broken his arms for that. He did neither. Instead, after a few seconds of silence, he spoke up from further across the bedroom.

   

                  ‘Madam,’ he said gently. ‘Look this way.’

   

                  I rubbed my eyes and stared at him. He was turning slowly in place, his long Akaviri sleeves dangling behind his arms as he brought them up around his body. After he had completed one full revolution, he began to move.

   

                  The dance began slowly at first, languidly, but I found myself becoming gradually mesmerised. Azalea’s hands and arms swept around him in continuous circular motions as he kept turning, adding more and more new cycles to his motion as I gradually lost track of his movements. Then, as his tempo increased, he undulated his torso and waist and began twisting, like a wisp of heavenly smoke caught in the wind. He took off the ribbon he was using as a hair ornament, holding it in one hand, and the pink strip of silk followed the circles he was making, drawing my eyes to more places than they could actually follow.

   

                  His steps took him all around the room, and as the speed of the dance reached its peak his hair too began flying, flowing behind him, still retaining its graceful style as it swirled behind him and around him, fanning around in a wave of dark purple ink. It was eerily haunting, thoroughly alluring. I was entranced. No, more than that. I was… bewitched. I felt like I was watching a doe prance about in a moonlit forest, or a cloud drifting through a snowy winter sky. There was no music, nor did I want any. Music would’ve ruined the sight, ruined the immaculate peace. The fabric of Azalea’s robes slid against his skin and the air, making soft, sensual sounds along with the silk of his ribbon, like a lover’s sighs. He whirled faster and faster, but somehow managed to keep his eyes fixed on mine. I felt a small sting of heat on my cheeks. All my earlier jealousy and annoyance had rapidly evaporated, replaced with an overwhelming sense of fascination.

   

                  It might’ve been a minute, it might’ve been an hour, it might’ve been forever. Time had lost all meaning as I sat there, watching Azalea dance. When he finally finished, his motions slowing as he came to a stop in front of me, his hair settled back down, curling slightly at the curve of his hips.

   

                  I gaped at him, opened and closed my mouth twice, and then remembered how to breathe.

   

                  ‘That was…’ I gulped and swallowed. ‘That was amazing, I don’t… how… that was… wow.’

   

                  Azalea giggled. ‘I’m glad you liked it, madam.’

   

                  ‘Can you…’ I licked my lips. ‘Can you do another?’

   

                  He looked at me and smiled again in that peculiar way, with his eyelashes dipping down over his eyes and his head tilted. ‘Of course, madam.’

   

                  Azalea danced three more times for me, each dance more vivacious and evocative than the last. And I found myself forgetting. Forgetting the family of crooks and criminals I was to lead, forgetting the responsibility of my Father’s legacy, forgetting all the blood and death and violence and everything I had ever done and everything I was going to have to do, forgetting all of it – because right now, that world did not matter; that world did not exist. Nothing existed outside of this bedroom, this bedroom filled with beautiful, beautiful things.

   

                  ‘Could-’ I croaked when he was done with the final dance. My throat felt very dry. ‘Could I have just… one more?’

   

                  ‘I’m sorry, madam,’ Azalea said, and he truly did look sorry. ‘But our time is up. Would you like an extension?’

   

                  That snapped me back to reality.

   

                  That’s right. This was just a brothel. He was just a whore…

   

                  He was just a whore, so why couldn’t I tear myself away?

   

                  ‘No.’ I shook my head, gathering my resolve. ‘I’ve dallied here long enough.’

   

                  ‘I see,’ he said quietly, his eyes downcast. ‘Goodbye, then, madam.’

   

                  ‘Hey,’ I said, and grabbed his hands out of a strange impulse. ‘Don’t look at me like that. You’re too pretty to be sulking, you know? I’ll be back to see you, I promise. So please… give me another smile before I leave.’

   

                  Azalea raised his head and smiled a bright, brilliant smile. I felt my heart skip.

   

                  ‘R-right,’ I stammered. ‘Be seeing you.’

   

                  ‘I’ll be waiting,’ he said softly, raising a meek, beseeching hand after me as I left the bedroom and closed the door.

   

                  The coachman was waiting outside when I left the Bouquet with Edwin trailing silently behind me. ‘Did you enjoy your night out, Lady Sabina?’ he grinned when we both got into the carriage.

   

                  ‘Shut up and drive,’ I snarled, feeling an ill temper creep up on me again.

   

  

   

  

  Azaleas were a particular favourite of the Alessian court in the waning days of the First Empire, and the abundance of these flowers as decorations within the Alessian Order eventually became a symbol of their excess, only adding to the great public resentment already simmering in the years predating the War of Righteousness.
  

   

   

   

   

   

   

   

                   I watched the young woman leave from the bedroom’s window, torchlight rolling off her bright red hair as she got onto a coach along with a large, broad-chested Imperial. A bodyguard? Interesting customer, I thought, narrowing my eyes. She was the first one to come to me without demanding sex.

   

                  My hair had gotten slightly tousled after my dance. I took a brush off a bedstand and straightened it, brushing my sidelocks back around to hug my jawline. I stared at my ribbon for a while. A simple thing, woven from firm, pink silk, two feet long and half a foot wide. And yet in the same day, I had used it to entertain a lady while dancing and, mere hours earlier, to strangle a man while he was in the middle of climaxing.

   

                  I wouldn’t be the first shinobi to kill with such a commonplace object, of course. Grandmaster Takarro was quite fond of telling the dunce how many people he’d killed with potatoes and toothpicks. Master Mokko was rumoured to have eliminated three targets with a single thorn from a cotton thistle, and Veris Ulen of House Hlaalu was assassinated by a Tsukikage operative with a chopstick. In certain situations and in the right hands, household items could prove just as deadly as finely-honed weaponry.

   

                  Human beings are such fragile things. I tied the ribbon back into a bow behind my head.

   

                  There came a knock on the door and Master Haruka pushed inside. ‘Madam Nightshade,’ I said, smiling at her. Haruka smiled back, then closed the door behind her. I felt a cone of silence expand around us. I’ve always thought that ‘cone of insulation’ would’ve been more appropriate, as the spell only isolated sound within and without – but the masters of old always did have a flair for the dramatic.

   

                  ‘Is something the matter, Haruka-ko?’ I asked, frowning.

   

                  ‘The client you just had,’ Haruka said slowly. ‘Was being accompanied by one Edwin Lysanders, a known high-ranking Flavana.’

   

                  My eyebrows shot up. ‘According to the information gathered by local law enforcement, that man – so that girl was…’

   

                  ‘Sabina Flavana,’ Master Haruka finished. ‘Current head of the Flavana crime family.’