Hey there (Patreon)

So uh...depression sucks. I don't have any excuses for why I've been so inactive lately. Dropping Verdant helped but also made me feel like I failed at the one thing I'm supposed to be good at. I'm trying to get back into my groove and start writing again. I'll share what I can as it comes.

1

The dancing lights of the glass lanterns spilled rainbow prisms across the ceiling, giving him something to watch as the slow rocking of the bed continued. Keshier hummed, his thoughts a thousand leagues away from what was happening in the moment. That wasn’t a good habit to start indulging in. An unprofessional one to say the least. His client didn’t seem to notice, so the young man didn’t trouble himself over it too much, choosing instead to return to his own thoughts. It was festival season, which always made for a packed house. Music and rancorous voices rose up through the floors and carpeting into the rooms which could be bought for a turn of the hourglass and into the ears of the workers who came with the rooms but rarely with their customers. By now dusk was falling, which meant the night crowd would wander in from the parades, looking for more carnal entertainments. Keshier frowned at the thought, knowing full well that he would suffer the house matrons displeasure if he kept dawdling with this one. He didn’t get enough work as it was. There were two kinds of career paths in this industry, of that much he was sure. The kind of worker who gets wealthy clients, and the kind of worker who gets many clients. Having neither put him at the bottom of the hierarchy in more ways the one, a fact that he longed to change.

The pace began to change, giving Keshier the cue to end this all the quicker. He ran his hands down across the man’s back and cooed softly to draw his attention. When those eyes turned to his face Keshier smiled, panting breathlessly before he bit his lower lip. “Yes! Ah-ha!” He arched, letting his voice draw high and hungry. “Finish in me, won’t you?” It was easy to bat his lashes and seem ardent. That was what they paid for after all. The man was saying things again, brute mutterings that helped him dive over the edge and spill. Keshier winched as the next thrust verged on the wrong angle, but did not bother to hide it. His clients liked that sometimes. It made them feel powerful. He squeezed after the withdrawal, mindful of the newly changed sheets and slid from the bed as his client flopped down breathlessly.

“Was that not…” He took a gulp of air, turning to watch Keshier pour him a glass of water and bring a warm cloth to clean with. “...the best you’ve ever had? Be honest.”

“And how many is it you think I have?” He responded coyly, pursing his lips as he rubbed the wet cloth down across the sticky member. This was not some dock house with two penny a night straw beds where the doxies had more fleas than the dogs. The Coral Bathhouse had standards to uphold, standards which kept them separate from the more base houses of pleasure in the city. Cleanliness was chief among them for both the rooms and the temporary bed-mates.

His client growled playfully. “You’re a cruel thing to tease me. But I could grow fond of it.”

“I’ll keep that in mind for your next visit.” He tapped the man’s nose with a smile, dropping the hint in the most subtle of ways that their time was now done and unless he wished to drop more coin he had best leave. Keshier waited patiently as the clothing was gathered and hastily thrown on. He lounged on the bed, rolling over on the satin sheets and doing his utmost to look sultry up until the moment the door closed behind the client. Then he was up in a flash, putting things back in order. The bed had to be checked and made as if it had never been slept in, much less used for a tumble. Keshier gathered up the washing bowl and the cloth, dropping the used rag into the laundry chute and cleaning out the bowl before putting it back where it belonged. He blew out the incense, exchanging it with a new cone and cleaning away all of the ash before setting himself to rights again. He ran a brush through his dark chestnut curls and reapplied the tinted beeswax to his lower ip before pressing them together to disperse the color. He batted his eyes, making sure to dab at the smeared kohl so it would look intentional. He pulled on the slit legged trousers, making sure the honey tones skin of his thigh was clearly visible before slipping on his top, making sure the split in the front displayed his chest. There were mannerisms and appearances one had to maintain if they wanted their customer base to grow. Keshier had barely tied the knot of his boots when there was a knock followed by a familiar voice from the other side.

“You’d best not be taking a nap in there or the matron will tan your hide.”

“One can hardly fuck in this din I don’t see how anyone could nap through it.” Keshier opened the door, looking up at the bruiser of a woman standing there, muscular arms crossed as she waited for him. Her yellow eyes looked impatient as she took in the wrinkled state of his clothing. He greeted her with a cheeky smile, all teeth and no amusement. “Good evening, Greshika! Well what can I do for you tonight?”

“Don’t give me your lip, boy. You’ve got work to do and so have I. Get a move on.”

“More clients?” He asked hopefully, but her curt frown did not bode well. “Damn. You know it’s bad enough only getting the occasional poke. It’s entirely another to be on drink duty during our busiest season.” He closed the door and flipped a little wooden tab over from red to green, showing that it was now available. The noise was far more oppressive in the hallway, especially when one added the noise of other rooms to it. Keshier looked around as if trying to find someone before he caught the tusky smile on the woman’s face. “What?”

“She’s not up here.”

“Tch. Of course not. Tell me what filthy rich noble is she keeping company with these days?”

“She’s your mother. If you want to know ask her yourself. Don’t make it my problem.” The orc woman swatted his behind with a harsh clap. “Go on now. We’re in for a packed house tonight. If you don’t get down there soon you won’t be back on your back again anytime soon.”

Keshier chuffed, but did as he was told. Greshika was not to be trifled with, but she was a valuable person to have on the upper floor. She didn’t take clients herself, though he’d seen a few brave souls offer a hefty coin purse for just half a candle mark with her. Even the rowdiest of customers had second thoughts about provoking her ire, and gods forbid you try to hurt one of the workers. Rumor was she had been the leader of a raiding party back in her younger days. Given the amount of scars on her body, Keshier believed it without a doubt.

He walked down the hall and around to the staircase, giving himself one last look before he headed down. Greshika had not been exaggerating. Festival nights always brought in a variety of patrons, and tonight was no exception. Every single table was packed with twice the usual amount of customers, many of which were already soused and planning to be more so. Keshier could spy coin in every shape and people from every country he could name. It wasn’t too unusual to see a few dwarves and other small folk around at any given time, but tonight there was a fair smattering of non-humans about. A large minotaur with a speckled coat had to lean down so he could speak to Nerisse, one of the other workers. She looked somewhat intimidated by his proposal, but Keshier could see the woman counting up the charge in her head. A passel of orcs and half-orcs were singing in their own tongue, their deep, sonorous voices making his skin tingle as he walked past. There was a fae woman with pale blue skin and green freckles standing amid one or two humans who looked splendid enough to be in her presence, but as her coal black eyes peered in his direction Keshier reminded himself not to get too close. There were rumors about what the fae did to their lovers, and none of it was good.

Keshier began making his way to the bar a little at a time, fighting for inches by the minute. It seemed the only people being giving the room to over were the servers, and even then it took practiced balance to avoid spilling their mugs. From somewhere in the crowd a hand reached out and tucked itself under his ass cheek, giving it a hard squeeze. Keshier hissed, but kept moving forward. Being groped was part of the service here, though it upset him that he wouldn’t be able to coax a tip out of whoever had the audacity.

“There you are!” The barkeep turned around, tossing a platter full of drinks at him without so much as a wink. “Right corner table for the ales and the one by the hearth for the cider and the wine. Be quick about it there.”

“Evening to you too, Horlson!” He yelled back over the noise and taking the order. The good part of waiting tables was that most people made a gap for those carrying the drinks just in case it was theirs on the way. And on a night like this he was likely to make a decent purse if he flirted enough. Keshier pressed back through the crowd towards the indicated corner. He smacked a greedy hand out of the way as it reached for a mug and gave the fellow who tried it a scowl for being such a prat. “Wait your turn!” He snapped, moving briskly forward with the determination not to spill a drop. As his goal neared, Keshier caught sight of four of Mt.Vernassus dwarves having a chat with a pair of Nurians from the West, their glossy hair braided into thick coils that ran down their backs. He straightened himself up and put on his most charming smile as he set down the tray. “Six ales for the customer.” He bent forward a little more than he had to, showing off the supple curve of his ass. “Four penny each, gent...friends.” He corrected. You never could tell gender when it came to dwarves, and while he didn’t know how Nurians felt on the subject it was best to play things safe. “That’ll be twenty-four total or a grotter and a half, minus my tip of course.”

One of the dwarves turned to him with a snort from under his big red beard. “And what would we be tipping you for? Doing your job?” One of the others shook his head as if this was an attitude he was used to hearing by now.

“If I was doing my job I hope I’d get a lot more than just the tip.” Keshier answered coyly and the other dwarves burst into laughter. The Nurians smiled, one of whom eyed him up and down as if assessing him.

“Cheeky fellow.” The red-head turned to him and nodded, pulling off one of the fat gold beads from his beard. He took Keshier’s hand and turned it over, pressing the decorative piece to the young man’s palm. “That ought to cover a few rounds. You keep whats left if you bring that pretty face back to me.”

Keshier wound a finger over the back of the man’s hard knuckles, nodding sweetly. “I hope you’re this generous with everything you give.” He teased as the other dwarves whistled eagerly. He pulled back and winked before heading to the next table, sashaying easily to give them something to long for. That was the real secret right there. Plant as many seeds as you could and watch for which take root. Maybe the burly fellow would ask for more than a drink, maybe he wouldn’t. Maybe the Nurian with the gentle smile would pay him a visit another time. He knew better than to spend too much time with any of them unless he was getting paid for it, but a well placed flirt could be the difference. Keshier felt the weight of the gold bead in his hand and pocketed it with confidence. They could drink half a dozen rounds on that and he’d still have a decent tip for his effort. His next customers had little interest in chatting with him, a couple of locals he recognized by face but not by name. They shooed him off once they’d gotten their drinks, tossing just enough to pay for it on the tray. Keshier didn’t waste a hip swing on them before heading back to the bar for another tray full of drinks. On the way he caught sight of Nerisse holding tight to the minotaurs hand, leading him down the hall to the bathhouse. Though he did not envy the woman her soreness come morning, he did feel a twinge of jealousy at the excitement on her clients face. Nerisse never had to spend a busy night waiting tables with her gorgeous red hair, vibrant blue eyes, and tits that defied the laws of gravity. There was no use being bitter over it, but as the night continued onward and the customers began to dwindle, Keshier felt the needling sting of disappointment. He had been here long enough to know the ebb and flow of the nights, and by the time the hearth was on the glow of it’s embers the only people who walked in were the sort of people you didn’t want to service. They were either too cheap or too lazy to be worth the effort. He turned in the money he’d collected, knowing he’d get his share in the morning. Holrson could be a surly bastard, but he always made sure that if you served the customers you got your fair earnings. Keshier yawned, stretching his arms and giving his fingers a good crack. “Is the bathhouse empty?”

“By now? Ought to be.”

“Good. I’m going to give myself a quick wash before I head off.” He turned but Horlson clucked at him.

“Here. Do us a favor and take this over to the fellow near the window.” The barkeep handed over one of the better bottles of wine they had and gestured briefly to where it should be taken.

A man sat there, his face turned towards the dark glass of the window pointing out into the cobblestone streets of the city. It was the middle of summer, and yet the customer wore a thick black cloak lined with velvet. Keshier couldn’t remember having seen him there earlier, but it had been very crowded and he wasn’t the only one on server duty. “When did he get here?”

“Couldn’t tell you. Never seen him before. Seems the loner sort. But a man doesn’t wear boots like that if he doesn’t have the coin to pay for drink.” Horlson nudged Keshier to get a move on. “Bring him the bottle and go about your bath. I’ll see him off.”

Keshier did as he was told, whistling as he saw the Amaranthie Blue label. He found himself wishing he wasn’t dead on his feet and looking a mess at the end of his shift. Might have been profitable flirt with a man who could afford a bottle of this stuff on a whim! Still, he took a moment to right himself before heading over to the unfamiliar customer. As he approached, Keshier gave a little shiver at the sudden chill of the room. It struck him as odd, but it was not until he had gotten half way there that the young man noticed the long shadows that seemed to tuck themselves around the fellow in a protective manner. A prickling along the back of his neck made Keshier aware of the weird, flowing miasma that hung invisible in the air. A mage. He realized with a relieved sigh. They weren’t at all uncommon in the city, although they tended to stick close to the royal estates as opposed to rubbing elbows with the lower classes. Keshier didn’t hold out hope for the service. Everyone knew mages kept their own concubines so he clearly couldn’t be here for a poke. The man did not turn to acknowledge his presence as the tray was set down, delivering the bottle and glass. Keshier took out a corkscrew and began to open it for the customer.

“You may leave that.”

The voice was smooth and throaty, carrying a deep resonance that reminded Keshier of the temple bells  used when a priest had past away. It gave him a shiver that went from his chest down to his groin, leaving something cold in it’s wake.“Of course, sir.” He said, putting everything on the table quickly as possible. “May I get you anything else tonight?”

“No, that will be all.”

“Yes, sir.” Keshier gave a little bow and turned to leave suddenly quite eager to get away from the man and throw himself into a warm tub. He should have been paying attention to his surroundings, but the clonk of the bottle met his ear as his elbow twinged in response. Amaranthie Blue was fifteen gold each and Horlson would surely make him pay for it! Keshier turned on his heel, hand jerking forward to grab the wine before it could hit the ground. He did not catch the movement from the man in the black cloak. Keshier grabbed the smooth glass bottle first, breathing a sigh of relief. The guest did so second, his long fingers and icy cold hand covering Keshier’s like a spider on it’s prey. He hissed through his teeth, wincing sharply at the unexpected sensation. “Your pardon, sir.” He said, trying to put on a grin as he looked up. “I should learn to be more…”

Eyes like a tiny drop of ink in fresh snow stared at him from a face with deep brows raised high and mouth slightly agape in astonishment. The scent of grave dirt and leather clung to his form, and as Keshier rose, his grip did not abate. Keshier could not pull his gaze away from that face as panic rose in his chest. He had never met a necromancer before, nor had he ever wanted to. He was afraid to breathe, afraid to move in the same way a mouse might be afraid to run in the presence of a cat. His mouth went dry as the necromancer continued to stare at him with the most intense investigation. “I...beg your pardon, sir.” He began, swallowing hard as he put the bottle back on the table. “Utterly my fault.”

The necromancer said nothing.

“I’ll leave you to it, sir...if you would not mind…” He laughed nervously, not sure what else to do, terrified he might have offended without knowing it.

“Mind?”

“My hand.” Keshier was too afraid to try and jerk away from the grip, but he did not need to. The necromancer finally broke his gaze and looked down at their hands, still holding the bottle.

“Ah.” He let go slowly, his fingers dragging across his the back of Keshier’s as if he did not want the momentary contact to end. “My apologies.”

“No apologies necessary!” Keshier practically squeaked out, taking a quick step back, bowing, and then doing it again simply because he did not know what else to do in the moment! He did not want to turn his back on the dark mage, but he was afraid that if he looked back into those eyes he might be locked into them. “I’ll be on my way!” He managed and tried not to deliver further insult by running. He could feel the necromancer staring at him still as he hurried from the room and down the hall towards the bathing pool and slammed the door behind him, his heart beating like it was going to burst from his chest. His hands were shaking frantically, and the one that had briefly been in the strangers possession was still cold. Keshier walked over to the steaming pool and dunked his hand into it despite the pins and needles sensation that followed. He held it under until the cold faded, then examined the back as if expecting to see some arcane mark or witchcraft sigil there. When nothing appeared he sat back on one of the benches, his mind whirling at the bizarre encounter. He stayed there a while until he could catch his breath, half expecting the doors to open and the strange guest to come barging in. The water lapped at the edge of the pool, the only noise outside the thudding of his brain. It was a good few minutes before Keshier finally took a steady breath, laying his head back against the cold tiles and thanking whatever god was watching over him that night.