Kindling

Even a brothel as prosperous as the Temptress quieted eventually. The rising sun ushered the whores to their beds and the last of the drunks into the streets. Some of the less-nocturnal staff busied themselves with the cleaning, tossing open the shutters to let the hazy morning light stream into the common room, granting the sight of fishermen's brown sails, barely visible against the sea's dark maw.

Rob eased himself to his feet, heading for the kitchen. There were always some cold leftovers from the night, tucked away for bouncers, barmen, or elves that hadn't found time to break away from their customers. Taking one of the plates and a mug of warm beer, he turned back towards the common room before thinking again and grabbing a towel as well.

She was on the stairs, her short blue hair wrapped around her fingers as she gripped it with white knuckles. Silent sobs shook her, tears hanging from her nose, wobbling, fat and pregnant before dripping onto the same stair her bare feet rested on. She was naked save for the collar wrapping her neck, and a trail of her customer's leavings had found its way to begin drying on the stairs. She hadn't heard him approach, and when he touched her chin to raise her head, she'd given an abortive flail of her arms before shuddering and going still. Dull blues peered up at him listlessly, a broken tablet with only one word remaining, "Why?".

He did his best not to flinch at that gaze, staring down at her as he moved the mug to her lips, giving her **** as he slowly upended it, making her drink. The beer was the dark, thick swill made by some of the monasteries on the Sea Spine, and it had substituted many a native for bread. "Drink, you daft cunt." He commanded. "You work, you eat. That's how it is. You did well tonight, all considered." When he judged she'd drunk enough, he pulled the mug back and thrust the plate at her. "Now eat."

The elf was gasping by the time he relented with the mug, fresh tears spilling down her delicate cheeks. She lay back on the stairs, whimpering soundlessly before she croaked words he could barely hear. "Please. Let me die." She hadn't meant to say it, wasn't aware that the words had slipped from her; it just happened while she was too broken to stop it.

Rob stared down for a moment at the broken thing. He saw her for what she was, for what she was asking. A small mercy granted someone who'd known little and asked for less for so long. An end to the pain she could no longer carry. He almost didn't realize what he was doing as he reached down and gripped her throat, dragging her up off the stairs as he stared at her. She was so light in his grip that he suspected he could have tossed her clear of the brothel in one clean motion. His fingers tightened around her neck, the collar pressing into his flesh.

It was only a moment when her eyes flashed, not the watery, broken blue but the stunning blue-within-blue, like a thousand ice crystals suspended within the clearest morning's sky. Without thinking, he dropped her, the elf landing with a yip on her tailbone. He looked down at her, and she was whimpering and rubbing her tailbone, looking more lively.

Trying not to think about what had just happened and how close he'd been to murdering the hapless whore, he sunk into a crouch before her, the stairs letting him reach something like her level before he thrust the plate at her wordlessly. It was a simple thing, but he watched the elf's eyes, now slipped back to a watery, lost look. In them, he saw the sickly grateful look of an abused puppy offered food by the very person who'd abused it. She clutched the plate with trembling hands, stuffing food into her mouth with abandon.

"You should slow down." He chided, unheard. "You'll upset you-" He had the whore in hand and out the door in a moment, standing over her as she retched.

When that had subsided, she slumped back against one of the beams supporting the porch. She didn't seem to much care about the people of Spree who wandered by on their early-morning errands, taking a moment to breathe as the first rays of sunlight touched her skin. Looking up at him, she coughed once before speaking, "I don't think I like beer." Her words were thickly slurred, sloppy with exhaustion and despair and the lingering effects of her time in the basement.

Despite all of that, he offered a wan smile. "It's shite beer."