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breezeshadowSometimes you're just driving home, thinking about your characters while trying NOT to think about the horrible shit you read about last night (seriously, no more reading about the Yugoslav wars. I think the paralyzing panic I got while driving home was a cause). And it makes you realize that one of your characters had a good chance of working as a prostitute for a while.
And thus was born Alden the Prostitute:
A wolf howled somewhere in the mountains, its grey echoing its way down to the balcony that Alden stood on, staring out at the peaks that made up the beast's home. He wished he could call back, perhaps meet with the wolf out in those shear walls of rock and ice, sharing stories to ease each other's loneliness. What tales would they share among that frozen landscape?
The wind whipped through the mountains, whistling as it passed through the city's endless alleyways; Alden's coat fluttered, longing to follow it, but Alden did not feel the chill. He had grown up in the mountains, living and breathing the changing seasons. He could handle the coldness of weather; it was the coldness of a human's heart that he struggled with. He longed for his lover's embrace, strong but gentle arms holding him tight and warm against the world -- not the man who had given him three gold last night, one of the better amounts he received for his services. Love could not be bought with gold. The person he thought of was from years ago, and likely would not appreciate still being considered his lover.
He sighed softly, the smell of liquor setting his sinuses afire; Alden had yet to find a spirit he liked to drink, but all of them were equivocal for standing around with. It was always best to have some liquid in a glass with you at a tavern, to help blend in.
"Alden. You are looking awfully glum this evening." He recognized the scratchy voice, though it usually did not sound so garbled.
Alden turned around to find her leaning on the balcony, trying to blow rings of smoke and instead managing pitiful whisps. A thick cigar looked ridiculous held between two of her delicate fingers, a few bright embers trailing a thick, sweet smoke. He knew she was a fan of snuff and dip, but it was the first time he had seen her with any sort of blunt.
"And where did you manage to get that?" Alden knew next to nothing about tobacco, except that the more processed the item, the more expensive it was.
"Off of a client, of course." She took a deep drag on the cigar -- she had experience with them, even if he had never seen it. "He wanted to shove it up my pussy but I convinced him that was a waste of a cigar and that his cock was better suited in there." She paused, blowing out smoke. "Though really, not sure it was suited much anywhere. But I slipped this off of him while he was trying to grunt out some seed."
"I do love these details. Such eroticism." Alden rolled his eyes and took a sip of gin -- he often needed it once Layla showed up. "So you're smoking something that he stuck in other women?"
"Oh please." She tapped the cigar on the railing and looked at Alden, eyebrows raised. "I know you don't know much about women but think about it. If someone asked you to push a cigar into their arse, do you think it'd survive the journey?"
"Their arse or the cigar? Either depends on if it was lit." He smiled at Layla's bark of laughter. "I get your point. He must have been very rich or very stupid to waste a cigar like that."
"Exactly my thinking. Besides, I ain't getting tobacco up in my pussy. I've seen what the shit does to my gums. I ain't having sores down there."
Alden winced away the mental images. "So you convinced him to use a preventive?"
"I always do. Either they use my preventives or I leave them bursting at the seams with no lass to shoot it into. Which seams, of course, depends on their mood."
Layla had shown Alden her firearm once before -- it was an old, outdated model, but she had a marksman's aim and kept it in impressive condition. She never would answer any questions about if she had used it, but with the superstitions about preventives, he imagined it had happened before. He had experienced his own share of aggressive johns, but given them his former last name or threatening to alert the authorities was enough to stop most of them. Most treated his insistence with using condoms as ridiculous, but Alden figured a diseased cock could infect a vagina or arse equally well. Last night's man had even agreed with him; perhaps that had started the longing.
"Now enough about my adventures." Layla never forgot a conversation, which was unfortunate considering she wanted each one to run its course. "What are you up here staring out at the mountains for, hm? Got yourself the clap?"
"No, this glass would be full of silver." He took a sip of the not-silver, letting it burn his throat. Of course, he could burn a hole straight through his neck and Layla would expect an answer. "I had a good client."
"Ah." And as Alden knew she would, Layla immediately understood; her teasing demeanor vanished, replaced with sympathy. All prostitutes understood that there were good clients, and then good clients. The first ones led to full purses and a place to live for another day; the second one tended to cause rapidly-emptying purses and a crapulous headache the next morning. "What'd he do?"
My search history now looks extremely wrong due to the research I had to do for this. Also I haven't figured out what Layla looks like yet, whoops. I have an "Asian" -- no such thing in Malanee, but two countries in the Welen mountains were based on China and Thailand, respectively -- character I plan to introduce, but she didn't seem to fit as a prostitute (not to mention it felt wrong to do so) so she'll show up later.
And thus hopefully I'll get past the scenes where I have to pretend I know how sex and prostitution works. Oh boy!
Tschuess.
And thus was born Alden the Prostitute:
A wolf howled somewhere in the mountains, its grey echoing its way down to the balcony that Alden stood on, staring out at the peaks that made up the beast's home. He wished he could call back, perhaps meet with the wolf out in those shear walls of rock and ice, sharing stories to ease each other's loneliness. What tales would they share among that frozen landscape?
The wind whipped through the mountains, whistling as it passed through the city's endless alleyways; Alden's coat fluttered, longing to follow it, but Alden did not feel the chill. He had grown up in the mountains, living and breathing the changing seasons. He could handle the coldness of weather; it was the coldness of a human's heart that he struggled with. He longed for his lover's embrace, strong but gentle arms holding him tight and warm against the world -- not the man who had given him three gold last night, one of the better amounts he received for his services. Love could not be bought with gold. The person he thought of was from years ago, and likely would not appreciate still being considered his lover.
He sighed softly, the smell of liquor setting his sinuses afire; Alden had yet to find a spirit he liked to drink, but all of them were equivocal for standing around with. It was always best to have some liquid in a glass with you at a tavern, to help blend in.
"Alden. You are looking awfully glum this evening." He recognized the scratchy voice, though it usually did not sound so garbled.
Alden turned around to find her leaning on the balcony, trying to blow rings of smoke and instead managing pitiful whisps. A thick cigar looked ridiculous held between two of her delicate fingers, a few bright embers trailing a thick, sweet smoke. He knew she was a fan of snuff and dip, but it was the first time he had seen her with any sort of blunt.
"And where did you manage to get that?" Alden knew next to nothing about tobacco, except that the more processed the item, the more expensive it was.
"Off of a client, of course." She took a deep drag on the cigar -- she had experience with them, even if he had never seen it. "He wanted to shove it up my pussy but I convinced him that was a waste of a cigar and that his cock was better suited in there." She paused, blowing out smoke. "Though really, not sure it was suited much anywhere. But I slipped this off of him while he was trying to grunt out some seed."
"I do love these details. Such eroticism." Alden rolled his eyes and took a sip of gin -- he often needed it once Layla showed up. "So you're smoking something that he stuck in other women?"
"Oh please." She tapped the cigar on the railing and looked at Alden, eyebrows raised. "I know you don't know much about women but think about it. If someone asked you to push a cigar into their arse, do you think it'd survive the journey?"
"Their arse or the cigar? Either depends on if it was lit." He smiled at Layla's bark of laughter. "I get your point. He must have been very rich or very stupid to waste a cigar like that."
"Exactly my thinking. Besides, I ain't getting tobacco up in my pussy. I've seen what the shit does to my gums. I ain't having sores down there."
Alden winced away the mental images. "So you convinced him to use a preventive?"
"I always do. Either they use my preventives or I leave them bursting at the seams with no lass to shoot it into. Which seams, of course, depends on their mood."
Layla had shown Alden her firearm once before -- it was an old, outdated model, but she had a marksman's aim and kept it in impressive condition. She never would answer any questions about if she had used it, but with the superstitions about preventives, he imagined it had happened before. He had experienced his own share of aggressive johns, but given them his former last name or threatening to alert the authorities was enough to stop most of them. Most treated his insistence with using condoms as ridiculous, but Alden figured a diseased cock could infect a vagina or arse equally well. Last night's man had even agreed with him; perhaps that had started the longing.
"Now enough about my adventures." Layla never forgot a conversation, which was unfortunate considering she wanted each one to run its course. "What are you up here staring out at the mountains for, hm? Got yourself the clap?"
"No, this glass would be full of silver." He took a sip of the not-silver, letting it burn his throat. Of course, he could burn a hole straight through his neck and Layla would expect an answer. "I had a good client."
"Ah." And as Alden knew she would, Layla immediately understood; her teasing demeanor vanished, replaced with sympathy. All prostitutes understood that there were good clients, and then good clients. The first ones led to full purses and a place to live for another day; the second one tended to cause rapidly-emptying purses and a crapulous headache the next morning. "What'd he do?"
My search history now looks extremely wrong due to the research I had to do for this. Also I haven't figured out what Layla looks like yet, whoops. I have an "Asian" -- no such thing in Malanee, but two countries in the Welen mountains were based on China and Thailand, respectively -- character I plan to introduce, but she didn't seem to fit as a prostitute (not to mention it felt wrong to do so) so she'll show up later.
And thus hopefully I'll get past the scenes where I have to pretend I know how sex and prostitution works. Oh boy!
Tschuess.
