Deni Perfide
Member
The Boss’ Hospitality
[4,715]
[4,715]
Note
Tes stared up at the wooden ceiling from her place in the bath. It was hot and soothing, a light membrane of bubbles sitting peacefully on the surface of the water. The room was full of herbal scents. Almost spicy. It tickled her nose, but they certainly did what they intended. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d felt so relaxed. Not too relaxed, of course. She’d still noted which windows led where and planned a couple of escape routes in her head. But it was nice.
She lifted one leg - the bad leg - and stretched the talons on the end of her feet. The dark, patchy scales along her shins glittered a little with the moisture. The pain wasn’t so bad now. The Boss had given the four of them strict recovery duties. She thought he was joking when he mentioned sending them to a Hospitium building. Orator certainly hadn’t planned on investing so much into her. How much did this treatment cost?
Her dark eyes shot at the door as the host carefully let himself back in. A young laicar in the same braces and black buttoned shirt that all of the staff here wore. His black hair was slicked back, sleeves rolled up to the elbow. There was a metal tray in his hands with a selection of soaps, sponges and bottles with different coloured liquids inside.
“Please forgive my excursion, kyria,” he said politely. “I am ready to serve.”
“That’s… alright.” Tes had no idea how to address him. She’d never been anywhere like this before. Probably never would again. The host stepped around her side and placed the tray next to the bath. Tes grew tense. He squirted something onto his hands and rubbed them vigorously together. He stopped when he caught Tes staring.
“Am I sensing you are uncomfortable, kyria? It will be no hassle at all to switch to a different host if you prefer.”
She didn’t think it was because of him. Not really. Truthfully, she had no idea why her shoulders had seized up at his approach. Maybe it was because it had been so long.
“No,” she said, trying to find her words carefully. She turned to face him, trying not to splash water over the sides. “Nobody has touched me in a while. Not unless it was an attempt on my life.”
“I see.” The man didn’t even stop to think. It felt like he had dealt with this before.
“If you would be more comfortable left alone at any point, or if you would like to request another host, please tell me.” He slowly opened his hands to Tes, showing her his palms. They looked slick and shiny.
“This oil is designed for velen and spurii scales. With your permission, I would rub it into this arm. Precisely where you are scratching.”
Tes looked down. She hadn’t noticed she was scratching. At some point she had sat up and her breasts were now out of the water. She quickly sank back down to gain some kind of cover from the layer of bubbles.
The host made no comment. Instead, he touched her arm. Gently, like trying to open an envelope without damaging the paper. His fingertips caressed her scales. It sent a shiver up Tes’ spine, made her headfathers stand on end. She could feel the oil seeping between the scales. Soothing, like an ointment. She began to relax again, sink lower.
“Once I have applied the scale oils, I will prepare the lotions,” he said, his voice itself as soothing as the rest of the treatment. “Those are designed for enlil and spurii feathers.”
“Mm.” It was all Tes could manage. She had forgotten how nice it could be, being touched by another person. Not even just sex, necessarily, but something relaxing. Like this.
She opened her eyes to the wooden ceiling, though she didn’t recall closing them.
I wonder what the others are up to?
Bahl stared down. Beyond his belly he could see the red feathers of the enlil hostess’ head bobbing up and down. The chair squeaked with the motion, but it didn’t bother him. He was grateful enough that they’d found one that could fit a man his size. A sturdy one, too. Bahl had had a few chairs collapse on him in the past.
“Yeah, I think that’s right,” he said in his low, coarse voice.
“Mm-hm.”
Not many things bothered Bahl anymore. He’d been through enough in his life that he didn’t feel strongly about much. As long as he could earn a decent living doing what he was good at, he didn’t need the rest of the details. Still, he had been embarrassed about this request. It was the Hospitium, but it didn’t stop him from feeling a little awkward about it. He had expected a ‘no’ or even a slap in the face. But he was happy with the result. Or he would be.
“Nearly there,” he said, voice strained. His arms were growing heavy.
“Mm-hm.”
Absently, he wondered how much they got paid for this, whether others made similar unconventional requests. Probably get a lot of rowdy clients, he thought. Wonder if they’re hiring security? Might keep an eye out if I ever get bored of the Societas.
The enlil lifted her head over his belly, red feathers sticky with sweat, pink cheeks glistening from the effort. “All done,” she said.
“Umm… thanks so much for this,” Bahl said as she got back to her feet.
“The pleasure is mine, kyrio. Would you like me to fetch more food? We have a selection of meats available.”
The chair creaked as Bahl stood up. He knew his smile was ugly like the rest of him, but this time he couldn’t help himself.
“That would be perfect, doll. And run a bath, if you don’t mind.”
The hostess raised an eyebrow.
“You have not long since had one. Are you sure?”
“Yeah. I think I might be working up a sweat soon.” The enlil nodded and left the room. Bahl breathed deeply. The first step was always the hardest. His foot came down with a thud that could probably be heard from the room below. And the other one…
Thud.
In recent years it had grown difficult for him to strap the ankle weights himself. Maybe his belly had gotten bigger. He knew it was a strange request, but he was thankful that the hostess had obliged. After all, he couldn’t let all that muscle turn to fat.
Bahl’s grin deepened at the thought. He lifted his arms, looked at the thick metal weights strapped to them. His forehead was coated with sweat and he had barely started yet.
He took position, moved his arms and legs slowly into the stance. He must have been a sight, naked except for his baggy shorts, a big, round, ball of a man. That had caused folk to underestimate him in the past. Many a time.
The weight training had always been the one true medium throughout his life. In the great travelling menageries he had been a strongman, showing off his impressive strength most nights. In the cities he had taken on strongman competitions and made his winnings in prize money. He had thrown bets and taken even more prize money, all under the table. It was due to disputes over those backstreet deals that he had discovered how much he could hurt a person with all that muscle, all that weight behind him. That was when he had joined the menageries again, only as security this time. Until he discovered mercenary work paid better.
Bahl tensed his stomach as he threw a punch. Then another. His wide body lurched as he threw a kick, the stable leg quivering under the huge weight. Thud. And breathe. Sweat ran into his eyes, made them sting, but some of the scabs on his face hadn’t healed yet, so he didn’t dare wipe his brow. No matter the aches, he could never let his body rest for too long or his muscle would join the rest of his fat. Without that, he wouldn’t be able to hurl his bulk around. A death sentence in combat with how big a target he was.
His crusty, bulbous face curved into a smile.
I’d have to consider a new line of a work. Don’t want to be doing that so soon after a payrise.
“Your bath is ready, kyrio.”
Bahl brought his thick arms down to his sides. They ached, but he was deliberate, slow. His whole body ached. That was the point. How long had he been working the forms? Had it been half an hour yet?
“Hm. Three times.” Last time he was only part way through the forms for the second time by the time the bath was ready. Good. He’d be back up to strength soon.
“Kyrio?”
It was a shame the hostess wasn’t a velen. Bahl hoped her fingers didn’t get too wrinkly from running baths so frequently. It wouldn’t stop him from taking advantage of their services though. The ankle weights had eluded him for long enough.
“Thanks, doll. I’ll be right along.”
Larsi was in a world of bliss, lounging across a bed of cushions beneath the window. Admittedly, she did have to try hard not to acknowledge the stains on the cushion cases. It was just a detail. She would not let it ruin her day. This was the closest she had gotten to feeling like a proper lady in a long time.
The laicar woman turned from the window toward her hostess. A tall, yellow-scaled velen woman with cartilage dangling in locks around her face, eyes fixed on the tiny brush she used to paint Larsi’s nails. She’d had her file them first, of course, to an acceptable length. That had come right after she’d had her hair permed, which had happened after she’d been massaged with lotions and creams. That part had stung because of the cuts all over her body, but these folk at the Hospitium were professionals. Her skin felt great already.
“Yes, kyria?"
Larsi blinked. She hadn’t realised she’d been staring.
“Oh, nothing.”
For a moment she considered whether she was taking advantage of the occasion too much. The lotions had come after the bath, where the hostess had washed and cleaned her hair and skin. That had been three, maybe four treatments. Are their staff usually run this ragged?
Larsi dismissed the thought as she lounged back with a content sigh. After all they’d been through in that Vis-forsaken basement, she had earned this. They all had. Bahl. Tes. She didn’t know what she would have done without Tes. She was always so quiet but while the panic and fear had gripped Larsi, the little spurii had remained calm. She still had nightmares of the memory, of the big demvir, the shattered glass, the pain, the fear. The strange mark that the Boss had put on her skin that had allowed her into his emotions and to see through his eyes. That had been what had helped win the fight in the end, but she’d never felt such a thing before. The sight of so much blood, the smell of burning…
Idro. The velen’s purple-black corpse on the ground. That had made Larsi feel sick most of all. It was such a relief that he was alive. She didn’t know what she would have done if he’d died down there.
“Is all well, kyria?"
“Yes,” Larsi replied, switching hands. The hostess stared intently at her nails and dipped the tiny brush in the varnish. She grasped her hand.
Larsi closed her eyes and imagined it was Idro. She had no idea why she was so smitten with him. Was it his jawline? His beautiful scales? His smile? Every time he walked past her heart raced. Sometimes she had to wear extra makeup on her forehead so it wouldn't sheen with sweat when she was around him. Not that he noticed. One day he would.
She hoped.
“It has just been a while since my last treatment,” Larsi said. Perhaps she should offer a compliment, so her hostess wouldn’t spit in her tea from being overworked. “I don’t know how you manage all this,” she said with a well-placed giggle. “I wouldn’t have the stamina to do what you do. You’re amazing.”
A short smile amidst the fervent concentration.
“Thank you, kyria.”
Maybe her tea wouldn’t have been compromised, but a little flattery carried further than most people thought. She’d learnt that lesson from her patruus, back at the manor. She’d learnt a lot from him, or from her tutors hired by him, at least. Most weeks he barely even looked her way. That’s what she got for being born a bastard of the family, the dirty little secret, the height of gossip in the hallways. Perhaps it wasn’t the worst life, growing up in nobility, even as an outcast, but she found it to be very lonely. Even so, Larsi still couldn’t decide which life was better: the old or the new. Was sharing a dormitory in Lupanar, infamous for its criminality no less, worse than being pampered in a tranquil Lord’s manor? She couldn’t decide whether she preferred the comforts of then or the people of now.
“Finished, kyria.”
Larsi looked down to her nails. Purple, like Idro’s scales, with shiny flecks that glittered in direct light. She couldn’t help but grin.
“Thank you, my dulci!” She said excitedly. “I think I’d like some tea. Shall we boil the pot?”
“As you wish, kyria."
“No, I said, shall we boil the pot.” Larsi shook one finger, flaunting her new nails. “Once the pot is on we can sit and chat.”
The velen looked puzzled. “I am not paid to chat, ky-”
“I want to chat.” The hostess was taken aback by the interruption. “You are here to please me. So you can set the pot to boil and we can talk. About anything. Men. Women. The weather. Gossip. Whatever takes your fancy.”
The hostess stared at her for a few seconds, then a tenseness drifted out of her shoulders, as if she’d been sitting crooked this whole time.
“As you wish, kyria.” And they both smiled. It had been too long since a cup of tea and a chat.
Perhaps Larsi was taking advantage of their services too much after all.
Idro didn’t much feel like taking advantage of the Hospitium’s services. Most people would have thought it enjoyable to relax, bathe, drink the soothing tea, pamper themselves. The idea sounded nice, but he knew it wouldn’t suit him. Not that he wasn’t going to try. The Boss had paid for it and he was going to mill it to the last grain.
So he sat there, wrapped in a towel, sipping at his coffee while his host ran the bath. He had tried the tea, but it was disgusting. All of it. Bitter. Too floral. Too fruity. Truth be told, he wasn’t the biggest lover of the coffee either. It missed the certain edge of his usual roast. It was too smooth. The whole experience was too smooth.
“Your bath is ready, kyrio,” the host said. The man was tall and could have fooled some into believing he was a laicar, if it weren’t for the patchy scales and gills.
“Don’t call me that.” Idro stood up from his seat in the corner and let the towel fall. Purple and black scales were criss-crossed with dozens of marks. Straight, curved, circular, a canvas of different shapes. Naked as the day he was born, Idro stepped to the bath and heaved himself in. The water rocked at his weight, sloshing a little over one side. The temperature was good. Hot. Almost too hot. But not.
“The temperature?” The host asked. Idro smiled as he further submerged himself, feeling the heat permeate his body an inch at a time.
“Good.”
The host nodded. Idro caught it out the corner of his eye. The Hospitium staff were good at reading a room. Then again, judging from their usual clientele, that was probably a large part of their jobs. There might have been strict ramifications for causing uproar in the Hospitium holdings, but it didn’t stop it from happening.
“May I apply the cleansing oils?”
“Give me a damn minute.”
As the words left his mouth, Idro knew his tone had been too harsh. He’d always had trouble controlling his temper. Even a room which was built for creating the most relaxing atmosphere couldn’t silence the Noise in his mind. It was like a ringing sound, pulsating, spreading, smothering coherent thought and aggravating baser instincts. With an effort, Idro quelled his curse. Some times were easier than others. Some were impossible. This time he was lucky.
“Mm. Alright,” Idro said. “You can do your job if you like.”
The host rolled up his sleeves and rubbed his hands together with the oil. The first touch wasn’t too bad. His shoulder. Gentle. Soft. An unfamiliar feeling. It slipped between his scales, making a pleasant tingling as it was rubbed in. Idro looked sideways at his host. The man had a short, dark beard, neatly trimmed, though it covered most of his chin and climbed up to his hairline. Idro didn’t see the point. If you want clean-shaven, shave. If you want to look rugged, grow it out. This in-between nonsense looked pretentious. False. Even so, Idro found himself wondering when his host finished work for the day. He’d quite like to see how the man handled authenticity. Unbound. Unrelenting. If he was that way inclined.
“You are feeling tense.”
“Part of me is,” Idro smirked.
“Would you like me to stop?”
“No, it’s-”
The spurii’s soft hand felt a notch in his back. The Noise exploded, a deafening roar that swallowed the waking world whole. Idro’s hand grasped the host’s shirt and pulled his head to the water. There was likely a yell, but Idro couldn’t hear anything above the vicious ringing, the call for violence.
Stop!
The strain was unbelievable, like carrying a weight so heavy his body threatened to collapse at any time. He had found in times like this, when his compulsions were frowned upon, that if he held the weight of the Noise for a time, its intensity would begin to fade. Most of the time. Just give it time. Just a little time.
The pressure began to ease slowly, painfully, and Idro was able to focus on the world above once again. He realised he was holding the wide-eyed host of the bath, half his attire soaked from the bath water. One webbed hand had him by the shirt, the other pointed its nails towards his neck.
The host didn’t say a word. Just stared. He was lucky. That had been exactly the right thing to do.
“Maybe,” Idro breathed, “maybe we can skip the back.”
“Of course.”
He released the man, but he suddenly felt exhausted. Slowly, so slowly, the Noise crept back to whichever vile corner of his mind it inhabited. That happened sometimes with the scars. His back was the worst. It reminded him of the times he used to get strung up in the darkness, where they would slash and whip him. Belts, whips, sticks, anything they had to hand. Ridiculed, laughed at, tortured for no reason other than the joy of it. Some of them had enjoyed the sound of his cries. That was when the Noise had first appeared. Idro had blacked out, in a way. The night had been a blur, like a hundred memories blended together, bursting forth at once. It had ended with blood. He had ended them all.
Idro began to rub at his forehead. A fresh headache was beginning to plague him. His finger caught the new groove and he stopped. Most people would be astonished, relieved, ecstatic that they’d managed to survive a bullet to the head. Idro only wondered if this new wound would become a new portal to the Noise, another way to aggravate it. He hoped not, but it would certainly be his luck.
“Finish up,” he told the host. “I’m starting to get bored.”
At least he’d given it a try. It was easier to ignore the Noise when he was out, moving, somewhere loud or busy. That dulled his compulsions. Made them quiet.
Here, there was far too much Noise.
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