Poisonous Fox

Absorption 2.3.X

The woman stretched as she removed herself from the bed. Her motions were slow and luxurious, clearly well practiced. As she crawled to the mattress edge, she left her back arched and her rump raised, for just a teasing moment, before she finished her escape.

Glancing over her shoulder, she saw the patron weighing her appreciatively, his eyes locked on her thighs. She was sure to keep any unseemly fluids from leaking down her skin. The man, one of her regulars, nodded slowly. Perhaps, he would tip. Sometimes her patrons did so, to encourage a more engaging performance.

This woman was named Tiffany Digger, though she avoided using her family name whenever possible. She worked for Madame Ritz as a courtesan, and she was somewhat proud of her position, as it was the highest that anyone in her circumstances could expect to climb. She wore her hair in a tight bun, kept her face masked with paralytics and cosmetic alchemics, and she had the fortune of inheriting the rare blonde hair and fair skin from her father, though that would have been the only blessing he gave.

As she leaned down to grab her silk robe, which had fallen loose during the act, she felt a calloused palm slap her rear, sure to leave an imprint. If not for the facial paralytics, she surely would have grimaced. She loathed when patrons grew handsy after the act was done. Just because she had performed a service minutes ago did not mean she wished to keep performing after. And besides, bruised flesh was unsightly to many patrons. It meant a reduction in future earnings.

Despite her feelings on the matter, she kept her silence and instead angeled further away from the man with a well practiced smile and giggle. If he persisted, regular or not, she would complain to Esmerelda and let the giant deal with the man. Though if Esmerelda became involved, then Tiffany might lose some of her earnings.

She decided to tough it out for now.

That was when the patron decided to open his mal-adjusted mouth.

“Lookin’ a bit saggy there,” the man said jovially, with far too much disregard for the insulting words tumbling from his mouth revealing the slurried vomit that composed his mind.

But still, he was a patron, and the Madame would grow furious with Tiffany if Tiffany provided the patron with a disservice. However, this still left Tiffany with many options, though they would be a far-cry from what a respectable courtesan would claim. So rather than stabbing him through the throat and feeding him to Cook’s larder, she chose to verbally joust instead.

“Nonsense,” Tiffany said with a controlled voice, allowing humor and a light-hearted energy to lace her tone, even though this was quite distant from what she truly felt. “You gaze upon an ideal specimen of female-kind, in the prime of her life.”

“Hmmm,” the man said, almost laughing as he hummed. “Nah, don’t think so. You’re getting old, Digger.”

Tiffany almost winced at the use of her last name. It was the lowest kind of commoner’s name, born from the pits. If not for the alchemics, her face would have surely betrayed her displeasure. This man knew of her family name, of course, as he had also risen up from the slums. Not that she would remind him of this fact, as he would undoubtedly wish to ignore his inglorious past as well. Still, it was foolish for him to call her Digger. She and he had never even met previous to Ma’Ritz. They shared no history, other than location of origin.

And yet, he continued with his overly familiar and condescending words.

“Not so much the plump and smooth rump from a couple years ago,” he said, as if he had not just been enjoying the fruits of her flesh. “But it’s fine,” he continued. “I just I expect a bit of a discount, since the goods are a little stale.”

This bastard, Tiffany thought.

She had now left the bed and had slipped into a silk nightgown, sitting at a cushioned stool as she brushed her hair, her back turned towards the man. She revisited her resolve to avoid murder. Even within their chambers, there were several levers to trigger alarms, and one hidden razor available for self defense. But no, she would then have to explain the loss, and spend the night scrubbing blood. It would be better to resolve this peacefully.

Besides, he had yet to withhold payment, and other than his rudeness, he had done little to justify murder.

“Unfortunately,” she said, hoping that he would pursue the matter further thus to warrant action. “I am unable to negotiate price, for they are set by the Madame.

The man gave a sly glance about the room, eyes lingering on the golden candelabras and ornamental wood carvings. He was weighing the establishment’s wealth. He might be foolish enough to protest the pricing further. Tiffany could not help the slight curling of her lips in predatory anticipation.

“If desired, we can call for the Madame?” Tiffany offered.

The man must have felt the grave breathing down the back of his neck, as he shuddered and declined. “Nah, that’s alright,” he said, waving off the entirety of the conversation. “It’s not like there aren’t other options out there though. The prices ought to be set more competitively.”

“Noted,” Tiffany said dryly, already angling towards the door’s exit. Either he would pay, or he would not and violence would follow. Regardless, Tiffany desired for the conversation to end. However, the man failed to pick up on any of the hints.

“Then again,” he said, as though he was both considering and perhaps acting in a magnanimous fashion. The fool. “The lower city’s brothels come with a bit of risk,” he said. “So maybe it works out that it’s a bit more expensive here? Though, I still think you should lower your rate compared to the other girls.”

Tiffany faltered in her step, coming to a stop and catching herself on the doorframe. She shut her eyes and focused on breathing.

“I told you already,” Tiffany bit out. “The Madame sets the rates. If you desire negotiation, then speak with her. Not I.”

“I’m sure if you–” he started once more vomiting foolishness.

Tiffany refused to allow this insolence to stand. It just would not, could not, stand.

“This is the finest establishment in Southbridge,” Tiffany hissed. “Feel free to frequent the brothels and whores of the lower city, among the vermin and disease. If that is what you desire? It would be your choice. But if you continue along these lines, then you might find your access to Ma’Ritz revoked!”

At first, he grinned crudely. But as Tiffany’s rant continued, a frown slipped onto his face. By the time Tiffany finished, he was grimacing. “Well now, hol’ on,” he hurried. “Let us not be hasty, yea? It’s just–”

“Just. What.” Tiffany had crossed her arms. Blood was rushing through her tan skin, leaving a vein visible.

He forced a chuckle while buttoning up his trousers an standing up. He began stepping towards Tiffany, but when she arched a solitary eyebrow, he stumbled to a stop.

“You’re serious, then?” he asked.

“Your words offended both myself and this establishment,” Tiffany said with a sniff.

He rubbed the back of his head, fingers running through the greased hair. The corner of his lips twitched, where normally he would have held some nature of smoking apparatus. Fortunately, the Madame prohibited smoking indoors–the scent was difficult to remove.

“Ahh, yeah, well… I’m sorry…” he trailed off, likely hoping to avoid further issue. Unlike some lower-end brothels, Ma’Ritz took proper care of the escorts and treated them with respect. Sometimes, the patrons required a reminder.

“Words may have dug your own grave, but you have floundered too deep for mere words to remove you from it.” Tiffany’s arms crossed and tightened, her scowl broke through her paralyzing facial alchemics, creating unseemly wrinkles that ruined her carefully applied foundation. The end result appeared rather theatrical and unsettling.

“Well, uh… can I make it up then?” he asked.

At first, Tiffany considered simply allowing him to pay his way into forgiveness. Normally, Tiffany would have allowed this, as Ma’Ritz ultimately was a business. However, the man had truly offended her, and with the new girl who was much younger, what the man said had struck a very sore nerve. Thus, Tiffany was disinclined to simply accept additional Chargers.

“How so?” Tiffany asked, questioning further what the man was implying. He was a true scoundrel, and he ran something of a service for multiple pit crews. Thus, Tiffany would not be surprised if he had a more creative or innovative means of gaining forgiveness. Especially as her mother’s abode was within the city’s slums.

In fact, now that Tiffany considered the man’s connections, and her own mother’s vulnerability, she wondered if she had not been somewhat hasty in her reactions. However, what was done, was done. She could only make the best decision to alleviate this intolerable situation.

“Well, the Garnets have been makin’ some noise about this place, and I figured you an’ your Madame might appreciate some o’ my expertise?”

“Oh?” Tiffany prompted. She of course knew of the Garnets, one of the Pit Crews operating in the city. What business they had with Ma’Ritz, she was unsure. She was also unsure how this would be of value to the Madame. However, she was intrigued. As she had some connections to the slums, learning of the movements of some of the more powerful and less scrupulous denizens could be of value. “Tell me, then.”

“Sure, sure,” he said. “It’s like this. One of the new girls here–”

“Purple hair?” Tiffany asked, thinking of the recently employed Jackie, though she was not a true employee, more of a hired help, along with Esmerelda’s pet Marianne.

“Yea, think so. She and the Garnets got into somethin of a tussle, and she killed several o’ the boys. Low level enforcers–”

“What?” Tiffany asked breathlessly. Was the new girl a murderer? Tiffany doubted it, but what circumstances could have led to this? “When… why?”

“Hey, you sure you wanna know?” he asked.

“Of course,” Tiffany responded with little to no prior thought.

“Normally this would cost ya–”

“-yes yes, but you are paying for your earlier indiscretion,”Tiffany said.

“Yeah. Course. So some o’ the pigs had a deal with the Garnets. Regular stuff. The pigs collect a fee, an’ if they don’t get it, they send in the boys. Follow so far?”

Tiffany nodded. That did seem like the standard that the baron held for his men. An unfortunate situation, certainly.

“Well, your Madame refused to pay–”

This time, both of Tiffany’s eyebrows rose. For what reason would the Madame refuse to pay the bribes? Certainly, they were distasteful. But business was business.

“Yeah, nuts, right? Anyways, the boys come along, intendin’ on makin’ an example o’ some fool comin’ outta here, and that girl o’ yers drops em. Messed ‘em up good too. Their loved ones barely recognized the corpses. Messy business.”

“Messy indeed,” Tiffany said, almost grimacing at the situation. A vendetta from a criminal gang would not be healthy for Jackie, nor those around her, including Ma’Ritz and all involved. “What will they do?”

He shrugged. “They aren’t sure yet. But expect ‘em to make a move sometime soon. Might wanna check on yer Ma. Move her or somethin.”

Tiffany nodded slowly. “Yes, this absolves you of your offense. Next time, ensure to make a more appropriate use of your tongue.”

Tiffany exited the room, her thoughts in turmoil. What was Madame Ritz playing at, refusing to pay a tax? Or did she? Perhaps there had been a misunderstanding? The new girl was on watch duty, so perhaps… but what could have elicited such immediate violence? Certainly, life was cheap. But this was the Hill. Outright murder should be kept quiet, not noisy, not out on the streets.

In the end, she decided that the man’s advice was probably correct. It had been a few weeks since she had last visited her mother. Perhaps, perhaps it was time for her to make a visit?

Tiffany pulled her plain brown cloak close around her, the hood obscuring her blonde hair, a threadbare scarf obscuring her face. She had just crossed the divide, the highway that split Southbridge in two, between the mercantile and the industrial, between the well-to-do and the impoverished.

She had just entered the slums, and she hoped to avoid drawing attention or suspicion, for there were always hungry eyes on the lookout for a victim, and while she owned some means to dissuade potential attackers, those means would only invite additional scrutiny.

With the highway crossing behind her, she took a tertiary street that split off from the main thoroughfare. She headed away from the warehouses and the factorums, and headed towards the stacked tenement houses that were made of brick and wood and rose crookedly into the sky. Little light reached some of these paths, which led to a host of unpleasant smells and activity.

Another justification for a face covering, though the cloth hardly removed all of the stench. She pressed a fresh sachet to her nose and pressed on.

Keeping to the shadows, she progressed down the winding streets. They were more walkways than road, as enough clutter piled against the sides of the tenements to obstruct cart traffic. Only when a building collapsed would a road be cleared, and then only enough to bring in whatever supplies were required to sloppily rebuild it.

The slum lords were unkind to their people, one of the reasons that Tiffany wished her mother would move.

However, relocating her mother would require a host of things, the least being the Chargers to pay for the relocation. For as kind as the Madame was, the Ma’Ritz was not a long term dormitory for the weak and feeble.

As she approached her target, she noticed a shift in the territory markers; she almost lost her way due to them.

In the slums, none of the streets were long enough to name, stretching only until the next building before either twisting or terminating at a junction. Even if the streets had been named, street signs would be defaced or stolen the very day they were installed. This meant that traveling in the slums required a keen memory of buildings and landmarks, though many also relied on the territory markers as well.

And so, when Tiffany saw the yellowish brown diamonds painted onto the sides of buildings where before they had not, she stumbled as a wave of confusion on vertigo assaulted her. For becoming lost in the slums was not conducive to living. But her overlapping memories, of the buildings and landmarks, and the territory markers, showed her that perhaps she was on the correct path, and only the garish paint had been added.

Previously, the territory had belonged to the Sapphires, but now it belonged to someone else. A surprising change for a period of only several weeks. While territory did change hands, often the change was gradual, unless another war had begun, or perhaps a significant deal.

Regardless of the change, Tiffany pushed on, finally reaching the tenement which housed her mother.

The building seemed the same as most of the others at first glance. It was constructed of bricks and masonry along the first several floors, and then rickety and old lumber for the rest. It stretched of comparable height to the other buildings, perhaps ten stories in all, though Tiffany had never bothered to count. On closer inspection, one would see that the upper stories had flower boxes and balconies, where the light was greatest. This would be one of the few outwardly visible concessions towards comfort.

Tiffany went to the sole entrance on the ground floor, thick, iron banded doors. No other windows or doorways could be found on the first two floors, a common concession to practicality here in the slums.

She lifted a heavy knocker and made her presence known.

Thoom. Thoom. Thoom.

She then waited a moment, before knocking once more.

Thoom.

A panel slid open at face height. Even though the panel was rectangular in shape, one would find little success in pressing an attack through it. The opening was covered in a metallic mesh, and the surroundings reinforced with welded steel. On the other side of the opening was an obscured face.

“Reason for visit?” an androgynous voice asked.

“Visiting hours,” Tiffany answered. “My mother.”

“Name.”

“Theodora Digger,” Tiffany answered, before anticipating the next question and rattling off her mother’s code.

The face disappeared for a moment, likely checking a ledger of clients, codes, and permitted visitors. When they reappeared, they asked, “Tiffany Digger?”

“Yes,” Tiffany answered. “That would be me. Might I enter now?”

Rather than answering, the panel slid shut. Less than thirty seconds later, a latch clicked, and the door opened. Tiffany pushed forward, nearly struggling against the heavy door and the poorly balanced hinges. Once she was through to the otherside, she found herself in a short atrium that ended in another door, with nobody else in sight.

Thus far, nothing out of the ordinary.

The door behind her shut and the latch clicked as the lock engaged. A moment later, the door ahead of her unlocked, and the androgynous person waited. “Same room,” they said. “Do you require an escort?”

Tiffany shook her head slightly. “I know the way,” Tiffany said.

The other person nodded and stepped aside, allowing Tiffany to enter the lobby of the assisted living home, one of the only of its kind in the city.

In most families, when the parents grew old and senile, the family would care for their elder members until they passed. In some cases, it was not unheard of for the family to hasten their elders along, or to neglect them and allow them to waste away on the streets. Typically, this depended upon the character of the children, and upon fiscal circumstances. In the upper city, it was far more common for the elderly to receive appropriate care and comfort in their later years. In the slums, it was much more variable.

However, even in the slums, even with a low chance of filial piety, there were numbers enough to ensure that plenty of children wished to care for their parents. Yet, in the lower city, often times the children were unable to perform this duty. The reasons were as numerous as there were people, but typically it came down to working hours, available living space, poor wages, or a combination thereof. In the first and second instance, where the elder’s home was unable to provide or accommodate the elder’s needs, a solution, albeit, an expensive solution, was available.

This solution was the same that Tiffany employed for her own mother, as Tiffany lacked siblings to shoulder the burden, and as Tiffany was unable to house her mother in her own quarter at Ma’Ritz.

Tiffany passed several elders and working adults in the lobby, ignoring their conversations, noting the board games and the teas available, noting the scent–unlike the slums outside, the interior of this building was kept clean and fresh, both in paint and in hygiene. Even the tea appeared freshly imported and well made.

They may live in the slums, but Southbridge was still a major trade-hub, and Tiffany spent a good portion of her earnings to ensure her mother received the best possible care. Thus, as Tiffany passed one of the attendants, Tiffany offered a respectful nod. It could not be easy to maintain this business.

Tiffany reached the stairwell and had a moment’s consideration. An elevator was available, but it was slow to ascend, and was often monopolized by the elders. Given this, she decided to take the stairs. What was a little more walking, afterall.

After the fifth flight of stairs, she arrived at her mother’s floor. It had a communal space at the center, and several branching hallways containing multiple living quarters. An orderly was preparing stew and keeping an eye out for untoward behavior in the common space, not that the several people currently engaged in a card game would cause such misbehavior. The orderly greeted Tiffany with a terse nod, of which Tiffany returned. What more was there to be said? Unless Tiffany’s mother had fallen to another episode, however, from the orderly’s trite behavior, Tiffany doubted that was the case.

Tiffany continued down a branching path, until she arrived at one door in particular. It had been decorated with several pieces of amateur artwork, portraying a messy jungle with crude smears. Undoubtedly her mother’s work, from one of her better days.

Tiffany knocked on the door.

“Mother?” Tiffany called out. “Are you there? Are you prepared for a visit?”

She resisted the urge to worry her lip as she waited. One of these days, she feared that her mother would fall silent and remain so. Though that was not today. After a lengthy pause, a light and ditzy twist upon a mature voice answered.

“A visitor?! A caller? Oh my, it has been quite some time! Although… You don’t sound like my type…” the confused woman giggled. “But it is the age of experimentation! Come in, come in!”

“Mother…” Tiffany said, wincing ever so slightly. It was, apparently, a bad day.

“Who?” Her mother asked as she opened the door. Her mother’s eyes failed to recognize Tiffany. “Oh–oh my! Why is such a thing so concealed beneath such drab cloth? You must come in!”

“It’s me, Mother. Your daughter…” Tiffany spoke slowly, hoping to knock one of her mother’s memories loose. This was one of the reasons Tiffany disliked visiting. No matter how often Tiffany dropped by, her mother always seemed to forget. The experience ranged from uncomfortable to painful. And if her mother failed to remember regardless, then where was the harm in the negligence?

“You might be confused dear,” her mother said. Her cheek had been smudged with white and green paint, her hazel eyes crisp despite her mental illness, and her cheeks still plump and full of life. Tiffany’s mother had aged very well, though she was not nearly at an age that she should be rendered feeble. “But do come in! I have several projects I would love some input on…”

Tiffany entered her mother’s abode, already regretting her decision to visit.

A painful hour passed, an awkward hour, one in which Tiffany tried again and again to remind her mother just who she was. At several moments, it seemed that her mother was on the verge of remembering, but then it slipped away, and once more Tiffany’s mother explained various landscapes, color palettes, and appropriate angles for the horizon. Tiffany managed to smile and act interested, but it was hard, oh so very difficult, for this was hardly the first time Tiffany had had this conversation with her mother.

But at the end, her mother shooed Tiffany out, as her mother was once more feeling inspired, and she had no need for a visitor at such a time. So, Tiffany saw herself out. As she exited, she planned to speak to the orderly about her mother’s progress, and upon the wait-list for some of the more experimental treatments that periodically came available, but the orderly was not to be found.

Knowing that her shift would start that evening, Tiffany decided it would be best to return while the sky was still bright, both for safety, and for ample time to prepare. And thus, Tiffany began her descent down the stairs, and once again entered the lobby.

Or she would have, at any rate, had a rough hand not grabbed her by the shoulder and pulled her back into the stairwell, towards the shadows beneath the stairs.

Tiffany felt a moment of fear, and prepared to make sound while deploying some of her self protection tools, but the man who grabbed her made no further attacks, and Tiffany recognized the garnet colored armband.

The man was a member of the Garnets; several simultaneous thoughts rushed through her head.

“Easy now,” the man said in a soothing voice. “Not here to trouble ya, just to talk.”

He lifted his grimy hand with his polluted fingernails off of her shoulder. Tiffany could tell from his armband that he was at least one step up from the basic thug, but still towards the bottom of the organization. It would be doubtful that any of the higher-ups would be waiting for her. Which meant he was here for a message. Now, whether that message involved violence or not, would likely depend upon Tiffany’s actions.

She crossed her arms and stared up at the hoodlum, refusing to be cowed. “Well? What business does the Garnets have with me?” she asked, completely ignoring the fact that a thug should have no place inside an assisted living home. Likely, either bribes or threats were used for him to gain access. Disappointing, but a reality of the slums of Southbridge.

“Heh, straight to the point? Good,” he said gruffly, but with proper enunciation. Perhaps there was some hope for him and for this discussion. “It’s about your employer. You’re a working gal at Ma’Ritz, yeah?”

Tiffany nodded, ignoring the fact that she was far more than an ordinary ‘working girl.’ The nuances would likely be lost on this imbecile.

“Good. So, my boss gots–”

Tiffany winced but refrained from interrupting.

“-a problem with one o’ your girls. Know the one?”

Tiffany performed an admirable job of keeping her face smooth. “I believe so. Purple hair, cyan eyes, pale skin? Short.”

The man snorted, “Aye, pity she’s a looker. But she went an’ messed with the wrong folk.”

The mess that Jackie had landed herself in should have had nothing to do with Ma’Ritz or the other employees there, however, life did not work in such an idealistic manner. Instead, association with Jackie could threaten everyone involved, depending on how the situation was handled. Tiffany remained cautious.

“If the issue lies with her, then why did you seek me out here?” And it was clear that the man had sought Tiffany out. This was no chance encounter. Likely, they had a watcher of some sort, which meant they knew far too much about Tiffany, and likely, Tiffany’s vulnerable mother.

“Again, straight to it,” the man said, nodding. “Well then, I’ll be straight. We want that girl.”

Tiffany held her peace for a minute. The man appeared serious.

“Then take her?” Tiffany offered, keeping the attention upon Jackie and not her associations. “I have no authority on this, and I have hardly spoken to the girl. Surely you could simply seize her? She hardly remains inside all day, and she trains down in the Mercenary Quarter.”

“Trust me, we know,” he scoffed in disgust. “It’s hard to catch her though. Slippery girl. That’s why we need your help.”

“Oh?” Tiffany prompted, acknowledging that she was, in fact, in a difficult place. Neither she nor he needed to state as much. The situation was both obvious and dire.

“So we figured, since yer one of us, that you’d help us track her down…”

Tiffany gave a very slow nod. “Did you already have a plan?” she asked. “Not that I’m agreeing just yet of course–”

The man’s nostril’s flared, and Tiffany had to wave a hand to stop him from cutting her off and brandishing a crude threat.

“-not a disagreement! Of course. But the plan might not be as viable with insider knowledge… and that is what you’re after here?”

He let out a breath and rubbed his scruffy beard. “Aye, that is, that is. You’ll give us her schedule though? Help make sure she’s alone? Maybe dose her?”

Tiffany almost grimaced at that. “Dose her with… ?”

“Whatever we give you,” he answered gruffly and immediately.

Several substances were possible, and most of them were awful. Not that the fate the Garnets had planned for Jackie was any better.

“I’ll do it,” Tiffany said, half buying time, and half hoping to escape the situation. What she should do is immediately inform the Madame and allow her to deal with this mess. Not that she would of course.

“Good. We’ll be in touch… and, this goes without saying. But yer ma?” he pointed up at the stairwell. “Cross us, and she may as well be dead already.”

Tiffany frowned at the one-sided agreement. “All stick and no treat?” Tiffany asked.

“Huh?” the brute asked, breathing through his mouth.

“Is there any incentive to helping you in this situation? Or is it only a threat.”

“Uh. Hm. Maybe, if the bosses agree. Got something reasonable-like in mind?”

“My mother requires treatment for a mental illness. There should be several mid-range Marks available to ameliorate her condition. Perhaps… ?”

The man’s eyes lit up. “Right. We got a contract with the Skingineer. Might get ya in with her. Depends on the boss then. I’ll check though, yeah?”

“Yes, please do that,” Tiffany said. “And I’ll get her schedule. I assume you know where to find me besides here?”

“Yeah, yeah. We know.”

And just like that, Tiffany ended the incredibly uncomfortable discussion. All along her way back to Blossom Hill, her skin crawled as though she was being watched. Likely, she was. She felt dirtied and unclean. That the Garnets wanted Jackie alive meant a fate worse than death. That they could corner Tiffany like that, and hold her mother over her head? That was intolerable. But just what could Tiffany do? Madame was a strong lady with a proper heart, but even then, business was business, and Madame had none with Tiffany’s mother. The entire way back home, Tiffany wondered if there was not some other means to escape this situation.