How to catch a lion
Tahmid stretched as he reentered the Consensual after dumping a basket of laundry with the team in charge of washing that week. Business may have slowed ever since the gangs took offense to their recent expansion, but their kind of work always created a lot of dirty sheets. He took a quick peek into the bar floor; as it was mid-morning, they had yet to open, and it was essentially empty if you ignored the gaggle of people clustered around the windows.
He idly scratched his side as his mutation rearranged the patterns on his skin. Then, stepping up, he joined the group shamelessly ogling one of the few good things to come out of the gang debacle. Said thing was tall, built like a shit brickhouse, and currently running exercises with the rest of his squad in the courtyard. It was hilarious how Wiljem could turn a group of professional entertainers who seduced their clients out of every coin in their possession into a bunch of debutantes facing their first crush. Not that Tahmid had any room to judge; he also wanted to climb that man like a tree. Their current object of adoration was sparring with another of his Unit, an equally muscled woman; they were not wearing their iconic heavy armor; instead, simple light armor was apparently deemed enough. They were also using regular spears rather than electrified ones. Despite working up quite a sweat, he had a smile on his face, giving his handsome features a roguish edge.
Tahmid heard a dreamy sigh coming from beside him. It came from his fellow worker Phistia, who was prone to fantasies more fitting to a little girl than a full-grown woman despite their profession. Said fantasies had only gotten worse since the Wall had been stationed here, he knew since she had heard them often enough over breakfast. Or at lunch. Or at night. And while working.
He gently bumped hips with her, bringing the smaller woman out of her daydream. "Still waiting for a prince in shining armor to sweep you away into the sunset?"
Phistia pouted in a way some people would call cute. "I'll have you know that I keep my feet on the ground and my expectations realistic" Ah, so she had tried and been rebuffed like everyone else. "Besides, I'll happily settle for a gallant knight right now. A much more reasonable goal, don't you think?"
He hummed, thinking it over. He could see it; while there were rumors that the woman currently sparring with Wiljem was pining for her own lady love, some of the other members of the Wall would be much more receptive. Of course, they weren't bad-looking either, but going after such safe bets was hardly a challenge at all.
Phistia must have figured it out from his expression since she poked him hard in the stomach. "Look who's chasing fantasies now, Mr. Pot." She said with a smile. "Did you not get enough after being rejected once?"
Now it was Tahmid who was smirking. "Well, I wouldn't know anything about rejection; I have not spoken to him yet." His words had the desired effect, and Phistia looked at him, startled.
"Wait! You, of all people, did not do anything yet? Why?!" She questioned, surprised.
"First rule of seduction," He began while gently poking his colleague's nose, "be memorable." And you could not be that as just another pretty face in a crowd. No, if he wanted to make an impression, he would need to wait for the right opportunity.
Luckily, said opportunity presented itself that very evening. He had decided to have an early night, so he was loitering on the bar floor after seeing off his last client. That was when he spotted Wiljem sitting in a quiet corner by himself, reading a book. The rest of his Unit was nowhere to be seen, now was his chance.
He practically sauntered up to his table and delicately put his hand on one of the empty chairs. "May I sit here?" He asked with the most innocent he could muster, fluttering his eyelashes for greater effect.
A pair of unimpressed golden eyes rose from the book and went straight for his own. They stayed there until whatever inspection of his very soul was finished. "I know what you want to ask, and the answer is still no." Wiljem was direct, looking to stonewall him from the very beginning. "But sure."
"Good thing I wasn't planning to ask anything." He had, after all, done some research. Tahmid knew his target was not wholly disinterested in sex; he had heard the Madam comment on previous visits made by the warrior. So a direct approach would not work; he needed to get his quarry used to his presence so that he would be the obvious first choice when it was time to scratch that itch.
"Is it so strange that someone else would seek a quiet corner to relax?" He continued as he sat and pulled out his own preferred timewaster that he picked up at the crafts class. The small sewing kit was indeed a blessing, plus his fellow workers seemed to enjoy the patches he made. He looked back at his table partner and saw the arched eyebrow the other was giving him. "Really. The background bustle of the bar is preferable to distant moaning and bumping upstairs."
Wiljem snorted at that and returned to his book, seemingly done with him. Tahmid also took it as his cue and turned his attention to the flower he had been working on.
First step: complete.
Their little hangouts became a regular thing over the following weeks, and Tahmid had gotten Wiljem comfortable enough with his presence that they could now speak freely with one another. For a military man, Wiljem was an adept conversationalist. While not the most intelligent person the escort had ever talked to, he had passing knowledge on a wide variety of subjects beyond the typical boastful Necropolis adventure.
He was also surprisingly sweet, as Tahmid would soon discover.
Tonight had been rough; everyone in his line of work knew of and feared the wrong clients, the kind that would beat you or pop a hardcore kink mid-coitus. Thankfully, they had guards here to deal with that sort. But no one talked about the boring clients, the ones that were just bad lays in general. Now having just one he could deal with, he was a professional, but he had had three in a row on a single night. He had not been able to finish even once, and to say he was frustrated was an understatement.
He collapsed into his usual seat with a bone-weary sigh, letting his head thump on the table. Wiljem looked up from his book, a look of concern on his face.
"Bad day?" The handsome Mutated asked.
Tahmid merely moaned pitifully in response, drawing a chuckle from his table partner. They lapsed into a comfortable silence, as they often did during their hangouts. He propped his head on his hand as he focused on the book the sergeant was reading. The few times he had peeked, the pages had been packed with words well beyond his meager level. Before, he didn't want to push in fear of undoing the progress he had made so far, or worse, make him look like an ignorant idiot.
"What's so interesting about that book?" Tahmid finally asked after Wiljem waved down a waitress, probably to get a drink. "You've been reading it non-stop for weeks."
"It's a book on strategy and tactics." Came the reply from the sergeant as he turned the page, frowning at something written on the page.
"Huh, I didn't think officers had to study to do their jobs." In fact, from what he knew of those who thrived in the military, opening a textbook might as well be a novel form of torture.
"We don't. It's mostly nobles or those commoners who reach positions like General or Sub-General that are required to study stuff like this." Wiljem scoffed, then stared back at the book, his mind seemingly elsewhere. "But if I am to keep the people under me alive, I need to be able to see the bigger picture. And so I asked a friend if he could pass me a copy of some of his old books."
Tahmid hummed with a slight smile on his face. Honestly, it was getting a little unfair, a handsome face, athletic and responsible on top of it. "No wonder you have a crowd of lovestruck fanatics after you." He couldn't help but say out loud. Judging by the glare he received, the remark had not gone over well, so he explained further.
"Really. Think about it. You have a handsome face, you're young, in a good, respectable career, and have a good head on your shoulders." He marked each point with a finger as he continued. "You are the best catch anyone short of a noble can realistically hope for."
The sergeant groaned and thumped his head on the table. "Then I'll have to deal with the mass of horny for the rest of my fucking life?" He truly made it sound like a form of divine punishment.
"You could get a partner." There, plant the idea in his mind. People like him only saw relationships from the outside, so they usually saw only the negative side of them. "Even if it's just for a little while, having a partner would get about seventy percent of the mob to give up, and the rest you wouldn't want to approach anyways."
"And you're volunteering for the role, I imagine?" Wiljem shot back with a raised eyebrow.
"Well, I always look to please my fellow man." Tahmid winked and made a kissy face for greater effect. But, unfortunately, he only lasted for a couple of seconds before dissolving into giggling and laughter.
Sadly, Wiljem's resulting snort was cut short by the return of the waitress, who placed a pint of ale and a small bowl of Frin in front of him. Frin was a popular dessert in the region, consisting of grain pudding sweetened with fruit syrup or, if you had money, honey. He enjoyed it occasionally but not as often as he would like since the kinds that actually tasted sweet cost more money.
Which was why he was surprised when Wiljem pushed the bowl towards him. He looked down at the bowl, then back at Wiljem, confusion written clearly across his face.
The Mutated scratched the back of his neck awkwardly. "You seemed to have a bad day. And my sister always says that you can't have an awful day if you finish it with something sweet."
Tahmid blushed, then desperately tried to darken the color of his face to hide its severity. He had been a prostitute for more than five years; he would not blush like a girl receiving her first compliments at the market. However, despite the embarrassment, he grew up poor enough to not look a gift lizard in the mouth, so he took the spoon and scooped up a mouthful of pudding. Letting the sweet taste wash down his throat and calm his nerves.
"Your sister is wise." That was all he finally said when he could trust himself to speak.
"Don't let her hear that, or her head won't fit through any doorways anymore," Wiljem replied, bringing the pint to his lips.
They both chuckled at that, continuing to enjoy their evening.
Truly, it was unfair.
Unfortunately, life had a way of reminding everyone how shitty it could be.
It had been Tahmid's turn to go to the market to restock on makeup and other toiletries that were running low. Sadly, due to the current situation, he had to be partnered with another girl, and they had to stick to the main roads and return as quickly as possible.
Everything had gone well at the beginning. They had made their purchases with minimal haggling and had even managed to avoid getting stuck in the crowd during a hot day. However, when they exited the main avenue to return to the Consensual, he noticed they were being followed. Apparently, the girl had noticed as well since she started to tremble and looked on the verge of tears.
They could try to increase their pace, but that wouldn't work; Tahmid could see another pair of thugs ahead of them. However, looking to the sides, it seemed like there were only the thugs in front behind them. They were far enough away that they could make a break for it, but he didn't like their chances of outrunning them.
"When I tell you, I want you to take the alleyways and run straight to the Consensual and get the Wall. Do you get it?" He whispered to the girl. It was their only chance. If they split up, there was a higher chance one of them would make it back and get help. When she gave a jerky nod, he turned to look ahead as they kept walking. He waited until they passed an alley many had used before as a shortcut to avoid cramped streets.
"Go! I'll distract them!" He waited until the girl had started running before he also shot off down the street. He hoped they focused on him instead of the girl, and by the sound of hurried footfalls behind him, it seemed he was right.
He apparently took the ambushing thugs by surprise since he was able to run past them before they could block him off. However, he was not the most athletic of individuals, so he needed to lose them quickly if he wanted to get away. Turning into another sidestreet, he heard his pursuers approaching fast. He managed to keep ahead of them as he ran through the winding backstreets, leading them ever closer to the Consensual. Unfortunately, his luck ran out when he found himself blocked off by an upturned debris cart on the next bend, he could not climb over it fast enough, and by the time he turned around, panting heavily, the three thugs were already upon him, blocking any way out. Shit.
The thugs seemed like the standard scumbag fare omnipresent in every gang in Mirn. But, he recognized their tattoos, the Gutter Rats. Double shit.
The two thugs on the side were smirking with sneers on their faces, while the larger thug and possibly the leader had a pensive look on his face. Oh no…
"Wait… I think I remember you." Triple shit! "You used to be one of ours, didn't you?" Tahmid didn't like the look on his face at all.
He needed to keep them talking, to buy time. "Well, it is a business after all, so if someone starts offering better rates and benefits, it's only logical to make the jump, isn't it?" He sassed with confidence he did not have, but the last thing he wanted was for these bunch of dickheads to know he was terrified.
The head thug scoffed. "Bah! Y'all talk of improvements, and yet here you are still being whores." He spat in Tahmid's direction. What actually stung was that he was somewhat correct. "Listen here, bitch. The boss wants us to teach you traitorous whores a lesson, but I'll cut you a deal since you used to make good decisions. So, you come quietly and apologize properly," The pervert chuckled at that. "And we can put a good word in with the boss to spare you a beating."
Three years ago, Tahmid would have done it with no hesitation; hell, three months ago, he would have done it if only to spare himself the pain and wait for a chance to escape. But now, all he could think is the face Wiljem would make if he went with them, he would never be able to face him again. He took a deep breath; this was going to hurt.
"Go suck a dick." He could barely spit out his defiance before a hit to his ribs sent him to the floor.
A flurry of kicks to his head and ribs followed as the thugs discharged their fury at his insolence. They also spewed insults between hits, but Tahmid could not distinguish what they were saying over the ringing in his head from all the pain. He didn't know how long the beating lasted, but by the time they finished, he was struggling to stay awake, and he could taste blood on his mouth.
He could feel himself being picked up but could do nothing but weakly moan in protest. He was being carried somewhere when he heard a loud noise nearby. Whatever it was, it caused him to be jostled around and dropped entirely after a few moments. He hit the ground face first and finally lost the battle to remain conscious, his mind fading into darkness.
When he next awoke, Tahmid was on a bed, and his entire body hurt. Thankfully he recognized the room as his own, so he had been rescued in the end. Light streamed in from his window; it looked like morning, so he probably slept through the night. He tried to sit up, but the sharp pain in his chest immediately dissuaded him from the idea. It'd be better to just lay there until someone came to check on him.
Lucky for him, he didn't have to wait long before Phistia came through the door. "Tam!" She cried once she noticed he was awake and coherent. She rushed to his side and stood there, visibly shaking from restraining herself from jumping on him and enveloping him in a hug. Instead, she settled for grabbing his hand in a bone-crushing grip.
"I'm s-so glad you're alright" The waterworks were going to start any moment now. "You looked so bad when they brought you in a-and I thought that-"
Not wanting to see his friend cry, Tahid put his hand on top of her head, gently rubbing her hair. "Hey, it's okay." No, it wasn't, his throat was drier than the Wastes, and his body hurt like it had been dragged to hell and back, but she didn't need to know that. "I'm a little banged up, but it's nothing that time won't fix."
That seemed to do the trick as Phistia raised her head and lightly slapped her own cheeks. "Right, right. I'm useless if all I do is sit here and cry." She stood up and began to make her way to the door. "I'll let Madam Hebi know you're awake; she'll tell you what the doctor said." With that, she left the room.
It wasn't long after Phistia left that Wiljem entered the room. The man was out of his armor, though he still had the suit worn underneath; the bags under his eyes and the look on his face spoke of a rough night. Nevertheless, he didn't say anything, just pulled up a chair and all but collapsed beside the bed.
He stared at him for a few seconds, an odd look on his face, before he spoke in a quiet voice. "How're you feeling?"
"Like shit." No need to sugarcoat things with him.
They lapsed into an awkward silence. It looked like Wiljem had something on his mind, and he had a lot on his mind from the ordeal. But, in the end, it was he who broke the silence.
"You know, it sucks when the past refuses to stay there." He began but was forced to stop as his throat protested being used in such a state. Wiljem immediately unclipped a small canteen from his belt and helped him lean up so he could take a couple of refreshing sips of lukewarm water.
"I used to work for the Gutter Rats." He stared at the ceiling as he continued, not able to look at Wiljem in the face. "It's the most cliche story out there. An orphan with nothing to his name and nothing else to offer but his pretty face doing what he could to survive." He snorted. "To be honest, I didn't have it as bad as some of the others. I wasn't forced to use drugs and managed to keep myself clean. The pay sucked, though, the main reason why I came here in the first place." He let a sardonic smile spread on his lips. "Still have enough pride in me to want to be paid fairly for my work."
"It was a brave thing you did. No one would have blamed you if you had gone with them." Wiljem was trying to comfort him, and he even believed him. But knowing that would not have stopped the shame if he had folded.
"Still, it sucks when they have a point. We are just whores trying to make something of ourselves." He tried to laugh but gave up with a groan when pain shot up from his ribs.
"Now you're just letting their bullshit get to you. No one is 'just anything,' and I know for a fact many people who used to work here were able to move on and make a life for themselves." Wiljem sounded strangely upset over this. He didn't think he would care.
"Well, those people had either skills or family to help them; I have no family, no education, and no skills other than looking pretty." So there, now he would get it. Some people were better off settling for what they had rather than betting everything on the vague hope of getting somewhere better.
"What about sewing? I've seen your work; you're good at it." It seemed Wiljem was not going to give this up.
"That's just a hobby. There's no self-respecting tailor in Mirn that would take a former whore as an apprentice." Never mind the fact that he was a Mutated.
"So you're just going to give up without even trying? What about Norqod? That's an option, now more than ever." The lion man was getting more and agitated, his tail lashing behind him.
"Oh, sure. Let me just drop everything and move to a new town alone with nothing but hopes and dreams." He knew nothing of the newly built village. He would not even know where to begin if he went there.
"You'd not be alone! I'd-" Whatever else Wiljem was about to say was cut off when the door to his room opened, and Madam Hebi stepped in. The woman looked from one man to the next before deciding that Wiljem would be dealt with first.
"Wiljem, a captain of the Guard is looking for you. Go and see what he wants." She ordered in a tone that would brook no argument. Wiljem stared at her for a couple of moments before huffing loudly and stomping out of the room.
Once the man was gone, the Madam turned to look at him. "Do I want to know what all that was about?" She asked with a raised eyebrow.
"No," Absolutely not; he did not want the Madam to begin meddling.
Fortunately, the Madam let him off and took a long drag of her cigarette. "You've gotten yourself into quite a mess, haven't you?" She commented as she breathed out the cloud of smoke.
Tahmid was to stay bedridden until his cracked ribs healed. It was a little humiliating to have to be washed by other people, but the pain in his chest kept him from complaining much. At least he could remain standing without help so he could relieve himself unassisted. Being cooped up in his room also had the unfortunate side effect of being left out of the loop, with any news coming from second-hand rumors and gossip from the people tasked with taking care of him.
Wiljem had not visited once.
Apparently, whatever the Guard had said to him, it had spurred the Wall into action. Every day he heard stories of them going out to strike at the gangs directly. The Guard was doing a massive round-up, and they had enlisted the Wall and extra muscle. It seemed to keep them busy, Phistia had told with a conspiratorial smile, as she had barely seen hide or hair of them since they began to help the Guard.
And this state of affairs continued even after he was allowed to move around. Even if he could walk, Tahmid was only allowed as far as the courtyard, and that was only to get some sunlight. He was never able to meet with Wiljem at all; he was always gone before he woke up and returned long after exhaustion forced him to sleep if he returned at all.
And so it continued for an entire month, people cheered as more and more gangs were dismantled, but Tahmid could only feel a growing sense of dread. He didn't know why he felt this way. He was twenty-three, not ten. He knew that Wiljem was only staying here temporarily and that his relationship with the man would not last, so why was he feeling this anguish at the thought of him leaving?!
He couldn't find an answer, and he still couldn't find it as the last gangs were rounded up, and the Wall declared that they would be going back to Norqod by the end of the week. Madam Hebi had let most of the workers take the night off for an impromptu celebration before they left. Tahmid joined in, keeping to the periphery of the revelry while nursing a mug of ale. He kept an eye on the Unit at the center; he wanted to talk to Wiljem but not in the middle of a crowd with dozens of eyes on them. He tried to catch the sergeant's eyes, but the man kept his head down, ignoring everyone but his squadmates.
Thankfully he did catch the woman's, Chiedi?, attention. She did him an absolute solid and said something to her leader, which caused the man to stand up and weave through to the crowd to begin heading to the dorms. Though he could do without the wink and thumbs up she gave him as he followed Wiljem.
He caught up to him in the hallway leading the bedrooms the Wall had been using, and his approach did not go unnoticed as Wiljem turned around to face him. At first, they just stood in silence, neither knowing what to say. Tahmid was fighting back the tears, and Wiljem had a frown on his face.
"So you're leaving?" Tahmid spoke first.
"Yeah, it's time for us to go home." Wiljem sighed. "It's not like I'm never coming back; I'll try to visit when I can, and I'll send letters regardless."
"But what if you get sent to the ass-end of nowhere, and you can't write?" What if he died out there? Fuck, he was now crying. Would anyone even remember to tell him, or would he just keep waiting for a letter that would never arrive like a character in those cheap novels?
Strong hands cupped his cheeks, and claw-tipped thumbs wiped the tears off his face. "Shh, you know that's how life is." He crooned in an attempt to console him. He stayed like that for a few moments before a small smile bloomed on his face. "Let us enjoy what little time we have left, so we can have some nice memories."
And then he was kissing him. Tahmid wrapped his arms around his neck and let himself be pulled into the bedroom.
It was truly not fair.
The man was even good in bed.
Wiljem left the following morning, and Tahmid tried to return to how life was before, but it had ended with him sitting in the bar drowning his longing in alcohol until he could no longer feel the sorrow in his chest.
He had just downed another glass of liquor and asked for a refill on the second night when Madam Hebi sat on the stool next to him. She leaned back on the bar and took a deep drag of her cigarette, exhaling the smoke in a long puff of air.
"You know, five years ago, I would have encouraged to forget about all this and use it as a lesson on why prostitutes should never fall in love." She began in her lecturing tone.
"N't drunk enuf." He was in no mood to listen to whatever nugget of wisdom the hag wanted to shove down his throat.
"Shush, child! Let me finish." She admonished him before shooing off the barman with a glare; it looked like he was being cut off for the night. "Now? Now things have changed, and for once, it's for the better. One can realistically hope to leave this line of work and make a better life for themselves."
"But what happens if he doesn't want me anymore? Or if I fail to find any work?" Fuck, the buzz was fading, and he was able to think more clearly.
"You do what everyone else does. You get up again." She gave him a fond smile. "The doors of the Consensual will always be open to you; you are not banned for life after you leave."
She stood and pulled him by the shoulder until he did the same. "So, I want you to go to bed and think about what you want to do in the morning, sober." With that, she pushed him in the direction of the dorms.
Cut off from the bar, and with her words rolling around in his head, Tahmid wordlessly made his way back to the dorms.
He woke up the following day with a hangover and a mission. Before he could talk himself out of it, he went to the Madam to end his contract. The older woman smiled knowingly and handed him a receipt for a spot on a caravan leaving to Norqod later that day. He then spent two stressful hours packing all his clothes and his meager personal possessions into a pair of large duffel bags with the help of a teary Phistia. He gave his friend a tight hug before hefting the bags over his shoulders and exiting the Consensual for the final time.
He forced himself to not look back as he walked away. Instead, it was time to look towards the future.