A Writing Exercise
Wrote this to get out of a stiff. I'll continue it as a side project. Future chapters will be friends-locked, as it will contain smut. I haven't written smut in ages.
Title: Dasha, a Korlanian Tale
Rating: R
Word Count: 3,229
Chapter 1
Dasha stood in the blazing hot sun, staring out at the red valley before her. It was empty, with only a few rocks drowning in the sand here and there, pieces of a world that no longer existed. The sand swallowed everything, and with every passing day, it buried more and more of everything else.
Dasha loved it.
The red sand, the emptiness, it was like a new clean slate the gods were making for themselves, room for another new world. To others, it sounded a lot like the end of the world. To Dasha, it looked like hope. Taiur knew she needed it.
She peered over her shoulder at the mansion that towered above her, over the empty red desert. Her prison.
The mansion was run by a Noble that called herself Madame Scarlet, a name whispered behind silk-gloved hands. Her real name was Lori Mark, a name less remarkable. She had the respect of other Nobles. She was well situated, in fact. Her family was old and strong, one of the few original aristocratic families that survived the Underground days. She was filthy rich, and her little kingdom extended further than the small township she owned by law. Everyone knew Madame Scarlet. Everyone knew you stayed in Madame Scarlet’s good favors. And everyone knew you didn’t want to owe Madame Scarlet anything.
Dasha was one of the poor unfortunate souls that happened to owe a great deal to Madame Scarlet. It was just her luck. She might’ve been better off owing her soul to Korlain, dark mistress of the Otherworld and keeper of souls. Dead souls, to be exact. She’d rather be dead than breathe another incense-filled air of that house. But life was never quite so simple, was it? Dasha sighed, making her way back to the mansion’s double door entrance.
The front courtyard was filled with carriages and calling cabs, waiting for their masters to finish with their business. It was always busy here at Madame Scarlet’s mansion. There was always company to be kept here, company to be entertained. Dasha plastered on a smile as she stepped into the house, into the lobby. Everyone looked up at her and smiled pleasantly, lazily. They were all drunk, drunk with the air of the house, drunk with the alcohol, drunk with the sex, drunk with themselves. Dasha suddenly felt weary.
She would pay anything to get out of this brothel. Anything.
She would be lying if she said she didn’t like this life. Dasha was well fed, well dressed, and she was well favored. In fact, Dasha was one of Madame Scarlet’s few favorites. Madame Scarlet adored Dasha. Or rather, she adored the fact that Dasha brought in the highest paying customers. Even Nobles sought Dasha.
Dasha was very good at what she did, whether the customer was male or female. As long as they paid, Dasha did her job. And she enjoyed it. She loved the game, she loved the chase. She loved being doted upon, adored. She loved being loved. It was probably her sole explanation for being so good at being what she was. To call her a prostitute was almost an insult; she had become something more to Madame Scarlet. To everyone else. Few girls achieved what Dasha had, and she was barely 20. She was one of the most adored females on this planet.
But the fact that she owed it all to Madame Scarlet made it all intolerable. Dasha lost herself in the game; when she was with a customer, she was fully engrossed. But when the deed was done and the coins were in the bag, she felt dirty because it all went to her, Madame Scarlet. Nothing was ever Dasha’s. Whatever Dasha accomplished, it went to Madame Scarlet, and she had absolutely no say in it whatsoever. She may be the most loved girl in this world, but they had to ask Madame Scarlet’s permission first.
She should be grateful. Dasha knew that compared to other girls, she was living a blessed life. She knew what men could do to calling girls. She knew girls died. Here, no one could lay a hand on Dasha. They had other girls for that. Dasha was sacred.
Dasha stared at herself in the mirror. Maybe that’s what it was. Maybe she was just too full of herself. “You need a hard slap in the face, you do,” she scolded herself at the mirror, scowling. Her cheeks, framed by her deep red gold curls, were not hollow, and her green eyes glittered with health. She had forgotten the hunger on the streets, the fear, everything else. Had it been so long? Madame Scarlet had picked her off the streets 8 years ago. Yes, perhaps it had been too long. Dasha sighed again and put her head down on her vanity, her forehead pressed against the cold marble.
There was a knock before her door was opened. “Dasha, your new guest is here,” Jan said with a giggle. Jan was the girl next door. She got the customers that couldn’t afford Dasha. “Dasha?”
Dasha lifted her head and nodded. “I’ll be right there,”
Jan giggled again. “Madame Scarlet is bringing him here, right now,”
“What?” Dasha stood up.
“Here she comes!” Jan darted off, still giggling. Dasha hurriedly patted her hair, making sure it still looked presentable. She dusted off her dress, cursing as she watched all the sand fall onto the carpet. She tried to rub it away with her foot quickly, but it was too late.
There was a knock.
“Come in,” Dasha said, a little breathlessly.
Madame Scarlet opened the door slowly, smiling. The look in her eyes said everything: you mess this up and you starve for a month. Dasha’s mouth went a little dry, but she clenched her hands tightly into fists behind her, pasting on her smile. Trailing behind Madame Scarlet was a tall man. That was the first thing she noticed about him. He was very tall, with broad strong shoulders that boasted more than strength. He was thick, but in muscle, and slim at the waist. To top it off, he was a real looker. He had dazzling blue eyes, bright under his dark brows. He had a smile hiding beneath his mustache, twirled at the ends. His mustache made her smile genuinely. She hadn’t seen one of those except in the old picture books of the Underground.
He took his hat off, bowing slightly.
Madam Scarlet excused herself and left the room, leaving the pair alone. Dasha curtsied lightly, bending her knees.
“Shylock Archer at your service, ma’am.” He said, his voice deep and husky, a little grated. She liked it. The voice was rough, like it had spoken only when necessary, a voice hardly used.
“Just Dasha, please,” she replied, stepping towards him and offering her hand. He took it in his gloved one, kissing the air above her knuckles. Odd, she thought. She tried smiling. He looked up at her with twinkling eyes. He smiled again, a crooked smile this time.
“I can see why half this township worships you, Dasha.” He said.
Dasha chuckled. “Mr. Archer, you do flatter.” She squeezed his hand when he moved to pull back. “Please, have a seat.” She led him to a chair by the window. She sat him down and went about preparing a cup for him. She felt him watch her every move, and her heart began to race. Dasha fell to the game. She watched herself, making sure she was slow, graceful, making sure she bent only slightly to hint down her dress. “You’re new here,”
Mr. Archer cleared his throat. “Yes. Madame Scarlet was suggested to me by a friend,”
“A close friend?” she offered him the cup of cold juice.
He smiled the crooked smile again. “You could say he’s almost a brother to me.”
“Well, he must feel the same about you if he led you here, to me,” Dasha said slyly, feathering his hand just barely as he reached for his cup.
“Well,” he replied, tipping the cup at her. “We shall see about that.”
Dasha’s brow twitched. He caught her annoyance and she saw him smile behind his cup. She cleared her throat lightly and busied herself pouring another cup. She almost spilled when he spoke next.
“So, do I take my clothes off first, or do you?” he asked, setting down his cup.
Dasha felt herself blushing. “Excuse me?”
“Well, I’m paying a hefty sum for you, Dasha, and I’d like to know what that entails. Usually, I pay after I know what I’m buying, but in this case, I suppose I’m willing to make an exception.”
Dasha stood up stiffly, pushing her chair back. She tried to think of something to say but all she could do was gape openly at him. She fought the temptation to overturn the table on him. She grit her teeth and exhaled slowly through her nose. Fine. She smiled stiffly.
“I like forward men. Blunt. They don’t waste any time.” she said, lowering her voice, dropping her eyes. She moved closer to him. “Straightforward,” She began unbuttoning her dress down the front. Shylock seemed momentarily alarmed. Dasha smiled, untying the strings holding her dress together, her white undergown drooping off her shoulder and revealing the curves of her breasts. “Straight,” Dasha pulled a string out of its hole, “to”, another string unlaced, “the”, and another, “point.” Dasha tugged at her dress, letting it fall to her ankles. She stood in just her undergown, barely hanging on one shoulder. She smiled at the look in Shylock’s eyes. It was the same look they all had. It was the look she loved. It was the look that told her that to them, nothing else mattered now but her. She knew her undergown was thin, and she knew he was looking at every inch of her through it. She knew what was going to happen next. She had him.
He smiled crookedly again, leaning back into his chair comfortably. “What other tricks have they taught you here, Dasha?”
Dasha scowled. She held her undergown against her, not wanting it to fall anymore. “Just what exactly did you come here for, Mr. Archer?”
“Obviously not to be seduced.”
She held the gown even tighter against herself. “You have the nerve to-”
He stood up abruptly. “Yeah, yeah, right. Look, don’t be upset, alright? I’m not actually here for you. I was only having some fun.”
“What?” Dasha rasped out.
He shrugged, smiling that damn smile again. “You’d have done it too, in my shoes. Now,” He shrugged off his coat and began folding up his sleeves.
“What are you doing?” Dasha demanded stupidly. He looked up at her as if he’d forgotten she was there. He frowned slightly, then, loosening his tie.
“You should probably get dressed.”
“What?”
Finally, he seemed annoyed. “Is that the only thing you can say when you’re rejected? Well, I guess it doesn’t happen much. Look,” he unbuttoned his vest and ran a hand through his wavy black hair. “I’m not here for you, okay? You just happened to be a part of it and I had to pay that damn witch a fortune to get here, so stand aside. These clothes are rented and I don’t want them spoiled if anything happens.”
“What does me standing aside have anything to do with your…your rented clothes?!” Dasha demanded, her voice unnaturally high. Her eyes grew wide as he pulled out a sledgehammer out of his large bag. She hadn’t even noticed him bringing that in.
“If you get in the way, I’ll have to save you, and I’d probably get blood on these clothes. Now get dressed and move aside like I told you to.”
“Blood?”
“Taiur’s balls, will you just get out?” he barked, turning at her with angry eyes.
There was a crash and a scream from the room next door. Shylock cursed again and lifted the sledgehammer against the wall. With a grunt, he heaved it against the wall.
“What are you doing?!” Dasha cried out, tempted to run at him and stop him. He ignored her and hit the wall again. Dasha was frantic. He was destroying her room! She made for the door. She had to call Madame Scarlet.
“No use,” Shylock huffed out, taking another swing at the wall. “Door’s locked from the outside.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. All our doors are-” Dasha opened the door to find the doorway blocked with a concrete slab. “What in the world?” Dasha breathed out, trying to push against it. It didn’t budge. She turned to Shylock for an explanation but saw that he had made it through the wall. She watched as the sledgehammer fell through, its weight throwing the plaster and wood in sprays into the other room. Shylock tossed it aside and pulled at the hole, making it bigger.
As soon as the hole was made, Dasha scrunched her nose at the smell. The smell that came from the other room was horrid. Like…rotting meat. Despite everything, curiosity consumed her. Still holding her undergown against her body, she shuffled around to get a view of the other room. It was dark in the room, with no visible light. She frowned, turning to her window. It was the middle of the day. Even their thickest velvet curtains couldn’t block the sun out that well.
Then she realized it was Jan’s room.
“Mr. Archer,” she called.
“I’m a bit busy,” he muttered, kicking down a slab of the wall. Dasha covered her nose, the smell making her gag. She watched Shylock climb through the hole into the other room.
Dasha screamed when Shylock came flying through a new hole in the wall. He landed on her bed, bouncing off onto the floor. He coughed, heaving painfully. He cursed again, wiping his mouth. Dasha watched as something like black smoke spilled into her room. She began to tremble. The smoke stained her carpet black, but the dark black of old blood. “Mr. Archer,” she breathed out.
Jan’s lifeless body stepped into her room. Dasha’s eyes grew wide. The girl was still dressed, and it had only been moments since last she was giggling away. But it was clear she was now dead. Her eyes had rolled up into her sockets, her face pale and her blue lips drooling black blood. It made a step towards her.
Dasha screamed.
“Damnit,” Shylock muttered, pulling himself up. He reached for his large bag.
The reanimated Jan snapped her head towards Shylock at an unnatural angle, the bones in her neck snapping at the quick motion. It was watching him, almost curiously. Then, realizing his intent, it let out a gargled snarl and flung itself at him, pinning him against the wall. Shylock gagged first, the stench overwhelming, and then gasped for breath. Dasha could see his skin turn white against Jan’s grip.
“The bag,” he gasped, trying to wrench the arm away.
Dasha could only stare in horror.
“Sword!” he choked out, trying to kick at Jan. “Damnit,” He locked eyes with Dasha, then. His blue eyes were furious, bright with anger. “Get the sword!” he rasped out.
Dasha shook her head, refusing. No, how could he ask her of this? To expect her to do anything? Dasha’s body froze in terror, her blood pounding in her ears.
Shylock shut his eyes, straining against the monster’s hold. With a bellow, he ripped the arm off and threw it across the room, releasing himself from the hold. He only took a moment to catch his breath while the monster threw back its head and let out an unearthly shriek. He staggered towards his bag again, grabbing it before the monster reached out with its other arm and taking hold of his ankle, but not before Shylock grabbed his sword.
He swung it deftly, slicing Jan’s head right off the shoulders in one clean sweep. He swung again and stabbed Jan in the gut, letting out an avalanche of black, chunky blood. He pulled his sword back, the body crumpling at his feet.
Shylock heaved a couple breaths before throwing down his sword angrily. He looked down at himself, cursing colorfully, rambling on about having to pay for his suit now or something of that matter. Dasha stared, wide-eyed, at Jan’s body. She felt her knees collapse beneath her and she fell, still staring at the bloody mess before her. Her collapse seemed to have reminded Shylock of her presence. He whirled about, scowling.
“You! Much use you were! I nearly died,” he growled, walking towards her. “Now look at me,”
“What…what happened…just now,” Dasha whispered, tears running down her cheeks.
“Weren’t you watching? I think you were doing a pretty good job of that,” he stood above her. Dasha replied by vomiting out the contents of her stomach on his shoes.
The slabs of concrete grinded against the floor as they were shoved away. “Am I safe to assume you’re all done in here?” came Madame Scarlet’s voice.
Shylock only replied when he forced himself to tear his eyes away from the horror on his feet. “I’m tripling your payment.”
Madame Scarlet laughed, unperturbed by the scene before her. “Don’t be ridiculous, Shylock. We agreed on 10, and that’s all you’re getting.”
“Look at my clothes!”
“Sacrifices in the fight for good,” she waved him off. She walked over to Dasha, picking her up on her feet. “Stop being so pathetic, girl,”
Dasha shook terribly. Madame Scarlet seemed to pity her, but only for a second. “Craven, bring in some gin for the girl, and get those ridiculous stones out of my house.” Dasha didn’t notice the taller gentleman step into the room with a scowl on his face.
“You’re paying him to do the work, not me,” he barked, pointing at Shylock.
Shylock had picked up his sword and was wiping it clean. “Thanks for the support,” he muttered. He threw the sword back into his bag and fished out a large stone. He fetched Jan’s head and pried open her mouth, shoving the stone between the jaws.
Dasha screamed. “What are you doing to her?” she leapt away from Madame Scarlet, pouncing on Shylock. Dasha wept. Jan had been a dear to her. They were friends. They had tea and shared meals together. “Jan, Jan,” she cried.
“She’s not Jan anymore,” Shylock said, his voice gentle. He held her back from the body. Dasha collapsed in his arms, sobbing.
“I don’t understand,” she wept. Shylock held her, looking up at Madame Scarlet. Madame Scarlet let out an annoyed sigh.
“Get dressed, Dasha, and come with me. Let me explain.” Madame Scarlet said, pulling her away from Shylock.
“No,” Dasha wailed.
“Dasha!” Madame Scarlet slapped her hard across the cheek. Dasha gasped at the pain, her tears frozen in her eyes. “Compose yourself. You are in the company of men, gentlemen or not,”
“Yes, ma’am,” Dasha breathed out quietly, closing her eyes. She gave herself three seconds to control her emotions. The anger, the fear, the grief and the shock…three seconds wasn’t enough. Three years wouldn’t be enough. She buried them deep down for later. She was good at that. She opened her eyes, exhaling slowly and feeling calmer.
“Come, you need to get dressed.”
Title: Dasha, a Korlanian Tale
Rating: R
Word Count: 3,229
Chapter 1
Dasha stood in the blazing hot sun, staring out at the red valley before her. It was empty, with only a few rocks drowning in the sand here and there, pieces of a world that no longer existed. The sand swallowed everything, and with every passing day, it buried more and more of everything else.
Dasha loved it.
The red sand, the emptiness, it was like a new clean slate the gods were making for themselves, room for another new world. To others, it sounded a lot like the end of the world. To Dasha, it looked like hope. Taiur knew she needed it.
She peered over her shoulder at the mansion that towered above her, over the empty red desert. Her prison.
The mansion was run by a Noble that called herself Madame Scarlet, a name whispered behind silk-gloved hands. Her real name was Lori Mark, a name less remarkable. She had the respect of other Nobles. She was well situated, in fact. Her family was old and strong, one of the few original aristocratic families that survived the Underground days. She was filthy rich, and her little kingdom extended further than the small township she owned by law. Everyone knew Madame Scarlet. Everyone knew you stayed in Madame Scarlet’s good favors. And everyone knew you didn’t want to owe Madame Scarlet anything.
Dasha was one of the poor unfortunate souls that happened to owe a great deal to Madame Scarlet. It was just her luck. She might’ve been better off owing her soul to Korlain, dark mistress of the Otherworld and keeper of souls. Dead souls, to be exact. She’d rather be dead than breathe another incense-filled air of that house. But life was never quite so simple, was it? Dasha sighed, making her way back to the mansion’s double door entrance.
The front courtyard was filled with carriages and calling cabs, waiting for their masters to finish with their business. It was always busy here at Madame Scarlet’s mansion. There was always company to be kept here, company to be entertained. Dasha plastered on a smile as she stepped into the house, into the lobby. Everyone looked up at her and smiled pleasantly, lazily. They were all drunk, drunk with the air of the house, drunk with the alcohol, drunk with the sex, drunk with themselves. Dasha suddenly felt weary.
She would pay anything to get out of this brothel. Anything.
She would be lying if she said she didn’t like this life. Dasha was well fed, well dressed, and she was well favored. In fact, Dasha was one of Madame Scarlet’s few favorites. Madame Scarlet adored Dasha. Or rather, she adored the fact that Dasha brought in the highest paying customers. Even Nobles sought Dasha.
Dasha was very good at what she did, whether the customer was male or female. As long as they paid, Dasha did her job. And she enjoyed it. She loved the game, she loved the chase. She loved being doted upon, adored. She loved being loved. It was probably her sole explanation for being so good at being what she was. To call her a prostitute was almost an insult; she had become something more to Madame Scarlet. To everyone else. Few girls achieved what Dasha had, and she was barely 20. She was one of the most adored females on this planet.
But the fact that she owed it all to Madame Scarlet made it all intolerable. Dasha lost herself in the game; when she was with a customer, she was fully engrossed. But when the deed was done and the coins were in the bag, she felt dirty because it all went to her, Madame Scarlet. Nothing was ever Dasha’s. Whatever Dasha accomplished, it went to Madame Scarlet, and she had absolutely no say in it whatsoever. She may be the most loved girl in this world, but they had to ask Madame Scarlet’s permission first.
She should be grateful. Dasha knew that compared to other girls, she was living a blessed life. She knew what men could do to calling girls. She knew girls died. Here, no one could lay a hand on Dasha. They had other girls for that. Dasha was sacred.
Dasha stared at herself in the mirror. Maybe that’s what it was. Maybe she was just too full of herself. “You need a hard slap in the face, you do,” she scolded herself at the mirror, scowling. Her cheeks, framed by her deep red gold curls, were not hollow, and her green eyes glittered with health. She had forgotten the hunger on the streets, the fear, everything else. Had it been so long? Madame Scarlet had picked her off the streets 8 years ago. Yes, perhaps it had been too long. Dasha sighed again and put her head down on her vanity, her forehead pressed against the cold marble.
There was a knock before her door was opened. “Dasha, your new guest is here,” Jan said with a giggle. Jan was the girl next door. She got the customers that couldn’t afford Dasha. “Dasha?”
Dasha lifted her head and nodded. “I’ll be right there,”
Jan giggled again. “Madame Scarlet is bringing him here, right now,”
“What?” Dasha stood up.
“Here she comes!” Jan darted off, still giggling. Dasha hurriedly patted her hair, making sure it still looked presentable. She dusted off her dress, cursing as she watched all the sand fall onto the carpet. She tried to rub it away with her foot quickly, but it was too late.
There was a knock.
“Come in,” Dasha said, a little breathlessly.
Madame Scarlet opened the door slowly, smiling. The look in her eyes said everything: you mess this up and you starve for a month. Dasha’s mouth went a little dry, but she clenched her hands tightly into fists behind her, pasting on her smile. Trailing behind Madame Scarlet was a tall man. That was the first thing she noticed about him. He was very tall, with broad strong shoulders that boasted more than strength. He was thick, but in muscle, and slim at the waist. To top it off, he was a real looker. He had dazzling blue eyes, bright under his dark brows. He had a smile hiding beneath his mustache, twirled at the ends. His mustache made her smile genuinely. She hadn’t seen one of those except in the old picture books of the Underground.
He took his hat off, bowing slightly.
Madam Scarlet excused herself and left the room, leaving the pair alone. Dasha curtsied lightly, bending her knees.
“Shylock Archer at your service, ma’am.” He said, his voice deep and husky, a little grated. She liked it. The voice was rough, like it had spoken only when necessary, a voice hardly used.
“Just Dasha, please,” she replied, stepping towards him and offering her hand. He took it in his gloved one, kissing the air above her knuckles. Odd, she thought. She tried smiling. He looked up at her with twinkling eyes. He smiled again, a crooked smile this time.
“I can see why half this township worships you, Dasha.” He said.
Dasha chuckled. “Mr. Archer, you do flatter.” She squeezed his hand when he moved to pull back. “Please, have a seat.” She led him to a chair by the window. She sat him down and went about preparing a cup for him. She felt him watch her every move, and her heart began to race. Dasha fell to the game. She watched herself, making sure she was slow, graceful, making sure she bent only slightly to hint down her dress. “You’re new here,”
Mr. Archer cleared his throat. “Yes. Madame Scarlet was suggested to me by a friend,”
“A close friend?” she offered him the cup of cold juice.
He smiled the crooked smile again. “You could say he’s almost a brother to me.”
“Well, he must feel the same about you if he led you here, to me,” Dasha said slyly, feathering his hand just barely as he reached for his cup.
“Well,” he replied, tipping the cup at her. “We shall see about that.”
Dasha’s brow twitched. He caught her annoyance and she saw him smile behind his cup. She cleared her throat lightly and busied herself pouring another cup. She almost spilled when he spoke next.
“So, do I take my clothes off first, or do you?” he asked, setting down his cup.
Dasha felt herself blushing. “Excuse me?”
“Well, I’m paying a hefty sum for you, Dasha, and I’d like to know what that entails. Usually, I pay after I know what I’m buying, but in this case, I suppose I’m willing to make an exception.”
Dasha stood up stiffly, pushing her chair back. She tried to think of something to say but all she could do was gape openly at him. She fought the temptation to overturn the table on him. She grit her teeth and exhaled slowly through her nose. Fine. She smiled stiffly.
“I like forward men. Blunt. They don’t waste any time.” she said, lowering her voice, dropping her eyes. She moved closer to him. “Straightforward,” She began unbuttoning her dress down the front. Shylock seemed momentarily alarmed. Dasha smiled, untying the strings holding her dress together, her white undergown drooping off her shoulder and revealing the curves of her breasts. “Straight,” Dasha pulled a string out of its hole, “to”, another string unlaced, “the”, and another, “point.” Dasha tugged at her dress, letting it fall to her ankles. She stood in just her undergown, barely hanging on one shoulder. She smiled at the look in Shylock’s eyes. It was the same look they all had. It was the look she loved. It was the look that told her that to them, nothing else mattered now but her. She knew her undergown was thin, and she knew he was looking at every inch of her through it. She knew what was going to happen next. She had him.
He smiled crookedly again, leaning back into his chair comfortably. “What other tricks have they taught you here, Dasha?”
Dasha scowled. She held her undergown against her, not wanting it to fall anymore. “Just what exactly did you come here for, Mr. Archer?”
“Obviously not to be seduced.”
She held the gown even tighter against herself. “You have the nerve to-”
He stood up abruptly. “Yeah, yeah, right. Look, don’t be upset, alright? I’m not actually here for you. I was only having some fun.”
“What?” Dasha rasped out.
He shrugged, smiling that damn smile again. “You’d have done it too, in my shoes. Now,” He shrugged off his coat and began folding up his sleeves.
“What are you doing?” Dasha demanded stupidly. He looked up at her as if he’d forgotten she was there. He frowned slightly, then, loosening his tie.
“You should probably get dressed.”
“What?”
Finally, he seemed annoyed. “Is that the only thing you can say when you’re rejected? Well, I guess it doesn’t happen much. Look,” he unbuttoned his vest and ran a hand through his wavy black hair. “I’m not here for you, okay? You just happened to be a part of it and I had to pay that damn witch a fortune to get here, so stand aside. These clothes are rented and I don’t want them spoiled if anything happens.”
“What does me standing aside have anything to do with your…your rented clothes?!” Dasha demanded, her voice unnaturally high. Her eyes grew wide as he pulled out a sledgehammer out of his large bag. She hadn’t even noticed him bringing that in.
“If you get in the way, I’ll have to save you, and I’d probably get blood on these clothes. Now get dressed and move aside like I told you to.”
“Blood?”
“Taiur’s balls, will you just get out?” he barked, turning at her with angry eyes.
There was a crash and a scream from the room next door. Shylock cursed again and lifted the sledgehammer against the wall. With a grunt, he heaved it against the wall.
“What are you doing?!” Dasha cried out, tempted to run at him and stop him. He ignored her and hit the wall again. Dasha was frantic. He was destroying her room! She made for the door. She had to call Madame Scarlet.
“No use,” Shylock huffed out, taking another swing at the wall. “Door’s locked from the outside.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. All our doors are-” Dasha opened the door to find the doorway blocked with a concrete slab. “What in the world?” Dasha breathed out, trying to push against it. It didn’t budge. She turned to Shylock for an explanation but saw that he had made it through the wall. She watched as the sledgehammer fell through, its weight throwing the plaster and wood in sprays into the other room. Shylock tossed it aside and pulled at the hole, making it bigger.
As soon as the hole was made, Dasha scrunched her nose at the smell. The smell that came from the other room was horrid. Like…rotting meat. Despite everything, curiosity consumed her. Still holding her undergown against her body, she shuffled around to get a view of the other room. It was dark in the room, with no visible light. She frowned, turning to her window. It was the middle of the day. Even their thickest velvet curtains couldn’t block the sun out that well.
Then she realized it was Jan’s room.
“Mr. Archer,” she called.
“I’m a bit busy,” he muttered, kicking down a slab of the wall. Dasha covered her nose, the smell making her gag. She watched Shylock climb through the hole into the other room.
Dasha screamed when Shylock came flying through a new hole in the wall. He landed on her bed, bouncing off onto the floor. He coughed, heaving painfully. He cursed again, wiping his mouth. Dasha watched as something like black smoke spilled into her room. She began to tremble. The smoke stained her carpet black, but the dark black of old blood. “Mr. Archer,” she breathed out.
Jan’s lifeless body stepped into her room. Dasha’s eyes grew wide. The girl was still dressed, and it had only been moments since last she was giggling away. But it was clear she was now dead. Her eyes had rolled up into her sockets, her face pale and her blue lips drooling black blood. It made a step towards her.
Dasha screamed.
“Damnit,” Shylock muttered, pulling himself up. He reached for his large bag.
The reanimated Jan snapped her head towards Shylock at an unnatural angle, the bones in her neck snapping at the quick motion. It was watching him, almost curiously. Then, realizing his intent, it let out a gargled snarl and flung itself at him, pinning him against the wall. Shylock gagged first, the stench overwhelming, and then gasped for breath. Dasha could see his skin turn white against Jan’s grip.
“The bag,” he gasped, trying to wrench the arm away.
Dasha could only stare in horror.
“Sword!” he choked out, trying to kick at Jan. “Damnit,” He locked eyes with Dasha, then. His blue eyes were furious, bright with anger. “Get the sword!” he rasped out.
Dasha shook her head, refusing. No, how could he ask her of this? To expect her to do anything? Dasha’s body froze in terror, her blood pounding in her ears.
Shylock shut his eyes, straining against the monster’s hold. With a bellow, he ripped the arm off and threw it across the room, releasing himself from the hold. He only took a moment to catch his breath while the monster threw back its head and let out an unearthly shriek. He staggered towards his bag again, grabbing it before the monster reached out with its other arm and taking hold of his ankle, but not before Shylock grabbed his sword.
He swung it deftly, slicing Jan’s head right off the shoulders in one clean sweep. He swung again and stabbed Jan in the gut, letting out an avalanche of black, chunky blood. He pulled his sword back, the body crumpling at his feet.
Shylock heaved a couple breaths before throwing down his sword angrily. He looked down at himself, cursing colorfully, rambling on about having to pay for his suit now or something of that matter. Dasha stared, wide-eyed, at Jan’s body. She felt her knees collapse beneath her and she fell, still staring at the bloody mess before her. Her collapse seemed to have reminded Shylock of her presence. He whirled about, scowling.
“You! Much use you were! I nearly died,” he growled, walking towards her. “Now look at me,”
“What…what happened…just now,” Dasha whispered, tears running down her cheeks.
“Weren’t you watching? I think you were doing a pretty good job of that,” he stood above her. Dasha replied by vomiting out the contents of her stomach on his shoes.
The slabs of concrete grinded against the floor as they were shoved away. “Am I safe to assume you’re all done in here?” came Madame Scarlet’s voice.
Shylock only replied when he forced himself to tear his eyes away from the horror on his feet. “I’m tripling your payment.”
Madame Scarlet laughed, unperturbed by the scene before her. “Don’t be ridiculous, Shylock. We agreed on 10, and that’s all you’re getting.”
“Look at my clothes!”
“Sacrifices in the fight for good,” she waved him off. She walked over to Dasha, picking her up on her feet. “Stop being so pathetic, girl,”
Dasha shook terribly. Madame Scarlet seemed to pity her, but only for a second. “Craven, bring in some gin for the girl, and get those ridiculous stones out of my house.” Dasha didn’t notice the taller gentleman step into the room with a scowl on his face.
“You’re paying him to do the work, not me,” he barked, pointing at Shylock.
Shylock had picked up his sword and was wiping it clean. “Thanks for the support,” he muttered. He threw the sword back into his bag and fished out a large stone. He fetched Jan’s head and pried open her mouth, shoving the stone between the jaws.
Dasha screamed. “What are you doing to her?” she leapt away from Madame Scarlet, pouncing on Shylock. Dasha wept. Jan had been a dear to her. They were friends. They had tea and shared meals together. “Jan, Jan,” she cried.
“She’s not Jan anymore,” Shylock said, his voice gentle. He held her back from the body. Dasha collapsed in his arms, sobbing.
“I don’t understand,” she wept. Shylock held her, looking up at Madame Scarlet. Madame Scarlet let out an annoyed sigh.
“Get dressed, Dasha, and come with me. Let me explain.” Madame Scarlet said, pulling her away from Shylock.
“No,” Dasha wailed.
“Dasha!” Madame Scarlet slapped her hard across the cheek. Dasha gasped at the pain, her tears frozen in her eyes. “Compose yourself. You are in the company of men, gentlemen or not,”
“Yes, ma’am,” Dasha breathed out quietly, closing her eyes. She gave herself three seconds to control her emotions. The anger, the fear, the grief and the shock…three seconds wasn’t enough. Three years wouldn’t be enough. She buried them deep down for later. She was good at that. She opened her eyes, exhaling slowly and feeling calmer.
“Come, you need to get dressed.”