I apologize for the lack of quality, Vellers, and other readers. I was a little hard-pressed for time, and I'm not that great with plots and endings in general. :'D
Anyways, this is a Secret Santa for VelvetMasquerade, and I hope she doesn't vomit when she reads this. The prompts are:
1. Don't hate the player, hate the game.
2. Drunk on that nerve-wrecking thing called 'love'.
3. Mysterious things lurk in the shadows.
MERRY CHRISTMAS, VELLERS. LOVE YA. :3
Rowdy noises surrounded Rayn as she walked inside the foul smelling pub, her eyes narrowing slightly as she scanned the room. Scandalous women and perverts seemed to be the main patrons. She normally hated being in such locations, especially while working, but she'd been given an offer she could not refuse. Her debt completely dissolved as though it were never there just appealed far too much to refuse, although she wished her client were a different person.
Rayn sighed inwardly as her client, some middle-aged man with frisky hands and a snobbish speech, droned on about some runaway Graceling with a killing Grace to his business partners. The phrase 'start a war' seemed to repeat.
Who cared? Blood-shed and war would forever be a part of life, so why bother with gossiping and looking over one's shoulder forever? She couldn't understand why anyone would care about such a common occurrence; it was not as though any of it directly affected them.
Paranoid old men, Rayn thought bitterly as she plastered a fake smile on her face. All of her clients as of late had nothing to say that didn't involve that damned runaway, Kat-whatever. Frankly, it bored her, and Rayn despised when insipid people demanded her services, mainly due to her pledge to stay sober during jobs. Sometimes she regretted that decision, and other times Rayn thanked her lucky stars her mind remained intact and clear. This would be a case of the former.
Glancing around the room as her slightly inebriated client tugged on her arm, dragging her to who-knew-where with his buddies, Rayn eyed the patrons of the local bar. Some racy looking women hung and draped themselves all over their selected targets, cooing words of endearments into their foolish ears. Rayn wanted to snort in disgust, but her clients didn't pay for a gossiping child. They paid her to look pretty, shut up, and make them look good. Rayn was very good at her job, if one disregarded her complete lack of concern over her client's names.
Continuing her survey of the establishment as what's-his-name went on about the runaway Graceling situation, Rayn spotted a hunched over figure in the shadows of a corner. Her eyes immediately focused on that image, and her heart raced.
Twitching ever so slightly with curiosity and fear, Rayn wondered who would go through the effort of hiding in a bar. Mysterious things lurked in the shadows, and most were not of the variety she enjoyed. She'd taken certain precautions to ensure her safety, including a very intensive period of physical training, but starring in a brawl while on-duty never held much appeal for the young woman.
"Rayn, dear. What do you think on the matter?"
Rayn winced internally as she realized her client had spoken to her. This would be good.
"Hrm. Perhaps not worrying about it would be best? It's not like you could change anything, so why bother concerning yourself?" she diplomatically replied.
A smug look wanted to cross her delicate features, but years of self-control held the face within. Instead, a victory song repeated within her mind, once again proving how easily pleased she was. Rayn really ought to work on that, but when one dealt in the world of falsehoods, a girl had to learn how pleasurable even the small things were.
Rayn's client nodded sagely, and his eyes were crossed ever so slightly with the effects of alcohol. Rayn smiled demurely, the mysterious shadow man forgotten, and glanced back at the man's current group with carefully disguised disgust.
One of the younger men, probably only a little older than herself, appeared rather… slimy, she supposed? His slicked back mass of dark brown curls seemed to wriggle without actually moving, and it unnerved Rayn. Even his blue eyes held a sort of unsettling craftiness; although, his meaningful stares with once-overs and leers did little to help Rayn's opinion of the man. In this case, blaming the player instead of the game seemed to be much more accurate. The man was repulsive, and Rayn did not have high standards.
No way in hell, buster.
An older man in the group seemed much more likeable, if the act of averting his eyes every time a lush woman with a scandalous smile approached was any indication. Rayn almost felt bad for the gentleman, but while he may not have chosen that particular bunch of associates, surely he'd chosen the profession in which those types seemed to drool over.
None of the other men made much of an impression on Rayn, not unlike her usual clients. The men who normally required her services were those of the average intelligences, appearance, and such. Her striking features and sharp tongue seemed to make them look better by just hanging over their arms.
She often wondered how many thought she'd stick around for them, due to a few sending flowers and other romantic clichés. It was hardly her fault if the idiots decided her assurances that none of them interested her were false. Clearly Rayn did her job far too well. More than a few young men she'd met during work had tried to court her, and while flattering, she didn't need any of that romance junk.
Pulling herself away from such thoughts, Rayn knew her ego would explode at any moment. Only a few years in the business, and already my head's gone and gotten far too big… Ma and Pa won't like that, she mused silently. A deep pain spread across her chest as Rayn realized she'd thought of her parents. Pure willpower kept a grimace from spreading across her features.
"We've some important business to discuss, dear. Would you mind running off somewhere for a while?" came Mister Cross-eye's- Rayn's new name for her client- voice.
"No problem," Rayn purred politely, sauntering off without a glance. Yes, she did her job far too well for these urchins, she decided.
Finally free to do what she would, Rayn stalked confidently towards a secluded booth in a corner and delved deep into her thoughts; she'd learned to appreciate these moments of tranquility and reflection. Often her clients would ramble unnecessarily in her ears, not realizing it all went in one end and out the other the moment the information was deemed redundant, and her home life hardly encouraged anything other than work, work, work, and more work. A girl needed some alone time, lest she started cracking skulls.
Thoughts of her parents created a somber mood for Rayn. Both ill and weak, neither could produce an income since Rayn was seventeen. Ma's arms and legs were far too frail for use, though her mind remained as sharp as ever. Pa, in a twist of such disgusting irony, held such a broken mind that neither woman was sure he even recognized his family anymore. More likely he thought them faeries come to confuse him, for his shouts of distress never ended when Rayn neared to bring him food at his new residence, a spare cabin he'd built for guests.
She'd oft laughed darkly at the twist of fate. One parent doomed to watch as both husband and daughter floundered around, unable to lift even a finger, and the other sentenced to deliriums of his own making. Memories of a life before the sicknesses, of parents with joyful faces and indulging smiles, kept Rayn from leaving them, as foolish as she knew it was.
With both parents out of the picture and no siblings to go to, nor any caring friends, Rayn fought to keep them alive. For a year she'd been forced to work odd jobs no one else wanted, and only the desperate begged for.
At the tender age of eighteen years, Rayn had been asked by a strange woman if she'd ever thought about demanding payment for her company. Repulsed, Rayn had sputtered at the thought, even if her ribs had been painfully noticeable, and her parents' deteriorations fresh and traumatic. She'd only received a knowing smiling in return, and assurances of a different meaning. Curious, Rayn had learned what the woman meant, and the past five years were spent making men look better than they were.
Shaking such thoughts away, Rayn focused her thoughts elsewhere.
While her outfit would hardly be considered conservative, Rayn could never be mistaken for one of the loose women preying around the establishment. This belief fueled most of her aversion when Rayn spotted a young man crossing the room and heading directly towards her hidden booth. She smelled trouble, even if the man did appear rather dashing with his Graceling eyes shining bright.
Silver and green. Be still my beating heart, Rayn mused as the swaggering fool moved ever closer until appearing at her side finally.
"May I sit here?" he drawled out, his low voice surprisingly clear of alcohol. Rayn could almost call it comforting, if he weren't so clearly trying to woo her.
Curiosity piqued and ready for answers, Rayn just smiled flirtatiously and nodded her ascent. Pleasure clearly showed through the man's eyes as he took a seat across from the dark-haired beauty. Rayn oh so dearly wanted to snort, but instead took a few precious moments to observe the young man. He hardly seemed older than herself, perhaps a year or so, but his ego showed itself to surpass hers by leaps and bounds. She wondered why.
Mousy brown hair hung low across his forehead, sweeping just an inch or two above those striking eyes, and pale scars seemed to run up and down his face. A broad stature seemed to save his appearance somewhat, but a definite frailty to his hands and appealingly open face countered any masculinity elsewhere. Overall, she decided, he was not too bad to look at, just unconventional.
"Now that you've scoped me out, I'd like to introduce myself. The name's Nal, and as you've probably noticed, I've a Grace," the man, Nal, stated. Shadows slowly enveloped his face and body before Rayn's eyes as he smirked until she could hardly make out any features.
"I know it's not flashy, but I like to say it's pretty cool," he grinned, the shadows already leaving. "Now that you don't have to worry about my killing you, I'd like to make an observation and a question. You're clearly far too classy to be here, so why?" Nal questioned with a smirk.
Rayn had to give it to Nal; he certainly gave a good show.
Grinning at the compliment, Rayn decided she'd put the poor soul down easily, amazing Grace or no. "A pleasure, Nal, but I don't think I'm anywhere near classy enough to not belong here. I may be a few pegs better than others in this fine establishment, but my profession is very similar. The only difference is I don't actually fuck my clients."
Nal's face held a stunned quality to it for a few seconds, obviously unused to both such brash ways of speaking and refusals of his advances. Clearly he relied on his Grace too often. Rayn particularly enjoyed watching the poor guy creating connections and such as he slowly came to the conclusion of leaving her the hell alone. To her surprise, a slow smile crawled across his friendly face. The hell?
"At least you still hold that dignity, Miss, but if you don't mind my prying, why do you work in such a business? You're clearly very intelligent, and I'm sure you could find a job somewhere else."
Rayn sat there for a moment, stunned. The honesty and innocent curiosity on Nal's face confused her, and what was up with calling her 'Miss'? Irritation flared within her chest.
"The name is Rayn, and I very much mind your prying," she snarled out, all amusement gone. This man could easily bring out feelings she'd rather leave cold and dead, she could already tell. Defense mechanisms she'd perfected since working were coming into place easily.
Perhaps Rayn's snarl gave the man pause, or maybe he saw something deeper in her eyes. Rayn couldn't tell. Whatever the reason, Nal's face became serious, though not unkind. His next words pierced through Rayn's wall of anger.
"I saw you with those men, Rayn. You looked as though your soul was slowly dying. Why? The women here hold no souls, no remorse or embarrassment for what they do. You appeared to want nothing to do with any of them, yet still you smiled and wore your mask. Why? You saw me too, though only as a potential assailant, hm? I also saw your fear when you spotted the shadow man in the corner."
Rayn sat there, stunned, as her fingers twitched ever so slightly in the tight grip she'd clutched tem together in. A searching look on Nal's face captivated her just as much as his words did, and she could not even deny the pleasure she took in knowing someone finally saw through her façade. Years of suppressed disgust overwhelmed her as she gazed back at the damned man's face.
"I don't appear drunk, do I?" Nal questioned suddenly, aware of Rayn's confusion. "I am though. I'm drunk on that nerve-wrecking thing called 'love'. I have been since you walked in here with those preening idiots. You don't have to tell me your story now, but I want to know it. I want to know you."
Rayn hardly heard Nal's declaration through the drowning emotions she felt. Anger at him for awakening them, disgust at allowing herself to taking pride in the business she'd so recently scorned, hope at discovering someone who didn't want her looks, but her past. Most of all, she felt a need to finally unload her burdens.
Still searching her eyes, Nal gave a defeated look as no response came from Rayn. A sad smile cross his features as he began to depart, not wishing any discomfort on the woman he'd been immediately taken with and only grew to become even more intrigued in.
"Stay," Rayn breathed out, reaching for the hand Nal had been using to prop himself up with. "I don't know if your feelings will be reciprocated, but… I think it's time I let someone in," she whispered quietly as Nal silently sat down once more.
Without prompting, Rayn braced herself before pouring out her life for the man to judge. Each word brought a sense of lifting a weight from her chest, and Nal gave rapt attention to every word she uttered. Neither noticed when Rayn's client and company stumbled out the doors, too drunk to remember the beauty they'd come in with, and far too wrapped up in their ramblings to care.