A/N – This Mini-series is rated M in some instances for graphic descriptions of sexual scenarios, violence, sexual violence, under-aged sex, and other gross stuff. If you don't want to read that sort of thing, do not continue. If you opt to continue, you take full responsibility for any bad feelies you experience, and agree not to pitch a fit. This fic is set before and during Origins events.
Sanga crossed her arms under her chest as the messenger led in the peasant girl. She was nothing but a child, and probably wouldn't even start her menses for several more years. It didn't matter—the only thing she would be doing was scrubbing floors and washing out all of the linens. Sanga was an honest woman, even if her profession said otherwise. The girl kept her head down and her eyes lowered as she walked. Elizabeth—if Sanga was even remembering her name correctly—seemed nervous and flighty, but perhaps that was a good thing. The less attention she drew to herself, the better.
"Come here, Child, and take those muddy shoes off before you track it all over my clean floors," Sanga called out to her, stepping forward and holding out one of her hands. To her credit, the girl moved quickly when spoken to. Perhaps her father hadn't slacked on discipline, as most of the parents within Denerim had. That boded well for their arrangement.
"Where would you like me to put my things, Mistress?" Elizabeth murmured, looking up at Sanga, refusing to turn her eyes towards any of The Pearl's patrons. Smart girl, Sanga mused. Rather than pursing her lips—something that could cause wrinkles with age—Sanga smiled down at the blonde girl, reaching her hand out to grip her chin, tipping it up and examining her features without a word for several moments. Her touch made Elizabeth flinch, despite how gentle her hands were.
"Pretty thing, your hair's a mess, cheeks with dirt on them, and your stockings and dress…" Sanga trailed off, feeling sympathetic to the girl's fatal condition of poverty. She was simple and pretty, but Sanga had no doubts that with a little bit of care and instruction from herself or her girls, Elizabeth could be turned into a maid that held herself with as much grace and beauty as a noble lady—and that was what Sanga valued in her institution. Elizabeth would be clean and pretty, even as she worked and scrubbed.
"I can sew, but not very well—I could at least fix the tears," Elizabeth offered meekly, extending a little foot to show the frayed and torn ends of her dress, likely from the long journey from the outskirts of Lothering to Denerim.
"Never your mind on that, Child, I'll have new pretty gowns for you by tomorrow. Now then, Earic!" Sanga called out, waving one of the male workers at The Pearl over to them, "Take her to the dorms, will you? And have Neria run her a nice warm bath. I want all of the tangles out of her hair and the muck scrubbed off of her. Just throw her old clothes away, they won't do," Sanga spoke quickly, one of her hands resting on Earic's shoulder to keep his attention, not that she needed the help.
All of her workers knew that their livelihood depended on Sanga, and all of them knew that she was a fair woman in what she asked of them. None of them balked at her requests.
"Yes, Mistress," Earic nodded, then flicked his eyes down to the travel-worn girl child that stood beside the proprietor, "Come along, Sweet Heart, you must be very tired," he cooed. Under his sweet voice and gentle smiles, Sanga watched as Elizabeth relaxed and reached out for his hand, resigned to being led away to the start of her new life. Reaching up to adjust the fanciful ties and ribbons of her gowns, Sanga's attention wavered and drifted once the two figures left to the other room. The dorms were not glamorous; all of the workers shared rooms together. It helped them to gossip to each other each night and relieve stress. She would either settle in and eventually come to feel at home, or she wouldn't.
Her life never had, and likely never would be up to her.
It was the sad fate of women in Thedas.
Stepping over lightly, Sanga stooped to pick up the muddy, worn boots with two of her fingers, her dark brows arching in a strained and disgusted expression. Without a word of her intent, she stepped to the door of her prestigious establishment, opened it, and tossed the shoes all the way to the other side of the street.
"Mistress, the Rivaini's back, and she's asking for a bigger cock than the last time," one of the older workers called out, an amused smirk on her face.
Steeling herself for the encounter with the uncouth pirate woman, Sanga drew in a deep breath and forced a pretty smile, stepping off to her preferred table, muttering as she went.
"At this rate, I'll have to employ ox men."