Determinants of Demand
Ch. 1 - Results of Dishonesty
His first impression of her wasn't the typical one, like with most of the beings that appeared in the doorway of the Ninth Circle, half already piss-drunk, predominantly of the ghoul variety. Many were so far gone that Azrukhal, not desiring the headache, ordered them to turn right around and only return when they were sober. Like the rat-bastard even cared that much.
The ghoul bodyguard withdrew into the shadows of his corner, arms crossed, ignoring the catcalls from a pair of drunken ghoulettes, and instead allowed himself to seethe with disgust and anger at the sight of his scummy employer charming his way into another ghoulette bed for the night. As he worked to ignore the twinkle in Azrukhal's filmy eyes, the door to the Ninth Circle opened. Charon didn't bother looking, but he narrowed his blue eyes on Azrukhal, who had glanced over at the newcomer and stopped short on his welcoming speech. The bodyguard tightened his crossed arms. His employer put on his most disgustingly "charming" smile and opened his arms wide.
"Welcome, my dear, to the Ninth Circle. Feel free to enjoy your stay, just try not to kill anyone while you're here."
The last comment drew Charon's attention, and he finally placed his eyes on the newcomer. He had to avert his eyes quickly, however, as his heart momentarily sputtered. When it had settled into its normal rhythm, he glanced over her again.
She was rather petite, tiny compared to him, but petite for a smoothskin. His eyes raked over her form as she seated herself lightly at the bar. She had curves; they were the only things he could see. The torn leather armor that she wore didn't help much, as the leather clung nicely to her supple waist and generous chest, and where there were tears, he got a nice view of white skin. His eyes rested on her chest as it moved with the motion of her breathing. When he finally managed to tear his gaze away, he busied himself by studying the back of her head. She thick, dark auburn hair, more red than brown, that was cut into a short, punkish, unladylike style. It fit well with the way she moved. She was graceful, he could easily see, but with that came a hidden strength; mostly, she emanated a calm stubbornness. The heavy rifle strapped to her back reassured him that she was no pushover.
Azrukhal had just handed her a bottle of water, deliberately brushing his fingers against hers. Had Charon been paying attention, he would've burning a hole in the floor with sick rage. But no, instead, he kept his icy blue eyes trained on the back of her head, watching the movement as she tilted it back to sip the water, which she quickly discovered was irradiated, though she'd specifically asked for purified.
Charon was uncharacteristically caught off guard as the girl lunged from the barstool and onto the bar, sending glass of many forms smashing down to the floor; she latched onto Azrukhal's collar with the left hand and pulled her right hand back into a fist. Instantly, Charon was behind her, gripping her suspended forearm with one scarred hand, rendering it useless. Gently, but firmly, he lifted her nearly nonexistent weight from the bar to the floor, where he continued to hold her. The girl struggled for a moment, caught between the two ghouls, before she murmured softly, dangerously, "That's not what I paid for. I don't like being cheated, or lied to."
For a moment, Charon sympathized. In her position, he probably would've done the same thing. Upon finishing this thought, he pondered another. He realized he hadn't even seen this girl's face yet.
The girl had realized something as well; neither of the ghouls were moving, and so she took a chance. She released the ghoul's collar, twisted around awkwardly in the larger one's grip, and attempted to jab said larger one in an important place. But, damn, was he fast for his size! His other hand captured hers, and now she faced him, arms pinned on either side of the counter. The sleazier of the two chuckled grossly.
Charon held her arms in iron grips, staring into her eyes hard, his breathing shallow. The first thing he'd done as she tried to strike him was burn her face into memory. It puzzled him. Most women faced the sun or the cold every day, and the mixture of harsh elements made their skin rough and leathery. Her face, though...her face was as smooth as could be, as though she'd never seen the sun in her life. There were dark brown freckles scattered across the white of her skin, mostly near her eyes and nose. He had taken his time in examining this face, with its smooth contours, the barely-noticeably crooked little nose, the full lips. But, when his eyes had reached hers, he almost lost his stoicism, for a moment.
Her eyes were the color of steel, and they bored boldly, intensely, into his; her thick eyebrows had knitted in a glare that set his skin on fire. For only a moment, an image of her panting beneath him, fixing him with that same angry glare, washed through his mind. He mentally smacked himself.
Azrukhal's wheezing voice chimed into his thoughts. "Good work, Charon. Now, just turn her around and hold her still." Charon complied, albeit a bit hesitantly, but not before her eyes could strip him down and peer into his soul.
The smarmy owner cuffed the girl in the face, a blow that glanced off the side of her jaw.
"I believe that you owe me for the damages you've done here."
The girl glanced about, trying to ignore the throbbing pain in her skull, her eyes falling on the broken glasses and bottles littering the floor. "How much?" she asked warily, her voice clipped.
"Oh, I think about five-hundred will do," Azrukhal replied with an even more disgusting smirk than before; the smirk of a winning man. Instantly, Charon was on edge; he knew that his employer was leading the girl into a trap.
He knew that he was right when she stiffened in his arms.
"Five...hundred?"
"Yeeeeees."
"Oh, well..." she trembled slightly as she battled for the right words. "I don't have that much...only about 60."
His smirk broadened as he shut the cage door to her trap. "Well then, I guess you'll just have to work your debt off, then."
Charon growled quietly at his employer's prospect of "working." It was quiet, but it didn't stop the girl from feeling it vibrate through his chest at her back.
She turned her head, capturing him in grey steel once again. Her eyes were pleading, shameless in their silent begging. However, Charon was bound by contract. As such, all he could do was narrow his eyes pitilessly and shake his head.
The girl's gaze became a heated frown once again, and she turned to face the winning ghoul.
"I'll enjoy that glare when I see you tonight, girl," he said gleefully, making Charon inwardly cringe at the idea of Azrukhal taking HIS place in HIS fantasy. The ghoul continued, indicating to the bodyguard: "Charon here is an exceptional tracker, so don't try to run. He is ready and able to kill you, so don't try to harm me. He is bound to me by contract, and so he must do as he's told. Don't make this any more difficult than it must be." The girl nodded, already planning her escape in her head. It would undoubtedly have to involve the immense figure that held her in a grip no longer steely but gentle.