She was pleased with his reaction and more than aware of his tension, though this lowly Unfortunate resolved to work that out of him. Her grin widened with the question of her price and things were indeed looking up for the child of the night. Belelia – her street given name, for she'd forgotten that given to her at birth – slunk back from her, what she believed to be, prey and again returned those haggard hands to her hips haughtily, her chin jerked to motion slightly over her shoulder. "This way, precious." The pink muscle within the darkened cave of her mouth slithered forth to moisten her cracked and peeling lips, and she reached out a hand in request for his. Indeed, her 'room' was but a darkened doorway that proved to be only a few feet to find.
Again he gave a look over his shoulder, to see where she was gesturing, and waiting until she turned around he regarded the hand that she held out for him as if it was some digesting thing. He wouldn't touch it, of course. Even if his hands were gloved. It was moments like this when he was sickened by humanity, having him appreciate the purer things within this world more than he had already. "I will follow, only if you can ensure we will have complete privacy." Looking upon his clothes, he could have been someone of importance that didn't want it to get out on the tabloids that he had been found fraternizing with a whore. Raising a hand from the cape to pull down the fedora slightly off to the right instead of take her hand, he then drew the limb back beneath the drape of black.
She turned her gaze to find his, dropping her hand again to her hip as she squared to face him. "Yea, we'll have our privacy." She snickered and continued on, "but eh, I'll need to see that you can pay, Monsieur. So long as you pay, you get the lay, right?" Her laughter came choked by a harsh cough, her palm lifting to flatten over her exposed breast to fight down the fit of coughs that wracked through her form. Clearing her throat harshly, she again lifted her gaze to meet his and returned to her mouth that plastered grin of feigned and failing seduction.
Bronchitis, he intoned, critically regarding the pallor of her skin and the racking sound of her cough. Curable if one could pay the medical expenses. She, obviously, couldn't afford such things, and most likely her ..employer would not care less if she keeled over. It was not as expensive getting another whore to work those particular rounds. Sinking his hand into the pocket of his slacks he pulled free the small pouch. While he didn't make it a habit to come to the surface, he always did bring some money with him, just in case he might have the itch to head out and get something to eat.
Easing open the cord of the pouch he drew forth Tour Eiffel imprinted silver coin of five francs, he then shook the pouch so she'd hear the other coins. "Is this evidence enough, Mademoiselle? Now, lead the way." Before she could try to snatch it from his hand it vanished within the coil of fingers to be replaced. Apathetically he met her gaze, unfazed by her foul attempts at further luring.
The flash of the coin set those greedy eyes aflame with promise of dodging another beating from her boss. She nodded emphatically, turning to lead the way as she tossed over shoulder after several steps were taken, quite casually as she idly unfastened the top four strings of her bodice. "Anything particular you want? It'll cost ya extra if you want my hands bound. Oh, an' if I'm blindfolded also." She stooped forward to scoop up her tattered skirt, under-nourished limbs warmed only by wool stockings that sported their assorted rips and holes, held up on one leg by a cheap garter, the other slipping half way down the ruddy expanse of her thigh. "You don't wanna be recognized and all, right?" She'd smirk somewhat with her last comment, glancing over her shoulder to see if he still followed.
Her steps away from him pulled him along, and he took up the space a few feet at her back. If it wasn't for the fact that she glanced behind her, she might have thought that he buggered off with how quiet he was. Every step was predatory, a panther in a man's guise. "Blindfold?" He paused a moment, and a smile formed across his lips, one that didn't quite reach the amber of his eyes. "Why would I ever wish something like that," questioning with a morbid playfulness. Sliding the purse back into his pocket he continued following her with a quick glimpse taken of his surroundings.
For a girl that had seen many things, his teasing was lost on her as she turned and examined the emptied alley way quickly, reaching out then and tugging him into the security of the doorway by the lapel of his cloak. Her breath, thick with absinthe and the evidence of her slackened hygiene, brushed along the exposed portion of his face as her hands, experienced in even the dark, went immediately to work.
"What's your fancy, Monsieur? Fast, long..." She drew our her words with coy deliverance, "...all night, which would of course cost ya extra." As she spoke, her hands worked at the front of his slacks, her breast pressed hard to the wall of his tensed chest as she grinned in the dark. Even in the closeness of this proximity the outline of his mask had yet to expose itself and though she found it odd he hadn't removed his fedora. Nevertheless, she continued on as she awaited his answer.
He kept his head back for that very reason; so she wouldn't be able to get a good look at his face. That and her breath left something to be desired. Like a good swig of cleanser placed into that leering grin of hers. The rake of a shudder that coursed over him was hardly from desire, but pure, unadulterated disgust when she instantly seized the front of his slacks, a motion that he stopped with his hands against her wrists. Pulling her fingers away from the loosened clasp, he brought them upward. He didn't doubt that there were those who enjoyed pinning her hands above her head, and she'd probably think nothing of it. Indeed, many of the men before had favored the upper hand of their natural born aggression, and many of the scars on her slender body proved it true.
"I am curious, Mademoiselle… Do you attempt to attract the attention of all kinds?" Bringing a questioning tone into his voice, he crossed her wrists, but only set one hand to the slender limbs to hold them at bay. Though thin and long, his musician's fingers held an undeniable strength.
"What's the ..." She gave up a weakened protest, though her darkened expression hinted at her obvious amusement. She pressed into him ardently with a grin, absorbing his question and responding in jest, "A client's a client, Monsieur. I dare say they're all the same to me." She lifted her shoulders in a shrug as if to reaffirm her inability to be shocked by the lot of men that she'd serviced.
Ignore it.. Instead of focusing upon the better parts of her body pressed so close to his own, he focused on the worst. The woman was probably a walking contamination, still holding the semen from the last man that had enjoyed her writhing and false cries of passion. That thought alone was enough to cause his lip to curl.
"Oh, really?" One brow lifted, and the fedora topped head tilted to the side in a decidedly feral manner. "And dareI say that eventually one face becomes another after some time?" Foreboding, those words, even as he moved that stationary hand, raising it to the very hat she was quizzical about. He pulled his head back further, as if sensing the shadows that would keep his face concealed even after he slid the fedora off of his head. It was tucked beneath the cape and under the press of an arm. "That they become all alike?"
She was toying now with her lips, snapping at him playfully as he spoke and growled under her breath. Bloke's stallin'.. She sensed a passion in this one and strived to play along, or to at least tempt his desire forward. For now however, he seemed to be all talk and thus her cajoling growls continued before his question struck an unusual chord within her.
"I suppose you could be right. If I really paid much attention to half the men I've bedded, I'd be running into them all around town." She huffed out a sort of laugh that puffed hot air into his face, and she felt his shift yet made no move to try and see his face. After all, like he said, they all were essentially alike. "What's with the questions, precious?" In the dark, her eyes narrowed, and if she were to be paid simply for understanding and sharing time, she would have surely left this one to the streets.
"Curiosity." Shifting the pinning hand his fingers curled tighter against her wrists, holding them securely against the rough surface of the doorway's sill that lay behind her. He had hoped for something different, but this would have to do. His fingers hovered a moment along the porcelain, and closing his eyes he left the fingertips to linger. She wanted him, so be it. She would have all of him. Every ugly detail. Then he would see if she still wished to be paid for anything beyond understanding and sharing time.
That hesitation he had was completely dashed away as he pulled the mask up and off, then he leaned close to her so that now it was she that felt his breath against her skin as that horror lay before her. A nightmare given flesh, and even most of that was gone; perfection's absolute opposite. He was very prepared for her to scream. "Do you still believe all faces are alike? Tell me, lover, do you want me now?" It was strange, how his voice could be calm, yet at the same time betray the boiling ferocity that lay just below the surface.
She moved to again snap in that playful manner with a growl and a grin, writhing against his form as if to tantalize him from speech. However, the sudden exposure of the horrific oddity was certainly not the reaction she had in mind. A sweeping gesture of aggression and unreleased passion perhaps, but not this … this nightmare in the living flesh.
Her expression instantly contorted from that of impish seduction to twisted and terrified fear, her mouth gaping like a fish landed upon dry soil, robbed of its natural habitat, eyes wide and chest heaving. At last, that piercing scream rang out, breaking into the dawn as she struggled against his grip, turning her face away from the image of his distorted face. A slew of obscenities trailed this exposure, her hands balling into fists as she fought with all of her weakened might to escape the clutches of Death Himself. "DEAR GOD! What the fucking hell are you! LEMME GO!"
It took all the willpower he had to keep from snapping her neck at that first scream. In his life time had he ever harmed a woman? Never. His restraint with them was much stronger than it was with men. They were weaker than him, even a good number of men were weaker than he, and wouldn't stand a chance with whatever he might dish out. Any further words were cut off as he set his hand over her mouth, the edge of the mask grazing against the line of her jaw. Her wrists and head were pressed firmly against the sill. "I thought not," was dryly spoken with the faintest snarl in his words. He lingered in that press a bit longer than he liked, a flicker of thoughts crossing his mind in an instant, and he swept away from her in disgust. The disgust was not with her this time, but with himself.
Just as smoothly as he had taken off the mask it had been replaced, along with the fedora. She might not have noticed it at the time, but that very patch he had flashed her earlier was tucked into her loosened bodice. The inadvertent brush of his fingers against a breast when he pressed the velvet there was what caused further images to flash into his mind. Images of her; beneath him, screaming still... That long stride was at a quicker pace now. He wanted to get away from that scream that echoed within his ears, the sound of her haggard coughing once the swelled screams had choked her, nor the sound of her feet striking the cobbles as she retreated from the darkened doorway, stumbling into the lit streets in the direction opposite of what he was taking.
He should have left it alone. Should have simply gone his way without the need to taunt the woman. He kept his travel swift, avoiding any other lingering harlots as well as street goers. He didn't want to chance crossing another person, not now.