Chapter 34
White Foxes
Part 4
Snakeskin
The girl, Norah, was such a welcome peculiarity to the Kahn's Spas for Ramina. Earnest, appreciative, despite guarded, and unlike the women that she and the other maids dealt with daily, humble. The shy baker never voiced it, but Ramina could see in her eyes that she was grateful for each new lavish inclusion to her session. She never imposed, and it was always Ramina that persuaded her to partake in another beauty treatment. Norah's reaction was always amusing. Everything was both flabbergasting and foreign but incredibly intriguing. It reminded the older woman of when her daughters discovered new things at a young age, engaging in it always with a sense of untouched wonderment.
Besides the bath helping the girl to break out of her shell, Norah wanted to make sure the other maids were also comfortable with any new treatment they gave her, and just like Ramina, they thought it a pleasant new change of pace.
After the bath, which lasted long enough for Norah to get clean, the maids had returned from the natatorium to see if they were needed. Instead of waving them off as nothing, as most paying visitors did, she invited them to stay to apologize for her previous outburst; the woman feeling more open about their presence than she had been before.
Despite the girls being unsure of this bizarre new generosity, they accepted her request. Though Ramina could tell that it was partly due because they thought they had no choice; they were expected to obey client requests. But after the goat cheese and fruit was offered by Norah, who voiced she didn't want to be the only one to enjoy it as well, everything became ironically merry for what tended to happen in the bathhouse.
They still rained luxuries on her, Norah still trying to hit her quota, but the relaxed atmosphere was far more enjoyable than it had been before. The maids themselves felt comfortable enough to drop their professional demeanor and talk with her more freely.
Upon first expectations, Ramina was surprised that the woman wanted to so readily make friends with them. However, after considering the talk from before, about instructing Norah to enjoy embellishments when she could, Ramina couldn't help but smile that her words had sunk in. She was trying to take it to heart, and to practice it as well; stepping out of what she deemed convenient for her reserved character.
She could tell Norah still fought against it, acting hesitant and unsure towards them at first. Then, after an hour had passed, she started to laugh along with their stories, as well as the other girls did in turn when Norah decided to jump in with a comment of her own. She was still quiet for the most part, the other maids taking over most of the conversation, but it was more than what had been asked of her.
Ramina hadn't had much of an opinion about Norah at first, just curious about what she was to Erron Black. Yet, as the repartee between the maids and client they were attending to carried on, she was happy to say the baker enjoyed her company with them. Especially more after finding out just how truly similar in occupation they all were— albeit in Norah's case, once were.
She had been a servant in the palace as well and a native-born Outworlder despite her Earthrealm heritage, and after the girls found out as well, they accepted her more as one of them.
Sitting behind her, the older Kahn's Spring maid, ran a brush through Norah's clean, dry hair as the other women sat on the floor in a circle with Norah; adorned now in the blue robe. The other three Outworld maids, Balma, Ama, and Osmunda, chatted away with her; each of them going about their assigned tasks in the meantime while they continued to converse.
Osmunda, who had a white textured mitt on her hand, stopped mid-stroke on Norah's outstretched leg, to look at the former cupbearer with a dubious expression. "I cannot believe that Ferra/Torr used to be who you were assigned to and you lived to tell the tale."
Norah lifted a single shoulder in a shrug. "They are not so bad— they have been quite nice to me. Even if I had to make them food in order to keep my skull."
Balma, the petite maid who was dainty as the flowers she had distributed to the bath earlier, nearly choked on one of the sliced wedges of orange fruit sitting across from Norah.
"That is the first time I have ever heard the word 'nice' be associated with any of the Kahn's guards."
Ama, the sister to Balma and Osmunda, who was stern and far more prudish in appearance and demeanor, raised a manicured eyebrow as she continued to meticulously file and trim Norah's nails. "The Emperor doesn't pick them to be nice, Balma." The middle-sibling pointed the tip of the nail file at her sister. "You can ask Sera if you disagree with me."
Balma's mousey features fell into despondence as she let out a small sigh. "I haven't seen Sera since she got married. I do miss her."
Osmunda, the oldest, prettiest, yet looked like she could use a nap the most, turned her tired brown eyes towards Balma as she pulled the mitt away from Norah's leg. "You are the only one that misses her. I say good riddance. She talked too much."
Ramina didn't comment on the matter and neither did Norah as they observed the three siblings continue to prattle and gossip amongst themselves. Continuing to tell Norah bathhouse stories and tales about odd clients.
Even though it was the cupbearer that had invited the girls to stay, the older woman noticed that Norah preferred more to observe than engage. Ramina could tell it was because she was merely uncomfortable with their beautification treatments than she was of them. Despite that the girl insisted they didn't have to do it, that she could apply anything they had herself, they were adamant to refuse her as much as Ramina. They told her to relax, that it was not an issue to fret about, and Norah did try but continued to stubbornly voice it nonetheless. As she did next…
Norah interjected, noticing Osmunda's hand reaching to the side to pick up the rust-colored jar next to a glassy, triangle wedge of obsidian stone next to her. "I can do that if you like. My legs are not that much covered in hair."
Balma let out a loud, abrupt snort, almost choking on her fruit again. "Yes, they are!"
Ramina stopped combing through her hair and shot a warning glance over Norah's shoulder at Balma while the other two maids gave their sister their own reprimanding glares. The flower maid said nothing, only responding with a sheepish smile towards all of them; the space between them rendered in awkward silence. The only one that didn't seem to take offense was Norah, who couldn't help but grin in amusement towards Balma for her truthfulness— one that nobody could deny; the cupbearer was in need desperately for hair removal. Still, it was a lack of manners that needed to be addressed.
"Well, they are!" the younger, smaller-framed woman entreated, throwing a hand towards Norah's outstretched leg. "You will need twice the treatment and another removal stone if the first one doesn't chip!"
Osmunda bared her teeth, picked up the discarded mitt, and threw it at her. "Do not be rude!" she snarled at her, and Balma flinched as it landed squarely in her face; knocking the fruit from her hand in the process.
"It's not rude if it is the truth!" Balma declared.
Ama also threw the nail file furiously at the younger sister. "May the Gods scold you! You are going to get us all beheaded for such curt remarks one day!" She berated before she picked up a brush to clean off Norah's hand.
Ramina fired another cautionary and irate look towards all three of them, losing her patience.
"Enough— ALL of you," the receptionist barked, causing all three sisters to shrink and go quiet.
She placed a hand on Norah's shoulder from behind. "I am so sorry, Norah. These girls are new and still learning—"
To her surprise, Norah laughed and waved a dismissive hand in the air. "No please— it is alright. There is no harm done. This is honestly the most fun I have had in a long time. And"— Norah traced a finger across her leg, running it over her leg hair— "I think she may have a point."
The young sister picked up a small, round periwinkle piece of fruit and plopped it into her mouth before she gave a faux, innocent pout to her sisters. "See, you are all being mean to me for no reason. Even she agrees with me and thinks it's funny. At least Norah has a sense of humor."
Osmunda narrowed her eyes at her. "Why don't you do something useful instead of eating all her food?
"Yes," Ama cut in, "Like go find options for her to wear and then wander the Golden Desert forever afterward."
Ramina nodded, looking towards the young maid. "Yes, I think that would be wise as well. And since you are so energetic from all the sugar the fruit has given you, please go use it to fold towels after you are done."
Balma nodded in compliance despite mumbling something childishly under her breath at them when she thought they weren't listening.
Norah called to her as she reached her hand towards the tray. She grabbed one of the many untouched larger fruits and tossed it at Balma to catch.
The younger girl looked to Norah, holding the small bumpy yellow fruit in her hands, her expression friendly at the baker, and asked: "Are there any colors that you are not fond of?"
The older woman felt Norah go stiff, the former cupbearer lifting one of her hands and traced her fingers along the outside of her throat briefly, before admitting: "Purple… I"— the girl let out a shallow sigh, pausing— "I… I wore it enough during my time as a cupbearer."
The younger Outworlder nodded before heading to the door, and just like her sisters', also failed to notice Norah's dolefulness. Meanwhile, the receptionist's hand slowed as she combed, the older woman more perceptive.
Like the flowers, which Ramina partly understood, it was another hidden quirk that interested her about the baker. Nobody displayed such distaste about color without there being a good reason for it. The bathhouse woman didn't know what it was entirely, or couldn't even attempt to guess, but she felt she needed to ask why…
Especially considering who her benefactor for her visit was.
When she first laid eyes on her in the welcoming area, she had been curious from the start at what the girl's story was. She wasn't permissioned to ask; it was not her place to question clients about their business. But it hadn't escaped her notice that Norah hadn't mentioned Erron Black at all during the conversation with the girls. In combination with Black paying for her visit, the disheveled state she came into the Springs in, and how she kept mute about the mercenary that had been more charitable than Ramina had ever seen him be, it only made her want to forsake propriety and ask Norah about her history with him. If there was one thing she knew for certain, even if it was unvoiced, was that Erron Black and Norah must have had one…
The receptionist chewed the inside of her cheek.
… And so did Ramina and Black.
Ramina had never let it slip, but she thought the mercenary to be quite repugnant. There had been many times he had visited the bathhouse during Shao Kahn's reign and had paid for services that the bathhouse was once known for. Even then, women were not allowed to be on the male side, yet he and other male clients requested maids in their private accommodations and paid heavily for it. It was quite clear what was going on behind closed doors, and it was something that ended when she took the mantle as an operations overseer of the bathhouse.
They would never be whores again and regulations were upheld more so after Shao Kahn's death. They refused to live that lifestyle again.
However, despite that Black and many high-paying males knew the Spring's weren't a brothel house after Kotal Kahn's ascension, they still tried to treat it as such. Old habits die hard, and tactics changed. The few guards stationed around the bathhouse seldom cared; lazy and complacent with their easy occupation and only intervening in affairs if it was a physical fight that broke out in the natatorium. So, the male clients still found a way to break the rules, and in Black's case, snuck around behind her back and swooned her female employees; convincing them to go to bed. It didn't matter to her if the girls did it willingly or not with Erron Black, he was still as despicable as the others to Ramina. Yet, his lascivious nature wasn't what she despised him for. It was the aftermath of what usually followed his affairs with the maids...
Her jaw clenched hard at the memory.
He didn't try to swoon females in the bathhouse anymore, except for Mera who Ramina knew she didn't need to worry about; the woman could handle herself. The older maid wasn't sure why he stopped, perhaps finding thrills elsewhere, but it didn't mean that Ramina forgot about the young, impressionable women he, and the other careless men that visited, had charmed and impregnated. She had lost count of how many hands she had to hold as Mera, Sera's healer sister, administered maraburn bark; a slender sampling from a well-known semi-poisonous tree that had to be inserted vaginally and sit for some time. It was painful, caused bleeding, but was effective in aborting a pregnancy.
Ramina didn't tell him about the girls and their pregnancies, because she assumed due to his crass disposition that he seemed to share with the other highborn males, he wouldn't care anyway. Erron Black saw women as passing pleasures, and nobody could convince her otherwise.
She didn't want to make presumptions about Norah and Black's relationship with each other, but him bringing her to the bathhouse to 'clean up' made her anxious for the girl's well-being. The only conclusion the receptionist could reach was that he was seeking to do the same with her as he had done with the other women in the Springs. Perhaps putting more effort into it because she reminded him of Earthrealm in a sense. That speculation didn't sit well with her— especially the more she began to grow attached to Norah.
Ramina had wanted to say something earlier but had refrained for the time being wanting the girl to feel relaxed and clean before she pressed the subject. She wanted her to enjoy something before she set the mood dreary once more. The Outworld woman had every intention of bringing up the subject with her, even though she had only known her for a short time. Ramina would always be protective of all the girls in her life. She saw them as if they were her own daughters. She did not want them to suffer, and she didn't want Norah to have to go through the same thing that the past girls had.
"Ama, Osmunda," Ramina called to them, catching the two sisters' attention. "Why don't you help Balma pick out something. I trust your judgment more than hers."
The two younger women looked to Norah, and then to her; almost as if they wanted to question her reason for having them depart in the middle of their sessions. Ultimately, they followed her orders; the pointed stare she cast at them from over Norah's shoulder helped them understand she wanted to be left alone with her.
Osmunda smiled and handed the rust-colored jar to the cupbearer to take." Don't worry. We will find you something nice."
"Thank you, that is very kind," the baker returned appreciatively, placing the jar to the side for now.
"Since Balma did not ask — because she's as dimwitted as a fly— what are your favorite colors?" Ama questioned.
Norah chuckled, her fingers pinched the hem of the long, midnight blue robe she wore. "This one. It reminds me of starry nights."
Ama lifted a slight teasing eyebrow, which earned her a jab in the ribs from an elbow from her older sister. The middle-sibling rubbed her side as Osmunda nodded her head benevolently towards the cupbearer. "Then we will find you something that reminds you of it."
"Good-bye girls," Ramina hinted, sliding her eyes towards the door before back to them.
The siblings departed shortly after Norah gave a second round of thanks, before closing the door softly behind them, and left Ramina alone with Norah once again.
The older woman set the brush to the side, taking a silent moment to mull over how she wanted to phrase certain things in her head. She picked herself up from the floor and walked around to face her. The baker looked up and squinted her eyes at her, the corner of her lip flickering to the side before Ramina kneeled in front of her.
"Is everything all right?" Norah asked; concerned.
Ramina frowned, reaching forward to take the girl's hands and hold them in her lap. "That is a question that I wish to ask you."
"Did I do something wrong?"
"No not at all," the receptionist answered, patting the top of one of her hands softly before she looked at her gravely; trying to convey her seriousness on the topic. "Are you all right with Minister Black?"
Her forehead creased at the inquiry, giving the woman a slight shake of her head. "I do not follow."
Ramina winced, deciding to be blunt. "Has he hurt you? Are you with him unwillingly?"
The baker's mouth opened, her lips parting partially in mild shock before she pressed them into a tight line and grimaced. "No… and yes… but no"— she gave a forlorn sigh. "It… is complicated…"
The Outworld woman studied the younger girl, regarding her admission with pained interest but also nodding in understanding. "You do not need to tell me what happened if you are uncomfortable, and I am sorry if I overstepped my boundaries."
"You didn't, and there is no reason to apologize," Norah gave her a tiny, thankful smile. "It is nice that you are concerned. I can imagine you are quite curious as to why I walked through the door with him."
"I am, yes," Ramina agreed truthfully, giving her hands a simple squeeze. "You are a very nice girl, and I know it is not my place to ask you about such things, but I just want to make sure you are safe when you leave with him."
"I understand…" the girl nodded, her brows bridging as she looked down at her hand, biting her lip nervously. "I just… I do not know what I am to him."
Ramina swallowed and a feeling of foreboding danger crept in as she observed Norah's uncertain body language and it swept away any previous reservations Ramina had about providing aid. It seemed Norah needed it— evident solely on her silence alone— and she felt instant disgust for Black at the same time she felt sorrow for her. The poor thing was probably tricked and manipulated to come with him. Norah didn't deserve whatever fate he had in store for her— one that was no doubt similar to all the girls that came in contact with him before. She had to do something.
The lavender-dressed maid tightened her grip softly on her hands, catching Norah's attention, as she conveyed with a whisper: "I can help you."
Norah gaped at her. "What?"
The receptionist squeezed her hands again. "I can help you. There is a tunnel. It is an underground passageway used as an aqueduct that feeds into the main pool of the natatorium. It is submerged, and you would fight against a current, but it is not a far swim and it leads to the main pool where the hot springs originate outside of the palace. You can use it. I can tell Black you slipped away"—
"I can't," Norah interrupted hastily. Her eyes downcast and her expression disquiet.
Ramina lifted her hands to her face, cupping them, and making the girl look at her with assurance. "I can handle Minister Black and anything— "
"You don't understand," Norah cut off, giving a disappointed sigh, as the maid dropped her hands from her face. "I can't… swim."
Ramina frowned, her posture sagging in defeat and acknowledgment, as she felt guilt for ignorantly offering hope. If the receptionist had any other option for liberation, she would have instantly offered it, but sadly, she had nothing. Many girls had tried to use the tunnel, and while some made it, those who took the risk but were not strong swimmers, or didn't know how, floated dead down the tunnel and back into the bathhouse.
Ramina sighed wistfully…
She had lost count of how many servants had tried but she had hoped by some chance that the baker could use it. "I am so sorry, Norah."
The girl contemplated in silence, her eyes to the floor for a moment. She debated a question with herself before stating: "Maybe you can help me another way… help me decide with something that has been bothering me."
The older Outworld woman nodded eagerly. "Of course. What is it?"
Norah bit her lip. "How do I be… more likable?"
Ramina shook her head, her brows furrowed in confusion. "But you are likable."
"I mean… to men," Norah cleared her throat uncomfortably. "To certain ones… in particular."
"You are speaking of Minister Black, yes?" Ramina acknowledged, her voice tight and uneased.
Despite how subtle the older woman had tried to make it, the baker still picked up on the woman's dislike of the man.
"You don't like him?"
"No Norah. I do not," Ramina answered earnestly. "And you shouldn't either. He is not a good man with women. Men have conducted themselves as selfish lechers with the maids here— Minister Black included. It is why I offered you the knowledge of the tunnel."
Norah knitted her eyebrows. "It is not like that between the two of us. He wants nothing to do with me in that regard."
"I am afraid that for most of my maids that have had encounters with him would say otherwise. He manipulates women into liking him so he can satisfy his one goal with them. He has done this to many girls— girls, that I am sorry to say, you remind me of. I do not want to see you get hurt as well."
"He has already done worse than that," she mumbled under her breath to herself.
Even if it wasn't her intention to hear it, Ramina still did and opened her mouth to speak before Norah cut in.
"Not like that. I am sorry about the girls, but he is not interested in anything intimate with me. But other things happened between the two of us already, things he did that were horrible. He brought me here because he is trying to… apologize."
The older woman stared at the baker with an ironic combination of understanding and confusion; she heard her words but couldn't comprehend them. The Kahn's guard never apologized for his indifferent manner, nor did she think he would to anyone no matter how terrible the transgression.
So… why Norah? Why was she the exception? The woman felt dread crawl up her like a swarm of ants as she stared at the younger girl…
What had he done that was worse?
"What did he do?" the protective woman asked, her tone soft but her eyes as hard as marble. Both women knowing the animosity she felt for Black would only increase with whatever Norah told her.
Norah stared at her quietly, contemplating and trying to gauge the maid's thoughts. Despite her clear hesitance about retelling what Ramina knew would be a morose and personal story, Norah asked her: "If I tell you— if I explain it all— do you think you can offer me advice? As you did before?"
"I will do my best," Ramina sighed before she uttered out a stern but fair warning. "You must know honestly, though, it may be difficult to be so unbiased. I do not like that man."
The cupbearer returned her own forlorn and unsure sigh. "The thing is…I do not either, but I do not know if I should or should not as well. What I need, more than any dress or luxury in this room, is another opinion…it will help me decide what to do."
Ramina regarded her with hesitant kindness; willing to help yet wishing there was more she could do for her. Regardless, if this is what the baker needed, and it could make up for the little she could do to help her escape, she would be an ear to her, then.
Ramina accepted, nodding sincere and stoic, and once again curious to what the mercenary and the baker's relationship was…
A relationship that seemed to warrant penitence from a man who she thought didn't know the meaning.
Erron hadn't asked for one, but Mera needed something to do to pass the time as he continued with his somber tale of him and the baker's relationship.
Mera hadn't been expecting Black to ask for advice. The healer just figured he would try and worm his way under her skirt despite their last rendezvous was long ago, and what she was doing now to him, helped further illustrate the point she wasn't interested in anything sexual with him despite it was how their usual escapades began.
He hissed out a curse into the stone floor as she released a stubborn knot in his calf muscle with the hard press of the heel of her hand…
Though her massages were never as bone-crushing and rough, kneading every knuckle and joint and stretching limbs beyond their limits, it was a custom in the bathhouse, and despite the pain, always left the 'victim' feeling better than before. He was a willing participant. Though, she was unsure if it was only because he was simply putting up with it because he truly did need her opinion about what to do with Norah.
He did.
More than he even realized.
The Outworld healer didn't know what to make of it, except for one word that persistently kept coming to mind every time she heard what Erron did next to Norah in the outlandish story.
It was all odd. Just simply odd. There was no other word to describe it other than that. Never in centuries, would she ever suspect Erron to care so much about something, or someone, who should have been, in all honesty, quite forgettable to him.
This woman— this inconsequential baker— had uprooted his life, and because of his past actions, he was forced to pay moral restitution towards her. Frankly, Mera thought he deserved it too, but instead of flittering his guilt into the wind for him to forget, much to her surprise… he sought penitence.
One example of which, the most notable, being his offer at the Coliseum. It was what struck out to Mera the most. It was something he would have never, in all the long years she had known him, thought he would do. And yet he had. The penny-pinching mercenary paid what was due in front of all of Outworld to see. Even if the audience didn't know the true reason why he offered his back to the whip.
It was so unlike him.
Mera knew he cared for no one deep down, and certainly not enough to take another's place and be whipped. Yet— he did for this woman. It dumbfounded her. Black was selfish and had little regard for others' tribulations; whether he was connected to them or not.
So, what made this girl so special?
Mera wasn't an idiot, there was something else besides just guilt. He was not so common, and therefore, forced her to settle on one theory.
The healer never cared or asked about the man's past, it was his business, but she couldn't help but think it played a part. While he continued to walk her through the account with enough uncluttered detail for her to understand what had happened in the most banal of sense, she started to suspect his past experiences played a bigger role. Simply because of how unattached he wanted to sound. As if the whole thing was a meager drama in retrospect. Ironically, the more he withheld emotionally, the more the healer could tell there was more to it. He painted a prosaic picture for her, but the woman could tell it was over a faded and established portrait.
It was almost as if the reason he was so plain with his telling, was because he knew she'd come to the same unwanted observation— regardless of if he wanted her to or not. He would withhold what he could, fearing her to see the true reason. And he was withholding, but it was a waste of energy to do so with her.
It was obvious to the physician that there was something more than just guilt that directed his puppet-strings; and there was nothing he could say, or not say, that would convince her otherwise. Because everything he did was just so odd for the mercenary she knew for years.
She gave a tight smile, staring at the back of his head as he continued to lay prone on the stone floor.
Odd… but good.
Black grunted, the healer stretching and bending his leg back to what was comfortable for the gunslinger; the back of his calf nearly touching the back of his thigh. When she was satisfied, and when it seemed he couldn't take it anymore, she switched to the other. Again, he groaned; the former Earthrealmer, not the most flexible— but certainly would be after she was done.
"Goddamn it, Mera…" he huffed into the stone, his fingers curling by his head.
"It's no worse than what the male masseuse attendants would do to you in the natatorium," she deflected flatly, before raising an amused eyebrow. "Especially considering I am not as strong as they are. Which is why I need the practice."
"I'd rather— ughh— rather you use the mitt and sandpaper the skin off me," he protested, pausing before looking over his shoulder at the Venom-Eater who was nibbling on a piece of yellow fruit on the table beside the couch. "If there's any skin left."
The Outworld healer dropped his leg before glancing over her shoulder at Moloth. She patted his back lightly— one that was completely absent of scars or any memory of being at the Coliseum. "He only took what he needed off you. He knows better."
The man let out a doubtful 'hmph' at her statement, despite that the woman could sense he did trust her word. Though, after what he had told her about the Lactroquin, she couldn't find a reason to fault him for being so repellent towards the Venom-Eater. The burrowing beetles were nasty, parasitic little creatures— and speaking of them, she decided to prompt him to continue his intriguing tale.
Her nose wrinkled, catching a whiff of his body odor, and glanced over at the unused marble tub…
"Tell me more in the water. I am finished, and will let you take a bath," she informed, standing to her feet. "The Gods know you need one."
He let out a scoff at her before he worked his way up—slowly and achy— to his feet. The Kahn's guard grimaced, rolling his shoulders and shaking out his legs before he unabashedly began to unbuckle his pants in front of her as sat down on the couch. She closed her eyes, letting him have his privacy, and she felt him staring at her.
"It's nothin' you've never seen before."
She gave a brief smile at his small, deadpan joke, but didn't comment. Instead, still hearing the buckle come undone, lifted a hand into the air and blocked the view to where she thought the Venom-Eater's eyes were; pretending to protect its innocence much like a mother would do to a child.
It wasn't long until she heard his pants drop to the floor and water sloshing around in the marble tub. It was only then she opened her eyes; the water too murky by soap that attendants poured in earlier to see anything under the surface.
He did nothing, merely sitting in the water with his arms bent and hanging on the edges behind him. Every so often, he dipped a cupped hand into the water and scrubbed his face but remained otherwise silent.
His eyes slid over to her briefly, before staring at the wall and staying quiet. The man clearing his throat uncomfortably. If she had to guess the reason why, it was because the reserved Earthrealmer probably wasn't keen on having an audience watching him take a bath, despite their past relationship. The irony of it could almost make her laugh.
"You don't need to be shy. It's nothing I have never seen before, after all," she echoed back, grabbing the cheese knife, and dumping a gracious amount of goat cheese on a cracker.
He glanced at her; his eyebrows bridged hard. "I ain't shy"— he gave a shallow sigh, his expression still hard—" Just tryin' to figure out how to tell you this next part."
"You can just tell me," Mera told him, though her demeanor grew slightly indignant at him. "Before you do, however, I will say I do not blame her for what she did. I understand the girl for wanting to 'get even'—your words— and place your gun to your head. I think you deserved it a bit."
Erron shook his head minutely as his irate gaze stared straight ahead, and she was not sure if he was angry at her words, or his past actions.
"But I will agree with you as well," the pragmatic healer continued. "Gratitude for helping her leave the palace would have been appropriate for her to express, too. However, from what you have told me about her, it does not seem she forgives easily. It does not surprise me she did not say anything."
"Still woulda' been nice to hear,'' was his remark back, as if in his defense. "I didn't have to do anything for her. I went outta my way and got nothin' but bit in the ass in return."
Mera bit into a cracker, studying him and chewing before she finished and said: "Maybe she did not understand how truly far out of your way it was. From what you have told me, she sounds as emotionally selfish as you are. You only care what is owed to you both and do not care about the other's feelings. Perhaps that is why with what you did at the Coliseum was well-received by her. You did a good thing— so much that it couldn't be ignored."
"Guess that's one way to put it," Erron responded, yet the icy way he uttered it didn't convince her he agreed about it. "Don't feel as if she's forgiven me fully, though."
"Has she said she has—truly?"
He shook his head. "She's thanked me for the whip."
The healer gave a placid smile. "That is a good beginning. It will take time for the rest," Mera remarked neutrally. "She sounds as hard-headed as you are, I'm afraid."
"Worse," he corrected plainly.
"That I am afraid may be up for negotiating," the physician chuckled before biting into her cracker again.
Moloth, noticing she had food in her hand, abandoned its yellow fruit and migrated over to her. Using its back legs, he clung onto the sofa arm and outstretched its front legs while chittering noisily at her. Mera pulled the cracker out of reach of its grabby little feelers, scolding it playfully. "You have food, do not be greedy."
Still, her Venom-Eater persisted, crawling along the back of the chair, leaned over her shoulder and towards her face as she sunk the cracker into her mouth; managing to take a corner with its pinchers when she did. Despite the distraction, the bug curling on her shoulder and wrapping loosely around the back of her neck like a shawl, she remained on the subject.
"So… what happened afterward?" Mera asked, raising the cracker above her head and scowling when Moloth spiraled around her limb like a snake and ascended. "After the Coliseum."
He paused, his eyes still to the wall, before answering with a sour grumble: "She got married."
Mera let out a small curse— not directed at Erron— as she grasped Moloth's middle with her free hand, pulled and unraveled him from around her arm, and placed the bug on the sofa cushion next to her while the bug chittered happily, taking its conquered cracker with him.
"Fine. Keep it, you gluttonous cretin."
Moloth flicked its antennas at her before he bit and chewed away at his new meal.
Black threw an impatient look towards the healer. "Are you even listenin' or just messin' around with that goddamn thing?"
Mera gave a half-shrug at him, her eyes still on the bug. "I heard you. She got married. So, who is her husband?"
His mouth tugged bitterly to the side. "Hulin."
The healer felt the color drain from her face instantly when she heard the name as she turned slowly to look at him.
"I… I beg your pardon?"
"You heard me right, "he answered back curtly, the mercenary not noticing the look of terror she had on her face as he cupped water in his hands and ran through his hair.
The healer shivered… that wasn't possible— it couldn't be possible he had said that name. It was too much of a coincidence— surely, she must have heard wrong.
Yet, the gunslinger pressed on, his attention only on relating what had happened after they exited the Coliseum: confronting the Edenian outside of the palace walls and Ferra/Torr's involvement.
Mera was thankful for the man's brisk retelling, for if he divulged anything elaborate or needless to her, she wouldn't have heard it… most of her thoughts were on her sister and picturing a repetition of what he had done to her being done to Norah next.
Kytinn venom does interesting things to the mind...
"Did you hear me?" Black turned his gaze to her, his expression one of cynicism, as if he was interrogating a bounty that he could sense was lying to him.
The healer nodded and hunched forward in her seat with a fist coming over to cover her mouth as she planted the point of her elbow into one of her thighs, masking her expression from him slightly. It was more for his benefit than hers; she didn't want the marksman to see the trepidation she felt growing on her face. "Yes…"
He raised an incredulous eyebrow at her, misreading her unease. "Why's it so hard for you to swallow?"
The healer said nothing, her eyes glancing over to him briefly before staring straight ahead towards the mirror… her mute reflection gazing back at her.
"What?" she heard him ask suddenly, his tone regarding her with as much scrutiny as his eyes did.
The woman dropped her hand, her eyes to her lap. "Nothing…"
"Bullshit," he rebuked crisply. "You're keepin' something from me."
"It is nothing important for you to know," she replied, picturing Sera and wincing.
"Then why are you getting all clinched up about it?" he pointed out, his head tilting in her direction.
She threw a sharp look at him. "Because I know his reputation," she answered quickly, her gaze defensive at him, as one of her knees bounced erratically up and down.
How I know it...
He paused at her; Mera hoping he had swallowed her answer before he closed a fist.
"You know more than you're lettin' on," Black accused, his eyes flickering from her knee and back to her face. "Your goddamn fidgeting says it loud and clear."
Mera placed a hand on her knee, trying to halt it despite knowing she was caught. Even Moloth looked at her, gazing up from the cracker; the intelligent bug sensing her stress as easily as Erron did.
Regardless of whether he knew she was lying or not, it did not change anything. The fact that Hulin was her brother-in-law wasn't something she necessarily needed to share with him. Although, she could still relate a warning— one that needed to be voiced.
There was one thing, however, that perplexed her...
"If she is married to him, then how is she with you now?" Mera questioned, looking in his direction. "Or is this your way to repay her? Keeping her away from him? From what has happened, it sounds like she has heard the same rumors."
"She's heard 'em," he acknowledged, "and technically, she's supposed to be with Ferra/Torr. But they are doing who-knows-what now, so I'm saddled with her till they decide to come back."
"Conveniently too I may add," Mera regarded his explanation dubiously. "So, you are her secondary protector— or third, depending on how you want to count the symbiotes?"
He wrinkled his nose. "If that's what you want to call it."
The woman's face dropped, a sudden, practical realization washing over her. "You and Ferra/Torr cannot keep her from him forever— no matter how good your intentions are. By law, she is his wife, and he will find a way to get her. And if not, he will still resort to any means he can. He only cares about feeding his own narcissism. It is all he truly cares about."
"You sound a bit sure of that…" He turned, his eyes hard and acute. "You do know him, don't you? And not just regarding what's been told in rumors."
Mera faltered; her mouth opening and closing as if she wanted to deny it… but knew she couldn't. In her eagerness to warn him, she had given too much away. There was no way to avoid it, regardless of if she still thought it was inconsequential knowledge for him to know in the end.
"Come clean with it," he directed.
The healer closed her eyes and only opened them when she felt Moloth crawl into her lap. She gave the creature a soft stroke along its back, her eyes to the ground. "Hulin… is married to my sister."
"Sera?"
She nodded dolefully.
His expression crimped in confusion. "Why?"
The healer contemplated momentarily; trying to find the correct words. "She thought he was something, something she wanted, and he turned out to be something… else. He lied and she is paying the price for it—because that is what he enjoys."
Black said nothing, merely observing her quiet, pained reaction to her admission. The healer heard him sigh quietly, the air he let out full of discontent at the knowledge. He seemed to be at a loss of words, or simply refraining from voicing what was on his mind; either wanting not to upset her with whatever callous but honest opinion he had about Sera's choice, or simply had no opinion about it.
"What does he do to them after he drops the act?" Black asked, his tone utilitarian; it was just a question, nothing more, but it still barbed at her heart slightly. "Why does he want more than one?"
"You have heard the rumors— and he can have more than one wife if he wants. Any wealthy male or female can have as many as they want. You said Norah is a slave and he is warranted the privilege if he has the coins," she explained bitterly.
"Doesn't answer my question," he pointed out.
"I think… women are just toys to him, Erron," she divulged, her lip curled up in a small snarl, "The number probably means nothing to him. He enjoys manipulation. It's a game to him and it fills whatever need he is missing in his life. Perhaps it makes him feel as if he is smarter—better than everyone else. And he knows nobody cares what a husband does to his slave wives behind closed doors. Hulin can kill them if he wants— if he can convince one barrister or palace official it was warranted. And he is a good liar. He'll get tired of one toy… and move on to the next one."
Black kept quiet, merely absorbing her words. The corner of his mouth tugged to the side. His reaction was not what she had expected; his countenance, while contemplative, was also rather blank. As if what she had confessed was not a surprise to him and merely confirmed what was already a speculative opinion to him.
"You didn't answer my question from before, either," Mera indicated suddenly. "I think you already know all this… so it is your way of repaying her, then?"
Erron refused to look at her, the man swallowing uncomfortably as if he was pushing down the answer he wanted to give but wouldn't allow her to hear.
Mera shook her head, "You asked me for my advice, but I honestly don't know what you want to ask me. I cannot read your mind."
Still, the stubborn, confidential man kept mute; his visage unreadable as if he had his leather, bounty hunter mask on. The woman was no fool though, and his adamant silence only answered her questions more. If Norah was truly nothing to him, he wouldn't have put forth so much effort as he was now. Erron would have thought the Coliseum was an apology enough and would have been done with her after that.
There was something else… some enigma, and if he wanted her to help him, he needed to acknowledge it too. He couldn't keep it locked up in a box forever. The more she thought about it, the more she understood he was trying to open the box as well but was fumbling with the key… and he just needed another hand to steady it so he could unlock it finally.
Though, the healer knew she couldn't push hard at him, even if he did seek her help. If she dug too much at his old wounds, he would reciprocate with malice towards her. Mera did want to help, simply because she did not want Hulin to win, but she couldn't force him to talk if he did not want to. He needed to be in control, especially concerning his emotions, and he did not like to show weakness, even on the most human level, to anyone.
Still, it didn't mean she wouldn't try to coax it out of him, regardless of if it made him uncomfortable or not.
"Why do you need her to forgive you so much, Erron?" she questioned. "So, you can forgive yourself for something else you did long ago?"
Black's jaw clenched, looking as if he was trying to forget her question the second it was uttered out.
Her eyes grew stony at him. "You need to tell me. Otherwise, why did you call me here, to begin with?"
More silence and it aggravated her. He was wasting her time.
"I cannot help you, if I do not know what the issue is," Mera frowned at him before she picked up Moloth. The healer wasn't genuinely going to leave the room, it was more of a bluff, but still, she stood to her feet, regarding him with impatience and walked to the door.
"Yes…" he acknowledged, admitting it with discontent. Mera paused, a small smile tugging quickly at the corners of her mouth. It was a quiet ultimatum and whether he knew it was feigned or not, didn't matter to her; it worked. The Outworld woman turned back to him, her demeanor professional yet benign towards him.
"What do you need so you can have this woman forgive you?" Mera asked, almost pleading with him to trust her to tell it.
"I just need her to…" was his dour confide, the gunslinger seemingly as bitter with himself as she was with him that he couldn't utter the reason. Mera knew why he couldn't: it was a weakness. A weakness that he didn't want anyone to see or know.
"Does she remind you of anyone… someone you treated wrong in the past that you want to forgive you?" The inquiry rang over and over in her head like a wild bell; begging her to answer it by asking him. Mera had to ignore it, though, despite its persisting intentness to be heard. After careful consideration, perhaps it wasn't a toll for her, even if she was privileged to hear it. Just because she knew about it's existence, didn't mean she was the one that was supposed to stop it from ringing. They both heard, it but it was Black who was the only one that could silence it. He was in command and if he wanted it to stop ringing, Erron would have to do it himself. Maybe, that was what he wanted, but he didn't know how to find the bell in the first place.
"She needs to trust you, first," the healer finally avouched, looking down at the Venom-Eater that curled its legs around her fingers. "She will never forgive you if she doesn't trust you. You are doing good things— the Coliseum and keeping her away from Hulin— but you'll never get her to accept you if you continue to act as quiet as the way you are. You can't forgive somebody you think is dishonest or keeping things from you. The only way I can see her knowing she can trust you or not is if you tell her a little about yourself. Nobody knows who you truly are, Erron, which is why nobody can trust you. Give her something you have never given anyone else."
The bounty hunter stiffened, as if what Mera had suggested was too ludicrous of a concept. "I've given her plenty…"
"If you truly felt that way, then why is it still not enough for you?" Mera pointed out, Moloth chirping lightly, as if in agreement.
The mercenary bristled, as if she had just marched across the room and slapped him across the face. The man slumped in the water, opening and closing his mouth as if he wanted to object but knew he couldn't. What could he say that wouldn't have been a lie from him? And the more silent he stayed, the more it confirmed what she had suggested had sunk in and was right on target.
"How?" he questioned, his tone tight as if he was reprimanding himself for even giving in.
Mera bit her bottom lip in thought, looking down at her infant insect— one that was minutely larger since they came in the room from both eating from Erron and the bathhouse tray. Venom Eaters always grew quicker the more they ate, they had to with their natural enemies being Kytinn, and she could already spot signs of molting along its larger front legs as it started to get bigger. It gave her an idea, as she used her thumbnail to pry off a patch of loose skin; the diaphanous scab of flesh falling to the floor like a leaf in autumn.
"Snakeskin," she offered, still looking at Moloth who clamped its pincers lightly on her pointer finger.
"What?"
The healer looked up at him, the bounty hunter displaying utter bewilderment at the word. Mera gave a tight-lipped smile, expecting him to ask.
"Shed the parts of you that are not working anymore and start new with her. Do what is fresh and stop hiding behind your old armor, Erron," she clarified. "Do so first… and she might do the same."
The gunslinger didn't respond, looking as if her proposition sat even more weight on his shoulders than what he previously had before.
She understood— it was not a simple task for him to do. Mera could tell he didn't like what she had instructed, but she could see that he was also acknowledging the fact that if he truly wanted to succeed and get his goal in the end, then the healer's advice would be the best way to go about it.
He continued to mull over her words in silence to himself, his countenance set into stern concentration as silence entered the room with only the small chittering of the bug offering discourse.
However, much to her surprise, he pressed his mouth into a flat line, and with stubborn reticence, he gave a small nod; thanking and letting her know he would think about it.
Mera also gave a nod back, accepting it while her eyes softened—wishing him luck quietly— as she placed Moloth on her shoulder and turned towards the door. Her hand reached for the handle and she hesitated… seeing her muddled reflection on the surface of the shiny bronze knob…
The healer faltered thinking of her sister. "Erron…" she called softly out, her voice somewhat broken. Although she didn't look at him, she heard the water shift slightly, and knew he was waiting.
Her gaze darted from the handle to the wood of the door… the image of Hulin unwelcomely entering her thoughts with not even the soft fur of the millipede along her skin enough to erase the feeling of his hands at her throat…
"Don't let him get her…" was all she said, her voice strained as she opened the door and exited out.
She didn't bother to wait for his answer but knew she didn't need to.
He would… and she prayed to whatever God was listening to aid him as well.
Mera lifted a hand to her throat, feeling the bulge of the medallion under her clothing beneath her palm as she let out a shaky breath.
Norah and Black would need it…
Hours later, after her session with Ramina and the other maids came to an end, Norah filled her time by intertwining her nervous fingers together as she paced along the reception area of the Kahn's Spas. Ironically, despite feeling wonderfully clean and groomed— more so than ever in her entire life— she still felt uneasy...
The baker cleared her throat, brushing away a soft section of hair that cascaded around her eyes as she glanced at her feet; still walking the tile in an absent path. She was alone, Ramina had left to fetch fresh towels for new clients, and she was somewhat reprieved she had done so.
Norah needed more time to give the receptionist words consideration.
There hadn't been any doubt that the older Outworld woman had good wisdom; obtained through years of experience dealing with others, but the cupbearer sensed that despite her knowledge, her resentment of Erron Black had left Ramina with little room to be anything but biased.
"I am afraid I cannot help you with what you should do. I wish I could. The only advice I can offer is to reciprocate his kindness if you feel his actions are genuine in your heart and mirror it."
It was a… safe suggestion, blanketed under a common axiom anyone would have given her whether they knew her or not. It didn't answer her question, and yet, her question had also been somewhat answered talking more with Ramina about the mercenary.
In an unexpected way.
Black was trying— Norah did recognize that — and after hearing Ramina's story of the girls in the bathhouse, she understood why the receptionist hated him the way she did. It was hard not to, and Norah of all people understood what holding a grudge against him was like. The tale was a subtle warning to her, but she also noticed a difference between herself and Ramina.
Erron Black wasn't the same man as he used to be towards her. Even though he had been cruel months ago, it had undeniably shifted since the People's Court. In many ways, he was still self-centered and always would be. Even so, there was a noticeable change she saw with him and with her the more she realized.
Surprisingly, Norah had defended him to Ramina when the older woman talked so poorly of him.
Something she had never done before.
"I know how you feel about him, and I do not think what he did to the girls was right, either. But you were not there. You did not see what he endured then and afterward for me."
The receptionist had been quite stunned by her coming in the defense of Black after what she had told her what had happened before the trial. Ramina in denial about his actions at the Coliseum. So much so, Norah thought Ramina didn't truly believe her— or thought there was some other personal agenda that Black had for taking her place. When Ramina had expressed her rebuttal, Norah couldn't think it was anything but ridiculous on the maid's part, and the baker had disputed her theory vocally.
"He had nothing to gain from it. There was nothing else he wanted."
The baker halted her pace, bringing a hand to curl her fingers around the nape of her neck, as she remembered her outburst.
Norah had never stood up for his actions until now but had. It still flabbergasted her that she had done so with such ease the more she thought back about it. It had angered her that Ramina would reject it; causing her words to come out curter than what she had intended. It got the point across. She wasn't angry with Ramina but thought the woman to be overly motherly and Norah wasn't one of her many daughters. The baker also wasn't as naïve as Ramina thought she was but did not take offense that she looked at her in such a way. Ramina was just trying to do what she thought was the best of intentions.
So, after snapping at the woman, who offered no counter, Norah calmly continued, explaining why he truly did it. Ramina seemed to understand, even though it seemed difficult for her to accept. Still, the woman was kind about it, as if she truly didn't want Norah to dislike her despite their different opinions on Erron Black.
The baker then further outlaid other things he had done. Feeding her at the tavern, giving her a knife to protect herself, taking over for Ferra/Torr, and bringing her here and overpaying for luxuries. It had left Norah dumbstruck in retrospect just how much he had done after the whip already; only realizing so after having to come up with various examples.
While she still did not like the man, there was no denying he was honestly trying to do his best to make amends, and it was time to reciprocate it.
Even though Ramina hadn't directly answered her question, she still did. To simply put it: she had a choice on how she should proceed. Much like Ramina, she could linger in the past, hate the man for his past actions… or she could work towards trying to forgive him.
The ex-cupbearer lifted one of her freshly manicured fingers to her lips, her teeth nibbling nervously on the nail of her index finger as she continued to pace once more.
It wasn't going to be easy.
Just like her new appearance, she would have to change. Black deserved it enough for her to at least try. However, she would also heed the lavender maid's advice and only doing so if he continued on his good path.
Norah knew she would have to start the moment she saw him, because the reason he gave her now, was quite undeniably warranted gratitude from her.
Her fingers dropped from her lips, choosing instead to caress the flat rectangular gold pendant, one adorned with the etching of a dark blue iris, given as a gift to her unexpectedly from the sisters. It was something that Ama had found; a simple piece of antique jewelry that had been at the bottom of a pile of left things for centuries. Since the flower was her favorite shade of blue, Osmunda thought it an appropriate accessory to her new clothes. Her new necklace and midnight blue dress were both elegant and elementary; something any woman in the marketplace would take note of but ultimately pass over for something more beautifully brazen.
The dress itself was long-sleeved and floor-length; with a scoop neck lined with gold trim that matched the cuffs of her sleeves and the hem of her dress. Both simple, yet exuberant gifts. Ones that she was touched by and overwhelmed with. She had tried to politely refuse them, saying she could have something planer, but just as before, the maids would not let her do anything but accept it.
Regardless of the few troubling conversations, the bathhouse had been so refreshingly pleasant. She had never experienced such generosity and pleasantness from others since her friends in the palace kitchens. It was hard for the baker to make friends; she knew how she came across to people. Despite it, they welcomed her and made her feel as if she had been confidants with them her entire life. It gave her confidence, something she had been in desperate need of. They had all made her feel wanted and acknowledged, especially with what had happened at the end of the session.
The baker smiled fondly, even though the recollection was somewhat embarrassing.
The girls had purposely kept the mirror from her, wanting her to take in her first fresh appearance in one reveal. Norah remembered trying to sneak a peek, and Ama threatening to poke her eyes with her brush her if she dared before they were finished. The middle sister was doing her makeup. It was yet another thing she never had on top of flower-filled baths, being pampered with treatments, and even having hair so easily removed from her. Ama had snorted at her when Norah had told her that she used to pluck her own hairs, one by one, as most common Outworld women did.
"At least you will not have to worry about that for a few years with the treatment."
It had been a welcomed shock. It was nice to know that she did not have to worry about grooming her legs, eyebrows, and underarms for some time. The lower-class woman had never heard of such a miracle treatment and she was reluctant to ask how much it cost.
The thought had quickly dissipated from her when they finally did finish and turned her towards the mirror finally…
It had astonished her— so much she did not recognize the other woman.
It wasn't her… yet looked exactly like her.
It was an entirely different person: a pretty girl with smooth free-falling hair framing her face that was neither brittle or damaged. And clean— a clean face and body that was not caked with blood and dirt. On top of it, there was makeup; nothing gaudy, yet with enough to enhance her eyes and lips in a manner she had never seen before; subtle red lip-paint and kohl-lined eyes. Then there was the dress she had requested that felt so wonderful against her skin, and hung as if it had been purposely tailored for her…
Seeing it all together, seeing another unknown divine entity gazing back at her— and knowing it was her— Norah had immediately burst into tears; placing a hand over her mouth as her eyes welled up.
It wasn't for the reason that the maids thought, and they had clambered around her, placing concerned hands on her shoulders.
"Norah?" Ramina had asked her, rubbing her back with a smooth palm, trying to offer comfort.
Ama looked from the mirror to her, furrowing her brow. "What is the matter now?"
"Did we do something wrong?" Osmunda interjected, looking over her attire and searching for faults.
The baker shook her head, eyes squeezing shut. "No… no there is nothing wrong," she managed to get out, wiping a few tears from her eyes. She looked back in the mirror, smiling mirthfully at her reflection. "I look… beautiful…"
It was a word she never used, and it was the only time she truly said it out loud about herself. She had never felt this positive about her outer appearance before. There were no words to describe how light it made her feel. Norah felt good, looked good, and even though she knew they would be there when she descended down off her giddy thoughts, for the moment she floated above the worries she had now. For the briefest moment, the rock she had on her chest had been lifted from her, allowing her to catch her breath… and she had Erron Black to thank for that.
In addition to feeling more hygienic from him, she had also gained another ally despite their personal reservations about the gunslinger.
Before Ramina had left her, she had given her a hug— one that Norah had no idea she even needed until the woman embraced her tightly. There were two intentions to the hug: one was to make her feel better and the other was to convey one last parting message to her.
"If something is to happen, find me here. We will figure out a way to teach you to swim."
It was a surprise. One that she was conflicted but happy about. Norah had wanted to use the tunnel the minute she heard about it, but at the moment, was still unsure which was more dangerous: to attempt it, perhaps drowning if she tried, or staying inside the palace where she was already having a hard time treading water.
Which one was the more dangerous option?
Outside… or inside?
The ex-cupbearer heard footsteps approaching from the male's hallway— shuffled and strange for the gunslinger, but thinking it was him, she turned around and her heart dropped to her ankles.
It was her husband.
A/N: This chapter... eh, its a chapter. It exists so I can get to the next chapter that wasn't going to be a cliffhanger, but I want to do more with it so I cut my chapter in half yet again. Plus, its fun to make you all wonder.
I based the Kahn's Spa mostly off of Roman bathhouses and Turkish hammams (the mitt and the tough massages)
I got nothing, except, see you next chapter. Toodles.