Arc IV
Chapter XXXVII
Ferris Wheel
"All the images of carnival are dualistic; they unite within themselves both poles of change and crisis: birth and death (the image of pregnant death), blessing and curse (benedictory carnival curses which call simultaneously for death and rebirth), praise and abuse, youth and old age, top and bottom, face and backside, stupidity and wisdom."
"Carnival is a pageant without footlights and without a division into performers and spectators. In carnival everyone is an active participant, everyone communes in the carnival act. Carnival is not contemplated and, strictly speaking, not even performed; its participants live in it, they live by its laws as long as those laws are in effect; that is, they live a carnivalistic life. Because carnivalistic life is life drawn out of its usual rut, it is to some extent "life turned inside out," "the reverse side of the world."
Mikhail Bakhtin ― Problems of Dostoevsky's Poetics (both quotes)
There were real monsters dancing in the streets. Their clumsy movements, so ritualistic-looking and grotesque, were just one of the many reasons why they belonged there, in the carnivalistic life that only the festivities could bring. But those monsters though, as frightening and menacing as they were even if completely immersed in the joy of carnival, were the last thing on her mind.
There were other monsters, she knew; far more dangerous and vicious than the real monsters. Deformities disguised as regular citizens, eyeing her from the corner of the street.
Rosario stepped outside the House of Pleasure wearing her long white dress; the bridal-like attire marrying her to the city she loved. In her hand, the walking stick looked like a real scepter, embellished by her girls with countless colorful beads – the queen of the oppressed, as they acknowledged her, was finally back.
There was not a single trace of weakness or vulnerability in her rhythm; with her head held high and her eyes, those powerful brown eyes of hers, filled with pride and superiority. She looked over her shoulder and smiled quietly at herself: like she had commanded, every single one of her girls was outside, scattered amongst the citizens, entertaining everyone with their simple candor and their beauty. The old, Peruvian manager greeted them all with subtle movements of her hands, her gestures pure, and her girls grinned softly at her in return, grateful to have her back; proud of her seemingly eternal sense of protection.
As she made her way through the crowd even the Garrisons' chiefs took a moment to salute her. Rosario smiled for them, knowing all too well that those men had been sent from the Palace to monitor the festivities – it was best for them to be on good terms with one another, after all.
The chiefs seemed joyful. Cheerful, even. The old woman nodded to herself the second she realized all of them were holding glasses of wine between their hands: not only she wouldn't need to worry about the fact that they were selling alcohol outside the brothel without an official authorization – they were consuming it.
"I don't see any soldiers…" Rosario reflected out loud after a few seconds of silent contemplation.
"We ordered them not to wear their uniforms tonight," the captain of Garrison 53-F let her know. "We thought their uniforms could interfere with the spirit of the carnival, so we let them wear their own clothes; it'll be easier for them to blend in that way."
"If you say so," Rosario patted his shoulder lightly, a wide smile on her lips. "If you'll excuse me, gentlemen…" she said before turning around, "please, enjoy the carnival."
The queen of the oppressed continued to make her way through the loud crowd until she saw the doctor: that simple, long blue dress sure was a head-turner, she thought to herself. Dakota was already chatting with a potential customer, a rather young man that looked as nervous as if that was his first time talking to a woman. As she walked past the doctor, Rosario's hand brushed her shoulder lightly, causing the younger woman to turn around. No words were exchanged, just a comfortable silence. She seemed fine; Rosario thought, relieved to know that her friend and protégé was finally feeling at ease again. The choice was also smart: nothing better than a virgin to avoid any unpleasant surprises.
Now that the doctor was busy, the manager's eyes wandered the streets looking for the missing gunslinger. Bound by duty, he was forced to be there until the festivities were over, only he was nowhere to be found. As painful as it was for her, the woman got on her tiptoes trying to find a cowboy hat somewhere inside the moving crowd but just when she was beginning to scan her surroundings, her eyes were met by two scornful smiles blocking her sight.
"Welcome back, Rosario," the woman greeted her. "It's been a while."
"Care to join us for a glass of wine, dear? We sure have a lot of catching up to do," the man said as he grabbed her by her forearm and guided through the streets. The three of them sat by a table placed just outside the brothel were two other men were waiting for them – El Club de los Amantes, in all its decadent glory, was complete.
The manager hid her concern under a façade of false determination: Black and his potential anger would have to wait and the doctor, in case the volatile gunslinger was to cause a fuss the second he saw her with another man, would have to deal with him on her own. Those eyes scrutinizing her now were enough for the old, Peruvian woman to understand that even if the carnival was her tacit coronation; her grandiloquent exhibit of power, those people surrounding her were the intricate chess pieces that could scream check-mate to the queen so, without losing a moment, the clever woman greeted them all and ordered her girls to serve them a round of the brothel's finest wine.
"Always the perfect hostess," the woman cheered rather gleefully, pretending to be engaged in small talk and empty pleasantries but Rosario knew them all like the back of her hand.
Del' L Agua-Ribbay, the woman in question, was the one responsible for providing free shelter to the Rebel-Seekers when they needed a place to hide. Her fancy inn placed in the most elegant portion of the city was the perfect place for them to hide in plain sight. Sitting at her right was Etienne. No last name to attach him to any possible bloodlines, just a bunch of twisted stories and anecdotes linking him to a very rich French woman that had made him her only heir. Loaded with money and bad intentions, the man had found himself in Outworld and his talent for sin had brought him right into the Rebel-Seekers' nest: now the man was in charge of the logistics behind every single one of their moves. Eyeing Rosario from across the table there was Rhú Zed, the facilitator, the one establishing connections inside the Royal Palace and gathering intel right from under the emperor's nose. Last but not least, Ala-m Eré's older brother, Sirg-kún Eré, was seated right beside Rhú Zed. The man was in charge of training and fully indoctrinating the young recruits after his younger brother would convince them to join their cause.
"To Rosario," the facilitator raised his glass to propose a toast. "Like they say in the realm where you come from, long live the queen." All glasses clicked in unison and smiles were shared but the manager of the House of Pleasure soon found herself realizing wine had never tasted so bitter.
"Never mind about the man who attacked you, dear," Del' L Agua-Ribbay whispered, "that's been taken care of."
Stupefied initially but gradually giving in to the realization of what those people were truly capable of, Rosario grinned softly and nodded her head in silence. A part of her felt safe enough to know that it would take someone really brave or really stupid to ever cross her again after that incident yet another part of her couldn't help but feel the obvious repulsion of being in their debt, even when she had never asked them to do something about it.
"Dear, I would hate to ruin the fun, but the reason why we're here tonight has little to do with the festivities," Etienne began, placing his now empty glass on the table. "We are truly worried and we thought you could be the one providing us with some much-needed answers."
"You see," Del' L Agua-Ribbay continued rapidly, "rumor has it that you've hired Erron Black."
There was no point denying it: after the incident between the mercenary and El-A, there wasn't much for her to do to cover the mercenary and the position her protégé had created for the man. Surely the girl had spoken to her so-called boyfriend and the boy had subsequently passed the news to his father, the recruiter, and his father, in turn, had spoken to his brother, the indoctrinator.
"At first we thought it was a joke," Etienne added, "a very bad joke… we don't really need to tell you how much that despicable man has hindered our organization."
"I don't think Erron Black poses a threat to your organization anymore," Rosario speculated out loud, trying to divert their attention from the answer she knew she had yet to give. "He's just a simple Garrison soldier now, he doesn't even live at the Palace anymore – his ties have been brutally severed."
"But still, dear, we certainly don't like the idea of him sniffing around," Sirg-kún Eré explained before signaling one the girls to refill his glass. "We know for a fact that he works for you now but the thing is: we don't want him to."
Rosario raised her hands defensively and furrowed her brow: she was going to play her last card against the members of El Club de los Amantes but for that to happen, she needed every actor to be in the right place, at the right time. She scanned her surroundings quickly to make sure every single piece of the puzzle could be used in her favor, then began: "I only hired the man because he was getting rather… persistent." Her voice was suggestive, the story compelling and engaging from the very beginning. "He has always been one of our regular clients; his time in prison kept him away but as soon as he was free, he came back and he became infatuated with one of my girls,"
"Let me guess: Dakota," Sirg-kún Eré interrupted her, causing the Peruvian lady to nod in agreement.
"But she was not interested," Rosario tried to continue but the man cut her off again.
"I thought prostitutes didn't get to choose their customers. We know all about your policy: they don't get to choose their clients; as long as they're willing to pay they're all accepted into the House of Pleasure. We know you don't do charity." His words were impertinent and defying, yet Rosario grinned and went on.
"Dakota blames him for what happened to me," she confessed. "Black beat the shit out of the man who attacked me… This pig was hurting her and Black stopped him, then he sent him tumbling down the stairs. He thought she was going to find his actions heroic, but he was wrong: the woman despises him… and now he's doing everything in his power to get closer to her again. If I had to be honest, I think he likes her." She bit her lip almost instantly, regretting her words: Black was their enemy; they didn't need to know the man had a weak spot for the doctor.
"So you hired him to help him get close to her?" Del' L Agua-Ribbay pondered contemplatively. "But it didn't work out well for him, is that alright?"
"Exactly," Rosario agreed, "in the end, I had to let him go, the situation had become completely unsustainable: the girl was being loyal to me and I was trying to force her to sleep with him. It just didn't feel right." The manager of the brothel raised her chin to indicate the group to watch the scene with their own eyes: the doctor was still chatting to the young man and a somber Erron Black, alone and with his back against the wall, was watching them from afar.
A group of Rosario's girls surrounded Black and greeted him seductively. The cowboy mercenary waved his hands dismissively, yet they all brushed their hands against his shoulders and kissed his cheekbones before leaving his side – his fellow soldiers laughed at him, but the man seemed to pay no mind.
"See? They all know the man. Such an avid customer..." Rosario let out softly, wrapping up every detail of her story. "Most of my girls pity him: he could have any of them yet he wants the only one he knows he can't have."
They all returned their gazes to the old, Peruvian queen of the oppressed – mockery reflected all over their faces: a defeated Black was certainly an entertaining concept for them. It was Del' L Agua-Ribbay the one who brought them back to the actual course of their meeting: "And about this girl; Dakota… We've been informed you want her to become your successor."
Rosario nodded in silence. Pride was visible all over her expression.
"The problem is… Black is interested in her and it would be a real shame if he could, somehow, get close to her again," the facilitator said. "Being close to your successor means being close to power. We are not exactly comfortable with that, you see."
Feeling aggravated, Rosario's deep, raspy voice fought the man: "I will be the one in charge of choosing my own successor. Not you."
"There's no need to get all heated up by a simple commentary, my dear," Del' L Agua-Ribbay tried her best to sound sympathetic. "We respect your decision, even when we had already thought about someone else."
"Let me guess: El-A," Rosario retorted mockingly. "I can't trust the woman who stole from me."
"But you haven't fired her either," Del' L Agua-Ribbay confronted her, even if her tone was still amicable and conciliatory.
"Everybody deserves a second chance," Rosario explained, more calmly this time, "but that doesn't mean I shall be putting the future of this place in her hands. She's too young, too immature… Dakota has been with me for more than ten years now; she knows the people, knows the business."
"It will take us some time to trust her," Sirg-kún Eré added.
"It will take me some time to prepare her for the future as well," Rosario tried to go on but her eyes betrayed her and her surprised expression caused them all to look over their shoulders to see what was going on: the doctor and the young man were about to get inside the brothel; she had finally made it – she had turned him into a customer. Rosario held her breath until their bodies got lost behind the front door but she knew she wasn't out of the woods just yet: a visibly enraged Erron Black was marching behind them; the fury inside his eyes was threatening to destroy her whole version of the story.
"If you'll excuse me…" Rosario whispered worriedly as she stood up, grabbed her walking stick and made her way back to the House of Pleasure.
"Someone's jealous," Etienne's voice's brushed the manager's ears but there was no time to turn around now: she needed to stop Black from ruining everything. Walking as fast as she could, the woman stepped inside the brothel and grabbed the angry mercenary by one of his shoulders, forcing the man to turn around: the look in his eyes was truly frightening, as if a million demons had just been unleashed from deep within him.
"Black, stop," she ordered him yet he broke free from her grip and moved closer to the stairs, determined to follow the doctor and her client. "Black, stop!" She commanded again, screaming this time.
He turned around abruptly and cornered the old woman against the bar: "I thought she was your equal now – I thought she wouldn't be working anymore" He yelled furiously.
Hearing their discussion downstairs, the doctor made an appearance even though she was still standing by the staircase. Just like Black's, her exasperation and discontent were written all over her face.
"Who do you think you are, Black?" Alexandra yelled as she forced the gunslinger to let her friend go. The poor young boy accompanying her scratched the back of his head in disbelief, looking puzzled by the situation.
Noticing the young man that was still eyeing him from a comfortable distance, the mercenary walked up to him.
"Leave," he ordered.
"You have no right," an enraged Alexandra vociferated but it was too late: as soon as the young boy saw the uncontained fury inside Black's eyes he ran away from the brothel and back into the crowded streets. Rosario covered her face with her hands for a short moment then looked at the doctor: I told you so was the message encrypted inside those eyes.
"How much for a shift?" Black asked, already searching his pockets.
"What? No." The doctor shook her head, offended by his mere presence.
"How much for the whole night?" He insisted, his voice louder than before.
The doctor begged her friend not to accept his offer yet Black was persistent, collecting every coin, every bill he was carrying with him. Rosario shrugged her shoulders and Alexandra exhaled, defeated: she knew the manager would never reject such a generous offer.
"How much for exclusivity?" He asked, finally.
The word hurt her, deeply. Rosario took the money he had to offer yet she shook her head pensively.
"I'm afraid we don't do that anymore," she whispered. "Exclusivity is off-limits."
None of the managers of The House of Pleasure had been seduced by the regular incomes that exclusivity could bring. All throughout the years, the very notion of exclusivity had been portrayed as vain and unpromising: there was no point in reserving a certain girl for a certain client even if said client was obliged to pay a weekly quota for the girl regardless of actually using the service or not. A variety of clients ensured a variety of payments – exclusivity was just no good for business. Yet there had been an exception, many years ago, and both Black and Rosario knew it.
Rosario had been the exception, and Black had been the customer.
"How much, Ros?" The mercenary insisted.
"This is ridiculous, Black: you are supposed to be working," Alexandra tried to reason with him but her intentions were met by his cold gaze and his rigid jawline.
"Seems I'm not the only one." The mercenary turned around again, his attention still fixed on Rosario's dubitative expression.
"I said exclusivity is off-limits, Black," the manager finally answered, her resolve seemed final.
Way back then, when he had insisted, he had only been looking for a confessor. But as time went by, she quickly found herself growing fonder and fonder of him. One day he never returned: he had married someone else.
He had left her there, all alone and feeling used. That very same day she had looked at her own face in the mirror only to find that the first symptoms of a certain, irreversible aging process were already there, telling her all about the tales of a woman who had wasted her youth by trying to stop the inevitable: his youth was unstoppable, and now he wasn't even hers. He had never been hers - not even during those borrowed hours when she would mistake closeness for love.
"Very well," the cowboy spat disdainfully, knowing that the manager's refusal was deeply rooted in their own past. "This should be enough for the night," he said as he handed the manager every bill and every coin that was in his possession. Rosario took the money, yet a bitter expression took over her features: the woman was mortified by the complex dynamics behind Black and the doctor's bond, but she knew she could not let them drag her down along with them.
"It's raining, finally," Sirg-kún Eré interrupted them, quickly joined by the rest of the members of El Club de los Amantes. "Hope you don't mind if we continue our meeting indoors," he said as the four of them made their way inside the brothel and sat by the bar. When Rosario, Black, and Alex looked out the window they noticed the raindrops and the wind adorning the happy faces of the people still dancing outside. It was clear the monsoons were not enough to stop those citizens from ending their joyful night prematurely. Rosario looked at Alexandra and her lips shaped the word sorry even when no sound came out of her mouth. Then the manager slapped the doctor across the face, in front of a stunned Black.
"Business is business, dear. No-one has ever paid us this much for a night with you," she scolded the doctor, even when her eyes had softened, as if already begging her confused friend for forgiveness. "Now go, do your job."
The doctor tried to protest but Black grabbed her by the shoulder and led the woman upstairs – they had an audience to impress now, he knew.
As soon as the cowboy and her friend had disappeared from her sight, the manager of the House of Pleasure joined the members of El Club at the bar and poured herself a drink.
"That was harsh," the facilitator commented.
"Business is business," Rosario shot back, finishing her glass in one sip.
"But if she doesn't want to sleep with him…" Etienne tried to intervene but Rosario's cold, definite stare forced the man not to say another word.
She put Black's money on the bar in front of them and sentenced: "I appreciate her loyalty, but business is business." Her tight fist landed on the bills; the sound of her roaring fury reverberated through the room in perfect concordance with the first thunders of the night. "She may be my successor, she may even be my protégé – but I'm the only boss here. I'm the only one who makes the rules."
Arc IV
Chapter XXXVII
leehW sirreF
"It was a peculiar game. This peculiarity was evidenced, for example, by the fact that the young man, even though he himself was playing the unknown driver remarkably well, did not for a moment stop seeing his girl in the hitchhiker. And it was precisely this that was tormenting: he saw his girl seducing a strange man, and he had the bitter privilege of being present, of seeing at close quarters how she looked and of hearing what she said when she was cheating on him (when she had cheated on him, when she would cheat on him); he had the paradoxical honor of being himself the pretext for her unfaithfulness.
This was all the worse because he worshipped rather than loved her; it had always seemed that the girl had reality only within the bounds of fidelity and purity, and that beyond those bounds it simply didn't exist; beyond those bounds she would cease to be herself, as water ceases to be water beyond the boiling point. When he now saw her crossing this horrifying boundary with nonchalant elegance, he was filled with anger."
Milan Kundera ― Laughable Loves (The Hitchhiking Game)
The man could not believe his eyes. The familiar monsters dancing in the street were blending in amongst the festive people way better than he was. His cowboy hat and his stern expression had little to do with the spirit of the carnival, he knew, yet the shape of those singular monsters and their public displays of joy and apparent, unrestrained happiness were more welcomed in the crowd than he was.
He still was Erron Black, that much was true, and while many people chose to ignore him others could only offer him looks full of discontent and suspicion. The mercenary scratched his chin as he glued his back to the nearest wall: he didn't want to be there; he wasn't interested in the carnival or in any of the pagan festivities they were celebrating. He was on duty, just like the rest of his fellow soldiers – scattered around the streets and disguised as normal, regular citizens.
The Garrisons' chiefs wanted them to blend in. Yet he knew to blend in was never an option for a man like him.
"Bang, Bang! Dance!" Ferra tried to summon him, as she tried to call him on inside the nearly primitive, ritualistic dance that was engaging her small body. Torr mumbled and groaned loudly right next to the tiny enforcer and that was when Black noticed it: the monster had its face uncovered; it was like they belonged there, in the circus of joy and ecstasy that Rosario had manufactured for the oppressed ones. It was almost as if they were home – only home was meant to exist for one night and one night only.
Black raised one of his hands to say hello to the official enforcer then looked the other way – not only it was odd for the man to watch the symbiotic pairing so invested in such peculiar activities… that small, child-like woman was a cruel reminder for him, still talking about everything and everyone he had lost along the way. Ferra grimaced, almost as if letting a small fraction of nostalgia or maybe even sadness get a hold of her but it was only momentarily – in a couple of seconds she was dancing again, her constant companion roaring like a thunder, his arms in the air, as if trying to reach for the sky and force it to rain down on them. Black looked down pensively - that was what he was: a small fraction of bitterness in a sea of foreign happiness.
Rosario's magnificent white dress caught his attention the second he spotted her. The old cowboy observed the woman in silence as she made her triumphant way through the crowd; as she reclaimed what was rightfully hers: the place inside their hearts reserved exclusively for the queen of the oppressed. It was really hard for him to imagine the doctor achieving something quite like that – such fervent, passionate demonstrations of love and devotion required the genius, the mastermind of someone exactly like Rosario herself. Alexandra was colder, more distant and calculative than his former lover. Rosario could teach the doctor how to run the business; he himself could teach her all about financial administration yet that love, that profuse sentiment that Rosario inspired in others was something she would have to achieve on her own and, in the long run, that was going to be her one true test: learning how to gain their love, their support, their suffocating neediness.
Learning how to deal with the members of El Club de los Amantes was also going to demand an effort from the stubborn doctor. Those were difficult people; their interests were intricate, and their loyalties were shady, to say the least. Yet the bond uniting The House of Pleasure with El Club de los Amantes had always been a bridge consolidated after years of mutual, reciprocated parallelisms – it seemed, in a way, one entity could not exist without the other.
The House of Pleasure had created El Club de los Amantes several decades ago and El Club had become, in time, a carefully manufactured aristocracy living inside the confinement that was the brothel – yet El Club de los Amantes had provided The House of Pleasure with interests placed far beyond the limits of the brothel.
Black bit his lower lip the second he saw Rosario sitting down with those four people. He didn't know their names but it was clear that El Club was now in session – a public sort of session; a clear dispute for power: while Rosario was obviously trying to make it clear for everyone that the queen was back, the members of El Club were subtly telling everyone: yes, she's back – but on our own terms.
There were three men and a woman accompanying Rosario now and they all seemed very elegant and classy. The woman was wearing a long, forest green dress that matched her bright, green eyes. Her hair was long and black, and her skin looked sun-kissed and unwrinkled. There was something Arabian about the way she looked, a peculiar Arabic resemblance embellishing a perfect Outworld female specimen. The men, even if dressed in expensive-looking attires like embroidered tunics and silky robes, did not have a single physical quality to them that could make them stand out from the rest. They were regular Outworlders disguised as important people – whether they were actually important or not, Black did not know. They seemed to be fully engaged in small talk and conversation now and, for a moment, the gunslinger dropped his guard and stopped staring at them: Rosario was a smart, courageous woman; she was surely going to find a way to deal with them discreetly, there was no need for him to worry so much about the manager - especially when there were other things for him to worry about.
The doctor was still speaking with an unknown young man.
The potential customer seemed nervous, even insecure; it looked almost as if he had never talked to a woman before. Black found that suspicious: that long blue dress could have placed her near any man she could have desired. Why would she ever waste her time like that by considering that tomboy? Maybe he was just an informant, he considered briefly until her hands landed on the young man's shoulders and the woman leaned in, her lips brushing his. Hands at the sides of his own body, the shy man grinned softly at the doctor the second their mouths parted. Feeling the first lashes of an ancestral, uncontainable fury dwelling deep inside of him Black was left with no other choice but to accept that the man was not an informant, and that even if his obvious lack of experience had made him look dubious at first, if the woman was persistent enough things would escalate rather quickly. He wanted to punch that man in the face and steal the woman from his arms although he didn't want her for himself either – not like that; not if business was involved. Unable to look away, the mercenary concluded that, with Rosario's triumphant return to the spotlight, the doctor had chosen to go back to her previous job – the mere thought of her bed, invaded by countless strangers in the vain pursuit of pleasure in exchange for money made his stomach churn in complete revulsion.
A bunch of girls – Rosario's girls – came to greet the lone gunslinger. They danced around him, caressed his body and kissed him lightly in his face but the man was simply not interested. If anything, they were vague distractions in a night filled with monsters and empty promises. How could people enjoy these festivities so much? How was it that music and alcohol were enough to make them forget all about the miseries of life? How could this night be so goddamned powerful? Powerful enough to make them all forget that those creatures dancing with them were real, actual monsters. Powerful enough to make them all forget that those lovely, beautiful nymphs were professional lovers, unable to provide them with any actual feelings.
Love, he realized, was elsewhere.
He greeted the girls and watched them leave. The lascivious words pouring from the rest of the soldiers' mouths were making a fool out of him: always had a thing for the whores, the whores' favorite soldier he heard them say. Black rolled his eyes and gave them the finger – a gesture he knew they wouldn't understand. He had seen them all entering the House of Pleasure many times; had seen them all, marching downstairs and looking exhausted after countless marathons of pre-paid sex. Still, they had chosen to pick on him, like they always did, even when they all knew Black had seen them sin and even when they all knew Black had chosen to keep his mouth shut each time they had lied to their wives in front of him.
"You all do the same…" he mumbled to himself, "and I'm not even doing it."
Black's horrified gaze returned to the doctor: she was taking the man by the hand now and she was smiling broadly; she seemed delighted by his company. She seemed happy, genuinely happy.
They were walking now. She was leading him inside the House of Pleasure.
Determined to stop her charade, the wrathful gunslinger followed the improvised couple. All the inexplicable loathing and the unparalleled abhorrence he had been feeling inside of him; all the uneasiness that had accompanied his every move ever since finding the doctor in that filthy place was finally shaping up inside of him.
Hate.
The only thing he was able to feel was hate.
That was what had been bothering him so much: he was adaptable, resilient, he was a patient man – but he was also narrow-minded and coming to terms with his own feelings and emotions was something he had never considered an actual option. He felt something for her, it was painfully obvious now.
For her – not for the memory that she had awaken. She had surpassed the memory.
That's why he had pulled the trigger that night; he wasn't trying to stop the memories: he was trying to stop her from becoming bigger than the memories, from creating new ones. When she became bigger than the memories he abandoned her, allowing the flames of his own past to take her away from him for good but it was too late – all those years locked up in a small cell proved that the woman had already created new memories for him. And now he was supposed to watch her leave with another man.
"Black, stop," Rosario yelled him the second he set foot inside the brothel yet the mercenary broke free from her tight grip and moved closer to the stairs, determined to follow the doctor and her client.
"Black, stop!" She commanded again.
He turned around abruptly and cornered the old woman against the bar: "I thought she was your equal now – I thought she wouldn't be working anymore," he yelled furiously, unable to hide the hatred running wildly through his veins.
She must have heard their voices roaring in the night. She must have sensed that they were arguing about her. Her exasperation and discontent were written all over her face.
"Who do you think you are, Black?" Alexandra yelled as she forced the gunslinger to let her friend go. The timid customer stood still by the stairs, confused by the decadent scene he was witnessing. Noticing the young man eyeing him from a comfortable distance, the mercenary walked up to him as menacing as can be.
"Leave," he commanded.
"You have no right," an enraged Alexandra vociferated but it was too late: as soon as the young boy saw the uncontained fury inside Black's eyes he ran away from the brothel and back into the crowded streets.
"How much for a shift?" Black asked, already searching his pockets. He hated what time had done to her, he hated the fact that he had wasted her best years while he was rotting away in prison, he hated her inevitable aging. He hated himself for not getting her to a portal when it still mattered. He hated his own memories; hated the fact that his own sad mind had fooled him into thinking that Amanda's indomitable spirit was still alive inside her big, blue eyes. He hated the fact that he had dared to compare her to Annie, to the image of love and benevolence that the nurse still represented inside his heart. He hated the fact that he had wasted his own wife's last years trying to look after the memory of two people – his beloved Amanda and the original Alexandra he had met back then when they were, in fact, long gone. He hated himself, in the vivid memory of the humiliation Zar had had to endure the night before the Census deportation. He hated the fact that he had run to save her life, trying to make sure she wouldn't end up like Annie, and she had killed the memory of Amanda in return.
"What? No," the doctor shook her head, offended by his mere presence.
"How much for the whole night?" He insisted, his voice louder than before.
He hated the fact that, in order to protect her, he had had to kill her in his own version of the story. He had erased her from the world and yet there she was, still pulsating inside him, vehement and uncontainable.
The doctor begged her friend not to accept his offer yet Black was persistent, collecting every coin, every bill he was carrying with him. Rosario shrugged her shoulders and Alexandra exhaled, defeated: Black knew the manager would never reject such a generous offer.
"How much for exclusivity?" He finally asked.
"I'm afraid we don't do that anymore," Rosario whispered after shaking her head rather pensively. "Exclusivity is off-limits."
He hated the fact that hating her was not enough. He hated to know that the war against time was already lost.
"How much, Ros?" The mercenary insisted.
"This is ridiculous, Black: you are supposed to be working," Alexandra tried to reason with him but her intentions were met by his cold gaze and his rigid jawline.
"Seems I'm not the only one."
The mercenary turned around again, his attention still fixed on Rosario's dubitative expression.
"I said exclusivity is off-limits, Black," the manager finally answered, her resolve seemed final.
"Very well," the cowboy spat disdainfully, knowing well that the manager's refusal was deeply rooted in their own past. "This should be enough for the night," he said as he handed the manager every bill and every coin that was in his possession. Rosario took his money, yet a bitter expression took over her features: maybe she was reminiscing, he thought.
"It's raining, finally," a man interrupted them. "Hope you don't mind if we continue our meeting indoors," he said as he was joined by two men and a woman, the same people he had seen earlier that night. The four strangers didn't wait for an answer and sat by the bar. When Rosario, Black, and Alex looked out the window they noticed the raindrops and the wind adorning the happy faces of the citizens still dancing outside. It was clear the monsoons were not enough to stop those citizens from ending their joyful night prematurely and it was also clear that the members of El Club de los Amantes had chosen to get inside in order to catch a glimpse of what was truly going on between the ex-enforcer and Rosario's successor.
Rosario looked at Alexandra and her lips shaped the word sorry even when no sound came out of her mouth. Then the manager slapped the doctor across the face, in front of a stunned Black.
"Business is business, dear. No-one has ever paid us this much for a night with you," she scolded the doctor, even when her eyes had softened, as if already begging her friend for forgiveness. "Now go, do your job."
The doctor tried to protest but Black grabbed her by the shoulder and led the woman upstairs – they had an audience to impress now, he knew.
"What do you think you're doing?" The doctor whispered in his ear.
"I just bought us a night of freedom," he said. "Let's use it wisely."
Westcoast Witchdoctor: Well, he has started to recognize his own feelings in this chapter. Of course there are many things they still need to work out but hey, baby steps, right?
Hell on Training Wheels: I'm really enjoying the dynamics between Alex and Rosario because there are many different aspects to their bond: they're basically business partners now but they are also friends and, given Rosario's old age and experience, she is like a mother figure for Alex. That talk they had about Black, it's like when our mothers tried to talk to us about boys when we were younger, and the things they had to say to us were not easy to hear, or were not what he wanted to hear so we just paid no mind to what they said and then, when time went by, when things happened, I believe we all ended up saying: "shit, I should have listened!" – I find this type of behavior to be really humanizing for a character like Alex, especially in these stages of the story.
Poe's Daughter: I agree 100% with you when you say that revenge always gets out of control but things have certainly changed now in this story and I don't think we'll ever get to see another immaculate victim (like Aalem or Zar) – I believe all these characters – even Black and Alex – are going to start walking a line here and it's going to get very difficult to determine who is innocent and who is guilty. Now don't worry about that feeling (when you say that you want to shake Alex sometimes), I feel that way too from time to time!
Erron Fan: Yep, she chose to stay, it was her decision. But you're gonna have to wait and see why she chose to stay in Outworld when she could have gone home.
Ballora Fan: I think Rosario said that because she doesn't know their backstory; she has no clue about the time they spent together. She sees some repercussions of that time still bothering them today but I don't think she's able to understand the true nature of their bond. Although some of the things she said to Alex were absolutely right: Black can't wait for her; he can't wait for no-one, and she's the living proof of that.
Guest: Never mind, dear, it's ok. Thank you so much for your words. What you said about the way Erron talks, that's something I have been planning since the very beginning of this story and it will be explained but that's still ahead of us, I believe that I will be exploring that during arc 5, and things are going to be really different then.
Pink Red Rose 2: I believe it was Poe's Daughter the one who mentioned that Rosario reminds her of a benevolent version of Tama (From Hell on Training Wheels' Desperado) I think she's right, but if I had to address another character from this story, I believe Rosario is to Alex what Good Old Jacob was to Erron – someone that's not kin, but feels more real than an actual relative.
Looks for the Light: Of course she feels something for him, just like he feels something for her but it's like they're speaking different languages now. They need to find some common ground; otherwise, I don't think they're ever going to understand each other.
Rae Camille: Yeah, their communication skills have always sucked, right from the start. I believe the problem is not that Alexandra's motivation has changed: I believe she has killed her own motivation by staying in Outworld when she had the chance to go back home and now she blames him for something that was her own doing because it's easier that way. And I think she's comfortable inside this constant turmoil: Black still has a purpose while she has none. I guess his mere presence jeopardizes her comfort, it's like he's screaming at her: "is this what you really want to do for the rest of your life?"
Thank you all so much for reading and reviewing!