Scene 2 - A-Knocking on the Door
I let her knock three, perhaps four times before finally answering. When you've been alone as long as I have, you don't rush into anything without first confirming if it's real or not. That knocking could all be in my head.
But by the fourth knock, I know it's not just my loneliness inventing invisible friends. Someone is at my door. For the first time in months, someone requires my services. Of course, it'd probably help if more people knew I was here. Or I had a sign. At least, one that didn't say "Trespassers Will Be Hewn".
"Who... who is it?" I croak. How long since I actually spoke a word? My voice sounds rusty, old, ugly. It grates on my own ears.
"My name is Amelia. I need your help. May I come in?"
Her voice is anything but ugly. Smooth, clear and confident, it sends shivers down my spine. I'm already visualising the figure who spoke before I've seen her; something I do so well, in fact, that I forget to answer.
"Hello? Are you still there?"
I regain my senses and peer around the room. What a mess. My bed lies unmade and sagging in one corner. A small chest of drawers containing my limited worldly goods (clothes, battle trinkets, a Succubus's left hand) rests against the far wall, looking as termite-infested as the rest of the shack. To top things off, I still have my mini crossbow pointed at my head. At least she had the decency to knock; she would have turned and walked straight back out if she'd opened the door to a scene like this.
"Yes. Come in," I finally blurt out. I hurriedly put the weapon back in the desk drawer and close it. Sitting straight in my chair, I try to pick a pose that displays confidence, security, wisdom and perhaps a hint of my handsome side.
I fail dismally.
Amelia opens the door with some effort (note to self: grease the hinges with animal fat... one day), and pauses in its frame. It's dark in here, and I can tell she's letting her eyes adjust. But oh, those eyes. They blow me away.
Like emeralds in the sun, they glitter and shine. I'm entranced with them, and find my stare is so intense I'm leaning forward in my chair. She finally focuses on me, and smiles. I guess I'm looking pretty eager.
"Hello," she says.
For a second something strange clicks in my head, and I feel like I should be grateful she acknowledged me. So it was that I said the first few letters of 'thank you' before catching myself in time.
"Tha... I... H... Hello," I splutter. Smooth, man, real smooth.
She, however, is unfazed. She probably gets this all the time. Probably revels in it; what girl doesn't like to be worshipped and become the next possible fantasy for a lonely guy on a late night?
"I understand you're a man that can find things?" she asks, her smile giving away only the slightest hint of amusement.
I consider thinking about what to say next, but somehow impromptu just seems easier.
"Yeah, I find stuff. Well, people usually. Why, did you need me to find something for you?"
I mentally slap my own forehead. Of course she does, you bumbling git. Why else would she be here? Idle conversation? I sigh softly, and gesture to the chair in front of my desk.
"Maybe you should take a seat, and we'll start from the beginning."
Amelia's eyes twinkle (she's laughing inside, I know it) and she nods.
"Maybe I will."
Though I know it's rude, I can't help but gape at her fabulous body as she strides into my room. Thin, pale, and sleeker then oil in moonlight. She moves with a grace that gives her the illusion of gliding over my floorboards, feet too delicate and perfect to touch the wood. Her long black hair trails far down her back, wild yet pristine. Bet she can afford to actually wash hers with those nice smelling perfumes. I need to get me some of that... though perhaps I should get some hair first.
Once she reaches the chair, she sits down and promptly crosses her legs. The silky green cloth she's wearing ruffles with her movements, then smoothes out once she's settled. To make matters harder (so to speak), she doesn't even attempt to hide the fact that her skirt had slipped almost up to her waist, exposing a good portion of silky white leg. I'm quite thankful I'm partially hidden behind the desk.
"So what... who... do you want me to find?" I ask, sounding small and far off. If she leans forward, I know I'm going to lose the last ounce of composure I'm retaining.
She smiles and leans forward, allowing some of the light coming through the window boards to wash over her dress. Geeez... she may not be as well endowed as the Corner Working Corset Goddess, but she certainly makes up for it with the transparent quality of her clothing. Somehow I remain calm, and I try as casually as I can to cross my own legs and look concerned. But I can sense that she already knows the effect she's having and is enjoying it thoroughly.
"It's my sister," she begins, her flawless brow furrowing, "she's... disappeared. Ten days ago, she left to look for a friend of hers. I haven't heard from her since. I'm... afraid."
This girl is either very smart, or she doesn't know which side of the game she's playing. Suddenly she's the weak one, defences stripped to her troubled heart? Does she expect me to come leaping to her -
"What does your sister look like, and where was she headed? I assure you, I'll find her. I'm the best there is! Eighty-nine percent success rate."
Mental slap again. Idiot. Never mention figures! It only prompts more questions.
"Only eighty nine? Why? What happened to the other eleven percent?"
Doesn't waste time, this girl.
"Errmm... accident. I returned a cheating wife to a client, and he refused to pay. So I threatened to break his wife's arms. Guy turned out to be a real poor aim with the mini-cross, and shot her instead of me. Lost my money and the eleven percent; bad deal by all standards."
Amelia nods understandingly. I always found it hard to tell if women were being genuinely sympathetic, or if they were just putting it on. This one seems genuine. It feels odd.
"Well, if that's the only mishap you've had, I feel I can trust you with this task." She leans back and stretches out slightly in her chair, her legs now disappearing under the desk. "I'm willing to pay whatever it takes... and perhaps a bit more?"
She's smirking, her green eyes twinkling with... something. Greed? Lust? Oh, god, please let it be lust. I only have a second or two to contemplate this before she confirms my suspicions. One tender, soft foot has appeared on my knee, and begins massaging gently with its toes. I look back at her face; that smiling, glowing face, and swallow hard.
"Wh...where was she... headed... to...?" my mind is a blur; how am I supposed to think while she's doing this? I'm a man! I can't concentrate on more then one thing at a time! Pleasure and work just can't mingle.
"We can discuss that later. Right now, let's go back to the price. I wouldn't want you to have to break my arms once this is over because I was unable to pay the fee." Her foot is working its way off my knee now, massaging up along my thigh. Damn, it's nice. But somehow it feels wrong, too.
She's still playing the game; probably done this countless times before. Confuse a man's mind, charm his wits away. He'd be putty in her hands, and all she have to do is ask if what she had was enough to get the job done. Clever girl, I'll give her that. But she's out of luck. Doesn't she know she's not the only woman in the world? She's just another predator, posing as a house pet.
With that thought, my mind feels clearer, and I manage a polite smile myself.
"Miss Amelia, if you don't kindly remove your foot, I'm afraid I won't be able to help you at all, let alone state my terms and fees."
Her smirk flees, giving way to a surprised frown. Ball in my court now; how does that feel, missy? Obviously not too good, as her foot disappears as quickly as it arrived.
"Fine. What do you need to know? I can see we're going to be doing things your way." Her pretty face is now a childish pout. She's so cute when she's mad.
To prevent her from trying another contact-trick, I get out of my chair and begin to pace. I can feel her eyes watching me, though the soft look that had greeted me in the doorway had hardened somewhat now. Still, it felt good to be in control again.
"I need to know everything. Her name, height, build, age," I'm ticking things off on my fingers as I go, "hair colour, eye colour, and preferred lingerie colour..."
I tilt my head slightly in her direction to see if the question has any effect. One eyebrow is raised, but that's about it.
"Would you like her brassiere size as well?"
Ah, so she does have a sense of humour. Always a good point.
"If you think it's necessary." My turn to smirk. "Otherwise we'll just stick to the vital stuff."
Amelia gives a final pout, then takes on a thinking pose.
"Well, she's about... yay-high." She holds her hand at almost its maximum reach off the floor while still sitting down. I do some quick figures in my head and guessed around five foot eight. Amelia is still concentrating, probably visualising her sister's characteristics in her mind.
"Dark brown hair, cut short. Brown eyes to match. She looks like she's still in her teens, but she's actually mid-twenties."
My smirk widens.
"How old are you?" I ask. It has a better reaction than I expect.
"What? That's none of your business! We're here to talk about my sister, not me."
"So you're not twins then?"
"No, of course not, we're... sisters." She sounds flustered and awkward, as if she's repeating a response to a question asked all too often. Odd how she had to change the ending of that sentence then.
"My apologies. Please continue."
"Gladly."
The flush of red in her face is beginning to fade now. I can see her wishing she still ran the game. Tough luck, girl.
"She has an impressive figure; very lithe and extremely agile. She likes to keep herself fit and ready for any situation."
"Is there a reason for this?"
"It's a... hobby of hers."
You don't become a man who can find things by being fooled by liars. This girl was practically spewing excrement. But for now, I let it slide. Always more important to listen then to start prying to deep.
"Alright. So that should cover appearance. Where was the friend she was looking for?"
"He lives up on Arreat, in one of the new towns that was built to commemorate Baal's defeat."
She grimaces, and I, pacing on the other side of the desk, do likewise. One of the mountain towns, ay? Not a good sign. They'd been prosperous and pretty to start with. Now they were nothing but run-down crime pits, each one home to a different mob boss. You didn't going a-knocking in one of those places without a damn good reason, that's for sure.
"Which town exactly?"
"Golland."
Every inch of my skin breaks into a cold sweat at that name. Golland. Not just a crime pit but the crime pit. The most powerful mob boss of all lives there. Does Miss Amelia truly believe I'm going to just walk in and start asking around for her lost brown-eyed, well-built sister? She's dead already, and I'm willing to lay the job on it.
"She's either dead, or a pet slave to one of the mob boss's lieutenants," I say. "And for both your sakes, I hope it's the former. No woman would want to work for the Golland Club scene."
"Don't you think I know that!" Suddenly all the confidence the girl held vanishes, and she looks ready to burst into tears. "I told her not to go; she knew the risks as well! But she just wouldn't... listen!"
She stands up fast, knocking her chair back onto the floor with a loud bang. Damn, she's mad. I can already see the tell-tale shine of liquid forming on her lower eyelids. (She's so cute when she's mad.)
"I need to know! I have to know what's happened to her! If she's dead, so be it. But if she's a... a..." she's struggling to say it, "a sex slave for one of those dirty minded mob freaks..." Her fists are clenching and unclenching. Am I about to be in the war path of a woman in anguish? Time to take control once more.
"Calm down. It'll be-"
"It won't be fine. I want you to find her. Find her, and if that is the fate that's befallen her... I want you to drag her the hell out of there."
My eyes widen. She really is insane. Walk into a Golland Club and take one of their workers right off the stage? Pure insanity.
"You're not thinking clearly. A job like that... you couldn't even dream of how much it'd cost to you. It's higher risk than antagonizing a rabid Pit Lord!"
"I am thinking clearly. If you can't rescue her... kill her. Just don't leave her there. I'll pay whatever it takes..." Her voice is softening. It must take an extraordinary amount of effort to bind up her feelings, but somehow she's managing it. She walks towards me, almost forcing me to take in the subtle swing of her hips, and the thin but curvaceous figure beneath that wafer thin material. I'm frozen to the floor.
"Look," she starts. She has stopped very close to me now, close enough that I can smell the perfumed wash in her hair. "Look, I'm sorry I lost control. But she's my sister. You have... had family once, right? You'd have done anything for them, to make sure they didn't suffer?"
Wench. Cow. She's taken the game back as her own in a matter of seconds, and here I am once again, quivering with the effort of keeping my raging blood from boiling over.
"If you find her, if you do as I ask," she coos, stepping even closer so that she has to tilt her head up slightly to look at my face, "I promise I'll make it worth your while." She places one smooth hand on my chest and smiles.
I'm unable to say anything; I just stare back into those emerald eyes. Amelia with the Emerald Eyes. Who needs to point a mini-cross at their temple when women like this roam our world? She was going to be the death of me. She was the job I'd been waiting for.
"Ok," I breathe. "I'll go. I'll go to Golland. I'll either find or kill your sister."
Her face lights up like the moon on a cloudless night. Even death felt worth this; her beauty turns me to mush. I just want to melt between the floorboards.
"Thank you! Thank you with all my heart." She reaches up, and before I can move, gives me a quick kiss on my cheek. Then she turns and strides to the door. I stand, dumbfounded, watching those hypnotic swaying hips and trying to force words from my mouth.
"Oh, one more thing," she says, stopping in the door frame and looking over her perfect shoulder. "Sis said she was going to stop by at the Beast Masters, see if she could hire a wolf for protection. Maybe you should pay him a visit? He might have some information."
I finally manage to splutter out the words that are needed.
"Wait! What's your sister's name?"
"Elsa," she calls. Then she shuts the door. My shack, my world, is cold and dark once again.