LIBERTINE / LEVI ACKERMAN

1 - The Winking Mares

A porcelain tub pressed against the balls of her feet, lavender wafting through the room. Sun shining on the marble floors, a large window showcasing Mitras for her to watch at her leisure. Outside, there are children selling newspapers and a stand selling vegetables. Tomatoes, celery, shallots, potatoes. She wanted it all.

"You listening to me, darling?" Her focus snapped back to the man sitting across from her on the red couch. One arm on the embroidered armrest, the other holding Scotch with ice. She had opted for wine - not that she would drink alcohol on the job anyway. Drinking alcohol in the company of her clients was a surefire way to end up like the girls they talk about on the street. Bruised, raped, dead. She lifted her wine glass to her mouth, letting the drink pass by her lips without letting it touch her tongue.

"Always," She plastered on a smile. Martin Sheers was his name. Used to be a bigshot land owner in Wall Rose, now a pathetic weeping man in her room with no money. Enough money to pay her hourly fee; that's all that mattered to her. He smelled like cigar smoke and soot. He lifted the limp, brown cap on his head to reveal wiry brown hair underneath, running a hand through it before placing his cap on his head once again.

"That's why you get paid handsomely," He winked at her, then groaned gruffly as he leaned forward to grab another ice cube from the metal tin on the coffee table. She smiled in response. "The wife's at my balls, darling. Bitching about our funds. I provide for the kids, you know. My daughter gets her little dresses because of me - my sacrifices."

"My daughter's turning out to be a great woman," He said, his voice laced with something of... desire. She held back a grimace at the mention of his teenage daughter in such a manner. Comments like this from Martin were common. Every woman in his world was a sexual object, as evidenced by the fact that he meets with women like Imogen. She listened passively as he droned on about his life's problems. She mentally prepared for the physical touch to begin for this session.

"I miss having my money," He said with a soft cry, "I had all the money in the world, Imogen. Made my father proud."

"Money is my favorite pursuit," She spoke for the first time in a few minutes.

"Smart girl, you are," He leaned forward and wagged his finger at her. Imogen was not a girl at all. She was a full grown woman, but what kind of man in the Underground would prefer a woman over a girl? "I'll make the money back, Imogen. Just you wait."

"You're going to start booking me for 2 hours then," She said coyly, and his laugh crackled in response.

"I'd book you all day and night, if I could! The other girls here don't do it like you," He tipped the last of his Scotch into his mouth. All her clients said things along those lines - the other girls weren't as great as her. Jannik, her boss, said it was her sharp wit and tits that set her apart. The other girls in the service said it was lack of morals and backstabbing to climb the ladder, that she'd been kissing up to Jannik for 10 years. It was all true, but she often struggled with the constant barrage of separation from the other girls. Her concern for that faltered, however, every time she remembered it was her ticket out of the Underground - all the other girls at The Winking Mares be damned. She'd scratch and claw up their heads on the club's ladder if it meant she got to see the stars every night.

"Would you tell that to the other girls?" She smiled and swirled the rouge liquid in her glass.

"I don't meet with the other girls. Just you, darling," He said softly. The familiar pit in her gut bloomed, the disgust. All these men truly believed they were special to her? They saw her clipboard on the way through the door, right? The bookings all throughout the night? Surely, Martin knew he was her sixth client tonight alone? And yet, they all entertained the fantasy for their own ego. Imogen was theirs to own, for however long they could afford.