Inkpot Gods ↠ The Witcher

III. Scars

Brothels. Almost every town or city you went to in the Continent would have at least one brothel and the Witchers frequented these buildings to the point that most of the workers there remembered them and if they stopped visiting they wondered if they had died. There were many different reasons as to why Witcher's visited and that was the same for Thalia. In truth she wasn't entirely sure why she did visit, perhaps it was an innate loneliness that would haunt her every step or maybe it was simply because it was fun, able to divulge without fear of any judgement and wash away the stress of the many days that had passed.

"You could be anything you wanted, you know?" The woman lying beside Thalia remarked, Ilona was her name.

"Yes I'm sure nobody would run away if they saw a shopkeeper with cat eyes," Thalia responded with a roll of her eyes.

As this was at least her third visit, Ilona was used to the sharp words from the Witcher and only let out a laugh in response, fingertips dancing across Thalia's waist while she listened to the slightly rapid drum of her heart.

"Is that what you'd want to be?"

"No. Besides, it doesn't matter what I want to be, it matters what I am."

"And what are you?"

"Take a look and tell me."

To Thalia it was obvious what she was, not just a mutant but a monster wearing the clothes of a human—except for right now in which the only thing that could be considered clothing was the thin bed sheets covering the both of them.

"A pretty face with a tragic past," Ilona responded, propped on her elbow to look down at the other woman.

That was the second time Thalia rolled her eyes that night, adjusting herself to become more comfortable with the new position right before Ilona flopped right back onto the bed, looking up at the ceiling and effectively trapping Thalia's arm behind her back.

"Well I'm a whore, a homewrecker, someone with no respect for themselves," Ilona commented to find common ground.

"You certainly had no respect for yourself fifteen minutes ago."

That earned Thalia a swat on the arm to which she only let out a breathless chuckle and allowed the corners of her lips to curl up slightly. It was only a playful jab on her end. Prostitutes, sex workers, escorts—whatever you called them didn't matter because it all meant the same thing in the end. Regardless, Thalia had far more respect for them than the average populace because there was always an inkling of understanding. Always being last, always being looked down on, always being at least somewhat feared.

With a sigh Thalia pushed herself out of the bed, cold air hitting against her skin while she began to redress herself at a leisurely pace.

"I'm serious, why don't you ever try and be something else?" Ilona asked, sitting up and holding the sheets to herself.

"Why don't you?" Thalia shot the question straight back.

Silence enveloped the room while she slid on her leather armour and strapped the swords to her back once more, pulling on her boots whilst leaning against the doorframe then throwing a bag of coins to Ilona. As always there would always be just a little extra money stashed within.

Just as Thalia was opening the door Ilona finally replied. "Because it's the only thing I know."

The door clicked shut behind her.

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"I can't believe we're actually saving this thing," Thalia muttered, taking the potion that Geralt handed her for later use.