Louis is the Leader of a Steampunk street-gang and earns money as a male prostitute. Harry is a Dutch Gypsy with a prosthetic hand with a keen eye for all things beautiful.
They find each other perhaps by chance, but perhaps that the Gypsy-Boy knew...
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Water.
I could hear running water all around me like a sheet of ice that cut me off from the world. I had been trapped between walls for longer than I have since I left the brothel more than a decade ago. The air outside, the birds in the trees, the freedom of the night.. I'd lost that. There were people around me but I couldn't hear them. All I could hear was the blood in my veins, the trickling down the inside of my thighs and the tears that waited behind my eyes.
I was drowning, even though I did the right thing and left the ones who'll betray me. I was the one who was drowning.
"You either let them drown or they'll drown you."
If that statement is true, then why could I not see? Why could I not hear? Why was I not really there at all?..
*
"Alois." A sharp voice snapped. Louis dragged his mind to the world around him and looked up from the ground to catch Edvard's gaze behind the Venetian mask he wore. It was black and gold, shaped into a beak and inspired by those of the plague doctors that Louis was sure belonged to the underworld. He'd never seen a medic of that kind because the plague epidemic had almost died out completely but the masks like beaks and the long robes they were rumoured to wear sent a chill down his spine. Edvard took off his mask and glared at Louis to do the same. Louis lifted a shaking hand and pulled his own mask away. Colour-wise, his mask matched Edvard's, but then that was normal for a couple at a masquerade ball. The piece was a delicate and small like the ones the women wore. It shaped over the bridge of the nose and swirled around the eyes in the shape of butterfly wings. Louis also wore the outfit offered to him by Edvard himself. He wore a shirt with a deep gold high lace collar that forced him to keep his head up. The sleeves were tight around his arms but made from the finest silk, the shoulders and top of the chest were made of organdy which let the light of the grand chandeliers seep through and hit his golden skin. The shirt ruffled around the black corset which seemed to be tighter than usual, the golden bone structure digging into Louis' ribs every time he moved. He wore black and gold stripped trousers and knee high black leather boots, trimmed at the top with black wolf fur. His rose had been removed and burned in the fireplace and his hair had been trimmed at the tips and sleeked back from his face.
And so he stood there, looking like a King even though he was nothing but an accessory in that giant room. He was in Edvard's mansion, standing quietly in the middle of the ballroom where many upper-class guests had gathered. The rich men all spoke with posh accents, holding their wives by the waist as they themselves acted as objects to be shown off. Louis had heard about these social gatherings many times, only now he was a part of it, and that part was to act as the Host's prize possession. He waited politely, fingers shaking and breath getting caught under his corset, as the music from the orchestra played.
"Smile, Alois." Edvard ordered.
Louis nodded and looked away from Edvard to the couple the man had been speaking to. He swallowed and pulled his mouth into a smile that couldn't of looked more forced. He waited, hands and feet together as his face flushed from the deep vibrating in his body.
