Chapter 1 of 18 of my 2nd Spyjirra fiction named You Only Live 18 Times. It’s set in an alternate future of the Elder Scrolls universe – a bit of a steampunk-ish setting. Cut me a bit of slack though, I’m far from a professional reader and certainly not a voice actor. But I did add some effects that make it a bit more interesting I think.The character of Ra’Jirra is based on Kazerad’s side character, though even I have to admit, the connection is tenuous at best.
Boogeestro drew it a few days ago and I’ve been working on it every free second. I rather like it, if you can’t tell. That’s the CatV3 she’s riding – a sort of steampunk-ish JetSki.
And yeah, I gave her a nip bump. Hey, give her a break. She’s wet and excited. These things happen!
UPDATE: FurNut tweaked it to be even better! So this is now a 3-artist combination.
I don’t think I can do an essay on fanfiction in general, but I’m fairly sure I’ve written more fanfiction for Prequel Adventure than anyone else so at least I feel qualified enough to write something on that specifically. This isn’t intended to tell you what to write or not to write, just what I’ve found in having done quite a bit of it.
First, learn proper writing technique – and this includes (gasp!) grammar. Yes, you need to learn it. I am working on it still, and I’m not very good at it. But here’s some Don’ts that I’ve learned.
1. Don’t try to disregard proper grammar. The English language has evolved into its current form over hundreds of years. There are good, valid reasons for differences between commas, semicolons, colons and dashes as well as apostrophes, quotes etc. They exist for a reason. They make reading your crap easier. Trust me on this one, if you want your work to be read, you have to do this. No one’s going to slog through a bunch of home-made grammar rules. I actually did start writing this way. It was dumb.
3. Don’t stagnate the reader. In every chapter, something significant should happen. I specifically avoid descriptions and scenery, except where they are needed for the story. Reading is a very imagination-friendly activity. You should have a pretty solid grasp of the scene where an action takes place, but there’s no need to describe it in minute detail to the reader. They can fill in the blanks as good, if not better, than you can.
4. Avoid tropes. I hate tropes, but still use them occasionally. However, I’m constantly looking for ways to subvert the trope and do something different. Your imagination is your friend. Try and find some better, or at least different, way to resolve a situation.
5. Avoid Evil Characters. I don’t believe in Evil characters. Sure, you need a villain, but that villain can have perfectly reasonable motives. Or the villain can just be the situation. When I run across an Evil villain, unless they are Satan Personified, I don’t buy it. Someone wants to kill your character? Fine! But you damn well better know why they want to, even if the reader doesn’t, and it better not be “because they are EVIL”. This one pisses me off to no end. Actions can certainly be classified as evil, but I don’t buy it as a motivation. This may just be me though.
6. Think of your viewpoint. You should be writing typically from your protagonist’s viewpoint. Don’t write about things he/she/it wouldn’t know about. There are times you need to explain something they wouldn’t know, but there are likely creative ways to work around that rather than just be a NARRATOR and expound on it.
7. Don’t show the monster. That’s something I learned from reading Lovecraft – and his own essays on the matter. The reader can imaging far worse (or more beautiful – ‘monster’ is just an example) than you can ever describe. The yoyo-pineapple incident is a good example. Maybe Kaz has some idea what that was, but – believe me, I’ve written an essay on it – the audience can fill it in far better. Describe reaction to the monster, but let the monster stay hidden. Sometimes it’s what you don’t describe that’s the most memorable part of a story.
Next, avoid White Knight-ism AND avoid Perfect Heroine-ism. I’ve seen both. The first, I think, is more rampant and screams of Self Insert-ism. Sure, everyone’s fantasy is to be the White Knight. (or Black Knight but you get the picture). But are you writing a story for yourself, or for your reader? All good characters are flawed, and they shouldn’t be you. And by flawed, I don’t mean that they have an Achilles Heel. I mean that they aren’t perfect. They screw up. Make sure they screw up sometimes.
But the reverse comes up sometimes too. Perfect Heroine-ism. Esp. in relationship-heavy romance type fiction, sometimes the author will endow the object of the protagonists’ affection with perfectionism. Typically female, but of course that varies, but they can fight off the assailant and protect the protagonist invariably. This is related to the White Knight, because – and here’s big news – females aren’t perfect either. And again, I’d better damn well see that in the story. They need to screw up too. Even if they’re not human, they still need to Be Human. Be Fallible.
Fighting those two tropes will improve your story, because the outcome of every conflict is uncertain. Game of Thrones takes it to extremes, but you’ve got to lose sometimes. Want a hell of a good romance? IMHO, write one where the two don’t get together. Or don’t fall in Immediate and Immortal Love. There’s fantasy and then there’s fantasy. I guess it must be possible, but damned if I’ve ever heard of a perfect relationship. At least have the guy leave the toilet seat up once in a while, if you catch my meaning.
Also, avoid Deus Ex-Machina, but don’t let that hinder a good story either. It’s not a NEVER thing, it’s an AVOID thing. Better if the conflicts can be resolved by something conceivable to the reader than something totally unexpected.
Now, specific to Prequel, here’s some observations.
First, if you’re going to write a Katia+X relationship story… don’t. Katia specifically is trying not to get involved in any relationships right now. She wants to build her own life on her own terms. Sure you want to come rescue her from herself (most of her issues are self-inflicted). You can’t do that, and neither can your weird OC because that’s exactly what she doesn’t want. She wants to become her own person, with her own abilities and to fix her own problems. She can’t do that if your story requires the intervention of a third party. For Katia herself, I prefer to just watch her story unfold (slowly). But IMHO she needs to fix her life on her own. No one can fix it for her, even your White Knight.
I don’t think I’ve done any fan fiction involving Katia directly. Side characters are a whole ‘nuther beast. I can twist them into whatever I want I figure, and just keep the bits that I like. Like Quill-Weave’s propensity to get embarrassed at stuff. So that’s fun to exploit. As for my recent Ra’Jirra fictions, let’s be honest – that’s not even Ra’Jirra except that she’s a long-haired khajiit. But I think she’s exploitable because she really has no personality. We know she bailed on Katia, and that’s it. Beyond that we know she’s pretty rude. I used neither of those traits in ‘my’ Ra’Jirra – but then, I also put her into a sort of steampunkish universe too. The connection to Prequel is by the thinnest of threads.
Someone (Kaz I think) also suggested getting some college kid in need of money to edit my work. I’ve not done it, but it’s a very, very good suggestion if you think you’ve written something worthy of it. I’m still finding errors months after having written stuff. Don’t say to yourself “oh, it’s close enough. No one will mind that misplaced apostrophe.” If anyone actually bothers to read your stuff, they will mind. Once or twice, maybe not, but by the time they slog through the whole thing, those little things accumulate. And don’t think the spellchecker will catch that crap either – it catches only the crap you would catch anyway. So, at very minimum, re-read your own thing. Multiple times.
Okay, here’s one that you may not have thought of. Read your stuff. Aloud. Preferably into a recorder. Maybe not to post publicly, but just for yourself. It accomplishes two things – first, when you come across that word you were so proud of, you then realize why no one uses it. Also it makes you revise stuff into normal speaking words instead of written words. The two are awfully different, and reading it aloud makes that very obvious!
Finally, on the subject of – shall we say, FANSERVICE? Yeah. That. I do it all the time. Mine is usually pretty light stuff, but it’s a thing I do. Someone’s bikini top is bound to fall off or something. I’m probably not the best person to advise others on that sort of thing. It’s almost always completely extraneous to the plot, and Tolkien sure as hell didn’t do that. In an anime where early episodes are trying to attract viewership, it makes sense even if it’s kinda cringy. It’s probably worse in fan fiction. I should cut back on it, I know.
In fact, I’m thinking of cutting back on Prequel fan fiction altogether. I don’t know that people who ‘read’ webcomics are much on reading anything. That’s why I made a foray into doing audio. I think it’s easier to ingest than actually reading words on a screen. I’m not very good at it obviously, but my price was right (free). I do think I’d listen to your audio recording of your own stuff though. At least it’s a lot more likely than every reading 31000+ words on a screen.
Just one final thing, sorta related. Some time ago I started doing my own webcomic. (No, I don’t do artwork. Screenshots of posed Skyrim characters). I made the mistake of posting it on some of those sites that list webcomics. Well, guess who goes to those sites? Other webcomic writers. Yeah. I’m not saying not to post your fan fiction on fan-fiction sites, but I don’t think you’re ever going to get popular because of doing that, and you shouldn’t expect it either. Not sure I have a good answer for how to get popular. I’m not. But don’t think that if you post it up there They Will Come. Not likely. Maybe a few, but very few. If you want to Get Popular, you’re going to need to do something other than that.
After all that, of course, you can do what you want. Maybe I’m all wrong. These are just my thoughts on the subject.
I got a couple of Kaz commissions last night of two scenes from the fanfiction.
Here’s the first – Ra’Jirra at the roulette table:
The other is from when La’Dasha is reviewing the recorded scroll of Ra’Jirra and Ko’Manir’s… um… private time together.
I’ll let you figure out that reflection in her eye. I really love his take on La’Dasha, so I consider this canon now. As for that reflection, I made a slight modification of it to remove it.
What is the world coming to when I choose to modify a Kaz picture to make it less lewd?!
Well, we can’t have that. I also modified the Ra’Jirra to go the other way. I don’t think he’ll mind if I’m clearly saying it’s a modification.
“You understand the mission then?” La’Dasha said to the grate under her feet as she sat on the bench.
“I do,” came the terse reply. La’Dasha had never met the man she knew as Faelian, though she had made use of his services for years. So far he had been undeniably successful. However, her requests had typically been much simpler than this one. She sincerely wished she could have just ordered a straightforward assassination, but that wasn’t the plan. Her operative would need to have a good grasp on the complexities. But she trusted no one more than Faelian.
However, that wasn’t saying much. She wasn’t even sure what race he was, though he was clearly not a khajiit or argonian. She only knew he got the job done where others had failed her. And this was going to be an expensive operation, though expenses didn’t bother the Dominion. A good thing too. The long range weapon she had left in the drop off location was priceless.
“Where?” came the hoarse voice from below her.
“Crypt. Name of Shelley. Key is in the urn on the left of the door. And Faelian…”
“Yeah?”
“I’m going to be following this one closely. It’s important.”
“Got it. When do you expect her in the city?”
“Two days from now.”
“I’ll contact you when it’s over.”
“No need. I’ll know when it’s over.”
There were no footfalls, but she sensed the man had gone anyway. It wasn’t like her to worry, but she was worried now. This was way too complex, and too many people were involved. Important people. If she failed this, she would die. It was as simple as that. Number 5 didn’t have to make the threat. She’d carried out similar orders on other high ranking members herself.
She needed a drink. She crossed the road to a bar. Her eyes adjusted to the dim light within and she sat at the bar and ordered her usual. It came to her – clear, cold and strong. She downed it with a single gulp and ordered another.
“This seat taken?” came a voice beside her. She looked to see a man. Big man.
She thought about it for a moment, then decided she needed the distraction. “There is now,” she replied noncommittally.
“You new in town? I haven’t seen you around here before.”
“Pretty new. Just came in yesterday. Business.”
“Ah,” he said, and she wondered how long he was going to take to get to the point. But it was all part of the game. She had to wait.
“Say, wanna guide? I know all the hot spots in town. This place, it’s alright, but it’s dead.”
“You like cats?” she asked, touching his thigh. She felt the muscles flex underneath her claws.
“I like everybody,” he said.
“Do you?” She looked him up and down. Slowly. “How much do you weigh, stud?”
“Oh! Like what you see? Couple hundred.”
“Mmm. And how big are you?”
“Big enough for a cat.”
“Are you? Well, this one does like to sample the local meat when in town. Want to skip the hot spots and make our own?”
This was the turning point. A lot of men she met would balk at this point. She didn’t mind. It was all part of the game. Some would be turned off by her boldness, and those were the ones that got away. “Go home to your wife,” she would tell them in her mind. “Go kiss your kids, stud. Be smart.”
“Sure, pussy. Where are you staying.”
Externally she smiled and told him her hotel and room number. Internally she sighed. The mean intelligence of the male population of Tamriel would slightly increase tonight. There was that. She was a force for evolution.
“Give me 20 minutes,” she said, standing up and downing her second drink. “The door will be open, stud.”
She saw the lecherousness in his eyes when she turned back at the door, watching her tail make motions in the air. “20 minutes.”
“I’ll be there,” he said, smiling a smile that told her all she needed to know. He would be.
**********************************************
Ra’Jirra stepped down from the wagon behind a family of fellow khajiits into the full majesty of Rihad. It stank. The odor of thousands of different people, all crammed together in such a small space and under such high heat, would yield nothing else. Along with that wafted the aroma of a thousand different street vendors, all selling their possibly-still-edible wares. It combined to give a stench that reached to the sky.
She’d been here before. She had hoped to not be again.
Her contact was named Serosh, a rather bland looking Redguard she had met once before briefly, but she had done her research on him during her trip to Rihad using the folio Em had given her before she left. Not a top agent, but reliable and committed. However, he was a family man, and that was dangerous.
He hailed them a taxi, a premium affair. The Orsimer pedalling it was pleasantly quiet and didn’t reek too badly.
“Where am I staying?”
“The Pendant. Best lodgings in town. They’ve a premier casino and bar if you’re interested. I’ve got you the penthouse suite.”
“Nice! You know my tastes,” she smiled as he offered her a cocktail. She spat out the feathers though. She preferred them plucked first.
“Indeed. But it’s not just for your vanity, Raj. They’re the only hotel that excels in privacy. We’ll talk there.”
Ra’Jirra saluted him and began gnawing on the cocktail as she watched the riffraff of Rihad go by outside. The driver was impressive in his speed and mobility. She lay her head back and enjoyed the meager breeze and occasional respite from the atmosphere of the place. At moments she might almost think…
Suddenly an explosion rocked the small cart. She spun around to look out of the small window behind her. Smoke was rising from a storefront behind them, but the Orsimer was dutifully speeding past. She saw blood and heard screaming.
“What’s that all about?”
“Local disturbance. The usual thing. Massive poor population, small rich population and practically no middle class. The place is ripe for revolution, but the government keeps a pretty firm hand.”
“So that was a revolutionary bomb?”
Serosh shrugged. “Or counterrevolutionary. Who knows? Doesn’t make much difference really, does it?”
“Not to those people bleeding on the street.”
They pulled past the gates leading to The Pendant. Armed guards were in evidence. Lots of them. She watched as the gates clanked into place firmly behind her.
“Are they locked out, or am I locked in?” she asked Sarosh as he took her hand to help her out of the taxi.
He handed the driver something gold and the driver bit it before pocketing it. “Yes,” he replied with a smile, and two large Redguards came to see to her luggage while she strolled into the hotel. The doors opened at her approach, and she wondered for a moment if there might be magic involved, until she saw the ropes which obviously led to a couple of menial laborers stationed to give them a pull at the proper time.
Inside the air temperature dropped at least 20 degrees.
“Whoa! What’s this?” she asked the her friend.
“They call it Air Ice. They have a big tub of ice on each floor with a fan that blows it into the rooms. Nice, eh?”
“I’ll say! Almost makes me think I could live here!”
“Better watch that, cat. Some of us do, you know.”
“Oh, yeah. Sorry.”
“Let’s get you to your room,” he said.
They walked into a small box surrounded by a gated door which he closed. He turned a knob to indicate her floor number, and the box began to rise smoothly. She never did see the laborers that accomplished that little miracle, but she had no doubt they were there.
Serosh handed her the key and she opened the door. The room was huge and immaculate. She even let out a squeal when she saw the bath. It was enormous and open, with a commanding view through thick glass doors that led to a balcony beyond.
“Serosh, you’re not into cats are you?”
“Sorry Raj, no. Not me. Happily married man.”
“Good! You stay there, I’m taking a damned bath!”
“You do that. Sweaty fur isn’t exactly the most delightful perfume, I’m afraid.”
“Don’t I know it!”
She opened a spigot and water began to flow. She had no idea how that worked, but she was sure somebody’s muscles were involved. The water temperature was perfect.
“I’ve left a dossier on the table,” she heard from the next room as she got undressed. “Burn it when you’re done.”
Ra’Jirra lowered herself slowly into the warm water and let the tub fill slowly over her as bit-by-bit parts of her were submerged. She nearly cried with pleasure. “Aaaaaahh!”
“Long trip?” came the voice from the other room.
“Too long. I think I just want to stay in here all night. So, how long are you good for tonight? When do you need to go home?”
“I’m good as long as you’d like. I sent my family away. I don’t like them to be around during an operation.”
“Smart thinking.”
*************************************************
Reblogging the second chapter from bdfanfic blog. I feel like with it being a crossover and involving Ra’Jirra, it’s pushing it to file it under bdprequel. But I’m about to post the 7th chapter over there, so if you want to read it, here’s the link to the archive. It’s adult but not porn, pretty much like the Bond movies.
First, apologies for reblogging that Dmitri story from the same friggin’ account that I posted it from the first time. So… you got it twice. I really suck at this, I’m afraid.
Last night was a really fun (for me anyway!) Kaz stream though. I got a couple of commissions, based (very loosely!) on that Dmitri story. The first one I asked for “Katia being hypnotized by a Freud-looking guy”. If you’ve ever commissioned Kaz for anything, you know he’s going to subvert anything you ask for. You accept it or you just save your monies. In most cases though, honestly, they turn out better than your original idea anyway. So here’s what he drew for me:
I LOVE IT! Not much to do with my fanfiction of course, but it’s awesome on it’s own. Of particular note, the 5 letter limit on character names gives us DMTRI. 🙂 The animation of course. And then there’s those scan lines like I’m looking at a bad 1995 CRT monitor. But damn I’d pay for that game!
I’m a cheapass though and really didn’t pay him enough for this, so I commissioned another I thought would be fairly easy. “Quill-Weave angry at a loose kitchen countertop.” I was honestly surprised he took this – how could he subvert it? But he did, right away. And for a change it actually works perfectly as the last image in the story:
His subversion obviously in the extent of the “loose” part. But… that’s probably about right. Dmitri might have been somewhat underestimating the damage.
So I did modify the original post to add these two images and reblogged it properly from my bdnsfw blog as I’d intended originally, but I’m not going to subject you guys to yet ANOTHER copy of it.
And finally, I heard that Tumblr disabled the raw image hack. This was a deal where you could modify the URL to show (and thus download) full size images of what was uploaded. That really, really sucks for me. I did a ton of Skyrim-screenshot, image heavy stories, and took the time to link every image in them to the raw image URLs so you could click on them and see the full size image.
And now that’s all broken. All of them. I could link to the 1280 images, but it still sucks, and would take more effort at this point than I’m willing to commit. Unlike an awful lot of people, I still like Tumblr – but one if the main reasons I use it is the ease of uploading images (AND the ability to link to the original resolution images). That is now lost. I archive pretty much everything but it would take such time and effort that I guess that’s just something that will just have to stay broken.
Pisses me off, but then again, I don’t pay anything for Tumblr so I guess I’m at the mercy of their ever-changing policies. Or get my own hosted server. (which I already have and wish I’d have started using from the start).
I wrote another fanfiction. It’s pretty porny, though most details are left to your imagination. Which is probably far smuttier than anything I could dream up. Anyway, read if you wish. It’s about the night Dmitri and Katia spent together. There’s some things that don’t quite jibe with the known facts, but I think most work okay.
“Fucking guard duty. Goddammit, we’re necromancers! We should have some skeletons or something do this for us,” he thought as the night came on in earnest. “Besides, what the hell am I going to do if something dangerous comes along? Throw poison at it? This is stupid.”
Dmitri sat down and thought about his life. He’d been doing that a lot lately. He’d been staying here with the other Necromancers ever since they’d been evicted from yet another Mage Guild. Things were really getting tough for his chosen profession these days. He remembered back when he was a young, gangly teenager in mage school, it seemed like such a cool thing to do too. He’d even dyed his black hair blacker and put on eye-shadow back then.
“What could be more cool than being a Necro?”, he’d said to himself.
And, let’s face it, he hadn’t exactly been the most popular kid in school. Aside from the bigger kids picking on him, and the girls ignoring him or worse, it surely couldn’t hurt he’d figured. So he put on black robes (cool), studied hard (not cool) and joined the Necro clique. While it didn’t help with the girls, it definitely reduced the bullying by the bigger kids. Unfortunately he soon found he’d exchanged one set of bullies for another. But somehow he fit in well enough, finding his own niche in the clan. He still didn’t get any girls though. Which was a real pity too. He’d written some fiction and found he had quite an imagination for various… scenarios. Good thing he’d come up with his own secret code for his stories. His Necro-mates would have never let it go had they read them, but when inevitably they did find them, instead they were impressed by his knowledge of ‘Draconic’. It was also a good thing no one knew Draconic well enough to realize it wasn’t.
But now, years later, here he was, standing guard outside these crypts. He had managed to rise to a decent level in the group at least. He was a middling mage, but that was okay. He was too good to kill but not good enough to attract attention. It suited him, really. But it also made it tough to get out of stupid duties like this. Worst of all, he was still a virgin. That stung. He had such an imagination in that department, but by now he’d realized that it was probably the reason he’d never gotten laid. The few times he’d actually talked to a girl, he would start stammering until he’d get so tongue-tied he would just clam up. And he knew why. His imagination would stray to what lay under her clothing, and that would get in the way of him seeing her as another actual person.
Intellectually he knew all this, but it didn’t change anything. He would die an old virgin, he knew, and his own overactive imagination was to blame. But he still had hope even then. If he could ever get enough power to become a Lich upon his death, then he’d get all the girls! Lich lords were really cool!
Then he heard an unusual sound approaching from far away. A steady thump, as of someone running. Or something. The light from the torch was meager at best, and the moon happened to be behind a cloud. He saw nothing, but the sound was getting closer. And then she yelled at him.
“PEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEENIS!”
“What?! Land? I thought you were down…”
“PEEEEEEEEEEEEEENNNNIIIIIIIIIIISSSSSS!”
That voice didn’t sound like Landorumil actually, he thought. It sounded more like…
And suddenly she was on him. She hit him like a ton of bricks, knocking him back against the wall and toppling the torch to the ground. A cat. A goddamned khajiit gone crazy. He tried to fend her off as best he could, having had no time to prepare any sort of spell. She seemed to be clawing at his robe! Fortunately she was a light little thing. He gave a good shove and she fell back to the ground.
Immediately he chanted a quick summoning spell and his favorite skeleton appeared in a flash.
“Hold her,” he commanded, and the skeleton obeyed, picking the scrawny khajiit up off the ground while she flailed at it.
“What the hell are you on about khajiit?” he asked, putting the torch back in it’s sconce. “Are you trying to get yourself killed?”
Then he turned back around and saw her clearly for the first time. "Oh my!”
“PENIS!” she said, starting to calm down a little. “You have a penis, right?”
“Um… yeeeees.”
“Please, mister, you’ve got to let me have it! It’s my specialty! I’m good at penises!”
Dmitri looked around. Apparently no one had heard the commotion. That was good at least. Then he turned back to the little khajiit. She’d stopped struggling and was now just dangling from the skeleton’s hand as it held her by the scruff of her neck. She was kind of cute, actually. Dmitri had always loved cats. He kept quite a few around the crypts, having convinced the Powers that Be that they would be good to keep the rats at bay. He’d seen a few khajiits in his life, of course, but never up close. They didn’t tend to hang around Mages Guilds.
“Calm down… Now before we start talking about my penis, how about a little introduction? What’s your name, khajiit?”
“Penis?”
“No. That’s part of my body. What’s your name?”
“Pas… No. NO, that’s not my name anymore. I’m… Katia Managan. Katia FUCKING Managan, and it’s my middle name!”
“Katia Managan. Okay, we’re making progress. What are you doing here, Miss Managan?” Dmitri asked as he looked her over. She smelled faintly of dust and wine, though surely not enough to be this drunk.“
"I broke em. I dropped them all.”
“You’re not making sense, Miss Managan.”
“I can’t make anything. I can’t make a fucking sign.”
“What’s wrong with you? Are you drunk?” Dmitri asked. She was certainly exhibiting all the signs.
“Drunk? Where?”
“Look. If I have Bones here set you back down, will you promise not to attack my robe again?”
“Bonerman! Well, I’m hornully awf. But if you say so. Say, you got anywhere we can be alone?”
“We are alone, Miss Managan.”
“No, I mean alone from you. Just me and Mr. Bonerman!”
“Set her down, Bones.”
The skeleton dutifully did it’s master’s bidding. Dmitri prepared for anything, but the khajiit woman fell to her knees and turned around to face the skeleton’s pelvis.
“Lies and Deceit! You got no boner Bonerman!”
“Miss Managan, maybe I should take you home. Can you tell me where you live?”
The khajiit had rolled on her back and was looking up between the skeleton’s legs and scratching it as if looking for something. Suddenly she started to cry. “I don’t live anywhere. I’m homeless. But my friend in Anvil…”
“Anvil. Okay. That’s not far. Come on, get up. Let’s get you into the cart…”
With that, Dmitri picked up the scrawny khajiit bodily and carried her to the nearby stable. She wasn’t heavy, but she was… warm. Bothersomely warm.
“Now you just wait here, I’ll be back in a minute, then I’ll take you to your friend’s house. Okay?” Dmitri asked.
“Oh! Sure! She’s got a great bed. You can rock me all night!”
Dmitri cringed. Cute as hell, but a bit much for him to handle alone he suspected. “Bones, keep her here. And keep her quiet!”
The skeleton sat on the khajiit’s head. Dmitri was about to protest when he heard her start to moan.
“Oh yeah! Give me that tailbone Mr. Bonerman!”
Dmitri blinked, then went in search of Landorumil down in the crypts. Both returned to the doorway a short time later, his ‘friend’ complaining.
“Okay, but you better be back before the boss gets wind of this.”
“Look, it’s just a few miles away. I’ll be back before dawn easy. Your shift was supposed to start in an hour anyway.”
“What the hell do you have to do in Anvil anyway?”
“Just have an errand to run. Thanks Land. I owe you one.”
“One HOUR!” he said as Dmitri walked back to the stable. Katia was busy sucking on the skeleton’s toes so he hitched a horse to the cart quickly and started off. Unfortunately, just as they were pulling away, Katia happened to look up and waved to Landorumil.
“Hi dude! Wanna fuck?” she called.
“What the hell?” Dmitri heard him yell, but he ignored the shouts and got the horse up to speed as he pulled out onto the path.
“BRING HER BACK!” he heard Landorumil shout, but then he was safely out of earshot.
“Aww. You’re no fun,” Katia pouted.
“Am so. I just… three’s a crowd.”
The khajiit climbed out of the cart and onto the seat beside him.
“What do you mean? Three’s fine! Three’s a PARTY!”
“Look, let’s just get you home, alright?”
Katia turned instantly morose again. “Don’t have a home. I’m a loser. Say, what’s your name again?”
“Dmitri. Glad to meet you. How’d you manage to get all the way out here drunk anyway?”
She lay down on the bench, her head in his lap, which was far more contact than he felt comfortable with.
“Demeter. Say Demeter, you got a penis under here?”
“Dammit Katia, leave my robes alone!”
“Oh! You do have one! Did I tell you, they’re my specialty?”
“Yes, Katia. You told me. Now leave me alone, please!”
“Told you. You’re no fun.”
“Look, we can have fun when we get you back, okay?”
That seemed to satisfy her, for a little bit anyway. “Found some wine in some crypt or something. It was good! Say, wanna see something?”
“Not yet.”
“Look at this! See this?”
She pulled open her blouse. Literally. Buttons flew and were lost on the path behind them.
“Check it out. I got underwear!”
Before he knew what he was doing, Dmitri looked. Brown bra. But then she took his hand and pressed it to a breast.
“Paint! Isn’t it the best idea? I thought it was the best idea.”
He yanked his hand away, but the damage was done. He tried to think of his grandmother.
“It was stupid,” she said, laying back on his lap, but he couldn’t help but notice her blouse remained awfully open.
“I’m a failure, Demeter. Everything I do is stupid. The only thing I know how to do is penises, and that’s too easy.”
“Oh, I’m sure you can do something else.”
The khajiit sat up and looked at him. He looked at her breasts.
“How do you spell Merchandise?” she asked.
“Merchandise?”
“Yeah! How do you spell it?”
“M E R C H A N D I S E”
“You sure I can’t play with your penis?” she asked, her eyes tearing up again.
“No!”
“You’d like it. I can’t spell, but I can do that.”
She put her head back in his lap, but face down this time, nuzzling for it.
“AAAAAAAAA!” he screamed as the cart hit a bump, sending a tooth home.
“Oh! Sorry,” she apologized sitting back up.
“Katia, look. It’s not that I’m not interested, believe me! But… can I be honest with you?”
She lay her head back on his lap again, sighing but at least keeping her muzzle towards the stars this time. “Not into cats. I know. I’ve heard it before. You should have seen me a few months ago! I was all skin! Not a stitch of fur! You’d have liked me then.”
“What? No. Actually, I love cats. But Katia… I’m a virgin.”
“You like boys?”
“NO Katia. I like women! I just… haven’t ever…”
“What?”
“Katia, I’ve never had sex.”
She stared up at him, uncomprehending. “What?”
“I’ve never done it. Until a few minutes ago, I could honestly say I’ve never even touched a woman.”
She snickered. “You still haven’t. You touched paint.”
“Good point.”
“Does it work?”
“Does what work?”
“Your penis. Does it work?”
Now it was Dmitri’s turn to be confused. “Yes it works. Why?”
“How do you know if you’ve never had sex?”
Dmitri’s dark skin let him blush without others noticing. That was one small advantage of being his race. It served him well now.
“Just… trust me, okay? It works.”
“Do you want to be a virgin?”
“Not really.”
“Then… why not?”
“Jeeze Katia, not here. On the road? What are you, some kind of slut?”
“Yup! That’s me. Slutcat. I’ve been called that before. Sometimes I’m a slut. When I’m drunk. When I’m not, I’m a lot… different.”
“You know, you don’t talk like you’re drunk anymore.”
“Oh, trust me. I’m drunk. Drunky and Horn. Do you know, I won’t even remember you when I wake up? I never do.”
“Blackout drunk? Jeeze Katia, how is that even possible? There’s no way you’re that drunk.”
The swaying of the cart and the warmth of her head was beginning to bother him even more. But he tried his best to ignore it. She was awfully pretty though. And that blouse was still open.
She sighed, “You know, after one night my parents sent me to a specialist. He cast some sort of spell on me. Had me watch this medallion. Back and forth, back and forth. When I woke up, he said it wasn’t because I was drunk. He said I have a deep problem with my inadequacy. He said when I get drunk, my personality changes to a slut. He said it’s just an excuse, and that I do it to prove to myself that I have some value. He said that the only thing I am confident of is my sex, and that I use it as a crutch to carry on when I’m normal. He said I keep it as a way to stay confident even though my best attempts to be of any value are worse than mediocre. Well no, maybe I said that.”
“That’s… awful,” Dmitri said. But he was remembering what that breast felt like.
“And…” she paused. “he said it’s the only way I can feel someone else likes me.”
“Now that’s not true. What about your friend?”
They were nearing the outskirts of Anvil when Katia began to cry again. “She’s wonderful. She’s a writer, did you know? I bet she never misspells anything!”
“Probably not. It’s an easy word,” he said
“What?”
“Nevermind,” Dmitri said and started stroked her head, trying his best not to look further down, but failing.
“It’s okay Katia. Everybody is better at somethings than others. It’s no reason to be ashamed of yourself.”
“I’m better at penises.”
“Well, that’s still something, isn’t it?”
“She doesn’t even like em.”
“What?”
“Quill-Weave. She likes other girls.”
“Quill-Weave. Odd name.”
“Argonian. She’s nice. She gave me a hug once. It was awkward.”
“Where does she live?”
Katia sat up and looked around. “Over there. Down that street. But she won’t be home. She’ll be at the bar.”
A few minutes later and they stopped, Dmitri guiding the horse to the alley beside the house.
“Well, here you go Katia,” Dmitri said.
“Not gonna happen, Demeter,” she said, smiling an evil smile.
“What?”
“No way I’m letting you go. I owe you. Come on in, virgin. I’m going to rock your world.”
Dmitri started to protest, but he’d been ogling those furry boobs for far too long. His smile was mixed with fear, but…
“I can’t! Bones… He can’t be seen in town like this.”
The slutcat smiled. “PARTY!!!”
She took his hand and drew him into the house and up the stairs, the skeleton dutifully following close behind.
Dmitri didn’t protest any longer, though he was fairly sure that, dark skin or no, he was glowing by now. Damn she was pretty, but he was as nervous as a… cat. What if it didn’t work? He might have the imagination of an erotica author, but… for real? He wasn’t sure how to do anything for real.
The next four hours were the most incredible experience of his life. To say she was wild was an understatement. And he became just as wild eventually. They found a hidden area in the closet, where her friend apparently kept an odd leather outfit as well as numerous exotic toys. They used them all with abandon. By the time it was over, he was exhausted and completely sated. He’d explored every inch of her. Every fantasy he’d conjured up, she was game for, and her competence was justified. She was good with penises. Very good indeed. They’d even found interesting uses for the skeleton, which, oddly, didn’t bother him. Bones had been his closest companion save for his cats, and of course it helped that he wasn’t really alive. Unlike some sentient skeletons, Bones was just an animatron. In this case, an oversized sex toy. Plus Katia had many ideas of her own. Female ideas that he would never have thought of. She only apologized for not having a large fruit available. They checked the kitchen downstairs, but no – there were no pineapples. There was the kitchen table. And a counter that turned out to be less stable than it first appeared. But no pineapples. The peas were an interesting idea. He found out he really liked peas, if served in certain special ways. They ended up breaking the bowl, but nobody got hurt.
Finally he fell back onto the bed, heaving as if his life were nearly spent. He looked at Katia and she rolled over onto her back.
“Was I good?” she asked.
“The very best,” he assured her. “Unbelievably good.”
She smiled and closed her eyes. “I have all the friends,” she murmured, then she rolled back onto her stomach and began to purr, closing her eyes.
When finally he’d gotten his breath back, she was fast asleep. He got up and put the blanket over her.
“Damn that was fun,” he thought. “If I died tomorrow, I wouldn’t regret it!”
Then he looked around the room. Slowly sanity returned and he saw the room. Really saw it. It was trashed. The red paint on the walls was particularly obnoxious. He looked down. Yup. He had red underwear now.
“Oh gods, what have I done?”
He turned to Bones and got an idea. After a quick search around downstairs, and a trip to a nearby merchant who was open late, he returned with some cleaning supplies, a box of chocolates, a potion that she might well need, and a pen and paper. Then he gave the skeleton a command that the skeleton immediately began to follow, while Dmitri began to write. He yielded to his baser instincts though and pulled the blanket partially off the sleeping khajiit and used her body as a table, taking care not to break through the paper, but enjoying the concept of using her curves as a table. It made his writing sloppier, but he was going to take advantage of every new opportunity he could think of.
“Who knows when I’ll be able to use a woman’s ass as a table again?” he thought. “Damned if I’m not going to this time!”
He was halfway through the letter when the door opened. The argonian’s eyes went wide and he suddenly realized had taken his robe off in case Katia wanted to go another round. “There’s always hope!”
A few minutes later, after some hasty commentary, he found himself downstairs in the author’s parlor. She was seething and crying at the same time. He explained as best he could, but he had to leave out some parts. He explained that Bones would continue until the room was as clean as he could make it, but that he had to go. And he saw no reason to mention the somewhat wobblier countertop.
“She’s really not like that. All the time,” Quill-Weave said as he was preparing to leave. The tears in her eyes belied her protestations that Katia was just a friend. For his part, Dmitri explained that it wasn’t just Katia. He was a guilty party too. It had just been too… wild. And that he really did like her. That mollified the Argonian somewhat.
“Look, Dmitri. You seem like a decent sort. For a man anyway. I’m glad you care for her beyond… just that.”
“I do. Let me just finish the letter I was writing for her, and I’ll be gone.”
“You do that,” Quill-Weave said. “But use the table here. It’s made for writing.”
After the experience tonight, Dmitri thought he would be immune to blushing, but he managed to anyway. He started to explain, but realized it was pointless. She probably understood just fine. He was a man, after all. He finished the letter, went upstairs to leave it on the table, and kissed the khajiit. She stirred a little but went back to her purring. He looked around to make sure the door was still closed, and kissed her again, somewhat lower, just for himself. She purred louder. Then he left the room and went back downstairs.
At the door he paused for a minute, Quill-Weave’s eyes turned to him, still wet but curious.
“Listen, Quill-Weave…”
“Yes?”
“We… well. We found your toys.”
Suddenly the argonian’s eyes went wide.
“Yeah. Those. Um… You might want to boil those. Or something.”
Her mouth dropped open. The rows of teeth were worrisome, so his last words he said were just before he closed the door on the way out..
“Um… especially the purple one. It has been places that… well, you might just want to burn it.”
He heard something hit the door as he closed it quickly. It might have been a shoe. Then he got the hell out of there.
She recovered quickly, and the days passed in a Skooma-induced blur. She hated every minute of it, of course, but she started to make some decent coin at least. The Madam was fair enough, and the clients were easy to please though. But as the days went on, she found herself needing more Skooma to maintain her composure. The other girls introduced her to the smoking version of the drug, and that helped for a while, but by the end of the first week she realized that her income was just barely enough to cover her habit.
Then one day she woke and noticed one of her teeth was loose. She knew what that meant. She was losing it. But try as she might, she couldn’t break away from the drug, and no one was there to make her. The tooth fell out one day. It was in the back and not noticible, but she sat and looked at it for a long time. Then she began to cry. The next day she noticed another tooth was loose.
She couldn’t hold up any longer. It was too much. She was laying on her bed, the last client having just left, and she looked at the Skooma pipe on her table.
“I could just end it,” she realized. “Just take too much. Then I could sleep. Sorry Honest John. Your work was in vain. You should have just left me to die.”
She wondered idly what he must have done to keep her alive. Then something shifted in her brain. She couldn’t quite define what it was, but something CHANGED.
A knock came at the door. She knew who it was. She couldn’t speak.
The door opened slowly. Beyond the door was utter blackness. She saw the hand on the door. Blackened and charred.
“Hello Ra’Jirra,” it said.
She screamed, but no sound came forth.
“It is time,” said the cracked, hollow voice, and the thing stepped into the room, closing the door ever-so-gently behind it.
“But… the Skooma. It’s supposed to keep you away! It did!”
“The Skooma let me free, Ra’Jirra. It did what you never did. It LET ME OUT!”
Ra’Jirra released her grip on reality then. It was time indeed. Time to let this happen.
“My turn,” it said.
“It’s 50 per hour,” she found herself saying to the apparition. “How long will you use me?”
The thing shambled closer to her bed, and she took off her clothes, laying back langorously.
“How long?” it asked, kneeling beside her. “Eternity.”
She spread her arms invitingly, and the thing crawled in beside her.
*****************************
“We found her like this last night,” the Madam said to the priest. “She’s only been on the stuff for a week, maybe a few days more.”
“Worst case I’ve seen,” he replied. “But we’ll do what we can for her. She’ll need to be locked in a cell till the addiction passes. You did right by her to bring her here.”
“But… the madness…”
“It may pass with the addiction. Or it may not. No way to know.”
“Poor girl,” said the Madam.
“Indeed. Poor girl,” the priest agreed.
“Every once in a while she comes out of it, you know,” the Madam continued. “She sounds almost normal then, but then she’ll just say ‘She’s back again.’ and off she goes.”
“Making love to a ghost. Can’t say I’ve ever seen the like before. But we’ll take as good care of her as we possibly can.”
“Thank you. Now I’ve got to get back to the House,” said the Madam.
They lifted the khajiit up and carried her to a cell in an out-building of the chapel made for such cases. Currently she was the only soul housed there, but she had regular attendants that came and took care of her. But her routine in the cell didn’t last long. A few days later the addiction had broken, but the madness remained. And she had a visitor. Two actually.
“Doll?” came a gruff voice.
“Oh, excuse me. I’ll be right back,” she said to no one, then opened her eyes.
“Honest John? Is that you? Sorry for everything. They put me in a madhouse, you know.”
“I know Doll. I know.”
“I’m off the Skooma. Isn’t that good?” she asked him.
He was kneeling by her small bed in the otherwise bare room.
“That’s wonderful, Doll,” he said, but the tears in his eyes said otherwise.
“Don’t cry, Honest John. I’m okay here. She just calls me back. She’s very needy you know.”
“Who is?” the theif asked gently. “Who is it that calls you, Doll?
Ra’Jirra smiled. "Wouldn’t YOU like to know! Sorry, old man. She’s all mine!”
Then another voice spoke, odd and smooth. The words startled the mad khajiit and she focussed on the source. An Argonian stood behind the theif. She looked vaguely familiar.
“Katia Managan,” it said.
“You can’t have her!” the mad khajiit cried, grabbing a pillow and squeezing it to herself.
“Doll, listen to me,” Honest John said, his eyes running freely with tears now. “Listen very very carefully. She can wait for a minute. I need you to listen and UNDERSTAND this….”
“NO! You can’t have her!!! You’re going to take her away from me!”
“Doll,” he said. “She’s not real. Now, LISTEN. Katia… Managan… Is… Alive!”
Ra’Jirra listened. The words entered her brain and fell into place. The gears turned. The lock opened, and her brain shifted BACK a little.
The Argonian came around and knelt beside the thief. “Ra’Jirra. You didn’t kill Katia Managan. She’s still alive. She killed that giant imp.”
Ra’Jirra closed her eyes. Her lover was gone. No trace of her. She was… free!
She looked back at the two. The priest was standing in the doorway, she noticed now.
“No. You are too cruel. You lie. You’re not Honest John!”
“I am, Doll. This is Weedum-Ja. She is…”
“Let me take over, Honest John,” the Argonian said gently. “Ra’Jirra, I am S’thengir’s lover. I never did buy that story about you robbing him. But something happened that night. I finally wormed it out of him. When I put the pieces together, I realized what had happened. Ra’Jirra, the Shopkeeper saw her leave. She’s alive! Damned if I know where, but you sure as HELL didn’t kill anyone!”
“I didn’t?”
“No, but not for lack of trying. That was an ass move, locking her in like that. But she killed it. You’re guilty of being a giant asshole, but you didn’t kill her.”
The khajiit looked back to Honest John. He shook his head in agreement. “You didn’t kill anyone, Doll. But almost yourself.”
She sat up woozily. “I… didn’t kill… anyone?!”
She smiled for the first time in a long, long time. “I DIDN’T KILL ANYONE!” she cried to the Priest, who accepted her unexpected hug happily.
Then suddenly she turned back to the thief. "Honest John. I’ve got to find her. I’ve got to apologize!“
He nodded, and gestured to the Argonian. "Weedum-Ja will see you back to Kvatch. But Doll… something has happened. Kvatch is burned to the ground.”
“What?”
“Long story,” Weedum-Ja replied. “But if you want to come back, you’re welcome to come with me.”
“But… bandits?”
Both Weedum-Ja and Honest John laughed at that.
Honest John explained. “Doll Weedum-Ja here is a Level 20 Pilgrim. She could take out the entire city guard. Us bandits wouldn’t go near her. At least, not if we knew who she was!”
“Really?” she asked the Argonian, who bowed in response with a smirk on her face. “I do alright.”
“So… she might be dead anyway,” Honest John continued.
“I don’t care. I’m going to find her,” Ra’Jirra declared and stood up. Suddenly she was aware that she was naked.
“You kept taking off the clothes when we put them on,” the Priest explained.
“Wait,” Weedum-Ja interrupted. “Wait a minute…”
She went out of the room and came back in, rummaging through her own backpack. She drew out some clothes familiar to the khajiit. “My…” she started.
Then Weedum-Ja handed her the spear she’d carried for so long. Ra’Jirra took it and fell to her knees. It was like an old friend, comfortable to her hands.
She dressed and was on her way in an instant. The three had to overnight along the trail as the day was waning fast, but with the Argonian with them, they had no problem with bandits or anything else that night.
“Just one thing,” Weedum-Ja said as they settled into their beds for the night around the campfire.
“What’s that?” Ra’Jirra asked.
“If I ever see you within ten FEET of S’thengir, I WILL kill you. Instantly and with no regret.”
Ra’Jirra laughed. “Fair enough! We women have to understand each other. Just give him my thanks.”
“Fuck. You should want to punch him. If he’d have told me the truth sooner, none of this would have had to happen. He’s an asshole. But he’s my asshole.”
“Good point,” Ra’Jirra conceeded. “I take back my thanks. Fuck him in the ass for me instead.”
“I will!”
Then she went to sleep. Her sleep was not peaceful though. In it, she saw a vision of Katia Managan wearing an outfit she’d never seen before. But she was no longer burnt and horrible. She was just the normal weird khajiit she had met before. The apparition walked up slowly to her, and she fell to her knees. “I’m so sorry, Katia. I was a coward. I didn’t think! I’m SOOOO sorry!”
“Rise, bitch,” said the apparition.
She stood up.
“You’ve paid for your crime. Almost,” said Katia Managan.
“Almost?”
The apparition pulled back it’s hand and let it fly at full speed into Ra’Jirra’s cheek. The blow sent her to the ground and stung like hell.
“There. Quest fulfilled. See you later, Ra’Jirra!” it said, and suddenly her dream was gone. She awoke with a decent bruise on her cheek. And she smiled. She deserved that.
She took another drop of the Skooma, and soon everything was right again. Her body was back under control and she helped Honest John pack up their stuff.
“We’ll follow the path, but not too close. The Legionnaires know me.”
“Sounds good to me. How far are you going?” Ra’Jirra asked as they got underway.
“Most of the way, but I turn off before we get there.”
They left the woods behind and were walking now in the wild but beautiful grasses of Cyrodiil. She saw the path, but it was far to her right as they headed westward.
“You really should get off that stuff, Ra’Jirra,” he said sometime later. “It’s not good for you. It’s not good for anyone.”
She shrugged. “Keeps the nightmares away though.”
“Just starts new nightmares, I find,” he replied, but didn’t bring the subject up again.
They continued for miles, stopping to eat once.
“You ever kill anyone Honest John?” she asked him as they sat, their backs to the path behind a boulder.
“Yeah,” he said bluntly. “A few. Had to, of course.”
“How do you deal with it?”
He sighed, but didn’t turn to face her. “Same as you I suppose. The first is the hardest though. I guess after that it’s just habit. You or them, you know? I don’t like to though. I’ve never liked it. Your first?”
She nodded, “Yes. My first.”
“It’s a hard thing. Did you know him well?”
“Her. And no. Just… circumstances. She was a fool, and it was her or me.”
“I see. Well, if she was a fool then the right person lived.”
“Did they?” Rajirra thought as she eyed the vial again. She decided against it. It was too easy.
The afternoon sun was lowering when finally Honest John and her parted ways. They had returned to the main road after a Legionnaire had passed.
“So, you got family that way?” Rajirra asked as she looked down the side trail he was going to take.
“No. In fact, I’m not even going that way. But you don’t need to know more than that. And ‘John’ isn’t my real name either.”
She laughed, and hugged him – hugged him even though he had stolen all her most valuable posessions and had gotten her hooked on Skooma. He returned the hug. “Be careful, Doll, and good luck to you. Mind what I said about the Skooma. It has a sweet taste, but the aftertaste is nothing but bitter.”
She nodded and bade him farewell, and continued on alone again.
Suddenly she felt a wash of fatigue over her, and she started looking for someplace to nap. Someplace a lot closer to the road this time though. She found a spot out of sight but only a few yards off the road and curled up to take a nap in the afternoon sun. It’s warmth on her face lulled her off to sleep.
“RA’JIRRA” it said again, grinning that evil grin.
“No! I didn’t mean to kill you!”
“Do you know how much I screamed, Ra’Jirra? They found my hands still wrapped to the door handle. Fused to it. They had to peel my skin off of it, Ra’Jirra.”
Another image came into view. Bones wrapped around a door handle that wouldn’t budge. The flesh still attached but the skin peeled away. It was still alive. It was tugging on the door handle.
“Let… Me… OUUUUUT!!!!” it screamed, and her eyes followed the desperate, dead thing’s arms and back, up peeling shoulders, to a screaming skull.
“Please die,” she whispered, and it turned to her. Looked directly at her with it’s eyeless face. “LET ME OUUUUUT!”
She awoke shivering and screaming. She looked up but no one was there. The sun hand set a little farther, but she must not have been sleeping long. Trembling hands drew out her vial and she put another drop to her tongue.
Relief washed over her. She forgot the skull, but she no longer felt sleepy. Instead she fairly skipped down the road. There was more in the vial than the old man thought anyway. She’d be good for a week at this rate! Maybe she might have yet another. She felt… good. So she took another drop and she felt GREAT!
When the three young brigands accosted her, almost within sight of the Anvil city gates, she greeted them happily.
“Want to rob me? Sorry guys, I don’t have anything left. Honest John took my stuff!”
“Honest John eh? You ever heard of Honest John, Paulie?” said the biggest of them to another.
“Nope. Never heard of him, cat. Come on, off with the backpack. Let’s see what you’ve got in there.”
Of course, there was practically nothing. They took the 20 gold of course. And her Skooma.
“Oh HO! What’s THIS?” said one of them as he opened the vial and sniffed the contents.
“Liquid Skooma. Nice! Hey, wanna party Cat?”
“YES! PARTY!” she laughed, and they led her off into some woods well off the road.
They finished the rest of the Skooma and ‘partied’ all night with the khajiit. Fortunately for her, they gave her more of the powerful drug, so in the morning she didn’t remember much of what had happened.
But she awoke naked and alone, with absolutely nothing. Her body hurt and her mouth tasted foul. She didn’t need to guess what had happened. Between the state of her body and the snippets of memory that remained of the previous night, she knew all she wanted to know. She wished she could get some water though. And wash off the smell.
She limped back to the road as dawn arrived. Walking was painful, but she had no choice now. She was hailed before she got to the gate by an armed guard, who looked less than happy to see her.
“Damn, what happened to you, cat? You look like you’ve had a run-in with a troll!”
“I… There were three of them…”
“Uh huh,” he said. “Looks it.”
“Can I go in?” she asked him.
“A fucking naked Skooma addict? Are you kidding me? The captain would have my head if he knew I let you in. Sorry cat, ain’t gonna happen. Here, wait a sec…”
She stood shivering while he went through the gate. It wasn’t the cold though. Nor even the effects of her night of ‘partying’. She was hungry again, and she didn’t have any left.
Presently, the guard returned and tossed her something. She caught it and looked at it, unrolling it. It was little more than rags, but it would cover her. She put it over her head. Now, she realized, she looked the part. The shivering probably helped as well. Skooma addict.
She couldn’t believe what she was about to say to this guard. But there was no one else to ask.
“You… wouldn’t have any…”
He laughed. “Get the fuck off, cat. Look, you can’t come in, but if you follow the wall around to the docks, there’s whorehouses there. You can probably get what you need there or around the docks. For a price. Lots of horny sailors down there. Some might even be desperate enough. But you’d best take a bath in the water first. Saltwater’s gotta smell better than you do right now!”
She nodded, and began the long walk around the city walls towards the ocean. It was a long, long walk.
Of course, any city known for it’s sea port can’t be truly walled. But the docks were kept separate from the city proper, and thus the laws of the city didn’t necessarily apply around the port. Skooma trade, slavery and worse were common. Prostitution was practically mild by comparison. By the time she got there, the place was alive with activity. But she did heed the guard’s advice and bathed in the water. The taste of the salty water as she gargled it was nasty, but it was better than nothing. She climbed back out of the water, dripping and still limping. But she smelled better. Now she smelled of saltwater and dead fish. But it was better.
She put the rags back on while still wet. It clung to her. At some other time, perhaps, it might have looked erotic. But now she was simply pathetic. And the shiver was back. She really needed some Skooma.
It wasn’t hard to spot the whorehouse. She fit right in. The elf-woman that ran the place looked like she was expecting her.
“Wait there,” she said as Ra’Jirra approached up the stairs where the large elf sat on a patio overlooking the docks.
A green orc came down and frisked her, way too thoroughly, before she was allowed to come closer.
“Looking for a job?” the woman asked.
Ra’Jirra nodded.
She groaned, got out of her chair and walked over to the still-wet khajiit. “Open your eyes,” she said, and Ra’Jirra complied.
“Skooma. Figures,” said the Madam. “It’s always the Skooma with you cats. Open your mouth.”
Again, Ra’Jirra did as she was told.
“Nice teeth! How long you been on the stuff?”
“Since… a few days ago,” she answered honestly.
“Jeeze. You’re hooked bad. Jiles, get some liquid Skooma for the girl.”
The orc hurried off inside.
“Bend over,” she commanded, and once again Ra’Jirra complied. The woman had said the magic words. Salvation was coming!
“Holy shit! Cat, what happened to you?”
Ra’Jirra laughed, maybe a little madly. “Long night partying with the boys,” she said. “Out in the woods along the road.”
“We don’t call that partying around here, girl.”
The orc returned with a vial very much similar to the one she had.
“Fuck that, Jiles, this girl needs to lay down. Come on cat, let’s get you a bed. What’s your name?”
“Ra… I mean… Call me Doll,” she answered, but her eyes didn’t stray from the vial.
“Oh, go on. One drop. Then it’s off to bed with you.”
She took the vial greedily, but didn’t overdo it. One blessed drop touched her tongue and she handed it back to the orc. She’d pay for that, she knew. But she needed it. Suddenly her head cleared up. But with the renewed clarity came renewed pain. The Madam actually helped her into the house.
The bed they laid her down on was immaculate. She almost felt she was violating the place by laying down on it, but the sheets were cool and dry. She’d taken off the rag and it felt very, very good. She looked at the Madam. “This is going to cost me, isn’t it?”
The elf’s face looked sincere. “Of course. but we’ll work it out. You’re in good shape, Doll. A day or two from now and you’ll be my best cat. But we’ve got to get you back in shape first. No, you won’t be sleeping in my bed after that. But till then, enjoy the hospitality of the Curved Port.
"And the Skooma?”
“I doubt I’m the first to tell you, you should quit the stuff. But if you did, you wouldn’t be here. So I can’t very well deny you that. But…”
“I’ll pay for it,” Ra’Jirra finished for her.
“You know how it works. Been a whore before?”
Ra’Jirra nodded again.
“Good. Then you know what’s expected of you. %40. I get the rest. Deal? You can walk out now and the rest is on the house. My girls work for me willingly. You can get a higher percentage at the cheap whorehouse on the other side of the docks, but the overall is a lot less. We get the captains, they get the sailors.”
bdprequel 