A Whore and his Loyal Dog
Roth O'Connell The past month had been rather odd if Roth could call it that. He had gained a new neighbor which wasn't strange at all since houses were bought and sold quite a bit in Seaside District. It was a poor neighborhood, with a plentiful amount of rats, human and animal, running about. It was a horrible district if Roth were honest, but it was a cheap place to live. Now Roth hadn't expected much from his new neighbor, perhaps a few greetings in the morning and perhaps evening hours after he got home from acting as a guard of sorts to a jewelry shop in Trader's District. What he hadn't expected was his neighboring saunting, literally sauntering over with swaying hips and a colorful look that sent most women to shame, to his home the very first day to ask for a hand with some boxes. Roth had agreed easily enough, willing to help a new face that seemed kind enough.
Oddly enough the next day, his neighbor whom he had learned went by the name of Far Dorcha, came over once more to ask if he could borrow some tools. Again Roth agreed easily enough and even offered his services to fix or put up whatever it was that Far needed putting up. Far seemed rather pleased by that and had sat the whole time watching Roth work away on setting a shelf up in the small living room. Roth had a suspicion that Far had been staring at something besides his back that whole time. But what made Roth's whole month odd was that Far continuely asked for little things each day and would always repay with dinner or coin. By the end of the second week, Roth had grown so use to Far's visits that he had started refusing payment, simply doing the jobs as a friend would. It wasn't an issue in his eyes now, he rather enjoyed being near Far.
Towards the last day of the month, Roth waited as usual for Far to arrive. He always came knocking around this time and Roth had built his schedule around it in a way, but this time Far hadn't shown a hair of his pretty head. Roth hadn't even seen him that morning which was odd, but the large man had shrugged it off as nothing. People got busy or slept in some mornings, Far must have done that he had thought. When the sun had dipped even lower in the sky, signaling evening, Roth grew increasingly worried. His new and possibly only friend hadn't shown up on his daily rounds. Would it be silly to visit and be worrying for nothing? Roth mulled that thought over. He was possessed by something to check up on the other, but thought it embarrassing if he found the other perfectly fine. What was he to do?
Far Dorcha He wasn't very proud of the means, but Far Dorcha made do with what he could to make ends meat. He sold his body to whomever had the coin for it. And really he'd stumbled upon it by necessity. When circumstanced had forced him to abandon his home country, he'd come to Port Gamble seeking any sort of fortune he could for himself. The cirty had a reputation for being a proverbial mixing pot of business and cultures. The rumors were true of course, the problem was inherent in starting anew and finding footing. He was homeless for quite some time, managed to sneak into the bath houses whenever he could without paying because being clean wasn't cheap but it damn sure was a necessity of his. Only he got caught, and the only way to keep from getting reported was to suck the man off. Subsequenly he'd done it so well he'd earned himself a month of free baths. And thus, opportunity had presented itself.
He propositioned his sexual blackmailer for more at a price. It was seized upon and thus Far Dorcha had food. When he was no longer an emaciated wretch, he began using the bath house as a sort of live-in advertisement. He could spot the sly men, the ones who's eyes seemed drawn to his form admiringly, or possessive desire as the case often was, and would offer them the opportunity to act upon their desires. It wasn't always easy. You give a man an inch and they take a mile. And his clients were always men. Women were put off by his feminine mannerisms while men sought to dominate him, as if offended. Beatings, however, were an unfortunate side effect. One he could and would tolerate to survive as he'd so done in the past.
His patience served well. Before long he had a steady income and was able to get his very own apartment. Even as sparesly furnished as it first was, he adored it, rats and all for it was his. The few furnishings he had were amassed from adoring customers who sought to spoil him and some odds and ends he'd bought ambitously. He thought it rather nice and modest and so it would do for now. However, unpacking them seemed a damn chore to do alone, hard labor was not his thing. Luckily, he'd spotted a rather large, handsome (and hopefully handy) neighbor when first apartment hunting. He sauntered on over and flashed his most charmingly coy smile. It worked like a charm.
As Roth seemed rather eager and reliable, (and he may or may not have developed a silly crush) he always found something he was in need of, some excuse to see Roth daily. Some tools to put up shelves, which Roth offered his services without seemig put upon. A little bit of sugar for some pie he had decided needed baking. A towel, tea cup, some furniture needed rearranging as he'd bought chais lounge chair that also happened to need to be brought up the stairs. All of it without a complaint or asking for compensation. It was like living with a saint.
Though he did offer compensation. He'd slip some coin in Roth's pocket or apartment when he could because otherwise he would refusether unheard of for Far and he found he would not have it. Other times, when money was sparse but favors were not, he cooked meals. And gradually it became habit for him to cook for two every third day. He would often invite Roth to his home; but if he was sick, or feigning sick in leu of recovering from injury and hiding his hurts, he would simply bring it over and make an excuse of being too tired to properly host. It was a rather nice routine.
A routine thoroughly spoiled by a horrible night with what had seemed to be a gentleman but was really a monster. He could only vaguely recall when violence of that scale had been put upon him, probably his last memory of his home country.He'd been paid and delivered home by the client's servants, and he wished the money hadn't been shoved in his pocketpocket because it made him feel filthy. For the first time in a long time he hated himself thoroughly. But as he was placed in bed and the servants had graciously administered him an opiate to numb the pain enough for sleep, he was thankful for the peace and oblivion that followed. It was ruined, however, by the harsh morning light that assaulted his face through his open curtains. And all at once the pain came at him and he wished they'd left him another syringe to combat the paint hat seemed to cover his every inch of skin that left him utterly immobile. It turns out, they had. Only it was on his bureau and well out of reach. He cried, knowing full well he'd brought this on himself, as that detestable man had so thoroughly ingrained into him the night before.
And just when he thought his pain was unbearable, there came a knock at the door that heralded an even more unbearable scenario that caused him to tense and cause another round of pain racked his savaged body, Roth seeing him in this state. He kept quiet, hoping the sweet man would think him sleeping and leave. Only when he heard the door handle turn he gasped and gave a yell that had his ribs screaming in protest. "GO AWAY!"
Roth O'Connell It was entirely inproper and rude for him to even consider letting himself into the other's home, but honest to the almighty gods he was just worried for his friend. Though when that sharp pain filled shout came flying at him from within the home, Roth retreated a fraction before furrowing his brows as he heard the great pain that was in the other's voice. This made him push aside the sense of being rude and made him fully enter the home. His dark eyes which most thought to be black glanced about the rather well furnished little home before spotting the stairs and the soft light coming from the room up there. It was candle light and it flickered gently. The sounds of a strained breath could be heard and this pushed Roth to ascend the stairs. They creaked under his heavy boots as he approached. "Far? Are y' alrigh'?" he called, hand on the wall as his other went down to touch the hilt of his sword. His movements were measured as he walked up each step, the creak of the wooden stairs made him wince as they seemed far louder than he would have liked.
As Roth made it to the top of the staircase and poked his head into the room where the candle flickered faintly. His eyes scruntinized every inch of the room before falling upon the beaten form of Far Dorcha in the bed. His heart seemed to turn to steel as he hurriedly approached and knelt like a knight at his side. "Wha' happened t' y'? Who did this?" he demanded, rough, work-hardened hands reaching out to touch that bruised beyond belief face. His touch was gentle as if he thought the other would crack like a glass vase. Far just looked that fragile
Far Dorcha Yelling had proved to be a mistake, the pain in his ribs erupted to unbearable levels that caused him to black out. His consciousness was wakened by the deep, grovelly accent he had come to treasure. The laughter from him was even more treasured for it's rarity. But as he came to, the horror of the scenario filled him utterly and he could not help the tears that came so readily to express his sorrow and shame. That Roth see him this was way utterly unbearable. Never had he felt more like filth. And crying hurt. He had forgotten that from the night before. "Please don't look at me," he begged in a whisper as he turned his head away so that the candle light did not catch his face and every bruise that littered his face and cut that split his lip.
But his pain was great, and so he was forced to shame himself further. He closed his one un-ruined eye and lamented his choices thus far in life. No way did he have any right to desire this man. He was dirty and low and the other deserved someone as kind and saintly as he was. "Please, they...left an opiate for pain...on my bureau. Please, give it to me and leave."
Roth O'Connell Roth looked to the small nightstand and at the syringe filled with what surely was the medicine that would numb the other. One big hand closed around it gently and brought it close to the other to show he held it. " 'm not leavin' y' like this...y' need someone t' tend t' y'." he said, eyes rapidly looking over that mangled body. With his free hand, Roth reached out to turn Far's head gently in his direction. Sure he was a man of little compassion, but he could hardly stand seeing a friend in such a condition. It made him want to choke out whoever had done this crime. "I ain' leavin' y'..." he stated, eyes burning fierce with a forcefulness that was sure to be noticed by Far Dorcha. " 'm goin' t' take care o' y'.."
Roth shifted a bit from his knelt position and took to sitting on the edge of the bed. He held the opiate in his one hand while his other worked delicately to feel all the bruises and lumps that riddled the other's body. "Who did this t' y'?"
Far Dorcha "I just need sleep," he assured quietly, trying to will away the tears that were so persistently flowing in Roth's presence. Funny how Roth was touching him all over now searching for painful injuries when for weeks he'd fantasized those big gentle hands would caress him and bring him pleasure. That fantasy was sure to remain just that now. It was only a matter of time now before he figured out how Far Dorcha made his living. He thought it was a good thing Roth didn't yet know or his inspection might be more thorough, and /that/ would be mortifying beyond redemption.
His eyes alighted on the syringe, relief literally in sight. Far shook his head minutely before answering. "Doesn't matter. There isn't anything to be done for it but to please put me out of my misery." He wanted to escape from the pain and stress of reality as soon as possible. Beyond right now, beyond his abused body and tortured backside, there was an even harsher reality that he would not be able to work for a while. Weeks maybe. He would not be able to make rent. The thought made his tears flow anew.
Roth O'Connell Roth followed Far's gaze to the syringe in his hand. He felt like debating about using it, but at the same time he felt it was cruel of him to even think to leave Far in such pain. Thus he brought the instrument forward and gave the smallest of pricks to Far Dorcha's wrist before letting the numbing medicine flow into those veins. With a sigh he removed the syringe when it was empty and placed it on the nightstand. Roth shifted a bit once more and held the hand which had recieved the small needle. He calmly petted the pale skin as he sat there quietly as he noted the spell of sleep spilling over Far. "Y' may need sleep...but 'm stayin' heer wi' y'." he murmured, locking eyes with the sleepy ones that watched him. "Y' nerd someone from th' looks o' it t' take care o' y' fer awhile....'m willin' t' help y'.."
Far Dorcha Oh sweet bliss. To feel the pain killer working its way up his arm and to the rest of his body until he felt almost nothing at all was a godsend. He didn't know what he was to do about pain in the coming days but this was a lovely head start.
Roth. What a beautiful savior he was. How in keeping with the saintly image Far Dorcha had of him. Giving help so freely... the only trouble was he didn't know how to accept that sort of kindness. He shook his head titedly. "I can't repay you..."
Roth O'Connell "No' a need t' repay." he answered, eyes soft for a moment as numbness ate away at Far's features until Roth noticed him slacken as numbness won. A brief sigh left him as he watched the other fall into the medicated bliss that medicine gave someone. Tenderly he released the hand he had been holding to take back into a gentle search of the other's body. He watched the elegant face of Far for a moment as his fingers poked an probed at different spots, noting where lumps were and where might a nasty bruise might lay. His task took him down to Far's hips, having moved his hands under the covers so as to not disturb the other's rest. He could feel the worse lumps there and they seemed to trail around to Far's rear, but Roth strayed from being that invasive. The trail of surely marred skin gave Roth a tiny hint as to what might have happened to put the other in this state, along with a question he would pose to the other in due time. His suspicions were not based solely on the swollen bits of Far that he had found, but also on the odd flow of people that came from. Far's small home daily. He had a feeling he knew exactly what Far was up to and how he earned his coin.
Far Dorcha Far did not awake until the next midday. And how he wished he hadn't. With consciousness came the pain and he groaned pitiously. His eyes ramed the room searching for perhaps another gift syringe when his gaze fell on Roth, napping in the armchair sitting in the corner of his bedroom. Panic and shame filled him as he recalled the evening before. Embarassment at having to look so weak and pitiable in front of this warrior of a man filled him with a new pain. So weak on every level in comparison to this humble man. He kept his grunts of ain as quiet as possible so as not to wake him. He looked as if he hadn't left Far's side. And Far found himself fretting over him in what he knew to be a rather motherly way. Had he showered at lest? Eaten? He hoped the other wasn't missing a day's pay on his account. He wouldn't be able to repay him for a while. Far Dorcha recalled the other's words from the night before. 'No need'. So selfless. So kind. How he aspired to be like him. He didn't know how long he lay there watching the other as he slept. How long before his bladder started trying to call attention to his needs. He just lay there and watched for as long as God allowed him this perfection of peace.
Roth O'Connell Roth couldn't recall how soon he awoke in Far's room. A stiffness in his neck had stirred him as had the gentle chirping of birds in the tree next to the bedroom window. His dark brown eyes opened slowly, wary of the light leaking in between the curtains. It took him a moment longer to shift his gaze from the empty bed to around the room. Confusion struck at first as he couldn't recall why he would be in Far Dorcha's room, but the events of last night fell back into his mind like sticks tumbling into a basket. Roth arose in a rush as he worried for where Far was, the other had looked like hell last night and gods forbid shouldn't be up. "Far? Far where are you?" He called, feet making rather loud thumps as he moved from the room in search of the other. There was a chance whoever had done that to Far might've come back. Then what? Could he be dead? Hurt even more so and unable to call for help? What?
Far Dorcha After a while of lying there and staring at his handsome neighbor, Far could stand it no more. He was filthy, bruised, and hurt. He was helpless for the most part, sure, but he could help at least one of those things. So as quietly, carefully and most of all slowly as he could manage he got himself out of bed. He hissed in pain quietly, feeling like one large open wound. The only time in which he moved quickly was in getting from the bed to the nearest wall. And then slowly again he moved, using the wall for support as he made his way to the bathroom to draw a bath for himself, wincing all the while because pain radiated down his entire back and buttocks.
After he put the stopper in the tub and ran the scalding hot water with jasmine infused bath soaps, he began the ardorous task of stripping, something that shouldn't have been so hard but for that blood had dried and caked his clothing to his skin in some places. He bit the inside of his cheek to keep from crying out too loudly and waking Roth. When his ruined garments were pooled at his feet he got a good look at himself in the full body mirror he kept in the bathroom. He looked horrid. He ran his hands over the various cuts and discolored skin that littered his body. Disgusting. He was foolish for being smitten with someone like Roth. What honorable man would love someone who looked like this? This crime that had been committed against his body....it was favor in disguise. It revealed his true self. Ugly. Beaten. Low. Not worthy. Of course he had been debased in such a way. It was his chosen lot as a common whore. He was nothing. Not even a man. His hand slid away and he turned from the mirror, no longer able to face the truth that was now firmly in mind. He turned off the water and climbed not the hot water that seared his wounds and warmed his cold bones. The jasmine soap burned him but he welcomed it. He washed the grime and blood away, scrubbed at his skin as if scrubbing the man's touch from his pores until his skin was red an raw. After he sat there for a while. He had no measure of time to tell how long. Only that the water became cold and after a while the suds were all but evaporated. And then Roth was calling for him, worry painted clearly in his voice. "I'm in the bath," he called out, not too loudly.
Roth O'Connell The response was caught by his ears and Roth turned in that direction. He took a few steps forward in the direction of the bathroom and hesitated a tad before he gripped the knob and pushed the door open. The large man poked his head into the fragrant room and gazed about. It was a rather feminine room if he must be honest, but it in a way fitted Far Dorcha. Roth's eyes scanned the room throughly before settling upon the bare shoulders and back of the elegant man's head. Dark raven black hair that lacked that glossy look that must make even the crows jealous. "Y' ok?" he asked, a sinple question really.
Roth moved into the room, slow and big like he was. He didn't shut the door as he entered and merely made his way forward towards the other. The sight of bloodied clothes caught his eyes and made him frown. "Wha' happened t' yer clothes?" he began to ask before bringing his eyes over the other's form and saw the bruises and cuts upon his chest. "Wha' happened t' y'?". His tone had an edge of demanding, but it also was soft enough to seem concerned. Roth crouched beside the other, daring not to look upon the other's naked form and merely focused upon that slightly bruised yet lovely face.
Far Dorcha Far closed his eyes as Roth entered the bathroom. He knew what Roth would ask, and he knew he could not lie looking him in the eye. And he badly needed to lie. Far Dorcha leaned back against the tub, arms rested atop the brim as if he were the most relaxed creature in the world despite being in cold water and aching all over. He made to look as if resting as he spoke, more of a reason not to deign opening his eyes for Roth. "I fell down the stairs. Rather clumsy of me..."
Roth O'Connell There was a moment's pause as Roth took in the words spoken and tried to dechiper them. "Yer lyin'." he said, reaching a hand out carefully to touch Far's shoulder with the barest of touches. "Stairs wouldn' hur' y' like this. Who hur' y'?" he asked, crouching at the edge of the tub. His hand settled on that slender shoulder, noting how it was cold to his touch and made him want to gently rub his hand over the skin to at least warm it up. "Who hur' y' like this?"
Far Dorcha Far jumped at the touch, not having expected it as he didn't see it coming. The warmth in that big hand was so soothing, eh wanted to curl into it, curl into Roth's arms and let him enfold him in his magnificent warmth and cleanliness. But he remained still, and internally felt somewhat soothed at the gentleness of the touch and outright care Roth displayed for him. He resisted the shiver that threatened to run through his body. It would only hurt and give away how cold he was. He didn't want to appear weaker than he already was. "I feel down the stairs with scissors. Anything beyond that is unimportant."
Roth O'Connell "Stop lyin'." he said, voice quivering with hints of unhappiness. It wasn't anger. No. It was just a sound of hurt, upsettnes at the fact that the other was lying. He could hear it in the way Far Dorcha spoke. It was mumbled, brushing, not at all the way someone would speak if they were speaking the truth. Carefully Roth stood and came around so that he was facing Far Dorcha directly. He leaned over the tub and eyed Far. Those dark eyes of his scanned over the pale form before him, everything exposed to his eye for the bubbles and steam had disappated with time. Bruises covered every inch of his skin. Moreso towards his waistline and vitals. Cuts riddled the nasty purple bruises like hairline fractures would riddle a injured bone. "Please jus' teel me th' truth, Far. I wouldn' ask if I didn' care."
Far Dorcha He shouldn't have opened his eyes, knew it for fact. But as soon as he felt Roth's gaze on him his eyes automatically opened to greet the mahogany pair boring into him. Concern. Anger. Frustration. And something more he couldn't quite pinpoint. Finally, he gave in. Far might have steeled himself from a negative reaction normally, or more probably would have been able to pass off a more believable lie. But he was tired. So very bone tired and mentally exhausted. He reclined his head back and kept his gaze level with Roth's as he answered. "It was a client. And before you insist, I will /not/ reveal his name. He is very powerful and well connected. I am a lowlife whore whom he could squish like a bug in an instant. He would not hesitate to kill me or yourself if I told. So leave it be. It's better this way." He was quiet for a few moments as he waited for the reaction he so dreaded. He was sad to lose the only person he considered something like a friend, but it had been inevitable from the start...
Roth O'Connell There was a stretch of silence that Roth wasn't sure how to break. He pursed his lips together in a thin line and let his brows knit together so deeply that it was nearly comical if not it were a serious expression upon the man's face. "I see." was all he said. He straightened up in posture, no longer leaning upon the end of the tub. Roth moved with his heavy slowness, leaving Far Dorcha for a moment only to fetch a towel to which he held open for the other to step into. "Y' need t' get ou' o' th' tub an' back in bed before y' catch a cold." he mumbled, seemingly letting the words that Far admitted to him disapate. Everyone had their way of making a living. Hell, Roth use to kill people for his money. Mercenary work that did no discriminate as long as the coin was good and constant. Everyone had their ways. It was alright.
Far Dorcha The silence made Far cringe and want to shrink in on himself. All manner of horrid thoughts were going through his mind as to what Roth must think of him now. Surely he would leave him to tend to his own wounds now. Each heavy footstep walking away made Far's stomach shrink into nothingness. Needless to say, when Roth returned with a towel he was dumbstruck. The command to come out only made him sink further into the cold tub, unsure about this turn of events. He gazed up at Roth's face, impassive at first clance, but deeper in the eyes there was a compassionate sort of understanding. And that glimpse is what propelled Far to his feet even though his body protested the sudden movement and increase in coldness. He trembled with it as he stepped from the tub and was wraped in the towel like a child. He was too in awe of his curious neighbor to be his usual confident self. Too vulnerable. And in pain. He shivered and trembled the whole way back to his bedroom, slow shuffle as it as. As he finally reached his bed he sat down heavily on it with relief. He was quiet a few moments longer and tightened his grip on the towel around himself, hugging it tighter. "Thank you."
Roth O'Connell "Y' welcome." He replied, finding himself a place to perch upon in the form of a wooden chair which he dragged over to Far's bedside. His gaze stayed upon Far's form and more importantly his face. Their eyes met a few times, always seemed to be Far who let his gaze flit away when the minutes ticked away. Though Roth was sure there was an instance where they both departed their staring contest at the same time. "Y' need t' lay down. Be good on yer backside." He said, voice firm in the conviction of nursing the other back to health. "Res' would be good t'..lots o' res'."
Far Dorcha Their eyes were skirting around each other due to the awkward circumstances, and in an absurd way it helped to ease Far Dorcha's shame to be acting so silly with another. He nodded at the others firm suggestions. "I will rest. I don't think I could stop it if I wanted to." He grew quiet and let his eyes drift off again, making no move at all to dress or rest. "Could you...brush my hair?" It was a matter of vanity for him, to be certain, his long black and silken hair. But it also served to soothe his nerves almost as well as meditation. He didn't think he could achieve it himself without causing more harm than good.
Roth O'Connell The request threw him for a loop and Roth could only blink once then twice before he gave a throaty cough. "I could do tha'." He said, unstraddling the chair he had found to stand and look about the room for something with which he could brush out Far's long hair. He located an ornate silver brush on the dresser and took it with care. The way he handled the object was with extreme delicacy for it seemed such a small and delicate thing. Roth then moved over to the bed and sat upon it. The frame of it gave a groan and the goose feathered mattress sagged under his girth. A small second of hesitation struck him then, but Roth drew the brush up and swept it down through those dark silky strands of hair. Focus seemed to riddle his faceas he kept with his even yet gentle brush strokes.