There were sayings, or so Campion had heard, that time healed all wounds. But Campion couldn’t bring himself to agree with that. Time spread infection, time led to gangrene and to unwanted amputations. His black eye, care of Percival Snoddgrass was sufficiently healed and his letter of apology to Tallulah had been received and accepted whole heartedly- and yet he still felt the growth of rot somewhere deep inside.

He fitted the dives well then. A rot on Vienda as it was. No place more so than these twisting alleys, rusted perambulators and bathtubs laying out in the street, forgotten toys scattered and broken. What happened to these children, that their wares should be abandoned in the streets so? Had they grown up, what even became of the children of whores?

Glancing over at his two companions Campion hoped they weren’t disturbed by what they had seen on the walk through the dives. By wailing toothless women and harsh eyed men covered in grime, smog and ink black smoke dancing over chimneys, clinging to the rain as it burst through grey clouds turning the water strange and acidic in taste and smell. He’d always been disturbed at first, afraid and often angry. But he was too tired to twitch with nerves these days, too exhausted to feel righteous indignation for these people, for anyone but himself. It was not fair that he should be stuck here. No one man could ever change the world.

Neither could three, thought Campion looking rather despondently Tallulah and Bain. Campion was a wreck all bones and eyes and moustache, but even he stood out among the humans- Bain and Tallulah could have been gods or monsters their differences were so acute. Quite what the girl’s would make of them, Campion wasn’t sure.

Cook’s place was the privately debauched galdor’s brothel of choice, with its perfume and incense masking the stink of sex the same way it’s tumbles caked on makeup and wore pretty dresses that had been gifts from gentlemen for their favourite girls. It made for a first class experience, with first class girls and a first class price range. Campion had learnt nothing in these last few months if he had not learnt that he was not a first class man.

Campion stopped finally, down one of the dankest streets the dives had to offer, the smell of excrement, ammonia and gin and hot, wet trash all too pungent. The front appeared to be one of a shop, a grotty bay window jutting out into the street like a splinter in the eye, and wonky curtain obscuring the view from within. Campion could tell it was not as busy as usual; The Laced Mutton tended to be attractive for human clientele with the bargain bucket prices and Campion had specifically chosen a time slightly before clocking off.

As it was, a few girls sat on windowsills on the second floor, peering out into the street below, slips around their shoulders, not bothering to put anything over their underthings.

Stopping he tried to summon a grin for Tallulah. He’d chosen this place because it was the most wretched he knew, full of the most degenerate men and desperate girls. He’d never forget one weeping girl who must have been five months with child on her knees in front of a red faced human man, begging him to pay to spend the night with her. And Campion never felt more wretched than when he came here. And yet he came back. Time and time again.

He would have liked to have fostered some kind of affection for a few of the girls, and there were a few who came close- but they were so embittered, most of them harsh faced things past their salad days and well into the fish course, who spat and were missing teeth, and pissed in the street and did nothing all day but drink gin and see to the customers. It was not their fault for the most part of course, and he did so want to feel fondness but they made it difficult. And they reminded him of himself, of his worst parts. They reminded him of his mistakes . And yet they helped him hide from them too.

“I often use tumbles as nude models,” said Campion, trying not to make it too obvious that this was a place he visited regularly. But those conclusions were likely already being jumped too- he had told them they were going to a brothel but not about his connection to it. Hadn’t really known what to say. He was still a golly after all and radical or not it really was hard to talk about these things without feeling quite dreadfully awkward. “All of the classic painters did. Of course they would apply artistic licenses here and there and a prostitute being asked to pose might find herself hanging in a gallery as Alioe herself! I don’t want to do any of that. I want to call a spade a spade. A prostitute is a prostitute.”

One of the girls in the window blew a kiss and Campion and he coughed nervously, recognising her as ‘what’s her face’ or perhaps ‘thinagmy’, he never could tell those two apart. Or was thingamy the one with the scar? No way to tell really, not with all those clothes she had on. “They can sit still for a surprisingly long amount of time and I pay them the same as…well…it just means that they don’t have to do that while they’re sitting for me.”

He tugged his shirt nervously and smiled again, “Well, shall we go in and pick a girl or two? Sometimes you find children about too, dreadful place to be raised really.”

There was not a more miserable sight in all Vienda than what was before him here right now. Rivers of ruin and destitution a more fitting name than the poorly suitable description of city streets. Decay was apparent in every line of every sallow building and hovel home. Garbage and piles of sewage interchangeable with the huddled bedraggled bodies that cluttered the corners almost identical with each other. Shuffling personages, scampering hollow children with large haunted eyes, crones and men aged far past their time... it was unlike anything he had ever seen.

Bain was ecstatic. Like a child would have their first time at a zoo Bain craned his head every which way trying to observe every detail, his eyes wide and intent as they darted from place to place. His reaction not atypical to those viewing an elaborate museum, with marvels to awe and amaze upon every turn: paintings of kings, statues of mythical beings … But this?

This cesspool of filth and decay and dying things was as marvelous to him as ever those hallowed halls could be. Beauty is ever in the eyes of the beholder, and to the artist, perhaps even more so.

Having spent most of his life, his years of study in his dedication to pursuing his profession, Bain had spend much of his time in producing things pleasing to the eye, capturing things already beautiful and recreating them. Although ones interpenetration of beauty in regards to the several commission pieces he has had to produce over the years is a very loose term indeed, they were none the less, on a majority, pleasing to the eye... perhaps, if one could even go as far as to say, even boring... if you excluded his own personal studies of course.

This though, after years of that, was like a breath of fresh air. Well, Bain wrinkled his nose, perhaps not entirely fresh, but if his breathing was shallow the shortness of his breath was at least partially due to his overwhelming excitement.

It was just so deliciously grunge. His hands itched to grab his sketchbook at once, his surroundings just entirely too fascinating for him to ignore. The colors, the shades, the way the buildings practically sagged one upon the other, the ever present wrinkles upon every face- even the young. It just had such... character, such weather-beaten weariness about it all. He could hardly walk strait, his mind dizzy with inspiration... or perhaps that was the ammonia.

Finally they had reached their destination. Here the squalor seemed its absolute thickest, the decrepit house of ill repute shoddy beyond all preconceived notions, tattered remains of some long ago attempt of allure hanging about it in an air of haggard resignation like the threadbare shears that lay limp in the gray smudged windows. It reeked of desperation that was echoed in the faces and dull eyes of the prostitutes that lay about in sloven, lazy lasciviousness.

Bain practically bounced on his heels as he took it all in, his eyes finding shapes and forms, colors and shades and textures all so enrapturing that he almost missed hearing Mr. Luccullis as he spoke to Tallulah.

“Yes, yes,” Bain said, delight in the very tenor of his voice, “We must get started at once!”

Tallulah felt sick. It was all so much. Too much. She just couldn’t seem to separate herself from the streets and the buildings and the gray sky, hanging like bags under the eyes of a wretched woman. She ached for it all. She ached for the children, the abandoned toys. She wanted to take them all and hold them to her bosom and tell the rancor, tell the grime and dirt and decay that this wasn’t all. There was beauty still. There was hope.

Gods, the streets reminded her so much of veins. Misery like blood flowing through them and centering around some sort of unseen heart that pumped it in and out of the crapheap, filling the air with a smell more pungent than sewage. It was the smell of desperation, of loneliness, of something so immensely real and universal that it made Tallulah cringe internally. It made her insides twist with loss.

It felt like some parasite had worked its way out from the very mortar of the buildings and slid across the cobblestones to nestle in her bowels. The thing was damp, cold, wet, sliding on a scaly underbelly across the streets and creeping its way under Tallulah’s skirts, wrapping itself around her foot and slithering up her leg. Black and oozing, the spirit of the dives had her. It was curled inside her stomach, dripping clammy anxiousness and vulgarity and sorrow into the palms of her hands, whispering remorse with a forked tongue in her ear, filling her sinuses with death and coating the back of her tongue with hate.

But not hate for those who were sundered from the daylight at forced into this place. Not even those who went willingly, arms opened to everything she’d never imagined. No, what she hated was herself. Her separateness. Her disassociation with the people- not the world, not the emotions, but the actual people who wondered through the dark walkways and basked in the sickly glow of those puss-yellow streetlamps- is what made her so very. . . other.

When Campion had sent her the note, she’d been delighted. Naturally, she’d told her “new friend,” Bain, who’d seemed delighted at the thought of such an excursion. Also, he’d informed her that his gentile nature would not allow him to leave a lady unaccompanied. It had seemed a good idea, at the time.

But looking at him, seeing the excitement in his eyes when Tallulah could barely keep herself from shuddering . . . It made that snake that’d curled itself in the deepest recess of her mind grow even heavier. She was nearly dragging her feet by the time they reached the brothel.

It looked like the remnants of someone else’s life. It looked like the left over bits of tea, the flakes at the bottom of the cup, the dregs. Oh, I see you’re done with that house. Let me take that for you, Madame. I’ll just set that down over here, where these left-over people can come with their left-over hope and left-over dresses and painted lips and makeup and Tallulah saw the kiss.

She saw it, and it was almost . . . ironic. Almost. She was unable to speak and keep her carefully neutral expression, so she nodded and followed- sketchbook and charcoal at the ready.

The weather was typical for Hamis, the sky overcast and grey, showing no signs of ever revealing any sliver of sun. A cold, wet drizzle hung on the Dives like a shroud, and the buildings this far in seemed to draw the gloom further into themselves. Still, the rain washed away a bit of the smell of piss and garbage, and afterwards the streets did look so much cleaner. That, not mention how good miserable days were good for business. Nothing drove men to seek the comfort of a woman's embrace-- even such embrace as could be found in the arms of the soiled doves of the Laced Mutton --quite like the rainy season. The girls were almost sad to see it end, this weather that put men in their cups and in the brothels.

Tumble-girls had all arranged themselves in a semi-circle in the main room of the brothel, drinking cheap peach schnapps, playing poker and waiting. They spend much of their days waiting for johns to walk through the front door, purses heavy with coin. Ann, the one who had blown the kiss to Campion from the window, turned around when a kid tugged sharply at the hem of her drawers. Hissing at him to get lost or regret it-- was he Joan's? Libby's? --it struck her as odd that they had all come together.

Three galdor, wandering around in the Dives? Luccullis, well they knew Luccullis. The one with the fetish for blondes, real or fake. Bit odd, that one, so skinny a stiff breeze could carry him off, but an alright sort as far as johns went. Harmless enough. The other two? The other two seemed... classier. They didn't live in the Dives, that was for sure.

"Bunny," Ann said, still lounging about out the window and furrowing her brows in concentration, "got three golly erses wanderin' towards our front door and only one of the lot is that one what all we know."

Bunny was a large woman, well into the end of her middle age. She had a mean streak a mile wide and cursed better than half the sailors on the docks-- it was Bunny's job to keep the girls in line. Still had customers, even at her age, and swore up and down that she was ten years younger.

Roughly Ann was shoved aside so Bunny could get a better look out the window. Stupid chit of a girl was right, three plum toffin erses wandering themselves up to the Mutton. Che! Bunny spat, annoyed. That many gollies weren't ever nothing but trouble. Trouble or Seventen, which were usually the sa--

Bunny stood bolt upright. "Joan," she said, voice as stiff as she could manage, and Joan (small, part-Mugrobi, missing most of her teeth) turned from her hand at poker with a rude noise, "let 'em in." Joan grumbled but obliged, a few other girls following partially out of curiosity, and partially hoping to make a little money.

Campion nodded at the girl who opened the door, glancing down the street. No bows, no handshakes- you didn’t ask about the weather, inquire after anyone’s health. Converstion was unnecessary for the most part, just a stiff incline of the head and darting of the eyes past the door frame to the gloomy parlor. “Is Bunny about?” said Campion, the conversational tone in his voice a clear indication that he’d said this innumerable times though the name of the little dark one always had and no doubt always would evade him.

Little yellow pebbles scattered about her mouth in a false approximation of a set of teeth and a rather pleasant complexion- a color to compliment the interior of the brothel. Campion found himself studying the girls with only artistic intent. He wasn’t sure if that had ever happened before.

He gestured to the door, to indicate that Tallulah could enter before him. The only lady to be found within miles of this Alioe forsaken place, she looked rather ill as well. All that white hair standing out among the gloom and grime. Pure as driven snow in all of their sludge. Biting his lip, Campion wondered if he hadn’t done it again, overestimated her, done something awful to cause her a lot of distress. Tugging at her dress gently he said in a quiet voice, close to her ear so only she could hear. “It’s always bad the first time, but don’t get too sucked in. Don’t let them overtake you. There’s a difference between humanitarian concern and being eaten up inside.”

Because that’s what Campion had done, let guilt eat him up when he should have been eating sandwiches. Sure he felt pity for these people. But what use was pity to anyone? Useless, embarrassing emotion that it was.

Straightening up, he couldn’t quite bring himself to wink at Bain, not here- he might have disgusted himself so much he would have to vomit on the front mat. But it wasn’t as if that hadn’t happened before. “Raw, right?” he nodded to Bain who for some reason seemed to be enjoying himself. It was all slightly perverse if you asked Campion- though he definitely couldn’t talk, cruising the Mutton for cheap blondes and then bringing people he’d met at an art show along for the ride. Maybe he was that type, the golly gentlemen who frequented Cook’s for fun, or because the site of their wives were getting monotonous. Not like the folk at the Mutton. Whoring wasn’t some hobby here like it was for the golly fellas…no, Campion was a golly fella- gentleman.

He swept through behind his two guests, ushering them into the brothel like a mother duck might do to push her ducklings into water for the first time. And certainly something felt like plunging. Always did.

Taking his hat off (Margaret really shouldn’t have to see any of this), Campion twitched his jaw slightly into the smallest of smiles when he noticed the large, beefy, somewhat matronly woman they called Bunny. The last time he was here, he’d seen exactly why it didn’t do to get on the wrong side of Bunny, whores and paying customers alike. It made him shudder to think even now so he simply said to her in a calm voice, that awful golly tendency to talk down to other races mostly gone- that’d been flushed out of him in the first visit, or the second. Politer than a human but not so much of a toffin, not at least for someone who had oozed good breeding once upon a time. Poor Hyzenthlay Luccullis if only she could see where all of her training had got her youngest son, here in this cheap dives brothel.

“Bunny, we'll need a couple of girls for a few hours. You know I’m good for the coin.” Better than most of the humans, the drunks with their families waiting at home, Campion didn’t have taxes to pay or a child to feed or anything like that- praise Alioe.

He jerked his head to Bain and Tallulah, two awkward bookends standing together. “And I can vouch for them. Friends of mine, even.” Well, that could be pushing it slightly- Campion still remembered the pressure of Bain’s hand over his shoulder after disgracing himself at the art show.

Eaten up inside? That was laughable, really. Tallulah was already gone. She was gone like the sun from those streets, like youth from the face of a prostitute, like hope. She was gone but still very much there. She was very much with it as it was very much with her.

Tallulah hadn't been lost to the Dives, not in that short amount time. No, she'd left long before that. She was packed inside a suitcase, nestled in the darkest shadow in the room, buried under layers upon layers of brushstrokes and petticoats.

She was in a place she didn't belong and she wanted to swallow it. She wanted to swallow the Dives- those left over buildings- all of the death and the dirt and even that darkness that seemed to coil itself about her like a metal vise. That dark voice whispered in her ear secret, quiet things. Things about what lay between the cracks on the floor and in between the folds of skirts and skin.

She wanted to draw them. Draw the girl with the missing teeth, draw the two in the window. She wanted to keep them locked inside of her. Keep them safe.

She was still quiet.

Still white against the women and their bestial grime, but she'd shifted. She suddenly had a purpose, something keeping her grounded. Something keeping her whole. The ache was still there, yes, but she didn't feel quite so lost.

Reaching rather absentmindedly into her pocket, she clutched a sliver of charcoal between her fingers. She could do this. They reminded her so much of herself in the way they twisted, turned, almost writhed even as they were still. They lacked hope, but she could tell they dreamed, just like Tallulah- but only very secretly. And she could handle it- really, she could.

She only then realized that she'd been standing, staring off at nothing in particular for quite some time. Campion had been talking, she could tell, but the words had been lost on her.

She shook her head as she tried to break whatever had come over her. Tallulah was here for a reason. Emotions were to be saved for the canvas and sketchpad.

The door opened and Bain had to struggle to prevent himself from literally squirming in anticipation. His eyes, however, had no such restrictions or reins, darting about as he took in the faces and forms, peered to catch a glimpse of the interior they were soon to be within. Bain took a step back to allow Ms. Anatine to enter first, like a proper gentleman... although his desire to barge in and take charge of the arrangement so that they would be at wonderful work as soon as possible was strong within him.

Bain could only nod dumbly as Mr. Luccullis addressed him, for his wandering eyes had suddenly been captured by the sight of Ms. Anatine standing within that doorway, framed by the two scraggly whores whom had allowed them entrance.

The sight was Raw, as he had said... although that hardly began to encompass it all. Tallulah stood immobile, like a shaft of the purest moonlight frozen in time, like a white marble pillar that seemed to tower in the entrance. The human women, although much taller, seemed miniscule in comparison, their bodies loose from child baring yet thin, sagged with hunger and time and wear. They shuffled and sniffed, or slumped upon the floor in lax limbs, looking organic as the poor coarse wood and dusty stonework about them.

The overwhelming contrast, the incongruity of her presence... their presence here was almost beyond his ability to describe. If he had been exited before, he now burned to set to work. Contrast, such wonderful, discomforting contrast that unsettled even as it drew the eye... that was to be the theme, the purpose of this experience here.

Bain could tell that Ms. Anatine was not unaffected, for all her statuesque front. Her field was under impeccable control, in a manner he had experienced only briefly before. It was smooth as glass, a frozen surface belaying the raging forces unseen beneath. That, most of all, called to his artistic soul... a siren call beckoning him to struggle through his shortcomings and failings, to capture as no one else had. How could you capture such feeling? No color, no taste, no sight to be had... just endless feeling.

Bain shook his head once, knocking away the rapturous imaginings. Now was not the time to get lost in one's thoughts, now was the time for now and that called for the most immediate action.

“I have coin as well,” Bain said, returning to his heel-bouncing, impatiences creeping into his voice only mostly overwhelmed by his apparent eagerness, “Enough to pay for all your girls, should I require it. We must begin at once. Time is of the essence and I cannot wait much longer.”

However "raw" the sight of the girls was to the group of galdori, Bunny most assuredly didn't like the looks of the three of them much. The girls didn't either, nervously tittering from their sprawled-out positions on the floor. Campion was a face they new, and he never caused them trouble none, but them two? They seemed... off. Something about them just wasn't right. One or two of the girls cast nervous glances upstairs until Bunny kicked one (Doreen, younger than most and just a little too soft around the middle lately) and hissed at the others to stop. That other fellow and the lady, Bunny didn't trust them any further than they could throw her.

She almost snorted when Bain mentioned money. Of course he had money-- all gollies had money, didn't they? That's just what they were for. Bunny couldn't imagine any other use for them-- they didn't seem much good at anything else.

Joan skulked around the outer edge of the room, making eyes at Bain like he was some sort of roast-- or a particularly fat purse. For her own self, Ann had wandered back to the group of card-players, still rubbing her arm where Bunny had shoved her. Wasn't right, that Bunny pushing the lot of them around like she did. Why one day the Mutton'd be hers, she just knew it. Every john she ever did have had told her so. Suddenly Ann's face lit up in a sort of wicked grin. She kept a firm eye on Tallulah as she leaned over to the girl next to her (making sure to peek at her cards).

"Oi," she whispered, keeping her voice low and conspiratorial. "D'you know 'bout them golly women?" The girl shook her head, mildly annoyed at Ann's attitude. Ann hitched her skirts and shuffled closer, the entire ring of cardplayers drawing in closer together. "Them golly women, I heard what they all have relations with each other 'steada men like normal folk." At this, half the girls wrinkled their noses in vague disgust, though one of the girls turned contemplative for a moment before quickly matching her face to the others'.

"I bet," and now Ann's eyes are all alight, "That plum odd one, the lady, I bet she's got loadsa coin." Now all the girls turned contemplative. If any of the three had looked over at that moment, they would have seen a mildly disturbing sight-- a circle of women of various ages, figures, and states of undress, all staring at Tallulah in a most cannibalistic fashion. Ann, satisfied with a job well done, got up to see what all it was that Bunny was up to.

Bunny, as it turned out, had been greeting the three the entire time. "Right this way then." She made an expansive gesture with her arm to the main room of the Mutton. Every so often her eyes would dart up to the ceiling, as if she were trying to see into the private rooms above. Her motions were more controlled than usual, and Campion, who had seen her more than once, would notice that something about her was off-kilter. Jumpy, that's how Bunny seemed-- if you knew her. To anyone else she seemed her usual mountainous self.

"I ent got any idea what your tastes is like, love," she was addressing Bain as she spoke, directing the three gollies to a broken-down couch against the far wall. "But I got girls for any taste. Ent that right, Mr. Luccullis?" The pasty one what seemed like she'd seen some kind of unfriendly spirit she didn't quite know what to say what all to.

Not so with the poker girls, who ever more gradually were inching their ways closer. The look about them was one of hunger, and not for food.

Bain’s tastes. Campion snorted, from what he’d seen the other golly man’s type was on canvas and smelt of paint stripper and turpentine. Though to be fair, so did some of the better smelling girls here. But he coughed at Bunny’s own reference to his personal tastes, those were private, besides he really didn’t like all the inference that he was a customer, it was true, but that didn’t mean he had to like it.

“Yes,” he said trying to sound breezy, “I mean there is a certain type of girl I like to work with. But there’s lots of different shapes, sizes- for practice, you know.”

Seeing her appear at Bunny’s side Campion gave Ann a quick nod and a, “Hullo you, you’re looking well” it was a cheerful sort of ‘you’ mostly because he couldn’t remember her name but partly because the last time he’d seen her she’d been totally naked and well, artistic expression and brothels and everything else aside there was always that niggling feeling in the back of his mind that this was wrong, and even if he was paying them then he should at least be polite.

“If you want someone pretty,” said Campion, “then here’s your girl, classical bone structure.” He was about to lift her chin, to further demonstrate her cheekbones and jawlines with his finger, he’d lost his scruples about touching her a while ago but thought better about it, remembering that it was odd for galdori to be so touchy feely instead sort of doing a weird hand dance around her face like he was sensing some non-existent field with his hand. “I’d go so far as to say you might have had a bit of golly in you somewhere down the line.”

He laughed weakly at his own inappropriateness because really it wasn’t funny at all before catching himself and hoping that Bain hadn’t heard him. It was slimy, this sort of business and utterly perverse. Campion did not noticed the other whores peering at Tallulah, instead looking at Bunny, not able to put his finger on the slight offness about the hooker built like a chrove, something in her manner that didn’t exactly put him at ease.

“Uhm, business seems to be going well” tried Campion, trying to figure out the reason behind her discomfort. Golly’s of course made humans nervous, but the first time he’d been to the Mutton she hadn’t been like this.

“Ms Anatine!” he looked carefully at Lu, Bain seemed to be looking at her like some picture on the wall- paints and canvas were of course his type but for all his looking and looking he wasn’t saying much and Campion knew that look on her face. Dangerous look. The kind of look that made mistakes.

“You’re quiet,” he said softly. “Pick out a girl who take’s you’re fancy,” his voice must have been audible to the prostitutes “unless you’re having second thoughts. Because if you are Lu, we can leave, really- any time you like,” he said seriously looking at Bain bouncing around the room claiming he couldn’t wait one moment longer before painting. Honestly, Campion knew painters who let art engulf them but even they had at least one toe if not a whole foot grounded in reality. Bain seemed to be floating in his own world, lost among shapes and oil paints. It was faintly endearing and also made Campion slightly jealous.

“That is if Bain doesn’t get out the watercolors this very instance,” he chuckled, serious face smiling, that awful mustache spreading. “I’ve never seen a person have such fun in a brothel with their trousers on…sorry miss, that was crude,” Campion caught himself quickly.

Tallulah almost laughed at Bain. He was practically vibrating. But it seemed so wrong a thing to do- especially here. Especially when she was trying to shut the world out and focus on this girl or that.

It wasn't that she was lacking inspiration; what she was lacking was focus. She needed one. One thing. One thing to pour herself into. Lu could see a sketch form in her mind each time her eyes flicked to a new face, new hand, new bare shoulder.

She could see Mr. Luccullis's hesitance. Poor thing- still trying to be polite. That wall had vanished long ago. It never was really formed.

She still stood quietly, even as Campion told her about how pretty this one was, how much like a golly she looked. But Tallulah didn't want that. She didn't want some damned pretty thing- no, she wanted vulgarity. She wanted something horrid. She wanted someone who was every bit as wrong for a portrait as Tallulah was for a brothel and she wanted sex.

Not in the literal sense, of course, but she wanted flesh. She was still as stone, her eyes looking over the women, even as they stared at her like a pack of rabid banders, flee-bitten and yet somehow . . . different.

She was reaching out to one of the girls when Campion said her name. She spared him a look, before brushing the hair out of the woman's eyes. It was a surprisingly mothering gesture- one Tallulah hadn't believed herself capable of.

But there it was, none the less.

And then there was a rather crude joke made, and 'Miss Anatine' burst out in laughter, her head tossed back and her eyes closed. Really, that was rich. She'd said far worse in her day. Silly boy.

"Really, there's no need. And . . . I'd like her. And her." Surprisingly, she'd chosen the girl Campion had feathered his hand around, the pretty one. And she'd also pointed to another girl, the one who's hair she'd brushed aside.

She pulled a purse out of her pocket. It was heavy. Overly so. But Tallulah didn't mind- not one bit. At least they'd use the damn coins.

Assuming that the introductions had been concluded satisfactorily, Bain took that as permission to roam and began his exploration of his surroundings, not quite flitting about from corner to corner but doing a rather good impression of it for someone who had not yet broken out of a normal walking pace.

Bain was now digging blindly in his satchel, both hands occupied with the task of withdrawing his sketchbook and charcoal box while still keeping the strap upon his shoulder as his eager face turned this way and that trying to decide on a subject. His eyes caught sight of the hungry gathering upon the floor as they gazed at Ms. Anatine like some tasty dish, the mental picture of starving banders on the prowl popped into his mind, but he passed over them as not quite what he was looking for (although if he were to define what that was he would be hard pressed to do so, being more gut feeling than actual conceived thought).

Finally his roving attention chanced across a certain dark corner and Bain knew he had his subject. Lurking about the fringes, she gazed upon him from the shadows with that same feral want of the others, made all the more potent by her isolation. Too coarse and used to be considered dainty, the part Mugrobi child had that … certain something, whatever it was, that captured the full attention of the artist.

“You, child, come here,” Bain spoke almost gently, an eager light appearing in his eyes as he beckoned to her, gloved hand like that of a magician or some wick snake charmer, summoning her from her shadows even as its mate scrambled to open the sketchbook to a clean page all its own.

“Ms. Anatine,” Bain called to her, his voice rising with his excitement, “I shall require your assistance … just a moment of your time, please- Ah!”

His hands fumbled for a moment, and he scrambled to keep from dropping the accumulated clutter he had gathered into his arms, looking part baffled novice, part inglorious buffoon and nothing at all the stately galdor he should have been.

“Ah, where are we setting up?” Bain asked as he managed to reclaim control over his rebellious things.

Lita was new.

Lita was not young, but Lita was new. Mother of two but still trim enough, she'd fallen on hard times. Worked as best she could, keeping her brats in line. Sometimes she let them come 'round the Mutton, to visit. Lita was a right decent sort of woman, she really was. So when Lu's fingers ghosted across her forehead, she snapped back like she'd been burned.

"Toffin--! I ent no kinda Tin Lizzie, you can pay some other whore what to touch yer minge, ya lousy--!" Here Lita was cut off by a sharp smack from Bunny. The much larger woman leaned over Lita, face thunderous. Ann rolled her eyes. Nothing but what she was asking for, mouthing off to a john like that. She'd learn. She was busy being pleased at being called pretty, too busy to worry about Lita and how big a bruise that smack on the mouth would leave. Bunny let loose a string of threats to Lita's personage should she ever say something like that again, before straightening and turning back towards the two left on the couch.

For her own self, Joan tried not to let it show on her face how much she didn't want to be any kind of "child", but if that's what he was into... Joan shrugged, thinking of the coin in his purse and not the screws loose in his head.

Bunny was just about to apologize for Lita's behaviour, to try and smooth things over when she heard a voice from upstairs. A boy's voice, young but not a child, wafting down the stairs. Bunny snapped her head to the stairs before whipping back around to Campion and Tallulah.

"We have private rooms, o' course, if you all want to go together...?" She hadn't thought that's where golly tastes ran, but she hadn't thought it ran to her Mutton either 'til Campion had first started coming 'round.

He was going to laugh, he really was when the whore called Tallulah an oh-what did she say?- a tin Lizzie. It was there, in the back of his throat, a buzzing bee lapping up schadenfreude like honey escaping into one short guffaw that was cut all to short by the smack of a fist against skin. Not so funny then. Not funny at all really.

Campion jumped as Bunny’ fists collided with the girl’s mouth, the one who had insulted Tallulah. It wasn’t an exterior jump, not nearly so dramatic as that, but something small and jittery inside twitching in disgust, his collar bone bulging and protruding from papery skin nervously. He didn’t like seeing girls get hit, but it was Bunny’s whorehouse and what was he supposed to do? Nothing he could do really but slide a hand up his arm, rolling his sleeves around his elbows. He reminded himself, for one brief awful moment of his brother, of that utter lack of empathy of Vervain doing nothing but relieve himself while his little brother had seven shades kicked out of him. But what could he do? It wasn’t his place. Wasn’t his world even though he would slip through it like some strange golly shadow. It wasn’t his problem.

That girl wasn’t his problem, nor whatsherface, nor Tallulah who seemed bent on proving herself, nor Triston for that matter, and no good came of thinking they were. He tried thinking that, wishing himself to be convinced of the matter, but it really didn’t work. When Campion’s sleeves were rolled up fully he stretched out his palms, long knobbly fingers on large hands. He didn’t look at the girl, didn’t look at Tallulah, just at his hands. “I think we’d just like the one room. One in the front where the light is better if you would be so kind, Bunny.” Fishing into his pockets, pawing past scrunched papers and sticky pear drops, he assembled the right amounts of coin for the one girl, whatsherface’s usually rate and held it out to Bunny.

It was an A, maybe, Aimee or Annie, he did wish he could remember but he tipped his head at her, whatever her name was, she was pretty and always co-operative and that seemed like the most important thing. Touching her wristbone lightly with the pad of his index and forefinger indicating that they both knew the drill.

Hearing that Bain needed assistance, Campion went to him and nodded a curt little bow, still not entirely sure how he felt about this other galdor. But what he was sure was that he didn’t particularly want Bain to do or say anything about what had just happened, feeling the same tactlessness in Bain that he felt in himself. “Anything I can help you with? We really should go upstairs now.”

And Tallulah too, Campion placed a hand on her shoulder. She shouldn’t have done what she did, but she wasn’t to know. Couldn’t predict. He smiled at her, sort of a ‘these crazy humans eh?’ grin “Time to get down to it, if you will.”

Tin Lizzy, though. It was still kind of funny.

The whore's outburst was put to an end as quickly as it had begun. At the startling and unexpected sound of the woman's voice, Bain whipped his head to their direction, his wide eyes did not miss Bunny's swift and decisive punishment.

Bain frowned slightly at this display. He normally did not agree with violence towards women. Lady galdori are to be given the utmost respect, and a man raising his hand against such would be an unforgivable sin. And while Bain would not stand up champion for such as lowly human whores, as he would a galdori lady, they are still essentially women...

Violence between women, however, was none of his affairs. Still the concept of such actions was for the most part foreign to his cultured mind and he found his first sight of it to be distasteful and quite unbecoming.

'How barbaric,' Was the only thought that crossed his mind, apparent only in the slight furrowing of his brow in displeasure of being distracted from his mental compositions. Still, once again, none of his affairs; he should not have expected more from such uncivilized children. They are only human after all.

Now there was a kind of tension in the air that had not been there before. Bain was most displeased. It would distract them from the work at hand, the free flowing spirits of inspiration halted by this sticky mass of unspoken words and unpleasant situations. It would be best to depart this room quickly, lets it linger about them like the pungent odor of stale perfume the prostitutes wore.

“I'm quite alright,” Bain blinked , turning to reply to Campion and nodding his agreement. He cast a concerned glance towards Ms. Anatine. This display could not have helped the woman feel settled in the least...

Bain hoped this would not hinder her remarkable talents any. It would be quite the shame to have this opportunity wasted.

And suddenly the golly was laughing, all of her pale splendor alight with a serious case of the giggles before the human woman had even finished her little- oh. Oh. Oh. That was . . . Well. Tallulah's insides flipped once more, her stance becoming rigid and sharp, much like her field.

Campion's look went unnoticed, his words lost on her. Tallulah had become rooted to the spot, her mind buzzing. She was no stranger to blood, to bruises. The Good Lady knew it. But seeing Bunny strike down her muse, simply for speaking her mind was so completely horrible that the snake what had curled itself inside of her tightened and flexed, causing bile to sting the back of Tallulah's throat.

She had never been one to care for her own kind. Just as callous to them as they had been to her, she tried to keep herself away- closed to emotions that could lead her into a deeper sort of grave than that which she had already dug herself.

But the crapheap had already torn a layer of her away and seeing Lita so disgraced was like adding insult to injury. The woman had done nothing but state her opinion- something that was the right of any aristocrat. Any man or woman worth their weight in salt, gold, blood . . .

The whores, though dirty, though "lesser", though looking at her with that heated, disgusting greed and hate, were still women. Mothers. Daughters. Sisters.

And so, when the men simply turned away, acting like nothing had happened, it seemed only natural that Lu would stay, looking at the woman who'd been struck. Still looking Lita, she spoke to Bunny.

"She had every right to call me that, you know." Here she turned to the overly-large woman, who just happened to be walking away. Tallulah's jaw was set and her mouth was in a curling line- not mocking, just sort of . . . there.

"Not that it's any of my business."

Bunny understood this woman now, much as she could ever understand any golly. All that magic addled the mind. Must do, or else they were all well and truly mad. Rich folk made very little sense, she'd observed. This one, though, now Bunny understood. She was one of them what would come down here every so often, come to gander and wring their hands over the "wretched poor" and treat them "the same" so they could feel very much better about themselves in the morning. Learned to spot them a mile off, she had. Didn't like them much, either. She and her girls, they did very fine without no high-class sense of pity.

Wasn't Bunny who spoke up, though, but Lita. Bruised, angry Lita who spat on the floor at their golly feet. "Yer damn right it ent," Lita snapped. Defended! By some toffin magical Lizzie! Wounded her pride it did, more than any slap from Bunny ever could. Leastaways the slap'd been earned. She didn't do nothing to earn no defense from the golly lady. It felt too much like owing her a favor, and Lita made a point of owing no favors to nobody.

"Really now Lita," Ann interjected. Ann made a habit of trying to put on airs she certainly didn't have when any big-money johns were about. Came out now in her awkward imitation of the rounded vowels and more elegant rhythms of a higher class of Estuan than she'd ever learnt. "Can't ye--you see she wer--was only tryin' to be-- polite?" Ann smiled oh so very sweetly at Tallulah. Tits on full display, too, and if her tits didn't tempt the Lizzie, well. Ann just wouldn't know what way was up any more. Ann didn't quite understand their angle, but she didn't really figure much that she needed to. Rich people, eh? Don't need to know why they wanted her for her what to get paid. Same as when someone wanted to tie her up or something-- she just didn't care about their motivations so much as their purses.

The whole spectacle Ann and Lita were making of themselves wasn't of any much concern to Bunny. Let Ann act the high and mighty tart-- the other girls would bring her down soon as soon. She was more concerned with getting them out of her parlor as quickly as possible. After they paid, of course.

"Joan!" Joan started. Until then she'd been staring on in a kind of passive reverie, just wanting this whole thing to be done and on to the part where she took off her clothes. "Take yer-- gentleman, and show him-- well," she amended, "all of 'em to the big room." The big room was for groups, specifically. Most popular for men about to get married-- or divorced-- the big room always meant big money for the Mutton. Joan nodded, doing her best not to sulk while she put her hand on Bain's arm (and touched him just a little more than was required, figuring as she best spice it up some, get it in the right direction). She couldn't repress a little shudder at feeling a field so close.

Ann! Yes, that was it. Campion remembered now, the one who had put on the funny voice. The one who was, flashing her assets at Tallulah. That made for an interesting thought to ponder on, not for long, just a brief pondering. He liked the new one too, Lita, the spitfire. The one who didn’t like gollies, but wasn’t so beaten down by social conventions that she was afraid to spit on the floor in front of them. There he was, getting all mixed up in the wash again, hot water bleeding on colors- letting them get duller, duller until everything was a faint shade of grey. What on Vita had happened to right or wrong?

“I don’t suppose you’d do me a discount?” joked Campion to Ann so no one else could hear, though it was obvious he had the full amount all ready in his hands. “I have a loyalty card.”

He had a choice to make, of course. The gollies were going to be in the big room, painting their poor wretched whores and cooing over how despondently beautiful they were. Campion could of course spin the excuse of simply not being able to paint while others watched and take a room off in the back somewhere. Or he could be an artist. Artist dammit, his brain said, he didn’t get disinherited to sit around in back room’s with whores all day- his brother did that quite comfortably and on his father’s allowance, he was supposed to be doing something good without his parent’s influence. Something good.

“This is for Ann,” he said once again holding out the coin, using her name very pointedly, now that he’d remembered it. Maybe that was the sign right there that he’d been here too many times. “I’d like her with us in the big room too, if it’s possible.”

“If I am not mistaken,” he smiled at Tallulah, out of earshot, “they definitely think you are a customer,” he grinned a small toffin smile that suggested this was a splendid concept, “what a surprise they will get when they find out we just want them to pose for us.”

He held out his arm for Tallulah to take as he followed Joan and Bain from the room, into one of the bigger ones upstairs.

Bain mentally nodded his head in agreement with Ms. Anatine, the dealings of humans were beneath the notice of galdor like themselves. Let them squabble between each other like petulant children, but if Tallulah wished to play nanny – as the set of her jaw suggested, that was none of his business either.

The interjection by Ann caught his attention simply by how strange her accent sounded. Poor dear, Bain thought, she must have been some merchants' daughter or something of the like fallen on hard times- or had a speech impediment. Either way, it made not difference to him, and he took the proffered opportunity to admire her bust. It was quite eye catching at the moment- although the poor lighting in this room hardly did it justice.

His thoughts were abruptly ended as the burly Bunny shouted, redirecting Bain's attention to his chosen model. Ah there it was, her startled jump and reluctant approach like some half tamed wild thing re-sparked the inspiration that had been stifled by all this bother and Bain smiled in anticipation of the drawings that would be produced in this endeavor.

Although he really could do without the petting, it was rather distracting and gods know when her hands had been washed last. Still, that disquieting thought was swiftly pushed away, as his attention was redrawn back to Mr. Luccullis as he caught the tale end of what he spoke.

“Well, of course we want them to pose,” Bain scoffed lightly, an affable smile on his face, “Although I am not adverse to free forms myself, should the environment be natural enough. But I have a couple particular positions in mind that I would like to try. And, if your not too busy yourself, Ms. Anatine, I would most appreciate if you would join me in my experiment. I believe the contrast between your softer beauty and the mundaneness of the girls here would provide a delightful contrast, don't you? ”

Lu cocked a brow at Lita, her smile one of mild amusement. The spit was nice, really. Made the whole shrugging-off of help so much less dignified. Gods, she wanted to capture it. The strange, decrepit beauty of Lita and her fire, her rejection. She wanted to befriend the woman, simply because it would be hard to do. And also because she didn't have many friends. Much less friends who spat.

"Charming. Though I hate to-"

But as soon as Lu was about to explain her purpose, Ann was parading like a peacock, all skin and no color- unless one could count the slight splotching of her skin. Though Lu gleaned her meaning (she wasn't completely innocent), the action raised a feeling of disgust in the golly that she'd never felt before. But it was a warm, inspiring disgust. One that could very easily transfer into art.

She knew she wasn't the first one to get this display, and the thought tossed her, momentarily, into a dark place. One where she wondered how a woman like Lita, a girl like Ann, a dreamy thing like Joan could ever have wound up in a place like this. When was the first time they'd opened their legs to the blackness which shrouded this city? For how long had that disgusting wretchedness pressed their backs onto floors, rugs, lumpy mattresses?

But her train of thought was quickly interrupted and swung back to what she'd been saying before Ann had flashed her . . . ah . . . "assets."

Tallulah tossed her head back delicately, letting go with one of those nearly-vulgar laughs on which she prided herself. Her? A customer? Really. The thought was absurd. Completely and totally absurd. She had a perfectly hansom wick somewhere, and besides- cleavage never was to her liking.

She had also been rather apprehensive as to bringing up the subject of their patronage. She'd never been particularly fond of exploiting any person, and with Lita's seemingly strong temper, Tallulah was afraid of what reaction the human might produce.

"I'm no, ah, 'tin Lizzie' . . . Lita, was it?" The golly's smile was cautious. "My name's Lu. You see, I'm afraid I'm strictly here on business." She tapped her sketchbook pointedly, her eyes flickering from the whore and back, inviting the woman with a gesture to walk beside her as she took Campion's arm. "Unless you have a damn good-looking man somewhere in the back . . ." She smiled jokingly, because she was tired of the tension that had grown in the room. She wasn't much one for any type of spite, unless a challenge was involved.

And then Bain was asking her to pose. Fffft. Yes, that was a great idea. Grand, indeed. But he was right . . . the contrast would be undeniable . . . Hmmm. She put a finger to her chin, considering the prospect.

"Yes, though I wouldn't exactly call these women mundane. As an artist, you should be more open to every sort of beauty, Mr. Aquin." Her teasing was light, but there was a bit of truth behind it. He really would have to open himself if he wished to create any sort of masterpiece.

As they walked, she let her mind wonder once more, pushing the darkness into her fingertips, saving it for later use. She was curious as to the poses of which Bain spoke, her sharp eyes flicking to each member of their small party as the stepped into what she assumed to be the "big room."

Lita sniffed. Fine, then, whatever the Lizzie golly wanted her to think, that's what she'd let her say. Ann was tramping about well enough, trollopy little thing she was. They was all in it for business, right enough, but there were just some things Lita wouldn't do. She still as had her pride, and it wouldn't allow flashing her tits to no lady-loving poxy spell-slinger. Ann was an easily-distracted, flighty thing anyway, already chittering and cooing over Campion at the mere mention of anything like being a loyal customer. That was something you heard about sometimes, girl what had some rich man pay them special attention. A whole lot of special attention, and the girl sometimes got to buy her way outta the dirtier parts of the Dives. It weren't nothing any of the lot of them expected, as such.

The "big room" wasn't particularly impressive by galdori standards. It was, however, the largest room in the house aside from the parlor, and all over decorated with plush things. They weren't none of them very fine, but it was clear they were well-kept. The big room wasn't often used-- and it showed. Dust was everywhere, a light coating on all the furniture. The girls had led the gollies up the stairs and to the room, and while they claimed to be artist types... The only golly artist they knew was Campion, and he sure as sure weren't there for the natural lighting.

Under suits and skin, they were all the same really. All these golly men who pretended that they didn’t think in the gutter sometimes too. Yes, Ann was only being nice to him because she was paid to, but Campion’s entire life had been like that. His Nannies changed him, clothed him and played with him because they were paid to, his parents threw lavish parties to get connections, there wasn’t a companion of his mother’s who hadn’t been bought- Hyzenthlay Luccullis had spend millions to step out of the shadows that being the girl who married her significantly older uncle not a few months after her aunt’s suicide had cast upon her. Campion’s friends had all gone when the money dried up, when there were no more parties and no more drinks and the galdor himself had to wonder how long before he would do anything, anything for the money for a ham sandwich.

Money, it made whores of them all really- the galdori were no better, worse even because they pretended to be better.

So yes, he had his hand gripping Ann’s waist as she chattered and flattered him, yes he swept a lock of blonde hair with his fingertips, skimming her breastbone because she was smiling and because it was better than being punched in the bloody face.

“Now,” he said to the gollies, steering both himself and the girl around, arm still around her waist. “I have an idea. These girls are whores and we need to capture them like that. We need to see sensuality,” he smiled at Ann, “do you think you could pose like that?”

He went over to the bed and pulled off the coverlets, stripping off the sheet of the bed. Even if the room wasn’t used often, it was still slightly soiled. Then he grabbed the foot rest at the head of a chair, draping the sheet over that.

Sheepishly he grinned at the galdori, “Now bear with me here. The little spitfire girl, you’ll sit on the floor, elongate your body and your head looking straight at this window. And be as wonderfully defiant as you were downstairs, anger, wounded pride. Just imagine Lu is trying to stroke your hair again,” he winked at Talllulah.

“You’ve seen the portrait, Alioe watches over the Deep Spring? How she sits…like so,” Campion perched on the footstool, suddenly looking uncannily like a virginal young lady staring into a deep pool with both awe and a sense of responsibility. “Well Ann if you could sit like this but, here…”he pointed at Bain, “Is a man you’re trying to seduce. You want him, you need to entice him, but the same time he frightens you. Stretch towards him, be desperate and inviting” He sprang up and stroked her shoulders with a smile, “If anyone knows how to use her body to tell a story, it’s Ann,” he kissed her shoulder lightly, “You’ll be magnificent.”

“Bain I want you standing and very much looking down at Ann, the little dark girl will be curled at your feet like a dog, perhaps if you lightly brushed her cheek like so,” he demonstrated on the whore’s face, “but with condescension, perhaps even revulsion, we’ll play around with expression and poses. I mean I would volunteer myself but, you are a classic galdor, aesthetically pleasing, much more of a contrast than I am. And that would be, Golly Descends to the Dives. Any ideas, Lu? Bain?”

Bain beamed at Tallulah fit to light even the dingiest of corners, “Ah but Miss Anatine, you have misinterpreted my meaning in the use of 'mundane'. The simplest of objects can be rendered beautiful by their own unique characteristics- why even we as students begin with the simplest of objects in learning- boxes, cups and doorknobs: the very objects being mundane- but rendered beautiful by observing its beauty.”

Entering the large room as he spoke, Bain's eyes immediately set to work assessing the qualities of this their backdrop. Rough, well worn-well cared for furnishings- raw wood floors and walls contrasting with the overstuffed, over-plush, fading glamor.

“Contrast,” Bain spoke to Tallulah, but it was more a murmur to himself as his eyes took in with approval Champions arrangement of the bed coverings on the footstool. And although Mr. Luccullis may not have been concerned with lighting, such was a must for Bain.

Striding over to the shuttered window, he whisked away the heavy gauze away as he spoke, “Simple objects have a simple sort of beauty, but when compared with something of fine elegance and craft ship. Like comparing a hewn box of simple wood to that of a engraved ivory chest – why can you not see that there would be such a wondrous contrast? Both of its own beauty, together in incongruity sublime.”

The weak light now shining through the gray window cast a play of soft blue-gray light, highlighting off the dust laden air and leaving shadowed tracks as it bled through the rain drenched glass... a sense of of the damp- dinginess brought to fore, emphasizing the earthiness of their surroundings. Yes, this would be a singular experience without par.

His attention was soon riveted by that of Mr. Luccullis, as the emaciated man directed the soiled doves into poses upon the en-draped stool. Bain watched with pleasant surprise, the man's eye was uncanny- as was his ability for capturing the essence of form within his own skeletal frame- should he ever chose to forgo the blessed work of art, Bain was sure this man would make a healthy living as an actor... perhaps a better one than he was now. Still, Bain could find no fault with the man's suggestions, and even seemed to begin to recapture that eager enthusiasm that had been lost briefly before.

“Yes, absolutely,” Bain nodded willingly, stepping forward to the mentioned spot Campion had indicated, his hands already reaching to undo his cravat as he shirked his coat uncaring to the floor. Swiftly undoing it, it too fell to the dust-riddled floor and began working on the buttons of his shirt. “Mr. Luccullis I must applaud your genius! I had thought to use Ms. Anatine as a contrast of fair complexion to dark, but you have surpassed my ambitions- to create a contrasting of sexuality, male to that of the female. Wonder that I did not think of it myself!”

Ah, so there was a mind behind all of that hair. Good. Excellent. She was starting to quite like Bain- he and Campion both seemed to be excellent choices for escorts. Even if the men weren't too fond of one another (or so Tallulah guessed- blows to the jaw never did seem to be the stuff of lasting friendships).

As they moved and shifted, poked and prodded and adjusted, she was still. Very much the white pillar, but very twisted, very dark. Her stomach curled in upon itself, her heart not bleeding but oozing. Her mind enveloping her emotions while she tried to stay calm. Tried to keep control. Tried to simply get past the fact that what was here, the dust at her fingertips, the smell of damp and sex and age, was one the most vivid things she'd ever experienced, aside from her mother's- but no, she wouldn't think about that. Never think about that.

It was odd, the way she went back and forth. How the smallest things could pull her away, but the same things could pull her back only moments later.

So Tallulah stood there. Just stood. Quiet. Observing. Nothing extraordinary in the way she tilted her head just so, or glanced over the men in just a way to make her seem distant, yet interested. Nothing really buzzing behind her mind but the simple thought of how forced it all seemed. Contrast was well and good, but she didn't want well and good. She wanted real. She wanted them talking, not perched on some metaphorical branch like whice on a peddler's staff.

She wanted the light from the window to fit like a halo on the back of Lita's head. She wanted to draw (no pun intended) Joan out of her dream-like shell. She wanted Ann, winking and grinning, in all her airs. The poses, the willingness to which they were conformed . . . it struck Lu as odd. Very odd, indeed. But she kept silent, no motion in her figure, no glimmer of anything in her eyes. Just the twitching of her fingers to remind her that she was, in fact, alive.

Until it was too much. Until poor Bain's enthusiasm became a straw, and her will broke almost completely. She expected an outpouring of something- anything- but what happened was very anticlimactic. The sound she produced was barely more than a whisper, so she had to clear her throat, and try again.

"This is all excellent, gentlemen, but if you don't mind, I'd like to have . . . something less posed. Afterwards, of course. All this structure is making me uneasy." She was able to smile, thank the Good Lady, and she thought her tone a little less forced than it might've been, under the circumstances.

Gods, she just wanted to have a conversation with the girls. She just wanted to talk with them. Know their character, so she may capture their essence.

“Of course, of course,” said Campion distractedly, fiddling about with inkwells and pens and charcoal, not entirely decisive on his medium just yet.

“A posed sketch and then we can go as natural as you’d care for us to go.” Bain, it seemed cared to go all natural without much coercion as he stripped off and well, it was hard not to feel inadequate when confronted with the makings of muscle not pure skin and jutting bones. Instead he turned to Tallulah once again and smiled wide.

Bain was right to want to paint her of course. She really wasn’t all that bad to look at, interesting and exotic- the mark of a good woman to Campion was always in her ability to be reduced to caricature, Maggie with those lovely back to front lips, Anne’s somewhat unconventional bite, Triston’s eyes and in Tallulah’s case it were those so very Gioran features, little slanted eyes long straight nose. Yes, now that Campion thought about it, she really was terribly pretty. And very kind- after all that delicious bread he’d given her and the way she was pleasant to all these prostitutes in a way that not many other galdori ladies would…the only one really who he knew of was Ana Steerpike or perhaps Maggie though with Ana it would be more of an act than with Tallulah.

She was impressive all round really, good looking, a good artist, fun sense of humor and not afraid to get her hands dirty. As he pulled out his sketch book, and sat himself on the bed, prepared to start drawing he found that oddly enough his eyes were not studying the familiar curves and peaks of Anne’s breasts but of the not so familiar line of Tallulah’s nose, the placing of her lips.

“Perhaps,” he said, returning his eyes quickly once more to his sketchpad as the crude lines began to take form, “We’ll get a drink after this,” he flashed Tallulah his best smile- obscured somewhat by mustache. “And Bain can come too,” he added after a moment’s thought, “Of course, Mr. Aquin I would love you to join us.”

Us? that didn't sound right. Campion really should have stuck to his whores, his whores and that mountain of regret he kept locked away tight. Smiling at Tallulah of course did nothing to remove that mountain just as the prostitutes never did, but he couldn't keep pining all year. He was the one who left after all.

"I have a hankering for some good gin. And we can talk about your interesting methods, Mr Aquin when...ah...little Bain isn't present," Campion couldn't help it. He smirked, a tiny bit.