Wild Oats

[Eades]

-closed-

The Ure was one of those little nook and cranny buildings in Anebrilith that most elven men would never admit to knowing of, but always found themselves glancing furtively at as they walked down the street. The outside was no different than most gathering holes on any dingy street corner of the big city, with the exception, perhaps of the well muscled vagrants that had a habit of casually standing close to the entrance and crowding the doors when anyone walked up the small stoop leading to the front door. There were always people who seemed to know these men, and politely flashed small cards in the palm of their hands for but a moment before being allowed to pass through the hallowed doors. For those without the small wavers, it could be a strenuous affair to simply see what the inside of the building looked like.

For those who managed to show enough humble patience to be deemed of little threat, the interior was a reward in itself. Mahogany bars and tables gleamed with well polished surfaces, the wall behind the bar well stocked with the finest in both domestic and imported drinks. It was true that most of the fine wines were labeled in the delicate script of the Raiaeran nationals, but there were more than a few that bore Dheathain runes, the bold spiked hand of Alerar and even the neat Tradespeak printing of Corone's vineyards. Other spirits were kept concealed in cabinetry and in their places under the bar, every bottle ringed with heavy crimson flowered ivies that grew from their pots ringing the top moulding of the walls. As beautiful as the bar was, every table and fine chair - fitted with a well-oiled spring to recline slightly - was facing a wide stage set near the back of the room. Every line of the place, from the opening of side doors into dark rooms, the pattern and angle of tables' sides, and the march of red-glassed chandeliers that hung from the ceiling brought the eye to that stage, and the two shining copper poles that went from floor to ceiling there. In the mold of tiny flowers and hummingbirds, prevalida accents were welded to the poles, shimmering in the dim light that seemed to only truly illuminate the stage, leaving the seats in a state of darkness that made it more than apparent where the focus was to be.

The Ure had already begun to gather customers when Evangeline Daniels walked in via the side entrance that had been instructed of her. While her Elvish was more than just a little terrible, she'd began to pick out a few words here and there, and finally felt confident enough to look through fliers and papers for a job. When she found one that seemed to be asking for women in their peak physical condition, she'd jumped and applied. The manager of the club hadn't seemed that pleased to see a woman, but as his eyes somehow seemed to be able to inspect her through the loose tunic that she wore, he found something there that was enough to overlook her racial flaws. She had a job, and the next night when she again entered through the side entrance, she was more than a little surprised when the security job she had been expecting turned into some sort of a surreal nightmare.

Two of the girls grabbed her by the elbows, pulling her into a dressing room that was more of a frantic mess of nude bodies, lingerie and makeup than any locker room she'd ever seen and sat her down on a bench. Her toolkit and tunic were taken away from her, her leather boots pulled off unceremoniously as several delicate elven women with spired ears and eyes that were a little more jaded than in just their verdant color began to apply the barest hints of makeup to her face. As her cheeks, lips and to her horror, breasts, were pinched playfully for the rosiest, fullest appearance possible, she was redressed in some scrap of lacy black over which what could hardly be called a dress was pulled. Someone's quick fingers brushed her hair back, keeping it in place far better with delicate braids and a few enamel and rhinestone replicas of Red Forest soul flowers than she had done with a rubber band.

As she was led arm in arm with a couple of elegant elven maidens who were wearing even less fabric than she was, she caught a glimpse of herself in a large ornate mirror. With the black dress that showed more supple cleavage than she'd have dreamed possible and a skirt that left her thighs bare and with the wrong movements could give a peep show that was undoubtedly being anticipated and yet she was unprepared to give, she had to admit she looked nothing like the ex-cop that had simply been looking for a chance to use her gun and her athletically toned body to get some extra cash. Perhaps, she had to admit to herself, it was exactly the same, only they had taken her gun. When the velvet curtains parted, and she found herself stumbling into the chandelier light still unsure of how she was going to get out of this with her clothes on and her dignity still intact, the other girls began to dance, their hips and roaming hands saying all the things Eades had never been able to articulate in life.

Panic hit, the Fight or Flight reflex surfacing in her mind. The enemies were faceless, here. Her awkward sense of womanhood was flooding her. She couldn't move the way the already half-undressed brunette elves beside her were moving. They'd shimmied out of their tops, perfect breasts bared and bouncing with their dances. The heat from the soft candlelight and the libido of the men and women who only had eyes for those on stage. The one blond of the group was surely looking frightened now, her grey eyes already accentuated with Kohl widening even more as she perfected the look of a surprised doe. And as sure as prey who knew they were faced with the predator, she bolted. Grabbing one of the copper poles, she spun, her feet moving to take her around and back through the veil of safety the heavy curtain represented. Instead, however, her bare feet slid on a discarded piece of silk and she fell, sliding across the glossy mahogany stage. She felt the ground leave her and she tumbled into one of the chairs that needed no table, instead ringing the stage where they could be closer to the objects that were often far more intoxicating than the drinks offered. Evangeline's body was caught solidly in a muscled lap, her breath catching in her throat as she turned to face the handsome stranger who'd broken her fall.

As her hands gripped his muscled arms, she couldn't help but think that this was a man who was bringing a few big guns into the game as well.

[Call me J]

(Takes place within a week after Time Enough)

Jame smiled evenly. It had been quite a bit of trouble getting in to the club, and the dancing so far had been quite mundane, at least by Salvic standards. However, now that an attractive grey eyed human had fallen into his lap, he couldn’t help but think that all the problems with Raiaeran strippers were somehow mitigated by the welcome crowd interaction.

“You alright?” he asked politely, trying to look into the unfortunate stripper’s grey eyes and not on her perky breasts. He was failing miserably.

However, there was something about the stripper that really caught Jame’s eye. Perhaps it was the fact that they seemed to be the only two non-elves in Raiaera, or perhaps it was the fact that one look into her eyes suggested that she was just as lost in Anebrilith as Jame. While many of the elves weren’t outwardly prejudiced, it was hard not to notice the subtle difference by which they treated outsiders. Most of the elven strippers, sure he was just a vagabond that had somehow ended up in the club, paid him little attention, seeking to spend their time on trying to win the money of fellow elves.

For a moment, Jame wondered if he shouldn’t ask the girl if she wanted to talk, but he didn’t like all the attention that had suddenly begun to surround both him and the girl. It was clear that her fall had caused quite a bit of attention. The band had missed a few beats, and the horn player had yet to recover from his fit of laughter. The girls on stage showed a strange mix of horror and indignation, had broken with normal decorum and were now rapidly chirping to each other in informal Elvish. A tall elf dressed in relatively informal black near the stage looked on disparagingly with his hands folded over his chest.

Jame cringed. After all the trouble he’d had getting in to the club, he didn’t want to be asked to leave, especially now that he’d run into this girl. Jame didn’t know how to describe it, it was as if touching her now was like a glass of cold water in the desert. She was just enough to keep him surviving, but it made him crazy for more. Jame didn’t understand what he was feeling, but after an unfortunate experience time traveling with none other than Damon Kaosi, he needed something different. He’d been assaulted, nearly killed, and had left with more questions than answers. Now, Jame felt as though he just needed something that could be easy and uncomplicated, impulsive and without concern for the consequences.

What he wanted was the stripper.

The elf in black had made his way over towards Jame. Unlike most of the elves Jame had seen in Raiaera, this one possessed neither an ounce of class nor an air of dignity. With an almost lewd smirk, he looked over at Jame and the girl, chomping on a smelly cigar and looking on with a seeming dispassion for either Jame or the girl.

“You touch… you pay…” the elf said in terse tradespeak, as if he found it demeaning to use the language.

Jame twitched a little, irritated by the whole thing. Had he cared more about money, he might have argued, but at that moment, he just wanted a moment’s word with the girl. If that meant paying off an elf with bad hygiene, that was an acceptable price.

“Oh here…” Jame said, tossing a fifty gold piece at the elf. He brushed away the cigar smoke from his face irritably. “That work for you?”

The elf, seemingly both happy and surprised with the size of the payment. His anger seemed to dull slightly, and the glower he had directed at the stripper turned into a stern but neutral “I’ll talk to you later ‘vangeline…” and then he went back over to the stage. By now, the band had regained their composure, and the brunette strippers had cut short their now interrupted routine so the next wave of girls could come on. Things were starting to return to normal around the club, save for the fact one of the strippers was still sitting in Jame’s lap.

[Eades]

When the bouncer came over, Eades found herself leaning into Jame. She was still so full of confusion from the misunderstanding, a little cold chill moving down her back as she shuddered against the protecting chest. She was still unfamiliar with the money standards of this new world, but from the reaction of the muscle-bound goon, it had been more than just a pretty penny. While it was true she had never been on a date in her entire life, much less taken a lover, Evangeline wasn't a woman who was without experience in matters of more body and less heart than love. As she expected, she looked up to see the unwashed titan hand the coin to Fearleigh, the owner of Ure and his gaze falling solidly on the two. His eyes, the ones that had always seemed able to undress her no matter what she was wearing, flicked to one of the intricately carved side doors, fitted so well in their frames that they were notoriously noise-proof, and she felt her stomach drop.

But all she had to do was dance, right?

Beyond the undressing gaze, Fearleigh was quite good at expressing his thoughts in a mere glance, and he'd made it quite clear to her that if she refused this, she wouldn't be getting paid and the discussion of her future employment was as good as over. Living was better than chastity, she knew, and to live she had to eat and to eat she needed money. Logic won over, and telling herself that at least trying to find some way to fulfill the requirements of her particular position and keep herself from looking like a fool was worth trying not to make a scene. Her cheeks beginning to burn with the fall of her pride, she grabbed Jame's hand, and pulled him from his seat. He was taller than she, almost like a pillar of strength that flowed behind her as they cut through tables and chairs, making for the door that had been pointed out just moments before. Barefoot, compared to his boot-clad feet, she felt even smaller. They were through the threshold of the new room before she could even commit their steps to memory.

This was even more lovingly crafted than the room before. Deep amber-hued woods were carved in intricate scrolls of birds and stars as they wound their way around a centered stage. This one featured another pole, of slickly polished Delyn. The black metal was stark against the honeyed wood floor, and it sat favoring one side of the stage heavily. On the other was the only piece of cushioned furniture the room featured. The same golden sandalwood was fashioned into an ovaled bed, with a thick downy mattress and silken sheets tucked and folded expertly onto it. The sheets were black, almost mirroring the dark sheen the dancing pole possessed. Just under the hems of the sheets, the lines of a pull-out mini bar could be seen, labeled in an engraving of beautiful elvish scroll. Her heart beating in her throat, Eva turned back to Jame as the door behind them slid shut and grasped him by the wrist. She danced with grace, though not much skill, up the small steps that led onto the stage. When she stood on the top one, she barely met his crimson gaze, the fiery red in his eyes another pull deeper into the situation she could not control. Never letting her grey stare leave his, she pulled him up, sitting him on the edge of the bed. Her feet took her spinning around to the pole, her back arching against it as one of her feet slid up it, the knee moving forward to lift the thigh and the hem of the barely-there black silk dress. Her arms were raised high as she let her fingertips curl around the cool metal pole, and she paused there, as if her body was some statue on display.

She remembered shop displays from her youth. "Look, Don't Touch." and she almost hoped that if she could embody one of those tiny glass figurines she'd be safe from any harm where no one could see or hear what may transpire here. As nervous as she was, she let her lips quick upwards into a smile, wishing that she had never let them take the rifle. He was more dangerous than the leering elven men she'd seen as they passed, but then again, he was nothing like an elf. She felt her heart beating almost dizzily in her head as she finally raised her voice to speak.

"Are you also a stranger in a strange land?"

[Call me J]

Jame was a bit surprised when he was offered up the room. That hadn’t been his intention in the slightest. He was still attracted to the stripper, though he wanted something more than the kind of cheap bought sex that left both sides feeling dirty afterwards. He wanted something raw, something carnal, the kind of experience where two sweat soaked bodies lay next to each other out of complete and utter fatigue, and then went after each other for a second time.

This sterile experience was too synthetic, the room smelled too much of strangers, and the way he had got there was too reminiscent of the smelly elf. Shaking his head, Jame watched the grey eyed stripper dance, almost academically, as if he was attending an interesting lecture at Istien University. One of his hands crept up towards his chin, and his mouth remained in a marginally interested straight line.

However, Jame’s thoughts skipped a beat when she spoke to him. With a smile, he beckoned that she come sit next to him and began to answer her question. At first, he sighed. His recent history had been too convoluted for him to explain out loud, it had barely registered as real within his own head. Even so, that was something he’d wanted to escape at the moment. Talking about Damon Kaosi, time travel and the oncoming war between Raiaera and Alerar was not going to do anything for his mood, and might even ruin the limited eroticism that could be had in the backroom.

“I’m a stranger,” he said, his voice perhaps not concealing the hurt in the statement enough. “I’m from Salvar, up in the cold. I’ve lived there all my life…” He wondered what kind of impression the phrase all my life was. For all intents and purposes he was over twenty five, but his life had been far too short to really amass that many years of wisdom. He was not just a stranger in Raiaera, he was a stranger in his own skin.

Still, working from the abstract hope that talking would make his problems seem more trite, Jame continued. “I don’t know too much about here…” he said. “It’s full of elves who think they’re something greater than they are. They walk around like they’ve seen the future and it is nothing but smiles and sunshine. Honestly, I don’t really know what I’m doing here anymore. This really isn’t the place for me.”

Jame smiled evenly, but he didn’t really like to think about being a stranger. The thought was just too foul in a place like Raiaera, it wasn’t accompanied by a sense of respect, or a wonderment at different experiences, but instead a sense that by place of birth, the foreigner was inherently inferior. Jame had always been well liked, and the idea of being unappreciated hurt even in the abstract.

Sighing, he wondered what kept a person like this grey eyed stripper in Anebrilith. There weren’t many long term prospects in stripping, and there weren’t many other legitimate fields that offered prospects for non-elves. The only options, from what Jame gathered, were to move down to Treynce and get involved with crime, or to head to the Red Forest and settle out among the blood vines and dur’taigen. There was a reason that Raiaera continued to be the land of the elves.

It was only now that Jame realized that his drink had been knocked out of his hand when he had caught the stripper. He realized now he was thirsty for more than just lust. The liquor, if only temporarily, would help him to forget. He started to ask the stripper if she wanted anything herself.

“Hey…” he began, realizing he had never caught the girl’s name. The greasy elf had said it, but it had been quick and in passing. “I’m Jame, what’s your name?”