[hr][center][h3][b][color=orchid]Solange - The Faded Lantern Tavern & Inn[/color][/b][/h3]
[sup][sup][sup][color=pink][i]They would settle for silver even when gold is just around the corner.[/i][/color][/sup][/sup][/sup][/center][hr]

The pen slashed like a switchblade in the hands of a streetrat, bleeding out ink upon the page as a long finger idly traced the rim of her wine glass. Solange couldn’t remember when she had exactly picked up the habit that blocked other fingers from getting near the rim, but she imagined it had to be sometime after she’d spiked her first drink. She remembered standing next to the lavatory door with her ear cupped against the grain, holding back a smile as she heard the sobs and wretches from the otherside before giving away her position with a gentle knock. A few kind words, a hand to hold back the greasy locks of hair, and one embroidered handkerchief she never got back later and Solange had turned a rival into a lifelong friend. It was a shame that whatshername’s life didn’t end up being so long, but what could one expect from someone foolish enough to attempt to steal from Fontaine? 

Solange never wanted to find herself in that girl’s spot, so desperate for the kindness of another person that she’d waste her life just because they offhandedly mentioned how they’d love to wear Fontaine’s necklace. She huffed dismissively and lifted the wine glass up to her mouth, nostrils flaring ever so slightly before she pressed her lips to the rim. Cautious, yes. Paranoid, perhaps. Safe, certainly. Solange took the smallest of sips, her face wrinkling ever the slightest at the swirl she had ordered. It was yet another thing the Red Sail had over the Faded Lantern. She set the glass down on the counter, twisting it ever so slightly so that the embellishment faced her, and returned to tracing the rim as she wrote. 

[b]“Whatcha writing?”[/b]

Solange closed her eyes, inhaled sharply, and smothered the sigh in its infancy. Another thing the Red Sail had over the Faded Lantern: the girls there knew when to not pester the customers. Solange opened her eyes, fixed a soft smile on her face, and looked up. The tavern had filled since she had sat down. Tables were crowded with sailors and dockhands drenched in a potent mixture of rain, sweat, and spilled grog. A game of cards was going. Solange smirked as one of the men slipped an ace out of his sleeve before her attention turned to the woman who had sidled up against the bar, her black hair chopped sloppily at her chin, her heavy makeup, the branding used by all of her peers, rivaling that of a court jester.

Solange shifted in her seat. Comradity wasn’t a common occurrence amongst the competition—the daggers the girls had first shot Solange when she’d entered the tavern made that clear. Perhaps the other prostitute had noticed the shift in the shoulder when a man had approached Solange earlier and made a show about dropping his coin purse on the counter to make the gold jingle. Perhaps she, like Solange, was trying to avoid work. Then again, the way she was marketing herself by folding her arms underneath her bosom and pushing up meant that perhaps  she was the kind who didn’t limit her market. Perhaps it was just muscle memory. Solanged snapped her book shut.

[b][color=orchid]“Why do you ask?”[/color][/b] asked Solange, her hand completely cupping the top of her wine glass.

[b]“No reason. Just don’t see whores writing much.”[/b]

[b][color=orchid]“Careful, love. Imagine how insulted I would be if I were a lady,”[/color][/b] said Solange, fully aware that no lady would drink alone or even desire to step foot through the doors of the Faded Lantern. [b][color=orchid]“Things considered, I feel like you wouldn’t see many other kinds people writing in this place either.”[/color][/b] 

Solange gestured toward the card table as emphasis,  where one man was now yelling and pointing at the card sharp. Seems like he noticed the color on the back of the card was off, too. The woman shrugged. She seemed to be waiting for Solange’s reply to her original question. Flipping the book back open, Solange twisted the page so that it was easier for the other woman to read as she began to explain her process of categorizing and budgeting medicinal herbs for a quick-acting muscle relaxer she was working on. She neglected to mention that the relaxer would, ideally, make it impossible for a man to stand upright or defend themselves, turning them into a pile of bones and flesh long enough for someone to ventilate a jugular. 

She caught the woman’s eye as she continued to explain about her process and saw a familiar look. It wasn’t the usual look of confusion or distrust she received when gushing about the marvels of medicine, but rather the familiar look that Fontaine’s girls gave her when something was off. Solange snapped her book closed, drained her drink, and snatched the woman by the hand. [b][color=orchid]“Oh you pretty thing, why didn’t you interrupt me?”[/color][/b] [b]“I wanted to be sure it was you. I—”[/b] [b][color=orchid]“Shush, not where others can hear. Lead me to your private chamber.”[/color][/b]

Solange allowed the woman to drag her out of the common room right as a crack cut through the chatter and was followed by cheers as the card sharp ate a right hook like a champ. Solange wrinkled her nose; something always came up just when things were getting good. She heard a surge of energy, a bellow, a pause in the music, and then several echoing shouts behind her as the fight was carried outside as the music picked back up without even missing a note. Solange cast a glance over her shoulder to make sure they were not being followed as the woman led her up three flights of stairs and into a dimly lit room. 

Solange joined the woman who sat on the bed and gave her hand a squeeze. This close she could smell the alcohol on the woman. Even in the lowlight and with the makeup it was clear that the woman was much older than Solange, perhaps twice her age. Tears ruined her rouge. Something about all of this was crushing, as if a door had been laid on top of her and weighted down with stones. Would this be Solange’s future, drunk and seeking comfort from a  stranger, if she did not get out of the trade? Thoughts of how she could exploit the woman surfaced in her head next; she pushed them to the side for now and wrapped an arm around the sobbing older woman.

[b][color=orchid]“There, there. Seeking help is the hardest part and you have already climbed that mountain. What’s your name, dear?”[/color][/b] asked Solange, her low like a lover’s whisper. 

[b]“Magarette.”[/b] 

[b][color=orchid]“Okay, Magarette, we’re going to get through this together. Now then,”[/color][/b] she said, the warmth in her voice falling away as she produced her journal. Solange shifted on the side of the bed, pulled back from the other woman, brushed a wisp of red hair behind her ear, and tucked a leg under her knee. [b][color=orchid]“Tell me everything and I will make it all right.[/color][/b]

[hr][center][img]https://st.1001fonts.net/img/txt/dHRmLjI0LmUwNThkMi5ZV0pqWkdWbVoyaHAuMA/flower-ornaments.regular.png[/img]
[sub][sub][sub][color=pink][i]The sad truth is that most people enjoy being lied to if it makes them feel safe.[/i][/color][/sub][/sub][/sub][/center][hr]

[b][color=orchid]“Can you read?[/color][/b] asked Solange, her voice punctuated with the sharp thunder of a sheet being torn from her journal. Scratched upon it in fine, flowing script was a detailed list of ingredients and instructions. Magarette shook her head no, to which Solange folded the sheet into a triangle and pressed it in the woman’s hand with a single gold piece.[b][color=orchid]“Go to Thistleleaf Apothecary and give this to the man behind the counter. Don’t worry, he’s discrete, but do not give the letter to his wife unless you want the whole town to hear about your ailment. The gold will cover the components with enough bits to spare to get a scone from the bakery next door as he prepares the order. Just get the paper back once he is finished. If none of the girls here can read then ask for Renata at the Red Sail if I am not there. Garlic and acacia can be used to prevent it from happening again, although know that you know what to look for I imagine prevention will happen earlier.”[/color][/b]

[b]“Thank you, thank you. I have no clue how to repay you.”[/b]

Solange smiled. Fortunately she had a dozen methods already planned, but there was only one she could cull and knowing the woman could not read made it all the better. She reached into her bodice and plucked out the letter, sealed with wax to make it look official and spritzed with her perfume to entice interest. [b][color=orchid]“Do you want to watch your boss polymorph into a giving man?”[/color][/b] asked Solange, winking as Magarette took it from her. [b][color=orchid]“Tell Lord Vargas it’s from his secret admirer and that she refuses to allow you to deliver that letter unless he gives you the night off. Mark my words, love, he’ll give you the week.”[/color][/b]

Solange watched as Magarette carefully tucked the letter into her shirt and quickly left the room to do as she was told. A sweet woman, but a stupid one. Solange shifted down the bed until she sat next to the nightstand and tried the handle. It jiggled, but didn’t slide open. Solange smirked. The old hag was smarter than she had thought. Reaching back, she plucked a single pin from her red waves of hair, crouched down beside the bedside table, and slid the pin into the tiny keyhole. With a flick of the wrist and a light bump against the handle, Solange’s face fell as the hairpin snapped. A second and third attempt saw equal amounts of failure. Anymore she was risking not looking her best for Lord Vargas. 

Frustrated, she slid the broken hairpins under the bed and returned to the bar. The music was still a lively jaunt, and the empty spot at the card table had been filled once more. Even her seat at the bar was still open, as if the world dared to not inconvenience her any further. Fine, she would forgive it for the day. Solange ordered another glass of red, which she guarded as dearly as the last, and flipped open her journal to review the notes on the men who had last slept with Magarette. Potential piggy banks each and every one of them, assuming she could ever find them based upon her largely useless descriptions to even try to crack open their porcine and porcelain bodies for the bounty hiding inside. Still, a girl could dream. She sipped her wine and schemed her schemes, humming quietly to the tune as she waited to hear word from her latest victim.

[hider=Solange’s Letter]

[i][color=pink]My Sweet Lord- 

So long has it been since my last correspondence, my dear, that I am fearful that perchance you have forgotten all about your precious ruby. Know that I spent every night with your letter clutched to my bosom, your sweet words against my beating heart, wishing that I could run to you but knowing it impossible. F had noticed the glance we exchanged upon your last visit and has kept her horrid beast prowling around in my affairs ever since. She has only just grown lax, bored by the lack of bloodshed. 

Know this. I have the same desires burning inside me as do you. I am an honest woman stuck in a dishonest line of work, and until that life is behind me I am undeserving of your generosity. If it be as unbearable as you say, then you know how you can find me and the price to pay. But you are a gentleman, and you know that nothing smothers passion more than having to count out bits. This understanding of yours, your sweetness, is what keeps me up at night, warming my face and heating my hips. I ask only that you wait a few grains of sand longer..

BUT— There is no reason we should not meet. We have much to discuss in the matters of business, although I admit that it is largely an excuse just to see your face once again. I am already in the tavern. I eagerly await your call. 

[right]Yours In Dreams,

-S[/right][/color][/i][/hider]