Brothel Of Slaking Intellectual Lusts

I moved off, to talk to the prostitutes in this most unusual brothel. The brothel was in the shape of a circle, with a circular corridor running around inside it. The rooms of the prostitutes were located against the outer wall, opening onto the corridor. The center of the circle was lined with benches and plants, providing a pleasant area in which to mingle.

Starting down the hall, I ran into a tall, elegant woman, who, with her sharp features and regal demeanor, was a striking example of aristocratic beauty. Her clothes appeared to be spun of silver thread, and a small phial dangled from her necklace. She was perfumed with an exotic, erotic scent that seemed to draw me towards her. She looked me over, arching an eyebrow with what I sensed to be disdain.

“Greetings. My name is Vivian; am I to presume I am being summoned?”

I assured her she was not, and asked about the scent hanging about her. She scowled for a moment, then smiled at me.

“Yes, yes, and I thank you for your compliment… but I assure you, this particular aroma is nothing to my personal scent.”

She then explained that her personal scent had gone missing, had in fact been stolen. I agreed to help her find it. She seemed to feel she was imposing on me, but I assured her it was no imposition for a lovely woman such as herself.

At this, Annah mumbled something angrily; I caught the words “piking” and “idjit-stick.” Vivian thanked me for my offer.

In a room off the main corridor I met Juliette, a dark-haired young woman who I found staring listlessly off into space, sighing miserably and occasionally picking at the seams of her green velvet gown. It was difficult to discern whether she was depressed or simply bored. I asked about her problem, whether it was due to no suitors.

“I am already with a man, sir, and I do love him dearly. ’Tis just that I wish…” She tapped her finger against her chin. “…something more of our liaison.”

“There’s a problem with the relationship?” I asked.

“Yes, there is a problem…” She huffed. “…in that there are no problems to speak of! Our families took the news of our courtship splendidly, his siblings love my siblings, and our friends think our union to be blessed by the Powers themselves. All fine and good, but things are going…” She frowned. “…so smoothly. ’Tis not right to have such a trouble-free courtship.”

“I don’t know about that…” I temporized.

“Dost thou not? Hast thou ever had such a courtship?” She glanced briefly at me. “T'would seem that thy life is filled with a variety of problems, judging by the pallor of thy skin.”

“I can’t remember any courtships I have had. The remnants of the ones I have encountered suggest I may have had some problems.”

“ ’Tis just that all my friends have such interesting relationships… ones fraught with turmoil, feuding families, daggers at one another’s backs, poison, mad siblings and irate fathers with large swords. I have a lover whose family loves me and whom the world loves.” She sighed again. “A great source of annoyance. How I wish I could formulate some way to spice things up…”

Morte floated close to me, whispering: “I feel sorry for her lover. He doesn’t know how bad he has it. A chit like this is nothing but trouble.”

“That doesn’t sound wise, Juliette. Relish what you have,” I suggested.

“I wish to experience troubles, though. I wish to experience the up and downs of courtship… but with him, no other.” She sighed. “Ah, such a thing is love. It can be as dull as a club, and is of no use to an aspiring Sensate.”

I asked what she wanted to spice things up, but she did not have a clear idea. I came up with a suggestion.

“Why don’t you make up some fake love letters from a hidden affair?” Juliette’s eyes brightened.

“Excellent notion! Most excellent!” She suddenly frowned. “But he knows my handwriting… wilt thou write some for me?”

“Not my sort of thing. I can find you some, though.”

“Oh, wouldst thou? Excellent! When thou dost find some, please give them to my love, Montague… he may be found within the Civic Festhall. As for the letters… please try Scofflaw Penn. He runs a print shop in the Lower Ward. I thank thee!”