Nenny Nine-Eyes

I moved on to another room, meeting Nenny Nine-Eyes. The petite, attractive young woman was smiling blissfully and humming to herself. Her wide, pale blue eyes seemed to constantly drink in her surroundings as she looked about.

The young woman curtseyed gracefully and looked up to me, smiling.

“Well met, good sir! I'm Nenny! And how are you this fine d-?” She suddenly noticed my scars and placed a gloved hand over her mouth. “Oh my! You’re hurt!” She blinked. “All over!”

Morte spun around me, mocking the girl’s obviousness. “Powers above, chief… she’s right! I never noticed before… you’re covered in scars!” I ignored Morte, replying to her concern.

“They’re all old scars. I'm fine.” She then became fascinated by my tattoos, tracing some with her finger.

“I think that’s ink.” She traced a finger around the edge of a tattoo. “Is it ink? And what a pattern! Look at the way the lines intersect here.” She touched the center of the tattoo. “That’s simply amazing…” She pursed her lips and frowned in disappointment. “I could make it out better if there weren’t so many scars…”

“There’s nothing to be done about the scars; they’re permanent.”

“Oh, I'm sorry, I'm sorry… pox on me for even mentioning them!” She cringed. “But I have to know… are you absolutely sure you’re all right? I'm looking at you, and I can’t help but believe that you’re not in some pain.”

I could tell her what I knew of my life story, no doubt unsettling her much further, but I settled for “I have amnesia, but that is all.”

“Amnesia?” Nenny blinked, then brightened. “Loss of memory! You are so lucky,” she chimed perkily. “Everything must be so new to you.”

“That's… an angle I hadn’t considered.” Nenny clapped her hands delightedly.

“I'm so pleased I could open your mind to that idea! I've heard that’s what being a Sensate is all about… bringing new experiences to others.” I asked her what she did.

“I'm talking to you, silly!” She giggled and poked me in the belly. “Just like I talk to all the patrons here. All the prostitutes do; that’s what’s the Brothel’s about! Learning new ways to talk and share experiences and understand other people.”

“The Brothel for Slaking Intellectual Lusts is a school that was started by Mistress Fall-From-Grace. The prostitutes here — like me! — are taught the ins and outs of talking to people, all to help us learn more about ourselves and others. I love it here… it’s a non-stop wave of experiences, crashing into me, filling my head with fresh new ideas!”

Morte observed low-voiced, “I guess it’s good that there’s something in there.”

I asked if she knew anything about Vivian’s missing scent. She knew something, but was hesitant to tell me what she suspected, for fear of saying something bad about someone else. I asked her to try and say something not nice about the person she suspected. She tried.

“Oh, all right.” Nenny put her hands on her hips and frowned deeply, almost exaggeratedly. I resisted the temptation to laugh. “Ooooooh, I dislike her very, very much.” She paused for a moment, then looked at me out of the corner of her eye, as if gauging my reaction. “Was that convincing?”

“No, not really…” Nenny frowned.

“I knew I wouldn’t be any good at this!” She looked up at me, depressed. “Do you know how hard it is to say bad things about someone?! It feels so wrong.”

Charmed by her simplicity, I suggested “Why don’t you practice on me, Nenny?” She looked dubious, but gave it a try.

“You big mean nasty brute!” She put her hands on her hips. “Meanie!” She looked at me. “How was that?”

“Try hitting me.” Nenny clamped her hands over her mouth, looking shocked.

“Oh, I couldn’t! I musn’t!” She blinked. “How does one hit somebody, anyway?”

“Go ahead. Do it lightly, if you have to. Remember: I'm a mean, nasty brute. I deserve it.”

Nenny slapped me; I barely felt it. She still looked shocked and frightened she had hurt me. “Oh, I'm sorry! Did that hurt? Tell me you’re okay!”

“Don’t break character, Nenny. Come on; show me what you've got. You can say something bad… just let it all out.”

“Oh… I mean, oh!” Nenny drew her tiny frame to its full height, balled her hands into fists, put them on her hips, and scrunched up her face in a cute scowl. “Oh, damned be you! You deserved that for all the indignities you put me through! Going out late at night,” Her eyes roamed up and down my body. “Getting into fights and getting all scarred up! What are the kids going to think, hmm?!”

‘Kids?’ I wondered to myself. Out loud I said “Excellent.”

“Oh, don’t you ‘excellent’ me, like I'm some backlicker looking for your approval! I am my own woman, and this woman is about to walk out of your life unless I get some solid commitment!”

“All right… that’s enough out of you, Nenny.”

She punched me again. “And this!” She punched me again, promptly turning into a little fist-flailing whirlwind.

“Okay, okay… time to let go of the anger.” Nenny sighed tiredly.

“Whew. That was easier than I thought!”

“No kidding.” Having helped her in a small way, she now felt ready to accuse the person she suspected of the theft of the scent, another of the prostitutes, named Marissa.

The next room held a striking young woman, who I later learned was named Ecco, with skin the color of burnished copper. A translucent white dress, held precariously by golden clasps, was draped carefully over her shapely form. She was mute, unable or unwilling to communicate even by sign. This made her an ideal listener for the Brothel’s patrons, but I quickly ran out of things to say, and left.