The Rose and the Azalea - Chapter Five

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    Despite the relative difficulty in cultivating roses in desert regions, roses have become a popular ingredient in both Hammerfell and Elsweyr cuisine.

     

     

     

     

     

                    ‘…Lady Flavana. Lady Flavana?’ Denholm said, sitting in front of me with a scroll in his hands. ‘Lady Flavana!’

     

                    I stirred, fixing him with an irritated stare. ‘I was listening.’

     

                    Denholm hesitated, then nodded. ‘My apologies. Then, as I was saying, income from several of our smuggling operations has decreased quite dramatically…’

     

                    I tried to pay attention; I really did. But Denholm had been droning on about finances and trade for about the better part of an hour and I was finding it quite hard to focus on his dull voice, which sounded as fat as he was. I wanted to tell him to cut to the chase, but I knew that it was imperative for me to know exactly what was going on in every corner of our criminal empire – and that meant enduring Denholm’s speeches.

     

                    I found my thoughts drifting towards that boy I’d met yesterday night. Azalea, he’d called himself. It had been such a nice dance… and there had been so much more complexity behind him than your regular whore, a sort of subtle, mysterious sweetness…

     

                    Annoyed with myself, I shook my head. I had no time to be thinking about boys, much less a random Meat Street slut.

     

                    Yes, a slut, that’s all he is, I told myself fiercely. Probably already busy taking it up his little cunny right now.

     

                    I let my contempt wash away everything else and found I was able to concentrate much better on Denholm’s report.

     

                    ‘And in addition to some of our legitimate enterprises being harassed more doggedly than usual by tax collectors, most of the taverns in the south-west quarter of the city are lagging behind on their protection fees. This would’ve been a job for you, Lady Flavana, before your recent promotion, but now…’

     

                    ‘I’ll send someone to look into it,’ I said, frowning. ‘Strange, the bartenders are usually on point with their payments.’

     

                    ‘I believe it may have something to do with public perception of our family right now, Lady Flavana,’ Denholm replied. ‘Respectfully… after your father’s passing and our settlement with the Iron-Tooths, we’re appearing weaker than we’ve ever been before. If we don’t tighten our grip, we could find our control over Anvil slipping out of our grasp.’

     

                    ‘I’m not a fool, Denholm,’ I said. ‘I’ll send some of my enforcers to collect. Show a firm hand.’

     

                    ‘You know best, Lady,’ Denholm nodded, then showed himself out of my father’s office with a small bow – no… my office.

     

                    ‘My office…’ I murmured, running a finger over the mahogany desk. The dwarven metalwork of my gauntlet scraped over the polished wood with a deep rasp. Yes, this was my office now.

     

                    I stood up, resolute. Father would’ve – could’ve – run the entire family from this desk, dealing with everything coming our way with his usual military efficiency. I was going to have to do things a little differently. I had neither his experience nor his ability to remain detached, so for now I was going to have to get out more… and get a feel for the current state of the city we owned.

     

                    So I took off my armour and helmet and left Flavana Manor through the servant’s entrance in the back. Father would’ve disapproved, but I had found that travelling incognito made it far easier to observe the masses. And besides, it wouldn’t ruin the image of the Flavanas if no one knew I was one.

     

                    I did keep my sword on my hip, however. No reason to be foolish, especially in these times. The walk to the city seemed shorter than usual, but that might’ve been because I was much lighter on my feet with my armour off.

     

                    Anvil’s south-west quarter was one of the seedier regions of the city. It was further away from the guilds and the banks than most other districts, and most people were only there for the taverns. Westward of Anvil were the vineyards, meaderies and various other distilleries of Southern Cyrodiil, so most of Anvil’s booze came through the city from the west gate. Drunken brawls were commonplace here, and they often turned deadly.

     

                    It took a certain gumption to run a tavern in the south-western districts properly with the rabble around, I understood that much. All the more reason to be curious as to why the owners were slacking off with their protection money – like it or not, they all knew that crossing the Flavanas was a bad idea. The ones in the south-west quarter should be more concerned with keeping their tavern afloat than anything else.

     

                    I walked into the first tavern I came up on and looked around, grimacing. The place didn’t seem to be doing so well. The walls were slick with damp, and there was a pile of broken furniture stacked up on one end of the building. Barely any customers – six of them sat sparsely across the few tables and the bar, clutching at drinks with grimy hands.

     

                    The barkeep was a solemn, unsmiling fellow. I sat down in front of him and he fixed his black, beady eyes on me without saying a word.

     

                    ‘Brandy,’ I said, tapping my fingers. The barkeep poured me a tumbler and I gave it a little swirl before I downed it, feeling the sting on my throat.

     

                    ‘How’s business?’ I asked casually.

     

                    ‘Mmm,’ the barkeep grunted.

     

                    ‘Don’t seem to be attracting a lot of clients.’ I waved at the largely empty tavern. ‘Aren’t these supposed to be busy hours?’

     

                    ‘Mmm,’ the barkeep grunted again.

     

                    ‘Where’s your owner?’

     

                    ‘Mmm.’

     

                    I flicked a coin at him and left in disgust. Excellent start.

     

                    The second tavern proved scarcely any better. The place was just as empty. The barkeep was slightly more talkative, which didn’t say much. He answered my questions in brief, single-syllable words.

     

                    ‘Business doing well?’

     

                    ‘No.’

     

                    ‘That’s too bad.’

     

                    ‘Yes.’

     

                    ‘Do you own the place?’

     

                    ‘No.’

     

                    ‘Where’s the owner?’

     

                    ‘Out.’

     

                    For someone working in a port city, he certainly didn’t seem very welcoming. I downed a shot of schnapps – to my surprise, I found the drink quite pleasant – and left.

     

                    The sun was climbing down steadily as I stepped out into the grey streets of Anvil. Afternoon was giving way to evening, but there was still plenty of heat left in the air.

     

                    A rush of sound greeted me when I opened the door to the third tavern. The tinkle of the bell announcing my presence. The hubbub of conversation; the place was half-full. The tinkle of glass and cutlery; both drinks and dishes were being served. I sighed. This was more like it.

     

                    As before, I sat down in front of the bar, pulling a hard wooden stool behind me. The seat was well-worn.

     

                    The barkeep this time was a plump little man who looked far more energetic than the two I’d met earlier. ‘What’ll you have, ma’am?’ he drawled in the thick accent of a working-class Eastern Breton.

     

                    ‘Shot of schnapps,’ I said, amused.

     

                    I looked around the tavern as he poured. The patrons here were a varied bunch. Taking up a table in the centre were five grim-looking sailors, their faces as rough and weathered as the leather on their boots. On a table to their left was a group of three Redguards with unpleasant expressions on their faces, as if they’d tasted something foul. Drunkards looking for trouble – the kind that would start some if they didn’t find any. A few more commoners and peasants filled in some of the space in the half-full tavern, and a girl was huddled in a corner, looking conspicuously out of place.

     

                    ‘Business here seems a fair bit better than most other places,’ I remarked.

     

                    ‘Does it look that way?’ the barkeep chuckled darkly. ‘This is one of our better evenings. Most of the time it’s only two or three tables and a couple at the bar.’

     

                    I raised my eyebrows. ‘Less people going for drinks in the summer months?’

     

                    ‘Less people going out at all,’ the barkeep replied. ‘These days, you’re like to get your purse snatched or your skull split open by a thief’s cosh. That and the gangs. Streets these days are so bloody you’d think the cobblestones were red to begin with.’

     

                    ‘I hear the Flavanas and the Iron-Tooths have brokered a peace treaty,’ I said, shrugging.

     

                    ‘That won’t stop the fighting in the streets,’ the barkeep snorted. ‘One gang leaves, another pushes in. And you know how all of them need to settle in with a show of force. It’s just another set of thugs handing out the beatdowns, with the little folk caught in the middle. Legion can’t do shit, and the guards are all bought.’

     

                    ‘That bad?’ I smiled mirthlessly. The fighting with Fjorn’s Nords had gone on for far too long if this was the day-to-day around the city.

     

                    ‘More or less,’ the barkeep grunted. ‘Wasn’t like this before the War, you know. Ah, those were the days…’

     

                    I tossed back my schnapps and got up to leave before the Breton could start reminiscing. This hadn’t been a wasted trip, at least. I was going to have to keep my enforcers on a tighter leash; try to control at least some of the violence. Our… vassals had to make money somehow.

     

                    I’d just reached the door when I heard the voices on one end of the tavern grow loud, heated. Frowning, I turned to look.

     

                    The three Redguard drunks had sidled up to the the girl I’d seen earlier and were getting uncomfortably close. The girl had her face to me. She was a Nord, pretty, and looked to be only around fourteen years old. A little young to be receiving this kind of attention.

     

                    ‘P-please, sirs, I don’t want any trouble…’

     

                    ‘Trouble? Oh, no, no, dear girl, we won’t be any trouble at all.’ I could taste the leer in the Redguard’s voice.

     

                    None of my business.

     

                    I stretched out my hand towards the door. One of the Redguards forced his hand up the girl’s skirt, feeling around her thigh.

     

                    None of my godsdamned business.

     

                    ‘Hey,’ I growled, looking over my shoulder. ‘Leave the lady alone.’

     

                    Damnit, Sabina.

     

                    The Redguards squared their shoulders and shuffled towards me. Most of the patrons got up and left through the back entrance, seeming resigned rather than afraid. The barkeep sighed and began picking out a bucket and mop from under the counter. The sailors stayed, little smiles forming on their lips. It looked like they wanted to watch.

     

                    ‘What’s this? You want a piece of Torlo too, eh?’ The lead Redguard got close enough to me for me to smell every single drop of hooch on his breath. ‘Don’t worry, there’s enough of me to go around.’ And he grabbed my breast.

     

                    I pinned his fingers to my chest with my left hand and punched him in the jaw with my right. The Redguard reeled back and I drew my sword. I took his right arm first, chopping it off at the elbow. Then, as his friends recoiled and yelled, his left hand at the wrist. As the two other Redguards scrabbled for bottles, I parted his right leg from his knee and left him wriggling on the floor like the worm he was.

     

                    ‘Is there enough of you to go around now?’ I grinned.

     

                    One of the two Redguards left swung a bottle at me. I smashed it with my sword, noting the label as I sent glass shards into his eyes and stabbed him through the gut. Rosethorn Mead? How appropriate.

     

                    And then the last Redguard reminded me exactly how important a helmet was in a fight by breaking another bottle over the back of my head. My vision swam and I tumbled forward, stupidly dropping my sword. The broken bottle glinted in the candlelight as the drunkard straddled me and raised it above my throat.

     

                    I caught the bottle with my bare hands, wincing as it bit into my fingers. We struggled, his body above mine, linked together by our tangled legs in a position that was almost obscene. The Redguard rose slightly to put more weight on me and I jerked up, slamming my knee into his groin. His breath left his lungs in a whoosh and I risked taking one hand off the bottle, catching him right between the eyes with my fist. I punched him two more times, breaking his nose and cutting my knuckles on his teeth. Then I turned the bottle around and buried it into his throat.

     

                    The barkeep came over, calm as could be, with a flask of liquor and a few rags. ‘Might want to wash out those cuts before you bandage them up,’ he said, sounding thoroughly disinterested. ‘Ach, that’s the second time this week I’ve had to scrub blood out of the tiles.’

     

                    I rinsed my hands with the liquor and wrapped the rags around the gashes on my hands. They weren’t deep, but if I’d left them untreated they might’ve started festering.

     

                    ‘Thanks,’ I nodded at the barkeep, tossing him a small pouch of coins. ‘Sorry about the mess.’

     

                    The barkeep grunted irritably as I left the tavern. As luck would have it, a carriage was stopping nearby. I hopped on and let it carry me back towards the city gates near the north, where it was closest to Flavana Manor.

     

                    Sitting down in a carriage had been a bad idea. My heart was still pounding, my blood still running hot. Energy still coursed through my body, energy with nowhere to go as I sat there on the spot, stewing and fuming as the rocking of the carriage teased my senses, every bump in the road sending suggestive jolts up my pelvis. I felt an irresistible itch run up from my hips to the back of my skull. There was a reason war was so often associated with rape. Violence kindled lust like nothing else… and the evening was dank and moist and sweaty. The kind of evening that stoked small flames of desire into a roaring fire. No wonder the Redguards had been so rowdy.

     

                    The carriage trundled down the city from east to west. For twenty minutes I clenched my fists on my knees, blood dripping through my palms into my makeshift bandages and leaking, soaking through my trousers, slithering into the wetness on my skin and between my-

     

                    We came up on the Meat Street and I ground my teeth, bouncing my leg angrily. Oh, come on… The carriage driver stopped in front of the entertainment district for what seemed like a ridiculously long time, giving out pointers to tourists – unlike the south-west quarter, the central districts of the city were far more stable, drawing in more people for both business and pleasure.

     

                    Pleasure…

     

                    To Oblivion with it.

     

                    I leapt off the carriage, marching straight towards The Bouquet. The physical activity didn’t help at all, and the fire inside was now burning hotter than ever. The sultry colours the brothel was painted in only made it worse.

     

                    The same Breton from the night before greeted me at the door. ‘Welcome back, ma’am! We hope you enjoyed your last visit, you left rather abruptly-’

     

                    ‘Where’s Azalea?’ I snarled, breathing heavily, like a wounded animal.

     

                    The girl blinked, but she masked her shock well. ‘He’s available right now. Just started his shift, actually-’

     

                    ‘I’ll take him.’

     

                    He was waiting in the same bedroom as last night, still getting his hair ready as he smoothed it out behind his head into a lovely, dark wave. He turned around to look at me as I barged inside. His lips were closed around his pink ribbon, and he plucked it out slowly as he smiled.

     

                    ‘You kept your promise, madam,’ he breathed, silver pupils dancing in his wet doe eyes, reflecting the candles flickering in the room. ‘I’m so- Wait… You’re hurt!’

     

                    He drifted towards me, the ribbon floating to the ground in a lazy spiral as he brought his hands to his mouth. ‘Are you all right, madam?’ he asked, genuine worry creasing his delicate brow.

     

                    Azalea inched closer and a musky haze of vanilla and lilac enveloped me, shooting up my nose. His lips opened just wide enough for a finger to slip in; two petals of soft, luscious flesh.

     

                    I snapped. I grabbed him by the throat and forced him towards the bed, throwing him across the velvet sheets. I dug my fingers in and tore off his robes like I was undressing a doll, ignoring his startled squeaks and the renewed pain in my hands. Then I clambered on top, pushing him down, ripping the buttons on my shirt as I threw it off, kicking my trousers all the way to the other end of the bedroom.

     

                    And then I took him, using him as he was meant to be used.

     

                    A whore.

     

                    Just a fucking whore.

     

                    His moans, his motion, his body – all of it, softer than my own. Instead of anything even remotely male, it felt as if I was mounting a younger girl.

     

                    A younger girl…

     

                    As my frenzy simmered down and the red cloud faded from my eyes, for a split second it wasn’t Azalea lying there whimpering and panting but the little Nord girl from the tavern earlier.

     

                    I recoiled, trembling.

     

    UMAMI MIDORI RISEI SEISHUN SHUNBIN BINKAN KANKAKU

    *Ambarro, if I catch you doodling in my notes again I will set you to work pruning every single azalea shrub in my garden.

    On that note, azaleas require regular pruning.

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

                    Much like the Imperial I had assassinated just one day earlier, Sabina Flavana had needed a receptacle. I had not, however, expected her to be quite so rough – proof of my inexperience.

     

                    Still, I adapted well enough, and she took what she needed. As her body cooled, she sat up, climbing off me, and brought her bandaged hands up to massage her face. I tilted my head to look at her, feeling the satin pillow brush my cheek, rustle my hair against my skin.

     

                    She fixed her eyes on me, hollow with a hint of some enigmatic emotion – guilt?

     

                    I felt a spark of triumph. Guilt was even easier to manipulate than lust.

     

                    ‘I…’ Sabina sighed, her fiery red hair clinging to her neck, her bare back lean and muscled, but still shapely. ‘Did I hurt you?’

     

                    ‘Of course not, madam,’ I said, suggesting the opposite by looking away and biting my lip.

     

                    She drew back slightly and hung her head. ‘I’m sorry…’ she said, squeezing her eyes shut. ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to be- I didn’t… agh, what am I even-’

     

                    I reached out to take her hand. She opened her eyes to look at me. There was none of her earlier brashness and anger in those hazel eyes now, only uncertainty and a deep loneliness. Her lower lip trembled for a moment, and her mouth tightened as she whispered another apology.

     

                    For some strange, absurd reason, I felt my heart perform one sudden, additional beat. I also perceived a slight increase in my core body temperature.

     

                    I understood then why sex was such a useful tool for shinobi. It left unguarded participants vulnerable, not just physically but emotionally, leaving both the biological and metaphorical hearts of a target open.

     

                    It was even affecting myself – not enough to influence my judgement as of now, but I would have to be careful.

     

                    ‘It’s all right, madam,’ I murmured. ‘It’s all right… I’m all right.’

     

                    Sabina’s lips twitched into a smile, and some of the hardness returned to her face. ‘Hour’s almost up,’ she said, looking at the timepiece on the wall. Then she looked back at me, studying the swell of my shoulder and the fluid pooling on our skin, and I felt her breathing deepen.

     

                    I ran my forefinger up her wrist, across her arm, tickling her with a fingernail. She was slick with sweat, and her heartrate was beginning to build again.

     

                    I’d asked her the same thing yesterday night, and I asked again now, in a voice as gentle as a kitten’s purr.

     

                    ‘Would madam like… an extension?’

     

     

     

     

                       

     

     

     

Comments

7 Comments   |   A-Pocky-Hah! and 3 others like this.
  • A-Pocky-Hah!
    A-Pocky-Hah!   ·  May 15, 2018
    This indeed looks like Chapter Five to me. Shame that Harrow's section is a bit shorter than Sabina's, not that I mind really.
    I'm surprised Harrow didn't cry, or at least pretended to cry, at the end there. Women can be scary, especially if they're...  more
    • The Sunflower Manual
      The Sunflower Manual
      A-Pocky-Hah!
      A-Pocky-Hah!
      A-Pocky-Hah!
      This indeed looks like Chapter Five to me. Shame that Harrow's section is a bit shorter than Sabina's, not that I mind really.
      I'm surprised Harrow didn't cry, or at least pretended to cry, at the end there. Women can be scary, especially if they're thirs...  more
        ·  May 15, 2018
      Sooo... does this count as yuri? Pseudo-yuri? :3
      • A-Pocky-Hah!
        A-Pocky-Hah!
        The Sunflower Manual
        The Sunflower Manual
        The Sunflower Manual
        Sooo... does this count as yuri? Pseudo-yuri? :3
          ·  May 15, 2018
        No, it's not yuri anymore. This is femdom and straight shota if Harrow is considered underage.
        Well at least it ain't Boku no Pico.
        • The Sunflower Manual
          The Sunflower Manual
          A-Pocky-Hah!
          A-Pocky-Hah!
          A-Pocky-Hah!
          No, it's not yuri anymore. This is femdom and straight shota if Harrow is considered underage.
          Well at least it ain't Boku no Pico.
            ·  May 15, 2018
          肉食 ショタコ ン女騎士 (18 禁 )
          • The Sunflower Manual
            The Sunflower Manual
            The Sunflower Manual
            The Sunflower Manual
            The Sunflower Manual
            肉食 ショタコ ン女騎士 (18 禁 )
              ·  May 15, 2018
            If I could draw a bit better, I'd go and make that an actual doujin... hehehehe
  • Karver the Lorc
    Karver the Lorc   ·  May 14, 2018
    Well, it just has to be lovely to live in Anvil these days. I think I myself would dismiss the idea of a stroll to pub in such city. Which means Flavanas are bound to lack some income, eh? 
    And damn, Sabina can be quite brutal. Both with sword ...  more
    • The Sunflower Manual
      The Sunflower Manual
      Karver the Lorc
      Karver the Lorc
      Karver the Lorc
      Well, it just has to be lovely to live in Anvil these days. I think I myself would dismiss the idea of a stroll to pub in such city. Which means Flavanas are bound to lack some income, eh? 
      And damn, Sabina can be quite brutal. Both with sword and in...  more
        ·  May 15, 2018
      Hehehehehe, yeah. I'm still waiting for Kaiser-jo to tell me if it's yuri or not...