It was early evening at the Diamond Pony, a little before the first clients normally arrived. Sure, Chéri wasn’t entirely sure that that was actually “normally” and not a mere coincidence relevant to the very few nights they had spent there, but they had to start somewhere. Also, maybe they could get the very first one, reach an agreement in no time and be in bed before any actual debauchery could take place. They needed to work and make money, but they figured they were allowed to cut corners everywhere they could, as long at those two main goals were reached. So they were now sitting in the biggest room of the diamond pony, in the center of a large sofa, arms leisurely placed on the back, legs crossed. Chéri was wearing a pastel blue three-piece suit with a lavender vest and a slightly darker blue cravat. It was a day suit, but so refined and so perfectly cut that it looked more elegant than most evening attire they had seen so far in Whitby.
That was the second reason why they were wearing that.

The first one was that they had only another suit, an orange one, that was equally unsuited for the place. Sure, they could ask the house to lend them *some* items of clothing, but they weren’t going to look like a pretty little thing someone might be interested in buying, they thought. And they needed the money.

So there they were, inappropriately dressed, patiently waiting for the customers to arrive.

[[CW: Misgendering, sexual content. ]]

How did this one get in early? It was an unkind thought, certainly, but Ruby saved her kindness for the fairer sex alone. (If one could call her kindness that). Though this one did give her pause, if only for a moment. An effeminate face, ruined by a gentleman’s suit.

Ruby sashayed past ‘his’ line of sight, then cast herself on the couch across from him like she just happened to coincidentally bare half a stocking-clad leg in a pose some decaying, elderly artist had requested her to stay in for hours (long, aching hours), before deciding his work was not finished without dribbling ejaculate on her feet.

“A bold one, are you?” she smiled, with teeth. “How did you get in here, handsome?”

The young ones rarely paid well. She wasn’t about to try too hard with this one.

Chéri hadn’t met most of the girls yet, because they were either working, outside exploring or keeping Sonia some company. They had generally spent a lot of time with the proprietress and had maybe decided to keep to themselves until their English improved, but they couldn’t deny how curious they were about their other colleagues. Chéri turned to see the redhead and smiled at her brightly, in that beautiful, heartwarming way he could summon with great ease. Maybe he was even sincere.

He waved at her and said, in French “I bet you have a redhead name, like Roxanne. And I bet you are also fiery. Pity we can’t chat.” Then they pointed their finger to their chest and said “Chéri,” then one to the cellar and said “I live here too now.” That wasn’t going to help, so they pointed their fingers at their chest once again and specified “Courtisane,” which was the overly elegant word Sonia had used for them.

Ruby’s smile was as painted on as the rest of her face. Most men didn’t notice. The smile remained, even when he burst into French. A slight squint when she caught ‘Roxanne’, smile otherwise unflinching. Plenty of her clients spoke French, and some tried to impress her with it. Though she knew a few of the most common words (the ones used to mock the French, mainly), and some of what she heard from Sonia, her grasp of it was sand through fingers. Ruby depended more on physical cues with it.

“Oui, oui!” she said when Cheri pointed to himself. “Mon chéri!”

Then he pointed to the cellar, and she tilted her head. Did he want wine?

Cour-ti-… Oh! One of them. Like that word alone dropped strings from puppet shoulders, Lory sunk like a sack of potatoes across the couch. She sagged until her head was on the cushions (bad idea, but she’d smelled far stronger smells).

“Thank God,” she laughed. “I thought I was going to have to fuck you.”

Just in case he missed the important part of that, she made a hole with her left hand and poked the finger of her right into it repetitively, then pointed at him, shook her head, smiled, and fanned herself in dramatic relief.

She turned only her head to regard Chéri now, flinging her heeled feet up onto the other arm of the couch.

“Do you speak English?” she asked, carefully enunciated rather than slowed.

Whether Chéri noticed how fake Loretta’s smile was or not, they didn’t show. Chéri laughed at the response, she clearly had not understood what they meant.

The second attempt seemed to go better and Chéri smiled triumphantly this time, straightening their back victoriously.

She tried to explain with gestures, but ironically “fuck” was one of the few words Chéri understood perfectly and they erupted in a loud laughter. Chéri metaphorically pushed away the idea, rubbed his thumb against his middle and index finger and shook their head, laughing a little bit. They made a gesture towards themselves “Chéri.” Then towards her “Tu?”

Chéri shook their head. They understood the question. “I’m learning” they specified, in French. Probably not vey useful.

It wasn’t her first time conversing with someone who barely spoke English, but it was certainly one of her newer tasks. She tried to draw on her woefully unprepared teaching days to compensate.

She laughed and nodded at Cheri’s gesture, more to show she understood that he did not want to fuck than anything.

“Chéri,” she repeated, testing if she had it in the right context.

She hadn’t realized it was also a first name in French. How cute!

“Roxanne,” she answered, thumbing to herself with a bitten back laugh.

Then she shook her head.

“No. Ruby.”

She thumbed again at herself as she spoke.

Chéri was used to misunderstanding. They smiled with an encouraging looked and nodded as she repeated their name. It was pretty odd, they knew, but they probably would have appreciated hearing it was cute.

Chéri almost jumped in learning that it was, indeed, Roxanne, but ended up concluding that no, she must be joking.

Chéri chuckled at the correction. “Rubì.” There was some red implication, they were absolutely sure.

“Rubì, Whitby?” Chéri asked. The real question, are you a local, was way too difficult to put together. Chéri could see why people could like her, she clearly had a sense of humor. “Rubì, long diamond pony?” Have you been working here for a long time? Would have been the translation.

For all the refinement she had shown in her entrance, now Lory scooted up on a knee and tapped her heel for the pleasure of hearing it clack on the floor. She was beautiful, certainly … but at the heart, she was still an easily excitable teenager.

“Yes!” she nodded. “Ouie, Chéri. We are in Whitby,” Ruby confirmed, gesturing wide.

Long … Diamond Pony. That certainly evoked some sort of image, like a horse with too much torso. But she didn’t think that was what he was getting at, so she shook her head.

“No, non,” she shook her head. “Not long at the Diamond Pony. You?” she pointed in emphasis, then added as an afterthought: “tu?”

When they noticed how Loretta stopped trying to look refined, the way a man might imagined her, Chéri started to smile a little wider. Chéri was glad of knowing Ruby did not see the need to pretend in front of them and felt like they could get to know her better now that they were seeing her, they felt, behaving the way she pleased.

Chéri shook their head “No no, you” they knew that word “uè, uè” they tried to make the gesture for small first, then the one for cradling in one’s arms then the one for a small height, growing slowly taller “Whitby” they added. Were you born here? Did you grow up here? They were trying to ask. “Are you Whitby?” Best they could do.

Chéri would have probably laughed at the idea of the long horse. They maybe would have even drawn it, to remind themselves of that. Chéri shook their head. A short time. Not even a month. “New,” they added.

At first, Ruby watched them with open curiosity. Rocking, cradle, like a baby … did he have children? Taller … multiple kids? He was so young! Was he looking for siblings? … Did the Longbottoms lose a child in France somehow, or get shipped off by those McPadraics?

… Would Lory have been happier had she been shipped off by the McPadraics?

Then he asked about where she was from. Back up came that painted on, overly pleasant smile.
What was she supposed to say? ‘Yes, and I fear every corner of it’? Chéri looked so … optimistic. She didn’t take that from him. No: she wanted to catch it from him. Like a butterfly, or a disease.

“We are all Whitby,” Ruby said airily, fanning herself with her hand.

Her smile turned sympathetic, and she nodded.

“Me, too. Have you been in Whitby long?”