Chéri was trying to mimic the question where you born and raised in Whitby by miming the life of a child, but apparently it wasn’t going very well. Ruby seemed fascinated, but not exactly filled with understanding. Chéri scratched the side of their face, displeased with the efficiency of their performance.

The answer left Chéri confused and observant “All?” Did they not understand the word per se or the concept? They found it curious, anyway. And yes, they were terribly alive and energetic. Their spirit, at least from the outside, came across as extraordinarily strong.

Chéri fanned themselves in response and inquired “Why?” About the fanning. The word was said in English.

Chéri shook their head and made the symbol of “two” with their fingers.

Oh! This cute fellow was looking for instruction from her! Adorable! She touched a hand to her heart, smiling.

“Yes!” she nodded. “Oui. All,” she winged her arms out wide. “You.” She pointed to him with her right hand. “Me.” She brought that finger in to point at herself. “Whitby. We are all Whitby.”

It sounded very, very deep to her, and got her out of answering a damned thing.

Beaming, Ruby basked in her opportunity to delve into her life philosophies whether or not Chéri was actually looking for those.

“Because, mon Chéri,” she cheerily answered, “a woman must be mysterious!” she hid her eyes behind her hand. “Or,” she shrugged with a mischievous smile, “I am a dramatic whore. The possibilities … uh, the things, it could be, are endless!”

She hefted herself on an arm to sit fully up, legs rather unladylike-wide in her tiny dress and hands clutched between her calves.

“Have you eaten?”

She brought her hand to gesture beside her mouth then point at Chéri in emphasis, and added a vague fork motion as an afterthought.

Chéri blinked twice, but smiled. They had no idea why they had touch Ruby, but they weren’t bothered. She was making an effort to chat with them for no discernible reason, she wasn’t disturbed by them in any shape, at least not evidently and they were laughing. Plus, she was also a sex woke. This, in Chéri’s book, already put her in the “friends” category, even if they didn’t understand all she was saying.

“We are all Whitby.” It was one of the first full sentences they had learnt in English. The others could not be repeated in public.

She started answering. Chéri understood what “mysterious” meant, they understood “whore” and they understood that she very conveniently didn’t want to answer specifically. Didn’t seem to be about them or against them, so Chéri just chuckled. “Dramatique” they repeated. “Chéri dramtique too.” They might not have understood fully, but point was that they shared the feeling, to some degree. Chéri smiled.

They did not understand the question right away, but when she asked about food, they clapped their hands and nodded… which could probably be translated to a “no.” Chéri looked around. Where was the food? Their eyes shone at the prospect.

Friends were the people Lory grew up with; the people in her little fishing circle, specifically, marrying off or falling to scandal (and then marrying off, or hanging). Maybe a friend here or there from the occasional other forced proximity, like class. This brothel world … it blurred the lines in ways she wasn’t sure she liked. There were some women who invited her into their beds and then ridiculed her in the morning – were they friends? Lovers?

It didn’t occur to her that there might be a third, less friendly category. Ridicule is what one gave their loved ones, right?

“Ouie!” she confirmed, proudly.

Speaking of ridiculing loved ones – had Alice ever taught a foreigner English? She doubted it! She beamed wider when Chéri repeated a familiar sounding-enough word.

“Yes! Dramatique!” she said, favoring his pronunciation.

It sounded more dramatique, after all.

“You are doing so well!” she proclaimed.

He clapped his hands … shook his head, then looked around expectantly. She fixed a quizzical look back, then rolled herself off the couch with all the grace of a pile of rubble downhill. Ruby took her heels into one hand.

“Let me show you, just in case.”

She waved for him to follow, and led him toward where the smells of food beckoned.

Chéri did not have specific expectations when it came to Ruby: they lived in the same house and for them that was enough to make them a tribe. They hadn’t had the luxury of a stable ally, so they were quick at finding new, even temporary ones wherever they went.

Ruby seemed to be mainly amused by them, so Chéri just complied and laughed.

Chéri had meant to say they were a theater person and now they wanted to know what that meant for Ruby. “Ruby…?” And they pretended to play an invisible guitar, sang a few notes, danced on the spot -with ridiculously misplaced grace, and finally slapped their forehead with a hand. Then looked. Hoping to get an answer.

Ready like a small solider, they put their heels together and marched behind Ruby. Customers could wait, if they were interested, they could just chase Chéri later.

Oh! He was French! Of course he would be a mime. A mime who expected Ruby to have some, uh, training beyond how to window dress. The madame had told her she’d run out of redheads recently, and while she’d thought nothing of it at first … most of the girls here had a ‘trick’ or two.

Ruby found herself learning a lot of tabletop games. At least her maths were good.

He …danced, well but strangely. Of course even the male prostitutes would dance better than her. She smiled sheepishly, then held the kitchen door for him and gestured in.

Oh. She supposed she should have let him hold the door, but she did that for the other girls? workers too. Oh well.

Then, with a carefully practiced, elegant smile, Ruby shimmied in front of him. Raised her hands gracefully, artfully, one forward from her chest and the other raised above it. She paused in that pose … and then did something a fellow fisherperson would find very familiar. She reeled back her arms in sync, and reeled in from the higher hand with a “kk, kk, kk, kk” rhythmic sound from the back of her mouth.

If Chéri had heard about the connection mime-french, they would have been fascinated by the idea of having a skill just by being born somewhere -and fairly annoyed they had to put up so much work in it to get somewhere with it.

Chéri had no idea that tricks were necessary to work at the Pony, somehow they just assumed they were a thing and that people who could perform would naturally fall into the profession: having spent most of their life performing in some capacity, they always had something to offer and it never occurred to them separate the two things. So surely, Ruby must be some sort of performer herself.

Chéri passed triumphantly through the door, like a lady, and bowed deeply to Ruby, as they would have done to thank a gentleman that was showing them particular favour. They didn’t seemed bothered.

Ruby explained that she could fish and Chéri stared with big eyes at her. It was not exactly what Chéri would describe as a brothel skill, but that made them somewhat close. “Moi aussi!” Chéri added, not sure how to go for that simple answer in English.

Oh! One of those sodomites. She knew it on some level, certainly. Everyone here sold their bodies … but it was the first moment where she noticed he had one. Chéri was here, after all, likely waiting for a man who was too interested in chatting up the bartender, or chatting up one of the guards on the premise of directions. While most men bartered their interest through the madame instead, some preferred no middle woman for one reason or another.

As if they weren’t all having a hoot over them afterwards, chosen path to sodomy be damned.

She liked this one, though. He was the first sodomite since … since Simon, that she had talked with. He didn’t even speak English, but he knew how to take a held door.

Ruby smiled brightly, then went straight for the bread. There were some men, mostly older, who came in for a ‘breakfast’ round, but it tended to be the same handful during the week who were either part or full time residents. In result, the breakfast pickings were far less early than she was used to.

Also, no fish. It wasn’t bad, per se … it was just odd to not eat what she was used to eating, ever.

Moi. She knew ‘moi,’ but the second part drew a confused smile. “Aus...stralia?”

But first: food. She picked up a knife and sliced two thick slices of bread. Held one up, and announced:

“Bread!”

Let her eyes flutter closed as she took a bite of cooled but still fresh bread. She wasn’t sure whether Chéri was actually hungry or not, but those two pieces would be eaten one way or another. Besides – it would have felt rude not to.

Chéri followed Ruby towards the bread, not losing a moment. The point was: food. Whomever might be in the other room could still wait. Making them wait was generally a good idea overall.

They looked around, searching for any trace of cheese or marmalade or anything, really, that could be put on bread.

Chéri laughed and shook their head. They tried to explain it halfway “Ruby bread, Chéri bread. Chéri aussi,” it was one word, they were sure they could put something together to make it understandable. Apparently one of the slices was definitely going to end up in Chéri’s stomach.

Food had been, throughout their life, always a joy. The had learnt to take as much of it as they could every time they could, unless they were living in an absolutely lavish lifestyle with someone who looked extra enthusiastic about having them around.

Chéri looked around and asked “Beurre?” Hoping it was close enough to be understood.

Ruby didn’t use the butter. Didn’t even look for something to smear over her slice. She used to tell her mother she was selling butter. Instead, she’d lather her own lunch in it and scrape the rest out, covering the taste, the smell of her shared sin in it. She still didn’t like to eat butter when others were watching. It tasted like shame and secrets.

She used to tell herself it was not as great a sin because she didn’t enjoy it. But then she slept with women, and told herself there was no harm in it because no law forbid it; the emphasis was a man laying with another man.

Then she went out of her way to seduce a client’s wife when he went off to check on some colony. The butter had been bitter on her tongue since.

But Ruby was not thinking of butter. Instead she was doing her best to puzzle out … oo-see?

“Yes!” she said, not entirely sure what she was agreeing to. “Bread for Ruby,” she said, and took a bite of hers, stuffing it into one cheek to still talk before swallowing. “Bread for Chéri. Bon appetit!”

When he asked … something, Ruby tilted her head. She put the bread between her teeth, crossed her arms and shivered.

“Brr? Cold? Are you cold?”