[[CW: Sex work bound to be mentioned, constantly.]]

Apparently, the new brothel owner hated redheads. She’d yet to meet the bastard – couldn’t even remember his name, God knew Sonia didn’t use it – but all the worst clients got funneled to her and any of the ladies who dared don a red wig at the wrong time.

“Your name still Ruby?” asked one of the girls, buffing her nails on her sleeve. “Stronzo –” as the ladies knew him “– wants a ‘bath drawn’” she air-quoted “for his sister at his residence.”

Oh! A sister of the owner! Exciting! … Did she like redheads?

Ruby wasted some time fretting with a wig before dressing up in blue in case that was the imagery her client was looking for.

Only for her, to her surprise, be led to the the washroom. She arched a brow, seeing the faucets she’d gotten used to at the Diamond Pony, and turned them without bothering to take off her gloves.

At least it wasn’t gross … so far. Did she just wait here?