(CW - Adult themes)


She knew she had a somewhat safe place to be when it came to the Diamond Pony. She wasn't being forced into it, she wasn't owned, and she had yet to take money for a roll in the sheets. Indeed, even after the party, her virginity was, alas, still intact. She had been fretting too much over the mistress who had disappeared during the ball. But that could not be helped. The young miss sat alone in the parlor, nursing a brandy but barely sipping on it.


Octavia had plenty to think about but she didn't want to think about it. She was feeling a little down about how her life had taken such a turn that she chose the life of a courtesan over clearing her name. Nobody believed fallen women even when they weren't fallen. Her reputation was in tatters all because she refused to bed the smelly old fart of a laird who had one eye and no teeth. For that, she had been branded a whore.


Her eyes half closed as she tasted of the nectar that was brandy, the amber liquid no longer burning on it's way down to her stomach. She then downed the rest and set the crystal tumbler down, tipping it so she could look at the bottom where the remaining droplets glistened. She reached for the decanter and poured herself another. She promised that would be the last taste of spirits she would get, but God damn, did it take the edge off of the anger she felt toward Laird McAsshole. She gave a sigh and set the tumbler down firmly, pushing it and the decanter away, standing up, sticking the side of her thumb in between her front teeth.

What Malachi could remember of the masquerade ball itself was… fuzzy. Everything after was far clearer, if no less (in fact, far more) concerning.

However, some… smarter, kinder, better version of himself still remembered a flash of the events outside of his immediate focus, and in particular, he remembered her. If only for the fact that he’d seen her before.

Sonia. That seemed to be the name his hazy, addled mind had decided for her, so he did hope that it was the right one.

It was in an odd state that he opted to visit her. The majority of his injuries – of which there were many – were covered well enough by his clothes, leaving only a cut on his face and several more on his bruised knuckles. He hid them behind his back, hands folded neatly as always.

Malachi was far less certain of himself this time, stepping into the parlor without a bit to drink beforehand, but the dilation of his pupils suggested that he was either very pleased to be there or very high instead.

“Mi–”

Oh. That wasn’t Sonia, was it? The young woman in the parlor looked vaguely familiar, but only God knew how. Malachi blinked, glancing over her once before adjusting his approach.

“Hello,” he greeted, “I just wanted to check in on… Sonia. Is she about?”

"I haven'a seen her," said the woman before whirling round toward the glass of Brandy. She downed what was in the glass, made a click with her tongue, and then said, "I've been worried aboot her, she couldn'a gone too far in her state, could she?" She raked her fingers through her hair and set the glass down again. "Dinna I know ye? Ye look familiar." Of course, there had been so many people at the brothel that night that it was almost impossible to tell.

She stopped herself from pouring another few shots of the stuff she drank. She was pacing again, nibbling on the side of her thumb.

“Oh,” Malachi nodded, and tried not to sound too disappointed. He wasn’t, really, but he’d already made the trip here.

Remaining in place almost awkwardly, as if he wasn’t entirely sure of how to act in such a place, he observed the woman’s pacing and tilted his head.

Shit. He had seen her, hadn’t he.

“I… was at the party,” he admitted, reluctant as he was to do so.

“I was the – ah, the devil. One of them, that is.”

"Ah, the Devil has a way of followin' me aroond," she said this with little humor presented, brows puckering. "I was the queen of the fae," she said. Then she looked away. "Twas ta be my first night as a harlot, but I couldna go through with it." She gave a laugh that did not meet her eyes. Her lips trembled a little and she whirled and marched back toward the drink, "I thought it'd be easy but t'isn't at all." Her hand hovered over the decanter, then snatched back toward her. She was already tipsy. Her cheeks were flushed from the two glasses of brandy she had already consumed.

And then she looked back at the man. "Are ye alright, mon? Would ye like ta sit and share this brandy? Ye look a fright."

Oh dear. Yes, he remembered… that. Sonia had announced it, after all, and Malachi himself had meant to leave after that.

He hadn’t, of course, but he’d meant to.

“Well, that is… perfectly understandable, I think,” said Malachi, watching her hands hover and retreat from the decanter. When the offer to share it came, it took him a moment to respond.

He shouldn’t. But – no. He shouldn’t. But –

“Sure, thank you,” he offered a smile that was sheepish, almost, and finally moved farther into the parlor. “I’m quite alright, just a little – off. Nothing that I cannot get through, I assure you.”

If only that was the truth.

“I don’t mean to pry, miss, but are you certain that this is what you want to do? It is your choice, of course, and I mean no judgement. It just sounds as if it might be more important to you than something to sell.”

She was too agitated to try and saunter around him, too tired to try and charm. She didn't want to give herself away in such a manner but... Ahh, what else could she do? But she retrieved a second glass and set it down on the table, filling his and offering it to him, waiting for him to take it before moving to refill her own. She grabbed the decanter and moved to a fainting couch, which had enough space for two. She gestured toward the end with the arm rest and stayed at the far end for the moment, sitting there because it was comfortable.

She set the decanter down on the sill behind her, then looked down at her drink. "It doesna matter what choice I make, in the eyes of the rest o' the world, I am a harlot. My name is smeared like shit beneath a bootheel." She took half the liquid into her mouth, held it there in her cheek for a moment, and swallowed it down while staring at the interesting patterns on the floor.

Malachi accepted the glass with a grateful smile, albeit one that did not quite reach his too-dark eyes. Following after her with a carefully hidden hesitance, he waited until the woman had seated herself before he moved to sit at the other end.

“What makes you say that?” he inquired, and then lifted the glass to his lips. It tasted – oh, it tasted awful, but if Malachi did not like it, it did not show on his face.

“If you haven’t even… done it before, did something happen to smear your name?”

"I refused ta marry the Laird my da arranged for me ta wed. The mon turned aroond and tauld everyone that I was nothin' but a whore... That I gave myself ta him. I was thrown oot o' my da's home. Only, t'wasn't true. He brought oot his sheets smeared wit' blood, but I can swear on my life t'wasn't my blood. I would ne'er have let him near me, he repulses me. He's got no teeth and one eye, and he's as ornery as they come. He's crude and disgoostin, and he smells o' vomit and breakin' wind."

She shuddered. She was downing the second half of the brandy from her glass when she took a long look at him and his brandy. "Och, I'm sorreh to blather on aboot my own woes. Ye shouldna fash yerself."

Malachi was silent as he listened to her story, sipping at his brandy on occasion.

What a dreadful thing, that. The poor girl had not only been subjected to the humiliation of such rumors, but to the wrath of such a vile man as well. He hadn’t the first idea of what it was like for a woman, being on the other end of that – but he suspected it was far from pleasant.

“There is no need to apologize,” he assured, eyes darting to the glass in her hand for just a moment.

“I’m terribly sorry that that happened to you, and that any bit of it follows you now. I am… sorry, too, that this feels like the best option for you. Your first should be a pleasant, desired experience.”

He… wasn’t even sure if he could remember his. But it sounded right.