#I'll revise and better set the plot when it's not late at night

[susan-gampre]

Whore’s Justice

~  Mood ~

Her fingers coiled and gripped the neck of the liquor bottle atop the table, biting down onto the cork before sharply tugging the stopper out of place. In an instant she’d make use of the processed bark in such a manner of gritting her teeth, biting down onto the cork whilst tilting the bottle bottoms up, splashing the substance contained all over the open sores and wounds along her knees and left hand.

A muffled cry comes forth in haggard, breathy grunts. Gasping against the cork in the midst of lowering her head back against her chosen seat, socked toes curling in the same motion of her entire figure tensing.

Her skin was aflame with irritation. The infections having set into the open wounds burning away with the aggressive, old school treatments. Ever still... Susan fucking hated this part of the aftermath of any Brothel fight.

Eventually the sting would become but a white pain, adjusting to the ache as quickly as it took her to splash a second dosage of liquor onto the wounds. With a spitting motion the cork flies from her mouth and to the floor, spittle and blood dribbling from her busted lips in the meanwhile.

Glaring hazel eyes watch the quieted Brothel den with minor irritation, considering the extensive damages of toppled tables-- some broken in half, some missing legs which remained strewn out across the grounds, some shattered to pieces... Shrapnel in the form of shattered bottles, abandoned knives and swords, splintered wood and ruined baggies of the plentiful moon dust all littered the heart of the tavern in it’s evidence, marking the mighty brawl prior to it’s disheveled appearance. The single white sheet spotted with red stains draped over the outline of a still body...

Exasperated in thought, the whore inclines her head and had begun to rub the exhaustion from her eyes through grinding her thumb into each eye, one at a time...

I have to notify that girl’s family...

“Susan?”

The Madam draws her narrowed gaze unto the hesitant gypsy half-elf, to whom immediately inclines her head, her tone ever soft as she further explains disturbing the woman: “The thief responsible for the brawl has been found, Kayla has him in the basements for you, ready for use.”

Kayla... The haunting nightmare of a woman, evil incarnate wrapped in a pretty black bow. It brought Susan a sufficient amount of satisfaction to know her trained assassin had make great usage of her abilities, tracking the man down merely an hour into the man-hunt being announced.

A single nod and dismissive waving of Susan’s palm would cause the curly haired gypsy to incline her head a second time, soon to gather her oddly patterned, mismatched skirts and spin atop her flip-flopped feet with a twist and twirl of the colorful garb.

With a swig of alcohol drawn from the bottle at hand, Susan would swallow down the liquid courage with a grimace and snarl, adjusting herself around atop her seat by lifting her battered legs from the opposing set adjacent to hers -- having acted as a mock foot rest to treat her cuts and sores.

Standing upright would the Madam begin the journey to the back of the brothel and into the kitchens, casting a weary expression over her shoulders before proceeding down the steps instilled into the storage room, leading down into an equally sizeable extra storage room-- Dusty, forgotten bags of rice and grains sit atop crates, stacked atop one another.

Cob webs and spider webs hung in the corners of the dank, dimly lit room, the whore shuddering from time to time the deeper she walks into the room having stepped on a jagged, broken batch of cobble stone and scraping her skin against the edges.

“Aha!” A cackling voice booms from the shadows, shimmering gray eyes dancing with utter excitement as the darkly clad woman bounces around Susan, to whom remains utterly unamused with the dark witch’s childishness.

“Come,” Kayla hisses, beckoning and coaxing the Madam along, “He awaits your audience, M’lady-- And oh, how I am so enthralled with what his fate shall be decided!”

Giddy like a child at Winter’s Veil, Kayla skipped along to the next extension of the basement, disappearing in a sudden poof of smoke and shadow before even crossing the threshold. Where once Kayla stood Susan could see clearly into the room. A young man, dressed in garb appropriate to street rats, sat tethered down to a poorly kept, rotted chair, the furniture creaking beneath his weight with each wiggle and struggle against his binds.

“Futile to try, the most good it will do is deprive you of strength. The strength I theorize you would have set behind trying to overcome the pain to follow-- Should you not answer my questions honestly.”

Wild, fearful green eyes flickered to and settled upon the stone faced Madam, a startled, stuttering voice murmuring out an attempt to win the woman’s affection, “S-Susan! Beautiful as e-ever! What’s with the ropes, huh? Old friends mean nothing to you?”

“Do not patronize me,” the woman seethes, a flame lighting in her eyes as her tone shifts into that of which exposed just how... Angry she was, a sneer to match her voice, “You lost the right to a friendship the moment you not only slandered the name of the Brothel, but when you trampled upon my business deals, spat upon the alliances to be made.. Made a mockery of these women, stole from them hundreds of gold, killed one of my women in a petty jealous fit, assaulted customers in my fucking brothel, damaged property of the Sisters in Sin establishment-- Shall the list go on, boy?”

His eyes had begun to pool with tears, his jaw clenching in the same motion of his head bowing. Defeat riddled his entire form.

Susan, however, looked to be quite triumphant. While true she lost a good worker this night, she gained righteous justice for the ill practiced against her... Against her work. Against her women.

“Kayla--.”

The shadows twist and morph, bending inward before shimmering with the effects of a body emerging from their embrace.

Susan gazed upon the wild eyed witch, her brows lofting up before settling to resume her emotionless expression.

This gesture, while faint to the eyes of some, seemed enough of a command for the witch, whom would grin most wickedly whilst approaching the fellow. From her hip has she draw a carving knife into the light, the metal of the blade rustic and brown in color, spotting here and there upon the dingy silver, it’s wooden handle scorched and melted with four distinct bumps -- each seem to fit Kayla’s fingers when she grips the circumference of the handle.

I am far beyond mercy. There is injustice, letting a murderer walk away a free man. Especially when his crimes are against my business.

“For blatant assault against the business of Sisters in Sin,” Susan speaks clear as day, speaking over the whimpers and begs of the tied fellow, whom would struggle harder against his restraints in hopes to escape the maniacal look in Kayla’s eyes, “And the murder of Pixie Dover, I, Madam Gampre, see you, Jeremiah Kettleton, put to death. Justice comes in many forms, citizen’s justice is far more brutal than any hanging. Far more befitting for you, Miah.”

In an instant Kayla would slash at the air in such a gesture to test it’s weight, though truly it was to revel in the deliciousness of Jeremiah squealing and sobbing his apologies, his begging never ceasing.

Puckered lips would be offered to the man’s sniveling, paired with narrowed eyes.

“You should have never crossed me, Jeremiah. Continue, Kayla. Make him bleed.”

Casually flicking her wrist, the Dark Witch refocused her gaze upon the prey before her, extending a grin and a teasing, mocking apology, “I am sorry it’s come to this, Jerry-bear... But, uh... Shit gets you fucked up, messing with a businesswoman!”

Through the cries and gore, Susan glared on. Stoic. Unmoving. Unwavering to the gruesomeness of the attack. Acting as witness to the slaughtering of the murderer and thief.

Never should have crossed me.