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Write about a time you mocked somebody.
Feb. 24th, 2006 12:58 pmYou don't become the most celebrated and sought after whore in a dozen Territories by mocking your clients aloud. I could set my own price for my services. Do you know the power that gave? In a world ruled by women, males were forced to kneel. Forced to serve. But they paid anything I asked for the chance to be with me. The females they served mocked and belittled them. Threatened their masculinity. But not me. No, I smiled. I stroked. I made them feel strong and powerful and they loved me for it. So many begged to take me away from all of this.
They never knew what I thought of them inside.
Don't get me wrong, sugar. I had clients I liked. Regulars that I got on with well, who cared for my pleasure as well as theirs, who made witty and charming conversation, who saw to it that I was taken to grand parties and shown off. But it was a game. They'd used me as a child and I used them as a woman. I played their game and I won and I laughed at them in my head and sometimes with Sadi, when we had chance to meet privately.
My family knows well how caustic I can be when I've no need of their approval to survive. Daemon says I'm snarly. I know I'm far too inclined to knife someone first, ask questions later. All those instincts I learned to hide when pleasing the men who bought my time. But even that is not mocking. Oh, it might be sarcasm, and it might be cutting sometimes, but it's not mocking. Not truly. It's just me.
My other clients? Those that I was paid to kill instead of bed? I went for the kill, sure and fast. I didn't take time to mock them before they died.
Except once. When Titian and I took Kartane. When we made him bleed and made him scream. Made him pay for her rape. Her murder. For what he did to the girls at Briarwood. For what he'd tried to do to me, his daughter. For what he did do, leaving me a motherless girl of twelve on the streets and the fate that awaited me there.
We made it slow for him. Took our time.
And I mocked him with each cut of my blade.
They never knew what I thought of them inside.
Don't get me wrong, sugar. I had clients I liked. Regulars that I got on with well, who cared for my pleasure as well as theirs, who made witty and charming conversation, who saw to it that I was taken to grand parties and shown off. But it was a game. They'd used me as a child and I used them as a woman. I played their game and I won and I laughed at them in my head and sometimes with Sadi, when we had chance to meet privately.
My family knows well how caustic I can be when I've no need of their approval to survive. Daemon says I'm snarly. I know I'm far too inclined to knife someone first, ask questions later. All those instincts I learned to hide when pleasing the men who bought my time. But even that is not mocking. Oh, it might be sarcasm, and it might be cutting sometimes, but it's not mocking. Not truly. It's just me.
My other clients? Those that I was paid to kill instead of bed? I went for the kill, sure and fast. I didn't take time to mock them before they died.
Except once. When Titian and I took Kartane. When we made him bleed and made him scream. Made him pay for her rape. Her murder. For what he did to the girls at Briarwood. For what he'd tried to do to me, his daughter. For what he did do, leaving me a motherless girl of twelve on the streets and the fate that awaited me there.
We made it slow for him. Took our time.
And I mocked him with each cut of my blade.
