Conversations with a Beast, part 2

He likes his bedroom talk. Surprising, because his quiet and mysterious ways don’t appropriately foreshadow  intimate eloquence. Unfathomable is the term some of the ladies like to use. Actually, everyone seems to use that word when describing my beast or their own. It irritates me to a very questionable degree.

I feel like there should be a good epiteth spat out right here, but I can’t settle on any particular one. Just attach your own at will. Who wants to be unfathomable? It’ll land you at the bottom of the Malvechian Trench, and what air-breather wants to be down there? Besides, it’s dark, and I have no bioluminescence about me.

Oh, lofty-brow raise I see there upon your face… Why wouldn’t I be educated? I know my mouth isn’t always the most proper, but I choose my words carefully, nonetheless– dependent upon my audience.

Just like every other learned person.

I walk between words and between worlds, which is how I found myself being transplanted from my hovel of a hometown to my current abode. I most definitely did not grow up with the tech and mag advances the citizens of Amnim are fortunate enough to possess. Little Shigua is nothing more than a street behind a field with a pump well. It only clings to the map because of its infamous neighbor, Dadeja–a brothel town with a vigerous slave trade.

It’s called “loaning yourself out,” but slapping a free trade name on something doesn’t make it so.  I don’t actually care so much about the skin trade as I do how most of the brothels aren’t freely stocked there. It’s widely known, even with regulations in place to restrict the dubious nature of consent. That’s why staying in Shigua was questionable after a certain age. Poachers lurked even when we thought our town was much too small to hide and hunt in.

They almost got me and my cousin once, but I’m really flexible, and my wrists are small. Make your own deductions about our escape, please. I have reservations about reliving the encounter.

“Have you been faking it?”

Said in his deceptively calm tone…

That was another encounter I don’t wish to repeat, but it’s not a traumatic one–merely uncomfortable–so I can safely relate it. Had I more experience, I probably could’ve done so indefinitely–faked it, I mean. On second thought, the man’s very observant. So, perhaps not. Regardless, he caught me at month four, the second time he decided to decorate my apendages with silk. I did my damnedest to lie, though. I mean, who wouldn’t? Look at him. He’s…well, him! I’m not a martyr. I just wanted the man to enjoy himself, and it was only the fourth month. I was embarrassed at being found out.

It took me a week to cave. It became necessary. Afterwards, he’d gotten so quiet… Not a concern in public, because that’s how he always is, but in the privacy of our bedroom, it was ominous.

“I’m sorry.”

Then I cried. I didn’t get any further for five whole minutes. I was so embarrassed… Because it was still all new to me, and I was still very much corruptible at that point. I had committed the sin of willful miscommunication and silence–the basis for many a romantic conflict.

I did manage to tell him, though. It was with the side of my face creased against my pillow allowing for no eye contact, but I did manage.

“I don’t like playing with those. They remind me of…”

He listened.

Then I stopped speaking so I could hear his comments. That proved a more enjoyable experience. As I’ve expressed before, he didn’t decide upon me because I was biddable. It was because I could control my tongue. Take that as you will. As I’ve said, he likes to talk in the bedroom.


(Second day in January, second short piece in. Hopefully, I can maintain the momentum so these two characters get fleshed out some.)


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