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Skylla could feel nothing but the sharp tang of bitterness on her tongue. It had only been a few days since she had found Lysander murdered on these streets, but she still couldn't wrap her head around the situation that she and Callidora had found themselves in. Alone. In Egypt. Without a male escort. They were bound to find trouble. They were bound to die here.
And Skylla was livid.
Utterly and completely livid.
But there was little that they could do at this very moment. Nothing but continue their day to day. Their work, their professions, at least kept them minutely busy. This was an exceedingly good thing for Skylla simply because if she was not working, she would be tempted to do... bad things. Bad things that would likely color the way that her lover looked upon her. That was something that Skylla didn't want to risk. There was that part of her, deep down, that truly cared about Callidora, so doing anything to ruin either of their chances at survival was not at the top of the physician's list.
However, the longer they stayed. The longer they towed that dangerous line of homosexuality in a Kingdom that regularly executed offenders, the more danger they would find themselves in. Skylla needed to get them out of this city. Out of this Kingdom. But they had no male counterpart and very little money left. At least, not enough for the both of them to board a ship to ferry them back to Greece. And that was assuming they wouldn't be forced into slavery as soon as their feet touched the gangplank.
For a moment, Skylla wished she had gone home with Lukos on their last encounter. She had learned enough by then. Enough to do what she wanted. To make something of herself. She hadn't really needed to continue being an eternally free spirit. Then again, she had found that she liked the freedom of being off that tiny island far more than she liked being on it. It didn't matter that her family was stuck there. She wasn't and she wasn't keen on going back any time soon.
Lukos could sneer and throw a silent temper tantrum about it, but she wasn't going to relent. Not unless something well and truly forced her hand.
Stepping out of the tavern that she and Callidora had been lodging in, Skylla patted the heavy bag of her medicinal supplies. It was just as heavy as the day before, which was both good and bad. Good because she didn't need to buy more, bad because she had found little business the day before. Today was a new day and she trailed slowly through the seedy streets, making a mental note of the dagger she kept toward her inner thigh, hidden by her chiton.
She didn't get very far before she found herself crashing into someone, annoyed that either herself for this girl were not paying attention to where they were walking. Putting her hands out onto both of the girl's shoulders, Skylla pushed her back a few steps, though she kept a firm hold on her. "Head up, girl," she said calmly in easy Coptic, "Let me look at you. Are you hurt?" she asked, questioning more about them crashing into each other than any actual wounds she may have earned from elsewhere.
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Skylla could feel nothing but the sharp tang of bitterness on her tongue. It had only been a few days since she had found Lysander murdered on these streets, but she still couldn't wrap her head around the situation that she and Callidora had found themselves in. Alone. In Egypt. Without a male escort. They were bound to find trouble. They were bound to die here.
And Skylla was livid.
Utterly and completely livid.
But there was little that they could do at this very moment. Nothing but continue their day to day. Their work, their professions, at least kept them minutely busy. This was an exceedingly good thing for Skylla simply because if she was not working, she would be tempted to do... bad things. Bad things that would likely color the way that her lover looked upon her. That was something that Skylla didn't want to risk. There was that part of her, deep down, that truly cared about Callidora, so doing anything to ruin either of their chances at survival was not at the top of the physician's list.
However, the longer they stayed. The longer they towed that dangerous line of homosexuality in a Kingdom that regularly executed offenders, the more danger they would find themselves in. Skylla needed to get them out of this city. Out of this Kingdom. But they had no male counterpart and very little money left. At least, not enough for the both of them to board a ship to ferry them back to Greece. And that was assuming they wouldn't be forced into slavery as soon as their feet touched the gangplank.
For a moment, Skylla wished she had gone home with Lukos on their last encounter. She had learned enough by then. Enough to do what she wanted. To make something of herself. She hadn't really needed to continue being an eternally free spirit. Then again, she had found that she liked the freedom of being off that tiny island far more than she liked being on it. It didn't matter that her family was stuck there. She wasn't and she wasn't keen on going back any time soon.
Lukos could sneer and throw a silent temper tantrum about it, but she wasn't going to relent. Not unless something well and truly forced her hand.
Stepping out of the tavern that she and Callidora had been lodging in, Skylla patted the heavy bag of her medicinal supplies. It was just as heavy as the day before, which was both good and bad. Good because she didn't need to buy more, bad because she had found little business the day before. Today was a new day and she trailed slowly through the seedy streets, making a mental note of the dagger she kept toward her inner thigh, hidden by her chiton.
She didn't get very far before she found herself crashing into someone, annoyed that either herself for this girl were not paying attention to where they were walking. Putting her hands out onto both of the girl's shoulders, Skylla pushed her back a few steps, though she kept a firm hold on her. "Head up, girl," she said calmly in easy Coptic, "Let me look at you. Are you hurt?" she asked, questioning more about them crashing into each other than any actual wounds she may have earned from elsewhere.
Skylla could feel nothing but the sharp tang of bitterness on her tongue. It had only been a few days since she had found Lysander murdered on these streets, but she still couldn't wrap her head around the situation that she and Callidora had found themselves in. Alone. In Egypt. Without a male escort. They were bound to find trouble. They were bound to die here.
And Skylla was livid.
Utterly and completely livid.
But there was little that they could do at this very moment. Nothing but continue their day to day. Their work, their professions, at least kept them minutely busy. This was an exceedingly good thing for Skylla simply because if she was not working, she would be tempted to do... bad things. Bad things that would likely color the way that her lover looked upon her. That was something that Skylla didn't want to risk. There was that part of her, deep down, that truly cared about Callidora, so doing anything to ruin either of their chances at survival was not at the top of the physician's list.
However, the longer they stayed. The longer they towed that dangerous line of homosexuality in a Kingdom that regularly executed offenders, the more danger they would find themselves in. Skylla needed to get them out of this city. Out of this Kingdom. But they had no male counterpart and very little money left. At least, not enough for the both of them to board a ship to ferry them back to Greece. And that was assuming they wouldn't be forced into slavery as soon as their feet touched the gangplank.
For a moment, Skylla wished she had gone home with Lukos on their last encounter. She had learned enough by then. Enough to do what she wanted. To make something of herself. She hadn't really needed to continue being an eternally free spirit. Then again, she had found that she liked the freedom of being off that tiny island far more than she liked being on it. It didn't matter that her family was stuck there. She wasn't and she wasn't keen on going back any time soon.
Lukos could sneer and throw a silent temper tantrum about it, but she wasn't going to relent. Not unless something well and truly forced her hand.
Stepping out of the tavern that she and Callidora had been lodging in, Skylla patted the heavy bag of her medicinal supplies. It was just as heavy as the day before, which was both good and bad. Good because she didn't need to buy more, bad because she had found little business the day before. Today was a new day and she trailed slowly through the seedy streets, making a mental note of the dagger she kept toward her inner thigh, hidden by her chiton.
She didn't get very far before she found herself crashing into someone, annoyed that either herself for this girl were not paying attention to where they were walking. Putting her hands out onto both of the girl's shoulders, Skylla pushed her back a few steps, though she kept a firm hold on her. "Head up, girl," she said calmly in easy Coptic, "Let me look at you. Are you hurt?" she asked, questioning more about them crashing into each other than any actual wounds she may have earned from elsewhere.
Deshra walked swiftly down the street in a bad mood. As she walked her footsteps only increased in speed as if she might be able to outrun her bad mood. She was in trouble and as much as she didn’t like to admit it, it was all her own fault. Just that morning she had broken a bottle of expensive perfume, her favorite scent which had been a gift from a patron. If that hadn’t been enough of a setback for the day, when the glass had shattered, she had thought she had cleaned up all the pieces. It was only when she knelt on the floor to grab a robe that ended up under the bed did she find the last piece of the bottle as her forearm slid over where it was hidden in the shadow of the bed.
While the injury wasn’t something life-threatening, Deshra couldn’t help but be incredibly annoyed. She was going to be very upset if it left a scar. She thought her tan freckled skin was one of her best features, at least that’s what her customers always told her. It would be a strike against Deshra’s pride in her beauty to have that ruined with an ugly scar. So Deshra was determined to do whatever she could to make sure that wouldn’t happen.
It was still early in the day, and she wouldn’t be expected to receive any clients until the evening, so she knew she needed to take care of this as soon as possible before she might be missed. She quickly wrapped the injury in the cloth she had used to wash her face that morning and threw on a thin shift so that she was decent enough to go out to the market. She also threw on some thin gold bracelets, as much to distract the eye from her unsightly makeshift bandage as to have something of value that she could exchange for whatever medicine she could find to reduce any scarring.
It was just Deshra’s luck that she was distracted enough by the whole ordeal that she found herself running into another woman in the street. Just great. If Deshra had had her way, she would have just continued on her way, mumbling an apology for having run into this woman. Instead, she was held by her shoulders, stuck having to deal with this woman. At first, Deshra kept her head down, her downcast gaze a sign of respect to someone of a higher class. She didn’t want to start any trouble, not today. At the same time, she hated this kind of interaction the most, to feel completely powerless. With men, at least, she had some control over the situation. With a woman, there was absolutely nothing she could do. She was a nobody, and nothing she did could convince them otherwise.
As the woman spoke, Deshra lifted her head at her command, her gaze still soft, instead of the defiant, she wished it could be. “No I’m not hurt,” Deshra responded, thinking only of the collision with the woman and not of her earlier injury. “I should get going; I have errands to run,” Deshra said, instinctively looking back down, and cradling her bandaged forearm to her chest. She noted with some disgust that the injury had bled through the cloth. She’d have to find a suitable replacement for the cloth as soon as she extracted herself from this awkward situation.
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Deshra walked swiftly down the street in a bad mood. As she walked her footsteps only increased in speed as if she might be able to outrun her bad mood. She was in trouble and as much as she didn’t like to admit it, it was all her own fault. Just that morning she had broken a bottle of expensive perfume, her favorite scent which had been a gift from a patron. If that hadn’t been enough of a setback for the day, when the glass had shattered, she had thought she had cleaned up all the pieces. It was only when she knelt on the floor to grab a robe that ended up under the bed did she find the last piece of the bottle as her forearm slid over where it was hidden in the shadow of the bed.
While the injury wasn’t something life-threatening, Deshra couldn’t help but be incredibly annoyed. She was going to be very upset if it left a scar. She thought her tan freckled skin was one of her best features, at least that’s what her customers always told her. It would be a strike against Deshra’s pride in her beauty to have that ruined with an ugly scar. So Deshra was determined to do whatever she could to make sure that wouldn’t happen.
It was still early in the day, and she wouldn’t be expected to receive any clients until the evening, so she knew she needed to take care of this as soon as possible before she might be missed. She quickly wrapped the injury in the cloth she had used to wash her face that morning and threw on a thin shift so that she was decent enough to go out to the market. She also threw on some thin gold bracelets, as much to distract the eye from her unsightly makeshift bandage as to have something of value that she could exchange for whatever medicine she could find to reduce any scarring.
It was just Deshra’s luck that she was distracted enough by the whole ordeal that she found herself running into another woman in the street. Just great. If Deshra had had her way, she would have just continued on her way, mumbling an apology for having run into this woman. Instead, she was held by her shoulders, stuck having to deal with this woman. At first, Deshra kept her head down, her downcast gaze a sign of respect to someone of a higher class. She didn’t want to start any trouble, not today. At the same time, she hated this kind of interaction the most, to feel completely powerless. With men, at least, she had some control over the situation. With a woman, there was absolutely nothing she could do. She was a nobody, and nothing she did could convince them otherwise.
As the woman spoke, Deshra lifted her head at her command, her gaze still soft, instead of the defiant, she wished it could be. “No I’m not hurt,” Deshra responded, thinking only of the collision with the woman and not of her earlier injury. “I should get going; I have errands to run,” Deshra said, instinctively looking back down, and cradling her bandaged forearm to her chest. She noted with some disgust that the injury had bled through the cloth. She’d have to find a suitable replacement for the cloth as soon as she extracted herself from this awkward situation.
Deshra walked swiftly down the street in a bad mood. As she walked her footsteps only increased in speed as if she might be able to outrun her bad mood. She was in trouble and as much as she didn’t like to admit it, it was all her own fault. Just that morning she had broken a bottle of expensive perfume, her favorite scent which had been a gift from a patron. If that hadn’t been enough of a setback for the day, when the glass had shattered, she had thought she had cleaned up all the pieces. It was only when she knelt on the floor to grab a robe that ended up under the bed did she find the last piece of the bottle as her forearm slid over where it was hidden in the shadow of the bed.
While the injury wasn’t something life-threatening, Deshra couldn’t help but be incredibly annoyed. She was going to be very upset if it left a scar. She thought her tan freckled skin was one of her best features, at least that’s what her customers always told her. It would be a strike against Deshra’s pride in her beauty to have that ruined with an ugly scar. So Deshra was determined to do whatever she could to make sure that wouldn’t happen.
It was still early in the day, and she wouldn’t be expected to receive any clients until the evening, so she knew she needed to take care of this as soon as possible before she might be missed. She quickly wrapped the injury in the cloth she had used to wash her face that morning and threw on a thin shift so that she was decent enough to go out to the market. She also threw on some thin gold bracelets, as much to distract the eye from her unsightly makeshift bandage as to have something of value that she could exchange for whatever medicine she could find to reduce any scarring.
It was just Deshra’s luck that she was distracted enough by the whole ordeal that she found herself running into another woman in the street. Just great. If Deshra had had her way, she would have just continued on her way, mumbling an apology for having run into this woman. Instead, she was held by her shoulders, stuck having to deal with this woman. At first, Deshra kept her head down, her downcast gaze a sign of respect to someone of a higher class. She didn’t want to start any trouble, not today. At the same time, she hated this kind of interaction the most, to feel completely powerless. With men, at least, she had some control over the situation. With a woman, there was absolutely nothing she could do. She was a nobody, and nothing she did could convince them otherwise.
As the woman spoke, Deshra lifted her head at her command, her gaze still soft, instead of the defiant, she wished it could be. “No I’m not hurt,” Deshra responded, thinking only of the collision with the woman and not of her earlier injury. “I should get going; I have errands to run,” Deshra said, instinctively looking back down, and cradling her bandaged forearm to her chest. She noted with some disgust that the injury had bled through the cloth. She’d have to find a suitable replacement for the cloth as soon as she extracted herself from this awkward situation.
Skylla was not blind. The woman that she now held in her grasp was clearly injured if the blood at her forearm gave enough of a tell to illustrate that point. Lifting an eyebrow, Skylla noted that she herself hadn't caused such an injury. That was done earlier, as the blood soaking through the makeshift bandage at Deshra's arm was already starting to dry into a darker color. If Skylla guessed correctly, she was pretty sure that the fabric would be sticking to the wound before long, making it a hotbed for infection if it was not cared for properly.
Dark eyes momentarily looking the girl up and down, the thin shift of fabric that Deshra wore was enough of a sign of her status as a pleasure worker to have Skylla pulling her hands off the girl's shoulders. Clearing her throat, the physician looked her up and down. She was cute and exotic, but so not Skylla's type, which was great because she was trying her hardest to be so good to Callidora. She might have slipped up once or twice, but at least the thought was there.
"Forgive me, miss," Skylla started out, her gaze dropping back to the bandage on Deshra's arm. "But you appear to be quite injured and at risk of bleeding through your bandage," the woman said, her tone almost tender and caring. That was, after all, the persona that she liked everyone around her to see over anything else. "And I can tell you that most merchants will not wish to deal with you if you are more likely to bleed all over their stock instead of actually buy something," she added in a delicate murmur.
"I'm a physician," Skylla introduced herself, "My name is Skylla. How about I bandage that properly for you so you don't make it worse? I'm sure the fabric I use for bandages will work a little better than..." Skylla had reached down in order to pick up Deshra's arm and to observe it with a rather clinical expression, "... whatever this is. Did you... is this a dirty cloth?" she asked with her brows knit together. Was the girl stupid or just in a hurry? Did she not have proper bandages? Was she asking for a festering wound? Because that was what it was starting to look like.
Skylla figured that it was all the more power to her if that's what Deshra actually wanted. This city was horrible and she wouldn't wish living here on anyone. Even those who lived her by, gods-forbid, choice.
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Skylla was not blind. The woman that she now held in her grasp was clearly injured if the blood at her forearm gave enough of a tell to illustrate that point. Lifting an eyebrow, Skylla noted that she herself hadn't caused such an injury. That was done earlier, as the blood soaking through the makeshift bandage at Deshra's arm was already starting to dry into a darker color. If Skylla guessed correctly, she was pretty sure that the fabric would be sticking to the wound before long, making it a hotbed for infection if it was not cared for properly.
Dark eyes momentarily looking the girl up and down, the thin shift of fabric that Deshra wore was enough of a sign of her status as a pleasure worker to have Skylla pulling her hands off the girl's shoulders. Clearing her throat, the physician looked her up and down. She was cute and exotic, but so not Skylla's type, which was great because she was trying her hardest to be so good to Callidora. She might have slipped up once or twice, but at least the thought was there.
"Forgive me, miss," Skylla started out, her gaze dropping back to the bandage on Deshra's arm. "But you appear to be quite injured and at risk of bleeding through your bandage," the woman said, her tone almost tender and caring. That was, after all, the persona that she liked everyone around her to see over anything else. "And I can tell you that most merchants will not wish to deal with you if you are more likely to bleed all over their stock instead of actually buy something," she added in a delicate murmur.
"I'm a physician," Skylla introduced herself, "My name is Skylla. How about I bandage that properly for you so you don't make it worse? I'm sure the fabric I use for bandages will work a little better than..." Skylla had reached down in order to pick up Deshra's arm and to observe it with a rather clinical expression, "... whatever this is. Did you... is this a dirty cloth?" she asked with her brows knit together. Was the girl stupid or just in a hurry? Did she not have proper bandages? Was she asking for a festering wound? Because that was what it was starting to look like.
Skylla figured that it was all the more power to her if that's what Deshra actually wanted. This city was horrible and she wouldn't wish living here on anyone. Even those who lived her by, gods-forbid, choice.
Skylla was not blind. The woman that she now held in her grasp was clearly injured if the blood at her forearm gave enough of a tell to illustrate that point. Lifting an eyebrow, Skylla noted that she herself hadn't caused such an injury. That was done earlier, as the blood soaking through the makeshift bandage at Deshra's arm was already starting to dry into a darker color. If Skylla guessed correctly, she was pretty sure that the fabric would be sticking to the wound before long, making it a hotbed for infection if it was not cared for properly.
Dark eyes momentarily looking the girl up and down, the thin shift of fabric that Deshra wore was enough of a sign of her status as a pleasure worker to have Skylla pulling her hands off the girl's shoulders. Clearing her throat, the physician looked her up and down. She was cute and exotic, but so not Skylla's type, which was great because she was trying her hardest to be so good to Callidora. She might have slipped up once or twice, but at least the thought was there.
"Forgive me, miss," Skylla started out, her gaze dropping back to the bandage on Deshra's arm. "But you appear to be quite injured and at risk of bleeding through your bandage," the woman said, her tone almost tender and caring. That was, after all, the persona that she liked everyone around her to see over anything else. "And I can tell you that most merchants will not wish to deal with you if you are more likely to bleed all over their stock instead of actually buy something," she added in a delicate murmur.
"I'm a physician," Skylla introduced herself, "My name is Skylla. How about I bandage that properly for you so you don't make it worse? I'm sure the fabric I use for bandages will work a little better than..." Skylla had reached down in order to pick up Deshra's arm and to observe it with a rather clinical expression, "... whatever this is. Did you... is this a dirty cloth?" she asked with her brows knit together. Was the girl stupid or just in a hurry? Did she not have proper bandages? Was she asking for a festering wound? Because that was what it was starting to look like.
Skylla figured that it was all the more power to her if that's what Deshra actually wanted. This city was horrible and she wouldn't wish living here on anyone. Even those who lived her by, gods-forbid, choice.
Deshra breathed a sigh of relief as the woman released her shoulders, though she tried not to show it. She hated to show a sign of weakness, and to let someone know that they had made her uncomfortable was to reveal a weakness. She would have scurried off right then and there to find someone who could treat her injury if the woman hadn’t begun asking more questions. Deshra couldn’t think of a way to politely extricate herself from this woman’s interest, so she allowed the woman to continue to talk. She nodded politely as the woman scolded her for going to the market with her arm injured. It wasn’t worth it to try to correct her assumption that Deshra was going to the market to shop.
When Skylla mentioned that she was a physician, Deshra’s eyes widened. Perhaps it was fate that she might bump into this woman in the market. She had been looking for someone to tend to her wound, and now here was one appearing right in front of her. Deshra was enough of a believer that things happened the way that they were supposed to that Deshra made no protest when Skylla reached out and took her arm. Of course, she had to try her hardest not to just snatch it back when Skylla scolded her for her choice of bandage. Who was Skylla to judge her for not having a clean cloth close at hand? At least she had taken the time to wrap it and head to find a skilled healer as quickly as possible.
The moment of anger only briefly flashed across Deshra’s eyes before she quickly quashed it. She was well-practiced in keeping her real emotions well under wraps so that she wouldn’t offend those who were of a higher station than her, which was everyone. Instead, she adopted a more submissive demeanor, looking down to help hide just how much she hated it. “Oh, it’s just what I could find. I was heading to get it looked at.” She glanced up at Skylla. “My name’s Deshra.” Skylla hadn’t asked for her name, but it was a point of pride to be addressed by name. It was as daring as she was willing to be at the moment, at least with someone whose favor she needed if she was to get her arm looked after. For someone so willing to take an interest in a slave girl, maybe she would be able to get out of this whole interaction without having to give away too many of her prized bracelets.
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Deshra breathed a sigh of relief as the woman released her shoulders, though she tried not to show it. She hated to show a sign of weakness, and to let someone know that they had made her uncomfortable was to reveal a weakness. She would have scurried off right then and there to find someone who could treat her injury if the woman hadn’t begun asking more questions. Deshra couldn’t think of a way to politely extricate herself from this woman’s interest, so she allowed the woman to continue to talk. She nodded politely as the woman scolded her for going to the market with her arm injured. It wasn’t worth it to try to correct her assumption that Deshra was going to the market to shop.
When Skylla mentioned that she was a physician, Deshra’s eyes widened. Perhaps it was fate that she might bump into this woman in the market. She had been looking for someone to tend to her wound, and now here was one appearing right in front of her. Deshra was enough of a believer that things happened the way that they were supposed to that Deshra made no protest when Skylla reached out and took her arm. Of course, she had to try her hardest not to just snatch it back when Skylla scolded her for her choice of bandage. Who was Skylla to judge her for not having a clean cloth close at hand? At least she had taken the time to wrap it and head to find a skilled healer as quickly as possible.
The moment of anger only briefly flashed across Deshra’s eyes before she quickly quashed it. She was well-practiced in keeping her real emotions well under wraps so that she wouldn’t offend those who were of a higher station than her, which was everyone. Instead, she adopted a more submissive demeanor, looking down to help hide just how much she hated it. “Oh, it’s just what I could find. I was heading to get it looked at.” She glanced up at Skylla. “My name’s Deshra.” Skylla hadn’t asked for her name, but it was a point of pride to be addressed by name. It was as daring as she was willing to be at the moment, at least with someone whose favor she needed if she was to get her arm looked after. For someone so willing to take an interest in a slave girl, maybe she would be able to get out of this whole interaction without having to give away too many of her prized bracelets.
Deshra breathed a sigh of relief as the woman released her shoulders, though she tried not to show it. She hated to show a sign of weakness, and to let someone know that they had made her uncomfortable was to reveal a weakness. She would have scurried off right then and there to find someone who could treat her injury if the woman hadn’t begun asking more questions. Deshra couldn’t think of a way to politely extricate herself from this woman’s interest, so she allowed the woman to continue to talk. She nodded politely as the woman scolded her for going to the market with her arm injured. It wasn’t worth it to try to correct her assumption that Deshra was going to the market to shop.
When Skylla mentioned that she was a physician, Deshra’s eyes widened. Perhaps it was fate that she might bump into this woman in the market. She had been looking for someone to tend to her wound, and now here was one appearing right in front of her. Deshra was enough of a believer that things happened the way that they were supposed to that Deshra made no protest when Skylla reached out and took her arm. Of course, she had to try her hardest not to just snatch it back when Skylla scolded her for her choice of bandage. Who was Skylla to judge her for not having a clean cloth close at hand? At least she had taken the time to wrap it and head to find a skilled healer as quickly as possible.
The moment of anger only briefly flashed across Deshra’s eyes before she quickly quashed it. She was well-practiced in keeping her real emotions well under wraps so that she wouldn’t offend those who were of a higher station than her, which was everyone. Instead, she adopted a more submissive demeanor, looking down to help hide just how much she hated it. “Oh, it’s just what I could find. I was heading to get it looked at.” She glanced up at Skylla. “My name’s Deshra.” Skylla hadn’t asked for her name, but it was a point of pride to be addressed by name. It was as daring as she was willing to be at the moment, at least with someone whose favor she needed if she was to get her arm looked after. For someone so willing to take an interest in a slave girl, maybe she would be able to get out of this whole interaction without having to give away too many of her prized bracelets.
Skylla carefully moved the two of them out of the way of the flow of the crowds, her dark gaze observing the wound on Deshra's arm. She wasn't paying much attention to anything other than the task at hand, and the young woman seemed okay with her touching her. That was pleasing by itself and Skylla didn't say much as she worked her fingers at unwrapping the bandaged arm. She made a face that said she clearly was not okay with how dirty the cloth was, but Skylla knew more than most that sometimes clean cloth was a luxury.
Lifting her gaze to Deshra's face, observing her as she spoke her name. Normally, Skylla may not have said anything. Here, however, she smiled and gave a slight nod, "It is nice to meet you, Deshra. Now, how about we find some water so we can clean this up and get you on your way?" she asked lightly, carefully wrapping the wound back up with the dirty cloth. Offering her arm to Deshra, she didn't think anything of the young woman's station in life. Skylla herself, though many would never know, was the daughter of a pirate.
There had been a point in her life where she had felt even lower than a slave. Her father had been a cruel, psychotic man and that hadn't given the physician much hope in the grand scheme of things.
Guiding the two of them to a stall that sold fresh water, Skylla spent some of her own coin for a jug and then looked for a spot for them to sit. Noting the barrels behind the merchant, she motioned Deshra there, "Sit up on the barrel," she said lightly, taking the jug with her. The merchant seemed about to protest, but Skylla let her narrowed gaze slide to his face. "If you have a problem, speak with the Pharaoh," she said delicately, approaching the slave girl once more and working at unwrapping the wound for a second time.
"Hold your arm out like this," she instructed, demonstrating how she wanted Deshra to hold her arm fully extended. "I'm going to clean it first," she said calmly, sure that the girl would listen if she truly wanted the help. "What do you do for work?" she asked absently, observing the wound as she poured a bit of the water over the gash, watching both blood and some particles of dirt flow out and toward the ground.
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Skylla carefully moved the two of them out of the way of the flow of the crowds, her dark gaze observing the wound on Deshra's arm. She wasn't paying much attention to anything other than the task at hand, and the young woman seemed okay with her touching her. That was pleasing by itself and Skylla didn't say much as she worked her fingers at unwrapping the bandaged arm. She made a face that said she clearly was not okay with how dirty the cloth was, but Skylla knew more than most that sometimes clean cloth was a luxury.
Lifting her gaze to Deshra's face, observing her as she spoke her name. Normally, Skylla may not have said anything. Here, however, she smiled and gave a slight nod, "It is nice to meet you, Deshra. Now, how about we find some water so we can clean this up and get you on your way?" she asked lightly, carefully wrapping the wound back up with the dirty cloth. Offering her arm to Deshra, she didn't think anything of the young woman's station in life. Skylla herself, though many would never know, was the daughter of a pirate.
There had been a point in her life where she had felt even lower than a slave. Her father had been a cruel, psychotic man and that hadn't given the physician much hope in the grand scheme of things.
Guiding the two of them to a stall that sold fresh water, Skylla spent some of her own coin for a jug and then looked for a spot for them to sit. Noting the barrels behind the merchant, she motioned Deshra there, "Sit up on the barrel," she said lightly, taking the jug with her. The merchant seemed about to protest, but Skylla let her narrowed gaze slide to his face. "If you have a problem, speak with the Pharaoh," she said delicately, approaching the slave girl once more and working at unwrapping the wound for a second time.
"Hold your arm out like this," she instructed, demonstrating how she wanted Deshra to hold her arm fully extended. "I'm going to clean it first," she said calmly, sure that the girl would listen if she truly wanted the help. "What do you do for work?" she asked absently, observing the wound as she poured a bit of the water over the gash, watching both blood and some particles of dirt flow out and toward the ground.
Skylla carefully moved the two of them out of the way of the flow of the crowds, her dark gaze observing the wound on Deshra's arm. She wasn't paying much attention to anything other than the task at hand, and the young woman seemed okay with her touching her. That was pleasing by itself and Skylla didn't say much as she worked her fingers at unwrapping the bandaged arm. She made a face that said she clearly was not okay with how dirty the cloth was, but Skylla knew more than most that sometimes clean cloth was a luxury.
Lifting her gaze to Deshra's face, observing her as she spoke her name. Normally, Skylla may not have said anything. Here, however, she smiled and gave a slight nod, "It is nice to meet you, Deshra. Now, how about we find some water so we can clean this up and get you on your way?" she asked lightly, carefully wrapping the wound back up with the dirty cloth. Offering her arm to Deshra, she didn't think anything of the young woman's station in life. Skylla herself, though many would never know, was the daughter of a pirate.
There had been a point in her life where she had felt even lower than a slave. Her father had been a cruel, psychotic man and that hadn't given the physician much hope in the grand scheme of things.
Guiding the two of them to a stall that sold fresh water, Skylla spent some of her own coin for a jug and then looked for a spot for them to sit. Noting the barrels behind the merchant, she motioned Deshra there, "Sit up on the barrel," she said lightly, taking the jug with her. The merchant seemed about to protest, but Skylla let her narrowed gaze slide to his face. "If you have a problem, speak with the Pharaoh," she said delicately, approaching the slave girl once more and working at unwrapping the wound for a second time.
"Hold your arm out like this," she instructed, demonstrating how she wanted Deshra to hold her arm fully extended. "I'm going to clean it first," she said calmly, sure that the girl would listen if she truly wanted the help. "What do you do for work?" she asked absently, observing the wound as she poured a bit of the water over the gash, watching both blood and some particles of dirt flow out and toward the ground.
Surely it was fate that Deshra had run into this healer just as she was looking for one. But then the woman started to take care of her arm without so much as a question of payment. This made Deshra nervous. She was clearly accruing some kind of bill for this woman’s services and yet the woman seemed completely unconcerned. Skylla led her through the street to a vendor who was selling fresh water. Deshra opened her mouth to object to buying water for her. She didn’t want to pay the price for the water in the end, but the woman moved quickly to order her to sit on the barrel and then mentioned to the vendor not to be offended because she knew the Pharaoh. That quashed any plan Deshra had of objecting to anything that the woman asked of her.
Deshra held her arm out to the woman as instructed. If she did, in fact, know the Pharaoh, Deshra knew that this was a woman that she did not wish to offend. Otherwise, this woman was especially stupid for invoking his name, and Deshra did not think that Skylla especially gave off that kind of vibe. Deshra was surprised that the woman even bothered to tell her that she was going to clean the wound before she did it, but she was glad for the warning. When Skylla poured water over the gash, it meant that she could stifle her response to the pain, she hated to show any sign of weakness if she could help it. It just meant something that someone could exploit. Instead as the water flowed over her arm, Deshra only tensed slightly, while her eyes watered slightly. That was a response Deshra had never learned how to control, though she knew that most people would overlook it if she didn’t draw attention to it by doing something like wiping her eyes.
Then there was the question. What did she do, but Deshra wasn’t going to act ashamed. It was the same principle, someone couldn’t hurt you if you didn’t show them your weaknesses. “I’m a whore,” Deshra said simply, and almost defiantly, looking straight at the woman. Then she waited for the inevitable reaction, it was almost always interesting to see how people dealt with that kind of information. It almost always made them uncomfortable, and it never hurt to leave the other person scrambling to come up with something to say that wouldn’t be awkward. It was the little things in life.
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Surely it was fate that Deshra had run into this healer just as she was looking for one. But then the woman started to take care of her arm without so much as a question of payment. This made Deshra nervous. She was clearly accruing some kind of bill for this woman’s services and yet the woman seemed completely unconcerned. Skylla led her through the street to a vendor who was selling fresh water. Deshra opened her mouth to object to buying water for her. She didn’t want to pay the price for the water in the end, but the woman moved quickly to order her to sit on the barrel and then mentioned to the vendor not to be offended because she knew the Pharaoh. That quashed any plan Deshra had of objecting to anything that the woman asked of her.
Deshra held her arm out to the woman as instructed. If she did, in fact, know the Pharaoh, Deshra knew that this was a woman that she did not wish to offend. Otherwise, this woman was especially stupid for invoking his name, and Deshra did not think that Skylla especially gave off that kind of vibe. Deshra was surprised that the woman even bothered to tell her that she was going to clean the wound before she did it, but she was glad for the warning. When Skylla poured water over the gash, it meant that she could stifle her response to the pain, she hated to show any sign of weakness if she could help it. It just meant something that someone could exploit. Instead as the water flowed over her arm, Deshra only tensed slightly, while her eyes watered slightly. That was a response Deshra had never learned how to control, though she knew that most people would overlook it if she didn’t draw attention to it by doing something like wiping her eyes.
Then there was the question. What did she do, but Deshra wasn’t going to act ashamed. It was the same principle, someone couldn’t hurt you if you didn’t show them your weaknesses. “I’m a whore,” Deshra said simply, and almost defiantly, looking straight at the woman. Then she waited for the inevitable reaction, it was almost always interesting to see how people dealt with that kind of information. It almost always made them uncomfortable, and it never hurt to leave the other person scrambling to come up with something to say that wouldn’t be awkward. It was the little things in life.
Surely it was fate that Deshra had run into this healer just as she was looking for one. But then the woman started to take care of her arm without so much as a question of payment. This made Deshra nervous. She was clearly accruing some kind of bill for this woman’s services and yet the woman seemed completely unconcerned. Skylla led her through the street to a vendor who was selling fresh water. Deshra opened her mouth to object to buying water for her. She didn’t want to pay the price for the water in the end, but the woman moved quickly to order her to sit on the barrel and then mentioned to the vendor not to be offended because she knew the Pharaoh. That quashed any plan Deshra had of objecting to anything that the woman asked of her.
Deshra held her arm out to the woman as instructed. If she did, in fact, know the Pharaoh, Deshra knew that this was a woman that she did not wish to offend. Otherwise, this woman was especially stupid for invoking his name, and Deshra did not think that Skylla especially gave off that kind of vibe. Deshra was surprised that the woman even bothered to tell her that she was going to clean the wound before she did it, but she was glad for the warning. When Skylla poured water over the gash, it meant that she could stifle her response to the pain, she hated to show any sign of weakness if she could help it. It just meant something that someone could exploit. Instead as the water flowed over her arm, Deshra only tensed slightly, while her eyes watered slightly. That was a response Deshra had never learned how to control, though she knew that most people would overlook it if she didn’t draw attention to it by doing something like wiping her eyes.
Then there was the question. What did she do, but Deshra wasn’t going to act ashamed. It was the same principle, someone couldn’t hurt you if you didn’t show them your weaknesses. “I’m a whore,” Deshra said simply, and almost defiantly, looking straight at the woman. Then she waited for the inevitable reaction, it was almost always interesting to see how people dealt with that kind of information. It almost always made them uncomfortable, and it never hurt to leave the other person scrambling to come up with something to say that wouldn’t be awkward. It was the little things in life.
Skylla wasn't bothered at all by the lingering glare of the merchant, ignoring him as she would ignore pretty much anyone else she wasn't interested in or interacting with. People were not worth the time nor attention and Skylla really had no interested in going back and forth with a man in the middle of the market. No, her main concern was the pretty little thing before her, and Skylla had to squash those thoughts quickly. The cost of homosexuality was death, and that was not something that Skylla really wished to fight for a second time.
Then again, if she was given the option to lay with Callidora again, then she would take it in a heartbeat. Death by stoning or not, she would do it. She was very sure that Dora was the only person, besides her own mother, than Skylla had ever loved. And love wasn't predictable. In fact, it was entirely unpredictable and Skylla found herself shutting down those thoughts as well, once more putting her attention on cleaning Deshra's wound.
Her dark gaze flickered up to the young woman's face as she considered the profession that the girl had blurted out. Not unusual, and certainly nothing to be ashamed of. Skylla didn't take money for fucking people, but she sometimes considered herself a whore. If only because she liked the feeling of the human body against her own. Skin on skin was something that was both intoxicating and inheritly interesting that she would never pass up if given the chance. It was partially why she'd always jumped on Lukos so very easily, more enthralled by the feeling than any emotions that were or were not attached to the act of fucking.
"Well, that's nice," Skylla said lightly in response, a small smile lighting her lips. "Aren't we all, though?" she mused in addition, tipping a little more water onto the arm of her new patient. She reached into her pack to grab a small iron stick that she used to help remove dirt and irritants from the wound. "I might have to stitch this up," the physician said lightly, not at all thinking of charging the girl for her services.
Why would she? Skylla hadn't been called upon. She'd simply made herself available and open and she wouldn't take payment even if it was offered. Sometimes she really was too kind and she blamed her former company, Lysander, for that. "But we might want to find somewhere a little less public to do it. Where do you live?" Skylla hummed lightly.
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Skylla wasn't bothered at all by the lingering glare of the merchant, ignoring him as she would ignore pretty much anyone else she wasn't interested in or interacting with. People were not worth the time nor attention and Skylla really had no interested in going back and forth with a man in the middle of the market. No, her main concern was the pretty little thing before her, and Skylla had to squash those thoughts quickly. The cost of homosexuality was death, and that was not something that Skylla really wished to fight for a second time.
Then again, if she was given the option to lay with Callidora again, then she would take it in a heartbeat. Death by stoning or not, she would do it. She was very sure that Dora was the only person, besides her own mother, than Skylla had ever loved. And love wasn't predictable. In fact, it was entirely unpredictable and Skylla found herself shutting down those thoughts as well, once more putting her attention on cleaning Deshra's wound.
Her dark gaze flickered up to the young woman's face as she considered the profession that the girl had blurted out. Not unusual, and certainly nothing to be ashamed of. Skylla didn't take money for fucking people, but she sometimes considered herself a whore. If only because she liked the feeling of the human body against her own. Skin on skin was something that was both intoxicating and inheritly interesting that she would never pass up if given the chance. It was partially why she'd always jumped on Lukos so very easily, more enthralled by the feeling than any emotions that were or were not attached to the act of fucking.
"Well, that's nice," Skylla said lightly in response, a small smile lighting her lips. "Aren't we all, though?" she mused in addition, tipping a little more water onto the arm of her new patient. She reached into her pack to grab a small iron stick that she used to help remove dirt and irritants from the wound. "I might have to stitch this up," the physician said lightly, not at all thinking of charging the girl for her services.
Why would she? Skylla hadn't been called upon. She'd simply made herself available and open and she wouldn't take payment even if it was offered. Sometimes she really was too kind and she blamed her former company, Lysander, for that. "But we might want to find somewhere a little less public to do it. Where do you live?" Skylla hummed lightly.
Skylla wasn't bothered at all by the lingering glare of the merchant, ignoring him as she would ignore pretty much anyone else she wasn't interested in or interacting with. People were not worth the time nor attention and Skylla really had no interested in going back and forth with a man in the middle of the market. No, her main concern was the pretty little thing before her, and Skylla had to squash those thoughts quickly. The cost of homosexuality was death, and that was not something that Skylla really wished to fight for a second time.
Then again, if she was given the option to lay with Callidora again, then she would take it in a heartbeat. Death by stoning or not, she would do it. She was very sure that Dora was the only person, besides her own mother, than Skylla had ever loved. And love wasn't predictable. In fact, it was entirely unpredictable and Skylla found herself shutting down those thoughts as well, once more putting her attention on cleaning Deshra's wound.
Her dark gaze flickered up to the young woman's face as she considered the profession that the girl had blurted out. Not unusual, and certainly nothing to be ashamed of. Skylla didn't take money for fucking people, but she sometimes considered herself a whore. If only because she liked the feeling of the human body against her own. Skin on skin was something that was both intoxicating and inheritly interesting that she would never pass up if given the chance. It was partially why she'd always jumped on Lukos so very easily, more enthralled by the feeling than any emotions that were or were not attached to the act of fucking.
"Well, that's nice," Skylla said lightly in response, a small smile lighting her lips. "Aren't we all, though?" she mused in addition, tipping a little more water onto the arm of her new patient. She reached into her pack to grab a small iron stick that she used to help remove dirt and irritants from the wound. "I might have to stitch this up," the physician said lightly, not at all thinking of charging the girl for her services.
Why would she? Skylla hadn't been called upon. She'd simply made herself available and open and she wouldn't take payment even if it was offered. Sometimes she really was too kind and she blamed her former company, Lysander, for that. "But we might want to find somewhere a little less public to do it. Where do you live?" Skylla hummed lightly.
Deshra wasn’t much used to talking casually with women. Usually, they tended to make her uncomfortable. They didn’t tend to respond in ways that she expected. Still, there was something about this one that didn’t seem to bad. Deshra laughed at this woman’s response to her stating her profession. Of course she was right. Everyone sleeping with anyone else always had some sort of agenda out of it. Most women were with men because they wanted something from them. At least she was honest about that exchange. So many women weren’t willing to admit that about themselves. At least this woman understood the way the world worked. That earned her just the tiniest smidgen of trust from Deshra.
Honestly she was glad that it hadn’t scared the healer off. Or at least she was until the woman mentioned that the wound needed to be stitched up. The idea of her flesh being stitched up like cloth wasn’t something that she much liked the idea of, but on the other hand, that would leave a smaller scar, which she would appreciate. She could deal with a few moments of discomfort in the aid of something more important. Gods knew she did that quite often.
Deshra was glad that she hadn’t tried to skirt around her profession when she was asked for where she lived. That made her explanation much easier. “The Golden Palace.” Deshra replied to the woman’s inquiry. That was the name of the brothel where she lived and worked. “Perhaps you’ve heard of it.” Not that Deshra expected a woman to know a brothel by name. Though if she knew of any of them, she might have heard of this one. It had a good reputation, or at least so she was told.
Still, it didn’t seem like the kind of thing that would bother the woman. Besides, it would give her some time to get used to the idea of her wound being stitched. “It’s this way. Come with me.” Deshra stood up again. Starting toward the brothel. She was careful not to brush her arm against her side. After all the trouble Skylla had gone through to clean it, it seemed like a bad idea to let it get dirty again.
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Deshra wasn’t much used to talking casually with women. Usually, they tended to make her uncomfortable. They didn’t tend to respond in ways that she expected. Still, there was something about this one that didn’t seem to bad. Deshra laughed at this woman’s response to her stating her profession. Of course she was right. Everyone sleeping with anyone else always had some sort of agenda out of it. Most women were with men because they wanted something from them. At least she was honest about that exchange. So many women weren’t willing to admit that about themselves. At least this woman understood the way the world worked. That earned her just the tiniest smidgen of trust from Deshra.
Honestly she was glad that it hadn’t scared the healer off. Or at least she was until the woman mentioned that the wound needed to be stitched up. The idea of her flesh being stitched up like cloth wasn’t something that she much liked the idea of, but on the other hand, that would leave a smaller scar, which she would appreciate. She could deal with a few moments of discomfort in the aid of something more important. Gods knew she did that quite often.
Deshra was glad that she hadn’t tried to skirt around her profession when she was asked for where she lived. That made her explanation much easier. “The Golden Palace.” Deshra replied to the woman’s inquiry. That was the name of the brothel where she lived and worked. “Perhaps you’ve heard of it.” Not that Deshra expected a woman to know a brothel by name. Though if she knew of any of them, she might have heard of this one. It had a good reputation, or at least so she was told.
Still, it didn’t seem like the kind of thing that would bother the woman. Besides, it would give her some time to get used to the idea of her wound being stitched. “It’s this way. Come with me.” Deshra stood up again. Starting toward the brothel. She was careful not to brush her arm against her side. After all the trouble Skylla had gone through to clean it, it seemed like a bad idea to let it get dirty again.
Deshra wasn’t much used to talking casually with women. Usually, they tended to make her uncomfortable. They didn’t tend to respond in ways that she expected. Still, there was something about this one that didn’t seem to bad. Deshra laughed at this woman’s response to her stating her profession. Of course she was right. Everyone sleeping with anyone else always had some sort of agenda out of it. Most women were with men because they wanted something from them. At least she was honest about that exchange. So many women weren’t willing to admit that about themselves. At least this woman understood the way the world worked. That earned her just the tiniest smidgen of trust from Deshra.
Honestly she was glad that it hadn’t scared the healer off. Or at least she was until the woman mentioned that the wound needed to be stitched up. The idea of her flesh being stitched up like cloth wasn’t something that she much liked the idea of, but on the other hand, that would leave a smaller scar, which she would appreciate. She could deal with a few moments of discomfort in the aid of something more important. Gods knew she did that quite often.
Deshra was glad that she hadn’t tried to skirt around her profession when she was asked for where she lived. That made her explanation much easier. “The Golden Palace.” Deshra replied to the woman’s inquiry. That was the name of the brothel where she lived and worked. “Perhaps you’ve heard of it.” Not that Deshra expected a woman to know a brothel by name. Though if she knew of any of them, she might have heard of this one. It had a good reputation, or at least so she was told.
Still, it didn’t seem like the kind of thing that would bother the woman. Besides, it would give her some time to get used to the idea of her wound being stitched. “It’s this way. Come with me.” Deshra stood up again. Starting toward the brothel. She was careful not to brush her arm against her side. After all the trouble Skylla had gone through to clean it, it seemed like a bad idea to let it get dirty again.
It was hard to judge someone's profession when some people didn't look all too kindly on healers of physicians. Some people thought them hacks or witches, but that was fine. At the end of the day, they did their jobs and they did their jobs well. Fewer people died with them around. More people had the chance to survive accidents, fights, and illnesses because fo the tireless work that people like Skylla put into ensuring that people remained alive. She didn't particularly like the Egyptians around her despite being part Egyptian herself, but that was becuase she was raised Greek.
This one, though. She was fine.
She hadn't heard of the Golden Palace, but she was a little interested in seeing what it was like. If it was anything like its name, then Skylla was sure it was a nice location. Shrugging her shoulders, the woman shook her head, "I haven't heard of it, but it'll be as good as any place to sit down and stitch you up," Skylla observed lightly, "So long as there is some good lighting, it shouldn't even take that long. Then, then you can tell me more about your profession," she mused playfully, her dark eyes glinting in that interested and curious way that she sometimes had about her.
Following Deshra, Skylla let her gaze wander this way and that, ensuring that she didn't lose sight of where she was in the city. At the end of this all, she did need to make her way back to the Palace and the queen. That meant she couldn't exactly get herself lost in the red light district of the capitol. If the Pharaoh had to send someone to find her, that would be exceedingly embarrassing. Thus, Skylla made note of every street, ensuring that she knew which way she was supposed to backtrack to make her way back home.
Before long, Deshra was bringing them upon the Golden Palace and Skylla was observing it with a keen eye. "Here? Its..." she trailed off, smiling a little. "Lets just get inside and get you sat down before you keep bleeding everywhere, Deshra," she commented and ushered the woman forward.
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It was hard to judge someone's profession when some people didn't look all too kindly on healers of physicians. Some people thought them hacks or witches, but that was fine. At the end of the day, they did their jobs and they did their jobs well. Fewer people died with them around. More people had the chance to survive accidents, fights, and illnesses because fo the tireless work that people like Skylla put into ensuring that people remained alive. She didn't particularly like the Egyptians around her despite being part Egyptian herself, but that was becuase she was raised Greek.
This one, though. She was fine.
She hadn't heard of the Golden Palace, but she was a little interested in seeing what it was like. If it was anything like its name, then Skylla was sure it was a nice location. Shrugging her shoulders, the woman shook her head, "I haven't heard of it, but it'll be as good as any place to sit down and stitch you up," Skylla observed lightly, "So long as there is some good lighting, it shouldn't even take that long. Then, then you can tell me more about your profession," she mused playfully, her dark eyes glinting in that interested and curious way that she sometimes had about her.
Following Deshra, Skylla let her gaze wander this way and that, ensuring that she didn't lose sight of where she was in the city. At the end of this all, she did need to make her way back to the Palace and the queen. That meant she couldn't exactly get herself lost in the red light district of the capitol. If the Pharaoh had to send someone to find her, that would be exceedingly embarrassing. Thus, Skylla made note of every street, ensuring that she knew which way she was supposed to backtrack to make her way back home.
Before long, Deshra was bringing them upon the Golden Palace and Skylla was observing it with a keen eye. "Here? Its..." she trailed off, smiling a little. "Lets just get inside and get you sat down before you keep bleeding everywhere, Deshra," she commented and ushered the woman forward.
It was hard to judge someone's profession when some people didn't look all too kindly on healers of physicians. Some people thought them hacks or witches, but that was fine. At the end of the day, they did their jobs and they did their jobs well. Fewer people died with them around. More people had the chance to survive accidents, fights, and illnesses because fo the tireless work that people like Skylla put into ensuring that people remained alive. She didn't particularly like the Egyptians around her despite being part Egyptian herself, but that was becuase she was raised Greek.
This one, though. She was fine.
She hadn't heard of the Golden Palace, but she was a little interested in seeing what it was like. If it was anything like its name, then Skylla was sure it was a nice location. Shrugging her shoulders, the woman shook her head, "I haven't heard of it, but it'll be as good as any place to sit down and stitch you up," Skylla observed lightly, "So long as there is some good lighting, it shouldn't even take that long. Then, then you can tell me more about your profession," she mused playfully, her dark eyes glinting in that interested and curious way that she sometimes had about her.
Following Deshra, Skylla let her gaze wander this way and that, ensuring that she didn't lose sight of where she was in the city. At the end of this all, she did need to make her way back to the Palace and the queen. That meant she couldn't exactly get herself lost in the red light district of the capitol. If the Pharaoh had to send someone to find her, that would be exceedingly embarrassing. Thus, Skylla made note of every street, ensuring that she knew which way she was supposed to backtrack to make her way back home.
Before long, Deshra was bringing them upon the Golden Palace and Skylla was observing it with a keen eye. "Here? Its..." she trailed off, smiling a little. "Lets just get inside and get you sat down before you keep bleeding everywhere, Deshra," she commented and ushered the woman forward.
It was so strange to Deshra that someone might take an interest in her at all. At least not in her as a person. It always was about what she could do for someone. Sure she told people about her life from time to time, though at least half of the time it was stories she had made up. No one really wanted to know what her life was like, they wanted their own fantasy of what they thought it was like being a whore. This woman, however, didn’t seem to want a single thing from her, yet. This was suspicious as far as Deshra was concerned. Why on earth would such a woman care so much about someone like her.
Nevertheless, Deshra was curious enough about this woman’s motivations to lead her back to the brothel with her. If for whatever reason she meant to help her for free, Deshra wasn’t going to pass up that opportunity. Her body was the one thing that she relied on for her job, and if she could prevent a nasty scar, that would keep her from losing clients.
Deshra led Skylla in through the side entrance to the brothel, where the women would come and go. She didn’t want the attention of leading Skylla in through the front door, where the madam scrutinized all potential customers who came in, and would surely have questions for Deshra about why she was bringing in a random woman. That would lead to more questions than Deshra cared to answer. Instead, Deshra led Skylla back to her room. The lighting in the room was dim through the patterned fabric that covered the window to afford the brothel guests a bit of privacy. Skylla had mentioned that she needed light though, so Deshra reached up and pulled down the cloth, throwing it onto a chair by the bed.
Deshra sat down on the bed, glancing at Skylla. “So what do you need me to do?” she asked. She wasn’t entirely sure what else needed to be done to treat her wound, but she was going to defer to the healer, at least for now.
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It was so strange to Deshra that someone might take an interest in her at all. At least not in her as a person. It always was about what she could do for someone. Sure she told people about her life from time to time, though at least half of the time it was stories she had made up. No one really wanted to know what her life was like, they wanted their own fantasy of what they thought it was like being a whore. This woman, however, didn’t seem to want a single thing from her, yet. This was suspicious as far as Deshra was concerned. Why on earth would such a woman care so much about someone like her.
Nevertheless, Deshra was curious enough about this woman’s motivations to lead her back to the brothel with her. If for whatever reason she meant to help her for free, Deshra wasn’t going to pass up that opportunity. Her body was the one thing that she relied on for her job, and if she could prevent a nasty scar, that would keep her from losing clients.
Deshra led Skylla in through the side entrance to the brothel, where the women would come and go. She didn’t want the attention of leading Skylla in through the front door, where the madam scrutinized all potential customers who came in, and would surely have questions for Deshra about why she was bringing in a random woman. That would lead to more questions than Deshra cared to answer. Instead, Deshra led Skylla back to her room. The lighting in the room was dim through the patterned fabric that covered the window to afford the brothel guests a bit of privacy. Skylla had mentioned that she needed light though, so Deshra reached up and pulled down the cloth, throwing it onto a chair by the bed.
Deshra sat down on the bed, glancing at Skylla. “So what do you need me to do?” she asked. She wasn’t entirely sure what else needed to be done to treat her wound, but she was going to defer to the healer, at least for now.
It was so strange to Deshra that someone might take an interest in her at all. At least not in her as a person. It always was about what she could do for someone. Sure she told people about her life from time to time, though at least half of the time it was stories she had made up. No one really wanted to know what her life was like, they wanted their own fantasy of what they thought it was like being a whore. This woman, however, didn’t seem to want a single thing from her, yet. This was suspicious as far as Deshra was concerned. Why on earth would such a woman care so much about someone like her.
Nevertheless, Deshra was curious enough about this woman’s motivations to lead her back to the brothel with her. If for whatever reason she meant to help her for free, Deshra wasn’t going to pass up that opportunity. Her body was the one thing that she relied on for her job, and if she could prevent a nasty scar, that would keep her from losing clients.
Deshra led Skylla in through the side entrance to the brothel, where the women would come and go. She didn’t want the attention of leading Skylla in through the front door, where the madam scrutinized all potential customers who came in, and would surely have questions for Deshra about why she was bringing in a random woman. That would lead to more questions than Deshra cared to answer. Instead, Deshra led Skylla back to her room. The lighting in the room was dim through the patterned fabric that covered the window to afford the brothel guests a bit of privacy. Skylla had mentioned that she needed light though, so Deshra reached up and pulled down the cloth, throwing it onto a chair by the bed.
Deshra sat down on the bed, glancing at Skylla. “So what do you need me to do?” she asked. She wasn’t entirely sure what else needed to be done to treat her wound, but she was going to defer to the healer, at least for now.
