In Megaris there was a sort of entertainment to be found, one that belonged to the hours in between. At this point the night was neither young nor overmuch old either; the golden hour—the one where twilight ceded to darkness and so too with it went the sense of propriety bound to light—had come and gone, but it wasn't so far from memory that bed was yet a consideration or decency a pressure that needed to be given some due.

In short, nighttime was for a brand of naughtiness, and in Megaris that sometimes meant prostitution. Brothels were practically ubiquitous—considering the trade was plied with little limitation and much success—and as with all industries, such profitably naturally encouraged a vast spectrum of offerings to provide for both high and low classes, as well as the middle bit between. Such saturation made it almost impossible to be wholly untouched by it all, so much so that to say that Nethis was as near a stranger to what the upper end offered would be a lie.

Like others, Nethis had a favored establishment—or two, or maybe three—and it wasn't so much for indulging baser impulses as it was for playing a particular sort of game based on a simple concept: people were base, blind or both. She knew this—knew it so well it resonated within the center of her bones, mixed within the marrow as a matrix to make her—and the acts centered upon it came in three forms.

ONE. A game for other patrons, enacted to answer a simple question. What might I make you do even here amongst pretty things to be paid for?

TWO. A challenge for those to whom this world was livelihood or purpose. Tempt me into being that which I'm not (will it be base or blind?).

THREE. A use for anyone who might fulfill the brief, no matter status or circumstance. Tell me something I don't know.

None were entirely fair, nor made her a particularly good or easy customer, except some amount of coin changed hands at the end of the night even if she didn't use services as intended, so who was to complain? Perhaps no one, least of all tonight as—by nearly a miracle—a woman had gotten so far as to be allowed to sit in her lap, press a kiss to Nethis' jawline just under her ear and earn a soft hum of something—maybe pleasure, maybe amusement, maybe something caught between the two—in acknowledgment for the effort.

Indolently, as the woman proceeded with her effort, Nethis' gaze met the madam's halfway across the room and sharpened half a moment later as she noted something that read like the other woman thinking she'd won. In answer, and to teach her a lesson—namely that no one won when Nethis played, unless it was her—unceremoniously, she pushed the woman atop her lap from it with no consideration at all as to where or how she landed.

In an instant, the woman's pleasure dissipated, lips pressing together in dissatisfaction. Nethis merely smiled.

Still, in the aftermath—though she did not regret it—Nethis was suddenly left without a diversion, meaning it was time to find another. To that end, she stood and surveyed the room, wondering what she might find to entertain her now.