The terrible tranquillity eased through his mind, numbing his emotion and paralysing his fear. He would not baulk for this. Obey the client, please the Master. It was a narrow, choking existence, one he had willingly entered into, one he was bound to. There was no options. No escape. Only obedience.<br/><br/>The knight asked about the room and Atticus bowed his head, not nodding but a subservient affirmative. “I have made arrangements, sir. When you are ready, you may decide where best suits your desires.” He let his tongue caress the last word gently, his voice turning to a gentle purr of anticipation and sultry eagerness he did not feel. He liked that trick, that let him turn his words to velvet, thick and warm and inviting. He couldn’t recall ever having to use it in the Teahouse. Distantly, he wondered what the whores would think. He didn’t look away from Bureck as he kept pace with him. He couldn’t become distracted.<br/><br/>The lady spoke to her prey, and Atticus could feel the nervousness of the duel gendered whore. His first time with a client, Atticus recalled. Well, at least she was attractive and healthy, and in the relative safety of a House. He could certainly have worse introductions to a whore’s life.<br/>