There was time to think about the past in the relative safety of her own bedroom. No one was allowed to come into her room unless it was the servants and even then she wanted a letter written about who cleaned the room and when just to make sure no one was trying to filch anything from her room. The Teahouse might be up more upper class than the usual brothels Rubee saw around, but the people inside could have their agenda on something more than servicing clients or cleaning up dirty sheets and dishes. There was not much of value left out for the servants to dust or fawn over, except one thing Rubee kept mounted to one of her bedroom walls, above her writing desk. She walked over to the painting and felt herself lose a bit of the tension from her work and generally her life. The painting held three horses, each one running in a meadow, with the wind brushing their long manes behind them. The painting was not drawn by her hand but a gift from one of only a few men she adored in this world. A man who was never a man, but a boy, a boy who was more man than his very own father.<br/><br/>Rubee looked at the painting of horses running free and thought about her past which seemed to keep popping up in her thoughts the last few weeks lately. Perhaps it was the fact that someone she hated was a patron of the Teahouse and she had to find ways to disappear from his sight. "I hate that man, but not his son," she muttered, wishing she could have a moment to tell the man what a horrible monster he was; but to do so would mean to lose her job for insulting a client. A man like him, her behind would have been out on the street with the way he threw money around especially around a few specific whores. If she could talk to the man, she would tell him to send a message to his son. A son who should know what kind of low-life his father was especially a hypocritical one at that; but Rubee knew better than to stir up the past. The past was behind her and there was no reason to think about people and places that held no meaning for her.<br/><br/>Yet, she let her mind linger towards someone who looked kindly upon her even if she was almost eleven years older than him. "Bastian, I wonder what you are up to now," she whispered, closing her eyes as she tried to bring up an image of the sweet faced Bastian. How old would he be now? Eighteen? Nineteen? It was only two years since she left him to wonder about her, but there were times Rubee wondered if he thought about their times together. Rubee could recall his sweet face and it was then she let herself think about one of the horse races.<br/><br/><em>"I have never been to the horse races. Am I even allowed to go out with you, Bastian? I am supposed to be back at your home, looking through paper work and making sure the money your father makes does not start disappearing. He might end up firing me if he knew I was here playing around," twenty-seven year old Rubee asked Bastian as she looked around at the people bustling their ways towards seats to get a better look at the horse races. She had never gone to such a place and being here, she could smell the wet dirt the horses would run on and popcorn being sold by a vendor who wanted to make his own wages by selling a few popcorns. The man was just like her trying to make ends meet at the bottom and Rubee searched around in her purse for a few coins to buy popcorn. "I should get back to the office before your father realizes his wages are going to frivolous things."</em>