Business Proposal {Shelyn and Hemingway}
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		<h2 id="linktree">Play-By-Post: Bondage, D/s, S&amp;M =&gt; Bondage: Human Solos =&gt; Topic started by: Shelyn on 19-08-2009, 13:49:42</h2>
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				Title: <strong>Business Proposal {Shelyn and Hemingway}</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Shelyn</strong> on <strong>19-08-2009, 13:49:42</strong>
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				In times of war – and peace – protection was the main objective of the council of many cities and towns, no matter how small or large in size. Protection of their wealth, their goods, and their citizens. The finest means of doing so were robust, wooden gates. Gates that were the sole entrance to a place where the civilized population lived sheltered lives beneath the protective wings of their city council. The cobblestone streets were pristine here, not a sole patch of dirt to stain the perfect picture. They swerved in perfect coordination between rows of neat stone houses, the windows adorned with painted panels in all manners of lush colors. A marketplace took center stage, rows of stands and sales folk that sold wares that were both necessary goods and unnecessary luxuries. The women decorated the town square here, prancing gracefully in beautiful dresses of the finest fabric, always walking perfectly in time with the gentleman to whom their arm was linked. <br><br>These, however, where the high end streets of town. Here, the gates served their purpose perfectly and prevented any lowlife figures from invading the scenery. At the far end of town the protection against threats to civilized life was not as functional, to say the least.. The streets here had once been the same as elsewhere, made up of beautiful cobblestone. Layers of filth, however, had removed the fine stones from view. The paint on the panels of the houses' windows was chapped and scratched here, remaining in dull shades on whatever was left of the panel of a specific window. No fine, suited gentleman would ever dare wander these streets for fear of smothering both his suit and his reputation.&nbsp; These streets belonged to the women. The women of pleasure that, unlike those in the high end of town, roamed the streets rather than resided in appropriate accommodation. The women elsewhere were subject to employers that had impeccable taste in both beauty and hygiene, whilst none of both seemed to matter as much here..<br><br>Scattered here and there, small groups of women gathered in the streets when evening fell and the torches were lit around town. They leaned against buildings and posts, searching the streets for any means of making a living, near brothels&nbsp; or back alleys. Their dresses were by no means fine, some more tattered and torn than others. Their bodices did not adorn their cleavage as well as those of the high end women, and many were partially loosened to make their task a little easier.. Prostitutes, whores, despicable creatures.. they had heard it all before. Heaven would have no place for them, but they had no fear of hell, not after having lived it for so long.<br><br>At the end of one of the winding roads, a small group of about four women had gathered near a post, waiting for the arrival of any possible customers. Just off the side of them, another young woman stood, leaning against the stone wall of a building in which light was still on --- most possibly the residence to which they belonged. This woman stood back against the wall near one of the torches, the fire of which lit her skin to a glowing white. Neither the sun nor the dirt had seemed to be able to get a grasp on her porcelain, pasty complexion. Her eyes searched the entry road to the establishment, an odd kind of bright blue as they scouted for any sign of life. They peered from behind a veil of black, as tresses of long hair that was as black as the night itself hung loosely over her shoulders. Her hair was tossled and untamed, a few defiant strands repeatedly managing to make their way in front of her eyes, forcing her to raise a slender hand to whisk them away once more in an irritated fashion. <br><br>A patch of dirt stained her cheek, slightly smudged by the wipe of a hand, but never attempted to be removed. Another type of brown lined her nose, several rows of freckles curling down to her cheeks. A few were scattered randomly across her forehead and chin, providing color to a pasty face. One thing that made her more unusual than her seeming separation from the group of women was a metal adornment through her pale pink lower lip, wrapped around the soft matter as an unusual accessory. The dirt from the street had migrated to her tan brown dress, covering the skirt and bodice with random stains and smudges. Part of the hem of her skirt had been ripped on one side, her right leg showing from the foot to a few inches up the calf. Her bodice served it's purpose a little better than that of the others, boosting her breasts with every intention of making them the center of attention. The wealth of flesh formed busty mounds with the push of the fabric, leaving little to be wondered. Acquaintances called her Shelyn. This was, in fact, not her true name, but none had ever been able to coax her into telling them, so they had settled for providing her with a name they had chosen. To her, her name was of no importance. Being barely able to sustain herself, her only hopes were aimed at the entry point of their location, and the anticipation of work.
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				Title: <strong>Re: Business Proposal {Shelyn and Hemingway}</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Hemingway</strong> on <strong>19-08-2009, 14:30:03</strong>
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				The outlaw navigated the narrow alleys as deftly as a hunter stalking deer, soundlessly as one who would rather stay unheard, and with the tense spring of one prepared to leap into action in his step. No dagger from a dark doorway, or shadow from behind, would get the better of him.<br><br>On that particular night, he sought a particular woman.<br><br>He wore a simple garb composed mostly of dark brown and gray, the better to stay unseen. A pointed hood was pulled well over his head, partially masking his features, revealing only a square jaw and scraggly stubble, broken up by a partly visible scar, the lower end of which ended just where his neck began, below the corner of his mouth. It was a face not many in the city would stand up to, a dangerous face even in a city of dangerous men.<br><br>For he was not entirely unknown. In fact, the outlaw was something of a local legend, a fact which suited him not at all. It was the fact that had acquired him a brand on the underside of his left forearm, marking him as a man bound for the gallows. A brand since brutalized, seemingly for the precise purpose of covering it up, with a blade. It was, nevertheless, a brand that, at the moment, did not bother him. In the city, no guard would dare come searching, even if someone had seen him come. Guards were people, too, and like all people, valued their lives too much to risk venturing into a den of vipers. <br><br>On that night, none of that mattered. All that mattered was a small sack of coins, and a particular prostitute. A particular prostitute whose eyes had drawn his attention, more than any other part of her, eyes of an eerie blue, almost as if glowing. On that night, he'd pay her a visit. Just then, he spotted her, standing alone, beyond a larger group, the whole of which he dismissed with an idle flick of his hand.
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				Title: <strong>Re: Business Proposal {Shelyn and Hemingway}</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Shelyn</strong> on <strong>19-08-2009, 14:49:03</strong>
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				As he approached, the gathered women straightened their backs, exaggerating just a little in order to push their chests forwards a little, trying to draw this man's attention. Any passerby was a possible client, and every other woman in the area was - no matter how good a friend she might be outside of work - possible competition. They stepped forwards when he drew near, a few of them quite a sight for eyes. <br><br>"Hey, handsome.."<br><br>In choir, they greeted him at the same time, lingering on the last word in a makeshift seductive manner that worked on most of the outlaw folk that crossed their way. Usually they did not even need to speak. Men came to them, making their pick from one of the four that usually stuck together, and they had never had to go through too much trouble to find someone for the night. This man, however, dismissed them. A frown settled on their faces, as they mumbled amongst each other. They questioned his looks, his sanity, his sexuality, his virility.. anything that could have been the case for his hand-flicked dismissal.<br><br>The eyes for which he had came had been following him ever since he had appeared in the scene, moving along as their owner made no attempt to straighten herself out for this stranger. She had not even expected him to come straight for her, a little startled at the determination that was in his stride and in his dismissal of the other women. That was.. interesting. As he appeared in front of her, her head just tilted the slightest angle. One arm lay limp at her side as she leaned back against the dirty stone wall, the hand of her other arm holding the skirt of her dress up a little, lifting it from the dirty floor with no longer the purpose of keeping it clean. It had become more of a habitual stance.<br><br>"We'll talk after you've shown your face."<br><br>Her greeting was as simple as it was unexpected. Barely able to make a living and selling herself not to the highest of standards, it was still of great importance to her to be able to see the person she would possible be with before she had heard or seen anything else of him. She would not dismiss him because of it -- she could not afford to dismiss any possible customer, no.. It was just a mere formality to her that she was shown their face. In this case she was blatantly unaware that the face that was partially hidden beneath the hood would be one that many would have recognized.
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				Title: <strong>Re: Business Proposal {Shelyn and Hemingway}</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Hemingway</strong> on <strong>23-08-2009, 20:19:49</strong>
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				“It isn't talk I'm interested in,” the outlaw said, a hint of humor in his tone, as he nevertheless pulled the hood back slightly, to fully reveal his face to her, the scar beginning on his forehead, tracing a ragged line down his face, very nearly missing his eye, and somehow not having split his nose in half, leaving only an uneven line across it instead, continuing down his face and ending where his throat began; revealing gaunt, sunken cheeks, lending him an almost wolfish look, devilish when coupled with the unhealthy pallor of his skin. It was, in short, an ordinary face among the many outlaws of the town, remarkably only for the acts of the person. <br><br>While he revealed himself to her, he took great care not to expose himself to other, prying eyes, and quickly pulled the hood back up when he decided she had seen enough. His face, after all, would never have had the final say. It was a dangerous profession they had, and chances had to be taken when refusal was death by starvation.<br><br>“Since we're already making demands, though, maybe you should explain to me why you're alone, away from all the others?” he went on, still a suggestion of humor, if a more malicious kind, in his voice. He did not suspect her of carrying any disease, but he would not let her think she was special, lest she demand he treat her as such.
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				Title: <strong>Re: Business Proposal {Shelyn and Hemingway}</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Shelyn</strong> on <strong>23-08-2009, 20:53:20</strong>
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				A small smile of amusement quircked the corners of Shelyn's lips upwards in response to his words. In that instant, she decided that perhaps he was not the worst person she could be spending the night with -- he seemed to have a humorous personality about him. As he pulled the hood back, her bright eyes trailed down the path of the scar that ran across his face, following the line down from his forehead to his nose, finally to his throat. There was nothing too special about his face, one that had suffered the necessary battles, like many other faces that she had seen. There was only one thing that made his particular face special enough to cause her eyes to flicker with something akin to surprise, recognition. His face, from the pattern of his scar to the shape of his bone structure, matched up to the face she had seen on many posters that had been posted around town. Wanted signs. Her smile quircked to the side a little, turning into a lopsided smirk of amusement. Not just any outlaw, tonight.<br><br>The other women wondered why she reacted in such a way after seeing the man's face. They stood next to the post, observing the scene in their natural curiosity to anything that went on concerning anyone. That he did not reveal himself enough for them to see, and that he replaced the hood over his face fairly quickly, made them suspicious. Whispering amongst each other, they reasoned about the possible repulsiveness of his looks for him to do that. Or whether he perhaps was someone that had a high position in the society, and would not dare smother his reputation by letting too many people know who he was. Both were wrong.<br><br>"I prefer standing at the sidelines on my own."<br><br>Her answer was simple, perhaps too much so. She stood straight, feeling the strain in her legs as her body was not the most energetic it could have been if it wasn't for her profession. She was by no means asking for special treatment in her standing alone. It was the last thing she would ever ask for as well as the last thing she would ever expect a man to give her - she was not the kind of woman that one would want to devote their special attention to. Not the kind of woman a decent man would have wanted to settle down with, or even as much as cross paths with. It was fine to her, by now. Such was her life and she had come to accept and perhaps even embrace the simple fact that her life did not get any better than this.<br><br>"But I thought you weren't interested in talk.."<br><br>She threw his words back into his face with a playful smile, seeming to have a humorous side to herself, as well. One slender hand reached over to the doorknob of the door of the building she leaned against, curling her fingers around it slowly before pushing it open and stepping into the doorway, one hand holding up the skirts of her dress, out of habit, the action to protect the dress from filth not having much use anymore. She held the door open for him, inviting him into the main area of the building, which was in fact just a hallway, lined with doors, that stretched the length of the building and ending in a winding staircase on the right of the building, leading up to another floor with the same layout. <br><br>"I suppose you'd want to come inside? To.. not talk."<br><br>Lest he agreed, she would have shown him to her room, a small, dark place with just enough space for a bed.
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