[01.08.35, dark] Fangs and Formalities [Siba]

Jagat-Natha Aditaya Rai-erhi was not known for being morally opposed to much of anything. When one owns half the clubs in Anvaabaitun, one does not keep that fact a secret, does one? Any Ralasi could fuck a Danava. He facilitated Ralasi fucking Danava.

Not a concern of his what someone wanted a piece of, so long as they were willing to pay. So long as he could keep everything quiet and tucked away, arranged just so hundreds of Jagat-Natha businessladies and Sihabahu patrollers could sink their teeth into as many alya as they wanted, social suicide-free. Want a kusu khabi to mussar your zakar? Ai! Want sukari sabiya? Ai! Whatever their ugly hearts desired, he could provide. For the right price.

What he was morally opposed to, however, was Ralasi getting crooked fingers in Danava in his places of business, without his permission, without giving him one red cent. Letting the patrollers catch word of such debauchery in one of his establishments could earn him a fine, and yet another expensive round of cutting deals in the backrooms of the High Court. Rumors of handsy Ralasi would spook the Danava away from his bars and clubs.

Yes, of course. Two Sihabahu were bouncers outside the club, one prowled around the black interior. No more than that, didn’t want to ruin the ‘vibe’ as those unspeakables put it. A plainsclothes patroller made an almighty fuss, over a Danava boy and Ralasi. Worse.

A Sitala.

Girl had to go make a scene, hauling the barely conscious khabi out over her shoulder. No undergarments on him, none at all! many spectators told him. Lit into him right there on the table! And they say the Sitala have honor! You should have seen it, Rai-erhi, I tried to stop them...

And so on. And so on. Conflicting accounts, wild exaggerations. He set out a call for the patroller girl herself. Sihabahu Siba, of the Suriyanaa Zinzana Patrol Unit. Jagat-Natha Rai-erhi’s main office of affairs was deep in the lush belly of Sutra, his finest Zinzana whore house.

Everything was strewn in synthsilk and rich red dye, delicately dressed and bejeweled kusu of every shape, size, and age sprawled out sleepily on plush divans about the main foyer, mewling to every potential customer. Hair teased thick, eyes painted, ankles iced in trinkets. The medicinal scent of amrita was thick in the air beneath the plumes of floral herbs burned in the braziers, the earthy incense smoking in innumerable gold hold suspended from the ceiling by chains. Rai-erhi’s personal quarters were much the same, just sans sprawled prostitutes. He liked his space, curse it all.

A hesitant knock sounded on his steel door. Ambala, one of his personal Sihabahu guards, must have arrived with her escort.

Rai-erhi was silent for a long moment, drew in a deep plume from his hot hookah on the desk. Violet smoke puffed out his nostrils, breezed through his teeth. He swept his hair back over shoulders from where it pooled on the desk. Long black braids, today, spun through with golden twine and trinkets.

“She may enter,” he drawled around another thick brume of smoke, not looking up from register of The Pit’s slew of contradicting testimonies.

Siba strode through Sutra, feeling her stomach turn. It wasn't just the stress of having to talk to what was essentially her unit's boss, or one of them. Adityah Rai-erhi controlled a sizable chunk of the Zinzana and often employed members of her unit at his establishment. Duty at Milk and Water was a patrol girl's dream post, a guilty pleasure for all but the oldest and most shrivelled men and women in her unit.

So yes, she was very stressful about meeting the Jagat Natha who hired out her unit. In fact, the contents of her guts were emptied not even two hours before hand because of this stress, so even if she allowed herself to retch now, it would just be dry heaving. The constant sound track of pleading calls from the whores stretched out on cushions didn't help either. So much soft skin and big pleading eyes, fingers reaching up to her as she made her way through.

But also, it was just the place in general. Sutra was an attack on her senses, heavy patchouli mixed with the sterile smell of Amrita, bright shining hangings clashed against each other, the entire place sent her reeling as she made her way through. She wore a heavy jacket of grey cotton and loose legged trousers of a lighter material. Black leather sandals with sular markings in bronze adorned her feet. At her side was the ceremonial weapon of her unit, the urumi whip sword. Her face had been painted, and her dog's jaw tattoo was augmented with red flames licking along the teeth. Though she held her head up and walked with all the purpose befitting her position, on the inside, she was ready to take her urumi and cut her throat and wrists. She knew she was in trouble, knew why she was here.

In all honesty, she had no idea what she was going to say. What was there to? There was a Sitala in the bar, and the Danava boy couldn't walk so I escorted them both back? It sounded good in her head, but she knew it wouldn't be enough for the man that was behind the great door that now loomed in front of her.

She took a moment to steady her breath before pushing the door open, going into the inner sanctum of Sutra. She inwardly breathed a sigh of relief at being released from the presence of the whores and closed the door behind her. Looking straight at the man who sat in front of her, she snapped to attention and bowed deeply. "Siba Suriyanaa of the Suriyanaa patrol unit, sir."