The Contract

I had returned to Ludmilla's brothel to air my grievances. Little did I realize my timing was..as usual..dead on. Or completely off, depending upon how you look upon it. I was welcomed in, along with a man that brushed past abruptly into the great foyer of the extravagant building. The girl that greeted us, she was familiar. Perhaps it was her garments. Or the onyx gaze I had looked into many times before. I said nothing to her.

Wine was poured and introduction made, between myself and the man that was apparently my employer. I forget the false name that was given now, Mister Smith? Nevertheless, it was a mooth point. My interest had lied more upon the note that was delivered to the Madame. So close to intercepting it, and yet so far. We were taken upstairs to one of many painfully feminine rooms the brothel had to offer. And then I was alone with him.

I had been under the impression the silver was in exchange for the death of a man. In a gross misinterpretation, my Mr. Smith had wanted something else entirely. "Six silver?" I whistled faintly, "If you'd asked nicely. I'd have fucked you for free."

As it turned out, way leads onto way, and a simple inquiry of clarification uncovered what I had initially sought from him.

"Agamemnon Sarce," he spoke finally, "Do you know him?"

[Scene in progress.]