Steam and Steel Options

[Rohirrim]

Jonah stepped into the morning sun from the darkness of the tailor shop. He carefully situated his goggles on his face, hitched up the rifle strap on his shoulder, and went to find some lunch. This was the slaughterhouse district, so a broiled beefsteak or kidney and some drink wouldn't be too hard to find. Spotting the double doors of a saloon, he stepped in and grabbed a seat at the bar. He held up his flask and dropped a penny on the bar. "Refill, please. Whiskey." The bartender silently obliged him, and Jonah took a swig. He winced. Rye, always rye, he thought, what I wouldn't do for some good old bourbon. He let the whiskey coat his mouth then put down a nickel. "Two kidney chops, my good man." The barkeep went into the kitchen to place Jonah's order. Satisfied it was being taken care of, Jonah looked around. The synth-piano played a gay tune, and some women of questionable virtue, as well as several other patrons, were around. He hiked up his bowler hat, letting his bangs fall down, and removed his goggles, putting them on his forehead. He cast a glance at the bounty board hanging at the end of the bar. Maybe, he thought, maybe.

This post has been edited by Rohirrim: Oct 26 2013, 05:33 PM

[Elisabeth Hollow]

Betty waited until the breathy sounds coming from the Englishman slowed significantly. Once the steady breathing had carried on for a few minutes, she quietly slid out of the bed on shaky legs. She hadn't expected much from him, but a man's stamina seemed to be better in the mornings. Her dress rustled as she slid it on and silently snapped her orset into place. He was insistent on seeing all of her, though some men thought that her leaving her corset on during was ideal.

She bent low and rifled through his trouser pockets, finding his wallet. She watched his sleeping form carefully as she pulled a ten and fiver note from his wallet, silently cheering her good fortune. She noticed he had change and a few dollar bills, and figured this was pocket change for him. He still had plenty to eat for the rest of the week, even if it wasn't.

She tucked all the bills into her top and finished pinning her hair. She slid her boots on, and with a soft click the door shut, and she was on her way out the saloon. She passed the young man from earlier, joined by another man. She shot the rougher looking man a wink as she passed, heading out the door, swaying her hips.

She walked down the road, earning a few nods from the men, both respectful and less-inviting, and looks from the wives and widows of the town. To the women, she was a hooker. A common whore. One who sold her body for the sinful delights of the flesh. For the men, she was a gateway to the Divine. For herself, she was trying to survive.

She took a left turn around a brick building to set her eyes on a white, wooden building three stories high. A picket fence surrounded the property around the acre of land covered in green grass. She pushed open the gate and squinted her eyes against the sun reflecting off the red-shingled roof of the building. She went inside after shutting the gate.

Her boots clicked softly against the cherry hardwood floors, and a plump, balding man looked at her over thick glasses. He was seating at a whit desk, the oak showing through the cracks of the aged paint. His desk was impeccably maintained, a large, neat stack of papers to his left, a small, similarly neat stack in front of him, and files in brown folders to his left. He seemed to have been flipping through them when Betty arrived.

"Good morning, Miss Bridges." He said, his reedy voice congested with a slight bit of phlegm. "Late again, I see. Like clockwork. Albeit, less punctual like clockwork. What was it this time?"

"There was traffic." Betty's voice lost the sweet, feminine sound she used with her Johns. She set her purse down on his desk, and he pulled out the contents, naming each item.

"Three throwing knives, two mint candies, toothbrush, mint leaves for chewing, hair pins, and..."after a few moments, he finished counting the money. "Ninety-three dollars. Not your usual amount, Miss Bridges. We're not skimming from the company collections, are we?"

"Slow night. And I know who took all my business, too. Those new girls. You mark my words, they'll show up dead in a ditch before they hit eighteen, the way they conduct their business. Gettin' drunk and partyin' all night, with four of 'em in a bed with one man. That ain't no way to conduct yourself! You need class. Dignity."

"Dignity for a hooker?" The man wheezed a laugh. "I can see the bills peeping from the clefts of your breasts, Miss Bridges."

Betty sheepishly handed over the ten and fiver notes, her brows set low. "Times are tough, Bill."

"I've been here for-"

"-over twenty years, and no on'es had the audacity to call me Bill." She finished with him. "I know. Just count the money, so I can go shopping."

Bill obliged, muttering not very quietly about his name being "William, not some back-water, bull-roping dandy name like Bill," and gave her her share. She sighed at the forty dollars and change and put it in her purse. She thanked Bill and went upstairs of the curiously empty house. She went to her quarters and changed into a similar dress as the one before, but much lighter in thread, and more breezy. She held open an umbrella to shade herself and walked back to town, a basked hanging from the rook of her arm.