inkonstage (inkonstage) wrote in repose, @ 2017-06-28 22:38:00 |
|
|||
Entry tags: | *narrative, marta flores |
[Red Light District: Marta]
Who: Marta
What: Thinking and a job change (Narrative)
Where: The Capital Red Light District
When: Tonight
Warnings/Rating: Low self esteem, sex work, drinking, being drugged, coercion
She'd caught the second-to-last bus into the Capital that night, after she'd finished her conversation with Patrick. The one that felt like it ended on a very bad note, and she didn't know how to make it better. The ride had been filled with her thoughts tumbling over each other - things he'd said and the automatic responses that popped into her mind. And yet, also the thought of how she'd smiled while talking to him. And she hadn't done much of that at all in so long. It made her want to agree to meeting, even if the thought did terrify her. And then she thought of that night in the house on the lake, her interactions afterward, how needy she'd been and the guys that had pushed that away. It had made an impression once the morning dawned, one that had lingered ever since. She stood or fell on her own - no one could or would take that from her. And she'd already started to forget that. No matter what Patrick joked about, there wasn't a knight to save her, and though it was hard, she needed to remember that.
Once she was off the bus, there wasn't much time to continue thinking about it. Her stop was a decent hike from where she needed to go, so she just put her head down and aimed her feet in the right direction. Her shoes hit the pavement with solid sounds, the strike of towering heels that she'd spend a shitload of money on because she knew the cheaper ones would leave her barely able to move after a night of standing and walking. And blowing and fucking. She barely ever took her shoes off, so they needed to carry her for hours. The rest of her outfit didn't leave much to the imagination, and very clearly sent the message of why she was hanging out on a city street at night.
She could've gone back to her old trailer in Hookerville. She'd been so close to doing just that - picking up where she left off when she'd skipped town with that trucker. But there was something about the thought of asking Destiny for her old place back that made her shy away from it. Like she'd somehow be even more of a disappointment if she returned. So instead she'd found an unclaimed bit of street in the city and slipped in with the other girls that worked there. It was different than the work she'd done before - no one just showed up at her trailer door. There was more effort and more risk, and she was tired more often than not. She'd told Dahlia that it helped to be at least a little drunk, and she wasn't lying. Some nights were definitely worse than others, but every night required at least a little help.
She was a little buzzed by the time she reached her destination, looking around to see which of the other usual girls were there, and nodding at the one or two who made eye contact. This was the area for the girls that worked for themselves, that didn't have the backup or protection of someone watching out for them. They were the ones that (for one reason or another) didn't work in the windows or in the houses. It was dangerous for them, and Marta knew they tried to keep an eye out for each other, but there was only so much they could do if something happened.
About halfway through her night (several customers' worth of cash hidden on herself in different places), the man came up to her. He didn't give off the same vibe as the other customers, and it didn't take long to realize that he wasn't a customer. She'd downed a painkiller after her last customer, and so she was just a little fuzzy as to what the man was offering when he started talking about getting her work off the street. He didn't sound like some of the religious freaks that came around to try to "save" the girls, though. She went with him when he pressed a hand to her back, her heels doing little to mitigate the height difference between them, and she was easily steered away from her spot on the sidewalk.
He got her a coffee. He kept talking. He asked her where she was from, about her family, her friends. Her answers slipped out easier the more she drank her coffee, but there was a calmness that had layered over her as she spoke as well, and none of it worried her. He asked her about what she was on, and asked about how often she took something. He asked about her feelings about blood and about supernatural things. By that point, her answers flowed freely and she didn't think the questions were weird at all. And as the sun began to rise, he said he had a new job for her. One that was sex and blood and money and feeling good. He said that she'd start the next night. That she should get some rest. And even though the caffeine in the coffee should have kept her awake, she was laid down somewhere and sleep washed over her.