Judgement Day [Vesna\Private]

((TIMESKIP--))

While it seemed Sofia had just enough strength left, Cosim had a surplus to spend. He had to. He was putting in extra shows, and doing what he could outside of that for an extra share of the money. It was taking more of a toll on him than he thought, but whenever he thought he should stop, he told himself whatever she was going through was taking quite a toll on her as well.

It wasn't like he was able to forget it, either. Now that it was obvious to everyone what was going on, he couldn't rest a moment without being asked. Some of it was polite some of it... wasn't. He was bombarded with worries and questions not even he had the answer to.

As always, the only place he could really be that was without people was the truck. Oddly enough it hadn't been giving him any peace. He never had a father, how was he supposed to know how to be one in the first place? He just lied on the cold truck bed and stared up into the dusty sky, wondering how he could wonder about so much when it really wasn't even him having the child.

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"He's not a fling...!" She hissed, hurt that after all this he would continue to expect that she not know any better (but how would she know, really?). "If you're a friend, you wouldn't say things like that to me." Her tone was caught between hurt and anger. Just because he was her mainstay didn't mean that he thought other things should stay the same. "Not everyone is like you." She added coldly, flipping back through his little red book.

About to place it back in his hand, she stared through the cover for a long moment and finally concluded, "No." It seemed cruel, but he was being far crueler, to her mind. Who knows what he's been writing in there, anyways? What he'd seen when he barged in her sewing room? And he would lie to her if she asked what was in it. "Apparently I can't keep secrets from you, and apparently you see right through me," She continued, "So you'll be the same way. Or go write in another book, I don't care." He wouldn't. Too much seemed to be invested in the one she was holding. Itakshir might know a bit how to read it-- he had a strange russian accent she'd never gotten around to explaining, after all. Or that large man. But she suspected he wouldn't even try.

"Goodnight, Piter," She stood and dusted off her dress. "Get your own popsicle."

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One might say that if this was her only option, Hanako couldn't do better. Dimitrie was notoriously good to his women (mind, they still were bound by a prostitution contract), especially since the fire. In turn, they took car of him, which, as a boy who left home and his mother too early, needed for his psyche to function. He also needed his substances, which were nowhere to be gotten at the time. He wondered how many nights one could go without sleep before keeling over.

He was looking for that small asian woman that had accompanied Vesna (and apparently caused all the problems) back. It seemed odd to still be looking for someone in full makeup this late, but for some reason, he expected her to look that way all the time.

Which was why he nearly shouted when someone akin to that elegant woman's ghoul was suddenly in front of him. But there were no other asian women in his entourage, so it had to be. Did it?

"Ah, Miss..." He didn't know her name. She didn't seem as harmful as Vesna was (attempting) to say. "I'm sorry to say, but I don't think there are many opportunities for living, outside of here." Truthfully, he didn't know, with her size, if she would even be very well suited for the business. "Unless you want to sleep, we can work out an arrangement? There's no individual place for you to sleep, but once the money starts flowing again, you'll get your own car." That was usually a good selling point. Remembering, he held out his slightly trembling hand for her to take. "My name is Ionescu."

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As the words left his mouth so haphazardly, she began to cry again, silently, eyes cast towards the ground. She couldn't convince herself to believe him, anymore, and it was shattering. What was she worth, to him? A few stammers of how it wasn't what it really was. She knew men well enough to know that if it wasn't what it was, then it was what it was.

With a choking sob, she tried weakly to shove the door shut, she figured if his fingers were caught they would come off if they had to. She didn't want to see herself with such low worth in the eyes of someone else. He was just like the man that had 'welcomed' her to the country, with his lies. But eloquent with them wasn't ever an attribute she'd think to apply to Diederik.

And then, those words. Those words she would have said to him.

Against her better judgement, she inhaled those words between sobs like she would die without them. She let go of the door in shock, forgetting that he was keeping it open. The door made contact with her forehead and sent her tumbling back to collapse on the floor.

She was still crying, but now with a smile. She was a prostitute, she was an idiot, and she was too tall and wasted her time with art. And she was loved. And none of the former mattered, then.

Sonya had recovered well from her injuries in the months past (much to the relief of their progressively more-and-more-stressed-than-ever doctor), and was now sporting a sizable stomach. It was quite the challenge, for the blind woman. She had to be twice as careful as before, and couldn't risk falling or bumping into anything, as she might once have. And with the now most-delicate part of her body also being the most protruding, it was proving exceedingly worrisome.

She was escorted nearly everywhere, these days, whether she enjoyed it or not. It simply wasn't safe for her to be on her own. And while she would have liked for it to be Cosim doing the escorting, she knew he was busy, working hard. She didn't have to ask why. It made her happy, but also all the more eager to be with him, when he wasn't at work.

It was Itakshir now, who was helping her to the truck, where she knew Cosim would be. Arms linked, they more or less wobbled their way over the field, with the Ainu talking animatedly the entire way. He couldn't imagine why his friend wanted to be a father, but he seemed to find something delightful about it. Apparently, he loved children.

Reaching their destination, he knocked on the frame of the vehicle and announced, "Delivery!" And, with a wink and a wave (which he forgot, as usual, that she couldn't see), he took his leave, "See you guys later!"

Sonya stood in the grass, hands automatically going to her stomach, waiting for Cosim to lift her inside. She didn't say so, but she wanted him to hurry. Her back was already starting to ache, these days, and her feet were swollen, her breasts were swollen, her stomach was swollen... Rather, swelling. Everything was swelling. And it still had a ways to go before it finally stopped. But at least she'd stopped throwing up, weeks ago--that'd been nightmarish. 

Still, she felt drained, all the time. Like her little body could only make so much energy, and most of it went towards the baby. She was getting quieter and meeker, these days.

--

He couldn't honestly care less if he'd hurt her feelings over the stupid one--if anything, he was glad he did. Perhaps it would plant the seed of doubt in her mind, and she herself would begin to question the relationship, unknowingly setting it's dissolution into cycle. And, she, thinking to insult, had actually confirmed for him what he wanted to hear: he wasn't like the others. The others would come and go, but he was a constant. He was the one who did not fall or fail.

Yes, he was cruel. And he was discovering that it was much more difficult to hide that cruelty than he'd imagined.

Outwardly, he showed little tension other than slightly pressed lips and a finger tapping testily on his knee. Inwardly, he was practically seething. Standing up not a split second after she did, he put a hand on her shoulder as she turned away, his thin pianist's fingers curling around it lightly, but with all the delicate threat of a spider's legs.

Softly, in an evenly measured tone, he spoke something that should have been sweet, but came out as poisonous, "You know, I try, Franze, I really do. ...And mark my words, I will keep trying. Because no matter what you say or do, no matter what you think of me, I am always going to be the one person that stayed loyal to you. I have never shown you any level of heartlessness that I could be capable of, and I should hope it stays that way." He was nearly whispering, breathing out frost, "But do try not to test me. Because I find my patience wearing thin, these days."

And then, he noticed something strange. Something he'd never noticed before, for some reason. Franze's shoulder was awfully small, and thin. Perhaps it was because he rarely touched her (or anyone), but he hadn't realized exactly how thin she was. How fragile. Almost furiously, he forced her to spin around, expression hardened. Nothing about her appearance had changed. The true extent of her frailness was, apparently, something that simply couldn't be know, just by looking. But despite her smallness, he'd always had a notion that she was somehow bigger than him; that because she'd once been bigger, she always would be. Some sort of protective, nurturing force that loved him unconditionally.

But she wasn't. She was frail and tiny, and he could have probably broken her like a hollow eggshell, even considering how slender he himself was. A savage urge shot through him to do just that. Because she wasn't his mother, she was a woman. And not a woman who wanted the only kind of 'love' he knew how to offer.

A horrible, horrible feeling overcame him, and not one he'd ever genuinely felt, before. Shaken violently by a tremor, he snatched his hand away from her, thoroughly disturbed by whatever it was that had come over him. Taking a step backwards, he bumped into the mirror and tilted it over. It wobbled precariously for a moment, before falling like a felled tree, knocking into the ground and scattering it's shattered pieces in all directions. Piter didn't flinch, so preoccupied he was. If he'd only understood what it was, he would have known right away what to call the feeling:

Fear. Serious, debilitating fear.

A wave of nausea rolled over him, and he paled considerably, looking like he'd suddenly been dropped onto the face of the earth and was seeing everything for the first time. The confusion made him reel. Eyes wide, he exclaimed in a strained voice what he knew all along, but was only just now hitting him, "I'm losing my mind...!"

--

Ah, he was talking to her. How wonderful. A feeling of ease washed over her--she was trained to be around men, and she'd almost forgotten why she enjoyed it (when they weren't attacking her, of course).

Placing the tips of her fingers to her mouth delicately to half-hide a smile, she murmured demurely, "I couldn't possibly think to sleep, right now, I so pleased to be offered a job." Honestly, she wouldn't have been pleased at all to be offered this job, but since she was already going in with a plan in mind-- "And to have my own quarters? How very lovely..." Perfumes and blossoms, silks and the changing seasons; she reminded herself to integrate them into every word, into every breath she exhaled. "I do have some very small stipulations...concerning the sort of customers I take. But I hope it will not seem like any great trouble..."

His hand was trembling--from what, she couldn't say--but she took it with one that was as still as the most undisturbed waters. She did not shake it; she still wasn't quite that familiar with the custom, yet. Lifting her gaze to meet his, she wondered vaguely what it was he yearned for most, in life. Happiness? Pleasure? An escape? Whatever it was, she would show it to him, in the floating world. But if it was material riches he desired... Her painted lips turned upward, just lightly, "I am Hanako Yanagi. If you would allow me, I can make you a very wealthy man."

--

She began to cry, and he knew in his heart, he was fucking it up. There was no way to save himself from this one--he might have actually felt a little better if she'd shut his fingers in the door. At least then the pain would be physical; a form he could understand and accept. But then...something strange happened, and before he knew what was going on, she was lying on the floor.

And smiling. The most beautiful thing he'd ever seen.

He was far, far too tall, had awful teeth, smoked himself half to death, could barely spare a word for anyone, was engaged in an evil business, was cheap and approaching middle age and had done some truly awful, unforgivable things. But she smiled at him.

Forgetting himself, he attempted to rush inside to help her up, but neglected ducking on the way through the door frame, and ended up cracking his own forehead. Hissing at the unexpected injury, he only allowed himself to clutch at it for a moment, before stumbling in and kneeling next to her. Scooping her up, he practically cradled her, murmuring that which he never got the chance to say, in his nightmares. That which could have proved that, yes, he was human, and yes, he could be a good man.

"I'm sorry...I'm so sorry, I love you..."

He already heard them coming from a while away--Itakshir wasn't exactly good at talking discretely-- and sat up, waiting for them to reach him. It was kind of a funny sight, not that he would tell her so.

As the Ainu left, he called out his thanks, adding for the nth time, 'she can't see that'. It didn't seem to ever get through to him.

A combination of wasting all his own energy and her being heavier than normal made him have to get out of the truckbed to hoist her in. He couldn't just throw her around like he usually did. Bending, he put her arms around his neck before sweeping her legs out from under her and sitting her gently on the edge. Laughing lightly as he kissed her forehead, he greeted her with, "Hey, little pumpkin," (of course, if anyone else were to use the nickname, they wouldn't have an unbroken face for very long. "How are you feeling?"

It killed him that at the time when she probably most wanted him around, he could hardly be there. They didn't sleep in the same place, and most of the time they had before was taken up by his work. Stepping back into the truck, he pulled her into his lap like usual. "You think we should just give the baby to Itakshir?" He joked. "He seems pretty jealous."

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Her blood ran cold. "Are you trying to threaten me, Piter?" Threatening her with what? She couldn't be sure, and didn't want to find out. About to put him in his place, shrug off his arm and walk away, she was instead forcibly spun back to face him, letting out a small shriek of horrified surprise.

She expected him to look angry at the least, but most likely expressionless. Instead all she saw in his eyes was fear. She couldn't place where it was coming from, but panicked and stopped trying once the shattering noise interrupted her thoughts. She felt like she'd seen that face, long ago, when he was just a boy. But he was still a boy, wasn't he? Throwing another tantrum.

Misinterpreting, she pressed the book to his chest, and let it fall for him to catch. "Fine, have the book back. But it's time for you to grow up."

Now was the time she was supposed to walk away. But strangely, she couldn't. Not with him so shaken and upset. She wanted him to go off on his own, but at the same time was worried what would happen. She really was just like a mother. So she just stood there uncertainly and uneasily, not knowing which direction to take.

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When she took his hand and looked him in the eyes, he wouldn't let go. Couldn't. He wasn't going to let this beauty (how was she beautiful, when he really thought about it? He wasn't thinking.) slip away. He desired each of what she wondered about, and all at once. Lately he had been feeling like he wasn't even alive. That was what living was, wasn't it? Happiness and pleasure? He only needed an escape to it. His hand stopped trembling-- it was like a drug, her stare. And when she mentioned money, well, what could he do?

"You'll have anything you want..." He murmured, entranced. "Please... Tell me." Her voice was like Ether.

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It took her tears a while to dry up, even after he'd confessed.

With her face buried in the crook of his neck, she sniffed and held on to him tightly. "I tried to love you... So much... You never would let me..." He would say 'I'm this or that, it's no good for you'. Did he not remember the first time they met? He could have said anything, done anything. But what did he say? To a prostitute, no less? 'I won't look, if it bothers you'. That was all she needed to prove he was good. She lived in a place where she could be treated like an object, and the first thing he wanted to know was if it bothered her. Finally able to speak properly, she continued, "You always told me not to. Well I'm going to, now. I don't care if it bothers you."

She leaned up to kiss his jaw a few times, and realized that he must really have been out of it for a while, if he hadn't even shaved. It made her feel bad, that she didn't stay to take care of him. "I'm sorry I ran away..."

"Tired," she replied honestly, though she did manage a smile. A tired smile. It would be nice when this was through, and she had her energy back--but that was when the real challange would begin. A lifelong challange.

When he placed her into his lap, she rested the side of her head against his arm. She would have liked to lie down, but not in the truck bed; some things were not feasible, anymore. The blankets she kept in there had gone unused for several weeks, by then.

"He says he had a lot of baby brothers and sisters," another tired smile, "Maybe he should be the godfather."

Thought she didn't (or didn't like to) outright think of it in such a way, what with her blindness and frail health, and Cosim's status as a wanted man, even goofy Itakshir might have been the more stable parent.

--

He didn't try to catch the book. He didn't even notice it. The world was spinning dangerously beneath him, and he found himself desperate to get off. If he was cracking before, he was falling apart, now.

A part of him wanted to grab and hold onto her skirts, to make her stay with him, but he wasn't small enough for that, any more. He ended up with his hands hovering, half-raised in the air, like he didn't know what to do with them. The holes being left in what turned out to be a thin outer shell, were allowing the true extent of his selfishness and shallowness to spill forth. "Grow up? Grow up? Don't tell me what to do!" For once, he didn't look blank-faced, or even furious. He looked like he was having a psychotic episode. 

"You're just a prop in MY world! You're supposed to be here for me!" He pointed at her accusingly, eyes wide with panic, "What makes him special? So what if he 'loves' you? I love you, too!" But it wasn't love. It was need. "He doesn't even deserve to have you; I was here first! For years--and when I was little, you said I shouldn't be alone"--(When did she say that? He didn't know, anymore.)--"you're not allowed to not love me!"

Because then he would be alone. A child alone in a world he could not function in, a society that didn't accept that he didn't know how to be accepted. He'd long ago stopped trying to tune his radio, to figure out what channel normal people were broadcasting on.

Why did he need to, if she was always there to play music for him?

--

She did not fail to notice that his hand had stopped shaking. How fascinating. It would be interesting to know the cause of it, but she guessed it would not be something she'd learn quickly. If only she knew--she had just the drug for him.

Though some might argue that it was no less dangerous than conventional substances. It was not uncommon for needy men to waste their lives and their riches away, when they became addicted to the okiya.

Looking ever more deeply into his eyes, she responded pleasantly, "I wouldn't like to ask for much." But here, she did indeed take a slightly firmer tone, "I will not be treated as a common prostitute. I have no business for a manager who does not allow me my dignity. I am a geisha--a living piece of art--and I will be recognized as such."

Pulling her gaze away (after all, her second stipulation would likely not require any extra means of persuasion), and releasing his hand to draw her own back to herself, she continued, "I will take men only from the highest class--very wealthy men, is it understandable? If they are brought to me, I will have no problem drawing them in. For one appointment, I will take..." She thought about it before, considering what she charged in her old life, "Six-thousand." Easily. "Is this acceptable, for you?"

--

"You shouldn't," he muttered, reinforcing his prior stance while wiping her eyes with the backs of his fingers, "But I want you to." It did bother him, but perhaps...he would have to resign himself to the fact that he was just never really going to end up doing the best thing. Whether out of circumstance or knowingly, it seemed he couldn't follow through with even his best intentions.

But then, loving someone wouldn't exactly be the worst thing he'd ever done.

Before answering, he kissed her back, on the lips, well-aware of how ungroomed he presently looked. At least, in the dim light, she probably couldn't see how hot his face felt. (Although maybe she could feel it.) Something told him he ought to have been too old for that. "I'm sorry I came back." If he had any amount of decency, he probably would have let her go and move on. "I can't help myself..." As straight-faced as ever, he half-shrugged, "If it's wrong, then fuck morality, I guess."

"You're still beautiful." He reminded her, wrapping his arms around her shoulders (too afraid to hold her waist like he usually did). She did look tired, though. Not that he would tell her so.

He snorted at the suggestion-- not at the incredulity of it (because he would probably trust the Ainu with his life, but at what went with it. "And that Austrian-- she doesn't come with that arrangement, does she?" He still hated her.

But under all the jokes he realized what she had but not said. All of the women who'd spoken to him without even being asked had told him that you know you're meant to be a parent the first time you see your baby smile. That wouldn't happen, for Sonya. She would never really see it, at all. The child would have quite an extended family, but what kind of life would it lead in a place like this? Practically whispering, as if he was afraid anyone else would hear, he murmured, "If you don't think we can do very well... There's always places that take in children..." It wasn't favorable, and frankly he felt ashamed to say so but it was possible they just weren't child-rearing material.

And what about his manacles? To him they were a sign of acknowledgement of what he'd done-- but would a child understand that? At the best the baby would know its father was a serious criminal. At the worst it would think that people in manacles were comforting, or good. Both weren't favorable options.

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Franze could not believe this. Well, in a way she could. Because whether she realized it or not, she created this cage for herself. And him the same. He'd only ever seen love as one thing-- another way simply could not exist. She knew that, and she didn't like to see him hurt. She loathed seeing him like this.

But for the first time she had real, organic happiness and she wasn't going to choose anything over it. Piter would calm down, learn, and write how to avoid being lonely without her in his little book, and all would be right again-- or, so she hoped. Either way, she couldn't stay.

She didn't even respond to his arguments (or were they pleas?). She merely swallowed the growing lump in her throat, and walked away.

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Yes, it all made sense. Only high-class clients (lower class men wouldn't know what to do with someone like her, anyway), dignity, art. He mind was beginning to cloud-- only those words stuck.

Then, abruptly when she looked away and a price was mentioned, the clouds parted and it felt like he'd gotten a punch in the stomach. "Six... Thousand...?" He laughed nervously (why was she so intimidating?). "Miss Yanagi... I appreciate your sense of self-worth-- I like to cultivate it, to prevent anyone from getting hurt-- but... Six thousand... Hardly anyone would step up for that. Six thousand doesn't even mean that anymore." Here, 6 thousand might as well have been one million.

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"Love isn't very moral." She explained to him, tilting his head down slightly by his chin to lightly kiss the stitches that ran across his eye. "Someone took out your eye, because they loved someone. I denied who it was, because I loved. People throw affection at someone with no assurance of it ever coming back," But it had for her. She smiled into his lips, "And whoever told you that women don't want men to come back for them is lying."

Then she seemed more somber. "Every hour I cried more-- what would happen to me, if you never came back...?" She would be nameless and poor, just like Hanako had said. "But every hour was another hour I thought you wanted someone else, and I had given all my love away for nothing." It certainly felt like she could never take it back.