Chapter 4. Wont You Open the Door?

<—–Sorie’s Shame.  Game Night.   Next——–>

Everyone underestimated Bancroft Enya. They saw Bancroft’s clothes, her droll uncouth accent, and heard her last name was Enya and they believed Bancroft to be just one of many street whores.

Living on the streets of Talia, Bancroft had worked hard to survive. She was always there on the front lines, ready to get on her knees and humiliate herself for false promises and a pittance.

Always the people of this world saw Bancroft and her family as something akin to a rat or spider. A barely tolerated nuisance, who were used to describe every housebreaker and menace.

But one thing could be said about Enya women, they were survivors.

Even out here in the country and away from civilisation Bancroft knew when to obey and when to take.

While Talia’s streets were flooded with widows from the recent war, Bancroft had cunningly sought greener pastures, which is how she ended up out in the middle of nowhere selling her body to some of the least competent soldiers in Un Neill for food rations.

But even in this desolate place between two alien and hostile landmasses there was always coin available for those who wanted it badly enough.

The fort, that’s if you could call a pitiful thing Bancroft was currently loitering around such a thing, was just one of many similar small encampments that were stitching themselves to both Techscope and Cichole’s borders.

They were nothing more than a few tents, a lookout tower, and a few loosely trained men trying to pretend that they were not wasting the country’s money.

But there were two things which separated this particular camp from the other foolish posts.

One was that Vanasher Nickle, the Dean of the Royal Academy had decided to pitch up a tent nearby. And the other was that a member of Techscope had been posted not more than a few feet from the camp.

Were these two occurrences coincidental? Bancroft didn’t think so and neither did anyone else. And after spreading her legs for a bunch of bored soldiers for several days and nights, Bancroft had decided to enhance the quality of her clientele and the amount of coin in her purse.

It was for the sake of her purse and nothing else that Bancroft Enya stood before Jessy’s ugly little domicile.

Last night Jessy had called it a bungalow, which he had claimed was little more than a glorified tent used for camping.

Bancroft had seen a few tents since her time away from the city, including several officers’ tents. What she was in the presence of was not a tent.

True, Jessy’s place was made from some sort of painfully yellow fabric, but it was more like a rectangular house than a tent. Bancroft was also sure that tents did not sport great big mirrors for windows nor did they have a door.

There were entire families in Talia who lived in sheds that were smaller than what Jessy was currently using.

Bancroft was sure that if she managed to get Jessy under her thumb, her life in this camp would surely improve greatly.

Not liking her options but unable to shake off her commitments, Bancroft knocked on Jessy’s door in a loud but not urgent manner. “Jessy? I wouldn’t mind some ‘elp wit’ sometung from last night?” Bancroft said meekly, not knowing if Jessy actually heard her or not.

Much like most Talia’s city watch and the major sum of the officers around the area, Bancroft came from apart of the city which had this strange habit of mangling words with the letter h in them.

There was a unique sound that Bancroft odd and unfamiliar before the door to the bungalow’s door opened and one blue haired boy came out.

Jessy, now wearing a shirt with unknown breed of dog inked into the fabric was standing by the door. Bancroft noticed that Jessy was wearing a an peculiar neck-brace which spewed what could, if you were a deranged lunatic, be described as music.

The boy brushed his shiny blue hair back in an attempt to make himself look presentable. It didn’t work. “Um. Hi. How can I help you?” Jessy asked trying to sound suave, once again not having much success.

His attempts of trying to act mature and gain Bancroft’s admiration were clumsy, to Bancroft a stable boy with leprosy had more of a dashing intonation to him. Jessy clearly had little contact with females of any kind but that just meant Bancroft had less of a challenge on her hands, which was fine by her.

This was almost painfully too easy, and Bancroft almost had pity on the boy.

Bancroft held herself and feigned shivering, “A gentleman such as ya self, might offer a lady his shelter before ask’in such things.”

Inside?” Jessy said looking back into his palace. “It, um. I really shouldn’t.”

Bancroft chose her from a prepared list of excuses that Jessy might have given. Depending on their preys’ word, Enya girls were taught all manner of counter-moves.

Her demeanour forceful, annoyed, with a slight touch of hurt, Bancroft said. “I’m a bout to freeze to death. You wont my dead body on yeh stoop do you?”

No. No” Jessy said and beaconed Bancroft inside.

Bancroft didn’t smile yet. She turned her head back to the nearby observers, who had been staking out Jessy’s not so humble abode. She gave a snort. With all your armies, muscles, and fancy spells. All I have to do is bat me eyes and shake me arse.

As she entered Jessy’s apartment, Bancroft was assaulted by hot air blowing down the nap of her neck, the smell of rotting food, and the sound of the door closing behind her with another one of those weird sounds following it.

The Silth was forced to cover her eyes as unnatural light bombarded her from what appeared to be the ceiling itself, the brilliant luminescence sought to eliminate the shadows from every nook and cranny.

As Bancroft had expected Jessy’s room was larger than the room she had rented back in Talia. This one even had a door which she expected lead to a closet.

The walls were decorated with paintings of scantly dressed women, alien landscapes with two or more moons, painted men in armour, and a few pitches of what appeared to be Jessy with some friends and who Bancroft guessed was Jessy’s family.

These images were so expertly painted that Bancroft almost thought that Jessy had somehow cut a piece of time and glued it to a piece of parchment.

The room a very boy smell to it. The rotten food smell came from a nearby desk which seemed to be the centre of Jessy’s world as rest of the building with the exception of Jessy’s unmade bed looked untouched and clean.

The desk itself was timbre that had been painted black. Upon the desk large scale version of Jessy’s strange black glass thing. This glass screen depicted a moving illustration.

The illustration was of a women with an exaggerated chest and impractical revealing amour fighting what appeared to be a stuffed bear. Beams of coloured light would on occasion shoot from her hands.

The rest of the furniture was more of less recognisable; i.e. draws and shelves.

Bancroft pondered if it were too late to turn back?

Jessy scrambled to find an extra chair for his guest, but due to the lack of available seats was forced to resort to his desk chair.

Jessy wiped the crumbs off his chair and swivelled it so that it faced his guest. “Sorry. I don’t really get guests.”

Bancroft’s mouth hung open as she saw the throne in front of her.

The chair was unlike anything she had ever encountered before. The chair was support on one single leg that was connected to five more legs with a single small wheel attached to it.

The chair itself was lined with black and red leather that had been stitched into the chair so that it almost appeared that the chair had muscles. The arms of the chair contained an assortment of glowing buttons.

The prostitute expected that kings could not afford such a thing and yet this… spoiled brat dared to soil such a thing with crumbs.

Bancroft pointed a cracked fingernail at the monster chair, “What in eh abyss is that thing?” she said.

It’s a chair.” Jessy said.

Bancroft pointed to a hole in one of the arms. “It’s got a ‘ole in it.”

That’s a cup holder.” Jesyy said and to illustrate this he picked up a bottle that was filled with some ominous bubbling potion and placed it into the slot.

Bancroft gapped. No wonder every one was frightened of these pricks. How could the elves hope to win against people who had chairs with holes for cups in them?

Do you want a drink.” Jessy asked. “Sorry but. Um. I’m not allowed to give you my stuff. But I have water.”

No Bubblien Nelle?” Bancroft laughed, expecting Jessy to have the most expensive wine that she knew of.

At seeing Jessy’s uncomprehending stare Bancroft rephrased her order. “Wine?”

I wish.” Jessy laughed. “Sorry. Even if I had wine I couldn’t give you any. Don’t know how it would effect you. I’m not normally about rules, but for all I know coke or coffe would melt a hole through your stomach.”

This explained the reason that Jessy and John had brought their own drink to the game and were rather stingy with their individual supplies.

Bancroft scoffed at the idea. There was paranoid and then there was being just plain silly.

Water will be alright.” Bancroft said before she tentatively took her seat.

An otherworldly sensation, for which some might refer to pleasure, flooded Bancroft’s body as the gel within the chair melded to her backside and back.

Bancroft closed her eyes as shock waves of what felt like electricity ran across her skin and nerves. “Ere. I think I might be in love.”

Jessy smiled, “Just try not to make a mess. I don’t want to have to hose my favourite gaming chair down.”

Jessy walked over to a small cabinet that was positioned beside the desk and withdrew a glass bottle of water. He then performed an irregular ceremony where he twisted the bottle’s lid, before surrendering the container to his guest.

Bancroft marvelled at the contents of the flask she had been given. Was water meant to be this clean?

What did you want to talk about?” Jessy asked.

The water tasted clean, though there was a faint trace of something unnatural about it. It was much like Jessy himself, it had a smell to it. Not rotten but almost processed.

Bancroft had planned to stretch out this dance. She had expected this boy to be anything from cruel to pompous and privileged, to Jessy being deprave. But it was as if the boy had no concept to the wealth which he was surrounded by.

Jessy wasn’t gloating over his belongings, he wasn’t showing them, off, he wasn’t doing the normal thing and speak to Bancraft as if she were a flea. He was communicating with her as if she were his equal.

It was starting to piss Bancroft off for some reason.

Bancroft thought for a minute. “Do you perhaps have a wife, milord.” Bancroft had not meant to let slip the honorific but being in the presence of someone who was obviously wealthy brought out Bancroft’s hatted subservience.

Stop with that milord, and lord, and master crap.” Jessy said and seemed to think about something. He admired Bancroft’s body for a second before shaking his head.

Bancroft could only imagine what the little scoundrel had planned for her in that short time. At least he found her desirable.

As for the marriage thing. I would be laughing right now if I wasn’t about to cry.” Jessy rubbed his short blue hair as if ashamed of something. “I don’t even have a girlfriend.”

Bancroft admired the room taking stock of the packets of half eaten food and it want for the feminine touch. She then turned her judgemental eyes on Jessy.

Except for his metal horns the child appeared human. And though he was also absurdly young that would most likely be cured in a decade or two. There was also the problem with his probable low life span but it wasn’t as if Bancroft hadn’t been around enough cats to get used to their mayfly lives.

Overall Bancroft had fucked worse for less.

So.” Jessy said taking a seat on the bed. “Is this the part where you try to seduce me?”

Bancroft’s heart skipped a beat. “Excuse me?”

The blue haired boy smiled. “There we go. Let me ask you a question. Did Vanasher Nickell pay you to slip something into Sorie’s drink last night? Unfucking believable.”

Jessy shook his head.

Bancroft stood up and got ready to run or fight. “I din’ne know what yeh mean.”

How stupid had she been.

Bancroft felt her body turn cold as she realized her mistake. She had thought herself so clever coming her, seducing a child who had just recently learned the value of a woman’s touch. All the while the boy had been planning a trap for her.

Jessy crossed his arms and looked amused. “That’s okay. I don’t really care, after all because of you to I lost my virginity last night. What I want to know is just one thing.” Jessy said.


One thought on “Chapter 4. Wont You Open the Door?

  1. Pingback: Update. Wont you let me in? | Troy Neenan

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