I have never been punched in the face. At least until today.
One of the husbands of the two women I gave the books to came over and beat the piss out of me. I swear, if Hardy hadn’t stepped in I would have gone Bruce Less on his ass.
Now I have tissues up my nose and I think my liver is bruised.
I checked the scales today and it says that I have lost 5 kilos since being stuck here in Violent Hicksville.
After we got here, the Company forced us poor employees to exercise, and I have slowly been losing weight. And now without snack foods and coke I am starting to turn average. A few more weeks and I might be able to fit into an extra-large shirt without my gut overflowing.
Ksenia told me that gifts and charity were concepts reserved for those who were called neighbours, and even then their usually strings attached. If the satyr females had been widows my gifts would have been seen as romantic in nature.
As the paper and books were clearly expensive their husbands saw me as a huge threat to their happy homes.
I told Ksenia that the marriage concept here appeared to be pretty loose and that Lignos in general were monogamists.
Ksenia told me that the husbands wouldn’t have cared if I had slept with them, but the gifts I had given the mothers made it looks as if I had plans of steeling them away. It was a case of you can play with my toys but don’t let me catch you trying to pocket them.
Yesterday, Neeti had not kissed me out of affection, but had done it to assert her territory, marking me like a dog might mark a tree. Thank fuck she did not decided to mark her territory. I.e. By pissing on my leg.
I kind of like the idea of women fighting over me.
I got down to the major idea that has been bugging bothering for the past few hours.
The Company has been pondering having the natives of this world join with us. Not management jobs, but more like us outsourcing our goods through them. Trading and running our buildings for us.
I told Neeti and Ksenia that I was not strictly powerful or high in the corporate food-chain, but I could see about getting them hired to work a trading port within the Ligno city, or preferably somewhere with more people around.
They might have to move, but they could get an actual job which they could be in a position to support themselves.
It took them both by surprise, I even think Neeti cried a little.
As I expected Neeti had nothing to shackle her to this place. Her parents had sold her, and her late arsehole husband was a piece of work. Ksenia was less enthusiastic and I guess I can’t blame her. Despite everything, this was her home.
I learned through my investigations that Neeti had been a mother. Unfortunately, most of her children had died in child birth and one had died by pneumonia. From the scares I think she had an abortion from my predecessor.
I suppose I shouldn’t be writing this because of doctor patient confidentiality. Screw it. I’m kind of pissed off.
Anyway, I injected a about 100 milligrams of smart stem-cells into Neeti when I rescued her.
As you know, smart stem-cells is this generation cure-all. Much like penicillin was last generation’s miracle drug.
It sort of works in the same way a tactical nuclear strike works. We use an organic microchip, attach it to the organ or bone, and the smart stem-cell go right at it. The microchip becomes a drill sergeant and cook, it tell the cells what to do all the while feeding them.
I had tried to explain this to Neeti but most of it went over her head. At the end I said I used my medicine so that she can now have children.
Want me to tell you how that turned out? Well, I am writing this in bed. I saw things, man. I don’t think I can ever go back to human prostitutes after what I went through.
I know that all three of the Lignos are using me. I’m not an idiot. But I suppose I am using them as well.
They want to survive and I sadly got addicted to not being a lonely, sexless shut in.
Before I drop into a coma I will add this next part that is still bothering me. Before Neeti dragged me off to make me her bitch, I had asked Ksenia what her main goals were. Did she plan on getting a job, remarrying, what?
I don’t think anybody has ever asked either satyr what they wanted. I think things got emotional there.
You are probably wondering why I keep switching between referring them as Ligno and satyr. Well, after my arsehole team left I watched that old Disney movie, and I sort of got used to calling them satyrs.
I could use find/replace to re-edit this journal, but fuck it. It isn’t like anyone but me will read it.