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Friends who Celibate


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Autumn again: one year since his brother died, still it Dorian's 19th birthday was coming up and blast her if Saline would not do something to make him cheer up. Were it not against her beliefs, she would have moon ducked him in the sadsacks a long time ago, but lately she was glad that she had not done so. Nerome felt the same way, and between the two of them they decided to Do. Something. About. Him. Their mutual friend was wasting away, and she would have gotten into cahoots with the Darkfriends' circle if they could only make the blind Trainee happy.


”Happy for a night, and he'll thank us for it later,” she had assured the Cairheinian. 'Rome seemed lukewarm to the idea at first, then his skepticism gave way to enthusiasm as the day of revealing drew near. Planning a party took a great deal more effort than she imagined, and neither of them had done so before. (But not half as much effort as it takes to make you post!)


Foremost was the issue of funds: neither one had nobles' allowances, though they were each heirs at one point: she, exiled, and he, running from it. Either way, they would have to work. Their concerted efforts had amassed a glorious three silvers, and one of those Saline had earned by doing the chores of another Accepted, and even some Novices’ who would butter up to the Aes Sedai later on. Throughout her "work," she did not complain, and always tried her darnedest, though one Sister's handwriting was so faded she could not make out some of the phrases, and made some up out of desperation. Was 'moon duck' really what Ginnie intended to write? Hang it all. She would prostitute herself for the coin. (Be the coconut. Be the coconut!)


When the day came, there was enough out of their pocket monies to move onto the next step.


Dorian looks desiccated. She smiled knowing that he'd have more than enough to drink before the evening was over, as she pushed him into the coach. With one of their precious silvers they had hired a driver for two trips, the ride to the Surprise, and the ride to pick them up in the morning. So what if she might get into trouble for staying the night elsewhere, as long as Dorian had a good time she was sure that Nerome - and herself - would be more than amused. It seemed oddly luxurious, but so was the tankard of dead duck she pushed into his face: a killer combination of white wine, spumante, and lemonade. Normally they would water it down, but the proprietor spared no expense after one silver crossed his meaty palm.


"Here, mate - wet your lips with this!" Saline grinned as she raised her tall glass of mineral water; a salute to the moon. It was so dark that even the stars hid themselves, and Dorian stared into the void, his wan face flushing. A dazed stupor replaced that bleak look he wore when they first sat him down on the barstool.


Drink after drink they poured into his gullet, and drinking games they would play him while slurping lustily at their own water.


When his grey eyes glazed, they chortled in delight. "Are you cold? Here, we'll get you warm." Nerome and she had paid well for this, and would follow it through as though honour-bound. Upstairs they pushed him, unto a bed complete with buxom lass (Sam thinks every bed should have one, what do you think Wo de?), who clung to his arms, her teasing teeth nipping at his scarf. The last thing they saw was Dorian caught in the purple bed sheets before they locked the door. It did not matter if "Ducky" was pretty (especially with the door locked), but Nerome wanted a nice looking one for Dorian anyway. Saline approved thoroughly for Dorian's first time.


Heading back, Nerome then turned to flirt with the waitress, who served them fresh ale. Saline hunkered down, sipping at hers; she intended to keep her wits in the brothel, where the patrons called her little sister and leered. Still, somewhere upstairs she was distinctly aware of her friend having a good time, and that made her relax.


It was all in good fun.








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