Bitter, biting cold. It whipped the wind against crystalline snow; the kind that could cut one's skin if left exposed. The powder had drifted high along the buildings, six foot slopes in some places, and almost bare along the street, the white firmly packed on the cobbled thoroughfare. Doorfront and street lamps were the only lighting, and the only life were men huddled around rusty oil barrels, fires fueled by newspaper and dried grime guttered out over the rims.
Down the center of the road, she walked on. Ice crystals had formed over her scarf where her breath seeped through, making the next mouthful of air feel that much colder. She had an appointment to keep, though; even if she didn't want to keep it. Even after two others, she still dreaded this encounter, much to the chagrin of her manager.
"You'll get used to it," she whispered to herself, repeating the words she'd already heard too many times.
The first... her first, had seemed gentle enough. He even feigned to care for her... at least for a while. She was beaten and thrown out of his home after he was done with her, shown naked to the world as a whore. Her manager had been paid up front, a large sum for both the treatment, as well as her innocence.
The men that were gathered around the barrel saw her and started cooing. A few were brash enough to follow her along for a block, when she started running. Her layers of rags and her well-worn boots, while not quite the beauty and fashion that most of her profession wore, were useful in situations like this. In her haste, though, she became lost, and had to carefully backtrack, her new layer of sweat only serving to make her shiver.
It took her another half hour of walking to merely find the street. The place seemed more like an alleyway than a city avenue. It was slim and dark, and the buildings only funneled the chill winds. She followed the numbers along the row housing until she came to the one she had been informed of.
"This can't be right..."
Her manager had established, for the time being at least, a rather high purchasing price for her. Even if he kept a large percentage, she still did well off of it. These homes, if they could be called such, denoted a dollar-and-dime hooker's 'status', unable to afford what she'd been paid lately. Unless her manager had decided she was already used up in her few capitalizing qualities.
She had little option, though. It was either knock, and go in, or suffer the long trip back to explain that there must have been some mistake. Knowing what that would mean, she eased her way through the shallow layer of snow up to the door and knocked on the thick wooden door.
There was a dull thumping from inside as the tenant approached the door. As the latch was swung down and the door slid inward, she could see a handsome young man silhouetted against a low fire. He was dressed in simple working clothes: a dirty, white, buttoned shirt and gray woolen pants. A pair of soiled shoes waited by the inside of the door, and his socks sheltered themselves by the fire.
"Hello." His voice was gentle. Not what she'd expected. "What can I do for you?"
"I-is this 1306 Hillock?" She shivered as much from the cold as her own reservations.
"It is. Please, come in. You look half frozen to death."
She looked back towards the pitch black night, then into the tenement room, hesitantly putting herself through the doorway. A few more steps, and the thick wood closed off the biting wind behind her, the folds of her long coat finally resting in the still air, the crystals slowly pooling in small puddles on the floor, dripping from her clothes.
"Let's get this wet coat off you," he said, tugging at the shoulders of her wool garment.
She resisted for a moment, then reluctantly conceded, and he slid the heavy item off her shoulders, revealing a slim girl beneath, dressed in clean linen tunic and skirt. She handed him the scarf, avoiding eye contact as much as possible. Against the dark wood and brick of the interior, her pale skin shone in stark contrast, her slender neck interrupted only by a dark green choker. As he removed her hat, dark brown hair slipped down just past her pointed chin and over her emerald eyes.
"So," he said, setting her hat on the hook with the rest of her attire, "to what do I owe the company of such a beautiful girl?"
"Well sir," she said quietly, "you... hired me."
"Huh." He scratched his scalp before turning to his table, littered with papers. "I don't recall hiring..." He then turned back to her, rolling his eyes. "I'll bet it was my friends. Setting me up with a... umm..."
"Consort," she finished for him, trying to avoid the less appealing terminology.
"Son of a... I'm going to kill those little shits next time I see 'em."
As he paced, trying to figure out what was going on, she watched him. The the red of the flames made his hair a shade of copper, though without it held a dark golden hue as it hung loosely over his eyes. A touch on the short side, slim but strongly built limbs poked out of his rolled sleeves. He noticed that he had gone off into his own little world and motioned for her to sit on the bed, tucked away against the adjacent wall.
As he ruffled through the small apartment, she took note of her surroundings. It was indeed a poor tenement, though with some amenities. A small bathroom stood off in the corner, as well as a pantry closet off in another. Against the wall facing the street, beneath a windswept window, the desk covered in papers sat idly.
"What is your name?" He spoke while throwing strewn clothing off into a basket.
"Hannah, sir."
"Lovely name."
"Do you mind if I ask yours, sir?"
"Dorian. Enough with the 'sir' though. I'm not gentry."
That was it. She had the wrong home. She quickly got up and threw on her coat, clutching her hat and scarf in her hands. Without saying a word, she had opened the door, only to find her squat manager standing just outside.
"Hannah! Where in the hell did you run off to?"
"I-I'm sorry, sir. I found the address, but it was the wrong one. I was just leaving..."
"Damn right you were! I put a lot on the line for you, and this is the thanks..."
