Sunlight stabbed Jngibiargh "Jingi" Fletch in the eyes as she bent one more time to the expenses ledger and accompanying receipts spread out over her expansive desk. She winced. The chair creaked as she straightened. The sun was setting; she'd miss dinner again at her boarding house. The chair creaked again as she leaned back with a sigh. It took effort to get up and light the lamps set about the room, close the curtains, and resume her seat at her desk. The room was a comfortable cage. Tastefully decorated without exhibiting a single sign of wealth, it was supposed to be Oda's office, tucked in alongside Tabart's in the house they'd leased. The house that had formerly housed their prostitution business before their writ had been taken away.
Jaded was a sinking ship.
Jingi sat back down. She took up her pen, pulled one of the lamps closer, and resumed her task. Expenses were mounting, and income was dwindling. She'd had to resort to fancy juggling to keep the accounts balanced and them out of debt. It was unlikely either Tabart or Oda could appreciate the twisting schemes she'd undergone with their account books in order to keep them floating, the places she'd visited, deals she'd made. Oh, it was nothing illegal or unscrupulous, but it had required her to bend her head and speak softly and piteously.
Tabart had always hated it when any of them did that. He didn't understand business or necessity. He had his pride, and they all had a home to belong to. One that was sinking. She caught her tongue between her teeth as she worked, and the next time she became conscious of time and space she found her nose nearly pressed to the paper. She blinked, leaned back (damnable creak), and realized that her lamp had nearly burned out. Exasperated, she got up to fetch the oil (really, it was a simple job and one she should not have to do herself, considering they had a boy they kept on specifically for such small tasks -- one she had protested about taking on, but one Oda had insisted they keep, considering he "had no other place to go" as Oda had said, no matter that they did not have the funds necessary to keep the boy properly fed and clothed, much less provided with a small stipend for his work) and realized that full night had fallen.
"Oh, blast and list -- " the office was small, and cluttered. She stubbed her foot twice getting to the supply cabinet, and once there found that the oil reservoir was empty. She stared at it in disbelief, took a nice, long deep breath -- it is not worth getting irate over, it is not worth having a fit of temper, it is not worth fuss -- and blew it out. She was tired, and cranky, and building up resentment on the boy would not help the matter a whit. He hated asking for help when he didn't know what to do, and when faced with an empty reservoir he would likely ignore the problem. She could correct it on the morrow. Which would come all too soon.
With one last mournful glance cast at the ledger (she was almost done, too), Jingi blew out the lamps save one, and navigated her way out of the office. She locked it behind her, and walked the hallways back to the front.
The doxies still plied their trade in the house. They had to. However, with their lack of writ they'd had to start operating as a massage parlor, of all things. The doxies still did what they did best, but under the front of massages. As if that wasn't the oldest crock in the book, but they had managed. Somehow. The thought of Heaven's Gate crossed her mind, but she banished it to the back; it did no good to blame their rivals for something that had happened long ago, but she as all of them did fervently wish to take back the writ no matter the cost. No matter the method. . .
Jingi was uneasy as she bid the night's receiving girl farewell and stepped out into the evening air. Her body's needs -- so long repressed throughout the day -- asserted themselves so fiercely that she could not help but slump. What a day, what a day.
Jaded was a sinking ship.
Jingi sat back down. She took up her pen, pulled one of the lamps closer, and resumed her task. Expenses were mounting, and income was dwindling. She'd had to resort to fancy juggling to keep the accounts balanced and them out of debt. It was unlikely either Tabart or Oda could appreciate the twisting schemes she'd undergone with their account books in order to keep them floating, the places she'd visited, deals she'd made. Oh, it was nothing illegal or unscrupulous, but it had required her to bend her head and speak softly and piteously.
Tabart had always hated it when any of them did that. He didn't understand business or necessity. He had his pride, and they all had a home to belong to. One that was sinking. She caught her tongue between her teeth as she worked, and the next time she became conscious of time and space she found her nose nearly pressed to the paper. She blinked, leaned back (damnable creak), and realized that her lamp had nearly burned out. Exasperated, she got up to fetch the oil (really, it was a simple job and one she should not have to do herself, considering they had a boy they kept on specifically for such small tasks -- one she had protested about taking on, but one Oda had insisted they keep, considering he "had no other place to go" as Oda had said, no matter that they did not have the funds necessary to keep the boy properly fed and clothed, much less provided with a small stipend for his work) and realized that full night had fallen.
"Oh, blast and list -- " the office was small, and cluttered. She stubbed her foot twice getting to the supply cabinet, and once there found that the oil reservoir was empty. She stared at it in disbelief, took a nice, long deep breath -- it is not worth getting irate over, it is not worth having a fit of temper, it is not worth fuss -- and blew it out. She was tired, and cranky, and building up resentment on the boy would not help the matter a whit. He hated asking for help when he didn't know what to do, and when faced with an empty reservoir he would likely ignore the problem. She could correct it on the morrow. Which would come all too soon.
With one last mournful glance cast at the ledger (she was almost done, too), Jingi blew out the lamps save one, and navigated her way out of the office. She locked it behind her, and walked the hallways back to the front.
The doxies still plied their trade in the house. They had to. However, with their lack of writ they'd had to start operating as a massage parlor, of all things. The doxies still did what they did best, but under the front of massages. As if that wasn't the oldest crock in the book, but they had managed. Somehow. The thought of Heaven's Gate crossed her mind, but she banished it to the back; it did no good to blame their rivals for something that had happened long ago, but she as all of them did fervently wish to take back the writ no matter the cost. No matter the method. . .
Jingi was uneasy as she bid the night's receiving girl farewell and stepped out into the evening air. Her body's needs -- so long repressed throughout the day -- asserted themselves so fiercely that she could not help but slump. What a day, what a day.
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