[I've never done this before, please be gentle. Please I encourage all feedback good and bad as well. I know I have had some public feedback thats positive, but privately some negative but deeply constructive feedback. I welcome all help]
[This story takes place months ago by the way IC]
It always starts off the same. Every morning like clockwork, always gentle at first as I lie on my bed, hungover, exhausted, and never satisfied.
Ridley Silverlake, my secretary and closest confidant. She is always standing over me on the bed in her usual attire. She wears a Light Steel Galerus, little more than an bra made from light-steel, custom fit to her modest chest. Her petite teenage frame is largely bare and exposed, a white Taffetta Loin Cloth with a ridiculous looking half-mini skirt is all that covers her loins and rear. Those leggings are tucked into her massive Heavy Darksteel Flanchards, colossal sized armor that she wears around the entirety of her legs. Its a sight to behold, a half naked teenager in your room with barely anything covering her assets and legs of steel resembling something a Magitek device would have. I've never understood why she gravitates towards wearing as little as possible minus her greaves, but its always a pleasant sight.
Luckily she spares me a slap with her gauntlets, always one to remove them before trying to awake me.
*slap*
Usually the first doesn’t wake me up, and today is no different.
*slap slap*
Now she has my attention as my mind begins to stir, immediately being flooded with messages on how sore I am, tired, and generally exhausted. In its hungover state it rarely filters all of this well, if at all. I immediately fade back to sleep. This will usually get her to put her hands on her hip and shake her head, before leaning over to harshly whisper “Sir, its time to get up†as she places a palm on my chest to push me into the bed and shake me. As usual, not so gentle slaps start to come…
*Slap*
This is about the time I typically respond, my mind hit with a deluge with a haze of pain and not really knowing where I am. I begin to stir for good, snorting in air as I open an eye, wincing at the fresh floods of pain this typically brings as it soaks in the light and start to slowly gain consciousness and roll over to the side of the bed. Luckily Ridley is quite used to seeing me in the full nude by now, as I sit up on the edge of the bed, with my elbows propped on my thighs, and my head buried in my hands as I hunch over. My head is usually swimming and my mouth dry as she always reaches over to pick up the glass of fresh water she has already set and prepared on my nightstand. She will always pass it to me as I silently drink it, keeping my head low to avoid the harsh lights of my chandelier as I silently recover, my bloodshot red-rimmed eyes straining to stay as closed as possible as Ridley moves into her next phase.
At this point in a typical morning, Ridley raises her voice to her teenaged shrill, clapping her hands together loudly as she makes no effort to not stomp around in my room with those bulky flanchards, intentionally being obnoxious to try and ‘wake the dead’ as last night’s party is awoken from there hungover state, bitching and whining about whatever it is they choose to do. Ridley always calls this ‘removing the wilted flowers’ as she drags these whores to life, sometimes literally dragging them out of my Free Company apartment. She usually has bags of gil on my desk waiting, pre-sorted and counted depending on the face and their price. However today, it was only two women, a pair of sisters I met at a bar and they aren’t into paid whoring, just flings, typical for the Miqo kind and its women. They also seem to have built up a slight resistance to the drugs I take, and are less inclined to give the dead fish routine as they are sternly jostled to the realm of the living and escorted out at Ridley’s behest.
She always hands them her ticket (business card), always saying “If you ever want to be with Lord Vann again, you speak to me. Never him. Here’s my ticket (business card). How this works is if you give me your name, and I mention it to him and he somehow remembers you, you get put onto his schedule that I maintain.†This rarely seems to sink in, as they sort of nod absent mindedly, shuffling out quietly with ruined makeup and hair. Before Ridley, me having to kick these women out myself was always a chore, sometimes they'd be clingy or want to do other stupid things like eat breakfast together or something.
[To be continued if feedback is positive]
[This story takes place months ago by the way IC]
It always starts off the same. Every morning like clockwork, always gentle at first as I lie on my bed, hungover, exhausted, and never satisfied.
Ridley Silverlake, my secretary and closest confidant. She is always standing over me on the bed in her usual attire. She wears a Light Steel Galerus, little more than an bra made from light-steel, custom fit to her modest chest. Her petite teenage frame is largely bare and exposed, a white Taffetta Loin Cloth with a ridiculous looking half-mini skirt is all that covers her loins and rear. Those leggings are tucked into her massive Heavy Darksteel Flanchards, colossal sized armor that she wears around the entirety of her legs. Its a sight to behold, a half naked teenager in your room with barely anything covering her assets and legs of steel resembling something a Magitek device would have. I've never understood why she gravitates towards wearing as little as possible minus her greaves, but its always a pleasant sight.
Luckily she spares me a slap with her gauntlets, always one to remove them before trying to awake me.
*slap*
Usually the first doesn’t wake me up, and today is no different.
*slap slap*
Now she has my attention as my mind begins to stir, immediately being flooded with messages on how sore I am, tired, and generally exhausted. In its hungover state it rarely filters all of this well, if at all. I immediately fade back to sleep. This will usually get her to put her hands on her hip and shake her head, before leaning over to harshly whisper “Sir, its time to get up†as she places a palm on my chest to push me into the bed and shake me. As usual, not so gentle slaps start to come…
*Slap*
This is about the time I typically respond, my mind hit with a deluge with a haze of pain and not really knowing where I am. I begin to stir for good, snorting in air as I open an eye, wincing at the fresh floods of pain this typically brings as it soaks in the light and start to slowly gain consciousness and roll over to the side of the bed. Luckily Ridley is quite used to seeing me in the full nude by now, as I sit up on the edge of the bed, with my elbows propped on my thighs, and my head buried in my hands as I hunch over. My head is usually swimming and my mouth dry as she always reaches over to pick up the glass of fresh water she has already set and prepared on my nightstand. She will always pass it to me as I silently drink it, keeping my head low to avoid the harsh lights of my chandelier as I silently recover, my bloodshot red-rimmed eyes straining to stay as closed as possible as Ridley moves into her next phase.
At this point in a typical morning, Ridley raises her voice to her teenaged shrill, clapping her hands together loudly as she makes no effort to not stomp around in my room with those bulky flanchards, intentionally being obnoxious to try and ‘wake the dead’ as last night’s party is awoken from there hungover state, bitching and whining about whatever it is they choose to do. Ridley always calls this ‘removing the wilted flowers’ as she drags these whores to life, sometimes literally dragging them out of my Free Company apartment. She usually has bags of gil on my desk waiting, pre-sorted and counted depending on the face and their price. However today, it was only two women, a pair of sisters I met at a bar and they aren’t into paid whoring, just flings, typical for the Miqo kind and its women. They also seem to have built up a slight resistance to the drugs I take, and are less inclined to give the dead fish routine as they are sternly jostled to the realm of the living and escorted out at Ridley’s behest.
She always hands them her ticket (business card), always saying “If you ever want to be with Lord Vann again, you speak to me. Never him. Here’s my ticket (business card). How this works is if you give me your name, and I mention it to him and he somehow remembers you, you get put onto his schedule that I maintain.†This rarely seems to sink in, as they sort of nod absent mindedly, shuffling out quietly with ruined makeup and hair. Before Ridley, me having to kick these women out myself was always a chore, sometimes they'd be clingy or want to do other stupid things like eat breakfast together or something.
[To be continued if feedback is positive]
![[Image: yEROfKO.png]](http://i.imgur.com/yEROfKO.png)
![[Image: tumblr_ojgu7zoaag1robwlio1_540.png]](https://68.media.tumblr.com/80be4033cdf57fb6268473ef9ce37db6/tumblr_ojgu7zoaag1robwlio1_540.png)
