7717/Truth from the Past

Truth from the Past
Date of Scene:	06 September 2021
Location:	Saints and Sinners Club
Synopsis:	A question asked of a madame gives Rahne some deep truths about her mother. The prostitute, who died when she was born.
Cast of Characters:	Rahne Sinclair, Clarice Ferguson

---

Rahne Sinclair has posed:
Rahne insisted. They needed to go, to learn what they could. She's been subtly hinting (see: not subtle) that they needed to visit the brothel, to find out what they could. What SHE could, about her mother. And now they're there, and there are prostitutes abounding. Some human, some not. Many with skins of tones that are perhaps a bit less than a rainbow.

And now that she's here, Rahne has no idea what to do. "Do ah jus', um...how do ah talk tae one o' them?" She needed Clarice, and she will always need her. Because this place has so many scents, and none of them are leading her to the goal.

Clarice Ferguson has posed:
    Clarice has one arm linked with Rahne's, leaning tightly in against the more dimuative figure. Was she being protective? Possessive? Supportive?
    Yes. Absolutely.
    Amusement quirks her lips at Rahne's question, and she gives a shrug of her shoulders. "You call one of them over - and we can go somewhere private to talk. I mean - I sort of imagine we'll still end up paying her for her time, even if we just chat. Time spent with us means time she doesn't spend, you know... with someone else."

Rahne Sinclair has posed:
So she tries it. Rahne lifts a hand, and a diminutive waif of gentle years comes over. But the first words out of Rahne's mouth get a frown, instead of a smile.

"You don't want me. Hang on a mo', luv."

Then she's gone, her wings rustling in the air.

Rahne frowns. "Uh." But the lady is already gone.

Clarice Ferguson has posed:
    "It's awkward, right?" Clarice answers - her smile a bit tense. She hadn't ever imagined bringing Rahne to a place like this. Well, not until Rahne sprang the idea on her, of course. But now - here they were. Her eyes scan the room for the woman she'd been with, before - but she doesn't see her. Perhaps she was busy? Perhaps she wasn't working. "I'm sure they'll find us someone we can talk to. I just hope it gives you the answers you need."
    She's not sure that it will, but... That wasn't for her to decide, was it?

Rahne Sinclair has posed:
Rahne is looking around fascinatedly, her hands grasping at Clarice tightly. "Et's so...clean," she says, the concept making no sense to her. "A church. I wouldnae hae called it."

"I called him 'Lickity-split'," a lady in a red dress says as she passes. "His tastes fell to that line, after all. And I can't really complain." She speaks to some of her fellow artists, and there is giggling which they stifle slightly as they come close.

Then a voice from the next floor up says, "Ladies. Would you please send those two darlings up to my parlour?" A lady, up above, gives a gentle wave and then waits politely for a response.

"Yes Miss Maureen," they say in a chorus. Then the ladies of the evening turn to Clarice and Rahne, smiling. "Come on up. Miss Maureen like to meet new friends." There are a few who are quite lightly dressed, but none that would be called out in church.

A decent establishment indeed.

Clarice Ferguson has posed:
    "They're treated well here," Clarice murmurs quietly. "Health care, regular testing, time off..." And it wasn't a cheap establishment as a result.
    As they're summoned up the stairs, she makes her way towards them, arm still linked with Rahne's. "If you want to leave at any point, you say the word," she adds in a quiet voice, meant only for Rahne's ears. "But I'll stay right here with you. Yeah?" She knows how painful it can be - trying to explore your own past.

Rahne Sinclair has posed:
Rahne nods, her smile replaced by a look of astonishment mixed with bewildered curiosity. She lets Clarice take the lead, even though this is largely for her. But what they find when led into the parlour is astonishing enough to make her sit.

Paperwork.

"Do pull a seat up, Clarice darling. I believe your lady friend had some questions. Are you together? Would you like something to drink?"

Maureen, if that is her actual name, seems to be of her early fifties British posh with an accent so obviously faked it's impossible to be insulted by it. She has a smile that belies belief, as she looks at the both of them with an attitude that she's never met anyone she did not like.

And shot the rest, so she wouldn't have to meet them. "I took a moment to look you both up. You are slightly famous, Rahne. Clarice. Please."

Clarice Ferguson has posed:
    "Hello Miss Maureen," Clarice replies warmly, as the enter the parlor, and Clarice draws Rahne over to sit close beside her in a chair, her right hand still holding tightly to Rahne's left as if there's nothing in the world that could make her let go, at the moment. "Yes, Rahne is looking for answers, and she hopes to find some of them here." She does her best to keep her doubts hidden from view.
    "I think drinks would be in order. Rahne - tea? Scotch? ...tea with scotch?" She smiles encouragingly, giving her hand a squeeze.

Rahne Sinclair has posed:
Rahne shocks Clarice by saying, "Irish coffee please, if you hae th' good stuff."

Maureen smiles. "Now you're welcome. My husband would adore you." She walks to one side, then peddles drinks as she studies the pair. When she sets whatever they wish in front of them, Maureen says, "I suggest you drink them. Clarice, I am about to tell your lady bad news, which will make her cry. And then I am going to tell her good news, which will make her cry even more. If what I am certain you are asking is accurate."

She pauses, looking at the ladies, and then at their drinks. "You're here about your mother. Bonnie said that, the lovely winged mutant downstairs that you met. I do not have to be a great scholar to reach the rest. Drink."

Clarice Ferguson has posed:
    Surprise and puzzlement show on Clarice's features. Could this woman actually know something about Rahne's //actual// mother? The world was not that small of a place, was it? She looks between Miss Maureen and Rahne, as she takes a sip of her scotch - and scoots her chair closer to Rahne's so she can link arms with her again. "I think we'll manage, whatever it is you have to say," she replies.
    "And you'll have me with you as long as you need me by your side. Yeah?" she adds in a softer voice, for Rahne's sake.

Rahne Sinclair has posed:
Rahne is drinking the coffee, which apparently she's ....adoring? She has wide eyes, listening intently, but she's snuggled close up to Clarice's side.

Maureen shakes her head. "The offer is there. Rahne Sinclair. I must admit, I never expected to see you here." She sighs, then she settles herself in her seat. "The ladies downstairs can not answer your questions, because they simply don't know the answers. Correct me if I'm wrong, but your mother was Scottish."

Nods from Rahne, and Maureen sighs.

"There is one thing that every prostitute I have ever met NOT in this house has said, at one point or another." She looks at Rahne, then she quotes:

"I'd kill myself if they'd let me do it."

She does not stop, speaking on. Brutally, implacidly. The truth. "Ladies on the streets have a very hard life. Ninety-nine percent of them die. It is a virtual guarantee that your mother, being what she was, was hooked on some form of drugs and spent most of her time hungry, wet, and sick. She likely had diseases. She was not a happy person, and she was likely beaten on a daily basis."

"These are the realities of my craft, and what I created this place to avoid. Please understand, this is what your mother's life was. Every day."

Rahne's fingers are numb. They're numb because they're dug into Clarice's arm, and she can't feel them anymore. She isn't breathing. Her eyes...oh god.

Clarice Ferguson has posed:
    "I'm right here," Clarice says quietly, soothingly. She takes one more sip of her scotch, then sets the cup aside - so she can try to gently pull Rahne into her lap instead, where she can wrap her arms around her, and cradle her to her chest. "Right here, and I'm not going anywhere," she murmurs in a soothing tone.
    So the woman didn't know Rahne's mother specifically. But it didn't mean the words weren't painful.

Rahne Sinclair has posed:
She's crying. Of course she's crying. What's odd, is that Maureen is crying as well. Like she knows, and this really matters to her. "Oh honey, there's some good in it too," Maureen dares to say, her eyes sparkling with tears. "Tell me. What do you think would happen if a street hooker got pregnant? Please keep in mind that I know over two hundred ways to abort a child, and the news is not exactly kept secret."

Rahne is barely breathing, but she is thinking. She looks from Maureen to Clarice, and breathes. And breathes. Then she says, "They'd kill et. Or they'd get big, an...not have income."

"Yes. Precisely." Maureen, with a snap, sits down. "She did not. Your mother decided to keep you. Even though she'd have nearly no income for nine months, even though she'd be starving in order to do it. With all the hardships, your mother CHOSE to keep you."

Goosebumps.

"Rahne, your mother loved you with all of her heart. She wanted you to LIVE, so much that she walked through hell for you to be born. And from what I can see, you're doing a pretty god damned good job of living, little sister."

Rahne is crying now. For real. Desperately crying, holding on tight. Oh lord, mommy. Mommy loved me.

"Yes."

Clarice Ferguson has posed:
    With Rahne in her lap, Clarice wraps both arms around the other woman, burying her face against the scot's cheek. She murmurs in a quiet voice, "I might be biased... But really. Who //wouldn't// love you?" She tightens her arms around Rahne - as her gaze goes towards Maureen - offering a grateful smile to the woman, even as she tries to comfort her sobbing ball of variable amounts of fuzz.

Rahne Sinclair has posed:
Rahne takes a bit of time to compose herself. As she should, as situations like this are an exception to how much time you're allowed to cry. Maureen gives them the time that they need, offering a hug of her own if it's wished. Rahne ends up bawling again when she takes it, but perhaps for less time the second time around.

Eventually, however, Rahne is there. Tired, her coffee refilled, and with a lot to consider. "A'hm sorry," she starts, and is cut off.

"Don't be silly. You're family. If you wanted to work, I swear, you'd pull in so much business. So would you, Clarice. Different types of clients of course. But that's a discussion for another day. I want you both," she pauses, emphasizing it, "to go out and either get hilariously drunk, or find a spot in nature and enjoy it. That is my prescription. Off you go. And come back, we should talk over other topics some day."

Then she's shooing them out. And Rahne's a medium level of fuzzy. And the girls downstairs politely notice only so much as to compiment her fur, and how soft it looks, and how they're so jealous of Clarice.

Rahne, however, is still kinda clamped on. Because Clarice. Because I am SO CONFUSED.

"I love ye," she says. And that is all.

Clarice Ferguson has posed:
    "I love you, too," Clarice answers quietly. "You know that." The arm she has tucked around Rahne squeezes her gently as they walk out - the magenta-hued woman scarcely paying attention to the others at this point. She'll get in touch with Maureen later to ensure any debts were paid in regards to the woman's valuable time. "Com'on, I know somewhere we can go," she offers softly.
    She doesn't bother to wait for permission. One moment, they're standing at the entrance to Saints and Sinners - and the next moment they're standing on the sand of a small island. You could easily hike the entire circumference of the island in an day. Visible above the sand is a shelter made of canvas in camo colors - but it's hardly noticeable amongst the lush tropical plants, and with the birds singing cheerfully, and the waves washing up on the sand...
    "This is where I go," Clarice admits quietly, when I need to be alone. When I need to- to decompress."
    Okay. When she's trying to resist the urge to go kill people, just because she's had a bad day. She does fight it sometimes, you know.

Rahne Sinclair has posed:
Rahne blinks, wiping her eyes as the light of be sun greets her. The warmth too, and the sand under her feet. "Oh.." she says, as she looks around. Her ears perk, the singing of the birds in them. And she digs her clawed toes into the sand.

"Clary, es beautiful," she says, her smile returning as she wipes away the last of her tears. "you didnae have tae."

Then she looks left, then she looks right. Seeing nobody, she whoops! "Can ah run?" she asks, bending over and shedding her clothing in a need to be naked, to be furclad. To run.

Clarice Ferguson has posed:
    "You can do whatever you like," Clarice agrees - giving Rahne a smile. "We're alone here. This is //my// island." For all intents and purposes. She doesn't legally own it - she doesn't know who does. But no one ever comes here but her. "There's food, water, and medical supplies in the shelter there," she adds with a gesture. "Plus towels, snorkels - even scuba gear now. The fish and corals out there are //unbelieveable,//" she adds with a possessive fondness in her voice. She's proud of this place.
    And she hasn't brought very many people here.

Rahne Sinclair has posed:
Rahne leans up on her toes and kisses Clarice, right on the lips. The only negative to it is that the kiss does not last, because a second later she's running down the beach, chasing a bird that's too slow, too startled, and too caught to get away!

Rahne grabs the bird, licks it on the beak, then tosses it into the air! And then she's running on wolf paws and snapping at the waves, and diving into the water, and chasing fish, and then she's wet and she may not care.

And that's the first thirty seconds.

Clarice Ferguson has posed:
    Clarice barely has time to return the kiss - and then she's left standing, and watching, as Rahne cavorts. She seemed to recover quickly from the pain of only a handful of minutes earlier. Was that a good thing? Or did it mean the pain would return, later? She unsure.
    After a short time watching, Clarice starts to shuck her clothing, until she stands there as unclad as the way she was born. She makes her way down to the water herself, diving into the waves, and letting the cool water wash over her.
    The beach was too warm to simply stand there for too long in the heat of the summer, after all. It could get pretty miserable.

Rahne Sinclair has posed:
Beaches are not for sadness, Rahne seems to say as she snaps jaws at the waves, trying to catch them and getting her head soaked for her efforts. She barks at them, backing off, and goes in again for another attack. When she gets a faceful of brine, she pauses and...sneezes.

Then she's in her weregirl form and grinning at Clarice, on her butt, as waves of warm water wash over her. Clothing be damned, the sun can kiss the pair for a while and the world can kiss their...asses.

And Rahne extends a hand to Clarice, her happiness restored, and her heart bursting. Mommy loves me, it says. And so does Clarice.

"Come play."

Clarice Ferguson has posed:
    It's all the invitation Clarice needs. She was born on an island nation - and moved to an island nation. The first five years of her life, the beach and the water were her playground. She moves naturally in the water - kicking her feet to let the waves push her in towards Rahne, so she can wrap her arms around the other woman, knocking them both back onto the wet sand.
    "I'm glad you like it here," she murmurs, before giving Rahne a gentle kiss. "We can come any time you like."

Rahne Sinclair has posed:
Rahne raises an eyebrow. Then she proceeds to lick Clarice's cheek, quite thorougly tackled by wet naked girl, and suddenly sticks out her tongue and tries to look at it. "Salt water doesn't taste yummy," she admits. Then she shrugs, already over it.

"So. I'm going to chase you now." She nods enthusiastically, grinning. "Okay?" She already has Clarice in her arms, even if Clarice is technically on top. She...her smile falters for an instant, as what they just went through comes to mind. But she shivers, and looks around. Looks at Clarice. Looks at Clarice...

"Unless you'd like tae...jus...be here? With me?"

There's definitely something a little odd in her. But hey. She's always been a little weird.

Clarice Ferguson has posed:
    "I'm always happy to just be here with you, Rahne," Clarice answers - her amusement over the other woman's reaction to the salt water fading to show some of her concern as the melancholy peeks back through. "I can be whatever you'd like. Do whatever you like. I'm here for //you,// today," she promises, her arms holding Rahne a little more tightly.
    "You aren't alone. You never have to be alone - if you don't want to."

Rahne Sinclair has posed:
"Well, ah do want t' ask y' for a favour," Rahne says, as she lifts her wet arm and shifts to human. The water sluices off, and wet fur is no longer a thing. Handy!

She smiles, then pulls her legs up close to her chest. Not to get away, though she does close her eyes and nuzzle her face into Clarice's cheek.

Clarice Ferguson has posed:
    "What is it?" Clarice asks. She shifts so she's sitting beside Rahne, arm around her shoulder, and pulling her gently in towards herself. "If it's in my power..." And she considers herself to be a pretty capable person.

Rahne Sinclair has posed:
"Scritch m' ears when am' asleep," Rahne asks, as if it's one of the most important things in the world. She nods, then she shifts again, and her fur is soft. And dry, until another wave hits them both, but that's okay because she'll make it pay for that later.

She's in close, she's snuggling, and she's happy. "Keeps th' bad dreams away."

Clarice Ferguson has posed:
    "I will do everything I can to keep them away," Clarice promises - a few tears sneaking down her cheeks, to mix with the salty water already there, as she starts running her fingers through Rahne's short hair. "I'll stay close to you, so my scent is with you... and hold you tight. And yes, scritch your ears," she promises, gently running her nails over the skin behind Rahne's elongated ears. "I mean - you helped me with my dreams, yeah?" Sure - she hadn't kept all of them away, but she knows she sleeps better when Rahne is there.

Rahne Sinclair has posed:
Well, the vicious guard dog that Clarice has brought to her island is clearly not so much of a threat now. The animals may be a while coming back to the beach, but Clarice would find her arms full for a bit, as Rahne finds herself a very important nap that she really needs to deal with and closes her eyes.

She doesn't talk, but the things she doesn't say are eloquent. I need you. I want to be here. You were right. Never stop doing that. If you need to pee, too bad for you. Oh wait, that wasn't meant to be in there.

But naps. Naaaaps! With Clarice? Heaven.