merciless.

Lounging back against her side of the bed, he takes as much pride in her appearance as she does. Meeting every little look with the easiest of smirks, he watched simply to observe her as she was naturally than to illicit a response. Of course, Arabella would not stand without being the centre of attention. 

“Hmh?” Her question brings him out of a reverie he hardly knew he was having. With an upwards tilt of his chin, he looked past her to her wardrobe, scanning her options for her. “Do you still have that dress with the lace sleeves? The lilac one? Or perhaps - ah - that blue one?” he suggested, lifting an arm to indicate the one he had spotted. 

arabella turns back to rift through the dresses, fingers threading through the many heavy garments that hang before her. she picks the darker blue dress, with details that would only hint at the expense of it. “remind me.. i should never ask you for advice over such garments,” though her lips are pressed into a full line, rowan would be the only one to know that she smiled beneath her lipstick and pressed powders - even as she puts the dress on the bed and flattens it to get a proper look at how it’d look in the daylight. 

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winifred almost jumps out of her skin when she feels a hand on her arm, turning to find arabella. her face pales and the bawd takes a slight step back from the hand, clearing her throat before looking up to meet the others eyes tentatively. 

“bella,” she hums, trying to inconspicuously sweep her skirts to the front of her legs to try and shield the pale skin that was bare there. “what draws you to the streets at such an hour?” she asked, trying to ignore the others question and turn it back onto her. 

arabella slowly lifts her gaze to meet winifred’s - the two bawds standing toe to toe on the normally bustling london street. it was almost a magic moment, as if it were a dream or nightmare rather than reality. once winifred ignores her question, arabella instantly falls from her softer visage to a static image, her lips falling into a straightened line in defiance. 

“winnie,” she names her, holding herself before the whisk of wind that travels down such a vast setting. “if you are not going to answer my question i must simply consider the worst...” she pauses with a flicker of a smirk on her face before she puts her mouth back into place. “are you still struggling with your biggest vice?” 

“Thank you,” he muttered with a smirk. He needn’t pretend to be offended when he knew his own worth and, more importantly, knew the worth she afforded him. If she did not think so highly of him, she simply wouldn’t be here with him now. At the very least, he prided himself on knowing that much about her mind. 

“I’m not sure that is much of a compliment at all,” he admitted, leaning back a fraction from her touch to offer her a mockingly scathing look. “Perhaps this is a subtle way of telling me I am due a wash, if you say I smell of sour wine and sweat,” he mused, trailing a finger down her neck and along her clavicle.

it was a bit of a distraction, but emory kept himself somewhat stoic as his eyes moved from the gentleman to the bawd, slightly bouncing on his heels in anxiety that always seemed to trickle in his veins when he was around others. “i’m pleased to hear it,” the american drawled back with a lilt, nodding. at her invitation, however, emory faltered, words caught in his throat as he tried to stammer out an excuse as to why he wouldn’t attend such a place.

“that’s very kind of you, ma’am,” the southerner nodded, licking his lips tentatively. would arabella be greatly insulted if he were to refuse her invite? “but i’m afraid that’s a bit out of my…area of desire.” he nodded once, not wanting to come off as rude - he of course, was no homophobe. “yes - russel. though i like to think my doxies are rather good at what they do.”

arabella blinks slowly, as if to register every inch of him. to understand why on earth he’d say no to a fleeting visit to her home. she tilts her head, one ear pricking forward to listen to her boy who stood behind her and whispered something of emory and how he presented himself. it was true, arabella staunton had her spies around the gardens and liked to keep the gossip to herself, in case a secret or whisper would come in handy in forms of blackmail. 

she’d overslept. 

usually, she didn’t even sleep - her routine was simple. show up. leave the coin to ciara once she’d begrudgingly awoke to let her in at half past three in the morning, take her doxie for as long as time had permitted, and leave.

she’d fallen asleep, and she’d overslept. 

it was the damn doxie’s fault. cuddling. ridiculous. 

when winifred awoke to the light peeking through the molly house of covent garden, she was at first confused. and then all at once, her heart had dropped to her stomach she’d taken in her surroundings. the petite naked blonde beside her was still sound asleep with sheets strewn across her pale body and even winnie couldn’t stop to appreciate it as she wrangled herself from the bed, her first move being to shut the curtains in fear of being seen from the street below. 

she hardly said a word until she was dressed enough -  if she left without her stockings people wouldn’t be very aware - turning to the harlot with annoyance. “i should be getting my money back for this.” she hissed but she knew it wasn’t really the others fault. winnie left with another word, collecting the rest of her stockings in her arms.

it was still early - perhaps nearly six and the world would just be waking up - winifred hoped she would remain somewhat alone and unseen in the streets. when she pushed open the doors of the molly house she was relieved - only for a moment. there was another coming up behind her as they walked the street alone, but she hoped they would not try to gather her attention in fear of embarrassing herself. she could feel the coolness of air on her bare legs.

it was as quiet as a morgue at that time of the day, a safety for arabella to venture out from golden square to instead visit the grave of her father. it was such a private matter she almost despised sharing it with her alter-ego, the stony-faced bawd of golden square.

she lay flowers at the gravestone, muttering a few words of a prayer before caressing the top of the stone, the stone she used to kiss as a young girl. she had been seven when she lost him, still new and impressionable to the world. she should’ve hated him, for leaving her - but all she felt was a gut-retching sadness she normally kept at bay. 

she only leaves once the sun starts to rise, making hasty steps in the direction back towards her estate that glimmered in the morning light. 

expecting to be alone, she hadn’t made her face nor worn anything of delicacy, but rather kept herself under a shroud of woven cotton when she saw a dear fellow who seemed as lost as a newborn child. 

with the morning came her kindness, along with the added weight from the visit to the grave, she approaches the women and offers her a hand before registering exactly who it was. 

“winnie?” she gasps, her eyes dropping to her legs. “what... what are you doing out here?” arabella hisses, one hand clutching at her cloak as the other aimlessly gestures around them. 

Each of them had their facades, though Rowan’s was not as staunch as Arabella’s. It was only a matter of keeping secrets, something he had grown to excel at in the past few years. Remembering which secrets had been shared with whom was the hardest part. His wife heard the least of it, of course, yet Arabella was perhaps a close second. The closer one came to his heart, the less they were permitted to know of him. While the bawd knew of his fancy for the men and women of the night, he told carefully woven stories with just enough detail, yet nothing crisp enough for her to grasp. Nobody else she could chase up to enquire about him. 

Yet there’s a sweetness in the way he returns the kiss, dragging her closer to feel the heat and weight of her body against his own. “Tuppence,” he responded, clearly a tad disappointed she had broken their kiss so soon. Quietly encouraging, he spoke the next words between kisses against her neck, purposefully delaying her from whatever work she needed to return to. “I’d be far too picky with my clientele.”

the truth was arabella wanted him to stay, and there was little work for her idle fingers to do. but she wanted to seem in need, as if she were indispensable in his eyes. though she softens as he kisses her neck and talks quietly into her skin. her eyes are barely open to the world, catching glimpses of london’s sky through her curtains - the world was still moving on, moving as rowan and arabella are lost between such satin sheets. a soft sigh leaves her mouth, her body submitting into his arms as she relaxes against the mattress - reclining as if she were a model, taking her lover closer as she yearns for his lips once more. though they both had their vices to battle, they were an equal pair - a force to be reckoned with if they ever had the chance to work together rather than against. 

“i’d wager a tuppence is just about right,” she teases, her hand firmly holding the back of his neck as she kisses him - rejoicing in the fact that no one had came to call for breakfast ( though, that only meant that her staff were being lazy whilst their bawd lay in bed - they’d receive a fine punishment for such slack ). “you smell of wine and salt, do you think that compliments lavender and plum?” 

ARABELLA STAUNTON ⇢ MALEFICENT ( SLEEPING BEAUTY )

“Because your price doesn’t matter,” Augustus sneers in her ear as they start the dance, his words dripping with hunger and disdain in equal measure. There seems to be a mutual sense of contempt between the two of them, both players in a court of pawns, and he’s all too eager to know what it is that allows her spine to stand so straight, her chin tipped upwards not as an act of compensation, but as a display of pride. Though it wasn’t true for all, he’d learned over the years that the point of pride for most was also that which was dearest to their heart — their weak spots, as it were. And what one might consider weak was merely an avenue for exploitation to Augustus, the tools he could use to bend someone to his will. 

As per the dance, he grasps her hands, a bit too tightly, and they spend a moment close together as the small chamber group plays on, the rest of the dancers seemingly oblivious to the cold-blooded exchange between them. “Do you know what men like me — no, men like your Baron — say about price when we’re in our manors, playing cards, and drinking wine imported from Spain and Italy? We don’t say a thing. We just laugh.” He lets the words rest in her ears as he spins her, the steps of the dance pulling them apart momentarily. When they return to each other, he continues, “The price of luxury is never a concern to rich men. It’s the boring shit that they hate paying for. And a boring bawd is never the bawd who succeeds.” The dance separates them once more, each paired with another partner, though Augustus’s eyes refuse to leave the dark-haired beauty. His tendency towards chaos in the place of harmony makes him hope that Rowan, regardless of their friendship, is in attendance as he attempts to make the man’s beloved bawd squirm. 

he spins her, and displays footwork fine for a man of such stature but arabella does not bend to his will. augustus was not the first man she had encountered who talked like a villian, who acted as if he were judas himself. she had many a man who had tried to tear her apart, whom had wished to break her spirit. it had never worked. arabella was strong, fierce and brave. the only weak point of hers had been the secret she kept from the public and her enemies who searched for her errors and weak spots. or at least, there HAD been only one. was the baron a weakness? the truth hit her like a punch, as if the marquess had hit her across the face with his curled fist. there was no room for weakness in her mind, as she danced in the hall to the tune of a song she had heard countless times as a harlot in winnie’s estate. 

but she was no longer that girl who willingly danced for boys, whom bent over backwards if it meant she had some purpose in the world. so there was no stopping her - even if it meant humiliation in such a grand opening space. the ball was still afloat after all, the auction still on its way as she searched for an opening to loosen herself from augustus’ grasp. “if you think me boring marquess, if you think me cheap or soft you are wrong. if you think me to be the girl who’ll cry at your knife i will not,” she states with short, sharp slaps of her lips. she loosens herself from him, the pairs of lovers ( both paid for and not ) stray leaving them hidden amongst bodies, fabric and powdered wings. a hand goes to cup his throat, her long nails daring to dig into his skin as she holds the marquess at a slight distance - to strangers they looked as if they were lovers, or had been. arabella embracing him like juilet held her lover. “you are a jester in a court of kings, the more you talk the more foolish you become... i do love watching a fall from grace,” she whispers, her hand dropping to her waist as she turns and lets her skirts whip against his legs in a flury of anger and frustration. “have a good evening, marquess.” 

In answer to her question, he only hummed noncommittally, pressing his smiling lips together as he watched her relax. “That shouldn’t be too hard,” he assured her with an easy laugh, muted so as not to disturb her. He lifted up onto his elbow, rousing himself as much as he could be bothered to as he looked down to her instead. 

 “Parliament is full of fat, old men discussing taxes and relations with the French. You smell like lavender and plums, and your cunt tastes just as sweet,” he elaborated, speaking softly as he watched her with an irrepressible half smile. He couldn’t keep his hands off her as they lay so close; skimming over her ribs, down to her waist and her hips before grabbing at her backside, pulling her in closer still. “The only thing it has on you is that it pays me better.”

she lies beneath him peacefully, one hand resting upon her belly as he talks of the men, the taxes and the relations. part of her wanted it, a slice of his cake that he took with such casualness. they’d never take a girl to parliament of course, and not a bawd at that. but arabella had ambition; and with rowan’s ear, maybe - just MAYBE - she could hint at some much needed changes. 

the mention of her cunt makes her smile, turning her face away so she could gaze upon the sun that dares to break through her thick, bespoke curtains. it was a dream they played at, a perfect dream that left them soft and ready for the picking. her reputation was left at the door to her bedroom, still on guard against the culls, staff and the rest of london who had only ever seen her with a scowl and a glare to kill. in rowan’s arms, she was putty. her arms move to wrap round his shoulders, embracing him as she kisses his lips that she often dreamt about. “hmph, there’s a scene. the baron being paid for sex, how much would you go for, do you think?” she asks in jest, one hand tugging on his ear softly before breaking into a coy laugh that seems to take years from her skin. 

But he had no intention of doing stopping the game so early. Watching her sweat was satisfying in the strangest way. Since she had stepped away, she had disconnected herself from him, becoming more of an object to observe than an actual person. Their eyes met through those gathered, his own alight with amusement as he allowed the number to climb and the tension on Arabella’s face to mount. 

He even allowed the gentleman playing auctioneer for the evening to fall quiet in expectation, allowing whoever had placed the last bet to feel a surge of victory and adrenaline before he raised his own hand to match it, adding another twenty-five pounds for good measure. 

It was no small sum to declare, but the Baron took it with well-played ease. When thought of as an investment, it did not rest too hard upon his shoulders. Certainly, it ought to guarantee Miss Staunton’s affections for the foreseeable, while saving him a place in whatever her ambitions and machinations may glean for her and her business in the near future. That, and it made him feel stupendously smug.  

arabella had the kind of trust in rowan that could’ve been smashed if someone pushed in just the right place. a temporary kind of trust that would stay there till arabella truly believed that rowan wouldn’t hurt her. but he was a cull, and she a bawd. he was a baron and member of parliament whilst arabella collected artworks and taught molly boys how to act in public. they were so different, yet the same - how much longer could they play with the idea of a life where they’d be fit for one another? anxiety mounting, arabella clears her throat and shoots a look to the one in charge that her time was OVER. she was no doll to be leched at, and her heritage didn’t mean that they could fantasise over her. 

as the hammer fell to rowan’s bid, arabella dares to break her scowl of medusa and lets her face fall into an easy smile. the price had indeed came to such a number it meant arabella wouldn’t have to worry about her business for a week or two - or perhaps a whole accounting term, that left her a little speechless. 

though her facade never drops, picking up her skirts so she could release herself from the stage and join the baron once more. he may be spilling his coin purse to other beings but for now, arabella smiled and rolls her eyes extravagantly, as if everyone in the room was watching them. “you were far too risky with your timing,” she criticises, eyes fleeing to the man who had bet a number just below rowan’s. he was large, wore an ill-fitting suit and had breeches so tight round his waist arabella feared he’d accidentally expose himself. “i could’ve been his if you had let it slip, how on earth would that look?” she continues, though it was CLEAR that her happiness was set in stone. 

The most dangerous thing about Arabella was that he did not know where her passion and pretence ended. His eye remained dutifully trained on hers, though he took note of the dare her gaze held. While he did not like to think he held any real claim upon her mind and body beyond what she explicitly allowed him, no formal rule had ever been established for their odd little relationship. Supposedly, they were only fucking. Neither had ever broached the subject of them meaning anything more. And yet, he feared they did.

Following her look to the stage, he lifted his chin with interest as he followed the closing of the last bid. Casting a quick look to Arabella, he spared her a laugh before stepping away to allow her to pass, pausing only briefly to touch a hand to the small of her back in their parting. “Let us see how much you shall fetch before I disappoint them all,” he declared, just loud enough for her to hear before letting her go to market. 

arabella, despite proud and self-confident, hated the idea of going to a stage in front of everyone. she holds her hands in front of her as she holds her skirts out of the way so she could take steps in her satin slippers. “you better not leave me hanging-” she warns, though her icy glare is soon replaced with a grin that is only ever exposed for rowan’s eyes. quickly returning to her resting features, she takes to the stage and stands silently as the bidding commences. her ethnicity obviously gave her a head start - davis only one example from earlier in the evening. then came her stature, how she refused to smile and only glared - everyone wanted to best the ice queen. though the bidding continues, prices raising, arabella rolls her eyes from one side to the other before settling her gaze upon the baron with an insistence to stop this foolishness. 

he better bet on her, anyway. 

emory could not help his eyes roaming to the - for lack of a better word - beautiful man that followed on arabella’s heel. emory was not one to go to molly houses- perhaps for a meeting, if it were necessary.but he stood out already for being too dark, being american. he didn’t need ‘molly’ added to that list of htings to be ridiculed for. 

“in short i would say a success,” he nodded when questioned about his own success at the auction. “i trust you to get the highest of bids for your beauty, madam.” he drawled with a smile, finally pullhis gaze from the man. “forgive me,” he paused, “i did not realize i was interrupting something. please,” he bowed again, “my apologies.”

arabella notes his stare towards her boy, refusing to turn though she KNEW that her boy would smirk in return. arabella trained her staff well, with hubris and subtly beneath their belts. perhaps, that was one of the things she had learned from her once-mentor. she tries her best to keep a pleasant smile on her face rather than a scowl - to have a bawd on her side would grow to be something of a great advantage; and though cold to the outsider, arabella was far from dumb. 

“yes, my own head did quite well at the auction but too.. my house did well in it’s own venture-” she tells him, hinting towards the molly auction that had gone through the roof, her coin purse bursting to the brim by the good fortune. “you should come by and visit, maybe you’ll pick up a few tips and tricks for your... own house on... russel street, wasn’t it?” the name leaves her mouth at a sour tone, but that doesn’t stop her from staring at him for a response. 

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their tact makes her smile. she admired a person who spoke with their mind and not their cunt, with no glaze upon harsh words. arabella almost claps her hands to it, but instead only offers puck a smug grin. 

“peck i hope to speak to you further,” she states, proudly expressing herself as she prepares to make her rounds through the rooms till she could be reunited with the baron. “i think we’d make... quite a pair if we worked together...” 

The flame now was lit, and each word from the stranger felt as if tinder. Under the burden of them Catherine burned, and the heat of her anger only grew and grew, ‘til she was red in the face with it - two angry splotches glowing on her cheeks.

“What you know of my home would not fill a thimble!” she cried. She had no care for quietening herself, and her voice carried to eavesdroppers quickly. Under her skirts she trod on her sketchbook with greater weight, as if without it it would fly away and into the hands of this stranger. “You know not to whom you speak!”

She did not know what was worse - the threat of exposure as an artist of filth and smut, or the idea that this woman, either here to be bought or to purchase flesh herself, thought that Catherine was beneath her. It shook her to the deepest of her frustrations, touching a long-exposed nerve with precision and cruelty.

she stands tall and still, like a statue on guard as she watches catherien light up in front of her. the poor lamb was making such a scene, which only made her feel pity. “i didn’t come here for a show,” arabella states, hands held before her as her gaze falls to her skirts before rising to meet her hateful stare. 

“i came here to discuss a business deal, a proposition between a lover of art and an artist... you are an artist, are you not?” she asks, a sinister smile spreading on her face before she takes joy in tasting the anger that spits from the dear lady’s mouth. 

George takes a breath and pauses, quite surprised by the question, and the statement that followed. “Benjamin… something,” he said, and ignored the way his mind supplied his last name immediately, in Benji’s voice, curling on his tongue, smiling in his mouth. “He’s foreign,” he said, and dropped his eyes to his tea as he brought the cup up for another sip - an excuse to break eye contact.

A worry began to blossom in his chest, and he swallowed his tea too fast, burning his throat. Had Arabella seen through his lie, could she see the truth behind his words? Pounds and pounds had been dripped into Benji’s hands, and passed on to the purse of Flynn. He cleared his throat lightly as it tightened around the heat. “He really is just passing fancy, I assure you Madam,” he stated, and gently placed his cup and saucer on the table so that he could press down his cravat and cough into his closed fist.

Strange, how an industry built on the backs of infidelitous men valued their loyalty so much.

arabella sips on her tea and listens with care, her finger gently following the rim of her teacup as george speaks with little care. a poor fool, a gentle giant - arabella could almost feel pity for such a man but pity never grew from her bones.. that vine had been cut from it’s roots a long time ago. “foreign?” she asks with a quirk of her brow, the corner of her mouth lifting into a smug grin. “how quaint... you never know whom is browsing the market, a fine boy from across the ocean? i’m sure we can arrange something,” arabella offers, though it comes off the tip of her tongue with a laugh - as if she found the whole ordeal hilarious as she takes her teacup back to her lips. 

though george fry was of little importance in the grand scheme of things, arabella was after some desperate culls who could help her bid on the newest piece of art taken from another land. woodcuts that oozed beauty in such a way she couldn’t quite grasp it - she was sure mr fry’s purse would help her bidding; even if he sat in her lounge penniless, drinking her tea. 

“never matter, i’m glad we crossed paths today mr fry and i hope to see you in my rooms at a later date - when your purse is brimming with coin and your heart is in need of solace.. as you always have a place at my establishment...” slowly, she rises to her feet and bows her head in a sign that their get-together was coming to an abrupt end. “and may i say, you have my utter approval of having one of those charming men in my house, a treaty of such that you shall visit again...” 

@mercilessbawd he was rather scared of her. terrified, actually. but she was strong, and he was weak, and he thought himself inferior. he couldn’t help it. strong women made him nervous in the worst way possible. but they were inspiring. and arabella staunton? well, she was definitely insipiring. scary, yes. but inspiring all the same. 

he considered himself lucky to have ventured into golden square that morning for a meeting with a banker. when he saw the bawd strolling about he stood up straighter, looking more presentable. “madame staunton,” he quipped to get her attention, bowing slightly before her. “it’s a pleasure to see you, dalrin’.” he smiled, regaining his posture. “i had hoped to run into you. i meant to give compliment on your appearance at the auction.”

arabella pauses in front of him with a stone cold visage that leaves her exposed to the rest of golden square. her relationship with the bawds were frosty at best, but she had yet to really understand who emory was. the boss at russel street, the procurer of girls who had nowhere else to go. poor boy, but something made him made her a little softer. she guessed that it came down to his soft gaze and gentle tone. 

she holds her purse in front of her, one of her boys draped in emerald green stood behind her - a boy who was thirsty for a new cull.. perhaps arabella could turn such an annoyance into a grand opportunity. “ah... thank you, of course, i had wished it to be a closed auction for myself but my.. talent also soured at their own soiree,” arabella informs him, eyes taking in his outfit as her hands tap formally against her purse strings. “and your... girls, how were they? i didn’t stay for long.”