Orin walked as quickly as she could without breaking into a full-fledged sprint. She held her leather jacket closed about the rags that remained of her clothing. The thigh-high leather boots clicked madly against the pavement as she covered veritable metres with her stride. All she wanted was to get out of that neighborhood. She brushed strands of russet-colored, waist-length hair out of her eyes as she passed under a street sign; barely registering the name.
She turned the corner, surrounded suddenly with the sights and sounds of a bustling city's nightlife. Neon and halogen blinded her momentarily before she darted into a recessed doorway, crouching down on her heels and giving herself a thorough once-over.
Orin's hair was tangled, spots on her scalp were tender and even bleeding. Her face felt tight and swollen, especially across the bottom of her lip. Her body was covered in bruises of varying shades and bite marks, some with blood already filling the impressions. The fingernails on her right hand had snapped off at awkward and painful lengths. The left hand seemed to be the only part of her body that had escaped unscathed.
Orin's brow wrinkled in confusion and raised her left hand up to the light from a nearby streetlamp for a closer look. Something was shiny. Upon closer inspection, Orin discovered that someone had attached a beautifully worked Celtic slave bracelet around her left hand. It was wrought in silver and onyx stones, fully covering the back of her hand and was attached around the wrist and on the last three fingers with miniature bands of silver and onyx.
She twisted her wrist to and fro, watching the light flash over the bracelet and allowed herself a tiny smile. Where had it come from?
Orin snorted derisively, 'Obviously not for the "gentlemen" at the club earlier.' She thought to herself. She roused herself from the doorway and continued in a vaguely easternly direction, further inspecting the bracelet. She wandered around the city streets, molested by no one, until the black velvet sky became pink around the edges and the streetlamps began to turn off.
She looked up, surprised that she had walked almost the entire breadth of the city and was now much farther from home then she had planned. Orin looked around, searching for a payphone. No such luck, she was deep in suburbia, only cookie-cutter houses and saplings surrounded her.
"Maybe someone will let me use their phone..." Orin thought, before looking down at her attire. What was left of her tank top and skirt exposed more flesh then hid it. On top of the boots, she wasn't going to make a very good first impression. "I look like a whore," she thought and then smile ruefully... in a sense, she kind of was. She was a professional escort, after all.
She tossed her hair, straightened her shoulders, hugged her jacket tightly around her body; hiding the slave bracelet and walked up the driveway to the house on her immediate right.
In the pale morning light, Orin could only make out a few details. Like the glaring white that the house was painted and the beautifully manicured lawn. "Not bad, I suppose." Orin mused, mounting the three steps and extending her hand towards the front door.
Before her fingers could even brush the doorbell, the door swung open. Orin gave a tiny squeak of surprise and jumped back. Her bootheel slid off the edge, sending her crashing to the ground, futilely pinwheeling her arms for balance. Her skull connected with the pavement, making a dull thud. She blinked, trying the clear her vision as the door opened fully. Above her, mouth pursed in a moue of distaste stood a statuesque woman. Mahogany hair expertly coiffed even that this hour of the day, make-up hiding any hint of an imperfection. Silk kimono-style robe cinched tightly at the waist, the woman stood over her.
Orin felt moisture between her thighs, the woman continued to stare down at her. Her eybrow quirked up as Orin gathered herself, painfully rolling onto her knees. She begged silently to any god listening that she not throw-up at the feet of this stranger her made her feel so small and helpless and in need of someone to take care of her.
She looked up, meeting the stranger's compelling green eyes and cleared her throat. "Excuse me for getting you up so early, but you wouldn't happen to have a telephone I could use?" Orin smiled a little, "See, I'm harmless."
The woman thought about it, looking around to see if any of the neighbors were up and around. The street was silent, only the sound of skylarks and peepfrogs could be heard. She nodded once to herself, leaned over and pulled Orin roughly to her feet.
Orin's nippled hardened at the touch of the stranger, and cursed herself. Her jacket had fallen open and her reaction was painfully obvious. A furious blush burned its way up her body, setting her pale skin aflame. Oddly, the woman caught this and smiled cryptically.
She took Orin's arm and gently helped her up the steps. She closed the door firmly behind her and turned, regarding Orin intensely. Her eyes fastened on the slave bracelet when Orin shifted nervously. She came closer, eyes darting from the bracelet to Orin's face. Finally they stood less then an inch apart, the spicy scent of the stranger's perfume making juices run down her legs.
"If this woman kisses me, I think I'll die." Orin panicked. Her breath came in shallow pants. She wanted to cover herself, but was afraid to do so.
"My name is River. You are wearing a family heirloom, as of now you are officially in bondage to me. You will not leave until I decide to let you go." The stranger said in a voice like whiskey and cigarettes.
Orin's mouth fell open in disbelief. Slave? Bondage? Indeterminate sentence?