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brooklynislandgirl · 3 years

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3. Would you ever fuck someone in exchange for something? Money, business deal, gifts, etc? What’s your price? {Swamp Sharklette}

A Little Light/A Little Dark || Accepting

Immediate knee-jerk reaction is to say no. To be so indignant that there would come the resounding sting of flesh striking flesh at the velocity of a gunshot. Or at the very least and less harmful a drink thrown in a face before she rises like a Tsunami wave and marches out with her dignity intact. Several factors though go a long way from stopping that.

First is that this is not a public venue. It's the formal dining room of their home, where in Beth and Anakin are putting together survival packages for the up-coming hurricane season. Most of the items were gathered donations from the kinds of friends that have no idea what they're actually giving to; people up north that Beth has been immensely popular with even if she never really fit in amongst them. Supplemented by church organisations, local folk, and literally anywhere else that Beth could find help. Even if some of those were at best questionable, and at worst? Evil. Well, from a human stand-point. She was very careful not to take anything from Pentex, or its millions of subsidiaries. She wouldn't accept help, not even in the form of money, from places like O'Tooley's, or Pangloss Cosmetics, or Shenzhen Tianming, no matter what kind of electronics and NOAA weather radios they offered. Whenever he asks about those, she only shakes her head and tells him 'mebbe laddah'. But that later never comes. As if she through ignorance she can keep him safe, though for how long is the question that she likewise puts off. Spread out on every available surface at things like flashlights with extra batteries, whistles to signal for help, personal hygiene items, can openers, nonperishable, water tight food stuffs {canned goods that didn't require heating, and MREs}, potable water, baby formula and diapers, and even books and games for children. All being meticulously sorted into storage containers and backpacks.

The work is surprisingly sweltering and even the central air is having a hard time moving the oppressive wet-blanket heat. No matter how high up and in a bun she pins her hair, no matter how thin the bandeau and sarong she's wearing are, no matter how comfortable the board shorts and no shirt Anakin is wearing, it feels like a shallow layer of sweat covers...everything.

It's that fact that puts a sour look on her face as she reaches up to mop her brow with the inside of one arm and leaves the question lingering between them.

The second reason is... It's rare that his use of that one particular word offends her, she's heard it more times than she can count with a rather shocking frequency growing up and again from her brothers. And there's certain ways that Anakin uses it in certain context that gets under her skin in the worst ways, turning everything in its wake to lava. He uses it to great effect sometimes and it almost has become a playful game between them. But he's not talking about love making, not now, at least. He uses the vulgarity to imply the exact opposite of that. Carnality without emotion; a disconnect from the heart, the soul, the brain that leaves the body an empty shell of a vessel to be filled...or to fill someone else...with the same abject nothingness. She knows the implication hurts him as much as it would her because they are very much alike in regards to physical forms expressing love. And lastly, because while he doesn't often talk about it and she can't bear to really ask because she knows even the slightest facial expression will burrow its way into her and she will rage like one of her changing cousins until nothing is left when he answers truthfully, as he always does. She knows he has been abused. She knows he's been mistreated. She knows that he has, at least before moving into the house, and maybe after...it's not her place to pry... participated in some kind of sex-work. The only difference she treats him with than she would the sex workers back in New York? It's plain to anyone with the ability to see, who possesses a single ounce of empathy, that Beth loves him. And that love is without condition or reservation.

She stretches. Pushes away from the table and pads barefoot toward the kitchen, circumnavigating the fortress they've built up around them with a preternatural grace. A flutter of fingers in the air is all the invitation she offers for him to follow her.

The door of the fridge groans in protest of being opened, sighing before letting a floor of cold air waft over her and for a moment she closes her eyes and takes pleasure at the rush of chill. All too soon though she reaches in and pulls out an icy pitcher of cold water that immediately clouds over from condensation so it looks like a foggy morning with slices of lemon floating near the top, slivers of sunlight. She's half tempted to hold it to her chest until it becomes as tepid as possible. Let Anakin fend for himself with the other pitcher in there, the ubiquitous Sweet Tea that she made by directions left by the housekeeper. Unfortunately, it could pull double-duty as hummingbird nectar.

She sets it down on the counter. Retrieves two glasses and fills one up. The other is left beside the lemon water with the idea that he should hydrate since she isn't getting him into the pool without extreme measures, and she doesn't feel like forcing him to do anything. She lifts the glass to her lips and indelicately gulps down half of the contents before she presses the wet, cold glass to her brow. Her eyes shut the too bright world away. They cut off the pallor of Anakin's slight chest, the way the sheen catches the light in splashes of dampness. Not unlike the occasional bead of sweat that runs like an errant fingertip down her spine. And she's stalled as long as she can in answering him. She doesn't like to keep him waiting, a long enough pause can come across in the worst ways; at best it implies that he is undeserving of an answer, which isn't true in the least, and at worst, whatever she might say would come across as the softest kind of lie, the sin of selective omission.

"Growin' up...I t'ink I was near enough fifteen or sixteen... before I really had any curiosity about sex, an' you know dat already, so not shockin' dere. Dat curiosity nevah bloomed beyond a lil self-exploration before it was disregard as...mos'ly unimportant t' me. Of course, nevah gonna lie an' say dere was no ah..." She searches for the right word, the right explanation and comes up with exactly none.

"Experimentation wi' a receptive partner, but even dat result same-same f' me as on my own. I t'ink it no was a matter of attraction, oddah person was one of da few times I did feel da kine. Uhm...desirous...for lack of mo' beddah word. Now, ovah da years I been on da fringes of various covens wi' da Verbena. Small an' big an' in between...an' as ya know... Beltane one of our most sacred rites. An' I keep meanin' t' take ya proper, an' introduce ya...but..." But? ...But there's a part of her that is neither properly territorial or jealous but that IS adamant about taking Anakin before a gathering of priestesses and druids, of bards and fairly mediocre witches. The Verbena are a myriad of theologies and philosophies banded together to uphold their paradigm. They hold the Seat of Life on the Council of Nine, and have since the Council was formed, before the betrayal of the first Cabal. They are her friends, her peers, her sisters and brothers in a hanai sort of way. But she doesn't want to share him, not yet. Maybe once she's taught him a little more, maybe once she's sure he can survive the pit of flesh, politics, and chaos that mage gatherings can be.

"Not jus' yet. You might catch chill." She half laughs at her own little joke but it dies out almost before it ever stood a chance of surviving.

"I was offer da chance t' play da Maiden aspect of da Goddess in da Great Rite, an' still get aks ow and again. An' it nevah appeal to me even wine-soaked an' head stuffed wi' sacred incense. I nevah go out into da fields or under da trees eiddah, for more intimate an' less ritual...couplin'. I know fertility rites are important but not enough. Even if we could bring back magick like it was durin' da Mythic age....I still no would." While it might not mean anything to anyone else, Beth's belief in being a guardian of the mythic threads, a branch of the World Tree, she cannot imagine giving a part of herself for it.

"Money? I got dat...an' of alla da kine dat make me real angry? Is when women are led t' believe da only way dey got of improvin' deir situation is by allowin' someone f' slide between deir leg, an' I hate t' put it so cruelly. If a woman wanna do dat of her own accord...dat's one kine, but to be seen as only chattel, as only an object...an' not really jus' women, but anyone, regardless of how dey identify. "Business is usually about avarice...about acquirin' money, or power, or any number of stuff...an' it's all same-same. A gi nevah come wi' a price. Anyone who tell ya oddahwise...lyin' to ya. I give da kine to ya because I know ya need. I know ya nevah aks f' it. I know it makes us bot' choke happy. I would nevah aks ya for any kine in return, nevah expect it...not'ing li'dat. It's not my way. It's not livin' pono, an' I nevah would corrupt eiddah one in dat way." She pauses, finishes the glass, then starts pouring herself another. "F'I were force t' choose a price? I would only give myself for one kine, an' as stupid an' cheesy it might sound? It would be for love. An' love nevah ask f' any kine but to be and to grow. No maddah who or what is bein' loved."

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