Makings of a Monster

- "I have a special birthday present for you, Sarevok," continued Reiltar his slurry monologue.
Sarevok dreaded what would come, given that he had a vague idea of what it might be.
- "Haven't got laid yet, have you, son?" continued the man.
Oh no. So his hunch was right. Sarevok shook his head.
- "Well, it’s about time then," grinned Reiltar, "and tell you what, it’s much simpler with the whores. They don't whine if you rough them up a bit, at least not if you pay them a little extra. Nice and easy, the way I like it. I'll put you in the hands of a real professional so you don't have to stumble about with some fawny-eyed girl... or at least you'll have more fun doing so. How’s that?"
Sarevok supposed saying that he didn't want to wouldn't be an option so he made a noncommittal nod and managed an insincere smile. Reiltar was too drunk to notice his lack of enthusiasm, as he didn't much pay attention to the feelings of others even when he was sober.

They made their way to the shadier part of the town. The abundant would-be muggers hadn't bothered with Sarevok in a long time. It seemed that he radiated some kind of natural menace others could not help noticing. That was also one reason why he never had had any friends of his own age. Other children, even rowdier and wilder ones, would shy away from him, feeling uneasy in his company. He had also always been older than his years, even more so because of the lack of child companions. Sarevok didn't mind. Other children seemed, well, childish, to him, their babbles and laughters frivolous and empty-headed.

Reiltar walked like a man who knew well where he was going. Probably he had been here before. That would explain why he had pretty much left Jelena alone after the incident with the meat cleaver. No one in the household ever mentioned the day, but it loomed large upon all of them.

The brothel they eventually entered caused Sarevok feel anxious and apprehensive. There were heavy blood red velvet curtains, low-light lanterns, exotic aromas. He just craved fresh air and clear head, his sword in his grip and the joy of combat. Or just the relief of loneliness.

- "Mister Anchev! But welcome. And you brought your son as was agreed. How handsome he is, so tall already!"
Right. The woman knew his name. Her polite and friendly manner was completely insincere, Sarevok could see that immediately. It occurred to him that perhaps the prostitutes didn't like Reiltar that much either if he was in the habit of "roughing them up" as he put it. Sarevok shortly shook of anger and repulsion remembering how Reiltar treated his mother when having his way with her. Well, at least mother got to make some love now, probably even tonight. He willed the thought away, blushing. It felt like intruding her privacy.

The woman, who seemed to be in charge of the brothel, misunderstood Sarevok's blush.
- "Shy? Oh, how cute! Mila will cure you of that, just go upstairs, the last door at the left." The woman touched his shoulder and Sarevok felt like flinching.
Feeling like a convict heading for his execution he entered the room instructed. The smell of heavy perfumes couldn't quite hide the smell of stale sweat, alcoholic breath, and unrecognizable smell Sarevok suspected had something to do with what was actually going on in the brothel. He felt disgusted and claustrophobic.

The prostitute’s lips were very red. Her mouth looked like a trap of some sort. Her eyes were hollow and somehow dead. She spoke in a tone Sarevok supposed was meant to be seductive.
- "It is rare that I get such a handsome client. Your first time, eh? Come here, lover..."
She came closer and pressed her breasts on Sarevok’s chest.
- "Mmm, how big and strong you will be once you grow but a little..."
Sarevok felt as if he was touched by something slithering and dirty. A street lamp flickered from the window, and he could see how much paint there was on the face of the prostitute. Judging by the sounds from behind the wall Reiltar had his own treat going on, though Sarevok wasn't sure whether the voices came from his mind or from the other room.

He backed off a little, and Mila looked up, a little annoyed.
- "What’s wrong? Come on, I can show you what I can do with my tongue first."
Sarevok didn't want the woman to touch him, much less with her tongue. The thought of slithering was even stronger than before.
- "Just... just don't touch me, woman. I don't want to do this," he finally said. He simply couldn't fight the disgust he felt, all the same time hearing Reiltar slapping and humiliating a woman just a wall away.
- "What kind of pansy-boy you are! Can't appreciate a woman! What the hell are you doing here then! Go and find another chocolate-lover!" shouted the annoyed prostitute.
Sarevok snapped. He grabbed Mila’s throat and banged her against the wall, his amber-golden eyes glowing like eyes of a beast, his voice a hiss.
- "Listen to me, whore. You are this close to dying now. One more word... just one more..."
He let the shocked woman go.
- "Forgive me. It is not your fault. This just... never mind," he whispered and stormed away, his looks keeping the madam wisely from asking questions.

There was a soaking rain outside, but it didn't bother Sarevok. He felt like suffocating, and couldn't stop of thinking Mila’s red mouth, and the slithering tongue. Thank you, father. One more lovely thing to remember when I next time get the "natural urges" as Winski calls them. Sarevok suppressed a sob thinking about Winski’s talks about how it could be beautiful and lovely. He couldn't even begin to understand, and the visit in the brothel only made the ugly imagery more vivid. Feeling a sudden rage and despair he stopped by a stone wall, and banged it, again and again, his knuckles all bloody and numb, crying of anger. Happy birthday, Sarevok. Happy birthday.