MURDERER

“Oh Gods!” she thought as she stood at the corner of the store, her eyes wide. She glanced back up towards the window to the upper story. The flashes of light and cacophony told her that her fellow khajiit was not yet dead anyway - though based on the size of that thing it wouldn’t be long. And she had barred the door.

On the one hand, the idea had been a desperate inspiration that probably had saved her life. On the other hand, she was now a murderer.

She ran through the freakish snow to her meager apartment.

Opening the door, she looked around, all the while pulling at her hair.

“Murderer.”

She gathered her most essential belongings as quickly as she could. Her hastily crafted story to the shopkeeper wasn’t going to hold water as soon as they found the body.

“Then again,” she thought as she put everything into her backpack that she could cram into it, “it might take days before the corpse starts to smell. And who’s going to look inside?”

That fighter for one. Besides, when things got quiet again and that ‘Katia’ didn’t come down, the shopkeeper would go up and see her spear lodged in the door. What she’d done would be obvious, and no amount of talk would get her out of this one. No, she didn’t have time. She had to go. Now.

She pulled the backpack onto her shoulders and took one last look at the place she’d called home for the last year. It wasn’t much. A year of her life, and this was what she had to show for it. She wasn’t dressed for going outside the city. She wasn’t prepared for this. She didn’t even have her spear!

Then she sat down and began to cry.

“Oh Gods! Oh Gods! What have I done?! Why did I follow that fool? I didn’t need the money that bad! And she was so obviously incompetent!”

“IDIOT!” she said aloud, pulling her hair again. “IDIOT!”

Desperately her brain tried to wish it’s way out of reality. Just a few hours ago, everything was fine! If only she’d just stayed inside tonight. Gone to bed early maybe. Or just said “No” to that crazy khajiit woman.

“But… they were only supposed to be Imps!” she said aloud, crying to the ceiling. “IMPS for god’s sakes! I can take out a few Imps by myself easily!”

But her mind had gone dark.

“The khajiit will be dead by now”, she thought. "The shopkeeper will have gone upstairs to check. She’ll have seen the spear. Hell, she’d have to remove it to open the door. No, she won’t be missing that little clue. Wait… How long have I been here!? How long would it take for her to find a guard? Not long, not long! Does she know where I live?”

She’d seen the shopkeeper around, of course, though Ra'Jirra had never actually done any odd jobs for her. But she was the only khajiit in town, save that cute bartender. It’s not like they wouldn’t know - they only watch her every move because they all think she’s a thief! Of course they all knew where she lived!!!

She had to get out of here. She opened the door quietly and looked both ways. She thought briefly of going back, to see if it was over yet, but she knew better. Guards were likely headed to her apartment even now.

She shot a look up and down the street again. Nothing yet. She crept down outer stairs to street level and headed for the city gate.

“Wait! If they know, they’ll be waiting for me there! And even if they don’t, nobody leaves the city unarmed at this time of night. There will be questions. DAMMIT!”

She looked around. She couldn’t go back to the apartment. But she couldn’t get out yet either. Somehow she had to wait until morning when the gates were opened.

“But what then?” she realized. “By then they’ll all be looking for me! And it’s not like I blend in here. There’s only 3 khajiits in town. Well, probably only 2 by now.”

The tavern. S'thengir was an asshole though. He wouldn’t help her even if he was a fellow khajiit. He didn’t like anybody. Plus it would be closed by now. She could find a stable and hide out there, but the problem of how to get out in the morning would still be there.

Suddenly she heard the sound of footsteps behind her. She backed into a doorway, but whoever it was passed by at the corner.

“Doesn’t matter,” she realized, “I can’t stay here, that’s for sure.”

She made a quick decision. She headed for the tavern. If she could get him to let her in, he’d be an accomplice. She could use that. She could probably coerce him into helping her get out of town in the morning at least. But she’d have to get him to let her in.

The tavern was in front of her now. He’d be sleeping in the little room by the side door.

She stopped tugging on her hair.

“It must be a mess by now,” she thought.

She found a dry spot and started brushing her hair. Then she sighed, deeply and started to cry again. She knew what she had to do to get him to let her in. He might not like her, but he was male.

“GODS DAMMIT!!!” she cried to herself. “I was leaving all that behind! This goddamned high-necked outfit cost me more than I make in a year, just to scream to the world that I’m not one of those! But I am. I’m still a fucking whore. I was doing so good too! No! I don’t WANT to be that again! IDIOT! Why did you have to do that? MURDERER!”

As her mind swirled in darkness and self-pity, she realized slowly that she was wasting time.

“Buck up you whore. Now you’re a whore and a murderer. One more fuck is nothing. But… It wasn’t my fault! I was doing good here!”

She looked at the side door. Inside there lay a man. She hadn’t had a man since… Well, not for a long time. And he’d be spiky to boot. It’s not that she wouldn’t like that. She was built for it. No, it’s that she would like it too much.

That was the worst thing about being a whore. Sometimes you didn’t hate it. And she barely knew the guy. Still, as the only two khajiits in town, their paths had crossed numerous times. And she did kinda like the guy. Well, his looks anyway. Plus, he ran a respectable tavern. You have to give him some credit for that. In a town like this, to be a respectable citizen while being a khajiit was quite an accomplishment. He was, she realized, pretty much her role model here.

“But what’s my story? Why am I knocking on his door at this time of night?”

The answer was obvious. She’d have to play the slut of course. The horny slut who finally couldn’t stand it anymore and had to have khajiit cock. His khajiit cock. It was the only explanation that he’d believe anyway.

She sighed, then slapped herself. Hard.

“Idiot,” she said. “You fucking killed that girl. FUCKING KILLED HER! DEAD! They’ll bury her rotting body soon. Her parents will never know what happened to her. Her friends will wonder whatever happened to old ‘Katia’ after she went to Kvatch. YOU did that. YOU. Now you’re fucking too sweet and pure to go seduce some bartender? Idiot.”

Then she walked towards the door.

************************

She peered through the keyhole. She saw his back within, breathing deeply. So peaceful, he seemed. And she was about to screw up his life too. Well, there was no help for it - short of turning herself in that is. She thought about that for a moment before knocking. Beheading probably. Maybe that wouldn’t be so bad. She certainly deserved it. Justice in Cyrodiil was harsh and swift, and there was no leniency for a crime like hers. But was it murder?

“Idiot, you locked the young fool in with that… thing,” Rajirra thought. “She burned her own gloves with the fucking fire spell. Did you really think she had a chance against it? She’s probably a charred corpse by now.”

An image of a body, charred and black leapt into her mind. It’s eyes burned from their sockets, the teeth ever-smiling now. Smiling at her. Grinning. It’s fangs long and sharp. It turned it’s black and bone-colored skull towards her. “MURDERER”

She screamed, then covered her mouth. A sound came from within. She’d woken him. She shook her head out of her nightmare and returned to reality, then knocked at the door.

She heard words spoken in Ta'agra within. To anyone else in town they would be unintelligible. She however, understood them quite well.

“Fucking goddamn shit! At this time of night? I’ll fucking bash whoever is there with my fucking mace and fuck their dead body and eat their head. Who the fuck is awake at this fucking time?!”

“Who is it? Who is out there?” she heard the bartender switch to the Common language.

“It’s… Ra'Jirra,” she replied in Ta'agra as assurance that it was her.

She heard keys rattle and the bolt thrown back. The door opened just enough to see the bartender’s face beyond.

“Ra'Jirra? Do you know what time it is? What the hell do you want?”

“Please… S'thengir isn’t it? I… I need to talk to you. It’s urgent.”

“Hold on a minute,” he grumbled and shut the door again. She heard something heavy thump onto the floor inside before the door opened.

“What?” S'thengir said impatiently, standing within the doorway. Had she not been so distressed, the sight of the khajiit dressed in silly blue-striped pajamas would have at least elicited a chuckle.

“Can I come in?” she asked. This was the moment of truth. He had to let her in!

“What for?” he asked, eyeing her suspiciously.

She began to unlace her bodice.

“Wait! Stop!” he said, and she stopped. He leaned out and looked around, making sure no one else was around. Then he looked back at her, his eyes still full of suspicion.

“Why?”

She shrugged. “We can’t help ourselves sometimes, S'thengir. Surely you know that. You’re a khajiit.”

He grumbled, but opened the door wide and stood aside. “Come in. Of course I do. But I control myself.”

She entered and looked around the little room as he closed and locked the door behind him.

“I’ve… done so myself, pretty well. But tonight. I just couldn’t,” she said, finishing the unlacing and removing the vest. She started unbuttoning the blouse underneath.

S'thengir sat back on the rough ‘bed’ he’d made on the floor and watched her, a touch of a smile reaching the corners of his mouth. It was a smile few had ever seen on the gruff face before.

“Do you want to become pregnant?” he asked her. “I’m not prepared to father a litter.”

“No, khajiit. I have potions. I just need you. I am leaving town in the morning. Before I go, I need this.”

“I see. Yes, I know the need too. But you must have more self-control, khajiit-woman. We must not be seen as animals here among the other races.”

“That is why I come at night,” she answered. She stood now with her blouse open, her breasts not fully revealed, knowing they would have their natural effect.“

“That was wise,” he said, watching her in the flickering candlelight, his eyes focused somewhat lower than her face.

“Will you not join me, khajiit-man?” she asked, her hands ready to remove the blouse and reveal herself to him. “You make me feel… wanton.”

He laughed a short, somehow angry laugh.

“You are wanton, are you not? No, thank you Ra'Jirra. I prefer to watch you undress. It arouses me.”

“I see,” she said, and let the blouse slip from her shoulders. Then, with as much grace as she could muster, she lowered her skirt slowly. She stood naked in front of the bartender, awkward and embarrassed. Her hair covered her breasts after she had bent to step out of the skirt now, but he was looking farther down than that now. She felt the familiar heat rising within her, and it shamed her. She did like this, and she didn’t want to.

“Turn around,” he said, and she did so, bending to rest her hands on a chair. Behind her she heard him removing his pajamas.“

"Will you not… ”

“Foreplay? Of course. I am no rapist. I do not enjoy an unprepared woman. But, turn back around Ra'Jirra.” he replied.

She turned back to see him fully dressed.

“What?? I don’t understand! I need…”

“You need nothing. Thank you for the show. Your body is excellent. But now, put your clothes on and tell me why you wake me this late at night,” he demanded.

“I… I wanted…”

“Ra'Jirra. Do you know what a bartender does? It is my trade to know my customers. And you are a khajiit. I can read you better than these humans, and I read them well. Your eyes are red. You have been crying. Your hair is brushed, but until recently it was disheveled. I do attract you, and perhaps sometime we may mate, but that is not why you have come. Tell me or leave.”

Rajirra turned around and sat on the chair heavily.

“You see much, S'thengir,” she said. “More than with your eyes.”

“And more than with my cock,” S'thengir smiled. “But you had a disadvantage in your scheme, whatever it was, Ra'Jirra. You see, I’m already in a relationship. A serious relationship. Your body, as tempting as it is, will not move me to compromise my love.”

She smirked. “You were none to quick to stop me undressing, I noticed.”

S'Thengir stood and walked slowly over to her and bent to put his mouth beside her ear. She could feel his warm breath inside it.

“She never said I couldn’t look,” he whispered, tickling the sensitive fur inside.

She turned to him, but he backed away.

“Now now, foul temptress. Hands off the merchandise. Wait here a moment. I’ll be right back,” he said, and left the room.

Ra'Jirra thought desperately. Seduction was out. Still, she had managed to secure a refuge, at least for a little while. She tried to think of something else. Something that might convince him to help her escape the city in the morning. But he returned with two glasses of strong khajiiti drink and she’d not come up with anything yet.

“Still naked? I guess you didn’t understand me,” he said, handing her one glass.

She shrugged. Being naked didn’t bother her.

“Drink. I call it Eye of the Tiger. My own mix. Try it! I’m rather proud of it,” he said, taking a sip of his own.

It tasted like cold fire on her tongue. She had thought of nothing. She was running out of time.

“It’s good,” she said. “Very good.”

“So, now. Ra'Jirra. Why are you here? And please tell the truth. My patience is growing thin, and my vow to my love hangs by a thread. I will kick you out instantly and call the guards if I sense any lie. And I’m very, very good at sensing lies.”

She looked at him. She looked at the drink. She looked back at him, and the expression on her face was no longer contrived. It was one of sincere desperation. She downed the drink and felt it begin to do it’s work.

“I killed someone tonight. I need to get out of town.”

S'thengir’s drink hit the floor.

*********************

“GET OUT! GET OUT OF MY HOUSE RIGHT NOW!” He screamed, and his vehemence caused her to shrink back in her chair.

“L… like this?” she said, looking down at herself.

The bartender howled. “Dammit, get your clothes on then and leave. I’ll harbor no murders here! If they catch me with you in here, they’ll throw me out of town! GET THE FUCK OUT OF MY HOME!!!”

Suddenly she had an idea. It was low, but it was all she had.

“I’ll scream,” she said quietly.

Suddenly his anger dropped to something worse. Hatred burned in his eyes. “You wouldn’t,” he growled menacingly.

"S'thengir. Look at this from my point of view. I have no choice. If I leave here now, they’ll catch me. I need help. Sorry, but that help is you. You’re all I’ve got.”

“I’ll be run out of town. Ra'Jirra, you’ve lost me everything! Do you know that? Do you have any idea what I had to go through to buy this place? To be accepted?!”

“Better run out of town than beheaded,” she retorted with a snort. But then she stood up. “Look, I just want to get out of town as soon as possible. That’s all. When the gate opens in the morning, I’m out of here. Just let me stay till then. Please. No one will know.”

“I’ll know,” he said, but she saw in his eyes that his sudden hatred had subsided. Now it was him who was desperately searching for a solution.

“First thing? But wait. The guards will be looking for you.”

She nodded.

“If you get caught…” he began, looking at her hopefully.

“I’ll rat you out the first chance I get. Look, you wanted brutal honesty, you got it. I need to get out of this city. You need me to get out of this city. Or kill me yourself. You could do it. That mace is still there, and they’d probably give you a medal. I’m not going anywhere. Frankly, that’s your best option.”

The bartender looked to where the heavy mace lay behind the door. They both did. And Ra'Jirra realized she meant every word. If this stranger chose the mace, she would lay down and let him finish her. She deserved nothing less. She needed his help and it had to be willing help. He could call the Legion on her the minute she had left town, and she’d still be caught. He had to want her to escape too. Either that or she might as well get it over with. Would a mace hurt more than the headsman’s axe?

“I’m not a killer,” he said finally.

“I know. I didn’t think I was either. Until tonight.”

The bartender sat back on his ‘bed’ on the floor, lost in thought. She watched him with pity. She really wished she hadn’t had to do this to him. She was putting his entire life in jeopardy for her, essentially a stranger.

“I’m sorry,” she said, sincerely.

He glared at her, the fire back in his eyes. “Bitch,” he said.

The word didn’t translate to 'female dog’ in Ta'agra, but the implications were identical.

“Dammit, put your clothes back on then woman. I’ll think of something.”

“Can’t,” she said, smiling back at him.

“What do you mean, you can’t? Dammit, put your clothes back on! I’m not going to fuck you! Are you crazy?”

“It’s my insurance policy,” she said, her smile widening. “Pretty hard to claim you weren’t involved when a naked murderess is seen in your place.”

“I said I’d help!”

“Then help me. But I’m not putting my clothes back on until morning.”

“Great. Just fucking great. Now how am I supposed to think with my penis raging?”

“I could…”

“NO! Keep your fucking hands off me. I should never have opened that door.”

Her grin faded. “No. You shouldn’t have.”

He looked away from her, then picked up the glass. She handed hers to him as he walked past to put it back at the bar. “Another?”

“Fucking right, another,” she said.

When he came back and handed her another glass, she sipped at it this time. Her head was already swimming, but she found peace, not having to think about her situation.

He was quiet for awhile, then looked back at her.

“You’ll have to cut your hair,” he said as if that was obvious.

“My hair? I’ll die before anyone cuts my hair!”

He shook his head. “No, you won’t. You’ll cut your hair and you’ll dress in some of my clothes and somehow we’ll have to hide those boobs. And you’ll leave as me.”

“As you? Are you kidding? I look nothing like…”

“Pfff. To them you do. To them you look exactly like me. Except for the hair. And the boobs. They see nothing but a cat.”

Suddenly her eyes started to water. “My hair? But… My HAIR? It’s all I have, S'thengir!”

“It’s not all you have. You have your life. You can keep one or the other. Which do you prefer?”

Suddenly she started to wail. Her hair was her only pride in life. She’d never seen a khajiit with finer hair, or longer. If she cut it, it would never, ever grow back like it was now. “My haaaaaaaair!”

S'thengir shrugged. “Go ahead and cry. I have no neighbors. But it’s going to have to be done.”

She continued to cry for some time, until finally she stopped. She pulled her hair around to her front and looked at it, eyes wide and wet. “It was very nice hair, wasn’t it?”

“Best I’ve ever seen,” S'thengir said, standing up, and his honesty comforted her a little.

“Best anyone has ever seen on a khajiit,” she said, turning to look up at him. “I’ll never grow it back.”

He walked towards her. Oddly, the hatred that had burned in his eyes so recently now was pure pity.

“You… understand?” she asked him, needing someone to comprehend. “I… It’s my soul. I don’t have a penis, but I imagine it would be like someone cutting that off. It’s everything to me!”

He nodded, but disagreed. “It’s not the same, but I understand Ra’Jirra. At least I think I do. I’m sorry, but I don’t see any other way.”

“I can’t do it. You’ll have to.”

“I know. Let me go get my shears…”

In a few minutes, he was back. “You’re a bitch, Ra'Jirra. But you’re no killer. What happened? Tell me all about it. And try to forget about what I’m doing. It’s the only way.”

She relented and told him the whole story, from the moment she’d met the stupid khajiit, to the moment she ran from the shop. She knew he wasn’t really listening. He had his bartender-ears on. He grunted and nodded and said “I see” and the like in all the right places.

“Wait… she was a KHAJIIT?” he said suddenly, poking her ear a little with the shears.

“Ow! Well, yes. Some female khajiit. Apparently new in town.”

“What was she wearing?”

“Oh, like there are lots of new khajiits in town?” she said, the drink speaking for her maybe a little.

“What… was… she… wearing?!” he demanded, coming around to face Ra'Jirra.

“Some Arena armor actually. Looked pretty pathetic. I doubt it would protect a mouse.”

“I’ve seen her. She was in here earlier tonight. Fucking up my tables!”

“Well, you won’t have to worry about her anymore. She’s gone now,” Ra'Jirra replied, tears coming to her eyes again. “I didn’t mean to! But that thing! It was huge! I… wet myself to be honest. And I’ve seen things, S'thengir, but nothing like that.”

“So… you’re not sure she’s dead then?” S'thengir said, resuming his snipping.

“She’s dead,” she said with finality. She closed her eyes, but a grinning skull was there, waiting. She opened her eyes back up with a jerk.

“What if she’s not?” S'thengir said as he clipped the last long lock of her hair.

It fell across her arms and she picked it up and looked at it. It felt like her tear glands had gone dry.

“Then I just fucked up,” she said, and began to laugh. S'thengir put his hand on her shoulder as her laughter waffled between crying and laughing. But she didn’t want to close her eyes.

Finally S'thengir lifted her up out of the chair to stand in front of him. The floor was strewn with her hair. She looked at it as if it were snakes at her feet, but he shook her until she looked into his eyes.

“Are you okay?” he asked her.

“No, S'thengir. Next question.”

“Pull yourself together. Let me finish this, then we can figure out what we can do about those breasts.”

“You can cut them off too, if you want. Might as well. You sure you don’t want me, S'thengir? Last chance.” she asked as he lowered her back down into the chair. “I’m pretty good in bed.”

“No. Sorry Ra'Jirra. You were right when you came in. You do need it. But not from me,” he said with finality, and he began the close work of trimming her hair down to the fur line, like his own.

“And no, I’m not going to cut your breasts off”, he added as he finished. “They’re very nice, but I think some bandaging around them will do just fine. They’re not that big. Follow me, I have a mirror.”

In the darkened tavern, he led her to another room behind the bar. A private lavatory, she saw. It was clean. Cleaner than any such place in a tavern had a right to be. Then she saw herself in the mirror. But the image looking back at her wasn’t hers. It was that other khajiit. Katia.

And then it changed. It blackened. The skin rolled back around it’s mouth as flame shriveled it back. The eyes crisped. The once-beautiful little muzzle disappeared, revealing sharp, bone-white teeth. And then it’s mouth opened and it hissed her name.

RA’JIRRA!

She fainted, screaming.

************************

When she awoke a short time later, she was back in S'thengir’s private room. The window was glowing blue. Dawn.

“You alright?” said a voice from behind her head. She looked up and saw S'thengir standing over her. She was laying on his floor-bed, clothed in similar fashion to what he wore. She noticed the restriction around her chest then. And she noticed her hair was gone from the floor.

“What happened?”

“Hell if I know. You looked at the mirror and started screaming, then fainted I guess…”

“You dressed me?”

“Obviously. It’s getting light out. The tavern doesn’t open for a couple more hours yet. But I need you to tie me up before you leave.”

Ra'Jirra thought about that for a minute. “You want an alibi.”

“Damn right I do.”

She smiled as she sat up, “I could take your money too, if you’d like!”

S'thengir took her hand and helped her up. “Thank you, no. I’ve hidden it away though. You did rob me, I’m just not giving you the money.”

“Well, a girl can try! I need to spend a few minutes the restroom… the public restroom. Then I’ll be ready to go.”

The bartender ushered her out into the common room.

“Did you have a good time strapping up my boobs and dressing me?” she asked as she crossed to the restroom.

“Delightful. In other circumstances…”

“Yes,” she agreed as she closed the door. “Other circumstances.” She pulled something out of her backpack along with her gold.

In a few minutes, she had emerged again. The bartender was sitting on a chair, lengths of rope already cut. She began to tie him up.

“You into bondage, S'thengir?”

He looked at her. “Fuck you Ra'Jirra. Tie them tight. And when you’re out there, don’t talk till you’re out of the city.”

Finally, she was ready. She was about to leave when she realized something. She went back to where she’d left S'Thengir.

“Say… do you have any weapons I could take with me? Besides that mace I mean. I don’t think I could use it very well. A spear would be awesome!”

He shook his head, not able to talk with the rag tied into his mouth. But then he signaled to behind the bar. She followed his gaze and found the knife. It wasn’t much, but with at least a foot long blade, it was better than nothing.

“Thanks,” she said, buckling the knife and it’s sheath to her belt. His belt… Well, it was her’s now. Then she headed to the side door. She saw her clothes in a corner. She considered taking it with her. Even if she couldn’t wear it anymore, it would still bring a nice price at the right shop. But no. Her life as Ra'Jirra was over, along with the beautiful high-necked outfit. It might compensate S'thengir for his trouble. She opened the door, trying to walk like a male.

She almost made it with no problems at all, but the guard at the gate recognized S'thengir.

“Tavern closed today?” he called as she passed through. She shrugged noncommittally, but he said nothing more and then she was out of Kvatch.

The road was lightly traveled at this time of morning, and the few that she did pass paid her no mind. The sun was coming up, and by its heat, it was going to be a warm day.

It was mid-morning when she arrived at the crossroad. From here she could head west towards Anvil and the coast, or travel east towards Skingrad. She hadn’t really thought this through much, she realized. She knew only that she had to leave Kvatch. But the thought of the sea beckoned her and she turned to the right towards Anvil. If things went wrong, she might be able to hop a ship out of Cyrodiil completely. She thought of Elsweyr briefly. But no, that was not her home. She had to make her own home. Somewhere.

The sun continued to beat on her and the chest wrappings were beginning to make their presence known. She looked around and saw a small copse of trees nearby that she headed towards. The shade was cooling, and she suddenly realized just how sleepy she was.

“Well,” she thought to herself as she sat down behind a large tree, facing away from the road, “There’s no need to look like a male anymore. Now I’m just another random khajiit. Off with this damned thing!”

She stripped off her vest and undershirt and began scrabbling at the bandage. He’d done a good job, it wasn’t going to be easy!

“Could you use some help there, lass?” came a voice. gruff and far far too masculine for her comfort.

She looked quickly towards the voice. A single, but very large man stood not 5 feet away from her. She scrabbled for her knife and had it out in a flash, but he turned and patted the scabbard that held a sword. Given the scars on his grizzled face and the use the sword had obviously seen, it was pointless.

“Sorry lass,” he said with a bit of a foreign accent she couldn’t quite place. “This isn’t your lucky day. If you’re any good at throwing that thing, now would be a good time to try. Otherwise, you’d best just put it away.”

She looked at the knife, then back at the highwayman. Her eyes started to water again. “Please…” she managed to squeak.

He walked over to her and sat down beside her.

“Oh now lass, I’m not so bad. I can help you get that thing off. Don’t worry, I’m not a rapist. Not into cats regardless. But I think we may need to have a look at that backpack of yours…”

“Please mister, I’ve had a hell of a day. A really, REALLY bad day,” she cried.

“I’m sure. And now you’re traveling alone. Sorry lass. But that’s a mistake you should have known. But look at the bright side. Believe you, me, there’s a lot more than old Honest John you could run into out here. Some’d as soon kill you as ask, you know? Do you mind?” he said, indicating her backpack.

She knew what was in it, of course. She’d be lucky to keep anything. But she nodded. She really didn’t have any choice.

He dumped it out unceremoniously on the ground and rummaged through the small pile. Some things he stuck in his pockets, others he left behind. He didn’t leave behind her gold purse. When he was satisfied, he put the leftovers back in and sat back beside her against the tree, pouring out the coins from the purse into his hand.

“Oh!” he said, then turned to her. “Nice! How long have you been saving this up?”

“A year,” she choked out.

“A year. Well, there’s always next year, eh miss?”

Through tear-streaked eyes, she implored him, “The little doll. Could you please?”

“Mmm?” he said. Then he rummaged through his deep pocket and drew out an odd animal figure. “This thing?”

She nodded hopefully.

“Was going to give it to me niece honestly. But sure. I’m not a cruel man. It’s just a cruel world, see?”

She nodded as he put back into the backpack. Then he turned back to her.

“Cunt or Asshole?” he asked.

She stared at him, uncomprehendingly.

“Which? Cunt or Asshole?” he asked again, enunciating more clearly.

“W… what do you mean? Are you going to rape me?” she squeaked, eyes wide with fear again now.

“Fuck no! Name’s Honest John for a reason, lady. Much as you’d like it, naa. But when you’ve been doing this as long as I have, see, you learn some things. And one thing you learn real quick is that smart ladies always stuff some coin up their cunt or their asshole. You look like a smart lady. Wrapping those boobs up, you were pretending to be a guy. Another smart idea if you’re traveling on your own. So which is it?”

“Pardon?! I don’t have any…”

Suddenly his demeanor took on a truly menacing look for the first time.

“I’ll have to have a look-see then, missy. Sorry, but I don’t believe you. I’ve been honest with you, haven’t I? I even put your little doll back. I’m going to ask you one more time, and if you don’t tell me the truth, we’re gonna have a little tussle, you and me, and you might get hurt. I haven’t hurt you yet, have I? No. Do you WANT to get hurt lady? Do you LIKE to get hurt?”

She shook her head, trembling now.

“Then which is it? Cunt or Asshole?” he said very quietly.

“Asshole,” she said.

************************

“That’s much better. Asshole eh? Yeah, good choice really. You could get raped and, unless they’re really kinky, you’d still have it. Plus they’d have to get stinky. How much?”

“Twenty,” she said.

“Hmph,” he said. “Twenty. Lady, I’ve seen boys half your size stuff at least 50 up there. But thanks. You’re a smart lady. Keep it.”

The sigh of relief was quite sincere. She would be essentially completely broke without that, and she’d been broke before. The word didn’t convey the feeling nearly well enough, but it was appropriate. When you’re truly broke, you are broken. And it’s hard as hell to climb back out of broken.

“Now, he said, and he reached for her back. Let’s get this off of you. Don’t worry, I really am honest. I’m not going to bother you.”

In a moment he had the bondage free and she unwrapped herself, then put the shirt back on.

“Well, Honest John,” she said, trying to recover some dignity, “if you’ve seen enough…”

“Not enough for my preference, but it’s all you got. I know the feeling. Not exactly packing a serpent myself, but it gets the job done. So, where you headed? Need some company?”

“WHAT? You rob me and now you expect me to continue with you?”

“Never know. It’s a wild world out here. I might get killed by something. Then you can get all your loot back. Besides, it’s not like you’re going to report me to the Imperial Legion, are you? You’re on the run.”

“Maybe,” she admitted.

“Yup, what I thought. Come on, I can at least keep the worse robbers from hitting you up again. And they’re more likely to take more than your stuff. Might like little kitty titties too. You’re better off with me, I’m telling you…”

She stood up and brushed off the dirt. “I’ll do fine. I just won’t leave the road again!”

“Think that’ll help?” he said, as he handed her the much-lighter backpack.

She shrugged.

“It won’t. Not unless you stick by a Legionnaire, or a caravan. And there aren’t any caravans today, and… well… Legionnaires ask questions.”

She considered her options.

“Good,” the highwayman said. “You’re thinking. I knew you were a smart cat.”

“Don’t call me a cat,” she said, growling.

“Fine. What do I call you?”

“Don’t. But okay. Thanks, I guess.”

“Then I’ll call you… Doll. For your doll you like so much.”

“Honest John, I’ve been awake all night. I’m sleepy as hell.”

“Oh! Say no more. Curl up right here. I’ll keep an eye out for you. Not like I’m in a hurry. I’ve made enough today.”

“Off of me!”

The big man shrugged. “Sorry lass, you were easy. Easy is a highwayman’s best friend. Weeks go by without finding an Easy. But I’ve got relatives over near Anvil that could use a bit of this coin. You go to sleep, then we’ll head that way.”

Odd as it seemed, it was the best option she had. She curled up at the base of the tree and slept.

Five minutes later, she awoke screaming. Honest John had his hands over her mouth as soon as she’d started.

“Hush cat! Want the whole Imperial Legion on us? What the fuck is wrong with you?” he said as quietly as his anger would allow.

She nodded and he removed his hands.

“Don’t call me cat,” she said again.

“Nightmare?” he asked, to which she nodded. Her head was still bleary.

“I had those before. Here,” he said, rummaging through another pocket. He produced a small vial. “Drink a drop of this.”

She held it up, uncertain. “What is it?” she asked while sniffing at it.

“Skooma. Don’t touch the stuff myself anymore. But I keep some around. Comes in handy if you break a leg or something out here.”

Skooma. Of course. She should have guessed. But she was so tired.

“Aren’t you supposed to smoke it or something?” she asked.

“That’s the best way. But this is a good alternative when you need a quick hit.”

Ra'Jirra shuddered, remembering the thing that awaited her in her dream. “Fuck it,” she said, and downed the vial.

“HOLY SHIT! God dammit lady, you just killed yourself! Oh fuck. You just drink a drop or two! What kind of idiot…” said Honest John, standing up with horror on his face.

She felt funny. The world started spinning and her ears stopped working.

“Killed myself,” she thought as the colors in her eyes began to spin. “Figures. All that work, for nothing. I should have turned myself in. Sorry S'thengir. Sorry Katia. Sorry Mom. I fucked up.”

Her last thought was that at least the skull hadn’t followed her into wherever she was going. And then her consciousness disappeared for a while.

************************

She awoke slowly. In fact, she wasn’t sure she ever awoke at all. Everything was blurry and there was a noise in her ears that sounded like rushing water. She was vaguely aware of a shape that occasionally came into view, then disappeared. And she smelled something terrible. If she could move, she didn’t have enough conscious thought to try.

Someone was holding her up once or twice. Or something. Water was poured into her mouth, but she couldn’t quite figure out how to swallow it right. Then she went away again for a while.

The second time she woke up, the noise in her ears was still there. She saw a face, but it faded in and out of view. She tried to talk, but nothing seemed to come. She pissed herself. More than once. She felt like she should be ashamed of that, but she didn’t really care. And then she went away again.

Suddenly she awoke with a start. She was in water. Very cold water! She thrashed but she was held tight by something. But her head wasn’t underwater, so eventually she stopped fighting it and let the water flow past her. Something was jostling her, and she turned to see what it was. A hand was stroking her under the water. At first she thought it was nice, feeling a warm hand against her skin and fur. But slowly she realized it wasn’t soothing. It was harsh. It was scrubbing her. It began to annoy her.

“Stop that,” she said. She heard something behind the sound of the water in her ears, but she couldn’t make it out. She repeated herself. “Stop that!”

She tried to turn her head, and this time it worked. Her eyes saw a face, a human face. Bearded and grizzled. She felt like she should know this person. It was talking, but it wasn’t talking right.

She shook her head. Something was wrong with her head. She tried to concentrate on the voice.

Then suddenly she knew who it was.

“Honest John?” she said, switching to the Common tongue. She had to fight the fuzziness in her head to comprehend the language.

“Welcome back Ra'Jirra,” he said.

She looked around, trying to understand where she was. She sat in a stream, and she was soaked. But the water wasn’t as cold as she’d first thought. And this brigand was bathing her.

“You’re… giving me a bath?”

“That’s right, kitten. You were getting pretty ripe in there.”

“Kitten. Don’t…”

“I’ll call you whatever I damn well please. That goddamned Skooma cost me a good chunk of what I got from you. Not to mention the time and effort I’ve had to put into saving your mangy ass!”

“I… Wait. You called me…”

“Ra'Jirra. That’s your name, isn’t it?”

She nodded and tried to sit up on her own. Suddenly a wave of nausea came over her and she heaved up nothing but bile.

“Here,” he said, offering her a small jug. “Drink this. It’s just water.”

She took a short pull and rinsed her mouth out, then spat the vile taste into the stream. Then she took another drink and swallowed it. Immediately another wave came over her and she brought up what she had swallowed, so again she rinsed her mouth out.

“I,” she said once she’d recovered. “I don’t think I can hold anything right now.”

“Probably not. Come on, let’s get you dried off. You’re clothes are still drying off too. They were pretty bad,” he explained. “Can you stand?”

She tried. It didn’t work.

“Well hell, I carried you this far,” he said, and picked her up bodily. She felt his muscles bunch and she managed to wrap an arm around his neck and shoulders at least. Thick.

“You’re… pretty strong for an old guy,” she said.

He didn’t answer but set her down on an outcropping where the sun was shining warmly.

“Sorry Doll, I haven’t got a towel. You’ll have to dry off the old-fashioned way.

She lay back and closed her eyes. No skull was there. It was nice, even if she felt weak as a… kitten.

Finally she opened her eyes and turned to where he sat with his back to her, sharpening a knife with a stone. Her knife she realized.

"Why?” she said.

He turned and looked at her. “Damned if I know. I guess I’m just a milk drinker at heart. Had a cat once. It died.”

“I’m not a cat,” she said, but without the offended tone she’d used before.

“No. Never wanted to fuck my cat.”

She thought about that for a minute. She owed this man her life, she was sure. “You… want to fuck me?”

He laughed. “No thanks, Doll. To be honest, the damn thing doesn’t work anymore anyway. But no. I kinda like you. I guess I miss being a father a little.”

She knew better than to ask him about his past. “I bet you were a fine father.”

“Lousy. But she turned out alright anyway.”

“You know, you can like someone and want to fuck them too,” she said, rolling over on her stomach and closing her eyes again.

“Enough of that. Let’s change the subject, shall we?”

“Sure. How long was I… gone for?”

“Oh, a couple of days.”

She didn’t open her eyes. It wasn’t a surprise. It felt like a couple of days. At least. “Sorry, Honest John.”

“Eh… not like anyone’s waiting for me anywhere. You needed the help.”

“I did. What else did I say?”

“It was all in Ta'agra. I don’t know it much. Sorry, I don’t know your life story now.”

“Would you like to?”

He looked at her again, and stroked her back. The fur was drying but she was still pretty wet. She probably should have been offended, the touch resembled too much the petting of an animal. But it felt good and she had no pride left in her.

“I don’t think so. I can’t tell you mine. Best we just leave it at this,” he continued stroking her back and she let him.

They stayed there the whole afternoon while she dried off, an old highwayman and a foolish khajiit that by all rights should be dead. But it was the first peaceful moments she had had since the night she murdered Katia Managan. She didn’t want it to end.

But finally he helped her to her feet which, though wobbly, finally had started responding. He half-carried her to where her clothes lay. They didn’t smell bad anymore, but they were stained. Vomit and shit and piss, she had no doubt. But they were what she had, and she put them back on.

“I don’t suppose…” she began.

“Sorry Doll, no. I saved your life. We both know that. But it’ll have to be enough. We all have mouths to feed in our own way. Mine’s a rotten one, I know. But it’s what I do.”

She had to have some help getting her clothes buttoned up, but considering what he must have had to do to get her cleaned up, she wasn’t embarrassed.

“I understand. But I don’t think I can walk on my own yet.”

“Nope. Another day I expect,” he agreed. “Got a little lean-to built on the other side of that hill. I had to move it. You’d messed the old site up pretty good.”

She managed to walk a few steps on her own by the time they got near the camp and he started a fire to make some soup. She tasted it and, though pungent with onion and garlic, it wasn’t bad really. Some bits of meat were in it, but she couldn’t swallow those. So she made do with the broth.

That night she slept with the old man. True to his word, he didn’t try anything, though she felt she owed him some physical comfort. But he made it clear he wasn’t interested in that. They lay looking up at the stars and not speaking, and she found his hand and held it for a long time while they said nothing. Then she went to sleep against his back.

She woke up late, trembling. She was hungry. So very, very hungry. She tried some of the broth, and even managed some of the meat, but it didn’t satisfy. She drank some water, but the hunger she felt was of a different sort.

Then she realized what it was she needed. She looked at the old man, but he was sleeping deeply. She crept up to him and stealthily slid a hand into one of his deep pockets. She found something there. A vial. The same. It was almost empty, but not quite. She slid it out of his pocket and opened it. The scent was both vile and enticing at the same time.

“Just a drop, mind you,” he said.

She jumped, but didn’t lose the vial.

“Sorry, Honest John,”

“Keep it,” he said, never turning back to her. “You’ll need it more than me. But it won’t last long. There’s only a day or two’s worth left, and you’re going to want more. It’s going to get tough for you after that. Your ass-coins won’t buy much.”

Suddenly she remembered. It struck her as funny. She’d probably shat them out.

“Where are they?”

“In your backpack. Sorry, I threw away the sheep’s bladder. I just put them back in your pouch. I don’t advise shoving them back up there without a bladder though.”

She tipped the vial slowly as she held out her tongue. A single drop fell down her throat and was gone, but instantly she felt better. She put the stopper back on and put it into her backpack.

Then she curled up behind Honest John and held him. The Skooma made her horny, but even through the buzz, she felt she owed this man more respect than to try and force him. Instead she let it wash over her and she felt… ecstasy. It was like a continuous orgasm, but more than just in her crotch. She wanted to share it with someone, but the old man wouldn’t get it. He wasn’t… high like her.

It felt most like a full-body orgasm that didn’t stop. The stars were spinning, but not wobbly like before. It was more like she could sense their movement, and her perception had become so sharp that she could see them turning ever-so-slightly against the night sky. Finally she went back to sleep, and slept the most peaceful night of her life.

In the morning, however, she was hungry again, and not for food.

************************

She took another drop of the Skooma, and soon everything was right again. Her body was back under control and she helped Honest John pack up their stuff.

“We’ll follow the path, but not too close. The Legionnaires know me.”

“Sounds good to me. How far are you going?” Ra'Jirra asked as they got underway.

“Most of the way, but I turn off before we get there.”

They left the woods behind and were walking now in the wild but beautiful grasses of Cyrodiil. She saw the path, but it was far to her right as they headed westward.

“You really should get off that stuff, Ra'Jirra,” he said sometime later. “It’s not good for you. It’s not good for anyone.”

She shrugged. “Keeps the nightmares away though.”

“Just starts new nightmares, I find,” he replied, but didn’t bring the subject up again.

The continued for miles, stopping to eat once.

“You ever kill anyone Honest John?” she asked him as they sat, their backs to the path behind a boulder.

“Yeah,” he said bluntly. “A few. Had to, of course.”

“How do you deal with it?”

He sighed, but didn’t turn to face her. “Same as you I suppose. The first is the hardest though. I guess after that it’s just habit. You or them, you know? I don’t like to though. I’ve never liked it. Your first?”

She nodded, “Yes. My first.”

“It’s a hard thing. Did you know him well?”

“Her. And no. Just… circumstances. She was a fool, and it was her or me.”

“I see. Well, if she was a fool then the right person lived.”

“Did they?” Rajirra thought as she eyed the vial again. She decided against it. It was too easy.

The afternoon sun was lowering when finally Honest John and her parted ways. They had returned to the main road after a Legionnaire had passed.

“So, you got family that way?” Rajirra asked as she looked down the side trail he was going to take.

“No. In fact, I’m not even going that way. But you don’t need to know more than that. And ‘John’ isn’t my real name either.”

She laughed, and hugged him - hugged him even though he had stolen all her most valuable posessions and had gotten her hooked on Skooma. He returned the hug. “Be careful, Doll, and good luck to you. Mind what I said about the Skooma. It has a sweet taste, but the aftertaste is nothing but bitter.”

She nodded and bade him farewell, and continued on alone again.

Suddenly she felt a wash of fatigue over her, and she started looking for someplace to nap. Someplace a lot closer to the road this time though. She found a spot out of sight but only a few yards off the road and curled up to take a nap in the afternoon sun. It’s warmth on her face lulled her off to sleep.

“RA'JIRRA” it said again, grinning that evil grin.

“No! I didn’t mean to kill you!”

“Do you know how much I screamed, Ra'Jirra? They found my hands still wrapped to the door handle. Fused to it. They had to peel my skin off of it, Ra'Jirra.”

Another image came into view. Bones wrapped around a door handle that wouldn’t budge. The flesh still attached but the skin peeled away. It was still alive. It was tugging on the door handle.

“Let… Me… OUUUUUT!!!!” it screamed, and her eyes followed the desperate, dead thing’s arms and back, up peeling shoulders, to a screaming skull.

“Please die,” she whispered, and it turned to her. It looked directly at her with it’s eyeless face and tongueless mouth. “LET ME OUUUUUT!”

She awoke shivering and screaming. She looked up but no one was there. The sun hand set a little farther, but she must not have been sleeping long. Trembling hands drew out her vial and she put another drop to her tongue.

Relief washed over her. She forgot the skull, but she no longer felt sleepy. Instead she fairly skipped down the road. There was more in the vial than the old man thought anyway. She’d be good for a week at this rate! Maybe she might have yet another. She felt… good. So she took another drop and she felt GREAT!

When the three young brigands accosted her, almost within sight of the Anvil city gates, she greeted them happily.

“Want to rob me? Sorry guys, I don’t have anything left. Honest John took my stuff!”

“Honest John eh? You ever heard of Honest John, Paulie?” said the biggest of them to another.

“Nope. Never heard of him, cat. Come on, off with the backpack. Let’s see what you’ve got in there.”

Of course, there was practically nothing. They took the 20 gold of course. And her Skooma.

“Oh HO! What’s THIS?” said one of them as he opened the vial and sniffed the contents.

“Liquid Skooma. Nice! Hey, wanna party Cat?”

“YES! PARTY!” she laughed, and they led her off into some woods well off the road.

They finished the rest of the Skooma and 'partied’ all night with the khajiit. Fortunately for her, they gave her more of the powerful drug, so in the morning she didn’t remember much of what had happened.

But she awoke naked and alone, with absolutely nothing. Her body hurt and her mouth tasted foul. She didn’t need to guess what had happened. Between the state of her body and the snippets of memory that remained of the previous night, she knew all she wanted to know. She wished she could get some water though. And wash off the smell.

She limped back to the road as dawn arrived. Walking was painful, but she had no choice now. She was hailed before she got to the gate by an armed guard, who looked less than happy to see her.

“Damn, what happened to you, cat? You look like you’ve had a run-in with a troll!”

“I… There were three of them…”

“Uh huh,” he said. “Looks it.”

“Can I go in?” she asked him.

“A fucking naked Skooma addict? Are you kidding me? The captain would have my head if he knew I let you in. Sorry cat, ain’t gonna happen. Here, wait a sec…”

She stood shivering while he went through the gate. It wasn’t the cold though. Nor even the effects of her night of 'partying’. She was hungry again, and she didn’t have any left.

Presently, the guard returned and tossed her something. She caught it and looked at it, unrolling it. It was little more than rags, but it would cover her. She put it over her head. Now, she realized, she looked the part. The shivering probably helped as well. Skooma addict.

She couldn’t believe what she was about to say to this guard. But there was no one else to ask.

“You… wouldn’t have any…”

He laughed. “Get the fuck off, cat. Look, you can’t come in, but if you follow the wall around to the docks, there’s whorehouses there. You can probably get what you need there or around the docks. For a price. Lots of horny sailors down there. Some might even be desperate enough. But you’d best take a bath in the water first. Saltwater’s gotta smell better than you do right now!”

She nodded, and began the long walk around the city walls towards the ocean. It was a long, long walk.

Of course, any city known for it’s sea port can’t be truly walled. But the docks were kept separate from the city proper, and thus the laws of the city didn’t necessarily apply around the port. Skooma trade, slavery and worse were common. Prostitution was practically mild by comparison. By the time she got there, the place was alive with activity. But she did heed the guard’s advice and bathed in the water. The taste of the salty water as she gargled it was nasty, but it was better than nothing. She climbed back out of the water, dripping and still limping. But she smelled better. Now she smelled of saltwater and dead fish. But it was better.

She put the rags back on while still wet. It clung to her. At some other time, perhaps, it might have looked erotic. But now she was simply pathetic. And the shiver was back. She really needed some Skooma.

It wasn’t hard to spot the whorehouse. She fit right in. The elf-woman that ran the place looked like she was expecting her.

“Wait there,” she said as Ra'Jirra approached up the stairs where the large elf sat on a patio overlooking the docks.

A green orc came down and frisked her, way too thoroughly, before she was allowed to come closer.

“Looking for a job?” the woman asked.

Ra'Jirra nodded.

She groaned, got out of her chair and walked over to the still-wet khajiit. “Open your eyes,” she said, and Ra'Jirra complied.

“Skooma. Figures,” said the Madam. “It’s always the Skooma with you cats. Open your mouth.”

Again, Ra'Jirra did as she was told.

“Nice teeth! How long you been on the stuff?”

“Since… a few days ago,” she answered honestly.

“Jeeze. You’re hooked bad. Jiles, get some liquid Skooma for the girl.”

The orc hurried off inside.

“Bend over,” she commanded, and once again Ra'Jirra complied. The woman had said the magic words. Salvation was coming!

“Holy shit! Cat, what happened to you?”

Ra'Jirra laughed, maybe a little madly. “Long night partying with the boys,” she said. “Out in the woods along the road.”

“We don’t call that partying around here, girl.”

The orc returned with a vial very much similar to the one she had.

“Fuck that, Jiles, this girl needs to lay down. Come on cat, let’s get you a bed. What’s your name?”

“Ra… I mean… Call me Doll,” she answered, but her eyes didn’t stray from the vial.

“Oh, go on. One drop. Then it’s off to bed with you.”

She took the vial greedily, but didn’t overdo it. One blessed drop touched her tongue and she handed it back to the orc. She’d pay for that, she knew. But she needed it. Suddenly her head cleared up. But with the renewed clarity came renewed pain. The Madam actually helped her into the house.

The bed they laid her down on was immaculate. She almost felt she was violating the place by laying down on it, but the sheets were cool and dry. She’d taken off the rag and it felt very, very good. She looked at the Madam. “This is going to cost me, isn’t it?”

The elf’s face looked sincere. “Of course. but we’ll work it out. You’re in good shape, Doll. A day or two from now and you’ll be my best cat. But we’ve got to get you back in shape first. No, you won’t be sleeping in my bed after that. But till then, enjoy the hospitality of the Curved Port.

"And the Skooma?”

“I doubt I’m the first to tell you, you should quit the stuff. But if you did, you wouldn’t be here. So I can’t very well deny you that. But…”

“I’ll pay for it,” Ra'Jirra finished for her.

“You know how it works. Been a whore before?”

Ra'Jirra nodded again.

“Good. Then you know what’s expected of you. %40. I get the rest. Deal? You can walk out now and the rest is on the house. My girls work for me willingly. You can get a higher percentage at the cheap whorehouse on the other side of the docks, but the overall is a lot less. We get the captains, they get the sailors.”

“Deal,” said the khajiit.

***************************************

She recovered quickly, and the days passed in a Skooma-induced blur. She hated every minute of it, of course, but she started to make some decent coin at least. The Madam was fair enough, and the clients were easy to please though. But as the days went on, she found herself needing more Skooma to maintain her composure. The other girls introduced her to the smoking version of the drug, and that helped for a while, but by the end of the first week she realized that her income was just barely enough to cover her habit.

Then one day she woke and noticed one of her teeth was loose. She knew what that meant. She was losing it. But try as she might, she couldn’t break away from the drug, and no one was there to make her. The tooth fell out one day. It was in the back and not noticible, but she sat and looked at it for a long time. Then she began to cry. The next day she noticed another tooth was loose.

She couldn’t hold up any longer. It was too much. She was laying on her bed, the last client having just left, and she looked at the Skooma pipe on her table.

“I could just end it,” she realized. “Just take too much. Then I could sleep. Sorry Honest John. Your work was in vain. You should have just left me to die.”

She wondered idly what he must have done to keep her alive. Then something shifted in her brain. She couldn’t quite define what it was, but something CHANGED.

A knock came at the door. She knew who it was. She couldn’t speak.

The door opened slowly. Beyond the door was utter blackness. She saw the hand on the door. Blackened and charred.

“Hello Ra'Jirra,” it said.

She screamed, but no sound came forth.

“It is time,” said the cracked, hollow voice, and the thing stepped into the room, closing the door ever-so-gently behind it.

“But… the Skooma. It’s supposed to keep you away! It did!”

“The Skooma let me free, Ra'Jirra. It did what you never did. It LET ME OUT!”

Ra'Jirra released her grip on reality then. It was time indeed. Time to let this happen.

“My turn,” it said.

“It’s 50 per hour,” she found herself saying to the apparition. “How long will you use me?”

The thing shambled closer to her bed, and she took off her clothes, laying back langorously.

“How long?” it asked, kneeling beside her. “Eternity.”

She spread her arms invitingly, and the thing crawled in beside her.

*****************************

“We found her like this last night,” the Madam said to the priest. “She’s only been on the stuff for a week, maybe a few days more.”

“Worst case I’ve seen,” he replied. “But we’ll do what we can for her. She’ll need to be locked in a cell till the addiction passes. You did right by her to bring her here.”

“But… the madness…”

“It may pass with the addiction. Or it may not. No way to know.”

“Poor girl,” said the Madam.

“Indeed. Poor girl,” the priest agreed.

“Every once in a while she comes out of it, you know,” the Madam continued. “She sounds almost normal then, but then she’ll just say ‘She’s back again.’ and off she goes.”

“Making love to a ghost. Can’t say I’ve ever seen the like before. But we’ll take as good care of her as we possibly can.”

“Thank you. Now I’ve got to get back to the House,” said the Madam.

They lifted the khajiit up and carried her to a cell in an out-building of the chapel made for such cases. Currently she was the only soul housed there, but she had regular attendants that came and took care of her. But her routine in the cell didn’t last long. A few days later the addiction had broken, but the madness remained. And she had a visitor. Two actually.

“Doll?” came a gruff voice.

“Oh, excuse me. I’ll be right back,” she said to no one, then opened her eyes.

“Honest John? Is that you? Sorry for everything. They put me in a madhouse, you know.”

“I know Doll. I know.”

“I’m off the Skooma. Isn’t that good?” she asked him.

He was kneeling by her small bed in the otherwise bare room.

“That’s wonderful, Doll,” he said, but the tears in his eyes said otherwise.

“Don’t cry, Honest John. I’m okay here. She just calls me back. She’s very needy you know.”

“Who is?” the theif asked gently. “Who is it that calls you, Doll?

Ra'Jirra smiled. "Wouldn’t you like to know! Sorry, old man. She’s all mine!”

Then another voice spoke, odd and smooth. The words startled the mad khajiit and she focussed on the source. An Argonian stood behind the theif. She looked vaguely familiar.

“Katia Managan,” it said.

“You can’t have her!” the mad khajiit cried, grabbing a pillow and squeezing it to herself.

“Doll, listen to me,” Honest John said, his eyes running freely with tears now. “Listen very very carefully. She can wait for a minute. I need you to listen and understand this….”

“NO! You can’t have her!!! You’re going to take her away from me!”

“Doll,” he said. “She’s not real. Now, listen. Katia… Managan… Is… Alive!”

Ra'Jirra listened. The words entered her brain and fell into place. The gears turned. The lock opened, and her brain shifted BACK a little.

The Argonian came around and knelt beside the thief. “Ra'Jirra. You didn’t kill Katia Managan. She’s still alive. She killed that giant imp.”

Ra'Jirra closed her eyes. Her lover was gone. No trace of her. She was… free!

She looked back at the two. The priest was standing in the doorway, she noticed now.

“No. You are too cruel. You lie. You’re not Honest John!”

“I am, Doll. This is Weedum-Ja. She is…”

“Let me take over, Honest John,” the Argonian said gently. “Ra'Jirra, I am S'thengir’s lover. I never did buy that story about you robbing him. But something happened that night. I finally wormed it out of him. When I put the pieces together, I realized what had happened. Ra'Jirra, the Shopkeeper saw her leave. She’s alive! Damned if I know where, but you sure as HELL didn’t kill anyone!”

“I didn’t?”

“No, but not for lack of trying. That was an ass move, locking her in like that. But she killed it. You’re guilty of being a giant asshole, but you didn’t kill her.”

The khajiit looked back to Honest John. He shook his head in agreement. “You didn’t kill anyone, Doll. But almost yourself.”

She sat up woozily. “I… didn’t kill… anyone?!”

She smiled for the first time in a long, long time. “I didn't kill anyone!” she cried to the Priest, who accepted her unexpected hug happily.

Then suddenly she turned back to the thief. "Honest John. I’ve got to find her. I’ve got to apologize!“

He nodded, and gestured to the Argonian. "Weedum-Ja and I will see you back to Kvatch. But Doll… something has happened. Kvatch is burned to the ground.”

“What?”

“Long story,” Weedum-Ja replied. “But if you want to come back, you’re welcome to come with me.”

“But… bandits?”

Both Weedum-Ja and Honest John laughed at that.

Honest John explained. “Doll Weedum-Ja here is a Level 20 Pilgrim. I found out the hard way. She could take out the entire city guard. Us bandits wouldn’t go near her. At least, not if we knew who she was!”

“Really?” she asked the Argonian, who bowed in response with a smirk on her face. “I do alright.”

“So… she might be dead anyway,” Honest John continued.

“I don’t care. I’m going to find her,” Ra'Jirra declared and stood up. Suddenly she was aware that she was naked.

“You kept taking off the clothes when we put them on,” the Priest explained.

“Wait,” Weedum-Ja interrupted. “Wait a minute…”

She went out of the room and came back in, rummaging through her own backpack. She drew out some clothes familiar to the khajiit. “My…” she started.

Then Weedum-Ja handed her the spear she’d carried for so long. Ra'Jirra took it and fell to her knees. It was like an old friend, comfortable to her hands.

She dressed in an instant, and the old clothes felt so good they brought a tear to her eye. Then they were out and was on their way back to Kvatch. The three had to bed down overnight along the trail, though, as the day was waning fast. But with the Argonian with them, they had no problem with bandits or anything else that night.

“Just one thing,” Weedum-Ja said as they settled into their beds for the night around the campfire.

“What’s that?” Ra'Jirra asked.

“If I ever see you within ten feet of S'thengir, I will kill you. Instantly and with no regret.”

Ra'Jirra laughed. “Fair enough! We women have to understand each other. Just give him my thanks.”

“Fuck. You should want to punch him. If he’d have told me the truth sooner, none of this would have had to happen. He’s an asshole. But he’s my asshole.”

“Good point,” Ra'Jirra conceeded. “I take back my thanks. Fuck him in the ass for me instead.”

“I will!”

Then she went to sleep. Her sleep was not peaceful though. In it, she saw a vision of Katia Managan wearing an outfit she’d never seen before. But she was no longer burnt and horrible. She was just the normal weird khajiit she had met before. The apparition walked up slowly to her, and she fell to her knees. “I’m so sorry, Katia. I was a coward. I didn’t think! I’m so sorry!”

“Rise, bitch,” said the apparition.

She stood up.

“You’ve paid for your crime. Almost,” said Katia Managan.

“Almost?”

The apparition pulled back it’s hand and let it fly at full speed into Ra'Jirra’s cheek. The blow sent her to the ground and stung like hell.

“There. Quest fulfilled. See you later, Ra'Jirra!” it said, and suddenly her dream was gone. She awoke with a decent bruise on her cheek. And she smiled. She deserved that.