a Pleasure Rites, #1

the female's idea of hospitality. Not even street boys lived in such squalor.
Tall metal fixtures lined the walls. Each fixture contained a shelf stuffed with hard-covered books. Khial had seen a few paper books before. His mother collected the artifacts.
The interior of the space was free of dirt, but everything looked near tatters. The curtains hung in doubles where you could see holes in one that the other covered. Near the back of the long room, shelves and doors were in a state of disrepair, barely hanging on hinges in some places. The rugs were worn. There were no solar panels, that Khial could see, and as the sun began to set, darkness ran its fingers up the wall of books.
The urchins that ran the streets of his home city, the boys who were thirds, fourths and beyond, had beds and clean sheets in government sponsored homes. The Sisterhood would have no less. But this female lived outside of civilization, away from any laws of sisterhood, or protection of men. If Khial were one to care, he would think it unconscionable.
Khial didn't have time to care. He had more important things on his mind.
He rose from the floor and put weight on his injured leg. He winced, but the pain was mild. It should have hurt more, but whatever salve the girl gave him lessened the pain considerably. Khial picked up the tube of ointment. "Neosporin," the tube read. He had never heard of such herbs. It looked ancient and was incased in plastics. It was the plastic that told him the herbal mixture was from a time long past. Perhaps he would find what he was looking for after all.
Khial went back to the reference shelves and commenced his search. Thumbing through the medical reference section, he found an array of manuscripts.
The Merck Manual of Diagnosis. Gray's Anatomy.
Across the room, Dain sat, looking fascinated by the girl as she stoked a fire inside a pit dug into the floor. Khial kept a wary eye on them both. Dain was the kind to bring strays home. Wounded birds, hungry dogs, traumatized schoolmates. Dain would look over the creatures with fascination, trying to figure out what ailed them, what was wrong, and how he could fix them. Dain grew up with no problems of his own, so the plights of others intrigued him, like putting together the scattered pieces of a puzzle.
The girl roasted the meat over the fire while Dain continued to question her.
"You've lived here all your life?"
The girl nodded.
"Just you and your mother? But now you're alone."
The girl glanced over to Khial and then back at Dain. "Is he your servant?" She spoke in a whispered tone, but Khial heard her clearly.
Dain's eyebrows rose in surprise, and then he grinned over at Khial. The girl, eyes fixed on the meat, missed the salacious wink Dain aimed at Khial.
"It’s just," the girl started and then swallowed, looking down at her hands. "I've read that people of darker skins were once enslaved by those of lighter skins."
Khial took a moment to survey the girl. Her skin was the smooth brown of an almond shell. She was pleasantly put together. For a female. She wasn't slight and frail like the pampered princesses of the city. Her limbs were strong, her curves full. Her hair, dark as coal, fell over her shoulders in a mix of braids and messy waves. But it was her eyes that struck him the most. They weren't a solid color so much as the liquid movement of brown, black and gold. If he looked at her long enough, Khial was certain she'd mesmerize him.
As if she'd heard his thoughts, she looked up at him and instantly he was held captive. In her liquid eyes, Khial saw longing, which was unfortunate for her because Khial was unwilling to provide for her. For her or any woman. For anyone, save Dain. But Khial couldn't communicate that fact. He was having trouble breaking away from the girl's molten gaze.
Dain's laughter broke the spell. "Khial is neither my slave nor my servant."
Khial rolled his eyes at the lie. Though the Sisterhood outlawed any practice of forced service hundreds of years ago, Khial had pledged, when they were just boys, to remain by Dain's side always. Dain pledged to do the same with him.
The girl looked at Dain with stars in her eyes. Khial had seen that look of desire many times before, in both women and men. Poor girl, thought Khial. Dain had his mother's beauty. Dain's mother, Darlyn, had used her looks and desirability to amass wealth for her family. Dain remained blissfully unaware of what his smile did to the human population.
Dain aimed that up-tilted weapon at Khial. Though not immune, Khial had years of practice at handling Dain and his smiles. He turned back to the books.
He was near the end of the section and still had not found anything close to what he sought. His frustration growing, a new section caught his eyes. Khial abandoned the medical reference section, his hands shaking at the trove of these new treasures.
The Arts and Entertainment section was small and easily overlooked. Khial pulled a thin booklet out. Andrew Lloyd Weber Classics, the book read.
"Women outlawed slavery in all its forms centuries ago," Dain said. "No one can force another to do anything they do not want."
Khial glanced up to see the girl's eyes draw at this, doubtful of Dain's words. Dain took her hand into his own. Khial's wonder at his find turned sour. He stashed the book into his pack and marched over to the cozy pair.
"Dain," his voice came out as a bark and the two of them jerked apart. "It’s still light out. We can make it back if we leave now."
"Nonsense," Dain frowned. "The sun's nearly set and Chanyn has prepared this lovely meal for us."
Trust Dain to remember his impeccable manners in every situation. The meal was burnt, chewy, and mushy, all at the same