Day Twenty Eight : Fawn - Whipped

Fawn

Definition

1 : to court favor by a cringing or flattering manner

2 : to show affection — used especially of a dog

Some people will be glad to learn the origins of fawn—and there's a hint about the word's
etymology in that declaration. Middle English speakers adapted an Old English word meaning
"to rejoice" to create the verb faunen, which shifted in spelling over time to become fawn.
That Old English word, in turn, derives from fagan, meaning "glad." Fagan is also an ancestor
of the English adjective fain, whose earliest (now obsolete) meaning is "happy" or "pleased." 

The Dungeon was booming and business was good. I saw in my office, diligently working on the
accounts (many who disagreed with the ethics of my business often sent tax inspectors my way to try
and shut me down by way of tax evasion. However, my accounts were spotless and the tax inspectors
confirmed it - no dodgy dealings here. In fact, I often generated a lot of additional business that way
too. I once landed such a large account that I sent my accuser a company gift basket. They never did
say whether they appreciated the ball gags or not. Still, each to their own tastes, as goes the founding
policy of my company.)

I glanced up at the wall of television screens. Yes, my lads and ladies were all safe. Of course, this
was only a remote connection to the screens in the security room and all staff had emergency buzzers
located in their own offices and about their person. However i believed you could never be too safe.
Some clients, even though most preferred to be on the receiving end, had trouble separating fantasy
and reality. Any client that did that, even if it was a small infraction, received an immediate lifetime
ban. My staff were not other people’s playthings to be amused with and then broken and thrown away,
they were professional working adults and by God I would command the respect they deserve as
such or someone would feel my wrath and the wrath of the small squad of ex special forces I hired for
that very reason. Staff first, clients second. Always. 

My pencil squirt squeaked slightly as I shifted my weight, the PVC rubbing against the chair. Technically
, as I now ran the show and had hirelings to take care of the staff, I really no longer had the need to
dress up full, ‘Mistress of the Night’ style. Heck, I could probably come to work in my pajamas and no
one would blink an eye (just in case i took it out). However, even though I only took on one or two very
long standing clients now and then, I still felt that standards should be maintained. 

Speaking of special clients, my eyes snagged on a name on the list which was one of the larger
contributors to my business staying in the black. A name that, every time i looked at it, made me want
to groan out loud in frustration.

He had come to see me a few months ago, his aide having requested a personal appointment with
myself. 

I had refused six times already but that damn aide just kept coming back, slightly more desperate each
time. Eventually, more out of pity for the poor bloke who had sounded on the edge of tears the last time
I spoke to him, I agreed to the meeting, simply so I could tell the guy to his face that i would refusing
his request.

He arrived that evening (my working hours generally tended to be at night, but we did make exceptions
for special requests - if i was feeling generous. I was not at this time.)

He sat across my overflowing desk (pain apparently generates a lot of paperwork - especially when it
comes to insurance). He was completely nondescript with sandy brown hair, neat trousers and a dark
grey pullover sweater. Had I walked past him in the street, I would have written him off as a
background character - no more noticeable than the pigeons going through the trash or the withered
trees in their little cages growing through the pavement, trying to strive towards the smog covered
sunlight up above. 

That is, I would have walked right past him, had he not been the Crown Prince of the Kingdom. Then
again, Crown Princes don’t tend to walk on gritty city pavements, they usually get driven everywhere
in their own personal carriage pulled by snowy white steeds or something. 

He looked at me solemnly, blinking those big gold owl eyes of his (his only striking feature - and one
that unfortunately only reminded me of bad memories) at me slowly and calmly.

I gestured impatiently at him to speak.

“I understand that you do not like the Royal Family that much.” he said, the question completely out of
left field. 

I blinked, surprised, and considered lying to be polite, decided I didn't care and just said the truth. “No.”
I said bluntly. “I don’t.”

“Well, you have met my brother after all.” he mused. 

I bit my tongue. Even now, client confidentiality forbade me for revealing the name of any of my clients.
The services we offered here…. They weren’t considered ‘proper’ at all by most conventional members
of society and the only reason my business could stay afloat is that we absolutely ensured that no one
would find out they were a member. If it ever got out that we’d revealed a name, my business would
be sunk overnight.

Even if i really, really hated a previous client and thought he deserved whatever he got coming to him,
I still couldn’t.

“What makes you think that?” I asked, in a neutral tone, my face perfectly composed. In this business,
self control was the number one absolutely necessary attribute, for both yourself and the client. You
had to be in control at all times on the job.

The prince shifted uncomfortably in his chair. “It wasn’t anything you did.” he clarified. “My brother ...
has never seen an issue with his appetites and boasts of them quite regularly. I happened to see an
article of you once and my brother mentioned that he had attended your, ah, shop.”

Everything inside me turned to ice. All our clients were forced to sign a strict confidentiality waiver,
stating that they must never reveal to a soul, anybody else they may come across in their activities. In
fact, the entire building was designed that no client could ever ‘accidentally’ come across another and
it was normal procedure that the clients could come for years and never see another soul except for
their attendant. Group activities had to be requested and only after going through a strict vetting
process with plenty of contractual obligations and waivers. 

Of course that arrogant arsehole would assume the confidentiality rule applied to him. If he was so
open about his own tastes, then he’d have no compunction about dropping some else in it - probably
at the worst possible moment, purely for his own amusement.  

And to think that my security team had thought I was being too paranoid. 

Well, since that arsehole had already broken his own confidentiality….

“If you already know that your brother visited my business.” I said, my tone like ice, “Perhaps you
already know he incurred a lifetime ban - which includes this property and a restraining order against
him touching any of my staff.”

As far as i knew i was the only business in the country that had successfully enforced barring a
member of Royalty from entering its doors. 

The prince, the other prince, winced. “I had heard there was..an incident.”

“an incident?” my voice, cool before but an apocalyptic wasteland now, “in the few minutes it took for
my staff member to activate her personal alarm and for my security team to reach them, your brother
beat one attendant so hard that he was black and blue and had severe internal injurys. The other,
female, attendant had both her legs and one of her arms broken - along with a concussion, so she
only had the one arm to try and fend him off as he tried to rape her.”

After this incident I had installed security cameras in all the rooms. I didn’t care that it had cost me
several well paying clients. If they weren’t comfortable about my staff being overseen for their own
protection, then they didn’t deserve to touch them. Self protection training was now mandatory for all
staff. I converted the top floor into a dojo for training and every member went at least one a week. 

I paused, then added, “One of the reasons they were hurt so badly is that they hadn’t tried to defend
themselves in the first place. They didn’t want to be accused of treason you see.”

The prince was visibly wilting in the chair. He clearly had no idea how bad it had been. Poor precious
baby. Ha. 

“Of course, that was my error. Now I ensure that all my staff know that if a client is being violent, they
have every right to defend themselves. Whatever the cost, I will defend them.” I said fiercely. 

I would too. Whatever the cost. 

“So you see your Highness.” I put my palms daintily on my desk and leaned forward, my smile full of
sweet poison. “Royalty aren’t welcome here. You lot don’t seem to understand how to play by the
rules. So, with all due respect, get the hell out of my office.”

He didn’t move. Typical. I went to buzz for security.

“Wait.” he said quickly, holding up a hand. “Please.”

I held my finger above the buzzer. “Five seconds.”

“I choose you because you don’t like Royalty.” he said rapidly. 

“Many other businesses offer that kind of service.” I said cooly. “Three seconds.”

“But not really. They’d love to have a member of Royalty patronise their firm. You genuinely hate us.” he
argued. 

“FYI, royal patronage is not all it’s cracked up to be and also, I won't have a client who cannot
differentiate between reality and fantasy. It’s one of the big no nos of our type of work. Two seconds.”

“I am not my brother.” he finally said in frustration. “I do not have his tastes. I just want someone who
does not love me.”

I hesitated. “You want to be hated?” I asked, curious. 

“No.” he replied honestly. “I just don’t want to be loved.”

Usually people asked for someone who hated them if they didn’t want to be loved. I don’t think anyone
had ever asked specifically for indifference. After all, hate was still an emotion, still an acknowledgement
of your existence. Whereas indifference...was not.

“Perhaps idolised is the right word - embarrassing as that may sound to describe yourself like that.” he
said sheepishly. “People love me, hang on my every word basically twenty four seven, it is...tiring.”

I rolled my eyes “It’s the crown they love, not you.” I said bluntly. 

“I know,” he agreed. “I haven’t done anything to earn their love or respect. I just happened to pull the
winning lottery ticket when I was born. That’s it. But equally, I don't know what I'd be without it. I’ve
spent my entire life learning to serve the crown and all its necessities, to the point where I don't know
where the crown ends and I begin. Even so, they will not stop praising every little thing I do - whether I
deserve it or not. ”

“If you were a college student, i’d say you were trying to ‘find yourself’ You know, who you are without
all the bullshit or whatever”. I said sarcastically. Yes, i used air quotes. 

He smiled. “Finding yourself as you put it is not an option for me. I belong to the crown, end of.”

“Then what do you want?” 

“Quiet.” he said. 

***

My skirt squeaked again as I stretched. Quiet, huh, i thought. 

I had finally agreed to the prince’s request. Not because he was royalty but because he wasn’t his
brother and, despite my constant snarking at him, I could see that he genuinely needed help. His
clothes had hung off of him, his hair was dry and brittle, his skin was awful and there were deep bags
under his eyes. I had started this business, despite what anyone said, to help people  even in this
unconventional manner i picked. 

Once a month the Prince came to see me. I saw him personally, not because I wanted to, but because
it a) wouldn’t invoke any trauma memories among the staff members previously affected by royalty and
b) there was zero chance of me going starry eyed over a real life prince. Apparently by this point he
could tell when someone was doing that, even if they didn’t say anything. 

So he would come to see me. We would go to one of the empty guest rooms. I would sit on the (luckily
plushly carpeted floor) and he would put his head in my lap and go to sleep for an hour. 

Quiet. 

Each to their own tastes.