For years, he has lingered in the alley across the way from the tea-house. Glenn had promised to take him, one time. Lifetimes ago. He could have always stood in this spot, between bouts of wood-cutting, his shy eyes taking in with longing the pretty frills and lovely dresses and painted faces. Sluts, he had heard the men say, and they would swat a woman on the rear-padding of their dresses so that they might squeal and playfully slap, or caress a breast pushed up by tight corsets. Perfumes and colors and gentle music.
And now he knew a little better, for sluts were to be had for free, and whores were paid for.
For weeks, Catch has worked his childish way in, what he believed, secret. And Tennant's presence was a constant demand on his mind, a roiling anger in the pit of his belly. Tennant was a friend. Tennant wooed Gloria, and made her laugh and blush, and gave her birthday-dances. He told Catch of spinning cups. And he had been Rhaena-swain, meant to take his horn - his horn!
Constables have asked their questions, and utter silence met his ears. And, like a child, Catch felt a thrill of boldness. Tennant had come to get his horn, and Catch, Catch! had thwarted it. He had tried to seduce Miss Gloria, and Catch would tell her about it, could warn her.
Sluts were free. Whores were paid.
The addled man straightens from where he crouched in the alley, passing his hand nervously over his best, clean clothes. It was one thing to be so recklessly bold, but another to actually go into the place that he had lingered in front of for so long. Pale-brown linen overshirt, with white Gloria-stitched embroidery, was buttoned over an undershirt, and his checkered, grey-and-black town pants were clean of all but the slightest of dust. He ever wore boots, and his feet itched within them, the bindings tight on his ankles.
He took deep, shuddering, frightened breaths, and then, he stepped into the street. He kept his strides as confident as he had seen other men's, and soon - too soon - he was shouldering his way into the tea-house, crowding the door like a brute, blinking to adjust his eyes to the inside.
"I would like tea and whores," he says, too-loud.