“Was I that awful when I was one of the Ladies?” Sloan set down her empty tray and rubbed her temples.

 

Gilna and Jorg exchanged glances, then Gilna replied, “No. You weren’t one of the Bitches.” Her feline tail swished on the word. “You were one of the Indifferents.”

 

“So I ignored you. You would think I would know better considering where I can from.”

 

Jorg patted her arm which, given his hulking frame, felt like a punch. “It’s is okay. You know better now, so you learn.”

 

“Either ‘it’s okay’ or ‘it is okay.’ Don’t use ‘it’s’ and ‘is’ together. And thank you.”

 

“Thank you!” The orc flashed a tusky smile as he made a notation in the small notebook he always carried around. “These mixed up words are confusing.”

 

“They are, but your Common is getting so good! You are learning as well.”

 

He grunted in what Sloan now recognized as a laugh. “So you…are…learning.” The notebook came back out. “Thank you for teaching me.”

 

“Thank you for not killing me when I accidentally spilled hot grease on you. How is your leg?”

 

Another grunt-laugh. “It is well. The poultice Mishi gave me kept it from…um…from having permanent marks.”

 

“No scars? Good.”

 

“Scars, yes.” Another jot in the book.

 

“Really, the goal is to have all the Ladies be indifferent,” Gilna said as if the entire previous conversation had not taken place. “Our job is to be invisible – quietly observe, then have what they need already taken care of before they even know they need it. That’s how it’s done in the noble houses.”

 

Ah. A puzzle piece clicked into place in Sloan’s head. “Is that why you taught me to walk this way?”

 

“Yes. The silent step is essential. The nobles or, in this case, the Ladies, are busy with their little affairs. The big affairs – that is, keeping their homes running – should never even occur to them. They should just assume everything will always be ready for whatever they will need without noticing we’re there. Of course, for a Khajiit like me, it comes naturally, but you humans with your big feet have to work harder.” She threw a wink at Jorg and added, “And, of course, orcs are just hopeless.”

 

“That makes sense, I guess.” Sloan ignored Jorg’s mock protests. “But isn’t that a bit much? This isn’t a noble’s house, it’s just a broth…”

 

“Oh, don’t say that in front of the Matron! Besides, you know better. You were one of the ladies. You know how the Matron runs this place. You also know that some of the nobles use our services. They expect the same treatment as when they’re at home. If you want the real money, you want the banquet serving jobs. When the Matron throws a party, everything has to be perfect. And by everything, I mean we have to be perfect. Those who work the banquets get nearly as much as the Ladies.”

 

“I see. Well, I owe her a lot and I want to have my debt paid off before I die, so I suppose that’s a good goal.”

 

Gilna laughed and seemed about to say something else, but the words were interrupted by Mishi’s voice.

 

“Okay, everyone, I think we’re done for tonight! Good work today. Sloan, did you sharpen the knives? Yes? Let me see…not bad, you’re getting better. Let’s put them to the test, shall we?”

 

The room exploded in excitement as all the kitchen staff set down what they were doing and gathered while Mishi said, “Jorg, if you would be so kind?”

 

The orc nodded and Sloan gave him a clap on the back as he passed, eliciting a grin from him. He moved to the far end of the room, then bent and picked up the massive wood table that was usually where they ate and, with a grunt of exertion, turned it on its side and swung it around so the table top faced the room, creating, in effect, a five-foot high wall that stretched nearly the width of the room.

 

“Now remember, no one else needs to know about this. If the Matron knew…” Mishi left the thread unspoken but they all nodded in understanding. There were whispers and quiet titters. Everyone loved a little rebellion.

 

“This is my favorite part of the week,” Gilna whispered in Sloan’s ear. “I’m terrible at it, but it’s so fun!”

 

Sloan nodded as the first staff members stepped up to the invisible line denoted by where Mishi stood and picked up knives. Their illicit weekly knife throwing nights were fun, and not just because of the secretive nature of it. Sloan had surprised herself by discovering she was actually quite proficient at it. She watched the others as she stood in line, silently critiquing their forms or their releases. Gilna, as she had said, was quite bad; her feet were too close together and she always released far too late, which meant her knives often ended up skidding across the floor.

 

When it came to her turn, Sloan picked out three spots she wanted to hit. One was a stain left over from something spilled at lunch, the next a warp in one of the planks that had once been a knothole, and the third was the burn mark she always tried to finish on, no matter where she happened to be in the line. Today it was difficult because it was at the far end of the table from where she stood, so she would need to throw it across several others’ sight lines.

 

She threw along with the rest for the first two, nailing the stain dead center but off a little to the right of center on the knothole (the knife had a heavier handle, which threw off the balance. Or so she told herself), then waited for everyone else to finish their third throw before attempting her own.

 

The burn mark was about crotch high to an average sized man, so she threw a little harder and with less arc than she would have preferred. The knife spun across the distance like a dervish and she winced as it fell beneath the line she had been attempting, but when it thudded into place, the tip was just in the bottom of the mark. She smiled, then jumped in surprise when she heard a cheer behind her.

 

“What…”

 

Gilna grabbed one of Sloan’s hands and squeezed it. “That was incredible!”

 

“It was?”

 

“Yes! I won money!” The Khajiit held out a handful of coins with her other hand. Behind her, Jorg looked unhappy.

 

“Wait, you were betting on…”

 

“Well, it seemed a hard throw. I gave Jorg very good odds, though!”

 

Sloan raised her eyebrows at Jorg. “You bet against me?”

 

The orc shrugged, looking sheepish. “I couldn’t have made it.”

 

“Well, just because you…”

 

Mishi clapped her hands and Sloan turned in time to see the last of the knives hit the table. “Okay, let’s get everything cleaned up. Jorg, again, please?”

 

He huffed as he made his way passed them and Sloan gave him another pat and, when he looked over his shoulder at her, said, “Next time, don’t doubt me.”

 

A grunt. “I won’t. Ever again.”

 

She laughed. The work in this new (new) life was harder but somehow less complex than before. While on the surface, the Ladies’ job seemed simple – just have sex with strangers! How hard could it be? – it had been mentally exhausting to have to pretend to be cheerful all the time. By the end of each day in her previous life, she had needed those long soaks in the fancy tubs to ease the pain inflicted by a day’s worth of cocks penetrating every orifice she had. Her ass, especially, felt so much better now, however many weeks later (it was hard to keep track when one never left the building and there were no windows).

 

The new job was simpler, not least because she already knew how to do much of it. Certainly there was a lot to learn, especially the refinement bits that had most certainly not been a part of her time in the orphanage, but cooking and cleaning had been a part of her daily life for the vast majority of it. Scrubbing a pot was the same everywhere, no matter how fancy it looked.

 

And she had friends now. She glanced at Gilna, who was busy re-counting her winnings – Sloan still couldn’t quite believe they had actually bet on her throw – and smiled. While she had had friends of sorts with the Ladies, they had never progressed farther than talk about work. And not a one of them, even Seb (it still made her giggle to know that Seb and the other guys were lumped in as part of the ‘Ladies’), had reached out to her after her demotion to the kitchens, even when they noticed her serving them at meals.

 

Although she did dearly miss the soft clothes and softer beds, and she still shaved everywhere (much to the amusement of the other staff members) because she did not feel completely clean otherwise, she didn’t miss the lame jokes and the constant strutting and the pretending to be impressed by average penises and…well, the men in general. Some had been nice, in their way, but none had meant anything to her. All in all, she decided, she preferred this life.