"So yeah," I said, picking gunk out from under my nail with the point of a stolen hairpin, "they doll you up. Full thing. Rouge on the cheeks, powder on the tits, perfume behind the knees. Paint your lips, line your eyes, make you look like a festival cake with tits. And then—strip you bare."
I glanced at the Dragon. His eye was still closed, but his tail twitched. He was listening.
"They smear you in oils like you're some kind of holy roast and shove you out there, shiny and naked, onto the godsdamned auction block. Wood planks still sticky from the last girl's cold feet and panic sweat. And you stand there, arms behind your back, head up, trying not to shiver even though you're naked and it's always fucking drafty."
I spat into the fire. "Nothing says dignity like being sold between a toothless boy and a goat with decorative horns."
Dragon made a noise. Probably at the goat bit.
I leaned back, stretching, smirking. "You know what the quickest way to get out of those market cages is?"
Silence. Perfect.
I batted my lashes. "Strut your stuff. Look as sellable as you can. Smile like you're already bought. Pop the hip. Wink at the old creeps. Make 'em want to bid. Make 'em think you're not some worn-out runaway with half a toenail and whip scars on her thighs. Make 'em think you're dessert."
I snorted. "You work the crowd right, you don't rot in that cage for days. You get sold fast. Which means? You sleep in a bed again."
Dragon cracked one eye open. "So prostitution as a form of prison escape?"
I grinned. "No, darling. Performance art as survival."
He huffed. "And then what?"
"Then you figure out how to escape that bed, obviously. But at least it has sheets."
I rolled onto my side, propped my head on my hand. "Some girls cry. Some go quiet. I learned to pose. Tilt the chin. Push the tits. Purse the lips. Make them fight over you. Then? You get choices. Not good ones. But better than cold straw and getting elbowed by a weeping stableboy."
The Dragon didn't say anything for a while.
Then: "You're disturbingly good at this."
I gave him a toothy smile. "Practice. And tits. Mostly tits."
He sighed.
I winked. "Don't worry. If you ever get captured and tossed in a cage, I'll show you how to pop a hip."
"Gods forbid," he muttered.
"Don't knock it till you've tried it."