Chapter 26: Work

That terrible gaze seemed to intensify if such a thing were possible. "So far's this Ape can tell, you en't just a scrappled prinker nor even some corked jack-in-an-ape dodgin' between the squitters. Reckon you might just be a right brockagain buska with a few massequas still grippin' them platters, ain't you?"

Elara remained stubbornly silent under the onslaught, focusing all her waning energies on maintaining her glacial composure in the face of Maggie's singeing cadences. This unrelenting, acidic dressing down was clearly the crucible by which her steadfastness would be judged, the gauntlet on the Matranker's terms alone. One misstep, one reflexive cringe or instinctive backslide into civility, and she knew with cold certainty that her tenuous welcome on these hardscrabble shores would be irretrievably revoked.

Finally, after what seemed an infinite interregnum, Maggie allowed her ravaged features to settle into something almost resembling approval.

"Right then. This bor'in's lasted long enough, I fancy." The massive chair creaked in protest as she hauled herself to her feet, towering over Elara from point-blank range now. "You've slickered a bob or two from the Ape's own platter, and no fameybodkin, so I'll root you a gambit as I see it."

Elara didn't so much as blink as that cadaverous visage loomed over her, merely refraining with glacial fortitude from Maggie's next pronouncement.

When it came, the Matranker's decree carried all the finality of a judge's closing gavel.

"I'll fant out what's to become of this falconer dollymop of mine whilst she gullies under the Anchor's sturr'brackers."

Maggie held Elara's gaze for a long moment, her obsidian stare seeming to weigh and measure the younger woman's soul. Finally, she gave a slow nod, as if coming to a final decision.

"Make no mistake, falconer - harborin' an unbobbed dollymop like yourself carries grave hazards, even under this Ape's sturr'brackers." Maggie's gravelly baritone carried no hint of jesting. "Matters little that you've shed your silken bridzers and prinkered up in some slubberdegullion rags. To the unmuttered badblades and gullywhoppers dodgin' about my pucker, you'll forever remain a topside crackdoll until you've bloodied your fambars proper."

The Matranker leaned in closer, her desiccated features set in granitic lines. "So here's the stark scoremuckle of it: I could pack you off back to them hanleys and josserines right same with naught but the dusters on your crackers and a tender wish of 'cheeree keep.' Like as not your peekies'd be shucker-duchered by first muzzlighter if you couldn't square a chummy acquair."

Elara refused to so much as flinch, despite the undisguised threat underlying Maggie's words. Her own expression remained an inscrutable mask of composure and barely restrained resolve.

"However..." Maggie drew back slightly, something almost grudgingly approaching approval flickering across her ruined countenance. "That slibberdesanch of a Nell has taken an uncommon duck to you for some rodge. An' truth be slubbered, I find myself...intrigued, by the badmash'd buska you've unboxed here before my ogles today."

Straightening once more to her full, towering height, the Matranker fixed Elara with her lancing stare. "So I'll fant you this gambit, dollymop: I'll grant you lean-to under my Anchor's sturrs for a few orts more. Just a few mind - won't have no unbobbed prinkersquitters dodgin' perpetual under my rumpstall. You'll pull your strindge and square that jomer of yours alongside my other badchis. And more'n that..."

Something akin to grim satisfaction seemed to settle over Maggie's features as she drew out the pause momentarily.

"You'll need slick the harsh scoremuckle that your previous bickerboot as some highfangled prinker en't worth a slibberdesanch down here. Can't go prancin' about on your trotters actin' like some clammed dutchess lest you draw a slittock from any Joe Mudzog willin' to claim his merryworth of a topside crackbaby's doxy-pricks."

Elara felt her throat constrict almost imperceptibly, but otherwise remained utterly motionless listening to Maggie's ultimatum. The older woman's dire bluntness could not be mistaken.

"So..." That terrible chuckle like grinding gravel. "What'll it be, Missy? Another few orts squitterin' amongst the unchrissom'd whilst you slick the Ape's dowries? Or shall I have my mollblockers fam you back to wherever your former bickerboot's dishemeled slubbers wangled off to?"

For an eternal few heartbeats, the stygian chamber's silence was absolute. Elara could feel the younger, more naive self she'd arrived as finally withering away under the purifying intensity of Maggie's stark pronouncement and irresistible gravity.

At last, she drew a fortifying breath and straightened her spine, squaring her shoulders as a look of adamantine determination replaced her previous impassivity. When she spoke, it was with a thrilling mixture of clarity, conviction and utter finality.

"I accept your terms...Matranker. Do with me as you will - for I am resolved to reforge my path here amongst your flock, on your uncompromising grounds alone. My former self is forfeit...and I'll not have it, nor any who knew me by that guise, spoken of again whilst I draw breath. That...debutante is deceased. Slain by the very same Fates that delivered this new crucible into your unswerving hands."

Elara's luminous eyes blazed with an almost feral intensity as she held Maggie's unyielding stare. "I am Elara alone now. A mere falconer, stripped to my barest essences and awing to none save my own drive to endure whatsoever ultimate reclamations Destiny has reserved for me in these slumsides. Make of me what example you will - but know that I shall meet every gruelling test without flinch or hedge. No tucked Cheetham nor dollymop's vapours shall tame this burka you've apprehended before yourself today."

Elara's defiant declaration seemed to hang in the air, charged with gritty conviction. Maggie appraised her with that piercing obsidian stare as if weighing the younger woman's resolve against whatever harsh judgement she had in mind.

Then, without warning, Maggie lunged forward and seized Elara in an unexpectedly fierce embrace. The Matranker's wiry strength was staggering as she crushed Elara against her, heedless of the falconer's involuntary stiffening at the invasive contact.

The younger woman gasped as the older woman's wiry strength pinned her against the wall. Her heart raced with fear and excitement at being so close to someone who could easily break her if they wanted to. But there was something else too - an undercurrent of desire that made Elara tremble beneath Maggie's touch.

Maggie pressed their bodies together even tighter, feeling every curve of Elara's young form through their clothes. Then suddenly, without warning or permission from either party involved, their lips met in a forceful kiss.

Elara couldn't help but recoil as Maggie's lips crashed against hers, forcing her mouth open with the older woman's tongue. The taste of stale beer and smoke was overwhelming, making her want to gag. But it wasn't just that - there was something else beneath the surface of Maggie Doyle's kiss that made Elara feel dirty and used.

As their bodies pressed together, grinding against each other in a way that left no doubt about what Maggie wanted from this encounter, Elara found herself growing increasingly uncomfortable. She tried to pull away but Maggie held her tightly against the wall with an iron grip. Her heart raced and her breath came faster as she clutched at Maggie's shirt for support - not because she enjoyed being pinned down like this or because she shared any desire for this woman who smelled like last night's spilt ale...but because deep down inside where fear mixed with lust...she knew what would happen if she didn't play along.

"This is just a glimmer of what awaits you out there, little buska," Maggie growled, her desiccated cheek rough against Elara's own. "If you can't so much as abide an intimate advance from a woman who means you no deeper harm, how d'you expect to endure amongst the unmuttered badblades that roam these pucker slumsides?"

Releasing Elara with a rough shove that set her momentarily off-balance, Maggie's carved visage seemed to darken further. "Out in the gullies, a pretty slip like you won't merit so much as a flittermouse's fart of personal bounds or civility. Any harsh handlings or rough affronts you suffer will come with far fouler intent from males who know naught of courtesy or consequences."

Her gravelly tones took on a razor's edge. "So thicken that dewyprick hide of yours right smart, little prinkersquitter. Lest the very first unchrissom'd mugslinger to happen across you robs you of any wider prospects down here for good before you've even had a chance to really slick the harsh scoremuckle."

Boring into Elara with that lancing stare, Maggie jabbed a gnarled finger against the younger woman's breastbone - not hard enough to truly injure, but with enough force to reinforce her point.

"That's just a glimmer of what you'll face whilst gulleyin' through these slubbers, unshielded and unbobbed as you presently are. You've got to inure yourself to brusque violations of your personal tufferings, no matter how unseemly or unmuttered they may strike your formerly delicate senses. Anything less, and you'll be naught but another crackdoll fittered away to the most unscrupulous jomer's whimsies down here."

Elara absorbed the Matranker's blunt lesson stoically, refusing to let even a flicker of discomfort or uncertainty show. She knew Maggie spoke nothing but unvarnished truth - hers would be a harsh, unforgiving path requiring the utmost fortitude…

Elara remained steadfast under Maggie's intense scrutiny, her expression betraying no hint of the trepidation she felt. The Matranker's words rang with brutal honesty - the path ahead would be arduous and unforgiving in the extreme.

"So ya see, little buska," Maggie's gravel tones sliced through the heavy silence, "survivin' down here requires more than just pluck an' flintiness. Ye'll need to square yerself to the harsh scoremuckle at every turn, lest ye find yerself done for afore yer prospects have even sprouted proper legs."

The rawboned woman raked Elara with that piercing obsidian stare. "Which brings me to the stark reckoning, lass - how d'ye intend to earn yer lean-to 'neath me sturrs an' prove yer mettle as aught but some unbobbed dollymop in over 'er dewyprick prickles?"

Elara felt her throat constrict momentarily at the Matranker's blunt query, her mind racing. What difficult labours or daunting tests might be expected of her?

As if reading the younger woman's apprehension, Maggie's ravaged features hardened further. "Make no mistake, little prinkersquitter - ye'll find no coddled charities nor fancied mercies here. This en't some topside josserines where ye can wangle yer keep on puckered prickles an' doe-eyed duckings alone."

The crone leaned in, her words carrying a razer's edge. "So get that slicked right smart afore any highfalutin' notions take root - I've no room nor waft for unbobbed dollymops unwillin' to pull their full strindge. Ye'll soon find yerself backhanded right out me gullies if that's yer upspoke."