Big Bad Brutus

A Story by Autumn

Another incomplete one for another friend. At least they never finish their's either...

He was an ogre of a man, with longish brown wavy hair that wisped just to the tops of his muscular shoulders. His eyes were a green-flecked blue that would be breathtaking on a woman, but his personality made his eyes look sinister as they bulged out of their undersized sockets. With each arm like kegs and a neck that could only be described as triangular, he was a barbarian beauty through and through. Yet for the women who knew him or had heard about him, he was something to be avoided.

This was because Brutus had the voice of a war marshal wasn’t afraid to use it. His brusque hands jogged the behinds of even the most reserved of ladies in town and had done far worse to the less Quaker-inspired dressers.

Ultimately, he was a menace, though a menace that served a definite purpose. Brutus was a bully that didn’t take kindly to other bullies, and had promptly scared them all out of town long ago.

As terrifying as he was when conscious, his favorite pastime was spent drinking his senses away in the town bar (fondly called NN for its failed beginnings as an Inn whose reputation and business faded more quickly than the painted on “I” on the sign above the door outside.

Consequently, Brutus could only be described as incapacitated for more than eighteen hours of every day and while the other six shot terror through the spines of young women, most were willing to accept this in exchange for living without fear the rest of the time.

Esmeralda (self-proclaimed “Essie”) did not feel that the citizens of Blackwaters should have to succumb to such sacrifices of maiden decency for mere protection, however. She kept hoping for a Lancelot to burst through the non-existent gates of a community of well under two hundred people and save them all from certain damnation.

The other women in town made fun of her hopes and were curious why she of all people held them. She was very pretty, but for whatever reason had managed to avoid Brutus’ gaze. Some thought that it was because of her Grandma Sophie, who was well-known for her witchcraft.

Even so, Essie knew it was only a matter of time before Brutus found her. Her almond-shaped eyes brimmed with a honeyed brown that shimmered when she laughed, which she did often, often bolstering others to join in with her. She was a peasant and a devout Christian, so wore well-worn clothing, but always managed to keep it glaringly clean. Essie’s mousy brown hair started as nothing outstanding, but after she gave it hours of care every morning, it took on a life of its own, becoming more of a chestnut mare racing down to her mid-back. Being a practical woman, she often wore it in a braid to keep it out of her eyes when she helped her father run the family-owned stable.

She was nervous tonight, because her father had commanded her to meet a tenant at NN, well-known local hideout of Brutus. Kicking herself for bathing her hair in a clover solution and spending nearly hours brushing and combing out the tangles in her loosely curled hair, she made her way across the town square.

Haltingly, she grasped the brass door knob in her clammy hand and pushed the door open into an extremely dim and murky environment. Dipping her head down, she made her way meekly to the table towards the middle of the room, hoping to attract only the attention of the tenant. This was, she realized, a futile attempt, and she heard his terrible laugh buffeting the walls and sending sensible women fleeing from the crowded bar.

Essie abruptly got up to leave; maybe she could meet up with Mr. Norberg outside the door instead.

“Thump! Thump! Thump!” with each of Brutus’ steps, the floor tremored in warning. “Floosh!” Suddenly, Essie was dripping ale onto the alcohol and blood-splattered floor. Her dress was soaked and sticking to her bodice and her hair was clinging un-artfully to the edges of her face. She shuddered to look up, but knew that eventually she must.

With great trepidation flooding her veins, she tipped her head back to look into Brutus’ bulging and hungry eyes. He grinned a horrible grin, missing several teeth and she saw no light in his eyes as he grabbed her by the hair and dragged her through the swinging doors to the outside.

While screaming, it was impossible for Essie to still her drumming heart, or even feel the sharp fingernails of pain trickle across her scalp from which she was dangling. She heard he was trying to speak, but he was so drunk that it was coming out as more of a gurgle that could not be deciphered above her own screaming.

“Shut up, you little mutt!” he growled.

There was a dull thwap and Essie felt sharp pain rack into her brain before the world went abruptly black around her.

“So, you couldn’t keep your legs crossed could ya?!” barked Essie’s Grandmother Gloria.

“What are you talking about?” Essie wondered aloud, but took a look down at her previously flawless outfit. Her dress was covered in mud and blood, so that it looked a little bit like a small child had thrown up their dinner all the way down the front of her. It hung in fringes along her torso and there were deep purpling bruises all over her legs and chest. This is when the pain abruptly started, first as a dull ache and then on to a throbbing agony that came in waves. Her whole body ached and the realization of Brutus’s actions the night before fuzzed itself into her brain and would not leave her. “no..” she whispered weakly.

Her grandmother’s usually fierce eyes softened beneath Essie’s desperate gaze. “So, that’s it then,” her beloved grandma croaked, and the fire returned to her glittering greens.

Essie’s shoulders began to shake and her lips trembled as the sobs, long and hard, began. Gloria’s nose wrinkled up into her forehead. “Now, stop it, you useless girl! Blubbering about like a goldfish on land won’t do any of us any good,” she ordered with a crushing hug and a forcing up of Essie’s chin. “Whose dick did this to you?”

Essie was shocked into submission. She arched her eyebrows in horror, “Grandma, you know what Pastor Brown has to say about such awful cursing,” Essie admonished.

“Oh, bully for him then. Now if you are quite done acting the role of the Virgin Mary, I’ll tell you what we’re going to do.”

Esmerelda recognized the familiar glint of mischief in her Grandmother’s eyes, and ordinarily wouldn’t encourage the next formulating step, but as she lay, gritting her teeth against the pain, she couldn’t think of anything else that she wanted more in the world than for Brutus to get what was coming to him.

“Are you even listening to me, you little ninny?!”

“Well I---“

“Don’t answer that! Just listen to your old grandma. You know she doesn’t have much longer with this world and I will be damned if I don’t wreak havoc on this nameless imbecile before I go… First things first, we must work out a lie for your father to swallow. Now, until the pregnancy begins to show, it should be easy enough, but after that, I’m not so sure, maybe its best if you consider who you want to marry.”

“My…What?!”

“Now it will still cause some scandal for those that care to count backwards, but it happens, and so long as you are married off before the baby comes, it shouldn’t be too bad.”

“My…What?!!” Essie spluttered more loudly than before.

“Did I stutter, you thoughtless child, your pregnancy.”

“But I… That is to say… I can’t have… That can’t be… It… No… He couldn’t have…”

“Yes, well, if we’re ready to come back to coherent thoughts now, it’s just something that you are going to have to come to terms with, better sooner than later, because we really must find someone who will marry you. You were a pretty girl, and after we clean you up, you will be again. I think that I should be able to manage to line you up with someone quite good.”

“No, I will not lie to my father or my future husband. It would be dishonest.”

“Poppycock! You will lie to your father or be thrown out on the street. What father in his right mind would want a daughter who let herself get raped? I knew I should have taught you to defend yourself, but your father wouldn’t have it. Said it wasn’t lady-like or some bludger like that, well, look where we are now… And, just who do you think is going to take on tampered merchandise?”

“It doesn’t matter. It would be most unchristian to make up a story about what happened last night. I’ll get me to a nunnery”

“A pregnant nun? Yes, well, we’ll deal with that later, I suppose. In the meantime, who was it you said did this to you?