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Nightingale, when David had left, stalked out of her room. She was curious - and apprehensive - to see how things had gone over with Michael. She figured that she would get the best insight from Rose - the girl she'd sent to deliver a message to the man.

As she made her way down the corridor, she saw Magenta hanging out of her room, leaning against the doorframe and talking to Lace, a fairly young Inamorata, but not a new, green one like Rose.

As she passed, she stopped, seeing both Magenta and Lace eyeing her. The look in their eyes was both envious and appreciative and made Nightingale pause in mystification.

"There she is, the woman of the hour," said Lace, smiling. Nightingale's eyebrows rose as she looked down at the tiny, high-voiced brunette.

"I worship the ground you walk on, Gale," added Magenta, bowing obsequiously. She twirled her hand and her nose nearly scraped the ground before she straightened up, grinning broadly. Nightingale noticed, with a pang, that there was a bruise on her face. "You have made our day."

"How?" asked Nightingale, laughing.

"Your client - just how rich is he?" asked Lace.

"Which client?" asked Nightingale blithely, grinning teasingly.

"Cheeky bitch," said Lace affectionately. "But you know who we mean. The client you saw last night. It was the talk of the bordello."

"Such quality gossip," mocked Nightingale lightly. "But I suppose you mean Mr. Beckett?" She was careful not to let herself refer to him as David or as Detective Beckett - he'd expressly told her to keep his government position a secret, and she knew also that referring to him by first name was dangerous.

"Yes," they answered in unison. Nightingale smiled again.

"He's filthy stinking rich," said Nightingale. "But what's so great about that?"

Magenta and Lace looked at each other and began to mutter. Nightingale glared irritably as they murmured, every once in a while eyeing her with a fair amount of doting suspicion and incredulity, all the while tittering.

"She doesn't know," remarked Lace.

"That's really weird. I can't believe she doesn't," said Magenta.

"Are you two going to stand there giggling and pointing like drooling clients, or will you please tell me what the fuck is going on?" snapped Nightingale.

"Easy there," retorted Lace, glaring. "You're quite the grumpy birdie this morning."

Nightingale grimaced. She had no idea what made her so short with the two of them. And she knew that, by their wounded expressions, she should not have compared them to clients. That was a touch below the belt.

"My apologies. But would you please-" she began.

Magenta cut her off. "It's Bobby. I'm not sure what you did to Mr. Beckett, or what he said to Bobby about it, but Bobby's been singing and dancing and sashaying about like it's the best day of his life. He kissed me on the mouth and told me I was - and I quote - 'a darling, wonderful girl'. Which, considering how many times he's beaten me, is fairly out of character."

Nightingale laughed a little at the understatement. "Fairly? I don't think Bobby's said one kind word to you in your four years here," she retorted.

"And for this strange, delightful miracle of Bobby's good mood, we most humbly thank you," added Lace. Then it was her turn to bow ridiculously as Nightingale laughed.

"We praise you. You are our new Queen, Nightingale. We worship you," said Magenta.

Nightingale smiled a little sadly. "Don't praise me for being good at fucking someone," she said softly. Their expressions immediately became sombre as she gave a sigh. "It's not something to congratulate someone about."

They were all silent in sadness for a moment before Magenta spoke.

"Still, it's something to be proud of. What I want to know is how you manage to be so fucking talented," said Magenta. "Every client you fuck wants to see you again. Bobby's always turning them away."

"Yeah, I rather enjoy knowing that I'm a really good whore," snapped Nightingale sarcastically.

"Still," said Lace, taking a step forward. She began to rub Nightingale's forearm comfortingly. "That's a good thing. It means you get beaten less, doesn't it?"

"I guess," said Nightingale, shrugging. It did lead to fewer beatings, but they were still common. But as Lace was trying to console her, she simply allowed the other Inamorata to try to make her happier.

"Fewer beatings?" asked another voice. The three of them looked over to see Glitter standing next to them. "Yes, there have been fewer this morning. None, in fact. Thanks for that, Nightingale."

No one bothered to tell her that that wasn't quite what they were talking about, and let it slide. But Nightingale, not in the mood to really socialize, asked what she really wanted to know:

"Where's Rose?"

"In her room crying, probably," muttered Magenta.

"Hey," growled the other three of them in unison.

"No Inamorata insults another, Maggie. We're all sisters," snapped Glitter. "You know that's the first rule around here."

"Not to mention that we all have a different way of coping," added Lace, looking offended.

Magenta looked very contrite as she bowed her head to the other Inamoratas. But the three of them did not grill her further. Glitter and Lace descended upon her, cooing and patting her arm and her head, looking for all the world like the most affectionate of lovebirds.

So while they were all chattering away in the corridor, Nightingale slipped away. She half-ran down the hallway. When she got to Rose's room, she found the girl in deep conversation with Sparkle and Emerald.

She heaved a sigh. It seemed as though the entire bordello was talking.

"Yes," she said, before anyone could say anything. She put on the most stuffy, most pompous voice she could muster and continued. "I ought to be crowned Queen of this shit hole for my legendary skills at client satisfaction. I am aware of this fact. Please do not thank me for it - just enjoy Bobby's good mood and beatings that are conspicuous in their absence without professing how grateful you are for my actions."

Emerald gaped at her in astonishment, as did Rose. Sparkle simply grinned. Seeing that Sparkle was about to speak, Emerald about to gasp, and Rose about to protest, Nightingale held up her hand, grinning.

"Scoot, you two. Enjoy the day. I'd like to talk to Rose alone, please."

"I'll bet it's about Michael," muttered Sparkle.

Nightingale gave a soft, warning hiss. Sparkle glared at her, obviously not appreciating the hostility. But Nightingale couldn't care less. She needed one thing and one thing only; to talk to Rose. And she did not want every Inamorata in the bordello - who obviously thought that David was an extremely satisfied, very wealthy client, she reminded herself to thank him for how convincingly he must have lied - to know of her (albeit tiny) weakness for Michael.

"Michael?" asked Emerald.

"Sparkle, don't you fucking dare-" began Nightingale, taking a step towards the petite blonde, towering menacingly over her.

Emerald cut her off. "Oh, is that the man Bobby turned away?"

"Uh, yes," said Sparkle, skirting away from Nightingale nervously. "But we better not talk about it. Let's go, Emerald. I think Gale doesn't want to talk about it."

"Thanks," said Nightingale.

"Okay," said Sparkle, and the two other Inamoratas scurried away, laughing. Nightingale had to smile at their buoyant mood. It seemed as though something good had finally happened in the hell hole known as the York Bordello.

"Nightingale-" began Rose.

Nightingale walked into Rose's room. "Sorry for being waspish, Rosie," she sighed.

"Don't worry," said Rose, smiling. "Let me guess, you want to know about Michael."

"Yes," said Nightingale.

Rose flinched. "He was a little...upset," she said. "But I gave him your message, and he seemed to calm down a touch."

Nightingale nodded. She sighed, turning away from Rose and heading for the door. "Thanks, Rosie," she said, not sure why she felt so dejected. "That was good of you to take him that message."

"No problem," said Rose. And then she waited until Nightingale was almost out the door before she continued. "By the way, he has a message for you."

Nightingale whirled around. "Does he? You clever little minx! You were taunting me, weren't you? Trying to make me feel unhappy so you could pleasantly surprise me?"

Rose laughed. "Maybe."

"Don't tease me, Rose. I can't stand teasing. Didn't Glitter ever tell you what I did when she stole Macbeth?" said Nightingale, her face darkening as her brows pulled together.

Rose didn't look intimidated. She simply crossed her arms and raised her eyebrows. "Oh? What did you do to Glitter, most terrifying Nightingale?"

Nightingale didn't know whether to be pleased or irritated that Rose had finally grasped sarcasm. It was good to see that the girl, at only four days old, had a firm grip on what that lovely, pliable form of irony. However, Nightingale - though she was a master of sarcastic wit herself - disliked being the subject of it.

"I stole it back from her, but pretended as though she still had it. When I pleaded with her to return it, she searched her room for hours, convinced that she had lost something incredibly dear to me. I let her think that she had broken my heart and that I was in mourning for my dear Macbeth for a day or so before I told her I had it. She was so relieved to know that she hadn't lost it that she wasn't even angry with me," said Nightingale. She smiled as she remembered the expression on Glitter's face - one of gormless happiness. It was the kind of expression an Inamorata seldom wore.

Rose laughed. "You're brilliant, Gale."

"I think so, yes," chuckled Nightingale without a hint of modesty. "She did learn never to tease me. Sparkle, on the other hand, will often infuriate me. But no one else."

Rose smiled broadly. "Would you like to hear Michael's message?"

Nightingale feigned indifference. "I guess," she said, in a bored tone.

Rose rolled her eyes. "He told me to say this: 'I hope the little bird will sing for me again.'"

Nightingale arched her eyebrows. "That's all?"

"Oh, and there's the little matter that he's already requested you for tonight. It's part of why Bobby's so happy," said Rose, gesturing vaguely out the door.

"Damn right I'm happy!" howled a voice from the hallway.

"Speak of the devil," muttered Nightingale. Rose laughed loudly and Nightingale shot a worried glance at Bobby, nervous that he would take offence at Rose's mirth. However, she simply found him grinning at her.

"Look at you," he said, gesturing to Nightingale proudly. "I mean, look. Look what I've done. I've created the perfect Inamorata. The perfect seductress. The creature that always leaves her clients wanting more. Damn, I'm a fucking genius."

Nightingale wanted to remind Bobby that she thought he had the intelligence of a rather slow baboon, but refrained. She just smiled at him winsomely and tossed her hair. 

"Maybe some of the credit goes to the Corporation, too?" she proposed.

"Nah. They just make you lot pretty. I give you your talent," he said.

"Of course," said Nightingale. Her lips twitched with a smile - though a wary one - as Rose mimed vomiting behind Bobby's back. The smile was difficult to maintain with what Bobby did next.

He stepped forward and put one hand between her legs, grasping her, his nails digging into her tender flesh. "The Corp can't give you that," he said, looking down. "I can only train that. Like training a dog to sit, I trained you to fuck."

Nightingale wanted to take his hand and rip it from the wrist. Her entire frame seemed to judder with revulsion, and her mind reeled at the intensity of her hatred. She had always hated Bobby, usually would welcome any violence towards him, but this was different. Perhaps it was because she had been only touched gently and hesitantly by Michael, or had her body entirely respected by David, that she was not used to Bobby's rough brutality.

She covered up her disgust quickly, eyeing him seductively. "And you are so good at training," she whispered, her voice low and positively purring.

Bobby laughed and squeezed his hand. It hurt but Nightingale didn't flinch. She held her head high.

"Oh, Gale," he breathed in her ear, his hands beginning to wander all over her body as he pressed himself against her. She stared over his shoulder at Rose, who was looking terrified. She pitied the poor girl - she was seeing proof of what was going to happen to her in just a day or two. "I'd love to just lay you down here and fuck the hell out of you, but I can't."

"Too bad," she purred. With one hand, she mimed to Rose stabbing Bobby in the back. Rose smiled  just a little.

He moaned but pulled himself away. "I know. I've got to arrange something with Mr. Beckett."

Nightingale's eyebrow quirked. "What?" she asked politely.

"Can't tell you," sang Bobby.

"Please, Bobby, baby?" wheedled Nightingale. She stood and stroked her hands down Bobby's body, disgusted with her own behaviour. "Tell me. I'm your good girl, Bobby, aren't I. Tell me, please?"

He groaned and she could see him stiffen as his eyes rolled back in his head. "No," he said, after a moment of looking as though he was fighting 

Nightingale knew not to press him, but did anyway. She had no idea what made her so curious. Maybe her clients had spoiled her into thinking she was a real person who had a right to know.

"Please? Come on, haven't I been good? Hasn't Mr. Beckett been happy with me? Haven't I been your good girl?" she said.

"You have. But I'm not telling you," said Bobby.

"Fine," pouted Nightingale. Then, to keep him in his good temper, she kissed him. "Whatever you say, Bobby."

He moaned again, but left the two of them.

"Never do what I just did," said Nightingale to Rose, who was looking at her in astonishment. Nightingale held one finger in Rose's face warningly, seeing the girl's blue eyes cross as she stared nervously at her finger.  "Actually, never take an example from the way I interact with Bobby. I'm a special case."

"Why?" asked Rose.

Nightingale shrugged. "He's fond of me. I get away with shit that would get Inamoratas like Sparkle or Glitter shocked."

"Why?" repeated Rose.

Nightingale sighed. "I have no idea. I just know how to handle Bobby, I guess."

Rose's eyebrows arched. "Interesting," she mused, stroking her chin, as though for want of a beard. "Everyone seems to like you, Gale."

Nightingale laughed.

"I'm serious," said Rose, looking hurt. "All the Inamoratas like you. All your clients like you. And the person who is the most difficult to deal with - Bobby - likes you. Will you teach me that gift?"

Nightingale sighed again. "I can't. It's just me. Just the way I am. Trust me, if I could, I'd teach it to every Inamorata I know, but I can't. It's my personality, I suppose."

"It's your personality? I thought Inamoratas were soulless, mindless creatures," snapped Rose. For the first time, Nightingale heard some of her own bitterness in Rose's voice. "How can something with no soul or mind have a personality?"

Nightingale looked at her sadly. "It can't."

Rose's brows drew together and her eyes burned like blue fire. "You mean we're not-" she began.

"No," said Nightingale softly. She advanced and took Rose's shoulders in her hands. "I meant that we're not mindless, soulless creatures."

"Oh," said Rose. Her anger was replaced with equal sweetness as she whispered. "You think we're people?"

"Of course I do!" insisted Nightingale. "What makes us different? The way we were born? Yes. The way we were conceived? Yes. But anything else? No. We were engineered through cloning, but we're still human. Our DNA, though engineered, is entirely human. Our emotions are human. Our feelings. If you prick us, we bleed like humans. If you hurt us, we cry like humans. We love like them, hate like them, feel like them."

"Then why?" murmured Rose.

"Why? Because humans are cruel and unfeeling." Nightingale's words were clipped, but not angry.

"Then why do we want to be them?" asked Rose. The question was so blatantly, transparently childlike that it made Nightingale smile bittersweetly.

"Because they're also wonderful," she said, smiling warmly. "Here, we only see the worst of the worst. But just think of it! Think of everything you are, and then imagine others just like you! That's what they're like. And isn't that wonderful? All that emotion? All that intelligence?"

Rose's eyes widened and Nightingale could tell by her misty expression that she was considering the idea. "Yes, it is," she said breathlessly.

"It is," said Nightingale. "Humanity is miraculous."

Tears suddenly welled up in Rose's eyes and spilled over, leaving matching tear tracks on her face. Nightingale wiped one from her cheek gently. She knew she ought to do away with the mothering, but it seemed important to Rose.

"But we'll never be human," said Rose.

"Never to them. But to yourself you can be." Nightingale sat Rose down on the bed and patted her hair.

"What's with the optimism? You were a cynical bitch only a few days ago," sniffed Rose.

"I suppose I've changed. Pleasant clients do that," smiled Nightingale.

"Michael," muttered Rose, her eyes lighting up with teasing.

"No," said Nightingale, not rising to the gentle mocking. "Not Michael."

"Mr. Beckett, then?" said Rose. She sat up eagerly, her sorrow forgotten, as she brightened with curiosity. "What's so great about him?"

Nightingale smiled wanly. She couldn't tell Rose the truth. David had been very careful in instructing her. She was to tell no one, not even the Inamoratas. "Nothing," she said. "He's just very polite and not very demanding. And very rich."

Rose sighed. "You're lucky."

"No, I'm not," snarled Nightingale suddenly. She recognized some of what Rose had named as her "cynical bitch" side resurfacing. "I still have to fuck them when I don't want to."

"I didn't mean-" began Rose, looking apologetic, but Nightingale cut her off.

"Come on. Let's learn some more French," she said.

Rose smiled and the pair of them scampered off, Rose laughing. David's question came back to Nightingale suddenly.

"Yes, I'm happy right now," she whispered, tears springing into her eyes.

"What?" said Rose, looking back at her curiously.

"Rien," she said. "Je suis heureuse, ma cherie. Seulement heureuse."

When Rose gave her a blank stare, Nightingale trilled a laugh, astounded at the very volume and mirth of her joy. "When you understand French you'll know," she said.

Rose laughed again and continued her bounding towards Nightingale's room. Nightingale smiled again. As small a pleasure as Rose's happiness was, it was still something.