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NAME Harmon
AGE 30s
OCCUPATION publicly, a bonded servant who works as a bouncer / protector of a whorehouse; privately, its main operator
FAMILY none known

POSITIVES Patient, gentle, organized
NEUTRALS Protective, calculating
NEGATIVE Manipulative, vain

APPEARANCE Harmon is in his late thirties, tall, broad-shouldered, and fit. Although his clothing is always very simple, it is always clean, in good shape, and in excellent taste, making him at times look more like a butler or manservant than a whorehouse bouncer. However, he remains intimidating to most: his skin is several shades darker than even the darkest tan common in Sunderland, making him seem exotic and unpredictable. Even his hair looks strange; though long and straight, it is thicker and coarser than the hair of most natives, and generally worn long, scrupulously kept clean and neatly braided.

PERSONALITY At nearly all times Harmon seems serenely competent, undertaking his duties with a slightly smiling confidence that is to be envied. He rarely speaks above a conversational tone and keeps his voice pleasant at all times, refusing to disagree about anything that he deems 'not a matter of importance' -- in other words, anything that does not have to do with the women that he cares for. He is fiercely protective of those women, though strangely not in the least disturbed by the reality that they frequently have sex with strangers for money. Nothing seems to make him happier than to please them, and he is unfailingly patient with them, growing unexpectedly stern only when household staff shirks their duties or outside parties put his girls in danger.

If he has a fault it is vanity, for he is scrupulous in keeping up his appearance and it gives him pleasure to be surrounded by beautiful people and things. He is less likely to value or listen to someone who is physically unattractive, and it frustrates him when attractive persons dress in unflattering ways. For all his warmth towards the women in his care, he can also be emotionally distant: though he knows of their worries and fears, no one ever hears of his. He has no true lover nor even a close friend, and if he feels his life is lacking because of it he does not say.

SKILLS He is known for his even temper and a knack for getting people to trust him. It isn't foolproof and it isn't obvious magic: he cannot convince men that they are women or that there isn't a fire where there is one. But his words can bring calm, and to listeners it often seems that he is using only logic and confidence to make his case. Though he rarely leaves the confines of the whorehouse, merchants and stall-keepers in the market know him on sight, and often do their best to avoid him even to the extent of making ridiculous excuses as to why they must suddenly go home early -- his ability to strike a hard bargain is more than well known: it's very nearly legendary.

Beyond this talent, Harmon is competent, being very good at the management of the whorehouse. He balances expenses and income with casual ease, manipulates the girls and the household staff to keep conflict at a minimum, and is excellent at selecting and encouraging only the best customers.

HISTORY Harmon speaks the native tongue with a local accent, but the details of his past are unknown and he encourages elaborate theories. His naturally solemn demeanor leads many to speculate that he is wanted for murder somewhere many miles distant, the nature of the crime depending on the opinions of the teller towards Harmon. Whatever the case may be, he rarely displays violent behavior. There is also some speculation (much quieter) that he was outright purchased at a very young age from the near east -- those that are well-traveled might recognize him as looking very much like he is from the Wardwood equivalent of the Middle East, though with the speech, habits, and mannerisms of someone raised in Sunderland.

Public records do show that Harmon is a bonds-man, sold into service at some point either for the payment of a debt or a payment made by another to free him from gaol, putting him in that person's debt. At some point in his early twenties, his services were acquired by the owner of the whorehouse, his foreign appearance and attractive face being thought appropriate for a setting catering to the wealthy and nobility of Sunderland. As time passed, Harmon took on more responsibilities of running the whorehouse as the owner of the property gave him more duties, until eventually things reached the position they are at today -- with the owner largely absent and Harmon in nearly complete control.

Unfortunately for Harmon, his status as a bondsman means that outside of merchants and servants, few are willing to take him seriously. If he resents this it does not show, but he does take care to act in a subservient manner around those with any status whatsoever.

Through a haze of exhaustion, he watches a single tear run slowly down her cheek: cheeks flushed to a gentle rosy hue, full red lips pressed tightly together in a pitiful expression of determination. Over the course of an hour, he has watched her go from terror-striken to hysterical sobbing to hopeless crying and her eyes are only slightly swollen. There are no bruises on her porcelain face, no ugly blotches on her cheeks, only the faint marks of the tears themselves in a persistant path downwards. Fascinating. He would not have thought it possible ..

"If you cannot tell me what is wrong," he tells her for the hundredth time, on one knee before her, "I cannot make it right. I know you are frightened, but you are safe here. No one knows where you have gone, nor will anyone know unless you ask me to tell them. We will care for you." His voice is smooth and warm, with only a slight roughness: it has been many hours since he last slept, and the beauty before him was rescued at great effort and expense.

Before she has only cried harder every time he's spoken, and with every trick he has tried: he has plied her with sweets and juices, he has had the girls bathe and dress her, he has promised her presents. This time she takes a deep breath, her watery eyes widening as they focus on him, and he holds his breath in anticipation of finally hearing her speak.

In the strained silence, she hiccups.

And begins to cry again.

He closes his eyes and takes careful hold of his patience.

"Loveliest flower." His voice has become pleading, and he holds his empty hands out before him with a practiced elegance. "If you cannot tell me your secrets, I beg that you unburden them to someone, for they clearly weigh on you so. For now I will leave you to your rest -- please, think on what I have said."

Rising gracefully to his feet and hoping that she cannot hear his bones creak, he bows deeply to her and backs out of the room with his upper body still bent forward, as a servant would exit a royal presence. When he gets to the door, he is able to reach behind himself without looking to open and close it, but .. as if by accident .. it does not close securely.

In the hallway a shadow peels away from the nearest corner and approaches; the tall man crouches down to greet it, delivering a welcome scratch behind the soft ears. "Go," he whispers to it, his words hardly above a breath. "See if you might wrest her secrets from her." The shadow sniffs at his fingers and strolls casually past him, pressing at the door with one delicately shaped paw to open it just enough that the shadow can squeeze through.

Several moments pass: standing at the door, the tall man can hear a sharp intake of breath from the girl in the room, followed by a sniffle. In a rough whisper -- the first time he has heard her speak -- he hears her say, "Here, kitty, kitty," and he knows that he has won. Always, those he cannot win over his sweet little shadow can charm. Within minutes, comforted by his warm, presumably innocent presence, she will whisper her secrets to him, confident that the cat can tell no one.

The weary rescuer breathes a silent sigh of relief and stays beside the door, listening patiently for her story.

---

To the nobles who visit the three-story house on the little side-street, Harmon Braile is "hired help," noticeable only for the darkness of his skin and the uneasy possibility that his services could be called on should their purses hold insufficient funds to pay for the night's pleasures.

To the owner of the fancy brothel he is both useless and indespensible, rarely recognized or thanked but solely responsible for the upkeep of the house -- leaving the owner himself free to drink his profits away.

To the ladies of the house, he is everything. Father, brother, and lover; confidant, protector, care-taker. It is he who recruits them and sees that they are fed and sheltered. It is he who supplies the oh-so-valuable powder that prevents them from entering the second oldest profession in the world ..

He loves them. They are sure of it.

Possibilities

Often Found
In his brothel, arranged as necessary tending to the needs, desires and whims of his lovely ladies. Most nights this requires his more immediate presence in the main room, keeping an eye about so that there is no trouble to disturb the girls; occasionally this means he stands watch at the doorway, or intervenes physically and authoratatively in a dispute regarding payment.

Opportunities
Although Harmon seems to dislike leaving the brothel and harbors a disdain for open spaces in general, he does at times venture outside. He can be lured by rumors of especially beautiful women looking for a career in horizontal employments, rumors of such women in distress, or the promise of merchants with the affordably-priced trinkets, fabrics, or clothing. He enjoys purchasing those things which are created to better display the young ladies in his care, and so can occasionally be found at the lesser markets.