Isobel couldn't say that Littlefinger's brothel was her favourite place to attend to. But she also couldn't deny the business it brought her. Dozens of whores and lusting men brought her dozens more in coin each month. Debauchery sells; and is definitely worth its weight in gold. She had Petyr Baelish and his ambition to thank for the business. Isobel had built her reputation amongst the lower lords and ladies for her efficient service and more than handsome laundry maids at her disposal. Isobel and her girls kept linens, sheets, clothing, rugs and curtains in pristine condition. Whatever the lords and ladies of Westeros had, Baelish wanted it. It was not Isobel's place to question his arrogance— he had told her as much when they first started business. Baelish would have been quite the partner, Isobel mused, side-stepping children at play and narrowly missing the contents of a chamber pot hitting her from above. He offered of course, years ago, in his roundabout way and soft voice.

"Haven't you ever wondered, Isobel? How these lords and ladies and King and Queen plan for the rest of us? Perhaps you have some inkling, of course, attending to their most intimate places at most…..opportune times." Baelish almost seemed to be circling her as she gathered up used sheets into her hamper. Like a predator would his prey. Shame on him, Isobel thought, cringing at the wetter than most mess on the red sheets she knew she would have to painstakingly scrub—perhaps twice, over. It would have been a more convincing sell had he offered to help her. It was his girls' messes after all.

"I thought your business dealt with attending to their most intimate places m'lord. Not mine" Isobel said cheekily. Baelish managed to chuckle at that. Quick with her wits. A fine partnership indeed.

"But no, I never, m'lord. There's nothing about hemmed dresses and drunk recalls of war stories which interest me." She said airily, flitting around the room. She wasn't lying either. The games of lords and ladies and the King and Queen held no interest to her at all. Arguably, the interests of the lowborn didn't interest the highborn either, if her hearing while 'attending to their most intimate places' was correct. No, she would focus on her business and keeping her head afloat. Enough food for the week and a bit to spare was all she ever wanted. She would not gamble with what little she had.

"It's my lord, Isobel. If you're going to pretend you aren't a lowborn bastard, do not speak like one." He said with his soft voice. Isobel winced nonetheless at this as she gathered the last of the linens. He knew how to play the game. Reminding her of her place should have invoked a submissive response out of her. Though as hurtful as his comment was, perhaps he had a point. Why remind those who needn't know of her upbringing? Especially if there were slight ways to mask it. But Petyr Baelish would not make a fast friend out of Isobel Waters, not after that blatant attempt to disregard her. She was the daughter of Alys Waters and a successful woman in her own right. She would not be intimidated by a man, especially one like him. Turning to face him with the basket in hand she gathered the last of the linens and what confidence she had left.

"Speak plainly then, my lord. What is it you are asking of me?" Isobel said this in a shockingly accurate ladylike manner. Her voice was hard and her eyes were dark, though she kept her airs about her. She would be a great lady of the court if the circumstances of her birth were different. Baelish smirked at her and moved towards her, slowly and purposefully and close enough that not a soul could hear them if they tried. He could remove evidence of her circumstances if she asked him to. If they did business. She knew this and he knew this, yet she lacked ambition.

"My lady, I need information—"

"You will not find that here with me, I'm sorry." She cut him off quickly, curtseying all the while. Her heart pulsed quickly under the implications of this job and all the jobs that would come after, she knew. No, she would not involve herself higher above her station. She would work and she would survive with what little she had like her mother before her. The dragons thought they were infallible. She was no dragon. Baelish would do his dirty work on his own time, not hers. Though she would never say that to him. Business was business after all.

He bowed slightly and mechanically at her, keeping the light smile on his face. Though she knew she had angered him. But what did the Master of Coin have to lose in this proposition compared to her? And there were hundreds of little birds. One more wouldn't have made a difference. Though Isobel would have been a precious bird.

"My lady." He said as a farewell. Isobel took that as a cue to leave and briskly headed towards the door. The hamper heavy in her arms she took a swift look around. He was still looking out, towards the window, his back to her. Her heart was still beating fast. She took a breath in and straightened her spine once more.

"It's Isobel, my lord." She left the brothel quickly after that. Never giving him the chance to respond.

She tried to keep the rest of her interactions with Littlefinger at pleasantries as much as possible. If Isobel heard words from lords and ladies that would even remotely be considered courtly gossip, she would send a different maid to attend to the brothel. Never Aliane, though.

While they keep to pleasantries, Littlefinger would corner her in the way he did their first other business interaction. Isobel learned quickly. Isobel's maids were paid and treated well enough to not be swayed by his advances. They, very much like her, wanted to keep them and their own fed and warm at night. They knew too many women, too many of his whores who suffered when he ran out of kindness. Especially in the previous years, the land being wasted by wars and kings who were not kings.

Isobel was granted quick entry to the brothel. The women who were not attending to business gave her big smiles and high pitched hellos. These women were kind to her and even kinder to Aliane. She would offer them a place with her, if Littlefinger wouldn't have seen that as an insult. No, she would not risk her livelihood this way. But she would always offer warm smiles and little leftover treats from the lords and ladies homes. And so the women loved her as she loved them. If Baelish wasn't there and they weren't busy, they would talk the afternoon away and laugh at the clients and their antics. Baelish wasn't here, and today was slow. Yet Isobel did not stop for a chat this afternoon. There was too much work to do, and besides, she hadn't met Olyvar. She doesn't know what he would do or say if catching her being a distraction.

The place was slower than most days. She thought the influx of households would yield the opposite as it did for her, but what did she know of this type of business. She carefully scanned through doors and curtains and changed sheets as she went. Through trial and error, she learned that knocking wouldn't cut it. Locked doors and closed curtains were common sense. But some days, peering in and scarring herself would have to do. But today was slow. She may get to leave this place with incident, she thought happily, stuffing used linens outside the door's hamper. It was a beautiful day out, she might take Aliane to the market for a late treat. Carrying the last few sheets with sunshine and Aliane in mind, she quickly walked into the larger of the rooms, cut off by large curtains.

She should have known.

AN: Whoops, y'all thought this would be the chapter, huh? Sorry to be a tease, but I think Isobel is too cool to not write more about. Thank you for the lovely comments and the follows and favourites! Would getting to 10 reviews before I post the next chapter be a bit of a stretch?

Have a great rest of your week! :)