Jawm loathed at his predicament- he had just seen one of his kinsman have his insides pop out of his stomach wall and mouth, crushed by a foot of woman several hundred times taller and heavier than  himself, but here he was, inside of her washroom, that same tower woman naked and stark as her day of birthing. As uncomfortable as his position was, it made him marvel- these creatures, whom by his tribe elders count numbered in at least hundreds in the land, had incredible machines- towers that made food cold, or warm; glass caverns that made them wet, and basins that could be filled with the water of an entire lake. He knew, of course, that he had been in great danger from the moment he came into this washroom: the Virgin might very well stop her ritual wetting and emerge out, steaming a white hot halo around her. She would be a beautiful, and powerful, and mighty sight, no doubt- for a second, at least. Then, she would start walking, or spot somebody... The thought made Jawm both shudder and laugh nervously- he wondered what the Virgin might actually do. 

Still, he had a job to do- and the sooner he finished this task the sooner he could leave and get back home, home where the women were nice and normal-sized and didn't have to worry about smashing any potential mates flat.

The room was steamy, as per the hot water coming out of the glass tower- it made a hazy sort of fog high in the room, but still keeping the bottom cool but sprayed with a fine, cold mist. Jawm disliked it, but he shook it off and started his trek to the pile of clothes all aheaped near the entrance of the steam box. If there was any proof of purity in this gods forsaken hole, it would be there, the fabric that touched her. He signaled to his compatriot Zdua to follow him. 

They tip toed around the tiles, their footsteps pounding on the tile grout. They did this, because of twofold- first, it was tracted, so that they might not slip on the slick tile- secondly because tracks on black were much harder to detect than on white. Jawm might've hated his job, but he would be damned if he wasn't going to be the best at it. 

With some effort and navigation, they reached the pile of clothes- Jawm, in a sudden burst of insight, told Zdua to climb up to the porcelain bowl- he reasoned that if any other place might have essence of purity, a place that was regularly exposed to the Virgin's virginity would be a good candidate.

"Have you the marker water?"

"Aye, Jawm- thou sawest that I stole away it from poor Ureat."

Jawm sighed heavily, remembering the look of horror on Ureat's face before it was distorted forever under the titanic woman's foot. 

"Aye, that thou havest. Make ye good use of it!"

Zdua did as she was told as broke off away from Jawm- she ran on te tile grout again up to the tall wooden cabinets, where she started scaling by means of rope. Jawm, however, returned to his work at hand.

Jumping onto the sail of cloth, he picked his way around the soft carpeting, sifting the heavy sheets. Every so often he would glance up at the large glass tower where the Virgin resided, ready to bolt away if necessary. Te clothes were of a motley sort- her jacket was outside the washroom, as were her shoes- where the rest of the remains of Ureat now resided, stuck in each individual diamond groove. Her shirt was an outer layer of incredibly, almost divinely, soft cloth- probably the softest Jawm had ever felt. The pieces of woven material that touched her bare feet, ("I remembereth them being called... 'sucks?' Or was it 'socks?'") were also there, smelling slightly fragrant- but this wouldn't do him any good. Digging farther, he navigated past her wide, hip-hugging denim pants and found, mercifully, what we was looking for- undergarments. There were two he found, but only one was useful to him. The first held the Virgin's breasts- even at his size, Jawm could see that the Virgin was well-endowed by the gods- she might've been, were she his size, bigger than any of the girls in his tribe. Stepping and enjoying the soft material of her brassiere, Jawm moved on to the next item- the cloth that covered her womanhood. It was a warm, dark pink, loosely interwoven were the strands- see through, even. It was the same color as her brassiere. 

Jawm knelt down and felt the material- soft. He noticed a single hair caught in the weave. It was long, dark. Curly. Jawm had yet to see the Virgin unclothed, but frankly, he didn't ever want to- not in her path underfoot, anyhow. Yet here he was, a few short dozen strides away from her. He picked the hair up, held it in his hand, turning it a few times. Did she have such hair all over her womanhood, he wondered? If so, she would have quite the bush. Someone could get lost in there. 

Jawm tossed it aside, fighting his now turgid erection- he frowned, knowing that it came from thinking about the Virgin's moist and probably cavernous womanhood. He scoffed at the idea, despite his obvious physical lust- the idea that he and she mate?

"Impossible," he muttered incredulously, opening his knapsack. He pushed aside the cleaned bones of his friend Ureat, and pulled out a small vial of vigour. The liquid, a bright and glowing purple, would be essential to this portion of the trip. 

He prayed, yes, to his gods, that he liquid would show him what he needed. He didn't pray for the success for his tribe or for the glory of the Ritual or the priestess, but because Ureat died for this- he deserves that kind of legacy, that his sacrifice didn't go in vain. The rest of his tribe didn't share his sentiments... Usually. Life was more seen as a means to an end- a commodity. The tribes numbers were relatively few- only a few hundred at most, quite a few more after the Ritual with the Virgin- but the priestess nor anyone else had the mind to preserve life. Not even his gods. Cruel as they were, Jawm still prayed to them- he'd seen enough in his life to where he knew of their existence. Piety certainly wasn't the duty that he accomplished- it was more of a means to secure favor, a stroke of luck that meant life instead of death. Luck helped a lot. Luck was what he needed.

The liquid quivered as Jawm carefully tipped the vial over, spilling out the contents all over the undergarment fabric- it seemed to hang in the air for a moment, the steam of the room coming from the glass tower making it shimmer brighter, like hope was in that flow. The garment ate up the liquid greedily, diffusing over what amounted to no more than a couple of square millimeters- no bigger than Jawm's hand. Finally, it settled.

He waited. 

He waited a little bit more. 

Jawm's heart palpitated rapidly, eager to know. Finally, like a sun reaching over the mountains to cast its light across a meadow, the purple liquid turned into a bright, vivid saffron. 

His heart leapt up into his throat, excited at a million different but intermingled prospects and ideas- they had found proof of the sacrifice's virginity! She, according to the magic of the liquid, still had lain with no man- a purity that was much sight after. With that title, she could be taken and used as a sacrifice in the ritual, picked and scoured to the bone for the health and fortune of the tribe.  The liquid showing also proclaimed that the dangerous scouting, the very activity that had killed so many over the years, had smashed Ureat all over the Virgins shoe. 

Jawm sighed heavily- he had to admit- he was extremely relieved that the whole ordeal was over. 

"Nay," he reminded himself, "at least one more task falleth to us." The grim task of the sacrifice still had to take place. 

His melancholy thoughts were shaken from him when he heard a loud screech and the water, heretofore created the loud roar that had drowned out ambient noise, stop falling onto the floor with a mighty crash. Terror filled the hallow of his stomach as his synapses shot into play and moved his muscles into flight- he took a look at the glass tower and saw the Virgins silohuette wringing her hair and making the water therein splash down at her feet. He quickly, without even really realizing it, unsheathed his utility dagger and slashed away at the now saffron cloth in his hand. With few cuts and a rip, the cloth was stuffed into his sidebag and Jawm was up and running. He knew, after a very quick survey of the room, the closest place of safety was behind the large porcelain bowl that Zdua was on.

Zdua!

His heart sank- was she still up there? As he tore across the room, his tiny feet padding on the black, angular grout of the washroom tile, his eyes scanned the rim of the bowl for any sign of her. It was too difficult to see clearly while running and more besides the rim of the bowl was very high up. He couldn't risk calling out to her, because the Virgin might hear it. 

"Damn it all," he thought. Zdua, in all likelihood, would have to survive and escape on her own. He sprinted over to the base of the porcelain throne, ducking out of sight and into the shadows, there to wait until the danger passed.

----------

Zdua was all in the panic of her lifetime. In one short span of time, the water tower had stopped issuing forth steam and roar, and screeched to a halt, and now the door being pushed open. In a flash of thought but not much consideration, she darted her eyes around where she stood- atop a vast ring of cold white. At the center of the ring was a deep bowl of water, with a dark hole snaking down to where she couldn't see. She knew full well that this is where the Virgin's kind made both liquid and solid waste. She knew, to some extent, that when a lever was pulled that the waste was magically transported elsewhere, quite possibly to a farm or something. She also knew, for a fact, that the climb up this porcelain structure was damn near impossible on account of its slippery structure, and there was no way in all the world that she could quickly climb down. 

"Gods take it," she muttered, almost crying. The prospect of being caught in the open by one of the Virgin's kind terrified her to the point of panic. She knew, in the darker recesses of her mind, that to caught was to claimed as death's, to be crushed, eaten, smashed, ripped apart, and all other heinous hateful ways that would happen to her if she was so much as seen by one of the... Dare she think it... Giants. 

The door was swinging open now- it slowly moved towards Zdua, thank the gods- that had given her a split second more in time to think and make a decision. She decided, that in the end, she didn't want broken legs or neck, and made the decision (or rather, felt her legs move under her) to leap into the deep part of the toilet bowl. She seemed to hang in the air for a moment, and her tears started again. What if she missed? She couldn't miss. She had to land- that was the only good option here. She decided, in a flash of insight, to climb up to the edge of the bowl and hide in the shadows- just like she was taught.

----------

Jawm had heard a splash over the din created by the Virgin exiting the glass tower. At first, he saw the door and it's shadow swing out and come to a halt, followed by a hail of water droplets. He thought that even though they were smaller, to him being caught by one would really, really smart something awful. He saw one of the great brown cloths fly in front of the structure he hid behind, and saw it rise up, accompanied by a wiping sound. The Virgin was probably drying herself off from the hundreds of thousands of handfuls of water that she had used. Enough water, Jawm thought, to fill the ocean. To sustain a hundred nations. He marveled at this, but nothing could have prepared him for the enormous foot that happened into his view. It came down surprisingly quick, faster, he thought, than anything that large had a right to be. It came down with a loud slap, flesh on tile, followed by a rumble that, of Jawm had not held himself steady, would have knocked him down. He gasped aloud, and did so again when the second foot came down. For a second, he was transfixed, caught between two ideas- his first instinct was to run like hell, leave and get away from these monstrosities. But, his second instinct was to not look away, to marvel and admire what were planted before him. 

He did the latter.

The feet looked solid, like they'd always been planted there. They were a smooth and wet flesh, freshly cleaned and still slightly moist from their washing. They looked well-formed, Jawm thought- comely, even, so different than the feet of the women in his tribe. Ten toes that he could see, alight in motion and ever so delicate twisting. Jawm noticed a soft pastel lacquer on the nails. 

He found himself walking forward, out from cover. What in the name of gods was he doing? This was suicide! But still he pressed on, out into the light. He hugged the cold white stone, freezing against his bare chest. He inched forward, little by little, until the full picture had come into view.

He was awestruck.

Wet, jet black hair, green eyes. She was not fat, no, but she was full-bodied. From the lacquered toes led up a pair of legs and hips that were most suitable to birthing. The pretty pink lips between her legs, the thick black mat of hair covering her crotch. Her stomach, which had a little excess, was adorable in the extreme. Her full breasts with red nipples, erect in the cold air. Her white neck. 

She was drying herself off with the large brown sail. In smooth and long strokes, she wiped the water from her skin, glowing slightly from the pressure as she pushed. 

It was then that Jawm stole a glimpse of her eyes- and in a flash he knew that this Titan of a woman would be intertwined with his life- however long that it lasted.

Her eyes, a deep shade of dark emeralds in the black earth, focused on nothing in particular. Even as rubbed her shoulder length black hair, she looked far away, lost in a deluge of thought, not truly paying attention tithe task at hand- the product of years and years of reinforcement. Finally, she shook her head, flinging stray droplets of water and soap flying onto everywhere. For a second, Jawm saw it.

He would never see it again. 

The Virgin angled her head just so, that the blazing light above her was eclipsed by her head in its entirety. The effect, Jawm knew but did not register at that time, was a halo of light shining out from her head. It was his goddess, reborn- an earthly manifestation! Come to either save them or kill them, to give them the bread of life and everlasting, or to make them her sup. He was entranced- he had forgotten all about the splash. In his religious fervor, he was taken and lost. He found himself staring so long, in fact, that he didn't notice her eyes slip upon the base of the porcelain structure. It was only as she squinted, trying to make out exactly what she saw, that he came to. 

Oh no. NO. He had been seen. 

Then, as if on cue, the light above her head exploded in a flash of blue and strange smell of ozone. He took this blessed opportunity to pedal back with all his might. He landed on his backside and nearly twisted his wrist when he heard the Virgin yelp out, 

"Ugh! Not again!" Followed by a frustrated growl/moan. 

Now in complete darkness, Jawm took stock. Why was he here? Zdua! Where was she? He then realized, with creeping horror, that she had been that splash.

--------

Zdua was trying to tread water when the light went out. It scared her, made her panic- here she was, all alone, when the room suddenly went flat dark. When she fell, or rather jumped, into the bowl of white, she had landed in the shallow end of the pool. As she landed, her ankle rolled in ways unnatural, rendering it swollen and useless to her. Try as she might, she was not able to advance up the steep white slopes- her hands, feet, and legs had been wetted by the heavy water. So, abandoning her pack, she had begun to tread water. She was figuring out her quietest way to tread when the light suddenly exploded and she heard the Virgin yelp aloud. She forgot, for a brief moment, to paddle, and water entered her mouth. She coughed, tried to stifle it. Zdua, finally able to stay alive briefly, focused then on her plan to escape. She noticed, that a faint but all pervasive light, a far less bright one, had began to dart around the ceiling above her. She thought, with passing interest, that the Virgin had possibly alighted a candle to replace the powered light on the ceiling. For a second, anxiety had crept into her- what if she put the light down into the bowl? Surely she would be seen. But that anxiety turned to confusion as the light grew dimmer- the ceiling above her seemed to shrink down, like some shadow was passing over it, or covering the bowls opening. Anxiety spilled over into terror as she realized what was making that eclipse. 

--------------

Jawm stifled a cry when he realized what the Virgin was doing. He had been hinted at it when he saw both of her massive feet flank both sides of the porcelain bowl and heard the squeak of the seat cover as she sat down on it.

The Virgin, he realized, was about to make waste. And Zdua was in there. 

A few options flashed in his mind, pulling him in a few directions. The foremost was to somehow get the Virgins attention. He had a knife, didn't he? He could easily run over and make nice long scrape on the Virgins foot- that would probably get her off the bowl and away from Zdua. But with that came risks- there was no guarantee that Zdua was alive, that Jawm would be kept safe. Moreover, Jawm had the proof on his person- if both Zdua and he were killed, the proof would be lost and someone else might come looking- furthering the risks of death. The other option, then, was deathly simple.

Do nothing. 

Gods, he resented that. He would until the day he died. 

So he did nothing, and stood there, hand clutching his knife, gritting his teeth. Above him, the Virgins face was lit from the small box that she was concentrated upon, which also occasionally spouted out sounds like 'sweet.'

"My heart weighs heavily for thee, mine sister," was all he could say quiet, outside of the Virgin's earshot, and hoped that Zdua could feel his regret. 

"Divine!" Came the electronic reply from above, accompanied by a shrill of bells and crystal. 

He started to hear a faint pouring noise from within the bowl.

----------

Zdua was no longer terrified, but now downright panicked. It was now completely darkened, and she couldn't see her hands in front of her. The room suddenly screamed with noise that sounded a lot like water being poured into a basin.  The water suddenly got fair warm, and for a second, Zdua didn't realize what that meant. But, when she smelled the urea, a means by which they purified themselves in ritual, she  started to weep, trying desperately to climb up the bowl. 

----------

Jawm was infuriated- the Virgin bitch was pissing on Zdua! Not by choice, obviously- but the fact remained. He gritted his teeth in anger, gripping the porcelain wall tight. Still, he could do nothing- to try and garner the attention of the Virgin was suicide and homicide- he'd kill both himself and Zdua when she was discovered, along with any future endeavors that might come calling into the lair of this woman.

But would she? How did he know that she would behave in the way that he thought? Maybe they would be left alone. Maybe she would become scared. Maybe she might even take them in, like pets.

But then he remembered Ureat, and Jawm knew what people that tall would always do to people this small. 

Shaking him from his thoughts, the Virgin finally arose from her seat. The floor creaked under her (as it sounded to Jawm at least), and she took another step and, thanks to the ambient light from the small box in her hand, did an about face towards the bowl. She leaned over, causing Jawm to duck further into the shadows, even in the darkness. He didn't see it, but he heard a jingling of hallow metal and great sucking sound coming from the hallow box (made of the same porcelain material it seemed) above his head. What was she doing?

-------------

Zdua's panic was complete as she felt the water around her, smelly and heavy, start to churn violently. A loud roar came out of the holes all around the edge of the bowl, like a death cry. She cried as the water rose, causing her to go underwater slightly, unable to keep up with rising tide. She paddled furiously, trying to stay afloat, but her ankle screamed in pain and every kick up brought unbelievable agony.

Try as she might to compensate by paddling her good foot and hands against the now rapidly lowering tide, Zdua was sucked down into the maw, but not before gulping a huge amount of the tepid water. Her lungs burned as she struggled for breath, all the while being pulled down, twirling and turning. 

The small light from above dissolved as Zdua was sucked down into the hole at the bottom of the bowl, her eyes stinging and lungs crushing. Mercifully, the water whipped her about and slammed her head onto the wall, dashing her brains out and killing instantly. Darkness veiled her eyes, and she no longer felt any pain as her body flowed among the apartment's pipes into the sewer, her grave. 

------------

Jawm found it safe to come out of the washroom just as the Virgin was leaving. He watched from the darkened doorway as she slipped on a pair of leather sandals, sandals that reminded Jawm of his own. She then put on a large puffy coat, and, sufficiently protected from the chilly air, opened the door to her dwelling, the wind whipping her long skirt about her titanic legs. She left, and the sound of a bolt thudded into the frame.

She was gone. 

He waited for ten minutes, against her return. He didn't think it likely, but Jawm would be damned if he wasn't going to be very careful. Not after what happened to Ureat. 

Not after what happened to Zdua.

He met with Sigdar and Sigdaw where they had originally came in. The other scout came jogging in as they talked.

"Say true now, Jawm- yon Zdua is gone?"

"Aye, friend. Taken in the waters of her waste. A most direful shame. Very nearly mine-"

"And she sawest thou not?"

"For sooth, her eyes lain not upon me."

"And Zdua?"

"I believeth not, Sigdar. Might we retrieve her bodice?"

"Nay, her body is far gone. Now," Sigdar began, licking his lips, "havest thou proof?"

"Nay, Sigdar, as I saith and as I liveth, I hath not found proof of death of-"

"Not of the bitch Zdua, ye wrastle! Of yon Virgin! Did ye findeth proof of her purity?"

Jawm hesitated, infuriated. How could he casually throw away the life and memory of a comrade?

"Did ye?" Sigdar demanded.

"Sigdar, thou..." Jawm began, but held his tongue. He cast his eyes low and dug into the sack that held the glowing, saffron cloth. He held it out to him, which he snatched up.

"Praise be!" He cried, ecstatic in his religion. "Purity hath been found!"

"Praise be," came the echoing cry from the other three, more reverently from Jawm- but not by reason his comrades believed.

"Come, let us return," Sigdaw cried out, baring her breasts in praise, "and give yon proof to the High priestess! Soon our journey comes roman end!"

All left through tunnels undisclosed, Jawm coming up the rear- thoughts heavy with realizations and revelations to him alone. Two lives- thrown away like it was nothing. All for some giant woman who didn't even know they were there, and had killed them both. 

And soon, he knew, she would die too.