Brielle

Brielle answers in whatever language you started in, sometimes mid-sentence. Red-haired, twenty-two, stationed in the middle of the old centre.

The youngest habits die hardest and Brielle's is putting people at ease, she was apparently born unable to let a silence go awkward. French, Dutch and English move through her interchangeably, which in a city of international hotel rooms makes her the booking that requires no dictionary and no effort. She lives in Centrum itself, keeps to the same forty to sixty minutes as everyone else, and arrives looking like a friend visiting rather than an appointment kept. The red hair announces her; the composure, unusual at twenty-two, is the actual event. Sensual work is her centre of gravity, the naked format her quiet speciality, and ease, genuine, unmanufactured ease, is what her regulars are actually rebooking.

Brielle decides which bookings she takes and may decline any of them; she sets the limits for what a session includes, says what they are, and may end a visit at any point, as the terms set out.