“Tell me, Mamun, what is this?” Madam Sabri Nidra spoke with a calm and level voice, laced with an undercurrent of steel. She stood in the bathroom of room no. 27 with her mortal retainer, Vain and the cleaner responsible for this, and another four rooms on this floor, a Bangladeshi man she knows to be Mr. Mamun Miah.


Currently, she is indicating quite a large patch of discolouration that appears so obviously upon the floor tiles around the lavatory. Mamun steps in, towards her for a better view and shrugs his shoulders with an accompanying grunt. Apathy is one thing Sabri cannot abide.


Her sucker punch struck him low and hard, a sickening thud that doubled the cleaner over, gasping for air and clutching his stomach region. The second, without the added Vitae, caught him on the back of the neck, causing him to crash to his knees. Lifting one silk slipper, Sabri pushes the cleaner's face in the the cold, stained floor.


“I'LL TELL YOU WHAT IT IS,” she bellows, her veil slipping slightly in her rage. “URINE! MAN-WEE! GENTLEMAN'S PISS!” As he begins to sob, Sabri removes her foot and crouches next to the cleaner, her voice once again back to its normal tone.


“It matters not to me, Mr. Miah, that some of our guests have an aim worse than a pubescent teenager. What concerns me is that its is slowly ruining the décor and you are too bone idle to do anything about it.” She stands and straightens her scarf once again. “Now, you will spend one week to take the time to re-evaluate your skills and commitment to this hotel by removing this....disgrace. If not, then you shall need to find new employment. That is, however, if you can avoid immigration officers long enough.”


She lets the threat stand before turning and leaving to inspect the rest of the Dhaka, Vani close behind with a clipboard in hand.


“What is next, Vani?” Sabri asks, already pushing the cleaner's humiliation from her mind.


“Room no. 42, Madam. Stained bedding.”


“And the maid's name?” the Rakshasa asks, interested.


“Ms. Radha Charu,” Vani replies, delicately flicking through some papers. “I made some initial enquiries. It seems her mothers was recently taken ill.”


“Aww, poor girl. We shall have a brief, informal chat for now, but give Radha every weekend off until her mother is better. Somebody shall cover for her in the meantime.”


A woman's work is never done.