"Never seen a horse with boobs,
before?" She tromps her hoof a few
times as her fists come to rest on her….well, hips? Not entirely sure what they call that part
where horse meets torso on a centaur, but yeah.
This brown haired pinto just gives me a fierce stare as she tries to get
off the catwalk. Yeah, it’s great at the
Tavern of Desire – the place is packed with every type of creature known in the
Kingdom, all hell bent on getting a lil’tits and ass tonight.
A table of pig-faced, boil-ridden
trolls gets a rowdy, pounding on the splintering table top for another round
and for another wench. This is my cue to
do some crowd control before Hank has to come down; because if Hank has to come
down the stairs, someone’s goin’ home in a casket. And really, no one wants that – not even a
drunken, ugly troll.
“Hey, hey, hey!” I take the steps two at a time, my own hooves
poundin’ an attention-draggin’ beat.
What’cha expect? Of course the
master of ceremony’s a pan – aren’t all the good ones? I mean, really, who fills out a vest
better? “What do you think of our
Princess Victoria, huh? She’d be the
perfect date…a great lay and a ride home!”
Oh gods, don’t let her hear that
over the roar of laughter. I’ll be
pickin’ iron shoes outta my ass.
“A teenage farm boy was told not to
go to a burlesque show ‘cause he’d turn to stone. Doubtin’ this somewhat, he
went one afternoon. Just as the first dancer starts, he jumps up and runs out
of the place. The muscle chases him down.
When he catches the boy, he asks him what was wrong. The boy tells him
about being turned to stone, and said, ‘When the show began, sure enough, I
started to turn to stone.’ Ba-da-bing!”
Response not as boisterous as the
last round, but that’s okay; bought the barkeep a few minutes of fillin’ drink
orders and givin’ the girls upstairs a bit of a shift change. Gotta keep the customers rotatin’ through or
Sitri doesn’t get her due. And as much
as I’d rather not have Hank rainin’ holy hell fire down on my furry ass, I
really would not want to see the boss annoyed.
No matter how damn beautiful she
might be.
“Are we ready for another?” Whistles from a small cluster of man-wolves
drowns out everyone else. Yeah, bet they
can smell her all ready. “Gentleman, and
I use that term loosely, allow me to introduce to you the fourth wonder of the
Kingdom, straight from his Majesty’s bedroom – while the Good Queen’s not
lookin’, mind you – the mysterious and delicious Trinna!”
Whoops and hollers accompany me off
the stage and the glistening blue divinity dances into view. Not so much as she passes me on the barely
held together wooden planks off the stage, but rather she shimmers onto the
center of the stage, arms and legs poised like some exotic goddess. The band of misshapen dwarves hired for the
night start clicking and clanking their music just off from my right. Around the edge of the jutting platform, the
white waxed candles seemingly flare just a little bit brighter as she opens her
eyes.
And the room is transfixed.
Turning to watch them from the
doorway backstage, it’s amazing. All
shapes and sizes, colors…Elves from the Highlands, their fair hair glimmering
in the glow; the gnome couple, straight
from the farm; a family of vampires – given away by that pale skin and cold,
aloof eyes; bloodied and battered horned warriors, half drunk on mead and a
recent, obvious battle; a singular ox,
shaped as a man, quietly sipping is grog at a back table; and scores of
countless men, dressed in everything from robes to armour, from all walks of
life. All are silent in their breathing
and still in their fixation of the dancer.
Trinna’s arms – and I do mean all
four – waver and move like waves of the ocean.
The golden bangles adorning each clink together in time to the
music. Her hips sway, splaying reflected
light around the room from the scaled metal of her make-shift skirt. She smiles that ever so small, smug one; knows
she’s good. So does everyone else
because this is who they come back for, night after night: this black-haired,
cerulean-hide queen of the promenade.
Like a force of nature, she steps
lightly towards them. The maids scurry
through the seated, motionless patrons, replacin’ empty copper cups with
freshly filled. Gold coin exchanges
hands – but the girls know not to look.
Their faces keenly stay focused on their tasks, which is to milk the
customers for as much as they can while the show’s on. With the bumpin’ and grindin’ of a scantily
clad object of worship prancin’ around the stage -- makes the patsies just a
little slow on the uptake. And what’s
the old saying? A fool and his money…
Hell, anyone workin’ in this joint
knows not to look at Trinna on stage.
Well, ‘cept Sitri herself. She
stands at the rail outside of the strumpet-rooms to watch. Quite the spectacle herself, our boss
is: puts any nymph to shame with her
lithe, muscular form.
And just as our money-makin’
princess hits the big spin at the end of the stage, strippin’ away her golden
top, the main doors bang open. It’s only
us not watchin’ that see him standin’ there, eyes wide and pantin’ like he just
ran the length of King’s Way. The brick
layer’s son – oh, what’s his name? They
came from a neighboring city to do some repair work on the kitchen’s chimney. Funny, hadn’t noticed him not in the crowd
tonight. He’s been here every night
since him and his old man started the work.
Eyes lock – Trinna and the young’un
charge the room with their – aw, hell.
He’s smilin’, and she’s stopped in her routine. And before anyone can do anything, the
strappin’ buck starts makin’ his way through the crowd towards her, singin’
along with the band who’s still playing.
“T’was one thing I could be, t’would
be a candle.” He’s not half bad in his
warbling. “Lighting the way so you could
handle your life better, without woes, not having to keep on your toes…”
The audiences’ startin’ to come
around. Gods, I swear I can hear his
heart beating from here he’s so in love with her. Which is completely stupid, mind you, but I’m
sure he doesn’t know that. And she – at
the edge of the limelight watchin’ his approach, she basks in his worship;
almost goes coy, foldin’ her arms to not only cover her bare breasts, but to
cover her growin’ smile.
“I’d help keep you from stumbling
over things blocking your way to an open door.
If I light your path, life is easier, even strong winds, my flame will
not deter.”
And just as he brushes past the
table filled with slobberin’ man-wolves, a well, manicured hand rests upon his
tunic shoulder. Her nails are
dragon-scale red and her skin as white as the moon. Standing head and shoulders above the rest,
her midnight blue hair frames her rather scholarly face. And judging by the look, she’s been dragged
away from her studies again. That’s not
good -- Hank holds the boy from flyin’ into the arms of his true love. There’s no joy for her about it in her onyx
eyes.
Before anyone can blink, Hank hoists
the loverboy above her head. She turns
and heads towards the door. There’s a
flash of fire, literally, in Trinna’s eyes as she turns to burn a gaze up at
the boss. Sitri’s smilin’ down, watchin’
her muscle do her job. This ain’t the
first time some yokel got the hots for the main attraction; so what’s being
played out in silence and stares ain’t new.
But this was a first where the suitor cooed in song.
That’s just a little too close to
home for the boss. Just as the
blue-haired beasty, of sorts, breaks through the main doors, she takes a nod
from the woman at the railin’. Can’t
ever decide if she’s as bound as the rest of us or merely summoned…Yep, the
brick-layer’s gonna take a little bit longer to get the job done, I think. He’s gonna be short a hand.
There’s a loud swooshing of leathery
wings, and Trinna sores into the air to the ooohs and aaahs of the crowd. Rising up to match Sitri in stature, I
suppose, she scowls at the boss with tears streaking down her face. The boss just snaps her fingers at her
performer and points down to the stage – she means business. Man, my knees just quake from that boring
glare. Don’t wanna take her on, Trinna,
honey, really. You’re only gonna loose
again.
But with her usual tantrum, the
topless dancer beats her bat wings rapidly, lets loose with a rather melodic
scream and shimmies outta sight. Only I
can hear her dressing room door slam at the far end of the hall backstage. Lookin’ up at the boss, she nods at me. Yeah, yeah, yeah, the show must go on.
“Sheila! Shake your tail, honey. You’re up next.” I hear the bells on her ankles ring as she
hurries along. Climbing the stairs back
onto the stage, I can’t but think of Trinna.
Don’t know why she does that, lures some poor sap into fallin’ in love
with her. Doesn’t she know, to break the
contract, it’s got to be true love that’ll set her free? And she ain’t never gonna find true love,
because she’s a second-rate love goddess who can really only love herself. It’s her own damn fault for signin’ up with
the two demons that run this joint.
But what can I say? Not everyone gets a fairytale ending.
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