A satyr.

"Oh fuck." you groan under your breath, when the chair behind a desk spins around towards the door.

The stout being in it, wearing a professional looking set of clothes, complete with vest, albeit sans sleeves and trousers, smiles broadly at you, stroking it's full bread with one hand and tapping the ash of it's cigar with the other. Short, stubby horns poke out from shorter, curly red hair, and it's horizontally pupils look you up and down lustily. You're used to that look, but getting one from a satyr never feels good. "Well, well, well, Ms. Selas Lusandar. How nice of you to come in. Sit, sit, sit, please, please, please," he says, speaking at a rapid fire pace, motioning to the chair across his desk. "Kiv Raukr's, the name; Requests and Wishes, the game. How can I help you?"

"I'll stand, thanks," you reply, tasting bile come up your throat. "And you know exactly why I'm here."

"I do, I do, I do!" he fires back, his smile growing even wider. Licking his lips and leering at you, he leans back in his seat and crosses his hooves. "But what I don't know, is if I should allow it. Given what the addendum is of course."

Rolling your eyes and shaking your head, you cross your arms and cock your hips. "Let's cut the crap alright? I fuck you, and you sign off on the contract, with my addendum. Deal?"

How, in all the Circles, is that damned smile getting bigger? "Oof. Tempting, tempting, tempting," he murmurs, clicking his tongue and drumming his fingers on the desk. "It's a good deal, it's a good deal, but hm... I don't know. Sounds kind of one-sided." Closing his eyes tight and shaking his head from side to side, he grumbles loudly. "What to do, what to do, what to do?"