Adventure 01 - In Exile, Small Beginnings (Fantasy, Risque)

Dear X~

I have come to understand that the lifestyle provided to me by you and yours' peers is unsatisfactory (and that to ever consider them as my own peers is a transgression upon every aspect of my imagination!)

My company is hereby excused from your association. I leave my name with you amongst the smoldering ashes of the previous letter I tried to write you.

See, silly me - I tried in vain to write in such a way as to please all of those I leave behind. Hah! Preposterous notion.

You can all go fuck yourselves.

Sincerely,

☠

ps Go on my betrothed yourself if you need to keep the alliance. I’ve got better things to do with my time.

~

Included within an elaborate envelope pinned to an overly ostentatious door, white hidden amongst white. It might take hours, or days to ever notice the clandestine letter hidden there - if not for the faint smell of burning ashes. A second letter was bundled, scorched to an unreadable mess as promised in writing.

Whether read or not is hardly important to the young woman waltzing buck-bare towards the horizon and out further beyond, in a more fruitful, more adventurous life awaiting her. So she thinks, anyway! Who’s to say what the future might entail for her?

This dream was merely a reminder…

*~❤~*~❤~*~❤~*~❤~*~❤~*~❤~*~❤~

Breaking out into a new chapter with a sudden gasp~! That’s suitably cliché, right? ❤~

Captain Jeanette Bourbon slaps a half-wet towel over her own face, frantically chasing down the last few sprinkles of her wake-up call. It had been one last dive beneath into the icy-cold lake she had conjured within a small sink and goodness, she had been so desperately in need. Reality’s still distinctly absent from her circumstance. Bourbon couldn't at all relate to the dingy, single-bed room that was, for the time-being, her living accommodations. Situated about ten-stories above the rat-infested streets of INDUSTRY CITY (Bourbon doesn't pay attention to maps), the less that was mentioned of such a locale, the better - as far as Bourbon’s own withering courage had quickly decided last night.

Still entirely devoid of clothes, Bourbon yet lacked the mood to do anything but give her reflected self a cursory one-over. She spends minutes appreciating and fussing over the straight and silky tresses of her auburn mane, running a hand down with long strokes of her fingers until guided into prim and proper curtain. One tut later and she whizzes her hand across her head, abandoning all propriety and daring to be just a tiny touch wild. It ultimately didn’t waver too much, certainly wouldn’t make her savage, nor even appear much a commoner. Too clean. Too vibrant.

Whilst playing with her hair, she skirts a few quick brushing-pats along the extra set of ears decorating her head. No-one knew where those came from, though the theory’s running on the idea of something foxy. ❤~ Vixen was the contender for her name-swap but… Too cliché, no?

A sapphire gaze peeked over towards emerald and then visa-versa. Heterochromatic eyes were a curse in the wrong type of social circle, a blessing in the right, but Bourbon rather quite liked them independent of anyone else’s opinion. Supposedly, they’re part of some grand prophecy, the heralding of some magnificent event that would change everyone’s lives for the better. Unsurprisingly, it has not happened for the past ten people sharing her trait and it doubtlessly would not for Bourbon, either. Pretty though, all the same. Each one reminded her of somewhere else.

“They do stand out though, don’t they?” Bourbon muses to her mirrored self, wrinkling a button nose, “Tscht. I suppose, just for today…”

Bourbon ended her self-admiration with a quick heft of her considerable tits - a promiscuously perky pair that she was, admittedly, more than a little bit proud of. Not so large a pair as to sign herself up to the local annual Milk-A-Cowgirl competition (❤~ th-… that’s a competition?), but they’re confidently curvy and a key component of Bourbon’s status as a bona-fide short-stack. She turns away from the mirror as her feet delicately arch her up onto tip-toed pose, accentuating the taut splendour of her thighs but, most importantly, giving her the leverage to sweep-sashay her hips and flaunt her peachy posterior to … herself. Arched just right, she earns a quick glimpse of foxhole, too! Mnnph. The little vixen might, perhaps, just be a tiny bit narcissistic. With a breath, she finally escapes her own clutches.

The process of changing eye colour was a simple one. She had to rummage through a pile of stolen clothes - ragtag and worthless, the entire bunch - until she could find a small satchel. Inside was a variety of miscellaneous odd-bits - spell-casting components of the most innocuous kinds. Mainly for cantrips of beginner spells, Bourbon was hardly a prominent mage. Just good enough to sprinkle a dash of pixie dust across her cheeks, around her eyes, and with a whisper of an ephemeral cant - her voice barely carried on a breath - she ushers out a spell. Two blue eyes were soon staring back at her in the mirror - of deep ocean shades, dark yet warm. Perfect~!

Spending a few minutes more to properly decorate herself for having blue eyes only, she briefly regards the ears atop her head. Hmm. ❤~ Not much of a need to hide those, they have been in common ancestry for … how long has it been now?

*~❤ Brand New~*

Fresh-awake and clean on a brand new morning of a brand new day of a brand new life in an entirely brand new existence. Bourbon escapes her moment of self-indulgent reverie - albeit, still primping at her hair - whilst she looks over the room around her. Properly this time.

A single bed sat in the centre. It was orderly, but with rough-stitched bedsheets of about a hundred-years age. Old-fashioned low-born luxury, making single blankets last for entire generations. At the foot of the bed was a messy bundle of clothes stolen from nearby washing-lines, of which few even really fit her. None of her own clothing had … survived the, ah, reasonable departure from home. Even the spell components were stolen, along with the poor apprentice’s robe - the owner probably had spares of both. No weaponry. No real amenities.

At present she was situated within a single room as part of a considerably larger building complex - the size of a mansion but each individual residence was the size of a shed~! Bourbon’s heard of such an estate called as a set of… what…?

Apartments? How gauche.

The city she’s in was barely known, save that it’s one of the latest to drop onto the trend of tall, tightly-confined living alongside industrial complexes - factories? Yeah! It’s a prosperous port city miles upon miles away, which is precisely why Bourbon chose it. The only trouble now was, one night later…

What does she do?

*~❤~*~❤~*~❤~*~❤~*~❤~*~❤~*~❤~

*Current Inventory; Spell Components (Minor)

*Current Wealth; Nil.