Fiorella, the rich woman

You look over the pictures, staring at the unfamiliar faces. All three are very good-looking, but the noble-looking women in the grand red dress draws your eye.

Even by the luxurious standards of this town, you can tell that dress is expensive. You can’t see a single line of stitching on the clothes, and the red colouration is extremely vibrant, like the dress has never even been outside. It reminds you of some of the noble clothes you glimpsed only for a second, on your infrequent trips into the nearest big town to sell goods. Always belonging to an impossibly glamorous woman, forever out of your reach.

But now, you have a woman like that at your fingertips, just waiting for you to fuck her. “Her” you say, your voice already thick with desire as you point at Fiorella, “I like her dress.”

Dew gives you a smirk, and you blink in confusion before realizing the double entendre she’s implying. “Oh come on, not like that” you say, laughing as you give her a gentle shove, “she’ll be keeping that one.”

Dew bats your hand away. “I didn’t say anything” she snickers to herself, “is there something you’d like to tell me?”

You throw your hands up to mock defeat. “I have many terrible secrets, do not question me further.” Dew breaks out giggling at your overly ominous tone, and the two of you relax as you share a laugh.

“Alright, alright” you say, trying to get Dew back on track, “what does the paper say about her.”

Dew glances over the text, before shrugging. “Not that much, weirdly enough. I was hoping for some juicy stuff, like with Vinca, but it’s all just basic information.”

“Yeah, not having a listed fetish could be a problem” you admit, “it was pretty helpful.”

Dew nods in agreement. “This means we’ll have to actually think about this in advance.”

“Horrifying” you agree, “any ideas?”

“We could try hanging out the front of her mansion,” she suggests, “she’s bound to leave eventually, and we can get to her then.”

“Why couldn’t we just walk in?”

“Because her servants would throw us out, and they’re pretty scary.”

You run the image of what a ‘scary’ servant would look like in this town. Probably a woman in an exaggerated maid dress which shows an excellent amount of cleavage. You don’t think you’d find that too scary.

“I mean, surely I could just walk in right?” you say, opening your arms wide, “I don’t mean to brag, but I am pretty important.”

Dew contemplates it for a second. “It… might work, but it’d be risky” she says, “I’d prefer just waiting around outside.”