Heat

The sun had set on Spree. In the other towns up and down the Sea Spine, good and honest people slipped into their beds so they could rise early. Good and honest people avoided Spree. Where other towns lay silent and dark, Spree's streets were lit with the soft light spilling from the brothels and taverns, an eerie soundtrack of muffled bass and drunken choruses guiding drunk sailors and prison guards from one to the next. The hard-edged stone buildings were transformed from brutalist fortifications against the weather to perfume and whiskey-scented refuges against the reality of lives spent scrambling for bread amid places unsuitable for habitation.

The Temptress underwent no less of a change with the coming of the dark. Stained-glass shades turned the oil lamps from pushing back the shadows to shades of blue, pink, and purple that invited the shadows to come roost, hiding away the imperfections, the stains, and the cares of the day. Bass thumped from the machine along the wall, rattling the shutters and giving the Temptress an audible heartbeat.

Rob was settled into his chair, keeping a keen eye on the floor. Selise was perched on the arm of his chair, and he idly ran his fingers up and down her spine. He wasn't sure if the shudder of disgust he felt through her was because of the way he so casually touched her or because of what the goblin sitting on the far side was busy describing.

It hadn't been long since goblins were mentioned in the same breath as rats, primitive bands of them roaming the hills and **** farm girls for their supposedly insatiable lust. Then the damnable little creatures had discovered money and realized they didn't need to kidnap a farm girl when they could offer her a sack of coins to fuck them every night and earn them coins during the day. Such was the formation of goblin culture if it could be called such.

His gaze moved around the floor once again, taking in the bustle. A group of orcish sailors were snorting lines of some bright red powder off a giggling whore in a booth on the far side of the place. Not far from them, a trio of guards from the prison above were busy dropping their pay into overpriced drinks while chattering to an elf happily fetching them whatever she whispered into their ears. The floor was busy, and the coin was flowing freely.

He spotted the new girl, chatting with an elvish Mise that had come in with a motley crew of sailors that were just as likely to haul legitimate cargo as to take prizes. Her blue hair almost glowed in the dim light, and Idel had dressed her in a simple bandeau top and a surprisingly long skirt, slit all the way to the band at the sides. The brothel's resident tailor had done well, Rob reflected, accenting Tsan's grace while leaving enough to the imagination to tantalize.

He watched as Tsan nodded to her customer excitedly, glancing up and at the chair where Rob sat for a moment before leaning close, whispering. Internally he groaned, not quite prepared to deal with more drama concerning such a new acquisition.

He was pleasantly surprised when she accepted a coin from the other elf and made her way toward the music machine instead of toward him. There was a moment of silence as the machine shifted and gave an unsettled sound. The brothel gave a visible shudder as the heartbeat stopped. Eyes glanced up, and coins paused in hand. Even the goblin babbling to Rob about some new money-making scheme paused in his recitation.

A female voice cut through the chatter of the brothel, sudden and urgent. "Guests! We'd like to announce a special show for you tonight. Give a big hand to Tsan!" Rob thought he recognized Sadie's eye for putting on a show at work, and he was certain that was her voice. The blue-haired elf stepped onto the stage, her pale skin turned milky and flawless in the lights as she took a few deep breaths. Then the music crate resolved whatever existential crisis had consumed it, and with a shuddering "clunk" something inside it began working again.

She wasn't particularly tall, and thin enough that it looked as if a stiff breeze might blow her, along with the languid clouds of cigar smoke currently hanging around the ceiling, off to distant lands. Yet the stage seemed to magnify her somehow, bringing her into sharp focus as she commanded the room. Somewhere in the brothel, nestled between overstuffed leather chairs and sturdy mahogany tables dotted with bespoke drinks, the music machine whirred to life with a few off-key jangles before the thick, unremitting bass once again thuds through the room like the Sultry Harlot's own heartbeat. A smile flickered across Tsan's lips as she recognized the song, a fittingly raunchy tune with a heavenly-voiced woman belting lyrics about getting closer. As quickly as the expression came to her face, it was gone, a fierce focus taking hold of her features, suddenly rendered sharp and aristocratic by the lighting, belying her humble origins. Tsan began nodding along to the beat of the bass, lulled by it into motion, her hips swaying while her hands slid along alabaster skin, teasing herself just as much as she teased the onlookers. The room seemed to turn dreamy, the languid, sensual motions of the elvish dancer inscribing suggestive and licentious patterns onto the vision of the onlookers. Tsan was far from flawless, missing a beat here and there, whether a simple mistake or because she caught the eye of an onlooker, offering a genuine smile and a wink in return for tips tossed her way, but each time, she carried on, falling back into the rhythm of the music.