I just want a massage, but if anything happens, it happens.

You filter inside a room led by the male clerk instead of the girl. You make small talk along the way, but it fills the silence with near-worthless banter. You don’t learn anything new about your area or how lucrative business is. He hands you a towel and fiddles with the controls, making the room warm in overtime.

Inside the room is a massage table with the expected cutouts, and aside from the overhead speakers playing some gentle waves, nothing would indicate this is a particular type of treatment. You’d expected to see something this somewhere with more traffic, but not here so close to Tiny’s Tavern.

You poke around a little more but find nothing note-worthy, so you decide it’d be best to get undressed and ready for whoever is coming. Your joints creak, and your back pops, making you realize how badly you need this, regardless of the intentions of the massager being professional or less-than.

Now lying on your back, you relax by listening to the artificial waves with deep breaths, trying to find your inner zen before you jolt to the sound of someone coming in. It might have been foolish to get so comfortable in a new place, and for a moment, you think that perhaps this was a trap of some function, but all panic vanishes when a pair of green eyes are spotted staring at you. Accompanying these eyes is a curved, pink mouth that’s glossy.

“Hello,” your visitor says. It’s a girl, and a heavy accent greatly hinders her voice. You aren’t able to pin it at first, but when she speaks more, you discover that she’s French, or perhaps Belgium– accents you didn’t hear often but were familiar with known less. “How are you, monsieur?”

“I’m doing great,” you swallow. “How about you?”

She hums slightly and proceeds to close the door behind her. “I am well,” her thick accent causes you to focus on your hearing. Then, her gentle green eyes return to yours, and she smiles a little wider. “Mh, pardon me. Are you alone?”

You look at her closer and nod. “It’s just me for today, but I might come back with a partner of mine.”

The girl smiles as if she’s pleased to hear your response. “Then, I suppose I suggest we should get started?” She clears her throat, and you see her face twist slightly as she considers her following words. “What would you like me to do?”

Her accent hinders her English, but you find it kind of cute. She licks her lips as she shakes her head while muttering something under her breath. Her smile is still there, but you figure her accent is embarrassing her. “We are currently ro-tat-ting our staff, so I’m afraid I can only do so much for her. I promise you that I will try my best to keep you satisfied.”

She brushes back her light brown hair and forces out a little laugh. “I apologize if it seems I am rushing you. If you need more time to consider your options, it will cause me no trouble if you need more time.”

“I just came in here for a massage, you know?” You tell her, not sure if you’re lying or not to her.

“Mm?” the girl tilts her head somewhat as she peers at you. “You just want things to be…Ah, simple zen?”

You sit up straight, exposing more of your body than you intended. Her eyes dart down to your chest briefly before returning to your gaze. You expected your massager to be a bit more…flirty. Instead, the girl you were presented with was awkward in multiple ways. “I’m sorry, but I really just came in on a whim. I don’t know what I’m supposed to do with you.”

She beams at you with a smile. At first, she doesn’t reply to you, and it almost looks like she’s slowly processing something in her mind. “Zis’ is OK. I will explain to you, oui?” You nod.

“Allo’, I am Emmy, your caretaker for ze time being,” she twirls, showing her light blue uniform and napkin-white apron. “You don’t have to use me as a, uhm, you know, a whore. We can just relax and talk.”

“I’d be able to use you for sex then?”

Her mouth is slightly crooked, and she shakes her head. “No, I would relieve you myself. You can’t touch me unless I want you to,” she giggles, sounding like she’s had to say this a few times already.

“No offense, Emmy, but what makes you so much better than the others?”

“I am a professional, hired specifically for my talents and looks,” she beams at you. A confident smile has replaced the confused expression from earlier. “My English isn’t zah greatest, but I am here to make sure the clients of zah area are relaxed and happy.”

“Your English is fine,” you lazily remark.

“Oui, but my accent gives me away. I feel very awkward when speaking wit zu in your native tongue. I must seem like a fool,” Emmy frowns a bit, her eyes downcast.

Then, she looks up. “Your injuries, monsieur. How has it been since you have had time to unwind?”

You glance down and see what has her so concerned. Wounds from all times, contracts, and accidents scar your torso. Though some aren’t as bad as others, they mark you as someone who technically belongs here. “I haven’t had a lot of time to rest. That’s why I came here. I need someone to work on the knots in my system.”

Emmy makes a tight fist. “Yes. If you prefur we take care of zat now, we can,” then she places a hand on your shoulder. She’s incredibly warm to the touch, and you already know you’ll be melting with her passes before the hour ends.

Her expression softens, and she leans against the table. “Are you feeling conflicted because zere is another girl?”

Flora flashes first, but then you remember Scarlet. Were you feeling guilty about any of this? You shouldn’t be, right? Flora would understand, and Scarlet is still trying to figure out her own emotions. “No,” you say, again unsure if you’re lying or not. “What do you what to do?”

Emmy grins, her cheeks becoming slightly pink. “You are asking me what I want to do, wiz’ you?”

“Yes,” you smile. “Something tells me I’m not going to regret anything you do with me.”

She laughs, nodding to herself as she takes a closer at you. "Yes...What do I want to do with zu?"