Tina Date 2, Part 1: A Dance in a Mithril Ring

Francis

Not knowing what to expect, Francis bought another Potion of Long Rest from Daphne’s kiosk so he can reset his spell preparations, loaded a cast of Haste into his new ring, took a shower, fixed his make-up (which was atrocious), and dressed casually (his armored heel boots, some stockings, matching bra and panties, a denim thigh length skirt, and a button-up cami tank top). Ignoring the statue, he heads down to the One-Shot Room. Walking inside, he finds himself in a single-wide trailer?

Francis: -10 BP

Daphne: +1 BP

Tina, wearing a towel and a smile, walks out of what looks to be a tiny bathroom. “Hey, cutie! Love the look, super cas’, but not good for what we’re doing tonight. That’s okay, the first event today is playing dress-up! Strip. Let’s see if you thought you were getting laid again tonight.” She giggles. He touches her nose and casts Tongues, targeting the bonny bunny. Stepping back, he asks, “<Where are we?>”

“Wait, how do I understand you? I can tell you’re speaking that pretty gibberish, but I can get it. Weird.”

“<Tongues. Third level spell. Grants a single creature the ability to understand all spoken languages for an hour. Unless you wanted a translator or me texting everything for our date...>”

“Were you pushing me to get that boring language spell just to make our date easier, Francis?” the bunny asks, slightly annoyed.

“<Not going to lie, that was a part of my reasoning. You taking 10 minutes to cast it every hour or so for free would save me a whole bunch of SP. The bigger reason was to deal with your contracts issue. It would let you be able to read the contract, no matter what language it is written in. Plus, being able to understand the incantations a caster uses can help predict what’s about to head your way. The spell has uses. It’s just not flashy.>”

“Sorry. Got distracted for a sec. Did you say Third level spell? I didn’t get Third level spells.”

“<I got more XP from last night’s date, remember?>”

“Boo!” Tina complains. Francis tries to distract her by pulling most of his clothes into his inventory. It succeeds, as she coos, “Cute set. You were planning on getting laid tonight! Good job, cutie.” She leans in to give him a peck on the cheek, then turns on the radio. Girly teeny bop plays as Francis suffers through a montage of “playing dress up”. It starts with feminine cut tuxedos, then moves on to ballroom gowns of various styles. Eventually, Tina settles on a dress girlier than what Francis is comfortable in, but not so scandalously revealing as the last dresses he tried on were. Off the shoulder torso hugging black dress with an ankle length billowy skirt with little silver accents. <At least it goes well with my boots>, Francis thinks as he equips them. He sits on the bed as Tina dresses herself in a complimentary (though more revealing) dress.

“<You never told me where we are.>”

“Oh, this is home. Where I grew up. Mom and I shared that bed from the moment I upgraded from a crib until she went to hospice. I miss this place. So much nicer than the trailer I live in now.”

“<Hospice? Do you want to talk about it?>”

“Maybe over a big tub of ice cream, when you can speak English again. Not right now. Don’t want us to ruin our make-up with us crying over my Mom.”

Francis feels guilty. If he had bunny ears to droop, they’d be flopping down right now. “<Understood. So, what’s the plan?>”

“Soooo, remember how I kind of figured out that I was a lesbian by sleeping with my at the time boyfriend’s sister a week before prom? Well, I obviously didn’t go and I always regretted it. The only time in my life that I had the opportunity to go to a fancy dress ball and I turn it down? Super dumb of me. Did you go to prom?”

<I have a feeling I’m about to,> he thinks, then answers, “<Single guy with no prospects? Of course I skipped prom.>”

“But now, you are my ‘work-in-progress’ girlfriend. Neither of us would be going alone. So, what do you say? Reservations at the best restaurant Gamblin’ has to offer, then dancing the night away. Or, at least the part of the night before we have to head upstairs. Would you like to go to prom with me?” Tina pulls out a silver and red flower corsage and slips in on Francis’ wrist. For the first time today, his smile reaches his eyes.

“<I’d love to.>”

Daphne

This spell makes my head hurt. Ugh. Why do abjuration spells suck soooo much? This better work. I don’t want to disappoint my Beloved. I can’t. Only... 4 more hours of deciphering and practicing to go! Ugh!

Tina

Eeeeeh! I’m going to prom! And I get to eat at The Greasy Spork one more time! It was so sad when it “mysteriously burned down” after the owner stopped paying off the Tourist Board.

So, with immensly infuriating shock does the trailer door open up to a pink and off-white lobby. A very busty woman, covered in cum of various levels of dryness, waves happily at the entering couple. Francis looks confused and disturbed.

“Howdy, y’all, and welcome to Cum Guzzlers, the multiverse’s most perverse breastaurant. My name is Dumb Cunt and I’ll be your hostess for tonight. If you’ll watch the informative video as the machine doohickey does it’s thing, we can get you started! Enjoy!”

“<Um, Tina, anyway out of all this?>” Francis nervously asks.

“This wasn’t the plan. That fucking Vinny.” Tina groans.

The video starts to play, featuring a fat slob of a man speaking boisterously, ““Howdy, y’all, and welcome to Cum Guzzlers, the multiverse’s most perverse chain of breastaurants. I’m Johnson Hardon, Founder and CEO of Cum Guzzlers. Here at Cum Guzzlers, we love to tailor the experience to the particular needs of our clientele. Essentially, we have found that there are 3 kinds of customers at Cum Guzzlers. First, the Alpha Males. Alphas come to Cum Guzzlers to, well, get their cum guzzled. Our expert Cum Sluts will worship their mighty cum hoses with the reverence they deserve as they enjoy our finest cuisine. Second, the Beta Males. Betas come to Cum Guzzlers to experience Alphas get their cum guzzled. They get a good meal and the entertainment of watching our Cum Sluts suck off a big-dicked Alpha. Finally, Cum Sluts. Cum Sluts come to Cum Guzzlers to, well, guzzle cum. And guzzle cum they will! Plenty of big-dicked Alphas are in Cum Guzzlers everyday. Now some Cum Sluts are too dumb to realize they are Cum Sluts yet. Fret not! Cum Guzzlers is well-known to bring out that inner Slut from even the most frigid of harpies! So, no matter what you imagine, Cum Guzzlers is the restaurant for you!”

The woman calling herself Dumb Cunt says, “The machine thingy says that you are a party of 2 repressed Cum Sluts. Don’t worry! The machine thingy can fix that.”

The machine scans Tina first, blaring, “Inappropriate Attire. Inappropriate Sexual Desire. Error. System Override. Influencer Exception to Desire Repair Acknowledged. Prepare for Attire Repair.” Tina, panicking, shunts her clothes into her inventory just in time, as claws descend to shred them off her body. She is blasted with a firehose of cum. Ewwwwwww.

The machine scans Francis, blaring, “Inappropriate Attire. Inappropriate Sexual Desire. Inappropriate Level of Intelligence. Inappropriate Level of Misandry. Prepare for Repairs.” Francis, figuring out what’s about to happen, also shunts his clothes before the claws ruin the dress she picked out for him. Then a face mask is shoved over his nose and mouth. He struggles against it as the chamber fills with pink mist. He even tries to use his gills to avoid breathing it, only to swallow a big gulp of it as he gasps in pain from the effort. His eyes glaze over, his no longer intimidating cock swells to it’s full tiny length. He looks kind of out of it by the time the hose blasts him in cum. He giggles, “Yummy. Ohmygosh, Tina, you are just the best for taking us to Cum Guzzlers! C’mon, we gotta find the biggest cocks to slurp on that we can!”

Oh, no. Francis, Tina thinks, as he drags her further into the restaurant. The dining area is, thankfully, empty. A single two-seater table is placed in the middle, underneath a spotlight. Vinny, the bastard, is hanging off to the side, laughing his ass off. Can’t let him see Vinny in this state. At least until I know what the fuck is going on.

“Francis, why don’t you sit to face the entrance, so you can, um, see the hot studs come in?”

“Yaaay! You’re the bestest, Tina!” He gives Tina a big hug, smearing his face all over her cum drenched breasts.

Francis, distracted by the prospect of hot studs, sits. He starts to lap at some of the cum on his arm. Ewwww. Tina stomps towards her fucking evil agent. “What the fuck is going on, Vinny?!?!? I was promised no interference on my date and look what these fucking psychos did to him?!?!?”

“Toots, yoo were promised no interference of yer self determination, not no interference period. And this is in the contract with Cum Guzzlers yoo already signed. Don’t worry. The effects are temporary and yer overbearin’ producer insisted dat we fix yoos up before yer lame dance part of yer date. So, sit down, praise the nice folks at Cum Guzzlers, and enjoy yer cum-filled meal.”

Tina fumes, then stomps her way to the table. Sitting down, she watches in horror as Vinny approaches the table.

“Hiya, Toots. The name’s Vinny. I’m Tina’s agent.”

Francis is staring at the imp’s erect member, drooling. “Hiiiiiiiii, Penis. I mean Vinny. I’m... I can’t remember my name right now. I didn’t know that Tina had such a sexy agent. With such a big, succulent penis.”

“What do you want, Vinny?” Tina says through gritted teeth.

“Just to let yoos know what the sponsors did to ‘im. Here’s the deets. Can yoo read ‘em, sweetie?”

Francis stares hard at the notecard, then shakes his head no. “Reading is for nerds, right Tina?” He flips the card to Tina, who actually reads the thing:

Cum Slut in Training – A female (or close enough to female) customer of Cum Guzzlers that doesn’t know her place? That needs fixing and pronto! In terms of the lame DoD system for this season, Libido and Intelligence are set to their minimums (-3 and -1 modifiers, respectively). In addition, sexual orientation is modified to be cock preferring pansexual. Perfect to trick unsuspecting customers to become permanent cum-dumpsters for the restaurant (Temporary).

Tina lies, “That’s right, Francis, reading is for nerds. You can go the fuck away now, Vinny.”

“But Tina,” Francis (or whatever she should call the mind controlled monster inside of him) moans, “then I can’t suck his big, juicy cock.”

“They’ll be better cocks that come in, Francis. Just you wait and see.”

“’K. You’re the smart one, Tina.”

I’m really not. Gotta keep cock-dumb Francis from doing something he’ll regret. “Soooo, Francis. Tell me about work? You’re a professor, right?”

He giggles. “You’re soooo funny, Tina. I’m way too dumb to work. I’m just looking for a sugar daddy with a big dick. Waay easier to live being pampered on your back, right?”

This is going to be a long dinner, isn’t it?

Skye

Ok, Skye. You can do this. Ms. Josie and Ms. Dinah are right here if you go too far.

Skye stares at the point of her estoc, pointing straight up, trying to prepare for the most dangerous thing she’s ever done. It’s not perfect for the Sword Dance, but I’m a fencer, not a hand-n-half wielder like by lady future love. I can’t perform the blessing properly unless I can touch the sharp bit.

Ms. Dinah is downcast, still under the effect of her sleepy kitty stuffy, but at least not currently crying. Francis’ theory on her struggle is disturbing. She’ll need to add that to her prayers.

Ms. Josie is also here, more amused than anything. She’s half trying to cheer Ms. Dinah up, half trying to figure out what Skye is doing, exactly, “Hey, when’s this show supposed to begin, Skye? We could be watching Scarlet strip right now.”

“Soon, Ms. Josie. Soon.”

Skye takes the ground mithril she made especially for this spell in her hands. The ceremony spell is one rarely used, as far as Skye can tell. A spell to ensure that a deity will bless a particular religious rite? It’s foolishness. But, The Lady did bless her with this spell before she even had the ability to cast it; surely that means that Skye is to use it.

She feels the magic flow through her, a primal surge. A hint at what is to come. The mithril catches a sudden wind, blowing around her, around her blade. Silver elvish script glows along the ground. The sound of harps fill the air.

“Uh, Skye, your hair is catching fire!”

“<It’s fine. Moonfire. A sign of blessing.>”

Before she could continue assuring them or even realize that she answered Josie in Elvish, Skye just begins to dance. The rhythm of the air-filling song sets her beat. Her voice, still too soft, still too low, belts out her Evensong prayer. Ignoring the burning of her loins, Skye focuses on the prayer, on her dance, on this divine feeling. She barely feels the sting as she grazes her arm across the tip of the estoc.

She adds her prayers for her new sisters. Some praises for successes (like Ms. Tina being surprisingly useful today), some entreaties for things needing improvement (like Ms. Dinah’s newly found affliction). She grazes her other arm, again drawing blood. Again barely feeling it.

She prays for her lady future love, who seems to have been put through the ringer. She prays for her ease of mind and strength of will. She’ll need it. Skye starts to feel a bit woozy as she grazes a leg across the point of the blade.

Finally, she selfishly prays for herself. For her to be able to protect her new found family. For her ability to handle the responsibility to be The Lady’s champion. Especially considering how the game has warped what that may mean. Her other leg now grazed, she feels the dance end. The music fades. The ground stops glowing. But the Moonfire remains in her hair and her blade glows with the same silvery light.

“Skye, your hair is still on fire. What the fuck was all of that?”

“Sorry. Little woozy. It’s Moonfire. A sign given by The Lady of her blessing. You can come touch my hair if you like. The Sword Dance is done to ask The Lady to bless a weapon. Which she did. Not sure how well I did.”

“So, you’re telling me that your crazy religion is a real thing?”

Skye unsteadily walks to her newly blessed blade and yanks it out of the ground. Giving it a good few thrusts in the air, she nods. Feels good.

“Skye, more crazy nonsense. Sand behind you.”

Written out in perfect Elvish calligraphy, is the weapon’s description. Skye smiles as she translates for Ms. Josie. She did very well. Very well, indeed.

Estoc of the Sword Dancer (Level 1): Finesse. 2 piercing damage, [1] radiant damage. May be used as a spellcasting focus for followers of Eilistraee. When wielded by a follower of Eilistraee, the blade will shed moonfire in the presence of an evil creature. Evil creatures will suffer the same effect to moonfire exposure as they would to bright sunlight. Leveled items can be increased by meeting set conditions. To Level: An irredeemably evil aberration, fiend, or undead creature must be slain using this blade in service to Eilistraee.