And Then There Were Five

Caleb ate the way he did everything: methodical, careful, watching the room.

Nott hit the meat like a storm.

She hunched over the plate and ate fast, hood low, mask tipped just enough to free her mouth. Small sharp teeth, quick fingers, salt and fat and heat. She tried to make it neat, but old habits from the tribe crept in: hoard the meat close, keep your shoulders between your food and the world. Embarrassment prickled her ears; civilized rooms wanted dainty bites, not greedy ones. Still, it had been a long time since she’d eaten this well, and filling her belly dulled the restless itch coiled low, blunting the ache and want in her balls to something she could ignore for a few blessed breaths.

A capful of coin clattered at the next table and her thief-brain sat bolt upright. An old fisherman, eyes damp with gratitude, had spilled copper and silver out and Nott paused filling her stomach to potentially sate one of her other appetites. Listening in she picked up that the trio sitting there had killed some big snake for him yesterday, saving his kid’s life and he’d scraped up donations from his kin and fellow fishermen.

She nudged Caleb with her elbow. “Shiny.”

His eyes flicked without turning his head, quick and sharp. “It is not for us.”

“Not yet,” she whispered, leaning over her plate like a child over sweetcakes. “You see the way he just left it there? Begging for nimble fingers. I could-”

“No.” Caleb’s tone was final, but quiet, his fork sliding another bit of sausage onto his tongue. “This is not a back alley. Here, there are eyes. We are ghosts, Nott, remember? Not cutpurses in daylight.”

Nott slumped, chewing resentfully. She could let go of coin. She had other hungers.

Because across the way, ringed around the fisherman’s gift, sat three strangers.

The tiefling girl was all lush curves and bright mischief, violet eyes catching the light as she laughed. Freckles spattered her powder-blue cheeks, her short cobalt hair bouncing like it was always on the verge of a prank. Two ridged horns curled back from her brow, each tied with little blue bows. Her cloak fell just enough aside to show the cinch of a corset-belt over a traveling dress, the swell of her tits straining against fabric with every breath. Nott’s balls gave a throb so heavy she shifted on the bench.

She’d never fucked a tiefling… No! Bad Nott! Hehee…baad Nott….

Beside her, the brown-skinned human woman was cut sharp, half her head shaved, the rest pulled into a rough bun with strands falling loose around a lean, angular face. A nose ring winked in the light when she smirked, blue-gray eyes narrowing like she was always ready to pounce.
Her sleeveless jacket left the carved abs of her midriff bare, sash tied bold at her waist. Every inch screamed fighter. Nott imagined grappling her, or being grappled, it hardly mattered. Her cock twitched, pressing uncomfortably against its bindings.

And the last: a half-orc, his green skin made him seem like kin, marked by a pale scar across one golden eye. Dark hair slicked back from a face built for brooding. Broad shoulders filled leather armor that looked both worn and dangerous, a sword jutting over one shoulder as though it belonged there more than anywhere else. Something about him… steady, solid, like a wall, made the female in Nott ache. She hated that part of herself, hated that weak little shiver, but it was there all the same.

“Not coins,” she muttered under her breath, eyes fixed hungrily on the trio. “Treasure.”

Caleb glanced at her sidelong, suspicion narrowing his gaze. “What are you staring at now?”

“Breakfast,” she said, and licked grease from her fingers, heat smoldering in her eyes.

Nott **** her gaze back to the coins the instant the fisherman tipped his cap and shuffled out. Safer to stare at money than at the meat of the world. Safer to pretend the itch in her belly was greed and not the other thing.

Nott leaned closer to Caleb, whispering quickly behind her mask she’d settled back into place. “That’s a lot of shine, yea? Could follow ’em out. Do the Moneypot. Maybe Rat Food. Or Prince and the Pauper. Spider Eyes if you’re feeling saucy-”

Caleb didn’t even look up from his methodical chewing. “Nein. Not now and especially not these three.”

The tight bodied hottie scraped coins into little piles and frowned at them like they’d insulted her. “How do you split four gold when there’s only three of us?”

“Don’t know,” the tiefling said cheerfully, already nudging a stack toward the nearest passing tray like she meant to tip the kitchen.

The half-orc’s mouth ticked. “I did pretty well at that card game. You can have mine, Jester.”

The human blinked, then smirked and slid one gold into the tiefling’s share with a theatrical flourish. “Generous and handsome. Noted.”

The blue skinned blue haired horned hottie’s eyes went wide. “Two for me? That feels greedy. We should tip Adelaine! And Yorda. And maybe buy the sad musicians a pastry. Oh! And we could replace the fisherman’s hat, did you see the hole?”

“Or…. we keep the reward for not letting his kid get eaten.”

Nott watched the sexy half-orc stud’s eyes move across the room, doors, windows, bar, their table- and stop. On her. He murmured something to the women, the human’s brows ticked up; the tiefling followed his glance and brightened like a lantern.

Caleb sipped his trost. “Eyes,” he murmured. “See?”

Then the tiefling got to her feet.

She braced a knee on her chair and leaned over its back toward their table, cloak slipping askew. The corset-belt held a well-filled top that rose and fell with her breath; the dress hugged her in ways that made Nott’s pulse climb. When she shifted, the split of the navy skirt fell open just enough to show a pale pink lining and when she hopped the chair to plant her elbows on it, her backside rolled up under the fabric like two ripe loaves, soft and wide. Her long, slender tail curled lazily behind her, the sharp arrow-headed tip bobbing with each motion, a lacey pink ribbon tied in a bow just behind it that only drew more attention to the wobble of her ass. Nott’s gaze snagged, filthy thought following filthy thought: two fat blue pillows, begging for a good rutting, all wobble and jiggle and smother.

“Are you staying here at the inn?” Jester chirped, bright as a bell.

Nott didn’t move. “Don’t move,” she hissed to Caleb. “Tieflings can only see movement.”

“That is not true,” Caleb murmured, setting his fork down.

“It’s very true,” Jester said, utterly straight-faced for half a heartbeat, then grinning. “But I can hear you. Also- you should take a bath. You know they have showers here. It’s possible.”

Caleb blinked. “A what now?”

“You bathe yourself in water,” she said patiently, lashes fluttering over wide violet eyes.

“I have bathed,” he replied, prickly. “I know what a bath is.”

“It’s just that you smell really bad and it’s wafting over here,” she said, cheerful as ever. “I’d hate to smell that bad and no one tell me."

Sounding vaguely put upon, Caleb uttered, "I've only just met you."

"Hi! I’m Jester.” she chirped.

“Caleb,” he said, automatic, wary.

“Y’know,” said the human woman, “smell’s not all bad. Kind of… sexy. I’m Beau.” She nodded at the half-orc. “That’s Fjord.”

“What?” The tiefling’s violet eyes went round, “No, it is not! That’s not sexy, that’s… that’s hobo stink!”

Beau shrugged and jabbed her finger toward Nott. “Not him. Her.”

Heat flashed up Nott’s neck. “Excuse me. Nott’s actually much cleaner than he is.” She straightened on the bench, tugging her hood a fraction lower, one hand unconsciously guarding the edge of her porcelain mask. “He’s the one who sleeps in his clothes like a shed snake.”

Caleb coughed into his Trost. “Nott.”

But the damage was done. The tiefling leaned right across her chair-back, mischief bright in her eyes. She inhaled dramatically, violet gaze locked on Nott as though scent could unmask her. Nott froze, gut crawling. Too close. Too dangerous.

Then the tiefling exhaled with a little sigh. “Huh. She does smell good.” Her grin spread, wicked and sweet all at once. “Like my mama’s room.”

Jester leaned forward onto her elbows, looking at Nott with unabashed fascination. “I love your mask! It’s so spooky-cute,” she said with a giggle. Nott blinked, taken aback by the compliment. Few had ever called her or anything about her cute.

Then, tilting her head, Jester peered at Nott’s hood and bandages. “Are you cold? Is that why you’re all wrapped up? I can lend you my cloak but it’s mostly for swirling dramatically.”

Nott’s fingers tightened on the porcelain strap. “No,” she said, voice small behind the mask. “Nott is… fine.”

“Okay,” Jester said, but the word stretched like taffy as she leaned in again, eyes huge, tail tip flicking. For a breath she just looked at Nott, head tilted as if catching a tune only she could hear. “You’re very… interesting,” she whispered, delighted, like she’d discovered a new kind of pastry.

“Mm,” Beau grunted, half a smirk. “’Interesting’ is one word.” She scooted her chair a little closer and, without preamble, said in crisp Halfling, “Good morning.”

The old reflex snapped out of Nott before she could stop it. “Top o’ the morning,” she shot back in perfect Halfling, country-lilt and all.

Caleb pinched the bridge of his nose. “Scheisse.”

Beau’s eyebrows climbed. She glanced at Jester, then back. “Huh. That accent...”

“I like it,” Jester breathed, even more fascinated. “Say another thing. Um… say ‘I love cookies and secrets.’”

“Why would I-” Nott started- and stopped, because Jester’s hopeful grin was blinding. She caved, muttered in Halfling, “I love cookies and secrets,” and immediately regretted everything.

Beau’s eyes narrowed with the pleasant focus of a cat watching a curtain twitch. “Those ears under there,” she said, gentler than her words. “They look folded, not tucked.”

“No they don’t,” Nott lied, hunching.

“Your teeth,” Jester said, soft as sugar, “are very pointy. Prettily pointy. Like a little… shark.”

Her mask! How’d she let it slip now?

Caleb cleared his throat, voice low. “Enough staring. She is my friend. She is with me.”

Beau lifted her hands. “Hey. We’re staring respectfully.” She leaned in anyway. “You can keep the mask on. I get it. But if the town’s going to get twitchy, better we hear it from you.”

Jester nodded earnestly. “We can help. We’re very helpful. We killed a big snake yesterday!” She paused, then added brightly, “Non-snake help also available.”

Nott felt the old panic scuttle up her spine. She could lie, let them think strange halfling, odd illness, mask for… fashion? But Jester’s open, ridiculous face and Beau’s steady, curious eyes made lying feel like spitting in a glass of clear water. The itch in her gut, the restless, maddening thrum, eased a notch when she looked at them. Dangerous. Comfort was dangerous.

She tugged the hood forward anyway and turned her head and pulled at her bandages.. A crescent of green skin showed for a heartbeat. The paint-chipped lip of the porcelain dipped, and behind it a glimpse of a sharp little teeth flashed.

Jester’s breath caught. Beau’s did, too but neither recoiled.

“Oh,” Jester whispered, awe in the oh. “You’re… cute.”

Nott blinked. That… was not the usual response.

Beau’s mouth tilted. “Thought so.” She tipped her chin toward Nott’s bandage-wrapped jaw. “Goblins aren’t exactly welcome in towns like this.” She kept her voice pitched low, casual. “Lucky we’re not ‘towns like this.’”

Caleb exhaled, tension easing from his shoulders by inches. “Yes, that’s why she’s wrapped up. There’s nothing to make a big deal about.”

Jester clasped her hands like a child about to be told a secret. “I’ve never met a goblin. Not a nice one. I mean-” She winced at herself. “That sounded rude. I mean I have met not-nice people of all kinds. But you seem very nice.” She wiggled. “Also spicy.”

Beau snorted a laugh. “She smells a little spicy.”

“Could you please keep it down?” remarked Caleb plaintily.

His eyes flicked to the rest of the tavern, wary, calculating every ear that might catch the word goblin. The last thing they needed was a mob or a guard. And yet… none of the three across from them looked disgusted. If anything, they seemed drawn closer.

Fjord rumbled a low chuckle, leaning back with a casual sweep of his tusked grin. “Relax, friend. I’ve been keeping an eye out. Nobody’s reachin’ for pitchforks. We’ve all got our oddities. ’Sides-” his golden eye flicked toward Nott, sharp but not unkind, “sometimes it pays to look past the wrapping.”

Nott wasn’t sure how it happened. One moment it was just her and Caleb, beers and plates of sausages, and the next: a blue-skinned tiefling girl all smiles and tits and tail was leaning right into their space like she belonged, there was a green-skinned half-orc with shoulders like a doorframe and a human hottie, slouched loose and easy, her lean body all coiled muscle and bare skin where it counted, like sex in the shape of a fistfight.

On Nott’s left, Caleb shifted in his seat. He tapped Nott’s boot with his own under the table, a subtle signal of solidarity. He knew how exposed she felt. It had been two nights ago that he’d suggested they “mingle, maybe make some allies” in this town. And now here they were, closer to that plan than either of them had expected, and it was happening whether Nott wanted it or not.