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Startup 45a: Linu
“No, please, master, I don’t want you to go!” Linu simpered, “I’ll myiss you too myuch!”
The white haired catgirl clung to the older man, pressing her face into his chest. She was already in his lap, but she wrapped herself around him like she wanted every inch of her skin to be in contact with the veteran quartermaster. She audibly sniffed his sweaty musk, and started purring.
“You know I can’t stay any longer, or the priestesses will get testy.” Amos said, stroking her hair with his fingers. “Come along, and I’d be happy to take care of you on my ship, though. A temple like this is no place for a sweet girl like you. Callistria’s a hard goddess.”
“Oh nyo!” Linu said, sitting up stock straight in his lap, ears pinned back against her head. “I could nyever go to sea! I’d just get in the way! Besides, they’d nyever let me go without paying off my debt…”
She looked out the window at the view of the harbor, not quite able to keep the twinkle of longing out of her soft blue eyes.
Amos caught her delicate hand and gave it a squeeze.
“Don't you worry, lass.” He said, “You got my last package, right?”
“Oh yes!” She cried, clapping her hands, “It was so sweet of you! I loved this one the myost!”
She pulled a small silver ring from a pocket in her sleeve. It was a simple band, with the name Amos etched into it along with a heart. He’d commissioned it especially for her.
“It’s so cute, and I can slip it on when I’m feeling lonely. I’m scared to wear the rest,” she said, “the other girls, they get jealous if I wear anything the temple doesn’t provide, so I only put the rings on in my room…”
“Say no more,” Amos said gently, “Tis more than enough to see you happy. I should be able to come back once more before I ship out, if you’d like. I’ve got enough for a special evening…”
Her eyes widened, then she blushed, looking down and fiddling with her hair.
“Really?” She whispered, “That would be amyazing! I’m nyervous, but if you could be my first time, I knyow it would be okay. I want it to be special…”
He leaned in and kissed her, and she stiffened.
“Mister Amos!” She whined, “Careful! If I let you touch me I could get in trouble!”
“Don’t worry, lass.” He said, “I just couldn’t keep my hands to myself.”
He left, and Linu listened to his footsteps fade. Her ears and tail relaxed, and her face returned to a neutral expression. She sighed, and put the ring back in her pocket next to the amulet with a picture of an elven man and the rather daring leather collar marked “pet.” She’d need the last one for her next client at dusk, but she had absolutely no intention of facing that creep sober.
She walked down the hallway, calmly waving at her coworkers on her way to the mess hall. She ladeled out a bowl of potato soup and poured herself a pint, idly wondering if even Chelish house cats actually wore outfits this frilly for housework. She had to be extremely delicate to make sure none of the trailing cloth touched her dinner.
“There’s myail for you, myistress!” Another temple girl said, dropping a letter in front of Linu and bursting into peals of laughter.
“Eat my ass, Anna,” she said acidly, “Come back when you can afford your own apartment.”
The accent was perfect. Not accurate, of course. She’d met multiple Amurrun from all over the world, and none of them actually sounded anything like the stereotype. She’d tried hard to track down the roots of the accent, and it seemed to be a bastardized Tien invention. How these rubes thought properly educated Chelish slaves would be allowed to speak in such a way mystified her, but it got them hot and bothered so who was she to complain?
She set the letter aside. It was marked with one of the field work cyphers, and she wasn’t in the mood. She wasn’t an analyst today, she was an offensive stereotype. It was a shame that the latter paid so much better than the former.
It was an easy hustle, and the guys paid well for it. Sweet ingenue, marketed as an entertainer rather than a prostitute. Once they were on the hook about mom’s gambling debts, she told them the Madame wanted to sell her virginity and get her into the normal rotation of whores. Luckily, almost none of the guys who went for her type knew the first thing about how the temple actually operated.
After a tearful “first time,” most of them lost interest, since she stopped hiding the fact that she was sleeping with other men. Clean break, high payout, minimal drama if she worked them properly. Make them feel like a hero who helped her transition into the big leagues, shower them with appreciation, hope they either leave or become a normal repeat customer.
So far, no one had ever realized what she was doing. It helped that she didn’t actually dress like a Chelish maid in her normal daily life. The Amurrun floozy with a feather duster was another mostly inaccurate stereotype, incidentally. Her grandmother had been an accountant for her Chelish owners, for Callistria’s sake. One her noble grandfather had indeed slept with, but that was beside the point. She had good genes.
Her ears perked up involuntarily when she opened the letter and analyzed the handwriting. Crimson had finally sent her another letter? He’d been out of touch ever since the one Threva had bullied him into sending.
Hopefully this one will give me a little more information. Confirmation that he was alive was wonderful, but he was so vague.
Linu
The Captain I’m working with has some money troubles. Apparently he’s an escaped sex ****. He’s trying to buy himself out of his contract. I’m asking around to see if anyone would be willing to chip in, just as a loan. He’s almost certainly good for it, and is willing to pay back a fifth more than he’s given within two years.
I’m doing alright. Not too much action recently. Should be in Quent some time soon. Take care.
Crimson Cogward.
Linu stared at the paper, though she had committed the text to memory with her first glance. Easy enough, since there was so little of it. Worse, it was entirely possible that Dindreanne hadn’t gotten any longer a letter from her son, so pooling information with her might end up entirely pointless. The petite catgirl’s tail lashed dangerously.
“Crimson Cogward, you unmitigated ass.” Linu growled, “You’re not even undercover anymore; you can write down as much as you like.”
No “let me tell you about my adventures, Linu.”
No “sorry for the delay, Linu.”
No “I love you, Linu.”
Not even a “I need your read on this because you’re so blasted clever, Linu.”
We are on break because you decided to run off for a mission you immediately abandoned, and the second letter I get back from you is primarily a request for money. What in the Nine Hells is wrong with you?
She sighed. At least he’d bothered to confirm to her that he was safe and likely to visit soon. The last letter had had a bit more information to chew on, like the name of one Captain Emrys M’Dair and a painfully brief explanation of Bonewrack Isle, but hardly anything about his next steps.
Cog was an idiot, but he wasn’t a fool or a charlatan. She entered her thought palace, looking over her vault snapshot from the last time she’d visited the bank. She could probably afford to put up three hundred on a safe bet. Perhaps five, if Cog was very persuasive when he got back. Very persuasive indeed; it had been months since she’d slept with someone willing to be rough with her.
No, willingness isn’t the issue. Ferdinand is absolutely certain that he’s pinning me down when I struggle, I’m sure. What a shame his grip is as limp as his dick. I need someone who can hurt me without going too far, not someone who would **** me in his basement if he could get away with it.
She sighed, fastened on the leather collar, had a couple more shots to loosen herself up, and drank a neutralizer so her breath wouldn’t smell of ****. Ferdinand paid too well to be late for his appointment.
••••••••••
The rain drummed upon the deck, soaking every man and woman to the bone. Cog caught a mouthful of sea spray as he barked commands to his small team.
“Jape! Duck!” He bellowed over the howling wind, “Callistria’s tits, pay attention!”
The tall half orc had nearly been brained by a poorly secured spar that had whipped through the air. Cog ran over to grab hold of the offending wooden rod, arresting the turning mast with raw strength.
“Fucking hell, man.” Ratts cried, dumbstruck.
“Don't try to hold one of these alone.” Cog said, grunting with effort as he fought the wind. “We need to batten down and ride this out.”
He looked up at Sandara, his eyes pleading. She was the sailing master; it was ultimately her call.
“It’s hurricane season, what did you expect?” Sandara asked, letting out a hearty laugh, “We’ve got an appointment to keep, and this might not properly calm for a week. You’re doing fine.”
“Conchobar, go get Syl.” Cog called, “I’d like to talk to her.”
Cog wasn’t particularly hopeful, but it couldn’t hurt. Syl had stopped coming up on deck after one too many arguments with Sandara. No one on the crew knew half as much about how the ship worked as Sandara. Well, there was Rowe, but not even Conchobar thought that she’d be any less reckless than their current sailing master, or more receptive to advice.
“Oi! Ship to the south!” Narwhal called from the tops, where he was tied to the crow’s nest. “Coming right for us!”
“Are they daft?” Sandara said, turning to squint through the rain. “Put up a light so she can see us.”
Without Emrys around to summon magical lights, they had to use a few of the strange sunrods Rowe had made. Cog cracked one over his knee, causing the liquids inside to start to emit blinding radiance. He held it up, waving it for the other ship to see. Thankfully that worked, and it started to pull to the side.
Voices carried over the water in chorus, just audible over the pounding rain.
“No one sails like Gobron!
No one tails like Gobron!”
“Yes Sandara!” Rowe yelled over the wind, “They daft!”
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