Say hello again

A silence hangs in the air for several seconds. Eventually, you are the first to speak. “Can I help you?”

“You were… the man in the tavern today, yes?” asks the mystery person. “Th-the one Llewellyn told to come here?”

“Maybe I am, maybe I’m not,” you say. “Who’s asking?”

“Oh, sorry!” she says, before dropping her hood. It’s still hard to see her in the dim light of the hall crystal, but the first thing you notice are her pointed ears. Next, you confirm that she does indeed resemble the bartender, only with longer hair and a more feminine face. “M-my name is Blythe Nesimilia… I’m a duelist, and my brother runs a tavern in the market, and I thought—”

“Whoa, there, Blythe,” you interject. “That’s good enough. My name’s Evan Reynolds. You seem nervous, but I promise I won’t bite. Unless you’re into that. Please, come sit down and tell me what’s on your mind.”

You step aside to let her pass through the door, but the elf doesn’t move an inch. It could be the lighting, but you think you can see her cheeks flaring up a little.

“Really, let’s not talk in the hallway,” you say. “Come sit on the bed. I’ll sit on this desk right here.” You hop up on the desk and wait. After a long pause, the elf moves quickly into the room, closes the door, and sits at the base of the bed facing you. “That’s better, isn’t it? Now, what’s up? What did you need to track me down in the middle of the night for?”

“I am sorry,” she says. “I do not mean to intrude. I… I just did not know where…” A gentle sob escapes her, though you can barely see her let alone know if she’s really crying. “I have no place to go,” she says after a pregnant silence.

You don’t let her words linger long before you respond. “Blythe. You’re going to have to tell me more about what’s going on, or else I can’t figure out how to help you.”

The sounds of quiet crying are fairly unmistakable at this point, but the elf girl still tries to talk through it. “I… everyone in my — in my family, they said I was terrible. And I am terrible, I know… a woman should not be like me, but I… I just cannot help it… and you, you spoke so freely at the tavern, like such horrible sins m-meant… nothing, to you, so I thought maybe… maybe you would understand. So I came l-looking for y-you, and ended up… getting a room across the hall.”

“So you were the one under the counter,” you say. The sounds of crying stop for a moment, as if the elf is holding her breath. “Cards on the table, I saw you go in and followed you. I had no idea where you’d gone until you bumped into the counter. Oh, and I wasn’t following you for any bad reason, I promise. Your outfit just caught my attention, so I followed out of curiosity.”

“M-m-my outfit?” she says, louder than she’s been in the entire encounter. “W-w-what about m-m-my outfit?”

Okay. Something is up. A reaction like that is ringing all kinds of alarm bells in your head. Tension rushes into your spine as thoughts of what she could be hiding under that cloak are paired with the realization of how stupid it was to let this total stranger be alone with you in a dark room. Is she hiding a priestess habit under there? Has she come to exorcise the new Demon Lord on the block?

“A-are you not… going to turn on the light?” she asks, totally throwing you for a loop. How should you answer? You can’t just say you don’t know how: best case scenario she’ll think you’re stupid, worst case she’ll take that as proof you’re not from this world and kill you for it. You have to think up a lie, and quick. Too tired? Does magic even take energy to cast?

“I think it’s defective,” you go with. Picking it up and holding it out to her, you say, “Here, you try it.” The dark shadow that is the elven woman reaches out to touch the crystal, and suddenly the space between you and her is filled with a white glow. “Huh, weird,” you say, before placing it back on the desk beside you. It doesn’t emit any warmth like a candle would, and the white color of the light gives the room a clinical atmosphere.

This being the first time you can really see your guest in proper lighting, you realize two things: first, she’s drop-dead gorgeous, and second, her cloak has opened just enough at the base that you can see a thick, creamy thigh poking out and ending in a bare foot. She, too, notices the leg having slipped out and quickly covers up, but you already saw it. Now your brain is hard at work imagining both of her naked legs under that cloak, leading up into a juicy, tight—

“You’re staring at me,” she says. You watch as she crosses her arms over her large chest, her legs shuffling noticeably under the cloak. Is her breathing getting heavier? “I knew it. You are a vulgar man, are you not?”

This is it. This is the moment you live or die. If she’s here on Ithwen’s orders, you’re as good as dead. However, you’ve been getting a different kind of vibe from her since the light came on. The little friend between your legs has already started waking up, too. How would she react if you made a move on her?