Trixabelle tugged nervously at the hem of her skirt. It was a sick parody of traditional fairy garb, the pleats cut like leaves but slit far higher and cut far shorter than any fairy would wear back home. Not to mention that rather than being wrapped securely round her waist, it was tied at the sides with two, big flimsy bows. Pretty much the whole of the side of her thighs were exposed and her hipbones were the only thing holding the skirt up.
Oh, and there was the small fact she wasn't wearing any underwear.
This hadn't exactly been how she'd pictured her life in the big city. Not that she'd wanted to come to the big bloody city. She'd been perfectly happy back home in the glade. That was until Trixi and the rest of the community of Sweetwood discovered that the council had been involved in some very shady dealings with the elvish retirement village to the west. What should have been a sacred glade owned in perpetuity for all fairykind was suddenly at risk of encroachment and development. The council had fled with their ill-gotten gains but the contract they'd signed was legally binding. That was elves for you - snooty smartarses.
The only ray of hope was an onerous break clause. A band of hunters and farmers had set out to try and recover the cash the council had stolen - along with the councillors themselves - but even with that the fairies of Sweetwood would need a considerable amount to escape from the usurious contract. And they would need it quickly.
So the new council had gathered the whole community together in the mother-tree and implored those without families to go out into the world and return with cold, hard cash. How could Trixi refuse her duty? And if that meant giving up her beautifully appointed chamber in a highly desirable cluster, her job at the classiest foodhall in the glade and the amorous advances of more than one strapping fairy lad then that was a small price to pay to save her home. And if it meant travelling to the sprawling, stinking, gigantic human town of Stanport then... well, that was a slightly bigger price.
Good fairies kept themselves to themselves and they certainly didn't go gallivanting off to human settlements. But humans had gold and Mexalina Rootbottom's cousin's new husband said he'd heard from his mate over in Shadetree that there was definitely a fairy bar in Stanport where there was good money to be made. Trixi was an excellent waitress so she was the obvious choice to send. And at least she hadn't been sent off to bargain with mud-wraiths like some of her poor cluster-mates.
Except it hadn't quite worked out like that.
The boat ride had been bad enough, the fairy quarters a cramped afterthought. But then the barge had docked into what was a fair approximation of the Nine Hells. The water surrounding them looked more like tar, except tar was positively fragrant in comparison. The boards of the quayside were equally filthy and swarmed with the huge, bellowing lummoxs who made up the majority of the population. Trixi flew over to the cleanest looking giant, dressed in what could almost be a uniform, if you squinted.
As she approached she suddenly had to take evasive action as it turned its head and spat a vile stream of brown liquid into the canal. Then it seemed to focus on her. At first Trixi thought she was under attack but she eventually realised it was just wagging its huge meaty finger at her to indicate a glass box perched on a tall pole. It was obviously speaking to her too but all she could hear was a churning bass rumble.
"Thank you very much, sir," she shouted politely over her shoulder as she flew off.
Inside the box was a fairy, a grizzled old bloke dressed in similar style to the human.
"New in town, miss? Don't really need to ask that, do I? Without wishing to be presumptive, seems like the best course of action might be for you to get straight back on one of them barges."
"Yes, well, I'm not here out of choice. I don't know how you stand it!"
"A body can grow acclimatised to a great many things, I find, miss. If I can't persuade you as to another destination, what are you looking for in Stanport?"
"Scar's Fairy Bar."
The old gent's eyebrows raised. "You sure you want to go there, miss?"
"No," she said, looking around grimly. "But I need the money."
"Well, it ain't for the likes of me to judge." And he proceeded to give her directions.
Thank the stars that she could fly! She flitted gracefully above the filth and bustle, only occasionally having to dodge murderous looking pigeons and torrents of effluent hurled out of windows.
The dockmaster's directions were sound and even having to navigate decidedly unfamiliar landmarks - no trees! - she soon arrived at her destination. At street level, it looked like any other human establishment but painted on the side of the building was an enormous fairy. A fairy from a more tropical climate than Stanport judging from the amount of skin she was exposing. There was a hole in the brickwork just above her bountiful cleavage and just below her inane grin which must have been the fairy entrance.
It wasn't very welcoming. No balcony, no cloak stand, no resting stool, just a minimal antechamber with a door. If Trixi had had any doubts this was the place, the blood red letters advertising the name of the bar confirmed her location.
Trixi knocked.
No response.
Trixi turned the handle.
The door led into a dim corridor intermittently lit by beadlights. Trixi took a few steps forward and then stopped. What the hells was she doing here? She was just on the verge of turning on her heel and flying back to the docks when another door opened and out stepped a fairy.
"Oh, hi! I'm Trixabelle Ivybridge, I'm here about a job," she said, smiling brightly.
The fairy looked at her. Eventually she hoiked her thumb over her shoulder at the door she'd just come through.
Trixi looked back at her, waiting for more information.
The fairy walked off.
"Okay..." Trixi said to herself.
As soon as Trixi got through the door she stopped. In front of her sat a... thing. He - she assumed? - was sat behind a desk so she couldn't tell exactly how big he was but he had to be nearly a foot tall, twice her height. Skin like a toad, teeth like pointed cones and a row of bright blue quills running from his head down his spine. He looked like the bastard son of a goblin and porcupine.
"I'm a mutt," he said gruffly. "Bit of this, bit of that. And it's rude to stare."
Trixi blushed and started to apologise but he waved her words away and gestured for her to sit before returning to his paperwork.
"I'm, er, Trixabelle Ivybridge and..."
"Experience?" he interrupted, not looking up
Trixi launched into her best sales pitch. She was a top waitress, the best in the business. Elegant, discreet, charming, knowledgeable, indefatigable. She could work all day and her smile would never slip and she would always be one step ahead of her diners in anticipating their needs.
He looked up from his paperwork and stared blankly at her. "That's nice but why do I need a fucking waitress?"
That totally wrong footed trixi. "Um, I was told this was a fairy bar?"
"It is a fairy bar. It ain't a bar for fairies."
Now it was Trixi's turn to look blank. He held her gaze for a moment and then sighed. Deftly he sketched something in the air and a stylised, glowing bell appeared. "Jabber!" he yelled whilst ringing the floating bell with a claw.
"Since I am a fucking philanthropist who has nothing better to do with his time than stopping pig-shit ignorant hicks getting chewed up, digested and shat out by this city, I have asked one of my gamesmasters to step in here for a moment and give you a crash course in telling your arse from your elbow."
"Er, thanks?"
They waited in awkward silence for a while. Well, awkward for Trixi; her nameless potential future boss just went back to work, his guest seemingly forgotten. Finally - thankfully - the other door to the office opened and in walked - presumably - the gamesmaster.
"Boss?"
"Take this fresh meat and show her the ropes."
"Sure thing, boss. Okay, toots, step this way."
In stunned compliance she allowed herself to be led by the arm out of the room.
"Name's Jabber. No jokes, okay? It's just my name?"
Jabber was a pixie but not like any pixie she'd ever seen. Not that she'd seen many. Trixi wasn't racist but where she came from honest folk didn't have anything to do with pixies, they were just... you know.
Humans apparently couldn't tell the difference between fairies and pixies which just proved how stupid they were. I mean, look at those ears! But Trixi had never seen a male fairy or pixie with pierced ears whereas Jabber had three gold rings in his right ear. Alongside this, his hair had somehow been styled into spikes to accompany a pointed beard and curled moustache.
His clothes were even stranger. He wore a boxy jacket made out of animal skin dyed so dark as to be almost black and trousers made from a patchwork of red squares. All in all, he was the strangest looking man she'd ever met. Trixi couldn't imagine any self-respecting fairy dressing similarly but then, pixies were pixies.
"So you do have a job then?"
"We've always got a job for the right candidate, babe."
"But if you don't need a waitress, what is the job?"
"A waitress?" Jabber repeated, incredulously. "This is a fairy bar. A bar for humans to look at fairies. How you going to be carrying a pint pot of ale around? They got them giant bitches to do that. Baalanscar is in charge of all the fairy stuff and fairy stuff means entertaining."
"Well," said Trixi, trying to regain the initiative. "I've been told I'm very entertaining."
"I'll bet," said Jabber, looking her up and down in a way that made her blush. "So, can you dance?"
"I guess?" answered Trixi nervously.
"So dance."
Trixi wasn't really a spontaneous sort; she needed a little shove. When she went out dancing, she usually had a thimble of gin to warm her blood and a posse of friends to egg her on. And ideally a pretty boy to try and impressive. Jabber didn't really fit the bill. Still, she would do her best for her clan.
She raised her hands to her shoulders, fingers pointing to the sky and started to sway. Eyes closing, she stepped forward in the first movement of a traditional two step.
Jabber held up his hand. "Okay, not a dancer. Let's see... I suppose it's too much to ask that you are a carpet eater?"
"Carpet?" she echoed.
"Well, that answers that. How about a fighter?"
"Um, I used to wrestle with my brothers when I was a kid," she said, slightly confused.
"Perfect," he beamed.
Trixi was utterly confused. "So I just have to wrestle? And I get paid?"
"Sort of. There's a few more rules than that though, sweetheart."
"Like?"
