I first met Richard Doublefist back when I was a waitress-slash-booze-wench at a midscale tavern on the lower west side of Edenwood. I had fewer piercings back then, and no tattoos -- I was eighteen, trying to figure out what to do with my life, and enjoying a low-key existence in the meantime. Sleep in 'til noon, hit up the library (some people will tell you that the best libraries are in Magetown, but those are purely academic -- Edenwood has the best of everything else), then head to work, serve ale, drink ale, go home with a cute customer if I found one (only guys back then -- it was a few more months before I started experimenting with the fairer, more tonguey sex), and repeat.
It was, honestly, a pretty good life if you had no ambition. However, I did, so from time to time I got a little crazy. But I knew something would drop in my lap soon enough, and I'd figure out what I wanted to do with my life and go do it.
Until then -- low-key fun was the name of the game.
Richard had already been at the bar for an hour when I relieved Andradil from her post. He was cute enough at first glance, though I didn't care too much for brooders. Sure, they tended to be quiet, they tended to drink enough to keep my boss happy, and they tended to tip enough to keep me happy, but still...back then, it was hard for me to not look at a guy and think about what he'd be like in bed. And the brooders, I had discovered, tended to be quick and selfish lovers. Snore.
"What's with the elf?" I asked Andradil quietly as she slipped off her apron and I slipped mine on.
"Eh. Nothing special," she said. "Drinking some strong stuff, going at a medium pace. Pretty sure he likes guys, though. Either that or he's a eunuch."
I took another glance at the guy and realized that he was totally Andradil's type. Slender, but with wide shoulders, a more subtle set of ears than the severely swept back pointy ones, gray eyes with light brows and a mouth that looked like a ledge chiseled into the stone of a cliff. Undoubtedly she'd been trying to flirt and failing, hence her evaluation of his sexuality or lack thereof.
"Maybe he's just being elfy," I said in response. Men were easy to ensnare and wrap around your finger if you wanted to wrap yourself around them later. Elves, though, were picky, and their arousal was highly dependent on their mood. You never knew what they were going to want or when.
"Yeah, I don't think so," Andradil laughed. "Gay or sans balls. Definitely." She prided herself on being able to pull any elf she desired -- even though based on my observations, she was no more successful at it than the rest of us girls.
We said good night and I started my shift. It was pretty quiet, but that wasn't unexpected for the middle of the week -- especially for a bar that was normally frequented by merchants, businessmen, and the "soft clergy", the bookkeepers and administrators who keep the local branches of the big religions running. I handled the few customers who came up to the bar, all the while keeping an eye on the brooder in the corner. When his glass ran low, I grabbed the appropriate square brown bottle from its shelf and brought it over to him.
"Another?" I asked. He paused, then nodded and pushed his drink forward. I bent over, allowing gravity and my corset to fight a proxy battle for the customer's attention. I pretended to focus on his glass, but secretly watched his eyes to see if I could earn a glance or two.
Nothing. He kept his gaze on the surface of the bar as I finished filling his drink.
Huh
, I thought to myself, standing upright,
maybe Andradil was right
. That's when he spoke up, almost as if he could read my damn mind.
"I'm not gay," he said. I was caught off-guard -- I didn't peg him for a psychic. But despite my surprise, I'm a professional and I didn't let it show.
"I'm sorry?"
"The other bartender told you that she thought I was gay. I'm not." He paused. "I'm also not a eunuch. Maybe I should have led with that."
"Oh," I said.
Damn it, Andradil
. "You heard that, huh?"
"These aren't for decoration," he told me, tapping the lobe of his elven ear. I chuckled politely, but I was a bit disappointed. Psychics, I'd found, could be fun to be around...especially when they did their little mind-reading tricks in the bedroom. Half of the kinks I've discovered in myself are thanks to those braindivers who reached down inside of me during a good fuck session to pull something new and crazy out of me.
"Anyway," he continued, "I'm not gay. I just don't go for girls who have no tits."
This time, I let out a real laugh. Andradil was skinny, sure, but that slender look came at a price. And although she'd never admit it, she
was
upset about her lack of endowment. In fact, whenever she got too braggy about her seduction abilities, I always made sure to start complaining about my corset, adjusting it and readjusting it and essentially shoving my boobs in her face until she shut up.
"I keep telling her she's missing out," I said. "It's only a couple of hundred gold for a size enchantment, but she insists on going 'all natural'."
"Natural is nice," the patron admitted. "But there are some really nice spells these days. Most people can't tell the difference." He took a long swig from his glass, draining it and motioning for another. "You've had some work done. Not on your boobs. A little bit lower."
"How did you...oh, that's right," I said, interrupting myself.
"Elf," he and I said at the same time. I should have guessed. Most of them can sense the presence of magic. With that said, most of them can't sense what enchantments are present without casting a spell of their own, but I've met many that are smart enough to pick up on context and environmental cues to get a good enough idea of what's going on.
"So where do you feel it?" I asked him. "When you sense that sort of thing, I mean." I leaned on the bar, presumably to clean a particularly difficult stain, but really just trying to entice him to look at the carefully cultivated rack I had spilling out of the top of my apron.
"Can't tell you," he said with a quick raise of the eyebrows and a raise of his glass. Each elf has their own distinct way of telling when magic is nearby -- for some, it's an itchy nose, for others, pressure on the eyes, and for others still, a rising sense of irritability. The like to be all secretive about their particular quirk as well -- but I've found that most of them, male or female, are more than willing to give up all of their secrets after I've had my mouth on them for a few minutes.
This elf, however, seemed like he might be tougher to crack. I'd spent several minutes trying to flash him some boob, yet he hadn't glanced once towards my chest. Elves have good peripheral vision, but after you have a little bit of practice you can tell when they're using it. This one, however...it was almost like he was rubbing in my face the fact that he wasn't looking at them. Almost as if he knew what I was trying to do, and he wanted me to know that he knew.
Or something like that. I was starting to find myself attracted to him, so of course my brain was twisting around itself in strange ways.
"What's your name?" I asked.
The elf opened his mouth to answer, and somehow I just knew it was going to be some smart-ass comment that would partially annoy me and partially draw me in further to his obvious seduction trap. But before he could lay it on me, he was interrupted by a patron who stumbled up without either of us noticing the approach.
"Dicky Doublefist," the man roared, slapping my future conquest on the back. "How're they hanging?"
"Clydus," said 'Dicky' in a frighteningly calm voice, "I'll talk to you later."
"What? Is that any way for you to treat an old friend?" the man slurred. He caught a glimpse of me past 'Dicky', and unlike the elf he was fully drawn in by the cleavage.
