"Oh,
heavens
." The goblin maid dropped to her hands and knees, her cheeks visibly glowing and her eyes wide with embarrassment. "I am
so
sorry, lord."
"Not a problem in the least, my dear." Leon smiled easily.
Briefly, he thought about taking the opportunity to segue into a more suggestive exchange—it was hard not to feel some temptation with the barmaid in
that
pose, so adorably flustered—but he quickly decided against it. This was not the time.
A week ago and a hundred miles west of here, he had been visited in his room by a pair of very nicely-dressed elves from the Baalestial Family. After some confusion about their intentions, it was kindly clarified—at knifepoint—that Ms. Baalecil herself had a job, and Leon had been hired. Entirely without his knowledge, evidently. He'd been taken to meet with her, and she had made him a double offer he couldn't refuse: Money, and the avoidance of receiving a fitting for a pair of 'honey shoes'.
Unfortunately, the charmingly clumsy goblin maid would be the first casualty of this unholy matrimony. Prospective love might often win out over prospective wealth, but it was prospective harm he had to keep in mind right now—specifically, the prospective harm very politely implied as a consequence of not getting the job done.
A week later found him in the small village of Perlgrut, some two-copper village out in the boonies with a population numbering in the dozens—mostly made up of goblin maids, goats, and husbands, in that rough order. But apparently they were having some sort of problem, and owing to an arrangement made with the Baalestials, that made it the elves' problem. And owing to the job interview he'd narrowly survived, that now made it his problem.
Leon was now waiting in a quiet tavern-diner named The Wispy Willow for a local contact. And the goblin barmaid serving him had just dropped his meal again.
"Oh, you're too kind." She smiled bashfully up at him, sweeping the rest of the mess into her apron and rising to her feet. "I'm so sorry, it's just—I'm new on the job. O-Of waiting tables, I mean. Normally I just sit behind the bar."
"Well, we're happy to have you out here, then." Leon winked.
Nothing wrong with being a little bit of a flirt. No harm there, right?
She curtseyed—as best she could bent over and with a full apron, anyway. "Bless you for being so patient with me. I'll be
right
back!"
She turned and bustled out of the common room,
bustle
being the operative word—the barmaid wore a plain but fetching black dress that seemed solely designed to accentuate her prodigious curves while actually revealing as little as possible.
Leon watched her leave through the reflection in his tin cup.
The locals were... certainly charming enough, at least.
He set the cup down and waited patiently. He hoped the goblins knew how to grill a beefsteak—apparently meat wasn't a major item in the goblinoid diet, but after ten days on the road, he was determined to get a good, hearty breakfast.
He glanced over at the meal of the only other patron in the bar, wondering if she'd had what he was having. It wasn't promising. She was a woman bedecked in spiked armor, her face obscured by wild black hair. He was pretty sure she'd been sitting in that shadowy corner for at least two days now, judging by the smell. On her plate was a single untouched waffle.
His fears were instantly relieved as soft padding footsteps behind him heralded the barmaid's return, and he glanced over to see a sunny smile and a truly mouthwatering selection of delicacies. The tray she held half-balanced atop her chest dwarfed the plump little creature, laden with still-sizzling steak, generously-spiced potatoes, and several large danishes Leon was pretty sure he hadn't ordered.
"Cook insisted," she said with a little wink and playful grimace. "As an apology for the delay."
Her apron was gone, now—understandable, considering how she'd dirtied it. Leon couldn't help but let his gaze drift between her eyes, the meal, and her... distinctively
indulgent
bosom as she set the tray down before him. She bounced back and clasped her hands behind her waist expectantly, her posture perfecctly,
obliviously
geared to keep his eyes where they had settled. "Anything else, lord?"
Leon hesitated. He tried very hard to appeal to his good sense, his logic and reason, his sense of chivalric abstinence... and found that his reserves of all four were being largely melted away every time this
painfully
eager-to-please accidental temptress bounced on her tiptoes.
He couldn't help himself. Smiling, he gestured to the seat across from him. "Well, I must admit. This is my first time visiting such a charming town, and...well, it's best to consult the locals when one wants to learn more, yes? If you don't mind a spot of conversation, that is."
"Oh! Well, um—" Her eyes darted around the largely empty common room, as if worrying about her responsibilities. But a slight smile and pink flush across those dimpled green cheeks emerged as she appeared to realize just how empty the common room was.
The barmaid giggled and sat down next to him, moving with such casual grace that he didn't even notice the chair was there until she was suddenly at eye level. Or, well, a little below eye level. The shortstack was about as tall sitting as she was standing. She brushed her elegant ebony bouffant back, kicking her feet in the air. "If you don't
mind
. What are you wondering about, lord?"
"Well, I hope this isn't... indecorous to discuss, but." He clicked his tongue. "How to put this... I've had Perlgrut on my travel itinerary for a good long while now, and according to my friends, the timing couldn't be worse."
Her eyebrows raised. Nonchalantly, she took the little gravy boat from the tray and poured an elegant trickle over his potatoes. Her lips half-parted in an 'o' shape. "
Oh
?"
Leon furrowed his brow, trying to keep his voice casual, smooth, but a little curious. "They didn't seem to know anything specific, but apparently there's something happening here?"
"... Ooh, well, yes." She frowned slightly, appearing to think for a moment. With some difficulty owing to her size, she scooted her chair a little closer. She beckoned. Leon leaned in. In a hushed voice, the barmaid murmured, "The blacksmith's husband went missing just last week. And a week before that, we lost one of the millers just upriver—and she was daughter of a village elder, so, you know. Nobody's quite sure what's happening."
"Goodness!" Leon tried to look sympathetic, but not too alarmed. Not too alarmed to make her uneasy. From the occasional hunt he'd attended (and mostly drank and caroused through), he could tell that this goblin maid was like a doe—gentle, harmless, but easily-spooked. He had to let her take the lead.
She bit her lip. He could smell her sweet minty perfume as she scooted a little closer still, casting a wary look at the other patron. "We're trying to keep quiet about it to avoid scaring people away. We rely so much on the few merchants who come by. But..." She swallowed. "Well, you especially might want to be careful."
That last remark put Leon on his guard in an instant. He chewed the inside of his cheek.
Well, anyone this forthcoming isn't likely involved, unless her scheming runs as deep as the sea. And someone that clever likely wouldn't be relegated to playing the waitress.
"...me especially?" I quirk a brow and glance to the other patron as well. The other patron was staring into her drink—bitterbrew, and probably very cold by now. Apparently that was a very cosmopolitan way to drink one's bitterbrew these days, but... she looked anything but cosmopolitan.
"Well, I imagine." She wiggled and scooted her chair closer still. Their chairs were almost touching now. "Oh, I hope I'm not being too forward or anything." There is a quaver in her voice, and her cheeks were visibly burning now—perhaps as much from the closeness as the subject matter. "I just... it's important we not be overheard, you understand? People get so upset these days."
