harlot

do what you gotta

        She saw him look up from his seventh mug of ale when he noticed the disturbance rippling through the patrons of the tavern underneath an inn. He quickly identified her as the recipient of the numerous cat calls. She'd hung her cloak on the hook at the door in order to flaunt her ludicrous guise. She fought the urge to castrate each and every man jeering at her as she strode to the bar. This was, actually, the desired affect, of course. She was clad in a most unfit attire for the cold Northern Lands winter. High heeled black leather boots wrapped warmly around her calves but she had nothing more than a thin chemise, open and exposing her stomach no less, over a pair of shorts to keep her warm. She almost felt vulnerable without her cloak, sword, or miniature crossbow. Almost. She took heart that her jeweled dagger was riding snugly in her boot and that three dozen poison-tipped pins were embedded in the leather tied around her upper arm with their round bead tops decorating the edge of the leather strip. The little black cat weaving through legs underneath the scarred, tottering tables only served to solidify her confidence further. Knowing full well that the Inn had no vacancies, she asked the proprietor for a room. The man openly ogled her and gave her the answer she'd expected. She pouted a little bit.
        "Are you sure there aren't any rooms available?"
        "Yeah, I'm sure," the man informed the general vicinity of her chest, "But I'm sure you won't have trouble convincing somebody to share their room with you."
        She bit back a scathing retort, literally biting her lower lip, feigning mild distress. Shouts from men offering their beds were tossed at her. Some of the men got out of their seats to approach her. She scanned the room, faking desperation, and made eye contact with the man. He'd downed his seventh ale while she'd been talking to the Inn's owner. She started towards him, to the disappointment of the men behind her. Some tried to make grabs at her, she wriggled away, acting scared. She turned pleading eyes towards the man. The man looked around to see if it was someone else she was beckoning to. Realizing he was sitting against a wall, he stood up to rise to the occasion. She watched, amused, as he somehow clambered onto his chair. He chanted a quick spell, creating a ball of glowing red fire between his palms.
        "Leave the woman alone!" He shouted valorously, nearly falling off the chair and almost letting loose the fireball. The other men backed off, not wanting to upset the inebriated man with the fireball. Another man tried to calm him down to which he responded "You! Go away! Woman! Come to me!"
        She obliged, walking right up to the man's perch. He got down clumsily and informed her she'd stay with him. He still had his fireball in his hands; surprising, considering the amount of concentration required to maintain a fireball in stasis. She shied away from it and, after surveying their surroundings and inspecting her thoroughly, he extinguished it. A whoosh of released breath came from the direction of the inn's owner.

        He looked down sharply at her unexpected question. She'd gently grabbed one of his testicles with one hand and smiled sweetly as the blood drained from his face. The edge of her dagger's blade was a hair's breadth away from the delicate skin holding his reproductive organ. He answered each and every one of her questions. When she stood up and removed herself from her position between his legs, he closed them and tried to kick her in the stomach. She'd seen it coming and had jumped back; his feet hadn't even touched her. She took one of the poisoned needles from her arm band and put the beaded top into her mouth. She quickly positioned the needle between her tongue and the small space at the end of her two front teeth. The man had chanted his fireball spell again and stood up to let it loose on her as she walked towards him. He watched in horror as the fireball hit her. It fanned outwards around her and she glowed red for a second, then the red surrounded her and was pulled into the small charm she wore on a necklace. The small gem on the charm glowed red then turned blue. She smiled and blew hard through the small bead in her mouth, sending the needle zinging into the man's neck. In mere seconds his body was paralyzed by excruciating pain, falling over with a dull thud as his life slipped ever so slowly away.

        She walked by the gypsy's cold, dead body and back into the tavern to quickly retrieve her cloak. Her mind raced as she considered the information she'd gathered that night. This situation demanded patience. If she went after the Red Mage now, there is a possibility that she may become a sacrifice to some astral being. Evading them until after she's seen her eighteenth summer would be the wisest path to take. She'd been so close to finding him. He was in this city looking for her right at this moment. So close.

        She was long gone by the time the townspeople started to gossip about the serial Dragon Guild murders at seven different inns committed all in one night, presumably by the same harlot whose attention many patrons had vied to obtain.