Dragon Harem Quest - Or: Saying You Were Gay Wasn't The Conversation-Ender You Hoped For

You don't like it. You really don't like it. The thought of other people rummaging around inside your spire cracking the stone and ruining everything makes your scales crawl, let alone having to pay them for the privilege, eughhhh. But... it is one of the demands Mother made of you, and it is more for the others than her on top of that. And to be honest you're in an especially sanguine mood after your night with Belial so, well, might as well make the most of it.

You step out of the cubicle, steam billowing out in your wake as the hot water continues to fall, pointing over your shoulder with a thumb. "Still hot for you. I have contractors to talk to."

Belial steps in close, and isn't that still just the most thrilling thing ever? Getting to see that handsome face of his up close and personal, that familiar scent returning to grace your nose. You're close enough to kiss again.

"You sure you don't want to wait for me?" he asks. "I won't be long."

"No no, take as much time as you need," you reply, waving your hand dismissively. "It'll be nothing but book-keeping and negotiating today, very boring. I assure you I'll be fine. You can amuse yourself here in town however you'd like - I assume you were planning to hitch a ride back in someone's dreams too?"

"Mm. Probably Makram. Take a gander at what he dreams of." Belial curls his talons around your scaly chin and tugs you in closer for another kiss, soft and sweet and practically chaste. You've never had a 'good morning' kiss before but if they're all like that then you have been missing out. You're still blinking when he breaks the kiss and lets you lean back. "Good luck out there, Eldingar. See you back at the spire."

"See you..." you say, somewhat dazed, as Belial climbs into the recently-vacated shower. You are very sorely tempted to stick around and take a look but that would be both overly indulgent given last night and at least a little suspect, even for you. You leave Belial to his own devices and return to the front desk to check out, assuming your generic merchant disguise the minute you leave the bathroom.

You check out easily and spend most of your trip out the door and down the street agonising over how exactly you're supposed to do this. Paying exorbitant amounts of money so nobody asks any questions is one thing, but by necessity these people will have to walk right up to and come inside your home. Even with multiple people there to keep them honest, that's still pretty fucking hard to sweep away. 'Yes hello I am respected businessman, eligible bachelor and all-around enviable man of mystery Lord Elding, I want you to take my money and improve this obvious dragon's lair'. There is always Mother's suggestion of a speciality Plutocracy team that knows how to keep their mouths shut about obvious dragon patrons but for one they'll be even more expensive and for another... well you really don't want to do something Mother told you to even if it is the best option.

Somewhat reluctantly re-assuming your Lord Elding guise, you go trawling the Plutocracy's quarter of things in search of your quarry. Even if they had no space to themselves and were left scattered all around Söfnun trying to attract the old-fashioned way it'd still be easy to tell Plutocracy types apart from the others. There's this certain angular gloss (whatever the fuck that means) to them, the way they sell themselves. Like they understand spending money to make money on a level that other mortals can only dream at. You of course understand it on no levels because you have the fiscal sense of a haddock and your biggest personal acquisitions are made via the bargaining position of possessing very sharp teeth and claws and the ability to breathe lightning. In any case you find a place that looks promising in short order and head inside to negotiate things.

Logically you know you should probably spend the rest of the day shopping around and collecting quotes like a dragon collects shiny things and sifting through them all, taking second or third visits to try and see how low everyone will get, but honestly that sounds exhausting and you don't want to drain this good mood completely dry before you get home so you settle, fast. Even the boss person you talk to - a sun-baked woman named Mahi with surprisingly intricate markings made in black ink on her lips and chin, probably from the islands far southeast - seems a little surprised at the speed with which you cave.

"How soon can you start?" you ask. "I'd just prefer this done with the maximum speed and minimum of fuss."

"No worries sir, 'no fuss' is our slogan," she replies. "We pride ourselves on always being ready to serve clients of your ah, pedigree. Especially when they're needing to make a few changes in a hurry, eh?"

"I don't-" you cut yourself off, eyes narrowing to electric blue slits as you stare suspiciously at the tattooed woman. A thousand thoughts rush through your head but most of them are just some variant of screaming 'MOTHERRRRRR!' accusingly to the sky so you choose to say nothing at all. Instead you sign what she tells you to sign where she tells you to sign it and walk out of there with your receipt, confident that you at least managed to get something done like a normal dragon with their life completely in order.

Then you see the amount on the receipt in question and have a minor heart palpitation. You're left slumped against the side of the building, one hand clutching your chest and the other holding the receipt out like the bloody dagger you just wrenched from it. This is... ffffine, this is fine. It's fine, you tell yourself as you stand up straight and fold the receipt down. It's fine, everything's fine. You make money, you can make the money back to cover the costs, just given a little time. In unrelated matters you suddenly feel like you should head into your house's headquarters and check the books a little, just to refresh your memory on exactly what your dividends are and when the money accumulates. No stress, no issue, you tell yourself as you power-walk across the city.

You find yourself in your office for probably the first time in eight-to-ten months, a very heavy and important ledger being dumped open on your desk in front of you.

"Here are the figures you requested, sir," says the dumper in question, a grey-white and black bird-woman with a halo of longer black feathers splayed out behind her head like some kind of fashion statement and several gold rings stacked up around her throat.

You look down at the book, then double-take as the woman registers in your mind. "And- who are you?"

"Amina. Your new secretary?"

Your brow furrows. "And why do I have a new secretary?"

"Because Marco fled the country with quite a few house assets in tow," she explains patiently, as if to a child. "And since he's understandably not coming into work any more, here I am."

Your brow furrows deeper. "Who?"

"Your... old secretary," she replies. "The one who worked for you for twelve years." She gestures illustratively, one taloned hand reaching as high up as she can manage. "Orc? Quiet, didn't complain, you made him work through his son's birthday?"

You give it a moment's more thought. "I'll take your word for it," you say, pulling the ledger closer. "Now, on to the important business. What's my personal income and how can I boost it quickly?"

"Well," she says with a deep breath, in much the same tone one would use to prepare to tell a child their dog was run over by a carriage. "Your personal income is currently 'nothing' because Marco did a little merchant espionage on the side to cover his tracks and now the house is tanking." She drops a sheet of parchment in front of you with an elegant flick of her wrist. It's a letter from those bastards the Rosso twins. "We're currently the lowest-rated in all of Söfnun and haemorrhaging money and looking at a buyout. So if it's more money in your pocket you're looking for... well, their door's open."

You freeze utterly. Hands flat on the table, fingers spread, neck aching from the strain of locking in place as you stare down at the hard, numerical truth of your situation. You make a noise, something like a strangled squawk and a gurgle and a squeak, deep in the back of your throat.

"Are... are you alright sir?" Amina asks.

"Hm? What? No. Fine. Everything's fine." You purse your lips to the limits of pursing that mortal lips are capable of and start scratching your beard, scratch-scratch-scratch until it almost seems as if the magical skinsuit will peel and you'll just tear away the elven disguise in great bloodless chunks to expose the panicking blue dragon beneath. "In fact I think you should take the rest of the day off, I'm so relaxed I just need a couple days to think all this through properly."

"But the deadline is next week."

"(ohandthere'sadeadlinethat'sgreat)" You stand up all of a sudden, chair scraping so hard and loud across the floor that you probably left gouges. "And also I just recalled I have a Thing that I need to deal with so I really must leave at once enjoy the rest of your day Damina-"

"Amina."

"-whatever, I really must dash."

Perhaps not literally but oh do you ever double-time it out of the House Elding enclave, shouldering men and women out of the way in your panicked fugue state, employed or just visiting alike. You give thought to using the main exit but you rapidly realise there's no way you'll make it that far. Instead you hang a hard left and barge through the kitchens and out the back door amid many a confused "s-sir?" and "Lord Elding?". You finally burst free of that wretched hellprison in a small, private back alley with no currently-unloading wagons or anything else to disturb you. You slam the door shut behind you with a crack, hang a right, storm down the rest of the way into a dead end stone wall and- and-

Remember at the last second that there's still a pretty hard limit to what you can get away with venting inside the city limits. Even now you can see lightning crackle and arch between your fingers, the nails darkening as the talons hidden beneath threaten to punch through at any second. Your back aches, intangible wings shifting anxiously beneath the false muscle. Instead you make a noise something like a boiling teakettle, vigorously punch at nothing, scream very silently through clenched teeth, and wildly shake your fists in the air as if roughly milking a gigantic cow.

"Rough day at the office huh?"

You whirl around so fast your vision blurs, clutching at your heart as you collapse against the wall behind you. "don'tdothat!" you wheeze, balling your free hand into a fist and smacking the solid stone beside you in some small act of vengeance.

"D'aww. Sorry sweet thing, didn't mean to frighten you."

There's a woman standing before you, a woman you know for damn sure was not in this alleyway when you came in. She's tall, graceful, fetching if you're into that sort of thing. The wavy locks of raven-black hair that fall past her shoulders seem at once both exhaustively styled and completely carefree, her pale and fine-featured face free of makeup save the striking shade of purple she chose for her lips. To match her canted eyes you see, upon closer inspection. Bright as amethyst and inviting as anything, sparkling with intelligence and amusement. She's from the east, the same as Jun-ho's homeland maybe, and dresses like it to boot - not that that's any shock in Söfnun. The crowds come with such a visible culture-clash in dress alone that you doubt you'd even notice her silk-robe-and-sash thing at all - soft pink with white trim and lavender designs cut through with red at the waist, folded left over right to cover her more-than-ample chest (how does it even stay on like that?) - were she not alone in an alleyway with you. It seems much too precious and delicate a thing to even risk in a back alley or on the street.

"You did not frighten me," you snap, straightening up. "I was startled, that is all. Now-" you take a moment to catch your breath and straighten your hair a little "-what business do you have back here?"

"I heard you were having a little money-trouble."

Your eyes widen. How does everyone know about this before you!? As if to capitalise on your vulnerability and shock, the woman begins to approach. Her strides are slow and measured, smooth as anything, each step marked by the soft 'clack' of sandal on stone. You certainly feel no urge to back away, which is good because there's a solid wall behind you so you can't either way.

"How do you-"

"Shhhhh enough of that." She raises a finger to her lips briefly. "Now is the time to be pretty and silent."

For a moment, just one utterly horrifying moment, you wonder if this is the guise that Mother's taken to blend in in Söfnun. You thankfully discard it a moment later - she's much too proud to have chosen the form of some beautiful twentysomething, and probably would've opened with a lot more mocking you for being brainless and easy to dupe. If you didn't know any better you'd say this woman is trying to seduce you.

The woman in question stops just short of you, maybe three more strides in all. She delicately reaches into one sleeve of her robe and withdraws a small, rolled-up scroll, letting it dangle loosely between her fingers.

"I've been here for a little while already, you see," she says. "And in my wanderings here and there, nothing down the little whispers I listen to, I've found out a few rather interesting things. Business dealings. Financial details. Bank secrets~"

"And why bring them to me?" you ask. "What do you stand to gain from this?"

"I want to steal from very rich people, sweet thing."

"Like me?" you say suspiciously. She just laughs. "Hey now-"

"You? Darling you don't have anything to steal," she giggles, resting the tip of the scroll against her chin. "Quite the opposite. I'd like you to help me. And then we can go our separate ways, both much wealthier and very... satisfied~"

The pause before 'satisfied' leaves you deeply, deeply uncomfortable but you have more important questions than asking her to clarify. "But why me then?" you ask instead. "If I'm so beneath your notice then why approach me with an opportunity like this?"

"Look," she says, striding across that last little gap between you. You shrink against the wall unconsciously but she gets right up in your personal space all the same, practically pressing against you. You're close enough to smell her perfume, close enough to hear her breathing. She tilts her wrist and taps the scroll against your chin this time. "Let's not do this dance of transparent lies any longer than we have to. We both know that you're a man of certain... shall we say exotic talents. And I'm a woman with more than a few talents of her own. I'd say there's quite a lot we can do for each other~"

You swallow, hard. You get the feeling she takes your reaction the wrong way, trailing the scroll-end down to rest in the hollow of your throat.

"Your rivals, the Rossos. Their vaults in particular are quite recently full with cold, hard cash and other such valuables after their ah... lucrative behind-the-scenes dealings with your former secretary, among other things. Just think about all that gold, all that wealth that's rightfully yours. Prime for the taking if the two of us work together. Don't you want to get your own back, 'Lord Elding'?"

More than anything you just want this moment to end.

But... much as it pains you to say, her offer is tempting. Very, very tempting. Your instincts are rapidly gathering strength somewhere buried deep in your gut, that visceral, hateful urge to just take wing and hatefuck the House Rosso headquarters with lightning for daring to cross a dragon, even unwittingly. But that wouldn't be even slightly constructive and would still leave you with your existing problem of everything you've worked so mildly hard to build in Söfnun coming crashing down around your ears. If you steal enough from them then you can save your House, and it's only merchant espionage if you get caught. Which you won't because you have infinite disguises and you only just met your accomplice. And you have no idea what you're supposed to do to save your finances if you don't do this.

But on the other hand this woman has no idea what personal space is and seems to have completely the wrong idea about you and you might wind up needing to have multiple conversations about that before your theoretical partnership is through. And she's vaguely threatening of course, but that's kind of normal for you. You may have leapt before you looked on the spire job but you didn't spend everything, you could still potentially scrape something together.

[ ] Take the woman's offer. Get your own back and rob those Rosso bastards blind.
[ ] Reject the woman's offer. You'll come up with your own plan to save the House and your dwindling coffers with a lower chance of backfiring - hopefully.