WARHAMMER 40,000: Genestealer Management Quest 2

The worst thing about Treacle is that Frey couldn't even say that it didn't work.

This was the third place - and it had worked great the prior two times, which infuriated her. She stood behind the makeshift stage while the guy with the best speaking voice, Terji - called out to the crowd. "Welcome, malcontents, mutants and marauders! Who here is ready for the show of the century?!"

A low roar of eagerness came.

Frey turned to Arjida and hissed.

"...the chaps, though? Really? Really?"

"You gotta show what you got baby," Arjida said, cheerfully. "Besides, I know you know that I know that you like it."

"I fucking don't! Read my lips, not my fucking mind, my mind is fucking stupid!" Frey hissed, her spur clicking as she stamped one booted foot. "This is undignified! There's no way that kelermorphs like my sainted grandmother threw their asses at anything that moved to get them to fucking join the cult. This is a cult! Not a sex club!"

"...uh..." Arjida said, her eyes glittering with barely concealed mirth.

"Now, give it up for the one, the only-"

"Fuck you!" Frey hissed one last time.

"I keep offering," Arjida whispered back.

"Fuckkkk youuu!" Frey pointed at her eyes, then at Arjida, then back to her eyes - then turned as the curtains swept back...and sauntered forward.

"-Freeeeeyyyyyyyyy the Gunslinger of the Weeeeeeeeeeeeest!"

The lights bloomed around her, shining down as Frey stood before the crowd and twirled her pistol on one clawed finger while she cocked her hips. She was dressed in assless chaps, with a tunic-vest that was left to hang open over a double bandolier of high caliber bullets that covered her nipples and left most of her chest exposed. She had a wide brimmed hat like the kind traditional sea going captains had worn, back when the world had been a private hunting ground, and a cutlas swung at her hips as she tossed her pistol to her upper hand, catching it while it still twirled on her finger, keeping it twirling as she transferred it to her lower left, then holstered it and grinned at the crowd.

The entire crowd - mostly mutants with slightly larger eyes than the normal, maybe a few scales, and some with stunted, barely working gills - started cheering as if they had never seen anything so beautiful. She arched her back slightly, cupping her upper arms behind her neck as she reveled in their gaze, while her upper arm remained hanging down near her hip.

Next to her, Treji grinned and then leaned in, his vox-phone held in one hand. "So, Frey, is it true that you're the best shot on the waves?"

"Sure am, pardner," she said, affecting the 'heroic drawl' that people in the northern latitudes had decided, over the decades, meant someone was a 'back-reef' country type. "Though, I don't like to brag." she grinned and winked at the crowd.

"Well, that sounds mighty fine!" Treji said. "But does anyone here wanna prove it?" He grinned. "A month's wage to any who can out shoot her!"

A few mutants raised their hands excitedly and the next part of the show came up. Revolvers were handed out and targets - all of politically neutral targets like chaos cultists bedecked in snarling spikes and cowls, or snarling Orkoids - were hung up, the cardboard paint job have been done by a remarkably cheerful cultist who didn't seem perturbed that her hard work was going to be riddled with holes. The people shot, then Frey casually one handed her revolver and put a round through each target's head, heart, and then the holes that the others had left behind, leaving the targets smoking and the crowd in awe.

It was almost getting boring by-

"Bullshit."

The voice was deep and male and made her scowl as she turned back to the crowd. "Excuse me!?" she asked, her drawl breaking for a moment - and then she blinked as she saw that the figure in the crowd wasn't just a mutant. He was an abhuman. He was tall, broad shouldered, with a bald head and the aquatic look of someone born to the deep seas. He had a sleek fin that protruded from his spine, like someone had taught a fish to walk, though he showed no sign of needing a water-unit to breath, as he was just...standing...openly there without...a shirt on and...

Wow.

He was built. And he was sleek. And he was...

Wow.

Frey blinked several times - and then her two warring instincts of annoyance and arousal slammed into one another and annoyance won out. "And what makes you think that?" she asked, frowning.

"Well, uh-" Treji started.

"You could be a witch, there are a few weather witches out here," The abhuman said, casually - producing soft whispers and murmurs from the crowd. "How do we know you're not sorcering up the bullets."

"She-" Treji started, but Frey snatched his vox-phone from his hand and growled into it.

"You can do any damn thing you want to me, and I'll shoot better than you can, blowhole!"

The man did have a blowhole on the top of his head.

He grinned. His teeth were sharp.

"And if I win?"

"You can fuck me on the stage," Frey said, her voice sneering. The crowd let out a soft murmur of shock. Treji leaned in, whispering in her ear. "No, I said...did I...I...yeah, well, you can't fucking beat me!" She said, her cheeks purpling. "And what if I win?"

"Me and my entire gang will join you," the man said.

"Oh wowwww, your fuckin' gang! Ooho!" Frey said.

Treji leaned in and whispered.

"Wait, shit, you're Deadeye Dukan?" Frey asked. "No fucking way!"

Dukan grinned, then stepped up to the stage, then up onto it. He was taller than she had expected - and now that he loomed over her, she could see the famous chainsword - gold plated and rust pitted - hanging from his hip. "Did you think the legends about me being born of the sea were just, what, exaggerations?"

"...yeah, I mean, a little..." Frey muttered.

Dukan reached down to his belt. Watching his big, big hand vanish into his pocket, Frey squared her shoulders...and blinked as he took out a pale white cloth, embroidered with holy scripture and an imperial aquilla.

"This is a Repentia's blindfold," Dukan said, smirking. "I figure, if a witch was blessing your guns, then this would shut that shit out right away. No?"

"You want me to shoot blind?" Frey smirked. "Deal." She reached for the blindfold - but Dukan lifted it up and out of her grasp.

"Turn around," he said. He was grinning down at her, and his long, thick, muscular tail slapped the ground with a meaty thump. Frey rolled her gold on black eyes, then turned around. She scoffed as he stepped behind her - and she felt the warmth radiating off him, like a furnace. Fish were supposed to be cold. Then she felt his grayish fingers grip her chin as he reached around, then held her in place as he settled the blindfold. It tingled against her skin, but...she was sure it was psychosomatic. Then he tied it off. FIrmly. Doing so drew her back against him, and her chitinous cheeks bumped against his crotch. She felt a wriggling, writhing twitch there and muttered.

"You got an eel down your pants, or are you real fucking weird in bed?"

"I've never heard complaints," he shot back.

Your knees are getting weak, Arjida said. Star Children, we need to get you a good woman.

Not every woman in the galaxy is gay! Frey snapped mentally.

She doth protest too much... Arjida murmured, while Frey rolled her eyes behind her blindfold.

"Stupid dumb...muttering...doth..." She grumbled.

"What was that?" Dukan asked.

"I said put out the target," Frey snapped.

There was a faint swish. She could hear the shifting of cardboard, she could hear the faint winch of wire and the tug of pully systems. She lifted her hand, and flicked her wrist and the bullet thumped into something wooden. Then she fired again, then again, then again - and each time, she moved her arm just a little bit so. As she did so, she leaned back into Dukan, and felt him stiffening - and yes, wriggling - against her. She smirked as she lowered her pistol.

"...well..." Dukan said, hesitantly.

Frey grabbed the blindfold and tugged it off.

She had shot every single cardboard target exactly where she had been aiming.

Right in the fucking dick.

"See you on the airship. Blowhole boy." She stepped away from him, then slapped her hat into his chest. "Keep the hat."

And she walked off the stage.

Kiz, the bartender of The Breakhead Tavern, was rubbing disnfectant and medislave onto her slashed palm to make sure the tiny infection she had gotten didn't get worse.

"A week," she hissed. "A week and nothing happened."
The bitter anger she felt was pulsing hot - and all the worse for it being entirely inwardly directed. Stupid. Stupid Kiz! Stupid! She had held a statuette and hurt herself...and she had gotten nothing. Nothing at all. In fact, the patronage of the Tavern had tapered off over the past month - she was still making enough for rent, but...

The door chimed. Kiz lifted her head, and blinked as one of the shortest women she had ever seen walked in. She was dressed in a bedraggled red robe and had a bald head. Her features were delicate, like that of the statuette.

Though she lacked horns.

"I have had one Emperor's hell of a week," the woman said, walking forward and sitting at the front. "Please...do you have any water without infectious particulates in it?" She asked.

Kiz blinked, then started to pour her some beer. "You a...scribe?" Kiz asked.

"Yeah," the girl said. "I was sent down here to do a fairly simple job and it has been...somewhat...somewhat complicated. Fortunately, many tasks asked of by the Administratum are expected to take some time. Though, I...am in need of somewhat cheaper furnishings, lest I begin to-"

"Room free! I have a free room! Right above the basement, very safe!" Kiz said, hurriedly.

She realized how obvious that was, moments after it had escaped her lips. She was mentally kicking herself again when the bald scribe blinked at her, processing what she had said...

Then beamed.

"Marvelous! I suppose the Emperor has guided me to precisely where I needed to be after all!" she said, cheerfully. "My name is Vellumee Rose, Administratum Scribe, Junior rank, first of my class from Schella!"

She reached out her hand.

Kiz took it, and smiled.

"Kiz!" she said.

"Just...Kiz?" Vellumee Rose asked.

"Yeah," Kiz said. "...the room's very safe, you know. You can stay here as long as you want!"

"Fantastic!"

---
We're onto the third month - and now Might 2 includes a dolphin anthro! So, a straight improvement!


[ ] Attack BLANK (Might + Treasure VS Might + Territory)
[ ] Being Informed (Influence + Soverignty vs Diff 1)
[ ] Spying on BLANK (Influence + Treasury vs Influence + Territory)
[ ] Influence BLANK to do BLANK (Influence + Treasury vs Influence + Territory)
[ ] Increase your Sovereignty (Territory + Treasure vs Diff [Current Sovereignty])
[ ] Police BLANK (Might + Sovereignty vs Influence + Might)
[ ] Rise in Stature (Sovereignty + Treasure vs Diff [Current Influence]
[ ] Train and Levy Troops (Sovereignty + Territory vs Diff [Current Might]
[ ] Unconventional Warfare (write plan in)

Morrigan Gwen had always wanted to start a tavern.

In so far as dreams went, it was fairly modest - but for a mutant?

Impossible.

Morrigan's mutations were fairly modest - she had blue scales along her throat and on the back of her knuckles - but they were enough that the very idea of someone lending her the capital to start a tavern was outside of the wildest of dreams. She had made her ends meet by working at other taverns, and was walking home one evening in the outer edges of the Break when a voice called out her name.

"Morrigan Gwen?"

She turned and saw a robed figure standing behind her. The woman - for her voice had sounded feminine - leaned against the wall of a corrugated building, palm against the slightly damp metal. Her teeth flashed in a warm smile, and she said: "Your cousin, Lantry Gwen, mentioned you."

"Lantry?" Morrigan asked, her eyes narrowing. "Didn't he run off to become a sellsword in the Equatorials?"

"He did," the woman said, her voice amused. "That's actually how we met him. And how he mentioned your interest in starting a tavern." She reached up, tossing her hood back, to reveal a beautiful girl with warm red eyes. The only hint something was off was that her teeth seemed ever so slightly sharper than normal...and that might have just been how she looked. She walked forward, offering her hand. "Arjida."

"Morrigan," Morrigan said, reflexively. she took the other girl's hand and felt the warmth shocking through her fingertips. "And if you're here to say that you are going to drop a thousand thrones onto me to help me buy up a new tavern, my next question is: How stupid did Lantry make you think I am?"

Arjida laughed. "Please! We don't have a thousand thrones to toss around. What we have is some cheap real estate and need a manager. You won't own it, but you will run it." She said, walking with Morrigan, the two women heading along the narrow pathways that wound through the Break. Arjida continued. "Now, the front facing parts of our organization are still trying to be subtle..."

"What organization is that?"

"Sky pirates," Arjida said, her voice casual. "We need a place to pick up information, buy and sell illicit goods, recruit new members. Now, I know you might balk..." She smirked. "BUt since when has the law and order of this planet done anything for you?"

"I..." Morrigan gaped at her, turning to face her. "Why are you telling me this?"

"Because a mutant tavern wench is not going to be the piece of evidence that will get the local constabulary into their sailing ships," Arjida said, simply. "And because...well...I can tell. You're a woman who has been lied to a great deal. By the Imperial creed, by your bosses, by your masters and overlords." Her eyes sparkled as she gave a warm, if somewhat cynical smile. "Honesty, I thought, was the best hook."

Morrigan stood still, then chuckled. She shook her head. "You are insane."

"And you're tempted," Arjida said.

"I'm tempted to do something insane, yes!" Morrigan said, then paused as she came to the door leading into the cheap, cheap, cheap apartments that floated near the edge of the Break, where the sea waves and the sea winds hit hardest. She frowned, then said. "Come inside, we can at least discuss the nitty gritty inside. With some cheap rotgut."

"Honesty running both ways. I like it." Arjida grinned.

The door opened, then closed.

The two women sat in the small apartment, lit by a lumen and warmed by an exposed electrical conduit that had been cross-wired through some copper. IT was ludicrously dangerous, doubly so considering how very wet this planet was. But it was still better than freezing to death. Morrigan closed the windows shut, then poured out her best amnesac and sat down with Arjida, who had tucked herself onto the sitting couch that was one of the only bits of furniture that Morrigan owned. Her finger played through her raven dark hair as she watched Morrigan sip thoughtfully at her cup.

"So, if I took this bid...what would I need to do, beyond managing the place?" Morrigan asked, slowly.

Arjida sipped. It was, truly, awful amnesac. She winced, then set the glass down with her fingers on the rim.

"You would need to kiss me," she said, smiling slightly.

Morrigan's eyes widened. "What?"

"It's not so large an ask is it," Arjida said, her eyes meeting Morrigan's. "The only assurance I need, is a kiss."

"I..." Morrigan's cheeks flushed and she glared at the slender beauty. "You think because I have scales, I need to go around sniffing at skirts?" She asked, flaring up. "I'm not a freak! I'm just...born differently."

Arjida nodded. "The Creed on this planet is somewhat more restrictive when it comes to this sort of thing. But is it really enough to keep you away from the promise of managing your own tavern?" She watched as Morrigan considered to think. She opened her mouth, then closed it, then looked away.

"I..." Morrigan hesitated. "Just one kiss?"

"You can ask for more later, but yes, just one kiss," Arjida said.

Morrigan sighed. "Fuck. I've done worse for less." She stood. "I...I will run screaming to the authorities, if you're...in league with...with..." She didn't even have the courage to say it, while Arjida stood, her eyes warm and soft and welcoming. Looking into them made it hard to look away. Morrigan's heart thumped in her chest as Arjida stepped closer, then closer again.

"Never you fear," she whispered. "We're not with them."

The words were almost comforting - save that a fuzzy, confused part of Morrigan's mind wondered, then, at who we were. She started to draw away, to whisper a wait, a no, a please. A stop. But Arjida left her no time. Her hand cupped the back of her head, and she leaned in - then kissed her. Her mouth was warm and gentle. THen her head tilted, and her tongue pushed into Morrigan's mouth. SHe tasted sweet and forbidden, like this shouldn't be happening. Morrigan knew every reason to pull away...but instead, her eyes slowly slid shut as she opened her mouth, and then felt that tongue sliding into her throat. Deeper. Deeper. Now she knew it was wrong. She wriggled, her arms lifting - but Arjida held her hips, drawing her in close. Breast to breast, their bodies locked together as Morrigan felt something deep inside of her ache and throb...and then Arjida was drawing back, her tongue sliding back into her mouth.

It had been too long.

Morrigan gasped, and then fell to her knees. She shivered and panted, and Arjida caressed her head. "Shh..." She whispered. "You'll make a wonderful tavern."

"Y-Yeah..." Morrigan whispered. Her voice was hazy. "Y-Yeah...I think..." She closed her eyes, feeling the ache inside of her settle. A warmth bloomed between her thighs. "F-Fuck...I think I will..."

Arjida chuckled, leaned over, then bore her down. Her hands tugged open Morrigan's top and her mouth found one scale-highlighted nipple. She sucked and Morrigan gasped, putting her hand over her mouth to keep herself quiet. Her spine arched and she writhed, wriggling as the other woman greedily yanked down her pants. Arjida wasted no time, kissing from belly to thighs, to nuzzling between Morrigan's thighs. She started to tongue her cunt - and once again, that long, long, long tongue stretched inside of Morrigan. Her left hand grabbed onto the back of Arjida's hair, squeezing her so tight she was sure that it caused pain - but it didn't slow her down, oh now. Morrigan bit her own hand, drawing blood to keep from screaming as her pleasure crested...

ANd still it wasn't over. Morrigan managed to scramble into bed, and then Arjida was upon her again. They kissed. THey licked. They nuzzled one another. And gently, Arjida showed Morrigan where to put her hand, where to press her finger. Arjida's moans - carefree and unashamed - echoed off the metal walls of the apartment as she rode Morrigan's hand, and Morrigan realized something.

Bringing pleasure to another could be giddy. It could be liberating. She grinned up at Arjida as Arjida's thighs clenched around her wrist and her folds tightened and she gasped out. "Oh Morrigan."

Afterwards, they lay together, a tangle of limbs and sweat and joy. Morrigan rolled her finger through Ardjia's hair, whispering. "I can't believe I hesitated..." She murmured, and felt the warm glow of Arjida's pleasure in her acceptance.

"Welcome to the Sisterhood." Arjida whispered into her ear, then kissed her cheek.

Morrigan felt a deep sense of belonging.

The funny thing was?

It felt even better than the sex.

The Shark's Kiss opened the next week, with a smiling Morrigan behind the counter. She did nothing so forward as Kiss anyone else in the tavern - not now.

But she kept her eyes open and her ears perked.

---

[ ] Attack BLANK (Might + Treasure VS Might + Territory)
[ ] Being Informed (Influence + Soverignty vs Diff 1)
[ ] Spying on BLANK (Influence + Treasury vs Influence + Territory)
[ ] Influence BLANK to do BLANK (Influence + Treasury vs Influence + Territory)
[ ] Increase your Sovereignty (Territory + Treasure vs Diff [Current Sovereignty])
[ ] Police BLANK (Might + Sovereignty vs Influence + Might)
[ ] Rise in Stature (Sovereignty + Treasure vs Diff [Current Influence]
[ ] Train and Levy Troops (Sovereignty + Territory vs Diff [Current Might]
[ ] Unconventional Warfare (write plan in)