Chapter Text
Madam Sofni Solidgaze, true to her name, has stared holes into the strange man seated at her brothel’s bar for nigh on three hours. Her irritation is doubtless beginning to show on her normally round, pleasant face, however it matters not one whit if she gets wrinkles or indulges in a foul mood these days.
The Madam already lived through her performing and adventuring; in her previous life as a bard and cleric with the Sisters and Brothers of the Ruby Rose. She’d retired from adventuring some twenty years ago now, and while others of her former band had taken up such noble pursuits as gardening, healing, and research, Sofni parlayed her particular set of skills into the procurement and display of nubile flesh. Frankly, she finds the role suits her far better than any profession she’s ever had, foul mood and wrinkles included. People tended to expect more steel magnolia than wilting flower from their panderers anyway.
The man at the bar is tall, lean, and handsome. Not a human, like most of the other patrons and Sofni herself, but possessed of at least some measure of elven blood, as evidenced by his slightly pointed ears and prominent cheekbones. A shiny burn scar meanders across his left cheek and down the column of his throat, marring otherwise pristine pale skin. His mop of short silver hair seems to grow in whatever direction it pleases, while a pair of round, gold spectacles partially obscure tilted almond-shaped eyes of a brilliant blue-green. The long deep blue coat he wears draped over chain mail complements his coloring beautifully, so much so that she’d be of half a mind to get him to work for her—if he wasn’t so obvious that he already had a profession. Perhaps some sort of adventurer, judging by the sheer amount of armament he’d left with her folks at the door: a heavy warhammer, a great sword almost as tall as he was, and a pair of hand-axes all with the usual marks of regular use and care.
He must have money to buy all those weapons and sit there with that gentle expression on his face, nose buried deep in a book even as sinful activities take place all around him. People who were tight on cash didn’t tend to look so unperturbed in a notorious den of iniquity like Calimport.
Therefore, Sofni had sent her very best over to tempt him.
Her employees tried everything—she knew, she’d been observing closely—dancing, singing, playing instruments, showing off costumes only just on the tasteful side of risqué (one of her more genius ideas: fake seashells adorned with gems of an even more spurious nature to cover the required bits, everything else hidden by artfully draped ruffles of seafoam-colored gauze), and sighing wistfully in chorus about how they just can’t seem to find anyone willing to relieve this terrible loneliness.
Either the man is deaf, blind, or both, because he never even looked up from the precarious pile of books and scrolls he’d set on the bartop next to his third—no, fourth—cup of water.
Madam Sofni could not fathom where this person had hailed from nor why he had chosen to enjoy a chaste time in her establishment. Surely there was no bastion of propriety in all of Faerûn where it was a common, everyday occurrence to study at brothels?
If there was, she most certainly had not visited nor heard of it.
And Madam had visited many places and heard many things in her and illustrious career.
One brave soul, a charming human by the name of Kaeri, takes a desperate gamble by removing one of her seashell pasties dropping it at his feet with an exaggerated “Oh!”
She plays it well, bright green eyes big and just a tad watery, one manicured hand placed modestly over her now bare breast, rich mahogany skin displayed to perfection in the soft boudoir-style lighting.
It was an excellent gambit. Sofni couldn’t have done a better job of it herself had she switched places with Kaeri.
By all accounts it should have worked.
Except for the fact that it fails.
He catches the faux shell right before it shatters on the opulent rug via a deft, if unorthodox, application of the mage hand spell, lifting it up to the shocked Kaeri like an offering to a god.
He maintains his silence, and his eyes never leave the page.
It takes the wind right out of poor Kaeri’s sails.
She snatches the seashell from the ghostly hand and stomps over to Sofni, who, through the benefit of long experience, manages to keep a tight rein on her own annoyance. Though she sympathizes greatly with her employee, Madam Solidgaze is beginning to formulate a cunning plan now that she knows the pale-haired man is a mage.
She might be able to turn this disappointing situation around—if a certain someone cooperates.
“What the hell is wrong with him? Are you going to throw him out or what?” snaps Kaeri, emerald eyes flashing as she gestures furiously at the man’s impervious backside.
“Kaeri, go to your room and calm yourself with a ten minute break,” orders Sofni.
The performer shoots one last poison-laden glare at the silver-haired idiot across the room, before closing her eyes and taking a few deep breaths. After a couple of seconds they open again and she smiles, the sort of smile that kept her customers returning night after night, “I’ll be fine Madam Solidgaze—”
Indeed, she does seem calmer. Sofni however, is unmoved, “I’m afraid I must insist.”
“But—” the dancer protests, lower lip beginning to tremble.
When you hire theatre types, you get theatrics. It comes with the territory.
“No waterworks darling; you aren’t in trouble. Just go take a little break and while you are upstairs, if you would be so kind as to tell Opal to come see me as soon as possible.” Sofni ignores Kaeri’s overwrought gasp of surprise.
“Opal? But she—”
“—Just be a dear and let her know will you?” Sofni’s tone is quite final.
Kaeri has no choice but to wander bemused up the staircase and down the warmly lit hallway to Opal’s room—the largest one at the Naughty Nereid.