Darrius stepped into the establishment and gave it a cursory glance. It wasn’t dripping with sex like many of the other brothels he’d visited. Instead, there were velvet touched privacy screens cloistering off various corners of the immediate stone ladened room. The screens did little to cover the soft gasps and murmurings though. The room appeared to be lit with fire bulbs, a small showing of the kind of wealth the brothel pulled in. Darrius welcomed it over the simple torchlights he’d suffered thus far.

If I were a prized little bird, where would I be?

He looked to his right and saw a bar behind thick, burgundy curtains and, beyond that, stairs to a higher floor. He made a beeline for the stairs.

“Young Miss?”

Darrius looked down at the bartender, already a few steps up the stairs.

The bartender didn’t seem bothered though. Her dark red lipstick was the same color as the tattoos that licked up her face and peaked from her tight-fitted dress. As elegant as the clothes appeared, she was unmistakably an Akarian. Her silver-violet hair, rust-colored eyes, and tanned skin made it clear to him.

“If you want upstairs, I suggest a drink.” Her accent dripped into the offer just enough to make one interested in hearing her foreign tongue… or maybe feel it in the kinds of places someone might pay for.

“I’ll have to pass,” he hoped his Senosolvian accent was as authentic as his features. “I prefer a clear mind for things such as this.”

Her smile stayed amicable, but it was clear she knew something that gave her the upper hand. “You must be new. The doors upstairs will not open without a bottle.”

He wasted no time in flashing an alluring smile as he moved to the bar counter. “Then I will have a drink.”

“Perfect.” She gestured to the shelf behind her.

He tried to hide his annoyance as he looked at the shelves. He hadn’t been told about this. The meaning of the woman’s words sunk in as he looked over the prices. The brands were expensive but sparse in variety and priced well beyond their value. It was obvious something more than a bottle was being sold.

“I suggest the lowest shelf for the best service.”

Unlike the upper shelves, there was only one of each brand with flashier names and labels. He ignored the names, doubting their usefulness. Instead, he looked at the prices. He’d visited more than twelve brothels during this trip. All had asked for coppers. Here though, they asked for silver, and the lowest shelf demanded gold. All except for one. One had no price at all.

He read its name aloud. “Oasis.”

“That one isn’t for sale.” Her smile was that of a clerk telling a child they didn’t have enough money for a treat, polite but forced.

He smirked, positive that he was on the right path. He understood the concept of a priceless item. He would’ve done the same thing to ensure no one else could touch his things. He let honey drip into his words.

“Everything has a price,” he tested.

“Not if there is no tag.”

Darrius laughed, twinkly and light. “Especially then.”

She rested a hand on her hip, smile still in place but body language betraying her. “Sorry, but it is out of my hands.”

“Nothing  is out of your hands.” He leaned closer to her and whispered, “Especially now, especially tonight.”

He observed the way the woman evaluated him. Her gaze had turned critical, calculating. He wondered if there was a crack in his guise.

“You seem to know more than you let on.”

Darrius couldn’t help but preen at the complement.

“Tell me,” the flourish of the country’s language was overtaken by the curtness of the Akarian’s own native tongue, “Do you know my language?”

He greeted the language like an old friend. “I have had reason to use it many a day, yes.”

The woman’s stiff posture relaxed. He knew he needed to press. She looked uncomfortable in the dress. While it did show skin, it didn’t adhere to the Akarian standard. To cover one’s tattoos in public was frowned upon, shamed even. Her discomfort told him that she’d only come to Senoho recently. He could use this.

“I’m sure your brothers and sisters would like to see you home again, young wayfarer. Just as much as the ones upstairs would like to be home again someday, yes?”

He hoped he hadn’t laid it on too thick. The last part might have been too much. Especially when considering the fact that he was asking for a bottle.

“Perhaps.” She surveyed the bar with practiced discretion. There were a few people near, but none seemed interested in their conversation. “What are you planning?”

He dropped a sack of NU. A few coins bounced out, eager to be spent. Her hungry look didn’t go unobserved.

“It doesn’t matter,” he held out his hand. “Do we have a deal?” He could see the reservations fading.

She clasped his forearm and he hers. “We do.”

He grinned. “Good. While you’re off counting your silver and gold, I’ll be upstairs.”