[Episode 264402] [Episode 264402]The dark elf known to the denizens of Skid Row as their premiere fashion-designer, ‘The Tailor’ blinked his eyes numerous times at the warrior demon’s statement. “Burnt... fire?” he queried, sounding genuinely confused. “But... but fire burns whatever it’s using as a fuel source. I mean, that’s reality! Fire doesn’t burn fire! That doesn’t seem physically possible!”
“Yeah, I thought the same thing,” the Horned Reaper admitted with a wistful tone. “But lo and behold. Keeper Xin thought to protect herself with a Fire Aura and Keeper Cheetah went and turned it against her. The kitty’s fire burned right through the woman’s protection and cooked her like a deliciously squishable chicken...” he longingly gazed towards the charred corpse and licked his lips in anticipation. “Truly, she’s the best employer I’ve ever had...” after all, not even Keeper Dis had been able to satisfy Horny’s dark appetites. Sure, the man let him slaughter all the innocents and not-so-innocents he wanted, but he was a Reaper of sophistication! He may not have needed to eat, but he enjoyed dining on more than just chicken! And oh, what treats working for this keeper bestowed upon his refined palate of evil...
The Tailor frowned as he considered this. Well... bless it! Who would have thought the woman could actually pull something like that off? She seemed like such a novice when he met her, a neophyte of the worst sort, one of those, ‘small name, big ego’ types that seemed to infest Skid Row like lice in old straw bedding. And here she went and broke–although from what he was seeing and smelling, more like raped–the laws of physics. While magic was considered one of the greatest driving powers that could take the forces of existence to the limit, they could only bend them to their will. This woman went and simply broke them like they didn’t exist.
FIRE WASN’T SUPPOSED TO BURN FIRE!
Frowning, The Tailor realized he was now in a bit of a pickle. He was one who appreciated male forms and those females who were petite or at least lithe, particularly those with delicate features and pointed sylvan ears... hence his attraction to the gaoblin. He positively HATED curvaceous, odious, older women! They already had one foot in the grave, why should he waste his talents on something unattractive that would bring disgrace to his works and reputation?
Sadly, he now realized this was one who could back up her desire for his works with not just coin but force... meaning, if he was to continue his lovely holiday with Lady Crescens and keep his reputation intact, he had better get the overweight, over-the-hill feline sex-slave-turned-dungeon keeper’s lady-in-waiting out of there while the getting was good! He turned about, ready to go retrieve the woman of his black heart’s darkest desire and lie to her face creatively tell the truth about how Crescens had leave to enjoy her day.
The Tailor’s heart sank as he saw the woman who got a rise out of his elfhood was literally upon them.
“Lady Gia!” the green-skinned woman shouted as she rushed forward; her Void Claws flaring as she ran through the opened space of the Slavers’ Guild, going through the exposed hallways and rooms at a breakneck pace. Her eyes were drawn to the form of the werecheetah that had someone new standing beside her, her speed picking up for her to reach the feline lycanthrope that much quicker. “Lady Gia, are you all right?”
The gaoblin cringed as Britanny turned to her, those eyes flaring with annoyance. “Well, well! Look who decided to show up now that everything’s over and done with!” she pointed the Maelstrom towards the woman to draw the attention to her. “Gee Crescens, thanks for the help! Really, it’s appreciated! You did a magnificent job of running like a scared bitch while you could, leaving me and Horny to fight those fuckers alone!” she snapped, glaring at the woman who was wincing.
The Tailor frowned as the uncouth sex-slave began to get real ‘catty’ with the perfect visage of underworld beauty. He stepped forward, about to give her a piece of his mind. He knew he could get away with it; the woman was obviously desperate for his talent to, ‘lay the verbal smack down’. “Now see here—”
“Trust me, dark elf,” the apparition that acted as Britanny’s teacher interrupted, floating over to place himself between the effeminate elf with an obvious death wish and the irritated dungeon keeper. “Hold thy tongue. The Keeper is still in a state of agitation. Drawing attention to yourself will do naught but paint a target on your head. So stay silent, lest you suffer her wrath!” It was obvious to anyone in earshot that even though he was giving the fashion designer a warning, the ghost was obviously proud of how she was handling herself.
Granted, the elf took the advice and threat for what it was–after all, he didn’t manage to both stay alive and keep his shop functional and profitable in this cesspool of an underdark town–without learning when to shut up.
It was that–consequentially–he also learned exactly what buttons to push and how far. “I was merely going to point out that given the damage I spy with my fashion-sensitive eye, that had Lady Crescens remained, she would have at best, been used as a hostage. At worst...” he finished, leaving the statement to hang in the air, waving his hand at their former seats... which were now a pile of smoldering ash.
At that moment, Britanny blinked, looking around. Aside from Ayane, the old man, and the support pillars, there really wasn’t much of anything around them that hadn’t been either thoroughly trashed or burnt asunder. “Uh... oops?” she squeaked out in embarrassment.
Horny merely shrugged. “Hey! Ain’t no kill like overkill!” he chirped merrily, wondering if the Flambé a la Keeper would be to his liking.
Britanny sighed as she brought her right hand up to her face as she left her left hand with the dark blade fall to her side. She pinched the bridge of her nose, trying to avert the oncoming headache. Taking a moment inhale deeply and count backwards from ten, the werecheetah exhaled. “Crescens...” she said the woman’s name slowly. “When we get back to the dungeon... we are going to have a talk.”
The way her friend said that made the gaoblin feel uneasy. “A... talk?”
Nodding her head, the spotted werecat replied, “Yeah. A talk. Things... need to change.”
“You mean like how you need a change of clothes at the moment,” Crescens pointed out, hoping to turn her friend’s attention towards fashion. Such always seemed to make the werecheetah feel better.
“Yeah... fashion...” the spotted blonde muttered as she turned to the male dark elf.
Crossing his arms over his chest, The Tailor realized where this was going and was quick to point out, “Oh no! I am not making you another one! Look at what you did with the last outfit I gave you!” he motioned to the state Britanny was in. “Poof! Up in flames! Gone without a trace, as if it had never been! So shameful and disrespectful!”
Twitching irritably, Britanny’s eyes narrowed in annoyance. She could feel the dark voices in her head telling her to burn this little bastard to cinders, but a voice deeper and darker still, let her know that he still had his uses... and would pay dearly. “Oh, but we are elf... but since I don’t feel like giving the town a free show...”
When the werecheetah rounded on him, Dumbledore placed his teacup and place back on the mangled goblin corpse that had landed beside him. “Yes?” He asked in as pleasant a tone as possible, his smile visible through his white beard. “What can I do for you?”
Holding her right hand out, Britanny demanded, “Give me your robe!”
That brought the somewhat crazy wizard up short. “Er... excuse me?”
“Robe. Now!” the kitty keeper growled.
“...And if I refuse?” the old man asked pointedly. It wasn’t like her feminine wiles would work on him! Not just because he didn’t swing that way, but if he did, he would certainly hope he could do better.
“Horny won’t hurt you,” Britanny growled, her Dungeon Heart causing her eyes to glow a hellish red. “But I, on the other hand, have no problem with breaking irritating geriatrics apart!”
Adorning a put-upon sigh–Dumbledore was, if nothing else, a professional drama queen–he stood and removed the robe.
“...” was the general consensus of those gathered.
“What?” he asked, an arm holding out the robe, revealing another had been worn below it.
Even Horny had to admit... the new one made his eyes want to bleed.
“I’ll have you know at my age, I can ill-afford to catch cold,” the elderly wizarding Poof said in his defense. “And being so far away from the lava flows, it is quite drafty in this town.”
Britanny twitched at not only the horrid clash of spots, stripes, and plaid but also the obnoxious allocation of grotesque colors that had been liberally applied to the man’s lower set of robes. “Here,” the werecheetah said as she snapped her fingers suddenly, conjuring up some of her admittedly vast wealth. A small bag of one thousand gold coins appeared and crashed down by the old Keeper’s feet.
Gazing down at the small money sack, Dumbledore blinked his eyes once, twice. He then brought his head back up, looking at the woman with a raised eyebrow. “What’s this?”
“Payment for the robe so you can buy another,” Britanny replied as she stabbed the sword into the ground and used both hands dress herself in the purple garment. “You need something to cover that gaudy thing you have on now!”
“Truly,” The Tailor agreed, his knees shaking as he held onto his one true dark love for support. “I’ll gladly give you a discount just... please! My sensibilities! My poor, fragile underworld sensibilities! Your sense of fashion is killing me!”
Huffing, the old bearded Keeper shook his head in annoyance as he made the monetary offering disappear with a wave of his hand. Not that he had any intention of letting this insult to his wardrobe slide, but free gold WAS free gold. “I’ll consider it...” he looked at the werecheetah up and down, giving her the once over. “I must admit, it DOES look good on you...”
Left unsaid was that it covered her fat ass.
“Now then,” Britanny stated, turning around to face the traitorous dark elf. True; she had known quite a few fashion designers in her single days–each one more gay and more odd than the last–but this one was taking the cake. “You are going to make me outfits; outfits befitting a Keeper, a Keeper that the Mentor—”
“THE Mentor,” said spirit corrected.
“...Whatever...” the werecheetah murmured, causing the spirit to huff. “They will be outfits befitting my station–how I see it, not how your ass sees it, or I shall do something truly horrible... to Crescens!”
“WHAT!?” yelled the happy couple.
Britanny nodded. “Yes; fail me... and I shall be forced to buy that Horror Beyond Horrors Dumbledore is wearing now... and make it Crescens’ sole outfit.”
The Tailor went stark white in terror. “You... you wouldn’t!”
“Lady Gia, please!” the gaoblin shouted out. “Have mercy!” she cried theatrically. While such really didn’t bother her, she had a feeling that if this made Britanny feel like she was being punished... then so be it! Better to be dressed up in an outfit that was the colors of what the toilet looked like after Lady Gia tried gaoblin cuisine for the first time rather than be immolated like many of the bodies were... such as the one the Horned Reaper was making his way towards with an expression of pure delight.
“Never, Crescens!” Britanny cackled maniacally. “Either I get sexy, hot-to-trot clothing of evil, or you wear Dumbledore’s hand-me-downs of the damned!!”
Waving his hand, said male keeper was quick to pipe up, “Hello? I’m still here you know... and loving my fashion. Could you please not talk as if I weren’t here?” Needless to say, he was being annoyed at how they ignored him.
Trembling with fear, the evil sylvan male looked up at the werecheetah in stark terror. “You... you FIEND!” the dark elf spat in disgust. “How dare you do such to Lady Crescens?”
“Only doing such if you don’t give me what I wa~aaant,” the female lycan sing-songed off-key. “So what do you say? Willing to be the exclusive designer for the best Dungeon Keeper ever?”
Lowering his head, the dark elf was practically whimpering. It was a bitter pill to swallow, but he couldn’t do this to his beauty. “I... I’ll do it...” he practically choked. “Anything to keep my precious flower of the underworld out of those ghastly, horrendous robes!”
“OH COME OFF IT, PEOPLE! MY LOWER ROBE IS NOT THAT BAD!” the wizarding Poof wailed in exasperation.
“Yes it is,” Ayane piped up. When the wizard-turned-dungeon keeper stared at her, the dark mistress explained, “About the only one I could think would use it would be Xin’s warlock... and that would be to figure out ways to turn it into a weapon of mass destruction. Destroy more than JUST the eyes.”
Dumbledore lowered his head, deciding maybe he should just go back to his dungeon... although not before Keeper Cheetah left with her entourage. Walking ahead of them might be cause for the Horned Reaper to misconstrue his departure for fleeing to justify killing him... and the wizard would rather NOT get impaled with extreme prejudice.
Clapping her hands together, the spotted blonde rubbed them together gleefully. “GREAT!” she chirruped, feeling a pleasant high from her victory over The Tailor. “Nothing can stop me now! Isn’t this great, Horny?” When there was no immediate response, the woman turned to her demon. “Horny?” she asked again.
Said crimson warrior of rage and genocide paused in his noisy chewing, pulling the smoking drumstick from his lips. Swallowing his mouthful of meat, he then replied with an irritable, “What? Can’t you see I’m eating here?”
The werecheetah looked at the slab of charcoal-black protein in his hand and then down at Xin’s corpse... the piece of burnt meat in his hand... the cadaver again... finally, she looked up to meet Horny’s eyes with her own. “Is that... one of Keeper Xin’s legs?” Britanny asked with a disgusted tone.
Horny nodded his head in affirmation. The demonic fighter then went back to munching for a moment, before speaking around the drumstick, “Is there a problem with that?”
Nodding her head, the woman began, “I just wanted to know why—”
Eyebrows furrowing, the Reaper pointed his half-eaten charred leg at her in a commanding fashion, silencing the woman. Taking a moment to swallow his new mouthful, he firmly stated, “You know, every day, hundreds of orcs go to bed hungry, starving, wondering where their next meal will come from.”
Britanny blinked her eyes once, twice, THRICE. “...And?” she queried, wondering what that had to do with anything.
“Well, it would be cruel to let them think food will still be here, day after day, so I figured I would remove all traces.” He snorted in annoyance. “Really, it is for their sake...” he then went back to dining on Xin’s thigh.
The werecheetah twitched as the Horned Reaper continued to munch charred corpse. “I can’t believe you’re eating a Keeper!” Britanny cried out in exasperation.
Forcefully choking down the smoked meat so he could speak, the war demon practically spat, “What’s wrong with this? I mean, you ate imps with me!”
Pointing the Maelstrom long-sword at her Minion in an authoritative, chiding manner, the spotted werecat explained, “I was starving and they tasted like the chicken I used to get from the Chinese restaurant down the road... which now makes me question whether or not that was actually chicken...”
The Reaper just stared down the length of the blade in minor annoyance. “You dis my choice of outerwear, and now you eat Chinese...” Horny muttered. “You have no sense of propriety, Keeper.”
Twitching, the feline lycanthrope was quick to explain, “Well at least I’m not a cannibal!”
“Who says I am? Do you see me eating another Horned Reaper? Nope! Just lower life-forms... which to me, is just about everyone else...” he looked over the unfinished meal in hand before shaking his head and tossing the half-eaten leg over his shoulder. He then reached down and tore the other leg off of Xin’s charred remains, hefting it up with an expression of delight. After all, why fill up when you could have more of the best parts?
Twitching as the Horned Reaper continued to feast upon the remains of fallen enemies, the werecheetah turned towards the advising apparition. “Hey, Mentor?”
“The Mentor,” the ghost was quick to point out.
Rolling her eyes, Britanny said, “Fine. Tell me, The Mentor... is what I’m dealing with more of that stuff you told me about expecting Minions to ruthlessly exploit loopholes in their servitude contracts or is it just me?”
“Pretty much, more or less...” The Mentor admitted. “But you should also understand, that such is pretty default for a Horned Reaper. Everything outside of slaughter, eating, and sleeping makes them angry. So just let him enjoy desecrating the corpses of your enemies. He’ll be much easier to handle afterwards, at least for a little while.”
Britanny sighed. Oh, the aggravation she had to put up with. “Hey, Crescens?” she spoke up, turning to her friend.
Realizing the werecheetah’s attention was on her once again, the gaoblin obediently replied, “Yes, Lady Gia?”
Offering the black and gold long-sword to her, the werecheetah commanded, “Take this. And see if you and Ayane can strip the bodies... or remains... of anything else of value. I need to find someone to talk to about getting my slaves.” After all that bullshit she went through, she DESERVED those bare-chested cuties. Oh, she was SO going to have them give her a massage when she got back to her dungeon; the prince at least looked like he had delicate hands.
“Actually,” a voice from the side spoke up. “We’re here to talk to you about that very thing...”
Turning about to the source of the voice, the woman smiled as she caught sight of the eye-patched adored dark elf. He and two pairs of other dark elves clad in black leather armor at either side of him were coming upon her at a steady pace as they walked through the wreckage of the Slavers’ Guild. “AH! The Guildmaster! There you are!” Britanny chirruped. “Perfect timing! Now, about those male slaves?”
Coming to a stop before her, the cyclopean dark elf shook his head. “No.”
Britanny twitched. “No? What do you mean ‘no’!?” She deserved her beefcake eye-candy and massages, goddamn it!
Crossing his arms over his chest, the dark sylvan stared down at her with his one eye. “No as in the guild refuses to do ANY further business with you. In fact, we would appreciate if you were to vacate the premises immediately.”
The werecheetah went slack-jawed. They were kicking her out? “...Why?”
“LOOK AT WHAT YOU DID TO THE PLACE!” The Guildmaster roared as he uncrossed his arms to motion all around them, at the destruction that had befallen the Skid Row Branch of the Slavers’ Guild Headquarters.
The spotted blonde blinked her eyes as she was once more made to take in the level of destruction she’d wrought. “Well, to be fair, the other keepers brought this on.” She said in her defense. It’s not like she was the one going out of her way to be a bitch. No, that was the redheaded cunt whose corpse was currently being looted by Ayane as she tossed the goodies into Crescens’s oversized void claws.
“Yes, and they’re not here!” the irritated dark elf snapped angrily at the person determined to be a catwoman sex-slave who lucked her way into bonding with a Dungeon Heart. “You know what that means, Keeper?” he asked in a rather nastily.
The werecheetah’s eyes narrowed. She did not appreciate him taking that tone with her. “...No...” she answered slowly, fighting to keep her own temper in check, lest she end up setting him on fire too and inadvertently adding to Horny’s barbaric buffet.
As if proving the adage that elves, be they of the woods or dark, were smug, condescending, and mercurial creatures with more pride than common sense–as you just can’t argue with an elf–The Guildmaster continued to poke the proverbial bee’s nest, figuratively AND literally. “It means that you,” a poke to her chest. “My pretty kitty,” again, he poked her in the chest. “Are legally responsible for all the damages and slave sales for the auction!” again, as if he had no concern for his welfare, the dark elf poked Britanny in the chest a third time. He leaned forward, staring her in her feral green eyes with his one good one. “We’re looking at two-hundred thousand gold pieces for bare-minimum compensation!”
Britanny frowned as the dark elf got uppity with her. He was outright threatening her for money! Did he NOT see what she could was capable of when provoked enough!?
Before she could tell him off, the werecheetah got an idea.
A wonderful idea.
An awful idea.
Britanny had a wonderful, awful idea.
A rather unhinged smile coming to her face, the spotted blonde feline dungeon keeper cheerfully offered, “How about a half million instead?”
Needless to say, that gave the head of the Slavers’ Guild pause. “...Really?” her queried, not sure if he heard the woman correctly. Did she really offer him twice his demanded price?
Nodding her head, the woman sweetly replied, “Oh yes! If this place is to get up and running again promptly, you’ll need to hire all the extra hands you can find. I don’t mind paying more to make sure this place is better than before...” she tilted her head and pointedly added, “Provided that I can still get my slaves, of course.” Not that she really needed them, but considering how quickly Ayane Crescens had looted what was left of her enemies, she wasn’t going to get that much in the way of spoils so massages were the way to go.
“...I... guess so,” The Guildmaster muttered, looking wearier with his eye. After all, if the target not only agreed with minor threats, and paid more with no pushing...
It was not odd that a dark elf was more worried about people giving in that fighting. If they fought, he could understand.
Someone willingly paying up–a Keeper no less–was much more worrisome. “Would you like the female slaves as well?” he asked.
Sure, it was tempting Fate, but it might get him a few more coins.
To that inquiry, Britanny merely shook her head. “No. No thank you... I just don’t swing that way,” she said in all seriousness. She didn’t! Really! No matter what those bitches in High School said about her and Gina, it wasn’t so!
And that time with Crescens only happened once! Once! And a lot of magically-enhanced alcohol was involved!
“Couldn’t hurt to check,” The Guildmaster replied before he motioned for two of his assistants to go for said slaves while the other two remained flanking him as bodyguards. His attention back on the werecheetah, the dark elf explained, “Do keep in mind that this branch of the Slavers’ Guild will be closed until further notice. That was why I was offering you the females. It’s really going to be a pill just holding onto them for so long while we work on the place.”
“Oh, no problem... no problem at all...” Britanny cooed. “I’ll just be happy with the boys...”
“Keeper,” The Mentor whispered in a harsh tone to his protégé as he hovered closer to her as to not be heard by the others. “You are being way too lenient with these men. It could lead to a backlash of people trying to take advantage of you...”
The werecheetah rolled her eyes. “Relax,” Britanny calmly replied to her ghostly advisor. “I know what I’m doing. I mean, I know how to burn fire. That’s gotta count for something!”
That gave the spirit pause. “...In some circles, that may very well be its own Act of Infamy...”
“I know, huh?” Britanny smirked.
“Seriously, Keeper, the female slaves are useful for lots of things,” the Head Honcho continued. “Sacrifice to earn favor of the Dark Gods, cleaning staff, attendants for a bar that the help can ogle...”
“Can they dust?”
Blinking as one, the group turned towards the Horned Reaper... who was using the coverings for the chairs to try and forge a ‘to-go’ bag for the cooked keeper bits.
“...What?” the armored crimson mass of muscle asked irritably.
“Since when do you have anything that requires dusting?” asked The Mentor.
“If you must know,” the sophisticated Engine of Destruction spoke up in a haughty tone. “I was thinking of beginning a collection of skulls of killed keepers.” With that, he held up the ‘bag’, shaking it to show the skulls inside.
The werecheetah looked up towards the sack of bones and sighed. “Fine... fine...” she murmured, really not wanting to deal with this. “But you’re keeping them in your room!”
That made the crimson weapon of mass destruction grin wide, showing off all his sharp, yellowed teeth. “Excellent Keep—HEY! Wait a minute!” He snapped suddenly. “I don’t have a lair of my own yet!”
“I’ll build you one when we get back,” Britanny replied, waving off the Horned Reaper. “Part of why we came to Skid Row, remember? As soon as I get new clothes, we’ll see about going to that place The Mentor was telling me about where I could buy room schematics. Then we’ll make something for you. That okay?"
“It better have a place I can put my skulls,” Horny said in all seriousness.
“It will,” Britanny replied with a nod of her head.
The demon was quick to add, “And a spot for my own pet Meatalo!”
Now that made the werecheetah raise an eyebrow. He wanted one as a pet? Funny. He would eat other sentient beings yet the dumb ‘magicow’ got a pass. “Fine, fine...”
“AND A HOTTUB!” the red-skinned mass of muscle roared. “IF I DON'T HAVE A HOTTUB THEN SO HELP YOU!!”
“FINE!” Britanny snapped. “You’ll get all that and more! Just let me get my slaves and we’ll be on or way...” she then turned about to see a number of dark elves leading her trio of male eye-candies here way. “Well, well... speak of the devil...”
Horny raised an eyebrow. “Yes?”
“Not you!” Britanny hissed. “It’s a phrase where I’m from!” She then turned to the eye-patched adorned dark elf with a meticulous smile. “My, oh my! You brought them back quickly. Thank you for your prompt service!” Much better than the fashion-designer that wanted to be Crescens’ boyfriend ever gave her.
The Guildmaster nodded his head. “Of course. One prince,” he motioned to the effeminate male. “One knight,” his hand moved over to the somewhat more muscular brunet. “And one wizard,” his hand then motioned to the blue-haired man, still with manacles and ball-gag. “Now then... about payment for services rendered and repairs?”
“Oh, I didn’t forget,” Britanny all but purred. Closing her eyes, she allowed herself to relax and connect with her Dungeon Heart, access her gold storage...
“And here it comes,” she stated with a wide smile.
The Guildmaster blinked, looking around. “I don’t—”
*BINK*!
Blinking his solitary eye, the dark elf felt the top of his head, pulling off a gold coin.
He and his men looked up... to see that the roof had an immediate convergence of gold right over their vicinity.
“Oh bloody—”
The Guildmaster never got to finish his statement as the gold pieces came down as one mass. While one gold piece was only around three ounces, this was half a million pieces... that was over sixty-thousand tons of gold. So much weight that there wasn’t even an audible crunch as the dark elf and four of his slavers were crushed flatter than the credit limit on Britanny’s Visa.
“Honestly, Keeper!” the apparition snapped irritably. “I can’t believe you did that! Now they’ll never allow you to buy slaves here again!”
Turning to face her advisor, the werecheetah cutely cooed, “Why not, Mentor? I paid for all the damages, didn’t I?”
Although it wasn’t a true twitch, the apparition’s form shimmered in mimic of one. “Yes... but you crushed them to death.”
“But I showered them with gold!” the werecheetah chirruped as she motioned to the massive pile of glittering metal that flooded the room and the surrounding hallway; her three slaves staring on with wide, horrified gazes as they stood ankle deep in treasure.
“Exactly! You SHOWERED them! How many times must I tell you?” the ghost demanded.
Blinking her eyes, the MILF-turned-dungeon keeper made a show of considering that for a moment. “...Gold is not a liquid?” Britanny finally offered.
“GOLD IS NOT A LIQUID!” The Mentor screamed in affirmation.
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