Half-Giant and Goblin

"The Golden Charm?"

"Nah. Too rich for mah blood, friend."

"The Precious Pony? Maybe Madame Kerrin's?"

"Ehhhhhh..."

"Fine fine. How 'bout the Rare Breed? S'cheap as hell and they got a broad there with jugs bigger than 'er damned head."

"Well yah, but they got that...that, uh..."

"Ya mean the guard fella?"

"Mmhm. The freak half-blooded one."

"S'fine. Just mind yer dirt 'n he minds his. You know 'em halfies. They ain't like you 'n us, dumb as rust."

 

---

 

The Rare Breed was nestled away in a particular shady corner of Honeywell's infamous (but frequently ignored by the more chaste residents) district of depravity. Small, but clean and comfortable. Not nearly as high-class and expensive as the Golden Charm, but its loyal patrons at least took comfort in the fact that their favored establishment wasn't as cheap and depraved as Madame Kerrin's or, goodness forbid, the Gilded Goat.

 

The whores were happy and violent incidents were few, with primary thanks given to the establishment's premiere non-sexual attraction. The brothel's standout bodyguard acted as barrier between whore and whore-lover. Sharp-eared and as imposing as they came, few customers were drunk, stupid, or brave enough to try anything risky as long as he was on the job.

 

A Half-Giant. Massive. Eight feet tall, ridiculously broad-shouldered. The floor buckled beneath the weight of his dense body. Constantly clad in battle leathers and hefty hammer hanging from his hip, he was a vision stripped straight from a battle mural. Sharp, blue eyes ever-watchful, muddy blond hair shaved and snipped into a vicious-looking mohawk (a decision to make himself look even more wild and menacing), his body rippled with firm, tightly coiled sinew. If not for his size he'd have the appearance of a gruff, but not immediately unattractive, young man with a solid build. But as it stood, he was a behemoth...a veritable monster of a man of which few challenged.

 

Skaldelskel, his name. An ugly name. A long, ugly giant's name appropriate for such a beast. No surname, for his parents weren't relevant enough to warrant such a thing.

 

The giant stood stalwartly at his post, arms crossed and ever-ready. Pair of bums passed by, reeking of alcohol. He verified that they had coin before grunting in approval. They stumbled towards the main greeting room reeking of cheap wine and discussing the how overrated the Precious Pony was and how they have no respect for visitors of the Gilded Goat.

 

It was grunt work. His official occupation was to stand there and look menacing. He despised it. Of course, he had no choice in the matter. Being half-blooded was akin to being cursed. A product of years upon years of selective breeding, he was nothing but a giant/human abomination specifically bred for qualities of stoicism, strength, durability, loyalty, submission, and placidity. He was slave fodder...but lucky slave fodder. Lucky enough, at least, to find at least one place willing to employ his unique services and give him enough money to eat.

 

He alternated between staring at the toes of his enormous 'stomper' boots and glaring in challenge at any newcomer venturing into the lavender-scented depths of the whorehouse. He went through the motions, same old thing. He stopped anyone obviously carrying a weapon, confiscated it. He asked a few questions for no reason, just a way to make himself look busier and more competent than he really was. When the Rare Breed closed he'd be one of the last to leave, remaining as long as possible just in case some disgruntled quick-shot suddenly returned with a grudge to bear and one too many drinks in him. He's go home to his lonely little shack with the bed that wasn't long enough for him and the bottle of hard spirits that still weren't strong enough to give a man of his size anything more than a pleasant tingle.

 

He wasn't ecstatic about his relatively good fortune, and that made him feel even worse.

 

---

 

"...'Ey. Big guy."

"..."

"Come onnnnn. You can do iiiiiit. We all believe in yooou, long-legs."

"..."

"For the sake o-...LOOK DOWN, WILL YA!?"

 

Skeld finally glanced down and to his side with a faint blush running across his cheeks. He wasn't accustomed to being directly addressed by anyone other than his employer. The shrill, heavily accented voice came from a set of obnoxiously purple, painted lips that immediately curled into a crooked lil' grin.

 

A goblin. A female goblin, at that. He'd never seen one, but the fact that she was here as an apparent patron was evident enough of his social ranking. A full-blooded Goblin was still placed higher than any unnatural, split-heritage race.

 

She was barely half of his height but acted as if she dwarfed him. A plump, short thing...slight of chest but wide-hipped (and apparently proud of that fact from the way she cocked and wiggled her waist). Bare-footed, her toes seemed as expressive as her face...constantly wriggling over one another and never not in action. Bright green skin, sharp ears pierced with multiple garish golden hoops, a slightly bulbous nose, greasy black hair striped with loud colors of purple and blue. All this wrapped up in a patchy, mishmashed set of black shorts, shortened tunic, and a myriad of straps and pouches. He could only assume that she was the absolute epitome of whatever could be considered 'goblin beauty'.

 

Her lips, however, were her most prominent feature. Unusually thick and squishy-looking, made only more wet and inviting by the application of copious lipstick. Many a patron had described such things as 'man-pleasers'.

 

She seemed happy that he acknowledged her, celebrating the achievement by fetching a long, slender pipe from one of her many pouches. Packed it with something red and strong-smelling before igniting it with flame paper. She sucked in the smoke gratefully through her dense, wet lips before loosing it all out in one, long stream of red smoke. The half-giant's nose curled. It had a foul, sickeningly sweet smell. Like cherries, liquorice, and something indescribable. She sucked it in and reveled in it like the most pleasant experience in the world.

 

"So." She began. "...How's the weather up there?"

 

"You can go on in."

 

A blunt, unfeeling reply. The contrast between her high, squeaky voice and his deep, composed one were almost absurd.

 

"...So it's cloudy up there, huh?"

 

He didn't reply. She only grinned more widely, continuing after another happiness-inducing drawl of her pipe. "You seem a good guy, don't ya? Lettin' someone like me in like that? I mean, I coulda just...y'know, sneaked by, but I had the moral aptitude to at least give ya the opportunity to kick me out on my fat be-hind."

 

He didn't answer.

 

"...Ooooh, look at you, strong silent type. But hey, come on, I know why, huh? Know why ya was all nice and didn't give no trouble. We get each other, right?"

 

"..."

 

"Bleeech, look at that stupid thieving gobby, prolly tryin' to start trouble 'n still all our stuff in the chaos!" An imitation of your random local human, betrayed only by her strong goblin-esque accent. 'Chaos' came out as 'Kay-Ose'. "Oh stars away, stay far from that big, mean halfie over there! Them things about as dumb as any gob, but got size 'n power on their side, huh?"

 

He cringed a bit at that...primarily because despite the exaggeration, it sounded familiar. While he didn't reply, she was sharp enough to note the changes in his face and pursued. "C'mooooon. Talk to me. I ain't see many o' you around and I know you ain't see many o' me. 'Fore I go in and, uh...try to prop some of your fine establishment's wares, I wanna hear ya talk a bit more."

 

A goblin AND a girl-lover. The Rare Breed didn't feature male prostitutes. She was a bold, dangerous one.

 

Skeld shuffled a bit, a rare lowering in his natural stoic guard. He finally sighed and craned his head to look squarely down in her direction. She had black eyes.

 

"...Sorry..."

 

"Sorry?"

 

"...I don't know what you want me to say."

 

"Eeesh, you DO got it bad, don'cha? Alright, alright...I'll just do the talkin' for now. How 'bout some jokes?"

 

---

 

"Ahahaha...and then the man said 'It's such a horrible sin that I'd rather undo 10 or so virgins than commit adultery!' Ha...and so, the majority of the male congregation applauded!"

 

That was his voice. He wasn't accustomed to this, hearing himself talk in any way that wasn't blunt or business-like or threatening. He'd heard that joke, and many others, from waiting patrons who socialized before or after the 'event', but only now did he see the humor in them. They were attracting stares but he didn't care. The brothel's Madame seemed to almost venture near...but deciding that, perhaps, a laughing pair of goblin and half-giant were equally as intimidating as what her employee normally did, she decided against it.

 

The goblin, her name was Teseri, gleefully wiped a tear or two from her eyes. Her laughter was just as overpowering and obnoxious as anything else about her, but Skeld reveled in that high-pitched, wavering cackle. She stuffed some more of the red into her pipe (she refilled often with the rate at which she smoked) before lighting up again. She contracted another fit of the giggles in the middling of smoking, causing her to cough and her chest to heave...but she shook it off well.

 

"Ahhhh...ooph. S'a good one. Glad I decided to waste yer time, tall-y."

 

"You didn't waste anything."

 

Another quality to his voice he was unfamiliar with. He sounded happy.

 

"Mmhmm, mmhmm. Sentimental this, sentimental that. But 'ey, now that we got all them pleasantries out the way and know each other? How much?"

 

"Hm?"

 

"How much?"

 

"I'm sorry?"

 

"How much?"

 

"...How...much?"

 

"...Is there an echo in here? How much are ya, sunblocker?"

 

"I...Teseri, I'm afraid I don't understand."

 

She pinched the bridge of her nose and sighed. "Look, ya big oaf...I know ya ain't dumb 'cause I been chewin' the rag for ya for nearly an hour. Lemme break this down for ya, mkay?"

 

She gestured dramatically as she spoke, her words loud and slow and deliberate to the point of humiliating him. "How many units of currency...must I transfer from myself to you and/or this fine establishment...so that I may gain official permission...to climb Mt. Mohawk?"

 

He looked confused more than anything. He was unsure of whether or not this was joke or honest proposition, whether it was insulting or acceptable given the atmosphere.

 

"I'm...not a prostitute."

 

"Sure ya are."

 

"No, I'm a guard, I-"

 

She held up a small hand, immediately stopped the half-giant's train conversation while idly taking another long puff of her pipe. "Big thing, I'm gonna let you in on a little secret, alright? There's only two kinds of folks in this world who claim to not be prostitutes. Liars...and those who have not been offered enough money yet."

 

She smirked triumphantly, confidently pushing her hands to her hips. "How much?"