Search Posts
Staccato trills on her keys for a few seconds. ”Umm… just making sure I’m still in tune.” She doesn’t blush, but probably would if she weren’t made of wood. ”So that’ll earn us a pretty platinum. Maybe I can afford a real gun soon. “Seems I’m gonna need it!”
Staccato says, ”What kinda beer-bots are you? Free drinks are bad for business. Now stop that!” She then kicks the nearest one like crazy and actually lands a blow or two!
Staccato tries to smash the crazy contraption that’s force-feeding her friend!
But her little wooden limbs deliver nothing more than a harmless percussion.
She moves to flank with a friend, flurries, and misses a lot!
Staccato says, “I don’t know if this is a trap or not, but I ain’t drinking the beer here!” She rushes a mimic, positioning herself so one mimic is kinda between her and the other (so they don’t surround her).
Staccato begrudgingly runs along with Gattlebee, trusting her friends have got this.
Staccato reloads— —shoots the thug—
—and reloads again!
Staccato gets into her bullet stance, draws and fires!
Staccato removes the stopper, moves in and…
…with a graceful flourish and a flick of the wrist, she pours—with her little wooden arm inside the lizard’s mouth. Don’t breathe fire don’t breathe fire don’t…
She grabs it and looks ready to shove the potion into the lizard’s mouth. “Uhhh… can you guys hold those jaws still? They look bitey! …like all jaws.”
Staccato struts her stuff, lifting her hem to show the keys along her thigh. ”Ever hear of Maestro Giuseppe? He specialized in wooden constructs. That’s not what I am, but… “You seem to be a man of science like my father was.” This was not the approach Staccato had in mind. Enticing him was the plan. But… the old man is too much like her father. She can’t play him like that. She already has this image in her head, and… …Staccato respects him. “Alkenstar’s leading lady thinks you’re important. We’re here to see you safe. We have reason to believe you’re not, so… please. Come with us.”
Staccato struts her stuff, confident she can talk Gattlebee into tagging along… if he shows himself. Where is that asshoIe?
Staccato fingers her keys and gets a few horny patrons to sing. Figuratively, as in talk, and literally in one case… not that he had a voice for anything besides cigarettes.
Staccato sees everyone pairing off, leaving just her and Sin. “I can… play a song, if you want.”
When Staccato returns, she is eager to tip her hat of disguise. When she again dons it, it is a pistil hat that complements her outfit. The rest of her is undisguised. She takes a seat, not sure if it’s safe to yee-haw-mission-accomplished. She doesn’t even play her keys in the secret room. She simply crosses her legs, left over right (always) and relaxes.
Despite the obvious attempt on her life, Staccato fights back with nonlethal force—
She shifts back▶️, recalling her promise not to keep getting hurt to the point no one can save her!
Staccato says, “I’ll try not to get hurt…” She gulps down the healing potion given by the goblins.
* * * When it’s time to fight the gnolls, she ▶️rushes in— —▶️flurries—
—and ▶️strikes again!
But starting that ship is no easy task!
“Oh! I’ve head of this!”
Staccato accepts a healing potion, and contemplates drinking it immediately. “I’m glad you’re not hurt,” she says to the goblin gal.
Staccato ▶️rushes to Katherine’s aid.
Eyeing the handwraps, Staccato says, “Ooh, one of the Calistrian nuns who taught me self-defense used to wear those. ”And nothing else.” She winces a little when she adds that last detail.
Staccato sees the body language and replies to the goblin, “Best junk, plus you don’t advertise our presence outside of the people in this room… and Pogi… no secrets between you and Pogi. I respect that.”
Staccato’s guise may hide her wounds, but she’s not exactly tip-top right now. Maybe a little tipsy-toppley… She sits down not really giving a damn about decorum.
Staccato makes a mental note to never again don her CHIB disguise, nor Jenny Lips. She follows the goblin and says not a word, suspecting it’s a very bad idea for the deputy to know you solely by your voice.
Staccato gladly trades a gun for a chewy snack, and while she munches and crunches, she notices piece of junk that, if kicked, would topple everything. …as long as she kicks at just the right angle so she doesn’t get impaled.
Staccato (as ‘CHIB’) picks up the gun, then points it at the dwarf. “Hand over your key… you know which one. The one we need two of. “We both prefer you hand it over faster than it would take to search your corpse.”
Staccato ▶️rushes the woman, having no intention to kill—
—and her gentle little limbs will definitely not kill anyone.
“F*+!! Put me down you big f&@~ing f@&+-stick!”
Staccato heads back to the secret room, and gladly appears as her wooden self. “Well… that was fun. Hopefully Byrin thinks he dropped his keys disrobing in a stable, and didn’t stick around to see if there really was a farmer.” If trees could blush… ”I just danced, y’know. One touch of my pretend gnome skin, he’d be feeling up bark. There’s a get-wood joke in that scenario, but I ain’t feeling it right now. “Anything else you need me to do?”
Staccato enters the stable dressed as Jenny Lips, but down to magical-disguise underwear. The idea is for Byrin to believe more will come off… only it can’t, so the deceptive Leshy needs to make this work before it gets that far. The keys are already taken, so it’s just a matter of him thinking he lost ‘em here? She sits on a small stool, likely meant for milking. Her gnomish knees are pressed together. Her fingers tug lazily at the lacy trim of what little she has on. When he enters, she says, “Thanks for coming, Byrin… that’s a thanks in advance, by the way. “Lose the boots. Pants. Fold neatly. Leave the shorts on, for now. And the black socks. Hot. Unbutton the shirt… ooh, that chest hair will be my spaghetti… now, have a seat.” She spreads her legs, then says, “A disappointing presentation, don’t ya think? And… no fun for me either. I want you to want this body like you’ve never wanted before.” Stage face. Jenny’s face, with lips that suck the creamy filling clean from the eclair… ‘Jenny Lips’ kicks a leg up, rolls gracefully across the hay, and is on her feet, leaning forward, letting her cleavage work hypnosis on Byrin. She sings in a breathy tone, You come to the bar at the end of a
The workday is over, so Byrin, let’s
She sways closer, just out of reach, hands all over her smooth gnomish skin (where piano keys aren’t, she reminds herself)… Ain’t nothing stranger than giving
I’m here and I’m ready and willingly
She stops abruptly.
She flees through the bars of an empty stall, which would slow a much-taller human. She hopes Byrin will leave his clothing and run off in his undies, but even if he does quickly grab his things, he’s sure to think his keys are buried in the hay, and about as easy to find as a needle.
She swivels toward Byrin, crossing one leg over the other, letting the side slit of her dress reveal more, while still leaving something for the imagination.
The flashy woman bumps into the mark, and now ‘Jenny’ purses her lips. “Too crowded in here,” she moans. She takes another sip of her drink, savoring it, slowly. “Bars are for people. I crave an animal!” She directs him to a nearby stable and says, ”Drink up. See you there in half an hour.” * * * She leaves Byrin, not sure he’ll take the bait, “But if he does, the only dangling key he’ll be thinking about is the one still on him. “I need a gun-toting farmer’s wife to break us up before he finds out my guised clothing is literally painted on. As for these puffy lips, they do not have the taste for cocktail wieners.”
Staccato nods at Miss Katherine and tips her hat. Her new guise is a purple-haired gnome with luscious lips. “Looks like I am Jenny Lips.” She strikes a pose and says, “I’ll find our man and persuade him I’m there to borrow his lip stick.” She will hear advice, then head out to find the proper employee (who might not be a man, or into women).
Staccato dons the hat and thinks of a man. A halfling man in fancy white duds. She stands in front of a mirror to see if the guise works. “I’m a real boy!” she squeaks, trying a voice to match the face, “I’m a real MMAAHHNN. No, I’m not. Ah’m a reall boih. I’m a toy boy.” Staccato’s manly mirror image gives her a square-jawed squint. She thinks of him as the kind of man she hates. “I’m an asshoIe. The kind of asshoIe who tosses a coin in you cleavage then corners ya backstage. That wasn’t a tip. Where’s my return on investment? You’re just the right height. Pucker up.” Staccato points her gun at the mirror. “Bang.” She checks with the others to see if her voice sounds masculine enough for the guise to work.
Staccato says, “No killing, then?” She stifles her gripe that busting automatons doesn’t count, in part because it’s unproductive… and in part because she still gets to look in the mirror if no-killing’s the plan. This path will get bloody, but… “I’m in. Miss Feobe, Miss Katherine… I like entertaining, but I only got so much song in me. I don’t wanna end up as the next Jenny Lips. My brother, rest his soul—” which he ain’t got —his nose’d grow clean across the room if he promised me a mountain o’ money. “Ain’t saying you lie… I’m doubting it’ll come so easy. But I’ll chance it since the I’d rather risk getting f*~@ed figuratively than literally. And I would like to see the corrupt exposed as fools, so… “Yeah. I’m in.”
Staccato takes in the conversation. Deserving doesn’t seem to be an issue anymore, but she answers just the same. “I don’t know much about deserving. Do I deserve to be looked at like a whore just because I show a little leg… and a lot of boob? Still, no one ever asks the prostitutes to hop on stage and perform a tune. “I mean… except Jenny Lips o’ the Westward Ho, who both f$@+ed and played the trombone. …once at the same time. “But I ain’t Jenny Lips—so when some dude with a bulge asks me if I ever milked a bull, and I ask him if he’s implying he has four penises, I expect him to say no ma’am, guffaw-guffaw, and then stop interrupting my act.” She’s joking… but there’s a stinging bitterness as her words are the same kind of harsh truth sung in those lyrics horny crowds pay little attention to, but without the facade that passes for a smile onstage. ”On the topic of deserving… you name-dropped, boss. Mind me asking what you think this Mugland and Loveless deserve?”
Her red corset complements her autumnul leafdo and matches the single rose grafted onto her birch scalp. And it exposes more of the bark on her breasts than it conceals. Stage face. Staccato struts onto the stage, heeled knee-highs clacking to turn heads her way. She takes her goldleaf hem delicately in her fingers and curtsies. “This song is dedicated to the one I hate.” She sways her hips to a staccato bass line played on the keys crafted into her forearm. Don’t lie with me
The leshy sits at the edge of the stage, crossing her left leg over her right. A thigh-high stocking from her knee-high boot conceals a compartment where a señorita pistol is holstered. Her left thigh is bare. Her skirt falls back to expose a second keyboard, for the higher octaves. Hey whatchya lookin’ at
Staccato raises her left calf as she sings the bridge. Burning temptation…
The music halts. Staccato brings both index fingers to her lips, as if blowing smoke from a gun. She rises, slinking along the stage in an oddly seductive pose, tickling the keys on her thigh with both hands. Don’t f$@% with me
Her right hand pulls off her skirt in one deft motion. She twirls and tosses it. Her left hand caresses every key on her body for the reprisal— No vacation…
She lets a low chord reverb… she bows. Not like a stage performer. Like a warrior nun. Not that the men in the front row ogling her birch bosoms would think ‘nun.’
"You're head's removed!" There's an awkward silence. Anna apologizes, and the two decide to toast each other's platonic friendship and agree to continue seeing each other at extended-family gatherings.
The druid woman furls a twiggy brow, but despite her apparent displeasure, she says... "Oh, it's Crystalhue, Jack. All is forgiven. I won't marry you, though. We're third cousins."
Anna replies nervously, "I suppose I can become a yak and offer assistance, though I normally do not use my druidry for battle. But yes, I cannot deny my responsibility to your animals."
Anna says, "I am a practicing midwife. Please allow me to help the young mother." As she rushes into the stable, she says something to the moustached man. He turns to our heroes wearing a warm expression.
Anna asks, "Do you know when the spell was cast? The duration of Endure Elements is twenty-four hours." "In any case, I cannot cast it again, or I would have cast my spell on Mama Fratelli. Even my animal companion, Sissinnguaq, had to stay in the house. "I would offer sanctuary for your animals as well, but Mama Frai does not understand the ways of the druid. The wasp and panther would surely frighten her. I suggest you seek Baron von Heatmiser. His stable is warm, even warmer than the inn at the ski resort. Tell him Anna sent you." Regarding the conversation about shooting the book, Anna says, "Oh, if you can avoid shooting here, that would be best for Mama Fratei's heart condition."
Anna lets the crying girl go to Mama Fratelli, then stares in disbelief as the destruction caused by her harmless spells. She then turns to our heroes, introducing herself as "Anna." She has a striking resemblance to the naked woman who fell off the roof at Sister Bellum's. "Are you in any need of assistance?" she asks with a look of genuine concern.
"How odd. The wands should be harmless to the snow." The young woman climbs down to console a crying girl. She flicks away an icy tear.
A young woman who is adding a decoration atop the tallest evergreen in her front yard replies, "Please, Mama Fratelli. Go inside. The children are protected by my spell; you are not." |
