Prompt #4 (Teen rating for innuendo and death; Trigger Warning for drink spiking)

Prompt #4:

Write a scene in which your character is being hit on at the bar on New Years Eve.

Any length. No word limit. Be sure to finish it.

Cries of revelry and hoots of laughter filled the air along with the smoke and deafening pops of colored fireballs the parade of magicians were tossing up into the sky as they made their march or merriment through the city’s streets. All sorts of races, from humans to elves to dwarves and even a number of halflings and half-orcs, populated the streets. Many had on shirts stained with grease and ale while others were dressed in fine gowns and suits stained with wine, but all, regardless of race, status, or appearance, were wearing smiles as wide as the crescent moon above.

With all eyes upon the bright and flashy explosions and illusions or on the many gaudily dress street performers, skilled acrobats cartwheeling around and fencers clashing away in poorly choreographed duels, there was little wonder that no one acknowledged the elf woman in the habit as she passed by, carrying a basket. Those who would have bothered taking a pause in their festivities to spare the nun a kind word or greeting had already turned in for the night, too old or pious to stay up and greet the new year with the rest of the city.

The nun’s pace slowed as she walked by one of the many open taverns, and with a quick glance around her, she suddenly turned and vanished into a side alley. A couple seconds later, a different woman, human, stepped out of the shadows with vibrant red hair tumbling over her bare shoulders in curls, her face painted with blush and lips like roses. Her dark blue gown was tantalizingly cut right below her collarbone and was trimmed with fur, and the fabric that seemed to shimmer in the light hugged and accentuated each curve, leaving little to imagination.

The woman stepped into the tavern. Had tonight been any other night and the place been any less crowded and, her entrance might have drawn some attention, but as it were, most of the patrons were absorbed with other matters, usually with their own drinks, friends, and partners. She still drew eyes from those she walked right by, the woman noted with a slight sense of satisfaction, but any invitation that was extended toward her went unanswered and ignored as her eyes scanned the mass of bodies before her, searching intently.

Those green eyes widened slightly as they found a mustached man in a nobleman’s attire sitting at a table with a number of similarly dressed men. Upon the man’s ruffled jacket was an embroidered coat of arms that depicted a lion with a writing quill in its paw, and as the woman got closer, she saw that there was a silver pin in the shape of feather on his collar.

Her lips rose in a slight smile. Her slender fingers gentle ran across the nape of the young noble as she passed and made her way to the front of the bar. The smile turned to a smirk as she heard the shifting and turning behind her, and she added a small shake of her rear to her saunter as she felt leering eyes follow her.

She hadn’t expected to find a free seat at the bar, to expect that at this time on this particular night required an incredible amount of ignorance and naïveté, but it still disappointed her to see how crowded it was in front of the bar. Her mood continued to sour when all the dwarven bartender offered her was a meaty raised hand and a request for some patience. Understandable, yes, but still irksome, but before she could consider the matter further, a hand slammed onto the countertop, catching both her and the bartender’s attention.

The hand belonged to the young noble she had spotted only moments prior, and when he had lifted his hand, they left behind several gold coins. “Your finest mead, Waroc,” the man said with a large grin as he tapped the pin on his collar. “For me and...” He looked to the woman.

“My name is Larah, dear sir.”

“For me and Larah.” The man’s grin grew, and with a wave and a stare, a couple reluctantly vacated their seats at the bar as the Waroc the bartender grumbled under his breath and scooped up the gold. “Please,” he said, gesturing to the now open stool.

“Oh. Why, thank you.” The woman took her seat and watched with wide eyes as the man joined her. “You must be quite respected here.”

“You could say that.” The man chuckled, and again he pressed his silver pin. “I take you’re new in town, else I’m sure I’d recall such, an alluring presence.”

The woman going by ‘Larah’ let out a giggle, doing her best to keep it from sounding forced. The man was making no attempt to hide the wandering of his lustful gaze. She had successfully gotten his attention, but the way man was eyeing her, like a starved dog drooling over a cut of steak, made it difficult to celebrate a job well done. She quickly removed her hand from the hilt of her hidden dagger and instead brushed the tips of her fingers against his knuckles.

“Tell me, sir, what do you find so alluring?”

“Ho, where to begin?” His gaze ran down the length of the woman’s body. “Anyone tell you how beautiful the color of you hair is? Like the sky during a sunset. Or, er, sunrise. Yes, let’s go with sunrise. Far more romantic, don’t you think. Yes, indeed.” He chuckled. “And the way you dress and carry your body, yourself.” He visibly swallowed, and his tongue crept out and ran over his lips. “If I’m not mistaken, and I rarely am, you must be of, higher birth.”

There was another giggle. She could barely remember the elven village she was stolen from, but what little she could recall of her childhood before her enslavement didn’t exactly suggest nobility. “You could say that, yes.”

The man opened his mouth, but he was interrupted before his next insipid comment could be released when bartender returned with a pair of flagons. “Your meads,” the dwarf grunted then bowed and moved on to the next customer.

The woman took a quick sip, just enough to taste the sweetness of the honey base before turning back the man just as he was bringing his own drink to his lips. “I’m sorry, you were about to say something?”

“Hm? Oh!” The mug came back down. “Right, yes. So like I was saying, you must be new in town. You staying in town long?”

“Just for the new year celebration, I’m afraid. I have business elsewhere, so I’ll be setting off in a day, possible two.”

“Ah. Shame, but that’s business,” the man said with a sniff. He drummed his fingers against the bar’s counter before leaning toward her. “You know,” he began in a low, deep whisper, “if it’s a day, we still have quite a bit of time.” He clumsily placed a hand on the woman’s thigh. “There’s a lot we can do in that time, and I’ve got a private room here.” He flashed a wolfish grin at her and brought his mouth to her ear. “Perhaps I can even, convince you, to put your business on hold.”

The heat of his breath was almost too much against the sensitive, soft flesh of her ear, and she did her best not to squirm. Instead, she returned the man’s grin with a teasing smile of her own. “Ooh, how very tempting, but I’m afraid that’s not entirely up to me. Unless, of course, you’d like to convince my sister as well.”

“Your, your sister?”

The woman smirked as she snapped her fingers and gestured. The noble turned to gape at the woman leaning against the wall who was identical in appearance to the one seated beside him. She gave him a small wave and a shy smile, to which the man responded by swallowing and chortling nervously to himself. The first woman allowed herself to break into an amused grin, and now it was her turn to lean forward.

“Think you can handle the both of us?” she whispered as her hand hovered over the top of the noble’s drink. The glass lip of an ampule, hidden under the woman’s palm, was snapped off, and its contents spilled into the mead.

The noble cleared his throat and combed a hand through his hair. “Well, ah, of course.” He coughed. “But of course,” he said again, his previous bravado returning. “The more the merrier. You wouldn’t happen to have a third sister, would you?” Guffawing, he picked up his cup and downed his entire drink in a single swig. “So, how about it? How would you like to kick the new year off with a bang?”

“We still have a few minutes until midnight,” the woman said, pointing to the clock on the wall behind the bar. “Or would you rather we start the new year early?”

“Heh, well, I’m not exactly known for my patience, but I suppose I can wait another few minutes, if it’s in the company of beautiful ladies such as yourself and your sister.” He looked around. “Where’s she go?”

“Oh, probably went to freshen up or to get some air. Don’t worry, she’ll turn up when she’s needed.”

“Alright then.” He pounded a fist on the counter. “Hey, Waroc! Another round.”

A new mug replaced the empty one, and as the night continued, ‘Larah’ found it easier to ignore the noble’s claims and and promises. Her attention was instead upon the clock, counting down the minutes until the end of the year. As the night entered its final one hundred twenty seconds, the rest of the tavern joined her, with several huddled up at the bar to get a better view of the clock. Eventually, even boastful noble was silent as the tavern in its entirety held its breath. Each and every eye was on the larger hand, waiting for it to finally reach the twelve at the very top.

When it finally did, the entire establishment erupted into a cheerful roar. People jumped and threw their hands into the air or around their companions. Those still with drink or had been saving theirs for this very moment made their loud and boisterous toasts before messily finishing the first of many ales of the year. No one seemed to notice a certain nobleman sudden slump over onto the countertop save for the woman beside him. She reached over and placed a hand on his collar and on the side of his neck.

No pulse. No breath. Time to go.

The woman with hair like a sunrise left the tavern without a word and disappeared into the alley she had suddenly materialized from. The nun reappear as she stepped back into the light and continued down the path where the celebration continued. The parade was gone, but the streets were still crowded with people cheering and dancing and singing.

At the very end of the block there leaned an individual in a jester’s outfit, their features largely obscured by the heavy amount of makeup they were wearing. On the left arm, there was a piece of red and white checkered cloth tied around the elbow, and they held a lit pipe to their lips.

The jester made no reaction as the nun stood to their side and gently nudged her basket toward them. Slowly, with a sigh, they bent over, and from the basket they removed a silver pin in the shape of a feather and the empty glass remains of a vial.

“So the job’s done?” the jester inquired quietly. “You confirmed the hit?”

“Dead as a door nail, last I checked.”

“Good.” The jester reached into their costume and placed a full sack in the basket before returning it to the nun. “As promised, a donation to the church. Pleasure doing business with you, Sister Gray.”