Roses and Violets Ch. 01

"So you call her that because she's young?"

"Nah. We call her that because she's a spoiled, entitled little monster." Tarkin bit his lip. "But it... won't do to say such things. All of us has at least one or two triggers over the years. Us old-timers have fewer, since she doesn't like to play with us and she's as lazy as an old steer about stuff that isn't fun for her." He gave a short laugh.

"Wait, everyone in the village has a trigger?"

"Yeah. Just to make sure we don't—"

"No, I get that. Just..." Gerrim stared after the silhouette. "Even one trigger is supposed to weaken your willpower. That many triggers, over that long a period..."

Gerrim knew all about triggers. Triggers were ongoing spells. Constructs you had to maintain in another's mind. They lasted forever, just about—but they had consequences. A suggestion was shorter-lived, but much more flexible and less taxing. Good mindweavers only used one or two triggers at a time, and only as a temporary measure.

But bad mindweavers, arrogant mindweavers, ill-trained mindweavers...

"You mustn't underestimate her," Tarkin said urgently, drawing Gerrim's attention back to him. "That woman with her used to be with the Guild, they say. A major enforcer."

"Guild?"

Tarkin stared at him. "Oh, gods, you're green, aren't you?" he muttered.

"I'm not underestimating her." Gerrim folded his arms, his mind racing. "Thank you for hiding me, Tarkin. I think I know what to do."

"What?"

"How many slaves does she keep, Tarkin?"

"Um..." Tarkin rubbed the back of his neck. "Twenty, maybe? Counting the maids and manservants, maybe forty?"

"I need to get into that castle." Gerrim tapped his sword pommel, thinking aloud. "Tonight. She'll be playing with one or two of them—'inexperienced mindweavers will often overindulge, high on their power'—"

"Wait a second..."

"I need to get in there as soon as possible. I can put a stop to this." Gerrim nodded decisively. "And she's an enchantress, I'm guessing?"

Tarkin seemed flustered. "Y-Yes, I think, but—"

"Tarkin, I'm a Toxin Ranger. I can help."

"No, you can't!" Tarkin burst out. A few pedestrians glanced their way, and Tarkin glanced around furtively, gripped Gerrim by the shoulder, and pulled him closer. "Now, listen to me, I know you think you can do this, but—"

"Tarkin, someone has to stop Violet." Gerrim's eyes narrowed, and he spoke very clearly, coolly and quietly, as he'd been taught. "I am a Toxin Ranger. It's my job to help you. You don't have to help me, but I'm going to stop the Baroness. And I could use any advice you've got that isn't, 'don't do it'. Do you understand? I am going to stop Violet, and I need your help."

Tarkin stared at Gerrim, mouth agape.

He closed his mouth smartly. Something seemed to have shifted in his eyes. "Yes," he said slowly. "Okay. Yes. You... you want to stop the Baroness? You're sure?"

"Yes."

Tarkin nodded. A glint of something—hope, maybe, or determination, or newfound certainty—had entered his eyes. "Then I will help you. Someone's got to take that bitch down. Go speak to the barmaids in the pub—three blondes, each with a little butterfly tattooed on their chest. Tell them you're going to stop the baroness."

"Barmaids?"

Tarkin nodded slightly. "They used to work for her grandfather, and they'll be able to help you. Don't let anyone hear you say it except those three. Everyone in town has at least one or two triggers on them." He seemed to be emphasizing the last point very urgently.

Gerrim nodded, sensing Tarkin's intensity. "Thank you. I will."

Tarkin gripped his hand tightly. "You must trust no one," he hissed. "Be careful, friend."

"I understand." Gerrim shook Tarkin's hand and, with some difficulty, pulled away. "Thank you, Tarkin."

"Good luck, Gerrim!"

He turned and started towards the pub.

He could understand why these townsfolk were scared. Violet had had free, unchallenged reign over this barony for the last two years.

But the Toxin Rangers knew about her now. And Gerrim was going to make certain she knew about them.

~ ~ ~ ~

The pub was a surprisingly busy establishment for such a quiet town. It had a quaint, old-fashioned feel to it, with red hardwood floors and many-colored brick walls spelled for smooth surfaces. A trio of good-looking bards performed in the corner, playing relaxing woodwind tunes as everyone else largely ignored them.

It took Gerrim a moment to track down one of the barmaids—a buxom blonde in a pastel green dress that hugged her curves and swished around her legs. She had a tattoo of a brilliant swallowtail butterfly, tastefully placed just low enough to draw the eye to her left breast without actually being placed there. Her hair was done up in a nice bouffant, giving her the look of domestic elegance.

"Hey there, sugar," she said, flashing him a smile as she noticed his attention. She held up her tray, laden with drinks. "Mind givin' me a moment and I'll be right with you?"

"Um." Gerrim shifted to allow a very drunk woman to pass by him. "Okay."

He hesitated, then walked over to the bar and, well, waited. There were only three people at the counter, and two of them were immersed in conversation and paying him no heed. The third was unconscious, with a small napkin tastefully draped over his face—the words, 'Not dead just very tired!' scrawled upon it.

After a moment, Swallowtail seemed to notice where he'd gone and extricated herself from the crowd, already looking rather flustered. "Sorry about that, sugar," she chirped, bustling behind the counter. "What can I do for you?"

"I..." Gerrim looked around furtively, then leaned in. "I'm here to stop the Baroness," he whispered. "Tarkin told me you could help."

Swallowtail's smile dropped for a moment. Just a hair.

Then it returned, wide as ever. "Alright, then, sugar! Why don't you head upstairs? I'll get the girls."

~ ~ ~ ~

Gerrim didn't have to wait long as he idled in the hallway, biting his lip at the sounds of a couple in one of the rooms apparently having quite the row. Something about a vampire harem. Honestly, the problems couples found for themselves...

"Sorry again," he heard Swallowtail say, and he turned to see her approaching—now with two other barmaids accompanying. One wore a pastel pink dress of identical make, nicely complementing her slightly larger assets. Her monarch butterfly tattoo was placed right above her left breast, and her platinum blonde hair was cut to shoulder length.

The other wore an especially frilly pastel blue dress. She was taller than the other two, but no less curvy, and her hair was particularly long and wavy, spilling past her elbows. She was a little bit more made-up than the others, too, with painted pink lips and heavy pink eyeshadow. Her tattoo was of a blue-green crystalwing butterfly.

They used to work for her grandfather, echoed Tarkin's words in Gerrim's head. Looking at Crystalwing, he had a niggling suspicion on what they did for the man.

"Hi," he said uneasily, glancing around again to ensure they weren't being overheard. Remembering Tarkin had him nervous again. "Um, my name is..."

"No names," Swallowtail said, shaking her head with a smile. She slipped past him and unlocked a door, entering one of the bedrooms. "Come on. The walls are thick—those two are just loud."

"We are not!" Crystalwing protested.

"She means the yelling couple," Gerrim said, giving a slight smile as he followed Swallowtail in.

"Oh." She bit her lip. "Oh, um, right. Yes, of course."

The pair followed after them.

Swallowtail closed the door, eyes narrowed. She glanced around, as if making sure the room was empty. Gerrim took stock. It was a simple bedroom, with little besides a large red bed, a cabinet, and a washbasin. Nowhere for a spy to hide, anyways. There was a window, but the shades were drawn.

As she and Gerrim examined the room, Monarch walked over and sat up on the cabinet, pursing her lips. She seemed to size him up. "So, is it true?"

"Yes." Gerrim nodded. "If by 'it' you mean my plans to deal with Violet for you. My main problem is getting into the castle."

"I'll say." Crystalwing tapped his pack with a slight smirk. "Were you going to lug this all the way to the castle, hon?"

"Well, I..." Gerrim hoisted it off his back and set it on the ground next to him. His muscles cried out in relief. "I need my supplies. But I need to get in without being seen. She's got a lot of servants."

"Forty-three, counting the maids, and not counting her agents in town." Monarch bit her lip. "Yeah, hon, if they notice you, you're done for."

"How is security at the castle, then?" Gerrim bit his lip. "I was hoping it would be light, with her... inexperience."

Monarch tossed her hair back. "Violet's a cocky bitch, but she's been a bit more careful lately since the issues with the Guild. And you can't underestimate the servants."

There's 'The Guild' again, Gerrim thought, rubbing the back of his neck.

"Every one of her servants knows some basic seduction," Swallowtail said, nodding, "and some of 'em used to be mindweavers themselves." She poked him in the chest. "They'd melt you as soon as look at you, and she'll tell them to do it quicker, sugar."

Gerrim swallowed. The memory of Jett's rapid submission ran through his head, and he imagined Kittencow advancing on him, taking his hand so he couldn't cover his nose, making him inhale her scent, encouraging him to lean into her embrace... "I see. Hm."

He knew his cheeks were glowing again, mostly because of the amused glances Swallowtail and Monarch were trading. Swallowtail giggled and patted his shoulder reassuringly, her bouffant bouncing slightly. "Now, we don't want sugar to melt, do we?"

He laughed. "... no. Definitely not."

"Definitely not," she agreed. "So you'd better have a plan. It's not just ex-Guild agents you have to worry about. The Baroness is arrogant, but her—"

"What is the Guild?" Gerrim blurted.

There was silence for a moment. Checking her pink-painted nails, Crystalwing chewed her upper lip, as Monarch and Swallowtail's eyebrows arched slightly. Gerrim quickly added, "I j-just want to be sure we're talking about the same... Guild." He gave a nervous chuckle.

"Move away from the door, hon," Swallowtail said softly. "We don't wanna be overheard."

Gerrim nodded and moved over to the bed, leaning his rear against the frame.

"The Weaver's Guild is a group of mindweavers," she said, coming to lean next to him. "Run by a woman named Lady Mistress. It's one of the Toxin Rangers' greatest enemies, they say. Got a reputation here 'cause they go after the Baroness every now and then. See, they hate 'freelancers', especially ones who openly flout it."

"Haven't won yet," Crystalwing said. She sounded maybe a bit too proud of that fact. "But they come close, which, I do declare, is a lot more than most can say for dealin' with Violet."

"Okay. So..." Gerrim reluctantly decided to rip off the bandage on this. "... if they're so dangerous, why haven't I heard of them?"

Monarch leaned back on the cabinet. "Because they're dangerous, hon." She winked. "And when it comes to weavers, sometimes you really are better off not knowing."

Gerrim scowled. That sounded like more of the same defeatist track Tarkin had told him. He didn't have time for this right now—he'd ask Talla about it, maybe, the next time they met up. "I'm a Toxin Ranger. I'm trained in dealing with things other people are better off not knowing about."

"Your baggy here smells like rose petals," Crystalwing remarked, hoisting up his bag curiously.

"It's... herbs. Flowers and poultices." Gerrim grimaced. "They're important for... counter effects and such."

Crystalwing giggled. "Aw, okay, flowerboy." She started to open a pocket.

Gerrim's temper flared. "Could you please—"

"Crystal, leave the poor boy's things alone," Monarch said, rolling his eyes. "If he says he needs his flowers, I'm sure they have uses. And there's nothing wrong with smelling nice on the job."

"Especially with all the perfume she wears," Swallowtail murmured to him with a slight smirk.

Crystalwing shrugged and set the pack down by the door, looking up at them innocently.

Gerrim met her gaze—wide-eyed and naïve, as if she had no idea why he'd be cross with her—and looked back down at his feet, irritated. He tried to recollect himself. "Okay. So I need a way in. Do you know of any... I don't know, unguarded entrances?" He bit his lip. "Or... secret tunnels, or something?"

He felt foolish as soon as the words left his mouth, and desperately wished he could take them back as all three blonde barmaids immediately entered giggling fits. His ears burned. None of these barmaids were much older than him—late twenties, maybe—but they were certainly treating him like a kid.

Something felt horribly unfair about a trio of common barmaids being so able to talk down to a Toxin Ranger, even if he was new to the job (not that they knew that!). He tried to quiet his discontent and focus on what they were saying as the giggling subsided.

Swallowtail had at least had the decency to hide her smile with her hand. "Secret tunnels? No, no. Someone's been reading too many copper-coin-stories. Our plan is much simpler."

"We sneak you in in plain sight," Crystalwing declared. "Stand up, sugar."

Gerrim blinked. He stood up.

The heavily made-up blonde reached over to him before he could react. In one confident motion, she undid his clasp, causing his cloak to billow to the ground at his feet. "There we go!" she said happily.

"What?" Gerrim's hand went to his chest belatedly, feeling the clasp's absense.

"That won't be enough," Monarch warned. She brushed her platinum blond hair from her eyes. "Nobody goes to the castle except... well, fools and slaves. We can't have you being a fool—she'll let you in, hon, but you'll never leave."

Gerrim stared at her. "Okay? So..."

"So a different disguise is needed," Swallowtail said softly from behind him, still leaning against the bedframe. Gerrim started as he felt her fingers slip around his belt and start undoing its buckle. "You've gotta hold still just a moment, sugar."

"I—hey!" Gerrim squirmed as Swallowtail deftly pulled the belt away, and he quickly grabbed his pants to keep them from slipping around his ankles. He turned and stared at Swallowtail, momentarily shocked. She tossed the belt—and his attached scabbard, and the sword inside—onto the bed, not even looking at him.

Gerrim's mind raced. What was going on here? His instincts told him he was in danger, but was he missing something? He looked to Monarch and Crystalwing, hoping one of them was about to explainit a bit more clearly.

"We wanna help you, sugar," Monarch said, hopping off the cabinet. She flashed him a smile likely designed to melt late-night customers' hearts into tipping gold coins as she leaned forward, her fingers working deftly to unbutton his shirt. "But there's only one disguise that'll work." Her fingers skittered down his chest, working faster than Gerrim would have thought possible. "So you gotta trust us, okay, flowerboy?"

"Um." Gerrim stared at her in shock. Was she implying what he thought she was...

He was so thrown, he barely noticed the gentle tugging on his trousers until he felt them slip from his fingers and spill down around his ankles. He heard Swallowtail give a little hum of satisfaction.

Gerrim's breath caught as he realized he was left in only his half-buttoned shirt and underwear. And there were three gorgeous, sexy blond barmaids in very provocative dresses in the room with him. Surrounding him.

And his pack was blocking the door.

Crystalwing pressed her soft, bouncy body against him as his shirt fell away, smiling winningly. His eyes settled on the crystalwing butterfly on her big tit, squishing up against him. She was so... voluptuous.

What was she doing

She held his gaze, smiling brightly. Such bright, pretty blue eyes. Everyone on the Plains had blonde hair and blue eyes, and something about it was so alien, so exotic, so... alluring...

Gerrim closed his eyes, trying to snap himself out of the horny trance.

And he felt a pair of soft, moist pink lips plant a big, wet kiss on his cheek.

His eyes opened. "H-Hey! Stop that!" She just smiled back at him. His protest sounded shamefully feeble—probably because she was wriggling her hips against his groin, rubbing her body against his. His breath caught as she plumped her lips again and leaned in close.

She smelled like honey. Sweet, sinful honey.

"We've gotta get you covered in kisses," she cooed, kissing him again, very loudly and wetly. Gods, he could feel the lipstick marks on his cheek. "See, it's gotta look like you got com-plete-ly brainwashed."

"I—" Gerrim was cut off as she kissed him again, this time right on his nose. "Aah!"

"Nobody will suspect a slave," Swallowtail agreed, as he felt her starting to pull his underwear down. "Violet will be happy to be alone with you. It's your best chance, trust me."

"But I—" Gerrim was feeling strangely dizzy, and he tried to focus on that feeling, to isolate it as he'd been trained, but Crystalwing's sweet kisses kept scattering his thoughts. Her lips smacked on his chin, and he let out an involuntary sigh.

He felt the bimbo barmaid giggling against him, wriggling against him. He wanted to muster argument, but it was so hard...

"We're going to make it convincing," Monarch purred, her fingers tickling lightly around one of the marks Crystal had made on his neck. It tingled under her touch. "And maybe have some fun while we're at it, flowerboy. Surely that's not so bad?"

As she spoke, Crystal was planting kiss after kiss upon his unresisting face. He tried vaguely to lean away, but she just giggled and pursued. He was cornered. Or too confused to think of a way out.

"I—" *smooch* "—okay, but—" *smooch* "—can we—" *smooch* "...p-please—" Gerrim's head was spinning. His mind was floating. He lost his train of thought with every kiss. Crystalwing wouldn't let up, and he had so many marks, so many marks of her, and she was so soft and smelled so good, and oh gods, waiting for marriage sounded so silly...

"Please," he gasped, breathless and off-balance, "can we just—mmmMMM!"

And at last, Crystal took him into a deep, wet, sloppy kiss on the lips. She moaned against him, bouncing her whole body alongside his. His head was spiraling like a maple seed in the wind, and he lost himself to her tongue, her lips, her sounds and her touch.

At last, she pulled back with a pop of her lips and a giggle—the sort of giggle a barmaid would give for a drunk's clumsy flirting, which only made Gerrim feel more confused and embarrassed.

"Done!" she cooed, beaming at her handiwork. Gerrim was absolutely covered with lipstick marks.

Then Crystal dropped to her knees.

"C-Can we talk about this?" he finally squeaked. He was so disoriented. So horny. The barmaids were going to help him... weren't they? This didn't feel helpful.

But it did feel very, very nice. And pretty barmaids always flirted with him. Maybe this was just... just how they flirted around here. He stared down at the kneeling Crystal, her painted pink lips open in an 'o' shape as she stared back at him and batted thick eyelashes.

While he was distracted, Monarch and Swallowtail squeezed closer, sandwiching him between their buxom bodies. He looked up at Swallowtail, a tiny whine of panic nearly slipping from him. She smiled encouragingly.

"You blush so prettily," Monarch teased, patting his cheek as he turned to her. "Like pretty, sweet rose petals, sugar." She leaned in and planted a little kiss on his cheek, stroking a finger around it as her eyes held his, so very blue. "A pretty, blushing flowerboy. Perfect bait."