Hallvar sent out a little prayer to whatever gods – or system – would hear it, then headed downstairs toward the basement of the Solarium.

They felt unbearably nervous knowing that the guildmaster was not here this time to protect them. What did they call it on TikTok? Big dog privilege?

Without language, Hallvar had no way of knowing what the password was, or what to say. Stella had an easy suggestion of coin, so when the little window opened on the basement doorway, Hallvar pushed through a target.

That was 7 bottles of half decent wine or 4 reasonable swords. It was a good bribe.

“What’s this for?” the guard asked. He kept the coin, however.

“I need to speak with your manager,” Hallvar said, internally cringing but firm. “The boss. I don’t know her name, but she has long braided hair, grey, and wears expensive flowing clothing.”

“That could be anyone, kid.”

“But it’s not anyone. I don’t need to come in, I—” Hallvar got a bright idea and promptly lied. “I need to pass a message directly to her.”

The guard eyed them through the little window then shut it in their face.

The hero stood awkwardly but waited, giving the content but alert Pipkin some attention. They were considering leaving when the door opened suddenly.

The boss stood just inside, half shadowed by the doorframe. Behind her was the silhouette of the guard, his hand resting gently on his sword’s hilt.

“Speak.”

Hallvar stumbled over their words but managed to start talking. “I— We met before, a few weeks ago. I need to arrange an odd favor through your… services upstairs, without using their services.”

It would have been easier if the proprietor stared daggers; she just looked at them like a disappointed aunt you only saw on high holidays.

“The lucky kid with the guildmaster.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Hallvar corrected themselves, “I mean, yes, that was me. I can speak now, but I don’t think you’ll allow me into the casino.”

That did intrigue the woman. She looked them up and down, assessing. “And why is that?”

“My luck is above average.” It wasn’t a lie, but it didn’t tell the actual truth.

“A natural 2?” She looked much more interested now. “That is unusual, but you could be useful in a tournament—”

“No, it’s higher, ma’am. Miss. Sir?”

“Lady Tejashree. And how much higher?”

“A six.”

At first, she looked baffled, then she laughed. “Play your games elsewhere, child. I don’t have time for this.”

Hallvar shifted their weight, committing to an at-ease stance in case they had to wait for a while. “You have a systems mage, right? You can check.”

She gave a sharp order to the guard and gestured for Hallvar to follow. Another guard locked up behind them, sealing Hallvar in this den of inequity or whatever they called it here. Viper’s nest or dragon’s lair seemed probable as far as analogies went.

“Sit,” she pointed to a set of armchairs with a low table between them.

They waited, ignoring the glances from patrons at tables and other comfortable hubs. Tejashree hovered at the periphery, watching the mage in question cross the sizeable hall.

Soon enough, the number was confirmed. The system mage looked almost sweaty and tight-lipped, glancing between Hallvar and the proprietor after delivering the news. She knew luck 3 and 4 were not permitted here, as they were augmented stats, but a luck 6? And a natural one at that?

Tejashree took the seat next to the red-haired adventurer, a dozen questions lining up in her thoughts. It was clear that the guildmaster Viktor had not known of this high number, or else he wouldn’t have dared to bring the child to gamble.

Speaking of, was this child savvier than he came across? There was an air of nervous innocence about him, especially in how he spoke of the flowers upstairs. That, and the tiny beast on his shoulder painted a portrait of honesty and earnestness. It was rare to see a beasthunter or a beasttamer with such a small, cute beast.

“How?” she asked, finally.

“I have a special passive skill,” Hallvar answered in a rehearsed tone.

That answered very little; Tejashree pursed her lips in annoyance. “What do you want from me?”

Hallvar lit up, finally to the point of this entire intimidating encounter. “Your mage can confirm my charisma is at 7. I desperately need it to increase. I want to pay to talk to the girls, or guys. Or whoever. They have a lounge, right?”

“You want to pay to have a conversation?” she asked slowly, as if spelling out a word for a particularly dumb friend.

The hero shifted nervously, causing Pipkin to preen their sideburn hair in response. “I need my charisma to increase tonight, so I need an audience.”

Tejashree held out a hand, waiting for the payment. As suggested by Stella, Hallvar offered the silver head. Neither of the pair knew what a round with a flower cost, but a head was guaranteed to catch the proprietor’s attention.

She took the coin, convinced that this red-haired man was, in fact, an idiot. But the idiot overpayed and seemed earnest.

“I can’t guarantee they will listen to you, but you will be their entertainment for tonight. With that payment, use whichever flowers permit you.”

The adventurer’s face went blank, startled by the last bit. Ah, the fool did need more charisma if that possibility was not immediately apparent.

With a sigh, the woman stood to exchange words with a few of her employees, informing them that she was stepping away. Hallvar followed when beckoned and they made their way upstairs.

There was a lounge, yes, but the entire upper floor was strangely designed. The swirling outdoor stairwell ended at a set of double doors inside of which was the lounge, filled with soft furniture and draperies, the picture of a lovers’ den.

Two hallways branched off from the center lounge, each lined with the flowers’ rooms, their workspaces. Hallvar noticed that the outside walls were lined with doors as well. They guessed that patrons entered through the exterior doors, leaving the flowers to wander into the lounge when they weren’t busy.

Tejashree made her announcement to the relaxing flowers, calling Hallvar not a guest or client, but the entertainment. They were somewhat grateful for that designation; it took pressure off from presumptions that they were, in fact, a paying client for the usual services.

As soon as the brothel’s proprietor left, the questions started.

“Entertainment? What do you do?”

“How strange. Tejashree wouldn’t pay for this.”

“Perhaps she thinks it’s a slow night.”

“Like your ankles aren’t by your ears every hour.”

Hallvar felt overwhelmed, but the plan was correct. There were at least fifteen different people here, of all shapes and colors and genders. Successfully talking to them would guarantee results.

“Aw, he’s nervous.”

“They all are in the beginning. Your first time here, love?”

Hallvar cleared their throat. “Uh, they, not he, please.”

A tall, ambiguous person spoke from a couch. “You need a marker for that label, red.”

The adventurer tilted their head in confusion, but they remembered the patch that Stella suggested buying. “Shit, that’s what I forgot in the market. I knew I was missing something.”

With a smirk, the tall flower rifled through a drawer, pulling out a scrap of cloth with a flower on it. They ambled over to the adventurer – who became impressed by their height as Hallvar was 6’2” but still shorter – and used a straight pin to add the symbol to their shirt.

“There, but you still haven’t answered what kind of entertainment you are, little vode.”

Were they sultry, or was Hallvar just new to all of this?

The adventurer felt all eyes on them, but a bell tinkled from by the doorway, interrupting the conversation. A few of the flowers ambled outside; after a few minutes, only one came back in.

Pipkin chirped at the bell noise, drawing attention from some of the flowers. They approached, while Hallvar tried to relax.

“I can tell stories,” the adventurer suggested. “I’m from far away, so I know a lot of tales you’ve never heard before.”

“Oh, where?” said one of the flowers who cooed at Pipkin nearby.

“An unnamed village,” Hallvar half-lied. They couldn’t remember the name if they tried.

“Tell us a story, then.” A more mature, bossy woman gave that order from a chaise, spread out and comfortable in her silky robe.

Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.

Hallvar was doing their absolute best to look upwards instead of at the flowers’ bodies, as most of them were in various states of exposure. Some were more comfortable with partial nudity than others.

It was another game of ah tits with less emotional investment.

“Sure,” Hallvar agreed, making their way to an empty armchair and setting down their bag, unfastening their pauldron to hang elsewhere for Pipkin.

“Do you know what a dinosaur is?”

➳ ➳ ➳

They breezed through the plot of Jurassic Park with enthusiasm. The concept of a dinosaur was unfamiliar to this world, but a wingless reptilian beast brought back from the dead by a necromancer, who then let his grandchildren play amongst the undead beasts… that was engaging.

Some of the younger flowers fell hard for a bastardized plot of the Titanic. Sinking in an unsinkable ocean vessel, with your newfound love freezing to death in front of you? Heartwrenching.

The same was said for Labyrinth. Something about the goblin king rang true across worlds. Hallvar described Bowie’s bulging junk to the glee of the flowers, who thought it hilarious.

ET was a flop, as was Mars Attacks. It was hard to understand extraterrestrials without space travel.

Willy Wonka, however, was delightful for them. They liked hearing about the nasty greedy children and their nasty greedy parents getting picked off one by one. Hallvar embellished the story by turning them into candies in the end.

The adventurer was more relaxed than they thought was possible. It seemed that most of the flowers weren’t interested in sleeping with Hallvar – why would they be? – but instead had a work voice that they held onto during the nighttime hours.

Hallvar was called a dozen different nicknames throughout the night – love, dear, sweetheart, boy, et cetera – but a majority of the flowers took to calling them Red.

Pipkin was beloved by all and called her proper name. She was fed fennels seeds and other herbs throughout Hallvar’s storytelling, completely content to be the center of attention as long as no one tried to restrain her.

When the akergryph spotted a bug amongst the furniture, all hell broke loose. Most of the room stopped to watch the beast flit around with ferocious intent, like a winged cat trying to nail down a fly.

Another point of charisma ticked by, after which movie plots weren’t enough conversation.

The flowers were more than willing to find topics for Red, as their usual night consisted of gossip, comparing notes, or having someone read aloud from a novel.

Several of the flowers found Hallvar’s actual reasoning for being entertainment an entirely silly one, but most of them conceded that without Tejashree’s approval, Hallvar would have been laughed away as a lovestruck john for even asking for this favor.

A few of the flowers had a study club where they read and studied medicine and anatomy. Becoming a physician was difficult and expensive; it required money and time. The option of chemist or herbalist was there too, but the club had their goal set on physician, with the other options as respectable backups.

Hallvar was thrown into a different kind of spotlight when a flower became curious about the hero’s relationship status. Why did they not solicit the flowers?

They learned a new term – invius – which loosely meant someone who preferred not to accept sexual or romantic advances. It had a symbol for removable patch, acting like a ward for those who needed to dodge flirting for any reason.

The symbol was a piece of pink-colored coral, either worn in a patch like the vode indicators or on the hiwode brooch, to indicate that married people weren’t interested in expanding their relationship further.

The worn patch the flowers had on hand looked like a branching deer antler with rounded ends, in a light pink; it had seen years of use for when the flowers wanted to go out in public without harassment.

Their awareness and memory chugged along, metaphorically huffing and puffing with effort. The tannery couple had a branch of coral between the tines of their brooches; Hallvar presumed it was some local ornament at the time, but now it made sense.

And Tyrus! It felt so stupid now, but Hallvar could remember an odd lightning-shaped symbol impressed into the man’s armor and book-holster. The pink color looked like fading from sunlight and age, in their ignorance, Hallvar assumed chunky red lightning existed.

Though entirely unconvinced, the flowers accepted that no, Hallvar was not a patch-less invius, but instead had a girlfriend.

That was the statement that launched a thousand questions. Hallvar was stuck in a perpetual state of embarrassment and vulnerability as they described Stella and explained why, exactly, they liked her.

She was pretty – “How pretty? Tell us!” – and kind – “What does she do?” – and they had a great date today – “Did you sleep with her?” – and she was very forgiving of Hallvar’s inexperience – “Is sex new for you?”

There were plenty of advances after that last question. Sex was so casual in this world, especially for the flowers, so offering to show Hallvar the ropes was basically the same as offering to teach them how to cook. Both were intimate, close quarters; one just was a little sweatier with more body fluids, that was all.

One of the older flowers kindly pinned the invius patch on Hallvar after it was clear the adventurer was becoming more and more flustered by the offers. The others took the hint and stopped pestering the poor creature.

With a pillow in their lap, Hallvar set off on a new topic. Have they interacted with any of the heroes yet? Or at all?

That was a hot topic, earning immediate, enthusiastic responses from a lot of the younger flowers – and most of the men.

Apparently, Gryphon the Brawler was fairly active in the circuit, notably an enjoyable lay for the garden boys. And clean, at that. It was a problem among any type of person, but soldiers were often stinky and fresh from training, which was a turn-off for some of the flowers.

Gryphon kept the company of the soldiers but bathed regularly and reciprocated well, with versatility in preferences. It made him a popular client.

Leon, on the other hand…

While he was a regular client, the flowers agreed he was “typical” when compared to others of his same preferences. They didn’t care about usual kinks or specific tastes – or if they did, they were wise enough to stay silent around Hallvar.

The title of “typical” was earned by the clients who arrived at a scene already in character, a power dynamic set in stone without conversation, poised to insult and order before consent was established.

The flowers could work with that, as they were consummate professionals, but they did find it rather annoying.

The gossip turned to the jousting tournament and various knights – who was the favorite, what each of the knights were known for. By the time another point of charisma popped up, Hallvar knew way too much about these knights.

Nothing specific. No positions, kinks, or fears. But Hallvar definitely knew who was polite and who threw money on the nightstand.

Hallvar was treated to (or forced to hear) a lecture on manners when soliciting a lady of the gardens or a garden boy. The rules varied from culture to culture, Hallvar learned, but generally they began with a greeting.

In Amnasín, it was like any trade. Hello, I have this desire, can you fulfill it? In the Qhai Republic, you ordered from a menu and were directed to the most appropriate match. Prostitution wasn’t legal in Fyrmann, so negotiations were subtle and encoded.

Kuteli and Kovatelli were two separated halves of an ancient empire, so they both shared the same sentiment: sex was purchased under the ritual of sharing a drink, alcohol or tea, after which the worker owed a night of pleasure.

Hallvar found these intricacies fascinating. They were distracted, immersed in learning about the cultures of Aestrux, which was why they failed to recognize the impending threat.

The jingle of bells indicated a new client to appease. The client pulled a chain at the foot of the twisting iron stairwells, so that a variety of flowers were awaiting to pick from when they reached the top.

Three rings meant a lot of traffic. Multiple flowers went outside in concern, only to lean inward and announce the arrival of a company.

That meant all hands on deck. Even Hallvar dared to poke their head outdoors to see what was happening.

One of the younger flowers lingered nearby, waiting her turn, and she casually gave an explanation to the confused adventurer.

A company was a unit of knights, composed of multiple lances, whereas a lance was a single knight and those working for them. A company meant at minimum twelve people, but more likely fifteen to eighteen. It stretched the limits of the flowers, but hey, some of them liked that.

Though their head was visible for only a moment, they made eye contact with a knight, a dark-haired man with obvious scars under his tunic. He looked familiar.

Hallvar pondered where they met the man as they returned to the lounge. They flopped in their comfortable armchair just as a message pushed into their thoughts.

bad luck boon 3% chance failed

Fuck, a knight? Perhaps from the jousting tournament or even before, in the stupid complication with the princess.

They tried not to think about this stressor, as it seemed to have passed, nor did they think about the implications as a few flowers returned not twenty minutes later. More and more flowers trickled in as the time ticked by, in various states of pleased or bored.

The low chatter of the lounge fell silent at a sudden yell and a thud, the shuddering of a locked door being forced upon. One of the interior doors flew open; the dark-haired knight entered the lounge with a look of determination.

In a shuffle of quick movement, flowers around the room produced carefully hidden weapons, watching and waiting as the knight stormed in.

“What is the meaning of this?” One of the more experienced flowers demanded.

The knight didn’t answer, instead charging toward…. Hallvar?

To the hero’s credit, it was easily past midnight. They were worn out by the weight of the day, drained from hours of conversation, and entirely distracted by the nuances of this new world.

Their reaction time was piss-poor even as the knight grabbed their arm and wrenched them to their feet.

Once reality caught up – oh, shit, me? – Hallvar activated their [ skill: bull rush ] and fought back.

It was entirely futile. [ skill: bull rush ] bumped their strength 11 to strength 16, which was acceptable for an adventurer, but nothing compared to a trained knight at a command rank. Even as Hallvar resisted, they were shoved and manhandled easily.

Of course, a knight was stronger than an amateur beastmaster. Hallvar wished the toddler feeling would go away again.

The adrenaline drowned out the shouts until the hero stopped fighting. Hallvar eventually registered that the flowers were protesting, yelling, calling for Lady Tejashree.

The knight threw Hallvar out the main doors where they stumbled into the wrought iron bars of the stairwell landing. The pain brought back some sense and they shouted.

“What the fuck are you doing?”

The knight ignored them. “Hurst, Kennard – bind this man and prepare to leave for Saltkrow.”

Two bed-ruffled soldiers grabbed Hallvar and dragged them down the steps. They continued to protest but it was as if the “curse” of lost communication returned. The soldiers didn’t react aside from glancing at the angsty adventurer.

Hallvar’s hands were bound with rope, which was tied around their waist in case they managed to slip free. The other end was knotted on a horse’s saddle, secured around the weird-looking pommel.

A furious Tejashree joined the chaos. She didn’t shout but she stated plainly that the company of Command Knight Aust was hereby denied entry or use of any brothel in the capital for the remainder of the year. Stalking or watching criminals was to happen off Solarium property; it was a known rule that snatching a client from any brothel property was a high offense.

The company was reassembled in groggy, disheveled glory, some kicked out for their command’s crime. Hallvar almost pitied the man. Those dirty looks thrown Aust’s way were certainly disdainful.

The Knight Aust had a blank look, as if he fought to restrain his emotions behind a serviceable stare. He began mounting his horse, which was the moment Hallvar realized they were fucked.

They scanned the crowd of flowers and garden boys, finding one whose name they remembered.

“Vye! Take my things and Pipkin to Stella. I’ll be fine.”

A pop-up spilled across their mind as that considerate request won the flowers over.

attribute increased: charisma +1

The Knight Aust spurred his horse into motion, at which Hallvar struggled to keep pace. Once again, they were without shoes, woolen socks picking up dirt from the cobbled road.

Unlucky, they thought. Maybe this led to something better.

faq topic: is this a function of luck?

No, social rewards or social consequences are not a result of the luck attribute.

Ah, shit.