Amber

Amber the Feline Therianthrope. The Siren Call catered to merchants, nobles, officers, and anyone else wealthy enough to pretend prices didn’t matter. It was tasteful. At least that’s how Master Varrick described it. Varrick had once, and only once, tried to convince his girls that when not with a paying customer, they should amuse themselves by cleaning, cooking and tending to his establishment by getting rid of the damned rats everywhere! The resulting boycott of his brothel and his subsequent loss of revenue had earned two notable occurrences. First was that he finally hired a staff to maintain his building. This made life better for the girls. Not good, just ..better. The second thing of note was the realization that his girls held far more power than he would ever admit to them. Amber, like every other girl here, is a beast kin. The Siren Call catered to a specific clientele by employing only those of a therianthropic background. Amber snorts as she counts her weekly pay. Barely enough to secure food. And she was one of the more sought after professionals. Her beast half presented itself as a long tail and feline ears. She stood four and a half feet tall on a good day. And she had learned how to get what she wanted through charm, suggestion, body language and, occasionally, ‘other means. She was not ashamed of this. Life was difficult and she had learned long ago to accept certain things. Her ear rotated toward the door as a man enthusiastically entered carrying a small bag of coins. Master Varrick greeted the man enthusiastically and barked out “Nyra, your man is here!” Varrick held a short conversation as Nyra emerged from a back room. False smile on her face as the ‘man beamed at her and took her arm. He was not Nyra’s man but some ruses were difficult to ignore and Nyra was a canine beast kin the man had instantly taken to, but she was also a professional. Every girl here was. Not her problem. Amber dabbed her chest with a cold cloth and remembered. It was just after Master Varrick had ‘declared that HIS girls were little more than bought and paid for play things. And that life would be difficult for them should they not also respect his place of business by cleaning and cooking. That night, Amber made a visit to one of her regulars. Not at his home, but at a tavern he frequented. The man ran the local Caravaner’s Guild. That night was as hot as this one, she remembered with a small grin. The outfit she wore then was one of her favorites. It was number 7 to be exact. A form fitted lace up blouse and matching skirt with a slice clean up her thigh. It had been deliberately tailored to be a size small for her. The fabric was not indecent or sheer by itself, yet the material it was made from had a fascinating trait. It was incredibly transparent when wet. That night was humid. Amber was a professional. She had only needed outfit number 1 on a single occasion she might tell that tale some day. But tonight’s story is about number 7. Amber entered the room softly and sidled up beside her regular customer to order a drink. She did not glance his way. He would notice her when she wanted to be noticed. As the bartender grinned at her and waived away payment as he set a delicate glass in front of her. The bartender was a decent sort. He liked to talk about his business before, after and occasionally during the sweatier parts of their interactions. But he was gentle and perhaps even kind. She accepted the drink and took a sip. Deciding it was time to move this along Amber did 2 things only. She grabbed a damp cool cloth and dabbed her chest. Accidentally squeezing too hard and drenching her blouse in the process. The next thing she did was subtler. Her tail knocked his drink off of the table and passed a feathers breath from the Caravaner’s Guild receptionist as she said “oops. How clumsy” the man turned toward her nearly grabbing at her tail in reflex. Quick recognition and a dose of common sense held his hand at bay. Amber? Darling when did you get here? You look love..ly. He had touched her tail exactly once. A year ago. And swore to himself that he would never do so again. The bruises he had acquired that night convinced him that even a brothel worker could demand some privacy. His words of greeting, or anger, stuck in his throat as he noticed her outfit and the results of the damp cloth. He swallowed. Twice. Amber turned her blush up to full potency then. Allowing her ears to lower in a sign of surrender that came across exactly as she intended. With a single finger, claw extended she traced a line across his jaw, leaned close enough to gently nip his ear and whisper. “ Daryn, I didn’t know you would be here tonight. But I do have a proposal for you. Perhaps you could spare some of your time for me?” she softly cranked the blush up another degree while adding “I can pay in advance if you wish?” As she toys with the collar of his shirt. Several hours later Amber leaves Daryn’s house while refastening her blouse and grinning. He doubted he would require that much ‘convincing’ but better to be thorough. Some things needed to be done properly. The supposed payment for her night call would need to be paid to Master Varrick. She would pay this out of her own pocket just to be sure tomorrow’s excitement went exactly where she decided it needed to go. “Varrick, you blowhard, we will solve your rat problem for you tonight” she promised to herself. If anyone could catch rats it was a house full of motivated beast kin. The following day the boycot of The Siren Call began with a single local news article. “Local establishment attempts to cut costs by having courtesans cook rats for dinner”