Ava bubbled with excitement and pride. At last! A chance to write for the entertainment beat.
She’d been waiting for this chance all her life circa two years ago. Which was a blink of the eye to an elf, but the big city had a way of coming at you hard and fast.
Bending you over and just reaming you with new experiences. Why, in New Larrin, you could get fucked by a minotaur, a wulfen, an orc and a lamia.
All in one afternoon. Ava loved it!
Sadly, she knew that meeting with Queen of the Dawn would be tricky.
As Karl said, tickets were always sold out, and Ava knew from many a door slammed in her face that rich humans disliked talking to reporters in the street.
She was still confused by that. In the groves, everyone talked to one another. Even the high priestesses of the fertility cults.
Of course, conversations with them usually went along the lines of ’Yes! Yes! Give me that cock! Fuck me haaaard!’ But the sentiment remained.
Fortunately, Ava had a plan. She may not have a ticket, but she knew someone who would.
Graar’s alley in the slums of East Under was always a depressing place to be. But that was true of all of East Under.
The buildings around it were ramshackle and falling apart.
The daylight seemed weak and grey, peeking through lines of laundry strung between windows.
The only shine came from empty beer bottles lying among lost pages of paper and other refuse.
The elf slipped into the dark alleyway, peering about the scattered trash. "Graar?" she called. "You here?"
There was a shuffling from among the shadows, and several boards clattered aside revealing a hole in the wall.
A knobby head with floppy, pointy ears pressed under a wide hat poked out, yellow eyes blinking at the weak light.
The goblin always looked a bit like something had been chewing on him, and today was no different.
His tattered clothes hung off his bony limbs, a heavy coat as patched as a harlequin’s costume rustling as he crept out of the hole. Graar wrung his hands, peering around.
"Elf! What you doing here?" he said. "Now not a good time..."
"I’m really sorry, Graar. But I need your help."
The goblin gnawed on his lower lip, but his eyes continued to trace the elf’s curves, unable to ignore her stunning figure.
"Please," Ava said, squeezing her hands before her. "I really need it, Graar. You’re the only one who can help me! I don’t care how many fuck bucks it takes. I need you."
The goblin groaned, squeezing his eyes shut in a futile effort of resistance, but he couldn’t help but peek and see the way Ava’s breasts were squeezed between her arms, fairly bursting out of her blouse.
"Oooooh fine! Come in. We be quick!"
"Thank you, Graar! You don’t know what this means to me."
"Yeah, yeah," the goblin said, craning his head to look down the alley as he waved Ava in.
With a bright smile, the elf did as bid, crawling through the hole on hands and knees, which allowed the goblin an excellent opportunity to watch her ass sway.
The goblin swallowed hard, took a last nervous glance about the alley, and ducked inside.
Ava straightened within the old storeroom that served as Graar’s office.
Feeble sunlight poked through the slats that barred the windows, illuminating the cluttered room.
Abandoned crates and barrels lay on their sides, netting hanging above like giant spiderwebs, and the old scent of fish lingering in the air.
Graar scampered in around her, brushing off his jacket nervously. "Right. Well, what elf need? Me very busy right now. Veeeeery busy. Not have much time."
"I won’t take much," Ava said. "I just need a ticket to see the Queen of Dawn’s concert tonight!"
Graar stared at her. "What!" he yelped. "That? You want ticket for that? Me not know..."
"Pleeease, Graar! I need one. None of the ticket sellers have any left. Can you get me one?"
The goblin rubbed his chin. "Maaaaybe," he said, his eyes lingering on her chest. He licked his lips. "But it expensive."
"How many fuck bucks?" Ava asked.
"Well..."
A fist thudded off the door of the store room. Graar turned an ashy grey. "Oh no," the goblin whimpered.
"What?" Ava asked.
Again the door thudded under a blow, cracking as the old, warped wood was forced in.
An orc tough in suspenders and a sleeveless vest bulled his way inside.
He hurriedly stepped aside, and the biggest orc Ava had ever seen walked in after him.
He had to duck his head to get past the frame, and when he straightened the elf saw one of his tusks was capped with gold.
He wore a thick worg fur coat buttoned up around a body like a moving mountain of muscle.
His face was as hard and blocky as granite, crisscrossed with scars. His eyes gleamed like gimlets, shadowed by a hat as he took in the room.
"Graar," the orc rumbled, taking off his hat, revealing a shaven head. "You didn’t tell me you had... guests..."
The goblin cringed. "Uh, she just leaving..."
"No need for that," the orc said, turning to Ava. He smiled, the gold of his tusk gleaming. "Delighted to meet you. Rorg Boneripper. A pleasure."
Ava gasped. She knew that name. Everyone knew that name!
It was the name of the most notorious gangster in all New Larrin.
She’d heard he’d just been another hill orc before coming to the city and making his mark, usually with his fists or whatever blunt instrument was around.
"You’re Big Green!"
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