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Chapter 2

The Art of First Impressions

One unbearably cold shower later, dressed in dark leather trousers and a bodice, Spindle is escorted to the Ashen Sellsword Guildhall. Deputy Dalé explains the situation to the man at the reception desk, and he hands Spindle some paperwork to fill out. It’s not a particularly complicated form, and once she’s done, Spindle is simply left to her own devices.

The first thing she does is explore her surroundings. The central hall with the reception desk has a door leading west, a door leading east, and stairs to a second-floor mezzanine, as well as some type of job posting board that Spindle only spares a passing glance.

Spindle picks the west door on a whim, and discovers it leads to a hallway with offices on both sides. Most of the doors are closed, but the one at the end of the hallway hangs ajar. Spindle creeps up to it, moving with a thief’s silent tread out of habit. She can hear voices within. She peers through the crack.

On the other side, a man in the same uniform as the receptionist has a naked furfolk man with calico patterns bent over a large and sturdy desk. As Spindle watches, the man in uniform pulls his partner’s feline tail. The bottom’s claws dig into the wood of the desk, and his yelp tapers off into a delirious whimper. Seemingly excited by the sound, the man on top begins thrusting harder.

Spindle turns on her heel and walks the other way. Normally she might stay and watch – she’s no stranger to voyeurism – but right now she’s just not in the mood. She decides to head up the stairs in the main hall instead.

“Feel free to use one of the rooms up there!” the receptionist brightly explains. “Guild members can sleep up there when they’re not on jobs.”

Spindle grunts in answer and continues up the stairs. The mezzanine, located behind the front desk, plays host to several overstuffed chairs around a fireplace. The walls are festooned with mounted monster heads and big ostentatious weapons, likely trophies of guild members’ past slaughter. A hallway with the promised bedrooms on either side extends to both the east and west.

Spindle peeks into one of the bedrooms. Do they get giantkin in here sometimes? she wonders, surveying what’s probably the biggest non-double bed she’s ever seen. I guess that makes sense. We’re far enough north for them. In addition to the bed, there’s also a wardrobe and desk. The furniture looks quite sturdy, if worn.

I don’t need to take a nap right now, Spindle decides, descending to the ground floor again. Just the east door left. This one has a sign on it – a piece of wood carved into the shape of a tankard. Huh. This place has a tavern? Maybe this won’t be such a pain.

Pushing open the door, she slouches inside, only to straighten a bit when she sees the scale of the place. Within are two long tables, one on either side, each with two dozen chairs. The central aisle between them goes straight to the wide bar, which also sports at least a dozen stools. At the moment, though, only one is occupied, by a hulking scalefolk bent over a pint.

Figures, Spindle muses. It is the middle of the day still. As if on cue, her stomach complains, and Spindle realizes she hasn’t had a thing to eat today. From her cell straight to the trial, and then straight to the guild. Might as well lean on their hospitality a bit more. She ambles down the aisle toward the bar, hands in her pockets.

“What can I get you?” the bored-looking person behind the bar asks as she approaches. They’re wearing a skimpy apron dress, but it hangs off their skinny frame like it was tailored for someone much girthier.

“What kind of food you got?” Spindle asks.

“It's pork pies and rice today.”

“I’ll take some of that.”

“Alright, that’ll be five nicks.”

Spindle squints. “What, it’s not free for members or anything?”

“No way,” the barperson scoffs.

Spindle pats herself down. No change in her borrowed pockets. “Shit. Never mind.” With a groan, she turns on her heel and makes to walk out.

A meaty hand lands on her shoulder, arresting her movement. She whirls around. “What.”

It’s the scalefolk that was sitting at the bar a moment ago. Spindle looks her up and down. The woman’s a pillar of muscle, easily eight feet tall. Her skin, a deep desaturated purple, is festooned with lighter patches of natural armor (the eponymous scales). Her biceps are as big as Spindle’s head, and plainly visible since she’s only wearing a sleeveless gambeson and simple trousers. A row of spines run over the center of her hairless head, and a similarly spiky tail lazily sways behind her. Her ears have several rings in them, and there’s one in her broad nose, too.

Peculiarly, she’s smiling at Spindle. “I got you, don’t worry. Everyone’s gotta eat.” She places a three-nick coin and two single-nick coins on the counter, and the barperson scurries away with them.

“...Thanks,” Spindle mumbles, claiming the nearest chair and staring down at the wood of the table.

Instead of taking the hint and going back to her pint, the scalefolk sits down beside her. “This your first time here?”

Spindle grunts. “That’s right. And if I had my way, it’d be my last.”

“Oh, really? Why’s that?”

Spindle turns to her, scowling. “I’m not here by choice. This isn’t my kind of trade at all.”

The scalefolk grimaces. “Oh, remedial service, right. That’ll do it.” She sighs, shifting in her chair.

Around then, the barperson flounces out with Spindle’s meal. Spindle digs in eagerly.

“Name’s Sugin, by the way. Sugin Broadshield.” The scalefolk’s grin returns.

“They call me Spindle the Jester,” says Spindle, through a mouthful of pork pie.

“It’s a pleasure, Spindle.”

Spindle doesn’t return the pleasantry, for obvious reasons.

Sugin watches her eat in silence for a bit. Finally, though, when Spindle is near done, she stands up again. “Alright, just let me know if there’s anything I can do to help make your stay a little more pleasant.”

With a meal in her, Spindle feels a little less grouchy. She glances over at Sugin again. At her broad frame, her rippling muscles. Her thick fingers. Her fat tits, notable even through the gambeson. She bites her lip. “Mmm. Now that you mention it, I can think of a couple things.” Spindle’s stomach is full, so now her pussy wants a turn.

As Spindle calmly explains in great detail just what Sugin can help her with, the barperson turns an almost fluorescent shade of crimson. Neither woman notices.

Sugin is more than willing to oblige. They adjourn upstairs to one of the free rooms.

Spindle wastes no time getting out of her borrowed clothes, and lounges on the bed to watch Sugin do the same. Under the gambeson, Sugin is wearing a shabby tank top that hugs her bulky figure quite well, a fun contrast with her baggy pants. As she sets the gambeson aside, Sugin looks up and sees Spindle watching. She shoots her a grin and tugs off the tank top too, then steps out of the pants.

Spindle’s eyes widen slightly. “That’s...”

“Big?” Sugin grins, wrapping one hand around her cock and lazily stroking it. “I get that a lot.”

Spindle licks her lips. “I was gonna say perfect.”

Sugin’s grin gets toothier. Pointier, Spindle notes with delight. “Oh, I like you.”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever. Get over here.”

“Fucking... tight elf hole...” Sugin growls hungrily into the back of Spindle’s neck. Sugin’s mighty hands press the thief’s slender shoulders against the mattress as she ruts into Spindle from behind.

They’re on their third time already, and Spindle’s head is swimming. She wants to shoot some needling sass back, because Sugin always finds some delicious way to put her in her place when she does that, but she can only manage a desperate whine.

The sound has the same catalyzing effect on Sugin as the taunt might’ve, at least. “Ggghh!” Sugin picks up the pace. “You fucking minx,” she pants. “You keep being this irresistible, it’s gonna be just like with my last partner!”

Spindle squirms. “Partner? Isn’t it – hah – a bit early – hah – for that?” she gasps.

Sugin groans, slamming herself home hard enough to drive Spindle half a foot forward along the bedclothes. “Not like that! Ngh! Adventuring partner!” She begins to thrust faster still. “He was -”

But before she can finish her thought, Spindle climaxes with a shuddering whimper. Feeling Spindle convulsing and squeezing under her, Sugin barks out a word in Scalic. Spindle doesn’t understand the scalefolk language, but Sugin’s tone makes her toes curl. After a few more thrusts, Sugin cums too.

Sugin’s loads are a little disappointing, if Spindle’s being honest with herself. Her seed is pleasantly hot, but there’s not much of it. It doesn’t fill her to the brim and start dribbling out around the sides of Sugin’s cock or anything. It just kind of sits in her core.

Sugin wraps her arms around Spindle and twists her so they’re both lying on their side. For a few moments, they say nothing, too focused on catching their breath. Then, Spindle pipes up. “You were saying?”

“Oh, yeah, my previous adventuring partner.” Sugin shifts a bit, snuggling up to Spindle. “He was an elf too. Metal sorcerer. Was really convenient when my armor broke.” Sugin exhales against Spindle’s hair. “But when we had to fight, he’d do these stupid little sultry dances and bind his own hands and stuff. The emotion he cast with was horny, he didn’t get angry or scared enough to use either of those, and watching it drove me nuts every time too! We’d spend hours after every battle just fucking, so we’d run out of provisions too fast, and eventually it made us miss a deadline on a job.” Sugin’s cock was starting to go flaccid, but the thought sends a shiver through her huge body and Spindle feels it go rigid again. “We ended up going our separate ways, because it was just too hard to stay on task when we were on a team together.”

Spindle chuckles. “Tragic.”

Sugin laughs too. “It was a great problem to have, don’t get me wrong. Fuck. I miss his juicy ass. But it’s for the best that we don’t travel together anymore.” She releases Spindle to ruffle her hair. “Now, unfortunately, with you I don’t have a choice. We’ll just have to make do.”

Spindle blinks, sitting up. “What do you mean? You think fucking once makes us traveling companions? Sorry, lady, you’re just stress relief to me.”

Sugin rolls onto her back. “Did they not tell you?”

Spindle squints down at her. “Tell me what?”

“I’m your chaperone.”

“My what?”

“You know. Your chaperone. To make sure you don’t skip out on your sentence.”

Spindle groans. “Oh, fuck off.” With all the enthusiastic banging, she’d almost managed to forget why she was here. Which was the idea.

“No, really! We’re a package deal for the next three months. Someone wants to hire one of us, they get us both.” She reaches up to affectionately clap a hand on Spindle’s shoulder, but Spindle suddenly wants no part of this, and deftly dodges out of the way. She looks down at Sugin, feeling downright betrayed.

Apparently it shows on her face, because Sugin’s casual grin fades. “Shit. Something wrong?”

“What do you think is fucking wrong,” Spindle hisses through gritted teeth. “I just found out I slept with my fucking parole officer.” She rolls off the bed. “Where are my pants? I’m out of here.”

“Fuck, Spindle, I’m sorry. I thought you knew already! Honest!”

“Don’t give me that!” Spindle barks, stepping back into her borrowed underwear. “Least you could do is fucking confirm it beforehand!”

Sugin groans, rubbing her eyes with the heel of her hands. She mutters something in Scalic.

“Yeah, same to you, you fucking latrine,” Spindle bristles.

“For your information,” Sugin grumbles, sitting up, “I just called myself a bird-eating idiot. Not you.”

“Good. You are. Why bird-eating?”

“It’s a pun. It doesn’t make as much sense when you translate it.” Sugin sighs. “I really am sorry, Spindle.”

Spindle’s not used to being earnestly apologized to. It makes her feel weird. She doesn’t reply, and turns her back on Sugin to pick up her bodice from the floor.

The mattress creaks as Sugin stands up. “I guess I’ll... see you later?”

“Not if I see you first,” Spindle mutters.