Cinder's Strange Brew

"Aw c'mon Maeryll, this suuuucks."

Cinder's sigh of exasperation was audible even above the hubbub and bustle of the Ribbon. Despite the late hour, the Silver Quarter was a veritable hive of activity, and nowhere was busier than the district's main thoroughfare.

Blocky drays laden with cargo and drawn by grunting beasts of burden plodded alongside the sleeker carriages of the wealthy. Well-heeled pedestrians strolled down the wide pathways, on their way to dinner and entertainment.

It wasn't a bad neighborhood- heck, it was the opposite of that. Still, Cinder felt it lacked a certain... character. If all the rough edges in a place had been filed down, what was the point of keeping on your toes?

Anyway, it wasn't the environment that had the buxom elf so annoyed. It was the outfit.

"You're welcome, by the way," Maeryll replied, threading her way effortlessly between the Ribbon's packed traffic like a lithe phantom draped in black silk.

"Huh?" Cinder replied, a scowl settling onto her face.

Distracted by adjusting the restrictive fabric of her top, she walked in front of a big carthorse without seeing it. The driver was forced to yank on the reins to pull the beast up short, and he shouted abuse at Cinder until the elf pulled her shirt up and gave him a nice, big double-eyeful of her chest.

This had the effect that Cinder expected; the driver shut up immediately, and his mouth fell open in astonishment. The man stared at her with a gobsmacked expression on his face while traffic piled up behind his cart, and Cinder struggled to tug crop top back down over the abundant expanse of her bust. It all would have been gratifying if the elf wasn't so irritated.

"I said, you're welcome," answered Maeryll as if nothing had happened.

"For what?"

"You look incredible, obviously, and you've got me to thank for it."

Maeryll stopped in front of the elegant facade of a building that looked as if it couldn't decide if it wanted to be a castle or a cathedral. Cinder stalked over next to the snowy-haired elf and put her hands on her hips.

"This is some kinda revenge thing, isn't it?" Cinder asked. She swept her hand downwards to indicate the clothing she was wearing.

The shirt wasn't so bad, even if it wasn't the sort of thing that Cinder would normally pick out. Sure, it hugged her tits like a clingy ex-girlfriend with boundary issues, but it was green and kind of gauzy in a way that made her feel as if she was wearing a lettuce leaf or something, rather than an actual piece of clothing.

While it was kind of annoying to have her boobs all smushed together like that, she could deal with the top. No, it was the bottom of the outfit that Cinder was having a hard time swallowing. Which was saying something, because generally speaking Cinder was pretty damn good at swallowing stuff.

"I can't believe you're making me wear this skirt," she said grumpily. "What do I always say? Skirts are-"

"'Impractical, gross, an archaic symbol of blah blah blah,'" Maeryll quoted, pitching her voice in an imitation of Cinder's tone. "Yes, I know. But you made the wager, didn't you?"

"Yeah, but-"

"And you lost the wager, didn't you?"

"Yeah, BUT-"

"So what's the problem?"

Cinder folded her arms across her lettuce-wrapped chest and heaved a long-suffering sigh. "Stupid bet. How was I supposed to know you'd be so good at riding that mechanical taurus? Three minutes? Honestly, that's gotta be some kind of a record."

Cinder's protests trailed off into grumbling, but Maeryll ignored her, apparently preoccupied with staring at the facade of the opulent building in front of them. The thing looked like what you'd get if someone hired a cake decorator to design your establishment instead of an architect; all gabled dormers, sculpted molding, and fanciful flourishes. It was also chock full of big windows which hemorrhaged the golden, buttery light from a constellation of lanterns out onto the street. Above the door hung a sign painted in calligraphic flourishes which proclaimed the place as, 'Vendôme.'

It all seemed kind of pretentious, and Cinder said as much.

"Oh my gods," Maeryll replied, exasperated. "Cinder, your ass looks fucking hot in that skirt, so suck it up and try to have a good time. The outfit isn't an act of diabolical revenge on my part- this is a fine and classy establishment, and you need to look correct. Besides, I wasn't going to let you pick out your own clothes- do you remember what you wore when we visited Caramenic?"

The pale-haired elf shuddered with way more theatricality than Cinder thought was necessary. In response, she stuck out her lower lip in an expression of pure churlishness.

"I remember having a pretty fukkin' good time," Cinder grumbled.

Maeryll brushed a lock of her snow-pale hair from her face and rolled her eyes. "Despite what you might want to believe, I didn't bring us to the best restaurant in the Silver Quarter to torture you with those clothes. If you just relax, you might actually enjoy this. Now come on."

"Fiiiine," Cinder sighed gracelessly and followed her friend through the front doors of the Vendôme.

***

"So what's the deal with this place anyway?" Cinder asked dubiously, her shoes scuffing the polished marble floors as she and Maeryll walked down the long hallway.

Their footsteps echoed off the vaulted ceilings, which were- and Cinder had to do a double-take just to make sure her eyes weren't playing tricks on her- painted to resemble blue skies, complete with fluffy clouds and fat little winged cherubs flitting around. She snorted in disbelief and shook her head.

"All of this," Maeryll said, noting Cinder's reaction and waving dismissively at the fluted columns, paintings, and gilt trim of the hall, "is whatever. The real deal," she continued, rubbing her hands together in a gesture of gleeful anticipation that the lissome elf usually reserved for sex, mayhem, or mayhem involving sex, "is Guillaume de Tabarnak."

Maeryll said the name with a flourish as if she expected it to mean something to Cinder. When the auburn-haired woman stared back at her blankly, Maeryll sighed.

"Right. Guillaume de Tabarnak," she explained, "is a reclusive chef, restaurateur, and a wizard in the kitchen. He's visiting the Silver Quarter for a couple of weeks and cooking at Vendôme. I'm calling in a favor from a friend, and we're going to have his tasting menu."

Cinder raised an eyebrow. "Right on. So he's, uh, a good cook." She was staring distractedly at a marble bust of a woman whose carved toga left very little of her bosom to the imagination.

"He's not just a good cook," Maeryll clarified, her sapphire blue eyes narrowing. "Cinder, are you paying attention? When I say that this man is a wizard in the kitchen, I mean that literally. He's an actual wizard, whose talent just happens to lie in the realm of the culinary."

They reached the end of the hallway and found a cyclopean woman standing behind a lectern. She was wearing a black and white uniform with a high, starched collar. She stared at them with her single eye, projecting an aura of detached politeness, but her bland countenance wavered when she got a better look at them. Whether that was on account of Cinder and Maeryll both being elves, or just because they were, y'know, super hot, wasn't immediately clear to Cinder. She figured it was probably a bit of both.

"Good evening," the cyclopean said. Her single large eye was the warm brown color of coffee cut with milk, and it flickered almost shyly between Maeryll and Cinder. Cinder gave the girl a big, friendly grin, while Maeryll sidled closer to the lectern.

"Hi," Maeryll replied, peering at the pin on the woman's lapel, "Karlie." There was a pause. The elves looked at the maître d' expectantly.

"Oh! Sorry, right," Karlie stammered, adorably wrong-footed. "Do you have any reservations?"

"Almost none whatsoever," replied Maeryll. She tapped a finger contemplatively on the sensual curve of her philtrum while staring at the hostess. Cinder thought she looked kinda like a cat deciding whether or not to eat a mouse.

"Good one," the woman laughed nervously. "But seriously..."

"I have a standing reservation," Maeryll explained, "under the name Countess Hilde Gesegnete-Fotze."

"Right," the cyclopean said, digging around underneath the plinth. "Aha, here we go."

The woman retrieved a cream-colored envelope covered in little hand-drawn pink hearts from a drawer in her lectern. When Karlie broke the wax seal on the envelope, the faint scent of perfume wafted out.

Cinder looked incredulously at the letter, then over at Maeryll while Karile read, her big eye scanning the lines. Maeryll pretended not to notice Cinder's stare. The pale elf's face was a study of indifference.

"This says you're to be given a table in the garden room," Karlie said slowly, sounding as if she didn't quite believe the words coming out of her mouth, "and extended every hospitality that the Vendôme has at its disposal. Free of charge."

Cinder grinned and threw an arm around Maeryll's shoulder. "Cool, a garden room? Free food sounds pretty nice, too."

The hostess blinked at her. "The waiting list to get a table in the Garden Room is three years long," she said faintly. Karlie shook herself, her professional demeanor finally settling back into place. "Right. In any case, we're very glad to have you here, Countess Gesegnete-Fotze and..."

"I'm Cinder," Cinder helpfully supplied, giving the woman a little wave and a wink. "Duchess... uh, Duchess Cinder von Awesometits."

"Duchess Cinder," she repeated slowly. "Uh, very good, your ladyship. Now if you'll both please follow Tien, he'll lead you to your table."

The host snapped her fingers and a young lad in restaurant livery stepped forward. His eyes lingered on the pointed tips of the elves' ears, but he bowed deeply and beckoned them into the restaurant.

"A standing reservation, huh?" Cinder said out of the corner of her mouth to Maeryll. "And what was up with that lovey-dovey letter, Countess?"

The other elf's shoulders twitched in the barest suggestion of a shrug. "I once helped the owner of the Vendôme out with a little problem she had. I guess I made an impression."

"Uh-huh. I bet you did. Y'know, if I didn't know any better I'd think you were trying to impress me with all of this."

Maeryll's snort was a noise of the purest disdain. "C'mon, let's go."

Her gaze dipped down to Cinder's bottom, the peachy edge of which was just visible beyond the hem of the pleated skirt. Cinder caught a glimpse of the pale-haired elf's lips twisting into a secret little smile at the sight before she sashayed after the porter.

"Yeah, ok," Cinder said, sporting a grin of her own.

She felt eyes on her then, and looked over her shoulder to find the hostess watching her. The cyclopean woman was biting her lip, her single large eye fixed directly upon Cinder's butt. When she caught her looking back, Karlie's cheeks turned scarlet, and she suddenly became very interested in something on her lectern.

Huh. Maybe the skirt wasn't so dumb after all. Cinder wasn't convinced yet, but given the effect it seemed to be having on people, she had to admit that the outfit might be growing on her.

Just a little.

***

The Garden Room turned out to be a pretty appropriate name for the place. The whole thing was like a big greenhouse, with soaring ceilings set with panes of clear crystal to let in the starlight from the night sky above. Flickering lamps provided more proximate illumination. Crafted from wrought iron and twisted into the forms of trees, branches, and leaves, the light fixtures blended in well with the profusion of very real plants that were growing all over.

Occasionally Cinder caught snatches of conversation from what were presumably other diners, but the tables in the room were all obscured by foliage. Each was tucked into a separate, secluded nook of its own, providing the Garden Room's patrons with almost complete privacy from one another.

Stone pathways twisted throughout the chamber, and Tien led them over a little footbridge that spanned a small brook running in a channel carved through the marble of the floor. The smell of magic was thick in the air, along with the pleasant aroma of the sweet olive shrubs that were planted all over the place.

It was all super nice and everything, but Cinder usually preferred her nature to be more... Well, natural.

"Your table, madames," said the boy.

Their spot turned out to be a pleasant little alcove with a circular, cloth-draped table, nestled into a bower of blooming trees. Cinder knew the flowers were so completely out of season that there had to be magic at work here, but it did look pretty charming. Maeryll slipped into one of the two available chairs while Cinder plopped down onto the other, the elves sitting side by side.

"Your waiter will be with you shortly," Tien said. "In the meantime, is there anything I can get for you to drink?"

"Do you have bottles of star-adder venom at the bar?" Maeryll asked, idly running a finger around the wet rim of her water glass.

"Of course, Countess," replied Tien.

Maeryll nodded. "In that case, I'll have a Three-fanged Manticore over ice, with a splash of the venom. And some bread for the table."

"Very good. My lady?" Tien turned towards Cinder

My lady. Cinder resisted the urge to snort with laugher.

"I'll just have an ale," she said with a broad, friendly grin. She caught Maeryll giving her a disapproving glare. Those eyes of hers were as cold and blue as a horny frost giant's balls.

"Fine," Cinder said. "Your fanciest ale, please."

Tien departed with a bow, leaving the two women alone in their private little grove.

"Okay fine, I admit this is pretty nice," Cinder said, leaning back in her chair and lacing her fingers behind her head. Maeryll gave her a look, and Cinder clarified hurriedly. "I'm talking about the table and this crazy room, not the skirt."

"You keep saying that," Maeryll replied, her fingers idly walking across the snow-white surface of the table cloth, "but wearing a skirt has so many advantages, don't you think?"

"Yeah? Like wha- Mhmmm..."

Maeryll interrupted whatever the auburn-tressed elf was going to say by leaning forward and placing her lips on Cinder's neck. The kiss ignited the fire in Cinder's blood, which- like lamp oil or phoenix feathers- always seemed to be just a spark away from turning into a lusty conflagration. She felt the heat travel throughout her body, slithering in warm trails from Maeryll's lips down with sweet inevitability to the wanton place between her legs.

"Fucking- really Maeryll, right now? Hey, I didn't say stop, did I?"

Cinder definitely wasn't opposed to a little public indecency, but the Vendôme seemed like the kind of establishment where they would frown on that sort of thing. Sure, the little grove she and Maeryll's table sat in was shielded from prying eyes on three sides, but their waiter was probably gonna be there any second. Despite herself, Cinder didn't want to get kicked out just yet. They hadn't even gotten their drinks, and Maeryll would be piiiiiissed.

Then Maeryll's hands slipped between Cinder's legs, and the redheaded elf found that she didn't really give a crap about getting caught anymore.

"Mhhm," Maeryll murmured into Cinder's ear, nibbling on the lobe while her hand slipped underneath the pleated folds of the stupid skirt.

Maerlly's wickedly clever fingers began to do their work, sliding up and down the lips of Cinder's vulva, which were already beaded in feminine dew. Maeryll collected some of that liquid lust on her fingertips and worked her way further down, gently massaging the tender skin of Cinder's perineum.

"Goin' right for the back door, eh?" Cinder gasped, instinctively spreading her legs wider. "Sheesh, you could work me up to it."

Cinder leaned back into her chair and reached for the other woman, intent on fitting her palms to Maeryll's lithe body. It was at that point- to Cinder's extreme annoyance- that Maeryll leaned out of the way.

"Keep it in your pants," she said, batting away Cinder's hands.

Flushed and breathing heavily, Cinder glared at the pale-haired elf, who had settled primly back into her chair. "Hey, whaddaya mean? You freaking started it!"

"Someone's coming, you slut," Maeryll replied archly. "Listen."

Maeryll crossed her arms on the tabletop while Cinder tried to tug her skirt back into place and get her dang breathing under control. For a minute there all Cinder could hear was the pounding of her own racing heartbeat, but then the sharp click of heels on the marble floor rang out around the alcove. A pretty young woman appeared at the mouth of their private grove, carrying a tray.

"Hello," said the woman, drawing up to the table. "My name is Wish, and I'll be your server tonight. Here are the drinks you ordered."

Her voice was low and sonorous, and the veil of thin golden chains she wore did more to accentuate her high, round cheekbones than to cover her face. The chains tinkled musically when she spoke or moved. Her head was shaved completely bald, and intricate tattoos decorated the warm, olive-toned skin of her throat, arms, and the backs of her hands.

"Holy balls," Cinder exclaimed softly.

Amusement lit Wish's eyes behind the golden chains draped across her face, but she made no comment. She placed Maeryll's drink on the table, which turned out to be some kind of luridly green liquid in a martini glass, garnished with what looked like a scorpion's stinger. Wish then set down Cinder's beer. It was a much more straightforward brown ale, albeit served in an ostentatiously faceted cut-crystal stein.

As the woman distributed their drinks, even the immaculate manners of a servant of the Vendôme wasn't able to overcome the girl's impulse to take a quick glance at Cinder's chest. Her warm brown eyes slid towards Cinder's kale-framed cleavage, then quickly darted away.

Nice. Frankly, it would've been insulting if the girl hadn't snuck an eyeful.

Wish also set down a little basket of fragrant dinner rolls, the smell of which made Cinder's mouth water a little. Or was that from the way Wish looked in her uniform? Regardless, Cinder suddenly realized that all kinds of appetites were stirring inside of herself.

Wish tucked her tray underneath an arm and took a step back from the table. "Welcome to the Vendôme. Are you interested in hearing our specials?"

Maeryll took a sip of her emerald green cocktail, which Cinder noticed belatedly had faint trails of sparkling smoke rising from its surface.

"Ta, Wish, but we already know exactly what we're in the mood for-"

Whoo boy, here we go, Cinder thought. Maeryll had that look in her eyes, that countenance which could only mean one thing; trouble. Lots of fun, messy trouble.

"- which is to experience the tasting menu of Chef Tabarnak."

Huh, Cinder blinked. Ok, I stand corrected. She took a big gulp of her beer, trying to give her reproductive organs a moment to compose themselves.

Nooo, her pussy seemed to be saying, c'mon girl, let's goooo. I'm ready to get this party started!

"Very good Countess," replied Wish, which helped to bring Cinder out of her horny daze. The auburn-tressed elf had to physically stop her eyeballs from rolling at everyone's continued use of that title when they addressed Maeryll. "Chef Tabernack will be pleased to have some guests to enjoy the fruit of his arts. I'll be back with the first course promptly."

Wish's golden veil tinkled when she bowed and departed the table, leaving Cinder and Maeryll alone once again in the grove.