Marital Habits

Vendric's eyes flitted across the room like a fly. His gaze would settle on something, a face, a platter, some curious dish he'd never seen before, and then it would zip away to the next sight to be seen. And there were so many. He'd do his best to recall the details thereof later; he didn't dare risk bringing his notes with him in person, after all. Finding a spot to chronicle the records of his journey into foreign lands was difficult enough without having to worry about some lusty goblin spilling her drink onto them.

It was, despite its many inconveniences, however, an indisputably noble goal, and one upon which Vendric prided himself. So many of his fellow classmates saw fit to resort to navel-gazing. How many of them, he mused with a self-satisfied smile, had deigned to conduct their myopic "studies" from within the capital's walls? A dissertation on the mechanics of the Imperial aqueducts would be nothing compared to his hard-won tales of how beast-men lived.

Though he was, of course, careful to never call them "beast-men" to their faces.

No, they had myriad names for themselves, a different tongue for each alien hue, each inhuman addition to their anatomy, each uncanny difference. Djinni, Uruk, Fae, Fostish, Mer-maid, and Wight. The list spiraled into infinity, entries yet unwritten for lack of even the barest proof of a species' existence. And while some were so dangerous as to be revered as gods, some were mundane enough -- and similar enough -- as to consort with humans.

Goblins could be counted among the latter.

Vendric was, first and foremost, a scholar, and thus his mind saw things as a scholar's did. Possessing of but one sex, the goblins were so similar to man as to be capable of both speech and...copulation. They resembled human women, albeit with green skin and greatly diminished heights. The average goblin, for example, often only reached the waist of the average human.

Despite this difference in vertical means, however, the secondary sexual characteristics of a goblin were no less diminished. The hips, buttocks, and breasts of a goblin often matched those of their human counterpart's, and it was more common for those of a goblin to, in fact, exceed a human woman's.

It was for that reason that goblin-run taverns such as this were more often frequented by human men than human women.

But these were mostly anatomical differences. Vendric was far from content to catalogue the physical comparisons between the two species. No, there was so much to learn of their culture, their customs, their language, et cetera, et cetera. Goblins often adopted the habits of the humans around which they settled. The inverse was unheard of, perhaps literally. Not a single account existed of a human immersing his or herself into a goblin tribe's culture, to the point where even the notion of goblin "tribes" was pure speculation.

An elbow shook Vendric's focus, and the voice that followed scattered it further. "Ah! Sorry, dear! You alright?" He looked to the side, his interruption apparently short enough to match his seated height, and...well, he couldn't very well have been surprised.

Carrying no less than three mugs in one hand and a flagon in the other, a goblin barmaid looked him over with a touch of concern in her eyes. Full lips pursed in concern, painted black, and waspish hips cocked to the side, she was attractive enough that Vendric was inclined to forgive her on principle. Add to that the pleasant mint green tint to her skin and the calculatingly generous display of cleavage she bared as part of her uniform, and there was no contrition required.

"Ah, no, no, it gets busy! Not a problem, honest." He managed a laugh, his analytical eye turning merely human once more. Hard to stay detached when one had the focus of one's academic pursuits right in front of them. Harder still when she was undeniably...womanly. She leaned in, inspecting a now-spreading stain on his vest -- and giving him a more intimate view of her cleavage in the process -- before clicking her tongue and shaking her head.

"Ah, pity's sake, I've gone and stained it. Here, hold just a moment, I'll be back to get that washed for you, love. Along with a drink," she called over her shoulder, "on the house! Hel-lo, gents!" She faced forward again, her hips taking on a flirtatious sway as she made her way to a table of rowdily appreciative men. Vendric couldn't do much more than await her return and appreciate the view in the meantime.

He'd more or less split his attention before that. Certainly, he wasn't too distracted to focus on one goblin in particular. Even so, the first step to a conclusive report, in his mind, was to examine the traits held in common among a species. Once the baseline was established, nuance finally held meaning, whether one studied animal, vegetable, mineral, or...women.

He'd spent the better part of an hour noting the shared qualities. Long, pointed ears, skin that was universally tinted green, though the individual shade seemed to vary from goblin to goblin. Their eyes seemed to draw from a pool of amber, green, or red, as far as he could tell, and their tongues. Their hair was subject to less variance, seeming to be unilaterally black. Of course, that could simply be a failure of the sample size. He took a sip of his water -- no alcohol to muddy his senses, of course -- and refocused. Their tongues, as modeled by several flirtatious barmaids to their charges, seemed to be at least thrice as long as a human's with a similarly impressive dexterity.

For the most part, the only other traits he could glean from casual observation were analogous to humans'. Five fingers on each of their two hands, five toes on each of their two feet. Two eyes, two ears, one nose, one mouth. Hair atop their heads, though none on their body, as far as he could see, and-

And, oh, she was back, breasts pressing up against his shoulder. "Sorry 'bout that!" She laughed, though it was tinted with a rasp of stress, cocking her head to the side. "Got me some fans over there, I think." The table she rolled her eyes -- amber, he noted -- towards seemed to perk up at her apparent attention, several of the men waving and several more making decidedly obscene gestures. She repaid the enthusiasm with a wink, a blown kiss, and a scowl when she turned back to Vendric. "Charming, ain't they? An-y-way!"

Vendric had been so focused on the buoyant warmth of her chest against his arm that he hadn't thought of much to say. Just as well, given that she seemed more than happy to speak on his behalf -- and undress him, too. Diminutive hands reached for the buttons of his vest, undoing them one by one as she spoke. "So, you just wait upstairs while we get this washed up, and I'll meet you up in one of the rooms with a skin of wine for your trouble. Copacetic, love?"

"Oh-" He finally found his words, along with a furrow of his brow. "I don't think it's necessary for me to go upstairs. I mean, I'm perfectly fine-"

"Ah, no, no! I'll not have you stripping down to your skivvies in case some drunken lout empties his pint on you and we need to get your shirt here washed, too!" She shook her head, ponytail swaying behind her with her vigorous denial. "Not having it. Be-sides." She smiled at him. "Something tells me you're not here for the atmosphere. G'wan." She gave the small of his back a playful swat and giggled when he jolted at it. "I'll be but a moment; then we can get you sorted, all right?"

His normally quick wit failed him, and it was with a mute nod that Vendric rose from his seat and made his way towards the stairway leading from the "public" section of the public house to the "house." As he climbed the steps, the din of the patrons and the barmaids attending to them began to fade, fade, fade, until...

...Well, it wasn't silent by any means, but now the dull roar was muffled to a sort of ambiance. Ambiance punctuated by a more intimate white noise from behind some of the doors to the bedrooms, but ambiance nonetheless.

For a moment, Vendric wondered which room he was to retire to. She hadn't given a number -- oh, well, they weren't numbered anyway, so that was a moot point regardless -- nor had she said anything. Specific. At all, really. He clicked his tongue, looking up and down, not daring to open a door for fear of interrupting anything occurring behind it.

Thankfully, he didn't have to wait long. A green hand slipped into his and squeezed it, his apparent hostess smiling up at him with a quirked brow. "What, gave up already? You're two steps away, dear!" She reached out, pressed her palm flat against one of the doors, and pushed to reveal an empty room. Yes, of course that was the one he'd been supposed to wait in. He clicked his tongue again, vaguely annoyed.

That irritation didn't last, though, because soon she was pulling him inside, her small size apparently belying at least average human strength. "Here," she said, setting him down on the bed, one of the only pieces of furniture in the room, apart from a chest at its foot, a table, and two chairs. "Easy does it. There we go."

Her tone, he noted with a less-than-clinical lens, had turned softer. Breathier, really, and given that she'd hopped up beside him on the bed, he was. Wondering why.

Then she set her hand on his thigh, and he tried to frame his reaction as a "physiological response"... but eventually he gave up the act and just admitted it. He was stiff in his trousers.

"So, what brings you into our humble establishment?" Her voice had a certain bemused lilt to it now, as if she already had an answer in mind. "Can't see you celebrating some big haul like most of the dullards down there. Maybe you're just curious, mm?" Her lips puckered in thought, glossy black reflecting flickering candlelight. The room wasn't as well-lit as the dining hall downstairs, but he didn't need much to see her lean against him, breasts pressing into his side this time.

"Nothing wrong with that, darling." She'd dropped to a whisper now, the tip of her finger tracing circles on his thigh. "Everybody gets curious. And personally?"

He gulped. She craned up. Whispered in his ear. "It's so much fun hearing little boys like you whimper when you find out what you've been missing."

Red-faced and dizzied by her presence, Vendric jolted to his feet. "No, no, no, this-!" He sputtered, turning on his heel to face the now wide-eyed goblin, her hand drawn back in surprise. "This is a misunderstanding. I thuh-thought this was a tavern, not a bruh-brothel, and-" He looked away, trying to find the words. "I, ah. I'm a student, you see. Well, not a student, I'm a journeyman, and I'm studying-!"

Her surprise had worn off after around the second stutter, turned to amused observation. Leaning in and tugging the neckline of her bodice, she winked. "Anatomy?" She offered.

"No! No, ah-" He gulped again, fidgeting. "Guh-Goblin culture." The words came quietly, though they were enough to shock her into silence once more. Her posture relaxed from predatory flirtatiousness into stunned silence, his goblin hostess sitting back down on the bed and sort of...looking past him to consider what he'd just said.

They were both quiet for a moment, his borne of embarrassment, hers, contemplation. Finally, though, she moved, crossing her arms and blinking to refocus her eyes. She looked him in the eyes, a crooked smirk on her lips once more, and laughed. "Friend, if you're aiming to study goblin culture, a brothel's not the place to do it."

She laughed again, hopped off the bed, and dusted off the front of her dress. "That's a first, though! I've had all sortsa men come in here, but I don't think I've ever met one what wanted to know more about..." Her smile faded for a moment, replaced by pleased neutrality as she looked past him once more. "...Us, I guess. Hh." Her hip jutted to the side, and she tapped her foot in thought.

"...We were just about to eat, actually. Me and the other girls, I mean." She cocked her head to the door. "You want I should bring you up a plate or two so you can get a taste of proper goblin cuisine while we talk?" She bared her teeth -- most of which were slightly pointed, he noted -- in a playful smile. "Don't worry. No need to pay me if you're just going to be dining with me."

It had never really occurred to Vendric in his studies...to just kind of ask. But, well, he had a willing volunteer in front of him now. And it was time to move on to the individual study. "Ah. If it's not too much trouble..."

"I was going to give you a round for free on account of the spill anyway," she replied with a wave of her hand. "'sides, we always end up with left-overs. At least this way you'll be able to finally get it down in writing that we don't eat garbage or some-such. I swear!"

She turned back to face him, having nearly left. Finger thrust in his direction, her brow furrowed with indignation. "I'm not ex-pec-ting humans to know the ins and outs or anything, but some of the things that these soused arseholes say to me!" She crossed her arms, huffed, and shook her head. "Hh! Anyway."

All sweetness once more, she canted her head to the side and beamed at Vendric. "You just sit tight, love. I'll be back up with a sampler course."

With that, she departed, door shut tight behind her. Vendric stood for a moment, looking around the relatively sparse room. Not much to do, was there. He didn't have his notes, either. Clicking his tongue, he sat back down on the bed and thought. He hadn't really read much in the way of goblin studies, though he was sure that there had to have been some done in the past. Surely! The well of academia was not so deep that universities could plumb its depths for decades -- centuries! -- and not poke their collective heads out to study their peers.

Though perhaps one of the problems was that humans rarely saw goblins -- or other beast-men -- as peers. Vendric's cheeks flushed hypocritical red. Hell, he himself didn't properly know what to call them but...well, beast-men. But there was nothing bestial about them, was there? Not goblins, at least. And even the most barbaric beast-men weren't so inhuman that one couldn't find an equivalent ferocity in some nation of man.

He undid the top button of his shirt and leaned back onto the bed, hands behind his head. Why, then, were they so casually called beast-men?

He only stirred from his contemplation when he heard the door open, and with it, the tinkling call of his hostess. "Din-ner!" She chirped merrily, strutting in as if she were performing for the clientele downstairs. Her breasts bounced with every step, the goblin in an apparently very good mood for some reason, and her hands gracefully balanced two steaming platters of food.

Vendric didn't know where to start. Well, he did, given that they'd get to the food eventually. "Begging your pardon, but." He sat up, scratching the back of his head, a smile playing at his own lips. "That was a rather expedient shift in moods."

"Ah, why wouldn't I be in a good mood? I've all but got the night off!" She set the platters down on the table and nearly skipped back to the bed with him before a powerful hop sent her flopping down onto the mattress. "Every other night, I'd be up here with some jackanape what's got his prick in one hand and his coinpurse in the other. And it doesn't take a student -- sorry -- a journeyman to tell which he's more keen to let me get my hands on."

She rolled onto her back, staring up at the ceiling, and it occurred to Vendric that he didn't know her name. He placed a hand beside her, more to support himself as he leaned in slightly, and looked her up and down. "My apologies, but...what should I call you?"

She sat up almost instantly, clapping her hands in front of her chest once before settling them in her lap. Her wide hips shifted as she adjusted her seat, and she grinned up at him impishly. "Which one, milord?" When Vendric opened his mouth to speak, she cut him off. "Because I can give you my 'working' name, or I can give you my proper goblin name."

Vendric's eyes widened at that, and so did his smile. "Oh! Both, if you'd be so kind, but I'm quite keen to hear both!"

She mirrored his enthusiasm, though the genuine delight in her eyes turned to feigned innocence as she clasped her hands together. Her forearms pressed up against the sides of her breasts, mashing them up against each other and serving to deepen the valley of her cleavage. "Well, milord," she murmured. "I'm but a humble goblin lass what came from over the Rust Mountains, but in my humble goblin village, they called me 'Valeria.' D'you think that's a pretty name, milord?" She suddenly shifted, going to her hands and knees on the bed and looking up at him with doe-eyes.

Vendric knew it was an act. A performance, sardonic, meant to simultaneously inform and poke fun at the clients who didn't care to think it anything but the truth. Even so, his heart melted.

It didn't take long for it to harden once more, though, as "Valeria" sat back on her heels and continued. "But nah, my name's Gwynevyv-an-Brasbin." Her smile, this time, was genuine. "You can call me Gwen. Not expecting a human to get things right on your first go. No offense, 'milord.' But enough about that!"

She waved a hand over to the table. "I told the girls that I had a romantic come and ask me all about myself, and you shoulda seen the looks on their faces! Here." She hopped off the bed and padded across the room to the table, climbing onto the human-sized chair. "Ooh, we cooked you up a feast! What's your name, darling?" She cast a glance back at him, interrupting her appraisal of their meal.

Vendric, for the most part, tried not to stare at her ass. Given that she was standing upon the chair, bent at the waist as she inhaled the meal's aroma, this was not without its difficulties. Then she started to shake her rear from side to side, and honestly, it was just more trouble than it was worth to try and look away.

"Vendric." It took him a moment to remember that she'd even asked him something, but to his credit, he did remember. Eventually. "Vendric Wilstead. At your service." He offered a slight bow, whether she was looking or not. It was the principle of it, really, and Vendric was nothing if not principled.

She straightened up, clapped, and turned to face him once more. "Please t'meetcha, Vendric. D'you mind if I call you Ven?" He opened his mouth to reply- "Good. So, be a doll and come over here, Ven. Have to tuck in while it's still warm, after all. There's a good boy!"

His cheeks flushed with heat, Gwen patting the top of his head as he sat down. She noticed at once, leaning an elbow on his shoulder nigh-conspiratorially and taking her tone from teasing to chiding. "Come, come. Day in, day out, I've got guys calling me 'swamper' and 'sewer-puss.' If that's enough to get a rise out of you, you won't last long in a brothel."

She leaned away and returned to her seat, settling down with the slightest bounce, though not so slight that it went unnoticed by Vendric. "Here," Gwen continued, sliding a platter towards her guest with a fork to match. "Eat up, eat up! Goblin food's in the spices, so don't be afeared to just eat whatever catches your fancy. That," she pointed, "is beef. That would be potatoes, and -- yes, I said potatoes -- and this is bacon. Gotta skin of wine when you get thirsty, too!" She filled a goblet, set it down beside his plate, and leaned an elbow against the table. Chin in her palm, she beamed at him, eyes twinkling with delight.

"So."

Vendric had begun to cut -- as best he could -- a piece of beef from the main hunk of it on his plate with the side of his fork when he caught a glimpse of her. He looked to the door, half-expecting someone to be there, but...no one. He looked back to her.

"So, ah. So what?"