A Short Blonde with Big Boobs and Loose Morals
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Flexible Morals Ch. 06 free porn video
‘I mean, when you think about it, the whole thing don’t make sense.’
‘You don’t make any sense, Biris,’ retorted Firis.
Trailing behind the two brothers, Malik could only roll his eyes. They had been like this for the entire journey, never tiring of their back and forth. Occasionally the endless quarreling came to blows but it was never anything severe, unfortunately. Just the semi-good-natured jostling of siblings. He couldn’t understand it. Maybe the men had been dropped on their heads as children. Maybe it was merely typical Skytouched behaviour. Either way, it was starting to wear thin. He’d only met them yesterday yet it felt like a lifetime ago. Regardless, Malik didn’t speak up. Drawing their attention only seemed to encourage them.
‘No, listen. You listening?’ Biris gave his brother a nudge to be sure.
Firis gave a harder shove back and a snarled, ‘Yeah, yeah, I’m listening. Let’s hear again why you’re not content to do a job, get paid and not go thinking more than you should about it.’
‘I’m just saying, there’s something funny going on. This Vocal’s bringing in some pretty good coin with his glassware. Sounds like a reason to keep him around, you know? But here we’re tasked to bump him off? Nah, it don’t make sense, none of it does.’
‘Maybe it doesn’t need to make sense. Did you think about that?’
Biris trudged along the forest road, sprinkled with little green shoots that were trying to claim the land as their own. The visibility was poor here. Dense forest sprang up quite quickly off the road and the landscape saw them winding back and forth around inclines too sharp for a wagon. It invoked a desire in Malik to get out of the open, but they would be fine. The banditry in these parts wouldn’t dare drift so close to town. Not this deep in the Empire’s heartlands.
‘Nah,’ Biris shook his head. ‘That don’t make sense neither. When there’s money involved, nobody does nothing for no good reason. I reckon this might be some sorta setup. Maybe he’s—’
‘Why don’t you quite your yapping!’ Firis suddenly butted in as he whirled on his brother. ‘The man was clear, bump this family off and don’t ask questions. Now so far, we haven’t done either of those things. Maybe this is a setup, in which case we’ll do as we always do, wing it. And if it isn’t then the man made it clear that there’d be the chance of more work should we take care of this job well enough. So shut that gaping trap of yours and focus on the job!’ The four, black, razor-sharp atoh blades on Firis’ back, between which hung his sword, shook with his fury. He shot Malik a glance as if to dare him to say anything. Then he looked at his brother again with a final, silencing stare before his eyes returned to the road ahead and he pressed on.
Biris stayed in place for a second longer, then started following. ‘Still reckon it’s a little peculiar.’
‘Good, maybe you can tell him that when we’re finished. See how far it gets you.’
The walk descended into silence then. Despite their arguing, Biris had a point. This did all sound a little odd. But surviving in the mercenary trade meant not asking a lot of questions about the job’s back story. Especially when the job was one of questionable ethicality. Besides, if anything started smelling too rotten, he could always follow the Firis’ suggestion and make a run for it. The two Skytouched might not have had the most enlightened air about them, but Malik wagered that such was part of their act and that underestimating them would prove unwise. If this job didn’t pan out, he could always head elsewhere for a while. Maybe towards the outer regions of Keladesh.
===
‘Oh, you’re going to look positively radiant, my dear,’ said Hatra for what had to be the third time.
Phyre tried her hardest not to squirm as the woman’s dexterous hands crawled through her hair, braiding, combing and pinning it up in a style that was growing more and more complicated by the minute. She had never had her hair crafted in such a way. The most work that Phyre had ever put in was to ensure that the long red strands were free of tangles every morning. She studied the masterpiece atop her head as it unfolded, not entirely sure of what to think. Interesting, delicate and puzzling, those were the words that came to mind.
‘I’ll have you setting a new style, just you wait,’ Hatra chattered to herself. ‘As soon as you walk into that party, every Vocal in town— no, the whole of Keladesh, will start going unhooded.’
Phyre struggled not to smile at the woman’s lofty ambitions. Instead she concentrated on planning out the night ahead. Neither of the Lanises would be attending. That had sparked some nerves to realize that she would be going to Mr. Gilbride’s party all on her own. But Hatra and Niptri had their baking to take care of and Market Street expected plenty of food. It was only natural that they use the opportunity to bolster trade. So Phyre would have to fend for herself, probably the youngest at the party by a wide margin. At least Drop would be accompanying her. The little frog had been very satisfied with the way that their encounter with Mr. Gilbride had gone, as was Phyre. He definitely had nothing to do with the three men that had turned her life upside down, she was convinced now. Drop had also agreed that she should take a break from pursuing the Solar for a while, though it was difficult to put him out of her mind.
‘Well, if it’s been a while and there’s still no word, you can always use your wish to find him,’ Drop had suggested. That reminder had served to put her mind a bit more at ease.
No matter what, the Solar won’t get away with this, she told herself again.
‘There, that’s your hair sorted.’ There came a strange sensation as Hatra’s fingers at last left her head. How long had they been probing and scurrying around?
Phyre cast her voice to the top of her head and studied the structure that now stood there. It was tall, very tall. There were several long pins sticking in to support the height. Hanging off Hatra’s creation were a series of braids that looped around and almost reached down to her shoulders. She wasn’t sure about the look, but she could see its artist smiling in anticipation of the feedback. ‘It’s… I like it,’ Phyre said as tactfully as she could. ‘It’s very intricate. Are you sure they’ll like it?’
‘Oh, of course. This sort of look is very much the Kachtikar fashion at the moment, or so my sister tells me. They’ll marvel at how up to date you are.’
‘And the dress, they’ll like that too?’ Phyre asked. She looked down at the colorful gown she had on. Its pattern looked rather odd. The outer parts of the fabric that made the arms and waist were in a soft lime green but this gradually merged to a deep, sapphire blue as it came to the center of her body. One of Hatra’s old dresses. Much of the afternoon had been spent clearing it of any dust or damage that had collected over the years, as well as stitching up parts for a proper fit. The entire day had been a bustle of activity with both overtaxed by the workload. Apart from Phyre’s party preparations, there had been mountains of food to prepare. The air was heavy with the scent of baking dough, sugar and fruit, yet none of it had any effect on her appetite. She had already eaten more than enough scraps that Hatra had deemed unfit for the customers. At first, Phyre had been a little concerned about filling up before the party.
‘Oh, don’t you worry about that, dearie,’ Hatra had said as she brushed the trouble aside. ‘There’ll be lots of food there but you should barely touch it. It’s unbecoming of a young lady to be seen stuffing her gob at these sorts of occasions.’
Though that sentiment had put her mind partly at rest, Phyre was still a little disappointed that she wouldn’t be sampling any of the delicious fare that would be present at the manor. Drop, on the other hand, could hardly wait. Every chance for a private
word had seen the frog blabbing away in wonder about what might be on offer. She had entertained his enthusiasm at first but it quickly grew to be a bit much.
‘Don’t you fret about the dress,’ said Hatra, her voice drawing Phyre back to the present. ‘It’s a perfect match for your hair. Look, you’ve got red, green and blue and then the orange of your occumarks. Nobody will be able to take their eyes off you. Now stand up and give us a spin.’
Phyre tried not to think about everyone staring at her as she stood to comply with the woman’s demand. The hem of the dress fanned out a short way with her movement.
‘There, it’s perfect.’
Drop was watching from beneath a pillow on the bed, out of sight of all but Phyre. She glanced at him. His throat was pulsing with breathing or nerves or thought as it so often did. Immediately, she guessed at what he wanted her to say. ‘I think it needs a pocket somewhere.’
Hatra gave her a quizzical look. ‘A pocket? But where would it go? You would throw off the flow of the dress. And besides, whatever do you need one for?’
‘Maybe not a pocket,’ Phyre tried instead. ‘Maybe a bag or a satchel. Something to hold… things.’
Hatra’s look of confusion maintained itself for several moments then melted away into one of understanding. ‘Ooh, yes a satchel. My sister was telling me that some of the woman in Kachtikar have started taking little bags or satchels to things. I’ve no idea what they think to keep in them but that’s fashion for you.’ Mrs. Lanis bustled out of the room, her feet thumping as she moved through the house on her search. ‘Maybe you’re supposed to keep a mirror in it or some perfume. Goodness, the parties in Kachtikar must be getting quite adventurous if one has to check one’s appearance and scent partway through. Ah, here’s just the thing.’
Phyre waited until Hatra had returned before peeking at what she had retrieved. It was a small leather bag with a button clasp. It hung from a long belt that was meant to sling over your shoulder. Phyre took the bag and slipped it into place, then posed for Hatra’s inspection. ‘What do you think?’ she asked.
‘I think you’ve quite an eye for appearance. Or I suppose I should say you’ve quite a voice. It’s just the right size and the brown has a lovely contrast with the green and blue of your dress.’
‘You really think so?’
‘Why, of course. Look at you, Phyre, about to rub shoulders with the big names of Fissure. Your parents would be so proud of how you’re doing.’
‘Yes,’ she said through teeth gritted on her cheeks. Why did Hatra have to say something like that? Every time the wounds seemed close to healing, something surfaced to tear them back open. ‘Is it almost time to go?’
‘Just about, I would say. Though you should give it some time after that. It’s never good to be the first to arrive. Now I need to get the finishing touches on my pastries underway. You stay put until you’re ready to leave. No sense putting that dress at risk of getting dirtied up.’ Hatra strode out of the bedroom, mumbling a few things about the market party or baking. Something that didn’t sound important.
Alone, Phyre shut the door and moved to sit on her bed. She watched Drop squeeze his way out from beneath the pillow and hop over to join her. ‘Mind the dress,’ she hissed as he crept dangerously close.
‘Ooo, of course. I was so entranced by the colors, is all. Like a river running through the trees. Reminds me of the academy.’ Drop’s eyes misted up for a moment with the memories.
‘Here, why don’t you test out the satchel.’ Phyre laid down a hand and the frog hopped obediently into her palm. She lifted him up, undid the clasp on her bag and placed him inside. ‘Is it nice in there?’ she asked.
‘Oh yes, much roomier than that pocket of yours. The leather’s good and firm too.’
Phyre smiled and patted the satchel, happy that he would be comfortable. The concern she felt then prompted a question that had been on the back of her mind for a while now. ‘Drop, do you know what will happen yet when I use your wish?’
He made a soft croak. ‘Well… I’m not sure. I’ve only one wish. If it gets used, does that mean I’m not a wishing frog anymore? But I won’t be as simple as a normal frog, will I?’
‘Didn’t they ever tell you about this at the academy?’ she asked, starting to feel a little worried for the amphibian.
‘I don’t remember them mentioning anything. Come to think of it, I don’t remember any of us asking either. Seems like it would be a rather big thing for us to overlook, don’t you think?’ He poked his head out from the satchel and peered at her with those big, black eyes.
Phyre gave him a soft pat atop his head with one of her fingers. ‘I think that maybe it might be better to not use your wish, if there’s a chance that it will hurt you.’
If it were at all possible, Drop’s eyes widened further. He shoved her finger away and gave her an intense stare. ‘No, you mustn’t. I owe you this. If not for you, I’d be festering away in one of those striders’ stomachs. More than that, I’d probably be out the other end and food for the trees by now. So there’s a far worse fate than losing my status as a wishing frog. For this, I owe you my wish.’
Phyre stared at the frog who only met her face with a look as intense as her voice. He would not be denied this. ‘Alright, Drop. But I’m not using the wish until we’re sure about what I should use it on.’
‘Absolutely,’ he said and his expression softened then melted into a devilish glee. ‘Now what’s say we hop off to this party and see what the food is like, hmm?’
===
For once, the gate was already open when Phyre arrived at it. Several carriages were in the process of passing through. The guards, her Skytouched friends, were waving them in one by one. She passed to one side and tried to peek at who rode within but the curtains were drawn. As she approached the gate, the Skytouched spotted her, flashed confusion, the surprise as they recognised who she was. Phyre smiled at them and strode by confidently, giving a wide berth to the horses. She hadn’t had a lot of dealings with horses in the past. They had always struck her as rather unpredictable and unwieldy creatures. Not the sort of thing that she would care to be too close to. Yet there were loads of them around. The carriages in the gate had only been the beginning. Much of Mr. Gilbrides driveway, along with the space around his pond, was being used as a place to hold the horses. At the manor’s door, several folk were disembarking their ride, each dressed with a similar sort of flair to her own. That discovery set her mind a bit at ease. At least she wouldn’t be alone in clothing.
The races of Mr. Gilbride’s guests could be seen partly reflected in the manner that they dressed. For the most part, the men looked the same. Each wore an expensive looking coat and tunic, trimmed along the cuffs and hems. The only differences were subtle, such as the folds of a collar or the arrangement of buttons. It was the womens’ clothes that drew her attention and revealed race. The dresses of the Solars were engineered to be large and elaborate, each selecting a color to complement their light skin and hair. The Earthborn and Vocals – of the latter, there were only a few – wore simpler constructions that looked far more comfortable with their more sensible quantity of lace, ribbon and superfluous fabric. Then there were the Skytouched who had dressed virtually identically to their male counterparts, save for a brighter range of color. It was a fashion that she guessed kept flying in mind. Staying in the air would be rather difficult if one was wearing half one’s body weight in cloth.
Phyre stood off to the side in anticipation of an opening to make her entrance. At last there came a more elderly couple who took their time in descending from their carriage. She took her chance and hurried up to the steps. Raleek stood at the door and greeted he
r with a smile and a nod before waving her through. The hall inside was thronged with guests and a drone of conversation filled Phyre’s ears. Almost immediately, she caught several passing glances in her direction, filled with curiosity. She could tell what they were wondering. What is such a young girl doing here? Where is this Vocal’s hood? She was the only one present to be seen without one. Perhaps Hatra would be right and this would start a new trend. She could only hope.
The entrance hall had been decked out for the occasion. Banners depicting a moon with an unnatural metallic gleam hung from seemingly every available location. The room was lit with Fifrey flowers stowed in pots that had been notched to the walls. Phyre stared at one of the plants, cast her voice over its mouth used for catching prey that were lured by its blue-glowing ‘tongue’. It was quite a crowd. Far more than she had thought Fissure capable of producing. Then she realized the possibility that some of these people had traveled from one of the other towns nearby. Quite a way to go purely for a party. Proof, perhaps, of how renowned Mr. Gilbride’s Iron Moon celebration was.
‘Welcome, my guests,’ echoed a voice around the hall.
Phyre shot her own to the second floor where the voice had originated and found the Patab standing there. He was clad in a deep blue, almost black, suit that had been dotted with dabs of white so that it resembled the night sky. A full moon stood out just over his heart. He began descending towards the crowd with a cloak of similar design trailing out behind him.
‘Welcome to the thirty third annual Iron Moon. A time to celebrate the prosperity that the Earth’s bounty has brought upon us. May the mines of Fissure and her surrounding lands never cease to provide.’
‘Never!’ the crowd chanted back.
‘Now, as I’m sure you are all eager to experience what that prosperity has brought, let us go onwards to the dining room. There will be music and entertainment there and all the delicacies you could ever eat. Come my friends.’ With a grand wave of his arms, Mr. Gilbride strode down the stairs and parted the crowd of his guests like wind through a field.
The guests began to murmur excitedly as their host proceeded down one of the hallways on the right. Soon the folk started to follow but Phyre lingered with the intent of being one of the last to move. She stood to one side and listened to snippets of chatter that came with the passersby.
‘I’ll wager that he’s outdone himself again this year.’
‘—any indication, there’ll be plenty of Ember to go around.’
‘My guess is he’s still not over dear Edith, that’s why he pours all his energy…’
Unwilling to be the absolute last one through, Phyre positioned herself near the edge of the queue and allowed it to draw her along to wherever they may be leading. She tried to cast her voice at the rooms ahead but the constant chatter from the other guests stifled and blurred her vision. Soon they came to another hall that was far larger than that of the entrance. Tables lined the walls and the roof was high enough that she couldn’t see it without raising her voice much louder. At the far end, where a wall might have been, was an array of stained-glass windows and doors that opened to a garden behind the house. Out there, where the crowd seemed to be drawing, stood a large temporary pavilion made from long beams of wood and ribbons of cloth. The colorful streamers were cast all over like the web of a spider, some even stretching their way back to connect with the house. Phyre stood on the threshold of the garden to take in the view. For the first time since coming here, she felt truly daunted about the prospect of this party. A spasm of pain rent her body as she realized that, in the past, her parents had always been around to guide her through such events. The only thing she needed to do was remain by their sides and respond to any questions or conversation that might happen her way. No shields like that anymore, this was the real, unsheltered thing. She wished so strongly to have paid more attention to how these events went. If only Hatra and her husband were here.
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