The Drow Queen of Glaley [Very NSFW]

[The Iron Bull]

"It's not a big deal, seriously. Least you deserve, ya know?"

[GamesMaster]

"You're a good man, Bull. A good man." Krem shakes his head, well aware of the people out there who would sell him out in a second. 

[The Iron Bull]

Bull glances to the side, shrugs a little. Scans his empty plate to see if there's anything left. "I do alright," he says, not blushing.

[GamesMaster]

He does more than alright. Orphaned by his mercenary parents at the tender age of ten, he was left on his own with a mere two gold to his name and was quickly picked up by the authorities and dropped off at an orphanage. As a male and an imisian "Keindrinas race", there was no chance of his being adopted and everyone involved knew it. So when he vanished again a couple years later, they didn't look too hard for him, sad to say. 

The Mountain's Bounty is one of perhaps hundreds of gambling halls and casinos in Alessa; it's easy, too easy, to find yourself in deep debt, forced to do unthinkable things to pay off your debts (such as flee to Toukami and sell a child, or worse). Like many of them, the Mountain's Bounty offers an executive level for only their most loyal customers; unlike most, this is the bottom sub-basement, not the top floor. Here, one can bet on illegal pit fights, with some of the best risk-reward ratios in the house. When you're a imisy Minotaur, it's easy to elide three or four years of age, pretending to be "basically seventeen" meaning "actually fifteen" instead of "fucking twelve". When your parents were mercs, you've learned enough about fighting to take on grown men and not get killed at least. With each passing year, The Iron Bull of Sweetwater, named for a place he'd never so much as been, became a more and more competent fighter, and the odds on his winning got better and better. 

And yet somehow, at fifteen, he still wasn't bringing in enough to pay for his room and board and the debt of several years of this state of affairs. It's bullshit. He knows it's bullshit. But where else can he go? What else can he do?

That's when the Red Spirit of Justice invaded his life, breaking up the fighting ring and unlocking all the locked fighter's quarters. Iron Bull was the youngest fighter there, and the only one who dared stick around and help the Red Spirit fight his way to the records room to bust the operation wide open. "You wipe out my debt and I'll help you bring this place down," he'd offered, and the Red Spirit had taken him up on it.

The figure was Cedric, of course, not that he knew that for years afterward. Dressed in deep crimson clothing, he wore a red Oni mask from Toukami, a fearsome carved mask that hid his features entirely. His long silver hair was streaked with ash, making him seem to be imisy something unidentifiable rather than the Drow that Coquette plays up in her heritage. Not a bit of skin shows in the whole outfit, not even the ears, since he's stitched straps onto the mask to hold it in place and they just so happen to cover his ears. So it's really not surprising that Iron Bull didn't know this was his beloved mistress for quite some time. 

"Do you have a place to go?" asked his would-be rescuer. Upon hearing the negative, Red Spirit had given him a noblewoman's card. "She's hiring. No background checks. Be straight with her and she'll be your best ally. Just steer clear of her wife."

The next day, the housekeeper had taken one look at the leggy teen and the card in his hand and rolled her eyes. "Ye look strong enough, I suppose ye can start wif 'e stables, then. They need a mucking somethin' fierce. Ya ever muck a stable before?"

He hadn't, but the concept isn't hard to teach, and soon, he's mucking the empty stable alone in the crisp fall air. It's not a bad day to be outside, and the smell is awful but he's smelled worse in his life. It's almost pleasant. 

The Mistress returns, then, and he gets his first proper look at her: a pale-grey-skinned imisy woman dressed in fine purples and silvers, with her long silver-white hair braided back in an elaborate braid. The horse matches, of course: a black horse with a silver mane and tail, each braided just as elaborately as the mistress's hair. Surely one horse can't have produced so much dung in any sensible amount of time; and yet, it seems they've just been moving the horse one stall down in the large, empty stable instead of mucking it out, which probably explains why there isn't a stableboy any longer. 

"Are you the new stableboy?" Her voice is nothing like Cedric's growl from the night before; it's got a clipped, Glalian accent, with a hint of disdain that he might just be imagining. "Good. It's time my Jasper had proper care."

[The Iron Bull]

The Iron Bull-- he had a name, a normal name that is, once, but even he barely remembers it-- squints at the noblewoman, then at the horse. Then back to her. He frowns, resting the shovel on his shoulder without any care for its soiled condition. He's only wearing a worn skirt, having tossed his shirt on a handy peg hours ago to keep it clean. "Jaspers are red," he informs her bluntly. "Well, sometimes they brown or orange. I think you wanted like onyx, jet or obsidian. Sometimes opals or pearls too, but that's rare so peoples ain't likely to get it."

[Coquette Blacquin]

"I didn't name him. He came with that name," she says, with a sniff, as she dismounts. "What's your name, stableboy?" A glance at the skirt. "Or is it stablegirl?"

[The Iron Bull]

Bull looks down at his chest, then back up at her. "I can prove it if ya need me to, but no, it's stableman. I just can't find trousers in my size is all. An' robes are too restrictive." He shrugs. "Gotta make do and shit." He shrugs again, studying the horse. "He the only horse here?"

[Coquette Blacquin]

"For the moment. The Mistress took her horse with her when she departed on this most recent trip, and it would not surprise me if she were bringing a mare back with her. She did promise me a surprise this trip, and bid me fill out the staff as best I can in her absence. She will be back in three days, so be sure this stable shines by the time she returns, understand?"

[The Iron Bull]

"Worms'n shit."

[Coquette Blacquin]

She blinks. "I beg your pardon?"

[The Iron Bull]

"Worms," he repeats, lifting his voice a touch. "Ya know..." He wriggles a finger in her direction. "Little... fleshy tube things. Sum'times they long like so," he holds finger and thumb three inches apart, "and brown. Sum'times they real small, like, uh, like three or four grains'a cheap rice, and a dirty sorta white. Got those."

[Coquette Blacquin]

"I... see. I will send for a healer." Still have to fill that position. 

[The Iron Bull]

Bull's brow furrows. "Healer? Just need some aloe, blue vervain and cloves. Fennel or horseradish ain't bad but not great." He pauses, then brights. "Heya, you're flush. Tanys'an mugwort is the solid. Just not easy ta buy 'round here. Cronewart for afters. Nice and mild, just let'em graze it wild as he please to prevent'em come'n back."  He nods firmly. 

[Coquette Blacquin]

Oh, Jasper has worms! That makes far more sense. "Thank you. I will send for... those things. Or, tell you what, speak to Housekeeper and tell her I said she should send out for those things right away. Poor dear," she adds, patting Jasper's neck. 

[The Iron Bull]

Bull laughs, a deep, rumbling noise, and the accompanying grin shows off his broad, flat teeth. "Naw, he's making out alright. Horse'n goats love cronewort. Got too much of mah Da's tongue to like it meself but mah Ma loved it too. Used tah say it was real refreshing, with just a little bite to it." He cocks his head to the side, studying her curiously.