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The woman walked up to Father Fionnigan and bowed deeply. She was dressed in the manner of a prostitute. The flowing yet revealing jade colored satin robes matched the young woman's emerald eyes. Her nude freckled body was oiled beneath the provocative dressing.
“Father Hellblazer, we have been expecting you. We haven't seen you since the plague. Can I get you a refreshment while you wait for Lord Hawkmoone?” The prostitute asked.
“A goblet of meed would be fine.” Father Fionnigan replied as he pulled his pipe and a leather pouch of pipegrass.
The prostitute again bowed deeply and left the room. Father Fionnigan made his way to a porter's chair sitting in the corner of the room with a small end table sitting next to it. Fionnigan looked around the room. It hadn't been changed since he gave control of the brothel over to his comrade in arms. They had made some improvements here or there, a fresh coat of paint and the like. Fionnigan sat in the porters chair and lit a bowl of pipegrass and waited for John.
The woman came back with a silver tray with a silver goblet filled with honey meed sitting atop it. She stepped over to where Fionnigan was seated and took the goblet of meed and sat it down on the end table. She never left eye contact throughout the entire motion, and after she finished placing the meed she brought her hand to rest on Fionnigan's thigh.
“Are you sure there is nothing else I can do for you while you wait, Father?” she asked a huskiness in her voice.
“No, my dear. I appreciate the offer, but I am strictly here to speak with your employer on business.” Fionnigan responded.
The woman stood and composed herself.
“As you wish, Father.” she replied as she placed the silver tray behind her back, turned, and left the room.
As the woman left Fionnigan took a moment to appreciate the shapeliness of her body under the robes. He wasn't dead after all. It was clear she was the bottom woman of the place now. Her movements and presentation were perfect. He might not be in the game anymore, but Fionnigan could appreciate a professional at work.
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"A mind needs books as a sword needs a wetstone, if it is to keep it's edge.”
Tyrion Lannister
I do not suffer fools gladly, and fools with white belts never.
Sic transit gloria.
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