Chapter 2

“How tasteless.” Ruzette scowled as she turned around. “Why did you want to eat here?” 

“Their buttered potatoes are amazing.” Tawny answered. Her gaze was also glued on the dancing pair, “And I don’t mind the view.”

The scowl that sat on Ruzettes face grew, “I don’t want a whores breast in my food.”   

“I doubt that’ll be a problem.” I pipped in, “I don’t think we have the right parts to gain their interest.”

Ruzette rolled her eyes, “I don’t want to see a man lusting over a whore.”

Tawny and I shared a glance. We both didn’t mind watching the women bounce around for money. While Tawny’s enjoyment was more sexual, favoring the bewitching smile and enticing curves with a greedy gaze, I savored the sight of power that oozed from the women. The confidence the woman has as she sauntered over to the arrogant man, plucking the bag from the table. “Feels heavy.” She snarked.

“It's only fifty parms.” The man snorted, “I’m only requesting a dance, whore. I’m sure fifty parms will cover a little jig.”

She cradled the pouch in her palm, the coins jingled noisily. “I have men who’s willing to pay two hundred parms, just for a chance to talk to me.” She tugged on the string, peering into the gaping hole. She sneered, disgusted at the sight of the few coins, before dumping pieces of copper onto the floor. “Why would I settle for fifty?”

“You stupid bitch!”

“Bitch?” She scoffed, “Does your wife know you here, Barlmet? Spending your money on me instead of paying someone to fix that roof.”

“You keep my wife out of this, whore!”  

“The way those people conduct themselves is crude.” Ruzette scoffed, “Whorish behavior and swearing is not a place for proper ladies to occupy.” She continued, “I would rather we have our discussion at an establishment that doesn’t hold so many distractions.” 

“Your privilege is showing.” Tawny spoke.

“Expecting to dine in a tavern that isn’t trashy isn’t privileged. Most would expect that much.” Ruzette argued. Her attention was on the menu, gaze roaming the list of food, oblivious to the obvious discomfort Tawny was showing. “There’s nothing wrong for wanting to dine in a nice place-”

It was quick.

As her discomfort morphs into anger, her familiar ticks of jaw clenching and eye twitching appear swiftly. Ruzette wasn’t noticing Tawny’s signs of anger as she continued to ramble. She grumbled on about the sticky floor and lack of steam vegetables, a sneer permanently glued to her lips.

“Your cluelessness is infuriating.” Tawny seethed through clenched teeth. “If you took a second to think-”

“I am thinking!”

I could feel people’s attention slowly turning towards us. Their gaze quickly moving from my squabbling friends to myself, slowly taking in the darkness of my skin and the deep curls of my hair. “Could you two please argue quieter?” I asked. “I rather we didn’t get kicked out.”

“Those neanderthals are louder than we are!” Ruzette shouted, “I doubt they’ll chase us away when they’ve been screaming for the past hour!” 

Ruzette was clueless when it came to others' problems. As obvious as it could be, she lived in a bubble that centered around her. She would be indifferent to the struggles others would face. Purposefully ignoring the day to day troubles and ignorantly going about her day.

A fine way to go about life if you kept to yourself.  

“There’s not that many businesses that will accept me in.” I interrupted her. Tawny slouched in her seat, embarrassed by the confused look on Ruzette's face. Taking in her furrowed brows and curled lips, I snorted. “As happy as I am that you and Tawny can look over my skin color, most people can’t. This is one of the few places that lets my kind in. I’m sorry if it isn’t as fancy as you would like, but I rather not risk the chance of getting lynched.”

The silence was awkward. The rage fueled flush that covered her cheeks vanished to a ghostly white. “I forgot-”

“I noticed.” 

As she floundered about, an apology caught in her throat, my attention returned to its usual wandering. It wouldn't be the first, nor would it be the last time I would have to deal with this. I would rather focus on something more entertaining. 

Dancing vixens.

Spurned men. 

Or a wench, expertly making her way through the thick mass of patrons, our tray of liquor raised proudly in her hold.

I would rather drown out Ruzette with alcohol than listen to her try to blubber out a semi-genuine apology.