158: Mugged

158: Mugged

Beatrice looked around the relatively bright and highly lively common room of the Wholesome Inn. The succubus saw many men, women, beastmen, and beastwomen sitting around the tables, chatting at the innkeeper’s desk, playing card games, cracking jokes. There wasn’t a single man or woman that didn’t have a large wooden mug at less than a foot’s distance from their hand, and a good portion of the patrons here were already red-faced drunk.

Surprisingly, and without a doubt the credit belonged to Y’Shtara, there indeed was no inappropriate behavior going on in sight. At least no more than in any regular bar filled with drunks that Beatrice ever was to. And considering that just on the other side of the wall there were hot couples fucking in the streets, this was an impressive achievement.

However, despite the abundance of alcohol, Beatrice hardly saw any food on the tables. She saw some dried-up stuff that a few men were biting chunks out of and chewing between emptying their mugs.  And as much as Beatrice would have liked to imagine that it was indeed beef jerky that they were chewing or, perhaps, some dried fruit, she knew better than to try and find out what exactly was offered here for dinner. In the best-case scenario, it would be something long past its expiry date.

“Wait, what are they all drinking?” Beatrice asked Y’Shtara, realizing something.

“Beer, obviously, like everywhere else,” Y’Shtara answered as if it was a stupid thing to ask. “Don’t even bother asking for the stronger stuff. I’m not risking getting my hand chopped off for some drunkard’s momentary satisfaction.”

“‘Stronger stuff’? No, I don’t want any stronger stuff, but that’s beside the point,” Beatrice said, trying to get to the main issue. “Beer is made using grains as one of the main ingredients, like most alcohol. So, how are there any problems with food when you can afford to drown your city in beer?”

“She’s not from around here,” Rafaelia added, seeing Y’Shtara’s questioning look.

“Another refugee?” Y’Shtara sighed. “But don’t ask me. Take it up with the S.E.C.R.E.T Guild or the Purple Capes. They’re the ones that are somehow able to provide us daily with countless wagons with barrels full of the stuff.”

“Don’t do that unless you want to disappear,” Rafaelia added. “She’s just messing with you. And I’ve heard rumors that Lord Belmot has locked away deep in his dungeons a magician that can summon endless supplies of beer. Beer magic!”

“I don’t have time for this,” Y’Shtara shook her head, tired of listening to nonsense. “Look, I’m not sure what Ember is scheming this time, and, honestly, I don’t care. I’ll just tell you what I told her—if you cause me trouble, no amount of jewels or favors will save you.”

“We’re not looking to cause any trouble!” Rafaelia tried to reassure the buff innkeeper cat girl.

Y’Shtara scoffed and said, “You have no idea what company you’re in if you think that.”

“We won’t be causing any trouble for you,” Beatrice specified, knowing full well that even that was wishful thinking. It was only a matter of time before Beatrice caused a great deal of unrest because there was no way that getting rid of Belmot and his Purple Capes would not send this city tumbling into a free-for-all frenzy for power.

“But where is Ember?” Beatrice asked as she again looked around to confirm that Ember did not return from the restroom or something.

“See that staircase?” Y’Shtara asked, pointing at the wooden stairs in the furthest corner of the common room. “Go up to the second or the third floor, then go to the last two rooms down the hall on either floor.”

“What?” Beatrice got confused about why she was given multiple destinations.

“Ember paid a hefty sum for four rooms,” Y’Shtara explained while looking at the table with three wolfkin. All three of them were clearly drunk, but one could barely keep his head up and spent this whole time staring at the other cat girl's, Y’Shlata’s, cleavage with googly eyes and his long, salivating tongue hanging out.

“Two rooms at the end of the second floor, two at the end of the third,” Y’Shtara said, not even looking at Beatrice. “I even ended up moving one of my current tenants.”

And without saying another word or even so much as “goodbye” or “good luck”, Y’Shtara went about her business, straight to the googly-eyed wolfkin. She stood right in front wolfkin with her arms crossed, blocking his view of her little sister.

“Would you like another drink?” Y’Shtara asked with the tone and expression that conveyed nothing but murderous intent. “Or would you like to rent a room for a couple of hours with my sister?”

“Ohnly ifou jhoin us,” the wolfkin slurred with a stupid grin, feeling particularly funny in his drunken stupor. Two other wolfkin that sat at the table with him, scrammed out of sight as fast as they could.

“No problem,” Y’Shtara said as her eyebrow twitched. “One more drink before you go?”

“Shure-ghualrghh—”

Y’Shtara grabbed the wolfkin by the throat, lifted him up with one arm, and shoved the wooden mug into his open mouth, breaking his front teeth and pouring the liquid down the beastkin’s throat.

“Right this way!” Y’Shtara said to the wolfkin, implying that she’s taking him to his room for a threesome with the two cat girls.

Accompanied by the laughter of the regulars in her inn, Y’Shtara unceremoniously dragged the wolfkin toward the exit by his throat as he flailed and gagged with a mug in his mouth, opened the door that led outside, and threw the wolfkin out with the mug still jammed in his mouth.