Veena adjusts her glasses and flips a fresh page in her notebook while a line of women coils down the street like a carnival queue, full of nervous laughter, glistening anticipation, and wildly inappropriate whispered conversation.
The midday sun pours through the slats of the chief's home, bathing the porch in gold. Veena sits beside the doorway, clipboard in hand, quill poised, a cool glass of wine sweating gently beside her, untouched.
The door creaks open as client seventeen steps out, a half-dwarven woman with braids like tree roots, cheeks flushed crimson, eyes glazed with post-euphoria haze, floating down the stairs like a ghost.
"Next!" Veena calls, not missing a beat.
A pair of tanuki twins up, wrapped in elegant robes, fluffy tails billowing behind them. They fan themselves rapidly, shooting synchronized glances toward the open door, where Pip waits at the edge of a silk-covered bed, glowing like a golden statue of benevolence.
"Name, age, preferred experience?"
