Part 5

The pub was stuffed full to bursting with the evening crowd. Spring cider taps had seasonally popped. Stage hands sprinted to and fro, setting up for the next performer. 

This pub in particular was a venue known for hosting youthful performers, and thus brought in a crowd of mostly the same. A gaggle of rowdy lads peaked out from behind the backstage curtain, intent on not being seen. They were spying on their coworker, Yinric, and the busty redhead whispering in his ear. 

The pair were standing at the bar. She had all but draped herself over him. Her tongue might have even been in his ear.

“Yinric the south side slut.”

“The ignoramus inamorato.”

“The scissorbill swain.”

“I was going to say soft-headed.”

“Soft-headed strumpet!”

“There it is!”

“Is Yearn-ric anything,” asked a gray-skinned, white-haired tiefling. He was the only one amongst them who was neither human, elven, or some combination of the two. Unlike Damron his devil traits were not so subtle. Large spiraling horns protruded from his head at near horizontal angles and his fingers ended in black claw-like nails.

“Absolutely not.” The collective responded, though a few snickered.

Yinric kissed her briskly, barely touching.

“Oh!” They said in unison.

She playfully tugged at his blouse. He leaned in once more, pressing fully into her. His hand crept up her waist.

“Oh ho!” The boys huddled closer together to peep out of the gap in the curtain.

Her hand had a firm grip on his belt buckle and gave it a tug, pulling him towards the door. Yinric didn’t budge. He whispered to her. She pouted. He paid for her drink and headed towards the stage alone, visibly frazzled.

The group sighed exasperatedly. One kicked over a stool. Money changed hands.

“He turned her away too?”

“Looks like it.”

“What is he, gay?”

“Nah, he turned away that tailor last week.”

“That man was well-formed too.”

“Yearnric hasn’t gone home with anyone since he started here.”

One of them gasped. “You don’t think he-”

“-No. No way. He would have said something, right?”

“No one’s come to see him perform either. Not even his dad, Jasper Olovyer.”

“That in and of itself is suspect.”

Yinric brushed aside the curtain and was pulled backstage by several lad-hands. The boys put their arms over his shoulders.

“Which venereal disease is it?”

“Excuse me?” Yinric asked, looking between the lot of them.

“Did you see her heaving bosom?” The lad made a show of hefting around an invisible pair of melons as he walked out onto the stage to begin his set. The crowd gave a boisterous cheer as he began his portion of the night’s performances. 

One of the boys hanging over Yin's shoulder felt his forehead for a fever. “Did you hit your head?”

“Testicular torsion?”

“Convert to some religion?”

“Stumble upon a decent work ethic,” the tiefling offered. The lads booed this suggestion.

“I-” Yinric contemplated telling the truth. He imagined introducing Sarin to them. Pictured bringing their future infant into this greasy pub. Shame banished the thought. Lying was easier. “The details are between me and my physician.”

The group collectively bemoaned. A folded square parchment was passed along amongst them before it was slapped to Yinric’s chest. Diving papers.

Yinric pushed it away. “My next set is right after Thyilius-“

“-He’ll stall for you, right?” They looked to Thyilius, the tiefling, expectantly. He was in no position to turn away the extra coins that stalling would provide. Even so, being regularly coerced into it was demeaning in a way he couldn’t express; not to a majority of humans and elves at least.

“Get laid already you horny son of a bitch. I’m sick of your lusty eyes.” His words were always mellifluous despite the sharp, and many, teeth in his mouth. His lingering gaze was dark and frisky; giving Yinric yet another reason for pause.

“Go get her!”

It wasn’t like he was taken, not official anyway. Even if he was, which he wasnt, there was no way this would get back to her. Sarin wouldn’t know. Everyone was suspicious enough. If he could maintain his current reputation he could keep the same crowd, whose coins they relied on, night after night. This was best for both of them.

“Yea?” He asked, looking for an authorization that these men had no authority to give.

“Yea!” It was unanimous. “Use the storage room!”

“You guys can’t hound her.”

“You think us a bunch of dogs? Howling at loose and stray felines?”

“Course not! If we did that they’d never come back!”

Yinric nodded, mostly to himself; to convince himself that this was fine. “Alright.” He leaned out from behind the curtain. It didn't take but a moment to catch her eye. With a tilt of his head he beckoned her backstage. 

She knocked back the remainder of her mug before weaving through the crowded pub to reach him. The bounce of her figure quelled any residual faltering, bidding it to burrow deep within the marrow of his person.