“He who controls the spice controls the universe.”

Frank Herbert; Dune

 

"She who controls the beer controls the dwarves."

Sister Eva, indoctrinational class at the academy

 

While having breakfast, I noticed a change. The cat girls behaved differently today. Especially Arina, the little ball of fur in heat. Something was different and I couldn't put my finger on what it was.

Since the girls wore their lingerie each of them radiated an attractive sensuality. Maybe it was that which caught my eye. Constie in particular now had this wicked aura of pure sex appeal about her.

But I wasn't sure. Unbearable.

 

Or it was the coffee. The "coffee" I was drinking was not coffee. It was a pimped out drink made from brewed, roasted grains. Grain coffee. Mocha faux. Dish water. An abomination to any connoisseur.

My grain coffee consisted of roasted barley and rye. The ingredients were easy to buy. But that was about the only upside. So far, my requests to the trade guild had not been successful. Yet I was willing to pay a truly royal price. No matter whether for the dried beans, the normal fruits or even whole plants. It did not matter to me at all. I wanted COFFEE!

 

I am not an addict. I can stop anytime, right now. On the spot. No problem.

 

In my distress, I turned to ersatz coffee. Better substitute shit. Crap. The last muck. Trash. Garbage. Filth.

I even extracted caffeine from tea. Yes, if necessary I would make my own caffeine using Traube synthesis. I would leave no stone unturned.

 

But it wasn't coffee.

 

And it tugged at my nerves.

 

I had duplicated the stamp for the slave collars. And demonstrated its effectiveness. It still hits me that no one would just trust my word. What kind of world is this in which a slave trader has no confidence in the word of another? Terrible conditions.

Only after a bit of stage-appropriate mumbo-jumbo, in which I created the duplicates and demonstrated the effectiveness on some collars and, of course, slaves, did they believe me. Brouhaha? I used the same principle as shell players. Worked flawlessly.

On that occasion I exchanged the "original" for one of my "copies".

 

I deposited the ten "stamp copies", plus the original, at the trade guild for the auction. The question of the reward was left to Constie and Mariette. Pocket money.

 

Why? Well let's put it this way, after dealing with the spells in detail, I cleaned up the "messes" in the code. I may have also added a few "improvements".

 

The four "inventors" were quite clever. There were several "safeguards."  Probably so that the slavery thing wouldn't get completely out of hand. Not only could paladins, or better anyone who knew the right code word, destroy a collar, no it also had an "expiration date." The more brutal the commands, the faster the spell used up. As I said, cleverly done.

In my version, I kept the basic spell and the safeties. Also the signatures.

Hey, I copy the idea, not the honors.

And added "You' ve been hacked and pwned! Laura." Sizzling hot!

 

I rewrote a few lines of code so that a normal slave owner could no longer make a change to the psyche. Intentionally or unintentionally.

 

With one specific exception. Me.

 

I added that I could take off any collar and any slave obeyed me too. Even without all the blood. Hardwired. And I had "admin" rights for mind control.

That's why I replaced the original, too. In time, there would only be collars with my code. No collar lasted more than two years. Not even the new ones. I had made sure of that.

 

There was another point I wanted to cover with the exchange. In case there was someone with the skill to compare two things with each other the result should not cause irritation. Or even such a detailed investigation as my own should be carried out. Do not let problems arise where it is avoidable.

 

I had tested the thing on a few of the asphalt slaves and now these "free" men no longer wore collars. If they were still working diligently in a week, my changes were successful and I was able to "release" many slaves again.

Virga was one such candidate. She was almost ready.

 

What I hadn't been expecting, Virga was surprisingly perceptive. Her insights into the trade and economy of the duchy with the rest of the kingdom gave me valuable insights into the connections and especially the dependencies. More precious was only the background information regarding the many alliances and enmities between the various nobles.

The marriage between her and Hilbert should in principle strengthen the de Halond family. Likewise, the marriage between Regina and Edward was intended to strengthen the duke's influence over the kingdom. No wonder Bronne was sure of his cause when he wrote Edward his last letter. He already had the king in his pocket. A stroke of luck that I promoted Bronne from life to death. Otherwise he would certainly have become troublesome.

The haggling over the various posts at the court was impressive. For me it was like reliving my history lessons. This time live and in color. Was the king and the nobles aware that they were undermining the strength of the kingdom with their nepotism? If a weak king allowed fools and losers to buy their posts, it did not bode well.

Granted, as long as there was no strong external enemy, the nobility would worry first and foremost about their own well-being. Violent clashes would be limited to small skirmishes between nobles. But the organization and efficiency for the whole kingdom would be weakened. In a war with neighbors? Problematic.

Virga confirmed my suspicions. That was why Edward had agreed to the hero summoning. Without heroes, the kingdom would have no chance against an attack by, say, demons. I saw the logic but was also sure that either Edward himself or some other noble would screw it up.

 

Actually, I would only need to organize my popcorn, sit back and enjoy the movie. However, I couldn't imagine pursuing my interests in peace and not being harassed at every turn. You're not paranoid if they're really after you. Or do paranoids have enemies too? I'm not sure. Anyway.

 

Si vis pacem para bellum. Si vis bellum para pacem.

If you want peace, prepare war. If you want war, prepare peace.

That should not be so difficult.

 

If you think that dwarves are all about mining and forging metal, you're not that wrong. And yes, traditionally all dwarven dwellings are in mines or generally underground. However, within a human city like Nuldur, it was difficult to impossible to find suitable dwellings, if any at all. Such a damn mountain does not grow at every place in the landscape. And in Nuldur, there was nothing really interesting in the earth to drive a shaft into the depths.

 

Throinain Murdin, the ambassador of the dwarves, was pragmatic. He had his house rebuilt to look like a mountain top with a hermit's cave. The reception hall was made pretty in style with fake stalactites. The adjoining rooms were unchanged except for the windows that had been bricked up.

The reception was a bit grumpy. As you might expect from a dwarf who would have loved to keep digging his pickaxe into the stone instead of being forced by his work to have a chat with a visitor.

"So, what's this about and what do you want? My time is precious."

Not much difference from Charl. If I were to pigeonhole people, Throinain would end up with Charl, too.

"Well, Ambassador - your time may already be precious, I don't doubt that. However, I have something more precious here. What do you say to a really good bottle of ice-cold beer with a head of foam?"

 

"Welcome, Ambassador! Please come and sit with me. What can the Seventh Great Dwarf Realm help you with?"

 

Diplomacy at the very highest level. Ice cold beer. With a crown of foam. Many countries have been hawked, peoples robbed and continents plundered over several liters of barley juice.

 

"Now, now Ambassador Murdin, we don't want to talk about trivialities until you've had at least a sip. If you want to call in a consultant or two to taste it, go ahead. I brought us a whole case. As a dwarf of standing, you have your own pitcher, of course, but perhaps you'd like to make a visible impression and drink from a glass sometime?"

 

For the taste it does not make the slightest difference whether you drink your beer from a stein or from a glass. However, a cold stone mug has the advantage of keeping the beer cool for a little longer. Watching the gas bubbles pearl in the glass, however, has a calming effect. Which lasts until about after the first liter.

 

The ambassador and two of his rushed "tasters" found themselves impressed. Beer in GLASS bottles. Served in clear glasses. Apparently yours truly was either senselessly rich or I had something the dwarves were dying to have. Well maybe not the glass. Dwarves were more practical than ostentatious.

 

While my three handsome dwarves leisurely tasted my case of beer, I chatted a bit about my arrival in Mitoran. And my impressions of the palace. The paintings and pictures on display. The excellent and elaborate drawings in the war room. Throinain asked me to address him by his first name and to drop the unnecessary formality of the title. He is such an old charmer, the rascal. Of course, I did not notice the additional advisor who had heard about the tasting and who knew a lot about military matters. He praised my good memory of pictures and drawings and was quite an excellent listener. He even took notes. Very attentive. I am sure that no one would think of listening to the ambassador of the Seventh Great Dwarf Realm in his own rooms. That would be an affront.

I would NEVER drop any tiny magical items unintentionally in the Ambassador's house. Especially not after I learned how to engrave on such tiny items. No one would be able to find them again once they were lost. That would be devastating. I really need to come up with something to keep them from just falling out of my pocket.

 

Unfortunately, the contents of my sample box were running low. All good things come to an end, after all. And the end for the dwarves was reached when the contents of the beer bottle were replaced by air and empty. I could see the sadness rising in the eyes of the tasters. An understandable pain. A pain that could not only be alleviated by me but even silenced.

 

"Well Throinain, let's get down to business. I'm not asking if you enjoyed it. Or your advisors. You know that the beer you just drank is the best you've ever had. The question is, what do I want for it? We both know you can't say no. Once your Steiger has tasted the first bottle you will be taken off the hook. Interested in how we stop the "rising waters" and "letting up the mine"? Makes no sense to risk a "firedamp"."¹The dwarves converse in miners' slang. Unfortunately, I haven't found any equivalents. Rising water means that the mine is flooded and filling up. Letting up a mine means abandoning it. Arse leather used to be called pants because the workers slid down to their tunnels on their arses.

 

"Laura you've got us by the "butt leather". Now, what do you want?"

"Throinain. Do you seriously think I would try to pull a fast one on you? Do you think so badly of me? Let me first tell you what I'm offering."

 

"I'm not just going to sell beer to you guys. I don't want to rip you off. I'm an honest miner. I like to be friendly with dwarfes. Understand? I will let the dwarves have the secret of how to brew this beer. And except for me, you will be the only ones who will know how to do it exactly. Everything I know about brewing beer. No one but the dwarves will get the secret knowledge. You will get the monopoly on beer. Even I will not sell it to others. For my personal use yes, but otherwise there will only be dwarven beer."

 

That the dwarves present did not faint testifies to their ability to take surprises well. If I were more at ease with the gods, I might have said the dwarves had received a divine revelation and I was the angel in it. Depending on the respective deity, maybe a demon?

 

"I will guide you and build the first brew kettles with you."

 

"What do you want, Laura? The Steiger would marry himself to you."

 

"You know, Throinain, depth creates humility. I don't even want that much. This is what I have in mind:

• I get a small mountain from you, preferably made of massive hard rock, a volcano will do, located somewhere by the sea, and 10 kilometers around it belong to me so that I can found my own state on it.
• We agree that we will not wage war against each other and that no one will help the enemies of the other militarily. If one of the two parties wants to go to war, there must be a year's notice and in the time until then there is a truce.
• I will receive 1% of the profit of every liter of beer sold by you.
• I will buy my metal from you and not mine it myself.

 

One of the advisors groaned, "But that's practically a gif..."

 

Throinain raised his hand and the dwarf fell silent. Tztztz, don't interrupt when your overseer is desperately trying to think, boy.

 

"Laura, do you perhaps have a mountain in mind that you would like?"

 

"Now that you ask, what do you think about this one. Real estate prices in the area shouldn't be that high, should they?"

I pointed to a spot on the edge of the dwarf realm.

 

"There's nothing of value there, Honorable Ambassador. No man's land. Honorable Am ..."

 

Throinain raised his hand again. Slow learner, good staff is hard to come by even for ambassadors.

 

"Is that all you want, Laura? The mountain, the non-aggression pact, the 1% of the profits?"

 

"Well, you know how it is, I'd love to drive a few tunnels and shafts into the rock. There's nothing like a cozy hall in the depths without disturbing sunlight. If you want, I'll drive out a few tunnels so we can trade properly."

Without anybody else seeing or knowing. The sun and public simply interfered at trade with dwarves.

 

Everyone in the room knew I was asking a ridiculously low price for what I had to offer. A piece of land that was apparently worthless and that basically no one wanted. The dwarves hardly ever went to war. Everyone wanted their metal to wage war against their other neighbors. The 1% for the monopoly? Practically for free.

 

Every dwarf in the room knew there was a hook they didn't see. But the bait on that hook was just too tempting. I could see them squirming.

 

Everybody knows. Everybody knows my dice are loaded. Everybody knows they're greased. Everybody knows I'm hiding something. Everybody knows I have intentions.

 

But nobody knew that it was enough for me to have only one race in the neutral corner. The dwarves were my easiest choice. They were bribable with beer.

 

"Ambassador Laura, I regret that I first ..."

 

"Now, now, Throinain, of course you have to talk to the Steiger first. After all, we're talking about you having to give up a piece of your sacred ground. Of course, I understand that. How about you travel to the Steiger and discuss the tunnelling? I'll give you a case of beer to take with you, it's so hard to talk with a dry throat and the Steiger needs to know what he's getting. What do you think?"

 

 

I could see Throinain losing his battle with himself. He knew he was being bribed and couldn't help but take the bribe.

 

"Let's seal the deal with a handshake, Laura."

 

I had the dwarfs at their testicles. Profanely: I had their eggs in the vise. I knew it. He knew it. Only the Steiger did not yet know of his good fortune. Ah, sad are the clueless, for they know not what they miss. Or was it happy?

 

This cute, lovely little mountain on the coast had no value to the dwarves. No treasures in the ground. Flat land. Steep coast. The little bit of mountain was just an elevation of 200 meters. A useless pebble for the dwarves. Not even suitable as a punishment camp. Knocking stones is not really a punishment for dwarves. Raking the lawn maybe.

 

But it was the place where three human realms and the dwarves' realm met. Because the dwarves did not care about it, the humans could exchange their goods undisturbed, in peace and above all untaxed.

 

In my generous kindness, of course, I would have a particularly wide asphalt road laid. I would call it a Autobahn. There would be no speed limits.²Even caravan drivers want to treat their carriages to the thrill of speed from time to time. A skilled, experienced driver with a superbly engineered chariot will not lose control even at high speed. No speed limit for free traders! Perhaps I would build a small castle-like estate on the mountain. Something from which I could see from a distance if anyone was passing by. Very romantic. Like a knight in his castle watching how the ships passed by on the river Rhine. Or maybe like Lorelei, singing to the boatmen. Everyone knows that it is worthwhile to offer a sight to travelers and guests.

 

I would christen it the Academy for Adolescent Young Ladies. Official name "Le repaire de la méchante!" Maybe I shouldn't get ahead of myself, but I had a vision of Neu-Schwanstein. Not something as shabby as Versailles. Tall white towers, slenderly growing into the sky. Surrounded by a wonderfully pretty Prussian manner, with lots of plants and trees for decoration. With many angles and lines. Many water features and water-filled pools. The smooth, high concrete facades polished and painted in bright white color. Gardens and small parks for relaxation. Inviting and impressive. And the property was in a prime location.

 

Many traders would use my Autobahn and sing my song and praise. My customs officers would take care of the proper handling of any declared goods. Efficiently and with loving attention to detail, of course.

With an ocean port, I could trade with many other nations. Exotic fruits. Fabrics. Processed products. Coffee beans.

 

... and if they don't sell me the coffee voluntarily, I occupy them. Cough, cough, ahemm.

There must be something to occupy me in my bower, high above the ground. I was going to say.

 

Until I could start construction, I had to wait for the Steiger's response.

 

What met. Cebille was just freaking out. As I understood her frantic messages, several high-ranking women threatened to tear down her doors if she did not deliver them on the spot and immediately. An order from the palace by the queen ultimatley demanded immediate delivery. Or else!

It seemed that those present at my little promotional event were singing the praises of my products all over the place. Behind held hand of course. The whores who had the good fortune to be among the first orders earned according to Cheval just unheard of fortune just by the fact that they carried the outfit around. And of course I and Cebille earned accordingly. Clink Clink Ka-Ching!

The poor thing lay crying in my arms on the verge of a nervous breakdown. Trembling in panic.

 

It was a moral imperative that I pacify Cebille first and foremost. She couldn't work like that. I gave Constie the task of writing the names of all the clients and the order in which they were to be commissioned. She was to hurry up and then come back to us.

 

I retired to a private room with Cebille and Mariette. Nothing calms a hysterical woman more than a few intense sexual climaxes. Constie managed to take her place in line just in time for Cebille's second orgasm, replacing Mariette.

During our joint efforts, Cebille actually forgot her worries about orders and upset clients and focused entirely on what was important. To my pride, it took us no more than a little over an hour to turn a hysterical woman on the verge of a breakdown into a very satisfied if exhausted Cebille. Yes, I admit her healthy redness took longer to disappear.

 

When I asked her if she was feeling better, she just nodded hastily. It took her a while to regain her speech.

 

The list of orders and names read like the who's who of Nuldur's high society. Thanks to Virga and the now daily reports from my informants, it's really amazing what hookers can pick up on, I was able to get a pretty good picture.

Should I make an enemy of that pack of female hyenas? Why not actually. These bitches need to learn that no one threatens what is me or mine.

Almost three dozen women of high nobility, moneyed aristocracy and influence. It could be difficult to find an appropriate environment for the meeting. Casa della mamma was not suitable. Les Beautes Onereuses would be an option, but not really good.

Usually such an illustrious gathering of women would meet at tea in the palace. Queen Regina and Crown Princess Victoria were the highest-ranking women of the pack, and in those circles, home advantage counted. But I would not go to the palace. There was a danger some idiot would make me renovate the whole place with a flamethrower. And although it would be interesting from the technical side to jellify gasoline, I didn't have time right now.

 

There was also the problem of the heroes to consider. Edward, meanwhile, would watch over them with eagle eyes just to prevent them from slipping out of his control. Good luck with that, Edward.

 

No, if anything, I wanted the Furies on my turf. My estate, that is. The decor of the banquet hall, however, was questionable. Just too de Fawkes. And far too little Lady Laura.

 

There was really only one location that was really suitable on my estate. No, not the cells and the dungeon in the basement. Although that would have its appeal. What I had in mind was my new SPA. With all the luxury and wellness that gold and know-how can create.

 

I would even provide the clothes. It would be terrible if a woman had a prettier, more fashionable or even more expensive dress. If I already feed the ladies of the society and beguile them, then they could all wear the same thing.

 

So nothing.

 

Cebille squeaked in fright.

"Don't worry, Madame Cebille, Milady is just thinking of something nice. It's all right."

 

Ah, Mariette, you are a gem. Little flatterer. There's work for you to do. A party to organize!

 

Organizing a gathering for women is bad enough. Organizing a gathering for women of high status is the forecourt of hell. I have to admit, it's a lot more relaxed with or better between men alone.

 

"Hi Michael, want to hang out?"

"Sure, barbecue or booze? I'll let the guys know."

"Let's have a barbecue, we can get drunk there too. Everyone should bring something. Anything."

"Hrhrhrhr. Salad too?"

"Oh my god! Just no salad. Asshole."

"You got it, we open at 18:00."

"Sneak!"

 

No frills, no messing around. Straightforward.

 

It is extremely irritating to have to decide what color the tablecloth must be, where who sits next to whom, what wine there is and what diet is currently in vogue and must be observed.

 

That's why I gave this task to Virga. It was worth it for the panic in her eyes.

 

Her relief when I told her where the tête-à-tête would take place gave way to innocent glee after a thoughtful process of development between her ears. There was something like pride in her gaze.

With an "intimate" tête-à-tête, many of the more onerous restrictions and requirements to maintain form fell away. A great relief.

 

I dictated my invitations to Mariette with a certain suppressed malice.³Of course Laura "dictates". That's what sovereigns do. Be glad that she doesn't start making you write dictations like in school.

 

Dear customer and customers,

 

I had to learn from the manufacturer of my new collection of sensual underwear that you are extremely dissatisfied with the processing of your order.

I take to heart the implications of your displeasure and propose to discuss your complaints in an intimate circle, free from constraints of social origin.

On this occasion I invite you to the inauguration of my "Sanus per Aquam". A place dedicated to feminine relaxation and beauty.

Your physical well-being will be taken care of in any direction. Any clothing needed will be provided. My slaves will ensure that none of your needs remain unsatisfied.

To achieve the most confidential setting possible, limit yourself to one female companion of your confidence.

I can assure you that we will be completely undisturbed by male eyes.

 

In order to avoid discord between my female customers and to prevent the pressure on my female production staff from continuing, the goods that have already been completed are being held back for the time being on my instructions. Let me assure you that each of you will receive your clothes at the same time.

Lady Laura

Ambassador, Meritocracy of  German Nation

 

That last addition was pure boasting. Granted.

 

I would have loved to have seen some of the reactions. That would certainly be entertaining.

Unlike Alice, however, I was not a perverted Peeping Tom watching secretly. I can wait for my opportunity.

 

Cebille could use the time until the tête-à-tête to get the underwear ready. A few days should be enough. Also to wrap up the finishing touches and final touches on my SPA.

 

 

In the meantime, I could look at the schools and implement a small idea had come to me after the incident with plan R.

 

Strolling around, I took in my schools. Cozy, two-story buildings. Enough for 6 classes per school. A larger building would follow for the secondary grades. Expandable the more students I got my hands on.

 

 

Currently there were two divided school systems. The children and the adults. Both started with the basics. Reading. Writing. Arithmetic. Once a minimum ability was reached, history, basics of magic and alchemy, and basics of various professions would follow.

 

I do not count my slaves. They had no choice. They all had to attend school and I would assign them the curriculum according to their strengths and my needs. I had minimum requirements that I wanted to see fulfilled.

And I was a harsh principal.

 

There were differences in sports. Whereas the children and adults up to the age of 20 practiced more general sports, older adults were offered more specialized opportunities.

 

Dance was especially popular, and not surprisingly, ball games with some physical involvement. Everyone thinks that men's soccer is physical. No man who has played against motivated women will repeat the experience without taking precautions. Women are rotten snakes. In men's soccer, fouls were similar to American Wrestling. More show and pretense than real pain. With women, it's a little different. We hate each other and either of us begrudges the other even the butter on our bread.

 

The sights from the whore guild took up my offer particularly enthusiastically. It is surprising how much the workers from the horizontal trade want to get a taste of other professions. Almost every class offered by a craftsman was half attended by whores. The same was true for the classes I organized through the trade guild.

 

 

Conversely, almost all of the artisans attended only the basics. All the more advanced classes attracted little interest from them. Craftsman pride? Or just stubbornness? I do not judge.

 

As long as everyone could read, the rest were almost indifferent to me. And the best way to force them to learn to read was to pass on everything I had on craft methods in written form. It's like donkeys, nothing is gained by tugging or yelling at them. But when the donkey wants something, he runs.

 

 

I thought about offering a professional specialization for my little ponies. There were certainly some customers who would find their sexual fulfillment in a hard gait. Whether a few customers can be found as a training object? Cheval would know. Or find out.

 

But my special focus was on the children.

 

There was a lesson that I personally held.

 

Storytelling. And I told the best stories. And kids were the best audience. Very perceptive. And more.

 

Visiting my schools had a promising forecast. Vital.

 

 

Next to my glass melting furnaces, I had a small area sectioned off.

 

Already Carol and Marilyn sang that diamonds are a girl's best friend.

 

They are formed deep down in the earth. Somewhere between 100 to 700 kilometers deep, high pressure and at the same time at high temperatures, from carbon. That's right, diamonds are basically nothing more than a certain kind of arrangement of carbon atoms. And it is their crystalline structure that makes these stones so hard and stable. If men had tails made of diamonds, it wouldn't matter if they fell asleep after the first shot.

During volcanic eruptions diamonds reach the earth's surface. And there they are just waiting to be found by someone.

 

Unfortunately, diamonds are quite rare, hard to find, costly to cut, and to embed in precious metal before a woman can properly adorn herself with them.

 

A damn tedious job to mine through tons and tons of rock from a volcano and then grind it small.

 

 

But then, I'm not just a girl.

 

For an engineer, diamonds have pretty darn cool properties. What property immediately comes to mind is hardness. A ten on the Mohs scale. Almost invariable under normal conditions.

 

 

If they weren't so darn expensive a great tool.

 

A few clever minds therefore began to recreate the conditions under which carbon naturally crystallizes in the earth. Around 1800 degrees Kelvin and a pressure of about 6 gigapascals. Et voila - DIAMOND!

 

Instead of tediously digging through the earth, one can produce, at least small diamonds, by oneself. On command.

 

Unfortunately, diamond dust is not as visually impressive as a polished, sparkling diamond.

 

Not a suitable size to hang yourself with. At least with this method.

 

Now what would happen if magic were used? A good question. A very good question. And like any good engineer, I like to develop new, improved methods.

 

But suddenly running around with a 100 carat bling would probably be unwise at this point.

 

My heart was rather set on a Frenchman. Or rather, the method of a Frenchman.

At the beginning of the 20th century, Auguste Verneuil came up with the idea of artificially producing gemstones.

 

After my pet alchemists found a method to purify my quartz sand, I applied it to the bauxite. With the result that I now have almost pure alumina available.

 

 

Al2O3. The precursor to aluminum production.

 

And the main raw material for the production of artificial gemstones. Garnished with a good dose of chromium. A little oxygen here, a little hydrogen there.

 

Put the ingredients in a discreet kiln, light a flame and wait until the desired size of ruby is achieved. Beautiful.

 

Diamonds may be a woman's best friend, but I don't say no to rubies when I'm draping myself in gemstones. They just couldn't be too big. They say bigger is better, but it hurts like the fuck to wear rubies the size of eggs on your earlobes all evening.

 

 

Arina, the crafty cat who has such exciting ideas about Virga, has been besieging me for some time to have milk and cream served for dinner. She would do anything for it.

I had some very specific ideas as to what "anything" might mean.

It is said that Cleopatra bathed in milk.

But wouldn't it be a great pity to just wipe off the good milk and cream like that? That would be frivolous waste.

I think I need the services of a cat tonight who would do "anything" for some milk and cream.

 

Could that be somewhat the reason the cat girls were acting so strange lately? Some kind of weird diet?