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Trish had come to this village expecting an easy score. The book she and her crew had absconded from the Aesfrosti archives with made it clear there was treasure to be found, "Treasure enough to turn all Norzelia upside down". And all they'd have to contend with were a few measly Rosellan villagers, half of whom were either too old or too young to hoist a toy sword. It should have been a cakewalk, Pa or no Pa.
Now, though, she was wishing his old coward's back hadn't flared up when it did. "Damn, those Wolffort bastards just looove to get in the way, don't they?" Letting two arrows fly in the general direction of the hawk-mounted shieldbearer, she reached in her quiver for a third. The first clattered off the shield, but the second grazed the mount's wing, knocking it out of the air. Trish didn't have time to watch the bird stumble to the ground, already biting her bowstring taut and reaching into her quiver for another arrow. Muttering through her teeth, "Maybe once in a while they could just learn to let professionals ply their trade in peace."
Seeing the third arrow pierce the shield and bury itself in the shieldbearer's arm and satisfied that the bearded defender was, at least for now, out of the fight, her head snapped sideways as she tried to assess the rest of the frenzied battlefield. Two things were clear at a glance. One, her bandit crew was loosing. Of the fifteen-odd men they had brought into the skirmish, only six remained in any kind of fighting shape. The small band of Wolffort retainers had taken losses as well - it had made Trish smirk for a moment to see the lordling himself drop his sword after taking a well-aimed arrow to the hand. I'll have to collect that sword later. Blade that fancy should fetch a pretty penny. But there were still half of the ten-man party fighting, and, sustained by the frizzy-haired healer, they were looking a lot more agile than Trish's exhausted crew.
Two, Norman, the archer stationed beside her on the rooftop was not getting paid after this job was over. Trish hefted her bow into her offhand, made a fist, and swung her knuckles in an arc that ended on backside of the tall, thin man's skull. "What the hell're standin' around starin' at the enemy for, lunkhead?! You an archer, or what? We're payin' ye to put arrows in bodies, not chomp around slack-jawed like a lazy mule!"
"YEOWCH!" He rubbed his head where the firey redhead had struck "Sorry, miss. I, I don't know what came over me. It, it's that Hyzantian woman, the dancer. She's temptation incarnate. The devil, I tell y-"
Another punch, this time an uppercut, cut the man off short. "Less yappin', more shootin'!" She shook her head and loaded up another arrow. Fingers brushed through her quiver as she pulled it out. Maybe another five, six left? Not good. I've gotta make these count. I'll leave the slower ones to the boys, the fastest one left is probably that dancer. Yeah, and that'll take a distraction off the board. After setting the haft on fire with a strike of flint, she notched the arrow and drew back her bowstring, searching for and finding the tall, lithe dancer. She lined up her shot, watching with the attention of an archer that was experienced, if not trained. Those hips swung from side to side, jewelry jangling around her waist as she twisted like a leaf in the breeze, fans twirling in a colorful pattern. Who wears that kind of outfit to the battlefield, anyway? Trish squinted, trying to see past the extra motion and get a clear fix on the agile woman's sculpted midsection. She counted down to herself, ready to release at any moment. As her fingers were just loosing the arrow, the dancer's hips swung forward and Trish caught sight of her navel. Wait, is that pierced? Can you even get pierced there?
As the flaming arrow wooshed past the dancer's sinfully slender hips, clattering harmlessly off the rooftop beside her, Trish kept staring. She could have sworn the woman, with her diabolically temptuous grin, mouthed the words. So naive. As her lips moved, the dancer's fingers traced a line up her abdomen outlining the jeweled navel piercing.
The bandit girl bit her lip. "Damn!" Her earlier count had been more or less on the money, and she had only four arrows left. She had to take this dancer out in a hurry. She wasn't about to let that too-perfect, scandalous belly button get between her and a big score! Another of her remaining arrows was on her bowstring in a few seconds more.
This time, as Trish was about to shoot, the dancer's fan's suddenly snapped shut. She froze for a moment, this time holding her arrow. "Dame's tryin' ta distract me with fancy tricks, huh? Well, it won't work!" She held fast for a few moments more, averting her eyes from the woman's all-too-visible body and instead aiming for a headshot that would pierce right through those lustrous locks of dark, wavy hair. Her arrow was ready to fly true this time, and it would have if those long, tempting eyelashes hadn't fluttered in a very suggestive way just as Trish was focusing all her attention on the [mesmerizing] dance. The arrow flew high, overshooting the roof to thunk harmlessly into the ground below. Trish clicked her tongue, frustrated with herself. This is gettin' ridiculous! Why can't I hit her? I mean, sure, she's wearin' next to nothin', and sure, that outfit really shows off almost every single ripple o' skin on her amazing waistline, and yea, I can tell even from a distance she's got the most beautiful long eyelashes I've ever seen! But that shouldn't matter. I'm Trish the Treasure Chaser, not some wet-behind-her-ears greenhorn. I-
This train of thought was interrupted by a low, sultry voice that boomed through the air. "-p from down!" The bandit girl blinked and noticed that the dancer had somehow made the leap from the next rooftop to the one she was currently on. When the woman spoke, it was in a deep, musical tone. "It's a pleasure to make your acquaintance, thought my name's not Dame. You can call me Milo, pretty girl."
"You-!" Her first reaction was to shift her bow to one hand and make the same fist she had clobbered her oaf of a crewmate with earlier and lunge at the woman. She stumbled forward as the taller woman danced out of the way with grace that belied the swiftness of her movements. "I oughta knock the breakfast outta you! You've got a lotta nerve, takin' on Trish the Treasure Chaser up close!"
The too-attractive dancer blinked, then smiled in a way that was different, somehow. "Heheh. Interesting." One of her fans gently nudged Trish's jaw up, and the bandit girl realized she had been damn near oogling at Milo's chest. "Well, then, Trish the Treasure Chaser, shall we make a little wager? If you can hit me with one of those arrows of yours, I'll get on my knees and apologize for my rudeness."
An image of Milo on her knees before her flashed through the bandit girl's head in very vivid detail, followed very shortly by a flash of red across her cheeks. "Heh, and what do you get if I don't?"
"Not every game needs to be played for the winnings." Milo shook her head. That shiny black mass of hair coiled around her body like so many snakes. Staring. Waiting. "Sometimes it's enough...just to play."
"Y, yer on! I'll make ya pay!!" Before finishing her sentence, Trish had turned away from the sculpture-perfect body, the lusty eyelashes and jewelry that perfectly complimented the dancer's every motion, and sprinted towards the opposite rooftop, taking a flying leap and landing with a roll that looked smoother than it felt. She came up with her third to last arrow drawn and flaming, and released the instant she had a clear bead on where Milo was standing.
Or, at least, where Milo had been standing half a second ago. Now, the dancer was two paces away and the flames didn't so much as singe a single strand of that dark, wavy hair. Milo tilted her head to one side, stared back at Trish, laughing loud enough for the red-headed bandit to hear.
Trish bit her lip again, hard. This Milo's too damn fast on the ground. And curses, she's pretty! Time to get creative, Trish. An idea came to her mind, and she grinned. Beautiful bastard can't dodge so much as a stray breeze in the air, same as anyone else. So she grabbed her second-to-last arrow, nocked it with one arm, and used the other to beckon the dancer over. She made the jump once, she'll do it again if I make her wait. And then, I'll have the dame!
So she held her arrow, stood, and waited. And waited. It was a few seconds, but it felt a lot longer. The sounds of battle were happening around the bandit girl, but she heard none of it. All her focus went to watching the dancer, noticing the subtle twitches of her slender fingers as they spread those fans open, to her upper thigh as the cloth slid back to reveal a little more skin, and maybe-. Wait, now!
Seeing something that her instincts pegged, Trish set herself up for her own running leap. I've still got one arrow left and I'm not gettin' caught on the same roof as her if this one misses. I've got two shots, it's fine if... She shook her head and jumped.
The two figures crossed the air in opposing arcs, remarkably equal in path and opposite in direction. Trish held her arrow on Milo, and Milo held her gaze on Trish, a fact the redhead found hard to ignore. The peak of the dancer's graceful leap would leave her motionless in the air for a split second. The perfect target. But Milo had other ideas. As the two were about to cross in the air, the dark-haired woman opened her mouth and let her tongue uncoil. She clutched her body and licked her lips in a way that Trish had never seen a hungry bruiser do over a stewpot, and exhaled a breath that she all but heard as a deep, deep sigh. The arrow remained on her bowstring until the shock of landing jolted her into a stray shot that might as well have been aimed at the moon.
If Trish had looked around at this point, she would have noticed that there was not a single man in her crew still in fighting shape. Those that weren't hurt had been otherwise incapacitated, ensnared in the nets of one crafty blacksmith that the Wolffort lordling counted among his retainers. But she didn't look around, because her eyes were, at this point, focused on exactly one thing.
"Well." One graceful jump later, Milo sauntered up to the despondent redhead, bangled hand on her hips. Her long, black hair obscured one eye, but the other was glaring down at Trish with a commanding air. "I'd say we're just about done. Now be a dear and hand over those dangerous weapons. If you show you can behave for me, maybe we can even have some special fun later."
I still have one arrow left. If, if I could just get it notched, she's right there! C'mon Trish, get a hold of yourself. I... Wordlessly, the bandit girl unlatched her quiver and let it fall to the ground. Her hands shaking were shaking. She couldn't stop staring. Or drooling.
"There. That wasn't so hard, now, was it?" Bangles clanked together as Milo's hand reached out, as if to take the bow. But her hand took hold of Trish's wrist instead, and began rubbing against her skin, feeling out the redhead's upper arm. "Your skin may not be the smoothest I've ever felt, but you've got plenty of muscle underneath it. It's cute, hahah." The woman's laugh was like a whisper in the wind, the kind that made one desperately perk their ears up to hear more.
The dancer's touch was soft, sensual. Trish had often traded blows with others, crew and "sponsors" alike, but this kind of touch was very new to her. Her face went a scarlet red that eclipsed the shade of her hair as she stared dumbfoundedly up at the tall, dark personification of lust now feeling out her arm.
Milo leaned forward, exposing a view of her cleavage through thin straps of white cloth that passed for the top half of her dancer's garb. "I did mention some special fun, before. Would you like to know ~exactly~ what that entails?"
The trembling redhead gulped as audibly as she ever had in her life. "...yeah."
"Heheh." There was that damn beautiful laugh again! "Then come to my tent after you've told Lord Serenoa and Lady Frederica exactly what you were after from this village. It'll be the only powder-blue one in the encampment, it won't be easy to miss. And I believe you won't miss it." With that, Milo turned and began to walk away. Trish, sat there, dazed, some part of her mind trying to put her thoughts in order. Whatever progress she made in trying was demolished when the dancer paused during her peacock-like strut, turned her head back, put her fan on her lips, and blew the bandit a kiss with a showy, seductive wink.
". . ." That book hadn't led Trish's crew to a damn red cent of money. But it had been right, after a fashion, in one particular way. Coming to the Rosellan village had turned Trish's world upside down.
~End~