CHAPTER 121: ANN’S BUSINESS

Ann didn’t give me much time to sulk in the square. She simply patted me on the head (rude), half-smiling, and said,

"This way."

So, I followed.

The restaurant wasn’t far, I could see the square from here, barely, not front-facing the main attraction, but at least within walking distance even if you were drunk and just going anywhere.

A few turns through the chaotic arteries of the market, though to me it felt like pushing through a river of bodies forever. When we finally stopped, I knew right away we had arrived.

This part of town was the more high-end shops and not the crowded market.

The building was unmistakable, just like what Ann told me in the call: pale sandstone walls gleamed faintly under the punishing sun, cut into the sharp yet graceful shape of a temple.

Two enormous obsidian lions crouched on either side of the door, their eyeballs carved inwards so they seemed to follow you no matter where you stood.

Big sheets of silk awnings flared outward above the entrance, throwing wide shadows across the street, then overhead, mounted between the lions, was a golden sign etched with the single word:

[Bastet]

It wasn’t glowing yet like Ann said, probably because it was still daylight, but I could picture it, bright enough to see from half the market square once night came.

She pushed through the bead curtain that served as the front door, so I ducked and followed her, only to be hit in the face as those beads dropped down once more as I successfully walked through and was immediately hit by a wave of cool air.

The faint perfume of incense, and the smell of cooking meat, the indoor smell of warm room temperature was exhilarating to say the least. The interior stretched out in a kind of wide rectangle.

The first floor spread ahead, filled with low tables, cushions, and groups of travelers already hunched over drinks or plates of food.

Straight ahead was a clerk’s desk, polished wood, manned by a neatly dressed young woman, while on either side of that desk rose twin staircases that curled upward to a balcony second floor, a long gallery that circled the entire restaurant with railings, giving a view of everything below.

Behind the clerk’s desk stood another door, closed, probably leading to the kitchen. Above it, a row of glass lanterns glowed soft amber, keeping the atmosphere dim but not dingy.

The walls were painted with sprawling murals of lions, desert dunes, and golden fields, and every table was set with clay plates and brass cutlery.

Locals filled most of the space, But I caught the occasional pale-skinned traveler from Danielle Kingdom tucked in corners, their clothes dusty from the desert roads.

"Pretty, isn’t it?" Ann said with a sly grin. "Come on, you must try something when you’re in Bastet."

"Hope there’s no Aphrodisac." I said, projecting much.

She led me to a side table where a server brought out food I didn’t even know how to name.

The first plate was a flatbread folded like a taco, stuffed with bright crimson cubes of fruit, tuna they’re called, the prickly pear kind from cactus, and they were seasoned with spices I couldn’t name. Thinly sliced strips of roasted meat were tucked between the fruit, then dipped in a dark sauce that smelled smoky and sweet.

Another dish was set down, a clay bowl steaming with a thick camel stew, tender chunks of meat floating among carrots, beans, and wild herbs. On the side came an assortment of fruits such as apples, grapes, melons, all on the steeper side of prices, because they had to be imported across the desert.

"Okay..."

As I tasted the dishes, I side-eyed my long time friend and partner in crime.

"You... run a legitimate business now?" I asked after chewing through a bite of cactus and meat. My tone was more skeptical than curious. "I’m just going to warn you... I can’t help you run a kitchen. I’ve never worked in one, hell, I don’t think I ever worked before, unless you count grinding Darkmoon Adventure accounts during the PC era."

Ann only chuckled, shaking her head as she simply stood up and gestured me to come.

"But I’m still eating..."

I protested, so she stopped, turned around to look at me, then had the aUdAcItY to just keep walking. Forcing me to stand up and went along with her while her staff clean away the food.

"It better not be wasted." I muttered, "Those are electricity bills and hard-earned gigs of memory."

She guided me through the tables and then toward the back of the clerk’s desk; into the kitchen.

I noticed the eyes of patrons glanced at us, whispering, not at Ann though, definitely at me, probably because of the war scythe strapped across my back, the dust still clinging to my boots, or my vibes that probably told them I’m a trouble maker.

We pushed through the kitchen, which was bigger than I expected, with steam rising off boiling pots, the slap of knives on cutting boards, the fragrant haze of spices, all seemingly professional, just a bit... You know, not as bleach bright and beautiful as I had hope on TV.

Then Ann stopped at a plain door tucked behind a rack of hanging pans.

"You asked if I’ve changed and started doing legitimate business, Cory?"

She put a hand on it, then glanced back at me.

Her smile was different now, a kind of... Ghoulish smile.

"I am still Ann Murphray," she said, voice steady. "The Giantess."

She opened the door.

And down we went.

The stairs led underground, stone steps curving into a chamber I could barely call a basement. It was too lavish for that.

The space spread out in warm lantern light, easily larger, even twice the time compared to the restaurant above. Silk curtains hung in layers, segmenting the wide hall into smaller chambers.

My eyes were filled with cushions, velvet couches, low tables with bottles of liquor, everything was placed with intent. The air was heavy with incense, calming lights, and perfume.

And people.

Women, women, and more women, all lounging across the couches. Some were locals, skin sun-kissed, their bodies toned from desert living. Others looked like they had come from Danielle; slimmer, paler, their movements delicate, their accents lilting... Quite an exotic and enticing mosaic, it was.

Guests sat among them that came in many shape, size and races, traders, mercenaries, nobles, lizardmen, dwarves, humen... All who’d stripped off their desert robes and dignity. Their voices hummed low, the kind of sound that spoke of secrets being exchanged along with pleasure.

A brothel, a god damn whorehouse underneath the city, ran by, debatably, my best friend.

It was a brothel, yes, but it was more than what I ever imagined a brothel looking like. It was way more polished, prosperous and well-built.

Ann gestured for me to sit, and I did, lowering myself onto a velvet cushion that probably not worth the in-game money.

She lowered herself across from me, leaned forward, and finally told me the truth.

"So... Cory, I brought you here," she said, her fingers interlaced, "because I’ve got a special guest that I need you to help serving."

I paused for a second.

"Do you know what the fuck you just said?" I stood up quite immediately, insulted at the idea, "You want me to do what?"