CHAPTER 55: NOTES, NOISE, AND NYMPHS’ BLESSINGS

Veena adjusts her glasses and flips a fresh page in her notebook. A line of women coil down the street like a carnival queue, full of nervous laughter, glistening anticipation, and wildly inappropriate whispered conversations.

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.

Client #17 steps out.

A half-dwarven woman with braids like tree roots, her cheeks flushed crimson and eyes glazed with a post-euphoria haze, floats down the stairs like a ghost.

"Next!" Veena calls, not missing a beat.

A pair of kitsune twins step up, wrapped in elegant robes, billowing twin-tails flapping behind them. They fan themselves rapidly, shooting a synchronized side 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 rating?"

"Ranya. Twenty-six," the first answers.

"Rayla. Twenty-six." the other mutters.

They turn to each other then grin at Veena in unison. "Surprise us."

Veena raises a brow but writes it down. The kitsune hesitate, giving each other a fist-bumped boost of courage before trotting inside.

Click.

The door shuts.

"Clock starts now," Veena murmurs, flipping her pocket-watch open.

She jots a note:

Clients #18 and 19. Kitsune twins. Slightly nervous. May have complex expectations. Pip advised to lean on gentle tail-focused intimacy.

Inside the impromptu pleasure house, Pip meets the twins with a regal bow, before gesturing them to the bed.

He expresses his desire to make their moment with him special and his oath to provide his service willingly, professionally and thoroughly.

The twins turn to each other, giggle and turn back to Pip as they both slide out of their robes, revealing a pair of voluptuous, fur covered figures, four massive, fluffy tails twirling between them.

Ranya lays down on her back, Rayla crawls over her. They both turn to Pip with expectant grins.

He bows again, this time clearly appreciatively, before leaping into action.

He mains one kitsune with his divine pelvic penetrator, while pleasuring their other with a combination of divine-powered finger movements and small, warm tendrils of liquid.

The twins moan in delight, one pleasantly pounded with glowing pulses of pleasure while other is wrapped in tentacles of water and aromatic oils that caress and massage her flesh, slithering through thick fur, snaking their ways into every curve and crack of her body as she squeals with joy.

By the time Pip starts moving to tail-play, both kitsune are little more than puddles of blissed-out fur. Soaked in water, oil and... other liquids. Twitching, mumbling, drooling and begging Pip not to stop. Ever.

Outside, Veena glances to the side, where Vuvi lay slumped in a rickety chair, feet on a stool, sucking down something fizzy and vaguely fermented as the house starts gently rocking on its foundations.

"I hope we don’t have to rebuild this house after today," Veena says dryly as the support pillars creak.

Vuvi yawns. "At this point, the town should just build Pip his own love palace."

The door clicks open.

And the kitsune twins come stumbling out, clutching each other tightly, all four legs wobbly, their cheeks flushed and tails flicking in dazed delight. Some of the other clients in line reach out to steady them. Ranya and Rayla release long, dreamy sighs as they turn back to Pip who waves them off with proud whistles.

"Next," Veena calls.

Client #19 is a dragonkin merchant, scales polished, dressed in lavish robes, and carrying a hand fan with Pip’s face on it.

Veena doesn’t bother asking where she got it.

Bit she does neatly log every interaction.

—-

Client #21: Elf, height-conscious, prefers attention to neck and ears. Session concluded in record time. Reported seeing "visions of the ’starfields’ and her mother giving her a thumbs up."

----

Client #24 and #25: A pair of harpies. Dual appointment. Exited tangled in one another, both squawking giggles.

----

Client #29: Elder gnome. Came in complaining of arthritis. Left without her cane, shouting that she "found the goddess again."

----

Client #32: A hulking ogress. Needed reinforced furniture. Five townsfolk passed out from the sounds alone. Pip emerged shimmering like a polished idol.

----

Client #35: Centaur. Refused to stop neighing. Pip’s systems forced to counteract tail-related tickle interference.

----

By late afternoon, Veena’s notes are approaching novella length.

She’d maps Pip’s average client engagement time: 12–17 minutes.

Typical response arc: nervousness laughter shock enlightenment collapse.

And had even starts sketching a crude client satisfaction bar graph.

"Do we know if Pip runs on hope, love, or just sheer stubbornness?" she asks aloud while the sounds of wet scales slapping against metal emanates like a battle hymn from the room.

Vuvi, who is now flipping through a coin pouch fattened by donations, stretches like a cat. "If he runs on joy, this village could power the capital."

The line continues to stretch.

"Do you think we’ll ever get to the next village?" Veena mutters.

Vuvi glances over the ridge and winces. "Not if this keeps up. We’re gonna have to start doing group sessions."

"Don’t tempt the crowd," Veena warns. "You say those words, and three dozen women will kick the door in."

Just then, the door creaks again.

Client #38, a tall lamia woman, slides out, fanning herself with a large leaf. Her lower coils wobble like jelly as a group of goblins clap for her and Penelo hands her a cookie.

Veena sighs and sips her wine.

"This is totally normal," she says flatly. "Just gotta accept it... this is our life now."

-------------

Somewhere far across the continent, where the skies burned violet and the mountains exhaled crimson smoke, Maribelle sits trapped in something far more harrowing than any battlefield.

A tea party.

Pink. Porcelain. Tiny chairs that creak under her weight.

Virelle sits across from her, perfect posture, dainty smile, eyes alight with childhood zeal. Her demonkin tail curled around a sugar bowl.

Maribelle’s tea tastes hot, flowery, and oddly fizzy.

She is not amused.

Still, she brings the cup to her lips, sips, and resists the urge to gag.

"Yummy," she says flatly.

Virelle narrows her eyes.

Maribelle instantly straightens her back and forces a smile. "Delightful! Simply divine!"

"Better," the little demonkin princess says smugly. "Now ask Mr. Biscuit if he wants more."

Maribelle looks at the stuffed bear.

He stares into her soul. Or what’s left of it.

"...Would you care for more tea, Mr. Biscuit?" she asks, all but dead inside.

"Marvelous manners," Virelle says, pouring pretend tea into his porcelain cup.

Maribelle glances longingly toward the sky.

"Please, Pip. Save me." she thinks to herself. "Bless me with one of those divine massages you give the villagers. I’d trade all my swordplay skills for a moment of normalcy..."

The door to the room opens with a creak.

Eris steps in, looming and statuesque in a black and violet gown, her scythe resting against her shoulder like a casually carried broomstick.

"Her Majesty requests your presence," she says coolly, flicking a glance at the child.

Virelle pouts. "She always takes my guests away..."

Maribelle stands quickly, dusts herself off, and says, "Duty calls. It was lovely.... Princess Virelle. Really."

Virelle huffs and crosses her arms.

As Maribelle moves toward Eris, the general smirks.

"You’re surviving these parties better than I did," Eris says, leading her down the stone hallway. "For years I was the designated teddy bear wrangler and dessert taster."

Maribelle grunts. "You’re telling me you, the Ripper of Battlefields, once poured pretend tea for a talking bunny named Sir Hop-a-Lot?"

Eris’s expression doesn’t change.

"...He was a knight," she replies with solemn pride.

Maribelle gives her a sidelong glance. "No wonder you’re so angry all the time."