Grr, the formate went all strange on me when I tried to edit, so I'm just going to repost to save trouble.

How do I explain this story? – A 'What-if' taken to the very extreme. The style is different from what I usually do, much more coarse and blunt with adult material. If you are likely to be offended, do not proceed. You have been warned.
Casual Money

ElspethElf

Briar sleeps for money. Not sleep, she could hardly doze off, sleeps with. At Cora's Inn, every other sundown, she turns up freshly washed and dressed, waiting to be called upon. If anything, it is the free bath and clothes that she comes for, though she would have liked a quick wash afterwards too.

She doesn't care much for sticky legs.

The bell rings, and Cora comes in with a bowl of chicken broth, a smile plastered on her red face. Bags are staying at the inn tonight. Cora always gives her a free meal when Bags are around. It is a gift, a bribe of some sort, because Briar brought in money.

It always surprises her that men found her desirable. Not the noble, honest-looking sorts, those aren't even aware what the inn is used for. But men of trades, local merchants, men in their late thirties with alcohol-breaths and silk tassels, all shifty eyes and restless hands, groping.

Briar knows all the signs. Those who can't sit still, who break into loud laughter, they're the ones who'll blow up hot in a second, quick to get down to business and not minding who they're with, so long as their twig has somewhere to go. They are men easiest to deal, to be over and done with swiftly. When the time comes, she'd stare at the ceiling, or if she is near a window, look through it at the trees outside. The green gives her a sense of cleanness she can hold on to whilst he grunts away beneath. Though cleanness hardly bothers her now. She doesn't mind what she does, its easy money, painless money, for most of the time anyway. Sometimes she gets bored, forgets to cry out, and he would pinch her hard, tells her to be more enthusiastic.

She knows the talks that follow her, of dirty looks and spits at her feet. Shameful, corrupt, impure. She laughs in their faces. What does she care about purity? As if she'll get married, as if her chastity mattered.

Cora smiles again. 'Eat up whilst its warm now,' she says. 'You know we've got big Bags tonight?'

'Yeah?'

'That man from the silk trade, he's here. Seems like he liked you from last time. He asked for you again.'

Briar tries not to show distaste. The man is a beast; fat, for a start, so that breathing becomes difficult when he is on top, and when he moves she can see the dense mash of hairs in his nostrils. He is loud, heavy, and big that it hurts.

He is also of the other sort, the type who likes things slow. He insists on undressing her, watching her, his misty eyes touching her. 'Getting my money's worth, aren't I?' he says, grinning.

It is too bad, really, for he pays the best of all.

'I'll see him then,' says Briar, drinking the broth, hoping it will stay down later.

'After you see someone else first,' Cora interrupts. 'A new man from Summersea, and even richer by the looks of him. Flowing robes and all.'

'Is he bald?'

Cora shakes her head.

'Good. I can't stand bald men.'

Cora turns, a sly look on her face. 'When you're done,' she says, 'I can sell you some potions at a lower price.'

Briar shakes her head. 'I'll be fine.'

She baffles Cora. She never buys her potions because she never needs them. Months ago, when her red didn't come, Briar chewed on herbs she found in the fields. She knew exactly which ones to pick. They gave her an hour of pain, but after that, she was fine again. She also knew what plants to eat to keep her free from certain diseases. It puzzles Cora immensely, this trick of hers. There are girls who also work here, who have become big, or fallen ill, or died. But Briar is always the same, glossy hair, sharp eyes, a lithe figure.

When all the broth is gone, Briar makes her way to the main room. She spots him immediately, sitting by the far corner, hands on table, back straight, rigid. Perhaps he is so far starved that he can't slouch. Perhaps he is exciting himself right this minute.

Briar suppresses a yawn. The broth was warm, and now she is sleepy. She hopes this man doesn't pinch.

He turns and spots her. They look at each other. He isn't ugly, quite attractive actually, if you like the deep, craggy look. His hair is neat, streaked grey, his eyes very black and thoughtful. Which is unusual. Most men don't come here to think.

She walks over to him but somebody seizes her. It is the silk trader, an empty beer mug in his hand. He smiles, grabs her waist and pulls her roughly over his lap. He forces his hand between her legs.

Briar looks indifferent. She can't afford to offend this man, though she wishes his hand would move. It feels freezing against her skin.

The other man gets up quickly, walks towards her table, and dumps something heavy on her lap. It is a large bag, clinking from the gold inside. So much gold, more than the silk trader gives. He growls and releases Briar. It is an unspoken rule.

Briar turns on her heels, leading the way. She can feel the man behind her, the crisp note of his footsteps. She steals a glance. There is something immaculately orderly and normal about him, the creaseless, stainless robe and shiny polished boots, both speaking of care and attention. But perhaps he is just vain. Still, Briar is puzzled. The man doesn't look the type to enjoy ravishing young girls.

Up the stairs, past several doors, Briar enters a room and closes the door. Better get this done quickly, the silk trader is waiting his turn.

She makes for the bed but the man calls out.

'Wait. Let me look at you properly.'

So. He's frisky after all.

Briar turns, slowly, deliberately. 'Clothed, or unclothed?'

She doesn't usually flirt, but suddenly she is interested. This might even be fun.

The man watches her. Suddenly he frowns. 'You're so young.'

Briar smiles lazily. 'Believe it or not, some folk like it.'

He doesn't smile back, sighs instead and looks pained.

'Look, I'm not here to…' He nods towards the gaping bed, an uncomfortable gesture. 'I came here to talk.'

Talk? Before, during, or after?

'I think it might be best if we go somewhere else, a little less atmospheric,' he says and turns, reaching for the doorknob.

'Wait, seriously?' She stares at him, disbelieving 'If you just want talking, you've come to the wrong place. There's a bawdy poem recital just over the stre - '

'I know exactly where I am,' he snaps. He looks good doing that so Briar shuts up.

The man sighs. 'All right, we will stay here then. Perhaps you want to sit down? I am Niklaren Goldeye from Summersea. I am a mage who specialises in seeking out magic in others, ones that are not obvious at first glance.'

Is this an act, before the business? Briar can't tell.

'A few months ago I dreamt about you, so I set out in search of you and the source of power that I can feel. I don't expect you to know, but there is such a thing called ambient magic, and I believe you have it.'

Briar raises an eyebrow, looks at him, and then laughs. Laughs like she never laughed before, her voice ringing the air. She tries to stop but it is impossible. She has heard stories of men who like a little acting before the deed, never expecting to meet one.

The man, Niklaren, looks on unfazed. He reaches inside a pocket in his robe, pulls out a handful of something brown. He extends his hand to Briar.

She peers at it curiously. He is holding a handful of dry plants.

'Do you want me to rub that over you or something?' she asks.

The man ignores her. 'Milkweeds, spider grass, and ivies. You are good with plants are you not? The landlady informs me that you have never been ill, nor do you buy anti-pregnancy potions from her. That's because you make your own from these, am I right? In the field just outside the square, you pick from there.'

Briar doesn't like what he is saying. How does he know about that? Has he been following her? There are those who did that, who couldn't get enough just from the Inn. Teasing, flirting, lying, Briar can deal with that. They come, they go, nothing attached. But when they stick their neb into her business, she won't stand for it. What she does, where she does it, trying to own her by information. That, she hates.

'You've come to the wrong place,' she says coldly. 'I don't have any…whatever it is. You're costing me time and money.'

The man's eyes are hard and determined. 'What if I can prove it to you?' he asks, and offers the plants to her.

Outside the room, Cora presses her ear against the door. She has come up to see if everything is all right. It is very quiet behind the door.

'What do you want me to do with it?'

'Touch it, just hold it in your hand.'

'Why? Nothing's going to happen.'

'Are you sure about that? Have you never felt anything strange when you hold one in your hand?'

Cora moves away. He is certainly chattier than the usual lot.

'Well?' Niklaren asks. 'No one taught you before. How do you know which plant can be consumed, and which is poisonous?'

Briar rolls her eyes, grudgingly takes the herbs from his hand. They are indeed the plants she ate to prevent herself getting big. But why are they so shrivelled?

Suddenly they move. The spider grass coils itself in her palm, then springs up again, fresh and supple. The milkweed and ivy turns green, glossy, as if they've never been picked.

Briar drops them on the floor in shock. 'What have you done?' she yells, backing away. 'You've… you've done something to me!' She glares at him, furious.

'Briar, please calm down. This is only a fraction of what you can do – '

' – You've witched me with your magic, haven't you?'

'You have done this yourself! It is the magic within you. I can take you to a place where there are dedicates who can teach you, who also share a bond with plants.'

This man is crazy. Briar shakes her head, a flat refusal. 'No.'

'Sure you don't enjoy working here?'

'I enjoy the money.'

Now he is frustrated. He shifts from one foot to the other, straightens a sleeve. 'You won't need any money at the place I'm taking you,' he explains. 'You will have plenty to eat, a house to live in, everything you need will be provided for.'

'Listen,' Briar says loudly. 'Do I look like I stink of magic to you? I work in a brothel, I lie on my back for a living.'

'But you don't have to do it,' Niklaren says, his crisp voice urgent. 'Come with me and you will receive a proper education, a proper standard of liv – '

He doesn't finish, because Briar doesn't let him. She is gone, out through the door, swift as anything. She hurries down the stairs to the main room, where the silk trader awaits. Bags aren't all that great. They have money, so they get other ideas. Magic indeed! If she has magic then Cora's a goddess. At least the trader will be easier to deal with, even if he does insists on his perverse ways.

Niklaren Goldeye stares at the closed door in silence. So it doesn't work, because she is too hasty, too close-minded from years of wariness. He will just have to try again then, approach her in a different way, preferably a different place.

He sighs, reaches for the knob.

This is harder than he thought.