DISCLAIMER: Not mine.
A/N: The last part of this little series. A massive thanks to the lovely people who have faithfully reviewd this fic, often more than once! You've made this feel incredibly worthwhile and I'm so glad so many people have enjoyed it.
The bar was loud, brimming with people as she looked around the different groups, eyes always searching for her next customer. She'd noticed the big man, had heard from the older girls that he used to be a prime customer until something changed. They'd told her about him with slight frowns, obviously sad to see him off their lists.
He was sitting with a group of other men, all laughing with a drink in their hands. They'd obviously been there for a while, and were definitely the other side of intoxicated. The older man with white hair and mocha skin was grinning as a man with brown hair and an even browner coat recounted some story or another. The strawberry blonde man and the slim man with black hair were laughing far too loudly, tongues obviously loosened by their imbiding. The tallest man held her attention though.
Thick cords of muscle were standing out in his arms and shoulders, and the grin he was sporting was positively wolfish. His shirt had been taken off when the bars heat and warmed blood had grown too much for him, and he wearing only his cargo pants and a white wifebeater. His feet were up on the table, big boots bringing all sorts of filthy banter to her mind. One arm had a large tattoo of a dragon curling around his bicep.
As he stood, nearly a head taller than any other man in the bar, she noticed another tattoo along the underside of his thick forearm. Large black letters read SALIGIA. She smiled, adjusting her her tight red dress over her ample bodice and smoothing her blonde curls. She had her opening.
She sauntered to the bar towards him, leaning her back to it and resting her elbows as she stood close enough to smell the whisky and sweat on him, as well as something clean and spicey. Cinnamon? She waited for him to finish placing his order with the bartender, waited for him to notice her. Finally, growing irritated with his failure to register her presence, she spoke, injecting enough purr into her voice to start an engine.
"What's your tattoo mean, sugar?" He glanced over too her, giving her a quick up and down. She told herself she didn't mind that his eyes registered no interest in her curvy physique. He glanced down at his forearm, smiling at some private joke. His voice was harsh with whiskey and cigars when he spoke.
"'S my daughters name." She blinked, quickly glancing at the thick silver wedding band on his left hand that she should have noticed earlier. Nonplussed (she's heard enough from the other girls to know this one was worth a tumble) she traced one long red nail along his skin.
"Pretty, what's it mean?" He'd looked at her strangely, pulling his arm away. "It's a mnemonic, a memory device." She looked at him blankly, finding it odd to hear such a long word spoken in his rough Rim accent, before recovering and moving herself closer. "What's it help you remember?" She knew the private smirk on his face wasn't for her but refused to be thrown off her stride. She was the prettiest damn whore in this house, she'd get what she wanted.
"Stands for seven sins." She smiled seductively, moving closer still, "Oh yeah? Ya like sinning do ya?" She thought she'd almost had him, had seen those colbalt blue eyes cloud over with lust, until she noticed the direction he was looking. His eyes were staring at the doorway like it was made of diamonds. She turned, seeing several women enter. The tall, mocha skinned beauty holding the boy who couldn't have been older than three headed towards the table along with the graceful woman with eyes like a cat and rich dark curls. Her gown was made of fine silks, and one perfectly manicured hand rested over a swollen stomach. The third woman trailed behind them, her arms wrapped around a newborn baby whose father was unmistakedly the dark haired man sitting at the table. The woman's light brown hair fell in loose curls, framing her sweetheart face.
But it was the last entrant of the bar who he was staring at. She was younger, couldn't be more than 20 years old. Slender and pale, her chocolate brown curls tumbled wildly down her back, and her fitted dark blue gown made her skin look ethereal, although it's sleevlessness made her thin arms more apparent. The oversized black combat books looked out of place with the elegant dress, drawing attention to lean legs. She was walking slower than the others, clasping the hand of a tiny carbon copy of herself, only the dark eyes were replaced with cobalt blue ones. The little girl viewed the bar like a little owl, scanning for something. Those eyes lit up when they caught sight of the man, and a happy burble escaped her mouth as she started to pull her tiny mother towards the bar.
The whore took one last shot. "Well, do ya like sinnin', sugar?" The man didn't look away from the woman as she approached, a smile lighting up her eyes as she was dragged behind her tiny lookalike. He grinned widely as he walked away from her and towards the pair. She barely heard his response as he walked forward.
"More'n you could ever know."
A/N: Ah children, the tale has finished, I almost feel sad! This has been so so much fun to write, and your responses have filled me with much joy :) Until the muses strike again, take care Browncoats.
The Frisky Firelily