Chapter 2

"Our 'fair' city my ass," Trixie grumbled as she watched the sun rise from the roof top of the rickety old orphanage, brooding. Her customer was long gone, having shimmied down the storm pipe and into a broken window in one of the abandoned rooms of the dilapidated building as soon as he was finished. The swagger that entered his step as he departed suggested he was satisfied with her work. Unfortunately, she couldn't say the same. Things had ended before they truly started, their business lasting a little less than two minutes due to his over eagerness. However, dissatisfied as she was, she wasn't concerned with the notion she might have to service him again anytime soon. Her sessions didn't come cheap, and gold didn't come easy.

Sighing, she watched the rays of light illuminate the smog and grunge of the slums around her as she lay exposed on that roof top, tending her own needs. She was unconcerned with the notion that anyone might be watching. Across the street from the orphanage was a heavily trafficked brothel, but the curtains were drawn tightly, and the other nearby buildings were silent and dark, abandoned for years and unfit to house even vermin. Besides, even if some fool was up so absurdly early and witnessed her display, it wouldn't be hard to track them and down and wrangle her fee out of him. She did nothing for free, after all.

Disgruntled as she was, she couldn't reach her peak. Not even the small fortune her last customer had paid glittering in the bag hanging from her hip could improve her mood, though gold was typically a sure-fire way to raise her spirits. As the sun continued to rise, she heaved herself off her back and gave up her efforts. With a frustrated sigh, she laced her britches back up each side of her legs and nimbly clambered down into the building to get ready for the day.

"Titus, Rathus, get up," She threw the door open to the cramped room she shared with eleven other youth varying in ages from two to seventeen. Along with age, the occupants varied greatly in race and gender as well. The only thing they each had in common was the fact they were all half-bloods.

When neither of the sleeping brothers responded, she walked over the bottom bunk they had the displeasure of sharing and began kicking the bottom of the mattress, earning groans from the brothers on top of it. At least, she fancied them brothers.

Both were half orcs, though they almost certainly came from different mothers. Titus's sandy locks, smaller frame and long, pointed ears suggested he possessed elven blood, while Rathus's burgundy hair and rounder ears indicated was clearly born of a human mother. Never the less, they were left at the orphanage within days of each other and they shared numerous similarities, such as their face shape, their striking amber eyes, and their sage green skin among others. Trixie was willing to bet they had the same father, and she wouldn't wager her gold lightly.

"Was that necessary boss?" Titus grumbled as he picked himself up off the ground. In the ruckus, Rathas—who was still trying to untangle himself from a threadbare rough spun wool blanket—had inadvertently ousted him from the mattress.

"Get a move on. We've got to get the little ones ready before the instructors arrive," She growled.

Glancing at the other beds, she noticed the others were stirring. That was a good sign, with them awake already it would be easier to get everyone washed and dressed before the orphanage matrons called them to breakfast. They were notorious for waiting until mealtime was nearly finished to verify that the half-blooded children were awake. It wouldn't have been a problem if there was a reliable way to ensure they woke at the appropriate hour, but such conveniences where reserved for the 'non-contaminated' residents. Just thinking about it made Trixie want to spit.

"You're exceptionally charming this morning," Rathas grumbled as he managed to get to his feet. After a quick stretch, he reached under his pillow to retrieve a shirt which he pulled over his head. Watching the cloth fall over his muscled chest, Trixie lamented her libido.

She and the orc brothers had shared many experiences over their stay at the orphanage, she had known them since the day she was brought to the shabby facility as a babe over sixteen years prior, but the three of them had agreed that in order to maintain a working relationship, certain lines had to be drawn. Regular physical intimacy could lead to romantic attachment, something all three viewed as a liability within the world as they knew it.

Once upon a time, Galionas was a beautiful and prosperous world. The lands were fertile, magic and technology were abundant, and the people living there flourished as a community. Ruled by the Great Council, a collection of the wisest and most powerful of each race, the world existed in a constant state of peace and enlightenment. None, not even the lowliest of creatures knew hunger. Or so the stories said.

Now, it was nothing but a shattered remnant of its' former glory, a wasteland where what little bounty could be had belonged to the rich and powerful, and the rest were forced to fight for survival. Suspicion and discrimination divided the people, and while the council still technically existed, they reigned as self-serving tyrants rather than representatives of their peoples' best interests. Foolish sentiments like love could bring nothing but trouble in such a place. Love in the institute could only bring more trouble.

"I'm charming every morning, and don't you forget it," Trixie snapped, her tail twitching irately. Titus eyed it warily, having been on the receiving end of powerful whacks too many to afford to ignore it.

"You're pretty terrifying for a hob," he noted. "It was a cruel prank of the gods to bestow goblins with such fearsome appendages."

"If I didn't know better, I'd think you were trying to butter me up," Trixie smiled wanly, then glanced at her tail.

As a general rule, she was rather proud of her body, particularly from her buttocks down. She worked hard to maintain her physique, and while many insisted otherwise, she found the earthy tones of her skin to include her viridian sheen quite fetching. She wasn't tall, fair, or willowy like the half-elves Etoile and Eosphoros—an odd beauty standard Trixie suspected originated from closed minded fools who lacked intelligence or personality to woo anything other than the vain flower pots that were noble elf women—but she considered herself a beauty none the less.

"If it keeps me from getting beat, I definitely am," Titus replied. As he spoke, he moved to one of the bunks and helped a pair of groggy four year old girls down from the top.

Rathas was trying to encourage another group of youngsters to wash up at the small basin placed beside the sole wardrobe in the room. As they ushered the younger kids to clean up, the older occupants roused and began aiding.

"You seem tense boss," Etoile breathed into her ear, wrapping her arms around Trixie's waist. She tried not to shudder as the ebony hairs on the back of her neck rose and goosebumps erupted down her arms.

"Too tense for your own good," Eosphoros agreed from her other side. The eerie pair had a knack for invading her personal space without warning. She wasn't sure if it thrilled or alarmed her.

"I'm fine," She insisted, pulling from their grasp. They sulked, which only emphasized the ethereal effect of their platinum hair, translucent skin, and silvery-blue eyes.

While it was unnerving that the fourteen-year-old twins towered over her at six feet or more, they were actually quite short in stature by elven standards, one of few traits that betrayed their human blood. Despite their height, many would've mistaken them for full-blooded elves were it not for the detailed biological records that were kept on each child.

"We'll get you later," Etoile promised.

"You won't escape us next time," Eosphoros chimed.

Trixie shook her head at the two and turned to check on the others. Satisfied that morning preparations where well at hand, she turned her attention to prepping herself. After inspecting her clothing, she decided that a change of shirt was in order, the foolish customer that morning had made quite the mess of her tank when he'd hastily removed and discarded his condom. She hadn't noticed it earlier, but upon spotting the stain, she realized an unpleasant odor was emanating from it as well. This was a problem for several reasons.

"Try this," Titus handed her a vial as she inspected the stain, as well as her spare top. "For your skin. I doubt it would help your clothes, but I'll prepare something for Jan when wash day arrives."

"What is it?" Trixie asked. As she spoke, she popped the bottle open and sniffed the contents. It had a pleasantly floral scent. At least, she thought it was floral, though it may have been herbal. She wasn't good with plants or their smells.

"its' a balm," Titus replied. "It'll help keep your skin healthy, and make you smell good."

"If I get rashes again, I'm dumping it down your pants," Trixie warned.

"That hasn't happened once in the last five years," Titus protested. "I've been careful!"

"Still, it remains a standing threat," Trixie replied. Never-the-less, she peeled her tank off and upended the contents of the bottle onto her chest and shoulders, the proceeded to lather herself with it. "Could you get my back?"

"Sure," Titus replied. Carefully wiping a glob of the balm from her shoulders, he began smearing it down her back, careful to keep his eyes on his own hands as he worked. She trusted him to be respectful of her rules, and he hand no intentions of betraying that trust. Once he finished, he backed away and turned from her until she pulled the clean top on.

"It actually feels pretty good," She reported. She was pleased with the sleek sheen the balm left over her skin, as well as the cool soothing effect it provided. It was actually helping relax her just a bit.

"Glad to hear it," Titus replied. "I'll add it to my recipe list." So saying, he pulled out a worn note pad and chewed up pencil and proceeded to scribble.

He'd been mixing things together as long as Trixie could remember. At least as long as Rathus had been tinkering. In her mind, the brothers were quite brilliant, though it was difficult to get them the tools they needed to progress effectively. That said, Titus's concoctions could be a little hit and miss. Some of his experiments had explosive results, and others were questionable at best, but nonetheless he was becoming quite proficient at his work. If he ever had the opportunity to work with quality equipment and ingredients, she was sure he'd prove an adept alchemist.

"Don't be too long. Those old crones won't wait on us," Trixie reminded, quickly combing special oils through her hair to clean and style it.

"After you," Titus replied. The others had already filed out of the room and down the hall to the staircase leading to the lower floor. Stuffing the comb in her back pocket, Trixie darted out of the room, trying to ignore the tightness of the tube top she currently wore. She avoided wearing it because it was on the small side, and she hadn't had the time or materials to replace or alter it. Besides that, Zeke, their resident tailor, was bogged down with work from the others.

Uncomfortable as it was, she had to admit the top flaunted her assets. Many of the pure bloods would doubtless sneer and scoff at all the visible skin, but she couldn't care less what they thought. Most of it was jealousy, of that she was confident. For every judgmental prick, there would be at least two others that approved and appreciated her attire. Perhaps she'd even be able to lure in another customer, preferably one with more stamina and drive.

"Cutting it close, don't you think?" Matron Melony, a severe old woman with a hooked nose and a permanent scowl clucked her tongue as Trixie rushed into the dining hall, Titus hot on her heels.

"Good morning to you too," Trixie replied, the added under her breath "ornery old hag."

"I heard that young lady!" Melony snapped, but Trixie ignored her and took her seat at a table beside Etoile. Across from her, Titus slid onto the bench beside Rathus, who slid each of them a bowl of lumpy rice porridge.

"Are these bugs or raisins?" Trixie questioned as she inspected some suspicious looking black chunks within the porridge.

"Probably better not to ask," Rathas replied. His own bowl was already empty.

"Bottoms up," Titus chuckled nervously. Disregarding his spoon, he threw back his head and dumped the entire contents of his bowl into his open mouth, swallowing before he could make the mistake of chewing.

Shaking her head, Trixie forced herself spoon a few bites into her mouth, but started gaging as her teeth clamped down on an unpleasant lumpy texture that she suspected was one of the black mystery mounds. She managed to swallow the rising bile, but she couldn't bring herself to eat any more. Wryly she glanced to the tables where the pure blooded children were finishing their meals of jelly toast and scrambled eggs. She hardly thought it fair that they got special treatment, especially when she and her group worked far harder for much less, but the fact remained she could do nothing about it. Not yet at least.

"Is sometin' wrong Boss Twix?" inquired a four year old fawn-drow boy named Ripley. Glancing into his innocent lavender irises, she ruffled his curly white hair, pinched his purple-grey cheeks and tapped his freckled nose. She knew she shouldn't dote, but he was young enough that he was still much shorter than her. As petite as she was at barely five feet, she expected most to outgrow her, but she still enjoyed being the tall one every once in a while.

"Not at all," she replied, trying and failing not to baby talk back. They hated it when she treated them like 'babies,' and she tried hard to respect them, but at that moment his innocent gaze was too much for her. She couldn't help herself.

He gave her a grumpy pout for the baby talk, but her words seemed to placate him. He resumed eating without too much of a fuss. Glancing around she was pleased to find most everyone else under her wing was eating there fill. Besides the eleven who shared her room, there were an additional sixteen who resided in other rooms in the orphanage.

Since she couldn't be everywhere, she delegated an older youth in each of those separate rooms to tend to the younglings from their group that were dwelling with them. Among those delegates, her favorites and most trusted were Zeke, a twelve-year-old gorgon hybrid with a talent for sewing and a flare for drama, and Sullivan, a fifteen-year-old drow-elf mix with uniquely split coloration. Everything from his eye, skin, and hair color was split down the center of his body, which caused a bizarre effect making each side of him look like it belonged to an entirely separate person. There were a few others, but those two stood out as reliable, if a bit eccentric.

"Everyone's taken care off," Rathus commented, noticing her sweeping gaze. "Relax a bit boss. Not good for you to stress all the time like this."

"Who says I'm stressed?" Trixie snapped.

"I just meant you should take it easy, is all," Rathus diverted the topic slightly. He had the wisdom to refrain from pointing out her crabby behavior was a sure sign of stress. Like Titus, he'd been pummeled with her powerful tail too many times not to have learned some kind of lesson.

"I'm good," Trixie shook her head. "Just having a bad day is all. They happen from time to time."

"I'm here if you need to vent," Rathus nodded, not pressing her any further. As it was, he didn't have the time to. The instructors had arrived.

With a sharp tongue and stern gaze, Matron Melony began directing the orphans. As they did every morning, the children rose from table to table, beginning with the pure-blooded children filing down to her motley crew, then formed up two-by-two in a line. Once arranged to the matron's satisfaction, she led them to the entrance where six individuals in uniform pantsuits with identical pins that resembled honey jars. Why the institution had been named "Honey Pot" was beyond Trixie, but she didn't particularly care to know either.

The origins of the facility mattered little. She didn't need to know who named the institute or why, to know that every morning at the same time their instructors arrived and walked them two blocks down to the massive building where they spent the majority of their day.

Trudging along with Sullivan at her side and the orc brothers at her back, Trixie glanced around at the dismal city landscape that lead to the dark monolithic building they knew to be the Honey Pot institution. In her mind, it felt as though she was walking down a row of tombstones towards a mausoleum, though with daylight present it was not nearly as eerie as the return trip to the orphanage which occurred after nightfall.

"To work we go," Sullivan breathed as they pushed through the doors into the lurid lighting of the dingy building.

"Yet another wonderful day in the world as we know it," Trixie sighed. It didn't matter that she was faced with another tediously grueling daily routine full of violence, subterfuge, and hard labor. With any luck, it wouldn't be much longer before she could afford freedom for her and her 'family.'