Driscoll dared not to raise his head. He stared at her shoes instead, had his annoyance been noted? Was he going to be slaughter for that? If so, she might as well get it over with. He gulped.<br/><br/>The owner of the brothel, a drow, wealthy enough to dress in silks with a few jewels imbedded in the fabric, kept his head low, but said, "My Queen, to what do I owe you the honor of stopping to regard my exotic wares?" He sounded worried, nervous even to Driscoll's ears. A rare thing since the man was often pompous and prideful of his work. Though, he did not like being referred to as 'wares', even if he was to be bought or rented and used like a toy, he was a human, he was a person.