Inari Nightwish gave a disapointed sigh as she finaly made it to the brothel and found herself pretty much right on time.<br/><br/>The cherry-haried elfmaid had<i>meant</i>to arive yesterday, hire a buxom girl and bonny boy or two, and let them pamper and please and generaly exhaust her into staying all night.  After all, if the mission was secret, it was hardly inconspicious to meet at a brothel without being a client, right?<br/><br/>But, rather than a very pleasent night in a soft bed full of tangled limbs, she'd been acosted by one of her disant cousins last night, an elfmaid who believed that her Hous's ambitions were noble and worthy, and that Inari was a traitor for wanting to make her own path in the world, and especialy for having the audacity to live as a professional body artist when her dragon mark, beauty, and fighting skills could make her a deadly assasin or brilliant spy.<br/><br/>Their discussion had involved a great deal of blood spilled on both parts, and her night had been spent instead in House Jurasco's hospice, and her money spent on removing wounds and scars rather than pleasureable companionship.<br/><br/>So she made her way up to the doorway of the brothel and blinked a few times when the scowling war forged impeded her entrance.  "Inari Nightwish," she said, "I have an apointment.  I heard this was the finest brothel in the Landing, and aranged to check it out."