(NSFW) On the Likes and Dislikes of Mandreis J. Yvanson (Patreon)

CW: suggestive descriptions, non-explicit sexual scene.

Hello, everyone! 

Welcome to this month's first short story. I'll try to post the second this week, but with the next build update so close, I'm not 100% sure I'll manage to. If I can't finish it until Friday, I'll probably post it by Tuesday or Wednesday next week. ♥♥♥

For this one, I wanted to share a little piece of Mandie with you all. "On the Likes and Dislikes of Mandreis J. Yvanson" takes place around two months before the game starts. After spending almost five years without seeing MC, Mand's feelings might be a little harder to reign in than they think, hahaha! xD

And here's a lore tidbit: sex workers are not only very common but very respected in most parts of Five Kingdoms. Most, if not all of them, enjoy the same level of respect as the bourgeoisie, no matter who their clients are. The only kingdom that doesn't take kindly to the profession is Safira, and that's because sex workers were instrumental to the success of the mage insurgence in 8:31 (15 years ago).

"Commander" Carlos (the title is a sinecure, btw. "Mages," as all Arcanos prefer to be called in Safira,  make up the biggest parcel of Safira's army, and they answer to Maga-Maior, Isobel of Inara) was an influent sex worker before the insurgence. By the end of it, he betrayed all of his coworkers in exchange for a Noble title and Lands in a kingdom that should supposedly frown upon the monarchy. Whispers say that his greed and selfishness won't be forgotten.

And now to the short story! xD

CW: suggestive descriptions, non-explicit sexual scene.

On the Likes and Dislikes of Mandreis J. Yvanson

8:46 - Somewhere near the Opalean-Topazian border.  Mid-December, two months before Carnaval.

Mandreis J Yvanson is a simple person.

They like wine.

“Is this any good?” she asks, pouring some into her mouth. It touches her lips and runs down the corner of her mouth, neck, breasts. Mandra collects it with their tongue, throat vibrating with a satisfied groan.

“Very,” they mutter.

They like exercise.

She chuckles and tries to walk past them and onto the bed again, but Mandra stands and places a hand on her naked hip. 

“Where do you think you're going?” they whisper and chuckle when she tries to push them aside.

“My legs are tired, General.”

“Hmmm. I can help with that.” Their words hit the base of her neck as they shepherd her back against the wall. Rough, calloused hands grip her thighs. Naked, warm skin meets the hard leather of their vest. “And the other one as well,” they say, knees on the floor, pulling her up. Her legs lock around their neck, her hands gripping hair and a muscular forearm.

More than any of those, they like eating.

“Now call me Mand, would you?” Eyes closed. Cold, tingling shivers ripple in their lower half. “Good girl,” they whisper against her thigh.

But if there are two things they don’t like, the first is being interrupted…

The door to their room opened with a bang. “General!”

The artist lets out a sound—half moan, half shriek—and Mandra growls as they stand, cleaning the corner of their lips. Esma remains frozen, eyes widened, cheeks flushed. The woman behind Mandreis shrinks a bit from view, so they step aside, putting themself in front of her. 

“I… uh.”

“Can I help you, Bakdotr? I'm in the middle of something,” Mandra says. Their words sounded more like a threat than an offer, but the woman chuckled behind them. Mandra smirks and, as if remembering their situation, narrows their eyes. This better be important.

“Uh. Letters from the castle, General. The courier said it was urgent.”

Mandra's heart slows down for a fraction before racing again. They snatch the letter from Esma’s hands. Heart racing, eyes widening. “Dismissed, Esma.” Name, name, name…. Where the ashes is it? Who sent it?

They sigh, shoulders stooping a little when they find the cherry branch in the royal seal. From Mother, then.

Unless….

“Uh, I.” 

Mandra snaps their eyes up, looking from their soldier to the woman behind them. “You’re gawking, Bakdotr.” 

Esma’s cheeks turn an ever deeper shade of red. “I apologize, General. And I apologize, Ms,” they say to the woman. "I'll... ask my questions later." They bow before leaving the room.

The woman chuckles and parades to the corner of the room. Mandra barely registers as she takes a cup of water.

My dear child, here’s a collection of letters to inform you of the situation… bla-bla-bla… the nobles of the Western Houses, bla-bla… imbued in each of them are my hopes, bla-bla-bla…. They toss the letter aside.

“He is cute. A little too muscular for my taste,” Pri says.

Therefore, what would require—“Esma goes by they”—thirty people from the city guard, after two months of unchecked…bla-bla. Garbage. Toss it.

“Oh, I apologize. They are cute.” She snakes her arms around Mandra’s shoulders, soft breasts pressed to their back—and while they like that too, now they’re a bit too busy. “Not as much as you, though. General.”

“Uh-huh.” Another letter. In any case, what Highborn Ogur refers to as “wrong accusations of misappropriation” can be, in fact, the symptom that…. Another. For in as many years of…. Another.

Some coldness at their back. Steps. And then... there!

So the least your Dragon Commander can do in the meantime is to make sure that the order in the southern district is maintained to avoid a repeat of what happened a fortnight ago…?

The smile disappears from Mandra’s lips. They move the letter a bit far, then closer still, as if this would show a hidden message between the lines. They furrow their eyebrows and toss the last letter aside. 

Is that it? 

...

This is all they have to say? 

Feet tapping, arms crossing. The artist reaches for her dress, her legs already covered by stockings. The rings and necklaces are back, and even her hair is once more tied into that intricate braid Mandra likes to undo.

Shit.

They gesture at the letters tossed around them. “This will only take me a moment, Pri. Can I convince you to stay a little?”

She smiles and shakes her head. “Can I?”

Mandra doesn’t answer. They don’t know how to. 

With a chuckle, Pri sighs and places a gentle hand on Mandra’s chest. With the other, she gives them the half-full bottle of wine. “It hurts so good, doesn’t it?" She caresses the old bracelet around Mandra's left wrist. "Doesn’t it make you feel alive?”

With a long, pained sigh, they take a swig. Warm, disgusting wine. Mandra’s mouth turns bitter. 

The wine has nothing to do with it. 

“I hate it. Loathe it.”

"Hum." She smiles and places a kiss on their cheek. “And?”

“… And I suppose I like it. Love... it even.”