"How dare you say that, you skank? I'll-"

"You'll what? Write a strongly fuckin' worded letter?"

"You think I won't sock you one?"

"Ya' threats are as weak as ya' blowjobs!"

You gape at the spectacle you've just walked in on. Far from the usual hustle and bustle you'd expect, the tavern seems almost deserted; the last patrons brush past you. It's not hard to see why; in the center of the barroom, a pair of squat girls dressed as serving wenches—a halfling and a goblin—are engaged in a heated argument. From the resigned look on the barkeep's face, this isn't the first time it's happened, either.

"At least I suck on their cock instead of just choking myself on it, Priss!" the compact but stacked halfling girl scoffs at the goblin in a curt, almost formal tone. She has an air of class about her—though she and the goblin wear identical dresses, hers is neat and pressed, though her corset struggles to contain her generous chest. Her curly auburn hair is worn in a tight bun, one solitary wavy bang left free. Despite the flush of anger on her face, you can clearly make out the tasteful, subtle makeup she's wearing; a faint gloss on her cherry-red lips, and a scant hint of eyeliner making her emerald eyes pop.

"It's called deepthroating, Brina, ya' stupid slut!" retorts the curvy goblin, Priss. The green-skinned girl seems almost the polar opposite of the halfling. Her dress and skirt are ruffled and almost artfully askew, revealing one of her thick green thighs, and her hair is worn in a messy ponytail, as if she'd only run her fingers through it instead of brushing it. Her attractive face is adorned with almost too much makeup, her lips an obvious neon pink, and her eyes ringed by thick dark circles.

"Well, why don't we ask him? He can judge!" declares Brina, and as one, both girls turn their gaze on you.

"Hey, you! We need ya' to settle an argument!" the diminutive goblin drawls, smirking at you.

"Yeah. We need you to judge which of us is better in the sack!" says Brina,