Wine-Stained Lips

The bard lounged like a cat in sunlight, draped across the bench seat of the booth with one boot up on the table and a half-empty goblet swinging lazily from their fingers. The tavern’s dim lantern light caught the gleam of their wine-stained lips and a smile gleaming with the confidence of someone who’d already decided the deal was closed.
“Now this…”
They said, laying a small silver locket on the table with theatrical flourish
“Is no trinket. Broken dreams, royal scandals, and a very brief haunting—it’s all in there. Worn by the Red Queen herself, may she rest in relative peace.”
They grinned, lips unknowingly outlined by the last four goblets of house red.

Across from them, the Dwarven trader regarded the bard with the strained patience of someone trying to solve a problem without causing a scene. His gaze lingered on the bard’s mouth with visible concern. He hesitated, then subtly tapped a finger to his own lips. Nothing. The bard was already off on another tangent about enchanted lock mechanisms and forbidden gardens. He cleared his throat, then casually dabbed his napkin at his lips, exaggerated just enough to be a clear cue, and glanced pointedly at the bard. Still nothing.
“It also hums…”
The bard added proudly, holding the locket to her ear like a seashell.

The dwarf nodded, smiled tightly, then mimed wiping his face again, more obviously this time. The bard smirked—was he... flirting?
“Oh, cheeky, Charm and commerce in one sitting? Honestly, I should charge extra….”
She said with a laugh, lifting her goblet in a half-toast. The dwarf sighed—the kind of sigh that only comes from long-suffering patience and secondhand humiliation, and took a long drink from his tankard. He resigned himself to an evening of being sold haunted jewellery and useless trinkets by a woman with the clown-like smile of wine-stained lips.