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Chapter 2 - Lowborn Bitch
Curiously, snobbery knows no boundaries of class. There are haughty, snotty bitches everywhere.
Sabila the Barmaid sniggered at the chubby priest as he almost fell flat on his face stumbling over the doorsill while entering The Pig and Firken (affectionately called the Firkin Pig by its regular patrons). She snorted like a draft horse (which in some sense she was).
"Look at the fat–faced frocked fuckhead!"
Father Carlos looked at her composedly over the gales of laughter as he regained his balance. He smiled beneficently at the rough tongued tart, marking her for future reference.
"Bless you, my child."
"I'm not your child. My mother has better taste!"
Father Carlos knew better. Reflecting inwardly that sluttiness obviously ran in the family, his protest was mild.
"We are all God's children. If you are Sabila, I do know your mother – a fine woman to have spawned such disrespectful offspring! Do you insult and harry all your customers in this fashion? If so, your tips must be small!"
The fair Sabila placed her hands on her seductive hips and faced him squarely, determined to put him firmly in his place.
"I only pick on those who have taken vows of poverty like yourself. They're no good to me!"
Sabila smirked mockingly at him. Like her mother, Sabila was a naughty super-vixen. She stretched elaborately, tauntingly, jiggling her big melons provocatively.
"Poverty and Chastity must be so boring. No opportunities, nothing to flaunt and squat to do!"
Father Carlos nodded amiably.
"You would be surprised to find how much joy and power is to be had within Mother Church!"
" Very surprised!"
Father Carlos was mildly indignant.
"You doubt God's power?"
"I don't doubt God's power. I doubt yours!"
Father Carlos laughed good-naturedly and ordered a mug of good strong draft ale. He raised his mug to Sabila.
"There is much forgiveness, too, even for an insolent young temptress like yourself. It's lucky for you that men learn, quite literally at their mother's knee, to accept abuse from a woman. They accept from a female that which would be fighting words from a man. Even so, I would guard my tongue if I were you!"
Derisively, she rolled her eyes skywards and gave him the finger. Continuing the motion upwards with that self-same finger, she curled her magnificent blond hair over her cute ears and went to deal firmly with a group of fragrant farmers who had burst in to the pub, loudly stamping the horseshit from their boots and coarsely bellowing for service from the serving wench. Sabila stared at the earnest sons of the soil and sighed theatrically in disappointment. She looked pointedly at the door, which they had signally failed to close behind them.
"Judging from your shabby clothes, your uncouth manners, and even more by your ripe odour, I guess you guys really were born in a barn."
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