Business Opportunity

Soubrette sat at a low wooden table idly shuffling a deck of cards and nursing a glass of warm spiced rum. She'd had herself a few rough nights and was looking for a bit of entertainment.
Trouble is... in Booty Bay, entertainment is just as likely an outcome as is annoyance or maybe even violence. The port of Booty Bay takes in all kinds. From the wretches and villains of the Horde, to the equally wretched and villainous of those among the Alliance to simple sailors and fisherfolk, to all manner of adventurer and vagabond who happen to wander a bit too far south. As was the case tonight... the slightly less villainous, but surprisingly more dangerous crossed her path. A Gnome, with a business proposition.
"Gnmorgan Stanley, J.P." said the little starched business card the gnome produced at blinding speed from inside the sleeve of his robe. "Private investments, Business Solutions, Gnomish Engineered Wealth" read the byline.
Charming fellow, thought Soubrette, but something was definitely off about him. For starters, he looked way too young to be out in Booty Bay. His robe looked like the common acolyte robes of a novice warlock and his face was as smooth as a baby's butt. 
In fact the only thing that kept Soubrette from instantly discounting the gnome as a grifter was the burning intensity of his little golden eyes. Intensity, Soubrette thought... that may come from more advanced warlock training than the acolyte robes let on... or possibly, passion for whatever particular scam this particular gnome on this particular night was trying to push on her.
So, out of boredom, Soubrette entertained the company of a gnome for awhile. Curious to hear the particulars of his business idea, Soubrette ordered another rum and sat back in her chair. Stretching back coyly in her seat and hanging one arm calmly over the chair-back next to her, thus providing the gnome a distracting view of her pugnacious breasts which easily cloaked the move of Soubrette's other arm that went in quick quiet motions to undo a leather snap on a throwing dagger secured underneath her vest...should she need it for any reason in a right proper hurry.
As her rum arrived, the gnome began his pitch. The idea of which afterwards still lingered with Soubrette, although not that she understood or followed much of what the gnome said, but maybe more so the lingering impression of those brilliant little golden eyes. ...shame he was a gnome. Soubrette did have standards after all. And no matter what sort of passion he exuded or how much rum Soubrette consumed, the idea of bedding a gnome just didn't sit right with her.
"Now, Now... let's see. where to begin" began Gnmorgan. "Ah yes... market valuations! You see my dear... that is the crux of this venture. Capitalizing on fluctuation's on the market value of certain commodity items." 
"You see... everyone, needs and trades in raw materials, whether it's copper, leather, gold, or gems. Currency, livestock, labor, even fudge-ripple ice cream has market value if procured in large enough volumes. But this is a smidgen off topic as it were. Although I do fancy ice cream... it is a sublime treat if I do say so myself." continued the gnome.
"The trick to profits with commodities is the age old wisdom of buying low, and selling high. Watching for opportunity and raking in the gold." Gnmorgan was full into his speech by now. Any thought of Soubrette's breasts were a distant concern. His eyes flashed greedily as he went full on into his explanation of the fluctuation's and patterns of the market. 
Gnmorgan produced a small scroll tube, and unfurled several convoluted charts and ledgers detailing his research analysis of the Auction House over the last quarter across Soubrette's table. His diagrams detailing the ups and downs of copper ore and refined bars. Calculations of min/max bid and buyout rates, profit margins, to be had, and income to be generated. Soubrette quickly found herself lost. 
"How did you come by this data ?" Soubrette asked, gesturing at the heaps of parchment now spread on the table. "Don't tell me you're one of those hopeless cretins always lurking in the auction halls?"
"No, no m'lday... not at all." Replied Gnmorgan. "Don't let my pauper's garb fool you. I am no mere trader, I have devised a foolproof system of analysis to project and capitalize on the ebb and flow of gold already surging through the realm." "Think of me as a a middle man to your financial freedom." "The best part, is the work is already being done by the labor pool who initially procures the goods" "I simply use my superior intellect to take advantage of depressed valued goods."
"In fact" whispered Gnmorgan... as he leaned in, seemingly to simultaneously place a hand on Soubrette and pour her another glass of rum, from a bottle that was curiously not there a moment ago.. "I never even go to the Auction House anymore." "I have several small data collection devices that I employ to gather information on what's for sale, and for what it sells for." "Recent changes to the Alliance post system have disabled my efforts to tie sales to particular persons, but I still gather accurate information, even if the end buyer remains anonymous."
Now the gnome was sitting beside her...seemingly instantaneously, his robes, coarse and uncomfortable against Soubrette's skin... exactly the make of novice warlocks. "It's all there my dear!" "The data, ...when to buy, and what to sell for." "Risk analysis, ROI potential is limitless" "Minimal investment, huge returns... fool to miss out!" His voice was oddly intoxicating, although could've been the rum, Soubrette found herself leaning a bit into the little fella for warmth. "Foolish indeed... once I get started, my clientèle will be very elite. Foolish indeed to miss out." "And for one so lovely..."I could possibly arrange... how shall we say...."
and at that, there was a sharp prick at Gnmorgan's side as a black steel straight knife mysteriously and instantaneously appeared in Soubrette's hand and was placed ever so politely against the gnomes vital areas of anatomy.
"Pish Posh... 'tis no need for that young miss" said Gnmorgan. "Simply relaying a friendly proposition... no ill intent, none indeed" And with that the gnome seemed to slip aside from his chair and gather up his precious data before his shadow had time to leave his seat after him. "Friendly proposition is all... sound business model. Quite sound. Sound indeed" Gnmorgan said, as he prepared to take his leave. 
Soubrette, feeling a tiny bit of remorse for moving to the shank the poor little fella without so much as an idle grope made move to apologize. But as she blinked a bit of twinkling candle light out of her eyes and got to her feet. She realized the gnome, and the bottle of rum that had been there, but maybe not really been there, were both gone.
Out of habit, Soubrette let a quick hand feel for her coin purse. Still there. As was her secret purse sewn inside the lining of her leather pants. Although, if the gnome had gotten away with that Soubrette would have been simply impressed, as opposed to angered. Maybe the little bastard was on the up and up. ...well, or just honestly trying to play a bit of wandering hands in a crowded sea side bar. 
Either way, he was gone... the most peculiar con Soubrette had ever been approached by. His ploy was either the cleverest trick, or possibly 100% legit. 
As Soubrette retook her seat and took a sip from her rum, she noticed the gnome's business card had been resting as a coaster beneath her glass. Picking up the card, Soubrette took a moment to admire the simplicity of the card. Starched white, with crisp black lettering. It looked professional enough.
In a world of magic and monsters, why was it so hard to believe in someone with an entrepreneurial spirit.
There was a stain on the card. A ring of moisture from where the glass of rum had sweat out a bit. 
Maybe it was the rum, having run down the side of the glass on a clumsy sip, or the reaction of the bleach in the parchment to the moisture off the glass... but the footprint of the glass left a ring just as golden as that little gnome's eyes. 
Peculiar indeed. 
And with that, Soubrette downed the last of her rum, and left for her room. Slipping the card into one of her many hidden pockets.
Reaching her room, she quickly went to bed... and dreamed of golden eyes and the stacks and stacks of golden coins those golden eyes had promised. 
Foolish indeed...