The Pink Party

Another five weeks passed without so much as a visible dent in Nettle's finances, a fact that seemed to baffle the Consortium's analysts, who had expected the zero-percent gamble to start bleeding her reserves dry long before now.

It hadn't.

The banks themselves were no longer earning interest on new loans, but Low-Key Financing had never existed in isolation from the rest of Nettle's guild. The moment the rate war began, she'd pushed production harder across every profitable side of the operation, filling the storefronts attached to her branches with Squishy plushies, mithril-woven accessories, Drowned Court keepsakes, and anything else her members could produce reliably at scale.

The most successful addition, however, had come from Fen.

Nettle had approached her shortly after the first rate cut and negotiated exclusive selling rights to Pink Salmon, the stamina tonic originally developed for the dome's diving rotations. Its practical effect had always been useful enough, but the temporary pink tint it left across the drinker's skin had kept anyone from taking it particularly seriously as a commercial product.

Nettle had seen exactly the opposite problem.

"...I don't fully understand the appeal," Fen admitted while reviewing the first surge in orders. "It's a stamina tonic. The pink skin is a side effect."

"The pink skin is the product," Nettle told her. "The stamina boost just means people can pretend they're buying it for responsible reasons."

Fen stared at her.

"People love novelty," Nettle went on, grinning. "Give them something useful that also turns them pink for an hour, and suddenly you haven't got an obscure alchemical tonic anymore. You've got a brand."

She'd been right. Within weeks, soft pink complexions had become a common sight across major settlements, showing up in taverns, markets, workshops and dungeon parties often enough that nobody blinked at them anymore. Some drank it for the stamina. Others drank it simply because everyone else had started doing it, which Nettle considered an equally valid commercial reason.

The wider economy around Low-Key Financing was starting to work in her favor too. Players borrowed at zero interest to start guilds, expand shops, buy equipment, fund whatever project they'd previously lacked the capital to attempt. The principal still came back through repayments, and a share of the money those loans set moving found its way back into businesses her own guild owned. Customers bought merchandise. They bought Pink Salmon. They bought all the small, unnecessary things people tend to buy once they have enough spare coin to stop worrying about necessities for five minutes.

Dorric laid the latest figures across her desk one afternoon and studied them a moment before looking up.

"The bank's giving up the interest, but the guild's retail margins are covering most of what we're losing there. More than covering it, in some branches, once you count Pink Salmon."

Arista, visiting the main branch to see how the rate war was going, leaned over the reports with open amusement. "...You turned a financial siege into a marketing campaign."

"I turned a financial siege into a closed loop," Nettle corrected, grinning. "Money goes out through the bank. The loans get repaid, and while that money's circulating, some of it comes back through everything else we sell. The Consortium keeps treating this like the only number that matters is the interest rate."

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"And you're treating the bank as one part of the guild instead of the whole business."

"Exactly."

Bram had stopped listening somewhere around the second column of numbers and drifted toward a rack of Pink Salmon bottles near the storefront instead. He picked one up.

"...People are deliberately turning themselves pink because of you."

"Because it's fun," Nettle said.

"It's a stamina potion."

"It's a stamina potion that turns you pink."

He considered the bottle again. "...Fair."

Nettle smiled and went back to the reports. The Consortium was still trying to win by making lending painful enough that she'd eventually retreat, and she was increasingly convinced they hadn't noticed they were fighting someone whose income came from far more than banking.

A few days later, one Pink Salmon account caught her attention.

"...Huh."

Dorric glanced over. "Problem?"

"No. Weird customer."

She opened the account history. One guild had been ordering an absurd quantity every week with almost mechanical consistency, far more than four adventurers could reasonably need for the stamina effect alone.

"Four members," she said, reading through the registry. "Mage, Archer, Tank, Assassin. The Pink Party."

Dorric looked at her.

"I didn't name them."

She found the four of them later that week at one of her own storefronts, collecting another order in person, every one of them carrying the same soft pink hue across their skin. Set against their order history, it was clear this wasn't the result of one drink before arriving. They were maintaining the effect on purpose.

Nettle stopped beside them. "...You're keeping yourselves pink all the time."

The Mage looked up from the bottles and grinned. "Pretty much. We stagger the doses so nobody fades before the next one kicks in."

Nettle glanced at the size of the order. "Is this actually about the stamina boost? Because there are much cheaper ways to maintain buffs than drinking enough Pink Salmon to dye four people indefinitely."

The Tank laughed, hoisting an entire case onto one shoulder. "The stamina's useful. That's not why we do it."

"Then why?"

"Aesthetic cohesion," the Archer said, without hesitation. "We're a themed party. Four pink adventurers, always together, always matching. People recognize us on sight now. NPCs remember us. Quest-givers know who we are before we even introduce ourselves."

Nettle's eyebrows rose. "...You accidentally created brand recognition."

"Wasn't accidental," the Mage said.

The Assassin folded her arms. Her own skin carried the same soft pink as the rest of them, though on someone dressed almost entirely for stealth it read a little differently. "I'll admit there are professional drawbacks."

"Stealth missions?" Nettle guessed, glancing at the outfit.

"Stealth missions are harder when you're noticeably pink in every shadow."

"Still worth it," the Tank said.

"The guild vote was unanimous," the Mage added. "Three enthusiastic yeses, and one yes with extensive tactical reservations attached."

"I noted legitimate concerns for the record," the Assassin said.

"Same thing."

"It is not the same thing."

Nettle laughed, looking between them. "You held an actual vote on whether your adventuring party should stay permanently pink."

"Democracy matters."

"Apparently."

She looked at the stacked cases again, then back at the party responsible for showing up individually on her sales reports. "...Your next order's on the house."

The Mage's eyes went wide. "Seriously?"

"Professional appreciation. Anyone willing to build a whole guild identity around one of my products has earned at least one free case."

The Tank shot the Assassin a look. "See? The aesthetic's already paying for itself."

"I never disputed its commercial value," the Assassin said. "I questioned whether permanent pink skin was compatible with assassination."

"And?"

She looked down at her own hand. "...The evidence remains inconclusive."

That set the other three laughing as they gathered their order and headed back into the street, four matching pink silhouettes vanishing into the crowd. Nettle watched a couple of passing players recognize them almost instantly, one already pointing them out to a friend.

She smiled slowly. "...I'm putting them in the next merchandise campaign."

Dorric, who'd watched the whole exchange from behind the counter, shook his head. "You didn't even recruit them. They turned themselves into advertising."

"Best kind of customer," Nettle said, already pulling up a fresh page for campaign ideas. "The kind who makes your product part of their personality before you ever think to ask."