• Mature • The Hound and The Shadow (Yndira) [Graded and bombed]

[Kasoria]

120th Trial, Vhalrar, 718a
North-West Outer Perimeter
11th break

He could have crushed the doorman's throat with his first punch and burst his liver like a rotten fruit with his second. The couple after that would have been nastier.

But he didn't. He paid the extra coin and they both knew he was being extorted. Made a few coins lighter by a man who did so simply because he could.

Still, Kasoria did as he was told. Because ending lives was not his task that night. All he wanted to do was ask questions. And if that meant he had to suffer some grinning, shaved ape who thought him an easy mark, well...

Then you find your balls and bear it. Ain't like you can't afford it.

"Thanks fer that, wee man. In y'go..."

The talking bear opened the steel-lined door and immediately an explosion of noise buffeted Kasoria like an unleashed storm. Laughing and arguing and instruments and singing and all the cacophony of an Etzos tavern at full capacity. Only this place was not quite a tavern. Oh, it served booze of all kinds and there were plenty of skulky men scattered around who'd palm you some herbs or powders (paying a cut to management first, of course), but it wasn't the Battered Cod or the Happy Pig or the Dog In A Doublet.

Kasoria stepped inside and saw the stage. That's when he realized why the Gentleman's Leisure had a reputation for class.

Twenty feet wide and with curtains behind it ten feet tall, it was occupied by a trio of gyrating, gesticulating, rhythm-enslaved ladies. Surprising as it may seem, they were not in that far a state of undress. Sheer nudity was quite the coarse affair, after all. No teasing, no surprises, nothing titillating at all. No, these ladies were bedecked in silks and furs. Showing enough flesh to entice the throng of men crowding the stage, but revealing nothing. Kasoria ran his eyes over them with stark appreciation across his face... and nothing but ice in his heart.

Ain't here to wet your cock, either.

"Find you a table, ser?"

He turned and saw a busty little beauty with some infant lines of middle-age forming around her eyes. Eyes that did not smile as brilliantly as her mouth. Kasoria smiled back politely and wondered if she'd be a good bet for tonight... then shook his head. He nodded towards the bar, long and half-empty and yet still the 'tenders rushed back and forth. Just because the punters weren't crowding them like they were the stage, didn't mean those present weren't still drinking like fish. That and Kasoria assumed that when the show was over, those men at the stage would charge the bar like ragged sellswords at a caravan of meat and wine.

"I'll sit at the bar, thank you."

The smile stayed in place, looking even more fake. Disappointment hissed off the hostess' words, but she kept her poise. "Suit yourself, ser. Let me know if you need anything. Anything at all."

Kasoria smiled at her lizard-quick wink and made his way across the floor. He sidled and slid past customers, varying in their states of sobriety. The clutch of musicians by the stage were sweating buckets and still pounded away at their instruments, filling what little air remained in the Leisure with a raucous yet catchy tune. Something a man could stamp his feet and a woman could dance to at the same time. The little assassin hovered across many an eye, but only for a moment, and few remembered him five trills later. He dressed simply, neatly, not the ragged disguise he usually bore.

Only the hair was unchanged, and that had been cleaned and combed. Still, he wasn't looking to get lucky that night. He had a loose end that needed tying, a man who needed talking to and Fates, he hoped he would be the end of the trail that had started more than a season ago. Kasoria had seen a busy and painful Vhalar, coming closer to Vri than he had in a while. His wounds were healed and he felt no less lethal than at the start of the season, and yet... he knew he was not every inch the man he'd been before killing that big fucking lizard.

Stow your self-pity, he chided, shaking the morose thoughts away and focusing on the man he needed to find. Wersham. Fence. Antiques seller. Ten trials, four taverns and halls like this, leading you here. Let's try and make this the fucking last, eh?

He slid his arse onto a stool and raised a hand for service, wondering if the 'tender would be amenable for a chat. Well, that was likely, bit the real questions was did he know anything, and how much would it cost to find out. He perused the orderly ranks of bottles on the shelves and barrels on the floor and found a cask of Sweet Annie's Stout. He licked his lips at the memory.

"What can I getcha, mate?"

Kasoria told him, and put down a few more coins than were necessary. The bartender was sharper than he looked, noting the pile, then looking back up to the assassin.

"Starting a tab?"

"Looking for someone," the little man said. "Wonderin' if y'might be able t'help me..."

[Yndira]

The finer things in life had been missed. The fur trimming of her shawl had been a void in her life since her fleeing Rynmere. Stowed at the very bottom of her bag and all but forgotten in favor of escaping the authorities. At last - freed. It was her third or fourth time here - she wasn't too sure and it didn't particularly matter so much as she was back in her element. Or well, some portion of it. An older part, maybe. While the men here were wealthy, they weren't nobles and part of her doubted they'd be as easy to pick off.

But that would make it all the more fun.

Slinking through the crowd, the Naer spared the barest of glances at the dancers on stage. Not yet had she joined them in their visits; they weren't ready for her yet. Nadine might have laughed at such a comment, but then again, she found humor in most everything the Naer said. An infuriating trait, to say the least. But it wasn't something unfamiliar to her. She'd been in the company of many who'd found any sort of thought in her head to be the most entertaining thing, moving them to tears from how hard they'd laughed and she had done nearly the same in return. The boundaries of language were almost mystifying in their ability to confuse and entertain. She'd cursed her father a little more for having deprived her of learning Common, but what was done was done.

Yndira had already spent a considerable amount of time fawning over one or two "gentlemen" - as they took to calling themselves - and it was becoming less than ideal to linger with them. Hence, the move. They were sharper here, more attentive. They expected a little more and she had to play it safe. Disappointing. She was, at least, doing better with each new face she approached, though. That was a heartening observation.

There were perks, though, to revolving between patrons. She had something of a catalog of the place, though it was highly subjective to anyone that caught her eye. And on this occasion, among the regulars she had begun to notice and new faces, there was one that had a hint of familiarity. Brows furrowed, she paused. It was his height that gave him away. Everything be damned, it was the Raggedy Man. Dressed up, but still him.

Maybe she would get to eat tonight. If he was here, there must be someone worth picking at here. But who? One way to find out - ask. Which lead to her crossing the short distance it took to reach the man, a smile on her face.

"Small Man come to play?"

Ith'ession | Common | Pailtic | Thought

[Kasoria]

If he'd been diving in the sea, and seen an eagle swimming by him, with nary a care on its beak'd face.

If he'd been way out in the wilderness beyond the walls, and found a lady's boudoir in a clearing, decked out in silks and furs with fine, steaming cups of tea ready for him.

If he'd been somewhere doing one thing and something that had no earthly fucking right to be there showed up instead, was where his mind was basically at. Because that was the sole place it ran to when he turned at the sound of sultry voice and saw whom it belonged to. Dusky features and exotic origins were hardly unexpected, oh, no. Places like this always prided themselves on a variety of flesh. But not these features; not this appearance.

Kasoria's practiced smile, that of a future "customer" looking to engage some polite conversation, vanished like a vase hit by a hammer wielded by an enraged Ithecal when he saw the face of the girl. Not too tall but still easily topping him by several inches, though that was hardly new. No, instead he saw the eyes and the hair, the dark skin and the burning eyes. The furs and silks couldn't hide what she was, not to his eyes. He looked over her shoulder briefly, then into his drink. Was he drugged? Was he seeing things? It didn't... It didn't feel that way.

Then she spoke, and the questions evaporated. So did his stunned expression.

Only a woman could speak with that kind of playful sadism. And you don't have the fucking imagination for it.

He should have thanked her, really. It was her amusement, her understated yet joyful drinking in of his discomfort that rattled him enough to don a new coat of armor. He sipped his stout and looked the woman up and down. Not much had changed, beyond the clothes. She was still lithe and moved with all the easy, feline, leashed ferocity of her race. Kasoria smiled and it was more one of memory than greeting.

He could, of course, always appreciate a good fighter. She was raw and wild on ways that nightmares were made of, had seemed formed from the stuff of those fevered dreams when he'd seen her in The Bat seasons ago. No real training, no discernible form. Flesh to flesh and limb to limb, Kasoria didn't mind his chances... but those things were quite mutable when it came to this... creature.

Which is what she is, he reminded himself, feeling the barest weight around his neck and suddenly cold against his chest. A monster. A wraith given a brain. Spawn of a fucking Mort. And you don't have a bag of gold to toss her, this time.

The talisman. The rune-crafted token he wore around his neck, that he'd found long ago on a day as turbulent as the one he'd bet Yndira. More so, in fact. It was swaddled in darkness under his clothes now, but even in the harshest light it still looked of shadow. He didn't quite feel the power of it, sometimes even forgot it was there, save for when he thought directly about it. Then it was like a... pulse, the thought going straight from his mind to the odd little things on the leather string. Then he could feel it. The weight and coldness. Reassuring him.

Her Gift has no power over you. None of them do. But...

Kasoria swallowed another mouthful of stout. She hadn't needed the Gift of Shadows with those wastrels in that tavern-cage all those trials ago. She'd done just fine without it. He remembered that, he really did... but she started this. So he gave her an up-and-down look, like a man wondering if he'd like to buy a piece of a race horse paraded in front of him-

-and shrugged with one shoulder, face twisting in a quick, careless grimace.

"Not with you, little girl."

Now it was his turn to grin, at whatever emotion flickered across her face. Fates, he hoped it was annoyance. He waited for the feeling to pass before continuing, keeping his voice level now, not mocking. He spoke with his words half-hidden behind his mug of ale, not taking his eyes off the "woman" in front of him.

"Didn't think youse'd be in this kinda place," he said, casting a quick look about the Leisure, taking in the hostesses and waitresses and dancing girls and oh yes, there seemed to be willing and encouraging femininity everywhere he looked. Fancy that? "But I ain't one t'judge."

He finished the mug and set it down. The possibility occurred to him; niggled and naggled and pushed for his attention, but he batted it away. A source? An asset? Her?! She was hardly a covert operative, a crowning irony given her shadowy origins (quite literally). Nothing from when last they met spoke to him of anything naked savagery, a fury born from a parent beyond human ken. She was either here for business, or... something else. Something darker. Something he wanted no part of.

Be your usual pleasant fucking self, exchange some barbs, then send her on the way. Still got business to attend to.

[Yndira]

It was puure delight that radiated from the Naer at his confusion. The smile fell from his face at the sight of her and that was probably the best thing she'd seen all night. Had she ruined his mood? Instilled fear? Whatever her appearance had done was short lived because he opened that mouth of his and soured the whole thing.

He was about as pleasant as when they'd first met. She should have expected it, really. Jaw clenched, she glanced away for a moment. No matter how annoying he made himself out to be, there would likely be something that she could gain from this. So when next she looked at him, her smile had turned into a playful pout. "Mean thing to say to friend." She'd stooped low before; maybe even lower. "Like I would really waste my time on you, Old Man."

But her unexpected in a place like this? What had given him that impression? This was her playground now. She liked to think that the patrons were learning that. That the employees were doing the same. Scarring her face into memory before she moved on. "It nice place. Good company." Yndira was used to spaces like this. She thrived in them. Which only seemed to beg the question - what was he doing here? Her smile returned, leaning forward and very much into personal space.

There had to be a reason for it. A job? She didn't think his line of employment - or what she assumed it was - would put him so far out of his depth. Pleasure seemed far fetched; he'd come to the bar and not at a table. So what did he want here? Just as he had thought her strange in this place, she thought him stranger. "Shit no leave gutter for no reason. Why you here?"

Part of her worried that his appearance would drag her back into the chaos of what had been The Buried Bat, and part of her didn't quite mind the idea. While this was something of her feeding ground, she wasn't opposed to during it into the scene of brutality. The end result would be the same: she'd have something to eat. And maybe she wouldn't need to work for it. "Come to do bad thing?" If there wasn't a hint of eagerness in her voice and how closely she'd moved to be beside the man, there wouldn't have been any other obvious way to show it.

Ith'ession | Common | Pailtic | Thought

[Kasoria]

The Old Man watched and learned as the girl spoke. More than she would probably tell him freely, he thought. He didn't know she spoke Ith'ession, that ancient precursor language to the Common that had become its name, spread across the whole globe. Had he been wrong before, and she was a native of this city? Or was she simply long, long acquainted with it?

That was one question without an answer. Then he got an answer to no question. A statement, basically. The way she brushed off his jibe and looked around, with the mien of a hawk or tiger surveying fertile hunting grounds. There was an intelligence there that made his heart skip a beat, far more than raw power or killing frenzy could have. He'd worked with cutthroats and sellswords and scratchers his whole life. He knew men who could barely count to twenty yet knew a dozen ways to strangulate with their bare hands. Terrible when roused to rage, but harmless without an intellect to guide them, direct them, unleash them.

Kasoria saw her eyes flickering over the crowd and knew she was not one such creature. Not like the blood-drenched thing he'd barely negotiated his way from at the Buried Bat. This was a different animal entirely, as if she'd shed that skin and been reborn a calculating, confident manipulator. The bartender returned and he ordered another, plus whatever the lady wanted. The whole time, he never took his eyes off her.

Nor should one, when confronted with a dangerous and hungry animal.

He did naught but smirk and chuckle when she made that rather witty crack about shit and gutters. He nodded at the poetry of it; little she knew how many times he'd made the same comparison. His whole life, he'd been an Oh'Pee boy. The only times he'd left it for any meaningful time was to train as a Cadet, then be buried alive in the Forgotten Cells. Since then, the gleam of the Citadel and the righteous industry of the Commercial Circle had been barred to him. He was a man of cracked cobbles and soot and gutters.

He chuckled anew and took a swallow of his drink: "Can't fault yer logic, there..."

Yndira was not so easily placated by empty self-deprecation. She moved closer to him, and Kasoria swore he could feel the talisman roil briefly under his shirt. There was power in her, of a kind ancient and hungry. He cast a sidelong glance at her as she grinned at him, all sharp, white teeth in coppery skin. Beautiful and seductive and unbound and hideous. He had to struggle not to slide along the bar and away from her. Instead he remembered the gladius at his hip, the knives and tools about him... and the rather heavy, almost-full glass mug he was holding.

Rather not waste the ale... or the chance to ask some questions.

Ah, that that was all it took. All the opening that niggling thought needed to squirm into the forefront of his mind and grow arms and legs and persuasive words. He regarded the woman with those same coal-black eyes that she'd seen before in the Bat. Only now they were cold and contemplative, not raging and roaring. He studied her, weighed and measured the thing before him, as one would fruit or meal or breeches they were unsure of. Could she be trusted? Probably not. But a betrayal of trust was only an issue when you trusted the subject with something. Kasoria would not be doing that.

What he knew, was that she knew this place, the clientele, the staff, the regulars. That was an In, as far as he was concerned. And all he sought was a name.

"Lookin' fer a man," he said, leaving it completely open as to whether or not he was just being simple or masterfully understated. "Wersham. Owns his own business, sells antiques at the like. Buys stolen goods, too. The fancier end a' the spectrum. Been askin' around for him, last place I was at, bloke behind the bar told me he liked this place." He took a healthy gulp from the stout and hiss through his teeth. Just as good as he remembered. "Need t'ask him about some things."

Kasoria didn't bother to tack on "just questions, nothing more". She would believe him and honestly, he had no reason to believe them, either. Loose ends got tied up, that was their nature. They were an aberration, an interruption, a blemished imperfection that could one day grow to ruin a whole work. Kasoria was looking to question him, and he was looking for answers. But after he had them... he could not say further.

Depends on what I hear.

He patted his pocket, and even through the din and drone of the crowd, she could hear the healthy jangle of a coin=filled purse.

"Make it worth yer while, a' course."

[Yndira]

Dualism, was that the word? Her father used to talk about it often when he got philosophical. Or when he tired of torturing her mother. It was something he fancied, perhaps obsessed over after her mother. An unfortunate thing that. He was, well, fond of pointing out the duality that lay in her appetite and the "sophistication" he'd instilled in her. She wondered how that worked, considering he was the one that set her on this path. Perhaps she should have thanked him, but it wasn't like he could hear her now. Shame; might enough the horror at his theory of mother and daughter confirmed.

But maybe it wasn't all lost. She had a witness right beside her. Was the Old Man seeing what her father saw, she wondered, when he stared so hard? Was that what made him squirm? That wouldn't be so bad a thing. There was something else, though. He tensed - and then the look was different. Felt different. Not the kind of animosity she was becoming used to from him, but something else. Like he had something to gain just as she did and her smile widened. It was not unlike the relationship she shared with Nadine - though that was one was probably a lot more parasitic on her part. Perhaps she could get this to work the same way, for a time.

Trust was a tricky thing. He must be thinking about it. The Old Man was different from her prey. They were stupid; driven by ego and cock. She could not decide if he was smart or not, but he had some sense. And then he got to telling her his reason for being here. The more he told, the higher a groomed brow rose in response. "Wersham." She rolled the name around her tongue, attention turned back to the crowd around them. "What man in his right mind talks about his crimes?" At least, not out in the open. Out where others could hear. In close quarters with a pretty face stroking their egos. But never out in the open.

"Things?" That didn't give her any clue as to the urgency of the matter, but if he was all the way out here...She wouldn't have been opposed to helping to start. Food placed so readily at her fingertips was a treat. But that telltale jingle of coins in a purse was compelling enough to solidify her compliance.

She was doing this out of the kindness of her heart, of course. Do good for the elderly, if you will. "He does come. Not stay long." She scanned the crowd again, brows furrowed. Had she ever really paid attention to their names? Oh, well, they made quite the show of reminding any woman they saw who they were, the men that walked in here. And sometimes the other patrons, as well. Dominance, and all that.

The one thing she could relate to.

"Girls say he like entrance. Flashy." Yndira wondered if there were some Immortal that smiled down or scowled at her because there was a man making an entrance.

Ith'ession | Common | Pailtic | Thought

[Kasoria]

Kasoria didn't have an answer for the only question she asked, even if it was only half-directed his way. He survived his whole "career" by deliberately not blabbing about it. Oh, he intimidated and he used his reputation, of course, but he wasn't one for crowing to whores or bragging to drinking buddies about his exploits. Etzos may have been constructed out of stone and marble and gems, but it was built in eyes and ears. There was always somebody watching, listening, collecting intelligence that could be used against.

He knew that better than most. He was the one in the shadows, most of the time.

She spoke what she knew and Kasoria added it to his own knowledge. Hmm. So she did know him, at least. Well enough to know his habits. But if he didn't come in for long, he could easily miss him. He could come in every night and still miss that narrow window. The assassin clicked his tongue behind his teeth, an irritable habit from his youth. His hand found the glass of stout and took a deep drink. It cooled the annoyance somewhat. No, he wouldn't give up that easily. There had to be a way.

Knowing where a man can be is good. Knowing where he is is better. But knowing where he will be? That's what all hunters should strive for. He sighed, and traced the frosted glass with his finger. Rock-solid logic. No arguing with it. You know he'll be here. Just not exactly when. So, you suck it up and you wait for-

Then the Fates showed Kasoria that, just occasionally, they can toss a bad man a bone. He just wondered what price would be paid for it down the road.

A dozen pairs of eyes turned to the commotion at the door, and his were among them. A new face had arrived, shaking hands, waving greetings, and what looked like the madam of the Gentleman's Leisure bustled up to him. Kasoria watched with eyes as predatory as Yndira's could be, only his were all-too-human. He noted the fine material the man swaddled himself in. The way he fastidiously cut and combed and starched his pointed little beard. His bearing, his manner, it reeked of the well-to-do and sophisticated. But the decider was when the Madam offered her hand... and like a true gentleman, the patron put one hand behind his back, bent at the middle, took her hand and kissed it.

Kasoria's eyes shot up for a moment. Fates. Might as well have had his name tattooed across his thinning hairline.

"Wersham."

Yndira nodded, but she needn't have bothered. Wersham exchanged some pleasant words with the Madam, smiling like minor royalty the whole time, and gestured with a wide sweep of his arm towards the bar. It took a few trills for word to get down it, and as it traveled, a ragged cheer went up from the drinkers. Finally the bartender came over, crooked smile on her face.

"Fella just came in says everyone at the bar gets one on him. Same as before?"

Kasoria grunted by way of reply and watched the man get ushered to a private booth, out of the way of general traffic, but commanding a fine view of the stage. He'd barely settled his arse into the plush upholstery before a couple of ladies fluttered over to him, smiles fitting to split their faces. Kasoria sipped his drink and watched the man begin to enjoy a visit that would end badly. He'd warm that stool and keep buying drinks and when Wersham left, so would he. A quiet, unobtrusive following through the darkened streets. Until the well-dressed fence found himself somewhere they could engage in conversation... that wouldn't echo the screams too loudly.

"Well," he said, in the tone of a man coming to a decision. "Guess I won't be needing-"

The sentence was never finished. The words stopped on his tongue as his brain threw up a fresh possibility. Not a free or even likely cheap one, but... enough to make him pause. Long and abruptly enough for Yndira to turn to him, likely wondering if the Old Man had had a fucking stroke. Wouldn't be too odd, really. A man of his years, bound to happen at some point. But then she saw the glazed eyes and contemplative expression. Heard the gears turning in that devious little skull. He licked his lips and wetted them with another sip.

"Still wanna make some coin?" Of course, he knew the answer. In fact, if she didn't point out that technically she had already earned said coin by describing Wersham for him, enough to point the man out when he walked in the door, Kasoria would have been almost disappointed. But he just wanted to keep her attention focused. "Good. Need ya t'do something else fer me."

He leaned closer and those watching would likely assume Yndira had another admirer on the hook. Oh, but if they'd heard his tone and words. Nothing but business.

"Work yer magic on him. Say y'want to se his shop, his wares, all the... pretty things. He'll buy that from a woman." A smile graced his face for a moment. Bright and mocking as a raised finger. "We all know how much youse lot love the pretty things. Say y'want to see it tonight, that y'want to go with him, heard about him, bah blah blah, whatever the fuck. Just get him there, alone, with you. I'll be following. Then I'll ask me questions."

Kasoria leaned back. Drink on one hand, smile on his face, allowing himself the sin of pride for his cunning little plan. Quite swiftly constructed, too.

"Then you'll get paid."

[Yndira]

He had all the posturing of a man above his station, and one who'd gotten there through less than fair means. It was mildly nauseating, but nothing more than a drop of liquor in a big glass. Scholars were worse. Her brows rose as the round was declared on him, a soft exhale leaving her. Money. How people like him loved to spend. How she had loved to spend it. Not anymore; fortune was not kind. Fortune had favored a man who'd made her a fugitive.

And then Wersham disappeared into a private booth, surrounded by pretty faces for either decoration or pleasure. Show off, then take cover. Like some animal attracting a mate in predator-infested territory. Smart. Now, what would the old man do? He seemed to be on the verge of something, but it went quiet. Mid-sentence, he'd been. This warranted some sort of attention, forcing her to look back at the older man. The Naer should probably be disturbed in seeing what looked like actual intelligence in the man's eyes. It would be much like the same reaction the Old Man had to seeing her.

"More than what you owe?" Like she was going to let him forget that she had technically already been of some help. And that the help required payment. He was full of requests tonight, but if it meant getting paid - there was no harm. They had, for the most part, maintained a sort of distance broached only by her in her eagerness, and now the tables had turned. He must have had quite the idea in mind. Work yer magic. She snorted.

It was simpler than she had expected, and it reminded her of things. Her father, for one; he was doing that a lot. He was likely old enough to have met him if his life had been different. But then, they wouldn't be having this sort of conversation if that was the case. No - it'd be very different. Namely, he'd already be dead and she'd still be living in the lap of luxury.

Smug was not a good look for the old man. Yndira's brows furrowed as she looked back to Wersham in his booth. She recognized only one or two of the women beside him as those that worked or frequented the Lounge as she did. It would be relatively easy to dispatch them, but the others...a different story. A challenge.

It would be a matter of the approach. As much as she'd seen Wersam show himself, he hadn't seen her and someone who'd gotten as far as he had the way he did would have some caution. For her sake, she hoped not. "What do when no more questions? His answer would seal the deal. Make it or break it. She couldn't have him needing the man alive again.

That would be a real waste.

Ith'ession | Common | Pailtic | Thought

[Kasoria]

Kasoria favored her with a rare, genuine smile. Much as it cost him, he appreciated working with people who weren't idiots. You just had to be careful, walking that tightrope between partners who were competent and canny, and those who would fuck you over the moment their cunning gave them a clear shot at your back. Given his profession, the odds were weighted a wee bit more in the later direction.

"You do more, so you get more," he said, shrugging away the expense as if it were a trifle. Compared to a job done neat and tidy, it was. "Hundred nels, fer pointin' him out to me. For what I ask... two hundred." He held up a finger before she could haggle, like a father would a child already pushing her luck. "After I ask my questions, an' I ain't one fer negotiatin'. Remember, I don't need your help, it's just... preferable."

He finished the mug and slapped it down, in no rush for a refill. The bartender was still bouncing around like a stick-smacked ball, trying to make good on Wersham's largess. When he looked back to Yndira, there was nothing but ice in his eyes, warring with the crooked, amused smile he wore.

"Do what I ask, what y'do fer money anyway, an' make a dozen trials worth a' coin in a few breaks. Or fuck about, act the smart shite, an' lose the chance. Makes no difference to me, love."

The old man didn't threaten her. Didn't tack on some bardic or sage nonsense about the Fates. Didn't growl out some ganger intimidation, the kind she'd likely heard before from men that had been choking on their own tongues moments later. She'd been in the same cavern as he. She'd seen what he was capable of, just as he had. Only he didn't need magic or the gifts of fell demigods to reap that crowd of toughs and drinks and renegades like a scythe through corn.

Kasoria did not threaten her. A professional courtesy: one predator to another.

You don't threaten your own kind. You don't need to.

She asked a question, instead. One that made the smile falter for a trill, but not much longer than that. She was looking ahead, at least. Kasoria looked beyond her and saw the silhouette of the man enjoying his fine wine, burgundy glasses raising and tilting as his little party reveled. One last celebration of life and love and all the frantic fucking in between, before...

The Old Man snorted softly. If it had been a woman, like that streetwise little shit of a pickpocket in the forgotten wine cellar last season, he might have done the same as with her. Let the man bolt. But the fear of certain death into him - not something difficult, if he could get Yndira to show her true "color" - and vanish out of his life, but never from the back of his mind. Because he still had that dram of old-fashioned, genteel, utterly fucking obsolete honor to him. In the time it took to think of an answer, Kasoria chided himself, and smiled bleakly.

She didn't know what she was in. He does. He ordered it. He's not blameless. He's not innocent.

And since when did that matter to a man like you?

"Then I kill him," he said, voice a low and rigid thing, sliding through the air between them like fumes from a crypt. "And you can have the bones, fer all I care."

A shadow passed over the two of them, for but a moment. A fresh mug with a frothy head; a fresh glass for her, with an olive and rind of lemon bobbing inside something that smelled both fruity and overpowering to him. He sipped his own drink, and waited for her to make her decision. His eyes flickered back to the booth, and he noticed one of the girls swaggering away, tucking something shiny into her breeches.

"Don't take forever makin' yer mind up."

[Yndira]

Do more, get more; understandable. It was a basic enough concept that the Naer could get a solid grasp of. And what he was offering wasn't something to sneeze at. It would be enough to carry she and Nadine on for the remainder of the season and then some. A short moment of disgust overcame her, disguised as contemplation as she took a sip of her drink. Concerning herself with others - actively seeking out their good - was new to her and she wasn't pleased with it. It felt...odd. But she didn't have much time to be worried about it; she had money to make.

He didn't threaten her. It wasn't shocking, so much as it was enlightening. Did he view them as equals? Or something akin to it? It made her laugh - a short bark of pure amusement chased with more drink. There was an understanding there, though. That it was a slim window of opportunity she was being given and she had only two options. It was all a matter of what she chose to do.

This was nothing new to her. How many times had her father sent her to charm a colleague getting ahead of himself? Really, now; these parallels with her father were getting more sickening as she noticed them. Yndira would need to keep her eyes on differences, lest she end up being fed someone that she only partly cared for again.

The Old Man's answer to her question was what really sealed the deal. A meal. One she would need to work for, but a meal no less to go with her pay. "Will do it." She downed the rest of her drink, setting the glass down with a soft clink. She returned his earlier smile with one of her own, a short display of teeth and eagerness. He'd already made it clear that time was of importance, and their window of opportunity was closing.

Stalking away without further comment, she set to work.

A man like Wersham needed not validation, but praise. Maybe even something close to worship with people kissing the ground he walked on. It was annoying, but it would need to be done if she were to get him where she needed him. Her steps carried her closer and closer, winding her way through servers and patrons with eyes trained on her target.

Yndira spared one more glance in the Old Man's direction before closing the distance to the private booth. Her smile was small, coy; but just a touch predatory. The girls already there looked up only a moment at her arrival, begrudgingly assessing her appearance and the threat to potential nel they could be earning. Which didn't matter much to her. She seized the spot vacated previously, subtle in her closing off one girl from any sort of conversation.

Her greeting to him was an easy thank you - of course, if he was buying everyone a round, he would expect thanks. And then, "Heard much about your work."

Ith'ession | Common | Pailtic | Thought