Ymiden 47th, arc 719
Sybil's lips knit to the side, once the letter is handed over to Zemos. The man giving a slow nod, before slipping it within his satchel. The slave had been used as a messenger, as of late. The student knew a few vague contacts that dealt in the occult, but nothing concrete. Acting through Zemos, however, provided a level of previously unassured anonymity, even though it was likely that the hiring party knew exactly who they were bringing onto the scene. It was at least less ostentatious than publicly advertising on the walls, or through criers. This wasn't really a business. It was research. "Do you remember how to get to the place?" Sybil asked of Zemos, eyes glancing to the side. Laying back onto the bed, for a moment, it looked as though the student would simply go to sleep, once the slave had left. However, the wrist and ankle restraints were open, as the joints were slipped through, "Do you need a reminder?"
What was happening, was obvious.
"I think so." Zemos offered, with a slow bob of the head. He was loyal, and saw his tasks completed to the best of his abilities, but in the end, he was an emotionally damaged person that was sold off for the cost it took Sybil to recoup after simply choosing not to drink for a while. "Round the bend first, right?" He said, scratching at his head. His empty memories seemed to make room for the newer ones. Sybil didn't have the time to unearth the truth of it all.
"Help me into bed, and I'll walk you through it." Sybil said, as their eyes slowly closed, their wrists and ankles slowly moving within the restraints. There was no doubt in their mind that Zemos knew what to do. It just took time.
Zemos began to approach. The sound of his footfalls were familiar. A slow breath is drawn from their lips, as he approaches. The student's left wrist is roughly grabbed, and pulled, so that it is properly secured by the joint. In a smooth, if methodical motion, the leather strap is pulled tightly against the flesh, before the slave wriggles two of his fingers within the space between the strap, and Sybil's flesh. He begins to loosen it, as per his instructions many nights ago.
"Take the bend to the left." Sybil says, as the iron hook secures the leather.
The opposing side's ankle is next. Bending over the student, his eyes slowly flicker across the body before him. It's much like he's thinking about what's being done, rather than anything malicious. If he was capable of such things, Sybil wouldn't have selected him, and specifically him, for this task. Pulling the leather harshly against the flesh and repeating the process. The student lets out a soft breath, as the restraint around the wrist is pulled against.
The thoughts slowly fluttering through Sybil's mind urges them to continue, "Follow the street until you reach the lower Prism."
A thick linen swathe is pulled out from beneath the bed, and folded upon itself. The tightly woven material slowly overlapping across Zemos's hand until he manages to get to a thickness that he approves of. With his offhand, he props up Sybil's head, and pulls it forward, the linen slowly wrapping around the student's eyes, and securing behind the head itself. Pulling the knot tightly, he tests the fabric, opting to leave it tight, rather than loosening it.
"Take a right down to the intersection, and take another right." The student remains calm, taking in slow, deep breaths.
With the eyes secured, along with the ankle and wrist of opposing sides, Zemos begins to move and work on the leather straps that have yet to be put to use. Sybil's mind begins to find some semblance of soothing silence, to it all. With the erasure of sight, only being able to see the dull flicker of the hearth, Sybil simply allowed the slave to continue with the process. Zemos was getting used to the challenges posed by having a possessed master.
"From there, you should reach a market square. Look for the butchery with a cross etched in the sign." Sybil offers, once more.
A slow nod comes from Zemos, unseen by Sybil, as he finishes the restraints. Stepping back from the student, he glances around the room. It's a complete mess of papers and scrawled information. But he was ordered to not touch any of them, and only clean out the hearth. "Just drop off the letter?" He asks of Sybil, as his hands slowly move to test the strength of the restraints, fingers tugging at the natural weakpoints of where the metal and leather combine.
Sybil tests the strength of the restraints, as their mind begins to relax, and Zemos's hands pull back from his handiwork. They would suffice. But it was soon proving to be obvious that they would need more funding, if this ordeal was going to resolve itself in some way other than the student breaking down into absolute nothingness. A slow nod is given in the direction of Zemos, being unable to see him, simply going with where they last heard the noise of his voice come from.
"Do take your time. I need to commune."