Less Than Sold | Bluebird Moon
Hey, so you know that backlog of fics that @sandcastlekings and I wrote for Jer and Ver that we weren't releasing because we write out of order and we were worried nothing would make sense if we released them out of order. Welcome back to Bluebird Moon, where everything's made up and the order doesn't matter.
This fic is available on AO3 and takes place after Intertwined - if you'd like to check out the other parts of the timeline we've released, check out our Bluebird Moon master post.
It was getting worse. The insomnia at night was past the point of manageable, and Veryl had fallen asleep one too many times in the most unreasonable places. Back alleys were not safe in Minrathous— even during the day. Bax at the Rusty Mug had told her she could sleep in the back room no questions asked, didn't even fight her on it, like he understood from just one look how little sleep she was getting. The nightmares had become impossible, they frequently mixed with reality and became nearly indistinguishable. She was at her wits end. Sabriel at the clinic had been able to offer small remedies but wasn't comfortable putting Veryl to sleep. Not that it would help with the dreams anyway. The screams didn't stop, and the magic induction meant she was stuck in them, unable to escape. It was pure torture.
In some masochistic way, she saw it as fit retribution for the crimes she had knowingly committed, all of the lives she'd taken on a word, all of the lives she'd ruined with a whisper or a note. All of the faces of her accusers, screaming, wailing, whimpering. It was only right she heard them. It was her due.
"-var?" A deep tenor seeped through as Veryl stared at the sheet in front of her. There were so many new details that needed her focus. "Ingellvar? Is everything alright?" The Shadows contact looked across the table at her, their face well hidden behind a mask. She had only recently proven herself trustworthy enough to receive information directly, rather than in postings. The Swan was their new meeting point, every second Thursday afternoon at 3:17pm, for exactly seven minutes. If she didn't show up, they would assume she was compromised.
Maker, how much time had she wasted staring into space. "Yes, it's fine. I-I'm fine." She nodded quickly. "So the contact, they're high profile, right?" She skimmed through the information again, trying to absorb it quickly, aware that it would be burned after this meeting.
The Shadows agent nodded. "You'll only have a small window to catch them at the consulate." They took the paper from her and held it over the candle, burning it for both of them to witness. "Last question: Is everything still working out with your liaison? There was a report that things didn't go well last time."
Veryl bit back a groan. Of course they got a report about their argument in front of the client. It could not have gone worse. She couldn't believe she had been paired with Mercar of all people. In a world where she was supposed to be completely unknown, the one person she couldn't trust, now knew everything. Another stroke of bad luck. She should really stop keeping count of how disastrous it was getting.
"We had a small miscommunication, I won't let it happen again," she assured them. They both watched as the final bits of the paper burnt up and then crumpled away. They stood and straightened their coat and mask. "Good," The agent nodded. "Higher ups decided, we won't be able to work together if you make issues with our agents." Veryl swallowed thickly and gave her own nod of understanding. As soon as they left, she relaxed against the chair and groaned. Her fingers tapped against the table top, impossible to stop. Elek had kept his word and covered all of her tracks. She stuck to routines, didn't stray outside if she could help it, and lived off the bits and pieces of information she could glean about Amelia.
Nothing had happened since the run in with the last person that followed her, but it made her feel like a sitting duck. Amelia could be doing anything and Veryl wouldn't know. Her greatest chance at protecting herself was getting a leg up on her old benefactor. In order to play the game Amelia forced her into simply by being alive and within the same country, she needed to stay ten, even twenty steps ahead. Right now she was about thirty steps behind.
The best chance she had at getting what she needed was by working with anyone that would let her. Providing her services as a spirit negotiator and magical artifact expert was her best bet. The Shadows had come out of no where. Elek informed her that they had gotten her name from a Thread she had only consulted briefly on an urn. The posting had appeared outside the Rusty Mug a few days later, her name coded into the text.
She couldn't lose this. The Shadow Dragon's connections ran deep and wide, though they stayed almost impossible to track down. Veryl had tried. They had thrown her off at every turn, choosing only to seek her out when they actually needed her help. She wanted to work out a deal, prove her value to them in exchange for access to information about Amelia.
Her dirty fingers ran through her oily hair and she lamented the lack of a bath. After her encounter with Elek she'd deemed it unsafe to continue as she was. With no connections and no tangible way to protect herself, wandering into strangers beds, while tantalizing, would only serve in furthering Amelia's greater purpose. That meant no bed, no baths, and no sex. Although the former seemed to inform the latter. Bax let her bunk in the supply room at the bar so long as she didn't cause any problems and cleaned up every night.
She reached for her pocket, digging around for the change she stashed there. She had enough to spend some time at the communal bath that evening. It wouldn't due to meet a dignitary looking like the homeless street urchin she was always supposed to be. If the stars aligned, maybe she'd even be able to do something about the shooting pain in her skull, the ache in her belly, and still be able to get some sleep.
And that would only work if she didn't have to share her dreams with a stranger.
"Veryl. A word." Jericho caught her just as she was coming out of the Swan. She turned her head toward his voice and rolled her eyes as she approached.
"Mercar." Veryl held up her hands, forming air quotes around his name, the threat of his actual surname lurking underneath. "What do you want?"
Narrowing his eyes in response, he motioned for her to follow and led her around a corner and into a narrow alley where they were unlikely to be overheard or disturbed. Veryl looked tired, like she hadn't slept in days. It wasn't a surprise, given what he'd seen of her nightmares. Unfortunately, it was a feeling he knew all too well. His weren't any better. And she knew it too.
She knew too much.
"You understand the assignment I assume? Alright with playing body guard during the meeting?"
Crossing her arms, she scoffed. "Not sure why you have to be the dignitary, but yes, I understand. And I'm sure that's not why you dragged me back here."
Jericho sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Look, I just want to make sure this goes better than the last job. I have to know I can trust you on this if we're going to work together."
"I already got the lecture from your fellow agent. I don't need it from you too. Besides, I don't think I'm the untrustworthy one here." She cocked an eyebrow knowingly.
He glared, unappreciative of her accusation. "You don't like me. That's fine. I get it. You have information on me that could get me killed, or worse, and I have the same on you. So let's just try to remember that neither of us have the upper hand here, and get through this without screwing it up this time, yeah?"
Veryl stood, arms still crossed, lips pursed and tapping her foot as she considered his offer.
This woman frustrated him to no end. She was stubborn, and impulsive. Under normal circumstances, he could've handled that. But they kept ending up in each other's heads, their deepest secrets exposed to each other against their will. And now they had to work together, with that knowledge hanging over their heads like a guillotine ready to drop.
He'd done much in the last couple of years, since he'd fled his family's cruelty and joined the Shadows, to curb his rather short temper. Viper had warned him that his hot head could get him into trouble, the way it flared in the face of Venatori, and so far, he had managed to control it. But lately, too fresh from the wounds of his relationship with Elek breaking apart, moody and depressed, and now faced with his past coming unraveled to a stranger through their now inexplicably shared nightmares - not to mention the resulting migraines - he was quickly reaching his limit. It was enough to drive one mad.
"Well, do we have a truce?" His patience was wearing thin.
Veryl didn't verbalize an answer, and instead stuck out her palm. It felt tentative at best, like she would snatch it back the first misstep he made. He couldn't help but notice the missing digit as he reached for her bare hand. It had been bandaged in her nightmare, but the whole finger, missing?
They didn't linger in their hold and quickly released each other.
Jericho sighed in relief, his tension easing slightly. He offered a polite nod before departing.
He was on edge again the next day. Veryl kept pace with him as they approached the meeting point for their contact. She still looked tired, but had at least made an effort to clean up, to Jericho's relief. He couldn't have her blowing their cover. She needed to look the part of a dignitary's guard, not a street urchin.
"Just let me do the talking." He whispered out of the corner of his mouth. "Stay calm. Don't cause any trouble. We get the information and get out."
Veryl gave him a hard look, a flash in her mismatched eyes "I know," she hissed under her breath. "I've got it, don't worry about me."
It was then that a rather self-important, well-dressed man approached the pair. Jericho held out his hand and made introductions, but couldn't help but keep an eye on Veryl. Her eyes were darting around the room, subtly scanning the consulate for potential threats, possible exits. Despite the truce they had called, he still didn't quite trust her at his back.
Pulling his attention back to their contact, he turned on an uncomfortably familiar facade - stepping back into the shoes of nobility. The man let his guard down, leaving room for Jericho to prod him for the needed information. He swore he could feel Veryl's eyes on his back, her nose wrinkled in distaste at the ease with which he slipped into character, unaware of his own discomfort in the role. It was stifling.
Posing as a buyer for the artifact in question created a believable cover, and their mark, while not in possession of the artifact itself, provided them with enough of a lead to work with. Satisfied that their business was concluded, he departed, and Jericho could finally breathe.
Veryl huffed. "Well, that's done. You'll be taking the information back to your bosses I assume?"
Nodding, Jericho confirmed they had what they needed. "Stick close until we're clear of the consulate, then you're free to go." She did as she was told and they made their way to the exit as casually as possible. They didn't speak as they finally reached the steps of the consulate, seemingly both satisfied to break apart without so much as an acknowledgment past a sliding glance.
Jericho held back as Veryl took her leave, watching from a short distance. With some subtle spellcasting, he hid himself just outside of her awareness, and followed, sticking to the shadows. There was something… off about Veryl that he couldn't put his finger on. She wasn't a mage, he couldn't discern a hint of magic on her, yet something kept pulling them together. It wasn't a coincidence. There had to be some sort of force involved, whether or not she was aware of it.
The night he'd first been pulled into her nightmares, when he'd had to rescue her from Fear's grasp, a strange entity he couldn't identify had bid him to help, to watch after her. He'd searched the Fade a few times since, unable to find even the slightest trace of the spirit. If that's even what it had been. He had more questions than answers, and wasn't sure if he was being led into a trap, or if the plea for help was genuine. But if Veryl did need his help, she didn't seem to be aware, and she certainly didn't want it.
But that didn't mean he was going to just let it go. He had to find a way to get her out of his head. His identity had already been compromised. As had his powers. Information only a select few were privy too, now in the hands of a mysterious, dangerous stranger. If they fell into each others' dreams again, he hated to think what else she could reveal about him.
Perhaps the most unsettling part was the entity's declaration that the two of them were now "intertwined." How? In what way? Did she even know? Jericho was at his wit's end trying to find a solution, so now he turned to the only recourse he could think of: following her in hopes she led him to answers.
Veryl's quickfooted trek ended at The Rusty Mug, a tavern that he wasn't that familiar with on the far outskirts of town. He preferred the Swan or Lamplighter himself. Was she just here to drink, to meet someone, or was she staying here? He supposed it wouldn't hurt to hang around and find out.
Veryl felt eyes on her all evening, but couldn't place them. Surreptitious looks over her shoulder, a quick flick of her eyes across the room, even a small turn of her head did nothing to divest the feeling of acute awareness.
The bar was decently busy on Fridays, plenty of people looking to spend their coin or lose it in a game. Her usual weekend game hadn't made his appointment, so she had taken several challenges. They'd lost their money quickly, and Veryl had closed up shop. There was music tonight, the bar was lively, and Veryl was in a decent mood despite the last few days.
Even the sight of the last person she wanted to see, tucked into the deep recesses of a dark corner, didn't really dampen her lightened spirits. With an order placed with Myllin for whatever the cook felt like making, she sidled up to his table. "Fancy seeing you here, blue bird." She couldn't keep the bitterness from her tone, slapping a hand down on his table to gain his attention and leaning onto it.
She didn't appreciate his ability to just show up in her bar of all places, when she purposefully kept to this side of town to keep out of sight. Honestly, considering what she knew, she didn't appreciate his ability to move around freely at all while she was so hemmed in. What had he done to earn that right?
Jericho flinched as her hand hit the table. He looked up at her with an arched brow. "Blue bird?"
Veryl smirked, happy to have caught him off-guard. "This seat taken?" She moved to the other side of the table before he could confirm or deny, and plopped gracelessly into the chair.
"By all means…" he muttered drily.
She waved to Myllin to let her know where she was and settled her full attention on the man across from her. "So, you're keeping tabs on me now?" She gave him a saccharine smile.
"I'm just trying to figure out why we keep showing up in each other's nightmares. This… seemed like the best way to get answers." He paused, smiling back at her. It didn't reach his eyes. "The Fade hasn't given me anything to go on so far, so… you're my only option."
She gave a low chuckle, "Wow, you really know how to treat a girl." Myllin brought her a small tumbler of whiskey before moving on, Veryl offered her thanks. After a slow sip from the glass she pegged him with a hard look. "I wouldn't know, blue bird. I don't have a magic bone in my body. So I'm afraid this is a dead end too." She pouted. "Hmm. Sad." Another sip punctuated her words as she scanned the room.
Jericho knew she was trying to get under his skin, but he refused to let her attitude bother him, determined to keep his emotions under control. "You might not have any magic, but someone, or something powerful has their eye on you. Why else would that strange spirit ask me to help you?" He couldn't be sure if she remembered its appearance while they were fleeing from the Fear demon, but hoped that it might catch her attention.
Veryl cleared her throat and watched him closely for tells. He sat unflinchingly across from her, relaxed and steady. No fluttering pulse announced itself. Of course she couldn't remember any such entity, much less it asking him to protect her. What or who, could possibly be seeking out aid on her behalf?
"It's not it's fault you're the only dreamer around, it probably just latched on to whomever was the most convenient." She felt her accent getting thicker, the common on her tongue a little harder to pronounce. She didn't like that he knew something she didn't.
With a smirk, he watched her thoughtfully for a moment, glad to have gained some ground, however small. He took a sip of his own drink. "Look, I don't know what this is about. I just want to make sure I'm not being led into some sort of trap. Alright?"
"Believe you me, blue bird, my traps are much sweeter than this." Veryl sank back into her chair just as Mylinn brought her plate of food around. It was some sort of experimental dish that Gregor saved for when Veryl was ordering. She flitted away before Veryl could ask if she needed help tonight, the bar only seemed to be getting busier. Maker knew she'd rather deal with rowdy customers over talking to this… whatever Mercar was.
Veryl dug into her plate and stopped trying to study her unwilling date. "Look, I had no idea who you were when you stepped into my dream and I still have no idea who you are now." She lifted her eyes to his as she took another bite. "You mean nothing to me."
Jericho clenched his fist tightly, starting to feel a heat rising under his skin. Leaning forward in his chair, his voice dropped to an angry, near whisper. "Venhedis. I wouldn't even be here right now if I didn't want you out of my damn head." Pausing, he took a deep breath, pinching the bridge of his nose. He didn't want to start yelling and cause a scene. "You say you have no idea who I am, but you know more than anyone should. Why shouldn't that concern me?"
Veryl licked her fork, "you mean to tell me you don't go around telling people that you're the son of-"
His eyes flashed with anger and he bit back the sparks flaring to life in his palms. He would not lose control here. "Kaffas. Will you shut your mouth!?" Taking another deep breath, he counted backwards from ten in his head, and tried to hide his shaking hands from her view.
"Touched a nerve there, did I?" Veryl gave him nothing but a smirk, she could have guessed as much based on the contents of his dream. "Don't worry your pretty little head about it, I have no intention of spreading any rumors about a walking dead man. I'll even swear on it if you want me to." Without much thought to the action she lifted her left hand to the table and held out her pinky. When he didn't immediately take it she whispered, "sorry, I'm not much into blood oaths. Never know where someone's blood has been."
Sighing, he raised an eyebrow, unsure of how sincere her offer was. "A pinky swear? Really?" He couldn't help but chuckle. "Fine. And if it makes you feel any better, I have no intention of spreading your secrets around either." He held out his own hand, pinky extended, for her to take.
"For some of us," she raise her other hand and wiggled all of her fingers. "they're precious commodities. I'm good for it, Mercar. Will you excuse me for a second?" Veryl stood and rounded to the back of her chair. While they had been in the midst of their heated discussion, slowly inching toward each other, a fight to see who would stab the other first, a small commotion had grown into a larger one next to them.
Mylinn was now trying to fend off the advances from an overly handsy patron that kept grabbing for her and pulling her back to his lap. Veryl knew this was Bax's blind spot when the bar was busy. Obviously, so did this guy. In no world would he have chanced getting this physical with Mylinn if he knew Bax would catch him. This was truly the worser outcome for him.
Jericho watched her with wary interest as she gave him a small smile and huffed; she was about to get into so much trouble.
Veryl deftly pulled the small Elven waitress out and away from her assailant, grabbing her roughly by the upper arm and wrenching her free of the burly man's grasp. Veryl was tall, but had nothing on his two hundred pounds, even if he didn't meet her eyeline. She looked like one strong gust of wind could blow her over sometimes.
It didn't matter though, because as the man turned to see what had snatched his prey away, Veryl was brandishing her chair with both hands and slamming it across his body, knocking him over a table, and into a wall. Jericho's eyes widened in surprise. He'd known she was capable enough, given that the Shadows had shown an interest, but this was way beyond what he would've expected. At first, he'd had half a mind to jump up and offer his assistance, but it quickly became clear that it wasn't needed. He would just get in the way. Or end up with a fist in his eye.
The man's face slammed into the wall but he regained his feet quickly, incensed and already aiming for her face. Veryl dodged his lazy throw and returned it with a strike of her own to his solar plexus. The guy was down in seconds. The entire bar went deathly silent over the commotion but she wasn't paying attention, choosing instead to look after the girl. The large man now lay prone in the corner.
"Ver!" An angry call broke the silence. "Again?!" Veryl waved off the indignation in the bartender's voice as he made his way through the group of on lookers, blocking their view. "Alright, move off. Nothing to see here, just a Mourn Watcher laying people to rest."
"Relax," Veryl said as he finally got closer, "he's not dead. But he'll wish he was." There was a poisonous bite to her words. Jericho watched as she passed off the shell-shocked girl to the bartender who was still talking at high volume, Veryl simply rolled her eyes before looking straight at him.
"Mercar, help me take out the trash." She threw a thumb over her shoulder to the crumpled heap of flesh at her feet.
Jericho stood and moved to help her relocate the unconscious man. Even between the two of them , it was a struggle to get the guy into the alley. The night air was frigid, not many people wandered the streets. With their task complete, Jericho leaned against the wall, arms crossed against the cold, and looked at Veryl as she stood across from him. He tried to fit the pieces of the puzzle together.
"That was a nice thing you did back there. Well… not so much for him." He nudged the unconscious man with his foot. "But for the girl. Too many around here just… turn a blind eye." His brows knotted together, troubled.
Veryl gave him a look he didn't know how to read, "I take care of my people." Something flickered in her eyes, igniting and evaporating just as fast. He wouldn't deny the number of mysteries this girl presented, he couldn't even count them all, nor could he determine their solutions.
Curiosity got the better of him though, he decided to press his luck. "Your dream. The fire. Is that what really happened?"
Veryl frowned before sighing deeply, as though she had anticipated something like this. "No. I got all of the kids out before the building collapsed."
He slotted that in against the information he was gathering. The dream had been long and intense, however. "Was that the only part it got wrong?" He asked pointedly.
"Yes." The answer was out before he could finish the sentence. No elaboration followed. There was steel in her spine as she straightened to her full height, daring him to draw his conclusions on her character. "What about you? Was that really how it happened?"
"Yeah, that's how it happened. Up until getting captured. In reality, I came to Dock Town, the Shadows found me, and helped me change my identity. The Shadow Dragon leaders know who I am, if that makes you feel any better." Jericho looked down at the ground, seemingly studying his own shoes, but lost in the memory.
"Yeah, no, not really." She shook her head and then shrugged. "But it's better than nothing."
"Fair enough." He let the silence hang in the air.
"My benefactor knew the Magister." Veryl admitted quietly. "Had me get information for him once or twice." Her eyes remained distant, a slight cringe contorting her features. She closed her eyes for a second and came back to him with a clear look.
Jericho's eyes narrowed. "I am nothing like my family. My father was a rat bastard and I was relieved when he never came home from Nevarra." He paused, his gaze softening slightly. "I'm sorry you ever had to do anything for him."
She fidgeted, first scrubbing at her jaw and then tapping at her thigh when her hand dropped to her side. Her mouth opened and closed a few times before she landed on what she wanted to say. "What was the point of the letter if you're supposed to be dead?"
He sighed. "The note you saw was for my brother. But he doesn't know who or where I am now. And I have no intention of changing that. Just thought if anyone deserved to know I was alive, it was him. He'll keep the secret."
Jericho's voice sunk to an almost whisper, as if he was now mostly speaking to himself. "He spent enough of his life protecting me. Didn't want him to think he'd failed." As he met Veryl's gaze, he hoped his expression was enough to tell her that he wouldn't be taking further questions on that particular subject.
Watching her carefully, Jericho was beginning to believe he might have misjudged her. She was clearly uncomfortable, nervous ticks that she couldn't hide showing themselves. But her honesty was refreshing. They had found some common ground, a starting point. He still didn't have the answers he was looking for, in regards to their strange Fade connection, but a semi-civil conversation was better than nothing. It might make working together easier going forward. At least he wasn't the one passed out in the alley behind the bar, that had to be a win with her, right?
"Well," She huffed, her breath fogging in the air, "it looks like we're stuck with each other until we find that artifact."
"Hopefully the dreams won't be a regular occurrence." He conceded.
"Maker willing there won't be a need to hold on to each other's secrets then." She shrugged, scuffing her boot against the ground and kicking up dust into the dry air. "But until then, I'll play nice.. er."
"That's all I ask," Jericho nodded. He really hoped she meant it.
"Alright, well," Veryl brushed her hands clean and headed for the door. "I gotta clean up my mess or I'll be out on my ass tonight. I'll see you when I see you."
Jericho watched her go back inside before departing the alleyway. He thought he might have a word with the Viper about their new ally's accommodations.
Thanks for making it this far. I want you to know how much it means that you've read/skimmed/looked at this. Veryl and Jericho have been the place I've run to when things have been tough for me. Jen has been an incredibly kind and supportive co-author and friend while I've been dealing with some personal things. Those things are still on-going, but I'm trying to be louder than them. I hope we get to release a lot more soon, their world was always meant to be shared. Thanks for being here. Tags for visibility (a combo of both mine and Jen's lists, so if you're surprised you're here, that's why!) @himluv @trashwithvariety @seaglassmelody @mythals-whore @brynriith @jukkaricity @grand-crow @davrinsleftpectoral @blackwall-my-tiny-husband @xkatchy @notyourmamasdeerbat @serialsforbellara @kabsey @juniper-and-dragonthorn @sorcerousadventurer @vishantikaffar @aetherflowers @dudewheresmynug @flowersforthemachines @deerancha @the-archons-moustache @bubblecat-co @rooks-dagger @chaosherald @serensama @kogarashi-art @shootingstar7123 @sunny374940 @elishnord @strugglinggranola @mushrooms-x-moss @woundedsoul12 @zennihilation @biowaredisasterbisexual @angelsndragons @wolfmoonwildflowers @curiouswisp @picathartidae @rooks-dagger @thatgaymerguyb @handsignals @julie-spirit-finn @tevivinter @lycheecatee @viagosbrother @mikilavellan @necromanticsoul @pixiedurango
Trivia for your time: A group of resting otters is called a raft in water, and a romp on land.
