[tolvajok]

pinned.

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[tolvajok]

the apology is met with a piercing stare, dark brown eyes turned near-void like in the shadow of the mask. even the whites of rook's eyes turn grey, if not red from strain and the attempt at holding back tears. because it's not fair. his asset, his dear, valuable asset is lost and it is all his the city's fault. and who do they send? someone the least bit prepared for this job. he should just do this alone. he should send them back. he should send them back in a box with a letter not unlike the one they have presented to him on top, with one word written into it: coward.

his eyes flutter shut, a burning pain shooting across his head from keeping his eyes open for too long. no. he cannot let all his anger out on them. he will not. they're not the cause of it.

"something has been misplaced indeed." he can't help the annoyance in his tone, even as he takes a calming breath. as much as he would like to remain stoic and give out no emotion, the more she says, the less he can sit still. his head rolls, along with his eyes, muttering silent curses under the mask. he's angry, because even if he should return this insult of an aid from the magisters, even if he shouldn't care whether they live or die, deep down he knows that he will not let anything harm them.

they remind him of her.

"we will start with you telling me your name. then, you will tell me of your skills."

[sidereius]

Adrian averts her eyes suddenly, as the annoyance spills from his mouth. Fiddles with their own fingers, remains quiet, as if cowed under the rage that begets his silence. The armor of feigned carelessness and fragile arrogance already cracked under a single touch, or so it seems. It is a pause, a rearranging. What would be most hurtful? What would let one the most in? Adrian thinks vaguely, I need you to keep me, just for a moment, for the root to take. She had been sent for what is in this masked man’s mind, but whatever laid between those eyes would be for her to choose to eat, or give away. Iron maul in her hands, attempting to find the weakest pillar. Where was it? On the table, there are names vaguely carved; stains of grease and ale between the scratches. A knife had been here. At arriving, Adrian had half-a-mind to be truthful in their care for what had happened, which was little at all. Perfunctory, half-pest. Enough to linger, but then what? Could be—fearful, scared, nervous, quivering rabbit trying to be brave. The face worn most in the magisterium, and was this one not part of it all? It is a gamble no matter what, and may be he finds it irritating, may be he is fickle and dangerous, and I end up getting gutted in this tavern, meaning nothing at all—

They are quick to answer, then, as if the reply is a flinch. “My name is Melia.” Adrian’s mouth twists in worry, and they look at him from under their eyelashes, vaguely distraught before their brow settles, determination; ignoring the stammering, pretending to be stronger than you are. The best lies are half-truth. “And I’ve—” They straighten their back, allow their voice to remain as steady as it can, which is not much. “And I’ve gone through training. I’ve been working for many months. Just not this. But I do have a knack for healing, or so I am told.” Not even as half as powerful as the medicus, of course—let alone as whispers speak the youngest of the Kwon family to be, with a gift strong enough to play with death itself. Adrian had been blessed with enough of a predilection to obscure the waters of what such a weakling could be of use for, for those that remained blissfully ignorant of what laid beneath. “You can send me back.” They repeat, admit. “But you shouldn't. I can help. Just tell me where to go, or where to follow you, or—or tell me something. I can be of worth. Just point me to where.”

[tolvajok]

if he didn't feel the venom of grief corroding his insides and rising up to his throat no matter how much he tried to swallow it down, if he wasn't so insulted by this show of disrespect by the magister, he would be able to use his damned head to see the reason behind the gesture. this is all he's good for. he's an adequate thief, able to be quiet when need be, he can talk his way out of trouble, but most of all, it is insight, observation, and thorough planning that got him here.

to look into those eyes and be unable to see what lies behind them... pisses him off more than anything, in that moment. revenge will be had. he will simply have to teach that magister a lesson. and how sweet it is on his tongue, as the soothing sensation of a plan starting to brew washes over him. they didn't choose this one, melia, to be sent here without either being entirely certain of their skills, and thus giving them a job they don't feel the need to disclose to him, or they simply don't care whether she lives or dies. just another disposable soul.

oh, but how much she reminds him of her. it's cruel. which makes him think that it is rather the former notion. another burden. another pawn tossed onto the board.

he moves, leaning onto the table with his elbows resting on the surface, as if he was listening intently to their every word. because he is. attempting to ascertain whether they are lying, whether there is anything they are holding back. "I'm not sending you back. should you hold me back during my investigation, you will be dealt with." an empty threat, made to seem real by the sheer anger his words are dripping with.

"one of my—" he pauses for a second, unable to find the right word for nova. pupil? apprentice? novice? sister? he grinds his teeth, not enjoying having to talk about it to a stranger. "—associates has been sent on a mission. she hasn't come back. she should'vecome back already. you and I will bring her back home."

[tolvajok]

"yes." his answer is swift, spoken before she could even finish her question. of course he would want a compliment. whether to mock, in jest, or truthful, he doesn't care. he will hear what he wants to hear. that's how he's survived all these years being as attention-seeking as he's always been. he shows off those teeth with a big grin, a chuckle slipping past them at her praise. "that's what I thought!"

he waves her off after that, brushing off the comment about his partners. it's not like he brings many of them back here, anyway. it's not like he indulges himself as much as he'd like, anyway. he can barely remember the last time, nor can he put a face to it. he's been busy. his position and his anonimity doesn't necessarily help with it, either. as tal, it's easier to find someone to spend the night with. but then again, he hasn't let himself be just tal for a while now.

perhaps that is why, when valdis takes the tip of his fingers between her teeth, and looks up at him like that, he wonders for a moment, and he knows that both of them are thinking the same thing. and then...

he must ruin the moment.

he doesn't react to her sudden sharp inhale, or the sound of the chair falling onto the floor, or the footsteps rapidly closing in on him. he lets her take his chin, make him look at her, as frustration and defeat darkens his gaze. his hands rest on the edge of the table, and he lets his expression be searched until it all becomes too overwhelming, and he shakes his head out of her touch.

"no. calm down, I haven't started a war." he jokes, but it doesn't land the same way. "I was only asking questions. she saw right through me. I've got a plan, alright? but first--" his hands move to wrap around each of her wrists, lightly sliding up her arm as an attempt to soothe her. "we must avoid her. lay low until one my little birds can poke around again." his grip tightens, even as he smiles, "no new recruits for at least two months. and even after that, we cannot trust anyone new. tell jackal, alright?"

[apotrcpaics]

Ah, there it is. Being seen through that very easily is the sort of thing that would shake her bard, unfortunate as it is. And if it has been enough of a slip on his part that it will hound their steps for the months to come, it surely weighs on him more than he will admit even to her. To a man that had devised the creation of their organization, slipping is not the sort of thing that he allows himself. None of them do. There is too much to lose if they stumble down a hill, too much work that they cannot afford to see down the drain. It must smart rather thoroughly, to— In a way, be bested by someone he had not seen coming. 

And he hadn’t seen this woman, whoever she is, coming if he still needs to go to his little birds to get an accurate profile of the threat. 

Clicking her tongue and pressing it against her cheek, Valdís stops herself from interrupting, letting her hand fall and taking comfort on the continuous touch. It is not a reassurance, not really. Not when there is now another threat hanging over their heads, and this time it is entirely unknown. But it does soothe her, because it reminds her that the threat is yet to come. They are alright, for now, and if they take the right precautions it will continue to be so. 

“Alright, I will let Jackal know and pass the word along to my sellers,” she relents with a long sigh, sliding her hands away from his grip gently. One moves down, so she can tangle their fingers together and squeeze tentatively, a silent reminder of her trust for his decisions. The other moves upward, towards his face. This time, it doesn’t reach for his chin, but rather it goes to cradle his cheek, her thumb coming up to brush against the thin scratch found there. Valdís had noticed them earlier, but in their line of work they don’t tend to mean much… Unless, of course, an incident had taken place the very night before. “Did you clean these up? Or did you go to bed as soon as you got here?”

Her question is quiet, and she makes a point to brush some of the scrapes she feels in his hands with her thumb to make a point.

[tolvajok]

he's become far too comfortable with his position. it never should've happened. this, what he's got now, what he's worked this hard for is merely temporary. if he becomes complacent, that is. he cannot allow himself to slip. not again. nothing he does now shall be overlooked. he's not just a lowly thief relying on luck anymore. what happened the night before is a wake-up call. one that might as well have put his life on the line. even if it was a simple reconnaissance job, she assumed he came to eliminate her. and though it might've been one of the ideas that came to taliesin's mind before, as always, he would've hoped to come up with a different approach. co-operation, perhaps, see if the two of them have anything in common he might exploit. alas... he's managed to mess it all up. any future collaboration with the silken spider will likely end with a considerable amount of compromise on the court's side. he should've been more prepared.

"just... be sensible with your sellers. we can't have them think us weak. or unreliable." it's all so fragile in tal's eyes that he can barely find a way to see clearly, his face shown in the reflection of all those sharpened blades turning towards him even in his own court, let alone the city itself. the only solace he gets is in his home, known by no one else other than the ones he shares it with.

her hand cradles his cheek and he has the urge to move away from her again, for he cannot possibly think that he deserves a soothing touch after what he's done. he feels a sharp pain as her thumb brushes over the fresh cut on his cheek, and for a moment, he leans into the touch, because pain is better than comfort right now.

he huffs out an embarrassed little sigh at her question. "I just went to sleep. they're fine. they don't need cleaning." he's got worse things to worry about than cleaning cuts or eating. and yet, if she insisted, he would probably do it. reluctantly, but he would.

[aenaos]

She hears the faintest sound of metal sliding home. The sound sends a shiver racing down her spine, and with it, a sliver of clarity. Witty, daring, cunning. Knows which questions to ask and which roles to play, ever-masked, as sleek as an eel gliding downriver. Intent on uprooting the spider from her nest. Honored guest, royal and jester, and everything sharp in between.

...Very well.

She leads him to the heart of her home, down the serpentine paths and flower-choked halls, while the moonlight above sifts through the canopy, clean and merciless as a blade. Her hand trails along the ivy, which shifts at her familiar touch, alive and responsive, tangling enchanted messages woven through vein and root. Her guards will not be far. Nor will the labyrinth as it breathes and watches, ever hungry, petals of orange blossom drifting down like a signal. They brush her shoulders as she walks.

Finally, she turns, veiled in their fragrance, shrouded in shadow, and says, "Here we are." The softness glides from her face, dissolves like rain, and beneath it lies nothing but calculation. "Forgive me. Had I known who you were, I would have been more accommodating." Her voice is thin, her words many-legged. "But you came all this way to see me, little king, and I am most flattered." Lenyra takes a half-step forward, not to threaten, but to inform. "I warn you, however, that it will take much more than that pitiful blade to reach my throat."

In the distance, footsteps approach. Her eyes linger on his wrist for a heartbeat. Then she smiles, all silk and no warmth. "Many before you have tried." Her last words are soft as a kiss. "Go and look for them now."

[tolvajok]

the winding path she takes him on is a long one, and rook takes a mental picture of the smallest of things to remind him of the way back, should he need to make a quick retreat at some point. a particularly large vase in this corner, a single wilted flower among the perfect ones here, the wall of ivy she touches, from which he steps to the other side of hers behind her, as if concerned that it may be poisonous to the touch, and she's playing a trick on him by freely trailing her hand along them.

once they stop, gaze all too used to the dark searches the area. there is no other figure. not in the shadows, not behind him, for he would've heard the footsteps. watching the way the hostess' expression has changed, it all comes together into one, far too late recognition.

oh.

well. she is close by, isn't she? he rolls his shoulders, stripping off the demeanor of a frightened boy as there is no need for it anymore. he's been found out. seen right through, in fact. he cannot dwell on his failings now, not when he's still caught, stuck in her web. the least he can do is squirm and make her hungrier.

"this blade?" he lifts his hand, pointing at the one snug in his bracer. she takes a step forward, but he does not move. "oh, this was meant for anyone standing in my way to see you, my lady. as I see it, there's no need for it anymore!" or is there...?

the sound of footsteps alerts him, and he seeingly deflates, as if disappointed that a play is about to end earlier than expected. mostly, it's for the reason that he's been forced to take the least preferred escape route possible. he begins to stalk towards the open window, but not before gracing her with a theatrical bow. "I reckon I'll pass on that. It has been a pleasure, truly. I've learned more than I needed tonight, and I can only thank your gracious hospitality for that." the footsteps get louder, and he makes a face behind the mask, one of dislike for his next step. "until next time!" he whispers a breathy curse before sprinting towards the window, and without having thought of where he would land first, rook jumps.

the bushes cushion most of his fall, and by the time he rolls out onto the ground outside the silken spider's estate, the only injuries rook comes away with is a few dozen cuts from the landing and a heavily bruised ego for being outwitted by someone. he doesn't stop, slipping past shadows and behind columns and trees, until he arrives at the lower district, where he'll dwell and lick his wounds, thinking about the massive mistake he just made, possibly bringing mistfortune on his court.

[aenaos]

His voice strikes a chord of sympathy in her. It echoes faintly in her own as she speaks. "You enter my garden reeking of desperation. Far too eager to sell yourself. That is not the lure you think it is." Lenyra knows an owner's cruelty, has felt the blow, has tasted the iron in her mouth. Liar or not, he is reaching for something, and she knows that feeling intimately. And so, she considers granting him the cruel mercy he desires, a dagger for a kiss, a harbor to fall into and never return from. Those most ravenous for change are often of the greatest use to her. She shapes their hunger into a tool befitting her needs while feeding them only morsels. "But not to me, then. Very well. I will not deprive a man of his choices."

The words flow like sorrow, yet trickle down like poison. She can't have him run, so she makes herself the bending reed, beckoning her prey closer to the pool. Whatever fangs hide beneath his mask will be no match for her own venom, not here, in her dew-webbed domain. Lenyra steps back in a murmur of moonlit silk, her shape slight as a willow. "She will not appreciate the disturbance, but she is close by." Closer than he thinks. She smooths her skirt, fingers tracing the outline of the thin knife she swiped from her fruit platter. "I tried..." With those words, she steps into the labyrinth, the shadows swallowing her whole. One thread is all a spider needs. Whether he follows or not, she already has his scent.

[tolvajok]

he agrees. perhaps he shouldn't have done this on a whim. after years and years spent in this damned city, he should've learned already that underestimating someone of her stature is a bad idea. she might merely be a woman in the middle, a messenger, one that is also trapped in her web. she knows better than to take pity on the imbecile he's playing the role of. he should've gathered more information beforehand. he should've come more prepared. he should've-- he doesn't want to hurt her. but should she call the guards, his escape would be all the more difficult. annoying. would a threat suffice? he should've known better.

she is close by. could she be any of the guests he's memorized the silhouettes of? or is she hidden, somewhere in the labyrinth, a dark corner, where she awaits any who stumble into her web? think, taliesin. treading deeper into the maze narrows down his escape plans to two. if he has to fight his way out, then so be it. he begins to follow her, gaze flitting between their surroundings, and potential routes to run. scaling the wall would take too much time. he'd have to hide first. the blade he's hidden in his robes is pulled out and slid into the bracer on his wrist as he continues to go after her.

[apotrcpaics]

“Should I compliment you then?” She says mockingly, smirk turning just mean enough to be sharp as she continues playing along his bashfulness with a heavy dollop of sarcasm coating her every word like thick dollops of honey. “Oh, my, what pretty teeth you have, Mr. Bard. So shiny and sharp, shining like pearls handcrafted to fit in your mouth.”

Valdís cannot say too much in the matter before she is erupting in silent laughter, shoulders shaking as she turns her face slightly to the side to bury her mouth on her palm as if to contain the helpless amusement the bizarre conversation had tickled out of her. She is still snickering under breath as she hears the comment about his partners, so she makes the point to lower her palm and turn back to Tal to show him the slow and deliberate way she rolls her eyes at his shenanigans. 

“You should come with a warning, then, just so I get to avoid running into the more cowardly of your partners when you bring them back here for your funtimes,” she says with an exaggerated sigh. It’s not like she actually minds, considering she has brought a handful of the most trustworthy members of her roster over a few times or so, but it is always embarrassing for the coward and while Valdís has no particularly strong feeling about seeing someone leave Tal’s room — she tells herself until she believes it—, second hand embarrassment is one of the few forms of embarrassment she does feel and rarely she feels bad for the poor fuckers, even if they undeniably knew what they were signing up for— Which, in the same vein. Blinking slowly at the blatant lie, Valdís raises a brow in both amusement and mild suspicion. 

“You are rarely good, you ginormous brat,” she says, unable to hide the blatant fondness dripping from her words as she pokes at his own to see if anything gives. “Which means something must have happened recently to keep you in your good behavior, spill.”

She goes to snark further, but she finds herself blinking in bemusement at the offering of the last piece of the tart. The former fondness that had been dripping from her words pools at the back of her ribs, and she sighs in amused defeat as she takes the last piece into her mouth— Taking the liberty to nibble at his fingers playfully as she looks up at him from beneath her lashes with a particular brand of intent she knows Tal will recognize without problem. 

Valdís is considering the time, weighing whether there is enough for the idea that has begun to form on the back of her head when an uncharacteristic sound has her shoulders tensing and her metaphorical hackles raising. 

Gaze cutting back at Tal, she lets her eyes dance over his face, taking it in as she tries to find the reason behind the note of— Was it embarrassment? From Taliesin Vos? It couldn’t be. Oh, but it was. 

Exhaling sharply in sudden alarm, Valdís stands up, ignoring the sound of the chair being forcibly pushed against the floor as she circles the table in two big steps so she is crowding Tal into the table. Hand reaching up, she grasps his chin carefully— thumb falling beneath his lower lip and her index curled under his chin — before gently turning his face until their eyes meet. 

Closer now, her eyes flit through his face for signs of anything beyond the lack of the typical smile on his face. 

“How much of a mess?” She asks, voice dropping low as she begins to frown, going through possible options, each worse than the last. “Do I need to get my daggers? Do something else? Tell me what I can do.”

[tolvajok]

"yes." his answer is swift, spoken before she could even finish her question. of course he would want a compliment. whether to mock, in jest, or truthful, he doesn't care. he will hear what he wants to hear. that's how he's survived all these years being as attention-seeking as he's always been. he shows off those teeth with a big grin, a chuckle slipping past them at her praise. "that's what I thought!"

he waves her off after that, brushing off the comment about his partners. it's not like he brings many of them back here, anyway. it's not like he indulges himself as much as he'd like, anyway. he can barely remember the last time, nor can he put a face to it. he's been busy. his position and his anonimity doesn't necessarily help with it, either. as tal, it's easier to find someone to spend the night with. but then again, he hasn't let himself be just tal for a while now.

perhaps that is why, when valdis takes the tip of his fingers between her teeth, and looks up at him like that, he wonders for a moment, and he knows that both of them are thinking the same thing. and then...

he must ruin the moment.

he doesn't react to her sudden sharp inhale, or the sound of the chair falling onto the floor, or the footsteps rapidly closing in on him. he lets her take his chin, make him look at her, as frustration and defeat darkens his gaze. his hands rest on the edge of the table, and he lets his expression be searched until it all becomes too overwhelming, and he shakes his head out of her touch.

"no. calm down, I haven't started a war." he jokes, but it doesn't land the same way. "I was only asking questions. she saw right through me. I've got a plan, alright? but first--" his hands move to wrap around each of her wrists, lightly sliding up her arm as an attempt to soothe her. "we must avoid her. lay low until one my little birds can poke around again." his grip tightens, even as he smiles, "no new recruits for at least two months. and even after that, we cannot trust anyone new. tell jackal, alright?"

[apotrcpaics]

Cleonice is familiar with being examined, classified and judged. Be it back at the academy or now in Aurea, people look at her and attempt to pass a judgement. Then and now, she sits back and allows the judgement to happen for once someone decides to judge they are not easily dissuaded to stop. And truly, such judgments, based on first impressions and appearances, tend to be rather inaccurate and that is the sort of thing she is banking upon in order to move around the city and examine its secrets without much issue. After all, if she is deemed harmless by the way she carries herself or her sincere desire to provide aid whenever she can afford it… Well, all the better for her, is it not?

It is, however, rare for her to be interested in the person judging her if she has not deemed them useful to use for her own means. The man before her is a stranger, and beyond that, his identity is shadowed by a brass mask with rather interesting craftsmanship. It is elaborate enough to signify some degree of wealth to those who know their metalwork, or some degree of skill. Not uncommon within Aurea, but even a few hours in the Temple of Sunfyre have led her to believe that perhaps such level of wealth and/or skill is rather uncommon for visitors of the temple. 

It is enough to pique her curiosity and her interest, so she remains smiling under the hidden gaze, an amused brow raised high as her clasped hands idly play with her rings as she waits for a judgment to be passed. 

Once it is, she cannot help the startled laugh that escapes her, her smile widening into a grin as her eyes dance with glee. Now that is a funny assumption to make merely because they were told that fresh fruit might be available for him to take back home with him. A clever one, but funny nonetheless. Or at least she must think of it as funny, lest she begins too deeply about the implications, about the lack of care the magisterium seems to have for the people they are meant to serve. 

The Principality of Zulara might be gone, and time at Llyr might have erased many of the prejudices born from her culture’s beliefs, but while she no longer thinks that magic should never rule over men, Cleonice knows that it is meant to serve mankind. 

The Magisterium is failing to do just that. 

“Now, what gave me away?” She asks, setting aside her train of thought and focusing on the shorter man before her attentively. Focusing on what she cannot do is useless, right here, right now, she must focus on what she can do. “Was it the accent, the clothes or some other quintessential Aurean mannerism that I have yet to affect? Please do tell, my lessons begin soon and I would hate for something so small to sidetrack my pupils.”

[tolvajok]

lessons. pupils. so, she's new to the city, she's doing well enough to give some of her food away to the needy, if the food is hers to begin with, and she's here to teach. teach what? magic, perhaps? politics? business? rook's gaze moves from her to the servants, looking for any sign of which magister they might belong to. it is only a matter of seconds, as he memorizes the colors of their gowns, their faces, not enough to see any distinguishing scars or bruises that would point to someone evidently cruel, but that doesn't mean anything. he'll have to consult with his ever-observant birds to get a better idea.

when he glances back at her, tall as she is, the jewels in her dark curls and listening to her accent to try and pinpoint from where she hails, he gives her a smile easily seen in the eyes. "the longer I stand in your presence, my lady, the more I find that stands out. the first, however would be--" he gestures around them, "--this. most of our well-to-do patricians and magisters rarely find their way here with so much to give away to those that need it most. unfortunately, they are much too... busy to grace us with their presence."

it is not that rook is afraid of speaking ill of those in power in the city. he would gladly say it to their faces, if he had the chance. nonetheless, he makes sure to speak with care, so as to not scare her away. "your accent is familiar..." a pause, "if I guess right, will you tell me your name? and if you can guess where I'm from... I'll tell you mine."

[decthless]

A chopstick is pointed at him accusatorily—"I want you to make good decisions," he clarified, so confident his offer was not only reasonable but kind. "And I do not trust you to do that by yourself... you can't even pick a healthy meal for dinner." what hope is there, then, for him to pick a proper mate? Of course his happiness is important too... but what about his safety? Who would guard his heart if he didn't? Taliesin was his friend—begrudgingly, he could admit that to himself; he did not wish for him to fall for one who treated him as lesser, or played his heart like a fiddle under the guise of providing thrill and excitement. Selfishly, he knew he'd rest easier at night too, knowing there was someone taking care of them so they'd not try to ride a minotaur or swim in mermaid infested waters on a whim.

"Maybe I could choose someone..." he muses, entirely dismissing his bargain. "I think I could find someone with infinite patience among my men..." Perhaps not. Though, it'd be easier to use his authority to threaten them into behaving well. "Oi! Oi..." as always, he pulls him out of his thoughts, interrupting his line of thought. "I said slow—tch... why are you so stubborn?" he moves his hand in a sharp gesture, as if to thwack him again—but doesn't. More empty threats, and now he's watching his throat bob intently, as if afraid he would actually choke. Will he give him not a moment of peace?

Awkwardly, he feels himself adjusting his posture, put on this vulnerable spot with nobody to blame but himself—his mind rushes back to the nymph he'd failed to rescue, his own passiveness a poison, his naivete a weapon he had handed them too easily—over and over he'd failed them. He did not wish to fail Taliesin too. "It's occurred to me lately, perhaps... I'm not... very good at... being a friend," the words are dragged out like grovel—it was not a lack of will to adhere to the role, but a lack of understanding in how to do so—the other children had always kept their distances, Lian, with sunshine in his smile, in his eyes, lit up the room, and had always been better at that—making himself approachable, making it easy for people to confide in him. He had never learned. He felt like rusted machinery, moving stuffily, stumbling over his own feet, his own words, in his feeble attempt to harness trust. "I know trust my sword..." Of course he would keep him safe—but that was a given, wasn't it? "But... what about the man carrying it?" he dares ask, something timid in how softly the question lands. "Do you... trust him too?" there is a subtle, barely contained eagerness behind his inquiry—he wants to hear a yes, yet part of him holds back, as though he is unsure if he will, if he even deserves to.

"Taliesin," hesitantly—like a dog unsure of what's allowed, Sheng extends a hand, coiling and recoiling his fingers before extending it over Taliesin's tentatively, his touch fragile and uncertain in its attempt to reassure. "I know the rumors about my family do not exactly inspire trust... but I am not..." he trails off, gathering his words; was he not the monster they all make of him? Had he not killed? Had he not maimed? Had he not taken lives, just as monsters do? "I... just want you to know you can... trust me," he clears his throat awkwardly, adjusting the weight on his rigid shoulders, his crimson gaze searching for a breach where he might be let in. "And... I can trust you, can't I?"

[tolvajok]

he should be insulted. to be accused of not making good decisions. his decisions led to him being in more power than sheng could ever imagine. his decisions helped him survive, not only this city, but everything that's happened to him before. one could argue he would make better decisions than the general could ever make. however... stripped of his mask and armed by nothing but his lute and charming appearance, tal leaves the decision making back home. and he gladly puts the responsibility into someone else's hands, as long as it serves him. so he listens, with a smile, and a gaze adorned with a glint of something gentle, and vulnerable. "so you think you're allowed to just control my life in whichever way you see fit. if I didn't find it endearing, I'd--" careful, now. he reminds himself he's just a minstrel, nothing more. "well... I'd complain louder."

he laughs, "arranging my courtship like a magister would their unruly child. someone with good family, lots of coin, and influence will do. though I wouldn't mind a personality in there somewhere, so I don't poison them the moment I grow bored." he plays along, as if the notion is in any way acceptable. as if he doesn't mind being chained up by the whims of an overly controlling general.

he wonders where the sudden sullen expression comes from. if someone told him he's not a good friend, or whether he came to the outrageous conclusion himself. in truth, sheng is quite an extraordinary man, with even more extraordinary morals, which are perhaps the reasons why tal finds himself in his proximity more often than not. "a sword means nothing without its wielder and their intentions." his head tilts to the side inquisitively. "I trust you." he says, voice lower, as if for once in his life tal is finally speaking the truth, without dressing it up with jokes and rhymes.

his hand is taken into sheng's, a touch so gentle that for a moment he doesn't know what to do with it. then, his other hand clasps around theirs, locking them in, assuring that what is said here, between the two of them in hushed tones will never be repeated to anyone else. not even in his songs. "I believe that actions speak louder than words. rumors are just that. rumors. you've never--" he trails off, his hand squeezing onto his slightly. "you've never made me feel anything but admiration for you. and I know I might express that in my own way-- but I trust you. you're my friend."

I can trust you, can't I? the words are like daggers lodging themselves into his chest. because the answer is no. and it will always be that, as long as taliesin goes home after their time spent together, puts his mask on, and does what he's set out to do in this city. and the pain in his chest intensifies even more as he makes the decision to lie to him. leaned in close, holding his hand, taking his food, the words roll off his tongue with ease. "you can trust me."

[mortifere]

spike does not move closer, does not elongate his strong shoulders and arms. and he does not lean into the space of where the water laps against rook’s chest. instead, he abides where he sits, like an aged cedar upon a sunless height; darkly rooted, austere, and with the formidable temper that brought out the stillness from him for the moment. as the steam ascends in pale, curling wreaths, the air grows in its fragrance, and spike cups another hand of water, wetting his face once again. his hands drift upon his head to wet his scalp, the shaved head gently easing the process. 

his hands, calloused by spikes and spears, bowstrings and swords and with slain antlers of beast, neither reach nor tremble. but his eyes betray him still. a plan already worked out. " it does not. but it does make her very interesting. " he simply says, for every forest was a scripture. the leaving trails of a scar upon a bark or darkened moss bruised by a cloven hoof, was a silent tale that the forest kept, only in wait for a mouth that could speak it. spike had been raised in such woods, where the spirits spoke to men, where they left wine for the fea’s silver tongue. and often, when the spirits drank their belly full, holding the incantations of runes, the inhabitants were spared from the plague for another season. 

spike nods at rook’s words, and his lips purse slightly. still, he’s honest when he speaks. " hardly. " he watches how rook straightens himself to lean closer, and a wolf like grin spreads over spike’s face. " now where exactly am i expected to find her? "

[tolvajok]

a hum of interest escapes him, gentle with his lips parted ever-so-slightly, though it is only heard and not seen with the mask on. "I wonder why... didn't reckon you'd care much for my personal investment of the job." he pauses, memorizing every inch of that smile on spike's lips before he drifts along to settle on his other side. he hasn't asked for anything to be brought back alive to him before, that may be cause for the curiosity on the hunter's part. as easily as he may speak about it all, rook has been quietly seething under the mask. everyone at the court knows the risk they take with each job and yet, with each lost member rook feels as if the very beast ripped one of his own limbs off and tossed him to the side.

"the sewers. there's an entrance by the docks in the lower district. I've even got an unfinished map for you. y'see, you're not the first one sent to find her. now-- don't get me wrong, you've always been the first in my mind to finish this job." his head falls back against the edge of the bath, practically presenting his throat for a bite. "...she's clever. and ruthless."

[mortifere]

her teeth sharpen, pointed like a seamonster, like a pale monument of the abyss, bearing the ocean’s cruelty as she did to the crown of pirates. her syllables roll off her tongue like a darkened tide, kissed with weed and coral. " a lovely sentiment. " speared like polished ivory. " i’m sure it has kept many starving poets and thieves very warm. " morgana lacks grace as she speaks, and when the words are released into the air, she digs her nails in her cuticles and under the plate, scraping out the soft muscle of herring. she flicks the chunks near him, a few specks coming to linger upon his boots and the wooded plank around them. if he wishes to offend her, she sees no reason to keep her own politeness.

a snort. a smoothing of her shores that did not reach her. " fearsome? " there’s a soft brush of a laugh, her breath spilled like gold from a treasure. " fear is too small a word for what lives inside me. " for a heart was just a heart; and there, in her cunning crevice, hers had been born hungry, armed with teeth and ambition. a daughter of storms and iron tight mist. her threat spills. " you should ask the men who wandered too close. if they still have tongues, they may tell you. " a captain's ire, for morgana was no maiden waiting for rescue as she had cut men for less. her father had taught her so, and raised her upon harsher waters; her most prized gift, to know that a heart hardened by the storm was no thing to mourn, but the very thing that kept a sailor alive. a barren pit, consumed by the years. for a sword may cut once, but a pirate’s heart kept a ledger, and the sea did not make gentle kings.

cherished asset. the words swim within her, and as the seconds tick by, his words seem to rust, leaving a stone of salt upon them. rook may try to fasten a rope around her, she thought, but morgana was a kraken, and he would sink to the sea with each tug. when she finally speaks, her voice is lower than usual. " asset? " an internal bristle. her violet gaze hardens. no yielding light. no trembling mercy. " is that what you call a woman when you’re too polite to say you need a weapon? gods, you mainlanders do love dressing everything in silk. " isle of llyr was a place of harsh northern customs and severe storms, and throughout the years at sea, aurea had not carved its more gentle wave upon her. her eyes fall on his hand resting on his hilt, yet morgana still comes closer. her lips curling in contempt. her lilt unfurling like the call of a siren who is ready to eat. " you’ve the need for the practical, but you misunderstand what stands before you. did you think my schooling raised me to stand on a deck shouting about storms? " a slow shake of her head. " a storm does not boast before it tears the sails. neither does the sea when it intends to swallow a ship. and neither do i. you’ve heard enough to know why i serve the court. " she, a pirate king and a magi of a heart born with the jaws of a shark. " your request is just that a request. it is no right to know. you want me because i can sail through waters other vessels cannot. you want me because i am a magi that spent a lifetime mastering what others are too frightened to even touch. you don’t need to know more. " blood magic. death marking. spirit walking. the control of wind and water. a few of the dark magic that reigned within in her. morgana doesn't blink as she looks at rook, doesn't grant him the space if he had need for it.

many had tried to command a storm for it to only kill. still, if one asked nicely, it could decide to let you sail. " so do not insult me by dressing this is up as an evaluation. y’said so yourself, you clutched your little rotten heart and worked your courage towards the harbor looking for me. so spare us both your performance of doubt. "

[tolvajok]

the pirate goes on, speaking with the fervor of a cornered creature, baring her teeth and making herself seem larger than she is. and rook listens. because that is what he does, forcing his gaze to remain neutral even though every muscle in his body is urging him to roll his eyes and let out an exasperated groan, disappointed mostly in himself for daring to ask questions. nothing he says will appease her, apparently. her heart not fearsome. his cherished asset reduced to a weapon. his approach an insult. fine.

he inhales, slow and deep, through his nose, the many colors of the sea painting an ugly grey picture in his mind. only to let all that air out of his lungs with a soft sigh, hands lifting in the air in mock surrender. "goodness. have I touched a nerve? I assure you I meant no such thing." even if in her speech she did give him more information than needed. she towers over him, threatening and bold, as if rook doesn't already know just how beneficial she is to his operation. the very reason he keeps coming back to her with jobs, even if she hikes her prices up each time.

he's dealt with difficult partners before. it always helps to loosen the grip a little. step back, show that he isn't trying to step on anyone's neck here. he isn't here to forcefully shove everyone's face in the mud and make them show their soft underbelly. well... apart from anyone that might try to rival his position. if someone deems it as a sign of weakness, they shall learn the hard way. "ours is a mutually beneficial relationship, is it not?"

"as for your magic, withhold as much as you wish. I only hoped to broaden our horizons." what's a weapon for, if not carving new paths by cutting their enemies down? his hands drop from the air, unhooking the pouch of coin. "I'm not entirely sure who you take me for..." his voice drops slightly, a sign of patience wearing thin. "--but I'm not your enemy." he looks up with a smile, "and you are cherished. in a way that I cherish my dagger. not an asset, but a weapon." he almost continues, the sea water must've robbed you of your senses. there. does that make you feel better? but instead, he hands the coins over. "will you take the job?" he shall only explain the details once she accepts. if not... alas, he'll simply have to find someone else to get it done.

[apotrcpaics]

A snort escapes Valdís and she does not attempt to hide it, instead her brow raises as if to ask if he thought she would buy that argument that easily. 

“The only thing that bite mark proves is that you have freakishly sharp teeth,” she teases, but only partly. The whole ordeal had been bizarre and harmless in the long run, but Tal’s teeth had broken skin. Valdís had dismissed it easily at the time, more occupied on laughing her way into falling out of his bed at the realization that he had thought her bread of all things. Then she had been offended at being told she wasn’t even the good kind, but stale of all things. What he doesn’t know, it’s that for all her teasing about the bite, she did have about two small scars in the place where his canines had dug into flesh. They were mostly hidden by a smattering of freckles, but privately it made the entire conversations ten times as amusing for her. “And that I have to feed you before you go to bed so that you don’t chomp your next bed companion before the morn. Washing that much blood from your sheets would be a nightmare and a half.”

The jest is in good nature, since she doesn’t mind ensuring her forgetful bird got properly fed, but sometimes she wonders what he would do without her insistence of keeping him fed. Then she reminds herself that somehow Taliesin seems to attract just the type of people that desperately want to ensure he is properly fed lest he put something unnamable in his mouth. Again. 

“Poisonous? No. But have you eaten anything potentially dangerous?” She asks pointedly, eyes meeting him sharply as she waits for a response, but not before adding a little something to amuse herself in the process. “And no, eating out your partners doesn’t count, birdie.”

Heavens know that he has a type, and that type tends to be the sort that is very familiar with either a blade or a cutting spell, sometimes both. That she cannot begrudge, though, considering she also gets a thrill from both the chase and from having a bedfellow capable enough of killing her but fond of her antics enough not to do as much. 

Biting into the tart once it touches her lips, Valdís lets out a hum of delight as she closes her eyes to enjoy the flavor. Yeah, she had made a good choice at insisting to the bakers that adding tarts to their repertoire would be worth it. If she is about half their revenue when it comes to those same tarts? Well, it’s much easier to get Tal to eat if he has a sweet treat included in the ordeal. And, maybe, just maybe, she enjoys seeing his smile when he realizes he is getting to wake up to his favorite sweet. But who is to say?

“I will take your word for it and keep myself occupied in the meantime,” she accepts with a sigh, raising her free hand to offer him a lazy two fingered salute to show her commitment. “Surely there are a few exciting parties being hosted around the city before then.”

[tolvajok]

he's about halfway certain that the comment about his teeth was meant as a light insult, but who is he, if not one to twist a taunt into praise? he pauses, a soft sigh leaving him as he feigns a bashful look. "thank you for noticing. I've worked hard on them." back when he had no other skills to survive other than clawing and biting at whoever would attack him like a feral kitten. over years and years of practice, his claws turned into blades and bites turned into witty words. that ferociousness remained, if not guarded behind a sharp mind. "you know me too well. I like to think getting bitten in my bed is a rite of passage. if my companion cannot take it... 'tis better for everybody if they're gone by the time I wake up."

his inhales sharply, ready to answer her next question before she cuts in with his own joke, and tal is left with a lung full of air and nothing funny to say. she knows exactly what he was about to say before he even said it. sometimes it infuriates him. sometimes it's endearing. this time? it's both. he rolls his eyes, deflating somewhat as he exhales, disappointed. "in that case, I must say I haven't. I've been good."

he smiles fondly at her biting into the sweet tart, even if he does have a hunch that she already had her fill of them. he would've done the same, after all. he takes another bite, then holds the last of it up to her lips again. somehow food is even sweeter when it is shared.

his smile freezes, before it slowly begins to fade away at the mention of a party. a deep, almost embarrassed hum escapes him as memories of last night come flooding in. "about that..." once his hand is free, taliesin walks over to the dumplings, not even caring enough to grab a set of chopsticks and simple grabbing one with his fingers. "we may have to stay away from parties hosted by a certain lady for a while. I seem to have made a bit of a mess."

[decthless]

Oh, he's not answering that. It's a trap. There's no right answer; one answer will have him preening the whole night, the other will have him pouting—either will have him in an undesirable position. The general adjusts his sleeve instead—pausing, contemplating eating—then those jeweled eyes move to him instead. "I will gag you." he knows what he's thinking—chasing him around, plucking strings, singing some romantic lullaby to test his patience. "A lot of work." he adds, and conceals his affections in what goes unspoken—safer that way; least he finds another dagger aimed at the soft center of his heart. He does not know how many more blows it can take before he can feel his pulse slow.

"Your preferences are bad. You shouldn't be allowed to make decisions," he makes bad decisions, and his priorities are ill-suited for a long, happy life, he concludes. "I'll look into them. Next time come to me first." So objective and deadpan even as they talk about love affairs; he's truly helpless, isn't he? Trying to assign order to matters of the heart, as if it were not blind and deaf to every warning; it would be better that way—can't he see? He could prevent his heartache, even if he could not prevent his own. Won't he let him just take care of him? He'd come to him wouldn't he? He wouldn't lie to him, would he? Was there something about him that made him feel... unsafe to come to? Did he do too much? Too little? Did anything he did mattered, at all?

The voices in the well of his mind get meaner, toothed; he shoves the dumpling into the bard's mouth—unceremoniously, carelessly, biting back the fleeting urge to lighten up, laugh in that way that makes him feel more jovial at the way it makes him look like a chipmunk—chubby. It reminds of Lian's face, cradled between his large hands, protesting every pinch with all the strained tolerance of a small kitten who wants to bite. His gloved fingers furl and unfurl from holding back these lighter emotions inside, pushing his brows into a frown instead. "Chew. Slowly... don't choke." there's a flash of worry there, as though he's a baby—over-worrying at every opportunity. Don't they know Taliesin's survival skills far superseded his own when it came to this?

He wipes the crumbs with his sleeve, plucking another dumpling with his chopsticks and dumping it into his plate before he's done chewing—he doesn't touch the food. Maybe he forgets. Was he ever hungry? Did he ever actually eat or just made everyone think that he did? Did his shoulders ever drop? Did the tension ever leave him in an exhale?

"Taliesin," the hesitation slips in without thinking while he gorges himself in his attention, his mindless pampering and fussing—he doesn't dwell, doesn't stumble on what it could mean that his heart lodges in his throat; he barely registers it's there at at all as he swallows, pale fingers absently fidgeting in his lap. "If you were in trouble... I mean, real trouble.... would you—" He lowers his eyes, sooty lashes resting against the high bone of his cheeks, hovering over the bruises of his knuckles. He twists the question around in his tongue, uncertain, ever so uncertain whenever the subject strayed from battles and strategies, almost as if he was scared to ask. If fear existed in him, it lingered in the smallest interactions, the softer questions. "Would you say you... trust me?"

[tolvajok]

oh, how easy he makes it sometimes. one look is enough to hear threats that sound all to sweet coming from him. maybe that's exactly what he wants. one of those 'punishments' for being disorderly that brings a certain flutter to his core. he knows it's not right. he knows it's not appropriate. and yet... brows twitch in surprise, eyes wide with a few little words dancing on the tip of his tongue, itching to be let out.

does sheng realize what he sounds like when he says those words? does he understand how one as delusional as this bard could interpret these sentences? the idea that he is all but clueless to his own charm makes him even more charming. and taliesin decides he will not let him know. instead, he will simply sit there, and enjoy the haze of his own delusions. "you want to make my decisions for me?" good luck with that, he thinks. "what do I get in return?" as always, he must make everything into a business transaction. "for being obedient, I mean." it's all hypothetical, of course. taliesin only behaves for himself. anyone that tries to control him will find that it all depends on whether he allows them to. "right. so, next time I choose my company for the night, I shall come to you beforehand. makes perfect sense."

before he knows, the dumpling is shoved inside his mouth, and tal recoils, squeezing his eyes shut. he should've bit the general's finger for doing that. he still might. he pulls a face as he's chewing, quickly, just to defy sheng at any moment, before swallowing hard. he takes a breath, and before he can speak, the general says his name, and he's taken aback.

the question is awaited with a surprising silence from the bard, as if uttering his full name like that has enchanted him. and then, a different sort of silence falls between them. trust? does rook of the thieves' court trust the demon general? the answer is an obvious no. the two are natural enemies. but does taliesin trust sheng? taliesin, who is deathly afraid of being a burden? who makes everything into a joke?

a soft smile appears on his lips, meeting his gaze. "I trust you would keep me safe." it is both the truth, and a lie. "why do you ask?"

[aenaos]

Presumptuous little thing. He plays the desperate ingénue well, she will give him that. But as his words reverberate down her web, the spider listens only to the pulse beneath. She measures the rhythm of his lie. Unweaves the discordant notes hidden within. It's the little things: the hitch in his voice, the absence of dread in his gaze, the previous intelligence that ill matches his supposed foolishness.

In response, Lenyra brushes a finger against her lower lip, as though in thought. He has come into her house, drunk her wine, eaten from her table, and now he has lied to her. Her eyes close briefly. She sighs. "I do."

Lenyra turns, her gaze drifting towards the labyrinth. Shadows gather in the angles of her face, shrouding her expression. "You would trade one pair of chains for another? Who is to say hers will be any looser?" Her voice dips into a softer register, half pity, a caress strung like a noose. "Who is to say her protection does not come with a price?" Her hand rises to twist the ring upon her finger, a nervous gesture. "I would not have you make the mistake I did..." As she looks back over her shoulder, melancholy wells in her eyes like water. "Let me be the one to help instead. Tell me who has harmed you. I will not allow such barbarity beneath my roof."

If he trusts her enough to ask for the spider, then surely entrusting her with a name is the lesser risk. And if he does not, well... that is only another thread to follow until the time comes to strip away his core, muscle from tendon, and gather the softened tissue.

[tolvajok]

rook would rather die destitute and free than safe and in chains. being dependent on someone is a curse. like taking all one's armor off and telling another 'here. this is where you may stick your blade to make it hurt most.' to walk with a second shadow at all times. but... this boy doesn't know any better. "at least with her I could have purpose." that is what he wants, isn't it? something worth waking up in the morning for.

what rook wants, however, is a name. an associate. a location. anything that would get him closer to the spider. he wouldn't need to go himself. he could send one of his trusted spies to do the job. this sad little masked boy would be swallowed by the streets of aurea forever.

the hostess doesn't feel inclined to tell him anything, and it's starting to irritate him. why protect her? why protect him from her? he is of no consequence to her. he is a lowly guest of a guest down on his luck, no influence, no power for her to exploit. the best a lady of her station could do with him is give him what he wants regardless of the certain doom she sends him into. unless she's grown fond of him.

she asks for a name, and he feels the walls closing around him. not because he doesn't have a name, but because he's feeling the opportunity to get closer to her slipping away. "it is not only under your roof." he rises from his seat, "she knows how to make him go away. she knows how to make me disappear from under their noses. could you do that for me? would you keep me safe? what would you ask for in exchange?" he shakes his head, stepping to the side. "it was a mistake, coming here."

[apotrcpaics]

Valdís watches Tal as he steps out of his room, the smirk on her lips growing until it’s a full blown grin as she notices how out of sorts the man looks. It’s always amusing to see him step out of his room right after waking up, disoriented by the setting as soon as she is disoriented by it rising. Privately, she can admit— perhaps even fondly— that the sight is endearing and almost cute, if such a thing can be said about a grown man with a mind sharp enough to plan the creation of a guild for thieves and the skills to implement such an endeavor. But that is a thought that only crosses her mind privately, since she is more than aware that the bold little bard before her would take the inch she has given him by calling him cute and turn it into a mile, or several hundred miles. 

One only has to look at his reaction to the very simple action of feeding one’s roommate to know that her thoughts are beyond true. 

“I am aware, moonshine,” she drawls, turning to face him while loudly and boldly rolling her eyes at him. “I think I still have the bite mark from when you confused my shoulder for a piece of bread.”

A huff follows her words, done strategically to cover her swift snort at his dramatics. 

“You are my favorite stray cat, yes,” she says with a grin as she leans forward, resting her chin against her palm as she looks at him with lidded eyes. Her smile is mostly gone by now, leaving behind a fond twist to her mouth as she watches him eat with the glee a child with a treat would have. Pointedly, she doesn’t deny the accusations, but she doesn’t confirm them either. “I gotta keep you fed and watered, because heavens know what you would put in your mouth otherwise.”

A sigh escapes her at the denial of anything fun in the horizon, eyes closing as her finger taps her cheek and she considers her options. She needs some excitement sometime soon, so perhaps she will hit the taverns near the port to seek a fight or someone to warm her bed in the next few days. 

Hearing his offer, she blinks her eyes open and raises a brow, looking down at the tart consideringly. Valdís had already eaten her own on the way back from Dora’s, but if he is offering…

“Yeah, gimme a bite,” she says, opening her mouth and waiting for the tart to get within reach. She would call it a commission fee for taking her break to sneak over the bakery and asking the cute girl at the counter to save her some for the end of the day (joined with a few coins slipped slyly to emphasize the importance of getting those tarts). 

[tolvajok]

a finger comes up in the air to ceremoniously point at valdis before he speaks again. "that mark on your shoulder is a show of admiration." even if at the time he did dream about biting into and awfully stale bread. "a reminder of where we began, and where we are now." his index finger moves in a sort of rhythm he only hears in his own head. "a battle scar." it's only been minutes since he's awoken and yet, nonsensical thoughts plague him already as if he's been drinking before this. one could argue that dreams are much more potent in providing delusions than wine.

what she says next is familiar something only those that know taliesin well enough would say. after all, no one else would think that someone that's capable of all he's achieved so far would simply forget to provide nourishment for his body. in all honesty, he's never thought about it too much before. all he knows is that he's fortunate to have allies like valdis in his circle, paying attention to things he sometimes overlooks. "I haven't put anything poisonous in my mouth in months." if one elects not to count some of the unfortunate souls he's brought to his bed since.

he approaches her, carefully holding a tart up to her parted lips with a smile. he didn't miss the disappointed sigh that left her at the mention of nothing fun being brewed in his mind just yet. it isn't exactly the whole truth, as he has various ideas circling around. it's only that none of them have anything to stand on yet. he would hate to announce something exciting, only to disappoint her more later. her reaction is so much sweeter when the whole plan comes as a surprise. "you need not worry. I'll make sure to have something fun for you by the end of the week."

[aenaos]

Your eyes are the color of rich earth, Lenyra thinks. You do not understand what it is to be barren soil. No love can take root here; it was torn from me a long time ago. "Are you a romantic, stranger, or is this your poet's soul speaking?" The words lilt, light and teasing. "With a mere phrase, you've cut to the heart of it. I no longer seek such pleasures. If it is destined, Fortune will guide what I desire to me." She speaks from the heart now, but she longs not for a loving touch, but a sharp knife aimed at his throat. Her creator. Her enemy.

The change is immediate. The slight levity dissipates like mist, and her eyes shift into a shade that catches the light yet reflects nothing. She becomes motionless, eerily so. "I see." After a beat, Lenyra steps forward, noting the slight difference in their heights. One arm leans on the carved armest behind him. She brings her face close, her whisper brushes the wood of his mask. "Noble guest, if you chase such dangerous pleasures, then it will be on your own head." Another beat, and then she leans back, releasing him. "This is meant to be a place where we escape our roles. The woman of whom you speak is no exception. Even posing such a question here places me in peril, do you understand?" Lenyra steps back and shakes her head. "If I am to risk her ire, then so be it. But first, tell me what trouble you are in. At least give me that."

[tolvajok]

"romance and I've got a tumultuous courtship between us." to say the least. still, as he speaks, there's a lightness to him, her tease met with a roll of eyes, though it is more self-deprecating than anything. he is, for all intents and purposes, a romantic at heart. to paint the most ordinary aspects of life into something colorful takes a certain sense of conviction for romance. matters of the heart doesn't only encase love. it is every other emotion one may experience.

it is a compelling game he plays. speaking out loud something profound and from his heart, something he could only do when he's not acting like himself. the hostess doesn't know him. may never see him again after tonight. and yet, their conversation will stay with him for years to come, he thinks.

there's a change in the air, which he suspected would happen once he uttered the question. it was said in a risky way. bluntly, even, for the boy he plays the role of knows not how much danger he may put not only himself, but her as well. he reminds himself to act taken aback as she leans in closer to him, he himself pressing up against the armrest. it's a shame he forgets to act with his eyes too, his calm gaze betraying the frightened body language he's exhibiting.

"...so you do know of her." his voice drops, but only for a second before it's back to the light one of his designated role for the night. "please, my lady, he's a monster! I wish t-to escape the role I was forced into. I desire a new role. one that she may bestow upon me."

[decthless]

"Mhm..." hummed in a way that tells him he's entirely unconvinced, but deeply charmed by his refusal to relent. "Tell me that again when you need me to play stone wall between you and another scorned gentleman..." the corner of his eyes crinkle in a way they seldom do, filled with a fondness he dares not name, smiling without realizing.

"What about clever?" his brow hardens, feigning thought; he knows he is clever—they would not be friends if he was not. Clever, and remarkably persistent. "Are you not clever?" he teases. "I suppose if you were you wouldn't need to run as much as you do." he returns the jest in full, his tone more rigid and less easy on the tongue to match his posture. "Tch..." his weaknesses—he asks, as though he is not one of them. It's best he does not know, he is cocky enough as it is. "My inability to decline additional work, it seems..." would he ever grant him any rest? A dark eyebrow arches as he tells him so, pointedly, ignoring the way his lips have abandoned their sullen expression.

Immediately he tenses—and the bard gets a close view, front row seat to watch as embarrassment spread through him in a rosy flush. The man averts his eyes, for a moment, praying his discomfort was not too visible in vain, and then—thwack! Down comes that gloved hand again; his cheeks are pink. In spite of his reputation, the demon general seems to fluster rather easily when the subject shifts towards these unseemly topics. Perhaps he should be more forgiving—in a moment of guileless curiosity, he'd dared ask, after all. "Shameless..." the words drag between his teeth, rough like gravel in the back of his throat, and he coughs, taking a quiet moment to recompose, clearing his throat. "He's too boring for you, anyway... you'll find someone worthy," he added, eyes swiveling towards he desk, low and timid but not lacking in certainty—he'd entirely convinced himself Tal had a good heart, and deserved someone with an equally kind one to match. A gloved hand reaches, doting in the way it gently brushes the dyed hair off his face, tucking it behind the bard's ear. "Don't be so reckless next time, alright?"

As the food arrives, the warm scent invading their nostrils, his long arms reach for it first, extending above the others head before he has a chance to wave his own fruitlessly, believing himself larger, taller than he is, and he offers the servant a quiet, polite nod. He'd leave a good tip, he always does. No sense getting attached to earthly possessions, as his father always said. Coin was just that—a privileged view, he supposed, of one who lacked for during their life; not then, not now. It was strange to think of those he cherished, Tal, Lenyra, and even Adrian—what they might have lacked in their formative years—he feels guilty the longer he dwells on it, guilty for all he had, and for all they did not, and for the system he worked under which had failed them too many times. The young general chases those thoughts away, grabbing a dumpling between two chopsticks, holding it out for him. "Open."

[tolvajok]

it is moments like this, when taliesin manages to crack that hard shell sheng puts up and finds something gooey, warm, and syrupy inside that he can't get enough of. "but you play it so well--!" his tone is almost like a melody, accompanied by a purr-like hum. if the bard had a tail, it would be long and curled up in sheng's lap, as if he was just a stray cat the general pitied enough to feed for the night.

"are you calling me clever?" the corners of his lips stretch into a devious smirk, as he has successfully omitted that attribute just to hear it from sheng's mouth. "have you ever thought that perhaps I relish in running? feeling the rush of danger? the relief of seeing you at the top of the stairs, my hero, my stone wall?" ah... there's the title of his next song. his smile drops, though his amusement does not. it is simply his skill in acting that helps him change his expression into something more disappointed, with brows knitted together, and lower lip jutting out ever-so-slightly. "oh... so I'm only work for you... I understand." he looks away, as if heartbroken.

it doesn't last long, though. not when sheng's body language tastes so delicious as he tenses up, and... is that a flush of cheeks he sees? tal moves an index finger and a thumb over to his other arm, pinching himself as if he was trying to wake up from whatever dream he's fallen into. he is brought back into reality. not by the pinch, but by the enormous hand of the general smacking him in the head once more. tal bursts out laughing, getting another idea that might get him more than just a smack. but he cannot simply keep it in.... not when the reward might be the best thing he's ever seen!

his hair is brushed behind his ear, and tal only gives a breath's moment to enjoy is to the fullest before he speaks again. "he is quite boring, I'm afraid. not nearly as stimulating as I'd hoped. I prefer someone stronger. more captivating. bigger."

to ask him not to be reckless is as if asking the rain not to fall or the sun not to shine. damn near impossible. tal only knows how to live the way he always has. in danger.

with food having arrived, tal all but forgets about his teasing, hunger taking over his mind altogether, but before he can reach for a dumpling, sheng has already taken one, offering it up to him. he wonders whether the general realizes just how intimate he's being. more intimate than claudius' boring, forgettable son whose name he never cared to memorize. and so he does as he's told, lips parting and waiting to be fed like the spoiled little bard he is.

[aubadement]

𝘤𝘭𝘰𝘴𝘦𝘥 𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘳𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝘧𝘰𝘳 @tolvajok. rook 𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦: somewhere v crowded probably 𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘯: current timeline, lmk if anything needs to be changed! sorry for his how do u do fellow criminals energy 😔 vague assumption of connection via what we plotted!

Emeric did not relish in the privileges granted from his position as heir and now magister; money and influence held little interest for him and they only allowed him to get so far where it came to the advantages he craved. Such was the double-edged sword of Aurea's magnum opus - the indulgence which was at the forefront of the gilded city. Such was not which Emeric had wanton for and that made it often lose its luster for him. Knowledge, that which he vied for, was difficult - near impossible, really - to quantify and this only furthered frustrations abound. It was exhausting to grasp towards which one would always chase, but Emeric would have to blame some of his failures on the wretched ego bestowed upon him. Still, within his own last ditch efforts to keep his house and name afloat, Emeric searched for what scant options remained in the unknown. His house had only been prudent on the surface, pretending they did not harbor reckless secrets and dangerous pursuits. Thus, as Emeric wandered, he did not fear what could lurk in the dark which was concealed under ravishing gold. The mask was familiar within the tenebrous sections of lower districts and Emeric's own visage was not of importance to his house, the magister blending it amongst those who fell into the gluttonous slush of Aurea's prime scaling. He fell in alongside Rook, making as casual a conversation as anything, though it circled around his own wanton for knowledges kept far out of reach. ❝ A three-eyed owl , swathed in a flimsy layer of gold is what my ancestors paraded themselves around in . The masks still hang in one of the studies , like prying eyes who scrutinize everything we do . I should bring you one when next we meet , though I can't figure it is worth much in your circles . ❞ Such conflated words, nothingness which was bloated and inspired by the emptiness of their gilded city. Emeric shifted quickly to discuss what was truly at hand, curious, ❝ Even a dozen of them would not cover the price of what is sought here . So , tell me , Rook , what the price tag has shifted to today ? ❞ He had expected escalation, known that his coveted materials for an unsustainable right were increasingly hard to obtain and manage, but Emeric's desire to outrun the inevitable of his own house escaped even himself.

[tolvajok]

the streets of the lower district are busy, the celebration of the beloved daughter of the local blacksmith having married the cook of the best thermopolium in the city to mostly drunk citizens, who also happens to be a member of the thieves' court. the latter fact unknown to most, except for rook, as he walks around the wedding party with an ornate half-mask on his face, the cloth that hides his mouth pulled down as he grabs a bite of some dried fruits with a smile on his face.

he's been told of the magister's presence for a while now. there's nothing to be concerned about, as far as he knows, even if the notion itself intrigues him. intrigue quickly turns into amusement at the prospect of emeric seeking him out in such a way. it is either foolish, or genius. rook can't quite decide which one just yet.

"mm, I know." he hums with his smile turning mischievous, as he slowly pulls the cloth over his nose again. how he might know about the mask and its whereabouts shall remain a mystery. "I'd be more than grateful to see it from up close." he looks up at the other, guiding the two of them towards a louder, drunker crowd, so they wouldn't be overheard easily. besides... he wonders whether such proximity to the small-folk would make the magister squirm.

"the price of the goods remains the same..." a pause, to savor it all, before he pulls his shoulders up into a shrug, "however, I'm afraid we must have a discussion about a couple of added fees." he stops short, turning to face emeric. "and I'll need certain assurances as well."