i feel small, but so are stars from a distance
S
he normally kept her acquaintance with the new patrons she escorted to the Floor as merely that — an escorter, seen once and rarely again. To that effect, Aghavni was little more than a pretty smile to ease the apprehension all newcomers wore to varying degrees. The extravagance and ominous darkness of the Scarab was… an experience to behold at first, as one of their older patrons had recalled with a fond smile. Of course, none ever regretted entering. The Scarab’s retention rate was as impressive as its upholstery.
As the one responsible for luring most of the new blood to the Scarab door — her cards were slipped into only the most promising of pockets — Aghavni took pains to erase all traces of judgement or, Solis forbid, scorn from her eyes that could discourage the potential gold. (‘Gold’ was slang for patrons, as walking purses of gold were really all they were. She thanked Solis twice daily for them.) She curtsied at the right time and sparingly, to keep its effect enchanting, and her speech was brief yet unfailingly polite.
She was good at it, concealing her judgement. Charon would never have let her onto the Floor if she hadn’t mastered it, because when she was younger she had been unapologetically bold in voicing her opinions about the fussy highborn heirs House Hajakha received more frequently than their twice weekly shipment of cakes.
Sometimes, however, Aghavni’s attention would become fixated on a new patron to an inexplicable degree. Oftentimes it was because she longed to spirit away their jewelry, but other times it was because she felt something distinctly wrong about them. She couldn’t explain it. She never tried. Instead, she troubled herself with approaching them.
The moment the boy had entered, she had sensed it. The wrongness. And, perhaps more disarming — it had been faint, but she knew she had not been mistaken. He had smelled of blood.
He had arrived late, even by the Scarab’s standards, and the table he had wandered to after she’d curtsied and left him to the Floor was hosting its last run of the night. Aghavni’s eyes skimmed over the three women and two men who had joined him at the table — either drunk or determined to win back their losses, she could never tell — and a smile settled primly on her lips when she spotted the open chair to the boy’s right.
She motioned for a passing server to take over her role, which he accepted with a pleased nod. There would be no more new arrivals for the night, which meant that he was relieved from closing duties to instead nurse a glass of liquor while he meandered at the entrance and waited to lock the doors.
After some consideration, Aghavni tugged the spikes from her hair and tucked them inside her scarf. Her curls tumbled around her shoulders, and before she could lose her nerve she made her way to the table and slipped into the open chair.
The white-suited dealer gave her little attention, only an imperceptible nod. Most of the staff knew the young director set herself at the cards almost nightly to keep her formidable skills polished. Silently, she watched as he shuffled and cut the deck to deal them each a hand. The gold began to flow.
Without hesitation Aghavni unclasped a rose shaped hairpin from her tail, each petal bursting with rubies, and placed it delicately on the table. She had taken it ages ago from a doe-eyed daughter of House Ieshan (always easy marks, Ieshan’s children — they were raised on adoration and religious piety, and were such snobs that they rarely troubled themselves with keeping track of their own belongings) and wouldn’t miss it if she lost it tonight. Which she rarely did.
Casually, she looked over at the boy’s offerings. A dagger and a few coins glinted dully on the black velvet tabletop. “I’ve never seen a dagger with an antler hilt.” Her emerald eyes went large with curiosity, and she leaned just a touch closer to him as she smiled, brighter than when she had greeted him at the door.
Her smile wavered not even a little as she confirmed her suspicions. This close to him, she could almost taste the metallic tang of blood. It sickened her. She drew away, flicking a curl from her eyes. The rich and the powerful were no stranger to perpetrating violence, but they took care to wash it out of their skin. This boy was neither of those things, and he hadn't taken care.
So how had he ended up with a card?
@Erasmus | super excited for this thread!
