SOMETHING HERE DRAWS HIM IN THE DEEP, EYES HIM WARILY, AND SCOWLS WITH A TEETHING GRIN. HE INVITES IT, THIS TENSION. JUST AS MUCH AS HE IS REPULSED BY IT. IT IS SUFFOCATING, CLOTTING, LIKE THE MATTED WEIGHT OF AN ANXIOUS BREAKDOWN LINGERING LIKE THE SWORD OF DAMOCLES. FOR A MOMENT, HE WONDERS IF IT IS THE LACK OF WINDOWS – OR THE LACK OF DOORS – THE LACK OF ESCAPE ROUTES, OF ANONYMITY, THE BREEZE OF UNKNOWING HE WIELDS LIKE A CLOAK ON THE DUSKY STREETS OF THE NIGHT MARKETS. PERHAPS IT IS THE EXPRESSIONS OF CURIOUS ONLOOKERS, CONSCIOUS THAT THIS RUFFIAN IS AN OUTSIDER, SOME VAGABOND OF CHOSEN GOODS PLUCKED FROM THE COLD, DEAD HANDS OF WEALTHIER MEN. FOR A TENDER SECOND THE FEELING OF MISPLACEMENT WASHES OVER HIM IN A WAVE OF DISCONTENT BEFORE HE IS FLOODED WITH AN ALMOST-SATISFACTION.
THE DISSONANCE IS RIVETING. HE IS SO UNLIKE THEM. AND YET,
HE IS MORE WOLF THAN MAN, AND MORE SHADE THAN WOLF. A VIPEROUS, WRITHING CADAVER BRIMMED WITH PERNICIOUS PURPOSE. THERE ARE LEVELS TO HIS MIS-BELONGING THAT NONE OF THEM COULD EVER PERCEIVE. AND HE REVELS IN IT. HE BATHES IN IT, DONS IT AS THEY DONNED THEIR JEWELS AND PRECIOUS FABRICS. WHERE THEIR CONFIDENCE CAME TO THEM IN ALCOHOLIC STUPOR, IN THE GLUTTONY OF RICHES AND THE ESTEEM OF REGALITY, HIS WAS DOUBLED IN THE ACHE OF THE TABOO. INDEED, THERE WAS NO QUESTION THAT HE BELONGED HERE. IF EVER, NONE A TIME MORE THAN THIS VERY MOMENT.
IT DID NOT TAKE LONG FOR THE BOOTHS AROUND HIM TO FIND PATRONS AT THEIR SEAT, SOME HARDLY EVEN TAKING A NOTICE TO HIS PRESENCE. WHILE OTHERS – HE WAS ELBOWED BY A DRUNKEN MAN STUMBLING TO THE TABLE, GIGGLING DAME IN TOW, AND WHILE A GLANCE WAS SEEMINGLY LOST TO THE OFFENSE A DOUBLE TAKE WAS QUICK TO OBSERVE THE FANGED SCOWL AND LOOSEN. A LAUGH, A COIN TOSS, AND A BOISTEROUS BELLOW FOR ERASMUS TO TAKE HIS CHOICE IN APOLOGETIC ALCOHOL. HE PAUSED FOR A MOMENT, NOT MUCH A DRINKER, BEFORE SUPPOSING SOME SMALL TOKEN LOST FROM THE MAN'S PURSE INTO ERASMUS'S CUP WAS PUNISHMENT ENOUGH FOR A CLUMSY ENGAGEMENT. HIS CHIN ROSE ABOVE THE MAN'S, GOLDEN GLINT PEERING FROM THE DEEP OF HIS FACE TO ROVE OVER HIS FEATURES BEFORE HE NODDED SLIGHTLY, CROOKED GRIN EMPTILY CRAWLING TO ONE CORNER OF HIS LIPS. “bourbon."
THE MAN HESITATED A MINUTE, THOUGH HIS LOOK EXPRESSED MORE SURPRISE THAT ERASMUS KNEW A WORD MORE THAN AT THE DEMAND ITSELF, AND HE CAST A SIDEWAYS GLANCE TO HIS ESCORT. “top shelf for the man, would you?” AND SHE WAS OFF INTO THE DARK OF THE LOUNGE, DISAPPEARING INTO THE SHIFTING SHADOWS THAT DWINDLED IN THE INCENSE SMOKE. MORE COINS STRUCK THE TABLE. JEWELS. PRECIOUS STONES. THE DAGGER LAY POISED AMONG THEM, JUST AS MISPLACED AS ITS PROPRIETOR. HIS EYE FELL UPON A SMALL SPECK OF DRIED BLOOD THAT DOTTED WHERE THE HILT MET THE BLADE, AND WONDERED HOW HE HAD MISSED IT BEFORE. OR PERHAPS IT WAS A REFLECTION OF SOMETHING IN THE ROOM? NONE SEEMED TO NOTICE IT, CONSUMED IN BETS AND CONVERSATIONS THAT FELL BEYOND HIS INTEREST.
HE REMAINED FOCUSED ON THAT CARMINE SPECK UNTIL A BODY FILLED THE EMPTY SEAT TO HIS OTHER SIDE. HIS EYES MOVED, BUT HIS HEAD DID NOT FOLLOW, DRINKING HER IN HIS PERIPHERAL. SMALL TREMORS, SMOOTH MOVEMENTS, AND A ROSE PIN SECURED ITS SPOT BESIDE HIS (NOT HIS, NOT AT ALL) DAGGER. HE FELT HER EYES SEAR PAST HIS SHOULDER UPON THAT BLADE, AND HE WONDERED – ALWAYS WONDERING, GRECIAN DREAMER – IF SHE TOO SAW THE RUBY DROPLET. IT WAS UNCERTAIN HOW LONG IT TOOK BETWEEN THAT MOMENT AND THE NEXT, TICKING SECONDS THAT CLUNG INSIDE HIS LUNGS GROPING FOR BREATH – HE IS NEVER THAT MESSY, NEVER SO DISORGANIZED – BEFORE HER WORDS WASH OVER HIM LIKE PINS AND NEEDLES.
SHE DOES NOT CALL FOR GUARDS. SHE – WHAT IS THIS – ADMIRES THE AWFUL MARK OF POOR BLACKSMITHING.
FINALLY HE ALLOWS HIS CHIN TO FOLLOW HIS SIGHT, AND BEFORE HE CAN SPEAK, HE IS INTERRUPTED BY HIS ARRIVING GLASS OF BOURBON. HIS WORDS ARE STIFLED, A MUFFLED GRUNT AND ANOTHER GLARE IN THE DRUNK'S DIRECTION BEFORE HE THANKED THE GESTURE WITH A CURT NOD. HE HADN'T MENTIONED ICE, AND SO THE BOURBON POOLED FLATLY IN THE GLASS, WHAT HE ASSUMED WAS MEANT TO BE A DOUBLE SHOT APPEARED A TRIPLE – OR PERHAPS, QUADRUPLE – HELPING THAT TEMPTED THE BRIM OF THE DIAMOND-ETCHED GLASS. HE TOSSED A QUICK SIP, DOWNING HALF OF ITS CONTENTS WITH A TWITCH-LIDDED GRIN THAT BURNED TO THE BACK OF HIS TEETH, AND RETURNED HIS ATTENTIONS ON HER.
SHE WAS PECULIAR.
SOMETHING ABOUT THE WAY HER GREEN EYES SHONE LIKE A JADE IN THE LAMPLIGHT AND THE WAY HER FLAXEN HAIRS FELL PALE AS MOONLIGHT AGAINST HER NECK SEEMED OUTRIGHT ODD, UNNATURAL. HE DRANK IN THE VELVET SMOOTH COAGULATION OF COLOR MATCHED WITH THE PALLOR OF HER FACE, AND IT WAS UNEARTHLY COOL, GRACIOUS, EXOTIC AND – BUT SOMETHING ABOUT THE EYES, SOMETHING UNSETTLING THERE. THE GREEN, THEY PEERED, THEY DOVE, DEEP AND DEEPLY. CHILLING AND BURNING AND WARPED AND FULL AND WILD, NOT PREDATORY AND NOT TIMID; UNREACHABLE. OTHERWORLDLY. SHE WAS PECULIAR. THE WAY THE BREEZE THROUGH THE LOUNGE FOUND IT IN ITS WHIM TO TOUSLE THE BLONDE HAIRS AND SWEEPING TENDRILS TENDERLY ACROSS THE SOFTNESS OF HER NAPE – AND HOW STRANGE, HOW OUTLANDISH.
ERASMUS DID NOT CARE FOR MOST THINGS THAT BREATHED. WHEN THIRST OR HUNGER FOUND HIM CRAVING THINGS MORE THAN GREENS OR POPPY WINE THEN HE CARED FOR THINGS THAT WERE BENEATH THE BREATHING, YES. FOR WHAT CAUSED THEIR WARMTH, BUT NOT FOR IT. FOR THE TENDER MACHINATIONS THAT SWAYED BENEATH THE SKIN, A SHALLOW CONSTRUCT, FLESH. SOMETHING THAT BROKE TOO EASILY. AND THEIR INTERESTS, SO MUCH SOFTNESS, SO MUCH WANTON GLEE IN SIMPLE THINGS, MATERIAL THINGS, WEATHER THINGS, HOW WAS YOUR DAY THINGS. MORTALITY WAS WRETCHED.
BUT SHE WAS PECULIAR, YES. SO PECULIAR, HE WANTED TO KNOW MORE.
SHE LEANED CLOSER TO HIM AND HIS BREATH LOCKED TIGHT IN HIS CHEST. HER WARMTH ROSE FROM HER LIKE PERFUME, CARESSING HIS SHOULDER WITH THE LURE OF VEINING SWEETNESS ENTANGLED WITH – WHAT, WHAT, SOMETHING SHE KEPT FROM HIM. HE LOATHED THE LIVING, THEIR BREATHS, THEIR WARMTH. BUT HERS, HE KNEW HERS WAS THE SUCCOR OF PULSING VITALITY, HOT BLUSHING ICHOR THAT ROSE TO MEET HIS WITH A SUFFERING CURIOSITY. HE CRAVED IT SILENTLY, THAT SHE MAY LEAN CLOSER AGAIN. HE HIMSELF, RELENTED NOT. HIS EVERY ATTEMPT TO LOOSEN HIS MUSCLES WAS MET WITH THE RISE OF MORE PINS AND NEEDLES, THE RUMMAGING OF TENSION THAT ROARED THROUGH HIM LIKE A STORM. IT ROSE TO HIS TEMPLE, SETTLED IN HIS TIGHT JAW, BREAKING AGAINST THE BACK OF HIS FANGS AS HIS TONGUE SOUGHT THE SPACES BETWEEN.
DESPITE THIS, HE REMAINED HIS OWN FORM OF CASUAL – THIS SUAVE, SOMEWHAT BRUSQUE DISPLAY OF SMOOTH VIRILITY THAT WASHED OVER HIM IN EVERY WORD AND GESTURE. THE SHADOWS FELL ACROSS THE SHARPNESS OF HIS FEATURES, POOLED IN THE PORTIONS THAT STRETCHED AND RELENTED A GRIN, WOLFISH AND WICKED IN THE DIM LIGHT, ALBEIT TENACIOUSLY POLISHED FROM TOOTH TO TOOTH. HIS FACE IS FULL OF ANGLES, RUGGED EDGES GILDED IN GOLD. HIS OWN EYES LIMITLESS AS THEY DAWN OVER EMERALD. “does it appeal you?" his eyes passed back over the dagger, taking care not to focus on what may or may not have been a speck of blood glimmering against the hilt, and observes the knobby handle and small blemish in the blade. he takes care not to discredit its craftmanship however, not while it is a bargaining chip into the means of riches. “i've seen too many of them." HE DOES NOT NOTICE THAT SHE SHIES SLIGHTLY FROM HIM, NOR THAT THE SMELL OF BLOOD LINGERS FAINTLY OVER HIS SKIN. WHEN HE RETURNS HIS ATTENTION TO HER, SHE IS BACK WHERE SHE HAD BEEN, GRIN IN PLACE.
A CALL OF CARDS AND THE FLUTTERING FACES ARE BROUGHT TO THE TABLE. SIGHS ALL AROUND. TWO OF THE WOMEN LEAVE, BITTER EXPRESSIONS THAT MELT AWAY AS THEY TURN TO THE FINER FILIGREE OF THE SURROUNDING CLUB. THE MAN BESIDE HIM IS ALREADY THUMBING COINS TO THE TABLE IN BETWEEN SIPS, UNCERTAIN OF HOW MUCH IS TOO MUCH TO PLACE, OR PERHAPS CONFUSED WHETHER THE TWO COINS HE PLACED WERE THREE, OR IF THE FOUR HE PLACED WERE ONE, OR IF THE TWELVE THAT SEATED THEMSELVES WERE THE ACTUAL TWENTY THAT MOUNDED. THE WOMAN ACROSS THE TABLE PURSED HER BROWS IN AMUSEMENT, AND THE MAN BESIDE HIM SILENTLY PRESSED HIS WAGERS TO THE TABLE. IT WAS A LOSS – AND THE STRANGER SEATED BESIDE HIM WAS BID TO COLLECT HER WINNINGS. “i suppose it's yours, now." BUT THE TIMBRE OF HIS VOICE IS NOT BITTER WHERE IT FALLS, A HUM BENEATH THE PLEASANT DAZE OF THE SCARAB. HE CONSIDERED LEAVING AT HIS FIRST LOSS, BUT HE RESOLVED HIS INTRIGUE TO PLACE MORE COINS ON THE TABLE.
HE PLUCKED THE SUN SIGIL FROM HIS SATCHEL HESITANTLY, EYING IT QUIETLY AND PASSING IT OVER TO ADMIRE BOTH SIDES. ITS GOLD SHONE BENEATH THE HOVERING LAMPS, A GLITTERING GLIMMER CASCADING IN A RIPPLE OVER ITS FACE. A PART OF HIM LOATHED TO RELINQUISH IT, BUT WHAT GOOD WOULD IT SERVE HIM MORE THAN A BARGAINING CHIP? HE PLACED IT ON THE TABLE ALONGSIDE THE COINS, THEIR FACES SEEMING LESSER WHEN PITTED AGAINST THE GLINT OF THE SIGIL, HIS OFFERING FOR THEIR NEXT ROUND. THE TABLE CLOSED TO ALL BUT THE FIVE THAT REMAINED, DEALER SHUFFLING CARDS FOR THE NEXT HANDS WHILE PRYING EYES SWEPT BY IN THE SHADOWS.
IF THE INTENSITY STILL LINGERED IN PLACE OF HIS UN-BELONGING, IT WAS DISCARDED FOR THE PLEASURE OF THE WOMAN'S COMPANY, HOWEVER ALOOF TO HER MOTIVES HE WAS. HIS WAGERS WERE PALTRY, SIMPLE MATERIAL THINGS THAT COULD BE REPLACED WITH A LITTLE EFFORT. HER TIME WAS MORE PRECIOUS TO HIM – THE WANT, THE NEED TO KNOW MORE THAT SOUGHT HIS ATTENTIONS AFTER HER, THAT BID HIM STAY AND WAIT. SECRETS WERE HIS FAVORED CURRENCY, AND THERE WAS MUCH TO BE DISCOVERED IN THE PIT OF THOSE VIRIDESCENT EYES.
THE DISSONANCE IS RIVETING. HE IS SO UNLIKE THEM. AND YET,
HE IS MORE WOLF THAN MAN, AND MORE SHADE THAN WOLF. A VIPEROUS, WRITHING CADAVER BRIMMED WITH PERNICIOUS PURPOSE. THERE ARE LEVELS TO HIS MIS-BELONGING THAT NONE OF THEM COULD EVER PERCEIVE. AND HE REVELS IN IT. HE BATHES IN IT, DONS IT AS THEY DONNED THEIR JEWELS AND PRECIOUS FABRICS. WHERE THEIR CONFIDENCE CAME TO THEM IN ALCOHOLIC STUPOR, IN THE GLUTTONY OF RICHES AND THE ESTEEM OF REGALITY, HIS WAS DOUBLED IN THE ACHE OF THE TABOO. INDEED, THERE WAS NO QUESTION THAT HE BELONGED HERE. IF EVER, NONE A TIME MORE THAN THIS VERY MOMENT.
IT DID NOT TAKE LONG FOR THE BOOTHS AROUND HIM TO FIND PATRONS AT THEIR SEAT, SOME HARDLY EVEN TAKING A NOTICE TO HIS PRESENCE. WHILE OTHERS – HE WAS ELBOWED BY A DRUNKEN MAN STUMBLING TO THE TABLE, GIGGLING DAME IN TOW, AND WHILE A GLANCE WAS SEEMINGLY LOST TO THE OFFENSE A DOUBLE TAKE WAS QUICK TO OBSERVE THE FANGED SCOWL AND LOOSEN. A LAUGH, A COIN TOSS, AND A BOISTEROUS BELLOW FOR ERASMUS TO TAKE HIS CHOICE IN APOLOGETIC ALCOHOL. HE PAUSED FOR A MOMENT, NOT MUCH A DRINKER, BEFORE SUPPOSING SOME SMALL TOKEN LOST FROM THE MAN'S PURSE INTO ERASMUS'S CUP WAS PUNISHMENT ENOUGH FOR A CLUMSY ENGAGEMENT. HIS CHIN ROSE ABOVE THE MAN'S, GOLDEN GLINT PEERING FROM THE DEEP OF HIS FACE TO ROVE OVER HIS FEATURES BEFORE HE NODDED SLIGHTLY, CROOKED GRIN EMPTILY CRAWLING TO ONE CORNER OF HIS LIPS. “bourbon."
THE MAN HESITATED A MINUTE, THOUGH HIS LOOK EXPRESSED MORE SURPRISE THAT ERASMUS KNEW A WORD MORE THAN AT THE DEMAND ITSELF, AND HE CAST A SIDEWAYS GLANCE TO HIS ESCORT. “top shelf for the man, would you?” AND SHE WAS OFF INTO THE DARK OF THE LOUNGE, DISAPPEARING INTO THE SHIFTING SHADOWS THAT DWINDLED IN THE INCENSE SMOKE. MORE COINS STRUCK THE TABLE. JEWELS. PRECIOUS STONES. THE DAGGER LAY POISED AMONG THEM, JUST AS MISPLACED AS ITS PROPRIETOR. HIS EYE FELL UPON A SMALL SPECK OF DRIED BLOOD THAT DOTTED WHERE THE HILT MET THE BLADE, AND WONDERED HOW HE HAD MISSED IT BEFORE. OR PERHAPS IT WAS A REFLECTION OF SOMETHING IN THE ROOM? NONE SEEMED TO NOTICE IT, CONSUMED IN BETS AND CONVERSATIONS THAT FELL BEYOND HIS INTEREST.
HE REMAINED FOCUSED ON THAT CARMINE SPECK UNTIL A BODY FILLED THE EMPTY SEAT TO HIS OTHER SIDE. HIS EYES MOVED, BUT HIS HEAD DID NOT FOLLOW, DRINKING HER IN HIS PERIPHERAL. SMALL TREMORS, SMOOTH MOVEMENTS, AND A ROSE PIN SECURED ITS SPOT BESIDE HIS (NOT HIS, NOT AT ALL) DAGGER. HE FELT HER EYES SEAR PAST HIS SHOULDER UPON THAT BLADE, AND HE WONDERED – ALWAYS WONDERING, GRECIAN DREAMER – IF SHE TOO SAW THE RUBY DROPLET. IT WAS UNCERTAIN HOW LONG IT TOOK BETWEEN THAT MOMENT AND THE NEXT, TICKING SECONDS THAT CLUNG INSIDE HIS LUNGS GROPING FOR BREATH – HE IS NEVER THAT MESSY, NEVER SO DISORGANIZED – BEFORE HER WORDS WASH OVER HIM LIKE PINS AND NEEDLES.
SHE DOES NOT CALL FOR GUARDS. SHE – WHAT IS THIS – ADMIRES THE AWFUL MARK OF POOR BLACKSMITHING.
FINALLY HE ALLOWS HIS CHIN TO FOLLOW HIS SIGHT, AND BEFORE HE CAN SPEAK, HE IS INTERRUPTED BY HIS ARRIVING GLASS OF BOURBON. HIS WORDS ARE STIFLED, A MUFFLED GRUNT AND ANOTHER GLARE IN THE DRUNK'S DIRECTION BEFORE HE THANKED THE GESTURE WITH A CURT NOD. HE HADN'T MENTIONED ICE, AND SO THE BOURBON POOLED FLATLY IN THE GLASS, WHAT HE ASSUMED WAS MEANT TO BE A DOUBLE SHOT APPEARED A TRIPLE – OR PERHAPS, QUADRUPLE – HELPING THAT TEMPTED THE BRIM OF THE DIAMOND-ETCHED GLASS. HE TOSSED A QUICK SIP, DOWNING HALF OF ITS CONTENTS WITH A TWITCH-LIDDED GRIN THAT BURNED TO THE BACK OF HIS TEETH, AND RETURNED HIS ATTENTIONS ON HER.
SHE WAS PECULIAR.
SOMETHING ABOUT THE WAY HER GREEN EYES SHONE LIKE A JADE IN THE LAMPLIGHT AND THE WAY HER FLAXEN HAIRS FELL PALE AS MOONLIGHT AGAINST HER NECK SEEMED OUTRIGHT ODD, UNNATURAL. HE DRANK IN THE VELVET SMOOTH COAGULATION OF COLOR MATCHED WITH THE PALLOR OF HER FACE, AND IT WAS UNEARTHLY COOL, GRACIOUS, EXOTIC AND – BUT SOMETHING ABOUT THE EYES, SOMETHING UNSETTLING THERE. THE GREEN, THEY PEERED, THEY DOVE, DEEP AND DEEPLY. CHILLING AND BURNING AND WARPED AND FULL AND WILD, NOT PREDATORY AND NOT TIMID; UNREACHABLE. OTHERWORLDLY. SHE WAS PECULIAR. THE WAY THE BREEZE THROUGH THE LOUNGE FOUND IT IN ITS WHIM TO TOUSLE THE BLONDE HAIRS AND SWEEPING TENDRILS TENDERLY ACROSS THE SOFTNESS OF HER NAPE – AND HOW STRANGE, HOW OUTLANDISH.
ERASMUS DID NOT CARE FOR MOST THINGS THAT BREATHED. WHEN THIRST OR HUNGER FOUND HIM CRAVING THINGS MORE THAN GREENS OR POPPY WINE THEN HE CARED FOR THINGS THAT WERE BENEATH THE BREATHING, YES. FOR WHAT CAUSED THEIR WARMTH, BUT NOT FOR IT. FOR THE TENDER MACHINATIONS THAT SWAYED BENEATH THE SKIN, A SHALLOW CONSTRUCT, FLESH. SOMETHING THAT BROKE TOO EASILY. AND THEIR INTERESTS, SO MUCH SOFTNESS, SO MUCH WANTON GLEE IN SIMPLE THINGS, MATERIAL THINGS, WEATHER THINGS, HOW WAS YOUR DAY THINGS. MORTALITY WAS WRETCHED.
BUT SHE WAS PECULIAR, YES. SO PECULIAR, HE WANTED TO KNOW MORE.
SHE LEANED CLOSER TO HIM AND HIS BREATH LOCKED TIGHT IN HIS CHEST. HER WARMTH ROSE FROM HER LIKE PERFUME, CARESSING HIS SHOULDER WITH THE LURE OF VEINING SWEETNESS ENTANGLED WITH – WHAT, WHAT, SOMETHING SHE KEPT FROM HIM. HE LOATHED THE LIVING, THEIR BREATHS, THEIR WARMTH. BUT HERS, HE KNEW HERS WAS THE SUCCOR OF PULSING VITALITY, HOT BLUSHING ICHOR THAT ROSE TO MEET HIS WITH A SUFFERING CURIOSITY. HE CRAVED IT SILENTLY, THAT SHE MAY LEAN CLOSER AGAIN. HE HIMSELF, RELENTED NOT. HIS EVERY ATTEMPT TO LOOSEN HIS MUSCLES WAS MET WITH THE RISE OF MORE PINS AND NEEDLES, THE RUMMAGING OF TENSION THAT ROARED THROUGH HIM LIKE A STORM. IT ROSE TO HIS TEMPLE, SETTLED IN HIS TIGHT JAW, BREAKING AGAINST THE BACK OF HIS FANGS AS HIS TONGUE SOUGHT THE SPACES BETWEEN.
DESPITE THIS, HE REMAINED HIS OWN FORM OF CASUAL – THIS SUAVE, SOMEWHAT BRUSQUE DISPLAY OF SMOOTH VIRILITY THAT WASHED OVER HIM IN EVERY WORD AND GESTURE. THE SHADOWS FELL ACROSS THE SHARPNESS OF HIS FEATURES, POOLED IN THE PORTIONS THAT STRETCHED AND RELENTED A GRIN, WOLFISH AND WICKED IN THE DIM LIGHT, ALBEIT TENACIOUSLY POLISHED FROM TOOTH TO TOOTH. HIS FACE IS FULL OF ANGLES, RUGGED EDGES GILDED IN GOLD. HIS OWN EYES LIMITLESS AS THEY DAWN OVER EMERALD. “does it appeal you?" his eyes passed back over the dagger, taking care not to focus on what may or may not have been a speck of blood glimmering against the hilt, and observes the knobby handle and small blemish in the blade. he takes care not to discredit its craftmanship however, not while it is a bargaining chip into the means of riches. “i've seen too many of them." HE DOES NOT NOTICE THAT SHE SHIES SLIGHTLY FROM HIM, NOR THAT THE SMELL OF BLOOD LINGERS FAINTLY OVER HIS SKIN. WHEN HE RETURNS HIS ATTENTION TO HER, SHE IS BACK WHERE SHE HAD BEEN, GRIN IN PLACE.
A CALL OF CARDS AND THE FLUTTERING FACES ARE BROUGHT TO THE TABLE. SIGHS ALL AROUND. TWO OF THE WOMEN LEAVE, BITTER EXPRESSIONS THAT MELT AWAY AS THEY TURN TO THE FINER FILIGREE OF THE SURROUNDING CLUB. THE MAN BESIDE HIM IS ALREADY THUMBING COINS TO THE TABLE IN BETWEEN SIPS, UNCERTAIN OF HOW MUCH IS TOO MUCH TO PLACE, OR PERHAPS CONFUSED WHETHER THE TWO COINS HE PLACED WERE THREE, OR IF THE FOUR HE PLACED WERE ONE, OR IF THE TWELVE THAT SEATED THEMSELVES WERE THE ACTUAL TWENTY THAT MOUNDED. THE WOMAN ACROSS THE TABLE PURSED HER BROWS IN AMUSEMENT, AND THE MAN BESIDE HIM SILENTLY PRESSED HIS WAGERS TO THE TABLE. IT WAS A LOSS – AND THE STRANGER SEATED BESIDE HIM WAS BID TO COLLECT HER WINNINGS. “i suppose it's yours, now." BUT THE TIMBRE OF HIS VOICE IS NOT BITTER WHERE IT FALLS, A HUM BENEATH THE PLEASANT DAZE OF THE SCARAB. HE CONSIDERED LEAVING AT HIS FIRST LOSS, BUT HE RESOLVED HIS INTRIGUE TO PLACE MORE COINS ON THE TABLE.
HE PLUCKED THE SUN SIGIL FROM HIS SATCHEL HESITANTLY, EYING IT QUIETLY AND PASSING IT OVER TO ADMIRE BOTH SIDES. ITS GOLD SHONE BENEATH THE HOVERING LAMPS, A GLITTERING GLIMMER CASCADING IN A RIPPLE OVER ITS FACE. A PART OF HIM LOATHED TO RELINQUISH IT, BUT WHAT GOOD WOULD IT SERVE HIM MORE THAN A BARGAINING CHIP? HE PLACED IT ON THE TABLE ALONGSIDE THE COINS, THEIR FACES SEEMING LESSER WHEN PITTED AGAINST THE GLINT OF THE SIGIL, HIS OFFERING FOR THEIR NEXT ROUND. THE TABLE CLOSED TO ALL BUT THE FIVE THAT REMAINED, DEALER SHUFFLING CARDS FOR THE NEXT HANDS WHILE PRYING EYES SWEPT BY IN THE SHADOWS.
IF THE INTENSITY STILL LINGERED IN PLACE OF HIS UN-BELONGING, IT WAS DISCARDED FOR THE PLEASURE OF THE WOMAN'S COMPANY, HOWEVER ALOOF TO HER MOTIVES HE WAS. HIS WAGERS WERE PALTRY, SIMPLE MATERIAL THINGS THAT COULD BE REPLACED WITH A LITTLE EFFORT. HER TIME WAS MORE PRECIOUS TO HIM – THE WANT, THE NEED TO KNOW MORE THAT SOUGHT HIS ATTENTIONS AFTER HER, THAT BID HIM STAY AND WAIT. SECRETS WERE HIS FAVORED CURRENCY, AND THERE WAS MUCH TO BE DISCOVERED IN THE PIT OF THOSE VIRIDESCENT EYES.
@Aghavni
