THAT'S WHY IT'S FUN
Castalla had seen the blur on her periphery, the sheen of magic and movement that only her enhanced senses allowed her to pick up. It followed her periodically tracing her movements from table to table as challenger after challenger sought to defeat this new played. Castalla was not foolish enough to think she was not followed, just as everyone in this establishment was watched. Why invite her in such a secretive way if not to observe whatever spark had ignited their interest in her? And yet she could not make out her tail, could not set her gaze upon the wanderer in the shadows, the blur amid candle light. It was a wonderful game- to snap her gaze to the darkness and yet appear as though she were entirely enraptured in a game with whatever fool had no idea that she could smell their deceit in their scent. A dance- between the wolf and the snake, the assassin and the spy. And Castalla was certainly enjoying it.
At last, as she settled into the sweet darkness of the shadowy corner, among the candles and the ghosts, her watcher emerged. Even with her senses, Castalla did not see the other woman until she right before her, erupting from the fabric of reality like an ephemeral spirit. The rogue’s face betrayed nothing of her surprise- such were her years of training to perfectly school her expression and secrete all her emotions. Instead she flicked her perceptive gaze to the mare and away, a small smile wrought prettily across her face.
A demure smile played its way gracefully across the Wolf’s lips, lighting up the crystal blue of her piercing eyes like diamonds in the darkness. “Take from someone who loves watching many fall prey to their own imprudent hubris. Oh I know,” she said, her words honey-rich and laced with amusement, “I just did not feel liking losing tonight. And did you not see their faces?” She meets the equally blue gaze of the elegant woman, a conspiratorial gleam to her oculars that matched the self-indulgent smile on her lips. They had thought her little more than a dithering lady, or perhaps the bore-headed daughter of some noble who had no idea what to do with their war-inclined offspring. And when she cleared them out, again and again as they came back, assuming it was only luck, that they could beat her this time; she revelled in the anger and shock and shame that painted their faces, tinged their scents. Castalla had a feeling that she and this beautiful lady enjoyed the same games.
At the cream and brown mare’s next words Castalla gives a low laugh, sultry and polished as a grin slowly dances across her lips. She is a serpent in silk, a wolf dressed in wool. Perfectly at ease in her surroundings and yet hyper aware of the sugar coated lies, the secrets hidden behind intricately carved wooden doors. She was a warrior, but the battlefield is not always a bloody hillock, her armour doesn’t have to be leather and metal and swords are not the only weapons capable of slaying. Raising the carefully cut crystal glass to her lips she sips the amber liquid and leans back gracefully, watching the flickering shadows of the firelight across the oaken table. “Why does anyone ever follow a calling card?” She blinks and flicks her gaze back to Manon. “Insatiable curiosity I suppose. Why work in a monster’s den?”
Given the mare’s clear familiarity with how customers are lured into the gilded cage, Castalla figured she worked there. Why else would she be monitoring the Wolf? She doubted those who found themselves with a calling card came here to watch other patrons, (with the exception of those like Castalla who used such dens of iniquity for other purposes). So it seemed unlikely that the auburn hued woman was simply a loyal customer. So who were the monsters? The players? The horses sat at tables throwing money around with little care for the world beyond what money gave them access to or with the desperation of one indentured by their poor luck? They were the ignorant kind of the monsters, the ones who failed to see, or chose not to see, the poverty of the world. Besides their inconsequential games of stealing each other’s wealth, they were not dangerous. But Castalla did not think those serving girls, the ones who happened to be listening in to most likely every bit of alcohol and greed induced conversations were the monsters either.
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