Close to Home (Cyrah & Ifran)

[Ifran]

"I have no intentions to punish you, girl. You needn't worry about that." His tone was kindly enough, full of noblesse oblige. The slaves and servants of the House of the North Winds were, by and large, well treated and happy. Many would argue that it was better to be feared than loved, but Ifran would argue that it would be best to be feared and loved, but he was something of a megalomaniac underneath all the fine manners and costuming. "If the physicians cannot correct all the damage to his face, I will likely reward you." He laughed, not unkindly. Hate didn't really enter into his psyche. It was a game, politics; politics of the theater, politics of the art scene; politics of the city. Ifran played to win, but he played the long game. Ahmet was an opponent upon which he could sharpen his claws, his game. An appetizer to whet his appetite. He did not hate him; Ahmet was not worthy of his hate. He was, in fact, a stepping stone. "Look at me," he said, gently enough.

[Cyrah]

A smile had threatened one corner of her mouth, hidden from Ifran's sight, when he offered to pay her for uglying up his rival. She liked the sentiment; it was, after all, the one that led her to punching Ahmet in the first place. And then she winced inwardly, when he told her to look. There was no disobeying a direct command. As she straightened her spine, she watched his feet. Wondered if she could scramble between them and get the door open before he grabbed her – probably not. No windows in a theatre, either. Careful not to make a sound about it, she slipped the string of Ahmet's purse from her wrist and let it sag on the floor by her toes. Her dress could come off mid-run; there was nothing to halt the shift if she had to. Eventually, she sat back on her heels, knees still pressed to the floor in subservience, and lifted her eyes to meet the Eypharian's. Her eyes were an otherworldly shade of silver. Too pale in such a dark face. Practically canine, or they might have been, save that she dropped her gaze after only a second-long glance into Ifran's face, dark lashes lowering to half-mast to shield her eyes from him. “Forgive me, my lord, but it is late. May I not have leave to go home?” Her shoulders tightened with anticipation while she waited to hear what he'd say, whether or not he recognized her, or if he even cared.

[Ifran]

At another time he might have lacked the patience for her hesitation, but she was beautiful in her submissive pose and he enjoyed her aesthetically. Then she turned her eyes up at him and nearly bowled him over. Things that had bothered him about the encounter clicked into place, and the significance of her presence there took on ramifications that would have to be dealt with. It was humorous, really. He sent Aru to the Pillars of Dust with Anubis in his mouth before tonight's performance, and after it, Anubis herself appeared. But she was dangerous, a wild creature, and he had her cornered. With all the attendant grace of a dancer, he bowed to her. There was nothing mocking about it, but his eyes were amused when he rose and stepped aside. "You are not a prisoner here, my lady," he replied. "Leave if you wish. Your brother will have word of me when you see him." He considered walking her out as a deterrent to Ahmet, but he almost hoped the man tried to stop her again. Perhaps instead of breaking his nose, she would render him sterile. One could only hope.

[Cyrah]

By all the gods, Cyrah blushed when he bowed. The color in her cheeks only deepened as he rose, but she didn't waste a second in straightening from her knees at the same time. Her fingers snatched up the gold purse as she gained her feet, pale eyes trained warily on the Eypharian, particularly for the amusement she saw in his eyes. Curiosity sparked in her, that untamable nature as ruled by whim and intrigue as it was by hunger and wrath; she didn't know where Clement was, or how long he would be gone. Whether or not he'd bother to speak with anyone who sought Anubis while they fought – as they did, quite regularly, and with aplomb, these days. So she didn't leave immediately, though her instincts pressed her to do so. “Well I'm here now,” she muttered, instead. “And if you're half as smart as you're meant to be, I suspect you've now answered at least one question for yourself. What more would you want from me?” He could ask her, then and there, to kill Ahmet. She might even have done it for half-price, the man annoyed her so terribly. Beyond that, however, she couldn't fathom for what purpose he might seek her out. The game discarded, so was her subservience. Little changes in the way she held herself, the tension in the muscles of her arms and the line of her shoulders, and the fractional uplift of her chin as she regarded him. Just that much to wipe away the obeisance with which she'd knelt before him only a moment before, replaced instead with wild, unpredictable independence. A creature all her own, though her kind were not meant to exist so singularly. It was an unfortunate aspect of her own self that she fought with all the time.

[Ifran]

If her blush caused him any degree of satisfaction, he was chivalrous enough not to show it. He merely stood, urbane and unflappable, beside the door and making no move to block her exit should she decide to make hers. "Fortune favors me again today," he observed blandly. "I don't require your services in regard to Ahmet." Now he knew which of his petty enemies had made himself more serious, and everyone would be happy to tell him how lofty Lord Ifran had taken the servant to his chambers, most likely to plumb the depths of her virtue and claim it for his own. What else could Ahmet surmise but that Anubis was working for him now? Of course, she could dispel that illusion with ease, but to what end? Had not Ifran treated her with more respect? Had not Ifran paid her without quibbling? Had not Ifran greater access to funds and, as a noble, a greater access to potential enemies? "That isn't to say I won't seek out your services in future," he added. "Let us part as ... friends."

[Cyrah]

She blinked at him. That was the only indication of surprise, but it was a far stronger one than any she'd yet given. Even the blush had been reflexive, not a thing she had much control over, but what he'd said last had not only surprised her, but confused her. “Why would you want to be friends with me?” she blurted, before she could think better of it. And then, ruffled, she just shook her head and started for the door. “Never mind. We're not friends. If you need somebody dead, you know how to get in touch with me.” Friends, hmph. She didn't have friends – she didn't want friends! She had Clement, who wasn't a friend but he was...friendlike...sometimes, and that was all she needed. And she certainly didn't need six-armed friends, because she knew better – Eypharians didn't like her kind, they only liked their own kind. And he was a pompous prick who at least one person wanted to see dead – those were not the sorts of friends that Cyrah needed. Not that she needed friends. At all.

[Ifran]

"Granted, your initial plan to kill me was not what is generally described as friendly, but I once overheard one man telling another, 'friends help you move, but real friends help you move bodies'." There was a feral edge to his smile too. No jackal, perhaps, certainly something wild and powerful. Eypharian blood beat powerfully beneath the veneer of civilization, and some were aware that their idea of civilization was nearly as vicious as that of the Myrians. "Likewise," he added as she was out the door, "if there is anything I can do for you, you know both where I work and where I sleep."

[Cyrah]

She stopped just at the door and shot him a look over her shoulder. It was ambiguous, as was the twist that took her mouth, though the one thing that still rang true throughout her posture and the ponderous shimmer in her eyes was curiosity. So at least there was that. “Goodbye, my lord,” she muttered, as she disappeared through the doorway and out into the corridor. THE END!

[Dreamcatcher]

. Character: Ifran Experience: +2 Acting, +1 Interrogation Lore: Removing Make Up, A Truthful Mind, Using the Skills of those Around You Character: Cyrah Experience: +1 Brawling, +1 Disguise, +1 Subterfuge Lore: Finding the Right Response for an Ex-customer, Deceitful Tongue, Finding a Client Additional Note: Cyrah, I like the intense focus of the character and shifting of moods as you change your disguises. Ifran, your consistent with the character and his interself. Keep up the good work. .