A Night to Remember

[Amael]

The voluptuous Isur cast a sharp look in Isme’s direction, feeling a pang at the thought of her and Noven… Together. But then again, what did it matter? Her eyes softened. The man was free to do as he pleased. It was his coin and his life. But against all reason, he turned the courtesan down instead, sending her off for refreshments. Now that was odd. Further, the woman’s smile was another mystery altogether. ”No, I’m fine – thank you.” Her lips bowed demurely in reply. If there was a message there, Mae was simply far too dense to receive it.

The Isur rose to sit next to him, admiring his roughish grin. ”Think of it like this. Anything that is living has a soul. What I just did was establish a soulcore, or a sense of self. I took a little imprint of me and helped it to grow. But now, I’m making the second layer of the soul, called the persona. When it comes to people like you and I, our persona is who we are right now. Our thoughts, memories, feelings… You get the gist.” Her fingers itched to brush the hair from his forehead.

In a moment of spontaneity, she did it, in spite of all reason. Intrepid fingers gently reached to sweep the fine strands out from in front of his eyes before she chose to continue. ”For an object, it isn’t so complex. I give the thing directives; laws it has to abide by. For example, I’ll instill in it three simple commands: Obey me, obey you and no matter what, perform its function the minute Torgen is set to fall in. I’ll of course, teach it a simple open command on top, in case I have to do it manually. But it shouldn’t be a problem.”

She smiled at him shyly again, moving to rise, so that she might continue their work. Mae felt better having had a chance to talk. In fact, she was pretty much ready to start anew. Perhaps Noven was a good luck charm. It was an interesting thought. And in the event he let her go, the woman again folded into the source circle.

The transfer would be slow at first. She envisioned her own image with the concept of obedience as an overlay, over and over again. ’Obey,’ she chanted. ’Obey.’ She repeated the process, serene and intent, giving it ample time to sink in. Only when she felt enough time had passed did she move on to the next directive, allowing the destination circle to leech thought directly from her head. There stood an image of Noven and that boyish smile of his, her chest stuttering automatically in reply. No, that was bad. Stop feeling things, Amael!

Steadying the course of her mind, she thought of him more seriously, this time with the usual glower in his eyes. That was better. ’Obey,’ she said again, allowing the destination to greedily take all that it could of the idea, leaving no trace behind. It took time, precious time, of which they only had so much of. She was vaguely aware of Isme having returned.

Finally, she envisioned the man who could only be Torgen. It was fortunate that they’d run into him out in the hall. She would’ve had more trouble, were she never to have seen him before. This was far easier. She envisioned the idea of him and falling, plummeting into the dark abyss beyond. Mae thought of the time she’d fallen out of a tree just outside Sultros City, how it felt to be suspended mid-air. She thought of Torgen and his shallow grey eyes, devoid of humanity. ’Fall, fall, fall…’ she repeated. It would open, cut away and he would fall.

While not necessarily a difficult idea to grasp, it still took a little while. But soon enough, the object seemed satisfied. At long last, she found herself searching for a word to serve as command. It was only was a faint blush crept onto her cheeks that she considered the word “na’lis” - the word for “more.” She’d used it earlier – why not? That way, none of them could possibly forget, were they faced with no alternative.

Trying to keep her personal feelings out of the matter, she thought of it repeatedly, with the image of the door laid open. This was the easiest of all. Even Isme would be able to use it, if she had to. But of course, if Amael intervened, told it to stop, it would defer to her automatically. Ah, the beauty of animation. She turned the simple concept over in her mind, until it was enmeshed in the object’s inherent design.

Again, she rose from the circle, allowed another respite. While taxing, the rest of the project still wasn’t as draining as say, the soulcore had been. But Mae was reaching the limits of even her endurance, Isurian as she was. She couldn’t take much more and surely, her companions were going mad in the interim.

”Alright,” she groaned, stretching. ”It’s about done. Now all I need to do is create an astral body with which to move. That won’t take more than fifteen chimes. But first…” And she sniffed, to see if there was any food left.

[Noven]

And odd little smile arose on Mae's face. Quirking an eyebrow, he turned back to see if Isme was up to no good again, but she'd already slipped out with a click of the latch. He shrugged it off as yet another feminine mystery beyond his grasp and moved to face the Isur once more.

Only to find that Amael was sinking down beside him, curves and all, as she began a thorough explanation of how she established soulcores and what she planned to do next. Noven listened as well as he could, though he found his gaze repeatedly drawn to her lips, how they were opening and closing and shaping sounds. Peach skins. Curiosity battled with concentration. Would they share the same flavor if he had a taste?

And then her fingers were brushing against his forehead, sweeping unruly strands of hair from his eyes. For a single, agonizing moment he was torn between intense nostalgia, swarmed with memories of him as a child receiving the same tender ministrations from Nona, and a fierce, overwhelming desire to kiss her.

She was talking again, but it was hard to focus. Nov only managed to pick up bits and pieces. Laws. Obey. Fall in. Obey. The dark haired mercenary wanted nothing more in that instant that to do just that. To obey his body. To take the alluring woman before him right then and there and drown her in waves of overpowering, all-consuming passion.

But something stopped him. He couldn't. Under thick layers of lust and desire, the very thought felt...wrong. Selfish. Not to mention frightening as well, should she reject him or, gods forbid, he hurt her.

In that moment of confusion and hesitance, the Isur was gone again, settling back into a familiar pose of serenity and seriousness.

For the next few chimes, Nov sat immobilized on the soft mattress and watched in silence. He was glad that Mae had her eyes closed; it was much harder the second time around to will his blood to rush elsewhere. Heh, harder. Petching puns.

Isme returned not long after, closing the door softly behind her and bearing a tray laden with food. In another hand, she carried a whole bucket filled with wine bottles. Nov raised his brow in surprise, to which the courtesan responded with a devilish grin as she laid the various gifts upon the rumpled bed. Oh happy, happy night.

Breads, cheeses, meats, and all the wine bottles already uncorked and ready for the drinking. Blessed goddess. He could have kissed the whore right that tick if he hadn't already began stuffing pieces of food in his mouth. With a soft laugh, barely audible even to the mercenary, Isme stopped his frenzied feasting with a hand and gave him a look that all but said, watch this.

She picked up one of the bottles, tipped her head back, and guzzled a quarter of it in one go. No wonder you're my favorite, Nov mused as she handed the bottle to him. Stars and stones, he was thirsty. When was the last time he'd even had a proper drink? Nov paused for a tick, however, before pouring its ruby contents into his mouth. Maybe, he questioned, he shouldn't be drinking on the job.

But, then again, they were almost done. Amael had said it herself. Why not begin the celebration just a wee bit early?

Petch it. Nov gulped down the horrid, cheap wine before returning his attentions to the simple but delectable food. Gods, food. Second to none, except maybe threeways with beautiful courtesans and red heads.

By the time Amael stretched and groan, signifying the end of her task, Nov and Isme were both nibbling on food and somewhat buzzed from all of the wine. The Isur need not have even asked. As soon as she had spoken the merc pointed at an empty spot on the bed and pushed the tray of food towards it. He also dangled the second of the three bottles of wine in his other hand.

"Eat up, and when you're done with that last bit, these puppies are for you," Nov beamed in uncharacteristic cheer. Beautiful women, good fine, booze, and a dead Daggerhand on the morrow. What was there not to celebrate?

His mind did churn in curiosity, however, at Mae's mention of astral bodies. As she ate, he blurted a little more freely than usual, "So what's an astral body?"

[Amael]

Not just food… Oh no. They’d prepared her a feast! Her eyes lit up. Mae reached for a wedge of cheese as she considered just how to answer. ”Okay...” She took a bite, allowing the delicious substance to churn in her mouth for a moment, before she swallowed it down. ”If the soulcore is the deepest layer, the persona would be the second layer then, right? Well, think of the astral body as the third. Everything that moves has an astral body. It’s the part of our soul that allows us to interact with the space around us. There are even wielders of magic who can detach that part of their soul and use it as a weapon… Projectionists, I think they’re called.” She took another bite of the cheese, eyeing the bottle of wine with poorly disguised yearning.

”So,” she broke a piece of the cheese, tossing it playfully at Noven. ”The astral body manipulates ours like a puppet. By giving an object one, it’ll be able to open and shut all on its own.” Laughing lightly, the Isur ducked in case of retaliation. ”I’ve always wanted to see projection. I met a user at the western border post, once.” She sighed, lost in a memory. ”My brother took me along with him. I was such a brat back then; I begged and begged to go until my parents couldn’t take it anymore.” The gadgeteer chuckled. ”Anyway, when I got there, I met this person… Called a Shinya. Said he came from a place called Lhavit.” She continued to tease Noven, this time by again, wiggling her toes at him as she ate. The Isur just couldn’t help it. There was something so enticing in making him laugh.

”Get this. He claimed to be a warrior monk dedicated to Zintila, Goddess of the Stars. They say the Alvina actually lives in the city with them.” The lively tone with which she spoke noted her skepticism, which no doubt the others would share. Mae knew that were she to continue with the story, sharing what she knew of the Diamond of Kalea, they simply wouldn’t believe her. In Sunberth, what was more unbelievable than a crystal city? A city where no one starved and no one suffered, a city that practiced magic openly, a city where no one murdered, few stole and those that chose to whore were called ‘escorts?’

No, perhaps she’d save that for another time.

Instead, the gadgeteer assumed strategic silence, wolfing down whatever she could get her hands on before tossing another piece of cheese at Noven. She danced out of reach, moving to the source, eager complete the project. After all, they were very nearly done. Just a bit more and she’d be free to do as she pleased. Plus, the second bottle of wine was singing her praises. What better way to reward it than to drink it down?

She sat down, folding her hands in her lap. Thick, dark eyelashes kissed the tops of her cheeks. Falling into the trance was the easy part. Keeping it maintained always proved more difficult, though Mae felt more at ease knowing just who was in the room. The destination circle seemed ready. She could feel the object, oddly incomplete, searching for the last part of its soul. ’Good,’ she thought softly. That enthusiasm was precisely what they’d need.

Being a gadgeteer, she had a unique understanding of mechanics. All it took was her imagining the latch falling open, over and over again. Once the latch opened, the door automatically followed suit, cutting away to reveal the ladder snaking into the darkness beyond. But as for Torgen, there would be no ladder. Rather, there would be nothing but the blind panic before the fall.

Shying away from that particular train of though, Mae did her best to focus on the one singular movement. Unlatch. Unlatch. Unlatch. She didn’t particularly feel the need to teach it how to latch itself again; that wasn’t necessarily a part of the original plan. Why bother? In the interest of time, she erred on the side of simplicity.

So it was. Just as she’d said, roughly fifteen chimes later, she felt the creation start to well, like a glass spilling over. The circles were at it again; the greedy, djed leeching tendrils tugged at her like an insistent child. But luckily, this time it was easier to deny them. Having no stake of her own soul in the last part of the process, Mae simply held fast, waiting for the energy to simmer down.

The impulse finally died away and she opened her eyes. Gleeful, she sprang from her pose, running over to the newly awakened creation.

”Hi there,” she cooed softly. ”Na’lis, little one.”

The door hiccupped a little then fell open.

Laughing, she threw her hands into the hair, going straight for the bottle of wine. And were she to find it, the Isur would toss it back immediately, guzzling about as much as she could take before wiping her mouth on the back of her wrist.

[Noven]

This shyke is complicated, the merc grumbled in his head as he chewed on a piece of dried meat. He'd never given much thought to his soul or persona, let alone allowing it to take a walk outside of his body. That was downright petched. Not to mention riskier than brawling naked with your balls out and a Daggerhand in every direction. Stupid fucks. He hoped someone would just torch the damned place as soon as the entire gang showed up wearing naught but the skins their whore mothers birthed them in. Then maybe Robern would finally lynch the idiot who thought of such an idea.

Or was he the one who devised it? Well, wouldn't that make for an interesting show.

Still, what the gadgeteer said made sense. The way Nov understood it was that if a thing wanted to punch someone in the face, it would need to know what a punch and face were, the will or motivation to act, and something solid to act with. He supposed, basically, that was what humans were. Sacks of meat with a mind that learned things and a soul which yearned to put that knowledge to use. Did this mean, then, that someone or something was instilling ideas in them, just as Mae had with the trap door? The gods, perhaps? Or some other unseen force?

He was so lost in an inward spiral of unprecedented depths of reflection that Amael's piece of cheese bounced off his slack-jawed, food-filled face without immediate effect. A few blinks later, he finally registered what she had done and chucked the piece of cheese straight back at her head.

The Isur ducked and went on to reveal a glimpse of her past. So she had a brother, eh? And was a nagging little brat. Nov grinned. Somehow, it wasn't hard to imagine. When she proceeded to speak of a Shinya and some place called Lhavit, however, the merc felt...confused. Disoriented. Warrior monk, Zintila, a city with something called an Alvina...it sounded at once foreign and...not. It was giving him a headache. Nov shoved such puzzles for later, not wanting to bring on his symptoms ahead of schedule. He time was almost up and he wasn't exactly in the best of places to relieve himself.

The mercenary found himself chuckling through pieces of food at Mae's antics, his deeper laughter mingling with her lighter one. At some point she wiggled her toes at him, to which he responded by sticking a piece of cheese between them. It fell out without much success, but he kept trying anyhow until he was forced to dodge more ammunition of the Isur's own.

Isme was conspicuously quiet, nibbling at a hunk of bread and watching them with calculating eyes. Though neither of her guests knew it, the whore was sitting, thinking, and running through sums. She was getting paid enough gold to sit in leisure and do nothing for all of upcoming Spring. So, she could very well let this foreign woman place her stakes. Her favorite patron seemed to have a soft spot for her, anyhow; he'd never looked quite so carefree, except maybe in dreamless sleep. But what of the season after? Should she be worried? If the truth got out that she had been part of a scheme against a Daggerhand...

Isme shuddered, leaning in against Noven's warm, solid form. He had promised he would keep her safe. And, judging by the lengths he had gone to for Tinnie, she had to admit that was good enough. For now.

"Ohh, she's starting again," the dark eyed beauty cooed as Amael slipped beyond Nov's reach. "How about a little massage, to help ease the time?"

The merc was in no state to object, as he had quite a bit of wine and was starting to feel sleepy from all of the food. With a firm hand, the whore guided him back down onto the bed, after which he rolled over onto his stomach with a grunt of acquiescence, one arm dangling over the edge and a half empty bottle held loosely in his hand.

Gods above, massages felt good.

Nov was almost unconscious by the time the Isur finished her final task and jumped up with joy. His ears pricked, however, upon hearing the same word she had used in their orgy charade, and he forced himself to open his eyes, just in time to see the trap door spring open on its own.

"You did it," he blurted in surprise, words just a little slurred. Before he could say more, Mae grabbed a bottle of wine and downed its contents with gusto. "To the Great Gadgeteer!" he cheered with a hiccup, then tipped his own bottle as well.

Isme was clapping beside him in genuine amazement, having never witnessed something quite like it either but reacting with far less inhibition. "Oh, that was delightful!" she gushed. Grabbing the bottle from Nov before he was even finished, she toasted Mae as well. "To the Great Gadgeteer indeed, and to the most phenomenal, fake orgasms I've ever had." And then she too guzzled down the wine, until yet another empty bottle was produced.

"I think," Nov announced, finger pointed in the air, "this calls for a celebration. Isme, the music!"

Not missing a beat, the courtesan broke out into the bawdiest, raunchiest shanty anyone this side of Sunberth had ever heard and Noven leaped to his feet, dragging Mae and her bottle of wine with him. One hand on her waist and the other holding both her fingers and the glass at the same time, he stamped his feet, shuffled in circles, and generally acted a buffoon as they spun about in the tiny bedroom.

Isme sailed on like a pro, increasing in volume and lewdness even as she threatened to collapse any tick in gails of uncontrolled mirth. When the loony couple neared, she shrieked as Nov grabbed her and the three of them combined to make one, ridiculous mass of tangled limbs and breathless laughter.

A few, dizzying spins and romps later, the merc toppled onto the bed, taking both women down with him. Oomfph. Someone's elbow jabbed him in the abs and he broke out in pained chortles. Winded, wincing, and almost shamelessly drunk, Nov lay there, surrounded by all kinds of enticing softness, contemplating.

"Hey," he murmured after a chime, still panting from the impromptu exertion, "I think I know how to get Torgen into that trap."

[Amael]

Amael beamed. She’d never had an audience before. Their combined appreciation brought a rush of color to her cheeks, though maybe that was the wine. Whatever the cause, she raised her bottle in triumph, admiring the crimson contents against the light. Of all the nights she’d spent in Sunberth, this was one was absolutely the best.

But how, it got better.

On stumbling feet, she allowed Nov to wheel her in a circle, stomach dropping to the floor. Isme’s bawdy tune was a fitting background; Mae felt crass and carefree. The wine was making them far less inhibited. Bodies flush, she leaned in to press her cheek against his, limbs tangling and untangling as they swept about the room. Oh and that scent; he smelled of smoke and earth, mingled with the savory aroma of the wine. Emboldened as she was, Amael buried her face into soft space of his neck, nuzzling him gently.

It was even better as they hooked the courtesan by the arm, the three of them careening unsteadily about the room. They danced until they fell, each laughing breathlessly as they tumbled onto the bed in a merry heap. In the jumble of arms and legs, her right elbow jabbed into Noven’s ribcage. ”Sorry,” she gasped, still giggling. He took it in good humor, at least.

Unthinking, the Isur squirmed up beside him to lay her head against her shoulder. Somewhere in the midst of their sudden, delirious joy, the lines had become blurred. Mae was happy; she was the happiest she’d been in years, at least. That moment illuminated her greatest reason for remaining. There was good, even in the darkest of places. Even a man as outwardly conflicted as Noven, with his low-slung brow and wounded mouth, could smile and dance if given the chance to.

It was all the more reason for what they were planning: to subvert the darkness and make way to let in the light.

”How?” She asked with a tender smile, curling up beside him. It was only then that she realized she was cuddling with him. The Isur’s heart began fluttering in her chest. ”What do you, ah, suggest?” Her face began to flush.

[Noven]

Isme had one of his arms pinned under her languid weight, though Nov's other seemed to curl around Mae's shoulder of its own accord, fingers absently running through her flame bright hair.

"Well," he grinned, "it's pretty bloody brilliant. What's going to happen is, I'm going to stand under the trap."

He paused for dramatic effect. "Then, when Torgen walks in, as distracted as a cat in heat by the sight of you two, one of you is going to blindfold him. Lead him nice and slow, promising him all kind of dirty goodness." The mercenary tapped a finger lightly against the side of Mae's head. "Once he's in front of the trap, you say the magic word, someone pushes him in, and I get to take my sweet time making that bastard beg for me to kill him."

Nov had ended his explanation a little more heated than he'd intended, but his vengeful streak was quickly replaced by surprise when a knocking came from under the trap door. "Mum!" a voice followed, cracking with the beginnings of puberty, "Let me in!"

Huffing a small sigh--and gliding a sly look in Amael's direction--Isme propped up her chin on one hand and said, "Na'lis."

The little door flew open in perfect obedience. A tick later, the shaggy, black head of a boy no older than twelve or thirteen poked through to survey the room. He took one look at his mother's impish smile and Noven's suggestive presence and scoffed, climbing his way out of the trap door. Until, that is, he caught sight of the red headed Isur and promptly tripped on the last rung, tumbling onto the wooden floorboards with a yelp of pain.

"Serves you right, little perv," Nov snorted.

The kid righted himself in a blaze of fury. "What? I knocked this time!"

"Only cause you were stuck..."

"Now, now," Isme cooed, "let's play nice, boys. Is it time already, Ade?" The courtesan pouted. "We were just starting to have fun."

Ade's pale little face pinched into something like frown. "Well, Nov told me to be here at the 1st bell, so here I am. At the 1st bell. You got my mizas?"

"Stop busting my balls, kid," the merc growled as he sat up from the bed and went to fish for some coins from his coat, which had been abandoned somewhere on the floor. "Why can't you learn some manners and play it smooth, like your mother."

"I didn't know yer tastes ran that way, sir," Ade quipped.

Nov dropped two silvers into his grubby little palm. "One more drop of smart assery from that filthy mouth 'o yours and I'm going to throw you on the next ship to Nyka. And don't expect any pity from your mother. She agrees with me."

Isme shrugged. Her son grinned.

"Well I haven't got all night," the boy hustled. "You coming or what?"

The merc had just finished throwing on his coat and boots as he stomped towards the small door. For a moment, he wondered if he could even fit through it. Or, if in his inebriated state, he might slip and die. Ah, well. He'd find out soon enough. "Yeah, yeah, I'm comin'."

Before he disappeared down the trap, however, Nov hesitated and looked up at all the fun he was going to miss out on."Sorry for leaving you vixens so soon," he slurred a wee bit, "Once I'm done getting familiar with the tunnel, Mae, I'll come find you at the same spot out front." He was just about to descend, when another thought belatedly crossed his wine addled mind.

"Oh, and while I'm gone," Nov added, "don't you two gossip about me, you hear? I mean it, Izzy.

He glared at the indifferent whore for a tick, then started down the ladder again.

Only to pop up one last time. "You did good, Mae," Nov grinned, then finally sank down the trap for good, trusting someone would shut it once he and Ade were gone.

A moment of silence followed, filling up the room with its alien presence. "Well," Isme exhaled, "now that we're alone..."

She turned and walked two fingers up the Isur's thigh, shapely lips stretched in a wicked smile. "Want to know what really makes Nov tick?"

-----------Ten chimes later----------

Noven stood outside on the cold, uncaring streets beside Ade. Both were shivering and surly eyed, wishing the other was elsewhere while simultaneously wishing they were elsewhere too, but not without first seeing a certain full-hipped, red haired Isur.

They'd made short work of completing the mercenary's first tour of Ade's secret passageway. Apparently, it had once served as a laundry chute of sorts, but then regulations had changed and people stopped picking up laundry from that room. It was serviceable, though. A little cramped and dingy, but nothing Nov wasn't already used to.

"You sure she's going to show up?" the boy seethed, clearly unhappy about being stuck out in the chilly night with someone bearing less than ample bosom.

"I'm sure," Nov snapped. "Now shut up."

Well, he was mostly sure. There was no definite way of knowing what Isme was doing up there with the Isurian woman, but she would at least have the sense to guide Mae out herself, in case Torgen or other n'er-do-wells were lurking by. He'd tried several times to shoo Ade away, but the boy seemed intent on staying until he got another eyeful of fiery hair and generous curves.

Nov rolled his eyes. Kids these days.

[Amael]

It was clear that Noven was in rare form and she’d only known him for a few days. Still, it was as sound a plan as any. The gadgeteer immediately started working on contingency plans. What if Torgen denied the blindfold? They’d still have to get him to step on the trap. And further, what if she wasn’t able to distract him with Isme? Then she would be forced to… With a delicate shudder, she decided not to entertain that particular train of thought.

Thunk, thunk, thunk!

Her nerves jangled at the sudden intrusion. It was only after the tiny voice piped out that she relaxed, slightly mollified. Isme cast an arch look in her direction and smoothly activated the latch. Wait. A new consideration entered her mind. ’She’s observant,’ Mae thought. And of course she was. Regardless of her connection to Noven, one fact remained: she was still a whore. Her loyalty could be bought. Every event of that night would more than likely kept as insurance.

Isme knew three things: she knew her name, knew she was an animator and knew she was connected to Noven. On top of being implicated in conspiracy against a Daggerhand… Well, the woman had everything she needed to get her throat slit. The Isur pondered it for a moment.

It was time to take steps, then. Installing a security system had always been in her design, but she’d hoped to have a couple of seasons to do it, at least. Still, Mae could work on a tight schedule. With a bit of practice, she would be producing spy-eyes in no time. Her arrangement with Matthew would prove helpful in that regard, to say the very least. Which then prompted a far more awkward thought. How would Noven take it, were he to find out? Should she tell him, explain that she wasn’t visiting the harlot for his er… Intimate expertise?

Mae grinned wickedly. How indeed. She was a grown woman, after all. If Noven asked, she’d explain honestly. But there was no need to illuminate her other associations, not unless there was something more between them and as far as she was aware for the moment, there was not.

Chuckling softly, she sat through their antics until Nov was halfaway down the ladder. ”Okay,” she assented, eyes thoughtful. And at his second condition, she merely laughed. Of course they’d gossip about him - it was what women did. But at his third, almost comedic appearance, she smiled at him fondly. ”You too, Nov.” And she meant it.

Of course, the moment Noven disappeared, Isme made the offer. ”I’ll buy if you’re selling,” the Isur replied with a wry smile. This, she’d be interested to hear. She rose, moving to latch the trap door after him.

The conversation at that point was in her hands. Mae would listen with interest and amusement to whatever Isme had to tell. ”I think I ought to meet them out there soon,” she’d say at a certain interval, were their talk to progress over more than a few chimes. Mae was suddenly anxious to be out of the brothel and into the cool, moonlit street, where she could approach the two shuddering men and be off.

[Noven]

Isme held the Isur's gaze with a hint of relief and intrigue. "Done."

Once Amael returned from closing the latch, the courtesan patted the bed, motioning for her new student to sit back down beside her. "I'm guessing you don't know much of his past," she began, cutting straight to the chase. She estimated that it would take Ade a minimum of ten chimes to take Noven through the secret passageway once, and that was hardly enough time to cover the basics. But it would have to do.

"He is sweet, up until the moment you mention a Daggerhand," Isme continued. "In fact, I think if they hadn't done what they'd done so many years ago, he would be a very, very different man."

There was a note of sadness in her voice. Wholly uncharacteristic for the clever, sensual, and seemingly imperturbable whore. "I'm telling you this," she stated, turning to face Mae in earnest, "because I doubt he will ever reveal it himself. If he does, it could very well put you in serious danger. And, if you're wondering what I'm asking for in return..."

A pause. A shrug. "...just promise me you won't try to dispose of me, or my son. The gangs off their informants and helpers like they may as well be chickens to the slaughter block. If you keep my secrets safe, I will do the same for yours."

Isme settled back down into her languid posture. "Besides, I like working for him. Mm, for both of you."

She offered a tiny smirk, then continued, "The Daggerhands aren't supposed to know Noven is still alive. When one of their bosses killed his mother and best friend five years ago, they had mistakenly slain the wrong boy. He won't tell me who the boy was, but I've caught wind that there is a brother out there somewhere, alive, but enslaved. Nov is hellbent on freeing him."

"In any case," the whore exhaled, the last topic clearly one of frustration on her end, "that's about all I've got on his past. Just try not to mention his mother, or the Daggerhands, if you want to have a good time."

At this, Isme's wicked grin returned. "And now for the good stuff." She leaned in close to the Isur, arching her back as if to stretch. "As you've likely noticed tonight, Nov is not much different from my son underneath all of those glowers and crass words. Just a boy who must play strong to survive, even when all he would really like to do is hear his mother sing him to sleep..."

The courtesan dropped her gaze for a moment, picking at the sheets. "Treat him well, with a tender hand and soft words, and he is yours." Her eyes flicked up again, a bit of their dark, wily playfulness returning. "But a little roughness doesn't hurt either."

Isme was back to her old self on this subject, heedless of her blunt words. "He likes it sometimes when I make the moves first and give him no quarter. Though you'd best be careful with that tactic. Use it on a bad day, and he will only grow irritated." She hesitated a moment, then added, "And if he trusts you enough, you'll know just what I mean by bad."

The whore was starting to rattle off her tips one by one now, counting them on her fingers. "Plenty of other things he likes, though. Going straight for the goods is one. Half kisses to tease him, too. Always drives him crazy. Also compliments on his performance. Compliments on his cock. Massages. Running your hands through his hair. Kissing with tongue. Kissing with tongue his neck. Kissing with tongue anywhere. Dirty talk. Ooh, here's a strange one. Making him eat off of you. It's quite fun, once you get into the swing of it. Hmm, have I left anything out?"

She probably had, but their ten chimes were up. At that point, Mae suggested she ought to leave now to meet the likely very cold and very grumpy mercenary. With a nod of agreement, Isme led her out of the room, down the stairs, and past all of the heavily armed thugs. Before the Isur stepped through the door, Izzy laid a gentle hand on the woman's shoulder and said with a wink and purr, "See you tomorrow, my little, foreign sex kitten."

And then the door closed, leaving Mae to find the merc on her own.

As soon as she appeared, both Nov and Ade jumped to their feet, shaking off the cold. "What took you so long?" they blurted in unison.

[Amael]

Mae thought about what she’d said. There was a whole world of secrets hidden just beyond those rust-colored eyes. Noven’s past seemed both deadly and profound, but he bore it with fortitude, never dreaming of someone who might share that weight. And who would, in a place so desolate as his? ”Telaste, Isme.” She said by way of farewell, resting a hand gently upon her forearm for just a moment, before setting off into the brisk, clear night.

It was truly beautiful upon that street, in the darkness. The moon hung low on the horizon, shining like a silvery broach upon the breast of the sky. Mae smiled sweetly at the pair of them. ”Just a conversation between friends,” she replied with an air of practiced indifference. With a few short steps, she turned to Ade and sank down so as to be on eye level. ”Here,” she whispered, producing a shining gold miza. ”Take this. Be good to your Mother.” She cupped his cheek fondly, eyes glowing teal in the lunar light. ”She loves you.”

With a diffident smile, she rose, turning to Noven. ”Let’s go,” she said, looking upon him with no small amount of tenderness. There was a subtle change in her demeanor, after all she’d learned. ”Good night,” she called out to the boy from under her breath, taking the first few tentative steps toward the Sunset Quarters, in the hopes that the cook would follow her.

The walk would be brisk and short. ”I’m sure you’re wondering what we talked about,” she replied to the unspoken thought. Mae flashed him a wicked smile. ”But it’s a secret. I’m sure you can understand.” Which in fact, she was sure he couldn’t. If anything, the very thought of it would drive him mad. But mad in what way? Isme really was observant. Clearly, the woman recognized something there between them, even if neither understood it themselves.

As they neared their apartments, there was a nervous twittering in her heart. Both had a choice to make. There was still so much she wanted to learn of him, but soon they’d be submerged so deeply into plots and Daggerhands that in the aftermath to follow, they might not get another chance. Like a glowing alloy, they were amidst the smoke and the fire, waiting for the hammer to fall, to shape them in the way they were meant to be. The question was: would it strike, if ever?

The sight of her door brought a knot to the base of her throat. Their merry adventure was all but at a close. The gadgeteer slowed indecisively as they drew near, her gaze embarking on a slow pilgrimage to his. This was it, then.

Her lips yielded like a blossoming flower. With her left hand, she caressed the thin scar upon his cheek. ”Thank you,” she said in a hushed, gentle tone. ”I had more fun tonight than I think I’ve had in a lifetime.”

And so, it was goodnight. Perhaps.

[Noven]

Nov's eyes narrowed in suspicion. Something smelled...funny. There was no such thing as "just a conversation with friends" amongst womenfolk; they were the queens of gossip, and he had no doubt Isme had engaged the Isur in some form of it or the other, judging from a deepened tenderness in Mae's behavior. It made his chest constrict a little, and he hadn't the faintest idea why.

Kyrsus, what had that scheming vixen said?

Holding a single, gold miza in his greedy little paws, Ade seemed far away as he stared up at the Isur, lost in a land of hopeless, pubescent infatuation. He stammered a "thank you" before ducking flushed cheeks and scampering back to his mother through the secret passage.

"Let's go."

It took a moment for Nov to register her retreating form, but he caught up quickly enough with his long strides. The mercenary ground his teeth a little at the maddening mystery he was forbidden access too. Mae only reconfirmed this as she spoke, claiming it a secret he ought to understand. Well, petch..shyke....piss. Like hell he would understand. Why even mention it?

Nov grunted something incoherent. His mind was a mess, caught in the middle of a tug-o-war between the blurred moral lines of excessive wine consumption and a fierce desire to turn around and find someone to Vex. The signs of an oncoming headache had been creeping upon him for some time now and it was only a matter of chimes before it started to get bad. He wanted to act now, but he couldn't. Mae was here. He didn't want her to know. There was no rational explanation for why, he just didn't.

As they entered the relative warmth of Sunset and climbed up the stairs to Mae's apartment, Nov counted the doors that lay in between their humble abodes. One...two...three...four. Four doors. And all this time. Who would have ever guessed?

He turned to offer her the inevitable good night and goodbye, but when he did the words evaporated under her strange, poignant gaze. The Isur brought forth a pale hand to stroke the edge of his cheek where his faint scar lay. Nov closed his eyes as she did, exhaling with a feeling he'd forgotten how to describe after so many years of turmoil and anger and hate. Then Mae thanked him for all the fun they'd shared, her voice as soft and stirring as her touch. It sounded like she was about to go. He didn't want her to go.

Without thinking, Noven raised a hand of his own to cup hers, turning so he could smell her scent and place a single, warm kiss against her open palm. Gods, it felt good. Why did it feel so good?

He moved as though in a dream, leaning forward, placing his free hand on the wall behind her as he moved closer. The heat between them was palpable and he pressed her ever so slightly against the wall. Something about the way she smelled, felt, and sounded scrambled all the thoughts and reasons in his head until they were unrecognizable.

Mae was five foot nothing, nearly a whole head shorter than he was. The mercenary had to bend forward as he pushed molten hair back from her vibrant gaze, his form enveloping hers in a swathe of heat and contracting muscles. Nov's fingers stopped at the curve of her jaw and lifted her face to meet his.

Then his lips found hers, and he kissed her. Soft at first, then harder and heavier, should she allow him, as he found himself hungry for more. Every inch of his being burned. Soon, he had both hands tangled in her hair, pressing her impossibly supple lips against his. Her scent, her warmth, her taste were driving him more than a little mad. He moved one of his hands to grip her at the hips and sank into the feel of her curves. It was good. It was better than good.

He stopped just as they reached the peak of their kiss, panting hot, labored breaths, suddenly afraid of where things were headed. This was not Happy Endings. This was the front of Mae's door, and she was not someone whose temporary affections or loyalty he could ply with mizas or favors. She was the real thing, and Noven found himself, for the first time in a long time, at a total loss as to what he should do.

"I..." he said in a hoarse whisper. "That is...do you...?"

Gods above, he was no good at this.