[Mature, Closed] Glass Houses

[Corwynn]

2nd of Yaris, 2719
SHERRY'S PENINSULA | EVENING

The note had not arrived on paper, but by word of mouth. One small, lean little wick girl somewhere in the middle of her teens, bright blue hair cropped short and a metal ring in each ear had arrived sweaty and panting to The Attic, looking windburned and tanned as if she'd just stepped off an airship. Mostly because she had. The young thing had made her way to the counter, burgeoning glamour bristling with purpose, practically pouring herself onto it to lean forward and shout for Leander until heard. She'd not taken no for an answer, either, making sure the passive knew it was Silas 'Awke an' the Taxman themselves that had sent for him, hooking a thumb in the general direction of Sherry's Point as if to emphasize her orders. Urgent, she'd said, and bring yer work spitch, she'd added as if the passive would know what that meant, before spilling coins on the counter for a cab and slipping away as quick and breezy as she'd arrived.

Whether or not the young man chose to listen was, of course, completely his choice, but should he take the near-insult of cash and find himself a ride out of the dry seasoned salty stench of the Harbor proper in the heat of Yaris, rumbling along the shitty path that pretended to call itself a road all the way out around the crescent of the bay toward where Corwynn had claimed his abandoned old wreck of a home, it would be easy to see something was, indeed, going on.

Even from a distance, the airship that had landed on the beach was not a small one and once close enough, as if it could be any hotter today at all despite the sea breeze that whipped from the waves, the engines of the vessel that was still being tied down by a couple of bulky wicks were radiating their heat with shimmering declaration. It hadn't been here long, apparently, and the sand was still settling from its landing, making the air once the passive stepped out of the cab gritty and rough.

It was a decent-sized vessel, gas-bag cover and steering fins flapping loudly in the wind, and there, at the foot of the gangplank, were four bodies, face down on the beach, staining the pristine stretch of bay red with fresh blood as if they'd just recently been executed.

For a moment, the corpses were the only bodies to greet Leander, especially since once he stepped outside the cab, the driver was quick to turn tail and grind his way back toward town, quite terrified of the dead strangers.

Alone and apparently the only living thing in sight for a heartbeat or two, Leo wasn't left to his thoughts for long—down the gangplank from somewhere in the bowels of the large airship probably capable of carrying a dozen or so crew or passengers stalked Corwynn. Haggard would have been the first descriptive word that might have come to mind, the blond galdor looking just as windburned and sweaty as the young witch that had dragged the forger here in the first place, sleeves rolled up to reveal his tattoos on both wrists, the faded blue line art of ocean waves a contrast to the pale finery of a well-tailored dress shirt, though any illusion of propriety was quickly shattered by its disheveled state: untucked and splattered with the blood of his enemies. Mostly.

If any stains belonged to Corwynn, it was impossible to tell, and he looked up just as he was tucking his pistol back away at his hip, arching a fair brow at Leander,

"Good. You didn't tell little Min to fuck off. She'd have probably stabbed you if you did, though." He huffed, scarred hand reaching up to drag four fingers through fading blond curls before he came to a stop near the still-oozing bodies between himself and the passive,

"I've got a need that requires quick turnaround, Mister Aguilar." Using the toe of one of his very fine Turga crocodile boots, he rolled over each of the corpses. Their features made it obvious that two of them were galdori, and once he rolled over the older of the two who surely couldn't be far in age from Corwynn himself, he crouched over the bloodied thing and began to dig through the man's very fine silk vest without any particular signs of disgust or shame.

Yanking out a folded envelope mostly untouched by any gore or sand, he waved it in Leander's direction, "I've got barely two days—a day and a half, really—to get these edited, copied, and returned to Vienda. I've already flown for seven houses, so if you could be quick about things, I'll see you're well compensated for the rushed request."

The weary, agitated older galdor seemed to finally take a moment to actually look at the dark-haired passive, and it almost felt as though it required effort for the restless creature poured into his tanned, freckled self to focus at all. His field was just a bastion of a thing, no less frayed and exhausted, and the blond gunman waved the envelope until Leander took it before he slumped a little and turned toward the well-tended path that led up the beach, away from the bodies and the airship, toward his house,

"You did, of course, bring things to work from here, right? I don't have much time to send you home if you didn't."

[Leander]

2nd Day of Yaris

I It was not the first time that a request had come by way of an errand boy or girl. Leo despised these types of notes, for there was nothing more unreliable than a fallible mind of a child who could only store so much information. There was more to it than that, however - it was a display of power. The influential (and the needn’t even be rich) liked to show off their far-reaching hands by passing messages in such a manner… for why should they waste their own time in writing something down, when they could waste someone else’s by making them run about town like hot, sweaty headless chickens with garbled messages for the recipient to decipher?

On any other day, Leo’s response to the messenger would be best described as somewhat brutal and cutting. Today? He just didn’t have the energy to be cruel to this small thing. Not that he’d have had a chance anyway: the girl flung the order across the table as recklessly as she released the coins (some of which ended up on the floor) before she darted back outside. No time for answering questions, it seemed. And why should she bother? Leander knew that Corwynn would not be so generous either.

Sighing, the passive picked up the coins from both table and floor and grabbed his bag, foregoing his cloak. The weather was no so bad as the dishevelled girl made it seem, but it definitely warm enough that he would do without. Hailing a cab, he was on his way with enough scribing equipment to see him though most of what he imagined the leader of the Brothers wanted him for.

On approach, Leander watched from the cab as activity built up as he got closer to the bay. Exiting, he blinked and screeched his nose at the stench of cadavers, which overpowered the normal salty smell of being this close to the water. “My, my,” the boy muttered, valiantly attempting to not hyperventilate at the mere thought of death, “we have been busy.”

He paused, glancing around for at least one familiar high-ranking face to report to. Lo, there stood the gnarled right-hand of Hawke, positioning a pistol back into his belt. They exchanged no pleasantries, and Corwynn explained his need without preamble, which the passive was grateful for. “Edited in what way?” was Leo’s first question, reaching out to take the envelope and opening it with his free hand, ruching up the parchment held inside to examine it. “Just this one or are there more?”

Leander’s keen eye and fingers noted the nature of the parchment, Anaxi-made, which was all he carried with him, thankfully, and the ink, too, was commonplace, so he had everything he needed to work away from his desk. In that moment, Corwynn seemed to lose some of his height, and the boy finally took the time to take in what he was seeing. A stream of dead bodies, and other bodies bustling around with more speed than Ol’ Rose was used to. Corwynn himself seemed to be skirting the boundary between agitated and exhausted. Leander opened his mouth, then closed it, thinking better of asking a question that might provide an answer he just didn’t want to know.

Instead he followed after the man, responding, “Yes, I have everything I need, though I cannot work out of doors. The wind of the sea, not only will it cause the papers to fly, but the salt will affect my work, you understand.”

[Corwynn]

2nd of Yaris, 2719
SHERRY'S PENINSULA | EVENING

"You have no clocking idea." Grunted the galdor when there was commentary about his busy-ness, unimpressed by Leander's arrival and nonplussed by his immediate sarcasm. The young passive who'd supposedly grown up here in the beautiful Rose apparently wasn't quite used to the sight of corpses, that much was obvious by his pretty face curling in disgust. It would have been amusing had Corwynn's side not ached, and he shifted on his feet at the questions, metallic tang of his own blood sticking to the roof of his mouth in the dry Yaris air. His field danced like heatwaves down the beach in the bright sun, almost visible, always tangible, and the hand that released the pilfered pile of papers slid away quickly, weathered fingers trembling with spent adrenaline and overcasting,

"Completely rewritten."

He murmured—honest, transparent, but strained—and when he turned to begin walking a bit more up the beach toward the stone and ironwork gate that led to the main entrance of his expansive, mostly abandoned home, it would be impossible to miss the dark stain of red that had blossomed below his right shoulder blade. Judging by the color, it had been from hours ago, though clearly he'd flown and landed an airship so it surely hadn't been in flight—right?

"There are several lines in these documents referring to a certain property owner and a certain tenant. Several names and dates need changed because, well, because some of those people aren't at all alive anymore—but the Anaxi legislature doesn't need to know. You following?" He hissed, taking the stairs with an unusual bit of weariness, actually using the rickety handrail as he ascended.

He tapped one of his well-carved, sea-weathered temples, "I've got all the new names right here, and—"

Of course the damned dark-haired passive began whining.

"—Wind. Salt. Sand in your erse, too, right? Good Lady! You can have the run of my whole godsbedamned house if it helps you, Leo. Any desk in any room you like. Or a bed. Slippers. Tea. Whatever it fucking takes, really." He waved his free hand, four fingers waggling, laughing but without any real humor in an effort to hide just how much the exasperated motion caused him pain, knife wound protesting his shitty Living magic skills. The blond gunman gave no tour, leaning for a moment with his uninjured shoulder against one of the double doors that formed the main entrance to the front of his mostly abandoned, mostly rundown, mostly empty mansion of a beach house this side of Sherry's Point.

Just as he turned the handle, the door opened from the other side, quickly and suddenly, causing Corwynn to growl and tense, his frayed field coalescing into something dangerous and ready out of instinct though he knew it was Wavorly on the other side, the other man's glamour familiar. The lanky, gnarled wick pirate grinned at the pair with his mostly gold teeth and then tsk'd like some flustered mother hen, immediately assessing his old friend's appearance, bejeweled fingers reaching for his coat collar,

"Fuckin' overdid 't, eh. Yer such a laoso bastard—couldn't ye 've given me an hour t' get ye patched up before ye went an' called that boch over here? Gods." The redhead winked at Leander like they were bedmates and ushered them both inside, scarred face drawing into a look of concern instead of sarcastic taunting once he caught a glimpse of more blood than he liked to see on expensive clothing, "Did a soft lil' Vienda jent do that t' ye? Yer gettin' fuckin' old."

"N-no—some plowfoot bodyguard, thank you. Shut your damn head." The blond Bad Brother wasn't having a moment of it, growling more with stung ego more than the sharp twinge of actual injuries. He stubbornly slipped off his coat there in the foyer, elbowing away assistance as he unceremoniously dropped the bloodied thing onto the marble tile floor. His cravat was next, knots roughly tugged free, herding both other men toward the once-grand spiral staircase that led upstairs while he dropped fine batik silk onto the railing and began to work the buttons of his waistcoat, taking the carpeted stone steps by twos,

"Stitch me up while we put dear Leo here to work, Wavorly. It's not as bad as that fancy-erse coat makes it look! Bells and fucking chimes. It's really nothing." He huffed, gritting his teeth this time as he removed another layer, untucking his stained shirt and reaching for the buckles of the belts slung just so at his hips. Looking to the dark-haired passive, he used a loll of his head and a roll of his blue eyes to indicate the younger man had all the choice he could ever want in life,

"Tell me what you want—or need—and you'll have it." Up the stairs and Corwynn was panting, having pushed too hard already. He wavered on his feet and let the dizziness pass, pointing with the middle finger of his scarred right hand toward his own room for his pirate of a butler to know where to find him before indicating with a blank stare at Leander that he truly meant the younger man had utter freedom in this moment in all of the older galdor's entire house, a gaunt skeleton of something once-opulent, empty as it was save for a few well-decorated necessary rooms,

"Just tell me all that shit's something you can get done."

Not that Corwynn waited for much of an answer, turning to make his way with purpose toward what could only be assumed to be his own room, sloughing off his belts—holstered pistol and all—as he did so before reaching up for the buttons of his shirt. Wavorly ran his tongue over his gold front teeth and looked at the dark-haired passive expectantly but briefly, listening and waiting for a heartbeat or two before he turned to follow after the blond galdor he called enough of his friend to taunt in such a way without ending up drowned.

He'd already disappeared for a moment, nimble on the stairs in spite of his obvious age, and found his little stash of medical supplies tucked away in one of the other rooms of this first floor.

"Come along, boch." Grinned the pirate.

[Leander]

2nd Day of Yaris

Multiple documents. Good. Of course, nothing by half measures. Leander nodded as he followed behind Corwynn, staring at the written document in his hand and working out the most efficient way to complete the task. It was already late, and no doubt when Corwynn asked for the work to be completed sharpish, Leander knew that meant by sun’s rise at the latest. Depending on the amount of documents, he would probably be up all night. In his mind, Leo imagined demanding consulting hours in the future: this was not the first time he had been summoned to carry out business for the Bad Brothers in the evening. In fact, it wasn’t the second or third either.

He imagined demanding consulting hours between the hours of noon and sunset, every 10th day. That would be nice, if completely unrealistic. The passive smiled to himself at the thought all the same. “Right,” Leo said, following up the stairs, “Well I’ll need you, or one of your lackies,” (Leo didn’t want to assume the galdor had retained the ability to write in the detail he needed) “to write down what you need to be changed, and what you need it to be changed into. Multiple documents and multiple changes are hard to recall.” Especially when he had been working all day already.

His eyes itched, like they were full of sand. He had been sitting at a cramped desk, starting at ink on parchment by the low light of a candle for the majority of the day. He wanted a drink. He wanted his bed. No such luck tonight, it seemed. “If you’re offering, a whiskey would not go amiss,” the passive replied glibly as he passed by the golly, ushered inside the large mansion by another man. Of course Corwynn would own such a (potentially) beautiful property. Even an outcast golly, one who claimed to hold to different ideals than his kin, would roll in lavish wealth.

Dismissed to start work, Leo repeated his request of a room with a desk and a chair, but said, “Yes, it will be completed.” The man, Wavorly, waved him into room to the right, where the lights of the room were perfect for the type of detailed work Leander was expected to do. “Thank you,” he muttered to the man, setting is case down and dumping the documents on the table.

He took a seat at the chair and bent down to open up the bag, from which he pulled out multiple inks of a variety of colours, a couple of quills, each with different sized nibs, and a stack of parchment. The documents were all Anaxi in origin, so it was the standard parchment he would need to forge duplicate copies of each one. The same applied to the inks, though some where written with dark blues and greys, rather than the standard black, so he would have to be careful when selecting inks.

“I can start on the general documents, that will keep me busy for a couple of hours if you want them done right,” he glanced up at Wavorly, hoping he had heard earlier and would also give him something strong to drink while he worked. “But I cannot fill in the documents and edit the details until I know what he wants changed.”

[Corwynn]

2nd of Yaris, 2719
SHERRY'S PENINSULA | EVENING

"I don't keep lackeys, Leo." Muttered the blond gunman, more a growl of discomfort and annoyance, ruffled by the implication that he was somehow incapable of remembering details completely. The passive was truly in possession of a troublesome tongue, and had Corwynn not had such an immediate need for his skillset, he most likely would have regretted his decision more or possibly found a less skilled, quieter second-rate forger—

No.

Leander's work was impeccable and necessary in this instance, no matter how much the dark-haired man was already crawling underneath his sea-worn skin.

The older galdor undressed his way up the stairs, gritting his teeth at the objection of his shoulder and sore ribs to the motions necessary to shrug off a waistcoat, a cravat, a shirt, to disarm his firearm, a few knives, and Circle only knew what else was hidden on his person. He left his stained crocodile-skin boots at the threshold of the last stair, dried blood and bruises competing for dominance with the sweeping tattoo that decorated his back and the well-muscled, freckled landscape of an upper body that probably shouldn't have belonged to a galdor of his age.

He chuckled at the request for whiskey. He glanced at Wavorly with a roll of his blue eyes, disappearing into his bedroom for only a few moments while the wick showed the passive his place before fetching water and towels. Corwynn reappeared in the upstairs study where his redheaded butler was waiting, the galdor armed with tumblers and a half bottle of something well-aged and Gioran in his five-fingered left hand. Powerful field as frayed at the edges as his expression was haggard, he sniggered,

"Of course I want it done right. I want all of it done right, Leo. That's why you're here. Do I really look like the kind of toffin who wants anything done soft-handed and half-ersed? No. No, I fucking do not."

Still warm from the Yaris heat outdoors and flushed from exhaustion, the shirtless creature sidled up into Leander's personal space, so impolitely close like a wild animal, hip against the back of the younger passive's chair and aura a swirling mass of liquid energies like some stormy sea. The blond gunman roughly reached over the other man's shoulder to deposit both tumblers, making a show of opening the thick glass bottle of whisky, hand trembling just enough from overcasting and so much airtime between Vienda and here nonstop to spill a few drops while he poured them both a drink, dangerously close to overfilling the second glass with a growl. Setting the bottle down, carefully avoiding all of the dark-haired forger's various important items as if to make known how in possession he was of his faculties at this moment despite appearances otherwise, he stretched for the other chair at the same desk and dragged it just far enough away to not be in physical contact with the passive while raising his drink to his lips.

"I'll give you the details as you need them. As I said, they're in my head and no one else's, godsdamnnit. Not every bit of information is for every fucking Brothers' ears to hear. Besides, I'm awake for now—you're stuck with me until I'm not. Lucky you, darling."

Settling in the seat with it facing the wrong after emptying his glass with a hiss, he groaned to throw his arms over the curved back of the chair, tattooed wrists dangling while Wavorly whistled at his injuries from behind, already preparing to clean and stitch the knife wound in Corwynn's left shoulder, to treat a few other minor cuts from what appeared to be a rather exciting fight. The wiry old wick was more than capable of casting to fix injuries when needed, his knowledge of the Spokes' Almanac and access to whatever other curious spells Silas hoarded in the Palace quite extensive.

The shirtless galdor stretched one more time to set his empty tumbler at the edge of the desk and then braced himself in the chair, leaning a cheek against a sea-sculpted bicep and letting his crystalline gaze drift over all of Leander's pens and ink, over the pretty thing's dark hair and seemingly constant disapproving expression, unapologetic about being a shadow in the room, unapologetic about insisting on being present, unapologetic about imposing his medical needs alongside his business ones, and unapologetic about barely being presentable in his current state of undress. At least he had pants on.

Wavorly said nothing for a few moments, busy with cleaning away dried blood, with poking and examining injuries, eliciting a sharp inhale of pain from Corwynn,

"Don't show off for th' boch, Cor. It ent that bad, as ye said." Teased the gold-toothed wick, gathering his glamour, "Ent gonna need much vroo, ye chen."

"Go on." Permission was given with a growl and Wavorly cast quietly, the scent of ozone stinging everyone's nose and the strange sensation of monic movement obeying the redheaded pirate's rather casual, comfortable manner of casting. To his credit, the blond gunman didn't even lose his train of thought, beginning to speak even as his friend and butler finished his words in Monite, turning to wipe what oozed from the hole he more or less cauterized and cleaned with his spellwork before settling back and threading a needle to make sure it was fully closed, Leander a captive audience to the pair's quick and dirty field medicine.

The runoff from wick magic left his pulse ringing swiftly in his ears and filled his nostrils with a peppery scent, and the blond gunman was grateful to still be seated,

"You'll find references in all of those documents to a Gerhard Bilingsford, proprietor and an—uh—shit—" Wavorly was tying off a knot, tugging perhaps a bit harder, and Corwynn paused to grunt and laugh, shifting in his discomfort before snapping the fingers of his left hand, "—ah, Oswyn Wadham, tenant. Actually, hand me that—"

The older galdor pointed to one of the papers in the stack with the middle finger of his right hand in the absence of his index finger, the previously dominant hand still quite used in his expressions. Behind him, the gold-toothed pirate finished his work with a nod, leaning over his friend's shoulder to smile at Leander, speaking to them both despite who he kept his bright-eyed gaze upon,

"M' work be done here, lads. Do call 'f ye need me, eh? Good luck." Picking up after himself with an amused hum, Wavorly paused only to crack a window, letting more sea breeze in from Sherry's Point to fight the Yaris heat, and adjust the phosphor lights to an acceptable level before he saw himself out, closing the study doors behind him with a satisfying click.

Corwynn waited impatiently, palm open expectantly in the dark-haired passive's direction, stylized wave tattoos now with fading navy ink dancing up his wrist and stretching toward his elbow. His calloused fingers brushed Leander's hand in his haste, greedy more for the paper than he was for the touch. Or so he imagined, though he couldn't help but glance over the younger man with a lingering look when he finally turned with what the galdor had asked for,

"—yes, thank you. I admit I haven't had time to check through all of these as thoroughly as I'd like—perhaps you didn't notice I was busy getting stabbed—so, I'd like to re-read that one while you're, well, occupied. There may be other names. I wouldn't want to surprise you with anything unexpected—"

He was grinning, taunting the unfortunate creature while he glanced over formal property documents, tongue against the back of his teeth and wickedness in his tone. Leaning back in his chair, tanned skin a landscape of new bruises and old scars, he looked up only one more time from behind the page he'd requested, pressing buttons coyly,

"— as it seems you don't take things sprung upon you very well."

[Leander]

2nd Day of Yaris

The state of Corwynn’s increasing undress went unnoticed by the young passive initially. There was no lost love between the pair of them: the chip on Leo’s shoulder was an impossible weight to bare, and Leander was no stranger to displacing blame whenever he had the opportunity, most often on the galdor’s manner towards him. It meant that he wanted to finish the task at hand and get back to the safety and seclusion of his own room… that, or he would find isolation when surrounded by dozens of others in a tavern, nursing a pint or five.

His chest did puff up at the thought of the task, however, with a swell of pride at the seeming importance of his mission. It showed that he was not just some random counterfeiter that Hawke put to work within the Brothers as some display of power. Leander was actually useful within the organisation - this was work for an expert and, given the general air of haste, he was clearly Corwynn’s first choice.

A growing part of Leander wanted to completely to work to exact specifications, just to prove to the older man how useful he could be.

“I’d never think of you as a man who.. half-erses anything,” the forger replied, a small smile appearing on his lips as he stared at one of the documents of ships’ logs, memorising the script and analysing certain letters that he might trip up on. That was the hardest part of copying anything, whether it be an official document or a letter from a grandson to his grandmother. To be anyway decent as a counterfeiter, Leander has to be able to replicate letters perfectly, and everyone had their own style of writing. The easy part was copying stamped letters. But to truly master the random curl of an ‘f’, or the tittle atop a ‘j’… that took practice.

He had brought some scraps of paper to practice the lettering before writing onto his counterfeited work. And, after mastering the lettering, he had to master the precise way in which the original writer had joined the letters together. A drink would steady his hand. Any more and, he knew from experience, he risked slipping into his favoured style, which was fluid and far too fancy to be used on any official document.

Whiskey poured, Leo glanced up, finally taking in Corwynn as he was. It was almost a shame to have the back of the chair impeding his view. Now clean, Corwyn’s arms rest upon the back of the chair. They were not flexed by any stretch and Leo could see the clearly defined muscles. Swallowing, Leo glanced away, reaching for his whiskey before glancing back… and then away again. He drank the amber liquid, which burnt the back of his throat. “I don’t think… I don’t think I’ve ever had something that had aged so well.” And the passive wasn’t so sure about what he was referring to when he spoke.

He watched in awed silence as the mage called to mona to assist with the healing of Corwynn’s wounds. It wasn’t that he had never seen magic being cast, not when he lived around galdori and wicks. But Leo always turned away when he felt the field of another vibrate. It was a reminder of what he could never do, a relationship he would never had. And it hurt.

Today he couldn’t quite avoid it though, didn’t want to. When the mesmerising magic was ended, and Wavorly grabbed a needle and thread, that was when Leo no longer wanted to watch. The process seemed much more brutal, and Corwynn’s pain was evident as he tried to speak names. The passive silently pushed the requested documents over the table. “Yes, your state has been duly noted, Corwynn,” Leander cleared his throat and straightened up a little, praying to any of the Circle who would listen that his eyes didn’t quite display the look of an imprinted puppy as he felt the galdor’s warmed fingers brush against his. Turning his mind to science, it was only to be expected. Leander was, after all, a young adult with warm blood coursing through his veins. In any other situation, he would have thrown himself into the moment with gusto.

But this wasn’t any other situation. “Read away. I can busy myself with the outline, as I said. The lettering will be the hardest to replicate at any rate. Especially if I am changing this to letters that do not already exist on the documentation.” Making up lettering styles in from someone else’s handwriting was nigh impossible, just. He could do it, of course, and relished the challenge.

But the only way to be sure of success was to either to hope the receiver was not familiar with the writer’s style, or to hope the receiver was not looking for signs of forgery. It was too much to hope that he could get it perfectly right. Turning back to his parchment, Leander opened the bottle of black ink and began printing the standard fields on information.

[Corwynn]

2nd of Yaris, 2719
SHERRY'S PENINSULA | EVENING

"That's good, then. There's hardly much use to half an erse, anyway." Corwynn smirked slowly, adding the quip more under his breath in a baritone whisper than as a really pointed statement in the passive's direction.

It was difficult to hide how heavily he leaned to pour whiskey, too busy attempting to keep his hands still, exhausted from far too much flight and more violence than he'd actually planned on being necessary. Still, his smirk grew into a wicked sort of grin from over the rim of his glass, the blond galdor snorting after his first swig,

"Never? Hmph. Have you ever had anything at all? Giorans aren't generally my first choice. Sure, they know their whiskey even if they're a bit cold between the sheets. I don't always mind being told what to do by a pretty face." It wasn't even a subtle jab or a coy attempt at a joke. It was a sharp, direct question softened at the edges by humorous curiosity and then made obvious by the rest of his lascivious commentary, one fair eyebrow quirking just so before the Taxman slid away from the desk and curled himself into his turned-around chair to submit with unspoken reluctance to Wavorly's decent-by-necessity doctoring skills. Unlike most of his kind, Corwynn was hardly a delicate creature, and over the past two decades in Hawke's service, he was hardly gentle with himself, let alone with others. Mostly.

If the older galdor noted Leander's lingering glance once the wick left them alone and he snatched for papers, he didn't make it known in his weathered expression. Riffling through it all, he looked up a handful of times while the younger passive went back to writing, crystalline gaze tracing over the curve of the other man's neck as he bent into his work and following the motion of his hand for several moments. Shoulders sagging, he dragged his attention back to real estate documents, hunting for names.

Tired but restless, sitting wasn't helping his attention span. Adrenaline had faded somewhere mid-flight but that listless, predatory need lingered without an outlet.

His drink was too far away.

Corwynn grunted, standing, and set the papers down on a particular page nearly on top of the poor passive's already completed practice work, barely careful not to knock over his inkwell or jostle the desk too much. Glasses of whiskey had their amber contents wobble dangerously, and a calloused middle finger one his less-whole dominant hand pointed to a name. The blond gunman's intention had been to lean against Leander's chair, but, in his tired enthusiasm, he just leaned against the other man's shoulder instead, far heavier than he really should have, before shifting his weight enough to stay upright,

"Of course Aren's name would be in here eventually. Clocking hell, all these references to Mister Duskvale need to also be edited out. Godsdamnit." Free hand curling into the wood behind the passive, he slid his finger away and reached for his whiskey, spilling a drop or two before he brought it upward and drained the whole glass.

Setting the empty thing down roughly with a hiss, he spoke as he moved to pour himself a second, unnecessarily generous enough to top off Leander's in the process, knuckles digging into the younger man's spine against the chair without thinking as he kept his balance,

"Surely you enjoy a bit of a challenge, hmm, Leo?" He might have spilled a bit more, golden liquid dribbling down the side of the bottle, pooling against the desk, but he ignored it, attempting instead to focus on the task at hand but unwilling to step away from the passive's proximity as he tamed his wild thoughts, running through all the necessary names out loud, though his voice dropped into a quieter tone as he did so,

"I can write them all down." It was both a statement and a question, Corwynn glancing down at the younger man expectantly, quite aware of his purposeful presence and not sorry in the least for any of it.

[Leander]

2nd Day of Yaris

The boy glanced up. “Of course I have,” the passive replied scornfully. Did Corwynn really think him so wet behind the ears that he had never tasted something with more finesse than a good ale? Kit, knowledgable in more than just magic, was a fine drinking partner, and had opened Leander’s eyes to what was on offer when it came to alcohol. With regards to other things, though, Leander was somewhat at a disadvantage, “And… well yes.” Was all he managed to say.

The galdor slumped off to another chair and busied himself with the task Leo had set him to, all while Leo, fighting the urge to keep glancing up and drinking in more of the other’s impressive physique, worked on perfecting the lettering. It wasn’t long before he was happy with his efforts. His own mother… well, that metaphor fell short when he realised his mother wouldn’t ever know what Leander’s adult script had moulded into.

The boy glanced up when he heard the other man shift to stand and step over. Careful to remove his nib from the parchment, and steady the ink pot just in case, though he let it go quickly when he felt the full weight of the man lean against him. “I-” the man evened out his weight and Leander released the breath he had been holding. Corwynn was hot and still somewhat sweaty. Any other time, any other person, this would have bothered the passive to no end. For some, unknown, reason… it didn’t.

“Edited out and replaced with what?” That name ‘Duskvale’ appeared a great many times. This was going to be more work than he envisaged. But now he had more of an idea of what was needed, he was sure he would be able to get it done in good time. He said as much to the galdor, promising to be finished before the day’s end. “I shouldn’t-” but it was too late, the amber liquid was already in his glass, filling up more than two drams of the whisky. The passive held back a sigh as he picked up the drink and took another sip, better that than offend the man who seemed to be treating him like an actual person for once.

“I can’t say that I’ve ever shied away from a challenge,” the boy grinned in reply, feeling brave for once. It wasn’t strictly true… he hadn’t really shied away from a challenge, but Leander rarely got himself into situations where he was challenged. He took another sip of the whisky and shook his head, swallowing down the drink and replying with a hoarse, “No it’s fine, if you can just tell me, I’ll get on with it.”

Now he had enough to go on, he was able to start on the work in earnest. He pulled a new piece of parchment towards him and started with the outline of the forged document. Why was Corwynn still standing over him? “You don’t… you can go and rest if you… need to?” that was a question.