[Memory] Gimme the Benny Stuff (Benton)

Aziza meets a drug dealer

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Anaxas' main trade port; it is also the nation's criminal headquarters, home to the Bad Brothers and Silas Hawke, King of the Underworld. The small town of Plugit is nearby.

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Aziza
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Wed Jul 11, 2018 7:55 pm

Loshis 15, 2715
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They'd been in Anaxas for a little over a week now and they'd been stuck in Old Rose for the whole duration; it was making the young woman more than a little stir crazy. Her mother had spoken sensibly, assuring her that they needed an animal more suited to this new climate, something that could pull the kint. However, the shift from Mugroba to this colder, wetter place had been costly so if they paid for the first animal that came along with the money they had left... So the young woman had worked, gaining a sense of how this place worked as she practiced the magical and medical arts she knew, plying a trade that had worked out well before their emigration to Anaxas.

The spoke witch had gathered together the suitable funds to buy something called a kenser, a slow-moving but strong creature that looked well able to tow herself, her mother and their home. Once the kenser was acquired, there were other matters to attend to, supplies that had to be stocked up while they were in this good hub of trade. Shopping around was the best thing to do and while it took some doing, she found most of what she needed. She also learned of an individual by the name of Eon who was supposed to stock certain items that were less readily available in the average market: drugs. Sure, the medicinal sort interested her to a degree - although she preferred the plants she was used to - but the recreational sort... well, the girl certainly wasn't adverse to a hit of this or that every so often. Certain things enhanced her visions though, added a new level to the experience, especially while joined to the mona, and she wanted what she could get.

The Mug witch carried a special cargo with her as she wound through streets, heading for the meeting place. Her mother had been left with the kint and their animals, the girl pursuing this errand solo. When she reached the place, she looked around openly, not wholly certain how this was supposed to work, the tavern she found herself in loud and bustling. She clutched her little package to her as she approached the bar, dropping a particular phrase that would apparently bring this dealer to her, before she found herself a table.

Chroven Hearts could be grown here, she knew that, and they weren't really recreational but they were useful. They were Mugrobi grown, the tubers nicely swelled and she suspected them to be quite potent. She hoped that they were valuable enough to trade for what she wanted. Even then, she was worried that the man would try to cheat her; she was a hopeless negotiator so in truth, it wouldn't be difficult. One look at her would leave little illusions about what she was, the decidedly wild appearance of her hair, her dress and her multitude of jewellery marking her as a wick. He might easily assume that she was too uncivilised to know better or realising that she was on the wilder side, a spoke, he might think she was shrewd by default. She hoped he thought the latter.

She'd laid down a hat for a drink, which she sat nursing, observing those around her with interest. When she finally spotted a man who was looking her way and in earshot, she assumed it was him. One way to find out.

"Junta! You the kov I'm lookin'?" she asked, letting the Tek words fall easily from her tongue without a thought. Would he understand her? Would she have to watch her words or as a criminal would he grasp her meanings without little or no hassle. "If you're the toft I want, we talk trade, oes? Not here though, ye chen? I'll go where you want go, just, ent it?"


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Benton Borteillo
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: aka EON, Roswell Godfrey
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Fri Jul 13, 2018 12:44 pm

Loshis 15, 2715
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Benton was
not usually a patron at the bar. He was far too caught up in a web of work to spend nights amidst the havoc of a rather chaotic bar and mornings regretting the previous night. Besides, he could drink better ale with better company- himself- in the serenity and comfort of his apartment. Bars, however, proved to be a popular place of meeting for his clients. Bars provided the safety of publicity but offered the privacy of drunken ears and blanketing din. They were inconspicuous, too, and easy to find. He worked for and with his clients, and he found his clients the most comfortable and negotiable in a bar after a drink. He had to admit, however, as the smell of body odor, vomit, and cheap ale met his nose, that he didn’t miss his younger years in which he spent many a night in a bar and many a morning with a stranger in his bed.

Benton had been brought to the bar by a potential tradeoff. The streets before the bar captured the yellow lights in the Loshis rain that still sat upon the cobblestones from a rain earlier in the day. He knew he was looking for a wick so young she was barely more than a girl. As he entered the bar, he searched for her, and his eyes easily found a young woman who, by the looks of it, just simply had to be his woman. Her long braids were wildly laced with feathers and beads, and he could only imagine that the layers of clothing and jewelry on her figure would make it nearly impossible for her to keep quiet. She was sitting alone, a partial drink in one hand. He hoped she hadn’t been waiting too long; he was on time, after all. The woman noticed his approach, and he was suddenly submerged in the cacophonous syllables of the Tek tongue. It took him a moment to decipher her wick words.

”Hesta, rosh, I believe I am!” he greeted her jovially once he had picked through her greeting, the Tek words clumsy on his tongue. ”You’ll have to forgive me, my Tek is a bit rusty. It’s been ages since I’ve had the pleasure of hearing it in business.” He smiled at her warmly as if he was only meeting an old friend. Despite her request to leave, he sat beside her. This was his last meeting of the night, and, a firm believer in bonding with his customer, he would gladly savor a few extra moments with the woman.

”We’ll leave, don’t worry. There’s no rush, finish your drink,” he reassured her. ”I have a few places we head to nearby, only a few minutes of a walk. They’re safe, protected, and always empty at this hour, perfect for our purposes.” It was true. In the pocket of his jacket, he had what he considered his Keys to the City- a ring of a dozen or so keys to various businesses and buildings that he had acquired through trade, deals, and donations with the business owners. The buildings, small, normal shops quiet at this hour of the night, were perfectly overlookable and cast away much of the suspicion familiar to a street corner or abandoned building.

Benton leaned back in his seat comfortably, waiting patiently for the wick to finish her beverage. He reached into his pocket and, feeling the paper packaging of the Coca Tea rustling beneath his fingers, he smiled. It was high time for a high crime.
In hell I'll be in good company.
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Aziza
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Fri Jul 13, 2018 6:42 pm

Loshis 15, 2715
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Aziza made no attempt to hide her frank appraisal of the man. A clean sort, very well put together and on the older side for a human. His face wasn't that wrinkled but the creep of grey in his hair aged him more. Still, he didn't look like he was over the hill yet; he still seemed to have a few years in him.

He made the effort to manoeuvre his way through Tek, the sounds awkward. She could guess that he wasn't used to the tongue even before he confirmed it. She could actually speak Estuan, good, clear Estuan. In theory at least. She'd have to try to drop the Tek a little but that would take some doing. She wasn't used to dealing with those who were unfamiliar with the wick tongue so she was rusty. They were a proper pair.

"Boemo, we'll go when ye want and epae- sorry, I'll try ne to go heavy on the Tek," she assured him, grinning widely and shaking her arm to send the bracelets jingling back down towards her elbow. "Ye have ne been doing benny business if ye have ne heard Tek in awhile. If you haven't heard Tek, epa- sorry," she corrected herself with a laugh, making more of a conscious effort to speak more clearly for his sake.

"I'm Aziza by way, don't know if ye did learn that afore. Ye wanna join me for a drink, Mis'er Eon? What sort o' name is that? Eon?" she asked, head cocked as she chuckled. Her Mugroba penchant for covering up an insulting phrase kicked in. "Do ne get me wrong, kov, it's a nice name, fair benny, special, ye chen? Just... not usual, is it?"

The witch sipped at her ale, savouring it and making it last for the time being, She'd been ready to leave as soon as he came in but seeing as he didn't seem to be in a hurry, neither was she. It was probably a good idea to make of him what she could, see if she could learn something that might give her an edge in a negotiation later. She knew she'd need it. Although perhaps she could find something else to bargain with aside from Chroven Hearts.

"You ever have a witch tell your fortune, Mis'er Eon? Would you like to?"
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Benton Borteillo
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: aka EON, Roswell Godfrey
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Sat Jul 14, 2018 10:14 am

Loshis 15, 2715
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Benton listened
and observed thoughtfully as his client- Aziza, she had mentioned- spoke. She was pleasantly talkative, and, even in his few moments with her, he liked to think that her appearance was indeed a physical representation of her personality: free-spirited, outgoing, He smiled gratefully as she made a conscious attempt to limit her Tek. He could understand, yes, just not very quickly. He laughed goodnaturedly as she rambled about not having good business if he hadn't heard much Tek. It was true that his business was slow and small, certainly, at least slower than any Silas Hawke ordeals, but, growing, yes. He supposed he'd have to pick up Tek soon, though, as clumsy as his tongue was.

"Aziza is a fine name," he said politely, leaning an elbow on the table, "And you're perfectly welcome to note that Eon isn't. It's a business name I've given myself in hopes that my business will be around for a while- eons, if you will. It's purely business, easy to remember, and even easy to spell for my less literate clients." Realising his formal and business tones had taken over the situation, he waved absentmindedly, hoping to reanimate the conversation with a soft joke.

"My parents may've been pretty terrible parents, but they did give me a right and sturdy name. I'd tell you if I weren't afraid of getting my head hunted by the Seventen or my competitors. As nice as I hope am, I've managed to make a lot of enemies," he mentioned with a smile and a slight shrug. As he turned his attention from himself to Aziza, he found her seemingly off in her thoughts as she sipped her ale absentmindedly. He'd leave her to it, instead turning his attention around the bar and waving a hand casually to catch the attention of a barmaid. An exchange of words and coin later, and Benton had in front of him an ale whose smell was absolutely unappealing to his nose. He'd suffer through the drink, sipping gingerly if only to bring a more comfortable and casual air to the pair. He'd drink a bottle of wine at home to wash the taste of poverty out of his mouth, yes, that’d do it. Moments after his drink was on the table, Aziza was talking again.

”A witch tell my fortune, you say,” he said thoughtfully, a smirk dancing across his lips as one of his eyebrows rose higher than its brother.

”Are you offering, Miss Aziza? Heh, it’s probably not a very pretty fortune. Death, war, loneliness, lies, and addiction, but, if you’d so like to, I wouldn’t mind finding out if at least one of those is wrong. It’ll give me something to look forward to, perhaps,” he leaned over the table in his seat as he spoke, crossing his ankles below the table.
In hell I'll be in good company.
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Aziza
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Sun Jul 15, 2018 5:12 pm

Loshis 15, 2715
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As he complimented her name, she bowed her head in acknowledgement, a grin accompanying it as she listened to his explanation. Well, she hadn't truly thought that Eon was his real name, but a man in his line of work... well, it made sense that he wouldn't want certain individuals to be able to track him. Eon was a name that was probably only used in very specific places and outside of those, he probably wasn't traceable. Still, compliments had to be given; it was the Mugrobi way.

His speech told her things about him. His tone, his expression, all of it. She might not be great with social things but she did have a brain; she noticed things. The ability to tell a fortune had as much to do with observation as it did to do with an ability to read mystical or magical signs. It was possible to read some people purely by looking at them - she'd seen those who could do that - but she wasn't nearly good enough for that. Still, there were things she could note so that when he asked if she was offering a reading, she grinned broadly, fully ready to do just that.

"I'd be happy to do it, Eon, even if it is ne your name," she assured him, setting her drink down and allowing her body to relax, hands resting lightly on the table. "Living is ne pretty and fortunes... they tell us about living. Death... that's everyone's fortune, we all end up dead in the end. Beyond that..." she trailed off, spreading her hands. She didn't really go in for reading the future, at least not too far, especially as futures were... unpredictable. Reading the next life when someone was still in their current one, she didn't think that was in anyone's ability.

"Gimme your hands, palm up and lessee what I can see." She held her hands out for his own, waiting for him to cooperate. However, even when he did what was asked, she didn't look down, not straight away. Instead, the witch eyed his face, squinting a little in thought, a sly smirk curving her lips. "Fortunes aren't about the future. Oes, in part, but they show what has been and what is as well. The future is a bit tofty. I can't say it'll all happen. You might change it. I tell you what might be, not will be," Aziza explained, an unusual gravity entering her voice; she considered this a serious business after all.

"You smile a lot," she murmured, reading the wrinkles around his eyes and the faint lines around his mouth before she turned her attention to his palms, looking from one to the other, considering. He seemed to favour his left hand for doing things. She'd seen him wave for the barmaid with it, passing coin and handling his drink with the left. The two hands were markedly different, the lines sure to provide conflict between the two. She'd have to consider both but left seemed to be his dominant one so she started there.

The Mugrobi witch ran her fingers over the palm. Smooth. Not one to do manual work, not get his hands dirty. "Lessee, ye do ne work, not hard work. It doesn't mean you don't work hard. Ambitious. Ye know what ye want and ye think ye can get it," she murmured, running her fingers over the ridges of flesh on his palm, tracing lines and tilting it to let the light strike it in different places. Her gaze kept flicking up to his face every so often, checking for his reactions.

"Fami was important to ye but not now, ye're more distant now and... ne your own. Ye do ne have a hama or bochi so fami like a brunno, a beata. Oes... lot of tumbles, I'd say, nothing benny, nothing... permanent. Work, it's all work. Lot a dusting maw ago but now... less careful, still in trouble these days," Aziza added, frowning at his hand, tracing long lines across the top of his palm. "Oes, ye do lie. A lot of lies. Ye aren't what ye make out ye are. Ye lie to yerself too." Her eyes flicked up to his face, remembering the single dimple from when he smiled. "You're a toft, mischievous. Missing summat though."

Her eyes returned to his hand, flicking her gaze to the other one, tracing a partially broken line on one and a more solid line on the other. They were in the same place at the base of his thumb. "Ye need your fami, Eon. Dunno who ye don't talk to ne more but ye need 'em. Sister? Brother?"

Had something flickered in his eyes there? Had brother triggered a reaction?

"Brother? Oes, brother, I think. You're the responsible one... so you're older, ye looked after 'im, I'm thinking. How many maw ye do it? How many maw since ye went diff'rent ways?" she asked, head cocked, watching his face closely, searching for what he'd reveal if she touched on something true.
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Benton Borteillo
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: aka EON, Roswell Godfrey
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Sun Jul 15, 2018 11:09 pm

Loshis 15, 2715
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His hands
moved across the table almost as soon as she asked, and he watched curiously as she took his hands in her own. He was nearly hypnotized by the whole ordeal, watching every movement she made with her dark hands.

He wasn't one to much believe in such fancies as fortune telling, but she was a witch, wasn't she? Could she do it? He was nervous. Benton was nervous that she really could. He was nervous about what she would see, but, was that all? Was he only nervous that she'd find some deep secrets? N-no, surely, surely those were too deep, too hidden, too vague. What was it then? Was he nervous for what she'd think of him? What dirt she'd get on him? Nervous for..?

Benton was nervous for what she'd tell him about himself, what he had hidden from his own analytical eyes, what he had tried to forget and deny. He swallowed, letting his hands relax as her finger ran down his palm, leaving it to tingle sensitively as if the finger still lingered there like a ghost.

"You make me sound like an awful person, Aziza," he said dryly, though amusement still filled in the cracks of his voice. "I-I'm not all bad, I hope." His sigh after his defense revealed that perhaps he was bad, or had been. What she said was true, however much he tried to forget it. His family was dead, gone, and forgotten, yes, she was right. And, yes, he couldn't help the mix of amusement and embarrassment swimming through his furrowed brows as she mentioned the prostitutes. There had been... more than there should of been in a younger year. He could laugh about it now, wave it off as a young fancy, but he couldn't completely deny that he hadn't somewhat enjoyed the days of partying with and enjoying a young man or woman in the night. She was right, too, that nothing had ever been permanent. He didn't have a problem wooing ladies and gents alike, at least, not in his opinion, but he had always been moving, always working, always hiding, and always lying. He looked away from her for a moment, unwilling to take his hands from hers as much as much as the memories flooded back to him. He wanted to hear more.

Benton's eyes moved from their conjoined hands to her face, watching her study his palms intently, using her fingers to read the lines as if she was merely reading the dancing lines of a book page. He caught her eyes for a moment as she looked up into his face, but quickly looked back down. He was uncomfortable, under inspection. It was as if he had gone to the doctor, and the doctor had told him all the bad lifestyle choices he had ignored, swept under the rug. Guilty, but excuseless.

As she mentioned family, however, his interest rose, covering his guilt and the writhing feeling in his stomach. Family? Why, he hadn't thought about them in ages, and he kept them hidden. He was frightened by how accurate the girl was, frightened by the monsters he had put away that she was now pulling out from under his bed for him to see.

Brother?

His mouth opened as if to say something, and his eyes darted between her hands. Where did it say, 'brother'? H-how? Was Deitrick's death, Deitrick's loss so plainly there? Could she see the very blood on his hands? As she spoke, however, she revealed to know little. He felt his shoulders relax, his hands fell limp in leavy in hers, both having instantly tensed. After a moment of deep breathing, he addressed her questions quietly.

"Brother, yes. I, well, I looked after him after we lost our parents. He was all I had and there was an accident. He... he perished about... about..." Benton paused, his words sputtering to a stop like a train running out of coal. How many years had it been? "Well, I believe it was 10 years ago. I can't right remember. I've tried to push it away, you understand?"

"I may need them, but I don't have them, Aziza. I'm well-off on my own, however, lonely. Everyone dies, everyone is dead, and I'm the only one that keeps going, that keeps living. That's how it's always been, and how it always goes," he whispered quietly, his face placid and tinted with a nostalgic sadness. For once, Benton told the truth. As he looked Aziza in the eye, he hoped, hoped to every possible god there was above, that she would believe him. Truth was rarely uttered, rarely thought in the mind of a liar, and swindler. The biggest fool he took advantage of was himself.
In hell I'll be in good company.
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Aziza
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Mon Jul 16, 2018 7:32 pm

Loshis 15, 2715
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The young woman was in a heightened state of observation, keyed in to detect certain shifts in expression, tone, body language. His hands placed in her own gave insights of their own. It was less about the lines that traced its surface, open to vague interpretations, guesswork and careful analysis, and more about how the muscles grew rigid and tense, when they grew relaxed and limp, or dampened with sweat. The girl had done cold readings before, a practice that was hit and miss for her, but she'd proven fairly good at spotting falsehoods when in contact with someone like this.

He seemed sensitive to her touch, nervous enough in her hands. She doubted that anyone had actually done this to him before and despite his age, she'd managed to provide him with a new experience. There was something gratifying about that, showing him something that seemed to have taken him by surprise. It was also clear that she'd touched more than one nerve. He was trying to justify himself, trying to laugh off the negative things she'd read about him and she smiled faintly, sympathetically. She wasn't judging him, this wasn't a trial, she was simply saying what she she saw. Evidently, her words were too close to the truth for comfort.

When she mentioned a brother, she would have had to be senseless not to notice his response. His hands grew so rigid in her grasp that she couldn't help but glance up, seeing the panic there. That was something that shocked the wick, her own hands tensing. The witch didn't know what she'd triggered exactly but it was almost like... she'd seen something that he really hadn't wanted her to see. However, when he seemed to relax while explaining that his brother had been killed, the girl was extremely uneasy.

"Are ye trying to convince me or yerself?" she questioned softly, head cocked to the side. "You're weird guilty 'bout it, weird guilty but it's not my business. Ne. Ye'll likely shorten your life without someone but sure... you might not live much longer anyway in your line of work."

Aziza's words probably weren't much of a comfort, not helped by the fact that she was wondering about his reaction. Guilt, yes, but over what? Had his brother really died in an accident? Had it been an accident or was it a matter that he'd had a chance to help him but hadn't? The young woman honestly didn't know and she didn't particularly want to dwell on the matter. It'd be a good time to lighten the mood although she was sure to do an atrocious job of it.

"But hey, you've had your fun at my expense, oes? I'm not as good as some but I'm ne as bad as others. Some really do go in for faking things like the gollies say we do. With magic... well, think I can do more interesting things with magic and that's what I want you for. Magic is good for seeing some things but sometimes, it's hard to see, ye chen? Sometimes you need to... let go a little. Ye can see a pina bit better when you're a little out of it," she explained, deciding that business was a safer avenue than trying to joke. He seemed quite fond of work.

"Doesn't all have to be business. Nothing wrong with a bit of pleasure," she added with a sly smile, drinking the last of her ale in a swift draught and a jingle of bracelets. "Well... when you're ready, we'll see what ye have to offer and what I can get out of ye."

If he was ready to go then she'd readily accompany him and if not, she'd wait for him.
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Benton Borteillo
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: aka EON, Roswell Godfrey
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Tue Jul 17, 2018 2:22 am

Loshis 15, 2715
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As Aziza
scrutinized him and his guilt, Benton looked away like a small child being publicly scolded by his mother. He pulled his hands out of hers and clasped them on his lap, a physical sign of him withdrawing back into himself. She had sensed more than Benton would have liked, and he cursed himself for letting his guard down enough for her to take a peek inside, even if, in reality, he could do very little about it. He'd have to be more careful, and that was the simple truth. He looked down at his glass, still mostly full, and pushed it away from himself. He didn't need alcohol making him any more loose-lipped than he already was, no, he needed to stay sober, in control of his actions. No more stupid mistakes, no more fun. Business, just business.

He had tried for years to forget Deitrick, to forget what had happened. It was impossible to forget something that stuck so vividly in his brain, however. He could remember every blade of grass, every smell, every cry out from each side of the fight. It hadn't been his fault, necessarily, but he hadn't tried to stop it, no, he ran away, ran away the moment he had gotten a chance. He didn't look back. He was too scared to see his brother lying dead on the ground, a pool of blood surrounding him as his cold eyes traced Benton up the path, asking him why?

Though he hadn't seen his brother's body, his mind had filled in the gaps, leaving him with the illusionary memory of a teenage boy's body lying broken and neglected, forgotten in the hours after the fight.

Benton was relieved that the conversation turned back towards business, though his vigilance did not falter. He was intrigued by her reasonings for needing the drugs. As a human, magic was a thing always staring him in his face, but just beyond the tips of his greedy fingers. In a much younger, more impressionable year, he believed that he, too, could hold magic in his hands. It wasn't long before he deciphered the illusion, trading magic for facts. No trade backs.

That was what it meant to be human, wasn't it?

"Yes, let's go, shall we? It's not a long walk," he said with a final sigh, standing up from the table, reaching into his pocket, and throwing a few coins onto the surface. He waited for Aziza, too, to stand up before weaving back through the crowded bar, looking over his shoulder now and again to make sure she was following. As the door of the bar swung closed behind the two of them as they stood on the dark, quiet street, Benton exhaled a breath he hadn't known he had been holding. In the night air, he could feel the layer of dirt and smell from the bar on his skin, and he grimaced slightly, glad to be outside of the bar once and for all. He walked ahead, every divet in the cobblestones under his feet familiar.

"Come, this way. It's a real safe little place," he reassured. He was leading her off into the darkness of Old Rose, and, well, there wasn't much he could say to ease the odd uneasiness of the conversation. He'd have to pick a place warm and comforting. He had just revealed that he may've had a hand in his brother's murder, after all.

The building he had in mind was up one street, then left down another. It was a mere few minutes before he stopped, crossing the dim road to a one-story building fronted by a single, bright streetlamp glowing white. It illuminated the front of the wooden building, it's glass windows full of displays of thread, needles, scissors, and fabrics in front of dark, thick curtains that hid the inside. He pulled the ring of keys- his self-titled "Keys to the City"- from the deep pocket of his jacket, flipping through the various metal keys until the tiny paper tag of "Ku Corturier." He stepped up to the red door, sliding the key into the lock and opening the door. Without waiting for Aziza. he stepped into the room, quickly drawing his book of matches from his pocket and lighting the small but cheerful lamps surrounding the room on the walls. The inside of the one-roomed building was primarily a pleasantly dark wood, the spaces of wall between each lamp filled with colorful racks of fabrics. A single, dormant sewing machine sat on a wooden desk to the side, measuring instruments draped over it. It was a small room, but comfortable enough, three chairs set out as a makeshift waiting room, tall mirrors on either side of the row. In the middle of the room, pushed back towards the far wall was a cashier's desk. It smelled faintly of a vanilla perfume.

Benton walked to the cashier's counter, pulling the bulky envelope, roughly the size of a thick Bible, of loose leaves of Coca Tea from his pocket. It was a two month supply, if used once a day. One cup of tea for 80 days, or, if one needed to, he supposed they could smoke it. He shook the envelope, the dried leaves inside rustling as he held it up for Aziza to see.

"Now, what do you have for me?" he asked, interest raising his dark brows.
In hell I'll be in good company.
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Aziza
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Thu Jul 19, 2018 6:23 pm

Loshis 15, 2715
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She watched him push his drink away, brows rising as she examined the near full state although she said nothing. There was something new in his manner, an impatience perhaps, and if he wanted to leave without finishing his drink - or really drinking it at all - then that was his choice and she wouldn't interfere. The girl placed her package of Chroven Hearts against the waistband of her skirt, rolling it over it a few times as she stood, the hemline of her skirt rising a good few inches above her knee, brushing her thighs. She slung her cloak about her shoulders before following him out, weaving her way through the other patrons and into the night air, shivering slightly at the change in temperature. She wrapped her cloak more tightly around herself, trying to keep her step as brisk as possible as she followed him so she could circulate some warmth through her limbs.

Their nighttime stroll was a little awkward, neither one of them inclined to make a lot of small talk, not that Aziza was any good at it in any case. Instead, she took the time to observe him, the way he moved, the way he handled himself. These streets were familiar to him and although he talked about safety, it was her that he was trying to reassure, not himself. For him, these streets weren't something to be afraid of, even though there were people on them who were presumably seeking to kill him. Maybe even those dangers held a familiarity to them. The witch didn't think that he was overly relaxed; he seemed like he knew how to handle himself here, radiating confidence but not arrogance. She found herself quite intrigued.

When they reached the appropriate building, she leaned against the wall, huddling against it as she tried to keep herself warm, watching and waiting as he fiddled with keys. She followed him inside slowly, gaining a sense of the place from the small measure of light that crept in from the street, only closing the door behind her when he had a lamp or two lit. She remained huddled up in her cloak, pacing slowly along the walls, fingers reaching out to lightly trace the fabrics. She liked the variety of colours and patterns, revelling in the different textures that her digits danced over. The witch snapped out of it when Benton spoke, focusing her mind on what was supposed to be her true focus.

"Oh oes, epaemo. I... give me a moment. Lemme just warm things up," she explained, closing her eyes and gathering her field around her.as she moved closer to him. She stopped about a yard away from him before she asked the mona to do her bidding. She had it vibrate the air a little, creating a small bubble of heat between them. It was like starting a fire, a similar degree of energy but without the light and the ignition point. It wasn't much, the air between herself and Benton warming but once she released it, the concentrated pocket mingled with the cooler air around it and the effect was reduced. The spoke sighed, irritated by how poorly it had turned out. By Hulali, she sucked at this. Her magic was better than this, it should be better than this.

"Epaemo. It's cold here for me. Mugroba... I'm used to it being warmer," she explained, her expression apologetic as she shrugged out of her cloak, still shivering a little, bending down to rub at the flesh of her thighs, trying to get some warmth into them, not really paying attention to how it sent the skirt riding higher up. She reached up, unwinding the waistband of her skirt to retrieve the precious tubers. She perched herself on the counter, setting the package down as she wriggled into a more comfortable sitting position.

"Chroven Hearts. I hear ye can grow 'em here but these are from Mugroba. Good, very good. Trust me," Aziza assured him, smirk dancing over lips as she held out a hand for the envelope of coca tea, curious to get a look at the product. "There's a mant bit in there, oes? Will the Chroven Hearts do ye? There are three but..." she squirmed where she sat, not wholly unaware of the attractive way her hips wiggled. "Well, do I need to find something more to please you?" she asked, head tilted as she leaned back a little, hands supporting her weight as she did so, chewing her lip.

The young woman hoped that the Hearts were enough because she didn't know what else to offer; she doubted he wanted the clothes off her back... although maybe he'd be interested in what was under them rather than the fabric itself. That was a thought that surprised the witch, wondering if that would happen. She'd read his relationship lines, he seemed to have a lot of flings so it wasn't outside of his nature. Aziza considered him from a new angle, trying to be subtle about sizing him up and probably failing. Benton certainly wasn't unattractive and his age wasn't a detractor for her. If she had to lie with him to seal this, the girl didn't particularly dislike the idea but she wasn't sure; it wasn't like she had any stopsage hanging around that she could take to prevent certain... inconveniences. Perhaps the Hearts would be enough and perhaps she could return at a later stage better prepared for other sorts of dealings.
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Benton Borteillo
Posts: 99
Joined: Mon Jul 09, 2018 11:15 pm
Topics: 8
Race: Human
Occupation: Mr. Drug Dealer Drug Man- retiring.
: aka EON, Roswell Godfrey
Character Sheet: Character Sheet
Plot Notes: Plot Notes
Writer: Quix
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Fri Jul 20, 2018 2:09 pm

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Loshis 15, 2715....
T
he chill of Old Rose was a familiar old friend of Benton's. He couldn't imagine living somewhere warmer; the cold was undesirable, perhaps, but he thrived in it. It had greeted him with the smell of fish and the thickness of smoke and alcohol when he had arrived at 20 years old, and it had numbed the pain of loss while stoking his will for adventure. For a decade, now, it had been on him like the cloak Aziza shrugged off, unchanging and unweathering despite the changing and weathering of his aging face. It was constant, one of the few things constant in his life. The bite of the Harbor was there to greet him every morning, and he embraced its familiarity fully.

Setting the Coca Tea on the counter, Benton took off his beige coat, handing it towards Aziza absentmindedly as he reached for a chair for himself. He pulled the chair towards him as he felt the warmth of his own body still radiating in the coat. If she wouldn’t take it, he would toss it onto the counter beside her. Either way, he sat down in the chair with the foot of his right leg cross onto his left knee, not paying Aziza too much attention as he pulled small, flat metal box from the pocket of his pressed pants, unclasping it before him to reveal several long cigarettes. He gingerly removed one, leaving the box to lay open on the tabletop of his lap. He slid the cigarette into partially opened lips, completely preoccupied with the whole ordeal. He flipped open the matchbook still in his hand and plucked a single match from the book before flipping it closed again and striking the match against it. With a small flame ignited, he lit the cigarette. He glanced up at her finally as he shook the match out. He leaned forward as he regarded her, untangling his legs, placing his elbow on his knee, pulling the cigarette from his mouth, and exhaling his smoke to the side all in one swift motion.

“Three Chroven Hearts, Mugrobi Chroven hearts,” he corrected himself thoughtfully as he gazed at her from behind his cigarette. It was only then that he noticed the hem of her skirt stranded high up her thigh, leaving her dark upper legs bare and smooth before his eyes as she rubbed them for warmth. He wondered for a moment how her skin would feel under his hands. It had been a few long years since he had touched any man or woman like that, and, although he wasn’t dying of unquenched lust, the feeling still lingered. He batted it away, the only visible sign of conflict a slight twitch of his brow as his grey eyes found hers again. Despite his aversion of his eyes, the wings of butterflies were already tickling the walls of his stomach as his body flooded with heat. If he had been cold before, he certainly wasn’t now.

Business, he reminded himself, taking another drag of his cigarette. This was business, not pleasure. He reached for the envelope of Coca Tea that had been set on the counter, knocking it against his knee to ensure the leaves were settled at the bottom before he opened it. He pinched the sides of it to open the mouth farther before pointing the mouth towards Aziza, leaning in his chair closer to her.

“Two months, here,” he reported briskly, trying to ignore the vision of her lip between her teeth still dancing on his retinas. He was trained by now to contain himself, keep himself in check, but the effort he put into his physical neutrality was not matched internally as he began to boil. He leaned back, pulling the envelope away with him. He tapped the end of his cigarette against his fingers to relieve the growing ash then used his boot to grind the powder into the floorboards. “Three Chroven Hearts? Worth about a month, in my opinion, but I’ll give you a month and a half for the quality. If you’ve got nothing more, I can cut what we’ve got here to even it out, not a problem,” he offered, mimicking dumping the Coca Tea into his hand. Just as the weight of the leaves began to shift, he righted the bag.

“But, if you’ve got anything else to offer, I’ll give you everything I’ve got here,” he continued, shaking the bag slightly to add the percussive noise of leaves to the mix.

“You seem like a right creative girl,” he complimented, crossing his legs over each other once again as he leaned back. A smirk brought his eyelids to lower slightly over his eyes. “I’m sure you’ll think of something.”
In hell I'll be in good company.
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