House Call

Charity looks for her next hit

Old Rose Harbor is Anaxas' main trade port; it is also the nation's criminal headquarters, home to the Bad Brothers and Silas Hawke, King of the Underworld.
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Charity Darthe
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Sun Jul 29, 2018 1:53 am

Roalis 36th, 2718
OLD ROSE | EVENING
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It’s Drakes Tongue. Some wick bastard sold it to me. It’s pretty decent, but it’s no Crop.

Charity looked around at the docks as she stepped off the steam boat that had carried her to Old Rose Harbour, keeping her black cloak drawn tightly around her face and field simmering slightly, Diaxio’s words echoing in her head. Comfortably tucked in her pocket was a small pouch of the strange Hessian drug that was peddled by the Blackhand wicks in Vienda. It was wrong, she knew it was wrong, but the blonde galdor had taken the pouch from her partner in crime with no intentions of consuming it.

This was stupidly dangerous.

The King’s Crop, her personal opiate of choice at present was a highly addictive and deeply sought after drug. Thanks however to the recent arrests by the Seventen of the Drake’s Tongue crew, almost all of the narcotics in Vienda had become unbelievably hard to find.

Except Charity had contacts, and a father who brought his work home with him. So whilst Vienda might be dry, she knew that the Rose was not.

Knowing she couldn’t tell Rhys or her father when she was going, the petite pianist stole away in the early morning of the thirty fifth, buying her passage on the steamboat that ferried people up and down the Arova. In and out, she would offer the Drakes Tongue as a peace offering, in turn for hopefully being able to buy a few vials of King’s Crop. Diaxio had a contact in the Rose that had mentioned a seller by the name of Eon, who offered up what had been dubbed ‘performance enhancers’. The directions to this Eon’s place of business had been quite clear, and quite careful, and so Charity did her level best to follow them too the letter.

Moving away from the docks, the woman kept to herself, avoiding eye contact with any of the people that she passed lest one of them try to talk to her. Passing through side streets and places of shady business, Charity blushed deeply as scantily dressed women tried to proposition her outside of a huge ship that appeared to have become a brothel. Gods, what the clock was she doing. Picking up the pace, she looked at the paper again, getting her bearings and taking a sharp left.

A few more turns and twists, the blonde reached a small dwelling, not entirely in an easy to find location tucked amid the filthy muddy dark streets of the maze that was the Harbour. The Viendan looked around one last time, before reaching up to knock on the door gently, heart hammering in her chest. This was a stupid thing to do, a stupid place to be. Her father and her lover were both Seventen, and whilst one would be a little more understanding than the other, neither would overlook the law for her.

Then don’t get caught you moony woman.

She could just stop, cold turkey. Just use the lull in Vienda to stop drowning herself in the opiates that might one day end her. But she’d tried that, she’d held off for days after reuniting with Rhys and by the love of the Lady it was too much. Cold sweats, nausea, headaches and shaking. Charity should have just turned to the taller Seventen for help, admitted her weakness, but...after years of bad habits she couldn’t help herself. She wasn’t a good person, and Alioe he deserved someone better.

Just get it done and go home. It’s a once off.

Lifting her hand, she knocked again a little harder, nervous that any minute someone would appear and arrest her on the spot.

word count: 659

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Benton Borteillo
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Mon Jul 30, 2018 6:22 pm

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Roalis 36, 2718....It was a dingy little one-story house squatting on the street corner right where Beret Park and Castle Hill greeted each other on the coast. In the foggiest mornings and evenings, he couldn't even spot the silhouette of Bean Island through the fog; tonight, however, through the window of the bare front room, a few small lantern lights could be seen drifting in the warm Roalis breeze. The house had but two rooms. The front room was a combination of parlor, dining room, and kitchen. A floor of worn wooden boards of various colours could be seen beneath the central hearth, the cabinet of cooking ware on the far wall, the staggered-legged desk by the window, the two faded lounge chairs beside the hearth, and the dining table and chairs pushed against the wall. A single door stood across the room from the thick front door. It was left open in the summer months to allow what little cool air existed to circulate throughout the house to the backroom where a bedroom and washroom were combined in one. Here, one could see a single bed, trunk, and metal washtub enshrouded in the growing darkness of evening. Benton both could and couldn't afford some better abode. Monetarily, yes, he could scrounge up enough pennies to buy a nicer home in a nicer neighborhood, but, for fear of the Seventen coming after his human "affluence," he couldn't risk anything more than this leaky-ceilinged home. It was home, though, and he supposed that that was what truly mattered.

It was his base of operations, too. With his own hands, he had pried up the floor-boards, put false-backs in the cabinets and trunks, and stuffed the very pillows of his bed with a small supply of drugs in case of surprise visits or a need to run while the rest of his stash was hidden away in small increments here and there, all over Old Rose. It was from the desk by the window that he had written countless letters to contacts, customers, and partners all over Anaxas. On the hearth, a small stone pit built into the floor, he had crafted some of his first products. He trusted very few with the address of his home; he much preferred to meet in bars and public spaces for his own safety and privacy, but, once in a blue moon, a knock came at the door.

The moon must have been blue that night.

Benton Borteillo looked up tiredly from the desk at which he penned another letter to check the status of his new poppy farm as a knock cut through the pressing silence of summer. The curtains of the home were closed to keep his letter writing hidden, the sconces on the wall awake. Had he really heard a knock? He waited for it to come again, slowly hiding away the forbidden writings into the pocket of the black pin-striped pants. Again, the knock came, and this time he hastened to answer it. He pulled open the door, the slight breeze welcomed in the warm room. The visitor was not quite as welcomed, however. Benton crossed his arms over his chest and leaned against the door frame.

She was a small-wiry thing beneath the cloak she clutched desperately around herself despite the summer heat. A bit of wild fear was clear on her pale face and in her violently violet eyes. Her race- galdor- was clear to was immediately clear to Benton, but the cleanliness of her face and the lack of tangles in her blonde hair was unfamiliar in Old Rose. No, this girl was an outsider, and she was uneasy.

Galdori were dangerous in such a business, especially as a human. Benton would be safest playing the innocent cards, he decided. She could be a spy for the Seventen sent to rat him out, or an assassin for the Bad Brothers trying to take him down once and for all.

"Sorry, little lady. I'm not 'specting any company tonight. Who are ya looking for? Maybe I can help ya out," he offered, letting a mild curiosity embroider his voice and face. He knew without a doubt, however, who she was looking for. The girl was looking for Eon.

Last edited by Benton Borteillo on Mon Aug 27, 2018 6:02 pm, edited 1 time in total. word count: 742
In hell I'll be in good company.
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Charity Darthe
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Sat Aug 04, 2018 7:25 pm

Roalis 36th, 2718
OLD ROSE | EVENING
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Charity looked around again, sinking her hands into the pocket of her cloak and trying to draw her field closer to herself. If it was the right house, by the Lady the proprietor was taking their sweet time. She clanked at the closest window, noticing the curtains were drawn tight. Perhaps the owner wasn’t home. Perhaps it was the wrong address. Perhaps she should just get right back on that clocking steam boat and go the clock home. Perhaps—

The door opened.

Glancing up at the man that had pulled the door open, the young blonde took in his features. Longer greying dark hair and a decent growth of stubble on his thin face. He didn’t look all that welcoming, and unless he was really good at hiding it, the lack of a field indicated that he was a human. Her ribs ached slightly at the thought, but she didn’t balk. Basil York was human, and kept many as friends. As far as Charity was concerned, they were brilliantly resourceful, especially when it came to procuring narcotics. The taller human looked her over with a face that spoke volumes. She was galdori, and she wasn’t welcome.

Tucking her cloak closer, in spite of the sweat that clung to the back of her neck, the mixed blood curled her fingers tighter around the Drakes Tongue so neatly packaged in the depths of her cloak. It sat almost heavily, like a guilty hot coal in her hand.

“I uh…I’m not sure I’m in the right place. I was looking for a…” Tocks, was Eon a man or a woman? She had assumed a man, but Xi hadn’t actually specified. Charity fumbled through her words, less worried about buying narcotics and more clocking worried about the Rose itself. She’d done drug deals before, easily, without a care in the world. But that was Vienda, and those were city humans or wicks and galdori. This was the Rose, the underbelly of Anaxas. And she was a golly.

Get it together Charity, you are acting like a child.

Glancing around again before looking back at the salt and pepper haired man, she lifted her chin and swallowed her nerves, meeting his older grey eyes with her violet gaze and holding it with a nod and a brush of her thumb against the contents of her pocket.

“I’m looking for Eon. I was told perhaps he…she…they might be able to assist with my extra curricular activities. To help my musical performances. Enhance them, you might say.” She paused a moment, unsure if she’d said too much or not enough. As though an afterthought, she smiled cautiously.

“I bring an offering of friendship, and coin from Vienda, and I have no ill intentions. The Seventen have been coming down hard back home, hunting out those who would provide such enhancements, and so medications as those Eon is rumoured to provide are almost entirely gone. Dark days, for us creative folk who are so tortured by our talents.” The galdor let her field go slowly, unthreatening but also unrestrained, letting the human see her for what she was in the hope it was an offer of peace.

“Do you know where I can find Eon?” Charity asked softly, searching the tall older man’s face with clear intent. If he didn’t know, if he couldn’t help, then she needed to get home. The Drakes Tongue in her pocket would suffice at least for a few days. After that…

She’d figure that part out later.

word count: 631
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Benton Borteillo
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Tue Aug 07, 2018 11:32 pm

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Roalis 36, 2718....He had assumed her intentions correctly. She wanted Eon, and of course he knew where Eon was. Her inability to relay Eon's gender amused him ever so slightly; it meant that he had done a fair job hiding his identity, although he'd have to look into the fact that the woman had his address. She spoke of Vienda drying up, and Benton had heard of Vienda growing dry week by week, and it was driving both the business and risk he held up. It had not, however, brought a galdor to his door from Vienda until this moment. He had dealt with many galdori in thirteen years, whether clean deals or having his head bashed by one of Hawke's galdor Bad Brothers as punishment. As a human, he was predisposed to distrust the galdori as they reciprocated, but he would hear her out. She had coin, after all. He may as well at least hear what she had to offer before turning her back to Vienda to chase her high.

He stepped back into the house to allow her room to pass through the doorway.

"Aye, I know where you can find Eon," he whispered, playing his innocence out farther as he cast a suspicion eye up and down the street. He'd have to keep the act up until she was inside the house; the street a hundred windows for eyes and a hundred doors for ears. "Come inside, though. We can't talk about it on the street 'less we want to be heard." He would not close the door until she followed him into the house, where he'd first busy himself with amplifying the sconces lining the walls to brighten the barren room. As he paid mind to the final lantern, he motioned absentmindedly towards the pair of worn lounge chairs around the cold hearth.

"Go on and sit, missy," he commanded gently. "And feel free to take off the cloak. Nobody can see you in here, and I don't want the heat killing you before we can strike up a deal." He caught himself slightly, a smile tugging at his lips slightly as the flames of the lamp licked his face when he remembered her doubts of being in the right place. "Might I add, quite clumsily, that Eon is me, Miss. That act on the street is just a bit of a security measure for my own sanity. I don't want the whole street knowing my identity- I'd be dead in a week's time. Being dead makes business quite hard, I've heard."

Finished with his lamps, he moved to sit in the unoccupied chair, his foot ascending to perch on the knee of his slacks patiently. He was underdressed for his own style, no vest or jacket adorning the plain white button up above his grey slacks and black shoes. Despite this, two of his most important accessories, the metal tin of cigarettes and the pocketbook of matches, were still nestled in his pocket. He pulled them out and rested them on the plain of his leg as he spoke.

"You're brave coming out here alone. The intersection of the safest neighborhood and the most dangerous in Old Rose isn't a place most Viendans would choose to venture to," he explained, opening the tin to reveal a handful of white paper tubes. He plucked one up for himself. "Perhaps I'm mistakenly seeing bravery where desperation languishes, however. Do you smoke?" He offered the tin to her. Whether she took one or not, he'd light his own with the striking of a match. If she accepted, he'd hold the book out for her to take.

"That's enough of my jabbering, however. You surely want to get home sooner than later," he waved his own ramblings away with the hand that tucked the cigarette between the curved index and middle finger. "You want a drug to enhance your musical abilities. I'd recommend laudanum for innovation and creativity, though, the fact that you've felt it necessary to travel all the way to me for your hit tells me you know what you want."

Benton leaned back in the chair slightly, taking a drag of his cigarette. "Tell me- what can I do for you?"
Last edited by Benton Borteillo on Mon Aug 27, 2018 6:02 pm, edited 1 time in total. word count: 747
In hell I'll be in good company.
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Charity Darthe
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Mon Aug 13, 2018 8:34 pm

Roalis 36th, 2718
OLD ROSE | EVENING
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Charity hesitated, if only for a moment, contemplating her situation. Was it wise to enter the home of this stranger, here in the Rose where there were more ill stories than good? Her violet gaze swept the street once more before nodding curtly and stepping inside. Immediately she withdrew her hands from her pockets, leaving the narcotics in place as she gratefully removed the cloak. Dressed in a simple black daydress, the mixed blood galdor folded the cloak neatly and placed it over the back of the offered chair, lifting her hair off her neck with a sigh of relief.

“Thankyou sir, I—“ She looked him over as she perched on the edge of the chair, somewhat surprised that the human before her was the very person she had come to find. He was aptly dressed, but not so formally so to draw attention. His demeanour was cautious, yet also passively commanding. Somehow, she expected something more lavish and gluttonous. Given the reputation of this Eon, the young woman had half expected a galdor, instead it was a human. For a moment, she marvelled at the fact that one of the lower races had managed to make such a name. Yes, there were wicks and humans in Vienda that had made their names with the drugs on offer, but nothing quite as prolific as Eon.

“Of course, I would not have it any other way. I have no desire for prying eyes to see what business I conduct myself.” Her eyes followed Eon as he moved to take the other seat, watching as he took his time to settle just so. The human didn’t cower, nor did he appear to be bothered by her presence, sure of himself and his domain where she was merely a visitor. Charity shook her head at his comments.

Bravery is having a Seventen Officer as a lover, and a Captain for a father.

“Desperation is the basis of all bravery, no matter what the stories might say, though I feel it must come with a dash of stupidity too. I admit, I am none too comfortable with the location, but then one does what they must to survive.” She nodded, leaning forward to procure one of the thin cigarettes and the matchbook, breaking one off and lighting the stick with little ceremony. Shaking the match out, she handed back the book with a smile, drawing deeply on the biri and leaning back in her chair with a far more casual air about her, breathing out the thick smoke and watching the paper blacken and curl under the ember between her delicate musicians fingers.

“Laudanum, nothing to scoff at, but I do have a certain taste that I can’t fulfil in Vienda at present. I wonder, perhaps, if you’ve heard of and perhaps happen to hold any of the Crop actually.” She cut right to it, focusing on the human through the smoke of the cigarette before taking another drag. Her field, if he were able to sense it, jittered with mild trepidation as though half expecting him to jump up and proclaim to all of Vita her terrible addiction.

“It’s been far more fruitful than any other opiate I’ve experienced thus far. Far more pure and clean, the effects more long lasting and expressive.” The blonde spoke with fondness, as though referring to an old friend or a lover, her violet eyes faraway for just a tick and a small smile tugging the corners of her mouth. Blinking, she refocused on the human and smiled more broadly.

“The Kings best, so they say. Have you tried it, sir? A marvellous creation, surely woven with alchemists of the highest quality. I doubt even if it’s from Anaxas to be honest. It might be Bastian, or Hoxian, so easily does it lace the mind with thoughts of song and dance far beyond what the sober mind can conjure.”

word count: 687
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Benton Borteillo
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Fri Aug 17, 2018 1:07 am

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Roalis 36, 2718....Benton exhaled a near imperceptible breath of amusement, a mix of surprise and amusement elevating the corners of his mouth and his eyebrows as if they were tied together in the flickering light of the sconces. Of course he'd heard of Kings- he would have to be an absolutely terrible drug dealer to have not have heard of the opiate- so it wasn't the existence of Kings that surprised him. It was the fact that she was so familiar with it that twisted his face. It was a hard drug, addictive and fast-moving. For a long time, he had avoided the substance- it was too expensive without a good turn around, too few wanted to buy it, and he had, in a more innocent year, felt absolutely terrible marketing such an addictive substance but, in recent years, the popularity had grown extremely. He had grown harder over the years, too; it was ideal for him to get otherwise clean clients addictive now. It was more money for him. With his own opium being harvested daily, well, the cost of supplies and labor had been cut dramatically. He sent his own opium out, and it came back as ready-to-sell opiates. He wanted to one day be producing opiates from start to finish under his name without paying an outside partner, but that would come later. What mattered now was that he had a client who wanted Kings, and he could provide it.

"I've tried it, yes." He had tried it only a few years ago when he was contemplating selling it. He wasn't one to get high often- he truly only smoked cannabis now and again and a constant cigarette- but he did like to know what he was selling. His credibility as a dealer went up, he knew, when he could from experience recall the effects of the drugs he sold. From his recollection, it had been a pleasant experience, but he had not cared enough for it to try it again. Highly hallucinogenic drugs were not in his tastes, and highly addictive ones were dangerous. If Benton became addicted, his addiction would consume his own business. "I'm not an artist, by any means, but I certainly felt like one under the effects. I can understand why you've taken such a liking to it."

"I haven't a clue where it originated from, but I do know that Bastia has quite the supply. In fact, that's where I get my own. Surely it has to be of some good quality; Bastia, as you have mentioned, is a melodious place," he hypothesized, taking a long drag of his cigarette. He hadn't known drugs in his childhood in Bastia, but he had known music. To think that some of the beautiful and godly music that danced through his childhood was fueled by drugs brought a cool breeze sweeping away the magic of youth.

He exhaled the smoke. He was glad she had taken a cigarette, too; it burned away some of the tense air surrounding the two strangers and their meeting. Through the smoke, he observed her. She was even smaller now without her cloak, a little fear and anxiety mingling on her face. If she had seemed like an outsider earlier, she showed it even more now with the general state of cleanliness and quality of her black dress. He almost felt bad that he was possibly selling this girl some dangerous drug, but luckily- or unluckily- for her, it was only almost a feeling.

"Which brings us to my supply- I'd be a fool to not have Crop, especially as the dealers in Vienda keep getting snuffed. If you're any sign, it's that more and more of Vienda is going to be coming here to me," he mentioned thoughtfully. This certainly was not a problem to him, as long as he didn't get caught by the Seventen or destroyed by Silas Hawke. He would much rather be caught by the Seventen- he'd like to think that imprisonment would be better than certain death. He may have to take extra precautions, move around a little more, but the extra business was welcomed.

"I apologize for being forward, but this isn't a business of manners: what have you brought me?" he asked, cutting to the chase. There was no use idling any longer. He needed to find out if what she had was worth his time, and she'd need to find out the same fact. It was better to get this done sooner than later; she'd be needing to start her journey back to some pretty little home in Vienda, and he'd be needing to get that letter he had been writing ready for tomorrow morning's post. He leaned back, tapping the ash of his cigarette onto the dusty floorboards, and awaited her presentation.


word count: 847
In hell I'll be in good company.
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Charity Darthe
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Thu Oct 11, 2018 4:01 am

Roalis 36th, 2718
OLD ROSE | EVENING
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”I’ve tried it, yes.”

Charity felt her field relax a little, the dealers admission almost an unspoken validation that he was not a narc. He continued on, garnering a nod and a smile from the galdor as she drew another drag of the thin cigarette.

“My father is from Bastia, or was. I’ve heard it is quite the delight. It doesn’t actually surprise me to hear the Crop is most prevalent there. I must visit, one of these days.” Eon mentioned more of Vienda coming to him, if the Crop was truly disappearing as it were, and she couldn’t help but curl her nose slightly.

“If you have a visit from a tall galdor with brunette locks and a recently healed broken nose, I recommend you turn him away. Untrustworthy and, I have it on good word, closely watched by the Seventen for his...behavioural issues.” The petite blonde smoothed her skirts and resettled in her chair, the memories of Benjamin leaving a clammy creeping feel on her skin.

What have you brought me?

Charity felt a rush across the back of her neck, ashing the burned tobacco and taking another nervous drag. Turning slightly, she found the pocket of her cloak with her free hand, finding the small paper parcel printed with a tiny black dragon on the front. Drawing it slowly, she turned back, looking at Eon with a small smile as she breathed out the smoke.

“No, you’re right. Manners are better suited for folks far less debaucherous than us. Here, for you.” She opened her hand, holding the package for Benton to take, settling back once he did so.

“Drakes Tongue. A Hessian blend, being peddled by wicks in Vienda. I have it on good authority that it’s very quickly going to become a rarity, but I have...contacts.” Charity felt a hard burning sense of guilt as she finished her cigarette, moving to butt it on the flat of her shoe. Rhys’ proud declaration of his capture of the Hand selling Drakes Tongue floated in her mind, knowing full well she was undoing his hard work. It was wrong. It was wrong and she knew it and she should stop. Instead, she raised an eyebrow at Eon.

“Should you like to procure another medicinal for your customers.” The pianist laced her fingers together in her lap, straight backed and slightly anxious as she watched the dealer, hoping she hadn’t just offended him with her gift. Xi had high praise for the powdered narcotic, but something about breathing the dust turned Charity against it. She preferred consuming her drugs, or burning them into smoke she could inhale. Powder just seemed it could collect inside one’s chest, and she’d done enough Anatomy 101 in Brunnhold to know what damage could occur.

“I hope it’s acceptable, Mister Eon?” The young woman said softly, her field curling closer as her nerves slowly frayed.

word count: 523
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Benton Borteillo
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Tue Nov 06, 2018 10:36 pm

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Roalis 36, 2718....Asmile, one of the few without mischief, rose into his face with a splash of colour as she mentioned Bastia. Home.

“You’d like Bastia, I think. And I know Bastia would like you, too,” he reassured, his volume dropped from a mezzoforte to a mezzopiano. Yet, in a measure, his mind clicked away from the personal, the friendly conversation fit for old friends, and back to business, back to this illegal dealing between a seasoned drug dealer and a nervous customer. It was part of his brand- the integration of personal friendliness within his deals. He didn’t like the typically shady man in a shady alley. He was a man of service, a man slave to his customers.

A solo brow cocked up over his grey eyes at the mention of the suspicious, broken-nosed galdor. “I’ll keep that in mind- the warning is appreciated.” He nodded, a thoughtful look seeping through his skin.

He tensed as her hand slipped into his pocket, but he didn’t move, didn’t untangle his legs, didn’t pull the cigarette from his mouth, only watching. He succumbed to curiosity, however, as he saw the package. He let the cigarette hang between his lips limply, then reached forward to take the package. He ran his fingers over the black dragon printed on the crinkling paper. He listened, slipping his fingers under the folds of the paper and prying the corners up without ripping the paper.

“Contacts?” He asked, tearing his eyes away from the half opened package. Contacts could be good. “Are these contacts in suggestion that you can get me more, lady? That you can provide more after this? This is good, no doubt. But, if you can be a source- I’d appreciate it more than you know.”

He picked up the package carefully, waving it slightly. “This, and more like it, can get you what you want. It’s invaluable to me, invaluable to you.”

He leaned forward, setting the package back on his knee. “Of course, not a decision you need to make immediately, but, eh, we can both benefit from a partnership here.” He shrugged slightly, the leaned back. “I suppose a continued supply depends on the quality of this here, hmm? Shouldn’t jump ahead of myself now.”

He pulled the corners of the package delicately away from the center, leaving a tight block of white powder crumbling on a blanket of several layers of creased paper. He squinted at it, picking up the unfolded package, turning it in the light to get a better view of the powder. With a small hmph, he sat the powder back on his lap, the dipped a finger barely into the powder, procuring a light dusting on his pointer finger. He stared at it a moment, then ground it between his fingers. Soft, oddly cold. He was nearly sure that this, this was indeed what Drakes Tongue, perhaps partly because Charity had not proved to be trying to harm him or con him yet. Carefully, carefully he began to trust her.

And if she broke it, well, she wouldn’t be making back to Vienda.

“This is certainly acceptable,” he smirked. “Now my end of the deal, hm? I suppose I can provide. Wait here, I’ll only be a moment.” And he rose, slipping over creaking floorboards after setting the Drakes Tongue on the chair. He moved through the only other door in the house, the bedroom door, and shut it carefully behind himself for privacy. Kings. His eyes swept the room with a detailed map of every artificial hiding spot in mind. False bottom of wardrobe. He took long strides to the wardrobe, pulling the door open. Shoes sat on the bottom, and, without moving them, he ran his little finger along the edge of the bottom where a single dip allowed the fake bottom to be pried up with one finger. The shoes slid to a side of the locker as he pried up the bottom, packages kept dry and safe awaiting purchase. He pulled a package, slightly bulkier than hers of Drakes out of the bottom, and let the bottom drop and redisguise itself. The packaging was plain except for a small KC - King’s Crop - scrawled in a charcoal pencil at the top corner. Package in hand, he returned to the room Charity awaited him in, closing the door behind him. He held it out to her.

“Here’s today’s deal. Your Drake for my King’s, no strings or contracts. You can walk out that door and never return. But I’m offering you a deal- you supply me, I’ll supply you as long as you want. That’s a constant supply of whatever drug you need,” he said seriously, pulling the package back to his chest.

“Your choice, ma’am.”
word count: 836
In hell I'll be in good company.
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