High Sprung and Clocking

Avi Kwenise is found by an old 'friend'

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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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Avi Kwensie
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Mon Oct 08, 2018 1:51 pm

11 Yaris 2718, evening

It felt like everyone was looking at her. Rubbish of course - who in Old Rose Harbor cared about some random human, obliviously spare of penny? But still, Avi moved about the markets and alleys with her hood up. She couldn’t shake the feeling that everyone knew who she was, what she’d done, and where she’d been.

All of her clients, inherited by her master’s good graces: gone. It would take work to get them back after her sudden disappearance and three years since.

Other scrimpers and pickers of the harbor: they’d all have heard by now why she’d been nipped and that she had no protection. First sniff of success and surely she’d have to find herself more clever than before.

And then, of course, the most credible threats of being Avi Kwensie were Silas Hawke and the Bad Brothers. Her holiday had been all expenses paid by the Old Rose Harbor’s hosts, a prize Avi’d earned when she’d been … ungrateful. But a prize it was. She was alive. Ten fingers, ten toes. And that prize? That surely came with reunions with old friends.

“It’s a matter of principle,” she argued with the spice vender. “This is ground too fine; it’s a cheat to your customers. You’re better of buying whole instead of this clumpy -”

The vendor cut her off, “oh and who are you, missy? Lord of the Spices? Watch your tongue, we’re no cheats.”

“It’s clumping because it’s too powdery. Cellamin needs a rougher grind or it holds moisture and spoils. I know what I’m talking about. It’s obvious. Let me source your next batch, and give me ten percent. I’ll prepare it and you can charge more.”

The vendor began to reply, but in Avi’s peripheral vision she noted a figure that cut an all-too-familiar form in the market down the way. Not good. She wasn’t ready. She had nothing.

“Your loss,” she said hastily, and tried to disappear into the crowd.

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Corwynn
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: The Taxman
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Fri Oct 12, 2018 1:56 pm

11th of Yaris, 2718
CASTLE HILL | AFTERNNOON
Thank the Good Lady he hadn't lingered in Vienda for too long. He'd come for business and slipped away from the oppressive heat of the capitol and into the sky in just a handful of days to arrive back to the blessed sea breezes of his beloved Rose so that he could step back onto the streets and ... collect more clocking taxes. Today was, in a way, more of a house call than a financial visit, Hawke himself informing the blond gunman that someone whose name was indeed rather familiar was back from vacation.

The word had soured Corwynn's mood, if only because of the way it rolled off of Silas' tongue—a coy reminder of his own time spent "away from home."

Still, compared to the stuffiness of Vienda, he couldn't begrudge his King's request, and as he made his way down the streets of the port he'd called home for over half his life now, firearm on open display at his hip and field parting the bazaar crowds of Castle Hill, he turned over in his mind the various reasons for the apothecary's apprentice to make her way back to the Harbor after her last warning.

It was, of course, all she knew.

She'd done her time, Avi Kwensie, but if she was going to start over again, she'd have to get off on the right foot this time. That was his job to oversee, apparently.

Ignorant that they shared the same marketplace, the blond galdor simply picked his way through the vendors, those that knew him by face alone falling quiet under his casual, crystalline glance before he turned down one of the wider streets and made his way toward the old apothecary business he remembered assisting in shutting down three years ago—personally.
Last edited by Corwynn on Mon Oct 15, 2018 10:03 am, edited 1 time in total.
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Avi Kwensie
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Fri Oct 12, 2018 2:48 pm

Avi took a serpentine path from the market towards the apothecary. She didn’t know if Cor Wynngate had spotted her, but seeing him a-strolling was enough indication that the Bad Brothers caught wind she was back. It was inevitable, but she thought there’d be more time. She’d planned to get her affairs in order, scrounge up some coin, make an offering. But in less than forty-eight hours all she had was a bloody tip of an empty shop and the rings on her fingers.

By the time she let herself into her shop (she’d spent what little she had haggling down a locksmith), she’d decided what to do. She’d get her shit and get out, lay low for a few weeks, put something together. Then she could give Cor what he wanted. He’d be happy. She’d be happy. Hawke would be happy.

She had to cover her tracks, which meant returning the shop to the state it was while she was gone. Avi snatched her things into her bag, dusted the floor with soot from the fireplace, and scattered the straw she’d used to sleep on. She was out the door and down the alley, but she only got a few paces when she remembered. That clocking lock! She hustled back and regarded the tell-tale.

“Tick!” It looked bloody brand new. The iron was still shiny, all the edges crisp and clean. It stood out sorely against the worn and neglected wooden door. Avi set her jaw to chase away the panic. She thought a second to the heavy lamplight’s hook she’d found yesterday, thought of giving the lock a good beating, but well, it was a sodding lock wasn’t it? If it could be marred enough with a metal rod, what was the use of it?

A clatter of a cart rolling by at the opening of the alley froze her for a moment. No one. She decided all there was to do was leave the door ajar and smear some grime from the gutter on it. She was knelt down doing just that when the passing of another cart made her look up. He was there.

She stood up slowly. It didn’t make sense to run. The danger was being seen, not being caught. Avi lifted her chin and wiped her hands, waiting. She kept her expression calm, but she couldn't totally hide a new skittishness.
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Corwynn
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: The Taxman
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Mon Oct 15, 2018 10:28 am

11th of Yaris, 2718
CASTLE HILL | AFTERNNOON
Corwynn could say he knew every twisted alley and cobblestone out of place in the Harbor, having made his rounds through the beautiful, deadly port city for over a decade (the decade he didn't spend at sea, that is). He knew the short cuts. He knew the scenic routes. He knew every nail that stuck up from the salt-worn wood of Haverton Pier. So, it was easy for the Brother's gunman to slip from the crowd and make his way toward the now-dilapidated old apothecary through the side streets, humming a shanty as he did so and bobbing his slowly fading blond head at an older wick sitting under the awning of his little spice business, shucking some kind of tiny seeds from their pods into a woven basket.

A Moa-led cart passed him, wheels rattling over old stones and so much sand, and when he made to turn the corner, the weathered galdor was already smiling, nine fingers restlessly smoothing over his fashionably-cut brown coat, the inside of which was lined with a bright floral cotton. His pale yellow shirt was half-unbuttoned as if he considered the Yaris heat to be an excuse to show off a scandalous amount of tanned skin, freckles, and hard-earned muscle.

Bent near the gutter of all places, fingers curled around a lock of some kind, the human woman he was here to meet looked up at him like a child caught with her fingers in the still-cooling pie,

"Well. Good afternoon, Miss Kwensie. Expecting someone?" The well-aged galdor smiled invitingly, the expression creasing into the edges of his sharp blue eyes and disappearing into the days-old stubble he currently wore after traveling back from Vienda. His left hand came to rest on the butt of his pistol, four fingers listless over the hand-tooled engravings while his other hand wiped sweat from the back of his neck with an idle lack of concern. His field swam with the heat, gathering near his person as if it contained its own form of gravity,

"Have you made yourself at home again, yet? I'm just here to see how you're ... settling back in. Of course."
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Avi Kwensie
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Mon Oct 15, 2018 4:10 pm

“Hallo, Cor…” Avi replied with as much warmth as she could muster. She adjusted her embroidered tunic and shifted in her worn simple shoes.

She took too long to eye his maimed hand on the gun, a trio of reminders. The gun, an implicit threat. The lacking finger, an advertisement. Avi’s years in a cell, she might have preferred to miss a digit, but she always decided to be thankful her sentence would end. Cor’d be down a count for the rest of his life. A third reminder, maybe, that it was possible to find the fold again if the proper price was paid though the cost was high.

Avi kept her hands folded in front of her, aware other posture might send the wrong message. Send the message that she was expecting a rough go; who’d benefit by priming the air with that sort of thing? Blasted gollies and their searching fields.

“You look good.” The truth. “Thought I’d see you, just wasn’t sure it’d be so soon. Word was quick to travel.”

“But yea, figured I’d be seeing you. Wanted to see you, actually. Have a bit of a chat.”

A loaded use of the word, Avi knew, but it seemed poetic given the moment.
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Corwynn
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: The Taxman
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Mon Oct 15, 2018 8:13 pm

​​
11th of Yaris, 2718
​​CASTLE HILL | AFTERNNOON
​​
​​He was used to the staring, the oggling, the glances at his less than whole hand. The scar was ugly because there’d been no magic, Corwynn unable to heal himself when subjected to so much pain and Hawke refusing him treatment until he was confident a scar would be the only result. He’d never forget the sound of his own bones cut and removed, and sometimes his body still tried to remember the digit that had once been there like a ghost of it still remained.
​​
​​Everyone in the Harbor knew his name, knew of his willing position as a galdor subject under his wick King of the Underworld, but not everyone knew his history. Not everyone knew the evidence of his betrayal all those years ago, and so to see a galdor who wore a firearm as openly as he did missing the trigger finger of his dominant hand tended to glean him more than his fair share of looks. He preferred strangers to admire his handsome, well-aged face, but sometimes the gunman would take what he could get.
​​
​​He hummed at her compliment, and to those who knew him, his grin would have been familiar and bordering on the wicked, for whether she was attempting to distract him or warm his reception with such words, he was comfortable with either goal, “Your time away didn’t treat you too unkindly either,” the blond galdor returned without a hint of shame, never one to miss an obvious opportunity when it came to flirting, especially given his somewhat unspoken weakness for those who weren’t defended from the typical pale, freckled Anaxi stock. It bordered on a flaw, honestly, for the older galdor was already known for his lack of boundaries when it came to intimate preferences, hardly as discerning as the rest of his race, “but you know how word travels these days. Swiftly. I’m nothing if not over-informed sometimes.”
​​
​​The Bad Brother rolled his shoulders, broader than most of his race, and tilted his head with a coy quirk of a slim, fair eyebrow in the direction of the door of Avi’s shop. His crystalline blue eyes twinkled with mischief, “I’m always quite content to be wanted. For a chat? I suppose that will have to do for now. Were you going to invite me in, then?”
​​
​​
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Avi Kwensie
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Tue Oct 16, 2018 12:49 am

It wasn’t really possible for Corwynn to say anything normally, was it? Avi found herself smirking with a tolerant resignation. It wasn’t the worst of his qualities, and before, well, everything, it had almost been charming. But on this end of the events, even his smile carried with it something ominous.

“Yea, mate. I want you,” she said dryly. She followed his gaze to the shop. Wait, what he joking. She furrowed her brow. He had to know, there was nothing there. Right? She looked back at him and held up her hands.

“You serious? You think -” Avi cut herself off, deciding that she’d save her argument with Cor for a better topic. If he wanted to lay eyes on her shameful state of affairs then he could be her guest. Maybe it would buy her some time.

Avi preceded him to the door, which she’d left convincingly ajar. She pushed it open with to fingers and led the way in. She’d found a lamp and some oil, and as Cor followed her in, she lit it and hung it above the hearth.

The state of the shop was pretty much exactly what one could expect having been untended three years, looted, and occupied in rotation by beggars, squatters, rat-fighters, and junkies. Everything was gone from the shelves, all the glassware stolen or broken, the fireplace was crusted over, and there were obvious signs of animal nests in the rafters.

But despite the dereliction, traces of its warmth lingered in snatches of aroma of potent herbs that once hung from the ceiling, or the spots on the work bench where a spill of horsefax tincture had spilled and seeped in.

Avi turned to face him, crossing her arms. “Look, Cor. I’ve got a plan, but I’m going to need some time. Obviously.”
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Corwynn
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: The Taxman
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Tue Oct 16, 2018 1:25 pm

​​
11th of Yaris, 2718
​​CASTLE HILL | AFTERNNOON
​​
​​He was who he was, four decades and a handful of years into his far too privileged life, minus a decade or so of what could only be called hard time at sea for his attempted betrayal. His tongue was between his teeth at the human's dry riposte, a coy expression that would have been predatory had he not been amused. He wasn't opposed to such implications, and while he'd been accused of having a taste for those too far out of his age bracket on more than one occasion, the truth was he simply enjoyed company. Too much, and yet never enough in his opinion. Corwynn would have obliged such curiosities if given the opportunity, but in this moment, he simply grinned.

There was an unmistakable concern that passed over the woman's features and yet the blond galdor stood as calm as a gentle sea breeze as heat danced off the cobblestones down the alley and a dog barked from someone's open window above their heads. He tilted his head just so in the faintest of nods to indicate that, yes, he was serious. It was enough and Avi moved to open the door to the apothecary.

He could have lit the room for her with a few quick phrases of Monite, but he chose to let the woman hardly younger than himself move about the dilapidated space light the oil lamp instead without speaking. His crystalline gaze traveled over the evidence of looting, the leftover stains of opiate addicts, the droppings of feral creatures looking for somewhere warm in the colder months. It was a lot of work, and not all of the scents that wafted in his direction were the pleasant ones of herbal concoctions that had once filled the space with life.

His sharp eyes came back into focus on Avi's face and a slim, blond eyebrow arched in what could only be called defensiveness at her words. He hooked both thumbs in the well-maintained leather of his belt and leaned against the relatively untouched counter, "I'm not here to collect anything, darling. Not yet. I said I was here to see how you're settling in and it looks rather ... poorly."

There was a lilt to Corwynn's tone as if he had more to say, as if he was about to make an offer as he was wont to do, being a Bad Brother, being who he was. He let the expectant air hang between them for a moment, craning his head upward to study the ceiling, to let his attention wander over the condition of the building that had been abandoned for only three short years,

"Perhaps your plan needs a little assistance to get rolling, hmm?" The blond gunman met her gaze then, the expression that creased its way into his weathered features one that clearly held the obvious unspoken addition to his far from innocent question: everything had a price.
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Avi Kwensie
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Tue Oct 16, 2018 5:33 pm

Cor’s casual leering were not new nor were they deeply disconcerting to Avi; everyone knew Cor’s appetites. Before things had gone sour, Avi might have even considered it, gollie and all. She crossed her arms tightly over her chest and watched him look about here space with that same confidence, an ease that was more about entitlement than it was comfort. Now, however, this ease and that little bite of the tongue? It was more unwelcome because it was impossible to trust.

He played wounded that she’d assume he was there on business rather than his claim of neighborly concern. She scoffed and shrugged, blinking slowly at him. A withering tolerance covering a wary mistrust.

Corwyn stretched out a silence, taking his time. Avi steadied her breathing; she didn’t like that. She’d rather he be out with it. He wasn’t here to bid her welcome back, and they both knew it. She owed. He was a tax collector. She shifted nervously, drumming her ringed fingers in her folded arms.
When the silence finally broke, the tension in her face dropped to a frown. She covered it quickly with a forced smile not lacking in sardony. To ease her paranoid energy, she moved from her spot to drop her bag back on the table.

“I’d be grateful.” Avi turned and was ensnared in his sharp eyeline again. She kept her own dark gaze steady, the corners of her lips tense in that shallow smile. Gratitude and lack of it had been the theme of her downfall, a word repeated many times over in the encounters with the Bad Brothers when her second book was found out.

“This attentiveness from the King, well, it’s more than an old knack deserves,” she said, her tone demonstrating she felt rather the opposite. She lifted her chin and raised her brow.

“So what then, Corwynn? What can ye do?” she nodded her head to the shop at large and its upheaval. She had to start over. She’d need work, connections, and start building inventory, finding tools.
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Corwynn
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: The Taxman
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Fri Nov 02, 2018 4:20 pm

11th of Yaris, 2718
CASTLE HILL | AFTERNNOON
The blond galdor laughed, snorted really, leaning against the dilapidated counter of the Avi's abandoned apothecary. His expression wasn't even smug, just amused, and Corwynn licked his lips as if the gratitude had its own flavor in the air and savor how it tasted.

"Is it too much?"

One calloused hand strayed upward to rub a palm over his stubbed chin, meandering over his cheek as his tone warmed into something coy. He was an osta playing with his prey, and the chuckle that escaped him, that rumbled in his tanned chest, was not meant to be inviting. The human was allowed her suspicion and her doubt, and he couldn't blame her caution, all things considered. He'd pulled some strings, he'd certainly played a part in her arrest. He did what His King asked. There had once been a time when he questioned that, but those childish games were behind him now, water past the hull, "I don't think you want Hawke's attention. I figured you'd prefer mine. Maybe I was wrong."

Leaning away from where he'd been so casually reclining, the blond gunman made to meander the shop, running his remaining index finger on his left hand over dust and grime, peering out broken, dirty windows, "I tell you what, Avi. We'll get you cleaned up here. Put back together. Painted sign and all. If you need an advance to get stock on your shelves, so be it. All for thirty percent of what passes into your hands until your debt is paid."

He ended his meandering before her, the weight of his field lighter than the expectation in his voice. Was he waiting for negotiation? Was he expecting her to roll over and agree? His expression gave nothing away, and he all but purred the last sentence, "Then, once we're square, well, probably twenty to, you know, hold your spot. How's that sounding today?"
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