Heart of a Lion

Corwynn's plans are ruined when he takes his boss out to relax...

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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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Corwynn
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: The Taxman
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Tue Dec 11, 2018 8:39 pm

6th of Dentis, 2718
BLACK DOVE TAVERN | EVENING
The young passive didn't object, didn't begin pleading for his life as if he considered it in danger, didn't attempt to bust out into a run. Perhaps he should have, but it was clear that when Hawke wrapped himself so warmly around the younger man's bicep and began to lead them toward the door, there was no escape now.

Maybe there had never been.

Patrons in various states of recovery and shock watched the trio as they left the Dove and out into the chilled, foggy early Dentis evening. The thick mist had rolled off the harbor when the sun had set, and the temperatures were already beginning the slow crawl toward the chill of winter during this in between season when everything faded and fell asleep. Corwynn followed a few steps behind, leaving everyone else in their wake without a second thought as if this was simply how things were done in the Harbor, and, truth be told, whenever Silas was out on the prowl outside of his decadent palace, this was exactly how things went.

Unplanned adventures abound, every clocking time, and the older galdor couldn't say he wasn't used to it and couldn't say he didn't mind. His crystalline gaze watched the pair in front of him, five-fingered left hand on the pistol at his hip, field taut and sigiled See this page on the wiki for definition of field terminology..

Passives were a curious lot, and one Corwynn admittedly didn't believe were cursed. No, he'd been around only a few free ones in his two and a half decades after graduating from Brunnhold, and none of them seemed at all broken or burdened by the gods, save for their inability to use magic. This one was no exception, though Leander the gambler appeared to have a bit of a chip on his tattooed shoulder, that was for clocking sure. Still maintaining a presence in galdori society, the blond gunman had been around quite a few spoiled toffins in his time, but never had he expected some magicless scrap to feel so curiously familiar with his suave sense of entitlement.

It would have been amusing had it not felt like he almost died.

The older galdor had experienced plenty of pain in his lifetime, from being conscious and sober when his once-dominant hand's trigger finger was removed ever so slowly by Silas himself to being shot, beaten, nearly drowned, stabbed, cut, slapped, bitten, and otherwise harmed by so many creative means imaginable throughout the illustrious course of his illegal career. But that diablerie was something else.

Corwynn smirked, watching as his King led the three of them through the streets as if he didn't have a care in the world, leaning against the younger man and waving his bejeweled fingers at various businesses, declaring their services and their worth to himself down to the ha'penny of value. He made sure to take several side streets, to weave them through the warrens and seedier parts of town on their way to the Palace, as if he wanted to make sure that everyone was thoroughly exhausted by the time they arrived, as if he hadn't been harmed at all by the kind of intense pain Leander's diablerie had inflicted on everyone at the table playing cards that evening,

"So, scrap, other than this here promissory note I've got tucked into my fine coat pocket, what are ye worth? Ye killed poor Dobbin an' ye went an' ruined my night o' fun out on the town. If I were a dumber wick—and I'm not—I'd almost say ye were out to kill me, but yer just not that kind o' kov, I can tell." Silas purred, leading them through the finer parts of the Harbor and beginning the ascent to his property, high on a hill above the rest of the city. The compound was a sprawling estate, well guarded and well kept.

He kept a hold on the passive as they walked, reaching with one hand into his coat for his silver cigarette case again, dexterously managing to open it, remove another rolled paper, stick it between his pretty lips, and tuck the case away without dropping anything. A shift in his field and an exhale of Monite, and he was puffing to keep the thing lit where the mona had lit it just as he asked. This time, his exhaled smoke was a verdant green and the scent of the strange tobacco was earthy and almost minty,

"Yer handwritin's mant mana pretty for a little boy who never got to go to school past his tenth clockin' birthday. Who taught you to write so fancy, hmm?"

Corwynn sniggered from behind them, quite suspicious of the promise of coin, and aware of the consequences of attempting to cheat Hawke out of his own money.

The cast iron gates to the Palace loomed ahead, the dull glow of oil lantern light flickering off the faces of the guards waiting.

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Leander
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Fri Feb 01, 2019 3:58 pm

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If there was anything to be said about the luminescence of a panther’s coat, now would be that time. To find grace was often to face danger head on, and that much was true of the company Leo seemed to have found himself in this evening. Every step Hawke took was in slow motion compared to everyone Leander knew. It was slow cadence that Leo appeared to be every bit the foolish child as he stumbled to try to match it as he was forced into the other man’s side.

Behind him, the passive could hear the much heavier footfalls of the henchman following. Leander could feel the ill-will radiating from him. Ahead, the waves crash against the port’s side as if they had real power. But they die in just a few feet. The air has that salty, seaweed smell, so potent that Leander can taste it at the back of his mouth. He swallowed.

A one-sided conversation occurred as they walked: Hawke, placing more pressure than Leander thought was necessary on his slight form, spoke of the businesses around town. Living in the Harbour for a decade himself, Leo was no green city boy, and the talk was unnecessary, save for posturing. Not that that was necessary either - Hawke and his lackey clearly had the high ground, an ensnared passive with no choice but to fester in his own, barely concealed, fear. When Hawke finally directed a question at him, the smooth baritone of his voice reverberated through Leo’s bones. In any other situation, from any other man, the voice would have been comforting as it wrapped around him and carried him off to a world where sound is the power that could change everything wrong with the world.

He flushed slightly when he realised that Hawke was waiting for an answer. “I would think a man of your standing would have enough education to know that scraps rarely intend to do anything.” Whether it surprised the men or not, Leo didn’t even flinch at Hawke’s use of the racial slur for passives. If anything, the term rolled off his own tongue as easily as if he had been discussing the mild weather. His voice did shook, not through fear, but because every fibre of his being was still reeling from the diablerie.

Hawke and Corwynn moved with the practised easy of people who knew their limits and how to conceal their weaknesses. Leander had thought he could do the same. How wrong he was. Though he had not experienced the sensation of pain (from what he had witnessed, that was what his diablerie had caused), Leander had experienced a connection with mona for the first time, only to have it disappear again. Impossible though it was to describe, Leander now felt… irrationally cold, the discomfort radiating outwards rather than licking at his skin. “Regardless, I’m not so foolish as to make an attempt on your life.

The passive only maintained a dim awareness of where they were, still so caught up in his own world. But Hawke spoke again and his stomach dropped. The boy stopped walking, only to stumble again as Hawke’s tight grip forced him forwards. “You’re the king of this city, surely you know what your people get up to,” being dragged along like a lamb to the slaughterhouse was enough to have some of that infamous arrogance appear in the form of snark.

Throwing a spiteful look at the nine-fingered man’s snigger, Leander spoke with courage he didn’t feel. “I didn’t waste my years here begging from the gutter.” There was no point in trying to pretend the forgery was real, or that it wasn’t his. “That fancy writing has seen enough of your men line your purse, or didn’t you know where they sought out business? Guess the King isn’t as omniscient as he thinks.Far more courage than he felt.


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Corwynn
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: The Taxman
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Fri Mar 01, 2019 10:55 am

6th of Dentis, 2718
BLACK DOVE TAVERN | EVENING
"Ye gotta point there, boch. A man o' my standin'. Havakda! Cor, are ye listenin' to this one? I think I like him." The King sniggered, waggling bejeweled fingers at guards while he curled tighter toward the passive, almost flirtatiously possessive in his proximity, "But I'm also educated enough to know that there's erseholes out there who wouldn't think twice 'bout usin' a scrap as a weapon. I know I would."

Hawke laughed then, rolling his eyes and slipping away with one last brush of fingers over the younger man's bicep once the trio had entered the foyer of the grandly decorated palace. The lower floors were almost never empty—Silas entertained actual dignitaries, merchants, other criminals. Silas allowed celebrations with or without his company. Silas ran the Harbor as if it was his own Kingdom and his Court was always as bright and merry as his citizens chose to keep it.

There was music from somewhere. Laughter from somewhere else. Phosphor lanterns glowed warmly.

Eyes followed the trio and Corwynn made a couple of hand signs from behind his King. A few people scattered into the bowels of the Palace like a school of fish disturbed by the lazy route of a much larger predator.

"I make it a point to know everyone, oes. I know yer master. Mister Farrow pays his taxes like a good man. To me. But that doesn't mean he likes me. Does he like me, Leander? Do you like me?" Silas purred his question, waving a hand to indicate they were traveling up the stairs.

"A little skimming off of the top is normal, you know. I allow it every once and a while." Corwynn volunteered, obviously implying that Resha wasn't paying his taxes in full, implying that Resha was, instead, keeping some of what he owed for the right to own his building, to make a profit, to keep an apprentice as mouthy and dangerous as this one, "But I have to draw a line somewhere."

"Oes. Ye do, Cor. We all do." The King nodded, talking around the dark-haired passive as if he expected the young man to follow along. He did. Lithe fingers ran through his sandy blond hair, long and well-kept, straying from his scalp to the stubble on his handsome chin, dark eyes darting over his shoulder to the older galdor who followed at his own fashionable pace, "I don't even think Leander here knows his master's been holdin' out on him, let alone on us."

"Do you?" A blond brow arched, Corwynn's smirk predatory, slipping past them both with his ramscott field full of its own gravitational pull, four-fingered right hand reaching to hold a door open. The door to the King's throne room—a long room full of windows open to the chilly Dentis breeze, curtains waving. A feast had been made, eaten, cleaned, but the heady scents of Mugrobi spices and roasted meat clung to the silk embroidered pillows littered on the floor and to the opulent atmosphere of Silas' favorite room in his Palace—his public-facing home.

The real heart of the Bad Brothers, of Silas himself, was hidden elsewhere.

Leander was not invited. Not yet.

"Omniscience is for the gods, but I'm clockin' close." The King of the Underworld cackled without a hint of humility. Did he believe that? Was he putting on a show for his probably now-terrified guest who'd ruined their card game with the most excruciating of (thankfully) non-fatal diableries Hawke had experienced in a long time (no, ever)? It was, quite literally, impossible to tell.

Silas was a mysterious creature and he wore it well.

Corwynn chuckled, closing the door behind them, his only remaining index finger moving to toy with the buttons of his collar as if he needed to loosen a few, as if he was so very ready to be done with formalities for the evening.

"So—" The galdor tossed the promissory notes the passive had brought to their game table in the Dove onto the long, low stretch of wood raised just so from the floor for dining purposes, "—was playing games with money you didn't have with Silas Resha's idea or yours?"

The King giggled. He prowled through his throne room like an osta in the night and went to pour everyone some wine, "Don't be shy, kov. I'm th' King o' this city, ye chen. Ye said so yerself."
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Leander
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Thu Apr 11, 2019 11:43 am

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There was something painfully easy about the way Hawke wrapped himself closer to Leander. His tone exuded comfort and control, a confidence that seemed to come so naturally that Leo could not fight the reflexive shiver that shot up his spine. Every word he spoke sounded genuine, but the passive knew better, he knew the words were levelled with a challenge lesser men would fail to comprehend: that which promised the King of the Underworld would see your body disposed of in the most imaginative ways... chortling all the while as he enjoyed your final moments of courage.

I cannot speak for Resha,” the passive replied slowly as his vision tunnelled, obscuring everything and everyone around him. “What my master likes is none of my business... nor do I make a point of having any significant feeling for another, good or bad.” The accent and pretentious way of speaking was all he held on to. The common way in which Hawke’s words slide together, even losing the odd sound, was enough to make Leo visualise a serpent slithering it’s way to power.

His skin crawled with the sheer fucking audacity of it. A golly who steeped so low as to think this place was a kingdom worthy of possessing. He had domain over ants, nothing more.

And Leo was no ant.

But it all came down to money. Criminals thought of little else, ‘cept perhaps the thrill of the challenge and chase. They were dishonourable, more likely to stab their comrade in the back if it served them well. And being well paid was no guarantee of loyalty either... Leo had enough politics flowing through his blood to understand what was happening. He played the ignorant little servant better than he could cheat at cards. “Well, it certainly isn’t my place to know where Resha spends his coin. I work through the tasks he sets me, just enough to pay my rom and board. But he has not given me responsibility of his ledger. Resha manages that himself.

The voice behind him was unnerving, not that he could forget Corwynn’s presence, imposing as it was. “I suggest you take your concerns up with Master Farrow,” honestly, even if he did know something - which he didn’t - did they genuinely believe Leo would sell out his replacement father of the past decade?

Pushed into a room, Leo had been so unfocused on their walk that he could not begin to work out where in the Harbour they were. Quick instinct told him Leander was securely within Silas’ domain. The room reeked of a desire for more, and the passive was honestly surprised not to find a fountain of silver coin as a display of desperate opulence in the centre of the room.

And the game was over. Forged documents in the table, Corwynn proceeded, without preamble, to ask the blunt question. Gut told him to say he didn’t know what they were talking about. His brain, which was thankfully still operational, cautioned him against that. “Resha was not involved,” Leander finally replied, after a long silence.

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Corwynn
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: The Taxman
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Thu Apr 11, 2019 2:18 pm

6th of Dentis, 2718
THE PALACE | EVENING
"A man who doesn't know his master is both a poor servant and doomed to stay indentured forever. Either that or just clocking lazy." Corwynn sniggered, the irony of a galdor offering such insight to a passive not lost on the older man one bit. Not that he gave a chrove's erse about Anaxas' stance on their non-magical children, having traveled too far and bled alongside and shared his bed with the so-called lower races too much to consider them beneath him simply by nature of their birth.

Unless they wanted to be under him in some other fashion, of course.

Power was what you made of what you were given as far as he was concerned, and while he'd been born with far too much of it in comparison to Leander or even the wick King of the Underworld in front of him, he could admit to where he'd wasted or squandered it along the way.

"Gollywash it, why don't ye, ye ol' bastard." Hawke laughed, clapping his bejeweled hands with a theatrical roll of his eyes, "He's jus' a wee boch. Lookit him. Innocent an' tryin' to make the best of his lot in life by respectin' his master, ent that right, Leo? That's a balach." There was so much facetiousness in the King's tone that any Brother in the Palace could have sliced through it all with a spoon. His grin was wicked and his tone was purely accusatory.

It was obvious Silas agreed with his galdor companion, neither of them entirely believing that Leander was completely ignorant of Resha's mind or intentions.

"Good Lady, he sure does manage that clocking ledger himself." The blond gunman all but growled, sliding his less than whole hand into a well-tailored trouser pocket while the other rubbed a palm over his chin, "And he sure as Bash's bollocks are made of rocks doesn't have you in mind when he balances his accounts, boy. But, as you wish, I'll take it up with him personally on the morrow if that takes a load off of your shoulders."

Corwynn's expression was smug and threatening, but it was the wick beside him who hissed in displeased surprise when the young passive admitted his master was not at all involved in the forged financial promises or the unexpected diablerie.

"Well, fuck." Silas laughed again, but it was quieter, dryer, and much more threatening. A lithe, bejeweled finger pressed itself with sudden force into Leander's sternum, the King having poured his powerful self back into the dark-haired creature's proximity like so much wine, "Good on him. Bad for yerself."

Sliding his hand upward over the boys face to toy with his hair like the passive was someone he was flirting far too enthusiastically with, eventually Hawke's digits curled tight against his scalp and tilted his chin to hold his gaze. The wick's dark eyes narrowed but the grin on his face was as amicable as ever, sly and thin-lipped. The weight of his glamour was surprising, crisp and strong as if a galdor had worn it instead and he'd simply stolen it,

"I ent one to take kindly to bein' cheated at cards, 'specially not when playin' with coin. Diablerie aside, 'cause that were like rubbin' salt in th' wound, really, ye thought ye could go home with my hard-earned money, did ye?" Hawke's free hand had found a knife somewhere on his colorful, well-dressed person and he teased the point of it coyly upward from Leander's gut to his neck, purring his words while Corwynn stood nearby, bemused, "It were clever, though, I'll give ye that."

The knife trailed away from the young man's pulse to catch the first button of Leander's shirt and then the second, Silas' intention horrifyingly unclear for a few very tense moments. Once he'd loosened the young thing's clothing just enough, he tilted the blade to slide under the passive's collar and used the back of his hand to shove the left sleeve downward, tight grip on the boy's hair meant to keep him still while his dark eyes scanned for a tattoo that should have been inked so officially in the skin of Leo's bicep,

"Ah. Clock the Circle will you look't that. Cleaner than the Queen's erse after a bath."

The blond gunman arched a fair eyebrow, crystalline blue gaze drifting to exposed skin with a smirk, "That was definitely a diablerie, Silas. I've never heard of anyone his age coming into possession of their true name, if that's what you're asking."

"Nah. Totally a godsbedamnned scrap. Golly chip on his shoulder an' all that fuckin' sass an' everythin'." This talking around the boy like he was property was uncanny and meant to be just as uncomfortable as the wick's cruel grip, which he released suddenly with a shove. Tucking his knife away and sucking in a deep breath through his teeth, the King of the Underworld tilted his gaze toward his galdor companion as if to accuse him of being no better, "Ye know I don't like cheatin', Cor, nanobo boch 'r not."

"Aye, I know it, but maybe Leo here's more useful with his insides in their rightful place."

"How ye figure?" Hawke's tone revealed hesitation and regret, as if he was actually eager to gut the passive like a fish.

"Well, he does work for Resha."

"Gods, an' this is why yer not dead, neither." Spat the King with a wink, turning his attention back on Leander, "Ye got feelin's for yer master at all, Leo? Or do ye feel a bit stronger 'bout livin'?"
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Leander
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Fri Apr 12, 2019 12:43 pm

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Gods. The two had either the keen skills to know what drove a man, or they had grasped the measure of Leo within their short time in his company. It took a significant portion of his self restraint not to retort with something just as quick-witted each time the pair aimed their barbed words with surprising accuracy. They even made a show of speaking over him, about him, as if he were an imbecile incapable of understanding their words. It was infuriating to the passive, to feel like nothing more than property kept in their presence for their amusement.

Yet, for all their posturing, they did seem to doubt Leander’s motivations. Clearly the two gollies did not know what it was to be abandoned to the mercy of a stranger, to have to rely on someone who didn’t share your blood for the basic survival needs. Leo’s faith that Resha Farrow had done, and would always do, right by him was just as strong as his loyalty. Even if Resha stopped being his master and employer, he would always hold the position of father, painful as that was to admit. As this revelation washed over the passive, the tender expression was uncontrollable. It expressed a vulnerability Leo had long since thought lost, such that he did not even realise what a picture he must make in front of the two men.

Whatever he knew, or didn’t know, would not be shared by him.

The quiet admittance that Leo had acted alone seemed to release great distaste from the pair. Fear, constantly simmering just below the surface this evening, bubbled over in that moment, and Leander struggled to swallow as every muscle in his body, sage his locked kneed, seemed to sag beyond control. Corwynn’s expression was borderline predatory, while Hawke’s could only be described as a twinkle short of of furious.

No longer was it clear if the pair were enjoying this, as they had been moments before. When Silas laughed, there was nothing to soften the glacial gaze. Feeling the menace in the air build, Leo allowed Hawke’s fingers to snake through his hair, and then he lifted his chin, because he’s a stubborn sonofabitch. The movement was pointless when his head was forced backwards a fraction of a second later.

Leander closed his eyes, just enough to give himself a few extra seconds to steady his nerves. His stomach was churning with anxiety, his hands sweaty and clammy. He wished he could skip forward in time, to a time when everything was resolved, without having to go through the tricky middle bit that linked here to there.

He can’t quite find the words for what he wants to say. Maybe they do not exist, or perhaps he himself is too cowardly to speak them.

The cool sensation of metal upon his skin brought his attention right back into the room. before him, he braced himself to force the words past his lips, his heart rate skyrocketing as he did so. But the words caught as, button after button, his finest shirt was ruined by sharp flicks of the King’s wrist. Unmoving, he watched with a distant sort of... misplaced triumph as they sought a brand that didn’t exist. He didn’t even bother to confirm his true nature: Leo was still just as shaken from his unplanned connection with mona as they were.

When Silas was finally done talking over him, and directed his question to Leo, the answer came to the passive with the kind of perfect clarity he never expected from the world anymore, not since he grew up enough to realise how complex and nuanced it was.

Thing is... they thought he was lazy, or going nowhere, but what other option was there in this Circle-damned town? Leo always thinks this to himself when he hears people talking around tables, corners, shops, taverns. Lines are the worst. Every time someone complains about a line, Leo feels battle adrenaline flood his system. “You don’t know what it feels like,” he wanted to scream but the words come out in a hoarse whisper instead, cracking on the final word. People yelling at the barmaid to hurry up and get to them when it’s going to to change eventually! Eventually you will no longer be sitting here. You’ll be wherever you’re going. And then you’ll be somewhere else after that. You’ll be somewhere, when so many people will be nowhere.

Hurry up and wait. And wait. And wait. And then twenty-eight minutes of life and death with only a fifty-fifty chance that whoever is calling the shots has the slightest idea what’s going on at all. Die and die and die a thousand times in your head before you ever realise it’s not your death you have to be afraid of.


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Corwynn
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: The Taxman
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Thu May 09, 2019 3:51 pm

6th of Dentis, 2718
THE PALACE | EVENING
Corwynn could practically smell the young thing's irritation and it was clear that Silas was simply reveling in his own form of harassment almost as if he'd already forgotten about the magically-induced mind-boggling pain they'd both experienced at the dark-haired passive's expense. Or, perhaps, because of it. With the King of the Underworld, much like his heritage, his intentions were always slippery to grasp at clearly. He simply slithered through life a mystery and liked it that way, the wick very keen on keeping the upper hand in all matters possible.

The Taxman confirmed he simply had to be a passive, after all, but Hawke narrowed his dark-eyed gaze at that unmarked flesh, knuckles white on the hilt of his knife even as he stuck his tongue between his teeth, the gaze he gave the insolent creature almost flirtatious, almost deadly. He was tucking the blade away when Leander spat his vehement half-thoughts at him, causing the wick to snap his attentions upward again, expression darkening ominously like some sudden storm over Cessandra's Oasis,

"I whatnow?" He quipped, powerful glamour coming into focus, sharp and heavy. Corwynn shifted on his feet, the thunderous rumble of a chuckle in his broad chest as if he found the comment endearing instead of simply lacking.

"I asked if ye had any feelin's for yer master, ne for me, boy. I don't give a fuck how ye feel 'bout me now that ye've tried real hard t' break my lovin' soul with yer damn diablerie." Hawke retorted, "But if yer sayin' I ent gotta clue what it feels like to be some unwanted piece o'chroveshit like a scrap, oes, yer damn right I don't. An' I'm glad for it, to be fair. Did yer folks drop ye off in the Harbor 'cause they couldn't bear the thought of ye? That's surprisin' since most folks just shove yer kind in that fancy school—Brunnhold—in order to smooth their consciences. Gods, yer folks were my kind of people by the sound of things." Silas hummed, insulting and praising the passive's parents in the same breath, hoping his wicked grin incited the fiery thing further.

"It means they didn't want to embarrass themselves by knowing he was alive from the sounds of things." Corwynn snorted, shaking his head with a sound of admonishment through his teeth, "Regardless, he must have some loyalty to Resha, given the man's put up with him this long."

"I s'pose." Pouted Silas, stepping back out of Leander's personal space and running a palm over his handsome chin, "Who balances the books in yer business, Leo, yerself or yer master? Does he not pay you enough that you can't come into a card game with me an' pay t' buy into th' table? Did he put ye up to cheatin' me?"

Corwynn leaned to pick back up the forged documents, glancing over them as though he had any skill at assessing their authenticity. He didn't. Fancy penmanship wasn't in his wheelhouse when airships and firearms and fucking up the lives of those who refused to serve his King were far more enjoyable pursuits, "Is this sort of thing a habit of yours? Off the books, so to speak?"
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Leander
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Sat May 11, 2019 6:58 pm

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Hawke stared at Leander’s arm, and Leander stared at Hawke. A strange sense of misplaced smugness bubbled up inside the boy. He felt as if he had somehow bettered the King with this surprise. No one had ever thought to look for his brand, so he never knew what it felt like to have someone speechless, questioning what they thought they knew. For a brief moment, he felt powerful.

Yeah, ‘cause you gollies know all about us magicless runts... your world seems to be ruled by it... that’s why you’re so fucking intent on bringing my race into the equation, right? Because it affects the decision. Like my choices are direct outcome of my being a passive. If you are quite finished?” He flexed the barely existent muscles on his arm to indicate that he wanted it back, now that the knife had disappeared. It was always the same story, Leo had heard it told a thousand times over: some poor hapless passive has gone and done something because they’re a passive. Leo very much doubted that Silas Hawke would have let him walk away from trying to cheat him out of coin if he had been galdori, but at the very least, his race wouldn’t have been a matter of discussion.

The supremacist bullshit was what kept the world believing that passives were dangerous. History was written by his betters, so the fact that Leo had attempted to cheat was irrelevant. It all came back to the infamously poor timing of his diablerie.

I have already told you,” the forger bit out, meeting the gaze of the King ,“Resha had nothing to do with this. I acted alone. Resha balances the books. He trained, houses, feeds and clothes me. What’s left pays for your taxes, and then I draw my wage from the remaining change.” Leo didn’t bother to mention that he couldn’t afford the buy in because most of his money was spent on other lucrative habits... namely alcohol and meaningless liaisons with women who smiled at him because he paid them well enough. The problem was that now Leander couldn’t afford to maintain his particular tastes on his current wage.

He turned to the King’s right hand, gaze falling to the forgery before answering. The forgery was nothing special, certainly not his best work because Leo couldn’t work in the best conditions and use the best materials if he hadn’t wanted Resha to catch on. “No. Tonight was the first time.

When he had first been dragged out of the tavern, Leo had been sure death would meet him in a darkened alley. When that didn’t happen, he thought he had an idea of what Hawke was planning. Now? He wasn’t sure what the pair had in mind. Whatever it was they seemed to be having far too much fun dragging it out, and Leo had no choice but to go along for the ride.


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Corwynn
Posts: 138
Joined: Fri Apr 20, 2018 10:03 am
Topics: 14
Race: Galdor
Location: Ol' Rose
: The Taxman
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Thu Nov 07, 2019 4:08 pm

6th of Dentis, 2718
THE PALACE | EVENING
"To be fair, boy, my kind ent got a problem with parse. It's jent like Cor an' his like who can't stand a lil' variety in the gene pool, ye chen." Purred the King of the Underworld with a lock of his lips, releasing Leander's arm with a wink, "Ye live under a rock if ye think yer race doesn't matter, if ye 've gone an' fooled yerself into believin' that yer heritage has no bearin' on yer choices. Because outside o' th' Harbor—" Silas waggled bejeweled fingers toward a window in a sweeping, grandiose fashion for emphasis, "—it does."

Corwynn smirked, rolling his eyes at the dig, well aware that he was one of the least concerned about race—at least when it came to bodies and beds—in all of galdorkind. He'd surrendered plenty of his galdor-bred biases and prejudice over the years he'd served Hawke and the Bad Brothers, though that didn't mean he was completely free of the same superior bias so common in his own race. He wasn't. He just wore it better, especially when he wore nothing at all, he'd say.

Silas sighed, already disinterested and annoyed that there was nothing more treacherous about the passive boy than a godsbedamned accident. The evening's pain would have been much more worthwhile if this forger's apprentice had been there for a reason.

Still, the wick held the petulant creature's gaze, and the King's dark eyes narrowed while he attempted to sift through Leander's words about Resha. He was right, though, the man did pay his taxes, and apparently he had some kind of a soft spot for the boy, small though it might have been—

"First time, eh?"

It was, of course, the galdor who snorted the words, grinning like a banderwolf in a henhouse, crystalline blue eyes bright and full of innuendo.

His wick King giggled, chuckled, and finally laughed, shaking his head and rolling his eyes before taking a long drag on his cigarrette,

"I tell you what, Leo," Silas hummed, "Ye do off the books forgery work for me—an' me only—at my beck an' call, ne matter what Resha fills yer schedule with an' ye ask ne questions about what work I may have ye do, an' I won't leave yer master without an apprentice. Ye chen? I ent a fan o' that diablerie 'f yers, ne matter how much a fan o' yer face Cor's pretendin' real hard ne t' be. So, I ent askin' for ye to sign any contracts—not yet, that is—but, uh, I am offerin' to let ye live."

The wick wasn't entirely sure whether this passive was one with a death wish or not—he'd met a few who seemed to welcome the thought over the years—but something told the sly criminal that Leander liked what he'd been given thus far and that he wasn't really the kind of creature to piss it all away toward a violent end. Perhaps he wasted a little in drink or gambling, sure, like every other kov, but the King didn't have his kingdom without knowing how to read others,

"We don't even have to tell Resha, if ye don't want to. It can be our little secret, considerin' he pays his taxes so well."
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