[Closed] Humility

[Leander]

5th Day of Roalis 2720

It was not a good day.

It was not a good day at all. Leander’s hand had been physically shaking when he tried to forge the latest commission from Corwynn. He had tried three times and had given up on the forth. It just wasn’t happening. The passive wasn’t sure why, but he suspected alcohol… or alcohol withdrawal. To be honest he was drunk so often nowadays that he couldn’t decide whether it was the drink or the lack of drink that was causing him to lose his faculties.

Either way, he had stormed from the Attic in search of functioning grey matter, and had found it in the form of the delightful Henrietta, a wonderful woman who was quite happy to spend an hour or two challenging Leander to a game of card with her friends. The problem was that Leo had no money to buy into the game. Henrietta had offered to stake him, and he had gladly joined in. And, with each passing drink, the game became more and more fun. Until it wasn’t fun anymore. He had not the funds to pay back Henrietta, let alone deal with the crippling debt of the hand he had just lost with.

Making promises to have the money brought to the tavern by midnight the next day, Leander had headed to the bar, demanded one final - far stronger - drink from the barkeep, which he insisted was to be added to his already extortionate tab. He had downed the drink in one and left the tavern without glancing back at Henrietta and her friends.

He found himself walking aimlessly - and surprisingly unstaggeringly - in a meandering path around the Harbour. The world spun whenever he quickly changed direction, so he tried to walk in as straight a line as possible, but inevitably he ran out of road and eventually had to turn a corner every so often. Hands in his pockets, he stared at the cobbled streets rather than looking at where he was going. It wasn’t until he found himself outside a rather dilapidated building that he actually looked at where he was.

He was on the coast, by the beach, staring up at one of many houses that were seemingly abandoned. Sherry’s Peninsula was once probably the most beautiful part of Old Rose Harbor, but it was long since left to rot, which was a shame, truth be told. Of course Corwynn would remain to live in houses that were designed and built for gollies. Other abodes in Ol’ Rose were not nearly half as nice. Well, now they were, but Leo liked to imagine this place in its hey day. It would have been remarkable, he was sure.

His heart stuttered in his chest. He did not want to be here of all places. He cursed his feet for leading him directly outside the fecking right hand of Silas Hawke’s home. He had been here a few times in the past, on various jobs for the Bad Brothers, and each time had been as surreal and frustrating as the last. He hated the golly.

Yet here he was. He hadn’t finished the commission for Corwynn yet. He had barely started. And it was due in two days. He didn’t know where he would find the time… well he did… he just didn’t know where to find the sweet spot where his hands would stop shaking.

Muttering darkly to himself, he trudged along the wooden walkway leading up to the house and, after one final hesitation, he removed a hand from his trouser pocket and banged it against the door. Sighing, he accepted whatever mood Corwynn would be in, he would just have to deal with it. But he had no other option. He was employed by the Brothers… and he didn’t want to go directly to Hawke, so Corwynn was the next best thing. The only option, really. He had been dragged out of debt by them before. There was no reason why they wouldn’t do it again. The passive would just have to prostrate himself, if that was what Corwynn wanted.

[Corwynn]

5th of Roalis, 2720
SHERRY'S PENINSULA | EARLY EVENING

It was not a good day.

It was not a good day at all. Corwynn had finally returned from too long in Vienda—collecting taxes, making nice with financial supporters and manufacturing constituents, and being the galdor that Silas Hawke both could never be and didn't ever want to be all at once. He'd flown himself, of course, alone in welcome, decompressing silence and as quickly as possible despite how draining such a trip could be.

Of course, regardless of how magically exhausted the blond gunman may have found himself, he still had to spend the day with the King of the Underworld in his office with the rest of his council, pouring over all of the balances he'd made good on, discussing the problems he'd solved (only one death and a few broken fingers! a good visit to Vienda, indeed!), and squabble uselessly between so many different opinions over how Anaxi politics were truly dissolving into some miasma of ridiculousness now that the Symvoulio had moved to Mugroba. A vacuum of power that Hawke, of course, wanted in on.

Corwynn enjoyed subtle infiltration and was quick to recommend those in the Incumbent ranks as well as those who surrounded them in their illusions of power who the Brothers should focus their pressure on, leaning into their weaknesses in the hopes of watching them break under pressure and perhaps find new footholds in both the economy and other aspects of Anaxi lawmaking. Piracy was fun, of course, and open violence was always a pleasure, but watching the already weak system slowly degrade from within was a unique form of entertainment.

Granted, it sometimes left Corwynn wondering what would become of himself should Hawke finally find himself living out more of his conniving dreams, but the galdor tried not to dwell on such things for long.

Once he'd had enough interaction with various minds from Vienda to Old Rose, strung out on social interaction and ears ringing from all the conversation, the only thing he really wanted to do was crawl home into some form of isolated quiet. The gods in their ironic sense of humor found it fitting that Wavorly be gone for the rest of the evening—drinking or gambling or whatever the clocking hell was he did with his free time.

That, of course, left Corwynn to himself to make a meal which, fortunately or not, really meant the blond gunman shoved around leftover bread and cheese on a plate and drank half a bottle of wine and called it dinner. He was just about to pour himself another cup, thinking about a bath, when there was a rather startling pounding on his door.

Interruption was not in his plan for the evening, nor was any more interaction with someone wanting something else to be dealt with, but he slowly slid from his seat and meandered down the hall into the empty foyer with its faded candelabra and peeling wallpaper. Still in at least half a fine suit—coat and vest and cravat discarded there on the bannister from hours ago, shirt untucked, and favored firearm still slung low on his hips. Barefoot, he hesitated because he felt no semblance of a field on the other side of the door.

Corwynn ran the various possibilities through his head, one hand came to rest on his weapon and the other swung open one of the two double doors (mostly because the other one had been stuck in its place for months, rusted).

"Mister Aguilar." He stated, blue eyes trailing over the passive who looked a bit feral this evening, "What brings you all the way out to my curve of the beach? Can I interest you in a glass of wine?"

[Leander]

5th Day of Roalis 2720

He was not left standing outside Corwynn’s home for long before the galdor pulled open his front door. In that second where the door was opening before he actually saw the man, Leo took a tiny step back - half of his mind telling him to scarper. But there was no such opportunity as Corwynn appeared, dressed fairly finely in half a suit. He was in stark contrast to Leo, who might as well have been wearing rags. It took a moment, but Leo was suddenly reminded that he had not changed his clothes in three days.

Oops.

Well, Corwynn had seen Leander in a far worse state than he was now, so what did it matter anyway.

“That’s a good question,” Leo replied, immensely surprised that he wasn’t slurring his words, “Good question. Well presented. Deserves a good answer.” The passive turned around, glancing at the other houses, looking to see if anyone was in the vicinity, perhaps wondering down the road, or ogling at the passive outside the door of a golly. There was no one. “I… what?” Leander said thickly, “Yes. Yes. Wine would be lovely. Or something stronger, if you have it.”

Assuming the offer of a drink was an invitation for Leo to enter Corwynn’s abode, Leander stepped forwards and squeezed past the galdor to cross the threshold of his home. Once in, he made a beeline without being directed to Corwynn’s preferred receiving room (he had been here enough times to assume this was where they would end up. Though his other visits had always been for business, never for pleasure.

Gods above, was he now thinking this visit was for pleasure? What a ridiculous notion. Seeking out the one man he hated above all others (except perhaps Hawke himself) in Old Rose Harbour… for pleasure? No.

Leander did not sit, instead he stared at the plush chair that he normally occupied with a disdainful expression on his face, as if the chair had caused some personal affront to him. Hands stuffed back into his pockets, the boy’s face contorted into an ugly expression as he tried to collect his thoughts and organise them into a cohesive narrative in order to actually inform Corwynn why he had wound up knocking on his door. Did he open with the failed forgery? Or with the extensive debt he had accrued over the past few weeks - a debt he had no hope of paying off his own.

“I hope I am not interrupting your evening,” he decided to start with pleasantries, though his tone suggested he didn’t truly mean the platitude. Leander said it in that freakishly polite way that meant a regular person would probably be punching the wall. In fact, his tone was as nonsensical as his eyes, which darted from Corwynn, to the wall, to the door, and back to Corwynn again, over and over, occasionally landing on items of furniture in the room, but barely lingering for more than a few seconds.

It was dizzying, truth be told, and Leander pulled his hands out of his pockets to scrub his face firmly and drag his dark, relatively wild hair away from his forehead. He still couldn’t organise his thoughts. Well, someone with Corwynn’s educational pedigree could certainly work out what he was trying to say. Half formed thoughts came blurting out.

“It’s the forgery. I can’t… I will, but I can’t. My hand’s aren’t - and all evidence to the contrary I have been trying but it won’t come. And at the bar, there was a game and she staked me in. But I’m not good at - well you know, I can’t play well. You’ve seen it. Maybe if I had more - no not time that isn’t what I mean. But if… there’s something wrong… not with me. Well maybe. I don’t know. It’s not.” Leander’s mouth snapped shut and he finally brought his eyes to rest on Corwynn, hating the expression he saw there.

The passive’s eyes were watery, and he blinked rapidly, desperate not to appear even weaker than he already did in front of the golly. “I need help,” he finally whispered.