Bad Company [Memory]

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A large forest in Central Anaxas, the once-thriving mostly human town of Dorhaven is recovering from a bombing in 2719 at its edge.

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Niccolette Ibutatu
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Fri Aug 02, 2019 6:21 pm

Early Evening, 12 Loshis 2718
The Grandview, Uptown, Vienda
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Niccolette rose from her seat at the dressing table, one finger gliding gently over the edge of her lips. She glanced down at it, checking, and was pleased to see none of her lip color had come off. “Darling,” the Bastian began. She looked at her reflection in the ornate mirror once more, and checked the arrangement of her hair over her shoulders. She adjusted the froth of lace at her neck, making a little face, and smoothed the bodice of the amethyst-colored dress over her front.

“If you work on those papers five minutes more,” Niccolette continued, laughter bright in her voice. She turned away from the table and made her way across the hotel room, resting hands on the jacket-clad shoulders of the Mugrobi sitting at the small desk in front of the slightly-open window, “we shall miss the cocktails,” Niccolette leaned forward, her hair tumbling over her shoulder, and kissed Uzoji’s cheek. Her field tangled with his, reaching out to envelop it. She pulled back, smiling, pleased not to see a smear of red against his skin, and made as if to withdraw her field as well.

Uzoji laughed, his hand lifting from the desk to catch Niccolette’s. He rose, a sudden, smooth movement that seemed hardly to disturb the chair. “Is that so?” Uzoji grinned, and suddenly Niccolette had to catch her breath. His fingers slid up behind her ear, tangling in her hair. Niccolette let her eyes flutter shut, and leaned against her husband for a long moment.

“Clock the cocktails,” Niccolette whispered, finally.

Uzoji laughed, delightedly, his forehead resting against hers. “I did promise my brother we’d come and join them,” he said, regretfully. His field released hers, slowly, the two clouds of mona separating in the suddenly warmer air. “But – perhaps we’ll take a late dinner.” He grinned again.

Niccolette shivered. “I suppose,” she agreed, smiling. “But I shall expect that you make it up to me,” she pulled away, slowly, reluctantly, and sat back down in front of the mirror again, cleaning up the edges of lipstick smeared, now, ever so slightly, around her mouth. She fetched a lip pencil, tracing the edges back on once more, and filled them in with color. She could see Uzoji watching her, smiling, framed in the mirror behind her.

“A lovely color for you, my sun and stars,” Uzoji murmured.

“And you,” Niccolette raised an eyebrow, then smiled, taking a tissue and offering it back to him.

Uzoji laughed. He took the tissue, crossed to the bathroom, and Niccolette heard the sound of running water for a few moments. By the time he emerged, she had stood, rearranged her dress once more, and was standing by the door, hands on her hips, smiling.

“Impatient, beloved?” Uzoji asked, grinning.

Niccolette laughed, opened the door, and took herself out into the hallway, letting her husband follow behind.

The room they left behind was comfortable and spacious, with a large four-poster bed against one wall, along with the dressing table, the desk, the in-suite bathroom, and a thousand other little luxuries. All the rooms on the first floor of the Grandview were similarly well-apportioned. It was a staunch old hotel, slightly self-important, standing tall and proud at the corner of two quieter streets, although still not more than a block from the edges of Kingsway Market. It stood four stories high of gleaming yellow stonework; the lowest floor had a façade of tall rounded windows, capped with marbled arches that jutted out over the flowerbeds, speckled with columns capped with gleaming marble volutes. Light and noise both boomed out from those large windows into the night, with half-tucked back yellow curtains scarcely close to covering it. Here and there, drainpipes slid up along the side of the building; today, with no rain since the night before, they were dry enough, although this time of year it wasn’t uncommon for rain to burble through.

The upper three stories had their own rows of rounded windows marching along the sides, glimmering reflections of the low evening streetlights outside reflected back against the dark in some; others were still lit inside. If one could stand opposite and look in, there would be dozens of silhouettes, maybe more, slowly flickering away, as the galdori who stayed there moved, slowly, to begin their evenings. Make-up tables were left behind, doors shut and locked.

In many windows, too, the silhouettes in view weren’t quite Anaxi; there were a number of shaved gleaming heads, darker figures than normally were seen on the streets. Here and there were faint glimpses of the brighter colors favored by Mugrobi, whites and pale yellows and gleaming oranges, along with deep, rich purples and reds. If one watched carefully, they might even catch a glimpse of a bare arm, here or there, or the hint of a wrapped, draping fabric.

The Grandview hadn’t always been the place for Mugrobi in Vienda. The hotel had its origins, in fact, in a Bastian named Henrique Moretti, a small, sharp galdor with a penchant for economics. He had invested a considerable degree in real estate in Vienda during his lifetime, and one of his more successful ventures (in partnership with the crown, naturally) had been the founding of the Grandview. It had been one of the largest hotels in the city, back then. Its popularity had continued unchecked for many years, until the slow decay of time and Moretti’s descendents lack of interest in the property had, eventually, caught up to it.

Less than half a century ago, it had been bought by a Mugrobi, one Sapele pez Neje, who had renovated it, ruthlessly modernized it while preserving the exterior façade, and before long it had become the premier destination for Mugrobi in Vienda – even, or perhaps especially, during the Vyrdag, when diplomats descended en masse on the city.

This year was no exception, and it was predominantly musical, lilting Estuan that flowed out of the street-level windows, over flowerbeds, tinged with pleasant Mugrobi accents and the occasional faint snatches of foreign words. Behind large, frosted windows, half of the hotel seemed to be rubbing elbows and clinking glasses. As the night descended, the lights above clicked off, slowly, steadily, until only that bottom floor gleamed with light and life. The rest of the hotel seemed as if it was almost waiting – silent, still, and, perhaps, ready.


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James Thornton
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Sat Aug 03, 2019 7:10 am

Early Evening, 12 Loshis 2718
The Grandview, Uptown, Vienda
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"O"kay, okay, but what if I find something really juicy that's also, y'know... a little spicy?"

"Spicy?"

"Yeah.. you know like-" James squatted slightly, making his legs into a bow-shape and placed both his hands on his hips and a very firm frown upon his face. "Oooh, err..." James deepened his voice for added effect. "I have an opinion about this thing! I shall write to the paper - except - maybe I can't write! So I will... get someone to write for me! And express my opinion to my fellows down the old John..."

The look his editor gave him was enough to have James trail off, straightening back up and offering an innocent smile. The editor sighed exasperatedly.

James took that as a yes.


Except, James didn't actually have a plan to get anything juicy or spicy. The last time he tried to look for something juicy, he ended up in an incident involving a lot of paint and a very stern warning, and even James had to admit the resulting article wasn't something he thought much of. Not that the editor thought much of him anyway. Still no front page news. Though what did he expect? The rag liked scandals and salacious articles, not something that was remotely thought-provoking. People wanted to feel both excited and safe, and James was not one to enjoy 'safe'.

He walked aimlessly, mindlessly, thoughts buzzing this way and that at possibilities of articles that were worth his time. There were those on the rag who said James thought too-highly of himself. Perhaps he did, but why shouldn't he? He was a damn good writer, forced to suffer a seeming-eternity buried in mediocrity. There was always a way out of course, he just hadn't found the exit yet. But he knew there would need to be more than a fresh job opportunity. There needed to be a shift. A tonal shift if you will. Where the world slanted a little more onto an even keel, and heck, if James was the one who needed to kick it, he would find a way - by George he would!

As with most things with James, his head had been whirring so much that he hadn't noticed which part of town he had wandered into. When dirty street lamps gave way to a more refined affair. It was perhaps lucky that the waning of the sun helped hide the more noticeable threadbare nature of his clothes. Though the fact the suit he was wearing did not fit properly, his collar and tie askew, made him still stick out rather oddly. Clearly someone not from this part of town, not that James paid that much mind - or perhaps he didn't notice.

James made a habit of late-night walks. Often to scour places for bits and bobs he could stuff into his pockets - never theft of course! No! He not some common scoundrel! James had decency after all. But, when things were just there, left out, discarded or forgotten, a thing that no one would mind missing, surely it was James' duty to rescue the thing from the dastardly fate that would befall it otherwise. If his mother was on one of her late-night baking sessions, turning whatever food they had into far too many cakes, she would often find James returning home with pockets full of odds and sods which he would take up to his room after offering a goodnight kiss and taking a supplementary supply of cakes upstairs with him. It was common practice by now.

As such, when a lone piece of paper lazily drifted down ahead of him, James wasted no time in scooping it up in his hands and stooping over it. It was quite late now - clearly - the lights from various hotels and buildings had either dimmed or gone out altogether. The general merriment that echoed about the city had dulled to nothing more than a quiet murmur. Not that James paid it much mind, too engrossed in the paper he had found as his eyes skimmed the words at breakneck speed.

"What an interesting thing..." James murmured to himself, a grin steadily sliding over his expression. Oh yes, very interesting. What a lovely find! For the paper to flutter down before him so, to take upon as he wished. Perhaps the stars were smiling upon him this evening, and even more so, when he tilted his head upwards - ginger hair lazily brushing over his brow - and he noted a window somewhat ajar, and fabric of curtains fluttering softly in the breeze. His eyes shimmered, and a look of steady determination sunk into them, the grin unmoving from his expression. "Well hello up there."

Without hesitation, or consideration as to the consequences, James folded the piece of paper away into his breast pocket and shuffled over to a trellis against the hotel wall. It had some vine-like plant growing on it - not that James paid that much mind. If he ended up with a god-awful rash the next day it might be worth it, if the initial paper was anything to go by. Technically it wasn't breaking an entering, the window was open, and he just so happened to find the bit of paper. Did it count as stealing? Mmm..... the water was a bit murky in that regard. However, if a sudden airflow just happened to blow the rest of the papers out of the window, and James just happened to be there to collect them, what harm would there be? Of course if he facilitated the papers blowing out of the window, that was something no one could prove.

Not being the most agile of people, James ungracefully clambered up the trellis - he tore a hole in his trousers knee, and was pretty sure some horrid thing had bitten him on the knuckles. Still, with a lot of huffing and puffing he managed to get to the window. He was not dressed for this sort of activity. His shoes - the soles almost rubbed out - were slippery against the smooth stone and he very almost unceremoniously was thrown from the trellis, had he not hoisted his leg in an ungainly manner over the windowsill. It was all a bit like a giraffe trying to climb through a window, but James didn't care. He was a man of action, not grace. And besides, he had come to find the thing he was looking for----

There was the sound of tearing, and James glanced to find the hole in his knee had grown - a small metal pin in the window had torn a large square patch of fabric from his trousers, running from his knee all the way up his thigh. Suddenly, the man of action was looking more like a man of indecency. "Well bugger." he hissed irritably, shaking his leg like a dog in an attempt to shake himself loose.

It worked. To an extent. "...bugger again..." He said, his trouser leg having been torn all the way up his inner thigh, sending him crashing unceremoniously to the floor, making him all rather indecent, and having him caught by his trouser fabric on the windowsill.

There was a long pause as James lay there, upside-down, staring up at the ornate ceiling, large doe-eyes gently taking in the lavish surroundings as he considered his predicament. "This... perhaps was not as much of a fruitful endeavour as I originally thought."
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Niccolette Ibutatu
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Sat Aug 03, 2019 10:29 am

Early Evening, 12 Loshis 2718
The Grandview, Uptown, Vienda
Niccolette smiled, standing beneath the gleaming lights of the ballroom. She held a tall slender glass filled with pale yellow liquid in one hand; bubbles trickled up the side of it, fizzing softly against the surface. A delicate curl of peel floated somewhere in the midst of it.

“It came as quite a surprise to those fools at the university!” Osefe pez Nuru grinned, broadly. The small Mugrobi was perhaps an inch shorter than the Bastian, with a creeping fringe of white hair at his temples. The crookedness of his slight body and his gnarled hands showed his age, but one saw it on his face only from the spiderweb of laugh lines extending back from the corners of his eyes, the faint grooves that his smile found against his skin.

Niccolette laughed, and took another sip of her cocktail. “I am sure,” she said, grinning broader, “that you showed them all.”

“Yes,” Osefe said firmly, proudly. His field was still strong with static mona, and shifted faintly golden in the air. “Have I told you, my dear Ms. Ibutatu, about the time young Mr. Ibutatu set another student’s eyebrows on fire?”

“No!” Niccolette began to laugh, and she only laughed harder as the story continued, lifting one hand to brush moisture from the edges of her eyes.

Osefe was laughing as well by the time he finished telling it. “The look on his face! As if had I said to him - you will never darken my door at Thul’Amat again! And that, of course, must be why he ended up at Brunnhold!”

Niccolette laughed harder. “I am sure!” She giggled.

“What’s this?” Uzoji’s hand settled into the small of Niccolette’s back. “Trying to steal my wife again, Professor?” He grinned, stepping forward and extending his hand to Osefe.

The two shook, firmly, and Osefe chuckled. “Just telling her stories of your misspent youth, my boy.”

Uzoji laughed, his white teeth gleaming in his dark face. “All true,” he said, firmly.

“Of course,” Niccolette giggled again. “Never for a moment did I doubt.” She winked at Professor Osefe.

Uzoji took Niccolette by the arm and drew her away as another colleague came and began to chat with the Professor. He murmured into her ear, “I thought perhaps you needed rescuing.”

“No!” Niccolette protested. She took another sip of her cocktail. “I rather like him.”

Uzoji groaned. “Then - my reputation needed rescue!” He paused, glancing around. “Have we been here long enough yet, darling?”

“Yes,” Niccolette finished the last of her cocktail, the champagne fizzing down her throat, and set the glass on a nearby table.

“Good,” Uzoji grinned. “Stay right here, dear heart, and don’t move. I will make my goodbyes to Enofe.”

Niccolette smiled. “As you like.” She watched Uzoji skirt the edges of the crowd with a smile here, a handshake there.

“Ms. Ibutatu!” Nyala pezre Fene came up, smiling. She wore a bright saffron dress in the Mugrobi style, wrapped layers of clinging fabric with bare arms. Her field caprised Niccolette’s, the bright belike touch of living mona gentle at the edges of it.

Niccolette exchanged bows with the other living conversationalist, and began to chat.

“I always found Da’manthor best for anesthesia,” Nyala broke off, smiling at Uzoji as he appeared from behind Niccolette.

“Nyala,” Uzoji bowed. “You are looking lovely as the stars themselves this evening.”

“Uzoji Ibutatu,” Nyala bowed as well. “You are too handsome to be so kind.”

Niccolette shot Uzoji a quick, sharp glance, but she was smiling again when she looked back at Nyala. “We must go, I am afraid,” Niccolette said, apologetic.

“Of course,” Nyala smiled. “You will both stay in Vienda a bit longer? At least until we all become too full of politics to discuss anything else.”

Niccolette laughed, and Uzoji grinned. “Of course,” he said, smiling. “We are so starved for proper conversation the rest of the year.”

Niccolette let Uzoji draw her away after a moment, his arm gently around her back. “Enofe was sorry to see you go?” She asked, smiling.

“I told him I had urgent matters to attend to,” Uzoji said, cheerfully.

Niccolette laughed, nudging at her husband with her shoulder. “Oh! He will have known just what you meant.”

“Of course,” Uzoji grinned. “He said I am a lucky man.”

Niccolette was still laughing as they finished climbing the flight of stairs, and made her way down the hallway. Uzoji’s hand was playing lightly against her side, and in the quiet of the hall she let her field tangle with his, enveloping it softly.

Uzoji fished the key from his pocket, and it turned in the heavy lock with a click. “After you,” he gestured, smiling, with eyes only for Niccolette as he pushed the door open.

Niccolette, smiling, stepped past him into the room. She froze, abruptly, staring at the human dangling upside down from their window - but no more than a fraction of a second had passed before her field shifted, suddenly ramscott and ready. Monite was already flowing off her tongue, strange harsh syllables woven together in the air. Energy pulsed around her and streamed hazy through the air to sink into the human, cloaking his entire body and settling tight to his skin like a shroud.

Uzoji stood behind her, jaw and fists clenched and his whole body humming taut.

James would feel the spell wrap over him, prickling and painful against his skin. Tendrils of something sank into him, and seemed to reach inside and pull the energy out of him. He would find himself unbearably tired - not sleepy so much as woozy, his arms and legs as hard to move as if hundreds of pounds in weight had been added to them. His tongue, too, his whole face - almost numb, as if it had all been disconnected from him. He could no more hold himself up than he could fly, although he wouldn’t lose consciousness until he chose to.

“You have him?” Uzoji asked.

Niccolette raised an eyebrow, although the steady flow of monite never stopped pouring from her lips.

Uzoji grinned and crossed the room past her. The words of the spell finished, and the Bastian held silent, focused on its upkeep. As James lay helpless, the slender galdor unhooked his pant leg from the windowsill and hoisted him, dragging him free onto the floor.

Uzoji took the chair from the desk, turned it around, and with surprising strength for a slender looking man, hoisted James up onto the chair.

With Uzoji so close, James would be able to feel his field; it was heavy and solid, like a weight. When Niccolette crossed back into view, handing her husband a length of rope, he would feel hers as well, bright and lively and almost sharp.

It would only been a few minutes until James felt the slow lightening of his limbs. Unfortunately, by the time his mind could summon the strength to act he was firmly bound to the chair, both wrists and both ankles well secured.

Niccolette sat on the edge of the bed, one hand wrapped around one of its columns. “He can speak,” she said, almost contemptuous, the heavy curl of a bastian accent beneath her words.

Uzoji raised an eyebrow at the human. “Well then,” he said; his lilting Mugrobi accent was light, just the faintest hint of music to his words. He smiled, although there was nothing nice or friendly about it. “Speak. What are you doing in this room?”

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SidekickBOTToday at 5:53 AM
@moralhazard: 1d6 = (6) = 6
Last edited by Niccolette Ibutatu on Sun Aug 18, 2019 3:25 pm, edited 2 times in total.
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Goldenmochi
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Sat Aug 03, 2019 3:14 pm

[quote="James Thornton" post_id=5332 time=1564830654 user_id=514]
Early Evening, 12 Loshis 2718
The Grandview, Uptown, Vienda
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James' heart sank when he heard the unmistakable sound of people down the hallway, their voices getting steadily closer and closer to the door. He had been in the midst of desperately trying to free his torn trousers from the windowsill, or at the very least getting sat upright, but the blood was rushing to his head, and the panic of getting caught made him begin to fumble and twitch, fingers no longer nimble, but more frantic and panicked.

He didn't get a chance to respond when the door opened, he made to hold up (down?) his arms and protest his innocence, but wasn't able to. The unmistakable feeling of something sinking into him, making movement hard and heavy, as if his arms were lead weights and his voice box had turned to stone. How his trousers didn't tear further and not have him fall through the floor was anyone's guess, James was certain he had been turned into solid steel. Everything ached, a raw, heavy ache that had lodged itself deep in his bones, and his eyes, wide and disorientated were both frantic and worried at this sudden overwhelming feeling that had overcome him. He wanted to protest, but couldn't, and that, perhaps was the scariest part.

He couldn't do much except be a voyeur of his own capture, his trouser leg freed from the window, he collapsed in a heap upon the floor, not able to heft himself upright, despite all his effort and will to do so. It was as if his mind was awake and darting about in a body that just couldn't anymore. For someone who was born with unrelenting, boundless energy, this whole experience was utterly new, and unnerving. Perhaps tonight was not his night after all. He wanted to chatter, but no words came out, everything too heavy and exhausted to move properly, had it not been for his wide-eyed stare, he might have already slipped into unconsciousness by now, as he was dragged onto a chair.

The rest was a blur. He wasn't entirely sure if he blanked out, or if everything felt like so much effort, his brain couldn't linger on quite what was happening. All James remembered was finding himself sat down in a chair with his limbs slowly beginning to wake up, and having himself staring at two handsome people, though neither of them looked particularly pleased to see him. Shame.

Glancing down to his wrists, bound to the chair, James wiggled his fingers, and let out a despairing sigh. "Well this all feels a bit unnecessary." He complained, before lifting his gaze to look at his captors. Unlike perhaps most, the panic had subsided, to casual acceptance. He had been caught. Fair enough. It was his own fault really, no one could be blamed but himself. Still, the rope felt all a bit much - who the hell kept rope with them in a hotel room anyway? Unless they were into the other kind of spicy stuff.

"You know.... I'd call your reaction somewhat melodramatic, but quick off the mark - so kudos to you"He bowed his head deeply (or at least, as best he could while tied up. "Though, if you think I'm currently a threat, perhaps you should reconsider the situation here. Neither of you are the ones who have all their nethers on display for the world to see, and quite frankly, I'd prefer it if mine weren't either. But it looks like I didn't have a choice in that matter this evening, now did I?" James' gaze briefly flickered to the remains of the trouser leg hanging about his ankle, and wondered vaguely if this was too much for even his own mother to fix.

"Anyway- Let's start again shall we?" He smiled - a genuine, pleasant smile, as if meeting two penpals for the first time, rather than two people who's hotel room he had broken into. "Hi, I'm James. Its a pleasure. Though I wish we met under different circumstances. You really shouldn't keep your window open when you're not in the room. There's some dodgy people out there who are far more agile than myself."
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Niccolette Ibutatu
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Sat Aug 03, 2019 4:25 pm

Early Evening, 12 Loshis 2718
The Grandview, Uptown, Vienda
Both Niccolette and Uzoji looked slightly taken aback at James’s long, drawn-out sigh. Niccolette’s face had settled back into the faintest of frowns by the time James looked up, but Uzoji appeared to be smoothing something of an amused smile off his face. Although standing, James would have had easily half a foot of height on either of the galdori, he was – of course – not standing, but instead very securely tied to the desk chair.

At some point, one or the other of them had lit at least one of the oil lamps in the room; it was dark outside, the last glow of the sunset fading, with a soft, cool breeze fluttering through the open window. Inside, the lamp cast a glowing, muted pool of light on the ground beneath it, and shed enough of itself through the room that, however uncomfortable their conversation might be, at least all three of the parties involved could see one another clearly.

Uzoji was back to looking serious, but his whole face twitched at James’s mention of his nethers, and he couldn’t seem to help a broad, amused grin, his eyes lightening considerably – at least for a moment. By the time James came around to his last sentence, the Mugrobi was fairly solemn again, raising an eyebrow.

Neither of the galdori, in fact, returned James’s lovely, pleasant smile, friendly through it surely was. Uzoji did step past him, over to the desk. He ran his hand through the papers, raised an eyebrow, then leaned forward and shut the window, quite firmly.

Niccolette was, if anything, frowning a little more. There were, she thought, two types of people who shook off the remains of an anesthetic spell and immediately began smiling and offering advice. There were idiots, and then there were people with absolutely nothing to fear, for one reason or another. She studied James more closely, still seated on the bed. She was perhaps seven feet from him, and, abruptly, she pulsed her field, flexing out fully outwards.

Uzoji had already moved back into her range, but he would feel the tension sweep through it; James, who had been out of range of the field a moment earlier, would feel the deliberate bright rush of living-tinged mona sweep through him – no harm, nothing like a spell, but clearly a very deliberate warning.

“It’s all right, darling,” Uzoji said. “Not yet.” He stepped back from James again, clasped Niccolette on the shoulder as he passed her, and disappeared into the bathroom.

Niccolette watched James quietly – and not warmly – from the bed. Her hand tightened a little around the poster, and she shifted, smoothing the amethyst covered silk fabric of her dress, straightening it out over her lap. Her feet, in small, expensive-looking heeled boots, peeked just visible out from beneath the bottom of it, tucked neatly side by side. She looked him over, slowly and carefully – without any shyness or apparent respect for his stated discomfort – and made a faint little grimace, as if she didn’t much care for what she saw.

Uzoji emerged a moment later with a small, fluffy, expensive-looking handtowel. He draped it over James’ lap, raising his eyebrows down at the human with a grin, and stepped back, studying him as well. With the movement of his hands, even in the dim light, James would be able to see a faint pattern of scarring on Uzoji's right hand, pale and pink across his palm.

After a moment, Uzoji turned and moved away again. He took the chair from in front of the vanity and dragged it a few feet back towards James. After a moment of consideration, he stripped off his charcoal gray jacket, revealing a crisp white shirt beneath, and hung the jacket on the back of the chair. He sat, legs slightly apart, back straight, and looked at James again, the distance gauged well, such that he was very nearly looking forward and not up almost at all. He was still close enough that James could feel the solid, heavy weight of the galdor’s field pressing against him, although it wouldn’t feel as strong to him as Niccolette’s might have.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you as well, James,” The Mugrobi smiled again, a little more pleasantly, this time. “Thank you for the suggestion; I’ll be sure not to make that mistake again. If I may offer you some advice in return?” He raised an eyebrow, waiting a moment, nothing but pleasantness on the smooth, dark planes of his face.

“When someone who has you tied up asks you a question,” Uzoji said, calmly, his eyes squarely and evenly on James’s face, his tone still friendly, “you ought to answer it. So – now that you’ve introduced yourself, and formalities are surely satisfied – what are you doing in this room?”

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Fri Aug 09, 2019 2:47 am

Early Evening, 12 Loshis 2718
The Grandview, Uptown, Vienda
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James considered for a moment. Then bobbed his head, slumping in the chair somewhat - perhaps defeated, or perhaps just trying to relax, it was hard to be sure which. "Good point." he agreed.

Still, he didn't entirely answer straight away, his gaze glancing over to the woman who he could swear was trying to summon daggers from her very eyes. It was her who did... whatever she did to him. It was unsettling, and James wriggled in the seat (as best he could) to try and urge the uncomfortable shiver she gave him away. In fact, they were both giving off that vibe that James had encountered a mere handful of times before. Galdori were like cats, he supposed, puffing up their fur and hissing whenever they felt in the least bit threatened. It would have been adorable if they didn't scratch so hard.

Perhaps he should have taken the whole scenario a lot more seriously, however, James was finding it very hard to, considering he was still there with just a hand towel keeping him from being entirely on show (for which, James was thankful for), tied to a chair. A faint thought of amusement crossed his mind at the idea of someone entering the room - a maid or some associate of the two - only for them to find the bizarre sight, then politely depart. It certainly felt like a scene out of a novel. Though not a good novel. One of those trashy backdoor novels you got after trading a good pair of boots for.

Everything still felt very heavy. As if the pressure in the room had increased tenfold and it was pretty exhausting keeping up against it. Still, James was determined not to be beaten - at least not yet. Besides, he rather liked the gentleman talking to him, he was less prickly than the woman he was with. Though James suspected there was plenty prickly about the man, considering the scars on the back of the hand that the journalist had made a mental note of.

Still, neither of them had outright killed him - he still had all his limbs, and could still talk, so that was still positive, he could still get out of this situation in one whole piece right?

There was a long pause, as James weighed up his options (of what few there were), before finally conceding that perhaps honesty was indeed the best policy - at least at this current juncture. "Oh, alright" he sighed dramatically, with a roll of his eyes, more giving the impression he was holding back a toy from a naughty child, rather than having broken trespassed into their hotel room. "I saw some papers. Thought they might be interesting. Chose to take a look. Did a shimmy. Didn't quite make it. Probably timed it pretty wrong. You got here. I got there. Then got here. And here we are."
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Niccolette Ibutatu
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Joined: Thu Jul 11, 2019 11:41 pm
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Race: Galdor
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Writer: moralhazard
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Fri Aug 09, 2019 9:53 am

Early Evening, 12 Loshis 2718
The Grandview, Uptown, Vienda
Uzoji looked more than a little like he was trying not to smile again at James’ response. After a moment, he lost the battle, and another grin spread over his face. His posture didn’t change though; he still sat, straight and unflinching. He didn’t look precisely comfortable, for all that he didn’t shift or fidget or slump; rather, there was a sense of power and almost motion to him, as if he might rise at any moment.

Niccolette did not smile. In fact, when James’s eyes shifted back to her, her face tightened ever so slightly more, and it didn’t relax when he squirmed. Kohl-rimmed eyes stayed fixed firmly on the human, and there was nothing like mercy on her face.

Uzoji and Niccolette both watched him steadily when James spoke again. Uzoji glanced back over his shoulder at Niccolette, raising an eyebrow.

Niccolette looked back at him, and shrugged. It was the sort of story so stupid that she couldn’t imagine anyone with any sense telling it. Unless, of course, either it was true - or this James (if that was his name) was counting on them falling into that trap.

Thief? Niccolette thought thief most likely. She didn’t think him an assassin. On the other hand, she had never met one of either so... incompetent. If he was a thief, he was a terrible one. If he was an assassin, on the other hand, he might still be very good - and that made him dangerous. There were plenty who could smile cheerfully one moment and have a knife at your throat the next. At least the towel was small enough that he wouldn’t be able to hide any movement beneath it - but, then, she knew Uzoji had done that deliberately.

The Bastian sighed, shifting on the bed, and let go of the poster of the bed, her eyes flickering over her husband, and then back to their prisoner. She didn’t rise; instead, her arms crossed over her chest, the fingers on her exposed hand tapping lightly against the amethyst colored sleeve.

This was, Niccolette thought irritably, not quite how she had imagined her evening going. Her lips pursed again. “I could kill him,” Niccolette offered, a faintly bored tone edging into her voice.

Uzoji shrugged, sitting back slowly in the chair. He looked at James again, and smiled. “I’m sure that won’t be necessary.” There was something almost soothing in his tone, but it was hard to tell who he was reassuring. “We’d have to dispose of the body, anyway, and that does ruin one’s night.” There was the faintest quirk to his eyebrow as he looked at James; he could almost have been joking.

Niccolette sighed, uncrossed her arms, and shifted on the bed again. She curled one hand, inspecting her nails, and made a little face. With a glare at James, she rose from the bed, swished across the room, her long skirt shifting softly against itself, just the slightest roll to her hips - and fetched a nail file from the dressing table. She turned back towards James, glancing up at him, then looked down at her hands, and began to rub the rough edge along the tip of one nail, gently smoothing it out.

For a long moment, the only sound in the room was the soft scrape of the file against Niccolette’s nail. Then, evidently satisfied, she sat the tool back down on the table, and held there, arms crossing over her chest again.

All the movement, at least, put James out of range of Niccolette’s field; only Uzoji’s was left, but even if it wasn’t bright and sharp and strange, it was still heavy - and not getting any lighter. If anything, the sense of weight in the air around James seemed to be increasing.

“What papers?” Uzoji asked, finally. He glanced at the desk again, then back at James. “You don’t seem to have made it very far into the room, and you can’t possibly have seen anything from the street,” he grinned, a bit of humor lightening his face again. “You’re not that tall.”

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