[Memory] Chariots of Fire

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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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Wed Sep 25, 2019 7:26 pm

Late Afternoon, 60th Roalis, 2714
Niccolette Ibutatu's Room, the Belleverie Hotel, Uptown
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Uzoji lifted Niccolette’s hand to his lips, and kissed her fourth finger, his lips just brushing the small gold ring so recently restored to its rightful place. He lowered her hand back to his chest and smiled at her, bright late morning sunlight streaming in the window, splayed across the two of them.

Niccolette sighed, and leaned her head a little more into his chest, shifting gently against him on the bed. Her eyes fluttered shut for a moment, and she just lay there, a long moment, listening to the steady beat of his heart.

“Beloved?” Niccolette did not know she was sleeping until Uzoji’s voice woke her. She shifted, eyes fluttering open again, and yawned, blinking up at him. “Mm?” Niccolette yawned again, and curled up tighter against her husband.

Uzoji chuckled, the noise echoing through his chest. “I’m sorry, I thought you’d woken,” his hand traced her hair from her face, slid down the bare skin of her back.

“I have now,” Niccolette said, sleepily. She eased herself up, slowly, and pushed her hair back from her forehead, yawning again. She stretched her arms up over her head, and giggled at the look on her husband’s face. Uzoji reached for her, and Niccolette melted in his arms in the heat of the Roalis day once more.

It was some time before Niccolette splashed in the bathwater once more, her earlier attempt aborted. Uzoji opened the window of the room to let in the faint twist of a breeze, then crossed to a table nearby and went back to wrestling open a bottle of wine. He poured two glasses, and brought them to the bathtub, setting one on the edge for Niccolette, and lifting the other to his lips once he’d sat.

“We should talk about it,” Uzoji said, quietly, settling his arms on his knees. He set the glass down on the tiled floor, and looked at her, raising an eyebrow.

Niccolette picked up her own glass, took a sip, then went back to washing herself with a washcloth.

“I mean it, beloved,” Uzoji said, sighing. “You left, Niccolette.”

“I was angry,” Niccolette shrugged. She finished with the washcloth and set it to the side, and leaned back against the back of the tub. “You did not come find me for some time.”

“I didn’t know where you’d gone!” Uzoji’s voice rose, and tightened in anger. He swallowed, hard, and took a deep breath. “You didn’t answer your seer stone – you didn’t tell me anything about where you were going – I went to the Islands, looking for you. I even thought about going to Florne! If Francoise hadn’t sent that message – ”

Niccolette looked up at him, and shrugged again. “I was angry.”

“I know,” Uzoji groaned, rubbing his face with his hands. “I made a mistake, Niccolette, and I – I’m sorry.”

“I know,” Niccolette shrugged. “I have forgiven you.”

“You – ” Uzoji paused, lifting his face from his hands. “You have?”

“Mostly,” Niccolette amended. She took another sip of her wine, handed the glass to Uzoji, and rose from the bathtub, stepping out and reaching for a plush robe. Uzoji set the glass down, hurriedly, and rose himself, helping her into it.

Niccolette settled the bathrobe around herself, sat comfortably on the edge of the tub, and began to comb her hair out. She raised her eyebrow at Uzoji again.

Uzoji sank back down into his chair, still looking a little stunned. “When did you forgive me, exactly?” He asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Mmm,” Niccolette pursed her lips. “I am not sure. Sometime after getting on the airship, of course. Before just now.”

Uzoji snorted, and then laughed, burying his face in his hands again for a long moment, his shoulders trembling. “All right,” he sighed. “Do you think you’ll forgive me entirely?”

“Mmm… perhaps,” Niccolette turned her head to smile at him, then went back to her ministrations. She fluffed out her hair with her hands, running her fingers through it and leaned forward to set the comb down. After a moment, she hesitated, her hands coming back to the edge of the tub. She held it, tightly, for a long moment; Uzoji did not speak, watching her.

“I am not sorry that I left,” Niccolette said, finally. She looked at him again, her lips pressed together. “But I missed you from the moment I was gone,” she shrugged, looking down. “And I… I could not but be angry with you, and perhaps I still am. But I love you, Uzoji Ibutatu. I shall do my best to accept the bad with the good, and I shall not leave you again.”

“Niccolette,” Uzoji whispered. He slipped to his knees, and wrapped his arms around her waist, and for a long time there was no more need for words between them.

The long shadows of afternoon came eventually, creeping in through the hotel room’s window, finding Niccolette and Uzoji neither in the bed nor the bathroom, but together in the sitting area of the suite. Niccolette, dressed in no more than a shift, sat half in Uzoji’s lap, drinking a little more wine, and accepting the occasional bit of cheese and crackers from him. Uzoji was telling her a story, making her laugh, and Niccolette thought to herself, a little drowsy once more, that there could be no more perfect moment than this.

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Last edited by Niccolette Ibutatu on Fri Sep 27, 2019 4:32 pm, edited 1 time in total.

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Arion Lux
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Wed Sep 25, 2019 8:52 pm

60th Roalis, 2714
Late Afternoon - Belleverie Hotel, Vienda
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The door opened with more force than was necessary, and through it, Arion Lux made his somewhat undignified entrance.

In fact, that wasn't quite correct. The door opened with more force than was necessary, as far as physically opening the door was concerned. Arion had already been walking through the lobby of the Belleverie Hotel when he had embarked on this particularly reckless plan. Fortunately, the receptionist had been distracted, allowing him to duck behind the front desk and retrieve a room key from behind the staff only door beyond. Unfortunately, the effort hadn't gone unnoticed by the shady figures that Arion had noticed were following him, forcing him to race up the stairs and down a side corridor in the closest approximation of a run that he was willing to allow himself to reach in such a public space. That was where the plan came into play, however, and the door: a door opened forcefully, not because it was locked - the key had made sure of that - but because Arion required the noise it would make, just loud enough to reverberate down the corridor towards his would-be assailants, and draw them into this direction.

It was the same door that Arion now ducked behind, pressing himself against the hotel's papered walls, listening through the crack in the still open door for sounds of pursuit beyond. It was then that his gaze deviated, shifting to the room's current occupants. He was not surprised to see them - well, one of them, at least - but the reverse was far from true. Time was of the essence, and ticked away with too much urgency to be wasted on an explanation; instead he kept it brief, offering a nod towards the room's shirtless male occupant whose identity - excluding the possibility of a deliberately chosen male prostitute, of course - seemed somewhat easy to deduce. It was fortunate, he supposed, that Arion was already on his way here. There were certain things to be dealt with regarding Niccolette Ibutatu and her recent court proceedings. Ordinarily, such matters would have been dealt with at Arion's offices, but given what had transpired last time, it had seemed more appropriate for Arion to come to her than the reverse. Not safer though, it seemed; Arion couldn't help noting that she was the common denominator here. Were he the sort of person who believed in such things, he might almost have wondered if the woman was cursed. She certainly seemed to be a magnet around whom things seemed to get interesting with alarming frequency.

"You must be Mr Ibutatu." It was delivered as a statement, an observation rather than a question, and was moved on from almost instantly, Arion's attention shifting instead to the somewhat more familiar figure of Niccolette. He flashed her a small, tight smile, that seemed to convey a greeting, an apology, and anything else Niccolette might feel was appropriate from him in the moment; a carefully enigmatic smile that was whatever the recipient decided it should be. Brisk but not hurried bootsteps creaked against the floorboards as his pursuers rounded the corner that Arion had dashed past seconds before. A lingering look was cast towards Niccolette. "About that favour -" he uttered softly, and then precisely three heartbeats later, slammed his shoulder into the open door and the pursuer in the process of stepping through it.
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Niccolette Ibutatu
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Wed Sep 25, 2019 9:37 pm

Late Afternoon, 60th Roalis, 2714
Niccolette Ibutatu's Room, the Belleverie Hotel, Uptown
Niccolette leaned a little more against Uzoji, and stretched to set her cup down on the floor next to the divan. Uzoji’s hand settled back down to her leg, resting lightly on her shin at the edge of her shift, and traced his fingers lightly beneath it. His field was mingled with hers, soft and welcoming, both faintly gold-shifted, enveloping one another in comfortable, easy intimacy.

“And Aremu says – and keep in mind that he’d never seen the flooding thing before either, and that neither of us was anywhere near tall enough to see over the edge of it,” Uzoji was grinning, and Niccolette giggled, amused as much by her husband as the story he was telling, “but he turns to the instructor and says, all confidence, that it’s a piston ring, and he knows exactly where it should go, and says that he’ll be glad to show him, if the man’d fetch him a footstool!”

Niccolette giggled again. “And so?” She asked.

“So,” Uzoji laughed, “so, that’s how I ended up standing on a footstool, with Aremu sitting on my shoulders, and – "

The door flew open with a bang, and Niccolette turned to it, wide-eyed. Her field pulsed outwards, tense and ready, and she felt Uzoji’s shift ready too, felt the sudden tightness of his hand against her leg – saw the way his gaze flicked towards the coat hung against the wall.

Arion smiled at her, and Niccolette frowned at him, and did not relax the tension in her field in the slightest. “I know him,” she told Uzoji, patting the soft cloth pants he wore, and narrowed her eyes at the other galdor. “But not what he is doing here.”

Uzoji opened his mouth to speak, and Niccolette patted his leg again, comfortingly. Both glanced at the door at the sound of footsteps outside, drawing steadily closer. Arion slammed against the door with his shoulder, and there was a crunch as it hit the man doing his best to enter it – but he was pressing back against it, grunting, and making steady progress, the human larger and stronger than the galdor fighting to keep him out.

Niccolette began to cast without hesitation, harsh syllables of monite dropping from her tongue. Uzoji’s field slid away from hers immediately, and he lifted her from his lap, settling her on the couch; he rose and crossed the room to his coat, fetching two small, sharp, curved knives from the inside of it, gripping one in each hand.

Niccolette tucked her legs beneath herself, settled comfortably back against the divan, and did not pause her steady recitation of monite for even a moment. Control spells were, naturally, quite popular amongst students, many of whom had all sorts of fantasies about what one might achieve with them. It was, in fact, rather difficult to control someone’s motions; it required a remarkable detailing of precise movements of muscles, tendons and the like, and while not impossible, it took an excessive amount of time, and never looked quite as impressive as one had imagined.

On the other hand, preventing voluntary motion was almost simple, so long as one went about it the right way, and so long as one had sufficient will and strength to see it through. It was a bit crude, of course, and it lasted only as long as one could maintain the upkeep, and that not always easy. It was not so quick as other spells Niccolette could have thought of, but Arion seemed to be holding the door rather well, and Niccolette did not feel the need to rush herself.

Hazy energy rose up in the air around the seated Bastian galdor, and streamed forward from her, seeping past Arion and sinking into the human struggling against the door. He jerked – once, twice – then went utterly limp, dropping to the ground; Arion would easily be able to close the door now, if he wanted; the human could not even stand, let alone fight him.

Niccolette curled the spell, and held the upkeep in her mind, green eyes focused on the man on the ground. “Rope,” she told Uzoji, a faint sound of strain in her voice. She narrowed her eyes, holding the spell with her full strength.

Uzoji glanced around, set the knives down, disappeared into the bathroom, and emerged with the ties from what looked like two bathrobes, both slightly damp. He dragged the man a little bit further into the room, and set about tying his wrists and ankles. His ramscott hung heavy in the air around them, physical and static mona mingled together, sigiled and ready.

Niccolette shuddered and released the spell. She touched her fingers to her nose, checking for blood, and was pleased to find none. She reached down, picked her wine up, and took a long sip.

“Arion Lux, my husband, Uzoji Ibutatu,” Niccolette said, casually. She eased back against the divan, rubbing her temples lightly. “Uzoji, he is a lawyer.” She paused, and looked at Arion again. “What favor?” Niccolette asked, frowning lightly.

Uzoji cleared his throat, rising, and bowed at the waist. “Mr. Lux,” he said, politely; the tense readiness was gone from his indectal field, and he caprised Arion’s swiftly and as politely as he had greeted him. “In fact, I have some other questions,” he glanced back at Niccolette, then at Arion once more. “What the flood are you doing in this hotel room? And who the fuck is this?" He glanced down at the bound man at his feet.

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Control spell: SidekickBOTToday at 6:17 PM
@moralhazard: 1d6 = (5) = 5
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Arion Lux
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Fri Sep 27, 2019 1:47 pm

60th Roalis, 2714
Late Afternoon - Belleverie Hotel, Vienda
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What favour? Arion was momentarily taken a back, unsure whether Niccolette was being ignorant, evasive, or deliberately obtuse. Of course a favour was owed: that was how gratitude worked, was it not? Arion had done her a favour by rescuing her from the drunk tank, granting her access to legal services far superior to anything else a woman in her situation might have received. His council, his hospitality, his eloquent and adept execution of her defense, the exceptionally sympathetic sentencing he had managed to secure for her? The list went on and on. Surely, Niccolette was not so conceited as to believe her mere existance simply deserved such an above and beyond demonstration of effort and talent? In many instances, one would tip a person for such performance, though Arion was not so uncouth as to expect such a thing. Besides, as far as gratuities went, favours were of far greater interest.

Perhaps Niccolette was simply playing coy. Perhaps her husband didn't know the particulars of her recent misadventures. After all, she'd introduced Arion as a lawyer, and not my lawyer, a distinction that carried with it an odd sting that Arion couldn't quite quantify. If that was how Ms. Ibutatu wanted to approach the situation, then very well: attorney-client privilege was a sacred accord after all, and not something Arion had any intention of betraying.

Of course, that now placed Arion in a complicated situation. His reason for being here was simple: he and had business pertaining to her case. But if Arion's presumption was correct, it was a simple reason that he could not provide, no matter how reasonable it was for Uzoji to have asked.

"I'm sure you can appreciate," he began, his eyes pinching ever so slightly at the corners as they strayed towards Niccolette for the briefest of moments, "That as a lawyer, there are certain limitations on the kind of answers I am at liberty to give; so please forgive me if I seem at all evasive. Would that I could not be." A tight but genuine flash of an apologetic smile was offered towards the other man, one that quickly faded into a furrowed brow. "This," he continued, briefly poking the bound man with his foot, "Is a man I noticed following me when I arrived here today. He seemed quite earnest in his pursuit, and I generally find that does not bode well. He seems human, so he's unlikely to be anyone of any importance or significance, but anything beyond that is a rather enticing mystery at this point."

It was a string of simple deductions that Arion seemed fairly pleased about; but then, feeling pleased with himself was hardly an unusual state for the attorney, you arrogant Bastian practically counting as an alternative name at this point. It was unlikely to be something that would impress the Mugrobi, however, and informative as it might have seemed to be, it was as much an exercise in stalling as anything else: a common courtroom strategy, the lawyer's mouth filling the potential silence with sound to buy his thoughts enough time to catch up.

"As for why this room in particular? Your wife is an acquaintance of mine, I happened to know she was here, and, well -" He gestured down to the prone figure on the ground between them. "- I would say the results of my plan speak for themselves, do they not?"

Arion reluctantly allowed a silence to fall as he gave Uzoji a moment to process those answers, but his own thoughts were already elsewhere. A faint wince tugged at his expression, and his eyes glanced over to Niccolette once more. "What exactly is it you've done to him? Is he dead, or have you just -" He waved a hand vaguely at her. "- done your thing?
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Niccolette Ibutatu
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Fri Sep 27, 2019 2:24 pm

Late Afternoon, 60th Roalis, 2714
Niccolette Ibutatu's Room, the Belleverie Hotel, Uptown
Niccolette looked evenly back at Arion, and raised an eyebrow, waiting. Once her headache had subsided a little more, Niccolette set her wine down and rose from the couch. She swayed for a moment, rubbed her temples, and made her way over towards the bed, kneeling next to a half open suitcase and pulling out a dressing gown in pale yellow silk from amidst folded shirts and trousers.

Niccolette pulled on her husband’s robe without the slightest hesitation; it was a little large in the shoulders and across the chest, and a bit longer than her shift, but she wrapped it across herself and felt something ease deep inside her chest at the smell of him on the fabric, some ache she had not known was there, waiting to be soothed. Arion was still prattling on at the door, and Niccolette listened with only half an ear, holding the fabric close to her skin and squeezing her eyes shut for a long moment.

The Bastian turned and made her way back to the divan, and sat once more, legs tucking back beneath her. She pushed her hair back off her face, reached for the wine glass, and then made a face, thinking better of it. She did not think another sip of it would do much for her headache – Arion’s fault, naturally, Niccolette decided.

He had not, of course, answered her question. He had done his job as a lawyer quite well, of course – Niccolette knew she had been right to chose him – but she could not think of anything he had done which was a favor. She had retained his services, he had performed them, and such business was transacted. Surely he could not mean the tea? That was, in Niccolette’s estimation, the barest minimum of courtesy one ought to perform for a guest.

“I suppose they do,” Uzoji was frowning at Arion, although he seemed to have accepted the lawyer’s premise about why he’d brought his pursuer to their doorstep.

There was a hesitation on his face, though, a reluctance, and it was clear that he was drawing his own conclusions. “But…” Uzoji’s voice trailed off. He shook his head for a moment, putting off the issue of the lawyer’s strange assailant off for a moment, and turned back to Niccolette. “You consulted a lawyer?” He asked, and there was a tight strain of hurt in his voice; the mona in his field pulled away, his ramscott like a wall between himself and the other galdor. He stepped away from Arion, his arms crossing over his chest.

“Mm?” Niccolette blinked at her husband. “Oh! Well – not like that, darling,” Niccolette arched her back against the couch, stretching her arms out to the side, and rubbed her face with her hand. “No, I had some trouble with a Seventen. Nothing so serious, I took care of it myself. Mr. Lux provided some assistance with the… ah… legal difficulties, this is all.” Niccolette paused, thought it over, and shrugged. “Very capable assistance,” she noted, not reluctant to offer credit as due.

“You – ” Uzoji snorted, and grinned, shaking his head, the tension draining from him; evidently the thought of his wife having legal difficulties over trouble with a Seventen was much less disconcerting than other reasons she might have consulted a lawyer. "I suppose you had to keep busy."

“I shall tell you later,” Niccolette smiled at her husband, her face soft and loving. She rubbed her temples again. “Your new friend is not dead, no,” Niccolette turned back to Arion, nonplussed, a spark of wickedness glinting in her eyes. “Just, ah… he is taking some time to recover, perhap? He should be able to speak, if he wishes to. I think it is not so comfortable, to lose control of one’s motor functions,” The Bastian grinned at Arion.

Uzoji went back to her, pressing the backs of his fingers against her temples. He made a face, and stepped out of the room, returning with a glass of water. Niccolette took it from him and drank, gratefully, sighing a little and settling more comfortably into the divan; some of the color returned to her cheeks, and she patted the divan next to her. Uzoji sat, and wrapped an arm around his wife’s silk-clad back.

Niccolette rested her cheek against his shoulder, curled against him. “I could try another spell, I think,” she offered, cheerfully. “If he is silent too much longer, perhaps some encouragement...” she glanced down at the human on the ground.

“No!” The man spluttered. He abruptly jerked into motion, straining against the bonds Uzoji had tied, then went limp. “No, no more clockin’ magic – I heard o’ you, I ent wan’ none ‘f it!”

Niccolette giggled, and Uzoji grinned a little as well. “You see? Not dead,” she smirked at Arion, more than a little smug.

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Arion Lux
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Fri Sep 27, 2019 5:56 pm

60th Roalis, 2714
Late Afternoon - Belleverie Hotel, Vienda
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It was a strange feeling that filled Arion as Niccolette - and the man himself - confirmed that the would-be assailant was not dead. It was relief, but the wrong kind of relief; the kind of relief you felt when you discovered someone had not done something characteristically vexing. Arion understood that life was meant to be more important for such a detached, disinterested form of relief, even the life of a lowly grimy human such as this one; and yet his feelings fixated far more on the eternal source of frustration that was Niccolette Ibutatu than on the fate of the man at his feet.

There were more important things that required the focus of Arion's attention, however, and more pressing ones. For a fleeting moment, Arion lamented the fact that Niccolette had subdued this one without any broken bones: as she herself had demonstrated to great effect during their previous encounter, a strategic application of pressure to a broken bone could be an exceptionally potent lubricant for the tongue. "Is this -"

Arion halted himself before the phrase your friend from the bathroom tumbled from his lips, the glance that he'd thrown in Niccolette's direction reminding him of the Mugrobi man she reclined against. There was a certain level of benign insult that he had determined Niccolette would tolerate, and reciprocate, but he had yet to determine where such boundaries lay with her husband; and while he had yet to see quite how effective Uzoji was with the knives he had so quickly retrieved, the mere fact that he had them readily at hand at all suggested that perhaps Arion would be wise not to try his luck.

"- charming individual familiar to you at all?" Niccolette's head departed from the shoulder of her beloved for just long enough to signal a negative, before making herself comfortable against Uzoji's shoulder once more. Her reaction, and the implications of it, concerned Arion far more than the gastrically upsetting display of affection taking place behind him. Clearly, Niccolette's reputation preceded her, and there were few readily apparent explanations for that which bode well. His eyes narrowed, probing into the human's features with piercing intensity. "But you know here, don't you?"

"Crazy bitch broke Allan's clockin' leg," the human spat back, tilting his chin defiantly in Niccolette's direction.

A heel, worn but well-repaired, collided heavily with the side of the man's head, propelling his skull into the hardwood floorboards. In an explosion of motion, Arion had doubled over, grabbing the man by the scruff of his shirt, hoisting off the ground and into a slump against the door. Arion crouched beside him, fabric still clenched in a fist, an ominous mix of anger, intensity, and self-certainty painted across the face that loomed uncomfortably close to his captive's. "You would be wise," Arion uttered slowly, his voice surprisingly quiet and cold like ice, cracking and creaking under the weight of his words, "To mind your manners. You already know what she is capable of, and you saw the knives that her husband was carrying when you entered. Best not to insult or aggravate either of them, yes?"

Wide-eyed, the human nodded, perhaps a little too emphatically. At this proximity, Arion began to see exactly the kind of man he was dealing with, and quickly realised that man was a generous description. What had seemed like the thick jawline undergrowth of a walking stereotype seemed more like grime at this range, the hulking frame more a matter of misfitting clothes than actual muscle. Not a child, but not much more than a boy, either. Perhaps it should have tugged on Arion's heartstrings, and played on his sympathies. It didn't, if he even had such things. Youthful looks did not innocence make, and actions deserved consequences no matter the naive stupidity that might have motivated them.

Arion released his grip on the young man's shirt, patting the mound of fabric ineffectively flat. "Do you have a name?"

The human nodded. Arion allowed his unblinking gaze to linger on him before the young man mustered enough comprehension to actually offer it. "Tuck." His had turned sheepish now, not quite enough to leave him seeming afraid, but enough to show that realisation might slowly be dawning. His predecessors, after all, had been dealt with and not seen since. Perhaps now, he was beginning to imagine the reality of what that might mean.

"Tuck." An underwhelming name, for an underwhelming individual. Arion would almost certainly have forgotten it by the close of the hour. "Why are you here, Tuck?"

Tuck's dry throat tried to swallow, but floundered, as if he was trying to gulp down a mouthful of sand. "I were sent t' keep an eye on you. See where you went. I guess you clocked me, an' you bolted, but I din't see no magic ladies around, so I figured there weren't no risk in goin' after you, yeah? You're just some lawyer, ain't even all that magic, far as I can cop. Guess I thunk some extra money might be in it if I did wot Dael, an' the others ain't managed to." Tuck's eyes fell. "Guess I thunk wrong."

"That," Arion agreed, the icy chill of his voice softened slightly by the overwhelming urge to sigh, "Is an astute observation."

The Bastian withdrew a little, what had at first seemed like such a lucrative potential avenue for information was rapidly becoming yet another unfulfilling dead end. "You probably don't even know who you're working for, do you?" The question was uttered rhetorically, with a sigh. Arion already had his suspicions, but a proper confirmation would have been nice. He was a lawyer, after all: he needed evidence, not idle speculation.

"Dael!" Tuck offered, almost too eagerly. The quizzical look from Arion that snapped in his direction prompted an uneasy continuation. "The guy wot escaped? Dael Edrei from the Painted -" His eyes widened, realisation slow to dawn, before crashing rapidly into a twist of self-disgust, head slumping voluntarily against the door. "They din't know his name, you moony git."

"Dael Edrei," Arion echoed. "From the Painted Ladies." He turned, casting his attention to the affectionate gargoyles entwined on the divan behind him. "I don't suppose either of you know who that is, by any chance?"
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Niccolette Ibutatu
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Fri Sep 27, 2019 7:54 pm

Late Afternoon, 60th Roalis, 2714
Niccolette Ibutatu's Room, the Belleverie Hotel, Uptown
It was, Niccolette thought, quite comfortable against Uzoji’s shoulder. His hand squeezed her shoulder, lightly, and his thumb stroked along it, gently up and down. She felt a pulse of soft concern through his field, washing warm through her. Niccolette met it with a sending of strength, and she felt the rumble of Uzoji’s faint chuckle through the side of his chest.

Niccolette flicked her gaze back to Arion when he spoke to her. She lifted her head from Uzoji’s shoulder, and shook her head, then nestled back against him. She felt a stiffening through him, and knew he had understood the need for Arion’s next question.

Neither Niccolette nor Uzoji tensed at Arion’s sudden flurry of motion; Niccolette stifled a little yawn with her hand, and snuggled a little closer to Uzoji. There was a tension in his arm; it was almost hard against her back.

“Broke his leg?” Uzoji asked, his voice barely an undertone.

Niccolette shrugged a little against him. “I did stay busy,” she murmured.

“And what have you gotten us into now, beloved?” Uzoji’s lips skimmed her hair, his voice still no more than the faintest noise.

Us, Niccolette thought, and she was not sure why it was, quite, that the word made heat rise behind her eyes. She glanced down at her hand, at the small golden ring glittering on her finger. Us, she knew, and she curled a little tighter into Uzoji, trembling. It was love, then, in her field, a warm swell of it that she pushed out through the mona as easily as breathing.

He held her closer, and pressed his lips to her forehead, and met her with his own, enveloping her with his mingled physical and static mona, a heavy warm strength twining through her own sharp brightness, a faint sheen of gold in the air around them, with no way to know who it came from.

“Dael Edri?” Niccolette said, looking up from Uzoji to Arion. She sat up, although she could not have been quite said to pull away, and she was as near to being in Uzoji’s lap as she had been when Arion first entered. She shrugged, lightly, yellow silk shifting over her shoulders. “No. But I suppose it is our business, now,” Niccolette settled her hand on her husband’s thigh and grinned, the glimmer of tears in her eyes long gone. “To know him.”

Uzoji grinned as well. “Yes,” he said. “With your permission, naturally, Mr. Lux.” His tone left very little doubt that said permission would be granted; something glittered in his eyes that was not merely love.

“I shall change,” Niccolette announced. She rose with visible reluctance, and flicked her eyes over Arion, pursing her lips. “I trust you can finish up here?” She raised an eyebrow, then made her way off into the small changing room that adjoined her own. The door between them shut, and a faint tinkling sound echoed through, Niccolette summoning a maid to help her dress.

Inside the changing room, Niccolette untied Uzoji’s dressing gown; she buried her face in it for a long moment and breathed in deep, then hung it on the stand. She crossed to her clothing, stripped off the shift, and began the process of dressing, doing what she could herself while she waited for the maid. Her front-lacing corsets, Niccolette thought regretfully, were all in the Rose; she ought to have thought to bring at least once, when she had stormed off.

Uzoji rose from the divan, and took a few steps closer to Arion. His field was indectal once more when he re-entered the other galdor’s range, utterly clear. “May I be of any assistance?” He offered, politely.

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Arion Lux
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Mon Sep 30, 2019 1:19 am

60th Roalis, 2714
Late Afternoon - Belleverie Hotel, Vienda
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That question would perhaps have been more appropriate a few moments earlier, before the Ibutatus had inserted themselves into what was almost certainly entirely his own business and none of theirs. His protests remained silent, however, and though Arion would never openly admit it, a large part of him was grateful for the potential assistance. Unnecessary assistance, he hoped; but much as he might have preferred to handle such business on his own, there was no denying that three galdori were better than one.

Arion kept his contemplation of Uzoji's offer silent, turning his attention back to Tuck. His eyes narrowed as he considered the young man before him, and the course of action that would need to be taken. The boy would have to be taken care of, but such things were expensive, and this endeavour had cost him enough already. Uzoji's offer of help lingered in the air, but while he had a measure of Niccolette's ruthless tendencies, he had yet to gauge just what limits the man from Mugroba might have. A disinterested sigh escaped from Arion, a rhetorical question in its wake. "What are we going to do with you, Tuck?"

Tuck swallowed again against his dry throat, but a flicker of his earlier defiance managed to return. "Make me disappear, right? Like you did to John, an' Allan, an' Will, right?" Each word brought a little more confidence to his words. The nerves didn't vanish, but they faded into the background, the young man apparently finding the resolve to meet his end with a modicum of courage. His lip curled into something that was almost a sneer. "Didn't even leave no bodies to find. Probably at the bottom of the river, right?"

Arion's eyebrow climbed ever so slightly, almost - almost - impressed by Tuck's momentary display of spine. He let a smile curl at the corner of his mouth. "Middle of the Tineta Basta by now, actually, I'd think." He repositioned himself, hand reaching into the pocket of his waistcoat, settling around a familiar weight inside. "You see, your associates broke into my home. They invaded my place of work. Endangered one of my clients. Things like that vex me, Tuck. So I took a fireplace poker -" He reached out and tapped his captive's temple. "- and cracked your wick friend across the side of the head, again and again, and then I reached into his mind and pulled out the answers I wanted from him. The woman you're afraid of? She shattered one of your friends' legs with a word, and dispatched the other with equal ease. They picked a fight with their betters, Tuck, and it did not go well for them."

His head tilted to the side, hand emerging from his pocket, taking the time to slowly unfurl the pocket knife in full view of Tuck's gaze. "And then I took this knife -" Slowly, he lowered the blade to Tuck's chest, the metal edge scratching its way across the coarse fabric to rest directly above Tuck's heart. It lingered, hesitant, expectant, then inched across, the sharp point hooking into the lowest point of Tuck's collar, until a sudden sharp motion wrenched it downward in a violent tearing of fabric. "- and cut them out of your clothes. You see, when you are a galdor of certain standing - or more importantly, when you are the lawyer to galdori of certain standing - you learn that there are certain problems that need to be dealt with, and certain people who are adept at making those problems disappear. A lawyer, who can't keep his clients safe from criminals? A scandal of the highest order. A galdor, who needs three naked, unconscious men discretely removed from his home in the early morning? You would be amazed how easily and how often such things are quietly resolved."

With a flourish, Arion flicked the knife closed, and returned it to his pocket. "Not long after your friends were subdued, they were collected, loaded into a cart, and ushered out of the city - to the Old Rose, to Mugroba, to Gior; I neither know nor care where. They are simply gone. Naked, yes, but alive, and quite thoroughly no longer my problem."

A slight edge crept into Arion's voice, not of threat, but of offence. He supposed it didn't seem like much of a stretch for the human to make the assumption. One galdor was just as bad as any other, right? Perhaps it was earned. Perhaps it was deserved. Perhaps the galdor deserved to be seen as monolithically as they treated humans. Those were the rules of society, were they not? Far be it from anyone to have complexity, or nuance. Far be it from anyone to pay Arion the kind of attention and scrutiny that he paid to everyone that crossed his paths. "I am a lawyer." It was uttered quietly, but with absolute certainty. "Not a killer."

A sigh slowly escaped him. "And you I will have to decide what to do with later." His brow furrowed into a frown, and he looked behind him, attention returning to Uzoji once more. "Is there a closet we can stash him in? If he knows what's good for him, Tuck should be quite content to stay put for a few hours until we return. He'll certainly have better odds at survival than if he tries to flee, and word gets back to his employers about how helpful he's proven to us."
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Niccolette Ibutatu
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Mon Sep 30, 2019 6:08 pm

Late Afternoon, 60th Roalis, 2714
Niccolette Ibutatu's Room, the Belleverie Hotel, Uptown
Uzoji didn’t push, but he didn’t back down either. He stood, his shoulders relaxed, and his hands finding the pockets of his loose pants, and watched Arion with Tuck. Whatever he thought, his face was calm – other than a broad grin which spread across it at Arion’s description of Niccolette’s efforts against Tuck’s friends. He cocked his head to the side, slightly, at Arion’s description of how he’d gotten rid of John, Allan and Will, and when Arion clarified that he was a lawyer, and not a killer, Uzoji’s eyes held on the man.

Still, though, he said nothing, not until Arion turned back to him.

“Yes, of course,” Uzoji crossed the room to the wardrobe that sat heavy against the wall; it was almost entirely empty, but for two Anaxi-style jackets hanging in it, waistcoats tucked into them. He took both, draped them over the back of the divan, and fetched a handkerchief from one pocket, pale orange silk with the letters U and I intertwined in the corner.

“I’m sure Tuck understands how much better things will be if he stays quiet,” Uzoji said, smiling. “But, all the same,” he was as easy a hand with a gag as Niccolette had been, and within a few moments Tuck was thoroughly gagged. With his ankles bound, Tuck could – with assistance – manage a rough sort of shuffle across the floor, and Uzoji would be more than happy to keep hold of his elbow, as much to steer him as to support him.

The human was shoved, rather unceremoniously into the wardrobe, and Uzoji shoved a fireplace poker through the handles, and tied them together as well – just to be safe. He stepped back, grinned at Arion in a friendly way, and clasped the lawyer cheerfully on the shoulder. “Good to make your acquaintance, Mr. Lux.”

Uzoji made his way to the bag where Niccolette had fetched a robe; he knelt, and emerged with a handful of neatly folded clothing. He stripped his loose pants off without the faintest hesitation or shyness, although he did face away from Arion, and he changed quickly and easily, drawing on trousers and a shirt, buttoning it, and settling himself into a waistcoat and jacket in a matching pale orange. He adjusted his cuffs, fastening them, and returned to Arion, brushing himself off. The knives he fetched, and stored against the sides of the waistcoat, invisible beneath the jacket.

The door to the side room opened; there was a brief glimpse of a maid making her way out the adjoining room from the front, and Niccolette stepped calmly back into the hotel room, fully dressed in a light amethyst dress, with a froth of rippling fabric at the front and a narrow waist, small pearl buttons marching down the front, and a long straight skirt, more of a walking costume than an evening one, small pale brown boots just barely visible beneath the hem of the skirt. Her hair had been brushed, but was still loose over her shoulders, and there was just a hint of kohl lining her eyes, a faint heightened pinkness to her lips and cheeks.

“Shall we?” The galdor asked. Her gaze glanced over Arion, lingered on Uzoji, a little smile curving her lips, and passed to the wardrobe. She pursed her lips faintly at the sight of the poker through the handles – a bit sloppy to leave him so, Niccolette thought, but she supposed it would serve. “I shall instruct the staff not to enter until we return,” Niccolette said, coolly.

With that, she picked up a small reticule from a table, a match for her boots, and scooped up an umbrella of the same color from by the door. Niccolette swept past Arion and went to Uzoji, lingering only for a moment – her hand touched his, and she looked at him, turned away from Arion; gold hazed through the air between them, shimmering, and Uzoji smiled. Niccolette pulled away then, and made her way from the room. The door clicked shut behind her, and there was the quiet click of her heels as she walked down the hall.

“She’ll be in the lobby,” Uzoji said cheerfully, unable to hide the broad grin on his face. He bowed lightly to Arion, and held the door open. “After you,” he said.

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