Ride on the shining night [Az, please]

Corwynn's weakness for Mugrobi strangers knows no bounds.

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Anaxas' main trade port; it is also the nation's criminal headquarters, home to the Bad Brothers and Silas Hawke, King of the Underworld. The small town of Plugit is nearby.

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Corwynn
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: The Taxman
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Thu Nov 08, 2018 9:58 pm

20th of Dentis, 2718
THE WIDOW'S WALK | EARLY EVENING
Sometimes
Only sometimes
I wish I could fly
Rush like the weather
And dance on the sky
Ride on the shining night
Where the wind sings
Sometimes
Only sometimes
I wish I had wings


Starlight Star Bright by Ciel Nior
V ienda had once again left a sour taste in Corwynn's mouth, the beautiful capital still seething with issues raised by the riots just a season ago. Ruined businesses couldn't pay their taxes, destroyed parts of the Dives needed help recovering, and trade had come to a screeching halt until part of the docks could be repaired. And those were just the mundane issues! The blond galdor had to not only hear the grievances of Brothers, but also of his own kind's businessmen and politicians, Corwynn mingling with proper folk when situations required it.

He'd done so much clocking assuaging and negotiating that he all but crawled home to the Harbor just so he could put a few bullets into bodies that deserved it, just so he could break the fingers of some ersehat who'd cheated on his taxes showed, and just so he could drink far too much alcohol in the finer side of town like the Widow's Walk.

Outside on the balcony, Hawke's magical gunman was blissfully alone, but he knew the Walk's busy hours and made his choices accordingly. It was still early in the house, and while one of the cute little servers had lit the oil lanterns, the sun was stretching low toward the horizon where the sky and horizon met, casting the last of its rays sparkling over the waves. Dentis had grown cool quickly, but Old Rose was thankfully far more temperate than Vienda, the chill in the air only noticeable when the wind whipped over the surf and tangled in Corwynn's blond hair.

He'd curled his hands around the still-steaming ceramic cup that held his Dirty Chan, watching the heat curl upwards and dissipate with his slow exhaled breath as he waited for it too cool. Laughter and music came from inside the Walk and seagulls made their racket overhead.

But the blond gunman was restless. Too much time in the city overflowing with his racial peers, rubbing fields and shoulders, had left him wanting to forget the warnings of trouble, the whispers of retaliation, and the rumblings of more rebellion that seethed beneath the tidy surface. Anaxas may have needed a revolution, but Corwynn's King didn't want one. The economic impact could be disastrous, it was true, but the older galdor had begun to wonder if a good cleansing with fire wouldn't leave a glorious opportunity for regrowth in its wake.

Oh well.

He'd betrayed Hawke once, and he wasn't about to do it again. Not in this lifetime.

"Ye here for a meal, Cor?" The server was grinning at him, the young human having snuck up to the table while he was distracted in thought, catching the Bad Brother off guard.

He hummed, crystalline gaze sliding reluctantly from the horizon to the woman who would have been far easier on the eyes when she didn't smile to reveal a few important missing teeth, "No. Just the chan, thank you."

"Well, it's striped bass tonight, love, so ye holler if ye change yer mind." She winked and made her way back inside, the sound of guitar and washtub drifting in from near the hearth.

The blond galdor let the chan warm him, the tea laced with rum trickling into his veins and settling in his chest with a comfortable heat. Chan's hallucinogenic qualities somewhat watered down, Corwynn was simply content for a toasty distraction, his mind wandering aimlessly while he watched the sunset and considered his less than savory options for the evening.

The Mad Queen was always an option, though Scarlett had been in such a foul mood since her prodigal witch's dishonorable return, round with child, that the gunman knew better than to show his face, aware that he irritated her so by the sheer force of his competitiveness, let alone his capacity for overspending in such a den of flesh. The two galdori were far too similar creatures and always seemed at odds with each other, much to Silas' chagrin.

The Arena was another option, but godsdamnit if he didn't want to watch that clocking passive pound the snot out of some other contender just to rake in cash for his King—none of which the determined little erse got to see, anyway.

"Clock it all." Cor hissed frustratedly from over the rim of his Dirty Chan, seeking the first stars after sunset and deciding a quiet flight would do his listless, needy self some good. He simply wasn't presentable for a crowd tonight, far to annoyed to play cards like a gentleman and far too needy to play nice in the Black Dove without picking a fight. Perhaps he just needed to make his way back to the Palace and see who wanted his attention.

After his drink.

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Aziza
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Sun Nov 11, 2018 7:42 pm

Dentis 20, 2718
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It was a fine evening, especially given that the warmer seasons had come and gone. It wasn't too cold, not even for the Mugrobi, and the weather had cleared up enough to make everything shine brightly. The sunset was a spectacular one and the young woman would honestly be disappointed when it finally sank below the horizon and plunged them into darkness. It wouldn't be absolute black, the stars sure to shine down on them all without the clouds to cover them.

Aziza would have liked to simply sit and enjoy the sun's slow descent, marvelling in the moment when it finally kissed the horizon and seemed to be gradually swallowed up by the sea. However, the girl's body was providing distractions. She was hungry and thirsty but there was a way to sate both in the locale, plus she might well get a good view of the sunset if it wasn't too busy.

She'd spent another day out of the kint to allow her mother the chance to rest- Well, okay, she was avoiding her but the sick woman wouldn't fare poorly for the peace from her restless daughter. She could have stayed home to tend Nazia but frankly, she was sick of the sight of her, glad to take to her feet while she couldn't take to the open road. The older Mug wasn't stupid either. It was more stressful to have the young spoke about the place, irritable and hyperactive, liable to lose patience and bang around their small mobile home as she grew stir-crazy. Perhaps there was also a consideration for Aziza's health but they both knew that she was young and healthy so it was simply an excuse.

Excuse or not, it gave her freedom when her mother gave her her blessing to leave the kint each day, the young woman running wild about the Harbour instead of the small confines of the kint. Today's adventure had involved some musicians in a far seedier part of town than her mother would have liked her to be in, close to the establishment known as the Mad Queen. She'd heard warnings about that place and yet she thought nothing of it, simply giving it something of a wide berth and going about her business as she wished.

And so she had been dancing and clapping, stamping her feet in time to the rhythm and working up a sweat because it was what she wanted to do. Now, she wanted to start unwinding, driving the energy out of her system so that she could stomach a return to the same location that she'd been in since the start of Yaris. Honestly, she was growing sick of the sight of the Harbour as a whole, desperate to be on the move once more but there was honestly nothing worse than the little patch of dirt where she'd set the kint. Oh sure, she'd had to move it about a little but it was too much sameness for the free-spirited girl and she resented her mother's latest ailment that kept her so confined.

Her companions of the day were heading to the Mad Queen, inviting her along but receiving a firm refusal from the exotic wick. She chatted with them more, the group hovering outside the Widow's Walk while the Mugrobi shot a quick look at the upstairs balcony, delighted to find that it was relatively empty. She enveloped them in hugs, kissing their cheeks and laughing loudly and open-mouthed, white teeth plainly flashing. They finally parted ways, the Mug calling after them in Tek before she trotted into the establishment, her stomach rumbling as the smells of food hit her.

She made it upstairs before the server caught her, stopping her as she was stepping foot on the balcony, yards away from its blond occupant.

"Az, love! Good to see ye! Ain't seen ye 'round here for what? A week? Ye back 'round to see if anyone'll pay for yer meals?" the server asked with a laugh, her grin showing off the gaps in her smile. The Mugrobi returned it with a toothy smile of her own, the teeth well looked after in comparison and seeming shining white in contrast with her dark skin.

"Hesta! Ne, I'll pay fer me own meals this even', ent tryna work here this time but lookin' to get summat hot in my belly. Summat cheap and cheerful'll do jus' fine. Surprise me, ye know that I'm eas'ly pleased," the witch replied with a wink and a laugh, parting ways so that she could walk straight up to the balcony's rail, leaning on the wood as she fixed her gaze on the breathtaking view.

On her way, she couldn't help but glance at the blond man. It was the realisation that he was Anaxi yet lacking the ginger or darker colours coupled with his manner of dress and holding himself. Older but attractive, something rough about him but it added to the appeal. However, she passed close enough to him to sense his field, Her gaze, which had been wandering back to the sun, snapped back to him, a rapid blink betraying her surprise. A golly? Felt strong enough for that, organised enough for that although perhaps not as rigid as many golly fields she'd come across. She'd come to view such stiffness as a sign of something unyielding in them although they weren't all like that. Not that she looked too deeply, not when she realised what he was. Best not to pry too far, not with a golly, even if she was curious.

This was an odd place to spot a golly. Sure, there were Seventen around but they were all in with the Bad Brothers, weren't they? Rotten to the core, not quite golly in truth although there had to be some around who were more golly in the typical sense. In this part of the Rose, she wondered which sort he could be.

She chewed her lip, gaze fixed on the horizon as she shifted her weight a little restlessly, curiosity getting the better of her. Not all gollies were bad so where was the harm.

"It's a beaut, ent it? The sunset, I mean. All colourful, like dye spilled an' mixed in a river," she pointed out, addressing Corwynn. The young woman looked as if she knew all about spilled dye, the colours she wore vibrant and varied, almost luminous orange on the top and a mix of dark colours in her skirt, the pattern chaotic if rhyme or reason existed to it at all.

"I know there's plen'y o' space but can I sit wi' ye, ye chen? No sense sittin' apart when ye can have comp'ny, is there? It's up t'ye. I ent gonna make ye if ye'd rather stay by yer lonesome," Aziza added, although she'd moved, hand resting on the back of a chair near to his while the other dangled at her hip, casual.

"I'm Aziza by the by. Az is usual, mind. Dint matter to me. Ye can be as familiar as ye like, I'm fair friendly, ye chen?" she added with a grin.
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Corwynn
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Tue Nov 27, 2018 3:50 pm

20th of Dentis, 2718
THE WIDOW'S WALK | EARLY EVENING
The blond gunman was content to let the chan work its way through his system in quietude, watching boats bob out on the waves and birds dive for their dinners in the setting sun. But voices interrupted his moment and his blue gaze shifted to the conversation that blossomed on the balcony, taking in the waitress and the dark-skinned woman with his typical, sociable curiosity. It wasn't as though he actually knew every face in the Harbor he called home, but he tried to know the pretty ones whenever possible.

If he caught the sweep of her glance as it flicked in his direction, he didn't make much of it, returning to his drink with the briefest of smiles until the witch was at his table, reclaiming his attention with her talk of sunsets and hand on the empty chair. His expression brightened, wrinkling the edges of his eyes and creasing into his well-aged features, and Corwynn shifted his body to sit up and lean forward so that an expensive boot pushed the chair out in invitation for the younger woman to sit,

"Ea, adame." He hummed in Mugrobi, the rich depths of his voice well-practiced in making conversation in the language. He swept his hand in the direction of the seat, four fingers of the less whole right hand waggling in order to emphasize his agreement to the request while his other hand remained curled around his drink, "I'm never one to say no to the company of strangers. I've been told I'm fair friendly myself when it suits me, I suppose."

Tilting his head, he took the witch in as she sat without a hint of shame in doing so, pausing only to realize that the waitress had slipped inside to fetch the requested meal and he would be left to ask for more to drink whenever she decided to return. Elbows came to rest on the table, worn hands folding together and allowing a glimpse of inked waves hidden beneath the sleeves of his fine Hessean-spun cotton shirt,

"The Harbor has her share of lovely sunsets, I won't argue. There's a few better views, but not many. Not here in Anaxas, anyway." His grin was mischievous now, implying himself well-traveled or at least opinionated about how the sun set here in this Kingdom as opposed to other places, implying there were perhaps better places to be,

"Epa'ma, my manners. I'm Corwynn." He bobbed his head in greeting instead of offering a hand, choosing to linger in the language he assumed was more her native tongue than Estuan given the nature of her accent and manner of her dress. He didn't give his full name, but the moniker he was known by in Old Rose Harbor, the nickname he'd been given by Silas his king, "Sana'hulali. Since I’ve called the Rose home for over two decades and I don’t know your face, Aziza, are you just passing through?"
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Aziza
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Tue Nov 27, 2018 8:57 pm

Dentis 20, 2718
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The witch's smile was a grateful one as she pulled the kicked seat out that little bit further but pausing, dark gaze flicking up to him as the familiar syllables crossed his lips. Her eyes widened a little, a rapid blink as her smile flattered a little in shock. The smile returned, spreading slowly as she took a seat.

"Adame," she returned in Mugrobi, finding it odd to make the sounds to someone so pale. When she was with her mother, she was likely to use Estuan coloured with Tek, her Kingdom's tongue not actually something that she utilised that much. Heck, she had hardly used it in Mugroba and had heard it with less frequency than one might expect given that Tek and Estuan were important for trade with foreigners and wicks met with such frequently. In fact, she wasn't even fluent in Mugrobi. Still, it was a pleasant surprise to hear this man speak in such a way, his accent sending a little shiver of pleasure down her spine. Oh, his voice was rich, the timbre of it so pleasant that she found that she wanted to hear more from his lips. She thought it'd be enjoyable regardless of what language he spoke.

Turns out that his Estuan was just as pleasant, the Mug finding herself perched on the edge of her seat, elbows placed on the table as she leaned a little towards him. Maybe she was mirroring him, maybe it was just a display of her own interest but it brought them closer, each able to get a very clear view of the other. It made Aziza feel that the table was suddenly very small; she didn't mind in the least.

"Well, I ent seen much beyond here an' Mugroba but there are some rare pretty sights in Mug, oes. Might be a pina bit biased, mind," she commented with a grin, teeth gleaming. "My people dint like to spill our words t' jents, 'spec'ly not pale faces - ne offence - so I take it ye bin to Mug? Find anyt'in' in yer travels to rival that?" she asked, jerking her thumb towards the sunset in a manner that sent metal chiming and clicking on her dark arms.

Aziza considered him thoughtfully. In spite of his use of the odd Mugrobi word, he was clearly more at home with Estuan, which was why she'd kept her speech that way. Well... it was actually quite Tek-laden but he'd said himself that he'd been in Old Rose for awhile - a long while - so he couldn't be clueless about the pidgin. It was the only thing that kept her from reeling in her tongue and cleaning up her speech; her Estuan was really quite good when she let it be so. His words were quite tidy, lacking so many of the dropped syllables and idiomatic turns that she was accustomed to hearing on a daily basis. But then he was golly, wasn't he? Couldn't be anything else with a field like that; she'd never come across a wick with one that big and organised.

How did a golly make their home in Old Rose for twenty years and not be a little bit dodgy though? He didn't look like Seventen so what did that leave? Aside from that very sexy voice and everything matching that went with it.

She shifted in her seat, stretching her legs and accidentally bumping into his own under the table. She drew the limbs back with speed, smiling an apology. "Ent passing through, not exac'ly. Been here for mos' th' Dry Season and still here, ent I? 'Spose tha' don't seem long t' ye but I'm a spoke, dint like to hang 'round too long. Dint like to hang 'round for a week or two if I can help it," the witch explained honestly, shrugging her shoulders. "Dint get me wrong, ent nothin' wrong with the Harbor but... I like to be on the move, ye chen? Can't move me kint yet, can't get far if I have to go an' be back in the same day. Ent like I can fly."

She certainly wished that she could. To take the the sky as readily as birds took to the wing would be wonderfully freeing but she didn't have wings and she didn't have one of those flying machines. It wasn't likely that she'd ever acquire the former or end up on the latter, never mind own one.

As she considered prying into the man's background, finding out what had made him stick around so long, she spotted the serving woman returning with a bowl of something steaming. She grinned, accepting the bowl eagerly and the slice of rough-looking bread that came with it. It was some sort of stew, lumps floating in it, most of them off-white or brown that blended in with the liquid. It had a meaty aroma but she didn't bother to ask what - if any - meat might be in it. More than likely, the meat had passed close to it and that was about it. Not that the witch would be caught complaining.

"Mujo mujo ma, hama," Aziza enthused, beginning to tear the bread into strips.

"Can I get ye summat to drink wit' tha'?" the woman asked, leaning to one side to peer into Cor's only cup. "How 'bout a top up for ye as well, love?" she questioned, resting a hand on the table as she looked from one to the other expectantly.

The dark-skinned girl gazed longingly at Cor's cup for a few moments, considering adding the cost of a drink to her meal before thinking better of it. She shook her head, laughing the offer off. "Ne, ye're all right, rosh, both eatin' and drinkin' in this," she joked, ladling up a measure onto her spoon and letting the liquid plop back in to illustrate her point.
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Corwynn
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Thu Nov 29, 2018 3:29 pm

20th of Dentis, 2718
THE WIDOW'S WALK | EARLY EVENING
"Ea,I'm no stranger to what the Mugrobi people like and dislike, having traveled back and forth between here and there for quite some time now. Trade. Business. The like." Corwynn chuckled at her forwardness, not at all offended by her racial commentary. Crystalline gaze shifted from her face to the sunset again, his smile still creasing its way into the edges of his eyes and the sea-worn lines of his otherwise well-aged face. Without looking back at the younger witch right away, his answer was distant and almost tangibly honest, depths of his voice flavored with obvious nostalgia, "There is very little that rivals a sunset over the Shifting Sands by aeroship."

Clearing his throat as if to chase the memories off of the tip of his tongue as thoughts of travel tugged him away from the present, he slowly tilted his face back in Aziza's direction at the brush of her legs against his own. He didn't make any motion to remove himself from being in her way, shifting only slightly without any intention of taking up less space so much as guaranteeing more of such accidents with the hint of a coy expression creeping into his smile. If that was his response to the body language of her unspoken apology, it obviously revealed he didn't at all mind the contact,

"I may call the Harbor home, myself, but I'm not particularly good at sitting still, either. I'm not one for traveling by kint, mind you, but I can appreciate the need for a change of scenery. I prefer to travel by sea or in the air, and both of them have their different appeals to the restless soul—I can say that with experience. Pe'a, don't dismiss yourself so quickly, wicks can fly, actually—" The blond gunman leaned back from the table in time for the young server to return with the Mugrobi woman's hot meal. He glanced at the contents of the bowl and the steam that rose from it, watching the witch through the brief haze before he reached to slide the empty chan mug toward her with two of his remaining four fingers on his once-dominant hand,

"—Ah, yes, I'll take some more of that, please. And if the nice witch here would like to change her mind, she's welcome to drink on my behalf in exchange for her company."

The server grinned at him as if aware of who he was and what he could afford, licking her lips and returning her attention to Aziza, "Ye still good, chip, 'r ye thinkin' yer thirsty now? I'd be thirsty if I were y'self, ye chen" There was something about her choice of words that implied she wasn't just talking about a drink, either.

Corwynn laughed, dragging a palm over his jaw while he gave the young Mugrobi a moment to make her final decision before the server took his mug and wandered back inside,

"—I've known a few decent wick aeroship pilots, although it's true that currently the technology is definitely catering toward jents like myself." Even his sarcastic self-deprecation felt like an innuendo, but he spoke with such comfortable confidence about aeroships that surely he wasn't making stories up just to impress his guest. Right?
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Aziza
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Sat Dec 01, 2018 10:35 am

Dentis 20, 2718
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His comment about her people's likes and dislikes drew a smirk on the young woman's features. She couldn't help it, she had that kind of mind and it probably didn't help that she'd been assessing him sexually, unable to deny that he was attractive - his voice, his manner, his looks - and that he was worth consideration. Even if he was a golly. It wasn't as if all gollies were bad. Some of them had to be all right, didn't they? They couldn't all view people like her as dirt or how else could there be so many wicks in the world.

"D'ye now?" she questioned, unable to stop the smirk from widening into a grin, the witch propping her chin on her hand as she regarded him. He'd obviously been pulled in by the sight of the sunset now and there was something wistful in his expression. Oh she understood that look well, the feeling that went with it too. She really, really wanted to be out of here. There was nothing quite like the bump and grind of a kint on the road. Of course, the important thing about the sensation was the actual movement. It wasn't her mother's fault, of course, but some small part of her couldn't help but blame the woman. Sometimes, she really wished that she could be rid of her and it was a desire that filled her with unimaginable guilt. After all, she was her family and all that she had left too.

The mention of an aeroship forced a snort from her. "Dze, aeroship? Cannae say I'll ever have the pleasure. Closest I'll ever get t'one is t'see it over'ead. We ent all allowed near golly toys, ye chen?" she shot back, just a hint of bitterness creeping into her voice. Oh, she'd love to experience such a thing but it didn't matter how optimistic she tried to be about it; it was just too far out of the range of possibility for her. Still, he understood her need to move and Aziza couldn't help but see him in a new light.

She didn't think of the galdori as nomadic or with any desire to be so. They were like the tsat wicks - false wicks in her eyes - that were content- no, needed to stay put for years on end. It was just so... unchanging. They slipped into routines, carried out the same actions without variation and she knew because it had happened when she'd been forced to live that way. But the need to move wasn't something she associated with the galdori. Heck, this one was already different, wasn't he? He made Old Rose his home and he actually seemed happy to have her sit here. There were plenty of gollies she'd come across who didn't want her too close, who kept their distance as if touching her might lead to some sort of contamination, as if being a wick was catching. This one though, he hadn't seemed to mind at all that she'd touched off him. In fact, he'd shifted in a way that actually seemed to diminish the free space under the table.

She moved her leg carefully to test it and sure enough, she found it brushing against his own, the fabric of his trousers rubbing against the bare skin of her calf and shin. The witch bit her lip, forcing herself not to draw away but also trying not to remain too rigid while she waited to see what he'd do.

He was talking about the air again and she was about to interrupt him, to point out once more that such travel wasn't for the likes of her, when the server appeared.

She hadn't expected his offer of a drink, her brows rising as her spoon hovered above her stew, gaze flicking longingly towards the cup. She did want one and it wasn't often that a golly offered to buy her one but she found herself pausing, for once wondering what the ulterior motive was. How often did men buy her drinks and she never even considered what they might want in return? Was that because it was so obvious that she didn't consciously think about it anymore? Was he paying for her company or her company?

The witch could almost imagine her mother's indignation, accusations flying from her lips that were sure to include the word 'tumble'. It wasn't as if she needed anyone to give her money or anything for her company in that regard, which probably made her appear worse in Nazia's eyes but the woman wasn't here and rarely was present in these sorts of situations. It wasn't her body.

Maybe the server picked up on her hesitation because her words appeared to be oddly encouraging, prodding her to accept and her dark eyes moved up to look at the other woman before shifting back to Corwynn. Did this man have a reputation? This woman certainly seemed to know something about him and eyed him quite favourably. She wondered... fuck wondering, she could just find out for herself.

"Oes, g'wan then. I ent one t' turn down a free drink. I'll have whatever he's havin'; I ent particular," she told the server but her gaze never left Cor, a playful smile marking her lips.

Once the server was gone, she leaned closer to him, arms loosely folded on the table around her bowl as she spoke in a murmur. "I'm sure ye know wicks that have been let near yer ships but I ent gonna get near one, am I, Corwynn? I dint have the right kind of friends. If I was in wi' th' King, I might get near one but I ent and I dint wanna be," she explained. Her smile had saddened a bit but she laughed to buoy the mood, leaning back a little and shaking her head.

"Doubt I'm the right sort of witch for an aeroship anyway. More'n like I'd crash it. Might be worth it if I could take out some annoying jents at the same time. Not ye though, Corwynn. I'll give ye some warning t' get out o' th' way. Least I'd try!"

She laughed heartily at that one, loud and open-mouthed, almost bringing herself to tears at the thought of such a scene. As it was, she almost upset her bowl of food, reduced to snorting at herself as she steadied things. If she didn't pay attention, she was more likely to lose her dinner than eat it so she went back to spooning it up as the server made her return and deposited two steaming mugs on the table. Curious, Aziza sniffed, leaning a little closer, a familiar scent rising from it but with something else that muddied it.

"Chan?" she questioned in puzzlement, the spoon left hovering as she became distracted yet again.
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Corwynn
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: The Taxman
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Tue Dec 11, 2018 1:35 pm

20th of Dentis, 2718
THE WIDOW'S WALK | EARLY EVENING
"Aeroships aren't always golly toys, but who am I to argue otherwise?" Corwynn grinned, clearly not ashamed of what he was, let alone who: galdor, gunman, pilot for the King of the Underworld himself, "I've flown a few—right alongside tekaa—in my time."

It wasn't a brag or some pickup line to impress an attractive young stranger who seemed to have no qualms about their continued contact underneath the table, for the older man felt as though he'd properly assessed the situation by the way the Mugrobi witch remained where she was instead of fleeing. Her interest in his table had become more than just a lack of desire to eat alone, and Corwynn wasn't the type of person to turn down any opportunity to indulge appetites of any nature. His smile was a knowing one, full of mischief and anticipation, and his field was hardly cautious or oppressive despite the weight of it, laden as it was with Physical and Static particles like he controlled a gravity all his own.

Blue eyes watched her face, her hands, noting the press of dark skin against expensive fabric without even a ripple of disturbance in his expression—he'd lived alongside the so-called lower races for so long that his opinions on superiority had been washed out with the tide like so much flotsam years ago, if not decades. Sure, he was wealthy, powerful, and magically gifted, but he served under the direction of a wily young wick and his band of mixed race criminal croonies. They'd begrudgingly accepted him and a few other galdori into their ranks, and he'd hardly batted an eye at their company. He'd taken to his bed whoever he pleased from all Six Kingdoms by now, and he'd enjoyed the similarities as well as the differences with a curiosity hardly defined by words alone.

Did he consider himself a better creature anymore? Did he care if his peers still did? He wasn't concerned about the status quo and he was even less concerned by overthrowing it, finding his profitable existence full of plenty of adventure in the tumultuous middle, whether that was negotiating financial deals or between the sheets.

The server re-appeared before he could comment more on flying aeroships and how wicks certainly could, and it was with reluctance that he let his crystalline gaze stray from Aziza's expressive, foreign face to offer her a drink. The act surprised the Mug witch, and Corwynn could feel it both in the subtle shift in her field and in the brief hesitation in her verbal response. His smile warmed and he tilted his head back to face the lovely, witty woman as she leaned closer, the press of her aura light and intriguing as she lowered her voice as if in conspiracy.

"Oh, well. Aren't you in luck, adame. I just so happen to be in with the King."

The older galdor quipped without a hint of shame, hesitation, or, even more obviously, fear. Did he wiggle the hand where his puckered scar announced the absence of his trigger finger for emphasis? Was there a subtle movement of his body in the chair to call attention to the pistol at his hip? Perhaps a little, for the blond galdor certainly wasn't above preening a little for attention. There was a gun at his hip and his shoes were clocking expensive, the sea-worn features of his face creasing into the slyest of taunting grins. He wasn't an unknown. He didn't live his life in the Harbor with a low profile. If you didn't know the name Corwynn, you were probably new to the Old Rose or dead, at least as far as he was concerned, "We're good friends, Silas and myself, and he even lets me take his flying toys out to play whenever I wish. Within reason, of course—are you asking for a tour—"

She interrupted any more of his response with a more violent comment and while her laugh was loud, the blond gunman chuckled much more quietly, "—pe'a, I'd definitely be grateful for the warning, but I can point you in the direction of annoying jents in need of a fiery gruesome murder any time, Aziza. Trust me."

He paused for the return of the server, nine fingers curling around the steaming mug once it was set in front of him, thanking her with a nod of his head and a quiet handful of syllables before he couldn't help but return the Mugroba witch's laughter, bright blue eyes creased just so at the edges in his humor. He took a sip from his still-hot mug, disturbing the steam with his breath while he spoke from over the rim,

"Yes, chan. It's been a clocking long week and even us old jents need to clear their heads every once in a while. Good Lady, it's not my favorite solution for wiping the slate clean at the end of the day, mind you, but for the moment, it'll do." Glancing back down at the rippled surface of his intoxicating beverage, Corwynn shrugged his shoulders in a dismissive fashion as if admitting that a few mild, relaxing hallucinations weren't entirely going to scratch the restless itch that needed scratching and he shifted the position of his legs under the table as if in emphasis.

Setting his mug down and propping his stubbled, well-bred chin on the calloused knuckles of his hands, folded together as they were above his drink. Watching her poke about her meal, he added with an obvious coyness,

"Flaming corpses of strangers aside and all, I've got a few aeroships at my disposal that can, well, take passengers." It was an invitation, plain and simple, but the quiet, purred way it left his lips could have made it sound not like an offer of a private flight but a welcoming into his bed. The honest truth of such things with the blond gunman were that such invitations were, frankly, never far from each other; anyone who really knew the Bad Brother knew that certain activities were always on offer, after all, "Just in case you're ever curious."
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Aziza
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Thu Dec 13, 2018 7:24 pm

Dentis 20, 2718
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Aziza had been undeniably warm towards him, her manner so friendly in fact that the galdor probably didn't doubt that he could do whatever he wished with her. The witch wouldn't have been adverse to such a thing, wouldn't even have considered saying no to him if he'd stated that he wanted her, even if it was here and now.

Until he so casually - proudly - mentioned his association with Silas Hawke.

The young woman's body language didn't alter much, a bit stiffer, moving a little bit back but her field gave away more. It dampened considerably, almost doetoed around the galdor, as if she could go unnoticed now. It was made worse by the presence of the gun, the cocky display of it that made her heart pulse in her throat. Dark brown eyes widened, a tremble appearing in her lip until she caught it between her teeth, her horror quite clear.

A Bad Brother.

How much time had she spent in and around the Harbour and managed to avoid the King's band of misfits? She'd done a good job of steering clear of them, even when she'd briefly gotten into bed - quite literally - with the King's competition. Of course they couldn't be avoided completely but she'd been careful, cautious not to come to their attention when they happened to be in the same vicinity. After all this time, she had stumbled upon one unknowingly, little suspecting a golly to be-

But of course she had to have known. Hadn't she assumed that there was something dodgy about him, something elicit? No wonder the server had spoken as she had! Had she been laughing at the Mugrobi? Better you than me? You'd better agree to what he says or you'll regret it?

Blood had definitely drained from her face, the dark skin losing its lustre as she swallowed, throat moving in a laboured way. She tried to allow her good humour to return, to allow her fear to blow over but while she could laugh and joke, the uncomfortable feeling crept back into her belly.

A gun.

Oh Hulali no, she couldn't bear that! She had a horror of violence but while knives were bad, many types of magic were bad, guns were... a horror. Smoking, banging horrors. She was a healer, a lover of all and the notion that she had a killer before her, a cocky one horrified her.

She ate her stew at a greater speed now, even though her stomach was beginning to roil, uncomfortable in the man's presence now. Her emotions bled into her field, erratic, pulsing. Her legs were drawn back now, hands trembling slightly as she spooned food into her mouth. It gave her an excuse not to speak although her feelings were more than plain. It wasn't easy for her to draw back from him now though, difficult to get up and leave when he'd bought her a drink.

Aziza owed him.

This wasn't a pleasant situation to be in.

"Wiping th' slate clean? Wha' do ye usually like to do? Splatter some sorry kov's blood everywhere?" she snapped out, unable to stop herself, both hands wrapping around the mug of dirty chan. Her grip was tight, her knuckles lightening in colour from the pressure of it. Her gaze snapped up to his, accusation in her eyes but also some degree of hurt in the liquid brown.

"I dint have any friends linked t' th' King for benny reasons; I dint want 'em. I dint want an in with any Bad Brothers, ne matter wha' sort of toys ye try t' coax me wi'. I ent ne kenser t' be led by th' nose, some hingle t' be led t' th' slaughter. I dint want any Bad Brother friends, 'specially n'ones with guns," she told him, a slight wobble in her voice but mostly firm. She meant what she said. There was a determination in her gaze, a decision made. A decision that she evidently didn't like. She had liked the man but it was a positive feeling built on misinformation or information that she'd been wilfully blind to because surely, she had known.

But she couldn't agree now, not that there was no doubt. She had to draw a line somewhere and Hawke's men... no, they weren't folks to be messed with. Even if she did actually fancy messing around with this one. Still, his attractiveness had definitely just dropped a great deal, which certainly helped under the circumstances.

"I'm sorry, Corwynn. I really am. But I can’t do this. I can’t...” the witch whispered, Estuan utterly clear for a change although it still bore the rhythm and accent of Mugrobi, She eased up her grip on the mug, her expression mournful as she pushed back her chair, biting on her lip as she made to rise, indecisive about where she would actually go now. She wasn't sure if she should bring the drink with her or leave it, retroactively rejecting it. So the young woman stood in place, hands resting on the edge of the table as she considered, dark lip caught between white teeth.
Last edited by Aziza on Mon Jan 07, 2019 12:18 pm, edited 1 time in total.
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Corwynn
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Fri Jan 04, 2019 11:09 am

20th of Dentis, 2718
THE WIDOW'S WALK | EARLY EVENING
The Mugrobi witch was made visibly uncomfortably by the nonchalance with which Corwynn spoke of his association with the King of the Underworld, her expression and even her glamour wilting with his utterly unconcerned admission that he was, indeed a Bad Brother. The older galdor was, with the exception of a near-fatal felony, a founding member of Silas Hawke's rise to power: financially, politically, and physically. He was, at this point in his forty-odd years of life, committed to the cause with very few questions.

Not unused to strangers balking at what he really was, even here in Old Rose Harbor, the blond gunman sipped his second mug of chan, letting the tingling sensation of its warmth travel through his sea-worn nerves and anticipating its narcotic effects with comfortably familiarity.

"I have, yes. I will again." Murder. Torture. Violence. Corwynn wouldn't deny her the truth, his field a bastion of his own twisted form of self-confidence, hardened as he was by over two decades of his life on the other side of acceptable society. He took the accusatory glare without any regret ini his tone, "My loyalty to my King doesn't come without the need to protect the organization I belong to, the people I have come to call my friends and, dare I say it, my family. Would you refuse to fight for what mattered to you? Is anything ever really that simple as to be so black and white as you make it sound?"

Was it the chan that made him that unusually philosophical or had the older man simply justified his unsavory choices in such an abstract, amoral way?

"Pe'a, I never said you had to return the friendship I offered with my table, adame. It was you who asked to sit with me. It was I who offered you my hospitality—" His smirk was predatory and unapologetic, emphasizing the Mugrobi word he'd given instead of Azizia's name, aware of its meaning in the tongue of her Kingdom, "—and it is you who are quick to judge a man a desema by his associations."

The wind had shifted and all the older galdor could do was move with it, as usual.

Adjusting himself in his seat to sit up further, nine fingers curled around the hot ceramic of his mug, Corwynn's crystalline gaze watched the young woman stand without any hint of anger or disappointment in his expression. Freedom was a precious gift, and it was not his place to take it from the Mugrobi witch because he'd not been asked to by his King,

"Yaka, there's no need to apologize. Consider your worries paid for—" He waved a hand toward her abandoned meal, unconcerned whether she took her drink with her or not, dismissing the woman with a quiet tone of voice while he admitted he'd put the coins down for everything left behind. If there was any disappointment at all, it was because her heritage had garnered far too much of his willing attention than it should have, the blond gunman aware of his taste for the Mugrobi people, aware of his preferences, "—ule'elana. If our paths cross again, my offer still stands, Aziza."
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Aziza
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Mon Jan 07, 2019 5:31 pm

Dentis 20, 2718
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Corwynn couldn't understand how bloody torn she was although perhaps it was clear enough to read in her field, the pulse and the disorder of her distress and frustration emanating from her. Her mother had always said that she was easy to read, even from a distance but her field just made the task all the simpler.

Clock the Circle, she'd promised her mother. She'd promised. She'd made certain promises before, certain promises that had involved Benton and not getting involved with him. Besides what Nazia didn't know...

No! Gun! She was a healer at heart, someone who cared deeply or others, far too deeply for them and the idea of such an item of wanton destruction... But yes, there were things she'd been willing to do in the past to protect her own, even those who weren't technically her own but she always tried to minimise damage caused, always. Would she use a gun if it came down to it? If it was really necessary and someone left one in her reach or thrust it into her hands, would she refuse?

No, but it'd more than likely damage her as readily as if she was the one having a bullet exploded into her. Every time she'd had to harm in the past, it had killed her. And yet she could use a short bow, could do a fair bit of damage with one but she'd never turned it on a person. In theory, she could and she could potentially do wirse than a bullet with one because an arrow wouldn't necessarily kill you, not right away.

Hulali, she couldn't judge, she knew she couldn't, not truly but that just made it all the worse. The Bad Brother as right that it wasn't all black and white, and she knew it. Why did he have to be so bloody reasonable? Why did he have to make sense? It wasn't fair and she honestly couldn't deal with it. It was just too much, if she was honest. The girl couldn't find the words before this older man, so much wiser than her in years, in experience, more certain in his convictions. He was a galdor and a Bad Brother, a proud one, so he obviously had confidence in what he was, what he believed and held sacred. He was presumably all right with the things that he had to do, unashamed of his way of life and the harm that he'd potentially caused. Aziza couldn't say that she felt as secure in herself as he evidently felt in himself. Beside him, she was nothing but a child, even if she wasn't technically one of those anymore.

The girl didn't know what to think, didn't know who to side with. Was she meant to side with her mother's view of things, or Cor's? Her mother was oddly conservative, the woman believing that her daughter shouldn't have sex as she chose, do drugs as she chose, drink, have fun, any of it. As far as Nazia was concerned, Aziza wasn't allowed live. It was her fault that she was still stuck in Old Rose Harbor. Her fault that she was going slowly crazy.

Cor on the other hand... yes, some of his ways were likely to be bad but even in just this short time, he'd encouraged her to do as she pleased. Even now, he could have been trying to say sweet things with the intent of getting laid, coaxing her, but he wasn't. He was willing to let her go, to allow her to have free will.

And he hadn't lied.

The girl swayed in her standing, making a mewling sound in her distress. She was all a-tremble, shaking her head gently from side to side as her glamour pulsed with greater intensity. She moved around the table, halfway between her vacated seat and Cor, halfway to flight but not quite there.

"Cor... I ent judging, not like ye think. I ent... I ent meant to get mixed up with Bad Brothers and the like, I ent-" the young woman gasped out, hands hovering uncertainly over the cup of chan, perhaps considering taking it with her but biting on her lip instead. Tears shimmered in her dark brown gaze, the head shake resuming as she sighed softly.

"Epa'ma, I ent got th'right t'- t'-" she stuttered out, the tears beginning to flow freely. She dropped back into her seat and began to sob in earnest, her pent up emotions and frustrations spilling out. It was dumb. It was so unbelievably dumb, she really was like a child right now but she couldn't stop herself. Better out than in.

"I'm meant t'- My juela, she's sick, been that way many maw an' I'm meant t'be good but I'm an awful boch!" she wailed out, sniffling, and rubbing at her face. She fanned at her teary eyes, a shaky laugh bubbling up from inside her.

"Epa'ma, I'm being mung. Ye dint want some mung chip sobbing at yer table. Some adame I make, eh?" she remarked, her humour self-deprecating. She took a big gulp from her mug, coughing as it slid down too fast. She smiled sheepishly at him, shrugging.

"I'm Mugrobi. I ent meant to lie, am I?" she threw out. "I've been told t' be scared o' Bad Brothers an' I dint like guns. I'm a healer, I don't-" she broke off, shaking her head.

"Spite o' tha', ye dint seem like a bad sort and I shouldn't'a said- I dint say ye were desema but I kinda suggested it, dint I?"

Full lips puffed out in a pout, fingers moving through braided hair, attempting to curl thick braids between her fingertips. Her cheeks were duskier than before, a mix of embarrassment and blotchiness from the tears she'd shed. Her gaze rose to the galdor, eyeing him uncertainly. She wouldn't be surprised if he wanted to up and leave, to separate himself from this silly child. Aziza imagined that she was a lot less attractive to him now.
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