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[i][color=9ea99e]And there she sat, gilded in rhinestones, sipping brandy under grey skies - red against red.[/color][/i][/center][hr][hr]

People fancied their possessions far more than their lives. Luxuries came first, pounded against the cornerstone of each and every foundation. They each swam in masks, gliding from gilded aisle to gilded aisle along the street cobbles. Even the stones sang out, decked in gems so precious under the warm, evening sun. The mountain burdened their trifles and petty dealings. She was the foot with which the boot covered to stomp against the ants below. Solomon's guts roiled at the thought, willing his eyes close.

The din surrounding him chimed, it did not pound like the heavy foot stomps of thin limbed horses. It rang in tittles and prattles against the pristine white of each surrounding building. Bells, chimes, tinkling of glass in their voices - silk, it was, lacking the thick, opaque roughness of turmoil. Every [i]tink[/i] grated Solomon's teeth together, a pearled movement of his lips. No one took notice, too busy in their revelry to watch the man in the corner with a gloved hand wound tightly around his cane.

"Dreadful, isn't it?" a crow called behind him. Solomon turned to watch his beady eyes savor the sight of him. A hand outstretched and reflex bid Solomon take it in a firm grasp. They shook while Solomon gestured to his side.

[color=9ea99e]"I have work to do,"[/color] Solomon said with a furrow in his brows, [color=9ea99e]"trivial compared to this: a party celebrating the culinary genius of toasted rye bread."[/color] The man beside him coughed a laugh, catching the sickening twist of Solomon's humor. [color=9ea99e]"You think I'm kidding."[/color]

"No, no, I wouldn't dare question the importance of unburnt bread," he paused, perhaps to stare at Solomon's side - he could certainly feel the heat of the gaze. "I apologize, we'd greeted but an introduction must have slipped my mind. Jasper Corbeau," Jasper said, sidling next to Solomon just a slight bit closer.

Years of working these cases tightened Solomon's lips. Relishing in practically sealing a contract seemed amateur. Not a man was as professional as Monsieur Shade. His own hubris wouldn't admit a damn thing. But, he let slip a smile, if only to goad the man further. Jasper mimicked the movement, stepping a midge closer into Solomon's personal space.

For a brief second, Jasper leaned back, eyes carefully watching the crowd of Gents rising in their cacophony. He hummed, casting Solomon a side long glance before giving his suit jacket a shake. "I best leave, the wife comes home tomorrow evening," Jasper mentioned, coughing into his sleeve, "with the home the way it is, she'd have my hide." From behind the mask, his beady eyes twinkled and begged to catch Solomon's own. They winked the minute Solomon turned, the crow taking one last, savoring look at the man before him. There were no rules against preening, even if the disgust in his gut nearly rushed from his mouth.

Even as he left, Solomon couldn't wash out the taste of bile on his tongue. He'd wait, as he would, as he always did, though watching the lunacy before him would only slow that wait down. Knowing the room hung over the front entrance of the manor, Solomon took to one of the wide windows. As most gents, Jasper only afforded the best carriage, the best horse, and contracted the best coach. Solomon squinted his eyes, the world's color flushing from around him as his eyes centered on the man with the ebony crow mask. He glowed, a dim grey aura, against the black and white backdrop of the surrounding street. Solomon's fingers sat as his lips, watching the man sit in his carriage before it glided upwards and around the polished corners of Le Coeur.

Minutes past, then an hour, heavy with Solomon's footsteps against the stone. Marquis Corbeau held a grand title in the Gentry's Court. The Crow offered an intelligence that belittled many of his surrounding colleagues, yet his power belittled them further. He held a large portion of Le Monte, the city surrounding the mountain, and its contracts. That meaning he held a large portion of very valuable, very wanted businesses. It made him both a vastly important ally and a dangerous enemy. Intelligent, cunning, and with an insatiable penchant for playing with his food.

Of course, everyone knew most of Corbeau's power laid his wife. Among the Gentry, Marquise Corbeau held many hidden daggers under contract. If anyone feared a shadow, they feared the Raven above them. In the light, Jasper lead a very debauched lifestyle, even if he presented himself in a pristine manner. Most of his time spent often came in the form of a gentleman's company, seeing as his lovely wife hopped from city to city at a near inhuman pace. She was paranoid. He, on the other hand, couldn't have felt safer. Sophia Corbeau's security measures weren't to be trifled with. If there was anything Solomon hammered in, it was that much, and yet there was always a loophole. And that loophole involved the Marquis' insatiable libido. Which lead Solomon to this very moment, gliding past guard after guard after guard and into Monsieur Corbeau's quite illustrious chambers.

"You looked so," Jasper searched along his lips, already having settled against the finery of his bed, "statuesque. Unobtainable." He gestured toward Solomon, hands flourishing as they raked the air.

Solomon twisted the tie from his neck, loosening the strands of his tunic. His gaze never left the already disheveled man while he further disrobed. [color=9ea99e]"That is not uncommon."[/color]

"What, being called a statue?"

[color=9ea99e]"Being considered unobtainable."[/color]

"Oh," Jasper crowed, lifting himself onto his elbows. He beckoned Solomon, batting his hands away from the shirt. Cold hands gripped the back of Solomon's neck, pulling him a hair's length from Jasper's lips. "Hm, would I be the first to steal a kiss, then?" he could barely contain the rumbling giggle the puffed hot air against Solomon's lips. It took a considerable amount of strength not to recoil from the man's breath, but Solomon persisted with a cutting smile.

His eyes flickered toward the crow mask sitting on the nightstand. The smile grew considerably dark, shaded heavy against the low light. [color=9ea99e]"I'm certain you'd like to know."[/color] Solomon sealed the man's next query with his lips, careful not to taste and only to give Jasper what he'd so desired. He pulled away for a moment, looking down at the man beneath him as he scanned Solomon's face. Jasper licked his lips, drawing them into his mouth a few times with a furrow in his brow.

"What is that? You taste like..." he paused, watching Solomon closely, squinting at the crimson line dripping from his nose. "You... you're bleeding."

As expected. Solomon wiped the blood, examining it with a light chuckle, [color=9ea99e]"Ah, it appears I am. I timed that wrong - clumsy of me."[/color]

"What-"

[hr][hr]

Blood rushed through Solomon's ears first, a deep trilling sound vibrating against both of his temples. He was positioned tilted forward, still disheveled and - he paused to check his fingers - still bleeding. Despite the blurriness adding to his disorientation, Solomon shoved his hands through the pockets lining his pantaloons. A fit of coughs broke his concentration, lining the stark white of his sleeves in clots of blood. With a curse, Solomon tipped back grasping a clear vial, already uncorked and sinking down his throat. He coughed again, vision still blurred but the ringing in his ears having dissipated.

It took but a few moments with his hands pressed against the soft moss beneath him. Antidotes as shoddy as his took longer than the poison to kick in. It worried Solomon, at first, but having grown used to it in the years, he'd taken to keeping everything in stride. Once the dizziness faded and the black circling his vision disappeared, Solomon cleared his throat and stood. Two deep breaths. The tick in his brow angling down. Then the sudden realization.

[color=9ea99e]"Ah,"[/color] he muttered, a held breath that constricted his throat.

It seemed that either everything had been terribly misplaced in an unfortunate turn of events. Or, the likelier story, he had been misplaced. Fortune? Misfortune? Solomon couldn't judge among the various faces surrounding him. Peering at him? Or. His eyes followed their gaze to the robed figure before them and the words that flowed from the hood's shadows. After a moment, and deep listening, Solomon concluded the situation had been a fortune, rather than a trifle. Compared to what could have happened, at least.

[color=9ea99e]"I suppose that covers my escape,"[/color] he mumbled, taking a step closer to the flourishing man and then the lady who voiced her opinions - her skepticism, if the pause gave any hint.

Adding onto her agreement, Solomon turned toward the robed man, as well. [color=9ea99e]"Despite my own success, I seem to have caught myself in a bind,"[/color] he said, trying not to stare down at his own dishevel, [color=9ea99e]"so, I have no choice but to agree to your terms."[/color] As far as first impressions went, it wasn't exactly the worst. That was reserved for being taken captive and tossed around like a piece of meat. At least, he currently only looked the part.