While there was a certain fluidity to his motions, Amal being rather debonair for an unwashed thief. But the slyness dissipated when she had spoken, his brows raising. "You killed the Emir?" he echoed, too stunned to speak in Riekspeil at the moment. Her admission and her smile set his heart racing. He stood up, and gave her an extravagant bow. He had learned to step correctly in order to mock the aristocracy, but in this case he was being sincere. "Forgive me, a woman has never told me something so beautiful." 

Truth be told he was actually somewhat aroused, but he held himself in check. He might be an amoral thief, but he had once been a slave. Women were third class citizens in Araby more often then not, behind men and eunuchs. This woman had just been a slavery to a lecher for a year. It would be cruel to make an advance on her. He was simply happy to hear the news. Most men would kill to meet an Emir, but Amal would rather meet an Emir killer. He didn't enjoy murder, being a thief by trade rather than an assassin. But he made exceptions for Emirs, Sultans, and Satraps. If they didn't hire him, that is. 

"The most I can boast of is stealing from a Satrap." He said with a wink. His eyes looked down as he remembered something. "I have killed an official of an Emir before." Crossing his strong arms, he shrugged. "He did not like me impersonating the son of his master. But his mistress had a jeweled necklace and I couldn't resist." It sounded unnecessarily low of him, and it was to an extent. But everyone with power in Araby had gained it through being ruthless. He had seen the official he'd killed cut off children's arms without hesitation, at the Emir (whom he had stolen from) behest. 

With a sigh, he sat down on the pillow again and sank into it. "Now let's get some sleep. We have a lot of coin to spend tomorrow. Or I do."   
[hr]

The sun was bright and scorching, and the wind nipped at the nose and stung the eyes if one found themselves in a more deserted street. Even the milling crowds were used as protection against the elements. To Amal and Emmaline, however, it wasn't a problem. First, they stopped at a fabric shop where Amal bought Emmaline a hooded sari to hide her skin and her hair from prying eyes. Afterwards, Amal had gone straight to the bathhouse, Emmaline following close behind him through another low-way beneath the greater city. Amal had hopped up out of a faux sewer drain, and reached down to help her up before entering the bathhouse, named the [i]Verdant Spring[/i] in Arabyan.

It wasn't particularly immaculate, but to Amal it was a luxury. He found himself lounging in a square pool of water within one curtained section of the steamed interior, sharing his bath with another guest. A dark skinned man named Bungalo (the name tattooed on his chest), so rotund that his stomach reaching the water had not yet begin to curve inward, giving him the look of a swelling ball. Various gold trinkets adorned his fat fingers, and his hair was tied in a braided, rythmic style Amal could never hope to match. 

Emmaline had received her own private bath chamber, more to keep her hair color and eyes hidden than any modesty. Amal might be a wanted man in his daily life, but she stood out like a flower in the sand. The thief was focused on the moment, however. He relaxed, leaning back and his lower torso and legs soaked in the warm water. Amal lazily smoked a midwakh pipe filled with Dokha, giving him a very nice buzz and making him comfortably light headed. He had already washed his hair, turning it from a worn mane into lush, dark waves. Across the pool, Bungalo had three veiled women massaging his temples and shoulders. Their pantaloons clung to their legs, a slit at the side showing off their hips. 

Amal envied the man, but not for what one might think. He would be too worried one of the women would steal from him. Bungalo was apparently powerful enough to where he needn't worry. He took a hit from the midwakh, smoking pouring out of his nostrils like a dragon. Letting out a grunt as he shifted, Amal reached up and felt his chin. He had a rough fuzz on his neck and lower face, the hot water on it feeling particularly nice. He grabbed the gold sack he held beneath the pit of his rested arm and dangled a gold piece, whistling for the girls to see. All three of them popped up to look at Amal, watching the gold coin and then looking to the young thief. 

As one, they sauntered over to him, and he gave each a gold piece to give him a nice shave. His eyes stayed half open to keep his wits about him, but as their slender hands spread the cream on his chin and massaged his neck, he nearly fell asleep. Bungalo opened his eyes, seeing the women now on Amal, and the large man growled. His rumbling shook his belly, sending shudders across the water. Amal took it as him passing gas. 

"Happens to the best of us," the thief said, his chin nearly free of the facial hair. Bungalo waved and gestured to someone unseen. The women's hands suddenly disappeared, and Amal felt his chin and clutched his coinpurse, to his surprise realizing they had neither stolen from him and they had given him a clean shave. Amal leaned his head back to see if the girls were still there, only to find he was looking up the towel of a large man. "Allah," he coughed, retching. Three more men appeared beside him, holding cruel axes and thick bladed knives. 

"Stealing my women?" Bungalo said, his accent heavy. He had to have come from the Great Desert, at least in his thinner days. Judging by his physique he hadn't been a desert nomad since the time of Nagash. The men over Amal sneered and took a step forward. The one he had taken an uncomfortably close look at was a northerner whp wore a forked beard, nearly as jeweled as Bungalo's fingers. Amal backed away from the edge, holding up his hands, one of them holding his coinpurse. 

"Bungalo please, here take what gold I have. I don't wish to fight." 

"Fight!?" the man chuckled. "You are too much." 

"Coming from you?" Amal retorted. Bungalo's eyes blazed once he took in the meaning. He slammed his meaty fist on the wooden edge. "Take his balls and his gold! He will work for me to pay off the debt of ruining my bath." Amal heard metal on metal behind him, and he took that as his cue. Instead of trying to flee by awkwardly trying to run out of the water, Amal dived into the scented pool. Bungalo tried to stand up, but his ogre-like girth kept him from even sitting up too quickly. 

The thief, having used the side of the pool's steps to yank himself through the water, had launched himself across the pool over to Bungalo's side. The hefty man had placed his hands in the water to push himself up to rise, and when he pulled his right hand out of the water, it was devoid of rings or gold. A quick jerk caused Bungalo to stumble, and his henchmen saw Amal's head rise from behind Bungalo, his dagger slicing a neat line across the fat man's third chin. Eyes widening, Bungalo stumbled forward, before his leg buckled and he fell face first into the pool, the waves of water tossed out of the bath hampered his men from pursuing. One slipped and hit the ground hard, falling into the reddening water with his boss. 

Emmaline's bath tarp would open for but a moment, and Amal, soaking and bare from the waist up and wrapped in a drenched towel spoke six words. "Meet me across the courtyard soon." Before he disappeared again, familiar cries of pursuit passing by her relatively quiet and serene bath chambers. 
[hr] 

The back alley the woman entered was somewhat cool compared to what she would have expected, but then again she was still somewhat glistening from the bath. There was no sign of Amal as of yet. 

Amal had given them the slip, and his roguish luck having not run out yet, he made it to the otherside of the marketplace and hastily bought a handsome, open vest with red trim to wear rather than the rags he had left behind, loose fitting pants coming with it. The older man in the Dastar didn't question why a naked man was buying clothes, knowing the bathhouse was across the way and that many unruly activities occurred within. 

Now on the north side of the marketplace, Amal had snuck his way behind many of the fabric vendors to a very well known spot he frequented. His back pressed to the wall, he knelt down and picked up a broken shard of glass. To any passerby, it would look like debris. But it had been placed their for any thieves willing to speak to the most infamous broker in Lashiek, Salim Dalib. The rogue angled the glass shard thrice to flash the sunlight into the alleyway. 

A conical basket within, set beside a dung heap, suddenly sprang to life. A man who was as short as most Dwarfs stood up from within, the top of the basket actuall his hat, a vast beehive like headdress of white fabric swirls. "Who comes to see the illustrious Salim Dalib?" he asked ceremoniously, his voice snake-like. Amal stepped into the alleyway, holding his hands out with a great smile. They both erupted into "My friend!" as they approached and embraced. 

Salim Dalib laughed. "Aha, tis good to see you my fine young friend. Look at you! You look as clean as a Sultan! Do you plan on entertaining anyone tonight?" He asked with a suggestive wink. "If not, I can arrange it for you. I have a few girls who-" 

Amal held up a hand. "Not exactly. I simply recently came into some money I thought I could use a change, but if you please we need to talk business. I am on a schedule." He raised an eyebrow and gestured, as if to say 'of course I am a busy man.' Salim nodded, smiling like a rat. 

"Of course, of course!" he said, rubbing his scrawny hands together within his wide sleeves, eager to see what Amal had gotten with his wiles. "What do you have?" Amal reached into his pocket and presented the rings that had been on Bungalo, all gold and glinting. Salim Dalib's eyes bored into them with an infatuation, and he reached forward to grab, before hesitating. "These will fetch a high price. Except for one. May I?" 

Amal allowed the broker to reach within and grab a trinket. A ring with the likeness of a grinning skull upon it. "The others will make you rich, my friend. But this? It is worthless. It's not even gold!" He held it up to Amal, quickly flashing it. "See the texture? Fool's gold! Worry not, I will take it off your hands." He pulled the ring back to place it in his pocket, but Amal was on him in a flash. Within the time it took for Salim Dalib's heart to beat, he was pressed against the wall with Amal's dagger to his throat, feet dangling in the air. 

"You wouldn't be lying to me, would you?" Amal asked, staring right into the brokers eyes. Salim Dalib shook his head. "My friend, would I ever-" His neck was pricked by the dagger blade. "Ok, ok! Wait! Yes, I know what the ring is...Only Corsair Captain Lords may wear one! This is one that belonged to the Abyssal Skulls!" Vainly, Salim Dalib tried to squeeze out of Amal's grip, but the thief was too busy assessing what this meant. 

He had killed a Corsair Lord. 

Salim Dalib dropped to the ground, gasping. "W-Wait! Where do you go!? Amal!" But Amal had already vanished into the crowd, finding his way where he said he would meet Emmaline. The cloaked woman was there, blue eyes gazing out of the shadows of her hood as he approached. He looked a bit bewildered, and he pulled her closer by the arm to whisper. "I have decided I will leave the city. If you want to live, you should as well. I will travel with you on one condition...let us go by a land route." 
[@Penny]