Atrophy

Winds of Fate - A Thieves' Adventure (Semi-Tabletop)

For the briefest of moments, Solange thought that perhaps Skarsat was actually comforting her. She wiped away the traitorous tears with a flick of her finger and looked up to meet his gaze as he lowered himself to be almost face to face with her. She tried to muster up a flirty smile that faltered and slipped away through the floorboards as his words mocked her own. Solange caught a look in his eyes. Violent men wasn’t something she dealt with often while working for Fontaine thanks to the protection she offered through the reputation of her enforcer alone, but there had been one altercation with a man from her hometown who happened to stop by the brothel. Unlucky that she was working that night, really. What were the odds? His eyes were forever burned into her mind. Skarsat’s eyes didn’t look so different.

If she went back the momentum would take her to the ground, so she ducked forward instead. If Solange was quick, Skarsat’s hand would run through the waves of her hair and she could try to weasel out from under his arm. She wasn’t quick enough. The smack echoed throughout the room as his hand smacked across Solange’s cheek so hard that if not for his other hand to catch her she would’ve been knocked from the chair by the momentum of her head whipping. She bit down on her lip so hard that it bled; her pained scream twisted in her mouth and morphed into a defeated chuckle.

She squirmed in her seat and looked away from Skarsat, half her face covered by her hair where it had been knocked once he’d hit her, her cheek already changing like a chameleon to match it’s reddish tone. A tear from her eyes lost a race to her chin against a droplet of blood from her lip. It was strange, but he didn’t frighten her as much as Nora. Once the threat of violence was gone and all that remained was the pain it wasn’t so bad. Pain was a dear, old friend.

“Thank you, love. I was being hysterical,” she said softly, the same defeated tone she’d given to Nora just moments ago. However, unlike with the bandit woman she looked up at Skarsat, a shimmer in her eyes that wasn’t the tears. There was a certainty to her that shouldn’t have been there, an undeserved sense that she was coming out of this exchange on top. Striking her would have consequences, even if not immediate. She smiled at him, her teeth stained red with blood and lipstick. “Now, would you like to continue telling me about how I’m the one imagining putting you to my breast like a suckling babe, or is mommy’s big boy going to wake up Neh’miah like he was told?”

Winds of Fate - A Thieves' Adventure (Semi-Tabletop)

The childish giggling became a nervous chuckle and then died quietly, snuffed out by Nora’s shadow that now loomed over Solange. Eyes widening, Solange adjusted herself against the legs of the chair so that, if needed, she could easily bolt under the table and out the door. She was clever enough to realize that a mistake had been made, but too immature to accept that she’d been the one to make it. Vargas was to blame, then, having hired a woman incapable of being the butt of a joke. The late sleepers deserved a thrashing as well. If not for their irresponsibility, Solange wouldn’t be here, on the ground, wincing.

A sound of surprise like a mouse being pounced upon by an alleycat squeaked out of Solange’s lips as Nora dug a finger into her shoulder. She felt her body seize up as if she’d just stepped into an ice bath. She stopped fidgeting, although she drew her right leg up towards herself as her eyes jumped from Nora’s darkening stare to the woman’s fingers settling upon one of her blades. Solange’s right hand slid from her lap and came to a rest on the floor as she began to do some bloody calculations behind the fear in her eyes.

Unless Skarsat intervened, Nora could easily see her dead, yet if Solange saw the flash of steel she might be able to clip through Nora’s heel with her own dagger. Solange would be dead, but Nora’s career would be killed if the injury crippled. Perhaps she could live out the rest of her days working for Fontaine instead. Judging by her tone on the word harlot, she’d love it. The image of Nora painting her face and dressing in lace was almost enough to inspire Solange to make the move first. Her hand pressed against the fabric of her dress, but didn’t slip under it yet. Nora’s bitter laugh smacked a bit of sense back into Solange. Strangely, Solange found Nora’s commitment to her duty admirable even as it was leveled against her. The threat of butchery didn’t terrify Solange nearly as much as the promise of her being kept for Vargas. If it came to that—it wouldn’t, she was sure.

Solange pulled her hand back away from her dress and lifted herself up into her seat. Her head hung in silent dejection for a moment. She knew she should put on a brave face, swallow her pride, and, even though she clearly did no wrong, apologize and diffuse the situation, spinning it into a thread she could pull at later. It would be the clever thing to do, but even if she were clever her damned luck would see her fail. It always did.

“I understand,” she said with a choke, looking down at her hands. A teardrop leapt from her eye and splattered violently on the back of her hand. Solange stared at it in horror, sniffled, and dug her nails into her thighs. Once Skarsat and Nora left she’d be able to quickly recollect herself and smother her embarrassment, but for now her shoulders shook. She felt utterly pathetic. She couldn’t even bring herself to meet Nora’s eyes. “Wake the others. Neither of us wants to disappoint Lord Vargas.”

Winds of Fate - A Thieves' Adventure (Semi-Tabletop)

With her back turned to the Tork, Solange could only pray that her body was blocking his view of the grape that she’d just plucked pop between her fingers as he asked her if she’d ever tried being silent. His words had cracked open her shell and poured salt onto her exposed skin, her face shriveling into a horrid expression of contempt as she milled the guts of the grape between her thumb and forefinger and imagined it was something of more personal value to Skarsat. Her shoulders tensed as she turned her head to look over them, her eyes narrow like the arrowslit of a fortress under siege, a deadly look nocked and ready to be fired. Solange saw the smile, her shoulders relaxed, and the standoff ended without bloodshed as she shook her head and chuckled.

“Absolutely incredible, truly, absolutely incredible. You nearly got it on your first guess. So close,” said Solange with a wag of her finger. Using two hands and a bit of willpower she grabbed the large plate—a serving platter, really—and gently handed it to Skarsat without spilling any of the contents on him. “Only I said it was one of the three best things I gave, darling. Shut up and feed me?” Solange rolled her eyes yet maintained a playful smile. “Those would qualify as two of the things men most commonly demanded of me, with the third thing being for me to lie to them about how amazingly, wonderfully, unbelievably and incredibly big—”

At that moment Nora walked in and Solange briefly stopped talking, which must’ve been much to Skarsat’s relief. Solange tried to return Nora’s cold nod with a warm smile, but she couldn’t control her eyebrow from raising in a look of curious amusement as Solange wondered how it was possible for Nora to look so annoyed so early in the morning. Solange glanced down at the feast, got up from where she was leaning against the table, and gave Skarsat a wink, mouthed “fun’s over”, and said, “Can you believe it, love? They gave us this wonderful fruit yet forgot the key ingredient to make sangria. I doubt either of us would have much hope of actually enjoying this meal without it.”

Solange’s exit was quick but not without grace, and she returned partway into Nora’s conversation with Percival, a glass of wine in her hand. One glass, specifically. Skarsat was a big man and she’d already played serving girl for him once already, so he could get his own damn drink. Solange hated not being up to date on the latest gossip, so she used the opportunity of crushing randomly chosen citrus into her glass and calling it breakfast as an excuse to listen in on Nora’s conversation. Neh’miah sleeping in late? How scandalous! Solange yawned and was about to tune out. She was glad she didn’t.

“I will attend to our two other lost colleagues. The hour is too late for lazy depravity, we have much to do before we set sail, and precious little time for foolishness such as this. I know where Y'Vanna hides, I know her many vices, and I know how to handle her when she had her fun."

“Sweetie, if I didn’t know any better I’d be so bold as to say that you’re jealous,” cooed Solange, her hair twisted into a tight coil around a finger, her eyes joyfully dissecting Nora. “If it’ll help ice your bruise, I didn’t get an invitation either. Lucky me, really. I would’ve hated to break their hearts about as much as I would’ve hated for Lord Vargas to then break their necks. Oh, but I’m sure there’s a good reason for you not being propositioned as…”

Wait, that annoyed look earlier now made so much more sense. Solange’s cheeks puffed out and her eyes crackled with a mischievous energy. No amount of contouring and lipstick, no number of revealing dresses and risque poses, and no utterance of suggestive sentences and flirty winks could prevent the image of a young, immature brat breaking through the mask of a seasoned seductress as Solange lifted her finger, pointed it at Nora, and squealed with delight as the pieces perfectly clicked together.

“No, fuck me dead! You are jealous! Like, jealous-jealous!” Solange cackled. She fell back into a chair, head back, hand on her forehead, and sunk low. Her accent slipped from its affected poshness she’d learned at the brothel and slammed back into her small hamlet accent referred to by the girls of the house as “bitch bumpkin” as she continued to howl with laughter, tears beginning to stream down her cheeks that were turning the shade of her hair. “Piss on the treasure, this is gold. Now have ya known her or didja wanna know her? How’s it feel, knowing that salty son of a whore’s probably knowing her right now?”

The mad laughter cut to a halt as Solange, who'd laughed herself so hard she'd slid out of the chair and was practically sitting on the floor, looked up at Nora with delight. "Ooh, that why you're in such a hurry then? Gonna ruin their good time, or didja plan on jumping in with hopes to expedite that their depravity? Hear that, big guy? You get to kiss sleeping beauty and she gets the orgy. Hardly a fair trade."

Winds of Fate - A Thieves' Adventure (Semi-Tabletop)

The Evening Prior - A Bitter Farewell

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Solange - The Red Sail

^{Blood may be thicker than water, yet it’s water that flowers need to grow. The only things to thrive off of blood are parasites and leeches.}

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“Tell me what’s going on.”

Solange immediately recognized the voice and her shoulders relaxed as a lantern flicked on and cast a dim glow around the room. She let out a heavy breath as her hand fell from her chest, her heart resuming its regular rhythm as it stopped emulating the frantic, wild dancing happening on the floor below. She turned to her sister, moved to sit down on the bed, and, with faux-humor in her voice and a mischievous shine in her eyes, said, “Ren, you scared me. I thought we had called a truce to the pranks.”

“And I thought you were done trying to sink your claws into that Vargas,” asked Renata, her eyebrows rising in sync with her tone and setting off a ripple of stress lines across her forehead. Solange had always joked that looking at her sister was like looking in a mirror that’d cracked ever so slightly, a bit that was always received by Renata with a look of disgust and annoyance—the very same look she was giving Solange now, made even more brilliant by the table lamp Solange had flicked on.

“Oh, I am,” said a self-satisfied Solange. Her true colors were the closest to coming through whenever she spoke with her sister, yet even then they refracted and twisted through a broken prism. She shifted down to the floor, grabbed a box from underneath the bed, and began sorting through the various vials inside the container. She held one up to the lamp, the deep purple clinging like sludge to the side of the vial, and smiled as she placed it securely inside of a padded sack.

“They’re pierced firmly through his heart now,” she said as she continued her ritualistic inspection of different plant extracts. A cruel giddiness snuck through with her words. She was a child with a magnifying glass coming to terms with their ascension into godhood over the ants she could engulf in flames if her beam focused on them, and she was more interested in seeing them burn. “I’m afraid if I were to remove my claws now then the poor man would simply crumple over and bleed to death. I would hate to see him bleed out before he was bled dry. He has so much to offer.”

“And he likely has more up his sleeve than you realize,” said Renata. “Plus, Fontaine isn’t going to like you stirring up trouble with her rival...or working with him.”

“I’m beginning to doubt if she’d even care. Plus, I know what I’m doing. If it seems like the hand I hold is a loser then I’ll fold it well before anything is revealed. Besides, Vargas knows what happens when someone harms one of Fontaine’s girls and Fontaine is savvy enough to not mess with Vargas’s business partner.”

”Sorry, his what?”

Solange watched as Renata’s face sunk deeper into her hand as she explained to her the upcoming voyage to unearth a drunk woman’s rumored treasure. She could tell that her sister thought the whole idea was ridiculous, and that only reinforced in Solange the idea that it was the right thing to do. She did not want to become her sister, who she knew was to blame for Solange’s current situation. Her sister was the kind of person who was shackled by another yet sang her warden’s praises because her chains were long and her cell had a window that gave her an illusion of freedom.

“Solange, this is nonsense.”

Solange knew that Fontaine was a weed. She strangled growth and destroyed beauty, offering women false freedom by letting them work off their debt yet never giving the tools to improve or advance, until their budding flowers were transformed, alchemy-like, into dandelions, pretty little things that spread the weed until every flower in the garden was choked out. Fontaine said Solange was free to leave, but where could she possibly go when she had no money and had no hope of saving money between living expenses and Fontaine’s cut? Only people like Vargas would want her, and Vargas was no different. Like Fontaine, he saw her as a thing to exploit. He’d grow tired of her soon.

“As your older sister, I forbid you from going on this wild goose chase.”

She hated them. She was jealous of them. The way they had manipulated others, pulled strings and stabbed backs, so that they were the bloodsucking vampires instead of the drained thralls was beautiful. However, a parasite cannot respect another parasite when it feeds off of them, nor is it happy when another parasite feeds at all. Their success infuriated her. Nothing would be better than to see them bowing before her, except for perhaps their bodies bloated and bobbing in the bay. She’d rather Vargas drive a knife between her ribs or have Fontaine send Prudence to strangle her in her sleep than spend her best years being feasted upon in their shadows. This wild goose chase was her best bet at breaking into the sunlight.

“No.”

“Solange, you owe it to Fontaine…”

“Shut up. You ruined my life. You don’t get a say in it anymore. Get out, said Solange, her voice more bitter than the leaves she used to brew potions. She saw Renata opening her mouth to protest, so she moved quickly to shut her up. Solange held a ruby red vial aloft. “You try anything, and you’ll never be able to take a drink again without fear of your insides rupturing and leaking out of every one of your orifices.”

The sisters stared each other down, unblinking, one trying to sell the lie that she wasn’t above sororicide while the other trying to find it inside of her to believe that her sister was incapable of such things. Renata looked away first, her eyes vacant, the expression of a woman who has seen too many atrocities to muster up the hope needed to parse the truth. Solange did not avert her gaze, her eyes watering with angry tears, her mind uncertain of how much truth had been in that lie. The chair creaked as Renata got up and walked to the door. She paused after she opened it and turned as if she was going to say something—a final barb, one last plea—and then wordlessly hung her head and left Solange alone.

---

Solange - The Faded Lantern

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It would raise too many questions to leave the Red Sail with packed bags. Solange spent the night with the chair jammed underneath the doorknob, worried that her sister would wise up and try to convince her to stay or, worse, flap her gums and prompt unwanted attention to turn her way. Even after the jambori had settled down and the music stopped, Solange hardly slept, drifting off only to jump alert at the sound of footsteps passing by her room as some overnight guest struggled to find the loo. The night dragged on for what felt like an eternity, and she slipped out at first light to the Faded Lantern, lugging two packs brimming with dresses, journals, and alchemical supplies. She had heard enough horror stories from the sailors she’d slept with to squirrel away a few extra days worth of rations for herself, too. Knowing her luck she doubted it’d be a smooth sail.

It was already sweltering even though the sun’s golden rays had just begun to crest above the bay. Solange tugged at her collar and huffed, shifting the weight of the packs to try and ease her burden as she passed by the handful of sleeping revellers that’d failed to party until dawn. She imagined that most of their pockets had been picked clean by now, and the strain of the bags made her not want to dawdle. She quickened her pace and entered the Faded Lantern, abandoning her bags to Percival as quickly as she could. Secreted away in one of her hidden pockets was an itemized list of what she’d packed. She figured ol’ Percy lacked the guts to try and snag a tip, but she would rather play it safe.

A delectable aroma wafted from the meeting room and Solange felt her stomach rumble at the cornucopia set out for their band of rascillions. However, as difficult as it was to not satiate her appetite immediately, it was even more difficult to not notice the large Tork man despite his efforts to try and blend in with the wall decorations. It appeared that he was the only one to have arrived so far besides her. A devious smile flashed across Solange’s face. How perfect! It was difficult to pull the strong, silent type out of their shell while in a loud setting. Alone, he had no choice but to be wrapped up in her web.

“Good morning, darling! I am pleased to see that you felt no reservation in helping yourself to the food this morning,” said Solange.

Her hand flicked out and snagged the back of a chair, the leg scraping across the floor like an alarm harbinging the end times for Skarsat’s wallflower days. Solange sat down far enough as to not immediately burst his bubble, but close enough so that looking at the floor would be the only way to escape her presence. She sat with her legs crossed, her billowing dress slit just above the knee, and fingers idly playing with the strings on her bodice as she locked eyes with Skarsat.

“Sleep well, I hope? Did they ever get you that hammock? I was so excited I could hardly rest. I’m sorry I did not have more time to get to know you last evening, but you didn’t strike me as the type of man who’d enjoy playing dress-up—at least not with your superior in the room,” said Solange, her lip curling into a warm smile. “Of course I am referring to that Zherpa woman, my dear. I might be Lord Vargas’s business partner, but that doesn't mean you and I aren’t equals. If there is anything that you need, please do not hesitate to ask.”

“Believe me, love, I’ve been told that advice is the third best thing that I give. I’ll leave the other two up to your imagination...for now,” she said, standing to peruse the food. “Would you like another plate, dear?”

Winds of Fate - A Thieves' Adventure (Semi-Tabletop)

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Solange - The Red Sail

^{They overrun the garden like dandelions, weeds disguised as pretty little flowers.}

---

Chitchat was had, pheasants were picked at, drinks were filled, jackets were fitted, and an excuse was made.

A chill hit Solange as she exited the Faded Lantern and saw the red-tinted lanterns posted beside the entryway to the Red Sail Brothel looming nearby. It was difficult to say if it was the cool summer breeze sweeping in from the night sea or unchecked nerves about being questioned regarding her whereabouts that caused her spine to tingle, but whatever it was it made her hesitate on the corner. The street was lined with revelers getting an early start to the Festival of the Crescents, bottles trading hands as a few sailors danced with ladies to an out of tune fiddle. Solange knew a few of the girls from the brothel, likely trying to entice the men inside with promises to fulfill their fantasies while draining their purses.

Solange didn’t immediately head towards the brothel. Instead, she walked away from the busy intersection, a careful eye observing the ground for any mother-crippling cracks. She cut through an alleyway, paid little mind to the independent contractor shrieking at her to find her own spot, turned upon the next main thoroughfare, loosened a few strings on her bodice, and approached the brothel as if she’d been at the markets serving as a lure. Solange waved a few fingers at the girls that thought she was their friend and ignored the glares from the couple of them clever enough to know she thought herself their better.

Before she had a chance to avoid it a bottle had been placed in one hand and a drunken sailor had grabbed her by another to lead her in a stumbling waltz. He was young and still unbroken by the sea, with a big smile, deep dimples, and a clear first attempt at a mustache. Solange knew instantly he was the kind of boy whose month’s salary she could siphon completely given the proper amount of time to allow for her nails to sink in, but such paltry sums were beneath her now that she had a treasure to acquire. Still might’ve been a bit of good fun, but tonight wasn’t one for distractions. She slipped the bottle into his back pocket and then took the lead of the dance as quick as a whip before cracking him towards the nearest open painted woman, who graciously caught him in her web.

The bouncer Kline, a quiet, bald, pockmarked man with arms the size of ham hocks that Solange had once thought of as terrifying until she discovered that slipping him the occasional pastry would transform him into the biggest softie, gave her a nod and welcomed her back. He called her Ms. Belgard, as it was his habit to refer to all of the working girls as if they were proper ladies. That strange bit of professionalism and respectfulness earned him more points in Solange’s lodger, and it was why she still supplied him with sweets even after they were chums. His eyes brightened like a baby doe as she palmed him a scone wrapped in parchment that she’d taken from Vargas’s feast, pressed two fingers against her lips, and sent a kiss swirling through the air towards him.

“From the market, love. Where I have been all evening drawing this crowd before you, as you know,” said Solange.

“Oh but of course, Ms. Belgard. As you mentioned earlier,” said Kline knowingly.

Solange smiled, happy to hear that the only man of Fontaine’s who had seen her enter the Faded Lantern was on her side as long as the sugar kept flowing. Kline opened the door for her and she passed through the threshold, parting a sheer red drape as she entered the brothel. The bar was as raucous as ever with constant chatter and live music playing along to a free burlesque show that men cheered to, loud enough to thankfully drown out the theatrics going on behind closed doors upstairs. Solange preferred the noisy nights over the quiet evenings. It was easier to ignore the constant drone of debauchery than it was to try not to critique someone’s hammed-up bedroom performance like they were a theater starlet (and she a world-renowned theater critic) instead of them being a harlot and she one as well.

Not the case anymore, if all goes well. Her hand racked the wood on the bartop, inadvertently getting the attention of the bartender who regarded her with a familiarity that was chiller than the breeze from outdoors before turning back to chat up the men before her. Solange kept moving through the dimly lit room, lights flickering behind red-stained glass and red and pink lace draped over everything to add a false layer of warmth to an environment that was expertly calculated to drain men of their cold, hard cash. She passed the two bouncers at the stairs up to the private chambers, unsure if she was more thankful or nervous to have not bumped into Fontaine’s lapdog yet. Perhaps the awful woman had the night off. Perhaps the monster had caught a knife in the belly and Solange and the whole world had been given a favor. She doubted she’d have such luck. Better to ask.

“Darlings, have you seen ol’ Prue anywhere? I caught a free bird trying to hook a couple of worms in one of the nearby alleys, and she didn’t have much kind words to say about the Madame when I told her Fontaine didn’t like to share,” asked Solange, taking one step back from the curtain to better see the bouncer.

“Can’t say that I have. You?”

”Not since shift change.”

“Well then, sounds like it would be a good night for all of us then, doesn’t it?” said Solange.

Smirks were shared as she dipped back through the drapes, ascended the stairs, and made for her room. She had much she needed to pack and prepare for her voyage, and she had her doubts that she’d get much of any sleep thanks to the excitement. Solange paused momentarily at her sister’s door, and then decided better to just leave a letter. She fished her key out from her pocket and unlocked the door to her own room. It was crowded but organized, with sheets draped over bookshelves and a desk stacked with journals. A few plants lined the windowsill, nestled alongside a few bottles of ointments. Something felt off the moment Solange stepped into her room. Where was her desk chair? The door closed behind her. Her heart leapt into her throat. A woman spoke.

“Tell me what’s going on.”

Deadwood: Hope, Death, & Misery [Closed]

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Hazel didn’t keep her head lowered in deference for long, lifting it so she could analyze her companions as they all told the Queen their reason for responding to what could turn out to be a fool’s errand. Her eyes betrayed her piqued interest in learning about what motivated the others, although her face showed no signs of judgment as they all spat out their own selfish desires. She failed to hide the amusement on her face when she learned that the man who had begun commanding a defense during the raid was once the leader of the Bastardborn. The Ember Makers would occasionally hire the Bastardborn to help guard a couple of their communal bonfires before, but during her times as a witch hunter she’d never worked alongside a bastard and had certainly never met the greatest bastard of them all.

She was just thankful that not all of them were only in it for their own wants. Kymir had at least attempted to petition the Queen to aid the land below, and Nakala only wanted money to free her daughter. Hazel put her hand over her heart and gave Nakala a sympathetic little frown as she mentioned the fate of her child. How the woman reasoned that this was the best way to get her daughter back was beyond Hazel. Then again, she was not a mother and in Hazel’s experience every mother got attached to at least one outlandish idea, like how ritualistic sacrifice would help your harvest, or how hearsay served as any kind of proof that a child was not a witch, or how willingly bringing a child into this desolate land was anything other than a vicious act of cruelty.

Hands still behind her back, Hazel felt her fist tightened. That last point alone proved that what the Queen said about there not being much to help down below was utter balderdash. Hazel shifted where she stood and cleared her throat as she tried not to formulate an ugly opinion about someone she’d just met, yet she was finding it more and more difficult to not fantasize and see the Queen’s throne as a giant wooden stake surrounded by kindling, the poor wine bearer rushing forward to throw more and more fuel on the fire so that the royal bitch would light quicker. She nodded along as the Queen continued her tale, the visual of the flames catching around her fading at the mention of their destination. Some might think it suicide, but Hazel knew she’d be safer in those places then anywhere else in Deadwood.

“I gratefully accept. I doubt there is one among us who would even think to refuse your most gracious offer,” said Hazel, turning to shoot a cautionary glance at her compatriots. She would be fine if any or all of them thought such a quest was complete lunacy and not worth the endeavor, but prayed they all had enough insight to realize that outright denying the Queen was just as suicidal as stepping into the Desolation. “Now, I’ll admit that you have piqued my curiosity. After we have been shown to our lodgings, would it be possible to examine these glyphs ourselves? It would help to know what to look for once we our on our way.”

Winds of Fate - A Thieves' Adventure (Semi-Tabletop)

Solange chuckled as Maréngo called her out for trying to trip up poor Percival. She gave him a playful little shush, complete with a finger to the lip and a knowing wink, as she joined him in his cheers. She lifted the wine glass of hers that Y’vanna had emptied. She’d already had two glasses earlier that night, and while she didn’t mind bonding with her new companions she wanted to keep a clearhead—especially around that Maréngo. Twice he’d caught her in her little games. Perhaps she’d been too quick to think of him as yet another dull sailor whose sharpness had been eroded by the waves and salt of the sea. Her smile slipped as she pressed her lips close to the edge of the wine glass. She preferred dimwits. Clever people were always dangerous.

A wave of relief hit Solange as Vargas revealed that Skarsat was a new underling for Nora. The large man didn’t seem thrilled by the prospect judging by the look on his face, but he hadn’t seemed thrilled since he’d entered the room. By the way he’d loomed over Vargas, Solange had half-expected the Tork to reach down and snap his neck like a stalk of celery. It was a dreadful thought—she still needed the man to finance the voyage. Once everything was paid for, however? Solange felt ice crawl up her skin as Vargas rested his hand on hers, yet gave him a look that could melt the mightiest of glaciers. She slid her hand free to grab the empty wine glass and kept it there.

“A splendid idea,” said Solange as Vargas suggested she help Neh’miah disguise himself. She thought it was a stupid idea. What, the thief couldn’t part his hair another way and change his coat all by his lonesome? And why her? Percy couldn’t grab a shirt? She batted her lashes at Neh’miah. “I am quite talented at getting men out of their trousers, so surely I must be skilled at fitting them in a coat.”

Solange felt Vargas take her hand again, lift it, and kiss it. She didn’t like the way he called her his partner this time and his unblinking stare put a lump in her throat. Solange didn’t pull away. Instead she leaned forward so that her breath was hot on Vargas’s ear as she whispered, “You have my gratitude, darling. ‘Tis a shame neither of us can afford to be up late tonight, but now we both have something else to look forward to once we are reunited.”

Vargas had given her quite the good offer. If she didn’t find his controlling nature repulsive she might’ve begun to reconsider the way she was going to screw him. A shame. Perhaps she’d play her part a little bit longer still. Solange pulled back, gave him a smile, and turned her attention away from him. She eyed Nora and Skarsat as she leaned back in her chair and smoothed her dress. The sooner they were eating out of her hand, the better things would go for Solange.

“I believe the two of you are invited to this feast as well. Please, have a seat and enjoy some pheasant,” said Solange, getting out of her seat to offer it to Nora and playing the role of hostess. She grabbed the decanter, poured the two of them wine, and left it at their empty seats to be enjoyed as she refilled her own empty glass and set it down in front of Y’vanna again. “Empty again, are you? There’s nothing wrong with letting loose every once in a while, love. Neh’miah, darling, I know you’re excited for me to get you out of those clothes, but there’s no need to rush through your food. Maréngo, any sage wisdom about the sea you’re willing to part with for us neophytes? I’m afraid I’m more knowledgeable about sailors than sailing...”

And so on.

Deadwood: Hope, Death, & Misery [Closed]

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“No. The Queen wishes to speak with you now."

Hazel’s mouth drew thin. For an alleged utopia, the hospitality in Exusia was just as cold as anywhere in Deadwood and a hundred fold unearned. Hazel formed with the lot as they were marched to the throne room, feeling more and more like a prisoner heading to the judge for sentencing than a guest answering a call to arms. She turned her head and balled her fist as she saw servants cleaning the ground behind them. She wasn’t upset at them but their overseers, so disgusted by the presence of underworld filth that they couldn’t even wait until they were around the corner to start sweeping it away. Hazel fell in step behind Nakala and walked in her footprints to ease the burden of the servants.

Hazel noted the increase in knights on their flanks as they were led through a pair of opulent doors that revealed a line of more knights that led to a throne. Hazel stood tall as they were beckoned in front of the queen. She met Tabitha’s smug smile with a polite one of her own and turned her head ever so slightly so the dry blood caked to one side of it was less upfront. The smile lost its luster but remained as the Queen’s tone flirted the line between teasing and insulting. Hazel closed her eyes and inhaled sharply as the Queen questioned the worth of money in a way only someone who had too much of it could possibly ever think—or was she so disconnected from the world below that she believed they couldn’t even manage currency anymore?

“I don’t really care for riches, but I’d be a liar if I said I didn’t want the chance of some kind of safety,” said Hazel after clearing her throat. The Bone Clans hadn’t been the only people trying to kill her this week. She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and continued, “However, my main motivation is to learn from the mages here in Exusia. I’d one day like to use my magic to make life a little better on the, er, Lower Realm, but…” Hazel lowered her head as if she was embarrassed by subject matter. “Anyway, that’s a long ways away.”

Hazel took a step back to allow others the floor.

Winds of Fate - A Thieves' Adventure (Semi-Tabletop)

Percival arrived moments later as if Solange had summoned him by his name alone. She began to shuffle in her seat to stand and assist the dogged barkeep but stopped and sunk down ever so slightly at the sight of the woman behind him. Solange’s lips parted the tiniest of slivers as a curse gasped its last breath right upon the tip of her tongue, escaping her mouth as nothing more than an almost silent rattle. She didn’t really know Nora, but she’d spent plenty of time around another person like Nora that she knew loyal lap dogs were the most likely to snap off the hand of anyone beside their owner, regardless of the type of treat it had offered. She was a complication to any future plans that Solange had yet to even partially process.

The large Tork man behind Nora, Skarsat apparently, normally wouldn’t intimidate Solange in just about any other scenario. Men weren’t nearly as simple as some of her peers told her they were, but most had similar weaknesses and none were as terrifying as a woman like Fontaine could be. Plus, his name was one she’d never heard Vargas mention before, which meant Skarsat was either a total stranger or regarded as small time by someone who he himself was already small time. Normally this would be a good thing, but if he was Nora’s man then that meant he was dangerous, especially depending on what kind of man he was exactly. Solange gave him a smile, but held back on tossing a hook out at him before fully understanding his connection to Vargas’s enforcer.

“Impeccable timing, sweetie. We were all dying of thirst. Thank you,” said Solange to Percival, touching his elbow as he placed the pitchers and bumping him ever so slightly with her shoulder. The little bit of affection might stop him from throwing himself into the sea that night, but Solange had only been hoping it’d unnerve him enough to get him to drop a pitcher so they could all have another show. Shame. Perhaps next round. Solange eyed Y’vanna. At the rate she was going, there would be plenty of opportunities.

””I’ll go with your offer. Even if the price is worse, it still beats getting on Nora’s bad side. You don’t want to know what that vixen does to people that piss her off,” said Neh’miah.

Solange returned the flirtatious smile and started to lean in to whisper something into his ear but Nora called him out like a schoolmarm shouting at the bad kids in the back of the schoolhouse. Solange couldn’t help but grin, her eyes revealing that she was holding back a laugh as she abandoned the attempt to whisper and sat back in her chair.

“I’m afraid I might witness it soon enough, dear. It appears you’re already on her bad side,” said Solange. She held up a finger to shush Neh’miah in jest and winked. “I would absolutely hate to see what she’d do to an asset such as yourself. However, if you truly did want to give up more of your share to Lord Vargas and myself then I’d be an idiot to refuse. Still, we can discuss it later.”

“Our apologies,” she said to Nora and Vargas for getting sidetracked. She folded her hands on the table in front of her, and nodded to Vargas to show that he had their undivided attention. Solange had an inkling as to why Vargas had summoned Nora and her goon, and she was concerned that she was right. She glanced over at Neh’miah and reconsidered what he said as she peeled back her bottom lip. Solange was afraid that Vargas wanted Nora to join the expedition, but if she was here for another reason...shit. Now she was concerned that she’d read everything wrong. The faintest tap could be heard from her end of the table as she knocked on it, praying that Vargas wasn't about to remove her for that business partner comment.

Deadwood: Hope, Death, & Misery [Closed]

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At first it seemed that instead of a fortress Hazel had conjured a city. No, had she teleported them? Since when could she—no, of course it had not been her. She snapped her book shut and lowered her hand. There was a warmth on her face that wasn’t the blood and she looked up to see the sun as her eyes readjusted from the sandstorm. A gentle breeze rustled her hair as she looked around her, mouth going slightly slack as she took in the structures around her, alien in appearance due to how pristine they looked. Where was the rotting woods and burnt out landscape? Where were the hard faces and broken bodies? Where was the death and misery? Gone, all of it.

Hazel lowered her head and smiled to herself. So, she had actually made it to Exusia. She looked back up at the people encircling their little band of fighters, with their soft skin and ornamental armor. Many Ember Makers, especially when whiskey added fuel to their zealous fire, boasted about how they one day dreamed of making it to Exusia so they could liberate the people from the evil magicians that kept them oppressed. Hazel clutched her book to her chest. These people lacked the coarseness to them caused by the friction of being forced against the ground by a tyrant’s boot. Perhaps it was an actual utopia after all. Hazel huffed. She knew better than most that appearances often only ever existed just to deceive.

Take, for example, the knights surrounding them with weapons drawn. Not a single blade had a nick on the edge, not a single piece of armor had a scratch. Hazel would find it hard to believe that they’d seen any action outside of the training ground, and even then she doubted the difficulty of their regimand—for example, how quickly the tent guards had been bested by a wild pack of raiders. The knights demanded they hand over their weapons, but what could they do if they didn’t? Hazel saw images of the spearmaiden pushing her weapon through the paper armor of the scroll reader, of the crossbow bolts bouncing harmless off of the golem, of the short man gleefully pointing to the next victim as his animated construct ribbons the first knight foolish enough to lift a sword against him.

She felt herself tense as Nakala didn’t hand over her spear, and the breeze grew cold as visions of a slaughter continued playing out in her mind. The magicians would quickly fall to the arrows of the sun elf and the superstitious hunter, while the crafty Kaimerian and her sneaky human friend would unleash some ploy to distract the rest. She could hear the mad man laughing in harmony with the bug as he jumped into the fray, and she could feel the heat on her skin as the citizens surrounding them revealed themselves to be the true mages of Exusia with an explosive fireball that consumed them all.

Hazel drifted back to reality and suspiciously eyed the crowd. Hazel met the eye of a child in the crowd that stared at her with something more than curiosity. An invitation to a bunch of opportunists to be granted an audience before an insane Queen who’d harbored a bunch of magic users before tearing her city away from the world; they’d have to be crazier than the Queen to believe that the only dangerous ones around were the ones with fancy swords and flowing robes. She stared at the child and smiled, who was quick to turn and tug on her mother’s sleeve. I see you. The mother glared at Hazel, picked up the girl, and walked away. Only then did she remember that she was drenched in the blood of a dead clansman and they were probably the first killers that child had ever seen.

Hazel felt her eyes water and looked nervously at Nakala. Please, hand your weapon over. Instead, the elf who’d snuck in past the clansmen was the first to do it, setting off a chain reaction of others giving in to the demands of the knight. Hazel jumped in line as she returned her book to her bag before handing it and her weapons over to the Exusians. She stepped to the side, glanced back at her compatriots that were still wiping the blood from their blades, and folded her hands behind her back.

“Sorry, I’m sure this is a stupid question, but we aren’t truly expected to meet before anyone, let alone the Queen, looking like...this?” she asked the knight, meeting his eyes as she gestured to her sand-covered, blood-soaked companions. “It’s just that we've had a bit of a day and I do want this meeting to go well—not just because I am fond of my stuff, either. I think we'd all do better with a moment to recuperate. Just..." She picked a red globule of viscera out of a loose strand of hair that had fallen in front of her eyes and stared at it as she grew quiet, her gaze growing distant as the howling of wind and flames deafened her hearing. "...I, I need a moment..."