The Isur tasted his name, weighing it upon her tongue, and Nov felt something stir. Now that they had plowed past graver matters, she was back to her playful ways. It was both confusing and appealing. Confusing, because she wasn't fishing for mizas. And appealing, because she wasn't fishing for mizas. He tried to remember the last time he had a conversation with a woman who didn't want to meet her quota, or to use him as a means to an end.
He tried. And he failed.
"Mae," he repeated without thinking. It sounded the way she looked. Like an inviting sigh, a suggestion that made half promises with fleeting glimpses. The merc thought of the moment he had first stepped in through her window and grinned. Yes. Fleeting glimpses indeed.
When Amael brought up blood rituals, Nov looked at her with mild surprise. He was wary of such things; they reminded him of Aland, and of all the eerie shyke that strange kid could do with blood.
"Not the ritual sort, I'm afraid," he answered. "More of the 'I'll believe it when I see it' sort. But I'll take your word, and you can do the same to mine. Can't pull this off without trust anyhow."
Then Mae mentioned wanting to try his cooking, suggesting even that it might be nice. Nov gave her another curious look. He almost asked if this was to be tacked onto their original deal, or if she was going to offer something extra in return. But that sounded crass, even to him. Instead, the merc said, "Sure. I could bring something to our next meeting. Kill two birds and eat while figuring out the rest of this plan."
He thought for a moment, "Or, maybe show up to force you to eat now and then as you draft. I live right down the hall so it would be eas--"
Ah, shyke. He'd done it. Now she would know, and it made the spying gimmick all the more demeaning. Petch it. It was too late, he'd spilled the beans. Might as well go with it. "--sy...don't, er, want you keeling over from starvation and all, before we get to the fun part. Killing the Daggerhand, that is."
Stars and stones, he was making a mess. The merc hadn't felt this out of sorts since the one time Evy had tried to drug him at Happy Endings. It seemed, he noted, that the brothel was a never ending source of amusement and trouble for him. And this new job would be no exception.
As Amael spoke of getting rest and thinking things through, Nov found himself somewhat agreeing. He did need rest after a long, harrowing day, but the thinking part...well, he preferred not to lie on his bed with his mind lost in an endless marathon of troubling thoughts. It only made his nightmares worse, and there was nothing to be gained from it, other than headaches.
"Rest, yes. Thinking, petch no," he responded. "I like my sleep, and I get little enough of it as it is."
He stood there for a few ticks, the silence growing more awkward than he cared to tolerate. With a small cough to clear his throat, Nov stuffed his hands in the pockets of his trousers and began walking towards the door. Before he closed it behind him, he said, "Well, good night then. And, um, thanks for not throwing me out of your window."
Then he shut the door, wishing for the hundredth time he had something stronger than tea leaves to help him sleep. Drugs, preferably. Hard hitting ones.
Because gods knew he needed some after tonight.
