Solo Flirtations

[Yisanareysin]

2nd of Fall, 517 AV

Rey met Blanchard in the Stallion’s Rear, calling for a drink as he did. Ever since his meeting with Ambrosia, he’d become more aware of how not ordering might make him stand out. Blanchard smiled, syrupy sweet, and pressed his customary kiss to Rey's cheek. "Well?" He asked, returning the gesture.

"Table to your right, with his back to us. Red head." Rey took a sip of his drink, and focused on the figure he could barely see out of the corner of his eye. Flavour bloomed over his tongue, filling his nose, prickling his throat. The light sweetness of amusement, the heady pulse of alcohol, and a scent Rey most often associated with Phobius, the little courier. There were other notes to his aura, none important. Expanding his sense, he scanned the others at the table. One growing drunk and sleepy, the other half amused and half concerned. Good. Swallowing, Rey set his mug down, and released his sense. Feigning stretching, Rey snuck a look, more to fool Blanchard than anything else. The human didn't know about his sense, and he intended to keep it that way.

"Inarta, I think. Drunk. Or getting there. The other two seem to be on the verge of leaving." The other spy's smile broadened.

"Nothing like a man who can size up a room at a glance." He purred. At Rey's eye roll, he chuckled. "Alright, alright. Saving it for the mark." He stood, and made his way out the door. A few chimes later, Blanchard returned, very much changed. His dark skin, normally soft and well cared for, looked rougher now, dotted with scars. His features had changed too, his cheekbones seeming more pronounced, his face lined, his jaw stronger. A slouch made him shorter, while weighted boots gave him the sound and feel of someone heavier.

Rey had watched him change like this before, helped him, even. Makeup to accentuate his features, a pebble in one boot to change his gait, some sort of concoction that dried to give the feel of weather worn skin, clothes bought from a dockworker. It was an impressive disguise, though not a perfect one. It wouldn't fool anyone who knew Blanchard, but it was good enough to keep a mark from recognising you again, and that was all they really needed.

Surreptitiously, he watched his ally approach the table and make his introductions. Rey was mostly a witness to this part, just here to prepare for the next step, and make sure nothing went wrong. So he tuned out most of the conversation, trusting that Blanchard had it in hand. For lack of anything better to do, he started analysing their accents, for future reference.

Their Inartan mark had the same sort of accent Pho did, and with two samples, it was easier to identify what was a personal quirk and what was an accent. The crispness of the 'e's and 'a's, so dissimilar to the slight drawl of Blanchard's Alvadas accent. The push on the word 'the', the sharpness of 'd's, but only at the start of a word.

After a while, he caught the other two at the table glancing at each other. Blanchard and the mark were clearly flirting, and Rey guessed it was making things awkward. Focusing on the man who was less drunk, Rey reached out with tendrils of his will, drawing his awkwardness and embarrassment to the surface, and implanting a tiny suggestion.

Maybe I should go.

Blanchard, with perfect accidental timing, chose that moment to wink at the mark. That seemed enough, and the sober human nudged his drunk friend, and pulled him out the door with a perfunctory goodbye. Neither Blanchard or the Inarta seemed to notice.

Snake Tongue | Common | Arumenic

[Yisanareysin]

With the others gone, and the Inarta facing away, only Blanchard saw the gesture Rey made. He made no response, but Rey trusted he'd seen it. Sure enough, he deftly changed the subject to careers, sliding closer to the man, smiling all the while. When he reached up to push his hair back, their predetermined signal, Rey focused, letting the flavour and scent of the marks aura bloom over his sense. "Don't tell me. I think I know what your job is." Blanchard purred.

"Oh?" A rich buzz of arousal, deep in his throat. The tang of anticipation. That drunken pulse, threatening to overtake everything else.

"Mhm. And I think I know what's in your pocket too." Rey couldn't help but roll his eyes at that. The Inarta, though, didn't seem so amused. Though he hadn't moved, his aura made a jump, surprise and panic washing over his scent. As Rey watched, the Inarta's hand rose, pressing against his jacket. Rey shifted his focus there, tasting out the outline of the cloth. There, an inside pocket, with a slip of paper inside. Before the mark could react much more, Blanchard continued. "Your hair... you're one of those eagle riding traders, right? Which makes this-" he slid his hand along the mark's thigh "a, ah, trade agreement that's very, very happy to see me. "

Rey had seen that line coming from a mile away and still wanted to groan. Even so, it had the intended effect. They knew, or rather, Rey knew where the document was. All that was left was to get it. Rey let his sense dissipate, and settled back into his chair. Before long, Blanchard was pulling the mark from his chair, murmuring into his ear. Rey sipped at his drink, giving them some time, then drained his mug and followed after them. The street outside was deserted, save for a crimson tiger snoozing in a corner. Syna had set while they were inside, and there was only the barest glimmer of light left in the sky. No matter.

Rey inhaled deeply, and closed his eyes slowly. When he opened them, there was the faintest yellow glow to his pupils, giving him an unearthly look. Pulling his hat down over his eyes, Rey sought out the most recent paths from the rear. There. The intertwined trails were fresh, and it was a trivial thing to follow them down Alvadas's winding roads. Rey kept to the shadows as he went, not wanting to draw attention to his eyes. It wasn't long before he caught up with the two, flirting as they walked, or stumbled, in the marks case. And when Blanchard drew him in for a kiss, Rey passed them, his hand slipping into the mark's pocket. By this point the drunken Inarta was so focused on Blanchard, Rey could have made off with his pants and he wouldn't have noticed.

With the lift made, Rey left the two to their devices. Blanchard would know where to find him, provided he didn't get charged with public indecency during tonight's activities.

Snake Tongue | Common | Arumenic

[Yisanareysin]

Rey settled in the tiny cottage, lighting the candles inside. It was a nice little home, and seemed quite well worn and lived in. He wondered who it had belonged to. Ionu knew that Blanchard wouldn't deign to live here, not while the Savoy manor still stood. Personally, Rey suspected this was a decoy home Blanchard maintained. It was a well made one, but there were little hints: the mattress was too perfectly worn, with no sign of him favouring one side or the other; the food was all fresh, bought today if Rey wasn't mistaken; and most telling of all, there was a lockbox hidden under the bed.

That in itself wasn't so telling. Lots of people had lockboxes. But Rey didn’t have to touch it to know there was nothing valuable inside. He smelled, sensed… salt, granite, something old and worn out. Pebbles, if he wasn’t mistaken, to give the impression that there might be something important in there. The lock… Rey shifted his focus, mentally searching around the mechanism. The lock was was trapped too. A poison needle. What poison, Rey couldn’t quite make out. No matter.

Dropping his sense, Rey focused on the letter in his hand instead. It seemed Blanchard had been right to worry. It looked like Elis Caedwyn was looking to corner the Inartan market. The message detailed new trends and fashions among the Inarta, along with the dates traders were expected to arrive. Even worse, it seemed this go-between had arranged for a deal between Caedwyn and a handful of high profile traders, giving him first dibs on their product in exchange for an obscene amount of fabric.

Rey grinned to himself. Blanchard, you sly dog.The rivalry between the Caedwyns and the Savoys was well known in certain circles, and Elis, in particular, took it very seriously. He was cunning, aggressive, and despite being the third son, seemed poised to take over as head of the family. Bad news for the Savoys if he did. No wonder Blanchard had come to him for help.

“That bad, is it? That’s your evil grin there.” Rey glanced up, eyebrows raised.

”That was quick.“

Bernard rolled his eyes, sneering softly. “Barely got his petching shirt off before he collapsed on me like a snoring bear. We didn’t even need to make the lift, we could have just taken it right there. Give it here.” His eyes narrowed at the paper. “Dirty rotten…” He seethed. “Alright. My client said to ruin Caedwyn.” Rey somehow managed to keep a straight face. Client, he said, like he didn’t have a personal stake in this. “Let’s turn this on him. As it happens, I have a friend who could help.”

Snake Tongue | Common | Arumenic

[Yisanareysin]

The friend in question, as it turned out, was a forger of some repute. Seated at a desk, she studied the letter, rubbing her fingers over the letters, mimicking a few words, even sniffing at the ink. After a few chimes of this, she handed the paper back, seemingly satisfied. “The handwriting and paper is straightforwards enough, and the wax seal can be copied with some difficulty, but the ink is a problem. Inartan ink is made differently from Alvad ink. It’ll take some time to get a hold of some.”

“How long?”

“Depends. Several bells to a day.”

Rey frowned, counting bells in his head. They needed to plant the forgery on the Inarta before he woke, so the 6th or 7th bell at the latest. It was almost the 23rd bell, which meant they had….. Blanchard beat him to it. “We need it in seven bells.” The forger hesitated at this, clearly weighing effort and reward. And perhaps wondering if she could squeeze some more money out of them. Leaning forwards, Rey focused, building up a suggestion in his mind. Keep your high paying customers satisfied. Unbidden, the image of his brewing kit came to mind. Steep the suggestion in thoughtfulness and quickly dip it in greed. Let the emotions soak into the suggestion. Like crafting a poison of words and sensations.

”Consider it a, uh, rush order.“ The words slipped easily from his mouth, each coated in this magical ‘poison’, and he smiled as her eyes turned thoughtful, then decisive. He’d never tried mixing suggestions and emotions before, and truth be told, he hadn’t been sure it would work. Thank Akajia it did. Like brewing a poison… odd that his mind would have jumped to that way of thinking first. Perhaps childhood lessons never truly left you.

“I really can’t guarantee seven bells. If I had twelve, I could do it for certain.”

Blanchard started to argue, then stopped when Rey squeezed his shoulder. ”Can you make the copy without the original?“ At her affronted look, he nodded. ”Twelve bells will have to do.“

Outside, Blanchard raised an eyebrow at him. Rey hummed thoughtfully, looking down at the letter in his hand. "You said he'd pass on the missive at a party?" At the other's nod, Rey slid the letter into Blanchard's pocket. "Put this back and find me an invitation. We'll have to make the switch there."

"Don't take this the wrong way, but you're not that good a pickpocket." Blanchard folded his arms. "It's riskier than it's worth."

"Not if he's exhausted and hungover." Rey grinned wickedly. "Get me a way in while I reseal this letter. Then see if you can wake him up and get him drunk for a second go."

"A first go, you mean." Blanchard grumbled. "You'll need a disguise. I'll bring something. Meet me at my place by the 7th bell." And with that, they parted ways.

Snake Tongue | Common | Arumenic