Closed Strangers That Once Were Not (Nya/Valerius)

[Abashai]

Timestamp: 25th Day of Fall, 512 AV

A dark-maned head leaned close, thickly accented words whispered consolation. "This is not your fault. You have served your master with honor." The victim's eyes were wide in surprise, even as the color drained from his face. Certainly the courier knew as soon as the tall Benshiran stepped into the ravosala that he would meet this fate. No matter the age, race or occupation, they all seemed to meet death as if the never expected to die. A faint gasp identified the last breath, the blue eyes growing dull. Abashai tilted the long iron blade down slightly, allowing the man impaled on it to slide off off the khopesh and collapse onto the floor of the boat.

Kneeling next to the body, Abashai reached into the man's sachel, pulling out a small rolled scroll. Turning to examine it in the fading rays of the sunset, the agent of Kialandra Salvatrice identified the symbol of a rival house embossed in the waxen seal. Tucking the document into his long coat. The Chaon turned to the steersman and nodded. The boat slid out of the shadowy corner and headed towards a walkway entrance. The Benshiran dropped a bag of miza's into the outstretched hand of the ravosalaman, then climbed out, turning towards his mistress' home.

-------

The ebony-haired woman held up the unrolled paper to the oranging light streaming through the large window, a satisfied grin on her lips. She turned back to Abashai. "Well done my dear, dear man. This information will certainly give us leverage with the Nitrozians, and just in time for our meeting tonight."

She rolled up the paper again and turned to a slave woman holding an infant boy, exchanging the scroll for the baby. The cruel delight Kialandra displayed at the thought of crushing a rival was briefly replaced by the soft doting of a mother. After brushing the child's round cheek with a long-nailed finger, the Black Sun agent's countenance once again grew determined as she looked up at Abashai.


"You need to get ready, you will be accompanying me. I don't want an Ebonstryfe escort. You will be more than sufficient. Besides, you are aware of my particular interests, I need your beautiful eyes and ears there tonight."

Abashai smiled slightly and bowed his head. "As you wish, my mistress," He replied with a hint of insincerity. His hand reached to stroke the head of his infant son, then he turned on his heels and left the bedchambers.

[Nya Winters]

There was something important going on in the house. Valerius was barking orders in his elegant arrogant way to the servants making sure vases of flowers were changed out, rugs beaten and some sort of food preparations were well underway. Winter slunk down the the kitchen when her Master was distracted and stole two sweetrolls from the cook within the woman's plain sight. The cook always had extra and once she'd found they were Winter's secret weakness, they were often used as bribes for the kelvic to keep the pantry mouse-less and the basement rat-less, which was a small feat in itself in a city that could be plagued with the creatures.

Besides, vermin disturbed Valerius, and Winter didn't like it when the young noble was irritated. Nothing went right for anyone unless the young man was happy or his political aspirations were moving along according to his plans. Some of those plans involved something tonight, which she wasn't too sure about. She kept her eyes open, accompanied Valerius when he went out, and then lurked in the house trying to find something to do when he was boarded up in his study doing whatever it was he did. Sometimes she joined him, curling up in the sun in the window seat with a book. He'd seemed surprised Winter could read, though she suspected Valerius thought she pretended to read and didn't in fact understand what it was she was holding in her hands. The young noble had never thought to ASK her what it was she was reading or why she selected what she did to occupy the window seat when the lordling was not in need of her.

Valarius didn't allow Winter outside much unless he was with her. Nor did he allow her to shift much either because he had a loathing of animals in the estate. But the food was good, the work was fair, and the servants and other slaves left her alone once they discovered she had teeth. Here was a lot better than 'before'. Winter had gained weight, lost the hollow look of a starved thing, and was almost pretty again when dressed in velvet and lace.

Not that she liked clothing much. She preferred to wear nothing. But Valerius had laid down the law and at least when she was on duty she was dressed in an elegant servant uniform and a brief well-made shift when she was not.

The meeting today, or whatever it was, might prove to be different though. One of the slaves brought her a velvet dress to wear, braided up her hair, and applied cosmetics as befitting a servant of her station accompanying Valerius somewhere important or guarding him during a more formal occasion. She had no idea what it was, but the anticipation came and she looked forward to it because she knew Cook would go all out and everyone would get leftovers after whatever the event was. Regardless of what the event was, food was a priority.

So Winter smiled and patiently underwent the 'clean up'.

[Abashai]

Abashai was aware of Kialandra's aspirations, and the variety of machinations she employed to attain her goals. Not that she shared them with him. For his role, she explained only what he needed to know. But the benshiran was privy to many private conversations, the arrogant Black Sun woman so confident of her attendant that she seemed assured of his discretion. So it was with sufficient understanding that Abashai prepared for the meeting. It was a daring proposal his mistress was to make, an accusation against a rival that she wished to leverage for favor with the Nitrozians, an offering that could both increase the Salvatrice family's coffers and elevate their status.

For his part, Shai would be the bodyguard, clad in clean but functional black trousers and tunic emblazened with the Salvatrice family crest. Over this he wore a fine dark cloak. Beneath it all he wore a shirt of mail, and finished off with polished riding boots. The ever present Khopesh was thrust through his leather belt, its heavy blade seeming overstated for his fine attire. A scabbarded dagger hung from his other hip. Kialandara had insisted her slaves dress his hair, which was combed neatly and anointed with scented oil.

Evening was drawing her last veils over Ravok as the two of them left her quarters. Kialandara had chosen to wear a Black Sun robe, a reminder to the Nitrozians of her status. Abashai knew within its folds was a hidden dagger, a thin blade he had felt against his skin more than once. The mistress walked with elegant but efficient strides, steady but not rushed, long but not stretched. Her bodyguard maintained pace to her left and , she insisted, a half step behind. Abashai had plotted the route they would follow, avoiding known rival homes and haunts of those who sold information. They made their way carefully to a ravosala, its pilot hand-chosen by Abashai, who carried them the rest of the way to the estate.

Climbing the stone steps to the elaborate entrance, Kialandra glanced at Abashai. Her dark eyes were greedy and possessive, ready for the opportunity to seize more power, but her disarming smile seemed to contradict what the benshiran knew burned in her heart. "Keep vigilance, my precious. I do not expect any betrayal, but there may be eyes and ears we do not want around." Abashai nodded with understanding. With that, they halted at the ornate doorway, Abashai pulling on the rope that rang a pleasant sounding chime on the other side of the door.

[Nya Winters]

Once she was dressed, the meeting room was set up, and Winter was asked to help. Being just another slave in the household, Winter did what she could to ease the burdens - laying out candles, dusting, roaming around making sure things were set to 'rights' by human standards.

The preparation didn't take long, and the guests were due to arrive just as the meal was ready to be served. Everyone was ushered out of the dining room and the slaves were sent back to the kitchens to be there for the cleanup as the courses rolled in and went back out.

Winter was stationed at the door of the dining room. Only the Black Sun and the noble would be in attendance to the meal. Her job, until they left, was to trail the pair at a distance, discretely, and keep her eyes and nose out for any trouble. She assumed the Black Sun would have a bodyguard as well that would be asked to wait outside the dining room as well, stationed at the door like she was.

And so, a slave answered the door when it was announced guests were here, and she stood quietly aside as another gathered traveling cloaks and coats, and whisked them away. Yet another lead them into the dining room, closing the double doors firmly behind them. The actual meeting would not get underway until the song and dance of the meal was carried out. Then and only then would they retreat to the library and get down to business.

And so it was that Winter took up her position at the left of the double doors, half in the shadows, prepared to stand there like Va's personal statue for hours, and then to flank the library door in the same fashion as well. She didn't even glance at the guest as a woman was ushered by. Nor did she give much thought to the man who accompanied her. To Winter it was unimportant. Apathy filled her mind and she prepared to wait, knowing it would be along and tedious guard duty.

[Abashai]

As the door opened, Black Sun agent and her escort entered the foyer. The demure fellow who had ushered them in, a senior servant most certainly, offered the guests a formal greeting on behalf of their host. Several slaves were in attendance, suitably attired to receive guests. One politely offered to take their outer garments. Abashai studied the surroundings carefully, but of most curious note was what he noticed about himself. The room and everyone in it seemed more...clear to his senses. Strongest was his sense of smell. The difinity by which he could detect the elements of the waiting dinner, the specific scents of the house staff, perfumed to please their master's company. Even the exotic oils Kialandra wore, and those she insisted he wear, were suddenly more rich in aroma. The details of sound seemed finer in the high walled room as well, even hearing the hush of whispers barely discerned. Quite a curious house.

None of the slaves were armed, or wore garb that could conceal more than a small knife. The short haired blond had walked down one hall with their coat and cloak, while another offered to lead them to the dining room. Abashai's eyes darted to a slave woman who had lingered without a task since they arrived. With no apparent purpose, the brindle-haired servant followed them down the hallway. The party halted before a set of double doors, and with a wicked grin at Abashai, Kialandra glided into the dining room. The remaining staff disappeared behind the closing doors as well, except for the lurker, who stood next to the doors, like a sentry.

The Benshiran paced around the area near the door, not particularly compelled to take up station like an Ebonstryfe escort would have done. Instead, he studied the woman. The olfactory senses were still strangely sharpened, and as he passed in front of her, Abashai could detect the perfumed soap lifting from her light skin. She too, was not a slave of lower status, he decided. Her dress was a rich velvet fabric with a more elegant cut. She was certainly adorned to please her master and his guests, her hair coiffed for a formal occasion, cosmetics applied in measured amounts to accentuate her features. She was not unattractive, though her face was not what most would define as beautiful. But the Benshiran found her pleasing.

Then Abashai met her gaze. Brilliant moss green eyes peered back at him. There was a hitch in his pace as he was compelled to linger on them, feeling a chill run along his spine. He didn't want to look away, wanting to draw closer and peer into the wells of the vibrant-ringed pupils.

The Chaon snapped his attention to a side table holding a candle stick and a porcelain figurine. Abashai picked up the statuette, the depiction of a nude dancer in a dynamic pose. Something about the slave's eyes resonated within him viscerally, and it unnerved him. The Benshiran did not like being unnerved. As he examined the smooth surface of the figurine, the man spoke in a thickly accented voice, low to avoid interrupting the diners,

"You guard the door like a soldier. What does an unarmed woman like you possess that can defend your master should the thread of harm present itself?"

The question, any question really, would break the ice. He was indeed curious as to the slave's role. The inquiry was a door opener, for he knew of dozens of ways a seemingly harmless girl could kill a man, even an armed man like himself. Any number of magical disciplines could be employed to harm, hinder or confound him. The gods give their chosen powers beyond themselves. His eyes shifted to his upturned palm, to the mark of a god that had grown silent. The same hand lifted to brush the scar where Rhysol had honored him by marring his skin with his blood.

Maybe she was an animal girl, capable of taking the form of a ravaging beast, or simply a master of some martial art that could render him incapacitated with a single move. Or, maybe her master was a fool who simply stood a slave girl up in front of his door as a show. His head finally lifted as he dared to look at her again, his eyebrows raised, expecting a response.

[Valerius Nitrozian]

Valerius had risen before dawn and overseen the slaves as they prepared the house for the guests. Carpets were cleaned – and in some cases replaced. Every surface was dusted and polished. The flowers in the numerous vases were replaced with fresh ones that had been plucked just bells before, and in the kitchen the cook was working on a delicious meal. Valerius had sampled it and then told the women to throw it away and start anew. While it was good, it wasn’t good enough yet, and would she please serve the finest wine that she had in the house with it? The only slaves and servants that would be visible that day were young, beautiful and strong ones that would impress the guests. He’d sent all the ones that were ugly or had some other kind of flaw away, and then he made sure that all the ones that were working today were given fine clothes, were clean and smelled good. Winter who had become something of a personal slave of his in recent times, was of course given a dress that was more luxurious than most, made of fine velvet and cut after the newest fashion. Everything needed to be perfect. Valerius had high hopes for the meeting. He had dreamed of joining the Black Sun and rising in Rhysol’s rank for quite some time, and if everything went well that day, he would get a few steps closer to the goal. While the Salvatrice family was not as rich as his own, they had a certain amount of influence and dealing with them could only be beneficial. As Kialandra and her bodyguard walked up to the door, Valerius took care of a few last preparations and made sure that everything and everybody was where he wanted them to be. And then he entered the foyer and approached the agent. The Nitrozian was dressed in a fine dark suit that day and a shirt made of pure white silk, and his leather boots shimmered. He was of course unarmed. He briefly looked at the man he assumed was Kialandra’s bodyguard and arched an eyebrow, and then he nodded, sigifying Winter that she was free to answer his question if she wanted to. He turned to the woman in the meantime. „Kialandra Salvatrice, welcome to the Nitrozian Estate.“

[Nya Winters]

Winter tended to ignore anything that didn't effect her directly or the level of nutrition in her stomach. The cook had seen her fed with a pile of the scraps from the roast he'd trimmed before sticking it in the oven before the event and she stood stoic with her eyes lazy as she dozed quietly on her feet. Full. Relaxed. Just an evening of the little noble doing his political wrangling, nothing indeed she was worried about.

When the guest of honor appeared, Winter snapped to alertness. There was something instantly about the woman that put Winter's hair on end. She started to bare her teeth in a growl and move between her little noble lord and the woman. But Val gave no indication of being worried about her appearance and indeed didn't seem to react at all to Kialandra Salvatrice's presence. She knew the name because Val announced her formally, which was unusual. Drinking in the woman's scent, Winter hated her immediately. Her dislike was a tangible thing, that wrapped ill will around the woman like an invisible poison that the kelvic tried to mentally choke her with.

Kialandra ignored her of course.

Winter was slightly surprised by her reaction. Apathy was her general mode of operation, only getting excited at meal times or when Val let her off her human leash and let her run as a cat. She never thought about eating anyone. She never tried to run. She never, as a rule, gave much thought to anyone or anything at all. Lazy, she slept a great deal when Val didn't need her. And sometimes helped the cook if he promised food was involved for her.

But this woman awoke something in her that Winter had thought long dead. Rage filled her and she drank in the woman's scent. The man with her was familiar as well, though Winter's mind snapped away from the reason for it. When the man questioned her, she bared her teeth at him willing him to go away. He stank like the woman, like a baby, and like foreign places and unnatural aromas. If Winter thought more about it, she'd have wondered why the bodyguard smelled off as if she knew what he was supposed to smell like. But she was beyond that. She had been for a while. And as he paced, examining things rudely, she snarled lightly at him.

"Put the art down. It's not for your kind to touch." She snapped, her voice more like a feline growl. It was an echo of the housekeeper's very words to Winter when she touched things she shouldn't. Once, such things would not have stopped her, but now she was... damaged. And simple words like no effected her. She stopped. The man should too.

"I guard like a solider because I am a solider. The clothing does not make the woman. The woman makes the woman." She said, meeting his gaze boldly for a split second before dropping her eyes and studying the floor at her feet. A shiver passed through her for a moment and her eyes swept up to see what Valerius was doing. He was talking to the woman. She almost snarled. The kelvic did not want Valerius anywhere near the woman. Hadn't she already ruined the man that was at her side?

Winter blinked, glanced up at him again, then back to her master. Bad pork. She wondered suddenly if the cook knew the meat from earlier had gone bad. It was making her think things, feel things... like curiosity. She was not a curious creature, not now, not in the least. But curiosity and even a sense of fascination filled her. She glanced around, caught sight of the man again, and decided he was staring. Winter flashed her teeth at him. While they weren't dramatically longer than an average humans, she had two sharp canines that gleamed white against the deep pink tissue of her gums.

Hostility. She was definitely filled with it mingled with the anger and suspicion that circulated the environment around them.

[Abashai]

Kialandra greeted the Nitrozian with a friendly smile, or as friendly as she was able. The woman was beautiful, with jet black hair, pin straight that fell past her shoulders and pragmatic bangs cut straight across just above her brow. However, when she smiled, the natural arch of her eyebrows gave the Black Sun agent the appearance that she knew a wicked secret, and it was about you. "It is a pleasure, Valerius, to finally meet you." She replied in a smooth voice, her tone maintaining an amenable diplomacy with the vague sensual undertone that permeated all her speech. "Thank you for the offer of your hospitality, and agreeing to meet with me. I understand the constraints of your schedule."

After a glance at her bodyguard, Kialandra's dark gaze turned back to her Nitrozian host as they disappeared behind the dining room doors. The Salvatrice kept a close but appropriate proximity to Valerius as they approached the finely appointed dining table, her eyes surveying the room and anyone in it.

-----

Abashai handled the piece of art as he strained to hear voices behind the ornate closed door. The Nitrozian was barely a grown man. Valerius was frail-looking but carried himself with such arrogance that it seemed to exude from him. That chafed at the Benshiran. His mistress certainly merited a higher member of the house than this youngling. The moment of musing passed quickly as the tangibly present slave girl chastised him. Her chiding was so gruff that Abashai's gaze was drawn to her. She was snarling. The man glimpsed a flash of teeth before her barely tamed eyes demanded his attention. Kelvic. This Abashai had never met a Kelvic. But he knew, somehow he knew that he knew, she was Kelvic. He did not question himself, but Abashai did look away, placing the statuette back on the table.

"You are not a soldier, any more than I. You do not have the discipline of a soldier, you have the discipline of a slave." He remarked with matter-of-fact, avoiding her green gaze. No, she was not a soldier, and everything about her told him she was not a mere slave either. The compulsion was too strong, and he lifted his head to look at her again. Abashai's attention was met with an unfriendly flash of strong white teeth, the carnivorous nature of her canines no longer veiled behind painted lips. Nature itself would have instructed the man that the Kelvic was to be left alone. But the Chaon found an innate need to study her, to engage her, as if the slave girl was a featured piece of work in an art gallery, one he had seen copies of somewhere, but never the original. The very fact that she evoked such curiosity within him fueled the intrigue.

"The clothing does not make the woman. The woman makes the woman."

The Benshiran agreed, for those were not the words of a demure slave girl. An inner caution whispered to the Benshiran. Careful. This one is not as she seems.

Abashai considered his approach. He took several steps until he was on the opposite side of the double doors, but angled towards the woman. His hand rested idly on the pommel of the large desert sword at his side. "I suspect that, in your case, not only does the clothes not make the woman, but neither does the skin." The Salvatrice servant baited the Kelvic, hoping to draw her out of her defensive posturing.

[Valerius Nitrozian]

There was nothing about Kialandra Salvatrice that put Valerius‘ hair on end. He only saw her as a potentially useful contact, a future ally. As Winter bared her teeth, as if she were about to growl, he abruptly turned back to her. He didn’t say anything – he didn’t want to chide his slaves in front of such an important guest – but only cast a warning look at the Kelvic. He expected her to behave, and if she didn’t – if she embarrassed him in front of Kialandra or angered his guest – it would have dire consequences for her. „I always have time for somebody like you“, he said as she spoke about the constraints of his schedule. Even he who had comparatively little interest in the things that happened between men and women (or men and men) had to admit that Kialandra Salvatrice was a beauty. There was just something about the way she smiled and the vaguely sensual tone of her voice. No matter what the outcome ultimately was, this meeting would definitely be interesting, he decided. He cast one final glance at Winter – he didn’t like the tone in which she talked to his guest’s bodyguard – and then he walked through the door behind Kialandra, guiding her to her seat. Once she had sat down, he closed the door behind them so that nobody would be able to hear what they were talking about. „I asked the cook prepare some roast pork, potatoes and vegetables. The meat has been prepared with some special herbs the taste of which you should find most intriguing. There’s also chicken if you aren’t fond of pork and some sweets from Yae Varone’s – the bakery’s a personal favourite of mine - for later on. And of course wine, from my father’s personal wine cellar.“ He paused for a moment to allow Kialandra some time to think about what she wanted to eat – and start eating. He didn’t want to give her the impression that he was impatient and desperate for somehting that would increase his influence in Ravok - or simply had very bad manners. So some time passed before the Nitrozian raised his head, looked at his guest and remarked, „You suposedly have information for me … about a certain somebody …“

[Nya Winters]

Winter glanced at the lordlings displeasure and calmed immediately. He might be arrogant, but he fed her on a regular basis and she wanted to keep him somewhat happy. When the door shut on them, Winter turned to it, tilted her head to listen, and then glanced at Abashai with a scathing look. "You stink." She said abruptly, and it was true he could smell something muddying his own scent then. Shai could smell suddenly Kialandra on him and even the child the Black Sun sometimes let him hold.

The kelvic moved towards him, unafraid of him, and stared up at him halting just mere inches away. She growled low in her throat, furious at him, and did not even stop to consider why she wold be. Her eyes dropped down to where his hand rested on his Khopesh and she sneered. "It wont' save you. Your weapon, your Khopesh. You'll be dead before you could draw it. I'm that much a woman. It would have done you more good to bring your Oud, which sometimes can tame the beasts." She said suddenly, tossed her brindled hair which wasn't exactly tossable coiffed, and started to march back over to the far side of the door frame. It wasn't until she was back on her side of the door that he realized she'd said the word Khopesh and Od in his native tongue, not in Common.