Closed [Scarlet Sanctum] Barber-ous Intentions

[Fallon]

60th Winter 513 AV
Night

"We're going to a whore house tonight," Fallon told him quite firmly. She could almost see his eyes widen and his expression turn from that of blank to of horror. Eyes stared up at him, her expression serious with no sign of giving. She looked oddly clean for a change, the usual layer of dirt that covered her having been stripped clean if not for a few flecks here and there. Her head inclined to one side, and then her fingers scratched at the shirt collar, "Relax, it's only a meeting with Matthew. He wants to talk to both of us. Business, not pleasure." Fallon grabbed the arm of Wrenmae, a firm pull to tug him along as she spouted a wicked grin, "Unless you're into that sort of thing. Come on! No objections."

Fallon was defiant, her stance solid and determined in leading him there regardless of his objections. For this night she was to drag him out through the cold winter air, through the snow to spend time with the harlot. She hounded him, pulling his own clothing into some semblance of order with some speed. She did briefly pause to untangle the chain from his collar, and then smooth it out. But for the most part she continued, even to the point that she wrapped the cloak around him and gave a firm shove forward. She of course was not far behind, her own cape pulled around her shoulders. Of course she was not unarmed, she kept the kukri at her waist when other things were put to one side. Sucking in the cold air, the mercenary pushed him along or at least until looping an arm around his and grinning. A teasing tone escaped, "I'm sure you're good at pretending, but it will only be whilst we're entering. Just... pretend to be interested in that sort of thing."

Words failed her at that point, her brow creasing into a fine line. Perhaps she had rushed him too much, perhaps she had pushed too far. But, even she could not help but feel that this would both do them some good. Sunberth was thick and heavy with the weight of corruption - enough for her not to only set her skin writhing but question everything. Her guard was kept up, her eyes scanning and watching for something to happen. Anticipating that Sunberth would rear its ugly head and strike. Still, she kept her steps firm and definite, her mind focused on what was to occur next. Stick to the plan and the rest should all fall into place.

The Scarlet Sanctum in itself was a steep learning experience for her. Of course she understood the nature of such establishments but it still caused her to not quite know where to exactly look. A lacking exposure to such an environment left her a bit bewildered and unknowning on what to exactly expect. Even as they entered the distinct scents and the sound of burlesque hit her ears. It was clean to say the least, pristine if not for the very loud and suggestive colours. Even her cheeks went a shade of red, her eyes unsure where to exactly dart or look too. And for a moment they settled upon a rather well endowed woman. Her throat constricted, a forced clearing as she spoke up, and addressed one of the less suggestively dressed, "My partner and I... we would... We're looking to hav-" Placing a head in her hand she sucked in the air and placed the coin down, "Matthew, for the night. We... well, you get the idea."

Laughter occurred, the faint utterance of a giggle as one of the girls went off to find the harlot. She turned her head, her shoulders hunching in almost defensively. She released a mutter, "Eyes up, Egyptus."

[Wrenmae]

60 Winter 513

She had found him where he usually was when not prowling the open night. A candle guttered low before he'd absently replaced it, poring over a number of parchments he'd been writing on. They were marred with crosses and scribbles, half-hearted diagrams and confused facts. Just before his sister spoke, he had been drawing what he hoped would be an understanding that he'd pieced together from a Daggerhand outpost at the edge of Sunberth. Yes...six rooms, one below...Maximum of fifteen men stationed, minimum of ten. No doubt there would be at least three warriors, the rest thugs...but on the day he was planning, no...there would be a Red Hand among them.

Likely to up numbers, especially in light of the recent circumstances. The Daggerhand were rolling for leadership and they would seek it in their own recruits before turning their attention elsewhere.

"And who will you find?" Wren asked the parchment quietly, "Who will you pit against me...hmm? Someone good, I hope."

And then she spoke.

And all of that became second priority.

Perhaps it was just as well that she was blunt. Wren's throat seized up and he tried to sputter words that meant nothing. His last tangle with a woman in Zeltiva had ended...almost prematurely for him, more business than pleasure...and it had been ages since he lay with Edreina.

Wait. But Fallon was suggesting it? Wh-

Matthew.

Of course.

Much of the tension eased from the hypnotist as Fallon spoke, although he did slap at her hurrying hands that tried to prepare him, more instinctive than malignant. He couldn't remember getting to the brothel, they moved with a speed and grace that suggested familiarity...but Wren would be absolutely stark shocked to find she had shared a bed with any harlots.

She found her way to the front desk, asking for Matthew, pairing them as a couple. Wren's heart slid up a few beats, a thump-thump of blush pushed into his cheeks as his eyes found a nest in the prostitute's bosom.

Fallon chided him, snapping Wren's eyes up and around the room, his cheeks flushing in embarrassment.

"I was checking for weapons," he muttered to himself, not actually willing to commit to the lie enough to say it loudly to Fallon, "You could be a bit gentler...this all feels rushed."

What business could Matthew want to discuss?

Brushing back his wild hair, Wren squinted around the room, through the haze of perfume and sweat.

Was this really what Matthew sought to learn? How on Mizahar did he manage it?

Common
Thought
"Speech"
Zan

[Matthew]

He had written so much. He had sat and pondered, scrawling note after note onto parchment. He hadn't slept a wink. It had been bells after he had agreed to do this that the pieces had suddenly clicked. He very much doubted that a man like Wrenmae would readily agree to a haircut, no matter how much he needed it. Then when you added the fact that Wrenmae could use a little bit of blemish concealer, the harlot heavily doubted the man would just sit still and take it. Would Fallon be able to keep him under control? She was intelligent, perhaps she had a plan in mind. But just in case she didn't, he had thought it best to put a plan together himself. Wrenmae used magic, after all. Who knew how he would react to the idea of being pampered. Matthew had thought anyone would enjoy a moment of cosmetic attention, but a few choice encounters had proven otherwise. So he had drafted out plan after plan, consulting his mental library on what he knew about the two. Both were still fairly mysterious. There wasn't exactly that much information. Matthew wasn't the type to pry, and he knew both of them had things they needed to do here in Sunberth that were private and intimate. They were things that he didn't want to be involved in, personally. Things that drew attention. He didn't like attention. He liked learning his craft in peace and quiet, which he had been managing until last Fall. Then the cursed woman had visited him. Tick tock. After quite a bit of writing, reading, and redrafting, the harlot had finally come up with the perfect plan. Or at least he thought it was the perfect plan. If needed, he would be able to hold the man hostage while he did his work. He wasn't exactly the most skilled at cosmetics, but he would do what he could. Even just a bit of a trim would be ideal. Steph came to fetch him, telling him that he had another couple here to see him. There had been quite a few whispers about the sorts of clients he brought in. The Isurian who was so very loud, the Myrian and the Svefra, and now yet another couple? Ruby was certainly delighted. Matthew moved downstairs, graceful and fluid with his motions. The man that appeared in front of both Fallon and Wrenmae was definitely different than the one they had spent time with before. He moved with sultry confidence, a light smile on lush lips and a suggestive shimmer in his blue stare. A white button-up shirt was open, baring creamy defined flesh underneath, britches slung low on V-lined hips. He was sculpted to be attractive, nothing more. There was a scent about him, a pleasing earthy nutty smell, and his breath carried hints of mint. His voice, when he spoke, was a bit husky and throaty. The air was the thing that had changed the most. It was sexually charged, trembling with erotic ideals. Most men wore an aura of intimidation, an aura of power, perhaps an aura of calm. Matthew had an aura of sex. "Hello. Please follow me." Each were given a look, a deep look, a way too intimate look. If they were trying not to look directly at him he would almost angle himself to make sure they caught a glimpse of the filthy promises in his eyes. He motioned to the two of them, turning on his heel, trusting them to follow. Both Wrenmae and Fallon would have to deal with the flirtatious touches of more than a few men and women, though nothing too intrusive. They were led up a staircase and to a nearby room, Matthew holding the door open for them and then shutting it behind them. And then he locked it. It was a simple bedroom with a rather large bed, a nightstand nearby with a single large drawer. This particular room had no windows, only wooden walls. The entire room smelled clean, as if had been washed from top to bottom just recently. Luckily for the customers, the rooms were washed quite often. However, there was one thing out of place. There was a small piece of cloth on the bed, with a pair of scissors and a comb on it. Then there was also what looked like a bottle of perfume, a small container of some sort of wax, and then another container with a brush and some sort of powder. Matthew blinked a few times, and then suddenly the air around him was gone. The expression was gone, the feeling was gone, nothing remained. He was merely Matthew, intelligent blue eyes studying both Wrenmae and Fallon. "Thank you for coming to meet me. I am glad the two of you are doing well. How goes the great undertaking?" As if on cue, the room next to them lit up in quite the loud series of moans and yells. There was someone having sex right next to their bedroom, and the noise was conveniently loud. Matthew didn't flinch, as if he had been expecting it. He had. Giving a short bow of the head to Fallon, he then turned to Wrenmae. "Also, it has been decided you need a haircut. I need the practice, and wouldn't like for this opportunity to slip by. Please sit down on the bed, and don't make me have to convince you." It didn't have the tone of a threat, though it sure did sound like one. He thought it best to skip to the point, though. He wanted to discuss Sunberth, and he wanted to practice his Cosmetics. If Wrenmae was going to make one of those things difficult, then they would have to deal with that first.

[Fallon]

Fallon glared at him for a while and breathed back, "Sure. Weapons."

In honesty, both of them wore the healthy red tint of embarrassment. Eyes not knowing where to exactly look, the rather bright and garish world of prostitution spread widely before them both. Of course, they simply stared back through the miasma of scents, luring in their attempt to reel them in for a night of pleasure and simple whims. And whilst they were waiting, did they close in. Hands brushed against them, the casual winks of temptation and lust smothering them and the air. But, it did not last. The sea of arms parted, the allure of Matthew breaking the waves as he drifted between.

Her throat constricted for a moment, words failing whilst her lips moved. Barely able to form words she stared, her shoulders rising up into her neck and her eyes wide. With her jaw agape, she simply blinked then ogled, then burned a brighter shade of red. She did not exactly know what to do in such a situation, having never really allowed herself to be exposed in such a manner - not willingly at least. Fear, a lack in understanding and the lingering of memories were the cause of such things. And this aura of seduction Matthew wore may have been tempting for one, did the exact opposite for Fallon. It was intimidating.

And then he gave that look.

Fallon released a squeak, and quickly stepped behind Wrenmae in an attempt to escape the gaze of the Harlot. Her entire form flinched with movement, her fingers knotting into the back of his cloak as if it would protect her. Of course it would not, but she still sought the false sense of security that it would. And if it was not the cloak then there was always the man himself to serve as a wall of flesh. No, it was too much and even her mind of intellect and understanding simply could not keep up with the primal, intimate and suggestive looks of the entire scene. The air was sucked in as a rattle, a deep breath to assist in calming in the nerves where possible and then that mechanical step after the men. Her eyes looked upon the floor, unable to look up properly to the world around her as she was lead along to the room where Matthew would be 'working' and promptly allowed in.

For a moment she hesitated on the threshold, her eyes barely lifting to look beyond the door and then quickly stepped in. Back pressing against the bedroom wall she promptly slid down it; her legs had simply buckled and surrendered under the pressure of the scenario. The mind burned, coherent thoughts alien to her as she recovered. If it could even be called that. Trapped within a state of daze the girl sucked in the air again, deeper this time and filling her senses up. Her heart pulsed wildly, that screaming urge to get up and run. But, she knew that was not the reason they were here. No, it was not for erotic pleasures, it was for amusement and learning. Nothing more, nothing less.

"Gods above Matthew. Please, never be that strong or forward like that to me ever again. I'm a fragile woman you know," the palm of her hand patted against her chest almost as if it would cause the racing beat to calm down to a steady rhythm. Not soon after did she place her forehead in the same hand and sighed, only to flinch and stare at the growing ruckus from next door, "Suppose that's one way to keep things quiet. We're well, excluding the factors of being unadjusted to such an environment. As for the undertaking... I..." She gave a shrug, her brow dipping into confusion as she tried to find words and promptly failed.

And then, the plan promptly went into motion. Even in her flustered state the girl could still manage a wicked, devilish grin. Mischief flooded in with composure, her form rising up into a stand as she stared upon Wrenmae. She cackled, "Well. I couldn't tell you all the reasons. Now sit." She advanced on him, hands out and poised; ready to grab and force him down into sitting. There was no way he was escaping - and if it was not noticeable in the way she approached or the expression upon her face, then it was in her words, "Or else I will have to get mean on you. And you won't like me when I'm mean."

[Wrenmae]

60 Winter 513

Matthew.

In times past, Wren had made the mistake of underestimating someone. That someone promptly almost killed him and made off with his coin and weapons. Since then, Wren had tried his best to evaluate every person honestly, if even a bit more generously than he might have otherwise. That generosity was the soul of caution, after all.

When they had lost Matthew in the Wilderness, Wren had assumed him dead. It wasn't a hard reach. The man fell from a cliff, in the winter, to the crawling river below him.

There was little, short of godly intervention, that would have saved the harlot. He imagined he could feel Fallon's eyes boring into his back. He had, after all, made the call not to descend after him...to seek a body for burial or a survivor to heal. At the time it had seemed a pointless exercise in danger, and now Matthew was here, much the same as he had been left. Wren had underestimated the harlot, badly...and now he was wary.

Matthew knew a fair bit about Wren...that he was a wizard, that Fallon was his sister, that he was trying to build a gang against the Daggerhand, all pieces of information like sharpened daggers. Used in the right way, they'd bleed him dry of the high ground and force him back into the shadows.

Not that Matthew had ever presented himself as an enemy, but then, he rarely presented himself as much more than an ever curious, intelligent, harlot. That, itself, was worrying. So little of the man existed beneath the smooth veneer he maintained, or rather, so little that Wren understood. When the harlot had approached them, striding confidently through a sea of perfumes and love-sweat, Wren felt his heart seize for a moment or two.

The unknown. He feared the unknown.

Swallowing that terror, he followed Matthew with Fallon back to the room. He didn't miss the twist of a key in the lock, nor Fallon sliding to the ground behind him, nor the cloth and tools on the bed, and certainly not the overture of passion that erupted in the room beside them.

Instead he kept moving, passing along to the nightstand and the single drawer, opening it to reveal gloves and four neatly coiled silk cords. He wasn't fool enough to assume Matthew intended to restrain him with these, only that some preferred to feel trapped when being teased.

He shut the drawer swiftly and turned on Matthew and Fallon, eyes narrowing as they spoke. A trap then, to...cut his hair? Briefly his eyes danced to the scissors than back to Matthew and Fallon. Much of the powerlessness that had possessed her had vanished, and she seized on this idea of some grand ambush, approaching him.

Matthew also left his threatless threat hanging in the air.

"That is not necessary," Wren said first, putting up both hands as if they would serve as barriers to prevent the two from getting closer, "I can-" but he paused, remembering that Matthew did not know him to be a morpher. "I can handle my hair as it is. Sunberth is a place less concerned with cosmetic perfection, and I'd prefer to blend in than stand out."

He didn't realize he had run out of space till his back pressed against the wall, a thin wooden thing between him and the roiling sex next door. Fallon continued to approach him, hands out, and Wren slid along the wall towards the door. His hands reached for weapons that were no longer on his person, came up empty, almost clenched in a fist, relaxed, and then grasped the door knob.

But Matthew had the key.

"This is not necessary," Wren repeated, his eyes darting to the harlot, to Fallon, and back to the scissors, "We can easily discuss business without bringing my hair into the equation."

The words sounded pleading to him, even if he spoke them levelly.

When was the last time he had let someone cut his hair? Not since his half sister when he was ten...the rest had been himself, mangling his locks with a blade whenever they fell too close to his eyes.

Not since his half-sister. The dead one.

Honestly, he'd never trusted someone enough to put a blade that close to his face since the

Common
Thought
"Speech"
Zan

[Matthew]

They hadn't come to look for him, but Matthew hadn't given it a second thought. He hadn't even wondered if they would, he had instantly assumed they wouldn't. He certainly wouldn't have went to look. It had been a sheer cliff and there had been nothing but water underneath. There was practically no easy way down, and even if there was he would have likely been long washed away. It made sense not to come look for him. It was a waste of time. Wrenmae and Matthew were in complete agreement on that one, even if Fallon would give them somewhat accusing stares at the idea. Was it heartless? Matthew just thought it was the smart thing to do. He never understood why some people were so uncomfortable around the scantily-clad whores. Fallon, he could partially understand. He could mentally count the scars he had seen on her flesh, generate her bare body in his mind and spin it around a few times to make sure he could still invision them all. No doubt there were ones he was missing, but the ones he had seen? They were so very intricant. They had been painted into her pale skin with the hand of an artist. Not a pleasant artist, unless Fallon herself was the sort who enjoyed self-inflicted body modifications. He doubted she was. Not with that look of near terror in her eyes when she squirmed away from his erotic gaze. Wrenmae seemed shy as well, but he was much more thrown off by the women around him. How very interesting to know. He was thankful he had guessed right, even if Fallon had her doubts. Fallon's words reached his ears as they stepped into the bedroom, and curious blue eyes swept to regard her. He paused a moment and then slowly shook his head, his voice holding just a hint of confusion. "I don't know. You don't seem fragile to me." It was the exact opposite. There was a strength and wisdom in her eyes. Perhaps she meant when it came to such intimate affairs, though. He mulled this over, rotating the concept around in his head. Perhaps the abuse wasn't torture. Perhaps it had been sexual abuse? A history in medicine and psychology could help him reach that conclusion, but there was no concrete proof. More interesting was her reaction when it came to their undertaking. He didn't know the details and had no interest in knowing the details. What little instinct he had told him to keep a safe distance from the details. It did interest him, though. Both Wrenmae and Fallon were the sort of people who's company he enjoyed, so most of their goals would no doubt intrigue him. But there was a different goal today. Both him and Fallon seemed to move as one, almost a hive mind in their movements, turning and facing the poor Wrenmae as one. Fallon had shifted gears, showing a grin that Matthew had never seen on her lips before. Wrenmae backpedaled. Matthew's notes sprang to mind, and Wrenmae might notice a familar glossy stare replacing Matthew's sharp gaze. To Matthew, all that existed now was noise. The clinking and whirling of gears, all of them falling into place as Wrenmae went through the motions. Doesn't have that same air around him when he is with the woman. Close friend? Can't use magic, or better to hope he won't. Too much attention here. Weapons? Left at the door if the Sanctum was good at checking for that sort of thing, though there could be some on his person. He is realizing all of this at the same time as me. Hands moving, body moving, moving from option to option. The door, Wrenmae. I locked it, and I have the key, but out is the last place you want to go. Matthew didn't move, just spoke. He had been forced to put a lot of planning into this. Hopefully the pieces would click into place as he had planned for them to. Hopefully he had assumed right, for there had been certain assumptions that he had made. "There are a certain series of knocks that I need to make at a certain time. If I do not make this certain series of knocks at a certain time, then there are about half a dozen eager young women and a few eager young men standing at the ready. If they do not hear this signal, they will assume that we decided to go through with your orgy fantasy. They are most excited." There were certain threats that only a harlot could make. "Or we could cut your hair." He just wanted to pamper Wrenmae for the learning experience. Was that really so bad?

[Fallon]

It was no surprise that he had objected. If anything the pair of them already had an inkling he would, to squirm away at the first possible moment for such treatment. But as they approached, did he shy away, retreating firstly to the wall and then sliding round to the door.

Fallon closed in on him, grin still fixed on her face and the fingers wiggling menacingly. She closed in of course, a quick step with her shoulders squaring up - ready to pounce should he try other methods of escape. But the gaze did not lift, even as he grabbed the door knob and rattled it. Almost in an attempt of desperation to escape such a torturous process. And whilst Fallon closed in, cat like upon her 'mouse' target, did the weighty words of the harlot reach them.

In a strange way it reminded her of another time, on how she would try to square up against another in training. On how one simple movement or turn could change the way things went, feints of attack or defence used to exploit and trick. Underhand, but it got the job done. Taking a lean to the left with her shoulder leading the way, Fallon closed in with the low hum of amusement vibrating in her throat. Darting onto the right her hands pawed at his shirt, fingers snagging and snarling into the fabric. Even her entire form gave a sway as she closed in, eyes wide with glee in reflection to his own in terror. Perhaps, in the eyes of some it would have been only seen as a more playful nature, in Wrenmae's however, well she did not quite know.

"Come on... Please?" there was a flail of hands as she stepped right into reach, each trying to grab and pry the other away, the mocking teasing tone upon her tongue, "I'm here you baby. Good gods, it's just a hair cut. We're not going to slit your throat or anything. Such a petching child." Digging her heels in she gave a rather firm pull or at least attempted to force him to the bed. Her head in the meanwhile wheeled round to Matthew just long enough for her to speak to him, "A little help please?"

And then, promptly the girl simply went for it. Arms snapped out then snapped around him, her hands attempting to tightly clasp around the other side. All the while though, the shallow threat of, "Don't make me be mean. Petching. Spoil. Sport." continued to mumble.

[Orion Michaels]

Yousa

Wantsa

GRADE?!

 

Fal

Experience

Subterfuge	+1
Persuasion	+1
Skill	#
Skill	#

Lores.

• Tricking Wren into a Haircut

 

Matthew

Experience

Intimidation	+1
Skill	#
Skill	#
Skill	#

Lores.

• Having the Upper Hand in 'negotiations'

 

Notes

Gave what I could find. PM me with questions.