Flashback Along Came a Thief [Part 1]

[Senghor Vilhjalmr]

Seng had to admire the girl's technique. Gifted as she was in the sensual arts themselves, she was one hell of an negotiator too. As she moved her shapely body in his direction, Noven's coin in hand and hungry for Seng's own - a smirk touching the corners of her lips - the dark skinned mercenary fished out his half of the coin and waited. Isme left her scent lingering in the air for a moment as Senghor turned his attention to Noven, 'I must admire her work ethic. She's street-smart, smarter than most in the city.' When Nov slithered his neck out the door to peer at whoever could be out there and found nothing - turning back to him and asking him some questions - Senghor calmly sat back and reclined in his seat. He looked at fellow why a inquiring look and sighed. 'In a whore's den and we don't even have any whores of our own.' he huffed dryly. 'We could go kick down the doors ourselves. But Brega would sooner have our balls in a jar beside her on display before the first one went down. We could also wait - but we both know we're not friends with patients. ' Senghor stood up and walked to the door to peer through before snaking his head back in when he still saw nobody come along the hallway. 'We could get some whores of our own and busy-ourselves while we wait but we still haven't found the kid and he could be dead or dying right now...' As he paced around the tiny room for a moment an idea came to him, 'We're dealing with a group here and each group has some weak links dragging along. We need to find those weak links and make them talk - we'll simply have to find the freshiest faces amongst them and get those talking.' Senghor didn't know how much this would cost them - especially in relations with Brega herself - but the kid's life was slowly slipping from their fingertips and they were losing time by just lounging around and doing nothing. He turned back toward the door and looked back at Noven with a chuckle for a moment before opening it and disappearing down the hall. 'Just don't overdo it like you always do. We've got a damsel in distress to save.' II. Isme arched her back as her skin turned warm at the foreign touch of the customer given to her. He was different for the rest - smaller - but it was his presence that made her shiver. He seemed to have a knack for the oddest of desires. When she picked him out of the pack - his eyes gleamed with anticipation and lust - when they entered the room, he quickly asserted his dominance over her and told her to remain quiet, take off her clothes and clasp her hands behind her back when she done. She obeyed - it was what she did to be paid - watched as he crept toward the bed and strip it off its cloth. He tore an ample amount of fabric into three long strips and quickly turned his attention to her. A smile that made her spine writhe in fear across his face as he strode behind her and began to tie her hands - an intricate knot that made her arms stiff. 'What's your name?' Isme asked with a sultry drawl. The strange man sniggered slyly as he covered her world in darkness; blindfolding her. 'Just call me Finny.' 'You sure know how to tie a stiff knot, don't you Fin---' he silenced her with the final cloth, across her inquiring mouth it went. 'I don't like it when they talk. I like it when its all groans and muffling. So quiet -- shhh -- I know what I'm doing.' Finnado whispered hotly into her ear, licking it and than nimbling on it with a opaque chuckle. Isme didn't how but a chime later and she was sprawled across the bed, her world enveloped in darkness with hot breath across her skin as nails ran across her goosebumps. 'You know, you remind me of how he first looked when we got him and I tied him down. He looked just like you right now - I took my blade and ran its coldness across his skin like -- this...' Isme yelped; or muffled one as she felt something cold run across her skin. At first she thought it was dagger but when it didn't hurt she realised it was something else. Something she didn't even want to know. Finnado cackled slightly when the girl jerked under his touch - just like the boy but without the blood; gods how he wanted there to be blood. 'He squirmed. Just like you did, hehe... Oh I'm sure going to enjoy you. And I know you're really going to enjoy me...'

[Noven]

Nov smirked at Seng's comments about Isme. It seemed they were in agreement; this particular whore was far sharper than the rest, and as useful as she was comely. Though, it said nothing at all of her trustworthiness. And sharpness was sometimes as much of a bane as it was a gift.

Guess only time would tell.

For the rest of his friends more serious words, Noven could only nod as his mouth set into a grim line. There weren't very many options they could entertain. And even if there were, time wasn't exactly on their side either. Brega was not someone they should or could cross. Even if they managed to rescue Eleaz, disrespecting the Mistress of Happy Endings in the process would mean losing all of their heads, not just one. And losing a head was the best case scenario.

So, that meant they had to be discreet. Rules could be bent, so long as said rules weren't too big and Brega remained relatively unaware. And not to mention Seng's last words before heading out: they had a damsel in distress to save.

Nov wasn't entirely sure if his friend meant the boy or the whore. Either way, it could work to their advantage. If it was Eleaz, then they could say they'd come together for a good time and were only acting in self defense. If it was Isme, Brega would take it personally if one of her precious whores were hurt without her knowing, which meant a rescue might even earn them some gratitude.

He took one look at the direction Seng was headed and winced as he made to follow. Isme had shown no signs of being put off by Nov's black eye and bruises. Maybe that was why she'd decided to help them. She knew she'd make more profit helping them petch someone else over then petching them direct. The young man couldn't even think of the prospect of getting into bed with her at the moment, and it wasn't for lack of enticement. It's just hurt too damn much.

Honestly, he didn't know how Senghor did it. On a good day, Noven might be able to beat him in a fair fight with enough finesse and strategy, and maybe with a good handful of luck as well. Might. But when it came to height and strength, the darker skinned man had every advantage.

Which was why Nov gladly hobbled along with his friend in the lead. Whatever came next he didn't mind in the slightest, so long as he wasn't the first to face it. He could barely see out of one eye let alone bear down on a gang of kidnappers.

What he did have, though, was his mark. But the young man was still debating whether he should use it at all.

Suddenly, Noven stopped dead in his tracks. Did he just hear a feminine yelp? He stopped mid-limp and slowly turned to face the door the sound had just come from. It wasn't the same room that they'd been eavesdropping on one room over, and the yelp didn't sound like one of passion. Then again, he was no expert on all the various tastes that ran in Brega's customers. But it had sounded, for lack of a better word, frightened. And Isme couldn't have gone far...

Nov whispered for Seng to stop and come over. He pointed emphatically at the door before making two curvy lines in the air with his hands while mouthing Isme. Then he initiated a whole series of motions that included fake-knocking on the door, pointing at Seng, and mimicking the act of socking someone in the face.

The man waited until his friend more or less got the message. Then he raised a fist to hover over the rough wood of the door, exhaled a slow breath, and rapped against it briskly with his knuckles.

Sounds ceased from the other side for a moment before another, pained yelp could be heard. A man's impatient voice hissed out instructions to stay quiet before the scuffling of boots and groan of a mattress could be heard. Noven glanced at Seng, jerking his chin at the room and backing away as soon as the click of heeled boots began making its way toward the door.

Hopefully, his friend would be able to knock the guy at--or tackle him to the ground, whichever came easier--before their mystery target could call out for help. Retaliation was to be expected, but if they could limit it to mere struggles to talk or break free, rather than a full-fledged fight, all the better.

The latch to the door slowly unlocked and was pushed open.

[Senghor Vilhjalmr]

I. Isme squirmed at the actions of the strange man, her sight was lost and she could feel every sadistic touch he inflicted on her. He hadn't hurt her, yet but he was terrified her no end. He told her of all things he would have done to her if she wasn't one of Brega's girls. Her mind raced as she recited all the things that he had said. Hang her upside, whip her. Tie her to the wall, brand her. Suffocate her, revive her. Fleece her. Burn her. Eat her... 'The one I have now, he isn't strong like you. No, he passed out after I cut him. Here!' Finnado said, running whatever metallic object he picked up along her ribs. Isme shrieked so loudly that Finnado felt a higher tinge of arousal from it. 'Oh!, your sweet voice, Gods.' he said. When he tried to run the object along her skin once again a knock on the door disrupted him and he clamped his hand over the girl's mouth. 'You scream. I gut you like a pig.' he whispered in her ear and smirked, planting a perk on her cheek and standing up from the bed. He momentarily put on his pants and boots, buckled his pants and set for the door not before telling the girl to quiet down when she let out a yelp. 'Damnit, who's bothering me in my fun time!' he grumbled as he undid the latch and swung the door open. His world was soon clouded in a mass of darkness as he slumped back, his brain ceased functioning for a moment as his face throbbed. In his myopic blurred vision he only saw two figures standing in door frame - one tall and another small - and than total blackness... II. Senghor walked down the corridor lost in his thoughts, mostly of how they'd find a way to delicately handle the gang members. To simply barge into their rooms was foolish and would earn them a quick death - from them or Brega. And to wait for them to come out was easily as risky, especially with Noven's condition. Isme was seemingly their only option at that moment but she would be too engaged in whatever she was doing for them to merely wait without reconnaissance. He was deep in his thoughts that he missed the shriek, and only snapped back and turned to Noven when the latter called his name and indicated to the door. They crept up on it and Noven began signalling him on what he was meant to do, Seng nodded. It was surprising how the two men communicated and understood one another, it was akin to clairvoyance in some sense. Senghor began to wonder, what if it was a girl that opened the door?, or someone else and not one of the gang members?, He waited for Noven to knock and listened... His prior thoughts quickly diminished when he heard the commanding voice and trudging feet on the wooden floor coming toward the door. He was somewhat then even eager to punch the bastard. Noven stepped back and Seng stepped forward. The door swung open and Senghor equally swung his fist when a male figure emerged on the other side; his fist connected with the man's face and he pulled back when he realised he'd put too much swing in it... It seemed to work as they watched the figure stumble back and lumber into unconsciousness right before their eyes. 'Shit!, I think I might broke my hand!' Senghor swore as immense pain throbbed throughout his palm. He looked at it and rubbed it - after a few ticks he opened and closed it, thankful that it only hurt and didn't break. 'Who knew someone so small had such a tough face.' he said as stepped into the room and looked over the figure of the unconscious man. A yelp. And Seng looked up to see Isme tied up on the bed. 'Shit Nov, it's Isme!, close the door and guard him.' Seng went over to the whimpering girl and untied her, he quickly took her bindings and threw them over to Noven - knowing full well what he'd do with them - and began to calm Isme. 'Quiet, don't cry. Don't cry. He won't hurt you anymore now.' Senghor said, trying his best to comfort her... He quickly whistled to his friend and bobbed his side, telling him to take over in the comforting whilst he took care of the perverted bastard's body. 'Can't wait till he wakes up, he seems like his got a lot to say...' Senghor said as he hauled the limp body over to a chair and plopped it on it. He reworked the bindings for a moment and made sure that the man wouldn't move an inch. 'He's gonna have a lot to say... Or else...'

[Noven]

Crunch!

Out flew Seng's fist, and down went the ginger haired man.

Noven winced in mock sympathy as he limped into the room after his friend. He was still in the midst of taking a careful step over the unconscious body when that familiar yelp came and Seng identified their victim as Isme.

With a sigh, Nov retracted his foot and limped back over to the door to shut it. Probably not the most compassionate of reactions, but his first hope was that the whore had learned a thing or two before her customer-turned-potential-murder was knocked cold. Even just the slightest shred of information might earn them some leverage to use against him during the interrogation. Plus, the young mercenary was sporting far too much black and blue. As much as he'd like the beat the living pulp out of this sick fuck, he had limits in his current condition, and if they let Seng do most of the questioning there was no guarantee the man would live long enough to provide something useful.

This was it, then. The moment Isme proved whether she was as resourceful as she made herself out to be or not.

The lock had barely clicked into place before Seng threw his recently acquired bindings at the shorter man's feet. Finding no point in complaining, Noven hobbled over and started tying up their red headed captive's limbs. He wasn't exactly a master at tying knots, but had spent some time loitering about the docks as a teen and picked up a thing or two. The overhand knot was the simplest. He wrapped some of the rope around Ginger's ankles, tied an overhand, then used one of his Tamos to saw off the rest of the rope and repeat the process to the guy's wrists. Within a few short chimes Nov had their captive trussed up like a piglet ready for roasting.

A whistle slipped through the air. Looking up, Nov nodded and switched places with the taller merc, sitting down carefully beside Isme on the cheap bed. The whore was shaken but quickly regaining composure. She'd already put back on her clothes--what a shame--and was smoothing down her lustrous hair.

Noven dug around his pockets a bit before handing over an old, faded handkerchief. Well, actually it was more of a rag than anything else, but it was clean, and it was the best he had at the moment.

"Here," he said, offering her the small square of cloth. "It's not much, but..."

Isme considered him thoughtfully for a moment before accepting the handkerchief. She dabbed at her face lightly, sniffing now and then. The whore was certainly one of those woman who cried prettily. Maybe it was the coffee tone of her skin that hid most of the swelling and redness. Maybe she had schooled herself to look this way.

Senghor was still propping up their bound captive when Isme murmured, "Thanks. For saving me, and for the handkerchief." She slid a brief, contemptuous look at Ginger, who was still unconscious, before adding, "And I suppose you want to know what I learned before I was so gallantly rescued."

Nov tried his best to shrug nonchalantly. "Yeah...something like that. So what've you got?"

Isme smirked, no longer looking so traumatized. "Before he could start cutting on me, he mentioned something about another victim. One he had in his clutches still. A male, from what I remember, and not one with the strongest of...of, constitutions. Sound like anyone you know?"

The merc's features turned suddenly grim. "Yep. Sounds like Eleaz."

Rising from the bed with a grimace, he went to stand by Seng's side and stare angrily at Unconscious Ginger's bound form. "Well, you heard what the lady said. We've got our man. Now all we need to do is find out where they're keeping the kid."

Nov looked up at his friend and grinned darkly. "I think it's time for our sleeping beauty here to wake up."

Without further ado, he grabbed a fistful of red hair, yanking their captive's head back. As much as she loathed being a victim of any kind, and those who targeted her as one even more so, there was still a moment of unease, a flinch in the wake of the mercenary's brusque actions. She knew what he was going to do, though. And thus steeled herself for what was about to come.

"Oy," Nov called out, one hand still gripping the man's head while the other slapped at his wan cheeks. "Wake up, princess. Up you get now."

Their captive groggily stirred, eyes rolling about in their sockets before finally focusing on the strangers before him. "What the--"

Nov didn't hesitate. He socked the man clean in the gut, knocking the wind from his lungs. Ginger wheezed and coughed. His face turned tomato red from the sudden exertion.

"Right. First thing's first. Where are they keeping the kid?"

Ginger shook his head slowly from side to side and snorted in derision. "I have no idea what you're talking about. But if it's a kid you wanna petch, I suggested looking around in the slummier parts of town. Suit a man like you just right."

Noven tsk'ed. He was peeved the petcher could still spit out so many words after having the contents of his stomach reorganized. With an impatient sigh, the shorter of the two mercs pulled the captive's head back and inch more, wound back his arm, and then slammed his fist down onto Ginger's nose. There was a second, sickening crunch that day in Isme's room, except this time it was accompanied by a spray of blood. Nov ducked to one side, avoiding most of the crimson droplets.

"I'm not gonna ask again," he growled, all pseudo-jovial airs abandoned. "Where are you keeping the kid? And what do you want with him in the first place?"

Nov yanked his victim closer by a fistful of bloodied tunic. "Better answer me this time, you little fucking piss stain, or the next time I'm aiming lower."

With deft, deliberate motions, he pulled off the glove on his left hand and held it before Ginger, who was squinting through a fog of blood, tears, and pain. As soon as he saw the crimson veins webbing across darkened skin, his eyes went wide with naked fear. "N-No, you c-can't be..."

"Oh, but I am. And I'm going to make you talk, one way or the other." Noven gave a grim little smile. "You're not gonna want me to ask a third time if you make me use this."