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[Aerer]

 

Aerer – 20 Bells – We just got a letter, wonder who its from.


Sunberth, 2, Fall, 514 A.V



“Whips and fingers makes two pair, aye?” Greedy claws sank into the center pot and began pulling it towards him, silver horns on the ring grinding against grubby mizas in the process. His tongue ran across his lips expectantly. Winning was often better then a hot meal and ale. Winning was sometimes better then an unexpected trip to Braga's. Sometimes, anyways. Depends on who he could afford. If this luck kept up, perhaps he might even have some whips and fingers for the exquisite Braga.

“You runnin a cold deck, Ay?” Viles brow's knitted together, obvious displeasure in his tone. “This is balast shyke. Thats four hands running, aint seen anything lower than pickaxes from you. Not even shykin slag heaps.”

Aerer looked wounded, raising hands high to proclaim his innocence although it took the might of Ovek to force a frown. “Now, now, Viles. No cheating here. Let you in on a secret, eh? Might've stopped over at the ol' Majestic this afternoon, quaffed down all the luck potions, yeah?” he laughed uproariously at his own wisecrack, sliding his tongue across not so pearly whites. “Let me get the next round?”

“I'll tell ya where to shove yer petchin luck potions, Aerer.” Viles grumbled, although the promise of a free drink mellowed him out somewhat. “Something strong, not of that watered down hogwash you drink” Aerer raised two fingers to signal to the slave that he did in fact want more to drink. No words exchanged. No longer then a chime before the drinks appeared. Pure magic.

The Drunken Fish wasn't his first choice of bars and he often felt out of place amongst the foreign vagrants passing through. He decided it in his best interest, however, to give Merv some time to forgive and forget the little incident at the Pigs Foot. The man was stubborn and did not forgive easily but Aerer knew he would come around. In the meantime, he could find some new homes for his gambling avocation. Find some easy coin too, apparently.

He took a swig of his new drink, dealing out a new hand and admiring the backs of the handmade cards. Gotta save up for my own set, someday. He mused. Teeth scraped against his lower lip as he mulled over the board and unworkable mess of cards he had been granted. A cat call snapped him out of the game. Sounded like something enticing caught the foreign sailors eyes. Both he and Viles swung around to try and catch a glimpse. Aerer, briefly and unattended, used but a crack of a chime to cycle a few cards from the stack to his own hand.

[Shakune]

Date

The Drunken Fish; where Sailors gathered to speak too loudly, drink too much, and fight too frequently. It was the place where size truly mattered, and those with the smallest ships were a laughing stock to those well endowed in the naval department.

Shakune lacked a ship of her own, which resulted in countless original genital-based jokes from the regulars, but she joined in with their macho banter all the same. In truth she pitied the sailors; after countless days at sea they would be lonely, homesick (should they be fortunate enough to have a home), so she entertained their tough bravado and fed their egos. It kept the men sweet, and more importantly kept the half-breed in their memories. Should they ever want an extra crewmember, or a courier, it would be her they came to first.

It was thus no great surprise that when she entered the tavern, a number of catcalls and whoops greeted her. She raised a hand and curtsied, momentarily taking the airs and graces of a fine lady, and enjoyed the round of deep laughter that followed her performance. The sound of wood scraping on wood murmured throughout the tavern as several different men advertised the seat nearest to them to the female. She ignored most - though her endless obsidian eyes lingered on a particularly fine looking gentleman. Shakune was working, and for once her attendance at the Drunken Fish was not a social one. Though the chances of her leaving the tavern sober were rather slim.

She fingered the messy looking brown envelope in her hands, glancing down to the writing scrawled on the front, before she hid it away again. Aerer, the name of the individual she was to deliver the letter to. Her client - she knew not what he looked like, for he had kept his face hidden from her - had emphasised that only the gentleman for whom the letter was addressed to should open it. Such secrecy was boringly common in Shakune's line of work. It seemed that every client felt that his or her letter or parcel deserved top-level confidentiality - which entertained Shakune. It was quite common for a recipient to open his letter or package in front of her, and more often than not, she would be disappointed with just how humdrum and mundane the goods were. Only once had she delivered a severed limb to someone -- and even then the recipient had seemed largely unbothered.

Work is work.

It was the motto that Shakune lived by. She could not afford to reject jobs that appeared boring, and until she could she'd be forced to deliver birthday cards, payment reminders, and all manner of other tedious things.

So it was with some dissatisfaction that Shakune had come to her usual watering hole with the job of delivering a single letter. She scanned the crowd briefly. Her client had described the intended recipient as somewhat short (not helpful when most people were sitting down), and with messy black hair and blue eyes. Immediately, she approached a table where two men sat gambling. Both looked exquisitely average, though one matched the description better than anyone else in the tavern. She eyed him steadily for a chime, ensuring she had selected the right person. Satisfied with her decision, Shakune lent both hands on the table to make sure she had their attention.

"Aerer?" The pronunciation of his name was wrong, though whether this was due to her accent or not would be unclear.

[Aerer]

 

Aerer – 20 Bells– We just got a letter, and we know who you are.


Sunberth, 2, Fall, 514 A.V



Two burning slag heaps including one broken shackle was a good enough opener without arousing further suspicion from Viles however the rest of the round would have to be determined through skill. Delicately he arranged his cards near the end of the wooden table, free from spilled liquid and leftover bits of hastily ingested lunches and dinners. Fingers scrambled to harvest unconsumed food bits from the peach fuzz of a beard that were soon disposed to linen pants already due for a wash. His stance shifted, bellicose gaze keeping the contemptible masses, Viles included, from encroaching on his newly desired eye candy. The mood of the tavern soured. He knew he wasn't making any friends with his arrogant temperament but occasions like these were his to appreciate without intoxicated boaters shattering the scene . No one would be ruining it for him tonight. Let the curtain draw. Enter, stage right: the paramour.

His attention had lapsed briefly while she arrived to address the servant about adding another chair to his table as well as bringing a third drink that, he demanded curtly, should be more appropriate for something so rarely found in this cesspool. Tension was thick and more words were exchanged then he felt he had time for; the Drunken Fish not appropriately arranged to handle such unique requests.

Bitter cerulean gaze admired her longingly but deducted marks for her spitfire attitude. Petching woman could probably find a home amongst one of the sailors ships here. His appreciation failing to find her face, instead prompting focus on other more fetching attributes. Petching woman would probably enjoy finding home amongst one of the sailors ships here. He supposed he should be use to it by now, Sunberthians weren't often fragile. Fragile Sunberthians often ended up as dead or enslaved Sunberthians. Were you still a Sunberthian after death or enslaved? He mused briefly, but quickly determined that philosophical wit would not be something that would drive tonight's courting process.

“You speak of me so wearily, my lamb.” Aerer ultimately offered outstretched arms as if greeting an old friend. “You are in audience with two of the most talented men in all of Sylira, about to toast to their good fortune, on their hard earned Miza no less!” Consuming a large swig of ale, he smacked his lips together and swayed in close, making a run at sliding his hand upon her shoulder. “Show a little more enthusiasm, yes?”

Vices rolled his eyes so hard they looked like they might pop out of his head but said nothing, instead finding comfort in his drink. Aerer's crooked smile featured chipped teeth, a wave of his arm to the newly delivered seat strongly insinuated that she should sit and enjoy their company. It was, after all, what the scene in his head demanded.

[Shakune]

Date

Shakune was not a judgemental woman. Quite the opposite; it was usually those rough, impolite and immoral traits of someone that caught the half-breed's attention. A thin eyebrow quirked at the title he had given her - my lamb - though this was more out of appreciation for the uniqueness of the name rather than disgust. Catcalls and dirty words commonly followed her, but the names of cute baby animals did not.

She revealed her teeth in a wicked smirk at his request. "Perhaps if you gave me a reason to say your name more enthusiastically I would be inclined to do so." The statement was a challenge, perhaps even an invitation. Politeness and subtlety were both lost on Shakune; it was why she had chosen Sunberth as her current residence. A woman could get piss drunk here, fuck who she wanted and still be regarded as somewhat classy. Sharp wits - and a sharper blade - were the only requirements to climb up the social ladder in Sunberth, and fortunately Shakune possessed both.

She slid easily in the empty seat closest to her, plonking herself down as spread-legged as any man in the establishment. Her endless eyes briefly shot a glance at the table, though she had no understanding of gambling, and could not see who was winning, or even what was being played. Such games usually failed to capture the half-breed's continuously flickering attention. Sitting still for long periods did not suit her.

"I have something for you." A hand snaked into her top, right between her breasts. It was perhaps this tactic - the storage of soon-to-be delivered letters within her own garments - that gave Shakune the economic edge on her business rivals. All men liked breasts (it was a blatant fact), and she wasn't above using this collective interest to benefit herself financially.

She withdrew her hand, extracting the letter at the same time. It was not, however, a letter that she placed in front of the bright-eyed man. Instead, a single piece of parchment faced up to him, and Shakune explained. "Sign this, if you'd be so kind, then you can have your letter." The words were accompanied by a fluttering of her eyelashes. "I have a quill, if you need one." Though she did not give him said quill, Shakune did indicate where it could be found. Wearing that same sordid smile, she squeezed her breasts together, enough to push up the quill that lay between them. The tip of the brown feather was visible for her client to see, and would be easy enough for him to grab.

[Aerer]

 

Aerer – 21 Bells– We just got a letter, and we know what you did


Sunberth, 2, Fall, 514 A.V



“A challenge then for me, it seems!” he exclaimed softly, a jubilant contestant amongst the the jealous audience. Viles had begun to find their interaction taxing, deciding (with a grouchy demeanor and choice words no less) to depart from the table and find another game to buy in at. While disappointed that stacking the deck had been fruitless, the gods had rewarded him with something far more entertaining that evening. Rejoice!

A fistfight broke out two tables to the right of them, one sailor accusing the other of some misdeed. An exhaled breath of air, a turn of his head to watch the extras swing wildly at each other. Nothing could ruin moments more for him then ugly scarred brutes drawing blood. One of Father's lackeys eventually grabbed the two of them by the scruffs of their necks and tossed them headlong into the streets. Aerer watched as a few additional shadows slunk out the door after them, looking to pick up some easy coin in the process.

“Where were we....ah...yes” Dexterous digits ever so carefully worked their way towards his intended goal, moments like these a shining gold standard for why he did treasure Sunberth women the most. Hungry, he whetted his lips with his tongue and ever so deftly squeezed the feathers with index and thumb; one drawn out motion to produce the quill like a magician with a lethargic rabbit. A pleased smile erupted on his features, perhaps the delighted look had never left to begin with. It was determined then and there that letters would be sent from himself to himself weekly, if the mail delivery system promised to always be this...robust.

Aerer F. Varsethe. The letters coarse and uneven, like a raven scratching lines in the sand. Lips pursed together and brief pauses were had to determine if certain letters were facing the right way. The end result was nearly accurate, with only purposeful dashes made across the top of all the 'r's. Purposeful and decisive, albeit mistakenly.

“Whats a devilish sin like you delivering parcels for a living?” He carefully attempted to reinsert the quill down her blouse, the petching thing stopping short. A triumphant flag of conquest for the masked goddess Nikali, an apologetic grimace from Aerer, his hands shifted back to the table to make sure none of the cards on the table would be accidentally misplaced “...and who in the right mind is paying you to get ahold of me?”

[Shakune]

The mix-blooded courier watched her companion carefully, black eyes taking in all those minor details of his face. It paid to easily recognise people in her line of work, and indeed her memory was full of random faces, attached to equally varied names. Somewhere in the back of her mind, she would dedicate a slither of consciousness to Aerer, alongside her many other clients. Should she need to deliver a letter to him again, she would recall his face from his name alone.

"It makes a change to pickpocketing and whoring." The explanation was truthful enough, for the sakes of a conversation with a stranger. In truth, being a courier gave Shakune an excuse to be dynamic, running back and fourth across the city and meeting a huge variety of people. Boredom did not settle on the energetic young woman, who only lay still to sleep. Even as she sat at the table, besides her latest client, the half-breed tapped her fingers on the table, and underneath it, her left foot jiggled up and down. Already, after mere chimes of sitting down, she was growing restless.

With the quill back in its resting place (and rearranged so the tip would not pierce her skin), she slid the signed piece of paper back towards herself. Usually unorganised to a sinful extent, it even impressed Shakune herself how smoothly the majority of her deliveries were. She'd learnt quickly that appearances were everything, and if she came across as efficient and official in her business, then time-wasters and scammers typically avoided her. As far as her knowledge of rival couriers went, Shakune was the only one to provide her clients - both sender and receiver - with a form to prove the successful completion of the transaction. Such professionalism usually resulted in a big tip, and more importantly, in clients reusing her service time and time again.

To his question, she gave another meek shrug. "No clue. Strange man, kept his face hidden." Yet another shrug ended the sentence, to emphasise her lack of knowledge and lack of interest on the matter. It was, again, exasperatingly common for senders to want to maintain a high level of confidentiality, which only frustrated Shakune further when Mr. Smith opened his envelope to reveal a flowery birthday card. "Pissed off anyone recently?" The second most common type of letter she delivered was threats.

"Anyway, here it is." She set the letter down on the table, in between the two of them, and began replacing the signed form back within her garments. The cotton top she wore was jiggled, pulled and tugged at until the black-eyed mongrel was comfortable - paper cuts on the nipples were a recent and unforgettable wound, one that Shakune had learnt quickly to avoid.

She would have usually left at this point, and perhaps should have done, but Shakune remained seated. A tug of interest in what the brown envelope concealed, as well as the great temptation to get blind drunk, kept her from leaving. "Should you want to send a reply, I'll give you a discounted price." It was a lie of course, but she knew all too well that customers liked to think they were getting a bargain prices, even if they weren't. Mind over miza, she thought with a smirk.

[Aerer]

 

Aerer – 21 Bells– We just got a letter, and we want what is ours.


Sunberth, 2, Fall, 514 A.V



Aerer's gaze was not even attempting to be discreet, a direct line of sight to her assets seemed to keep the conversation stunted with more then a few half started sentences that trailed off into awkward prose that served no purpose. Elbows rested atop the flimsy table, ghost pale arms creating a stand for which to rest his head. “Upset someone? Who, me?” Nonchalant. Quite a dull affair for her, no doubt, but moments like these were never to be rushed. Unlike her, life currently demanded a leisurely pace, taking it all in like a fine wine or a piece of art.

The familiar scuffling of bare feet announced the arrival of a fancy glass of wine, an unrecognizable marvel for a place like the Fish. Additional regret befell him as the courier seemed to be more at home with something strong or simple. He finished another swing of his mug and gingerly relocated the glassware to her side of the table “For you, my pet.”

Curiosity finally overwhelmed desire, sticky digits snapping up the mysterious letter and appraising it for any additional clues. The unforeseen appetite of becoming an information broker had increased his pursuit of spotting the peculiar. Plus, what sort of dame didn't love a man with mysterious origins? After an acceptable amount of scrutiny of which taught him nothing and served little purpose past delaying the gratification, Aerer tore open the top of the envelope.

The past, in Aerers mind, was exactly that: in the past. What lived in previous days should forever remain and he found no interest in sparing concern for needless what if scenarios. The days of tramping about Alvadas fit neatly into that category, packaged away into a dark recesses of his mind along with his love for acting and murders that went awry. Not that all memories were bad, far from it, but Alvadas was a complicated jumble and his move to Sunberth put all of that behind him.

At least until tonight.

Color drained from his face, accentuating his pallor. A held breath of air caught in his throat. It was announced that the play had been canceled. The actors had been sent home. The mirth and sexual thirst had departed like a coin purse off a jake in stumble alley. The envelope had contained a single slip of parchment which held no words. That parchment depicted a beautiful but weathered stone temple which an informed citizen would recognize as the temple of Ionu. A sketch of a large raven, ugly and disfigured, was perched on the ground below. In place of a drawn eye for the raven, the artist had dipped a tiny finger of blood and pressed it lightly against the parchment. Perhaps it wasn't blood, but the message was clear. Trouble. Trouble and retribution

He aimed to grab her arm, and if successful squeezed tightly from both terror and urgency. “I need you to take me to where you met this man.” He whispered through clenched teeth.

Suddenly ashamed of his current self control he dropped both hands and took a large breath of air.

“Please.”

He finished his drink.

[Shakune]

The human male's keen interest in her physical assets did not go unnoticed, but Shakune said nothing, nor gave any sign of displeasure. The attention she received from men such as he always entertained her, gave the courier an endless choice of toys to play with when she was bored. She observed him carefully, considering the option of inviting him back to her quarters for an evening of lust, heat and sweat. The woman fucked like she lived; fast, throwing herself into each steamy session with great gusto. When all was said and done, she quickly grew bored of whomever she had spent the night with, and many times she had would simply walk out, still only half dressed whilst her companion was still mid sentence. It was usually her female partners whom she abandoned in such a way. Why do women always want a petching conversation after sex? All Shakune ever wanted was a cold beverage to cool herself down with.

The wine caught her off guard. She inspected it, like a dog would sniff a suspicious-looking pile of shit. "Wine." The statement was mumbled, more to herself than to her company. Hardly anyone treated her to wine; most suitors or clients would present the courier a cheap pint of ale. Not that she was a picky woman, but knowing that her new acquaintance had paid more than most was certainly... touching. She tasted the wine, in a delicate sip, and smacked her lips together in appreciation. "It's good." The confirmation was accompanied by a smile. Then she tilted her head back, and poured the whole glass down her gullet, swallowing and breathing as efficiently as possible to finish the entire drink. "Very good, thank you."

Clearly fine dining or wining was not something that the half-breed knew about.

Her enthusiasm died, however, when black eyed fell upon blue. His entire demeanour - that blasé confidence so typical in men - seemed to have vanished. Shakune frowned. Couldn't have been a birthday card, then. She craned her long neck, peeping over to see what the envelope had concealed. When she saw no words, just a picture of a crow, her scowl deepened. The message was obviously quite clear to the young male she had delivered it to, though to Shakune the picture may well have been a child's finger painting.

His hand reached out to her arm, and Shakune retracted away, but not quickly enough. The grip was tight, desperate. But the courier remained strangely calm, somewhat used to such overdramatic reactions to her deliveries. There was a profit to be made here; she could smell it. If the male wanted her to help him, it would come at a price.

After wrestling herself free of his grasp, Shakune folded her arms. Business time. "He came directly to me, to my home." It was not uncommon for complete strangers to arrive on her doorstep, a grisly package or brown envelope held up to her in an offering of business. "But he did tell me where I could meet with him after I'd delivered the letter, to receive the second half of my payment."

She began to inspect her fingernails, which were as chipped and dirty as any man's. "You've got to understand, that if my gut feeling it correct-" and it was rarely wrong; the woman lived by her most basic instincts, "my client may not be too happy if I bring you with me. I'm not going to risk myself or my business for nothing."

She would not say her price, because she did not have one. Shakune firmly believed in allowing the customer to make a suitable suggestion first. There was no point in haggling for a million mizas from a person who had no money, after all. She sat back in her chair, arms crossed once again, and waited for his response.

[Aerer]

 

Aerer – 21 Bells– We just got a letter and we bid you adieu.


Sunberth, 2, Fall, 514 A.V



The room swam briefly, a lightheaded sway that kept colors bright and the din of the tavern oppressive. His past came back to him at full force, reminders of past mistakes and poor decisions. It wasn't death that he found so unpleasant. Death was inevitable. Final. No, death was not the problem. It was all the torturous and downright unpleasant events that could arrive before death that he fretted over. The events he hadn't had to worry about because he had traveled to petching Sunberth to avoid them.

Like a dippy bird set in motion he moved towards another nip of booze only to find his mug empty from the onset of panic only moments before.

“More!” He bellowed towards the unfortunately and newly assigned barmaid. Panic had pivoted on a Miza to anger however even that, with time, began to subside. Emotional roller coaster. He wasn't going to go out like some moribund vinuma. He wasn't going to be that pathetic jake now about floundering about in stumble alley. He was Aerer Varsethe, somewhat well received ruffian of Sunberth and he wasn't dead yet.

One was not the brightest blade in storage, but he knew well enough from his days not to trust someone right from the first time they took their place upon Aerer's stage. A well endowed and brazen vixen? It was almost too coincidental for her to show up and lead him down a dark, unknown alley. Take a few coin for her trouble and that would be the last you would hear of poor Aerer, another questionable disappearance amongst the harrowing alleyways that he once called home.

Paranoia fitted him like a suit. A true Sunberthian in the making.

The emotional mask carefully fell back into place, actors were returned to the set and the musical score in his head started once more this time more upbeat and with teeth. “Apologies.” The smirk resumed, a greater strained facade then before but one that could still appreciate the finer things in life. “Perhaps you could show me back to your place....another evening? Go get your second half of the payment, and tell them I appreciated the effort. Quality, really. Perhaps I'll put it on my wall, if I can find a shykin hammer.” He leaned in close, his breath posing the question of whether or not it could be lit on fire. “I wouldn't want to put you in any danger.”

He was losing this game. Trusting her was a liability and he was too concerned for his own skin to be playful about it. If she was somehow connected to this, it would be important to keep a close eye. If not? Well she seemed to know what made an eventful evening and maybe he could take on the role of a courier. For now, he needed time to think. The necessary Miza to pay for their drinks were deposited unceremoniously upon the table, including payment for the shortsighted mug of ale he had ordered without partaking in. He stood and began making his way towards the door.

“See you around.”

[Shakune]

The sudden outburst made Shakune blink, and she found herself leaning away from her companion, warily. It was not in the mixed-breed's nature to be so emotional, so it unnerved her when others were not as placid as she. Her eyes narrowed and hardened, observing the male with a newfound caution. He was unstable - due to the panic, alcohol or both - and she did not want to be dragged into this emotional turmoil.

Then, almost randomly, his coolness returned. Like a child in the middle of a tantrum being silenced by the suggestion of chocolate, the man to Shakune's left suddenly smirked, his desperation having melted away and the panic dissolved.

But her concern did not lift; if anything, it deepened. The man was an actor, currently playing the character of a fun, casual drinker and gambler. Whether or not this was wholly true of their initial encounter, Shakune could not say. But she was intrigued, and the risk of danger attached to the male made it all the more seductive and tempting.

She remained silent as he spoke, though her breath quickened just a fraction when his face came so close to hers. He smelt of alcohol and sweat: a scent that was arousing in every sense of the word. Shakune somewhat missed the heady, tempting fragrance when he let away and stood up. She remained seated, watching his back make it's way towards the exit of the tavern. Temptation and curiosity tugged at her, and with a snatch of her hands, Shakune lifted the abandoned pint of ale to her lips and drank deeply.

Just as the door rattled to a close behind the male, Shakune reopened it and slipped out after him. "You'll have to wait whilst I get my payment." It was an order, not a suggestion, "so if you stand and watch who I talk to, you'll know who it was." Her steps quickened, and the half-breed cut him off mid-stride, hand pressed against his chest to make sure he did not simply walk around her. "If you mess this up for me, I'll cut your balls off." There was not a single trace of playfulness her voice.