Closed Good For What Ails Ya (Coryn)

[Konrad Venger]

29th Day of Fall, 516AV || The Den, Kenash

"For the last petchin' time: yes, they petch you!"

"Well I dunno how it works 'ere, do I? Might be more, I dunno... more civilized or sumfin'-"

"Have you not been paying attention the last two sodding seasons, Eyes? Parts a' this place make The Berth look soft..."

Konrad felt a twinge of guilt even saying the words; admitting that some part of his hometown, no matter how small, might not go toe-to-toe with this languid, swampy shykeheap, glittering on the Suvan Coast like a turd with a candle stuck to it. But after nearly half a year in Kenash, he'd seen a great deal, and he knew the words to be true.

It's all... what's the word... relative.

One similarity he was certain of, however, was that a massage parlor in Kenash would offer the same, ahem, "extra services" as one in Sunberth. Which was why him and eyes were hitching up their horses across the street from one that... actually didn't look like one.

"Subtle, innit?"

"That's civiliz-zation, for you."

He tried to keep the word from getting chopped up, but the pain him him again and cut right to his lungs. Jumping down from Horse and landing hard was enough for the cracked, bruised bones in his back to judder and crunch down together again. A chorus of silent agony ripped through him and the word just would not come as one. He had to catch his breath, grit his teeth... hope no-one but eyes noticed his weakness.

Bad enough he petching knows.

"Let's just get inside, eh?" Konrad plowed on in his words, and his stride, letting the clank of his various weapons resound especially loudly, just in case anyone mistook him for some crippled old man with a bad back. "Wanna get this over with..."

Ah, yes, he thought as he opened the oddly-silent door and an aroma of fine perfume wafted over them. The crowning sodding irony. Here you are, with coin in a brothel, and the one thing you won't be doing is getting your meat wet.

"Nice place, this..."

Three Eyes was probably right, but Konrad didn't have eyes for the damn decor. He just grunted and kept thinking back with grim satisfaction on the damage he'd done to that bastard Rooj five days ago. Sneaky wee sod, too, but, of course, enjoyed the reversal of the classic Kenashian fortune too much to just end him right then and there.

Konrad didn't make the same mistake.

The smile that he gave Jaadis was laced with fond remembrance of what he'd done to that uppity little sod before he'd killed him. The manager of The Den widened her eyes a touch as she saw the faces of the bottom-feeders "gracing" her establishment, but charm and poise won out every time with Jaadis.

"Gentlemen! How can I help you this evening? What will you be needing?"

"Bath anna' massage fer me," Konrad slapped a handful of gold coins on the counter, and jerked his head back to gesture at a leering Three Eyes. "Him, well... we wants a little more."

He had to admit, the young lady was barely fazed, and even that didn't show much. She sized the two killers up in half a tick and decided exactly who and where. She slid out from behind her gleaming, ebony wood desk and gestured demurely for them to follow, so they did.

"Here for you, ser. I will send your girl in shortly."

"Aye."

Konrad left Three Eyes to Jaadis, oddly confident that the perpetually-composed Dynast would easily handle him. The Sunberth hoodlum had almost as man bodies to his name as Konrad did, but put him in front of a coiffed and posh totty with some iron in her voice, and like all men, he became a little boy. So instead he took off his habitual duster, then his hat, and inspected the room.

Hmm... Eyes wasn't wrong.

The room was tasteful, understated and clearly not meant for just a quick tumble in the sheets. For one thing, the massage table was... well, it could do quite nicely, but it was designed for function, not comfort. A fireplace lay in either side of the room, too, something new to Konrad. Both were crackling merrily with fresh logs burning bright, and a half-dozen pots were bubbling on top of them. Konrad peered over, "food" being his first thought but then-

"Oh. Right. Bath water."

He groaned inwardly. Bathing. That would require him to undress. And, more importantly, lose his weapons. For the tenth time that... let's call it bell, he cursed that bastard healer who insisted to the Radacke that "their man" receive a thorough massage every ten days for at least half a season, "to aid the recuperation and restoration of the torn muscles and cracked bones".

Bollocks, Konrad thought with a snarl as he unbuttoned his shirt and kicked of his boots. Probably all in it together. Radacke, Sitai... just trying to squeeze more coin out of-

The thought was interrupted by the soft sound of the door opening behind him. Konrad had just taken his shirt off, exposing a back built seemingly solely of gamey muscle, crude tattoos and scar tissue to the girl, barely covered by the unkempt and uncut hair hanging in lank, fetid ranks down to almost the middle of his back.

"Gimme a tick, girl," he said as he turned, "Need to get-"

He stopped talking. Stopped thinking for a moment, actually. He saw the eyes and the hair and the perfect curve of her lips and a rush of memories swamped him like a rogue wave. Another bathtub, far out in the Sea of Grass, surrounded by the dead and dying, possessing a treasure, a jewel any slaver would covet. Then her face again, terrified but unwavering even as wing'd monster assaulted their camp and stole men up to be rent apart in the sky.

Losing her without losing her. Seeing her leave him and walking away like he'd walked away from a hundred corpses and only for her did he feel regret. But the moment that feeling stirred, anger like lava boiled in his blood and reddened his face and he remembered why-

Petching mage.

"You?!"

Receipt-5gm

[Coryn]

The more time Coryn spent at the Den, the more she became convinced that men thought with their cocks. Their mind only very rarely came into it – ‘it’ being the dealings she had with them. Her official title was masseuse, though like the majority of the slaves at the Den, she was expected to broaden her horizons and learn extra skills.

Like lying on your back with your legs spread could be classed as a skill.

But to Coryn, even her pitiful existence as a masseur-cum-sex-worker had the potential to be twisted… not quite in her favour, but not entirely to be used against her, either. Men thought with their cocks; it was an idea she was becoming more and more confident in. But that could be used against them. A man with brains only in his balls could be played with, toyed, caressed in some way and given enough satisfaction to just begin to consider Coryn as something other than a slave.

She only needed that slim glimmer of hope, of potential, to do—what?

In truth, the Ethaefal didn’t know. She had no clue what she was trying to achieve, only that she refused to simply lie back and allow herself to be used as an object. Her situation was almost entirely hopeless.

Almost.

She had her gift. Or rather, Nikali’s gift that the Goddess had bestowed upon her just over a year ago. By touching a person, she immediately knew their desires at that moment. As a whore this was a priceless advantage, especially in the eyes of the Sitai dynasty who now owned her. An Ethaefal marked by the Goddess of Pleasure? She’d been a bargain at the sales.

A real bargain.

For Coryn, her gift was a double-edged blade. Yes, it made her do her job with efficiency and quickness that the other whores envied. There was no long, sweaty slog with Coryn; she knew how, when and where to touch in way that drove a client in an orgasmic thrill. But sometimes she became blinded by the desires so much that they became her own. She found herself desperately trying to please her client not out of necessity but out of her own want. It would only be afterwards, long after the money was exchanged and Coryn would be cleaning herself up, that her own mind would come creeping back.

But the Ethaefal was adamant that her gift from Nikali had been given to her for a reason, and for Coryn that reason was for her to survive slavery, to twist and manipulate those who abused her. They would become her toys, her slaves.

“Coryn. Got a new one for you. A real gentleman, easy on the eyes.”

The Ethaefal said nothing, knowing better than to answer back to her owners. They wouldn’t strike her now, not when they needed her to look pretty for a client, but any sarcasm or cheek would be knocked out of her that evening. Some clients even liked the bruises on her taut flesh -- it gave them an additional sick thrill.

When Coryn opened the door to the private room in which she would be massaging her next client, she was greeted by the hideous sight of a scarred, tattooed back and lank dark hair. She grimaced and recoiled silently behind him, but forced herself through the doorway nonetheless. This was not the back of a handsome man, nor one who had grown up in the luxuries of a dynasty. He almost looked like another slave.

No, not a slave. He’s like…

”Konrad.” The name escaped her lips in a quiet breath. For a tick she closed her eyes, allowing the very memories she’d been denying these past few seasons to finally invade her concentration and attention. He’d been amongst those who had enslaved Coryn and the rest of her travelling party. She’d seen him kill, and seemingly enjoy it. He was a repulsive creature, both in physical form and moral. She should hate him.

But she didn’t. Because for the entirety of their time together, Konrad treated her not like a slave, but like a prized jewel. He’d been careful with her – as careful as a brute like he could be – and in truth she’d appreciated it. She had gotten away with a lot with Konrad, because he understood what she was worth.

There was no doubt in Coryn’s mind that he wouldn’t lie her down on her bed for strangers to fuck.

”You’re…” She struggled to find the appropriate way to conclude that sentence: alive, here, in Kenash. All three were true but none surmised what exactly Coryn wanted to say. Finally she went with: ”You’re still you. Here.”

[Konrad Venger]

”You’re… You’re still you. Here.”

Despite the protestations of many and his own appearance, Konrad was possessing of a certain dry, cold wit. Confronted with such a stumbling, stuttering example of sheer bloody obviousness, he would usually have a half-score cutting rejoinders spitting out through deformed lips. Still you? Still here? Gods, what man with a soul and even a meager understanding of humor could leave such ripe comedic potential be?

"... aye."

He said none of them. Didn't even think of one, aside from that word that came out in a rasp, later than it should have. He was lost again, just staring, guarding his gaze as best he could through a manufactured scowl and keeping his jaw from hanging loose by sheer willpower.

I didn't think I'd ever see you again.

Konrad would have rather ripped out his tongue with his hands than speak those words.

"The Sitai-" He pressed his eyes shut for a tick and cursed himself. Now you're doing it! Stating the sodding obvious! Yes, of course they bought her! "What happens first?"

It didn't really occur to Konrad that Coryn would realize he was high jumping past all formalities and catching up and delving right back into his purpose at The Den that evening. Truth be told, it was breathing room as much as knowledge he craved: a few ticks just to wait out the fire in his mind, the crackling questions that were so utterly irrelevant.

What happened to you? Where did you go? How many owners did you have? How many men have you petched this day, this bell? Is your wyrd still powerful? Are you still a mage?

Mage. Konrad had despised her for that, or damn well tried to. With a mere touch she had made him squirm within his own soul, felt at ease and at peace and his wretched being howled at such an unnatural state. Now he would be subjected to that again? Made the plaything of a petching mage, the kind he'd helped lynch back in The Berth when he was a boy?

Konrad kept his eyes on hers, lips pressed in a white line as his hands moved with brusque, practiced motions. Leather and metal creaked and slapped and clanked and his harness was released from his waist. His curved kopis and the shorter, inverted kukri at the back were abandoned on a table near the massage table... wait, should that be the one by the bath? He needed to keep them close, but which one was-

"Well? I'm payin' f'this, y'know?"

She's a mage. She's a mage and you've seen, with your own eyes, that this creature can lie and play the mummer's role when she wants.

The whispers continued as he undressed. She'd seen him nude before, even if it was just a flash now and then in the tents. Well, she'd be getting the whole show tonight, the poor bitch. He focused on that, on the heat and the light, how the smooth marble floor felt cold beneath his feet and the muted sounds of pleasure beyond the stone walls.

His breeches and undergarments joined his shirt and duster. Venger laid bare, wearing naught but that same scowl and the metal-heavy harness in one hand, waiting for an answer.

"Well?"

[Coryn]

It came as a strange relief that Konrad seemed as unearthed by their reunion as Coryn had been. Or – was he? A moment of self doubt made the Ethaefal grimace and search that familiar weathered face for a sign of genuine confusion, glee, relief or… anything.

But then the strangest thing happened. Coryn frowned, her silver eyes still roving the sellsword’s face but not out of concern for herself. No, she was searching for any additional scars, brands or marks that might indicate Konrad’s new lifestyle. Of course his skin was already a patchwork of historical wounds, but their time together had imprinted the male onto Coryn’s memory in more ways than one. His face, twisted into that strange combination of a scowl and a smirk that only Konrad could seem to pull off. He’d looked that way when they’d first met, his expression twisted in a mixture of irritation at her unexpected existence, and joy over the treasure he’d found submerged in the lukewarm bath water.

And now here’s that face again.

He seemed remarkably unchanged. There was no branding on his face; Coryn subconsciously touched her cheek, where the blistering on her skin had finally stopped peeling and was beginning to heal. Not that her face would ever be the same, of course. Coryn would now be forever marked as a slave of the Sitai dynasty. That circled rose would speak on her behalf even before she would have a chance to open her mouth.

But Konrad appeared to still be his own free man. This made Coryn smile ruefully; he would have made a terrible slave, she knew. No doubt he would have been killed before his first day of being owned had even ended. He lacked her… brains? Patience? No; the trait that Coryn possessed but that Konrad did not wasn’t something as positive as those.

He lacks my ability to sit back and watch the worse things happen to himself.

He was a fighter, a survivor. As was Coryn, of course, but in an entirely different manner, she now realised. He was a dog that bit back instantly, whereas she took the brunt of whatever treatment she was given. When they had first met, Coryn had made a silent bet with herself that Konrad would die before her. If not at her own hands, then at the hands of his subordinates or bosses. But he’d survived them all, including herself in some ways.

Why am I so relieved at seeing him? We were never friends, never allies. He would have sold me to the highest bidder like any other…

But Coryn knew the answer to her own question as instantly as she’d asked it: Konrad was familiar to her. She knew him better than she knew any of the dynasts who now owned her. And in that turn, he knew her. There was a familiarity between them as well as history. He’d owned her before, yes, but he’d been aware of her value. He’d treasured her. And she’d known it, known that he wouldn’t hurt her. In return, she had respected him and served him as well as she could.

And yet, despite that, he hadn’t laid a hand on her in the vulgar way unknown men now did. She was no longer pure, an intact woman to sell on. She was sullied, ruined. Would he respect her now?

Coryn’s impassive gaze followed Konrad’s hands as they untied and loosened his britches, which shortly fell on the floor afterwards. His nakedness was something she’d seen only in glances before, and perhaps two seasons ago she would have blushed and turned away. Now, a cock and balls were something Coryn came across daily. She glanced to his genitals briefly, an eyebrow raised in an act of casual, yet surprised, admiration.

“First we bathe.” She said in a measured voice, her own hands raising to her midriff to untie the knot in the knee-length gown that covered up her own modesty. The gown slipped off her shoulders and exposed the outfit she and the other pleasure slaves were required to wear; revealing, tight, advertising her body in a way that attempted to be seduction yet submissive. ”Unless you don’t want me to join you?”

[Konrad Venger]

Being a man in possession of all his... parts, Konrad was no stranger to the urges of his sex. When he had them, he entertained them, either personally or with a partner. But he'd never been so foolish to think such a thing as love or even unbiased affection would ever be shown to him. Every woman with working eyes shuddered when she saw his face; he had to pay extra just to get them to spread their legs.

So Konrad was far from thinking that someone as beautiful as Coryn would see him as anything but a monstrous slab of meat and murder, even without the fact that he'd personally enslaved her seasons before.

But he was a man, and a man with urges. And when her gaze flickered down for just a moment, just a glance, just the quirk of a brow that one could have missed in a blink, he felt a swell of blood rush to his face and other places-

-and killed it with a glare at the brand on her cheek. Artfully done, of course: the Sitai didn't want their petch-toys unsightly for the customers. But why there, of all places, it whores were what you were making? Wasn't there somewhere more fitting, more discreet? Now Coryn would be marked the rest of her days; no matter what she did or where she went, all would know before questions were even asked that she had been just chattel.

Konrad embraced the fury bubbling in him, if only to kill the arousal that warred with it, and did not think to ask what even feeling such indignation must have meant.

“First we bathe.”

Konrad blinked a few times and realized she was speaking. Taking a short, sharp breath, his thought came back into focus and he nodded, turning to the bath.

"Aye, a'right. Makes-"

”Unless you don’t want me to join you?”

"... sense."

He paused. Gods petch it, he paused. The biggest tell in the book. But Konrad thought even the gods could forgive him that, when Coryn's gown slid off her shoulders like smoke across ilk and every inch of her was revealed... or practically. Her undergarments were almost nonexistent, like the outlines of garments without the actual substance. Just enough material to cover what polite society would think "obscene", and little more.

On the average whore they would have garnered pursed lips and a grunt of approval. On someone like Coryn, though...

Konrad cleared his throat. A couple of times.

"No. Don't think so." He was biting out each word as if someone was cutting into his flesh at the same time. As he moved to the bath he thought beyond the images crowding his mind, the picture of her in that man-made pool with him, and remembered what her putting her hands on him meant. "I know your wyrd, remember? Think yer hands'll be enough..."

He turned his back and focused on the bathtub. Once it was steaming nicely he braced his hands on the sides and sunk his feet into the water. Gods, but they didn't petch about when it came to hot baths. He was sweating already but now he was practically dripping, fresh rivulets coming as the hot water sizzled up his body as he lowered himself into it.

Halfway down, Konrad realized that the shock and scorch against his skin was soon eclipsed by the relief. By the time he's settled his back against the wall of the tub, back of his head lolling back against the cold marble, he felt more relaxed than he had in a long time.

Metal clattered. Ground and screeched against wood. He still placed his weapons within easy reach, though. Easy reach and directly within his view. He knew Coryn, and she knew him... but she was still a slave, and a smart man didn't trust a slave with his sword so far away.

[Coryn]

Coryn almost laughed. Her lips twisted into a smirk, but she managed to hold her own as she watched Konrad get into the steaming bath. She’d felt slightly rebuffed at his rejection to her joining; the Ethaefal’s muscles ached and she was well aware of how soothing a bath could be. But the client always came first, so Coryn turned her attention to the reason of her refusal.

“My wyrd…. Of course.” She’d heard him ay that word many times before, thrown in her direction with resentment and perhaps a little fear. Back then, Coryn hadn’t bothered correcting the sellsword because his dislike of her ‘wyrd’ was the only weapon she had against him. Though he had never been violent, or even intimidating, towards her, Coryn hadn’t dropped her defences. Perhaps she should have done – things might have ended differently for her if she’d been honest.

There was no such reason to keep the secret now, though. I may as well show him the error of his ways.

“My wyrd, as you call it, isn’t like what happen before. Not like when those… things fell from the sky.” Coryn left the rest of that story hanging in the air: when that other sellsword made flames jump out of his hands. Despite this, the Ethaefal winced at the terrifying memory of that night. Beasts, great things with wings, had dropped from the darkness above and picked off members of their party like birds pecking at seeds.

Coryn turned suddenly, showing Konrad her right side. Her hands reached up to the back of her neck, untying the lace knot that held the bralet that was just about concealing her modesty. As the material fell away from her skin, Coryn gestured to a mark that took the form of a dark arc on the outer side of her right breast. “This is my wyrd. When I first fell, a year ago, I was blessed by a Goddess Nikali. She gave me the power of knowing what people desire through touch.” There was an edge to her voice that Coryn had not expected when she first started speaking. It surprised her, and the woman cleared her throat, as if trying to shift the underlying rage that warmed her gut. “But it makes me want what they want, as well. It makes me a good slave. It makes me an even better whore. When they fuck me, I hate it, but then I started to want it as well. I want to be their slut, their bitch to hit and bite. It gives me pleasure, to be used in that way, but when they stop I remember hating it, hating them.”

To be fair to Coryn, she wasn’t crying; she was too occupied by a rage she couldn’t explain. Yes, of course, she was in a horrid situation, but this extreme of emotion was entirely unlike the otherwise grey Ethaefal. She began to tie her bralet back up with shaking hands. Coryn fixed Konrad with a cold stare and said in a bitter voice: “It meant I fetched a damned good price, when they sold me to the Sitai. You missed out, Konrad. I made them a lot of money.”

Suddenly the reason behind her intense rage was painfully obvious. Coryn twisted away from the male, busying herself with oils and scented waters in preparation for the massage. But of course it was too late; Coryn had broken her only rule and let another being know exactly what she felt. She desperately wanted the lingering tension and silence to evaporate away from the room, but beyond striding out of the room (which of course wasn’t an option), they were trapped there.

[Konrad Venger]

Konrad felt that undeniable and unwelcome shudder pulse through him again as Coryn turned and more of what little she wore was stripped off her. Part of him knew he should have been paying closer attention to her words but, well, he was only a man after all.

And at that point, he was glad he had a nice thick layer of steaming water to hide his... interest.

“This is my wyrd...”

When she started speaking again, now even her flawless body could distract him from her words. Not just the knowledge, which Konrad absorbed with the same curiosity as a schoolboy at his favorite class, but her tone. As her words went on they twisted from informative to bitter, explaining to accusing. When her bralet went back across her chest, Konrad looked up and saw a face so different from the one he'd known on the Kabrin Road.

You knew she could play the mummer when she wanted. But this isn't that... and why is she telling you all this?

“It meant I fetched a damned good price, when they sold me to the Sitai. You missed out, Konrad. I made them a lot of money.”

A normal man would have comforted her, in any way he could. A warm embrace, soft words decrying her bitterness, vows of loyalty and affection, all could have been employed. But Konrad was not that man. He was still puzzling over why this glut of angry words was being vomited in his direction even as the last were spat out and Coryn struck him with a stare that almost made him flinch.

Gods, but how she's changed. In every way you knew this place would change her.

Coryn turned to the plethora of oils and bottles on a side table and mayhap save Konrad the irritation of breaking her gaze in... guilt? Shame? What did he expect would happen to her, when her beauty and her wyrd were known to all? A mage's teaching or a god's favor, it didn't matter: she was a special cut of petch-meat and that's all the Dynasties would see. Now as she worked Konrad felt his hands clench and unclench on the edge of the bath as he felt a cold, snarling indignation replace whatever confused concern may have been there.

"Save yer anger, girl. Y'think I give a petch about it?" If Coryn turned she would find Konrad laying like a granadile in the tub, lean, muscled arms and broad shoulder as still as the reptilian gaze in his head. "This world's dark an' cruel an' any bastard sayin' different is tryna' sell ya somethin'. The gods don't give a petch, an' all those aroun' ya sure as shyke don't. They'll use ya, or they'll break ya."

He leaned forward, hands and forearms submerging in the water as he rested them on his knees. He cocked his head to one side a little, as if studying the girl as she readied her oils.

"So are y'gonna spit yer bile, or are y'gonna do somethin' about it? Ah, I don't see the tremblin' thing I knew on the road, not anymore. Y'don't need that mask anymore, do ya? Now you can throw yer words at me as you like. Yer used to playing the mummer, girl. Killer like me... I never needed to."

Darkness slid over Konrad's face as his head dipped forward, and it was not all from the sudden mass of dirty brown hair that slid across his brow. No, he'd never needed to lie, not for very long. He wore his hate and his rage stamped across his face like his father's fury, carved into his face years ago.

Some days he could look in a mirror and maybe, just possibly, see the corpse of the handsome man he might have been. Then he saw the rest, and he was reminded that his musings of the world were not just idle, malcontent philosophy. Konrad had seen it, he had lived it, and that was his path.

No matter what.

"We have our weapons to fight the world. I've got me steel an' a stone where me heart was. You?" Konrad raised a hand that gestured to her from top to bottom, trailing a rain of water like hails of diamonds. "Yer face. Yer body. Yer mark. Yer wits. I see plenty there t'fashion a weapon." Konrad chuckled and settled his back into the tub again, even daring to recline his head and close his eyes as he spoke his last words. "So y'get petched for yer troubles. Join the soddin' club. We all get petched at some poin-"

The chuckle died with a hiss and and what seemed like every muscle he had tightening at once. The water was hot and it soothed him, but the tub was hard and when his bruised back pressed flat against it, the bones therein recoiled at such an unyielding surface. Konrad muttered a string of save Sunberth oaths to himself and waited for Coryn to get to work, willing the stiff thing between his legs to behave itself and stay hidden.

Easiest way for a man to screw himself: screw someone else.

OOCFive Hundred Posts, woo and hoo!

[Coryn]

Coryn hadn’t a clue what to expect in Konrad’s reaction to her exasperated monologue. Not that much thought had gone into what she had said – quite the opposite. The words had spilled out of her with only the slightest bit of thought. Now she flushed and cringed over what she had said, how honest she’d been.

And with the man who she had once belonged to.

His first words were cutting, a biting proclamation of him not caring about her new life. She winced at his reply, and was thankful that it was still only her back which was revealed to the bather. Though she had expected nothing else, the fact Konrad had so casually admitted his feelings was… difficult for Coryn to swallow. She had been on this world for a year, and Konrad was probably the one person she had spent the longest time with. Not only was this a sad indicator of the quality of her life, but it had rendered Coryn to feel strangely bonded to the man. Once upon a time, he had been the anchor of her life. The hideous, scarred, bitter anchor, but an anchor nonetheless.

But no sooner had she accepted this painful rebuttal did Konrad begin speaking again.

His next words dramatically counterbalanced his first; and Coryn found herself relaxing slightly because of this. He did care. Whether or not he admitted it, or even knew it himself, Coryn guessed – or perhaps hoped, or perhaps even knew – that Konrad was not a man to waste his breath on a person he didn’t give a petch about. A fleeting smile passed over Coryn’s lips.

His message was a lesson to her, spoken from a man who had clearly lived a life of… difficulty. If his physical appearance or general demeanour did not give his history away, Konrad’s monologue to Coryn certainly did. She listened carefully, her hands no longer toying with bottles and vials and instead resting on the table before her. Eventually she turned around to face him, watching those parched lips speak as if they belonged to a deity who had once again selected Coryn to pass on their gift.

He’d seen through her helpless act on the Kabrin road. This surprised Coryn immensely. Though Konrad had back then regarded her with vague mistrust, he’d kept his true reasons well hidden. He had his sword, yes, but the mercenary had his wits as well. Looks? Not so much. But Coryn had enough physical allure for them both, in the same way that Konrad had that ballsy, don’t-give-a-petch dangerousness.

At the conclusion of his words, Coryn made her quiet and slow way back towards the bath. She tilted a small, dark glass vial towards the water and released four droplets of a yellow-tinted oil into the water. Instantly the steam was filled with a musky, floral scent that. ”To help your muscles relax.” She replied softly as she crouched down to be level with him, reaching into the bath and twisting her fingertips delicately on top of the water surface.

“If we hadn’t been separated, what would have happened between us, Konrad?” The look she gave him was not one that spoke of romance or even sexual tension, but genuine curiosity. “I never actually believed that you were going to sell me. And what you just said about me using my… weapons. You knew what I could do before this evening, even if you didn’t understand how or why. What other use did you have for me? And finally…”

Slowly Coryn rose, her head tilted and silver eyes still on Konrad’s face. There was a look of grim determination in her eyes. “What do you suggest I use my weapons for? What would you do in my situation?”

[Konrad Venger]

”To help your muscles relax.”

"Doesn't seem to be... oh... right..."

Konrad knew the difference between pleasure and pain, but being pampered was a little beyond his repertoire. Now and then he'd treated himself to a brothel or a smoke den, but even then those experiences were very much self-controlled. To allow all your whims to be catered to, though... that was being pampered.

Unfortunately, that also gave up far too much control than he was happy with, so it was a rare occurrence.

That paranoia vanished along with all the knotty tension in his body as the fruits of those oils wormed their way into his pores and set about massaging him from the muscles out. He'd never realized just how tense and set like a bear trap his muscles had been until the feeling was absent and he felt boneless without being numb, luxuriating in that steamy water.

Then he saw Coryn's fingers skipping and gliding in the water inches from his bare torso, and that pressure threatened to come raring back. With friends.

“If we hadn’t been separated, what would have happened between us, Konrad?”

He focused on her words. That seemed to be the safer option. Better use his ears than give too much credence to his eyes and feel his body slowly, subtly shift closer to her.

“I never actually believed that you were going to sell me. And what you just said about me using my… weapons. You knew what I could do before this evening, even if you didn’t understand how or why. What other use did you have for me? And finally…”

That was enough to tear his away away from those delicate digits dancing in the water. Ah, she was a canny one, this Coryn. He wondered how many of her foppish Dynast masters saw her as he did. Did any of them even try to look deeper? Or was it just the watery eyes and the flawless face and the lithe body that grabbed their attention? The mark on her breast that singled her out as produce of the highest price?

Not likely.

“What do you suggest I use my weapons for? What would you do in my situation?”

She was getting good at asserting herself with words, he noticed. She paced herself, thought out her little speech. She rose and towered over him, as he was laying in a tub, and Konrad had the absurd little thought that it was fitting they end up like this, after he had found her thus, seasons ago on the Kabrin Road.

Then he blinked and realized a question had been asked. More than one, actually. So he rubbed his stubbly jaw with his wet hand and pondered, staring at her and then the ceiling ad he corralled his words... and chuckled through his fingers.

A slave just asked you how she should use her "weapons", and you're going to answer her truthfully. Pretty sure that's a crime. But do you care?

"Like y'said, I knew what you did to me, even if I didn't know how. If it worked on me, it could work on others. So... that was my plan." He shrugged and shook his head at the sheer, simplistic absurdity of it. "To have you by my side, working your wyrd on men I'd deal with. Make them more.. I dunno... easy to treat with, y'know?."

How strange that the idea of laying with her didn't feature into his plans. Of course it had been there, hovering at the periphery of his thoughts like a moth around the edges of a torch, but it never fluttered too close.

Afraid of getting burned?

He shuffled in the water and a lost little squall went slopping over the edge of the tub. It was becoming difficult to hide his... well...

"But as y'are now?" He looked up at her and the pristine, human-looking side of his face hitched up into a wry smile. Mayhap it could have been roguish, even charming, without the scars on its twin or the knowledge in Coryn's head of what this man was capable of. "Same as me, girly. Use what y'have, and climb the ladder. There's a Dynasty here, the Radacke? Heard of 'em? They started off as slaves. Hear tell of another one, forget the name but they're fulla' those corpse walkers? They get their Dynasts from their favorite slaves? Slaves are the lowest a' the petchin' low here... but they ain't gotta stay that way..."

Konrad knew the best way to make his point; just as he knew part of him still feared to be exposed to her wyrd again. Fifteen years he'd been free of anything resembling compassion, kindness, remorse or regret. He'd buried that softness of spirit with the last of his family. It didn't help, only hurt. Didn't strengthen, only weakened. But when he reached out and rested his hand over hers-

He did and Coryn would feel that familiar black blast of roiling, snarling anger that Konrad felt for the whole world. A great, sneering hatred for most everyone around him, and the chilling, empty coldness he felt for everyone else. A world comprised of nothing but pawns to be used and obstacles to be struck from his path. The wants and urges of a man who'd left behind his humanity long ago and yet-

In that night, in that touch, she might have been able to feel something else. Like a man shouting in the eye of a hurricane, muted and muffled but still niggling at your ears because you know it's there... something different. And all the more striking because it was different.

A yearning. A desire without the cruel malice and bloody pleasure of his profession. A sighing, quiet hope that he might find some moment's peace. That the hate in his heart would burn out, even if he didn't truly believe it could. Konrad's thumb stroked over her knuckles and as he looked at her Coryn found that desire gain a form and a voice and a-

You. When all you know is the fight, even a bell's peace... that can be dangerous. Addictive. It can get you killed. But you still chase it.

Konrad gulped and had to force himself to let go and snap, like a thread being cut or a sleeping man slapped awake, those feelings of peace left him. He was himself again, gods help him, and yet he nodded with cold satisfaction.

"Aye. F'youse can do that fer a shyke like me, imagine what you can work on thee Dynasty types." He winked. "Bastards won't know what hit 'em."

[Coryn]

Coryn was intensely aware that the conversation between she and Konrad had shifted into not only into the illegal and the punishable, but the downright… blasphemous in the Kenashian sense. Though neither of them had addressed the Dynasts directly, who else would Coryn use her weapon against? If someone were to overhear their low voices, if Konrad happened to get blind drunk one night and casually repeat part of this conversation…

But he won’t.

Coryn was sure of this – or as sure as she could afford to be. They both had their lives to lose, but Konrad had his pride as well. The benefit of being a slave was that one’s pride and dignity was stripped away from day one. Konrad was a free man; he could become a slave. He had the potential the drop down in society. Coryn was already the lowest of the low.

She managed a smile at Konrad’s words. So what she had suspected was true; his plans had never included selling her. ”Sounds like I’d have given Three Eyes competition for the position of your right hand man.” She said dryly, imagining the alternate future wherein she and Konrad worked together, breaking down the wills and bodies of rich men who stood in their way.

The smirk on her lips dropped minutely as Konrad went on, speaking to her about the limited potential she currently held. Despite being one of their possessions, Coryn knew relatively little about the Redacke Dynasty. The other slaves knew better than to openly gossip about their masters, and it wasn’t like Coryn’s work particularly involved her spending much time alone with her fellow slaves.

But yes, perhaps there was a chance, however small, for her to weave herself into the life of a Dynast. It would only take one – a single man or woman – to notice her true worth for Coryn’s potential to flourish. She could see this now, but similarly the Ethaefal recognised that her efforts alone would not be enough.

She needed help.

But suddenly her mind was hijacked by a casual stroke of Konrad’s hand over her knuckles. The desire for her to escape slavery was quelled instantly, giving away for other desires that she recognised as not her own. Anger, resentment, a burning hatred of anyone and everything that was not him. There was something sadly familiar about these desires, and Coryn realised how little the scarred man had changed since their first meeting so long ago.

But there was something she hadn’t realised before, an additional layer to the man that Coryn had not even imagined until now. An almost child-like whisper of something else, the orphan who longs for a loving family, the lonely old man who wishes for romance yet again. A part that wants the thing he doesn’t have. Peace, serenity.

A break from it all.
When his fingers left her hand, Coryn remained silent for a long moment as she mentally processed all that she had felt. She blinked, unsure of how to proceed. A part of her was wary – Konrad had always been so careful to not touch her that she didn’t entirely understand why he had just formed that connection. But he had done, extended that gap between and bought together their hands – and more.

Finally, she found her voice. “There’s no reason we can’t do what you planned.” She said softly, barely whispering. ”You deal with the Dynasts, yes? Or, you’d like to? They’re the powers in this city after all. I’ve met a lot of them here. I touch a lot of them. If you were to visit here more often, I could tell you things that might help you. In turn, you could tell me things. I know so little of the world outside this whorehouse.”

It was a mere invitation to work together – and yet so more, as well.