I Know What You Did This Spring... (Cassandra)

[Syndre]

Time Stamp -=2nd of Spring, 511 AV=-
Location -=Silver Sliver Tavern=-
Tie-In Thread The Spider's Kiss

Syndre, self proclaimed Vermin of Ravok, took a seat at an unoccupied

table in the back of the Silver Sliver Tavern. He made it a point to position
himself away from any illuminating candles or torches, purposely avoiding the
light that so many people flocked to. Sharp elbows gently came to rest against
the smooth wooden surface of the rounded table, black stained digits entwining
between one another in a thoughtful pose. Entangled hands then came to touch
upon the apex of his pale chin and nose, his wicked cobalt eyes peering over
the combined leather of his gloves. He wasn't here for a meal, nor alcohol,
something else was on his ever working mind.

"What can I get for you today?," a pleasant voice questioned him. One of

the barmaids had approached him, but not to his surprise as he had been focused
on her movements since he had seated himself. She was short, and had an average
appearance about her. It looked like she had been been involved in a long shift
today, perhaps she was covering for a missing employee? His head tilted back
only slightly, allowing the tip of his nose to rise from behind the dark leather,
the curve of his chin now settling comfortably between his thumbs. A slow scan
of his azure pools drifted from her unattractive visage to the curvature of her
small figure, then back upward as if undressing her with his sinister gaze.

"You can get me a prettier server...," his voice was low and faintly muffed as

it had come from behind his joined hands. His words were still audible though,
he could tell by the widening of her eyes at the blatant insult. Syndre had an
agenda, and this woman definitely wasn't apart of it. She made a snorting sound
thru her nose and turned upon a heel, her long brown hair sweeping against her
back and shoulders. Her footfalls were filled with anger as she made her way
from the main floor to the back of the Tavern, her actions bringing a devious
smile to the rogue's hidden lips.

"Cassandra!," the barmaid was obviously upset as she yelled toward another

server that was busy in the kitchen area, " Go deal with that arsehole in the
back before I do something to lose my job..." There was a fury in her green
eyes, almost as if that had been the first insult she had ever taken from a
customer. She found the more attractive serving girl and placed a firm hand
upon her shoulder, her narrowed eyes shifting about the kitchen before
whispering heatedly into Cassandra's ear," The man in black, with the braids,
you tell me if he gets any food or drink so I can spit in it." She took a
slow breath to try and calm herself, then after gaining her composure she
stepped back out of the kitchen to continue work.

Syndre meanwhile waited patiently in his chair, blue voids directed toward

the doorway that led to the cooking chambers. The person of interest worked here,
he had seen her before on another occasion occasion when he had visited the
Tavern on business. Drinking wasn't his vice as it was for many of Ravok's
citizens, but the low lives that he frequently dealt with liked to come here. He
was in fact here on business this Spring evening. Knowledge was power and he
knew something about a certain someone, something that could get this person in
a lot of trouble if he pressed the matter.

[Cassandra Coven]

Cassandra had been washing dishes, one of the few instances where she willingly took off her gloves while working, when the call for her came. Delia, one of the girls on serving duty today, stormed inside the kitchen, a storm brewing between her brows. Never a good sign. Cassandra quickly lowered her hands in the thick suds before the other girl got near enough to vent in her ear. Another customer was being difficult it seemed. No surprise there. "Maybe he's just letting off steam after a long day at work," she tried in a reconciliatory tone, a wan smile on her lips. The turn of the season meant a busy couple of weeks for everyone after all. She nodded at the large grill on the other end of the room, both to distract her fellow barmaid from whatever was upsetting her and so she would not see the red veins on the back of Cassandra's hands when she took them out of the basin. "Why don't you check if the meat needs flipping while I dry up? You can take over with the dishes here and I'll switch with you." Cassandra waited until the other girl had turned her back before she quickly grabbed a dishtowel to pat herself dry. Black silken gloves snugly covered her hands even before Delia returned to her side. The clothing article was such a familiar part of her attire that the other girls never questioned her about it any more. Taking a serving tray from a counter, Cassandra gave her friend a comforting squeeze on the arm before she went into the main room. Delia's antagonist was easy enough to spot. He sat brooding in the far end of the room, in an area where the candles did not illuminate very well. Black clothes and braided, just as Delia said. He didn't seem so bad. Heaving a deep breath, Cassandra waded through the crowd of occupied tables between them to reach his side, dodging grabby hands from the more inebriated drinkers among the evening's patrons as she did so. A warm smile was already on her lips even before she got there. "Good evening to you, sir," she began, her voice modulated to come off as gracious and accommodating, as if the man had not slighted her coworker. Cassandra prided herself in giving patrons the best service. Customer satisfaction, as Papa would say. "What can I get for you?"

[Syndre]

Leather adorned digits unclasped as Cassandra slipped out from behind

the kitchen door. An evil curl of his mouth was brief before his elbows rose
from the tavern table and his upper torso leaned back against the chair. A
single buckled boots pushed firmly upon the wooden floor, causing the back
of his chair to touch upon the wall behind him. His left boot lifted in a
nonchalant manner, comfortably coming to rest along the table's edge. The
right boot then followed, crossing over the left while corded arms slipped
gently behind his head. He looked like a man that was in control of a situation,
and his smug appearance told of his enjoyment of that fact.

"You see... this is the kind of service I expect...," his voice was laced

with arrogance, his actions traced with confidence. Azure pools drifted over
every curve that the bar maid offered, just as he had done with the woman before
her, crystalline eyes involving his devious imagination. "If I come to spend my
hard earned Mizas at a Tavern... I better have something pleasant to look at...,"
he continued, not at all responding to her polite question. His right appendage
slid from behind his head, the silken sleeve of his black shirt rolled neatly
upward just above his bicep. His gloved hand then offered a short sweep in the
direction of the chair to his right, which it seemed he had purposely moved
earlier on so that it was in close proximity to where he sat.

"But I'm not here for food or drink... I'm here on business...," his luring

gaze, so wonderful to look upon, traveled to his uppermost boot as he spoke.
A dark sheath had been attached to the side of that black boot with constricting
straps, and rising from the apex of the sheath was the spiraling hilt of a
lengthy dagger, the bottom of the ebon handle graced with the blue triangle.
His handsome countenance tilted lightly to the side while his left glove
continued to cushion the back of his head, making it a point that she too saw
what he was staring at. His leaning figure then shifted, as if to achieve a
more comforting position, eventually allowing those mischievous eyes to return
to the lovely server.

The awkward silence caused by the sight of his prized weapon was broken

by the unsettling sound of his low toned voice," Business with you my dear...
now take a seat..." The last part of his words where spoken as a demand, rather
than asking nicely. The gloved hand that had been freed from cradling his head
move slowly back to his pale visage, a shrouded thumb guiding the thin length
of his tightly woven braid back behind the curve of his right ear. He repeated
the languid process with the opposite black braid, waiting for her to comply
to what he wanted her to do.

[Cassandra Coven]

Cassandra felt uncomfortable under the man's leery scrutiny, the sensation of his penetrating gaze as it roamed her curves was like the touch of some primordial sea creature running its slimy tentacles all over her body, physical and violating. She did well to hide her distaste, her smile never wavering as she waited to hear his order. But drinking, it seemed, was not something on the man's mind. He gestured at the empty chair opposite where he sat, an invitation for her to sit down. The tavern had rules against its barmaids socializing with the patrons for too long, however. Especially those with no intention to spend their gold on food or drink. "I'm sorry, sir," Cassandra began, still polite. "I'm afraid we're not allowed to linger for too..." Her words faded into silence as the man's gaze led her own to the weapon sheathed in his boot. While everyone was allowed to bear arms for their own protection, most carried their weapons openly, though Cassandra herself had her own dagger strapped hidden on her thigh, one whose hilt she could easily pull out from under the waistband of her skirt. But she understood the man's seemingly innocent gesture. It was a threat, pure and simple, one urging her to comply or her resistance would be met with violence. Wordlessly, Cassandra's eyes flicked up to the man's steely blue eyes, noting the casual attitude that masked the resolve that told her in no uncertain terms that he would use his blade on her if she refused. The dark-haired barmaid paled at his unwavering gaze. Slowly, she glanced around the tavern. No one was paying any particular attention to them at the moment. A wrong move on her part and it would be too late for her before anyone could reach her side. Thus when the man told her to sit down, Cassandra found herself obeying. She slid over the chair slowly, hugging the wooden tray over her chest. Her every move was measured and slow, and her eyes never left his, like a man - or anyone, really - who found themselves face to face with a poisonous cobra, where any sudden move would be met with a bite from its venom-laced fangs. "What...what is this about?" she asked in apprehension. The polite smile she wore was gone, replaced now by an expression of worry and fear.

[Syndre]

He noted the sudden change in her expression, from the polite facade to

a lingering worry, and though this caressed his ego with some satisfaction, at
the same time he didn't want to attract the wrong attention. His black attired
legs lifted, bent, and lowered back underneath the table in fluid motions,
bringing the back of his chair off the Tavern's wall. The rogue then leaned
forward, softly running leathery palms over the top of the table until they met
each other, one laying over the top of the other. His gauntlet strapped arms
splayed to either side, elbows pointing outward, and the bottom of his pale
chin eased onto gloved knuckles. His stare never left her, even in this position
where he was forced to now look up to her.

"Well first I want you to put that little smile back on your face... so you

don't disturb the other customers...," his words were spoken in a pleasant
manner, almost friendly, though Cassandra could hear the malicious underlying
tone. She could see an unnatural appearance to his unsettling gaze, perhaps it
was the dark depth of his enlarged pupils, or the glossy sheen of moisture that
seemed to make his blue irises brighter. Whatever it was, it was only noticeable
because of the intense stare they shared, giving her the moment necessary to
observe the bizarre spectacle.

"I require your services for a business venture... Details will be

forthcoming once I'm content with your... cooperation...," the thief finally
blinked as he spoke, his unnerving stare breaking away from her hazel eyes to
shift about the Tavern with a bit of paranoia. The movement of his hazy voids
was swift, practiced, as if he had to do it more than the average citizen. He
had chosen the table in the back not only because it was less illuminated, but
also so he didn't have to peer over his shoulder since the wall was directly
behind his seat.

His irregular sight returned to attractive definition of her facial

features, his comfortable position upon the table disrupted as he sat up. There
had been a few eyes cast in their direction when he viewed their surroundings
just moments ago, not only from the other customers but from those that were
employed by the establishment. His nerves reacted, like a sixth sense, and a
slight unease began to tickle his thoughts. "Actually... I think we need to
discuss this further in private...," Syndre began to rise from his chair, his
slender six feet lifting upward while his whisper touched her ears, then another
command was issued in a not so friendly tone," Follow me outside..."

[Cassandra Coven]

The man's discomfort was evident to Cassandra as his eyes flicked about the tavern. She could tell he did not like being around so many people - they could prove to be witnesses for any mischief he had in mind, she assumed. Armed with this knowledge, the dark-haired barmaid refused to budge from her seat though her hands trembled as she defied him. She had always been able to tell if who she was talking to was of the dangerous sort. "N-no," she said, stuttering in her nervousness. "Why should I f-follow you? W-what is this ab-about?" Her eyes never left his, and she swore to herself that she would scream if he tried to attack her or forced her to comply. Following him outside meant surrendering power to him, and she felt it would most likely place her life in peril as well. She knew she was relatively safe where she was, with all the people around. Even if he got to her, he would be hard-pressed to get away as the nearest exit was a good way away from them and the path was cramped by tables and chair and other tavern patrons milling about. Cassandra knew that the man knew this as well, and she counted on that fact for him not to do anything foolish. "What...what do you want from me?"

[Syndre]

"Damn it woman... do you think I'm playing games?...," his whisper was

harsh between clenched teeth. He did not want the situation to escalate any
further than it already had. This was Cassandra's home away from home and he
knew she would be protected by either fellow employees or perhaps even patrons
of the Tavern that favored her as their server. He had to concentrate to keep
a calm composure, gently scooting his chair underneath the table before
stepping around the table. A leather glove was placed against the table's edge
and he slowly leaned down next to her, his quiet whisper now easier to hear,"
I have connections to the Ebonstryfe... and I will turn your defiant ass in
to the authorities for what you did yesterday..."

An evil smirk graced his charming features after driving that last comment

into her thoughts. His confined hand left the wooden table and slow confident
steps led the thief behind her. Both gloves constricted against the frame of
her chair, and with tightening muscle the rogue dragged the seat backward
against the floor, giving her room to stand. He didn't bother looking around
bustling Tavern again, he knew the forceful action had drawn more than a few
curious looks. That wicked smirk turned into a more friendly smile, trying to
play off the heated moment, the facade working with only a couple of the
customers that had tuned in.

"Come with me now... I will not tell you again...," and with those

threatening words he released her chair and started for the exit. An older
woman who had been watching the entire scene kept him in her sight. Syndre
turned his head in the lady's direction, offering a playful wink that immediately
shifted her attention back to the meal in front of her. He didn't look back to
see if Cassandra had gotten up to follow him, he knew his plan would not falter.
Though he lied about being involved with the Ebonstryfe, the mere thought of
having to deal with them chilled many a citizen to the bone. He believed it was
enough to scare the piss out of her.

Slipping out of the torch lit Tavern and into the darkness of night, Syndre

moved between the tables that were set up for customers outside. This area was
used mostly during the day when the sun was out and people could see what they
were eating or drinking. For this reason, none of the seats were occupied. There
was a enjoyable silence and the smallest of breezes cooled his skin. His short
path ended where a stone carved rail began, a protective measure to keep drunken
patrons from falling into the nearby canal. He stared into the inky water that
slowly flowed, almost losing himself in its beauty as he patiently waited.

[Cassandra Coven]

...what you did yesterday... The color drained from Cassandra's face upon hearing those damning words. That, more than anything the else the man had said, convinced her that she had to comply to his every whim. She could think of only one thing she did the previous day that anyone could use against her, and that realization, that someone had witnessed her commit that one act, sent involuntary shivers down her spine. Her sins had finally caught up on her and not she had to pray the price. Desperately, Cassandra tried to think of a way to deny the accusation, to tell the man that he was mistaken, that she did not know what he was talking about. But her lips were numb and any words she might have tried to say out loud would have come out unintelligible. Vaguely, she felt a pulling sensation from the chair she was sitting on, prompting her to stand up, not realizing that it was the man who did that to make it appear to everyone else in the tavern that he was being a gentleman and helping her up. "Who else knows?" she whispered. But no answer was forthcoming and when she turned around, Cassandra found the man was already across the room and walking out of the front door. She had to follow him now, there was really no choice, for the alternative, if she continued to defy him and he reported her heinous crime to the authorities, was too terrible to imagine. She took a deep breath, using that time to school her face to placidity lest others grow suspicious of her distress. In fact, she had already seen Mama cast a curious glance her way when the man left her side without ordering anything. Looking back up, her facade already in place, she passed a reassuring smile to the matronly woman. "News," she mouthed to Mama as she passed by her on the way to the bar to deposit her tray and apron. She knew she would to have to think of a good lie later on if the woman asked her what the matter was about. "I'm going to take a brief break. Be back before you know it!" And then she was out the door, her carefree expression crumbling as soon as she crossed the threshold. The man was waiting for her a short distance away, leaning over the railing that overlooked the canal. She padded quietly to his side, not even considering for a moment to shank the man in his moment of vulnerability with her hidden dagger, to eliminate the problem he posed for her. Instead she grasped the stone rail with her gloved hands, more to steady their trembling than anything else. She gazed up at him, a pitiful sight of obeisance. "What...what do you want?" She hardly noticed that the quivering in her voice had returned as she waited for him to speak.

[Syndre]

Syndre watched her approach his side with his peripheral vision, the two of

them now standing maybe a foot or two from the dark canal. The thief twisted
his shadowy attired form against the rail as Cassandra's hands came down upon
it, giving the light arc of his back to the cool stone. As soon as he knew she
had followed him outside, Syndre felt in control again. The more people you
added to a heated encounter, such as the numerous citizens in the Tavern, the
more difficult it was to keep the flow under your own terms. He even felt like
he had achieved even more of an upper hand now that their presence graced the
night, for this was Akajia's playground and he could sense his Goddess in the
blanketing darkness.

His wonderfully sculpted visage looked down to that beautifully obedient

expression, her stuttering question bringing many a selfish thought to mind.
"I want a variety of things from you... How about we start with your name?...,"
a lone hand had slowly risen with his words, gloved as her own hands were,
allowing a pair of leathery digits to remove a lush lock of dark hair from her
attractive countenance. His hand slipped away and he suddenly pushed himself
off the stone rail into a slow walk back to the Tavern's entrance, that same
leather adorned hand signaling for her to wait. Though creating some space
between them, he still listened carefully for her answer.

A thin candle, which seemed to have been used various times, was produced

from one of the many pockets lining his black pants. Upon reaching the Silver
Sliver's entry door, he lifting the tiny wick to the one of the flaring torches
and lit the stick of wax. He heard her voice from the short distance and the
name Cassandra caressed his clouded thoughts. The rogue held the short candle
with nimble fingers and made his way back to the protective railing. His free
hand now dipped into his tightly wound ebony sash, removing an ivory hued
instrument from within the fabric's confines. A brief glance was cast over the
curve of his shoulder, taking note of the Tavern's entrance once again before
returning his cobalt eyes to the lovely server.

"We are a lot alike... Cassandra...," her name rolled off his tongue in a

pleasant manner before continuing, "...You have a wicked streak in you, at
least from what I've seen..." The object in his hand came into view as he
presented it to her, the candle's soft glow exposing a finely carved tobacco
pipe. The long black stem ran down in a delicate curve to the white wooden base,
which had been attentively crafted into a creature's claw, its closing talons
surrounding the unknown head of some mythical monster. Such a detailed piece
would have been very expensive to buy, though Syndre had acquired it through
other means.

"I need you on the same level of thought if we are to come to terms with

this unfortunate situation... Smoke this...," once more his calmly whispered
words held a dictating edge, instead of asking he was forcing his arrogant will.
The precious pipe had already been loaded with a mixture of potent Syrlian herbs
and it was now positioned between them, his six feet standing very close,
trapping her between himself and the stone rail behind her. The small plume of
fire burning upon the candle's wick was also presented so that she could set
the aromatic herbs aflame.

[Cassandra Coven]

"My...my name?" Cassandra echoed, staring at the man as he nipped a lock of her hair. She wasn't really seeing him, instead recalling past events that had started out in the same fashion. Wasn't that how things usually started? A man, usually bearing a dark and dangerous aura, and attractive, would ask for her name and she would end up in a situation where she would take in more than she could swallow? This was just like how she met Keating and Murmur, though the experience with the former turned out to be better than the latter. Thus the question left her with the strangest feeling of deja vu. "It's Cassandra," she answered, seeing no point in hiding her identity from him. "What...what's yours?" The man had walked away for a moment however, to do a most peculiar thing: lighting a small candle from one of the torches framing the door of the tavern. Upon his return, his insidious words offering her further accusations relating to the events of the past day. Cassandra wanted so much to protest her innocence, to tell him that he did not understand, that her actions stemmed from a need, one that her own life depended on. But the words died within her even before she could speak them, for her actions in the events the previous day were not borne out of her need for survival - the Krysus-given mark had not even instilled any pain in her at the time - and yet she had taken another's life. Just because it was there for the taking. And so Cassandra just continued to stare warily at the man, accepting his words in guilt-laden silence. He presented to her a pipe, one of exquisite craftsmanship as she observed in the flickering candlelight, and ordered her to smoke it, a strange request. Confusion flooded her features; she thought he was going to blackmail her about her latest murder, and yet why was he asking her to smoke instead? He had her boxed in and cornered, making it difficult to refuse when he was so very near enough to force her to do it, but protest she did. "N-no...No! Why? What's in it?" Irrationally, she feared that it might be some sort of poison or drug meant to knock her unconscious. But, realizing the intensity of her refusal and fearing what he might do to her because of her resistance, Cassandra changed tact. "I-I don't know how to smoke..."