53rd of Winter, 521
“Get up, Babygirl. There’s a job.”
Brisa was already up, her back to the wall and the fleshy part of her hand in her mouth as Kane and Goldfinger walked back into the reception room of the loan agency. Her eyes flicked to both men and back to the floor.
There was something performative about the way Goldfinger smiled. He wore expressions like clothes to switch out to fit the occasion. Kane did not.
“Come back with him alive and healthy”, the Goldfinger instructed, continuing from some earlier conversation. “An injured man gets you less, a dead man gets you nothing. Play it right and that’s thirty gold worth of the Drunken Fish’s finest watered-down ale and Brega’s least pox-ridden girls for you.” He laughed warmly to himself.
Brisa measured the way her bondmates shoulder tightened as Goldfinger slapped him on the back. She had seen many male humans do this strange ritual bonding, but it is always the more dominant male that initiated it. Sons did not clap their fathers’ backs, neither did students to their teachers, and Kane did not raise his hand to Goldfinger.
Kane dropped his shoulder, knocking off the unwanted touch. “Thirty gold? Seriously? That must be three times less than what the others are earning.” He pointed out in that low, dangerous tone he got when he was trying not to lose his temper.
“Woah there”, Goldfinger’s laugh was relaxed, almost casual. “You’ll have your chance to earn the big bucks, but newbies get newbie pay. I’ve got an easy one lined up for you, just to get your feet wet.”
There was not a trace of animosity when he said it, but Brisa noticed the subtle shift in the energy in the room. He was meeting Kane’s rising temperature with a low tone and steady eye contact that finally made her realise why this unremarkable man was king in his little empire of greedy men and trained killers. Their new boss was staking boundaries. This was not an issue they should push.
But Kane was never very good at understanding when to back down.
Their bond was weak and child-like, but she felt the first warning twinge of rage strumming through it like a plucked string and she reacted with a sudden, loud, wordless noise of warning. Both men turned to look at her. Under the attention her other hand crept nervously into her mouth, and she carefully shook her head at Kane.
“Well well”, Goldfinger crossed his arms and regarded the Kelvic in the rather bemused silence in the wake of her outburst. “Are you Syrian too?”
“That’s Brisa”, Kane interjected. “My Kelvic.”
“I wasn’t talking to you.” Goldfinger didn’t lift his eyes from Brisa. “Are you Syrian, Babygirl?”
Brisa shook her head, extracting all ten fingers from her mouth. “No sir.”
“Born-and-bred Sunberthain, then. How old are you?”
“I don’t know. A year or so.”
Goldfinger only smiled. His rough hand coming up to rub thoughtfully at his jaw. “It’s the accent”, he suddenly turned back to Kane. “You really should think about losing it. Around these parts it sounds so awfully… naive.” His teeth scrapped off his lip on the word, making a meal of the sound. “You see, Syrians keep wandering in. But have you ever noticed how there never seems to be any Syrians around?”
Kane didn’t have an answer for that. He stayed sullenly silent.
“Don’t disturb the water until you learn how to swim, okay?” Goldfinger concluded his point rather cryptically. As he turned to leave, he winked at Brisa. “And keep that one around. She’s going to keep you alive.”
[/indent][/color]
“Get up, Babygirl. There’s a job.”
Brisa was already up, her back to the wall and the fleshy part of her hand in her mouth as Kane and Goldfinger walked back into the reception room of the loan agency. Her eyes flicked to both men and back to the floor.
There was something performative about the way Goldfinger smiled. He wore expressions like clothes to switch out to fit the occasion. Kane did not.
“Come back with him alive and healthy”, the Goldfinger instructed, continuing from some earlier conversation. “An injured man gets you less, a dead man gets you nothing. Play it right and that’s thirty gold worth of the Drunken Fish’s finest watered-down ale and Brega’s least pox-ridden girls for you.” He laughed warmly to himself.
Brisa measured the way her bondmates shoulder tightened as Goldfinger slapped him on the back. She had seen many male humans do this strange ritual bonding, but it is always the more dominant male that initiated it. Sons did not clap their fathers’ backs, neither did students to their teachers, and Kane did not raise his hand to Goldfinger.
Kane dropped his shoulder, knocking off the unwanted touch. “Thirty gold? Seriously? That must be three times less than what the others are earning.” He pointed out in that low, dangerous tone he got when he was trying not to lose his temper.
“Woah there”, Goldfinger’s laugh was relaxed, almost casual. “You’ll have your chance to earn the big bucks, but newbies get newbie pay. I’ve got an easy one lined up for you, just to get your feet wet.”
There was not a trace of animosity when he said it, but Brisa noticed the subtle shift in the energy in the room. He was meeting Kane’s rising temperature with a low tone and steady eye contact that finally made her realise why this unremarkable man was king in his little empire of greedy men and trained killers. Their new boss was staking boundaries. This was not an issue they should push.
But Kane was never very good at understanding when to back down.
Their bond was weak and child-like, but she felt the first warning twinge of rage strumming through it like a plucked string and she reacted with a sudden, loud, wordless noise of warning. Both men turned to look at her. Under the attention her other hand crept nervously into her mouth, and she carefully shook her head at Kane.
“Well well”, Goldfinger crossed his arms and regarded the Kelvic in the rather bemused silence in the wake of her outburst. “Are you Syrian too?”
“That’s Brisa”, Kane interjected. “My Kelvic.”
“I wasn’t talking to you.” Goldfinger didn’t lift his eyes from Brisa. “Are you Syrian, Babygirl?”
Brisa shook her head, extracting all ten fingers from her mouth. “No sir.”
“Born-and-bred Sunberthain, then. How old are you?”
“I don’t know. A year or so.”
Goldfinger only smiled. His rough hand coming up to rub thoughtfully at his jaw. “It’s the accent”, he suddenly turned back to Kane. “You really should think about losing it. Around these parts it sounds so awfully… naive.” His teeth scrapped off his lip on the word, making a meal of the sound. “You see, Syrians keep wandering in. But have you ever noticed how there never seems to be any Syrians around?”
Kane didn’t have an answer for that. He stayed sullenly silent.
“Don’t disturb the water until you learn how to swim, okay?” Goldfinger concluded his point rather cryptically. As he turned to leave, he winked at Brisa. “And keep that one around. She’s going to keep you alive.”
[/indent][/color]
