Cian (thebettingsort) wrote in emillion, @ 2014-02-10 13:30:00 |
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Entry tags: | !complete, !log, cian wilde, siri d'albis |
Who: Cian & Siri
When: After this
What: The snake at the centre of the maze
Rating: PG-13ish, some violence & swearing.
Status: Complete.
As a rule, Cian instructed his staff to keep altercations at his gaming establishments to a reasonable minimum. No fights was an unreasonable expectation -- these people were drunk and dreaming of big wins; the drunker they got, the more likely they were to take a turn towards violence. A fight once in awhile kept things exciting. Hell, sometimes he even participated. He didn’t start it, not that anyone would have said a single word if he had. The guy across from him at the roulette table, though, was clearly on his fourth or fifth drink, losing hilariously, and blissfully unaware that he was playing against someone way out of his league. It started the way these things usually did -- someone in the crowd made some sort of comment, a few people including Cian chose to laugh, and the man who had just lost his metaphorical shirt (and seemed likely to lose his literal one in short order) threw the first punch. There were bouncers, but they knew their boss’ idiosyncrasies by now; when he punched back without missing a beat, they stood back and let him have at it. The guy wasn’t particularly good at fighting, unfortunately, and his level of inebriation didn’t do him any favors; it took barely any effort at all to bring him down, though Cian’s knuckles stung when the guy toppled. “Fucking hard-headed bastard,” he muttered. “You staying on the floor or getting out of here?” Crossing his arms, he gave the man a flat look which implied pretty clearly that there was no third option available. See you at the centre of the maze, World Serpent. Whether Cian knew it or not, he had issued a challenge to be met; an unspoken invitation to be swallowed whole or in pieces. To watch the hollow of his throat as the shadows sunk in and out of the skin — every breath — Siri watched with open fascination (because she had come here with no clear idea of how he looked like but she only needed to see that punch to know). Funny, how she had earlier slid into this establishment; a glance or two but nothing wrong enough with her to catch attention. That was not why she came, she preferred the silence and stillness of her mind (because it was so loud out here, sounds exploding from each patron). Violence exploded forth from within and she was not surprised to see the snake-like movements of his steps and blows. She slithered towards him, having found the centre of this maze. Cian could have encircled himself and crushed the air, the muscle and bones — life out. “Break him.” The words were low and hissed and encouraging, wide-eyed and charmed — roles reversed, she was the snake charmed by his song. Violence and blood, a constant drumming that drowned out the mutters and calls of the crowd. He heard the voice, low and soft unlike the much louder encouragements being tossed about by those who had quit their tables to watch the (unfortunately) brief scuffle. Still, he didn’t see the woman right away, not until the man he had decked was back on his feet, slinking away with his metaphorical tail between his legs. He turned and spotted her immediately -- a face like hers was hard to miss. And the way she was staring at him was equal parts disconcerting and good for the ego. As always, when given the option, he chose to focus on the latter. “Sadly, the EKP frowns on breaking people for being assholes,” he said. “Sorry to disappoint.” Then, to the crowd, “Show’s over, people. Go on about your business.” Siri didn’t look disappointed though, she looked like she had found just what she intended to find and she was more than fine with the outcome. EKP had never stopped him before, of that she felt certain though she would never voice that in public; the way he moved, the way he circled everything. The world in a grain of sand on the palm of his hand. Her eyes flicked to the blood coating his knuckles, not his own, and then back at his face as if she were trying to re-verify his identity. The crowd dispersed slowly going back to their drinks, their games, their affairs but they didn’t concern her. She had been playing in the maze for another reason. Siri remained, reaching for his hand in a weirdly careful and reverent way. She respected the power he held. “World Serpent, I found you.” The surprise at the address lasted only a moment; with those words, he realized exactly who she must be. Whole or in pieces? Well, he couldn’t deny liking what he saw. He wasn’t blind or stupid, after all. “You must be Siri,” he said. He hadn’t realized upon her mention of hide and seek that she intended to play it, but there she was -- and how, exactly, had she thought to find him from nothing but his initials? She’d churned out a whole lot of crazy on the network, with a few moments of eerie insight sprinkled in. He’d have to check with his people -- had she been here before? Was that how she knew of him? Thoughts to shuffle away for another time. “Didn’t think I’d be awake for the encounter,” he said, giving her an easy, moderately charming smile. The whole lot of crazy came in a pretty appealing package. “Surprises all around.” There was no need for the charm; it was the blood and violence that had lured her out here — her fingers curling around his hand and lifting his knuckles for inspection. She smiled, bright and open as if he had not been beating a man only a few moments before. “I am.” His name ought to matter but for Siri any secondary names didn’t matter, he was the World Serpent and all she saw in him was potential. “If you were asleep, you would forget. People forget their dreams so easily, I have walked the street with most people, enough to know secrets and they never see me.” Which was fine, she didn’t care to be seen; Faram’s eyes on her were enough. “This is the centre of the maze, is it not?” the pad of her thumb brushed the blood on his knuckles, smearing it. “Guess so,” he answered. In truth, it was the center of nothing -- as far as his holdings were concerned, this one’s significance was marked only by his presence here tonight. It somehow served to make her less disconcerting, that her unexpected knowledge only reached so far. “Don’t think I’d have forgotten you, anyway.” The compliment came easy, smooth. He’d have wiped his hand if she didn’t seem so fixated on it; he had to wonder if it was bloodlust or something else. Not that he had any room to talk, he supposed -- and he didn’t pull his hand away. “Was there a prize for this game of hide and seek?” he asked, watching her curiously. He hadn’t known he was playing, but hell, why not go with it? “You’re going to have to catch me up on the details.” Siri spread out his fingers, wiped and rubbed a the blood, getting it on her own skin. Siri shuddered. It was evident that she liked it on some level, she was drawn to it- to him and how it fit him so well. The compliment went unnoticed, taken as kindness instead, “I do not think most people would remember me.” And she liked it at times that way, made it harder for anyone to turn and burn her at the stake. “A prize?” Siri tilted her head up at him, considering his question, “I didn’t think there was, would you like there to be? Will you hide again or would you have me hide and win the prize yourself? You won’t find me though if I hide. You’ll have to cheat and ask someone here.” “Most people are idiots,” he said simply. “Fact of life.” Jury was still out on her -- she was pretty well-informed to be an idiot. There was also the crazy factor and the possible bloodlust and the really excellent face and all the rest of it. Hell, he’d been getting bored anyway. This was as good a distraction as any. “You’d be surprised at what I can find if I’m looking. I’m not too bad at finding things -- when I apply myself. I think we’ve had this conversation. But in this case -- your game, your rules, your prize to name. Or I could just buy you a drink, or spot you a stake at one of the tables, if you’re here to play.” He suspected she’d come to find him (more on the how later), but no harm in asking. Siri laughed, “I like you.” There was nothing but innocent sincerity behind those words, whatever she saw Cian as — snake, man, more or less; she liked him. The blood sealed the meeting and Siri lifted her blood-smeared thumb to her lips, removing the blood with swipe of her tongue. More absent-minded than intentionally anything, more reflex than thought. “We have had this conversation,” Siri smiled up at him, “But I didn’t want anything in return, meeting you was enough for me. I like my curiosity rewarded.” She felt a bit more stable than in her entry and it showed, but how long that would last was, well, relative. “Gambling doesn’t matter to me, but Faram would not approve of me doing so. A drink is fine, as long as you share with me and tell me more, World Serpent, about how you break men.” “Glad to hear it. You’re not too bad yourself.” He watched her lick the blood from her thumb, wondering if she had practiced the nonchalance or if she was truly unaware of her action or the way it could be construed. The latter, he decided after a moment, or she was a damn good actress. Kind of too bad. “I’d say Faram doesn’t waste his time in places like this, but then, some people wouldn’t agree with me on that,” he said. He left his full opinion -- Faram was a farce, as far as he was concerned -- to himself. No need to agitate her, if she was of a religious bent (though it didn’t seem to quite fit with the rest of her, like a puzzle piece just a little out of place). “A drink, then,” he said. “I’ll join you.” For watered-down beer, as usual when he had to drink socially. He put his hand above her waist to steer her towards the bar in the back, the placement of it light and unassuming, high enough to be just polite. He wasn’t entirely sure he wanted more than a drink with someone who talked in riddles and seemed to know things about him, though he thought the idea had a certain appeal. “Might have to limit my stories to unexciting encounters like the one you just saw, though,” he warned as he led the way. You’re not supposed to break people in polite company, I’m told.” “Faram does as He wills.” Siri supposed that it depended on how each person viewed Him; how she did. (But she didn’t really, she didn’t see Him, just heard Him at the edges of her mind. Faram was truth and she His mouth). People’s beliefs didn’t rattle her, she believed and He believed back in her. Stepping into his space; following his lead, his hand on her back a leash (the first coil) and she happily settled for a drink and his stories. The question was not whether to do it or not, but rather if you could because a blow and a kill are separate. Some who hit don’t kill and there are those who kill without a punch. Siri gave a wan, vacant smile. “You’re not in polite company.” “That so?” he asked. He was intrigued despite himself. He’d met his share of strange women over the years, but even so this encounter struck him as somewhat unique. Maybe it was just the fact that despite all of his skill in reading people, he couldn’t quite work out how she ticked. Yet. At the bar, he took a stool, nodded at the cocktail waitress who immediately materialized at his side. “Whatever the lady wants. The usual for me.” “Wine.” She glanced at the waitress but didn’t see; everyone else here was currently irrelevant to Siri’s perception. Once the woman had scurried back behind the bar, Cian turned back to his companion. “Since I’m not in polite company, are you suggesting I break someone for you?” he asked, no hint of jest in his voice. For all he knew of her yet, that might very well be her wish -- not that he was likely to fulfill it in an establishment he owned. And the stories of past exploits, well. He’d made his reputation on the fact that he didn’t have to talk about his violent past. The people who needed to know already knew; to those who didn’t, he played the sometime-reckless entrepreneur. Still, the game was worth playing in the moment, if only in hypotheticals: “You want to pick someone for me?” Brief frown, the suggestion was considered, filed away and she clarified, “Not for me, not like that.” Siri didn’t need to break anyone (not right now, not as of yet, maybe one day if He willed her to). “But you do need to break someone, for yourself.” Placing her hands palm upwards on the bar she wriggled her fingers indicating that he should put his hand on hers. “We will pick someone together.” It was not evil, not to her, not this conversation nor the intentions behind their words. This was normal, it made sense to her and if He had not willed this meeting then she would not have been able to find this World Serpent. “Do I?” More and more interesting -- especially when she indicated he ought to take her hand. He didn’t do it immediately, considering a moment before he asked, “Are you a mage?” Unusual magic, if so; he’d never heard of this sort of power manipulation, though his mind was already running through the myriad uses for this kind of skill. If he gave her his hand, what would she see? Common sense said nothing, but he did employ caution, sometimes, and she was unusually well-informed, if a bit off the deep end. “Prophet.” She corrected, but she supposed that what people would find it easier to accept was, “Black mage, though, yes.” Her fingers stilled but she didn’t seem put off or even offended by his hesitation. “And yes, of course you do. It feeds you, doesn’t it? The crushing of bones under your heels and rip the skin with bare hands.” “Violent opinion you seem to have of me. Should I claim vehemently to be a pacifist?” Not that she’d believe it, it seemed, and not that she appeared to mind it, either. Prophet. That wasn’t a label you heard outside of dusty religious books which had never interested him. Was she for real, or just off her rocker? Only one way to find out; he put his hand over hers. “All right, then, help me pick.” “I don’t think it is a wrong impression.” Siri replied mildly, flashing a quick grin when he did set his hand over hers. Cian had picked correctly, but by this stage she could never know his name as anything other than what she’d called him on the network. World Serpent. Her fingers spread out, grasping his with deceptive strength; viper vice-like. Large, her second hand settled over, tips brushing his knuckles - skeletal, but not Death. They weren’t a fighter’s hands, no, she knew how Caspar and Rictor’s felt - used to the hilts of their weapons. He did handle something, softer, lighter - quick. They were heavy, bodies and bodies resting there. Siri lifted her dark eyes up pinning Cian with a look. “Serpents and dragons aren’t friends.” “Lots of dragons with you,” he said. His poker face served him well; he had shown no outward sign of recognition at the word, though it had struck a nerve. “You telling me I should have a bone to pick with the visitors to our fine city?” He grinned, the expression a little wolfish, and said, “Duchesses aren’t my style, generally speaking.” Siri closed her eyes, tilting her head as if trying to make sense of something in her head that she couldn’t understand. There was always so much, too much noise. “Not that kind, but the ones that lurk in the same shadows you do. There can only be one that encircles your world. This world. It should be you.” “Lots of dragons,” he repeated, but he felt the stirrings of excitement, the sort that came before a particularly lucky throw of the dice, and uncommonly perfect hand. If she was an actress (possible, anything was possible), she was a damn good one. There were people who knew this much about his doings, if not many -- she could have been put up to this. Easy enough to find him if she’d been told where to look, easy enough to mention dragons if her pockets were filled with Sasaki’s gold. Possible. Somewhat probable. But that feeling, the one that said he was about to hit a jackpot. That rarely steered him wrong. It would be a delicate thing, figuring out whose side she was on without tipping his hand. But he did like a challenge, and the prize seemed worth the gamble. He was left to his own devices because he fed the Spymaster what he wanted to know -- and that made people who had unique ways of gathering information valuable. “I’ll agree,” he said as the silent waitress returned, placing drinks before them. “It should be me.” He lifted his glass as if to toast, said, “To serpents, then.” Siri was blissfully unaware of the politics that Cian was currently considering &mash; irrelevant to her, madness never boded well with the intricacies of politics. When she stirred awake from this dream she spun, Siri would be mildly horrified to realize she was encouraging murder (but she could never stop herself, she wouldn’t because everything happened for a reason. Even this). Her fingers moved, cradling her newly arrived wine-glass. “To you, World Serpent, don’t swallow everything whole — yet.” |