Cian (thebettingsort) wrote in emillion, @ 2014-03-07 10:22:00 |
|
|||
Entry tags: | !complete, !log, aisling wilde, cian wilde, siri d'albis |
Who: Cian, Siri, Ash
What: Information gathering (and a whole lot of weird)
Where: Cian’s office in the Tenements
When: Tonight
Rating: PG-13-ish. Bad language and discussions of violence and just basically warning for Cian existing
Status: Complete
It seemed the best way to go about it all around. He was stretching himself a bit thin -- blondie’s favor had to take a fairly significant portion of his attention -- but he couldn’t let this go either, of course. The sharks were circling (quietly, so far, without violence, but these things changed the moment a drop of blood hit the water) but they wouldn’t see what was coming down on them until it was too late, if things worked out as planned. He had contingency plans, and a possible ace up his sleeve. Only one way to know if it was worth putting into play, though. He’d considered the risks, decided the potential gains outweighed them. He’d issued the invitation casually, sharing the little-known address without preamble (easier to rifle through papers there than at the Bear). A request for assistance, a warning not to come in until invited -- he hadn’t been surprised when she’d agreed. And upon hearing her voice outside the door, he’d disabled the security, unlocked the door, and invited her into his office. “Take a seat,” he offered. “Drink? Coffee, water, or wine.” The latter mostly for her benefit -- he was unlikely to partake of it at the best of times. Yes was easy. Like gravity pulling her downwards; the request not taken as a request but an order (old habits that refused to die). No was hard. Like fish against the currents; doable but difficult, not always worth the fight. You brave everything to obtain something, you better be damn sure it is what you expect. Siri smiled, warmth and familiarity surrounding this man (serpent, not just a man); this was not home, nor the familiar anchor of Rictor’s fingers twined with hers. This was different, a new step (a dance, a drink — a drop) that was easily becoming reflex. (Ask her to jump, she’ll ask: how high?) “Hello, Cian.” Sounding uncharacteristically lucid, she took a chair opposite his own, desk in-between them. “Nothing for me, thank you.” The use of his name was noted, his reaction no more than an eyebrow cocked in curiosity. Her strange take on professionalism, or something else? He couldn’t say. “Your call.” He paused before reaching for a folder, a twin to the one he had given Ash just a few days back. “I’m hoping you can help me out.” And that was by far the most direct request he had ever made -- his previous questions to her had been asked in passing. This was, in its way, a test. How she’d perceive it remained to be seen. He opened the folder, rifled through its contents. “I’ve got a bit of a problem,” he said. It was more than ‘a bit’ but he’d work it out all the same. “Let’s say I’m thinking that a group of rats believe they’re a match for a serpent. I aim to prove them wrong, but they’re good at hiding in small spaces.” He passed over the folder then, said, “Not sure if you need or want any of this -- I figured, couldn’t hurt, might help -- but I’m trying to get a handle on what, exactly, I’m looking at here. Easier to eradicate these things at their root.” After all, he hadn’t done that with leo, and wasn’t that why he was in this mess now? Something else, followed by a soft, girlish laugh and it was plain to see that Siri was quite happy being summoned like this, being asked for information that she could attempt to give. Rules were important, and for a brief moment she considered reminding Cian of those. What he could gain from her also opened him up to her own perceptions, to the proximity of someone who didn’t require words to know things. Siri didn’t seem in a hurry to remind him, maybe because she wanted to be useful or maybe because she had discovered Cian Wilde to be a comfortable ground point from which she could navigate Emillion. If Caspar or Rictor ever left again, there would be others to help (and there had been in Reichberg too, had there not? Only not really, because Siri was always waiting subconsciously for her boys to return. Hard to find something new when you’re looking back still). A bit. Siri mouthed the word, turning in her tongue because it sounded wrong; none of this seemed like a ‘bit’ but held her peace because debating semantics was not the point of this exercise (test) game. “Can be done.” With great care she took the file in her hands and pulled out all the pages; her fingertips ran along the sides. Nothing. Siri relaxed and rose from the chair. Cian was probably not going to like what she was about to do but, well he had asked her to see. So Siri, in an abrupt, child-like gesture flung the papers upwards towards the ceiling, allowing them to rain down around the room. Better. Chaos was always so much better for this, she took a few steps into the paper mess created. Waited. One time, in the Mages Tower in Kerwon she had flung paper up like this trying to find someone for Helios. Worked back then but now? Siri wasn’t sure, she shut her eyes and took another step. There were rats. Pinkish tails, brown coats — they slithered beneath the boards and gnawed at ropes, at wood, at cloth, at flesh — not hers — — someone (but do you want to see someone eaten alive by rats?). Dripping water, Siri tilted her face upwards (because it wasn’t water, too thick and too cool); poison. Brown and ugly, curling from the ceiling, extending downwards (not a rat, that was not a rat). Her mouth open in surprise — — awake. The flutter of papers was momentarily surprising, but he said nothing about it -- who was he to say how prophets touched their knowledge? It was just papers; he’d have them cleaned up. He watched her carefully, noting when the blankness came over her eyes like a veil. He watched as she shuddered, like a leaf in a breeze he couldn’t feel. At her gasp of breath, he was already across the room (it was not, after all, a very large room, for all that the shower of papers and her strange actions had temporarily made it foreign). He knew the drill now, thought he did -- his hand over hers (warm over cold), a squeeze. Correct. His touch grounded her and she shuddered all over, like a duck shaking off the excess water after a dip in the pond. There was no right or wrong, mostly Siri went with impulse, allowing her fingers to guide her but she couldn’t do this without prompting. Back home, Helios had always guided her through what he wanted to know and Siri knew no other way but that or the unwelcome assault of nightmares. Answers were never clearly cut, “They’re underneath the boards and eating the ropes, best play that flute and guide them to the river. Quick. Quick before they bite at that sore scale you have, encircling your heart.” Siri looked up at Cian, but whoever was there was not Siri but a smiling predator with honeyed words and sharp teeth, Keep asking more, my dear Serpent, just never forget the contract you’ve signed. One day I’ll kiss you Mad while licking your tongue. Siri leaned against him, shutting her eyes and using his weight to lead her back. Her head was quiet, she had (screamed) got it all out. However, she felt it too, from him to her — a tangible weakness beneath those worn scales, betrayed by their brushing hands. “Hm,” he said. That was really all there was to say about it at the moment -- he’d have to think through her words and see if he could decipher anything usable out of it. For now, it seemed to be more of what he already knew -- bastards sitting in the shadows, biding their time, looking for a point of weakness (sore scale, encircling your heart -- where was that spot? He had a notion and he didn’t like it). “Not going to sit on my hands and wait for them to come to me, that’s for damn sure,” he said. No, he’d have to act soon. The Ring team match was coming up soon; he’d try to corner them there. If the ringleader of what was looking to be a coup could be enticed into showing up… He held her as she seemed to require, a hand stroking absently over her hair once, twice. “Yeah,” he said, “time to drown some rodents.” Then, more for her benefit than his, “Don’t worry, prophetess. I’ll get them to play on my terms.” And that was all he’d need to win. Body against his, the embrace felt good with the steady beat and breath of his; slinking beneath and becoming another shadow in the room. Siri wanted to (did give in) pressing close as she could, “Rats swim, so make sure the water is deep enough.” Another shudder, this at the image of drowning rats, it twisted her stomach and made her want to scrub herself raw to get away from them. Siri swallowed and looked up at Cian, eager to say something but finding no adequate phrases, no coherent string of thought to pull and weave sense, only frayed edges; her mouth parted and then abruptly closed, her head turning towards the door. “Not alone.” It probably could have waited, but she wanted to get rid of the information quick. Holding on to this shit while Cian was investigating it usually ended up making more work for one of them in the long run - she knew this from experience - and so there wasn’t any point in keeping it. Besides, it might help out and the sooner they could take care of this problem (it was really strange to use they rather than I or he; a side effect of the truce, most likely) the better off they’d be. So she made the trek to his office. It wasn’t like she had anything else to do - a much needed day off - and if this was the only stop she had to make, well. It could have been worse. She could’ve been worried that he’d punt her out the door. That hadn’t happened since the truce, really. Maybe, if some semblance of luck were on her side, he’d have coffee. She rapped quickly on the door, standing outside until let in. He wasn’t expecting her, and there was no way in hell she wanted to get caught in his fucking traps. Again. The steps and subsequent knock came only moments after the mage’s warning; Cian’s posture tensed, hand on weapon. Unlike his home which was protected by empty floors riddled with traps, his office was accessible enough for anyone who knew which abandoned building to visit; the metal door didn’t have a peephole, however. “Who the hell is it?” He didn’t have any appointments scheduled for the next hour -- he hadn’t known how long this would take going into it. This is going to be pleasant, she thought with a sigh before answer. “It’s me. Another fucker wants to join up.” He sighed. “That’s just what I fucking needed,” he muttered before releasing Siri from his grasp. “Sorry,” he said. “Looks like the rats are multiplying.” A button was all it took to disable the primary security; he took care of the secondary on his way to the door, brushing his hand over the lintel. He opened the door, looking displeased but not pissed and said, “Come on in, princess.” Siri utter a sound which was clear disapproval at being released, no attempt at clinging on as she was not the type to do that. Instead she leaned back against his desk, seeking that spot between desk and Cian as the safest place for whoever and whatever was behind the door. Which was nothing to be afraid of because Cian had said princess and Siri was pretty certain that would not be the type of greeting he’d have for someone hated. Rats were lured in by other rats, amassing together and seeking strength in numbers Bird-like head tilt and she watched the newcomer in the room with no concealed curiosity. Ash walked in. He didn’t seem pissed, but she’d seen him go from zero to murder in about five seconds, and she doubted that a truce would stop any annoyance he’d have from her dropping in unexpected. Better to make it quick and painless then. Didn’t look like she’d get any coffee today. Damn shame, really; he’d bought the good caramel. “Turned up at the house,” she said, trailing off and frowning. Why the fuck were there papers strewn all over the damned floor? And who was the chick leaning against his desk? She knew he didn’t take his women here - just like her, they didn’t mix business and pleasure - so it was probably work related. Didn’t explain why there were papers all over the damned place. A quick glance down told her that the file had been about their lovely interlopers. “Here,” she said instead, handing him a file. “Everything is in there. Sorry to interrupt.” “It’s fine,” he said, waving off the apology, taking the file she held. “I was working on it anyway.” Working on it by letting the papers be tossed about, but hey, work was work, unconventional or not. He looked into the file, noted a vaguely familiar name. He wouldn’t have to dig very hard to connect him, he knew. They were getting closer to the leader of the pack. The idea of introducing the two women didn’t even occur (princess, this is the prophetess, make nice) as he leafed through the few pages, temporarily taking his attention from both. Siri seemed placidly subdued for the time being, her eyes moved between Cian to Ash and back again. Trying to put a puzzle together or a scene in her head. The woman standing there felt familiar but perhaps it was simply an extension from her touch of Cian. Perhaps it was best not to speak and she was content to keep her peace. She didn’t really know what to make of Ash, only that there was a vague discomfort tugging at the inside of her ribs. Not fear. Something like repulsion (not hate, but maybe pity not deserved). “You can’t find it yet, the big rat is in the ceiling beams, breathing down. Smells like poison.” Yeah, that made no fucking sense. Still, no point in saying anything about it. Instead, she gave the other woman a considering look - had to be information, no way would she be any use for enforcement unless she some sort of a mage, but even then, there was something about her that gave Ash the impression that it wouldn’t be a far stretch to assume that the other woman would be more likely to kill the target than not. Maybe that was what Ci wanted to use her for. Who the fuck knew. “He wants in on the team tourney,” she informed Cian. “Says he’ll partner with one of my troublemakers.” Which probably meant it wouldn’t end well for their opponents. Ash was going to have to find someone to partner with, someone that she could make good use of. No way was she planning on being background and dancing. There was that mention of poison, again. Swear to fucking Faram, if Loch was trying to kill him at last… Some days, Cian almost wondered if he wasn’t getting too old for this shit. Poison was banned from the Ring, but people had a tendency to find new ways to bend any rules that were in the way of what they really wanted. “Good,” he said. “Let him.” A glance at Siri before he added, “Full search -- fucking cavity search if you have to -- and check everyone’s weapons, though. Not just them -- no need to single them out, even if they’ll probably guess. And yeah,” he added, this time addressing the mage, “I know it’s not who I’m looking for. But it’s a step in the right direction.” Or he damn well hoped so. If this got more convoluted, he might have to change tactics. Siri despaired a little, she was saying it so clearly in her mind but whatever came out of her mouth didn’t seem to be of much use or sense to others. “Play your pipe some more, fast or slow.” Ash once again called for her attention, a subconscious yank of discomfort that she tried to ignore. Cian was a barrier between the two, it would have to be enough. Except it was not. Siri shuffled, slinking around so there was Cian, his desk and his chair in between her and Ash. Ash sighed. Ring was gonna be fun this go around. She couldn’t remember the last time they’d done searches - probably right after one asshole had tried to shoot his ex in the fucking head while she was competing - but no one liked them. Not contestants, not audience, not employees. Word would have to spread, and quick. Great. “Got it,” she said, frowning as the woman shifted, moving further away. Whatever. Not her problem. “I’ve got another appointment” lie, “so I’ll get out of your hair.” “Sure,” Cian said, a little absently. What was the prophetess on about? Of the two of them, Ash was the decent hume, not him, and Siri’d never had any problems with him that he could see. Belatedly, he added, “Thanks. I’ll use this.” Once he figured out what the hell other info sources he could tap, considering Siri’s unfortunate vagueness on the subject today. Unless she meant that the connection he’d found was still at least a rung below whoever was directing this whole mess… “Keep me posted,” he said, before seeing her out and reactivating the security. Only then did he turn back to Siri, cocking an eyebrow at her. “Problem?” Ash did not evoke fear in Siri, not the way Loch did whenever they spoke over the network. This was mild annoyance at not being heard but a deep rooted sense of... Repulsion? Disappointment? Siri couldn't say, so she looked at Cian, considered his question and decided against giving a shot at a clear answer. "She makes it hurt." Siri motioned towards her heart. “Oh yeah?” He didn’t show incredulity on his face, only a minor curiosity. Ash’s hands were -- comparatively -- clean. She seemed to have her shit more or less together, her ridiculous choice of profession aside. Granted, he recalled seeing these two bump heads on the network over philosophy (he’d skimmed, entertained, and chosen not to clue either in to his acquaintance with the other), but that didn’t seem to be cause enough for heartache. Or the prophetess could mean something else entirely. He was smart enough to realize he likely missed or misunderstood half of what she said. It was the other half that he had to use. “She’s harmless,” he told her, and it was even true, to most people -- though he couldn’t help wondering whether or not Siri would agree with that assessment. Siri frowned, quiet disagreement with his statement. It was not about clean hands or not, Ash radiated a kind of hurt that threatened to press against her heart; she radiated an aura that repulsed her and made her want to hide away. Not out of dislike but need to protect herself, Siri — only human — was still selfish enough to withdraw from things that distressed her, unless it was imperative to step into them. She hoped this was not one of those latter cases. Instead she slid close to Cian again, tapped his chest with one finger, “No, she’s not.” Sore scales, vulnerable pressing points. “No?” he asked. Interesting. He had to wonder what Siri could see that he himself could not. “You want to clarify that for me, maybe? Pretty sure if she’d wanted to kill me, she’s had three dozen opportunities by now.” She’d saved him instead. He didn’t mention it. “Wouldn’t bother hurting you unless you really crossed her.” Thoughtfully: “Takes more with her than it does with me.” “Sore scale around your heart,” Siri looked down at where his heart was and then up at him, dropped her hand. “She’s dangerous to you, but not a blade in an alley, nor the poison in your wine.” Her tongue felt thick in her mouth, unwilling to continue — the truth that they now both knew but he perhaps didn’t want to face. She was a prophet (a plaything, a warning, a shade) aiding him, not a woman who could understand the complexities of human interactions, not in the way other people did. His expression was fully shuttered, no cracks for any hints of emotions to seep through. It was, he thought, an unfortunate side effect of using this sort of source. She’d warned him, hadn’t she? Nothing in this world came free. So now, it seemed, she would be the second one -- aside from him -- to know. It proved she wasn’t a plant, too -- he’d ensured the dragons thought he gave zero fucks about Aisling Wilde except as a stabilizing force. So there was that, too, a silver lining to the situation he’d rather not be in right now, a conversation he didn’t want to be having. “Don’t worry about that,” he told her, his tone neutral. “That sort of danger I can” have to “live with.” Her chest ached for him, deep and sharp (would getting stab hurt like this?) and she rose on tip toes to kiss his cheek in an attempt to smooth the words she had uttered even if Cian had become unreadable and foreign to her. Something Siri automatically disliked, it made her feel off sync; much preferable was tangling her fingers with his own and dancing on rooftops. “You have my word, that I will look into what you’ve asked some more.” A small nod towards the spilled papers. “Then that’s all I can ask.” He offered a smile, very small, not terribly warm, but less icy than his previous expression. What she saw wasn’t her fault, he had come to assume -- and she’d learn in time the things that didn’t need mentioning. For today, he couldn’t blame anyone but himself, for asking a question he hadn’t really wanted answered with honesty. He bent, began picking up the scattered contents of the file himself. It was something that needed to be done; he might as well do it. “It’s getting late,” he said, the shift in topic abrupt. Don’t worry about that, words that really meant, never mention it. “I’ll give you a ride back to the tower if you want. I remember you’re a fan of heights.” Siri would always answer him with honesty, not to wound but because of the question — when the mind is a maze and the words you speak come out tangled, lies would only make coherency worse. Of course she was beginning to understand that with Cian some things were best left in silence. Or she would attempt silence, but if he asked a question… well, then he would receive answers. The prospect of heights cheered her up, she smiled — what she had learned had not been forgotten, but put aside for his sake. “Yes, let’s go dance on rooftops again.” |