Lucressia Peron (lucressia) wrote in thebattleage, @ 2011-04-02 15:09:00 |
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Entry tags: | ! unfinished, (backscene), (thread), black matthew, lucressia peron |
backscene: murderers old and new
Who: Lucressia Peron, Black Matthew, Master Ignacio (NPC).
When: 9:37 Dragon.
Where: The Gnawed Noble, Denerim.
Rating: TBA/G.
Summary: Assassins, thieves and scoundrels sometimes just like to have a day off and a quiet drink.
Lucressia had been working the stall in the market with Cesare all day; as ever, after time spent in the central square of Denerim's Market, she felt as though the smell of dog and mud would never leave her. The sounds of rough Fereldan accents; barking, from mabari and from humans calling their wares alike; it might have been much like the markets of Rialto, the mercado de pesces, the mercado del vino, even the mercado des schiavi, but having been away from home had colored her recollection with sentiment. They did not stink or sound like Ferelden markets, surely not.
Sometimes she forgot her air of annoyed superiority enough to enjoy herself, though; for much of the day, this had been the case. She had convinced a noblewoman to buy twice the amount of perfume she actually needed––it was incredible what a little flirting could do, even with someone who surely had people lining up to flatter her for some kind of advantage. She had shooed the same filthy urchin away six times after catching him eying their merchandise. Finally, she resorted to pointing out that they had a bear in a cage, and that they didn't often feed it, because Antivan bears liked best to gnaw on the sinews of little boys. Especially the underfed ones; they lasted longer. Since such things were a challenge to come by, the poor bear often went hungry. In fact, he looked especially hungry today…
After that? No more urchin problem. Funny how these things worked out.
It was late in the day when a courier arrived with a message. In and of itself, it was not unusual; couriers came all the time for the Antivan Crows. Carrying contracts, carrying letters, carrying requests from other cells or inquiries from interested parties. The couriers were seldom real couriers, of course; this one was a elven housewife, who walked nervously up to the caravan's wagons where they sat in the Market, tucking her hair behind her tapered ears several times. A nervous tic--or a good performance of one. Lucressia used the same technique. After tucking her hair behind her ear once, the elf made a little sign with the last two fingers of her left hand; Lucressia caught it (the elf had made sure she would catch it, more than likely) and was instantly on her toes.
And, indeed, when the she-elf nervously walked away a few moments later, to look at the dwarven weaponsmith across the avenue, there was a slip of paper sitting by the wagon wheel.
The sign had been an important one––urgent message––and the paper only made it more clear. It was a series of marks Lucressia had seen a few times before, but knew no meaning for. Two of them, she didn't think she'd ever actually seen; she could only spare the slip of paper a glance, before she tucked it into her bodice. "Cesar––I want to go and see if Ignacio is out of his cups yet. Will you miss me if I go?"
From the other side of wagon, where he had been moving boxes of swords to a less conspicuous place (the number of wolf pelts they had in stock, now, sold by farmers and bumpkins galore, would cover up the more suspicious stock from prying eyes very nicely), "I'll always miss you, guapa." She laughed; he continued, poking his face with its scraggly beard out from behind the wagon. "Go, tell him to bring me back a flagon." The bear made a noise; contented, Lucressia thought, but then again she knew almost nothing about bears that did not come from this one, Pepito.
Why they called the bear Pepito? Ignacio refused to say.
"I'll bring him a flagon, too."
She crossed the square, skirts trailing on the ground a little behind her, having to dance aside once to avoid a knight in full armor who seemed intent on plowing through the crowd without stopping, scowl on her face. But that was all––then she was stepping into the Market's premiere tavern, the Gnawed Noble. Lucressia still didn't know who it was named for; but it was a colorful name, and she appreciated it. Her eyes adjusted; she searched the seats and couches and tables scattered around the main room, before her eye caught on the pale bald head with which she was so familiar. Her employer; her mentor; her patron; her father, if you believed what either of them said; her Crow Master; her… just Ignacio, that made the most sense. He was at a table, a mug before him, in the middle of a conversation with a dark-haired man she did not immediately recognize. They looked about the same age; it was hard to gauge anything else about her employer's companion, just yet, although Lucressia tried; she was trained to pick apart anyone that she came across, as an exercise, if nothing more. For example––the perfume-buying noblewoman was married, but unhappy in it, if Lucressia believed the story her jewelry and interest in scents told; the knight who had almost smashed into her was probably from Amaranthine or somewhere on the Waking Sea coast; the urchin had absolutely been planning to steal something, but wasn't very good at it. This man was more difficult.
So she'd just have to watch closely; for now, she strode up to Ignacio, and cleared her throat. Best genteel Antivan lady impression she could muster. "Here you are," she greeted, smiling. "I was beginning to despair of finding you."
Ignacio laughed––he had an easy laugh, because it helped his image, made him approachable, made him unthreatening. He seemed to laugh at any opportunity, in public. "There's no reason for despair. Matthew, have I introduced you to my daughter yet?"