LEX LOCI (2/?)
anonymous
July 20 2011, 20:48:46 UTC
‘…But,’ Athenril continued, as they’d both known she would, ‘just because it seems simple doesn’t mean it will be. You know that. I know that. Anyone worth anything in this blighted city knows it. The easier it looks, the worse it’s gonna be. That’s Kirkwall for you, and I’m not taking any chances. I just need some surveillance-surveillance that doesn’t get distracted by the first well-endowed Fereldan to walk by showing too much up-top. The place is crawling with pests. Carta, Coterie, templars: you name it. And don’t ask me why a hole in the wall free clinic in Darktown means so much to these idiots. If I wasted my time with all the whys I’ve got, I’d be rotting in a ditch instead of talking to you. Remarkable how similar those two feel sometimes, though.’ Leto offered her a gesture to continue. She liked to talk. She also liked to pinch the indistinct bridge of her nose and sigh, which she did then, signaling it was soon time for briefing to be over, for action to begin. ‘Humans, right? Don’t even have the decency to be dependable. Like qunari. Or even dwarves.’
‘A free clinic in Darktown,’ Leto agreed.
Athenril shot him another look, this one barbed as an arrow, but not without its own affections. She always had said the reason she liked him so much-aside from how useful the magical fisting thing was, that he had a gift and didn’t shy away from the blood and guts of using it like most people-was that he was the only bastard in her hire who had the instincts for picking the one useful sentence out of so much clap-trap.
Plus, she sometimes added, with her sly smile, no teeth, training a guy like you to be my kind of useful? I wouldn’t trade it for the world.
There was some of that meaning in her eyes now, the barest of light catching hard as chipped glass. Beneath that, she was tired; Leto knew from experience that she’d been on her feet nearing two full days without rest, and she was looking to end this ‘pleasant chat’ and grab some shut-eye. For however long it lasted.
Usually, it didn’t.
‘No fights,’ Athenril added. ‘Nothing to call attention to us monitoring the situation, either. All right? I just want to know what’s going on there, ‘cause it’s gotta be something. Something that isn’t free,’ she added. ‘Nobody cares if there’s no profit involved.’
‘And we care,’ Leto agreed.
Athenril nodded once, sharp. ‘Which means there’s profit involved. Your cut’ll be the same as always. Rent paid in full, and anyone asking questions about you gets their tongues cut out.’ She paused. ‘Not too many of those lately, Fenris. Maybe you might consider a different form of payment someday? Like…real coin?’
‘No,’ Leto replied.
Unlike so many others, she didn’t pause, or anticipate a further thank you.
‘Oh well.’ Athenril shrugged. ‘Your loss, anyway. Pleasure doing business with you, as always.’ She didn’t show Leto out; he already knew the way of it.
Beyond Athenril’s corner of the market, tucked into half-affected safety nearby the Blooming Rose, a late sun shifted over the Hightown buildings in narrow slants, and Leto headed straight for the stairs into lower climes, where no one looked twice at an armored elf.
*
There were some who believed Darktown worse than the alienage proper, and some who believed there was nowhere in Kirkwall worse than the alienage. Leto had little stake in which assessment was marked commonly victorious; that there was a competition at all said everything it needed to. Both were dank, wretched, vile-in their separate ways, to their separate detriment.
With the influx of Fereldan refugees-the Blight, as Leto understood it, driving them from home, into this unwelcoming place-it was arguably better for the elves these days, at least by comparison.
But that was only if anyone wished to waste his breath arguing about it.
‘A free clinic in Darktown,’ Leto agreed.
Athenril shot him another look, this one barbed as an arrow, but not without its own affections. She always had said the reason she liked him so much-aside from how useful the magical fisting thing was, that he had a gift and didn’t shy away from the blood and guts of using it like most people-was that he was the only bastard in her hire who had the instincts for picking the one useful sentence out of so much clap-trap.
Plus, she sometimes added, with her sly smile, no teeth, training a guy like you to be my kind of useful? I wouldn’t trade it for the world.
There was some of that meaning in her eyes now, the barest of light catching hard as chipped glass. Beneath that, she was tired; Leto knew from experience that she’d been on her feet nearing two full days without rest, and she was looking to end this ‘pleasant chat’ and grab some shut-eye. For however long it lasted.
Usually, it didn’t.
‘No fights,’ Athenril added. ‘Nothing to call attention to us monitoring the situation, either. All right? I just want to know what’s going on there, ‘cause it’s gotta be something. Something that isn’t free,’ she added. ‘Nobody cares if there’s no profit involved.’
‘And we care,’ Leto agreed.
Athenril nodded once, sharp. ‘Which means there’s profit involved. Your cut’ll be the same as always. Rent paid in full, and anyone asking questions about you gets their tongues cut out.’ She paused. ‘Not too many of those lately, Fenris. Maybe you might consider a different form of payment someday? Like…real coin?’
‘No,’ Leto replied.
Unlike so many others, she didn’t pause, or anticipate a further thank you.
‘Oh well.’ Athenril shrugged. ‘Your loss, anyway. Pleasure doing business with you, as always.’ She didn’t show Leto out; he already knew the way of it.
Beyond Athenril’s corner of the market, tucked into half-affected safety nearby the Blooming Rose, a late sun shifted over the Hightown buildings in narrow slants, and Leto headed straight for the stairs into lower climes, where no one looked twice at an armored elf.
*
There were some who believed Darktown worse than the alienage proper, and some who believed there was nowhere in Kirkwall worse than the alienage. Leto had little stake in which assessment was marked commonly victorious; that there was a competition at all said everything it needed to. Both were dank, wretched, vile-in their separate ways, to their separate detriment.
With the influx of Fereldan refugees-the Blight, as Leto understood it, driving them from home, into this unwelcoming place-it was arguably better for the elves these days, at least by comparison.
But that was only if anyone wished to waste his breath arguing about it.
Reply
Leave a comment