pockets full of gold

.

A relieved smile tipped Lola’s lips as the other person assured her they weren’t hurt. “I’m glad,” she murmured. They seemed almost amused at her apology, something the florist found a relief. there was no telling how offending someone at the party might end. She answered with a nod and was a little stunned as they started to lead the way. “Thank you. I don’t think I’ve ever attended a party quite like this,” Lola continued with a wry smile. While she might be more reserved, there was something charming about the near raucous environment. Her surprise continued to grow as the crowd seemed to part for them. Clearly the person she’d stumbled into was important. The thought made Lola uneasy.

One misstep, and she could ruin her carefully crafted reputation.

Like magic, a bottle of liquor and two glasses appeared. It was almost reminiscent of being around Javier, if Lola was honest with herself. People orbited around the two of them, and things simply seemed to appear. Given the party at hand, the florist was willing to bet that this person had fought tooth and nail for the privilege.

“I am,” the woman admitted with another smile. It was tempting to repeat the rumours she’d heard about the scotch being stolen from the palace, but Lola was willing to bet that someone as important as this would know the truth of the matter. “Though it’s not something I get to indulge in often. I think it’s so interesting how it’s made, the different things that can influence its flavor,” she continued, almost unable to help herself. “Is there something about this particular scotch that speaks to you?” Lola asked, head tilting to the side out of curiosity.

.

Were they new to the game, Rowan wondered, or had her family been dealing in shady stuff and she’d just taken up the mantle more recently, made decisions that put the little business in the spotlight. That was unlikely considering how far reaching their contacts went, and that it was only recently Rowan had heard tell of her, but it wasn’t entirely outside the realm of possibilities. It was all the more reason to proceed with caution; Rowan didnt know how much she knew. “Mmm, we don’t often have excuses to gather like this, do we? But hey, for unity and all that, we thought it was worth putting something together while we were all in the same place.” 

It didnt happen much after all, Rowan especially spent a lot of time hopping between dukedoms for meetings and missions and such, their time for more casual exchanges with other nefarious folk was often very limited. Honestly Rowan didn’t mind that though, they’d never describe themselves as a social butterfly.

Rowan nodded, and poured her some scotch too befoe setting the bottle back on the countertop and taking a sip of their own. She apparently knew a little something about the scotch making process, which was interesting. The fairwinds did produce some of the best liquor around, they were willing to bet this bottle had probabyl started life there itself. “S’got a bite to it, without tasting like crap.” They said, reaching into their pocket for a cigarette to light up, “I like bitter, but there’s only so much a scotch can burn before it becomes unpleasant.” It was a mite fancier than the sort of stuff they usually had to drink down in Stone Garden, Rowan was going to have to stock up before they returned home. They offered their hand out to the woman, “Rowan Scott.”

⋅𖥔⋅ ━━✶━━ ⋅𖥔⋅ 

IT’S difficult to gauge what they are thinking at any moment. The two are expressionless, but while Kai sits upright, back straightened and chest up from his years of service, Rowan is all loose ends and unbothered breath with their cigarette and drink in hand.

He doesn’t move because he isn’t stupid enough to think that they wouldn’t be on guard. Perhaps they truly aren’t worried, but nobody becomes the Lord of Thieves without a few tricks up their sleeve. Kai does not think for a second that he is off the hook from the other’s clutches.

“You call this unity,” he replies, “and yet all I see is a crowd of miscreants partaking in stealing for their gain, violence for their vengeance, and drugs for their sick pleasure.” He does not stop the disgust from entering his voice, seeping through the breaths between individual words and syllables. “There is nothing here that I desire except to see that this gathering of friends ends.” The mocking tone is clear as day now, almost begging to glean a reaction, a tick of annoyance, something different from Rowan’s expression.

.

Rowan Scott did not intimidate easy. That should not have been a surprise to anyone, especially not the naval commander who had to be all too aware of just how much Rowan themselves commanded without the financial backing or support of the kingdom. You couldn’t ass kiss or impress your way to the sort of power Rowan had, and as such they weren’t going to be impressed by Kai’s position or his rigidity. If anything, they were bored by him. The control he had? An illusion, all held in someone elses hands really. He could be raking it in with just a few morally ambiguous deals, but he stayed loyal instead. Dull.

Their expression darkens a smidge as he bad mouths the party, but Rowan knows better than to loose their cool so quickly. They take a drag from their cigarette, mulling over a response. He isn’t technically wrong in his observations, but Rowan takes issue with how quick he is to judge, how immedietly distasteful he finds it all. “You’re right.” They say, one shoulder lifting in a shrug as they turn and exhale smoke, “your idea of unity and my idea of unity, I’m sure they’re markedly different. See, I come from a place where I learned fast I could only rely on me and mine for support.” They lean forward a little, gesturing towards Kai with their drink holding hand- it is a slow, sweeping, and none threataning movement of their hand- “you’re from a place with the backing of the kingdom.” Rowan leaned back again, taking a sip of their drink, mouth twisted into a grimace, “I ain’t about to forget who was there for my dukedom when we needed support. Unity ain’t just a word you get to toss about when it makes you sound good. So, I’m sorry you ain’t in the mood for a party, but we’ve got permission from the owners of the land and pub to be here, so you’ve got no grounds to be ending anything.”

-

Hana cocked her brow up at the sound of the familiar voice calling out to her from over her shoulder. The smallest hint of a smile pulled at the corner of her lips as she turned to face her fellow Lord of Hell, the Head of Thieves, Rowan Scott. She didn’t have to look at them to know in an instant that they must be just as displeased with the Queens new declaration as she was. Even if they were not one to let public displays of emotion readily grace their face, the disapproval of the army and navy intervening across the lands was inevitable. “I could say the same to you, Scott. The Royal Navy has always monitored the Seas of Shīqù Hǎi'àn, but now with this new decree, it looks like their jurisdiction has been extended to include that of Stone Garden. Have fun with the Army and Navy now in your backyard too.”

As far as the Pirate saw it, her day to day life would hardly change much. She had been bumping shoulders with Kai Ichinose her entire life and, sure, this new policy may incentivize the Navy to crack down on her and her crews a bit harder than before, but it was nothing she couldn’t handle. If anything, it aided her brother by solidifying Shīqù Hǎi'àn as a powerhouse and helped pull the Navy’s focus off of herself to that of the crimes in the other dukedoms. Her concerns, however, rested in the butterfly effect this new law was bound to have. Rowan’s thieves were part of her own network. Both Lords worked hand and hand to keep the Black Market thriving and, with criminals across the lands being targeted, it didn’t bode well for either of them. Not in the long run. 

“Perhaps we should,” She nodded in agreement as she motioned with a tilt of her head towards the nearest exit. “My ship is docked not far from here, if you would like to catch up in a place a bit more… private?”

.

Rowan didn’t really have friends- in their position it simply wasn’t wise- but they would say they liked Hana, she was smart enough to have as high ranking a position as Rowan did, at least, and that alone was enough to earn her some respect. Though she raised a fair argument, pointing out that she had far more day to day dealings with the likes of these institutions of power, Rowan was not moved much by the fact that these groups would be coming closer to their door. They even managed a convivial shrug, “it’s about time I faced a new challenge.” What the army and navy hadn’t known about their business before they would not discover simply by being in Stone Garden. This was, afterall, an empire that spanned far beyond the mountains.

Besides with the army and navy drawing closer so too did the opportunity to place a spy within their ranks. Or better yet, employ some bitter soul already trusted within their staff to bring Rowan information. With teams so large there had to be one or two dissolusioned folk within their ranks who’d like an easy way to earn some gold and cause some trouble. Rowan would find a way to make this work to their advantage, there was always an angle. Hana would probably enjoy having the focus of the navy so divided. Perhaps it would make transporting goods by sea an even safer route.

“Perfect.” Rowan agreed with a nod, “I don’t often have cause to be on a ship, so you’ll have to excuse me if I find the experience a touch novel.” They turned towards the exit without waiting for further input, and if they happened to swipe a bottle of wine off a table on their way it was concealed under their jacket and Rowan was out the door before anyone could notice it gone.

-

“Then neither of us would find need to keep up falsities. Yes?” A gently uttered, turn of phrase as she reposition herself against the chair. “Yours is a sturdy disposition. And mine is hardly made for… Friendly coercion.” It felt like the only way to cut the dishonesty out of the conversation. Ophelia preferred to speak candidly, based on facts and figures. Leaving the rare occasion to something as flighty as human attraction hardly appealed to her. From her observation, it scarcely appealed to them either. Even if it did - they did not let it show, apart from a harmless glance at her decolletage or a reference to her physical attributes. “It’s not in my particular skill set, anyways.” Ophelia admits candidly. There were a great deal of fast-talking, sensual, and intuitive provocateurs that could make their case. Just as their were sturdy fighters with the boldness and will to challenge their stance. But Ophelia was neither, and it seemed foolish to pretend otherwise. No matter how much the adrenaline or her choice of attire could make it seem.

“A woman who fears death is a wise woman.” It‘s muttered under bated breathe, velveteen yet pensive. What might appear as wisdom from a pensive healer with a head for books and knowledge. But Ophelia’s words are grounded in her own truth. She bequeaths a small smile, nodding placidly at their reassurance. “I believe it.” And for the most part, Ophelia did. The Sacred Wood and Stone Garden were entirely different relics of the Kingdom of Ashbourne. But misconception plagued both their lands, propagated by a painfully staunch and imperialistic leadership. History dictated that theirs was the land of thieves, home to a blinding dichotomy between ostentatious wealth and gut-wrenching poverty. Many only saw the crime, and not the aspects that played into it. She nods, in silent code. A way to let Rowan know that she did believe it.

Ophelia would never be daft enough to trust Rowan - but she understood that even they lived by a code. Just as the Sacred Wood’s resistance of rule and unconventional livelihood, had harmed their position over the years. Heralded for their innovations and hunting, yet pulled down a size because they would not waver under a universal crest. “Neither is my lot. I understand it completely.” She was not the empathic sort. Her soft words ought to not be mistaken for a bleeding heart. But Ophelia understood the pride that came with a misunderstood land. “But I’m not in the habit of taking chances.” Except for now, except for this year… Funny, how life worked. Changing gears, she chuckles slightly. “Tedious as it may sound, but if it were an important life?“ She shrugs, allowing her words to allude as they are expected. “How loose is your Dukedom when it comes to the less… legitimate parts of business.” There was no point in beating around the bush, now that her cards were exposed. “Its said that it’s commonplace, heralded instead of just tolerated. But rumors can be deceiving, and last night’s announcement has everyone curious.”

.

“I would be much more comfortable if pretense was dropped, yes.” For all the sneaking around and subtefuge their way of life required, Rowan told surprisingly few lies. There was no such thing as an honest crook and certainly plenty of people had the wrong idea about where their loyalties were- the only right idea was that they had no loyalty to anyone except themself- but as much as possible they were upfront about their intentions and wants. Everything tended to go a lot smoother that way, and considering the amount of roadblocks already in their path Rowan wished to control what they could. For as much as they might enjoy the flirting, if it was all for the sake of securing information Rowan would much rather be without it. “Ah, don’t be too hard on yourself. You’re plenty good at ‘friendly coercion’“ They put the phrase in air quotes, as well as one could while still holding a cigarette. “From where I sit, anyway.” 

Which was very close to her. Rowan eased back into their chair. “Or just one who spends their life fearing something they can’t control.” They countered with a shrug. They did not breathe a sigh of relief at her easy acceptance of the fact that she’d been in no danger of death, but it was something of a relief regardless. There were plenty of folk who- even understanding the bredth of Rowan’s control in the underworld- wrote off anyone from the stone gardens as a mindless savage. They would never be able to change minds on that front and it was a fact that had accepted long ago, and yet, it was nice to know Ophelia had brains and experience enough to see past those old ideas. Sacred Wood had its own share of stereotypes to battle against, after all.

She almost makes them laugh again, but this time Rowan is successful in swallowing the sound down with a mouthful of scotch. Still their eyes dance with amusement as they glance around the room before returning to her. Not in the habit of taking chances? “No?” They hum and shake their head, “you could’ve fooled me.” She seemed... Not at ease, exactly, but excited by what she was trying to make happen. If Ophelia was truly not in the habit of taking chances, then it was out of obligation and not because she didn’t enjoy the risk.

Rowan stills as they consider just how much to give away in response to her question, their only movement the shifting of their hand to their mouth to take a drag from their cigarette a few times, the motion so familiar it comes naturally. “I am able to operate my business from the Garden without fear that I will be reprimanded or shut down out of the blue. If you were looking for a way to procure certain... Let’s call them ingredients for your purposes, hm? If you wanted a consistent supply of these ingredients- say once a month or so- I am cabale of arranging that sort of thing. Even after yesterdays announcement.” 

⋅𖥔⋅ ━━✶━━ ⋅𖥔⋅ 

KAI should not have thought himself lucky to escape the grasps of the Pirate Lord unharmed — for where there is one crook, there is bound to be another, and right as he removes himself from Hana’s company, he is met with none other than the Lord of Thieves themselves.

Turning, he composes his face, unwilling to reveal even a shred of discomfort amongst the partygoers, especially not in the presence of Rowan. He tilts his head to his side, expression unmoving as he regards the other’s intentions. “You must be mocking me,” he answers. Still, he slides into the seat next to them, eyeing the cigarette and drink with a suspicious eye. He had yet to see anything illegal (aside from the existence of the party itself), but Kai knew that darker things lurked around the corners. All he has to do is shine a light, no matter how disfigured they may be.

Pausing, he allows a brief moment of silence to pass between them before speaking again. “And I suppose you’re putting up an act of civility, for the sake of conversation.” Sighing, he rubs the back of his neck before meeting their eyes again. “Or do you really trust me not to shut down this gathering this instant?”

.

Rowan could have him bleeding to death where he sat with just the slightest of hand gestures. (Curling their fist, running their thumb across their knuckles.) It would only take about ten seconds, then it would all be over. So quick, practically painless, but the chaos it would cause? Endless.

Of course they didn’t doubt that plenty of people knew Kai’s whereabouts at this moment- he was not so foolish as to come here without telling people- and so with this party as his last known location there were plenty of crooks to pin the blame on, and easy as it would be for Rowan to find a scapegoat it wasn’t worth the effort for the fact that the rest of the criminal underbelly might turn on them for causing such a ruckus.

No, Kai gets to keep breathing. For one more night at least, unless someone else makes the decision to do him in for themselves. Rowan certainly wouldn’t stop them. “Me?” Rowan turns their head to exhale their smoke away from him, “I ain’t the mocking type, my disposition is much too serious.” A total lie of course, but they were sure Kai hadn’t come here expecting honesty.

The silence doesn’t unnerve them, Rowan sits as comfortably as ever, hands both clearly occupied with cigaretta and drink. They don’t want to make any sudden movements, or give him reason to suspect them of reaching for a weapon. There’s a dagger up the sleeve of their jacket anyway, they could have it in hand before he had chance to so much as flinch.

They raise their shoulders in a convivial shrug, “you ain’t shut it down yet.” Rowan pointed out, “we aren’t doing anything wrong, just a few friends having a bit of a gathering. For the sake of unity, y’know? Thought that was what you lot wanted.” They sip their drink as a chorus of amused laughter ripples through the crowd quietly watching them. “Can I get you anything? A drink, a smoke, something to eat?”

Rowan was not given to public displays of emotion, because such things gave your enemies too much ammunition. The very keen eyed among the crowd who were foolish enough to be looking at them instead of at her highnesses Catherine and Beatrix might notice how one hand tensed around their glass fo scotch, and the other twitched ever so slightly at their side, as if ther emight normally be a large dog there who’s head they would pet.

It did not take long for them to force themselves to appear relaex again, though their stormy gaze was not so easily tampered. Hana. The Pirate Lord was their closest link to the Lost Coast. (They have a handful of tenuous allies in Ravenspeak too, but those people got so tetchy whenever Rowan smuggled away their weaponry. Hana outranked the most of them, too.) They seek her out in the crowd. It takes a moment, she’s dressed far more elegantly than Rowan would normally see her. Though it’s not as if Rowan floats about in... Well, alright they do wear things covered in spikes quite a lot. 

They weave through the crowd to her side and by the time they reach her Rowan wears a small smile that gives no hint to the calculations and scheming happening in their head. They want to ask her outright if she had any prior knowledge of this and decided to keep it from them, but a ball is no place for accusations. “Have fun with all that overseeing of legality happening in your dukedom. Hope your boat is hard to recognize.” Rowan manages to tease, voice light. “Perhaps the two of us should talk.”

-

It was a passive glance and a pointed quip, but it burns Ophelia’s skin nonetheless. Not unlike the gaze of one flirtatious, bon vivant Pirate Lord who took to the sweet-tempered healer while bearing scrapes and cuts. The difference; however, exists in what’s unsaid behind Rowan’s darting eyes. Certainly - they could mean their suggestive words. They might admire her figure beneath the sheer lace of black and gold, or the refined figures of a conversational beauty. However, the tonality of their statement is clear. Her feminine wiles would not deter from the line of questioning. Nor would it provide ample distraction, as she finds an opportunity to slink away. No harm done, no lines cross. Safely and precariously on the line of plausible deniability.

But Ophelia doesn’t make a move towards them, or away. She sits steady and simply quirks her lips upward, ambivalence weighing against their cold gaze. “And yet, unlike them, you don’t strike me as the type to let it loosen your lips.” She’s emboldened by the lingering gaze and her life, hanging on by the flimsiest of threads, to dig deeper. “Correct me if I’m wrong.” Ophelia challenges, the tenor of her alto voice soft but evocative nonetheless. A passing thought to if she was almost enjoying the danger of present company, amidst the debauchery of the underworld. It certainly beat the quiet nights of nausea, migraines, and quivering bones. At least this made her feel alive.

Funny, Ophelia thinks, how the prospect of death makes one feel alive. A juxtaposition to debate for another day. For now, she holds the cigarette between her lips. Unfamiliar yet instinctive, as she takes a second low drag. The nicotine engulfs her throat, before passing through her lips and nostrils. A slight raise of the brow, as the subtle shake of Rowan’s head. Her back feels warm, and gross curiosity prompts her to peer over her shoulder. A sight of a burly, muscular man hovering a ways away. She swallows an unconscious lump in her throat. Reminding herself that she hailed from the ever-powerful Sacred Wood. From warriors (most of whom, were here tonight) who did not fight petty thieves for a living. No, mythical creatures were their adversaries. She would be safe. Instead, she turns her head back towards Rowan, cheeks pink from second hand embarrassment.

“I don’t know, Scott. That way might have been quicker than this.” She gestures to the cigarette, some off-based attempt at a joke to deter from the discomfort. A silent hum, as she nods in acceptance of their advice. “Well,” she pops her lips. “When the ultimate cost is life, everything else is a bargain. Is it not?” Ophelia speculates, as if she were a philosopher and not someone whose own life was in question. “I know the costs.” She says for simplicity’s sake. “I also know what my skill set is worth.” She could not procure jewelry or take down less affable creatures. But Ophelia could bequeath life. How many could say the same?

“Have I answered your questions to your satisfaction?” Blame it on adrenaline, or the prospect of speaking directly to powerhouse themselves. But Ophelia chooses to take advantage of an unlikely tet-a-tet with the Pirate Lord themselves. “I might have a couple of my own, if you’d do me the courtesy.” Her lips purse into a half-smile. “I won’t bat my lashes like a green girl of sixteen, or shower you with false praise. Not unless that’s what you’re hoping for.”

.

Rowan does not get to flirt much. It’s an entertaining passtime, but not something that there is much opportunity for in their day to day life. Plus with the power they yeild they can never be sure if any returned quips are genuine. It’s for the best, anyway, such relations are best kept top secret considering their business and that sort of secrecy can be tiring to orchestrate. Half the time it probably wouldn’t be worth it to even try.

They run their tongue along their teeth, head tipping slightly to the side. “You’re not wrong.” Rowan confirms, “I know the value of my information, after all. I’m the one who sets the prices.” It would take more than a pretty girl in a dress to have Rowan spilling their guts, like a lot more. People have certainly tried, some in much the same manor as Ophelia now- honey traps- others with far more violent methods. Rowan has endured all sorts on their journey to the top of the pyramid and was all too much work for it to be torn apart over the course of an evening at a party. 

Rowan hopes that Ophelia would not notice or simply ignore the gesture, but it becomes quickly apparent that they’re expecting too much complacency of a person who has already come to an undergound party seeking information on illicit substances. So much for not spooking the poor girl too much. They pinch the bridge of their nose for a moment, and make a mental note to have a word with their people about the arts of subtelty and blending in to a crowd. “He wouldn’t have killed you over a cigarette.” Rowan frowns, feeling the need to make a defence even if it was just a weekly delivered joke on her end, “We’re not that needlessly cruel. At least, my lot aren’t.” They had rules. A code, a system for dealing with slights of different severity. 

@rowanxscott​

The afterparty was a much more raucous affair than the grand ball had been. While she didn’t feel as though she truly belonged at either affair, Lola was much more at ease at the party. Slipping into the part of Laurel was much easier than being herself for anyone to see. At least here, her identity was at least partially hidden. And who would suspect the rabbit-toting Lola Garrido of peddling poisons? As interesting (and lucrative) as the party was, the florist sighed at the thought of her little companion. At least by the end of it, she’d have plenty of secrets to whisper into Lunita’s fluffy ears.

Fortunately, the rabbit could be trusted with such things. Present company..seemed less so, and the florist couldn’t help but check that her mask was securely in place. Having her identity (identities?) leaked over the festival would be ruinous given how word seemed  to get around about her wares. Evidently, she wasn’t the only one willing to take advantage of the party for a business opportunity. It was admirable, if she were being honest though few of her countrymen would agree. It brought another sigh as she started weaving through the crowd in the hopes of finding some of the famed scotch that had been stolen the night before, if rumor could be believed. The crowd seemed to grow more raucous, and the florist found herself jostled around and into someone else. “Perdon” she exclaimed softly, stepping away as she looked up at the other person. “Are you alright? I didn’t hurt you, did I?” Lola continued, sincerity shining in her dark eyes. The last thing she wanted was to risk insulting a guest of Hana’s.

.

One of the perks of Rowan’s position that they no longer had to fight so hard for intel. People just brought it to them. All night, their lackeys parsed conversations for trouble or interesting tidbits and fed that information back to their fearless leader, lord of thieves. (When you got so powerful and controlled so much it wasn’t just the physical objects you dealt in anymore. Secrets had a high price too, Rowan was something of a collector, they were a fantastic motivator.) 

So here was the latest bit of knowledge to pique their interest; someone at this party was selling poisons. The kind you might normally find out in the fairwinds, pedalled by one particular seller. Rowan had been trying to figure out exactly who that was for a few years now for no avail. Not for nefarious reasons really, it was just goo dbusiness to know who else was working in the same sphere as you, hell, they might’ve been able to strike up something of a trade deal. 

Though as tends to happen at parties, Rowan was distracted from their plan to track the seller down by some joking around and jostling, finding themselves laughing at the edge of an informal audience to a little friendly arm wrestling match. As there was a victory the crowd cheered together, and someone stumbled into their side. Rowan turned, quietly bemused by the gentle kindness of the stranger. To be so worried about just a little jostle spoke of a softness not usually found at a party like this. “Nah.” They shook their head, “I’m tougher than I look. No blood no foul.” Behind her, one of Rowan’s goons made a short series of hand gestures- they had a shorthand, a few symbals that communicated basic sentiments quickly- this could be that poison seller. “You trying to get to the bar? Could do with a drink myself.” 

They headed towards the bar with ease, the crowd aprting for them until they were leaned up against the bartop with the woman. Without much waiting a bottle of scotch and a couple of glasses were set down. Rowan poured themselves a glass, and gave the bottle a small shake, “you a scotch drinker? We’ve got other stuff too, but this is my favorite.”

𝐒𝐔𝐂𝐇 𝐀 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐍 𝐕𝐄𝐍𝐄𝐄𝐑, 𝐖𝐀𝐒𝐍'𝐓 𝐈𝐓 ? 

Legality across the realm — as if that was the true purpose of the announcement by their oh-so-attentive rulers! No, those who hungered for power & control could see beneath the preaching of peace and prosperity, palatable as it may be to the more docile-seeming dukedoms, and see what it came down to in the end. The urge for independence amidst some, including Sandspell, and though Stone Garden officially maintained a stance of neutrality, Louisa herself. Already she had considered that this was the key in dealing with it all moving forward, the technicality of what was official, and what was not.

For where was that unity before Louisa Macaulay was forced to run a sword through her brother’s body to ensure any at all? If it had not come at Ashbourne’s will before then, it would not come now, and would always — to her — be considered too little, too late.

( Where the duchess’ beliefs differed from that of the lord of thieves was thus: everywhere, even a party, was a place for politics. That its invisible hand moved the strings of everything, regardless of whether it was convenient or cumbersome, and must be accounted for. )

Blue eyes caught Rowan’s across the crowd, and silently she followed their gesture. An unfortunate necessity, perhaps, but was that such a deviation from the norm? Was it not how they considered all their interactions, neither enjoying being cornered on any occasion into working with the other? By Louisa’s reckoning, at least, they’re much too similar for comfort, and either would be foolhardy to believe money, or any currency, could plausibly buy trust.

Ever graceful, she slipped into the chair across from them, slim fingers curling around the glass. The amber liquid was a reprieve, however slight, taking the edge off her more perpetual irritation. 

‘ I don’t intend to be intimidated, no, ’ she replied, ‘ technically speaking, it’s not official, nor does it concern trade deals or exchanges with other Dukedoms, or indeed … anything beyond a personal understanding. I was never instructed to disclose my private and personal transactions, so I shan’t. ’

Rowan wasn’t so naive as to think this proclomation was as simple as her highnesses would want people to believe. Unity was a flimsy cover for having access to information they had no real right to. Information. Power. It was a hostile takeover, done so slow most people would never even notice. Like putting a frog in a pot of cold water and slowly heating it until the animal died. They’d find it impressive if they weren’t so pissed off about it.

The power those two really needed in order to have full control- power over the unerworld- that power belonged to Rowan, and they had absolutely no intention of giving it up. Not for the sake of ensuring the dukedoms kept their autonomy or anything noble like that, just because they didn’t want to. It was their realm.

Though the peace with Louisa was tense, they were both smart enough to understand it was the best way to operate. Neither wanted the inconvinience of fighting with the other, when they both already had so much on their plates. If Rowan had to send them a little hush money, well, so be it. Secrets weren’t cheap and they’d always known that. They had their own ideas on how to make the relationship between the lord of thieves and whoever sat on the throne of Stone Garden easier on their pockets, but it was not yet the time to be putting such things into motion. Louisa would do for now.

Rowan’s mouth quirked up into a small bemused smirk at her respone to their questioning, “I did not doubt you. Much.” They nodded, taing a sip of their drink. “Good. I’m glad the nonsense of the kingdoms silly ideas will continue to be of little concern.” They slouched back in their chair a little more comfortably, reaching into their pocket for a cigarette to light, “of course given this new ruling if there’s anything new you might need handling under the radar, I’m sure you know you can come to me and I’ll handle it.”

-

Under the microscopic gaze of their crystalline eyes, Ophelia feels exposed. More so than the sheer fabric of her dress could ever allow her to feel. No, something else felt exposed - her very essence. The Head Healer took pride in their precarious nature. A conservative and reserved sort, that kept to the task at hand; protecting the Sacred Wood and maintaining the wellness of others. She never strayed off her golden path, one set at the loss of those she held so dear. The kiss of untimely death; however, suddenly thrusts her in media res. In the middle of life and living, where Ophelia hadn’t been. Far too concerned with staying alive, to ever truly live. While fear shakes its way through her fingers, something new comes alive in the irises of her dark brown eyes. Intrigue. Adrenaline. Excitement. Is this what it was like, to be reckless and free of caution?

She can feel herself revealing as much; the faint shake of her fingers and the altering crossing of her long legs. But Ophelia keeps the Lord of Thieves’ eye, and allows them to see what prevails beyond the jittery fear of a newcomer - intelligence, met with an emboldened disposition. A reminder that while Ophelia was wise enough to fear them, she would not allow herself to be underestimated. A woman did not rise to such a distinguished stature as ‘Head Healer’ of the Sacred Wood, without having a keen mind and a confidence in her actions. She kisses her lips, waving a passive hand at the backhanded compliment. “Men think any woman is beautiful after a few pitchers of ale and a few nights without a bedfellow.” While being talkative was not in her inherent nature, she feels the need to add; “Or when they believe she may be the last face they will ever see. The secrets they reveal? It would unnerve you.” A rather dark joke, not entirely to her humor. But one that Rowan might appreciate.

It’s an anecdote that falls short to the roaring laughter, that prompts a hesitant smile. The manic and somewhat condescending nature, not lost upon her. But she waits their humor out, and levels her eyes as they refocus on hers. The faint scent of cigarette smoke, turning her throat dry. “The myth, the legend, the worst of their lot… Rowan Scott, Lord of Thieves, as I live and breathe.” Ophelia addresses in turn, before refocusing on the question. She bids her time, never in a hurry to speak without thought. A long sip of her wine to soothe the nerves, before turning the entirety of her body towards Rowan.

“I made it to where I am today by seeking out solutions, wherever they may be. Ten years spent traveling and learning all I can, about every permutation both chemical and enchanted.” Ophelia begins, elaborating as requested. “But there are some mysteries that aren’t available just through my usual connections. Some that might be considered dangerous, or too powerful for medicinal use.” It’s a half-truth, and one that evoked a deadly ambition. If nothing else, Rowan could respect ambition over honorable intention, could they not? “I intend to do more, and accomplish more than those before me. Hence, why I am here, making conversation.” She was dancing with death, as her eyes gravitate towards the cigarette. A vice she would never have allowed herself, suddenly finding appeal. Without permission, she slowly reaches for the cigarette in between their fingers, and puts it in hers. “These things will kill you, you know.” Ophelia admonishes through a mutter, before taking a low drag of the smoke. An unyielding gaze, as she slowly exhales away from them.

.

The Stone Gardens taught you a lot about desperation. Even most of the more well off folk down there- excluding those absurdly well off owing to criminal enterprises- were still just clawing by, compared to most places. Some people coped with vices, turning to whatever was at hand to forget their pitiful existence, some tried hard to find pride in what they did have, others turned to more nefarious means to get what they thought they deserved.

What Rowan wanted to know, was what their home dukedom could provide that Ophelia couldn’t possibly get any other way, and how far she was willing to go to get it. She’d already lowered herself pretty far by showing up here. Had to be a question of need, not want.

But despite how out of place she is here Rowan recognizes a spark in her eyes; the feeling of holding a power you can only find in dark spaces like this, it’s as addictive as any illicit substance that can be found in the caverns. She fidgets but she doesn’t crack or waver, and she looks them in the eye. Now that is a feat even some of those on their payroll can’t manage. Rowan cants their head forward, letting their eyes drop to the neckline of her dress for just a moment- they don’t intend to disrespect, rather get their point across without having to say too much- “ain’t just the fellas who think it.” They grin a little, all teeth as they shake their head.

Rowan has heard plenty of deathbed confessions. More to the point, they’ve demanded them. There’s little a person could say to shock them now. They don’t have time to point that out to Ophelia though, as the topic moves on when their laughter subsides. “Stop it, you’ll make me blush.” A joke of course, though it might not be obvious from the dry delivery. Even with their pale complexion Rowan cannot recall the last time they were given to colour in their cheeks. Still, worst of their lot. They rather like that. 

They wait patiently while she gathers her thoughts, in no mood to hurry things along. Clever company may be easy to find, but interesting was more lacking. Most of the folk in this room lived and breathed the same way Rowan did. They leaned a little closer as she explained, brows furrowed as they picked apart her words and considered them carefully. It was only this concentrated analysis that allowed Ophelia to pluck the cigarette from their fingers. (Usually they were not in such close quarters while discussing things business related.) 

Now their gaze was steady on her as she placed the cigarette between her lips. Rowan clears their throat, reaching into their jacket pocket for another smoke to light up. “Not as quickly as some people at this party would like, I bet.” Her boldness is... Admirable, and amusing to boot. Again it could be the setting, or the scotch. There is the sound of heavy, purposeful footfalls behind her and Rowan looks over the top of her just long enough to give a minute shake of their head to the approaching goon. His face ligthens and he veers away from their table, and so Ophelia is saved from being dragged out for the cheek of stealing from the Lord of Thieves. It is just a cigarette afterall. 

“So... Knowledge. At any cost.” They summarize, voice still soft. This conversation would look more casual if they leaned back again, but given the party setting and how much else will surely happen for folk to gossip about Rowan finds themselves less bothered about how this might look to an outside eye. They’re having fun. “Or at least, I hope any cost. The sort of stuff you’re seeking out isn’t cheap.”

-

She awaits their answer with bated breath, doe eyes attempting to pull intent from the other’s uncompromising expression. It was a fool’s errand, and Ophelia surrenders it quickly. The Head Healer’s forte was not the depths of human condition and emotion. But sure fire logic and sound mind. Instead, her clear mind focuses on the facts at their disposal. The Sacred Wood was not an inherent enemy of Stone Garden’s. There would be no benefit to the Lord of Thieves, to take anyone of the present daggers and press it against her throat. It would evoke nothing but righteous fury, from an inclusive yet widely heralded Dukedom. Rowan Scott was many things, but cruel for cruelty’s sake? Ophelia was not one for bets - but she would stake a fair sum, that it wasn’t the case for the Lord of Thieves.

There’s a shallow breathe of relief, as the casual response releases Ophelia from immediate departure. However, the tap of their hand against the bar catches her attention. Rowan speaks as if it were a request - but wiser instincts prevail. She leans against the bar, brown eyes fixated on the bottle of corked wine. A split-second concern that it could be laced with poisons or toxins, as retribution for her overly-cozy disposition. But she dismisses it once Rowan pours a glass for themselves. A upwards quirk of her lip, as she murmurs a polite ‘thank you.’ She settles into her seat, legs crossed over as the thinly-veiled dress leaves little to the imagination. There were worse dresses to wear, when backed into a corner by the Lord of Thieves.

“It’s a party, is it not?” Ophelia responds, rhetorical and innocent in nature. But Rowan was no fool, and Ophelia hardly felt like playing one for much longer. It was one thing to appear the naive, doe-eyed beauty amidst burly men with large egos. Quite another to do so in superior company. “I have been making friends, yes.” She admits, always in favor of candor. “What can I say? I’ve always been the curious sort. And frankly, your people enjoy talking a lot more than they do listening.” With a soft smile, she cants her head ever so slightly. “Maybe if they knew to listen, they would know one or two medicinal secrets of my own. Something that would undoubtedly please… Well, you.” It was no secret that the Sacred Wood’s chief and mysterious export was its medicinal practices. Kept under lock and key, protected by the likes of her Duchy and Ophelia herself. Any thief with half an instinct for trade, would use every tidbit of information to replicate their successes. While, in turn, using it to curry favor with their Lord of Thieves.

“Would it please you to know that my intentions are entirely honorable?”

.

More than one of Rowan’s gang members had caught their eye and inclined their head towards Ophelia with a quirked brow or some other form of questioning expression throughout the night. They were well aware of how she’d been circulating and the sort of conversations that had managed to capture her interest. The truth was Rowan liked the Sacred Wood, generally speaking. They were against the kingdom, and had managed to keep the secrets of their most prized exports pretty hush hush. Such a thing was nowhere near the scale of the business Rowan ran of course- and there was a difference between secretive and illegal- but still, they respected the effort it took. 

They picked up their wine glass and took a sip. It wasn’t their favorite drink, but they’d seen Ophelia with a glass earlier, and the smoothness of it wasn’t unwelcome after the amount of talking there had been this evening.

Though their gaze flittered about it settled on Ophelia more often thaan not, watching for her minute fidgets and tells. You didn’t get to a position of power- no matter how highly esteemed a position- without learning how to hold yourself in precarious situations. Rowan wanted to know how good she was at playing that game, if their stare was truly enough to unnerve her.

Rowan’s stoic expression cracks for a moment when Ophelia recounts how easy it is simply to be a listener in this environment where everyone is so enamoured with the sound of their own voice. The corners of their mouth turn up in the smallest of smiles, and they exhale sharply through their nose. Not quite a laugh, but close enough to one for being in such new company. “I’ll forgive them for not putting the business first with the attention of a pretty woman at a party. There’s better times for getting secrets.” With another drink from their glass, the smile is tempered back down to neutrality, but this new front breaks again only a few moments later- they blame the several glasses of scotch they’ve already had this evening- with a real out loud burst of laughter.

Would it please you to know that my intentions are entirely honorable? 

The sound of their laugh- throaty, almost closer to a cackle, rare enough to be easily distinguished by those few who’ve heard it- draws a few surprised glances, and Rowan quickly swallows it back, lips pressed into a thin line and glare cold to send those who’d looked over turning back to their own conversations.

Honorable intentions. At a party like this, in a dress like that? Rowan doesn’t think. At the very least Ophelia has a need for something that she cannot procure through legal means. Even if she wants it for honest reasons, that’s not exactly a good word to be using around here.

Rowan leans forward with their elbows braced on the table, taking another drag from their smoke and exhaling it to the side- so rude, to blow it in someone’s face- “I’m sure you have to know who you’re talking to.” They say lowly, quietly. It’s not exactly a secret in their present company of course, but given the setting of the heartland, Rowan wasn’t taking the risk of having a conversation like this too loudly. “Honorable ain’t always welcome if it’s my people you’re trying to get secrets out of. So, fancy elaborating on those intentions a little bit?” It’s phrased like a question, but Ophelia has already proved she’s smart enough to understand that it isn’t really. 

Naval Commander Kai. A name and face Rowan is familiar with. It was important to know who the big players were on all teams, afterall, and though they knew to always expect the unexpected... Well, they hadn’t expected to see him here. Word of the party had clearly reached a little further than intended, if the law abiding sorts were here. 

He’d strode straight through the crowd of displeased party guests to confront Hana for her part in hosting first, which amused the Lord of Thieves to a point where they hid a smile behind a sip from their glass of scotch. Always a joy to see other people in trouble for things you had just as much hand in. Though they doubted they’d stay in the clear for long, Hana had no reason not to point the finger of blame in their direction. 

Rowan wouldn’t mind if he wanted to talk to them to. It wasn’t every day one got an audience with an infuriated naval commander. Though they were sure their business- particularly illicit trades and smugglings- were a thorn in his side, they were not often at the sight of such events themselves these days with so much to oversee.

Eventually his coversation with Hana drew to a close and the commander made his way to where Rowan still sat. As he approached they acted as if they’d only just noticed his arrival- as if every tense set jaw and murmur of outrage wouldn’t give him away- “ah, Kai.” They greeted casually, fishing a cigarette from their pack and lighting it as they gestured to the seat across from them, “seats free if you’re looking to get off your feet. Enjoying the party?” 

@rowanxscott​ | Sunday, June 7th at the underground’s festivities

Hers was not a morality carved in stone, or painted in black and white. Hypocrisy, greed, desperation… She’s been on the giving and receiving end of vice, before. While Ophelia Nnadi was known to act on the side of caution and conservatism, hers was not a rigid judgement like so much of the realm’s. Any thoughtful person wouldn’t be so set in their ways, that they would draw blanket judgements on actions and reactions. Perhaps it’s what justifies her missteps, as of late. The Head Healer of the Sacred Wood always followed the righteous path. Yet she finds herself going astray. First, with her illicit adventures beneath the cave lands. A risky move that could endanger herself, and others. The second, being her slow reproach to the black market of the Kingdom of Ashbourne. A riskier move, that endangered not just herself. But the prosperity of the Sacred Wood altogether. Politics and appearance mattered, and their shaky positions as a Dukedom firmly against the Kingdom already put them on a tightrope.

She justifies it as a ‘means to an end.’ Who could she help, if she would no longer be living by the next anniversary party?

It’s an uncanny image. The reserved and introverted healer, in a sensuous dress with the scent of wine ticking the tip of her tongue. The bandits that hailed from Stone Garden and the Lost Coasts were all too welcoming of a pretty woman. It was desperate, perhaps, to rely on something as vapid as beauty. Then again, wasn’t desperate exactly what Ophelia was? She’s off to the sides, settled between men and women as they spoke in hushed tones. The spoke of chemicals found in the depths of Stone Garden, and faerie dust - and she soaks it in, her mind moving to compute if it would work. to her advantage. But her smile comes to a slow halt, as the lingering eye of the famed Lord of Thieves catches theirs. Just a few feet away from the cheery table, their cutting eye proved that they would not go ignored.

Gulping, Ophelia approaches cautiously. The fabled tale of the cunning Lord of Thieves was something else. And unlike the fast-talking Pirate Lord, Ophelia never once heard rumors of their benevolence or mercy. “We were just having some fun.” She attempts to excuse. There was no use in denying what she had been up to - Rowan’s bandits would undoubtedly retell it, anyways. “Should I leave?” She follows up, attempting to soften the blow of her transgressions.

.

Rowan Scott went to a lot of parties, but hosted surprisingly few. Despite their reputation and title- or perhaps because of them- they did not often want to be the focus of a large crowd, in the way one was when they hosted a party. It helped that this event was impromptu, spurred by the unrest last evenings announcement had caused, and co-hosted by the pirate lord who did a large ammount of the circulating while Rowan had provided lackeys to steal booze and fronted the money to buy out the bar.

They were grateful, in this case, that even without their hound Seraph at their side people generally gave them a wide birth. Those within the upper echelons of their gang did swing by to share a drink and a chat with them, though little of it held their focus for long.

What did catch and keep their attention, was head healer Ophelia Nnadi, and it wasn’t due to her dress. Rther that she was here at all, and seemed to be seeking out the company of those stupid enough to try and impress a beautiful woman with tales of their illegal tradings. Rowan watched for a while without approaching, and eventually the need to do so was eliminated alltogether, as Ophelia caught their eye and was clever enough to come to them. 

Rowan cast a glance down and back up her body- not to check her out, their eyes did not linger on the low cut of her dress or sheer fabric covering her legs, though whether or not they had made note of those things earlier in the evening was another matter- a habitual check for weaponry. They found none, of course. “Nah.” Rowan decided after a moment of quiet, tapping their hand against the bartop they leaned on. A moment later a bottle of high shelf wine and two stemmed glasses were placed infront of them, which Rowan picked up, “have a drink with me why don’t you?” They asked, turning and walking towards a table on the edge of the crowd without waiting for a response. 

Once they were sat Rowan poured them each a glass and pulled a cigarette from the pack in their pocket, lighting it up and taking a drag as they reclined casually in their seat. To all the world they looked like two more revellers. “Having a good night?” Rowan asks, tone light and unassuming. “I hear you’ve been cozying up to all kinds of interesting people.”

To say the announcement made at the grand ball had Rowan peeved would be an understatement. Ecenomic exchanges and trade agreements. Legality across the realm. They scoffed into their drink. Keeping their mouth shut at the ball hadn’t been easy, even now the set of their jaw was tense with choice words that couldn’t be spoken out in the open. 

A unified Ashbourne? Where had that unity been before the people of Stone Garden had turned to crime as a necessity to stay alive? Not that Rowan minded things going the way they had, of course, but these grandiose new ideas were certainly going to be a thorn in their side. The business was well under wraps, Rowan had taken many measures to ensure it stayed concealed, the most innocent of which being the hush money sent the way of the duchess.

They weren’t too worried that the new stricter measures would make her nervous.The rules were different down in the caverns, and Rowan doubted Catherine and Beatrix had any idea just how much of their thriving economy relied on the black market tradings which Rowan all but controlled. 

Ordinarily they’d say a party was no place for politics, but they didn’t want to wait to talk with Louisa about this, at least to confirm that their agreement would remain in place. They snatched up one of the fancy bottles of scotch stolen from the palace and two glasses, weaving through the crowd to find her. It wasn’t hard to get through, even without the hellhound at their side Rowan was intimidating enough, and dog at heel or no pretty much everyone here knew better than to mess with the lord of thieves.