#braze

Vito cleared his throat. 

Tsiryx realized that he’d been watching the Magentore for too long, that Vito was still waiting for his orders. The half-elf cocked a grin and followed his gaze. Not to Oddy, whose shouting was heard across the docks, but to Braze. Tsiryx straightened with a twitch of his shoulders, and killed Vito’s smile with a fierce look. 

"Smelters' Corner," he snapped. "Find out where our supplies are being diverted. Don't come back without answers." He didn't need to add the last direction, Vito had always been reliable, but he needed to extract himself from the snickering speculations that apparently even the most salt-beaten sailors immersed themselves in, the gossiping old tabbies. He'd only barely stopped her horrendous nickname from catching on, and only through a fairly explicit threat of a beating, but the unspoken question did hang in the air afterwards:

Why does Braze get to call you-

Tsiryx shook his head with a snarl. He didn't know. He didn't know how to handle her, and the Magentore's loyalty was to each other first and foremost. If he ever did follow through on a threat, Doryn would certainly return the favor onto Tsiryx, assuming that crazy cleric didn't just sink his whole ship first, and so he had no tangible weight over her except that she sometimes liked to play…whatever game she contrived between the two of them. But at the end of the day, he needed them. His unexpected rise to a pirate king had been and still was fraught, and as much as Silver Hand's crew was willing to follow him after her murder…even he couldn't help but still think of them as Silver Hand's crew. Oddy's ship was well positioned for him, new enough to not have the strong ties to the late pirate king, and an incredibly powerful asset to keep hold of. It just concerned him how little he could depend on them.

That wasn't entirely true. Tsiryx knew enough about Captain Oddy to know that he had some sort of personal stake in financial success, and he was shockingly humble enough to know that he couldn't get it on his own, to know how to follow someone else's orders. Doryn and Ooba didn't have many overt goals besides their friends' safety, and Omisha was far too proud to admit that they were directionless to ever leave on their own. Unfortunately, while their party could survive without their commitment-averse, risk-averse, work-averse bard, Tsiryx wasn't sure that it would. There was something about her that held people.

So, he tolerated her.

Tsiryx crossed the dock to speak to the young Captain Oddy. Then, he had some expensive negotiations with local law enforcement, and only after that was secure, preparing a time to unload the illicit half of their goods the following day. His work wasn't finished until the night was deep and Braze was far from his thoughts.

Tsiryx always spent the first night in port on the ship; it was when the rest of the sailors were most desperate to be off it. He had a reputation even as Silver Hand's first mate for being severe, and now his own newly-deputized first mate Shina especially cautioned him about some of his habits ("You'll kill yourself before anything on the sea does. No, not the stress; I mean you'll kill yourself,") but all he wanted was to sleep with nothing but the quiet lap of water that had carried him all his life.

He wound his way through the smoggy streets, letting the noise of taverns and gambling halls indicate the way back to the docks. The heart of the city was asleep, and the dockyard streets were too populated for all but the most brazen thieves, but it was the dark transitional streets that Tsiryx keened his ears for. This was where drunks and fools stumbled about, and he kept his rapier close to ensure he wasn't mistaken for one.

And on cue, not far behind him, were footsteps. They had a long stride, and there was an oddly muffled rattle that accompanied them. It didn't sound exactly like a sabre, but that didn't mean it wasn't one. He slowed his gait until his own footfalls were nearly silent. In Tsiryx's experience, most people incidentally walking the same direction will unknowingly adjust their pace with those around them, even if just slightly. The person behind him kept steadily forward.

Before they came within range of each other, Tsiryx put a hand to his sword and called back evenly, "You are going to let me leave, if you have any sense."

"Without sharing birthday wishes, kitten?"

The tabaxi swallowed a groan and turned around. Braze was in a loose wrap top with perhaps every piece of jewelry she owned catching the dull moonlight above: copper, teal, indigo, fuchsia, silver… Glass beads chittered around her waist, and gold-colored bangles exposed themselves as cheap plated tin around her wrists.

She smiled, wine red against olive green, and tilted her head back toward a small, crowded tavern the way they'd come. Shadows shifted position on her face.

"It's a great time in there," she prodded.

"It's not your birthday."

Braze was always fabricating reasons in new ports for people to buy her drinks, as if she didn't earn plenty in her plundering adventures. In Laus, she claimed to be a new widow of an abusive husband who died at sea and had a great fortune but it was all lost with him and etc… This was a comparatively mild lie, but he found her performances grating nonetheless.

She shrugged and demurred, "It could be," and suddenly Tsiryx was no longer leaving. He didn't know how she did it every time, but he couldn't keep letting her catch him in her game like this: a tease of sincerity amidst gilt and glamour, letting him rest at the edges of her flighty attention only to find himself at its inscrutable center.

"Why are you out here then." For emphasis, Tsiryx kicked a bit of trash lining the gutter, a bucket turned mulch-soft from prolonged moisture.

"They won't miss me for a few minutes," she said blithely, notably not answering him. She leaned herself against the wall with an unspoken invitation; like a sleight-of-hand magician, she always tried to maneuver her target and narrow his field of vision. Tsiryx remained standing. He felt better when he could see her entirely.

"What were you doing out here so late, oh captain, my captain," she asked.

"Working," he said shortly, and Braze rolled her eyes, exaggerated by the color painted around them.

"I could have guessed. What were you working for?"

Because that's what's needed- but that would only spiral into a meaningless back and forth.

"We have a supply chain with Dirrus for iron that's being disrupted."

Braze hummed.

"And Dirrus…?"

"Weapons."

"Hm." She closed her eyes and nodded

"Iron from J'hordai is no longer being sent to Dirrus for weapons," she echoed.

"It's still going, just our particular source has disappeared."

Braze smiled.

"Pirate iron, Greater Nelos iron, isn't being sent to Dirrus for weapons."

"Yes…"

"That's interesting because…" Braze trailed off expectantly.

"What's interesting, Braze." If he were a more capable king and captain, he wouldn't have to follow her lead. It chafed at him, and was likely why she did it.

"I saw," she opened one eye to peer lazily at him, "someone strutting with a conspicuously inconspicuous firearm today."

Tsiryx frowned.

"Those are…"

"Illegal here?" Braze nodded. "I thought so, thought it was strange."

They were and it was. Tsiryx couldn't detect a lie on her, Braze preferred them light and meaningless. It would be a load-bearing coincidence if iron supplies were being diverted at the same time that illicit firearm manufacturers were taking hold in the region, and also accounted for anomalies he had seen in other ports under the Creon pirate kingdom's control. Creon was supposed to be considered an ally to Greater Nelos, or at least they were under Silver Hand, but even at the meeting on Krion Island, Tsiryx had wondered if there was a shift in priorities. Oddy's crew had been through much of their territory recently, so he'd have to take him aside tomorrow to compare what they knew and if he was willing to look further into it.

Braze remained shockingly quiet while Tsiryx digested and connected information, sly satisfaction on her face. A thought struck him. He sighed.

"You know, Braze, you could have just told me this in the morning."

A smile sparkled through the dark.

"What do you mean?"

"Don't be cute."

She winked, and Tsiryx shook his head. He tolerated her, because at the end of the day, she was a useful asset.

"You should go back to your party."

"'My party?'" she echoed coyly. "Haven't you heard? It's not my birthday."

Again, he stopped from leaving.

"Would you be out here if it were?"

Bad idea.

This surprised her, it wasn't how they usually played. She pushed herself off of the wall to be eye level with him. She smelled like lemon, and Tsiryx recalled that she drank only sparingly. He might have been less concerned if she were drunk. Or if he was.

"Well," her voice dropped to something light and quiet, "I think I would be looking for a birthday wish."

"And what do you want."

Braze finally broke eye contact, a small sardonic smile that Tsiryx though was not, for once, directed at him.

"Oh, nothing you've got for me, baby, but I'll take some anyway."

And she leaned forward and pressed a brief, warm kiss against his lips. Then sighed and planted her usual grin back over her face.

"Not so bad, right?" she asked, already stepping away. "…If it was my birthday."

"Worse."

Very bad idea.

Tsiryx would have the rest of the night to justify himself - pity, curiosity, resignation, frustration - but the truth was that he didn't know why he kissed her. Braze leaned into him so readily that Tsiryx had to wonder if this, even more that the Creon conspiracy, was why she had followed him tonight. He pressed one step forward; one hand kept her hips flush to him, quickly finding the skin beneath cloth, the other braced against the wall. Braze's, by contrast, were everywhere, tracing and tracing over his body like a potter with clay. One might think that she was trying to memorize him, that she would never touch him again. Tsiryx couldn't begin to guess if that was true.

Ever-contrary, Braze was then the first to break away, face flushed and brown eyes bright. Her lips were parted, but for once, speechless. It was a small victory that Tsiryx hoped to keep.

He stepped back. The quiet night now seemed tangibly silent.

"Goodnight, Braze."

"Goodnight…Tsiryx."