#the threads

****

“Sure, I can help you. I just need a tiny favor in return.” Elek squinted, voice reaching a comical pitch as he held two fingers together. 

Rook groaned. “Last time I did a favor for you and your boss I got my ass handed to me. By your boss.” 

“Boss’ body. Different. He likes you!” 

“Ugh. I like my ribs.” 

Elek grinned. “Getting soft on me now?” 

“No, just bruised. I’m happy to help you for free, Elek, you know that.” Rook settled back on their heels and folded their arms. 

“That is very sweet, Rook, but the reverse just isn’t true.” 

“Oh, I see.” The Veil Jumper grinned. “Maker forbid you just hand out information.” 

Elek beamed and leaned in close, touching his fingertip briefly to the tip of the rogue’s nose. “You are so very clever.” 

Rook leveled him with a flat glare. “What do you want?” 

“And you’re cute when you’re annoyed.” 

“Elek. Gauntlet. Your jaw.” 

“Right. Well.” He sighed and leaned back on his heels against the outside of the Cobbled Swan. “I’m in need of a little spectacle.” 

At Rook’s raised eyebrow, he held up his hands. “Nothing crazy, just someone to keep face for the Threads. A friend of mine’s got a mean bout of, er, maimed chest cavity. He has graciously bowed out.” 

"Bowed out of what?" Rook's eyes narrowed as their voice took on a suspicious edge. "You hate Templars, right?"

"…Yeah. Why?"

"Good!" Elek grinned. "Then this'll be a breeze!"

"This is a terrible idea. I say we grab the little weasel and beat the information out of him for free." Davrin was leaning against the stone wall, armor flashing in the flickering torchlight. No Warden insignia here, too obvious, but his chestplate (though beaten and bruised) still very much meant business. The leathers beneath were nondescript enough not to be recognized. Then again, none of their party were very nondescript to begin with.

Rook chuckled from where they sat on the cavern floor, bent over their knee, arms stretched out to hold the arch of their foot and settle their weight into their hips. The rough stone was delightfully cool. “Elek's a criminal, but he's good for his word,” they hummed, eyes closed where they rested their brow on their knee, feeling the slowly burning stretch in their hamstring as the skin of their back flexed through a deep breath. The fabric of their sleeveless shirt breathed with them, tight and cut close to the collarbone. They wore loose fitting linen pants in shades of brown, bandaged to support their calves beneath their boots. They felt light out of their plate armor. Fast. The damp underground air clung to their skin like a promise, the seaside chill working its way deep into their bones.

“Damas lit up like a boy on Wintersend. He's hoping you make a lot of coin tonight.” Neve spoke from where she leaned against the cavern's blind corner, head tipped to regard the long hallway where it dripped with saltwater condensation.

“I don't mind,” Rook murmured, shifting their position to lean over their right leg instead. They took a deep breath and let it slowly out. “No weapons, no magic… I like my chances.” 

“We haven't seen the other guy yet. An Antaam with no weapons and no magic is still an Antaam,” Davrin pointed out. “Neve could have found a better lead. Or better yet, I could step in for you. You're still recovering from Arlathan.” 

“I've been looking for a ‘better lead’ for a month and a half. If we wait much longer those fishermen will be as good as sunk. Besides. The Shadow Dragons need all the help they can get.” Neve turned to regard them seriously.

“I want to do this. And Elek asked me. I think I can handle it,” Rook murmured quietly, intent on the clicking of the sinew in their neck and back. “I've been looking for an excuse to tussle. Better here than with the darkspawn.” 

“The last guy walked out of that ring with a broken jaw. Literally. Hanging in halves.” Davrin shook his head. “They're not exactly matching up by weight class.” 

“That's all the fun,” Neve said with a wry smile. 

“You want in?” Rook teased, looking up at the Warden with a crooked grin. 

“If it gets you out of there,” Davrin said sternly. “I think you're going a little stir crazy. I know the crater was rough–” 

“Dav,” Rook warned. Neve tsked and rolled her gaze back down the underground tunnel. 

“Don't ‘Dav’ me, please,” the Warden rumbled. “I'm just saying, you need to be well enough to meet Antoine and Evka tomorrow morning. But if you need someone to bail you out, Neve and I can jump in.” 

“Kind of defeats the purpose of the favor, no? I want that lead, Davrin,” Rook sighed, getting their feet under them and rolling to their full height to stretch their hands over their head, flexing their fingers. “People are counting on us, and we need a good lead. The Venatori have held a knife over the Shadow Dragons for too damn long, and I'm sick of rescuing corpses.” 

“I hear you.” Davrin shook his head. “...Guess I have no choice. I've got thirty silver on you. Don't make me lose the coin. Assan has to eat.” 

Rook snorted, grinning. "Little freeloader could use a wakeup call."

"Watch it," Davrin chuckled.

"He still needs a bath when this is over."

"Yeah. Good luck with that."

Rook snickered, rolling their neck and looping their arm through their elbow to stretch out their shoulder with a few crackling pops.

"There they are. Don't you look formidable," came Elek's voice floating from around the corner. Neve saw him first from where she was standing and smiled a little as the grifter swept into the cavern.

Rook smiled wryly, stretching their other arm across their chest. "Remind me. Not to the death?"

"Pff- no." Elek waved a hand dismissively. "Not usually. Bad for business. Less returning fighters."

"Just checking."

"And that would be even more illegal."

"Right." Rook grinned at him and shifted their weight from foot to foot. "How long?"

"Twenty minutes. No cold feet, right?"

"Please. I've never chickened out of a fight."

"And how many actual fights have been scheduled, nice and orderly?"

"Look, I like to improvise."

Elek laughed, a short bark of approval as he walked a considering circle around Rook. "There is the small issue of presentation. There are some… less than savory members of the audience. I don't think you'll want to be 'Rook' tonight. Besides, not very awe inspiring."

"Unless you're Venatori," Davrin said lowly. "Don't tell me you'll have them watching."

"Oh, there's no way of knowing really. But they wouldn't be welcome." Elek cast the Warden an inscrutable glance. "The Threads keep a handle on the underside of the streets here. These are our tunnels."

"You like chess as much as the next guy…?" Rook prompted.

Elek straightened and paused his pacing. "Yes. Right. Well, you'll want something simple. Snappy. Easy for me to yell into the dark."

Rook rolled a shoulder and glanced at Neve. She blinked. "What?"

"You're good at names."

"Real names are part of my job, not stage names." But the mage softened a little, starting to smile as she raked her gaze over the Veil Jumper. "…You'll always be Rook to me."

"Could have been a Samuel," Davrin teased.

"Ooh! I actually like that," Rook laughed.

Elek folded his arms with a wry grin. "I was thinking something with a little more flash."

"Brass," Neve and Rook said at the same time, before looking at each other in surprise. Rook beamed.

"Because of the—"

"The armor, yes. And you lean into your metals. You look naked without them."

Rook flexed their tattooed bicep with a teasing wink. "I must look great naked."

Neve scoffed, chuckling as Davrin groaned. Elek clapped his hands once. "Brass it is. Not the best I've heard but not the worst either. Neve? Your seal of approval?"

"Your type hardly ever see Rook's face when they get the drop on you. I'm sure it will be fine." The detective smiled.

"Fair enough! I'm going to go work up the crowd."

"Still a full house out there?" Davrin hedged.

"Oh yes! My friend was very… prolific."

"You mean the guy Rook's standing in for?"

"The very same. He'll be recovering for some time. So Rook, if you decide you like coming down here—"

"Let me win first," Rook laughed, just as Davrin grumbled, "Don't even think it."

+++ Lol. Davrin's a little grumpy, I'm not sure he loves the idea of the Threads in general. I do think he'll warm up to Elek in time. Because who wouldn't, he's a delight!

Gentle (and late) tags for my beloveds:

 @draco-illius-noctis @the-bear-and-his-sunbird @davrinsleftpectoral @blackwall-my-tiny-husband @hedwigoprah @sunny374940 @nevarrantorte @caughtnyact @seaglassmelody @strugglinggranola @jenn2d2 @woundedsoul12 @aetherflowers @officialnostradamus @fenrelmercar @redheadsramblings @thesummerstorms @jukkaricity @madamemortem @spinfins

The Cat's Paw was well suited for Dock Town. It was just sleazy enough to be what it was, a place where a mix of hope, danger, avarice, and just a little luck funneled an immense amount of money into the Threads. Small and large luxuries and conveniences made it easy for patrons to spend their money and time like water and leave feeling just the right mix of exhilaration and disappointment to keep them coming back. A perfect spot to find an eccentric mage who made his living on selling lives and despair to the highest bidder.

"Mmmph, olives," a bare foot slid up the inside of his thigh as the woman across from him abruptly sat up. She tipped forward slightly with her dress askew, but didn't open her eyes. Her face was sleep soft, which he found a vast improvement over the arch and pinched expression she had worn for most of the evening.

"I think that is perhaps enough for you, little dove," Illario murmured. She didn't protest as Illario gently moved her leg back to her side of the booth, and eased her into a less compromising position laying down. Her dress was artfully readjusted so that the position was natural, attractive, and unlikely to provoke anyone into waking her for some time.

Illario stretched and stepped out of the booth, making a show of re-buttoning his shirt and arranging his hair. He tugged the curtain closed behind him, ensuring that it would be unlikely for the staff or anyone else to disturb her until closing time around sunrise.

"He'll want you more if you're someone else's," the bartender panted in Illario's ear, shifting their position to press him closer against their neck. "Oh, like yours, Ennka?" Illario laughed and nipped at their ear in return, letting one of his hands trace up to the point. He pressed closer, pinning them against the storeroom wall and slipping his leg between theirs. "No. Not what he wants—" the elf gasped and writhed as his other hand slipped up under their shirt, then gently pushed back for some space. Their big green eyes were luminous even in the dimly lit room. "He likes to take, from someone. Especially if he hates them. That's who he leaves with. His prizes."

After a short but entirely enjoyable fuck with Elek's best bartender, it had taken Illario the better part of the next day to find just the right mark. Cassida Lux, fashion darling of the High Town in Minrathous, and noted good-time party girl. Scion of a noteworthy house, indifferent at magic but still a mage, with no discernible talents apart from being tall and thin enough to look good in even the most questionable attire. She was exactly the type of dilettante that someone like Ericius Satenti would take immense personal pleasure in slighting.