#zevraholics

Inquisitor Thena Adaar lounges in the comfortable chairs Josie had brought in just for the aftermath of these negotiations. She’s impressed, as usual, with Josie’s sensitivity to subtlety. Thena is sitting just a bit lower than King Sulri Aeducan, without being uncomfortable herself, nor with any awkwardness on Sulri’s part. That helps put them on more even position, in spite of Thena’s height and horns.  

“Well, I think those negotiations have turned out well for both of our peoples,” Thena says. She’s wearing softer, less formal clothing for this evening’s socializing, but in a color Josie had once said made her look less like granite. At the time, Thena had tried to explain the compliments she’d gotten for her ‘chiseled’ cheekbones, but Josie had said that had nothing to do with her wardrobe.

King Sulri gives a sweet smile. “It helps that Ms. Montilyet isn’t willing to milk her allies dry for a short-term gain,” she said.

“Do you encounter that attitude often?” Thena asks.

“Let’s just say it’s refreshing,” King Sulri says. She had done this during the negotiations, too. She wasn’t stingy with necessary information, but she also didn’t allow anything to slip that was unnecessary.

“Well, Josephine is the best,” Thena says. “If she did ever decide to milk anyone dry, I’m sure they’d thank her after.”

King Sulri raises an eyebrow. “Would they?”

“Not like… that? Is that dirty? How would that…?” Thena sputters. “Nevermind, I probably don’t want to know.”

Sulri laughs. “Don’t worry! I’m just teasing you. I’m a little surprised how quickly your mind went to the gutter, though, Inquisitor Adaar. After all, I’m quite sure I don’t know how that would work, either. I gather,” and here she waves her hand gracefully in the direction Josie had disappeared to, “Ms. Montilyet does not have sexual inclinations.”

Thena sighs, but it comes out a little more long-suffering than she intended. “No, she doesn’t.”

Sulri smiles coyly at that. “You’re an admirer, I gather?” she asks, leaning forward, and there seems to be something else behind the question.

Thena considers carefully. She’s been shot down so often lately, gently and otherwise, but she likes to think she doesn’t let that slow her down. Eventually, something will go her way. It always does. Eventually.

“Yes, though I like to think I just generally appreciate people,” Thena says. “There’s a lot to like about Josephine. I would argue there’s as much to like about you, as well.”

“Really?” Sulri seems to be a bit taken aback, but then smiles again, like sugar and trouble. “Well, that’s darling, but you hardly know me.”

“Don’t I?” Thena counters. “I’ve watched you through this negotiation. You prioritize your people, not the nobility. I think you’re like me, you want as many people to get through this Corypheus mess as possible.”

“Including myself,” Sulri snaps, “and not including anyone who would betray me.”

Thena’s mouth twists in something wry. “Naturally. Does that even need to be said?”

“Just so we’re clear,” Sulri says haughtily. She seems very pleased, which encourages Thena.

“Even with all that, though, you are also gorgeous. I wouldn’t be in a position to offer anything stable—we both have obligations apart—” Thena is pleased when Sulri snorts at this understatement. “but that never stopped me as a mercenary, and it certainly wouldn’t stop me now. If you were willing.”

“Darling,” Sulri says, standing gracefully. Here it comes, Thena thinks, bracing herself for disappointment. But then Sulri grabs Thena’s wrists, sending a thrill shooting through her arms, and lower. “You certainly are as forward as they say Surface mercenaries are.”

Thena’s brain is softening around the edges a bit already, and she struggles to keep her mind on moving things forward. “Yes, ma’am,” she manages.

“How darling,” Sulri says softly, and Thena feels herself melt at the warmth in her voice. She hovers an inch from Thena’s lips, a sweet, mineral freshness in the air around her. Thena feels her breath hitch, and that scent overwhelms her. She dreams of Sulri’s hair in her fingers, of their skin brushing bare together, of their longing meeting in the soft silence of Thena’s bedroom.

Then Sulri kisses Thena, pinning her wrists firmly to her chair. Their longing meets, expands, explodes, showers over them as Sulri teases, and taunts, and tantalizes.

Then she takes a step back.

“Wow,” Thena says, those sparks of longing still dancing over her. “I. I have a room. I definitely have one of those. It’s nice, even. It’s discrete, from here. Would you…?”

“My darling Inquisitor,” Sulri says as she releases Thena’s wrists and backs up another few steps. “I’d be delighted.”

...

Slink squeezes deeper into the shadows between Darrow's place and the old warehouse. Her heartbeat picks up and she holds her breath as the footsteps draw nearer and rush by and she offers a silent thanks to the Watcher for holding a shadow wing over her. The stranger will ask around. Maybe he'll stick around, too, looking for her. She's going to have to stay low for a few hours. Seems like the trinket is worth a lot. To the golden elf, anyhow. She waits for the echoes to fade before she sneaks out into the alleyway and back in the direction she came from.

Not long after, she's sitting under the old apple tree in the alienage orchard, inspecting her loot. It's been a piss poor day. She only has a few coppers – and that stupid locket. Now that she can properly inspect it, it becomes clear whatever value it holds is purely sentimental.

There's a pang of guilt but Slink pushes it back. His fault. Should have been more mindful of that and less mindful of his bloody coin.

It couldn't have been worth much even when it was new. It might have been pretty once but even Slink can tell the materials are second-grade at best and that it was made by some underpaid apprentice in one of those workshops that spit out dozens of such trinkets every day. The wire outline looks like a flower of some sort. Poppy, perhaps? The remnants of red enamel suggest as much. The metal has already gone ugly green in places the cleaning cloth can't reach, even though the more accessible areas are polished to a sombre bronze sheen. Bits of the filigree are missing – and the locking mechanism is broken, so the thing has to be secured with a twist of wire. Overcome with curiosity, she removes it and opens the locket. There are two miniature portraits, both beautifully rendered and each probably worth more than the locket itself. Two pairs of eyes staring back at her. She recognizes the golden eyes of the handsome stranger that tried to be nice to her today, despite knowing all too well what she was up to. The other man's eyes are black, deeper than even her own, framed in dark tattoos she knows to be the Watcher's shadow wings. Well. Looks like the Watcher abandoned this one. The smudged blood staining the lower half of his picture and the anguish – not anger – in the golden elf's voice when he called after her... They tell a story. She thinks of her mother's copper ring and its comforting weight pulling at the leather string around her neck – before Old Seb took it from her as "compensation" for food and lodgings when she failed to bring in enough loot. And there it is again, the jab of guilt, stronger this time.

...

The alley spits Zevran out in the alienage square. It's busy this hour of the day. There are people talking and laughing, groups of old men huddled around makeshift tables, gossipping and playing chess or cards, children playing in the shadow of the vhenadahl, women hanging out laundry to dry, peddlers offering their goods... He pauses and looks around, catching his breath. Very well. You've lost her. Nevermind. She'll try to sell it. Probably won't get much for it. It was a cheap trinket to begin with – and a good portion of the enamel chipped off when... He draws a slow, calming breath and his vision blurs a bit.

He closes his hand over his chest where the pendant should be. That missing weight there pulls him down heavier than any physical object could.