Overrated.

“ You can say that again. “ Lilah muttered in a smirk, landing her hands on Mariel’s waist. “ What the fuck does a Chevalier have to Lament about, anyway— Rich fucks. “

All that was lost to whom would on a regular day cut in to respond. Too caught in the song and the closeness of someone else, a body to sway and shuffle with, lips moving to verse through a smile that was true. For all the awful things endured and yet to come, it shone all the brighter.

He alighted it upon the man at his arm as he spoke, complimenting. A dreamy, adoring look in his red eye. Wanted to laugh, but couldn’t for how fine it felt. And he was becoming terribly aware of all the fabric betwixt them, where skin wouldn’t touch but one could feel the warmth and weight of it.

“ Do I? “ He started, inspecting Matvi’s face. Seemed to decide something. “ A damn fine fisherman would know, wouldn’t he. “

He leaned down, head keeling that he might kiss his knight on the mouth.
 
Mariel was happy to hear the poison bleed out. Happier to see the smirk across her face. "Rich," she echoed as they swung lazy in the heat of the steps. Glad to feel those strong hand about her. She pressed, flat against flat. "Fucks," with emphasis, hands smoothed up broad back.

She'd steal a kiss of her own. Deeper into roil of what brewed between the tigress and the green bird so happy to be mawed.

Down the big man leaned. All hulk and breath and gentle bite there at the end of his words. Smile wider across the knight's lips, up onto the tips of his toes. A hand slipped up to broad shoulder so he could pull himself up, just the last part before their mouths met.

All brine and warm waters, with the gentle hint of sweetest rot that always lingered about the shores. Fermenting. He would take more with a hungry gnash of lips and teeth. Worked one hand across the span of broad, ropehauling arms, whilst the other ran up the wave of muscle that lead to neck. Curious fingers traced about the edge of gill fronds. Felt the air different. Wouldn't touch. Not yet. Hand traced back to grab around the firm of shoulder muscle and bone.

Lips parted.

A laugh and a blush as the sway of the song moved others about them. The singers sang on, while the musicians played. Matvi felt almost moored to the floor. Head swimming in the pleasant heat of that gaze. "And here I thought I was a knight," he said with a little laugh, head all craned up. "But if this is what angling gets me," his hands gave a happy squeeze. " I'll consider baiting,"
 
Sweet things. The kiss was met with enough vigour to make any man smug, let alone a sailor. He bared teeth into it as a charmed seasnake, breath reduced to a heated hiss. His arm held fast, bracing whom should’ve had to balance on the balls of the feet to reach him, all the way until they drifted apart again. Just the little bit.

He’d let himself be caught in that radiant air betwixt, resting his eye on Matvi, lingering on the sight of that laugh and residual sensations of those lips. Exploring touches, tentative, ones he was bent to not escalate at present for how they had a way of inspiring something nasty in his groin. Too much in public, for which he’d reserve the sensible and gentle side of those affections.

And baiting. His chuckle left him a queer little heh, higher pitch and true in it’s mirth.

“ I’ll be sure to tell all the other fish about you, then. “ He countered, the specifics of it only in the fondness of his smile. “ Eyes up all ye who Holdways swim and sail— “ Spoke it by him as a secret, wistfully gazing at middle distance.

“ For there be an alley cat with a song and a tail — “ Hand trailed down to clap the man on the arse. “ Swish, goes it, to the dance and tale. And so will you, lest you be ware. “

What splendour and allurance. He trailed off to a hum, alighting a look on the part of their company that kept dancing. A gentle raise of an arm that invited a twirl in their sway, like two waves courting one another in the sea they’d forgotten about. Beyond regard for what pulled together betwixt. Conclusive, Jens shrugged.

“ Or I could just recommend the bar, I suppose. “
 
Stolen away he was. All whisper and dream until that massive hand came slap against his ass and he could not help but smile the more, laugh the more, and curl the more into the strength of it all.

Song a lilting and a flying. Hearts pounding against bones, and the sea of glittering scales kissed by the light of candles atop brass turned chandeliers.

"A poet, as well," he said secret between them. Let his hands squeeze the softer, cheek rest against the broad deck he was as they rocked with the sea of sounds about them. Come the raise of the arm, and his feet did follow. Easy as the tides come trickle across pool's rock.

A dip of the hip into playful bow. Rise and hop skip step toward. Around, to let his hand trail about side and back, and side again, onto the big man's right. Fingers about well of elbow, just bellow the swell of bicep. "Suppose you can," he teased. Fingers of his left twist too easy about those big digits of Jens. Twined to squeeze, just so, down the bone to each knuckle. "Or you could keep spinning more of that yarn for me to play with, oh, poet of the sea, so dark and with red eye aglow and stormy," a wink. A bump of the hip, and a saunter toward the bar. Just the faintest pull of the fingers over his shoulder, with a playful threat to let slip away.
 
The man made a circle around him and he stood, enjoying it. The steady trail of the touch as hand left his, freeing it to tap applause against the side of his chest for the band as the song drew to an end. A shortlived gesture before hands took again and held on. Tugged along. He yielded, slipping to Matvi’s tow as the smallest boat at the end of a rope, gliding without resistance. No wind, no waves.

But yarn—

In a longer step, he caught up to trail alongside. Let grip rest about the man’s shoulders, all swagger and languid look for where they were heading. And from there to the faint sound of breaking glass and shouts, a rumble of an aggravated roar that resonated through walls, muffled by closed doors.

Lively place. Wonder how many rooms there are and— what for.

“ You ever judge the form of barkeeps in competing establishments? “ He muttered, smiling by his company’s ear.

“ Or is that just sailors and couple carpenters I’ve known. “
 
The thump and shatter of something in the room over had Matvi raise a brow, tilt his head. A little, oop, fall out of his lips.

"Do I ever?" he laughed. "Mon matelot," nod along. "What proud craftsman, tradesman, laborer, or artisan would ever not?" he practically whispered with how loud the room was.

Slowed his steps. Moored himself to the big hunk of flesh and bone. Dashed himself a little against the plane of his chest. Like a thing seeking refuge. Finger clawed up the collar bone as he turned eyes toward the bar, conspiratorial.

"Lemri there is a mean mixer, gets the frothy drinks, nice and thick," lowered his voice some. "But for all the velvet and texture, he can be a little stingy with the pour where it counts most," nod his nose toward the she-devil at the other end, horns just as big as an oxen's, and her back just as stout. "Anala though, she's the real deal," he squeezed just a little more. "Makes the best Gin Fizz this side of the Realm," he tilt his eyes up to him. "I've, almost figured it out, but there is something about the syrup she uses," tut his tongue. "It eludes me,"
 
Whomever wouldn’t. Some prideless fucks, probably, bent to deprive the good folk of all drama and cat talk. Disgusting.

He hummed low as any man being let in on secrets, look slipping from Matvi to this— Real deal. All that steady movement and vascularity on the arms and hands that knew work. Broad shoulders and broader crown. Looked the fun kind of mean, too.

Fuck. And Gin Fizz.

“ You’ll figure it out. “ Squeezed Matvi’s shoulder and kissed him on the temple, steering to Anala’s end of the bar. “ I’ll help. “ He added in a snicker, sounding so sure it bent on all the way to a blatant lie. His look sought the barkeep in quick succession, trying to catch her attention. Possibly wasn’t that hard, considering how he could do so over the heads of most others at the counter.

“ I hear you mix the best Gin Fizz this side of the Realm. “He started, a winning smile upon him as he gestured at Matvi on the sly, the hand at his shoulder just jerking the thumb.

“ What’s in it? “
 
A pleased little coo at the affection, and the vote of confidence.

"My hero~" he said, want and play curling in his voice.

If Anala had heard Jens, she made no sign of it at first. Finished rattling her copper mixer and smacked it open with the meat of her palm. Poured out something that smelled, close, to Matvi's crown.

The smaller bartender's eyes narrowed, and his lips curled up on the sly. "The cunt," he said, clearly amused. "I suppose I am flattered, really,"

She served it up to a tall scare crow looking fellow, hair a wild crop of dark curls, with the most blissful smile seemingly plastered across his face. The scarecrow man gave a bow, paid the silvers, and meandered back through the crowd.

"As if I would go and tell such a thing, what with Syr Bartender there in your wings, big man!" Anala said, all teeth and heat as she fixed her eyes on them.

"Though, you can both watch, me make one if you'd like, and try to suss it out?" she plopped a bottle of Kari Gin right there unto counter. Catching the eye of a few lushes. But she just scowled at them, and they turned about to mind their own.

Matvi, eyes all a twinkle. "Well, I'm game," he said, slipping out from Jens, but never really letting his weight, really leave the brush of the big man. The warmth and rasp of the friction was too delicious.

His eyes flicked up to meet the sailor's lonely red. Brow bouncing with invitation as he pulled some silvers from his purse.
 
The cunt. Despite not knowing what it was about, he held on a little tighter, assuring. We’ll get her — he’d said what he’d said. And would watch with one eye as close as if he’d had two.

“ Yeah, game. “ He hummed in a tap of the counter, all cordial smiles despite the general air of professional animosity. Or was it rivalry — Wasn’t never really telling for whomever lacked competetive spirit and secrets, too eager to share.

“ Quality gin, at least. Great start. ” He remarked as he pulled himself one of the freshly deserted stools by the counter, easing down on it and tugging at Matvi’s hand. Gently, urging him closer, even as his attention fixed on the presently serving bartender. And her challenge, the jingle of silver somewhere where he couldn’t see it. Not assuming anything by it, he fished in the pocket of his breeches for coin of his own.

“ Make two. “
 
The squeeze was a nice little boost of confidence, wasn't it?

Delight further spreading at the ante being matched. Then upped with a little pull from a man that was anything but. Gentle as he was giant. Matvi smiled sharp and pleased at that.

Strolled over, all cat with tail raised high and easy with its languid wave. Hopped right up onto the big man's lap. Riggled his ass a little to get more comfortable, and leaned back on his counterpart.

Make two.

Matvi slapped the requisite coins onto the counter with a firmness that matched the play they all took part in. Raised a brow and flashed his peeling knife grin.

Anala smiled. Snatched up the coins and got to work.

"Wouldn't use anything less, big man," she said with a wink unto Jens. Pouring four measures of gin into a shaker cup.

Matvi took up Jen's great arm, and slunk himself under it. Wrapped it about his shoulder's, like a glammed up theater goer snugging up their feather boa, and let it hang off his shoulder.

"She learned that one from us," Matvi said, no shame in it, or attempt to hide it.

Anala barked a laugh. "And you learned it from the Toad," a wink.

Matvi raised his nose at it. "And they learned it from the Scholar's,"

Anala chuffed. Took a crystal pitcher, no bigger than her hand, and poured it into the mixer. The scent of lemons bloomed bright about them. Next, a little bottle she uncorked. No scent at first. But then came the pour of sweet sticky syrup.

A smell like summer and pears. A hint of crisp grass there with it. A woodiness that made one think of tiny white blooms. Myriad in their delicate bunches.

Next the egg white. Capped the shaker, and set her bull haunch arms to shake.

"Did you catch it?" Matvi asked, sinking into Jens as he fingered between knuckles, and felt the long bones of big fingers. "The syrup?" he half whispered, all sly with how much fun he was having.
 
With his date too eager to pay, he allowed the pleasure without missing a beat. As any chronically broke sailor would, trading off his arm for the man to drape about those angular shoulders any way he liked. Saved him the non-trouble of doing that too, all that weight sat on his lap ghosting something giddy into his chest. So damn close, but eager to pull closer yet, through their clothes. The professional banter faded to the rest of the noise, even if he did his darnest to pay attention to the motions happening on the other side of the counter.

Pretty damn hard, that, with all the small touches, nimble fingers lacing into his. Come the question into those inches of space, he smiled as any blissful idiot would. Not thirsty for any gin at all.

“ Not sure. ” He spoke in the man’s ear, keeping one keen eye just about on the serving bartender. “ Smells like— if an apple fucked a lime silly and they made a secret third thing together. Fresh, green. “

Whisper turned to sigh that he planted on the side of the man’s hair, arm about the shoulders adjusting as he snaked a hand over the snug fit of Matvi’s garments, shamelessly feeling his chest through it.
 
"Fresh and green," Matvi cooed, all the more snug under Jen's comfortable palm and pads. "I had already thought it green apple," his tone dismissed the idea. "But it always comes out, just a bit too tart," he confessed, leaning his weight against the sailor's broadside as he whispered the words up. Breath across those bright frills that fanned and glowed with the bar's stray lights. "And if I water it down, well," he we went on breathing soft as he smiled. Eyes up on the Sailor and his warm jewel gaze. "It loses all the charm of that tart green fruit, and the fuzzy kiwi was a total mismatch. Interesting as that textured little ball had been,"

His eyes flit back to Anala, who set to long and steady pour.

The smells went on mixing.

"A secret third thing," Matvi sounded, all too eager and excited. "Citrus, but fucked so silly, that it has turned more mild," he smirked. Rest his head on the span of strong shoulder. Could imagine the feeling. Turning long and lazy. Odd shaped with all the heat and sweat. Laughed. "Was it really so simple?"

The pour finished. The coupes wide, the tipples milky in color, with that feint green glow to it. The smell of limes. The froth of egg white.

"It's green pears,"

Anala balked. "What?" Nervous grin tittering across her face.

Matvi smiled too sly. "Pears D'Anjan, if my new hunch is correct," Took up a long stemmed coupe, and passed it up to Jens' hand. Then the other. Brought it up to his nose, and gave it a good sniff. "Think a taste might nail it down?" he asked Jens as he looked up to the big man. Offered his cup up in toast.
* The Barony of Anjan lays to the south of Crown's Hold. It lays along the Widyian river which cuts across the kingdom from Unicorn Bay.
 
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Gears turned. Not his, though, all thought having bled to touch and blood that coursed hotter in it. He could keep up the pretense of paying attention to the game, providing those affirmative hums and haws, even if this whole matter of the pears weighed ever the less. Thankfully, none called him to say anything, just to pick up his drink which he was a little begrudging to comply with for how it meant he had to let go.

He adjusted, let air betwixt the two of them again and picked up his own cup. Smiled a shark’s smile, little dangerous in the eye. Wanting.

“ Pearchance. I’ve nailed a thing or two down in my day. “ He said cheerfully, glass chiming bright as he tipped it against it’s twin. “ Not a drink though. Eels and the like — Cheers. “

Toasted the bartender in a respectful nod and pulled from the Gin Fizz. As predicted he couldn’t say a thing for the intricasies of flavour, but feigned a thoughtful impression by working his tongue and taking another, more musing swig in quick succession. The drink was good, which he communicated with an impressed raise of brows and congratulatory tilt of the head at Anala. From there, conspiracy turned back to Matvi, eyeing him sidelong.

“ Well? “
 
"Pearchance," Matvi played along with a laugh. "You'll nail this one down" he said with a little wiggle and grind as a leg twined about ankle. "Though careful," let his bones wind up the meat of calf and brace of shin. Clinked cups. "I might be more slippery than any eel,"

Anala groaned. "Hurry up then, so you can leave me in peace,"

Matvi was already with lips to cup. Eyes narrowed with a sinister pleasure s he quaffed and stared at Anala. Almost a challenge as he sipped. Gulped. Let it all play across his tongue. Let the drink down.

Face still with thought.

"Well?"

Swirled the drink. Gave a sniff. Took another sip. Frowned. "It's not D'Anjan,"

Anala snorted, and smacked the countertop. "Stumped you again, Syr Tender,"

Matvi's lips curdled into a smile. Stuck out his tongue and made a mocking sound. Face turned placid once more. Leaned back against Jens as the drink went on warming his blood. Sipped it. "Still bloody good though," he pouted.

Anala raised her brows at the big man. "Might have more luck nailing your eel, eh?" she laughed big and loud.

Matvi snort. "Don't be jealous darling," he cut with a smile as he swirled the drink. "It's unbecoming,"
 
The admission of defeat was rather adorable, made it easy to welcome the man back where weight leaned against him. Forgetting his drink, he huffed adoration into Matvi's shoulder, touching lips to fabric. He didn’t rest there long, perking up sluggishly to the serving bartender’s laugh in a blissful smile.

What was there to say to that? He opted to just toasting at her and tilting his head humbly, lest he be too obvious about just how much he needed to — wanted to — be nailed like a common eel. Biggest nail for the lowest of eels, pronto.

“ Unbecoming, he says. “ To distract himself from base cravings, he echoed his amusement into his Gin Fizz. One of them words that made him feel like a rival suitor in some proper ladies’ novel. They also fucked sailors when they were feeling frisky, he figured, some fantasy version with none of the smell and twice the complicated affairs. Most lives were rather boring, his included — unless you were there experiencing it, within the skin.

It was the things that mattered most, the simple thrills, that he’d never tell stories about. He rest his drink on the counter, glancing about the bar that was getting busier. People shuffled about, brushing shoulders, raising voices. Someone’s glass shattered after a mighty stumble. He spotted neither tail nor hem of Delilah and Mariel.

Not that he extended much effort either. Was none of his business, really.

Newly decisive, he pulled a little closer and spoke leisurely into Matvi’s ear, not low enough to make it seem like an outright secret.

“ Want to go see that painting room? “
 
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