Dare Hunter of Hunters

"Fod is free, and you get a ration of booze" he said with a smile twisting about the vapors of his breath. "Perks of being a Cazadore den," pride lined in his voice. "The best stuff though," he tap tapped his nose with a claw of his bone white gauntlet. "Gotta pay a little extra," he chuffed as Fray went on.

"You let me handle that," he assured her. "You just-"

A growl that sounded bout as fierce as any that would be made by a creature the likes of which the cazadores might hunt.

Garrod's single eye blinked. Blight smeared. Burned and crispy. He still managed to squeeze his gaze down to measuring, weighting, scrutiny. "Hungry?" he asked. Sharp toothed and cruel.

Garrod huffed. Neck craned to turn head towards no. But Fray was already gone. Waving those canons about to get his attention, and call him over. He cursed something under his breath, and followed after. Lead laden step, after lead laden step. "You really have an appetite, huh?" he teased.

And the service gals took note of Fray's attentions. Sauntered on over with all the practiced allure of a real professional. "Hey there, good lookin," she said to Fray. Nod their nose toward Garrod. "One-eye," a sharpness to the vowels. "You look like shit," she smiled. Garrod smirked. "You lot lookin for some food, or some fun?"

Garrod grunt. "Both, I reckon, Chandi,"

Chandi raised her brow, and did a little shimmy that set all her round and generous physique to a bonnie bounce. "Fun, for you, Garrod?" She laughed. Let it turn to sweetly tinged disappointment. Like sugar, gone just too long over the flame. "No knife throwing games, or five finger fillet tables just yet,"

Garrod grinned. Sharp. "For Good Lookin, here, Chandi, I'll just be getting some grub,"

Chandi's eyes went wide with curiosity, and her smile spread like melted butter as she eyed Fray. "That so?"

I could die happy, Fray thought wistfully to herself as One-Eye rattled off all the perks of being, as he so pointedly emphasized, in a Cazadore den. She only half registered his offer to take care of Fang's repairs. Her mind was lost in a sea of greed, which only intensified as the liquid grace of a dark eyed beauty came sauntering their way.

Chandi. The name reverberated in her gluttonous skull until her ears were plugged up with it. Chandi, with her round hips and soft, brown skin, lashes that could sweep the floor, and a wicked smile that promised to rob you blind.

Fray raised a single brow at the mention of five finger fillet and gave Garrod an amused squint. As he was still in possession of all ten fingers, the Deva made a mental note to place bets the next time he played. She was not above capitalizing on a friend's vices to fatten her own pockets. In all likelihood, she'd even share some of her winnings, provided he put on a good enough show.

But first, Chandi.

The practiced look of wide eyed curiosity and warm, gooey mischief elicited from Fray a most bonafide leer. She understood this game. It felt as familiar to her as chopping down fiends and tavern brawls. And by the gods, did she like to play.

Fray soaked up the compliment without a shred of hesitation. "Tis so," she replied thickly, "though if you can bear to wait, sweet Chandi, my friend and I could benefit from a bit of resurrection first." She raised a hand and brought two filth covered fingers very nearly together. "Came this close to dyin', you see. So we're badly in need of food, drink, and at least two baths each. But once all that's done..."

Her grin turned notably more wolfish. "I promise I'd look even better between those delicious thighs of yours."

Whether the blush across Chandi's lovely cheekbones was genuine or delivered on demand, only the gods could say. But Fray made sure to give the lass a chaste kiss on the hand all the same, and when she pulled away there was a coin nestled discreetly in the center of her palm.

"And now, please, 'o goddess turned mortal," Fray said with a real note of desperation, "if you could bring us a feast and our rations of booze, I would be forever in your debt."

Chandi, of course, did not actually look like the type who was used to serving. There were less alluringly dressed employees roaming about. Now that Fray had been sitting there and observing for some time, she was able to pick them out as they leaned over—or away from—other patrons. But the coin in Chandi's palm seemed to have been convincing enough, because she gave the Deva a devious smirk and then sashayed away, hopefully towards the kitchens.

"One-Eye," Fray breathed as she swiveled back to face her new compatriot. "How good are you exactly at five finger fillet?"

Garrod huffed a bounce of a laugh come the coin turned up in Cahndi's hand. "Trickier and trickier, I see, Muscles,"

Chandi smirked, and tucked away the silver piece. 'I'll have it right out, you silver tongued fiend," she said, sauntering and swaying her way toward the kitchens.

A shake of the head from Garrod. "Don't go racking up any debts now," the white haired hunter warned. Knowing smile still curling the corner of his lips. "Places like these run on reputation,"

Another devious sound fell out of Garrod's mouth. Teeth showing across the wicked split of his lips. "Bout as good as you are at pulling honey from the hive, I would reckon," his white gauntleted hand reached down to his bootleg where he kept a spare knife. Dinky thing, compared to the fat headed fighting knife he was hacking through the blighted fuckery they had faced down in the guts of Farholm. It was a thing made for skinning and dressing. Gave it a roll like a coin across the chiten plated knuckles. Caught it by the grip, and thunked its point down betwixt the gap there tween middle and ring fingers. "You feel like losin a bit of coin, Muscles?" he rumbled with welcome.

---

"OH! HE KNICKED IT THAT TIME, I SAW HIM"

"BLOODY FUCK HE DID, HE'S THE ONE EYE!"

"NO NO LOOK, THERE'S BLOOD ON THE TABLE"

"THATS YER DAMN BOOSE YOU FOOKIN IDJET,"

Tak tak tak, tak tak, tak tak tak, tak tak tak-

"OY MELLORY, PLAY IT FASTER, PLAY IT FASTER"

tak tak tak, tak tak tak TAK, tak tak tak, tak tak tak tak tak, tak tak tak-

The knife blide shined and flashed as Garrod grinned wide and wild. Eye splayed open full as sweat rolled down his grime streaked face.

Mellory's fiddle whined and whistled and sang so bright and fast as her bow flicked and flung and raced out the notes.

"SHE CAN'T PLAY IT NO FASTER, JASSOP, CAN'T YOU SEE SHE'S ALREADY BOUT TO CATCH AFLAME!"

"GO ON ONE- EYE, CUT YER DAMN MIDDLE OFF, DO US ALL THE BLOODY FAVOR."

TAK TAK TAK, TAK TAK TAK TAK TAK TAK.

The last note of the song whined out.

Hillroy groaned as he looked at the knife sticking out of the table.

Garrod raised his hands, and wiggled his fingers. Big grinning. "Five fingers," he said. "Unscathed,"

“Well I don’t ever feel like losing coin, but…”

Not ten minutes later, Fray found herself hooting and hollering with the rest of crowd, standing shoulder to shoulder as they tried not to jostle the table in their excitement. All around the flashing knife, necks craned for a better view.

Fray’s eyes flicked back and forth in her best attempt to follow the knife. Her heart thud violently against her chest; she had placed her bets impulsively, as per usual, and at a considerable sum no less. She had been so confident in One Eye’s abilities. But now, she was starting to sweat. She hadn’t known there would be so many rounds, nor music to accompany the increasing speed. Not to mention how exhausted Garrod had to be after their harrowing ordeal. Hell, he was still half singed. Fray was starting to question if he was actually some kind of undead construct, held together entirely by magic most foul. If it weren’t for the fact she’d seen him bleed, she might have run with that theory.

Patrons were jeering as the knife thunk thunk thunked away. Noise raged in the Deva’s ears, until it all blurred together into one continuous cacophony. It was getting so impossibly fast. At some point, her eyes could no longer keep up and she just stared out of focus, fists clenched before her. She almost turned round and punched the fellow shouting for Garrod to dismember himself, but didn’t for fear of missing what happened next.

And then the song ended.

By the time One Eye wiggled all ten fingers in the air, shit eating grin spread across his face, Fray was roaring in triumph. She ran around the table and clasped the Caazadore by the shoulders, giving him a congratulatory shake. Then she grabbed one of his arms—the one not sporting that creepy fucking gauntlet—and held it up higher.

“ONE EYE! ONE EYE!”

It seemed like the entire den was chanting, winners and losers alike. The walls shook with the sheer force of noise. By the time things settled back down, bets were divvied up, and everyone more or less went about their own way again, Fray was collapsed back down on her seat, feeling more than a little delirious.

“That…” she said with one fist pounding the table, punctuating each of her words, “Was. Fucking. GLORIOUS!” Then she pointed straight at him. “Where did you even learn to fucking do that??”

She was about to suggest he teach her, since this seemed infinitely more lucrative than arm wrestling, when the heavenly aroma of hot food hit her nose. Two servers had materialized at their sides with giant platters in tow. From her vantage point, Fray could pick out what might have been fish, lobster, and some kind of mash. There was also a tureen of bubbling, bright orange soup with chunks of meat and herbs peeking through. Her mouth instantly watered.

The food was set down with surprising care before the servers left them to their own devices. Fray immediately began help herself, spearing food with one of the knives provided and jamming it into her mouth. It wasn’t until she’d had several mouthfuls that she realized something was missing. She took a swig of mead and wiped her mouth with her forearm.

“You know, with all the excitement we’ve had,” she started somewhat awkwardly, “kind of forgot I don’t know a damn thing about you.”

Fray stabbed a roasted potato, swirled it around in some kind of spicy looking red sauce, and waved it at the Cazadore. “What even got you into this business, One Eye?”

The slam of muscle jostled him even through his armor. Grin blooming just a bit more at edges that softened with warm feeling. As the big charming bastard that he was coming to know jostled him. A chuckle rolling out of him. When she grabbed his arm and raised it up high, well, all that cocksure sharpness came back and went all the wider.

Couldn't be soft afore a crowd of real killers.

Felt almost a duelist again. The cheer of the crowd, rousing up old memories, like fingers sifting through cold ash, still feeling some bit of warmth bleeding through as the timbre that rattled the timber beams and planks and tables that made together that old Den de Pulpo, rattled his own bones.

The pair that had survived a blighted ordeal not hours ago thwumped back down into chairs. The pounds of fist against table working bounces of laughter out the Cazadore's frame. Grin still splitting across his face.

A chuff fell from his lips, as he unsticks the knife from the table. Sticks it back in his boot. "An old drunk taught me," he said with chin raised high. No shame in how the words left him. A touch of pride to it, if anything.

The food dropped off. Steaming. Hot. Smelled too damn good to pass up. Even if he did smell like all the bone glue there that held the Mirrors together. Tried to rub the back of his neck with his human hand. Armor plate starting to pinch and ache where it sat against him. Pit in his stomach gnawed the more.

White claw grasped at a lobster tail. Cracked it. Human hand dug out the juicy glistening meat, and he ate it down. Happy rumble coming from his throat. Grabbed up a piece of corn next. Chomped down those kernels that went juicy pop. Dumped the spent cob on his plate before he started shoveling mashed taters onto another.

A spoonful of mash gulped down. A wan smile there after. He wags the spoon at her. "Same old drunk that taught me how to fillet," grins with teeth. Shoves the spoon into some mash once more and takes another gulp. Sets it down. Grabs up a fork and spears a cut of fire roasted herring. Iron colored sears striped across its silvery flesh. Feels a bit of kinship there with the wall-eyed fair. Rips open the fluffy white flesh and goes on eating.

Finishes chewing. "Was a Cazadore. Picked me off the street after I'd gone and pilfered his purse. Mean old sod was face down in a ditch so," he shrugged. "Wasn't exactly hard," Shook his head. Teeth showing. "Beating he gave me whence he tracked me down though? Don't think I ever hurt so bad as that," shrugged. "Didn't run me off after. Fact. Put me to work to pay him back. Taught me proper enough to be of use to him, he would say."

Spooned up one of the taters in sauce and blew on it. "Rest is history really," took it down. Chewed. Swallowed. "How'd you get all," swirls the spoon around a couple times to lasso the whole of her. "Hard as fuck, and cool as ice, eh Muscles?" takes another spoonful of the spicy stew. "Don't know too many souls woulda bucked up as quick or good as you did down there," lips quirk up. Gulps more stew.

Fuck he was hungry. Takes up flagon and drinks down the ale. "Stew was spicier than I thought." he says tween sucked down breaths. Drinks more.

As soon as One Eye laid into the food, Fray picked up speed as well. How rare, to share a meal with someone who could go toe to toe in combat and bite for bite in feasting. She took full advantage of this auspicious arrangement.

The Deva listened keenly over the sounds of chewing as Garrod humored her curiosity. It was a familiar enough tale, one that she’d heard dozens of times amongst the various riff raff she so often shared company with. Unsurprisingly, his origins were as harsh as the rasp of his charred throat. Funny, how context changed everything. Anywhere else the Cazadore would stick out like a sore thumb. A right fright he looked, even with him smiling ear to ear and slowly but surely seeming more restored with each bite. But here, he was in his element. An accomplished hunter at ease, enjoying the spoils of success, the horrors of his recent tribulations sloughing off like so much dead skin.

Fray tried not to think too hard about how badly the two of them must smell. The food was utmost priority right now.

She snickered and almost choked on a chunk of fish when he gulped down ale to wash down the fire of spicy stew. The compliments, of course, had gone straight to her head. Now that she thought about it, she did feel pretty fucking cool after the shit they just pulled.

“And here I thought the likes of you knew nothing of weakness,” she teased ruthlessly. “I’ll make sure to bring a bag ‘o peppers if I ever have the misfortune of fighting you.”

And she meant that, genuinely. Fray was usually eager to test her mettle against a skilled opponent. She also hated magic on principle. After the events of today, she acutely disliked the idea of coming face to face with that unnatural green fire One Eye so enjoyed blasting his foes with. That being said, she still plucked the largest chili pepper she could find and ground it between her molars. It was unfair, given her heritage. But it was funny all the same.

Then she considered his question, and her chewing slowed, giving way to something more quiet and pensive.

Fray swallowed another fistful of stew to wash down the remaining pepper bits. It stung a little going down but otherwise felt quite pleasant. Like drinking hot tea by a camp fire.

“I guess you could say I started as a kid…the fighting, that is. But taught all proper like with tutors and such. Hated every second of it, except when I sparred. Didn’t care what kind. Just getting to be in the ring felt like music in my blood. Couldn’t get enough of it.” She stared down into her nearly empty cup of mead. “And then, ah, my family suffered a series of ill fortune. Lost it all in a great big fire.”

As she said this, flashes of memory came unbidden. Her parents, each perishing in their own, horrible ways. And Fen, flesh twisting into a living nightmare. Fray downed the rest of her mead and slammed the cup back on the table, jostling some of the food.

“And then I struck out on my own,” she continued with false cheer, grin lopsided. “I’m sure you can guess the rest. Picking up odd jobs here and there, killing when things need to be killed, chasing coin from one city to the next.”

The merc spread her arms to behold the glory of all their shared bounty. “And now, here I am.”

It was then that Chandi returned, this time with two other silkily clad attendants in tow. Fray looked up with pure, reckless hope in her eyes.

“Your rooms are ready and baths drawn, whenever you choose to retire,” she announced in that sleek tone of hers.

Fray was nearly kicking her feet in elation. “Ah, a feast for my eyes and music to my ears.” She looked to Garrod, perhaps a wee bit blearily from all the mead she had sloshed away, and said, “Well, what say you, One Eye? Have we earned our rest, or is there more business to take care of?”

She had briefly considered dessert, but the exhaustion was creeping back in, albeit in a sleepy and satiated sort of way.