Private [M] Just a wee shopping trip
- Thread starter Laric
- Start date
Maevyth didn't exactly trust handsome men nor the guise of charm they tended to lay on with any one of their bright smiles. Her time in brothels had proved that well enough, and being an apothecary meant she was accustomed to how deadly pretty things could be.
Which is why she felt so well-equipped to handle their addled egos whenever they crossed her threshold.
The man who was heralded in by the chime of her shroud-bell was no different. Yellow eyes quickly scanning the measure of him from the quality of his boots to the fine sheen of his long blonde hair. This man could only be here for one of two reasons: the upkeep of his own vanity or the folly of his own hubris. Either way, she would oblige anyone if their coin was good.
"Good 'morrow, kind sir. Can I help you find something you're needing?"
@Laric
Which is why she felt so well-equipped to handle their addled egos whenever they crossed her threshold.
The man who was heralded in by the chime of her shroud-bell was no different. Yellow eyes quickly scanning the measure of him from the quality of his boots to the fine sheen of his long blonde hair. This man could only be here for one of two reasons: the upkeep of his own vanity or the folly of his own hubris. Either way, she would oblige anyone if their coin was good.
"Good 'morrow, kind sir. Can I help you find something you're needing?"
@Laric
The only thing that betrayed her immediate shock and ire was the snapping end of her tail like some vexed beast. His initial praise now fell flat for the way she almost hissed at the man's audacious request of the operation she ran in secret, its existence so easily thrown into the open air, even though it was just the three of them in her shop. Herself, the stranger, and her grey tabby, Hex, who watched that calculated strut like he studied the songbirds out her windows.
At some point, Maevyth had taken up a charcoal pencil and was absently tapping one end rapidly against her counter. It was all she could do to stop herself from gouging the soft tip into the wood. But she forced herself to inhale a centering breath through her nose, stilled her pencil, and plastered a practiced customer service smile on her face. The twitch under one eye was hardly noticeable.
"Certainly! Am I to assume that you were told by someone I've helped in the past?"
@Laric
At some point, Maevyth had taken up a charcoal pencil and was absently tapping one end rapidly against her counter. It was all she could do to stop herself from gouging the soft tip into the wood. But she forced herself to inhale a centering breath through her nose, stilled her pencil, and plastered a practiced customer service smile on her face. The twitch under one eye was hardly noticeable.
"Certainly! Am I to assume that you were told by someone I've helped in the past?"
@Laric
He rolled over her question, and she sucked indignantly at her teeth for the slight of it. The tapping began a new possessed rhythm. One groomed black brow raised over an incredulous stare. And this traveler was admitting to having trifled with the carefully laid plans of her network? Surely, someone was fucking with her. If it was Xenovia, she would saw off a horn for scheming such a ridiculously dangerous prank.
But the stormclouds that gathered like dark cotton in her thoughts, paused to watch the strange behavior of her trusted shopcat, especially since Hex did not like just anyone. And if his easy affection didn't perturb her, it was the item gifted in pearlescent silk. Cautiously, she reached two fingers to a tucked corner, a wary stare thrown back at the man at his question.
"If he'll let you. Yes. You may call him Hex. Introduce yourself before he bites you for making him wait."
Maeve peeled back the rest of the fabric to look at the contents, "What is this?"
@Laric @Xenovia
But the stormclouds that gathered like dark cotton in her thoughts, paused to watch the strange behavior of her trusted shopcat, especially since Hex did not like just anyone. And if his easy affection didn't perturb her, it was the item gifted in pearlescent silk. Cautiously, she reached two fingers to a tucked corner, a wary stare thrown back at the man at his question.
"If he'll let you. Yes. You may call him Hex. Introduce yourself before he bites you for making him wait."
Maeve peeled back the rest of the fabric to look at the contents, "What is this?"
@Laric @Xenovia
One had to have a strong stomach if they were in the business of helping desperate women kill the abusive men in their lives.
But poison was a hands-off art form. Yes, she trimmed the nightshade and cultivated the monkshood, and she distilled those brews with her own hands. But when those men were collapsing over one last bottle at the tavern, or suffocating on their own vomit in the comfort of their own home, Maevyth never had to see that. She just saw the aftermath, the black plumes in the skies of burned rapists, flesh-peddlers, and murderers alike. A quiet vengeance that she offered with a polite smile, sworn secrecy, and a tincture sweet enough to slip into tea.
But that was her life as The Viper, the poison mistress of the Serpent's Still.
And this was not that.
This was meat and rot and blood on her countertop. And it reminded her of that buried part of herself that fueled this entire enterprise. Because it was the part of her that knew the heavy hand of drunkards, left gasping under unkind men, skin blooming with bruises from hands that gripped too tight, the parts of her that had bled on linen sheets while laughter echoed down silk-curtained halls, learning to smile with cracked lips and to moan on command with tear-soaked eyes—
It had been a long time since Maevyth had suffered the will of unkind masters, but their cruelty had prepared her for simple things, like the detached cocks of dead men on her counter. Yes. That part. That part was no stranger to blood.
So she was able to temper some of her shock to a choked noise of surprise. It appeared this stranger had culled some of the filth that clogged the gutters of Crown's Hold. In fact, if that inlaid ruby and scrap of branded flesh meant what she thought, this man had just delivered to her evidence of the death of an infamously cruel souteneur of the Red Shrike brothel. He had run a seedy place known for its drugged girls, and for catering to off-the-book appetites better left unspoken. And then there were the girls who went missing under his watch. So many girls. Her girls even sometimes, the ones she was trying to get out of the red light district. He was a dangerous man she had been working towards killing for a while.
And yet somehow this stranger had delivered Mordekai's dick to her in strange silk like it'd been nothing.
The realization that she had perhaps underestimated the man in her shop washed over her with a bright and unnerving anxiety, the flat glimmer of his eyes that saw too much now registering with her. And even though she was cursing her luck for Xenovia having taken the night off to tavern-hop, her instincts were telling her that this man, though dangerous, was not here to hurt her. Though Maeve was never one to tempt too casually the capricious whims of fate.
“It seems you have the edge here, knowing as much as you do about me.” Came her careful monotone, finally meeting his gaze. “So forgive me for being a step behind here.”
Hex finally joined her at the counter, patting curiously at the edge of the wrapped silk. His presence gave her the gall to continue.
"But what do I call you?"
@Laric
But poison was a hands-off art form. Yes, she trimmed the nightshade and cultivated the monkshood, and she distilled those brews with her own hands. But when those men were collapsing over one last bottle at the tavern, or suffocating on their own vomit in the comfort of their own home, Maevyth never had to see that. She just saw the aftermath, the black plumes in the skies of burned rapists, flesh-peddlers, and murderers alike. A quiet vengeance that she offered with a polite smile, sworn secrecy, and a tincture sweet enough to slip into tea.
But that was her life as The Viper, the poison mistress of the Serpent's Still.
And this was not that.
This was meat and rot and blood on her countertop. And it reminded her of that buried part of herself that fueled this entire enterprise. Because it was the part of her that knew the heavy hand of drunkards, left gasping under unkind men, skin blooming with bruises from hands that gripped too tight, the parts of her that had bled on linen sheets while laughter echoed down silk-curtained halls, learning to smile with cracked lips and to moan on command with tear-soaked eyes—
It had been a long time since Maevyth had suffered the will of unkind masters, but their cruelty had prepared her for simple things, like the detached cocks of dead men on her counter. Yes. That part. That part was no stranger to blood.
So she was able to temper some of her shock to a choked noise of surprise. It appeared this stranger had culled some of the filth that clogged the gutters of Crown's Hold. In fact, if that inlaid ruby and scrap of branded flesh meant what she thought, this man had just delivered to her evidence of the death of an infamously cruel souteneur of the Red Shrike brothel. He had run a seedy place known for its drugged girls, and for catering to off-the-book appetites better left unspoken. And then there were the girls who went missing under his watch. So many girls. Her girls even sometimes, the ones she was trying to get out of the red light district. He was a dangerous man she had been working towards killing for a while.
And yet somehow this stranger had delivered Mordekai's dick to her in strange silk like it'd been nothing.
The realization that she had perhaps underestimated the man in her shop washed over her with a bright and unnerving anxiety, the flat glimmer of his eyes that saw too much now registering with her. And even though she was cursing her luck for Xenovia having taken the night off to tavern-hop, her instincts were telling her that this man, though dangerous, was not here to hurt her. Though Maeve was never one to tempt too casually the capricious whims of fate.
“It seems you have the edge here, knowing as much as you do about me.” Came her careful monotone, finally meeting his gaze. “So forgive me for being a step behind here.”
Hex finally joined her at the counter, patting curiously at the edge of the wrapped silk. His presence gave her the gall to continue.
"But what do I call you?"
@Laric
"Laric." She echoed, extending the vowels in her mouth like she was tasting how that name fit the strange creature before her.
His first name only, mind you. No surname, despite the cut and quality of his fine garb that told her whatever house he heralded from, there was the weight of coin to back it up.
No matter, she told herself, perhaps the less she knew the better? After all, how dangerous could a man really be if he laid his sword at her feet like some storied knight?
She squinted at him then with sudden scrutiny, thinking of the ripples that would be felt from the absence of Mordekai. Absently, she wondered if he had burned the bodies or risked leaving them to rot.
Granted, his death would be no great loss, especially for the small folk who'd hung at the end of his strings. But Maevyth believed that monsters beget monsters, and if she was certain of anything, it was that the vacant shadow he cast would soon be filled by another. Perhaps this time by someone who knew how to better keep their cock attached to their body.
She chewed the inside of her cheek, reluctantly weighing the crazed logic of the relationship forming between them. Because while Xenovia was both her friend and her live-in bodyguard, Maeve had not hired the Devahni to do her dirty work—only to protect her from the consequences of it, should they follow her home. And someone willing to go through the lengths Laric had done just to settle some nebulous debt, one he hadn’t even explained, was useful. Perhaps dangerously so.
But this could benefit her work... quicken the revenge she sought. Though could she truly trust that a snake wouldn’t curl back to bite her for having handled it?
And while she didn’t typically deal in favors. Not for strangers, even pretty ones. She did when the benefits outweighed the risks.
But that still begged the question: what did this man want?
If she could find the answer to that, perhaps the next step in this strangest of arrangements would become clear.
Idly, she stroked Hex, fingers threading through the warm velvet of his fur, “Let’s say I helped curate a poison for you, regardless. Would you tell me what for?” She arched a brow. “Poisons are tailored to the victim. I’ll need to know more if you want the result you’re after.”
@Laric
His first name only, mind you. No surname, despite the cut and quality of his fine garb that told her whatever house he heralded from, there was the weight of coin to back it up.
No matter, she told herself, perhaps the less she knew the better? After all, how dangerous could a man really be if he laid his sword at her feet like some storied knight?
She squinted at him then with sudden scrutiny, thinking of the ripples that would be felt from the absence of Mordekai. Absently, she wondered if he had burned the bodies or risked leaving them to rot.
Granted, his death would be no great loss, especially for the small folk who'd hung at the end of his strings. But Maevyth believed that monsters beget monsters, and if she was certain of anything, it was that the vacant shadow he cast would soon be filled by another. Perhaps this time by someone who knew how to better keep their cock attached to their body.
She chewed the inside of her cheek, reluctantly weighing the crazed logic of the relationship forming between them. Because while Xenovia was both her friend and her live-in bodyguard, Maeve had not hired the Devahni to do her dirty work—only to protect her from the consequences of it, should they follow her home. And someone willing to go through the lengths Laric had done just to settle some nebulous debt, one he hadn’t even explained, was useful. Perhaps dangerously so.
But this could benefit her work... quicken the revenge she sought. Though could she truly trust that a snake wouldn’t curl back to bite her for having handled it?
And while she didn’t typically deal in favors. Not for strangers, even pretty ones. She did when the benefits outweighed the risks.
But that still begged the question: what did this man want?
If she could find the answer to that, perhaps the next step in this strangest of arrangements would become clear.
Idly, she stroked Hex, fingers threading through the warm velvet of his fur, “Let’s say I helped curate a poison for you, regardless. Would you tell me what for?” She arched a brow. “Poisons are tailored to the victim. I’ll need to know more if you want the result you’re after.”
@Laric
Maeve was silent for a moment longer than was polite as she searched his eyes with clinical study. Catlike, she thought. Like something that might purr as it watched a bird bleed.
She considered the nature of his request. If he were trying to assassinate someone, doing it with poisoned daggers was unconventional at best. Most who used poison in that profession preferred the safety of distance— arrows, bolts, concealed darts in dark corridors where one could slip away unnoticed after. In close-quarter combat, you didn’t get the luxury of waiting for a poison to set in.
Not unless, of course, the dagger was meant for after the struggle. After the prey had already been caught. Dragged from the public eye, thrown into a chair in some dank cellar, a blade peeling away the smallest parts from them first.
She imagined that being cut apart slowly by a dagger was a horrific way to go. But adding poison to the mix? There weren't many that she would send to that fate, but those she did, she would throw them eagerly under that blade.
Her eyes dropped to the covered bundle resting by her side for a moment— thoughts ringing with the endless cries of women at her door, begging to be given the means to save themselves— before considering Laric from 'neath a flat hooded gaze.
"You know," she murmured, "I'm not usually one to dissuade someone from using my services..."
A beat. Her thumb traced a slow arc down the cat’s spine.
"...but I'm curious. Why use poison at all, if you're already so capable of killing who you want gone?"
She tilted her head just so, eyes dark and unreadable.
"Is it the suffering you want?"
@Laric
She considered the nature of his request. If he were trying to assassinate someone, doing it with poisoned daggers was unconventional at best. Most who used poison in that profession preferred the safety of distance— arrows, bolts, concealed darts in dark corridors where one could slip away unnoticed after. In close-quarter combat, you didn’t get the luxury of waiting for a poison to set in.
Not unless, of course, the dagger was meant for after the struggle. After the prey had already been caught. Dragged from the public eye, thrown into a chair in some dank cellar, a blade peeling away the smallest parts from them first.
She imagined that being cut apart slowly by a dagger was a horrific way to go. But adding poison to the mix? There weren't many that she would send to that fate, but those she did, she would throw them eagerly under that blade.
Her eyes dropped to the covered bundle resting by her side for a moment— thoughts ringing with the endless cries of women at her door, begging to be given the means to save themselves— before considering Laric from 'neath a flat hooded gaze.
"You know," she murmured, "I'm not usually one to dissuade someone from using my services..."
A beat. Her thumb traced a slow arc down the cat’s spine.
"...but I'm curious. Why use poison at all, if you're already so capable of killing who you want gone?"
She tilted her head just so, eyes dark and unreadable.
"Is it the suffering you want?"
@Laric
Dark brows rose over a deadpan expression. “If by faith you mean the cocks of three dead men, then yes. I think you’ve well earned my faith. As gruesomely won as it was.”
A beat passed, and she tilted her head, her sarcasm giving way to a more measured observation.
"Hmmm. Mind you, this is not me questioning your capabilities, Laric. I will help you. But poison is an intimate affair if you want it done right. Which means I may ask questions you don't want to answer." Her tone shifted again, a practiced artisan slipping into the clipped cadence of their craft.
She turned away from him toward the tall inset cabinets lining the wall behind her. Her fingers moved to open a series of drawers, the metal handles flared faintly with purple light where she touched them, brighter with each motion until five drawers had been drawn out, the pattern of a pentagram glowing against the dark-oiled wood.
A pulse of light chased the perimeter of the cabinets. And then Maeve began murmuring shroudcraft from her lips, shaping them like sweet venom. A low mechanical rumble broke the air, and she stepped back as the entire cabinet wall sank inward and slid seamlessly into the adjoining wall.
Beyond it, another room stirred to life.
Soft violet light spilled into the air from shards of Shroud crystal strung across the ceiling like hanging stars. Rows of gnarled plants grew thick in shadowed boxes—some ink-black, others bioluminescent with pulsing fungi. The back wall was lined with terrariums and tanks. Coiled horned-snakes shifted behind glass. Frogs with molten copper eyes peeking through mist-doused jungle.
And in the center, beneath suspended glass pipings and an array of copper instruments, sat the heart of her work: an alchemist’s table, gleaming lethal with endless rows of strange vials and tiny burners ready to be lit.
Maevyth turned back to him, but something had changed in her demeanor.
Gone, was the girl who had suffered endless nights in brothels scraping together coins to escape.
In her place, stood the Viper who had built this apothecary with the wrath of vengeful women in every brick. Pupils contracted to tight slits, the yellow glowing in the gloam.
"Come along." Came her cold purr, "Let’s find you something deadly.”
@Laric
A beat passed, and she tilted her head, her sarcasm giving way to a more measured observation.
"Hmmm. Mind you, this is not me questioning your capabilities, Laric. I will help you. But poison is an intimate affair if you want it done right. Which means I may ask questions you don't want to answer." Her tone shifted again, a practiced artisan slipping into the clipped cadence of their craft.
She turned away from him toward the tall inset cabinets lining the wall behind her. Her fingers moved to open a series of drawers, the metal handles flared faintly with purple light where she touched them, brighter with each motion until five drawers had been drawn out, the pattern of a pentagram glowing against the dark-oiled wood.
A pulse of light chased the perimeter of the cabinets. And then Maeve began murmuring shroudcraft from her lips, shaping them like sweet venom. A low mechanical rumble broke the air, and she stepped back as the entire cabinet wall sank inward and slid seamlessly into the adjoining wall.
Beyond it, another room stirred to life.
Soft violet light spilled into the air from shards of Shroud crystal strung across the ceiling like hanging stars. Rows of gnarled plants grew thick in shadowed boxes—some ink-black, others bioluminescent with pulsing fungi. The back wall was lined with terrariums and tanks. Coiled horned-snakes shifted behind glass. Frogs with molten copper eyes peeking through mist-doused jungle.
And in the center, beneath suspended glass pipings and an array of copper instruments, sat the heart of her work: an alchemist’s table, gleaming lethal with endless rows of strange vials and tiny burners ready to be lit.
Maevyth turned back to him, but something had changed in her demeanor.
Gone, was the girl who had suffered endless nights in brothels scraping together coins to escape.
In her place, stood the Viper who had built this apothecary with the wrath of vengeful women in every brick. Pupils contracted to tight slits, the yellow glowing in the gloam.
"Come along." Came her cold purr, "Let’s find you something deadly.”
@Laric