Dusc shrugged one shoulder, as if he could not be bothered to work up the effort to offer a full gesture. "Mixed bag wherever you go. I have been met with respect, but I could go without this branding. In the city Veya, marks like this mean you belong to someone." And despite the lavish life he was given for being part of a collection, Duscan hated every luxury thrown at him. He had come from nothing in a sense, had worked hard on getting things he wanted all on his own accord.

"Bozzy was a father I never wanted, but fuck can he make you see reason when he isn't drunk on his own grog." A small smile crooked at his mouth. Of course, Duscan could walk away at any moment, could go on to travel to the other cities and hope to find his lost brotherhood of bastards he saw as brothers.

Duscan darted left, taking them both down a lane that held some shade as the three storey home blocked that fiery ball in the sky. "Not a short cut. You look like you'd... turn into a tomato out here." And fuck did Duscan not want to hear any of those complaints.
 
"Veya... is this how they mark slaves? I see." a shadow over the face more than one from a near roof, a sadness, eyelashes down like a palanquin curtain to hide it. A silence, and then he smiled cautiously again, just as the sun peeked from the clouds once more. "Do you own these marks, or do you want to get rid of them, young Duscan?"

He leaned the fan to the man, almost touched him - but didn't, only drifted closer.
"If that man is like a father to you, it is understansdable why you'd feel beholden to take care of him. A virtuous soul seeks to fulfil the familial love."
And - a light laughter, like warbling brook, as he steped into the shadow of the alley in a hurry.

"Oh, how thoughtful of you! It's not that, but some people of copper turn so beautifully sun-kissed, and some people of brass turn golden, and I just turn this color of porcelain before the kiln. And I have it on good authority from jiejie that sun gives you the wrinkles. Do I have any?"
He turned on his heel, walking backwards so his face could be examined for that most troublesome of markings.
 
"They have an expiration date, of course, but the truth seems too grim for this gorgeous weather." He evaded the answer for it was one he wasn't ready to admit. "You can't get rid of it by any other means."

Death. That's how you got out of an indenture, even if freedom was granted to a weaver... they would bear the marks of their servitude.

"You do not, my friend." Duscan gave him a quick look over. "Never seen skin so clear and smooth before, and I have seen girls prettier than you." He chuckled, turning back to look ahead and lead the way to the other end of the street they would circle back to. "You a noble?"

It was hard not to be curious of the answer when the garb they donned was something so pristine and bright.
 
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"If you can't get rid of it, I could help you hide it. My interests in medicine have been quite diverse," Song offered, excitedly, still walking with his back forward for a spell, as if he'd memorized the path and obstacles ahead to keep the pace.

He glowed at the praise, positively beamed, and underlined the top of his cheekbone with the edge of the fan moving, to both confirm he was impeccable and demonstrate eyeliner.
"You haven't seen girls prettier than me," he squinted slyly, "but a favorite sweet is fairer to the eyes than the work of an artisan." A wink, he drifted closer, stepping face to face. "Maybe I am a spirit of good fortune, radiant and clever?"

A wider step, a turn on his heel, his robes circling around the legs and his hair shifting weightlessly in the air before settling into one smooth silk wave. And back he was, to the role of a curious jackdaw.
"Is the place in this alley? Two streets down? Are we going to pass anything of note?"
 
Duscan gave the other a heavy, hard look.

"I'll keep the marks." Spoken with a tone that invited no further discussions. Of course, being rid of them would suffice, but Duscan was also the only weaver to receive such markings on the eyes. Somehow, during his indenture, he had become convinced he was special. He would one day rise, and he did, but the descent of the sun always left a burning light.

Duscan jutted his chin forward, to the corner that would take them back onto the road. It was not a long journey, but he wouldn't mind dragging out the time and distance before seeing Emer again.

"Here's something of note: we're in a shit for tits area. You will know once something of actual note comes by. There will be a certain sweetness to the air." Some shroud fuckery. Dusc wouldn't put it past Emer to make her establishments be alluring to those out on the street.
 
So, he would suffer, and complain about being inconvenienced, looked like. It seemed the well intentioned offer did not land at all - oh well. Perhaps, one day. So, he smiled with reinstated indifference to the proud defense, and let the matter drop.
"I see more former than latter, you may need to interpret the more colorful vocabulary, young Duscan," he teased. "A certain sweetness, like incense or like smoking herbs?"

Above them, a shadow swept across the pathway, its owner looking for the next perch and looking for the place described. Some pigeons spooked, a fluffy young jackdaw seemed to follow almost on instinct. Song wondered if the cat was well and found another meal with something its size, this time.

"Are you most certain you don't want for me to speak to the person causing you so much hesitation? I have the looks," Song uttered, head turning side to side as he observed the bustling city.
 
Duscan snorted.

"The old hag isn't going to listen to anyone unless they are on their knees and begging to be heard. Hate to say it, but she runs a good business... just dealing with her sucks the life out of you." For Duscan, it also came with unpleasant conversation. He was a willing and foolish bug jumping right into the middle of the spider's web.

As they made the return to the road, Duscan motioned for them to cut through to the another side street, and after a few minutes, the air began to change.

The light seemed to be cleared, the quality of intake of breath filling one's lungs easily. Sweetness hung around them like a kiss of mist upon their skin; a spritz of spices and woody accents reaching their noses. The scent was meant to be alluring, to catch the attention of a soul and lure them straight ahead to the large building made from limestone.

"You know what, my friend? You can try talking to her. It actually might make me smile." Dusc chuckled, dragging his feet forward to the ornate building before them.
 
"I won't go on my knees for a brothel madame," the young man laughed, "but I doubt a red lantern house doesn't know how to retain a paying client, they'd be eaten alive." His light eyes then rose to the sky in pondering, folded fan tapping against the chin. "Then again, this is Ilica and a city full of mercenaries. The lower echelon of clientele is dangerous and not very discerning- oh, your madame might be quite a character!"

At that, his enthusiasm seemed to spark, and spark anew. The perfumed scents put an excited perk into the man's step.
"Oh, very well! How do I know it's madame Emer, and what's the full name?"
He was gorgeous and he did know it. Unless everyone in this city was depressed and rude, in the very least he was turning heads. As a client? He was dressed exactly like someone to pay attention to, and perhaps be wary to steal from.

He was planning to float into the establishment like a bird fleeing a distant land's winter, bright-eyed, fresh-faced and open-pursed. At least, in the impression.
 
"There are a great number of us that do not have the privilege of a full name." Said Duscan, his hackles already rising at they approached. The Emerald Menagerie held nothing of not of greenery on the exterior, but boasted of that bleached stone colour limestone took on, and all the detailing around doors and windows and awnings held great work of craftsmanship. The iron work had been done by a famed local artisan, who was also one of the most frequent of visitors to the Menagerie, and also had a hand in designing some of the rooms found below the pristine building. That was only a rumour to Duscan, for he only came here once to let off steam.

Two watchmen stood at the door, one a crocodile shifter that took on an interesting blend of humanoid and reptilian make, and the other a broad shouldered man with a strange expression. Dusc knew why that was, for the man was without a tongue.

"Ollesyn. Ramiero." He nodded to the man and croc respectively. "Here on business."


"The Lady is preoccupied." Rumbled the croc. The sound would reverberate through them all, and Dusc once had seen Ramiero speak with pure threat before. That feeling alone almost made him leg it out of the Menagerie. "Who is this?" The distrust was apparent in his gaze, even Ollesyn hand a hand resting on the pommel of his sword.

"Fuck do I know." They hadn't exactly made exchanges. "Birdfisher, tell the boys your name."
 
"If those are all the syllables in her name, it's good enough," Song intoned back, amiable but a little cooler with each time that Duscan snapped. There was a departure point for his good graces, and if his company was so unwelcome, it was well within reach.

He saw them eye Duscan, then turn an unruedly eye at him.
Didn't bloom in smiles this time, and, while still light, turned to a sterner mien.
"This man," the fan pointed at Duscan, "had agreed to be my guide in my perusal of the city's businesses, and you, fine people of the City of Fools, are not doing a good job. Be nice."

A hint of a scrunched up wrinkle on the nose, exchanged with a pleasant smile.
"I am a renowned scholar and a beautific carouser without equal, of course!" the fan opened once more, its painted surface unravelling in pines, mountains and a gliding fenghuang. And then he remembered a joke his older friend was so fond of. Lips split into a wider grin. "Call me Gongzi."
 
Duscan rubbed the back of his neck, his face unsure as he watched the supposed Gongzi. "Really?" He had picked him as a different name, but he couldn't for the life of him come up with a name that would suit him better. Shrugging, he looked to the guards facing him and Gongzi.

"Right, so... how preoccupied is she? She with a client or is she still drunk off her tits? I have an order to put through." Duscan looked to Ollesyn, but quickly changed to wait on a response that would only come from Ramiero.

The croc stared them both down, noting something, before pivoting and letting Duscan through. He shouldn't have walked by with a shit eating grin, but any victory over those two was to be enjoyed. "Come along, mate." Duscan lazily waved Gongzi through.

The interiors were dark and plush. Every wall seemed to be lined in something smooth and soft, a velvet touch in a midnight colour. The main room they stepped inside boasted a grand staircase, leading up to a mezzanine level that then led to the rooms for private bookings. Duscan wanted the door behind the staircase, hidden from view. All around, there were cages designed to seat people, bars that separated sections, and birds flying all across the tall ceiling. "Illusions." Dusc explained.

He motioned for Gongzi to follow him, rounding to step behind the cascading stairs and towards a set of double doors that were gilded out from the wall. If it were not for the golden details, one would mistake these doors to be part of the velvetine wall.

Duscan didn't bother knocking.

Inside, a woman sat atop a desk, her back to them. Long, silver hair fell in sheets of glossy locks down the spine, exposed from the darling burgundy dress she wore. Her head turned to the side, catching Duscan in her peripherals. "Beastly thing, the bastard has no manners." She turned back to look at her lap, shooing the woman that was knelt before her. Duscan cleared his throat.

"I need two crates of Asheran and one of the nice shit... the Highland wine."

The woman tutted, slinking off the desk and turning to look at Duscan. Her dress, a drape of silk it looked like, had hugged her generous figure immensely. There was a mark, a bright pigment of emerald green vines crawling all over her front torso. If one were to look closely, they could make out the shape of a lock above her heart. She was Veyan, a weaver indentured, like Duscan. Her presence here and not in that city could only mean she was free.

"When will you ever learn your manners, bastard?" She asked, sighing. The woman that had been tending to her slinked out of the room, without saying a word. "You ought to knock first." Her green eyes, as green as the markings on her, fell upon Gongzi. Her smile lifted. "A friend? Dusky never brings friends. I wonder if he ever had any, seeing as he always refuses my friendship."

She moved around her desk, standing almost as tall as Duscan. She offered a hand before Gongzi. "I am Lady Emer. Proprietor of this fine establishment. My condolescences that you have the misfortune of making his acquaintance. Never learned any manners even while we were indentured." Emer beamed at Duscan's glare. "Do not frown, Dusky. It is no secret." Not when their marks were always on display.
 
"Finest of days to you," the young man echoed. He glided into the room as unperturbed by the indecency as he was rudeness. The locals seemed to revel in it, let them. These people welcomed any sort of color into their life, even if the pigments stank and were made of repulsive material. His eyelashes fell, smile present and bright on the fair face, his elegant hands folded together, hid in the voluminous sleeves alongside the fan.

"What novel pleasure, to find myself in a midnight garden!" he exclaimed. Even in this crowd, Song was rather clearly a foreigner. He laughed lightly, did a gesture that floated Emer's hand upward, but without an inclination of a kiss, then folded his hands back into the sleeves, his whole figure swaying around for a gander. Emer's red dress and the scents on her seemed to him a passing part of the charm.

They weren't, of course. He smiled at the one who made herself scarce, moving around the room with a grace.
"A friend as one is a friend to a swallow on their roof. Young Duscan is merely being a kind guide, to the best of his skill." And everything Song said sounded a little like a joke, especially when his lips twitched in a chuckle like that. "I'm sorry that his manners are so troublesome they bear reminding."

A gesture of the shoulder, close to a shrug, as he turned. His fan emerged, folded, tilted in the raised hand in exclamation without a voice raised. "While the order of wine is what takes our time - is there somewhere in the city a man can taste the sweetness of plum liquor? They make it well in Aetochi."
And a good way to learn about the trade routes - things they'd serve as delicacies or exotic goods, or merely foreign. A telling difference for scale.
 
Duscan's jaw tightened and loosened, but his teeth remained gritted. Dealing with Emer was the same as reopening wounds and not letting them heal. Of course, neither of them knew the other was here in Crorefell, but Duscan always told himself he would leave and never look back.

It was better he came here to do the business of ordering the nice stock. He could stomach dealing with Emer upfront than have Old Bozzy ask questions.

His eyes stared at the woman, not quite a glare, but he was regretting having Gongzi there with him.

Emer ignored Duscan and settled her gaze on the chatty male. "Why don't you take a seat here?" Her hand gestured to the plush seats before her desk. Crossing her room to the shelves on one wall, she procured crystalline glasses and a bottle and set them onto her desk. "I have visited Aetochi once. My previous employer took me along as I was quite proficient in learning languages, and he liked to pretend he was well travelled and cultured."

At that, Duscan snorted. "He was a shit. Still is." Sighing, he pulled a chair out and straddled it instead of sitting in it properly.
Emer's smile twitched. "As you like to remind me." Her eyes fell onto Song, her smile returning to it's brilliance. "Plum, as you kindly asked." And she poured him a glass first before Duscan, her glass last. "Why has Dusky never spoken of you? You are a pristine creature, I must say."

"He ain't available to become your newest employee."

Again, her smile feathered. "Some grown beings are capable of pleasant conversation, Weeping Weaver. Forgive me for wanting to speak to a new face."
 
"Then, unlike your prior employer, you do not need to pretend," the young man's smile brightened. "A composure and courteous manner elegant as a stork's dance. I-" The briefest of theatrical pauses as he reached into the pouch hidden in his layered sleeve, "-would be blissful in this present moment, if not for the weight of duty to my companion, and a touch of my own indulgence."
Like two spatting cats, he thought, not unfamiliar with the dynamic when it came to private affairs.

He floated and settled in the offered seat, an old game, a sparkling but attentive gaze on Emer.
"It is most auspicious when a friend has delicate wine to my liking when I come by, as I find myself in the midst of travel. And, to that end, may this shameless one beseech your kindness to add a few bottles of that wine to young Duscan's order and expedite it? It would be my pleasure to cover the costs." He landed two golden boat ingots in front of her - a yearly salary for some minor court official, an unspoken 'I want to settle money for the service, and not think of it until much later'.

"And, once my blessing to my guide is settled - I might tether my curiosity to the local company to share wine with, come the hour," A gesture with his glass in a delicate hand, a subtle tilt of the head. "Young Duscan here is bad at riddles, you see, and my existence presents him with one, a heavenly mountain on his unburdened mind. Let him continue to make guesses, he amuses me that way." The glass drifted to Song's face, nodding to Duscan to encourage trying what was offered. "It was kept in a peachwood barrel. My favorite."
 
"How generous to offer." Emer cooed, her gaze turning to watch Duscan for his reaction. She knew him well, had seen the Bastard in the same circles their employers walked. Perhaps being a reminder of what they both escaped was the true reason he treated her with such hostility. "I shall see to it. There will be no discounts, of course. I must pay my delivery runners a fair wage in order to receive such goods."

Duscan groaned lowly, but he did nothing to dissuade either of them. Sampling a drink wasn't a bad idea, and he reached for his. He had caught the pointed look from Gongzi, felt it best he not subject himself to any of his comments about hospitality or the like. Dusc was ready to hate the drink, to decline the extra order placed atop his own, but his frown fell away.

"Alright... that's not bad grog." He commented.

Emer's lip twitched. "The good wines are not lost on your tongue yet, Weeping Weaver." It was a thinly veiled jab, meant to get a rise from him. When he did not take her bait other than a careful stare from over the lip of his cup, Emer turned her attention back to Song. "Now, am I right in hearing you would like to book time and company? I have great conversationalists that like a good drink... male or female?"

"Fuck off, we're not here for that!" Duscan set his glass down carefully as he knew the glass costed more than he was worth. "Just a drink and then we are leaving after you settled my order, hag."

The woman delighted in his irritation. "You came here for business, but your friend should see this city for all it has to offer than the sad and dreary inn you insist on working at." Her brow arched as she fixed a smile to Song. "Why see the world with the eyes of one being when you can visit the far corners of the world with those that have seen it? My offer still stands."
 
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