// EXPERIMENTAL THREAD // - the Thieves' Guild

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// EXPERIMENTAL THREAD // - the Thieves' Guild

"Focus and discipline, remember?" - he replied easily, glancing at the woman, as she asked him about his lack of drinking.

"But more to the point, I never really liked to imbibe. I have seen the effects it can have." - he smiled with a wink, "Falling out of windows being one of them. And I like remaining in control of my faculties. An ale, here or there, in moderation, is my usual limit. Plus, I don't really enjoy the taste of most alcohol." - he shrugged, draining the rest of his pineapple juice glass, then pouring himself another.

"Pineapple juice - I can never have enough of, though. A shame it has to be imported... where I come from, it is as common as water! One of the few things I miss about my home."

//addon//

As he listened to Stevania explain... in broadest sense of the word... her motives for killing, he still didn't quite buy it. The pretentiousness was still there. But all he did was smile at her.

"To each their own. I do hope you don't 'cark it' too soon though, which is what tends to happen to casual operators in this work. It would be a waste. Cheers." - he raised his again-full glass to her.
 
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Evera couldn't hide a small smile when Milos confirmed what she'd already said. Focus and discipline. She had to admit, it sounded rather... dull.

She turned to the woman as she turned to Evera and listened to her explanation of her motivations. It seemed like the two killers in her company were quite opposite people after all. She agreed with Milos' motivation for money - though she also agreed with the woman's lack of need to settle down. Evera simply wanted... more. She held the woman's gaze and cocked her head like a predator noticing a prey when she noticed the woman's thighs casually sliding apart. Finally, her eyes reluctantly slid back to Milos who was saying that he hoped she didn't 'cark it too soon'. Evera raised an eyebrow again, amusement tucking at her lips. She could barely hide her smile. To Evera, he didn't seem to do much to not try to sound superior.

"Personally, I don't need much else than food, a proper drink, a good fuck now and then, and something to keep me occupied, either. I agree with you there," she said, lifting her own drink towards the woman in a cheers. Turning her attention back to Milos, she said, "I can't say that I agree with your approach to life. For the Gods' sake, man, what worth is this life without any fun?" She shook her head slightly. "I do agree about the money part, though. I have dreams of my own, but I don't plan on retiring. I quite like my line of work, I just want it... grander. On a bigger scale. Not answering to anyone but myself, having people answer to me instead." A challenging glint lit up in her eyes. Milos seemed to be the type of man who thought he knew best, so she now expected him to tell her why her life choices and philosophies were wrong, too.

Shifting her body back towards the woman, she held out a hand.
"I don't think I caught your name. I'm Evera."
 
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Milos rubbed his chin at the question, his gaze going remote briefly, thinking. Not so much the question though, as much as the way she asked it. It reminded him of how things started to go awry in the Crucible, too. As well as plenty of other social settings, where his... aloof... manner would eventually begin driving people away. The thing was... that was his personality. That was what kept him alive, in this work. His upbringing in the structured, unforgiving environment of the Al'Seyrit, and his following of Sironite teachings, had left their mark on the young man. Life of the party, he was not, and he would be the first to admit that he was a bad actor, too. So he couldn't even pretend. At least he still knew how to smile, and crack a joke. Mostly. But it brought to mind another comment Saloma once made about him, how 'he was a looker, but didn't taste well'. Whatever that meant, precisely, the man didn't know.

"Why are most people's ideas of fun, so often related to compromising themselves in some way? Be it through lack of professionalism, or lack of personal discipline? What is - fun - precisely, about getting shit-faced drunk? The killer headache and hangover in the morning? No thank you... and that would be the least of the concerns, if an enemy also happened to catch me at that time. In such a state, I would be ill-prepared to defend myself." - he thought, confused, munching on his food, deciding to listen for now, try and gauge the way his two dinner companions interacted with one-another.

Or, on second thought... he remembered seeing the Guild healer tuck several magic scrolls away, down in the anteroom behind some books, on his last visit to the Guild.

"I'll leave you ladies alone for a moment..." - he began, lowering his glass next to his plate, "I think there should be some Restoration scrolls in the library somewhere downstairs. With any luck, I can find one and read it to you, perhaps ease the pain of your fall, take down some of the swelling? I'll be right back." - he addressed the injured woman, getting up. It would not be as effective as a learned healer chanting it, but the magic contained in the scroll would still work, to a point, as long as he pronounced the incantations correctly, and with right inflections. And as far as he saw tonight, there were no healers present on the premises.

It struck him as a better avenue of approach, then this lady drinking herself to stupor, trying to cope with it.
 
No sooner did Milos leave than Stevania leaned over to Evera in a sort of confidential posture, half-whispering close to the sister-rogue's face.

"Are you the least bit inclined to still be here when that stick-arsed pragmatist comes back, or are you keen to be conveniently elsewhere?" she inquired, though it was far more of a proposition than merely a query. She hoped the unwritten addendum of 'with me' would be self-evident in her tone.

At any point Evera could very well go ahead and answer her suggestion of a joint disappearing act. In the mean-time, Stevania pulled back slightly so that if Milos happened to suddenly come back around the corner, it wouldn't be obvious they had been speaking anything but casually with one another, not a trace of the clandestine agreement that Milos wasn't the best conversation partner, nor may he have been a better partner of various other kinds than Evera was in Stevania's estimation.

"Stevania, by the way," the drow said, abruptly, answering Evera's question at a slight delay. "It's not quite the most typical name for a drow, but I wasn't the one who chose it, so there's no point in bothering asking me about it. I'm not very good with names or faces of surface-races, but I'll try to remember yours. And perhaps you can come up with a way to give me a stronger reason to remember you," she said. Evera was eminently appealing to Stevania. One didn't have to be an empathic genius---and Stevania was more of a maniacal savant than anything of the former sort---to realize that Evera was weathering a good deal of pain, probably more than she let on.

For Milos to unilaterally decide that Evera was better off having some vague spell cast on her rather than allow herself to feel the most vivid life-affirming sensation, was almost sacrilege to the admittedly godless drow, a dyed-in-wool sadist to her core. Certainly, not all of her romantic excursions, and occasional incursions, required the element of nociceptory input to be gratifying. But hells, if this woman was the least bit interested...well, it didn't even have to be a finished thought to know exactly what Stevania could offer to her.

"That man should know that if you see a woman flailing underwater, it's only courtesy to find out if she's a mermaid before pulling her out," Stevania commented glibly, working a bit of trapped grit from out of under her well-trimmed fingernails with the back-end of an otherwise inadvisably sharp utensil.

To say that Stevania, at least off-duty, tended to speak her mind, was not to say that she was the least bit straightforward about things. For her, the right thing to say was either so stripped of its formal dressing that one could consider it flayed; or cryptic non-sequitur that substituted oblique metaphor for euphemism.

She looked back up at Evera, readying her summary offer. "I think we can both agree that that chap Milos doesn't often concern himself with thinking any way but his own, even when it comes to people he barely knows and has no business judging or deciding things for. The question is, do you actually want him to try and 'heal' you, or is there a reason, even one you can't explain to me, why you'd very much dislike that. I won't even assume why if you say it's the latter. I've fucked about with daggers years enough to know some scars are better off right where they are."

She leaned in one grade further. "I'm not trying to rescue you, unlike he seems to be, because I believe that anyone either has the power to rescue themselves, or the right to decide not to. I don't even reckon you need any sort of rescuing. But if there is any sort of alternative 'relief' you fancy me an accomplice for, I'd certainly relish an opportunity to 'focus' my 'discipline' somewhere it's wanted."
 
Evera angled her head slightly and furrowed her brows while staring in the direction that Milos went off to. He wanted to... heal her? He wasn't even a healer. Was this an attempt to impress her with the unexpected kindness of a killer? Or did he want to make an impression on Stevania? Perhaps Evera had stolen his hope of conquest from him when she'd interrupted. Kindness usually did not come without a price in this place. Aside from that, while a healing spell may very well help with her bruises, they weren't her main concern. She wouldn't tell either of them what her biggest issue was, though. Having people know that she was crippled by chronic pain in a world such as this could be lethal. There was no room for weakness.

She rolled her eyes with a scoff and wondered if he would have reacted the same way if she had been a man.

Turning her attention back to Stevania, she couldn't help but smile at her offer of escape.
"What, you don't like mercinaries in shining armor? All he need is a white horse, really," she said with a low chuckle. She raised both brows at Stevania's suggestive tone and smiled crookedly. The mention of scars made her wonder if Stevania knew more than she let on. If she was, in fact, a keen observer. At least she didn't know any details. Evera didn't lean away as Stevania moved closer, her green eyes glinting with amusement. "How right you are. I've always been a good swimmer." She tapped the bottle lightly. "And I prefer sticking to my own healing methods. Rum has never failed me." She leaned a little bit closer, as if challenging Stevania to back out of her suggestion.

"We could indeed sneak off before he gets back and lectures us on the right way to be a 'disciplined' criminal. Wanna join me for a drinking game?" She lowered her voice in case the sober man came back before their escape plan had succeeded.
 
Downstairs in the anteroom, Milos racked his brain, trying to remember exactly where did he see that mage put the scrolls. He had a good memory, but only for specific details. Names, locations... dates, what people wore - all those details were important to keep track of, in his business. Minutiae like this were not his strong suit. But there were only so many bookshelves, so he started methodically going through each one, also looking over the covers of the books, which could give him a clue.

Thinking.

Women. He'd been told many times that with his physical attributes, he could have any one he wanted. But for some reason, it never quite worked out that way for him. The more they got to know him, the more they were pushed off. Was it really his perhaps-overdisciplined mind? Was he too... perfect? Too squeaky-clean? He never really understood, how some of them, even though in an abusive relationship for example, always tended to go back to their abuser, despite being treated abhorrently? Did they... want... an undisciplined, foul-mouthed, drunkard prick? Plenty of those around... especially in neighbourhoods like Old Quarter. One just needed to head outside to the first street-corner, and find some maitre'd bitchslapping a harlot to the pavement, while taking all of her money for the day. If Stevania was so hard into... off-channel killing of certain men for personal reasons... why didn't she do anything about those types? The streets outside were filled with them, she really wouldn't have to look too far. Instead, she was in here, putting on airs about her... 'depravity'. As Saloma would say - 'playing tough'. Then again, she was a Drow... maybe she thought if those women couldn't take care of themselves they deserved that kind of treatment? Strong over the weak and all that?

"What am I missing... ?" - he wondered. As for the other lady... Evera... she was defintely less - contradictory. No less undisciplined, but less contradictory in terms.

Going through the third bookcase, his nimble, flexible gloved fingers suddenly felt shushing of parchment, behind a stack of books.

"Bingo." - he muttered to himself in satisfaction, reaching deeper behind, to pull the scrolls out. He flipped through them...

"Anti-posession incantations... no... what's this... alchemical liver-cleansing... huh... maybe this one WILL be needed next morning, if they keep sloshing themselves up like that!... ah. There you are. Restoration!" - he thought. He palmed that one, and the Cleansing one, just on the off-chance it would be needed, putting the third one back, before he headed back upstairs, glancing over the runes on the scroll. They were in the common tongue, but the spacing suggested they needed to be recited at specific pace. He'd figure it out.
 
At the words 'drinking game,' Stevania's eyes flashed with a redoubling of her base glint of dangerous intrigue.

She simply nodded, a curt and effective gesture to answer a question that required none of the indirectness or vagueries of language. As if to ram the point home, she added, "What even the fuck is a pineapple," a question that would probably have been wondered by most drow. The Underdark was about the furthest you could get from a tropical climate.

She kipped-up in a swift motion, suddenly on her feet despite the immediately proceeding slouch of her sit. A fundamental skill of almost any rogue, getting back upright as swiftly and cleanly as possible from any conceivable posture.

"Lead the way," Stevania urged, not even bothering to ask for clarification on the rules of the game to know she would doubtless prefer it to whatever sort of evening Milos had decided he was going to have with her. Even if he was some sort of silently-feared and highly-professional gentleman-assassin, the diversion of an evening that he may have posed for Stevania to try out and possibly tire of was no longer her only prospect of entertainment, not since Evera had staggered in, and given her semi-professional tendencies, it wasn't altogether surprising to the few people who knew her that Stevania generally preferred the company of women when any application of knives or similar were considered foul play.

No, Evera was far more of the sort that Stevania generally preferred to go for, at least in her more docile moods. Especially since Evera was already in a fair bit of pain, which Stevania certainly wouldn't normally have wished such a promisingly attractive and at least tangentially like-minded rogue to be in---but seeing as it was already there, was it so wrong of her to make the most out of the situation?
 
"....lead the way where?" - Milos's measured, yet intrigued tone echoed from behind the two, just as they were making their way to the back exit of the lounge. Unfortunately for the two.... escaping... females, the stairwell down to the anteroom really wasn't that long, and there really weren't that many shelves to rummage through.

"Did I miss something?" - he added, noticing the somewhat... annoyed - glare Stevania shot in his direction, in turn. And the way Evera was still favouring her good side, he could tell she was in pain.

"I found it... Evera, is it? Come back here, would you, and we will see what can be done about your unfortunate landing!" - he smiled invitingly at her, pointing at a rolled-up parchment in his hand.
 
Evera snorted at Stevania's question.

"Pineapple juice is actually rather good when mixed with..." Her voice trailed off as she leaned over, eyeing Milos' empty glass contemplatively. She picked up her bottle of rum, poured some into the glass, and then filled the rest with pineapple juice. "Maybe he'll like that better than pure liquor," she chuckled.
She was aware that the 'gift' she intended on leaving for Milos might be received as an insult, but she didn't intend it as such - well, not entirely. Did she enjoy screwing with him a bit? Sure. But she also had a small, vain hope that the uptight warrior would see it as an invitation to join them - on their terms. For the amusement of it. She would like nothing more than to see a big man who wasn't used to holding his liquor get drunk off his ass. Ah, yes. Life's simple pleasures. Seeing someone like Mr. Discipline loosen up a bit - or a lot? That would be entertaining.

Right as she finished making the drink and stood up, Milos' voice sounded behind her. She moved with more ease now than she had earlier. The fire in her scars had turned to a dull, drumming ache.

"I don't think that will be necessary," she answered as she turned around to face him. "No offense, but I'd rather have an actual healer heal me if I needed it. Which I don't. I'll be back to normal in a few days."

She cast a glance at Stevania, trying to read her expression. So, they'd been too slow to escape. Or the man was just too quick. Too sober.

"We're gonna go back to my quarters and play a drinking game," she said in a casual tone. He could take that as he wished. She didn't extend an invitation, but she also didn't rule him out. When she locked eyes with him again, there was a mix of challenge and amusement in her eyes. She hoped that he would either leave them to their vices or join them - but only if he participated. Looking him over from head to toe, she noted that he wasn't half-bad to look at, but she wondered if he fucked with focus and discipline too. Yawn. A slow, lazy smile spread on her lips. She had a feeling that though Milos could knock her on her ass if he wanted to, this game of cleverness, hints and just good ol' fun was one he excelled in. And Evera did love games.

She looked back at Stevania and slightly arched her brows in a silent question, wondering if the woman would be more direct than she'd been about their wanting to be rid of him or if she also felt the urge to rattle the soldier down from his high horse first.
 
"She hasn't told me what sort of game it is yet," confessed Stevania, "but I can't think of many games that aren't improved by being a bit drunk, and as you can probably surmise, I live a risky life. But you already made it clear you don't go for that sort of thing, haven't you? There is neither 'focus' nor 'discipline' in joining two only recently introduced ladies for a night of intoxication and thrill, especially for someone so analytic and temperate as yourself. If drinking, as you say, would be too much of a hindrance to your order and method, I'd be surprised if you even fucked, given the figure you surely know as a pedigreed assassin of just how many hits are carried out on targets caught in flagrante delicto," said Stevania, letting a pause linger after her statement. She didn't quite mean to add so much bile to her tone, but Evera's actions had spurred her on, and any sort of intriguing quality that Milos might formerly have posed, had evaporated into nothingness after he revealed how utterly uninteresting his life was. Maybe he was a reasonably good lay, if his physique was anything to go by. Or maybe he was actually enough of a bastard for Stevania to have other reasons for seducing. But neither of those had yet been proven, and depending on how good Evera proved to be, the drow quasi-assassin had no reason to hold out for a better offer than the one she had been given already.

Stevania herself had briefly considered messing with the assassin's cup in some capacity, but had decided internally not to bother. He simply wasn't worth it, and she had gotten enough warnings from the higher-ups that fucking with someone so overtly would probably have had lasting consequences for her, whether deserved or otherwise. Considering the rundown in her own mind of the myriad ways to play Milos for a fool, adding rum was by far one of the tamer options. But sometimes the simple classics worked best. Hence her preference for traditional daggers, even if nothing else about her was quite as traditional as her sister-kin would have preferred.

The situation in general would have been awkward if not for Stevania's general disregard for engaging in social etiquette. Even among thieves there was honor, as it was said, but Stevania was not a thief, and not even a typical sort of assassin. She had no famous names of exotic origin to lend credence to her qualifications to stab a rotten bastard. But that was sort of the point. Rogues didn't need to have pedigrees, as long as you could do the job without fucking up too terribly, that was all you basically needed.

As for the scroll, that was another matter to deal with entirely. 'Surely,' Milos might say, 'you would permit me to give fair Evera a boon courtesy of this noble rogue.' At least, in Stevania's internal characterization of the assassin in question.

Even if it wasn't obvious to Stevania why---not that she felt she even deserved to wonder---, Evera was not, in fact, itching to have a healing spell cast on her. She had made her preferences clear, at least while the two were undisturbed by the third wheel, and by god was it a squeaky one. But in this instance, none of Stevania's 'grease' would be splashing on his 'axle', at least not tonight. Certainly not tonight. She glanced back knowingly at Evera, mirroring her expression. As if seeking approval for her rhetorical scalding of Milos.

But before she had even come up with a good turn-down for the scroll, Evera had done it herself. Stevania caught herself feeling a bit sheepish. Even if she hadn't acted on her impulse, she had almost spoken for the lady herself, which was nowhere near as presumptuous as Milos had actually been, but she didn't feel all too good about denying the thief her own autonomy in the matter. It was possibly something to reflect on, if she could remember it after the inevitable deluge of drink that awaited them. Presuming of course that Milos did not stick his foot in again, or otherwise thwart their attempt to enjoy a sort of evening he could not abide.

She wasn't sure what she should expect, but that was always how she preferred things, as a rule.
 
"Of course I do. Which is why I'm not eager to become part of the statistic." - Milos replied, losing his smile, which transformed into a slightly-narrowed glare of annoyance, to the drow's entirely accurate claim, that sex was a commonly-employed medium, for assassins - especially female ones - to ply their trade on male marks. What she may not have been aware of, is that the reverse was much less common. Yes, there were a few blatant gigolo-assassins around, some quite successful, but he himself, while he may have had the looks, didn't have the charm or temperament for that approach, on a female mark. He preferred more straightforward methods.

And speaking of straightforward methods, this... contradictory, edgy little dark-skinned minx... has started seriously getting on his nerves by now, as his eyes narrowed a fraction further, his cock started protesting against the front of his trousers more insistently. Since she seems to have taken the kid gloves off, and called him, for all intents and purposes, a prim-and-proper loser... alright then.

"You want to have some fun? Let's have MY kind of fun, bitch." - he thought, with dark amusement mixed with annoyance.

"But you might yet, if you keep playing games with me." - he continued out-loud in a growl, with a faint trace of arousal, as suddenly, his right blade was in his hand, being thrown with a casual flick of a wrist, and a measured snap of the forearm, to impale itself through Stevania's right sleeve, narrowly missing her wrist, to pin her by her sleeve, to the wooden boards next to the door.

"You say you're a fucked-up little genie with a murder-itch to scratch? Let's see a demonstration of tha... sweetie." - he hissed, advancing quickly on her, and pinning her arms in place, as she tried to reach for her own blades. He twisted them both, hard enough to cause her some pain, pulling her forward, as he forced a kiss onto her mouth, all the way glaring at her in challenge, as in 'what you gonna do now', with a smirk, holding her tightly.

Her lips tasted good, and her limber, wiry body tensing up, just made his cock grind harder against the front of his trousers.
 
Suddenly Milos's whole character had suddenly become far more interesting to Stevania, and not in the good sort of way. But hells, if he wanted her so badly, he had no right to be picky about what aspects of her he was getting.

As revealing as her attire generally was, and even now, Stevania was far from transparent in what sort of equipment she had underneath. Which is to say, of course the regular expectation, but for a tinkerer with intensely sadistic tendencies and a good helping of irony, she kept herself more or less ready in the event of being seized by someone she had failed to predict the erratic tendencies of.

She was nowhere near strong enough to break free from Milos, especially not in this sort of primal frenzy he had devolved into.

But that wasn't as important as the spring-loaded five-inch double-bladed dirk pressed flat against her mound in a suitably insulated and visually indistinct sheath, which mirrored the contours of her dark woman-flower. And by god, this black rose had its fair share of thorns.

Clenching her ass-cheeks together around the two wire arms of the trigger mechanism, the generous length of the honed stiletto lurched forth, punching a hole first in the front of her own crotch-covering fabric, and making its mark eminetly known to Milos by way of stabbing through his raging member, a pain she could not sympathize with for two clear reasons.

"What's your second wish, motherfucker?" she hissed through gritted teeth, "or are you ready to set this genie free and use that bloody scroll on your own moth-eaten dick? Consider this a parting gift and a warning. You have forfeited the right to earn another chance."

She spat on the floor to rid her mouth of the taste of his lips. By god she craved another few swigs of something stronger than Drider Venom right about now, and certainly Evera seemed like the kind of lady who could provide that. If not for her prior engagement, in fact, Stevania would have relished the opporunity to thoroughly carve Milos like a roast duck. But she wasn't going to let one bastard ruin an otherwise promising evening, and if he persisted, he would find many more snares than the one she had sprung first.
 
She would be disappointed, however, as the man took the stab through his penis as no more then a sharp intake of breath, and sudden hyper-clenching of his fists on her forearms.

"Try to contain your... nhh... disappointment, bitch. I have been subjected to... similar things... during my... conditioning... in the Al'Seyrit. By a woman... who didn't have to pretend... she was tough. Like you continually do." - he grunted. Then with a snarl, he twisted both her wrists as hard as he could, dislocating them both, before he headbutted her to the face.

"At least the... nhhh... annoying pretense is finished. Have a good night, drow." - he snarled through clenched teeth, releasing her dislocated arms, as he yanked the blade out of the wall, and retraced his steps to the table, the crotch of his trousers painted in blood. He collected the Restoration scroll, throwing the dark elven cunt another glance.

"And I think I will." - pocketing the scroll, and walking down the stairs toward the anteroom. Pain was evident in his tone, but his gait was stable, even as the redness at his crotch continued to spread.
 
Evera was gaping at the sudden change in the man, in a matter of seconds going from let-me-heal-you-oh-maiden-in-distress to forcing himself upon Stevania.

"What the fuck?" she hissed, fury swelling up and drumming through her veins. Men and their fragile egos...
Everything happened so fast that she barely had time to react. As Milos withdrew from Stevania and made for the stairs, however, Evera raised a hand, summoning her magic. The green in her eyes glowed with venom. She brought life back to the dead wooden floors, taming them to her will. A ripple went through the wood, continuing to the stairs where she willed the steps to spring up and simply vanish where Milos was stepping. He seemed to have a high pain tolerance, but she still hoped the fall down the stairs would hurt - or, even better, wound his pride even more than his bleeding cock had done.

"False kindness indeed," she growled, hurrying to Stevania's side to get a closer look at her wrists. Evera cursed the fact that she was in a city. She did have healing abilities, but not here - they required nature's help, the help of the forest. Living trees, not this dead wood that she could use as a weapon but not for healing.
 
"Fuck!" Stevania spat, careful to aim away from Evera, who she then turned to.

"Don't worry too much about me," she said, blood streaming down her face from both nostrils. At least her nose wasn't broken and she hadn't lost any teeth. Milos could almost certainly have done far more damage to her if he had been the least bit inclined. Perhaps he was sparing her the brunt of his frustration in the hopes of preserving her money-maker long enough to have his way with her more thoroughly. Not a chance she would let her guard down around him though, and she had a mind to speak to the fellow operator who he seemed close enough to to have received a pornographic novella from, if she could even figure out to whom he had been referring. Then, to the management, to report his misconduct. It would be all to easy to give in to the urge to go after him on a personal level, but that would be the exact sort of thing the fucker wanted, and she was in no hurry to give him anything but the exact opposite of what he desired.

She felt slightly concussed, but the fucker had backed down even despite having proven more resilient than the average John. Which was perhaps only to be expected for someone trained in All-Shit or wherever he kept saying he was educated in how to take getting stabbed in the dick, apparently.

As if not for the first time, Stevania reset her dislocated joints one by one and painstakingly. When she had finished, she clasped her hand around Evara's forearm and accepted the welcome support from the thief, who was suddenly looking infinitely better a companion than she had before, given the precipitous drop of Milos off of Stevania's scale of desirability.
She could stand, at least, and looking at Evera, figured that the other woman was probably in more pain than her, on balance. Which wasn't necessarily something to be reassured by, but somehow Stevania was.

"Forget rum, that fucker deserves arsenic in his fucking pineapple juice," Stevania muttered to Evera, and once they were both standing, nodded in silent thanks and padded over---her legs were fine, thankfully--- to the drinks cabinet, retrieving a bottle of the virtually-illegal liquor known simply as Death Knell, and tipped it back to replace the foul taste of Milos's stolen kiss with something even more foul, yet far more palatable. The ringing of a tolling churchbell resounding in her ears, she put the bottle back and turned directly to Evera, walking back over to her.

"So, we fucking playing this game or what?" Stevania asked, wiping a runnel of fresh crimson streaming from her nostril before it dripped onto the thief's person. "Cuz I could really use something to stop myself from stabbing that 'focus and discipline' goat-fuck to see how thorough his All-Shit masters were at conditioning him to pain. But your idea of a good time sounds much better, and I can't say I want to give him the satisfaction of a second thought in my mind."

A thought occurred to Stevania, and, reaching back into the drinks cabinet, she pulled out the container of pineapple juice so prized by Milos, so rare and difficult to import---and tipped it out onto the floor, before holding the can to the hole in her nether coverings made by the stiletto---which had fallen to the ground in the interim---, and started filling the container up by means of emptying her bladder, before sealing it back up and making sure there were no other bottles of the stuff left for Milos to turn to. By any metric, it could have easily been that someone else besides Milos got to it first, but that wasn't the point. It was the sheer act of defiling one of the few expressed luxuries of the despicable bastard that gave Stevania a cathartic license to forget he ever existed.

"C'mon," Stevania said to Evera. "I doubt you can show me much worse a time than that fuck, so I'm game for whatever shit you're planning."

She scooped the stiletto off of the ground and cleaned it off on a rag by the drinks cabinet, presumably one meant for polishing trays or glasses, or insulating cold bottles. She then reset the mechanism and popped the dagger into a hidden pocket, for later once she had gotten her crotch-seam repaired.
 
There was a dull thud sound from below, along with a pained groan. Milos's voice floated up towards them, in a pain-laced shout.

"You're next, Evera!"

***

Despite the pain he was in, Milos had to chuckle to himself, rushing to his cabin to wash up his perforated member, and then figure out how to use the scroll on it.

"I was right... it is to be an interesting night! And those two minxes... well. They may actually get their wish, and make me... loosen up... a bit with them. Next time, though, on my terms!" - he thought, with a private chuckle. Strangely enough, his gushing penis still remained somewhat hard, as he bandaged it tightly in his cabin, then used the Restoration scroll.

Then he pulled out the book he tossed in the rubbish bin earlier, deciding to finish it, after all. Maybe Saloma's gift was prophetic... taming that Drow cunt will be... entertaining. With a side-order of the other one. On his back in his bed again, dull pain still pulsing through his cock, he smirked as he continued reading the trashy book.
 
Evera heard the satisfying thud as Milos hit the ground below. With a flick of her wrist, the staircase was back in place as if the steps had never been altered. She ignored the threat that Milo sent her way. She had no intention of stooping down to his level and fight him like some brute.

She was impressed by Stevania's ability to reset her joints on her own. This wasn't her first time with dislocated joints, it seemed. Evera watched her as she took a swig of the strongest liquor in that cabinet and couldn't help but smile slightly. Evera had to disagree with Milos - Stevania didn't seem to just act tough. When she pissed in Milos' pineapple juice, a wicked grin spread across Evera's face. "Piss is still better than rum, too, for a ticking bomb like that," she mused.

"I'm not sure if my drinking game quite cuts it for this situation at this point," she then admitted while she grabbet her bottle of rum, bobbing her chin towards the hallway and beckoning for Stevania to follow her as she started walking towards her room. "But I could sure as hell use a drink, too."

Reaching the living quarters, she pushed open the door to the room she'd occupied for the past three days. The door wasn't locked; she had only some extra clothing and her cloak which was still sprawled carelessly on the bed for anyone to take, but it wasn't worth much. Her valuables were locked away in a small chest beneath one of the floor boards.
By the wall across from the door was a maroon couch with two comfortable chairs on each side of a small table. No, she'd never lived as comfortably as she did when she stayed at the Guild.
Motioning with her hand for Stevania to enter and closing the door behind her, she then headed for that couch.

"I usually go for a good ol' game of Drink or Tell." Evera sat down on the couch, once again leaning forward so her back wouldn't touch the back of it. She kept the bottle in her hand, slowly swirling the rum around. "It's simple. We take turns asking a question, and the other chooses to answer or drink. A real ice breaker, that one." She looked up at Stevania. This game could go either way; it could be fun and light, or it could get heavy. And drunk.
 
"Seems simple enough," said Stevania, after hearing the rules of the game. "I'll let you ask me the first question, just cuz I feel like having a chance to have the first drink," she added, smirking.

She plopped herself down on one of the chairs across from Evera, still rubbing her wrists slightly to ease the feeling back in. It would be a clean recovery and probably not a long one, but she probably would have to wait a bit to forget about it completely.

Stevania had a quick glance about the room. She wasn't a thief by trade or habit, and so she hadn't the intuition for judging the contents of a room and sizing it up. She was honestly better at predicting people, and even then, only in very limited regards.

"Doesn't look like you've been here long, but that isn't a question yet," she said, waiting for Evera to think of something to ask her.

What sort of question would the mysterious thief ask? It was a curious sort of thrill, one that held no pain in store for either of them, but still had a superficial air of suspense, forcing Stevania and Evera to anticipate each other's words and decide whether to sink further into oblivion or damn it all and bare their secrets.
 
Evera smirked at Stevania's response. She placed her elbow on her thigh to rest her chin on her fist, thinking. There was much she was curious to know about this hardcore woman, but she decided to start on a light note.

"Well, might as well start of with the basics unless you really want to drink. Or, of course, unless you're too much of a lady to want to answer this question." She smiled slightly again before she asked, "how old are you?" She really wanted to ask how long she had been in the trade or something else along that line, but basic information was required first to understand the meaning of such knowledge. She knew that Stevania's kind didn't age like humans, some had an age span more similar to fairies, like herself. The ability to live hundreds of years if not more.
 
SOMETIME DURING THE NIGHT...

Short-short-long-short-long-short-short.

A pattern of knocks sounded on the massive entry door to the Guild grounds. The specific pattern meant that Saloma was back. As the doors opened, and the bit bleary-eyed tall, toned woman in a hood and cloak stepped through, she affirmed to herself:

"That's the last time EVER, I agree to meet with a bloody intermediary, in a dive. We do letters from now on, and meet in his country club when he's ready to take me on as a bodyguard. No more cloak-and-dagger nonsense."

Aside from getting drunk and making a scene at the Crucible, nearly provoking a bar brawl, getting frisky with that fatass barkeep, in drunken affectation, and then getting her head dunked into a bucket-full of freezing-cold water mixed with ammonia, to sober her up - the night was a waste. For all she knew, the Count's contact had gotten lost on his way to the tavern. Or been shanked to death in some dark alley. There was something be said for listening to one's instincts. It took her a while to learn her way around the slums, how could some... stuffy serf of a count, who probably never left his master's mansion... find his way down to Old Quarter?! Ridiculous.

"How's tricks?" - she thew in passing, to the acquisitons' clerk, the one whom Stefania had left a 'present' earlier.

"Disgusting..." - the hunched man's reply was sarcastic, as he was still busy cleaning the last spots of his... regurgitation, earlier. The 'present' itself was nowhere to be seen.

"So, the usual." - the crimson-haired vixen smirked, vanishing past the anteroom doors. Once in, she took off her cloak and cape, once again in her tight, revealing leather regalia, rapier at her hip.

Not feeling sleepy yet, she felt like grabbing a snack from the lounge above. Climbing upstairs, she had a sight to see.

"What the hell happened here...?" - she wondered, noticing the drops of blood on the wooden floor, leading to the stairwell down, an unfinished meal on the table, several unfinished bottles and glasses in front of various seats, including some fairly - strong smelling - ones, some... cracks... in the railing of the stairwell, and a very conspicuous puddle of blood next to the door near the far wall... a small, glinting piece of metal next to it. She approached it.

It was a bloody stilleto, the kind typically found in switchblades, but slightly shorter. She crouched to pick it up, giving it a sniff. It was Human blood. As was some of the liquid in the puddle. But not all of it. The rest of it smelled non-human. She tossed it back down, moving over to wash her hands in the sink.

"I'm sure I'll find out sooner or later... I guess." - the woman thought, none-too-perturbed. It was her unwritten rule, to stay out of other people's business, unless it involved her. Yet she was comforted by the weight of the rapier at her hip.

Moving over to the other end of the large buffet table, she picked out a chair, pouring herself some mint tea... after the binge in the Tavern, the last thing on Saloma's mind was more alcohol... and a slice of chocolate cake. She was in the mood for something sweet.
 
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