// EXPERIMENTAL THREAD // - the Thieves' Guild

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// EXPERIMENTAL THREAD // - the Thieves' Guild

notlydialovelace

The None, The Nonely
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Stevania tapped her nose with a subtle grin on her face.

"You really want to know, huh? I'm guessing you know the number is going to be a wee bit higher than you might expect if I was a human who looked like this."

She paused. "One hundred and twenty-six years, but no one besides you really needs to know," she said.

She wasn't too concerned about telling Evera her age. It was just a number, especially for any sort of elf. Senescence be damned, she was going to live forever so why should a century and a quarter, plus one year, really matter in the broader scale of things.

Now it was the drow's turn, and she felt inspired by the first question. That is to say, she was curious about the other woman's answer.

"As above, so below; how old are you, my dear Evera?" she asked.

She still had little to no idea quite what Evera was. An elf? Half-elf? Human? Or something else entirely, for that matter. It wasn't necessarily going to be clear just from her age, unless it was something out of the realm of the ordinary...but in that case, she fairly expected the woman would rather drink and leave things mysterious than open herself to discovery. Not that Stevania had an inkling of what sort of possibilities there were that would have justified silence on the matter, other than a sort of discretionary 'a lady never tells her age' sort of deal.

But neither of them were particularly ladylike at the very least in terms of their professions or vices, so that would be a rough sell.
 

Darko Cernovsek

Lord Of The Abyss
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***

~"You need to lower your standards, lad. People will rarely meet them. See, most 'a us don't be havin' th' benefit of... special... upbringing like ye had."~

~"But why? I was taught my whole life, that to accommodate other people's failings and vices, is to weaken myself. It is one of the Prime Principles of Al'Seyrit. "Never compromise yourself to appease another. You are your own cosmos." "~

~"Lemme guess... another is "be a concescendin' asswipe"? Look lad, holding yer self-imposed standards is all well an' good, when yer out there stalkin' some poor soul. I'm sure yer analytics, focus and discipline, and the way ye keep yer body in perfect shape, make ye a hell of an assassin, worthy of this... Al'Seyrit... wha'-eer it is. But it don't make ye a pleasant person. Yer fake smile, those solid-cold eyes 'a yours, scopin' out prey all th' bloody time, the way ye talk... I am... worried about ye."~

~"Why? I am more self-disciplined then most who will ever visit your establishment. I will never start a brawl, I will never be drunk or disorderly, I will never--"~

~"That's me POINT, lad! You will NEVER let bloody go! Until it builds up in thar', to a point where ye pop like a cork! Nothwithstandin' yer discipline, yer still human! Yer not a deity, yer not a golem. Ye got feelings lad. And ye DO have a temper. Ye get aggravated. Ye get annoyed. A LOT. I've seen it. Buried deep down under all that cold, affable facade ye put up, but ye do have it, and it boils slowly. We need our releases! If we don't get 'em, our nature'll just bust out at a worst bleedin' moment. Could be somethin' ye never see comin'. A word, a look... a gesture. And it'll make ye go off like a fireball, an' all yer self-discipline won't be stoppin' it. Especially given th' line 'a work yer in. Ye may think it don't affect ye, but no matter how bloody cold you are - killin' people slowly kills yer soul. Bit by bit. For that especially, ye need releases, lad!"~


***

Opened book on his chest, Milos stared unblinkingly at the ceiling, considering that conversation he'd once had, with the Barkeep at the Crucible. His face blank, his ice-blue eyes focusing on a single random spot up there. With the benefit of hindsight, he tried to pinpoint the exact moment, where Stefania's attitude and provocations, made him... snap. But he couldn't. It was as the Barkeep had said... he never saw it coming. In his mind's eye, he saw himself throwing the blade at her - and it was only a heroic effort at restraint, that actually kept him from aiming for her neck, instead of by her wrist. Then another heroic effort at restraint, that made him maim and hurt her, instead of snapping her neck right then and there, when she impaled him in the penis.

Rightfully, he had to admit.

"Why? Why did she get to me so much? Why can't I handle that... attitude of hers? Why does it make me both aroused, and infuriated?" - he wondered, his blank expression not changing. He tried to find the answer, by finishing the book. But no such luck. The book was full of caricatures he could laugh at and dismiss as absurd. It was precisely what it was meant to be - a trash-level exploitation porn novel, only good for a cheap thrill, and meant to be forgotten 10 minutes after finishing it. It had no depth.

Stefania wasn't a caricature. She had a LOT of depth. But she was just as absurd. For someone that absurd and contradictory, to be able to get to him like this... Milos didn't understand how that was possible.
 

havfruen

Fantasy Fairy
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It was as Evera had expected; Stevania was older than she looked. It could vary when different races reached maturity, though.

"Ah, a cougar, huh?" She smiled playfully. "I'm 30." She answered the question without hesitation. That was an easy one. She watched the woman contemplatively, considering her next question. She decided to keep it light, though 'light', of course, had different definitions for different people.

"How old were you when you... lost your virginity? Your maidenhood? Rolled in the sheets for the first time? I could keep going, but you know what I mean," she asked with a smirk. Depending on when Stevania had reached maturity, she would most likely have years of experience. Intriguing.
 

notlydialovelace

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Stevania shrugged ambiguously.

"I don't frankly know which answer to give you. It all depends on what you mean by that. I could go on and tell you all the possible answers, but some of them are best unsaid, so I guess I'll drink. But for the record, I am definitely not a virgin by any stretch of the imagination," Stevnia said, grinning obliquely as she reached for the bottle, pressed it to her lips and tipped it back handily, before slamming it down and grinning even as her eyes clenched shut from the quick swig of strong booze.

"Phwoah," she interjected, blinking suddenly before returning to her former semi-relaxed yet curiously poised manner.

She then paused to come up with a plausibly equivalent question.

"How long has it been since you've had any sort of sex with any sort of partner, as of this moment?" asked Stevania.

She leaned back slightly and braced herself from behind with her palms splayed out like the legs of an easel-stand, as if she were about to try a yogic pose or crab-walk out of the room. But she did neither. This game was far too interesting, and even more interesting was Evera herself. As little about the woman as Stevania knew, she at least knew she wanted to know more.
 

havfruen

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Evera chuckled at Stevania's reaction to the booze. "Fair enough."
She furrowed her brows slightly at the question aimed at her, thinking. It had been a while ago, though not too long. A drunken night in a tavern, there'd been five of them, celebrating a succesful robbery... ah, yes. She remembered.

"About three months ago," she said, not expanding on how, where or with whom. Watching the other woman, she thought back to their encounter with Milos, Stevania's immediate response to fight back.

"How did you learn to fight like that?" was her next question. She'd already explained that she sometimes took pleasure in her killing, that she wasn't in it for the money, but where did she get the training? Was she self-taught? The curiosity gleamed in Evera's eyes.
 

notlydialovelace

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"There is a common practice among certain households of the drow nobles, where at a certain young age before they have developed into themselves, drow females are given a test. The Trial of Many Knives," Stevania explained. "Every sort of knife is laid out in a row: kitchen knives, hunting knives, razors, scissors, dueling knives...I could go on. Depending on what the young child picks, their path in life is set for them, and in accordance with their choice, they are trained to master the craft associated with their destined blade. Mine was the killing-dagger, and I was taught by the Knife-Dancers of---I'm just fucking with you," Stevania confessed, snorting slightly as she noted the change in Evera's expression from rapt attention to puzzlement.

After laughing for a short spell, sighing as she finished enjoying her little harmless prank, Stevania returned to before.

"Self-taught. Mostly instinctual, really. I killed enough people, and failed enough times at attempting to do the very same, to know what works and what doesn't. Hasn't got me killed yet, though near misses galore are the name of the game. Surprisingly few scars, mind you. I don't tend to take on people who are carrying blades, as a rule. At least, not while they are the least bit handy. Either sleeping, or naked, or just plain unawares."

Stevania was feeling herself getting more and more comfortable around Evera, which wasn't necessarily a good thing. But for now, she was willing to take plenty more risks in the interest of balancing out the evening's sour taste.

"How about you. What was the first thing you ever stole?" she asked, pointing to Evera for emphasis. As if there was anyone else to whom she would be asking the question, but never mind.
 

havfruen

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Evera leaned forward, frowning while listening to Stevania's explanation. This seemed extreme... and then her tone changed. Evera started laughing, as well, the first genuine laughter she'd exclaimed in... how long? She couldn't remember. She dried her eyes as the laughter toned down and shook her head, still smiling. This one was definitely a different type of rogue than that guy who had seemed so high and mighty when talking about his training. She was glad the night had developed this way - not particularly happy about the brawl, or the fact that she'd revealed her magic to make Milos fall down the stairs, but to be right here right now. To be laughing and drinking with an interesting woman.

The smile relented a bit at the question, shadows filling her eyes for moment. The first thing she'd ever stolen... Her stomach churned, as if reminding her of that time fifteen years ago. She had been so hungry... and the family she had stolen from had been poor, too. She had known they needed that loaf of bread as much as she did, but she had been desperate. Her first theft had not been honorable in the least, it had been for survival.

She shook her head lightly. "Now, that's a story for another time," she said and took a swig of rum instead of answering. It burned down her throat and she sighed before turning her attention back to Stevania.

"Who was the first person you ever killed?" she asked, curiosity sneaking back into her tone. She wondered if Stevania would be as secretive about her past as she tended to be; at least about the beginning of her criminal life.
 

notlydialovelace

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Stevania hesitated. She had built her life on killing utterly unmemorable people, the kind who only achieve a legacy through leaving scars of one kind or another on others; the only things that last beyond their death.

But it hadn't started out that way. It had been so long ago.

A strange taste made itself known in her mouth. A melange of old memories, emotions. Things she didn't quite care enough to remember, or perhaps cared too much to risk dwelling on, for her own sake.

"My father," she said, but even having said the truth, she reached for the bottle of rum and took a swig anyway. She felt at least compelled to answer, if not for the game, than for her own sake, to not have to leave the memory inside of herself, to express it and thereby expel it.

And she didn't especially feel like elaborating on the details. He had been far more of a decent man---or at least, a different kind of indecent---than her current preferred target. And she had been too young to understand things that she now was perhaps old enough, more than a century old enough, to understand about the circumstances that had prompted her to commit patricide.

But that, as Evera had said, was,

"...story for another time," she explained, putting down the bottle.

This was a game in which some questions could be asked that one couldn't wash away with booze.

"Next question," she said, in somewhat of a rush to move along before Evera could think about her answer, or perhaps even Stevania herself could bear to contemplate it in silence.

"When or what was the happiest moment of your life, so far at least?" Stevania asked.

Perhaps noting the sour turn of the mood, and hoping to liven things up. But just as easily it could backfire, she knew well enough that that was more than possible.
 

havfruen

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Evera didn't pressure Stevania to explain further. The circumstances must have been dire for her to have killed her own father. And now she killed not for the money, but for the specific causes. The men she killed now - were they the same type of men as her father had been? If she had an abusive childhood, had killing him once not been enough?

Some seek out partners who are like their parents in the hopes of changing them, she thought to herself. Some kill them over and over.

Stevania's next question stumped her. What a subject change! She didn't mind keeping the mood a bit lighter, though.

"Good question," she said, considering. It was difficult for her to separate memories; she had been happy, occasionally, sitting in the tiny house she grew up in with a little sister or brother on her lap on a night when her mother did not have any strange men over, when she had told stories to Evera and her siblings. But the memories were soured by all the other nights, the bruises on her mother's face. The fire that had split up her family and changed her life forever.

There had been good moments in the city, too. Moments when she had been with her chosen family, her thieving friends, and all their bellies had been full, and there were moments of peace. But their leader had left them, and Evera had left shortly after, too. Happiness was a temporary feeling to her, like glimmers of light on an otherwise cloudy, endless night.

"I was fifteen and I'd successfully escaped the orphanage I had been placed in, this time they hadn't managed to catch me and bring me back. I was trekking through a forest," she finally said, her eyes clouded by memories. "There was this moment of silence and serenity by a lake, the sun was shining and there was nothing but me, the forest and the creatures who lived there. Everything seemed undisturbed. I felt... free. For the first time in my life. That's the happiest moment I can think of. Feeling free." She smiled at the memory. That was all she had ever wanted; to be her own master with no one to answer to but herself, completely and utterly free.

"I apologize for the lack of creativity, but I'll ask you the same question." Curiosity bloomed back into her eyes. Happiness was such an individual thing. What would happiness look like for a tough person like Stevania?
 

notlydialovelace

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Stevania smiled, in a way she hadn't yet shown Evera before. Nostalgia, what a curious poison that was. Not enough to kill, but certainly enough to fog the mind.

"It was a couple of years ago. My sister. She was always a big softie, especially by drow standards. The counterweight to my cunning. There had been an incident, a high-elf merchant or trader or something, a man important enough to not get clapped in chains by the matriarchs. He visited the Underdark and had these exotic daggers on either hip. Probably ornamental, he didn't seem the type to use them. Anyway, long story short is he saw my sister and couldn't keep in line. Never *did* anything to her, but it was clear that was where he was headed if no one stopped him. No one else stopped him. I did."

She paused, reaching a turning-point in the story.

"After I dumped all that remained of him in the lake, I cleaned off his decorated, but certainly functional, daggers, and gave them to my sister. She was overjoyed. She had never really been given a chance, wanted to be a baker of all things. I was enough of an outlier that I had no reason to hold her to any standards. I enjoyed eating the things she made, even with the Underdark's paucity of suitable produce. They tasted kinda bad, but they were made with love."

"Long story short, me in my unique kind of sisterly doting, I taught her how to use them. To defend herself from people who didn't deserve the kindness she tried to show everyone. Bad people, like the elf who no longer had any need of his daggers. She got pretty good at them."

"The happiest I ever felt, was the day she landed a cut on me. She of course stopped immediately, dropping the daggers, ran over, and apologized over and over as she looked so worried about me. It was just a fucking scratch. Don't even have a scar anymore, 'least not a visible one. But I was so proud of her. Neither of us were normal, but at least we weren't alone."

Stevania sniffed. She hoped that wherever Seva was, she was happy. Bless the fool and her crumbly mushroom-flour pastries.

But she returned to the game. She had enough of a diversion into the past, that she was no longer able to remember what questions were asked, at least not without a bit of thinking.

"How do you see me, Evera? What am I to you?" she asked. Certainly a departure from the kind of question she had asked before, that either of them had. They had danced around things, certainly. But this was more direct, to the heart of things.
 

havfruen

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Evera smiled slightly at the story's ending. She could imagine it, the sister who finally managed to get through Stevania's defenses, which could not have been an easy task.

Evera ran a finger down the bottle and tapped lightly on it, considering the question. How did she see Stevania? This game was surely becoming one of reflection. She looked at the drow, wondering what kind of answer she was looking for.

"I see you as someone tough, not just someone who pretends to be," she said, raising an eyebrow knowingly as she thought back on Milos' words. "I think it takes a certain kind of strength to choose to take control over your own story rather than allowing yourself to be a victim. And as for the other part of your question..." She raised her bottle in cheers. "Right now I see you as damn good company." Taking a swig of the rum, she ran through the questions that had already been asked in her mind. A crooked smile appeared on her face.

"How do you want me to see you? What do you want to be to me?"
 

notlydialovelace

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"I see you're not letting me off easy for that one," said Stevania, shrugging back.

"I'd be lying if I said I wasn't interested in seeing what you'd be like in bed. But I don't know yet whether I can open anything more than my legs to you. My heart, that's a much heavier set of hinges," she said, widening her stance for emphasis. The tear in the fabric covering her crotch hadn't mended itself by magic, so it was still quite noticeable, especially in her present stance.

"So, for now? I'd at least be hoping you saw me as someone whose aforementioned curiosity you were suitably inclined to indulge." Her face scrunched slightly, and her soft tone unsoftened. "But look at me talking like a fucking lawyer. I think you're hot, I've not had good sex in a long time, and you haven't yet shown me a clear sign you aren't interested. But I'd rather hear so from you than act like a spectacular arse and take anything for given. You game or what?" she asked.

It wasn't, in all honesty, *quite* a proper answer to the question as it was originally phrased. It left a lot of things ambiguous, aside from Stevania's impressions and intentions. But the game had gone through a couple of hills and valleys, and it was getting late enough that if they kept on drinking, it might have been even rougher of a morning than it was already destined to be. So might as well get a bit of mileage out of their remaining sliver of sobriety and get going at it while the going was good.

At least, if Evera wasn't against the idea. Stevania was a cutthroat bitch but she wasn't a complete savage. She had far more discretion when it came to her legitimate attempts at courtship than when she played the damsel with a hidden dagger.
 

havfruen

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Evera smiled deviously at the reply, cocking her head to the side and watching Stevania for a moment, letting her gaze run lower and linger between her legs. She stood up, taking the few steps to the chair she was sitting in, and leaned in close.

"That's not the smoothest proposal I've received, but yes, I'm game," she said teasingly, her eyes glimmering with amusement and something darker, the lust she'd kept buried throughout the night. This did, indeed, seem like a good ending to an interesting evening. And she had to admit, she was curious - what would a woman like this be like in bed? Would she be submissive and receiving, the kind who took on so much in her day-to-day-life that she was looking to give up control? Or would she take control, never yielding that leading position?
Evera didn't mind either way. She enjoyed toying with people, but Stevania didn't seem the toying kind. She also enjoyed submitting - for someone she deemed worthy of submitting to; the only place she'd ever let anyone boss her around was in bed.

She lingered above Stevania with that crooked smile, waiting to see what she would do.
 

notlydialovelace

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What happened next behind Evera's door would remain a secret, such as secrets could ever persist in such a place, between Stevania and Evera herself.

All that any outsider would have perceived if they happened to eavesdrop was that someone had gotten lucky.

~~// o . o . o \\~~
 

Darko Cernovsek

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// LOL took you ladies long enough! Definitely too much lowkey foreplay for my (or Milos's) taste, too little action XD - but I guess I'm figuring out why I prefer one-night-stands to relationships. I like it simple hehe //

A knock on the door, jarred Milos out of his reverie. Almost reflexively, his hand found the hilt of one of his blades, before he relaxed. If that was Stevania, coming on some misguided notion to 'get even', she wouldn't have knocked. Plus, for all of her attitude, she didn't strike him as suicidal. Unless she came seeking, or offering, an apology. One was neither required, nor desired, however. And if she was after one from him - that wouldn't happen either. To apologise would mean admitting he lost control, and Milos liked his - mostly successful - pretense of always being in control. Pride? Hubris? Maybe. But the barkeep was right... under all that conditioning, he WAS human.

Mostly. Successful. Pretense.

Not to mention admitting she got to him with her contradictory, acerbic attitude. That was a satisfaction she wouldn't get, either. He had far too much pride for that. In his experience, insecure, edgy little numbers like her fed on those kinds of realisations. Likewise - he decided to keep his high standards when it came to women. And Stevania had failed to meet them. Though in quite a different way, from most others. She was a looker, and under all that attitude and pretense, she was likely a riot in bed. The problem was... putting up with her attitude and pretense, WITHOUT killing her in the process. Not that she deserved it... but she just had that effect on him, and Milos wasn't too proud to admit that. To himself, that is. Not to anyone else.

"Not worth it. One of us would end up dead sooner rather then later. Besides... she IS a bit skinny for my taste, anyway. Probably wouldn't last anywhere close to my climax!" - he affirmed to himself.

Finally, he spoke up, deciding on neutral curiosity.

"Yes? Who is it?" - no pain left in his tone. His cock was healing nicely, through a combination of the Restoration scroll, and thorough washing and bandaging. He'd probably have a small puncture-scar there for a while, but it wasn't bleeding anymore.

"It's Saloma. You busy?" - the well-remembered slightly-sardonic tone came. Almost involuntarily, the young man's face spread into a smile. Now THERE was an uncomplicated woman! She made it no secret she wanted to throw herself on him, and for all her sarcasm and needling, she was psychologically far better adapted then Stevania. Plus... she wasn't emotionally damaged goods, with a murder-fetish-pretense like the drow was. And she lacked that undertone of arrogance.

But what was she doing back here already? Did her contract go wrong?

"Hello! I was under the impression you'd be away for a good long time, living the high life with your Count employer? What happened?" - he asked.

"Shit happened. Look, I don't feel like talkin' through a fucking door. You plan on lettin' me in or what?" - the woman's slightly annoyed tone came back, with the kind of distant feel that told him it was directed at someone... else.

"Oh... yes, of course!" - he scrambled to his feet, unlocking the door. The tall, wiry woman stood there, eyes bloodshot, indicative she'd been drinking... and her face a bit sunken-looking.

"Um... what happened?! You look--" - he started, as she cut him off, "...like a horse's arse? Yep. Feel like one, too." - without asking, she brushed past him, to plop herself in the room's lone chair. He noticed chocolate spots around her lips - clearly she helped herself from the Lounge as she came in. How much did she... notice?

"My contact was a no-show, the fool likely couldn't find his way down to the slums, and to top it off, I got sloshed, and made a big scene at the Crucible. Had to get forced cold-turkey, then barely dragged myself back here." - she growled, rolling her eyes.

Milos shook his head slightly, closing the door behind her, as he sat on his bed, opposite the chair.

"Hazards of meeting with intermediaries, I suppose. But... I'm glad you're back safely!" - he smiled, his first genuine smile tonight. Saloma - he knew exactly where he stood with her. Even if he liked to play hard-to-get... not tonight. Not after everything that happened earlier.

The crimson-haired vixen gave him a shrewd look, despite her sunken appearance.

"Okay, what's up? Forgot your usual cold-fish self tonight? That actually looked like a real smile there for a second!" - she smirked.

He chuckled, mirthlessly.

"Let's say I have learned the value of simplicity in expression, given... certain events earlier tonight. And... I AM glad to see you again."

"You saw me like five hours ago... not buying it--" - she countered, then snapped her fingers suddenly, with a devious smirk.

"By chance this has something to do with... quite a little scene up in the Lounge I came across? Blood, signs of a fight... human and something else? Did you throw down with someone?!" - the woman asked, narrowing her eyes, looking him over for any signs of bruises or anything else indicating a fight.

Milos sighed.

"A misunderstanding... of sorts. And a reminder of how lines between fiction and reality can be blurry." - he muttered, absently fingering the half-opened book next to him on the bed. Saloma burst out laughing, catching him completely off-guard.

"Oh I see... you got the purpose of my little present! Did it prep you well enough?!" - she winked, knowingly.

For a long moment, the young assassin couldn't believe what he was hearing, looking at Saloma's... knowing... expression. He put two and two together...

"Y...you mean... you... KNEW about - her?!" - he breathed, blinking in disbelief.

The woman casually crossed her legs, shrugging, her revealing leathers squeaking slightly in protest.

"Not personally, no... but I've been hanging around the Guild often enough the past couple months, while you've been away, to get wind of some drow chick dropping in occasionally, with visceral stories and bloody presents. And I also overheard some of the staff talking about her and her little edgy... mankiller-fetish. I figured if you were back in time, you might run into her and get interested! I know how much you like vicious little pretentions skanks... probably why I'm not vicious enough for you... So I figured you'd need some advance-warning on Drow... that book was the best I could find, but given her reputation, I figured it was pretty accurate." - she winked.

"You... you mean you don't get off on that... rubbish?" - he blinked, confused.

Saloma scoffed at that, reaching over to pick up the book, flipping through some pages and illustrations within.

"C'mon. It's ME. Impudent slaves, male-bashing femdom fantasy, Drow power-tripping maneating bullshit? Seriously? I've got nothing to prove, and to me, Drow bitches are the biggest self-affirming insecure types in the world. The fact they got a RELIGION around male-bashing, tells me how sad and frustrated they are! A 'Spider Queen'? Gimme a break. I think living in the dirt made them all stupid!" - she laughed derisively, flexing her toned frame.

Milos found himself laughing alongside her.

"Oh... you have NO idea! I have seen less 'playing-tough' pretense in a circus with mimes playing bullies in a schoolyard, then talking to her. All attitude, no substance! If I had a pint every time she affirmed how 'demented and dangerous' she is, I'd be dead drunk by now. Until I decided to make her SHOW me how 'tough' she is." - he paused there, realising he may have let on too much.

"Aaaand?" - Saloma prompted, that sardonic smirk back on her face.

He bit his lip.

"Not much to say... I pinned her to the wall, in a little... come on... challenge, she popped-out some kind of hidden crotch-blade, and impaled me in the penis. Then I... may have dislocated her wrists and headbutted her. In reaction, mind you! I mean... she was driving me past the lunacy-point, with her crap! And then stabbing me in the dick..." - he quickly added, a bit defensively. He expected Saloma to get upset, but she just threw her head back and started laughing like possessed.

"BWAHAHAHAHAAHAAAHAHA... she stabbed you in the cock.... BWAHAHAHHAAHAAAAAHAHAHAHA... lemme guess.... BWAHAHA... you got over your closet-fetish for insecure edgy bitches like that?! BWAHAHAAAHAAAAAAAAHAHAAAAHA... ok. Misson... BWAHAHA... accomplished then!" - she was tearing up, clapping poor confused Milos on the shoulder.

He looked like a deer in headlights.

"You mean you expected her to---" - before she cut him off, still tearing up... "---BWAAH... to stab you in the dick?! No... BWHHAAH... I didn't think she'd be that lame... but I guess the stories about Drow women are... BWAHAAHA... true! But... Bahaha... I'm... I'm glad you didn't off her for that. That'd be over the line.... hehehee..." - her laughter died down to a chuckle. Before Milos could say anything else, she yanked him by the collar towards her, planting an assertive kiss on his lips.

"Now... loverboy. Wanna show me how you pinned her down?! Hmm? I promise... *I* won't stab you in the cock! Unless you ask nicely..." - she breathed in the young man's ear, her free hand reaching down to wrap itself around his crotch, assertively.

"Uw! I got stabbed there, remember... ?" - he laughed, gripping her by the neck tightly, glaring hard in her lust-filled eyes.

"You're... evil. You need to be punished! Hard. MMMmmfff..." - he growled, pinning her to the wall and ravishing her. She hooked her arms around him in affectation.

"Gooood boy! Finally got you off your... high horse. Now... TAKE ME! And you'll never want edgy drow skanks again!" - she hissed, victoriously.

The fun began.

***
 

notlydialovelace

The None, The Nonely
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she, her
At some time or another, in the hazy wee hours of the morning when dawn was but a promise, a lithe and somewhat exhausted---yet content---figure slipped through a doorway on one of the upper floors, which happened by chance to be the current quarters of the thief Evera. Very few, if any, would be awake or about at such an hour, and for the dark-trained eyes of a drow---for example, and for no particular reason---, it would be immediately obvious if anyone was using the cloak of dark as their sole method of occlusion.

Despite the unexpectedly sprawling layout of the Guild interior, it was not that difficult for the shadowed figure to creep downstairs, eyes darting about all the while, and return to a cellar where such a figure might have made home, careful to double-lock the door and ensure that all of the precautionary trapping mechanisms were engaged, undisturbed, and avoided by a carefully rehearsed pattern of footwork.

Now at relative peace, and utterly spent, Stevania collapsed, virtually naked, onto her humble bed, dreading the inevitable soreness and hangover in the morning all the while as she drifted to a vivid reverie of lingering bliss.
 

Darko Cernovsek

Lord Of The Abyss
Local time
Today 8:40 PM
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1,200
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Late morning...

Subdued laughter and joking could be heard from inside Milos's room, before the wooden doors opened. Saloma was the first to step out, looking a bit unkempt, her leather getup fitting somewhat loosely after she got dressed just now, but her eyes glittering with the sheen of an eminently... satisfied... woman.

"Wanna grab a bite for breakfast here, or head out to the city?" - she threw over her shoulder back inside.

"The city... but let me guess - no Crucible?" - Milos's chuckle came back from within.

Saloma rolled her eyes.

"After last evening... I don't wanna set foot in there for the next week! I've embarrassed myself there enough for at least a week!"

Milos came sauntering out, with slightly less-then-his-usual precise gait, looking... eminently satisfied.... himself, as he hugged her from behind around the waist, and planted a kiss at her neck.

"Whatever you want. How about paying a visit to the Elven Gardens? Get out of the muck and grime of the Old Quarter altogether, and someplace more upclass. At least pretend we're halfway respectable citizens?" - he snickered.

It was incredible, how much of his tight controlled mien had dropped, after a night with Saloma. The woman had an uncanny ability to cut through his barriers, but in quite a different way from what Stevania had tried - and failed, miserably, to do. Saloma didn't pretend. She didn't put on a mask, hiding her insecurities. She didn't playact a badass, while coming across as an abrasive, nihilistic, mysoandristic, arrogant cunt. She didn't have to. In her way, she was one. Even exiled from her lofty perch, as a daughter of nobility, the woman retained the self confidence of nobility. She had nothing to prove, to anyone. And her ability to take care of herself meant she wasn't afraid of anyone, either. As far as she was concerned, one day, she would reclaim her rightful place, and everything up till then were just stepping stones.

"You sure you can? I mean, I come from respectable citizenry, Milos! Did you know I had a governess since I was aged 4, to age 12, trying to teach me... how a young lady properly comports herself?" - she leaned back into his embrace, almost purring, "You... you're a scoundrel! You'd give the game away."

"ME?! A scoundrel? Why Miss Gins, I am the furthest thing from one, imaginable! I'm trained to blend with any sort of crowd." - he growled in a playful-hurt tone, groping her ample breasts beneath that tight corset, as he ravished her neck some more.

"If only you knew what 'irony' meant...." - Saloma chuckled, rubbing against him in return, before she stepped away, turning to give him a critical once-over.

"But first, if we're to slog around with the uptowners, you need to look the part! This 'blade in the dark' assassin look's gotta go. Those types are twitchy enough as it is, always looking over shoulder for their 'friends' to pull a fast one on 'em. You'll stick out like a sore thumb! Let's gentleman you up a little! A suit, starched shirt, a fancy hat, the looks! And myself, I'll pick out a proper dress."

Milos narrowed his eyes.

"You're not telling me you want us to case through the Quarter on our way out, dressed like uptown dandies? That is practically begging to be jumped on, robbed and thrown into a ditch!"

She laughed.

"Of course not! We just pick out the clothes here, then we change into 'em once we're out of this cesspool. There's plenty of nooks and crannies out on the Promenade for an impromptu changeover, before we get to the Gardens." - reassuringly.

He looked somewhat unconvinced, but her smile was infectious. He smiled back.

"Alright... go ahead and pick something, I think I have something appropriate back in there... after I freshen-up and take a bath. Haven't worn it in a year, but it's time to take the dust off of it."

"See you in an hour, in the antechamber!" - she nodded with a giggle, before she glided down the corridor. The tone of it indicated she was looking forward to seeing him in a 'respectable' getup.
 
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