Black Market, finale

[Black Market Gimmick] "Not dangerous, Dear Lady. Unpredictable. The bane of merchants everywhere."

A correction, however small. The Trio are led back through the suddenly opening of the brownstone walls, back into the resplendent courtyard with fountain, walls, multi-hued windows and the cleanliness of the well maintained. The monstrous Mr. Click, called Worth and the Organ Turner, slips almost effortlessly through the crafted passage to circle the length of the Brownstone second floor with it's balconies and sealed doors.

The glare of the evening's usual artificial lights has diminished over the rooftops, allowing the sliver of a moon to bare down on their heads. A vague romanticism, the sort of night where lovers meet and assassinations clamber for victims. The rushing movements of Worth, settle once more and that head swims outward from the wall to hover at the Fountain. Water splashes over deep red-almost-black plating as he settles into place, low to the brownstone ground to regard the Trio anew. Brown eyes all, within those compound red prisons.

"If you will kindly approach the fountain and it's waters. You'll find the dispensing of your payment a thing of ease, Lady Maialen." At the words, the water ceases and what remains poised in the air, does not fall but instead hovers in droplets and slow moving sprays that look as if they will take minutes to descend to the fountain's pool. Long minutes. The pool itself is without ripple or disturbance, a perfect reflective.

"You need only press lips to the reflection in the water, twice by your word and divulge a bit of your own Glamorous to seal the principle..."

Worth's attention resides with Maialen, allowing her access to the Pool's surface, drops and splashes of water hanging in the air around it's clear and settled surface.

[Maialen de Xove y Miasol] The night is cool around them; cool enough to send the supple suggestion of a shiver coiling up the curving line of her spine. The creature suppresses the movement before it is expressed as anything more than a ratcheting of the tension evident in her back, and inclines her dark head to Worth in a lady's brief acknowledgment of his request. Her skirts whisper quietly on the pavement as she walks, and this time she allows them to tumble around her feet as she walks, soft-footed, to the edge of the fountain where Worth has indicated payment is meant to be made.

There she pauses over the rippling gleam of her distorted reflection and leans in, faceted eyes halflashed, her fine little mouth twisted upward at the corners in a quiet note of irony that slips easily into a cool-court smile.

This is the noble's kiss - a graze against either cheek, once and then twice against the reflection - chaste, cool, somehow intimate and impersonal. Touched with a frission of her glamour, sweet and dark as her ebon hair.

[Jeff Brolin] *There is something oddly familiar in his grey eyes, watching the movement of the Sidhe, as if expecting her to devour them all when she stands back up. He takes a hoofstep back. And he looks again, to the 'cap. It seems his fellow commoner is the only one right now that brings him any sort of comfort from the situation. He looks like he is ready to flee.*

[Mean Tommy] In tiny increments Tommy's predatory, hunched over prowl slows.. stops.. only a shadow in the falling light on the other side of the fountain. All that rests between heavy brow ridge and high, sharp cheeks are twin fever gleams. Pinpricks of cold light in eyes otherwise lost to darkness.

His attention is fixed on the Sidhe, ready to keep every moment of her face lowering toward the water. Take those moments and trap them somewhere inside the yawning emptiness of him. What watching a kiss would mean to a Redcap is anyone's guess- though most likely keep their thoughts to more pleasant ramblings.

Still. As still as the moment before a storm breaks. Still like a demon waiting under a bed to seize a child's foot should even a toe poke out from the protection of blankets. That still. His tongue flicks sharply against the corner of his mouth. But otherwise still.

[Jeff Brolin] Per+Alert
Dice Rolled:[ 3 d10 ] 5, 6, 9 (Success x 2 at target 6)

[Mean Tommy] Wits+Kenning: 5 dice @ diff 7
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 2, 4, 5, 5, 10 (Success x 1 at target 7)

[Mean Tommy] Per+Alert 5 dice @ diff 7+1 due to tasting the juice
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 4, 4, 6, 6, 8 (Success x 1 at target 8)

[Maialen de Xove y Miasol] Wits + Kenning
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 1, 2, 5, 7, 9 (Success x 1 at target 6)

[Black Market Gimmick] A rich purpling, like the swell of a sudden bruise, or the well of arterial blood, surges outward from those twin grazes of courteous affection. Bubbles and teeming clouds, form beneath the surface of waters, swelling until it encompasses the thorough depths of the Fountain.It isn't until Maialen leans back, daplets of water, clean and fresh touching her lips, that the hovering droplets and splashes suddenly fall to re-join the purple whole. The fountain starts up again evenly, dark purple flushing the clarity out and leaving behind a murkiness that is uniform enough. In the right light, one might mistaken it for blood.

"My Thanks, Lady. A precious thing this. I once knew many a commoner who would have been satisfied with the knowledge and sensation of such" Amusement"Equality.."

And the monstrous head of their host, settles into place beneath the Fountain's curtain, needles leaping out from his buzzing maw, to dip into the waters. All at once, a sharp spasm of movement within the soft folds of flesh behind those instruments and the purple begins to drain as swiftly as it had formed. Soon enough the pool is clear once again and their Host is shivering, a strange drift coming to his head. It lasts a few long seconds, before he is re-orienting, human eyes inside compound ones, re-focusing on the trio of Changelings.

"Our transactions for the moment are complete. Is there anything else I might provide for you before you Depart?"

[Mean Tommy] The Redcap doesn't answer straight away. Instead he watches Maialen, eyes roaming across her like stalking wolves. Does she look thinner? Wasted? Does she look like... like... less? He looks for answers before opening his mouth.

[Maialen de Xove y Miasol] The instant payment is given she pulls back from the water. Some dark-eyed look flashes down toward the swirling waters, narrowed with a certain awareness as she watches the bruise-purple flush out of the ordinary flow. She steps back, so quickly that the the movement is nearly abrupt, a soft white hand rising to her mouth to dash away the remaining droplets (or the sensation of the water, if that is all that remains still on her skin), thumb heavy on her mouth, eyes half-closed with thought.

The look swings back to Worth.

Lingers, still and silent on the many-legged, many-jointed, multipartite nightmare thing, as if she were looking for the hidden joints in his chitinous armor, as if she could read the pattern of his exoskeletan, the ripple of cilia on his half-hundred grotesque legs.

"No indeed, good Worth," she returns at last, her mouth sharpening into an edged little smile. "Not on my part. I shall trouble you no more tonight."

[Jeff Brolin] I'll keep my eyes open for True Love for yeh. *He arches an eyebrow.* That's the best I can promise.

[Black Market Gimmick] "A promise is it then, Dear Hedonist? To deliver what I've asked for?" Something there. Like an 'Oh really?'

[Mean Tommy] First his head, then his eyes swing toward Worth's own.

"Anytin' else yeh lookin' feh?" He chews on something humorous. "Make it sumpfin' in my league, huh?"

[Jeff Brolin] Not a promise to deliver, *he says with a grin.* A promise to try. But you're trapped in this world. You don't know how honestly rare True Love is. But I can see if I can't make it m'self and deliver that t'you. I CAN be charming.

[Black Market Gimmick] "Oh but I am aware of it's rarity. I would not have set such a price without knowing. Done, though Hedonist. To try. Failure or success. I expect to see you again to inform me of which..."

And then he is turning toward the Redcap, those eyes within eyes, clicking open and closed to reveal the black of onyx.

"You wished to discuss employment, yes? I have need of someone who may provide a simple quota each month. I would consider the realms of Annihilation, Terror and Power well within your grasp, Warmonger. Shall we say the provision of any of these three, delivered to me by month's end? A trial attempt to gauge your worth and the price of your talents."

[Mean Tommy] "Agreed." The smile preceeds the word. It grows out from an increasingly wide cavern as Tommy's grin grows bigger and bigger.

"Months end, trial only, Annihilation, Terror, or Powah." Ghastly eyes flicker with amusement. Tommy is for a moment a murderous child who's been told he can go to the carnival.

[Black Market Gimmick] "Done."

It is all he says or has to say on the matter of the Redcap's probationary employ. He turns then to regard Maialen, hovering once more at eye level.

"It has been a great pleasure to play host to you and your entourage, Dear Lady. I find myself hoping to be able to entertain you in the near future. Mayhaps my wares will grow enough to entice some of your more deeper requirements. For now, you need only re-trace your steps to the front. The smoke will see you out..."

[Jeff Brolin] *The permission is all he needs. He's done waiting, almost twitchy, as he goes back the way he came.*

[Maialen de Xove y Miasol] "Thank you," the Sidhe returns, with all due grace and another faint dip of her head. " - for your hospitality to me and mine, good Worth. I have no doubt but that I will see you again soon." The brief, pretty speech is capstoned by the subtlest of curtsies - a dip of her white shoulders, it seems, just enough to send a few locks of raven-black hair slipping forward to tangle with the ribbons wrapped around her stays - that lasts for the space between to heartbeats before she straightens.

And turns to follow the smoke out.

[Jeff Brolin] Christ, *he says, when he finally exits, from the smoke.* I need a fuckin' drink.

[Mean Tommy] They're outside. Its after the sound of their feet against the ground becomes more clear, more city-defined than dreaming-defined that Tommy eventually speaks.

"Fuck iffat dint go th' way I was expectin..." Turmoil carves its way through Tommy's chest, fueled by the clatter of differing memories. He remembers the taste of that green wisdom, and the patina on his tongue is sobering.

[Mean Tommy] ((Edit: "Fuck iffat din't go all sideways from what I was expectin'))

[Black Market Gimmick] (And I gotta hit the store. I'm done here anyway guys. Appreciate you sticking things out as long as this took. Hopefully I can talk to Mindy and get this SL approved so we can do some other stuff. Meantime, gonna jet for a bit. G'night!)

[Maialen de Xove y Miasol] The early spring night is cold, a damp chill spreading inland from the lake. The sky is unaccountably clear, though - opening above them now to the dull orange glow of the city's corona. Only the brightest stars are visible through the haze.

She looks up, though. The sidhe; watches the sky as they follow the smoke, wending back through the narrow alleyways until it changes and changes again. There is still tension in her frame, though neither of them know her well enough to be able to read the subtle physical signs of it beyond the most basic of autonomic stress reactions. The flush of stress hormones in her blood, the quick beat of her many chambered heart. Impossible fucking organ, that - chaining her to this mortal form.

The sky changes; the creature closes her eyes once, draws in a deep breath of the filthy air. Feels the grip of the autumn world settle around her and is not grateful for it. She glances at the Satyr, then the Redcap, her eyes drowning dark until she lifts her chin, cutting a look back at Jeff that lilts just upward enough for her gaze to capture and refract some errant shard of light.

"You thought you could skewer a few Chinese dragons and steal their hoard of dross?" Her tone is light, but the faint smile that lingers on her little mouth does not reach her eyes. "I think, perhaps it is not best to discuss our recent host on the steps of his seat of power. Perhaps one or both of you would do me the honor of joining me for tea this night next?"

[Jeff Brolin] *He freezes at that invitation. And he scowls slightly, looking away.* Ahh. I don't drink tea. Sure y'can find some OTHER point-ears t'drink with.

[Mean Tommy] Flat, brutally hard teeth flash in the off light gloom of the Chinatown alleyway. Tommy doesn't seem at phased at her question.. perhaps he still has plans on those little dragons, quest or no.

The offer of tea- the previous glee slips from his blue-grey face, to be replaced with calculation. He's a rough brute- savage angles and worrisome lines to him.. but a far more dangerous intellect waits just beneath.

"Shuwah. I'll drink his tew den." He cocks his head at Jeff, black eyes sliding across the Satyr's face like grease. "Y'shuah? Yah wanna try an' get some idea what she's plottin, owah jus' wait feh da bad shit tah land on yew aftah she's made 'er mind up?" Eyebrow cocked for a moment before he continues on down the alley.

[Jeff Brolin] No, *he hisses.* No, just... I'm NOT goin' out with her.

[Maialen de Xove y Miasol] "I am sure my staff could secure whatever your preferred drink might be, Satyr. Within reason, to be sure." There's a subtle flash of amusement that darkens her eyes, but does not otherwise change the luminous creature's expression. "However, I have no intention of forcing my society on you. Now, if you gentlemen will excuse me - "

There are no more curtsies, just a brief dip of her dark head. Before they reach the mouth of the alley, she has fished a small, creamcolored card from a small brocade plaquet cleverly hidden among the pleats and swags of her skirts and offered it to Tommy. There is no name, just a phone number in elegant script - but somehow it conspires to look like a 19th century lady's calling card all the same.

When they reach the street, she takes - perhaps deliberately? some direction entirely opposite of their own.

[Maialen de Xove y Miasol] (thanks for the scene, guys. I'm gonna go to bed!)