In Reference to Thievery: Tale of the Moonskins
A Gentlemen Bastards fanfiction
Prologue: A Small Disagreement
"Jirell get your filthy hands off of me before I show you why mugging a Moonskin is a bad idea." Falselight bathed the youths in an eerie light as the Moonskins and Lantern Street Pickers found themselves in a peculiar situation. Garrista Arloven Sentavius, or simply Arlo, found himself grabbed by fellow garrista Jirell Villensi, shoved against the wall of a worn down alley in the ratty district of the Dregs. Arlo's pezons Sim and Relo were in the process of being kicked senseless by Jirell's thugs, and the other members of the Moonskins, Ymir, Sarron, and Gentus were watching from the rooftops as their comrades were getting beaten.
"A Moonskin in the turf of a Picker should learn his lesson!" The brute Jirell shouted after sending a clenched fist into Arlo's jaw. The young thief's bones popped with enthusiasm as he thrust his knee deep into Jirell's groin, grabbing the now kneeling boy by the hair and slinging him head-first into the wooden wall he was being pushed against. A sharp crack resounded through the alley as Arlo whistled sharply. Suddenly, the three remaining members of the Moonskins scaled down the walls of the surrounding buildings, quickly silencing the Pickers otherwise preoccupied by terrorizing Sim and Relo.
"You good, Arlo?" Ymir, the second oldest of the Moonskins, asked as he slammed an elbow down over the head of one of the Pickers, heaving the smaller Sim over his shoulders. Ymir was as tall as he was wide, with features that seemed to be carved out of marble. His bright blue eyes and dark hair gave him an undeniably Vadran look, but his tongue proved he was a born and bred Camorri. "Alive with a fucking headache." Arlo muttered, staring into his reflection in a puddle of dirty water.
Pale skin, high cheekbones, a thin nose, and an equally thin jawline marked Arlo as either a Vadran noble or a Camorri who didn't get out much. The dark green of his eyes contrasted the fair brown of the boy's hair, and his lean but small frame made him almost born for the least respected of occupations. For a thief, he could easily pull off nobility until he opened his mouth.
"Don't even start about headaches, Arlo." Relo grumbled, tugging himself off the ground with the help of Sarron. Relo and Sim both were the sons of Verrari traders who fell in debt with the wrong people and found themselves stranded in Camorr. Their tan skin, toned muscles, and dark blond hair marked them as sailors used to the sun of the Sea of Brass, but their nimble fingers and cold and calculating glares could prove otherwise.
"Yeah, you're not the one who got his brains half kicked out." Muttered Sim, who was obviously more comfortable on Ymir's shoulders than in the dirt, but had no reason not to complain. "Whose fault is that?" Arlo shot back with a glare, Sim pointing at one of the Pickers laying on the ground.
Sarron and Gentus looked at each other and snickered, falling into step with the rest of the Moonskins as they exited the alley, walking down the street that lead to their hideout in the Dregs. "Arlo," Ymir started, falling into step with the garrista as he turned to face the larger boy. "That was the fourth time this month they've attacked us, we need to seriously retaliate, make them fear us instead of it being the other way around."
"I don't fear Jirell and his fucking thugs, Ymir." Arlo said with narrowed eyes, trying to shake the aching of his jaw away. Most of Jirell's barrage of attacks hadn't left much of an impact, but his head was killing him regardless. "Yeah, but I'm sure Sim, Relo, and the rest are tired of getting their asses kicked."
"Hey, hey we made some progress." Relo limped next to Arlo with a scowl, hand placed gingerly on his left thigh. "Getting the shit beat out of you a little bit less doesn't count as progress, Relo. I'm sure you didn't plan on regular whippings when you joined us." Arlo said pensively, eyes staring forwards as they walked. "Of fucking course not, Arlo. I wanna get rich, I wanna be feared amongst the Right People and hated amongst people with loose pockets and dim minds."
"Don't we all? All I want is a fat sum under my fingers and a fine wench in my bed. I think that's what we all want, Sarron withstanding." Arlo spat the words out with no shortage of sarcasm as the sole girl of the Moonskins snorted. "Fat sums? I do this out of pity, Arloven. We all know you wouldn't be anything but a faint memory in the head of an executioner at the Black Bridge without the rest of us. That big mouth of yours would have you strung up just like Geral." The girl snapped as Arlo simply sighed, fighting back the urge to send the raven-haired youth to the cobblestones and keep her there.
"Quit blaming me for him, Sarron. We both know it wasn't my fucking fault, and we both know I couldn't do anything about it. I was weak then, and I'm still weak, but I know what I've done and I wear what I name my mistakes on my chest. Now's not the time to be pointing fingers, not after two years and then some." Arlo kept his eyes forward, seeming to puff out his chest.
"Hmph," Sarron merely harrumphed, her hands finding her pockets. She liked to argue with Arlo about his brother's death, and after roughly a year it had gotten old, afterwards it was just par for the course. "Don't let Sarron get you down Arlo. That's what the yellowjackets, every other gang in Camorr, Harza's stiffed prices, and the wealthy are for." Gentus said with his long blond hair pulled into a ponytail and his lanky legs in a faultless swagger. Cheeky as fucking always. Arlo thought with a grin that was backed by a small chuckle as they walked.
"No kidding." Arlo grumbled as he quickly stepped up to the side door of their usual haunt, the Marbled Crane Tavern and Inn. By Camorri standards, it was your run of the mill bar with your usual patrons: thugs, gazers, dust-addicts, alcoholics of every shape, and even a small cadre of whores who ran their operation from the basement. By the standards of any other land and even Camorri who spent too much money on their liquor and their bedroom frolicking, it was a den of crude vice and poverty.
To the Moonskins, it was a safe haven, a headquarters, and their primary place of rest. The soft yellow of the alchemical globes hanging from the rafters gave the place an atmosphere of constant daylight, and it seemed to brighten the spirits of the young gang, if only by a little.
"Back from your meeting with the Pickers, I assume?" Farlan Coromi, the tavern's owner and barkeep, said with a grin as the band of youths took their respective places at the bar. Arlo narrowed his eyes and slid a small six-stack of solons towards Farlan with a slightly over-dramatic sigh for effect. "Two mugs of ale, the dark stuff, and a mug of blue Sinnidri." Sinnidri was a blue spirit that originated from somewhere on the outskirts of Lashain, made by fermenting the berries of the same name. Before the exodus of the Bondsmagi, the stuff was strictly regulated due to it's mildly hallucinogenic qualities, giving the consumer visions of magical power and fire crackling at their fingertips. That is, if it wasn't muddled by common booze. The ale that appeared in the mugs given by Farlan was the definition of common.
Arlo slid one towards Ymir's currently deserted stool, as he was currently in the process of carrying Sim upstairs to bed. He took a long pull from his own mug of ale and sucked air through his teeth softly afterwards, letting the alcohol do it's work in his chest. After taking a few smaller sips he took his first swig of the indigo-colored liquid in the other mug. A dance of floral and fruity flavors blossomed in his mouth, accompanied by the rough fire of a strong spirit and the bitterness of the Sinnidri berry itself.
Not pausing for effect, Arlo finished his mug of ale and gulped down the wine, letting his forehead hit the bar. The sounds of the tavern seemed to swallow him whole, his thoughts and worries evaporating into a dull thrum as for a few minutes, he merely existed.
The quiet scrape of wood on wood and the strain of weight on the supports of a stool signalled Ymir's arrival. After taking a few swigs of his own ale, Ymir curiously sniffed the mug that Arlo still clutched in his hand.
"Sinnidri blue? Someone's irritated. This whole ordeal with the Pickers got you worried?" Arlo tilted his head up to meet Ymir's piercing gaze, sighed again, and slowly nodded. "Ever since the ordeal with Raza, we've been dealing with the slow but sure dissolving of the Secret Peace. The bluebloods don't trust us, and we want their coin and their fancy towers, and now there's no unspoken truce between us and the yellowjackets to prevent it. It's not just Jirell and his little outfit that worries me, it's the whole fucking city."
Ymir 'hmphed' pensively, taking another drink from his mug. "Gotta keep you on ale and beer, Arlo. Anything stronger than that gets you all crazy, makes you think too hard." Arlo responded by grabbing another three solons and sliding them towards the stack of six. "Another mug of Sinnidri and another mug of the ale." Farlan refilled Arlo's mugs and he downed them both quickly, coughing loudly as he finished the Sinnidri. The garrista had an alcoholic streak, using the potent chemical to dull his stress for a time, and Farlan was more than used to Arlo's binges after four years.
Taking a second to let his gaze scan the room, Arlo found that the Crane was, for all intents and purposes, dead. Only regulars like the Moonskins populated the tavern currently, and the soft rattle of dice and the hushed tones of thieves and other ne'er do wells who didn't want to be heard were the only audible things in the bar besides the pouring and consuming of liquor.
Arlo struggled slowly to his feet, shutting his eyes tight as he resisted the feeling of the ground shifting beneath him. It seemed as if the whole world was content with tilting to the side except for him. He gripped the bar for support and opened his eyes as he pushed gently off of the bar, walking hesitantly towards the stairs up to the rooms they'd been renting out for almost three years.
Pushing into his room Arlo tossed his shirt off and slid his shoes off with his unbelted pants. Hitting the bed with a moderately loud thud, he tugged the blanket up and over his body and shook the small alchemical globe next to his bed until it lit, casting a soft blue over the room.
"I need an actual plan." He said to himself, words muted by the pillow. Arlo began to drift into slumber, surrendering his mind to dreams of success and relative safety.
Arlo, a light sleeper, was awoken later to the sound of his door slowly creaking open. Silhouetted in the soft blue glow of the globe was Sarron, her black hair dishevelled. She was wearing dirty breeches and a maroon blouse he'd stolen for her when she joined. "Arlo, you awake?"
He sat up in bed, nodding slightly before tapping the globe, causing it's light to brighten enough so they could see each other's faces. Her green eyes glittered an otherworldly blue. "Yeah, whatcha need?" Sarron slid into the room, pushing the door closed with her hip. "I just wanted to apologize for earlier. I know I give you a lot of shit about Geral but you honestly don't deserve most of it."
Arlo just sighed quietly and patted the bed next to her, sliding over to give her more room. Sitting down, she looked at him as a rush of floral perfume hit his nose. She was wearing something expensive, maybe left over from earlier that day? It made his head fuzzy. "It's fine, Sarron. We all fuck up sometimes, some are just more costly than others." She furrowed her brow at him for a second.
"Yeah but it wasn't just your fault, we all let him down and he paid for it for all of us." He watched her eyes get moist and moved to put his hand on her shoulder. It looked like she'd bat it away but didn't, and she looked down at the sheets. "Listen. What's done is done. We gave him a fitting death offering and did everything we could. I guess," he felt tears welling up as he bit his lip, "I guess everything wasn't enough this time."
There was a long period of silence as the two of them sat, grieving in their own way. Geral was just as much a brother to all of the Moonskins as he was to Arlo, and some wounds never entirely healed. "Arlo, can you do me a favor?" Sarron asked softly, breaking their silence.
"Sure, anything." He said, running a hand through his hair. "Let me sleep in here tonight." Arlo felt blood rush to his cheeks, remembering he wasn't wearing anything under the blanket. "Uhm, why, if you don't mind me asking?" She sighed and laid down next to wear he was sitting. "I just don't wanna fall asleep alone tonight."
His eyes ran up and down her body, slowing to admire the soft curves she'd developed in her time with the Moonskins. No longer was she the short little girl he ran through the streets of Camorr with. Now she was a young woman, and the blood in his cheeks almost boiled as he watched her eyes glance the range of his chest.
Arlo laid down next to her and smiled a little, feeling an odd weightlessness in his chest. "Go ahead and sleep here tonight. Just warning you, I'm wearing this blanket and virtually nothing else." He forced down a grin as a soft red stained the porcelain of her cheeks. "It's not like I mind, I've basically seen you naked, not a big deal." The blush in his cheeks returned with vigor as he looked away for a moment.
"Yeah but we were kids playing in a river up north, it's a bit different now." Arlo mentally slapped himself as the words flew out of his mouth. Sarron smirked and slid towards him, her nervous glances replaced with a playful gaze. "Oh? Different how?" Wishing he was either dead or buried under roughly 6 tons of dirt Arlo stammered for a second, his usually calm demeanor pushed down for the sake of honest teenage anxiety. "I, uhm, uh, I mean we're older and things got, well, bigger."
Sarron grinned and laughed softly as Arlo closed his eyes, letting her perfume dance across his senses again. He barely resisted a shudder. "Bigger? Are you called me fat, Arloven Davrel Sentavius?" Arlo pursed his lips and mocked a glare at her, well aware of the fact that she used his full name caused him untold levels of embarrassment. "You know damn well I'm not calling you fat."
"Of course, of course. So if you weren't referring to my weight, what were you referring to?" Damnit Arlo think shit through, now's not the time to be hasty. Arlo ran his hand through his hair again, meeting her gaze. He tried the same thing he'd attempted many times when they were alone: to read her emotions. She was clearly doing the same, and they laid there for a few moments, simply analyzing each other.
"It's not something I feel like saying right now, to be honest." He felt himself say, trying to regain his composure. Sarron shifted in the bed, moving a little bit closer in the process. She went from laying on her back resting her elbows on the sheets to laying on her side, facing him directly. She looked away for a moment and, hesitantly, looked back at Arlo.
"Then don't say a fucking word. Let your actions speak for your head." She purred, sliding her hand under the blanket and across his chest. Arlo bit his lip and felt his cheeks burn from embarrassment, feeling his hands close the distance between them to her hips, pulling her in close.
The first thing he felt was the heat of her breath against his, the slight shake in her touch that seemed all too familiar, looking at his own trembling fingers. "You should add your clothes to the nice little collection next to the bed." Arlo said with a slight smirk, tugging her blouse slowly up her chest, his fingers tracing lines across her cool skin. Her hands found his back, and he found himself shuddering as her nails bit ever so slightly into his skin.
As the shirt moved up and over her head, Arlo swallowed down his anxiety and leaned in, pressing his lips against hers as the blouse was tossed unceremoniously to the floor. Sarron let go of Arlo long enough to tug her breeches down and off, joining the blouse and Arlo's clothes from earlier.
Pulling herself under the blanket with him, Arlo kissed her again for what seemed like ages, pulling her into an embrace as their bare chests pressed against one another. Breaking the kiss, Sarron looked at Arlo for a second and smiled. "Make that damned globe go out so we can make this interesting." He laughed and leaned over to the nightstand, pushing a small space near the bottom of the globe until the blue light faded into black.
They fell asleep an hour past dawn, and slept like they hadn't slept in months.