A big big thanks to Akumarayne, Kheelwithit and lovelymagic for your reviews. And the rest of you for taking the time to read this, of course, it means a lot.
lovelymagic - the odd thing is I do like Falan, but then I have a liking for strong, somewhat sadistic female characters. I'm not sure if she's actually sadistic, but enough so to experiment on people. She's definitely going to sew further chaos, and do some otherwise nasty things. If you did make an account and made a story I would love to read it (I can fully understand the perfectionist thing, too. It drives me a little crazy). Regarding fandoms they're..well, they're a thing. Some people can be somewhat rude, I agree. At at times I don't think there's an excuse for it, but then some people are just like that. The special with the "bath" thing did make me laugh sure. I adore Jafar when he was younger, and he's my favourite thing in the manga. Such a cute, nasty little psychopath. Rest assured though - his being a girl is just mainly to make him feel awkward and satisfy Falan's somewhat perverse enjoyment, and he won't be a chick for much longer (if Falan's not actually this twisted...sorry :p I got carried away which I have a tendency to do).
Anyway, thanks to you all again. And enjoy~
His Target: Also Scheming
Fetching wine for his target at least gave Jafar time to gather his thoughts. If only Falan, that fucking bitch magician, had confided what she was up to. And he just knew she was up to something; knowing her this long it was hard to believe otherwise. If only he had more time, then the assassin could have prepared for this. Given a week, heck even a day, he could have meticulously observed this place, and everything that was expected of the girls in this damned lupanar. He might even have worked out what it was, to act like a woman of a brothel.
His dark eyes narrowed dangerously, a slight snarl escaping him. It was enough to startle one of those painted, flighty creatures stood at the empty bar with him. Quickly she averted her dark ringed eyes, taking a jug of wine in hand as she padded back to the fattened, leering beast who had paid for her. But then at least in this place, Jafar surmised that the women appeared and disappeared just as quickly. So that at least made it difficult to remember a new face. Even if he was a stranger there, if he was quick in his nefarious deeds then none would trouble him. Or so much as notice him, perhaps. At least, not until they discovered their guard, currently murdered in a pool of his own blood. He knew he was dedicated enough to not fail in whatever he set his mind to; aside Sinbad, none had eluded him. This was different – the idea of seducing another man? He never expected to do something like that.
Jafar drew a deep breath, that heavy and heaving chest of his rising animatedly. That was also something he wished to ignore; this ridiculous body he was trapped in. Just thinking of it risked himself falling prey to those vivid, murder-fuelled daydreams he loved so much. So he composed himself, using those stolen moments to scan the room. Somewhere so clouded with the smog of cheap perfume and mists of cigar smoke it stung at his eyes. Rubbing at them he glanced at those women he wished to imitate. At how they perched like colourful, prettied birds on the laps and knees of their patrons. Always he noted they were polite and softly spoken; that they cooed attentively to every comment whilst keeping the drink flowing.
That was a problem; Jafar considered himself neither polite, nor softly spoken. His brief analysis of this, and overhearing their hushed conversations, just made him think these women were insane. And not insane like that fucking crazy bitch Falan. Insane in doing this to themselves, he thought. How they smeared that nasty, watered down makeup on their faces and bodies as if to mask themselves from the world. Much as he had. How they wore uncomfortable, ill-fitting clothes styled to reveal parts of their bodies. Which...he was also currently doing. Lastly how they draped themselves over such despicable men, selling their bodies for time and money. Well, Jafar wouldn't be paid, would he?
By that logic, that made Jafar the most insane of all. He, posing as the best hostess in this shitty, run down excuse for an establishment. Something which seemed as much as a cruel, tasteless joke as it was a newly realised nightmare of his. He blinked, pulling back from taking in the scene. And just believed he was going to perform abysmally.
Well it wasn't as if he was going to sleep with Sinbad. He just needed to lure him away.
Moving to leave, he noticed his bare feet were sticking to the floor. The cement under his toes was filthy of course, all but congealed with dirt and the sickly scent of spilled alcohol. Lovely. Taking care not to overbalance in this new, voluptuous body of his he crossed the floor. All the while he was careful to move gracefully in those long, flowing garments he was unaccustomed to. That man, that bastard Sinbad, was already there of course. A head of violet hair currently admiring the rumps of whatever girl passed by. Whilst supposedly with Jafar, he was looking at other women. He paused; why, for fuck sake, was he referring to himself as a woman? And who gave a shit if that man noticed anyone?
Oh, this would be a long day. Just past noon, and he just wanted a fucking bath. After this, he intended to break into the house of a stuffy old lord. He's murder anyone in that unfortunate bastard's home, and steal everything there. Then bathe amidst his crime, to wash the very memory of this from his body.
For now, he settled to sweeping down to sit at his target's side. "Goodness...I am sorry for keeping you waiting," he simpered in that fucking annoying voice of his. He perched, just as those women did, and resisted the urge to slouch back. And kept his eyes locked on that man; that aspiring king now twenty-four years old. And who was glancing over him in a somewhat hungry way.
That gaze was something, certainly. Powerful, commanding and not quite as he remembered. Eyes, of course, that wouldn't recognise him. The man looked too damned cheerful, and he gave an easy and warm smile. "How could I ever hold a grudge against such a beautiful woman? Your reputation doesn't do you justice, Ekaterina."
"Oh? You're far too kind..." Beautiful? Him? As if a man cared to hear such a thing. Those familiar flashes of murderous metal and gushing blood swept over Jafar's mind. Delightful thoughts which caused his faded eyes to glaze over and brighten. He even looked peaceful; at least he hoped he did. It would be a shame if Sinbad ran screaming from him.
Yet as if to stoke the embers of the silver haired man's fiery temper, his prey encircled his waist with an arm. And he stopped that falsely sweet look of his dissolve into a cold death glare. Being...touched like that. He took a deep breath, and did as he was observed. He learned in, still amazed his soft body didn't overbalance. He filled the glass laid out on the table with wine. From the little he knew, he understood this was the best the establishment had to offer. Which came to Jafar not watering it down. But then he wagered Sinbad had done well for himself over the years. Well enough for the assassin to wonder what he himself had been doing; pursuing the same man and failing time and time again to take his life.
"It's rare I have such a handsome man for company," he informed his target silkily. His fingers teased softly up and down the stem of the glass before handing it over, careful to brush over Sinbad's hand as he did. Catching his eye he set the jug to one side. Someone like that, as Falan suggested, was far too good for a place like this. There was no reason for him to be there, unless it was to gain information on Reim.
Which, of course, was something Jafar didn't have.
"And you are...very unusual," Sinbad noted quietly, taking to stroke a finger up the assassin's pale, outstretched forearm. He hated having his arms exposed like this, and without his wires coiled round them. His company drew back, sipping thoughtfully at his wine. "Soft fair skin, silver hair...I've seen no one like you in Reim. But I recall someone like that...where, I wonder..."
...Jafar wasn't remembered at all, was he? Not in this entire time he had hunted the dungeon capturer. He had just been a fleeting inconvenience who had never been given a second thought. And why was he surprised? "You've seen someone like me before?"
"I think so, but I can't remember. Maybe if you tell me where you're from, I might."
Hell if Jafar knew where he was from. Wherever it was, he had been taken from there at a young age. He barely even remembered his parents. Just that they had failed to protect him from the evil men hurting him. And that was why he never regretted killing them. He saw no reason no mention something like that. Instead he looked into those appealing eyes, and their honeyed shade of amber. Lovely...even if he had no idea why he was noticing something like that. "Oh, I know all about myself already. I want to hear about this lovely man in front of me."
"I'd have thought you'd know all about me," Sinbad was saying. He had passed his glass to his other hand, as if setting up a game. And as if adhering to the rules Jafar leaned over to fill it, without a doubt giving that letch a generous view of the exposed half of his chest. He brushed against him, aware he couldn't reach. So he slipped up to sit on the man's lap, trying not to contemplate murdering him as he did. There he filled the glass, and watched a large hand reach to caress over his knee.
The material of Jafar's toga was bunched up under those fingers, before routinely smoothed over. It was almost hypnotic to watch, and he felt heat rush to colour his pale cheeks as that man took to massaging the crook of his knee. What was this man playing at – was he trying to seduce a simple whore? He was ridiculous. "I know about you? My...I haven't even heard your name yet."
"I just thought you'd recognise me."
"Really?" Jafar gripped his hand, right as it palmed up over his knee to inch up his thigh. The last thing he wanted was Sinbad finding his wires, coiled around his legs to hold his daggers there. So he placed his hands in his lap, and felt the man reach to take them. "Are you that famous then? As famous as me?"
"...It would seem not," his prey took to smoothing his fingers over the pale man's wrists, his thumbs drawing back and forth slowly. And watched Jafar as he watched them. "I'm Sinbad..." he said, both quietly and proudly, and was surprised as he was met with a vacant look. "...You've never heard of me, have you?"
He leaned back against a broad shoulder, feeling oddly relaxed as he watched those tanned fingers caress their slow circles over his palms. A sense of calm, both relaxing and warm, passed through him. It quenched whatever murder fantasy he held over being touched, and make Jafar admit something to himself. That he was enjoying this. And perhaps too much. "I can't say it's a name I've heard before," he lied.
"...Really?" the person he was perched on glanced over the curvaceous figure pressed to him accusingly. Even his hands ceased their stroking, as if not believing that blank expression at his name. It was fun, perhaps a little vengeful for Jafar to suggest he had never heard of the man who had forgotten him. The sheer arrogance of the aspiring king made it worth it. He really believed his name would reach the ears of Reim. That this Ekaterina would have heard of him. "...You've not heard of the man, sailing the seven seas all this time? Who has captured five dungeons so far? Who is looking to becoming king of a country he's building himself?"
Oh...he was so flustered about this. And Jafar met him with a gentle smile. "It does sound very impressive to have done all that. All I heard is that there's a prince in Kou. He's been said to have just taken a third dungeon in the past months. They say he's very powerful...and handsome. And you say you've done more than him?"
"...Tsch," Sinbad drew a hand away and took his glass.
And Jafar leaned forward with him. "...Now, don't be like that. I was only teasing you," even if he had no idea why, he pressed his lips to the other man's. Closing his eyes he could feel himself drawing in that sour, tingling taste of wine caught on them. And alcohol was that one poison the assassin had little tolerance to, and pulled away flushing "Did you really believe I'd not have heard of someone like you?"
"...That wasn't very nice. You have a nasty streak," oh, he didn't know the half of it. Despite that somewhat founded accusation Sinbad reached to tuck a strand of snowy hair behind Jafar's ear as they leaned back together. "But it might take more than a kiss for me to forgive you..." he mused, stroking over those pale, slender wrists again. "You can start with telling me something about you."
"If that's what you want..." somehow his voice sounded breathy. His heartbeat had picked up, even if he was clueless why. Just that he didn't wish it to end, and was trying not to smile. "Then I'll tell you I'm looking for a man. Someone powerful, handsome who I lost to. So I've spent many years trying to find him, even if he's forgotten me," he tilted back to meet with those eyes again. "But I'll make him remember me; I'll ensure I'm the last thing he sees."
"I'd never have guessed you'd be a romantic," ...romantic was hardly what he'd call it. Jafar just knew that he'd be the last thing that man saw as those beautiful eyes grew cold to the world. "But what if you never find him? It would be a shame watching you waste your life on something that won't happen."
...It would happen, however. Jafar would make it happen.
"What do you suggest then? That I go with you?" he asked, and with the same breathlessness. Sinbad nodded, reaching up to smooth a finger slowly down his neck. He hovered at his exposed collarbone, as if knowing this might convince him. It wouldn't. "Come with me to the backrooms, then."
"I might just do that," his prey leaned in, and pressed against his upper lip. A kiss, soft and becoming both warm and moist as it captured him fully and he closed his eyes. He felt a hand reached up, taking to unbinding his hair from those elaborate hoops, before it veiled down lightly over his shoulders. "...I thought your hair would look better like this. I was thinking...I could take you away. To a much better place."
"Hm?" ah, Jafar thought he knew what this was about. Sinbad hadn't even come here for information, perhaps. He had come for this woman, for Ekaterina himself. He seemed to have come here with a mind to convince her to leave with him. Maybe not to seduce her, but to charm a potentially useful source of information into joining his country. So he had his schemes as well...he shuddered, as another light kiss found him. "Where would you have me go with you, then?"
"Somewhere I think you'd like, where you can really show your talents," yet another of those slow, soft kisses to tempt him, a finger curling under his chin to hold him there. Well, not many would be foolish or arrogant enough to try and seduce a whore like this. And Jafar wasn't going to admit he was enjoying it. "Someone as beautiful and useful as you should be part of my country. Part of Sindria."
He felt himself swallow heavily. How vain he was, even naming a kingdom after himself. Or maybe it was a matter of a lacking imagination. But he was impressive enough, perhaps. Cleared dungeons, build a country from nothing...fucked anyone and everyone he wished to. Yet this offer wasn't made to Jafar, some unimportant person who was long forgotten. And likewise, Sinbad wasn't meeting Ekaterina, who he had come all this way for. "...Come back to my room. And do whatever you can to persuade me to go with you."
"I can definitely try that," Sinbad nodded slowly, that forefinger stroking down his throat before pulling away. Maybe he thought this easy; a few touches and kisses accompanying some melodious words was all he needed to gain allies. Right now though, he was the target being lured away. As he stood, Jafar rose with him. And with a last, hungry look that aspiring king allowed his hand to be grasped and to be led away to the backrooms.
Perhaps now, after these years, Jafar would be remembered.