Disclaimer: I own neither Drizzt Do'Urden nor Entreri. Even Jarlaxle is not mine (what a pity). Well all of them belong to R.A.Salvatore and WotC. And places… they are not mine too. But I own an idea… almost. :-) I merely want you to enjoy this story, absolutely free of charge.
A/N: Since events of this story take place after Lord Onisyr's "The Lesser Evil" (fortunately I have Lord Onisyr's permission), I use the idea of "bad Drizzt" without a hint of regrets. And I also found a nice use for the relationship: Drizzt/any female except Catti-Brie. First fic, please R&R.
Chapter 1.
A small, two-storied and dilapidated building which is located in the southern part of Waterdeep often receives shady guests as well as unrequitedly enamored women; the ground floor of it consists of some cheap stores while the second floor (one can climb up there by outdoor stairs) includes six squalid rooms; one of this rooms represents something different from other five.
"Security demands sacrifices," I think once again while running upstairs jumping over steps, trying to hide from the downpour. In the city such as Waterdeep anyone can do anything, of course if one knows how to conceal some details of its illegal affairs. And especially if one specializes in the collection of information, all problems will be solved automatically. Therefore coming back from an unremarkable side-street I don't expect any surprises. Well, under consideration that I associate with Jarlaxle from time to time, the dark elf leaning against my door shouldn't be regarded as a surprise. Even if he's not Jarlaxle.
"I've supposed you were dead. I must admit that grave worms didn't have a great influence on you. However taking into account that your body wasn't found… so, what is the purpose of your presence here, may I ask?" With eager eyes I examine his changed face. Oh, but he'd grown thin, acquired a new scar along the length of his jaw (sexy, sexy) and cut his long hair getting a ragged fringe and a small ponytail. And there is a new expression in his eyes, it's become harder and colder. Thank gods; its color remains the same – lavender. Oh, at least something in him reminds me about old good Do'Urden.
"Would you be so kind letting me enter or I must trample on your threshold in this so miserable corridor? Really, you should change the position of your home: this one is too unsightly even for you," how do you like him! Ignorant boor. But I get soaked to the skin and must drink a cup of hot tea, so I let him enter, having noticed that he has to wipe his feet before.
The squalor of the outside appearance is completely compensated by the inward decorations. A big and comfortable room (much bigger than outward) is decorated in black and crimson tones, with many rugs on the walls and a large self-colored carpet with fluffy pile on the floor. The room includes a big bed covered with a black velvet coverlet, an imposing writing-table with a pile of documents, pens, papers, magic trinkets and so on, a brazier near the window, a folding screen between the main room and the bathroom, some cozy chairs, a wardrobe and two bookcases crammed full with very various books.
"And you should change your appearance," waving to the nearest chair instead of my bed, which he wants to sit on, I lay off my black velvet cloak and sodden boots, take a bath towel, try to dry a little my short black hair with one hand and place a small tea-kettle on fire with another. "When a drow come to the mage, who is specializing in charming, healing, making love-potions and so on, it looks more than strange. No one can say that I was noticed in making poisons, so in the next time you'll come to me, try to conceal your heritage. A cup of tea, perhaps?"
"It would be nice, thanks. So you don't seem to be surprised with my raising from the dead. Why, my lady?" it looks like he's been waiting for me for a long time, because his hair wasn't wet, but the rain began half an hour ago.
"This scar, where did you get it? And tell me, what were you doing next to my door?" I've obtained some kind of reputation by now, and I'm surprised that he seems to be more informed about the true state of affairs. This reputation as well as a fair amount of coins allows me to interact with authorities without unexpected excesses. I pay; they don't notice me – it's the way I like.
"May I ask: where did you get the habit to answer a question with a question? I'm just curious, nothing personal," he leans back, crosses his legs and pensively runs his fingers through his fringe. Oh, just now I've noticed that he pierced his ears. How lovely! It's interesting, has he any piercing on other parts of his perfect body? Perhaps I should check it up later.
"Oh, yes, of course you may. But it doesn't mean that you'll receive the answer," having turned to the kettle I mutter in a soft voice. "Here, take it. I hope you'll like my tea. So, what about my question? Or I must surmise that you've fallen in love, perhaps with Lady Alustriel, and now need in a strong love-potion? But in this case I'll be forced to disappoint you – I don't possess the necessary power to charm this so-well protected woman. It's far beyond my petty possibilities. I'm sorry," I take an exaggeratedly sad look.
"Alustriel? No, I don't think I have a need for her. Besides she's too good for me," his eyes are clouded while he's remembering the High Lady of Silverymoon thoughtfully sniffing at tea. "But nevertheless, I would prefer if you told me about your non-surprising with my presence in the world of living, my lady. Or rather, I would be very, very glad."
"Rumors, rumors, my friend. And my quick mind, of course. I have some friends in Cormanthor, and they've told me about "The Rogue Prince" with lavender eyes. Whom could I think of?" I sit on my writing-table and ask him in retort, "So, Master Do'Urden, what about your answer? I still wonder why you lounged about my door."
It seems like he was tired to play a cat-and-mouse game, so he tells only one word, "Jarlaxle."
"Jarlaxle? Was it him, who left this pretty scar on your face? Well, I understand "why" if you'd pestered him like you did with me," his fingers squeeze the cup so violently that I'm afraid it'll be broken. Oh, my precious, expensive porcelain!
"No, it wasn't him. But I offer you to exert your "quick mind" and collect other "rumors" to learn where did I get that one," he gingerly puts aside the aforementioned cup (seemingly to prevent its destruction) and says, "Jarlaxle sent me to discuss your previous proposition. Or have you not messaged for him earlier?"
Having realized that Drizzt will stay here for a long time, I decide to take off my moist clothes. Rooting in my wardrobe and looking through so perfectly dry and warm garment I ask him, "Has he agreed?"
"Almost, my lady, almost. But he wants to know two things: how have you known that he is in Waterdeep now, and he is interested with the details of your offer. He attached this device," Do'Urden is waving in the direction of a small black gem on his belt, "to watch our conversation."
Finally having found simple white shirt, black tight leather breeches and high boots I begin to lay off my wet chemise. The dark elf's eyebrows lift with amusement and not with embarrassment. Oh, yes, he indeed differs from Do'Urden I've known, who certainly would turn away from me if he was in this situation. But this Do'Urden merely makes himself comfortable and prepares to enjoy the show. As if he is in some cheap tavern and "the ladies" are about to make a strip-tease. Cheeky goat.
Ah, but it's interesting – will he lower his gaze when I'll seriously begin to undress? I think I should check it up. Having sat on the table and put my right foot on the lap of the left one I start to unclasp the thigh sheath containing the curved and poisoned dagger.
"May I take a look on your blade?" Drizzt asks in a soft voice. Without superfluous words I throw that scabbard to him. He cautiously unsheathes absolutely black dagger with a thin dark green line on its edge. "Nice craft… strong poison… very, very good weapon… so you want to say that you are a good hand at using this one?"
"Ah, ah, ah, dear Master, how long ago your wife died? Not too long, I suppose. And you've already forgotten that women is capable not only to please you in bed delights," I deliberately slowly unbutton my chemise.
He puts my dagger back in its sheath and says in a dark voice, "Watch your tongue, lady Shaeonell, or I'll check your skills." However he is just a simple man and the flash of danger in his eyes is mixed up with desire.
"So returning to the previous topic. Firstly I must say that Jarlaxle's appearing in Waterdeep didn't go unnoticed. The drow elf in such a magnificent hat – this sight was remembered to all dwellers of "The Drunken Ogre's Heel". This is a name of the tavern where you've stayed, isn't it? Fortunately the owner of this tavern is my old friend, or rather, debtor," the wet, crumpled clothes flies on the bed and I remain in a formerly concealed corset consisting of two layers: the upper velvet layer and the lower mithril layer. This construction defends me well enough and has proved its profit already. Great number of buttonhooks keeps it on my chest, advantageously emphasizing the whiteness of my skin and the shape of my breasts. "Would you mind unclasping my corset?" I ask him in a sweet voice.
"No, I wouldn't," he speaks slightly hoarsely. "But tell me: what would you do if I was not here?" He rises on his feet, gently runs his fingertips along my back and starts to undo every little clasper.
"What would I do? I would do it by myself. You know, to put it on was much harder than to take it off. But you're very experienced in this, aren't you?" holding my corset near my chest I feel his deft fingers separate the garment in two. "Thanks," I've started but have been interrupted when he slides his fingertips along the length of my old (already whitened) almost parallel scars.
"These scars… they look like a lash marks," he waits for my nod and continues, "when did you get these?"
"Four, maybe five years ago," I whisper arching my back because of my memories and his tender touches, while he's pensively stroking my skin. "I don't remember… I always have problems with chronology."
"It seems like your memories are not so painful, are they?" he breathes out in my ear, caressing sensitive areas with hot breath; his hand enfolds my waist and draws me closer. "Tell me about these memories."
"It's none of your business," deftly slipping out of his grip and having left him with my clothes I put on the shirt which was prepared before. "Besides it concerns with neither the reason of your stay here, nor the affair I've proposed."
He smirks unpleasantly, throws away my corset and has a sit, "So what about the second question?"
"The deal is not too complicated. The standard set: caves, a maze, a treasury, magic trinkets and the purpose of our trip – a diamond statue of Lolth. I have a map… had found it a long ago," I take off my breeches, stretch myself and replace it with another, "The reward will be great, the sortie will be interesting, so you should decide: are you in, or are you out?"