OKAY! real world work is done, now I can get on with the stuff that is fun but pays no bills
Don't even... you don't have any "bills" or "resposibilities"
HEY! I do too! I pay for my netflix account every single month!
oooh, shit! everyone knows about how hard NETFLIX will drop the hammer if you're late on a payment!
yeah! you might never get to finish Orange is the New Black!
I... I actually haven't gotten to that one yet, I'm still on Hemlock Grove...
Oh, so you're the one person who actually watches that series...
NO! plenty of people do! besides, I feel like this season they're really gonna hit their stride!
and finally have a point or coherent narrative?
yeah! it only took three seasons!
...
...
You only watch it because you really want the Werewolf and the non-pire to make out huh?
THE TENSION IS SO JUICY!
-
Iorveth remained silent as Saskia dropped her cloak on the back of a chair. This was a crucial moment. In spite of herself she had come back, if this didn't happen tonight, she may never return. She was studying him already. He needed to say something before she caught on to how drunk he was.
"I thought you did not intend to return..." He said keeping his tone even. He leaned against the doorframe and crossed his arms, as though he were simply nonchalant. He held his head intentionally high, dispite how heavy it felt. He looked her in the eyes and prayed the flickering firelight disguised how his eye kept drifting shut.
"I did not intend to..." Saskia said matter-of-factly, as she tugged at the knots at her chest "but here I am." The fabric fell apart from her chest, revealing her smooth skin down to her sternum. "Now what shall you do about that?"
Iorveth chewed on the inside of his cheek while he pondered how to accept this offer without seeming too eager. He also weighed how long he would have to stall before he could preform admirably... by his estimates it would be somewhere in the middle of his shift in the mines tomorrow. All the while, his eye had drifted downward as he stared in silence.
The firelight caught in her golden hair and danced around the curve of her breast. he felt his pulse quicken and his trousers grow steadily tighter. at least he knew all the necessary parts were still functional.
Again, he became aware of his own silence. He decided he would just have to do his best with the state he was in. There was no way he would let this chance pass him by. He wouldn't get away with being silent for much longer, and he couldn't conjure words.
Saskia rolled her eyes impatiently, "Look, if you're-" She was abruptly cut short as the taste of cheap vodka hit her mouth with all the grace of an incoming fist. Iorveth decided it best to simply ignore the fact that he had very nearly chipped a tooth with his sloppy attempt at seduction. Instead, he pulled her tight against his hip and pretended that he meant to roughly shove her into sitting atop the table.
Saskia bit his lip but allowed him to clumsily dominate for a while. His hands fumbled with un-tucking her men's shirt from her trousers but finally pulled the fabric free and slid over her warm skin. She sighed at his touch, encouraging him that perhaps she truly hadn't noticed how impaired he was.
Saskia slid her hands down his neck and eagerly tore open his leather chestpiece, then swiftly opened his shirt and allowed them both to simply fall open, exposing his scarred chest. For a moment she pondered how curiously smooth the skin between his scars were as she delicately ran her fingers along the unscarred spaces.
As her hands descended his body, his rose up to her breasts. She groaned and pulled his hips in close and rolled against him. She was rewarded with a quiet gasp and a squeeze. Spurred on by the heat between her legs, Iorveth momentarily forgot that her shirt was one that needed to be pulled over the head and grabbed either side of the collar and pulled it open, tearing it away from her body with a loud rip.
"Oh shit-" he began an apology but Saskia was already viciously kissing him again. She pushed him back from the table to herd him toward the bed. "forget it," she said as she surfaced for air, "I just need to fuck you right now."
While Saskia was certainly not a soft-spoken woman, he had never heard her be quite so vulgar either. Even in his current state, it gave him some pause. He wasn't entirely sure if he found that distracting or enticing. He quickly forgot his dilemma when Saskia shoved him to the mattress and roughly untied his trousers.
without bothering to strip him entirely, Saskia tugged his trousers down just enough to expose him and took him in her mouth without ceremony nor warning.
Unfortunately, this was as far as Iorveth's memory would serve him.
He woke, naked, to beams of sunlight streaming through his windows, catching motes of dust that floated lazily through them. They were his only company.
His limbs were heavy, and his head felt like it was going to crack open at any moment. He squinted around the room and saw a cup on the table that was not there the night previous. With a great effort, he pushed himself from the bed and drug his feet over to the table.
The cup was about halfway full of water with a few sprigs of a thin, green weed he couldn't identify and a few loose tea leaves floating in it. under the cup was a scrap of paper that had been written on with charcoal:
"I figured you might need this in the morning. I've heard it isn't palatable to Aen Seidhe, but it should help your imminent headache. I trust you've learned your lesson about drinking with dwarves.
-S.
PS: I took the liberty of borrowing one of your shirts, I'll find a way to return it soon."
Iorveth cursed under his breath. His memory was foggy at best, and was completely absent after a certain point. Saskia's note offered very few clues as to how the night had ended. He may well have completely ruined his chances of ever seeing Saskia's perfectly shaped body again.
Judging by the angle that the sunlight came trough his window, his shift at the mines would start soon. Not that he was entirely eager to return before, but now the thought filled him with dread.
He eyed the cup in his hand suspiciously. He did not make a habit of drinking strange liquids, and there was no way to tell if it had truly been Saskia who had left this. After all, he was not a particularly popular man in Vergen, and he had recently lost the ability to lock his door.
On the other hand, the note certainly sounded like it was written by someone who had been present for last night's activities... unless someone had taken Saskia and left the note and the possible poison while he slept. No, it would require quite a scuffle to subdue Saskia, even unarmed. Surely, he would've woken from that.
As a compromise, he threw down half of the concoction. Poison or not, he doubted he would be able to stomach much more than that anyway. In his youth, a rival tried to drown him in laundry water, the taste reminded him of that long ago time.
By the time he arrived at the mines, he began to wish he had drank the entirety of the foul tea. His stomach had settled and his limbs felt stronger but the headache was still distracting, and he tired faster than usual. He spent most of his time trying desperately to recover memories of the night before. A few moments came back to him; a gentle chuckle as she told him to lie back; her hands as they tightened on his chest; she whispered something in his ear, though he couldn't remember what; A golden glow illuminating the room.
He decided he couldn't have embarrassed himself too much, elsewise she would have simply left him to his misery. No, Saskia was fierce but always had a certain kindness to her. A kindness he admired but had accepted long ago he would never posses. She was also strong. He could feel it in her touch. In the effortless way she shoved him to the bed and held him there; in precisely the position she wanted him.
Inexplicably, Iorveth found himself returning to the thought of Saskia returning to her quarters wearing his clothes. All her reputation and strength wrapped up in his scent. Even D'hoine, with their dull senses, would pick up that something was different. They would notice something lingering along with Saskia and all that came with her, but be too dense to discern what that thing was. But he knew. and so did she.
Also, perhaps she would not wear trousers with that shirt. Instead, just allow the tails to barely cover her, letting just the b-
"How yeh feelin' this mornin'?" Zoltan jolted Iorveth from his visions.
Iorveth sighed to release some of his annoyance at being interrupted. "I'd say regretful but I shan't give you the opportunity to gloat." He told the dwarf, cocking an eyebrow.
Zoltan smirked, "If I were a kinder man I might've warned yeh ter slow down. The Vodka up north sneaks up on yeh like a debting whore."
The two men worked in the same tunnel that day, Saying mostly nothing but occasionally a small converstation would spring up and fade just as quickly. When the call went out to surface, they walked together in comfortable silence along with the rest of the miners. None in the crowd stood higher than Iorveth's chest.
Zoltan chatted with other dwarves as they passed. Iorveth paid their conversations very little attention and instead took mental stock of how many orens he would have after this shift and how many he would owe the city of vergen at the end of the month. They were dangerously close to the same number. It had been the better part of two years since The War for the Valley (as it had come to be called) and the mercenary money from the state was drying up.
On the other hand, at the end of the month, he may well not have to worry about that. At least he wouldn't miss the minutia and beaurocracy of city life. Life in the wild was simple in a certain way, not easier, but easier to control. There was always the option to leave the city, his scoia'tel would need him out there, a fair percentage of them would leave once the option became available. The ones who stayed would be able to adapt and live among the D'hoine, the ones who couldn't would need someone to reign them in; curb their rage when a hunter or wanderer stumbled across them. Not that he was much of an example, but it was better than nothing. Left to their own devices, they would be on the headsman's block before the same time next year.
An image of Saskia wearing his shirt, bathed in early morning sunlight, flitted across his mind.
Iorveth managed to escape before Zoltan could invite him to whatever casual social event the dwarves had been discussing. His hangover was still lingering enough to make crowds intolerable.
It had been months since he'd shot his bow, and a good pelt or two could earn him some spending money. Yes. The forest seemed like a great place to recover and hide from the crowds for a few hours.
He went home, washed most of the silt off himself, and changed into the lighter of his two donkeyskin Jackets. When he finally went to take his bow and quiver from their pegs on the wall, he noticed a thin layer of dust accumulating on them. It might have been the first time he'd seen house dust in the last century. It brought on a slight twinge of anxiety that compelled him to find new scenery.
A chill blew through the trees and stole the last warmth from the air. Iorveth had collected a few rabbits but nothing terribly substantial. It would have to do. He tied the last rabbit to his belt and set off for Vergen.
As he reached the gates, he heard a screech from behind him. He turned sharply back to the trees he had just exited. It was close, just behind the first few layers of brush. Forests were home to any number of creatures that made such sounds from barn owls to harpies. But it was loud and close.
Just as he turned to continue into the city he heard it again, but this time it spoke, "Help! Help me please!" This only cemented his resolve to return to the city. He turned towards the gate with a small chuckle. He had practically invented the cry for help ambush. In reality, when people were in true peril, they almost never cried for help; they would plead, pray, threaten, or just scream like animals, they only cried for help if they saw someone nearby and they were never so polite as to add a "please."
Unfortunately, as he looked up from bemusedly shaking his head, he saw a guard atop the wall, staring at him in horror and disgust. No words were spoken, the mans eyes screamed, "you fucking monster" loud enough to overcome the silence between them.
There was no way to explain how certain he was that this was the setup to a robbery, and Vergen's D'hoine didn't need another reason to hate him. Iorveth sighed exasperatedly and pinched the bridge of his nose in defeat.
"Well don't just stand there, call the guard, tell them which way I went" He shouted before turning around and trudging back into the forest. He drew an arrow and nocked it as he kicked through the underbrush.
He walked a ways in and heard small, light footfall running deeper in to the forest. He rolled his eye in exasperation, "Hello?" he called begrudgingly, "anyone out here?" on cue, the bait screamed again from deeper into the forest "Please! Help!" The voice called, pleading and high-pitched but in a pleasing tenor; lacking the ugliness of true desperation. Also, never hinting to a specific danger, lest it prove to be too dangerous to risk.
He followed the voice deeper. He knew this game of voice tag. The bait, usually either a small child or beautiful young woman, lured the target far from the path, making them hard to track, so any backup that might arrive would be unable to find them. Then, upon arriving in the predetermined, secluded area, the bait would stutter and stammer and cry to keep the target's attention while the ambush moved into position and sized up their opponent. Then the bait would immobilize the target somehow and it would all be over before the victim even knew he had been tricked.
"Gods, help me!" The sweet voice called again. He followed it into a small clearing where the fading light only just illuminated a tiny figure, perhaps three feet tall, and only if she stood as tall as she could. A dwarven child, her hair in a ratty, unkempt bun and her face and clothes were filthy. She leaned against a tree and panted like she had been running for hours. Unsurprisingly, she was skinny, unimposing, and adorable.
"Oh, how shocking, the smallest possible child they could find." Iorveth said flatly. The girl didn't seem to notice his tone and worked up the best wail she could, "Please! please help me! It got my leg, I can't walk!" She pulled her tattered cloak away from her leg to reveal a shredded dress, covered in red stains.
"Interesting, did you fly, then? because your first cry for help came from about fifty metres that way." he jerked his head back behind him, still keeping his arrow nocked. "Now how many archers are in your group?"
"It dragged me! please! you have to help me get home!" She wailed, without hesitation. Her cheeks were wet with tears but only a gentle shade of pink, not the pained maroon of terror. She was a dedicated actress if not a very good one. Meanwhile, the leaves began to rustle just a hair too harshly for it to simply be the wind.
Iorveth grew impatient and drew back his bow, "Listen to me, you little urchin." He snarled, training the bow on the girl and striding aggressively towards her, "If you're going to lie to me, you're at least going to put some bloody work into it."
"Fucking hell, mister!" the girl shouted, a solid octive lower than she had previously been speaking. She threw her back against the tree and held a hand up, a gesture to wait. "There you go girl," he smirked, stopping before he came within the ten foot radius he knew they wanted him in, "Remember this, this is what fear sounds like."
"What are you talking about? I'm hurt I-" She began slipping back into her sweet, kittenish voice again; which had been grating on Iorveth's nerves even before he saw her contrived expression. He released the arrow and it twanged into the tree inches from her head. "Fuck!" The girl cried out, in genuine terror this time. She flung herself away from the tree, and quite convincingly limped over to another one to lean against.
"Please mister, I just wanna go home!"
When she looked up again, Iorveth already had a new arrow nocked and three others in his hand, ready for a rapid shot. "How many of your friends are archers?" Iorveth said evenly.
"You think if I had any friends I'd be out here!?" the girl shouted, forgetting her character for a moment. Another arrow shunted itself into the ground at her feet.
"If you had any intelligent friends you wouldn't be out here." He sneered, "I tire of your bad acting, girl. On the count of three I am going to release this arrow unless you tell me how many archers you have with you." The girl stared right down the arrow's shaft into his eye.
"Why are you doing this?"
"one."
"Fuck, guy, just-"
"two."
"There's four!"
The girl heard a twang, a whitsle, and a snap but somehow they all seemed like the same sound.
-
...
...
So we've come to killing children.
tasteless...
I mean really
this is worse than that GoDaddy commercial with the puppy
uncool
seriously
shameful.