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Carys_icon.gif luthor.gif

Scene Title Work Calls
Synopsis Luthor goes after Carys with a job
Location Hightown Mansions
Date Harvestmere 1 9:31 Dragon
Watch For
Logger Carys

It's sunset in Kirkwall, and their is a definite autumn note to the mild breeze that's felt every so often. The sky is only slightly cloudy, but it causes the colors to bounce off of one another marvelously, painting everything in a glorious pale magenta hue. It's this time when shops are closing up, people are heading home, and other people are heading towards evening establishments to spend the night, and their earnings, away. And others are simply enjoying a leisurely stroll while walking the dog.

Or in this case, the fox.

And yes, Carys is doing exactly that. Dressed in fashion that isn't /too/ Hightown, but definitely enough to fit in, with her hair tamed and pulled into a low ponytail with what can only be described as a silver puffball with a blingy collar and leash being walked at her side, she may be almost unrecognizable to people who've only seen her slumming it around in the lower parts of Kirkwall. But there you have it. Carys is walking a fox. No, wait, now she's pausing and crouching to adjust the pretty and sparkly neck-wrap its wearing. And then it's back to walkies. The fox is just lovin' it.

Luthor Traske does not belong in Hightown. He is too Fereldan, too hard, too armed. Too armored. For the first time since Carys has met him, he's dressed in leather and chainmail — simple, stark, armor that is designed to turn a blow, not to look pretty. And from the scars in the mail and leather, it has done that job many a time.

And his greatsword dangles from his back, hilt protruding up over his shoulder. He is currently crouching, bringing a flower to his nose without breaking it from its stem, inhaling slowly. He smiles faintly as he breathes out and then, straightening, turns and steps out right in front of Carys and her.. fuzzball? Fox?

Looking right at the young woman, the mercenary smiles, letting his gaze travel up and down her form with an almost insolent curiosity. "Hello, sweetling. I've been looking for you." But despite the slow up-and-down, there's a gravity in his gaze that's not been seen before. "We've business to discuss."

Look at them both looking different. Must be the phase of the moon… or something. Princess of course tries her /best/ to be, well, intimidating and protective but when a fox hasn't really done an ounce of this in her life, Luthor just gets whined at, half-yipped and then finally, Princess seems to fall into line with the thinking most everyone around Carys seems to have: The thief's capable of taking care of herself. And Carys does comment on this, "Well, yer useful." But she's crouching and giving the animal affection. Again.

"H'lo to you too," she does return to Luthor before he utters that last night. That, in combination with the eyeballing, gets her to look at him a bit oddly. "Really…." she draws out the R for emphasis. "Let me just walk Princess back home…" Instead of trying to steer the fluffball the way she wants, she just picks the fox up and ambles off in some direction towards one of the manses nearby.

Far from waiting for the woman out here, Luthor falls into step beside her. He doesn't look at her as they walk; instead, his gaze is elsewhere, constantly on a pivot, examining the other passersby. His lips are curved in an amiable smile, but his eyes are hard as chips of dark ice, the sort you find in the heart of a glacier.

"Your house would be better anyhow," he says absently, head still moving about. It's as though he genuinely expects to be attacked at any moment — or as though he wishes he were about to be. Absently, his left hand curls and uncurls into a fist. There's a vitality about him now that Carys has only seen once — in the Pit, when he sent a man to the ground. His sword seems to be crackling less than usual, a touch more placid under his control than the last time anyone saw it.

"I don't know… Everyone I bring home seems t'flip out when they find out that it's owned by a Tevinter Magus," Carys lays this out on the line now in case something flips out. She notes the energy, but she doesn't comment on it, but her attention is now moving to focus on the buildings around them. "As long as y'don't mind /that/, an' the possibility of gettin' teased about bein' part of my love life, I guess I can accommodate." Alright, let's get a plan together…if attacked, throw the dude and run off with the fox.

"A…Tevinter." There is a long moment of silence as Luthor digests this. And then, tonguing the side of his cheek, he says "So long as he doesn't listen in, that'll be fine." If Luthor detects Carys's wariness, he doesn't show it. "And I don't mind the suggestion about being a part'a your love life. Why should I? Any smart man would be flattered." But the word Tevinter has distracted Luthor; his banter is slightly off. Some question seems to be fighting to get out, but he does not yet ask.

She caught that. And her expression darkens. The problem with how she grew up is everyone tends to be equal in her eyes, and she has difficulty seeing any nation really being much of a threat over something else. "We'll take the servants' entrance. He doesn't go that way often." She's not even commenting on the flattery, just storms off like she's stomping off to battle. It should give Luthor time to see whether or not he wants to ask that damn question. The way she kind of glanced at him in askance may give hint that she's expecting something due to that off tone.

But she does lead him around the back way, gaining him entrance through a kitchen back door. She'll lead him out of the kitchen and into a more 'servants hallway' type thing that has a few side rooms for 'work' type stuff that rich people can't be bothered with. And Luthor will be left there for the moment while Carys disappears elsewhere to put Princess away. The decor so far is… odd. It's obviously obnoxiously rich Tevinter…but it also has a lot of … holes. Like when something gets removed after being there for a long time. There are several of these 'holes' here. Could this be where Carys keeps getting her ugly Tevinter pottery?

Luthor notes that anger and smiles briefly. But it's a cold expression, one that is more wolfish than human. He looks around the home intently, noting the gaps in the furnishings. But also noting the doors, the exits, the windows, the tables and chairs, anything that might become important if, say, one were to come under attack from a legion of Qunari Sten. This doesn't actually seem to be due to any particular concern; it's more a habit. He's probably not aware that he does it.

"I don't think," he says after a long silence, "That she'd have sent me to you if you were living with a slaver. So your Tevinter friend must actually hire his servants." That's an obscure comment, but it may serve to illuminate the question he hasn't asked, and the hesitancy. "We need to speak in a place where your friend won't come. Shit I have to say is for you and I and no one else. Not yet." A pause. "I'm not here to hurt you. Before you try and knife me."

"Um. No. /I/ wouldn't be here if he were a slaver," Carys snaps when she comes back and is greeted with that statement. It's a combination of both the 'slaver' part being a topic she's testy about and the fact that she's protective of those people she calls friends. She's never had them before so she doesn't really know what to do with them, but she protects them vigilantly. And again with the secrecy, which she seems more at lease with than the suspicion tossed at Davan. "He actually got himself in a bit of trouble trying to find the man his father 'gifted' him with some means in which t'better himself," she explains as she bustles past him, past the kitchen again and this time down into the wine cellar. It's, well… a wine cellar. And completely bereft of individuals. But Carys takes the time to kick and bang things to make sure there's no servants stuck in the nooks and crannies. Because, y'know, she can do this so she wouldn't be surprised if she found someone else.

"Good. He might be useful later, then. A Tevinter mage could tip the scales if we get in the deep shit. I gotta ask your apology — I don't know the man, so I can't just assume he's as good as you are." Good. He doesn't seem to mean skilled. Luthor prowls along the lines of wine-bottles, stopping to brush dust off one and pull it from its rack, considering. "Good stuff," he says after a moment. And then, "Right. As to why I'm here."

He turns to gaze at Carys for a few moments. "I've been speaking to a tiger." And for some reason, this causes him to grin — as if at some memory. "A tiger that's pretty interested in slaves. And freeing them. You know who I'm talking about? She told me to come to you about my business. You're meant to help me."

Bristle Bristle! "I get it… I don't /like/ it… but I get it." She can't help but toss a half smile. "He's just my friend, so…And… I believe he's a good man. He wouldn't be…" She trails off and waves. "That's fishwife gossip area." She withdraws a bottle from the rack and looks for a corkscrew. "An' yer not here for gossipin' fishwife material.. For… some reason."

He talks and Carys seems to have slipped her hair's binding for now it's kind of all over in her face now. It does good to hide her expression though, as she works to get the cork out of the bottle of wine she pulled. He speaks about this tiger and while she's tempted to crack a comment about bad booze, she doesn't. Instead a hand simply rests on the side of her hip, her brow furrowing slightly at…something? What he's saying? Some hazy memory or…

*WHAMP!* Or…"Fuckin' spider." Setting down a small box that was next to her uncorking efforts that now has spider guts, she regards him carefully. "What'cher business?"

Something occurs to Luthor. He stops, frowning, then abruptly steps forward. It's a fast movement — faster than it seems a man wearing armor ought to be able to move. He reaches out to grasp Carys's chin and, if he manages that and she doesn't immediately drive a dagger into his ribs, to tilt her head up toward his. Studying her eyes, he nods after a few moments. "You have her mark," he says quietly. "She told me you would." And then he releases the girl, though he doesn't step away.

"My business," he says, "is war. You're meant to help me find members of a certain cult. And once we find them, we're to kill them. All of them." He smiles at the young woman, as though she ought to be happy at the news. "And if we can free some people along the way, I think she'd appreciate that too. But it's the cultists that matter, Carys. I don't.. I don't remember everything. But I remember this. It's important."

He gets his hand on her chin only because she was using the heartbeats it took for him to close distance and get her chin in a grip withdrawing a weapon from her skirts. They're not as … weapon-snagging efficient as armor is. But the moment it's out… it isn't in his ribs-it's against his throat, and pressing hard enough to get her point across that he should back off, and that is his only warning. May even draw a bit of blood there depending on how long he decides to test her patience. And he gets a good look at what he's searching for, because those violet depths are flashing absolute /murder/ for the briefest moments.

But it cools the moment he steps back, though she keeps the dagger aloft. "Free people?" Smash the guys responsible? Who cares about the order right? Slowly her hand lowers, and there's a twitch at the corner of her mouth as she strings things together in her mind. "You got info?"

In other words, she just said she was in.

If Luthor is startled to find a knife at his throat, he doesn't show it. Nor does he blink. Which is, perhaps, wise — if he jerks, he might well find himself with a severed carotid by accident. "No info," he says when that knife is withdrawn. And one might note how his left hand lowers back down to his side — and how quickly it had started to rise. In an instant, things could've gone very badly.

"Absolutely none. Except that they have to exist. And they have to be secret. I was thinking Lowtown or the sewers." His own lips quirk upward and he reaches out again, this time to the wine-bottle Carys opened. "Gimme that," he says. And there's that arrogance about him again, that sense of command. Not as though he excepts her to listen, in any conscious sense. But as though he'd be shocked if she were not in.

"Free people. Yes. That'll come later, I think. One thing at a time. First we need to find the Cultists. And get some friends. And kill them."

Carys blinks when the command's given and the bottle is now out of her possession. "HEY! /asking/ works, y'know!" And her hands are thrown on her hips and she's again back to how she normally presents herself (though it has that odd ring of… honesty that suggests she's not just putting on a happy face) which may be weird considering a half a minute ago she was prepared to try to slit a man's throat. And probably get cleaved in returned-oh yes she saw that hand lowered.

"If they're in Kirkwall, the sewers'd probably be th' best bet," she muses, reaching over to try to get her wine bottle back. She's mumbling to herself for a moment before she speaks more loudly, "Th' info gatherin' will need t'be kept t'you an me. Keeps it on th' low, an' keeps from too many people havin' fingers in pies they shouldn't be. When we find 'em, we can work on recruitin' some extra hands t'put 'em out of business." Cue careful spin of the dagger in her hand.

"Agreed. I was hoping you and your network might hear something. Disappearances. Weird shit. You know the sort of thing cults get up to." Does she? Does he, even? Luthor ignores the protests and takes a long gulp from the wine bottle, then another. "I don't have many people I can trust here. Ciann, sure. No one else. I wouldn't be trusting you if she hadn't told me you're hers." He says that so casually.

Luthor finally passes the bottle back — several moments after Carys reached for it — and examines the girl. "We do this careful. Anyone we ask to join has proven personal loyalty to one of us, and we both agree on them before we approach them." A considering pause. "It'd be best if you and I could capture one or two cultists alone and.. question them."

Cayrs probably should put up more of a reaction to being claimed by something if she hadn't had a weird ass experience months ago where she should've been dead in an alleyway. And it just…it doesn't sound wrong to her. It's like things are finally shifting into place, making sense. Purpose beyond simply being a pain in the ass and laughing her ass off over it. "I only trust one person, completely and wholly here." She then laughs. "Similar name t'yer guy, too. Funny." When the bottle's /finally/ returned to her, she takes a sip, thoughtful like. "I'll ask around. See if there been any oddities that are… odd compared t'the other odd shit that goes on in Kirkwall. It's about th' best startin' place." Another sip and she can't help but chuckle at the 'question them'. "Get a location first, then we'll ferret 'em out. I might not be gettin' much sleep in the future. NOt… that I sleep well t'begin with."

"I'll poke around the sewers," Luthor offers. It's the sort of thing a warrior might do — poking around the dark places — and he seems more comfortable with that than with prying information from informants. He says, after a few moments, "We have to trust each other now, Carys. You and I." He's serious, not flirtatious, though again there's the look up and down her form, taking in those skirts and that new bodice appreciatively. "We work for the same person now. And she wants you following my lead, when it comes to the killing. If we can only get one person each, and we need more.. we'll discuss it. Might be your Tevinter friend has a bloody side."

CArys crosses her arms here, shifting her weight to one side. "Are y'any good at slinkin' through dark places? Quietly? What say th' first time you go down you take me with so you got an extra set of eyes." The looking up and down doesn't get much of r eaction. Either she's just choosing not to comment, or well, it's gone over her head. That sometimes happens. "An' what does /that/ mean?" she asks, quietly, about trust. Of course, the mention of 'following someone else's lead' gets a bit of a facial twitch.

"It means that we're going to be in each other's pockets, here on out. Talk to your friend Davan. Get me a room here. Even down here will do. She can track you — she can't track me as easy. She wants us together." Funny how he hadn't mentioned that at first. "Tell him I like boys, if it embarrasses you, I do not bloody care. But we need that to happen." He considers for a moment longer. "It means if you've got doubts about me, let's settle them. Ask your questions. As for me, I trust you to mean well, but I don't trust you to make sound tactical decisions. Me, I'm an excellent battlefield tactician. I ain't bragging. It's a simple fact that we've each got our talents. Like.. your skulking. I agree. Y'should come with me." A brief pause. "And I'm sorry if it seems like I'm not offering choices, Carys. Truth is, I'm not. I'm passing on orders."

"Togheter? Like…" She makes weird motions with her hands as if to try to somehow mime what she's getting at. The face she makes too probably isn't selling it. "Or just…" She pauses and then she shakes her head. "Because…. aw, fuck it," Her shoulders slump and it seems like her life just suddenly got weirder. She moves over and hops onto that table, which is sturdier than it seems considering it's holding her weight just fine. "Why not in person?" She finds herself asking, but then she lifts her hand and waves it, as if dismissing the question. Her feet swing and she seems like she's fallen in silence, her attention on her hands.

"No. She didn't order us to fuck." Luthor grins at the young woman, suddenly amused, and reaches out to snatch the wine-bottle out of his hand. "Least, not that I remember. I could be remembering wrong. She wants us nearby one another as often as possible." He waggles his brow, raises the bottle to his lips, and takes a long gulp. "I dunno why she didn't tell you in person. I think it's part of my test. See if I can get you to trust me." Luthor shrugs his shoulders, walking over and sitting on the table beside Carys. He sets the bottle between them. "Listen. I know I'm a stranger and that we don't agree on a lot of things. But I'm not here to trick you into bed. I'm here to ask your help. That's all."

"It wasn't just that!" Carys barks out before she crosses her arms and huffs ab it. "I just…I don't know. I mean…" She rubs her forehead and she sighs. "I meant in a weird relationship sense. Cause…" She shakes her head and sighs. "I can get you t'live here easy enough. Davan's part of yer mercenary company thing," she points out. "So he's a coworker. I"m sure all I gotta do is bat my eyelashes, say you ain't got a pot t'piss in an' he'll find some where t'put you." She shakes her head. "Just gonna be weird 'cause I was /plannin'/ on gettin' my own place."

She shakes her head. "I ain't worried 'bout that. I'm easy t'trick in a lotta ways, but not that. Half the time I ain't even realizin' I'm being flirted with." She glances over to him. "It's the trustin' thing I'm contendin' with. I don't know you from shit… an' even then, I know more 'bout you than you know about me. An' way I grew up? You just /don't go throwin' out yer lifestory/. That gets …" She sighs. "That gives people weapons t'use against you."

"I'm not asking for your life story," replies Luthor equably. "I don't remember everything I discussed with her, but I know enough to know I trust her. So if she says you're reliable in your own way, I believe her. So I trust you." He picks up the bottle and takes a sip. "And when you get your own place, I'll go with you. Sleep on the floor, sleep in the cellar, whatever. 'Til she says we don't need to be near one another anymore."

A considering pause, and he glances at Carys. "So like I said. If you've got issues y'need to clear with me, ask them. I'll answer. Because when time comes, and I give y'an order, I don't want you wondering whether I'm reliable or not." He leans aside, nudging the girl with his shoulder. "And if I ever tell you to run, sweetling? Y'just go ahead and do that and trust that I'm not committing suicide. I'm addicted to life. Can't find a way to give it up."

CArys is thinking. Quickly. Eyes darting this way, that way, seeing things that likely aren't there. As if she was staring at details. "I don't flake if that's what yer worried. An' I'm loyal," which is something he's already noted. "An' my issues with you are…." She shakes her head here, grumbling something as if she was trying to see if it was worth pointing out before she suddenly reaches out and grabs the sleeve of his shirt…armor whatever he's wearing. "I got it! Family. Your family. Is it well known?"

A soft snort. "We were farmers. Nothing more. Look, if this is about your lad, I'll talk to him. Tell him I like big hairy men. Or elves. Or tall skinny women with no breasts. Anything not you." He spreads his hands slightly. "As tempted as I am t'tell you that we're destined to end up lovers — and don't be offended, 'cos I'm tempted, it's not that you're not tempting — but this is business. Anything I can do t'make your life easier while we finish our business, I'll do."

"No,t his is for comin' up with a damn good, ironclad reason why I'm keepin' you around. Or you're keepin' me around." Carys holds up her hands here, "Which can easily end up bein' remedied if we do end up that way, but I'm not interested as…" She sighs quietly in that sort of dreamy way teenaged girls do when faced with eye candy, "Nice t'look at as y'are. But.. It's not that it's just…Not only he would probably think it wierd, but so would the couple of real friends I have. It's…" She turns and holds up her hand. "So it's like this. We're /cousins/. But since I've already told people I don't know any family if I got 'em, It's on your head t'be like 'OH yeah, found out she's my great aunt Agatha's Sister Jenny's kid' or somethin'." She waves a hand here.

"That's.. a terrible lie. That's seriously the best lie you can think of? You are nervous." Luthor grins and takes a sip of the bottle of wine. "He, and your other friends, will see through it. No. We'll tell them a version of the truth. I'm broke, I've only two friends in this city, and one of them has a child coming." He sips his wine absently. "I'm a charity case. You're doing me a kindness." A pause. "All of that is perfectly true, Carys. I can say it with a straight face. But if you ask me t'say I'm your great-uncle thrice removed? I'll never manage it. And then they'll really wonder."

Her brow arches. "On th' fly, when I don't know you? Yeah. I'm not usually tryin' to come up with shit to cover /other/ peoples' asses, especially th' strange guy crashin' on the chaise." She's quiet and she frowns. "Did you really jus' figure out what the exact relation t'that is?" She shakes her head, torn between being impressed and eyerolly. Maybe she'll do both. "But I guess yer right on that. Go with yer strengths. If y'can't lie, might as well work with what we got." She rests her elbows on her knees and laces her fingers idly.

"Look, for what it's worth, I'm sorry I'm complicating your life. But you had to know shit would eventually get even more complicated." Luthor grins and takes another gulp of wine. "I've been waiting for this," he admits. "I haven't felt this alive since Ferelden. A job to do and a reason to do it. And before we're through, Carys, we're going to free those little girls being pimped out. We're going to kill the Tevinter slavers. We're going to do amazing fucking things." A momentary pause. "Or we're going to die helping her with her war."

Carys shakes her head. "Yer not complicatin' anything…save maybe whether or not I get serious with someone. Yer right, I had t'know… an' I been waitin' for it." She really seems /fine/ with the 'Find Slavers, make with much death, profit' part of all the shit he's telling her. It's the fact he has to integrate himself into her life that she seems to be flailing with. It's not like she knows what to do with her personal life to begin with. "Yes… I've been waitin' for this," she affirms, and hearing him just talk about what they're going to do is enough to put that murderous glint right back into those eyes he stared so intently at prior. And then it ends as she snorts at the 'die' part. It has a weird ring. like 'Wouldn't be the first time'.


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