Hammer, who was sitting in a corner reading some armor treatment studies that had been stolen for her, smoked her pipe while she twirled the end of her beard between her fingers. A few seconds before, she'd simply wordlessly jabbed a thumb over her right shoulder in response to Stone's question without even looking up at him, and Stone knew that the brusque gesture was all the response he would receive from her.
The only full-blooded Orc in Spectre walked slowly down the hard-packed dirt corridor in the Forge, peeling his damp, worn robes from his body as he went. Below his feet, the dirt floor gave way to actual solid stone- the change marked the crossover between the addition for which the entire area was named and the tunnels that owed their existence to the persistence of those who would not accept their fate as Shadovar slaves. The few Shadar-kai, Elves, and Dwarves that Stone passed all went about their business as usual, entirely unbothered by the Orc's nakedness. The awe-struck Halflings, uncomfortable Tieflings, and extremely embarrassed Humans knew better than to ask him to cover his dark green skin, the angular rune-like religious tattoos scarred into it, his impressive muscles, or any other impressive parts of him.
Just outside the roughly shaped portal behind which the main office lay, Stone sighed and rubbed at the back of his tense neck. He bent slightly and looked around, wanting to get an idea of what he would be dealing with before he walked in, but what he saw surprised him.
In the middle of the floor, a good three feet away from the desk behind which he expected to find Dark, sat the bare, scarred form of the ash grey-skinned Drow who was normally her ever-threatening shadow. His short grey hair, tied back with a glossy black ribbon, was visibly cleaner than the Orc remembered seeing it before he'd left.
The Orc took a knee and softly ran the flesh of his bare right hand over the stone of the floor, knowing from experience that the resulting gentle whisper was the only possible sound that would not startle the Drow before him into a pain-riddled fit.
Venomously lucid copper brown eyes focused on the Orc so suddenly that their stare felt like an arrow to the head, and the accompanying hiss sounded too purposeful to be simple menace. The Orc gave a grunt of surprise before he spoke.
"Stone."
And the Drow- Stitches- made a genuine effort to repeat the name. The hiss intensified, but the second consonant refused to come out of his mouth.
After a nearly painful twist in his belly, the Orc made a quiet decision.
"Kafil."
The hissing stopped abruptly. A distant concern clouded the brown eyes, and a single, puppy-like whimper escaped the lips.
The Orc knowingly nodded his consent, then slowly repeated himself. "Kafil."
For a few moments, only spasms lit up Stitches's face- wrinkling his nose, making his upper lip jump, pulling at his brows- all without his desire or permission. It was the cost of hearing and committing new information to the brutally fractured memory. But Stone maintained his gaze into the dark Elf's determination. The next minute of silent focus felt like more like ten.
"Ka."
It was a horrible sound- the type of gasp that happens either just after surviving a drowning, or just before vomiting the pint that shouldn't have been drunk. But Stone felt himself smirking anyway.
"Not bad. Where's Mama?"
The Drow made a strange gurgling sound and turned back around to his work. Stone scoffed softly and got up to see precisely what it was that was being worked upon. Laid on a roughly tanned hide was a pair of greaves. Just beyond the hide, on Stitches's right side, was a small jar of awful smelling dark stuff. Based on his stained fingertips and the look of half of the greaves, Stitches was smearing whatever was in the jar onto the armor.
Once he realized that Stitches didn't intend to move right away, Stone felt free to stride farther into the office, assuming that Dark would come to find them both eventually. He glanced at the desk, which had a few sealed message tubes upon it, at the rack of documents in the far left corner, and at the strange wet pool in the far right corner. He was going to squat down to see what the wetness was, but got hissed at by Stitches. When he turned over his shoulder, the Drow appeared to still be fully focused on the greaves.
"That armor, or this spot?" Stone asked, not fully expecting an answer.
And Stitches actually looked up at him to hiss his reply, this time with an open mouth.
Stone sighed and got up, knowing that annoying Stitches further would basically be inviting the twitchy Drow to use a domination spell. He strode over to Dark's storage area and peeked to see if anything seemed recently moved, but since there was too little light in the room for him to tell, he looked around at the candles in the room instead. A few were burning low, but most were fresh. There weren't any black ones, and Stone wondered at himself for even pretending to look for any. Some one of the candles closer to the desk smelled of some sort of herb or flower, and Stone moved closer to try to figure out which of them it might be. When he drew near and found it, he noted that bits of whatever weed it was seemed to have been pressed into the candle itself. He marveled at whatever alchemist had mixed whatever-it-was into whatever the candle was made of and still managed to get it to set properly in spite of it. Most such experiments that he knew of, attempted by fiends who were trying to make something that would give light and a high at the same time, went so poorly as to set clothing, the fiends, or their shacks on fire.
Off to his left side, Stitches finished the coat of mixture that he was working on, got up, and abruptly galloped out of the room on all fours. Stone was only left surprised for a few moments before he took off after the Drow, hustling down the corridor toward the far end of the Forge's tunnels. Stitches, with the benefit of the head start, disappeared into one of the cloister-sized rooms before Stone had a chance to turn the corner at the end of the passage, and left the Orc to glance into each room along its length as he went. In the second to last one, with the length of the wall on Stone's right entirely occupied by chests that were empty, but locked, knelt Dark. She, with her thieves' tools laid out on her left side, was working by the light of a single candle that sat behind her, a little off to her right. Stitches crouched behind her, flicking his tongue behind her right ear, and partially blocking her light.
"I really... I didn't need... an additional distraction, but..."
And Stone crossed his arms over his chest, an interested rumble emanating from deep within it.
Dark jumped, and nearly bent her lockpick in the chest.
"Oh, that's... oh, come now, are you two trying to put me in a mood?" Dark asked, looking up from Stone's waist to his bemused face. Her freckled cheeks warmed up to a pale pink.
Stitches, pleased, curled his way around her left side until nearly his entire upper body was in her lap.
"Raining topside," Stone answered. "Cloak and robes were soaked. Didn't want to catch chill."
"Mmnn, I see," Dark purred, her eyes half closed. "Well, I need that intel, so the proper welcome will have to wait just a bit, boys."
Stone snorted at her. "Only one boy in here."
Dark's radiant emerald eyes opened all the way and speared Stone through with a look so purposeful that he felt his stomach gurgle hungrily in response.
"Duly noted, chieftain," she finally answered, every syllable dripping from her mouth like rich fat from roasting meat. It was impossible for Stone's bare weapon not to stir in answer to her, and he stepped all the way into the room to prevent casual passers-by from seeing it do so.
Stitches, who had been contented by sending up soft cat-like purrs from Dark's lap, looked up at Stone with the shadow of her sentiment in his own gaze. Slowly, carefully- and obviously not entirely due to the involuntary jitters that always pulled at his face- he sent his perfectly pink tongue around his plush grey lips.
"That's new," Stone noted, side stepping so that he could lean on a wall. "I dare you."
The Drow turned sideways so that he could butt his head against Dark's chest like a fawning pet might, and the Tiefling gently ran her hand over his hair, pulling tenderly at the end of the short ponytail. When he looked at her, she pointed to her cheek with her free hand.
Stitches first licked at the indicated cheek, then maneuvered the rest of his body around until he could sit against Dark, crab-like, with his bare legs expertly winding behind her back. Thus ensconced, he stretched his upper body long against her shorter frame, wound his still-messy fingers in her loose red-and-silver hair, and pressed hungry lips against her cheek. Dark let go of the chest and her thief's tool in favor of wrapping one arm around Stitches's upper body and the other over one of his shoulders.
"Very new," Stone commented under his breath, enjoying the show.
"Mmm, good boy," Dark cooed without having heard Stone. She allowed Stitches to continue, moving from one cheek to the other, then at last catching her pale lips in a fiery kiss that chased all idea of calming down from Stone's mind. "Mmmn. Alright, you've convinced me. But no biting; I think the chief wants all his pieces where he remembers having them."
And Stitches unwound himself from Dark to stalk toward Stone on all fours, mouth open and eyes focused on the object of his desire.
"It seems we've hit another growth surge. We're bathing regularly, we're using high level spells more regularly, and we have rediscovered some physical abilities and... preferences," Dark teased, shaking herself a bit before she sat back up to try the lock on the chest again. "Good luck actually managing to give me any intel."
"Ask questions- hnng! haaah- that'll work," Stone answered tightly.
"Work for me, or work for him?" Dark laughed, not looking over her shoulder.
The Orc thought of getting a hold of Stitches's slate grey hair, but decided against it. "Uuhh- Both- uummff."
Dark cast a glance over at the two men, then looked back at the chest. "Did you have to block the candlelight, Stitches?"
"You could- uhhng- pick that lo- uuhh- pick that lock blindfolded," Stone managed.
"That's true, but that wasn't what I was-" Dark sat back momentarily and flexed her fingers as though they'd gotten stiff. "Nevermind; I suppose I could use the practice."
"Mmff- practice," Stone jeered as he looked up from Stitches. "Gotta- aahh- be kidding me."
"Well, my hands won't stay as good as you remember them if I don't practice," Dark replied, slowly pulling her lockpick out of the lock to make a bit of a show of inspecting it. After a few moments of turning it between her fingers in the light available to her, she put it down and chose a fresh one from her nearby thieves' tools set. "Here we are- now. How's Sapphire?"
"Haah- slower, Stitches. He's still- uuhhnmm- a bitch," Stone answered. "That's it; perfect. Like that."
"That bit of edge he has to him has its uses- besides, people call me a bitch all the time. How is he far as requisitions go?" Dark prodded, squinting as she fiddled with the lock.
"Good," Stone huffed. "Got your... your reagents. Dropped 'em... hmmm... off with Dragon."
Dark shifted the pick in the lock, causing a small click that only she could hear. "Good that you didn't take them all the way to Sweetheart. The Only's taken to alchemy; I might ask Eagle to ask him to take a crack at making poison instead of continuing to chase after tinkering with that cure disease potion that was obviously penned by a handful of drunk clerics."
Stone, who had all but closed his eyes, turned his head to focus on Dark. "Ummf... how's Eagle?"
Dark, with both hands on the opened chest, blushed and dropped her head. "Also of a mind to put me in a mood... I mean, I'd heard of Elven syncing, and... The Only and I are... quite alike... in unexpected ways."
Stone laughed- just once- out loud, and Stitches held his action for a moment so that he could recover from the sharp sound.
"Now that's competition," the Orc noted, gingerly resting a hand on Stitches's shuddery shoulder. "Old man got some good tricks?"
Dark blushed even harder, and didn't reply immediately. Behind her, Stitches resumed his efforts, to Stone's audible approval. For about a minute, his quiet grunts and Stitches's eager pursuit were all that were heard.
"Eagle did find time to tell me that the court is finally on speaking terms with Vhalan," Dark said, when her face finally stopped sizzling. "Some kind of change has improved him- Eagle had a hard time explaining it to me, and I didn't feel comfortable asking The Only directly. But it seems he's in more control of himself, so The Only now has a bit more mental and emotional space to go after other matters- even if they're entirely useless."
Stone shifted slightly to his left so that Stitches could put both hands flat on the wall on either side of his waist. "With so much time to waste, what... uuhhh... what does useless look- haaah, yeah- look like to him?"
Dark's back stiffened as though she'd been slapped. "How did you find Westgate in general?"
"Mmm, mmmn, wait, wait," Stone panted, having instantly sensed that he needed to pay closer attention to his words. Stitches entirely ignored the command, forcing Stone to actually physically stop him with both hands. "Haah- wait, Stitches. Aa-hah, aah, uhff. You win; you got it. Good boy."
Stitches gave a sticky, open mouthed gurgle that sounded remotely like an old fat frog. Dark was amused in spite of herself, and relaxed just a bit.
"Westgate," Stone panted, his weapon still doing some twitching of its own. "There's... mmff... a turf war. Two different thieves' guilds. Don't know... mmmnn... how we... got outed."
"The third guild that they don't know about yet," Dark commented offhandedly, picking her head back up. "Either that, the Zhenties, or that disgruntled operative."
"Loose end?" Stone breathed. Stitches hissed quietly, but Stone decided not to even look down at him. "Pappy said the house was clean."
"It's in the process of being cleaned, he should have said," Dark said coolly. "I had been wondering why he decided to send me a letter; he never writes. Anyway, Pappy has a good idea of who his leak is, and he's... working on it. There's a few too many plants in the guard for him not to want to get that resolved before the law comes in to break the matter up. The Teziir house is interested as well, since if Westgate doesn't get a hold of that operative soon enough, some one of those rogues is going to sort out that they haven't been dealing with real Night Masks... Stone. Aren't you going to let him finish?"
It was Stone's turn to give a small smile. "Nope."
Dark smiled shyly, and her freckled cheeks began reddening up again. "I don't know why not."
Stitches managed a sticky burbling sound, wriggling in the Orc's grasp.
"Yeah, you do," Stone said firmly.
"Do I, chieftain?" Dark teased. But Stone's senses were too sharp, even for her, and he grunted at her.
"Chieftain makes offerings to Shargaas. I'm here. With you."
Dark turned her attentions to reorganizing the tools off to her left. "With all of us," she corrected. "Temporarily."
The growl that always made Dark's neck hair stand on end arose from Stone. "Not arguing that again."
Dark closed the pouch in which she carried her tools, closed and locked the chest she'd been working on, then stood up. "Speaking of unnecessary arguments, did you drop by Suzail?"
Stone waited until she turned around to face him, which took her a few moments. But when she did, she had managed to force herself to look businesslike, which was as irritating as it was powerful.
"Yeah," he answered. "Murk says Dodge is almost independent. Playing potionmaker, at that. She, Poof, and Hen have all been vicious with each other for the past two weeks or so. Not sure why."
"Phantom," Dark mused. "Even Eagle and I could take notes on that kind of loyalty. Did he manage to lure Dodge onto the theft tracking project, at least?"
"Nope. Threatened Hen with a fire trap under the bed and Poof with a cold-blooded death, if either of them tried to convince her to get back on it again. Talked to Hen, she's just as blank about the reason for the hostility as Murk is- or she says she is. Doesn't smell blank to me."
"Ugh, why did Murk decide to complicate his life?" Dark lamented. "Ignoring her, he didn't say anything else? About anything?"
"According to him, house's clean," Stone shrugged. "Better liar than Hen, at least. Didn't even bother talking to Poof."
"Who hates anyone who has Murk's attention, sure," Dark sighed. "A wonder she doesn't have dibs on Hen herself, honestly. Or... oh, wait... now, that's a thought. Dodge's liable to do that 'I hate you, but I hate her more' kind of thing, especially when someone's crossed her morals. Which Poof has- twice, to my count. You didn't look unusually interested in Murk yourself, did you?"
"Nope," Stone replied, slowly smoothing his hand over Stitches's head. "Strictly fellow wrestlers. Not a good time, though. Too much on his mind. Didn't call him on it. Maybe should've."
"No, you did the right thing." Dark quickly braided a strip of her hair, then wrapped that braid around the rest of her hair, tucking it into itself when she was done. "Stitches, can you bring Mama her maps, please?"
Stitches, who had been sitting relatively still, aside from the odd tremor, since Stone had last asked him to stop doing what he was doing, trotted out of the room on all fours without any noise of affirmation or dissent.
"Ah, he's annoyed," Dark frowned, wrapping her arms around herself.
"At what?" Stone shot back. "Does he not like fetching for Mama anymore?"
"Hah! I could be crueler about it, for his taste," Dark sighed. She looked over at the single candle. "He's so much as begun making me a crop, or a whip, or some such implement- I caught him at it. It's being interrupted- he hates it. Getting sharper and sharper about that every day- which is wonderful, but..."
"Huh," Stone scoffed. He leaned off the wall and began slowly stepping toward Dark. "I agree with him."
"Do you?" Dark mused. There was such weariness in her tone that the Orc felt himself get defensive.
"Been through a lot. Time might not be on his side," he said sharply, coming within an arm's reach of her. "We know it's not on mine."
Dark bit her lips and gave a bitter chuckle. "Tess said something similar, just the other way around, because Lucien brought it up. Apologetically, to boot. She said that when he began to suspect that we were..."
"Are," Stone corrected pointedly.
Dark shook her head sharply, which Stone knew better than to take as a denial of fact. "...he started gently dropping hints to her about the short lifespans of Humans, only for her to directly tell him that I wasn't one. Just like that, he holed up in his library and started researching Tiefling lifespans. He hadn't paid much attention to the matter before- said didn't have to, since last he knew, Tieflings were rare. She told him to come topside and look around, and he laughed. She said the sound of his laughter was... hollow, or faded. Like a painting bleached by the sun. A memory of what laughter was supposed to sound like."
Stone gave a quiet grunt.
"He sent some vassals topside for newer studies, but the findings were just about the same- according to almost all of them, I have a little over a hundred years left in me. But I'll age and she won't; 'more than just a few winsome grey streaks', he said. Clearly doesn't realize the word 'winsome' has long fallen into disuse outside of the Dales, and... I... didn't say that to her, of course. I didn't say anything. And she changed the subject. Showed me the place where he laid her- it's her sacred ground, now. Has to sleep there. Can only sleep there. Can't get peace anywhere else."
"It's done," Stone replied, very slowly taking her into his arms. "Doesn't change how she feels."
Dark stood as firm as a statue in Stone's arms, not allowing the prickling heat that was engulfing her from her thighs up to register in her stance or voice. "Yes, it did. It changed her ability to feel at all. So she's not angry; I don't know that she can be. She didn't say that, but... I... obviously don't understand vampiric culture. Didn't realize there was a whole vampiric culture, so-"
Stone's embrace tightened. "More intel."
"Yeah, that's... she basically said the same thing," Dark said, vaguely attempting humor. "You make me feel boring and predictable, the two of you."
"Not 'predictable'," Stone replied in a leaden tone, " 'trappable'."
Dark sighed again, breathing in the Orc's earthy scent without softening in his grip.. "She tried to explain how advantageous it was going to be to have creatures that the gods had always intended to be nocturnal stalkers as allies, but... creatures. She called herself a-"
Stone loosened his hold a bit and stepped behind Dark, positioning his lips near her left ear. "We're all creatures," he muttered almost directly into it, "and we chose this trap over the ones our ancestors made for us. None of us could stand a day topside. Pouring out blood on altars, serving ale, cleaning puke, standing guard, dropping curtseys for those born better, but mannered worse. Weaving those stupid little dyed straw baskets, making coin the 'right' way, the 'respectable' way. Especially you, bastard daughter of the Isles- think you could sit quietly in the shadow of one single man who's supposed to be your hand and voice in the world? You wouldn't last a day, not even there, where thieves, swindlers, and pirates alike are all called 'Ser' and 'Lordship'. You're here. With Tess. And Qualyn. And me. As solid as metal, or stone, or the forge itself."
Dark closed her eyes, but did not relax her physical stance one bit. "Your proselytizing streak is showing."
Stone pressed himself against Dark so strongly that she was sure she could feel every part of him through her armor and clothes. "Tell me I'm wrong," he demanded, "with the tongue that some father demon gave you."
Stitches scuttled back in on one hand and both feet, holding three large rolls of parchment under his right arm. He stopped his advance in the archway, and began giving purposeful puffs, like a dog that was making a show of sniffing his companions.
Dark breathed as deeply as she could in Stone's solid arms. "Spread them out for Mama on the floor, please, Stitches. Let's take a look at them."
"Give me a reason," Stone dared.
"I can only focus on one problem at a time," Dark cooed.
"That and a few copper would buy me a beer," Stone rumbled in Dark's ear.
"There's no way to close that portal," Dark warned quietly. "And consent would be questioned. Especially for Stitches, who many still believe is two shades off of being entirely mentally undone."
Stitches laid the maps down carefully, like children that he didn't want to wake, and gingerly spread them out with trembling fingers.
Stone pulled himself up to his full height, but didn't let go. "Maybe you let somebody catch us, they'll put more faith in his capacity. And stop tiptoeing around the mention of Tess."
"That could be... useful," Dark admitted.
" 'Useful'," Stone echoed with a touch of derision in his tone. With Dark's left arm pinned under his left arm and her right wrist held firmly in his hand, his right hand ventured up to rest ever so threateningly on her collarbone. "Any studies on why Tieflings are so detached?"
"Yes," Dark scoffed. "And Lucien told Tess about those, too- she wasn't sure why. I... didn't try to explain."
"You can't," Stone said. "Old man's been a vampire a long time. Might not have the reasons a mortal would think of."
Stitches ambled over on all fours, but after taking a quiet moment on Dark's right side, slowly stood to his full height. Stone watched, interested in the transformation that didn't happen often, and was surprised to watch the Drow inch himself forward to force his fingers between Dark's body and Stone's. The Orc allowed his upper arms to soften enough to permit Stitches's fingers, hands, and arms access, but didn't let go of Dark entirely.
"I really must finish this," Dark said quietly. "Time isn't on my side here."
Stone slowly slid his bare left foot back. The sound forced Stitches to twitch a bit, but once he looked down at the offending foot, a lightning strike of understanding streaked across his face.
Dark felt both men near her begin to lower themselves to the floor, and bent her knees so that she could go with them. She held her own weight most of the way down, but since Stone and Stitches were both taller than her, they had to shift their weight before she did. Stitches slid his hands down and picked Dark's feet up while Stone moved both arms under her armpits, and Dark found herself peacefully lying with her head in Stone's lap and her boiled leather boot-clad feet on Stitches's.
"Think fast," Stone commanded when all three were comfortably settled on the floor. "Half hour, maximum."
"There has got to be a word for multiple partners laying siege to one's higher senses at the same time," Dark smiled faintly.
"For you, that word is 'normal'," Stone huffed. His arms snaked around her belly. "Half hour; that's it. Think."
Stitches gurgled, amused.
"Is that so, Stitches? Elven syncing is no joke," Dark breathed, allowing the brief imagination of Stone's nakedness beneath her to flash across her mind. "Alright, starting with operative availability... House Darkness has people in Sembia, and the new girl in charge owes us a big favor. There's the Daerlun house, clean or not, and depending upon who's available, we've got some who'll pass for Semmites. Some Fringe operatives can even pass for Shadovar- might come in handy. The plans themselves... option one, House Darkness at point. The Daerlun operatives find the trade points, watch them awhile, catch a pattern. No pattern means we need twice as many operatives as there are trade points, as well as a decoder who's okay with sitting right next to whoever House Darkness thinks to send. Pattern or not, House Darkness bitch-in-charge gets a tip, get her interested in that action. House Darkness will either start robbing the mules, or they'll try to repl-."
Stone wrinkled his nose. "Slow down- House Darkness sells protection."
Dark looked up from the maps to the Orc behind her. "Keep up; they used to sell protection around here, but that won't track for them there."
Stone snorted, and Dark turned her attentions back to her notated maps.
"Illance himself lives in Suzail, but has properties throughout Cormyr. Even if the mules aren't specifically Suzailian, they're almost positively Cormites. Thus, if they get robbed, or if House Darkness botches attempts to replace them, they'll hire Cormite protection. Coalwater's never been relied upon for escort missions; their racket is property recovery and pest removal- bipedal pests included. The Sunfire has the stronger escort reputation, especially because of those vicious dogs- if the Sunfire get involved, we've got Phantom, but we can't even bank on that. We need to tip either Poof or Phantom ourselves. Poof is a straight shot to Murk, but will be harder to tip. The Daerlun operatives would have to scare her into running the correct di-"
"Why keep Poof if you hate her?" Stone asked, knowing the answer already.
Dark leaned her head back so that she could look back at the Orc again, this time with a raised eyebrow. "How easily spooked into moving out of a unfavorable position Poof can be is one of two things about her that makes not having Dodge on this job nearly tolerable, and the second thing is to the credit of her gods and foremothers, not her own."
Stitches scrunched his shoulders up, gave a unsettling yarfing noise, then allowed the wave of tremors that swept over his body to punish him for the sound.
"No, she won't sit this one out; unlike Dodge and Phantom both, Murk is Poof's only payday," Dark said flippantly. She looked back at the maps and gently trailed the fingers of her right hand over Stone's muscular right arm. "Phantom is beginning to make a name for herself with that pretty little chain; she can get lured into witnessing a real handoff- or a very good play-acted one- by a few well-placed Daerlun operatives. If she doesn't suspect that I'm involved, she'll leak both ways one last time, because she doesn't realize how competition on the Material Plane works quite yet. If she does suspect my involvement, she will go silent until Hen comes to her for information, and will likely warn her that I've taken a hand in the matter- not a positive outcome, but one that can hopefully be dealt with at a later stage of another game. Either way, unless the new House Darkness girl is some new brand of Drow that I've never dealt with, she'll blame whatever happens on the weakness of the individual rogues instead of either on herself for sending them, or on us for telling her about the action in the first place. The entire operation, if we ran it that way, would be... maybe... four to six month's worth of work- longer, if something goes wrong. About two times more blight points than I'd like, but they'd be-"
Stitches, who had closed his eyes in order to eliminate the sensory input that he needed the least in that moment, gave an open mouthed hiss.
"True," Dark replied, reaching her right hand out to touch Stitches. She couldn't quite reach him, so the Drow folded himself forward so that she could gently run her fingers over his grey hair. "They wouldn't make much money, but... point taken, Stitches."
"So Coalwater stays in bed with Illance?" Stone asked.
"No," Dark fired back immediately, "but that part of the Illance project will take more than this to solve- Stitches, is Mama talking too much? Or too loudly?"
There were a few moments of shuddery silence, followed by a quiet gurgle.
Dark ever so delicately tugged on the black ribbon that held back Stitches's chopped grey hair. "Alright. I don't know why the pair of you are staying here to listen to this. You usually leave me to talk to myself, and I'm used-"
Stitches, with his eyes still closed, slowly and deliberately picked Dark's hand away from the ribbon in his hair as though it were a bug. Instead of letting go entirely, however, he put her first finger in his mouth and bit it.
"Ay!" Dark exclaimed voicelessly. Stitches smiled around her finger, and she couldn't help but smirk in return. "I suppose the days of my being a solitary pseudo matron mother are coming to an end?"
"Option two," Stone prompted firmly.
"Daerlun at point," Dark sighed, shifting herself back so that Stone could hold her a bit more closely to himself. Stitches scooted with her, but turned himself sideways out of her lap so that he laid flat on the floor between the two and the maps, with her first finger still in his mouth. Dark turned on her left side in order to accommodate his unwillingness to let her go.
"Daerlun targets the money changers instead of the mules," Dark continued thoughtfully. "Take them out nice and quiet; replace them. Semmites for Semmites, Shadovar passers for Shadovar- guaranteed they're not bloody Cormites, but wouldn't hurt to have a few Humans on tap. The mules come to them, change money, and get both chatted up and tailed back. Phantom gets tipped in my name. She'll go quiet, Hen will come for the intel, and we're at the not-so-great-but-still-workable ending. About six months in the doing if nothing goes wrong... although a lot can go wrong with directly tampering with the money flow. It doesn't have many blight points, but it does require multiple parallel course correcting operations, just like any other in-house take down."
Stitches nibbled thoughtfully on Dark's finger, but didn't make any noise at all.
"That puts Murk more firmly in Illance's pocket too," Stone ventured after a few seconds of silence had gone by.
"I know you're worried about Illance's pockets," Dark soothed as she gazed first at Stitches, then at the maps beyond him. "It would have been useful for you to try to suss out what Murk is doing to try to get himself out of them... but then again, your friendship is genuine, and you're right not to manipulate it like I-"
"And that's you admitting how you got where you are," Stone interrupted. "That's you admitting that you're a creature, and that you like being one, too."
Dark cleared her throat gently, despite having absolutely nothing but dry air in it. "Option three, Sunfire at point. For all Phantom's efforts, they're not going to move without a direct threat, so we give them one- in the form of the accusation that it is the Sunfire themselves taking Illance's money.”
Stone grunted. "You pull that off how?"
"Good old-fashioned shill job," Dark smiled. "Daerlun house intercepts the mules, break into the Sunfire manse, and tuck the spoils someplace cute- the boss man's office, the back garden, the cellar- somewhere smart, but not too smart. Both the mules and the intended recipient are going to get angry, fast. The mules are going to get protection. If the Sunfire themselves get hired, Daerlun takes their hands off the mules. If the Sunfire aren't hired, Daerlun only takes and stashes an intermittent supply. If the mules or the intended recipient don't get suspicious enough, boss man himself or his in-house rogue trainer certainly will. Once the Sunfire start trying to sort out who among them is doing them dirty, Daerlun takes their hands off completely and lets them find their own way. They're going to be zealous to protect their recently-cleared name, so I give them three months, maximum. Nobody else has to turn a stitch- although Murk probably will. He'll have more room for trial and error with the Sunfire doing the heavy lifting."
"Sounds better," Stone nodded.
Stitches took Dark's finger out of his mouth and cooed.
"There are fewer blight points, yes," Dark admitted. "But I dislike giving the Sunfire the reigns when-"
Stone didn't even let the Tiefling finish her thought. "Get Murk out of Illance's pocket, then."
"I can't yank him out while Illance is looking straight at him," Dark retorted, rolling her eyes. "Unless I want to simply make a widower out of him; that I could do myself, right now."
Stone grumbled a few words that neither of the two with him understood. "Thievery?" he asked when he'd regained a bit of relative calm.
Dark shook her head, and her hair hissed softly on the Orc's skin.
"Bodies?"
Dark snickered a bit before answering. "Try again."
"Witchery?"
"Are you joking? Hen hasn't the willpower to be a real magic worker of any kind," Dark laughed. "The Sunfire mages twisted her around their fingers for sport."
Stone's face contorted into a mask of disgust.
"If you must know," Dark said, smiling, "the matter is this: once upon a time, Hen belonged to a chartered mercenary group that supplemented its income by selling the charms of their female operatives. The problem wasn't that the merc group doubled as a brothel, but instead that they got caught at evading taxes by not registering as one."
"Who's running a band of mercenaries who double as whores?" Stone scoffed.
"It's more 'managing' than 'running'," Dark corrected pointedly. "You of all people should know how many streetwalkers' parlours double as Spectre safehouses, chieftain."
The Orc growled. "You pay them extra to take me off your hands?"
Dark raised an eyebrow, but didn't engage the accusation. "Anyway, Murk bought Hen like anybody else, but he never gave her back. To protect her, he got a lot more... mannerly, let's say. Went above board, got a charter. Hired on operatives who could work in the open, even as he kept running shady deals when the lamps were put out. By publicly pairing off with Hen, he capitalized on her humanity, and got Suzailians to at least pretend to trust him. I offered him partnership, which he questioned unusually thoroughly. Most of the time since then, he's been a careful man. So either he overplayed himself and got on Illance's shit list, thereby leading to some digging in the couple's past, or Illance makes a habit of finding out the dirty secrets of those he plans to use to his advantage. If it's the latter, then Coalwater won't be the last operation to get stuck, which could be advantageous both to Murk and to me."
Stone snorted.
"Point is, it's worth doing fully and correctly," Dark pointed out. "Whether or not every female mercenary in Hen's former group was also selling 'pleasant conversation', everybody did know what was going on; that is a solid aiding and abetting charge. Second, everybody who put gold down to buy any of those ladies was knowingly patronizing an rogue operation. Back in the day, Murk's little two-pony circus was just as illegal, but now, the man has respectable clientele and a charter of his own. Hell of a step backward for his reputation if his financial entanglement with an illegal brothel were to be discovered. Especially if anyone suspects that he was the tip off that got the scheme discovered, which by 'happy accident' eliminated a source of competition in his field."
Stitches allowed himself to quietly voice his nibbling on Dark's finger.
"Well, yes I was, but I never told him that, because as it turned out, he didn't need the extra pressure," Dark relented. "Now, I have to assume Illance knows as much as I do, and that he has hard evidence, until I know for sure that's not the case. Unfortunately, Hen is Murk's drug of choice; he can't think past her. When she's involved, his inner clan papa Dragonborn roars awake, and he makes desperate decisions that don't suit anyone in the long run. While she's talented in her way, and it's no small gain to have her around, she's also sadly adept at shutting down his higher mental processing over, and over, and over, and over again- he sees himself in Dodge, I think, but is even less likely than Dodge is to appropriately desensitize himself."
"Is that how you do it?" Stone asked. "You desensitize yourself, so that your myriad of partners become nothing but assets?"
"I'm not desensitized," Dark said, looking up at Stone. "I'm compartmentalized. There's a difference. Now, it takes three to five days to get a letter of any kind over to Daerlun- or back from it, for that matter."
"Five days plus however long it takes you to find the right way out of this chokehold," Stone threatened, finally easing his hands up over Dark's shoulders.
Stitches let go of Dark instantly, noiselessly rolled over, and curled up as though he were a disinterested cat.
"Five days plus moving to a location with more than one candle, a desk, paper, ink, and a door that closes," Dark bargained.
"Definitely not the right way out," Stone answered firmly.
"Uncommon touch of impatience," Dark commented.
"Was hungry when I left," Stone replied. "Starved, now."
"I can't do anything about what you will and won't... consume... while you're out of my sight," Dark replied with a touch of haughtiness. "You could have taken your pleasure on your way out and back."
"If I hadn't," Stone grunted, "I'd've had you screaming as soon as I walked in here."
"Tough talk, chieftain," Dark teased. "Five days plus moving to a location with a door that closes, good liquor, and enough ambient noise to give us relative anonymity."
Stitches gave a few voiceless clacks with the back of his throat that Stone took a few quiet moments to understand. He slowly eased his muscular arms out from under Dark's and crossed them over his chest.
"Fine. Go write your letters, put them in the hands of your couriers-"
"Oh, now you're okay with me finishing this?" Dark asked with feigned offense, rolling over onto her belly to look up at Stone. His weapon, free from being semi-pinned under her back, was just as insistent as it had been when Stitches was working with it.
"-and set up whatever wants to be in motion over the next two days, because no one will see or hear from you until then. Satisfied?"
Stitches issued a grunt that was an obvious imitation of Stone.
Dark looked over her right shoulder at the Drow. "Stitches, go put these maps away, put the good cotton in your ears, and bring me back the cloth for your eyes, would you please?"
And with a crackling sound buried in the back of his throat, Stitches scurried off- on all fours- to begin doing as he was told.
"Are you going to tell me how much time I have to get all that done, chieftain?" Dark asked with feigned innocence as she began to sit up.
"No, but you know that I know what it smells like when you're stalling," Stone countered, glaring down his nose at her. "Petey's Pots. I'm a caravan guard; you two can be whatever alter egos you want. But don't get lost."
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