The Black Rose [Rune]

[Aurin]

The Menagerie
25th of Searing, Year 122 Steel

Though he had never set foot in the Menagerie before, it felt familiar. After years managing the Velvet Cabaret, he didn't need his tricks to see how the seeming was being managed, to see how the energy of the place flowed. For the first time, he felt almost at home in Zaichaer and among the witches.

Their communications were a bit arcane, but he had been led to the Market of the Railrunners, and the Menagerie of the Myshalarai within. He was making progress although they were still taking precautions with him, which he could appreciate. Arry had often called him paranoid, and he wasn't wrong. But he was here at what he thought was the appointed time and where he thought he had been told to wait, sitting there with a drink that didn't seem to contain anything he couldn't handle. He thought the Grymalka might speak to him at the same time, but that had been unclear. He hoped Urs was getting the same treatment from them or similar, given they were his focus here. Tease though he might, Aurin wanted the surgeon's visit to be successful, and he wanted to get him safely back to Kalzasi so his lover would be happy, which would keep Aurin's lover happy.

When one loved someone, the chains spread ever outward, but as he took a sip of his narcotic drink, he found he didn't regret letting Torin under his skin at all.

He supposed the illusionists might be prone to taking him into their ranks. He was already skilled with that trick, though he understood that the black rose was how they contracted themselves as assassins. Aurin could do that too if push came to shove. He hadn't needed to in Kalzasi, but the skills hadn't been allowed to rust or gather dust. As for the spiritists, well, perhaps they would answer questions from far in his past, questions about ghostwine and demons.

Aurin shivered.

[Rune]

The little shiver that ran down Aurin's spine extended as something tickled at the back of his neck. The feeling was somewhere between a lover breathing warm on the nape and someone playfully running fingers over it. It was an illusion touch, subtle and refined, the sort that only a master of their craft might concoct, yet so small and seemingly simple that only a master of the craft would know it would take a master to create.

Into the seat beside the redhead slid a graceful body; it appeared of neither human gender, or both, with golden eyes and skin so pale as to appear almost ashen. A narcotic cigarette burned between their fingers, held at an angle that made the ember at its end reflect in their eyes. They smiled, a coy thing, a pretense at being shy so obvious in its sham that it became a teasing joke to be shared by the viewer.

"Hello, Aurin."

The voice did no more to reveal what might be nestled between their legs than did their face, though, as they leaned over, the lines of their shoulders purring of intimacy, the gold colored jacket they wore spread enough to reveal a chest that couldn't be called flat, but also did not boast obvious female attributes.

"A little bird told me that you were looking for me." They took a drag from their cigarette and the scent was familiar to Aurin, a combination of vanilla and cloves and something that softened the edges of the world. Leaning in closer, close enough that the smoke breathed out with the next sentence soaked into red hair, they said,

"I'm Eshar, I hope you're pleased to meet me." The voice took on an almost pout but laughter echoed on its heels. It was all a game, the tone said, but they both knew it, and they both liked to play. Still close, still whispering,

"Why don't you tell me what you want, and we'll see if I can make your dreams come true?"

Eshar knew what the edible trinket of a man wanted. But hearing people talk about their desires never seemed to get old for them. Well, the boring ones did, the ones that everyone thought were theirs alone but everyone had. Aurin's were not that sort though, or, if he had those, they weren't why he was gracing the Menagerie with his sultry self. Maybe he would stay and play after the work was done.

Golden eyes glinted as they caressed over the body of Eshar's would-be coven brother. One could always hope.

[Aurin]

His reaction was measured, but played off as without guile or thought. Aurin liked to claim he wasn't an actor, but rather he didn't act on stage. He played countless roles as a confidence man. As his hazel gaze caressed their face, their body, they might almost have imagined they could feel his fingers upon them, another subtle, sophisticated use of his trick. But he could sense the refinement of theirs, the sort that likely came from belonging to a coven, to having people to instruct them in the best practices gathered by a long lineage.

Aurin didn't have that.

"Hello, Eshar," he replied, matching their tone and carriage somewhat; not copying, but complementing. "I hope the pleasure is ours." His smirk cut like a knife, but like a knife so sharp one felt no pain, only the delicious warmth and wet of blood.

"I am certain you are aware of what I desire, but I will spell it out for you. I want information and I want allies. I am attempting to rebuild the bridge between the theaters of Kalzasi and Zaichaer in order to help the Railrunners evacuate anyone who can no longer safely abide in the Brass City, and I want to become a member of all the covens that will have me." He paused, smirking again.

"This place," he said, indicating the Menagerie with a rakishly lazy wave of his hand, "feels like home. I already know the illusion trick. The Myshalarai seem like people I could get along with." He paused, and offered another, truer thing. "I am not good at belonging, but I do desire it. And you... what do you desire?"

[Rune]

A laugh like small bells answered his cleverness, yes, Eshar liked this one. They liked a lot of people, for different reasons, but Aurin felt more akin to someone they could really play with. So many toys got broken if you went too hard that sometimes it was better to have a true playmate. Reaching over they took hold of the goblet Aurin had been drinking from and sipped, considering for a moment before nodding and placing it back at his elbow.

Golden eyes lit up at the confession,

"Oh, duck, you are ambitious. I love it."

A cool hand laid itself over the dusting of freckles and flame-colored hair that covered the man's arm.

"The Rainrunners should be easy, if what everyone says about you is true."

Of course, almost no one knew anything about him in Zaichaer, but that hardly mattered to Eshar, except that it might make for some fun if a Master Masquerade mage appeared on the scene all unexpected. Eshar would tuck away some ideas along that vein for later. For now they ran one perfectly manicured nail across the vein on the back of Aurin's hand.

"The Myshalarai will require a little more from you, despite your impressive..." Lids lowered in a sultry suggestion, "Talents."

A look was all it took for the burly, beautiful man behind the bar to fetch up against it, staring worship at Eshar. They held out their cigarette and the man pulled an ash tray out from under the counter and proffered it. Eshar's expression's shift was slight, speaking of disappointment and chastisement. The man flushed, put the little tray away and held out his hand. When the burning end of the narcotic touched his flesh his eyes widened, then hazed and his flush changed to something closer to that of post-coitus coloring.

"Good boy." Eshar said, more like a correction than actual praise, then turned their attention back to Aurin.

"Surely you know the cost of joining our little band. I know you are perfectly capable of gathering intelligence, so I won't make you jump through those hoops." A folder appeared as if out of thin air, perhaps a quarter of an inch thick. "Here is what you need to know, we'll pretend you did the leg work yourself. This one has been putting pressure where we don't want it and it has, at last, become too much of a nuisance to ignore. Rid us of the annoyance and I'll call you brother."

A twinkle in the eyes matched the flirtatious smile they hovered over, "Unless you prefer to be called something else."

[Aurin]

"'Tis always better to aim a bit high," he replied with one shoulder shrugging lazily. "One has to overcompensate for gravity."

Bemused, he watched them order the barman about. A secretive smile curled his lips, but whether he was imagining applying fire to someone back home or enjoying lurid delights here, he didn't divulge. In any case, he took the folder, leaned back and began to peruse it right then. He figured this was a safe enough place to look into Myshalarai business.

"Should I feel undervalued that you didn't come bearing black blooms?" he teased, even as his eyes cut through the text like razors. He barked a laugh at the target. "No wonder you love me ambitious."

Aurin could banter while his eyes were otherwise occupied.

"Call me brother... call me anything you like so long as you call upon me, Eshar." His voice vibrated, or was that a bit of glamour? The air in this place thrummed with it: his, theirs, the glamours of all the Myshalarai who had passed through, bending the seeming of reality to their own purposes. Finally, he looked up, his Rune shredding all pretense and illusion, at least to his senses. Aurin smirked, but then he always did. It was like he was in on some joke, had some secret, or already knew how the story played out. Some found it aggravating, others attractive. Few had milquetoast reactions to him when he was being himself rather than fading into the background, observant and patient.

He stood, and the folder disappeared, or at least seemed to.

"Well, I suppose I shouldn't waste any time. You'll want to see my... talent... straightaway."

[Rune]

Eshar's smile took on something of a smirking quality itself, the kinship between them settling into place nicely. As Aurin stood to take his leave a look of recall danced over the androgynous features.

"Oh. I forgot." Apology was in the tone but it was feigned without attempt to pretend it wasn't, "There is one more thing we needed you to do."

Taking a pouch out from their inner coat pocket Eshar dangled it by its strings before Aurin.

"Call it a trophy if you will, or proof, if you must."

They did not play any snatch-away games when the man reached for the pouch, handing it over meekly. Inside was an empty soul stone. The Myshalarai waited to see if Aurin recognized what it was before leaning close and saying,

"Or, rather, something they needed you to do." A nod of their head indicated a group of three seated at a table off to one side. They did not appear to be reveling, nor was there any trace of Masquerade about them. If one used Semblance, one would find traces of other things; Necromancy, mostly, with hints of half a dozen types of Runic magic humming underneath.

"Double test, I'm afraid, duck, but, you do like a challenge, don't you?"

The smile at the confirmation was so sweet as to be almost feral.

~~~

The far away look in the eyes of the young man sitting on a barrel outside The Menagerie cleared slowly, so that by the time the redhead made his exit his senses were fully returned to him. Slipping off the make-shift seat he straightened his coat like a gentleman, a gesture that looked odd on one wearing what were obviously well-worn secondhand clothes. Following the man was not hard, but Jacq figured the man knew he was being tailed and had decided to allow it. A master Masquerade mage would never be followed if they didn't want to be. Well, not by anyone but the Whispers.

When the man stopped at a stall, looking at the goods on offer Jacq sidled up close to him and said,

"We can help you. With that job you've got. They gave you information, yeah, but it will take more than what was in that folder to catch a member of the Order that high."

There was nothing of threat in the words, in fact, they sounded a bit obeisant. The accent was odd, a combination of street urchin's cant with hints of the sort of refinement one only got by being born into wealth. After letting the offer sink in for a moment he said,

"We heard you can get people out, people what the government might not want to let out."

[Aurin]

"And here I thought you were the biggest flirt in the room," he drawled, glancing sidelong at the Grymalka trio, offering them a wink and a nod. To Eshar, he only chuckled. "A challenge? We'll see."

But there would be more time for verbal sparring later, when he had accomplished the mission. The bauble disappeared as well, and soon enough he was out and about, being tailed by a witch whose Semblance trick wasn't quite so strong as his, but had a strange resonance to it. Aurin didn't know if this was someone from a faction within one of the covens, or one of the minor covens; either way, if people were coming to court him, that was well and good. Then he wouldn't have to do all the work.

"I can," he said casually, giving the young man a critical look with eyes and Rune. "So can the Railrunners. But if their price is too high, we could negotiate my help for your help."

Hazel eyes softened a touch and he put out his hand to shake.

"Aurin." He paused. "You're more than you seem. Tell me more about yourself and the others for whom you speak. The Myshalarai gave me a deadline, though. And who knows how long the Grymalka's stone will last without more magicking." He knew a little about necromancy, but basically just enough to know he didn't know anything, which was supposed to be the seed of wisdom, but really just meant he had no idea what he was doing.

But even if he hadn't been given a deadline, he wanted to knock these goals down quickly and expeditiously, get whoever wanted out of Zaichaer out with him and with Urs, and get back to his responsibilities in Kalzasi. He didn't like being away from Torin, either.

[Rune]

Jaqc took Aurin's hand in his own street-rough one, shook it in the genteel manor, then nodded him over to a small pub.

Inside the owner, a plump older woman, brought them drinks without asking for their order with a look on her face like Jacq was a favorite nephew. Without preamble he told his story, his parents had been killed by the order, he'd escaped. He said nothing of how he'd survived at first but the scars visible on his face and hands told that part of the tale for him. He was able to use his rune, Semblance, and, out of desperation or a blessing from the gods, he could use it better than others could. When he was able he gifted the trick to a few other children who had helped him.

They grew a quiet reputation for being able to get information and find people that others could not. But however quiet, the Order had listeners of their own. The tiny group was being picked off, one at a time. They weren't a priority, or they'd all be dead, they were an after thought. If someone needed to make some coin quickly they would turn on one of them. If a Seeker was having a slow day or just wanted a quick victory, they would hunt the smaller covens, the ones with no means to protect themselves.

There were shadows moving behind the young leader's eyes, each carried the name a dead friend.

"There are six of us now, 'cluding me." He sounded ashamed, defeated, ground down as he stared at the table top. Lifting eyes brighter blue for the pain and desperation in them he said, "We gotta get out. Else, soon, there won't be any more to try. So, whatever you want, mister. I can put a tail on that bounty you got what will never be caught. I can tell you what they eat at every meal and when they use the privy. Every word they speak, everyone they see, everywhere they go."

He let this sit for a moment, let his certainty without a hint of boasting show before he said,

"But when you go back to where you came from, we go to."

[Aurin]

"All right, Jacq," he said after hearing the young man's story, weighing it against all he could sense from the man's aura, from the flows of aether around them, and even the other young Whisper keeping an eye on them. "You help me trap the soul of Imogen Strauss in this little bauble, the Myshalarai take me into their bosom, and in a couple of weeks, you and your fellows come with me to Kalzasi. I'll set you up there, or you can keep on moving if you prefer. Now..."

He waved off whatever Jacq might have said, perhaps sensing sentiment he didn't want to deal with in the moment. Then he waved to the hidden Whisper, calling them over to converse. Aurin opened the file and began spreading things out, letting them chime in with local context as he began to formulate the plan.

It all went down the next day.

The Whispers were as good as Jacq's word, perhaps because their survival and freedom were on the line. But Aurin had them maintain a safe distance; he didn't want to endanger them and he didn't want them to help more than they had agreed to, lest Eshar deem his kill unworthy—he didn't know how twisted the games the Myshalarai played could be.

They helped him tail Strauss' secretary, and he was able to finesse the man into a drink, the which allowed him to take the man home, read every document he had upon his person, and assume his identity the following morning. The sleeping draught would keep him out for an entire day, so with luck, he would just bumble into the Order of Reconciliation the next day with no idea that his supervisor was slain.

The members of the young coven went over the entire apartment looking for any information that might be useful or valuable, and they were surprised when Aurin assumed the man's face and form, even masking his aura. A couple of them kept glancing between him and the prone form of their victim, amazed and suddenly feeling a bit better about their own chances. Aurin led the way out, gave the all clear signal, and the witches left the scene of the crime. They took up positions far enough away from the entrance to the Hall of Reconciliation to be safe, but close enough to his probable points of egress to help should he need it. He told them he wouldn't need it.

The soul gem was kept in a lockbox, and he managed to get by with a smug, self-satisfied smile, nodding vaguely to anyone who recognized his façade as he followed the path that had been mapped for him. At his desk, he read everything he could, hoping—as his new friends had—to come away with this with some intelligence to sell as well. And he was pleased to find that Strauss had no meetings that morning; he ought to have time to do his business and depart with plenty of time to avoid alarums.

"What's that?" she asked as she walked up, tossing her summer-weight coat onto his desk peremptorily.

"A gift from the Grymalka, I believe," he said.

Her lip curled with distaste, then her gaze cut to him.

"What's the matter with your voice?"

He coughed dutifully. "Allergies, ma'am."

"Bring it in, then." She swept past him into her office. Instead of hanging up her coat, he folded it and tucked it into a drawer. Picking up the box, he followed her into her office and closed the door behind her. She was already rifling through papers, standing at her desk. When he set the lockbox down, however, she shooed him away, set her papers aside, and opened it. The soul gem was inside, bound up in a ward-stitched silk handkerchief.

She slapped at her neck as if bitten by a mosquito, but Aurin's hand was already out of the way, the needle with its paralytic already delivered.

"There we go," he said, gently easing her down into her chair. "I apologize that this has to be drawn out, but the contract was specific. It would be infinitely more difficult to bring you to the necromancer, so I'm bringing the necromancy to you. Ghastly stuff, really, but effective. You have some powerful enemies, Madame Sentinel."

Aurin didn't drop his guise, but the confusion in her eyes gave way to rage all the same. Her mouth opened as if to speak, but her jaw could only twitch. He nodded. It was now safe to turn his back upon her. Quick fingers untied the handkerchief, laying it out in the bottom of the box and placing the gem in the center. This was, apparently, not how soul gems were normally created, but some elder among them had primed it and the complicated glyphs picked out in thread would ensure that the transfer was complete.

The door opened, Aurin's borrowed eyes shooting up to find a platinum blonde androgyne walking in. "Apologies for int— What—? Traitor!"

She pulled left, Aurin's blade missing her face and planting itself in the door behind her; it closed with a snick. He vaulted over the desk, and she met him halfway. What ensued was a knife fight, dirty and desperate. She gave as good as she got, older than he was by two decades, at least, but honed like a weapon. He had to respect that, though it ended abruptly when a flurry of his blade sent her back, knocking Strauss out of her chair. The woman glanced into the box, then coughed up blood, and then things started to really go awry. Ever muscle in her body went tense, and a ghostly mist began to pour out of her mouth and into the lockbox.

"Fuck," he grunted, then bum rushed her, but even with distance between her and the soul trap, the umbilical of spiritual energy just grew longer to accommodate. "Fuck." Aurin lifted Strauss bodily from the floor, bent her over the lockbox and slit her throat with practiced ease. She made a sound that might have been a response to pain, or perhaps the existential crisis of one who would soon bleed out, blood and soul. Her body froze much like her would-be defender's, the blood invoking another umbilical.

He had an idea how long the process would take, so he took that time to bind his wounds before glamouring over them, and then he set about confusing the crime scene. He knew enough about investigating to mitigate anyone's ability to do so. When he had obfuscated his tracks and the corpses went limp, he rolled up his sleeve and shoved his hand into the cooling lifeblood of the two women. His questing fingers found only shredded remains of the handkerchief; perhaps the aether going through it had torn it apart. But the gem itself was cold to the touch, and once he cleaned the blood from it, from his hand up past the wrist, it glowed coolly, as well. There were two motes of power circling each other within, and he could only hope that meant both souls were trapped. He hadn't wanted anything to do with the blonde woman, but as long as Imogen Strauss' soul was intect within the trap, he would assume the Myshalarai would honor the contract.

The lockbox was Order issue. He retrieved his weapons, his tools, and then he locked Strauss' office behind him.

His face and form changed several times before he exited the building; he was even able to sneak up on Jacq, who was looking for him.

"Meet you at the pub tonight," he mumbled, and then took a circuitous route back to the Market.

He wasn't Aurin again until he arrived, and as he made his way to the Menagerie, he willed his shoulders to relax.

Eshar's pet was bartending again.

"Tell Eshar to bring me flowers," he said, ordering a drink and taking up his old seat again to wait. The black rose wasn't supposed to come at the end of the contract, but then he wasn't Myshalarai—yet.

[Rune]

Jacq was surprised when he heard Aurin's voice coming from a random face, but, then, it was the way of those who would be Myshalarai. At least, he thought all of them were like this, having not spent any significant amount of time around any. Tracking them was hard, even for him and his Whispers. He made the signal and faded into the Market along with those of his who were still alive. They had done their work, proved their worth, hopefully, and now they could only wait and see if the other side of the bargain would be kept.

Inside the Menagerie was as it always was, day or night; dark, colorful, enticing. The barman nodded to Aurin, then again when he made his request. His expression never changed, a bland sort of competence that saw nothing but knew how to get you what you wanted. Ten minutes later an exquisite black rose, half-bloomed and dewy appeared before the redhead's face. A voice, neither male nor female, murmured by his ear,

"And what have your brought for me, hmm? A trinket perhaps, a bauble for me to play nice with my friends?" A second later Eshar was sitting next to him, a pout on their pretty face like that of a mistress waiting for a silk wrapped gift from a new suitor. The expression melted into their conspiratorial grin almost immediately, as though they were too excited to pretend.

When Aurin decided to proffer the sou stone it's twin lights danced in Eshar's dark eyes for a long moment before one of their eyebrows perked,

"Two? You are looking for extra credit, aren't you duckling?" With a gesture the stone disappeared and Eshar sidled closer, till their body was nearly touching Aurin's.

"Top of the class." The compliment was a caress. "I'll let our friends know what a good job you did. You should come back tonight, late, so I can introduce you to a few of your knew siblings and teach you a new trick."

A hand reached out and ran a thumb softly against Aurin's lower lip, "Or more than one, if you're interested."

Plucking the flower, apparently not an illusion from the air they slipped it into the fox like man's lapel. "Welcome to the party. You're always invited now."