Little Boy Lost, ii.

[Aurin]

The Enclave, Silfanore
69th of Glade, 118th of Steel

(...continued from Little Boy Lost, i.)

Castor's blush answered his question as much as his words did. While he tried to maintain a mask, Aurin could see where it froze, unable to move naturally. He felt a thrill of power that had nothing to do with magic. He could sense internal struggle without his trick, though he couldn't necessarily sense its exact shape. When Castor tried for boldness, Aurin doubled down. He leaned toward the half-elf beside him at the bar, reaching up to caress his cheek with his knuckles. His admiration was naked. His smirk was amused, but not mean.

"You read my aura aright," he assured him.

If allowed, he would trace high cheekbone, sharp jaw, then run his knuckles down across Castor's lips before tapping him lightly on the chin.

Aurin considered Castor for a few pregnant moments, then laughed lightly, shook his head, and sampled his mead once more.

"You are lying," he said. "Perhaps you haven't seen another package in a moment of lust and I may be a filthy foreigner, but I know you elves train nude in your gymnaseion." And this was true; the elves of Sol'Valen didn't find bodies innately sexual or meant to be hidden away, though what they did while nude in relative public was circumscribed by their culture.

Perhaps Castor had meant seeing a package in a moment of lust, but he hadn't specified, and so, to Aurin's mind, he had won. It was open to argument, of course, but argument was fun, too. In any case, Castor could argue that he hadn't lied, but miscommunicated. It wouldn't matter. He was already flustered, and that would only rile him up more, and then it would be child's play to play him.

It could become a game of phrasing and interpretation, or a game of playing on the emotions, or a game in bed; all were diverting pastimes. The young half-elf was delightful. Aurin didn't like losing, but even if he did, he had already read a bit of the lad's soul, and sharing a secret wouldn't put him in undue danger.

[Castor Green]

Where Aurin touched him, Castor felt ice break.

He felt it on his cheek - and there, on along his jaw, on his lips, on his chin. He felt his blush trail where the man touched him. Castor felt embarrassed to be seen so clearly. His mind flushed with ideas all the color of flesh. He wondered, idly, if he might be charmed. He watched as Aurin considered him and he saw his own reflection in eyes colored like Spring.

“I lied.”

Castor heard his own heart. It was impossibly loud. He suddenly hated his own game. He bit his lower lip. He unbit his lower lip. He wasn’t sure what to do. He realized he’d leaned forward, too.

“You’re better at this game than I expected,” he said. “I’m usually pretty good at judging that sort of thing.”

He smiled, a finger tapping his empty glass.

“What brings you to Sol’Valen?”

[Aurin]

"You give up too easily," he chided, but acknowledged the win with a wink and a raised drink. "But your instincts for the game are good, which is the important thing. You will learn more the longer you are alive, and you will get better at it." Aurin didn't mean to condescend, but he remembered himself at that age, a whole mess of trauma and drugs and other fun. Yon Caster was sure to gather his own context and life skills if he kept to it.

"And you are better at this game than you ought to be. Hopefully, this will be a pleasurable learning experience for you."

The confidence man considered how much he wanted to tell the young Hytori. If he had a weakness, though, it was for the admiration of those who seemed like a ghost of who he had been, who he might have been, and so forth.

"I'm living in Kalzasi these days," he said by way of preamble. "I don't really put down roots, though. Not too deep. The wanderlust kicks in, so I'm greedy for jobs that take me out of that life and back into the wider world. Don't get me wrong, managing a cabaret has its perks. Pretty people, free drinks and other intoxicants, and everybody wants to be your best friend. But it doesn't pay all that well. There's something more exciting about a big score for short-term work. And I like knowing secrets so jobs that involve secrets are... more fun.

"What about you?" he asked, turning the question around. "Are you angling to become the king of the Enclave?"

[Castor Green]

“I’d make a poor king,” Castor said.

Pollux and Castor had played at soldiers and dashing rouges and wizards secreted away in grand towers. They’d imagined adventures and dangers of all sorts, both man and monster. They’d pretended to be great minds and greater heroes but never had either cared much for kings. Sol’Valen had its ruling class, gilded princes and kings doused in fineries, but there was little interesting about the pomp and ceremony of royalty to two boys of mixed heritage.

“It’s easy to disappear in the Enclave,” he said, his smile loosening into something else more serious. “Nobody asks questions. Not unless there’s a game they’re trying to win,” he smirked, his lips sharp at the edges again.

“That, and it’s a good place for secrets. A lot of things are said here,” he said, looking around the tavern. Sure enough, there were all kinds of people sequestered in corners and dark booths, whispered words along the edges of drunken laughs. Anyone with a mind - and some talent - could come and sit and watch and learn. Nothing terribly important, usually, but bits of gossip and scraps of information, pieces to the puzzle that was the Enclave.

“I’ve never been to a cabaret. I don’t think there’s one here - maybe in Silfanore proper. But the elves there are tight lipped and more conscious of would-be eavesdroppers.”

He took a sip of his drink, still watching out over the crowd. Lushes here and there, and pretty people playing at their own games. Cards and dice and coins scattered across tables, greedy hands reaching for everything.

“What’s Kalzasi like? I’ve always wondered about its floating isles.”

[Aurin]

"Kalzasi's more like the Enclave than Silfanore proper," he mused. "All sorts of people. Avialae ruling class... They stole it from the Orkhan at some point, but I don't know the full story. History's a story written by the winners, usually. Plenty of magic there, but it's messier. Plenty of secrets to be had, as well. Powerful people come to the finest cabaret in town, get a little intoxicated, get a little vulnerable getting what they need from the pretty people. They tend to have looser lips then... Courtesans hear a lot, and they share a lot of what they hear from the man who keeps them safe."

He smirked.

"Maybe I should make you my eyes and ears and pretty smile in Silfanore, hey? Pay you for the secrets you gather...?"

Sometimes he rather wished someone had taken him under their wing, someone whose desires were laid bare rather than hidden away to fuck him over later. He hadn't even minded fucking for food, for money, for secrets. It hadn't been so terribly bad, or so he told himself. And yet, he was predator rather than prey anymore. He had learned not to be weak.

"Still holding mama and papa's hands or are you on your own in the world?" He knew some people had healthy relationships with their parents. He didn't know what that was like, not from experience, anyway. They were just stories like those on the stages of the Golden Phoenix to him. They required a certain suspension of disbelief. But Castor had his attention now and so he wanted to learn all his secrets. It was an obsession, to be sure.

[Castor Green]

He’d heard about the Avialae. Winged knights and mercenaries, a race of men. They were a rare sight in Silfanore - not that he’d ever seen one up close. They always seemed to fly nearest Vounópolis.

“And how much would you pay your eyes, your ears, your smile?” Castor asked. How strange, he thought, to be a participant in one of the conversations here. He wondered how many times he’d tuned his spells to nearby whispers and hushed negotiations. It felt like second nature to him.

He looked at Aurin. He looked so much like the predator he made himself out to be. His face was all edge - a sharp jaw, noble nose, and eyes the most piercing shade of green - or was it blue? Everything about Aurin seemed to be all angles.

“In some ways, yes,” Castor said, after a bit. “My father’s dead and my mother -,” he hesitated, thinking. His parents had proved too fragile for grief - which left Castor with the unfortunate choice, to endure or to die with them. “- is alive. I have a room, if I have need, and some things to sell, if that ever becomes a necessity. I would greatly appreciate a chance to work regularly.”

He doesn’t say his mother hadn’t spoken in years. That she would spend the remaining time she had left in her chair and unthinking and not speaking, only with the care of a nurse to ferry her to the end. That secret wouldn’t buy either of them anything, aside pain and pity.

He shrugged. “People come to me if they’ve lost something - or someone. Finding those things is easy, but it’s irregular work. It’s a rare thing for someone to lose something that’s worth the cost of my time. And, people don’t go missing as much as you might think - not in Silfanore.”

“...are there any sorts of secrets you want, in particular?”

[Aurin]

"Would you charge me for the secrets of your body?" he asked archly. Aurin wasn't above paying for sex; he had been a sex worker himself in order to fill his belly and kill his pain. He had decided that he would take Castor for a tumble, one way or another, but he didn't mind talking business.

"I jest. Well, if you are hard up at the moment, I would pay for the secrets of your body. You're comely enough for that sort of work if you enjoy it. But I will be in Silfanore for a while yet. Perhaps we can see what sort of secrets you can unearth and then discuss how much they are worth. I don't do regular business in Sol'Valen, but we could likely work something out. It might not be a steady stream of revenue into your pockets, but men like us have to juggle jobs to make ends meet... and then to thrive."

He fished a gold coin out of his clothes. It hadn't been in a pouch on his belt, but rather secreted somewhere about his person. It was elven rather than something minted by the Guild of Coin, which held no sway here. He set it on its edge on the bar, one finger holding it steady. Then he flicked it, releasing it; it kept spinning, creating the optical illusion of a golden orb, which inched toward Castor.

"I like all secrets, truly, but ones that mean leverage, ones that give me an inside track on business negotiations and the like, those are the best."

The confidence man peered at the pretty half-elf. He hadn't renewed his knowing trick, so he was just reading what was on his face, his body language, and such.

"Do you wanna get out of here and get to know each other better?"

[Castor Green]

Dawn broke along his cheeks. Rose and orange bloomed across his face and spread further.

“I - ,” he stuttered, his tongue tripping over his heart which had suddenly jumped from his chest to his throat to his mouth. He felt his body more than he was in it and he was aware, immediately, of how little space existed between him and Aurin.

And then there was a coin spinning on his finger. Bright and gold, like the sun, a perfect orb. A new day. A different beginning.

Castor smiled - and then he grabbed the coin. It felt warm in his hand. He imagined he could see the glow. “I haven’t been with anyone,” he said - thinking. He’d stumbled sure, both during the game, and at the offer. But he found his footing quickly, his confidence in tow.

“That’s worth more, isn’t it? Scarcity or demand or whatever. I wasn’t the best student of economics, so maybe I’m wrong, but isn’t it the more rare something is, the more something’s worth? More than just one gold coin, anyway.”

He laughed - easing into this conversation again. Aurin had been nothing but honest. He thought he was pretty. He thought he was worth gold. It was easier to play along knowing where he stood, easier to laugh when everyone knew their part.

“I do. Let’s get to know each other better.”

[Aurin]

The flush on Castor's face sharpened Aurin's smile.

"Consider the coin foreplay, then," he said, reaching out to run his knuckles along Castor's high cheekbone, and then along his jawline.

"Perhaps it will all even out in the end, though. If I'm your first, I'll be teaching you how to enjoy your body, how to enjoy someone else's body."

His fingertips trailed down the column of Castor's throat, hooking his tunic and tugging it down a little.

"We will plumb the depths of your body's secrets together. Then we'll have a secret between us. Anyway, I'm already wining and dining you." He caught the bartender's eye and signaled, ordered a couple of bottles of wine to take with them. He pushed off the bar stool, pushed one of the bottles into Castor's hands to carry along with them. He picked up the other, paid, and slung his arm companionably around the half-elf's shoulders.

"Would you feel safer taking me to your place or coming with me to mine?"

It was, perhaps, too gentle and kind a question for a self-proclaimed bad man, but he asked it anyway, and eased a little aether into his rune so he could keep track of the lad's pulse, not digging for secrets, but making sure he didn't over do it, scare him, or become like the monsters who had taken his own youth in their stride and left him broken and incapable of love.