Taking It in the Back [Torin]

[Aurin]

3 Frost 120

The Velvet Cabaret rarely closed entirely. A dedicated reveler might wish to see dawn creeping over the horizon when they quit the premises. More dedicated revelers wouldn't stop until their bodies gave out with exhaustion, full of sensual pleasures. Part of Aurin's job was gauging the clientele and ushering them toward the end of their night before they got violent, violently ill, or other things inconvenient to him. As the place normally only closed in parts during slow hours to allow for cleaning, Aurin could not be in all places at all times forever and always, so he wasn't the only fixer in the place. Some would say manager, though Madame Lunaria didn't delegate authority so much as responsibility. The man with straight teeth and a crooked smile was perhaps the most senior of her lieutenants if only because he had stuck around long enough to earn her trust. Or because her cat had liked him straightaway—it was difficult to tell sometimes.

In any event, outside of the red building, dawn had come and morning matured when Aurin stepped out of his little red-roofed outbuilding to walk to the nearest service entrance. He was the help—he didn't use the front entrance where it stood, a proud strumpet between the Golden Peacock Theater and the Jade Crane Bathhouse. The elder sister looked up to higher art, the younger sister served the health of its patrons, but they were the raunchy middle sister, flashing her goods, tossing dice, and otherwise debauching but still with enough of a veneer of civility to draw the monied classes.

That morning, the back of a sandy head waited at the service entrance. Aurin didn't know how long the man had been standing there, but on the same ring of keys that locked his house was a key to let him in the back door of the Cabaret. He let the keys jingle a bit, not making an effort to step softly, so the man wouldn't be startled by his presence. A quick assessment saw they were of a similar height and build, though when he caught the young profile, he decided that this one was going to be burly if no taller ere long. But he didn't hold himself like the sort who was well trained for violence, and it was rather early for belligerence.

Anyway, he came burdened. It was just a delivery.

"Good morrow, friend," he called as he approached. His walk was a calculated saunter, eating up the ground with his long legs but making no show of a hurry. "What have you brought for us today—or have you come to audition?"

[Torin Kilvin]

The sun's fire reached down to kiss Torin's skin. Compared to the heat of his profession he had always viewed the sun as a gentle being, reaching down in benevolence even on the hottest days. It was still early enough that the heat was only felt in the direct beams that fell down between the ornate roofs of this part of the city and cold enough that he was thankful for his thick coat.

The tall boy did not know the city well enough to put names to places except in the immediate vicinity of his Runesmith master's shop, but he was learning how to get around. Between jobs, when he was allowed free time he spent most of it wandering. A choice that confused the other apprentices who preferred to spend their time drinking, gambling, or engaging in similar activities in taverns and establishments that were...quite like this one, actually. Glancing around he noted venues of entertainment or indulgence all around him.

This was a day his master had given him to himself. After inspecting his most recent finished piece, a small belt blade, asking him only to deliver a package to The Velvet Cabaret before nightfall. This building bore the name, though Torin did not know what Cabaret meant, he had seen enough places with a similar air to guess at some of what would be offered inside. While it was in operation at least, it was all shut up now, darkened and quiet.

He supposed he should have waited till later in the day to make the delivery but he didn't like the idea of wandering around with a valuable object in his pocket when he had no idea where he might end up. (He assumed it was valuable, not having asked or opened the fist-sized object wrapped in cloth.) It was always better to get the work done first.

Waiting had never bothered him, so, after finding his way to the back entrance, he found a spot in the sun to bask until someone in the house stirred.

The sound of tiny pieces of metal moving together accompanied by confident steps alerted Torin to the presence of what seemed to be the first wakeful member of the household. A quick glance told him enough about the man in general to adjust his behavior. Lowering his eyes to the hollow of the other's throat he put on a pleasant expression.

"Gentle morning to you, sir. I've a delivery for..." He turned the small around in his hands until he could read the writing on there. He pronounced the strange name as best he could and named his master's shop as the originator of the drop-off.

"I can wait, if they aren't available, I don't mind." He really didn't.

[Aurin]

Too well dressed to be so self-effacing, he thought as he sidled up to the locked door. The alley was clean, which set it apart from similar sorts of places elsewhere, like in the Low-City. The walls caught the early winter light and it was almost warm. That was nice. Simple pleasures.

"Madame Lunaria Zirnomei," he repeated with the easy fluency of frequent use.

His key found the lock. He turned it, then pulled the door open and gestured him inside. "Welcome to our den of iniquity. She won't want to be bothered with a delivery, even if those are her silkiest knickers you've got in your hot little hand."

Closing the door behind the lad, he locked him in. It was easier to keep the service entrance locked as opposed to guarded most of the time. This was one of those times. Behind the velvet curtains of the Velvet Cabaret, things weren't especially interesting. An ordinary man was arranging bottles of liquor in a hallway closet. The kitchen was quietly abuzz. No performances were happening this early in the day (or late in the night depending on one's perspective), so no painted women or pretty boys or muscular men in strange and unusual costume were rushing toward stages. Back here, things were done efficiently so out there everything looked effortless.

"Morning, Basya," he said as he leaned into the kitchen just long enough to snag a steaming mug of something that had been laid out for him. Then he was leading the way again. It wasn't far from the service door, but he led the young man into a little office. It wasn't The Office, but it was a place where Aurin and people with overlapping responsibilities could see to certain things. Really, it was a closet converted for this use because it was near the kitchen and the liquor and the door through which they came.

"Who's the delivery from?" he asked as he unlocked a drawer filled with invoices outstanding and small amounts of coin to pay them when delivery was made.

[Torin Kilvin]

There was little chance the boy would say the name right even after having heard it spoken, so he nodded rather than trying. He took a longer look at the other man while his back was turned to unlock and then open the door. He was well made, with muscles that were likely far quicker in action than the ones Torin was just starting to show. The way he carried himself whispered of sudden, unexpected movement.

Tucking his chin again he stepped forward when gestured to do so, grateful for the warmth of walls to wrap him away from the dawn chill. Inside he could hear the crackle of hearth fires, the clink and shift of glass bottles and cooking utensils, footfalls and softly spoken words. They were homey sounds for a place that must normally be filled with a cacophony of entertainment and that those enjoying it. The 'Smith's apprentice thought he might like it better this way, but decided to hold his judgment until he'd experienced the other side. He had been making a conscious effort to try new things in the city. Nothing he'd tried on so far had been a good fit; a leisure activity that he could make a regular thing in the hopes that it might broaden his experience of life. Something that he was coming to realize was meager indeed. Only so much time could be spent away from the calming confines of his own room before his chest began to tighten and his hands shake. Each time he ventured out alone he made himself stay a little longer. After six months he could stay out most of a day, if it was a good day. On bad days he confined himself to his own room and the work areas of the forge building. Today felt like a good day.

He took in what could be seen in a quick sweep and then stood quietly waiting till he was led deeper. The scents of cooking breakfast and whatever was in the mug the other man held as he settled into what looked like a tiny office made Torin's stomach growl audibly. The complaint was a reminder that he hadn't bothered to eat after twelve hours at the forge the previous evening. He'd been pleased and tired enough to just fall onto his bed and slip beyond all wakeful concerns still in his clothing. Now his body was reminding him that it was still trying valiantly to keep growing. He would have to find a shop that was serving something hot after the delivery.

Pipping up with his master's name and title he kept ahold of the package, not clutching it but decidedly still holding it. There had been no mention of remaining payments to be made but he wasn't sure how he felt about handing the item off without any indication that it would get to its recipient, even if the red-haired man had the keys to the building.

[Aurin]

Aurin flipped through the sheaf of papers until he found the matching name. Hazel eyes tracked the script, ticking down a line then back to the next. It was all regular—nothing out of the ordinary. With a satisfied nod, he set the paper in a separate file for those invoices paid and delivered. Though Lunaria had a proper accountant, and went over everything herself with a fine-toothed comb, Aurin knew to use whatever mathematical skill he had to ensure there were no mistakes for her to deal with. She didn't like mistakes.

"It would seem payment has been made in full, so I can take that off your hands..." Of course, he noticed the grip the lad had on it, not sure if his master was the exigent type who would give him hell for not delivering to the exact person or if he was just nervous to be at the Cabaret. "She comes down here from time to time throughout the day or, when she's out on the floor, one of us might take a load of things and put them in her office for her. If you prefer, I can put it in the safe and then we can see what's for breakfast."

The last was offered with a gently mocking smile. Of course, he had heard the lad's stomach gnawing on his backbone.

"There's always plenty right around now when custom is slow and us working stiffs have a chance to feed. It'll be plain fare unless they're experimenting on us before offering something new to the paying clients, but even that is rarely bad." He also had a fair amount of discretionary power when it came to food and free drinks since one of his primary purposes was to keep people happy, keep people entertained, and keep people spending.

It wasn't as though he was being kind to a timid apprentice with a hunger.

[Torin Kilvin]

There was something about the man who lounged behind the desk, a way to him that Torin hadn't encountered before. Mind trying to puzzle the newness out he watched the pale hands from behind the fall of his own hair as they slid up and down the ledger pages looking for the entry that would likely give more information than the boy himself had about his delivery.

His instinct gnawed even more insistently than his stomach, trying to put a name on the feeling the other man gave off, pin it down. His danger sense wasn't going off and this place wasn't causing him particular anxiety, its dangers were the mundane kind and while they obfuscated themselves they didn't try to pretend they didn't exist. There was money to be made in such places with a certain air of danger, intrigue, the unknown or half-hidden. Torin found himself more comfortable with taverns and public houses that didn't try to pretend they were safe. He knew that there were very respectable ones that never had fights or issues and were, in truth, safe but he could never make himself sit in them and relax.

He knew it looked odd, to those few who knew him, that he, who never fought, gambled, wenched or drank to excess was most comfortable in places where all those things were common and expected. With no words to explain and little understanding as to why his mind worked the way it did he reverted to his default on the subject; silence.

When his host spoke his head came up a bit, pulling him from the reverie he drifted into when left to wait.

A faint coloring showed high on his cheeks but he wasn't embarrassed so much as eager. Not a picky eater by any means the boy was interested in trying more things than the simple fare he'd been accustomed to his entire life. Even an incident with exotic spices that had given him an aching belly wasn't enough to deter his interest.

"I would be happy to purchase a share of whatever your kitchens are offering." The words were polite but the tone was earnest and hungry. "If Madame Z...Zirnomy? Isn't available when we're done you could write me a receipt?" His words were intended as a statement but came out a question. Pressing others was not something he had any practice in but he didn't want to return and learn he'd been duped by a handsome rogue.

[Aurin]

Aurin's smirking smile didn't waver, nor his gaze release the lad's as he pulled out a sheet of paper with the Velvet Cabaret's 'crest' embossed upon the top. He scrawled an acknowledgment of receipt, merely signing it with 'Aurin', then folded it in half, and offered it up between two fingers like he was some sort of card shark. His other hand rose, palm up, fingers lazily splayed, waiting for the package. Neither hand was put forth very far; the lad would have to step closer, perhaps even lean in to make the exchange.

"Trust me?" he teased.

The lad might have been trepidatious, but Aurin didn't bite. He did receive the package and put it where Lunaria would expect it. Then he rose and ushered the lad out, locking the closet office behind him.

"Come along then, but don't offer to pay again when I offer you something. I might think you're rude." But his tone was more jaunty and jesting than anything severe. Of course, the lad had strange reactions to things. He was a little mystery, and that could go well with his morning coffee.

The kitchen was redolent of baked things, all the comfortable smells of home. Aurin took up a plate from a stack of clean ones and thrust it into the lad's hands, then with a hand to the small of his back, urged him forward.

"Take what you like. We'll take our breakfast to the main hall. It ought to be fairly empty at this hour."

The kitchen staff were nice enough, though they didn't waste too much time on him as they continued to work, preparing for the next few meals. One might not expect the Cabaret to have such an industrious kitchen, but he had talked Lunaria into expanding things. People would stay longer if they didn't have to leave to feed their faces, and the longer they stayed, the more money they would spend. When their plates were piled high, he led the way through the corridors to the main hall, which was perhaps not what one would expect. A few drunken clients remained, but they had been expertly corralled to a corner near the exit, waited upon by a pair of courtesans who, bless them, didn't look as bored as they ought to be. A man on the stage played what could only be called a lullaby on a harp. Soon, hopefully, those last patrons would be gone. Servants were cleaning elsewhere, the clients not even noticing them. They all seemed fond of Aurin, though they, like the kitchen staff, didn't make much in the way of conversation when there was work to be done.

Soon enough, people would arrive for a lascivious lunch and the place had to be clean.

The table at which Aurin sat was clean, too—small, but with room for the both of them. At least, there was room for both of their plates and mugs and utensils. If the lad wasn't careful, their knees might touch under the little table.

"So, I'm Aurin. What's your name?"

[Torin Kilvin]

Torin stepped forward plucking the offered note slowly from between fingers that didn't seem as though they really wanted to let it go. As he dropped the package into the waiting hand his eyes were caught. Like a breath held as you plunge into deep water, his instincts refusing to release until the other man stood, breaking the tension.

The boy bit his lip, hard, worrying it as he was led. This was something new. His instincts didn't like new behaviors but they did insist on staying until they were understood. Realizing he was standing dumbly with a plate now in his hands he folded the note, awkwardly one-handed, and tucked it into his pocket. Warmth spread gently over the small of his back and he froze. The touch was obviously not an attack, it was gentle and confident...and he liked it. He was touched on purpose so rarely, had always been touched rarely in anything but violence that any offered affection affected him deeply. He was pushed forward, towards the food, then the touch was gone.

There was a great variety of food being prepared, though not all of it was ready. A lot of the food he recognized but a few things -some fat dumplings the size of his palm, and several fruits- were entirely new to him. He took some normal fare and at least a piece of whatever was new.

While he silently chose his breakfast he ran back over what had been said to him while he was too stunned to understand them. As he was being led, again, this time into what appeared the main room of the establishment, he spoke as if there had been no pause in conversation between that moment and the other man's chastisement.

"I only thought this was a business. I wasn't..." As they sat he made the mistake of looking up again to see if he was being understood. Those eyes, like hot copper, were there, the same as before, threatening to catch him. He looked down at the tabletop quickly,
"I appreciate your generosity. I'm Torin, I'm one of the Runesmith's apprentices."

To cover his awkwardness and confusion he took a bite of thick-sliced bread, still hot from the ovens. His stomach growled again as the taste filled his mouth and threatened to pull all thought from his mind. His instinct wrestled back at least some ability to think as he finished the slice. The way he was being looked at, appraised, it wasn't curiosity, or not only that. It was...
He risked another look and was met by a smirk this time.

It was Interest.

He had seen people looking at him this way before, but where? A dumpling disappeared in two quick bites before it came to him. Women had occasionally given him similar looks, some bold and some shy but they felt the same. It looked different on a man, enough different that he hadn't recognized it. He knew what they meant on women, at least as much as he could without ever having engaged with them. This was a place where the favor of others could be bought. If Aurin was one who sold those wares it made sense that he would look at others this way.

With the mystery solved an obvious relief settling between his shoulders and he began to eat in earnest. His manners were good for a country boy but he did eat like a boy, as though the food might disappear elsewhere if he didn't cause it to do so first.

When a passing serving woman laughed at his empty plate and offered him more he flushed again, agreeing readily and telling her that he would happily take whatever she chose. Taking an experimental sip from the steaming mug that had come with the food he blinked, it was piping hot with a dark, bitter bite. Coffee was a luxury for an apprentice but he'd found he liked it.

Holding the mug between his hands he listened to the minstrel on the stage singing a well-known song, slow and soft. It reminded him of his mother when they had been alone. He quietly sang the words to the chorus to honor her memory, breathing the words into the steam pouring off the drink.

When his second plate arrived, piled high he scooted forward, bumping his knees into his table-mates in his gusto.

[Aurin]

"Good morning, Torin," he said, tasting the name as if Common weren't his native tongue. But, of course, he spoke it as though it were. Or perhaps he was just giving the new person due consideration. In his line of work, reading people, learning them, was important. It helped with the subtle manipulations that kept them from causing an undue ruckus, destroying things, or hurting people. The soft-spoken runesmith's apprentice didn't seem the belligerent type, but he looked as though soon his capacity for belligerency would increase. And why was he so soft-spoken?

The fixer tucked into his breakfast as well, though he paced himself much more efficiently than the growing lad.

"It is business," he finally replied, taking a break from his bacon. "But it's off-hours for me, and apprentices don't often get to run around the city. You were hungry. I was hungry. Now, together, neither of us are hungry. Well..." The lad ordered more food. With an amused smile, he shook his head to the serving woman. He sat back in his chair, letting the hot mug ease heat back into his fingers. "I suppose you are still hungry."

When their knees knocked, he just smiled. Then, after a long moment, he apologized politely, swung his long legs out from under the table, and caught an ankle over his knee.

"If you want to request a song, I'm sure he will play it. When it's this quiet, the musicians are usually bored."

Some of Torin's responses seemed like those of a prey animal. He was young, of course, but he was big enough and strong enough that he wasn't likely to see much in the way of trouble. He didn't look rich enough for a thief to mess with him. There were people stalking the streets at night who just craved violence, but he didn't seem like the type to be out alone late at night either. But then, he suspected. Another word here, perhaps to draw him out.

"My parents didn't sing lullabies..." He glanced at the stage and then the lad wolfing down his second helping. "I wonder where I would have ended up if they had."

[Torin Kilvin]

"Good morning, Aurin." A shy grin came with the greeting, before the lad's attention fell back onto his plate.

The urge to ask what Aurin did during his working hours but the question might be considered rude, or, even, an inquiry for services, so he kept it behind his teeth.

"I did offer to pay," He murmured between big bites, his tone still flirting with being playful, as if to say the other man had been warned.

When the under-the-table touch lingered the apprentice settled more, accepting the accidental closeness as comfort. When the lean red-head pulled away he missed the warmth, physical and otherwise. It was the kind of casual companionship that the other apprentices shared; jostling each other under tabled, playfully swatting at each other or falling asleep on each other reading the same books. The apology with the removal brought a small frown. Eyes back down he said,

"My fault." Pulling his limbs closer in, tucking himself, trying to be smaller. He wasn't used to be as tall as he was yet and he did tend to knock into things without meaning to.

He didn't understand, at first, when offered a song. When he realized he shook his head, emotionally tucking in to equally his limbs.

"My mum," He answered when Aurin mentioned lullabies. It felt like a betrayal not to mention her when he'd just been singing for her, "She used to sing this to me. They were all that she could give me. Before she had to give me away."
He'd slept hungry or bruised more often than not, trying not to cry, afraid to make noise unless his mother was there. If she was singing then it was alright to cry, though when she did he didn't always want to anymore. He knew why his mother had sold him, knew it had been the best thing she could have done for him. He even understood why she had never written or visited. But now he didn't even know if she lived.

Swallowing the thought down with the last of his coffee he tried to pull back into the present. His belly was full and, for the moment, he was sated and almost languid.