Taking It in the Back [Torin]

[Aurin]

Still studying the lad's reactions, things started to make a bit more sense. Given away by a mother whose lullabies still haunted him. A deference to male authority, either from a strict master or a stricter father, most likely.

"Careful," he said gently, resting his boot on the edge of Torin's chair next to his knee. "Keep talking about paying around here and the courtesans might get the wrong idea. Or the right one. The profession of courtesan covers all matter of sins—some are artists, some connect people socially with keen eye and witty banter, and some are glorified whores—no offense to the lovely whores of the world, of course. And the Velvet Cabaret covers all matter of sins as well. Gambling, voyeurism—private rooms for private things and dark corners for dark deeds."

Perhaps counterintuitively, his smile was sincere, but his mouth was so often smirking, it rather held that shape. He knew the world too well, did Aurin, not to know that whatever people and actions had tempered this young man, the sort of joys some people found in those private rooms might have been joys subverted, perverted for coming too soon, too young, or too forcefully. He relented.

"An honest, well-mannered lad is a nice change of pace." He paused, seeing the serving woman out of the periphery of his vision. Poised to flag her down, though he normally went back and got his own food if he hadn't gauged his hunger well enough the first go. This was a guest. His guest. "Would you like more to eat?" But the moment had passed and she was gone to do some other errand and so he merely nudged his plate a bit closer to the middle of their table. "Feel free."

His fingers fell among some cloudberries, which he brought up to his lips.

"What does the day hold in store for you, young Master Torin? The forge or freedom?"

[Torin Kilvin]

"Sounds like, if you stay long enough, you might even get breakfast." Though his eyes were lowered and the corners of his mouth only fluttered up as he fought to control them, he was joking, obviously and cleverly. He had no idea how the man would take his response to the dire, or perhaps enticing, warnings. His young guest found being informed openly of the dangers and potential pitfalls on offer refreshing, comforting even. The boot that came to rest on the edge of his chair felt like an acceptance and he didn't make any move that would imply he wanted it gone. He didn't want it gone, but more, he didn't want to offend his host.

Shaking his head when offered more food, he said,
"Can't, thank you." And laid a hand over his belly which was slim enough to be showing the meal he'd just inhaled. After a pause he tried again to match the other man's teasing, "Give me an hour though..." Venturing another quick glance up he tried to gauge how his humor was being taken. He knew two exits to this place now and if his reactions were not being taken well he would move along.

Nothing seemed amiss so he let himself continue to settle. A good long walk through the city would be nice in a little while but for the moment his body was trying to react to this feast after the famine of the previous day. It was his own fault he hadn't eaten. When he got caught up in his work, particularly as it needed its finish, he would forget even water. His old master had chided him for it, forcing him to stop and drink, saying the boy would have forgotten to breathe if he could have. Before his mind came out of the pleasant memory he found himself saying,

"The forge is my freedom." Hearing his own voice speak so earnestly, and finding it discordant to the light teasing they had both been engaging in he pushed his memories away,
"I'm sorry, I get lost in my thoughts sometimes. The runesmith gave me today free. I just finished a long project. I was just going to explore the city a bit."

A thought came to him and he bit his lip, wondering if the whisps of friendliness the two had been sharing were enough for him to ask honest questions without them being taken for impertinence or himself for a fool. He might as well try, he decided.

"What is it that you do? How does this work, I mean?" He waved a hand to imply the room as a whole while still keeping the arm close to his body. "Do people explain the things they want or is there a list of things to choose from?" There was no lust in his voice, unless it was the boyish lust for knowledge. There had been a whorehouse in his village but the services offered there were quite basic. The things he'd heard hinted at since arriving in the city hardly even sounded like the same act.

[Aurin]

Aurin's manner from the moment they met had been gentle amusement, occasionally distracted, occasionally with curiosity piqued. Nothing Torin said had changed the baseline amusement, however. His nod was almost approval when the lad started teasing back. That was a good sign, he thought. The fixer knew better than most that humor could deflect as well as any shield, but if the lad were so far out of his element, he surely would have begged off staying, or reacted otherwise.

"Stamina," he noted after chuckling, "is prized."

When Torin's thoughts wandered, Aurin's gaze flickered to the table near the door, where they were easing the weary patrons away finally. The night previous would become a story they told all their friends, no doubt. Another few cloudberries passed his lips before he looked back at the smith. When he finally translated his thoughts into words, Aurin considered them and nodded.

"A runesmith and a poet." But then he was asking more pointed questions about the establishment and so Aurin sought to answer them. "The front doors are almost always unlocked. Several times a year we close down entirely for some deep cleaning. A patron can show up at any time of the day or night. If they've coin to spend, there's food, drink, entertainment—though services tend to mirror demand. A person can come without invitation or appointment to gamble, to watch a burlesque or vaudeville, listen to the music and appreciate the view..." Had Aurin just given him a bit of a look over? Surely not. "If great entertainments are afoot, there might be a small fee at the door, but often the larger productions are next door at the Golden Peacock. We've courtesans, male and female, moving about, making conversation. They will endeavor to engage you, to make sure you are having a good time. They want to keep you paying for drinks, of course. Or to refill your hookah in the lounges where various sorts of smokes are available. Some courtesans are trained for dancing. Some are trained for a particular sort of dancing, which does come with a fee and which allows you to look and to enjoy, but not to touch.

"If it's touching you're after," he continued, amused but hardly judgmental, "quite a few of the courtesans might engage you for that as well. That requires a brief contract with Madame Lunaria, who would certainly come out to arrange before she would come out to receive a package. She's quite discreet. You tell her what you're looking for and she arranges everything. There are private rooms for that, of course." He paused, his voice softened. "I would hazard to guess that you are not experienced in a lot of the offerings provided here. She is a sharp businesswoman, but she is not unkind. She takes care of her people, and she takes care of her clients. One can never prevent every danger, but we endeavor to make this a safe place to enjoy one's vices."

[Torin Kilvin]

It took the lad a good, long minute to understand that the joke was not about his ability to eat his own weight over the course of a day and then he truly blushed. He laughed also though, more at himself than the joke.

With a slight shake of his head, he said, "I wouldn't know." Very quietly, if not so much so that the older man would miss it.

The praise kept him flushed and not looking up as his long, gold hair tossed in a more emphatic shake.

"No. Words are not... I'm not good with them." He proved his point, stuttering through the sentence. Luckily the explanations to his questions came freely and he was able to forget his discomfiting moment. Eyes wandering about the room, taking note of the men only now leaving from a night's entertainment, of the entertainers, of various kind, that were now beginning to appear in ones and twos, eating, chatting, beginning to work out their voices or their muscles for the stage. It was like being on the inside of a circus before the tent flaps were thrown open. He did not notice when eyes were trailed over him, not those of his companion anyway. Several of those arriving for breakfast or rehearsal were also giving him appraising looks. Returning to his partner he said,

"I would say I'm experienced in any of the entertainments here." It was the kind of pure honesty that only innocence can pull off. There was nothing of begging or hinting to be shown the delights being spoken of, only an admittance of ignorance that even the most lightly world-weary know to avoid. Leaning forward and cocking his head a little to one side he asked,

"Is it good, your life?" As soon as he heard it he began stuttering out a correction, "The life, of the people who work here, I mean. I work at a forge and some people might think it's a hard life but it's not, it's a good one. At least, for me. I think." He had muddled himself well by the time he finished this little speech and pulled his arms around himself, low around his belly. This man had given him a meal and answers as few strangers would, he would be sorry to offend him with questions that dipped too far into what was personal. Being run out because he couldn't hold his tongue would be an awful start to the day. The look he offered the other man, meeting his eyes for as long as he yet had, was pure pleading.

[Aurin]

The lad was not a talker, 'twas true. However, when he disappeared into his own head and finally blurted something out without nerves to gnarl it, Aurin thought he was rather a good communicator, but he kept that to himself as the conversation evolved. Laughing softly at the question, he gulped the last of his coffee. He wanted more, but he would not go seek it out. Perhaps when he returned their dishes to the scullery, he would check in with his needs.

"Well, I am comfortable with my life here," he said. "I've been helping Madame Lunaria for years now. Some come here with illusions about what it will be like; they either adapt or leave. As I said, though, she takes care of her own. We have some who move up to work here, and the situations presented lower in the city are often much worse. She isn't predatory. She doesn't exact huge debts for people to pay off before they can change employment if this life isn't for them. It can be exciting. It can be exhausting." He rubbed his jaw ruefully, his auburn grizzle hiding a two-day-old bruise. "It can be dangerous. But I'm one of the people tasked with keeping things running smoothly. I'm the one who will water your wine when you have too much, or get some food in you to slow your roll. I'm the one who will talk two men down before they start throwing punches and furniture. Sometimes I'm the one who takes it on the chin so someone else doesn't have to.

"But I hear good stories. I have good stories. People smile when they see me coming. It's gratifying to be able to ensure people are enjoying themselves. There's enough wrong with the world that the sins we entertain here seem hardly sin at all. I have a little cottage to myself, and even if I'm not married, I don't have to cook all my meals or darn all my socks. I can focus on what I'm good at."

Pausing, he found it was relaxing to be entirely honest with someone. He wasn't so much a liar as a spinner of the truth. Anyway, lies were less effective than the strategic use of the truth.

"I'm heartened to hear that you have found a good place for yourself. I didn't have one when I was your age." Then his smirk returned, his gentle mocking. "And don't worry about experience. You can learn cards. You can fill your lungs with hypnotic smokes and your belly with spirits. You can enjoy intimacy with another person... or persons. It's not a race, not a competition. I mean, it can be if you're the competitive type, but..." His smile sweetened, though again, even his smiles looked like smirks. He just had one of those faces.

[Torin Kilvin]

As soon as Aurin started talking again Torin began to relax. It was like a spell, his nerves would fade out to leave his mind to absorb the information being offered. He didn't understand everything that was said, or hinted at, but it was starting to paint a picture, not just of the Velvet Cabaret but of the types of lives people who chose the professions employed in it might have elsewhere. Aurin's own profession seemed complex but rewarding. To be the one who held everything together, his attention divided in many directions at once, but to have everyone look to you for protection and in admiration.

All the talk of sins made him wonder what things, exactly were done in the dark, private places. He hadn't had what could be called a formal education in anything except the forge and what religious training he'd gotten had been a slapdash jumble of different things. His first master had instilled a strong moral background in him, ensuring that it wasn't so rigid as to snap at the first nuance he came across. In truth, Torin couldn't have said if something was good or evil except the most basic of human suffering was wrong and preventing it was right. Aurin seemed, and sounded, like the type that prevented it and the boy immediately respected that.

He wasn't surprised the man wasn't married, it seemed to him that most women had a dislike of such places. He wasn't sure why, the women who worked here seemed well cared for, the men too. It was an alternative version of care and comfort, people to rely on, than the traditional family units he'd grown up around. The idea that there could be an alternative, that there might be more than one, bloomed in his head and settled, soft and solid.

Leaning forward and boldly, or rather absently, rested his elbow on the table and his chin in his hand, he said, "I don't have to cook for myself but I do have to mend my own socks, or buy new ones. I get new ones a few times a year as part of my apprenticeship. My old master; I always tried to be very careful not to rip my clothes, because his wife used to take care of them. Before he sent me away." The tone in the last sentence was a mirror of the same words spoken about his mother. The fact that he was still heartsore over it was as plain as his bright hair. He pushed past it, hardly seeming to notice,

"Would you tell me your stories? A few at least?" Again, he realized that the request wasn't a sensible one as he said it and covered with, "Not now, of course. But you fed me, maybe you'll come and let me feed you sometime? Not... not at the forge. I mean in the city, somewhere." His eyes had gone shy and away again but he wasn't the shamed sort of flustered he had been the last time his words had tripped over each other.

"My old master said it was a good place when he sent me here. My new one is a better teacher, or, he can teach me more." There was a lot of 'but I wanted to stay', with maybe a little bit of 'I'm lost here' tacked in by way of body language, tone, and sighing.

Eyes wide at the listed opportunities he said, "You won't make me try all of those at the same time? Maybe one..." He sounded decidedly skeptical about even one.

[Aurin]

Before she sent me away, he had said, and now, before he sent me away. Aurin read a fear of abandonment, a fear of displeasing. That could be as harmful as physical violence. Torin was a man grown, but he remained sheltered. He was grown, but time and experience would mature him. In his eyes, Aurin could see the little boy who missed his mother. In his eyes, he could see the man who missed his old master, a father figure. Perhaps his new master would ease into that void, or perhaps he would guide Torin into a proper adulthood, a proper emotional maturity. Then again, who was Aurin to judge? He had said it wasn't a competition, but he himself was always in competition with himself. His own mother had tried to teach him that emotional attachment was a weakness, and now, when he competed with himself, sometimes it felt like he was still trying to impress her or, worse, competing with her.

He laughed.

"A story for a meal?" he mused. "I'm no bard, but I suppose that's a fair deal. I ought to get out of this place more often, eh? My next evening free is Thioras. Or, I suppose, if you prefer a daytime meeting, just let me know. I don't imagine apprentices have a great deal of free time. Perhaps Eikaeus if their master is pious."

Still smirking, still amused, he continued, "As for trying things out, I said can. You don't have to try anything. Anyone who tries to force you isn't worth your time at best, or should be punched in the face... or worse... at worst." He had thrown a few punches here, though he tried to avoid it. There was a reason most of his sharp objects were left at home, however. Things could get heated and even he, with his notoriously cool head, knew he was not exempt from that truth. Torin seemed a calm, steady type, but still waters ran deep, and that likely only meant he would be all the worse were his rage inspired.

Best avoid that.

He looked down in time to see a white fluff swish around Torin's leg curiously, then butt her head against his ankle. Leaning down, he helped her up onto his lap, where she began to circle, then avail herself of the seat. Immediately, she began to purr and make biscuits upon his leg.

"Torin, meet Pascal. Pascal, my new friend Torin." She glanced at Torin, but seemed unimpressed in the way of cats. "Has her Majesty emerged?"

[Torin Kilvin]

"You might also have to suggest somewhere you'd like to go. Unless you're of a mind to eat from vendor stalls. I haven't found any places good for sitting and talking."

It wasn't true in a strict sense, he had found plenty of establishments that encouraged quiet conversation but the ones near the forge were either far more expensive than the boy could afford or else far too polite and quiet for him to sit in without the itch starting between his shoulders.

"I haven't explored much outside the area near the forge." He described the area, it was in one of the nicest parts of town, which might have been one of the main factors in Torin feeling like he didn't belong in his new home.

"I doubt I'll be able to get off in the next week. My master does let us off but he's got me working longer protects to see where I can improve." The testing had started when he'd first arrived, with the most basic knowledge of the craft. Torin hadn't minded, it was good to get back to basics sometimes. After six months he was pushed to the edges of what he'd already learned and was starting to be taught in earnest. His old master had done more work as a Blacksmith than he had as a Runesmith and his tools for the magical craft had been basic. His apprentice hadn't known that until he'd arrived in the city and the gaps in his education had become frankly obvious to the point that he didn't even know the names of many of the tools. His freedom this day was due to him having completed the first piece of work alone, start to finish that his new master had deemed worthy of sale.

"I could send you a note the next time I know I'll be set loose?" There was some doubt about whether, between their demanding schedules, they would have time off together, but he could hope. "I could come back tonight, but you'll be busy." He might come back anyway, for a closer look at some of the 'sin' Aurin kept mentioning.

Body going completely still when something brush against his leg under the table he tensed, every muscle ready, if only for a second, to bolt. But it was a cat, of course. There were often cats around forges in the winter but most were too sensible to get too near the work being done more than once, so he wasn't touched by even the ones who weren't feral very often.

Watching the confident animal settle in Aurin's lap, seeing the two move together he realized why Aurin made him comfortable. He was dangerous. Not volatile, but competent in his knowledge of violence. He moved with the same unconcerned grace that a cat did, knowing that at any moment they could attack and simply choosing not to unless provoked. Those around the man were safe because he chose to make them so, not because he lacked the ability to put them down.

For a moment this frightened the youth, but, as he listened to Pascal purr he soothed. If the tiny predator liked Aurin it was likely because he didn't lose his temper and let fly, even when he was in his cups. Animals were slow to forgive such things.

"How do you do, Pascal?" He asked, performing a seated half-bow that was only part in jest. Large, yellow eyes blinked at him slowly, which he took as an approving dismissal. Only then did he realize the predator holding the animal had called him Friend. He couldn't be sure but it might have been the first time the word had been applied to him by someone not trying to sell him something.

Stretching slow and way, way back in his chair he shook his shoulders out a bit.
" 'Suppose I should be letting you get to your business?"

[Aurin]

"I suspect so," he said with an overly dramatic, put-upon sigh. It was quickly replaced by his half-smile. It was sincere in the moment, though he had been known to lie through his teeth or strike without warning when the situation called for it. Then, perhaps it was a baring of teeth as an animal giving warning, though one would have to know him well or people in general very well to tell the difference on that face. Uncoiling, he eased Pascal up, but she just climbed up onto his shoulder, looking down on Torin and her domain from on high.

Stacking their plates and mugs to take back to the scullery, he nodded toward the doors that led to the foyer and the front of the pagoda.

"The front will be more convenient. You can see what's in repertory at the Golden Peacock or get a massage at the Jade Crane. Theirs are generally better than ours... except for the ending. Try to look exhausted but smile as though the world has done you every possible favor. You never know. It might drum up more business for us." He winked. He grinned. He balanced their dishes on one hand with the surety of one who had waited tables before.

"Do come back later if you feel so inclined. You won't have my undivided attention, but I can introduce you to nice people or just show you good places to lurk where you'll have your back to a wall and can bloom, a proper wallflower, and enjoy the view. As for future plans, feel free to send a note to Aurin. A-U-R-I-N. Or address it to that ginger bastard and it will surely get to me. We can figure out a time and place to meet and I will know a few places nearby to expand your horizons. Kalzasi is an interesting place. You might as well see what it has to offer outside the freedom of the forge."

[Torin Kilvin]

The lad stood when his host did, listening to the non-traditional farewell and wondering, vaguely, why he was being treated as well as he was. Aurin, balancing dishes and passenger with equal ease, eased himself off, disappearing back into the kitchen. Torin called out a simple, "Thank you." That he hoped the other man heard and then turned to the indicated exit, or entrance in this case.

There were lots of reasons someone might be friendly with him, trying to buy or sell, wanting his help, even boredom might get him chatted to. While he was able to garner information just by listening, learn things he had not known before the speaker began their idle chat or intentional sales pitch, no one would intentionally give him information for its own sake. His teachers gave him information but it was by no means only for the sake of the knowing.

He knew that he wasn't trying to gain knowledge only for the sake of knowing. He hadn't been a naturally curious child, more content to do as he was told. The trait was still one of his strongest, but as he'd grown he realized that understanding society, understanding people, was the only real way to keep himself safe. Not every piece of information he gained was likely to save him years or pain but anything could be the piece that fit together a puzzle that did. Until he knew enough to know what he needed to know, he needed to know everything.

The thought made sense in his head. A lot of his thoughts never made it to words, he tended to think more in memories and emotions, instinctive urges. He figured that was the reason it was often so hard for him to speak, and why it didn't make sense, sometimes, when he did.

The bright light of full day struck him full in the face as he stepped out from under the protective roof and, for just a moment, he let himself close his eyes and absorb what weak heat the Frost sun offered. When he opened his eyes, and allowed them time to adjust, he found himself in a part of the city he'd never ventured into before that morning. With full belly and full mind, he simply wandered, making note of where different types of shops were and letting both parts of him digest the meals they'd been so generously gifted.