Legend of Ransera

"Hold it in your chest," he instructed, but Torin seemed to do just fine with his tentative inhalation. He didn't cough, which was for the best. Some argued that the violence of a cough helped the drug find its way into the nooks and crannies of the body, but this was the kid's first time and the coughing was unpleasant besides.

He laughed softly at the idea of him working at the forge while under the influence of a narcotic. If he said the same when they were entirely sober, he would warn him not to, but people said casually inane things when relaxed and so he thought nothing of it. Nor did he think much of the lad's affection. Many people did come to the Velvet Cabaret for their more primal urges, but courtesans were equally skilled at the sensual as the sexual. Not being one of them, Aurin at least understood the comparison and the contrast. That Torin sought touch and talk said a bit about him. He craved knowledge and affection; those were easily given

Aurin turned just slightly, more receptive to closeness, and observed Torin make tiny, inadvertent moves to grow closer. When Torin's head was well enough past Aurin's elbow, the joint flexed and his hand came down to rest on the apprentice's shoulder.

"The wizards of the Circle of Spells say that things that grow down there absorb some magic, but these mushrooms aren't much changed for it. The sorts of things that do absorb more magic and display magical traits... well, those are more expensive and more complex, often more dangerous, as well. People have learned quite a few herbs and compounds for altering the senses, yes. The Cabaret has a fair selection at the bar. The finer things are kept locked up. Some are so expensive Madame Lunaria doesn't even trust me with the keys..."

He chuckled a fresh exhalation of smoke, the sound akin to rocks tumbling against each other at the bottom of a stream.

"There are leaves you can chew that will have you bouncing off the walls all night. There are tisanes that will lull you into waking dreams. The world is wide and full of variety..." It almost sounded like he knew a fair amount of what lay beyond Kalzasi's ken. Perhaps he did.

Aurin didn't mind the physical closeness. He had already surmised that Torin was no threat; if anything, Aurin was the wolf guarding the lamb rather than gutting him. And the Cabaret's fixer didn't usually relax his guard enough to let someone in whether he was flirting or fucking, not that he was doing either at the moment. Torin's fingers caught faint stars across his face, and he could faintly feel each follicle of his short-cropped beard as it was petted.

A question was asked, then an answer forbidden. He just hunkered down giving the faint tug on Torin's shoulders that eventually sent his head to lolling against Aurin's chest. Perhaps he was like the courtesans, knowing how to put a person at ease. The smith's apprentice seemed almost boneless now, leaning against his own solid body while his mind went wandering.

"It belonged to me, not the Cabaret," he assured him. "I sample the wares from time to time. Either with patrons or alone. So I remember how to handle myself if I'm intoxicated. Measured risks. Knowing intimately what it feels like—it helps me talk them down if they get agitated. It helps me keep people safe."

Time stretched a bit in silence before he remembered to speak again.

"The effects don't last forever. You can have more if you feel it starting to wane. If you want to stay here, like this, longer." When Torin remembered himself and put his hands in his own lap, Aurin offered that chuckle of tumbling river rocks. "You can touch me, kid. People might talk, but it's of no moment." As for his talk of stars... "There's a cost to everything. Magic. Simplicity. Safety. Cost doesn't have to be bad, though. You just have to know what it is, who you're paying, and whether it's worth it."

His hand came up to tuck errant curls behind Torin's ear, knuckles brushing his cheek. It might have been tender. It was likely the fungus they had inhaled.

"And you have to know what other people want, what they are willing to pay, and whether it affects you in the end..."

It became crystal clear despite the haze that Torin was offering everything to maintain this closeness, a lamb offering himself to the wolf. While Aurin could be a bad man, he didn't feel so moved in the moment. Over the tawny, tousled head of hair, he caught the gaze of one of his co-workers, amused and curious. With a few faces, the pair communicated with the young smith none the wiser. There were no emergencies or threats of emergencies that required his attention. This wasn't the first time a patron had fallen asleep on him, or attempted to get into his pants, either for coin or for free.

She moved off and Torin again received his entire attention just as he began to speak to someone who wasn't there. It didn't take much skill to deduce that it was his former master—a father figure and perhaps more in the mind of an adolescent boy. He wasn't sure how to feel that he gave the lad enough of the same energy to conjure the man. They had only known each other for the length of the day, after all. So, he just rested his hand on those golden curls as he imagined the man would have done were he there.

He listened and he let the words percolate through his own altered consciousness, seeing things from a different angle than he would clean, cold, and sober, his mind cutting like a knife. Now, instead, he was more meditative, a weaver pulling various threads together into a whole pattern to see what there was to see. And then Torin was there again with him, looking him in the eye again, all unguarded. Aurin's hand fell from the lad's hair, took him by the chin. From up close, he told him what he saw.

"You want this." He wasn't trying to manipulate him, just informing him of what he saw. "You need a paternal figure who sees you, who supports you, and who loves you, because your childhood didn't feature one. It will color the choices you make when it comes to lovers, to business partners, and the like until you find what you're looking for, until you can integrate that into who you are—seen, supported, and loved."

While he held Torin's limpid gaze with his own, cloudy as the ocean's surf kicking up sand, and his chin between thumb and the curl of his finger, he let his gaze release and travel lazily over the young man's face, his hand sliding up to encompass his cheek and his jaw, fingers and palm cool compared to the close, warm air of the lounge. He knew then that he could pluck Torin like a freshly opened spring blossom. He had done it before, taking what he wanted because so much had been taken from him—or never given where it ought to have been given. The world wasn't fair, though. He had learned that early on, and had the lesson drilled into him time and again as if he could forget it.

"The courtesans here will take your coin and teach you about your body, will talk to you frankly about anything at all if that is your desire. The cost is plain. One might wish to retire as the bride or groom of an up and coming craftsman, perhaps, but I would imagine they would make that possibility known rather than tricking you. 'Tis a lifetime partnership for most." His lip curled slightly, thinking of those for whom it meant next to nothing, just another form of human bondage, but that wasn't always the case and if he was a pessimist sometimes, he tried to be more of a realist, to look at his own prejudices, to know them so he could set them aside before they polluted his clear view of the world.

"Your master ought to teach you about running a business, about dealing with customers and suppliers, apprentices and such. Sometimes one just has to know to ask. Tell the other apprentices of your night at the Velvet Cabaret... it will give you something to talk about other than work. It will help you suss out those with whom you might have some common ground to lean into, and those whose responses mark them as..." He shrugged. "Not potential friends.

"Watch what people do. Listen to what people say. Determine whether they are trustworthy... or how far they deserve trust. Learn to recognize your people, so you know when to offer a bit of yourself in exchange for a bit of them. The healthy friendships involve give and take."

Torin didn't really give him a chance to respond properly, so when the couch pulled him back into its embrace, he put his hand on his knee to forestall escape just yet. He smiled. It was less sharp. His smiles were charming, even the off-kilter ones, but they were weapons too. Not so much this one, or perhaps it was just hidden behind velvet. Villain, villain, smiling damnèd villain!

"We are still meeting to sup together, are we not?" He gave Torin's knee a gentle squeeze, not angling upward toward his crotch or anything so untoward, just giving him a bit of the physical affection he craved—for free, so to speak. "You can buy and you can pick my brain about how to behave like a person. From there, we can see whether friendship is something you'll have to pay for with coin."

He winked. It could've been comforting, or it could have been frightening depending on one's perspective. Sharp-eyed, sharp-featured, and with his warm red hair, he might very well be a fox in the wild.

"Come on. I'll walk you home. A bit of cold air will fortify me for the rest of the night." Then, turning toward a skinny man peeking into the lounge. "Oy, Alibart! You want to taste Verila's cunt, don't you?" He held up the mouthpiece of the hookah. "Come taste my sloppy seconds."

The man laughed, only too eager for the free intoxicants, whether Aurin had been eating out one of the highest-paid courtesans in the place or not. Aurin's arm slipped deftly around Torin's middle and he hoisted the both of them up.

"Heavy," he muttered, then chuckled. "Smiths are all muscle, I suppose." Then, "We'll go out the service entrance. Fewer in the way of pickpockets and thieves that way than watching those that leave the Cabaret, the Crane, and the Peacock at night. Anyway, let's go get your coat."