Baby, It's Cold Outside [Torin]

[Aurin]

3 Frost 120

The Velvet Cabaret was a different animal by night. Between the intoxicating substances and the intoxicating company, time lost some of its cohesion within its storied walls, but perhaps the bodies inside sensed what their eyes could not. Outside, gloaming gave way to night as it always did; some went home to solitude or family, while others gathered in places like this for conviviality or distraction or to scratch some other itch. And the Season of Frost had arrived, drawing many to the communal warmth and making them loath to leave, knowing their walk of shame would involve shivering and slip-sliding on ice if they weren't careful

The pungent scents of the hookah lounges gave way to the clearer air of the main hall as Aurin did his rounds. He was everyone's best friend, holding court here for a moment, asking after someone's children there for a moment. Most people were either friends or friends he hadn't met yet. Some greeted him with ill humor, but none actively disliked him. A nod here, a signal there, and various of his co-workers moved like fine clockwork to see things done, to let the good times roll like so many dice. Even when the house rolled snake eyes, the house won in the end. But, to Aurin's mind, everyone won. A bad night at cards oughtn't to beggar a person. The Cabaret didn't want to lose a customer, just keep their cash flowing into its coffers. It was an engine for Kalzasi's economy as much as its gold and green sisters on the same stretch of street, and helped citizens cope with the vagaries of life.

Everyone needed to cut loose sometimes.

"Well played!" he exclaimed, clapping a regular on the back who had just won a nice little pot with a clever bit of bluffing. He spun with a lazy grace and snatched up two flutes of sparkling wine, setting one down and holding the other out to celebrate with him. "Cheers!" A sip of the heady stuff, then, "Should I tell Madame you're playing hard and fast for her silkiest knickers tonight?"

"Is it true her cat's fur isn't the only stuff that's white?" the man asked, loosened up by the headier stuff of winning.

"Sir!" Aurin exclaimed, hand clutching imaginary pearls at his chest. "A gentleman doesn't kiss and tell." Once that settled, he leaned down and whispered something in the man's ear that made his eyes bulge and his mouth gape wide with raucous laughter. "You'll just spend it all on lap dances anyway."

With a hearty pat on the man's shoulder, Aurin moved off glancing toward the stage where a large ring was suspended from the ceiling, spinning slowly as a man and a woman wearing very little and all of that sequined to catch the light danced with each other and sang a duet. He was well and duly impressed both by their flexibility and their breath support.

[Torin Kilvin]

The 'Smith's apprentice had left the Velvet Cabaret just after full sunrise with plenty to think on during his day of freedom. In addition to general exploration and finding a good lunch, he'd had a frank conversation with the proprietors of several smoke shops and a couple of brewers. For the price of sampling their wares (though he hadn't) the men were willing to pass half an hour teaching him about their wares.

The cold hadn't been too bad while the light held, the ground didn't even seem frozen through yet and the lack of any moisture falling from the sky had made for a pleasant exploration. The daylight had not lasted though, the sun was slipping behind the multi-tiered roofs and the twilight was settling, premature even for Frost, over the streets. Unconsciously he'd stayed within an easy walking distance of the establishment where he'd started his morning. As the last ray of sun slipped beyond sight he let his feet carrying him back toward the Cabaret. The food had been good and even if it turned out more expensive than he was used to paying, it wasn't as if he had a lot of things to spend money on. Besides, while he would eat the meal it wouldn't be what he was actually paying for.

The ground crunched under his boots as he made his way to the front entrance. He was a patron this time, a different experience. There was a short line, only a few others, but it seemed to be steadily a few people long. Watching carefully he observed a pretty man, and a woman so equally pretty he thought they might be siblings, taking coats and ushering folk inside with welcomes and smiles.

Not particularly wanting to give up his coat, but also not wanting to make himself stand out he shrugged out of his outer layer when it was his turn to step inside. Something about the way the petite woman helped him made it feel like he was being gently skinned out of his clothing, even though he still had several layers between her hands and his skin. He wanted to linger and figure out what it was she'd done that had made him feel that way but she was politely gesturing him into the main room as soon as his coat was over her arm.

It wasn't as bright as it had been that morning and the intentionally lit-but-not-lit ambiance made the room seem larger than it was. The eye couldn't quite tell where it ended and where it was just shrouded in shadow. For all that it was quite crowded and the heat of the place soaked through him immediately. Activity moved around in every direction and corner, with the sounds of voices, laughter, and the rattle of dice from rooms deeper in.

The goings-on up on the stage looked to be something between a dance, a song, and public copulation. It only mildly interested him but he couldn't take his eyes off the performers for long moments just because they seemed to sparkle, both their scant costumes and their skin itself.

When he did manage to pull himself away he almost knocked into a serving woman carrying four mugs in each hand. It was due entirely to her own dexterity that they didn't end up both soaked in ale as he put up his hands and tripped back. He managed to stay on his feet but decided that he should stop being on them as soon as possible. He found a chair against one sidewall that he could scoot back against and see the whole room.

He just watched without being disturbed for several long minutes, which suited him well. Or, rather, he managed to watch without being interrupted, whether he was disturbed by what he saw or not would be something to contemplate later. It was too loud, all mixed up in a talking-singing-dancing-eating-laughing cacophony that made it hard to distinguish anything. A point driven home when the girl he'd almost knocked over showed up at his elbow, startling him because he hadn't heard her approaching. She laughed when he jumped but gave him a gentler smile when he stammered out an apology for nearly bowling her over earlier. He ordered a short beer and whatever she recommended for dinner. She took his coin and winked at him when he tipped her immediately.

It was as she gracefully slipped back into the milling crowd, now singing along loudly with a raunchy song being performed as though it were a courtly ballad, he spotted Aurin. The redhead was weaving between tables and social situations with a grace that was entirely different to that of either the serving woman, the door greeters, or the acrobats. A grin he didn't notice appeared on the boy's face. The arrival of a plate heaped high with hot food and a mug spilling over with froth did nothing to dampen his mood. So long as he could keep his back to the wall and his eyes open he wouldn't be overwhelmed by the sound for a few hours. By the time his food was gone (not very long) the singer had switched to a song he knew, and he joined in when the crowd picked up the chorus, his voice piping out sweet and higher than his frame would have spoken to. A few people gave him looks when he joined them, looks that lingered on him after the initial surprise.

One man, in particular, watched him until the song ended, an older gentleman. A gentleman was exactly what he appeared to be too, dressed very well with a set of long, excessively groomed mustaches hanging down over his mouth. His eyes did not make Torin comfortable and he was glad when the man moved off through the crowd, unaware that the man was making his way over to Aurin.

Leaning close to the tall facilitator the regular, for he was a regular, explained that he would like to arrange some time alone with 'the golden songbird in the corner'.

[Aurin]

While Aurin hadn't seen Torin come in, he had already marked his presence. He had perfected a manner whereby whenever he broke eye contact with a person—and everyone did; staring into someone else's eyes without blinking or looking away was only something people did in copper novels—his momentary glances aside strategically took in the room, never leaving a corner of it unchecked for very long. He did this even when he wasn't working, a survival skill learned long ago. As the lad had found himself a seat and some food, the fixer didn't feel compelled to immediately check upon him. He would likely want to soak up the ambiance and everything for a while before he would want to talk.

At first, he didn't know which songbird Lord Tsuyoshi meant. The man lived outside the city most of the year, but enjoyed spending his winters in the capital and his evenings in music halls and brothels. He well knew that trysts were negotiated with the Madame, but he also knew Aurin could find the woman faster and expedite matters. He was prepared to do just that when the man tried to inconspicuously indicate young Torin.

"Ah, the young runesmith," he deflected. "Alas, he is not on our menu, though I imagine Madame Lunaria would give him a job if he came calling for one." He was delicate about the matter, of course, suggesting a lad with a few similarities to Torin. The lordling was miffed, but Aurin scored him a drink and may or may not have intimated that a certain so-and-so at that table over there was drunk enough to be easy pickings at cards.

Lord Tsuyoshi didn't strike him as predatory, but he was full of himself and a lifetime of entitlements and that could be more than enough trouble for someone lowborn and honest. After a bit more schmoozing, he checked and made sure the randy gentleman was occupied at the card table before working the room in Torin's general direction. The lad seemed so enthralled by the sights that Aurin managed to rest his hands on his broad shoulders before he was even aware of Aurin's presence.

"Young man, you are out past your bedtime."

[Torin Kilvin]

When the hand landed on his shoulder every muscle in his body tensed, even his breath went still, but then he heard the words. With the sound distorting everything it was hard to tell much about the voice speaking except that it was male. Sense memory flooded through him.

He'd lost track of time.

He was twelve; the smith was letting him work on projects by himself now so long as he kept to the orders that had come in and never touched the runesmithing tools when he was alone. His master was just starting to teach him how to extract aether, it would be years more before he would be trusted alone with that task. It had been hours since the smith's wife had brought him his supper, and it lay still, forgotten, near his pallet in the corner. He had barely noticed her come in and in his mind, it had only been a little while since then. The cat that kept mice and rats out of the warmth of the forge had already come and helped itself to what of the food it wanted, then slunk away to make its rounds while the moon rose high. He was working with chisel and tongs to get a charm piece just so. The order hadn't dictated any specific decoration but an idea had come into his head and he was sure the man who'd paid for it wouldn't mind if it was more ornate, so long as it did its job.

A thick hand came down on his shoulder and he froze, old instincts trying to ready his body to take whatever blow was coming. Only, it didn't. Instead, the gruff, steady voice of the Runesmith said,

"Young man, it's past your bedtime." It wasn't a chastisement, not really. The two shared the bond of getting often caught up in their work. The boy relaxed, let himself sink back into the touch.
"Came to see why you hadn't banked down the forge yet."

The hand withdrew as the older man moved over to begin prepping the fire to smolder till morning. Torin hurried to help him, only realizing how late it must be, how tired he was, when he stood and his body ached. Murmuring soft apologies he put tools away and set everything aright for the morrow. When he was done the Runesmith did not leave immediately, but sat on the stool near the boy's pallet while the lad settled down, too tired to eat. His voice came again, a slow rumble, telling a story without any prompting. Torin fought hard to stay awake and listen but it wasn't five minutes before his lids won their fight to close and he drifted into sleep.

Torin's body relaxed back into Aurin's touch even before he looked up to see who it was. He felt a bit bad about it, but he hadn't initiated the touch, either of the times the man had done so.
"It's not so late." He answered, belatedly, "I was up later working last night." He had most of two beers in him now, which was as much as he ever drank. His body burned alcohol out fairly quickly but it still hit him harder than it did more experienced men.

"Is it always like this?" There was no amazement in his tone, he was seeking again. "Will you show me around? If you aren't busy." Aurin was probably busy, he'd looked busy since Torin had spotted him half an hour gone.

[Aurin]

"It was a joke, kid," he said, a wry smile on his mouth as his hands squeezed on those growing shoulders in a companionable sort of way. It wasn't a massage from next door at the Jade Crane, nor had it the seductive tug of the massages one could request especially from the trained courtesans. It was just what it was. Many people came here less for the intoxicants and vice than to feel connected to other people. The workers here paid attention. Even Aurin, who wasn't on the menu, had built himself up a sort of mystique here. People deferred to him. Even Madame Lunaria listened to what he had to say by now. The locals saw him as someone whose whim could improve their life, at least in the short-term.

He tried not to take it too seriously, nor too personally. Slapping those shoulders a couple of times in succession, he nodded.

"You've seen more than most, but come on. I'll give you a bit of a tour."

It would be good to get him to a different room. Out of sight, out of mind, and hopefully nothing untoward would occur with Tsuyoshi. He named the performers on the stage, not sure how much detail Torin wanted or would retain. He reminded him that the large but inobtrusive swinging doors led into the back of house areas. As they walked past tables, he indicated what game was being played. A smaller room used for private games of chance, unused at the moment. A hallway where private time happened. A muffled giggle preceded a moan from the nearest door as they passed.

The hookah lounges were smaller than the main hall, of various sizes, some occupied, though only a few had curtains drawn. The air was heavy here, incensed with various burning things. In one smaller lounge, two men lounged on pillows, passing the hookah back and forth while watching a woman with her skirts pulled up and her fingers between her thighs. The men weren't touching themselves, but their hazy eyes looked hypnotized by what they saw. The lounges weren't as loud as the main hall; the curtains muffled some of the noise, conversations overlapping into nonsense unless one had a well-trained ear and a yen to eavesdrop.

Aurin slowed, having not opened up every little room to let Torin peek inside, but the young man ought to have a relatively complete view of the place now. He idled, curious whither his attention might go.

Oh, what a rush of ripe élan
Languor on divans
Dalliant and dainty
But oh, the smell of burnt cocaine
The dolor and decay
It only makes me cranky

[Torin Kilvin]

The touch settled and soothed the apprentice more than he realized, even in the current environment. Between the affection and the alcohol, it was likely the most relaxed he'd ever been in a loud, crowded environment.

He was still steady as he came carefully to his feet, but his stance was loose. He'd had to learn quickly, as his body grew even more quickly over the last several years, that he wasn't a little thing, able to slip between people and furniture without disturbing anymore. If he jostled someone they were more likely to be bowled over and he'd knocked about or even broke more than his share of furniture growing accustomed to the new length of his limbs.

As Aurin moved and spoke he kept up with both, making note of any details and trying to memorize as much as he could. Any of the games he would have to sit down and actually learn to know, not an activity that seemed wise when money was on the table, but he would keep the names tucked away to try and learn when the stakes were smaller.

Then they were moving on, to areas he hadn't seen in his excursions into the taverns he'd explored. There were different sounds here than the toss of dice and voices raised in song. Voices could be heard in what might have been called singing but not any that might be heard on stage (he imagined). Luck had some to do with what when on here, but winning seemed more likely to lose you gold than gain it.

The smoke-filled rooms surrounded him in scent and a heady, dizzying sensation that left the boy unsure if the cause was breathing smoke or what was in the smoke. There, in the haze, he found his first sight of unabashed sensuality. Caught on the idea he stood, head slightly tilted to one side, blinking slowly, watching the watchers for a long, slow moment.

When he was finally able to pull his mind and eyes away from the display he found the older man had not moved much farther, but stood observing him. A little abashed, but much too full of what he was learning to really feel it he moved to stand closer to Aurin. Closer than he would have sober and clear-headed. There were questions burning inside his eyes, questions he couldn't push through the excited, terrified muddle of his mind to make into words.

Standing, staring deep and directly into the even height of his new friend's eyes all he could say was,

"Oh."

[Aurin]

Though Aurin could see he was overwhelmed, the youth was also less inhibited than he had been when he came knocking at the service entrance that morning. If he stood a little closer than before, it made sense: Aurin was the most familiar face in this strange and unusual mise en scène. And while these delights were tamer than some, the lad was a novice when it came to such things. More violent delights might have more violent ends, but it might all read as dangerous, undiscovered territory.

Aurin rested a hand on the lad's broad shoulder, and if his smile was faintly mocking, it was not unkind.

"My role is to ensure that what happens here is done with consent," he assured him. "You might not be perfectly safe, but safety is an illusion. You needn't venture in the dark. I'll be certain your eyes are open." He paused. "Though, you might want to consider how early your master wants you awake tomorrow morning before you begin an adventure." He paused again. "Time is fluid here."

The hand on Torin's shoulder demanded nothing, but was merely a point of contact, an anchor. Aurin had never been a country boy. The city from whence he sprung, not full-grown, though he felt a thousand years old when he finally became a man, was at least as sophisticated as this one. Innocence had been a luxury denied him. Torin stood on the brink between innocence and experience and perhaps that was why Aurin felt the tug to play psychopomp from one world to the next. His own deaths hadn't been so kind.

Kindness is cruelty, opined a ghost from his past. He ignored it.

Cruelty is a kindness. He ignored it.

"If you need some bracing fresh air," he said, "I can take you out back where you made your delivery earlier." The chill might shake the reverie of alcohol and clinging smokes. Aurin wasn't sure he believed in a contact high, but perhaps there was an element of empathy when narcotics brought down a soul's natural resistances. He didn't know this to be fact, but he thought it likely, the way one could catch a mood from someone else.

[Torin Kilvin]

Aurin was right, safety was an illusion. One might strive, plan, be wary, but control was never more than a veil against threat. Yet, this place was intended to make one feel safe, and it was working on the boy.

The offer to lead him into the darkness felt both kind and dangerous; enticing. Not that the other man was attempting to entice him, he didn't think. He tried to speak, then swallowed and tried again,
"I would like to try..." He hesitated, thinking of all the delights, bright and dark, he'd been shown. There were too many, too new and nameless to him.

"What should I try? Lead me, and I will follow." Interest pushed through the muddle of his mind, made him bold. Bold for him. He was a late bloomer by any standards but he was beginning to tentatively reach into the boldness and brashness common to that age when one reaches physical maturity before mental maturity.

Torin felt the opposite way about becoming a man to how Aurin did, though he knew nothing of it. He felt a child still, not knowing how to make the transition, or what it was supposed to feel like. Was he a man? Strangers believed so, and really, there were only strangers left. So, he behaved as a man, which didn't seem much different to how he'd behaved as a child. Maybe it was being a child that he'd never managed.

The idea made sense in the hazy way of alcohol and smoke filled thoughts. In some ways he too had been denied innocence, in others, he'd been given a double portion.

He wanted to try things, learn things, Know things. To slowly strip away his innocence in layers, shedding them like clothes before bed. Taking up too much of his companion's time when he had a job to do would not be acceptable, but if he would point the lad in the right direction (or the wrong one)... Well, at least he knew the back way out if he needed it.

"If it gets too much, I'll go." He looked down, away from their shared gaze, self-consciously wondering how long he'd been staring. He must seem so simple to this complex man. Others had thought him so, and he had no reason to disbelieve them, only the intention to do so.

[Aurin]

After a moment's consideration of the young man before him, Aurin nodded with his lop-sided grin, and led him with that hand on his shoulder to a nearby table. It was low and cradled by a crescent-shaped couch, also too low for someone's home, most like. The fixer sat first, his hand sliding down to grasp Torin by the wrist and tug him down to sit as well. He wanted the smith's apprentice to feel like he was free to flee should the need arise rather than crowd him in and make him feel claustrophobic. Aurin didn't know what the lad feared yet. And people reacted differently to the different sorts of smoke. What he had in mind was mild and negative reactions were rare, but if it gave him a touch of paranoia, Aurin would stay with him. Madame didn't want them scaring customers away, but making lifelong clients of them.

He pulled a small square of folded wax paper out from somewhere upon his person and began to deftly pack the hookah's bowl, explaining what he was doing as he did it so the lad would feel some sense of control over the situation. Knowledge was power, after all. The table and the hookah were in pristine condition; workers would make quick work of tables after clients left, and the paraphernalia were kept quite clean, especially after Aurin had reminded the Madame how sharing such things could spread illness. But as for Torin and Aurin, they would just be taking their chances with each other's health.

"This is a powdered mushroom that grows in the Warrens and some other caves around the city," he said, voice a bit sonorous, fitting the occasion. "It needn't be habit-forming. At least, your body won't grow to crave it, though your mind might grow to crave the feeling it gives... but that is much the same with alcohol, which can trick the body into actual dependency." He placed the charcoal carefully over the bowl and let his finger trace down the apparatus. "You will pull the smoke through the water and the vapor will make it easier to breathe than pure smoke. It isn't good for you, but a bit once in a while won't hurt you."

Taking up the hose, he brought the metal mouthpiece to his lips when it seemed to have had enough time to prepare. He took a long, slow draw, watching it all through the glass parts of the apparatus, and then holding the smoke and vapor in his lungs as he turned his lambent gaze upon his new protégé. After a time, he let the smoke escape, and it snaked up about his features as he continued to speak.

"Mostly, it puts one at ease, physically and emotionally. As with alcohol, it reduces inhibitions, so you will be more inclined to... let yourself be. Sometimes, the world might sparkle a bit but it doesn't truly cause hallucinations. But you might see things from a new perspective, smell things from a new perspective, or taste things from a new perspective." He offered the mouthpiece as he sprawled back into the couch, his long legs splayed around the central leg of the table, his arm along the back of the couch behind Torin.

"Try a little? There's no rush."

[Torin Kilvin]

As promised, the lad let himself be led into a little nook, a den of pleasure, now occupied by only a set of couches and a low table with an elaborate glass device in its center. Torin knew they were used for smoking, mostly based on what he'd watched that evening. He watched Aurin sit and obediently followed when prompted by a tug on his wrist.

Shy interest played out on his face and in the numerous small questions he asked while he observed the filling and lighting of the device. Not with the same flourish or confidence as his host would he have been able to repeat the process, but he would have been able to repeat it.

He asked about the powder too, the name of both the plant and the drug it produced. The only experience he had with addiction was the various drunks, his father included, he'd observed or feared through his childhood. Aurin didn't seem the type to allow such a thing to take hold of him, which put Torin at his ease. In the hubris of youth and an observant eye he had decided, without ever a conscious thought on the matter, what sort of person Aurin was.

The chance of spreading illness, through this or any other sharing of bodily fluids was not a concept the apprentice was aware of either. Like so many other things, he did not know what he did not know, and in pure ignorance could not seek to know.

Watching the smoke and vapor flow through the glass and hose attached his mind part wondered how hard it would be to make the delicate metal parts. It must be done by a jewel crafter, unless this pastime was popular enough that one could make a living making the pieces only for...

The train of thought died out as he watched white smoke pour out of Aurin in a slow, controlled flow. The scent hit him, earthy and a little sharp, like some spice he couldn't put a name to.

It took a moment for the boy to process the words being spoken. When he did he said the first thing that touched his tongue, proving that, perhaps, he was already more uninhibited than he believed.

"That sounds...nice." Being just himself without the anxiety that came from his existence sounded more than nice, it sounded freeing. Free wasn't a concept he was entirely sure he wanted to be, but the warmth coming from Aurin's body felt like a form of grounding. He had said he wanted to try, backing out now felt like cowardice.

Taking the mouthpiece he glanced between the hookah and the man briefly,

"Do I breathe it, or just hold it in my mouth?" Listening to the instructions given he tried to follow them.

Expecting heat he almost stopped pulling when the cool smoke filled his mouth with surprise. Not sure how much a dose was, but sure he wouldn't be ready for what Aurin could take, he took perhaps half as much, held it briefly, and pushed it out all in a rush. He had no illusion of being as elegant as the blade of a man beside him. He did think of Aurin that way, as a blade. Forged intentionally, flexible and strong, sharp, with much of himself concealed in a clever sheath.

All of his own senses were on alert, waiting for what would happen. When he moved a hand up to push his hair out of his eyes the air seemed, not thicker, but it felt like something. Not like wind felt, like something else. He could feel it against his skin. Running his fingers against each other they felt different too. No, not different; more. His own fingertips had distinct texture.

Leaning back slowly, so his head was lolled on Aurin's arm, he took a slow breath, listening to the air fill his lungs, feeling it flood him. He grinned, and when the breath left him it did so in an almost-laugh.

"I should forge like this." It was an incredibly awful idea, but a part of this felt like the place he fell into when he was deep in the Runeforging.

Sounds became easier. Not louder, better blended, as though the world were making a music of its own. He wasn't worried about the sounds enough to pay attention to any of them enough to distinguish. This worried him at first, but Aurin would know if there was something bad happening, right?

Pressing his cheek against the warm arm under it in a kittenish nuzzle he didn't realize he was letting himself perform, he turned to watch the red-haired man. "Are there a lot of different kinds of smoke? Do they all do different things? Is there magic in it?"

One of his hands had come up to play fingertips over his lips, muffling his last question a bit.