Legend of Ransera

For so long, Arvalyn had thought being a proper soloist at the cabaret would be the fix for his restlessness and ennui. For years it had been the goal toward which he'd striven, practising and bettering the blend of skills required to engage a roomful of people in varying states of intoxication. With a bit of help and a lot of work, his dream had been realised and for a few weeks it was as euphoric as he'd expected. But the golden boy was young enough not to anticipate that euphoria was ephemeral, and surmounting one hill wasn't going to be a panacea for the vexations that haunted him. Today, several months after his long-awaited debut, he was faced aggressively with that fact.

"I'm tired, Hannik..." Arvalyn sighed, keeping his gaze fixed on the vessel of wine he was cupping between his hands on the bar. An older, larger human was invading the ostensible Hytori's space, but he was doing his best to ignore the stench of boozy breath falling like a hot mist against the side of his neck. "I purposely didn't make any appointments for tonight. I've been on my feet all day."

"Then let me have you on your back, yeah?" Hannik chortled, his hot breath leaving goosepimples where it fell and a shudder traversed Arry's slender figure.

"No, Hannik. I have plans." He drew the cup to his lips and downed the remaining wine, slamming it down on the bar and rising from his seat.

"Gah, let me buy you another one, lad. You know I haven't been able to get you out of me 'ead since you graced me with your tender attentions. All I want is another wee taste. I promise, I won't take long..."

"Good eventide, Hannik." Arry said firmly, locking eyes to glare for a moment at Hannik, before making his way toward the side door and brushing past an altercation between a drunken Rathari patron and the VC's security. Otherwise engaged as they were, they didn't take note of Hannik's fixed pursuit of Arvalyn as the elf slipped out into the evening.

"Oi!" Hannik's voice didn't turn Arry around, but the firm grip of the disgruntled human did as he pushed him against the wall and held him steady there. "I've asked nicely again and again, but you're being a little tease, aren't you, elf?"

"I've been very clear with you, Hannik." Arvalyn articulated through clenched teeth, "Unhand me."

It seemed that Areya was on loan today. Several of the usual bouncers for a place called the Velvet Cabaret had been come down with a terrible case of the shits. Seems they all went out for breakfast at a less than desirable stall together, and the food was tainted. It seemed a woman known as the Madame called in a favor with a Sky Guard or two and strings were pulled until a few Dead Legionnaires were summoned to serve as bouncers. It wasn't a typical job, but one did not shirk on a favor owed to the Madame.

Areya bathed and was given a cleaner, nicer set of clothes than what she had down below, sternly told to return them when the job was done. And she went with the handful of fellow Legionnaires to their one night gig at the Velvet Cabaret. She'd never been before, and hadn't heard anything of it, but she amazed at both the size and beauty of the building. They were all escorted in and the Madame informed them of all the rules and how she expected them to be enforced.

So, given their posting assignments, Areya found herself watching the Main Hall. She picked a dark, quiet spot, to silently observe from. As the night wore on, and the patrons got drunker, a few minor moments were to be had, but she'd not yet needed to get involved. Her gaze was cast to the bar when one of the workers slammed his cup down just a bit louder than one might expect. In the cacophony in here, no one else seemed to notice, but Areya's experience in the darkness of the Warrens was to focus heavily on unusual sounds or those that stand out.

She watched as the elf stood up, and saw how the other man near to him seemed intent on gluing himself to him. She could see the agitation in the elf's eyes. She saw the way he glared at the pushy patron. She watched as the elf made way for a side door, and Areya was already moving for another exit nearby. She had seen the look in the patron's eyes, and knew it. He was hunting, and his quarry had just isolated himself, likely thinking himself safe.

It was a basic survival mistake, one that you learned quickly down below or you end up dead, or worse. Areya was outside now, stopped at the corner, looking down the building, seeing that the human had the elf pushed up against the wall. Areya was already crouched and moving, sticking hard to the shadows cast by the railings above, though it seemed the human had no awareness of his surroundings.

Areya wished she had her weapons, but that wasn't allowed for this job. She'd have to make do. Creeping up behind the creep, she stood at her tall Dratori height, a few inches taller than the human. She brought one hand up and grabbed the human by an ear, pulling hard on it, while simultaneously kicked at the back of the man's knee. A pained yelp escaped his lips as he dropped to one knee. Areya continued to pull on his ear, turning the man's head so that he could look up to see both her face and that of the other elf.

"I will tear this off. It is much easier than you'd think. You will apologize to him, and then you're leaving. The Madame will not be pleased."

For added emphasis she tugged a bit hard, and the man screamed as just the tiniest bit of flesh at the join ripped, a sound he'd not ever be able to unhear. "I'm waiting." The man, grimacing, screamed out, "I'm sorry!" Areya tugged again, "I'm sorry! It won't happen again!"

A snarl crossed Areya's face, and her arm jerked. But the jerk was actually her stopping herself, as instinct nearly had her ripping his ear off. She let go of his ear, still glaring down at him, "Kiss is boots, leave your coin, and leave." The pained man was crying now, sobbing as he pressed his lips against Arvalyn's shoes. His shaking hands grabbed his coin purse, dropping it on the stones, and with a whimper, dashed off, wiping his face on his sleeve. Areya watched him dash out the front entrance and disappear into the night.

She then bent down, picking up the coin purse, holding it out for Arvalyn, "For your damages. Are you okay? Are you hurt?" There wasn't any caring or compassion in her asking, but rather a cold, professional tone.

Something in Arvalyn's golden glare sharpened, as heat began to emanate from the mark under one of his wrist cuffs. The face inches from his began to blur, not just from the proximity, but also from the tendrils that seemed to sprout forth from his flesh in the Hytori's arcane, augmented vision.

"I said..." Arvalyn's whisper resonated in Hannik's mind more than his ears, as the youth parted his lips to repeat his command. Before the words were uttered, the performer started as he noticed a figure emerging from behind the aggressor and promptly overpowering him. The translucent tendrils of light that had been visible to his gold-hued eyes moments earlier, receded and the clarity of focus returned to regard the cringing face of the older human as he dropped to his knee in pain.

His expression softened from grim intent to boyish innocence in a trice, and he knitted his brow and shifted his weight from the wall against which he'd been pressed, and sidestepped to allow the engagement a wider berth. He appraised the sight of the tall figure who seemed to have come to his rescue, based on the words that followed her initial salvo against Hannik. He didn't recognise this person, beyond having taken note of her presence lurking inside earlier in the evening. He hadn't been informed of any substitute security people supplanting those afflicted with flux, and so he wondered whether her heroism was borne of genuine altruism or whether she was seeking some manner of reward.

He smiled slightly at the bit of flair she displayed in forcing Hannik to kiss his boots. His gaze followed the pitiful figure as he made his best approximation of a sprint out of the alleyway.

"I like your style." Arry noted, "Though he's something of a fetishist, so he might have enjoyed the boot kissing..." He accepted the purse and glanced down, "I'm fine... Thanks to you." He bit his lip and held the pouch out to her,

"But surely you're more deserving of reward than I. You did all the work, whilst I just played the damsel." He tilted his head, "My name is Arvalyn, incidentally." He said in common that didn't sound the least bit common, but dripped with a level of poshness that didn't seem to suit his state of employment.

Areya listened to the man speak, and and there was a moment of surprised confusion plain upon her face when she was told that the man may have enjoyed the boot kissing. It might show her naivety into the carnal world. She was not only completely devoid of any and all experience in such things, but she also never partook in the discussion of them. Why would anyone enjoy kissing boots? What did 'fetishist' mean? Such things were far beyond her comprehension.

But the moment passed and she recovered, putting her professional face back on. She took the coins, knowing she wouldn't be allowed to keep them at the end of the job. She'd give them to the Madame later when she reported in. For now, she slipped them into a pocket. The man had a strange way of speaking, it reminded her of a theater performance her mom had taken her to once.

Her face was not capable of hiding any of her emotions, first the softest smile of reminiscing upon a good memory, followed by the sadness and self disappointment of having been taken from her mom to join the Dead Legion, and all of the consequences that may have followed for her mother.

Returning back to her professional role, she nodded, "Good that you are unhurt, Arvalyn. What is that man's name? Has he done this, or worse, to you before now?" Then she remembered that the Madame had said the utmost politeness was to be given to customers not causing problems and to staff, so for a brief moment, the woman was a glimmer of who she was, the shopkeeper's assistant, from before she was incarcerated.

A soft smile crossed her face, "I've forgotten my manners. I am sorry. My name is Rey," the name she'd begun using now that she was allowed to be topside occasionally. "It is a pleasure to meet you, Arvalyn, though I hope it would've been under better circumstances. What was that word you used before, 'fetishist'? I've not heard it before."

"Hannik." Arvalyn replied with a roll of golden eyes, "Never caught his surname." The Elf might have seemed rather cavalier for someone who'd just been physically overpowered in an alleyway. There was an ease about him as he leaned his back on the wall against which he'd been pushed moments earlier.

"He's always been a bit of a nuisance. I took him for a client a few months ago, and found the experience altogether unpleasant. I was gently dissuasive of further encounters at first, but when he failed to take the hint, I had to put my foot down more clearly. He's been increasingly aggressive ever since, but that's the first time he's waxed violent..." Arvalyn trailed off, and lifted a hand to shake his fingers through his hair.

"Well met, Rey." He smirked at the question and glanced down, "A fetishist is a person who derives sexual pleasure from something unconventional. It might be sniffing armpits, being tied up..." He gestured off in the direction Hannik had fled, "Licking boots... There's really no end to the options." His eyes darted back up to meet Rey's.

"I must seem terribly crass for broaching something like that within moments of meeting you, but..." He glanced over his shoulder toward the door into the cabaret, "One grows blithe about such things working here. It doesn't do to be precious or prudish in these environs." He shook his head,

"Anyway. What brought you into the Velvet Cabaret today? Just looking to exercise some vigilantism, or did you take in a show?" If she'd been around about an hour earlier, she'd have seen Arvalyn on stage performing in a sensual group dance number set to an exotic melody. He'd since doffed as much of the make-up as he could with naught but ten minutes and a wash basin, and he'd changed into a more substantial ensemble, so she might not have even recognised that he was the same person. There was a bit of telltale body glitter visible about his sternum, now framed by the deep V of his tunic, but otherwise he looked far more modest than he had on stage.

Areya made sure to keep that name in mind for her report. She found herself surprised at how at ease this man was being. Was it because he was attacked so often? That calm had been instilled into her down below. A would be rapist up here in the softer land was nothing compared to a horde of Shins. After Arvalyn finished his tale about Hannik, Areya's face twisted into a snarl, "I should've taken the ear. And then some."

Then she was immediately caught off guard at the descriptions given for a fetishist. Her eyes grew wide and face paled. She didn't even know the conventions to understand the unconventional. And a bit louder than she, or anyone around a cabaret might appreciate, "People pay to sniff armpits?!" Realizing her position and mistake, she switched to a hushed whisper, leaning closer, "Why would anyone enjoy that?" It hadn't even occurred to her that it might, or might not be, sexual in nature. She was just shocked at that. She knew what she normally smelled like being down in the Warrens and wouldn't willingly inflict that on someone, even if they wanted it.

Composing herself more, "I am on loan, myself and others. It seems several of the bouncers are ill, and favors were owed. So we were brought in." And for the first time since her incarceration, she realized that she wasn't in uniform and that her station as a criminal conscript wasn't obvious. So she withheld that information, wanting to, for once, be seen as something other than someone on death row. "So I am here, same as you, for work."

She had seen the performance, but had no idea the man she was talking to had been one of the performances. "I didn't see much of the show. My job is to keep you all safe, and to do that, I have to watch the customers, and not the show." What she had seen was pleasant though, if not a bit lost on her. Dance was never a world she'd dabbled in, either as a dancer or audience member. But she could appreciate the athleticism at play in it. Since having gone down below, she'd started to appreciate things that were practical but weren't necessarily obvious in it. She'd seen so many types come to the Dead Legion to form thoughts, things like how there was no such thing as a weak baker or that dancers were quick to learning how to walk silently.

"So Arvalyn, what do you do here? This is my first time here."

"You might as well have taken an ear or two off Hannik. He obviously isn't too keen on using them to listen, else he'd have left me alone weeks ago..." Arvalyn posited, rolling his eyes at the thought of the blustering brute.

Rey's response to his attempt at defining 'fetishist' elicited Arvalyn to suppress a chuckle. A smile forced its way onto his lips, but he had the wherewithal to keep it from evolving into anything further that might be taken for being unkind.

"Oh, you'd be surprised what people fancy when the candles get snuffed out." He offered with a good-natured shake of his blond head. "Actually, come to think of it, candle wax does come into play on occasion, but..." He shrugged one shoulder, "Anyway, when it comes to blokes getting their jollies there's all manner of different strokes." He winced slightly, "No pun intended."

The Elf nodded thoughtfully as the tall woman explained her reasons for being at the cabaret,

"Ah yes." He nodded, "I thought last night's stew smelled a bit off, so I had a bite down the pub instead of partaking of the staff meal. Seems I made a cogent choice." Arvalyn regarded the Dratori almost appraisingly, now, as he continued,

"And you seem to be doing a bang-up job as a substitute bouncer. I'll be sure to put in a good word with Lunaria, if you're keen to work here more often. She's quite protective of the staff, so she'll doubtless appreciate your efforts in this alley." He scratched his neck,

"I'm a performer here. I was in the show you didn't see much of, and I do... Well, the private sort of performances, as well, but I'm trying to quit that bit. That's why I'm so knowledgeable about kinks and that." He paused and blinked, "Oh! Kink is another word for fetish. And, um... what is it you do when you're not filling in for infirm bouncers?"

Areya was clearly confused by much of what her companion was saying. Hot wax? Arm pit sniffing? She certainly didn't catch the pun Arvalyn hadn't intended. She blinked the majority of the shock off her face, as he made his offer to her. "That's very kind of you. Thank you. I might not have much availability for a while, but maybe when I do. It is very nice here, after all." Maybe she could have a job if she managed to survive being a Legionnaire. She had been worrying a lot lately what life after the Warrens might look like, and she had only managed to draw grim conclusions.

Then he asked the question she'd been actively avoiding. She was no trained actor, performer, nor liar and it showed upon her face. She sighed. She wanted to be less than truthful. She was ashamed of her predicament. She didn't want to always be viewed as just another dead woman walking, or another criminal deserving the death sentence. Looking Arvalyn in the eyes, "I'm a conscript in the Dead Legion. One of the commanders owed a favor it seemed." She rolled up her sleeves to show the magically imbued bracers that indicated her enslavement.

Feeling particularly vulnerable now, she just wished to return to her duties. It was in how she held one arm across her body, shifted slightly back and forth from one foot to the other, and how her eyes began to look for an exit.

"You've been very pleasant, Arvalyn. Thank you. I should probably get back to work though."

Areya nodded and moved quickly toward the door that Arvalyn had come out of, and dipped back inside, her chest tightening as she strode quickly over to the spot she'd been posted for the evening. She tucked her hands behind the small of her back, and returned to watching the room. Why had she spoken the truth to this man? Why wasn't she protecting herself? Why wasn't she trying to lay the foundation of some future once she was out?

Because having friends in the Deeps got you killed, and part of her wanted to have Arvalyn as a friend. And so, the stoic mask of the conscript returned, and she watched as people had their fun and freedom, cavorting with one another, none noting her anymore than they did the wallpaper.

"You think?" Arvalyn wrinkled his nose and glanced back at the Velvet Cabaret appraisingly. Had it been so long ago that he'd arrived as a wayward refugee and thought this was the most glamorous place imaginable?

"I suppose I used to think that, too..." He paused, before clarifying, "...that it was so nice here." But he had secrets of his own upon which he didn't wish to elaborate, and so he just shook his head and returned his attention to the woman before him as she made what was, for her, a grave confession. He blinked.

"Oh." He said, looking into her eyes- searching for some indication as to what being a conscript in the Dead Legion might mean. Arry had heard of the Dead Legion, sure, but only in passing. He had no idea how its soldiers were conscripted, nor what connotations he ought to derive from her declaration. He looked down to the bracers and, instinctively, glanced to the gold, metallic braces he worse on his own wrists. They were meant to look fashionable, but their true purpose was a matter of concealment. He sensed Areya's mood shift, and tilted his head as she made her excuses.

"Oh. Right, of course. You've got to be seen on the floor to get paid, haven't you?" He followed her through the door back into the cabaret, and made his way over to the bar, where he remained for a few minutes chatting to a few bystanders. By and by, a cup of wine was delivered to him, and he ducked away from the bar to take a seat at a table near where Areya stood.

"I would've gotten you one, but they don't like the staff drinking on the job unless it's the courtesans behind closed doors and even then in moderation." He explained, "So you'll just have to settle for my company, unless you're very sly, in which case you can steal sips from my cup." He noted with a sweetly devilish grin.

And just like that, Arvalyn was back at her side.

Her eyes passed coldly across him, noting the wine he held and jested about, before returning to the floor. There wasn't much going on other than people lounging in one another's laps, talking, and drinks and coin moving back and forth around the luxurious room. But Arvalyn's small act of kindness cracked something in her, and the façade she had tried to wear was fading and fading fast.

It had been so long since anyone had been kind to her. It had been so long since she'd allowed anyone to be kind to her. This humorous philanderer of deviants had absolutely shattered her defenses with only a few words and his pleasant demeanor. And if he'd been watching closely, he'd see the silent stream of tears running down her face, before her sleeve caught them.

"I've not had anything other than stale water in a year."

A small, girlish smile crept on her face, one reminiscent of her life before becoming a Legionnaire. Back when she was a young, innocent woman barely into her youthful prime, preparing herself to get out into the world. "Well, my bracers only prevent me from assaulting people... so perhaps a little bit of theft wouldn't be so bad."

Her eyes scanned the room, not so much concerned about the eyes of the staff, who were all rather entranced in their various partners, but rather those of her fellow Legionnaires. That's when she realized one of them was missing. That was strange. Where had Olfa gone off to? Villia and Garan were still there, eyes now drawn to the performers coming on stage. This seemed to be more of a theatrical playlet instead of a dance number. And while her companions were engrossed in the extremely scantily clad performers, she reached down, nimbly grabbing the stem of the wine, and tossed it back. She meant to take only a little, but in her haste to be more stealthy, she took nearly half the goblet, and swallowed it down, gasping in relief and joy at the taste, before setting it back down.

"I'll be sure to report the theft of your drink at my end of shift meeting."

She giggled a bit at her joke, "Thank you, Arvalyn. You're far too kind to someone like me." She looked down at him where he was seated, smiling still, before casting her gaze back up. Then she asked more bluntly, "So what exactly happens behind closed doors with a courtesan? I certainly hope more than arm pit sniffing."

Areya snorted a little, if she kept up these jokes, they might ask her to perform on stage.