Blasts of color in the night sky and the cheers of festive crowds rang like bells at the hour of the new year, outside a slim two storied building on the water front of the Sea of Storms. Within, cloaked with the near darkness, Sylvae tugged hard at a double knot, closing it tightly, and cinching the rough, thin twine around a triplet cord. The scent of clean linen and the sweat soaked into the grain of bedsheets intermingled with the earthy aroma of the ropes. Each strand twisted to compose the twine stood out as if in broad day light. Amazing... Truly. How Light-blessed she felt as she stood and turned, catching her reflection in a finely framed mirror. Sylvae grinned to herself, flashing a row of white teeth. So suddenly did this gift come upon her. She smoothed her hair, black as the night, the neatly trimmed ends brushing her hips. It was time.. the sleepy head had songs to sing.
Songs of gold sung in the voices of terrified women howling from their backs atop white silk sheets.. set to the sultry chords ringing out from the harps of extortion. Her fingers, gloved in fine, dark gray suede, squeezed slowly together, crushing a small glass vial before a blindfolded face.
He sputtered, sniffing and spurting in shock at the assault of sulphur storming through his sinuses. His head shook from side to side in such a violent way that Sylvae burst out laughing from the darkness. His body tensed. Muscles, hidden beneath his stark white tabard, and obscured otherwise by age, suddenly leaped against his tawny bonds. The chair beneath him came up with it. Each short leap landed with a loud bang against the tile.
Sylvae chortled a bit more, 'Oh come now, piglet. Its not as bad as all that, is it?' She crossed her arms and leaned back against the opposing wall, watching the struggle. He shook his head in a final throw of defiance, like some hound rapidly wringing the neck of a chicken. This dog's only meat was a torn bit of his own stunning white cloak, wrapped doubly around his head and mouth. He fell silent, then. Grew still, though his shoulders rose and fell rhythmically with the strain of his efforts. Sylvae thoughtfully eyed him, considering how much larger a man he was than what she worked with when he was sleeping. And she was pretty tall for a girl.
She leaned in closely.. lying a cool black blade against his clean shaven cheek. His face was angular, all rugged planes and sharp ridges. She knew those eyes would be an icy blue behind the blindfold. Sylvae moved her mouth slowly next to his face, and could smell the pungent scent of anger.. betrayal.. indignation. But no fear at all. She laughed very softly against his ear.. 'I know a rich boy.. who is also a bad boy, too.' She heard him smirk.
The blade slid upwards, slicing through the blindfold. As the band of fabric fell away, he fixed her with those blue eyes... not icy. She was surprised. She was met with the blue of a summer sea. A stunning color she has never seen before. Sylvae only stared into his eyes for a long moment, trying to find a trace of that summer sea. She was met with something blazing and vicious...a primal cruelty. This was no ordinary Hand. His pale lashes widened at the sight of her golden eyes.. she heard him hiss. Those blue eyes turned harder than stone with a malignancy that, at one time, would have frightened her. But he was tied up. So she only grinned with a flash of teeth. She knew her golden tilted eyes glowing from the darkness had a menacing quality to one who was bound, hands behind back, to a chair and unable to do much more than impotently growl into the fabric stuffing his mouth. No, she hadn't made a mistake following through with this. She must stop playing with her food, however. Keep it simple.
"Alright, my dear Hand. Let us cut directly to the chase." She still leaned back with her arms crossed below her breasts, dagger idly tapping from one hand against an elbow. He stared at her so calmly.. his chin lowered slightly, like an animal being challenged from a corner with no escape. A chill tickled her spine. "You will find your locally housed funds missing. Not to worry.. I know that you are the second son of a large land holding family, and your own estates have had fruitful years.
"I also know of your penchant for whores and what..strange bed customs you favor. But worry not, for my silence comes more cheaply than you assume." She grinned amiably. With a swift and arrogant wave of her hand, she crossed the tiny room and strode behind the Hand, tapping her dagger against the crimson shepherd's crook embroidered against the fiery sun on his chest. "Granted... it will cost a bit more then the word of a battered whore with scars on her breast and backside... It has been arranged for you, piglet. Your aged father has already agreed to fund your personal cause in your time of need, and all that is required from you, is to mark your name on a few recurring bank notes. A portion of your dividends will be transferred to a.. good friend."
"What say you, good shepherd?" With that, she leaned fondly over his shoulder and sliced away the gag. Silence. Sylvae stood behind him and waited...He scarcely breathed. After several long quiet moments, the Hand lifted his gaze to lock Sylvae's eyes in her mirrored reflection.
"How did you come by those eyes, woman?" A voice to match that gaze. Hard and hateful, full of a barely tethered violence. Sylvae pretended her best indifferent smile. "Remove your mask so that I might see the face of my extortioner." He barely grinned, "And pray for such a lost lamb who has strayed so far from the Light."
Sylvae suppressed a shudder. But he was so bloody wealthy! A Hand of the Light with nocturnal habits such as his.. anyone in such a position would pay dearly to keep the information from the eyes of their brethren.. This did not smell right. His scent. Like a starved hunting beast, for all his body being tightly strapped and in such a vulnerable position. "How did I indeed, Hand.. I wonder, myself. Now, about those papers... " She knelt behind him and pushed a pen into his wide fist, calloused in all the right places to speak of frequent sword play. She held the paper while he scrawled his mark. Sylvae fought the urge to heave a sigh of relief.
He smelled of amusement mixed with something like a taut bowstring. Full of focus and energy. She left him tied there, to his chair and as she raised the window sash and threw a leg out, he spoke. Sylvae froze, straddling the sill. "You're good with knots, woman. Have you ever been tied?"
Soft laughter followed her as she slipped under the night's dark cloak in earnest. With a fortune on parchment grasped in her hand.
Last Night - A Vingette
Moderator: Builders