RP:Bravado

Background

Mark was recently contacted about a potential job offer of the sort that begged for blood. The meeting was set within Cenril's walls...

Caltuna played by Thistle.

A Building Undergoing Renovation, Cenril

The Irmesch family owned much property within Cenril's wide expanse. To the north they held fashionable quarters and impressive manses, while to the center they kept businesses of wide variety. Eastward, they had not a few buildings used for the purpose of warehouses within that salty district, and even to the decrepit and grimy south they contained some holdings in various slums there. They were wealthy. They had some influence, though when it came to politics among the glittering throng of rich, fat merchants they were certainly not among the first. Nor were they among the last. No, it was among the unsavory types that the Irmesch line held the best hand, and it was for that purpose that Caltuna Irmesch waited within a minor holding in northern Cenril. The building itself had been an inn once, though it was in process of becoming a fashionable day-house where the rich and favored might host salons and other such trivial entertainments. Caltuna stood alongside a long row of scaffolding, her dress made of fine satin of an orange so dark it might be confused for umber. It belled around her, edged with lace and the outermost layer of fabric -- corseted in at ribcage and waist, let split at hips to showcase the paler layers of satin and tulle beneath -- was stiff with embroidery in a fashionable vine pattern. Her hair was coiffed, twisted up under a veiled hat so that notes of cinnamon and nutmeg brown might peek out and entice the viewer. She was a woman of Cenril's upper crust, of that there could be no doubt. Bodyguards, discreet of presence, waited in the shadowed hallway, within nooks and crannies that were still awaiting the attention of the architect completing the remodeling. They would wait another day. It was night, and the place was void of any workers whose wages weren't paid in bloodied coins.

"Ring, ring," It was the sound of bells echoed throughout the construction site, "Ring, ring." There it was again, louder, closer. Onto the scene marched a rather strange man. In the dismal setting, the stranger clad in layers of colored cloth stood out like a sore thumb. Golden bells hung down from his cap and what seemed to be prop daggers adorned with fake jewels were strapped to either hip. The costume was complete with the mask of a harlequin covering his face. The man stops suddenly and leans up against an invisible wall while he mimes placing a cigar in his mouth and lighting it up. He acts as if he puffs the nonexistent cigar once before he removes it with a hand and tosses it over his shoulder. The same hand is then brought to the brow as if to protect his eyes as he exaggerates looking about the area, turning a full circle before striking a thinking position with his index finger and thumb outlining his chin. Underneath this foolish exterior, Mark had already planned everything out, there would be no unwanted guests as no one would like to follow an annoying and possibly insane clown. Whoever contacted him would surely bring body guards as a caution in case this was a trap or perhaps this was a trap for him, but either way this costume would hopefully bring down their guard and chances were a few of the body guards would show themselves to attempt to escort him out... Now all he needed to do was wait...

Caltuna's upper body was as stiff as the hoop that kept her dress within its specific shape. It was the posture of a well-bred woman, and it did not relax an inch as her intended partner in that clandestine meeting arrived. Her expression underwent several minute changes; an individual well experienced in the art of reading micro-expressions might recognize anger, haughtiness, and finally disgust. Soon enough she had regained her air of restrained nobility as she lifted her chin and then dipped her head in a perfect greeting that bid welcome but offered none of the respect such a woman might show to a peer. She spread her fan with a practiced flick and lifted it so its severely painted panels faced the rather gaudily dressed man. "You are. . .the arranged contact, then?" Her voice might have been pleasant, if it was not for the conceit that couched her words, or the high-born accent that wrapped them. As it was, the entirety of her bearing could be boiled down to the perfect embodiment of an uptight old maid. For, indeed, an astute observer might note the lack of any jewelry that might denote marriage, even by any number of the various religious or political customs that flooded Cenril's streets and the merchant-born. She was obviously no delicate flower yet to reach majority, but the artfully applied powder upon her face would give her away as being past her prime in the realm of political marriages. She was quickly approaching a doddering middle age, which perhaps contributed to the unflattering state of her mien.

Mark canted his head briskly, first to the left, then the right. The petrified smile on the colorful mask seems to taunt the woman before him, but he continues his act, scratching his head. He turns about and takes a step, as if to leave, but quickly turns about again. All within that single moment, the man's image changes. Nothing obvious but, he suddenly seems more intimidating as his slackened posture straightened to mimic the woman's. The once lively being is now statuesque as the stare of light blue, almost luminescent, cold eyes pierce through the eyeholes and even the woman herself. Mark does nothing for awhile as if taking his time to study the woman before he returns the woman's greeting with a mere bow of the head, though his gaze remains upon the woman. "No, I'm a harlot here to offer you entertainment this evening," he replies sarcastically, his voice laced with a slight cockney accent, "Of course I'm the arranged contact."

Approval was not something that came easily to Caltuna. The gloom of a disciplinarian hung about her, and it carved lines of admonition around the edges of her lips. Still, though her lips had formed into a moue, she withheld the censure that seemed so likely to fall out of her. Such was the effect of being an old maid. Her fan lifted so its upper edge hovered in front of her nose, and she wafted faint gusts of perfumed air towards her face. Coupled with her sniff, it was a tacit insult the likes of which might be offered within the gilded parlours of the elite. "Very well," she said, the words themselves stuffed to the gills with brooding disfavor, "what have you been told?"

Mark was silent for a few moments as he brought his arms up to fold in front of his chest, "You want me to do somethin' for ya..." Mark replies nonchalantly, keeping up his disguised cockney as he observes the back of his gloved hand in feigned disinterest, "Why don' we jus' cut the small talk and get on with who the target is, what you want me to do with 'im, what information you 'ave for me, and then we discuss my pay. Sound good to you?" His voice is muffled by the ridiculous mask that covers his face, but he speaks with the stereotypical confidence of a hired sword.

The Irmesch household was one built of layers. Caltuna had not made the arrangements herself, nor had she been apprised of them until earlier that day, when the assignment to speak to Mark had been given to her. She recognized it not as some great boon to her status, but as a ploy to use her should something go wrong; she was no great scion within the family, nor was she the instrument of any great alliances. She was disposable. This was recognized as easily as it was assimilated into her own clawing desire to survive and rise in status. Caltuna had tricks of her own up her sleeves, hidden behind the easy smiles she graced her family and those of repute with. What she did not have was patience for such as Mark; she abhorred wasting time, and deplored of those who took up that time with meaningless repetition of information. Still, this she kept to herself behind her fan and the cage she made out of her face. "Zadora Kornev and Priia Kornev. I would like them to be properly terrified before you dispose of the old slattern. Of her nephew, you may allow escape, or ransom him back to his family. I care not which. Three nights hence they will be found in a carriage heading to southside from their Beloy Estate. Their guard will be light. Take them from there, and ensure you are not followed. Priia shall have a means of being magically tracked located on her person. Find it, and leave it somewhere to help obfuscate your trail. Endeaver to drop hints that their recent expansions into trading gems from their ore mines has gained them potential enemies. Am I understood thus far?" The last sentence was saccharine and falsely solicitous. It was the sort of tone that might be used on a particularly slow child.

"Uh... no." Mark promptly replied back, "Could ya repeat that? Without the patronizing tone?" He already understood these people, he's worked with them before. They were never people of action, they used their money to have others do their work, that's why he was here. Their gold would line his pocket, but not before he annoyed them or gave them a good enough scare, "See 'ere Lady, this is how things work. If we're goin' 't do business, then you speak like you're talkin' to someone who's able 't kill the rich 'n mighty and get away with it. Catch my drift?" He speaks again in his overconfident cockney accent, all the while standing completely still, even his eyes, their true color hidden under glass, refused to blink. "Anyways, 'You're understood thus far.' Now why don't we discuss my pay then?"

The fan waved gently back and forth, Caltuna's eyes visible over that painted silk. "I know nothing of the sort," she said, tone cool and unperturbed. There were many rats in Cenril, and this was the sort of thing a woman like her could expect to deal with. "What reputation have you gained yourself," she paused, flicking her fan shut and tapping it against her lips. She also looked him up and down, making it obvious what she thought of his motley, "that I should consider your payment worthy of discussion?"

Nothing at first, a few moments pass by and Mark seems like naught but a statue of a harlequin. Abruptly, a malevolent chuckle erupts from beneath mask, "Reputation?" He spits the word out as though it were the punch line to joke, "If you wanted reputation, then you ought to check out the jail or the gallows, I hear the people there are quite well-known." Finally breaking his petrified stance, Mark draws one of the prop daggers at his side to reveal that while its hilt was only for show, its blade was quite real. He begins to gradually approach the woman before him, it was just another scare tactic to open up her wallet. He was sure of two things, if the woman was actually here alone as was stated in the letter he received, then it would mean that she wasn't of much importance and she'd know it. Otherwise, if she had a few body guards around then, if things turned out for the worst, then he'd have someone to ransom. A win-win-win situation for him, though hopefully he'd be able to cut the woman down to size and get on with his work. That was the easiest and cleanest of the three possible outcomes from his actions. "Did you hear about the poor rich lady that got crushed when she accidentally fell into some scaffolding? Awful shame it was, maybe it was karma for bein' so stingy?"

Caltuna's chin lifted, and the fan was spread once more with an audible snap. A sign was given in that single movement, by a tilt of silk or the angle of her hand, and her three bodyguards slid out from their discreet positions. Only one stepped close to her side, slightly in front and with the assured grace of a trained killer. "I have not," she said. Her voice was ice. Her expression had shifted into one of cricitism, while censure lurked in her eyes. "I have some inkling that whomever contacted you surmised you to be an acceptable choice, but if that was a mistake I shall see to it the individual responsible for this farce is strung up by the thumbs." She lowered her chin eyes hard as they met his. One with exceptional eyesight might have seen the pulse jumping at her throat, or noticed the fine tremble of her hands, but in all things she had learned early how to care for what she showed others. Caltuna was a cautious woman by nature, but she had learned all too well that it was as dangerous -not- to take risks as to pursue them. "Now," her tone returned to its former state, "being as how I shudder to think of this entire ordeal as a waste of time, I will offer you a proposal. Five thousand immediately, and another ten thousand after you prove yourself with action. If by some chance you are, as you have endeavored to appear, a charlatan, I will see to it you are driven from whatever warren you go to and brought to me to use as entertainment for my dogs." She tilted her head slightly to the side, using a brief moment to regain some of the poise his threatening posture had stolen from her, "Do you agree?"

Mark makes it apparent when he feigns to ignore the woman, he audibly counts the guards as they step forward, "One, two... three? That's it?" Mark exclaims in disappointment, "Well at least I know you're worth something. Wonder how much you'd go for though? I guess if whoever you work for doesn't pay up, there's always the slave market." Mark's head swivels, turning to each body guard individually as he asks, "How much do you get paid friends? Probably not much by the looks of it, bloody rich are always stingy, right? You three sit this one out and I'll make sure you're set for life." It was another tactic of his. By ignoring the woman, he dehumanized her, but by treating the guards with greater respect, he was attempting to empower them. The rich were never known for treating their workers with respect, hopefully these henchmen could be swayed to his side temporarily just for this simple tactic of intimidation. Mark continues to look at the guards as he speaks to the woman in a show of clear disrespect, "Better idea, you give me AND you guards ten thousand right now. Once I'm finished with my job, you give me another ten thousand. As a bonus, if I find that you've been mistreatin' your men... I'll also take your head. Deal?" It was simple really, appeal to the others, use the woman as a scapegoat, profit.

It was a shame that Mark had not done much research into the Irmesch family. As it was, Caltuna could only imagine his disappointment when the guards didn't budge. As with most families of Cenril's elite, the Preklek Invasion and pirate attacks had hammered home the importance of having honorable, loyal guards to protect them. Many of their own had fallen due to abandonment by guards or betrayals. It had been a bloody time, both due to the violence itself and the keen opportunities for backstabbing and assassination provided by the chaos. While the two furthest from her were Irmesch only, the man at her side was hers. Boren. Five years her senior, and with her for ten. Should he have wished to extract money from her, he could have done so numerous times over the years; he was privy to many secrets. He was also valued. It was to him that she looked as she fluttered her fan once, then twice, and then stilled it. She was trembling, but the stiffness of her back didn't waver. She was afraid, but that was an emotion she'd become used to. Under the veneer of power, the patina of disapproval, Caltuna was a woman without much in the way of power, and she had grown up that way. Secrets were her coin, and betrayal her lifeblood. Her life was so much chattel on the board, and she had learned long ago to make sure to know where betrayal would strike from. Mark would have to offer more than something so simple as money to the men who stood alongside her. They each had at least two decades of intense training under them, and at least one with the Irmesch family. Their own families were employed within the estates and businesses run by Freyel, if they weren't junior members of Irmesch themselves. Something so complicated could not be so easily unwoven. "If you are through shaming my men, I will admit that you put on a pretty show. Eight thousand now, and, should you impress me, twelve thousand after. Otherwise it will be ten." She forced disdain into her voice; she did not want him so close. She could not afford to step back. A good assassin could strike fast, and that didn't account for any supernatural powers. Boren was a man to rival many, but that did not mean he was infallible. Caltuna forced herself to breathe slow and steady.

Mark was indeed rather disappointed when the men weren't so easily swayed and he allowed himself to show how perplexed he was as he stood in his tracks, his dagger held lazily in his hand as he canted his head from side to side, "Ring" went the many bells that hung from the tendrils of cloth that drooped down beside the man's head, "A mere eight thousand for preparation...?" Mark began shaking his head a bit more playfully, as he tapped the wooden mask that adorned his face with his index finger, clearly just another ploy to annoy the woman, correct? No, the attack came virtually undetectable, especially in the dim light of the area. It was a mere thought just as Mark tilted his head to the right one last time to assume a thinking posture. The bells rung as they did before, the attack was fast and were they perceptive enough, perhaps the three guards could see the attack materialize in the form of what might be phantasmal knives, almost invisible to the naked eye, as the sound reached them. If they were fast enough, then they would be able to dodge them. In total, there were twelve, the same as the number of bells that hung down from Mark's cap, each one poised to kill. Four for each guard, one for their necks, one for their hearts, and one on either side in case they shifted. Hopefully, the kills would be quick and then he could go on about his business.

The youngest of the guards fell, hand to his neck. It had not punctured one of the vital spots, but it had pierced through the muscle and left him bleeding profusely. Magic was part and parcel of engagements within Cenril; indeed, magical brigands and rogues often roamed the streets. Enough of their number had fallen to magical attacks that those with the wealth to see to it had seen fit to pay to enchant armaments with magical protection. All three of the men wore chain haubergons under nondescript tabards, though they'd neglected to wear coifs. Reinforced leather protected legs and arms, leaving little to risk -- aside from, of course, their unprotected heads and necks. Still, sound was not altogether magic, though it shared enough similarities that the blades born of vibration behaved as might stilettos put to chainmail and leather, finding holes and passing through but not with the intended deadly force. There was blood. Only Boren escaped completely unscathed, having thrown himself aside and pushed Caltuna back behind him. All three of them had drawn weapons, though the lad with the sliced neck was yet on one knee, his offhand pressed to his neck where blood continued to seep through. The other man was not visibly bleeding yet, though one possessing a fine sense of smell would sniff it out on the approach. Caltuna was rattled as she stared at Boren's back, having nearly tripped on her skirts. She had dropped her fan, but she made no move to pick it up. For several seconds her face showed an indecision to settle between rage and terror until she managed to regain her own mask of upper class sneer. Condescension. To herself, however, there was no disguise for her pounding heart or quickening breath -- and soon enough sweat would appear at her forehead. A few more breaths were needed to steady her voice. She could not completely disguise the tremor in it. "By attacking my men, you are attacking me. Give me a reason I should still consider you for this job -- you who seem to have no control over your base killer's instinct -- or I shall see myself quit of you and yet looking for a -proper- contractor."

Mark smirked underneath the mask, though he hadn't made the intended kills, his actions had, at least clearly shaken the woman up. "We were to meet up alone, just the two of us. Don't act like you didn't know you were endangerin' your men's lives." Mark returned to prior, calm composure. His accent remained, but the rambunctious attitude seemed to diminish into a cold emotionless tone that grasps for the spine, "Allow me to ask first whether or not you saw my attack... then remember that I know of your plans when I ask you this: between being hunted by your employers for disclosing sensitive information and myself for wasting my time... how will you find a proper contractor? Then you may pay me my ten thousand and I'll return for the other half once I'm finished." Mark wasn't going to budge on this subject, for all he cared, he had advantage here. Only one of her body guards was observed to possibly be a challenge, but he was crippled by the fact that he would have to protect the woman. In the end, victory seemed to be probable enough for him to continue the negotiations in his favor.

"Think you'll survive after this night should you allow yourself to loose your tongue? Think you to be the only of your ilk within the walls of this city? Do not choke upon your boldness." Everyone was disposable. Even Caltuna. Perhaps especially Caltuna. She never went to any illicit meetings without guards; her family knew that. What was more, it was suicidal to do thus -- even should she be presented with an assassin who did not treat his employer so cavalierly, so stupidly, there were never any guarantees. Any individual without combat training who sought out dangerous individuals without protection would be, at best, asking for death. To tell this man that she would meet him without guards -- unless he had a reason to lie to her, and he might do it for the sake of bluffing -- would mean that someone was looking to put Caltuna at a disadvantage. Perhaps they were not looking to kill her, no, but even Caltuna could yet fall. Even she had enemies. While it wasn't unheard of to turn down a guard at initial meeting, Caltuna could not help but wonder if something else was at stake in the meeting with this man. Where she otherwise would have simply turned heel and strode away, she found herself stymied. What else was there to do but salvage the situation before it turned further deadly? "Frederick," she said, edging around the side of Boren so she could make eye contact with Mark, the latest chain around her ankle. "See to it this man is paid ten thousand." It was a cruel thing to name the youngest of their number, but as it stood he was the least able to defend her at the moment. Therefore, he was the most expendable in the current situation. He pushed himself to his feet, hand and shoulder a deep crimson, and went to fetch the money she'd been cleared for first offer.

Mark scoffed at the woman's actions, calling her out on it as she sent the guard to fetch his money, "You give them a false sense of camaraderie, but in the end you'd never stick your neck out for them, though you'll gladly force them to do so for you..." With that he sheathes his knife as a show of good faith for the guard as he waits for the man to deliver him his money. The sooner he was paid, the sooner Mark could go make preparations for his contract... and the sooner he'd be rid of this woman's presence. The only thing he had to worry about at this moment was the possible backlash by the woman's guards while the money was being transferred and his payment once his contract has been fulfilled.

Caltuna chose to neglect to hear the words Mark spoke, as so many servants -- those worthy of their pay -- did. She couldn't know the thoughts of her men in that moment, but she had placed her trust in them. They had been vetted by the Irmesch family, and of all the merchants of note in Cenril, the Irmesch branch was one of the most brutal. Freyel, their present head, had long ago ceased moving in ways that might be considered noble. Profit and success was what mattered, no matter the collateral. Silence took up the space between them, together with their individual postering, as Frederick returned with a small sack. It was a noisy sack, though the noise it made was not of jingles but of heavy, almost papery thuds. The injured guard left the sack to the side of both parties, equidistant, and stepped back. Inside would be rolls of coin in increments of twenty, settled within tubes of papyrus. Caltuna had been issued more coin than that, of course, but Frederick had not brought that forward; it remained within the secure location the rest had been. Caltuna watched Mark in stony silence, having regained the majority of her stiff, severe haughtiness.

Mark 's eyes peered through the eyeholes of the harlequin mask, his cold stare remaining on the pompous woman as he carefully watched her guards out of his peripherals. He has nothing left to say, perhaps the poor souls under the woman's command would one day realize the truth in his words, but for now they were something to be wary of. As he approaches the large sack, Mark produces his own, smaller cloth bag and opens it, then holding the open end over the large bag, he scoops up the bag of coins rather easily. Amazingly, the larger bag is consumed by the smaller and is easily lifted up in one hand, "Seem like it's all there... Expect word from me once I've completed the contract..." were his last words to the woman as he cautiously backed away until he was far enough from her guards to safely run off and change out of his ridiculous outfit.