RP:Enjoys: Long Walks on the Beach and Devising Dirty Deeds

Part of the Seven Dwarves All Around Me Arc

This is a Rogue's Guild RP.

Previous scene: Under the Veil of Dust and Sand

Summary: A pair of criminals return to familiar hunting grounds and start to set in motion an insidious scheme.

The Jolly Roger

Through the haze that drifts along the wharf, a nefarious warehouse calls with a symphony of boozed conversation, rough banter, plucked strings and laughter which pours from red and black painted metal doors that brand their caution. They open to an impressive and occasionally wild scene; a spacious room framed by steel rafters, furnished with dark redwood, adorned with soft, black leather, and illuminated by chained, brass lanterns that hang at different lengths from above. Following the theme of it's name, the Jolly Roger is decorated from floor to ceiling with ship shrouds and worn sails, colors of defeat and past fleet, including a salvaged flag bearing the Captain's Skull n' Crossed-Swords. The walls display a collage of art and ability: symbols from all cultures, races, and walks of life; expressions of individual identities. The far back corner reveals this establishment to be a tattoo shop. A closed off section near stacked crates of inventory and an iron constructed weight lifting apparatus is set up for customer and artist to escape the fray and tend to the steam or puncture ink process. Each of those stations are customized to the artist's personality, but all are equipped with mechanized, reclining chairs, every drawer stocked with medical supplies, sharpened instruments and parchment. Often, the most populated corner of this shop is the 'waiting area' at an immediate right of the entrance, where the bar is located, with the savory aroma of the day's cuisine sometimes wafting alluringly from the small kitchen behind it. There, might be found three dark wood tables topped with kerosene lamps (each surrounded by four spade-marked chairs), with a few storage box-benches and one large leather couch available for seating. To the left is a recently built stage with an odd assortment of instruments, including a combination of drum heads and symbols that appear to be bolted together in a seven piece kit. Not far away, patrons attend to a game of 'darts' played with throwing knives, that specific wall structured with two boards that depict higher value for the smaller, inner most rings. At the center of all this is an island of shelves and work surfaces, organized with bottles of anesthetic and alcohol, vials of various inks, spikes of different metals, foreign tools and the occasional blood-stained cloth.

Leoxander wasn’t used to such means of travel, and as painless as it might be, it still took some breath from him as he found footing on the familiar hardwood floor. It, along with everything else in the warehouse turned shop, was covered with a fine layer of dust and gave the scent of abandonment that the magic palace they’d traveled from did not. Black scorched kerosine lanterns were dark, and only a few small, high windows near the ceiling would have given light, were it not still night. So while Eleanor might have to rely on any magical energy she had left to see immediately, the lycanthrope returned to human form still possessed his nocturnal vision. He released her arm with a low spoken. “Gimme a second…” Not only to make a path for the bar but to take the time to listen, scent, search in case any thing or any damned witch happened to be present for an ambush - it wouldn’t be the first time Leo had dealt with that. Rynvale was no longer the busy hotspot for criminal action it had once been (perhaps time to remedy that), and the pair were alone in the ghosted pub, which would come to life in her eyes after moments of creaking floorboards, a rattle of sticks and a strike of a match. His silhouette bounced across the wall near the cellar doors as he adjusted the wick fueled flame brighter, replaced the glass cover and set it down on the bar. Their surroundings revealed chairs stacked upside on the three tables, one or two of which were broken and stacked up against a wall, along with a stool that hadn’t survived his anger. The stage was empty and the shelves bare but for a few glasses, mugs, and gods willing, a bottle or two. He’d already cleaned up the glass that hadn’t survived his pent up rage, a long time ago, and it had been a good while since he’d dared to take in that scene again for fear of haunting memories. Even in that flickering light, the tension in his recently shaved jaw was visible, eyes reflecting their bestial glow as he let his gaze slowly drift about the large room and take it all in.

Eleanor would readily have sacrificed the magic needed to cast the spell a second time, had she needed to. Luckily for both of them, this particular spell had been cast many dozens of moons before and only required activation, which, despite the theatrics, took very little of her arcane reserves. Perhaps another reason it had gone off without a hitch, despite the latent curse coursing through the spellrogue and the hexed holy trees from whose power she stole however indirectly. When Leo's hand moved from her shoulder to capture her own, she found herself caught off-guard, and she wished she'd removed /both/ gloves for that spark of contact. Not that it was necessary — almost like an electrical current streaking up her arm, she felt the connection and something /more/. For the span of a heartbeat, the woman was certain she could feel every vein in his hand. Still, as quickly as the sensation surged through her, it was replaced by a familiar vibration and a ringing in her ears. Without a word or wince, Eleanor returned the iron band around her temples and followed Leo into the warehouse. The door closed behind them with a resounding click, and she didn't need to glance behind her to see it resembled nothing of the castle they had left behind. As the artificial lights of the castle left them behind and the buzzing in her head slowly faded, she was met with murky darkness. She may not possess any magical or preternatural dark-vision, but she was nevertheless more than comfortable in the swathes of shadow that loomed in the JR. Before he brought illumination to their surroundings, the gem in her brow strived to capture the dimmest flicker. As the flame of the lantern burned brighter, so did her gem, and the spellrogue selfconsciously shook her head, as if the gesture could dismiss whatever rampant thoughts stumbled around up there. Drawing in a breath to compose herself, she moved further into the warehouse, approaching the bar and making herself at home as she sought out something to slake the thirst their desert affair had inspired. "Och, guid." It was as much to herself as to Leo, and abandoning the idea of looking for a glass, she eagerly began to pull at the cap, sidling alongside the pirate. She didn't bother trying to read the label, only pushed it, now open, in front of her partner with clear intent as she moved to pull her glove back on. Sure, she'd brought him here; even threatened to leave him here at some point. But now that they were here, it made their situation feel a bit more … real. The spellrogue wasn't entirely sure what she thought about that and chalked it up to nerves. They'd never gotten this far, not in … years. Once the glove was back on, El's next task was finding a gods-damned cigarette hiding in one of her pockets while trying not to peek at the wolf through her gilt lashes.

Leoxander turned his attention back to the spellrogue, once he’d taken in as much as he wanted to, or could take, of his old stomping grounds. Again, that span of silence gave away his own uneasy emotion, but whatever trace of it was in his eyes was washed out when he looked at Eleanor and that cryptic green and copper lens reflected right at her. It disappeared in the darkness as she distracted him with the bottle, and astonishingly, the pirate hesitated. Old habits die hard, and it was almost natural that his brain was begging for that familiar sting of liquor, but his body wasn’t craving it, depending upon it, not after so many months without a drink. Still, given the situation and the phantom of memories surrounding him within those walls, he gave in after moments and took a long drink from the bottle she’d opened between them. His reaction was a strange one, at least for Leoxander. His eyes wincing as he swallowed, head turning as he placed the vessel down hard in front of her, throat rolling to take down and suffer a burn more potent than he remembered it to be. A low cough was followed by a gruff whisper under his breath, “Godsdamn…” His palm landed on the match box and he took one from it before sliding it across the counter to her, suspecting what she was in search for, even though he was aware her magic could perform the same task with ease. Moving to the nearest table to light a second lamp, it dissipated some of the dancing shadows, and he placed it on the opposite end of the counter before moving on to one of the storage box benches as dust covered as the couch beside it. Shedding that pink shirt on the way and tossing it bitterly aside to the floor, he was soon retrieving what seemed to be a filled black duffle bag and a familiar black jacket, letting the lid dropped closed on the bench with flecks of dust and a bit of wolf hair billowing on the impact. The sound of a zipper split across the quiet atmosphere and he began to rummage through it for more appropriate rogue attire. “Gonna need to borrow Lita’s shower. I ain’t got one, here.” More breaking and entering, most likely, but if she was home, ‘Ace’ wouldn’t care. Standing up straighter with a arch and crack of his spine, he looked back her way. “You need anythin’?” She’d look ridiculous in his clothes, but that desert attire didn’t suit her, either.

Eleanor found the tin and flicked it open to reveal her hand-rolled herbal sticks, but she didn't immediately reach in to pluck one out. Her narrowing gaze was stuck instead on the at-first-untouched drink she'd placed in front of Leo, drawing tiny wrinkles around the edges of her expression. Of course, those wrinkles smoothed out as her facade softened a degree, weathered understanding in her equally clear eyes. Old habits did die hard, and even as her fingers pinched the end of a cig, its herbal scent ever-enticing, she tapped the end a few times against the case first, caught in indecision. It was so easy to fall into the routine of what she might have done before, and her lips curled into a wry half-smile in the half-light. A hint of wistfulness filtered through her expression at that moment, too, but she pushed it aside with fervor, drawing the cigarette to her lips and taking the matchbook from Leo with a purposeful brush of her fingertips. Striking the match with a dexterity that hinted at maybe more matches being struck than blue sparks these days, she left the box and her tin on the bar and let her gaze follow the wolf in pensive silence. Drawing the smoke into her lungs hard enough to make her cheeks dimple, the cherry crackled aglow, and with as much bated breath as they'd held in each other's company for months now, she left it there until it burned, deep in her chest. She was still trying to hold it in, ruminating on words recently shared, when Leo turned back to her, and she coughed out a plume of smoke. "Och, aye," she choked out, edging a gaze sidelong at the wolf. "A proper shower woods help us baith." A long, cold shower to rinse off the grime of the desert and wayward secrets in sandy shadows. She finally took a swig from the bottle, masking a grimace behind a wipe of her chin, before chancing another drag. On her exhale, she added with a sly lift of her brows, "They dornt usually lit in just any auld hobos aff th' causey."

Leoxander scoffed at the last of her words as he repacked the bag with essentials, some clip of steel against steel suggesting a few weapons would be stuffed in with the rest, along with the concealing leather holster that would actually fit his middle and not drag his hips on the tightest notch, now. “Clearly you ain’t been back here in a while, Fox.” Whether it was a slip of her old nickname or just a pet name that fell from his lips, it did pause him for a skip of a beat. Rezipping the satchel pack, he shouldered it for the walk back to her, dropping it on one of the surviving stools before he reached to steal the smoke from either her lips or her digits, rather than grab a fresh one of his own. He could already feel that single pull of… well it was probably something top shelf depending on where she’d found it, but it was still burning in his gut and relaxing his words and tension a bit. A drag taken from that rolled herb and the familiar taste rolled over his tongue, lips parting to make that waterfall of smoke visible as he drew it into his lungs and offered it back. “Not much -but- bums here, since Larket’s highfalutin’ crowds moved in and Cenril’s finest decided to give a damn. Doesn’t mean there ain’t opportunity to be had.” He risked another drink - that familiar feeling of draining anxiety calling him back like a Siren’s song. This one he managed to swallow in a more disciplined manner and wiped his own chin with the heel of his thumb. “You ready, then? Or need a rest?” They had been up a whole day and night - maybe longer. The last moon to sun and back again was starting to seem like a blur, a rush of sand caught in the wind in a spiral, like the so many he’d seen tracking her.

Eleanor clucked her tongue against the roof of her mouth, the ghost of her smirk blossoming into a full-blown haunt of her half-shadowed features. She pressed her tongue against the top therein, debating on letting spill to Leo just how frequently she'd dropped by the JR over the years, hoping to find him here. Something told her he probably already knew, no matter what ruse of the senses she might have played, just as much as he knew it had, indeed, been several months at the very least. And her grasp of the sociopolitical climes was slipping, as focused as she'd been on hunting down the hag. She bit her lip and let the past go unmentioned, fixing on the present and near future. "Aye," she conceded with a quiet but canny cant to her chin. "True, but whaur we're gonnae, we'll want tae try tae blend in a wee better, at leest." Another intake of her cigarette later, and she exhaled through her nose, chewing on her next words carefully before adding, "Troost me oan thes." Beat. "It willnae be yer usual Rynvalian … ceilidh." The sly spellrogue knew the word would very likely be lost on him and had to temper a smirk, trusting that he would soon understand. Drawing up closer to Leo, she risked swiping the bottle back, tipping back a swallow and chasing it with another hint of smoke, this one shorter than her previous ones. After that, she held the cigarette up in case the wolf wanted another walk down memory lane. It was her turn to scoff, the sound little more than a smoky breath shared between them. "Dae Ah swatch loch Ah need a rest?" Truth be told, she often did, but there was also subtle energy underneath the surface, flecks of it hidden in her sea glass stare and gemmed brow.

Leoxander didn’t always understand her words, but he had a pretty thorough education on her tone, and he could only assume that he had a harsher word for her ‘sophisticated’ one. Rather than rob her of the last of that receding smoke with his fingers, he rested inked arms on the bar caddy corner to her position, and let her hold it as he tilted his head appropriately to find the taste of her lips on it and take another drag, shorter this time, so she had enough to satisfy. The combination, limited as it was, it had loosened him up, already. “Spades it is, then. Hope she mind some dirt.” His exhale came with his words as he righted up and pulled his satchel on shoulder, again. The private estate she now claimed had been repaired by Leoxander’s hands, so finding a way in wouldn’t be a problem, locked or not. It would be explaining their appearance if she happened to be home that might be complicated.

Eleanor angled her wrist and tilted up the cigarette to allow for Leo's consumption. Meanwhile, her gaze was good and settled on him, working through the cleanly shaved features just as thoroughly as she had his hirsute mask earlier that night. She would not be able to tell him which look she preferred on him so long as that look was /here/ and /now/. There was a faint glossiness to her stare, perhaps affected by the herb or the short swigs of alcohol, which she eventually finished off in turn; of course, it could just as easily been recent use of her magic, or something more. "Guid." The rogue dipped her chin in a nod and for a moment, considered recalling the shadow-laced disguise to shroud at least one of them from curious late-night eyes. In the end, El decided against it, choosing instead to pull the tawny hood up over her tousled curls and sidled up alongside the pirate with a crooked smile. "Leid th' way," she began, mischief coiling around her accented words. "Hound."

Leoxander wasn’t certain if Eleanor remembered his sacred rule. He only really shaved when he was going into some sort of battle. He was nearly ready, save a few other necessities they would find at the villa now claimed by his/their long time acquaintance. “Bring the bottle.” He instructed as he adjusted the shoulder strap of his satchel and lead the way to the door. Gentleman than he was (permission to laugh, here), he opened the bolted doors and waited to guide her with a brief touch to her lower back, through. It seemed almost every time he made some physical contact there were sparks, unseen but literal sparks he could feel in his hand. He had no way of sealing those doors but the warning scratched as though by knife or claws tended to ward against intruders, particularly if he was in each shot to hear those metal doors creak.

Eleanor definitely remembered the rule; being as obsessed with staring at the moonboy as she was, she noticed these kinds of things. Just like she could intimately recollect the feel of his scruff against her chin the night bad things happened in basements. "Och aye," she grunted in approval, snatching up the bottle, and taking a heartbeat or three to quickly scan for another, which she tucked under an arm as she joined the pirate at the door. Leo's touch was like a branding iron to her lower back, even through the layers of desert accoutrements, and she slanted a sharp gaze upward at him, her smirk tempered but winking with a wrinkle in her cheek. Something else tempted her gaze lower, toward the azure-inked tattoo swirled in intricate knots on his chest, and her smirk faltered a step further. Whatever reservations she had about the chaotic inkjob were smoothed away with a swallow and a guarded smirk, which she would harbor throughout their journey to the familiar seaside villa.

Beachside Villa

A worn path edged by beach primrose leads up to the stained-teak porch of this spacious, seaside villa. The foundation is built upon thick stilts that lift this island architecture only a few feet above the sand, allowing that ocean breeze to flow under the house to keep it naturally cool, as well as providing safety from a high tide flood. The interior beyond is simple: wicker and wood furniture, a short bar and bottle rack built into a back wall. Rooms for rest remain behind closed doors, and only a few exotic trinkets line the shelves. Large, open windows are dressed with the vintage, velvet curtains selected long ago by it's original owner, framing that paradise view of tumbling waves and swaying bitter panicum.

Leoxander walked the familiar path until the dock led to dirt and pebbles, eventually giving way to soft sand that he felt for the first time in a long time under his bare feet. The whisper of waves grew louder, and his sensitive ears soon heard the ‘tink, clunk, ping’ of the shell wind chime that had mostly survived through the years, as had the weathered hammock shifting in the wind below it. Teak steps creaked under his weight only slightly, subtly not quite lost on the rogue though he didn’t exactly approach that familiar villa reserved. A lot of the wood in those walls and windows had been cut and hammered by his own hands, and even if the door was locked, a check of the window or a curious lift and certain twist of handle would grant them passage into that comfortable space. He didn’t find Lita’s scent anywhere recent, which was probably a good thing, as explaining where he’d been for the last… half year, year… years… wasn’t exactly something he wanted to face. A look across the main room and he found a wicker chair to dump his bag in, moving at once to closed doors that led to a bedroom, then to the doors of the washroom to open and inspect each. “Doesn’t smell like she’s been home a good while. Or anyone for that matter.” He gave a glance back at El’ as he took the matchbook he’d retrieved from the pocket of his ‘borrowed’ navy pajama pants and found a few candles on a metal dish to light. A tilt of his head indicated toward the washroom, where the shower was an off-the-grid kind of plumbing, lacquered wood and open stalled with a drain, a simple and fairly small space. “Ladies first.” His second gentlemanly gesture for the evening. What had she done to him?

Eleanor was tempted at more than one turn to slink into the shadows, a mixture of paranoia and instincts moving her to glance toward every sound along their path. Only the cowl of her cloak and a curtain of flaxen waves shielded her unease at being out in the open and she hoped Leo wouldn't notice. Cobbled roads soon gave way to the beach, and the nearby waves lapping against the shore was enough to drown out the sound of the sand crunching under her boots or his feet. As they came upon the villa, the spellrogue spared one last look along the path from whence they'd come, her breathing unsettled, her lips pursed. If not for the downward angle of her chin, her gem might even have caught the light. After a beat, El decided there was nothing worth investigating in the waiting shadows and followed Leo inside. The shadows of the villa loomed around, and with both hands on her hood, she slowly lowered it, gaze sweeping around in a cursory examination. Soon though, she nodded in agreement with the wolf's own conclusions and ventured into the main room a few more paces. "Guid …" Eleanor released a breath she hadn't been aware she'd been holding hostage, followed by a short snort of a laugh as she lifted her seafoam eyes toward her partner. As she canted her head just so, her gem flared to life, reflecting whatever candlelight he'd summoned. "Although … Ah hink we both ken Ah'm nae a lady." El snickered softly to herself as she turned toward the washroom, and began a slow process of peeling her gloves off one digit at a time.

Leoxander had noticed Eleanor’s unease. He could scent it, practically feel it, but rather than feed that disquiet by making it obvious or trying to comfort her, he hoped their destination would allow her to relax somewhat as he sealed the door behind them. Arms crossed across his bare chest as he lingered in the open doorway a moment, watching her reveal her hands from that fabric with a reply under his breath, but audible. “Got the assets to fool a blaggard…” As much as he wanted to keep his eyes on the spellrogue and count each piece of clothing as it hit the floor, he afforded her privacy as she went for the main piece of her attire, letting his imagination drift on what cloak and coat had kept concealed. He didn’t close the washroom door, not more than half way, and hoped she’d left the bottle behind as a distraction as he returned to unclasp and unzip his satchel, starting to throw his carelessly packed apparel over the back of that wicker chair. Going through gear or dosing from that anticipated old friend, alcohol, couldn’t distract him from listening to every sound in the next room. The drop of fabric, the creak of pipes he’d repaired and replaced himself, the stream of water that would not run as hot as it might in her townhouse, but with the ‘well’ or water collector buried under the sand and baked daily by the sun, she’d have a good amount of a comfortable temperature to work with. It would work out, either way - a cold shower definitely might benefit him, his body running hot as ever, particularly with months of a lycanthrope frame and thick coat barely left behind. Metal against metal clattered quietly as he retrieved the twin, dark steel blades he’d taken back into his possession, and somewhere in that bag was a whetstone that would help divert his attention from depraved thoughts.

Eleanor had relinquished the alcohol, as well as her cigarettes, and moved deeper into the washroom, taking her time. Each garment was removed with care, not just for the leisure these scarce seconds of quiet could grant her, but to further mask discomforts revealed. Her hands hesitated when her fingers brushed the ring, and she decided after a sigh to remove it, tucking both the stolen ring and other sentimental trinkets, four secured blades, and two holstered wands underneath the bundle of clothing she'd discarded. Stepping into the shower, new scars broke her skin as the layers of the desert were washed away; long, jagged marks that wrapped around her left shoulder that looked months old but were more likely received within the past few days. Healing would have been hastened with what little magic she had managed to steal at the scene of the crime. They joined the other, older scars and tattoos, though none were as far-reaching as the lightning-like scars that twisted around her right calf and partially up her thigh. At some point in the years since the encounter, El had decorated the blemish with dark ink, a few runes bisecting the white flesh against her sun-bronzed canvas. As rivulets of water streaked down across her vision, the spellrogue released a heavy sigh, sweeping her fingertips under her eyes and smearing the kohl that lined her lower lashes. The rest of the process was faster, her mind was buzzing over different scenarios both professional and personal, and with a thunk, turned the water off and stepped out, using a towel to quickly dry off before wrapping it around herself.. Wringing her hair out and then tousling it and letting it airdry around her, she ventured out of the washroom in search of a closet or wardrobe. "Ah dornt suppose ye ken she'd mind if Ah, uh, … borrowed somethin', do ye?" Without waiting for an answer, the spellrogue left a trail of droplets on the floorboards and made her way into another part of the villa. She wasn't even sure Lita's clothes would fit her and was just as much searching for something she could 'borrow' the magic from to conjure up a disguise.

Leoxander was busy with stone and blade and the steady ‘shick’ of sound each stroke made when she stepped back into view, and there was the pause. Under the thick hair that clouded his vision, still tangled and full of ashen sand, he remained in his slouch as she presented that question and stood only after he answered with a low, “I think she’d be more confused that you’d asked.” Lita was their kind, rogue breed, and an article of clothing borrowed was something he could easily make up for, particularly when they started lining their pockets, again. His trust was displayed subtly as he left his twin blades on the wooden table near the chair, along with the sharpening stone, and he stepped into the small washroom avoiding any glances in the dust covered looking glass above the washing basin. “I’ma need that towel.” He pointed out, since Lita likely didn’t have an abundance and if she did, he hadn’t bothered to search. The less they left a footprint, the better. Without waiting for her reply, he ditched the only piece of clothing he was wearing and stepped into the water, which despite not being truly cold, steamed on his shoulders a bit as his dirt layers began to wash away. The pool at his feet swirling into the drain was near black as the dirt pattern went from stripes to skin, his complexion fairly pale compared to his normal sun baked tan. He took a moment to place his hands against the lacquered wall and let the water run through his overgrown and knotted hair, across the nape of his neck, eyes closed as he went over the last thirty or so hours in his mind. Despite being trapped as a beast with his difficulties, being Leo again came with an abundance share of problems, the worst of which being the task of hiding his emotions so expertly. He finally opened his gaze again to that crisp blue, stood up more straight and scrubbed his rough palms over his face before he killed the stream of water and took a deep breath to regain some composure and a mask that he hoped would shield him from openly declaring the position he was in. As he mentally steeled himself and tried to put their task at hand in the forefront of his mind, he turned to collect the towel she hopefully left behind or presented him with. As ever, his modesty was flawed, and in that small villa she’d be in earshot, wherever she happened to be. “So where do we start?”

El snickered and pressed her tongue against the roof of her mouth, but didn't remove the towel, her hands busy rifling through a drawer. Catching sight of Leo as he entered the washroom, her lips twitched. Yet the rogue suppressed the urge to smile, pressing her lips together and focusing on the task at hand, a wrinkle forming in her brow. Much like the wolf, she sought to distract herself from the other, and after sorting through the articles she found, decided upon a small black tunic paired with a short black skirt. The rogue's eyes hesitated over a corset, and with a small smirk, gathered the three items over the crook of her right arm, and began twisting her hair with her left hand. Walking toward the washroom, she balanced the outfit carefully and attempted to twist her hair into a bun, the trick behind her usual tousled curls. Tucking the ends into the hairdo, Eleanor at last unraveled the towel, tossing it over the door before turning to find whatever else she'd need to complete the look. Pulling the stolen clothes on, and cursing her clumsy fingers at the years it had been since she'd last had to bother with the stays of a corset, El padded barefoot throughout the villa, leaving boots for later, and stopped not far from the washroom's door, but doing her best to grant the other some semblance of privacy. Through her lashes, she glanced toward the door, or more accurately, beyond it, where her discarded clothing was still piled and her weapons hid. Smoothing her hands down the sides of her corset, they settled on her hips as she considered how best to answer. The spellrogue's full lips curved into a mischievous smile, and when she spoke, her words were deliberately missing the thick accent usually complicating them. "We are … going to the bank."

Leoxander hesitated at her words as he reached for the partially damp towel draped on the door. The bank? He hadn’t been there in a good year, or years, and any assets he had attempted to save (though most were not trusted to the city) would have been seized by Cenril’s bureaucrat for his numerous visits to their jailer’s cell. But she was the leader of the underground, now, as far as he remembered, and more importantly, he’d promised to stay. By her side. Hell or high waters. “Makin’ a deposit?” He idly asked as he drew that towel over his face, first - big mistake. Her scent washed over him and Dal’ken was starting to whisper in his ear, so long dormant. Reminding him of the alpha status since sacrificed, on that very island. Clearing his throat purposefully, he shook the towel through hair that was in more a disarray than ever. It would take a blade to get through some of those knots. “Lemme ask you somethin’, Fox. All this time, you got people under yer wing?” The phrase would clue into what he meant, with the rogue’s symbol status. He’d assisted in the design of their brand, after all. Once mostly dry, he did, for her sake, tuck the towel around his lower waist with a glimpse of the inked dragon head barely not drowning over the top, and stepped out of the washroom to head toward his bag. But Leo did not anticipate the outfit that he would have expected from others - not from Eleanor. He was stopped in his tracks and studying the corset clad spellrogue with furrowed brow.

Eleanor started to reply with a quick, "Nae—" and then swallowed, pressing her lips into a tempered smirk before continuing. "No, Leo. We will be making a withdrawal." Despite her best effort, she still rolled the R. Making a mental note to work on the accent, she was further thrown off by the mention of her code name, and her expression faltered. It wasn't that she was unused to the name, much less from his lips, but the question that came with it was full of subtext, causing her to chew on her answer with delicacy. Opting for a cryptic reply, she purred, "I have you, dornt I?" Pressing her tongue to her upper lip and working to subdue the knowing smile at her challenging nature, El added a guarded, "Why?" The woman lifted her hands from her hips and folded her sculpted, tattooed arms. Lita's clothes weren't used to the sonsie-bodied spellblade, and before they had yet had a chance to adjust, the tunic stressed at the seams, the corset working overtime to keep everything contained. "I dornt think we need another just yet unless you plan to make trooble at the bank?" Her eyes finally fell on Leo, and she drew in a deep breath, inwardly cursing that he wore something more lest they make trouble before they've even left. El felt like her heart was trying to tattoo something on the inside of her ribcage as she kept her gaze carefully trained on the pirate's bluer counterparts, however veiled though they may be. The woman's expression soon mirrored his own right down to the wrinkled brow, although she narrowed her gaze too. Finding her voice once more, she demanded with a raspy accent, "Whit?"

Leoxander tried to regain his composure. Yet again. How much longer was he meant to keep this up? A deep breath expanded his chest as his newest brand flickered a bit, and those renewed muscles in his upper torso relaxed, but remained defined. A curse in a curse. “I’m with you. But the second I walk into that place they’re gonna holler hell.” His gaze lingered on her; he couldn’t help but stare at what that bodice barely contained, and he forced himself to turn and retrieve the black, short sleeved shirt that would cover the majority of his tattoos on his upper body, save the abundance of ink that spilled down his arms. Including that broken scorpion on his more deadly grip. As far as her ‘whit’ went, he just shook his head and… dropped his towel. It wasn’t a ‘two could play’ gesture, he just wanted to cover his lower half before he was pegged for a weakness to her newfound disguise. In moments, she would see her rogue as he had always been, clad in back and raising his shirt to harness a blade holster to his ribs, doing his best to try to ignore her. “Might do us well to find a scapegoat… Unless you’re gonna tell me what you got planned.” Harness buckled, he risked another look her way, and immediately regretted it but held those blue eyes steady.

Eleanor's grin blossomed into something wicked, but her breathing betrayed her, especially as her attention flitted toward the ink staining his chest to match the lines that coiled around her own skin. Something in her chest churned, but El couldn't quite place it. Her hooded eyes trailed around the pirate's figure, although she struggled to keep her expression from fully exposing the impact Leo had on her. Inwardly cursing, all the same, the muscle in her jaw feathered and she took a heartbeat to unfold her arms, tugging on the corset before pulling it back up again. With the bathroom freed, she used this opportunity to avoid Leo's heated gaze and ducked inside. Unwinding her hair from the bun, El wriggled her fingers through it and let the half-dry curls tumble haphazardly around her shoulders. "I told you," she replied from within the washroom, wiping away the smudges of old makeup and regarding her tousled look in the mirror. "We're making a withdrar— with /drawal/." Letting out a sigh, she ventured back into the main room and edged her pale eyes toward her partner. "They … may or may not be into the idea of giving /all/ the funds to us, but I'm sure we'll be braw." Canting her head, she resumed twisting and arranging her hair until it suited her, before slyly adding, "There is a certain … place we will go efter that requires a … generous donation if we are to play their game." Eleanor paused, braving a glance toward the wolf again. "An' we really want to play their game." About as much as she wanted to play with Leo.

Leoxander was, by the time she returned from the washroom, nearly ‘himself’. Save that mess of hair that fell at his shoulders, the lines of his face were the same as she would remember, that hard stare owning it’s piercing blue that sometimes shifted. And most definitely, it was locked on her. The damned rune witch was baiting him with that look, her hair throwing a wave of her scent as she tousled it free. The knot in the center of his brow twisted harder. “Somewhere we can be alone?” He challenged, in a deep, gruff voice that still wasn’t smoothed from the beast’s influence. He righted up, and took a step toward her as they locked eyes. Maybe he was testing the waters, maybe he was throwing bait. Or perhaps it was just a dose of her own damned medicine. Lita’s attire was a newfound vice in the pirate’s mind. “So say you make your with… -drawal-.” He emphasized the word to mock her a bit. “That make -me- the goat? I’ma lead ‘em off your trail?” He took yet another step closer. “I ain’t used to playin’ prey, Fox.”

Eleanor's brows shot up, and she had to work extra hard to keep herself from being sucked in with that challenge. Lifting her chin, she regarded the wolf steadily and took a step forward, meeting him halfway. "No," she told him, trying not to let her tone betray her own disappointment, "I'm afraid we'll have to play /with/ them, too. That is the nature of cards, efter all." However, El was having trouble finding a reason they had to hit up the bank now, as the first rays of the morning were barely peeking over the morning horizon. According to her source, the game she intended to crash was carried out at all hours, and the look in Leo's eyes was making her doubt her urgency. Or rather, routing her sense of urgency toward other, long-yearned-for things. "There will be no need for a scapegoat," she confided in him, restoring a slight smirk to her full lips. "The bank will not even suspect you; they'll be too busy blaming /her/." El tilted her head when she mentioned The Oracle, the gem in her brow almost glinting in response, although that could just as surely be due to the wolf's nearness, of which the rogue was all-too-aware. Her gaze was torn between Leo's and other fixtures of his features. "At least, that is th' goal."

Leoxander studied Eleanor for a long moment, eyes half lidded. After a moment of contemplation and another moment to push through other visions to focus on what lied ahead, he nodded. That nod, with a slight cant of his head and almost a smirk. You know the one. He then nudged his head toward the single bed in the back. “Better get some rest. Sooner we start, sooner it ends.” He needed some sleep, himself, but despite the lock of their reunion, he wouldn’t risk laying beside her with bestial tendencies still fresh in his mind. Besides, he had some self reflection, and preparation to reassure himself, if not her, that he was a rogue worthy of the task. He wouldn’t abandon the villa, not for the chance she might be intruded upon - not that she couldn’t take care of herself. But perhaps come morning he would be a more recognizable version of Leo, with knotted locks tossed into the sea and a determined look returned to once again human blue, hawk sharp eyes.

Eleanor's gaze narrowed subtly when Leo gestured toward the bed, the intentions there clear as if it was done in broad daylight. "Och, nae." Shaking her head and slipping back into the familiar brogue, El followed it with a quiet sigh. "Ye tak' th' bed, mo ghaol." After all the months he'd gone without one, she couldn't fathom depriving him of it. Without waiting for him to dispute it, she was already on the hunt for the sofa or what passed for one in the quaint villa. She'd not go right to sleep, however, and sparked up a cigarette first as she sat on the couch, filling her lungs with the herbal smoke to keep more words from spilling out. Once it had taken away the rough edges, the rogue would at last succumb to a fitful rest.

Leoxander debated joining her on that couch, sharing that smoke. But truth be unspoken, he was exhausted. He hadn’t slept on more than sand or dirt in months, and his body was more relaxed (if more tense, all the same) by the shower and the fresh clothing. Leaving his blades on the table in her reach, he decided it best not to argue with the woman who was notorious at winning arguments. He let a last glance linger on her outfit of choice, privately wondering how she would sleep so restricted, but left it to the many unknown mysteries of women as he made his way to the bedroom. Leaving his newly donned attire on, he still collapsed back onto Lita’s bed like it was - well, it was, the first soft surface he’d known in some time. He didn’t even make it to crawl up, but was knees bent at the bottom edge, feet to the floor, arms out, head back, chest exposed… a few slow blinks and he was already falling asleep. So profoundly that while he was self trained to sleep quiet, he felt comfortable enough in her company, she might hear him softly snore in some time. The first bit of alcohol in a long while helped as a sedative.

Next: Dressing the Part