RP:The Razor meets Nightshade
Part of the Tales from the Row Arc
Synopsis: Healed by Nemisis, Grot surfaces at the Whaler to relate his tale, and runs into Yasmine’s alter ego, Nightshade. The lycan is commissioned to do what she can to stir up trouble for the Crow led southern faction of Cenril, by harassing another faction’s territory, with evidence left to incriminate the Gathering.
Characters: Grot, Yasmine
Location: Cenril; The Whaler
Grot felt god damn good, considering the circumstances. The circumstances being that of one hell of an injured body being quite, well, healed. "It's a miracle I tell you!" Kingsley was telling a patron of the tavern, very few WERE at the Whaler, but apparently Grot knew this one - "He jes' thrown it at me all like, 'drink dis it'll feckin' fix yeh' an'I jes'went, 'oh really?' and I did it an'bam~ 'Ere I be." Was explained between bites of a huge, juicy steak. Two chicken thigh beside, a strip of pork on the other side. No vegitables, pure meat. Kingsley was about as much of a man as a man could be at times, "An'den he jes'feckin'left like dah got damn wind all, mysterious-like. Had dese growing red eyes, scary ass-fool! Nearly shart myself!" That earned some laughs. Hell, Kingsley laughed too, then drank down a large bite of the flank steak with a nice sloshing of warm ale. Ah. This was the god damn life, right here.
Yasmine wasn't the wolf's normal form this evening, in fact she looked completely different. Pale skin, violet eyes and dark brown hair. Tonight Yasmine was Nightshade, her less than friendly alter ego who was nothing but sinister trouble all around. Her intent for the Whaler was a bit shady, was it for a drink or was there something in those violet eyes that announced a rather dangerous idea. No matter, the full moon made the blood burn for the wolf, and with her decision to play a little less than nice, well, damn well was going to not be good for the sailors. She glanced around at those at the bar, and spotted one in particular she knew, but for the time being she would plant herself in a stool and order herself something strong and tall. The green leather she wore pulled taunt across the woman's curvy form as she whispered something to the bartender.
Grot shot a look down that bar at Yasmine soon as he seen'r - "Meoowwwwww~" came curt, quick, roughly. Wouldn't have remembered her anyways, certainly not like that - this particular bandit had crap for a memory. "Well, wot was I sayin'? Oh right, yeah, fecker jes'takes off into dah night like a god damn whisper or sommit. I mean lookit!" Muscular brute's hand met with black, somewhat dirty shirt which was pulled up to the neck to expose a chizzeled torso of scars, tattoos and a brand. One scar in particular, rather nasty was pink and fresh as a babe's hair. Soft skin, traced fingers along it, "See? It's a feckin'mirkul is what it is!"
Yasmine continued to lean on that counter ever so precariously, still whispering something to the bartender while a sly smirk came to her pale lips. When she finished and sat back it seemed a drink, or well a couple of drinks were delivered. Seemed she had a few occupied sets of eyes, oh well, she'd tease but they would never get far. The tall drink was downed rather quickly and a pink tongue ran its tip over her bottom lip before she turns to the bar main room and lounges back on her elbows, watching.
There was practically steam coming out of his damn ears, see, because that old fellow he'd been yapping at like a hyper-active hampster'd gone off home, drank himself aplenty apparently. That left empty stools between him and Yasmine. Hells above, the bandit was all but stomping a foot on the ground and howling at the moon. He /did/ do a double take on her. Eyes on food, back to Yasmine, food, Yasmine - food in mouth - back to Yasmine. Like he was building up the courage to say something. No no no~ Not Grot Kingsley. Bastard was a macho man, could strike heroic poses and look sexy doing it! With that in mind, he finally spoke up. Confident little bugger, thick accent a maze of dialect - "Oi lovey, wot brings'a'feckin'dove like yu my way eh? Wot, didjalos'r way hom'rrrrrr????" Sweet talk from an uneducated bafoon was sweet none the less, dripping with it if anything.
Yasmine tilts her gaze towards him, violet eyes full of sadistic mischief, "Lost my way home darling? I think dove is the wrong endearment to be giving to one such as me." Leaning back a bit more so the leather got pulled ever more tightly. Her violet gaze drifted to the bar tender once more, a wink signaling she was ready for another drink, same as usual. Once acquired she tipped it back some, violet orbs once more returning to the male, brow raised. "Ya sure you aren't lost lovely? I mean, I hear there is danger a foot about here." She snickers, "Well not like danger doesn't follow me."
Grot laughed and smacked a palm flat on the bartop, earning a rigid stare from a few of the more relaxed individuals. He was a noisy bugger, shot'm all the same god damn look - narrowed eyes, thumb in a pocket. Daring them to do something. None did, hell, Kingsley had enough reputation to at least not be trifled with over trivial matters. "Yerafeckin'fiesty lil'minx ain'tcha? Lerkin'like yeh gots trouble writ all tah'feck ova'you....oh my my my!" Was he scooting closer? Food was growing cold on his damn plate, and here he was talking his way into a girls pantyhose. Or so he thought, at least. "Wots'er name darlin? Bet yer onnadem South Cenril hookers dem sea dogs brought in ain'tcha? Wots goin'rate aye?"
Yasmine sharpens her gaze to a more sinister light at the comment of rate. "Nothing you could afford darling. Besides," Hand brushing through her straight, dark chocolate brown locks. "You can't handle the kind of danger I'm selling." Snickering, she shifts to turn so she can lean her arms on the counter once more, whiskey in her hand, slowly being sipped at. Her violet eyes though remained as a sidelong glance on the male, who she noticed was getting closer. Ah well if he attempted a touch she didn't like, Nightshade would sure as hell love to prick him with a sedating needle, or maybe one of those special needles. Heh, teach him a lesson about assuming a woman like her was nothing but a hooker.
Grot was doing his best to scoot close enough to smell her. Kingsley had a thing about the bitches. A quirk even, smell was important - and the way his sexist mind figured it, she was as good as in the bag already. "Oi oi oi, don't let tah'clothes fool yeh~ I kilt more'n eighty-se'n men! I gots gold comin' out mah'ears practically feckin...rolling in it." Such a god damn lie, had to scrounge up bits of copper just to buy that meal he was letting go to waste. Pity he didn't remember that very fact. A glint caught his eye though, tangible and sly, "Oi." Smirk and a shake of the head, a gesturing nod toward her person - "Yer'a quiet lil'n. All mysterious-like. I like dat in a woman. My da' always said dat the bitches are better seen and not heard. In tah'kitchen and in tah'bed!!!" He had a rather hearty laugh. Thick with joy, really, uncommon in the slums he came from. Kingsley was unique in many ways, but typical in /so/ many more. How can a man be this stupid?
Yasmine knew a liar when she saw one or better heard one. She only smirked to his little boastful spiel, in fact she was really starting to entertain the idea of a knife or a needle, just to watch him cry out in pain. Now there was a fun idea. A brow rose, quite happily like that idea of cutting him now. How easy it would be if she just leaned in closer--and so she did. One hand choosing to draw up to trace fingers along his cheek, "Is that so. Quiet is it? You know mysterious and quiet are never a safe combination darling. They usually result in some terrible, terrible things." There it was, that sadistic glint in her violet eyes as her fingers halted their movement and a knife quick as lightening slipped into her hand and cut him across the cheek. Nothing deep, just a nice little shallow cut. The knife was brought to the pale woman's lips and as so she licked the bit of blood on it. "Like I said darling, dangerous combination."
Grot was laughing one moment, dead silent the next. That's how fast she'd done it. Not the sort of thing he was accustomed to, but feckin'hell if she din look good licking that blade. God damn seductive bitches, all of them. Except tah fat ones. Dey have tah werk for it. A bit of blood was smeared when his hand touched the light wound, he didn't wince. Hell, he barely showed a sign it'd even happened - but the grin on his face was apprehensive, unsettled, a bit uncomfortable even. Rebounding was easy, he simply puffed out his chest a bit, flexed his muscles. Don't misunderstand, he scooted the hell back so there was a stool between them at least, but the male still had this idea that Yasmine was this helpless girl that needed saving, and a good lay. "Oioi, gotsta'be'ker-ful wit'dat thing, yer can diggahole fecking ain't gon'climb out of yeah? Grave, dove, grave." She would be a dove until further notice. Likely permanently, but Grot's code. "Yeh know dem Burnham boys see yeh, der'gon tear yeh up right? Feckin'bastards got 'bout sa'much honor assa....god damn alpha dog when dah bitch is in heat." Maybe he knew something of dogs, or he is just a whore about metaphors, but it made sense obviously. Couldn't really look away though. Yasmine, Nightshade - whatever the hell it is, she was a siren from mythology tonight. Couldn't get pulled away. Gods damn it if he couldn't.
Yasmine watched with such delight as the male scooted back, quite happy to have him a bit on edge. The knife on the other hand was still out, the blade though was licked clean. His comment though made a brow raise, knife point pressed to her bottom lip. "Grave darling? I have already tried to dig that damn thing for more years than ya want to know. Seems like death just keeps tossing that dirt back in." Snickering, she picks up the whiskey once more and down a bit more of it, slipping the knife back into her sleeve. Her gaze for a split moment lingered on the amber liquor as she downed it before turning once more to the now dubbed rather cocky and delusional boyo. She smirked, malicious in every fashion and shook her head. "Ah yes well they've never played with an alpha that bites back, albeit my bite is more than a bit of pain." Oh she would poison those Burnham boys if they dared, especially with that full moon tempting her primal wolf like a drug.
Grot was sort of starting to come to his senses a bit. The man had his moments, not the good kind, a plenty but...Don't know, maybe he was just starting to catch the vibe of danger and...death about her person. "Oh come now eh? Yeh cannae be so dangerous, hell I could pick yeh up by like, shyte, an arm lass. S'not like yerafeckin'wolf in sheeps clothin'dove. Yeragirl, and girls shant be out dis hour, in DIS city, wit'out protection ora'pimp ora'....yeah." Cranks started turning in his head. She wasn't from Cenril. Anyone with half a brain wouldn't come here without a god damn good reason, even trade from Rynvale had ceased with Eliah's boys at the south port. So. She must be....a spy! From another city! The plot thickened, dramatic music sounded in his head - dun dun dunnnnnn ~ "So....whars'yeh from then miss dovey-can't-die?"
Yasmine snickered albeit sadistically, "If you wanna give that picking me up trick a try you go right on ahead and try darling. Can't promise you aren't gonna have a few more of those lovely gifts." A slender finger tapping her cheek. Oh she liked the idea of making another one. "You give me very little credit lovely, I am alright on my own in a city like this." Again the drink was lifted to her lips and a good portion of the liquor was allowed to flow down her throat. At this point she had gone back to having her back pressed against the edge of the counter, leaning back on her elbows on the said counter. It meant that that green leather was pulled taunt once more. Once more she laughs, "I am not from anywhere darling. Just come and goes I please. Find my fun, have it, move on." Except one city and the fun that had been had there kept coming back around. Not a time to think such, and she didn't, not even faltering at the thought. "I was told some fun could be had here, what with all the trouble that gets whispered through the sea grape vine and all." Canting her violet gaze once more to the rugged man, especially now with the whiskey gone.
Grot determined after that, especially the last bit - she was a Rynvalian spy. See, Kingsley fancied himself a smart man. Quite a smart man. Hell, he was the smartest of his small gang which wasn't really saying much for them. A big ole bear of a man, best way to describe the six and a half foot tall mass of pure muscle that was scratching the side of its head beside Yasmine now. The brand on either palm caught light, the scarred flesh glinting a bit - he was a mess of scars, hell if he wasn't - "Yera...got damn mystery." Found himself lacking words again, feckin' hell she looked good. The kind of girl you just wanted to reach out and wrap a god damn arm around, embrace the warmth of her feckin' body. Had him blinking a bit off-kilter, rubbing the back of his neck like an innocent youngster caught in the hayloft with the farmer's daughter. Hell he felt like a fool, "Yera...god erm - yeah...Sure iffin you've heard dah rumors, you've heard of me - Grot Kingsley, The Razor! Famous 'round these parts." Oh what's that? A rather large, imposing rectangular blade strapped to his back? Long, thin, sharper than hell? I wonder what that could be. Smelled a bit like blood still too, to Yasmine's senses. It'd been used recently. "Yeh know something." Palm smacked against bartop, signaling a conclusion - "I like yeh. I mean, I could feckin'bend yah ovah mah'kitchen table and wot eva, yeh, yeraminx and all, but yer feckin' dangerous. And smart. And feckin' dangerous." This was how he went about it. Not exactly the sort to recruit women, far from it, but this bitch knew how to handle her shyte unlike the hookers he tended to look after. Only a few. Most of them friends of the family, you follow? Yeah. He was a pimp, so what? This was feckin' Cenril. You did what you had to feckin' do to survive or the slums eat you up and spit out whatever the hell they don't want from you. That's the way it's been for years here, and it wasn't likely to change soon. "Yer tah'sorta bitch I could use, yeah? For fun and ehhh....trouble. Wot is it you do fera'living exactly dove?"
Yasmine tilted her head in a mock curiosity way but it was the smirk that let it be known she was anything but curious to the mysterious comment, she knew exactly what she was. Leaning her cheek into a hand in such a bored fashion she huffed as if she cared little for his name nor his reputation, eh names and rumors were nothing compared to action in her book. "I know your name. Whispered through those sea vines remember? They like to talk, them sailors. All about what has the sea rocking and how there is gonna be blood soon enough. I like that, blood being spilled means there'll be fun to be had." Snickering she draws a hand through her brown locks once more. His comment of danger and smart made the woman laugh ever so cruelly, ah she liked the sounds of that combination, he had hit it right on the nose. Tilting that violet, smoldering gaze once more to the large man, her height of six feet stretching out as she made to lean on her hip. "I told ya I dangerous, but the smart thing, now aren't you a smart one yourself. Seeing that you don't trifle with me without getting yourself shanked in the process." She smirks, albeit wolfishly that time. "Other fellas like you choose to play and I ain't one to play nicely." Shifting to sit up straight on the stool, quite entertained by his question. "Trouble and fun are one in the same for me. I like to play those games, the ones where you have to be clever. That and I trifle in ways to put a problem down without having to spill too much blood, you know?" That's when a needle was produced, quick like the knife had been, just this time the thing was held between her fingers. "But whatcha going to use a girl like me in these parts? I like to know exact details on such troubles."
Grot kept it short and sweet, pointedly taking on the expression of a business man writing up contracts. In facial expression at least, which was poised and precise, lax and rigid all at the same time. A tender balance of ebon tresses, shaggy black hair over eyes greeted her gaze with his own. Yeah. He'd locked eyes with her. Call it marking your god damn territory if you will, asserting dominance. He was treating her like she was...well.....a man. "Tah'keep it simple, dem boys south of here, tah'sea dogs. Dey kilt onna'my girls. Tain't like I jes'wake up an'decide dese bastards need tah'go, but ferst - dem boys up north." Luckily The Whaler was somewhere in the middle of Cenril, enough that he could speak freely without having to look nervy in the process. Good way to get your feckin' throat slit on the way home. Nawr, there was Burnham boys around. They were all over. Only the small neighborhood that was his slum truly belonged to him, and to his - "Dey causin'trouble too. Der incitin'war, tryin'apush me and mine out yeah?" Sif they weren't out anyways, most of his were out in Sage avoiding Elven patrols and raiding cargo coming to and fro Larket and Gualon. They knew the forest. Grot did too. An idiot in some ways, an absolute professional in many, many others. He knew how to kill rather well. Better than most. Better than most, to the extent, half the fools he messed with were headless. Had a knack for that, decapitation. With the blade on his god damn back it was easy to see why. The gigantic cleaver, razor, what have you - it was thin, and sharp. Meant for slashing flesh, no thrust to it. Lighter than hell. Useless against a medium- to heavily-armed opponent, but in his business you didn't find many with more than a leather mesh to cut through. He had an advantage, in combat, and now, because SHE had shown interest. That was a foot in a damn door he fully intended on stepping into - "Jes need yeh tah'stir up some trouble. Go kill some of them Burnham boys, yer damn needles woteva - jes make it look like dem sea dogs to the south be pushing der territory yeah? Dassit." The bar was empty, the barkeep was thankful none of this ever concerned him - and would keep his damned mouth shut for that very reason, a bit of gold would assure it - "Yer not from here my ebon dove." He continued in stride, "I've feckin' seen dis'place fall from tah'feckin'pits tah'somethin'darker an'pretty soon ain't gonna be nothin' but ruttin slums, and starvin' folk and death. Dis city deserves more'n dat, dis city....it's mah god damn home yeah? Yer understandin'here?" Well. Apparently Grot Kingsley had a pretty big god damn heart, to match his size at least. Care and compassion? Not a power hungry asshole? Not your typical bandit, in the slightest.
Yasmine sat back with curious interest, she knew the southern Cenril area very well, matter fact she knew the fella that ran that area very well too. She wondered about who the idiots were causing trouble and made a mental note to ask the crow later about that. That and this talk of war, she didn't like war. Trouble yes, war no. "Isn't the south led by the Crow? What's he doing letting them run around like that killing folks that don't need to have their throats slit?" She did like the idea of a hunt and would more than happily go investigate them, that and if any decided to pick a fight with her, take such pleasure in spilling a bit of blood where it needed. To the comment of mine she raised a brow, but wouldn't comment on such, not til she got herself upright and preparing to leave the place. "I'll cause some trouble for you. Just gotta know what the beef is with the sailors down there." With whatever explanation she got, she couldn't help but smirk. Interesting, was what she thought as she slid off her stool. A few coins were tossed on the counter, all of which gold before she turns to the large man and smirks, "By the way, I don't belong to anyone darling. I do what I please and when I want to. Just keep that stored up there." Tapping her temple before she turned for the exit to the bar. "I'll be seeing you soon enough, hopefully with some good bloody stories too." And like that the siren decided to part from the bar and the glances she was getting, besides there was someone she had to take care of too.
Grot ground his teeth - yeah, he watched her leave. You can bet your ass he did, cause he was staring right at HERS. Oh baby, tight little bugger innit? God damn woman, "Oh eh -- oh ------ bye!" She made him get flustered again. God damn it.