#meanwhile somewhere in Cyrodiil Marcello has to be tied down because he's restless but the doctors told him to STAY PUT so the stitches dont

[fireintheforest]

Behind the Blue, chapter 21 part 2

The butter-colored lights contrasted with the mahogany and currant colors of the tapestries and walls. The warm ambience, the oil paintings, the large bronze statues of horses, the silken curtains, all these belonged to The Prestige. In it, the never ending conversation and the smells of the feast (cut-up steak, raclettes, steamed mushrooms in olive oil and rosemary, duck with an orange sauce, quiches, rabbit in mango and ginger soup, just to name a few) and the fumes of the various types of alcohols they’d drank throughout the night was enough to make people loosen up, relax and convince themselves in their inebriated state that this was a wonderful night.

It kind of was, of course. A beautiful place, good food, plenty of wine and spirits and a coy, young Altmer courtesan to hit on everyone and inflate their egos was at the very least a lovely night. Even Saufinril, who had to be that coy, young Altmer courtesan that pulled out whatever drinking game he could think, filled glasses now and then and had to hit on a whole group of people that were the last kind he’d ever hit on (…actually, in this light, Armellon isn’t so bad looking…) had to admit that under any other circumstance, and even with him being a host so to speak, this night was alright. He was a little tipsy, but nothing he couldn’t handle.

Still! Let no one say he’s not a professional fake courtesan. Even at the expense of their liver and purses, he was giving them an unbiased good time. And he hadn’t even had to take off his clothes this time.

At one moment, Saufinril excused himself from the group and left the room, heading to the restrooms. In one night the information of his patrons that he’d acquired had been mostly speculative, but he was firm that it meant true, if anything that Rialas and Amara had taught him on seducing a group was true (and, them being Rialas and Amara, it probably was). He could almost hear the purring voice of the Bosmer at his ear.

“Have I taught you nothing, kynd? When you give an order, you see who launches to fill it. You see who follows suit. You see who is reluctant, who is eager, who is a toy or a waste of time. Then you play as you see fit.”

“ ‘Have I taught you nothing.’ ” Saufinril mocked Rialas’s voice as he washed his hands, “One knows plenty.” He muttered to himself in his normal voice now that he rinsed them and took one of the towels laid for patrons and dried his hands. A Breton man with a formidable beard walked in the restroom, cutting Saufinril’s musings short and walked past Saufinril to go to the loo. As the man walked, Saufinril’s face shot up when he felt the hand on his behind, eyes wide.

A mahogany door in a stone hallway, with currant rugs and a painting of some battle between Bretons and Redguards was the only listener of the scuffle, strangled scream and thud that happened inside the restroom. Then silence. The door opened and Saufinril walked out passing a hand through his hair to tame a single flyaway, going back to the room. The door was open briefly enough to let the bronze statue of Mara see the Breton man on the ground, his eye turning a pink and red shade (forshadowing a black eye) and groaning with both hands on his groin, curled in himself.

Returning to the room, Saufinril stopped by a nearby mirror to adjust his belt and smooth a wrinkle in his robe left from the scuffle, when some words caught his attention.

“-can be arranged.” This sounded like Armellon

“What big benefits would fall for yourself, serah. One wishes the same could be said for us.” Torcano, the Altmer with gray in his hair, said

“Immediately, no” Emmanuel conceded, “But by how much would your profits increase if there’s no port tax to pay, your merchandise enters first and has priority on the markets?”

Saufinril perked his ears.

“How would it sound,” Emmanuel continued, “to have no competition in Evermor?”

“Unrealistic?” Kelkemar, the hot mer Saufinril had been keeping an eye on, said. A ripple of soft laughter sounded from the room.

“I don’t trust you for not trusting, monsieur.” Emmanuel conceded, “Only fools believe without proof. Let me, then, give you some faith.” There was some movement, and a sound of an object being placed on the table. Saufinril saw that the curtains were slightly open at the center, so he leaned and narrowed his eyes to see. Despite being unable to see what was landed on the table, he saw the expression of the mer he’d been entertaining. All three didn’t look like they were laughing anymore. In fact, they looked very serious. Torcano looked at Emmanuel straight in the eye.

“Is this…”

“A salary advance, you could say.” Emmanuel replied

Saufinril couldn’t see the money, but he could see how, despite the polite neutral mask typical of Altmer culture, these mer were impressed. Surprised, even.

“This opportunity” Gerrilion, the Altmer with honey blond hair, began slowly, “sounds…favorable. But there is still a couple of elements that are between us and an agreement with you, serah.”

“Such as?”

“We have established that the benefits are quite bountiful, indeed. If this evening is any indication of the prosperity awaiting us by signing with you, one may say it’s a very tempting proposal. But allow one to be blunt, serah, and ask: what sets you apart from the other merchants and distributors that wish to make business with the Thalmor regime via us?”

“Despite the competence and years of experience of the other merchants in the guild, at the moment, I’m the one in the best position to do trading. I don’t blame you for now knowing, being new in this area, but of the group of best consolidated importing merchants in Evermor, Jehril lost more than half of her fleet in an accident carrying volatile Redguard merchandise, Bisset is in prison serving time for fraud, Orsen is bedridden with strong fevers and convulsions (which Bertraug here can testify to, since he took his case and is working closely with his wife and his herbologists to aid him) and Tahlid was robbed of around forty thousand Septims worth of merchandise three months ago from his own dock storages and his reputation is a little…questionable, for now. I’m not discouraging you from seeking other options, gentlemen, but if you are as close in schedules as you said you were and you need a buyer now and profits by yesterday, well…”

It was left unsaid. The other merchants all sounded like they were having bad luck at the moment. All of them, Saufinril thought, narrowing his eyes.

“One’s heard about Bisset, yes.” Torcano said, meditatively, “Isn’t their son managing the business in their absence?”

“He is.” Bertraug began

“A child managing a business.” Hawkcroft interrupted Bertraug. He wasn’t able to put a finger on why, but Saufinril felt that, somehow, something in what or how Hawkcroft said that indicated coldness to Bertraug. As if he were stopping him from talking more, or at all, “The boy has no experience in local selling, let alone international business transactions. If you wish to present him as contact to your superiors, I can gladly organize an evening as this one for you to meet the lad. My, we can even invite Cyremin again. I am at your disposal, monsieur Torcano, and at the Thalmor’s, for that matter.”

Saufinril felt a strong churn in his stomach.

“One would very much appreciate an evening with young Bisset.” Torcano replied. From the other side of the curtains, Saufinril saw the other two Altmer briefly eye Torcano and then each other, as if considering talking to the other merchants now that the oldest had asked for it.

“Very well. Tomorrow I can introduce you to Bisset’s son at Garrou’s during lunch.” As Hawkcroft said this, Saufinril heard a chair move and Armellon say in a very discreet voice “Do excuse one”. Realizing the lawyer was going outside and find him eavesdropping, Saufinril quickly grabbed his robes and snuck away from the heavy curtain in his best silence and down the hallway, only to straighten up and walk back towards it as if he were only now leaving the restrooms. And just when he was walking to the room again, Armellon came out of it, making both Altmer bump into each other up front.

“Oh!” Saufinril let out, feigning (some) surprise as he put his hands on Armellon’s chest to stop the crash from being complete.

“Do excuse one,” Armellon began, himself also startled by the sudden body against him. That is, until he saw whose body it was, “It was about time you emerged from the restroom, serah Cyremin.”

“Did you miss one?” Saufinril replied with a flirty smile, letting his hands finally slide down from Armellon’s chest. A troubled gaze flickered on Armellon’s eyes, “Were you about to go search for one?”

“Certainly not.” Armellon replied almost immediately

“Shame” Saufinril answered, giving Armellon an “I don’t believe you” gaze paired with the still coy grin.

“To answer your question,” Armellon said, seemingly unaware (or voluntarily ignoring Saufinril’s smile), “One is merely taking some air.”

“Mm. One would offer some company, but the group awaits one.” As they each went their way, an idea popped into Saufinril’s mind. A risky idea. But the time was running out to implement it, might be worth the shot. Saufinril suddenly turned to Armellon.

“Serah?”

Armellon turned to the courtesan, a polite mask on his face.

“Has one done anything to earn your dislike?” Saufinril asked

Maybe it was the good food. Or the mix of alcohols. Or the mien of sadness Saufinril adopted in him. Whichever was the case, Armellon’s gaze softened.

“No, one…” he began, “one doesn’t…” and he composed himself, “It was not one’s intention to be portrayed like that.”

“Oh.” Saufinril arranged his face to be an understanding one, “Well, you do work plenty.”

“Indeed.”

“Join us when you’re ready.” Saufinril said, letting out a sunshiney smile that was vaguely returned by Armellon. Then each went on their way.

 That was SO amusing, Saufinril thought. Yes, of course Saufinril had lied before. It’s not like 200 or so years can pass someone and they only ever spoke the truth. But where his usual previous lies were for survival or to keep people in his life from seeing his flaws, he’d never lied like this. Not even when “seducing” targets into killing them had he lied like this. He didn’t know exactly how to name it. Maybe manipulation? He’d bended Armellon’s feelings to his will, in a way. Made Armellon feel guilty for following his (correct) intuition regarding Saufinril, and succeeded.

Sitting amidst the richest merchants of Evermor at that moment, he felt a bolt of power at the thought of that.

 It was around 1 in the morning when Emmanuel returned home. Judging by the wobble of his step, the redness in his cheeks and the ease in his factions, Toivon could guess (as he opened the door for him) the dinner went well.

“Good night, serjo.” Toivon greeted Emmanuel politely, in the same pleasant tone he’d gone to adopt when directing himself to any of the Hawkcrofts or their guests. Emmanuel didn’t acknowledge him. He just walked in, humming some song to himself as he headed upstairs. Toivon followed him, eyes scanning the merchant with care. Once again, he could tell the Breton’s graying hair was damp.