#theon.eterna

[napoleonxfalon]

@theonxepialos location: Merchant Guild Hall, Eterna notes: meet cute part 2 electric boogaloo

The late afternoon sun cast a warm, golden glow through the stained-glass windows of Falon's office, painting the room in a kaleidoscope of colors. The air was filled with the scent of aged parchment, rich mahogany, and the faint, lingering aroma of Falon's cologne. Napoleon paced the length of the office, his loose-fitting crimson tunic, adorned with intricate emerald embroidery, shifted softly with each step. His eyes scanned the shelves lined with books and artifacts, the walls adorned with maps and charts, and the desk strewn with paperwork and correspondence. Falon had needed his signet and, well, Napoleon was in no rush to surrender control so quickly. Even as the changeling hissed from his reflection, Napoleon ignored him - enjoying how worked up his elvhen counterpart could get.

Napoleon paused occasionally, his fingers tracing the spines of old ledgers and cool metals, the strange curios and baubles that Falon collected, and the rough edges of parchment marked with Falon's meticulous handwriting. There was so much order here, not a book out of place, not a piece of decor not where it ought to be. Drab, simple, and academic - Napoleon loathed completely. It was the indelible warning that someday he'd sweep this place but they had a standing agreement. The office was Falon's domain, and the estates were Napoleon's. He wouldn't meddle with that, at least not yet.

From the corner of his eye, he caught a glimpse of Falon in the ornate mirror that hung on the far wall. The changeling's reflection was pacing, mirroring Napoleon's movements, his expression a mix of frustration and impatience. "Napoleon," Falon hissed, his voice a low, insistent whisper. "Switch back, you've had your fun- I'm expecting some-" Napoleon cut him off, "I'm perfectly capable of holding my own meetings." He did enjoy this.

The handle on the door turned and Napoleon looked toward the other, his eyes meeting those of a stranger. The man was tall and lean, his body corded with muscle, his eyes sharp and assessing. There was an air about him that sent a thrill up Napoleon's spine - this was no fat merchant or gout-ridden shipwright, no, he was something else entirely. Where Napoleon could be overtly trusting and naive he did know nobility when he saw it. Wealth was something that the Sinarian could smell and despite his attire, there was a posture and an undeniably regal presence. "Leon." Came Falon's bite once more, the sharp hiss was marked by a nickname that the changeling only pulled out when he really wanted something. He was too late though, he should have tried that a few moments sooner because Napoleon was suddenly intrigued.

"And who might you be?" Napoleon asked, he didn't bother to sit behind the stuffy, imposing desk; instead, he made his way from the shelf of hand-carved trinkets that Falon had made, to stand directly in front of the stranger. Briefly, Napoleon's eyes traveled the length of the stranger's body, taking in every detail, every nuance. "There was no one on the ledger- no name, nothing but a cleared afternoon. Bit unusual for our... Mutual acquaintance." Falon was perpetually busy, and that his schedule was clear was a tell that Napoleon easily recognized.

[napoleonxfalon]

"You're in my thoughts?" Napoleon was caught off guard, but in the best way, he hadn't been expecting that. Witch? No, that didn't seem right. He watched a bit more closely as he conjured some visions in his head: the assassin's back against the desk, Napoleon's thighs around his waist - far less clothing and far more moaning. "What am I thinking about right now?" He wasn't a study on supernatural creatures, though Falon would probably have a better idea on what this meant for their mutual friend.

At the gesture, Napoleon felt his breath hitch. He'd read a book about this once, but being on the receiving end made some colour rise into his cheeks. The Prince and the Assassin, it usually ended with a marriage but the Sinarian could only dream. Literally, his mother would never let him marry someone of such low standing. Still, the notion that a contract was out on his head and Falon had paid him off instead? He understood why the changeling wished to keep them apart, one threat against Napoleon's life, and the Prince was already fashioning a dream board of their future nuptials.

Romanticizing everything and having the worst taste in men was a vice, one that would inevitably send Falon to an early grave.

"Most of his associates are three times our age, gout-ridden, and carry the kind of decorative blades that'll chip and shatter in their sheath before ever seeing the light of day." Which was to say that most of Falon's business partners were old, ugly, poor (by comparison), and boring. While the hired killer was probably bordering on destitute (by comparison), Theon wasn't any of those other things.

"I'm proud of you, you figured it all out by yourself," purposefully vexing, Theon brushes off Napoleon's own teasing with ease. Amusement flickered in his eyes, where Theon's smugness showed upon his face, Napoleon's flooded jesting words and taunts, "You don't look at me like I'm a fool and you certainly didn't think of me as one; less you'd fuck the jester at your party too." Theon snickered at that, but it wasn't with cruel intent.

The incubus pondered on the deal struck with Falon, he'd told him not to concern Napoleon with it, but the noble seemed so intent on being granted what he felt was owed; it was almost perplexing. A brow rose, "He seemed to make it clear that you're one to look away, so why concern yourself now?" His eyes fell, taking a healthy look at the noble; for all he'd learned about Napoleon and his habits, Theon hadn't once ventured to truly look him over.

"Seems you just like to push buttons," no amount of gold could deplete Theon's own need to be the top annoyance in the room and so the incubus smiled and simply hoped the changeling was in a forgiving mood later. "No wonder you'd a contract on your head." He held up a hand and made a motion of throwing a knife as he said this as if Theon couldn't make it clear enough what he'd been sent for, and since bought out from, by a higher bidder.

[napoleonxfalon]

"That's for the best, you don't wanna know what he does with the appendages he takes." Napoleon made a gulping sound, as if he were swallowing something thick and then paid more careful attention to what Theon was saying without really saying. Falon called himself Napoleon's protection, then struck a deal with a man who wasn't easily bought. He'd make an attempt at some mental gymnastics but it wasn't a stretch, Napoleon already assumed everything was about him so when it was he landed on the fact relatively quickly.

There wasn't much that money couldn't get him and unfortunately, Falon was well aware of how loose Napoleon was with his purse. Whatever deal these two had struck would transcend the mountain of gold that Napoleon could throw at it. However, the real question was how much was it worth?

"This must be about me." Falon didn't value anything else so highly, save perhaps for the business itself but even that "You're..." Napoleon gasped, smiled, then teased, "You must be the caterer." He glanced at Theon's hands, "you certainly look like you spend a lot of time handling knives." He tapped his chin a couple of times, "No, that's not it - you're the jester. You have fool written all over you, but you should know you're late. My birthday was months ago."

The grin spread, "He's listening." Napoleon affirmed, his gaze flitting toward the mirror in the corner, meant to reveal any hidden weapons a person standing on this side of the desk might be holding behind their back. Always the precautions. "Anything else you'd like him to hear?"

"He only affirmed that he was your protection," a wicked smile fell into place as Napoleon seemed to throw a comment out to prove him wrong, riddled with strong conviction though which made it hard for Theon to cast such comment to the side so easily. "-But not to this caliber," perhaps the incubus should have done his homework a bit more thoroughly; if he was still inclined to cull the prince it was clear all he had to do was sleep with them. Regardless, a compelling thought considering his own vengeful spirit against nobles, Falon had offered a healthy sum that nullified the insidious thought.

Theon's head titled in stride with Napoleon's, a mirror image that was unintentional but equally as inflammatory if it had been. Both hands came up after a brief pause, Theon wiggling each finger that rested atop a hand riddled with calluses and a few scars, "I don't really feel I'm at liberty to say considering he allowed me to keep all ten fingers." Falon had also threatened to allow him to keep nine on the reveal of whom Theon initially worked for, the fact he'd walked away with no injury only spoke to a silent tether of respect Theon would thus have for their deal.

His hands fell to his sides, leaning against the chair that faced the desk, though not sitting within it directly. "You're clearly used to getting whatever you so please though," his head was still canted to the side and the infuriating grin had reappeared. "When you're whispering to each other later just let him know I've handled what he's asked for," the grin settled into something sycophantic, purposefully meant to rile and annoy Napoleon for not being completely forthcoming on the matter he pushed at.

[napoleonxfalon]

While this was far from his preferred time of day, the company was an improvement from the average court. The nobility were all so stuffy here, he hated it, it was like nobody knew how to have fun. So there was a war... or something, was that really reason enough to halt the games? Or the parties? Napoleon had thrown one for the supposed end of the world but even that was losing fashion. At least Falon's unbooked appointment was something to look at, even if his choice of materials looked like it'd given Napoleon's more sensitive skin rugburn.

"Innocent?" Incredulous, Napoleon's brow shut up at the accusation because, for all the wonderful things that he was, there was nothing innocent about his mind. Even now his mind was elsewhere, tracing the ridges of a certain gladiator with his tongue. "The next time his cock is breaking at the back of my throat I'll lend him your thoughts." Only in dreams, sadly enough; he couldn't help but wonder if Falon had actually made such claims - but fucking his business associates was one way of proving a point.

"Well," Napoleon said with a sigh, taking a position up on the edge of the desk as he perched himself there. "I am the master of this guild, this is my office, and just about everything else Falon owns belongs to me." When he tilted his head, the curls atop it shifted just slightly, "So if you have business with him, you have business with me. Which, you're in luck, most people find me to be far more agreeable." He'd list all the qualities that made him Falon's better shortly, loud enough so the reflection could hear. "Besides, he was adamant that we not meet, I'd like to know why."

Theon couldn't say he was enthused with meeting at any guild hall, but the incubus was more intrigued than wary. Falon had coded himself as the protector of the prince, the very noble that Theon had been enlisted to cull, and he was swiftly learning that Falon had an entire constructed life outside of anything he'd do directly for the noble whose body he shared. The fact that Falon subjected himself to the protection of Napoleon was a given, the latter notion that he'd subject himself to abysmal paperwork and dealing with the pompous rich of his world willingly was something else entirely.

Theon made no formal entrance to the hall and into the office Falon had directed him to; the changeling practically expected him, and it was only a matter of when Theon was to arrive. Though he'd dressed down in terms of assassin garb, Theon could not abandon what was learned on grueling years of such job; the incubus clung to any shadow within the brightly lit Merchant's Guild, he made no efforts to catch the eyes of others, and he practically slinked to the office that was reportedly Falon's. The master of the guild hall, Theon tried not to let a sardonic grin slip upon his countenance as reflection of the memory.

Before Theon entered, he paused outside the doors; seemingly alone but a friction and endless torrent of clashing emotions greeted the incubus. Frustration and glee, contempt and curiosity; it spoke to such yin and yang Theon was not yet privy to and once Theon assured himself the other was simply at odds with himself in there, the assassin entered. He needn't knock and Theon presumed Falon wouldn't wish for him to do so anyhow. He paused at the sight of Napoleon, however, a brief lapse in his stride before Theon attempted to play innocent, to play dumb. Curiosity radiated off the other, thick and unbridled, as Napoleon strode forth to meet Theon in the center of the room. His lip tried not to turn upwards into a grin as Napoleon confirmed such eagerness through a clear scan of Theon.

This was far more interesting now; Falon had ensured he wouldn't bother Napoleon with the knowledge of Theon, but to know that was since confirmed true only allowed the incubus to be more invested in what rapport was laid here between the two halves of the changeling.

"I must be someone he doesn't want to concern your innocent mind with," he couldn't help the grin that formed then as Theon taunted Napoleon likely the way Falon seemed to, punctuating his words by lifting a finger to tap Napoleon on the forehead. "You'll have to share with him how hurt I am that he seems to have abandoned our meeting, or in your case, forgotten about it," the grin simmered to a playful pout, Theon's eyes scanning the room, each shadow and corner of it, before his eyes shifted back to Napoleon, still stood right before him.