Wrapped in Wool

[Breaker]

Closed to BlackandBlueEyes. For background on how Josh and Madison met check out Slow Ride on the Easy Train.

Two months prior, at Dirks Estate

Amber whisky poured from the bottle in a long, thin stream. I filled the tumbler halfway then re-corked the bottle. Reached behind me and placed it blindly on the shelf. It clinked off a few similar glass flagons, a cacaphony of off-pitch notes that echoed within the wooden cupboard. I smiled as I squeezed a fresh lime over the drink, adding a few drops of citrus to the strong drink. I loved the smell of whisky, rising from a glass as I swirled it in my hand. I reminded me of my father, a bear of a man lounging in his easy chair, omnipresent glass of rye cluthedin one powerful hand. Silently, I toasted to his memory and sipped the potent elixir. Heat seemed to blaze from my stomach to the top of my head, a pleasant sensation. One can never be alone with a good bottle of whisky.

The wine cellar of the Dirks Estate was a friendly place, even when I occupied it alone. Finely crafted wooden tables dotted the oaken floor in no particular pattern, chairs upturned on top of them. The bar occupied an entire corner, a broad polished counter lined with four identical stools. I sat on the lone stool behind the bar. An old habit my father had drilled into my head made me sit with my back to a wall, no matter what. Besides, I liked being within easy reach of the shelves that held bottles and bottles of booze. On the occasional time that more than a few members of Imperial occupied the estate I enjoyed playing bartender. It facilitated the process of getting to know my warriors better, without the awkwardness of formal interviews.

I sipped the drink and sighed, hundred proof breath rushing past my lips. As good a companion as the bottle made, I wished I had someone to talk to.

The mansion answered my thoughts with the sudden patter of light footfalls on the staircase. My ears twitched, honing in on the sound. Far too dainty for a man. I smiled, thinking of Skie Nito. The succubae had shared drinks with me often in that very room. Conversing with a moontae never failed to be entertaining. Without looking I reached backwards and pulled a clean tumbler from the lower shelf. Rolled it around my hand then plunked it onto the counter with a resolute thud. The footsteps had almost reached the bottom of the staircase.

"May I fix you a drink?"

My voice reverbrated off the basement walls like a drum, filling the torchlit interior with life. I couldn't help but feel cheerful.

"Finally, some decent company."

[BlackAndBlueEyes]

Hmm... This is quite a fascinating read... Dirks has enough books in that library of his, I don't think he'll care if I "borrow" this one for a while...

As I descended the staircase into the Dirks Manor wine cellar, I slipped the heavy leather-bound book, which was about shadowmancy, into my satchel. The times had been rather rough on me lately--an constant string of battles at the Dajas Pagoda had pushed me over the edge and into an early retirement of sorts. Each fight had taken place one right after the other; I could barely remember the names of those hapless souls that I had barely defeated. The experience left a bad taste in my mouth, pushing me to hate fighting in all of its forms. That was alright with me. It was time for a career change anyway. My time in Scara Brae had given me nearly enough money to open up a bookstore in Radasanth--a dream I've had for quite some time now.

But I needed that moment was a serious drink. At least here, I wouldn't have to spend any of my hard-earned money to meet that goal. It was made perfectly clear that we could help ourselves to whatever we wanted out of his collection, anytime we wanted it. It was a right that I felt obliged to constantly abuse.

As I reached the final few steps, a powerful voice called out from the doorway, asking if he could fix me something. The man sounded vaguely familiar... Where have I heard that voice before?

My heels clicked as I lightly sprung down the last few wooden steps. The wine cellar was empty, save for the scattered tables with chairs overturned on them, a few brightly burning torches that cast an amber glow over the place, and a single man seated at the bar. I paused for a second as his features came into focus. The first thing I recognized was a Y-shaped scar on his chin.

Joshua fucking Cronen. Of all the people I had to meet down here, it had to be him. My stomach turned as memories of our first encounter--in the Pagoda, no less--flashed into my mind. We traded fists, feet, verbal barbs, and something regrettable that earned me the nickname of "biter" amongst the monks that ran the place.

"No, I'll get it myself." I shot him a look that wasn't quite a glare as I made my way across the polished oak floor of the cellar towards the selection behind the bar. Joshua's presence put a sour taste in my mouth. I hadn't forgotten or forgiven him for making me submit during our spar--a defeat that tore me apart at the time. And yet, despite being good enough in the management's eyes to take a spot as a Warrior, that armbar always lingered in the back of my mind, always making me second-guess myself. Was I good enough? Is this where I belong?

As fate would have it, apparently not.

The overload of work forced me to resign from my post and return to the shadows once more.

I swiftly moved behind the bar, ignoring my superior as I ran my fingers across the bottles of various size and contents that lined the shelves. I could feel his piercing gaze, but tried to shut it out of my mind. My thin hands hovered over a bottle of vodka for a brief second before snatching it by the neck. I spun around and knelt down behind the bar, searching for a shot glass. Finding one, I slammed it down on the top of the polished wooden bar and poured myself a drink. The clear liquid sloshed around inside the small glass, breaking the uneasy silence that hung over the room like a noose.

Joshua's presence was starting to unnerve me. His eyes remained locked on me, mocking me. I needed something to calm me down. I jammed my hand into my satchel, desperately searching for one of the glass vials that I usually kept in there. After pulling out a handful of them, I saw that I was out of what I craved the most when I was felt like this--blood. It was a quirk that I never quite understood; the taste of blood always helped keep my wits about me.

My hand buried itself in my satchel once more, retrieving one of my daggers in the process. I quickly ripped the sharp blade out of its protective sheathe, and ran the tip of it against my forefinger. I squeezed a few drops of blood into the shot glass. The thick liquid slowly dissipated, spreading itself thin and turning my drink a bright red. I quickly picked up the glass, not caring that I was staining the outside of it with my open wound, and pounded the contents down my throat. The alcohol washed over my taste buds, while the slight tinge of iron worked its magic to calm me down somewhat.

I sighed heavily as I set the red-stained glass back down on the bar. I grabbed a nearby napkin and wrapped it around the cut on my finger as I made my way back to the other side, where I took a stool near my bottle of savior juice.

[Breaker]

"Decent company? Ugh, scratch that."

Madison Freebird clicked her way into the wine cellar, swaying like a scarecrow in a windstorm. Most women wore heels shape their legs and push their ass up. In Madison's case it seemed pointless. Her legs looked like toothpicks and she didn't have an ass. She shot me her usual bitter look as she declined the offer that hadn't been intended for her. That same snide expression had dominated her face the first time we met, at my Pagoda arena in Scara Brae. After defeating her in unarmed combat I attempted to console her, but she seemed predisposed to hate me from the start. Frankly, I didn't have a problem with that.

"I should have recognized the sound of those damn heels. And locked the damn door."

Madison made a walking-- no, a clicking-- contradiction. A proffesional assassin, she behaved more like a schoolgirl with a grudge. I knew the Dajas Pagoda council had recently ejected her from the hierarch ranks. In truth, I shared her pain. The same ruling had demoted me from the much coveted rank of Master back to Warrior. But I knew better than to expect empathy from her. In Madison's loathing eyes I served only as a memory of a job and a duel she had lost. I took a gulp of whisky. No point in trying to reason with someone like that. The peaceful atmosphere of the cellar had turned hostile, the air crackling with electric tension.

I watched from the corner of my eye as she set up a shot glass and battle right next to me. Not on the other side of the bar, not at one of the many vacant tables. Instead she chose to establish herself at an awkwardly close proximity. Within arm's reach, her pale skin looked waxy in the lanternlight. She pulled a dagger from her bag with such vicious speed that I thought for a moment she would try to stab me. The glass in my hand came dangerously close to shattering as my grip vised around it. When I realized what the knife was for I rolled my eyes and took another, larger gulp of my drink. Getting used to Madison's vampiric habits didn't make them any more appealing.

A knot of tension between my shoulders eased when she moved around to the other side of the bar. Far enough away that she couldn't put a knife in me. The vodka sloshed about in the bottle as she set it down. Flashes of lantern light danced amidst the distilled liquid. I felt like a moth drawn to a torch. Was it innapropriate? Yes. Immature? Most definitely. But Madison's sour demeanor overwhelmed my better judgement. I couldn't resist a verbal barb.

"I heard you did pretty well at the Pagoda. Figure out how to escape an armbar yet?"

It wasn't entirely without justification. She more or less refused to learn from me, despite the considerable technique I could have taught her. I swirled the contents of my glass but didn't drink. I wanted to see if she could meet my gaze.

[BlackAndBlueEyes]

I could feel the blood rush to my face; whether out of embarrassment or rage, I couldn't tell. That limey son of a bitch just had to remind me of the humiliating circumstances surrounding his victory over me back in Scara Brae. The playback was crystal clear as it unfolded in the back of my mind: I swung a left hook at his chin, which he blocked with his arm. In hindsight, I should have lunged in with a well-placed knee strike to his exposed and bruised midsection. Yet before I could react, Joshua flung his arm around and entrapped mine, plowing me to the floor and forcing me to submit.

My grip tightened around the diminutive glass, my fingers trembling slightly as I poured another shot of vodka down my throat. The alcohol burned on its way down--perhaps it was a bit too melodramatic, but it burned like my hatred towards the man with the devious smirk plastered on his face. The more I looked at him, the more I was around him... The sicker I was beginning to feel.

Before I could stop myself, I grabbed the bottle of vodka off the bar, and threw it with as much force as I could muster at my superior's (by title only) head. I stood up in a huff, knocking the stool over in the process as I stormed out of the Dirks manor wine cellar without bothering to see if the liquor connected with the soldier's face.

Fuck this shit, I silently screamed to myself as I tore up the staircase and turned the halls until I found the front door. I don't need to put up with any of this bullshit. I don't even know why I'm here in the first place!

[Breaker]

It took but a moment's focus. To my trained eyes, the bottle seemed to float in slow motion. I reached out with one callused hand and caught it before a drop could spill. As Madison turned her back and stormed out of the room, I took a shot from the bottle. Pulled a wry face. I never could understand why anyone would drink vodka; the taste was terrible. I set the bottle of clear liquid down and gargled with a mouthful of whisky to banish the offensive flavour.

"I wonder if that girl is ever going to learn to act like a normal person..."

Madison's melodramatic reaction solidified a belief I was already toying with; that she was not the kind of person I wanted to work with. Tempermental as a live wire, I didn't see how she could possibly hope to succeed as an assassin.

"Didn't I hear something about her wanting to open a book store? Probably a better idea, if she doesn't flip out and burn the place down the first time she deals with a cranky customer."

I tried to relax in the renewed comfort of the wine cellar, but couldn't seem to settle into my mental groove. Visions of botched assassination attempts flashed through my head, most of them placing Madison in fairly comical positions. I smiled as I sipped the last of the whisky from my glass and got up for a refill.

"Anyone who hires that barley sprout to kill their enemy is barking up the wrong damn tree. I'd just as soon have a tiger shark perform triple bypass surgery."

I squeezed the lime, and drops of citrus swirled in the glass, shining in the lantern light.

[Breaker]

Due to BlackandBlueEyes' inactivity, this thread can be moved to the unresolveds, and I am jumping to another thread. Thank you!