Shifting Perspectives; Shifting Merchandise

[Karai]

Karai floated about the musty basement, pulling aside any man that might have intrigued her for a moment. The form she had taken tonight allowed her to be as picky as she wanted, her prey would be clamoring for the buxom brunette rarity that waltzed among the gamblers and bookies. Everyone here was weighed down by the massive amount of money in their pockets, though Karai wanted a bit of a challenge. Half the men in the room were complete suckers, she didn't even need to read their minds. Painted on their faces were looks of anguish from lost bets, or absolute faith in a certain fighter. Idiots, all of them. Half of the game in any gamble was a good bluff, and the assurance that you couldn't lose anything without some sort of miracle. There were those who liked to spend money to socialize, and those who liked to socialize to make it.

But even still, none of the men she was passing through the minds of seemed to be of particular interest. Doubt and a glaring need for validation radiated off of nearly everyone here, except a few of the men fighting. A fleeting image happened to pass through the ether that was the connections Karai's mind had made. A picture of her father? Her father was what a few would consider an important man, but not too many people would have actually ever seen his face and had any interaction to have reason to remember it. She wasn't practiced enough in her telepathy to pick out the exact person the image had floated out of, but she could feel a bit of aggression not too far behind it. If it wasn't someone getting ready to box, it was someone getting ready to place a very high bet.

[redford]

John spat a bit of congealed blood from his mouth, turning away from his fallen opponent, an exceptionally large dwarf that took quite a beating before falling. Of course, he gave quite a beating as well, and John's face and neck were swollen and bloody. Part of the crowd cheered for him, the other part against him as he retreated from one of the smaller arenas in the basement, moving instead to a bench that served as both bar and gambling hall. A purse of coin, quite large by the looks of it, was laid before him. The dwarf must have been a winner. He looked up to the elderly gentleman that rewarded him, who smiled and laid a tankard of beer in front of John, following it closely with a large cigar. John took both. Virtually anyone could come in and rob the place, such was the man's infirmity in his old age, but the old man had been running the place for so long, and was so respected by it's goers, that anyone trying to lift any coin dishonestly would have to deal with nearly every fighter in the place. The old man extended a lit match, and John drew on the cigar until it was lit, the rich smoke filling his mouth.

"I'd have a steak for yer eye, but we're fresh out right now, son."

The old man was one of the few people John let call him 'son'.

"I'm fine," he said, draining a portion of the mug of beer.

The old man scoffed playfully. "Yeah, yeah, always fine. You come in here, trade blows most of the night, and it's always 'I'm fine'. It took me two months before I even knew you smoked! and another month before you'd let me give you a cigar, instead of selling you one."

John looked at the cigar, and back up to the old man. The only reason he gave them to John instead of selling them to him is because he made the old man good money. "They are good," he said, drawing on it again as the crowd cheered, another fighter slumping to the ground. "And not all night. Not tonight. Gotta finish some swords in the morning."

The old man turned and grabbed an empty tankard from halfway down the bar. "Well, you take care of yourself now. Course, I doubt you need much taking care of anyways!" he finished, laughing as he walked away.

John frowned a little. Perhaps two fights was a little much. The heft of the purse was nice, and the jingling of coins within pleasant, but his face would hurt a lot in the morning, especially since he'd fought that monster of a dwarf. He just hoped it wouldn't bruise too badly when he went to deliver the merchandise to the stuffy lord who'd paid far too much for swords that would be on a display for all eternity.

He turned his head a little and saw cascading brown hair out of the corner of his eye. The hair sat next to him, and a hand appeared, brushing it aside to reveal a woman, though that much was obvious from the beginning. She was beautiful, doubtlessly, but there was a subtle difference between the creature before him and the other common women who leased their affections by the hour. It was not a profession that drove her here, no, there was no love of gold in her eyes. Either that, or she was incredibly good at being a whore, which would place her in better locales than this, John thought as she looked him over with a gaze not unlike the one reserved for fine meats and candies. She placed a hand on the bar, turning toward him. He looked at her from the corner of a swollen eye, tilting his head slightly to see her better as he emptied the smoke from his mouth.

In either sense, it was not companionship that John sought tonight, it was sleep.

"You fight well," she said, applying her affections masterfully, "Do you win all the time?"

To say the words were honeyed would be a disservice to her. She spoke slowly and with a full, dark voice that fell upon the ears like melted chocolate on the tongue. John was tempted, his pockets were full and his head fuzzy with drink, but either way he had to be at the Lord's house early next morn. He would finish his cigar, then retreat to bed.

"Yes," he said, tapping the ash from his cigar into the small stone bowl that was already half full from previous users. He looked to her again. "And, yes."

[Karai]

Karai began whisking away the different hazy cloud-like streams that were the thoughts of those around her, honing in on the man sat bloodied. She was becoming more and more certain he was the one with her father's image in his head. Perhaps he was sponsoring this man's fights, though he was hardly a betting man, and mother would never have allowed that. Still, it was too early to simply ask about 'Lord Hemligh' and trying to explain how she knew he knew. Karai knew all too well how many took to magic these days.

"So what else are you particularly skilled in? A trade perhaps?" Karai tried to go deeper into John's head without revealing herself. Memories of.. hammers... metal and heat..

"You seem like the blacksmithing type, or maybe a carpenter," she trailed off as her fingers touched his arms ever so gently, tracing the outlines of his muscles. "It would seem you certainly have the arms for the work, anyway."

Perhaps 'Lord Hemligh' had hired the man for another trophy. It wouldn't be out of the ordinary, he was always demanding more to show off his wealth. Useless little things as well, to compare them to his peers. He simply was a dishonest man with excellent luck. The same, however, could be said for Karai, though she would simply say she learned from the best.

[redford]

The woman intrigued John, if only for her displacement among the rest of the crowd. She touched him, distracted him from his worries, if only for a moment. He remembered to keep his purse close this time, though. He answered her question, turning so he could meet her gaze.

"I work a forge, edge of town. I need to be somewhere in the morning," he said, trying to make it clear that he wouldn't be paying for her flesh tonight. His cigar was about half smoked. He would finish it and be on his way. He looked back a few seconds later, still seeing the woman next to him.

"You may have better luck with one of the other patrons."

[Karai]

Karai was a bit irritated, how dare someone try to dismiss her so quickly. They'd barely even started speaking. However, she refused to let her emotions show through. She dove deeper into this man's mind, perhaps a more impressive display would demand his interest.

"I believe you may have misunderstood my interest. Perhaps, I may seem a lady of less reputable standing, but it isn't a man's hard-earned gold I desire. I couldn't really care less for such things."

Karai slowly began the process of transforming herself, making sure that she had John's full attention. Slowly she became shorter and her hair lightened. What was once a bountiful bust shrank as Karai reclaimed her true form, that of a true northern noble, approximately 16 years old.

"You have business with a man in the morning, correct? That man is my father, and I have some... dealings to attend to at that manor. Come with me tonight instead, carry a few things for me, and you'll walk out with more gold than whatever that.."

She thought for a moment, probing around John's mind. It was difficult and took her a full second to grasp at what it was he was set to deliver. "Sword? Out of titanium as well. Well I guess he was always demanding the finest worthless things."

Karai seemed to ponder for a moment, but it was just a ruse. To play the game of interest, one couldn't simply give all of it at once, especially to a previously disinterested party. One needed to properly place the bait, or otherwise seem.. helpless.

[redford]

Hot damn, now I’ve seen it all, John thought as the comely brunette in front of him changed before his eyes into a small, skinny teenager. He nearly choked on his beer.

Suddenly, she looked very vulnerable in the bustle of large, burly men in the basement of the tavern, and John looked around to see if someone had noticed her. Though one or two looked her way, most of the men were busy with bets or beer, and the ones that did notice dismissed her easily enough. He looked back at her. She somehow knew of his meeting with the Lord tomorrow, though that was to be expected if she was his father. But, given her recent...abilities, John doubted this was so.

Though, gold held an allure to all men, John included. He tapped the ash on his cigar onto the tray. He looked at her again, she did seem to share a few of his client’s features, if nothing else.

“How do I know you speak the truth?”

[Karai]

Karai felt the twists and turns John's mind took as he contemplated the situation he found himself in, undecided on whether or not it would be worth his while. He was cautious, which would be expected; but greed was a vice of all men, strong and weak alike, both by wit and by physique.

"You don't, and you don't have to. To be.. as you might put it, square with you, I don't need your help. Your assistance would simply make what I intend to do less a task, and more something to enjoy. I will be leaving behind a lot, should I go alone."

Karai tapped the rim of the brandy some poor sod had tried to win her over with, holding it lazily in her now far more minute hands. She contemplated a sip, but reminded herself that drinking often led to.. urges. Distracting urges that would ruin the fun in her plans.

"But, John, if you require I give you some form of proof, here." From under the bosom of her dress she drew an amulet, set with a large iridescent opal. Engraved in the silver above the stone, Hemligh was written in beautiful script.

"The gift of my birth, a name," she said with an air of cattiness. Labels meant nothing to someone who could change themselves on a whim. "And if that's all you'll require, I suggest you finish that log of disgust and whatever swill you've been drinking, and come along. I promise it will be far more satisfying than winning a few half-rigged boxing matches."

Perhaps the sarcasm and sass were a bit over the top, and perhaps it might have been too much. But the masculine types never seemed to want to prove themselves worth any amount of time without a little insult. With just enough push, just about any man could be made useful.

[redford]

The warmth in John's chest grew as the girl spoke. The girl held out a pendant, the name of his client etched in the silver metal. He looked back up to the girl. She was confident, cocky even as she looked him up and down, commenting on 'half-rigged boxing matches'. John drained the rest of his beer, the last sip leaving that telltale bitter flavor in the back of his throat. The cigar's end burned bright as he pulled on it again.

He considered her proposition more carefully now that she'd offered credible proof as to her lineage. He wasn't quite sure what quarrel she had with the Lord, nor the precise amount of riches she would be 'leaving behind', but it was evident that Lord Hemligh was quite wealthy and affluent. He certainly wouldn't be harmed by the theft of a few coins, and such coin as John would be getting could go toward making better, cheaper swords for the townsfolk. The presence of a dragon in recent months had left many of Radasanth's denizens painfully aware of their lack of protection.

It would also be a long night. He probably wouldn't want to get any sleep, in order to finish the swords in a timely manner. Of course, he'd never given Hemligh a precise date that he would be finishing them, his deadlines were more for his own use than anyone else's.

"Hmmmm....." he said, blowing smoke out of his nose. Perhaps he could make some good out of her ill will toward her family. However, there was one thing he would not stand for.

"It is not a 'log of disgust', it is a fine cigar," he said flatly. "Where will we be going?"

[Karai]

Karai smiled, knowing he was hooked. What he didn't know wouldn't hurt him... much, anyway.

"Well first, we need to retrieve my father's sword. I plan on delivering it in some form of grandiose metaphor; just the way he would prefer it."

Karai raised the glass of brandy to her nose, taking a whiff of the mediocre drink. Perhaps she'd allow herself a single drink, just to get her blood flowing. And a small taste is all it took, as the amber liquid trailed along her tongue, she could feel her control slipping just a little. It was enough to remind her that her darker side was still lying dormant, just waiting for something to do, someone to ruin.

"After that, I suppose we'll have to see."

--

Karai and John left the underground boxing ring slash barroom, quickly making their way to John's forge. Karai watched as John repeatedly heated and shaped the adamantium blade into shape, carefully applying years of experience to his craft. Karai's mood slowly changed from aloof to determined as each strike of John's hammer fell on the red-hot metal. The room itself seemed to represent John and Karai themselves; John the enormous, stalwart man as the anvil, taking blow after blow, and never succumbing to the pressure and heat of the blade he was shaping; Karai the forge, a desire to live with a burning fire, causing those near her to flinch if they get too close.

The humor was lost to them both, it seemed, as John carefully heated the blade one last time and engraved Karai's family name along the body of the sword. Karai climbed down from the crate she had been using as a seat for the past few hours, her determination renewed as the final pieces of the hilt and handle were placed, and the sword completed.

It was a magnificent looking sword with a strange hue that seemed to change in the light, an absolute work of art that must have taken weeks of work.

"John, you are an artist," Karai almost whispered, the first purely truthful thing she'd said in a very long time. "I must say, it's a shame only the likes of my father will have any use of it."