Private Tales Your Money or Your Life

A private roleplay only for those invited by the first writer
Rob's head tilted to the side so he could better study her with his good eye. She leaned against a tall pole, arms crossed. Trying to get a reaction out of him with this new information. His lips pursed firmly and he placed a hand on the pole, just above her head, and leaned forward until he could practically smell the jasmine on her.

"Why's he doing that, eh? Not supposed to be fixing any Belgrathian safes until he hits Alliria..." The words came low and sibilant.

Yew did not smell like jasmine, or any fine perfumes. Not he, an elven brigand who spent all day in the woods chasing passing carriages. The smell of damp soil and decomposing leaves and wood resin clung to his clothes. His skin smelled as of sunlight baked-in after so many hours outdoors and unsheltered, warm and slightly salty.

As he leaned against the post and spoke to her, their faces so close, the fingers of a hand came up, reaching toward her hidden pocket where he'd heard the crinkle of paper earlier. Elven fingers, famously dexterous, could easily pick a pocket should they so deign to stoop. And oh, did Rob deign.

But the senses of a fae-blood assassin, so finely honed, might pick up on those fingers even as they sought to slip in and retrieve the bit of parchment.

Lyria Killoran
 
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His close proximity only earned him a light furrowing of her brows, but it remained when he asked her the question. One brow twitched, deepinging the scowl only a moment. "Maybe you can find that out when you read the second page." Her eyes bore into his single gaze, unperturbed.

A moment of stillness between them, Lyria began to crook a smile. It started small before it grew to something wicked. "A question for you, Rob Yew." Lyria's hand shot out, holding his wrist to keep his hand from withdrawing once she heard the crinkle of parchment move beneath his fingers. "Do you speak Gildan? Or Old Parianese?" She kept him there, inches from her. Lyria's smile was amused. "Because I hope you can read my writing."

She knew many languages, having been taught a handful of words and phrases in order to craft messages in confusing ways. Dontae had encouraged her to always mix two languages, as she had done on that second page.

Her tongue clicked, and the assassin shook her head slowly at him. "You will need me to the end. Only I know the intentions used to write that page you are trying to steal."
 
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The pull on Rob's wrist brought them nearly nose to nose. Rob went the extra inch to make it true, 'til his one good eye stared into the depths of one o' hers.

"Clever girl," he grinned wickedly.

He did not in fact speak either. Some elves bothered to learn other languages, but many found the effort beneath them. Why learn anything but the perfection of the eldest tongue? Maybe he needed to start. Aside from elvish and dwarven he knew common - obviously - and a smattering of Steppe Orc and Anirian. But those two she mentioned were not exactly common languages.

"Probably wrote it backwards so you can only decipher it in a mirror too, eh?"

Yew's wrist moved suddenly as he sought to maneuver his hand up over, then under the hand grasping his wrist, break the hold, and pin the offending hand on the pole up above her head.

"Fine. We'll wrap this shopping up and then what, you gonna host a party and we snatch him at your estate?"

Lyria Killoran
 
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This felt like a dance between them, one she far more enjoyed than those she had danced before at society balls and galas. Perhaps it was the dangerous edge to him that got her excited someone was finally making this far more interesting, but the way he loomed closer and spoke softly, Lyria knew they perhaps were cut from the same cloth even if they were dyed and made into different pieces.

She let him turn around who held the power, a soft giggle leaving her lips as he pinned her wrist above her head that rested against the pole to give some excuse for space from his face nearing her own.

"A party means too many witnesses. You are already demonstrating that you like to disarm me, so why not make it look as if you are laying a trap?" Her smile was sharp, just as her blue eyes were daring him. Everything about the woman before him was a reminder she was trained to be this methodical with her work. She was always prepared, and if she had to improvise, then she could rely on her instinct and quick thinking.

Lyria made no move to break from him light prison he held around her, blocking her way out from leaning against the pole or even breaking free from his grip on her wrist.

She brought a leg up, making sure it brushed the side of his and stayed there as she bent it and rested the sole of her boot against the pole. "The names on his route after the Killorans are three members of Allirian aristocracy that was are also the wealthiest of this side of Epressa. You make it look like you have been waiting for him, to make him show you how to work the locks and all that security at my family's estate... I can act, you know? I can cry and plead for help, plead for him to do as they say so that I may not die at their hand." Lyria smiled, and it felt like a promise. "I can demonstratge right here, before the entire Alley of Glass."

Lyria's eyes changed. For the first time that he would see, her eyes turned soft, impossibly so. Her expression changed, appearing fearful and trying to be brave at the same time.

"I will do it, you know? I can make them all pull you away from me in hopes they make some coin from a noble woman unable to defend herself." Tears welled up in her eyes, and after a blink, the barrier broke and let silver traces fall down her cheeks.
 
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Rob's one good eye watched the false tears tracking down her face, her lower lip trembling as if in terror of his presence. Such full lips. Very plump. She'd probably had plenty of suitors after a kiss. Or a bite.

Her plan wasn't a bad one. The first one, but as for the second. . .

He covered her mouth with one hand, grimacing at the feel of her lips against his palm and the skin of her face surprisingly soft. He stared into her blue eyes. Gods. She did look pretty when she cried. They'd come running to save her.

The brush of a warm limb against his leg made him glance down to where her knee rested against him, foot propped up on the pole behind her. Yew snorted softly and leaned forward even further so that her knee brushed higher and their bodies practically pressed together.

"That right?" he hissed, "You going to beg and scream?"

His hands shifted, one pinning her wrist above her head to the pole, fingers wrapped around both, while the other moved from her mouth to settle on the thigh she'd propped up. His fingertips stippled the fabric of her pants with a grip on her thigh strong from decades spent pulling back bows and gutstring.

"I think I'd like that," though the harsh slash of his rising mouth seemed to mean a different sort of screaming altogether.

Lyria Killoran
 
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Her eyes became alight, lashes fluttering heavily at the thought of his insinuation. Once his hand left her mouth, Lyria was free to grin at him, triumphant.

"I was not lying when I said you were pretty. Come now, Rob Yew. You are stalling me from my shopping."

She did not push him away. Worse displays of lust and love were seen in this Alley, but no one paid them much attention. Lyria peered down to his hand at the side of her thigh, noting the way his fingers pressed into the soft leather. "If you were interested in bedding me, good sir, then perhaps once our business has concluded would I invite you to my bed." It would not mean much, nothing for her to fawn over, but Lyria had felt a tug towards him. He was pretty, even if it was in a lethal sort of way.

Her eyes assessed his face again, watching him openly.

"Let us go. I have poisons and antidotes to buy." The spell was broken. Lyria moved her arms, quickly breaking from his hold and gently pushing him back a few steps so that there was space between them. "You can woo me at a later time."
 
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"Uh huh," Rob snorted, but followed behind her as they went about the market, feeling like some sort of hound as she saw to her errands. It annoyed him, but he needed the other half of the information she claimed to have.

After she finished with her shopping list, Rob led her back to the camp outside the city. They'd pitched it off the main road in a copse of trees that would hide the band from prying eyes. The soft hubbub of the camp grew deathly silent as the pair entered. There were maybe two dozen of the brigands. Most were elves, faces and arms littered with scars that said they'd seen hard fighting. Mainly with the Anirians. But there was an Avariel and a handful of dwarves as well. They all either pretended to ignore Lyria, or else glared outright at her.

Rob chewed on a stalk of wheat he'd plucked on the way over, "They think you're human," he grunted. "And you already know how we feel about those mouthbreathers. Worse than orcs."

A pot with stew bubbled over a small fire in the center of the camp. They'd chosen the wood carefully so as to not let off too much smoke and give away their position. Rob strolled up to the pot, nodding at the dwarf stirring the contents.

"Gunther."

"Rob.... you uh.... taking in strays?" Gunther glared up at Lyria.

"Naw, this is the contact I told you about. She's got the information we need. We'll be moving up to the Killoran estate."

"Uh huh," Gunther squinted at Lyria, then shrugged. "Alright. Rabbit stew?"

He held up a ladle of the stew. Rob sniffed. It smelled delicious. He glanced over at Lyria.

Lyria Killoran
 
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"Small portion, if you please." Lyria had ate her usual portion of a meal before meeting Rob at the Alley, and even now did not feel too famished. If she were entirely human, she would no doubt have her stomach rumbling. "He will have his portion too, please."

Once both bowls were poured, Lyria took them both with a dazzling smile that only got her a withdrawn look. She knew she was not entirely welcome here, and that they would only put up with her due to their ringleader. Lyria looked to Rob with an arched brow.

"Well, you going to lead me somewhere so we can eat?"

"... brought a toy to fuck with, no doubt. Had to be human..."

Whispers were heard, conversation not meant to be heard by her, but Lyria never let on her heightened senses. She did make a conscious effort to be seen standing closer to Rob Yew, to stare at him longer than usual. If anything, she liked fanning the flames of rumour. Slowly, a smile widened on her lips. "How much time we have?"
 
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A flat-eyed gaze stared back at her.

"Uh huh."

He took his bowl, sniffed it suspiciously again to see if the scent changed. Didn't smell like she'd put anything in it. But you never could trust the faeblooded.

The way she stood closer to him made his eye narrow and he looked her up and down, his head tilting so that he could keep her in sight. He shifted his stance slightly, making sure she was not on his blind side.

Rob started toward the far side of the camp, passing a few tents and bushes until he stopped at the base of a maple near the edge of the copse, surrounded by ferns and shrubs. He stirred his stew with a spoon, then sat down.

"A few hours," he replied cooly, wondering what game she was playing. The band wouldn't want to move out right after eating. And they did not need to, not in a hurry to break camp just yet.

The leaves of the maple were starting to turn. He enjoyed autumn. But then came winter. And the trade would dry up. And with it, their source of meals. Not much difference between his brigands and a pack of wolves, he supposed.

"Why an assassin?" he asked suddenly as he looked at the nearby shrubs. "You've enough money to be whatever you want, don't you?"

Lyria Killoran
 
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The question posed to her only earned him a stare, her brows furrowing slightly as if waiting to see if he would follow it up with more questions or context, but he did not. Lyria frowned. "What gave you the idea I had a choice?"

The money? Money bought many things, but being born into money was not freedom. If she were not an assassin, trained from a young age, she would have been just a noble daughter, also trained from a young age. Neither part of her life felt natural to her, but she had been doing it all for so long... she did not know who she was without both identities.

She scooped some of the stew and brought it to her lips, blowing gently upon it to cool it before consuming.

"This is Alliria. Corruption is not a weed, but a rot in many families rich with wealth. The Killorans are no different. The Lord Killoran made many investments in businesses that exploited others, and his attitude to others was not favorable even to his own immediate family... to my sister and I." Lyria did not look down cast at mentioning the old Lord. Instead, she looked as if she knew something many did not. "His death was a long time coming... but I made sure I kept up my training if it meant to protect my family that remains from anyone wishing to harm us due to the crimes of a father."

Another spoonful, and another, her very small portion of stew was nearly done.

"I cannot leave my sister. Not ever. She is pure and kind hearted and I would destroy anyone that harmed her nature."
 
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“Hm,” he replied.

It had been a long time since Rob thought of his own family. Hundreds of years of elven lineage erased in a single Dreadlord attack full of fire and death.

He spooned a portion of stew into his mouth and chewed slowly.

Yeah, he knew something of enemies. He left most of that behind in the west. For now. He would need to build up enough funds and warriors out in the Reach to try another attack on Vel Anir. That would take time. But he was an elf. He had time.

Time to invest.

“Invest,” Rob snorted, “That a byword for stacking up massive debts?”

He looked sidelong at Lyria.

“Or is that just how he talked about people? Sounds like he invested in your mother a time or two.”

Rob’s mouth twisted in a smile made sickening by the way his scar pulled at his lips.

“I take it she was the fae then? A wonder your sister came out kind.”

Lyria Killoran
 
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Lyria hummed a sound, using that to answer him.

"Without the investment from my family, many businesses and people would not be turning a profit. It is with that funding they are able to operate large organisations. They make money, we make money." It meant there was money beyond that of the generational wealth that accumulated. An entire portion of Alliria could rise in quality in life if they so much as gave a small fraction of it away.

Setting aside her bowl, she stared at him again. "You have a lot of questions about me. Have I caught your interest, Rob Yew?" Her lips quirked. "Shall I do the same and ask you questions to learn more about you?"

Lyria would not mind knowing more about him if she knew how to conduct the right set of questions to learn more about him. She had been trained to see things at a surface level, to not be attached to many emotionally... if she learned anything about him that struck her, Lyria knew it would be hard to recover should it be used against her.

"Say..." she trailed off, watching him with a wicked glint in her blue gaze, "what is it you like about me, hm?"
 
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His one good eye followed her bowl as she set it to the side, then moved slowly back to her face. Her own eyes peered at him, blue as the sky above and framed by hair the color of beaten gold, or maybe the wheat in summer’s harvest, a great sea of gold stirred rippling with a soft breeze. She wore a cunning set to her lips and a touch of wickedness glinted in her eyes like ice in the sun.

Rob let his eye wander further down, across a form he knew to be tightly muscled and lean beneath those garments, though he’d never seen. Only felt. He could imagine toned limbs, a taut stomach, and perked-

The elf swallowed, grimacing back at her with his crooked grin. He tugged reflexively at the swath of bandages covering half his face, pulling them lower over the ruined eye and ugly wound beneath.

“Who said I liked you, Killoran?” His green eye narrowed.

She was sharp as a dagger and just as deadly. Is that why he’d given her his own blade?

“Maybe I don’t. Maybe I think you’re dull as a hammer.”

One didn’t have to be fae to spot the lie. Not that he tried to hide it. He spoke in opposites.

Lyria Killoran
 
His answer gave her purpose, a chance to counter him. When conversation and words could be wielded in a light spar, it made her blood sing as if she wielded a blade.
"Oh, do tell me what you do not like about me. Perhaps I may be tempted to prove you otherwise."
Some may call it flirting.

"You said we have a few hours until we have to leave..." Dangerous territory had been entered, and Lyria grinned widely. "Time for a tête-à-tête, no? I can start us off by telling you what I do not like about you." The teasing was meant to be a sharp jab, if she spoke them to anyone else. Her truth was that she did like him, found him intriguing and pretty even if it were not in the conventional way.

For many, there would be quite the list of reasons not to like him, but the assassin found ever aspect of him of interest.

"There is not a thing I can think of that I do not like about you." Was that truth? Or was she able to say such a thing because she found a way to evade the truth?

Lyria drew her legs in upon her seat on the grass, crossing them before her. The leather she wore groaned before stilling as she found a comfortable spot. "Now, you tell me your list." An invitation for him to lie to her some more.
 
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Rob’s brows drew together in a scowl at the woman who sat cross legged before him.

Not a thing?

“I thought fae couldn’t lie,” he snapped back, tugging again at his bandage. The wound itched. It often did.

How could she say she did not like a thing about him when his face lay carved open like some solstice chicken? She must be toying with him. She enjoyed that. Seeing which gears of his she could grind, which ropes she could pull to make the bells clang.

Annoying.

“Your leathers, for one. You’re an assassin and you expect me to believe they wouldn’t hear you creaking up behind them? You’d be better off without them.”

In simple cotton or wool, like Rob wore at this moment. Loose and breathable. And it didn’t fucking creak.

Lyria Killoran
 
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"Oh, so you heard me when I assassinated that banker yesterday? Is that why you were so enraged and chased after me?" She grinned. "I wear many things, Rob Yew, and if there is horseback travel, I am most comfortable in my leathers. If combat was to occur, the leathers are also extra padding and protection. I am wicked with a bow, but I also dressed for a fight." She shrugged, straightening her spine and posture. "Do not fret. I have many outfits at the country estate house that will not creak. You can pick out a dress if you wish when we arrive."

Lyria watched him, the smile dimming to a light smile. Her eyes bore into him, taking in every detail she could see of his face with just a few feet between them.

"How many times must I say it in order for you to believe my words?" She murmured after a while. "I see you, bandages, scars, and prickly nature... I see it all and I do not turn away. In fact, I believe it is all of that that has caught my attention. The moment you do or say something I do not like, I will be sure to inform you."

Perhaps the fact she got on his nerves so much was enough to interest her. He was not one to fawn over her, or even to try to desperately get her attention. No attempts to bed her or treat her as something disposable.

No. He was not a man of the high society of the elites in Alliria.

A brigand, a scowling elf that did not take kindly to her kind as a human or a fae. He was wary of her, but he made every conversation between them something to delight upon.

"Something tells me you will never believe a word I say."
 
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Pick out a dress for her, as if they were at an Allirian ball. Rob would have scoffed at the idea, but he’d seen what some of the women wore and the cuts of their dress. He wondered what styles an assassin had in such a closet.

She kept talking and his lips thinned at her words. Caught her attention, eh. He remembered riding her down their first meeting after she’d murdered his mark. Gods he’d been so angry, but she’d been laughing at him.

He could see the laughter in her eyes the way she looked at him now. And… something else. Something that made his jaw tense.

Slowly, Rob set his own bowl of stew aside.

“No,” he rasped, “I believe in action.”

She sat there, half-expectant, looking as if she was waiting for something. His heart thudded in his chest. He could hear the blood pounding in his ears too.

Rob stood, took a step forward, then knelt down on one knee in front of her. He steadied his breath. This close he could see every variation of blue in her irises. Rob reached out and wrapped his hand around her throat with a slow, deliberate motion.

“How about now?” He hissed, looming inches away from her. “Doing something you don’t like yet?”

Lyria Killoran
 
When he moved and declared action, her body tensed for a moment. Enough time to determine if he was going to become a threat, but even as he lowered to his knee before her, her eyes blazed. What will he do?

He brought a fist up to her throat, so slowly that she had time to swat him away should she wish it but she allowed him to continue. Her eyes watched him, daring not to blink too much in case he changed his approach. She tilted her head back, allowing his hand a better fit around her neck and meet his gaze steadily.

"Oh, please. This is practically flirting, Rob Yew." He would be close enough to see the playful nature in her expression turn to challenge. The smiles were gone, but the slight increase to her heart rate told him of the other feeling she got from his proximity. "We have danced to this tune before. Remember? My back was on the ground like this..." She leaned back, legs unfolding as she lowered herself. He would follow if he kept his hand at her throat. "You even held a knife to my throat and nicked me. I still did not find something to not like then."
 
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He followed her down, propping himself up on one hand beside her head in the grass, while the fingers of the other curled around her throat. He could feel the pulsing of her heart beneath his hand. Quickening as he shifted his weight forward so that he hovered over her, body between her legs. Leather creaked. Her body was warm beneath him. Her legs on either side of him.

A tingle ran down his spine.

Close. Far closer than they’d truly been when he’d held a knife to her. His weight placed somewhere else entirely. The feeling of her beneath him different.

Her hair spilled out around her head and in the grass like a halo of gold. Rob leaned down until his lips grazed her ear.

“Should I hold a knife to your throat then? For nostalgia?”

Yew’s mouth drifted south, breath hot against the side of her neck.

“Or something else? Something you’d hate…”

His teeth fastened onto her throat, flesh supple in his mouth. The taste of her skin and sweat suddenly overwhelming on his tongue.

Lyria Killoran
 
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She hissed, but still did not push him away.

In her training over the years, she had learned to keep her throat protected. In one movement, she could die. The neck was a presentation of vulnerability, a reminder she was not like the full blooded fae capable of living thousands of years...

Lyria rarely relinquished her neck like this, protecting herself from her mortal vulnerabilities, but his grasp left her wanting to dance with danger. A hiss was all she could give when teeth grazed at her skin. She was glad that was her first reaction, because a sigh would be too quick to reveal just what she was thinking. There had been some pressure between them, a dance of flames and shadows, and to keep things from combusting, one had to release some of that pressure.

"No... no... I would prefer to see what it is you think I would not like... if you want me to hate you, Rob Yew, then perhaps you need to do something you would hate too." Hate... hate was something born from passion. A flame they both could wield, could withstand it's heat.

When she made no other move, it was a temporary surrender.

"Do you not like how I have kept vital information from you concerning your heist?"
 
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“No,” he rasped into the hollow of her throat as his hand released her neck and roved over her shoulder, then down the side of her, tracing every curve above the leathers. “I fucking hate it.”

Cunning maybe. Annoying as hell. Couldn’t cut her out if she’d hung onto a piece of critical information.

Speaking of which.

“Why? Have you hidden more information on you? They all in secret pockets?”

The former bowman’s fingers deftly moved across her, searching for concealed seams and recesses.

Or.

Perhaps.

Merely feeling what lay beneath.

A rake’s smile curved up Rob’s lips. Surely she’d despise the way his hand wandered. Drifting further and further down until it found the hem of her attire and pried beneath, teasing the fabric and hide away until his fingertips felt the warmth of skin at the curve of her hip.

His own hips ground forward, weight pressing against her.

He pulled back his head until their faces were centimeters apart. His one good eye searched both of hers.

Lyria Killoran
 
"You will come to know that I have knowledge of a fair few things even you would become rich of learning." Information about herself, the organisation she was part of, even of the secrets she came by to learn of others dwelling in Alliria. She was trained to not be seen, to listen and to witness, and would take to her grave truths and scandals that could rock the entire city.

But she swore silence. Made promise she would never speak of such things.

"Look at you, sweetheart." She near crooned. "You keep finding reasons to keep me at a distance but you know deep down you want to indulge. You are a male of action, are you not?"

Indeed, Lyria could have made her interest known and perhaps they would not have parted ways so quickly at the inn after their first meeting. A couple of hours with tousled sheets until she left satisfied and released. It was his prickly nature that made her want to prod and provoke, to see every reaction he could give.

Lyria lowered her eyes to his lips, to that corner of his lips quirked forevermore due to the scar that grace the top of his lip. "I would hate it if you stopped playing around and kissed me. Gods, it may even kill you. That I would love to see." Her mouth crooked into a sly smirk. Would he distrust her for goading him like this? Perhaps think her lips were poisoned all along and trap him with a kiss of death.
 
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"That right?"

Hate it. Yeah. Yeah, he would hate it too.

That didn't stop Rob from closing the scant distance between her crooked smile and his scarred mouth. He pressed his lips to hers fiercely, like he was delivering a lethal thrust with a knife. Only he didn't pull the knife away except to stab again, mouth working on hers. And teeth, tugging. Pulling. Biting.

Reflexively, his eye closed.

His hand beneath the hem of her tunic and leathers explored the warmth of her skin, fingers sliding along a taut stomach before moving to her side. They creeped past one rib then another. Higher. And higher.

"Well, you indulging," he hissed into her lips, "Or are you all talk?"

Lyria Killoran
 
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Her eyes did not close. At least, not yet.

The kiss was everything she knew it would be, and she felt herself soften and relax as he finally made the move. Their lips hesitated against one another, but the taste was sweet despite it all.

"Well, you indulging, or are you all talk?"

Lyria's lips crooked, but he had been right. A challenge met, he did as she had suggested him to do. Her hands moved, gripping the back of his neck and one hand poised at his jaw as she cradled him to her. His hand did it's own wandering, and she did not fight him off.

Despite him not believing if she spoke true truths, Lyria did find him intriguing enough to be interested. She liked how disgruntled he became without her even trying, but the fact he did not find being in such close proximity to her abhorrent sparked something inside her.

"Oh, you have done this before, Rob Yew. I did not hate kissing you..." She near purred, pulling him back towards her lips to indulge. The assassin was all for it, it would not mean anything for her. Acting on her attractions never meant she wanted to pursue something more solid and lasting.
 
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"No?" he muttered against her lips, against her cheek, his mouth all over her. "Then show me."

He could not deny the thrill that shot through him at the touch of her hand on his cheek. His good cheek. The one without the scar. He should hate to be touched, especially by her. He should fear another scar being added to the rest. Instead, it felt soft as a butterfly on his jaw. And warm.

Still, he couldn't resist twisting the verbal knife.

"Unless you're one of those types that just lay there." A wry chuckle hummed in his throat.

His hand climbed higher still until it found its mark. No hidden pockets. Just her chest. The brigand's fingers roved over that too.

And kneaded.

It didn't mean anything.

Just the two of them by the tree, hid by the bushes. The smell of grass and dead leaves and her hair filling his nose. And when he closed his eyes... why did he still see those eyes? Blue.

Like the sky.

Lyria Killoran
 
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