Private Tales An Enticing Song

A private roleplay only for those invited by the first writer

Camille

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A quiet, beautiful sound left her throat. Laughter. Even something simple tended to make most folk lean in. Anxious to hear more. Left them wanting to hear more.

She turned back to him.

Very subtly, she could feel the shift in the air. It became thicker almost lazy. They must be drawing near the swamps. A place her mother had grown up when she’d been a child. Before she’d been snatched up and taken to one of the most renown brothels in all of Alliria.

“A vacation before the massacre,” she mused softly. “Will you give me your name for my troubles?”

Hands rested on her lap. Fingers smoothing over the strange runes that wrapped around her digits. All too aware of the Crimson Dusk tattoo that marked her upper arm. A clear symbol of who she belonged to.
 
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Tal

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"Talmanese." It was not a name common in these parts.

Alliria was a melting pot of culture, over a million people made their home here. Yet Tal's home was an entire world away. Situated on the Isle of Sheketh beyond the spine and through the reaches of the Wylds. Even the most expedient merchants rarely traveled there.

With good reason. "Tal for short."

He did not mind in the least her knowing.

Trouble would find her no matter what. The name that was attached to it would hardly matter at the end of the day. Jareth would show himself eventually, and his mind would come barreling forward like a wild fire. All things Tal had planned for.

A few more minutes passed as they wound their way through the shambled streets of the shallows, until eventually they reached a large wooden gate.

It sectioned off a part of the docks here, and as the carriage pulled close the doors fell open. They came to a stop on a large wooden pier, three warehouses arranged around two massive piers. Tal popped open the door, offering Camille a hand. "It's not the Lux or Hotel Grande, but it will have to do for now."

He told her, leading her onto the docks.
 
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Camille

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She sat in the carriage a moment longer even as Talmanese offered his hand. There was no escape. Just like she'd known the moment he'd thrown that dagger in her dressing room. Just like the moment Jareth saw her singing in that club long ago.

Delicate hand finally lifted and slipped into his own, her clever fingers made for more of the refined arts.

Camille stepped carefully onto the uneven wood of the docks, her shoes not the best choice. Tal would find her grip tighten on his hand just a moment as she adjusted to keep her balance. But she was too gracefull for it to be more than a minor adjustment.

There was no breeze in the swamps.

The air was heavy and thick, just like she'd felt in the carriage. And it pressed in around her. She looked around for what she could make out in the flickering torchlight. A dockworker down the way paused as she got out and looked at her. Eyes tracking slowly down the curves of her body. A leer and slight sneer as he noticed the Crimson Dusk marking.

Her pointed ears could pick up the slur he muttered beneath his breath.

"I've seen much worse," she commented quietly to Talmanese, looking away from the stare of the dockworker. His stare was full of violent intent.
 
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Tal

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"I'm sure you have." Tal said, not offering any other word as he motioned for her to move towards one of the three warehouses.

He had first come to this city five years ago.

When his father had exiled him he had been a lost little boy, though a very rich lost little boy. It had taken him months to find his footing, and only that because of friends he had made long ago. After that, there had only been a few strides left to land him here.

Then he'd learned how to take the chains from himself, the pieces that he would need and who held them. It had seemed a simple decision to join the Syndicate, even given everything that came with it. "Right this way."

He told her as he escorted her to the warehouse.

Surprisingly, the inside of it was not as rundown as the outer mask. Though there were a few stacked crates, most of the place seemed devoted to a small office, a set of stairs leading to an apartment, and then nothing but empty space. “It’ll be a while yet, until the next wave of fun begins.”

Until Jareth learned what had happened.

”Do make yourself comfortable.” Tal told her with a wave.
 
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Camille

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As soon as they were inside, she let her fingers slip away from his own. Head tilted, almond-shaped eyes taking in the space. She tried to see if there were any more guards posted around. She supposed it didn't matter too much. Plenty of workers on the dock to stop her if she managed to get out of this warehouse.

"Jareth will raze this place to the ground," she said quietly.

And she knew it would be awhile. Jareth was away. Oh he would come quickly once he heard the news about what happened to her. But he would take time to amass his forces.

"Do you have a change of clothes I could...borrow? And perhaps a bath?" Fingers drifted over the blood-spattered spot on her silky dress.
 

Tal

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Tal smiled, only smiled. "He will certainly try, Doll."

He wasn't a fool.

The Tyrian knew exactly what Jerath was, knew exactly what the man could do. He wouldn't have done this if he hadn't thought it through. Every step he took was calculated, planned. That was how he had survived this long. How he'd made it here.

"Of course." Tal told her. "There is a bath upstairs, and I can have Viktor fetch you new clothes."

He glanced at her. "Is there anything you'd like in particular? A nightgown? Trousers and blouse?"

"The Shallows has some...interesting fashions."
Tal warned.
 

Camille

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A small amused smile at the man's nickname. She didn't mind being underestimated. It had worked in her favor with Jareth. She was aligned with more people than perhaps her Crime Lord knew of.

Folk naturally felt at ease around her and often left them wagging their tongues about things they wouldn't otherwise share with anyone else.

Not that she thought Tal would be so obliging. But she'd rather him be focused on her being a doll than waving that knife if his toward her. An easy wave of her hand as she took her dress up in one hand and prepared to glide up the stairs to the apartment.

"I'm not one to fuss, Mister Talmanese. I'll trust your...," eyes looked him slowly up and down. "judgement."

And she took note that there was someone else nearby. Whoever this Viktor was. Turning, slender legs made the climb upward as she opened the door to the apartment. She wondered who it belonged to. Was it to the fox below?
 
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Tal

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It was indeed, his.

Even in his other life as a Prince of Tyre Tal had never much cared for the comforts of luxury. It wasn't that he didn't enjoy a good bed or down comforter, but he'd never seen them as all that...necessary. There were better things in this world.

The Apartment was a reflection of that. It wasn't entirely bare, but it wasn't luxurious either. There was a sofa, a kitchen, a bedroom with a bed and a few traipse of clothes. Then of course a bathroom with a bath and a sink.

It was spartan, bare, but it would do for anyone.

Ten or fifteen minutes passed by before Camille would hear the door to the apartment open once more. Tal came into the room carrying a bundle of clothes. He placed it down onto a small table in front of the bathroom, knocking on the door. "Clothes here, sweetheart."

He called before turning and heading towards the icebox to grab a drink.
 
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Camille

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Camille had just filled the tub when the knock at the door sounded. She'd already snooped around. Not opening any drawers. Just a casual walkthrough of the layout. If anything was out on the surface, well, that was fair game. She'd also looked to see if there was any back door or window that might be open. If there was, she hadn't found it.

She'd draped her ruined dress on the edge of the sink.

Her body slid into the deliciously warm waters. Other runes marked across her bare torso that were usually not on as much display as those winding up one of her arms. There were also bruises. Ones she did a good job of hiding.

Her ears picked Tal up as he entered the apartment, long before his knock on the bathroom door. With a small sigh, she finished washing with his soap that smelled of pine and musk. Water dripped down her skin as she stepped out, going for a towel off a rack and wrapping it tightly around herself.

Opening the door, she leaned in the doorway, pale eyes flickering to the pile of clothes then around until she spotted that flash of red-hair and swagger of step. "You don't sound like you're from this city," she observed. Not moving toward the pile of clothing yet.
 
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Tal

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Tal glanced up almost immediately as he heard the door open. His gaze did not flicker away from her, never moved an inch.

Not a hint of shame. "Really?"

The Tyrian mused.

"How does an Allirian sound?" The tease flickered over his tongue without even a second of thought to it. "This place has so many people in it that almost everything sounds like a native tongue."

The city was massive. Five times larger than Tyre itself, probably more. A million people, all living their lives and going about whatever tortured existence they had to deal with. "I thought I'd nailed it."

Tal said with a click of his tongue and a shake of the head.
 
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Camille

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Camille didn’t shy away from his gaze. She remained as cool as an Allirian glass of cucumber water. For a brief moment, there was a twinkle in her eyes. “Your question would be answered differently depending on what part of the city you were in.”

Everyone knew the Inner City could tell when one was not from there.

“What else do you think you’ve nailed?” A singular, dark silky brow rose in silent dare. Towel-wrapped hip leaned casually against the frame of the doorway. There was something very calming and disarming about her presence. Her voice.
 
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Tal

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"Lucky me then." Tal said as he plucked a cigar from his coat pocket, placing it between his lips.

He'd called this city home for five years now, but it would have been a lie to say that he liked it more than Tyre. Even now he missed his home, resented his father for sending him away. "Quite a bit, darling."

Tal mused.

"My work for one." He scratched his match on the table in front of him. "What I've done with you."

Fire caught on the end of his cigar. "So so many things."

He chuckled to himself. "I'm almost sure they'll all blow up in my face somehow."
 
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Camille

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"I suppose we'll find out in a few days," she mused and picked up the clothes he'd left. Turning, she went back into the bathroom and closed the door.

"And what have you done with me?" A question that may have held a hint of a smile behind it as she asked. Towel was hung up, more tidy than when she'd found it. Clothes were slipped over her pale skin. It was a pair of slender, plain trousers and a simple blouse. A narrow belt was looped around her waist and she was thankful for it since the waistline of the pants were a tad too big.

She tugged her damp hair over one of her shoulders and re-emerged from the bathroom.

Even dressed casually, her attractive allure was undeniable.

Light footsteps crossed the space between them as she veered toward the kitchen. "Do you mind?" She pointed toward the icebox. Might as well see how far her invisible shackles went.
 
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Tal

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"With you?" Tal asked as he took a puff of his cigar. "All i've done with you is bring you here."

But that would be enough. "Sent a message."

That was all he really cared about, baiting Jareth. Drawing him to where Tal needed him to be. From what he knew of the man he would be foolish enough to follow the breadcrumbs. Too hard headed to just ignore the insult that had been dealt to him.

Tal counted on that.

"And of course." He told her. "My home is your home."

The Tyrian said with a gesture. "I'd ask only that you don't wander off the docks."

He gave Camille a pleasant smile. "For your own protection of course."

In truth, he had no plans for her after Jareth came. Tal was a selfish man, but not cruel. At least not when he didn't have to be. As far as he was concerned when this was done, she was more than free to simply leave.
 
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Camille

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As she tugged open the icebox and took out a drink, she idly wondered if Beckett and Lamar were still here. They owed her one. If there was some way she could get word to them.

Her attention returned to Talmanese.

"Of course," she drew. "Don't think folk around here would take too kindly for me wandering around your territory...unaccompanied." She remembered the worker on the dock and how his eyes roved over here with a promise of violence in them.

Males.

She came back to her intended, a chair that sat opposite the fox. Elegant legs crossed as she took a sip of the drink. "Will you be watching over me until Jareth makes his arrival?" Surely a man of his position would be needed elsewhere.
 
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Tal

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"No." He answered with a simple word.

Those who worked for him, those on this dock, knew that touching her would mean a very quick end. The Syndicate was known for it's brutality. Quick and absolute mercilessness. That went doubly for the members who betrayed it.

Tal had made an example of that early on.

No matter who leered at her in this place, no one would go near her. Not unless Tal willed it at least. "I don't much care what you do while you're here. As long as you stay put."

He told her honestly. "Then, as soon as your friend arrives. I'll make sure you get to wherever you want to go."

Something he was rather good at. His section of the Syndicate dealt with smuggling. Making sure that everything got to where it needed to go. Tal had showed a particular talent for that game. Shuffling everything from drugs to people around all of Arethil.
 
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Camille

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There was a slight straightening of her posture against the chair. Surprise splashed across her features. She took another small swallow of ale, quietly studying the face behind the smoke. She believed he meant it.

She'd assumed he would kill her after he got...whatever he wanted from Jareth.

But no.

Camille was good at reading folk. She always had been. Perhaps a skillset learned from her mother while growing up in a brothel. Everyone had small ticks in body language that gave them away. Talmanese was either a very good liar or he truly meant to let her go after all these. Even help her.

"Supposing you do get what you want from Jareth...whatever that is. And we both somehow survive the encounter. You truly would help me, after? What would you want in exchange?"

There had to be a price. Men like Jareth, like Talmanese, didn't do things for free nor out of the goodness of their dark hearts.
 
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Tal

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Tal leaned back slightly, taking another slow drag of his cigar. An almost amused smile flickered over his lips as she stared at him, tentatively asked the question. It wasn't wrong of her to feel that shock, that flicker of surprise.

Most people would have just slit her throat. "I would want you gone, you've already done everything I needed."

He said in simple answer, though really only counted if she made no trouble for him.

"I am not a kind man." He told her. "I'm not opposed to brutality and butchery."

No, he wouldn't be working for the Syndicate if he was after all. They were known for their utter cruelty, the quick cutting hand that they doled out. Anyone that stood in their way was liable to end up as a corpse, but that was exactly it; anyone in their way.

"But sending you away with a bit of coin in your pocket is easier than killing you." If only because it left more choices down the line.
 
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Camille

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"I am not a kind man." He told her. "I'm not opposed to brutality and butchery."
“I am well aware Mister Talmanese,” almond-eyes flickered to where he kept that knife of his. The strange blade. She was not some innocent upper class gem only now exposed to violence and brutality. No. She was shaped by it herself.

A sip of her ale as the cloud of smoke drifted lazily over her skin. A caress of promise.

“I do not wish to leave Alliria.” It was her home. Her mother was here. Her budding business and empire.

“Perhaps we can negotiate for an alternate outcome. One that doesn’t include me leaving and still leaves my neck in tact,” fingers brushed over her smooth skin. Of course all of this counted on her surviving Jareth which she wasn’t all that confident she would.

“Are you a negotiating man, Mister Talmanese? Am I just a glass ballerina to you or could you see me as a knife?”
 
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Tal

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"Even glass is sharp when it shatters, Love." Tal said with a smile. "I trust everyone is dangerous at some point."

He had absolutely no doubt that Camille could destroy any man if she got her claws in them.

It was a mark of a woman like her. One who was self assured to talk to a man like him like she did. "Jareth is going to die by the end of this."

Tal already knew that. Both of them could not survive this. Jareth was too stubborn and Tal was too selfish. There was no way for both of them to walk away from this. Not with what he had done, not with how he had done it.

"But." He mused. "I trust that is not the only impediment to your staying here."]/color]

The Underboss stared at her. "Is it?"
 
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Camille

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"Well," she drew, her voice unhurried and still with that beautiful lilt. "You mentioned sending me away with coin after all this." And Camille had guessed as much about Jareth's fate at the end of all this. If Talmanese succeeded.

If she still had breath left in her chest.

Another dainty sip of ale. A cross of her elegant legs. She was the picture of a painting on an underboss' couch.

"So I wasn't sure if you would become my impediment to remaining in Alliria."
 
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Tal

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He had to consider the words for a few moments, weigh them.

In this business there were no guarantees, no promises that could not be broken. Everyone lied. Everyone told stories they didn't mean. That was just...just how it all worked. No one had ever really denied it, despite failed attempts.

"No." Tal finally answered.

It was the kind of thing any man would say. The kind of thing that was almost expected. "I won't be."

He told her.

"So long as you stay out of my way." Tal had two pieces left, perhaps less than that if things worked out the way he planned here. It would have been perfect. He wanted it, but there was never any telling.
 
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Camille

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She tipped her ale subtly in his direction. Another sip. That’s all he would get. An unspoken promise that required a lot of things not yet done.

It was late. Setting the half finished ale down on the table, she stood.

“Mind if I get some shuteye?” Her gaze tracked between the couch where he saw and his bed.
 
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Tal

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Tal gestured to the bedroom. "Of course."

He was, if nothing else, a semblance of a gentlemen.

"The bed isn't the most comfortable, but there is an extra blanket in the closet." Even as a Prince he had never much cared for the comforts of the world. There was more to bask for, more to reach out and grasp. "I'll be downstairs."

The words were a mixture of a threat, and a promise were she to try and run.

Both of them knew that he needed her to be here, needed her to stay put just long enough for Jareth to find her and make an appearance. Beyond that? Beyond that it didn't really matter much what she wanted to do. At least not to him.
 
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Camille

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Nodding, her hips sashayed to the bedroom. She left the door open even as she rummaged in his closet for a blanket. She'd always needed a little extra warmth when she slept. Cold affected her so easily. Without giving the room he was in or him a second glance, she curled up in that bed, the blanket tightly around her.

Her eyes closed and she quickly fell asleep. She'd always been a heavy sleeper and didn't have a problem being able to sleep anywhere. Jareth found it rather annoying but he wasn't here so it didn't matter.
 
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