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Normally it was Marcus that would handle these business dealings. Felix Urahil had been putting Amell Quillon to work while he recovered in Vel Anir, but everything had been local. Dealing with the Great Houses, making appearances within certain military sectors, and dealing with the unsavory Border Detention Camps. Marcus was the one who dealt with the merchants, the one who left Vel Anir to travel to Alliria or Amol-Kalit, not Amell. If he was a man of low social standing he would have thought that these turn of events were unfair, but as a noble he knew life wasn’t fair. It was one of the first things he had became acutely aware of when he was young.
“Let me treat you to a drink. We should celebrate!” Amell was brought back to the present to look at Otto Gornichec, the merchant who had good connections with the two major dwarven cities. The dwarves wouldn’t speak to an Anirian, at least not the ones still proudly metalworking about in Belgrath and Thiria, and while Amell held pride in his family’s namesake of Quillon Steel, Felix needed something to rival the Virak mines. Withholding the sigh that desperately wanted to escape his lips whenever the blonde thought of pointless politicking, he gave Otto a well-practiced smile.
If he wasn’t smiling, he looked like he was frowning. It was a rather unbecoming look of someone who wanted to lead good men into a very possible and gruesome death. Yet, despite the safety he had here in Alliria on a senseless task to secure some dwarven runesteel, Amell would still rather be back in the Army of the North. At least that stimulated his brain more than all the talking and smiling.
“Do you know a good place?” Amell asked, hoping Otto wasn’t the sort that liked to philander about in those dirty bars right next to the cheap brothels. Otto laughed, getting up from the table, collecting the paperwork and coin that the two men had previously exchanged.
“Let me freshen up in my room, get this all settled.” Otto said. The Crescent Hotel had lovely, well-designed, and probably most importantly private, meeting rooms that reeked of the gilded extravagance expected by it’s members. “I understand you’re not staying here,” was that a jab? If it was, it was one that Amell hardly cared about. His good looks and status as Captain gave him more opportunity than money ever did. “But women love a man in uniform. Wait for me in the lobby. I’ll show you what you Anirians are missing: art and beauty, both aplenty in Alliria!” And in Oban, Dornoch, Ragash and so on and so forth, but Amell bit his tongue and decided to look pleased.
“I look forward to being immersed in the culture, then.” He said cooly, getting up from his seat and ignoring the pain in his knee.
“Lilac Lounge.” Amell said allowed, looking up at a building that fortunately didn’t look seedy. “Brothel?” He asked, giving Otto a sidelong glance. The man turned red, the stubble on his cheeks hiding the hue but Amell could see the blush on the top of his ears.
“It’s not like that, well, all the time. It’s… well, it’s complicated.” Which to Amell meant that it wasn’t a brothel but some of the dancers knew how to get extra coin.
“As long as the drinks are strong.” He needed one at this point, especially if now he had to watch Otto salivate over women that could have been his daughter’s age. Amell opened the door, allowing Otto to walk in first and take the lead. While the outside of Lilac Lounge was relatively plain, inside was tastefully decorated. Nothing screamed out to Amell that made him second-guess Otto’s words as instead of a staircase front and center there was a grand stage. The lounge most likely did focus on the performances. There was a woman playing a stringed instrument larger than her, and the audience was quiet.
Dim arcane lighting that made the floral wallpaper alight in soft hues of pink and orange and yellow like a spring meadow wasn’t the sort of sultry red and violet that Amell had been expecting. The hardwood floors were dark but plenty of plush, white rugs with minimal design created paths to the stage and small tables surrounding it, with the left having the bar, and the right housing a more secluded room with partitions and couches.
Otto searched his pockets, pulling out a badge. There was an attendant by the door. It seemed this place was also members-only. Amell wondered if his half-brother had access to things like this, if these sort of after-hours affairs were commonplace in the business world?
Whenever his unit had stopped at a town with a tavern after a particularly long journey or skirmish, they had always felt like they had earned the reprieve from their reality. Right now, Amell didn’t quite feel like their easy-going business deal had earned anything this lavish. Well, no matter, after all, wasn’t there a saying about such a thing? When in Alliria….
“We’ll get you a drink first. We’re lucky, we’ve made it in time before the ballerinas go on stage.”
“Let me treat you to a drink. We should celebrate!” Amell was brought back to the present to look at Otto Gornichec, the merchant who had good connections with the two major dwarven cities. The dwarves wouldn’t speak to an Anirian, at least not the ones still proudly metalworking about in Belgrath and Thiria, and while Amell held pride in his family’s namesake of Quillon Steel, Felix needed something to rival the Virak mines. Withholding the sigh that desperately wanted to escape his lips whenever the blonde thought of pointless politicking, he gave Otto a well-practiced smile.
If he wasn’t smiling, he looked like he was frowning. It was a rather unbecoming look of someone who wanted to lead good men into a very possible and gruesome death. Yet, despite the safety he had here in Alliria on a senseless task to secure some dwarven runesteel, Amell would still rather be back in the Army of the North. At least that stimulated his brain more than all the talking and smiling.
“Do you know a good place?” Amell asked, hoping Otto wasn’t the sort that liked to philander about in those dirty bars right next to the cheap brothels. Otto laughed, getting up from the table, collecting the paperwork and coin that the two men had previously exchanged.
“Let me freshen up in my room, get this all settled.” Otto said. The Crescent Hotel had lovely, well-designed, and probably most importantly private, meeting rooms that reeked of the gilded extravagance expected by it’s members. “I understand you’re not staying here,” was that a jab? If it was, it was one that Amell hardly cared about. His good looks and status as Captain gave him more opportunity than money ever did. “But women love a man in uniform. Wait for me in the lobby. I’ll show you what you Anirians are missing: art and beauty, both aplenty in Alliria!” And in Oban, Dornoch, Ragash and so on and so forth, but Amell bit his tongue and decided to look pleased.
“I look forward to being immersed in the culture, then.” He said cooly, getting up from his seat and ignoring the pain in his knee.
“Lilac Lounge.” Amell said allowed, looking up at a building that fortunately didn’t look seedy. “Brothel?” He asked, giving Otto a sidelong glance. The man turned red, the stubble on his cheeks hiding the hue but Amell could see the blush on the top of his ears.
“It’s not like that, well, all the time. It’s… well, it’s complicated.” Which to Amell meant that it wasn’t a brothel but some of the dancers knew how to get extra coin.
“As long as the drinks are strong.” He needed one at this point, especially if now he had to watch Otto salivate over women that could have been his daughter’s age. Amell opened the door, allowing Otto to walk in first and take the lead. While the outside of Lilac Lounge was relatively plain, inside was tastefully decorated. Nothing screamed out to Amell that made him second-guess Otto’s words as instead of a staircase front and center there was a grand stage. The lounge most likely did focus on the performances. There was a woman playing a stringed instrument larger than her, and the audience was quiet.
Dim arcane lighting that made the floral wallpaper alight in soft hues of pink and orange and yellow like a spring meadow wasn’t the sort of sultry red and violet that Amell had been expecting. The hardwood floors were dark but plenty of plush, white rugs with minimal design created paths to the stage and small tables surrounding it, with the left having the bar, and the right housing a more secluded room with partitions and couches.
Otto searched his pockets, pulling out a badge. There was an attendant by the door. It seemed this place was also members-only. Amell wondered if his half-brother had access to things like this, if these sort of after-hours affairs were commonplace in the business world?
Whenever his unit had stopped at a town with a tavern after a particularly long journey or skirmish, they had always felt like they had earned the reprieve from their reality. Right now, Amell didn’t quite feel like their easy-going business deal had earned anything this lavish. Well, no matter, after all, wasn’t there a saying about such a thing? When in Alliria….
“We’ll get you a drink first. We’re lucky, we’ve made it in time before the ballerinas go on stage.”
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