Morax, accustomed to his brother's many advances, gently swatted at the unwelcome touch as if he were waving off gnats. He needed to consider Pagusel's comments carefully and weigh his options. On the one hand, he wished to find a safe and comfortable environment for his construct. Trauma, either corporeal or psychological, could greatly perturb the ongoing experiment. On the other hand, he wished to maintain his end of the bargain by cooperating--if only because it would better enable him to nail Pagusel to the wall if she failed to uphold her end.
The difficulty with Pagusel's blunt refusal of the Aldgate house was that he was now forced to scramble. Formerly occupied by a foreign dignitary, the Aldgate house was already outfitted for surveillance. Setting up subtle yet effective surveillance measures in one of the rattraps near the scrapyard could take days, unless he resorted to illegal, supernatural methods.
"Morraigne," he said quietly. "Please contact our agent and see which of these domiciles could be prepared most quickly for their occupation."
Daq, who had been distracted by the way the mid-morning light cast such deep shadows in the folds of Zapar's vibrant, red pajama pants, snapped back to attention at the sound of Morax's command. Even though it had not been addressed to him, something in his subconscious pulled at him, as if he'd been conditioned to listen for that specific tone of Morax's voice.
"I don't see why it should take very long," he said, absentmindedly. "Isn't the dilapidated one already on the market? I thought I saw the notice when we passed it this morning."
In fact, he remembered more than seeing it. He remembered the peeling yellow paint on the signboard, the austere twists and curves of the real-estate broker's calligraphy. With so few of his own experiences indexed in his mind, there was a certain richness to his sensory information, and his memory was ravenous for it. Since his transmutation, his mind had been consuming and organizing everything it could, with little discrimination for the important and the trivial. At least, that was his best explanation for the vivid snippets of photographic memory he'd been noticing. He assumed that his creator would be able to furnish him with alternate theories.
Morax frowned at this interjection. He scooted his chair out from the table and leaned back with his long fingers interlaced behind his head. The true purpose of this movement was to conceal a signal his brother that he made by furtively brushing his thigh as he brought his hands down to grasp the underside of the chair. Though Morax was mediocre at ad-libbing, his Zapar was quite accomplished with lies and improvisation.
"It's.. just a terrible bureaucracy that we live with... er... in," he said. He glanced at his brother and licked the corner of his lip. His brother would, of course, ask something of him in exchange for this favor. Fortunately, the sorts of compensation Zapar traditionally required were, at least, reasonably trivial to provide.
The Hustle
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Daq Bekkar
- Citizen
- Posts: 369
- Joined: Wed Oct 17, 2007 8:49 pm
- Name: Daq Bekkar
- Race: Humanoid Construct
Re: The Hustle
Zapar had begun to pout when Morax brushed him off so casually, but this was more for the enjoyable aesthetic effect the expression had on this particular face--a brooding sort of gloom. He was vaguely aware of the details of the Aldgate house and why Morax pushed for this location particularly, but didn't find himself as troubled by the situation. It was intriguing, this slumminess Pagusel preferred. His brooding expression deepened as he entertained himself with half-formed daydreams of seducing either Daq or Pagusel in a place of vulgar, deliciously swarthy squalor.
He glanced down at Morax's unexpected signal and caught himself admiring his own pants as he sorted out what it was he was needed to contribute. Times like these he was usually required to be charming, in effect to seduce the desired result out of a target his socially inept brother, for whatever reason, couldn't peg. It seemed odd, in this situation, that he'd be called upon. Morax seemed much more suited to dealing with frigid, equally unsociable Pagusel.
"Mmm." Zapar stroked his lips and frowned thoughtfully at the map on the table to buy time.
Pagusel stared fixedly at Daq. She wore a poker face, but there was a certain pleasure straining behind her eyes, happy with Daq for speaking up for their side. Or, what she considered to be their side. His allegiances may well have been divided in twain, or even favoring the brothers. Either way, she found herself more and more attached to the idea of having a partner in this match.
"Your selective deafness is getting tedious." There was the hint of steel to her voice, yet the sword was double-edged. She was feeling pugnacious, but also sober. "If bureaucracy is a variable affecting the time it will take, then by all means factor it into your considerations."
She shot a bold-eyed look across the table at Daq.
Zapar inhaled and sat up straighter as he realized where her logical ends didn't connect. "Bugusel, we could have you put up in Aldgate by this afternoon." He glanced over to see if perhaps Daq had enjoyed his pun. "That is, if haste is your sole consideration. And you've made clear that it's not." He spread his fingers in a banker's shrug to punctuate his point.
Pagusel shifted in her seat and looked back at the map along the length of her nose.
"No, it's not," supplemented Zapar. "We've got your conflicting preferences to account for." He glanced along the surface of the table and found just the thing he was looking for. He reached across the front of Morax and wrapped his fingers around the bundle of herbs on the table.
"Once Morraigne returns with the information we require, we'll still have some puzzling to do to meet your demands and make you happy. In the meantime--" He paused for effect and to rub his own inner thigh, pleased with his plan-- "why don't you continue Daq's education in your particular field of pharmacy? He seemed an apt pupil. We'll put you up in a private room for now?"
Zapar saw the painful swallow of desired that flexed Pagusel's throat. He himself could pay their room a visit if Pagusel doped them both to pliancy.
He glanced down at Morax's unexpected signal and caught himself admiring his own pants as he sorted out what it was he was needed to contribute. Times like these he was usually required to be charming, in effect to seduce the desired result out of a target his socially inept brother, for whatever reason, couldn't peg. It seemed odd, in this situation, that he'd be called upon. Morax seemed much more suited to dealing with frigid, equally unsociable Pagusel.
"Mmm." Zapar stroked his lips and frowned thoughtfully at the map on the table to buy time.
Pagusel stared fixedly at Daq. She wore a poker face, but there was a certain pleasure straining behind her eyes, happy with Daq for speaking up for their side. Or, what she considered to be their side. His allegiances may well have been divided in twain, or even favoring the brothers. Either way, she found herself more and more attached to the idea of having a partner in this match.
"Your selective deafness is getting tedious." There was the hint of steel to her voice, yet the sword was double-edged. She was feeling pugnacious, but also sober. "If bureaucracy is a variable affecting the time it will take, then by all means factor it into your considerations."
She shot a bold-eyed look across the table at Daq.
Zapar inhaled and sat up straighter as he realized where her logical ends didn't connect. "Bugusel, we could have you put up in Aldgate by this afternoon." He glanced over to see if perhaps Daq had enjoyed his pun. "That is, if haste is your sole consideration. And you've made clear that it's not." He spread his fingers in a banker's shrug to punctuate his point.
Pagusel shifted in her seat and looked back at the map along the length of her nose.
"No, it's not," supplemented Zapar. "We've got your conflicting preferences to account for." He glanced along the surface of the table and found just the thing he was looking for. He reached across the front of Morax and wrapped his fingers around the bundle of herbs on the table.
"Once Morraigne returns with the information we require, we'll still have some puzzling to do to meet your demands and make you happy. In the meantime--" He paused for effect and to rub his own inner thigh, pleased with his plan-- "why don't you continue Daq's education in your particular field of pharmacy? He seemed an apt pupil. We'll put you up in a private room for now?"
Zapar saw the painful swallow of desired that flexed Pagusel's throat. He himself could pay their room a visit if Pagusel doped them both to pliancy.
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Daq Bekkar
- Citizen
- Posts: 369
- Joined: Wed Oct 17, 2007 8:49 pm
- Name: Daq Bekkar
- Race: Humanoid Construct
Re: The Hustle
Daq wasn't so sure about the explanation given by Morax. With the sorts of resources that seemed to be at his disposal, Daq assumed that purchasing a run-down property near a scrapyard would have been a trivial matter. Admittedly, he wasn't well-versed in Marnian property regulations, but that also meant Morax couldn't have been either. Presumably, Zapar--or madame Malatrast--was handling the acquisition. Morax never had a mind for things that didn't interest him, and bureaucracy was not one of his favorite subjects.
Daq started to open his mouth again but was cut short by Pagusel's interjection. He noticed her forceful stare and, startled by her abruptness and stern tone, he decided that it would be best not to say anything more. Like a reprimanded child, he folded his hands in his lap and stared at the table cloth.
He was thankful when Zapar spoke to alleviate the mood. Although he struggled not to smirk at the pun, he couldn't contain himself after meeting Zapar's gaze. He tried to hide his smile behind his hand, which he placed over his mouth and curled beneath his chin to, hopefully, appear like he was puzzling over something that had been said.
When, finally, Zapar suggested that they break and return to their room, Daq was eager to acquiesce--in part to flatter Zapar and in part because he knew that Pagusel would be amenable to the diversion. He wanted to show her that he was interested in the lessons she was trying to convey, especially after being openly amused by a joke at her expense.
Morax, who had been expecting Zapar to come up with a vignette or other form of embellishment to lend credence to his vague excuse regarding the bureaucracy, was initially displeased with the tack that had ultimately been taken. However, he came to realize the game Zapar was playing. Perhaps it was better to simply try to distract Pagusel from the inconsistency, rather than to make a deliberate attempt at obscuring it.
"Yes," he said, echoing Daq in agreement. "That sounds like a fine idea. Zapar, why don't you show them to a guest room--perhaps the one with the emerald decor."
Daq started to open his mouth again but was cut short by Pagusel's interjection. He noticed her forceful stare and, startled by her abruptness and stern tone, he decided that it would be best not to say anything more. Like a reprimanded child, he folded his hands in his lap and stared at the table cloth.
He was thankful when Zapar spoke to alleviate the mood. Although he struggled not to smirk at the pun, he couldn't contain himself after meeting Zapar's gaze. He tried to hide his smile behind his hand, which he placed over his mouth and curled beneath his chin to, hopefully, appear like he was puzzling over something that had been said.
When, finally, Zapar suggested that they break and return to their room, Daq was eager to acquiesce--in part to flatter Zapar and in part because he knew that Pagusel would be amenable to the diversion. He wanted to show her that he was interested in the lessons she was trying to convey, especially after being openly amused by a joke at her expense.
Morax, who had been expecting Zapar to come up with a vignette or other form of embellishment to lend credence to his vague excuse regarding the bureaucracy, was initially displeased with the tack that had ultimately been taken. However, he came to realize the game Zapar was playing. Perhaps it was better to simply try to distract Pagusel from the inconsistency, rather than to make a deliberate attempt at obscuring it.
"Yes," he said, echoing Daq in agreement. "That sounds like a fine idea. Zapar, why don't you show them to a guest room--perhaps the one with the emerald decor."
Last edited by Daq Bekkar on Wed Aug 31, 2011 5:54 am, edited 1 time in total.
Re: The Hustle
Pagusel had never, to her knowledge, had dealings with a mind reader, but she was aware that some said they existed. She thus had the comfort of presuming they were extremely rare, but the handicap of not knowing what warning signs to watch for. At the moment, she had the unsettling feeling Zapar was eavesdropping on her thoughts, and no tools to handle it. She had, however, wondered on occasion whether drug intoxication would dampen the effectiveness of mind reading, or leave her even more open.
Upon looking at Daq, her hesitation broke. He seemed about ready to jump out of his seat when it was suggested they retire to a private room. She recognized she was feeling paranoid--if anyone here was a mind reader, they wouldn't still be dallying with her. Pagusel got up from her seat. A few crumbs and some fennel seeds sprinkled down from her lap; more still were caught in the frowzy weave of her dress.
Zapar liked how eagerness wafted off of Daq in such short, earnest bursts. It reminded him of the stablehand's assistant, that young man who had not yet succumbed to the ennui of a life of menial labor and who cared ever so much about doing well at any job he was given.
He stood to escort the two from the dining room, the packet of drugs safely tucked in his palm. As Daq stood up, he grazed his hand--and the fragrant packet--from the space between Daq's shoulder blades down to the small of his back. The construct's slept-in trousers didn't do justice to the shapeliness of his backside, and Zapar made a note to provide a better tailored pair.
As they stepped out into the hallway, Zapar gave Morax a backwards glance. Surely his brother would be pleased with his contribution. He wasn't certain why Morax had picked the green room specifically, but could imagine it had something to do with surveillance.
Zapar wished there was a way he could lead them down the hallway while walking behind them--when Pagusel had stood up from her chair, he'd seen the way the morning light illuminated form under her dress, and he could almost make out the apex of her thighs between light and shadow. But he took the lead and allowed them to follow him down the hall.
"We actually call it the Jade Room," he preened as he brought them to the door of the chamber Morax had specified. It was vanity that had motivated him to elaborate on the decor, but recognized in a moment that he could also say something to reassure them, in case they too suspected they would be watched. "That is to say, my brother knows little of the ins and outs of this manor." Just before he opened the door, a servant slipped out, carrying a stack of linens. The room had already been prepared for guests. The girl gave Zapar a tilt of her head and a shy smile before noticing his company, then scurrying off down the hall with her chin tucked down.
The door to the room was narrow, carved of dark wood. It opened onto a dim room of modest size and lavish decor. The only window the the outside was of deep bottle-green stained glass, inset with a scattering of celadon marbles. It cast a surreal emerald glow throughout the room, pocked with hazy polka-dot shadows; it also obscured any meaningful view of the outdoors.
The room was furnished with a wide, high-framed bed, a firm chaise lounge, a cabinet of exotic imported knickknacks that bore a copper lock, and various small carved tables in addition to a nook in the corner with a set of essential toiletries.
Pagusel stepped into the room and was bathed in shadowy green light. She turned around and held her hand out to Zapar. He hesitated, surprised, until he realized she was waiting for the drugs. Presently, the serving girl from before returned with a tin of matchstick and a wooden pipe with a large bowl, which she placed on one of the tables before running off again.
"Bring a painting or two. . . or some other piece of visual art," Pagusel directed Zapar. "And a book of poetry."
Zapar raised his eyebrows and tapped his chin. She was a demanding one. He took a step back from the door and contemplated whether to relay this request to Morax. Without responding one way or the other, he turned and walked back down the hall, leaving the door open.
He'd come back and check on them in forty minutes, or an hour. If they weren't being more cooperative by then, perhaps he'd make plans to visit the stables for a ride instead.
Upon looking at Daq, her hesitation broke. He seemed about ready to jump out of his seat when it was suggested they retire to a private room. She recognized she was feeling paranoid--if anyone here was a mind reader, they wouldn't still be dallying with her. Pagusel got up from her seat. A few crumbs and some fennel seeds sprinkled down from her lap; more still were caught in the frowzy weave of her dress.
Zapar liked how eagerness wafted off of Daq in such short, earnest bursts. It reminded him of the stablehand's assistant, that young man who had not yet succumbed to the ennui of a life of menial labor and who cared ever so much about doing well at any job he was given.
He stood to escort the two from the dining room, the packet of drugs safely tucked in his palm. As Daq stood up, he grazed his hand--and the fragrant packet--from the space between Daq's shoulder blades down to the small of his back. The construct's slept-in trousers didn't do justice to the shapeliness of his backside, and Zapar made a note to provide a better tailored pair.
As they stepped out into the hallway, Zapar gave Morax a backwards glance. Surely his brother would be pleased with his contribution. He wasn't certain why Morax had picked the green room specifically, but could imagine it had something to do with surveillance.
Zapar wished there was a way he could lead them down the hallway while walking behind them--when Pagusel had stood up from her chair, he'd seen the way the morning light illuminated form under her dress, and he could almost make out the apex of her thighs between light and shadow. But he took the lead and allowed them to follow him down the hall.
"We actually call it the Jade Room," he preened as he brought them to the door of the chamber Morax had specified. It was vanity that had motivated him to elaborate on the decor, but recognized in a moment that he could also say something to reassure them, in case they too suspected they would be watched. "That is to say, my brother knows little of the ins and outs of this manor." Just before he opened the door, a servant slipped out, carrying a stack of linens. The room had already been prepared for guests. The girl gave Zapar a tilt of her head and a shy smile before noticing his company, then scurrying off down the hall with her chin tucked down.
The door to the room was narrow, carved of dark wood. It opened onto a dim room of modest size and lavish decor. The only window the the outside was of deep bottle-green stained glass, inset with a scattering of celadon marbles. It cast a surreal emerald glow throughout the room, pocked with hazy polka-dot shadows; it also obscured any meaningful view of the outdoors.
The room was furnished with a wide, high-framed bed, a firm chaise lounge, a cabinet of exotic imported knickknacks that bore a copper lock, and various small carved tables in addition to a nook in the corner with a set of essential toiletries.
Pagusel stepped into the room and was bathed in shadowy green light. She turned around and held her hand out to Zapar. He hesitated, surprised, until he realized she was waiting for the drugs. Presently, the serving girl from before returned with a tin of matchstick and a wooden pipe with a large bowl, which she placed on one of the tables before running off again.
"Bring a painting or two. . . or some other piece of visual art," Pagusel directed Zapar. "And a book of poetry."
Zapar raised his eyebrows and tapped his chin. She was a demanding one. He took a step back from the door and contemplated whether to relay this request to Morax. Without responding one way or the other, he turned and walked back down the hall, leaving the door open.
He'd come back and check on them in forty minutes, or an hour. If they weren't being more cooperative by then, perhaps he'd make plans to visit the stables for a ride instead.