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"Rook, I don't think this is a great idea." Harding had been plenty vocal in her protest up to this point. "I'm not doubting your skill," she clarified for the third time, "but this is super illegal."
Veryl didn't pause in the revolutions she made around her palm with the wrap, but helpfully pointed out, "Half of the things we do are illegal, Lace. It all depends on the Eluvian we step through." She flexed her hand to test the tensity of the bandage. It wasn't wrapping correctly. This used to be incredibly easy— she had timed herself one once and had been able to wrap both of her hands in a tight five minutes. Now the fabric wouldn't shift the way it needed to and folds and creases were becoming more frequent. She groaned and unraveled her progress. From the below the wrist, she started again.
"You can't run from the authorities if there's no where to run to." Lace was braiding Veryl's hair back, tugging gently to make the strands tight against her head. Unfortunately, her words were based in fact. The fight Veryl had signed on for, was quite literally underground. It was both because caves were easy to come by in Minrathous and it was unsanctioned. This particular event however, had backed them into a corner of a catacomb with one entrance and exit.
"Elek said this was the best way to find Traius," Veryl explained again. The Threads had also been lining the pockets of certain patrol units to keep eyes turned away. It wasn't Veryl's first pick for acquiring information, but there were worse options.
"Neve could find another lead, you know she could." Lace protested, but the sigh in her voice signaled the end of her opposition. Neve had described this as their best shot to track down the smuggler that had been running supplies to the Knight-Commander. Elek had mentioned Traius had a major gambling issue and couldn't resist a good fight with even better odds.
Odds that were purposefully out of Veryl's favor. Elek had agreed that she was an unknown quantity, and if she lost, it would be more promising. And if she lost the final in three fights, even better. The Threads made good use of the people that owed them money, and the buy in was no less than five hundred silver pieces. Elek had been feeding information into his personally cultivated grapevine about a newcomer with unmatched skill. There had been people inquiring for weeks about this three night event, and the mysterious "Nevarran-Knock-Out" —Veryl had vowed to murder Elek for that moniker. He merely laughed and repeated his standing invitation to keep her company.
"Your hair is done," Harding said as she threw the single plait across Veryl's shoulder, "I'm gonna go check the atmosphere and talk to Elek." Harding had been trying to get her to back out of the last fight entirely, though Veryl had taken measures to prepare with the event on the horizon. Davrin and Taash both had taken extra time to train with her leading up to this, dusting off her old bare-knuckle skills formed in the more brash days of her youth. She had promised many times over that she knew how to throw a fight safely, with minimal damage.
"May I be of service?" Emmrich announced himself before he rounded the corner of the small off-shoot cavern Elek had set aside for privacy of the fighters and their teams. "Neve sent me in her place, I hope that isn't an issue."
"It wouldn't be a strategy of mine if everything went as I planned it," Veryl nodded and waved him in. Neve had already mentioned something about personally receiving too much attention the last two nights. Since her presence was only necessary in so much that she was there to help heal injuries, Veryl had expected her to send someone else in her stead this evening. Emmrich was a good choice for a cornerman; calm, composed, and handy in a pinch.
"How are you with bandages? I seem to have forgotten everything I knew." Veryl gave him a broad, impish smile as he straddled the bench, mirroring her. He was dressed down a little more than usual, having traded his cloak for something a little more understated; a simple pair of breeches and a tunic, both flat in color. He would be unrecognizable in a crowd if it weren't for the way he carried himself: tall, distinguished, dignified.
"Did you skip the module that spoke on proper bandage application?" Emmrich jested as he reached for her hands and methodically started to enfold the delicate bones.
"I must have slept in." She offered him a small shrug in response. Suddenly, she found the old crates and the rock walls that surrounded them to be increasingly interesting. The tingling sensation in her hand was an outlying variable to the pre-fight jitters that had her leg bouncing.
"Fear not," he spoke lowly now, bowing over her hand in his lap as he carefully traded the cloth between his own hands, "I happen to be quite the expert in wrapping things up." Veryl let the surprised snort escape, which caused Emmrich to look at her with a question in his eyes. She merely shook her head and went back to studying the space around them.
"Are you prepared for tonight? Neve said you've been holding your own against your opponents exceedingly well." His fingers worked to avoid a crease, smoothing out the cloth as his other had worked it's way around with the roll.
"I made Neve's job easy. Though," She leaned forward to catch his attention and spoke in a conspiratorial whisper, "we fight Antaam that are scarier than these guys." He gave her a small smirk in return.
"And you're expected to throw this match?" He must have been verifying the information Neve had shared with him. "Has your opponent been made aware?"
Veryl shook her head, "we're trying to make it as natural as possible. We don't need our target getting a whiff of something being off and making a run for it. The Threads want plenty of leverage on this guy, the quid pro quo for helping us out."
Emmrich finished with her left arm and gestured to her to give him access to the right. He got just passed her wrist, and looked up, his lips a tight line of contemplation. Veryl recognized the measurement of words in his hesitation, an inclination of his personality that she was becoming familiar with. She looked to him, studied the changes in his features, but didn't insist on the vocalization of whatever staid his tongue.
"Harding said I'd find you here," Elek's assured demeanor greeted them before he did. He swept into the space with confidence, bussed a kiss along Veryl's hairline before taking a step back to cup her chin with one hand and raise her face for his appraising eyes. Her cheeks squished just a little bit under the pressure of his thumb.
"You're looking rather bright eyed for someone that's about to get the stuffing beat out of them." He patted her cheek a couple times before letting his hand drop away, he folded his arms and widened his stance, legs braced apart. His attention was fully trained on her, not even sparing Emmrich a glance.
"I'm sorry, should I be more sullen? I am on a winning streak you know," Veryl reminded him.
"You've every right to be, you were absolutely astonishing last night." Elek shook his head and pointed a finger at her. "Your right hook should be studied, I've never seen anyone's head whip around quite like that."
"I saw an undead's do a full spin, once." She offered, laughter in her voice and an easy smile on her lips. Adrenaline was starting to influence her mood, it grew more ecstatic by the minute as her heart raced with anticipation and preparation.
Veryl watched a visible shudder ran though Elek's body in response, he held his hand up to stop her, "No need! I don't need to hear anymore." He lowered his hands and pegged her with a chastising look and a expert eyebrow raise, "I know you crypties don't get out much, but some things really are better left to the imagination. Creates a sense of mystery, you know?"
Veryl rolled her eyes, finding this song and dance familiar, if a little comforting, "I have that in spades."
"Mmm, as I well know." Elek hummed his response. Veryl hadn't noticed the incline of his posture as he gravitated towards her, until Emmrich cleared his throat and cinched the last piece of cloth. Elek leaned away then, and Veryl turned to face the man directly in front of her.
"I believe," He waited until he finally had her attention again, "these are the best they're going to be. Though I wish I could do more to support your left wrist." Veryl watched as he mumbled the last part more to himself, bending her joint to demonstrate what he meant. He sighed and waved her on, suggesting she test the tension. She gently rotated her wrist and opened and closed her palms. Her bare fingers wiggled, the joints pushing past the normal human amount of flex, a party trick she liked to startle people with, Emmrich's response was nothing more than a fleeting look of surprise.
"It feels good, thank you." She tested both sides with the opposite hand, making sure everything was tucked as it should be. Emmrich gave her leg a small pat before vacating his seat, moving to gather up the supplies he would need later. Hopefully it wouldn't be too bad.
"Alright," Elek assumed the spot Emmrich vacated, coming knee to knee with her on the bench, "let's talk about what's going to happen." Veryl worked on centering herself as he spoke, a habit she formed over the last two nights. She focused on bringing her breath under control, keeping it even and deep enough to inflate her lungs. After a few minutes, they were both standing as Elek ran her through warm-ups, where she punched against his open hands and dodged his swings. He quizzed her on weaknesses and technique, trying to make sure she was prepared for distraction. Fighting in a ring wasn't that much different from fighting any other enemy in the field. If anything, Veryl enjoyed the paired down approach. No knives, no magic, just a good old bout of violence. It made her blood hot and her brain buzz. Very little could compare to the energy that enveloped her nerves.
By the time Harding came to fetch her and give her a run down of the atmosphere, Veryl was struggling to stay still. She bounced on her toes and punched the air, keeping her body tight and protected, trying to hone her instincts, zero them in on the next thirty minutes. The ticking that she ignored worked it's way to the front of her crowded mind, standing right in front of her mind's eye, insisting on being utilized.
"They want blood. They're rooting for you to fail, but Traius has a lot of money riding on you." Harding seemed optimistic upon her return to retrieve her fighter, finally seeing the plan come together as Veryl had promised. "He's been gloating about it. Even convinced a few others to trade their bets to your side."
Harding stopped Veryl before she could follow Elek out into the common space, a hand on her elbow.
"Just promise me you'll be safe," She pleaded.
Veryl didn't want to brush off her friend's concern, instead, she held her pinky out in an act of sincerity that she felt was most wholly her, "I promise, Lace." Her finger wasn't lonely for long, because Harding's was joining hers in a lock before they both turned to face the next thirty minutes that stretched out before them.
"I'll get you to a safe house as quickly as this is over, you'll need to lay low for a little while," Elek explained again on their walk to the clearing, trying to alay the rise in hysteria that Harding seemed to be nursing. Emmrich had kept to his calm demeanor, simply observing the group while the clock counted down. The ticking in Veryl's ears grew louder and over took the noise of the space, drowning out the roar of the crowd as they set their eyes on her and she entered the circle. Chants of her moniker and wolf whistles were lost to the repetitive beat that Veryl sank into as she closed her eyes.
Slowly, she opened her eyes. Her goal was clear. The breath from her lungs became steady as she threw the first swing.
Emmrich tapped her cheek, finally starting to see some amount of awareness come back to distant pupils. The crowd roared around them as he hauled Rook to her feet, throwing her arm around his shoulder, bringing him chest to chest with her. Her head lulled a bit, but he watched as recognition started to light her features.
"Did I lose?" Her faint question was nearly lost amongst the din. A mismatched gaze stared back at him, wet in the corners, shiny around the irises. Her left sclera was bloodshot with an accompanying bruise already starting raise the skin around her eye socket and discolor it.
"Spectacularly." He nodded, trying to catch her as she laughed and collapsed further against him, her head tilting back. Quickly, he banded both arms around her, his hand coming up to support the back of her head. It really had been quite a show. It was almost unbelievable that she lost at all. Which was why he needed to get her away from the riotous crowd as quickly as possible. Their anger would soon turn towards the physical representation of their losses. The blood lust in the room had grow exponentially with her defeat.
"This way!" Emmrich heard Elek's voice nearby, and followed the pull on his arm by the younger man. He came along the opposite side to help haul Rook's body to the exit where Harding already waited for them. Rook was mumbling and making sounds, which was positive. This time her head collided with his shoulder when she lost control of it.
They made a quick escape, racing through catacombs to the back alleys of Dock Town. Outside Elek gave Harding parchment with directions and instructions to burn it upon their arrival, and left them to their own devices. Rook's weight became cumbersome with the loss of Elek's support. Rather than burden Harding with Rook's statuesque height, Emmrich simply swept her up into his arms, it was difficult to look inconspicuous as they ran along. Once, Harding had to explain that the woman in his arms was sick, and Rook, still half alert, worked up a cough to help sell the lie. Thankfully, the scout knew their surroundings well and found the store front easily. Inside the merchant asked them the password and ushered them up a hidden flight of stairs to the second story. Emmrich set Rook down on her feet as soon as the merchant left.
"Thank the Maker," Harding breathed as she fell back against the door as it shut.
Emmrich worked to get Rook into a sitting position in a caned chair and he tried to assess the damage while she babbled. Ah.
"It seems Elek forgot to grab the supplies." Emmrich caught Rook's head with his hand as she started to topple over from the chair. He waved Harding over, "If you could just…" He replaced his hand with the woman's smaller one. "I'll be right back."
"And you just want me to hold her, like this?" She asked with incredulity.
"Just make sure she doesn't end upon the floor," Emmrich called over his shoulder as he headed for the door.
"No floor, got it." Emmrich heard Harding confirm just as the door closed behind him. He made quick work of the stairs and pushed through the walled off entrance, peeking around to make sure the coast was clear. Spotting the merchant across the room he carefully approached, and his best Tevene said,"My good sir, could I trouble you…"
Heading back up the stairs with a medical kit under his arm, Emmrich made a mental note to add Tevene texts to his list of daily tasks, and perhaps seek after Neve's help with the more casual parts of the language. There was a clatter that increased his pace up the steps, even more alarming was the loud voices that broke through the barrier of the door.
"Did you see me Lace? Elek said I took that hit like a champ!" Rook yelled.
"You went down like a sack of potatoes, it was great! Now get off the bed." Harding responded. Then there was some grunting and a loud thud.
"Ladies, a safehouse is meant… to be quiet." Emmrich's tried very hard not to laugh when he came upon the two women tangled in a heap on the floor. "Harding," he said as he covered his mouth and subsequently the smile that broke free, "the floor. You were supposed to keep her off the floor."
"She's not on the floor, she's mostly on me." Harding's voice was distorted by a cheek pressed against the floorboards. Emmrich helped to get Rook off their companion and then the other woman off the hardwood floor. Rook meanwhile moved into fighting stance and started punching the air with a renewed energy.
"What's wrong with her?" Harding asked as she regained her feet.
"I suspect it's an adrenaline high," They stood to observe as their leader punched at the wall and turned around to kick at the chair that responded by toppling over. "I imagine she probably feels a bit invincible."
"But she lost," Harding pointed out.
"And she did it with unmatched control and adroitness." He didn't try to staunch the admiration in his tone. Rook had proven herself a formidable opponent to the large man she shared the ring with. With lithe fluidity, she had ducked and dodge, returning attacks with speed and regulated strength. It was remarkable to witness. As it was, she was going to end up hurting herself further, and they still had yet to attend to the wounds that she had already had. The bloodied lip, the black eyes, and the other myriad of contusions across her body.
"Do you need my help with her?" He could see Harding already getting ready to corral Rook into a more amenable situation. "Otherwise, I think I'll run back to the hideout to catch up with Elek and see if he got the information we need."
"I think I can handle it. Rook?" Emmrich caught the tall woman by the elbow as she breezed past them. It halted her movements but the look on her face had him begging the Maker for guidance. She looked as him with such a sheer joy it was almost blinding. The woman was far gone, lost to her own mania, smiling until he was sure her face would crack and she wouldn't feel a thing.
"If you're sure…?" Harding looked at him skeptically, but ultimately decided to leave when Rook started to spin in place with the guidance of Emmrich's hand. Which left him alone and in charge of a decidedly unpredictable rogue with a penchant for truculence.
"Did you see me, Emmrich?" She asked, breathless from her own erratic energy. "I dodged everything he threw at me, but I made him think he won." She threw her head back so far with her full-body laugh that she nearly tipped backwards. In a second, Emmrich's hands caught her about the waist, and Rook didn't hesitate to throw her arms about his shoulders. In another second she brought her face close to his, meeting him with an unflinching gaze. "But that's just it," she said lowly, "he didn't win. We won."
"That we did." His voice sounded husky to his ears as he smiled down out at her, unable to resist the way his lips tilted involuntarily. There had only been a handful of moments he'd had the pleasure of being this close to what was quickly becoming a favorite point of observation. The natural heavy flush of her cheeks that affirmed a particular zeal for life underneath the skin. The way her imperfect and lopsided smile broke open that normally vacant mask she wore. Emmrich knew he could lose himself to the look of her in seconds.
Which is the reason he would attribute his actions— or inaction— to later.
In those same few seconds of an all encompassing enthusiasm that transferred from her mood to his blood, she had zeroed in on him. There was nothing he could do when her lips landed on his in a kiss so feverish it brought parts of him— long absent parts— roaring to life. Everything he clung to upon the basis of propriety found itself tossed out into the soggy streets of Minrathous. He opened for her when her tongue became insistent, reached for her when her thighs were suddenly around his waist, gave in when she stole his breath from his lungs.
He didn't need it anyway.
This was an addition to handful of times he had the luxury of tasting something so sublime. He did not know if he could, a. comprehend more from whence this came, or b. never having another chance after this ever again. Each option seemed equally unfathomable. But he knew deep within himself that he would never refuse something so life giving. The very act filled him with the sort of energy that mana did, a sort of vibration that hummed along the underside of his skin. He couldn't help the sigh that expanded his chest against hers, or the tightening of his arms along her thighs that pulled her closer, nor did he want to.
A throaty moan had her breaking from him, gasping for breath, "Oh, shit." The sudden curse from her transcendent lips had his eyes flying open. "You're glowing."
Her legs fell away as she planted herself firmly on her own to feet. Emmrich left her in the middle of room to look at himself in the small looking glass by the door. Indeed, she was correct, a faint green glow emitted from his eyes. This hadn't happened in years. He felt like chastising himself for losing control like this, but one of those parts that had awoken from their slumber hinted that there truly could be no hope of control where she was concerned.
"I'm sorry." Rook was by his side in an instant. "I have no idea what came over me." She seemed to have returned to herself; any traces of the euphoria she was chasing were either expertly staunched or gone completely. He wasn't sure which. Perhaps in time, he'd learn to tell.
Having drawn on the focus he had spent so many years perfecting, he was able to tame the feelings that made him manifest outwardly. Now his foremost concern was the trickle of blood that was making it's way slowly down Rook's cheek when she didn't seem to notice it's presence at all. The concern on her face was enough to divulge where her focus was.
Pulling a kerchief form his pocket, he turned to her and wiped away the blood that dribbled and then held it to her forehead where the cut just above her eyebrow had broken open. Surprised, her hand met his and he traded the cloth to her hold. Clearly, neither of them were keen on keeping priorities straight.
A few minutes later, he had her sitting on the small cot in the room. Their legs over lapped each other as he sat on the chair across from her and the small table he had brought over, now held all of the medical supplies he'd been able to acquire. He'd been able to heal most of the blooming bruises, but elected to suture the worst of the wounds. He applied some salve and bandaged her forehead before moving to the wraps on her hands. The talked quietly about nothing in particular, seemingly to fill the awkward silence that had engulfed them.
"It's interesting," she observed quietly, flexing her fingers as he removed the damaged wraps. "I've never had to do this before. Not like this, anyway."
"Nurse your wounds after a fight?" He clarified. Emmrich focused on making his touch as light as he could muster and purple and red mottled color was slowly revealed. "You must have been very good at protecting yourself."
Rook let out a short laugh that sounded bitter to his untrained ears, "Yes," she confirmed. "I was very good at protecting myself. But, I also never lost."
He lifted his eyes to her and watched her watch the window. Shadows of chasing droplets on the window pane reflected on her face, where her features looked relaxed. The tension he was starting to catalogue more frequently in his observations, was present too. He went back to removing the last of the bandages.
"It seems our friend Elek wouldn't have entrusted this to you if he thought you couldn't handle it." He didn't really have the right to ask what the nature of their relationship was, but he couldn't help the small icy stabs of envy watching them interact with so easy a closeness. Their chemistry, if properly influenced with the right variables, would be difficult to contend with.
Rook turned back to watch him, meeting his eyes by accident before he could duck away. The smirk that Rook was known for- the one Neve mentioned was the indication of a secret deduction- slowly presented itself. She released his gaze when she turned attention to her newly released hands.
"Elek," she massaged at her palms and wrists while Emmrich sought out fresh wraps. "is a man with far too much confidence. I wouldn't seek him out as often as I do if he wasn't so useful or such a damn good chess match."
Emmrich thought about his next words quietly and, likely, more than that of a man with "too much confidence". The silence lingered as he concentrated on finding the right way to say what he wanted to say, and also make sure the bandages laid correctly. Rook had complained loudly a few times about how her bones often felt as though they were made of elastic; that they found every opportunity to cause her as much grief as possible. Making sure her battered hands were properly supported would help to minimize that misery. He would save analyzing that doggedly protective feeling of her existence and the ever increasing breadth of it, for later.
He cleared his throat as he tucked in the last loose end on her left hand. However, he failed to let her hand go. It was his last point of contact during this adventure, and he was loathe to give it up. Instead, he ran his own fingers along hers, weighed her hand in his own and massaged gently at the joints that would hurt the most tomorrow. He did not to look up to see if she was watching him again, instead focusing on the feeling of her eyes on him. It was heady.
"You know," He spoke lowly as he pretended to focus solely on her hand. "I happen to be a very adept chess player myself." He ignored the blush that eased up his neck, and instead brought her fingers to his lips. In a brazen action that would no doubt have him cringing at it's vivid memory, he kissed each of them. He failed to quiet the way his racing heart affected his breath as it skittered across the places he met her.
A longing sigh had him looking up at her from under his lashes to latch onto an unflinching gaze. Her tongue darted out quickly to lick the seam of her lips and swiftly capture his attention. He watched as a breath parted them and words he barely heard escaped, "I have no doubt you are."