Hunting the Hunter Ch. 05

When he pulled away a second time, she just stared up at him, her expression unreadable. Then, ever so slowly, a little smile crept over her curving well-kissed lips.

Her smile morphed into a naughty grin. "Hey, wanna go shopping? If you're a good kitty I'll buy you something pretty."

"Alright..." he agreed cautiously, slightly put off by the shift in topic and demeanor. She beamed.

"Good, but first you go up there and tell those two all stern-like that you're going out but want to 'have a word with them' when you get back." Her grin turned dark. "Then after they've twisted a bit, we come back and give them 'The Talk.'" She chuckled, then paused, as if contemplating something intensely serious. "Only you have to do Aina, cause trust me, it's waaaay more uncomfortable if it comes from daddy. Personal experience talking here. And, no offense, I do scary better than you. Shadow will be sleeping with his eyes open for weeks."

His own eyes widened slightly in disbelief as she practically cackled and clapped her hands, rubbing them together, then looked back up at him with an excited gleam in her eye. "Man, this is going to so much fun...you know, I can't wait to have kids."

@@@

Delatour. A grand name. A historic name. A triumphant name. A name which should by all rights— rights earned though centuries of victory, of both the martial and courtly variety—conjure respect and genuflection from all who encountered it.

And yet...

And yet here stood Arthur Delatour, 21st scion of such an illustrious house, enduring the cool reproachful glare of this...this...this glorified maid who thought himself the very captain of the blades...as if that blasted Altmer were the emperor himself and not just another petty elf with too much time and money on his hands...and far far too many delusions of grandeur.

Delatour needn't have straightened under the scrutiny, as he already had impeccable posture...but he did tilt his head and narrow his eyes in order to return the assessment in full.

"Mr. Delatour....." the imperial intoned dryly, as if tasting the name and finding it slightly sour, "do you have an appointment, sir?"

Only a trained imperial butler could make the word 'sir' sound like an insult of the highest order. But this was what he'd been reduced to, what his once glorious family name had been reduced to. Reduced to biting its tongue and checking its righteous ire so that it might in turn humble itself to the half- delusional fancies of a mad wizard. Rich wizard...powerful wizard...he reminded himself. And Arthur wanted a piece of that wealth, or that power...and needed it to rebuild his house and name. If he must suffer himself a whore and accept the indignities which must accompany such a title, then so be it.

"Yes." He replied, matching the man in both tone and expression. Moving only to lift his wrist to adjust the already perfectly pressed and adjusted collar of his narrow sleeve.

"Very good, sir. Please follow me."

The house was a fine one with the typical open foyer and grand sweeping staircase one finds in the typical imperial mansion --conveniently located in the temple district, and rented by its current master as he conducted his business in the Imperial city. There were a surprising number of fine abodes in the city which were kept for such prestigious, short term residences...and the actual owners made a pretty penny off them, pennies better spent in far more charming and restful chateaus located far from the frenetic, urban energies of the city proper. Usually in wine country.

He was led through the foyer, up the sweeping stairs, down an elegant hall, and up another, narrower stair. They paused at the landing where the butler/captain-of-the-guard paused them in order to knock politely at the door and call out to his 'lordship.'

The door swung open, though no one touched it. "My lord Sarandus, there is a Messr. Delatour here to see you. He claims to have an appointment, sir." Delatour resisted the urge to growl. He knew damned well he had an appointment. Who the hell had taken the appointment to begin with. But once more, he suppressed his pride and smiled tightly at the voice which floated into the hall to greet them.

"Very good Herrick, you may leave us." It was remarkable, really, how any voice could be so soft, and so imperious in the same breath. Delatour cemented his smile and stepped into the room. The bright, open, and very well appointed room was much as one would expect it to be. The furniture was delicate, the lighting soft, the curtains damasked, the couches chintzed...or was it the other way around? It hardly mattered though, since the bloodless cadaver positioned peacefully on a table somewhat away from the windows was not at all in keeping with your typical imperial parlor. It quite ruined the effect. To say the least.

He'd already seen too much to completely ignore the sight: the grey flesh, the gaping incisions in it, the bizarre nest of tubes and wires protruding from them, and the disturbing collection of narrow jars into which they drained. Still, he was a man of impeccable breeding...so he gave it the old college try and tamed his flickering smile as he bowed low at the waist, swallowing his revulsion right along with his already well chewed pride. It wasn't, after all, going to get any easier, and now was not the time to start panicking.

"My lord."

Thankfully the Mer glided toward the windows instead of remaining before the table, giving Arthur a better reason not to look too long at his lordship's little 'project'.

Unlike Delatour who was dressed in the fitted trouser and narrow jacket that currently served as standard fashion in the courtly circles of the empire, Sarandus wore the flaring, extravagant robes typical of Mer aristocrats who were too old, or too stubborn to feel it necessary to change with the times. The dated look might have been silly on some, but the hard blue eyes staring icily from out of that golden face, and the long fingers which curled out from under the wide sleeves, moving with a menacing grace, made it impossible to see him as anything other than the malignant, deadly asp that he was. There was nothing funny or silly about him, and only a dead man would think so, or worse, hint at it. For surely if there were worse fates than death, this Mer would know all of them...intimately.

"My dear Delatour. Tell me, how does our progress? How is this new man of yours? Better than the last I hope?" Delatour's smile faded, and his lordship's went with it. "I see." he drawled between slightly clenched teeth, then let out a sigh of the hard put upon, folding his long fingers into a steeple just under his angular chin. "Arthur, I pay you well in order to have success and to see progress, and yet, at every turn I find you giving me nothing but discouraging news and dark reports."

He winced slightly, both at the use of his proper name, which he hated to hear on the Altmer's disdainful tongue, and at the unspoken yet no less explicit threat which accompanied the rest of the words coming off that same tongue.

"My lord, I will admit as much, and I'm very sorry for it, especially since we've continued to face set-backs...including an unprecedented attack on our own fortification. However" he interjected quickly before the reprimand could come, "the new man has also discovered the likely cause of the most recent set-backs and a potential link which will lead us, we predict, directly to our targets."

The glint of fury which had reared briefly in the Mer's eye settled slightly, though his mouth was still bent in a deep frown. "Is this so?"

"Indeed, my lord. I have a number of men uncovering the connection's whereabouts even as we speak, and I expect to have word back very shortly." He knew better than to belabor the issue with pointless details. Sarandus wouldn't care, and it would just keep them in the same room together that much longer.

"I hope you do." He murmured with subdued venom.

Not as much as I, believe me. He thought bitterly as he eyed the Mer, doing what he could to mask the sweat inducing case of the nerves which had understandably come over him.

"Just to satisfy my curiosity, what is the nature of this connection that you have supposedly found."

He held back another wince. "The exact nature is uncertain, my lord, but we have the description and name of a young Dunmer woman we think resides in Cheydinhal who has at least once assisted in a target's escape and who we are almost certain was involved in the attack on Wariel." The Altmer's lip curled slightly at the mention of 'Dunmer' but he remind silent as if waiting for him to continue. So he did. "We're just confirming this information now since one of the informants used was hardly reputable. I wouldn't want it botched any more than it has already been simply because of my impatience."

"Very well. But don't come back again without good news...or I will be very...unhappy." Sarandus flicked out his wrist, and turned back toward the ghastly scene in the corner, a scene which illustrated graphically just what 'unhappy' could mean for someone on the wrong end of it. Since Sarandus's back was turned, Arthur chose not to let his eyes follow. "You're dismissed." He added in a low hiss, just in case Arthur hadn't ascertained what his demeaning little wave had meant.

"My lord." He bowed again, briefly and cautiously eying the long slender form with its unperturbed sheet of silver hair that seemed to melt into the very fabrics of his robes.

Then he fled. Elegantly of course, and gracefully...but when you undressed it, and bared it for what it was, he simply fled. In the street, four blocks down and almost at the gate of the next district, he inhaled deeply and released the shudder he'd been suppressing.

"Well, that went far better than expected." He murmured to no one in particular.

@@

Sarandus stood over the drained human's body, his own body as still and face as expressionless as the marble bust of his own likeness sitting just behind him over the fireplace. Human...just human. The man had been a fairly skilled sorcerer's apprentice before his untimely demise, had will power to spare, and because of this he once had high hopes for this experiment ...but it wasn't enough. It wasn't nearly enough. Damn it all, and he was so close to that ever elusive goal. He could feel it, that nearing triumph, and it called to him like a distant war drum, beating out like the pounding of his own heart.

Slowly his eyes closed and his fingers curled into a fist until the nails bit into the palm. He had squandered so much in those early days, in his rough, grasping experiments. Had he used mer or humans then in order to perfect his techniques, then he wouldn't be wasting his energy and time on them now. It was hopeless. These mundane bodies held nothing...they were but clay figures imbued with the fragmented remains of a shattered god. Their blood was weak...impure. He needed the blood of a god, of a deadric prince, or better, of the nine...and nothing less. And these creatures, these elusive children of Kyn...they had exactly what he needed. They had it in spades.

But...and there always seemed to be that damned 'but'...they were becoming more difficult to find, and more dangerous to hunt as their numbers dwindled. At this point he was almost better off hunting deadric tainted weald witches, or just draining the emperor himself for that matter. He opened his eyes and smirked slightly. Surely he didn't need all of his sons...one would be enough to provide an heir...

A humorless chuckle filled his throat. It would not shock him if one day that thought became more than a passing fancy. Even Mer were mortal, and he was far older than he appeared already but he felt his time dwindling as his options had. He'd made progress, and effected serious change already, as his smooth skin and supple body proved. But still...it was not enough. It was never enough.

He unclenched his hand, smoothing it open and running it lightly, tenderly even, over the cold flesh before him. Dead flesh, one might say. That was what no one understood about the necromantic arts, no one who wasn't fully fledged in its mysteries. It wasn't about death...it was never about death. It was about ending death, about life....life unending.

His lip curled and he tore his hand from the body and whirled on the still, silent room, glaring at the sunlight as it streamed in through the filmy gauze of the curtains. He marched to the window and yanked the fabric aside, letting his burning azure eyes raze the simple, ignorant creatures below who fretted about oblivious to all but their tiny claustrophobic worlds. Life eternal...but not as some foul creature of darkness, some vampire...or worse, a creeping malignant wraith imprisoned by it's own cleverness like that fool Manimarco. Not for him that eternal hell...but eternal light...eternal life.

And no fool Breton, or little Dunmer chit, was going to stand in his way now. His eyes hardened in irritation. He was going to have to step up and take care of this himself...he could feel it in his bones.

He let out an very un-Altmer like snort of irritation. How incredibly inconvenient.

@@@

Feric had decided against threatening Aina or Lucas with imminent talking-tos. Namely because he realized he'd have to admit overhearing them, and he wasn't, frankly, feeling up to that discussion just yet. Especially knowing his daughter would give him a similar argument to what Ina's had been, an argument which he was still formulating a counter to. The other reason was Inanna's excitement over the scheme, which was slightly unnerving in its intensity. It just seemed safer to let it slide...for now.

He did, however, keep his agreement to come along with her to Cheydinhal where they had, as she'd suggested, 'gone shopping.' Of course this really only entailed heading to the local outfitters and ordering supplies from an Orc woman named Borba whom he was also introduced to as part of her on-going plan to 'give him her friends'. Ina had also insisted he try the imported salt-water taffy...he did since she seemed so enthusiastic about it, but he'd never had all that much of a sweet tooth.

After they'd left the lower levels of the ruins earlier in the day, neither of them mentioned anything about what had happened before Aina and Lucas had shown up. Instead their conversation had been centered around the kinds of supplies they should order, when they thought the hunter's would begin to regroup, and when she was planning to meet with the thieves guild again, as well as the best places to hunt deer, and, of course, the weather.

But despite his best efforts at avoidance and denial, his thoughts continued to stray back to that strange intense moment between them in the ruin. The one that neither had acknowledged outside of that one, vague comment.

'That was different,' she'd said. His mind evoked the memory of her small, sweat slicked body clinging to his and felt a twinge as a faint tremor pass uncontrolled up his spine.

Yes, yes it was different. Many things were different...everything. It wasn't like he wanted her any less...definitely not less...maybe more, he couldn't tell. The only way to describe the change was as if they'd been playing a game but the rules had changed and neither of them were told how. He sighed inwardly.

Regardless, it would have to wait as there were more pressing matters. Far more pressing, and with much more dire consequences.

The rules had also changed in regards to the hunters. With Inanna working to help them there were now half a dozen new players on the board where before there had been just the two. The whole thing made him uncomfortable. There were too many people, too many elements, and his mind fought to order it all, to rearrange his life and what he knew about the world. He was managing, it seemed, but the process wasn't an easy or pleasant one.

'It would have been easier if you hadn't up and mated with a perfect stranger,' a little voice reminded him with an internal growl. He gritted his teeth and resisted the urge to let out an actual growl in response. Later...he would deal with that later. With a huff her pulled his mind back towards his previous thoughts, and the confusing cast of characters he suddenly found himself in the middle of.

It wasn't just his own uncertainty which concerned him. A large part of him suspected that these new elements were going to force the other player's hand and that things would get very dicey very fast. But it might also serve to draw who ever was behind all of it out of the shadows so that they could deal with it once and for all.

Beside him Ina was chatting away about what the pride could do 'once it was over:' about moving into the city, about guilds, houses...he wished he could be so optimistic. He was about to say as much when a woman's voice rang out behind them, halting Ina's flow of words and capturing his full attention.

"Well. I'll be damned. If it isn't the infamous velothi witch. Quelle suprise."

It wasn't the voice which arrested him, so much as the way Inanna froze stiffly beside him, looking like she'd been shot in back. They turned at the same time to see who had called out. He didn't recognize her, but she was an attractive looking human woman. 'Beautiful' wouldn't have been an exaggeration by anyone's standards.

She was small and had a curvaceous figure which was shown off well in a low slung wrap skirt and a clinging vest-like shirt which exposed, in fleeting glimpses, the flat plane of her stomach, as well as by the practiced tempo of her swaying walk as she approached. Her long brown hair was loose and fell about her shoulders in waves to frame a delicate face and dark green eyes. Her age was...oddly indeterminate. She seemed...not quite right. Like what he was seeing...wasn't quite what he was seeing. His stomach turned slightly at the conflict between his senses and his instincts.

He was also quick to notice two males, a Khajiit and a Dunmer, standing off to the side and who were watching intently but with a relaxed amusement that contradicted the sardonic harshness of the woman's voice and words. He frowned and glanced at Ina, but she only had eyes for the woman. Her lip curled into its own wry smile.

"I'd call you a bitch in retort Breton, but hackneyed rhymes are more your forte. So I'll go with your second most recognizable trait and bid you welcome, my capricious, gold-digging whore."

Feric couldn't help but start at her tone and words. He'd heard a lot of things come out of her mouth, but nothing sincerely vicious before. But the woman only let out a low laugh as they both began to pace towards each other. "At least I get rewarded for my efforts, instead of walking away empty handed save for the pleasure of being a self righteous, judgmental prig. Just because you don't get something for it, Inanna, doesn't make you any less of a harlot...it just makes you a kind of slut: The poorer kind/"

"At least I have moral standards, you treacherous snake."

"And I so hope they comfort you when you die, sad and alone."

Feric had simply stood watching, agape, as the strange scene played out before him, but now it was just too much. The last thing he needed was attention drawn to them by her getting into a fist fight in the middle of the street...and people were starting to stop and stare. No doubt they were hoping to get the vicarious thrill out of seeing two attractive females trying to rip each others hair out in the mud.

He knew better though. Ina would just clock her. Or set her on fire. That wouldn't be pretty.

But, before he could intervene and pull them apart, the two women suddenly lunged towards each other and...hugged?

What...the...hell?