Figleaf Leatherworks Ch. 02

Chapter 2

Emory had always been able to see daemons, no matter how much his father insisted he couldn't.

This one in particular had been prowling the aisles at the lower level of the Merchant Guildhall, stopping at any booth that displayed leather armor, and usually after a brisk conversation she'd wander off to the next one. He was kicking himself every time she stopped.

Armor was good money for the work involved, and Emory hadn't considered bringing so much as a vambrace.

But then again, a daemon deciding not to visit their booth wasn't the worst problem to have. If she worked for a noble and she wanted to place a special order, he'd have to explain to his father how visiting the Fates' Tapestry translated to he and Keline running a booth at the Guildhall. Somehow Emory doubted he'd buy 'market research' as a valid excuse for outright blasphemy and lying to him.

He didn't know what this daemon woman presented to the rest of the world, there were no mirrors in the 'poor' section of the Merchant Guild's Hall. But even without her nobles' regalia she cut an imposing figure; tall and broad, with skin the color of a used candle wick and eyes that could have been the flame. Behind her glasses were pinpoints in a black void, stars that broke some sacred veil to scour the land and all who dwelled there.

Her features were human enough, maybe 40-something with streaks of grey winding through her side-swept crest, and large canine ears that matched her wolfish focus. She was attentive. Predatory. It was almost as if she was kept in check by the collar she wore- thick as her palm, hanging loose from her neck with a single metal ring that drooped down like a crescent blade. She never touched it and no one dared to comment, but even at a distance Emory could tell the leather was worn in by years. Somehow it worked for her. With the double breasted coat and floor length skirt it stood out as a feature of power. Who's power? Now that would be the question.

She was the kind of woman Keline would've gone after if she was that little bit braver- or had poorer self preservation instincts. "Mmmh. . ." Emory mused as he watched the retainer pick through some of the offerings.

"Emory. Psst."

So it began.

"You keep staring at her like that and I might get jealous."

Emory glanced at Kel and stuck his tongue out a little. Her half elven blood made her impetuous, but moments like this couldn't really be soured if things went too badly, right? Daemon or no, retainers had rules. All he had to do was keep her from saying something--

"You should go talk to her. You know, say 'Hi, I'm Emory and I can't help but wonder if you've ever had your ass treated like a holy altar. I have this anointing oil and. . .'"

Something just like that.

The retainer's ear flicked. Her head cant just slightly while she discussed business with one of the vendors. Had she heard?

Keline didn't know. He couldn't get mad at her. He still nudged her hard enough to get the point across. "Then my father can chew me out for ruffling a nobles' feathers and being here."

The young woman scoffed, slung her arm over the back of her chair and crossed her leg so the meat of her thighs pressed together in that particular way that reminded Emory of her mother. "For a moment I thought you were going to say 'for knocking up a noble's retainer' and being here."

That got the woman to glance over now. Eyes sharp. Ears attentive. Right at Emory. He subtly pointed at Keline-- damned if he was going to hang for her crimes. Plus, he was reasonably confident he could talk her down if she tried anything. Something he couldn't do if she was attacking him directly.

"Orrrr maybe," Keline leaned over, looking up at him under the shade of her brow. "Maybe a world class butt stuffing is in order. The way you keep looking at her ass--"

"Kel. . ."

"Oh, please. I see the way you look at my ass--"

"Kel." Emory said sharply. The retainer was staring at him with an arched brow. Her skirt twitched behind her. "Maybe don't antagonize the nobility, huh? Besides, everybody looks at your ass."

She nudged him back in retaliation. "As they should. But look, it's not like she can hear us anyway. You knoooowwww, she's kind of attractive if you're into older women. . . .Emorrrry are you hunting for someone to smother you between their thighs and call you 'young man'? Hm?" She prodded him. "I can never tell."

"You might if you paid attention," he thought to himself. He mouthed an apology to the retainer. This got her to smirk, then smile a grin full of sharp teeth, placing her firmly in the 'dangerous' category of daemon. When the retainer turned to wander off Keline leaned against him, patting his shoulder in consolation.

"Maybe next time." Her hand trailed down his back in a way that made him shiver. She had no idea what kind of danger they might've been in, nor what she did to him with her touch. She had so many of her mother's affects and some of her features, but none of her elven grace or reservation. He was thankful for her company, though. "I kind of wonder what the collar was about, but hey, I'm too pure to kink shame."

"Pure like a slit trench." Emory cast a quick glance to the upper level. They weren't getting anywhere like this. "Hey, I'm going to do something stupid. Can you cover the booth?"

Keline snatched up one of their belt samples and dumped it in his hands. With a flourish she sent him on his way. "I knew you had a thing for older women."

"That's not it," he lied. It was a connection, it was an in. His father might've been furious with him if he knew they were here, but if he brought home an order from a noble house and it was because of his work? It would've been the perfect amount of leverage to get his point across and to show him that they could compete and even thrive.

It was a chance to make a point- and some money.

The other vendors looked at him like he was stupid when he passed. Some muttered about breaking the rules, some about him wasting his time, but he ignored it all. There was enough of a lead here that he could turn it to something, he was sure of it.

The upper level is where you found the big shops, not all of them native to the city, despite what the Guild would let customer's believe. Among the bright colors you'd find exotic dyes on leather so heavily oil treated that it was as soft as tissue and nearly as sturdy. The company's representatives stood in orderly form like toy soldiers with crisp uniforms that exuded power as real as the smiles they showed the noble clientèle.

These people were the ones that had a modicum of charisma and little knowledge about the product they sold. They were the face of perpetual 'apprenticeships', rigged markets and tax evasion. But the nobles wanted to see a pretty picture and smart money gave it to them.

The less smart money, people like Emory and Keline, sat in the far flung corner of the showing hall with their thumbs up their own asses. Technically all the shops in the city were represented as the Guild's charter demanded, so in a sense you did get seen. But, like the retainer, it wasn't always obvious when you were seen or by whom.

He found the daemon retainer stalking through the crowd with her hands clasped behind her back. Her sleeves were up just far enough to expose a ring on either glove at her wrist, thick and heavy. On anyone else, they'd have been work gloves but they had an esoteric design to them and triple stitching- definitely not something done locally. It was good work in need of some conditioner and dye touch ups, but you got that with hard worn leather.

If they were here, though, they were looking for leather goods. Local or not. If they weren't out for something already made then they might have been in the market for custom work. Judging by those gloves they valued custom pieces and the premium they brought.

Emory took his shot when he was sure the retainer would hear him. "Retainer, I believe I have something for you."

She kept going, gliding through the crowd like a blade.

"Retainer?"

She didn't skip a beat. Though he did get a look from some other servant.

Different tact, then. He kept his voice low. "She might be on to something: I do like older women. But few compare to the exoticism of those who aren't native to this place."

The retainer's ear flicked. She glanced back. Her eyes were sharp orange for a split second and before she'd even completed her turn she'd scanned the crowd and narrowed in on him. Emory drew to his full height and strode forward with his sample clenched in his hand. She was a daemon but she was a retainer- that meant she was bound by rules of conduct. She couldn't just kill him outright.

Maybe if he kept telling himself that he might even believe it.

Emory offered a smile the woman didn't reciprocate. When he approached she tilted her head very slightly and her skirt flicked. She had a palpable sense of irritation but he held his ground, offering his sample piece before he launched into a modified version of his sales pitch: "My friend overstepped her place, and it would be rude not to offer compensation for what she said. I wish you and your lord no ill will, I hope you have none as well."

She stared at him oddly. Then looked him up and down. Sniffed the air just once.

The retainer closed the distance, almost looming over him now. Her eyes were so unnaturally dark and her presence so warm that even from a foot away she became a suffocating physical thing- it drove him to run. It demanded he step aside. But if he did that he'd blow his only chance at improving the family business. This would've all been for nothing.

Eventually, when he didn't run away, she spoke in a low throaty whisper. "You can see me, can't you?"

Because nothing said 'confident' like staring death in the face and going for charm, Emory laid it on thick. "You have a presence about you that's hard to ignore. I wager you find a lot of people who's heart beat faster when you're around."

"Mostly in terror," she stepped closer. Now definitely leaning into his space. Eyes locked. Her teeth were so sharp, her presence smothering now. She smelled of preserved meats and incense that made her all the more strange and powerful. "Run along little one."

"I owe you an apology," Emory said firmly. Squared his shoulders. "My companion has obviously caused offense, and I wish to make it right." He offered the sample again, then added. "Judging by the leather you wear, you and yours prefer quality over most else you'll find here."

Some poor Guild bastard with really bad timing came up and started berating Emory about trying to poach customers. This got the retainer to step between them and not so much shove him out of the way as shoulder check him into making room for her. She took the man's gaze, breathed hot against his face.

"He is returning property to me, merchant. Mind your tongue or lose it."

"Y- yes. . . .yes, well." He cleared his throat. "Carry on."

When she looked back to Emory she was grinning smugly and stuck her tongue out between her canines. It was black and oily but somehow it still seemed genuinely amused and like she wanted to share in the humor of her deed. "Walk with me."

"Uh. . . .yes ma'am."

"Good that you see your place in this. Answer me: do you see me?"

Emory cleared his throat. "Ehm. With all due respect, I could--"

"Don't be coy. I hate coyness." Her skirt flicked again.

"I do."

"Mmmh. . ."

They fell into an uneasy silence that was only made more uneasy as the other shoppers parted around them; they were afraid of her and most weren't ashamed to show it. The Retainer brought Emory before an older woman in an expensive dress who was speaking to one of the upscale vendors. She was short, with hair down to her lower back and a worried hunch to her shoulders. Her voice was clipped and intense, like every word was costing her effort as she negotiated a price for something.

This wasn't the tradition of silent bidding on a wax tablet until a price was reached. This was aggressive and assertive; it was in your face negotiation. It made Emory's heart swell to hear the bumbling clown behind the table make feeble attempts to worm around the low ball offers he was getting.

After a few moments of back and forth she seemed to sense she was being watched. She stood, pointedly ignoring her servant now even as the retainer shifted her weight from one foot to the other. When her haggling was done- and not a moment before- she turned to face Emory square on.

"Yes?" Her voice was like warm honey.

The retainer spoke: "Another merchant with quality merchandise for your inspection."

"Is that right? And he's willing to break the rules of his own Guild's charter to get it in front of me, hm?" She tutted but there was a subtle undertone of humor in her voice.

"No," the retainer interjected. "He and his girlfriend were plotting to seduce me and he wanted to apologize for it." You could hear the smug-fuck grin in her voice, like crackling embers just waiting to start a forest fire.

The old woman gave her retainer a long hard look. "Don't start."

"Apologies mistress." The towering daemon bowed.

After holding that dominant gaze a moment longer than necessary, she looked to Emory and the belt he'd brought with him. She held out a hand expectantly. She pulled it this way and that, rubbing along the skin. "Top grain?"

"The lady is very observant."

"Bit of a cheat, don't you think?" She pushed two sides together to test out the quality of the engraving and stamping. "This is leather meant to be worked. . . .anyone can make it look good." Before Emory could explain, she asked, "Why so many embellishments? Afraid your work can't speak for itself?"

Emory had prepared for this. "We offer six month warranties on everything we sell, ma'am. We believe in our workmanship, but we also want to provide pieces that you and yours would be proud to wear. These pieces are to draw the eye, but are still part of an ethos of quality--"

"What's your name?" She said without looking up from her inspection.

"Emory, ma'am."

He felt the daemon beside him shift her weight. She was glancing at him.

"A strong name, Emory. Any of these people could match your warranty with a little coaxing. Why should I consider doing business with you?" She went to offer the piece back. Emory politely declined it.

"With all due respect to you and your retainer--"

The woman chuffed. "No, no, no. Don't go putting ideas in her head-- when she is worthy of donning the regalia of a retainer, she will have earned it. Vellmullod do you have any aspirations to retainership?"

A soft growl rumbled in the daemon's throat before she clasped her hands behind her back, chin raised.

"A question deserves an answer."

"N- no."

"No?"

"No, Mistress."

The woman looked to Emory with a vague expression that might've been 'what can you do?' or 'see what I mean?' but he wasn't sure. She tried to give the belt back again.

"Keep it." How far did he dare push this? "You obviously have fine taste in leather that's meant to. . . .perform for you." He cast a glance to Vellmullod's collar. He wasn't quite sure he even understood the full context of what he was seeing, but there was a connection there. Something he could exploit. "We're also happy to do reconditioning and cleaning. Something I doubt you'll find anyone up here prepared to do- if I may say so."

The old woman studied him for a moment. "Cheeky." She said with finality. "All right, young man: I do have a need for some custom work it if there's quality being offered. I am looking to buy fifteen suits of armor. Do you think you can handle it?"

"If you would honor us with your presence at the shop or our booth here, I'd be happy to discuss it--"

"Your shop, then." She fingered the belt idly. "Tomorrow morning."

Emory produced one of the cards he's brought with him, handing it off to the not-retainer as tradition would dictate. "I'll be there first thing, ma'am."

Her gaze lingered, eyes steely and hard despite her age-worn features. She ran her thumb over the engravings a final time before looking to her daemon bodyguard. "Did their seduction work?"

"What?"

"You said they were trying to seduce you."

Emory tried to cut this off but it was too late. Vellmullod was laughing. "His girlfriend would. Not him, though."

"Pity," the old woman said with a wry smile at Emory. Then, all business, she added: "do not disappoint me, Emory."

Emory tried for a smile he didn't quite feel under her withering attention. Somehow even the big quasi-canine daemon felt like more comforting company than this frail human woman. "We'll be ready, ma'am."

"Good," she said as she turned to leave. When she was just out of earshot, Vell leaned over to whisper: "I was just kidding. But I'm going first with your lady. I don't do seconds."

Emory coughed. Vellmullod trundled out with a brief grin back at him before she tipped his card in salute.

They might've creeped him out a bit, but if it meant the business making it further? It couldn't be all bad, surely. If the 'mistress' was able to tame a daemon, she was probably willing to keep an appointment, maybe even place an order. And she'd been brought in with his work! Great! But now Emory was going to have a lot to explain to his father. . .