Figleaf Leatherworks Ch. 08

Chapter 8

Glysless waited until after Emory left the Buzzard before she set out for her night time shenanigans. The crest of her alcohol buzz had left her in a self pitying wake that really didn't help her mood. She thought she'd seen a nominally functional 'person' in the mirror on her way out the door. Not a drunk, no that took effort.

She was just a little inebriated.

Which was good, because she didn't need to be sober to put the fear of....her into someone.

The plan was simple enough; if Claicey wasn't able to work in the brothel and her 'employers' had come looking for her, she was going to be at a specific corner. The lady sees some young man ogling her from the shadows looking for her leg tattoo. She runs because she's not stupid, and she probably calls it a night then and there. She goes home the back ways, or gets an escort from one of the caretakers assigned to protect 'the merchandise' in the wake of what happened.

Someone who's completely unaware a demon is waiting, and isn't valuable enough to the Family to get a silver weapon of their own. All in all, a tidy little scheme. If it meant lounging in the dark while Claicey finished out her rounds, then so be it; future Glys would thank her for her diligence.

Past Glys, however, was in for a massive re-evaluation of both Claicey and Vellmullod: amongst the dirty plaster and- rare- brick houses was a small two story cottage with daisies spilling out of planter boxes under a bay window and tresses of violets and ivy racing up the corners of the place to strangle wrought iron fencing around an overhanging porch. Everything was remarkably clean and even the roof had been recently re-tiled.

Since when did the Hound know the first damned thing about carpentry? More to point, where did they get the money for those kinds of plants-- holy shit, were they finally developing a sense of self outside of killing things and breeding?

Someone in Hell was being given a handjob that'd let them see the face of eternity. Assuming anyone or anything was even left there at this point.

A quick look didn't seem to indicate anyone inside, no lights and no mortal souls that she could see. Maybe Vel had finally given up their ways-- they'd stopped at one child, kicked them out and just decided to lay low with their mortal wife. Could Glysless have been wrong all this time?

"Doubtful."

Despite all the pretty facing, the lock was still a weak point and Glys got in easily enough. Almost instantly she slammed into a barrier of Foxglove and iron shavings around the rim of the doorframe. Her skin burned. From the tips of her fingers to her scalp and even her toes. The pain was electrifying and drew her closer to the surface of her body, washing away the sloppy intoxication with sharp, angry clarity.

They'd set this up just for her-- probably assuming that one day Glys would break their agreement. Iron worked on any demon, but foxglove? Now that was a special touch just for her. It was too bad for all of them, though, that this message was too important not to deliver.

Glysless dug into her body, shoved herself down and collapsed her wings against her back. For extra momentum she ducked and shoved with all her strength, clasping her gloved hands to the narrowest point she could make. She shoved. Through the barrier- like pushing herself through a congealed block of liquid acid- every little bit of progress burned over more of her skin. She forced herself to sweat the feeling off but that only made it worse as rivulets of pain trailed down her back and thighs into uncomfortable places.

With each gain more agony burned her flesh, but piece by piece she dug in deeper and shoved through the barrier. She forgot to even breathe or to pump new blood through her body, adding to the torture until she finally broke through and crumpled into a heap just past the shavings. Then, as if she'd just been woken from a dream, she was in her flesh; she could see and feel it stitch itself back together, it crawled over her exposed muscle and bone and wrapped her once more without her even realizing she was forcing it to.

"I need a fucking beer..."

Glysless laid there staring at the wall breathing, mending the dead bits of her body and getting them back in working order. After she was 'mostly whole' again she opened her senses to the place-- there were three souls upstairs.

Young. Very young. Or faint. Which could easily be the case: hybrids never had particularly strong souls. Something about a demon's offspring always seemed to be lacking some fundamental part, or parts to make them a truly unique being. Maybe it was just the Hound's lack of basic intelligence and essence. Glys had always been the superior being in that regard.

After a few more moments of self affirmation, Glysless scraped herself off the floor and went poking around the idealistic little cottage for a place to sit menacingly in the dark sipping stolen booze.

There were a lot of flower motifs all over the place, engraved into exposed beams and etched into wrought iron accents that she didn't remember being there last time she visited. The place was very well kept and had even been partitioned off into separate rooms instead of the usual open floorplan of these kind of dumps. Weirder still, there were actual floorboards and nice furniture. Old, yes- but when you said 'Hellhound' or 'Fifth Segan of the Black Waves' you did not picture stained oak and birch flooring- unless those things were spattered in blood and bits of fur.

Glysless paused at the dining room, frowning to herself. They'd been in this world long enough to have seen the rise and fall of nations, they'd even been the cause of some, but they were destroyers and conquers. When had they decided to live the domestic life?

There was a distinct lack of beer. Or spirits. Or anything good looking to eat-- she still scarfed down half a sausage roll when she found it, because her body needed fuel to burn, but she wasn't going to be happy about it!

There was some mint tea which she started brewing to occupy herself. She was still close to her flesh after the barrier, and the faintest scent tickled her nose. It was oddly soothing, even if it brought to mind images of the young girl the Mistress had been. Back in the slums when Glys had been stabbed a dozen times to keep the kid from being taken by a much younger Delasin Kosori. They'd gotten tea after Glys ripped one of his friend's souls out and emptied his pockets.

Mint tea...

Maybe the Mistress had a greater impact on both of them than Glys had realized. A shudder ran through her. After it all, the thought that some human could domesticate not one but both demons was hilarious and pitiable.

So....very....pitiable.

She touched her throat unconsciously.

The kettle whistled.

#

Half an hour later Glys was on her third pot. She'd fallen away deeper into her body long ago, so there were no sensory responses, but she kept drinking to remember the taste- reconstructing the flavor and scents while choking back the memories of the attempted kidnapping.

All the while, and ignoring the ache in her bladder, she framed a small shadowbox cube with strips of wood she'd cut out of the dining room table with her knife. She'd cut some curtain material for the frame and was just about to go looking for something to glue it together when the front door opened.

The soul that stepped in was half-wrong; human and not, mortal and other. Powerful. Like a lantern blasting through frosted glass. It was familiar somehow.

Then it disappeared.

It didn't just stop existing, but Glysless couldn't pick it out against the background. Someone was very in touch with themselves and knew something was wrong. It'd be so much easier to deliver the message to someone who thought themselves powerful. Glys rose lazily and picked up her cup.

She didn't even get past the partition when the first strike came.

Fast. Sharp. Fingers forward. The prototypical Vellmullod style.

Humanoid woman. Short. Late teens maybe. White hair. Heavy toolbelt. Boots and a smock.

Glysless turned her head slightly to dodge the strike, the heat grazed her cheek. Oh, she was feisty!

Must've been their daughter. Which meant the next plan of attack was to step in- yep, there it was, and now for the gut punch. Glys pivoted her weight to dodge, looked the girl in the eye to show she wasn't afraid. The attacker's eyes flickered iridescent orange, and from the street light she could see the girl had large canine ears flat against her head.

Another Vellmullod-like punch. She was trying so hard.

Glys made a show of sipping her tea.

Another punch, wide. Glys stepped away. The girl was quicker than her sire, though- light on her feet and sharp at reading body language. She took Glys's movement, pivoted her weight and swift kicked her in the ribs. Tools clattered. Ribs broke. Tea got spilled.

"That's quite enough." Glysless said tonelessly. The girl gawked briefly. Righted herself and took a boxing stance.

There were rules to these kinds of things, Glys couldn't hurt the child, but fixing her body took time and energy.

Another kick. High this time, aiming for Glys's chest- probably thought she'd bowl her over by force of momentum. Glys grabbed her boot with her free hand to keep the girl from hyper extending her hamstring. To the young hound's credit, the force dislocated Glys's arm and wrist. In one smooth move Glys shoved the foot up to her shoulder, stepped into the hound girl's reach, and grabbed her ankle with her tail. The girl had a moment of horrid realization right before Glys yanked.

She started to fall but Glys snatched her tunic before she hit the ground. With a loud pop and crunch she mended her torn rotator cuff and popped her shoulder back into place. Then hefted the girl up off her feet, staring at her while she polished off her tea. "Are you going to behave?" She asked with a lazy drawl for effect.

"Ngh," she snarled. Bared her teeth. She could've kicked out but didn't. Smart kid. Glys hauled her into the dining area and dumped her into the chair she'd been using.

Immediately the girl looked towards the stairs.

"Relax, they're fine. Your sire and I have an understanding."

She squinted. "Who are you?"

"You could think of me as....you know what. Better you don't. Your sire--"

"My father."

Glys huffed. Poured herself some more tea. "Your sire has done something that's going to bring a lot of attention to them and you. Think of this as a courtesy; get them to stop."

Indignant and proud, the girl sat back staring at Glys like an idiot. It was at that point the light from the windows crossed her features just right and Glys could make out the thick red stripe tattoo from the crown of her forehead to her jaw. That brought back memories.

"You, too?" Glys sighed.

"What?"

She tapped her own eye. "That thing. We used to run with a northern tribe-- not important. That's a mark of adulthood, right? God dammit, how many kids do you have?"

"Why, looking to carry one?" The girl sat forward, ears perked. Her tone was snarky but something in her eyes gleamed with amused greed. She took off her work smock and threw it beside her. "Not often I've met anyone that could take me in a fight, I suppose I could be persuaded to give you what you want."

Glys stared at them for a long moment. There was a subtle kind of temptation in those words, it was unnatural and projected, but there wasn't that twist of demonic intoning that could compel a response-- no, that response? That was pure intrigue. Maybe it was loneliness.

What a hilarious idea; a lonely demon.

"No. Wait," the young hound said. They poked the air. "You're seeing someone, or you want someone....my father isn't here right now, he's working." After a beat. "So is my mother."

Glys huffed again. She studied the young one thoughtfully. Their soul was on full display now, burning bright and hot across from her as if they'd drawn some kind of power into them for the fight. "I'm not here to bed either of them-"

"My lucky day, then." They stood and started to unbutton their tunic. "Here's fine, won't be the first time"

"Sit down," Glys intoned from the depths of her own being. The young hound shivered, their ears went flat. Eventually they dropped into the chair. Glys leaned forward and slipped a metal disk from her pocket. "How many children do you have?" She intoned the question.

"T- two on the way," the hound said. Then she smiled proudly. "They're sisters, too!"

"Uh huh..." Two, plus the three upstairs. Even assuming Vel wasn't sleeping around-- never a sure thing-- that put the potential count at around fifteen first and second generation still alive in this city.

"You still haven't answered me. Whatchya want? I mean, you're beautiful, you could get almost anything y'wanted. Maybe even me if you ask me really nicely."

"Sit back down," Glys intoned again. The young one complied.

"Stop that!"

Glys slid the tea cup across the table. "Here's the problem: your 'father' has stirred up a lot of shit and is really making a mess of my desire to enjoy my vacation. I'd really appreciate it if you asked them very nicely to knock it off."

At the confused look she got, Glys clasped her hands around the metal object.

"The Kosori family own your mother's contract, right? We had a little run in with them a couple nights ago, and now your-- now Vellmullod went off and did something foolish. I realize they don't care, and they think they can defend you and yours from these people, but I'm here to assure you I have a much better plan." She set the disk on the table.

Curious, the hound picked it up. As soon as it touched their palm the young one flinched. Locked up. Sweat bead on their forehead as their eyes lingered.

"That's silver. Burns, huh?" Glys smiled. "Really hard to think and act when that shit's in your body, too, let me tell you. It can take years to build up the focus to keep working through it." She leaned forward, grabbing the hound's attention full on. "The last time we saw this much silver, someone had figured out who your sire was and what they were.

"We tore an entire city apart. We had to in order to keep ourselves hidden." Glys shifted her Glamour to a number of different looks. Short. Tall. Fat. Skinny. Powerful and powerless. "Your sire is being careless- you haven't been taught right, so consider this a free lesson: stick with those sisters, raise your little family. Do whatever it is you want to do, but keep your fucking head down....and remind Vel to do the same."

The young hound guttered and flinched. The disk fell out of their hand and they took in a sharp breath. Smoke curled off their palm but the wound didn't heal immediately- nor did it look all that bad. Must've been that the hybrid was closer to their body than Glys was to hers. Maybe there was no difference. Envy prickled.

Their ears flattened and a growl roiled in their throat oh so menacingly. "I'll fucking kill you if you do that again!"

"Uh huh."

They rubbed their palm. "What do you care anyway? If you're like my father, you have nothing to fear-- there is someone here, isn't there?"

Glys stood, reconstructing her Glamour to what she'd come in with. "Warning delivered-- next time this becomes an issue, I'll take matters into my own hands. Agreements that've been made can be broken, and I have a lot more to work with than your sire does."

"Hey..."

"What?"

"How....how bad is it?"

Well now this was a pleasant surprise. "Vel killed a lot of Kosori's people. I did my best to make it look like a rival family."

"And if they don't buy it?"

"They found silver, enough to coat a sword. So they already spent thousands upon thousands of dracemi on this gamble; they know something is up. But if we can keep them guessing long enough, I can work on it my way."

"Mmm..." Her throat rumbled. Glys could imagine the gears in their head churning out some violent solution. They were young and fit, it was only natural that was the first place they went. "I work with the carpenter's guild, I might be able to find you some plans if they got their buildings done through them."

Glys blinked, surprised.

"Innnn exchange..."

"Here we go..."

"I'm there when it goes down."

"Telling me you don't go down on your own?" Glys tutted.

The hound scoffed. "No, that's incest. I go down on my lovers-- I'd go down on you, too, if you asked me--"

"I'll really want to think you appreciate the hypocrisy of that statement."

"The....sure? I mean, if you want, I'll hyp-your-pocrisy all night long."

Then it clicked. Just some random couple pieces of information slid into place; she was Vel's first child-- Sakoni or something like that, a Segan word meaning 'Trouble'. Glys laughed.

Sakoni rose, looked up at Glys. "Don't think I could handle you? The question is, can you handle me?"

Glys closed the distance with a wicked little smile. Temptation itched at her to break her Glamour and unleash her true majesty- she couldn't. She dared not. "I have very little to fear from someone who was shitting themselves in diapers the last time I saw them." Glys pushed them gently.

The hound snatched her forearm, went for the grab. Glys squirreled around them into their grip and looped an arm around their throat, shoved her knee into their back and lifted them up by bracing her foot on the chair. The young one flailed a bit and went limp, surrendering.

"I thought we agreed you'd behave."

"Had to try." They slapped Gly's ass.

Glys pinched their throat between bicep and forearm until they started thrashing around with desperation. They tapped her forearm repeatedly. "Should that mean something to me?" That got her hair pulled. Fist slammed down on her arm.

"Now. Behave." Glys unceremoniously dumped the hound on the floor and stepped over them while they coughed and sputtered. "I'll be in touch. And if your sire gets another wild hair up their ass, it better be because they didn't shave, or we'll be having another one of these talks."

Cough, cough, cough. The hound grabbed at the air, sputtered.

"Are we clear?"

A weak nod.

"Good! I know what Vel is like when they get on a tear, so I'll see you in a couple days!" Always good to leave with an implied threat. Now she could move on to the next step in the plan; keeping the Mistress busy.

Or maybe....maybe she'd visit that man from the leather shop. He'd been friendly, and he could banter and....Emory. His name was Emory. Maybe she could put in some actual effort with that and-- maybe she'd spark a curiosity in him the way Sakoni had just a moment ago. That had a certain appeal to it.

Fortunately for her, these weren't mutually exclusive goals.