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Established February 2010
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* Plot Information for Little Terreille

A naive Black Jeweled witch has destroyed the Territory Court. From its ashes a new court is being constructed, one run by a manipulative killer. As the blood runs in the streets of Goth from open gang warfare, the Steward of Little Terreille begins a gambit to rebuild the Territory from the ground up and challenge the Star of Kaeleer.
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Author Topic: Dile a tu nuevo querer, truly  (Read 141 times)

Description: Tag: Geralt

Offline Alazne Orellana

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Dile a tu nuevo querer, truly
« on: Sep 28, 19, 06:01:44 AM »
Locale: 194; Late Summer, Last Glass Bar, Goth

To run from or to brings a lady full circle ...

Alazne had not been back in Goth for very long, perhaps months. Remaining in Dhemlan in hindsight was perhaps the wiser choice, but it was never long after another class or two, a stint of service in Dhemlan's Navy by way of those connections that she became disillusioned and ached for home. As much as she loved the manner that the full Dhemlanese worked hard and played hard at all times, part of her was still her father's daughter and yearned for the rhythms of Goth and Little Terreille. Just then, she was lead Bartender at the Last Glass Bar, which was one of the nicer joints on the edge of an area that was once the dead center for Hell Lords' territory where a single whiff of law enforcement of any kind would never have been found.

 With that gang gone, space around it had been swallowed up by a variety of names and these days, she wasn't sure who controlled the area. In the end, it made little difference to a woman trying to make every bit of coin she could. She had left behind a lover who had wanted for more but made a ruin of their relationship with lies. As a Healer, she was well-positioned to note a lie when she saw one unfold in front of her, and most of the time it was an occurrence that Lazne was willing to let slide. After all, there were many, many reasons that people did not tell the truth. Protecting someone, hiding wounds that they couldn't pay to be healed. There were so many reasons, some of them fair and others of them not.

What wasn't was having seven women on the side, and treating her as if she didn't have a damned brain in her head while thinking they'd still get married while ... he kept on lying. She'd never have minded if the bedding business had been an open arrangement. After all, that was the way Blood generally did handle matters. Marriage or even a monogamous relationship of any kind was relatively rare. Her parents had been the closest to it she had ever seen, and then both had entertained lovers quietly on the side while considering each other their loves. Alazne had been willing to entertain any several dozen of possibilities ... except for being lied to.

It was her only line: don't fucking lie to me, even if it's bad, even if you've fucked yourself in terms of an illegal jam. After all, before attending Salamanca University she really had seen about everything there was to see. The college had been tame as all hell in trade. Quiet really. Almost too much so. She'd all but lived for patching up the men that got themselves in fights on purpose for making marks in the thousands in a single evening, before going to Healer classes the next day and making use of her real-world skills in ways that sometimes amused her professors.

By now, she had enough skill to teach at this point, but Goth, with its shimmering waves of corruption, had drawn her back into a tender embrace. A cousin had been in trouble, and she'd tried to step in but in the end, some people one simply couldn't save. She couldn't save a fool trying to steal from his boss. So now, the drink orders kept coming and the stage on at the place had been full of a band that played quick and light with their stringed instruments. She hadn't much paid any attention to what the music was at that particular point, all but counting the minutes until her lunch. She'd already been postponed twice and was starved. Just then, she saw her boss coming with a grim expression.

"I need you to stay, Orellana. One more hour. I'll pay you triple."

She sighed at the horrible way he said her name. Whyyyyyyy this, Alazne thought.

"You can't be serious. I need lunch and I really needed it two hours ago, and I have another shift across town--"

"I'll pay you double of what they are if you call off. Got some important sh--stuff going down soon and you make the best drinks. The rest of these fools can't handle a shaker the way you can." The Warlord's green eyes flicked over her hips and the rest. It was a brief look but was just enough to tell her he had ideas that she ought to smack out of his stupid head.

"No. I don't do that kind of thing. I respect your girls one hundred percent, but I don't sell what's mine for nobody, you dig?" She bared her teeth once he put his hand on her upper bicep. She wrenched her arm free and settled her four-inch heeled booted foot on the left of his right foot. The heel was solid steel and sharp, while the toe was capped, but was polished a lacquered black. Most people that were only there to drink wouldn't have noticed it. "I will patch up your girls, no charge. That's what we agreed on when I started coming here for work. I tend the fucking bar. I'll even get on stage and sing for you if, and that is if I am in the mood. But. I. Am. Not. For. Sale. Like. That."

"But come on! Have you seen you!?"

She let out a fun, delighted laugh. "Bitch, I see myself every day," she said while getting a little serious and heated. While Alazne didn't exactly have a temper, she bore the Blood Opal and some people forgot that when they pushed at the Healer. "I'm still not gonna whore for you. Not ever. I spread these legs for me and that is it? Are we clear? Or are you going to be down a bartender? Choose." Her mother had been a courtesan, and she still had scars from the experience. Some women could handle it. Alazne knew she absolutely would get beaten or killed because of her mouth, likely.

She tilted back her head and swaggered forward, snatching the cigar from behind Xavier's ear that sat there primarily with the aid of Craft. With a smooth flaring of witchflame, she lit it slowly, puffing away before blowing a circle of smoke into her boss' face. "You started this argument. I finished it. You want this trash back? Because your taste in smokes is terrible." He snatched it back and puffed, smirking at her.

"Fine. Do you have an opinion about everything, Orellana? Snobbish woman." The taller blonde male folded his arms, clearly thinking he was going to push her into doing something she had no intention of allowing. Alazne's expression was cold, like iron covered in ice chips. She winced when he mispronounced her surname ... again, all flat l's, the wide a and flat 'r's. She'd even asked the man to call her just Lazne, but he could never recall it.

"You're damned right I do when it's my body, and I am educated, not snobbish. There is a difference. Now, are we done talking about this?" He didn't seem to understand that if she wanted to, she could open every Healing he'd gotten in the last two months and not really break a sweat, but Lazne really, really didn't want to do that, she hated hurting people with her Craft unless they really deserved it. He hadn't. There were people she would do it to, but he wasn't one.


She started back toward the line of people needed to be served, pouring a whiskey neat and sliding it down the wooden bar.



A growl rolled from her, and she sharply ignored her boss, because the fact was, he needed her and it wasn't really the other way around. Worse, he didn't even pronounce her name right. She'd explained like seventeen times that the sound was more like 'Orreyana', but it for the life of him, Xavier couldn't really say the simplest name correctly. For a moment, she was very, very tired of working bars. "I do not make enough to be bothered with this shit," she muttered under her breath. More than capable of speaking in a more refined tone of voice, people here didn't know what to do with her when she did. Another skill earned in Dhemlan wasted on Goth where she'd grown up. She slid another whiskey to a man that had to be around seventy if he was a day.

"Heyyyy, you're Grantham's little girl."

"You knew my daddy?" Her golden-brown eyes glittered with emotion. She hadn't always agreed with the things her father had done, but she missed him, and still loved him.

"I did. Word was, he did things, not great things, but for some of us, he saved lives. Got me a job on the docks back on twenty years now. Retired though, these days. Though I suppose you aren't little anymore, eh?" He grinned and rubbed a stubbled face and a bald head.

"Tell you what, my lord. Anyone that was a friend of my father's, I'll pay your tab," she said gently to the grizzled Warlord.

"No, Lady. Bulldog pays his own way."

"Then let me get you a double, Bulldog?" She smiled at the name he called himself, rather than title and picked up the use easily and without a question asked.

He cackled. "Now that I'll take, Lady!" Alazne traded out his empty glass for two fresh ones, and he lifted one to salute her before walking away from the bar to give the next one in the line that was three deep their turn, which all but seemed to part suddenly leaving about a foot of standing room as Laz's back was turned to clean up a spill.

Offline Geralt Shade

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Re: Dile a tu nuevo querer, truly
« Reply #1 on: Oct 07, 19, 01:37:38 PM »
Geralt Shade didn’t much care for Goth.  It was a city larger than Gate City, half of which he and his syndicate controlled.  He was not looking to expand his operations.  Courtland was enough for him, and that long border with Nharkava made his arms smuggling very, very lucrative.  Every now and then he had to show his hand in Gate City, just to make sure certain sections of that place remembered who he was.  More occasionally, he had to go into Goth.  Goth was large, too large, and possessed of such variety that he doubted any one gang or group had it locked down.  Geralt wasn’t looking to expand, but every now and then it paid to go into Goth ad have a look at the available talent, and see if that talent could be convinced to work for him.  Sometimes, that came with its own risks, as no one liked having their people headhunted out of their territory, but that was a fight better had in Courtland, if the person brought on was worth the risk.

He moved through Goth with a small entourage of men, a handful really, and one Black Widow.  He had a deep appreciation for the Black Widow and their skills thanks to his Mother, and he liked to have one around, particularly if he was not near home.  They knew how to blend in, however, and let him work a room, especially one as public as this club, without crowding him.  Geralt could handle himself, for the most part, and he had plenty of trick to supplement his own innate formidability.  He was walking up to the bar when he heard the argument between employer and employee.  He could see that the Lady was just annoyed, even without focusing his senses on her.  Geralt only had to use his eyes to see that she was basically on the edge of either slapping this man, or leaving, and despite the fact that his senses told him Healer, he still was not sure which to expect.

Can’t handle a shaker?  Geralt actually did roll his eyes at that.  He took a stool, and leaned against the bar at the far end, and just observed.  He was wondering how a Healer found herself in this situation, but he wasn’t about to interrupt the show so he could order or ask.  A Healer was not a terribly common thing, let alone, common behind a bar of any establishment.  He wondered why she was being wasted there.  It sounded as though the Employer had other business ‘divisions’ where she could put her Caste and Craft to much better use, and not as one of the ‘courtesans’ either.  Healing work for no charge?  Just a bartender’s wages, and likely an invitation for this male to just mind his own business, which Geralt sensed was bordering on not being done.  How often had this idiot attempted to sell her body?  The Boss of the Courtland Syndicate would have bet even money it happened pretty regularly.

Geralt hid a smile at the end result, covering it with his hand, and making a show of eying the shelves at the back of the bar.  Someone she knew, or that claimed to know her showed up, and rescued her from the annoyance of her employer, who still hovered for a bit, before realizing he was not likely to be graced with the Healer’s words again any time soon.  He half smiled, and raised a hand for service, ”What does the Lady recommend?  I usually go for something tidy, like a nice single malt, but maybe you can surprise me?”  Then he lifted his chin at her boss, ”That happen a lot?”