Corwynn was wearing a tie. He'd washed and shaved and taken extra time to shine his pistol. The glow off the handle seemed to make his slight hangover all the more tolerable, but only when taken in the context of the entirety of his pressed and fashionable outfit. To all appearances, the blond gunman could've been any other rich golly fresh out of a carriage from Vienda, so impressive were the back contents of his wardrobe he hardly wore. The gun threw it off a little, peeking out as it did from the holster at his hip, but still. He was quite the sight to see, surprisingly.

Sun-touched curls flouncing in a bit of extra clean flair, the galdor strode into the Black Dove with a well-practiced air of nonchalant but dignified deference. He held in the crook of his arm something wrapped in a brightly colored scarf; a stark contrast to the crisp pale gray of his jacket. It might have been a bottle, but it was hard to tell all wrapped up.

A thin, bemused smile formed over his well-aged features and Corwynn stood in the main hall of the Dove, looking around without looking lost so much as curious.

He cleared his throat, expectantly, and waited, resisting the urge to check the time.

A muffled shout came from above the black dove and then a thump. And another thump. The establishment wasn't quite shaking but a few of the already crooked picture frames were tilted further on their axis as the shaking continued. Another loud crash revealed the cause as a man was thrown against the banister and then fell the rest of the way down the stair. He lay at the bottom, groaning.

Yarvin had been nearly successful in his endeavor to have Amani kill him before morning. He had kept her up with ceaseless tapping noises, being generally obnoxious, cursing superfluously until he had finally drifted off into an uncomfortable sleep himself. His face was deformed-- only a shadow of what it had once been as purple, green, and blue bruises blossomed all over it. His lip was puffy, his nose crooked, and his eyes mismatched. One pitted, and the other bloated beyond comprehension.

His fall was followed by another shout, this time femenine. "Yar'aka!" The word was uncharacteristically harsh coming from the Mugrobi woman's mouth as she stormed downstairs. She had apparently interrupted her morning ritual because one of her armguards was missing, her boots hadn't been laced up all the way, and her hair was down-- curly and slightly moist, framing her head like a black halo. Her sword was out and she pointed it at his stomach, resting the cold steel on his belly button, blue eyes dark and furious like something out of stories, "If I did not have my obligations I would slice you up here and now, you fool. Do not think the stories of my country's torture methods are lies!"

A low laughing noise came from Yarvin and Amani lost her patience again. Her booted foot collided with his nose, breaking it in a different direction that it had already been broken. It bled and the man cried out as his eyes watered, salt water stinging the small cuts and splinters on his face. "Whoreson!" She spat, and stomped back upstairs to finished getting ready.

She came downstairs five minutes later, looking fully dressed this time. She didn't look quite as snazzy as Corwynn, but definitely looked less dusty than she had the day before. She daintily stepped over the not quite unconcious pile that was Yarvin and scanned the bar. Corwynn was already there.

"Well you clean up well. I think you probably look more pretty than me. Sana'hulali, Corwynn." There was a slight tone of accusation-- as if the man had purposely tried to look better than she had. But...well...she had an excuse. With only 4 hours sleep, she looked better than most people would have. And that was saying a lot.

Corwynn began to grin stupidly soon after a bloody, lumpy young man appeared at the bottom of the stairs. A woman who knew how to handle the scum on the bottom of your boots was quite a rare find, and the galdor did love a woman who hated scum. He watched the scene unfold with unrestrained amusement, though his mouth opened a little and he became slightly distracted by Amani's angry, disheveled state half-way through the beating and the shouting.

His breath caught in his chest and he might have sighed to keep air moving.

Alioe, Corwynn clocking loved his job.

Stepping over to hover over the groaning man with a culturally-perfected look of disdain on his fair, aristocratic features, the blond gunman was forced to wait for the current object of his fascination to re-appear, looking less disturbed and more contained.


The galdor bowed with a flourish, choosing to gloss over the Mugrobi woman's accusatory tone with a warm roguish smile and typical mischievous spark in his blue eyes, "Sana'hulali, Amani." He purred in response, musical intonation revealing he might have had more than a passing interest in languages, "I only clean up well so that I can pale in comparison to those who don't need to work so hard."

He beamed, obviously enjoying his own play at flattery, regardless of whether Amani caught on. Corwynn glanced down at Yarvin gurgling and wheezing at his feet, regarding what he considered a shockingly romantic gesture with further amusement, "I am most humbled by your souvenir from yester'eve." He kicked the young man for emphasis, eliciting a pitiful moan. Finding the noise almost as irresistible as the sight before him, he crunched a few of Yarvin's fingers nonchalantly, smile unfaltering at the very unpleasant noise his actions summoned in response.

The blond gunman laughed, looking back up at the woman and holding out his wrapped object, which would upon unwrapping reveal itself to be a particularly rare and well-aged bottle of red wine, Hoxian and dry, "I, also, come bearing gifts fitting for the occasion."

Amani grinned rogueishly at him. "You do not know my hair, obviously. I think you would not be so quick to call it easy work if you did."



Where usually she might have protested to such treatment of a man without aim, Amani couldn't find it within herself to pity the man. He had kept her up most of the night with his stupid mission to make her kill him.

"Do not break too many of his fingers. Remember, he makes maps." She stopped looking at the thing beneath her feet as Corwynn took out a bundled package.



Not flowers, not a pretty dress, not jewelry-- wine. Amani resisted the urge to kiss him. Barely.

Instead she gasped and cooed, as if Cor had presented her with a child instead of an alcoholic bevarage. She hugged him excitedly, cradling the bottle carefully.

"The maps--" She remembered when she'd finished being delighted by the gift, "They're upstairs-- come, come."

Amani lead him upstairs to a surprisingly tidy room. The matress was made of straw, but it had been covered with silk sheets-- testament to the fact that the mugrobi woman liked fineries and enjoyed the small pleasures that life could offer her whenever possibly. There was a water basin in the corner full of soapy water, a chest that looked oddly out of place in the middle of the floor, a smaller one that doubled as a nightstand by the bed, and a broken chair that had seemingly been used to hold someone captive.

The room wasn't well lit-- a few candles were scattered about, but the only real light came from the window near the roof. She approached the chest and opened it. The lid pulled back with a slight creak and revealed rolled up pieces of yellowing paper. Two or three bottles of cheap wine were also present, but to these Amani payed no mind.

"I have not looked at them, but Yarvin seems to think he is very good at what he does. I tend to trust the judgement of men who think they might be killed."

For Corwynn, dressing well and looking good had never been a challenge. Like his uncanny aim, such things just seemed to come naturally. At the same time, the galdor preferred some of the more mysterious things about the opposite gender (such as the difficulty of attractive hair) to stay just that way. Mysterious. Somehow, in his mind, the lack of knowing the details added to the aesthetic beauty of the entire package.


"Made maps." The blond gunman said with an edge of finality, blue eyes flicking down to the broken captive with a pitiless look that bespoke volumes for his race, let alone his current position as captor, judge, victor. While Yarvin had once made maps for Hawke, the moment he sold his services elsewhere, he guaranteed he'd never work anywhere again. If he didn't lose his life for his betrayal, Corwynn could guarantee the young man would be losing his ability to write permanently.


The older galdor's grin broadened, enjoying the Mugrobi woman's warm excitement over his well-considered gift. Not a bribe. Not a ploy. Just a gift. Non-committal. Perhaps suggestive. But still, a gift. Ridiculous resources and too much spare time had allowed the gunman to have enjoyed a certain amount of cultural literacy outside of his own. He practically basked in Amani's embrace, expression turning sly. For Corwynn, such an action was a slightly enticing invitation, but one he was willing to keep at the back of his mind for now.


The gunman followed, casually running his fingers along the stairwell bannister, smugly entertained at every opportunity to visit a lovely woman's room, regardless of the circumstance—though he admittedly had his preferences.

With a slow inhale, the blond took in Amani's room quietly, almost calculatingly. He might have lingered a little longer than proper on the sheets, but Corwynn was willing to allow his gaze to be drawn away toward the chest as it was open, stepping to stand next to the swordswoman and peer down at the maps.


"Hmm. Indeed," He grunted, smile fading into his well-aged features to give way to a mild look of disgust, "The youngest Black was an excellent cartographer for our organization until he became enticed by outside business. Most unfortunate, really."

He thumbed his nose and shook his head, sun-touched curls falling away from his face as he did so, "There aren't many reliable map makers in the Harbor. It will be quite a loss to lose another ..." Corwynn reached down and fingered through a few of the sealed cases, squatting on his heels in front of the chest so as to have a better chance of reading the terrible writing that marked the coordinates each map recorded. He hissed in uncomfortable dissatisfaction, apparently disturbed at how much had been handed over to the Drain by a single man.

Placing both hands on the knees of his fashionable, subtly pinstriped pants, the gunman stood and closed the chest with a well-placed kick.

He ran his four-fingered left hand through his hair and looked back to Amani, blue eyes having hardened from amused to frustrated. Despite this, however, his voice rang with honest praise, "Silas will be pleased with your efficiency." There was something about his emphasis on the word pleased that might have implied a more personal reference, as if Corwynn himself took pleasure in the woman but chose not to say it directly, remaining briefly professional, "Had you not been persistent or thorough, Yarvin may have gotten away."

He smiled again, creases at his eyes strangely flattering to his features, "You did well, Miss Zolai."

Amani looked confused for a brief moment. "Well. That was my job, yes?" Her face sculpted itself into a pensive expression. "Domea, but perhaps I should have killed him like you told me. I did not know you would dispose him straight away. It would have saved you the trouble." She bent to look at the maps Corwynn had pushed away, and pulled one of the tubes out. Stretching it across she glanced at the little red marks without much thought. Drop sights for something?

"What if you let him go. What if..." she mulled over the idea in her head, "You torture him until he is yours-- and then let him go back to the Drain. But with the wrong information. He could be like a double agent or something like this."

Remember your place. Came the small thought at the back of her head and Amani snapped the map she was holding shut, tucking it back into the chest and closing it with a soft click. She was surprised the mechanism still worked despite the abuse it had taken from Murmur, Seth, and now Corwynn.

"But this is only an idea. You can do whatever you want with him. He was a gift, after all." She said slyly, once again becoming catlike in her movements. She draped herself across one of his shoulder comfortably, "Cor..." she drawled, smiling at him wickedly, "You know Old Rose like the back of your hand, mm?"

Corwynn shrugged, making a short, noncommittal noise, "It's not a guarantee he'll die ... but it is a guarantee he won't be making maps ever again. Crippled. Blinded. Maimed. There will be consequences, but it won't be up to me."


He was quiet for sometime at her comment, thoughtfully reaching up to rub his clean-shaven chin. Finally, the blond galdor snorted and laughed, "While it's an interesting suggestion, Miss Zolai, I would venture to say Yarvin has proven himself untrustworthy and eager to die. Torture may break him ... but I don't know if a double agent position for that sorry stop-clocker would ever be worth the risk."


Then, just like that, all thoughts of business talk drained from the gunman as the dark-skinned woman practically purred on his shoulder. Corwynn couldn't help but return her devious expression, resting his right hand on his pistol and tilting his head in her direction so his face was quite close to Amani's own. He had no idea why she was asking, but the galdor was willing to at least attempt to comply.

A sun-touched eyebrow arched in question, blue eyes mischievous, "The Harbor isn't the only thing I know like the back of my hand. Why do you ask?"

"Do you recall yesterday I said I needed to find a new apartment?" She drawled, batting her eyes at him. "I think you should help me find one." Removing herself from his person she walked over to her nightstand and pulled up a belt that had been draped on top of it. It had several daggers as well as the holster for her gun, which was placed within as soon as she had strapped the belt around herself. She pulled out her sword and gave it one last wipe with an oil stained cloth that smelled like flowers.

"And when I have moved in fully, perhaps you can help me celebrate." She pointed to the bottle he had brought her and winked flirtatiously. After double checking she had everything in place, she practically skipped to the stairs, taking only one last look back. "You can take the maps, if you want. I assume we will escort our prisoner to the local maiming facilities."

She grinned, sharklike, before disappearing downstairs. Yarvin still lay in a heap. She kicked him, "Get up, pig. I know you are not dead yet. This is good. You will maybe find death soon, where we will take you." Her voice was surprisingly cheerful despite her grim words.

The blond galdor laughed at this, left hand moving to cover his mouth in amusement, "Me, huh? In case it's not obvious, I have expensive tastes, Amani. If you truly desire my assistance," His expression may have been bordering on the devious, as if he had an alternative suggestion he was keeping to himself, "You'd best have a budget to confine me in. Far be it from me to become responsible for inviting homelessness on some lovely desert flower such as yourself."


Corwynn's grin was sly, and it was an obvious struggle for him to hold back further suggestive flirtations. He settled with his smile and an amused, approving noise through his nose.


"I think we'll have a few words outside first, on the streets should something turn messy." The gunman replied sternly, grin turning wolfish before he bent and lifted the chest of maps in both his arms with a quiet grunt, "And while I'm usually not one to invite guests to the Sanctum without permission, I can't see the harm in bringing you along ..."

He chuckled, following the woman down the stairs.


Yarvin groaned, a bloody, slightly broken lump making a mess on the floor at the base of the Black Dove's stairs. He glared at her as best he could from beneath his disfigured face, struggling to his elbows, his knees, and finally to his feet—not because it was comfortable so much as he was terrified of disobedience, cowed by the presence of two galdori. He knew the blond.

Corwynn did not give the young man a first glance, let alone a second. While he was obviously addressing the map-maker, he refused to meet his gaze, "You know where we're going, and you clocking well know who's waiting for you when we get there."

The older galdor's blue eyes finally fell on Yarvin with a haughty contempt, blond brows coming together in a frustrated 'V' above his pointed nose. He lowered his grip on the case of maps for a brief moment, voice hard-edged and without pity, "I suggest you spend some time considering your worth."

He looked away towards the Mugrobi woman, harsh expression softening slightly. With a subtle nod of his head, the gunman led the way outside and onto the street, setting down the chest on the dusty cobblestones. With a smirk, he made a few seemingly unimportant hand motions, ending with a tug on his tie.

A few moments of wordless nothingness went by.

Then, as if my magic, a small carriage appeared from down the street, pulled by two lovely, exotic horses and driven by a girl who may have barely been a woman. She was grinning,

"Oi. Good ta see ya, Cor. Gotcha'date an' a gift'r'two I see." She grunted after she brought the carriage to a stop in front of the unlikely trio. Leaping from the drivers' seat, the short witch in a beat-up tophat and boyish semi-formal clothes giggled and made a rude face at Yarvin, "What an ugly present that'un is, boss."

"At least he's still breathing, Syl." The blond galdor smirked, stepping up to hold the door open with a flourish for Amani while the young witch snatched up the chest without any apparent effort and lugged it onto the back, "After you, Miss Zolai. It's just a short trip, but one made easier with proper transportation."

Corwynn grinned.

"I live for the debt!" Came the shouted reply.



Magic! Amani thought delightedly, giving Corwynn a look that expressed how charmed she was.



Amani was all smiles as she entered the caravan. She couldn't decide if this situation amused her or if she was genuinely enjoying it. It was probably the latter. Taking a carriage to somewhere in Old Rose was novel-- she usually walked everywhere. She was beginning to see just how much influence Corwynn actually had in Old Rose.

By his presents, appearance, and speech he'd made it clear he was powerful, of course, but Amani only ever half believed boasts of wealth. This seemed real, though. Briefly she wondered if there was anyone in Old Rose that Corwynn didn't know.

"So what is this Sanctum place?" She asked, settling herself so that her sword wouldn't be knocking against her legs during the ride.

Before answering, Corwynn glared at Yarvin until the man reluctantly clambered into the carriage. The disfigured, bloody man was smart enough to sit opposite of Amani, huddled into the corner of the cushy interior as far away from the Mugrobi woman as possible. The blond galdor waited for his captive to at least pretend to be settled, then nodded to Sylvia, who had finished securing the chest to the trunk and was clambering back up into the driver's seat. She hardly looked tall enough to be steering a carriage and two horses, but somehow she managed.

Glancing around one more time, the gunman hopped into the carriage, closed the door behind him, and practically fell into the narrow space next to Amani with a broad grin. He took a few exaggerated motions to get comfortable, not missing an opportunity to bump or brush the swordswoman with a hand or a shoulder. Finally, he carelessly threw an arm over the seat behind her head without a word, sighing contentedly.

"The Sanctum is Hawke's ... er ... fortress. Command center. Amazing place, really." He leaned forward and drew the curtains, as if making sure that neither of his guests could see where they were going once the horses began moving, carriage jostling slightly over the cobblestones, "I promise, you'll love it."

Corwynn smirked at Yarvin, "You'll be getting your last view, however, if I have anything to do with it."

He leaned his head back and stretched his legs across to rest them on the seat next to the young cartographer, tilting his head back toward Amani, the hand that was now behind her coming to rest warmly on her shoulder, grinning with obvious mischief, "Feel free to get comfortable."

Again, Amani regretted not killing Yarvin right there. She really needed to ask for more specific instructions next time.

"Well it sounds interesting, at least." She noted the way he had drawn the curtains and came to the conclusion that she was not yet important enough to know where they were going. Not that it mattered...as long as she got her money by the end of the day she could get along fine.



Amani snorted and leaned back only a little, refusing to lean into Corwynn and keeping an entertained smile on her face. Her eyes rested instead on Yarvin, who seemed to be pissing himself with fear.

"It is fine, Yarvin. Maybe he means that you will die-- not as I thought, that you would be blind when you left."

Hmm...that didn't sound as good out loud as it did in my head.

"Corwynn it seems you are more important than I previously thought!" She purred, lowering her lashes, "Am I toying with somebody dangerous?"

"Toying with, yes." The blond galdor didn't bother to hide his disappointment at his perception that Amani was purposefully distant after all of his invitation, "But, as for dangerous ..."

He grinned tauntingly at Yarvin, "Am I dangerous, Mister Black?"

The young map-maker groaned, then narrowed what parts of his eyes he could and spit something bloody on the carpeted floor of the small carriage, refusing to answer. He looked away, finally muttering, "You're only as dangerous as you're allowed to be. I'm sure if you weren't on a leash, you'd be clocking crazy."

Instead of growing angry, Corwynn laughed, bemused at their broken captive's stubborn, persistent rebellion. He might have even enjoyed it, strangely confident that Yarvin would be getting his desserts for his betrayal of his responsibilities to the Drain. The gunman tilted his head back towards Amani,

"I suppose I'm not safe, but I prefer not to consider myself important so much as ... influential." He grinned, white teeth all in a row.

The carriage began to bump and rock a little as if it had left the main road or perhaps the city proper, " 'Old on ta yer 'ats!" Sylvia shouted from up front, muffled as she was by the comfortable walls of their transportation, "Almost there!"

Corwynn settled into his seat, removing his arm from behind Amani and folding his hands in his lap. A smugly comfortable expression had begun to creep over his features.

"And last time I checked, no one's holding my strings."

Amani had been described as crazy as well-- but only when she fought. This was Corwynn, sitting next to her, looking relaxed, and elegant. And the man was calling him crazy. This was intersting...either Cor really was insane (which she decided was completely probable), or word of him had gotten blown out of proportion.

At his last comment the mugrobi woman chuckled. "I think there is no shame in someone holding your strings, Cor. After all, right now, you hold mine-- yes? And higher up, it is Hawke who holds my strings. I am not complaining. I get payed well and do my craft. I do not think I would ask for more."

The carriage bumped and Amani shifted a little to steady herself. Her mouth curled into a smile and she leaned back, letting their arms touch. "Well. Maybe a little more. But not much."

A whiff of something nasty pushed its way into the woman's nose and she made a face. Oh Old Rose. Why?

"I do not know--" she began,trying to distract herself from the sudden smell, "If I am being wise, to be around a crazy man."

Settling back into his seat, and (more importantly) against the Mugrobi woman, the older galdor rest his hands on his knees again and looked back at her,

"Not the ambitious type, are you? Content with the status quo? You claim to not want to ask for more ... but is that really true?" He smirked, curiously. He refrained from delving further into the levels of employment implied by Amani's string commentary, preferring to avoid real business talk unless it was absolutely necessary.



"Some wisdom is only earned through experience." Corwynn replied simply, a flirtatious air to his smile.

The carriage had begun to travel more easily now, as if they had reached a smoother tract of road. It didn't feel cobbled or paved, but it was definitely well-packed and well-maintained.

The blond gunman leaned toward the window, parting the curtain only a slight bit. There was a flash of light that may have been the glint of the sun from the ocean. He grinned and turned back to Yarvin, "Oh, we're almost there. Aren't you excited?"

The young man sneered as best he could despite his face.

Corwynn chuckled, amused at toying with the map-maker. It might have been the spark of nostalgia for his own past issues, but he certainly kept any appearance of that from his expression and his tone.

Amani laughed. Oh Cor. If you only knew how un status quo I used to be...

"This is enough excitement for me now, I think. When I get bored I will perhaps move forward." Although there were really no perhapses. When Amani got bored, she left. And that was that. Old Rose still promised a lot of entertainment, though, and the woman was not yet keen to leave.



No, you can't crawl on him while there is another person in the carriage...

"Indeed."

Somehow, she managed not to fidget the rest of the ride there. Yarvin's presence was enough to remind her that business came first... Another part of his face had puffed up, so he looked like some sort of grotesque monster now. Only a mockery of his formal self.

"You should be." She told Mr. Black sternly, "Perhaps he will kill you, and you can be spared." Amani sniffed disdainfully. She sincerily hoped that he wouldn't. Dishonesty like his...Was more than mildly disgusting.

Although she could deal with the little white lies of Anaxas because she had been here so long, betrayal of your employer seemed to go a little far.

She voiced her thoughts aloud, "But I hope not. You are not fit to be the dirt on my shoe, Mister Black. I hope you were payed well, at least. While it lasted."

Eventually, the carriage stopped. It was hard to tell just how far they traveled, considering the windows were shut and the conversation busy. The sounds of faint voices could soon be heard outside, with Sylvia's being one of them. Then, the door opened and the boyish witch was smiling at them brightly,

"Ere we are then, folks. Watch'er steps." She held the door with a wry sort of grin, "I made sure ye were exp'cted, boss."

The sound of the ocean could be heard, waves crashing softly, but it was very far away, as if they were high up. A breeze ruffled the curtains and a few seagulls called from overhead.

"Thoughtful as always, Syl." Corwynn laughed, standing and stepping out into the sunshine first, if only so he could turn and offer Amani his hand of assistance, "Ladies before mongrels, I always say."

Once they'd stopped, color had begun to drain away from Yarvin's face. Reality had sunk in and the defiant, rebellious map-maker was finally beginning to look terrified. He seemed glued to his seat, willing to let the Mugrobi woman go first without harassing either of the gollies. He wasn't sure if he wanted to move at all. He simply swallowed hard and glared, breathing hard.

((And, Carto is welcome any time with a description, etc. Yays!!))

The carriage was perched on a rocky outcropping, far above the beach. They had traveled along a dusty road that had once connected the harbor to a few sideshore operations, but in recent years they had fallen into disrepair. The cliff on which they were situated was just a part of a larger hillside, not a proper mountain, but one that could probably pass for one in a pinch. A sea breeze rustled the dry brush around the rock, but the scene was otherwise quiet.

Outside the carriage the travelers saw a large, circular opening in the rock face, and a set of iron tracks that gave it immediately away as a mine shaft. It looked incredibly boring, and incredibly dangerous. Indeed, the entrance appeared to be blocked by a cave-in.

"State your business," came a loud, ringing male voice from nowhere in particular.

"Shut yer head, it's Cor," replied a female voice promptly.

"He could be someone in disguise," whined the male voice. "You're too lenient on these folks. We're the guards. It's a thankless job, but someone's got to do it. Right, Cor?"

The blond galdor smirked, not letting the chatter interrupt his ploy at politeness as he assisted Amani from the carriage. With a chuckle, he spoke up as he turned away, letting Yarvin awkwardly stumble out on his own, "Indeed, but only if they're doing it right."

Corwynn was obviously taunting his captive with that statement, grinning his white-toothed grin at the map-maker, "Then again, it'd be a challenge for someone to disguise themselves as me. They'd always be less charming."

Sylvia had fetched the chest of maps from the back of the carriage and shoved them into Yarvin's arms with a cruel glint in her eyes, "Might as well carry yer own mess. 'Ave fun, now, y'ear?"

Amani had briefly considered turning down the offered hand, and then decided that would be a little too much pride wounding for her companion. She hoped down with his help, keeping her hand on his arm like she'd seen other ladies from Anaxas do with their gentlemen. She glanced sharply at the guard, decided he was no threat, and promptly relaxed again.

She was, after all, of Hawke's people. It would not do to be suspicious of them.

Er...right?

"I do not think you are charming at all Corwynn. You should perhaps work on this." She said, quirking her lips to show she was joking.

"Who've you got there, Cor?" asked the female voice, and the two could almost detect a smirk on her disembodied lips. "New recruit?"

"Another girl?" said the male voice, with a bit of a stress implying that Corwynn seemed to initiate a lot of women.

"Shush, we need a few more womenfolk on the team," said the female voice, sounding hurt. "Besides, where would you luggers be without our brains?"

"Probably we'd be having a load of fun," grumbled the male voice.

There was a loud rumbling from the mouth of the tunnel, and Corwynn and Amani could see that the rockslide had disappeared down a shaft, leaving only a wide doorway for them to walk through.

"Hope you enjoy your stay," said the female voice cheerfully over the loud sound of slapping. There was a lot of small 'ouch!'es coming from the male voice.

The blond gunman laughed, straightening into someone almost resembling an entirely proper galdor at the touch of her hand on his arm. He exhaled through his teeth before glancing at the woman with amusement in his blue eyes, speaking in very rusty but still musical Mugrobi, "Maybe I'm just not used to charming across cultures." He laughed, looking away, resisting the urge to place his hand on hers, resting it on his pistol instead with comfortable familiarity.

Walking carefully, Corwynn couldn't help but smirk at the commentary.


"Indeed, but you knew that."


The galdor laughed again, rolling his eyes and making a chiding noise with his tongue, "I think I hear a bit of jealousy there."


"Ah, I'd beg to di—"


"I seriously doubt there's any real enjoyment in the world to be found without women to share it with." Corwynn purred bemusedly, shaking his head.


Used to the banter and some of the taunting, the blond gunman was content to endure their passage, leading the way through the doorway with a broad grin seeping into his well-aged features. He wasn't about to bring up the fact that he'd probably been one to recruit at least one of the voices. At least.

"Don't mind us," Corwynn finally chuckled at Amani, tilting his head in her direction and grinning at her from underneath a few sun-touched curls as they continued to walk, "We're hardly a normal bunch around here, but that doesn't mean we're not fun."

Amani hid the surprise she felt, keeping her face smooth. "Very good, Cor. Keep it up and I might keep you after all." She responded in kind, letting her native tongue flow off her lips easily. She laughed after, shaking her head at him. "I don't know why I'm ever surprised at your tricks...I should just begin to expect them."

The words were much less halted than her estuan, and everything fell in the proper order. It felt right to be sure she was speaking in the right tense...



"Yes, I know for a fact I would not laugh half so much if there were not any men to provide the slapstick." It felt bizarre going back to the halted, choppy estuan. Oh well...



"I do not think I have heard anyone use the word normal and the word fun as if they were equals." She told him with a wink.

"No tricks. I'm just too well-traveled for my own good." The gunman laughed, dismissing what he naturally perceived as a compliment to his slyness.


Corwynn feigned woundedness, scoffing and rolling his blue eyes as he led them through the darkened tunnel, light slowly diminishing behind them as they kept walking. His tone of voice was blatantly suggestive, as if he felt he had no reason to be ashamed of his implications, "Oh, please. That's not the only thing men are good for ... surely."

Yarvin plodded along behind the pair, increasingly miserable in his pain and fearful anticipation, lugging the chest of his own maps, his own betrayal, in his bruised arms. He snickered at the two galdori who seemed to be carrying on without a worry, disgusted by the knowledge that the blond was as insatiable about the opposite gender as he was about dealing with insubordination.


"Oh, well, then." Corwynn laughed, voice echoing slightly against the hand-hewn rock of their passage, "I suppose you're right."