Cold of Crimson Water (M)

[Lion]

His eyes grew a little wide at her seemingly abrupt change of mind.  What convinced her all of a sudden?  Quinlan wasn't exactly the kind of guy to question good fortune when it was sitting right in his lap - literally in this case - and he made a noise when Zahi pressed herself hard against him.  He didn't hesitate, snaking his arms around her back and sealing her to him in an embrace that bordered on possession. 

As if that could ever be a reality. 

He kissed her back with just as much eagerness, moaning a little at the end of it.  Somehow, his teeth caught on the curve of her bottom lip, as he seemed to be prone to do.  It was out of sheer habit, but it caught all the same.  Moonshine and staying just a bit longer seemed to feel just right to him.  A grin spread across his face, as he kissed her in response, letting his hands snake down her back to soothe the tender skin where he'd slapped her ass.

"I'll share my moonshine with you anytime," he said with a purr, gripping her skin, letting the points of his nails bite in just enough.  The pressure of their bodies encouraged the growth of his hardness, that she might feel prodding against her thigh.

"Sorry.  My spigot is a little more eager than expected," he said between kisses, yet not at all meaning his apology.  He shifted his hands to allow his fingernails to gently rake along her back as he tilted his head in to kiss along the crook of her neck.  "Why don't you just stay?  You've been working too hard."

[pomelo]

"I like work," Zahi murmured against Quinlan's lips, then kissed him again; a slow, deliberate and unrushed kiss. That was true, too, for the most part. Work was the easiest part of Zahi's life. Much easier to make sense of than, well, situations like this one. If she were thinking sensibly, she would have left just now. But here she was.

Zahi sat back up, still straddling Quinlan, gazing down at him. She certainly did feel his hardened manhood, which was pressed against her groin after she shifted her position. She gave him an amused, lopsided half-smile. "Always the overeager little rabbit, aren't you, Princess?" she asked knowingly, rolling her hips once against his member pressed against her.

But more attention than that, she didn't pay to it. Instead, Zahi rolled off of Quinlan, slouched onto her back and propping herself up on her elbows. "Well, then," she asked, raising her eyebrows slightly, "where's the whiskey you promised?"

[Lion]

"You just assume that I have whiskey on hand for just this kind of occasion?" Quinlan asked in mock offense.  His grin was too teasing however as he rolled off the bed ass naked.  And moved over to the messy pile of clothes they left on the floor.  In the pocket of his coat he pulled out a slim smooth bottle, wax seal top unbroken as it were.

Sitting at the back down on the bed he handed it over.  "You do the honors," he said with a bow of his head.  "Go easy now.  I know you can only handle so much of it."

[pomelo]

"You'd already said you had a bottle, butterfly brain," she said as she leaned forward enough to take the bottle from him. Opening the sealed cork she added nonchalantly, "I can't imagine what would have distracted you."

Zahi sniffed the bottle after opening it and immediately pulled a face. But, brave as ever, she took a cautious swig of the stuff. Pulling another face as she handed the bottle back to Quinlan.

"Lovely stuff," she lied through a grimace. Once she'd passed the bottle on, Zahi flopped back down fully onto the bed. She folded her hands behind her head, regarding Quinlan as he took the bottle. "No worries. I'll leave the heavy drinking to you."

[Lion]

Now he could take his time, so to speak, without the rushing of eagerness before.  He watched her take an experimental swig and chuckled at her faces.  Because, well they were funny.  It was short lived as he watched her relax and he took a taste of the whiskey himself.  It was good luck and he shook his head abruptly from side to side at its familiar burn.

"To be perfectly honest, I haven't had a drink of this kind in about eight months.  This is the first bottle to break that hiatus," he said and examined it in hand.  Rolling to lay on his belly, he adjusted himself beside her, letting his hand lazily stroke the skin along her body.  His touch was curious, as if he hadn't already explored everything before.

He didn't look at his own body that still bore the scars of their ill-fated adventure.  Some stories didn't need a retelling.  Did something come out of it, something less immaterial than the chump change in gold he'd collected by the end of it?  Too many questions with top few answers.

"How old are you Zahi?" he found himself asking.  "You never told me your age."

[pomelo]

"Does that make me a bad influence?" She asked, glancing briefly over at him as he flopped down beside her. "And I would have assumed it was the other way around."

She let his hand roam over her without further comment, eyes looking half-closed at the ceiling if at anything. She didn't need to look at the scars crossing Quinlan's belly. She didn't need the reminder. She didn't think of those events now. She stayed in the moment, something Bujari had accused her once of never being able to do, and enjoyed the warmth of Quinlan beside her and his wandering touch against her skin.

Until, at least, his out of the blue question. Zahi rolled onto her side to face him, head propped up by her elbow, and she gave him a funny look. "That's an odd question," she said plainly, not quite frowning at it. But she considered a moment, then gave a little shrug. "Thirty, I guess. Or maybe twenty-nine. No one really kept track when I was a kid."

[Lion]

He nodded, grinning a little.  "I imagined as much," he said softly.  Eyes flickered over her face, her hair and the way it fell in her face, just her forehead anyway.  "Same age more or less.  Who would've thought."  The words were idle and he took another swig of the whiskey.

He just liked being here, lying beside her, even if it was for a short time.  Two battered rogues, maybe one a little more battered than the other, and he leaned in to kiss her, with a strange gentility that made his belly jolt.  It was brief and his touch remained curious, rolling over her breast. 

"Aside from the whole starving in the wilderness thing, what were you like as a kid?"

[pomelo]

Zahi's almost-frown deepened, for a moment, to an actual frown. Her skin tingled when his hand rolled over her breast, but she was more distracted by this strange line of conversation. It raised her hackles a little; something inside of her warning that this was very personal; that this was actually letting someone.... Close. But for whatever reason, she forced her hackles down, she stayed where she was.

Maybe, she thought, because she knew that she could always just walk away from Quinlan. Or, rather, that he would walk away from her. Any 'closeness' she allowed now was, at best, ephemeral, at worst, imaginary.

"I don't know," she answered, the frown still on her lips a little. "I don't remember too much before my mother died. I suppose as a kid, I was mostly in the way. Who wants a little brat running around a brothel, heh?" She thought about it for a moment, dragging up memories she almost never revisited. But which were, given the current business here in Selevea, closer to the surface than normal. "I think the other women were kind to me, though. Taught me to speak Common, read and write a bit - none of which my mother could do. But that was a long time ago. I never went back there, and I'm not sure I remember any of the names or faces of any of the women anymore. Much less anything about myself."

Much better, she remembered the years after 'the whole starving in the wilderness thing.' But she didn't extoll upon those just now.

[Lion]

Quinlan knew his line of questioning was walking on eggshells with her.  It was a side of her she kept unseen, and for good reason most likely.  What were they then?  Friends?  Confidants?  Just two strangers that fooled around every few years?  He didn't know where he was going with this.  There was no goal.  Except perhaps to know her, and maybe that was enough for now.

He nodded at her answer, expression solemn, noting her frown.  He knew she didn't ask.  But he kept the conversation moving.  Better than heavy silence anyway.  "When I was little, I was getting into all kinds of trouble.  I guess I wasn't too different to how I am now."  A soft laugh.  "My father had a field day trying to keep an eye on me.  But when I was with my mother, I kept myself mostly behaved.  I remember i used to help her back little goodies.  She liked to make pastries, and sell them at market.  She made good   money, and she made a variety of little cakes, chocolate, strawberry.  They were delicious."

Quinlan looked at his callused scared hands.  "I'd help her bake.  I can still see my hands covered in flour.  It's a wonder I wasn't a pudgy little boy.  I guess getting into trouble keeps you fit."

[pomelo]

Zahi gave a little snort of a laugh at Quinlan's comment that he 'was always getting into trouble as a kid.' "Some things don't change, then," she remarked dryly. But otherwise she listened, mismatched eyes watching Quinlan closely as he reminisced about his early years. It was strange to think of Quinlan with his hands covered in flour, helping a kindly mother bake cakes. Getting chased around by a caring father. She supposed she liked to think of him as being 'like her.' She wasn't jealous, exactly, that he wasn't. Zahi wasn't one to dwell on thoughts like, 'Oh, what would I be like now if I had had...' The notion was actually so foreign, she really couldn't even hazard a guess.

Different. Of that she was sure of.

And for a moment, the question did flit into her head. What would she have been like, if her life hadn't been marked so strongly by the need to stay alive, to survive.

It was a useless endeavor, though, and instead she said to Quinlan, without jest, "That sounds nice."

At some point her hand drifted to his side, tracing the outline of his frame. She was quiet for a moment, her eyes far away. Almost without realizing it, she continued, "I guess I never really had a 'parent.' Really. My mom kept me alive, kept me safe while she was alive, but she wasn't able to do much more. After I came back to Zantaric," she paused a moment, her expression looking vaguely conflicted. "There isn't much future for a street kid in Zantaric, especially not a girl. At least," she made a face, "there's only really one future. I suppose I only escaped it because I got picked up by a rising crime lord. I might've been ten, I'm not sure. Maybe younger. Saw me in rifling through the trash, told one of his bodyguards to pull me out and give me something to eat. That would've been the end of it, but scrappy little thing that I was, I didn't like some strange man picking me up - well, how was I supposed to know he was just pulling me out of the dumpster to give me an apple or whatever? - fought this big guy tooth and nail. Literally. I guess he liked my grit. Instead of giving me something to eat and carry along, he took me under his wing. I suppose he was kind to me. And, for awhile, was something like a father-figure." Zahi frowned at that. Her feelings towards the man, even after all these years, were still muddied, unresolved. As much as a 'survivor' as she was, she surely would have died without him. She knew that. "For awhile, anyway."

[Lion]

Quinlan felt the hackles on his body raise at the contact.  Her hand left a trail of goosebumps that he tried to do well to ignore.  He kept his eyes trained on her, momentarily flicking to the shape of the whiskey bottle that he didn't drink.  His ankles crossed, and he leaned on his side and elbow, turning the cork loosely in the glass top.

"I'm sure you beat him black and blue.  Small kid, beating up a full grown thug.  He was an idiot to think he could take you on," he commented idly, and he chuckled at the thought.  He was more focused on her than the drink and after a while offered her should she desire another swig of it.

"Something of a father figure?"  They were curious words, but he didn't force the issue.  Quinlan reached up to push her hair from her face, the curls relenting only when they fell to gravity.

[pomelo]

His fingers pushed her tangled curls to the side, and Zahi’s gaze finally returned to meet his eye. “Well, kind of,” she answered dryly, “until he decided a young lover suited him more than a surrogate daughter.” She said this in the matter-of-fact, and almost casual, tone she frequently used when conveying something of some gravity. Something she nearly never told anyway. Just Zenia, she thought, and Bujari. She gave a little shrug, “He was still nice to me, though, and I didn’t know any better. I was still a kid. Fourteen? Maybe a little younger. So I thought it was fine.” She gave a short, hollow laugh. “Stupid kid, heh? Got a little hairy a year or so in. Now that I think back on it, it’s amazing it took me so long to get pregnant. But when I did, I was terrified. I did not want a baby. Like I said, I was still a kid. But he was overjoyed. A young mistress, a healthy young son - he was sure - he was doing pretty good by then, and it completed the set of his glorious success. He strictly forbid me to do anything about it. Took me ages to find an old crone who’d end the pregnancy for me. Promised me it’d look like a miscarriage, promised me he’d never know, promised me it’d be safe.”

She gave a short snort here, looking over to the dingy window. “Dumb kid I was. I believed her; I was too desperate not to, I guess. I nearly bled to death, the old hag. Infection, the works. Someone brought me back to him; I don’t know who. If it was her, or if someone tracked me down. Spent a week in bed, maybe two. He made sure I recovered, that I had the medical attention I’d need to survive. Then once I was back on my feet again,” Zahi gave a little huff. “He beat the shit out of me. How could I, what was I thinking. Killing his son, nearly killing myself. Stupid girl, didn’t I think of anyone else. Didn’t I appreciate all he’d done for me, to just let that old hag kill me. He nearly killed me then. But of course he didn’t. Still. That was that. Once I could walk again, I ran away. Nearly caught a few times, but in the end I found my way north. And now here I am.” She gave a snort and another mirthless laugh and looked back to Quinlan. “Some father-figure, huh?”

[Lion]

It was heavy stuff.  Probably a lot more than Quinlan was expecting, and a lot more than he thought she would ever reveal.  Instead of hoping to peel back the onion layer by layer, it all came unraveling in his hands.  Quinlan stayed focused on her, forgetting the whiskey altogether.  He said nothing, expression perfectly serious.

Despite her laughter, he didn't find anything humorous in the tale.  And maybe he would have had it been told by anyone else.   He leaned closer to her, and touched her shoulder, leaning in to kiss it, lips lingering for a time before drawing a few inches away.

"You did the right thing," he replied.  "You took care of you.  Didn't sound like he gave much of a damn to me.  Sounded more like he treated you like a trophy than someone he cared about.  You shoulda beat the crap out of him.  But then again you don't need me to tell you that."  He pursed his lips.

"You're strong Zahi.  I don't know how you do it.  Just years of practice?"

[pomelo]

In fact, Zahi hadn't expected to tell this story herself. She wasn't sure why she had. It had just come out. But she didn't linger on what that might mean. But at his words, she looked at Quinlan, eyebrows raised slightly as though amused. When she spoke, however, her tone wasn't amused; it was calm and perfectly self-assured. "I don't need you to tell me it was the right thing to do, Quinlan. I know that it was. I don't need to be assured."

She frowned a little again, thinking over his words. 'Didn't sound like he gave much of a damn to me.  Sounded more like he treated you like a trophy than someone he cared about. She didn't want to say it aloud, she knew how it would sound, but Zahi really did think that he had cared about her. Not that it mattered. Not as though that would have been enough for her to stay. But she couldn't quite bring herself to hate the man. He'd saved her, more than once. And she believed, right or wrong, that it was because he cared about her that he'd been so upset, so scared. It had been the only time it had happened. But Zahi had talked to beaten women in the course of her work, and she knew that if she voiced any of this, she'd sound like she was reading from the same script as all of those women. And maybe she was. Was that her pattern? The man in Zantaric, who loved her as long as he controlled her, then nearly killed her once he hadn't? Bujari, who she'd had a more equal relationship with, but who'd been physically incapable, it seemed, of not fucking around on her?

She rolled over onto her back, these thoughts parading through her mind. Finally after a moment, she said, "Tell me more about your childhood up in cold, prejudiced Connlaoth," she said, then looked over at him, waiting.

[Lion]

He watched her face as if he could somehow watch the animation of her thoughts flash in progression in her eyes.  He couldn't of course, but his focus on her was steadied and he had just about lost most of his interest in the whiskey.  He rolled adkustedr himself, shoulder become stiff from its position.  Quinlan have a flicker of a smile, but his face was busy trying to think of a positive memory before he ran away.

"My father, he was a tinkerer, bought and sold trinkets, small jewels, doodads.  He was a mage but he could hide it well, because all he could do was imbue objects with mild enchantments.  Maybe make a necklace that makes a woman's eyes more radiant, maybe a coat that would somehow stay warmer than normal on a cold winter night.  He never did tell me where his family came from.  Across the sea somewhere probably."

Quinlan looked at himself in the reflection of the glass bottle.  "I went into his things once, a trunk he kept in the attic of our home.  Troublesome child, remember, and I remember finding a strange looking doll.  It was made of wood, with a carved expression into the face, smiling nonchalant, with carved circles for eyes.  When I asked him about it, he was really quiet.  And his eyes started to well up..."

Quinlan frowned a little, finally moving the whiskey and offering it to her.  "I'd never seen him cry before.  I guess it stirred unpleasant memories.  He hugged me and said it was a remnant of his old life, a piece he kept if only to hold onto.  But he never did tell me what.  If I were to guess, I'd say it was another child he had, perhaps one that died before he left wherever his family came from."

[pomelo]

"Hm." The noise Zahi made was small, but she didn't have much more to contribute. It wasn't the sort of story she'd expected, and she wondered for a moment why Quinlan chose then to tell it to her. She'd anticipated something about running through Connlaothian forests, fishing, or having a dog, or something like that. But this was a very different sort of story than that.

"I guess your father has a lot of lost children, then." The thought came off her lips as it came into her mind. It might sting Quinlan, she realized, but Zahi wasn't one to soften blows. Because, of course, she meant Quinlan. Had his father made a small carved doll of him, too? Or kept some childhood souvenir that a boy Quinlan had loved?

It occurred to Zahi, then, that though she might have no one but herself to rely on, she also did not have the weight of other people's hopes and disappointments for her weighing on her. But was that a good thing? Maybe that thought was what caused her to ask, "Is he still alive?"

[Lion]

It didn't sting, but Quinlan nodded slowly in response.  He didn't know what his father did after he left.  He had thought he hated him for taking revenge, for endangering their family, for endangering his sister.  Quinlan had been caught up in everything that he had wanted to stay angry and bitter because it would stay the guilt he felt at times.  He realized he never would have gotten out of Connlaoth.  And he probably would have ended up like the other mages that died there.

He could only hope his father had remained in his sameness.
And he'd been relieved when he had been.

"Yes he's still alive," Quinlan nodded.  He looked at her.  "He's come on hard times, but he's still surviving somehow."  Quinlan laid out on his back.  "I mean it wasn't a bad life.  We had money, not a huge amount, but we lived comfortably enough.  I used to climb trees all the time with my sister.  We would catch fireflies and make lanterns from them...  she would release them before they died.  She didn't like seeing things die.  Even small lizards and spiders, she'd take out of the house and somewhere far away."

He shrugged a little, rubbing at his eyes.  "What about you?  You all alone still?  Because, you know, if you ever find yourself a little chilly on lonely nights, you can be my big spoon anytime."

[pomelo]

Zahi didn't ask how Quinlan knew the present state of his father. If he'd ventured back to his war-torn, frozen country or if he used his blood magic voodoo to spy on him from afar or what. It seemed prying. The original question had been, too, she guessed.

At his question to her, Zahi merely gave a little shrug. "Aye, all alone still. Likely to stay that way, I guess. At least in the way you mean. No family of my own. And all the men I attract," she gave him a pointed look here, but a teasing one, "are unreliable little spoons, let's say."

[Lion]

He laughed.  "So I'm one of these unreliable little spoons?  I dunno, I think I've been more reliable to you than I have been to anyone else that I've been around.  I wouldn't have if I didn't think I liked you.  You're a...righteous babe."  He nudged her shoulder and leaned in to kiss along her collarbone.

[pomelo]

"I dunno," Zahi answered, looking a little amused at Quinlan. "What do you think, Princess? Last time," she started, and even though she was technically criticizing him - was she? - her head tilted back as he leaned forward to kiss her collarbone, "last time you were my little spoon, you ran off and stole my dog. At least, that's how I choose to remember it. I certainly believe that you're unreliable by default, though. They always are. Probably why I pick them." She paused a moment, distracted by his attention, then corrected, "Well, 'picked' is the wrong word. I certainly didn't choose you. But you know what I mean."