"Two Matters in Hand"

Log Date:
	10/15/00

Log Cast:
	Julian, Tara

Log Intro:
	There is a certain disadvantage to having taken on a more or less
respectable public facade, and that is that Julian has had to remove 
himself from the day to day immediacy of life in Haven's more shadowy places.
He has his spies, to be sure, but spies are only so good as the information
they bring their employer... and at least to some extent, the new Master 
of Thieves has yet to really ensure the reliability of some of his eyes and
ears in the city. As he discovers when word of what has befallen a Guild
thief is brought him by a source he doesn't even employ -- the young former
cyprian Tara, who turned to him for help, and who has ever since helped him
by periodically aiding in looking after his children and wards, while 
being settled in with her friend Sabrienna, who is the one a disturbing fate
has befallen....

*===========================< In Character Time >===========================* 
             Time of day:  Night (Duskside) 
          Date on Aether:  Saturday, March 29, 3907. 
           Year on Earth:  1507 A.D. 
       Phase of the Moon:  Waxing Gibbous 
                  Season:  Early Spring 
                 Weather:  Clouds 
             Temperature:  Bracing 
*==========================================================================*

A quiet spring night, and with its falling, the children of House Nemea are as 
  settled down as they're giong to get. The younger ones, at any rate. Moirae, 
  being older, can stay up later -- and her father has left her contentedly 
  absorbing a recently acquired epic poem transcribed from the performance of 
  one of the bards of Haven. Julian himself, however, has settled into his 
  study -- with, of all things, paperwork. And because he is alone, he lets 
  himself smirk amusedly at the dichotomy of it all -- the Rook, doing 
  paperwork. But despite whatever nefarious activities he might have to 
  oversee in Haven, he _is_ also still Julian Nemeides, Deus of a merchant 
  House, and Nemea needs money from legitimtae sources as well as illicit ones.
And thus, tonight, Julian has applied himself to reviewing contracts. Nice, 
  simple contracts from a small handful of merchants in the city who don't 
  necessarily consider themselves above doing business with a wingless 
  darkling.

Paperwork, unfortunately - or perhaps fortunately - gets interrupted. A ligt 
  tap on his door, and it opens to reveal the slim figure of his one-time 
  guest and occasional babysitter (among other ways of relating the two). 
  Tara's brightened up considerably since she moved in with Sabrienna, and 
  it's refkected in the cheery "Evenin'..." she offers, although from the 
  slightly drawn look she has, all is not completely well.

Julian's dark head lifts, blue eyes widening a bit under uplifted brows. "Good 
  evening, my dear," he begins in tones of pleased surprise, though his gaze 
  does not miss the subtle signs of strain in the young woman's expression. 
  Rising to his feet, he comes around the desk to better greet Tara properly, 
  continuing, "To what do I owe the pleasure, tonight...?" A bit late for 
  babysitting, after all.

She hugs him, warmly, for once as equals, not Cyprian and client, a subtle 
  change in her attitude to him. And for a moment, just lets that be all.

To this, Julian draws in a breath. It's not often these days that he's let 
  himself enjoy the embrace of a woman -- not since Rory has withdrawn from 
  Haven with the little girl she's taken into her care. The Rook has the will 
  to go without the luxury of such contact, but still, even he cannot help but 
  shudder for a moment or two as the young woman enfolds him in her embrace. 
  Nor can he deny Tara an answering embrace, sliding his black-clad arms about 
  her smaller form. Julian draws in a breath, then turns his face towards her 
  hair and murmurs, "Good evening, indeed...!"

You can take the girl out of the Siren, but taking the values working for 
  Jenean instills out of the girl is harder. Nor can she fail to notice the 
  shudder. Blue eyes touched with concern find his, one hand coming up to 
  touch his cheek, and she asks, softly. "Somethin' th' matter?"

As soon as those soft words are uttered, Julian's mouth quirks into a lopsided 
  smile. "Nothing of consequence," he replies, his velvet tenor at ease as he 
  lifts up a hand to touch Tara's cheek. His gaze sweeps again over her visage 
  as he goes on gently, "I had thought, however, to ask the same of you. The 
  hour is a trifle late for looking after the children, after all. Not that I 
  mind your company, my dear, but I somehow doubt you've come to aid me in the 
  finer points of dictating where certain shipments of wool are about to be 
  headed in three weeks."

Tara does smile at that. Teasing, "Y'could teach me." She runs a hand through 
  her hair, the other still comfortably around him, takes a deep breath. "I'm 
  guessin' since y'ain't come t'me no-one told ye Sabi's bin kidnapped?"

To this, Julian goes rigid with unmistakable shock; that, in and of itself, is 
  answer enough. But the involuntary reaction quickly passes, for this man is 
  not easily startled for long. "No-ooooo," he breathes out, mind immediately 
  leaping ahead to the need to have a word with his informants. He _should_ 
  have been told. As long as the need to keep his face deliberately distanced 
  from his position in the underworld of Haven exists, he _must_ rely upon a 
  network of spies, and thus far none of them have told him of this. "This is 
  news to me. In, my dear. Tell me of this." He reaches over to close the door 
  of the study, unwilling to let his voice or that of his visitor drift out 
  into the hall. He trusts certain of his servants, but not all of them... and 
  he never knows when Roki, Elette, or gods forbid, little _Momus_ might 
  chance to wander in here in search of him, wanting a hug or a glass of water 
  or a story to help them back to sleep.

Tara moves with him, not breaking the contact, her hand in the small of his 
  back. Quietly, "Was jus' talkin' with her in our place, an' these two guys 
  in cloaks wi' their faces hid bust th' door down, tossed me on th' floor an' 
  dragged her off. Bout a week ago." She looks contrite. "I shoulda come 
  sooner, but I bin tryin' t' stop th' likes of Nox bein' any more stupid than 
  they already are." From her tone, that's already pretty dumb.

With the door safely closed, Julian turns again to face his visitor, brow 
  crinkled with concern as he looks down upon her. "You have no leads?" he 
  inquires, shifting now from the mindset of a merchant Deus to that of 
  Haven's Guildmaster. "Any indication from her recent business who she might 
  have angered?"

Tara nods. A shake of her hair back off her face - it's grown a bit longer, 
  and more than before it's actually a necessary gesture rather than something 
  borrowed off Jenean - and she licks her lips. "Long story. Seems that 
  someone stole Nox's bow, an' she promised she'd get it back. These 're the 
  folks she got it back off, far as I c'n figure."

Julian frowns tautly at this. Sabrienna is one of his -- he hasn't been shy in 
  gathering the names of the known members of the Guild since he's taken it 
  over, especially those he has dealt with previously as 'Richard'. Especially 
  those whom he's almost been in a position to call friend, or at the very 
  least amiable acquaintance. To hear this now of one such individual cannot 
  help but raise his suspicions. "I've heard no rumblings about anyone else 
  among us having a grudge against her, or against Nox for that matter," he 
  says, twilight eyes narrowing. "Any reason to believe that these persons are 
  also mine? Or do you believe them unaligned?"

Tara looks at him for a moment, and visibly then puts two and two together, 
  and makes a pretty decent four about what 'his' means. Shakes her head. "No. 
  Definiely not yers." Still that point of contact, her arm half round his 
  waist. "Sabi left a box which has some hair an' a bit of a cloak in it. 
  Jen's taken it t'Cassandrea t'see if she can See anythin'." A pause. "SOme 
  of th;' kids seem t'have heard of 'em. Got 'em scared enough gettin' 
  anythin' outta 'em is nigh on impossible." Just a touch waspishly. 
  "Specially when Nox wades in like a Varati an' tries t'scare it out of 'em."

As long as the fair-haired young woman before him seems inclined to maintain 
  her contact, Julian simply stands there rather than sitting down, either at 
  his desk or in either of the chairs before the hearth. One of his own arms 
  has returned to loosely encircle Tara in echo of her, though at least for 
  the time being his mind is occupied with the problem she has brought him. 
  "Nox," he murmurs, frowning still. "I take it you disagree with his 
  strategy?" One black eyebrow arches as Julian requests this opinion.

Tara laughs a little. "Y'need t'give kids a way t'tell ye an'save face." A wry 
  smile. "He was jus' wadin' in.. I'm hopin' that Benn'll come back sometime 
  when he ain't there."

Julian blows out a breath, then smiles faintly. "I'm not normally inclined to 
  argue with Nox's choice of strategy," he says in soft and husky tones, gaze 
  still firmly settled upon the young Mongrel's features. "It is, after all, a 
  strategy that's helped put me here. But. Who's Benn, my dear?"

Tara runs her free hand through her hair, "Kid Sabi pays fer information an' 
  stuff." She sems to know a reasonable about about what Sabi gets up to.

"Ah," says the Rook, a single soft knowing syllable. His gaze never wavers, as 
  he then inquires, "What can I contribute to Sabrienna's safe return? Is 
  there further spying that can be done, if her whereabouts have as of yet not 
  been determined?" His dark head tilts slightly sideways then. "Or do you 
  wish me to talk to Nox?"

Tara's free hand comes up to rest on his shoulder. "I .. think th' best y'can 
  do, maybe, is t'listen out. These guys in cloaks seem t'have some kinda 
  reputation. An' if th' Seer learns anythin' more, I'll let ye know." When 
  did Tara turn into quite the complete young woman? The too-old Cyprian and 
  the teenager who never got to grow up seem to have merged into a startlingly 
  assured whole. "An' I c'n handle Nox."

Indeed, the changes in Tara are not lost upon Julian; as he looks down at her 
  his mouth curls up again on one end, and a glimmer of what might be 
  appreciation or even pride lightens his dark blue eyes. He nods once in 
  acknowledgement, more than able to promise his attention. Which he does: 
  "You have my ear as always, Tara. Besides" -- and his smile quirks up a 
  little more broadly -- "you appear to have the matter well in hand."

Tara blinks, then laughs, and nods. "Just kinda worryin', mm?" A sheepish 
  confession. "When I was about ten 'r twelve, an'Sabi was just fixin' on 
  leavin' th' Siren, I used t'..." A soft giggle. "EIther worhsip her or have 
  a real bad crush. I never really figured." Softer. "But she's one of th; 
  folk I really care 'bout." Blue eyes smile at him.

"It's often difficult to discern between the two," Julian acknowledges wryly. 
  "Especially when one is ten." This much, at least, he recollects from his 
  own time at that age -- since he's managed to miss it for his daughter, and 
  the other children in his care haven't gotten that old yet.

Tara smiles, looking down, before shaking haer hair back and lifting her gaz 
  to him. Softlu, "Y'know I left th' Siren fer good now?"

"Aye," replies the Rook, street lilt escaping out of habit into his words 
  before this woman, one of the few in Haven with whom he is that relaxed. 
  While many matters he's had to leave up to his various informants, some 
  things he's made it his personal business to know -- because there are, 
  after all, people in Haven about whom he cares too much to leave their 
  statuses to secondhand reports. "I daresay they miss you."

Tara mmms. SHe takes a deep breath. "Was th' right thing." Again, almost 
  embarassed. "Figure I had a bit of growin' up t'do."

To this, Julian lifts up his other arm and curls it about Tara, letting it 
  join his other. Patiently he listens and patiently he nods, recollecting the 
  change in life and station he'd seized for himself back when he was around 
  the same age as this fair-haired Mongrel. "It seems to have done well by 
  you," he murmurs in approval, memory of when their situations had been 
  reversed and _he_ had needed to speak to Tara's supportive ears very present 
  in the back of his mind, adding depth and understanding to his gaze. And he 
  smiles, just a little. "I hope it'll continue to do you well."

Tara's arms slip round his neck, almost involuntary, a cosy, comfortable 
  closeness, and she smiles at him, warmly. "I got friends..." And he's 
  evidently included, perhaps in that short list of folks she cares for, too.

With this kind of proximity, it is impossible to miss the small tremor of 
  reaction that courses subtly through Julian's lean frame. His twilight eyes 
  go a little darker, but not out of displeasure; rather, that's good honest 
  need there, an ember at the moment, but which has the potential to spark 
  into blue fire if Julian chooses to let it. For the time being, though, he 
  simply bends his dark head and kisses the brow of the woman in his arms. 
  "Yes," he agrees softly, "you do."

Tara lifts her head, just brushes lips softly against his. Young, maybe, but 
  far from insensitive to the subtleties of his emotions. It's an offer, 
  simple enough, but he might wonder, as her arms tighten just a little, if 
  she too needs.

Wonder he does. Julian has not been extravagant with his liasions over the 
  years he's spent in Haven -- but one cannot spend a decade of even 
  sporadically visiting the Siren's Song without gaining an experienced eye 
  for the reading of signs of longing in general. And for Julian in 
  particular, that time's brought him a certain refined gentleness of touch, 
  in which he now indulges; his mouth answers that delicate kiss with one of 
  his own, and then he lifts a hand to trace the tip of his thumb along Tara's 
  jaw. "This is not," he mock-scolds in that lush low tenor of his, "aiding me 
  in the matter of those shipments of wool..."

A soft, knowing laugh, gently teasing. "Y'need t'do it t'night?" A tease 
  maybe, but also an implicit offer - if he does, she'll understand.

There is, at least for a few moments, a flare of conscience in Julian's eyes. 
  Though he'd never actually admit to having to behave almost... respectably, 
  still he has conscientiously applied himself to the business of sorting out 
  the shambles his takeover of the House had left of its financial state. 
  Merchants all over the Empyre who had readily done business with his brother 
  are far less eager to deal with him, and while he's had better luck moving 
  the center of operations of Nemea into Haven, still he has had to work to 
  establish himself here. Especially when a not inconsiderable number of 
  people in the city have had to do double-takes, seeing a man they knew as 
  Richard suddenly claiming a new name and position. He _should_ take care of 
  those contracts tonight. But he is tired, and his body has seized the 
  opportunity to remind him in no uncertain times that he is also lonely. The 
  Rook fades from his expression, the Deus of Nemea stepping out to take his 
  place -- but between them both is simply _Julian_. "It's not... vital," he 
  admits, his voice turned a little hoarse. "If I get up early tomorrow, I can 
  finish them."

Tara's answer is to kiss him again, this time lingering, sweet. She's in no 
  hurry. Whispered against his lips, softly, "I don' work any more." This 
  isn't work.

Julian cannot be called vain -- but then again, he is not unaware that his 
  appearance is pleasing to the eye, by simple virtue of the fact that he is 
  in the prime of his life and fit, and that the Empyreans, even the dark 
  ones, are by and large a handsome race. He has seen more than one woman look 
  upon him with desire. But even so, he cannot help but be at least a trifle 
  surprised at this boldly murmured proclamation... even as he must 
  acknowledge to himself that Tara does still stir his blood. Once more he 
  bends his head for her kiss, and when he comes up again for air he whispers, 
  "I'm honored you want me for your pleasure, my dear."

Those clear blue eyes find his, and she corrects him, softly. "Our." Fingers 
  brush against his lips, her own curving in a smile. "S'is about sharin', mm? 
  Friends."

And to that, Julian's own smile flares up, brilliant and white and warm. 
  "Ours," he murmurs in agreement. Tomorrow, he will throw himself back into 
  the complex dance he has been following these past many months, being the 
  Rook one moment, the Deus the next, a thief and a merchant and a father. 
  Tonight, however, the temptation to be a man is simply too great. He 
  gestures, then, with one agile hand for the door that leads not into the 
  hallway, but back into his private bedchamber. And with the street lilt 
  again softening his voice, he concludes, "Distract me a while longer from my 
  own work, eh then, love?"

Laughing, she kisses him again. "As y'wish..." And as she wishes, too...

[End log.]