"Business By Night"

Log Date:
	11/10/00

Log Cast:
	Julian, Malcolm (NPC emitted by Julian), Nox

Log Intro:
	It has taken a great deal of effort both monetary and mercenary to
get Julian to where he is today: the Deus of his House, the Guildmaster of
the Thieves of Haven... and a father and uncle and guardian to four 
children of Empyrean and Mongrel blood. Enough effort that it's occupied
almost every single one of Julian's waking hours, and not a few of his 
sleeping ones... and kept him far more than he'd like from a thrill he's
long missed: that of being able to score a take on his own ingenuity, being
able to match his wits against those who might guard a bauble he desires.
	Fortunately for Julian, he is not without his friends, and one of
his closest ones has a very fine knack for bringing the cure for what ails
his boredom....

*===========================< In Character Time >===========================* 
             Time of day:  Evening 
          Date on Aether:  Thursday, May 16, 3907. 
           Year on Earth:  1507 A.D. 
       Phase of the Moon:  Waxing Crescent 
                  Season:  Spring 
                 Weather:  Clear Skies 
             Temperature:  Warm 
*==========================================================================*

Julian
     He is pale -- he's not a Varati. He has neither gills nor fins; he's not 
  Atlantean. He cannot be Sylvan, for his eyes are twilight blue, his ears 
  unpointed. And surely his features are far too refined to be those of a 
  Mongrel... which leaves only one race from which this man could come. He 
  certainly has the build of an Empyrean, leanly muscled, finely boned. At 
  just over six feet in height, he is tall, but slim. Shoulders, limbs, and 
  hands are all in elegant proportion, and he moves like a Son of the Air as 
  well, with a certain lightness of carriage that suggests he might spring off 
  the earth at any given moment.
     But if he _is_ Empyrean... there appear to be a couple of problems. He 
  _can't_ spring off the earth, for he has no wings. And his hair, short, 
  often rakishly tousled, is a pure raven-black. The hue of his hair and the 
  absence of wings may well be the source of an ever so slight glint of irony 
  in his dark azure gaze, or the hint of a sardonic drawl beneath the lilting 
  velvet tenor with which he speaks. Wingless though he may be, darkling 
  though he may be, he nevertheless comports himself like a lord. His manners 
  and accent are impeccable, and he conveys to the world an aura of unspoken 
  assurance and experience, befitting a man who appears somewhere in his 
  mid-thirties.
     Julian is dressed at the moment in a black silken long-sleeved tunic, 
  sleek black breeches, and a midnight-blue tunic upon which gleam discreet 
  touches of gold embroidery. The cut and cloth of each garment he wears are 
  subtly fine, perfectly tailored without ostentation though of a style that 
  owes its origins to designs outside the usual preferences of the Children of 
  Air. Upon his feet he wears soft boots, also black.
Evening in House Nemea -- or at least Haven's branch thereof -- has settled 
  into a fairly quiet routine after several months' worth of practice. The 
  younger children are asleep; Moirae, last her father checked, was awake in 
  her chamber avidly devouring a book Julian had brought her as a gift. As 
  Nemea's Deus finally calls a halt to the business of slogging through a 
  longwinded letter from one of the few merchant Houses in Haven with even 
  less of a reputation than his own, rubbing a weary hand across his eyes, he 
  rather envies the girl her reading material... but doesn't go to disturb 
  her. Not at this hour will he distract her.
But as it happens, a welcome distraction pulls his mind out of the utterly 
  prosaic business of contract negotiations, regardless. "It's th' Dom'nus 
  Nox," is Malcolm's terse report, as the Mongrel shows up at Julian's study 
  door to bring the word that the man who helped his Deus take the House has 
  come to see him.
"Delightful," drawls Julian under his breath, following the Mongrel down the 
  stairs and into the atrium. _Hope he's brought me some excitement, I'm about 
  two heartbeats away from deciding to do something foolish like pickpocketing 
  the Emperor..._
Well, not really. But boredom does drive a man to flights of wild fancy, even 
  if he doesn't happen to have wings.

Nox strides into the Atrium, his shabby, worn-out clothing looking very much 
  out of place in the decorated place -- and earning a long second look from 
  Malcom. But Nox ignores any hints about his run-down appearance, letting his 
  gaze drift through the hallway with an expression of bemusement. "Ave, 
  Julian," he greets in his soft, deep voice, the words carrying well in the 
  reception hall. "Nice setting you got here." A longer look goes over the 
  richer dressed, but still wingless Empyrean, "You look like you settled 
  yourself in real well. I hope I am not disturbing you in your lap of 
  luxury." The trace of sarcasm is, as ever, hardly lost in his words or his 
  twinkling violet eyes.

The place has hardly increased in its finery since Julian took it over; if 
  anything, he's stripped out some of the more ostentatious works of alledged 
  art and some of the more garish pieces of furniture, replacing them with 
  more discreetly styled items better suited to his tastes. Perfectly aware 
  that his darkling friend knows this, the Deus merely smiles a one-sided 
  smile as he inclines his head, answering, "Ave, my friend, and if it's a lap 
  I'm sitting in, it's one of boredom. What brings you by?"
Malcolm, comfortable with the duties he's volunteered for without requiring 
  any orders from his employer, doesn't bother to jump into the conversation; 
  instead, the Mongrel merely grimaces anew at Nox's scruffy appearance, then 
  stumps off to the chair by the hearth out in the atrium proper he'd been 
  occupying, before the visitor showed up.

Nox remembers well enough how the place looked when Julian took it over, and 
  can't blame him for ripping out the pieces that were still left -- after 
  all, it was just a pale shadow of the raw amount of _stuff_ that used to be 
  here when Nox visited the prior owner of this mansion. Most of the really 
  valuable items have left in the pockets of Nox' and his helpers after that 
  visit, and have been swallowed by the depth of the Outcast pockets. Running 
  one finger idly over a newly brought table, he returned the crooked smile to 
  the new Deus'. "Ah, well, I am sure I can find something exciting to do for 
  you, then. Of course, such adventures are better discussed in a certain 
  privacy." The other hand makes a gallant, playful gesture up the stairs.

Oh good. A glimmer of anticipation lights Julian's dusk-hued eyes, though 
  that's the only sign of devilish mischief he permits himself as long as 
  Malcolm is in within earshot. The Mongrel he's brought with him out of the 
  Empyre is a good man, but as staid and honest as they come -- and it just 
  wouldn't do, he's sure, to let the fellow overhear his employer 
  discussing... shall we say, less than legitimate business. "By all means," 
  he answers archly, somehow managing to keep a growl of predatory pleasure 
  out of his voice, "come into my parlor, then."
Translation: Julian's study. By now the path to it is hardly any less familiar 
  to Nox than anything else in the house, and it takes very little time for 
  the Deus to lead his visitor and friend up to that particular room. The 
  scattering of parchments across his desk might be considered new, along with 
  the sealing wax and ink and writing quills interspersed among the documents; 
  certainly, that's more sign of industry than ever graced this place in the 
  hands of Julian's predecessor. But there's more of the Rook than the Deus in 
  Julian's expression, as he closes the study door to let himself and Nox be 
  safely unheard within the room. Blatantly ignoring the evidence of his own 
  work, he says, "So, my friend... what, indeed, brings you by? Though these 
  are your hours, I can't imagine this is merely a social call...?"

Whatever Nox came to talk about, it most likely isn't anything remotely 
  legitimate, at least not by the Empyre's standard. Or what the mercenary has 
  done recently was ever within the bounds of Empyrean law? But despite the 
  shady proposal he came to offer tonight, he seems as casual and relaxed as 
  ever, not giving away that he came for anything but a social call. Following 
  Julian's lead, his gaze wanders briefly over the various documents, but do 
  not linger tlong enough to allow him to read anything. As he looks up again, 
  the crooked smile graces again his unusually delicate formed lips. "Ah, you 
  don't give me enough credit to assume that I merely wished to visit a 
  friend?" His slanted eyebrows lift expectingly, his tone once again dripping 
  with irony. "You know me well, then. I've came to offer you a proposal. 
  Something big. Possibly dangerous. So how bored are you, exactly?"

"Not quite bored enough to try to pilfer the pinions off the back of Khalid 
  Atar," is Julian's drawled reply, delivered without missing a beat, "but if 
  Drusus Marcus Jove happened to walk past me, he'd be doing well to count his 
  feathers afterward." He doesn't bother to elaborate, but from the way his 
  stance and expression subtly shift, the man who's spent the last many months 
  playing at being a respectable merchant, Deus, and yea, even a father, is 
  quite palpably restless. And bored. It veritably shouts from every line of 
  his lean body and the sharpening of his gaze. "You most assuredly have my 
  attention."

Nox grins at the declaration, idle fingers running along his own raven-colored 
  feathers, to make sure none of them are missing. "I'm not going after 
  Drusus, nor that..." The grin spreads wider in a twisted curve, "...tainted 
  half-breed, as some brave Ceterions like to call him. Not yet anyways." He 
  folds his legs over another, to take on a more casual, relaxed stance. "Have 
  you ever heard of House Hypplata?" His gaze, as well as his tone of voice 
  shift instantly in that sentence, becoming sharper, more serious.

A man in Julian's position -- either the legitimate one _or_ the illegitimate 
  one -- cannot afford to fail to keep tabs on potential customers. Or 
  victims, as the case may be. Letting Nox stand or sit as he will, for he's 
  long ago become comfortable with the younger man's presence in his personal 
  sanctum, the Rook frowns thoughtfully to himself for a moment, conducting a 
  quick search through his memory to see what he can pull forth. As he does, 
  he begins to move about the room, too slowly to really be pacing, yet with 
  too much energy to sit still. Dextrous artisan's hands begin sorting some of 
  the documents on the desk, though that task is detached from the 
  conversation that's begun. "I've heard the name somewhere," he reports after 
  a beat, looking back up. "But I've never hit them. I've probably seen it 
  reviewing the House's" -- and with this, Julian's mouth curls ever so 
  slightly, reflecting his current opinion of having to be carrying out such 
  duties himself -- "business affairs."

Nox folds his own hands behind his back, slim, hardened fingers interlacing 
  each other below the hips as big, curved wings flex cautiously in the small 
  confines the room gives him. "Business' affairs," echoes the Outcast, the 
  grin creeping back on his features. "That's what interests me about them as 
  well. They're an old noble House, but not very public. Strong Praetorian 
  background. But they are rich. Worth taking a look at, both as far as the 
  gold and their items go." His lips thin again. "We've robbed an Empyrean 
  House before, Richard. It'd be dangerous, possibly more dangerous than House 
  Nemea. No doubt about that. But it'd be worth the reward. For all of us."

Both of Julian's dark brows rise up at Nox's estimation of the potential 
  peril; one doesn't get much more dangerous than taking the family House and 
  wealth out from under one's own murderous younger brother, after all. Unless 
  it involves short-tempered God-Kings with a penchant for flaming Aegians who 
  annoy him into ash and hauling up volcanoes to do the same on a larger scale 
  for cities that do the same. "We took months to drain the wealth off Nemea," 
  he muses, settling himself on a corner of the sturdy desk, while he plucks 
  one of his writing quills up off its surface. Twirling it about in the 
  fingers of one hand, almost unconsciously working to keep the feather moving 
  while he refrains from damaging it, Julian then goes on, "And we had the 
  people to back us up. You're anticipating a campaign of similar scale?'

Nox meets Julian's questioning gaze openly, a grim determination speaking from 
  his expression. "If that's what it takes, yes." The relaxed stance gets 
  firmer, before he makes one deliberate pace to advance upon the Deus. "We 
  only have us. The Outcasts, my own men as well as your thieves. But we will 
  be completely informed about their situation. About the changing of the 
  guard, the plans of the places we're going to hit, the way the people in 
  charge are thinking. Before I tell you what I had in mind, I want your 
  confirmation first. You can say yes or no, but if you decline, you will 
  neither make use of the knowledge I give here, nor will you mention it to 
  anybody else." He spreads both hands in front of him again, "As usual."

There aren't many people in Haven to whom Julian would entrust a job of a 
  magnitude to match his own takeover of Nemea -- but one of those people is 
  in this very room right now. "But of course," he says easily, inclining his 
  head in gracious acknowledgement, though that gesture does nothing to blunt 
  the hungry gleam in his eyes. "My confirmation is yours, for the initial 
  stages of your plans. You already know what people of mine are reliable from 
  our last... business venture." This time the drawl is decidedly amused. 
  "Recruit who you will, usual Guild cut applying... oh, and one other 
  condition." The hungry glimmer of his eyes redoubles. "I want in on at least 
  one of the hits."

Nox nods strongly as his hands clasp together again. With a smile, he 
  confirms, "Of course, Julian. Just to be right on this. We're not attacking 
  an Empyrean House. We're simply robbing it. In fact, I promised to only 
  wound or kill anybody if I cannot avoid it. You will get the usual share, 
  which should be more than enuogh, if my information is correct." His eyes 
  start to gleam in anticipation as he strikes out two fingers, "There's two 
  places we will hit. The first is an estate outside of Haven. It's strongly 
  protected, but it has weak spots. I want one quick strike there, relying 
  mainly on distraction, confusion and surprise. Then, once the House has 
  relocated its forces to that estate, I want to slowly, but surely bleed 
  their main mansion here in Haven, where most of their trade goes through."

To this, the Rook actually laughs out loud. "I'm a thief by profession, my 
  friend -- not a soldier or an assassin or a mercenary. Spilling blood 
  doesn't interest me. But I'll not deny--" And he surges to his feet, 
  sweeping a hand out to take in the clutter on his desk. "If I don't get out 
  and pull something off again soon, my head may explode. I've had a very long 
  winter, trying to be 'respectable', and trying to keep too many people from 
  getting overly familiar with my face outside the most upstanding of 
  situations." Oh, to be sure, he's kept abreast of the news his spies have 
  been bringing him, but having the information on the results is not at all 
  the same thing as being out there _getting_ them. Broodingly, Julian shoots 
  a blue glare at the pile of documents, then yanks his attention back to the 
  rest of what his erstwhile comrade-in-arms has to offer him by way of data. 
  "I will likely best be better in the latter half of your plans," he has to 
  reluctantly admit, though he does so with a half-smile. "As I am, as I've 
  observed, a thief."

[This log was, unfortunately, never completed; it cuts off here as Nox and
 Julian had to pause the scene. But I'm keeping it for posterity anyway!]