"Trust Among Thieves" Log Date: 12/6, 12/8, 12/12/00 (Note: this is a back-dated log, and should be expected to take place in an IC time frame of January 3907, winter) Log Cast: Jenara, Julian Log Intro: Julian Nemeides has taken back his House, his daughter, and his name -- and now he is the Deus of House Nemea in Haven by day as well as the Guildmaster of the Thieves' Guild by night. A small cadre of servants dwells in his new residence in the city with him, and of these, certain trusted individuals are actually aware of their Deus' night-time activities as well as those in which he engages by day. Like Jenara, the Mongrel woman whose parents have served House Nemea through Julian's own childhood and who has looked after Julian's daughter Moirae... and who now has stepped up to act almost as Julian's right-hand woman in the running of the House. But like Julian Nemeides, Jenara has her secrets. And like Julian, Jenara has a talent for thievery. The Rook must inevitably notice that the woman to whom he has entrusted the care of his daughter, his nephew, and his wards has a way of vanishing out into the city at odd hours... and he must therefore, inevitably, apply his talents and those of his people to finding the opportunity to find out from Jenara's own mouth exactly when she was planning on telling her Deus about her side activities.... ---------- Rumours fly about Haven. The homes a few of the cities rich have played victim to some cunning thief. Not many, only a chosen few. Those whose walls held something unsually valuable. Only to have such treasure plucked from their innards like so much delectable fruit off a tree. Winter. She _hates_ winter it's too bloody cold. Espeically for what she wears on nights like these. Ashy grey silks cling like a second skin. Yes grey not black. The dark grey of shadows, light absorbing like the soot upon the wall. She slips between the shadows of doorway and hall..silent..silent echoing in her head like a mantra. A small belt pouch upon her waist bulges a bit and she whispers a muttered oath as she hears Hounds bellowing in the distance "Stupid" she hisses under her breath as she pulls her cap off her head and flame colored curls come tumbling down. Winter -- and there is more than one thief abroad tonight. It's probably not wise; he is, after all, no longer a loner with no one's safety but his own at risk. Now he has a House, the beginnings of a family, and a covert brotherhood of thieves for whom he is responsible. Nevertheless, the Rook did not achieve these things without being superior at what he does best: breaking. Entering. And surveillance... especially surveillance, when it comes to keeping watch over the activities of one of his very own people, activities about which he has yet to be informed. That is, at least by the girl with the coppery curls. And besides, he's not _entirely_ alone. He has associates not far away, Nine-Fingered Rab, Harimad, Corlan, just in case their leader requires them. For now, though, the Rook flies alone, because that is the way he wishes it. Julian too is darkly clad, though his color scheme of choice involves more black than that of the woman he's been tracking tonight. Even his face has been camoflauged, ash rubbed across his skin to hide the telltale glimmer of the pale skin of a Son of the Air from too-alert guardsmen or Hounds. Only his eyes, deep dusky blue, betray his identity as he waits for the Mongrel girl's escape from the house she's targetted tonight. Only when she passes the hiding place he's claimed as his does he slide snake-quick out of the blackness, gloved hands pulling her to him just long enough for his velvet tenor to rasp in her ear: "Follow me. Now." Jenara stiffens briefly. She's a thief. Not a fighter. She's always depended on never getting caught. Well it takes a thief to catch a thief it seems. She recognizes that voice though. Jena'd know that voice anywhere and so inwardly she groans. Outwardly she just nods in silence and waits to be released. As quickly has Julian had grabbed her, so does he let Jenara go, trusting that she will in fact come with him -- with annoyed Hounds baying their alarm in the distance, voices calling back and forth to one another in the night, she doesn't really have much of a choice. He melts immediately back into the surrounding darkness, to lay down a route of escape meant to take them as swiftly and as safely as possible out of the paths of Jenara's pursuers. Down an alley... and up the side of a building, where the handholds and footholds are chancy with their sheen of ice, but that's what the gloves specially made to grip are for. Across a rooftop. Down the building's other side and through a deserted courtyard, while keeping crouched in the protective shadow of the surrounding wall. Over the back gate with the help of a tree at its side... and down at last into a new alley. To a door, at which Julian produces a key for the lock, opening it in heartbeats and beckoning his companion within. Following with an ease that betrays her skill more than any trophy she could produce the girl follows , swiftly and silently. She had pulled the cap low on her head before she began to hide her too bright tresses but as soon as she is within and behind a closed door she slips it off again running her left hand through her hair distractedly. Oddly the hand she displays is not covered by the usefullness of a glove. Once within she simply stands, waiting...trying not to curse. The door is quickly pulled closed and locked as soon as Jenara is safely inside, but the stygian darkness of her new location is only temporary. There comes the soft sounds of Julian producing... something... from somewhere upon his person; then, the noise of flint striking tinder. A tiny flame springs up, and is given life atop a stub of a candle set in a rusty holder upon the wall. In this feeble illumination, the room can be identified as a storeroom of some kind, full of shelves and boxes and very little else. Now, too, Julian's face is visible, eyes extremely blue against his ash-smeared skin, crystalline, unreadable. His hands -- gloved in tight-fitting black leather that covers all save his fingertips, with the dull gleam of tiny studs set into the padded palms -- lower down from the lighting of the candle, and his unfathomable gaze turns to his companion. "We should be secure here for the time being," he observes coolly. "Distraction is being provided the Hounds, and our trail will be blurred." Recognizing the sounds for what they are Jena makes sure to look away from the strike of flint to tinder so as not to ruin her night vision. Even once the candle is lit she makes sure to not look upon it. Her right hand in encased in a similar glove while the left is bare. She looks down upon her unprotected hand in iritation and curses softly when she sees a deep-ish small cut upon the palm. She fishes out a square of cloth and ties it tightly around her palm. Listening to you she nods "It be wonder the Hounds be ever catchin' anyone though I be grateful t'Tyche fer guardin' me from me own stupidity." she pauses and just looks at you. Richard. Julian. Deus. Thief. "Thank ye" she murmurs softly. "ye were watchin?" she asks though she thinks she knows the answer. "Yes." Twilight eyes flick their attention momentarily to the wounded hand; you appear to be unbothered, however, and you've beaten him to the punch in producing a handkerchief. The man's probably got one on his person somewhere, though. If anyone would while trekking through wintry streets in the middle of the night, it is the Rook. Black brows rendered less distinct than usual arch upward as he succintly appends, "Did you achieve your objective, or were the Hounds alerted first?" Jenara scowls in iritation at herself. She reaches into the belt pouch and fishes outa small silk wrapped bundle. Undoing it reveals a dark blue sapphire. The same shade of your eyes if truth be told. It's the size of a man's thumbnail and it's been carved, painstakingly carved from the inside with the image of swan. It's exquiste, it's breathtaking..it'd be nearly impossible to fence. Why the heck did she go for this!??! "This answer yer question Rook? It be m'own fault the Hounds be alerted. I dropped the glove on the floor. A servant spotted it and raised the alarm. I was cramped in a box in the attic fer a candlemark before I judeged it' well enough t'make a break fer it. But because I lost m'glove I slipped on the edge o'the roof knockin' a bit o'snow down upon one o' the guards. " she sighs deeply embarrased "Im nae usually sae careless" For just a heartbeat or two, something that may well be surprise flashes across the eyes that match that swan sapphire. Julian's brows crook up another fraction of an inch, as his gaze shifts from the jewel to its purloiner. And for a few moments more his stare lingers upon your chagrined face, before he turns slightly away to cant his head towards the door, half his attention focused upon listening for any suspicious noises from without. "I know," is all he says, quite simply, in a voice as difficult to fathom as his expression is to read. Red brows lift in surprise and she blinks "Ye do? How long ye been watchin' me?" she demands softly. A bit..annoyed if you've been watchin' her for a whlie and she never knew it. Her gaze lingers on your face perhaps trying to read your expression perhaps not. She begins to wrap the jewel back up in it's protective cocoon of silk. "_Watching_, three weeks," Julian replies lowly, something in his softly drawled words suggesting he may well have actually been paying attention for longer than that, and only recently begun to take action. Something he's listening for does then sound: a soft knock on the other side of the door, a single knock, followed by three more in rhythm. His immediate response is to lift a gloved hand to knock twice in reply. Once this is accomplished he allows a hint of satisfaction to creep into his face -- and a greater measure of attention to return to the young woman before him. "Aware of the need to watch, somewhat longer. You were planning to tell me of your nocturnal activities _when_, precisely?" Both his twilight stare and his voice are unflinching... calm... expectant. But there's no sign of censure... yet. The young mongrel's blue eyes study you for a long moment. How honest to be eh? Instead of answering right away she smiles at you as she places the gem back in her pouch and leans against a shelf. "Ye ever hear o' Jamie LongTooth?" she asks conversationally as she mentions perhaps one of the more infamous and notorious of Haven's thieves. Jamie was old when Jena's father was young though and almost more legend and myth than living man. Not waiting to see if you did or not she continues "He caught m' one day tryin' t'steal an apple from a cart in the Rialto. I was just a child and he be old and gnarled. He saved m' hand from losin' friendship wit m'body that day since tha apple be owned by a nasty Varati merchant wit nae love fer hungry mongrel ratlings. " she laughs softly "I'l nae ever know why he be taken' a shine t'me. But he did and he started teachin' me things. One o' the things he taught me..the first thing really was t'trust nae one." She pauses in her tale to let her eyes drift across your soot covered face her own expression distant. "_Nae_ one. Nae even him he'd tell me oer and oer again. So when was I _plannin'_ on tellin' ye? Do ye have any idea how hard it is t' hide from the likes o'ye and yer eyes and ears? Or from the Outcasts? The Hounds? The Empy's? The Rati's? from me own kith and kin? Tell me..why should I hae trusted ye wit m'secrets?" Surprisingly her tone is not accusatory or defensive. She's genuinely curious as to why you think she should have told you. Julian Nemeides is an authority on matters of trust -- or the lack thereof. He has been ever since he was old enough to realize that his ebon hair marked him as alien to the rest of his family. Ever since he was six and his wings grew in black. Ever since he was eighteen, and his wings were ripped from him. Thus he has been over the fifteen years since, trusting only a select few to go on his night-time hunts... and even fewer to see the scars he bears on his back. And so he is utterly unsurprised to hear the tale you tell him. But nor does he shirk from it, as he leans against the door and crosses his dark-clad arms across his chest -- evidently assured by the knock he'd heard and answered that nothing will be barrelling through said door any time in the immediate future. "I can think of four or five reasons off the top of my head," he evenly replies, "but let's stick for the time being to this: I'm trusting you with a few of _my_ secrets, as well as the safety of my children. Shall I elaborate, or will that suffice?" The red headed chit does not back down "And I _hae_ trusted ye. I trusted ye every time I brought Moirae t'see ye that ye wouldna d'anythin' stupid that would get m'caught and beaten." She frowns for that didnt come out the way she meant it and so, she tries again. "This be mine. My thing. Upon the rooftops o'Haven Im nae anyone's servant. Im nae beholden tae anyone but m'self. I'm nae Jena the Mongrel, Or Jena , servant t'Nemea. " she laughs.."Yer the Rook? Im the sparrow. Small, unnoticable, or sae I thought. " She spreads her hands in an apologetic gesture "I be sorry..Julian." Using your real name for the first time ever. Usually it's some honorific, or Richard or Rook depending on the situation never your given name. "I should hae known better. I _do_ trust ye" she finishes simply and waits grateful for the dim light that hides her eyes. His expression flickers a little, something beginning to come through -- perhaps prompted by the utterance of his name, his _true_ name. That same something subtly eases Julian's voice, the tenor still pitched just above a whisper by dint of necessity but now turning to velvet again, the steel beneath it not noticeable until it is gone, sheathed. "If it is any consolation," he murmurs, "it took Rab to spot you." Nine-Fingered Rab, the Mongrel out of Avalon, knife-man of ever so slightly manic humor, the man to whom Julian has entrusted the position of his covert chief guard... and who has been serving as his intermediary to the members of the Guild who are not yet confirmed as trustworthy with the face that goes with the name of the Rook. Jenara chuckles softly well pleased "Rab eh? Maybe I be better than I think ." Okay so she's a little arrogant. That's a side of her most have never seen. She keeps that arrogance locked up behind her efficent, subserviant facade. Arrogance among those that think themselves your better is not a wise thing generally. She looks down picking at her makeshift banadage and asks softly as her hair falls forward hiding her face from view "Wha now?" What are you going to do with her? Julian straightens from his position by the door, his movements soundless and practically invisible in the wan light of the room, far more shadow than illumination. Nevertheless the steps he takes to close the distance between himself and the young woman before him are palpable, even if as nothing more than a shift in his presence. "I've spent most of my... career," he says then, a glimmer of humor just before that last word wryly lightening his tone, "working alone. If you wish to continue to do so... that's your decision, Jenara." Her name, in exchange for his. Jenaralifts her face to look up at you, her own features still embraced by the shadows of the room. She's silent for a long time as thoughts fly through her skull. She's always been alone, worked alone even when amongst others maintaining a certain distance that only the children under her care have really been able to crack. She chews on her lip sensing before her a fork in the road. Her voice rises a bare whisper from the darkness "An' iffin I choose..company?" "If you choose to align yourself with the Guild," Julian answers quietly, "you receive the full benefit of its presence at your back. Other eyes and ears to watch what doors and windows whose locks you choose to pick. Distractions for guards you might not be able to spare the attention for distraction, yourself. Magic, if need be, for those of the Guild who wield it. It requires a small measure of trust -- but I find that there is some honor among thieves, at least the best ones." The Rook's ash-tinted mouth curls up slightly on one side, again almost invisibly, but his eyes still stand out against the darkness of his disguised features and the darkness that surrounds him in the storeroom. "For the rest of them... the promise of a greater take than one can generally get alone tends to discourage betrayals." Jenara considers this in silence and chuckles.."If I be joinin' do I have t'be havin' company all the time? I be used t'workin' alone. Not really sure _how_ to work wit others. And what do tha Guild be gettin' outta it? I dinna think it's just outta the goodness o'yer heart Julian?" she says with a smile you can more hear than see. Honor among thieves not withstanding there's the question of profit. A very soft sound that might almost be laughter comes from the taller of the blue-eyed shadows in this cold, dim refuge against the winter night. "Your choice, as it is the choice of all in the Guild. You'd have the right to call upon the others and swear contracts between you to go after a target too valuable or too heavily guarded to acquire yourself. Or work alone, as you prefer. As to what the Guild gets -- a tithe off your take, against the effort we expend to keep the Hounds off your back, or the guards of any house you infiltrate. Or the money we spend to bribe servants to look the other way or be elsewhere on the night you choose to strike. Or to compensate a healer for mending you, if you should happen to be hurt." He pauses, then goes on, almost gently, "We also get, from what I've observed the last three weeks, a damn fine thief." As she listened she moved into the bare light of the candle..just in time to blush at the compliment her cheeks flaming as red as her hair. Jena moves quickly back into the protective shadows "umm..thank ye. It..ah. Sounds like the same kinda deal tha girls be gettin' oer at the Song." She muses over that in silence for a second and then nods "it be a good deal. I accept." she says firmly and then laughs.."Do I get ta learn tha secret handshake now?" "All sixteen of them, eventually," Julian deadpans, "but for the time being, you can learn the one that goes with hiding out with the Guildmaster in a storeroom on a bloody cold winter night." There's a glint in his eyes that suggests humor, even as he holds out a gloved hand by way of unspoken invitation. If he notices the blush, however, he's apparently discreetly chosen to give no indication. That coaxes a soft but merry laugh from her as her gloved hand is place din yours. "ooh.. all sixteen o'um? D'ye I have chant nonsense too..like the..sparrow flies at midnight or somemat like that??" She almost seems to be taking refuge in humour as she glances down at her hand that suddenly looks rather small. Julian's no Varati, to engulf a girl's hand in his -- but then again, he's not a small man, either. But he does clasp Jenara's hand with his own, in a moment of firm camaraderie that's enough to suggest that for all that his fingers are built for grace and agility, they are not without their strength. And now a small crooked smile flashes in his ash-masked face, as well. "'The owls,'" he drawls, "'are not what they seem.'" Jenara 's hand squeezes back lightly in gentle but strong grip as she laughs softly dark blue eyes twinkling with good humour. "Tha's nae bad..umm or how's 'bout..'The Phoenix rises" or..hrmm.."The vulture's circle".." she giggles harder but still softly "Or the goose has been plucked??" Even as Julian's hand drops away, even as he keeps half his attention on the sounds or lack thereof filting in from outside, the Deus is still grinning. "The ducks are squabbling, and furthermore, sound remarkably like the Aegis in session," comes his lightly murmured reply. There's no mistaking the lightening of his twilight eyes now, sparking up in answer to his companion's own humor. Perhaps it's the hour, or the close quarters... or reaction to the thrill of the chase, whether you're hunter or hunted. Or perhaps, just perhaps, the Rook is simply enjoying the exchange. Low feminine laughter echo's softly off the walls as Jena imagines the Aegis as a bunch of duck and she can't help but add "Aye I could swear I hae seen some o'them waddling through the Palladium in toga's tha could double as bedsheets." Though the shadows hide her the sense of warm camadriere..even frienship perhaps? ..is palpable and as the small candle starts to sputter the flickering light catches her wry grin as she teases "I didna know ye were sae funny m'Deus" What might be a soft snort issues from the Rook, as he leans himself up against the door again, alert even when relaxed. "What, didn't you think I had time for a sense of humor in the midst of my overflowing schedule?" he inquires, black brows arching near-invisibly. "Remind me to show you the notes I've got written out when we get home. I've got an entire half hour a week dedicated to making jokes." Jenarais a woman who laughs easily so it's no wonder that her chuckles continue to ring off the small storeroom walls. She perches lightly on one of the shelves and continues to try and think of goofy secret passwords and phrases to wile away the time as the unlikely pair of thieves wait for the all-clear signal that will surely be given by someone aptly named..Jimmy the Hand..or Slippery Jake..or.. [End log.]