Post #2707459 in Crows and Coins, a roleplay on RPG

Charon, Son of Beira and Gildan Lodes
The Aviary Brothel
Evening

Charon could hear them. He could always hear them.

The Dark Ones stood in the corner of his room, obscured by unnatural shadows. Their whispers buzzed in Charon's ears, like the drone of locusts. Some days, he could hear kinder souls among them, typically one of his ancestors or some benevolent nature spirit. However, this night there were only the voices of an ancient evil. They had yet to harm him or even come too close, but they were always watching from a distance, whispering amongst themselves. However, in moments like this, the Seer found them rather easy to ignore.

Charon rested on his bare stomach, his feet bouncing to Serket bells, flutes, and guitars from beneath the floorboards. The performances would last until the sun rose. Then, the more respectable patrons would rush out of the Aviary's golden door, hiding their noble faces until they returned to their wives in Southeld. The Seer held Gil's hand as if he would a small bird, tenderly rubbing his thumb along a group of scars on the underside of his wrist. Although the flesh had mended itself, Charon could still feel a dark magic leaking from the wounds. He pressed his lips against them, saying a silent prayer of protection to the Great Ones and the Ancestors as he kissed the damaged skin.

Charon looked up at his lover with a clever smirk as he adjusted his naked body on the sweaty silk sheets."I hope you enjoyed the dance tonight." He purred as he placed his free hand on Gil's thigh, drawing aimless circles on his pale skin. His grey eyes studied Gil's body, running along his many scars with interest. They reminded him of his own, some of which, such as the nick across his nose, still stung every time he thought of them. "Huli thinks I could bring in more noblewomen if I stopped focusing on you every time you're in the crowd." He smiled mischievously. "But I doubt that I'd have nearly as much fun."

Of course, Gil had been there.

He always appeared in the most opportune times, milky-blue eyes searching. As a wolf might: hungry. Huli had the right of it when she’d warned that the Aviary had a nasty habit of attracting beasts and predators alike. Sitting in the thrumming throng of watchers in the crowd, he’d draped himself where he always sat. It was an awful habit. One that he wasn’t inclined to rid himself of. He’d been hunkered on lavish pillows, wrought with silks, with a mewling little mouse seated in his lap. Squirming into his arms when the savage drumbeats foreshadowed Charon’s appearance. His eyes, however, were ever trained on the circular stage in front of them.

They were both beasts: he and Charon. In different manners, he supposed. Both hailing from the Tribelands, and both with veins that bled and wept with some sort of arcane energy they were loathe to admit they had. It would mean the death of them. Strung up: lynched in the streets. The Bastard Kings’, and their boot-licking Inquisitor’s, would make sure of that. Perhaps, it was there that the similarities ended. Charon was a much kinder soul. He was a charming tightrope-walk between a rawness he found appealing and a finger-kissing altruism he wasn’t sure what to do with. In comparison, he was… not. He couldn’t afford to stall his momentum.

It certainly didn’t stop him from finding himself in Charon’s arms. In the Crow’s lovely Aviary. Frequent customer’s who did not tread on the Queen of Crow’s feet were always[ welcome. He took care not to dance too close to her affairs, as long as they did not align with his own. It was the closest thing to a sanctuary he’d found since coming off Korrigan’s streets. A place, at least, he could recuperate, and breathe, without the threat of having a jewel-crusted blade stuck in his throat. Sinking his teeth into someone else' had always been his style. The Aviary had everything he needed. For a time. At least until his wounds healed.

Gil was laid out on his back with one of the silken sheets tangled across one leg and draped over his midsection. Softer sheets, they’d say, couldn’t be found anywhere. He could vouch for that. One of his hands was tucked under his head, beneath the pillow. The other he’d let rest at his side. Now scooped in Charon’s hands, pressed against his lips. He watched him between half-lidded eyes. An eyebrow raised and a small smile crooked at the corner of his lips. Though it was the moonlight creeping through the corner of heavy curtains that caught his attention. Late.It was late. While he’d never professed to following strict schedules, his rats had whispers of their own. A man had come. One he’d rather see strung up by his guts.

A sigh sifted past Gil’s lips as he sat up and hunched closer to grizzled man. He pulled his hand free from the man’s exploring fingers, and caught hold of his chin, tipping it up so that he could look at him properly. For a moment he allowed the silence to fill in the spaces, and broke it with a wolfish grin, “She’s probably right. But pretty hens… they can be boring. All bark and no teeth. You’d be too much for them to handle.” In a sense, he was much too good for them. For him, too. His own movements, his actions, were anything but soft. Even as his thumb tickled across the man’s lips, he fought the urge to grip and drag and tear. Gil laughed as he released Charon’s chin, flipping the silk sheet over his head. Shielding him from those impossibly blue eyes of his.

He swung his legs off the bed and slipped down to his bare feet. Crinkled his toes through the soft fibres of the furred mat. It only took him a moment to locate his trousers. Left in a messy pile. A line of clothes strewn across the room as if they’d been discarded in a hurry. The state of the chamber was hectic, almost as if there was a fight. Chairs tumbled over. Pillows and feathers in a sad, rumpled pile. They wouldn’t have been far from the mark. After tugging up his pants, Gil turned to plant both hands on the end of the bed, “This is the worst part, y’know.” He rolled his eyes, “I’ve got things to attend to.”

Charon groaned, crawling over to Gil. He draped his arms over his broad shoulders, loosely wrapping them around his neck. "I'm sure your rats can manage without their king for one more hour." A part of Charon wished that he could keep Gil there forever. He couldn't quite label his feelings for the Bleeder with a name as simple as love or lust. It was an animalistic sort of magnetism that drew the two together and Charon's affection for the other man grew with every drunken sweaty encounter they shared. "I could make it worth your while." The Seer nuzzled the crook of Gil's neck, his beard rubbing against him. He nibbled at Gil's skin, his flesh reddening slightly with each nip. Perhaps Gil reminded Charon of the home he was no longer welcomed in. There was an insatiable hunger that radiated off of his spirit and a wolfish gleam in his eye that Charon had seen too many times in the eyes of his brother, Fenrir. And, although it had been years since Gil had been to their homeland, Charon could feel the Free Folks blood that ran like wild horses in his veins.

He pulled his lips away from Gil's neck, only to whisper in his ear with a devilish grin. "I believe I'm having a vision." Charon nodded, closing his eyes and rubbing his temples, one arm still hooked around the Gil. "Yes, yes. You are in grave danger." With one rapid motion, Charon had swung around, straddling the smaller man. "You must stay in this room tonight, or disaster will fall upon your house." He giggled as he stared into the pale blue eyes of his bedmate, pushing aside the true visions invading his mind. A body thrown into a turbulent sea. A rat in the jaws of a hound. Blood spilling onto a pile of gold coins. Blood drowning the city. Blood drowning the world.

Blades might’ve been sharp, but Charon’s mind was sharper. He knew how boundless Gil’s appetites were. How insatiable his hunger had become over the years they’d known each other—it was never enough. Nothing was, in a sense. It was the reason he frequented the Aviary. Mind you, not always in his company. His fingers left traces in whatever pies were offered to him. Whether it involved bloody business in the streets or warm bodies, crooked under his arms.It wouldn’t have taken much to convince Gil to linger a little longer. Just a little longer. Did he love Charon? Did he love any of them? He did not know. Love was damning. Love was selfish. They could become vulnerabilities: easily exploited. No, they were transactions. Acquaintances. Allies, if anything at all. A listening ear. A shoulder. Someone to chew. It was easier to sort that way.

Gil’s ability to feel anything at all had dulled with time. He’d inflicted so much pain on himself that it became lackluster; a habit of sorts. When he wasn’t drowning in his own blood and leaving streaks through Aviary’s backrooms, he was a bottomless pit. Unfulfilled. Disastrously starved. When Charon draped his arm around his shoulders, he’d be sold on the idea of waiting til the sun rose above the buildings. Even if it meant seeking out his rats at a later time. Even if it meant missing the man he wanted to gut. “Mmhm?” a simple inquiry accompanied with a raised eyebrow. An invitation for action. Charon responded in kind. Leaning down as he was, he grated his teeth together and glanced over his shoulder, towards the doorway. He could almost imagine Huli staring a hole at the stairs, wondering why her prized stallion wasn’t entertaining other guests. The Tribesman was in high demand, garnering his own collection of followers; persistent patrons who called after him by name. He did not mind, especially as he was the only one of them to taste what Charon had to offer.

A laugh bubbled from his lips as Gil pulled back slightly to look at Charon’s face. Visions be damned, he was good talker. “I’m always in grave danger,” as soon as he got the words out, he had the Tribesman in his lap. Slippery as an eel. Quick as a foxhound. Had he the man on his side in a fight… he’d do better on the streets. Perhaps, come off them with less wounds. He tilted his head to the side and scoffed, “Lucky me, I’ve no house to doom.” It was the truth. Hardly any family to speak of. Where they were was anyone’s guess. Somewhere in the Hills, probably. Looking down at the damned in Korrigan. Laughing at their foolishness, and their weakness. They would never bend their knees. Better to die on a blade, like as not. A grin tugged at his lips as he leaned back against the sheets, “Fine then. You win.” Charon smiled, pleased with his victory.

It was only when sunlight peeked through the windows that Gil extracted himself from Charon’s arms and dressed himself fully. The Tribesman rested on his side, watching him through sleepy eyes. Charon always seemed disappointed when daylight came, but that was of no consequence to Gil. He could spare no more time, though it was likely that he’d skulk back through Huli’s doors soon enough. He always did. He snapped his buckle shut and adjusted his scabbards in the doorway. Goodbye’s never suited him. He’d always been the first to wake and leave; a phantom drifting through a bird’s nest. He rapped his knuckles on the door frame, signalling his retreat.

The jingling of coins attended his footfalls as he disappeared down the steps.

Snippet #2707459

located in Terradeth, a part of Crows and Coins, one of the many universes on RPG.

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