lordoftheozarks | IC Inbox

It will be easier, Tarantulas thinks, to simply make an appointment with Erik Osborne during his business hours, and discuss the matter of River then. He dares to hope that Erik will be easier to talk to, based on their past association. Perhaps his chosen profession has even given him a level of maturity or detachment that Annabel Lee lacks. Perhaps being confined by a schedule will even encourage him to brief. It does not occur to Tarantulas to wonder whether Erik might find something offensive in being asked to mix business and personal matters in this manner until he has reached Erik's door.

And then, of course, it is too late.

After helping Erik exit the party with what one might call a 'flag-waving kiss', passionate and meant to leave no doubt that she's on his side, River follows him back to his house. There's so much to talk about - her unfortunate flirtation with Max, that confrontation with the winged woman, but -

Well.

The moment they're inside River pins Erik to the wall and kisses him again, hungry, deep, fueled as much by worry as it is by love and lust. Her hands run down his arms, take his wrists, pin them against the wall too...

"I know we've got to talk," River murmurs into his ear. "I wanna talk, but please, please tell me you're not gonna leave me needy. This plug has been driving me wild..."

Mairi is admittedly a little discouraged about her set of gifts after her disagreement with Tarantulas, but she's not gonna let it stop her.

Erik is her friend. One of the first people to welcome her here. She's gonna give him the ring, even if her new one fits weird, physically and emotionally. She gives him a buzz on her sending stone.

Having seen the posting on the community board, but not being interested in partaking of Erik's services so much as making connections, George calls ahead one afternoon.

"Lord Osborne? This is George Elsworth, I'm a recent arrival and I was hoping to speak with you as a fellow in the industry, if you've the time."

César shows up at his appointment time. He's made sure to shower after going to the farm to not get dirt everywhere. Which would be a bad thing considering what the dirt could get into. Also no cologne in case anyone has any allergies.

He knocks a couple minutes early.

Getting settled into this new town is easier than expected. Adjusting to having a whole apartment of space is sheer luxury after the cabins, after all she called her own being a bedroll and a few packs. Then there's work, and heading out to explore the newly discovered spaces in the world, and visiting the hot springs, and...

Suffice to say that she keeps herself busy. But not so busy that she'd forgotten him, that it would be difficult to notice someone's routine if by chance one designed to intrude upon it. Which is exactly what she decides one evening, going to the right pub and getting herself a drink.

She'll wait a while to see if her guess was correct or not, but neither option means she's going to turn down a good drink and a bit of conversation. The glass drains bit by bit, and Fever's unhurried. Worst case scenario, she finds someone here with lovely eyes and open arms. Still, her eyes occasionally flick over the room, wondering.

It's a few days before Ari Tayrey feels ready to get in contact for negotiations. Days which she spends patching together a life in this place as if it were an emergency repair. A job, a house, a growing pile of resources. A solid place to stand.

When he picks up, he'll find her telephone manner might need some work.

'Lieutenant Tayrey calling Lord Osborne. Repeat, Lieutenant Tayrey calling Lord Osborne.'

From just outside of Erik's property line one evening, Erin's voice calls out. "Unarmed and without ill intent, I request the pleasure of your hospitality, Erik."

Nice and formal. It helps that Erin doesn't currently own a weapon that isn't a Contract.

It's an ordinary enough evening. The last client of the day has gone home well before sundown, as most do, so Erik settles himself in his favorite high-backed chair, wearing only his robe, with a book in his lap to read by the light of a cheerful fire. He has no reason to suspect foul play is afoot, so he's not paying much attention to the noises outside his home. Not that it would save him...

[César calls suddenly.]

I completely forgot to tell you! Magne and I are doing great!

[A pause.]

Oh, and hello!

It starts with a call, as it might. Casually inviting herself over, as if it's just a normal time, and not one she'd contemplated while being laid up with the flu. They need to talk about this, or she's going to feel the resentment and irritation boil over to a place where she's going to be ripping out his intestines while he breathes.

For Max's sake, and her promise. Just talking.

When she's let in to Erik's home, she's all smiles, not a hint of anything underneath, and waits for the spirit that he lives with to approach. Chuckling, as if his antics are but amusing.

"Maxly, you act like this every time I see you. I haven't forgotten you, you know."

Taking a seat on the couch, she invites the spirit to come closer, hand out to offer a touch if he wants.

River coming over to Erik's house? Normal. Coming over to spend the night? Super normal. There was absolutely nothing suspicious about Erik's girlfriend here making the arrangements in advance to crash with him and only something mildly unusual about asking him to arrange food in advance ("Nothing heavy, you know why").

River skidding through his front door like a cartoon character, expertly dropping a bottle of wine on a little table while she slides across his floor? More unusual.

"Pick fast do you want the good news or the good news?" she greets; she's energetic, hyped up, currently completely sober. Her ears are attempting to make her head fly off of her neck like a fucking bird.

Autumn is in full swing, but even chaos will not stop Fever from dropping in on friends when time allows. Especially when she's been doing her best to get Chills socialized when it's obvious that he will not be migrating back to Paradesium. With the little beast tucked up in her jacket, she's at Erik's place, knocking on the door, at ease. The changing weather has her in high spirits, and she comes ready to simply catch up.

The question is if it's Maxly or Erik who will greet her first.

There's a knock on Erik's door, and when he opens it, he will find two uniformed enforcers at the door.

"Councilor," the taller ones says. "We are here to escort you to headquarters concerning the incident two days ago at the Oak and Iron."

His expression turns deadpan in a flash. "If I count as supernatural then so do you."

Overnights elsewhere are fairly rare, aren't they milord? But to travel at night is dangerous, and perhaps - perhaps - there is some unspoken anxiety about the pyromaniac who had a very public breakup finding you in someone else's arms within your own home. Not your anxiety, the clients'. River has never been known as necessarily the most level-headed person, has she?

So perhaps there has been an uptick in requests to stay over at the client's home. Or maybe they've just been more notable in the current circumstances, with the silent, not-enough communications that come from River. Little gifts left on the doorstep that smell of smoke and tobacco and forge-fire, glances in public places followed by her lighting a skull-shaped pipe as if reminded of it. A note, at Givingstide...

Her scent is stronger on the front step this morning, and there's another bottle there, in the snow; it looks almost like rice wine, but there is no label, and the maker's mark is in wax that has been inscribed with that scratchy, rune-like alphabet River uses when she's writing in her native tongue. A gift from her world, maybe? Purchased from that fun skeleton man, no doubt. An unthinkable expense in the middle of winter, with how hard it must be to find citrus at any price.

The scent continues inside, though. This is because River is right there; she has fallen asleep on Erik's couch, face-down and splayed in a manner that is very much going to make her back and legs and bones in general sore when she wakes up. The elf is half-dressed - the other half is thrown haphazardly over the back of the couch - and sleeps under her green cloak, hair plastered to her neck with sweat from what was probably a roaring fire in the hearth when she went to sleep. From the looks of the supply of firewood and the fact that it's still flames rather than embers, she was feeding it well into the night. Sitting up, maybe. Waiting. It certainly would fit the way that even now there's a tang of nervousness in the smell of her sweat, the way her fingers clutch at the throw pillow that is abrading the skin of her cheek and sensitive ear, the subtle soundless motions of her lips as she argues with someone in her dream.

At some point last night she broke down and smoked inside. Her pipe is on a little plate in front of the couch next to a neat pile of ashes and a note, half-drifted off the plate, that has Sorry scratched into it.

The cold breeze hits River's face, and she makes an entirely unconscious moan of discomfort, and rolls over, clutching her cloak around her shoulders and blearily demanding, "Closa fuggin' windows love...'s cold..."

It's been days since Efrain's death and her final decision regarding Aster, but she can't shake the lingering violence pulsing in her veins. It feels as if the Hound is trying to tear its way out of her skin to feed that insatiable hunger she's been plagued by since devouring Efrain's heart. The help she needs cannot be met by any of her partners, so she finds herself at Erik's door, knowing that not only will he understand her frustration, but he would be willing to soothe it.

It's a bad idea. Perhaps the worst kind of coping mechanism, but she has to ask or she'll go insane from the bloodlust.

She knocks gently on his door.

"Erik?"

Curiosity was what drove him here, initially; a card, finely made and bearing the name of the town's premier whore, as well as the location of his business. Part of him was mildly scandalized at such brazen advertisement of sex work being done in the village, but a much larger part was terribly curious. What did it mean, to be the premier whore?

Samuel's lips purse as he stares down the front door as if it had said something to offend him. Still, he takes that step forward and rings the bell, business card in hand, slightly crumpled in his grip.

Friend or Foe -- Do You Know?

Post-Potluck | Absolutely NSFW

Ring Ring Ring Ring Ring Ring Ring --- Genasi Phone (boop boop badoopadoop)

a bit of friendly competition

Sex Ed Consultation - NSFW talk, possibly other stuff

late march.