Hunting the Hunter Ch. 06

She watched as he eyed both of the taller males. He maintained eye contact with the larger of the two, the one who'd last spoken, but tipped his head toward her. "Ladies, if you'll excuse me, I'm going to get some air."

The two Orcs laughed as he left, and she watched his back with a confused frown. None of this seemed like him. First of all, he usually let this kind of stuff roll off his back...but then, he had been sizing them up since the moment he walked in. The Orcs clearly thought he'd backed down and tucked tail. That was 'what the hell' number two. She'd never seen him tuck tail, and frankly, wasn't even sure he was any more capable of it than she was. So what was he up to?

"Looks like the pretty-boy knows a real man when he sees one. Cowardly son of a bitch."

Ina bit the inside of her cheek and wondered where the softest spot of the Orc's skull was, and how well her fist would fit there. Des turned in her chair and propped her elbow up on the back of it. "Do you have something against pretty people?" She smiled winsomely up at them.

"Not if they're you, sugar."

"How charming. I suppose now you're going to tell us what a real man like Yourself can do for a pretty lady like Myself?"

"How 'bout I do you one better, take you upstairs, and show you."

"Well, as tempting an offer as that is, I'm afraid my party is presently engaged in the revivifying of those indissoluble yet still fragile bonds of friendship, which tested by time and distance have suffered through misuse and now must needs have the gentle salve of quite and intimacy."

They stared.

"Bard." Ina offered with the same dry tone she'd used with Feric. Their expression cleared somewhat. "She means to say, we're old war buddies and need a little while to catch up before we let down our hair. Maybe in a bit, eh?"

They grunted, somewhat satisfied with the explanation, and she knew with the fact that they'd scared off the biggest male. They returned to their fold with little more than a repetition of the invite and a suggestive leer or two.

"I wish you wouldn't do that." Ina muttered once they were out of ear-shot.

"I just like hearing you intone the title of my profession as if it were some incurable disease."

"Isn't it?"

"I would have thought after all these years the two of you would have stopped bickering like an old married couple." Her cousin offered with a faint smirk as he brought his cup to his lips. They both glared. Then Des smiled, her expression changing so suddenly that it bordered on unnerving.

"I do wonder how we'll get on now that we don't have to rein it in for the sake of the children."

Inanna had to chuckle at that. "Yes, well, Feric's got enough little kids around to take care of that."

"A single father? How adorable."

Ina winced, glad Feric had left. "Eh...I don't think that's the word for it. But, yes and no. The group he's trying to protect is his family— his sister has two little ones, and there's a few more they've picked up along the way. His own daughter is pretty much grown."

"I take it he lost his wife to these hunters?"

"Yes, they've all lost most, if not all, of their family to them."

"How sad." Murmured Hassour.

"Indeed." Des agreed. "How did you come to get tangled up in it?"

"Randomly. I was out ruin-raiding for a client and he happened to be fighting with the hunters in the surface area of the ruins. I gave them the tip of my bow, but one of them got antsy and fired at me anyway. So I fired back and in a matter of seconds I was suddenly on a side. Not that I'm unhappy with the side I ended up on. Given the choice I would have picked it anyway...definitely the more interesting of the two."

Feric returned a moment later with the same flinty expression as before, except Ina could help but notice the added glint in his eye as well. Des had started in with the Telvanni gossip, which Hassour seemed to find fascinating, but Inanna was too distracted by whatever was going on with Feric to pay her any attention.

It was as if he were...waiting for something.

And then it happened. The drunk, who'd been propped up outside, burst in through the door, shouting 'fire'. And not just any fire...the Orum gang's house. Ina's eyes shot to Feric. There was that glint again.

"Door." He growled under his breath. It was all he said before he was on his feet and moving in the opposite direction of the Orcs, who were all vacating into the street. All but one that is...the one Feric was now standing in front of in order to physically block his escape.

Door! She jumped to her feet and got the bar up in record time. It was heavy...but that was good. Orcs were strong, and she could hear their angry voices on the other side of the thick wood slats. His back was to her, so she couldn't see if he was saying anything, and the Orc's face gave nothing away, though she thought she saw his hand twitch...which was a very very bad thing, considering his rumored skills with magic.

Unfortunately she was right about the 'badness,' and the hand twitched again. She gasped and only got half a warning out before both men were both suddenly moving. Feric lashed out, almost too fast to see, grabbing and twisting the larger Orc, and propelling them both down to the ground, hard. The people still inside the bar all froze where they were, watching in fascinated horror as the two went down.

The warlock twisted his hands with another spell.

It must have been weak. Feric only grunted as he absorbed it, whatever it was, and responded with a quick fist to the temple as he got on top of the Orc. She could see Des concentrating hard in their direction, her lips still moving as if in silent prayer. 'Silent' was a good word for it since whatever she was incanting was probably helping to stifle the Warlock's abilities.

It could also be that Feric, or his people, were somewhat resistant to magica. The strong willed often were. Breton's were notorious for it. She'd like to claim it was the Merish blood lingering in their veins, but you didn't need to be a bard to see the flaw in that logic. Altmer were notoriously vulnerable to magic, so while they were great sorcerers, they made for really shitty battlemages....but that had absolutely nothing to do with anything. Right now it was Feric, not some boney Altmer, that she was watching with fearful apprehension as she listened to the angry voices grow louder outside. They were a good deal angrier now that they'd realized all was not as it seemed and that they could no longer get to their leader.

She was torn between her desire to help, to keep Feric safe, and the knowledge that this was not her game. She'd done this enough to know that unless one knew the whole score, one was to keep their interfering hands to themselves. After all, he'd done the same for her. It was only fair that she played her part and let him do his thing, trusting that he did in fact know what he was doing, even if she hadn't the foggiest.

Still...it was a little unnerving...but maybe that was only fair as well. Maybe it was a taste of her own medicine. But she was a big girl, she could take it.

Feric had managed to pin the Orc, but his hold wasn't at firm as he'd have liked. He wasn't a small man— he was often taken for a Nord because of his size, even by actual Nords— but no one had the sheer bulk and natural muscle of an Orc. And this one was snarling mad. Understandably so. Feric had informed him, in so many words, that if he was going to size him up, he better do it himself, then he'd proceeded to take the initiative by roughly body slamming him into the well used floorboards.

The Orc growled out a few curses, but finally stilled, his voice a hot snarl, "You're a fucking dead man, you know that?"

"So you say." he growled back.

"Either way, this comes out badly for you. My brother will be right outside with a welcoming committee. If you get off me now, we'll make it quick...but if you don't I guarantee you'll be begging like the little twat you are for your mama to come make it fucking stop. You understand me?"

"Only if they catch me and I don't get them first. And believe me, I'm a quick bastard when I want to be." He shoved his knee a little harder against his neck, making the Orc grunt from the increased pressure.

"Now here are your options," he continued, "I ease up, let you throw me off, as rough as you like, and then we go outside like gentlemen, trade black eyes and split lips, and decide to shake on it, being the good sports we are and walk away all the friendlier for it— mutual respect and all that bullshit...or you tell me right now to go straight to fucking Meruhns, and I gut you right here on the floor.

"Now" He continued, in a slightly lighter tone, "...I like the look of that willowy dark-elf behind that bar, and I think we'd both have a better shot at her if we don't piss her off by making a mess, so I'm personally inclined towards the first option. I'm of a mind that a nice enough piece of tail is worth the occasional," he paused and smirked, "aching jaw...wouldn't you agree?"

"Who the Fuck do you think you are?" The Orc husked in a murderous whisper. A whisper because his throat was still affected by the knee pressing into it.

Feric darkened his tone again considerably and growled. "Not at all what I appear." Feric concentrated and tried to bring up the shift without actually making the full change, letting the energy of it wash to the surface and surround him like a cloud.

Ina had said the Orc was a warlock, so Feric figured that he might feel some of what Ina had claimed she did with them when they shifted or brought their will to the surface. Perhaps if he gave him a taste, it might be bluff enough, and they could save the gutting for a less inopportune time.

"What the fu—what in Oblivion is that supposed to be?" the Orc was gruff, but there was a new edge to his voice. Feric rolled with it.

"You really don't want to find out, friend."

Inanna squinted at Feric's back, trying and failing to hear what was being said until her attention was pulled away by a familiar Dunmer coming down the stairs, one she recognized as a drug runner who worked for the Orum's.

He started at the scene, but gathered himself quickly enough, and took the remaining steps three at a time. "Son of a..."

Near the bottom of the stairs Desdemona appeared, serpentine, and slid herself between the thug and the scene playing itself out on the floor. She smiled that wicked smile of hers and slid her fingers around the low collar of the Mer's jerkin, halting him mid curse. He paused, though probably more from shock that anyone would stop him than anything else.

"Don't worry about them friend, that's just his way of being neighborly. It's a Nord thing...it's how they say hi." Her smile turned a little naughty. "Why don't I show you how we Breton's like to get to know people?" He glared at her, though his expression had soften slightly with his confusion, and Ina watched his face for the tell tale glint of uncertainty she knew would be there soon. Dunmer, like Bretons, were tough to mess with in that way, but Des was a professional, and if this s'wit was just a runner thug, he might not be the sharpest dart in the game. Course, if one wanted to go overboard with their metaphors they might suggest that one couldn't read how a dart would stick until the damn thing was thrown.

As if complicit with these thoughts, the glazed look Ina was waiting for didn't appear, and instead the fetcher raised a hand to push the 'interfering bitch' out of his way. His own words, of course. Ina would have found it funny if she weren't already so concerned about Feric.

Des didn't let it bother her, and only smiled wider, laying her palm flat on his chest. Ina felt a familiar tingle, and something oily and slippery wriggling around her spine, making her hairs stand on end. In the corner of her eye she caught a few of the men in the room twitch, no doubt since they felt it to. The Mer finally got that look, like a lost puppy, and it was plain to anyone who was looking that he was right fucked up in the head at the moment. He looked down at the smiling woman, with that lost look and blinked, suddenly 'coming to his senses' about just what he was looking at. The wet, red, parted lips, and smoky, lust filled eyes gazing back up at him changed his tune quick enough. It was, after all, the universal signal for 'take me now big daddy,' and the way Des applied it, there was surely a few darker promises held in those emerald greens of hers.

Inanna flicked her tongue against the back of her teeth in response to the taste that was now lingering in her mouth. Something floral...and far too sweet. She hated it when Des had to lay it on thick like that. It was so obvious...and it left an odd taste in her mouth...literally. She let her eyes dart around the room and noticed the overall vibe has eased as a number of patrons mistook the slithering around their spine and the honeysuckle smell for warm fuzzy feelings in their 'nethers.' The other half were also shifting, but more in curious discomfort as they were distracted from the men on the floor and looked about, consciously or not, for the source of that discomfort.

"Let my buy you a drink." Des murmured with a voice that matched the smoke in her eyes, pressing herself a little closer, "What's your poison, Sera?"

Ina didn't pay enough attention to hear his response. Feric had quit whispering whatever he was going to whisper and his body shifted oddly, making her frown deepen. He'd just opened himself up, and Magub took the opening and fairly tossed the man across the room. Everyone's attention snapped back to the fight. Even the Dunmer thug was brought out of his daze, though he made no move to get out from under Des's soothing touch, which had slid up to the back of his neck as they both turned to watch.

Feric got up...slowly, as if the trip had rung his bell some. Inanna's frown deepened. Not because she was worried...but because it was a show. It was a pretty good show...but her gut told her it was just that. The problem was she wasn't certain what it was for. He'd played it tough to start...now this...was this to lure him in? If it wasn't, then it was a reeeeally bad idea to play it weak in front of these guys. They respected guts and steel, and that was it. Most Orc's did, and those that made a living the way these fellows did, were going to be that much more in love with it.

She licked her lips and called the fire to her finger tips...just in case, keeping one eye on Des, who was getting odd looks from a couple of savy and unimpressed Dunmer in the corner, and the other on Feric. He was now boldly swaggering to his feet, grinning. His tongue darted to the corner of his mouth, as if licking at invisible blood. He was looking oddly triumphant for some one who just pretended to get their ass handed to them. His eyes positively glowed, shining down on his challenger like a watchman's lantern.

"So," he growled through his grin, "are we going to take this outside and spare the..." he paused to cast those brilliant eyes on Dervera who was still behind the bar, her visible hand still wrapped around the bottle she'd been pouring from when the fire call went up, and graced her with that Des-rivaling smile of his before continuing, "...charming proprietress having to spend the better part of the evening scrubbing our blood out of the floor boards?"

Magub had also gotten to his feet and gave Feric a dark smile. "Fuck that."

A shift came over Feric. His eyes hardened, and his body relaxed. Last time she'd seen that look in his eyes, he still had blood dripping from his fangs. 'Damn it all to oblivion,' she thought, already calculating how long it would take before the rest of the gang broke down the door, and whether or not she'd first be able to get across the room and kill the thug, and possibly two other shifty, opportunistic fetchers eying the situation from the corner with anxious, and sharp looks. Illusion spells were fine and dandy, but they were delicate as hell. A loud enough noise'll wake almost anyone up, and Feric ripping his buddy in half would no doubt make a pretty hefty-fetching mental din, loud enough to break even a solid spell.

The Orc laughed and dusted his coat off. "This god-damned jacket is brand-fucking new. I'm not about to wreck it rolling around in the piss and mud. Not like that drunk-ass fetcher whose head I'm going to rip off if that house isn't burnt to the god-damned ground."

"If you want to rip off heads, mine's the one you want...he called out on my dollar." Every face turned to look at Feric. He smiled mildly and shrugged...though his eyes still held, hard and steady. "You know what they say about dividing and conquering...thought it was worth a go."

"Clever mother-fucker, aren't you."

"I aim to please." He drawled back.

The Orc laughed again. "What's your line?"

Feric straightened at the same moment Ina slowed the fire coursing through her limbs, shaking out her numbing fingers. In the corner of her eye she saw the still busy Des cock a brow at her.

Ina had worked with Des long enough that she could feel her magic, and knew it for what it was...and even recognized when the influence of certain Daedra was flavoring it. But that table turned both ways, and the knowing look Desdemona was shooting her was hard to ignore.

Feric held out a hand to the gangster, "My line? Perpendicular to yours at the moment, but you never know when a man will hit upon a new angle." Gro-Orum took the offered hand in his fat green mitt.

They released from the shake and the Orc turned up his lip in a sneer. "You ain't with the god-damned legion are you?"

"No."

"Good. Then buy me a fucking drink to make up for the damned crick you put in my neck," he turned to the bar and ordered two drinks with a wave of his hand, indicating that they were on Feric's tab, "but don't be mistaken about what just happened here." Gro-Orum cast a dark, sideways look back in Feric's direction. He only nodded, then turned and winked at the Dervera, causing the Dunmer woman to turn a fraction of a shade darker.

Inanna pursed her lips at the back of his head and he threw her a barely there nod over his shoulder. She sighed and sidestepped slowly to the right, throwing off the bar holding the door closed. It went down easier than it went up.

She leaned, leg up, against the wall, crossing her arms over her chest. Des wisely took her hand from the entranced Mer as the remainder of the gang came barreling in, only to find their boss and the 'pretty sonofabitch' standing at the bar together. There was a moment of confusion as their anger wavered, directionless. Orum raised a hand to pause them, adding to their confusion when he spoke. "I know there was no fire. It was this one who called it...so leave the drunk to piss hi'self in the street as he's wont to do."

Desdemona insinuated herself into the group of confused Orcs. "There appears to have been reconciliation." She smiled and shrugged, then raised her voice. "And as I am so very fond of diplomacy, I'd like to celebrate the lack of blood and property damage by calling for the next round... on me...." She swayed to the bar and put herself between Feric and the Orc boss and gave the room THE naughty smile. The killer smile to end all killer smiles. "Not literally of course, unless you're very good boys." she added.

The room relaxed and those with glasses chuckled and lifted them towards Des. Both men grinned down at her, and she graced one with a wink and the other with a bit of barely concealed smolder.

The air turned sickly sweet again, heavy with some indeterminate floral scent, and Inanna decided it was her turn to need air. As she moved to go she realized that Hassour hadn't budged from his seat, and was leaned back in his chair in the same relaxed manner he always had. Unlike the rest of the room, his eyes were on her. His stoic expression told her nothing about what was rolling around in that slippery head of his.