At the Sign of the Dancing Dove [closed]

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It took little time to send Braden into a drunken, slumbering sleep. He had already been heavily intoxicated, and thus just a couple of glasses more made his obnoxious and angry ramblings come to a stop. She sighed heavily in relief. But of course, her brief moment of contentment ended the moment she remembered the man from her past, his break in, threats, that haunted look in his eyes, and the precious item he had stolen from her.
She would find no sleep just yet.

Assuring she would not be seen, Sylena slipped on her heavy, wool cloak and fled from the manor, towards the stables where she took one of the horses. She really did not know where to look for this tavern of sorts, but at least she knew where to ask. To some, and she was very well aware not to all, she appeared as the perfect, proper noblewoman, but there was no history of money in her life, even when she had been courted by the man whose name will forever haunt her. Whose face would never leave her now, ever again. No, she had been like them...like these peasants loitering the streets of the city- a thief, a dancing gypsy. An outcast.
Sylena knew where to go, where to ask, the right things to say to get what she wanted without having to weaken herself by using that so-called "gift"...but when she found her way to the alley as instructed by the gangly fellow who claimed to have information about this secret tavern, she thought she had been fooled.

There was no tavern in sight. Not even the businesses around were still open at this time of night.
Tethering her horse nearby, Sylena dismounted and began to approach the dark alley, cautiously observing the shadows, hearing nothing but the soft, echoing sound of her heels upon the cobblestone. Then, suddenly, she began to hear noises the closer she got- voices, the scuffle of any normal tavern somewhere nearby, very faint to her ears. Yet still, she saw nothing.
Continuing to advance closer, steps purposely became quieter as if to hear where the noises were coming from...and then suddenly, a dark figure was standing in her way; a thick hand grasping her roughly by a forearm.

Inside, one of Xilas' men found their way through the mass of loud people and over to Bishop, leaning over the counter near Cullen to speak. "Bones found a trespasser. A woman who claims to be looking for one of us." He spared him the details. It was clear that those of "their kind" were not welcomed, and if one was ever caught trying to enter, that it could mean a variety of things. For all they knew, this woman could be a spy, a traitorous wench working for a rival.
There were reasons why this place was kept on the down low.
"They got her locked up downstairs," he continued.

Moments later, Sylena found herself in a cold, damp room, somewhere below ground. If she hadn't been so annoyed, she might have squirmed in discomfort from the rats that kept skittering across the floor. Noble woman she was not, that mouth screamed out every single curse and all the crude words she knew, pounding and kicking at the wooden door that locked from the outside. She should be kicking herself for even following the stupid sign left by that pig-headed son-of-a-bitch.

[ @cullen ]

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And here he had been enjoying a quiet, peaceful evening…

The Dancing Dove was alive tonight with the crass musical stylings of a bawdy singer and a horde of drunken patrons, the air thick with smoke, song, and the smell of the ale that they brewed right there on-premises. There was one man, however, that everyone left alone. If his size and stature didn't dissuade pickpockets and those looking for a fight, the strange air of menace and barely contained fury did. And those eyes, those inhuman, amber-colored eyes.
Cullen sat, brooding over a barely touched mug of ale as the commotion of the Dancing Dove churned around him. A calm port in a storm. In his fingers, he turns a small, delicate pearl comb over and over as though he might find answers hidden in its woven design. Other than the strange expression etched into his features, he appeared unconcerned that he was holding such a blatantly valuable item out in the open in a den of thieves and ne'er-do-wells. That is, until, in a quick flash, he suddenly had a scrawny arm twisting in his grasp, his steely eyes blazed as they turned not to regard an unremarkable face but the offending limb he held prisoner. "Oh look. A hand. One that does not belong to me and yet I found wandering where it shouldn't. I was just looking for something to fill the empty space on my wall." his casual offhand tone was almost conversational and hardly what anyone would call threatening and yet that’s what the end effect was – downright menacing. Now, as those eyes flick to the owner of the hand, his voice turns chilly, "Perhaps I should have it stuffed and mounted...what do you think?" He quirked his head to the side as though he were really asking a question in which the answer would have significance in the outcome…though his tone implied something quite different.

Before the child could even wet himself in fear, he overheard the message that was relayed to the bartender, his ears honing in on the mention of a 'woman' who was looking for 'one of us'. Could it be? Could she really be that stupid? That…'crazy'?

Cullen's sudden bark of laughter seemed to scare the child more than his casual threats to his person. He'd realized that, yes, she was that crazy. The Guild that ran the Dancing Dove didn't consider Cullen 'one of them'. He was just... an associate, one who was sometimes useful. So they put up with him. But they wouldn't if he was giving away admission to their headquarters to strangers. Especially women. A noblewoman, at that. And a crazy one, too. Perhaps he shouldn't be laughing. Still, he could not help the amused smirk on his face as he turned to the bartender or the chuckle in his voice. "I think..." he could barely speak through his obvious mirth at the situation but especially at the thought of her face at being locked up down there...because of him. Through his humor, he managed to speak up. "I think I might be able to tell you who she is." Oh, this was going to be fun...

Moments later, keys jangled and clanged against the door an instant before it was pushed open and Cullen stepped through, ducking his head under the low lintel. The door closed behind him by an unseen hand. The moment he laid eyes on her there, in her fancy dress with a wildness about her that looked as though she was about to claw the walls in her fury, his already wide smirk broadened. "M'Lady Avant" he murmured feinting a polite, gentlemanly dip of his head as though they were just two normal people who happened to run into one another in the market. He did not even attempt to conceal his mirth behind the mock formality. "Fancy seeing you here." He adds, leaning back against the stone wall casually, unable to contain his mirth at the situation. And since his daring knew no bounds, he crosses his arms, regarding her with a smile, "To what do I owe the...honor?" The pause and the feigned, simpering affectation he used on that last word making it clear just what an honor it was. It also subtly reminded her that her presence hadn't always what those in society would call an honor; he knew where she had come from and how she had come to be as she was today.

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"Are any of you bloody imbeciles listening to me?!" she called out, followed by more crude words from such a "noble lady". She pounded against the door until her hands were sore, spinning around the room to find an exit that she thought she may have somehow managed to miss. Her frustration only grew, evident in her constant growls and screams of anger as her pleas continued to go unanswered.
Sylena truly didn't know why she had come here, fortunate to have stumbled upon one of the secret passages that apparently were near impossible for even in those in the guild to remember. It was this intuition she had, this...odd sense of direction that pulled at her core like an inner compass with a mind of its own. This time it had been stronger, and though she had always claimed it to be part of her "gift", or curse if you will, it had been different this time.
She came all this way for a comb? That bastard took it, left his note, and for what? To torment her, knowing this would happen? It was all she had left of Jarrin...besides those reoccurring nightmares now, courtesy of Cullen as well.

Her calling out suddenly turned into a loud shriek of horror as she finally took notice of one of her cell mates- a furry, little critter scampering across the stone floor in a hole in the wall. "Somebody please!" she cried, rushing over to the shaky, wooden chair by its table, the only pieces of furniture in this hell, and climbed onto it. Hands gripped into her skirts, waving them around frantically to make sure a rat hadn't decided to nest in them.
That man was going to die.
And as if he knew and was stepping willingly to his death, she heard the door open. And there with that cheeky grin. Smiling, he was smiling like an idiot, obviously pleased at her display of unease. "You..." she spoke that single word, voice dropping so low that it growled out from her chest.

The disease infected creatures that littered the floor were so easily forgotten and replaced by the hatred and sudden need to claw that grin from his face. She stepped down from the chair and took hasty steps towards him as though she were prepared to slam against him or send wild fists at his face. And yet, she stopped but a few inches in front of him, glaring up at him with those fiery eyes. "Give it back," she ordered, fingernails curling into her palms as she tried so hard not to lash out at him.
Well, that control didn't last very long, and she couldn't hold back that urge to kick out at one of his shins as hard as she could, wanting to cripple him. "What was this all about, you filthy ingrate?! Huh? You just wanted me to come here so you could harass me even further? Well, come on then!" Madly she went to try and hit him again, this time trying to slap him across the face.

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The screeches that he could hear all the way out in the hall weren’t would have been enough to make him laugh but the sight of her on that chair, shaking her skirts frantically as though there were an army of rats in there rather than just one made him let out another bark of laughter. Then, as if he wasn’t in enough trouble with her already, Cullen let the amusement remain as a smirk across his face as he replied with a smile, albeit smug, "Me..." in the rough, gravely voice of his. The word had barely left his lips before she came hurtling across the small room at him, charging up and hissing into his face, reminding him very much of an enraged house cat than anything else. "I'm guessing you found my messa-" he got no further however as she suddenly aimed a kick at his shins. Snarling more in irritation than pain, he reached out to take hold of her arm and perhaps control her so they might talk but she was too angry for that. As though this weren’t already clearly in evidence, her hand darted up to slap him! Lips twisting into a quick snarl, Cullen caught the arm before it could strike him, yanking it down and behind her, effectively locking her body against his. Pivoting he turned to press her back against the now closed door. They were right back where they had been back in her husband's home. "Come on now...is that any way to treat your host?" Though he spoke with the cadence and manner of a gentleman, it lost it's casual propriety by the fact that it was spoken in a growl less than an inch from her face, his inhuman eyes darkening threateningly.

Keeping her in place with his iron grip and large frame, Cullen dipped his head and lowered his voice, speaking for only her to hear, "Enough. I thought that you and I could talk someplace where I wouldn't be forced to make a mess murdering your husband." Drawing back enough so that he could look her in the eye, the derisive expression in them gave away his displeasure at what his threat implied. "Not as a favor to you but to save myself time and effort that could be better spent elsewhere rather than silencing the man in other, more costly ways. Now," he gives his arms a stiff jerk as though to punctuate this and make certain she is paying attention. "Do not make this more difficult than it has to be and calm down."

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She growled out in protest as her futile attempt to smack off that smug grin from his face had failed, and found herself pinned there against him, unable to move to try again. It wasn't hard to realize how royally ticked off Sylena was...but now, it managed to get worse.
Gritting her teeth, bright, piercing eyes glared up at him as he attempted to make his peace, tried to make it clear that this was for her own good so that they could have a "safe place" to talk. If she didn't die from the damp coldness of the room, she'd surely be eaten alive by those dog-sized rodents!

Oh, she wanted to kill him...so...very...badly...

With her back pressed against the closed door, she truly had nowhere to go. Her free arm could do nothing but curl fingers into the fabric of his shirt, either in pure frustration or to keep herself from trying something that would simply make matters worse. Cullen’s gruff words were met with her own; voice lowered but the angered tension in her tone did not go unnoticed as she replied, close against his ear, "We have nothing further to speak of. You came here to kill me, failed, and that's the end of it." The words "nice" and "courteous" didn't often rest within her vocabulary. Even if his gesture was, in a way, a good one...she didn't understand why he bothered. She figured she would not see him again after this night. All she wanted was that comb back and she would be on her way; plotting to kill the man he had made a comment about just seconds ago. Even if her husband wasn’t a captain that commanded several Mystic prisoners to be taken captive, she wouldn’t have remained with him so willingly. She probably wouldn’t have found herself in Ethion, in luxury. Not that she would repeat any of that to this white-haired bastard.

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He didn’t let go of her, keeping his grip tight, not trusting himself just yet. How he loathed this woman, even now. It surprised him little to realize this even knowing the truth about Jarrin's death. Discovering that she was not the one to betray his lord, master, friend, and brother could not and would never undo the years of dislike and distrust that had come before nor in the years since. It was almost a habit…
Expecting another attempt from her, Cullen stiffed but she merely hissed her venomous poison at him. Irritating, yes, but harmless were it not for years of mutual dislike having conditioned him to hate her. So, what should have been a mere annoyance set those bright eyes ablaze again. His hand came to her throat, wrapping around it without hesitation exerting no pressure, just showing her how easy it was.

After a brief moment, staring down at her with blistering eyes, he spoke, “Understand this, Witch…I came here to kill the one responsible for Jarrin’s death. Had you been guilty, you would now be dead so don’t you dare try pretending as though you’ve won something just because you aren’t. The only thing I failed to do was to end your sorry life for a crime you did not commit…but I can remedy that should you so desire…” All the while he had spoken in a rumbling, growling whisper but only there did it turn conversational, as though he were honestly offering her a choice. He would wait another moment, staring down at her as she made her choice, now or never before releasing her and taking a step back. “Anyway, I was under the impression that our conversation hadn’t been finished so much as…interrupted.” His lips pull into a sneer, more humor now than cruelty though the latter was still there, in abundance within those strange eyes.

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So sensitive. So angered, easily so. It didn't take much to spark that inner rage, to release the lion from its cage, and it was awfully tempting to do so any chance she got. Sylena couldn't help it, it was like he was brought here for her own amusement and pleasure. Her own personal pet to mock and enrage.
She actually grinned when he grasped her by the throat, growling out those words to her face. Just because she smiled, it didn't mean that she didn't believe him. Oh, she knew that if she angered him enough that he would hold true to his threats. Maybe, for a brief moment, she was counting on it. Maybe she even wanted him to.
This was a miserable existence anyway.

Syl wanted badly to challenge him; hand lifting to grasp his wrist, ready to puncture skin with her nails if need be. But he let her go. Subject and the tension within the air changed, leaving her, for just a fraction of a second, stunned. What else was there to speak of? Hadn't they resolved the whole issue? She didn’t kill Jarrin, they both still hated each other...what else was there?
Brows inched together in thought, confusion evident in those bright depths. "What more do you wish to say to me?" she asked, her voice small. All she wanted was her comb back, and then to leave this god forsaken place and from his sight forever.

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So calculating. Devious, like a slithering serpent. Her maneuverings found their marks, releasing that easy anger. Over these last years, there had been no cause or desire to check that rage. And he had used it, to great effect. Now, it seemed he had met his match in both fury and cunning. Where he used violence, she used words; even when he fell to sarcasm, she punctured it with that rapier tongue of hers. It was like she was brought into his life specifically to make a misery of it. His own personal demon to haunt him.

That grin, sly and mocking in the face of his anger only served to further fuel his flaring temper. With an effort he had not exercised in recent years, Cullen struggled to suppress the fire because he knew, no matter what her lips said, that her eyes believed his threat- no- his promise.

Still, the surprise at his words were clear in her expression and when she asked her question, Cullen was momentarily taken with the urge to give her nothing, no comb nor answers. He had the power in that moment, the power of knowledge. Still…she had given him answers and, though it was buried deep beneath years of hate and violence, he had once been called a gentleman and it would not let such a thing stand. "Tell me, witch…" he began, eyeing her with dark, glinting eyes. Taking a step forward into her space, he continued, his tone almost conversational. "...do you love your husband?"
His expression, the set of his mouth, the humorless flashing of those eyes seemed to more ask if she even liked her husband. 

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Perhaps she was a glutton for punishment, something she had learned to endure in other aspects of the phrase when she had chosen the wrong man to become her husband. But no, this one was different. Yes, Cullen was brought here for her own amusement. To delight her in his pain. To haunt him with her words. That was what fate had done. It had to be.
But he had shut out those thoughts when he spoke again, leaving her there in her confusion, wondering if this was all a trick. Perhaps he had changed his mind and was ready to kill her after all. Or, maybe, just leave her in worse misery.
She somehow managed to hate him even more right now...

As he approached, she found herself backing up until she knew the wall was but inches away again. And she'd glare up at him, watching and analyzing, trying to decipher his motive before he had said those words. There was a fear that crawled up the spine of a woman when a man, other than her husband, said those words...but Sylena knew far too well, even with that dark glint in his eyes, that she would be the very last woman he ever dare bed. There was something worse in his tone of voice. Far worse.
And she was caught off guard once more, staring up at him with those wandering blue eyes, questioning and finding no answer, no hidden meaning behind his words. Brows furrowed gently before she managed to answer, "Of course I don't." The words had meant to come out defiant and strong...but instead, they sounded worried.

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Cullen was used to punishment. It was foolish to expect anything less out of his life. For a time, he had let himself fall into the belief that it could be more but that was all gone now. Experience had hardened him to the point where he had resigned himself to whatever life he could scrounge together long enough to have his vengeance.

Though there may still yet be some small infinitesimal part of him that was honorable enough not to send her away with neither comb nor answers, that did not stop him from being mildly satisfied at seeing the flash of fear that crossed her features as she took in his words nor the quaver in her voice as she answered. His head tipped to the side slightly. "I cannot say I am surprised." He admits. And truly, he wasn't. In that instant when he had seen into her memories, Cullen had felt her pain. Though it had aged, its jagged edges, worn down over time, had not lessened in strength. It had become an old pain, one that was familiar and not only to her. It had echoed so in tune with this ache. They both felt the loss of Jarrin every day. Perhaps it is for that reason that they both loathed the other so, for being a reminder. Or because there was no one left to hate.

Her answer, wrought lopsided smirk from that hardened mouth. "Well then, it would seem the feeling is mutual..." he murmured softly, angling his head down and lowering his voice to a whisper. "Considering he hired someone to kill you." He did not bother to soften the news. He should expect her previous admission to go a long way to doing that for him. Still, should it cause her some measure of pain…well, he found he that did not bother him so much. Perhaps he wasn't so honorable after all.

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It was only then that she seemed to allow herself to shrink in front of him, even if it was a small quivering of this sudden lack of defiance. She would certainly regret it later once she realized how her slender shoulders seemed to rise up to the sides of her face when she took that final step back to feel the cold, dirty and damp dungeon wall at her back. She cringed.

A furrow of her brow at his first response, Sylena then managed to appear stunned and yet knowledgeable of this further information both at the same time. As if she knew that bastard planned on sending someone to end her life, just not so soon. Drawing in a slow breath, that porcelain face tilted towards Cullen; that usual look of demand evident in those bright blues. "And I suppose you know who this assassin is..." she replied, but it didn't sound like a question. Why else would he have bothered to bring her here and fill her in on this interesting bit of information? Honestly, she didn't think it wise to go into some sort of bargain with this man, but there probably wasn't much of a choice in the matter now.

Even still, there remained a little amount of surprise that her dear husband could be that brazen. Did he know what she was and what she was up to? It would seem that her timeline to find the prisoners was pushed up far sooner. Shit.

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That single step back, without his needing to advance, to close that small bit of space between them - made the hint of a smile glinting in his eyes now twitch across his lips. And Cullen felt as though he'd won something by shaking her composure yet again. He had succeeded in scaring her time and time again tonight, he need not continue. Yet he could not seem to stop himself from moving forward, a hand coming up to press against the wall just by her head as he leaned in close. Something about her, about the way she looked at him with wide eyes, so close to stark nakedness that he only wanted to see more.

At her unmistakably questioning remark, that quick smirk tugged at his mouth as though in response to some private joke. "Aye..." he breathed with a slow nod, his eyes never leaving hers. "As do you..." another smirk, this one less mirthful. It was almost...hesitation. He seemed to almost pull back then, as though making a decision there and then, braced himself, took a breath, and told her the truth. "Me." There was no trace of laughter in his eyes now, only that cold distance, that harsh truth. as he went on. "You didn't think I'd found you by chance did you?"

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There was indeed that fear deep down in the pit of her stomach that was slowly beginning to rise and express more on her face. However, even as he let his words loom over her, even as he leaned in with that dark, menacing look, that feral determination remained within her eyes while she glared up at him...despite the sudden weakness in her knees with the urge to run.

That glare only deepened when she saw the soft tug of his lips into a smirk, making the desire to smack it off suddenly return. However, her stomach began to twist into knots; some knowing at the back of her head coming forth...like she did, truly, know of whom he spoke of. It didn't register until he spoke that one-worded answer that her true fear quickly settled in.

This had all just been his plan, wasn't it? To lure her away to this hellhole where he could finish her off, where there were no witnesses around to care and take a second glance in her direction if the life was sucked from her.

Like a startled animal, Sylena swiftly moved from that wall, swatting his arm away from beside her head as she backed up towards the door. She knew full well that it was locked, but there was that need to try it again, knowing her life was suddenly on the line. Her blue eyes burned as they watched him, her heart thumping loudly in her chest...but even still, she wasn't the type to simply stand there and allow this bastard to take her life.
She'd claw and bite and thrash before she took her last breath.

"I assume he's giving you decent money for the job. How much?" her words hissed from her lips, that venomous tone returning. "I'm sure you're absolutely delighted to take this job, hmm? I suppose bribing you is out of the question..."

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He watched as the fear in her eyes mounted, spreading to the rest of her face despite her desperate attempts to conceal it, tempering it with anger and pride. Cullen saw the instant the truth of his admission sank in. He was prepared for her reaction. Or he thought he was. He had been prepared for indignation but not renewed suspicion. Not the reaction of a terrified animal, her tiny form sweeping past him to flee for her life. He didn't move as she knocked his hand aside with surprising strength, instead closing his eyes with a weary sigh and shook his head. Hadn't they been through this, already? "I do believe we already went through this…" he mutters in answer to his own question.

Pushing away from the wall, Cullen turned to regard her, his dark eyes narrowed with renewed irritation at her idiocy. "Oh, do shut up, you daft woman!" he sneered. Fine, he decided. If she would rather be an idiot, preferring to see his confession as a preamble to murder rather than the warning it had been than he could enable her and her neurosis a bit longer. Pivoting, he crossed his arms and allowed his shoulder blades to slam back into the hard, stone wall of the basement room. "To tell you the truth, I would've taken the job at half the price he offered!" he growled nastily, shrugging in an offhand, conversational manner. Actually, he would very well have done the job for free; getting an offer of payment had just been a delightful bonus. An act of kismet...or so he had thought at the time.

"Of course, that was before." he was snapping at her now, his words coming as sharp punctuations in the small room. He sighs, turning away from her to run his hands trough through his long, tangled hair. With his back to her, he spoke softly, as though he wasn't sure whether he was speaking to her or himself. "He loved you." he paused before saying the name, the one that hurt the both of them to hear, "Jarrin." He turned to look at her finally, his dark eyes inscrutable. "And all this time I just-...I thought you- ...I didn't know." he paused again, as though composing something in his head to make sure he was ready to say it. When the words came, they started slow but gained speed quickly. "And I figured…because of that...because he loved you and you loved him...and I loved him...that I owed it to him to tell you that your husband wants you dead." His words gained momentum as they poured out of him and he was moving steadily forward, advancing on her again, his irritation not forgotten yet. Not hardly... "But if you'd still rather make me out to be your would-be murderer, by all means, let me know so I can oblige you you foolish, stubborn, idiotic woman!" he was roaring at her again, the silly woman. Gods, she was going to drive him mad...Again.

[Deleted]

None of this was making much sense to her. She could see the venom in his eyes, hear it in his words as he spoke to her...feel the tension in the air between them as he moved in close, threatening her with his taller stature. His aggression, however, slowly began to draw her out from that fright behind her eyes and into an anger of her own.

Sylena had only pressed up a little more against the wall as he spat words at her, only furthering her annoyance. And purposely. It wasn't hard to hear the sarcasm, the intentional push to send her into another rage-filled fit at his mere existence. It was like he was desperately wishing for her to claws his pretty eyes out.

However, after he spoke and turned away from her, she stood there in shock. That was before? How did it change? Why on earth would he suddenly change his mind after carrying this deep hatred for her after so many years? Her jaws clenched tightly as he continued on, drawing her back into those once hidden memories that she had fought so hard to forget.

Jarrin. She could hardly say his name anymore. Simply thinking it was difficult enough to handle. Sylena could remember those nights of uncontrollable sobs and tears...and she didn't want to go back there.
She didn't want to remember any of it.

And just like that, the mood changed.

Syl jumped slightly as he approached her once more in that menacing stride, his mood of just moments before returning without warning. Her arm instantly reached out to its full length; small hand cupping his neck as if to stop him, but she did not threaten, did not attempt to try and choke him. Her back was flat against the wall once more.

"Then what are you, Cullen? What now, if you are not going to slit my throat?" Did he want some sort of prize for growing that small bit of a conscience? For informing her of something that she should have already known, considering she had already planned to kill her husband. She only needed a little more time to acquire the information she sought on the whereabouts of the Mystic prisoners.