Making Wagers

He was entertaining. She knew when she saw the dress laid out on her bed in the small private room she’d been given off that of her Master’s (“I need to have you on hand, Kalara dear. I’m a mess without you.”) and on hand she was kept. Anything the man needed at any time night and day she would step and fetch. 

There would be men in the parlor. There would be gambling. She would be in charge of making sure the drinks stayed full and that the ‘honored guest’ felt like he was the center of her attention. This wasn’t her first time playing the distraction and as she laced up the front of her dress tight and adjusting the skirt, her long leg peeking out through the slit up the side. 

She glanced in the looking glass and added a bit of perfume to her neck. As much as she hated this particular ruse she had to make she had to admit it was fun to dress up and look nice. Her master had an affinity for the dress of Rivain and Tevinter so the fabric was largely flowing and more revealing than what one would see in Starkhaven. It looked good on her. Her long blonde curls only added to her allure and she had her hair braided in such a way that her pointed ears were obvious. She looked borderline ethereal. It was a good look. 

Yes, focus on that. Focus on the bright side. 

She moved into the kitchens through a side panel that connected her rooms to the servant centered areas, and she grabbed a tray of drinks, Who’s he after today? she asked one of the other servants, who rolled her eyes. Young one. Adventuring type. 

Kalara nodded and tossed her hair over her shoulder. At least this one was young. He might even be attractive. That would make things better. She moved into the parlor, decorated with bright and rich fabrics and tapestries from the merchant’s travels. Anyone with an eye for those things would notice that it didn’t quite fit any one region but a mesh of many. Stuff was on display, different pieces of collections he had paid others to collect to push his status up. 

Kalara, moved into the room, “Ah there she is. My lovely little jewel. Kalara dear, are those refills? Make sure Mr. Sinclair has a full glass. He’s working up a sweat taking my money.” 

Kalara smiled and moved toward the man indicted, leaning over to place a drink in front of him, giving him a wink.

Caeden leaned back into the gentleman's armchair, tempted to put a boot on the table, but instead, reaching for a cigar from a wealthy box of them. He squeezed his chin and narrowed his eyes at his hand, before looking questioningly back at Henrik Witclaw from time to time. The man had a few tells, but they weren't consistent. Still, worth a shot. As his partner clapped his hands to welcome a bustling servant, Caeden put his cards facedown on the table to focus on the cigar.

You've taken just as much of mine yourself, a charming grin plastered his face, more for the cigar he fuddled with than the other man, as he flipped a knife out to cut the tip. Henrik Witclaw had interesting contracts and the best whiskey and leaf money could buy on this side of the Free Marches. This lovely day, Caeden sat like a cat fat with a face covered in cream in the luxuries he had savored for the past hour, playing cards with the client. The treasure hunter was beginning to stuff a couple extra cigars in his pocket, when he reached for his empty glass to hand to the server. He was so quick, sharply filching it all away, that he was properly distracted with all these goodies until she was right up beside him.

Turning to the elf, glass in hand, he froze. Caeden's eyes widened in an instant as they met the heavenly curves of a she-elf, with skin like velvet and a cascade of marigolds for hair. He didn't see a pretty thing like that every day - jungles and camping and all. His fingers forgot themselves. The glass fell to the floor, and the sound of it interrupted his short trance. A heat pressed his cheeks by now, and he looked away with an quickness he hoped no one noticed was too quick. Irritated by the distraction, he cleared his throat. Henrik Witclaw sure liked them pretty, but Cae had business, and one of Witclaw's slave girls wasn't anything extra he could afford. No matter how good she smelled.

One more round, Witclaw. I heard you had that map, by the way. Want to wager it? I've got something new now. You might like it, he said. He pulled from one of the pockets inside his shirt a handkerchief, and wrapped in the handkerchief, was the most brilliant of opals, round as a baby's fist. He laid it smugly on the table. Then, he turned back his attention back to the beverage and the irresistible servant. He watched her for a few seconds, the wheels of his mind turning, as she went about her business.

Thanks, but next time, gotta do a bit more than look at me pretty, he finished with a lower voice to keep between them, sliding a flirtatious thumb across one of her fingers, and shooting her a shit-eating grin. She had a goody, innocent look to her. All eyes, no guts. He doubted there would be much more of a play from Witclaw.

It took time for this Mr. Sinclair to notice her but when he did the reaction was honestly worth it. The empty goblet clattering to the ground was enough of an indication to her that she would be able to easily wiggle into his mind and get her employer what he wanted. Maybe this time she could ask him for a raise or something of that effect if it worked. The bag of coins she kept under the floorboard of her room was every scrap of coin she’d managed to earn from the merchant. Her contract said she worked for three coppers a day, but of course her expenses were removed from that. She had a place to sleep in the manor and was kept fed and clothed. After that was taken into account she made roughly six coppers a week. It wasn’t nothing. There were elves in Tevinter that didn’t see even that.

Besides, she had never been beaten or harmed. It was all positive. She had almost fifty gold stashed away at this point. By the time her fifteen year contract was finished at the end of this year she should have that much and she wouldn’t have to sign a new one. She could move into the city proper and start her business. It was close. This was almost over for her.

But a little boost wouldn’t hurt anyone, right? She handed glasses to the other men at the table, careful not to interact with Sinclair until his eyes were on her again. It wouldn’t do to show off when he was extremely purposefully ignoring her existence. She had to admit, the opal he pulled from his pocket was beautiful and she knew without even having to look at her Master that he would jump at the chance to try and obtain it for his own.

”That is a beautiful little treasure and I would guess a quite expensive one at that. Must have been quite a difficult thing to acquire.”

Kalara leaned over now, pouring the glass, here large eyes latching onto the adventurer’s for a moment as his finger grazed her hand. His words made her raise her brow and she licked her lips, wetting them slightly, And what more would you ask of me, Sir? she whispered, leaning in so her lips just lightly grazed his ear and her hair would tickle her chin. She didn’t hate this part of her job. Flirting was fun enough, especially when the man was as good to look at as this one. All broad and lean, bright eyed and nary a wrinkle on his young features.

Yes, he was a pretty one, wasn’t he? A step above the men she was usually asked to fawn over. A smile played on her lips as she looked up to see Witclaw pull the map in question from a locked box. He set it down in the pile of gold and jewels accompanying the opal, Hardly seems fair to trade a bit of old parchment for a jewel such as that. I can at least allow you to use my good luck charm for the game. Kalara, be a dear…”

Kal knew what he meant, it was a practiced dance. She gently sat in the young man’s lap, adjusting the skirt of her dress so a fair bit of thigh was exposed, and tossing her long blonde curls over her shoulders. She smiled and reached for a match to light the man’s cigar as she sat in his lap.

Caeden's gave her a slow, lusty little smile, a compliment to her fine features.

Don't worry 'bout it, just keep the drinks coming. Maker, I love a good Marcha, he sighed and leaned back, returning to focus on the cards. He put down two and drew two more to hopefully strengthen his hand. It was an all right set of cards. A mid-tier hand was in his sights if lady luck took his side, and maybe he could pull off a bluff asking the old man if he wanted to bet his house or his slaves...

Yeah, the thought of getting a slave or two squirmed into his mind, and he shook it out like a dirty shirt. He didn't like that business. Especially with how his instincts were telling him he wanted to be served. Getting a fix sated was one thing, and he knew which little taverns and inns about the Free Marches he could get that business settled, but to do it with a slave? He didn't need that haunting him. His thoughts tickled his face as he concentrated on his hand.

Witclaw seemed to have read his mind from it. When he gave the elf as a 'good luck charm', Caeden swallowed and the smug look dropped off his face. Nervously, he made room for her, thinking she might sit beside him on the plush armchair. Instead, she wiggled onto his lap and he forced a grave look when his whole body was beginning to tense up.

By the time she lit the cigar he'd been messing around with, he was all too aware of the softness of her behind, the velvety little blonde hairs on her arm, the flowery, sweet doll-like smell of her hair, and the irresistible twist on her lips. Maker, he was feeling things. His heart kicked up beat and he leaned away to try and gather his wits back from the puddle they'd fallen into.

He brought his hand of cards protectively to his chest. He narrowed his eyes at her. She seemed a bit too eager to be a slave. Why did he think she was some goody, innocent girl? He looked for a sign she still was, not liking how his intuition had apparently failed him.

Guess you don't need me to tell you to make yourself comfortable, he said through his molars biting hard on the cigar. While he still kept his cards close to his chest, and while still giving her a sour look, he snaked his other hand around her hips to steady her. He held to her firmly, fingers digging in without shame. Maker, she was plush down there. He thought about it darkly, giving her quite the expression, and then, Caeden pulled her closer to his chest with a soft groan.

He shot Witclaw a gracious, wolfish smile, while trying to position her to look towards Witclaw and not at his damn cards. Good luck charm my ass, he said lowly in her ear, feeling the heat rise to his cheeks as her whole back pressed into his chest and her soft hair pillowed against his chin.

Kalara did not think of herself as a slave. No, Kala would have been adamant that she was a servant and there was a difference. She was paid and her contract had an end, an end that was so very close in sight. She just needed to scrape a few more coins together and wait out the rest of the year.

Deep down she knew that the distinction was barely one worth anything. She was basically bequeathed to Witclaw upon her mother’s death. The contract was for an extremely long time and the money wasn’t anything. Most of the other elves in the house spent their’s largely on self-medication for their state. Whores and booze and anything else. Kalara just planted flowers, annoying the gardeners for seeds for the little patch of grass outside her window.

As she settled on the man’s lap she tried to push those thoughts away. It was cute, him hiding his cards from her. She didn’t need to see them to know how to best help Witclaw. Cheating, at least in the traditional sense, was not her job here. No, her job was to get Sinclair off foot. She could feel him tense up, and couldn’t help the small smile. Her doe eyes latched onto his and she toyed with innocence on her features and played with one of her blonde curls.

Have I made you uncomfortable? she squirmed a little in his lap, noticing his look. The hand around her hips, firm and grasping was to be expected and she didn’t recoil at his touch, and then he looked at her in a type of way that pooled warmth in her body and she gasped as he tugged her closer to his chest. Her own cheeks were heated and she was trying not to show that he’d caught her off guard in the way he tugged her back. His chest was firm against her back in such a way that made her think about the muscles that had to be there and she found herself wetting her lips with her tongue.

Oh, this was not the usual way this went.

His voice, low and gruff in her ear had her shivering a bit against him and she turned to look at him, smile playing on her lips as she leaned to whisper in his ear, It’s not your ass I’m feeling. she winked and moved to focus back on the game. Witclaw had a smile on his face that was akin to a cat who got a huge bowl of cream and she found herself, for a rare moment, allowing herself to feel the actual disdain she felt for him. The man was a lazy fool who profited off the work of others. Her’s, Sinclair’s, other adventurers, and servants. She felt herself wanting to actually help the handsome man who held her to his chest despite the fact that it would potentially end badly for her.

Her eyes glanced down at Witclaw’s hands. When the man wasn’t confident about his hand he would curl them into tense fists. His hands were curled that way now and so tight the knuckles were white. He had nothing. He would bluff next, she could almost mouth what he would say. ”Last chance to take back your wager, Sinclair. Surely that opal is not worth this scrap of paper…”

Kalara found herself catching the warrior’s eye, shaking her head slightly at him, hoping he might heed her warning and keep his hand.

Caeden's fingers left an antsy pressure on her side because he couldn't make up his mind how to go about his predicament. Feeling lust gnaw at him and feeling shame wash over him, he grew even more rigid and flustered. 

No, it's not, he muttered tightly shifting her to sit more on his leg at the expense of giving her a better view of his hand. His fingers tightened on her side to keep her from squirming. His disheveled hair fell more into his face at the struggle of organizing the woman in his lap, and he was grateful for it. He didn't want to look at her while she was so close. He had serious matters to be thinking of. He completely missed what Witclaw had been doing. He looked from his cards to the man now like a student asked a question he didn't know the answer to. Now, Witclaw was telling him to give up. Had he read something while Caeden had lost focus? 

At least the lady had grown quiet. Some sort of seriousness possessed her. He could feel her quit her squirming and make only small movements with her head between him and Witclaw. He could also feel her lean into him which both relieved and excited him. This, in turn, made him close his eyes and cover his face with his cards like a wealthy woman about to faint. This was too much for him. He'd been out in the wilderness for a few weeks before leaping into Witclaw's hospitality. The lures of such an elf, now, with so much whiskey in them on top, made him wonder how much he wanted the map and the opal. (He'd never been with an elf before, but he heard they were wild.) His reluctant, curious fingers trailed up her hips edging along the softness of her stomach and tracing the embroidery of her dress. 

Give me a moment, Witclaw. It's a nice dress. You know I love a proper stem stitch, he seemed to bluff, but really, it was just an attempt to buy time. Torn between his thoughts and the feel of her, Caden continue to let his fingers follow the paths of the embroidery up her stomach as his mind raced. Witclaw's tone of voice felt contrived, but the bourgois man was always one to brag, too. Witclaw, the gentleman. Witclaw, the coward. His logic tangled. He swallowed as it hit him: He had to bail. His hand stopped, lowering with defeat as his future set upon him. Months getting that opal to tempt Witclaw, wasted. 

Caaden avoided looking at her, resignation toying at his eyes as he finally stopped hiding his face in the cards, and began to reach forward it to throw them down. He didn't care if she saw them as he began to lean forward.