Tales after Dusk 05

She ignores him; if she weren't overly irritated, she might be slightly hurt by his lack of enthusiasm or gratefulness. Walking to the door, she places her hand on the knob, "You will send us back now?"

"Not quite. You will need something to kill her with. It is quite a conundrum, because an evil nymph can only be killed by a good nymph," Mayweather produces the white fluffy feather; with one puff, she turns it back into a dagger. Then, without hesitation, she plunges it into her stomach. Bright purple blood instantly starts seeping into her dress.

"What—no!" Thorin gasps. At a loss as to what to do, he remains still, completely in shock.

"Shit!" Alecta says, taking Mayweather by the shoulders and easing her back onto the sofa, "Couldn't you have just cut your palm or something?"

Mayweather pulls the knife from her stomach, handing the purple covered blade to Alecta, "Not the same thing. It has to be a full commitment," she places her hand over the wound. "Now go, I will be fine," she says faintly, shooing the woman away from her.

Alecta hesitantly takes the dagger, looking over the nymph. She knows that the wound is fatal. The two exchange a serious glance, as if coming to an understanding—Alecta understands the severe, desperate nature of the task she has been given.

Alecta quickly puts her cloak on before she turns and walks to the door, cracking it a little. Just beyond the dark wooden porch is a dirt road, and across that is the Inn where her and her men are staying. Quickly she opens the door wider and shoves Thorin through. As she closes the door behind her, she takes one last look at the dying nymph on the chair, before the latch clicks shut.

"She really will be fine, won't she," Thorin states, though his voice lacks conviction.

"She is a nymph, they are tricky, shifty creatures," Alecta says, looking down at the dagger. She slides it through the slit in her gown, into the sheath beneath, "I am sure she will be fine," she lies, "So, Thorin is it?"

He nods slowly, tearing his eyes off of the dark street before them to turn to her. Her pale skin glows in the faint star light, hair perfectly piled on top of her head. If he hadn't experienced the past hour with her, he would have no idea that she was capable of everything she just accomplished. There is an odd pang in his chest, almost a yearning when she glances briefly at him. He wonders what or who decided that they were the perfect match for each other as he would have never thought twice—not even once—to consider a woman of her status or profession a viable option as a companion. He wishes to know her name but when he opens his mouth to demand it, he finds the words that flow out to be almost alien to his character, "And despite the fact that you have now kissed me twice, had me thrown into prison before breaking me out, committed several criminal offenses against the guards in this town and have vowed to help me regain my throne, I still don't know your name."

She looks at him curiously, wondering if he is attempting to charm her. Surely, she thinks, that being proclaimed his 'true love' and forced into helping him regain his throne must be a mistake. Or better yet, an intentional curse set upon her by some higher entity as punishment for the unsavory life of crime she has led. Instead of offering up her name, she continues, "Well we can't go around calling you that; might cause some confusion, you know what with the fact that while you are the Prince you really aren't the Prince right now. So from here on out, your name is Thorne."

He nods slowly, appraising the abrasive woman before him, "I like that. Thorne—sharp and piercing."

Alecta rolls her eyes, "Yes, similar to how you are now a thorn in my ass." She leans back against the dark door, watching the traffic on the street before her. Her trained eyes scan each face, each movement so that she can deduct the shadowy person beneath it.

"So you are a thief?" He queries, finding it hard to take his eyes off of her. Despite her demeanor, her confidence and ease only adds to her overall appeal. He finds it fascinating that she has no fear of him, neither because he is the Prince or a man. Normally most people he has encountered, even those of high standing, cower slightly in his presence. Yet even though their status differs as much as possible, she treats him as if he were merely another average person—something that he hasn't experienced ever in his life.

"Master thief and confidence woman," she corrects him almost proudly, "and I am a part of a troupe. If we are to accomplish this, we will need their help. And it won't come cheap, either."

Thorne nods, "I understand. Once I am reinstated, I will be able to offer them a respectable reward."

She gives him a look, "I would have broken you out of prison and smuggled you out of town for a respectable reward. We will be risking our very lives for this—respectable won't get you anywhere." She draws up her hood and steps out into the street, carrying on as if she is taking a stroll; her casual pace doesn't even hint to the fact that they were being pursued by guards moments ago.

"I see," he says, drawing up his own hood and walking along side of her, "Then let's say a thousand gold coins. Each."

"Ha," she laughs slightly, "That is a respectable reward. At the level of our skill and expertise, none of us would take less than five thousand," she glances at him, "Each. Plus a full pardon for all crimes we have already committed and will commit on your behalf. Oh, and there are five of us total."

"Five thousand! Each?!" He gasps, following her into the Inn. The main floor is loud and bustling with activity, yet Alecta calmly walks towards the stairs and ascends them. Thorne follows her, trying to keep calm though his heart pounds wildly in his chest. He has never been here before and it seems like a horrible idea to so openly walk across a crowded, confined area. He fights the urge to run and forces himself to mimic her slow pace. The entire time he feels as if every pair of eyes is set upon him. His nerves subside slightly when they make it to the last room at the end of the balcony. Silently, she opens the door, waiting for Thorne to enter first.

She shuts the door behind her, pointing to a small, rough looking chair near a table. Thorne sits down, heart still pounding with worry. The room, by his standards, is small though for being in an Inn it is quite large. It has a fire place with a pair of outdated plush chairs before it. Six small beds line the far wall to his right. Aside from a few end tables, a privacy screen and the set of chairs that accompany the table he is at, the room is sparse.

Alecta remains at the door, back pressed against the wall as if she is waiting. Though they hear no footsteps, there is a swift knock on the door; two thumps, a pause, and a single thump. Alecta opens the door, letting in four men before shutting it behind them.

"Is this the wanker then? I thought you were supposed to send him packing," Aiken says, looking over the man sitting in the chair.

"The situation has changed," Alecta says calmly, shifting so that her back is leaning against the door.

"Is that so?" Kane almost states, eyeing Alecta, "You know our rules about this—you didn't ask."

"We don't even know who he is, how can we trust him? He's already seen too much of us," Jasper grumbles as he stands facing the fireplace, trying to keep his back to Thorne so that he doesn't see his face.

Alecta takes a deep breath, trying to figure out where to start, "He needs our services. And he is willing to pay," she says softly.

Basil sits on the edge of one of the half dozen beds in the room, "I am wondering if your judgment has gotten clouded..."

The irritation on her face is obvious—she doesn't appreciate these men using her gender against her, "This is Prince Thorin. The real one." She snaps.

All four men pause to look at Thorne, sitting on the chair with his perfect posture and straight back. Despite the fact that their standing is several, several classes below his, he finds himself feeling uncomfortable and out of place in the room.

"Horse shit, now we know you're losing it Alecta," Aiken says, turning back to her.

In a flash, she is on him, dagger drawn and held to his throat, "Give me your coin pouch," she growls.

Aiken tries to lean back uncomfortably to get away from her knife; despite his large size, the fear is evident in his face. With a slightly unnerved hand he grabs the pouch off of his belt and holds it out to her. Alecta snatches it, retreating back to her spot by the door. She rummages through the pouch, looking at several coins before pulling one out in particular and tossing it to Aiken, "See for yourself, imbecile."

Aiken catches the coin in midair; on its face, he sees a portrait baring a likeness to that of Thorin, "So? With the right clothing and a crown it could be Basil."

She rolls her eyes, "The point is, the picture on the coin isn't anything close to that of the fat ogre sitting in the castle right now."

Aiken's head tilts to the side, "I suppose," he reluctantly agrees, tossing the coin to Basil to look at; he passes it around.

"So if this is the Prince, who is the guy in the castle?"

"A decoy. Turns out that story you told about Mayweather and Carabosse was true. Carabosse enacted her fury even further and after the town fell into sleep, she somehow swapped the Prince out for another man. I am guessing she did that so no one would ever be able to wake him. Then she stole the memories of Thorin from everyone that was asleep, so that in the event the town woke up, no one would remember him."

Jasper's brow crinkles, "Then how—"

Alecta throws up her arms, "I apparently woke him up. Hell if I know why or how—I was shadowing Talia in the castle, then the next minute I was down in the servant's quarters. I—I kissed Thorin and that was when everyone woke up. It must have happened at the exact moment that Talia kissed the faux Prince."

Basil shakes his head, shrugging and turns to Thorin, "Women, huh?"

Thorin eyes him; though there is humor in his statement he finds that he is unable to laugh at it with his life on the line.

"So what's the proposition?" Kane asks curiously. "Help him get back to being Prince?"

"Right," Alecta nods. "We have to find Carabosse, steal the townsfolk's memories back and then kill her."

"Kill her. A nymph." Jasper reiterates skeptically, "And if we were to agree to do this, what would be the reward?"

Alecta looks at Thorne, "A thousand gold coins."

"A thousand!" Aiken exclaims, "I wouldn't put my boots on for a thousand."

"No," Kane shakes his head, "Nor I. Four thousand, perhaps but even then...eh, I don't know. It sounds dangerous."

Basil lights his pipe and puffs on it a bit, "I wouldn't do it for four thousand."

Thorne looks at Alecta; she nods. Rising to his feet, he slowly walks to the fire place while speaking, "Five thousand gold coins." All of the men look at him; when he reaches the fire he pauses for a moment, before turning around. Clasping his hands behind his back he continues, his voice calm and steady, "Plus a full pardon, for all of the crimes that I suspect you have already committed, plus those you will commit in my name. Assuming that the task is a success."

Aiken shifts awkwardly in his chair, "A pardon, huh?"

Slowly nodding, Kane adds, "Well, I suppose if five thousand is the best you can do...for the crimes that we have already committed?"

Thorne raises a brow at the man, "Only in Briartown obviously, but yes."

Jasper holds his hand out to Thorne, "All right, I'm in." He nods to Alecta and walks out of the room. Slowly, the other men agree. Each shakes Thorne's hand before following Jasper's lead and leaving. Kane is the last one and the only one to hesitate. After a few moments of silence, he shakes Thorne's hand but stops to talk softly to Alecta.

"Do you need me to stay?" He all but whispers.

She huffs, "Hardly. Believe you me, whatever was there when he was asleep died the instant he opened his mouth. Regardless, we need to stay hidden until morning; the guards are still out looking for us. Could you bring up some food?"

"Sure thing," he says, squeezing her shoulder before leaving the room.

Without looking at Thorne, Alecta sits on the bed closest to the privacy screen and begins taking off her boots, rubbing her feet. She digs through her bag for a different set of clothes. Thorne watches her curiously.

"Alecta, is it?" He blatantly asks again, still having not heard it from her mouth.

She nods without speaking. Dousing a cloth with a pitcher from the table, she begins to wash her face.

"So, you...live with these men?" He is curious about her relationship with them, how the details play out. He tries to casually rest his arm on the mantel of the fireplace while he gazes at her.

She gives him an exasperated look before grabbing her clothes and stepping behind the changing screen. Her dress soon appears over the top of it, "I guess you could say it like that, though none of us have a home."

"But you sleep in the same room as them?"

"Don't be prudent, Thorne," she huffs, "These men are like my brothers. We have been through the trenches together. When we are fortunate enough to rent a room we always share."

"Brothers," he repeats, "So then you've never been...involved...with any of them..."

Alecta steps out from behind the screen, long curly brown hair draped down around her shoulders. She has shed the dress and changed into a simple cream colored shirt, with a tight green waist bodice around her middle and a pair of brown wool pants. The clothes fit her form almost better than the dress, though they don't show off but a fraction of the cleavage she was sporting before. With her hair down and the thick makeup wiped off of her face, she appears to be an entirely different woman. Her simple beauty and wise brown eyes lead him to believe that she is someone unlike anyone else he has ever known.

She gives him an irritated look; there is a swift knock of their code on the door. Alecta opens it—Kane hands her two huge steaming bowls of stew before disappearing. She places Thorne's on the table as he walks across the room to meet her but instead of joining him she sits on the worn chair before the fireplace, feet curled up beneath her.

Picking at his stew, Thorne watches her curiously. Not only is her behavior somewhat rude, it almost seems like she is going out of her way to distance herself from him. Normally he would be completely offended by the treatment but he discovers that he is so fascinated by her that it doesn't bother him in the slightest. She is from an entirely different world, one that he has never even speculated about. While he is a smart, educated man he realizes that he feels slightly inept around her and her knowledge of things that he has never considered. "You said nine out of ten times a person doesn't get out of prison—how can you be so sure about it?"

Her voice is cold, almost cruel when she speaks to him, "Oh you care now that you have been in prison—but before, when you were sitting pretty on your throne I doubt you ever gave it a second thought. No town is perfect, least of all yours. I bet that maybe one in fifty men that get thrown into your prison actually deserves it."

"The guards wouldn't put someone there unless they broke the law," he says defensively, surprised by her hostility. He intended to make conversation but it now occurs to him that he touched on a very tender subject.

"The law," she huffs, "let me tell you something about your laws. Law only benefits the man who has the power to create and enforce it—it doesn't help the poor, starving families who can't find work. It doesn't help the town drunks face their demons and get better, it doesn't help the women whose husbands die and get evicted from their homes," she pauses to take a bite of her stew. "Tell me, is it right to lock away someone for stealing?"

"If they take something that is not theirs, then yes," he says blankly.

"A parrot—that is what you are. Did your daddy teach you that? What if that person was a child, whose parents died? What if the thing they were stealing was food, because their belly has been empty for days? What say you now?" The volume of her voice is soft, though the tone cuts clearly across the room.

"Well, no," he hesitates, wishing he had asked her about something else. He considers his answer for a moment, believing that he has the right one, one that she will agree with, "That child should be sent to an orphanage so that it can be taken care of."

"Have you ever been to an orphanage, Thorne?" Though but a whisper, it comes out more like a threat.

"No," he says quietly. He had never thought about visiting one before this very moment and now he feels ashamed because of it.

"Well I have. And I can tell you from experience, an orphanage is just a prison for children. The nuns there force you to believe in their ideals, they beat you if you refuse, making children slave away when they act as children do. Frankly, sending a child to a prison would be a more humane thing to do," her tone rings of bitterness.

Thorne looks at her profile. He is unsure of what to say—she raises a good point, one he has never had to think about before today, nor has he ever cared.

She continues when he doesn't respond, "Instead of setting up your society so that the poor have no option but to remain so, which in turn results in them committing offenses against the rich and being thrown in prison, perhaps it would benefit everyone if they received help instead of a lashing."

Thorne takes offense at her comment; having spent hours with his father revising the laws and listening to the complaints of the townsfolk, he feels that her statement is a direct insult to his born ability to rule. Her ideals are ridiculous—if no one was punished for their crimes, they would keep on committing them, just as she does. He huffs at her, "Oh and I suppose you—a thief—is entirely above all this? Perhaps you don't realize but stealing also hurts people."

Alecta gets a cold smirk on her face. She rises and walks to her bed, pulling her boots on, "Stealing only hurts those who can't replace that which has been stolen. I never—never—take from those that have little to give," she walks over to him, setting her almost full bowl down on the table so that she can lean over it, "In fact, I only steal from the rich, wealthy, pompous, arrogant, entitled, gluttonous fools like you."

Thorne leans back in his chair, off put by her demeanor, "Unless you hire your services out to the highest bidder," he snaps.

Her smirk fades as she stands back up, "You're right, apparently I'm the hypocrite here. I'll tell you what—you can keep your five thousand coins and your pardon." She turns and walks towards the door.

"Just like that—huh? Now you're refusing to help me?" He says, with a slightly worried tone in his voice.

"Oh no, Prince Thorin, I gave my word that I would help you, so that I shall. Once you are back in your righteous throne I will be rid of you," she turns towards him, her hand on the doorknob as her eyes size him up, "That will be reward enough for me. Now, your highness, unless you would like to be thrown back into prison where you will rot for the rest of your life, you will remain in this room until morning." And with that, she shuts the door behind her.

Thorne remains sitting at the table, entirely shocked to have been told off by a woman, let alone one of such low status. Never in his life did he ever imagine that he would be stuck in such a predicament; with all of his material, tangible possessions and status ripped away from him, he is left with nothing and at the mercy of a group of criminals. As he finishes his stew he suspects that Carabosse is getting great satisfaction out of his situation.