The first two fics are drabbles--I was browsing some TOV drabbles the other day and remembered how much I really liked the form, because when I can do a lot more artistic, contemplative things with a short piece than with something longer that requires more plot. XD
Title: Subtlety
Rating: PG
Warnings: None
Notes and things-to-know: I always saw Yeager and Barbos, the leader of Blood Alliance, as being bros. It's partly because they're both pretty shady, and partly because of the business opportunities (Yeager could make quite a bit of money off of a huge mercenary guild like that. It is canon, too, that Barbos hires out some of Yeager's guards at one point to supplement his own.) My backstory for Yeager involved him replacing the former leader of Leviathan's Claw, an older woman named Johanna, and I held that she got bumped off by Blood Alliance due to some instances of fraud she was investigating. Hence, the central issue of this fic.
Summary: Barbos doesn't expect any cooperation from a guildsman whose leader he had killed, but Yeager is anything but the average guildsman.
There are things that should be kept quiet, swept beneath the table like the dust that settles in the stagnant heat, coating every surface like the ashes of some great fire. There are things that should be glossed over and set aside, unpleasant dealings that make or break authority, things that Barbos would rather dismiss as he sits at his slab of a desk and lights his cigar with a little flicker of aer.
He’d like to fancy himself a gentleman, there in his office in his leather chair and his gold-buttoned coat, his hands thick and heavy with the weight of rings. He’d like to think that he knows something about subtlety from his travels across the border, mingling with the nobles who gossip and plot under the glow of chandeliers, communicate a world of danger with a caught glance. They walk in their fine shoes across ubiquitous shadows, treading carefully yet with ease, knowing when to speak and when to listen, when to act and when to stay their grasp. Deceitfulness is polished to an art with them; manipulation is the means to results.
Out his window every morning he can see guildsmen throwing punches, because there is no artfulness in Dahngrest. Voices are loud; words are frank; blood runs bright between the cobblestones. He isn’t far removed from it—he has scars enough to remind him of that. But he’d like to be.
He’d like to be pleasant to the new leader in spite of everything, in spite of the fact that Johanna’s ashes still seem to hang in the air, sweet like the cigar as he takes a drag, sinuous trails of smoke drifting from the tip. He smiles his crooked smile and he beckons, heavy-handed, to the chair, but he doesn’t foresee any pleasantries. He might fancy himself subtle, but when subtlety is a kind of perjury over the bullet in Johanna’s chest and the way she lay open-eyed in a pool of brightness, he can’t expect any in return.
He is surprised then when Yeager of Leviathan’s Claw sits, politely offers his hands—handsome, unblemished, unadorned hands with slim fingers and smooth ridges. Barbos sets his gray eye on the leader and the leader gazes back at him, calm and still and maybe the slightest bit expectant, a hint of a smile playing at his lips. Yeager has that look about him, that suggestion that he might be a little more than calm, that possibility of hunger. He’s lean enough to slip through cracks, to curve around corners, to pounce like a predator at the whims of ambition.
Barbos has seen men like him before. He’s seen them in the empire, where civility keeps their claws retracted. Yet why Yeager would restrain himself here remains a question.
The question hovers about them through the introductions and the kind inquiries, through the offer of a cigar. Yeager lights it with a fingertip and breathes slowly, savoring the taste. He watches the smoke curl into the dimness of the ceiling.
He says then, after a time, “I think there are certain things worth putting behind us.”
Barbos stares at him. “You think so?”
“I think we could have a very healthy business relationship. I’d like to start things off on the right foot and forget some matters that don’t apply to me. I trust you know what I mean.”
Barbos knows all right. His smile stretches to a grin, and Yeager’s lips pull into a true smile, and he must be a recent convert from the empire, Barbos thinks, because he knows what ought to be set aside. There is art in Yeager’s posture as he tilts his head, art in his grasp as he taps ashes from the cigar, letting them mingle with the dust and the sweet cinders that were once his predecessor. There is art in his hungry gaze, greed in his lean, lean face; desire that would embrace a killer if influence was his reward.
There is subtlety in Yeager, and while there are many things Barbos would like to think, there is one thing he now knows for sure.
This is the beginning of a beautiful friendship.
Title: Everything and Nothing
Rating: PG
Warnings: Somewhat graphic talk about death
Notes and things-to-know: One of the things I've been thinking about lately is the fact that in canon, Yeager dies and is resurrected with an artificial heart. There was a very nice fic my friend Haley wrote back when she was into Vesperia that involved Marion asking Raven (the other recipient of such a heart) about death, and I figured it'd be interesting to write him asking Yeager.
Summary: Marion makes a few curious inquiries.
“What was it like to die?” Marion asks as they sit in the half-darkness of the library, Yeager’s blastia painting the table the ruddy-brown color of old blood.
It’s natural for him to wonder, Yeager supposes, when he’s seen it so many times—cracked skulls, shattered jaws, scorched chests and stained clothing. Marion has seen death, smelt death—dampness and rot and the rank smell of feces—heard it in the strangled cries and gasps and gurgling of victims he could likely count but chooses not to. He has felt something close to it, too, in the darkness of unconsciousness and the uneasy fog of analgesics, but he’s never come near enough to trace its likeness.
To Yeager the memory resembles a bad dream. It’s a vague bridge between two lives, a passage that serves no greater purpose than to divide who he was from who he is. He’s accepted it in the way one accepts dreams, nebulous and nonsensical and full of intense sensations that could mean everything or nothing. Yet he can try to describe.
“Well I was struck in the chest, of course,” he says to ground his thoughts, “And I remember hearing this sort of snapping noise as part of my ribcage broke. It didn’t hurt right away; I think because I was so intent on fighting. My brain didn’t register the pain. Then as I tried to get up my chest started to ache and I felt this new pain, this very sharp one—that was when my aorta started to tear. I fell on my back and I remember grabbing at my chest, as though that would do anything, and struggling to breathe because of the broken ribs and all the pressure of the blood. Then I felt the dizziness sort of wash over me—my vision went blurry, my head started throbbing, and I sort of passed out. I don’t exactly know how long it took. It was like when you fall asleep, you know, and you can never tell at what time you go out.”
Marion nods, silent and rapt. His golden eyes are on Yeager in the careful way that he watches clients, ready for the instant that they step outside the boundaries of civility.
“I didn’t experience anything special,” Yeager continues. “No lights, no sounds. I remember feeling peaceful at one point, I think around the time that I was being brought back, though I can’t be sure. Mostly it was just like a very deep sleep, the kind where you might have dreamed but forget if you did, and you can’t tell how much time has gone by. I didn’t want to leave it when I started coming back, because I was so exhausted and everything hurt.”
“Then it was restful,” says Marion.
“Yes. Mostly because there was very little to feel and nothing to think about. I wouldn’t say I was scared leading up to it, either—I was mostly just overwhelmed, because everything happened so fast.”
“Would you be afraid to die again?”
Yeager considers this. “I wouldn’t want to go the same way. That was agonizing, after all. I’d want to go with as little pain as possible, with all my affairs in order. But no, I wouldn’t be afraid to face the thing itself. It wasn’t a terrible state to be in.”
Marion nods again, a nod that could mean everything or nothing. He asks the question that he surely meant to ask from the beginning, as soon as Yeager revealed his lack of a heart, described the years he counted as lost.
“Do you ever wish you’d stayed dead?”
At that Yeager smiles the way he smiled as he made his first trek through Dahngrest, as he sat for an interview with the first guild to hire him, as he stood before the men of Leviathan’s Claw for the first time, chin raised and features brilliant. He smiles the way he did when he appointed Marion as his heir, following the steps of the ceremonial conflict until Marion’s blade was at his chest and he was handing over his own, trusting the assassin in a way no one ever had.
He gives a small gesture towards the walls of books, a little flick of his wrist that encompasses everything past that dividing line, everything he’s bought and every life he’s changed.
“No,” he says. “I still had more to do.”
Marion smiles back, bows his head to that representation of everything, and says nothing.
And now for something more lighthearted.
Title: On Her Toes
Rating: G
Warnings: None
Notes and things-to-know: Ah, Yeager and Kaufman--I love how snarky and in denial about their feelings they are. Takes place sometime after the earlier fic I did about them.
In case you're wondering about the guilds that get namedropped: Platinum's Armory is a weapons manufacturing guild (that I made up), Altosk is the largest mercenary guild in Dahngrest, Salisty is another (made-up) mercenary/information-trading guild and the Soul Smiths are a weapons manufacturer. Blood Alliance is, as mentioned above, the shadier large mercenary guild in town, and Gardell is a (made-up) hand tool producer. (See how many guilds I have to invent? There's implied to be a ton ingame, but very few are actually mentioned.)
All of the gun and round names were invented by me, naturally. The defect Yeager mentions, on the other hand, is real.
Keep in mind Yeager's blastia heart, too. I like how smoothly he manages to avoid the subject at one point. xD
Summary: Kaufman decides to give Yeager a taste of his own medicine, only to find that he can still easily take the upper hand.
Somewhere in the past few years, he’d established himself as a fixture in her life. She wasn’t even surprised anymore.
There had been a time that upon walking to a meeting and finding him there, lounging outside with a newspaper or chatting with a secretary or—on more than one occasion—sitting with the representative she’d been intending to see, she’d always been surprised. She’d always been flabbergasted, thrown from her composure by his sly smirk or look of feigned confusion. She’d been stressed and paranoid about everything he did: posing as management and talking her guildsmen into changing prices, tricking her suppliers into altering shipping times and destinations, even such petty things as his making thinly veiled remarks about the documents he’d swiped off her desk. He’d always seemed one step ahead of her, a couple notches smarter than her, sneering from that shady territory Union law didn’t quite touch and pulling whatever strings he could get a grip on.
Indeed, he still seemed that way a lot of the time, but the difference was that she’d become used to it.
She’d done her part in strengthening her policies, plugging loopholes and retraining workers, and that had helped a bit. She’d studied, like a hunter tracking a predator, how he thought and how he moved, and kept those lessons back behind the sensible voice in her mind that insisted no one would ever try things like that. She still could not quite predict him, but at least when he showed up with one of her clients or let slip some worrying hint, she expected as much from him.
So when she stepped into the lobby of Platinum’s Armory’s Capua Torim branch and saw him seated on a couch, flipping calmly through their catalogue, she only sighed and went to stand beside him.
“Yeager,” she said.
He glanced up, his brilliant grin rising to his cheeks as though he had only just seen her (she doubted that.) “Kaufman! Good afternoon. How are you today?”
She ignored the question. “What business do you have here?”
“Negotiating specifications for a CV-26 order.” His grin settled into his usual, suspiciously friendly smile. “What about you?”
“Altosk is interested in replacing their Higneys with a new standard, though I’m sure you knew that. I’m choosing one for them.”
“Ah, yes. What did you decide on?”
“Haven’t decided yet. We’re going to talk over a few ideas.”
“What are your ideas? Perhaps I could offer you some guidance.”
She stared at him. “You say that as though I’d actually consider your opinion.”
“Well, this is my specialty.”
“Which means you could give me bad advice based on obscure details I wouldn’t know about.”
“Why would I ever do that?” He sounded offended. “I wouldn’t want to encourage my supplier to produce substandard guns.”
“You’d do it simply to make Altosk question my judgment.”
“But you could tell them you took my advice. That would not be good for my reputation.”
“You’d deny you ever encouraged my choice. Probably make up some long and somehow believable rendition of what actually happened and claim I was trying to make you look bad.”
“You think you have me all worked out, then?” His smile showed a hint of amusement.
“I’ve got a pretty good idea of the opportunities you like to take.”
“Would you give me the chance to prove that you don’t?”
She crossed her arms. “How do you plan on doing that?”
“I’ll give you advice that you can check against Platinum’s product reviews.”
“Then you’ll be telling me nothing I don’t already know, since I went through the reviews for my options.”
“Oh, I’m sure you haven’t seen the ones I’m thinking of. They aren’t freely available. Platinum would rather keep them quiet.”
“If that’s true, then how did you see them?”
“I know people,” he replied simply. “Now, which rifles were you considering?”
“Why don’t you tell me what you think I’m considering? You obviously have an idea of at least one.”
“If I must.” He rolled his eyes. “Palk L-8.”
He was right, of course. “What’s wrong with the L-8?”
“A significant number of people have reported it as being prone to slamfire.”
“Is that something I really have to be concerned about?”
“You don’t know what slamfire is, do you.”
“I’ll ask the representative about it.”
“No no, I’ll explain. It’s a malfunction where the gun will fire without the trigger being pressed due to the firing pin indenting the next round as it’s being loaded. Basically, after a shot is fired and the bolt moves forward to load the next cartridge, the pin travels too far with it and strikes that cartridge, setting it off.”
Her perplexity must have shown on her face, because he set down the catalogue and reached into his suit jacket pocket, withdrawing a pen. Leaning over, he sketched a rifle in the blank margin of the back cover, strokes quick and straight.
“So here,” he said, pointing with the tip of the pen, “is the magazine. This is the chamber and this apparatus over and inside it is the bolt. Let’s say we just loaded one of the stripper clips with ten cartridges on it, so we’ll have a cartridge here in the chamber and these nine waiting below it. We have the gun set to fire one round at a time. When we pull the trigger, the firing pin here strikes the primer on the cartridge, ignites the powder and sends the bullet down the barrel. The force of the bullet launching forward makes the whole bolt jerk backwards, which causes this now-empty cartridge to fall out.”
He added a few arrows to show the motion and a jotted down a small cylinder to show the falling cartridge. “Then, after the bolt hits the back of the chamber, it’s going to bounce forward. This is supposed to happen, because it actually helps load the next round—that ninth cartridge is going to come up from the magazine into the chamber through this motion. What isn’t supposed to happen is this—the firing pin is going to move forward enough that it will strike the back of that cartridge without the trigger being pulled and cause it to fire. If that shot goes off with about the same force as the last, theoretically, this whole process can happen again and again until the entire magazine is exhausted.”
Kaufman frowned. “And is this a defect in the design?”
“It is. Normally in a gun of this type the firing pin is restrained with a spring so it cannot move that far unless the trigger is pulled. Either that or it is light enough that inertia alone can’t cause it to really make a dent in the primer. There’s really no excuse for this kind of problem.”
She took a moment to absorb the information. “You’re being completely honest about this.”
“I am. Ask the representative for the reviews mentioning slamfire. You’ll see.”
“This sounds like an oversight that they could be prosecuted for.”
“Perhaps eventually. There haven’t been any nasty accidents yet. A few people have been scared, but that’s it. Still, I wouldn’t pick the L-8.”
She hadn’t intended to tell him much more about her options, but her curiosity got the better of her. “What about the SD-02?”
“That’s more economical as a specialty rifle for snipers. The .28 Madaras can get pricey.”
“The Pettinger?”
“Mm, that’s a good one. What else were you thinking?”
“I had it down to those three and the Isaza L-5.”
“Oh, that’s not bad either.” He rubbed his chin, mulling it over. “The feel of the L-5 is very similar to that of the SC-04s Altosk has now. In terms of an improvement in accuracy, though, it isn’t much. The Pettinger 03, though…low recoil, good grip surfaces, overall a nice performance for something of its price range. The .30 Kovach it uses has been becoming more of a standard among common mercenaries in recent years as well.”
He nodded, affirming his own thoughts. “I’d go for the Pettinger. What did your advisors think?”
“They were placing their bets on that or the L-8, mainly. But we wanted Platinum’s input on the other two as well.”
“Well, talk it out with the representative, but I think the Pettinger would be best.”
“Obviously I’m reserving the right to make my own decision after I do,” she reminded him. “If they make a better case for the Isaza, for instance, I’m putting their word above yours.”
“You can if you wish. I’m merely giving my opinion. Just be sure to ask about the L-8.”
“If that slamfire spiel turns out to be inaccurate—”
“Then, just as you expected, I took the opportunity to make your life difficult.” He sat back, smirking. “Otherwise, I’m a better person than you thought.”
She surveyed him steadily. “One good deed won’t make you a better person in my eyes.”
He glanced down at his wristwatch, then rose, capping the pen and studying it for a second. “That’s fine. I simply like to keep you on your toes. Hmm, this is from your Capua Torim office, isn’t it?”
Her gaze flickered to the pen. “I was wondering where that went. Give it back!”
She reached out to snatch it from him and in one smooth gesture he tucked it within his suit. She glared, fuming.
“Sorry, I rather like it,” he said teasingly. “Anyway, let me know how that meeting goes. I’ll be curious.”
He left, briskly crossing the lobby and climbing the stairs. She watched him go, wondering at his intentions.
His helping her out didn’t fit within the scope of his usual motivations. It wouldn’t aid his business, wouldn’t disadvantage hers. Conversely, if he’d just told an extensive lie, there was little for him to gain from that either. As he’d said, she could (and would) demand those product reviews and look for any mentions of slamfire, as even though keeping the reviews out of the public eye wasn’t a crime in itself, if Platinum were actively concealing such a defect she could threaten to take legal action against them. If the defect turned out to be nonexistent, she’d look like an idiot for the few moments before she changed the subject—that was all. It’d be annoying to endure, but not nearly enough to be worth his effort.
She picked up the catalogue he’d left, studying his diagram. Part of her wanted to think that this was part of some elaborate ruse that she wasn’t grasping. The other part entertained the idea that he had genuinely been trying to help her. What was the saying—‘the enemy of my enemy is my friend?’ Maybe he’d done it to get back at someone in Platinum? But she was still going to do business with them, so…
I simply like to keep you on your toes.
There was that, too, but he never engaged in something this involved just to mess with her mind. The day that he’d followed her around town to unnerve her—that was the sort of thing he did under that motivation. Helping her decide on a purchase was too much.
It would be too nice of someone like him, too capable of making her suspect he was better than the conniving, unscrupulous jerk she knew, in spite of her declaration that it wouldn’t.
She wasn’t sure how she might react to that.
*
It was about an hour later, while Yeager was conversing with a Ruins’ Gate representative that he’d happened to run into on his way out, that Kaufman gripped him by the arm and spun him around.
“We need to talk,” she snapped.
Yeager smiled and gave a parting nod to the representative. “All right, good luck with your contract. We’ll chat later.”
He let her practically drag him to the other end of the lobby, away from the other guildsmen waiting there. “So, the verdict?”
“Went with the Pettinger. But seriously, Yeager. About the L-8’s slamfire—”
“Were they surprised?”
“They looked terrified when I mentioned it. Apparently it was somewhat of a cover-up, like you said.”
“I told you I was being honest.”
“What exactly were you trying to accomplish?” she snapped.
“Nothing much.” He shrugged. “I was just proving that you don’t entirely understand me.”
“You helped me with one of the largest deals I’ll have this quarter. That’s a lot just to show that you can still confuse me.”
“Why, because it was so nice of me? I am capable of doing kind things.”
“To help Fortune’s Market? You’ve made a point of constantly impeding my business!”
“No,” he said patiently. “That was not how I looked at it. It was to help you.”
She blinked. “What?”
“I did it as a favor to you. If I were working merely in terms of business, I wouldn’t have told you anything.”
“Why the hell would you do me a favor?” She stared at him, incredulous. “You hate me.”
It was Yeager’s turn to look puzzled. “I don’t hate you. Wherever did you get that idea?”
“I don’t know, maybe from you giving me hundreds of problems to clean up? Maybe from you stealing off of my desk, deluding my guildsmen and tricking my customers? Maybe from you getting obvious pleasure out of seeing me angry? I refuse to believe that you’re so socially impaired that you did those things out of fondness for me!”
He shook his head. “Most of that is business. We’re rivals in the weapons sector—what do you expect?”
“But you—” She lowered her voice, noticing that she’d turned some heads. “You stole one of my pens, for goodness’ sake. How is that even vaguely related to business?”
“Oh, that wasn’t. That was just funny.”
“You have got to be kidding me.”
“You have no idea how amusing your reactions are.” He chuckled. “The look on your face was priceless when I mentioned that pen to you.”
She rolled her eyes. “So you don’t hate me because of how funny I am?”
“Kaufman, here. Let me break it down for you. I am the sort of person that likes a challenge, that likes pushing boundaries. I also direct a guild that was faced with a large market that was difficult to break into. The things I have done to Fortune’s Market were partly attempts to weaken its grip on the weapons trade and partly to see how far I could really go with some of my strategies. As for you personally, if I truly thought you were despicable, I wouldn’t bother with the little things. You’re funny when you’re surprised or angry precisely because most of the time you have your life so well together. You’re very smart, very reasonable, very good at what you do. I have a lot of respect for that, so I might as well cut you some slack now and then.”
“…You respect me?” she said, after a moment.
“It would be impossible for me not to. You’ve managed to thwart my plans pretty well recently, too. You keep me on my toes as much as I keep you on yours.”
She snorted. “I wish I could believe that.”
“Seriously. You’re pretty predictable, but not always predictable. You did throw me a bit with that impression of me hating you, for instance.”
The idea of her confounding him for a change was an attractive one. “How else have I thrown you for a loop?”
“Uh…” He pondered for a few seconds. “A month ago when you switched plants for your hoplon packaging line. That seemed to come out of nowhere. I was all set to have someone at the old plant tamper with the hoplon, too…”
“Then I guess my information security procedures are working,” she replied, feeling satisfied. “Anything else recently?”
“There was that bow deal with Salisty. I didn’t expect you to be able to drop your prices low enough for them to pick you instead of me.”
“Discount from the Soul Smiths,” she explained smugly. “What else?”
“How many things are you going to have me list? Trust me, there are plenty.”
“Why are you hesitant to list them? Are you embarrassed?”
He gave a laugh. “No. I just should not have to supply this much evidence that you’re a skilled opponent of mine. It should be obvious.”
“It isn’t. Apparently, you conceal your failings well.”
“Thank you.” He smirked. “I try.”
She gazed at him for a moment, at his smug little smirk and untroubled features. It would be gratifying, she thought, if she could surprise him here, where she could witness it. She would love to see him openmouthed and gaping, as uncomposed as he’d made her on many occasions. He deserved it many times over.
“I think I’d still like some more evidence,” she said, a hint of wit in her tone. “I’m not quite buying your statements.”
“Why not? I have no reason to be lying to you right now.”
“You could be trying to lull me into a false sense of security before pulling a trick on me.”
“You’re too paranoid. What else do I need to tell you?”
“How about you let me try something? I want to see for myself whether I can baffle you.”
He cocked his head, mildly intrigued. “Go ahead.”
It came as a random thought, really. She needed some gesture that was entirely unlike her, that didn’t make sense—slapping him, for instance, was a bit too in character to be an option. The thought, bizarre as it was, fit the criteria enough to make her want to grin.
She swept a glance around the lobby, making sure that none of the guildsmen still waiting there were looking, and took hold of his chin, tilting it downwards. In the split second before she drew close, she saw Yeager’s brow furrow—then she kissed him, hard and full on the lips.
It was quick, but it worked. As she stepped back, she watched his face redden noticeably, expression bewildered. He opened his mouth to say something, shut it again, swallowed and tried once more.
“That was pretty baffling,” he conceded.
She felt triumphant. “You have no idea how amusing your face is right now.”
“I can imagine,” he said, his gaze flickering as hers had to the other guildsmen, hoping none were watching. She caught the unease in his hands as they rose to adjust his tie.
“You’re embarrassed,” she declared.
He looked back at her, his fingers working rather forcefully at the knot. “I’m a bit in shock, that’s all.”
“I actually embarrassed you. I threw the great Yeager of Leviathan’s Claw off guard.”
“I don’t tend to expect affection from people who deeply dislike me.”
“But I told you I was going to try to baffle you. You should have figured I’d do something that unusual.”
“I didn’t think you would go to such an extreme.”
“It wasn’t that extreme,” she said. “I wasn’t touching you for very long. You’re not incredibly dirty and disgusting, either.”
“So I’m only moderately disgusting. Aw, how kind of you.”
“Yes, and more due to your actions than your appearance. It’s not that difficult to do something like that if I momentarily push aside the fact that you’re a deceitful bastard.”
Yeager managed a small smirk. “Are you saying that if you didn’t know me well, you would want to kiss me?”
“No!” She felt color rise to her own cheeks. “That’s not what I’m saying!”
“Well, if it’s ‘not that difficult’ when you forget about my actions, then it sounds like you find me otherwise attractive.”
“Don’t flatter yourself. I would not go so far as to call you attractive.” She gave a dismissive huff.
He paused for a moment to form a suitable response. “What if I said you were pretty?”
“You expect me to change my mind due to an empty compliment?”
“It’s not empty,” he insisted. “You are pretty. You have lovely hair, nice eyes…”
“You’re making up statements on the spot.”
“You’re thinking too poorly of me again. I wouldn’t lie about that.”
“Says the man who is petty enough to steal things off my desk to get a reaction out of me. You’re just trying to make me say something you can mock.”
“That is an unrelated incident. Do I need to prove to you that I’m not lying?”
She began a rejoinder, but before she could complete a single phrase Yeager took a forward step, leaned over and planted a soft, gentle kiss on her cheek. He lingered there, his breath warm against her skin, and stroked a palm down the length of her hair before withdrawing.
She gaped at him, her words coming in a half-coherent sputter of astonishment at first, then settling into an angry hiss.
“What was that?!”
“You did the same thing to me,” he said, looking rather smug again. “You wanted to prove a point; I wanted to prove a point. My point being that I find you pretty, as that is not something I would do if you weren’t.”
“What I did was completely different! I didn’t—I didn’t touch you like that!”
“Well as I said, you have lovely hair, so that touching is only further proof of my statements.”
“You only wanted to rattle me! You wanted to get me back for before! You just had to one-up me and—”
“Kaufman,” Yeager said, turning his head towards two guildsmen that were now actively gawking at them. “Indoor voice.”
She fell silent and shot a piercing glare at the guildsmen. They looked away, not wanting to be yelled at, and she promptly jabbed an index finger into Yeager’s chest.
“Never do that again,” she ordered, accentuating each word with a sharp prod. “I don’t care how much you might think I’m pretty, or have a thing for me, or—”
“Now now, I never said I had a thing for you,” he replied with a chuckle. “You’re making false assumptions.”
“Well, that’s good to hear. The thought of you fancying me makes me sick.” Her brow pinched as she noticed that her finger was resting against something rigid beneath his shirt. “Are you carrying a knife here? I thought you had one on your ankle.”
“Correct on both counts,” he responded, smiling. “I’m an arms dealer.”
“Right,” she said, rolling her eyes as she let her hand drop. “Have to always be able to defend yourself against your own merchandise.”
“I was going more for the fact that I simply like weapons. Honestly, I don’t get threatened with force that often.”
“I find that hard to believe.”
“My second-in-command shot a Blood Alliance supervisor in the foot last month for handing me a knife blade first,” Yeager said matter-of-factly. “He and the bodyguards don’t respond nicely to possible hazards. Helps my clients get the message.”
“I am exceedingly grateful that I never have to do business with you.”
“I like it better this way too. It’d be much less hilarious if we had to get along.”
“You have a really twisted sense of humor.”
“You have an overdeveloped temper and take things much too seriously.”
“You are an unrepentant jerk.”
He shrugged. “What I said was the truth. You should lighten up. Though it would be more entertaining for me if you didn’t.”
“Entertaining you is not and will never be part of my job description,” she snapped. “I’m not obligated to do a thing for you, regardless of how much you respect me or think I’m pretty or pull little favors like this slamfire thing. You had better realize that.”
“I do,” he said, “and that’s perfectly fine with me. I’m not asking for anything…well, a thank you for the favor would be nice.”
Her first instinct was to refuse, but a voice in the back of her mind reminded her that he had been genuinely helpful. Besides, the act had created the opportunity for her to unsettle him, and though he’d turned events against her, though she’d probably regret her actions later, she’d gotten such deep satisfaction out of that. She might as well show him a smidgen of decency.
“Thanks,” she remarked.
His smile faded slightly. An amazed grin spread across her face.
“Did I just surprise you again?”
“I thought you were more creative than that,” he said. “I was waiting for something really deprecating.”
“I’ll save the rant about how you don’t deserve common courtesy for another day,” she quipped. “Look forward to it.”
“Oh, I will. I’ll have to think of something really obnoxious to bring that on.”
“I’m sure that won’t be difficult for you.” She reached into an inner pocket of her tunic, withdrawing a small gold-colored watch. “Hmm, I should get going. Can’t stay here and banter with you all day.”
“Of course,” he said, and stepped up to examine the watch, reaching out to touch it. “Is that real gold?”
“If you think I’d spend my gald on something like that, then you don’t know me very well.” She snorted.
He lifted it from her hand, eyeing it for a moment more, then replaced it in her pocket. “I don’t know. I did just hear something about you getting a pair of diamond earrings.”
“I didn’t buy them. They were a bribe from Gardell—Sam was trying to get me to increase my tool orders.”
“So you got rid of the earrings?”
“No, I kept them. Figured I could get some use out of them at the next Union dance. Needless to say, I didn’t change a thing on the Gardell contract.”
“I should like to see them,” Yeager remarked. “I’m curious as to how much he spent.”
“Too much. He should know by now that my decisions can’t be bought.” She held out her hands. “Anyway, see you later.”
“Goodbye Kaufman,” he said, politely returning the gesture.
She caught the suppressed laugh in his smile, tightening the corners of his mouth. She didn’t know what to make of it—only threw him a warning glance on her way out—until she had passed through the door and descended the steps to the street. It was then that she noticed that something long and thin was in her pocket beside her watch, poking into her chest as she walked.
She reached inside, pulled the thing out, and found herself staring at the pen Yeager had swiped from her office.
For a few seconds her mind struggled to imagine how he might’ve pulled it out and replaced it with the watch without her seeing, to process why he might’ve given it back to her. She wondered whether it could have been in return for something—the gratitude she’d shown, maybe. Or perhaps it could have been a sign of respect, as the slamfire tip-off had been. Or perhaps it had meant nothing, had only been intended to spark a number of possible explanations that she couldn’t conclusively choose between, and Yeager was currently laughing to himself at the mere thought of her running circles in her mind.
She looked at it, sighed, and insisted that she wasn’t surprised. She’d given him far too much gratification already. She’d have to find a way to receive some more—who knew, maybe the affection and kindness route could work to shock him next time as well. Maybe she should try that again.
Or maybe she was only considering that because he’d been right, as much as she hated to admit it. If she didn’t know him any better, she’d want to kiss him.
There she went, running circles, she thought. That was the explanation. He’d wanted her to run, to be made paranoid by possibilities. He always wanted to keep her on her toes, so never mind the pen, never mind anything he’d said or done today—that was the explanation and nothing had changed in the interim. It was just as she was used to. She could not quite predict him, but she knew how he liked to act.
Oh, how she hoped she knew.
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