Profiling

[Lent]

Days were a blur. Weeks. Life? How long had it been? Hard to say. Marshall was gone. Creature who snatched her soul was dead. Seemed like a waste, all of it, but then what else was there? Archer had been captured. Karolinger was gone. Demons. Demons were everywhere. Entire Province was overrun. Had to stop using the holy water to check for them. Running out. It was too necessary to spike the flask with it. Had to make sure he wasn't becoming a demon. Priorities.

Still. Had to do something.

Follow up on a lead. That was something. People saw things that scared them. People went to the Constables. Kurt Lentham usually avoided the Broken Dagger. Trouble of the sort he didn't want. Didn't need. Bad memories for a man who had so few memories at all. Still, a tavern was a tavern. Priorities. Flask was always at risk of ending up empty.

If they had to send him somewhere, this was almost as good as any.

His uniform was rumpled, unkempt. His face was more so. Deep into his thirties now, the scraggly Detective Constable nodded to the barkeep, sliding over the flask and some tarnished form of payment. Barkeep was a demon. Wouldn't keep eye contact. Sure sign. Demon. Make a note of that for later. "Word is there's a drowess here. Want to ask her some questions. Let her know?"

Barkeep refilled the flask. Well-disguised demon at least. Went off to tell the drow in her room too. Or jump out a second story window. Sit at the bar. Wait. Sip the flask. Priorities.

[Altias_Bromn]

(Lalari Darve)

Drowess, the dishwasher had said. Constable to see you.

The tall woman would have had words for the boy, but it was not an unusual occurrence. Her entire life had been spent trying to explain to people that she was not a drow, did not know anything about the underdark and no she did not, in fact, eat babies or take men for slaves. Instead she simply fastened on her swordbelt and made her way downstairs.

She saw him as soon as she laid eyes on the bar, an unkempt thing, truly a miserable specimen. Well, this should be entertaining. An arm across her body, fingertips lightly resting on the hilt of her blade, she approached the man at the bar.

"First. I am not drow. Second. I've done nothing wrong. Third. You are interrupting my reading. What do you want?"

She did not sit, she did not even pretend to be polite. When the law comes looking and you've done nothing wrong, there was annoyance, at best. And so she would stare at him expectantly with narrowed amber gaze, foot tapping impatiently on the floorboards.

[Lent]

Hand on a blade already? Welcome to Myrken. You'll fit right in. Lentham had a smile for her, a ragged thing, just like the rest of him. A long, drawn out smile, the sort that went well with the slow sip from his flask. The smile would waver. Supplies were running low. Was hard to get more. Couldn't trust the priests forever. Demons would target them first. Got lucky once, but if you can't trust the priests, who can you trust.

No one.

Have to establish some then. The flask was held out. "Drink, Miss?" It was a question, an offer, but a rather insistent one.

[Altias_Bromn]

One snow white eyebrow would raise at that. A drink, from his flask? Not likely. There is a hand for the pouch at her belt then, withdrawing her own flask, full of a lovely brandy from home.

"Thank you, I have my own."

There is a long look at the man, and it must be apparent to him that she has little patience for such things, yet here he was drawing this out. Fine. She would sit, on the edge of a nearby stool, not bothering to get comfortable. A sip from the flask before she leveled that angry gaze on him once more.

"Perhaps you failed to hear me, Ser. You...are...interrupting..." She paused for a moment so that he could absorb a word that might be too large for him to comprehend, then continued, enunciating ever word for effect. "...my...reading. If you have come with a purpose, let's be done with it so I might salvage the rest of my night, hmm?
"

[Lent]

Hn. Look at that. A flask of her own. Got to respect a woman with a flask. Never saw a drow with a flask either. Beneath them. Tended to have spiders drink their wine for them and crawl into their mouths to spit it out. Something like that. Unpleasant. Flask is much better. Didn't solve his problem. Demons could have flasks even if drow didn't. Good disguise, a flask. Might have known he was coming.

Lentham stared, lost with his thoughts, seconds turned into a minute, lingered on from there.

"Alright." Finally, he spoke. "Woman with a description of a drow, which is something you have, Missy, whether you're a drow or not.." Hn. What was he saying. Lost his next words. Need a moment. Take a sip. Recover. Ah. Better. Ahhh. Alright, then. "So, women, looks like a drow. Kills a woman here month or two back. Match the look. Have a weapon. Don't get many that look like you. Just answer a few questions. Then, you can stop cheating on your book with local law enforcement agents."

[Altias_Bromn]

The man seemed lost. It seemed that each word she spoke was taken, turned over, examined completely and then, perhaps, considered for comment. As time ticked by, her impatience grew with the man, who felt much older than he looked. Another sip from her flask as she watched him.

She would almost speak again when he finally began to talk. A murder, committed by a female drow. Well, that certainly explained a few things. She nodded as he spoke, waiting for him to get around to his eventual point. As he did, she almost smiled, almost. She almost laughed. For whether or not he said it for humor, it was amusing. Cheating on her book...that was funny.

"Very well then. Ask your questions."

She would reach over the bar for an empty cup. A splash of her brandy added to it, before it was pushed across the counter toward him.

"Brandy doesn't get better than Xanthian brandy. Perhaps it will help you think more clearly."

And with that she is sipping from the flask again, and waiting.

[Lent]

Cup. Didn't like cups. Or glasses. They were shaped all wrong. Four sides to a circle if you looked at it the right way. Four. There was that number again. Four sides to anything if you look at it the right way, though. Sweat started to mass upon his brow. No, no. Three sides to anything too. Or five. Four was the demon number but there was only one of her. Demons disguised as drows, using flasks as shields. What was the world coming to?

Lentham lifted the cup and opened his flask, trying to maneuver the liquid in one into the other. His hand was shaky though. After staring for a few excruciatingly long seconds, he swallowed audibly and shook his head. Too risky. Priorities. Cup would work, after all. He swallowed the liquid in one quick gulp. Wasn't thinking straight though, no more straight than usual. Needed more than that.

Still, man could do his job. Little lubrication went a long way. She'd get a nod of thanks. A slight nod.

And then, it wasn't until she had that flask of his own to her lips that he spoke. "So, you kill her?"

[LalariDarve]

He was carefully watched as he tried to find the best way to approach the offered drink. He was an odd sort, and not one she personally would have thought to employee in such a position. Certainly those in charge here must have their reasons. Perhaps he was someone's father, or son, but it was more than apparent that he drank even more than she did, and that set a slight curl to her black lips. A nod of her head then in return for his own. She was always happy to share the luxurious flavor of Xanthian brandy.

His frank question actually provoked a snort of laughter from her. She had only just arrived, was disturbed from her rest and he asks he quite frankly, if she had murdered this person.

"No. I didn't kill her. I didn't even know her."

There was a pause as she took another long drink from her flask, before she leveled that gaze on him once more.

"What's so special about this woman? People die here every day, I've seen it. No one is running about asking how they died or who killed them. Why do you care so much about this particular woman?"

[Lent]

"We ask." People did die everyday. Maybe not everyday, but a lot. "We look. We try to stop it. Sometimes we die too, because of it." If they weren't there, far more would die. Little question about that. Stepped into the breach and all that. Got paid for it. Not well. Well enough to stay in his cups.

Still, lady deserved a nod. Was right about one thing. "Was the Marshall that got killed. Drow did it. From behind. No one knows why." He took a sip from his own flask. Needed it. "Then she came back weeks later. Rare here. We burn bodies to prevent that. Didn't burn hers. All a little suspicious." He flared his nose with an exhale. "Not the only reason I'm here, though. Drow is drow. If you hadn't killed her, you might have killed someone else. Or soon. You're not a drow." And he seemed willing to accept that. why wouldn't he? She was a demon disguised as a drow, obviously. Therefore she'd keep her head down. "End of the day, I care more about you than her."

[LalariDarve]

"End of the day, I care more about you than her."

Well that was an odd thought wasn't it? Claimed out of one side of his mouth that he knew she wasn't drow, but still he thought she was. What an odd little man.

"Then what can I help you with, Constable? If you care so much about me there must be a reason. Though perhaps it is just the hospitality of Myrken to question law abiding citizens, of any realm, based solely on the color of their skin, hmm?"

Again he would receive the cold stare of those amber eyes, even as she is drinking deep of that flask. The warmth of the brandy steeling her against his quiet implications. Many things, Lalari Darve, patient was not one of them. A gloved hand would reach across the bartop, slapping flat against it in front of Lentham.

"Speak...stop dancing around the issue and just tell me what it is you want from me."

[Lent]

"Reckon it is." Bold? Maybe. More like necessary. "Got overrun years back. Been slaughtered now and again since then. Nice to live in a world that people can be judged for who they are, not what, but this ain't that. Try that here and it wouldn't matter. Wouldn't live long anyway. Not your fault you are like you are." Half-shrug offered. Sympathy? Sure, got some of that. Did it matter? Nope. Not in the least. Never did. Not much, at least. Difference between dragging her in and questioning her and doing it over drinks. Didn't seem to matter much to her ,though. "Don't think it is, at least. Can't care." Not won't. Not shouldn't. Can't. Worth taking a nice long sip over.

Then, a rarity. The Detective Constable will soften. "Years. Been doing this for years. No one ever tries to change that. Can't be us. Has to be you. You feel so strongly? Go out there. Change that. Give us another reason to judge," a nod to her, her skin, her self. "I'll be the first in line to change iffin you give reason to." First? At the pace he walked. His slow, methodological meandering? What did THAT say about Myrken. "Can even say you told me so. For now, though?" Guilty until proven innocent. Hard people made harder by life. "Keep your nose clean, right?"

[LalariDarve]

"I have every intention of doing just that, Constable. I had an interview with a man, Aleksei River. Talked to him about joining up to try and make a difference around here."

Another long, slow, sip from that flask then. She would lower her gaze from the man for just a moment, lost in thought perhaps. After a moment, she nodded softly, looking back up at Lentham.

"He killed my brother. This...Baie they all speak of. Some man, creature, something. Looked just like everyone else by all accounts. There are others that can be blamed for Nathaniel even being here, but the real blame lies with him. And from all I know, he still lives. As long as dark magick like that lives, I am here to seek it out and slit its nasty throat."

Another nod, and another sip. Seemed the two might have more in common then they first imagined.

"So...what now, Constable?"

[Lent]

Nathaniel. Name meant nothing to him. Might have once. Hard to say. Now though? Now, not much meant much, not much from years past, at least. The Baie. They said he lost a child to the Baie. They said a lot of things. A Wife to the Flux. All sorts of things. Hard to tell anymore. Demons could have been lying from the start.

"Revenge." The word deserved a drink, not in a toast but to wash it down. "Something not worth having unless it's the only thing left. Iffin it is? Well, then there's nothing to be done."

What's next? How would he know? Rarely got to next. "Cold out there. Warm in here. Figure I'll linger a bit. Welcome to join me. Heard you had a book you were romancing, though. Hate to take away from that."