Rivalries, Races, Rewards (Alexander and Applepoisoneer)

She couldn't help but be a bit flattered. Among elvenkind, she wasn't typically thought of as "pretty". Her looks were too dark and her hair wasn't what many would call "a fine color". She allowed her hand to slither across the table until her fingernails met his fingertips.

"I'm neither." Her words were a breath above a whisper. "I guess you would say, I'm a raider. The things I take belong to those long dead." She rose gracefully, still allowing her hand to linger on the table. "And it's always the most beautiful plants that are the most poisonous. It's good to remember that on long walks through dark forests."

She began to move from the table, turning once to beckon him to follow her.

As their fingers touched, he had the notion to roughly grasp her hand, and have her explain herself again until he heard an answer he more favored. He was right on one of his suspicions, even if she wouldn't admit it. She was a glorified grave robber, and that probably wasn't limited to men who were buried. He didn't buy her claim of "long dead" for a moment. Images danced through his head of what this implied. She wanted him to be a few steps ahead of her, and slip a dagger into the target's body so that it would be dead when she came by a moment after.

He had trouble resisting danger, but that was a matter of his will, not his stupidity. Willpower is always easiest to muster when you promise to achieve it in the future. He told himself, he could stay in her room tonight, as long as he held her to her exact words. The moment she slipped into an illicit mindset, beyond liberating items one hasn't been able to rightfully claim in eons, he could part ways with her, in a mutual understanding that they wouldn't mesh well together. It probably wouldn't take her long, and he expected to be on his way to Istral, alone, in a week.

He had barely begun to plot, but Lilliana had decided the meal was over, and she was moving to turn in for the night. He lifted his heavy pack from the ground, and hastily followed her heels, not wanting to be outside of her room when the door closed for the final time. He did feel the need to challenge her, as if he dreaded the truth of her words as he was walking into her lair. "I think you're wrong, though. I quite liked flowered Rosehips, well, at least until today, anyways."

Lilliana couldn't help but smirk, but resisted the urge to reach for the bottle she'd stowed in her bag. "Even roses ought to be handled with care, Trison." She chuckled darkly and unlocked the door with the key the Innkeeper had given her. She stood aside and permitted him to enter before continuing. "Though if you know how to treat them, almost any poisonous plant can become a powerful cure or tonic."

None of this girl's wisdom was anything he was inexperienced with. "I've been driven through rosebushes before, Lilliana." He recalled a tussle he had with a boar once, as he took her invitation, and stepped inside. "They can tear at your skin, but I've never seen one leave a scar. I think I smelled rather nice after the incident, actually." That was only because he had smashed up against so many of them, ruining them quite well, but there was no need to mind that kind of small detail.

His pack was lifted off over one shoulder, and then the other as it was laid to the ground, and he began to search for his bedroll. "Which one are you?", he pondered aloud. "The rose to be pampered, or the poisonous plant meant to become something more pure?" His hand found the padding, and began to pull it out. His eyes looked up at her, and then the much more comfortable looking bed, with a small ping of envy.

She perched on the edge of the bed and slipped out of the loosened boots on her feet. Why bother retying them if they were only going a few feet? Her stockings came next, and she smothed the foldes of her hopen dress to either side. She crossed her knees and looked down on him on the floor.

"Ultimately, I'm neither." She sighed. "I suppose you might say I'm a...oh, what's the word for it... a crop vegetable? Useful, but ordinary." Her smile widened and attempted to play innocent, but sly peaks of light slipped into her eyes without her realizing. "But if someone wanted to adore this onion as a rose, it's cutting scent might swell into a perfume comparable to blossoms."

After she'd spoken, Lilliana wasn't exactly sure how she'd gotten to be so poetic. It had all been business just a moment before, and then something about roses had tipped her mind in that direction. If this were any other man Trison's age, he might fall prey, and she could loot him while he slept. But he seemed to be on to her already, and would probably sleep with one eye open. No matter, challenge was the spice of life. And she was quite sure he would be a challenge.

"You are Lilliana Turnip then, hmmmm?" He didn't quite like onions, especially not after a meal of bland soup, so he chose his own vegetable to represent her. "Well, that is much easier on my tongue, I will admit." He teased the girl for her blatantly misleading answer, though the question was also transparently rigged against her. "That elven nose of yours might work a little bit differently than mine. Onions are tremendously unremarkable when left untouched, but if you cut one open, its scent can't be missed, nor can it be mistaken for a blossom."

He grabbed a tiny thing from one of the outer pouches of his pack, and popped it into his mouth as part of his bedtime rituals. He turned his head towards her, ruffling his pillow a bit, though his eyes were shut. "You said that you only take from those who have been deceased a while, right? I don't want to wake up tomorrow both dead and empty-handed, only having lost my life for a short little while." He did probably have enough coins on his person to make a desperate person consider robbing him, though most others wouldn't find his few riches worth the trouble. He hoped that in a year, maybe less, probably more, that would all be different. Still, there was no reason to give her a chance to rummage through his things, and his clothes mostly stayed on as he pulled his blanket over him, though he did loosen the strings at the top of his shirt. His boots stuck out especially awkwardly, but there was more than one thing hidden in them, so on they stayed.

She studied his position as she stood and undid the lacing of her outer dress. It came off a little like a jacket, but with that protruding bell of a bottom. She draped it tidily over the foot of her bed and undid the strings of her corset, exposing a short, thin, cloth chemise that barely reached her hips. The whole time, she barely took her eyes from the stranger.

"Turnips, eh?" She chuckled, slipping under the rough blanket. She let him finish his though and smiled a little bigger in the lamplight. "Who says you have anything I'm interested in?" She teased a little sleepily, and rested her head on the rather thin pillow. But she was determined to find out whether he had anything, unwilling to leave it to chance. She reached over and put out the lamp on the side table.

He would have enjoyed viewing the girl as she was undressing, but fine ladies were many, and this was the only warm room tonight, so his eyes regretfully stayed shut. It was really too bad, as Lilliana's legs looked rather nice, and the rest of her was worth an extra glance as well. A cheerful, or sultry attitude might have fit her better than the dark aura she possessed, in his dreams, but a person does not become the way she was by chance.

His shoulders shrugged, and he slid to rest on his hip as they fell back onto his roll, laying the left side of his face against his pillow. "I don't have anything worth a mention, not physically. But earlier, you seemed to be interested in some talent that I have. I just wanted to make sure you have the chance to persuade me to use it for you." He tried to remind her of his potential value, as if he ever possessed an upper hand to keep against her.

Many minutes passed, and he was almost sure that he slipped into and out of consciousness a few times. Something kept pulling him back, however, as if she had never cut the light. He tried to picture the disturbance, and combing through his memories, he came across a stone is his mind, something that needed a little dusting off, but then came back smoothly to him. As his eyes finally opened, feeling safer to observe in the dark, his voice was soft, but it didn't take much to break the still air. "There's a bit of a scent to this room, Lilliana. I thought for a while that it was your own allure, but I seem to recall it a little better now. It is a particular plant that I recently decided I don't like. Do you know what I speak of?"

In the dark, she smiled, her eyes open and adjusting to the faint, bluish hue cast by the moonlight. "Hmm, you have a better nose than you let on." Her figure rolled roughly in the stiff sheets. Lilliana had been oping to hear him slip into the patterned breathing of sleep so that she might slip a hand covertly into his pack; just to see if he really had nothing she wanted, but it was growing ever clearer that it might be impossible. "Could it be turnips or onions that you've mistaken for my alluring scent?" She teased. "Or something a little more reminicent of springtime?"

He could have wagged his finger in front of her at that moment, but unless her Elven eyes vastly outperformed his own, she wouldn't have seen him even if he nearly tapped her on the nose. "That doesn't sound like the voice of somebody awoken from a quick sleep, Lilliana. Do you mind cluing me in to what you're plotting?"

The girl knew exactly how she was playing with him, and he didn't like it one bit. Her question dripped so much with a taunting menace that he didn't bother to answer it. She could have tried to reassure him at any point, that she did not intend him harm, but instead the subject hung in the air, as if his life were some toy to be played with. He sighed deeply, wondering what he had ever done to deserve this sort of trouble, both his errand, and this strange, startling girl. But, she had just tipped her hand, that she had something that he needed, too. "I think that a lot more could be done if we were straightforward with each other, you know. What is it that you really want, Lilliana Turnip?"

She let out a scoffing laugh, almost a little afronted. "It takes me a while to fall asleep, so forgive me if I don't sound like I'm rising from the dead." Her tone was one of quiet impatience and one could hear her repositioning herself on the bed tohalf-sit up. "But since you're so eager to talk, lets talk about you. What are you looking for, and how is it that you were so able to keenly pick up on the scents coming from my bag? The skills I was interested in were more akin to adventuring, not perfumery or theft." She paused for a moment. "Well, not theft from me."

Though her voice was tinged with anger, it was less at him and more at herself for not being able to control the situation, and additionally, not being able to control herself. She wished she hadn't snapped at him as soon as she'd done it, but the damage was done, and she supposed if it meant she had to sleep with one eye open, than so be it. Though Lilliana wasn't sure how well she could take him in a match regarding physical strength. He would most likely have the upper hand there.

It was hardly a big deal to him that she was getting worked up, after all, he had intentionally tried to provoke her. Trison didn't really have a spectacular answer for her, as nice as it would have been to be able to surprise her. "Whatever way you look at it, I'm a predator. When I'm close enough, I can recognize a person's scent." He was proud of how it helped him rarely go hungry, as long as his environment wasn't barren of wildlife. "If I get even closer, I can recognize whatever other aromas are around them too. My aunt always told me I'm part ogre, somewhere down my bloodline. Last I checked, every piece of me was a human, but I haven't exactly been able to look at my nose. Maybe she was on to something there." It was an implausible old wives' tale, in his opinion, but he wouldn't be opposed to it being true, as long as he benefited from good things because of it.

He was more frustrated by her other part of the question. "I've already told you what I'm after. I want a few nice things, and I'm here because you said you could help me get nice things. Oils, and crystals, and that Istral Silk, and a weeping something-or-other..." The late hour and her interrogation made it difficult to keep everything completely straight. Then it struck him. "Ooooooh, you don't believe me, that's it. You think there's something special that I'm looking for, something hidden and secret." She wouldn't find any mystery there. "Or maybe, it isn't what I'm looking for, but why or for who. Now *that*, I assure you, isn't something that you'll find on my person."

There was a final bit that bugged him as well. "You know, I'm not sure that an adventurer is who you really want. Those are people who search for fame, who want their exploits to be heard, to gain a great renown, not somebody who slinks in the shadows. Both glory and treasure is theirs for the taking. An adventurer has *desires*. An adventurer wants *women*. Tell me, Lilliana, do you really want me to be an adventurer?" He didn't want to put up with that kind of attention, but to be honest, if she said yes, especially to that last part, he might find himself inspired to play the part of a hero instead of a burglar.

There was a fairly short pause, though it felt like a half-hour. Suddenly, Lilliana burst into deep, rich laughter. "I had not considered those aspects, but you're certainly right; that's what makes an adventurer." She paused and leaned forward a little, her long, green hair dangled over the side of the bed. "But honestly, even without the glory and fame attached, can you tell me that you're disinterested in women? As in, if one invited you st stay in her room, you would shield your eyes and keep your mind pure as a monk in a glacial spring?"

It was one thing to tease him over his questions, or give him a sharp tone for calling her out on being suspicious. Taunting him over his manhood, however, was not something to be taken lightly. "If only my great-great grandfather were an owlbear instead of an ogre, so that I might have vision at night that matched my nose. I could peer from across the street into a window, or catch a sweet lass enjoying a midnight bath in a quiet lake. But alas, without any light, there's no need to shield my eyes." Still, it was the closest thing he thought he'd get to an invitation from this girl, who always seemed to keep her guard up. "I've never been close to an elf before. Are your eyes of any better aid than mine right now?" She had hit him in a soft, sore part, and he began to reach under the blanket and untie his boots, something that he had been trying to avoid before.

A small kick from each knocked them off, and they clattered for a moment against the floor, before he rose up. His vest came off more swiftly, and landed on his blanket with much less of a sound. Even a small amount of moonlight might at least cast an outline against him as he approached her bed. "If they're not, consider that you might turn the light on and see where my hands are right now. Perhaps they're covering my eyes, as you had mentioned. Or maybe, they're reaching for some place else." He gripped at the sheet of her bed, blindly searching, and found some piece of her leg, though which one and where he held her he could not quite say. "Disinterested in women? It was a woman who got me into my predicament. And if you turn out to be kind, it may be a woman who helps me out of it."

Already giggling a little at the coyness of his tamber, she couldn't stifle a little squeak when he touched her leg. "My eyes are not as accustomed to the dark as say, a Drow. But even with dark-elf's eyes, I don't think I would have seen this on the horizon."

She smiled and allowed her eyes to trace what could be seen of him in the moonlight; forearms, a bit of his head, and the gleaming plate of his chest. Her hand turned the tiny knob of the lamp, and the flame flickered back to life slowly, gradually filling the area around her bed with light. It gave both their eyes time to adjust.

"I've never been with a human man either. Mother always told me they weren't worth the effort to launder the linens afterward." She snickered, and her hand found where his rested on her leg. "Of course, Mother always was a poor judge of character."

His head tilted from one side to the other, pondering whether this troublesome girl was worth the effort. For once, she seemed interested in him regarding something that wasn't illegal or dangerous, but it was still laid with a heavy thickness of her teasing tone. With her attitude so predisposed, while he was sure she would be willing to begin the act, it wouldn't be very pleasant company if she mocked him for it after. Still, she had powerful prospects as a partner. Building a closer relationship with her, if she could ever overcome that attitude she wore so tightly, might be the first thing he did right on this damned adventure of his.

He took a more aggressive tone. "Damned to her judgement, I doubt this cloth will be getting its cleaning from your hands come tomorrow. You've got nothing to lose but a few winks of sleep and hours wasted to daydreams for your next few days." The strings at the top of his undershirt were loosened, and then the entire thing upended over his head, and tossed to cover his vest. "Truth be told, I'm in a similar boat to you. There was that one redhead, but I've never laid next to a girl with lime locks. It doesn't quite make sense to me, though, I wouldn't say that she ever matched the fire that you've got on your lips. Maybe you two each wound up with the wrong color?" As his hand reached further beyond her leg and up her torso, he began to discover something else that the old flame of his couldn't compare favorably to, either.

She took her hand from atop his and propped herself upright. "Allow me to warm you with the fire of these lips.", she purred, and took his shoulders. Lilliana pressed her lips to his. Maybe, for a few moments, she could give her mind a bit of a rest and just indulge her body in the carnal pleasures she'd been consistently denied. He certainly wasn't a poor sight with his shirt off; kind of a lithe, toned body. Not overly muscular, just the sort of body she passed glances over when walking through town or hamlet.

This young man had a lot of prospects, a lot of potential uses, and if all this panned out in the morning, perhaps this could be one of them.

The girl did not lie. This one, who had been so icy before, engaged his lips with a passion he would have thought she did not possess. Still, it was quite a quality of hers to be able to handle business and pleasure with such contrasting demeanors. But, it would give him the most pleasure to dwell only on the one she was exhibiting now.

She had been kind enough to rise to meet him, but slowly and surely he pushed his body further up her bed, pressing against her head with his own lips, tilting her until her back once more rested against the sheets, and he laid atop her. He looked up and down her, most of her body visible, save for that small little chemise. He pondered to himself, a real adventurer would have started on her before she had ever slipped a single piece of clothing off, and done that favor for her himself. Still, there was plenty to admire. One hand of his brushed against her cheek, before tasting her dark lips once more, and the other found its way to her hip, as he began to explore the curves of her body.

She didn't fight him for control, which was a real change of pace for her. But not an unpleasant one. He'd arrested her lips, and the elf felt herself melting into him, like two candles left too close together.

Her mind, which was usually very sharp, began to grow hazy and warm. She reached up and clasped his shoulders, giving them a little squeeze to encourage him.