Who

Tezca, NPCs Tohapel, Shiel

What

Tezca 'reintroduces' himself to one of his growers.

When

It is evening of the twenty-fifth day of the sixth month of the tenth turn of the 12th pass.

Where

Igen Protectorate

OOC Date 22 Mar 2017 07:00

 

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"Say it!" Tezca leans his weight against the man's back, pressing him harder against rough-hewn stone. Out in the yard a chicken warbles tuck-tuck-tuck. Sunlight slants in slashes through chinks in tight shutters. Haze from fires banked hangs thick, curling. The whole of the curing shed is pungent with the smell of drying ropes of twisted leaf and smoke. In the rafters a young brown firelizard nips at a bit of twine.

The man grunts, his face screwing up as he blurts a resentful: "Tezca."

"Say it right," the spice merchant murmurs in the man's ear, lips hovering close as a lover's, breath stirring fine hair. He presses closer, shifting his grip on the arm wrenched up, "Curl your lip. Grit your teeth."

Here. I'll help you.

"Te-" Tezca wrenches the man's wrist up, twisting his arm. Teeth clamp down, "-zca." Pressure eases immediately, the wrenched arm released. The man slumps against the wall, panting.

"There," the dark-eyed man purrs. "Was that so difficult?" He steps back, smiling as he smoothes the man's garments, plucks at a stray thread. "Remember it, hmm? Remember who looks out for you." Dark brows lift, framing a pleasant expression, mild, smiling.

A woman's voice calls from outside the shed. The man has turned around, keeping himself pressed against the wall, eyes cast down — temper seesawing between afraid and affronted. He weighs his options, the hand of his unwrenched arm curling into a fist. The woman calls again, closer now.

Tezca cocks his head, slewing his shoulders and dipping into the man's eyeline, that same pleasant face now curious. "What?" The man's lip curls back, shame battling resentment. "Oh." Tezca sighs, stepping back. "Worried what your woman will think?" His voice pitches up at the end. He glances over his shoulder at the door, shut. "Don't worry. This can be our little secret."

The door of the shed creaks open and Tezca's face slips into a broad grin at the man who steps forward quickly, face schooled to impassivity. The spice merchant puts his hands on his hips, one hand resting comfortably on the hilt of the long-bladed dagger. "I'll take the lot." His free hand sweeps the whole of the ceiling. "You'll get a handsome cut." Leather creaks as Tezca's fingers tighten on the dagger's hilt, out of eyeshot of the woman who pauses, uncertain, eyes downcast.

"Begging your pardon, Sir." A curtsey dipped, she lifts eyes to her husband, "Toha. Jabei has come with the cart." Dark eyes flicker to Tezca, not seeing the man so much as the fine fabric of his robes. The rich embroidery. The ornate belt buckle, engraved metal. Rings. The wealth.

Tezca watches the man as he would a trundlebug tipped on its back, struggling to right itself.

"Yes, Shiel." The man's voice is sharp. Tezca clears his throat and smiles at the woman. Tohapel, 'Toha' to his friends, forces a smile. It's almost believable. "Thank you. We'll be right out."

"No, we're done." Tezca's voice is dark and low, "I'll be on my way. I've kept 'Toha' long enough."

"Tohapel." The man's shoulders straighten and he lifts his chin marginally.

"As you say." Tezca's smile doesn't reach his eyes as he gives the farmer a level look. "Tlatoani carters will be here with the next two sevens. Have it ready for shipment." He inclines his head to the woman and murmurs a farewell, purred, "Good evening." Her own smile is tight, spots of color blooming in her cheeks. Without a word, regarding the couple, he lifts a hand. The little brown firelizard darts down like a bolt a low thrum of displeasure buzzing at the startled farmers buzzing while his tail winds possessively around Tezca's wrist. Without a look or backward glance, Tezca sweeps out, fragrant smoke swirling serpentine in his wake.

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