Figleaf Leatherwors

Chapter 4

The noblewoman cast one look around and her shoulders sagged. Already this was going to shit.

Emory wanted to run forward and drop into his sales pitch, but before he could even get a word out his father was rising to meet her. He'd somehow finagled a cup of tea for the lady and a smile that looked remarkably genuine— his instincts were as sharp as ever: "A fine morning to you, madam. Tis a day of gifts when such a ray of sunlight pierces our glass, how may we give back to you for your kindness?"

The daemon woman nudged Emory and flicked her gaze towards the leather racks.

He lead.

"I'm here to see Emory, he and I have business to discuss," the noble stated plainly.

"I'm sure he would love to do so, madam," his father responded.

The noble tisked. "If the man doesn't know his own business, then I'll have to go elsewhere-"

"Right now he's with another client. I'm the owner of this shop, so perhaps I can cut you a fairer deal."

After a beat the noble produced the sample Emory had given her. "Your boy promised me quality, and I've had a chance to test it out. . . .I'm not easily impressed, you've taught him well."

"That right?"

There was a long, heavy pause where Emory could just

feel

his father's eyes boring into his back. Keline, bless her, jumped to explain the situation about going to the Hall

after

they saw the Fate's Tapestry; no blasphemy here, just industrious young people trying to build up the business. That seemed to mollify him enough to start a quiet conversation with the noble. Emory was going to owe her so much for this.

The daemon woman was just as quiet as she looked over the racks. "Someone's been naughty," her voice was low pitched and sultry. Nothing like the sharp tone she'd been using earlier. At first Emory was confused by this, but then it occurred to him that she might've known the noble's not-retainer. She might've been hiding her true nature and self by changing her voice a bit.

"I'm sure I have no idea what you're talking about."

Her wings jostled as she gave him a dubious but cheeky look. "Your father seems pretty quick on the draw, does the

acilious

far from the tree?"

"Forgive my ignorance, but what's an ac-ili-ous?"

"Oh. Right," the daemon mused. "It's a fruit. You don't have them here— like oranges but sweet- eh, it's a stupid expression anyway." She motioned vaguely, casting a glance towards the noble.

Emory saddled up next to her, lowering his voice. "She make you uncomfortable?"

"Deeply." She looked to Emory, then reached out to touch some of the leather they used for aprons. She asked permission with her expression. A little caught off guard, he nodded softly.

As he watched her shape the leather with her fingers he noticed just how delicate she was with her explorations. Not soft, not gentle, but

careful

and deliberate, testing in the way a wolf might've been with a species of rabbit it had never seen before. What would it have been like to be shaped by those fingers, toyed with and teased by someone so exotic?

"Would you like me to ask her to leave?"

"Would you if I said yes?"

"Probably not."

She scoffed. It was a warm, crackling sound like turned embers. "And they say chivalry is dead." She grinned at him to show she was joking. "What if I offered to double whatever she's paying you?"

The coward in him would've said to run the hell away from this kind of thing, but there was nowhere he

could

run to. Besides, she didn't seem all that dangerous. Eccentric, yes, but not dangerous. Maybe it'd be okay. "How much would you offer for the damage to our reputation?"

She cast a glance his way as she started to fondle some of the heavier leathers. "Shrewd. Triple."

"Sorry but no."

Eventually she huffed and gave him a full on bemused look. "Since when do merchants have scruples?"

"Since this is a family owned business and I believe in our ability to serve you and her at the same time."

The tall blonde cant her head just slightly. "Are you. . ." She cracked a smile with an approving nod. "If you're going to attempt it, I'm going to insist on watching."

Emory grinned back as his confidence swelled and the knot between his shoulders began to unwind some. Everything was going to be fine.

She glanced towards the table where Emory's father was negotiating. Someone had brought over a few armor samples from the bin and they were going over the finer details of grade and thickness. "You do armor, too?"

"We're kind of a general purpose shop, we can do intricate work but we also provide armor to the militias; belts, tool leather, pouches, even saddle skirts on occasion. But we're not a bridle shop any more than we're an armorer." He hesitated when she looked to him again for permission to touch some of the softer leathers they had. "By all means."

"Shame, I'd love to get a new set of boots."

From his angle he had a perfect view of her ass; her trousers gripped her body, they swelled to brace her muscular thighs with slavish devotion to her form. They even had golden eyelets and silk lacing running down the outsides that further accented her outline. She might've been a daemon, but she was still part of the world, she put in the work to look her best and she was vain, and apparently wealthy enough, to feed that vanity. If he'd been thinking like a future business owner, he'd have been focused on

that

and not on how shapely her flanks were.

"You ah. . . .a little conditioner can undo some of that damage."

"That right? See anything

damaged

, do you?" She side eyed him for a moment with a cloying, teasing grin on the edge of her lips.

Emory cleared his throat and looked away. "No, ma'am. Quite the opposite, in fact."

"Glad to hear it." When it was obvious the noble wasn't in a rush to leave the daemon woman sighed and ruffled out her wings only to resettle the clawed tips on her mantle. "So let's put your promise to the test; I can't be the only one who deals in temptation." She crossed her arms and leaned against the rack, shielding the both of them from the noble and her servant's gaze. "What does my money get me,

mister

merchant?"

More at ease in his home turf, Emory put on an easy smile. "I can't help but think that mantle is important to you, so if you want I can do it by day's end."

"Mmm. . . .and if I want it done right now? Annnnnd if I want to watch you work?"

Emory kept the smile in place even as he ran through his options- if that noble made her nervous, why would she want to hang around? Was it some kind of game she was playing? Did she just want to see if Emory's father would rip him a new one? That had to be it, right? Plenty of daemons had a reputation for being tricksters and perpetual witnesses to shitty situations.

"Ahm- all right. . . .all right, sure, but I warn you- it's a rush order, so we'll have to come to an agreement on price—"

"Five drucemi." She threw out without thought. She'd tucked her thumbs in her belt again and eased off the rack.

Was she mad? "That will cover the cost of the funerary rites for your purse, I wager, but I wouldn't feel right taking that kind of coin for such a simple task. I don't know who you're used to dealing with, but I assure you we're not them."

She smiled slyly with her canines dimpling the edges of her lower lip. "Oh, yes. We

can

do business. . . .very good. Name your price and I'll not negotiate it from there."

So it'd been a test. "Seven coppers sounds fair. Ten if we decide you need a design on it to cover the work? You'll get our standard warranty, regardless."

"Bargained." She smiled and thrust her hand out. Emory juked back by reflex and immediately felt like an idiot. He shook her hand gently and guided her over to his workbench, past a very skeptical looking Keline.

He could feel her eyes on his back- or maybe their customer's- anyone that was invited to stay for a bit usually got peoples' attention. It often meant someone had messed something up. On rare occasions it meant contract work and now they had two guests in the shop at once. Keline's gaze was no doubt swinging between the two tables like a pendulum; her mother insisted it was some kind of half-elven curiosity. Any change in the environment and she just had to know what was going on.

Of course it was at that moment Keline did what Keline always did; she tried to cover his ass. "Want me to take this one, Emory?"

"I've got it." He said carefully as he took the backed client's chair out. "Trade me your stool?"

"No?" She stared at him blankly. He made a 'come on' motion and she grumbled irritably before eventually relinquishing it. "Fine, but I'm not moving."

The daemon woman was in the process of disentangling her wings from her mantle when Emory set the stool before her. This earned a side eye from a very bored Vellmullod which he passed off with a smile he didn't quite feel. He needed to keep focused, to not ogle their guest or piss himself in fear that they might fight or something.

For her part in this mess, Keline was watching the winged woman with bright, curious eyes that roamed her form unashamedly. He'd never known her not to explore someone she just met, but this was different- it was carnal. He discretely swatted her shoulder when he passed by her table to take his seat. She rolled her eyes and pretended to go back to her tooling work.

The sounds of the workshop's usual cacophony of soft hammering, blades being dragged across cutting mats and rhythmic clicking of needles had dulled somewhat since the daemons and noble had entered, he hadn't really noticed until he heard his chair wheeze protest at his occupation. The daemon woman looked at the stool before her, then to Emory- her lips split into a saccharin smile and almost like she was doing it for the particular effect of it, she mounted the stool by bracing her feet on the rungs and hopping forward so her thighs were flexed and clutching. She was just that little bit off the seat where Emory could see light peeking through and then she sat down rightly and flexed out her wings to rest at her forearms like toddlers' arms hooking over them.

"Well aren't you considerate," she whispered.

"So are you."

"How so?"

Emory took up her mantle carefully and started sketching out his idea with chalk to show her. He kept his voice low, careful, intending for all the world to look casual. "You don't seem like someone who has to ask permission to get what they want."

"I suppose not," she said mildly. "It's more fun, though." She took her chin in one hand, her gaze flicked from the piece to him. Then she took off her hat and ran a hand through her dirty blonde hair, fluffing it out between her horns and leaning forward. Emory could feel her gaze lingering, he saw the shadows dance over the table and realized she was adjusting her wings. Stretching. He focused more intently on his work, sketching out a pair of wheat stalks at either side of the mantle- one to hide the scar and the other for decoration. It wasn't quite embroidery, but it was as close as he could get with the tools he had at hand.

When he showed her, the daemon didn't break his gaze. "I like that, but isn't that going to be too much work for seven coppers?"

"It's just an idea, but uh. . ." He swallowed. Lindress was going to kill him if she knew what was about to come out of his mouth— he prayed Keline didn't overhear it: "I could never hope to match the beauty of the piece, nor the one wearing it. So, instead, I'll try and hide the ugly parts."

She leaned in conspiratorially. "Again with talk of imperfections. Find a lot of them, do you?"

"I know better than to answer that honestly."

She laughed a melodic sound, leaning back with a cocksure grin. "Then let's see how well you can hide them."

He grabbed a piece of scrap leather from the box under the table, one of the multitude of fork-like punches in the tool block and a bone needle. He sketched out the design on the scrap piece and quickly went about lacing some tawny thread into it. He could feel the daemon's gaze upon him as he worked. Her presence had a kind of aura about it that he was becoming more and more aware of- he could

feel

her nearby without even seeing her.

She was a flurry of sensations that radiated in invisible waves. Every time he punched new holes in his scrap leather he could feel the subtlest twinge of her presence across his being. Maybe it was her, or maybe it was the satisfaction that he got to perform his craft in front of someone. As he worked through the test piece his focus easily narrowed into what he was doing and the sense of pride became a calm haze of contentedness— it was a familiar and welcomed feeling in the midst of so much chaotic energy.

Next he sewed up the design with a daisy stitch that created the effect of a few small kernels of wheat complete with tips. He fixed up most of one stalk and turned the piece over to the client for inspection, pointing out how he imagined it'd work. She listened patiently, curious and strangely warm to all the details. When it was all said and done she took the piece gingerly, running her fingertips along the thread. And again Emory's mind drifted to wondering what it might've been like under those fingers—

She glanced up. Her eyes flickered orange. She smiled that sly little grin of hers and set the work down between them, she crossed her forearms. "You're the first person who's ever actually seen me for me. I'm not sure if I should be flattered or intrigued. What's your name?"

"With all due respect? No."

The daemon pouted teasingly. "Fine, fine. I'm Glysless, now you know my name, let me hear yours."

Vellmullod's ear flicked but she deliberately ignored the woman in favor of staring a hole through her mistress's back.

Emory picked up her mantle, corrected a few sketch marks and grabbed some of the temporary glue they used for setting work along with another thick scrap of leather. "It's a beautiful name," he said.

"I'll be the judge of that, soon as you tell me what it is."

"I meant yours."

Glysless took her cheek in her hand, smirking. The tip of one of her canines was peeking from the bottom of her upper lip. Emory briefly imagined them sinking into his flesh, the beautiful riot of pain and pleasure that'd dance across his body in that moment would've been blinding- it was bad enough when Lindress did it, and she didn't have those kind of teeth. Emory refocused himself on the mantle, setting up the back of it and his scrap piece so the glue could start drying.

"Mmm, I bet. . ." She mused quietly. "I think you're a Jascon."

"Oh?"

"Mhm. Strong, casual, deeply principled and

oh so

careful with everything you do."

She was right about one of those things- Emory double checked his measurements and glued the mantle closed, held in place by the scrap. "Get that from 'Jascon' do you?"

"I have from every Jascon I've met! Exactly one of them, actually. The other one was kind of a dumb fuck."

Emory coughed and laughed. The tension in his body ebbed away into a faint background worry as he started to pound out the holes necessary for his pattern. "So I guess that makes me part of a coin flip, huh?"

"It would if your name was Jascon. . . .do you want to be part of that coin flip? You might stack the odds in your favor and redeem the name forevermore." Glysless picked up one of the thread bobbins on the table, turning it over this way and that as she considered him. Her wings fluttered listlessly, playing with the shadows across Emory's work. "Or maybe. . ."

"Maybe?" Emory glanced up. Her wings were cresting either side of her head creating a kind of leathery stained glass effect, like she was the back end of a Tapestry and the table was her altar. She was beautiful enough in that moment to have been a figure of one of the Fates, back lit by hues of orange and yellow.

She smiled slyly, clasping the bobbin like a claimed treasure now. "Maybe you want to write a new legacy, hm? You could set the tone for all of your namesakes to follow. For me, at least."

"I'm surprised you didn't pick up on it earlier."

Glysless turned her treasure over a couple times with feigned interest. She sounded kind of disappointed. "I could say the same about you: I told you, I like people to give to me

willingly

. It's not as much fun when I get what I want from outside sources."

"Mmmhmm." Two could play this game- if he dared.

He did, he decided: "What if I turn out to be a dumb fuck?"

Keline was apparently bored by whatever she was able to overhear, she wandered over to the shelves to turn in some projects and stuff them into their respective cubbies. Glysless took notice of the movement but didn't tear her gaze from Emory. "Well, then you leave a bad reputation for your name, but I don't think that's your style. . ."

She leaned forward some, smiling privately. Expectant.

"Emory," he said plaintively.

"Bargained, then, Emory."

"Funny, I don't remember signing a contract." He shot back, working out his stitching with a quick hand.

Glysless went quiet at that for a long, thoughtful moment, then she said simply: "I'm on vacation."

"Huh?"

"Vacation- that thing that happens when you've been a good little fiend and collected your requisite number of souls. I'm

kidding,

don't give me that look." She tutted. "I'm a bounty hunter, actually. Technically I guess you could say I collect souls, but they're mostly assholes anyway, so who cares?"

"I uh, I suppose that'd explain a few things."

Glysless set the bobbin down, picked it up again, turned it over. She was practically vibrating with restless energy. Then she smiled in a way that made her canines divot her lower lip. "Most people shit themselves when they hear my spurs- it's half the fun of the job. Buuuuuut. . ." She drawled.

Tentatively, Emory glanced up. Her wings had folded behind her back once more making her appear somehow shy and as careful as he was. "But?"

"But all this hiding? It's not fun, Emory. Not one bit. You're the first person I've ever met that I didn't have to drop my Glamour for. And you're so understanding! The Fates must've wound some really interesting thread together when they wove you, huh?"

"I uh, I wouldn't call myself that interesting."

This, apparently, had been the trap she'd been setting up for him to step into. He realized it a beat too late to stop himself. Glyless leaned forward, whispered in a thick, sultry purr. "There's so much I could teach you about yourself to

make

you more interesting. I'm a good teacher, and, honestly? I'd love to see the face you make when my spurs are jingling next to your ears. I doubt it'd be fear I'd see."

Emory froze.

"Let's find out. When do you close up shop?"

"Uh-"

"Or, right now. There's this little inn on Quartz street. They serve the most amazing stuffed boar. It melts in your mouth and slides so gracefully down your throat." Her eyes danced with amusement.

Emory still hadn't found his mental tracking yet. He was most of the way done with the wheat that hid the tear, but all of a sudden his hands were trembling and the bone needle felt so heavy and clumsy in his fingers. He glanced up to find Glysless with her chin in her hands watching him with a warm smile that could've looked the picture of virgin innocence had it not been worn by a daemon. Oh, but those lips were so soft, those eyes so bright— those fangs so sharp. . .

"Orrrrr. . ." The woman pouted. She picked up the bobbin again, voice more quizzical than before. "Or are you seeing someone? Do they like to share? I'm a

very

giving soul if the price is right." The daemon woman tossed the bobbin on the table. She huffed. "I bet you are, the

good

ones are always taken."