Her mark had seemed easy enough upon first glance. Their money pouch, though tucked away, wasn't hidden quite enough to escape Iryla's keen eyes. The bustling streets at this time in the evening made for a fine enough distraction as bodies brushed against each other in quick succession heading here and there around the city. It should have been easy. 

But life, as always, seemed to just love proving Iryla wrong.

At first, everything was simply routine for her. She moved through the crowd like a fish through water, her bare feet barely making sound as they padded along the ash coated streets. Bumping into her target at precisely the right angle for her hands to brush against their belt, that was a little trickier, but a well place stumble and a wide eye'd 'Sorry' brought her right where she needed to be. Palming the coin purse, her fingers deftly slipping loose the knot and hiding the pouch against her skin, that all went off without a hitch.

So why in the world was she standing here with her wrist held firmly by someone else before she had a chance to make her escape? Why was the crowd backing away from around them as she stared on in shock?

With a muffled curse more suited to a sailor's mouth than a teenage girl's, Iryla sighs. Well, damn.

So much for easy.

One would think after being robbed of his earthly possessions enough times, Cyran would learn to keep a better hold on his things. The lesson had yet to sink in, most likely because he was so used to going unnoticed by people that it caught him by surprise when he was.



He was on his way back to an inn he’d rented for the night after a day of reconnaissance for his current mission, already exhausted by the time he felt something brush up against his waste. The touch was slight, something most people would have dismissed as a phantom touch from another member of the crowd. But Cyran was still on guard, and his hand darted out to grab the pickpocket before they could make away with his meager coin. The figure stiffened immediately, attempting to writhe from his grasp, but he held firm, turning to face the cutpurse.



Only to freeze when he saw her face.



She was young, with grime on her cheeks and tattered clothes, and wide eyes staring at him in shock as he held her wrist, preventing her from escaping. Distantly, he was aware of the crowd backing away from them, all watching and waiting to see what would become of the thief, what Cyran would do to her. The girl swore under her breath, tensing up as she waited for his reaction.



He slowly relaxed his grip- in his shock, he hadn’t realized he was holding her wrist with enough pressure to cut off circulation.



“You don’t need to take it, you know.” He said softly, in a gentle manner as to be careful not to spook her away. “You could just ask for it and I’ll give it to you.”

As her intended target speaks, the look on Iryla's face quickly morphs from quiet shock to something harder, something wary. She is no longer tugging on her wrist, trying to break free from his grasp. But from the way her eyes dart to his face, and then at their surroundings then back to his face, over and over, it's clear that she likely is just biding her time. Looking for an escape.

"Those are nice words." She replies, perhaps a touch petulantly. But really? He expected her to believe she could just smile and ask for his coin purse and walk off with it just like that? What did he take her for, some foolish child? 

No, absolutely not. She was no fool. 

The grip on her wrist was looser now, though the sting from before remained. She could likely easily slip her wrist from his grip now, but that left the problem of the crowd around them. And even if she got out of his grip, there was no telling what he might do if she tried to run.

Scowling, Iryla ruminates over her options before she finally seems to settle on the only one that makes sense.

"How about I give you your coin back, and we both walk away like nothing happened, does that seem fair?" She would be more than a little screwed if he wanted her to be punished for her failed attempt at theft. If she was lucky, and he really was one of those bleeding heart types, maybe he'd just let her go to crawl back to her nearest hiding spot and tend to her wounded pride. 

The hardened look in the girl’s eyes was one he recognized. Cyran had basically let go of her by now, but the crowd effectively trapped her from escaping. When she spoke, the disbelief was evident in her tone. Cyran took no offense to it- he didn’t expect her to trust him. She was only still here because she’d yet to find an opening in the crowd to abscond. The townsfolk were tightly packed, murmuring amongst themselves the longer thief and victim went locked in a stalemate.



It’s almost like they see this as entertainment.



Cyran’s ears twitched in annoyance as he raised his voice, surveying the crowd of onlookers with a frigid glare. Raising his voice, he called out, “If you’ve all had your fill standing around and catching flies with your mouths, you can kindly piss off now. This is a private matter.” The tone of his voice left no room for argument- he stood firm for a moment, waiting to see if any of them would try to challenge him.



The crowd slowly began to dissipate, no doubt sour that they didn’t get to see blood spilled, and embarrassed that they’d all been called out for spectating. The two were by no means alone, and a few curious glances were still shot in their direction, but most had gone about their business, scurrying off to their respective destination.



Cyran turned his attention back to the girl, grateful she hadn’t darted off yet. “Sorry about that. You’re free to keep the money, but I have a room at an inn around the corner if you’d prefer a warm place to sleep for the night and a hot meal. The choice is yours- I won’t force you to do anything you don’t want to.” He shrugged, releasing her wrist. She still had his coin pouch, but Cyran kept both hands visible and away from the dagger on his belt, showing her that he had no intention to make any move against her, whether she decided to take it and run or not.


It was just money, and he’d much prefer it went to someone who needed it more than him.

As the crowd starts to disperse, there is a visible parting of one cluster of townsfolk. A charcoal-skinned tiefling accompanied by two cloaked individuals stride confidently towards the pair. The cloaked figure on the right appears to be quite tall and the other more average in height but clearly having white and grey fur beneath their clothing. The tall individual shoots some of the rubberneckers a look from under their hood while the tiefling approaches the pair with a toothy friendly grin.

“Cyran, I thought I recognized your voice, so good to see you.” He glances down at the young half-elf, a curious look crosses his face and an even more mischievous grin. “Is this your daughter?”

The two cloaked figures turn their backs on the three and seem to keep guard as the tiefling converses with them. It was obvious that they were working as guards of some description. What was less obvious was the subtle communication between the tiefling and them to understand what was expected in this situation. A slight head nod, a twitch of a tail or finger was all they needed to know Cyran and the girl were no threat to their employer. 

The tiefling gives a bow to the young half-elf. "Pleasure to make your acquaintance, miss."

Upon closer inspection, Zarius realizes that Iryla is far too dirty to possibly have been traveling with Cyran. Surely the elf would not let a young lady walk around in such a state if he could help it, daughter or otherwise. Cyran strikes him as someone who would eagerly take responsibility for others and their well being, even at the expense of himself. It was just the vibe he got from the man after their few encounters.

He glances about as he straightens back up and sees there are still some people off in the dark corners of the market keeping a keen eye on them. His own presence had drawn some suspicious looks and hushed whispers. He turns back to Cyran.

“It is probably best to continue whatever conversation this is somewhere more discrete. Do you have somewhere you are staying or do you require some hospitality?”

As the man lets go of her and the crowd dissipates, a thick coil of tension in Iryla's stomach loosens, not completely, but enough that she notices it. So she wouldn't be publicly humiliated by this would be target. That was... Something. It was still a little too soon to determine if it was something good yet, though. In her experience, it usually wasn't. 

Now would be the perfect opportunity to cut her losses and make a run for it, and he probably knew that just as well as she did. But something in his words gives her a momentary pause. 

... A bed and a warm meal...? How long has it been since she had had either of those luxuries? A warm meal.. Months, surely. And she could hardly recall what it felt like to sleep in an actual bed.

It's a tempting offer, to be sure, and if Iryla didn't know better she would take it. Even still, she is tempted. But following a strange man anywhere in a city like this following promises of safety and comfort was asking for something bad to happen.

She is just about to open her mouth and turn him down when yet another stranger approaches, addressing her would-be target presumably by name and even going as far as to call her Miss and give her a little bow. She can hardly even process the comment about her being this man's daughter. Maybe in any other situation she would laugh at that. For all she knew it could be true after all. 

This entire situation would be comical, if Iryla was not so on edge. 

The presence of the two shadows behind this new stranger keep Iryla rooted in place, but her eyes are once again darting between all their faces, and the possible escape routes near by them. With a grimace she says nothing as Cyran's coin purse weighs heavily in her hand. 

“Oh, Zarius. It's been a while.” Cyran returned the tiefling’s amicable grin with a smile of his own, one that faltered when Zarius cracked a joke about the girl being his daughter. He recovered quickly, though, simply happy to see a familiar face.



He kept a close eye on the two cloaked figures behind Zarius, though it was obvious they were bodyguards in some capacity. They stayed a respectful distance away from Zarius, keeping an eye on their surroundings for any threats.



“Ah, no. This is…” He trailed off. He hadn’t had the chance to get the girl’s name yet, and she had fallen silent after the arrival of Zarius and his entourage. “Well, we’ve just met. I was just inviting her to have dinner with me when you arrived.”



He wasn’t oblivious to the attention they were garnering, though he wasn’t sure if that was because of the spectacle he’d inadvertently caused or because of his company. He made a mental note to ask Zarius about it later, though he had a feeling the tiefling was from an affluent family of sorts, or at the very least he was a figure that people recognized. Admittedly, he knew little about Darkveil politics, aside from a few snippets here and there.

“I have a room at the Dancer’s Den.” Cyran admitted. “Not the most quiet spot, but it’s better than being out in the open. Though if you have any suggestions, I’m open to moving somewhere that we can continue this without being overheard. I wouldn’t mind catching up with a friend.”



He turned back to the girl. She was still clutching his coin purse, searching for an escape route. Cyran grimaced- he didn’t want to force her to join them, but he wouldn’t feel right leaving her on her own, especially around here. “Like I said, I won’t force you to do anything. But I would feel better knowing that you had shelter for at least one night. That’s all yours, though, no strings attached.” He gestured to the pouch.

Ah. So Cyran had just found this child on the streets. That wasn't unusual in Darkveil. Orphans were often the results of poor choices, drunken flings, and families murdered in the night. No wonder she was so filthy. 

His golden eyes narrow as he spots the coin pouch clutched in her hand. A pickpocket then. Again, not unusual on these streets. Still, she was fortunate to be so young. Cyran was a bounty hunter after all and could have easily reacted much more violently to her petty crime. 

"Well, it might be better to get cleaned up before eating, especially if we are to dine in public. You might get accused of being neglectful." He teases the elf while also inviting himself to join them. 

"I would invite you to the place I own not that far from here, but unfortunately it is still under renovations. The Dancer's Den will suffice. No one there is foolish enough to cause a scene this time of day." He turns to one of the cloaked individuals. "Eirynor, could you drop by the estate and pick up a spare change of clothes for the young lady and meet us at there?"

The taller individual glances back at the group. Their dusty violet eyes fall on Iryla for a moment, taking note of her height before they nod and walk off down the street, their silver longsword glints from beneath their cloak.

Zarius looks at Cyran with a smile then down at the thieving half-elf. He could tell by the tension in her body that she was one second away from testing her luck and bolting away from the men. It would be a foolish endeavor especially with present company. Snow, the tabaxi who accompanied him was fast and adept at tracking. Not to mention Cyran and Zarius were very quick on their feet as well. They would easily be able to surround her should she flee. 

The friendly smile on his face never wavers, though the tone he uses next has a hint of menace in it. "Cyran here is quite generous. It would be quite rude to refuse his offer."

Now. Now would definitely be the time to make her escape, consequences and danger be damned. She could practically feel her window of opportunity shrinking as these two spoke casually to each other. They would recognize her now if they ever saw her on the streets again. And now they were making plans with her.

The other shoe drops when the tiefling man, Zarius, mentions one single word.

Estate.

'I never really had a choice at all, huh?' She thinks, nearly hysterical even in her own mind. A man from an estate, a man with money, who owned some kind of business? That was bad news for small fry like Iryla no matter how she looked at this situation. She had always done her best to keep her head down and to stay out of the way of anyone in Darkveil with any real money or power, but now, all because she had picked the wrong target, she was caught right in the path of someone who could likely make her life even more of a living hell with ease. 

She clutches onto the money pouch while looking between Zarius and Cyran even tighter now, not scared of losing it's contents but more holding onto it as some kind of life line to keep her from openly panicking as she swallows down her fear.

"I..." She trails off at first and simply looks between them again. "I will... go quietly." 

The look on her face is more akin to a soldier resigned to the battlefield than a young girl being taken to get dinner and some new clothes. Surely if this Zarius had any amount of influence or power in Darkveil then going with these people would be dangerous for her, but she had very little choice in the matter. She just needed to keep calm, and keep her eyes open. If she went with them and remained docile for now it was only a matter of time before someone made a mistake and she could slip away. 

Cyran’s eyes widened at the girl’s sudden demeanor change, as if she’s resigned herself to the gallows. “There’s no need to come quietly, I assure you! You’re no prisoner!” He gasped, appalled at the implication. Cyran was relieved that she’d chosen to come with them- Zarius’s implications of neglect were perhaps closer than he believed, considering some of the physical similarities they shared.

More than anything, he just wanted to make sure she was clothed and fed. Cyran knew orphans were no rarity here, but being aware of that fact and being confronted with it were two different things.

He narrowed his eyes at Zarius. His first instinct was to scold the tiefling for using that kind of tone with a girl who was already afraid enough of his entourage, but he decided against pressing the matter. Zarius had no doubt picked up on the nature of their encounter, and was probably more accustomed to dealing with the common criminals and beggars in the city. Besides, he had offered to clothe the girl, and that was more than Cyran could afford himself right now.

He straightened, eyes darting around the square, keeping an eye out for any eavesdroppers. There were a few in the shadows, well-hidden but still not obscure enough for someone like Cyran to miss.

We really shouldn’t stall around here for long.

“I’ll show you three to my room, then.” He said. “It’s a bit small, but I can’t complain when it’s a place to rest your head. You can take a bath when we get there.” That last part was addressed to the girl, who was still shaking like a leaf.

Briefly, he wondered if it would be easier for them to pose as father and daughter while he was in town. It would make it easier to protect her, and prevent situations like this from happening again…

But he was getting ahead of himself. He didn’t even know her name yet.

He turned to the girl, using the gentlest voice he could manage. “You can call me Cyran. No family name- I haven’t got one.” He normally wouldn’t reveal such information to strangers, but he wanted her to feel more at ease with him, and that started with sharing facts about himself that she might connect with. “And I promise you that no harm will come to you while you’re with me.”

She didn’t have to believe him, but he felt the words had to be said.

He clapped his hands together, changing the subject. “Let’s go then, shall we?”

He beckoned for the group to follow him as he started making his way to his current lodgings.

Zarius nods in acknowledgement to Cyran and Iryla before falling into step with the elf as he leads them to the inn. Snow brings up the rear of the group, keeping a watchful eye on those they pass while also herding the young thief along.

“So, is this your first time in Darkveil, Cyran?” The tiefling asks, a bemused smile on his face. “You certainly are getting the full experience, getting pick pocketed so soon.”

Losing your coin was one of the better crimes to be a victim of on these streets. Lunala forbid that the hunter cross paths with the wrong crowd and end up disappearing in the night or worse. You had to know your way around these streets to make it.

He glances back at the teenager, she likely knew that all too well. The way she gave up her attempts to flee showed that she had enough sense to understand that cooperating would just be easier. She probably was making all the wrong assumptions about the men, but still, it made things simpler.

While Zarius was the face of the family abroad, he hadn’t been home in quite some time. That said, there was only one family of charcoal tieflings of any repute around the city. His family weren’t ones to flaunt their power though. They were still working their way up the criminal ladder which meant that they had a lot of competition to deal with on a regular basis. The security of being one of the top three crime families was the ultimate goal, at least for now. Who knew how much their ambition would grow given enough time.

The small group approaches the inn known as the Dancer’s Den. It towers over much of the surrounding buildings with its five stories and a lilt of music can be heard from inside the illuminated windows. The scent of spiced food and drink wafts down the street from its doors, though the smells and sounds are much more welcoming than the few rough and tumble grunts who have parked themselves just to the side of the inn’s entrance way.

One snaggle-toothed individual looks at them with beady cold eyes as they approach. He looks like he’s just about to say something when Zarius regards him.

“Gentlemen, you are an eyesore. Take your loitering somewhere else.”

The beady-eyed man scowls and rises to his feet, taking one menacing step towards them before an audible growl gives him second thoughts. Snow stares the man down from behind the group, already prepared with an arrow notched against their longbow’s drawstring. One of the other goons grabs the back of the beady-eyed man’s cloak.

“Ain’t worth it. Let’s go.” He says in a gruff voice as the beady-eyed man shrugs his grip off.

The group of five goons skulk off down the street, shooting Cyran and Zarius nasty glances as they disappear from sight. The tiefling waits until they are gone before smiling back at their cloaked escort.

“Thank you, Snow.”

“Please do not start any fights, Master Zarius.” The tabaxi sighs and slides the arrow back into their quiver and slings the longbow over their back.

“It will be fine. Cyran here is very skilled.” Zarius waves dismissively before entering the Dancer’s Den.

The snow-leopard tabaxi regards Cyran with just this look of exhaustion and resignation.

‘There’s no need to come quietly, I assure you! You’re no prisoner!’ A nice sentiment, sure, but with their present company, it was nothing more than a pleasant lie. She should have realized sooner the kind of company she had somehow fallen in with. There were so few tieflings like this man in the city, and his clean appearance and clothes gave away his status.

With a grimace, Iryla brings herself back out of her thoughts and to the current conversation around her. A Bath? Absolutely not, though she didn’t need to say that out loud. Like hell would she put herself in such a vulnerable position around these strange people. Against her waist, her dagger weighs heavily where she’s kept it concealed. It was a meager thing, more rust than metal in some places, but it was her last resort and she would not be separated from it willingly to do something as useless as taking a bath. Even if… being clean did sound kind of nice.

No, no. She could find a bucket later if she really wanted to.

Iryla nods when Cyran introduces himself, though she had already picked up on his name earlier. She eyes him warily when he promises safety to her, clearly not yet believing those words. Perhaps he was the bleeding heart type. Clearly, he was new to the city after all, and he didn’t seem used yet to the sight of people like… her. Either he was foolishly soft, or a very, very good liar.

She is more inclined to believe the first option when her suspicions are confirmed a moment later by Zarius as they begin to walk through the city streets. So Cyran was new around here, but somehow these two knew each other. Zarius, on the other hand, was clearly a powerful local and perhaps the bigger threat. The fact that he had shadows tailing him meant that he would surely be the harder one to escape from at least…

It’s only the smell of food wafting down the street that pulls Iryla from her ruminations as her stomach gives a pitiful growl. Ah, right. The reason she had been trying to pickpocket Cyran in the first place. Food. A hot flush rushes to Iryla’s face as she avoids looking at the group surrounding her. Maybe they didn’t hear it..?

Her steps slow a bit as they get closer to the Dancer’s Den. Though the smells are inviting, she has never actually been in this place, at least not as a guest. Would the staff inside recognize her as another street rat that had been chased off of the premise before…? It had likely been more than a year since the last time she tried to pilfer through the garbage around this part of town, but still… Would she even be allowed inside?

‘Stop that, Iryla. If you’re turned away at the door, then that’s the perfect excuse to leave these weirdos behind.’

The thought feels bitter as Iryla watches Zarius deal with the riff-raff outside the door, helped by his strange companion. Usually, she’d avoid these kinds of denizens of the city like the plague, knowing that they were older and stronger than her and would love to pick on small fry like herself. But Zarius didn’t seem bothered in the slightest.

Quietly, Iryla watches as Zarius’... Servant? Companion? Friend??? As his servant-friend puts their bow away.

She hardly even realizes it when she opens her mouth and utters a single word. “Fluffy…”

“It is my first time visiting.” Cyran confirmed in response to Zarius's question. “I arrived only a few nights ago. It’s a… hell of a welcome party.” He was grateful he hadn’t met anything worse. There were criminals far more dangerous than cutpurses on these streets. Cyran was confident he could handle himself against a few thugs, but he didn’t want to bring trouble on himself by crossing the wrong person. He supposed in that regard he was lucky.



As they walked, he kept a careful eye on the girl, worried she would try to slip away. He didn’t want to coerce her into anything, but he at least understood that it was safer for her to stay with them for the time being. If she’d been identified as a member of their group by onlookers, then it would only paint a target on her back.



They eventually reached the Dancer’s Den, Cyran’s temporary lodgings while he was in town. It was often more crowded than he’d like, especially in the evenings when the patrons had far too many drinks, but the atmosphere was otherwise pleasant enough. He could smell the food even as they rounded the corner, approaching the five-story building. He stayed back as Zarius and his bodyguard confronted the thugs, a hand on his dagger. If any of them decided to try anything, he’d step in, but making sure they didn’t get to the girl was his first priority. Eventually, though, Zarius’s bodyguard- Snow- stepped in with his bow, effectively chasing the thugs off.



Cyran watched them all go, committing their faces to memory, just in case.



Zarius’s compliment brought him back to the present, and Cyran gave him a grateful smile, waving him and the exasperated bodyguard inside. “My room is in the back. Give me a second to talk to the bartender and request a bath for you.” And maybe a plate of food as well, he amended mentally. She tried to play it off, but he'd heard her stomach growling earlier. He quickly made his way to the bar and requested his things be brought to his room, only to stop when he patted his pants down for payment and remembered that his coin pouch was currently in someone else’s hands.



“Put it on my tab.” He told them sheepishly. He’d get paid at the end of this contract anyways.



He returned to the others and led them to his room, careful to lock the door behind him. The room itself was bare, with the bed neatly made and the curtains already drawn to prevent anyone from looking in. Cyran kept his space neat and left nothing behind that could be stolen while he was away. He may have been an easy target for thieves, but Cyran hadn't survived this long by being careless with his own life. They'd have a little more privacy here to talk freely.


“Welcome to my humble abode. Er, temporary, of course. Feel free to make yourselves at home.”

“Fluffy…”

Snow’s ear twitches from beneath their hood. They look down at the half-elf girl and offer a reassuring smile. The tabaxi knew this all must be frightening for her, admittedly they should have held Zarius back and let Cyran attempt to coax her instead of allowing their employer to lead with a veiled threat. The tiefling was a product of his environment though, so they could not blame him too much. Also he was their employer so they had to keep many of those thoughts to themselves anyway.

The tabaxi gestures for Iryla to follow the men inside the building. They take a cursory glance about the first floor for any threats before Cyran peeled off from the group to request a bath for the orphan. The tabaxi looks at Zarius, the tip of their tail twitching.

Zarius catches the movement in the corner of his eye. “You can stand guard outside the room, Cyran is a friend, and I do not expect the young lady will try anything foolish.”

He doesn’t have to say it aloud, they have ways of communicating non-verbally. Talking aloud was more for Iryla’s benefit. The tiefling wanted to make sure she knew that he was keeping a keen eye on her. An amused smile spreads across Zarius’ face as Cyran fumbles around for his coin purse still in the clutches of the young thief.

As Cyran leads them to the room, Zarius falls in step behind Iryla, creating more of a barrier between her and the front room as they walk down the narrow hallway. Once they reach the door, Snow steps to the side and Zarius palms a few solars into their hands to pay off Cyran’s tab later.

Stepping into the room after the elves, the tiefling looks around at the space. He had never stayed at the inn himself with his family estate being just across the city. What’s more is that soon his own place would be ready to move into, so there was little need to visit the large inn aside from meeting with folk for business on neutral ground.

“Next time you are in the city, feel free to reach out. I would be happy to host you.” He mentions to Cyran.

He didn’t know much about Cyran, but Caedes seemed to be on good terms with the moon elf and he knew the assassin had trust issues. Basically his logic boiled down to if Caedes trusted someone they were worth giving a chance. Whether or not he would extend the teenager the same courtesy would depend on how she chose to behave around them.

When a bath is mentioned once again, Iryla wrinkles her nose. Yeah right, like that would happen.

Though she does end up feeling a pang of... Something when she watches him pat down his pants and come up empty. Perhaps a feeling close to guilt. It wasn’t often she saw the aftermath of her thieving, and even rarer that the person she was stealing from would turn out to maybe, possibly, be kind…

She would have to return this coin pouch to him before slipping away. Maybe take a coin for herself, just enough to get by for a day or two, but return the rest to him. As long as this kind act didn’t turn out to be one big farce. If he or his friend tried anything, of course she’d keep the money for herself, but…

It just didn’t feel quite right to steal from kind people, that was all. In her experience, there weren’t many of them around.

Her attention is drawn from Cyran once again to the tabaxi when she feels their eyes on her, and she flushes a bit as she realizes she may have been speaking aloud. At least they didn’t seem offended or angered by her comment, but something about being smiled at still feels strange.

A touch of wariness returns to her expression as they walk as a group to Cyran’s room. Though she is grateful to be hidden from the peering eyes of the other patrons between Cyran and Zarius, the comfort is a double edged blade. After all, being stuck between the three of them would make her chances of escape slim.

The feeling of apprehension only grows when they are finally away in Cyan’s locked room, with the tabaxi standing outside. Great. Her best option would likely be the window now, as long as it wasn’t locked… Ugh, perhaps she should have taken her chances running in the streets.

She shifts her weight from foot to foot, standing awkwardly in the room with that coin pouch clutched in her white knuckled fists. As much as she'd like to bide her time and wait for an opening, her nerves push her to interrupt their idle chatter. 

“...What… exactly do you two wish to… do with me…?”