Izzy looks down at Morrigan as they say they 'can't'. Can't, can't what exactly? She's about to ask, but Morrigans claws are suddenly digging in tight to her arm, tense and taut. Wisely, a rare thing for Izzy, she says nothing about it, nor reacts outwardly to the pain... except for when she does mouth 'ow' to herself. Little nails were sharp!

Morrigan is not there at that moment, not present enough as the severity of the situation starts coming down around them anyway. She is happy to let that hang there while they find some semblance of composure. In any case, this is where Izzy's appearance and size come in handy; for all Morrigan's beauty and finery, all their fame, the big, bone-white teifling leering threateningly at anyone who so much as glanced their way made it all the easier for Morrigan to have their moment in private.

It doesn't take too much longer for Morrigan to come to a conclusion of some kind, feeling the tension suddenly leave them. As they announce where to go, Izzy gives them a nod, the smile cordial but watchful. "As you wish, fair Wizard," she happily starts allowing Morrigan to lead them in that direction; she was already aware of the general location, but hadn't been investigating too terribly long enough to have attempted to delve too deep into their home yet. That would have been Morrigan's home-court advantage, and Izzy was no fool.

"Nope," she pops her lips on the word. "I trade in secrets, so I usually let my clients have theirs. Easier for me, too, when I don't know who I'm working for. Stops me from getting tangled up in their nonsense, and prevents me from getting a knife in the back because I 'knew too much'. Though, I tend to investigate the ones that seem like cops, and I'm usually right about it." which was not the point at all... or maybe it was. Perhaps that was Izzy's roundabout way of saying she had ruled out that it was an authority of some kind. Her voice remains low and even. "As for motivation? Near as I can tell, they really don't like you. Not sure why, but I was given very clear instruction to find something that would destroy you."

Morrigan then stops and so does Izzy. She glances around them and takes a long drag from the cigar, pretending they had just stopped for a moment. "Which why? Why did I help you out back there, or why am I interfering now?" Either way that was it's own kettle of fish.

Hmmm. She tiiiilts her head to one side, trying to think on her own motives. How to explain, especially out here in the street. "Let's just say... I'm good at knowing value," her gaze drifts back down to Morrigan. The smile is still there-- always-- but it's smaller, a bit more serious. "I got a hunch. I've been keeping an eye on you for a bit-- Not long, mind you, but definitely enough to know you're damn good at what you do." Again, skirting details for any audience that might be listening, even with her lowered voice. Nothing too blunt. "You're beloved by most of the people I've seen you come across. You'd think you'd have copycats popping up everywhere, but you don't. Now, in a city where people will do and say anything to make a quick coin, why is that? Why has that not yet happened? People see a successful business model, legit or otherwise, and they build up a framework around that to run with. So, either people are simply unable to reproduce what you can do-- and I gotta say, someone could fake it pretty well if they were so inclined-- or, there's something about you that makes them run scared."

She's not even trying to pay meaningless compliments here, and for all Izzy's intent, they aren't compliments. They're simple, matter of fact statements based on her deduction.

It wasn't the whole truth, though.

"And sure," She continues. "Cash is king, as they say. I can be convinced~." The smile comes back, wide and predatory, "But like I said; value. I know when to hedge my bets. Right now, someone wants you out of the picture because they either want what you have for themselves or want to take away your value. But I think you're more valuable intact and operating just as you are. You're probably holding a very delicate balance in Zeinav together without even realizing."

Glancing behind them again, she sees a little piece of fabric shift, as if someone had just moved out of view. Could be nothing, or, it was something. Exhaling, she rolls her eyes and looks back down to Morrigan. She lowers her face down to their ear, for a whisper. "Might need to give an audience a bit of a show." Izzy doesn't yet straighten-- for all intents and purposes, it looks like a small, intimate conversation happening on the street for the moment. "Or we can try to give 'em the slip."

Morrigan let out an annoyed hum when Izzy confirmed their suspicions. She was careful, and whoever had hired was just as careful as her. At the very least, the other tiefling didn’t seem to think it was a cop or some other kind of rat… didn’t really narrow down the list. All things considered, Morrigan was on fairly good terms with most of the Zeinav militia. It wasn’t as if they often got arrested for things, and if they did, all it took was a little handwaving and some well-placed donations from a ‘local hero’ to make things disappear. That left a long line of spiteful criminals, victims, and gods knew who else to sift through. “Someone who really has it out for me, huh?” Morrigan shot Izzy a crooked grin. “One might think I’d remember someone who has the hots for me that intensely, but I can’t seem to recall a thing.” They shrugged. “Must not have been that memorable.”

It was impossible to tell based on expression alone whether Morrigan Moonweaver believed Izzy’s explanation or not. In fact, they almost seemed more interested in the woman herself than her words - her mannerisms, the way she spoke in a cloying, drawing manner, punctuating some syllables and moving almost too fast on some others. The explanation was a logical one, though that wasn’t especially surprising. She’d mentioned she was a private investigator - that was not a job for those who weren’t meticulous about everything they did. Issala ‘Izzy’ Arodre may not have looked like she moved with any rhyme or reason on the surface, but there was a calculated rhythm to her. She was Fish’s scientific mind mixed with Morrigan’s reckless streak. Controlled chaos.

Whatever freakout that had gripped them earlier was seemingly waning now the longer Izzy talked. A spring returned to their step, bladed tail swishing behind them idly, an ever-present reminder that they did not need their hands to draw blood, should they need to. But they felt no need to use such measures right now. Just as they found Izzy to be something new and fun and exciting, she seemed to think the same of them. She, too, apparently preferred to chase after the first thing that caught her interest with aplomb and zeal. She looked like she believed every word she was saying, too - it wasn’t just the kind of flattery one used when they were trying to catch a fly with honey.

“You’re damn right I’m good at what I do.” Morrigan replied with a particularly derisive scoff, flipping their hair over their shoulder with their free hand. Crooked thieves and your regular old scamming merchants were one thing. There were men in the desert who could charm a dehydrated miser into selling his entire home and fortune for an empty water jug. Those people sold products. But it took a true entertainer, someone who had spent their youth in the bowels of the circus, to understand how to sell a person. An idea.

The Wizard of the Wastes was as real as Morrigan Moonweaver themselves, but perception was everything. In the eyes of the people, the Wizard was an untouchable figure. One or two people doubting that, in the long run, didn’t matter when they were idolized by the public. That was how they’d kept the peace in Zeinav.

Until this interloper had gone and thrown a wrench in that balance - a wrench by the name of Issala ‘Izzy’ Arodre.

Yes, it was incredibly fortunate for them indeed that she didn’t seem especially interested in playing into this stranger’s schemes. “A little solars to sweeten the pot never hurt. But we can discuss that when we’ve reached my wagon.” She wanted value? They could show her all that and more. Somebody had tried to fuck with their alchemical empire, and that simply wasn’t going to do. They hadn’t clawed their way out of that damned desert, stitched themselves anew from circus fabrics and wonder, only to have some irrelevant coward who was too afraid to show their damn face take what Morrigan rightfully deserved.

Justified vengeance would have to wait. It was only because Morrigan was on high alert from the earlier attack that they noticed the same stalker Izzy had. “I’m in high demand today, aren’t I?” Morrigan teased back, voice a low whisper that even Izzy would barely be able to make out. “Oh, the burdens of popularity.”

They barked out a harsh, cruel laugh.

“Oh, I don’t play subtle.” Perhaps that worked for other people, but Morrigan had had enough being meek and quiet for one lifetime. Never would they be again, for as long as they could help it. Their free hand snaked into their bag, wrapping around the cool, crystalline bottle of a familiar potion. Yes, the tail can’t have gone far. This would at least give the two a little more time to get lost in the crowd, assuming the tail’s eyes weren’t too irritated by glitter to give chase once this particular elixir wore off.

With a single movement, they tossed the potion behind them - there was a beat where it arced through the air, its true destination unknown, before that familiar, whiplike tail lashed out and knocked it to the street below with deadly precision and accuracy.^[1] There was a soft clinking sound as the glass cracked and broke from the potion’s impact with the ground, and the street behind them was suddenly enveloped in an explosion of ink-black smoke and swirling lavender glitter.

Morrigan’s grip on Izzy’s arm tightened a moment more before letting go. In the confusion of the sudden explosion, no one was paying attention to them anymore, leaving Morrigan free to skip forward, twirling around to blink at Izzy with baby-doll innocent eyes. “There. That should give us a few minutes. Hope you’re not too slow.”

They offered no explanation before darting off with a peal of mirthful laughter, daring Izzy to follow them down the rabbit hole.

---

1. Smoke Flask (1/2)

It was hard not to let the snort escape as Morrigan tosses their hair, voice dripping in disdain. Izzy was delighted by the confidence, and by the dangled offer of solars, once they arrived at Morrigan's wagon. Now they were speaking her language! Which, it seemed, also appeared to be a language Morrigan was fluent in.

More and more, Izzy found her interest piqued. Some of the performative veneer had been brushed off, sure, but Morrigan Moonweaver remained sparkling and untarnished beneath it. Any evidence they were shaken had evaporated, and they were once again back at the helm of the situation. Now that they knew there were rocks, it would be interesting to see how Morrigan avoided them.

That was ever more evident as they spotted their tail. She couldn't tell if Morrigan believed her or not-- frankly, it didn't matter if they did. To not take Izzy at her word was smart, as far as she was concerned, and Izzy wasn't interested if she could convince Morrigan that she was telling the truth. Far more interesting was what Morrigan would do with the truth. Act on it, disregard it, turn around and stab her in the back, make an ally of the Private Investigator? The possibilities were endless, and each one was a clue to the deeper mystery of why would someone do this at all?

"You can scarcely blame them, your Wizardness, you shine with such splendor," Izzy says smoothly in return. Her grin widens a bit at the harsh laugh, and she starts to straighten up again-- if she was any judge, either the people following were after Morrigan, or, keeping a eye on her, too. Either way, that simply would not do. It was such a pain dealing with people like that. Fortunately for her, Morrigan seemed to have a plan, a bottle of something sparkly.

Immediately tossed over the shoulder.

Izzy was familiar enough with this routine from her escapades with Fish to know to shield her eyes. There was a whoosh and a clink, and then a sudden burst. Peeking out from behind her mane of curls, Izzy catches a glimpse of the resulting chaos of glitter, pale purple smoke, and people yelling about their eyes, before she refocuses on Morrigan who has left her arm with a coquettish, doe-eyed look. A dare, a challenge comes forth, and then, with a bright laugh, they were away on light feet.

A low chuckle on her lips, Izzy's grin split across her face as she took off in pursuit of Morrigan, twisting around only once to thumb her nose at whoever the tail was before righting herself and sprinting ahead. Morrigan was as sly and devilish as she had thought, and that brought nothing but sheer glee to her. It was FUN, and she loved fun, especially at other people's expense.

For such a tall woman, she was shockingly light on her feet, clearing stalls and slipping between confused and amazed onlookers with ease as she tore off behind Morrigan down this path of chaos they were producing. For now, she was just content to stay on their trail, but she was surprised at how fast they were. Her long legs gave her an advantage in her stride, but Morrigan was genuinely, adroitly nimble, practically dancing as they moved.

As a cart being pulled into the street briefly separates them, Izzy hits the ground in a slide, tearing up the leg of her pants, but able to shoot under the wagon before getting back to their feet in a run, her stride unbroken. A loud cackle trails behind her as she hears a curse from whoever had been following, or, perhaps, the poor man in the cart she had given a heart attack to.

There was an exhilarating sort of freedom that accompanied the chase. Morrigan had found themselves fleeing from any number of angry mobs over the course of their life, some less exciting than others, but even amidst the fear and the desperate running, and the worry that they might eventually get caught, Morrigan valued that moment of freedom at the end of the escape, the moment you knew when you were well and truly free. They’d spent most of their life running from uncomfortable truths and unpleasantries that they didn’t wish to confront, and there was nothing better than the moment you knew you’d shaken whatever was chasing you.

The race was even more fun by Izzy’s presence hot on their heels. It was not surprising to them that she was fast, definitely enough that she could readily outpace them if she so desired. Her long legs gave her a confident, lazy stride, and given that she’d spent the entire day following them without being noticed once, then there was a level of nimbleness to her that lent to her profession. But while she was tall and lanky, Morrigan was small and spry, and very much enjoyed the game of knocking over barrels and produce from stalls where they went.

At one point, a wagon barreled past behind them, separating Morrigan and Izzy. They turned, still managing to keep their pace as they ran backwards - another skill that had been honed after years of being chased by scorned clients - only to watch as Izzy slid on the ground under the cart, rolling, and pulling herself to her feet as if nothing had happened at all.

“Damn.” Morrigan whistled, the only awe they could afford at the moment, given that the two of them were still likely being pursued. The appearance of the big, bulky wagon had bought them some time. But it hadn’t held off their pursuers for long - were they perhaps insurance on behalf of Izzy’s client, or another party? How many enemies had decided to send people after Morrigan today? Well, whoever had sent them, Morrigan could spot two more men making no attempts to hide their approach, rapidly getting closer to Morrigan and Izzy’s location.

Yes, distractions were good. What was one more to the mix?

A malicious grin playing on their lips, Morrigan reached into the bag of wonders once more.^[1] They were getting close to Morrigan’s wagon - they just had to shake these last few men, and they were home free. Once they got to the wagon, they could flee and lay low while they figured this out.

If only the two of them could survive until then.

---

1. Jolly Bag of Tricks (2/2)
AQhi4ZWz

Morrigan littering the path with barrels, oranges, bolts of cloth, coals, just made the game more fun. Her long stride allows her to clear the obstructions with relative ease, whereas anyone behind them was bound to have to take a more careful approach, unless they were as gifted as either Morrigan or Izzy. Preening, she salutes Morrigan as they whistle, her escapades appearing to somewhat impress. Though as she looks back, she does see that there is a pair of people pursuing them, struggling to keep up, but clearly doing their damndest.

Some people just didn't know when to quit. Izzy was one of them.

Drawing her rapier, she turns on a dime again, pivoting on the ball of her foot as she slashes at the awning only a few inches above her considerable head. Shearing away from the posts that hold it in place, it flutters to the ground behind them, creating chaos for a moment as the large fabric comes down on top of their pursuers.

This reminded her of her younger days; not that Izzy was old by any means, but fleeing people in the streets used to be a pasttime of her and her elder sisters, avoiding guards and people who had come to realize they were being either scammed or pickpocketed. Though Morrigan was much more nimble than Fei... that might have been due, in part, to the fact that she tended to wear shoes with a six inch heel, but that was neither here nor there, at present.

At least then, Izzy typically knew who they were. This time around, there were several options as to who was chasing after them-- either her or Morrigan, or both. Finding out who it could be would be interesting, but it wasn't as important as losing them... and, anyone else who had been smart enough to hang back.

Cackling, Izzy pushed her speed up, trying to get more distance between her and the pursuers. They would only be fooled for so long, after all. Seeing Morrigan-- still full on sprinting backwards, somehow-- dip their hand again into the bag. Is it the dragon? She loved the dragon. Adored the dragon. She grins, reaching a hand up to grab onto the low bars of a balcony, using it to swing herself up, over, and to get her feet off the ground for whatever Morrigan was planning to do. She touches down near Morrigan, looking over her shoulder as the two pursuers, now haggard, covered in juice from the fruits, start to barrel down on their quarry.

Izzy knew how to play along, jumping over obstacles and annoyances with the ease of someone who knew how to utilize her full height. When Morrigan pushed, she let herself be pulled along, even twirling around and slashing at awnings with her sword with all the grace of a dancer once more, the waltz returning to her step. Whenever Morrigan looked back at her, there was a wide, shark-toothed grin on her face, and Morrigan wondered if she was having fun with the chase, too.

Up until the moment more poured out of the woodworks.

Morrigan couldn’t tell how many people were after them, nor who they were after - only that they were pursuing the two criminals with a ferocity like their life, or their money pouches, depended on it. But they wouldn’t be able to keep running for long. Morrigan hadn’t managed to pull the dragon out of the bag, but this next trick was about to be just as good. When their hands wrapped around the solid wreath of greens and holly, all accentuated with a pretty, neat little bow at the end. Yes, this was going to be fun.

“Come on!” Morrigan waved Izzy over from where she’d somehow gotten perched on a balcony, signaling for her to get over to Morrigan’s side for this particular trick. Only when the path was clear did Morrigan throw the wreath on the ground, and the street exploded in a burst of foliage growth. Greens crept across the street and snaked up the surrounding walls, turning the entire street lush with greenery. Vines, grass, and every flower imaginable - notably, with a strange abundance of roses - flourishing in the nooks and crannies. And most importantly, thorns that impeded their attacker’s pursuit.

Petals drifted lazily in the desert wind, filling the air with a perfumed scent. There was absolutely no hiding what had just transpired, not with the hoard of awed, confused bystanders that were watching the display, and the men tangled up in the burst of plant growth, with awed, alarmed looked on their faces. They probably only had a few seconds before one of them called the guards. With the grace of someone who knew how to handle public disruptions, Morrigan whirled around on their heel, dipping into a low bow.

“Ladies and Gentlemen, and all manner of lovely creatures in between! You have all just had the pleasure of bearing witness to another one of my spontaneous live miracles - bringing the lush forests of Moonglade right here to Zeinav with a wave of my hand!”

A couple people looked around, confused, before a few broke out into scattered applause. Morrigan’s smirk grew, turning around and blinking at their trapped attackers with the same coy expression that they’d shot at Izzy earlier - one last chance to gloat.

They grabbed Izzy by the wrist, tugging her after them. “Come along. That probably only brought us a few moments, and my wagon is just over here. We mustn’t linger.”

True to their word, Morrigan’s wagon was currently nestled between a couple of stalls a few blocks away. The canvas-covered wagon stood out even amongst the bright fabrics hanging from windows and merchants selling any manner of colorful goods. Bells and whistles and chimes hung from the back, along with a banner along the sign that read:

MORRIGAN MOONWEAVER’S WAGON OF WONDERS

“Welcome to my humble abode!” Morrigan waved a hand, glitter flying everywhere with the motion. “Step on in. You might not… fit, but if you crouch or sit, you’ll be quite comfortable indeed.”

They ushered her inside, closing the tent flap behind them. If the outside looked flamboyant and over-the-top, the inside was a different matter entirely. A mess of fine items, shiny objects, and books piled up in every available corner, with rugs piled up on one another across the floor. The biggest defining feature, however, was the long table spanning one side of the wagon, one half filled with brewing alchemical beakers and flasks and a cauldron bubbling with their next brew. The other half, covered in bottles of spirits, fancy glasses, and food coloring. A small kobold was curled up in a messy pile on the corner, snoring softly while he slumbered.

Morrigan leaned against their alchemy desk and wet bar, fiddling through some of their components. If Izzy was paying attention to them, and knew anything about plants, she would have been able to spot dried Nimbus and Ash roses, a bottle of Dusk’s Kiss, half-full, Roya’ara… and in the back, one particularly curious plant clipping still contained in a pot, one that did not seem to react to Morrigan at all, but stirred whenever Izzy got close. That one, they covered with a cloth before Izzy could get too close a look at it.

“Can I interest you in a drink?” They asked, gesturing towards the bar next to them with a flourish. “You’d be surprised how chemistry skills lend to mixology. And I make a rather mean cocktail. Oh!” They spotted a crimson-felt bag at the corner of the table, one they scooped up ant tossed to Izzy.

“Here. Since you enjoyed my show so much, why don’t you take a goody bag as a souvenir?” They didn’t really need the spare - and it would be much better served going to someone who was a fine appreciator of the arts. It would serve Izzy well.

---

Jolly bag of Tricks gifted to Izzy

As she lands next to Morrigan, Izzy twirls on the ball of her foot in a dancers flourish, sniggering at her own high-flying antics. But it seemed the performance was only just hitting its crescendo, as Izzy watched Morrigan pull a wreath out of their bag of tricks and toss it to the ground before them.

Plants, beautiful blooms and verdant vines burst forth as though Morrigan Moonweaver had somehow tapped into a wellspring of life hiding under the very sand and stone of the city itself. Izzy gasps with delight, hands coming to her cheeks in sheer delight. The sights, the scents, the very air was perfumed with the fragrance of the florals-- so many roses, their petals fluttering in the breeze like a blizzard of crimson. It was practically a miracle.

Others seemed to think so as well, even if some of them were a bit... confused.

Izzy on the other hand, utterly thrilled, enthusiastically joins in the applause. She reaches out to pluck a rose from among the thorns, as a souvineer-- especially as she gets another look at their audience. One or two who were decidedly not clapping or confused, faces wrapped against the heat of the day and the sand... and visibility.

Morrigan's sideways look of smug satisfaction earns them another broad grin from Izzy. Regardless of their magical abilities, Morrigan had a masterful means of making people would find it very difficult to discover that fact. She wanted to stare at the flowers some more, but the hand around her wrist urges her onward. Right, right. Investigating, eluding people, that sort of thing.

"Right-o," Izzy allows herself to be tugged along, making sure their pace matched Morrigan's carefully so they could get to the wagon before anyone caught wise. As they approach, moving through different roads and clustered places to hide them more easily, the wagon was actually quiet well hidden among stalls, set back far enough that unless someone was actively searching for it, and knew where it was, they would have a hard time finding it. Though... there was a rather elaborate sign hanging there.

Izzy snickers as glitter flies everywhere, landing among her curls. "Ahhh, don't worry, I'm used to it." She assures, ducking her head beneath the frame as she squirms her way into the narrow wagon. "That was genius, by the way. I usually wind up knocking fools out or worse if they're persistent like that." A look is had around at the interior, something Izzy had not yet seen. It was, well, shiny, a proper lived-in looking near distaster. It felt homey, like a well-loved book with dogeared corners. The inside was as much Morrigan's personality as the outside, covered with bling, with a calculated practicality to the interior. The table, taking up the majority of the wallspace, was what drew Izzy's attention the most, though. It was filled with bottles of alcohol and things that probably were not alcohol.

She manages to take a seat, eyeing the tiny kobold as they peacefully slept. That one was new information anyway. More new information of course, came out of watching Morrigan play host. Izzy has to twist her body just so in order for her to stretch out her limbs, making sure she did so without getting in Morrigan's way. The way the one plant, that had been listing a little, was covered-- interesting indeed.

"Looove what you've done with the place," Izzy purrs, looking around with a wide look of satisfaction. "Well, certainly, since you're offering! I must admit, I am parched after all that running around." She's about to continue her observations when Morrigan abruptly tosses Izzy a bag. She reaches up to catch it, fumbling with the unexpected toss. Her eyes widen a little, recognizing it as a very similar one to the one Morrigan carried. She never got gifts. Not exactly a major selling point of her line of work, one she was fine with. It was a shock to just have the generosity she had observed earlier today simply tossed her way without so much as a second thought. A sharp, ever-so-pleased grin crossed Izzy's face. Was Morrigan Moonweaver trying to bribe her?

If so, it was working.

"You are toooo kind, and I am not humble enough to try and refuse," Izzy cackles, taking the bag. "Thank you, truly, your generosity truly knows no bounds." She watches Morrigan for a moment more, thinking. They were sly, capable, she knew. Now Izzy found herself in Morrigan's abode, the ball firmly in their court. It was even difficult to move around in here. If they wanted to Morrigan could end Izzy here and now with one of the poisons sharing space with the wet-bar.

Somehow, though, Izzy didn't think that was the case. It could be, but why not just stab her and be done with it back in the street with their little devilish tail-knife? They'd walked side-by-side for a good distance. It didn't make much sense to do anything about it now when getting rid of the body would be more of a hinderance than an asset.

"I think I can see the wheels turning in your head there, Moonweaver," Izzy jests amiably as she reclines. Now that they were alone, perhaps they both could be a bit more candid. "Solar for your thoughts?"

“Ah, where’s the fun in that?” Morrigan teased. There wasn’t any kind of joy in entertainment in just simply… knocking out persistent admirers. Not to mention Morrigan didn’t have the same raw strength and unnerving charisma that Issala ‘Izzy’ Arodre held. Nor did they have the imposing-cut figure to scare their pursuers. Morrigan was small - and if some were being generous, they might use the term ‘scrappy’. But their lack of true fighting prowess was compensated for with their showmanship and flair for the dramatic and confusing. That much, they could handle in spades.

Still, that didn’t stop them from ruffling their metaphorical feathers as they strutted all the way down to the wagon, where they let Izzy in without further ado.

“That’s an awful kind way to say you’re a fan of all that glitters and shines.” Morrigan teased in response, going about the motions of mixing a drink for Izzy. The thought of poisoning her hadn’t even crossed their mind. Oh, it would be all too easy, a fact both of them were intimately aware of. The ball was in Morrigan’s court - Izzy’s acceptance of a drink said as much, that she was waiting to see what they would do.

The answer to that unspoken question was that they were going to prepare fancy and elaborate cocktails.

Hmm, what to do, what to do? Izzy didn’t seem the picky about her preferred mixes. Yes, a Blood and Sand would do well. It was only fitting. With spinning flourishes and the kind of extra oomph Morrigan normally reserved for making potions, starting with fresh-cut ice in the glasses seemingly produced from nowhere. Scotch and vermouth went into the cups, followed by orange juice and cherry heering. All topped off with a lemon, and - one of Morrigan’s own alchemical specialties, often a staple of their drinks even when the recipe didn’t call for it - dyed pink sugar on the rim.

After the little goody bag, Morrigan handed her the cocktail , complete with a little umbrella to seal the deal. They bowed, tail flicking behind them. “To savor the taste of a blood far more pleasant between your teeth and tongue.” They offered. “A palate-cleanser, if you will.”

They sipped their own drink, licking at the sugar on the cool glass rim. Ah, yes - this was exactly what they’d been missing after a long, hard day. A good drink, interesting company, and a successful getaway in their wagon after nearly meeting their end at the hands of vicious thugs…

And there it was. Damnit.

Morrigan grimaced, setting their drink down on the table. Fingers drummed against the side. Eyes flicked, once more, towards that covered plant - an afterthought. “… Honesty has never been my strong suit.” They admitted. Now that they were away from prying ears, and they had some alcohol, they had a feeling this conversation was going to flow much easier. “But a solar does sweeten the pot, I must admit.”

They laughed at their own joke before the smile slid off their face.

“I’m sure you have questions. I certainly do too… not just about who hired you, but about yourself, Miss Issala ‘Izzy’ Arodre. About this PI work you do, your likes, dislikes, whatever you wish to share.” Another sip of their drink. “The truth is, I think you’re fun. New. Exciting. I think you could be a good friend. So why don’t we get to know each other? Make friends.”

Morrigan met her gaze head-on - eyes that had mastered the art of intensity, likely unused to others being able to keep up with her.

“You can ask me whatever you want to know. Gather your information, whatever - and in turn, I learn more about you. And we make merry and go about our happy ways, assured in the fact that we won’t turn on one another in an act of mutually assured destruction.” The offer was a big ask, one they weren’t sure Izzy would bite on - not to mention the thought of talking about themselves in an honest light made them sick. But this was a beneficial arrangement, for the both of them.

Morrigan could use a PI, and they didn’t doubt Izzy could use a criminal at her disposal.

An offer: we make each other, or break each other.

“Of course, we can always just stick to the good old-fashioned bribery route if you’d prefer. I have plenty at my disposal.”

"Glitters, shines, masterful manipulation of an entire crowd, misdirection and general shenanigans?" Izzy cackles, watching as Morrigan mixes the drink, entranced by their performance. Truly an artist, down to their very core. "Veeery big fan of that. Have to be crazy not to be."

Or just dull, and Izzy could never be accused of that.

Izzy coos with delight as the drink is presented, a pink, citrussy, delicious smelling concoction that was a thousand times better than what she knew was available in ninety percent of the taverns. If it was poison, this would be a way to die happy, but she doubted Morrigan would have gone to the trouble of addig the pink sugar on the rim if they were just going to dispose of her. She lifts her glass in cheers, winking. "Slàinte Mhath!" She leans over to clink her glass lightly to Morrigan's and takes a sip.

It's perfection. It's cold, it's tangy, it's heady and carmelly with the scotch and vermouth. The pink sugar really adds a pleasant bite of flavour to the bitter notes of the stronger alcohol. Izzy brings her fingers to her lips and kisses the tips of her talons in a chef's kiss of appreciation. "Mmm! So many talents you have! If this is what you wind up giving to those folks out there, I'd be buying out your stock," Izzy laughs and takes another deep draught.

Her eyes watch Morrigan from their corners as they mull over Izzy's words, drumming the table, thinking. She swirls the drink in her hand idly across from Morrigan. No poison, just a pleasant buzz from the alcohol flowing through her veins. This was the kind of drink that would mess you up if you had more than one. Her brows lift slightly as Morrigan admits to having questions about Izzy herself, personal ones. All in all its an interesting proposition, and not one that Izzy feels Morrigan is lying about. Obfuscating maybe, but there is a genuine request here, as they said; a mutually beneficial arrangement. Friends, even.

Her eyes don't leave Morrigans, burning embers meeting a pale void. She hums thoughtfully, but the slow spreading smile over Izzy's face gives her away almost immediately; enticed, nearly smitten by the offer itself. The promise of information was too sweet to ignore. "Well, sure~. I can be mighty chatty when the situation calls for it. I'm interested in what you've got going on here as well-- more than just why I was hired anyway." she adds, waving it off with her hands. She already has a plan in mind for that.

"We're on the same wavelength, I think. I think you're terribly fun and interesting. We have a lot of similarities, actually-- well, I don't do what you do, specifically, but my elder sister does. Did." Again Izzy waves a hand, "She's fine, she's moved on from snake oil to long-cons-- getting rich men wrapped around her finger and then cleaning them out. When we were growing up, though, I was her plant in the crowd. I know how tricky it can be when people start getting wise to your game. You either gotta keep upping the ante or bail." There. Now that was a little tidbit for them to chew on for a moment.

Izzy shifts to lean forward slightly towards Morrigan, her grin spread wide. "Because of that, my work is less than mmm... legitimate. That's why I'm a private investigator and not one of the sultans 'detectives' if you can even call them that. Because the stuff I can get a hold of, the people I know, would be frowned upon by the brass. Suits me fine anyway, I don't need the red tape." She takes another sip of the delicious cocktail, using it to gesture rather than her cigar. "Money's well and good, of course, but information, connections-- now thaaat interests me. I don't like to disrupt a party, not when it's just getting good! And from what I've seen, you're the life of the party."

“Some might call you crazy for enjoying such mayhem.” Morrigan teased in return. “But who ever cared for stuffy things like rules and ethics? Yawn.” They made an exaggerated motion with their hand, miming the action of falling asleep. They noted, with a bit of delight, that Izzy didn’t hesitate to dig into the proffered drink. It was true that they had any manner of poisons at their disposal in plain sight - and even more hidden away in places that no one would be able to find - but slipping some into what might hopefully be the first drink of many between the two was an awfully gauche move. And an amateur one. She didn’t insult them by acting as if there was a chance it might have been poisoned, though.

The clink of glasses and their cheers echoed through the silence of the wagon.

“Oh, I couldn’t imagine sharing such things with the people out there.” They waved a hand at the imaginary crowd outside, a sour expression on their face at the thought. Really, the reason Morrigan hoarded their drinks and other odds and ends with themself was for much the same reason they kept their true potions close to their chest - Morrigan Moonweaver was a purveyor of fine things, items that they believed they rightfully deserved. There was no need to truly share those good things and fineries with others when hocking off cheap stuff did the trick just fine. Besides, what was the point, when they believed that they were receiving high-end product? The placebo effect was a hell of a drug.

“These drinks are reserved for friends and business associates only.” Morrigan added with a pointed wink - could never go wrong with more shmoozing. “It’s usually people like that who know the swill from the top-shelf liquor. And mixing drinks, in essence, is not that different from potions, if you think about it.” They turned and plucked a cherry from one of the Mason jars on the mixology side of the bench, popping it in their mouth. The juices stained their fingers and claws red.

Then they invited Izzy for a talk.

And oh, did she have a lot to say.

Morrigan listened with rapt attention, filing everything away for later. Namely, she had a sister - that particular tidbit stuck out in their mind. Not only that she shared many of the same proclivities as Morrigan, but in the way Izzy spoke about them in a different tone than her usual flippant tone. If Morrigan knew her better they might almost call it reverent. Respectful. Fond talk of her family, though, smoothly transitioned to a warning on their behalf. Morrigan knew perfectly what she meant - shit or get off the pot.

A good con never gives up the game until the bitter end, they remembered Madam Medb saying. There was one factor that separated the shit from the cream of the crop - cleverness played a big factor, sure, but even more important was dedication. One could be as smart and cunning and charming as they wanted but the moment they hedged their bets and played it safe was the moment they’d lost.

And Morrigan never lost, not even when they were cornered.

“Miss Issala ‘Izzy’ Arodre…” Once more, using her full name in addition to her nickname - a habit they would not be dropping any time soon, “I think we’re cut from much the same cloth, indeed. My best wishes to your sister - may her pockets be full and the line of suitors after her be plentiful.” They must have been, if the older Arodre was the head honcho in their schemes. Izzy had brains, pluck, and attitude in aplomb. They could scarcely imagine what the kind of woman that Izzy would willingly follow was like.

“As for your PI work, I think you could benefit from having a friend like me. Plenty of folk around here that blindly trust the wizard. And the ones that don’t, well… you’ve already seen how that goes. And how easy it could be swept under the rug.” Their eyes sparkled. “I am rather curious what you might intend to tell our mutual friend about me.”

They were going out on a limb here - but Izzy already knew about that secret, the one they hoped would never see the light of day. Anything else she learned was child’s play in comparison.

“It’s not as if it’s difficult to pretend to be a wizard to fool the masses - I did it first as a divination mage in the circus. People ate out of the palm of my hand there.” They twisted fortunes, manipulated outcomes with the sweet, crooning voice and innocent eyes of a teenager. Sell them what they want to hear with the cards and the false promises of fate and the gods. “But that was child’s play, after a time. Far too easy. I decided to elevate my act. You’d be surprised what a couple of fake rumors and the earnestly of a child will get you.”

They gestured to where Bubbles was napping.

It was not the same as a plant - Morrigan Moonweaver usually worked alone. Easier not to end up with a knife in your back if you didn’t show your vulnerable spots to other in the first place. But they’d learned early on that there was no better word than the honesty of a child that believed in you implicitly. A child that had needed a home and food and looked up to the first person that showed them kindness.

“The potions thing came along the way. Much easier to trick someone into thinking you can do something you can’t by wowing them with the talents you do possess. Besides, most common folk think alchemy and magic go hand in hand. That because a wizard usually makes potions, anyone who makes potions must be a wizard.”

Simple association.

Morrigan shrugged, finishing off the rest of their Blood and Sand before setting the empty glass on the table.

“And, well, I’m good at one of those things. May as well make the best of what I have.”

"Eh, they're not wrong," Izzy flashes a toothy grin, a low, throaty chuckle filtering from between her teeth. About being called crazy for enjoying the mayhem, not the other thing, about ethics. That was boring, and the suits could stuff it. Izzy lifts her glass in cheers again, and takes another healthy swig. Friends and business associates indeed. She smacks her lips. If that was a benefit of being in Morrigan's orbit, Izzy certainly could get used to it.

It helps, of course, that Morrigan listens to her tale attentively, and continues to use her FULL moniker to refer to her. It makes Izzy's grin ever wider; people so rarely used her given name, other than her sister. Such a personal thing, a name. While Izzy was brazen enough to use her name in full for work and otherwise, she knew that some people found it... too intimate. Preferring titles, such as the Wizard of the Wastes, for instance. But as Izzy listens, as she has observed, she knows Morrigan Moonweaver has many layers indeed. And, if they were anything like her dear sister, they had a whole host of careful names and identiies to wear like a cloak to carry them from one threshold to another.

Here, as Morrigan discusses Izzy's PI work and the other enticing aspects of their identity; having to elevate their act when it became dry, pedestrian. What good was crime if it wasn't at least a little fun? If someone wanted easy crime where they could lie through their teeth without consequence, they usually just became a politician of some kind. And that was, frankly, too much paperwork.

Her eyes shift as Morrigan indicates the little Kobold, brows arching slightly. Not a partner in crime, not a plant, but an earnest devotee, a follower. You could make a religon out of this.

Izzy pushes that thought aside as she looks back to Morrigan, grin flashing with bright interest. "They inferred and you simply rolled with the accolades. You're just giving the people exactly what they asked for, only bigger and better! Now what's the harm in that? And you certainly are good at it." Snickering gleefully, she finishes off the drink and sets it down on the table. Her fingers-- talons, really-- steeple carefully together as she hums, before launching into her plan.

"I plan to tell them that I am trying to get close to you to get more information; that I mentioned I was a private investigator who was looking into you in order to gain your trust." Izzy says matter-of-factly. A wolfish grin forms on her face. This is decidedly devious, and Izzy's ultimate trick; obfuscation with the truth. A virtually undetectable lie by virtue of being wholly true. "Morrigan Moonweaver is not to be underestimated, after all. I couldn't simply just... have watched all I needed to see while tailing you, right? No, no. No one would have that expectation, no one reasonable, no one who doesn't underestimate their enemy. Over time, I'll feed bits of information that would be inoccuous to keep them baited, but make sure they know I'm withholding so I can get an audience or more direct contact with the person who's orchestrating this behind the scenes, especially after someone tried to muscle in on my job. Nothing overly damning; juuust enough to coax them out of hiding." She grins. "As long as they think I am trying to double cross you, and that I am angry at this apparent slight to my good name, any time we just... I dunno, talk? Get up to some fun times? Do any investigatin' work for you? They'll think it's all a part of master plan, and then we'll be in business, babyyy~!" She cackles.

Worst case scenario, they put a hit out on Izzy, but that wouldn't be the first time. She was still the one standing, after all.

"Between my investigative prowess, your alchemical wonders, and our steel trap cleverness we seem to share, we can lay some pretty effective bait for whoever is pursuing you. How's that sound?" Izzy holds her large hand across the table to shake, waggling her brows suggestively.

“The long game, hmm?” Morrigan nodded as Izzy described her plans. It was ingenious, really. Tease them with the promise of information, flaunt Morrigan’s carelessness in their face. It would serve to explain any future meetups - and better yet, give Izzy time to get more information on the person who had hired her… while Morrigan figured out the best way to enact revenge.

They’d worked rather hard for this life, this empire. If anyone was going to tear it down, it would be Morrigan and Morrigan alone.

… Not that they had any reason to, of course. Morrigan was quite comfortable where they were, thank you very much.

(There was only one thing that would ever cause them to self-destruct a near decade of hard work and dedication to the craft, a nagging feeling in the recesses of their mind. No, not a thing. A name. But that was neither here nor there, was it?)

“A direct audience.” Morrigan parroted. Oh, how they’d love to be a fly on the wall for that. To look in the eye of whoever saw fit to come after their livelihood and let them know that Morrigan Moonweaver had once more, against all odds, come out on top. Yes, it was delicious. Izzy seemed to have the very same idea, based on the look of anticipation playing on her face. But she was far more patient than Morrigan themselves. Where they were chomping at the bit to sink their claws into this perpetrator, Izzy clearly had no problem biding her time, waiting under turbulent waters until a particularly tasty looking fish came within biting distance.

Then Izzy finished describing her master plan, holding it out for Morrigan to take, a playful look on her face. Morrigan stared at the hand, thoughtful. They had to admit that the idea was a lucrative one. But how were they meant to know this wouldn’t end in a triple-crossing? An attempt to lure them into a false sense of security? Izzy’s true intentions were about as easy to read as Morrigan’s own with all the whimsy and good humor that obscured her thoughts like the smoke from her cigar. They were able to parse out how her brain worked, but impossible to figure out whether Izzy truly thought they were interesting enough to go turncoat, or there were more games in play than even Morrigan could see.

In the end, it didn’t truly matter, they supposed. Morrigan didn’t bother giving much in the way of careful planning and forethought, preferring to go in with a loose plan and winging it until they got the desired outcome. Izzy was methodical. Morrigan, on the other hand, rarely even knew what they were going to do next before they did it. A habit that hurt them as much as it helped them.

Which would this be?

Time to find out. Much like jumping off a cliff with an ocean of lava standing between them and their goal, or standing in snow-capped mountains, spitting in the face of a god, Morrigan was going to have to take a leap of faith.

… A chance.

A ring-clad hand grasped Izzy’s own, no hesitation in the movement.

“Miss Issala ‘Izzy’ Arodre… it sounds like you read my mind.” They said with a laugh, shaking her hand enthusiastically with both of theirs. 

A deal between devils.

The criminal who hired Izzy should be scared considering that all they’d served to do was draw two forces of nature closer together. Time would tell if the opposing hurricanes would burn one another out, or grow stronger together.

Morrigan was looking forward to finding out.