The room was spacious, with sunlight streaming through large rectangular windows and a faint scent of myrrh. Fine furniture in exotic woods, all built to a lalafell's diminutive size, clustered here and there. C'kayah stood at the center of the room, watching as a young miqo'te woman carried his prize to a canopied day bed. He didn't remember the woman from their last meeting, which he took to be a good sign. Babajon Jajajon did nothing unintentionally. That he would engage such a woman showed that he had researched C'kayah's tastes.
The dark curtains of the day bed's canopy parted and a small hand took the box. Babajon's voice was thin, yet carried throughout the room.
"You had no trouble getting this?", the lalafell asked.
"None worth reporting", C'kayah replied from where he stood. The canopy fell closed, leaving the room in silence. C'kayah waited, his eyes wandering. The slim woman stood submissively, head bowed, tail curled decorously around one lean leg. The book shelves, he noted, carried a few new volumes. An instructively erotic tapestry showed young lalafell men wrestling and indulging in Menphinistic sport, also a new addition and entirely in character. As Babajon had researched C'kayah, so had the miqo'te studied Babajon.
A faint sound of wood sliding against wood hissed from behind the canopy. A tiny giggle followed. "I see you took my instructions most literally", Babajon said. "Twelve gold rings of Sil'dahn design, an Ishgardian seal for official documents, and the smallest finger of Tuturikku Gogorikku, my greatest enemy and my saddest loss."
C'kayah chuckled and hazarded a response. "The cemetary keepers near Drybone had taken good care of him", he said. "The tomb was well-sealed, and the body in fine shape for one three years gone."
"Do not speak of those who are your betters!", Babajon snapped angrily. C'kayah cursed inwardly, hoping he had not risked too much familiarity with the lalafell. His fear proved unfounded, however, as the voice continued. "Yet, you have done well. I accept your apology and your penance. Your period of expiation is over, your Ul'dahn privileges are restored."
C'kayah smiled to himself. It had been over ten years since a younger Babajon Jajajon had informed him that his ham handed attempts to steal a comfortable life for himself had attracted the ire of the Syndicate families. Now, a decade older and undoubtably wiser, his skills fully developed and matured, he would not waste this rare second chance.
The dark curtains of the day bed's canopy parted and a small hand took the box. Babajon's voice was thin, yet carried throughout the room.
"You had no trouble getting this?", the lalafell asked.
"None worth reporting", C'kayah replied from where he stood. The canopy fell closed, leaving the room in silence. C'kayah waited, his eyes wandering. The slim woman stood submissively, head bowed, tail curled decorously around one lean leg. The book shelves, he noted, carried a few new volumes. An instructively erotic tapestry showed young lalafell men wrestling and indulging in Menphinistic sport, also a new addition and entirely in character. As Babajon had researched C'kayah, so had the miqo'te studied Babajon.
A faint sound of wood sliding against wood hissed from behind the canopy. A tiny giggle followed. "I see you took my instructions most literally", Babajon said. "Twelve gold rings of Sil'dahn design, an Ishgardian seal for official documents, and the smallest finger of Tuturikku Gogorikku, my greatest enemy and my saddest loss."
C'kayah chuckled and hazarded a response. "The cemetary keepers near Drybone had taken good care of him", he said. "The tomb was well-sealed, and the body in fine shape for one three years gone."
"Do not speak of those who are your betters!", Babajon snapped angrily. C'kayah cursed inwardly, hoping he had not risked too much familiarity with the lalafell. His fear proved unfounded, however, as the voice continued. "Yet, you have done well. I accept your apology and your penance. Your period of expiation is over, your Ul'dahn privileges are restored."
C'kayah smiled to himself. It had been over ten years since a younger Babajon Jajajon had informed him that his ham handed attempts to steal a comfortable life for himself had attracted the ire of the Syndicate families. Now, a decade older and undoubtably wiser, his skills fully developed and matured, he would not waste this rare second chance.
