Like Glue, [tag: uzi's ho]

[Rylan Komarcos]

This was the stupidest plan he'd ever come up with. In fact, it was barely a plan at all. He was just knocking on every last damned door in the refugee quarter. The reasoning for this? Magic. More specifically, his own blundered attempt at a major working.

He should have known better. What's worse, Rylan knew that he shouldn't have messed with the particular spell while in such a highly charged emotional state. But, instead of listening to his better instincts, he'd decided to do the incantation anyway -- to get his head off all his troubles.

So, of course, he succeeded in the worst way. Instead of concentrating on his old troubles, he had an entirely new set to worry about now. The spell, a rather complicated and unwieldy piece of verse that was supposed to bind him with magical residue in the tome he was trying to open, misfired and bound him, instead, with something else entirely. Someone else in fact.

Which was why he was out here mucking about in the shithole quarter. Knocking on doors.

Rylan rapped hard and fast on the latest piece of rotting wood. A pleasantry, since most of the rabble in the quarter refused to answer anyway. He'd already begun the short chant necessary to force the lock open. Before the mage could push his way in, however, the panel receded to reveal a familiar face.

"Hey, you're that vulgar whore that got stuck in my dreams! Finally!"

[Nyarai Khartuul]

Knocking on her door only meant one thing.

With a sigh, she pushed herself to her feet and made for the glorified dresser. It was a simple wooden table with a few vials of perfume and makeup. As she began to apply small dabs to her neck and wrists, she heard the knocking again—harder this time.

Stiffening, her dark eyes catching a look at herself in a mirror, she saw her mouth twist in a cold glower. This wasn't the knock of a client.

Her glower deepened.

A few seconds later she was at the door, yanking it open. “Will you stop—”

A barrage of words hit her—the most prominent of them being 'whore'. Her dark eyes, so sharp in their annoyance, widened suddenly. They cast about, left and right, searching for faces who might have heard it. There were already whispers about what she did, and now this man—this unrecognizable face—was adding fuel to fire.

Looking at him, she hissed out a demand. “What are you talking about? Who are you?”

[Rylan Komarcos]

The mage folded his arms, unconvinced by the girl's attempts to feign ignorance. He'd seen enough nights through her eyes now to know exactly what it was that she'd been up to.

"I'm talking about all the men you entertain between your legs, sweetheart. I'll never be able to purge that shit from my head. Gods! At least, choose less disgusting clients."

Rylan shook his head, making no mention of his relief at the fact that the girl rarely looked her clients in the eye when she plied her wares. The current images were scarring enough. He didn't need her doing anything just to spite him.

"Look, nevermind. Won't matter after this anyway. Just let me in so I can cast the counterspell. I'll even throw some money at you afterward, like everyone else."

[Nyarai Khartuul]

“What!?”

Her voice was a shrill thing, sharp and ready to strike him in the chest. It was alarmed and confused, angry and affronted. How dare he...

And then she spoke on, jabbering about some counterspell and how he wanted in. Her eyes widened and her mouth twisted in revulsion. “No,” she hissed, grabbing her door and trying to push to shut. He needed to leave. He needed to get away from her before she clawed his infuriating face off.

What was he even talking about?

Madman.

[Rylan Komarcos]

His arm flew forward the moment he saw movement regarding the door. Soft wood struck his open palm not a second later.

"Don't say I didn't ask nicely then," the mage mouthed, stepping up into the crease his arm had created and throwing his full body weight against the flimsy wooden panel.

Ry used the resultant gap to march the rest of the way into the whore's hovel, then turned back around to face her. An awkward experience considering he'd only ever glimpsed her face in polished glass for moments at a time in his dreams.

"You really want to make this harder than it has to be?"