03-16-2020, 09:11 PM
Andreu Kojima. If his unusual borderland height didn’t mark him out, the angry bruises did; though, truth told, she was surprised to see evidence of them still darkening his face. In the city of Aes Sedai, an individual with enough wealth or standing need not suffer the ill effects of an injury if they did not wish it. So was it pride, or something else? Because if the brand of a ruffian was detrimental to his reputation he gave no sign, even though it made him stick out like a wolf among sheep. Considering which, Nythadri supposed she should be doing her best to remain unnoticed, or at least be surreptitious in her observation of him. But she watched anyway; quite openly, if casually, as a he whorled into the bank with the effect of rain on wilting crops. When she had been here weeks past, men had pounced on Zakar, eager for the attentions of a busy man while they lasted. For Andreu, they shone.
He saw her, inevitably, and grinned with all the devilishness of a predator spotting prey before he retreated, giving her a brief moment to think; to consolidate what she saw with what she already knew. The Wheel Weaves, though sometimes it is given a nudge. Her earlier sweep of the foyer had not been for Zakar, after all; for though he might bear the brunt of her ire, she didn’t need to fabricate pretence in order to confront him. Zakar’s machinations caused a personal complication for her, but it was not fear of them that had driven Jai to her door last night. Andreu had done that.
She had promised to move the account. She hadn’t promised how.
Her father had always cursed her promises as false things, so easily subverted without her breaking a single word of whatever oath she had made. It was never a purposeful undermining; or at least, not purposefully disrespectful, but it had methodically eroded the trust in their relationship until little but silence remained. Jai had been relieved and grateful when she had submitted to his wish like all he'd ever had to do was ask nicely; had he known her better he might have been more cautious. She knew Jai intended her to stay away from Andreu; that moving the account was his method, not his purpose. He wanted to keep his family whole, but he also meant to keep her safe. She was appreciative of the care, but it was not his responsibility. If she understood his motive, she did not approve his methods. You don’t fool the hound by cutting off the scent. You fool the hound by giving it something else to chase.
Upon entering the office, Nythadri's gaze washed blandly over the décor; she was not much interested in how Andreu chose to adorn his walls, bar to note that it was ostentatious. A stack of ledgers marked a prolonged absence, which he took pains to point out to her; you want me to believe you ignorant? She smirked but shrugged the apology away; the apathy was genuine, and summed up her usual disregard for small talk and the sort of pleasantries that made an unnecessary event of courtesy. "If I do you the favour of a long and meaningful conversation, I might have a favour to ask in return." The White Tower was not known for its charity, though there was a playful edge to her tone. Difficult to tell whether she was only acknowledging the ring on her finger, or if she was serious. With the smirk still softening her lips, and a sharp glint in an otherwise lazy gaze, it might have been either. Or both.
Nythadri accepted the glass; she sat, and set it down in front of her. The satchel - which contained the transfer papers, among other things - she left by her feet, her legs crossed at the ankle, her hands clasped in her lap. However wayward her reputation in Caemlyn, and however much time she had spent debasing herself with low-born company in low-born establishments (as her father would have put it), nobility was in her blood. The regal nature of her posture was as effortless as breathing; honed by Tower training, perhaps, but more obviously innate than taught. Across the desk, Andreu flashed ink-free fingers and in the same gesture displayed bruised ones. She couldn’t be sure if he intended a subtext – perhaps he just meant to show off the emerald-set ring – but in that instant she saw one anyway; and it intrigued her. A few thoughts sparked in the back of her mind, but she left them there to burn slow and thoughtful. She had no need to be circumspect; his injuries gave her the perfect camouflage for scrutiny disguised as plain curiosity, and her gaze was unabashedly intense as a result.
He noticed of course, and he offered an explanation. She didn’t call the lie, though for a moment she was tempted; it was entirely the improper thing to do, and she was curious to see how a man steeped in conspiracy to his eyeballs would react. She didn't think she would much like the outcome, though. "Trampled children, huh? If only it had been kittens, perhaps I could have mustered the requisite admiration, sir hero. A shame." She spoke perfectly seriously; her favourite brand of sarcastic humour, and the one most people managed to misinterpret or miss entirely. She was not yet sure if the rakishness of him was as carefully constructed as the cordiality, but he displayed the duality quite masterfully either way. Bankers made an art of trust; the business was founded on its stones, and yet he teased a lie quite easily. Wore bruises like gold rings. Spoke of "work" like shackles to be shed in favour of frivolity. So though it shouldn’t have, the abrupt change in his manner caught her off guard.
She had no problem holding his gaze, though she imagined it was a look that had succeeded in crumbling many in the past. It was reminiscent of Jai, the quick plummet to sobriety edged with something utterly unacceptable in a social setting. In company of a stranger, no less. But it was hardly her custom to balk at a little lack of convention, which perhaps explained why behind the composure of her expression she looked subtly entertained. Though it was the irony that amused her more than the unsettling sincerity he waved off with a laugh; because it was not a competitor that had persuaded her to withdraw her account, but Jai. And whether Andreu would be so arbitrarily willing to slit his brother’s throat (literally or figuratively) was half the reason she was even here.
"Your oaths would be better?" Implicitly, the word of any bank was worth more than the word of its competitors when it came to winning business, and the Kojimas were among the most esteemed of their peers. The opulence of Andreu's office and the vintage of the wine spoke volumes of wealth through success, and only sturdy, trustworthy banks ever succeeded to such gratuitous comforts. A talent for money, for investment, for business; that was all necessary too. But reputation was paramount; lords would not pour their coin into the strongholds of men they did not trust. The Kojimas reputation spoke for itself, and her question was moot, yet it still touched quite keenly on a sense of doubt she should have no reason to express. She wanted to see if that would rankle, as it had Zakar.
He leaned back like the ebb and flow of tension was at his command. Nythadri watched him a moment longer before her gaze fell to the open ledger. "Hmm. I suppose." The words were casual and careless, but nothing about Nythadri presented as incidental. Not that her disinterest was feigned – the money was a bloody curse, every last coin of it – but it was a methodical choice to share such a sentiment. If Andreu were as astute as Jai had suggested, he would note it, and Nythadri was interested to see what he read from it. For the daughter of a wealthy lord, ignorant or simply unmoved by the value of money, it was not an unusual reaction. For the daughter of an impoverished House living on the charity of relatives, however, it was either a brave bluff or an anomaly. Though of course, she was neither; she was Accepted.
"Those are generous terms, but no. Thank you." She disregarded the fortune at her fingertips without blinking, declined his offer without even pausing to consider it, but she was still the picture of statuesque patience. Clearly she did not think the conversation over, but she said nothing else. Men with suspicious minds trusted more to information they thought they had uncovered than words offered freely. If Andreu thought there was a mystery here to pursue, he would dig for it. At least, she hoped he was direct enough to do so; she was not sure how well the directness she had used with Zakar would serve with his brother.
He saw her, inevitably, and grinned with all the devilishness of a predator spotting prey before he retreated, giving her a brief moment to think; to consolidate what she saw with what she already knew. The Wheel Weaves, though sometimes it is given a nudge. Her earlier sweep of the foyer had not been for Zakar, after all; for though he might bear the brunt of her ire, she didn’t need to fabricate pretence in order to confront him. Zakar’s machinations caused a personal complication for her, but it was not fear of them that had driven Jai to her door last night. Andreu had done that.
She had promised to move the account. She hadn’t promised how.
Her father had always cursed her promises as false things, so easily subverted without her breaking a single word of whatever oath she had made. It was never a purposeful undermining; or at least, not purposefully disrespectful, but it had methodically eroded the trust in their relationship until little but silence remained. Jai had been relieved and grateful when she had submitted to his wish like all he'd ever had to do was ask nicely; had he known her better he might have been more cautious. She knew Jai intended her to stay away from Andreu; that moving the account was his method, not his purpose. He wanted to keep his family whole, but he also meant to keep her safe. She was appreciative of the care, but it was not his responsibility. If she understood his motive, she did not approve his methods. You don’t fool the hound by cutting off the scent. You fool the hound by giving it something else to chase.
Upon entering the office, Nythadri's gaze washed blandly over the décor; she was not much interested in how Andreu chose to adorn his walls, bar to note that it was ostentatious. A stack of ledgers marked a prolonged absence, which he took pains to point out to her; you want me to believe you ignorant? She smirked but shrugged the apology away; the apathy was genuine, and summed up her usual disregard for small talk and the sort of pleasantries that made an unnecessary event of courtesy. "If I do you the favour of a long and meaningful conversation, I might have a favour to ask in return." The White Tower was not known for its charity, though there was a playful edge to her tone. Difficult to tell whether she was only acknowledging the ring on her finger, or if she was serious. With the smirk still softening her lips, and a sharp glint in an otherwise lazy gaze, it might have been either. Or both.
Nythadri accepted the glass; she sat, and set it down in front of her. The satchel - which contained the transfer papers, among other things - she left by her feet, her legs crossed at the ankle, her hands clasped in her lap. However wayward her reputation in Caemlyn, and however much time she had spent debasing herself with low-born company in low-born establishments (as her father would have put it), nobility was in her blood. The regal nature of her posture was as effortless as breathing; honed by Tower training, perhaps, but more obviously innate than taught. Across the desk, Andreu flashed ink-free fingers and in the same gesture displayed bruised ones. She couldn’t be sure if he intended a subtext – perhaps he just meant to show off the emerald-set ring – but in that instant she saw one anyway; and it intrigued her. A few thoughts sparked in the back of her mind, but she left them there to burn slow and thoughtful. She had no need to be circumspect; his injuries gave her the perfect camouflage for scrutiny disguised as plain curiosity, and her gaze was unabashedly intense as a result.
He noticed of course, and he offered an explanation. She didn’t call the lie, though for a moment she was tempted; it was entirely the improper thing to do, and she was curious to see how a man steeped in conspiracy to his eyeballs would react. She didn't think she would much like the outcome, though. "Trampled children, huh? If only it had been kittens, perhaps I could have mustered the requisite admiration, sir hero. A shame." She spoke perfectly seriously; her favourite brand of sarcastic humour, and the one most people managed to misinterpret or miss entirely. She was not yet sure if the rakishness of him was as carefully constructed as the cordiality, but he displayed the duality quite masterfully either way. Bankers made an art of trust; the business was founded on its stones, and yet he teased a lie quite easily. Wore bruises like gold rings. Spoke of "work" like shackles to be shed in favour of frivolity. So though it shouldn’t have, the abrupt change in his manner caught her off guard.
She had no problem holding his gaze, though she imagined it was a look that had succeeded in crumbling many in the past. It was reminiscent of Jai, the quick plummet to sobriety edged with something utterly unacceptable in a social setting. In company of a stranger, no less. But it was hardly her custom to balk at a little lack of convention, which perhaps explained why behind the composure of her expression she looked subtly entertained. Though it was the irony that amused her more than the unsettling sincerity he waved off with a laugh; because it was not a competitor that had persuaded her to withdraw her account, but Jai. And whether Andreu would be so arbitrarily willing to slit his brother’s throat (literally or figuratively) was half the reason she was even here.
"Your oaths would be better?" Implicitly, the word of any bank was worth more than the word of its competitors when it came to winning business, and the Kojimas were among the most esteemed of their peers. The opulence of Andreu's office and the vintage of the wine spoke volumes of wealth through success, and only sturdy, trustworthy banks ever succeeded to such gratuitous comforts. A talent for money, for investment, for business; that was all necessary too. But reputation was paramount; lords would not pour their coin into the strongholds of men they did not trust. The Kojimas reputation spoke for itself, and her question was moot, yet it still touched quite keenly on a sense of doubt she should have no reason to express. She wanted to see if that would rankle, as it had Zakar.
He leaned back like the ebb and flow of tension was at his command. Nythadri watched him a moment longer before her gaze fell to the open ledger. "Hmm. I suppose." The words were casual and careless, but nothing about Nythadri presented as incidental. Not that her disinterest was feigned – the money was a bloody curse, every last coin of it – but it was a methodical choice to share such a sentiment. If Andreu were as astute as Jai had suggested, he would note it, and Nythadri was interested to see what he read from it. For the daughter of a wealthy lord, ignorant or simply unmoved by the value of money, it was not an unusual reaction. For the daughter of an impoverished House living on the charity of relatives, however, it was either a brave bluff or an anomaly. Though of course, she was neither; she was Accepted.
"Those are generous terms, but no. Thank you." She disregarded the fortune at her fingertips without blinking, declined his offer without even pausing to consider it, but she was still the picture of statuesque patience. Clearly she did not think the conversation over, but she said nothing else. Men with suspicious minds trusted more to information they thought they had uncovered than words offered freely. If Andreu thought there was a mystery here to pursue, he would dig for it. At least, she hoped he was direct enough to do so; she was not sure how well the directness she had used with Zakar would serve with his brother.