Connections, Money and Secrets [Almaz]

[Nesrin Aziz]

Nesrin Aziz & Helena Asquith

The office was full of bizarre curios. On the navy-painted walls hung gold frames of splayed insects and surgical diagrams, interspersed with ornate shelves of carved obsidian all crammed with medical journals, skeletons, and taxidermy. Nesrin stared into the glassy dead eyes of a creature she could not even name. Nor could she tell if it was real or an artist's monstrous rendition of a nightmare. Both seemed possible.

She was aware of Helena’s contemplative stare from the desk, and allowed her to make the silent assessment. Balthazar’s sister was a woman of quite some infamy, but they had never met until Nesrin finally dug her out of her shadowy nest in Moscow. It had taken two weeks in the city to follow the rumours to source. By now Nesrin was deep in both exploration and planning, aware of the small window deadline that waited. But it was work completed from comfort at least. Home was currently a highrise condo whose owners were vacationing in Thailand, blissfully unaware of her existence.

This was an opportunity she’d run with, whatever she believed of the truth as it had been presented to her. But she’d do it her own way irrespective of the Asquith’s carefully laid plans. Seeking the disgraced Helena was certainly not among their expectations, but Helena was a deep vein straight into Moscow’s fetid underworld, and as far as resources went it was an invaluable one to make. Though it hadn’t come without cost. The recognition between them had been an unwelcome surprise, at least on Nesrin’s part. It revealed something she had not been happy or expecting to share. Helena hadn’t openly acknowledged it, but Nesrin had witnessed the moment her attention focused rather than slipped away, as others normally did when confronted with such unassuming airs.

It was too late to remedy now, though, and fortunately Helena made a natural ally. Given her reasons for estrangement she was unlikely to prove a problem, and soon it may not matter anyway. Still, there had to be a way to hide it in future; one Nesrin intended to uncover as a matter of priority.

“If you’re anything like Barty, you’ll hate it down there. I’d recommend the upstairs bar. It’s more civilised, which does not say much, my dear. It is not what the patrons come here for.”

Nesrin turned to glance over her shoulder. She knew Zar well after so many years, and clearly he had been briefed by his family back then, yet she was not sure he ever knew she had been raised on the doting laps of whores. When they had met in Giza she had already been someone else; had already learned the value of masks and duplicity. One face for the day, another for the night. Spares for both. So Nesrin was gratified that if Helena caught a glimpse of something she shouldn’t have, it did not pierce all the way through the artifice. She saw what she was meant to see. Someone soft and scholarly as her baby brother. An innocent led by the hand to greater purpose. A pawn.

She offered a smile. “I’m sure it won’t be so bad as that, Lena.”

Helena only shrugged, uncaring. One of her dogs, currently stretched out the length of her desk, flexed its massive paws, then gave a contented sigh as it snuggled back down into slumber.

“Better not to worry him, though. I hate it when he offers money, but Moscow is expensive.” The uniform Nesrin had been given was nondescript. Svelte and black as shadows but for the gold diamond discrete on the chest. Patrons came for the bloody spectacle of the fight, not to be distracted by the servers delivering their obscenely overpriced drinks. It suited her purposes better than the lavish glamour of the Almaz’s public face. She watched the other woman a moment longer before she added, curious. “Do you believe what they say?”

“I believe in empirical evidence,” came the immediate reply, just as three sets of doberman ears swivelled to the door a moment before a knock sounded. One of the dogs grumbled low irritation in its throat, but each turned obedient eyes to their mistress, who made what must have been a placating gesture. The one by the desk laid its head back down.

“Lady Asquith.” The man who entered threw a somewhat concerned look at the animals, and did not look at Nesrin at all. He was smartly suited, his voice thick with native Moscovite in contrast to the plummy tones of Helena’s blue-blooded aristocracy. He presented a screen to her impatiently outstretched hand. After a moment she handed it back.

“Is this not why I hire management?” she said flatly, and made a gesture at Nesrin not unlike the kind she imagined the woman might also use on her dogs. The message imparted was clear, though, and Nesrin slipped out the door.

[[Hijacking your thread for an intro so I don’t have to dredge up a thread title. Nesrin is a server in the VIP lower levels, delivering table-service to those rich enough to afford it while they watch the various matches.]]