Rhonda
Head Advisor Dimitri Novikov

The Fun in Cider Brothel, Tonate Proper.

Dimitri Novikov did not own a brothel, he recognized that it was on old person's game. He had seen first hand exactly how quickly the patience of a brothel mother could wear down, and although he had patience for scullery maids and gardeners, he did _not_ have the patience to take care of fifteen some wayward girls. He would _especially_ not own the Fun in Cinder brothel. Not only would he never own a brothel with such a terrible name, but it was practically built onto the docks. Good for the wayward horndog sailor, he assumed, not so much for the average purveyor of pleasure, who were more often then not turned off by the putrid smell of the fish mongers. That and they didn't even sell cider. They served mulled berry wine, and although the majority of it's clientele didn't seem to mind, the real owner of the establishment assured him that she received a question about it every other day. It would have been enough to properly do his head in.

When Brandon Welles entered "His" Office, Dimitri placed his feet up on the desk. A girl with breasts exposed stood off to the side of the room, shifting from side to side. 

"I'm telling you—" Dimitri waved Brandon to come towards the desk and past the girl, "They're not uneven. You _know_ the reason you're not getting tipped adequately, Fola. I don't _care_ if your the only one in your family with perfectly straight teeth. You're using them too much."

The woman upon noticing Brandon's presence, undid her wild back hair and let it spill over her chest. "Who's dis vhen?" She asked, nodding to the Araedian. "Because vheres no fuckin' way I'm practicing on 'im. It demeaning, and I'm not about t—" 

Dimitri Novikov simply pointed to the door in response, "Take your shirt and leave, Fola." 

With a huff, she complied, leaving the too in the room alone. 

"You have something for me?"
Elizabeth
Brandon Welles
The Fun in Cider Brother, Tonate Proper

Brandon held onto the box as he walked in the office. The girl in the corner didn't make much of a difference to him, especially because of the conversation he walked in on. He held the box securely, but he chuckled a bit at their back and forth. Brandon had only met Bradai himself and Ollie thus far. He had absolutely no idea who Dimitri Novikov was, so he had no hesitations about giving him a box of what he could only guess was poison.

Bran scoffed when the woman seemed offended at the thought of practicing on him. "As if I would let you," He teased then playfully snapped his teeth at her as she left the room. 

He turned his focus back to the owner, "If you are the owner of this establishment." He held up the box, "This is for you."
Rhonda
Head Advisor Dimitri Novikov
The Fun in Cinder Brothel, Tonate Proper

Dimitri Novikov nodded, "So you're Brandon Welles?" The Head Advisor smiled and placed a hand on his chin, "Yeah. Looks about right. Not that it wouldn't be fitting for an Araedian provincial's son to send a shitblood to..." He shrugged. 

"Before we begin, let me apologize. Typically, we just do it right in the office, but seeing as how he's just arrived, and it'll be easier to get you both off of the island—" Dimitri unlatched the jewelry case and removed the hand crossbow. He nonchalantly pointed it at Brandon's chest and pulled the trigger. 

A small dart lodged itself into his chest, just under his right collarbone. "Fuck, my aim." Dimitri sat back and shook his head. "Imagine if I had _missed!_ I am legally permitted to tell you that you have nothing to worry about, you won't be harmed beyond that little prick, and it'll heal in about a day or so. You wouldn't be able to distinguish it from a mosquito bite. Well, at any rate, you have about thirty seconds to say anything you want. Any famous last words?" He smirked, snapping his teeth at Brandon before standing up from the desk and beginning to pack up his things.
Elizabeth
Brandon Welles
The Fun in Cider Brother, Tonate Proper

"The one and only," He responded to being asked his name. He laughed when he said it wouldn't be a surprise if he'd just sent a shitblood, "If I thought like that, I wouldn't be here." He was trying to contain his excitement, but Brandon never did learn to control his face outside of a card game. He was smiling a bit when Dimitri apologized. He tilted his head to the side a bit, confused, like a puppy. He laughed shortly when he said it would be easier to get them both off the island and the crossbow was pointed at him ," Fuck..." The dart hit him in his chest and he screamed because being shot at that close range definitely wasn't comfortable. 

He looked at the dart as it stuck out his shoulder basically... At least it wasn't any lower. He pulled it out then threw it to the floor before he looked over at Dimitri when he asked him if he had any last words."Yeah learn to fuckin' shoot you fu..." His eyes rolled shut, he was unable to finish his sentence, and within seconds his body thudded against the floor.
Rhonda
Head Advisor Dimitri Novikov

Undisclosed Location, The Southern Isles

Dimitri shook his fork at Uriel Python, "You're _not_ wrong. This IS the best way to drink wine." He set it beside the plate of pasta and picked up his glass, swirling it in the light of the window behind his dinner guest.

For everything that went on in the Southern Isles, there was something to said about the natural beauty. When it wasn't raining mercilessly, the sunsets were absolutely gorgeous. Dimitri threw his left leg on top of his right and drank the rest of the Terresolian wine like a proper dandy. "How are you enjoying the Isles? It was a close shave when we rescued you from those Terresolian knights. Slavery catches a high fee around those parts." 

"I was quite afraid when your King's pet approached me. You know how—" Uriel searched for the word and chuckled, "_unsavory_ he can be with nobles like us. You're Azaryan, you understand." 

Dimitri shook his head, letting out a light chuckle as he brought the cusp of the glass to his lips. "Mmm." Was all he could respond with. He gulped hard, finishing off the glass. He didn't really _need_ to get this drunk, but he preferred it. "Quite. You said that this wine was brought over from your vineyard?" 

"Hah!" Uriel responded as if he was releasing a baited breath, like he had been waiting for the question to be posed the whole night. "Yes! It's not common for the people of the Isles to have _good_ wine, I've heard. Your weather is too humid to support wine. Such a shame. Truly." 

Dimitri poured himself another glass. "The King is right downstairs, by the way. He has been absolutely dying to meet you. Your island, while still being processed, will prove to be a valuable asset to the Southern Federation. It will make you a very wealthy man, Uriel."

At this notion, Uriel nearly lept out of his seat. "Let's not waste any time, then." He quickly cleaned off of his hands with the napkin on his lap and folded it neatly next to his half emptied plate. 

In nearly a single gulp, Dimitri finished off his third glass and lead the way him to the door from the balcony. The estate they were on was completely walled off from outside view, and as it were, completely abandoned. It was well furnished, perfectly dusted, but there were almost absolutely no signs that anyone had ever lived in it. The bowl in the center usually reserved for fruit was completely empty, the shelves unstocked, water basins unfilled. The gardens that lined the estate sported no flowers, just freshly tilled dirt. They made their way down the stairs and into the main foyer, making small talk all the while. 

"Just in the basement." Dimitri noted, allowing the political prisoner to step into the cellar first. Uriel happily swung open the cellar door, and began to walk down the stairs. A foot was planted between his shoulder blades, sending him tumbling down the stairs. 

"W-what?" Uriel looked back up at Dimitri, just in time for two men to grab him by the arms and lug him out of sight. 

"What a _prick._" Dimitri muttered, making his way down the stairs. "Uriel!" Dimitri clapped his hands, leaning forward and making his way to where Uriel was being restrained to a chair. "We have three ways of doing things in the Isles." A small stand was pushed up to the chair, and Dimitri began rifling through it. "We can do things that will make you _wish_ we'd kill you, or we c—"

"DO YOU KNOW WHO I AM, YOU AZARYAN FUCK?!" Uriel was already beginning to fight his bonds, "When my men discover exactly what your Shitblood King is doing, all of the illegal trades, all of the tricky political games, well—" He let out a laugh that was undoubtedly supposed to sound confident, but came out nervous, "Oooh, oh everyone is gonna know that Shitbloods are all the same. All criminals, needing people like you, fucking _blood traitors_, to help them out. They're too stu—"

"Uriel." Dimitri turned around, holding up a thin, metal rod. It came to a curved point, "I don't know if I told you this or not but uh..." He raised his eyebrows, nearly giggling with a profound glee, "I'm an amature dentist." 

One of the men from the back piped up. "OOooooh yeah." 

"I'm sorry." Uriel spoke, his voice now a harsh whisper. 

"Tell us where the slaves are from, Uriel." 

"I-I can't. M-my employer—" 

"Your _employer_ is the Pirate King Bradai Maith, and you have now just broken the law in withholding information on potential slave proliferers." The Advisor sauntered up to the Terresolian lord and leaned up on him, boot on the exposed part of the seat between his thighs. "Should we use the pick or the hammer?" 

" 'ammer." The voice from the shadows replied. 

"Zat's some good fucking shit." Dimitri smiled, grabbing it from the cart of instruments and putting it to good use.

This would progress would three hours, leaving the Lord battered and bruised, muscles tired from struggling against their bonds. The entire time, Brandon Welles would be positioned in a chair, concealed by darkness. The man in the dark had placed a hand on the Provincial's shoulder, and began to whisper in his ear. 

"You 'ave to decide now wevher or not to do business wiff us. Vhis was a Lord in Terresol vhat sold slaves on our trade routes. 'e fought 'e was smart, Brandon. Fought 'e could play tha fuckin' game, vhat 'e was smarter vhan us. Vhis is what 'appens to geniuses. Prove to your favher vhat you're smarter vhen 'e finks you are." 

"Th-there..." Uriel muttered, "J-just make sure my wife is safe." 

"Your wife iz dead, Uriel. Reports say she stabbed herself wizza fireplace poker za moment you left. It vas pretty bloody." 

"Kill me." He rasped. Dimitri was all too happy to accomodate his request. 

Brandon would feel a sharp prick on his shoulder, and about thirty seconds later, would awake in his bed with a sharp headache. 

On his nightstand was a bouquet of poppy flowers and a card. 

"Brandon,

We really did enjoy the dinner last night. Do yourself a favor and bury the package when you sail to Erba this weekend to discuss our arrival to your father. 

Don't get too smart." 

Beside him in bed was the disfigured body of Uriel Python, wrapped in a waterproof tarp.
Elizabeth
Brandon Welles
?????, The Southern Isles

Brandon woke up slowly when Uriel's body tumbled down the stairs. His back was supported by the chair, but his head had tilted off to the side. He exhaled audibly, tried to sit his head up in a comfortable position, but every move felt foreign after being out of it for so long. His hearing cut out a few times over the next twenty minutes, slipping back under the haze of the dart and only picking up bits of their conversation. 

When he finally could open his eyes, the first few seconds his vision was blurry but he could clearly see a very gruesome scene happening right in front of him. His breathing got heavier as his vision cleared back to normal, and thoughts of *Am I next?* Swirled violently in his head. He sat up straight in his chair, and he wasn't restrained but a hand kept him in place. 

What he was witnessing was awful, but he couldn't look away as the man in the shadows spoke to him. He was silent, considering that he said then witnessed Uriel's death. His mind was completely blank when he felt the sharp prick. Besides flinching, he didn't react much to it because this time it was welcomed.

________
He slowly opened his eyes back on board his ship. He was laying face down, head turned towards his bedside table. It took him a little while to feel mostly back to normal, but once he was fully awake he reached over to the table with a heavy arm and pulled the card over to read it. He rolled it into a ball and let it slide on the floor, "Another fuckin' package..." 

He rolled over, bumping into the package beside him on the bed. He sat up quickly, sitting next to it for a while before he decided to just look for confirmation. After the last time, he didn't want anymore surprises. He unwrapped the tarp, hardly a half inch then immediately closed it and got out of bed.

Half a bottle of rum later, he was sitting across the room from the body just staring at it. That dead man was going to decide his entire future... Bran figured he might as well have a drink with him before he either joined him or buried him.

A heavy knock on the door disturbed their bonding. Brandon opened the door just a crack, and it was a friendly face. It was Tresten, a member of his crew who was used to seeing Brandon look like hell but rarely that bad. The man didn't attempt to open the door or asked what's wrong. He only asked, "Where we goin'?"

Brandon stared at him for a second, "Erba." Tresten nodded then turned to walk away, but Brandon opened the door a little more. "Oi!... No one comes with us but us. No whores, no stowaways. Everyone off... If Kichea's onboard, send her to me. Other than that, clean house. We'll leave at sunrise." Tresten furrowed his brow for a moment but ultimately decided he'd figure out what the hell was happening when they got there, "I'll knock when she's clean." Brandon nodded then closed the door.