They'd come in like kings. Not how it used to be. Used to be they took Jacob's truck all the way, and even if its rust didn't look out of place in a city of knotted up poverty and affluence, they sure did, rolling up to joints like this on the back of something that didn't have proper license plates. Once or twice they'd been stopped about that, but soon the siren-soldiers knew he had business with the real runners of this here metropolis. On the way he'd usually hug Lilith tight to him, so the wind didn't get to her.<br/><br/>Rumor had it, in Danitt, which was almost - and suspiciously - half-way between Yga and these congested buildings, there now lived a footman who had exactly a motel room and a black shiny car to his name, solely so he could lug the siblings of Yga around. All Salace knew was that when Timothy climbed down the tower they'd built that could catch the very tippity ends of satellite licks on the devices he got to have, and he had news on that little tablet, and those news involved traveling, there'd always be a car sent out, with Philip at the wheel. Hope the syndicate made it worth Philip's time. Sometimes when there was a lot of cash, Lil would throw him a wad and he would be as polite as he always was about it. Salace liked Philip, he was raised well, but there was ambitions in Philip's eyes, like he didn't wanna drive forever. That could be dangerous. Drivers have full access, and people don't remember that when they're getting good coin.<br/><br/>But here they were. Lilith made herself at home. Spell-bound the crowd just like she did at Fred's. Didn't matter what animal you were, pinstripes or overalls, you'd find yourself muzzle deep in Lil's palm. He glanced at her while she bid the dancers a taste. Such a good little pusher, his little sister. But when he was too distracted with the girl who'd spent her formative years listening to his reiterations of Devana's teachings while pissing in his lap because she didn't know better and quite frankly smiled like she liked it, the other conversationalists in the booth beckoned artfully for his attention. His eyes had some yellow in them when he turned them to where they were needed. Artful was okay, but artful wasn't polite. He'd rather take polite.<br/><br/>"Yeah I'm listening, Kormir." Salace said. It was an uncompromised tone, through the music she'd picked, but Yatcha Kormir still picked up on something. Artful was all the proud leader could muster. Young like Salace, but not as soaked in the trade. Yatcha still had to prove himself. That's why he wanted on the train of dreams and thorns that stared in Yga and drove all the way to the grave. It's the journey that counts.<br/><br/>"Ah, I'm sorry, Salach." Kormir said and shook his head at himself. Theatrical. There was no apology in those faded eyes over an expansive but ill-tailored suit. The Triad had much better clothes. They'd given Sal the vest he tore over his old tanktop, but the Russians, in fact Kormir himself, had gifted him the fur coat he wore over the vest, in turn. For his generosity and usefulness, Sal would be good with artfulness in place of polite. "Here." Yatcha continued and reached under the table, and that made Alchem stretch. Salace, not fucking Sal<b>ach</b>, frowned tired at his enforcer, and Al backed down. Out in Kormi's hands came a long, detailed, clear bottle. Damn it if Sal didn't smile. "Not better than anything with your product in it, but it's from my mother land." Kormir said and held it out across both his palms, like when the other mountain tribes gave you a sword. Salace took it, one-handed, from underneath and made short work of the metal cork with a few twists and his teeth. Had a swig right then and shrugged.<br/><br/>"Tell your mother she makes good vodka." he did like this drink. He knew what they were doing but he also had to admit they were succeeding.<br/><br/>The rest was negotiations for more of the things they had in Yga. And Kormir wasn't exactly interested in wildflowers and even wilder magic, at least not on the face of it. Sal would rather leave it as it was, just a little trickle of their town's potency out into the world, but he'd promised them more, too. They were feeling the sheen of gold, and they wanted to catch a full-on tan. Salace shook his head many times but Kormir only stopped his artfulness when Sal shrugged. He could stave off the Yga's hunger for a spiritual leader if they had one with coin to spread around. Devana was dead and they needed a new lightning rod to disperse their mountain-grown crazy. He was doing a good job but he didn't suspect that'd last if money didn't keep coming in. Which meant being brothers with artful fucks like Kormir and his oily mustache.<br/><br/>Lilith came just right. He wrapped his hands around her and his kisses on her hair smelled like vodka, he knew. Kormir saw how the willowy boy with the killing arms wrapped around the pretty, wild girl. Even if she'd interrupted negotiations Yatch couldn't be mad. Sal looked over at the girl she was talking about. One of his shoulders lifted. "She looks like fun but I don't like the color." of hair. Like his own. Like mothers. Flashes of salt and adoring flesh and too much too soon. He hunched to nuzzle her cheek so she'd turn her lips so he could kiss her. It made Kormir twist a bit but at least he didn't say anything like some of the people at home had started to. Sal did grin. "Yeah, she looks like she's gonna run, but also like she'll break an ankle." And then he inhaled through his nostrils and put an elbow beyond her, on the table, other hand stroking down her neck until it rested under the neckline of her once black shirt, like it was his tourniquet and he'd broken his clavicle. It made Kormir raise an eyebrow. "So yeah, we can up it with twenty five percent." Sal said. That made Kormir happy. But before he could get off on it, Sal clucked his tongue. "But that extra quarter's going to cost you double. The wares before that are still at the same price."<br/><br/>Salace listened to Yatcha go off, and most of it was in Russian. Somehow he kept it below any threats but Alchem was still on his toes beside the booth with all the other muscle. Sal busied himself with squeezing a red cup behind the old band emblem inside her sun-bleached cotton. If she looked at him he winked at her. Then, when Yatcha had gotten to get most of it out but was still going because he was used to people indulging him, Sal sighed and let go of his sister's tit and the table and leaned back. He petted her on the top of her head and nodded at Kormir. "Go ahead, Lil. Convince him. You make the stuff." he said with a wink and swiped the bottle from the edge of the table so he could drink with it tipped like a fucking water dispenser in a hamster cage. Eyes still on her. They were black again, which meant this wasn't a killing matter. But it could be if Kormir overstepped. Salace didn't feel like the stags she was referring to right now. Maybe the lasers and chemical vapors in here made him less of an animal. Either way, he wanted to take most of the pretties here back home and let them run.