Headed by a Snake

Reynard shook his head. It was difficult for him to believe it. He had offended a baron and he had earned a commission for it?

"But-- why? Monsieur le Baron, why would you risk giving money to a... (to a lowlife scum like me?)"

Tycon stared at his glass, slowly swirling around his drink, "To be perfectly honest, Monsieur, I was planning on having my young associate beat you within inches of your life."

The pair glanced over to the young girl. She was playing with a broken spinning globe in the corner of the room.

He scoffed, looking up to gaze yellow soul-searching eyes at Reynard, "I was even going to have someone come in here and shit on your floor-- that's how angry I was.."

The baron motioned to the girl, "She may not look like much, but she is a Bronze-Rank Martialist."

Reynard shivered. The terrifying baron a metal ranker in his employ, and it was a girl not even in her teens. It was no wonder that his men were so easily incapacitated, "Then... why?"

The baron pointed past him, and his gaze drifted to find his violin, "Your music saved you... Your books in the Old Language on strategy and philosophy. Your collections of art. Your houseplant."

He gave off an arrogant smirk, "And even your poison."

He placed his nose near his glass of cognac, "Even with the strength of your drink, a subtle nutty aroma remains evident... I recommend you invest in a more expensive poison."

He downed the glass in a swift pull, making a disgusted face.

Reynard's jaw dropped, "Monsieur! What are you DOING?!"

Tycon placed the glass back on the table, "Drinking your cheap swill. Ugh. It's no wonder you keep poison around if that's what you drink for pleasure."

"Can I try some, Boss?" the little girl bounded over.

"No, young lady. Both glasses are literally poisoned. You'll die," Tycon explained in a single breath.

"Oh," the girl took a few seconds to register what Tycon said. She took Reynard's cup and poured it onto the floor.

Reynard stared at the spilled drink with his eyes unfocused, "H-how much money, Monsieur?"

Tycon stated a price. Reynard's eyes widened once more, his knees buckled, and he steadied himself on his desk.

"Now," Tycon flicked his wrist, a blank sheet of parchment magically appearing in his hands, "Shall we draft a contract?"

...

Tycondrius invested a great deal of coin after drafting a contract that linked Reynard to Sorina Capulet and House Charm. The coin would go towards getting his men healing services, paying them, and hiring men and women of quality. In the coming years, he would be responsible for expanding and taking over any illegal trade in Merylsward. He was given advice for peaceable takeovers and recommended low moneymaking strategies such as debt collection and moving contraband. If Reynard needed financial advice, he would send letters via the Courier's Guild to Sorina Capulet in Nice or if necessary, Tycon himself.

Reynard was also given strict orders on what kind of people or persons they absolutely could not touch.

Still somewhat aggrieved, Tycon ordered Pale to go into Reynard's room and shit in the man's houseplant.

But the trip wasn't an entire waste of time.

"So why did we let him go, Boss?" Taree asked, hopping and grabbing Tycon's arm.

Tycon continued to walk. A week prior, he would have shaken the whelpling off of him, but he was growing more partial to her behavior, "Pale. What do you think?"

Pale was holding Taree's hand with his left, walking with his spear in the other, "Because Mister Reynard can give us some sort of benefit?"

"4 out of 5 marks," Tycon congratulated, "The man has the potential to earn us, Guild Invictus, connections and coin. And the risk is low."

"But you gave him so much money, Boss?" Taree's eyes sparkled.

Tycon clicked his tongue, "Tss. Unfortunately, young lady, that was not a lot of money in the business world. It was a reasonable investment, concerning what Reynard was working with."

Taree pouted, "I just don't understand why we're helping him?"

Tycon gave the girl a gentle smile, kneeling down to face her, "Because we all deserve to be better, young lady. It's the same reason I push you and Pale as martial practitioners. And why I'm trying to impart upon the two of you the knowledge to lead."

The silver-haired girl's gaze fell, pursing her lips and staring down at the paved road, "I don't think I can lead like you can, Boss."

Tycon laughed and gave a sigh, ruffling Taree's hair, "Learn from leadership you respect. Learn from leadership you don't. I only ask you to do the best you can-- for yourself and for those who rely on you... Do you understand, future Sect Master?"

"Yes, Boss!" Taree blushed and hugged Pale's arm in response.

"And do you understand, future Guild Leader?"

Pale laughed, "Yes, Sir!"

Tycon stood up and stretched, "Now, let's go get cleaned up for dinner, you two."

"Yes, Sir!" "Yes, Boss!" the two children shouted.

...

After dinner, Taree shared a slice of pie with Pale as the other patrons of the inn looked in envy. The Jubilant Wormslayer had a healthy selection of meals, but the pair were glad they had ordered more sweets from Heloise earlier in the sun.

"So it looks like Sir Tycon likes you better now," Pale smiled.

"Yeah! I dunno why," Taree was stuffing her face like a small pig. "It sort of changed like a week ago?"

Pale took a cloth napkin and wiped the corner of her cheek, causing the girl to blush and try to shove him away, "Wh-what are you doing?"

"Hold still! You have something on your face!" Pale ordered. The girl stopped resisting, but the redness on her cheeks wouldn't go away so easily. "Sir Tycon doesn't like rude people. So as soon as you started listening to him instead of arguing or being silly, you started to see his normal personality-- there, I got it."

Taree's gaze lingered on the cloth napkin, then at the boy who made butterflies dance in her stomach whenever he was around... "How did you get so brave, Pale?"

Pale stared up at the ceiling chandelier, "I dunno. Maybe because Dad left. I mean... Dad told me if I really want something-- I have to try to get it. He said not to ask for it, but to ask how to get it."

Taree tilted her head, "So... what do you want, Pale?" Her heart thumped painfully, waiting to hear his answer.

"I want my dad to come back," He laughed, smiling widely in embarrassment. "But more than that... I want him to be proud of me when he comes back. And for that, I need to be strong-- I need to be an Invictus he can be proud of."

Taree nodded, deep in thought. It wasn't the answer she was hoping for, but she couldn't be mad at Pale's smile. He was talking about someone he loved... and she couldn't imagine how torn he was that he was gone.

"What do you wish for, Taree?" Pale placed his hand on hers.

As hot as her face grew, Taree didn't pull her hand away, "I want... I want people to look at me with respect, instead of treating me like a little girl. Like the way they look at Mister Dragan's big ol' muscles."

Pale burst out laughing.

Taree was livid, "What? Why are you laughing? Stop! It's not funny!"

"You'd have to get bigger for that." Pale snickered, "Like a lot bigger. And a lot more muscled."

"Well! Fine! Maybe I will! I'll be even bigger than Mister Dragan!"