Strongest woman ...

[rodentus_callidus]

On occasion, Sebastien is a very, very stupid rat. *shakes head* A very stupid rat. There are things one must never do, no matter what reasons they might have, or what they might hope to get out of it.

And interfering in the feud between two very powerful and vindictive women is very, very high on the list.

Negotiations

"You want me to ... to surrender to Mamma Markos? To Docklands Molly?" She said it very slowly, as if she couldn't actually believe what was coming out of her mouth.

Sebastien shook his head very quickly. "Not surrender, no!" Never that, not when rumours of what Sorka had done to the last person to tell her to back down were still circulating. After four years.

"Then what?" she purred, coming to stand over him, legs akimbo, so he could feel her looming, feel her threat. Sorka had gotten rather good at conveying threat to him, who couldn't see a lot of her more artistic gestures. Sebastien swallowed. Hard.

"You know," he started. "You know I would never interfere in your business, Sorka. Not ever. Isn't it true? Haven't I always let you do as you pleased?"

"Let?" And, oh, but how soft and very dangerous her tone. It took every meager scrap of his courage to stand straight under that question.

"Let," he confirmed, softly.

She was silent for a long moment, as if startled, or considering. Then ... "You would threaten me?" she asked, and there was no mischief at all in the question, none of her usual cruel games. Only quiet, deadly seriousness. He quivered a little, head turning to follow as she stalked around him, feeling the hairs down his spine stir in terror. He said nothing, waiting until she came back around to the front of him, waiting until she had stopped her pace and pinned him beneath the weight of her gaze, a weight he could feel if not see.

"You know me better than that," he whispered, dipping his head like a supplicant. "You know me, and I know you. Do you really think I'd be stupid enough, Sorka?"

"I don't know," she answered, honestly, and Sebastien started. Badly. "I don't know, little rat. You are a strange creature, with strange habits. I don't know what you would do, given ... incentive."

Oh, now that just made him angry. Foolish, perhaps, but it did. "Incentive?" he spat. "Sorka, you know better! Our first meeting should have shown you that, if nothing else!"

She laughed at him, for that. Warm and cynical. "Don't be naive!" she cried. "Silly rat. You showed me you were dangerous, yes. Nothing more." She paused, reaching forward to stroke his ear contemplatively, ignoring his little shudder. "Very dangerous, maybe. Enough to threaten, really threaten. Perhaps. If you felt the need?" And what he smelled in the air at that moment ... was arousal.

He stilled, now genuinely terrified, turning blind eyes to face her. It did nothing for him, actually hindered his hearing a little, but it was important for seeing creatures. To think that he looked them in the eye, to think that he was being 'honest'. It had taken him quite a while to realise that.

"Sorka ..." he stumbled, started again. "Sorka. I would not threaten you. Tchu! I'm not so stupid! Never that stupid!" She was circling him again, and he turned after her, his tail curling up and in defensively. "Sorka. You know me better than that! You know Sebastien is not so foolish ... eep!"

She grabbed him, pulled him into her, trapping his hands against her body, inhaling his scent, rubbing her blunt nose over his head and pressing on his eyes. He squeaked, going still very, very quickly, shaking in fear. She laughed at that, warm and leathery, and licked at the socket of his malformed eye, teasing the edge of his eyelid and the ruin beneath. He almost tried to jerk away, the sensation so coldly unfamiliar, so invasive, but her hard hands stilled him.

"No," she murmured, licking his eyes. "No, you are not so foolish. You don't threaten, do you, little rat? Like those Polizei idiots, yes? You don't threaten. Just kill, eh? When pushed. Just kill, quiet, efficient." She grinned against his face, so he could feel it, feel the teeth peeking between her lips. "Would you kill me, little rat? If I defied you? Hurt this little Molly and her precious grandson?" He froze under her hands, and she pulled back a touch with a vicious, cold laugh. "Oh, little rat! Of course I know it's him. Jan Markos. Your friend, little rat! Your little Polizei friend, the little traitor. You know, there's quite the bounty on him. Unofficially, of course. Only Mamma Markos to stop it being official, too."

"Sorka," he whispered, and for once he was seizing her, grabbing the lapels of her leather waistcoat and pulling her back towards him as she sneered. "Sorka, you don't touch him. You don't!"

She laughed again. "Why? You think Docklands Molly not enough to protect him?"

Actually, Sebastien would bet on Molly Markos against almost anyone, himself very much included, but this was Sorka, and he knew Sorka, knew her so very well, and if anyone, anyone at all, could take Docklands Molly down, it was her. It was her. And if Molly fell, the only thing protecting Jan from the full force of Wekha displeasure was removed, and Sorka was free to take that bounty from the families themselves, and cement her reputation.

"Don't," he said. Nothing else. Because it was Sorka, and pleas affected her not at all.

"You know," she murmured, pressing her mouth against his ear, nuzzling against him. "Anyone else, I wouldn't answer that. Anyone else, I'd kill them, just for saying it. You know that?"

He nodded. He knew.

"Sometimes I wonder," she went on. "Why I let you say the things you say. Why I let you do the things you do. Do you know, Sebastien?" And it was a genuine question, a genuine request for an answer. She didn't know herself. Sometimes she never did. Sorka lived for reasons even she didn't always understand.

"I don't," he whispered, softly, catching her hands in his paws, almost shaking at the feel of them, the roughness of the upper scales, the soft vulnerability of the palms. "I don't know, Sorka."

She grinned, and bit his ear, gently. "Would you kill me?" she wondered. "If you had me at your mercy? If I was bleeding and broken at your feet? Little doctor rat. Would you kill me?" He didn't know. He honestly didn't. And then she pulled back a little, serious and soft and asked: "Or would you ... find another use for me? Little injured Sorka?"

That, he did know. "No!" he cried, pulling back, repulsed and horrified. "No! I would not ... I would never ..." And then she was pulling him back, laughing again, all seriousness gone as she kissed him and bit his ear, licked his eyes and buried her hands in his fur. He struggled, lost and confused, caught between horror and fear and a kind of strange pity ... but none of it could hold, against her. None save the terror, of course. Sorka always inspired that in him.

"Don't worry, little rat," she crooned, bouncing him up into her arms like he weighed nothing, which admittedly was close to the truth. "Don't worry. I'll not take your virtue!" Eh? But then she set him on his feet and took his paw firmly. Too firmly, really, but he wasn't about to complain, not in the face of this fey mood. No knowing what she'd take into her head to do, in a mood like this. She might ... kneel?

He gaped at her, sensing her sudden decrease in height, sensing through her hand how she didn't bend at the waist, leaving only the knees, except that couldn't possibly be the case, and then ... she kissed his hand, very gently compared to her brutal grip, and promised ... "I'll leave your Jan alone, then, Sebastien. Leave his Mamma Molly, too, unless she attacks me first. I promise."

He stayed very still, almost afraid that it was some strange trick of his mind, some hallucination where he'd added the wrong potion to his tea, some trickster mixing up his vials on him ... but no. No hands so slender could crush his like that, no laugh be so cold and so warm at the same time, no scent so dark and seductive. Only Sorka.

She was laughing as she left him, after she'd sealed her promise in her own inimitable fashion, leaving him with legs that didn't quite work and paws that couldn't quite stop trembling, and as she closed the door she tossed back a little thought for him. "And little doctor rat? Will you 'threaten' Molly, too?"

At which point his legs stopped working altogether, and he began to give serious thought to his loyalty to Jan.