Chapter 5: A Night on the Town

Even understanding why Tycho is making the offer, even trusting Tycho at his word… Jon is loathed to part with his sword, in the end. Eventually, he answers the banker with a soft smile and a shake of his head, keeping his hand on the pommel of his sword to drive his point home. “I’ll keep this with me.” The Iron Bank Representative looks physically pained for a second, and even glances at the guards on either side of him who have been watching this entire affair, as if he’s contemplating sending them with Jon… or having them disarm Jon by force. Both the two men and Jon tense up for a moment as they await Tycho’s response, but in the end, the banker’s shoulders sag and he just lets out a low nod. “Very well… do try and be safe then out there, alright? You will almost certainly be challenged to at least one duel… try not to lose.” It’s curious, the level of interest that Tycho Nestoris has shown in Jon so far. Is it on behalf of the Iron Bank, or on his own behalf? That’s the real question, and either way it ends up answered, Jon always wants to know why more than anything else. Still, he gives Tycho a nod and a wave goodbye, and then makes his way back down the front steps of the Iron Bank, and back into Braavos itself. Where the Iron Bank was this clean, quiet place, orderly and majestic in its simplistic furnishings, the rest of Braavos is alive, despite the fact that the sun has set. In fact, Jon would say the city seems even more lively with the sun set, or perhaps just a different kind of lively. As he walks, he keeps an eye out and a hand on his sword, but there’s no denying that his thoughts are wandering, just a tad. What did the Iron Bank want with him, truly? It made sense that Jon would need to take on a new last name. He detested the moniker ‘Snow’ to begin with, so it wasn’t like he was upset that the Iron Bank would not allow him to make an account while using the extremely common name. All the same, he wasn’t too sure about ‘Dracarys’. Dragonfire… it had nothing to do with him. Did the Iron Bank know something he didn’t? No, of course not. Once upon a time, he would have preferred the name Stark. It had been his dream for quite a lot of his life. He’d wanted nothing more than to be legitimized by his father. Not that he wanted to steal his brother’s inheritance… he simply wanted to be a Stark, alongside Robb, alongside Sansa and Arya, alongside Bran and Rickon. He knew that was too much to ask though, and he certainly had no desire to use that name now. Not in a foreign land, after effectively being banished by Lord Stark himself. No, he needed a new name for himself. He just had to figure out what it should be. Dracarys… he was pretty sure that ‘Dracarys’ wasn’t it, but he would have to think up other ideas before he returned to the Iron Bank in order to figure out what worked better. For now, he just needed a place to procure a warm meal and to lay his head. More than a little tired, though not truly exhausted, Jon finds himself heading past a gorgeous fountain towards where he sees some lively partying going on. He can only hope one of the places down the street before him will prove to be an inn with rooming for the evening. However, before he can reach any of them, Jon is stopped by a sudden foreign-sounding voice. “Westerosi! You carry steel in Braavos? You must want to die! Draw your blade and let us duel!” Blinking, Jon turns, knowing immediately that the title ‘Westerosi’ is likely being applied to him. It’s funny, because he’s not ever thought of himself as from Westeros before now. No, he was from the North, and the North was almost its own separate entity in the minds of Northmen such as himself. Still, he’s not surprised to find a Braavosi waiting for him, sword already drawn, a wicked smirk on his lips. It’s not filled with malice though, and even as Jon pauses for a moment, he considers his would-be challenger and reflects that the man is no older than he is. Given the lack of hair on the Braavosi’s chin, he can’t be that old at all. But then, Jon isn’t too old either, so perhaps that’s exactly why the other young man is challenging him. Given the other Braavosi behind him, he might have even been pushed into doing so… though from the look of things, he didn’t seem all that unhappy about it. There’s a jovial desire for murder and mayhem in the foreign swordsman’s eyes, and Jon knows instinctively that he’s not going to get out of this with a simple refusal. Letting out a low sigh, the young man draws his own sword from its sheathe and steps forward, cocking his head to the side as he contemplates the Braavosi before him. He should respond in kind, he supposes. “Braavosi! I accept your challenge! Admittedly, I am new to Braavos, as you have already noted, and this will be my first duel. Anything I should know?” The Braavosi puffs out his chest, and gestures to the fountain nearby. “We fight before the Moon Pool, Westerosi! It would be an insult to fight to anything but the death!” Jon blinks at that. The Braavosi is still so jovial, and yet now the duel is to the death? Well, it’s too late to try to back out now. And something within him balks at the idea of running away. He’s not a coward, and he never has been. Perhaps this is where Jon dies, perhaps this is where the story ends… but something tells him that that’s not quite the case. Smiling easily, Jon brings up his sword, a simple arming sword, and nods to the Braavosi, who has a much thinner blade, from the look of things. “Very well then… to the death.” -x-X-x- Jon thrusts forward, and his sword punches up into the armpit of yet another attacker, drawing a strangled cry from the Braavosi as he galls to the ground, his legs suddenly turned to jelly, his lifeblood quickly leaking out of him. Grunting, Jon barely spares the latest dying man a glance as he whirls about, looking for his next opponent… but there’s no one left standing who bares a blade against him. That’s not to say the area around the Moon Pool as he now knows it to be called is empty by any means. Even the immediate area around him is… well, it’s filled with corpses. Jon swallows thickly as he stares at the carnage he’s created, but he doesn’t let his bile overcome him. It was… it wasn’t what he wanted, but it was necessary, in the end. He was beginning to think this hadn’t been a simple duel, in the beginning. He was starting to think they’d been sent to kill him, potentially. But that… that would be crazy, right? Who would want him dead? And yet, Jon couldn’t help but feel that the first one’s friends had used the young man’s death at the end of Jon’s blade as an excuse to attack him, all at once. It certainly didn’t sound like the honorable thing to do, the way they’d come at him, forcing him to fight them off. Maybe it was because he was of Westeros, and so they hadn’t thought they needed to be honorable with him. And yet, there were guards around the edges of the Moon Pool now, and there had been for some time, and none of them had ever stepped in. Rather, instead they’d just watched… watched along with all of the other onlookers as Jon slaughtered a group of Braavosi. Where had that come from? Staring down at his blood-caked sword and his gloved hand, Jon breathes in and out slowly, trying to regain his breath, even as he attempts to comprehend what just happened. He wasn’t… that wasn’t entirely him. In the beginning, against the first Braavosi, that had been him. He’d fought well, but he’d caught a few nicks here and there from the water dancer’s strange style. In the end though, Jon had fallen into the deadly dance of swords and it was his blade that had found his enemy’s heart first. But afterwards, when he was suddenly being attacked from all sides, something… else took hold of him, something else acted through him. It was like he was possessed by the Warrior himself. The moment that thought runs through Jon’s head, there’s a spike of pain along with it and he winces, bringing his other hand up to his forehead. “Westerosi?” Jon spins about, half-expecting to have to fight another Braavosi, before his thoughts catch up with his ears and he processes that he’s being talked to by a woman. A downright beautiful woman at that. Jon is struck for a moment at just how gorgeous a visage this woman who has appeared before him is, like a mirage or a spirit, coming down from above. Young and lovely, she has dark, black hair, light, brown skin, and a voluptuous figure that causes something else to rise within Jon rather than the bloodlust he’s been operating with since the fighting started. She smiles, and her smile is enough to light up the night more than the stars and the moon and the lanterns around them already are. Reaching out, the woman speaks again. “Please… come to me.” Blinking, Jon begins to take in more details. The woman is not that of a spirit sent from above… she is but a woman, and it’s rather obvious now that he’s looking where she came from. The way the Moon Pool is set up, it lies between the front steps of the Iron Bank and a large canal. Braavos’ canals are its roads, in a way, but there are also stone paths along either side of the canal, upon which Jon assumes places such as alehouses, inns, and even brothels are likely located. Most of the onlookers have come from those lit-up buildings and are standing there watching along with the guards on either side of the Moon Pool. However, directly in front of Jon, behind the woman reaching out to him, is the canal… and a rather large pleasure barge. From the look of things, this woman is a courtesan. Jon has heard a great deal about the courtesans of Braavos. How could he not, one of the things Braavos was renowned for worldwide was its courtesans. There was a difference, Jon had had it explained to him, between a Braavosi Whore and a Braavosi Courtesan. A Braavosi Whore worked in one of the brothels, which were managed by Madams, who in turn served at the pleasure of the richer men and women in Braavos. Braavosi Courtesans however, served at their own leisure, working for no one but themselves. Every courtesan worth anything was said to have her own pleasure barge, as well as servants to work said barge. Jon could see the servants of this courtesan arrayed behind her now that he was looking, and from the way the men were frowning and the women were staring, this courtesan had come out to speak with him against the protests of some of her servants. Swallowing thickly, Jon looks back around himself, at the blood and carnage he has caused. It wasn’t his intention to kill anyone tonight, but… it had happened all the same. He just wanted to rest, but he wasn’t sure what the guards would do to him if he didn’t take the woman up on her offer. And to be fair… she was very beautiful; Jon couldn’t deny that. Slowly, he walks forward, sheathing his sword as he does so. The courtesan’s smile widens, and when he places a gloved hand out in the air, her dainty, light brown fingers come up to intertwine between his digits. She grasps at him and pulls him along behind her as she takes him to her barge. It’s like something right out of fairytale, and part of Jon expects something to happen to him, a dagger in the back perhaps. He’s ready for it, or at least he likes to think he is, even as he’s brought into the courtesan’s inner chamber. Some of her servants follow them in at first, and Jon watches, nonplussed, as two of the stronger male servants drag a tub full of steaming water into the room, and a few of the daintier female servants carry in platters filled with grapes and cheeses, and decanters filled with wine. The courtesan keeps his hand in her own as they watch her servants prepare the room together, until finally they’re done and have departed, leaving him and the gorgeous dark-haired woman alone. It’s when she turns and begins to strip him out of his blood-splattered clothing that Jon stops her, furrowing his brow slightly. “Do you… do you have a name?” She blinks at that, and then lets out a laugh that flows through the air like water crystals, her eyes sparkling as they regard him. “I do. Do you?” Jon flushes at that, but he’s allowed himself to be led along for long enough, he thinks. Stepping forward, he doesn’t quite exude menace, but he does tower over her as he smiles down at her. “I asked you first.” Her reaction is… interesting. Her breath hitches, and her pupils dilate with visible lust and desire. He’s seen it before in several women at this point, but he’s never seen it in a courtesan of all people, so that’s certainly interesting. “I… I am known in Braavos and beyond as the Black Pearl. But my name… my name is Bellegere Otherys.” Jon inclines his head at that, and this time when she reaches for him to resume stripping him of his clothes, he allows her to do so. After a beat of silence, he gives her his name as well. “Jon.” She startles at that, and then smiles, and Jon finds he rather likes her smile. She truly is a gorgeous woman… “… Jon… a simple name for a not-so-simple man, if I’m on the mark. Which… I usually am.” Jon grunts at that, even as she finishes pulling his sweat-soaked, blood-splattered clothing off of him, letting it fall in a heap by his side and pulling him, now naked, across the room to where the tub of hot, steaming water sits. She helps him into it, and Jon lets her do so, relaxing into the tub as Bellegere takes a fine cloth and begins to wipe him down, beginning to wash him with her own two hands. “Is that so? Is that why a woman of your stature is cleaning a man like me? Because I’m not so simple?” He refuses to let himself be lulled into what might very well be a false sense of security, but there’s no denying that it feels… good. And he’s not going to just not enjoy it, he’s not built that way. Bellegere takes her time in answering, the Black Pearl humming a soft tune under her breath as she cleans the few small cuts, he’d taken during that first duel. “It is more than that, Jon. You are special. I can feel it. I want… I want to taste it…” As she continues cleaning his chest with the cloth, her other hand descends beneath the water and grasps at his cock. Jon lets out another grunt, even as she begins to stroke him to full mast, her lips trailing along his neck and up to his ear before she speaks again. “I would like to show you what I have to offer, if you would allow it.” Jon grimaces a little at that. Perhaps he should have said something earlier, but then, she’d come to him. It wasn’t really his fault if she was expecting payment… “I am not a rich man, Black Pearl. I do not think I can afford you.” Bellegere lets out another soft, tinkling laugh at that, and he can feel her shaking her head as she nuzzles into his hair. “I do not require coin from one such as you, Jon. All I require… is a choice.” Furrowing his brow, Jon cocks his head and looks back at her. “A choice?” Smiling, Bellegere drops the soaked, soiled cloth to the side and uses her newly freed hand to part the low cut of her dress, letting her sizable, succulent breasts pop free of their already-loose confines, showing off her chest to him as she thrusts them forward, offering herself to him quite clearly. “How would you have me, Jon? I can show you my skills in a myriad of ways. Shall I take the lead? Or shall you? I am yours… use me as you will.” Well now, with an offer like that, how was Jon to refuse?

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