Oh, How Cunning! [Open/Madox]

[Joscelin]

[An thread for Madox but anyone else who wishes to join and be apart of this feel free, truly! I'm looking forward to the fun.]

"Joscelin...?" It's Marcus; a giant of a man who's six-foot-four-nothing and two-hundred-and-sixty-pounds. He nearly blots out the doorway proper upon his enterining; his hands large and gripping upon the edges of a wooden tray. It's food that's upon such; steaming and delicious food alongside mug of fortifying tea. Joscelin hadn't realized how hungry he truly had been until then.

"Marcus?" Joscelin greets the man with a slight smile; his hands dirty with ink and wooden shavings still making themselves known within his chestnut tresses. He had been working that very morning before retreating to the hold beneath the Dysprosium's castle. It's here where his workings were hold from the figures of their income and to the listing of their mirrors; quarters spread out through Elysium albeit far and few between. His fingertips pinch upon the edge of an unfolded map that's being pinnioned to the face of that beaten and worn desk.

"More women have come today seeking a boon from you," Marcus begins as he steps further within whilst simultaneously shutting the door with the heel of his foot. It could be a laughable sight to see Marcus working as some servant then and there; especially moreso with his body nigh to burst the seams of his vest. He's soon setting down that tray upon a small table nearby - nearest the hearth where a fire still burns to ward off the midday's chill.

"Have you comforted them, Marcus?" Joscelin questions quickly before looking back to the map and quietly making markings whilst referring to another piece of vellum nearby. He was working whilst bent over his desk and without even a hitch. Oh, so quickly was Joscelin able to don the mantle of a leader and then that of a simplistic carpenter making his way through life.

"Sirruh, more and more lads are being taken from Dysprosium once they step out," Marcus states firmly and Joscelin - suddenly quiet - pauses for a long moment before setting down the quill he was scratching with. "Marcus...I cannot do much for them whilst they're imprisoned. They have been caught red-handed. Our rebellion is naught but a rumor now; an echo...I can only pray our numbers will grow stronger with time..." Joscelin trails off and purses his mouth.

"They'll take them further north, you know; to the new expedition within the mountains. They've already taken control of the Sinclair plots, do you not recall?" Marcus asks of Joscelin with his great face turning with mild frustration. It's hard to believe that at one point Joscelin had been the one to protect this man. Now he was a behemoth within his own right.

"Every day a woman comes to our doorstep, sirruh. It'll be a lovely young lass begging for her father, her brother or lover, or even some old woman begging for her son and husband. Always there will be someone begging a boon for you and they know you've never steered them wrong, Joscelin. If anyone can help them...well, you can," Marcus says and Joscelin frowns deeply.

"My hands are tied to Dysprosium, Marcus," Joscelin begins but was cut off quickly. Marcus was a brave man and perhaps the only man who could get away with such a thing. Joscelin was quick to look up and meet his companion's gaze evenly. They had been the best of friends for ages.

"How much longer will we wait, Joscelin? Until our numbers are spread so thin that we cannot even form a well-oiled machine any longer? The longer we wait the longer the government has time to filter our young boys to the north on their mining expedition," Marcus states firmly. As for Joscelin? He props an elbow upon his desk and holds his head within his hand; his eyes flit over the map.

"If we destroy the working parts then what we get is a broken machine, Marcus," Joscelin begins and pauses. "It means we must retake the Sinclair plot but such a thing must be done with care. We cannot have the Empress, or her officials, even, know that she's apart of the rebellion lest things rain down upon us; no, we must be careful," he pauses. "We need more manpower."

It's then Joscelin's eyes alight with passion as he stares down upon his map.

"Fetch me my beloved femme fatale, Marcus."

Marcus was quick with shuffling out of the door and leaving Joscelin to his own devices within the makeshift quarters that had once been a storage room; defensible in every way, even. It's the perfect place for the core and heart of their doings, and closest to the Empress own. Marcus was soon sauntering past numerous guards jesting with one another and dicing for coins until finally finding the main floor where men patrolled and motioned to and fro with sacks of grain and casks of fresh water and wine; all of this earned by way of Cadence Sinclair and no other. It's here Marcus narrows his eyes within search of Madox; a young woman Joscelin entrusted with most everything out on the field. The truth was, was that Madox had proved herself a number of times already. Still, she should be here, no? He hoped so! Madox wasn't somewhat easy to find at all. He stands out like a sore thumb.

[MADOX]

Madox eyes were closed. Music, soft and quick, waltzed around the empty studio. Well, it wasn’t really a studio. Just an empty side-room she had moved boxes out of and moved mirrors to cover one side of the wall. Her arms stretched out, one to the side at shoulder’s height and the other above her head. Both were acutely bent at the elbow. Her upper body was pulled up high, weight forcing to even out as she balanced on one foot in relevé Her toes were pinching in the worn pointé shoes, all weight concentrated on her toes. Her other leg was stretched out far behind her in développés, knee locked and foot pointed.

She felt the waves of pain in her weight supporting left calf muscle. Perhaps she had pulled it the night before, climbing over a series of roofs to find a better view on an Empire’s inventor. Or maybe it was from the scuffle with the guards the day before that. Regardless, it was causing her en cloches to look sloppy and Madox was no pleased. Frustration was over-taking her pretty face, sweat dotted along her dark hairline.

All concentration was lost though, when that giant stumbled into her space. Her leg dropped and she finished with a plié in fifth position to stretch out her thighs. “Yes?” her rust voice snapped, unamused at the interruption. Should it not be for official Rebel business, she’d have to make poor Giant eat one of her ballet slippers. That kink in her leg had to be worked out before the next performance.

He watched her as she pulled upon the dirty ribbon keeping her shoes in place. With a kick, both shoes were off and she wiggled her blistered and ugly toes. Dancer’s wore shoes for a reason. The sight was ungodly to say the least.

“Jocein needs you”

Three words. Three words and Madox’s mood shot up to an unrecognizable level. She no longer felt the need to torment Marcus. The pain in her leg did not exist. Yes, the woman was pleased with the news and took no time to even properly tie her boots. She tossed the ballet slippers over her shoulder, holding them by the ribbons and she briskly started towards the man in charge. Her walk was graceful if not an oddity. Her boots were not correctly done up, her feet just slipped in. And yet, she managed to hold her dancer’s grace. The grace of a killer with a passion that matched her will. A thought bubble in the back of her head idly wonder how much blood would be shed now.


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[Joscelin]

Madox was probably one of the other few fellows that could get away with being upset with Marcus and that's more for the fact that Joscelin kept her to such high status with himself. It was understandable though when considering Madox had her hands nigh as deep as Joscelin himself. Except she was doing most of the foot work as Joscelin used that clever mind of his. Still, at the mere mention of Joscelin's name, Madox was quick upon her feet and they were both soon heading off with Marcus at her heels. Arriving at the door of Joscelin's hold was a surety and they were given access by the lingering guards without much of a hitch since they were known by face. So, the door was being pushed open by Marcus himself to admit Madox and soon the two were entering and the door being pressed shut within her way by Marcus.

Joscelin had always been one with an eye and was quick to spot the hitch within Madox's gait. He still looked nonchalant despite the slight displeasure at seeing his beloved companion somewhat hurt. His mouth purses briefly as he still leans over that table with quill in hand and the other smoothing a piece of parchment out. His eyes are alight with concern as he looks to her face; concerns should be met first before business.

"My lovely yet stubborn femme fatale. You are hurt and yet you have not come to be tended?" He questions of her before setting down his quill and leaning away from that desk. He's quick to gesture her over and even steps around his desk then to receive her. It was already well known that Joscelin was one for touch and mild affection especially with those he considered somewhat close; especially one such as Madox who gave him hope that his plans would succeed. He waits for her to draw closer before touching her hands and bestowing the kiss of greeting upon her cheek; the stubble of his own no doubt prickling at her flesh.

"Would you like some tea?" He asks of her and awaits her answer before gesturing her closer to his desk and releasing her hands, or rather, one, considering she held her slippers with the other.

"I do hope that Marcus did not catch you an inappropriate time but what I ask could not wait," Joscelin states simply before gesturing with his hand to the documents and spread out upon the field of a marked map. Joscelin had numerous of these; each map marked differently for each campaign he intends on launching against the empire. This one was fresh though; the ink just sanded and blown on to dry moments prior to her arrival.

There was a moment of silence then as Joscelin resumed his position prior to Madox's entrance; standing behind his desk and bent over such. He's pushing away parchments scribbled with figures and other penned notes that were of no importance of her - at least not yet. He's soon revealing the northern reaches of Elysia proper; the plantations and virgin mountainside.

"Madox, I fear that we may have to put an end to your current dealings with the merchants of Elysium; trade routes are well to know but with our dwindling numbers are hard to harrass. We're hardly making a dent within their trade routes," he pauses and lowers himself further; elbow propping upon the desk and chin held upon his palm. His eyes flit over the desk and upward at Madox's own eyes. She's a pretty woman with the look about her that no man should touch her.

"Now, I'm sure you've heard of the recent discovery up north; raw materials. As you know, of course, Empress Camille has already penned a note to have mining commence up north and has even claimed a number of plantations for direct supplies; cutting out the middle-man. One Cadence Sinclair has lost a plot here or there due to this," Joscelin says and puts a fingertip upon a handful of marked plantations. There's a pause and Joscelin knew that she must have known what he thought. She must know what needed to be done.

Clear the plantations and claim them for themselves; cutting off supplies from the source to the expedition up north. Except their issue was still vastly the same; dwindling numbers making it nearly impossible to light the fire that would not singe the State but burn them harshly.

"Madox, you know as well as I do that I'm tied here to Dysprosium. I cannot walk the streets beyond this district without the threat of being apprehended. I need you, Madox. I need you more than I ever have," he says and looks down at the map quietly before pressing his palms down upon the face of that parchment and coming fully to stand.

"Madox, we need to draw more men to our cause, or at least free the men that they've captured and are planning to ship to the north. If there's anyone that can do this I believe you'd be able to; you are my beloved femme fatale and the only one I can entrust this to," he says simply; his eyes meeting her own evenly. Would she accept? He wasn't sure where to begin though. Yet, he'd begin with that after her acceptance; offering her a number of starting points. Therein was their problem though. Where would they start? Freeing the men or recruiting those to their cause? Or offering a semblance of direction to their already numbered forces. His mouth purses then as he quietly watches Madox all the while. He knew that she could not deny him. All the while Marcus watched and listened from the door.

[MADOX]

Her mood had risen so high. Soared pass the crumbling roof of the shady Rebel headquarters and danced with the clouds. No pain ailed her body and her shoulders had been pinched back with haughty pride. Here she was. So young and determined and so high on the pecking order of Joscelin’s army. For months she had poured herself into the work on the merchants. Children having to wake to find their father dead. Wide eyed wenches with the dreams of getting married and escaping to the country side having every source of hope dashed by finding their loved on in a pile of their own corpse. All by the slender hands of Madox Stone. Her features cunning, fox like. At the sound of Joscelin’s words, her nose turned up and she presented the sharp curve of her cheek bones to him. Annoyance was a hot mask, filling her features and making the brown flecks in her bright eyes grow to an even deeper blaze.

Anger is a funny thing. It lashes out like flames, building in the body like lust. It isn’t instant like the feeling of joy or fear. For the long limbed Madox, it starts always in he toes and finger tips. Pooling to built heat and chance to cut into her blood veins. It mingles with her blood, each beat of her heart only furthering it’s course through her muscled frame.

She sucked her lower lip between her hair-thick part of her teeth. Her gaze dropped from the no-where spot she had been staring at to the floor like a hawk swooping to the ground for a kill. Slow and measured, the corners of that Stone Cold Fox’s mouth pulled up into the curve of a vicious smile dripping poison.

Through the thick, black as night lashes that framed her piercing eyes, Madox looked to Joscelin. He had been talking still. Of her new plan and goal. To change settings since she was a well oiled machine for the Rebels. She had heard him but she wasn’t listening. Not really. He hip, under the tight squeeze of her corset, cocked to the side. Her fingers moved up and draped over the bone and finally her chin lifted to stare at her leader.

She was a machine.
A slave to the system that was anti-system.
Her work was useless unless it was for the now.

All these things that had made her so angry melted like polluted snow in the City’s gutters. The girl was a sucker for this. It -was- what she lived for. There was no life outside of this. No love or family or free-time. It was working for the Rebels or working for the Rebels. It pumped life into her body like steam was pumped into everything around her.

“I look forward to all of it.” And with that, the humane and even rightful anger that had started to sting her veins was transformed. Her life-blood reaching the boiling point to steam and cause the girl to jump into action and planning. Gears in her head started to turn. With three quick strides, she was at his desk pointing to the shop that shipped basic needs to those in the north for winter time. “I could look at his shipping times. You could send someone in to act like he needed work. Blackmail into a higher, more trusted position. He could find our men and we can swoop in and fetch them.” She propped herself up on the corner of his desk, one leg crossing the other, back to the man. “We’ll think of it as a scavenger hunt.”

[Joscelin]

This was the woman Joscelin had been expecting. This was the woman who had exceled within everything she had ever done and Joscelin would never fault her for a thing. She was his trusted ally and a woman who assisted him within every passing moment. She was the one he called for when needing help. She has something not anyone else does. It's a way of doing things and her fervent personality kept her steadfast amongst all else. She's as steady as himself. It's warming to say the least.

So, when she comes to his desk and shows her approval...well, Joscelin couldn't help the slight smile tugging at the corners of that mouth of his. She's speaking then and his eyes flit downward to the map where her fingertip settles.

"Easily done." It's what he says at the mention of having someone pay their way toward a higher, more trusted position. They could find the routes used toward the new encampment where their boys were being taken off to. Now all that was left was Madox. What would she do? His eyes flit to that back of hers as she perches there upon the edge of his hand-made desk.

She's an attractive woman and Joscelin simply could not deny that. She had been with him long enough too to know that he was one who was for touch. He had cupped the back of her neck often, or even her cheek; oh, and her sides once and a while. His mouth purses briefly for that moment before he's drawing away from his side of that desk and stepping around. His hand settles upon the small of her back briefly until he's drawing himself to her front; his hips nearly bumping against her legs as he looks down upon her face.

"Pick and choose who you wish to go with you. From there I will provide you train passes to Thalasa, and from there you will ride north." There's a short pause as Joscelin's hands lift to cup warmly over Madox's cheeks. Such a lovely woman with such fury coursing through her veins. His thumbs stroke over her cheek bones then as he cants his head and his eyes lose a hint of that nonchalant demeanor that he was known for. There was a firmness to his tone of voice and that timbre was thick there.

"Bring our men back to their wives, lovers, mothers and sisters, Madox. Let no one stop you. If someone dare stands within your way..." Then there was a pause and his face draws closer with his brow nearly touching her own.

"Kill them."

It was as simple as that. With this carpenter's hands upon her face and his blue eyes settled upon her own. He had given her the permission and key to kill from then on out whether or not the situation called for such. That was up to her. He trusted her. Then - without even a skip within a beat - that nonchalant demeanor seems to become apart of him once more and life stirs within his eyes.

"A scavenger hunt," he smiles. "I like that sound of that."