Jonah's grip on the loaded and much better maintained pistol in his pocket eases as the tense and potentially bloody situation with the two tarts appears to relax. A soft sigh of relief starts to slip through his lips only to get choked off by a harsh laugh at Ranna's comment. The outburst quickly slips into a frown of concern as Casia offers a more lethal and permanent solution to the young woman's misbegotten vendetta.
Fortunately steel doesn't fly and the old soldier is happy enough to quietly move along in the wake of his fiery companions. Seeing Luce and Casia whispering amongst themselves, and the looks passing between the two, he can't help but get that old sinking feeling in his stomach. The same one that usually meant trouble flying at him like a raving, starved ghost. With a sigh he grips the big jugs of antiseptic a bit harder and hurries through the tunnels.
18 APRIL, 847 IE
The thing you notice about Coalridge is the lack of space. The huge factories that tower up into the sky, chimneys belching a choking, sulfurous smoke all hours of the day seem to occupy all the room. The teeming hordes of people who work there have to live at the margins around these colossal edifices, living in shoddily-constructed tenements that cluster in narrow, winding streets and often back up right to the walls of the factories.
The drizzling rain leaves black stains where it lands and when the wind drives it into your face, it stings the eyes. Barefoot crowds throng the streets, some on their way to work, others on their way back from it; every face has the same hollow-eyed look of exhaustion underneath the layers of grime. Children run here and there, some hobbling (Ranna's diagnosis: rickets) and others scratching endlessly at their skin (Ranna's diagnosis: lice). They give you a wide berth as you pass.
You are here thanks to Luce's diligent work, patiently tracking down a half-dozen possible inside leads, discarding each in turn until the threads led her to Samy, a huge (if surprisingly gentle) bear of a man who works on the payroll of the Silver Staff as a bouncer. This district was once his home, but he got out and he thought he was doing his childhood friend (and hopeless crush) Lottie a huge favour in finding her employment there, where he could keep an eye on her. It's been over a week now, and it's clear that he has made a mistake - but it's easier to get into such employment than it is to get out of it.
With encouragement from Luce, Samy opened up to her about his troubles, and a deal was struck: if you can get Lottie out with you, Samy will make sure an exit is open - but there are two conditions to this bargain. The first is to escort them both to Gadoc Rail Station, a sure way out of the city. The second is to persuade Lottie to agree to this plan.
Samy has given you Lottie's home address, and it seems easier to track her down and talk to her away from the place you're planning to break into. She lives in a tenement house that looks much like any other on the same street: the sort where they sleep three to a bed to afford the rent on the place. The door is answered by one of the older women (which is to say, early thirties - old age is a rarity in Coalridge). Bleary with sleep and coal-soot, she eventually realises what you want and a few moments later Lottie is standing at the front door, looking wonderingly over you just as you are looking at her. Tall, with the sort of slenderness that makes her look breakable, she looks at you brokenly. One hand tugs nervously at the braids in her hair. "I can't imagine what you want with me."
18 April 847 IE
"We're here because Samy asked us to be." Luce says simply, giving Lottie a moment to adjust to that news. "He wants to leave Duskvol, for good, and he wants you to go with him. He cares for you, a lot, and you're the only person he wants to start a new life with. I came to ask him for a favour - he could have asked for coin, drink, drugs, anything in response and all he wanted was for me to come and talk to you. To tell you how he feels. He's in love with you Lottie and he has been for years - he just... didn't know how to tell you himself."
Luce is warm and surprisingly empathetic - her voice is soft and the gentle hand she lays on Lottie's arm speaks solely of comfort and understanding. It's a far cry from the business focused woman Ranna has seen so far. Whether it's an act or a more genuine part of Shadow's self... that's harder to tell.
Lottie's eyes briefly lose their blank expression and widen in surprise at Luce's revelation: "Samy? Huh? I..." She trails off with a slight smile, before the hopeless look returns to her face. Her gaze flicks up and across, to Luce and then down again.
"That's nice, but I - where I work, you don't... they're not just gonna let me walk away. It's a dream, Samy's always been a dreamer but things like that don't happen to folk like us. Whatever you're selling, whatever you've got him into, we can't afford it. Hope don't live in Coalridge."
18 April 847 IE
Ranna isn't persuasive. She doesn't like lying to people (although she can) and her main concern in coming along with Luce was to make sure Lottie actually wanted to leave. From the broken look in her eyes, she does. It's just a matter of letting her know it's possible. "I'm a doctor," she finally says. "I've treated a number of young women in your situation. Some women only need help with occasional physical trauma, diseases, accidental pregnancies, that sort of thing. They're fine mentally. Other women have mental issues even when everything is fine physically. I always recommend those women get out of the business. Those who don't, who try to stick it out, often commit suicide."
Her tone isn't gentle. It's blunt. Matter of fact. "From what Samy said you've been working there for about a week. It's not going to get better. It'll probably get worse." She bites her lip. "If you don't trust Samy, if you don't want to go anywhere with him, then let us know that. We'll try to work something else out. But I do believe he loves you. Watching that place destroy you will destroy him too." Her voice drops. "I know it's hard to hope. To try. But isn't it better than the alternative?"
Lottie turns her numb expression towards Ranna. "I'm not an idiot. I seen how it goes with some of the others, but." She shrugs. Nobody gets old in Coalridge. "I trust Samy, he's my oldest friend, and I'd gladly be more than that with him if he wants me. But you're asking me to trust you and I got no reason to do that. And, believe it or not, I still got something to lose. My life may not be much but I live it."
"Sometimes it's only dreamers that can make the world a better place." Luce says with a hint of wistfulness in her voice. "Samy believes in himself and in you. That means a lot, even somewhere like this. Give him a chance Lottie - regardless of anything else he's probably the person that cares most about you in the whole world. That's got to be worth something. If you don't then you don't, but I'll see you once more to make this offer and, if someone gave me the chance to get out of here with someone I love, I don't know what could be much better."
She turns to Rana. "Let's go. Lottie has to make up her own mind now."
----------------------
21 APRIL
"Samy should be on duty up ahead." Luce says. "Wait here and take these. If I'm not back in five minutes then go and I'll catch up with Spit for a drink at our usual place."
Casia frowns.
"Samy's not going to let us leave without Lottie," she counters. "We all leave together or we don't leave."
She glances at the others and then back at Luce.
"I'll go with you. Let's go."
"Two people will be less conspicuous than four." Ranna looks around for the nearest alcove. "Jonah and I should stay here with the supplies. Be careful and get back quick."
She settles herself into the (hopefully) hidden corner and waits.
21 APRIL
That would be the bouncer who, hearing the noise, stops in his tracks as he spots you both, his eyes widening. "What the ****?!"
What do you do?
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"Buy a girl a drink?"
Nyryx's voice is quiet but filled with a lighthearted friendliness that few others actually get to hear. She slides into the bench seat across from Jonah, flipping the hood of her coat back to keep more water from dripping down into her face.
It was the face of a twenty year old. Pale, elfin features framed by black as night hair. Most would call her pretty, some might even say beautiful. If she were a nobles or some wealthy merchant's daughter she'd be courted by men across the city. But she isn't any such thing. Just another bit of flotsam floating up from the sordid depths of Coalridge destined to little more than a life of hardship and an early grave. The evidence of such a fate is plain, not upon the rouged cheeks or cheap jasmine scented perfume, but in the hard, guarded look of her tired, wary eyes. Eyes that have seen much too much. Eyes nearly always probing for weakness and opportunity, danger and deception. Eyes to match every other scoundrel in the blood soaked city of Doskvol.
But here, now, in the smoke stained confines of the Grinning Gizzard, her eyes momentarily fill with something else. Something as close to friendship and fondness as can happen in a city like this. The smile and sparkle of brief happiness slowly starts to slip away into worry as she registers the exhausted, worn look of the man sitting across from her.
"You've been pushing too hard again Jonah." She says, reaching across the table to grab the steaming mug of java from Jonah's callused hand. He can't help but notice the fresh bruise marking her wrist. His gaze is countered by a shrug of her shoulders and a pointed look at the numerous cuts and bruises marking his own battered features.
"I'm fine." Is all she says. An eyebrow quirks and her chin juts out toward his chest. "How're the ribs?"
This causes a soft laugh to escape from Jonah, one quickly cut off as such things still hurt a bit too much for comfort despite Ranna's recent ministrations. He holds up his hands in mock surrender and smiles.
"They're better. Still a bit on the sore side." He says. "You having any trouble? You know I can..."
She holds up her own hand and shakes her head.
"I'm fine Jonah." The less than delicate sound of sipping java. "Really, it's nothing I couldn't handle." She leans in close and gives the whisper a pointed gaze. Her voice drops to a conspiratorial murmur. "And you've done plenty lately. Best leave the Nails alone for a bit. That kettles still boiling after the recent ruckus with the Grinders."
His wry grin in response is all she needs to mutter a string of curses only a doxy working the Silver Staff could utter without bursting into flames. Her gaze glances back to his ribs and the various scars, some of which are much more recent then others.
"What are you up to now and more importantly, what're you going to need me to do?" The harshness of her voice is born of worry and frustration. She'd liked and been worried about Jonah ever since they first met following Naty's death. Initially she'd just wanted to help Naty's grieving brother and pay back those who'd hurt her friend. But as she'd spent time with Jonah and occasionally pierced the hard armor surrounding the man, the more she'd simply come to like him. Perhaps her feelings ran even deeper, although such things were best kept buried in places like Coalridge.
Unfortunately, Jonah's research and other activities left little time of energy for pursuing friendships or anything else. Thus the whisper was mostly unaware of the young woman's growing feelings. Feelings of the kind he himself may have reciprocated if he'd allowed any such thing to surface in the wake of his sister's death at the hands of the Silver Nails. Unfortunately for them both, revenge, guilt and the need to save his sister's ghost still ruled much of Jonah's heart and mind. Thus he doesn't entirely sense the hurt beneath Nyryx's words and look as she waits for his reply. Instead, he just races forward.
"So there's a girl that works at the Staff. Lottie. Seems she's caught the eye of one of the bouncers..."
Jonah goes on to relate the tale of Samy and Lottie ending with the need to convince the girl she's better off trying to start a life with Samy than sticking around the Silver Staff.
"Samy?" Nyryx's surprise is clear. "He's such a quiet boy. Never thought he'd be brave enough to try such a stunt as to slip free of the Nails noose. And Lottie, she's a good girl. Deserves a second chance. Probably just needs an extra push." Her eyes flick to Jonah's, their blue capturing and holding his own. "At least she's found a chance for something better. Someone willing to take a risk with her."
She watches Jonah's face, her lips slowly curving into a wry grin and a sliver of realization begins to seep into his features. He swallows hard and runs a nervous hand through his hair. The ghost field induced white highlights standing out in the dim lamplight of the Gizzard.
"Okay, I'll talk to her for you." She says turning to wave a hand at Stella. "Hopefully someday I'll find my own brave soul willing to risk it all to win my heart." Another sly grin. "In the meantime, you can start to pay me back by buying me dinner."
21 APRIL 847 IE
*crunch*
It takes a moment for Jonah to feel the glass cutting through his trousers and then his flesh. It takes a few heartbeats more for the burning, furious sting of the antiseptic to force a barely stifled hiss of pain to slither through his clenched teeth. With his leg under assault from a thousand angry hornets, the whisper barely comprehends the surprised and suspicious look of the bouncer as the brawny man's eyes flick back and forth between him and Ranna.
"Oh...s$%t." Is the thoughtful and immediately useless commentary that interrupts his pained mutterings.
The pair of you are still getting to know one another, but for the moment it seems that your skills are complementary: Luce knows the way to the prearranged destination and has set things up so that Lottie will be waiting for you; while Casia has the edge in making sure you get through the winding and circuitous corridors of the Silver Staff without attracting undue attention.
Even the best-laid plans are subject to the vagaries of random chance, of course. As you carefully approach the room where Lottie has arranged to meet you, a not-so-muffled man's voice can be heard through the door - drunk, argumentative. That wasn't the plan at all. There's a cry - Lottie's voice - and the sound of a slap.
Hastily opening the door, you see the young woman sprawled back on the bed, having temporarily lost her balance, one hand pressed to her bleeding lip. Standing over her, waving a knife menacingly, is a dangerous-looking man with the shaven head and long scalp-lock that is characteristic of the Severosi. His jacket, black leather (actually horse-hide, for those in the know but otherwise basically the same thing) with the shiny metal bars on the shoulder and lapel, tells its own story.
Of course, you can just make up a jacket like that and pretend to be a member of the Silver Nails; anyone could do that. But if you do that and meet a real Silver Nail, you'll be strangled with your own insides - if you're lucky.
So here, on Silver Nail turf, the odds are that this guy who's just turned to face you is the genuine article. He points the dagger in your direction, with a dismissive 'shooing' motion. "Wrong room, girls. I'm not looking for that kind of group action." He's drunk, for sure, but there's a wary menace in his eyes.
What do you do?
She raises her hands again and tries to smile. "Hello there. Sorry if we disturbed you, but my companion is into certain kinds of roleplay, if you know what I mean." Shrinking back into the corner, she nudges Jonah with an elbow. Keep him talking.
Move slow. Casual. She'd told Luce what seemed like a lifetime ago that her kit worked best against the living and she hadn't lied. Strapped across her chest is a bandolier laden with various pharmaceuticals. Including an interesting, (and valuable), drug called trance powder. She just needs to get ahold of it.
Her fingertips brush against the small capsule. He's breathing in every four seconds. One, two, three- Her hands dart forward and break the capsule directly under his nose right as he takes another breath. She sees him inhale again instinctively, probably to yell for help...and then his eyes glaze over.
Trance powder is a popular street drug because of the euphoric state it causes. However you have to be very, very certain you trust the people around you before you take it. "You've been working very hard lately, haven't you?" The bouncer nods dumbly. "You deserve a break, don't you?" Another nod. "Why don't you forget all about us, go home, and lie down?" Without another word the bouncer turns around and leaves.
Ranna watches him go. "Anyone he runs into will know what he's on immediately. If we're lucky they'll think he took it himself recreationally." She eyes the mess of broken glass. "If we're not they'll come back here looking for the person who drugged him. Let's get this cleaned up as best we can and find somewhere else to hide."
"Lady Luck has not been smiling on us much during this endeavor." He says rubbing at his still tingling and sore leg. Despite the pain of the effort he kneels down and helps to quickly brush as much of the glass as possible under the nearest mattress before leveraging himself back on his feet.
"That's the best we can do." A quick glance up and down the thankfully quiet corridor. "Let's get to the door and hope that Lottie made the right choice."
His usually quick, easy stride has turned painful and ponderous as the cuts in his leg argue their case for simply sitting down and giving up. But there was really no way Jonah was going to die in this place. He'd work left to do and he was pretty certain he owed Nyryx yet another dinner, probably at someplace a bit nicer than the Gizzard. Another sigh as he recalls the silver threaded bandages left behind.
Indeed, Lady Luck was laughing at him all the way to his grave.
"Now listen here, b@@&~!" she snarls, turning to face the battered girl. "I booked time with you and either you make good on it or I want my coin back!"
"And you!" Casia snaps, turning to face the dagger-wielding thug. "Get in line, because ..."
Her words fade out as she looks down. She'd expected the man to argue back - not immediately go for blood. But the dagger in his hand coated with what she assumed was her own blood and the sharp pain radiating out from her side would indicate otherwise.
"Ung," she grunts in surprise.
The most important thing she learned, after one horrible time and a second near miss, is not to freeze up. Don't take a moment to plan, Don't think it through. Just act.
So as Casia starts talking her fingers are already diving into her pocket to grab her last, oh-so-useful, vial of Slumber Essence and as knives flash she circles and thrusts the unstoppered vial into the man's face - or at least where she hopes his face is.
3 - 2 - 1 And just as she draws breath to scream the man slumps forwards into her arms. The last precious vial smashes on the floor under his weight but that just eliminates some of the evidence. She's strong enough, just about, to lower rather than drop the man and Casia is moving, despite the blood on her hands so everything isn't lost.
"Lottie." She snaps, seeing focus return to the young woman's eyes. "Get your bag. Samy's waiting and we're going. Now!"
As the prostitute turns to gather her things Luce pulls out the silver flask of brandy she keeps for special occasions and presses it into Casia's free hand. "Come on Spit." She says sharply. "Keep going, we need to leave and I need you to introduce me to my new boyfriend."
While to the casual observer, the anger may seem directed at the shocked girl with the bloody lip, Casia's anger is mostly directed at herself. However, there's enough left over to give the unconscious Silver Nail a brutal kick to the groin.
"Vicious f+$~er!" she snaps, grimacing a little and clutching her side. With her other hand she snatches the flask that Luce offers and downs a large swallow.
21 APRIL 847 IE
With the Silver Nail down for the count, at least for the time being, Lottie wipes the blood from her lip and grabs the bag she had stowed under the bed; and the three of you move as quickly as they can back to where Ranna and Jonah are.
Or were. There's some momentary consternation when you see the broken glass on the floor, and nothing else, but you are scoundrels of the Dusk and when you move to the pre-arranged second hiding spot, they are there. Jonah is clearly nursing an injury, but it doesn't prevent him from keeping up with the rest of you and heading at speed to the exit where Samy is waiting impatiently.
The look of relief on his face when he sees that you have kept your side of the bargain, and he sees Lottie timidly behind all of you, is enough to warm the heart of all but the most cynical amongst you. Lottie, for her part, throws herself into his arms, alternately giving him kisses while telling him off for keeping everything from her for so long. Their tender reunion is cut short by the Dusk Mites, who are keen not to overstay their welcome in the Silver Staff; and a hasty retreat is beaten.
Between you, the route from here to the Gadoc Rail Station has been previously scouted and nothing hinders you as you slip through the eternal night of Duskvol. At the edge of the station, where the harsh glare of the electroplasmic lights provides more illumination than most scoundrels are comfortable with, you say a (hopefully) final farewell to the young couple, who give you hugs and expressions of eternal gratitude before hurrying away to board their train.
From there, it is a simple matter to return to your hideout in Crow's Foot, poor in money but richer in experience and medical supplies.
Ranna can’t help but smile as they see the couple off. ”Wherever they’re heading I hope it treats them better than here.” Not for the first time she considers her self-imposed exile from Skovlan. Should she try to return? In a large enough city even a traitor could disappear…
No. She’s built a life here, hard and dangerous as it might be. There are people in Charhollow who depend on her. Friends she’d miss. Maybe even a new crew to work with. The smile slips off her face as she remembers what the mirrors had shown her. She doesn’t trust everything she saw, but there’s still a lot that needs explaining.
So when they get back to the hideout and are explaining the night’s events to Finreath, she takes a deep breath and asks. ”I may be presuming here, but I think we worked well together. But if I’m going to work with you in the future I have to know. What exactly happened between the Dusk Mites and the Grinders?”
Casia frowns and pauses in the process of wrapping some scrap cloth around her exposed waist to cover the slash the Silver Nail gave her.
"The Grinders?" she questions, immediately suspicious. "Someone might simply say that a job was paid for and done proper-like." She ties off the dirty cloth and lowers her tunic. "Someone might also question someone asking too many questions about it."
She glances at her twin with a raised eyebrow.
22 APRIL 847 IE
Following up on Casia's invitation, Luce finds the girl sequestered at a small table pushed back into a shadowy corner of the Limber Lady. Of course all of the corners of the dimly lit tavern are shadowy, but this one seemed especially designed to keep the identities of customers hidden.
Not expected, but not really a surprise is the fact that the girl's twin brother, Finraeth is sitting next to her. His face isn't as pale as when Luce first met him, but he still looks only a couple of days out of a frantic leech's attentions. The smile that crosses his face, though, does wonders for his appearance.
Casia nods at an empty chair and then gestures at the skeletal man behind the bar.
"You made it," she says, take a drink from the mug in front of her. "I wanted to show my thanks for you keeping your cool during the job." She shrugs and grins at her brother. "That could have gone fifteen different ways wrong, but we got through it and came out ahead." She slides her almost empty mug back and forth across the table between her hands nervously. "And true-love won out as well."
She gives her brother a playful shoulder shove.
"Don't mind my brother," she says with a nervous chuckle. "Usually by now he's trying to charm you out of your pants, but he's still got a ways to go to get back to his lady-killer self."
The thin bartender approaches, replacing Casia's near-empty mug with a full one and setting a tall glass in front of Luce.
"So ... what do you do this for?" Casia asks.
Ranna’s heart sinks at Casia’s cagey response and implied threat. ”Let’s skip the bullshit. ’A’ job is a lie. First the Dusk Mites killed Liv and Bodil. Then Asta. Then Hutton. Then you lured a feral ghost to his body so you could watch his corpse kill everyone else present. That’s not ‘a’ job. That’s a war. One you started. I’d like to know why.”
She leans against the wall, arms wrapped around herself. ”You don’t have to tell me anything. We can go our separate ways. Or you can kill me. I already showed you what was valuable; you don’t need me anymore and it’s not like I could stop you. But you took bottles of antiseptic when you could have taken anything else, and that doesn’t fit a gang rising to power atop a mountain of corpses. So I hoped…maybe the mirrors lied. Maybe you had good reasons for what you did. Maybe…maybe we could keep working together.” She laughs, a soft broken sound with no humor in it. ”It felt like fate you see. I was sitting in my clinic, wondering how I could keep it running without the Grinder’s support, when along comes Jonah. Someone I knew, and trusted, and who was running with a crew that clearly lacked a Leech if they let sepsis and broken ribs go untreated. I thought maybe, for once in my life, I’d gotten lucky. A part of me still wants to believe that.”
”So tell me. Was it just a job? Because if that’s the kind of jobs you take, then thank you very much for the supplies but don’t ever darken my door again.” She looks Casia dead in the eyes. ”Oh, and if you do decide to kill me, I’d appreciate a quick slash to the carotid.”
Ranna’s not bluffing. She doesn’t really think Casia will kill her, (at least not in front of Luce), but if she does then so be it. Ranna’s too tired to care.
21 APRIL
Luce sits back in her chair and keeps her face impassive as Ranna sticks her finger right into the heart of the spiritual wound that sits at the heart of the Dusk Mites. She can't help but be impressed by the Leech's bluntness - it certainly makes her own job easier, she too was curious about the situation but she certainly hadn't planned on bringing it up quite so... blatantly.
So Luce stays quiet and watches the interactions, her busy mind cataloguing actions, reactions and information as it always does. These are her people now, she isn't going to use it against them, but she never passes up on more knowledge.
Casia reacts defensively, as she always does to almost every question that isn't blatantly flirtatious or utterly innocuous, but this time is seems like there might be good reason. Luce has to admit that she didn't realise that the body count behind the Mites was that high. Everyone heard about Hutton but the rest... well she isn't looking for a wet-work crew. Once again Ranna is ahead of her so the Spider continues to keep her peace and waits for answers. Although Ranna's cavalier attitude to life does make her arch one eyebrow slightly.
22 APRIL
Casia's question makes her pause for a moment - the instinct to deflect, to mislead is strong. She's never had a particularly good relationship with the truth - noble ladies learn to lie on their mother's knee and the last five years or more have been a parade of lies, one after the other after the other. No Father, Susanne did nothing inappropriate. No my lord, my sister only has eyes for you. No sir, I cannot. I have a headache. Of course sir, I'd love to. The lies can be exhausting, but what's a girl to do? There aren't many other options on the streets, not when Lottie had a better place than most. But maybe, just maybe, she can trust these people...
"I have people of my own." She admits, taking a sip of her drink to help mask any tells. Everyone has them but Luce is far more aware of them that most and although she doesn't know her own she does know how to avoid the common ones. "You know what it's like on the streets - everyone has to pull their weight. This is me doing my part."
"What about the two of you?" She asks, taking the chance to deflect the conversation back. "Did Lady-Killer here drag his..." A moment to take her guess. "Little sister into the embrace of crime? Or did Small-dark-and-stabby lead him down a path to depravity?" She smirks, making it clear that this is teasing. "I could ask around, but isn't small talk more fun?"
Casia frowns and pauses in the process of wrapping some scrap cloth around her exposed waist to cover the slash the Silver Nail gave her.
"The Grinders?" she questions, immediately suspicious. "Someone might simply say that a job was paid for and done proper-like." She ties off the dirty cloth and lowers her tunic. "Someone might also question someone asking too many questions about it."
She glances at her twin with a raised eyebrow.
When a scoundrel's not engaged in his employment or maturing his felonious little plans, his capacity for innocent enjoyment is just as great as any honest man's.
Finraeth hasn't been engaged in his employment for some time now, and is focusing on getting back to his fighting weight - his sweat-soaked top sticks to him, showing that his ribs are still visible against his skin. As Casia looks at him, he leans against the punching bag he has set up in their hideout, giving himself a grateful break as he sucks air back into his lungs.
He gives his sister a shrug. "She saved my life, Cassie, and she ran a score with us. If she's out to get us, she's hiding it well."
He looks straight at Ranna. "You deserve to know what happened, but I'm not up for talking much about it. Just make sure you don't ask questions to which you regret learning the answers." He takes a few more swings at the punch-bag before turning back to the Leech. "Oh, and one more thing. If anyone wants to kill you, they have to get through me first. You're one of us, as long as you want to be."
Finraeth carefully nurses his drink as he watches the interplay between his sister and this newcomer. He gives her a weak smile as she guesses about their motivations for being drawn into this life. "Wrong on both counts, as it happens. It turned out that our dear parents were nowhere near as respectable as they appeared, and their little trading business was a front for more criminal activity than I can even guess at." He grimaces. "When it went wrong, our father died and the wealth went up in smoke. I had to drop out of university, and there weren't a lot of options. Luckily I'd supplemented my allowance with my winnings from boxing, so I know how to fight. When a noble friend of mine needed something doing, I took the job and everything kind of went from there."
His arm goes protectively around his sister as he talks, without him realising it. He has absolutely no intention of telling Luce about how it all went wrong, or the fact that Casia was (unwittingly) part of the betrayal. That's nobody's business but theirs.
21 APRIL 847 IE
Jonah finishes unloading the pilfered medical supplies from the various pockets of his long coat and eases himself gently into one of the rickety chairs that pass for furniture in their hideout. The flair of a match followed by the now familiar smell of a cigarette as he draws the smoke into his lungs and slowly exhales it like a worn out dragon on his last legs. His face is much too pale, except where it is much too red from the aetheric feedback shock he'd sparked slipping into the Silver Staff.
Hearing Ranna's question and Cas' Cas-like reply, the whisper sighs and slowly shakes his head. He agreed with Fin. Both Ranna and Luce deserved to know before they got in any deeper.
"Mostly it was all born from a terrible mistake." He says. His scratchy voice a bit sad, but not regretful. "A mistake and Hutton's own choices."
The mention of Hutton caused a cloud of anger to momentarily drift across his features. A pause as the cigarette slips between his lips and he sucks in more of the sickly sweet smoke.
"We'd first bumped into the Grinders on a simple warehouse job we'd been hired to do." A quick shrug of his shoulders. "Usual snatch and grab kind of thing. Intercept a shipment of drugs and reroute them to someone else. The job went fairly well, except we discovered Hutton was also running slaves." His face grows hard, his voice cold. "Skovlander slaves."
"And while the fact that dung worm, Hutton was trading his own people like eel meat at market didn't cause the war, it certainly made taking the job that did that much easier." The half smoked cigarette dangles from his lips as he tries to adjust the blood soaked bandage pressed against the oozing wound in his thigh.
"Seems others wanted to send him a message. Hired us to do it. Again, another job requiring more sneak than blood. A job we did. Got it got out. Left the warning in his own room with not a ghostly trace. But then things went wrong. We got separated. Fin with Lolo, me and Cas." He head tilts toward Fin. "They made it back first, but rather than staying put and waiting for us to show, Lolo went back out."
Another pause. Another cloud of smoke as he still tries to put the chaotic events of that next hour or two into some sensible order. A way that make everything that comes after make sense. He still can't really do it.
"We showed up not so long after, so I decided to go out in search of Lolo searching for us. Things were all abuzz down in the docks by then. Grinders were running about everywhere trying to find the crew that had busted into Hutton's house and left a dagger on his pillow." His eyes flick to Cas. "Or wherever she'd left the thing."
"Lolo got herself spotted. Slipped into some piss-hole of a bar that looked closed up. Unfortunately, it happened to be occupied by one young woman. Neither one of us knew it at the time, but that was Hutton's daughter." A sadness returns to his face. The sound of a gunshot, more Skov blood spilling to the ground. "She was a real spitfire some would say. Others might call her a cutter just like her father. I'd say she was just a foolish kid. Surprised. Bitter. Scared."
"I came in just as she tried to go for Lolo's gun. They wrestled. The gun went off. The kid got the worst of it. She was done for. Would've tried to save her, but..." A shiver runs through his frame as he recalls watching the life slip from the girl's face. Another sigh.
"I started the fire. An attempt to cover our tracks. It worked well enough to get us clear. But by that point too many eyes had seen us in the area. Hutton put two and two together to get five and decided it was all our fault. Or more than likely the bastard just saw easy pickings and an excuse to make a grab for what little we had. Never mind if his girl had just backed off, we would've been happy to just leave her be. Never mind if he hadn't overstepped and needing warning off we wouldn't have been doing the job in the first place. Never mind he went and killed an innocent woman who'd stepped away from the life well before any of this had happened. None of that matter. Hutton wanted war, so he started it. Started it by killing poor Dary."
A moment passes as he glances at the little dish of peppermints they always kept filled on the corner table. "Poor Dary has stepped away from the life long before any of this had happened. At that point she was just another soul trying to eek out an honest life in this dishonest city."
"Lolo'd already skipped out with Fionna. She wasn't happy about leaving us, but we all agreed, her daughter needed a chance for something better. So it was just Fin, Cas, and me against Hutton and his whole crew."
A wry smile crosses his pale lips. "Not great odds, but we figured a way to even 'em just a bit. Hutton was finally going to face what he should've faced with the rest of us during the war. Let him and his band of slave traders draw blood against the real enemy for once. And so we lured the Silver Nails into our little war. A word here. A plant there. A pot stirred. A kettle blackened." A quick shrug and another thin smile. "The rouse worked."
"The Nails ended up doing most of our work for us. Whittled Hutton's gang down to the bone. Then we slipped in to put the bit of filth down for good." Jonah frowns as he pulls a final drag from his cigarette. Shakes his head slowly. "The whole ghost thing though. That wasn't us. Just another coincidence...maybe. Who can know in this city. Someone else maybe had it in for Hutton. Either way we were sneaking into Hutton's...through the sewers. You want to be a Mite, best get used to the sewers. Came across this bunch of amateurs summoning a big nasty from the aether. Most of them died to their own handiwork. We managed to hold off the beast for a bit, but it'd managed to get our scent. Followed us to Hutton's. That was the ghost that ultimately killed him. We've still no idea who those people were. Likely never will as all of them are probably dead."
He looks around the room meeting Ranna and Luce with his eyes. "So there you have it. The truth as best I can tell. Hutton was scum and frankly he deserved his fate. But we aren't cold killers looking to draw blood on every score. I've seen plenty of blood spilled in my day. Be plenty glad to not see another drop, but this isn't the life for that wish to come true. We'll fight to protect our own and keep what's ours but we won't go out of our way to kill."
He leans back in the chair. Face even more pale as the deep cut still seeps blood.
"You're both welcome to stay as far as I'm concerned. But if you'd prefer not, I understand." He looks over at Ranna. "I'm sorry for the girl's death. And sorry we didn't say anything sooner. but it's not a story we're keen on sharing much. But I'll not be sorry for seeing Hutton into the underworld. He deserved what he got."
"All of us have seen plenty of death in our time. The world seems to conspire to force us to see more. I guess the choice we make is who we want at our side when the knives start flying from the shadows."
21 April 847 IE
Casia exchanges a look with her brother as Jonah spills the Mites' secrets to both Ranna and Luce. A conversation takes place between her and Finraeth in that simple gaze that no one else in the room would ever be able to interpret. An exchange built up from a lifetime of sharing every little secret. Every little event and milestone. Every whispered exchange in the middle of the night. It's over in two eyeblinks.
"I'm sorry," Casia says with a sigh, turning to address Ranna. "You've done more than enough to earn our trust and ... " She sighs and rolls her eyes before glancing at her brother again. "Certain people would suggest that I need to eventually put my faith in something."
She searches her pockets, eventually coming up with the flask that Ranna enticed her with back in the brothel. She takes a quick sip of the remaining contents before handing back to the leech.
"Killing Hutton was not the kind of job we usually take and if we were given another option we probably would have taken it. It still doesn't sit well, but we made the choice that we made and we have to live with the consequences"
Nightmares in the darkness. Waking in a cold sweat with the foulness of Hutton's dying breath in her face. The reek of his blood in her clothes. Cinna's arms around her in an attempt to make the horror recede.
"Sometimes we have to choose between something horrible and something just a little less horrible and it's not something that we ... I ... like to talk about."
"It was my fault," Casia says abruptly to her brother's surprise. She takes another long swallow from her mug and her eyes avoid Luce's, scanning the rest of the room. "I put my ... trust ... in the wrong person. They had other intentions - malicious intentions - and my family paid for it."
Luce can easily tell that Casia put more than just trust in this other person. Casia gives her twin another shove in an attempt to lighten the mood and change the subject.
"But in any case, that's long past and not what we're here to talk about." She smiles and waves at the bartender again as she drains her mug. "So ... what's a pretty girl like you look for in a man?" she asks with a grin that might be partially subterfuge and partially the drinks that she's had. She reaches up and grabs her brother's jaw in her hand. "Isn't this a handsome face? Doesn't it just make you want to know what's going on in that brain upstairs?"
~~~~
Casia's spirits are unusually high as she makes her way through territory that the Mites nominally control. With plans to spend the evening in Cinna's pleasant company, there's a lightness in her step that's been absent as of late. Even the minor bit of guilt that normally slips in at taking the working-woman's time for free is noticeably gone as Casia's pouch is heavy with coin from their last job.
She nods at a couple of urchins that do double-duty as invisible eyes and ears for the crew, but they quickly vanish. She frowns in annoyance. They usually acknowledge her in some way, she thinks to herself. She shrugs it off as maybe they've got somewhere else to be.
Perhaps it's her anticipation of the evening's activities or maybe the distraction of the unusual behavior of the children, but in any case, Casia doesn't hear the footsteps behind her until it's too late.
~~~~
21 April 847 IE
Ranna stares at Jonah, face blank. ”You forgot to mention the two women you killed on that ‘simple warehouse job’ that ‘went fairly well.’ Nor does it seem to have occurred to you that in getting revenge for your friend you did the exact same thing Hutton did. You didn’t go straight for him, an eye for an eye. You destroyed the Grinders. All of them. Maybe you thought you had to. Maybe you actually did. But that’s a lot of blood on your hands for someone who claims to be tired of killing.”
She sighs and scrubs her hand over her face. ”I don’t know who the hell told you the Grinders were traffickers. They weren’t. The whole gang, Hutton included, were Skovlan refugees. A lot of them had either escaped slavery themselves or had seen friends and family enslaved. I suppose it’s possible Hutton was trading on the side, but if he had ever been caught trafficking his own gang would have torn him apart. Either he was very good at covering his tracks or you were lied to. My money’s on the latter. But because you believed Hutton was a slaver, you took on the job that led to Asta’s death. And because you believed the Grinders were helping him, you felt justified in wiping out the whole gang after he retaliated.”
“Bad info, bad luck, and a trigger-happy former member. Hell of a combination. For what it’s worth I believe you, that those aren’t the jobs you normally take. That you’re not the bloodthirsty assassins I saw in the mirror. She laughs again, that same broken sound. ”Whether I want to stay, that I still need to think about. But at the very least you’re welcome at my clinic for treatment.” She takes the supplies and walks out the door without a backward glance.
21 APRIL
Finraeth turns back to face Ranna, his face exhausted both from the strain of exercise and of the bickering. "I assure you, doctor, nobody has forgotten anything. Least of all my sister, who still has nightmares about stabbing Hutton."
He pauses for a moment. "And you are absolutely correct, Jonah is mistaken I believe. To the best of my knowledge the Grinders were not slavers." His gaze flicks over to the Whisper; Finraeth is mindful that his companion has seen much, and in staring into the ghost field has likely seen many things that are and that were and that have not yet come to pass. His expression hardens slightly as he turns his attention back to Ranna. "But what you are perhaps unaware of is that the two Grinders who died in that job set us up - they played on Jonah's sensibilities, and Lolo's as well, in claiming that the gang we were going up against were slavers. And then they betrayed us and tried to kill us by setting fire to the house we were in while they ran away with the loot. Did we shoot them down? Yes indeed, from a burning building from which we were trying to make our escape. I make no apologies for that. We had no quarrel with the Grinders up until that point - they started it."
He is not unaware of the childishness of that remark, so he hastily amends it. "In addition, everyone we killed was armed and looking to kill us - including Hutton's daughter. I would wish she had not died, but from what Lolo told us, she had no choice but to pull the trigger and I believe her. Hutton did not play by those rules: he had Dary murdered, long after she had left our crew. She was nothing to do with this fight, and the Grinders killed her anyway because Hutton knew it would hurt us. Had they not done that, mayhap we could have come to some arrangement." Although he is privately skeptical. Too much blood had been spilled by then anyway.
21 APRIL
"I assure you, doctor, nobody has forgotten anything. Least of all my sister, who still has nightmares about stabbing Hutton."
Casia snaps a glare at her brother. At the perceived betrayal of revealing her vulnerability. She doesn't say anything, though.
21 APRIL
Those answers. Luce nods slowly a few times during the story as disparate bits of information, whispers, rumors and gossip that meant nothing at the time, weave themselves into a detailed tapestry of events. Quite the clusterfork She thinks to herself but it isn't until Ranna leaves that she actually speaks.
"Let me come along the next time you're being offered a job." She says. "I read people well. At least I can guarantee that you won't be lied to again by a prospective client." She lets the statement hang. She's not one to judge - their methods could absolutely have benefited from her expertise, but she can't judge anyone on their motives. Not after everything that she's seen - and done.
22 APRIL
Finareth is likely sharp enough to notice that Luce hasn't answered the question. Casia, less so.
"Now, not trying to insult your handsome face." Luce continues, offering Fin a nod to show that no offence is meant. "But why is your sister trying to set you up? Can't a swell fellow like you make the ladies swoon by himself?"
And just like magic, the conversational spotlight is back on the twins. It's almost like Luce doesn't want to talk about herself...
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21 April
Ranna pauses on her way out the door. ”I’m sorry about your friend. If she really had left the gang she didn’t deserve to be caught in the crossfire.” Eckerd‘s smug face drifts through her mind and adds venom to her next words. ”I’m also sorry about my friends, and every other Skov in Charhollow, because the Silver Nails are on the warpath and aren’t too picky about whether the people they kill are actually Grinders or not. I could work with the people who killed Liv and Bodil on a job. Shit happens. I could work with the people who killed Asta in self-defense. That’s the risk you take in a gang. What I have to decide is if I can work with the people who restarted the Unity War. I’ll let you know once I do.” Her last sentence is punctuated by a slamming door.
"Well, I don't know about brains," Casia replies with a good-natured grin. "But he's certainly a handsome fellow. And as for why? I'm tired of him being alone. He needs some feminine companionship."
Her eyes track someone behind Luce.
"Speaking of ... Cinna! Over here!"
Turning, Luce sees an attractive woman with blond curls turning to the trio. The woman smiles when she sees Casia and approaches the table. Casia reaches out and grasps at the woman's hand, pulling her close.
"Evenin' Cas," the blonde says with a smile. "Handsome," she says to Finraeth. "And who might you be, Luv?" she asks, turning to Luce.
The woman is obviously a 'working girl' by her dress and makeup. She's young, but Luce can tell that her eyes have seen a lot and continue to do so as she looks Luce up and down.
"This is Luce," Casia explains. "She's part of our crew now. Luce, this is my friend, Cinna."
"Oh, is she?" Cinna questions with a questioning gaze. "So you'll be spending lots of time with some o' my favorite people."
"Speaking of spending time ..." Casia says suggestively, "What are you doing tonight?"
"Sorry, Luv, but I gots to work tonight. No rest for the wicked and all." Cinna turns her attention back to Luce. "I expect that we'll see more o' each other if you're hanging around with Casia and Finraeth. So lovely to have met you." She leans down and presses a kiss to Casia's cheek before walking away.
22 APRIL
"Pleasure." She says, shaking hands briefly and already wondering if she can get the young woman to share some of what she clearly knows.
The interaction between Casia and Cinna is very interesting - clearly Casia is a client of Cinna's, but the relationship is too friendly to be a standard provider-consumer relationship. If she's not mistaken there's genuine friendship there, along with no little attraction on at least one side.
Fin, however, doesn't seem interested at all. That's probably due to the serious injuries he's just recovering from, which makes sense. But then why is Casia pushing him, and especially towards her of all people...
She raises her drink and sips, taking the time to reorganise her thoughts a little. Curiosity is tickling at her terribly but this isn't the time for it. Not yet at least.
"She seems... nice." She says eventually, looking to Casia. "Not just friends either, right?" She raises an eyebrow and tries for a cheerfully conspiratorial tone - the one that Susanne could pull off so perfectly.
"She's a friend," Casia replies curtly. "I don't do more than 'friends' anymore." She frowns. "I mean that I don't do more than 'friends' at all."
Seemingly annoyed that her mug is empty, yet again. She waves at the bartender once more.
"How about we go get something to eat?" Finraeth suggests. Luce can tell that he's not happy about how quickly his sister is going through her drinks and the fact that she seems quite well on her way to being staggeringly drunk very soon.
"I'm not hungry," Casia responds. "But maybe you and Luce might go get something." She gives Luce a less-than-subtle wink and nudges her twin.
Leaning over, she whispers in Luce's ear, "My brother and I have very similar tastes, so I just know that he'd love to get you somewhere private and make you squeal."
Her drunken whisper being less than discrete, Finraeth simply rolls his eyes and mouths the words, 'Sorry'.
21 APRIL
Casia snaps a glare at her brother. At the perceived betrayal of revealing her vulnerability. She doesn't say anything, though.
Finraeth shrugs, semi-apologetically. Better she realises your vulnerability than mistakes you for a cold-blooded killer.
Ranna's storming exit is met with an insouciantly-raised eyebrow. "Fabulous delivery on that penultimate line, and a full-hearted door slam - I'd have to give that at least an eight, possibly even a nine out of ten."
He looks at Luce. "And what about you?" It's ambiguous (possibly deliberately so) whether he's inviting comment on the nature of Ranna's exit, or whether he's asking if Luce herself is going to do something similar.
Finraeth gives a good-natured shake of his head as he looks at Luce with a half-smile. "I would apologise for my sister, but for two things. Firstly, I'd never get anything else done, and secondly you don't seem offended. Or at least, you're still here." Which is a distinction not everyone would make.
He carefully sips his drink, aware that he is far from fully-recovered and needs to be careful with his alcohol intake. "So what should we know about you that you haven't told us already?"
21 APRIL
"What about me?" Luce counters, not rising to Finraeth's bait. She doesn't need to say anything else. Ranna has made her point and now Luce makes hers - that the group has her support, quiet and unobtrusive though it may be.
22 APRIL
"But there's nothing else that you need to know." She continues, her voice cooling somewhat. "I've told you everything relevant and anything more will take more time and trust than one drink buys."
With that she drains the rest of her glass and puts it firmly on the table. "I think I'd best be going. Can you look after your sister, or shall I send the two gents waiting on the corner to help you out? Engine won't be happy if you wreck her hard work."
25 APRIL
Ranna
It's been busy at the Engine clinic for the last few days, which is probably a relief because it means you haven't had to think too much about other things. The argument you had, and the echo of the door-slam in your mind, can't take centre-stage when there's blood everywhere, and screaming.
Lots of blood. Much screaming. The injury is one you hadn't seen for some weeks now, and probably hoped not to see again now that the Grinders are gone - their signature punishment for someone who defied them, or who messed up, was to put their hand (usually the left hand unless they were feeling particularly vicious) into a mincer and, well... grind it. You vaguely recognise the victim, a bargeman who lives a few streets over; with the Grinders gone, he - along with most other businesses in the area - had stopped paying protection money. It seems someone wants to make an example, and presumably start collecting again.
His three friends who brought him in are pale and trembling and not inclined to say much or to linger once they've paid for your services. Nobody likes to be around victims of events like this, in case it turns out to be catching. The only thing you catch when you hear them whispering among themselves is a name: Ulf Ironborn.
Unfortunately, despite your best efforts, the man dies a few hours later. Shock and blood loss, trauma and heart failure; some people live, and some people die. You have a pre-arranged signal with Eckerd, to let him know you have a body for collection. Are you going to use it? Or will you have the body sent to the Crematorium for disposal by the Spirit Wardens, as is required by law?
21 APRIL
Finraeth can't resist a very slight smile and a small nod of his head - a metaphorical tip of the hat - at Luce's reply. Game recognises game, after all.
22 APRIL
But no matter how good he is at it, Luce is better: almost nobody else would catch the moment his friendly smile briefly fixes in place, or the slightly flirtatious gleam in his eye fades to a complete lack of interest as he mentally categorises their relationship as 'professional, nothing further.'
At her question, he rekindles the smile as though nothing has happened. "I can look after her. See you around, no doubt."
As Luce departs, he gives his sister a shrug. "She seems nice enough."
21 APRIL 847 IE
Jonah is too weak and too tired to argue with or follow after Ranna. He tries to waves his hand dismissively after her storming exit, but it ends up looking more like a starved eel flopping hopelessly in a drying pool. While his body desired nothing more than rest and food, his mind fumed at Hutton's ability to drag the Mites through the muck even after the gangster was dead. The man had trafficked in his own people, of that the Whisper has little doubt. He'd deserved his fate and so had any others who'd fought for such a man. It was the Justice he deserved.
His hand rubs at a throbbing pain in his temple. The headaches had been growing stronger lately. His diagnosis being that it was just a lack of sleep and the added strain of the past few weeks. Somewhere outside someone is chopping firewood. A steady *thwack* *thwack* *thwack* of the blade striking hardwood that adds to his misery.
"She'll be back. Probably." He says to Fin, Cas and Luce, the latter seeming to put to rest any question of her own choice. It wasn't the first time he'd been on the wrong end of the leeches ire. Healing and soldering rarely agreed, especially the kind of fighting he'd done at the end of the war. "Take her a bit to cool down. Then...well...we'll see."
He rubs again at his temple and mumbles something about getting some rest before heading out into the rain and to the quiet solitude of his own cot.
25 APRIL 847 IE
Sleep. It had overtaken him almost as soon as he'd closed and locked the door to the old railcar he called home. According to the concerned and bored ghost of his sister, the slumber had lasted for nearly two days. And was filled with a variety of nightmares that had him mumbling, muttering and occasionally screaming as he thrashed about on his small cot. Odd visions filled his mind. Hutton's head sitting atop a mountain of fallen souls. The gangsters eyes gleaming hate and betrayal. Ranna trying to stitch together a half dozen small Skovlander bodies. Each with the face of a fallen Grinder. She looks up at him with accusing hate filled eyes. 'Your fault.' Nyryx seduces him only to slip a blade into his hand and call him back to the trenches. Back to war and death and destruction. Climbing a bone mountain, hundreds of Silver Nails baying for his blood as they scrabble after him like hounds on the hunt. A crimson and gold robed figure, her golden voice offering justice and eternal reward. She whispers of revenge and redemption. Sultry words dripping with honey, promise, and hope, not a word of truth among them. She holds a golden blade capable of cutting down his enemies like a scythe reaping wheat. It is his if only he gives himself to her. Wally's ghostly visage leering at him as the ghost wraps aethereal shackles weighted by the souls of the dead around his arms and legs. Pushes him into the black nothingness of the void where only ghostly laughter and malice keeps him company. The chains stretch out behind. A metallic leviathan of doom and death.
Since finally waking from his dark rest, Jonah spends the next few days seeing to his wounds and trying to make progress in his researches into the Reconciled. But his ability to concentrate is constantly thwarted by headaches and lingering doubts about the Grinders. Deciding to finally try to speak with Ranna to understand why she was so certain Hutton wasn't selling his own folk or at the very least get something to ease the headaches, he dons coat and hat and steps out into the cold, wet dreariness of Doskvol.
The clinic is a bit of a walk. A painful trek on his hobbled hip, but the exercise would be good and keep the limb from losing its strength and mobility. The clinic is only a block or two away when the sap cracks the back of his head and a sack blots out the blue glow of a distant street lamp.
"I'm not the one that needs looking after," Casia grouses as Luce walks away. The lurk's eyes seem unable to tear themselves away from the sway in her walk. "Nice enough, I guess. Doesn't mean that I don't want to slap that smug smile off her pretty face."
She takes another long drink from her mug. Her lip curls up into a smile and her gaze turns inward. "I bet she's a screamer."
25 APRIL
Ranna's heart sinks as the man she's treating grows paler and his heartbeat quickens. His breathing pattern changes: several quick breaths followed by none at all for increasingly long periods of time. He'll be dead within minutes. All she can do is try to make him comfortable, which leaves far too much room for thinking.
She'd hoped the one good thing about the Grinders being gone was never having to see this particular 'punishment' again. Most of the victims didn't die, but depending on their occupation losing a hand could be almost as bad. More than one person had survived the initial injury only to starve to death a few weeks or months later. Whoever this Ulf Ironborn is, he's bringing back the most vicious of the Grinder's old habits. One gang falls, another rises, and nothing changes. Nothing ever will.
She sits, and she sponges the man's brow, and she thinks. She was still angry about the Dusk Mites and the deaths they'd left in their wake, but this was a good reminder that the Grinders hadn't exactly been a gang full of innocents. Hutton had left a lot of dead people in his wake too. Just because she'd never seen Astrid or Harold or Erik hold a man down and shove his hand into a grinder didn't mean they'd never done it.
She misses them anyway. She hates herself for missing them. She hates herself a lot these days.
The man's breath hitches again. Any second now.
Her eyes drift to the window. She doesn't have to put anything in it. She could do the proper thing, the correct thing, and send the body to the Crematorium. Sure there's a chance Eckerd will come back and kill her, or have the Silver Nails do it, but she could live (haha) with that.
"Bet they'd be interested to know who's been patching up their enemies, or failing that maybe your little friend Stazia who's been supplying you?"
"Your little friend Stazia?"
"Stazia?"
Stazia didn't have anything to do with the Grinders. She was just a Skov, living in Charhollow, and that might very well be enough. She was a good person. One of the best people Ranna had ever known. She didn't deserve to get caught in the crossfire.
The man exhales, a long rattling sound. He doesn't inhale again. He's dead. Stazia's alive.
Ranna puts a black ribbon in the window.
25 APRIL
Ranna
Eckerd is careful, especially since this is your first time doing something for him and he has learned caution over the years. He doesn't make an appearance until several hours after a few of his lackeys have taken the body out of your clinic, wheeling it away on a cart that looks the part except for the fact that they went in the opposite direction to the Crematorium.
When he does turn up, he's all smiles and the gleam of his gold teeth in the dim lighting of your clinic (dark is free, light is saved for when you really need it). "Well done that woman, smart decision." There's a sloshing sound as he pulls a half-full bottle of spirits from the pocket of his filthy overcoat. "Got a couple of glasses? We can toast our new partnership."
Casia & Jonah
The toughs who have taken you aren't especially gentle but they don't go out of their way to be nasty, either. When you arrive at your destination and are pushed onto your seat, you're still in one piece. Your arms are let go of, and when the bag is pulled off your head you see that you're back in the familiar scenery of Lyssa's lair. The last time you were here, of course, you were being cast off like a broken shoe; but things change.
The gang-leader of the Crows has done well in the last few months, consolidating her hold on the gang she "inherited" from Roric (alas, poor Roric) and it shows in the improved quality of the wine she pours for you both. "Here, by way of making amends for your journey just now. Last we met, I do remember there were certain words exchanged and that brother of yours looked like he wanted to carve me up on the spot." She nods at Casia. "Still, you don't get where I am by dwelling too much on the past, especially when there's a decent future to be had. But I thought I should be careful just in case there was a grudge." She drains her wine glass and refills it, noisily. Three of her gang watch silently, guns tucked into their belts in a way that suggests they can be pointed at you remarkably fast, should need arise.
Lyssa ignores them, focusing on you, absently toying with what looks like a signet ring on her left hand. "Very well then. With the Grinders gone, that little unpleasantness all over, I'm happy to welcome you back into the fold. In fact, I'm willing to go one better and offer you gainful employment again. And tidy up some loose ends, into the bargain."
Jonah winces as his carefully rubs the newly grown knot on the back of his head. The Crow leader's invitation was doing nothing positive for the his overall health or mood. Blinking the pain and sack dust from his eyes he hears Casia's familiar cursing before turning to see his fellow Dusk Mite looking as happy to be here as he was. Politely accepting the offered glass of the wine, Jonah only takes enough of a sip to keep up the social pretense before setting it aside. He'd no desire to compound his aching head with alcohol.
"The past is certainly no place for any sane person to want to dwell." Jonah mutters while grabbing his hat from the sack and dropping it back onto his head. "And I've no interest in a grudge or any trouble with the Crows. It was all just business. Just eels wriggling under the bridge as far as I'm concerned. All I ask is for a less concussion inducing greeting next time." A quick wince as he adjusts the hat slightly. "I've enough lumps up there as it is."
Leaning back in his chair, Jonah offers the gang leader a slim smile. "So what's the job?"
Fairly confident that she's going to miss out on her evening of hedonistic pleasure, Casia's mood is not the cheeriest.
"Didn't you hear the lady, Jonah?" she says with a sneer as she drains her glass of wine in a single gulp. "'Loose ends'. She wants us to cut them off. She wants us doing knife work."
Setting the glass down, she looks around seeking the nearest exit and how many bodies stand between her and it.
"Sorry, but that's not our type of work."
Crossing her arms, her gaze returns to Lyssa.
"All I ask is for a less concussion inducing greeting next time." A quick wince as he adjusts the hat slightly. "I've enough lumps up there as it is."
Jonah's complaint is met with an artless smile. "Not your thing then, is it? I gather some pay to be treated that way, but I wanted you here without trying any hoodoo. Now I know we're on good terms, I'll let you walk here next time."
"Didn't you hear the lady, Jonah?" she says with a sneer as she drains her glass of wine in a single gulp. "'Loose ends'. She wants us to cut them off. She wants us doing knife work."
Lyssa nearly chokes with laughter on the wine she has just swallowed. Perched on the edge of the table, carelessly kicking her legs back and forth, she gives Casia an almost pitying look. "Did you bang your head in one of your escapades, sweet thing? Because I remember clear as candlelight that I was the one who said no bodies, and your little team was the one that botched that demand so badly that I had to cut you loose even to get Dead Larry to agree to resolve things." She puts the emptied wine glass down carefully to let one of her minions refill it, and nonchalantly gives the signet ring another twirl around her finger.
"So no. I've never used you for knife work, and I'm not about to start now. You're shadows, and you have a rep for being daring in your burglaries, which is good because that's exactly what I'm looking for."
25 APRIL
"Eckerd." Ranna doesn't try to hide the exhaustion in her voice. She'd spent most of the afternoon expecting the Spirit Wardens to burst down her door any second. Blackmailing her into helping him only to turn her in immediately afterwards was the kind of thing Eckerd would probably find funny. The fact that he hadn't was almost worse. It meant she'd have to keep doing this.
Not that she had to. She could stop at any time. Call his bluff, if it was a bluff. She could tell Stazia to lay low for a few days and the Silver Nails would probably lose interest, if they bothered to come back at all. Probably. Maybe. The what-ifs kept circling around in her mind.
Then there was always option C. It was risky. But if it worked...
She heads to her cabinet but fills her own glass with water before returning. "Please forgive me for not joining you in a proper toast, I don't drink much. Got to keep the hands steady." It's not entirely a lie. She's been drinking more than usual lately but it really isn't a good habit for a doctor to develop.
The actual reason of course is that she doesn't trust Eckerd in the slightest and would never drink anything he gave her. It's impolite to say so though.
She offers him a chair and sits down herself. "So what now? Just keep doing the same thing anytime someone dies in my clinic that I think won't be missed? The Spirit Wardens do keep a close eye on clinics like mine you know. I'd hate for our 'partnership' to end because of an unexpected raid."
Daring or just plain too stubborn or stupid to give up? Jonah ponders the potential differences between their perceived reputation and reality. A quick mental shrug. Probably all three.
The Whisper lets Lyssa's final words dangle in the air for several moments. It wouldn't suit to come across too eager for the work. Not a substantial stretch for him at the moment given the numerous aches and pains currently afflicting his worn down self. Still, slugs were already growing short after the meager takings following the clinic job and Lyssa had paid well the last time. So finally...
"I think we are all in agreement that keeping the bloodshed to a minimum is in all our best interests." He says only to suddenly feel a icy chill run through his body as if he'd stumbled and fallen in the cold waters of the harbor. The taste of salt, blood, and filth momentarily coat his tongue causing him to choke. The feeling is gone as quickly as it arrives, but leaves the whisper shivering and subdued. Shaking his head he coughs once, twice, a third time to try and clear the awful taste from his mouth. A futile effort.
"S-So what do you want s-s-stolen and who would you like to keep in the dark about your involvement-t-t in the theft?" Jonah asks blowing into his hands to warm them as he shivers despite the warmth billowing from the nearby fire.
25 APRIL
Luce
This is not - just to be clear - a criminal conspiracy. Not in the least. This is simply two friends enjoying one another's company over a pot of mint tea. Admittedly, there are probably more than a few people who are very curious to know how exactly Mylera Klev (leader of the Red Sash gang organisation) and you (a Spider of some repute) came to be friends. But as Finraeth has already discovered, you keep such secrets close; although if you care to refresh your memory on this point, you are absolutely free to do so.
Mylera Klev's inner sanctum in the temple/swordfighting school that serves as her organisation's HQ is strewn with Iruvian-patterned rugs, both on the floor and across the walls. They serve both as a reminder of her far-away home and to muffle the ringing sound of steel on steel, and occasional cry of pain from a particularly luckless or inept student. The patterns are eye-catching, almost designed to cause the attention to wander. But then, your focus is singular - it's one of the things that Mylera likes about you. The older woman (her long, black hair just starting to show the occasional streak of grey) gives you a smile as she pours out the tea from a silver pot into a delicate porcelain cup, before handing it to you. "Dear Luce. I'm trying to remember how long it has been since we last spoke. I was very shocked and troubled to hear about your poor father. A terrible thing. As the Prophets remind us, a house - or family - divided against itself cannot long stand."
Beneath the genuine sympathy, an unspoken question: are you still good at what you do? Or are you too distracted at the moment by things closer to home?
Ranna
Eckerd doesn't seem to mind your refusal, favouring your comment with a gold-toothed smile: "Good to know you're sober when you cut your patients - too many sawbones out there don't. I could tell you some stories." He clinks your glass with his own. "Yes, then, to the future. I don't need that many bodies, say one every couple months or so. Try to make sure it's not one that's been too cut up, though."
His friendly smile disappears when you talk about raids. "If that does happen, keep your mouth closed and my Bluecoat friend Sergeant Tosca will see what he can do to help you out. But if he hears you talked, well..." the smile reappears. "You're clever, so I know you'll do the smart thing and keep quiet."
25 APRIL
Only the truly suspicious or unspeakably crude would consider two ladies meeting over a pot of tea to be anything but a pleasant social occasion. Admittedly the personages involved are perhaps unusual, but when you remember that Mylera Klev first made her name as an instructor in dance it makes far more sense. Her academy was the place for the scions of the nobility to be tutored in the waltz, the foxtrot and other such refinements and accomplishments required in the ballroom. As such a meeting between a (former) dance mistress and one of her (former) students, no doubt a favourite or something of a protegee, is not unusual at all. In fact the only unusual thing is the quality of the tea service - which is truly exquisite.
"Your sympathy is much appreciates Mylera." And it actually is. Which makes it all the more valuable, because in a world of empty words and emptier promises Luce knows that Mylera really does care. "Fortunately I believe that the divide will not be of long duration, for do the Prophets not also tell us that the seeds of life are planted even in the moment of destruction? Should my family fall, we will rise again, to new heights and upon a firmer foundation."
She sips her tea slowly and keeps eye contact with the older woman opposite her as the conversation behind the conversation plays out.
Can you still work? Or are you distracted by other things?
I have goals and ambition. If your work will help me achieve them, then I'm interested.
"After-all," Luce continues, "I recall something similar happened to you didn't it? That tragedy at your dance academy was shocking but it led you here." She gestures slightly with her tea cup, a tiny gesture which takes in the whole temple complex in which the pair sit. "You were able to rise from the ashes to become the Leader of Society that you are today, with the help of your friends of course."
A gentle reminder of exactly who had warned her about the arson attack and had subsequently helped spread the names of those responsible around the upper classes. It had seemed like girlish gossiping, but when Mylera made her countermove she'd found far more sympathy than she'd expected and a number of planned-for obstacles simply hadn't materialised as the movers and shakers allowed a 'private vengeance' to play out uninterrupted. It had been Luce's first real attempt to use the things she heard at countless social events, and if it had been motivated by a child's indignation at someone trying to hurt her favourite teacher, rather than a sense of calculation, well... the results still spoke for themselves.
25 APRIL
Sergeant Tosca. Ranna commits the name to memory. "Don't worry, I know when to keep my mouth shut." She does. She knows how to play along, how to do what they want, how to survive.
"One every couple months or so should be doable. Especially if we've got a new gang moving into the area. Don't suppose you've heard of Ulf Ironborn? He's apparently the one responsible for today's body." She wants to laugh at the absurdity of asking Eckerd for anything. But he seems to be surprisingly well-connected and she might as well use the resources she has at hand.