Spirits of the Earth

  "You're going to hurt someone today. Aren't you?"
  Sharon froze. Siro, her little sister, sat across the table. She chewed the sweet roll Sharon had bought for her. Her eyes were inquisitive. Intent. And worried.
  Sharon wet her lips, searching for a response. She opened her mouth when she thought she found it. But it dropped away, vanished from her mind, and she pursed her lips and looked away.
  People were going about their day. Some going into the bakery behind Sharon, some leaving it.   The gray clouds crawled across the sky. The world was moving, but Sharon wasn't moving with it. She could almost see it: that tiny moment, that small sliver of time, when Siro didn't know what she did for a living. It fluttered away on the wind. Now, today, somehow...she knew. Her little sister knew.
  "Sharon?"
  "What makes you think that I'm going to..." she closed her eyes, "...do that?"
  Siro took another bite out of her sweet roll. Kept chewing.
  Sharon looked back at her. "Siro, answer me please."
  A moment passed. Then, "Jorge told me."
  Her eyes narrowed. "What did he say?"
  Siro swallowed, but she didn't take another bite. She stared at Sharon for another quiet moment. Studied her. "He said that you only buy me sweet rolls when you have to do something bad at work. That it makes you feel better. Is that true?"
  Sharon's mouth dropped open the smallest bit, revealing her surprise, and it took her a full three seconds to realize it. She blinked rapidly, shook her head to dispel her rising anger at what Jorge had done, then stood up. She rounded the table, crouched, and put her hands on her little sister's shoulders.
  "No, no, Siro, listen to me, okay?" She took a breath. "I...do...what I do...so you can live the best life you can possibly live. I don't want you to grow up the way I did. You deserve better, you understand? I want to keep buying those books for you to study. I want to move us into a better neighborhood. And sometimes I just want to buy you one of these awesome sweet rolls you love so much." That got a smile out of Siro. "But I can't make any of that happen unless I do what I have to do. Everything in this life costs something. That's just how the world works. Okay?"
  "Okay."
  "Good." Sharon smiled back. "C'mon. Finish eating and I'll walk you home."


  The gray clouds covered the whole sky now. A light rain fell onto the city.
  Sharon stepped through a large puddle as she approached. Charles and Jorge stood outside the meeting place: a half-burned down house in a poor neighborhood, a section of Reajh where people didn't risk paying too much attention to other people's business.
  She glared at Jorge. He grunted. His cheeks raised up slightly—he was smiling under the mask.
  Charles glanced at the two of them. Let it go. Said, "Remember. 'Service'."
  Charles pushed open the front door and went in. Jorge followed.
  She'd have to give Jorge a piece of her mind later. Sharon entered and closed the door behind herself.
  Inside, three armed men stood across a lonely table from them. Rain and dim light poured in through the large hole in the roof on Sharon's left; rainwater streamed off the charred edges. Even through the fresh rain the smell of ash and burnt wood clawed at her nose. Seeped into her skin.
  "Charles," said one of the men.
  "Stefan."
  The man, Stefan, motioned to the table and the two cheap chairs beside it. "Let's talk."
  "Let's."
  The two of them sat at the table. Sharon and Jorge stood behind Charles, and Stefan's men stood behind him. Sharon eyed her opposite on Stefan's side of the room. He had his hand on his holstered pistol. Sharon gently put a hand on hers.
  "You've got some explaining to do," Charles said.
  "An apology, of course, from Mr. Deegan. One he hopes Mr. Winters will accept. Yesterday's incident...a tragic misunderstanding. We didn't know that was Mr. Winters' territory—"
  "Bullshit."
  Stefan held up his hands briefly. "Mr. Deegan knows this is no excuse. Reparations of drugs or gold, whichever is Mr. Winters' request, will be respectfully furnished for the mishap. Mr. Deegan doesn't want this incident to damage the relationship between our two businesses."
  "Good. But there's a few other..."
  Sharon focused more and more on the nameless man across from her. As her eyes adjusted to the shadows, she saw that it wasn't a man at all. A woman, like her, just with short hair.
  Sharon's mind wandered. How did this woman end up standing there? How did her path cross with Sharon's, in this blackened house, at this precise moment? Everything about her—every sweet memory, every dark moment—was about to end. Unceremoniously. Here. In this unremarkable place. Was it a life worth living, if she were given the choice to live it again? Did her journey matter?
  Did her own?
  "...can be arranged," said Charles. "Tell Mr. Deegan that Mr. Winters thanks him for his service."
  You're going to hurt someone today. Aren't you?
  Sharon drew her pistol.
  Three gunshots rang out as one.
  Stefan's head whipped back and he fell out of his chair. The man behind Stefan tumbled to the floor, a chunk of his skull missing. The woman yelped and dropped her half-drawn pistol, collapsing by the man. She clamped a hand onto the side of her neck. Blood squirted out from between her fingers. She thrashed around, her boots kicking the table legs and the wooden floor in desperation.
  Charles put down his pistol on the table. Stood up. Drew his dagger. "God damn it."
  He walked over to the squirming woman. Crouched down and straddled her. Shoved the knife between her ribs. She kicked and kicked, knocking the table over. But her legs soon went still, her gargling soon went quiet.
  Without looking back at them, Charles said, "Check the other two."
  Jorge went to the body of Stefan's male guard.
  Sharon swallowed, took a breath, holstered her pistol, and went to Stefan's body.
  But Jorge found what they were looking for in the pockets of the male guard. "Here it is, boss. Note says, 'Crescent square. Six crates of Ignis root.'"
  "That's the shipment." Charles stood up. Picked his pistol up from the floor. "We've got a couple hours til sundown. We'll hit that safehouse then. Use the cover of darkness to lift the goods." He holstered the pistol. "Leave one at a time. Draw less attention. You first, Vrouge."
  "Got it." Jorge slipped the note into his pocket. He stepped up to Sharon, clapped her on the shoulder two times. She said nothing. He made for the door and left the house.
  As soon as he was gone, Sharon looked to Charles and said, "I need to talk to you about Vrouge. He—"
  "Hey. I don't know what the hell has gotten into you, Gordon, but I need you to stay focused on the task at hand." Charles gestured back at the dead woman. "You missed your kill shot—that's not like you. What if she got her own shot off? Hit me or you? Hmm? You wanna put your sister through somethin' like that? Seein' you come home wounded, or worse?"
  "I—"
  "This personal shit stays at home, or at the tavern, or wherever it needs to be. When you're on the job, you suck it up and deal with it. Or else you're gonna get one of us killed."
  Sharon closed her eyes. Lowered her head. Nodded. "I understand."
  "Good." Charles walked to the door. "Take a minute. Then leave."
  And he was gone.
  Sharon stood there in the house, the three bodies around her. The rain kept falling in through the hole in the roof. Splattering on the floor. The rainwater mixed with the blood. Diluting it. Erasing it. Like all things.
  Sharon stepped out the door of the house. She looked to her left and right, then started walking away.

Aven's full plate clacked upon the wet cobblestone beneath his boots as he strode around the fifth district, making his rounds as a lieutenant of Ansgar's Hand. At least, that was his coverup for making a mental map of the entire cities layout, for use in the uprising. He would need every bit of information he could get to outsmart Calent and Artorias, a feat even he himself was not completely confident in accomplishing. If he failed... no, he would not fail. Hakon, and everyone oppressed by Calent's tyrannical reign, counted on his success.
The sound of several gunshots tore him from his thoughts, turning his head abruptly toward the noise. Guns? In this district? He'd seen the strange new invention employed by only one other, and it was deadly indeed: meaning that at minimum, one life had just met an untimely end. He bolted toward the noise, the sense of duty Hakon had caused to blossom in him showing its colors. He may have been a revolutionary, but his true duty was to the people of Connloath.
Aven arrived at a decrepit old house, half destroyed by the hands of fate, certainly the stereotypical place to commit a murder. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught sight of a woman walking away from the area. He made note of her trajectory before glancing quickly inside on the building, catching sight of three bodies. That puts the total at ten this month.... He closes the door, pursuing the woman he'd seen before. Checking the bodies could wait: dead men tell no tales.


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  Sharon glanced around as she walked. Looked as casual as she could. Small beads of rainwater lazily streaked down her face. Dripped from the back of her ponytail.
  Then she saw him, out of the corner of her eye as she looked left. The man in the full plate armor. Following her. She snapped her head forward. Kept her eyes on the street ahead.
  The straws were drawn, and Sharon had come up short.
  This is what Charles had been worried about. The task itself was simple, the execution was clean enough, but it was leaving the scene that presented the most danger, even in this sort of neighborhood.
  Sharon clenched her teeth. Should have reloaded when she had the time. Now she only had her reserve pistol and a dagger worthless against plate—
  What if the man was a guard? Was he? She didn't get a good enough look at him, but it wasn't out of the question. Could just be an adventurer of some sort. A man looking to do his good deed. Maybe it was nothing at all. Maybe. Hopefully.
  But if it was a guard, and if he was after her, the only thing she could do was run. Mr. Winters strictly forbade everyone in his employ from killing, or even hurting, Reajh authorities. The critical mistake most other crime families made was to provoke the ire of the city guard, and Mr. Winters would have none of that. If Sharon broke the rule, she was as good as dead.
  Sharon continued down the street. Kept her pace calm. Her eyes forward.

Aven followed the woman at a brisk pace, calling out to her in a polite tone. His voice speaks toward a gentle soul. "Excuse me, Miss! May I have a moment of your time?" He took note of the reddish ponytail that waved behind her, and the common garb she wore. Had he not seen her exiting the scene, he would be none the wiser to any involvement she may have. He sighed to think that she may be the culprit, it would be a shame to arrest a woman in her prime.
He slowed his pace as he caught up to her side, matching her stride as he waiting her an answer. The full plate left everything to the imagination, not a speck of skin showing through the winged armor.


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  Sharon stopped when the man called out to her. She felt her heart quickening. This was the first time since she took on the job that things had gone awry. Such misfortune was inevitable. Inescapable. And, like the monster of many folk tales, it found her.
  She looked back over her shoulder. Turned to face him as he approached. Smiled.
  "Yes? What can I do for you?"
  A bad play, this feigned innocence. She had gambled away her headstart on the man, let him within striking range of her, on the slim chance that this whole affair wasn't what she thought it was. What she knew it was. She could almost stand apart from herself in that moment, watch herself commit this grave mistake from some distant perspective.
  Hope slithered through her blood. Poisoning her mind with its false promise.

Aven smiled under his helm. She didn't act like a criminal, she could have easily ran away from the scene into an alleyway. Perhaps he'd been wrong: he certainly hoped so. He stopped a few feet in front of her, drawing himself to his full height at six feet, though the armor made him seem closer to six and a half with it's bulk. "I apologize for the inconvenience, Ma'am. I am Aven Alveron of Ansgar's Hand, it is a pleasure to make your acquaintance." He performs a formal bow, inadvertently revealing the monstrous, five foot blade on his back: almost six inches wide at most points, the solid steel weapon had a wicked curve and no crossguard, and boasted the same illustrious silver color as his armor, not equipment a normal soldier would possess. It had to be insanely heavy, even to carry on one's back, let alone wield.
He straightens, addressing her once more. "I was passing by the area, when I heard the a very loud commotion from this area. I also spotted you on my way to investigate, leaving the scene. Did you, perhaps, see what occurred?"


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  Her smile waivered as the man came up to her. A lapse in her facade.
  He was enormous up close. A nightmare, made manifest in flesh and steel. A folk tale, made real.
  Sharon strained to keep her smile going when she saw his sword. It was almost as big as her own body. How could he even wield such a weapon, let alone doing so in full plate armor? Escape seemed more and more to be the desperate rather than the sensible option.
  Aven. Alveron. Ansgar's Hand. Reajh authority. Hands-off.
  "Alexa Marr." She nodded. Perhaps a little too deeply. Like a failed attempt at her own bow, thought better of and stopped just after it had begun.
  She listened to Aven's explanation of his intentions. Held her right hand with her left.
  One chance to get this right.
  "Ah. That." She looked up at the gray clouds. "I should've just went home when it started raining." Back at Aven. "But, I kept walking. Nice day before all this. Just...lost in thought, I guess. Ended up here. I heard it too. The gunshots, right?" She sighed. Shook her head. "Now I know why most people in this neighborhood keep to themselves. That scene in there...it's something you can't unsee. It stays with you." She thought of Siro, and her eyes drifted. "Takes away that time before. That innocent time. Forever."
  She looked back to Aven. Better to call attention to her own pistols herself. "That's why my father gave me these. Always worried, him. But, after seeing that sight in there...I never want to find myself using them."
  She sighed. Sincerely, she hoped. "I'm sorry, sir. But whatever happened there, I only caught the tail end of it. That mess, not whoever made it. It's...sickening to think about."

Aven nods through her story, noting the uneasiness in her mannerisms. He couldn't exactly chalk that up to guiltiness, though: he was an intimidating figure in his armor, that much was certain. He tended to forget that, as he dealt with equally intimidating people in a daily basis. Hell, his fiancé was more intimidating than him on the norm.
In an attempt to appear a bit less monstrous, he removes the winged helm, ruffling his short, combed up silver locks and matching, gentle eyes. In honestly, he is very fair and soft on the eyes, not at all the visage one would expect from his armor. "I agree, having protection is paramount in these hard times. Your father is a sensible man." He glances at the pistols curiously. "I've never actually held a contraption such if those 'guns'. I've only seen them used: may I, perhaps, be allowed to inspect them?" He'd been told several things by the man he met who used a similar weapon: first, that they used the kinetic force from a chemical explosion to launch the projectile, and second, that they have limited ammunition they can hold. Assuming the first was correct, he would be able to tell if the gun was recently fired by inspecting the barrel.


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  The man, Aven, took off his helm. Sharon scarcely believed her eyes. It was as if his head didn't match his body to her. The dissonance of the moment captivated her. Distracted her. Tied the strings of her lies into a knot and rolled them away.
  Just long enough for her not to think about what she should have done. The best course of action. Any path that cleanly delivered her from this situation darkened. And there was only one left.
  The wrong one.
  "Oh. Okay." And she drew and handed over her pistol to Aven.
  Only then, far beyond any graceful point of return, did she realize her mistake. She handed him the gun that she had fired, not her reserve. The stench of gunpowder would be unmistakeable. The stench of her guilt. Her sins.
  She renewed her smile. Hope had many more false promises yet. A spirit that granted no wishes. A god that answered no prayers.
  She looked Aven in the eyes, her pistol still extended toward him. She wiped some of the rainwater from her brow with her free hand. Waited.

Aven accepted the weapon, turning it over in his hand curiously, poking and prodding with aimed precision that would almost denote scholarly intrigue. Despite the situation, his eyes shine bright with excitement at the device, and Sharon would realize that the man was actually quite young, not even halfway through his twenties. Gazing into the nozzle, he caught the scent of the gunpowder, irrefutable evidence that the gun had been fired recently. So I was correct... His expression changes not, however, and he continues on the inspect the apparatus which lights the spark. He begins to laugh with delight. "Intriguing! This must come in quite handy for self defense: I certainly wouldn't want to be on the opposing end of it's barrel!"
He hands the pistol back to her, a gentle smile on his face. "Say, you look hungry: how would you like to accompany me to dinner? I was on my way to my favorite restaurant after this, you're welcome to join me; maybe we could talk a bit more about this amazing little contraption?" A tone in his voice is softly suggestive that she accept, the stress he put on the word 'this' making it clear he'd found her secret.


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  Sharon focused on every little nuance of his inspection of the weapon. His eyes changed. Why? Curiousity? Joy? What was—he was looking at something. Searching. Did he—
  Sharon flinched when Aven laughed. Snapped out of her intense scrutiny and back into her rain-soaked reality. Her eyes took a moment to find the pistol being presented back to her.
  "Yes, I'm sure it is. If only we lived in a world where we didn't need such things."
  The offer. The hidden ultimatum. Sharon almost had the pistol holstered again, looking down at her right side to guide it in, when Aven said it. She froze, the pistol barely touching the leather.
  The word this stung her ears. Did he mean pistols in general? All pistols? The way they functioned? That...maybe...
  Or this pistol. The one she held in her hand.  The only pistol that mattered.
  She slid it into the holster. Kept her head and eyes down.
  Running was suicide. If Aven were just about any other Connlaothian soldier, some sort of fresh-faced, scrawny kid instead of the towering mass before her...maybe. But the plate armor. The sword. Surely he was conditioned to them—nothing more than feathers on a bird to him. Even getting tackled by him tempted serious injury. Cracked ribs. Broken arm, leg.
  Accompany him to dinner. Was it a euphemism? Almost certainly. And almost certainly nothing good, if this pistol meant this pistol.
  Sharon kept her head and eyes down. Rain dripped off of her hair.
  "Are you...asking me to join you? Or telling me?"

Aven chuckles. "I'm not the kind of man to force a lady to do anything, it was merely an offer to a citizen who looks down on her luck." He glances up at the sky. "This rain truly is miserable weather, almost enough to wash away the strain of this world's sins and transgressions." He closes his eyes, allowing the raindrops to run down his eyelids. "But it cannot. Only the living can fix the living."
His gaze rests on her once more. "Yes, it is truly miserable weather: but the beauty of the rainbow that follows? It is worth every tear drenched step." He offers his hand out. "Would you like to see that rainbow, Miss?"


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  Sharon saw his hand. Raised her head up. Ran her eyes up his arm to his face.
  It was either this. Or running.
  A chance.
  Or none at all.
  "I'm sorry. For...asking that." She nodded her head. Took his hand. Turned herself into his custody. Committed to this path, this one slim shot to find her way home instead of into a cell.
  "I think I will accompany you, Mr. Alveron."

Aven grins triumphantly as he gently grasps her hand, lightly enough that should she try, she could easily break the grip. The sight of a person making a choice to better their life always warmed his heart; it was this that let him believe in the good in people, that spark of hope that resides in every being, even in the face of all the true evil in the world. "Please, Aven is fine, Miss Marr. I am still under my father, Lord Alveron, I am hardly a 'Mr.'" He chuckles.
Aven begins to lead her down the street to the right, walking slowly and casually. He glances over to her as he walks, his helm still tucked under his other arm. His voice is a bit softer, as though he didn't wish anyone but her to hear his words. "So, out of curiousity, why did you not shoot me? My head was exposed, and I certainly could not have distinguished the motion of drawing your weapon to fire from you handing it to me."


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  Sharon allowed herself to be guided by Aven. She clutched his hand far harder than he held hers. Much harder than she would have liked.
  "Alright. Aven it is."
  For another fleeting moment, she allowed herself to believe that she wasn't under arrest. That this was something else entirely. That this moment had more than two possible ends.
  But Aven lowered his voice. Shared a question. An implied accusation. No doubts now. He knew. And she was back on the same narrow path. Trapped in her circumstance.
  As if the game wasn't already over, she continued her feigned innocence. Held onto the misguided belief that it would save her as tightly as she held onto Aven's hand.
  Her words felt wrong. Even as she said them.
  "What? Why would you even suggest that? I would never do such a thing. You've...you've got the wrong idea about me."

Aven sighs, letting the question go. He could hear the hesitation in her voice as she tried in vain to conceal any guilt. She must have been assuming he was trying to force a confession. "There's no need to be so uptight about this, Miss Marr. I was merely curious, it isn't as though I wanted you to shoot me." He faced his eyes forward. "I'd prefer you be honest with me. I'm not arresting you, I just want to understand what drove you to this path. You don't have the eyes of a monster, Miss Marr, there's a fear in them. I can tell, because I've met true monsters."
He glances back her way his eyebrow arched up in the middle, a genuine look of concern over his features. "I am the exception to the rule in the military, though. Almost any other personnel would either arrest you or execute you on the spot. The first step on this path is accepting your situation."


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  Sharon walked along in a state of shock. Just...who was this man? She'd had a number of incidents with authorities before. Most were with her father, when he was still around; some more recent. And none of them had gone this way, even in the slightest. In all cases, authorities were the enemy. A hard obstacle to overcome. A barrier to filling her stomach with a meager meal, a wall to putting decent clothes on her back. In all cases, they were the boot that kept her face pressed into the dirt of the world.
  Why not here? Why did the pattern not repeat itself, as it always had?
  He said point blank that he could see the fear in her eyes. And he was right.
  Aven had an endgame. Had to. Sharon couldn't imagine what it could be. His motives were inscrutable. Why take such a risk with her? Why not do his duty? Did he not have anyone who depended on him? Whose well-being hung on the condition of him keeping his job and providing for them?
  Sharon continued to walk down the street with him, her hand in his. Her thoughts kept her silent well past the appropriate timing of a normal response.
  Finally, she spoke up, the light rain threatening to overcome her quiet reply. "I...know someone. Who found something she was good at. Something that wasn't begging. Something that offered her some agency in life. Something that offered her some hint of...dignity...that she never had before."

Aven nods, glancing at an upcoming alleyway. "Life is not easy, I understand that much. When the world covers people in dirt, the muddy paths most would avoid become much more inviting: but those paths lead only to more filth, a stain that will inevitably mark one's very soul." He stops her abruptly before the alleyway, flashing a smile, releasing her hand. "Wait here a moment, I need to change. Can't very well visit a restaurant in full armor, now can I?"
He steps into the alley, briefly out of her sight for no more than five seconds, before impossibly reemerging in Noble garb, a black and silver embroidered suit jacket with matching pants, a short half-cape over his right shoulder emblazoned with the Alveron family crest: a flame surrounded by laurels. He rolls his shoulders absently, sighing relief, offering his hand once more. "Feels good to have that armor off. Shall we go?"


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  Sharon listened to him. Could feel his empathy as if it were a small, precious flame keeping her warm. His honesty, sincerity, kindness...he wore them all on his sleeve. And, despite herself, a flicker of admiration sparked in the back of her mind. A cruel turn of fate that their paths should cross as enemies. But there was no other way for the world to be. Everything in Sharon's life, everything in Aven's life, added up to this moment. This crossing only ever happened here, now. This one way.
  They stopped. Sharon swallowed. Closed her eyes. Perhaps all this was an elaborate ruse. Lower her guard. Perhaps it was time for Aven to do his duty. Put down a stray dog.
  But he didn't. Didn't draw his sword. Didn't cleave her in two.
  He let go of her hand.
  Spoke.
  She opened her eyes. Listened intently to every word he said. Incredulous. There was no way this was happening. She couldn't possibly have such luck.
  But she watched him follow through on his intent to change. Watched him walk away from her. Disappear into the alley.
  Pure instinct took over. And she ran.
  I'm sorry. I'm not that person.
  The rain pelted her face. She stomped through a puddle in the street, splashing rainwater up behind her. Her mind cleared. Any opposition to her flight were silenced. No better opportunity than this. Perhaps no other opportunity than this.
  She glanced over her shoulder. Yelped in surprise when she saw him. How...how was that possible? To be done so quickly? With only a few seconds headstart, she—
  No. Run. Run. Run.
  Just run.

Aven sighs, and steps back into the alleyway, reappearing out of an alleyway in front of her not ten yards in her dash, shaking his head. His eyes still hold the same compassion from before, but it is coupled with slight disappointment. "Don't be foolish, Miss Alexa. I want to help you, but I also cannot simply allow you to leave after killing three people."


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  Sharon looked forward again.
  And he was right there.
  She yelled again, panic raising the pitch of her voice. She slammed her boots into the slick cobblestone street. Tried to stop. Slipped. Fell. Toppled right over onto her back. Rainwater splashed around her body. The gray clouds overhead cast a damning gaze down onto her.
  She rolled over onto her hands and knees and pushed herself up and back onto her feet. She ran back the opposite way, the way she had come.
  Her reason told her she stood no chance. Her reason told her that this man, beyond a shadow of a doubt, was no ordinary man. Her reason told her that her legs and sheer force of will would be no match against such a man.
  But her instincts smothered her reason.
  And still she ran. In vain.

Another day wasted looking for work. Gabriel Thought as he entered his second hour of wandering the streets of Reajh. Its not that work wasn't hard to find, quite the contrary it was every where in the mist of this civil war. Its just that work that paid well was slim to none and most employers nowadays where surprised when you didn't turn up dead and have to now pay for the labor they hired.  It was while Gabe was thinking this a woman plowed right into him. He held his ground as she crashed into him staying up right. Geez lady you alright? you look like you have seen a ghost.Gabe said as he moved backward to get a better look at the woman.

Aven watches her run. What will it take to convince her? I'd really rather not use force... He steps back into the alleyway, melding his form into the shadow of the wall and moving at incredible speed over the roof of the building, exiting the shadows in the same alley from before, stepping out again, attempting to stop her, to calm her down.
As he stepped out, however, she ran into a man in front of Aven, who'd been walking by. Aven is momentarily confused, but he recovers, and strides around the young man to grasp Sharon's shoulder. "Please, I'm trying to help you. There's no need to make this so difficult."


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  Sharon never saw him. Not until she slammed right into him. She stumbled back. Almost fell again, but steadied herself after some disoriented flailing.
  But this wasn't Aven. Someone else. Younger kid. Intense face. Dragon tattoos. Mr. Winters had his full-time associates, but also an array of part-timers. Hired muscle that decided to stick around, loosely affilated, sometimes disposable, sometimes well worth the price.
  And the second man was one of them. She'd seen him around Winters' estate. He was a part-time associate, she knew that much, even if she couldn't recall his name. Probably new, like her.
  Aven did his trick again. Once more, he had suddenly appeared from an alley. An impossible feat, made possible again.
  Aven, as far as Sharon knew, had no reason to suspect the tattooed man as an associate of Winters. A bystander, from his perspective. So she treated him like one. Keep from exposing him.
  She pushed Aven's arm away. Pointed at him. Backed up.
  "There's your ghost." She kept walking backward. Slowly. Eyes on Aven. She added, much louder than before, "He's dangerous. He wants to kill me."
  Anything. Anything to keep from ending up behind bars tonight. Innocence didn't work. Running didn't work. Perhaps now, a false accusation and a growing commotion—the last ditch, most desperate play—would work. Perhaps, despite the reputation of the neighborhood, enough chaos and confusion could be raised. A smoke screen to disappear into.

Dangerous you say? Gabriel said as he Stepped in front of this man's sight who had came up from behind her Looks like someone has gotten a little too close, listen pal leave the woman alone, Night is still young and there will be plenty of other women to harass, and between you and me you are lucky she hadnt turned to the guards Just go on with your night and find another woman. Gabe hated getting in the middle of affairs like he was but he had seen it before. Women who scream bloody murder tend to have a good reason to get away, and if they cant they never turn up alive again.

Aven shakes his head sadly. How could she be such a fool, to turn down his kindness and attempt to use such paltry tactics. He'd introduced himself before, surely she realized that if she did not come willingly, he would be forced as a member of Ansgar's Hand to bring her in. Not only did this ruin his intention of attempting to free her of whatever shackles tied her to a life of crime, it also made it impossible for him to feign ignorance when asked about his involvement. Had she come quietly, they could have simply talked over dinner and had her on her way with a warning, provided she'd told him of her employers.
All that was ruined with her actions, though. The time to act as Aven Alveron had passed: he could do no more for her without damaging Ansgar's Hand's reputation, an occurrence he could not allow. "She cannot turn to the guard: I outrank them." He lifts the half cape on his shoulder to reveal the crest of Ansgar's Hand, the heavy Calvary unit of the Connloathian Military. "I am Lieutenant Aven Alveron of Ansgar's Hand, I was escorting this woman for questioning when she attempted to run." He glances at Sharon, sadness within his eyes. She'd brought it upon herself, he wished she'd just trusted him. "Please, Miss Marr. This is your final chance to come peacefully. I cannot entertain your games any further."


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  Unraveling. Everything was unraveling.
  Aven seemed completely unfazed by the tattooed man's arrival on the scene. Focused solely on her. A strong declaration. He had no intention of backing down.
  She glanced around the street quickly, looking to see if the commotion and the shouting had drawn any attention. A paltry amount—the neighborhood didn't fail to live up to its reputation. Only an old man spared the time of day to look out his window and into the street at the three of them.
  She looked back to the tattooed man, then back to Aven as he spoke his last warning. That look. In his eyes. It conveyed the tragedy of the moment. Aven, duty bound to apprehend her. Sharon, duty bound to evade him. And there was only one path forward for both of them.
  Her hand reflexively crept up her left leg. Settled on the handle of the holstered pistol on her belt.
  She knew she was dead if she used it—either by Aven's hand or Mr. Winters' enforcers—but she left her hand on it. One last act of defiance.
  Still backing up, she said loudly, "He killed three men. Down the street there. Took the clothes off one of them. I saw it. And now he's come for me."
  It made her sick to her stomach, trying to provoke a confrontation between the tattooed man and Aven. Sacrificing the kid to the beast of a man. But she had to try something.

Gabe was confused. The first man said he was heavy somthing or another and he out ranked the town guards, but the woman was claiming he was a murderer. Gabe snapped his fingers as the pieces game together. So mister you think you can throw around your weight and murder three people? gotta say very unprofessional of you, now you pull rank and decide to throw this woman in prison? Tell me what do you think the chances are that she makes it through her sentence? If she doesn't die by then. Gabriel started to crack his knuckles  I dont know whats completely going on but siding with you would make my stomach churn He said as he met Aven's eyes with his own

Aven's eyes momentarily met the young tattooed man's. He saw the anger within them, and coupled with the cracking of knuckles, it seemed he'd fallen for her ruse. Aven shakes his head, gritting his teeth slightly as his muscles bulged under his Noble garb, the fabric becoming much tighter fitting. It was almost as if he'd grown slightly bigger, and indeed, he actually had: it was not visible, but under his skin, many small tendrils of dark matter snaked their way through all of his muscles, allowing him to control his body much more precisely and do so with fully inhuman strength. It would be a perfect technique, were it not to hurt immensely.
In a flash, his hand extends and grasps Sharon's right wrist. He does not squeeze whatsoever, so the grip does not hurt, but she could tell in an instant that no regular human could break such a grip of steel. He give Sharon a glance of utter disappointment, coupled with the spark of pain in his eyes, caused by his technique.
His gaze flickers back to the young man preparing to fight. He speaks with a firm voice. "All three victims were shot to death: before you get involved, notice how she's reaching for a holstered pistol. Who do you suppose could have shot them?"


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  Her inching away from the scene counted for nothing. Before she even knew it, Aven had a grip on her. His hand may as well have been a steel shackle—no chance she could overcome it.
  So this was it.
  She lost.
  Maybe the tattooed man could fend him off. Maybe he couldn't. Maybe he could, and Sharon would just get killed or injured as they fought. Collateral damage. Slim chance to gain anything meaningful from the two of them fighting now.
  And Charles and Jorge were still out there. The heist was still on, and the sun was still setting behind the clouds. And now they were two guns short without her. But maybe...
  Sharon drew the pistol.
  And tossed it to the ground.
  "It's okay," she said, glancing at the tattooed man. She drew her dagger and dropped it as well. It clattered on the cobblestone. "It's okay. Really, I'm fine. Sorry for the confusion, but I need to...answer for some things. But can you do me a favor? If you stop by The Tipped Hand, drink one for me. Okay?"
  A long shot. The Tipped Hand was a ratty tavern, not too far from Crescent Way, and was one of Jorge's favorite places to get drunk and be a nuisance. Maybe, just maybe, he'd be there. Maybe something could come of the tattooed man meeting with him. All of it hinged on the tattooed man—who certainly had to be experiencing no slight amount of cognitive whiplash from the events of the past few minutes—catching onto her code, standing down, and following through. Again, a long shot.
  She looked back to Aven. Stayed quiet. Drew her empty pistol and dropped it as well.

A fire rose in gabirel's chest as he fired back. That doesnt Mean anything! It could have been self defense! God knows id run from it to save my self from healing with you peo-
That is when he was cut off by the woman. She must have really accepted her fate as she spoke to him. He listened to her intently as the fire died down inside him. Yeah... ill do that then. he could feel nothing but pity for the woman. Being in prison himself he knew how horrible they where, and a kind soft spoken woman like her wouldn't last long. Prison makes you do horrible things to your fellow man just to keep breathing for another day. Sorry about the trouble officer. He said to Aven as he knelt down and picked up her dagger. Take pity on a sreet urchin and look the other way eh? God knows she dont need it where she is going and i can eat tonight if i sell it. He said as he holstered the Engraved Dagger on his side and started on his way.

Aven's brow furrowed for the first time they'd seen as the young man picked up the dagger, like it were the natural action to take. He shot a gaze as sharp as the dagger itself at the man. "That is not yours, young man. Miss Marr is only being questioned at this time: I still have no proof that she is guilty, only circumstantial evidence." He extended an open hand, his gaze unfaltering. With the tattoos the young man had, Aven highly doubted the boy was a beggar. Judging by the young man's physique and mannerisms, were Aven a normal human, instead of a dark matter human, the boy could probably lay him out flat with his bare hands. "Even if I were arresting her for a sentence in jail, that dagger is still Miss Marr's property. Hand it over, please."
It would be the end of him some day, but even after everything she's pulled, he still saw a spark of good in her eyes: if he abandoned someone in need, what right did he have to fight for the freedom of Connloath? He would not allow himself to stoop to the level of other nobles: he would protect the citizens of Connloath, no matter their standing, just as his father taught him. 'Whether king or slave, all lives are precious.' He would pursue that ideal as long as he drew breath.
He glanced quickly at Sharon. "Miss Marr, you may gather your belongings from the ground. Had you wanted to shoot me, you would have done so already, so there is no point in me confiscating them."

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Gabriel sighed as the man called out to him. Damn soldier boy you really know how to play hard ball. He said before turning around And meeting the soldiers stare. He had seen stares like that before,Men only made that stare if they meant business.  Gabe took the dagger off of his hip and held it pointing at the man man while slowly walking towards him. His shoes clacking along the cobblestone with each step
Clack
Even if its hers aint gonna do her a hell of a lotta good in the slammer
Clack
We both know people have wasted away in prison for a lot less then "circumstantial evidence"
Clack
No evidence? Im sure the judges will see that way as well
Clack
After all she only left three bodies behind.
Clack.
Gabe was now nearing The man still giving him that same stare. Gabe stood there for a moment as his grip tightened on the dagger, before flipping around and placing the handle gingerly in Aven's hand before turning around and walking away again.  See you around Jarhead. he said as he made his way to the tipped hand.

  A problem. A knot to untangle.
  Charles and Jorge's lives could every well depend on the tattooed man disengaging from the sitatuion. Sharon's freedom. Siro. Everything hinged on it, this one last play. He had to get away.
  Aven was talking. A demand. An iron fist wrapped in a velvet glove.
  Come on. Think. Think.
  The tattooed man was coming forward. Threatening. Provoking.
  No. No. There has to be...something!
  He was close. Dagger pointed dangerously at Aven.
  Still Miss Marr's property. My property. My choice! A gift! From me to him!
  Just as Sharon opened her mouth to say something, the tattooed man turned over the dagger, made a parting remark, and started on his way again. She closed her mouth, sighed through her nose. Took a few seconds to ponder her luck.
  Eyes back on Aven. She said nothing. Just looked up at him. Stood in place for a long moment even after he invited her to collect her weapons. Rainwater meandering down her cheeks pooled on the edge of her chin. Dripped to the street.
  Eyes still locked onto his, she slowly and carefully bent at the knees. Grabbed her reserve pistol with her free hand. Stowed it in her left holster. Grabbed her main pistol. Awkwardly reached across her body to stow it in her right holster.
  Then she stood. Took in a deep breath that inflated her chest. Let it out.
  And stayed quiet.

Aven watched the young man leave, then turned back to Sharon, placing the dagger in her hand and letting go of her wrist. His body relaxes, the muscles returning to their previous proportions. "It would be quite a scene to drag you through the city by the wrist, one I would rather avoid. I assume you realize that running will not work?"
It was true, she had no hope to escape him. In shadow form, he was able to exceed sixty miles per hour, a speed no human could reach alone. With that, he was essentially ten steps ahead of her before she even started, as they'd seen before. Not that he enjoyed having to do so.


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Gabriel made his way to the tipped hand. As he opened the door the smell of liquor hit him like a wall.
It was relatively crowded for a rainy night like this.  Rain fell off his chest and onto the floor as he took a seat at the bar. The man behind the counter put a glass in front of Gabriel and filled it up before walking away to do the same with other  bar patrons.  Gabe had no idea why that woman asked him to come here but it aint like he had better shit to do anyway. He set his head down on the bar after finishing the drink to think about things for a while.

  Sharon accepted the dagger from Aven. Sheathed it as carefully as she had holstered her guns.
  Aven was a still a guard. An unorthodox guard, but a guard nonetheless. Allowing her to rearm herself—a perplexing action to be sure. Every other encounter with local authorities she had involved them taking no chances, eliminating any threats. Drop your weapons. Hands in the air. Down on your knees. The humilating procedure of compliance to force, to surrendering one's freedom.
  She wasn't down on her knees, holding up the sky with the palms of her hands, this time. But, as Aven made clear, she may as well have been. A captured bird without a cage. It could fly if it so chose, but, under the vigilant eye of its captor, it would always loop back around to its destined perch.
  "I know," she said. "Just do what you have to do."
  She was ready to follow him. To walk the only path before her.


  Jorge had his mask pulled down. Scratched the burns on his face.
  The Tipped Hand was indeed crowded tonight. Rain stood little chance of detering vice among the downtrodden. A hazy mist wafted through the tavern, a thick, pungent scent of smoked weeds and plants smothering the nose. Patrons were gathered around the hearthfire, lighting and inhaling their individual vices. Many more were at the bar and tables, tossing back glass after glass of ale, drowning away the world. Some merry few were in the corner, hands on each other's shoulders, swinging back and forth, singing a dirty song as the beer from the mugs splashed out of their cups and onto the sticky floor.
  A fight broke out at one of the tables. Chairs fell over. The merry men kept singing.
  Jorge glanced over his shoulder. Ah, shit. One of the fighters was Lonergan, a guy who owed him a couple gold.
  Jorge took another swig from his mug. Wiped his face with the back of his hand and stood up and stepped toward the brawl.
  "Aw, come on, fellas, there's no need for—" He punched as soon as he had the opportunity. Hit the other man in the soft central spot just below the ribcage. All the wind sucked out of him, the man toppled backward, stared at the ceiling, gasped for breath. The merry men reached a high point in their song.
  Jorge looked at Lonergan. Shrugged his shoulders. "Guess that's three gold now."
  Lonergan rubbed his jaw. "Yeah, yeah." He winced. "Next week good?"
  "Good enough." Jorge clapped a hand on his shoulder. "Gotta work on that left hook, buddy."
  Jorge turned back around. Saw a new person at the bar. Someone he recognized. Part-timer.
  "Gabe, is it?" Jorge said as he approached the tattooed man and sat down next to him, sliding his own mug over some. "Think I remember you. Got that two hundred gold debt from that one stingy fuck. Guy pissed himself after you said two words to him, that right?"
  He held out his hand. Grinned. "Jorge. And it looks like you found my favorite little hole in the wall."

Gabe's ears perked up as he heard his name called out. He raised his head to find a scarred man sitting next to him leaving behind what looked like a small bar fight. Yeah its gabe. He said as he reached out to shake the man's hand. Gabe recognized the man as he got a clear look at him. Jorge.
One of Mister Winter's chief enforcers. Old as well. You only got to be as old as he did in this line of work by staying away from the front lines or dominating them, and his calloused hands and Scarred face was evidence for the ladder. To be Fair i made him swallow his teeth first. Gabe then shot a look at the man getting up off the ground and getting back in his chair. Well its a nice watering hole , lively if nothing else. Got recommended to me by a woman getting hauled off by some Jarhead State official. Gabe would mention as he took another swig from his cup

Aven's gentle smile returns. "I'm glad you understand, after all that commotion, I'm famished! Let's grab a bite to eat while we talk, shall we?" He begins to walk forward once more, heading down the road, keeping her in sight. His movements are deliberate and proper, the rolling of his heels creating the subtle illusion of gracefully gliding along. "So, tell me a bit about yourself, Miss Marr: the truth, none of that  bullshit you would give to a town guard." He glances back. "You and I both know Alexa Marr is not your real name, but for reasons, I'm going to treat it as though it is. I cannot help you if you lie to me, and if you tell me enough, I may be able to keep you a free woman."


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  As if tugged along by an invisible leash, Sharon followed after him. Her eyes lowered as she listened and thought.
  It was a trick. It was always a trick. This is what the authorities did. This is what she did within the first three months of employment with Mr. Winters. One of Mr. Deegan's men got caught doing something he shouldn't of been doing, got brought in. Charles played the bad guy—shouted, roughed the poor bastard up—and Sharon played the good guy—talked soft, friendly, got to know him. An effective interrogation technique. He ended up spilling everything on Mr. Deegan's upcoming deceit, opened the road to today's triple execution.
  And after Mr. Winters had what he wanted from the prisoner, Jorge took him some place quiet and slit his throat. Deegan's man bled out in the dirt. Outlived his usefulness. No memory of him, save an unmarked grave.
  With some small differences, Aven seemed to be trying a similar ploy. I'm your friend. Play ball. You'll go free. Promise.
  A tempting offer. This is what it felt like to be on the wrong side of an interrogation.
  But she knew what would happen if she divulged anything on Mr. Winters. And not just to her. To Siro.
  She needed something else. A fabrication. A win-win story.
  But she needed to think. Stall for time. Finalize some details.
  "What are you going to do with me?"
  She swallowed. Bit her lip. Finally looked eye-to-eye with Aven.


  Jorge laughed. "What can I say, friend? Once a good story starts runnin' around, it takes on a life all its own." He nodded down at Gabe's fist. "Bet you got one hell of a haymaker in there. Woulda hate to've been that sorry bastard, I tell ya."
  But then he spoke about the woman. The 'Jarhead' guard.
  The merry men switched to a different song. A popular sailor's rhyme about a maiden lost at sea.
  Jorge tilted his head some. "You don't say? You mind tellin' me the story?"

Gabe put his glass down empty as the men changed their tune.  Well i was walkin back to my hideaway after playin cards and shootin dice, bullshittin all day you know? I turn a corner and this woman runs into me. Young ish, but looks old enough to have a kid. This jarhead comes up and says he is taking her for questioning. Apparently she left three people dead behind her.  She had Two pistols and a dagger on her, figured she was guilty so i tried to help the poor girl, But Soldier boy was armed to the teeth and was hell bent on taking her in. She told me to come here and have a drink. so here i am now. Gabe said as the bar man filled up his drink again.

Aven slowed his pace, falling back to walk alongside her, the gentle, honest smile still plain on his face as he retained eye contact. The expression showed his age, his naive belief that he could find the good in anyone, and it was almost laughable to think he would harm a fly. "Nothing, if you tell me the truth. You see, I can think of two possible scenarios for what occurred: you were assaulted, and fired your gun in self defense, or someone else ordered you to kill them for some reason." He looks forward, allowing his thought process to flow freely. "The first would make no sense, as there are no marks of a struggle on your body: additionally, the wounds were incredibly precise, aimed specifically to kill, not injure, save one on the neck of the woman. Not only that, but there was a stab wound to finish the woman off from the neck wound, which was clearly nonfatal: your knife was clean, and did not smell of blood. As you'd just left the site, even had you wiped it clean, it would have smelled of blood for at least a small while until properly washed."
He rounds a corner into a back street, motioning for her to follow as he articulates. "That means the woman's death was not your doing, and you had accomplices. The site, as well, is a giveaway: an abandoned, condemned house, in an empty part of town. The meeting between you, at least one accomplice of yours, and the three of them was obviously consensual, and the bloody conclusion premeditated." He glances her way, his eyes glinting. "All of this evidence converges to point to my conclusion that you were ordered to kill them, and as far as I know, you were not responsible for any of their deaths; you very well could have only fired the bullet that grazed the woman's neck, seeing as your other pistol is still loaded." He smiles wider. "How was my assessment?"


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  Sharon listened. And listened. And rounded the corner of the back street. And listened more.
  All the while, her heart sank deeper and deeper into her chest. Shriveled completely away, leaving only the hot, sulfuric burn of defeat in its wake. Was everyone in this Ansgar's Hand unit like this? A master of sleight of hand, sleight of feet, and sleight of mind? A perfect adversary to anyone unfortunate enough to be their foe?
  She had concocted a story in her head, something about being a vigilante, something about cleaning up the neighborhood, something that might appeal to his good nature and sense of justice, but what good was it? Her mind was clearly as inept as her hands and feet at besting him. Eight years on the street after her father left prepared her to outwit and outmaneuver the common soldier, the complacent guard, the underpaid mercenary, and the overweight shopkeep. Not this. Not this by a long shot.
  She felt sick to her stomach. Unsteady on her feet.
  Sharon had reached the end of the line. She was outmatched in every conceivable way. The world finally had her in its maw. And it was always going to be this way. This moment was a long time in coming. But now it was here.
  But she could suffer. She could rot in prison. She could be beaten. She could be tortured. She could be raped. She could be killed. She could take all of it, so long as she kept her sister safe. Siro was the only thing that mattered in her life. The only thing worth fighting for.
  And that meant keeping her mouth shut. She knew what she had to do.
  Sharon stopped. Stood adamantly. Wiped the corners of her eyes with the back of her hand.
  And said, "Take me to jail. I'm not saying anything else."


  Jorge liked this guy already. Playin' cards and shootin' dice all day. Bullshitin'. Sounded like Jorge's kind of day. Takin' the world by storm, win or lose, soakin' in everything it has to offer. Playin' fast and loose in the game of life. Only got one shot at this thing—best to enjoy the ride. Wouldn't want to miss out. It ain't up to you what comes your way, why not try to just enjoy what you get?
  Then Gabe finished his story.
  And Jorge nearly spit his ale back into his mug when he figured it out. He half-laughed, half-choked as he wiped his mouth. "God damn it, that sounds like Gordon alright. Fuckin' hell, she would be the one, wouldn't she? Fuckin' hell." He slapped both his knees. "Gordon works with me. Takes shit way too seriously. More than the boss, I'd say. Think some time in the hole would work wonders on her. Make her realize life ain't nothin' but sand slippin' through your hand. Been to jail couple times myself, and look how I turned out, eh?"
  Jorge drained his mug. Let out a satisfied gasp of air. "Alright Gabe, if that really was Gordon that got nabbed, then you up for makin' some money tonight? Slot just opened up on a big job."

Gabe took his glass and drank it all in a few glugs before speaking again. I may not look it but ive been to prison as well, but up in Adela, you think she can take that? I dont know what its like down here but In those godforsaken mountains they throw you in a hole and come back for you, if you are lucky.  He then heard the word job and interest was written all over him. He put some money on the counter as he turned to Jorge. Im always up for making money, what kind of job we talking here? Fuck it it don't matter Count me in.

Aven's smile slowly fades, replaced by a genuine sadness. He stops as well, turning to face her in the alley they'd been traversing. "Miss Marr... you're afraid. I can hear it in your voice, see it in your walk. Don't you have anyone waiting for you at home?" He gazes straight into her eyes, nothing but honesty in his expression. "I've met several people like you, people who think they need to bear the weight of the world on their shoulders alone. In fact, I could say that you and I aren't so different in that regard: but if there's something I'm sure of, it's that people like us don't face the ugliness of the world for ourselves. We do it for those we care about, the ones near and dear to us." He places a hand gently on her shoulder, speaking softly. "As I said before, you do not have the eyes of a killer: only the defiant spark of life, determined to protect something from this god-forsaken country. Can you truly abandon that?"


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  That tiny flicker of admiration came back, if just for a fleeting moment. A tiny candle in the dark.
  Sharon was still afraid of Aven. He was the law, and she was the lawless. But she nevertheless respected him. Envied him. The life he had. The life she could never have.
  But more than anything, his committment, his dedication to his moral code. Survival on the streets, the reality of living day-to-day with nothing to one's name, didn't allow the luxury of adherence to such a code. Morals only satiated the soul, they didn't quell the rumbling stomach or the parched throat. Desperation and adversity often exposed one's true self. And Sharon knew hers all too well.
  If ever there was a moment to change her path, a pivotal turning in her life, then it was now. Aven and his brethren of Ansgar's Hand seemed more than capable off taking down Mr. Winters' whole business. Nothing in Mr. Winters' arsenal could stop them, if they were indeed all like Aven. It might take weeks, months, to uproot all the labyrinthian parts of his network throughout Reajh, but it would be as sure as the rising sun.
  The rain had slowed over the past few minutes and now, finally, it stopped.
  Her body gave a small start when Aven placed the hand on her shoulder, but Sharon didn't protest.
  One last chance to start anew. One last chance to live a life worth living.
  But she couldn't do it. It meant putting Siro at risk, and that was something she could never do. Sharon had long since resolved to take on all the hardship and blackness of the world if it meant that Siro could live the life Sharon never could.
  And if this was the price to pay to keep Siro alive and safe, so be it.
  She looked up at Aven. Said, "Take me to jail."


  The merry men finished with the sailor's song. Changed their tune to a parody of a Connlaothian military marching cadence.
  Jorge casually swatted the air with his left hand. "Ah, she'll be alright. A little time in the hole never hurt no one." He shrugged. "'Cept all the people it did, but that's beside the point. It'll be fine. She'll have a ton of free time to meditate on some things, and meanwhile Bowen and I'll figure somethin' out. There's always a favor waitin' to be cashed in somewhere."
  Jorge grinned ear-to-ear when Gabe automatically accepted the job. He laughed, clapped him on the shoulder, and said, "That's the spirit!" He leaned in a bit closer, lowered his voice below the din of conversation in the tavern. "Got a surprise heist on a safe house. Should only be lightly guarded. Smash and grab sorta job. Got six full crates of Ig on the line. You have any idea how high you can get off six full crates of Ig?" He laughed again. "You'll be on the fuckin' moon for years, mate."
  Jorge placed a coin on the counter and stood up. "Should get movin' then. Crescent square's just a little ways down the street here, and it's 'bout that time anyhow."
  He made his way to the door, stepped outside. The rain had stopped, and the gray clouds were blackening into the starless night.

Aven stared into her eyes for a brief moment, realizing she would not budge. It was obvious that something scared her more than jail: most likely, whoever was calling the shots. He would get nowhere trying to get information from her. He releases her shoulder, his grin evolving into a small laugh. "Why would I bring you to jail? You forget, I already deduced that you did not, in fact, kill anyone. Therefore, I have no grounds that I deem worthy to bring you in." He winks, the his silver-grey eyes twinkling in the starlight. "You can go, Miss Marr. Though, the invitation to dinner still stands: I'm a man of my word, after all."
Indeed, he had the evidence to prove she hadn't killed anyone should he be asked about it, so Ansgar's Hand's reputation would be safe. Still, she was lucky it was him who found her: in reality, he was no soldier, but a mage infiltrating Ansgar's Hand, a revolutionary. His mind was on a different wavelength than that of the other members, not to mention his skill set. Anyone else would have found her guilty.
He turns and opens a door in the alley, surprisingly revealing a lavish stairway down to the restaurant he was mentioning. It looked as though it were for the wealthy, by it's decoration.


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Gabe followed Jorge out of the bar. Who are we pinching it from?Ah I guess it doesnt matter. We'll show em they shoulda invested heavier in their muscle. Gabe ran his fingers through his hair as he made it outside. Anybody else gonna be backing us up or is it just us?

(((timeskip to safehouse?)))

(((Not quite. Something specific might happen with Sharon and Aven that would affect it, as if she doesn't join him for dinner, she'd probably join the operation.)))


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  Sharon stood there after Aven released her, spoke, and opened a door she hadn't seen. She stood there. Incredulous. Overwhelmed. Her eyes wandered around the alley as her thoughts tumbled over all that had happened.
  Surely, there had been only two ways for this to end. Surely, it was either escape or imprisonment. Like the door Aven had opened, she hadn't seen the third way: he was simply letting her go.
  She never even considered it. All her experience beforehand told her how this was going to go, how it was always one of two paths when confronted by the law. And all the experience counted for nothing today. This sole encounter defied the rules she'd learned.
  Sharon, in a brief moment of clarity, met Aven's eyes. Managed to shake her head.
  She walked backward, near stumbling, into the alley wall. Slid down it. Ended up sitting in a tiny puddle. Splashed some rainwater. Didn't matter. Her clothes were all damp and soaked-through anyway.
  A strange thing. She was liberated from her predicament, but now she didn't have much to do. A risk, to be sure, to leave Charles and Jorge undergunned for the heist, but far more dangerous to lead the law straight to them if she went and happened to be followed. She could only trust in the part-timer, the tattooed man, to fill that void. The only safe course of action would be to wait for a while, then go to Charles' house, wait some more, then explain herself and what happened.
  She cradled her forehead in her hands.
  She needed a moment for the world in her head to right itself. To make sense again.


  Jorge glanced back. "Got the boss man on this one too. Bowen. You'll meet him soon enough."


  Charles waited in the center of Crescent Square, in front of the huge artisan's statue. The square itself was enclosed by shops and craftsmen's workstations on one side and large two-story homes on the other. The shops and workstations were all closed down for the day, but the Square remained fairly well-lit. Four torch-stands around the artisan's statue bathed the Square in an orange glow, and of the few people who passed through the Square, nearly half had lanterns or at least a cheap candle.
  He spent much of his time before a job thinking about his wife, Merissa, and his son, Niko. Replayed precious moments with them in his mind. Relived them. It calmed his nerves. Soothed the anticipation. Waiting to do the job was worse than actually doing it, and the small slices of his life in his mind's eye and ear kept him level-headed.
  The memory of Niko's first birthday dissipated from his mind when he saw Jorge.
  It was about to begin.
  But Charles took note of who was with Jorge. And who wasn't.
  "Vrouge. Gabriel." He glanced past them, then back. "Where's Gordon?"
  Jorge cleared his throat, then looked over to Gabriel. "You wanna tell 'em? Or should I?"

Aven pauses as she walks away, then closes the door behind him. His gentle smile lowers to a line. He felt bad doing this to her, but he couldn't leave things as they were. There was someone in Reahj pulling the strings on these murders, and he wouldn't stand for it: ruining the lives of citizens like Sharon by enticing them in with empty promises, entrapping them in empty lives.
Aven's body melded into the shadow of the wall, slipping under the door and into the alley. His shadow zipped across the ground in an instant and merged with Sharon's while her vision was fixed on the wall, pondering something. Had she been a magic user, she may have been able to detect his presence, but it seemed that she had no ability of the sort. He would stay in her shadow for the time being, a silent guardian for the woman. Somehow, he had doubts that she would be let off scott free by her employer, even though she hadn't spoken a word edgewise: for scum like those, he was sure being caught was enough to constitute failure.


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Gordon got nabbed by a sort of military officer, She is probably going to jail tonight. I would be her replacement sir. Gabe said as he Stretched his arms up. Completely opposite to Charles reaction A fire was rising in Gabriel's chest it would begin to burn brightly coupled by the slight buzz he had going he was ready to take on the world. Im ready to go when you are sir.

  Charles put his hands on his hips and shook his head. "God damn it."
  He couldn't help but to feel responsible, despite himself. She seemed off her game, unfocused, distracted by whatever it was she needed to talk to Jorge about. Now she fucked up. He should have known better. Got her mind back in the game when he had the chance.
  He sighed. "Doesn't matter now. We'll deal with that in the morning." He brought his arms back up. Folded them. Looked to both Jorge and Gabriel. "I counted five different men going in and out about an hour earlier. Might be more, might be less now, but expect five. One door, two windows on the first floor. We drop everyone in that house, grab the crates, and go our separate ways out. Meet up at Mr. Winters' estate in the morning with the goods. Let's go."
  Charles drew his main pistol and started on his way. Jorge pulled up his mask to cover half his face, drew his own pistol, and followed.
  The safehouse was on a smaller, narrower, and certainly darker street behind the row of houses on the Square proper. It looked just like every other house around it. Plain. Unassuming. Just a part of everyday life. Nothing to see here.
  Charles quietly stalked up to the front door, pressed his back against the wall beside it. The orange glow of a hearthfire or lantern leaked out from underneath it. Same with the nearby window, through its ajar wooden shutters. Jorge took up a position by the window, assuming a similar stance to Charles.
  Men were talking inside. One laughed. Heavy bootfalls moved across the interior. Another pair above on the second floor.
  Charles took a breath. Merissa. Niko.
  Then held up his free hand and three fingers.
  Lowered one...
  Another...
  Last...


  At last, Sharon rose to her feet.
  Full dark. Charles and Jorge might already be done. Might be alive. Might be dead.
  She couldn't do anything about it now. Perhaps she never could have.
  A long walk to Charles' house. Better get started.
  And she did. Relishing the peace of the dark and the loneliness of the moment.

Gabe stood in-front of the door as Charles counted down. When he got to his last Finger Gabriel shoulder charged at the door causing it to come crashing open.  A bullet wizzed past him as he ran in  hitting a man sitting near the cooking pot fire. Another shot whirled into the room as it entered the gut of a man standing up from the fire reaching for his gun. The heavy set fellow in gabe's path Drew his sword instead of his gun and begun a thrusting motion with his left arm to stab him . Gabe Moved his body to the right as he thrusted grabbing the burly man's wrist and upper shoulder. Brining his knee up Breaking the arm with a loud and wet KREAK Gabe then put all of his force into a Right straight while the man was in pain, The punch connected Squarely in the bridge of the nose sending the man falling back onto the ground. Gabe turned to the stairs in the right corner of the room. I got the upstairs Find the goods! He would yell before dashing up the stairs. The Wry smile now gone from his face. Now only a stanch cold as stone expression held his its grip on his face.

(((Aven will be chilling in Sharon's shadow, so skip my turns. I'll post if he has any thoughts.)))


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(((That's fine. Sharon's still in transit this post, but she'll get to her destination next post.)))

  Charles charged in after Gabriel—
  Or would have, if the first shot fired hadn't caused him to reflexively dip back behind the cover of the door frame. Fuck, they were prepared.
  Jorge threw open the shutters of the window. Aimed. Grit his teeth. No clear shot.
  But, in the confusion of the door breach and Gabe's charge, two men were already hit by friendly fire—one dead, one writhing around and clutching his bleeding gut—and the other had drawn his sword. While Gabe fought with the big man, the man who catastrophically missed both his shots stepped out from the shadows, now illuminated clearly by the cooking fire. He dropped his empty pistols, drew his sword—
  And Jorge took his shot. The once-shadowed man's head whipped to his right, and he dropped to the ground at the same time as the burly man.
  Charles glanced over his shoulder at Jorge. Motioned his head at Gabriel. Clearly not expecting any of that to go down the way it did.
  Jorge grinned behind his mask and shrugged. "What can I say? Kid's got skills."
  Then Gabe started for the stairs.
  Charles walked inside. Glanced at the writhing man. Made for the stairs as well. Called back to Jorge, "Take care of that."
  Jorge came through the front door. Drew his reserve pistol. "Gotcha, boss."
  Charles started up the stairs with Gabe. One last gunshot rang out from the bottom floor.
  "I'll look around down here, boss."
  "Make it quick."

  The upstairs of the house was plain and sparsely furnished like the rest of the house. A single hallway ran down the middle of it. One bedroom on the right. One bedroom on the left. Both doors closed.
  The bedroom on the right would be empty. Only a bed and a small table and some cobwebs.
  But in the bedroom on the left, the last of Deegan's men stood. He aimed his wheellock rifle at the door. Clenched his teeth. Breathed heavily through his nose.
  And behind him, hiding between the bed and the wall, was a female elf. Short, not even five feet tall, braided blonde hair, fair skin, green and brown colored woodland clothes and leather. She was balled up in her hiding place, her arms wrapped around her knees. She shook violently. Frightened out of her mind from all the shooting and commotion downstairs. She bit her bottom lip. Hard. It did no good to keep the terrified whimper from escaping her throat.
  She held the shipment in her right hand. Not six crates of anything. Only a simple, sealed letter.

Gabe walked up the stairs and into the hall. He opened the door on the left at a awkward angle. His Body still mostly against the wall. . As he opened it the man with the rifle fired dead center at the door. However the man with the rifle didn't take into account that they wouldn't enter with their bodies in front of the door making it completely miss. Gabe rushed in again as the man reached for his pistol on his side. Gabe then tackled the man taking him to the ground grabbing the man's free hand reaching for pistol and twisting it violently until it snapped. Gabe stayed on top of the Man. Figuring Charles would have some questions for him.

  At last, Sharon reached Charles' house. His neighborhood was a far cry from the one she had left. Expensive, well-crafted houses, green grass and trees in front of them. Not quite the manors or estates of nobility, but a certain step up from the hovels of the neighborhood Sharon and Siro lived in.
  She shivered furiously. The temperature of the night had only continued to plummet, and the cold seeped right through her soaked clothes. Her legs burned, sore from all the day's walking.
  She raised her fist and pounded on the door.
  It took a moment, but the glow of a lantern soon leaked out from under the door. And it opened.
  Sharon smiled as best she could with quivering lips. "Hi, Merissa."
  Merissa was an older woman, about Charles' age, and it was beginning to show. Strands of gray mingled with her jet black hair. Tiny creases lined the dark skin of her forehead.
  She gasped as soon as she saw Sharon. Called back over her shoulder, "Niko, light the hearthfire! And grab a blanket from upstairs!" Then, back to Sharon, "You look like you were lost at sea, dear. Dreadful, just dreadful. Come on, let's..." she wrapped an arm around Sharon's shoulders, guided her inside, "...get you warmed up."
  "Thanks, Merissa."
  "Shh, no need for that. You're always welcome here, Sharon. You're part of the family now."


  Charles had his back to the wall. Moved along it right behind Gabriel. He aimed his pistol at the door on the right while Gabriel carefully opened the door on the left.
  The shot rang out. Charles instinctively pressed himself harder against the wall, made his profile as small as possible. Gabriel charged in. If the first floor of the safehouse was any indication, then Gabriel certainly had the situation in the left bedroom handled.
  So Charles rushed up to and kicked open the right door. Aimed his pistol at every corner of the room. Nothing but a bed and a table. No one. No crates, boxes, or barrels of any kind either.
  "Ah! My hand! My fuckin' hand!"
  Charles turned around and entered the left bedroom. A single lantern hanging from the ceiling provided light. Gabriel had the last man pinned, his hand twisted unnaturally. No crates in here either. But the top of someone else's head peeked out from the far side of the bed.
  Charles kept his pistol trained on the hiding person's head as he moved past Gabriel and came around the front of the bed.
  An elf. Unarmed, from what he could see of her clothes. And she only had a letter in her hands.
  She looked up at him. Her eyes wide. Her body petrified.
  God damn it. He didn't want to do this to her, should the shipment of Ignis root not be found in the house. She looked to be barely more than a kid in elven years. He didn't mind the job when he was up against other men who had taken up and lived by the gun or sword. That was just business, and the way business was supposed to be. But this, this elven girl...it wouldn't be right. Not at all. But it was the ugly side of the job.
  Charles took two steps toward Gabriel and the pinned man. Crouched down. Pressed the pistol against the pinned man's head.
  "Where's the shipment?"
  "She has it! She has it! Please, don't do this! Don't—"
  In one moment, the man's eyes were full of life. Terrified. Pleaded. The next, nothing. Dull. Blood and ichor stained the floor and the wall beside the man's head.
  Charles' ears rang painfully. The small room and the loudness of the pistol shot were a bad combination. Might make him deaf one day.
  He stood. Nodded to Gabriel. "Good work in here."
  Charles holstered his main pistol and drew his reserve, switching it to his dominant right hand. He moved back around the front of the bed. Pointed it down at the female elf. She shrieked when she opened her eyes and saw it. Tears rolled down her face.
  Jorge called from the hallway at the top of the staircase, "Boss! There's no crates of Ig down here!"
  "I know," Charles called back. Then, to the elf, he made a 'come here' motion with his left hand. Spoke in a tone he didn't intend, but happened regardless: that of a father consoling his daughter. "Come on. Hand me that letter."
  The elf had trouble breathing. Big, ragged, uneven breaths. She rocked forward onto her knees.
  "Nice and slow. Come on."
  She extended her trembled arm toward him. Presented the letter.
  Charles took it, and kept the pistol aimed down at her with his other hand. He got a good look at the seal on the back, at the shape pressed into the hardened red wax: that of the snake eating its own tail. The ouroboros.
  Charles didn't recognize the seal, and didn't think much of it. There had to be something of value in here. Intel, perhaps, on the real location of the shipment, or into Mr. Deegan's operations. He tucked his pistol between his left side and arm to free up his hand. Broke the seal. Tossed the envelope aside after he took out and unfolded the letter itself.
  It read:

(((Still just chilling. Nothing he really needs to do or say, since talking would give him away lol)))


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Gabe let go of the man as the shot rang out in the room.  While charles dealt with the elf child Gabe was searching the body of the man whom had just been shot. Gabe took the dead man's holster and his pistol. He also found Ten gold pieces in his left pocket, and a pair of brass knuckles in his right pocket. Gabe fitted the holster around his waist and put the pistol inside. He then tried on the Brass knuckles, Perfect fit. Gabe walked over to Charles as he opened the letter. Whatta suppose that means?  He asked as he pointed to the letter.

  Niko hurried back down the stairs with the blanket. Merissa took it from him and draped it around Sharon. He grabbed the firestarting kit from a table close to the fireplace, and got to work making the spark and growing the flame.
  "Here, have a seat by the fire," Merissa said, guiding Sharon over to one of the three chairs facing the fireplace. She sat, and marveled at the luxury of the chair. Soft padding. Fine cloth. Though she'd been over at Charles' house a few times before, she still found it hard to imagine that home life could actually be this good.
  Merissa sat next to her. "Well, look at you, dear. You must be famished! Niko, grab her something from the kitchen, would you?"
  "Yes, mother."
  "No, really, you don't—"
  Merissa insisted. "How about an apple and a soft roll? Picked them up just today."
  "Um...okay. That's fine."
  Niko called from the kitchen, "Miss Sharon, did you want a red apple or green apple?"
  "Red. Red is fine."
  He came back to the fireplace and the chairs. The flame crackled. "Here you go, Miss Sharon."
  She smiled at him—a bit half-heartedly, given the circumstances—and accepted the apple and the roll. "Thank you, Niko."
  Merissa lightly touched her son's arm. "That will be all. You may return to bed."
  "Yes, mother." He took a few steps toward the stairs. Stopped. Seemed to be considering whether or not to say something. Then said it anyway, "I hope you feel better, Miss Sharon."
  His rhythmic footfalls up the stairs signaled his exit from the living room.
  An insecure laugh escaped Sharon's mouth. "Do I really look that bad?"
  Merissa leaned forward in her seat slowly. Entwined her fingers and rested them in her lap. She smiled. Cordially and all-business in the same instant. "What happened?"
  Then it hit Sharon. All at once.
  Turning herself over to Aven was the smart choice, the way to keep Siro safe in the long run. But what it meant in the short-term: separation from her sister for days, weeks, months...maybe even years. To be torn from her like that...to leave yet another void in Siro's tiny life...
  "I...I caught the attention of the guard...and...I almost..." Her bottom lip trembled. Curled down. She closed her eyes. Covered them. "I messed up, Merissa...I messed up..."
  "Shh, it's okay." Merissa leaned in and embraced her, and Sharon embraced her back. Buried her face into Merissa's shoulder. "It's okay. You're here now. Everything's fine."
  Sharon cried into Merissa's shoulder, thinking only of Siro and how close she came to losing her for a time. Her body hitched as she gasped for breath.
  And Merissa whispered gently in her ear, "You have to be more careful. For Siro's sake."


  Charles sighed. Folded up the letter. Pocketed it. "We don't know what it means." He grabbed his pistol, but didn't point it at the elf. Yet. "But she does."
  She raised both her hands in a defensive, surrendering way. "I-I-I'm just a courier. That's it. I don't know anything about what's going on here."
  Charles narrowed his eyes. "You got a name, courier?"
  "C-Cass. It's Cass. My name's Cass. Well, um, C-Cass for short, it's actually—"
  "Cass. That'll do fine."
  Jorge stepped through the bedroom door, halfway done reloading his main wheellock pistol.
  Charles glanced over at him. "Were you planning on getting a good night's sleep tonight, Vrouge?"
  Jorge chuckled. "I'm too sober to sleep, boss."
  "Good." Charles pointed at Cass with the pistol. She shrieked and shielded her face with her hands and arms. "I need you to keep her until tomorrow morning."
  "W-what are you going to do with me?"
  He looked down on the elf again. Felt some small amount of pity for her plight. He exhaled heavily through his nose. "Honestly, what happens to you..." he shook his head, "isn't up to me."
  Then Charles turned to face Gabriel. "Listen, I know you part-timers like your leisure time. Trust me, I get it. But...if you're interested, there's gonna be a lot of jobs coming down from the top. Lots of opportunity, lots more where this came from. Mr. Winters has big plans. Expansion plans. Man of your talent, your skills...we could certainly use 'em. What do you say?"

Aven listened intently to the conversation, absorbing every detail. If he had to guess, he'd say that Sharon, apparently her real name, was safe for now: Merissa didn't seem the type to discipline. However, someone by the name of "Siro" was mentioned, confirming Aven's suspicions that Sharon was essentially being forced to go along with them. Whoever these people were, they did very well for themselves, and we're very good at keeping leaks silent: he'd never heard of such a crime ring in Reahj, and he'd been roaming the streets for three years now.
That aside, there was a subtle tone of a threat hidden under Melissa's words about this "Siro" person. When genuinely trying to comfort someone, bringing up their hostage loved one is not kind: it is a power move, a kick in the rear to be more careful, lest they cause an.... accident. Aven was slowly unraveling the mystery of whatever this group was, but it was clear he'd still not met any of those he would actually want to arrest.


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Gabe Held his new pistol in his hands while Charles was speaking to him. I really dont like to be tied down, But this business with the elf and the letter has got me interested,so you can count on my gun and fists for whatever  happens in the future He said as he walked back over to Jorge.  Lemme guess, first Task is to stay with Jorge? He asked as he put his pistol back into his holster.

  Merissa gave her time. Let Sharon work it out and slowly retreat back into her own chair.
  She laid a hand on Sharon's knee. "You know, I was quite the accomplished thief. Back in my day."
  "Really?"
  Merissa covered her mouth as she gave a soft laugh. "Oh, yes. Started out as a simple pickpocket on the streets of Essryn. Lots of coins and trinkets up for the taking there. Especially in my neighborhood."
  Sharon narrowed her eyes. Cocked her head. "Wait...were you—?"
  "My family was rich. I, however, was not. At least, I didn't feel like it. Believe me when I say that I had a wonderful childhood. I was as spoiled as milk left out in the Essryni sun." She laughed again. "As I got older, though, I felt more and more...hollow. Like I was missing a piece of myself that I would never find in all the lavish trappings of my family's mansion. Father always used to complain bitterly about thieves, go on these long-winded rants about them over supper. And, well, it caught my attention, this daring life of thievery. This...foreign concept of earning one's own keep in life."
  Merissa shifted in her seat. Became more relaxed, yet still maintained proper posture. "By the time my family announced that they had arranged a marriage between myself and some other rich lord, my skills were honed enough to go professional. And so I did. I heard my family disowned me for abandoning them and their plan for me." She shrugged. "Their choice."
  "Did you meet Charles in Essryn?"
  "Oh no, dear, I met him here. I lived from contract to contract in Essryn, made a name for myself, a solid reputation in the underworld of the Great Jewel of the Desert. Eventually, I got a contract from a representative of one 'Mr. Winters' of Reajh. I took on the job, and...it became more of a permanent thing." Merissa grinned mischieveously. "I actually got Charles his job with him."
  Sharon's smile cracked open into a grin of her own. "No, no, no, wait...seriously? I always sort of thought, well, that it was the other way around or something."
  "Oh yes, dear. Charles was little more than common hired muscle back then. Mercenary work, protection, all of that. Our paths crossed a few times, I as the thief and he as the muscle trying to stop me. He actually landed a punch on me once. Got my blood pumping, that. Ah...we were so young then. Anyway, I simply used my position in Mr. Winters' establishment to get him a better offer than he'd ever gotten, and so he took it."
  Merissa's eyes wandered up and away, carried along by the winds of nostalgia. "That was fourteen years ago. We had worked together for about a year when I had Niko with him, and then...everything changed. My whole outlook on life," she snapped her fingers, "just like that. I didn't very much care for the life of thievery and adventure anymore, and so I retired from it. My son, my little Niko, became everything to me. And here I am today." She looked back to Sharon. Smiled. "The wheel of time could turn back a thousand times, and a thousand times I'd choose to live this very same life—I'd not change a single thing. I've lived a life well worth living."
  The orange light of the fire danced across Merissa's body. Glinted in her golden brown eyes. "Your sister is a precious gift, Sharon, just like Niko is to me. I love little Siro like a granddaughter, but I know her life would be far worse off without you. I can't tell you how to make your own way in this world, Sharon, I can only share my own tale, for what little good it may have been. You have to be your best self, whoever that self may be. If this path you're on now is your true calling, like the life of thievery was mine, then you must master it. For Siro."
  Sharon took in everything Merissa said. Internalized it. Felt a warm bond between herself and this woman who had seen and done it all.
  "I understand."
  Merissa smiled again. "Good! Good." She stood up. "Why don't you run along home now? I'm sure Siro misses you dearly. I'll tell Charles what happened with you today. You're young, just like we were once. He'll understand."
  Sharon smiled back. Stood up herself with the apple and soft roll in hand. "Thank you, Merissa. For everything tonight."
  Merissa extended her arms. Gave Sharon a hug. "Of course, Sharon, of course." They separated. "Take another apple, will you? Tell Siro they're from Nana Merissa. I know how much she loves the red ones."
  Sharon did just that, then opened the front door. "I'll see you tomorrow morning."
  "Tomorrow, then."
  And with that, Sharon left. Started down the street to her own neighborhood. A gaunt, skeletal reflection of the one she was leaving.


  Charles almost smiled when he heard Gabriel's answer. "Good. Good. I'll see to it that this will be well worth your time." He watched him walk over to Jorge. "I'd get some rest if I were you, but you're free to do whatever you like for the rest of the night. Tomorrow morning we'll meet at Mr. Winters' estate. Get our pay and our orders on how to proceed then."
  Jorge walked into the room, picked up Cass by the arm. She whimpered meekly as she was lifted to her feet. "Holy hells, you barely weigh more than a house cat soakin' wet, don'tcha?"
  "W-what?"
  Charles started for the bedroom door. "Alright. Let's go. We've been here too long already."
  Jorge tapped her shoulder with his newly loaded pistol. "No funny business, and you'll have a nice night. Got it?" Then to Gabriel, "Hey, you wanna help keep an eye on her, that's all good with me. Elves are real slippery from what I hear."
  Charles left the safehouse first. Jorge, with Cass close at hand, followed.
  And they disappeared into the night.


(((Aven and Gabe may have some responses/actions here that I might need to react to. If not, let me know and I'll get started on a new thread for the next day leading to the meeting at Mr. Winters' place)))

(((nope im fine for a new thread)))

Aven's shadow slipped away from Sharon's as she left. He need not involve her any more in this, doing so would endanger her and Siro. He slipped quickly along the shadow of the wall and into an adjacent room, reforming into himself out of sight. He would question Melissa.
Aven strode out of the other room into the living space, performing a small bow. "Good evening, Melissa. Pardon my intrusion, but I've got a few questions, if you wouldn't mind."


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  Merissa stood by the fireplace, stock still, wary. What was a stranger doing in her house at this late hour? She could think of a few reasons, but the man's announcing of himself ruled all those out from her mind. Despite the odd circumstance, she couldn't help but feel a surge of respect for the man who'd stolen into her home. She never even heard him coming. Well played, stranger. A master of the craft, indeed.
  "May I ask your name, and how you know mine?"

Aven smiles, his silver-grey eyes glinting in the firelight. "Aven Alveron, it's a pleasure. As for your name, I was listening in the other room, as a matter of fact." He gestures to a chair quizzically. "Would you mind if I took a seat? I'd like to keep this casual if I can."


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  "Ah. I see." She smiled. Nodded her head. Always a pleasure to be in the presence of another whose tradecraft was as honed as hers once was. "Well done."
  She had no weapons, and no strength to fend off a man of Aven's stature if his true intentions were malicious. Cordiality was her only option.
  "Please. Feel free. I think you've earned the right to sit and relax after such a silent entrance."
  And Merissa herself sat in one of the chairs. Let the fire warm her body.

Aven relaxes down into the comfortable chair, closing his eyes for a moment, sighing relief. It'd certainly been a day, that was for sure. When he reopened them, they were all business. "So, I'll get straight to the point. There've been random murders around the city over the past few years, some that have never been attributed to any specific source. The most recent of these was a triple homicide in the lower district. From what I heard listening in, it seems you and your husband are connected to these, and this "Mr. Winters" is the kingpin." He folds his hands on his lap. "I'd like to hear about your organization, and the enigmatic Mr. Winters. He must be a careful man to have evaded the eye of the guards for so long."


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  Merissa listened to Aven explain himself, his intentions. She smiled the whole time. Admired the man's handsome, youthful face. A bit like a young Charles, through the clouded looking glass of memory.
  "Hmm. Careful, indeed." She rested her hands in her lap. "Maybe he is responsible for these murders. Maybe he isn't. I've been out of this game for quite some time now, dear. I know very little of what goes on in the dark underbelly of Reajh these days. But, of the things I do know, surely you already know that I cannot speak of them. For reasons you have probably already deduced."
  She glanced at the shadows dancing along the walls of the living room. "Perhaps there is another world out there, where peace and goodwill reign supreme. Where men like Mr. Winters and women like myself are quite different. But this is not that world, Aven. And, if I had to say, I don't think it ever will be."
  She looked to Aven. Smiled again. "I suppose you could call me pessimistic in that regard."

Aven dipped his head in a thoughtful nod. "Yes, I assumed you would not be keen on such speaking of such matters freely. In that regard, you are similar to Miss Sharon. However, it's obvious that you still have ties to Mr. Winter, as Sharon came here directly after I let her go." He chuckles. "That can only mean that your husband still works for whatever this organization is. To that end, I would like you to stay where you are until he returns, just in case you would attempt to warn him of my presence here." He leans forward, resting his chin on his folded hands. "I'll be frank with you; retired or not, your situation now is tentative at best. I'd recommend quietly passing the buck, because as you've witnessed yourself, I am no ordinary man, and until I get the answers I need, I will only be traveling further up the chain."
He shakes his head. "And you're right: this is not that world, and will never be that world. That will not stop me from making it as close as possible, however, and to propagate the idea that the world cannot change for the better is absolute folly."

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  Oh, so this was the man who gave poor Sharon such a fright. He seemed gentle and well-mannered enough. Not quite the brute she had imagined. What a lost opportunity, for him to be on the side of the law that he was on. Fate had doomed him to the side of least fun.
  She laughed softly, covering her mouth again, when Aven said 'ordinary man'. "You've no need to puff out your chest in my presence, dear. I'm already impressed by you. You are quite skilled, and you have the passion of youth burning inside you. That much I can tell, and that is truly all I need to know."
  She rested her hand back down in her lap. "I don't mean to dissuade you from what you seek to do, Aven. I know that there is nothing in my power, or even my husband's power, to stop you. This is your country now, your time. Yours, and Sharon's, and all the other young men and women just coming of age."
  Merissa turned her hands around. Looked down at her palms. "These hands have done much, and so very little at the same time. For all I've done will be undone and done again, over and over, until this world is no more. And then it may even start again." She looked back to Aven, her tone motherly despite the situation she was in. "Mr. Winters will fall. He may even fall by your hand. But another will rise to take his place. And that one, too, will fall. And so it will go, on and on, forever. I've seen the pattern repeat itself enough times in my brief moment under the sun to know that this is how the world turns."
  She laid a hand on Aven's. "But maybe I'm wrong. Maybe your youthful delusions will triumph over an aging woman's foolish rants. Who can say for sure? Tomorrow may yet be the brighest day in the history of this tiny world. Or the darkest. Or like every other day that has come before it. Who can say?"

Aven laughs, a light, pleasant sound. "Seems your tongue is as silver as my eyes, Merissa. You are correct, the future is uncertain: but I cannot work off of what-ifs. Just as sure as there will always be poor looking for a way to earn their next meal, there will always be a "Mr. Winter" to employ them. That does not make it any more correct, nor does it diminish the need to tear him down to the level he deserves." He relaxes back into the chair once more. "As a noble, it is my duty to work to improve this country, from it's twisted morals to the backwards politics. That duty extends down to the basest of levels, down to Sharon and Siro. Those two have been dealt a bad lot in life, I'm sure, but Mr. Winter did not truly improve it: rather, he covered up the bad with a facade of dirty money. In the end, Sharon will tear her soul apart protecting Siro from the very man who would suppose himself her savior."
His eyes narrow. "Do not distance yourself from this world: so long as you are alive, it is as much yours as it is mine. That extends down to your son, should you wish for him to grow up with both you and your husband free of shackles." He gazes over at the fire. "Thus far, only I am aware of this situation, neither the guards nor the other members of Ansgar's Hand are involved. It is down to my judgement who I bring up charges against, and who I do not." He makes serious eye contact with Merissa, his natural gentleness a faded, replaced by the eyes of one who has taken dozens of lives. "Cooperate, and you will be erased from my report. Refuse, and I cannot guarantee a single thing. Believe me, I do not take pleasure in dismantling households, nor do I care about the supposed glory of locking up people who have crossed the law, but I will fight to the death to ensure that a person who is actively harming others is put behind bars. There is evil in this world, and Mr. Winters is close to that bill."


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  Merissa retracted her hand and listened to all Aven had to say. Two items in particular caught her attention. Free of shackles? Oh the poor young man, how he misunderstood Charles and herself. From the very first pocket she had picked, Merissa knew what she was getting into. And she'd have it no other way.
  Times changed with Niko, and she was now closer to Sharon than the thief of her youth. Still, if there were any shackles involved with her life, then Merissa had chained herself to it willingly.
  Merissa clapped quietly. "Bravo, Aven! You play your part on the grand stage of life well, just as I did so many years ago. Though perhaps, I dare say," she winked at him, "I had more fun in my part."
  And the second item.
  "You are quite adept at projecting menace when you need to, I must say. Your handsome face and kind eyes belie the monster lurking under your skin. And don't take that too seriously, dear, I mean only that we're all capable of becoming one. I suppose that, under the right circumstances, the opposite might be true for someone like me." She tossed her head back against the chair and laughed heartily, not bothering to cover her mouth that time. She waved away her mirth with a hand. "Forgive me, Aven, if I find it hard to imagine myself as a saint. Surely you understand, having listened in on the story of my life."
  Merissa composed herself. Straightened out her nighttime robe. "Well, to business then. My husband is certainly on his way home now, and he, like you, can be far too serious. It's what made me fall in love with him. I can scarcely imagine the trouble I'd be in should I have been taken in by a man more like myself."
  She snapped her fingers. Got herself back on track. "Business, business. I'll save you the trouble of questioning him; he'll tell you nothing, and I wouldn't want him to get himself killed over that. But I am...far more understanding and pliable to this situation. So listen close."
  She leaned a bit more toward Aven. "There will be a meeting tomorrow. Charles is going, as is Sharon, and the same with another man, Jorge Vrouge. Sharon's dropping off Siro here in the morning, so I know that this meeting will be an important one. Something big is happening, and, you must forgive me, but Charles has not told me what that something may be. This meeting will take place at Mr. Winters' estate. But, you might be disappointed to know, Mr. Winters will not be there, for this estate is merely a front. You'll only see one of his lieutenants. I do believe the name of the current lieutenant at this front estate is Julius Earnhardt—a newer lieutenant. Charles has mentioned him in passing a few times."
  She backed away into her seat. Straightened her posture. Looked into the flame of the fireplace. "You may choose to believe me or not, but I have never actually seen Mr. Winters himself. A careful man, as you said."
  Merissa smiled at him. A gesture somewhat dissonant to her words. "If anything I have said is not true, then feel free to return here and kill me. But, surely, you'll find that to be unnecessary. And you need not worry, I won't tell Charles of our...clandestine little chat. Again, I'd rather he not die for nothing. You might use the skills of your tradecraft to eavesdrop on this meeting tomorrow. Perhaps, as you said, travel further up the chain."

Aven nods, a wide smile gracing his features as she discloses the information he wanted. His eyes return to their gentle disposition, and he rises from the chair, bowing. "I'm glad you decided to cooperate, but you're mistaken about two very important things: first, I never intend to kill anyone, not even Mr. Winters, should I find him. I never visited you, and this conversation never happened." He makes his way over to the door, glancing back. "Secondly, the monster is not within me," He draws a dagger, promptly slicing off his hand. Before it even hits the ground, a new hand had regenerated from the stump, the old one dissipating into a mass of black particles, which flow into his shadow. "It's on the outside." With that, he opens the door and disappears into the night.


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  Merissa watched Aven go. Watched his display with the dagger and his hand.
  Oh, so that was how. Fascinating. It would have been impolite for Merissa to ask him about his secrets, despite her curiosity. Honor among thieves, extended just a bit to fit in Aven. The magic would have horrified Charles, but Merissa didn't mind it.
  Aven kept his word. And so Merissa would keep hers.
  Aven was never here. They never talked. And she didn't see anything.
  Ah, but if he ever came back for another social call, perhaps she could convince him to try his hand at some thievery. He'd be a natural at it.


(((Starting new thread, "Samsara")))