The merc had finally stopped arguing. It was a good thing, too, or they'd both still be standing out there freezing their asses off. Evie led the way beneath the great gate and into Uthlyn proper. She wove zigzag through the streets, always choosing the path less traveled. She knew it all like the back of her hand. She also knew its people and how nosy they could get where the common folk were concerned. Even if she and the big guy weren't doing anything suspicious, it was still better to stay out of sight. Who knew what could come back to bite her if she wasn't careful?
It was a good twenty minutes of cutting across Uthlyn before they turned down a street that was decidedly less posh and upkept than the rest of town. This was the warehouse district: where crates upon crates of fine wares flowed into the city, ready to be displayed in some pretentious boutique. As it happened, it was also the perfect place for criminals, radicals, and revolutionaries to conspire. Evie knew for a fact that a mage terrorist cell holed up in a textile warehouse further south, and an opium smuggler stowed his illicit goods in amongst the trinkets and vases in the next building over. Even if their own cause was far more righteous, this was still the place to congregate: here in the muck with the common man, and away from prying eyes.
She stopped by the door of an unmarked warehouse, cast a furtive glance towards the merc, raised a fist, and delivered a quick, syncopated series of knocks. There was a muffled voice. Locks and bolts slid and clicked behind the door. Then it cracked open, and a man peeped out at them. "Oh. Hey, Iefan. You got him?"
Evie winced at the sound of her given name, but didn't correct him. "Got him," she confirmed. "Let us in, Martin. It's fucking freezing out here."
"Not much better in here," Martin chuckled, but he stood aside to let the two of them pass. He was right: the warehouse was cold and drafty. Dark, too. Further back, she could just make out the silhouettes of the boys, their faces awash in wan lamplight. They'd gathered around a stack of crates like generals around a war table, smoking and shifting on their feet and muttering to each other.
"Come on." Evie motioned for the merc to follow. She squared her shoulders and approached the huddle, ignoring the looks of disapproval and disdain that a few of them shot her way. A familiar figure stood on the far side of the makeshift crate table, his fair hair set ablaze in the light. Garrett wasn't the tallest man in the room, or the biggest. Still, he commanded one hell of a presence by voice alone. In fact, if he argued any louder than he was, he'd risk giving up their position to anyone who happened to pass by the warehouse.
"Sorry I'm late," Evie called to him.
He turned, and his mouth hung open mid-sentence. He looked Evie up and down. Something like relief flashed ever-so-briefly across his face. And then...that was it. That was all he gave her. Not so much as a 'hey, Ev' or a 'thanks' before he turned to address the merc.
"Good," he said. "You'll do. So. Before we get started..." He set his hands to his hips. "Questions? Comments? ...Concerns? Or shall we get this show on the road?"
