Placeholder Meh, Close Enough... (Noven)

[Nathaniel Ankah]

33rd Day of Spring, 514AV
Sunset Quarters
Just before noon

He'd learned to tell a lot from her coughs. High and thick with water and phlegm, he didn't generally worry about. She was hydrated and probably active and the fits didn't last for more than a few minutes. But when each report was less like a crack and more like a dying rasp, dry and ragged as a funeral shroud, Nate listened a little closer.

But not too close. Kay's ears worked just fine, and any squeaking boards by her door would invite one of her canes battering the wood next to Nate's ear or just her bellowing at him. Neither sounded pleasant to him.

So he moved carefully across the kitchen, bowl of bread mix crooked in one bulging arm, watching where he placed his feet and cocking an ear...

The big man wasn't known for displays of grief or horror; perhaps that was why when his face fell and a hunted, haunted, horrified look crushed his busy features into despair, it was all the more frightening.

She's getting worse. This is happening every other day now. Something with her lungs... and Spring's here already. It can't be the cold. Fuck...

"... need to take her to the sawbones."

"What was that?!"

Instantly the brooding hulk became a guilty kid again, especially at the sound of her frantic clicking-clacking back to the door. Nate strode swiftly back to the kitchen and turned around casually as she opened it-

"Hmm?"

"You said something."

"Did I?"

"Nate?!"

"I said... need a cake a sticky buns." One perfect eyebrow quirked and Nate felt half his size. "For... the new year. We didn't do much for it, did we? You deserve a little treat."

"Could have sworn-" she limped ably over to the table and her eyes closed to suspicious slits "-you said 'sawbones'."

"Nonsense. You've already been this season, and he said you were fine."

"And fine I-UHKKKUFFKUUFF-!"

Kayleah then went ahead and showed him just how "fine" she was for the next ten minutes. Even Jorka took notice, getting up from her bed with a concerned whine and padding over, nuzzling the shaking fellow female's hand with her snout. Kay patted her with her trembling fingers and batted Nate's own away when he tried to put an arm around her.

"I'm f... kff!... fine, damn you! Just... a little out of breath."

"Yes, because your bedroom is such a bog, hmm?"

Brown eyes like melted chocolate became the dark pools of tigers in a flash. Nate took the look, quelled the urge to bow his head. Instead he just spread his big hands on the table and took a breath.

"... just the weather, is all."

"Bullshit-"

"Nate?!"

"You're getting worse!"

The simple, painful, unavoidable truth shut them both up for longer than expected. The only sound was a softly bubbling pot and Jorka's swishing tail banging into the table, until even she realized the situation was too tense even for her charms and she padded back to the safety of her bed, watching it all unfold from under a ratty blanket.

"I am not."

"Kay, for the gods' sake-"

"We can't go to the sawbones again!" Kay shot back, and just the hint of a tremor was in her voice now. She was strong, so strong... but strength didn't last forever. Even gods weakened and died; mortals just didn't take as long, even those with hearts and wills as granite-bound as Kayleah. "The rent is only just getting paid and even without that, well... it wouldn't be enough."

"I could find a way."

She inhaled sharply through her nose and her back straightened, lips pressing into a tight white line that offset her still jet-black hair. Nate struggled not to roll his eyes, knowing that any moment-

Yep. There it is. The jutting chin. Shyke.

"I don't want that money. I don't want you going back to that life."

"Kay, I'm hardly smashing in the heads of babes for coppers, it wouldn't be that-"

"Not this time, but what about the time after that? Or after that? How long before you were doing those awful things and excusing them away, hmm?"

"This is The Berth, Kay. There's no legit, you know that. It would just be... some work on the side. Nothing too bad-"

She stood up too fast for a woman with her legs as broken spindles... and as a result, nearly fell across the table. But Nate sprang up just as she did, beefy arms sliding smoothly under her armpits, a movement born from years of practice. The warm, fragile softness of her body pressed to him and he felt his heart wrench inside his chest.

I can't lose her. I'll be alone again. No, no, no, I can't... I can't let that happen. We need more money for the sawbones. That's... that's just how it is. He'll fix it, but he'll need the-

"Please, Nate." She said against his chest, and he clenched his eyes shut and prayed that she - not the gods; callous, uncaring bastards all - would forgive him. "Don't do this. There's other ways."

"... OK, love. We'll find something else." The moment was too sad, too hopeless. He couldn't bear it and finally defused it the only way your knew how. "... don't press too close to me. I may be excited, y'know?"

"Nathaniel?!"

"Soft, nubile body flush with mine, well, what can I say? I am enamored-"

She slapped him but there was no strength or ire behind it, and the smile she was desperately trying to hide told him even more. Jorka barked playfully, tail nearly a blur now the humans were done being silly and stinking of fear.

"Finish the bread and bean pies, you bloody damned deviant. I'm going for a lie down before Missus Delaney comes by with the laundry from the knocking shop around the corner. That'll be good for a few gold rims..."

"Whatever you say, love."

He watched her go and his jolly face was crushed again, but he turned away before she could see it, glancing at him one more time from the door.

A look he would never see. One brimming with patient grief and helplessness.

Few things are worse than knowing you will cause such terrible pain to those you love. To know your body was slowly betraying you and you cannot turn it in or cease it's treachery. Kayleah's lip trembled and she clenched her teeth hard.

No. Don't do this to him. Go to bed, you silly woman, and get some rest so you can work later.

Nate finished his chores in silence and then went out, strapped with his weapons and giving Jorka the usual "watch the place for me" before he went out the door. In the past he would have been hesitant to leave the place empty, but Jorka handling the first burglar that tried to take advantage of an old lady and her pooch told him he needn't worry.

He saw him now and then, begging on the streets. Voice much higher than it had been before...

Nathaniel marched swiftly through the crowds and often times they parted for him, his past reputation or present size and glower doing the job well enough. His eyes were a set, sullen mask but his mind whirred, trying to find a way around the words, her desperate pleas... and at the sight of a train of scrawny kids scuttling by, a lightning bolt struck his brain.

Hmm... we'll see if Jilene and her brood needs any help. What could be more above reproach them helping orphans? Then he added his own mercenary addendum: Let's hope they're in trouble and need some skulls smashed... and are willing to pay for it.

[Noven]

"YOU TOOK MY KNIFE!"
"Did not!"
"Did too!"
"Did NOT!"
"DID TOO!"

CLANG! A giant, metal pot slammed onto the table between Mira and Thomas, who were about one tick away from clawing each other's eyeballs out. The soup ladle was still clattering to a standstill inside, knocking against the over-scrubbed walls. Nov's knuckles jutted over each handle of the pot as he snarled in irritation. "Shut your traps. Both of you. Before I skin you both and toss you in for stew."

This got their attention. The two orphans were now sitting straight backed and alert, eyes wide, as though they were prepared for a lesson or something.

Petching runts. Always gotta threaten them just to get an inch of peace and quiet.

The cook eyed his two charges with enough suspicion to make any matron proud. Unfortunately for him, there was only one way to end this noisy ass shyke. And it had to happen right here, right now.

"Alright. Thomas, give back her knife."

"I didn't take it," the shrewd faced boy hissed, a look of pure indignation in his beady little eyes. The tone was a rare one and a bit of a surprise. For once, Noven thought he sensed Thomas was telling the truth.

Mira snorted in a most unladylike, unchildlike fashion. "Then where the hell is it snotface?"

"Mira," Nov warned, "language."

"Don't call me that you rat fart!"

Krysus, kids and their imaginations.

Dark features scrunched into a perfect, miniature model of hatred, the girl was on the verge letting loose her foulest insults when a single glare from the cook forced her mouth to clamp shut again. "Thomas, one more filthy word out of you and I will hang you by your feet until all your blood drains to your skull and leaks out your ears. Now you either say something useful or can it. No but's."

The boy's mouth set to a grim line, as if he was physically holding back his venom, before he hunched over in silent consent. "I didn't take it," was the last thing he said. Mira stared at him with intense doubt, but she was bound by the same rules. Rules of relevance or silence.

Nov was just about to suggest that Mira must have left her precious knife somewhere when the sound of Jillene's cold voice cut through their tension-filled quiet. Following hers ticks later was another, definitively masculine one. A voice tinged with something familiar that danced just outside of his recognition. It had to be another desperate soul looking for a side job. Any job. Winter was long over but this was Sunberth. Suffering was never in short supply.

He looked down at the children. "Thomas, go help Mira look for her knife." The boy looked as if he wanted to object but Nov's expression brooked no argument. "Go."

The two scampered off, probably to bicker with one another some more. Not even ten years a piece and they were already fighting like they were an old, bitter couple. Less than a tick passed by before footsteps headed his way. Two pairs, from the sound of it. Nov strained his concentration a bit more and felt the second pair hit heavier. Would make sense, if it went with the voice from before.

Jillene was the first to enter, cool beauty a stark contrast to the rotting wood that framed her stout figure. He knew her eyes, pale and unseeing, should not have been able to know exactly where he stood. And yet they did anyway. Without hesitance or uncertainty, as though his very breathing gave his location away.

Petching creepy, it was.

"Noven," the Isur intoned, somehow managing to sound calm and reasonable and one step away from full blown violence all at once. It grated on his nerves every time she said his name, and in more ways than one. The twenty some year old native didn't particularly like knowing a five foot nothing blind girl could hand his ass to him anytime, anywhere. But what could anyone do about that, eh?

"What now, Boss?" he muttered, being nowhere near the mood to take yet more orders but unable to openly object.

Jillene lowered her eyelids a fraction. Heh, must be a sensitive issue then.

"You know those children that went missing?"

Well, make that a super sensitive issue.

"Um, yeah. What about 'em? We found 'em, didn't we? All in one piece too, and with nothing but a few tears and shaky knees to show for."

The Isur sniffed as she opened the door all the way and walked through to allow her guest entrance. Nov's gaze pulled away from her pale eyes to narrow in realization upon seeing the man behind her. He was a tall one, just as the cook remembered, and filled up the entire door frame. "We did," Jillene concurred, "but the culprits were gang related. They'll do it again because they have the means and support. Maybe not to or own, since there is so much prey to be found elsewhere, but they'll strike again. Who knows, perhaps they've already started."

This left a sour taste in Nov's mouth. Both because of the truth behind her words, and the fact that she'd never explained that the ones responsible for the kidnappings had been mobsters. In the spur of the moment, impulse drove him to do what he almost never did.

He offered a silent prayer Krysus.

It went something along the lines of: Oh please, please let those sick fucks be Daggerhands...

Jillene could see, blind as shyke as she was, his train of thought. The tiniest of smirks tugged at the corner of her frigid lips. "Nate here needs work. You here need to do work. Given that both of you seem to have a thing for broken arms and noses, it seems only logical to make you work together."

The Isur folded her mismatched arms over her chest, expression dead serious. "I can't have this traced back to Sunset. We might survive if it did, but the children would not. That being said, it is in my interest--and that of a few other, what you might call, concerned citizens--that this lowly scum be wiped out." She held up a finger. A stern, pointy, gem-stoned finger. "I want this quick, and I want this quiet. You mess up and neither of you expect to set foot on my property again. If you don't, you'll get paid and not have your heads knocked in. Is that clear?"

Always with these crappy ultimatums. As if he even had a choice. "Yeah, clear," Nov grumbled before sliding an appraising look at Nate. They hadn't spoken or seen much of each other for what felt like ages, and then all of a sudden they're stuck together to do one of the most risky jobs he'd ever been given.

Well, life ain't fair and all that shyke. Get done, get paid. Couldn't get any simpler than that. Right?

[Nathaniel Ankah]

"Well, it has been a while, Nathaniel..."

"Honestly, Jilene, how in the hells do you do that?"

What would usually have earned him a wry smile reaped instead a sharp and sightless glare from the blind mistress of the Sunset Quarter. The pair of young ones at the table with her frowned minutely at the change in atmosphere, pausing in their needlework.

"Language, if you please," she said, in a voice stern enough to remind him acutely of Kayleah, "We may be in the Berth, but a little tact, hmm?"

Nate crushed a smirk, even though he realized how futile others would have thought the action. But Jilene? You never knew with her. She was far more than just a harmless blind lady: you didn't survive as long as she had in Sunberth, surrounded by ravenous gangs and constant chaos, with few allies and assets, unless you had plenty of extra cards up your sleeves.

"My apologies. Could we have a word?"

"Roger? Mildred? Keep at it. I won't be long, and I'll be expecting it finished when I come back."

"Er... when will that be?"

A raspy laugh whispered from her lips as she picked her way to the door. "A chime. A bell. Who knows? Best get started, I think..."

Ah, Jilene. Always was one for motivation.

She waited until they were in the quiet courtyard before she came to the matter at hand. Nate's more cynical side rolled its eyes at the hypocrisy of it, but years with Kay had taught him that Jilene didn't just protect her kids from the unspeakable predations of the streets beyond the Quarter.

She protected them from what she had to do to protect them. It was messy, vicious, and utterly necessary. That's where Nate came in.

Necessary. He clung to that word as they exchanged pleasantries, telling himself that this wasn't just knife work. It was for... a greater good. For the kids, Jilene, Kay, even himself. There were a dozen taverns or alleys he could walk into and perhaps make more mizas for easier and dirtier work, but he came here.

True in spirit, if not in deed. Wasn't that what one of Kay's papers said?

"Looking for work, I take it?"

"That obvious, is it?"

"From you? A little." She settled onto a bench without feeling for it. She knew every inch of her domain; she barely needed the stick she carried, as far as Nate had seen. "Still, I'm a little surprised. I thought you were steering clear of violence. Nowadays, anyway."

"Special circumstances, y'know?"

Black, white-filled eyes regarded him silently, almost more piercing than those of one who had perfect vision. Nate had always been taught that the blind were gifted with extra sight of djed by the gods, to compensate for their losing their physical sense. To speak to Jilene, one would believe it.

But she was too canny to question and dig. Instead she just gave a tiny shrug and told him about the children.

A trifle, really, but to her it was like the boil or rash that could mean a cancer lurked beneath the skin. Five of her wards had gone missing for nearly a week, then returned, ragged and scratched up, but alive and unharmed. They'd been taken, not just lost.

Reassuring. Means they're amateurs. If you can't keep five kids locked up effectively, what kind of mind are you working with, honestly?

"How do you want them handled?"

Jilene smiled tightly. Nate didn't waste time, either: the question wasn't finding out whom or why, it was how far does this go? And Jilene may have been a rare kind soul in Sunberth, but she knew what you had to do to survive there.

"I don't want them bothering my brats again. Ever."

A few chimes later they waded into the high-pitched mess that was the lunch room, where anarchy ruled OK until Miss J walked in and the chaotic horde became a dumbstruck room of statues.

"Children, that is far too noisy. You will have to do better... or my friend Nathaniel here will get some extra chops and steaks for his doggy."

Nate grinned wider than was natural, playing his role to a hilt and licking his lips at a waif a quarter his size, staring up at him torn between defiance and terror.

"Aye. And she's always hungry..."

"... eep..."

Then they went to the kitchen and Nate had to blink a few times before he realized... fuck me, he knew that man. Had things changed so much since he'd cleaned up his act? Noven, that was his name. Vicious little fuck when he wanted to be. Cleaned himself up like Nate did, but the two of them...

He suppressed a sigh. They could have been better friends. Well, no, in fairness, he could have been a better friend.

Past is past. Eyes on the present.

He stood in silence until Jilene had finished and taken her leave. That was what she did, after all: delegated. She gave them the outline, the mandate, then washed her hands of the whole business. The three of them would likely never even mention it again. All she'd do would be press a purse into each their hands and that would be that.

Fine by me.

"Good thing for you, eh?" Nate said genially enough, peering into the bubbling bowl Noven was working on beforehand, but unable to resist one jab. "Haven't tried to get your feet under her table, have you? Always remember you having a thing for brunettes..."

But before Noven could take true offence - he hoped - Nate put both hands up and a half-smile pulled up one corner of his mouth.

"Peace, Nov. I'll not waste either our time with reconciliation. Wrong place, I think. We know what we have to do... and I think we'd best start by talking to those kids. See what they remember."

Nate didn't particularly want to make any child relive being kidnapped and endure that which had left them bruised and terrified, but he was on the job now. They needed information, and they had it.

Then, he felt with a dark satisfaction he'd not felt in a long time, we'll make it so they never need to be afraid of them again...

[Noven]

He resisted it at first. Fought it like the orphans often did against baths and discipline. Like water against over-brimming or stubborn hairs against flattening. Like Jillene against softening her tone now and then with the children or grudgingly allowing her cook a day off. But in the end, just like the rest of them did, he caved. It was impossible to stop once it got going anyhow.

And that was the brief story of how Nov came to be standing in the kitchen, across from a man he once called friend, wearing the dumbest grin he'd managed since Mae's disappearance.

"Fair enough," the cook nodded once. "There'll be a better time, a better place to deal with the past. And the runts are as good a place to start as any. I think I might even know one or two who can help us, ah, handle things more smoothly."

Jillene's orphans may be better fed and clothed, but they were just as hardened as their less fortunate, street roaming kin. And just as suspicious, too. If questioned alone, they could be as tight lipped as a merchant's purse. Always wondering when you're going to beat or cheat them. Or both. But stick 'em with one or two of their comrades and they may be more willing to cooperate. It was a simple rule of survival in the Berth; when you have nothing else of worth, the only thing left is information.

Nov turned to lead his new partner--or should he say re-newed?--to where most of the children would be, but before they could begin moving he balked, as if deciding whether or not to speak.

"I did. Still do," he finally admitted, a ghost of a grin stretched over his lips. "Like brunettes, that is. But I get the feeling that if my feet went anywhere near that one's table, I'd never stand tall again...if you catch my drift."

It was a short walk, as was often the case in this city, to the children's quarters. No sooner had they arrived at the rickety old door than his two most reliable informants materialized as if they'd been summoned.

"Are you really going to kill those gangsters?" Thomas blurted, grey eyes alight with morbid fascination.

"Shut up you idiot," Mira hissed. "If they others hear they'll know we ditched 'em."

Sodding hell. They didn't even bother now to hide from him the fact that they'd been eavesdropping. The cook could only imagine how much worse it was going to be in a few more years.

"How the pe--you know what, never mind. I don't wanna know."

Thomas stared at both men with a dead pan expression. "You didn't answer my question." He leaned his head to one side and squinted. "And who the petch is that? Ow! Hey, watch it!"

The boy rubbed his arm where he'd been pinched and glared at Mira, who scowled back with her trademark savagery. "Didn't I tell you to shut up?"

"Oy, oy," Nov interjected, "enough outta both of you. You can kill each other later, but we're on strict business for the Boss Lady right now. So you either get busy helping, or get busy leaving."

He swore he could almost hear them growling at each other. But, in the end, they decided sticking around being helpful was better than leaving without any more juicy tidbits to hoard for later. Mira's dark, little hand rested on the door latch for a moment before pulling it gently open. She went in first, followed by Thomas, then the two mercs. Inside, dozens of rows of old but neatly made beds lined up against the walls. It was pretty spartan, even for an orphanage, but it was the best home most of its inhabitants had ever known. Children played or lounged here and there, sparing the newcomers only a fleeting spark of interest before returning to their activities.

It was an act, of course. Their seemingly apparent indifference. But Nov was willing to bet his entire savings that each scheming little runt had their ears pricked and bodies tensed, eyes glued to one stationary spot in practiced concentration. They all knew they had better chances of either avoiding trouble or retaining some useful piece of knowledge by appearing utterly uninterested. And it worked, more often than the cook cared to admit.

"They're over on the far end," Mira explained, pointing down the rows to where two, rather quiet looking children sat on a single bed. "The others are doing their chores now, but Yana and Marcus got the day off on account of them being the youngest, and the most scared after what happened."

Unsurprisingly, it was Thomas who offered to cajole the two victims into speaking with Nov and Nate. Mira was more wild dog than young lady and therefore completely unfit for such tasks.

"Hey guys," the scrawny boy chirped, plopping down on the bed beside them. "Wutcha up to?"

"Nothin'.." Yana replied meekly, one tiny hand cupped around that of Marcus's.

Thomas gave the two men a look that all but said, this ain't gonna be easy, before returning his attentions to the youngsters. "Well, uh, that's good. Say, my friends here--" he pointed respectively "--are on a mission. A secret mission. Doesn't that sound exciting?"

Both Yana and Marcus glanced up with a tiny glimpse of interest. "A mission?" Marcus mumbled, "like spies?"

"Oh yeah, spies, assassins, all that good stuff," Nov answered, pulling up a couple of tiny stools for him and Nate to sit on as their interrogation began. "We go out under the cover of night, hunt down bad people, like right proper heroes. Only problem is, it's sort of ah...a tough deal finding some of these bad guys today. Innit, Nate?"

He looked at his partner with vague and somewhat hopeful expectation. Nov wasn't sure how the years had treated Nate. Hell, probably not all that well if he was back here looking for work, and even less so for old Kay. A sting of guilt struck across his chest with surprising force. He had no idea if she was even still alive...hadn't even gone down to at least check, not after what had happened all those years ago.

But what's done is done and there's no going back. Right now they had a job to do and Nov was more than willing to direct all of his focus toward it. If he and Nate could pull off this simple little questioning, they would be off to a good start.

[Nathaniel Ankah]

Nate had to struggle to keep his face stony and "professional" as Mira and Thomas squabbled before them. It bought back too many memories. He supposed it was like... animals and humans, elsewhere in the world. Humans got plenty of years to learn how to walk, groom themselves, watch out for predators, interact with others. Animals had to learn all that in a season, because if they didn't, they got eaten.

Same for Sunberth: if you weren't a scheming, cunning little shite by the time you could climb onto a barstool, well...

The amusement died down as they marched down the ranks of ordered bunks filled with decidedly disorderly kids, though. Nate felt an unfamiliar swell in his chest for them: he'd been one, after all, a long time ago. Parents dead or run off or just unknown; babies left on the doorstep or even worse, dragged from houses or apartments after the previous tenants were found dead.

The unwanted, the discarded, the lost and the forgotten. That's what Jilene took in, and still he could hear the muted murmuring of Sunberth plotting under their single-digit-age breaths.

Gods, this town makes you grow up fast...

A fool could have seen that part of Yana and Marcus were still where they escaped from. The cautious, wide-eyed way they regarded everyone that approached; their way they curled into and towards each other out of instinct; the way they held each others hands until their knuckles turned white and Marcus - barely a quarter Nate's size - tried to awkwardly position himself in front of his smaller friend when they spoke.

Nate felt something snarl and hiss inside him. Wait. We'll get to you later...

"Yeah, it's... something to do with the stars," Nate said, taking his cue and shrugging bluffly, grabbing the first thing that come to mind, "Oh, I don't know, not a priest. Just something with, ah... how they're not lining up right. Means the bad people can-"

"That's bollocks, that is-"

"Marcus?!"

"Well, it is! Stars and lines and stuff. S'not how you find bad people."

Nate rolled his eyes and yet they saw an opening he could use. He crossed his arms and glowered at the lad, who - like any Sunberth lad worth his salt - stuck out his chin and didn't back down.

"Oh, yeah? Well, if you know better than the stars, you tell us where to find some."

"Like who?"

"Like... I dunno..." He made a good show of casting his arms around like he really didn't, until finally he drew it out long enough and flung out an arm towards the two of them. Perhaps a little too hard, given how they flinched. "The people that took you. Sure you know how to find them, right?"

That veil of sullen strength didn't last long after that. The two of them were children again a breath later, huddled into each other, minds forced back somewhere they didn't want to go. They exchanged a look and Nate did the same with Thomas, eyes widening, face bulging out imperceptibly for a moment, the universal sign for "Hey, help out a little, yeah?"

"Guys, guys, guys," Thomas said with practiced smoothness, Mara watching with a frown crushing her eyes from next to Noven, "These guys won't hurt you. Practically Knights, right? Like inna' stories Mistress J tells us!"

Yana sniffed and frowned dubiously. "B-But he doesn't have armor-"

"Sod off, Tom!" Marcus all but snarled, putting a hand over Yana's shoulder. "You've just trying to trick us!"

"I am not!"

"Are too-"

"Enough!"

One growl was enough for the two boys to hush before it came to blows (and Nate knew from experience that was the only thing it could come to). He ran a hand over his short-cut hair and smiled apologetically at Thomas.

"Sorry... didn't mean to get angry. But we do need your help, lad. Find those people that hurt you, that'd make the gods happy-"

"Which gods?"

"Hmm?"

"Which gods?" Yana repeated, wriggling from under Marcus' grip, eyes wide and curious. "Which gods will be happy?"

"Well... er... it's... not just one, but..."

The fiery gaze of two small children was like the heat from a dwarf star at this range. Nate all but wriggled in his seat and found no allies in either Noven or Thomas. He find flailed around desperately until it found some fragment-

"... Wysar? Yeah, that's right. Wysar."

"Who?"

Now Nate rolled his eyes again and spread his hands. "God of, erm... Truth and... no, not that... Integrity! Y'know, doing the right thing. That's the one. We do right by him, hurting bad people, he'll do right by us."

"And what's in it for us?"

Ah, there's that spark of Sunberth selfishness. Always amazing how you can find it in the most innocent faces.

"Well... you won't have to worry about them again, will you-"

Nate reached out to give Marcus a friendly clap on the shoulder and-

-fast as a snake's tongue, tiny little Yana's hand lashed out and smacked him away, clinging tighter to her friend. Her voice was hoarse, older than it had any right to be.

"Don't touch! They touched!"

The moment froze between the two adults and the four children. Nate had to try very hard to keep the anger showing on his face, after the wincing pity had been crushed from his eyes by sheer rage. Oh, he bet they touched them. Trash like that always did. Never enough to just take them, or imprison them, or terrorize them, or sell them. They always had to go that little bit further, because as that point, why not?

Gods, it was so easy hating this badly. It was almost seductive. Nothing, nothing you did to them could make you feel bad, once you knew that they'd taken children - tiny, trusting, unknowing and defenseless - and... touched them.

Nate breathed the flames from his lungs and cleared his throat. His voice was lower than you'd think a man his size could have made it, looking at each child in turn, just like you would a grown up.

"I'm sorry. Won't happen again... look... Jilene says you were found by some of the other children just outside the Docks. Was it around there? Can you remember anything? Anywhere stick in your mind?"

He leaned forward a touch, stopped when they started to sway away from him. So instead Nate reached into his pocket... and came up with a closed fist... then opened it quickly, furtively, so only they could see the two silver coins there.

"Help us out, help us make Wysar happy," he said, with a conspiratorial wink that was all backstreet Sunberth, "And we'll help you out. Just don't tell anyone else. Don't want them trying to make us look bad for Wysar, y'know..."

He knew it was a risk, but a calculated one. The animals that "touched" them might have offered them money, too, if not actually shown it to them. He didn't want to trigger more bad memories, but the longer they left this, the deeper those trash could bury themselves. Noven and Nate had to move fast before the trail went cold, and if that meant greasing some prepubescent wheels, so be it.

OOC: Sorry for the delay, dude!

Text here.

[Noven]

He held back a snort of laughter. Stars and lines. The cook tried to picture another life, a different set of thugs who weren't really thugs and actually believed in such shyke. It was almost too much to bear. That, and Nate just wasn't the most subtle of people, dropping lines about stars and flinging his arms about like he wasn't bigger than all four children present combined.

But then again, Nov wasn't really one to talk.

Not long after, they moved from the subject of stars to that of gods. Krysus. Nov would have rolled his eyes if it hadn't been for the two wee ones' sudden, passionate interest. As Nate gave his handy little explanations, his partner took the time to appreciate how the man hadn't really changed all that much over the years. Cleaner and a tad bit more honest looking, maybe, but still one to go on about the gods when given the chance.

Wysar...who the hell was that? God of truth? No, integrity? Eh, who petching cared either way. He couldn't be sure if Nate was actually telling the truth, the irony of which was not lost upon him, but all the same Nov shrugged it off into the pile of things he deemed not immediately relevant. Which was a pretty big pile these days but hey, they had a job to do.

At some point the children grew outright defensive when one of the men tried something as harmless as a clap on the shoulder. They touched. Nov looked up, unsurprised to see a kindred flame of anger and hate in his partner's eyes. No words were needed to come to a mutual agreement; they had the same goal in mind, fueled by the same itch for revenge. Things were only going to end one way and he found absolute contentment in that fact.

He was surprised, however, by the tact and conspiratorial geniality that followed. Say what you will about the man, but Nate had his heart in the right place. And it could be in no other location if he still held Kay's affection by his side.

Yanna and Marcus's once fear riddled eyes were now glinting with that good old, tell tale Sunberthian gleam of greed. Or maybe greed wasn't the right word. Longing, maybe. The kind one acquires when one possesses nothing and wishes for something, anything that wasn't nothing. He could see them start to consider the offer in earnest and their little minds whirring and clacking with industrious efficiency.

"Alright then," Marcus spoke first, plucking the two coins from Nate's hands to place them within Yanna's. The girl was lightning quick and the coins gone within a blink of the eye. "We'll tell you. For Wysar..."

He shot a pained glance at Yanna, then swiveled his eyes back to the two men with a look that blazed hotter than a forge.

"And for us."

It took no further prompting for them to divulge whatever information they knew. Yanna remembered the most because she had been thrown into the kitchen to be put to work, while Marcus had been knocked unconscious for part of their captivity and left in a cellar full of other little boys. Apparently, the ringleader of this little band of child slaves and whores had a particular taste for ones such as Marcus. Young and tender, around the age of eight, with earthen curls and olive skin. Almost all the boys still imprisoned in that cellar were of similar features, Yanna reported with equal parts disgust, sorrow, and perseverance.

"I heard from some of the slaves he picked a new one ev'ry fortnight," she explained, pushing the words one by one out of the grim line of her mouth. "But the last one didn't even make it that long. He was so happy about gettin' to choose another boy he had us staffers bake him a cake."

Nov found his face twisting into a scowl. Sick fucking bastard. And a wealthy one at that, to be able to afford the ingredients for a cake. No small wonder given his lucrative career in child trafficking.

"And I was standin' right there, holding a plate just for the Ma--for him, when he picked Marcus to be next."

Marcus looked physically ill at this point, but he bore it with equally stubborn will. It was clear both orphans wanted very much to see these bad mean meet their just ends. And boy, did 'just' not even begin to cover the thoroughness with which they would be dealt. "I-I was only saved 'cause of Yanna," the lad interjected. "He tr-tried to feed me some kind 'o poison to keep me from fightin', but it didn't agree with me and I ended up chuckin' it all up. He got mad, told Yanna to clean me up and bring me back. But she hid me in the cupboard instead and said she'd tell him I ran away when she wasn't lookin'."

It took some getting used to, hearing both children stringing so many words together in one breath. But the more they spoke the faster the truth tumbled from their quivering lips. It occurred to Nov then that this might have been the first time either of them admitted the story in its entirety.

"He was so mad when he found out," Marcus continued, taking a shaky breath, "but just before he could do anything, a stranger came and saved us. Filled the whole room with smoke! Got at least six of us out, includin' me and Yanna."

So, that explained their quick recovery. The cook wasn't blind enough to ignore the fact that all six who returned happened to belong in Sunset. It was no coincidence, just the lot of them being rescued. Jillene must have hired someone--and paid them a hefty sum at that--for their swift retrieval. Anymore and the ringleader might have retaliated in earnest, looked in a little deeper and discovered the one obvious connection. But she took back only six, some of them kitchen maids the slaver had little to no interest in. What Jillene had done, in effect, was keep the mobsters long enough from connecting the dots to enact her own final solution to this cankerous sore of their fair city.

Stars and stones, Nov couldn't decide if the woman was a saint, a cold-hearted bitch, or just plain bloody brilliant.

He coughed to clear his throat of lingering malice. "Do you, er, remember what 'He' looked like at all? Any clues to how we could pick him out of a crowd? Don't worry, you don't have to give us any more details about the things he did. It's right fu--" Nov caught himself just in time and improvised, "full of awful, so you don't have to trouble yourselves. Just tell us how we might know or find him."

Yanna thought for a long tick before answering in a hoarse voice, "I do remember a few things."

Noven leaned in, every hair and nerve on his body ready absorb the information. He strained inside with an insatiable desire to wreak havoc on the vile piece of filth who proved every reason the young man ever possessed to wipe out Sunberth's lowly gangs once and for all.

"He had...really bright hair. Like he dyed it or somethin'. No jewelry, clean looking, didn't even look like a bad man when I first some him." The girl glanced down, as if she knew what was going to come once she revealed the final part. "And there was another thing too...a tattoo I think on his chest...red, kinda like the Daggerhand ones."

He had no memory of standing up, only belated awareness of his stool cracking against the hard floor and Mira's wary gaze meeting his feverish one unflinchingly. "I knew the Mistress had her reasons," was all she said.

"And you remember this being near the docks. Is that correct?" Nov demanded, hardly cognizant of his tone anymore.

"Y-Yes," both children nodded. "I remember seeing ships, and Marcus said he could smell the sea," Yanna affirmed with a sudden, added dose of uncertainty, though it was aimed solely at the cook.

Nov looked down, eyes ablaze with a mix of so many volatile emotions it caused all four children to shrink back. "You'll have your bad man's head on a pike, or worse. That I promise." None of the orphans looked too sure this was really what they had been hoping for, but by then he no longer remembered they were even there.

"C'mon, Nate," Noven leered. "We've got a party to crash."

[Nathaniel Ankah]

He didn't need to check Noven's face when the word "Daggerhands" entered the conversation. If Noven had a stout professional interest in this job before, it had been completely eclipsed by a burning, rabid personal motivation to slash, burn, rape and pillage. Well, maybe not the third one.

Big maybe.

But Nate did check out his erstwhile partner's attitude. The way his blinking slowed, as if anything to be heard from their little informants now had to be burned into his memory. The way he spoke, like his jaw was wired tight with steel cables, and that final promise to them...

Thomas smiled. Whatever trauma he'd endured had congealed and festered into hatred. Part of Nathaniel was glad for that: the lad would need it in the future, that growling, gnawing rage that kept you moving when all noble intentions had been exhausted. But Nate knew that it would fester again, rot away from it's purpose and then just... poison, everything else in his life.

Yanna barely reacted. She went back to folding her clothes, meticulously going over each corner and crease and fold. Nate felt his jaw clench again. He recognized that quiet desperation.

She wants so much to make things all orderly and sensible again. She wants to control these little things so she can forget the big things.

He felt the snarl in his chest but he tempered it, chained it and dragged it back into the darkness. Noven... would be different. He'd go in there with fury and wrath and noise and Nate didn't like loud jobs like that, even with the Daggerhands fallen and the streets up for grabs.

"Indeed we do..."

He waited until they were out the door... and then he turned back around. He crouched before Yanna like a bear getting down next to a rabbit, and smiled warmly as Thomas' little hands bunched into fists.

"No need to fret, mate. Just want a quick word..."

Nate's hands vanished into his purse again and another little silver coin was produced, but pressed straight into Yanna's palm. He leaned a little closer and she stiffened, rank memories already stifling her mind, until-

"Get yourself some puzzles."

She blinked at his words, then at the green eyes staring... not down at her, but into her, from her level. Men had said soft things to her before, like she was a skittish foal, and after the words... it hadn't been good. But Yanna didn't think this man would do that, though he was bigger than them all.

"Jigsaw puzzles. Everything starts broken up, but then you put it all together. Make it nice and clean and right." Nate nodded and slowly straightened up. "They help. I should know."

He paused at Thomas and stuck his fist out, a proper Sunberth salute being offered. His eyes fluttered around and he knew the little bugger's standing was skyrocketing among his (most definitely not watching) peers. Thomas dragged it out a few moments... then bumped his fist into it, like a pebble falling onto a boulder.

"We'll see you after." He got to Noven, waiting in the door, and covered his mouth so his words carried no further than him. "Three silver rims. Don't let me forget to get them from Jilene. Expenses of the job..."

Oh, Nate wasn't above being good. But he still had bills to pay.

++++++++++

"Looks like our man, doesn't it...?"

They spent the afternoon playing round after round of dice outside one of the countless shebeens and dives that infested the Docks. The place wasn't even worthy of being called a tavern; even "dive" was being overly generous. It was a dusty room with a huge board set across two tables, and that served as a bar. A handful of ratty, rotting tables and chairs were outside, since the interior was too humid and stifling for any but the most hardened drunks.

Nate and Nov came and took their seats, their foulness-in-jars, and then got comfortable. The nameless drinking hole may not have been pretty, but it did have a good view of the traffic on the docks... and most of the waterfront properties, too. All they had to do was wait and watch, until-

Nate flicked a glance over Noven's shoulder for the thousandth time, but this time he held the look. A man swaggered down the boulevard, a couple of pug-nosed minders following him, fine-cut clothes looking out of place but not nearly as much as the red-and-blonde dye he had running through his lustrous locks. His face was smooth and polished, almost a mirror of...

Matthew. Glad it wasn't you the girl described, mate. Kay would have been disappointed.

But the final touch was revealed by the shimmering, choking swelter of the day. Pretty Cunt fanned himself dramatically and pulled the front of his tunic back and forth a few times to form a quick breeze, the thing nearly open in the first place-

-revealing a splash of color there. Scarlet. Very familiar...

Nate tapped his partner's foot under the table, knowing he would look up and follow Nate's gaze.

"Don't be too obvious, Nov."

As if to ram the point home, he looked down and rattled the dice around in his cup again before spilling them into the bowl.

"Watch where he goes. Once we know, we can get to work proper."

[Noven]

To most outsiders, the Docks was not a place one would brave unless spurred by sheer desperation. It reeked for one, of fish and brine and things one would rather not analyze too closely. For another, it was privy to some of the most unsavory scenes the city had to offer.

Like the rest of Sunberth's incoming cargo slaves were afforded little time and space after each haul. They were unloaded as quick as possible. Any who couldn't keep up were beaten until they did. If one or five didn't make it, no big deal; they'd just ring in a few more of their own to add to the collection. Plenty of folk with more need than morals to do the job. After all, the Berth was not known for its standards.

Quantity always won over quality.

To the locals, however, this stretch of disagreeable shyke was also a place of opportunity. Any one with a decent amount of sense of course knew to avoid it if possible. But every now and then one had a need. A special deal to be made, a particular desire in trade.

Well, today was their turn to try their luck. The two hired hands sat themselves by some decrepit shack-turned-dive or other and settled in seamlessly with their dingy environment. They avoided the piss water that passed for drink in these parts--had to stay sober on the job and all, piss or no piss--and took turns tossing dice. Eventually, Nov lost complete track of what they were even playing and how many times they'd tossed, but that was of little consequence. What mattered most was making every effort not to look like they were looking.

Nov was about to consider calling it quits when the other merc's gaze finally stuck. Taking care not to show his sudden flare of excitement, the cook merely scratched at the side of his jaw and rolled another round.

Moments later he was rewarded with the telltale tap beneath their table. Feigning a slow stretch and yawn, Nov leaned against his rickety chair. As one arm propped itself against the wooden back, while the other hung loose at his side, the second merc turned his head just enough to make it seem as though he was taking lazy interest in some fishmongers advertising their wares.

That's the one, bright as a shiny new sore. Unnatural hair, clean face--too clean for a commoner--and clothing rich enough to feed the entire orphanage for days. Seemed like their man alright. And right there to the side...was that it? Did he catch a glimpse of crimson?

Nov felt his left hand twitch beneath its stifling glove right before Nate uttered a calm warning.

He cursed under his breath and turned back to the sights and sounds of rattling dice. His partner was right enough in exercising caution, but that didn't exactly turn the prospects of waiting into an easier pill to swallow.

"Yeah, alright," the cook responded half-committedly in tone but whole-heartedly in action.

His back was turned to the street so there wasn't much he could see without giving himself away. To remedy that, Nov got up with a sluggish sort of ease under the pretense that they needed some piss drink after all. He adjusted his trousers with a quick tug from being seated for so long, clapped Nate in a display of old camaraderie, and ducked inside the molding mouth of the so-called tavern.

Nov rapped against the wooden table pretending to be a bar. "Oy, two pints. Make it quick!" Much to his total lack of surprise, no on answered. At least not right away.

As he waited, he peeked outside of the only window of the building. Actually, it was more of a hole in the wall than anything else but it was better than nothing. He tracked their target's progress down the street with hungry eyes. Today's weather didn't seem to agree with the fellow at all; he was sweating profusely and looking desperate to find somewhere to take refuge.

No sooner had Nov thought this than the man and his small entourage take a sharp left to dive into one of the better known brothels. Nothing with quite as much class as Brega's but decent enough to have somewhere to lounge a while before getting to business.

"Quit yer racket," the owner of this fine and proper establishment growled back without warning. It took a good amount of control not to flinch in surprise on Noven's part. "Two pints it is. Ya able t'pay, or are ya too busy losin' to yer friend out there??"

The drinks appeared in rather crusty looking receptacles, which were in turn held by even crustier looking hands. Nov didn't bother with any answer other than two silvers slapped on top of the table. Better tally this in with Nate's running tab for Jillene, too, he jokingly fantasized to himself. Who were they kidding anyway? Fat chance of the Isur paying them anything more than what she felt like. But hey, one can dream.

Quick as a snake the barkeep snatched the coins away from underneath Noven's nose. In turn, the cook plucked up their drinks and sauntered back out, barely able to keep the haste from his gait.

"You saw that?" he muttered, plopping the drinks down as he fell into his seat.

Then he took his pint and poured the contents straight into some potted disaster someone had tried to turn into decor, right before looking up at his partner with uncharacteristic glee. "Fancy a trip to the whore house, mate?"

[Nathaniel Ankah]

"That I did..."

Van Marx's. Hmm. Could be worse.

Nate didn't bother with the subterfuge any longer, not with their targets acquired and their location known. He stared at the brothel on the other side of the street, bedecked with the red lanterns and crude murals that announced its purpose in true Sunberth fashion, eyes intent and gears ticking over as he did.

Van Marx (real name Oliver Trudell, but he was under the impression "Van Marx" made him sound more exotic) was enough of a hustler to carve out his own business in The Berth, but he didn't have the temperament to muscle his way into actual territory. He was content to run his whores, pay his guards and then kick up a nice slice to whatever crew was running the Docks. The Daggerhands, the Night Eyes, he didn't care. As long as he and his girls were left alone.

Nate snorted softly. Not that he ever cared much about them... and they were just girls, too. And boys.

Still, their way was clear and hard thought it would be, Nate preferred it when his options had decreased to a single, irresistible course. It focused the mind wonderfully. So when he heard Nov's cocky offer, he tossed back his drink, let it burn down his throat and war with his stomach acids like they were mortal enemies.

Smacking his lips, the big man tossed the jar over his shoulder, grinning as it shattered.

"Sounds like a plan, lad. But you don't get to watch me again."

He said the last part loud enough to get some curious (and mayhap intrigued?) eyes glancing Noven's way, but before the younger man could retort, Nate was up on his feet and walking swiftly over to the brothel. Whips cracked and voices growled around him, a fresh load destined for Ravok being herded onto a ship, but Nate barged through it all without concern.

His world had become that doorway, those murals, that buildings and the groaning, panting, tattooed, fetid flesh within it. Three men, only one of whom they needed alive. As the crowd thickened he slid his kukri from his back, held it tight and low to his side. Better weapon for close quarters, but who knows? He might get to use the mace eventually.

The doorway loomed larger, the handle turned. Customer, employee, whore, he didn't know, the world breathed in and held it as he did and-

"... fuck me, Nate?!"

"... Will?!"

Noven would watch as Nate on the edge of murder dissolved into the blustering surprise of two old friends embracing. Will looked like a smaller version of Nate, save for the blond hair and nose piercings. Only after they broke the hug did he notice the blade in the man's hand, and his eyes became... shall we say, more professional.

"That for me?"

"Hmm? Oh, this?" Nate wiggled the blade like it was a toy and waved his other hand dismissively. "Nah, not for you... I'd use the mace for you. Might hurt less."

"Not how I remember."

"Shouldn't have been after my girl."

"Shite, she was any man's girl for the price!"

"Fuck me, didn't I find that out the hard way..."

Another shared chuckle, but that time it was more strained. The knife was out, to paraphrase the poets, and Will knew that meant trouble. Which, usually, he'd be indifferent towards... but it was here, at the brothel, and that was where he worked.

"So, what's with the blade, friend?"

"You know the bloke just went in? Crazy mop? Too fuckin' pretty?"

The disgusted sneer Will managed almost made Nate jump for joy. Ah, on contempt and hatred such useful alliances were made.

"Fuckin' Rohs, you mean? Fuckin' scum. Always likes 'em young and... well... high turnover, like the boss says. Goes through them fast." Friendly brown eyes flickered away. Even thugs like Nate and Noven and Will had their limits, and as such, disdain for those that played beyond them. "Here for him? He's got friends."

"We saw." Nate said, gesturing over his shoulder to the shyke-box they'd been drinking at and Noven both. "We'll handle it."

"Nate, look, I work here..."

"You recognize the kid?" He gave Will a few ticks to study Noven before answering his own question. "Works for the orphanage in Sunset. For Jilene. Cooks there? Noven? Yeah, him. He bought me the job." He leaned in closer, impressing his urgency with size and proximity and his nigh-glowing green eyes. "Rohs has been snatchin' kids from there. Sellin' 'em, killin' 'em, fuck knows what else. A bunch got free and told Noven what they knew. Noven told me. So here I am."

Will's eyebrows mashed down on his eyes. "Jilene sent you? The blind lady?"

"Nah, nah, she don't know about this," Nate said, lying behind his waved hand and shaking head, "This is a favor for Nov back 'ere. This Rohs cunt? Worse than you've seen, mate. Be doin' the gods, the streets and those kids a fuckin' favor if you just... let us by, y'know?"

Will weighed his options, and it was like a minor story until itself. He wet his lips. His eyes flickered between both men uncertainly. He rubbed his scruffy jaw and shifted from foot to foot. Nate knew it was a hard choice to make, at least for Will. A man's reputation was important on the streets: you had to work hard to get it, and once it was marred, that stain never washed out. But his former fellow skull-smasher from the Bad Ol' Days had the same... sentimentality as Nate did, and eventually...

"Y'know... I am overdue a break, now I think about it. Should be about ten ticks. Been good seeing you, Nate."

The big man gave the other a quick, chaste embrace and patted his shoulder.

"You, too, Will."

The brothel bouncer turned to leave and then paused, muttering over his shoulder.

"Second floor, room 14. Just... follow the weeping."

They waited until the man was around the corner before Nate gripped the handle, then cursed himself viciously.

Fuck! Why didn't he ask how many others were in there? He didn't want to have to smash his way through a whole fucking crew! It's slow things down and give Rohs his chance to jump out a window, and then they'd never find him again.

Too late now. Time to go.

"OK... here's what we'll do, Nov..."

++++++++++

"Lif'... to meeeeeeee... the parfing gwass... good... goo'nigh... an' juhhhh be wif... you... you awllll!"

"Fuckin' 'ell..."

The two minders shook their heads and leered like matching pitbulls when some big drunk staggered through the beaded doorway, stinking of some rotgut shyke they could only guess at. A smaller, younger man was behind him, apparently trying to keep him on his feet.

"... Larry?!"

"Name ain't Larry, mate."

"Cuz it iz!" The drunk actually managed to tip a respectful if anatomically incorrect nod at the pair of whores lounging in the hallway before lurching back towards the two men. "Muh mate Laww... Ler... Larry! Fuck youse bin' eh?!"

"Larry Who Was Not Larry" was rapidly growing tired of this. Some stinking lush coming onto him was not what he wanted while the boss was... indulging, and he put out a hand as the boozehound tottered closer.

"Look." He said lowly, one hand on the man's broad chest as he seemed to shuffle around in his pockets. "I don't-"

"Wan' some baccy, eh?! Larry?!"

"No!" OK, this was going far enough. Even the drunk's friend had sidled up next to him, in front of the other bodyguard. "And stop calling me-"

"Fair enough."

The voice didn't slur. The eyes weren't swimming with booze and the happy madness of the drunk. The body was firm and the hands were fast, one of them coming up with a kurki-

-that Nate stabbed straight through the man's throat, piercing, popping, impaling his Adam's Apple and severing his windpipe with a twist-

-leaving Nov to handle the other one as the whores started screaming.

[Noven]

The younger merc watched his partner down the pint of mystery ale with a mix of mild awe and sympathetic revulsion. There was no way that drink was making a pleasant trip down to the pits, but then again Nate always did wear the bigger pair of balls when it came to this stuff.

As the jar smashed and the older merc blurted his response, Nov felt at least a dozen pair of eyes swivel their way. He turned to meet them with a glint of humor in his otherwise deadpan gaze. Krysus, would you take a look at their faces. They can't decide if they're scandalized or interested.

Nov merely shrugged and grinned, as if to say "oh well, maybe next time." He could almost feel the nosy crowd squirm.

The two of them made their way to the brothel, Nate taking the lead and Nov keeping close steps behind, all pretense cast aside. He watched his partner draw that wicked blade from his back, gleaming edge winking beneath Syna's afternoon rays. In his mind he imagined Nate's expression had coalesced into something borderline homicidal. And he didn't seem too far off, given the way people scurried out of the taller man's way. Nov didn't blame them. He wouldn't want to be on the other end of that murderous path either.

It was quite warm and cozy on his side, in fact, and he intended for things to stay that way as long as possible.

The cook was already curling his hands into fists, mind prepped and left glove loosened in lieu of the incoming violence, when Nate came to an abrupt halt. Suddenly the older merc and whoever had been guarding the door exclaimed each other's names and fell into a brotherly embrace. Nov had to double take twice before he could determine for sure that this was a genuine truce. That they really did know each other and that Nate wasn't going to spill the other guy's throat all over the front steps in the next five ticks.

Under different circumstances, he might have congratulated both. Shared in the unexpected joy of a reunion, even. Hey, look at that, what a small world ain't life funny yada yada who the fuck cares. But they were still on the job.

That, and the whole thing, for some reason, reminded him an awful lot of biting into a lemon. Someone more in touch with their inner feelings and what not might recognize this as the prickly sting of jealousy, but Noven made it a point not to wander near that complicated shyke. He just assumed it had to do with staying on task and thought no further. Stick to the job, get to the point, go home sooner. That was his mantra for all work related problems.

Much to his complete lack of surprise, this old friend of Nate's wasn't stupid. No one still alive in connection to the merc could be, really. And it was clear enough in the first place to anyone with a set of functioning eyes that neither mercenary was here for pleasure.

They were armed. They were sober. And they were out for some serious blood.

Ah, but Lady Luck was on their side today. Because Will seemed to share as much love for their target--Rohs, the scum's name turned out to be--as he would a steaming, heaping pile of shit. For a moment, the cook almost joined in on his partner's sudden flare of cheer. But then Will explained he worked here and Nov's hopes faltered.

Always quick with his tongue, Nate swooped in to sway his old friend's mind. It caught Nov off guard, being put to the forefront to be studied and tested, but he said nothing to object. Everything was a matter of push and pull; Nate needed this last pull and it would only damage their chances if he was interrupted. The younger man almost spoke up when Jillene was mentioned, his knee jerk reaction compelled purely by coming anywhere near breaking the Isur's terms, but he kept his mouth clamped shut.

If Nate could trust this Will guy, then Nov would have to as well.

For now, anyway...

Will took a good deal of time, thinking and hesitating and thinking some more. Thankfully, his final decision was that of taking a well deserved break. Nov felt relieved enough to embrace the man himself but he remained where he was, watching for any signs of last tick surprises. When none came he gladly listened to what Nate had planned.

Stars and stones, the things this man came up with.

--------------------------

He followed behind Nate like some furious yet overly concerned, helpless little wife, berating when he wasn't propping and propping when he wasn't berating. Every so often the much larger and heavier merc would sway violently to one side or lurch with unexpected force and threaten to topple over. Nov did his best to correct the man's balance with a nudge here or pull there, but saving his friend's head from smashing into a beam didn't mean said head would be safe from other, more animated forms of smashing.

Thank the gods this was all an act. Because if it wasn't...well, Nov could remember clear enough how many times in the past a trip to a tavern ended up with broken chairs and battered heads.

Maybe time around they might not need to be counted amongst the mangled and bloodied.

The whores seemed to enjoy the absurdity of it all, going so far as to bat their lashes and brush a hand--or two--across both men as they barreled through. Hell, some of them weren't even whores, just female customers draped lazily against broad, recently-purchased shoulders.

Nov wasn't sure what was more depressing. The fact that he and Nate were in no position to oblige, or that even if they were he would be too repulsed by the real business that went on behind these particular closed doors.

He didn't miss a beat when Nate's tone changed. As soon as the other merc dropped his act and punched a kukri straight through his victim's throat, Nov locked sights on the remaining thug. This one had decent sense, he was forced to admit as the surviving lackey roared to his feet and made to throw a hefty punch at Noven's face.

Too slow, too dead.

The cook dodged his target's ham handed attack easily enough. Just a diagonal step to his right and, combined with the man's ferocious, forward momentum, Nov was suddenly close enough to kiss him on the nose.

Then he grinned toothily and threw a much quicker punch of his own, relishing the satisfying crack of bone on impact.

Nose smashed to bleeding bits, the thug howled in pain and tried to lash out blindly. Unfortunately for him, Nov was prepared. He'd been feeling the telltale twinges of an oncoming headache all day and gave into his needs with reckless abandon. The glove on his left hand had come off long before their brief fight began. Exposed for action at long last, crimson veins throbbed hungrily in the dim lighting.

With a ravenous sort of conviction, Noven covered the man's face with his left hand, pushed him down onto his knees, and called upon Krysus's favor.

He almost felt sorry for the poor sod. Must've felt like his head was exploding, the shards of his skull bursting apart in all different directions, only to bounce back against the resistance of flesh and pierce the tender tissues of cranial innards a thousand times over.

All in slooooooww moootiooonnnn.

Ah, well, he wasn't the first and certainly not the last. No point in going soft now, what with so much work ahead of them. Besides, the useless little knob didn't even last long enough to feel more than a quarter chime of pain. He passed out long before the good parts got going.

Nov released his victim and looked about the room in irritation. The rest of the whores and patrons had been screaming at the top of their lungs, though only a few now remained. Some of the smarter ones already ran out the door, no fucks given. Good for them. Maybe someone was going to survive this blood bath after all. Long enough to make the rest of these child stealing shit stains seriously reconsider their line of business.

"Two down, a however-petching-many to go," Nov announced over the blood curdling cries. "Oy, you there. Stop with the screaming."

One whore remained, making an awful racket all by his lonesome self, while another lay passed out on the ground. Cursing, the cook marched over to grab the kid by the collar and delivered a back handed slap clear across his face. "I said, shut it!"

The sudden, violent force seemed to snap the lad out of his shock-induced delirium. Noven felt a twinge of guilt but there was no time to hesitate. He brought the shaking kid up to eye level and asked in as calm of a voice as he could manage, "How do we get to room 14, second floor?"

The boy pointed one shaking finger at a length of dark, thick cloth covering what was most likely the stairwell. "M-make a sharp right, all the w-way down. You c-can't m-miss it."

Nov squinted at the lad then let go, placing his hands two bony, quivering shoulders instead. "Get out of here, boy. Don't ever come back. And if you need a safe place to stay, head to the orphanage at Sunset. You'll be alright there." He looked a mite closer, nostrils flared in utter seriousness. "You got that kid? Answer me!"

"Y-Yes, sir!" the boy responded, right before he was made to scram by Noven's increasingly withering look.

The merc turned toward his partner once more and stared at their gateway to hell.

"Well, best get to it then."