He would have leered with equal maniac glee as Seng listed all the glorious ways they could punish the little thief, had the kid not taken a good deal of effort to drag along out onto the streets. Either he had stolen their bag after downing several pints of ale, or he was undergoing some serious shyke Nov cared little to know about. All the same, they were going to teach this loony scrap of a boy a lesson in stealing from the likes of them.
No sooner had they arrived back where they'd started--the burnt, ruined remains of a good portion of Sunset Quarters--than the thief suddenly grew completely limp in Nov's grasp.
The young man stared down at his unconscious burden before dropping it onto the dusty ground. "He's knocked out cold," Nov announced after give a few good slaps to the side of the kid's face. "Maybe he wasn't kidding about being hungry and all that."
With a grunt of frustration, the cook retrieved a bucket of slushy, murky water of questionable origins, returned wearing a devious grin, and dumped it all over the thief's unsuspecting face. When nothing happened, he looked at the boy in confusion. So he really wasn't faking it, eh?
Well, that left only one option. Noven didn't like having to resort to this, but they were short on buckets of rank water and couldn't very well stand here all day waiting for the runt to wake up. His biggest concern was the fact that he hadn't told Seng yet of the cursed veins coursing beneath his leather glove. That their tentative, newly formed friendship would shatter in an instant if the other found out. Best do this discreetly then, with the tiniest of wounds possible.
Nov unsheathed one of the Tamos at his side, gave Seng a shrug, and pricked the grimy skin of the thief's left hand until just a single drop of blood oozed out. As he did, he flared his mark as gently as he could. He'd never tried to control it before, so he wasn't sure how well it worked.
Suffice to say, the kid was in for a world of hurt.
