Completed Mi Casa Es Su Casa (Alses)

[Sal Mander]

Day 5, Fall of 514 A.V.

Either it was the smoke filled room or the alcohol being served, but in any case the Hog's Head tavern did much to cloud the judgement of its patrons on this particular day. There hung a not so subtle air of contempt as tempers flared along with nostrils of would be men and arrogant thugs, sizing one another up and strutting around like peacocks. Insults were exchanged in quick fire fashion like some perverse auction, while on more than a few occasions there was the sudden scrape of a chair as its occupant rose abruptly to offer protest at someone across the room.

That was the way of things in taverns down at the docks, filled as they were with drunkards, thieves and seafaring folk. The svefra passed through daily, with the influx of trade vessels coming to and from Wind Reach, or the occasional galleon having made the more laborious journey from the south. In any case, despite having spent weeks and months at sea, there was always the need for a different kind of liquid to quench a sailor's thirst. They drank with enthusiasm and urgency, their time on land short. Dockworkers meanwhile drank more steadily, pacing themselves so as to stretch their meager wages, though every so often one would miscalculate his funds and grow quick to anger when his cup ran dry.

Then there were the silent types, who inhabited the dark and dusty corners of the room, their backs to one wall while their keen gazes kept watch at the other three. Some shrouded themselves in mystery, sporting hooded cloaks that did not look so out of place now that the generous warmth of summer had begun to give way to the more pleasant temperatures of fall. One group of grizzly looking men had a game of dice going, bringing cheers and groans in equal measure to the general din of the place, while the constant rhythm of a myriad conversations in progress offered that kind of social atmosphere that only came from visiting a tavern.

But indeed, judgement was always clouded in such places and it never took too long for trouble to erupt. Dockworkers and sailors were often the main culprits, feuding over something inconsequential that led to punches and scuffles, before they were all best friends again and sharing another round. Occasionally, with enough beer consumed, insults could lead to more destructive trouble, chairs and tables taking the brunt of it as bodies knocked them this way and that, spilling the cups and jugs upon them which splashed and clattered on the stoney ground.

Sal found himself frequenting the Hog's Head enough to warrant a few nods of greeting as he passed through the heavy set doors. He had engaged with more than a few of the regulars in his unceasing quest for information and knowledge. When it came to matters concerning the city, most respectable people headed to the Cosmos Center. Little did they know that the Center did not come by its own knowledge with relative ease. Their Investigators, of which Sal was one, were tasked with ringing Lhavit like a wet cloth and collecting all the drops of information they could muster. The hybrid job was a series of tasks and duties that had Investigators working all over the city, visiting establishments and businesses, consulting with tenants and landlords alike, as well as working in tandem with other various governmental departments and institutions. Since Sal and his colleagues often came into contact with various snippets of useful information, it was not uncommon for them to submit reports and, in some cases tip offs, to the shinya.

But in any case, Sal had found two constants when it came to taverns and inns. Everybody in a tavern knew something, and alcohol always helped them to give that something up a little easier. Mostly it was gossip and hearsay, but occasionally a rough diamond would emerge from the mire, needing just a little polish and buffing before it could be crafted into a valuable piece of great worth. It was the cultivation of such gems that had led to Sal making great strides in his work, both as an Investigator and also as an Azenth. It was true that for the previous two seasons, he had struggled with both the concept and the acceptance of his role in the employ of Ivak. But as fall saw fit to shed the trees of their foliage, so to did Sal shake off his own leaves of discontent and uncertainty. Now he embraced it, finding purpose and importance in what he did, believing that somehow, in some way, he could and would make a difference in Lhavit.

Well, in truth it was not a difference he was looking to make. No, that was the role of revolutionaries and leaders. His role was more subtle, more secret. His role was to maintain balance and order. Not the kind that the shinya sought to preserve, but balance on a much grander scale beyond the comprehension of the regular folk of Lhavit. Sal had learned of the consequences of a build up of pressure that went unchecked. Ivak himself was the greatest example of all, having almost destroyed everything. It seemed ironic to some that he should be the one god who campaigned for the avoidance of such an event a second time. But there was no irony in redemption, or at least the search for it.

With balance, there was no pressure build up. Things could go on, indefinitely if the gods so chose. But whether they chose to meddle or not, there were the Azenth behind the scenes, doing what they could at least from the mortal's perspective, diffusing city wide catastrophes waiting to happen, as well as more direct work with the world itself, taming volcanoes or tending to fault lines across the lands. Their work was secretive and complex, leaving the Azenth to appear mostly in stories and tales rather than the more credible sources found within the Bharani Library. That in itself had proven a huge source of frustration for Sal in his efforts to learn more of his order. He had to piece together what morsels he could to create a working blueprint as it were of what the Azenth were truly tasked with. The how and whys were elusive like mythical beasts that crept majestically through forests, or swam such deep depths as to never be seen in clear waters. But sometimes a glimpse was enough to serve as a foundation, upon which could be created legends.

[Alses]

It wasn’t her usual haunt, of course, but in many ways that was the point. The docks of Port Tranquil were at some remove from the glittering city, a vital lifeline that was nonetheless kept at a small distance, forming by that virtue something of its own character, its own traditions, its own environment and rituals.

It was Lhavitian, of course; about that there could be no doubt, not when skyglass glittered on every corner and the spices in the food made one’s eyes water at ten paces, but it nonetheless had its own character, leavened with salt-spray and the heady lawlessness of the sea.

Which perhaps made it perfect – even with Shinya guards at the Port, as there were everywhere else that Lhavit’s writ ran – to shed the mantle of her titles and positions and responsibilities and just try to be a little more normal for a bell or two.

The thought brought a sharply sardonic smile to her face as she contemplated it. ‘Normal?’ Who was she trying to kid – she’d never really been normal, not as far back as she could remember, and even by an Ethaefal’s standards she’d left what shreds of normality as she’d retained behind long ago.

About the time when auristics had really taken hold in her soul and turned the world into a perennial artist’s studio, come to think of it. The extra power and influence as Councillor Radiant was just an extra, aiding in that loss.

Which was why, for her continued sanity – and to understand the city she helped – or sometimes hindered – in government, the occasional chance to shuck all the baggage was something to be seized upon.

Inside, the tavern was just as she’d expected it – lots of dark wood and tucked-away corners, irregularly-spaced lanterns that served to cast a diffuse dimness rather than to highlight anything – or anyone - specific, and of course the battle-scarred bar.

All of it reeked of alcohol, naturally, burning her nose with its powerful stench, not all of it the tangible, true impression. As an aurist, she experienced alcohol past almost as strongly as alcohol present, the punch twice as powerful and just as real – and this place was positively soaked in spirits.

The combined auras of the patrons rose up in a glittering wave of sight, sound, taste, smell and touch, a phantom maelstrom of the senses – but one that Alses was supremely used to sorting through, to filtering, to winnowing and analysing and assessing. So habituated to that was she that it was an automatic reflex, most of the time, without needing any conscious input from her higher brain functions.

This was a volatile place, she noticed – a million shades of red and a wave of phantom heat and a fury-filled susurration of voices that drowned out their sense by sheer volume, leaving only the impression of malevolence simmering just below the surface and being prodded up by the pale spires of alcohol.

Which wasn’t to say it was an entirely bad place, either – there was a considerable groundswell of merriment and good cheer there too, moderating the angry impressions.

Alses ordered something blindly at the bar, hoping to get her drink and slink away into the nests of tables quickly. Prior experience had taught her that not buying anything – even though she’d not drink – was a surefire way to draw more attention, and, often, opprobrium. Thus, a tankard or glass of whatever had first caught her eye served well as a shield.

She cast around for the most stable of tables, sifting with consummate ease through the score or more of auras present and interacting, sorting the thugs from the decent chaps, the maudlin drunken sailors from the merry, the secretive and covert from the extrovert and outgoing and much else besides.

One in particular caught her all-seeing eye – the tumbling clouds of a thunderstorm, a roiling running battle of grey and white and black, bright flashes of emotion bursting through the turbulent flow before being subsumed in the obscuring tumult, that was interesting. Order rising out of chaos before falling back into the maelstrom, emotions hanging fire, banked and yet incredibly powerful when they burst to the fore…an interesting aura made for an interesting person, and even better this one had almost none of the raying spine taint of alcohol.

“May I join you?” she asked as she drew near, pitching her voice to carry to him, and no further.

[Sal Mander]

Sal had procured for himself a sturdy enough table that usually seated four, situated on the opposite side of the room from the hustle and bustle of the bar itself. In his experience, that was the best place to be for a little peace and quiet. Still, being an inn, there was no such thing as complete peace. To his left two burly looking sailors were making the most of a delicious smelling meal consisting of thinly sliced yet sumptuous meat that was generously smothered in thick and dark brown gravy, while bread that still steamed when broken served as a side along with a collection of varying cheeses to further invigorate the palette. In between mouthfuls, they traded yarns and stories punctuated with exaggerated laughs, fueled by what was once the contents of several empty tankards. It seemed a shame that such fine cuisine was to be washed away by grog, when surely a crisp dry white wine or blossom red would have better complimented the meal.

To his right was a similar story, a pair of men feasting hungrily on their meals, yet in contrast to the sailors they ate in complete silence, regarding the other patrons in the inn with beady eyes sat on a canvas each of otherwise blank expressions. By the look of them they were out-of-towners, having perhaps learned along the way to keep to themselves in taverns and such. Sal pitied them, wondering how long before they learned to relax in the knowledge that Lhavit was, as places went, a rather easy going city to live in.

Though just as soon as he birthed the thought, he could not help but chuckle to himself, drawing a sideways glance from the silent men who perhaps expected foul play was at hand. His laugh was at himself though, considering his life to have been anything but easy going. Among the visits from gods, attempted murders at the hand of akalaks and thugs, not to mention encounters with ghosts, and local would be crime lords, Sal decided in that moment that he best keep his mouth shut when it came to talking Lhavit up.

The important thing though, as far as he was concerned, was perspective. Take Ivak for example. It seemed quite some time ago now since Sal's encounter with the god. Back then, he had allowed that particular event to shatter his very being. He had gone from outgoing and pleasant to withdrawn and confused. Natural and expected results from such a meeting of course. But still, Sal had almost despised himself for being so... uncertain. After a while, he had grown tired of himself, fed up of hearing his own complaints as justified as they may have been, not to mention seemingly just floating along the streams and rivers of life without question.

Those few seasons of self-loathing had been interspersed with more determined happenings of course, such as the whole ordeal with Burton Tally, or indeed his continued acquaintance with a certain Brandon Blackwing, or Djas as he was known to Sal. The real turning point though had been his encounter with another kelvic, going by the name of Kelski. In many ways, his meeting with that thought provoking woman was as pivotal as the meeting with Ivak. Her kelvic perspective had not only helped Sal to open his eyes, but to look in the right direction. He had recaptured something that day, something that had renewed his spirit and dragged his enthusiasm for living life kicking and screaming from the mire. He had learned to change how he saw himself, and his worth to Lhavit. Despite all his experiences, and because of them, he loved this city and would serve it in anyway he could.

Just a matter of perspective.

As the thoughts trailed off to join the cloud of smoke that hung in the rafters, his attention was interrupted by a woman's voice, the tones strangely serene amidst the din of merriment and debauchery. His gaze rose to meet the speaker, betraying his usual self-imposed exile from displaying emotion when he found himself staring at a very young girl. At first he wondered if he might have had a drink too many, a foolish notion given that he had only arrived himself moments earlier and had barely touched his beverage. But otherwise it would have been an excellent theory as to why a porcelain princess, complete with the fragility and grace that was synonymous with the ceramic material, was stood before him now. Rather, he felt more like he might have been looking at a tailor's mannequin through a frosted window pane, an illusion further cast in mystery by the smokey tendrils of pipes and tobacco that wafted and hung in the air.

The two pairs of men flanking Sal had paused their eating, themselves equally perplexed at this rather unexpected and unusual occurrence in such a place, resulting on five pairs of eyes holding Alses there as though to look away for even a moment would free her. Had she the care to, she might have seen innocence and confusion circle and flow about the two quiet men, both unsure what to make of the anomaly, while the two sailors were definitely approaching the situation from the other end of the scale, their gazes a little too leering for comfort.

As if suspecting Alses might have suddenly been aware of the scrutiny, Sal made his best effort to look like he had not been staring, while his face brightened to a rich crimson. There was some mercy that the flickering lantern light of the tavern masked his embarrassment, while he was quick to move things along when he motioned to the chair opposite. "Of course miss. Please, have a seat." He played her request over in his head, wondering by what measure she had deemed him worthy above others for the honor of her company. Sal had always been something of an admirer of women in general, not just from a more typical male perspective, but rather an honest and inquisitive curiosity. Having been raised as one of three brothers, girls had always been a strange and mysterious creature, evolving into something so much more other-worldly in some ways, and just utterly confusing in others. The mysterious part had remained throughout.

By now one of the sailors had stared for a little too long, having yet to decide if the konti girl's ear pieces were worth much, while his friend was more intent on deciding if her eyes were jewels themselves. It did not take long for the first to realize Sal was staring straight back at him. "Food's getting cold," he informed the sailor, keeping a blank expression on his face. The two sailors seemed to wear embarrassment themselves for a moment at having been caught red handed, and quickly returned their attention to their meals. Sal turned back to Alses, a smile the first sign of life beyond his earlier surprised stare. Inwardly he was thinking how what he just did had in fact been rather foolish, though thanked whoever the god of drunken sailors was that these two had not reacted in a different manner.

For now his attention was on Alses, himself taking in the remarkable sight of her eyes that seemed to take on a veridian hue in the tavern light, before remembering his manners. "I'm Sal by the way."

[Alses]

Alses gave Sal a big, bright smile that beamed indiscriminately out at him and anyone else watching, a sort of non-verbal apology to counteract the enormous drag factor (as she saw it) of her own appearance.

She ignored, as a matter of course, the innocent confusion radiating from one side, and wrote off as a standard response the vague leers on the other; neither was a proper threat, nothing she needed to deal with, after all.

“Much obliged!” she chirped at Sal instead, sliding gracefully into the vacant seat and setting her glass of…something…down on the tabletop. Whilst Alses was settling herself into the chair, she took advantage of the time to actually look at what she’d ordered. It was in a clear glass, rather than a tankard, and so dark a red as to be almost black.

Red wine, then, would have been her first guess, but there was something about the viscosity, and the sheer punch of its alcoholic impression that made her think again. Then, too, there was the faint smell of cherries – almost overwhelmed by the other smells all around – that challenged the wine-based assumption.

Cherry liqueur? Perhaps…

Shaking her head briefly, Alses refocused her attention away from the drink and towards her new companion, eyes greener than envy dancing over his features. He had that indefinable something in his look that marked him out as a Lhavitian born-and-bred, well groomed with cropped-short black hair and skin that was smooth and scarless save for perhaps his most immediate and interesting feature: the god-mark, the gnosis which burned in Alses’ Sight on his right hand, instantly recognizable.

That was, at least in part, what had brought her over; people fortunate enough to have the attention of a god – any god – tended to be interesting. Either as welcome harbingers of things to come, or dire warnings; it all depended, really, on perspective.

Alses kept – with some success, although not total – her eyes from continually darting towards that burning right hand, and enough of her presence of mind remained for her to answer the man’s opening pleasantry and the provision of his name.

“I go by Sela,” she replied, the almost-reversal of her chosen name tripping easily, now, off her tongue. What was it normal people did at this juncture, when they’d just happened to meet someone?

Alses tried to remember, tried to distance herself from the commanding presence of the Councillor Radiant that saw a mage in front of her and prepared something that was in equal parts ingratiation, intimidation and interrogation. Duty, duty, duty…in most cases, conscientiousness was a good thing, but not here and not now.

Ah, yes…people asked about jobs, didn’t they…where people worked and what they did, trying to find early common ground before they dived off into potentially-shared interests or drifted away to another conversation partner.

“I work at the Radiant Tower,” she added, mentally checking the sentence for a lie; no, all truth there. “It’s nice to come down here every so often and get away from it all for a while. What about yourself?”

[Sal Mander]

Sal watched with curiosity as the opalescent skinned girl took her seat, placing a slender glass of black-red liquid before her. To the trained eye, the liqueur was that made from maraschino cherries, first pickled, then crushed, before finally meeting their end when liquidized. From there it was mixed with a combination of sweet brandy and - depending on which end of town one was drinking - either red grapefruit juice, or for the more hardcore, the addition of dry gin. The finished product was a favorite among the older generation of Lhavit, having grown up to firmly believe that it chased away colds and put hair on the chest.

Needless to say, Sal could not help but wonder how long before Alses would actually try the drink. The image of red stained lips had him thinking for a moment of his middle brother, always seeming to have been at the scarlet colored juice that their mother made during the summer with wild cranberries. But while he briefly reminisced, he could not help but notice the girl's interest in his hand. It was just a flicker of movement from her eyes, but enough for him to grow immediately aware of what she was looking at. It was true that Sal had now embraced his lot in life as an Azenth, but as yet his true nature remained hidden to others, or at least he had hoped. Not that he could keep such secrets from an elite aurist of course. Even as he tried to look casual as he placed his unmarked hand over the marked, the image of a burning flame danced and flickered for an aurist's eyes to see. Like his own aura, there was something there like restraint almost, as though at any moment a fiery inferno might unleash from it, but for now was being reigned in by a handful of remaining strands of resistance.

It was not long before the conversation was moving forward, both having until now plotted a course along the typical trajectory of a social encounter. A seat had been offered and taken, while names were exchanged. If it was common ground that Alses sought, she might have benefited from the knowledge that Sal too was searching his thoughts for the appropriate next step in their interactions. It was an odd thing for him, since in his usual line of work he socialized and mingled with all walks of life in Lhavit. But the moment he was approached unawares, it was as though he had been caught unprepared and off guard. The truth of it was that, embroiled so much in his work as he was, in recent seasons he had somewhat tapered off from just being social for the sake of being social. To put it another way, since Alses was not someone he had approached or needed to draw information from, he was momentarily lost at sea, so to speak.

But only momentarily. Alses had dropped work into the mix, striking his brain into action like the spark of a blacksmith's hammer. At the mention of the Radiant Tower, Sal's inquisitive side pulled up an image of that grand building in his mind, furnishing it with the names of the five offices that dwelled within, along with their purposes and so forth. Of course there still was only one Councilor Radiant at present, one who happened to be very fresh in his mind in fact. Only four days prior, he had received a scroll from Brandon, stolen from the clutches of a certain Kriegsfelt, detailing in draft form the conditions and intricacies of the now infamous Third Law. While the names and faces spun around in his head, each with question marks hovering above them, Sal pretended to clear his throat in a bid for a few extra seconds, shifting in his seat as though to get comfortable before settling down to answer Alses' question.

"It just so happens I also serve the city. The Cosmos Center to be precise. I'm one of their investigators, so I tend to be out and about rather than stuck behind a desk." It occurred to him then that there was a good chance Alses performed a desk job. "Er, not that there's anything wrong with a desk job," he added quickly, hoping no offense was taken.

[Alses]

Her glance down, towards that god-mark that had initially drawn her interest, had evidently not been as discreet as she’d hoped; Sal moved to cover the gnosis-mark on his hand soon after she’d looked there, the movement slightly too quick and rather too jerky, too emphatic, to be mere coincidence.

Blast.

Ah well; he’d not left, at least, and in drawing attention to the thing Alses had brought it into Sal’s consciousness – and with that, there came the candle-flame flare of his aura, making those thoughts into brightness and colour, telling her more about the mark and even tantalising hints about its acquisition. More, perhaps, than she’d have got from an outright question.

Sal’s hasty and inelegant backpedal over his social gaffe – Alses was getting better at recognizing them - brought a sharp bark of laughter to her pale lips, skinning them back from her gleaming teeth, slightly longer and more curved than might by rights be expected, only underlining her own inhumanity, much as the opalescent scales and the fluttering gills did from a more aesthetic standpoint.

As a Konti, she’d been made for hunting fish and other things out in the sea; her sharp, sharp teeth were finely tuned for slicing and the particular elegant butchery of the apex predator. Even if, these days, they were civilised and ate other things.

“Oh, I don’t know,” she added, taking some small pleasure in Sal’s discomfiture and with amusement still dancing in her eyes and playing on her lips. “You can have some fun on desks.”

She let the moment stretch, waited for the realisation to flash itself in Sal’s aura and to begin to dawn on his face, before continuing, utterly deadpan: “Or so I’ve heard, at any rate.”

“In any case - you’re an investigator for the Cosmos Centre? What do you investigate? Come to that, what do they need investigating so badly that they actually employ people for it?” she asked, curious, flitting from subject to subject – a holdover from her flightier Ethaefal form.

Suddenly pensive, Alses added: “In my admittedly-limited experience, investigator is a title one of the Shinya takes when they’re trying to solve a crime. This is just a guess, mind, but I’d say you don’t do the same thing?” There was an intriguing twisting barrel-roll convulsion in Sal’s aura as soon as she said that, though, chased down by her own greater power and laid bare before her all-seeing eyes that told her something…unusual.

“Or perhaps I should say: don’t usually do that sort of thing…” she added, much quieter, one pale eyebrow arched in delicate enquiry, a hook dangled in the conversation to catch that elusive kinking in the aura that hinted at a delicious little secret.

Alses nodded minutely down to where Sal still had his hands unnaturally clasped together. If anything, the odd pile-up drew attention, rather than dispersed it. “I wouldn’t bother,” she murmured quietly. “I can still see it, but if you’re ashamed of it then we’ll mention no more of gods and their marks.”

[Sal Mander]

Indeed, the perceptive aurist would have noted the changes and shifts in Sal's aura as he moved to shield his hand from her more physical vision. The mere hint of his mark's existence always had the ability to set him at unease, even if momentarily. The source of his unease was twofold. Firstly, the manner in which he had come to garner the interest of Ivak; while secondly through his own created paranoia that the Azenth were secretive for a reason. Through his research and findings at the Bharani Library - or lack of them - he had come to the conclusion that anyone claiming to be a follower of the creator of the Valterrian was not a popular person. Sal had never made any such admission himself, though it occurred to him that such denials carried little weight when stacked up against a gnosis mark. Funny thing about people. They were often swayed by the more tangible existence of hard evidence, over the word of a man.

Of course, he also had to consider one small flaw in all his logic. He was a follower of Ivak. Once again, he doubted people would stop to hear how Ivak himself had different motives than before, how he sought to maintain an order and balance to the world to avoid any such event as the Valterrian ever occurring again. So too did Ivak's champions and followers take up this cause, seeking to create equilibrium in both nature and society. But again, Sal had little faith in the understanding of the masses, hence their work and existence had to remain as secretive as it was.

His meanderings subsided as Alses commented colorfully about the nature of desks. Taken unawares and in possession of a less than innocent mind, he choked on a mouthful of ale and moved quickly to wipe the escaping drops from his chin. His face reddened both at the innuendo and his social faux pas, realizing that the two sailors to his left were grinning unashamedly at him. Clearing his throat, he tried to do his best impression of someone who had not just made a fool of themselves, listening to Alses as she begun to quiz him on the workings of the Cosmos Center, or rather as to why they would seek to employ someone under the guise of investigation.

Truthfully, it was not something he had really ever stopped to question himself. At its very basic level, it was just a title given to a wide range of duties he had to perform. True, it did perhaps invoke a somewhat romantic image of spies and agents running around in alleys and stealing away secrets in the night, but the grim reality was far from exciting. He would argue that ninety percent of his work was clerical, collecting information and facts from various companies and institutions within the city. If there was a birth at the hospital, the Cosmos Center wanted to know about it. If a merchant applied for a license to sell his wares at market, the Cosmos Center wanted to know about it. If Felix Satar had a vacancy for a room to let at his inn, the Cosmos Center wanted to know about it.

Of course, not all this information came to the Center of its own free will. It had to be sought out, collected, couriered, delivered, read, cataloged, then finally filed away in long stretching catacombs under the Center where it would likely remain untouched forever more. The investigators did the leg work, spending their days walking the streets and alleys, combing over the city like some giant net of information gathering fishermen. Ninety percent of the time.

There was, however, that other ten percent.

Now to be fair, not every investigator could sit in a tavern across from a konti girl and talk about the ten percent. Not because it was off limits for discussion or a closely guarded secret, but because for most other investigators, there was no ten percent. They were content to tediously carry out the collecting and delivering of parchments and scrolls and so forth. But not Sal. It had really been born of convenience at the start. The Center itself was a hub of information since, while it had all that knowledge at its fingertips, it made sense that people would go there to seek it out. A relative come to Lhavit and trying to find family? Ask the Cosmos Center. Maybe someone was simply looking for a long term housing arrangement. Cosmos Center. So on and so on.

It came to the mind of one particular governmental figure of Lhavit that the Center might in fact be useful in other ways. Investigators by their very nature covered a lot of ground in the city, as well as carried a certain reputation for asking questions in all manner of places. In other words, they could be anywhere and ask anything, and most people might not bat an eyelid. That was a valuable tool for those who could find uses for it. That governmental figure had, from time to time, utilized such resources. Sometimes it might have been to deliver or collect sensitive documents. Perhaps it was merely to chase up a rumor within the city, without concerning the already busy shinya with the matter. Indeed, it was up until that line where the shinya did need to be involved that the ten percent truly existed. From there, through recommendations and word of mouth, the investigator's worth was a concept opened up to others. Sal had found himself a busy man as a result.

All completely above board of course. Besides, who was to say otherwise?

Sal relayed most of this to Alses, while settling to give her just a brief glimpse of the ten percent. There was nothing to hide as far as he was concerned - unless private investigations into Solomon Kriegsfelt counted - but even so he did not see any benefit in going into detail over the less advertised features of his work. Finally, content with his rendition of the facts, he took a swig of his drink before adding one last thought on the matter. "It's not only crimes that hide facts. We simply investigate truths. All of them."

That last part sounded unintentionally ominous, so he decided it was a good opportunity to hand back the baton of conversation. He almost regretted doing so however, as Alses made verbal her interest in his hand. Her words were cutting, in that they were sharp with truths of her own. No use hiding his hand now, though he did send a sideways glance to either side of him, ensuring his secret was limited to the konti.

"No, not shame," he muttered, almost inaudibly. The focus on his hand brought back the searing inferno of blood red and fury filled yellows in his aura, while a billowing smoke like blackness tried at first in vain, then successfully to smother those flames. After a few moments, Alses could see that fire inside searching for ways out, flickering at the edges of the dark blanket, as though it was ready to burst. There was something under the surface of Sal, hidden in his past as it was.

Or perhaps it was a hint of his future.

[Alses]

Alses watched with interest as the man reddened and spluttered ale across his face. Making the occasional colourful remark was – as Lheili had mischievously said – such fun. All the more so if deployed only occasionally, and with care; the impact was orders of magnitude greater for the rarity.

A small chuckle wormed its way out, despite all her efforts. “Sorry, Sal. Couldn’t resist it. Take a moment – and a napkin, too.” Alses waited patiently as the man tidied himself up and regained some of his equipoise, a smile still dancing around the edges of her lips at the sight and the memory both.

She listened attentively, almost unblinking such was the focus of her regard, letting the words wash over her in a gentle flood even as she extracted every iota of meaning from each puff of shaped air.

It was certainly food for thought; a ready-made network of official prodnoses, with their eyes on the prize and their fingers on the pulse of the city, or whatever the mortal expression actually was. Apparently, people were so used to the Cosmos Centre and its agents inquiring casually about the rumours – actual rumours – floating round the city that they’d not bat an eyelid if someone in Centre garb and with Centre insignia popped up and asked them a little bit more about it.

What a powerful thing to have! Alses’ head swam with the heady possibilities, of ways to insinuate herself into the structure – the Cosmos Centre didn’t answer to her, after all, although doubtless one of her clerks provided the place with information about vacancies and law-changes and all the rest of it.

It was just a shame that the information only flowed one way. Although…perhaps, with the right incentive, a little harmless subornation could go on. Not obstructing the course of information on its way to the Cosmos Centre – a vital nexus in the city, to be sure – more…an extra culvert, so some of that information came, with elegant efficiency, to her attention.

As it was, she had to rely on a creaking ad-hoc system, augmented by her own powerful auristics and presence around the city. Building up a coterie of dedicated investigators would hurt the Department’s budget and take time, more time than was really available; far more elegant if she could subtly twist a few of the Cosmos Centre’s strands to her own ends. At least occasionally.

Sal had shown a brief flicker of form, towards the end of his explanation, and that intrigued her. Form…a useful word, that. It was what Chiona had once called a certain something...Hidden depths was a little strong, unexpected mettle was too combat-oriented…form was just the right word, perched delicately between the two. Alses tasted opportunity on her lips, sweeter than wine and twice as elusive.

“How useful it would be,” she remarked idly, eyes half-lidded as she watched Sal, opposite, “If the Radiant Tower had something similar. Syna above knows that her grace is forever in want of information, to keep and maintain the various city groups in their dynamic equilibrium if nothing else.”

Aware that she’d left her drink sitting unattended and unregarded between them for perhaps a little too long, Alses reached out and – steeling herself – touched the bloodred liquid to her lips. Not a drink, not even a sip, just a touch. Even that small contact, darkening her bloodless mouth to a shade darker than cherries, exploded on her tongue with taste and sensation, and the heady alcohol fumes boiling off it made her smile momentarily, more of the drink slipping through the cracks and into her mouth properly.

It tasted just as good as her auristics had promised, although she quickly set it down again, not quite trusting herself.

“If not shame, then why your unease? This is a city rife with religion, of many different kinds and creeds. Unless you’re a priest as well as an investigator, ah, ‘on the lam’ from your duties?” One could almost hear the inverted commas drop neatly around the phrase.

Alses gave Sal a placating and slightly conspiratorial smile. She could relate. “I’ll not let on, I promise. We’re all entitled to our time off, after all.”

She regarded him over the rim of her glass, eyes speculative, as the silence stretched. “You’re a very angry man, are you not? But you control it very well – for the moment, at least. I wonder what made you so.”

[Sal Mander]

Sal had welcomed the company, surprised as he was when the young konti had chosen his table to situate herself at. Her and her drink that until now had served only as decoration for the table. Talking was at the heart of his work, and it of course was a skill like any other, in need of exercise and practice, to hone it and keep it sharp. But while he had engaged with her about the finer details of the Cosmos Center and the vast array of secrets it stood sentinel over, the subject of his gnosis mark remained a precarious precipice that his own judgement dangled over.

The dilemma was whether or not to bite his tongue, with both actions bringing to the table their own pros and cons. On the one hand, there was the ever present fear of reprisal should his secret get out. He had sort hard and diligently to keep that secret, having somewhere along the line convinced himself that Lhavit was and never would be ready to know of his true identity. He carried that secret around like a sin, one that seemed to provoke a sense of shame in him, as unwarranted as it was. After all, what truly was at the heart of the problem? If people knew he was Azenth, that he served the very god that had come so very close to destroying everything and everyone - in some cases succeeding - would people really judge him for that? Would they understand? Would they care?

On the other hand, it was not hidden from him the fact that talking could help. Perhaps if he explained the manner in which he had come to sit face to face with Ivak in the first place. No, Sal told himself resolutely. Not now. There were a handful of people in Lhavit that knew of Sal's mark. Kelski knew it for exactly what it was. The tattoo artist Savos most likely had an idea. Heck, if Brandon Blackwing did not know, Sal would have been surprised. The cheeky lad had a knack for knowing all sorts and snippets of information. But while the mark itself might have betrayed Sal's secret in terms of what it was, nobody yet knew the manner in which he had acquired it.

Of course, unbeknown to Sal, his aura was painting a rather vivid picture for Alses' sense to drink up. It turned as blood red as her cherry drink, though in vapor form that swirled around violently and chaotically. Expert as she was, the konti could therefore decipher hidden secrets between the layers of information. It was not in fact the mark of Ivak itself that so enraged Sal's aura, but rather something before that; something leading up to it.

Still, Alses had a manner about her that was both inviting and reassuring, more in the way of a loving and understanding mother than the young girl that sat looking inquisitively at him now. He could not deny that talking to her now about it was appealing, yet something still held him back. Why the unease, she had asked. A very good question. Meanwhile, the mention of a priest seemed to humor him momentarily. He had never really considered himself a religious man. Well, he had gone through the motions so to speak. But religion had always been more of a chore as a child than an active pursuit. And he liked to keep a certain mystery between him and the gods, in some way counterbalancing his career in finding hard facts.

"Rife indeed. But not everyone gets to choose their own religion," he said almost absentmindedly to himself. She mentioned his anger, a little too close to the mark in fact. But rather than rile from the question and grow increasingly uncomfortable, he opted for a different tact, throwing himself into the endeavor as though he had just invented it. "Well what about you? What religion do you hold to? Or more than one perhaps?" That's it Sal. Get her talking about her.

[Alses]

“Me?” Alses blinked for a moment, slightly nonplussed by the question. She was Synaborn Ethaefal; the answer was in her bones – no, deeper than her bones – even if, at the moment, she was locked in a disgusting mortal chain.

“Syna,” she answered quietly. “Syna. There can be no other – although I confess a certain regard for Tanroa, as well.” Alses shrugged, pale flesh shifting beneath the glimmering silk of her clothes.

“Happily, both have temples in Lhavit. Discharging my faith is thankfully an easy task, therefore, even if I didn’t find the joy in every morning.” Her voice was full of faith and conviction, deep and unwavering, limitless devotion beating slow and serene beneath the surface.

Taking a deep breath, Alses relaxed back into her chair and contemplated her companion – glowing with all the shades of anger, from the bright blaze of recent fury to the rich and bloody crimson of older injustices and half-forgotten rages, their fire banked but still very much there, a dormant volcano and decidedly not an extinct one. Interesting, oh yes, but difficult.

Sal Mander was hard work, she was finding, much to her annoyance; every time one section of a carefully-constructed shell lifted up, showing the complex coruscation that was at his core, the rest of it tightened in and shut down, red spikes of anger growing and reaching for her probing intellect, shutting down avenues of approach and sending her right back to a frustrating Square One.

He was good at deflecting her, too – she was enough of a student of rhetoric and all the ways one could use words to shape the world inside people’s heads to recognize his tactic. Most people liked to talk about themselves; it was as though the interest of another was an affirmation of their own place in the world, that they were really real, that they had an impact on Mizahar rather than drifting through it, alone and unremarked.

“Well, thank you for your time and your company, Sal Mander,” Alses said, quite formally, leaning back and discreetly pushing her chair slightly away from the table. The ice in her glass chinked merrily as she did so, droplets redder than blood splashing against the sides. She had decided to let his deflection stand without comment; his aura pulsed and thrummed with all the heady senses of anger, leaking out from the cracks in his control. Anger and many other things besides – an emotional explosion was perhaps not the best way to pursue a new acquaintance.

So she’d let it be, for now, and perhaps leave him with a touch of her own mysteries. He hadn’t been an awful conversational partner, after all.

“I’ve enjoyed chatting to you, but the bell grows late and I find myself becoming less pleasant company by the tick. As I should like to retain your at least tentatively-positive opinion, I bid you a pleasant evening – and remember, her grace is always on the lookout for intelligent people. Syna knows we could do with a few more around the Radiant Tower.” Her eyelid flickered in a mischievous, split-tick wink.

So saying, she rose in one smooth, liquidly elegant move, taking a half-step back in order to bow shallowly to the investigator in farewell. “Good evening to you.”