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[P] Run
Topic Started: Sat Oct 14, 2017 3:59 pm (626 Views)
Tinker
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"Sorry." He whispered, serious look a little tempered by embarassment. Another wrong. Pushing the matter aside for later, he worried his lip, poijnting down the stairwell where the boys' voices were echoing up as they muttered to each other.

"I told you he still has a part to play." He studied the creases in her face a scant few seconds before turning back to the stairwell and following the boys, crossbow pointed downward.

He followed closely, wiping his hand along the wall until it had been dried by dust and scraped clean. Dipping a hand into the pouch at his belt, he brought out the spike and waved it at the gate, letting the group through before tossing the incriminating spike into the slow-moving current.

"You wanted a warning, Mari." He whispered before stepping forward.

"Hold on." He half-shouted, a hushed call that carried over the group. The wounded boy was lagging behind in front of Mari and Eshan, the cloth pressed to his lower neck saturated.

"Skiv." He said, pointing to the lanky boy. The boy that had accompanied the other into the shop. The one who had been poking around while Griffon rounded him up and bullied him into joining them.

Stepping up to him, Eshan extended a hand.

"My watch." He stared directly into the boy's eyes, look dead and tone even. Skiv shook his head. "You want t' do this 'ere? I didn' take no damned watch, you--"

Crack.

The boy bent over double, falling to the floor and clutching the bolt in his leg.

The boys cried out, but Eshan stepped in and knelt by Skiv, shoving a hand into the left pocket of his rat-eaten jacket.

The piece was simple, pewter case with a glass lid. It was nothing too special, one of the simpler pieces, but it had been smaller and easier to palm. Pressing a button, he opened the lid and held it to his ear, checking the workings. Satisfied, he dropped it into a pocket.

"'E [removed]ing shot me!" The boy shouted, moaning through his teeth. Before one of the other boys could act, Eshan looked back at Marion with an apologetic grimace before he lifted the bow and pulled the trigger on his last bolt.

It sailed past the boy and right into the current. Skiv yelped and curled in, half-sitting upright to shrink from his impending death. The smell of fresh urine filled the air anew, breaking through the stale stenches permeating the tunnels.

Skiv looked up at Eshan just in time to catch the butt of the bow in the face, forcing him to stagger backward. He didn't notice the ledge.

Or the angry swamp drake stirring the water.

It roared, reverberating in the tunnels as it scrambled out of the water and forward, seizing the boy in its jaws. Enraged by the bolt protruding from one eye, it didn't seem to mind what it got ahold of as long as it got someone.

Blood spattered the walkway as it crunched down, dragging the boy into the water. Nothing was left of Skiv but a smear of blood and fear, his bloody rag, and the spilled sack of loot.

"L-leave it. W-we have to run now." Eshan said, throwing the spent crossbow into the water and sprinted along the path, leaving behind nothing but a story.

A dirty young man who had assaulted one of the service golems. Used it to break into the Coher estate. He'd managed to loot several rooms before hearing someone upstairs.

He'd broken into Lord Coher's room, but the lord had fought back. Cut him before the street rat put two bolts in him. The rat had looted the room and made his way downstairs, using a rag from the kitchen to cover his wound. He'd been bleeding heavily when he left, leaving smears on the walls.

The drakes had been waiting for him, lured by the scent of a blooded prey. He'd managed a lucky shot at the beast before it grabbed him, dragging the would-be thief to a quick death. There would be nobody left. Just a telling smear. If anyone worked a spell on the blood, it would only lead them to the sewer. All that wwas left behind was his loot, a rag, and a bloody bow.

"Mari, hurry. Two intersections up." He sprinted on, not looking back. "They're going to frenzy."
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Marion
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You wanted a warning, Mari.

That was it.

That was her warning.

What she’d wanted was to know the plan. She’d wanted him to say there will be swamp drakes, so be careful. She’d wanted him to tell her I am going to kill my father. And now, as he asked Skiv for the watch, she wondered what he meant to do. If Skiv handed it over, what would Eshan do? What would Eshan do if he didn’t?

The answer became clear enough.

Shoot him. Force him into the sewer.

Marion wasn’t stupid. She understood that Skiv died so they could have a scapegoat. Skiv would take the blame for the death of Lord Coher. Not Tinker. Not Marion. Skiv’s was the only blood spread around the place. And no one would think to look for vampires, because the proof that a vampire had been here tonight was gone.

Though something deep inside her had changed tonight, Marion still felt like crying, and felt stupid for wanting to weep. It wasn’t that she cared at all for Skiv—she didn’t, and didn’t miss him now that he was gone—but she’d tried so hard not be this kind of criminal. She wanted to be a thief, not a murderer. Not an accomplice. She’d never wanted blood on her hands. And now it was, if only peripherally.

“You made me the thing I never wanted to be,” she said.

He’d proved her parents right. When it came right down to the final straw, she’d be a monster, no matter what.

Marion took off at her fastest run down the sewer. She knew what intersection he meant.

“Was that the plan all along?” she snapped at Eshan. “We didn’t come here for jewels.”
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Tinker
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Their run was unimpeded this time around, the intended exit clear for their escape. Face pinched, he didn't answer her at first. They were pursued by one of the creatures at first, but the drake seemed unwilling to stray far from the eating.

"Yes." His voice was small, almost going unheard in the scramble of the boys up the ladder. "Terms of the job. I needed a group. Street rats who could follow orders with promise of a payout. Someone who wouldn't be missed if everything went wrong. Someone to cover the real job."

Keeping an eye down the canal for pursuers, he avoided meeting Marion's glare.

"You didn't know about any of it. It's not your fault." He reached out for her, grasping at air.

"You're not a monster." He mumbled. Pulling himself up the ladder, he entered the sewer entry shed, finding it empty. The boys had already gone. Offering a hand to Mari to help her up, he folded his hands under his arms and backed away.

"I'm sorry." He mumbled. "Are we still friends?"
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Marion
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“It wasn’t even to avenge your mom,” Marion snapped. “It was for your uncle.”

Pulling herself into the shed without Tinker’s hand, she wasted no time hurrying up to her feet. She lost her balance at first from the running—not the first time she had run for her life in the last day, but it would hopefully be the last. Leaning down with her hands on his knees, Marion bowed her head to catch her breath and to allow her thoughts a moment to catch up to her.

“Friends?”

She laughed.

She shook her head.

“You drag me into a job—you tricked me—you lied to me—” Marion lifted her head to look into Tinker’s face. “Friends. Tell each other. The plan.” Straightening up, Marion wiped her wrist over her mouth, cleaning off the last of the blood. She couldn’t go into Balefire looking like she’d killed someone.

“Last night you said we could be family. You’d kill for your uncle, and you wouldn’t even tell me the plan.”

He could have told her anything—anything, anything—and he hadn’t said a word.

“I’m done,” she said. “So. Goodbye.”

Marion left. She didn’t even look over her shoulder to spare him one last glance. He’d put her in danger with the rest of the gang. There was no way she could go back to them now. They’d think she knew, that she was a part of it.

She was alone.

A knot grew in her throat.

She clenched her eyes shut, suppressed the feeling in her chest, and walked out into the Balefiren dark to find some new home.
Edited by Marion, Tue Nov 7, 2017 1:20 am.
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Tinker
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Tinker didn't speak.

As she laughed in his face he looked down at his feet, holding his shoulder with his opposite hand to shield himself from the spite in her voice.

She walked away as he watched, disappearing into the shadows of Balefire. He wanted to reach for her, to run after her and beg her to forgive him, but his anxiety was like a hundred hands pulling him back.

She turned a corner and vanished from his world. Quiet as the city was, small as it seemed at times, two people could easily go their entire lives without so much as hearing about one another.

Shifting the harness digging into his shoulder, he ducked down and split his own way.




It only took him two days to sort the delivery. A quick trip to the shop he and Marion had run to, an appointment with a guild fence, and a couple hours of etching later he had his offering ready.

The courier's office was busy as ever, but he took the time to scrawl "I'm Sorry." on a scrap of paper, tucking it into the pocket clock and setting it atop two plain golden rings he'd hunted down. Polishing a smudge off the watch, he set it in the small rosewood box.

It would fit well in the palm of her hand, originally a simple dark steel piece now monogrammed with an M and set around the edge with small bits of diamond he'd salvaged from recutting the gem he'd bought off her, further recutting the bits into small stars.

Wrapping the box together with a bottle of the finest human bloodwine he could find, he paid for the delivery and hunched himself in and headed back home.




The shop was spotless. Everything was as he left it, down to the hair bent into the lock. His traps were armed, every security measure in place.

But he wasn't alone.

Looking to the divider in the corner of the room, he slung the crossbow into place, stock falling perfectly into place. A draw practiced a thousand times, a sighting based on years of instinct, and a smooth pull with no hesitation. The bolt flew across the room, punching through the thin wooden divider.

The knife came from behind.

The pain was incredible, if only for a moment. Eshan collapsed without a cry.

Gripping the stock in one hand he made a clumsy backhanded swing behind him from where he lay on the floor. His lower half didn't respond, leaving his swing short.

The knife darted in two swift motions, severing muscle groups in his arms. Biting his lip, he tasted hot, salty blood slowly filling his mouth. He couldn't feel his legs, couldn't move his arms properly. His back felt wet around his mid-back as the blood spread.

Vision narrowed to pinpoints from the pain, he breathed shallow and fast.

A knee came into view as his assailant knelt down in front of him.

"Nice shot. Would have left a hell of a hole in my neck." Sattherall Coher gripped Eshan's hair in a leathered fist, pulling his face up to look at him properly.

Eshan wanted to speak, say something in his defence, but couldn't find the will as a chill set into his hands, spreading up his arms. "It's going to be fast, at the end. A courtesy. All we wanted was the ledgers. You could have been in and out in a heartbeat. But no. You left the house a gods-damned horror show. My little brother with two bolts in him, his house ransacked." He showed Eshan the knife, a half-serrated thing wet with his blood.

"Sheriffs are happy knowing their rat is dead. But funny thing is, I don't know many rats that can rerig a golem overnight. And I do recall a particular brat that liked to go hiding down in the service closet when daddy got angry."

Eshan's uncle placed the tip of the dagger at the hollow of his throat, pushing it home.

"You cost me a pretty penny, nephew mine. Too bad you came home at the wrong time. Bunch of street rats ransacking your shop, not knowing you lived upstairs.

Rolling him on his back, Sattherall gave a few messy stabs, making sure to cut at his forearms to make defensive wounds.

Eshan's eyes drifted closed as his body jerked, reaching for the edge of his carpet under the counter as the sounds of drawers crashing to the floor echoed in his ears.




"Think it was the same B and E from the Coher place the other night?" One of the uniformed men flicked the end of the bolt buried in the back wall of the shop.

The other held a kerchief over his mouth as he knelt where the body had been found and taken away by the corpsewagon. "Most likely. Shop's torn up about as thoroughly. Cleaned out of valuables. One of 'em had a crossbow. Crossbow's nowhere to be seen. You see that vault in the floor? Must have been a pretty big score in there."

The man at the back of the shop just shook his head, stepping carefully over the ruins of display cases and shelving. "Wonder what he was keeping in there. Sooner we find these kids your contact came up with the closer we get to our answers. Got enough shit on our plates with a Lord's death without this crap."

The man holding the cloth to his face with grayed fingers just grunted, shining his lantern down the shaft in the floor. "I'll chase it down tonight. Go grab drinks for the both of us."

The skinny man lifted a hand, waving submission. "If you insist I suppose I don't have much choice. Night, Booker. I'll catch you tomorrow."

"Night Penn." Booker didn't look at his partner, running a hand under the lip of the broken trapdoor. It had been broken from inside. Once Penn was long gone, he pulled a pewter coin from his left coat pocket and a flask from inside, perching on one of the desks. He rubbed at the coin and the bloody print on its face.

"Goddamn it, Satt. What the hell are you playing at with this shit?" He groaned, draining the flask dry in one go and stowed both items away. Hopping out the broken window into the glass in the street, crunching underfoot, he made his way off to inquire after this "Griffin" kid.

"Last [removed]ing guild job I pull this year."
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Marion
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Marion stalked down the street, boots clicking against the pavement with a sound of malicious confidence. With her hands tucked in her coat pockets and her black hair whipping behind her in the wind, she looked like a force to be reckoned with—a woman on a mission, someone who would trample anyone who crossed her path. The truth was that Marion was hardly as confident as she looked; the austere frown and the harsh downward crease of her brows made her look certain of herself, but she wasn't. She was angry, confused, wracked by guilt and satisfaction.

Who do you think you are, Eshan?
I told you I was done.
We aren't friends.

I can kill, Eshan, just like you.
It is glorious.
You didn't make me a monster.
I made me that
.

Oscillating between resentment and forgiveness, Marion tried to rehearse what she would say to him when he opened the door but could not decide. One moment her heart was hard as stone. The next it softened, and she felt an apology open like a shy blossom inside her. Until she saw his face, she wouldn't know what to say—she would surprise even herself, she supposed, by whatever came out of her mouth.

As she approached the shop, she took a deep breath.

And inhaled the holy scent of blood.

Eshan's blood.

Marion's eyes widened.

There were voices inside.

Ducking into a crouch, Marion shuffled into some nearby bushes and plastered herself against the building's wall. Sooner we find these kids your contact came up with the closer we get to our answers. Her stomach twisted and the foul taste of bile rested on the back of her tongue. The guys had come back and—what had they done? How badly had they hurt him? Marion tried to close all her senses but her hearing, but she could not locate the sound of Eshan's heart. Had he been taken in for medical aid?

The two sheriffs were bidding each other goodnight. Pressing herself into the dirt, Marion waited until the footsteps faded before getting ready to go inside—one had stayed behind, muttering. Listening carefully, Marion was glad her own heart didn't beat, for any creature in Balefire with sensitive ears would surely have heard it.

When at last he left, and Marion knew she was alone, she climbed through the broken glass into the store. From the sheer amount of blood, she knew he hadn't lived. Lips parted, Marion looked around the store, turning slowly as if in a daze. There was no urgency to her movements as she examined the bolt stuck into the wall, the overturned shelves, the destroyed display cases. Below her boots, the outline of a body in soft white chalk, the place where her friend had been discovered.

A stinging wetness rose into her eyes. Marion stared dumbly at the outline, imagining his bent limbs, his blood pooling out of him. The tips of her fingers began to tremble. He hated being touched. Had Griffin and the other boys touched him? Had they wrestled him down, stolen his crossbow, and sent a bolt flying home to rend his heart?

His little heart, which had raced like a rabbit's just a few nights ago.

Marion began to comb over the crime scene, still without urgency. She didn't know what she was looking for. She tried to open the trap door, but it was stuck from the inside. She tried to remember if Eshan had opened it a special way, but she couldn't find the memory. She'd been drunk. Tired. Sad.

I could have been here.
Just a few minutes—
An hour—
I could have saved you.

I'm so sorry
.

Marion's breath flooded from her in a long exhale. A tear, plump in her eye, rolled over her cheek. She lifted her wrist and caught it immediately.

"I can kill, now," she said. Her voice was low, hollow. "I killed a man."

Not for money. Not for justice. Not for vengeance.

"I can kill," she said. She knelt to inspect broken bits of a desk. "I can kill." She looked over the walls for their debris, for signs of a struggle. Had Griffin and the guys really done this? Who were Penn and Booker, really? And what had sat here long enough for Booker to comment on it?

Clenching her jaw, Marion gave one last look around the store. She inhaled deeply, but there was only Eshan's blood here. There was no one else she could track.

It was too clean. The guys didn't know how to do that. They were petty thieves, not professionals. They'd have made more of a mess. Eshan could have fought them.

Lifting her index and middle fingers to her mouth, Marion kissed them and then pressed them next to a stain of his blood. Then she climbed back out the window, breaking more glass beneath her boots, not sure what to do but knowing she had to try.
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