And the awful, awful almost-memories that I could only almost-remember even though I desired to be free of them altogether.
A memory that I did remember, one I would carry with me for quite some time, was of when I was fleeing down the hallway. For just after that horrid man had spoken, I had heard a silent, shuddering sob.
The night air was insufficient, no matter how fast it swept.
There was nothing I could have done.
I kept telling myself that.
It never helped.
***
***
Sleep fought me for the rest of that week.
I spent nights tossing and turning, unable to fully relax. My roommates could not be trusted, even though I knew they would behave due to my earlier complaints to Ma, and Ma’s stern influence over the girls.
Despite this, anxiety hounded me. There were too many ways for things to go wrong.
I did what I could to keep myself safe. I kept my Tithes Sigil well fed, using the stash of Cee I had stolen. I had enough from that first night of burglary to last the week. It saved me from having to exhaust myself further. Without a rested mind or body, I worried I would take undue risks. I already knew that I had previously.
Looking back at that night, I felt somewhat ill just thinking of some of the risks I had taken before, when I had gotten greedy, when I had hit more homes than I had needed to. It was not remorse for my thefts. No, of course not. I took so little from these wealthy homes that I doubted anyone had even realized they had been burglarized.
Partially due to these fears, and partially due to vanity, I kept my ears open during my shifts in the tavern. I was keen to learn of any rumors of criminal activity. But I had taken so little, I knew that no rumors would flare up. It was a mixed feeling when the week ended without any fresh rumors or reports or activity from ambitious detectives.
Pride was a curious thing, I mused.
Other than the discontent between the various orders of knights and the peacekeepers, I also noticed the lack of rumors regarding the Vigilants. There had been no fresh sightings of Princess Marissa’s team of enforcers.
By the time that the week ended, without any fresh burglaries to replenish my stock of Chargers, I had just about exhausted all that I had. Not only was I low on funds, but my Tithes Sigil began to run dry. At least I could ease up on my worries of running empty without realizing. It was very noticeable. My Tithes Sigil had begun to itch and sink further into my skin.
It would have helped if Ma paid in Cee.
Kate herself had visited once more that week. Her hair had looked disheveled and she had been accompanied by an older woman wearing the armor of a High Knight. Considering the woman’s stern face, I could not imagine that Kate had brought the woman by choice.
Still, I had been glad to see Kate, as strange as that seemed looking back at her visit.
When I had seen her come in, I had prepared her favorite drink, a citrusy mixed drink with a heavy pour.
Kate sat herself down at the bar, and I nudged the drink over.
Kate gave the drink a longing look, then glanced back at the stern woman who had remained standing behind where Kate sat. Kate glanced back towards the drink and licked her lips, almost reaching for the drink. Which was when the stern woman cleared her throat. Kate shut her eyes and groaned, before blowing her bluish blonde hair off her face.
I gave her a curious look.
“Yeah, I know, I know…” Kate said. “And I appreciate it, y’know? Just, I better not. At least not right now.”
“Or at any time, Sir Guardson,” the stern woman added. “Need I remind you the captain’s conditions?”
“Ugh.”
I pulled the drink back and set it down behind the bar. This mixed drink was popular enough I could easily send it to another patron without accruing any costs.
Kate rolled her eyes, then surprised me by sliding a mid-valued Cee across the bar towards me. She gave my right arm a meaningful glance. It seemed rather on the nose, an unnecessary clue that an observer could use to put things together. Not that I minded the tip. But Kate must have realized how heavy handed she was behaving, as she when on to explain, “for the drink, even though I can’t drink it.”
“And I appreciate this,” I said neutrally. “What reason has brought you in today, if not to drink?”
The stern woman frowned at the back of Kate’s head.
Kate coughed. “Ah, well… can’t I just stop by to see my sparring partner?”
“We have not sparred in some time. This is atypical.”
“Ha! I might have just wanted to drop by. But while I’m here, I was wondering if you’re considering a different job? This place is kinda…” Kate trailed off.
The stern woman scoffed, then turned a piercing stare towards me.
“This occupation is beneath one of Sir Guardson’s status.”
“Right, that.” Kate nodded.
“Truthfully, I have been considering alternatives as well.”
Kate nodded terseley. “Good.”
I had the feeling that we could have spent longer chatting comfortably, but the stern woman interrupted once more.
“We have dallied enough, and Phillip is expecting you.”
“Instructor Blackrest?” I asked, recalling time spent in the training yard.
“Yeah, remedial training.” Kate grimaced. “It sucks”
“That is intended,” the woman added dryly. “Perhaps Sir Guardson will use the opportunity to learn diligence and caution.”
“Yeah yeah,” Kate waved the recommendation off as she left.
Before leaving though,Kate seemed on the verge of something more, but she glanced at the waiting woman and shook her head just slightly.
“Be seeing you,” Kate said, then left to follow the stern woman out.
Several days passed after Kate had stopped by before I had finally exhausted my Cee. Another day after that, and I began feeling the pinch.
Considering my skills, I found it ridiculous that I was so impoverished. But I was in a tough position, with certain things hanging over me, draping my mind with anxiety and depression.
I asked Ma if she wanted me to start working security at night, as I remembered that she had mentioned it previously. It would both pay and provide a sense of normality, besides an excellent alibi.
However, when I asked, Ma only shrugged and said not yet. She had no sympathy for my position, not that she truly knew what my needs were. She had advised me to be content, as most would have to pay for such accommodations that she was providing me. That ignored that I was working the tavern for her in the afternoons and evenings.
I refrained from telling her that if I could find a place to pay for accommodations, I certainly would.
Ironic as the lack of solid dependable pay was one of my contributing problems remaining at Ma’Ritz. But if my schedule remained wide open, and if I had no need to maintain a covering alibi, then I would certainly be much wealthier than I was. At this time, I was suffering the worst of both worlds.
Although the baths were delightful.
Always Form: 2/9 (+1)
I was frequently given reminders of my outstanding favor owed to Cook. When I received breakfast, Cook would encourage me to hurry in rescuing her former employer.
“Kitten,” Cook said, “My lady suffers and her fate grows uncertain. This one’s fur turns grey from worry. Why must these ones be delayed?”
I had been collecting my special breakfast that morning from her coldbox. As I had yet to visit the butcher for myself since returning to the surface, I was reliant upon Cook’s stock. Unfortunately, this left me in an awkward position. I attempted to explain myself, although I knew that reasoned logic never truly abated a victim’s loved ones. It was not as though I could immediately chase down every lead, especially when it involved gangsters and lairs.
“I understand your frustrations,” I said. “When I have confirmed the situation, I will be better able to extract your previous employer. As this operation stands currently, it would be performed by myself without aid, and there risk to both myself and your lady.”
I had suspicions about this ‘former employer,’ of Cook’s.
“Kitten needs allies?” Cook asked, her head canted. “Why does your lover not help? Does kitten’s lover refuse to help, or has kitten refused to seek her lover’s aid?”
I bristled at that.
“Sir Guardson is not my lover,” I insisted. “And no, she is currently unavailable. Her mother has her occupied with penance. I will look into it soon, I promise.”
Cook would then finish handing me my meal, a wrapped section of raw meat.
The way Cook looked at me with her large and wet eyes left me feeling guilty for something that I had not even done wrong. I tried to raise Cook’s spirits. I did consider her to be something of an ally. I decided to use the same familiar patterns that Kaiva preferred.
“This one has promised, and this one will perform as promised,” I said to help lift Cook’s heart.
Additionally, besides raising her spirits, I worried that if Cook was willing to threaten me with that, and if that threat lost its potency, that she would escalate to threaten me with something that actually mattered.
And I had promised I would do this favor for Cook.
Overall, that week was trying for many reasons, and by the end of it, I felt as though I was breaking down in a silent collapse, and it largely came back to the fact that I could not sleep.
Everytime I tried, I remembered that poor woman locked in that house, suffering.
I tried ignoring the woman’s plight. I really did. Afterall, this kind of stuff happened all the time, and as long as I never knew about it, then it would never bother me, but I did know, and when I shut my eyes I remembered, and every little scrape, sound, and smell offered themselves as a distraction, both from remembering and from quality sleep.
And when I did find a fitful few hours of rest, then came the strange dreams. They were filled with toy-stores and megamarts, chapels full of unscrupulous wealth for midnight auctions, and a smiling mother watching her children play. These dreams were what ruined me that week. They were horrid.
No, no. I could not stand to close my eyes with this hanging over me.
The trapped woman’s situation bothered me. It bothered me greatly, no matter what I did.
This, the guilt, the everything combined, and the dreams… all of it… combined, it was just too much.
As the week ended, I could take no more.
That night, rather than retiring to bed, I took action.
My preparations had been scant. I had not planned for tonight. Instead of plotting over the course of the week, I had spent it inundated with trivialities and mundane actions which left me both frustrated and exhausted. This led to my current predicament.
I intended to act without backup.
Still, I remained confident.
And truthfully, I hoped to keep my actions hidden from my allies, lest they think they could use me for distasteful tasks, such as associations, both for my conscience, and for remaining a lower profile.
However, in this case, I felt that murder was justified.
And it was not as though I had never killed at this point.
It was just that this time it was premeditated. This time, I would kill with a cool-head and not in self-defence. This left me feeling squeamish, but as I surveyed the street, and the duplex housing my targets, I fortified myself. This must be done.
I was currently perching on the edge of a stone balustrade, talons lightly resting on stone, my tail swaying in the breeze behind me. My ears flicked away from the wind, and I was listening for any incoming traffic. So far, the night was quiet. No patrols were within my vicinity, and the neighboring homes had gone to bed.
It was time.
I rushed across the street, a shadow passing where none could see.
If anyone had been looking my way from a window, they would have needed keen night-eye to even see my route. If they had that, then surely one of my Talents would cover me.
My feet kept tracking on slick pave-stones and never made a sound.
Without slowing, I sprinted up the side of the duplex, hitting the very same window I had broken in the first.
My heart had begun to pound fiercely, and not from the sprint. My fingers trembled as I caught the window and lifted it open. My mind wanted to delay, to hold back, to consider what I would do. Delaying would lead to additional doubts, which would create a vicious cycle.
To prevent this, I pushed all thoughts aside and I dropped down to the floor, the same floor covered in moldering clothes and piles of refuse.
This, I did hastily.
Perhaps I should have been a hair more cautious as I dropped down from the window, for as I landed, something shifted beneath my foot, and from out beneath the pile I landed upon, an empty bottle rolled out across the wooden floor.
It only rolled a short bit, and the sound had already been muffled by the cloth.
As soon as I felt the ground shift beneath me I froze, but the damage was done.
It had only lasted several seconds and the noise had been minimal. Unless someone had been listening attentively, they would have missed the noise altogether. Still, though, I had frozen and then waited several moments, listening and feeling for the slightest vibration that would indicate footsteps.
Other than breathing, muddled through the walls even with my ears, I detected nothing worrisome. I felt some relief. I had yet to be discovered yet.
I exited the room and entered the filthy hallway. There was some carpeting, but it was inconsistent and wrinkled in several spots. I noted the position of these wrinkles as tripping hazards and I continued down the hall, past the deadbolted room, towards the other bedroom I had identified.
From what I heard, one of the men was sleeping in the room ahead. It was towards this room I went, with light feet making nary a sound.
I passed sheets of faded wallpaper, grimy and yellowed from age. Despite the fact that this home sat upon Blossom Hill, situated within an affluent neighborhood, the interior of this place seemed a better fit for the slums. At some point, someone had scrawled crude imagery along the wall, the ink sloppy and dripping before it dried. These people were sick.
I reached my first target, the bedroom where one of the men rested therein. A cursory examination of the door revealed greasy marks from where dirty hands had leaned against it. There were even stray black hairs stuck to the wooden surface by this grease.
Disgusting.
I used a handkerchief to twist the knob, refusing to touch it with my hand.
The door groaned as I opened it, the hinges old and worn but not squeaky. It was a lower pitch, less grating, and less likely to awaken the occupants. It was still noisier than I would have preferred, but I lacked the means to silence the hinges, even if those hinges had been on my side of the door.
The best I could do to ameliorate the noise was open the door slowly and consistently until it was just wide enough for me to fit through.
During this brief moment of necessary noise, the room’s occupant snorted and turned, rustling fabric of the mattress. I listened carefully and waited for the man’s breathing to normalize once more.
When he began snoring, resting peacefully, I felt a flash of irritation. I was suffering sleep deprivation and nightmares from what I had seen these men commit, and here at least one of those men was, sleeping peacefully, with a clear conscience. I used this anger and frustration to help drive me forward.
I entered the room and tried my best to ignore the stench of booze and old sweat.
There was only one man present in the room with me, which was not unexpected. The man rested on a twin-sized mattress, resting on the floor without a frame. The man was sleeping in the nude, his body hair matted with sweat. Only his face and hands had the semblance of cleanliness. He was sleeping, sprawled on his back, the blanket ruffled and tangled at his feet.
Unnatural Concealment: 4/9 (+1)
One of my Sigils burned, indicating something had improved, although I refused to take the time and check.
I stepped towards the mattress, unsheathing my knife as I went. Metal kissed cloth as I retrieved it, a k-bar knife, made of the best steel available within the Mercenary District. It would have to do.
I reached the man and I knelt down beside his head; one hand hovering over the man’s chin, the other holding the knife near the farside of the throat.
A deep breath to fortify myself. I envisioned the action, how my muscles would behave, how the knife would slash.
Now.
At once, I shoved down on his chin, twisting it towards me as I slashed his throat and trachea. With the applied torque, and with the knife halting midway, most of the initial blood sprayed away from me, splattering the wall.
Of course, the moment I touched him, his eyes snapped open. By then, the deed was already done, though he was not quite dead. He jerked and tried in vain to shout. He thrashed for several brief seconds before slowing and drifting unconscious once again, death claimed him.
Her Flesh: 2/9 (+1)
As life left him, my Mark burned and growed. My Tithes Sigil felt fuller than before. Intrinsically, I knew I could now do more for longer now, such as maintaining my Guise for longer, or crafting more potent Hallucinations.
I pulled back and stood, watching the blood pool into the cloth of the mattress, staining around the man’s cooling corpse. At this point, I found myself lingering, watching the scene. I did this. I slew a man in cold blood, and I could not claim to have hated it.
In fact, the opposite seemed to be true.
I searched within myself, took note of my senses, my impressions. It was then that I realized an unfortunate detail.
The scent of copper and iron had mixed with that of the cheap liquor the man had drunk. The moment I realized this heady scent, I also realized my mouth watered. The gums around my canines ached for pressure as they ripped and tore.
This realization scared me greatly. I flew from the room, throwing the door open wider and slamming it shut behind me, to trap the flavor of temptation behind.
What was wrong with me?! I had to wonder, although I loathed what answer I might find.
Despite the danger, once I fled from the bedroom I took several breaths to calm myself and to clear the scent from my mind.
Less than a minute later and I had regained my sense of calm.
It was not as though I could control my body’s physical reactions. It was not as though I were some monster. The scent had only confused me. The thought of human flesh repulsed me.
Persuasive Lies: 8/9 (+1)
I ignored the burning Mark. I straightened myself. I had business to finish, and now that I had made such a racket I was on a timer.
From down the hall, where the girls' room lay, I heard floorboards shift.
This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.
There was a heavy body crossing the floor. One far too heavy to be the captive girl, even if that girl were a woman. This was an assumption I had made regarding the victim. I recognized this, that I was unsure of just who the victim was, but the weight was likely pushing two hundred pounds, judging from the groaning floorboards and the vibrations felt.
I believe that one of the captors was already in the room with the victim. There, they might hold her hostage, or perform some horror motivated by spite alone.
This would not be an acceptable outcome. It made my pulse quicken.
Because of this, I made haste, sprinting down the hall towards the girls door.
During the seconds of travel, it crossed my mind that they might be preparing some trap, but how could they know they were under attack, if no call of alarm had gone up? Even had they heard my movement, why would they assume their abode had been violated and invaded, especially when drunk roommates abound.
But it was then that I reached the room, and I made an unpalatable observation.
The deadbolt remained unlocked. The latch was open. Had it been this way when I had first passed by this room? I could not recall. But this did confirm my assumption. The victim was not alone within the room. The thought of what could be happening while I had scurried about left me ill.
This train of thought was unproductive. I recognized this. I stopped it, put it on hold. I could recriminate myself later. This made all the more apparent when I heard footsteps approaching from the other side of the door.
By this point, I had reached the door, and despite my earlier mistakes, I had been silent in my approach, and I doubted that the person on the other side knew that I was there. I left my hand on the doorknob, waiting for just the right moment.
The footsteps halted, just across me.
The doorknob began to twist.
Now.
I shoved the door inwards as hard as I could, throwing my shoulder and my complete weight into it.
A man grunted in surprise, the door pushed into him, he staggered backwards, caught off guard by the sudden motion.
To keep the momentum and to roll the man’s surprise into a sufficient advantage, I continued pushing inwards. However, beyond the first step back, the man had halted the door’s progress. I lacked the weight to push him effectively, although the door was opened wide enough for me to slip through.
When the man stopped the door’s progress, I adapted.
I dived and rolled across the ground, entering the room with the perp and the victim, not the best place to be, but I could ensure the victim survived this way. The decision had been made quickly, perhaps rashly. But it would keep the man from holding himself up here to do who knows what to the poor girl.
After I came to a stop, I crouched at the ready, but my tail continued under its own momentum, lashing behind me and sending something clattering and smashing to the ground from atop the dresser which was behind me.
The man could somewhat see in the darkened room, while I could see perfectly. Still though, he made out my form, particularly my tail. His eyes widened at that, something akin to recognition passed his face.
“Kunny?” the man asked, more as he thought out loud. This was somewhat slang for kunbeorn, focusing more on the non-human aspects of a person. I considered the term to be derogatory. Many of the kunbeorn would disagree with my sentiment, but that was because they were slaves.
However, my thoughts aside, the moment his eyes widened in recognition served as an opportunity to me, one that I strove to seize.
At that moment, I ducked down and longed forwards, swiping my knife towards the inside of his leg.
Before blade made contact with flesh, he danced backwards, carrying his leg beyond my reach. He then countered, delivering a snapping front kick aimed at my knife hand.
I flinched backwards just in time, avoiding the kick. It was then that I realized I would need to put some effort into this deed. The man was somewhat competent and quick-footed.
He regarded me, lowering himself into an unarmed stance, one ready to grapple and use his heavier weight to hold me down. Likely, he considered himself more than my match. And why would he not? Most never thought to invest heavily in enhancing their kunbeorn, and he already had a measure of my own strength and weight.
This confidence of his almost allowed him to relax, but then his eyes landed on the red knife blade, one that still dripped with the savory blood of his roommate. When he saw that, he glared and his lips puckered.
He asked, “who sent you?”
As he had paused, I took the chance to scan the room. I saw the victim, the girl, no older than mid-teens, sitting at the edge of the bed, staring at nothing, listless and dull to the fight taking place.
The man must have noticed my attention lingering on the girl.
“Nobody coulda known she–” He shook his head and scoffed “-no, not for her. Seriously, who sent you? I’ll probably keep ya around if you behave. Always good product, kun.”
If he intended to convince me to surrender, he could have at least made a palatable pitch. Instead, I decided that this man had drawn enough air. His time had come.
I summoned a tangible hallucination. It only took a split second’s worth of focus to envision what I wanted. This was coupled with a slight warming on the sigils. Then, there was a twisting sensation, with my envisioned entity seizing onto a foreign point of reference.
The hallucination formed. It came as a tangible version of myself split off from me, diving towards him and to the right, slashing with the blade. It would serve as a distraction at the least, and a source of damage at the best.
The same instant the hallucination formed, he reacted. He agilely pivoted and punched out explosively. His arm buried itself in the hallucinations chest before the image shattered and faded into nothing. He grunted in confusion, and then again when I used his distraction to stab him in the ribs.
Tangible Hallucinations I: 3/9 (+1)
Unfortunately, the knife bounced. I discovered his flesh to be enhanced, sturdier than expected. The knife drew blood, but the wound would hardly hamper him, let alone kill him, unless it turned infected over the course of days.
Before he could pivot towards my true position, I rolled away as he pivoted again. As I went, he swiped. I felt the passage of his arms just narrowly missing my tail.
I needed something else to win this fight, something more. A better hallucination, I decided. It was then that I had an inspired idea, one that I began to form in my mind’s eye.
“Enough tricks!” he snarled.
Instead of bantering, I formed the hallucination, envisioning it, twisting it about the man’s point of reference, then empowering it.
Something wicked formed.
It was a film of suffocating darkness, a veil of airtight silk, fell across the man, covering his head and body before cinching down.
The strain on my reserves was significant.
I felt shaky, low blood sugar, but not.
But no matter how draining I found the hallucination to be to maintain, he had it worse.
He tore at the vel covering his face, but he could not gain purchase on the smooth and tight fabric.
His mouth and nose were covered.
He was blinded.
Largely deafened, but not quite.
“Get it off!” he shouted, panicking. “Kun! You–no–girl! Help me!”
For the strangest reason, perhaps conditioning, the girl arose from the bed, heading towards the man, not to extract vengeance, but seemingly intent on helping the man recover.
I doubted she could help him. I watched, wary to see if she would attack me, or if she had some means to stop me.
The girl seemed at a loss, reaching the man, her hands unable to gain a grip on the fabric. Her movements lacked any sense of urgency.
“Please–!” the man shouted, coughed and perhaps wheezed. “Get it off get it off–”
Her Love: 2/9 (+1)
My Mark burned. It reminded me that I only had so much energy to spend. The focus, concentration and strain of maintaining the hallucination was intense.
The man panicked and thrashed, flinging himself to where he thought i was, which was where he had heard motion, which coincidentally was where the girl had been moving towards him. He felt her through the veil and assumed she was me.
“-kill you!” He screamed at the girl. “You godsserving whore I’ll–”
I had heard enough. The girl was not a threat. He might kill her at this rate. I stepped in, sliding my knife past the hallucination without resistance, as though the silk cloth were absent altogether.
He grunted, trying to seize at his throat, but prevented from even that by the layer of cloth only he could feel. He thrashed and kicked and shoved the girl aside. I gave him space in his death throes.
My Mark continued to burn, except now it was a sensation caused by its growth, coupled with a swelling about my Tithes Sigil, feeling as though I had fed it several large denominations of Cee.
Passive Enervation: 5/9 (+1)
Rather than considering the ramifications of that fact, I focused instead upon the girl.
She had returned to her feet, standing there numbly, looking down at the man’s body without otherwise reacting.
I found this strange, but I was hesitant to approach her, unsure of her state of mind, or of how to treat such a victim of these circumstances.
With hesitance, and softness in my voice, I attempted to make contact and to console the girl.
“You’re safe,” I said.
Her gaze slowly drifted towards me before returning to the wall. There was no acknowledgement in her eyes.
“Can I come near you?”
She did not respond.
I tried to be patient. I really did. But she seemed unresponsive to my attempts at niceties.
“Do you feel safe enough to speak to me?” I asked, trying to be considerate.
She never responded, except to turn her head my way. That was progress. I continued.
“Do you feel safe here, in this room?” I asked, before answering on her behalf at my own ridiculous question. “No, of course not. How could you?”
Her eyes glossed over where the man was bleeding.
“Do you have a safe place, a home, a family?”
No response came.
“Are you in danger in some way?” I tried.
Nothing. It had been worth a shot.
“Let’s get you out of here anyways.”
Her focus turned upon me once more. It seemed we were making progress, if scant that. I had a curious idea. I tried once more, this time using simple wording and authority in my voice.
“Follow,” I commanded. Ordinarily I would never resort to such heavy handedness, but we needed to leave with haste, and I was in no mood to carry her, if I even could. When I gave that command, she did, in fact follow. I led her around the man’s corpse, out the door from the room, and down the hallway.
But when I turned to look at her, now that we were free from the room where much of her trauma was likely to have happened, I realized that she was hardly in any state to travel. She was wearing only a night shift, was emancipated, and had bruises and unwashed hair. Clearly she would draw attention wherever we went, and she could become sick from exposure to the night air.
“Were your clothes in there, in the room?” I asked, remembering the dresser.
She made no response and had stopped moving when I had turned to face her.
I groaned and almost pressed my eyes shut, but I did not trust the girl, she was too broken. I tried making it a command instead.
“Get dressed,” I said, with authority.
She glanced down at her shift then towards me once more. Because of course, she was already wearing clothes. I likely would need to be more specific than that.
I had no intention of re-entering the room that had held her prisoner, but I could not take her anywhere with her being as exposed as she was. It was then that I remembered the mildewing piles of clothes and accessories likely stripped from the victims of this likely human trafficking ring.
“Alright, whatever. Just… follow me,” I said, as she had responded to that command at the very least.
I led her into the room full of crumpled outfits, some torn, others molding.
I looked over the clothes towards the top, assuming one of these outfits had originally been from the girl. I found a pair of slippers and a jacket that might have been hers, along with a scarf. There was a dress that might have fit her, but it had been torn open. With the jacket though, she should be fine. It was a long coat, coming down to the thighs.
“This will work.”
Getting the girl dressed in these clothes ended up being fairly straightforward. Everything else was exhausting.
Sometime later, we were leaving the duplex, but it was then that I encountered a self-created problem, one that I ought to have considered originally, before beginning this rescue operation. Because originally, I had not intended for her to see my form. I had planned to veil myself with hallucination or guise, but never my true form.
This posed a difficulty.
Should I turn her over to the justice system, she might inform them even without intending to act maliciously towards her savior. This could result in briefs going out regarding myself, which would undoubtedly affect me negatively.
Leaving her on the street would be leaving her to either the justice system or worse. There would be no guarantee that she survived, nor that the criminal ring those two men belonged to would be affected. Her captors may number more than the two men I had slain, and I suspected they belonged to a larger system of malefactors, otherwise they would have been found out by now.
Setting the woman loose upon the streets was the most tempting solution, but I feared that with her in her current mental state that she would perish from exposure.
I was considering what to do with her as she followed me down the communal stairwell and out onto the building’s porch. It was then that I had to make a choice: Either leave her, which would be the same as killing her but slowly, or send her to the nearest knight to possibly implicate me.
What would Mother have done? She would have exploited the girl. If I considered other persons of authority, Kate would likely have ignored the girl’s plight altogether and Ma would put the girl to work, similar to Mother but kinder.
If only Southbridge had facilities to house the recovering mentally ill. But asylums were lacking. I suspected prominent families silenced their own problems, and that the poor families never had the luxury of doing anything but working until they died, mentally ill included.
None of these thoughts helped me come to a decision.
I looked back at the young woman. Seeing her like this, I had a sense of deja vu. I could almost transpose another image upon her frame, an almost-memory. Unpleasant. I clamped that thought down and repressed it thoroughly.
I refused to abandon this girl to the nonexistent mercies of the city.
I could not risk myself by bringing this girl to Ma’Ritz, nor to the authorities. I needed to bring her somewhere safe, and I could not risk remaining without my guise on the street. There were many things I could not do, or perhaps would not do, but there was something I refused to allow happen. Some risks were required.
I came to a decision. My spine stiffened in resolve. First, I needed a moment’s respite, for a modicum of deceit, should the girl ever be questioned. I threw a quick hallucination at her, causing her blindness. She blinked but remained indifferent. A second passed, then another. She seemed to be listening intently. When she heard me exhale, she began to slowly approach my position.
I stepped lightly away from her, out onto the street, in the cover of darkness and certain that my Stealth held strong.
The girl somehow followed my position, even though she was blind and my steps silent.
I thought of covering her ears as well, but that would be too cruel, and I had only cast the hallucination of blindness to grant myself some modicum of privacy.
It was only when she began following me that another curiosity of mine arose, but then I remembered my last command to her, which was to follow. It appeared that some supernatural sense would assist her in this effort. I decided to drop the matter.
It was then that I activated my Guise, while the girl remained blinded, so that she could never actually say that the purple furred beast-kin was the same as the human named Jackie. A weak ploy of separation, but I was lacking in appropriate safeguards other than simply killing the girl.
As my Guise came over me, my human form melded with my true form.
In the past, my Guise changed my body physically, bones snapping and warping alongside my flesh. It had been painful in the same way lactic acid and growing pains were.
Now, the melding came without pain, it came quickly, and it reminded me of a tangible illusion worn over my physical form, except this illusion subtracted from me in ways that defied the physical plane altogether. There was another axis that my body was shunted off into which felt cramped but not painful.
Once my Guise was on, and it was safe to be seen, I dropped the hallucination covering the girl.
During this time, the girl had continued approaching, and she was less than two yards from me, waiting patiently. When she saw me, her eyes widened slightly when she could see once more as she refocused them upon myself. She failed to react otherwise.
The situation with the girl was bizarre, but I put the matter aside for the moment, and turned my attention towards leading the girl to safety, without being followed or chanced upon by ‘well-meaning’ peacekeepers who might demand their ‘honest-due.’ Fortunately, the girl was nearly as silent as I was, and we made quick progress down the hill.
Trackless Tracks: Area Coverage: 8/9 (+1)
While it would not be disastrous for my presence to be noted, it could cause questions which I would rather not answer. I did not draw attention to myself, and the girl naturally appeared uninteresting, even though she wore only a thin dress and her shoes fit poorly. I should have found a jacket for her to wear, but I had been too careless in leaving that awful place.
As we traveled, the girl remained concerningly apathetic. Never once did she ask where we went.
When we were halfway down the hill, I took a quick detour, leading the two of us down a garden footpath, between two manors, and to a small park with a bench by a fountain. To appear natural, I strode towards the bench and took a seat, gesturing for the girl to follow suit besides me.
I made an effort to have discourse at a low volume, both to appear natural in our current setting, and to attempt to learn more about my current charge.
“Do you have a name which I can call you?” I asked in a soft voice.
Of course she made no response.
“Tell me your name,” I said as a command, more forceful than I would ever be otherwise.
To that, at least, she attempted to respond. She opened her mouth to speak, then paused. She ever so slightly furrowed her brows in thought, then shut her mouth. She shook her head just slightly. Either she did not remember, or she could not speak it.
I pressured her no further on the matter.
As we waited, I checked to see if we had been followed. I stretched my senses as far as they could go, but I could hear no footsteps or breathing. Nothing felt amiss. We were likely safe.
After ten minutes, we had waited long enough. I stood once more and had her resume following me.
Not long after that, we arrived at the back entrance of Laverna’s Cup.
Of course, entering the thief's den could not be simple. The backdoor was kept locked, and going through the front would risk drawing more attention than I would otherwise wish. Normally, a locked door would never bar my path, at least not for long. Except in this case, the door was barred from within.
This made it so I had to resort to knocking. It was crass, loud, and it could draw unwanted attention as well, although this was less likely than using the front.
Unfortunately, after a pause, there was no answer.
I glanced back at the girl, but she remained placid and unmoving.
I knocked once more, more loudly than before. This time the noise echoed down the alleyway. It left me cringing. Eyes from nearby residents could find us, all it took was a single glance out their window. I doubted they would recognize anything as being amiss, but small risks could add up.
As we waited, and as I imagined the worst, finally, movement came from within.
I breathed out in relief when the door opened.
Ay stood in the doorway, towering over me, looking amused, at least for a meohr.
“I am thankful that you answered,” I said, before airing some of my discontent. “Were you to take any longer, I may have broken in.”
“You could try,” Ay said with a smirk. “It might be fun to see the traps spring. Well, fun for me.”
I had not realized there were traps but it made sense.
Ay nodded towards the nameless girl.
“Who's that?” Ay asked, before expressing some doubt. “Sure you should be showing up with a guest?”
“In truth, no, I am not. I had hoped to speak to Belobog. Is she available?”
“Nah,” Ay said, “But might as well get you situated.” She waved us inside, while she stood just to the side of the doorway. I passed through first, then the girl, following without hesitation. As the girl passed Ay, Ay sneezed, before snorting and shaking her head as though to dislodge something unpleasant. Ay shut the door and followed after us as I led the way up to the loft.
“Seriously, who’s she?” Ay asked as we went.
“I am unsure,” I said. We reached the loft and I had the girl sit upon a couch. Ay narrowed her eyes as she watched this interaction. “I rescued her today from captivity. I suspect a human trafficking ring.”
“No shit?” Ay asked. “Tell me more.”
And so I obliged, sparing no detail. After this, Ay seemed somewhat put out, if her swearing was anything to go by.
Unfortunately, Ay did not have good news.
“Might have to get rid of her if its too hot. See what the boss says, yeah?”
“Get rid of, as in… ?” I loathed to finish the question. Ay picked up where I left off and she drew a line across her throat and made a whooshing sound.
“That… would not be acceptable.”
“Hey, just the way these things go.”
“No,” I insisted.
“Or… ?” Ay asked with a knowing grin, prodding me to make some threat, not that I would. Truthfully, if they planned on killing the girl, then I was unsure what I would do. But I did have some incentives I could offer the team, to keep them from simply killing her.
“Meh,” Ay shrugged. “Probably don’t have to worry anyways. Think you were followed here? Should I go ‘round and check for any witnesses?”
“Do not insult me,” I said coolly. “My stealth skills are unmatched.”
“Well, ya might as well stick around a bit. Drinks?” Ay went to the bartop and grabbed a growler of ale. In her hands, the growler looked more like a bottle.
I shook my head. The girl remained silent. Ay used her teeth to pull the cork and proceeded to empty half of it, some ale slipping down the sides of her chin and neck. When Ay finished, she belched and patted her stomach. It was too much. I averted my gaze. I heard her scoff in amusement.
I remained there on the couch for some time, unsure of just what to do. During this time, Ay regarded the girl. Finally, Ay came to some sort of conclusion.
“Rough that they use that crap to break her, though guess turnabout's fair play and all. Still messed up.”
I was unsure of what she meant, exactly. I prompted her for more, to which she responded with incredulity.
“You pulling my leg?” Ay asked.
“No, I am genuinely curious.”
Ay shrugged, then she went to explain.
“Alright, weird, since everyone should know what to not ever eat, but I’ll talk. Some call it snuff, others meohr feed. Shits nasty. Girls not gonna recover.:
“Surely there must be some means of recovery?” I asked, voicing some of the horror I felt in learning of this atrocious substance.
“Well, maybe? I dunno. It scrambles the brain, makes ‘em docile.”
It dumbfounded me, the level of depravity that society could find and produce. I began flooding Ay with questions, both to keep myself safe, and to keep an eye out for others using the substance as a poison. “What does this snuff look like? Where does it come from? Does it carry noticeable scents? Is it controlled? You called it meohr-feed, is there a reason for that?”
“Hey,” Ay held up a hand to slow me down. “Read a book or something. Shit if I know, but it comes from way way south, up the meohr road, and is sometimes grown locally, but always under supervision. The stuffs dangerous, obviously.” She rolled her bovine eyes. “But since this nameless girl isn’t gonna get better, what’re we gonna do with her?”
“I had hoped you might have an idea.”
“I guess we could use someone to clean up the place.”
This was suboptimal, but I could hardly protest. It was better than killing her or tossing her out on the street.
From there, our conversation took another turn. I grilled Ay to find out more about where Belobog was and just what was keeping her preoccupied. I had not entirely forgiven Belobog for passing along instructions for me through Cook. When I explained my irritation, Ay thought it all a joke.
“Ha!” Ay slapped her knee, laughing in a braying sound. “Yeah, she be like that. Pfft, na. Meeting with some of the boss’s folk.”
“The boss? You mean the client? Is another big job coming our way?”
“Eh, shouldn’t say much, but seeing as you’re on the team, guess it’s alright for you to know what i do.
“Which is?” I asked, hoping for more details about just who it was that held the purse strings of the organization, and who was likely using the organization as a disposable cat's paw.
“Well, I don’t know too much, but I heard some rumblings, yeah. Something to do with a pit crew and a meeting with some out of town folks. Clients, I think. Taken Belobog, Joe, and Bee for intimidation purposes.”
“Surely you have more that you can speak on. Is there a reason you have not traveled with them for this important meeting? Is your brother with them then?” I tried playing on Ay’s ego to extract additional details.
“Eh,” Ay shrugged indifferently. “Not a huge fan of some of the client’s people, and they’re not a fan of me, so I’m holding down the home. Good thing too! Since you’re here. it’s all posturing and whatnot.” she twirled her fingers. “Boring stuff.”
It was not long after that that I decided to retire for the evening, which meant returning to Ma’Ritz and slipping back in to the shared bunk-room. As I made to depart, Ay made a request to me, one involving the girl.
“Before you take off, I’m gonna need to get this girl of yours squared away, yeah? Go ahead and let her know that I can boss her around. Otherwise she’ll just kinda sit there like a lump.”
I had not realized that was how it worked.
As I made my way back to Ma’Ritz, I felt better than I had in several days, and I looked forward to finally catching some sleep. However, there was one thing that was bothering me, just a nagging thought. I remembered the first time I had entered that den of slavers, that I had heard the girl silently sob.
… and so I wondered. If I had intervened when I had first discovered her, could she have been saved before it was too late?
I convinced myself that the answer was no, and I slept well enough that night.
Persuasive Lies: 9/9 (+1) -> Persuasive Lies I: 1/9
– Sweet Delusions: 1/9 [new]
Talents:
- Athleticism I (4/9):
- Climbing I (5/9)
- Featherlight I (5/9)
- Inversion (4/9)
- Gymnastics (5/9)
- Stealth II (2/9)
- Trackless Tracks I (8/9)
- Area Coverage (8/9) (+1)
- Alchemical Immunity: (2/9)
- Unnatural Concealment: (4/9) (+1)
- Eschiver I (7/9)
- Evasion I (4/9)
- Impending Sense (7/9)
- Lucky Break I (5/9)
- Chance Encounter (5/9)
- Courtly Dancing: Treachery I (5/9)
- Flexibility I (4/9)
- Persuasive Lies (9/9) (+2) -> Persuasive Lies I (1/9)
- Sweet Delusions (1/9) [new]
- Her Flesh: (2/9) (+1)
- Always Form: (2/9) (+1)
- Her Love: (2/9) (+1)
- Tangible Hallucinations I: (3/9) (+1)
Spells:
- [Slot removed]
- Guise of the Kitsune I (3/9)
- Malleable Form: (7/9)
- Passive Enervation: (5/9) (+1)
- Tithes to Above: (2/9)
Gifts:
- Obsession (5/9)
- Closed (0/9)
- Closed (0/9)