Hydaelyn Role-Players
Cigarettes and Fireflies - Printable Version

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RE: Cigarettes and Fireflies - Roen - 01-22-2018

Nabi squeezed her hand firmly, pressing the nail of her thumb hard into the palm of her other hand as they were both clasped in front of her abdomen. It was easier to calm the fluttering in her stomach by concentrating on the pain.

Her body wanted to shudder with dread, her instincts screaming for her to flee. As she made her way up the floors of the Hostelry, where she knew Elam Grave to be dining, she had to focus on her steps, so that she did not stumble on the stairs from her nervousness. She began to see armored men, standing idly by the walls as she ascended, giving her a once-over. The first one reached for his ear, muttering something low. All eyes seemed on her.

There was fear that gripped her heart and threatened to steal her breath, and a part of her wondered if she had ever been this scared before. She nearly faltered in her stride when she remembered: running away from Elam Grave after being struck, waking up tied and gagged in a small crate, then having a bag pulled off her head to see strange men gathered about her. Indeed, she had been much more afraid than this.

Nabi clutched onto those memories as her pillar of strength. Those were the events that guided her now, as she rounded the last turn before the final floor of the Hostelry. That double door to the right leading out to the bridge to the airship port, it was her last possible means for escape. As another patron walked right through it, the sunset beyond seemed almost blinding in its temptation. It called to her.

But she could not. There would be no turning from this. She had already asked Mimiyo and Yoshinari to leave Kugane, to stay with their distant relatives in the mainland of Hingashi. At least for a little while. She did not, she could not tell them everything, only that she might be away awhile, and for their safety, she wished for them to travel to Hingashi. Mimiyo of course had questions, and Yoshinari refused. But Nabi would not take no for an answer. She pressed that it was a matter of life and death, and that they needed to trust her. And that she would have Tserende here, so that they needed not to worry about her.

It was a lie, of course. But for their safety, she insisted and pleaded, and eventually Mimiyo agreed on the condition that Nabi wrote to them and often. And that they would return soon. Since her return, there was always a quiet concern hidden behind their gaze when they looked upon her, as if they knew something had happened. She could not hide her heartache, and even though her tears came silently beneath the blankets at night, Nabi knew that Mimiyo knew her heart. But Nabi could not tell them the whole truth. But they understood that the matter was of grave importance to her.

Would they let her do this?

Nabi was certain of that answer. She had pleaded with Tserende just bells ago, for any aid that could be given to Anchor. Tears fell as she told him that she simply could not go on, knowing Anchor suffered in her stead. She had hoped that Tserende understood, that he of all people would help her find Anchor.

"I doubt that you coerced him into making his choices.” Tserende was calm in his response, his pale blue gaze intent upon her, even as he carefully wiped away her tears. “Just as I did not coerce the person who ended up giving their life for me to be here at this moment. If he has indeed perished, then he believed that your potential was worth that much. The most important thing that you can do with that confidence is to live up to it. Ensure that you bring about some good with your time here. Ensure that you do not cast it away impulsively."

Why did none of them understand? Tserende, Brick, and Shael. Why wouldn’t anyone help her find Anchor? The very thought of him tightened her chest, pierced her clear through with grief every sun. How could they throw away his life so easily? Agree to this unacceptable trade?

“And what of all of the aspiring herbalists and alchemists that Grave will try to replace you with? How many of them would you like to exchange for 'Anchor?' That is the state of things, as they stand. I understand that you would like to help him. I have my doubts that there is anything to be done for him at this point, however, even if we were to try. We should minimize the loss others are bound to suffer, now."

Tserende’s words finalized her decision. He was right. How many others to replace her? What would Elam Grave accept in trade for Anchor? It started with her, it should end with her.

“I know you only wish for my well-being.” Nabi remembered her last words to Tserende before they parted for the evening. “I also know you did what you could to make sure Mimiyo and Yoshinari were safe.” She remembered trembling as she looked up at him. “Would you always do so? For me?”

“Of course,” Tserende had looked upon her with a curious if not somewhat confused expression. “You needn’t worry over that. Why would I not do so?”

That was one comfort she would hold onto. It took all she had not to shed any more tears as he kissed her goodnight. Yes, that would be a good parting memory to treasure.

What little courage she had been clinging onto began to slip away like sand through her fingers, as her heart started to pound painfully in her chest, when she spotted Grave seated at his table. He had not looked her way yet, even though the rest of the men standing near him trained their gaze upon her immediately. Nabi squeezed her hand harder, steadying her steps as she came to stand in front of his table.

Elam Grave languidly put a piece of fish into his mouth and poured himself some sake, before he finally granted her his attention by looking up. Nabi thought she could feel herself shake as she stood there, waiting.

“Miss Nabi,” he said her name slowly, thin lines appearing at the edges of his eyes. “You are looking well. What can I do for you?”

It took her a breath for her to gather her words. His calm low voice nearly unnerved her. It was that same unmoved expression he had held when he came to visit her that fateful night. But this wasn’t about her anymore. That wasn’t why she came. She swallowed, and her throat felt like sand. “I have been told of your agreement with Ironsong.” Her voice shook. “And with Anchor.” She slowly lowered herself to her knees, placing her hands upon her lap. She bowed, her head coming to nearly touch the floor.

“I am here to beg for his release.”

RE: Cigarettes and Fireflies - Anchor - 01-22-2018

Blue skies stretched on over the horizon, the sun set high at its peak. It was just transitioning to the afternoon, where warmth replaced the cool morning air and colored the world in bright and saturated hues. The salt-filled breeze brushed over tanned skin, gently disrupting short, coarse hairs against his scalp. The grass was soft and moist beneath, cradling his head and tired body. His breaths drew in and out with ease, even and relaxed.

It was perfect. He could lay here forever and never tire of it. If only time would stand still.

“Jude--!”

Musical and playful, her voice was, albeit distant. The footfalls approaching were light like a dancer’s, coming closer still until he could feel the presence of another’s foot near either side of him.

His eyelids parted open into warm slits of crimson. There, above him, was her silhouette, the light behind her blinding him from making out her features. But he hardly needed to see her to know who it was. The shape of her wisping locks of raven hair were enough, her ears alert, fluttering slightly each time the wind caressed one.

“Jude,” more audible, it came, the tone almost chiding, though full of humor and warmth. “Wake up now. We have to go back.” He felt her bare fingers touch his face, the pads of her digits running over the scarring over his features. There was blood on her touch as she drew back, but for some reason this didn’t alarm him.

“Wake up…,” she repeated softly, a little more pleading. He didn’t understand; he was far from asleep by now, being able to watch her contently as he was, regardless if she was veiled in the blinding sun. But, for some reason, he couldn’t tell her. He couldn’t find the strength or will to move...

“Wake up!” An order now. Almost desperate. Her hands were on his chest, shaking him slightly. He couldn’t reach out to her. She started beating on his torso with balled fists. His breaths were growing anxious, the situation slowly sinking in, filling him with anxiety. “Wake up!”

Why couldn’t she see he was awake? Why couldn’t he reassure her he was alright? And most of all, why couldn’t he move?!

“w A k E   u P - - - !” Her words screeched against the sudden gale that tore through, piercing his ears, ringing in an echo as she screamed.

It seemed to tear the very foundation from their feet, the light behind her engulfing their surroundings like a blast. He wanted to press his hands to his ears and squeeze his eyes shut, but all he could do was stare in horror as her form was revealed in the flash. Some gray creature, with nothing but whites in her traumatized gaze, jaw stretching off her face until it was peeling off the weathered, bloated corpse that she was...

- - - -

Anchor jarred awake against the floor in a cold sweat, eyes wide and reflecting the same horror at what he had just witnessed. His irises were brighter than usual, but slowly dimmed as he drew in ragged, shuddering inhales.

A whispered curse passed his lips as he reached up shakily, chains dragging from the restraints against his wrists. His quaking fingers raked through his coarse, black hair before sliding back down his flushed and contorted features. A dry swallow then, pressing a palm to the cold earth to push himself up.

It was an effort; he was still incredibly weak after the second fight. The poison wielder had been more of a challenge than the pirate had hoped and left him terribly dehydrated after his body had expelled much fluid trying to rid itself of the toxins his knife-like nails had produced.

Though… he supposed he himself was to blame for half of it; using his own poisonous body to end the bastard’s life. It earned him his victory, but the cost was great. In this condition, he wasn’t sure if he’d have the strength to contend. Not like this.

[“He’s had a good run so far… but may I suggest enhancements at this point?”]

Nagakane’s words floated into his memory like an echo. Anchor’s fingers curled into weak, trembling fists. His body was already ailing from the years in the mines from years past. What would something like this do to him? He felt... nervous. And he hated it. He hated feeling that familiar sensation of uncertainty when it came to him and his own. It was his life. It was his body. It was his.

[“... You will understand one thing.”]

It was Elam’s voice now that came to surface. Anchor could still feel the throbbing pain against his throat as the other’s fingers dug in against it from under the metal circlet, squeezing along the fresh gashes from his recent fight. He could still smell Grave’s breath hissing against his skin,

[Your life is mine. The moment you betrayed me, then walked right back into my den trying to protect some helpless doe that was mine for the taking. You just haven’t realized it yet. You will kill for me. Someday soon,]

[“Even that doe.”]

Anchor’s fists slammed into the cavern floor. It hurt. He didn’t care. Even though the words had passed, he still felt the same anger that had nearly taken him all over again. His breaths shook from his nostrils, growing in intensity until he growled in frustration. His temper threw him into a fit.

He raked his heels along the ground away from from the cavern wall his ankles and wrists were chained to. The metal dug into his already raw skin as he thrashed and yanked, as if he’d somehow break from the very earth it was embedded in. Grunts and seethes of frustration poured from his lips and between his gritted teeth. His pale, sick flesh went flush for his effort. His body contorted this way and that, twisting legs and shoulders in a mad lash like some wild animal. At some point, Anchor released some violent outcry while he jerked repeatedly against his restraints.

His legs gave out.

Anchor’s knees collided into the ground, his rasping roar weathering into pained and exhausted gasps. He still pulled desperately, though with less ferocity, with what strength he had left in his torso and arms. The rattling of the chains went on for a few more minutes, before gradually stilling, replaced with the sound of his harsh and labored breaths.

He stared out towards the cell bars in front of him, eyes wide with the recent, blind madness as his visible breaths panted out and dispersed into the cold air around him. But Anchor’s disposition twisted slowly; brows creasing over the anguished lines against his forehead.

He felt it suddenly…

That dreadful feeling he never wanted to feel again. The feeling that kept him submissive for years in That Place. The feeling of control being ripped from his fingertips.

Helpless.

And SLAM went his head. He had dipped it suddenly, letting his forehead collide into the ground punishingly. That awful feeling passed. Because to hell with it. He was not a child. And he was most definitely not a slave. Not to his past, and certainly not now. To Hells with Shael. To Hells with Elam Grave. He couldn’t trust either of them and he certainly couldn’t count on another to pull him through the gutter that was this world. He didn’t get this far riding on coattails or having his hand held through the darkness. Anchor dragged himself tooth and nail; through blood, piss, and shit.

Anchor was still breathing laboriously as he lifted his bruising head off from the stone below. There was still a madness to his countenance as he lifted a palm to his mouth, wiping away the slaver and sweat there from his recent fit. His hand lingered over his lips, eyes darting about searchingly.

If Elam Grave could not stand on equal ground with him... If they could not work together... Then he would have to die. Just as all others that got in his way. He would godsdamn crush him and whatever he was trying to build here. He would tear everything from his fucking greedy fingers…

...But how…?

There was a flicker in his peripheral, beckoning for his attention like the dull light of a firefly. His jaw set slowly as his gaze panned over, breaths easing from his nose as his palm slowly lowered from his features and back to the cavern floor. It slid over with a light rake of chains following behind, his fingers outstretching to the small little crystal embedded into the earth there.

The tip of his calloused, grimy digit made contact tentatively, like testing the temperature of a stagnant pool of water. He traced the shape down, following the veins that had become a familiar sight in this mountain. It was gentle, the way his finger drew over the patterns, going from one crystal to the next, towards his side and behind him and back to the wall where they seemed all the more abundant. Anchor’s form rotated in place to follow, palms sliding up the walls and over, eyes flickering over the different portions of the cavern wall like it were a canvas and he was the hungry artist trying to decide where to start.

All of these… they all went through these caverns. They might stretch through the entirety and beyond. An odd smile quirked up Anchor’s lips on one end.

More intently, he pressed his palms against the wall, brows drawing together. Sweat beaded from his temple and slid down the dark and purple bruises marring half his features. His breathing picked up again and an unearthly static sparked between his knuckles and contact along the crystals and stone.

[“...Another use of such ability will kill him.”]

Anchor paused, that energy in the air fizzling out as more of Nagakane’s words seeped into his thoughts. He pulled his touch away slowly, looking down at his trembling hands. They weren’t shaking from fear or rage. It was simply strain and the pain wracking his abused form. That’s right. He was far too weak. He didn’t have enough within him. Yet.

A soft exhale puffed out of his nostrils and, after a moment of reluctance, Anchor turned from the wall and let his scarred back lean against it instead. Not yet. But soon. He supposed he would get whatever enhancements Elam Grave and the Curator spoke of. And then…

Then he would show them what the monster they created could do.

RE: Cigarettes and Fireflies - Sentry - 01-22-2018

Elam almost smiled.

Just what would a wolf do, if a doe approached and laid itself on the ground, bearing its neck? After all the trouble this Xaela had caused him, now she came to him, begging. He recalled the last time he had her at his mercy, the satisfying crack the back of his hand made against her scales. That was when she had showed a glimmer of defiance, her eyes wide with fear.

He could still smell the same fear, like blood in the water, but the woman was holding it in check. All for… what, Saltborn? They both knew that there was some reassurance of safety in the public eye. He couldn’t do as he pleased on the third floor of the Hostelry. At least, not physically.

“Would’ve saved me a lot of trouble and Saltborn a lot of pain had you decided wisely long before this,” he said indifferently, returning his attention back to his dinner, content to leave the Xaela on her knees. He could see her flinching even in her bowed posture, her head and gaze remaining lowered still.

She closed her hands upon her lap and straightened her back, those golden eyes rising back to him full of pleading and naivete. “Ask of me anything. It was my transgression. You need not punish him for it.”

Elam let out a quiet snort of amusement. It was true that her refusal had started it all. But it was Saltborn’s gall to betray him that stoked his fury. What was it about this fragile creature that somehow drove a man like Anchor to turn on him? To go against all logic? He paused as he plucked out another piece of fish from the steaming pot. “Anything?”

Nabi swallowed and nodded stiffly. “Aye. If it would gain his freedom.”

“How about if I were to offer your services as a potion maker to an associate of mine, for the rest of your life? To work without sleep, to be beaten at will, and to service him in whatever way he wanted?” He quirked a cruel smirk. “You would go without protest?”

He could see her shaking, but she nodded. “Anything.”

A slow deliberate smile lifted his lips as he regarded her. “Alas. It is too little, too late.” He pointed his wooden sticks at her. “This is why you should have considered my original offer more carefully and weighed the consequences of your actions. My associate, the one that died, would have treated you much better than most. But that opportunity has passed. Besides, as long as Saltborn lives, he is going to gain me a lot of coin and influence.” He set his utensil down, reaching for a bottle of sake. “And he also offered me a poison maker to replace you. One that would be much more cooperative.

“So… it turns out, I don’t need anything you have to offer.” Elam lifted his glass of sake in her direction before tossing it back. “But I do appreciate the gesture.”

Nabi sat there stock-still, her expression distant and distraught. Elam just stared at her, and a part of him was surprised at how much he relished her torment. To think that such a meek and powerless thing would even dare to defy him.

“But since Saltborn bound himself to my service to ensure your safety, I’ll grant a token of goodwill.” He reached into his vest pocket, where he drew out a small pouch. He tossed it onto her lap.

He watched as confusion washed over her, before she slowly opened the small bag, letting a trinket fall out onto her hand. It was an earring, tribal in design with different metals and ores strung together. As he suspected, she recognized it immediately. She looked pained as she carefully fingered the fragment of the raw obsidian and quartz at the end of it, the two pieces together resembling a moon at first quarter. Her face contorted only for an instant, but she was valiantly struggling to keep her composure in front of him.

“If we are going to coexist peacefully in this city, best keep good relations, aye?” He gestured to his foreman who stepped up behind Nabi. “Now, let’s get you back on your feet and to your precious family and life again. People are starting to stare.”

Elam watched as she rose, a blank expression on her face as she cradled that earring close to her chest. He gestured with a flick of his fingers for her to be led away by Torrad. Of course soon as she began to make her way, the foreman left her be. It was part of the contract after all that neither he nor his men would touch her.

But Elam knew he would see her again.

RE: Cigarettes and Fireflies - Jaliqai - 01-23-2018

(( I guess I should probably start posting these here as well instead of just hoarding them on tumblr! :v ))


Ghoa watched Elam Grave leave the Rakusui Gardens after their discussion, the smile ever lingering on her lips until the precise moment that he and the last of his men were out of her sight. The second that she was sure sure that none could see her, that warmth left her expression only to be replaced instead by something far different: gnawing unease.

“I am not the flatterer you are,” he had told her. “..so when I call you indispensable, know that it is true.”

It wasn’t that she doubted the authenticity of his compliment. Rather, it was the fact that she did believe it to be wholly true that had caused her stomach to twist in uncomfortable knots. Anyone else may have received the compliment with pleasure, a seemingly benign affection that should warm the heart.

But ‘anyone else’ had not faced the obstacles that she had had to overcome to take her freedom, obstacles that had only continued to come her way even after earning it. For someone like Ghoa, a woman who had fought against a seemingly never-ending procession of those who wished to own and control her, the word ‘indispensable’ may as well have been a pair of heavy shackles affixed to hand and foot.

It wasn’t a rare occurrence. Perhaps even a predictable one, much to her own frustration. It was inevitable that in her business of ingratiating herself to the powerful and wealthy that some marks would grow overly attached to her charm, her skills, or some combination of the two. It was a testament to how well she had adapted to the hand of cards she had been dealt and just how skillfully she could play them, even if it was a terribly inconvenient one.

In the past, she had simply fled when she felt the winds begin to change Just as she had escaped the Kharlu years and years prior, she would gather her things and quickly, quietly leave in the thick of night. Sure, it had left the occasional burned bridge and sometimes even scorched earth in her wake, but none had been able to stop her.

Yet this was different. This time, Ghoa had felt the shifting of the tides too late. By the time she had realized just how dangerous, how different of a beast that Elam Grave was, the shore had slipped further and further away from her until it was but a dot on the horizon.

Her hands balled into fists in her lap, her jaw setting in a tight line. Until now, Ghoa had waffled on how to proceed. Part of her had insisted that to make a move against him was the right thing to do, to make amends for the wrong she had done to Nabi by gently tugging her back into the deep when she had tried to leave. A debt that she now owed to Anchor as well for doing what she had failed to do in extricating the other Xaela from this mess she had helped create.

Each time she thought on it, each time she almost made a move forward, she stopped short. Greed stopped her with the promise of more and more wealth and reward for continued cooperation. Fear stopped her with the unstated but ever present threat of reprisal should she fail. And so, she had continued to float along.

But now, one word – indispensable – had given her all the motivation she needed.

She wasn’t a good and noble person, and what was ‘right’ or ‘fair’ hadn’t been enough. In the end, nothing was a stronger call to action than her own selfish sense of self-preservation. And that instinct told her that there was a current running strong under this whole debacle that could very well pull her under at only a moment’s notice. A current that would pull her straight down to the seabed and never let her go once it had her in its grasp.

So swim, it whispered. Now.

Finally, Ghoa pushed herself up from the bench and started towards the inn. Yet it wasn’t with immediate escape on her mind; not yet. There would come a time, but she would have to play it smart first. She would have to tread water, to save her strength, before she dared to swim as hard as she could towards the shore again. And that strength started with doing the one thing that she had continually talked herself out of before, even if the motivations were different now.

She had a letter to write, and a long overdue meeting to arrange.



(( Adding this on to save from a double post! ))

A letter would find its way to Nabi’s hands, delivered by a Hingan boy who couldn’t have been more than fifteen summers old. He certainly didn’t have the look of one of Elam Grave’s own men, but who could know for certain? After all, he didn’t offer up an introduction or even a single word of greeting, simply making sure it was delivered to its proper recipient before hurriedly leaving before his presence was noted.

The letter itself was printed in neat handwriting that flowed as smoothly as the black ink it was written in. It was written on nice quality, medium weight parchment that smelled faintly perfumed – a rich and luxurious mix of oriental spice and amber, perhaps peculiarly familiar or even recognizable if the other woman’s memory was particularly keen. At the very bottom of the letter, under the written text, a small white feather was attached to the paper with a small dab of wax at the stem.


Dearest Nabi,

I apologize for not coming to deliver this request in person, and apologize again for even having to ask it of you at all. I know your hands are already woefully full at current. However, I need to speak with you – urgently.

As soon as you are able, please meet me at the following address:  Shirogane, Eighth ward, Thirty-eighth plot. Give the feather to the woman at the counter and she will bring you to me.

I ask that you take a leap of faith and come alone, though I know trust must come less and less naturally these days given the circumstances. The blame for that lies partly on my shoulders, as I will explain when we meet. Though I fear I cannot ever hope to properly apologize for my mistakes in full, I hope to start on amends by trying to fix what I can.

Sincerely yours,

A Friend


RE: Cigarettes and Fireflies - Sentry - 01-26-2018

It was not a common occurrence that a non-Garlean -- a non-military personnel no less -- would ask a Garlean soldier on how to dismantle an Imperial magitek collar. And yet, here was Nabi, a Xaela herbalist that he would call a friendly acquaintance, asking him just that, her golden eyes earnest and hopeful as she peered up at him.

Marius didn’t quite know what to say at first. She didn’t know that he was a Garlean soldier, nor of his Imperial citizenship. But he had let it slip during one of their conversations over tea that he did know a bit about magitek; he was an engineer before his demotion and transfer to Kugane, after all. He had been careful not to reveal the nature of his association with Garlemald to Nabi, not out of shame for his homeland but to avoid any discomfort on the herbalist’s part. If she had known that he was Garlean, would she have still come to him?

They had met a few times, their first encounter being rather serendipitous at the Umineko Tea House. They shared a liking for those little treats called dangos, and she always seemed to find him visiting the stall near sunset at the end of his shift. It was her rambling nature and amiable personality that eventually eased him into conversing with her. She was one of very few with whom he allowed this luxury; his superiors would not be too fond of him socializing with non-Imperials.

But as he regarded the Xaela woman in front of him now, he almost didn’t recognize her. Her usual boundless energy was nowhere to be found. There were shadows beneath her eyes and a wan look about her. Even her voice sounded muted, and he thought there was a hint of desperation behind her gaze. This was not the woman he had come to know over the last many months. He had heard that her clinic and stall had burnt down in an accidental fire, but he hadn’t quite learned of the details or the circumstances. He had been dealing with his own set of ordeals for a time. But clearly something more than an unfortunate random fire had occurred, and left her in a certain state of worry.

“Inquiring about Imperial collars… is a bit unusual.” Marius cleared his throat with a hint of unease. He gestured for her to sit on a bench, and took a seat next to her. She had been waiting for him by the tea house, and as soon as he arrived, she had taken him aside, wasting no time in asking for this favor. There was a nervous frailty about her, she looked as if she would flutter away with the slightest bit of a breeze. “Why would you ask this?”

Nabi bowed her gaze, looking to her hands wringing upon her lap. “It’s being used against someone. Someone I care for. I wish to free him from it.”

Marius arched a brow. Those collars were known to be used against conscripted soldiers. “If they are under the Imperial authority--” he began to protest.

“No!” Nabi quickly interrupted, shaking her head. “It is being used by Domans now. It is being used illegally to force people to fight in pits. For gambling and money.” A look of distress darkened the woman’s wearied countenance, and that made Marius incline his head toward her with a keen eye.

“I see. Perhaps they were left behind after the occupation.” The withdrawal of forces from Doma after its liberation was a hasty one; he would not be surprised if many Imperial weapons and technology were left behind. Still… the thought that some of it was being misappropriated for criminal use disturbed him. And the fact that it brought such woe to a woman he’d always seen as a cheerful bright ray of sunlight vexed him.

“I do know of the make that was used in Doma.” He internally argued with himself that sharing such an information was not disloyalty to Garlemald. Such technology was never meant to be used outside of the auspice of the Empire, and as such, this would aid in putting an end to such illicit activities. Moreover, it gave him a chance to give some relief to a woman who had always greeted him with mirth and goodwill.

“I think I can help.” Marius exhaled with a smile. “Tell me what you need.”

RE: Cigarettes and Fireflies - Nero - 01-29-2018

“My lady,” said the chamberlain, proffering a deep, deferential bow, “Lord Kagero has arrived.”

The chamberlain slid the door open as Kagero Kozakura stepped in, dressed in a resplendent suikan. The Hyur’s jet black hair, fringed with gold, had been hastily combed as if he hadn’t been expecting such abrupt summons. As Kagero knelt on a nearby cushion and offered the traditional sitting bow, he heard the screen slide softly behind him with a click.

“You are cruel, my dear son,” a feminine voice berated him in a mild whining tone. “You have not been to see me for nearly two moons, and now you intrude upon my work. I am extremely ill-used.”

Lady Kyokuho Kozakura was pushing nearly forty cycles but looked as young as the day she had married into the clan. Her black hair was smooth and straight, parted in the middle and flowed nearly down to her back, her face as silky as the immaculate kimono she wore. In front of her was a rosewood calligraphy desk and a small brush, though Kagero knew that Kyokuho would never finish a work of calligraphy; all of her work was finished by one of her retainers to put the finishing touches on it, as Kyokuho would say, though she herself had only accomplished one or two strokes at most.

“My deepest apologies, Mother,” Kagero murmured deferentially. It was true that Kagero hadn’t seen his step-mother in several sennights, but that was mostly because he actively avoided the Lady Kyokuho as often as politeness allowed. After mentally counting to fifteen, Kagero lifted his head and placed his hands on his lap. Though Kyokuho wore an affectionate smile, her friendly expression was devoid of warmth, and her kind demeanour was little more than a viper’s dance as it waited for the right moment to strike.

“You work far too hard. It’s almost as if it is you are the patriarch of this house rather than your father,” Kyokuho continued crooning, putting on a pout that was far too delicate and feminine for a woman of her age and countenance.

“Please do not speak ill of my Lord Koryusai. It is my shame to be such a burden to my honored father,” Kagero said, bowing once again. Though his eyes were affixed to the tatami mats beneath him, he could practically hear Kyokuho’s smirking; his stepmother so delighted in burying him beneath etiquette.

Fortunately, it seemed that Kyokuho tired of playing games. “I suppose you are wondering why I summoned you.”

I am wondering why I answered, Kagero thought to himself.

She gently pushed aside the calligraphy desk, her mask of false maternity being replaced with the steely gaze of ambition. “Tell me what you know of Clan Yumishi.”

“I am...not familiar with them,” Kagero responded uneasily, searching his memory. That much was true, to a surprising degree. As the eldest son of Clan Kozakura, Kagero was responsible for being the clan’s diplomatic liaison, particularly when the clan patriarch Lord Koryusai was not personally available. Though he had been on many journeys throughout Hingashi--they were one of the best ways to avoid being in the same room as Kyokuho--he had not once encountered a Clan Yumishi in any of his dealings.

Kyokuho nodded, pleased with herself. From her smug expression alone, Kagero knew that she took not-insignificant satisfaction from being able to hold knowledge of this obscure clan over him. “Indeed, I expected not, for they are Doman in origin. They lost much of their holdings during the Imperial invasion.”

Lady Kyokuho began making a show of inspecting her rosy nails, feigning disinterest in a subject that she herself brought up. “The current head of the household is Aritake Yumishi. A cowardly and pathetic man from a clan that is all but extinguished...but he is shrewd in business and knows his way around koban.”

And this involves me because…? Kagero had been raised thoroughly Hingan, and though it was traditional to dance around the point for the sake of politeness, Kyokuho took such a concept to considerable extremes, generally as part of a pointed effort to be as insufferable as possible.

Kyokuho raised a delicate finger to her chin. “Lord Aritake is responsible for certain business dealings that benefit many Hingan lords, Lord Koryusai among them. I am told that such funds go towards the reconstruction of Doma.” She sniffed disdainfully. “Nevertheless, it has been some time since any have heard from him or his representatives, and there are some noble peers of our lord that are growing somewhat nervous at the prospect.”

She sighed, lightly tracing a circle on the calligraphy desk beside her. “It would put many anxieties to rest if Lord Aritake were to turn up. You know how it is with...business dealings. It is always uncomfortable to see one’s koban in the hands of another, with nothing in return.” Kyokuho cooed.

Kagero understood immediately. Legitimate business concerns of this manner would be taken care of by a retainer or a servant. The fact that Kagero himself was being called upon to investigate meant that this Aritake must have been responsible for feeding the vices of a number of Hingan lords with his "business dealings": vices that would not reflect well on them if word reached the court of the bakufu. If he had truly disappeared, it was possible that Aritake planned to maliciously use such gossip, perhaps as blackmail. Or perhaps Aritake had been captured, and one lord or another’s political rival was skinning the man alive for delicate details that could be used against their enemies in court.

On the other hand, there was a great deal of political clout that could be gained from securing Aritake, dead or alive... or more precisely, securing whatever dirt he may have possessed on any Hingan lords. If Aritake was found or made dead by Kagero, the Hingan lords may breathe a sigh of relief that their secrets were safe, but they would be tacitly indebted to Clan Kozakura for helping them save face. However, if Aritake were still alive, then it would be the Kozakuras holding the keys to their proverbial castles. They would offer feast in one hand while holding famine in the other.

He eyed Kyokuho carefully. She had named Kagero’s father as Aritake’s business associate out of politeness for Koryusai’s position as lord of the clan, but both she and Kagero knew that Lord Koryusai Kozakura was one of the most humourless and stoic men alive, and while it was not totally impossible for him to have some unseen hedonism, it was highly unlikely. Which meant it was likely Kyokuho’s cravings that were going unfed as a result of Aritake's absence.

Though such a fact would ordinarily be carefully guarded, there were few things Kyokuho enjoyed more than reminding Kagero of his own powerlessness; she had casually, though indirectly, revealed her dealings into illicit businesses--with an ijin, of all things! Yet, given his position there was naught he could do about it, not even to his father. She simply enjoyed seeing him squirm.

After all, Kagero was the eldest son, but he was not the heir. Though he held value as a diplomatic pawn, his words would be dismissed by all as idle rumors borne out of resentment for his stepmother. Not even the chattiest gossip would indulge him in such nonsense.

Not unless he had immutable proof.

“What do you wish to be done, Mother?” Kagero asked dourly, though some of his reluctance was feigned; if he could obtain proof of Kyokuho's dealings with Aritake that would be, in the words of ijin, a game changer.

Yet there was also the distinct possibility that Kyokuho was aware of this fact. Was she perhaps daring him? Hidden underneath her preening and grooming was a dangerously ambitious mind that was not to be taken lightly.

Kyokuho clapped her hands, thoroughly pleased by this current state of affairs. “Pray make haste to Shishu, my son, to the port city of Kugane where ijin roam, and do keep an eye out for Lord Aritake while you are there. Oh, and I am afraid the family retainers will be unable to accompany you.” She clearly intended for this excursion to be as discrete as possible.

Kagero bowed. “Should your generosity allow it, Mother, I humbly request that Sekka be permitted to accompany me.” As little love as he bore his stepmother, he still required her permission for even these basic things as travelling with his personal retainer.

“That Raen brat? Hmph.” Kyokuho frowned. “I do not see how you can trust such bawdy, promiscuous people. There will be quite a heavy punishment placed on her if she is discovered in your bed. She was raised from the dirt, and she continues to snub our patronage! What an ungrateful little girl.”

Beneath the sleeves of his suikan, Kagero’s hands tightened into fists.

Kyokuho’s frown quickly turned into a self-satisfied sneer. “Very well, my son. You have been a good boy, after all. I suppose I can allow you a companion on such an important venture.” She raised the sleeve of her kimono to cover her mouth in a poor attempt to cover her mocking smile, her tone like that of a goddess bestowing a blessing upon a desperate peasant.

Kagero bowed again. “My thanks, dear mother.” With that, he politely shuffled backwards, only turning his back when he had reached the door.

RE: Cigarettes and Fireflies - Roen - 01-31-2018

Nabi pulled her wool cloak in tighter. The fog had been so thick throughout the entire morning and afternoon, she hadn’t seen a single shaft of sunlight break through. It had made her all the more nervous, and she didn’t know if she shivered from the anxiety or the cool mist that was seeping in through her clothes.

“Elam has instructed me to extend to you a different sort of 'offer', if it could be called such. He wishes for me to bring you along to the fighting pits in a few suns time, for Anchor's next fight."

As Ghoa’s words drifted into her thoughts, Nabi gave a sidelong glance to the Xaela who sat in the same carriage as she did. The woman gave her a reassuring smile when their eyes met, but it did little to calm her quivering stomach. It was Ghoa who had relayed the message of this invitation, after she had admitted to Nabi about working for Elam for the last many moons. That truth had hurt; Nabi was ready to flee from that meeting, shaken by the knowledge of the woman’s betrayal. The beautiful and worldly woman that Nabi had long admired had been working for the man who had orchestrated her worst nightmare.

And yet, here she was, drawing at least some measure of comfort from the same woman’s presence. Was it her belated forthrightness? Or her willingness to help her? Her ability to help Anchor? The last had at least held Nabi at bay, preventing her from leaving as soon as the truth was revealed. But as they continued to talk, Nabi could see that Ghoa’s intentions were earnest. She saw regret and compassion in the pale silver eyes of the other Xaela.

At least, Nabi had to believe she did. Ghoa was her chance. It was through Ghoa that she was going to see Anchor, even if it was just to watch him fight for his life. Elam had wished her to come and watch, and used Ghoa to bring her.

"I'm certain that no small part of the reason is to cause you pain by watching it. You have vexed him quite a lot. He also mentioned that should Anchor win his fight, he is considering allowing you to see him. Not as a measure of goodwill, of course. Rather, I feel he intends to use the opportunity to test Anchor's resolve."

Nabi tucked her hands into the folds of her cloak, fingers lightly rubbing over her wrist. There hung her silver and gold woven bracelet but with a small bauble attached to it. Her fingers glided over the ornament, lightly rubbing it as it rolled beneath her touch.

She had accepted the invitation, of course. How could she not? This was a chance to see with her own eyes that Anchor still lived. And if she was able to see him, get close enough…

Nabi glanced outside the small window of the carriage. Ghoa had prepared her for what to expect, at least to some degree. That the Xaela was invited to the match by another “sponsor”, a Doman lord by the name of Hikomoro Ishiku. He had sent a caravan and six armed escorts to meet Ghoa at the docks of Yanxia, and to bring her and Nabi to the mountain where the matches were held. None of the guards gave a second glance to the two petite au ra. They were there to protect the two guests of their master.

Ghoa had said that this Hikomoro was one of the sponsors of these fighting pits. Just like Elam Grave. Nabi could only guess how the man accumulated his power and wealth. It made her shiver again.

"I've not heard someone more set on walking themselves into foolish, needlessly dangerous situations before."

Tserende’s disapproving voice and gaze were still so clear in her memory. He had opposed her decision to accept Ghoa and Elam’s invitation. Of course he would. He only worried for her safety. He had advised her against trying anything impulsive to help Anchor, no matter how difficult it was for her to do nothing.

When she had confessed to both he and Shael that she had offered to surrender herself to Elam, in exchange for Anchor’s freedom, his usually cordial demeanor shifted to something more sharp, his eyes icy.

"You did not think that we would suffer for your brash, arrogant, and uninformed decision if it worked as you had hoped? Do we matter that little to you, or do you believe that you matter so little to us?"

Those words still panged her. He and Shael had been so angry at the revelation. Nabi could still feel the phantom tingle on her cheek at the slap that had come from Shael. Now she realized that her decision was very much like what was bestowed onto herself. No choice was given, no warning, just someone else giving themselves up regardless of danger, for another’s sake.

She couldn’t live with it, how did she expect the same of Tserende and Shael?

"He told me to tell you he was dead. He doesn't want you thinking about him. Or languishing about it. He doesn't care."

Shael had found Anchor and had even spoken to him. She shared the fact that his life hung in the balance from match to match in the fighting pits, and even relayed to Nabi what he had said. Her warning to Nabi was her attempt at trying to give the woman some comfort in the way of distancing herself from the person who caused her so much worry.

But Nabi knew. Even if she had only stayed with the man for less than a moon, even if the circumstances of their shared time was forced and under duress, she knew those weren’t the true intent of his words.

The caravan jerked to one side to draw her attention back to the outside. Looming before them was an imposing view of a mountain that was growing ever in size the closer they approached. With one final turn of the narrow road, a dark yawning cave opened up in front of them. Nabi could see people meandering in, and as Ghoa had warned her, there were guards at the entrance checking each attendee. Even as their caravan slowly came to a stop and one of the guards opened the door to allow the two Xaelas to exit, Nabi’s eyes went to the gaping maw of a cave at the base of the mountain. Others were clamoring to get in, but the sight chilled Nabi to the bone.

This was where Elam Grave had thrown Anchor into, to fight for his life. This was where men like Grave did as they wished.

"The fighting could get very intense. There is... no guarantee that Anchor will even survive it. You need to steel yourself for this, whatever the outcome. Even if he should fall, there's no reason either or both of us should follow right on his heels by making a foolish mistake."

As her feet touched the ground, Nabi put one hand upon her stomach, trying to calm her nerves. She had chosen to come here. Against the advice of those more careful and wise, against the wishes of those who wanted to keep her from harm.

But she could not stay safely tucked away. Not while someone else suffered in her stead.

The guards led them to the mouth of the entrance, where another guard motioned her to lift her arms, while his hands patted and groped her to make certain no weapons were hidden. Nabi wasn’t sure how she did not tremble, but they let her pass after the search, just as they did with Ghoa. Then a cold wind brushed past them all, wailing into the dark hollow in front of them.

Nabi stood still, her courage threatening to falter, until Ghoa look her hand and gently led her in.

“Listen only to what your instincts tell you is right, not the words of those looking to protect you, however well-meaning they are.” Ghoa’s earlier advice echoed distantly in Nabi’s ears. “Don't allow yourself to become a spectator to your own life.”

She had chosen to come. She had failed before in saving him. She couldn’t fail again.

“Does he matter to you that much...?"

Nabi could not answer Shael when she had asked that. Only tears came forth. Despair and desperation had held her thoughts hostage then. Now that she was standing here, dread and uncertainty weighing every step, she could hear Anchor’s voice. He would be furious if he knew.

"You got ones like you. That go sniffin', and diggin', and explorin' them darker corners. And then you got the one's that were bred there. You ain't see the true piss of this world. Its people. You's hardly even had a taste. You saw a peek in from the muddy window."

He had warned her. It seemed so long ago now. She had taken his words to heart; she thought she would follow on her promise to exercise caution.

"Ya said you wasn't to make anymore trouble,” his raspy voice flitted by her ear, the last rational voice trying to stop her. It was tinged with torment.

I am sorry. Nabi wanted to tell him. I am about to break that promise.

Nabi followed Ghoa into the dark belly of the mountain, toward the distant roars and the cheers that was rumbling forth and starting to vibrate through the cavern walls.

RE: Cigarettes and Fireflies - Nero - 02-08-2018

If there was one word Kagero could use to consistently describe Kugane, it was “noisy”. The clattering of carts rumbling over paved stone roads, vendors hawking wares or calling out to friends, or voices raised to argue with other vendors. A group of workers were carrying stone, lumber, and other building supplies across the streets towards the Rakuza District. The streets were more crowded than ever, and frequently Kagero had to turn his shoulders in order to edge past groups headed in the other direction.

The Hyur was dressed in a plain black dogi, the equally plain katana at his side indicating his status as a member of a samurai family. Standing beside him was a fair-haired Raen female, dressed in a similarly martial fashion for ease of movement. Though he was hesitant to admit it, Sekka’s presence was quite comforting; searching an entire city for a single ijin who may or may not be dead was a daunting task.

Kagero breathed deeply, glad to be off of the ship, before folding his arms in his sleeves. “We’ll start with the basics, then. Sekka, ask around Kogane Dori and see if there are any peddlers who might know of our lord Aritake.”

“Any other specifics? ‘Yumishi’ is a fairly common surname, and it’s possible that Aritake did not give out his first name.” the Raen said with a frown. Already, she was beginning to scan the crowds for any persons of note. The streets were dense with ijin and Hingan alike. Colours flooded Kagero's vision in the form of gaudy clothing both foreign and native. Had Kagero not been in the middle of a mission, perhaps he might have admired Kugane's diversity at that point.

“Lady Kyokuho claims that Aritake is--or was--an ardent supporter of Doman independence, particularly when word spread that the Doman prince had returned,” Kagero noted, his brow furrowed in thought. “I suppose that’s the only true lead we have unless we can find one of Aritake's business contacts."

“In that case, I will begin my inquiry to see if there are any of his fellow Domans in the city, my lord.” With a terse bow, Sekka skipped off into the crowds towards Kogane Dori.

As for Kagero himself, he had a mind to pay a visit to the Sekiseigumi. They were typically the first and last to make contact with any particularly troublesome ijin, and while Kyokuho didn’t see fit to tell Kagero exactly what kind of business Aritake dealt in, it was most likely something illegal, as it usually was whenever foreigners were involved.

A corner of his mind flitted towards his secondary objective: he needed proof of Kyokuho’s dealings, but what form would that proof take? Surely criminals didn’t exactly exchange bills of sale and even if they did, Kyokuho certainly didn’t engage in such things personally. She was intelligent enough to use the alias of a retainer of a retainer, removing herself far from the transactions, yet whatever goods Aritake dealt in had to be reaching her somehow.

He shook his head. He’d cross that bridge when he arrived at it. If he ever arrived at it.

After making his way to the barracks and to Kagero’s great annoyance, the captain of the Sekiseigumi was away. So, too, was the lieutenant; they were apparently off dealing with something in the Ruby Sea, according to the exasperatingly polite samurai that greeted Kagero.

“And I take it you know nothing about any recent arrests,” Kagero said, his tone dripping with anticipated disappointment. The samurai wordlessly bowed, which was a response in and of itself. The only one who would have any certain information about arrests would be the captain of the Sekiseigumi or the lieutenant, both of whom were conveniently absent. Otherwise, most of the samurai responsible for policing Kugane made independent judgments save for particularly egregious instances.

Kagero sighed, folding his arms together, combing his mind for clues. They were looking for a Doman merchant who most likely had illicit dealings with ijin and Hingan alike. Aside from being Doman, they had no leads as to who they could contact to find Aritake, short of stumbling on one of his associates by sheer accident.

His mind’s eye flashed to the scene of workmen carrying stone and lumber to the Rakuza District. While construction wasn’t especially unusual in Kugane, from what Kagero knew it only happened when something was damaged; given how dense the city was, there wasn’t really room to expand unless it was by order of the lord bugyo or it was paid for by someone fabulously wealthy enough to afford additional land within the city.

But it was far too much of a stretch that any of this was connected to Aritake. Kagero grit his teeth. He needed more info.

“Ah, but there was a fire somewhat recently,” the Sekiseigumi samurai added hastily, as if by way of an apology. “About a moon ago, if memory serves.”

Kagero waved nonchalantly as if to dismiss the info. Fires weren’t common, but they did happen without much fanfare unless the damage was particularly devastating; word would have certainly reached Koshu quickly if Kugane had gone up in flames. “And I take it you can’t tell me anything about that, either,” he said dourly, though he wasn’t expecting any useful information out of it. This was already proving to be a frustrating venture.

The samurai rubbed his chin. “I can tell you that it was a miracle that nothing else was damaged. It was a single building and a stall at the time.”

Kagero raised his brow. A fire in Kugane with only a single building destroyed? Either the city was monumentally lucky, the citizens were exceptionally fast in their response to the fire, or the fire was a tiny little thing that barely warranted alarm. The latter was unlikely if the Sekiseigumi believed they had reason to investigate, so was it foul play? He hesitated to see a lead where there was none, but it wasn’t as if he had many other avenues to pursue until he rendezvoused with Sekka.

“Show me,” he said.”

--

The charred rubble of the apothecary had long been cleared out, though the stonework of the building stood like a mournful skeleton. Workmen were busy knocking down the rest of the standing stonework to repurpose the bricks, and lengths of timber were being measured and cut into planks before being planed smooth.

Stonemasons and carpenters competed with one another in the construction of a new dwelling, the taste of stone dust vying with the smell of wood shavings. Overhead, workmen laid clay tiles in neat rows along the roof, a relatively noiseless occupation save for the exceptional tile that slid free of a worker’s hands and shattered on the ground.

“A fire, hm...” Kagero wondered underneath his breath, shaking his head at the frenzy of activity. Such was one of the drawbacks of Hingan architecture; compact wooden buildings packed together made for spectacular fire hazards. The city was liable to lose entire streets at a time if the fire wasn’t contained quickly enough, though it seemed this particular one was.

“The Naeuris were nowhere near the place when it went up, thank the kami,” a kindly old Hyur woman said as Kagero examined the blank space where the apothecary had been. He absentmindedly took the proffered mug of tea and took a sip from it, promptly causing him to hiss from burning his tongue on the liquid. “Everyone did their best to stop the fire. We were lucky it did not spread farther than it did!”

“Who else lived there?” Kagero asked.

“An Au Ra girl. Delicate young thing, bright as sunshine. We thought her dead for a while, but she turned up just fine!” The old lady sighed and rubbed an eye with a wrinkly finger. “Oh, I haven’t seen Mimiyo so happy in quite some time. They were all quite close to one another.”

Kagero’s frown deepened, running the story through his head. An apothecary went up in flames in mere minutes, with neither sight nor smell of smoke to warn anyone else on the street. An Au Ra body is found, but is inexplicably proven to not be the Au Ra who was living at the apothecary when she turns up more than a fortnight after the fire, and said Au Ra proceeds to vanish to kami knows where.

Now, none of this had anything directly to do with Aritake Yumishi, yet the Hyur could not help but be somewhat suspicious. Time would tell if this ended up being a waste of time, but as far as Kagero was concerned, the minds of ijin were complex--they were just as likely to strip themselves in public as they were to set a random apothecary on fire--and so it was not outside the realm of possibility for Aritake to be involved in this act of arson.

He’d have to question the Naeuris later, but apparently their apothecary was a frequent destination for ijin. A black-haired man with an impractically large sword, a red-haired woman in gaudy shades, and a tall bearded Highlander, among many other exotic-looking characters.

A sigh crossed his lips as Kagero scratched his chin. None of these people sounded like someone he was looking for, and yet, they were all foreigners that frequently visited this particular apothecary over any other. That meant one of two things: either they were all friends and acquaintances--unlikely, given that none of them had been spotted around ever since the fire--or this particular apothecary had something or someone that couldn’t be found anywhere else.

Had this particular apothecary been located in Kogane Dori, that wouldn’t have meant anything, for ijin were frequent. However, coming to this specific corner of the Rakuza District when most foreigners stuck to the main streets...

Whatever the apothecary was selling was either exceptionally rare or exceptionally illegal.

It warranted further investigation.

RE: Cigarettes and Fireflies - Shael - 02-09-2018

Shael checked the cartridges, the magitek pack, the pack with her sniper gun, then her own pride and joy, Jolene. She could not afford the time to give her weapons a proper clean or inspection since returning from Ishgard, it had to be enough just to make sure the temperature shift from the frosty environs back to the humidity of Hingashi didn’t make any significant changes to the precision of the gauges.

It didn’t help that she felt somewhat lightheaded from using the aetheryte to teleport to Coerthas, then returning two suns later back to the other side of the world. She had only made such taxing trips when there was a dire need, and this occasion was no different. Only she didn’t know how dire until she came back and found Tserende.

She was in a good mood, initially, upon her return. The man that Tserende had sent her to meet in Coerthas was eccentric to say the least, but his unique alchemical creation was frighteningly effective. Tserende was not exaggerating when he described it as something akin to dragon fire. It was explosive, burned hotter than anything she had ever felt, and it kept burning. Not even water could extinguish it.

She had been too greedy, she knew, to try and bring back three barrels of the substance, only to realize it would be impossible to do so through aetheryte teleportation. So meeting the maximum amount she could teleport with it on her person, she made arrangements for the rest, before returning to Kugane.

But upon her return, Tserende, in the most nonchalant way, delivered news she could not believe at first.

"Nabi’s run off on some sort of escapade with Ghoa. Perhaps when she finally finds herself strung up for who ever the man is that she knew for all of a sennight at most, she'll be pleased."

Shael just stared at him for a long moment, confusion first furrowing her brow, her eyes behind those glasses narrowing, then her head tilting to the side as if his words and the world itself were all askew. "Say what now? She's where? Who is Ghoa?"

"An acquaintance of hers from a while back, according to her own words." Tserende just rolled his shoulders casually. "So, presumably playing the swooning maiden with Ghoa at the pits." He sniffed before continuing. "Did you measure the amount you've brought back any more accurately than half of a barrel? We will need to split it into several portions, more than likely. I'll make the fuses for them, I suppose."

She held up both her hands. "So, what you are telling me, is that you let her go back to the fighting pits, you know, where Grave is wheeling and dealing,... with a long term friend? WHAT?!"

"I'm no more pleased with it than I presume you are,” Tserende scoffed. “She's a grown woman, however. If she is set on not listening to reason, then there isn't much to be done about that. Go there and see what is going on, and track him afterwards." He waved a hand dismissively. "Nothing is going to get done trying to babysit an adult."

Shael could only stare. "Wh-Why the hells are you not there right now?!"

“Because I would rather be out here, arranging the solution to the root of the problem as opposed to playing bleeding-heart to a stranger I have no interest in. Regardless of whatever strange infatuation she may have with the man."

Shael raked both her fingers into her hair. "And you let her go chasing after that infatuation? What is wrong with you?! Th-the girl is..." She threw her head back with a frustrated moan. "She's just so easily led around by her heart! Gods, and the pit is..." She paced back and forth before spinning back to him. "Is that it? You just didn't like the fact that she was running off to save someone she has stupid feelings for? She's still going into a lion's den!"

"No,” Tserende replied briskly, his face infuriatingly neutral. “I want Grave dead. Me being at the pit serves no purpose towards that. If she decides that she doesn't like what she sees there, then perhaps she'll think better of it the next time she has the idea." It was so business-like, with little to no outward emotion shown that it made Shael’s teeth grind. "Now, you need to go there so you're ready to tail Grave on his way out. I will prepare what you brought back into manageable portions and fuse them together in the meanwhile."

Shael was not following, her mouth hanging open incredulously. "But--" She paused. "What if..." She clamped her mouth shut again. She finally scowled. "I get that! The end justifies everything else. But you are just assuming that she's gonna make it out just fine. I used to think that you know. Until it wasn't the case. I used to think the Resistance and the end goal was everything. Until I lost Shooey. Then nothing mattered.” She was shouting by the pier, her words echoing down the street. Glances were shot her way from people passing by, but her temper was overflowing and she didn’t care. She shook an angry finger at Tserende.

“So I don't know if Grave's death is going to justify everything for you? But if I find her missing, dead, or ‘strung up’ as you put it..." Her face twisted into something foul before she just spun around, rather than finishing that sentence. She exhaled hotly through her nose, trying to calm her thoughts. She had to think. Raging at Tserende would get her nowhere.

After a few pacing steps, Shael spun back around to him. "I was right the first time. You are not good." She narrowed her eyes at him bitterly. "Neither am I, but at least I thought you were better than me."

He didn’t have an answer, nor did she wait for one. She turned on a heel, spat in the dirt, and stomped away.

Shael’s fist still clenched and unclenched by her side as her long strides traversed over the wooden planks of the dock. She wasn’t sure what she was going to do once she got to the caves. Tail Grave? Find Nabi? She had packed multiple guns, those that she knew she couldn’t bring with her into the pits itself. Getting in would be a problem as well if there were no fights going on.

Too many questions. Not enough time.

She would have to figure things out once she got there.