Witch Hunt

Pushed into a crowded Skyway cart, the thieves find a booth, pulling themselves and the girl inside. I look frantically for somewhere else to sit... but the other pedestrians fill the car like liquid, quickly taking every seat save for... the booth beside theirs.

I consider standing, but on the off chance we'll need to do any running or climbing or the like today, it is likely for the best I don't. With a groan I sit down in the empty seat across from a luggage station, sharing a back with Grace and Faylie.

The doors shutter and slam closed, and the tram cart surges forward. We've a long journey to go, practically one end of the city to the other, through the rest of The Reds, all of Nivannen, and even up and past Ceruel Rise, the less aristocratic and non-restricted half of the hilltop. Although I've never actually been to Firvus Heights, I've spent quite a bit of time in the Rise. Years, in fact: the Lazuli Institute's campus sits squarely in the heart of the district. Although it's not quite so opulent as Firvus, there's still an air of contempt about Ceruel... even if a desperate sort. Begging to be included in the heights, with not nearly half the luxuriance.

Our ultimate destination has me more nervous than I thought I'd be. Those palatial mansions of untold wealth sit atop the hill, buttressed next to the governmental seats of Anily's power: the Common Assembly Capitol building, and the old Virtum Castellum, once the palace of the emperor when Anily was the Republic of old, now the home of the prime minister. Monuments to old wars and older heroes dot the streets; the nation's capital wears a lavish dressing, demonstrating exactly who those institutions are truly for.

We're still a ways from there, of course. At least an hour or more of this arduous ride, and all the while the four still chatter behind me. I collapse my head into my awaiting hands, trying to focus on anything else.

It does not work.

"So", Alabastra says, "How'd you hear about us, anyways?"

Grace responds in a smaller voice, that I nonetheless pick up, "Well... my father has some... business associates... that were familiar with you and your record." I prick up my ears. She doesn't mean... "I may have gone... a little bit... behind his back to talk to those associates to find a third party that would help?"

There's a tapping sound on the table, though from who I'm not sure. The rogue's voice is only barely audible above the din of the train, but I am lamentably disposed to picking it out. "And who might these associates be?"

"They rhyme with 'Scion Intricate'?"

Faylie gasps. "The Lion Mystic Pit?!"

"Those are slant rhymes at best", I groan, then duck my head further into my arms as I hear them turn to stare. Dammit, keep your mouth shut.

Presumably once they'd had their eyeful, Grace says, "Father does some dealing on the side with them, when the need arises."

"Pop's a big deal then?", Alabastra doesn't ask so much as she states. She's almost certainly correct; there are no nobodies in Firvus Heights. "Wait... what'd you say your last name was, again?"

The younger woman lets a nervous laugh escape. "Well... it's Forsyth? As in..."

"Councilman Arthur Forsyth?!" Hands, presumably Alabastra's, slam onto the table. "Knew he was a damn dirty dealer. No offense."

"Only a little taken..."

My fortunes continue to grow worse. At least I'm vindicated in my earlier approach; if I'd walked up to the Black Gates with a councilor's daughter half-dead in my arms the Sable Guard would have had me executed by sundown. I have no desire to understand the now-banished monster's reasoning for anything, if it even had what could be called reason, but I am curious if it sensed or signaled her out as a person of interest, or if its luck was simply no better than mine.

As for the councilor... I only know very few of the hundreds on the Common Assembly, and don't recognize the name. But it seems the rogue, political junkie that she is, is keenly aware.

Faylie says, "Wow. We hardly ever make friends with people that are important."

"Hey", Alabastra retorts, "Most important damn people in the whole world are sittin' in this tram car, s'far as I'm concerned." She of course just means herself, even if she doesn't realize it.

"Well, yea, but... you know what I mean!" Before anyone has a chance to respond, the faun continues, "And wait, so... the Mystic Pit recommended Allie?"

Grace sucks breath between her teeth. "In a roundabout way? I think they mostly brought you up to mock you, but it seemed quite obvious based on what they told me that you were exactly the sort of person I was looking for!"

"Then it seems our reputation precedes us. Girls, I think we're makin' the big leagues..." Alabastra clicks her tongue.

Tegan says, "Uh... I'm not sure that's a good thing?"

"It's a... neutral thing!" She pauses for the elicited groans of the knight, then says, "So, Silver Spoon, tell us about this guy we're findin'? Ya didn't say much 'cept that he was in some hot water..."

They didn't get this information before? I roll my eyes... They blindly agreed to this job of hers before even hearing all the details. Never mind that the risk of any of their usual activities is tenfold amplified under the eye of the Sable Guard and Clockwatch. And they're looking for someone else on top of the detective now. More distractions, complications...

"Right...", begins Grace, "His name is Vail. No last name. He is-was, well, he worked for my Father."

"I'm guessin' he wasn't the cook?"

"Not exactly... is there a nice way to say he was, basically... Father's attack dog?" I raise a brow, unseen from the rest. Why would a Councilman need his own personal guard...? Then again, she did mention he deals with the Iron Syndicate... Is our government truly so fragmented, that our most powerful feel the need to involve themselves in organized crime?

Alabastra chuckles. "I dunno about a nicer way, but I think I get the picture. But, you said he used to work for him... what's the wire on that?"

"It's a long story..."

"It's a long ride." I can hear the grin on her face as she says it.

Grace sighs. "My older sister Prudence started getting... really close to Vail-"

Faylie interrupts, "Ooh, a forbidden love?! How romantic." She swoons through her own words. I take my glasses off and massage the bridge of my nose. Not a single one of them is capable of turning off for even a moment.

"Well, I guess so, yeah. Except, I guess it probably doesn't really work out like the fairy tales...", The socialite says with a wistful tone. Perhaps I shouldn't judge, but... she's still young, and affluent besides. What could she know about heartbreak? "Prudence started, well, hanging around some people that she... probably shouldn't have. Partisans..."

Ice forms at the pit of my stomach. Partisans. A voluntary patchwork of militias loyal to the concerningly and ever-increasingly popular Lupine Party. She'd mentioned them before, but I was hoping it was rhetorical. Suddenly the thieves' propensity for violence seems more critical.

Alabastra's voice is deliberate. "Ah. Your sister... She's, uh..."

"I don't think they let women join, but... She says she likes their company. I'm not sure why..." Grace lets out a frustrated huff. "Mother and Father didn't care... Mother actually encouraged it! But... Vail had a problem."

"And so he tried to put the ice on your sis's new hang. Guess it didn't go too well?"

The young woman hmms. "That's the thing... he tried to get Father to listen, but... I suppose he let slip that he and Prudence had been... involved. Instead of helping, Father fired him on the spot."

"Gee. Cold."

Faylie adds, "Your dad sounds like a jerk. Um, no offense again..."

Grace shuffles in her seat. "Some taken. Again..." The more I listen, the more obvious it becomes how truly naive this girl is. Perhaps that's what signaled her out for the monster; unlike Faylie, whose innocence is a veil for her more devious intents, I think Grace may very well have been born yesterday. "But, after he was let go, he went off to find Prudence... that was a couple days before I left, and I hadn't seen him since. Over a week now..."

"And just to be clear", Alabastra says, "This isn't about your sister?"

"No. If Prudence were really in trouble, Father has... other means of helping her out. But... Vail has nobody. He used to be a monster hunter, I think. He told me this job was supposed to be a redemption, or something like that." The other table gets eerily silent for just a moment at that, but Grace doesn't seem to notice, "The point is, he's a good guy, and I don't wanna see anything bad happen to him."

After a moment, the other three get a handle on whatever had them struck speechless, and the rogue responds, fondly, "You've got a heart of gold, Silver Spoon. Rare thing for a ritzy kid."

"Thank-WOAH!"

The tram takes a sharp turn, and we all jostle over in our seats. I always forget about that bend. As I straighten myself out, I catch the city below. The inner district approaches fast, Bassarin River beyond, flowing out from the colossal Augustene Hill. It strikes me how little I've been this far east since I took stewardship of the shop. West, too, come to think of it... anywhere, really. It hardly matters, of course... I don't expect that to change, after this is over. I clutch the watch under my shirt.

Grace continues, "You're all even better than I expected. Well, except... if you don't mind me asking... It seems like you and Oscar aren't on the best terms-"

I whirl around. "Don't ask!", all four of us say at the same time. My eyes lock with the rest for a brief moment, I catch a miniscule upturn at the corner of Alabastra's mouth, and I turn back to stare down at my table, feeling my face blanch in shame.

"Oh. O-okay..."

"We like ya, Silver Spoon, but it's personal. Ya follow?", says the rogue. Personal for her, perhaps. There's nothing... personable... Ugh. I'm too flustered to brood.

The socialite says, "I understand. No personal questions, got it." She says that like it's not the first time she'd had to be told this.

Alabastra says, laxer than before, "Well, I didn't say that. The three of us are an open book... save a few redacted chapters. We'll letcha know if you step on a landmine."

"Then, can I ask... the three of you seem really close. Are you... together?" She whispers the last word, nearly inaudible.

I can't believe she's just... asking. And here I thought they taught etiquette in the heights. Who does that... asking other people personal questions, despite only knowing them a short while? Or even a long while. Ever, really.

The three start to giggle amongst each other. I'm sure they're enjoying the chance to be coy about their relationship with yet another person...

"Guilty as charged", says Alabastra. "I'm dizzy with 'em."

She just... told her?! Without any preamble, or mind games? She kept it from me for two years, and told this inconsequential person she's only known for two hours? My fingernails dig into the table, as I white-knuckle the sides. Do not show your reaction, under any circumstances.

In fact, I shouldn't have a reaction at all. Why is this still affecting me, even after I've sworn the three out of my life? I don't care... I shouldn't care. Is there something else wrong with me? Am I some sort of deviant; obsessing over their intimacy like a watcher from the shadows, or... Or a bloodsucking fiend. A monster, still, even if I've excised the involuntary parts. It shouldn't matter. It does not matter.

Grace says, "Oh, wow. You're... so candid with it!" Rub salt in the Gods damned wound why don't you?!

"Loud and proud", retorts Alabastra. Except with me... fuck. Stop! I dig my fingers through my hair as if I might puncture the skull and rip out the brain matter insistent on this disgusting fixation.

Grace speaks in a shrunken voice, "I, um. I guess I'm jealous. Father would never... um. I wish."

Ah. The others mutter under their breaths, and sigh in understanding. "Oh, Silver...", says Alabastra.

Dammit, on top of feeling like a degenerate, now I'm also guilty of ignorance. It's hardly the girl's fault, asking for advice from the first people like her she's possibly even met. Oblivious, uncharitable, perverted wretch, no better than the very same perpetrators of her woes in the first place. You nearly killed her you moronic solipsistic unlovable-

"Oscar." My head lifts. Alabastra stands over my table, having gotten up from her seat at some point. Something twists within me. "It's okay, just breathe. Listen, we can-"

"Stop", I seethe. "I don't want your fucking help." I rise, pushing past her, to stand somewhere else- anywhere else in the train cart. I can't listen to this anymore. I need to be gone.

I know they watch me as I go, as do the other commuters, nosily observing the dregs of this argument as if it were their Sunday entertainment. I can't even bring myself to care. Back to the thieves for the rest of the ride, I stand with a bent and craven spine, pulling at my hair as the train cart rattles on into the unceasing day.

* * *

The skyway station intersects cleanly with the Black Gates to Firvus Heights. The rail system cuts here, then continues on past this checkpoint into the heart of the hilltop.

The Black Gates stand more than eight stories tall, an imposing opening to the surrounding wall that cuts the plateau from the ascent. Constructed of Stygian marble brick, the still-standing ancient structure from the age when such defensive measures were necessary now serves to ward a different kind of invader; of unworthy boots on the brick streets of the ancient empire.

Even the police force of the masses is considered unwashed. Instead, the Sable Guard, a branch of the Anillian armed forces tasked with protecting the Common Assembly, patrol the streets. They swarm over the Black Gates like ants, marching in their black leather boots. The sun glints off their brass-trimmed silver breastplates, worn over their jet high-collared officer uniforms, adorned with intertwined narrow twisted silver and onyx epaulets joining with alike aiguilettes pinned to the plate.

Beside them stand a twinned set of Clockwatch. They're near-exactly like the one in Ma Cozzo's possession, but decorated much more like the Sable Guard, mechanical officer's hats atop their heads, and a deadlier suite of weapons integrated into their systems: swords and crossbows and strange arcane crystals.

All in service to ensuring Firvus Heights stays clean and 'safe'. Officially, from what I know of history, the policy to close off the government district is an emergency measure, meant to keep the ruling body isolated during times of great strife or stress to lower the risk of disaster. Not an entirely unreasonable protocol, though perhaps cowardly. The crisis of the Runeplague, which triggered these measures, certainly qualified... but considering that the Runeplague ended nearly thirty years ago, the insulation has grown far less popular with time. Of course, few councilmen would vote to end the partition, considering nearly all of them live on the other side of it.

"Ain't it funny...", says Alabastra, "They put the big gate inside the city. Almost like they're afraid of us." I roll my eyes. She can't help herself, even when the guard are mere feet from us.

A queue of awaiting visitors to the district file from the checkpoint, looking to be let inside. Some seem aristocratic enough, likely having gathered the proper paperwork for their exemption tickets; petitioners or hopeful inventors looking for patents or wealthy tourists. Some amongst this crowd are sure to be turned away, though... perhaps they're desperate enough to try begging. Not that it would do them any good; even if they were let in, their pleas would still fall on deaf ears.

But most are dressed in servant's, custodial, or secretariate attire, clearly on a commute to their day-jobs tending to the uber-elite or performing low-level dignitary duties at the administration buildings. Permitted to work here, but not live here.

We join the line, shuffling forward like cattle to slaughter.

Faylie starts to pace around in place, clip-clopping into the ground and eliciting curious glanced from the upper-crust queuers. "Ughhh, why do these things always take so looong?"

"It's been five minutes...", I intone, then mentally smack myself for not ignoring her as I should.

"That's my point!" How are fae simultaneously of an ageless realm beyond time, and also wildly impatient? And annoying.

Alabastra shrugs. "Part of it's intentional; discourage folk from even trying to interface with this shit by makin' it archaic. And part of it's just incompetence." At least one Sable Guard gives the rogue a narrow-eyed stare.

I whisper harsh and directly into her back, "You're drawing attention."

"Who, me?", she says, aloud, like a loon. "Guess they got better taste than I thought."

One day, I'm going to find out precisely which God forced this half-elf into my life. And I'm going to dissolve their temple in acid, brick-by-meticulous-brick.

Finally, we near the front of the line, and I see the awaiting Sable Guard standing at all corners of the crossing. The interior of the onyx wall is solid and featureless, save for a room within the left-hand side of the inner gate. A guardsman out of armor sits at the other side of a customs booth, ink and quill in hand over a massive ledger. Sunken purple bags under his eyes denote his lack of sleep, or at least his lack of caffeine. A pang of sympathy runs through me.

Grace steps forward. "Guess I'm up!"

"Knock 'em dead, Silver. Figuratively." Alabastra shoots a finger gun toward the nearest Sable Guard. There is truly something wrong with her.

The socialite walks to the window, abuzz with nervous energy. The customs officer sighs, "Name?"

"Grace Forsyth, and these four are with me", she says, one hand on the counter and the other cast out to us, a sailing line pulling us from would-be choppy waters.

At the utterance of her name, the guardsman picks up, pulled ever-so from his day-job stupor. "Arthur Forsyth's daughter?" She nods, and he continues, "Your father put in a notice to inform him right away when you returned, Ms. Forsyth."

"Oh... just a notice...?"

"We were to send a search party, but we hadn't yet gotten the authorization from the councilor."

She was missing for over a week, and the Sable Guard were yet to even begin their search? Either Grace is more the black sheep of the family than she let on, or her father is so absent he may be transparent. The revelation seems to strike the girl speechless for a moment, before she settles back to herself and says, "Well, I'm here now."

"Of course, Miss. The four with you, their names?"

Before Grace can speak, Alabastra moves a half-step forward. "Scillia Stonesap, and that's Polli, Philomena, and M-uh-uhnsker."

"... Muhnsker?", the guard asks.

I sigh, eyes squeezed closed like that might block out the ignominy with the light. "That's me. Muhnsker", I fume.

"Very well. I trust they won't cause any trouble, Ms. Forsyth? They'll be your responsibility so long as they remain in the ward." He refers to us like stray dogs, brought in from the rain.

Alabastra says with a mock-salute, "We'll keep our nose clean, mister, honest to Runo." The officer doesn't acknowledge the half-elf, instead still staring at the other blonde like he hadn't even heard her.

Grace says, "I'll keep them out of trouble."

The officer nods. "And do you need an escort home, Miss?"

"That shouldn't be necessary."

With a flick of his pen, the Sable Guard signs off on our entry into Firvus Heights, easy as could be. And much faster, too, than the majority of the others who'd been waiting ahead of us. The other guardsmen around the gate usher us forward, and for the first time, I step onto the hilltop.

The streets are not paved with gold, but they may as well be, the way the metal shines engraved in every other surface. A wide grand road stretches up the hill, right down the middle of the district, carving it in twain with a long and majestic view that lifts out of sight, blocked by its own ascent. The central thoroughfare is wider than several city blocks, and cut with a dividing parkway through its own center. Veins of snaking streets branch from the main boulevard. At the peak of the hilltop, I catch the top dome of the Virtum Castellum, where this road finally leads, the first spoke of empire planted into the ground.

So very opposite of Grennard, whose buildings are packed tight and crashing into each other, the homes here have space to spare, free standing and sharing nothing but fences, if they share even that at all. Some estates are large enough that only groves of trees divide the space between a property and its neighbors. From those trees, leaves turning orange and brown blown from the branches are dutifully shuffled into piles and bags by busy streetcleaners.

The buildings themselves are a mess of styles, some plastered with pillars to look more like a government building than a home; others are stacked and topped with turrets and towers. Some curve around themselves, multi-winged monstrosities. Even the more modest homes host their own brushes with opulence, immaculate gardens tended by hands that most certainly do not own them, statues of marble and bronze alike situated proudly afore the front porch, crescent overhangs and superfluous windows and other architectural quirks, all the variables adding to one simple equation: these people have more money than the Gods.

Above us, the Firvus section of the skyway races along. Even the transport is nicer; the tram looks outright luxurious, as I catch an interior coated in red velvet, a wet bar glinting light off the liquor-filled bottles, carrying sparce travelers despite the busy line.

This is a level of affluence I couldn't hope to achieve if I labored myself to the bone for the rest of my life. Not without engaging in some amount of corporatization of my work, anyways... precisely the opposite reason I run that shop at all.

And faced now with these fortune-built street, I'm struck by how... frivolous it all is. How gleefully wasteful. Do the ultra-wealthy here even enjoy their riches? How could they possibly? Less has always seemed like more to me, but the sheer excess on display is blinding in its light.

"Hate this place", says Alabastra. "Skin's crawling just bein' here." She shivers for effect.

Faylie remarks, "It is pretty, though."

"Too pretty. Like a poisoned berry... Don't touch a thing, alright Firefly? Folk are jumpy, don't need an incident like last time."

The faun nods, a determined little smirk on her face. "Got it. No statue ding-dong doodling."

Grace has a quizzical tilt to her head at their antics. "Why did you... give the Sable Guard fake names?", she asks.

Alabastra turns to walk backward, facing Grace. "Our line of work requires some... discretion. And, uh, speakin' of... you'd be doin' us a real solid if you could cover for us, case anyone comes askin'." She leans in closer. "We were never here. Capiche?"

The rich girl looks confused for a moment, until realization strikes her. "I'll... make something up, if anyone asks."

"Attagirl." She pats her on the shoulder, and turns forward again. "So, what's our guy look like?"

One finger to her chin, the girl thinks a moment. "He's a fiendling. Red skin, black curved horns, dark hair... usually dressed like someone from out west. He should be easy to spot..." Grace's eyes go cold for a moment, dour and struck. "But, I'm not sure that'll help much with finding him."

"And why's that?"

"Well... the last thing Vail said was that he was gonna go have a chat with the Partisan that got Prudence into all of this." I'd guess by the way she says chat that she didn't pick up on the subtext.

Tegan's eyes dart, looking almost as jumpy as Alabastra in this environment. "And you don't happen to, uh, know who that is, do you?"

"His name's Garin... I don't know much about him, but I'm pretty sure he works at the polo stables. At least... he sure smells like he does."

"Then that's where we're headed", Alabastra asserts, confident as ever.

The younger woman looks panicky. "W-wait! He's a Partisan, like I said. He might be dangerous, or... have friends with him, or call for help..."

Alabastra waves her hand to bat away the concern. "Yea, I figure. That's why you hired us, right? Because we aren't scared of those thugs?" She puts her arms around her girlfriends. "We know how to put the screws on his type. Right?"

"Right!", Faylie chirps. Tegan issues a less confident shrug.

"So, then... Let's make this little jackboot sing."

* * *

I never agreed to run afoul of Partisans. While they're not an ideal enemy for anyone, they're only liable to make themselves an issue for socialists, anarchists, avowed monsters, homosexuals, Lupine critics... actually, anyone they don't like, come to think of it. The stochastic nature of their ties to the party is the only thing keeping them from being truly paradigm-shifting; instead they're confined largely to irrelevance outside of the few instances they can muster an obstructive and organized response to something that's riled them up. More likely, they'll harass individual persons, places of business, or small communities until they've driven their enemies out of town or into the ground, little better than a common street gang.

As a shop owner myself, that makes them just like any other organization with a capacity for violence: dangerous to be on the wrong side of. With how imperative it is that the shop keeps running, I have steadfastly refused to endanger that by making my opinions about the Lupine Party's neanderthalic understanding of history, social orders, the economy, or basic medical facts known. Some thoughts are better kept to myself.

Of course, Alabastra would disagree. She practically makes a hobby of disrupting Partisan activities. I would know, seeing as she takes the opportunity to brag about it every chance she gets. Like now. "And those nitwits had the bright idea to steal black powder of all things. Black powder! The one thing that'd get 'em canned despite the badge bias."

"So then, there are Partisans that might know who you are?", Grace asks.

"Oh, no. We got all disguised up that day. And thank the Gods we did... they're not any more dangerous than anyone else, individually... but get a bunch of 'em together, they swarm like bees - carry a grudge like ones, too." The half-elf turns to Faylie. "And speakin' of disguises..."

Faylie grips the back of her neck. "Actually... I think we should do the other trick."

The rogue crosses her arms, fixed in on her partner in concern. "Glowbug...", she begins.

"Allie, are we really gonna disguise ourselves for one guy? Come on!" She raises her voice, stomping one hoof into the ground. "I think we're kinda past the point where enchantment magic is off the table!"

I suppose they have some sort of agreement in place to refrain from charms, mind-altering magic, and the like. I'm not sure why... manipulation seems tailor-made for these three.

Alabastra breathes deep, nostrils flared in indignation, considering through her discomfort.

Faylie's eyes grow wide, and she stares up, sunlight glinting like shining stars in her irises.

"... Well that's just not fair", Alabastra sighs, giving in under the weight of her girlfriend's wordless pleading. "Fine. But nothin' dicey."

Faylie gives her a thumbs up. "No cubical activities here!"

Not a short while later, we arrive at a massive field upon a leveled-off section of the hilltop. Easily a sixth of a mile ringed in by a low fence, a set of wide stands across the other side of the field, around the back of one of the many estates of the Heights. The wide and empty space feels emptier still for its surroundings; a horribly lonely patch of land given life only when it comes time to trod over in sport.

We circle around best as we can up against the treeline, making for a building to the short western side of the field, painted in reds with white trim. Rows of horses sit in their penned-in dwellings within, long faces hung over the doors, tails swooshing in the light breeze. The smell of horse manure hits me before long, and I elect to stay upstream of the wind.

A few men work at the stables, restocking food supplies or nailing repairs into the woodwork. As we approach, Alabastra asks Grace with a pat to her shoulder, "Point out our mark for us?"

She looks over the assortment with an appraising eye. "That's him!" Grace signals out a man who looks to be in his late 20s, short black hair, a well-trimmed mustache, and a nasty grimace on his face. He pulls a horse by the reins into a stable, the stallion kicking and struggling against him. "Garin. His family owns the stable, I think."

"Doesn't seem like he's very good at his job", says Tegan. Eventually the man does corral the horse into the pen, under whinnied protestations the whole way.

Alabastra shrugs. "Stay here, Silver. Don't want him recognizing you. You too, Dusty. Don't wanna spook the fucker before we get the spell dropped on him."

The knight crosses her arms. "Right." She's still keeping things rather cold between the two of them. Unnecessary now.

"Bug, get around back of him. Oscar? Gonna need that acerbic wit of yours."

I stare at the rogue.

"... Please?"

This is a terrible idea... but arguing would only waste more time. And would mean prolonged conversation with her. Better these inane plans are done with. "Fine."

We walk across the grounds to intercept the plain-clothes Partisan. As we go, Alabastra's eyes peel over the space, like she's expecting an ambush or sawblade trap or the like. The paranoia that goes hand-in-hand with a criminal lifestyle has always seemed the least glamorous part to me. The three thieves act nonchalant after the fact, but it's always been painfully obvious when they were mid-job or lying-low phase by how they jump at every little shadow. Perfection is a necessity... they're always only one mistake away from a steep fall.

When we reach the outside of the stable, Faylie crouches low, moving slowly around the back of the building. But as she does, a different a stable worker exits one of the horse stalls, dusting his hands.

"Damn", whispers Alabastra. "Alright, quick change of plan... I'll get rid of this guy. You go talk to the Partisan."

"What?!" I hiss under my breath, an involuntary, almost catlike gesture of rage. She wants me to talk to the thug on my own... I'd ask if she were insane, but I of course already know the answer.

"Just distract 'til Bug can get the spell off. Get him angry if you gotta... but not too angry." Before I can object again she pats me on the back. "Good luck." She darts off to intercept the other worker before he can spot the faun, while also keeping the man's back turned to Garin the Partisan.

I fume for a moment, before gathering myself and marching to our quandary. He speaks before I even get the chance to. "Hey, you! What do you think you're doing, this is private property!" He carries a posh affect, smothered in privilege and indignation.

And suddenly I'm struck with the ignominy of this situation. I have no idea what do say or do. I'm not exactly a bastion of interpersonal skills. Dammit, I suppose I'll need to improvise, but all I can think about is my untempered annoyance at this entire venture.

Wait. "Oh, this is just my luck", I seethe, pinching the bridge of my nose as I lean back on a support beam. "Absolutely ridiculous."

"The hells are you talking about?", he asks, throwing down a dirty rag at his side as he jeers down at me.

"I'm being expected to speak with some thick-skulled braggart, is what. Unbearable... I never asked to be here."

Garin tilts his head, mouth agape at my audacity. "Guy... I don't think you know who you're messing with." For a moment I think my ruse hasn't worked, until his head twitches just so. "Who sent you?"

I throw up my hands. "In fact, this whole endeavor is a colossal waste of time. I'm taking my leave."

He steps closer. I smell rotting fish between his teeth. "You'd better tell me who the hells sent you." He snarls and fronts like a dog off its chain. He smells blood. Right where I want him. "What are you talking about?"

My arms cross. "I promise you, you do not want to know. I mean, could you even imagine the indignities I have suffered up to this point? For the Dawnlord's sake, this is just the tip of the iceberg. I've been lied to, press-ganged, implied to be soulless, made to climb far too many buildings. Slashed, stabbed, possibly shot. Dredged through my own misdeeds. Mocked, ridiculed, made to wear a disguise I certainly did not enjoy, no matter what they implied... and don't get me started on the damned raven!"

The Partisan stares for a long moment, rage given way to pure confusion. "... What?"

"Just turn around so this can be done with."

"TU MEUS ES", Faylie whispers her spell into the air behind him. Her card carries the image of a chariot rider, outstretching his hands and lifting them higher into the air as small illusory claps blink around the man's head. He whirls around dizzily, eyes catching on the faun, and then those eyes start to glow the same pink color of the card illusion.

He blinks, as if suddenly exposed to bright light, rubbing his eyelids, and then looks down at Faylie. "What is... please... let me help you?" Especially compared to his previous machismo, he sounds outright docile now. Pacified and without emotion... in a trance.

I step beside the faun. "He's... charmed, then?"

"Yep! We can ask him whatever we want! He'll do his best to help us, as long as we don't ask him to hurt himself or his friends or do something entirely outside his nature."

My arms across. "Helping us doesn't count as 'outside his nature'?"

The man looks back to me, blank and stupefied. Faylie giggles, "Nah. Only really powerful enchantment magic can get you to do something you actually don't wanna do. He's helping because, deep deep down, even if it's really buried, he wants to be helpful. Or, at least follow orders, I guess..." She appraises the partisan with a head cock. "I wonder if he'd dance for us..."

"Stay focused." We don't have time for her games. I meet the man's empty gaze. "You. We're looking for a fiendling named Vail. Red skin, dark hair. Likely dangerous. Have you seen him?"

His glazed over and glowing eyes pass to me, vacant expression obscuring whether or not he's following our conversation. "Yes. At his room at the live-ins' estates."

Faylie says, "What were you doing there?"

"Me and my boys wanted to teach that devil a lesson... Bastard thought he would tell us what to do with our dames..." Despite the violent underpinnings of his words, his dizzied and dreamlike state is accentuated by almost a pleading in his voice. I am... rapidly becoming uncomfortable.

"And... he's okay, right? You didn't, like, kill him...?"

The partisan shakes his head. "He ran off... Furio chased him down, into the waterworks, but we haven't seen either since. If he's killed the old man he'll pay for that... if he hasn't already bled out." The severity of his threat is dulled by his hypnotized monotone.

If I actually cared about this fiendling's life, I'd think that would put us on a time crunch... but considering that finding his corpse will just as soon end this debacle as finding him alive, I can't bring myself to care either way.

Though, the strangely casual cruelty of the thought, should, logically, have made me feel different, shouldn't it?

And from seemingly nowhere, a headache starts to come on. Just a low, buzzing little thing, not from a physical exhaustion, or migraine, but a mental one, emanating deeper within my skull. It's nothing, I'm sure.

Faylie harumphs. "Jerks...", she mutters under her breath.

"I'm sorry...", the man drones.

She pouts. "Oh, it's not your fault."

"It quite literally is", I deadpan.

The faun gasps. "Oh yeah!" She's getting distracted again. I issue her a speed this along hand motion. "And, how'd they get into the waterworks, anyways? I thought entrances were super restricted up here."

He murmurs, "There's an entrance in the Shade Garden, that nobody knows about... in the Hosglower family's mausoleum."

She looks up at me. "Woah... secret entrance!" She thinks for a moment. "The Shade Garden... I think that's the temple to Corva!"

Another graveyard then. My eyes roll. "Do we have everything we need?"

"Sounds like!"

"And he won't remember any of that?"

Faylie's head shakes. "Probably not. The charm went down pretty smooth, so, it's unlikely to leave any scars!" Then she looks back to the hypnotized thug. "Garin... you're not gonna remember any of this, but I just want you to know that I'm very disappointed in you!"

Why did it have to be Faylie? I sink my face in my palms, and hear her clip-clop back around the side of the building. When I look back up, the enthralled militant seems like he's about to cry, staring off into the distance.

Part of me wants to reconcile that, perhaps, Alabastra had a point to ask the faun not to use this kind of magic. Taking a person's will like this, it's... I shake my head. She allowed it regardless. She must- she clearly- she wanted-

The headache grows worse. Dammit. Gripping my forehead, I march back after the others, preparing myself mentally for yet another idiotic venture through dank and dark tunnels.