So... Everyone has probably forgotten this series, or maybe I'm just not giving anyone enough Dasta so you're all sick of me, who knows? But in any case, I am still writing. Even if it is unbearably slowly (yeah, sorry about that). So those few of you out there who are still Four Letter Words fans may be happy to see this.

And if you're not, deal. I'm posting it anyone, and crossing my fingers for reviews. So there. :P

He came to him in the dusk, in the embers of day, striding out of the shadows and knocking strongly on the front door. One hand on the marten in his pocket, thumb and middle finger squeezing around its neck; as the creature had recovered, restraining it had become proportionately difficult, and though it was much less likely to attack him than before, the little beast still had no compunctions about biting him hard enough to bleed. Other hand near his belt, within easy reach of the knife hung there, though he told himself again and again that he could not do any damage, could not give anything away…

The door opened at the third knock, the man eager, perhaps expecting – no, hoping – that the fire-dancer had returned; wanted something else, would give something more.

Basta smiled and stepped inside, pulling the door closed behind him.

"Hello," he said, amused by the way Orpheus adjusted – slowly, at first, with confusion, then surprise, and then – ah, then the fear flitting across his face, his eyes glancing to the window, to the woods, to –

Dustfinger. This idiot was worried about Dustfinger. Basta fought down the urge to laugh at the absurdity of such a thing – and then immediately after, the equally strong urge to slash at the man in front of him, this person who dared to worry for Dustfinger.

Orpheus' smooth voice cut through his thoughts. "Hello," he replied, taking a step backwards. "Can I help you?"

Basta's eyes narrowed; he was in no mood for games. "Yes," he said bluntly. "Orpheus. You've been seeing Dustfinger, haven't you?"

Again, Orpheus' eyes widened with that same fear, not for himself but – and then he was back in control, voice dripping honey and cream. "I take it you're Basta."

A nod.

Orpheus laced his fingers together and the marten began thrashing in Basta's pocket. He frowned and squeezed tighter, but too late; the Silvertongue had noticed the motion and it was no longer worth the effort to hide it, not when Gwin's teeth were already scraping his skin.

Basta felt like he was losing a battle somehow, but he relented anyway and let the marten out of his pocket. He kept it on a leash, something Dustfinger had never done; but there was no way he'd allow his prize to escape.

Orpheus's eyes widened. "I-is that –?" He paused. "I was under the impression that it had died. Dustfinger never told me you had it now."

Basta yanked on the leash, stopping Gwin before he could scramble onto the Silvertongue. The little thing seemed rather intent – it could probably smell Dustfinger. "I think there's a lot Dustfinger hasn't told you, Orpheus. But there's something you're going to tell me: where is he?"

Orpheus shrugged, quickly relaxing. Though he had looked momentarily frustrated when Basta had suggested he did not know the fire-dancer's secrets, his features soon melted into a bland smirk. "I don't know. He's never told me. He just shows up each morning, and leaves every afternoon."

Basta took a moment to digest that, then nodded. "Alright then. I want to strike a deal."

Wicked hearts have a way of recognizing each other, and knowing instinctively who will be useful, or who might be a rival. Basta's saw both in this man, and he both hated him and knew that they would have to ally together. It was just the way things were, and no more a surprise than the fact that Dustfinger didn't trust Orpheus.

Orpheus knew the score as well. At the mention of a deal, his eyes glinted calculatively. Though he had not originally planned on Basta's presence (that much was clear by his reaction upon first seeing the knife-wielder), he automatically rotated his plans to include the other, and found the result satisfactory enough.

"A deal?" he asked like a viper sensing prey, and Basta left the house less than an hour later with victory in his bones. Gwin might not even be necessary anymore, not with this development, but Basta's fingers were white around the end of the leash by the time he made his way back to his current place of residence – just a simple motel room, the sort of place Basta still hated. He didn't share Dustfinger's love of the woods, certainly, but that didn't mean he held any particular fondness for the architecture of this world either, and these places that all looked exactly the same instilled nothing but disgust in Basta.

Cars did too, but he had used them on Capricorn's orders, and recently to chase down Dustfinger. Orpheus as well, and he was turning out to be Basta's lucky break. Necessity was necessity, and he had always recognized that in a way the 'good guys' never did.

The alcohol in this world was strange as well, and it lacked that taste of the wild, that distinctive flavor that came from being hand-brewed and served up in the frolicking atmosphere of the Players. Basta still sat down in the one chair his room offered and opened a beer, watching Gwin try and fail to escape through the window.

If Basta had stayed in the woods, Dustfinger would have found him by now. He might not have run far – no, he definitely wouldn't, not so long as Orpheus remained here – but even so Basta preferred not to be seen. Not just yet.

Gwin snarled with a viciousness Basta hadn't seen in at least two weeks, and scraped his claws down the window frame. Basta smiled and drank.

He wouldn't leave the marten behind. Not just yet. Not until they were back in their world and Dustfinger dared to think that he had something of his own to live for. Not until he was absolutely certain that it could not help him, could not cause Dustfinger's heart to stop and breath to catch just long enough.

Basta had played the waiting game before. He wasn't the best at it by any means, but in this situation he could last long enough. Orpheus told him it would be several more days before he was certain that he had the paper right, especially with this new development worked in.

And Basta knew he was lying, he could see it in those darting eyes and the way Orpheus had tried to claim Gwin as part of the deal, had argued over it for at least ten minutes. He saw it, and he had no doubt that Orpheus wanted Dustfinger all for himself, wanted to work out a way to make this all in his favour and not Basta's.

That was fine. Basta was better than him, and he knew how not to let that happen.

He knew how to wait. That was all it was now anyway, a waiting game. Ever since Basta first arrived in this town, he had felt that reassurance deep in him. He had Dustfinger now, and all he had to do was wait.

A few days was nothing, not if it was for Dustfinger.

Gwin leapt on the armchair with a snarl and bit deep into Basta's arm, feral and slavering to get out of that window. Basta flung the vermin into the bathroom and slammed the door.

After bandaging his arm and finishing the last of his beer, Basta stripped and laid down on the bed, staring at the ceiling in the dark.

He tried to imagine he was Dustfinger and preferred to see the stars, but Basta's imagination never had been the best except when ghosts were involved. Eventually he just closed his eyes with a sigh, preparing himself for the next few days.

It was ten o'clock. The nights that Basta had spent awake and furious, raging and flinging knives, doing anything but sleeping – those had all ended within a few weeks of the chase. He conserved energy and his temper now, and gave himself up to sleep without a fight.

Dreaming of Dustfinger had become inevitable.