Chapter 2

Vilhellos was a grim looking port; being a port of Noxus, the guard was tight, but they seemed rather preoccupied to worry about Fate and Graves. The pair got to swindling right away, finding a noisy saloon with plenty of drunkards ready to empty their fat pockets.

"How does he do it?" one drunkard slurred as he coughed up his last coin to Graves, "this one was born unner a lucky sth…fth…sthar…"

Graves chuckled. "It seems that I was." He gazed longingly at the beer his drunken opponent kicked back, rolling his cigar between his lips. The duo had decided alcohol only made people sloppy, evident by the victims of their tricks.

Fate puffed his cigarette and rose from his place near Graves. "I think we earned us a round," he said as he strolled towards the bar. Graves' grumpy countenance lifted in anticipation.

Fate parked himself on a stool, in front of a rather polished bar. The saloon was surprisingly posh, a definite upgrade from the port previous. He saw the bartender serving some rather expensively dressed gentlemen, their clothes adorned with gold trim. We should hit them up before the night is through Fate thought, noting the clink of gold bags landing on the bar. He motioned to the bartender for two beers.

"Make that three," another answered to his right. The bartender nodded and went about preparing the drinks.

Fate glanced at the voice and saw a woman dressed equally as fashionably as the group of fat cats. Her black form-fitting dress sparkled, revealing her thin frame, and her matching hat was covering a head full of silvery-blonde hair. Twisted Fate couldn't help but admire her gorgeous appearance, from her high heels all the way to her heavily lidded eyes.

"Evenin' ma'am," Fate touched the brim of his hat.

"Hello there," she said, her voice like honey. "I see you and your friend there are having quite a night." She nodded towards Graves, who was scooping in the last of his winnings. "Must be useful, having all that," she paused, flitting her eyes over Fate's own appearance, "Luck."

Fate smirked. "Indeed it is ma'am."

The bartender slid the three frosty mugs onto the bar in front of them. The woman took one and began sipping delicately.

"You know," she continued, "there might be more opportunities for that luck at the Grand Gala next week. It would be a shame if you couldn't come." Her eyes narrowed.

"A fancy party for two ole country folk like us?" Fate teased, "We'd never get in."

"No I suppose not," sighed the woman. She drank heavily from her beer. "But…if I could get an address to send to…?"

Fate's smile widened. This woman obviously had ambitions, typical of a Noxus noble. "How much do ya want, darling?"

She waved her hand. "Details…I don't think this is the place, do you?"

Fate glanced at his partner. The Grand Gala was full of bumbling, rich fools who were intent on wasting their gold on drink and gambling: a con-man's paradise if there ever was one. He and Graves wouldn't have to pull a job for the rest of the year, and they could enjoy the coming winter in some tropical locale. Should I make the decision on my own? We'll probably head towards our safe house in the marshes on the outskirts of Noxus…

Twisted Fate pulled a queen of spades from his jacket and scribbled directions down. "Send it here, if you must." He was taking a gamble, but hey, that was just his line of business: taking the guesswork out of the games didn't take the guess work out of reading a player. And this woman was definitely a big player.

She took the card in her pale hands and laid coins on the counter. Her heels clicked as she sauntered to the exit. "See ya around, slick."

"You did WHAT?"


Even in their private rented room, Fate could see heads turn through the frosted glass at the sound of Graves' shout. The con-man was now pacing the creaky wood, his hair mussed from his hands running through it. Fate, by contrast, reclined at the table.

"Fate…why? That safe house is…well safe. We keep its location secret for a reason!"

"Malcolm…it's the Grand Gala. How many con-men get into that? We can spend the rest of the winter on some beach in Demacia—"

"Is that all you ever think about? We can't enjoy that beach if we do something stupid and end up in prison."

"We've pulled harder jobs."

"Have we?" Graves snapped, "Because last I checked, we pulled those jobs without revealing our home base. I just don't even know what was going through that damned gypsy head of your's…"

"Malcolm…"

"I mean what if that woman works for the High Chancellor—"

"Graves—"

"Or worse that killer on the loose—"

"GRAVES!" Fate shouted. "Calm yourself. Ain't no assassin gonna mess with us. We're not worth the trouble. Besides, we're gonna be so well off if we can make it to the Gala that even the Noxus guards can't resist our bribes."

Graves grumbled for a moment. He suddenly took a seat and chugged his abandoned beer mug. He wiped his rugged beard with the back of his hand, glancing at the mug. "'S warm…" he stated, studying the glass for a moment. He looked back up at his partner. "Fine. Let's get to planning b'fore I sober up and realize this is a bad idea."

"Great!" Fate slapped Graves' back. "I was thinkin' you should be wingman this time around…"

Graves snorted. "Typical…" he mumbled.

Minutes later, a scream jolted the partners from their scheming. They rushed out into the crowded bar area, where an old barmaid was rushing down the stairs—her clothes were haphazardly put back on, so Fate suspected she was doing more than just serving drinks…

"He's DEAD!" she shrieked "Lord V-Vilhellos…He was on top of m-me and then…then…"

The bartender grabbed the hysteric wench to steady her. It was then that the crowd realized she was coated in blood—her neck was crimson, her once-white blouse completely stained, her half-pulled panty hose on her shaking legs now a bright pink. The barmaid was tossed to the side as most of the crowd rushed upstairs to the bedrooms. Graves caught the barmaid before she thudded to the floor. He lightly maneuvered her in his arms.

"She's not hurt," he realized, "this ain't her blood."

Fate's gaze lifted to the balcony above. The tiny drunkard Graves had been cheating stumbled to the railing. "The Mayor'sh brother—dead cold!"

The whole room was in a tizzy; the mood switched from drunken frivolity to one of extreme panic. Drunks tripped over themselves, some tumbling off the balcony. The barmaid screeched again, recoiling abruptly from Graves' touch. Everyone made a rush for the door just as the gold-clad guards shoved their way in, trying to make order from the chaos.

Graves put a hand on Fate's shoulder. "Time to go."

The pair rushed back into their private room just as the guards flooded the space at the foot of the stairs. Fate shimmied the windows open and they both sprinted away from the buzzing saloon.

"Well, where-ever we end up, I think it's high time we move on," Fate huffed once they found a quiet alley.

"Agreed."

Author's Note: Thanks for reading thus far! I love feedback, anything is cool, as long as it's respectful, so please review! More to come…