»THEPRINCIPLSOFREASONINGDEDUCTION

Author's Note:

So I promised you lot that I would update more, I planned it all out - it was ready, all was good and dandy.

Then I got floored by a kidney infection.

I don't know if this was fate kicking me metaphorically in the balls or what, but worry no more - I'm back, with chapters to make up for it. I don't expect any further problems, at any rate so...

WARNING:
References to rape, assault and other horrible things. You can't say I haven't warned you.

...

It's good to be back.

| PART ONE |
CHAPTER II

ARVYN DREN

She is sick today.

Propped up against the bar, he watches her from across the room, gaze not-so-subtly locked on her hardly clad from. She, despite his staring however, does not notice. Nobody seems to, oddly enough - excluding the certain individuals watching him. There are three of them, sat in one corner of the room. He can feel their gazes drilling into his back as he takes another swig of the downright sheep's piss this tavern dares call alcohol. Mildly, it annoys him - not the alochol, though that is rather aggravating - but the fact that nobody bothers to notice. It's obvious, incredibly so.

That, and being in a room filled with loud, shouting older men is starting to give him a headache... but it's not about him. Not really. It's about her... and the man who commonly associates with her.

Perhaps to anyone of average intelligence, it would not be obvious. The influenza - that bitch of a mutation that creeps under her skin like a repugnant parasite; it masks her drugged up haze, covering it. The other men here, now they would bring their eyes to look upon the blush across her nose and cheeks and - assuming they could even look at her face properly... these men are disgusting, that, he had decided early on - they would consider it as some form of idle embarrassment, or charm. Not the result of illness. Nor the work of a practising alchemist. He knows this partly because he's responsible, partly because he has trained himself to look for these signs and partly because he's a genius, so it's crystal fucking clear to him. The forms of animalistic attraction that these other men show is not worthy of comparison. If anything, he finds these subtle little signs more alluring then the simple anatomy of an Imperial female.

Suppressing a shudder as he takes another swig from the glass propped before him, the seventeen year old Junior Investigator, Aurelius Avis, rolls his eyes in distaste. He hates alcohol - he really does, but he needs to appear older, more developed. He may sit here in a Watchman's boots with an Imperial Legionnaire's belt, but he's still a boy.

Boys tend to stand out.

Aurelius observes her from across the bar. She has lost sight of her... follower, in the crowd. The result is intriguing to say the least. Looking over her shoulder, her fragile body twisting as frantic eyes scan the waves of people, her golden matted hair falls over her shoulders in a series of waves. She makes to wander towards one part of the tavern, between two tables and he becomes downright furious when he manages to lose sight of her, seemingly materialising into the collection of patrons. It does nothing for his headache - he despises loud noises too. If he knew his input would result in this much bother he would have told Phillida to stuff it then and there.

That makes him laugh. It's a soft, reticent noise, but it's there nonetheless.

How long will he keep telling himself that?

Slamming his glass against the bartop, he glares impassively at the Argonian barmaid with a degree of muted aggression he as since become well known for. It's a lot harder in his semi-intoxicated state, but Aurelius must pull it off, because she mutters something about the behaviour of her patrons as she refiles his glass for what is now the fourth time this evening. In the far left corner of his peripheral vision, one of the three Watchmen shifts, the dull thunk of boots following shortly after. He's not supposed to get drunk, either on a normal day or otherwise, but considering it was Aurelius who got them this far in the first place, he feels inclined to do as he pleases.

Eventually, through frenzied searching, he does catch sight of her again. The Junior Investigator ignores his drink for the time being, moving backwards, very much determined not to lose her again. She's flinching and wincing now and Aurelius has observed that after forty seven minutes of this she should be nearing apparent unconsciousness. But, considering the erroneous factor of the other fellow, the illness and the semi-potent drug in her bloodstream, it could considerably less. Or more, perhaps. He's never had chance to test it before and results will defiantly vary depending on the health of the person, height and weight being of general consideration too. At any rate...

Only time will tell.

He would drastically prefer it if it happens sooner rather then later. The sooner she gets tired, the sooner the other fellow will pounce and Aurelius will observe, before moving in. Perhaps. It depends on who gets there first and with that thought, Aurelius turns to glare at the approaching Watchman, eyebrows slightly raised. The Watchman hesitates, looking back at his colleges. They are not used to not having anyone in charge. None of others really know what they are to do. Figures.

Honestly. Fools.

Ripping his gaze away from the Watchman and over towards the female, Aurelius retakes his glass as she lulls to an inevitable halt, a rock amongst the mass of large, shouting working men. Grumbling into his drink, idly considers the chances of an incorrect dosage - perhaps another factor, he hopes the little addition to her drink wouldn't finish her off too soon- not that he particularly cares. Because he doesn't. It's the other fellow he's after. It's the other fellow. This he reminds himself as he takes a long drink, fingers drumming against the bartop as he waits. Another glance shows that she's panicking. It's not very noticeable and even Aurelius has to double check, but there is no disguising the fear. He can see it in her eyes.

A few seconds afterwards and her ribcage and sternum heave up suddenly, then down again, beads of sweat glistening on the dimple dip of skin between her collarbones and he can plainly see now, somewhat through the creeping levels of rising alochol in his system, that she is defiantly panicking. She doesn't know what's going on, other then that something, intentional or otherwise, it is taking affect. A mild form of poison, to be precise. Enough to accelerate the symptoms of her illness, with the addition of a strong hypnotic to make it obvious, so much so, that it only takes a mere glance to realise that something is amiss - or in their case, that she's exhausted. It's a very powerful sedative, an anticonvulsant, something of a anxiolytic, an amnestic too, and a skeletal muscle relaxant drug. The Imperial City Watch has access to a wide range of interesting ingredients - for Aurelius, this is as much of an experiment as it is a sting operation.

There comes a casual, attention seeking cough and Aurelius feels the coolness of plate armour against his side. It seems that they realise that too, so he glares at the other beside him and they keep this exchange in hostile looks up until Aurelius looks back to the girl. The guardsman really doesn't have to say anything; Aurelius knows. He's had it drilled into his head.

Quite literally, as well as metaphorically. Phillida is quite the disciplinarian.

As the blood pounds through her veins, forcing, pushing out to flush her cheeks again with colour in ample violation, Aurelius narrows his eyes, shifting slightly and leaning both his elbows up against the bar. Subconsciously, he moves one hand up, pressing the palm against the base of his jugular. The grooved pad of his right thumb brushes against the smooth skin just above his left collarbone and he can faintly feel the tiny raised nick. Scar tissue. A remnant of a mishap with a knife back last year. Humming slightly under his breath, Aurelius takes his hand away and wraps it around the bottom of his glass instead. Three gulps in quick succession. It doesn't burn.

"Avis..." comes the half frustrated and, interestingly, half worried whisper from his side. The Watchman's right hand rests against his shoulder and this makes the Junior Investigator growl before pushing it away violently.

Aurelius hates being touched. He just can't stand it. He doesn't like people near him or around him or in general sight range, if he can possibly help it. People feel to much and are quick to just overwhelm him by just... well, existing, he supposes. When people get near he can feel their body heat and he can't help but notice all the flooding and flowing and twitching that makes them alive, and then he feels sick, because it's another heap of things to take in on top of a load of other things he has to watch out for - but when they touch him, it gets far worse. Pounding-migraine-rum-and-Colovian-brandy worse.

"Just watch." He commands, looking back to the girl and shifting over towards the very end of the barstool. As far away from the Watchman as he can get without actually going anywhere.

A few minutes pass and with a lop sided grin promising definite trouble, the other fellow makes his way towards her. The bastard has probably noticed that she's getting wobbly, odd in behaviour, and if Aurelius has done this correctly - which he assumes he has, of course - he will assume she is drunk, or tired, or both. He says something to her, wrapping his arms around the exposed slip of skin around her waist and she says something back. It doesn't take long at any rate. No sooner then they've finished their conversation, she's moving up the stairs with him. Her look says it all; she's exhausted, she's scared. She doesn't want this. She's begging for someone, anyone to call her away and save her.

Luckily for her, there is a grand total of four members of the Imperial City Watch in shouting distance with an arrest warrant for her unconventional suitor.

"We need to move." Aurelius grunts, wincing. His words are starting to slur, now that the alochol has started making him dizzy and he braces both hands heavily against the bar, fingernails digging into the wood as he exhales.

Then someone, or at least Aurelius assumes that it's a someone, slams into his lower back. With a muted gasp and a firm look of full blown anger, because it's not right - it's not what's supposed to fetching happen - the Junior Investigator kicks his leg out, creating some space between him and the person before spinning violently. He's just about to open his mouth to yell at them, but he's suddenly interrupted when she - and she is a she, the realisation hits pretty damn quickly - propels herself off the barstool in a series of sloppy drunken movements and sodding lands on him.

"C'mon handsome." Her tone is far too sharp, a series of uncomfortable notes that ring in his ear canal and Aurelius backs into the bar again, jerking his head away and setting his jaw. "You look like you need some downtime."

The Watchman sat beside him peels himself slowly from his own barstool and makes to move towards them, but he's grinning - clearly enjoying the turn of events. "I couldn't..." she manages to slide hand around his waist, despite his rather obvious protesting. "Don't... get off." her inability to do so sends Aurelius into something vaguely resembling rage and he scowls, looking downwards he takes in the woman pressing him up against the bar, lip curling with every little observation. She's trashed, completely and utterly trashed and she smells of something sickly, her accent is butchered, she's young - older then him, but young - and seems to generally enjoy this.

Aurelius doesn't though. Not in the slightest.

At any rate, she's nothing but a giggling little common labour's girl and, if she's not careful, a giggling labour's girl who's about to get raped and dumped in an alleyway. He's not in the mood.

So, with a hefty thump to the upper abdomen, he makes her stagger backwards. People look towards him, most of them amused, a few of them disgusted and Aurelius scowls as he passes. She says something then, makes to move again.

"Tell me, Eustis... do you always give criminals the same massive fuck off chance of escape?" Aurelius barks towards the Watchman closest and waves a hand at him when the man splutters something in reply. He doesn't want to hear it. He doesn't care... but he'd he wouldn't be surprised if the answer was indeed, 'yes'. Intolerably stupid, these lot. "We need to go, now."

With this at least, the guards suddenly move into action, probably realising just why they were here in the sodding first place. Aurelius rolls his sleeves up, gaze flicking over towards the opposite side of the room. It's time. The Woman blanches when she realises the armoured Imperial Watchman around her and when she looks at him, her gaze locks on the insignia stamped into his belt. She doesn't do anything after that, letting him pass. Aurelius gives her a cool look as he passes before taking a tiny, gasping intake of breath as he moves over towards the staircase into the upper rooms, but intoxication is taking hold and in his head it echoes and slams against his skull, like rage, like blood-lust.

It's confusing, because he's not angry, well, not completely. He's been angrier - he's frustrated if anything. It all seems amplified.

Drinking, it seems, was a bad idea.

When he gets to them, Aurelius realises that the stairs are going to be the most difficult. When he climbs onto the first step, his knees feel heavier then before and his brow lowers as he brings them up again. His feet land awkwardly every time, uneven footfall thumping loudly. It makes his head hurt.

He gets close to the top when one of the Watchmen wrenched him up, large hands grabbing under his arms and shaking him roughly. "Wake up." the older man grumbles, eyes flashing towards the guard who was following behind, a mixture of worry and annoyance. The man has every right to be, Phillida told them to keep an eye on him after all. "They're in one of the rooms down there - how do we know which one they went in without breaking cover?"

Rolling his head forwards, Aurelius snarls and shoves the guard away with still developing strength. The corridor before him is swaying slightly and he runs a hand over his hair. The guard makes to say something again, but a wave of the hand shuts him up instantly and the Investigator moves along it slowly, taking in each doorway. He's slow, because he'll surely end up on his arse if he goes any faster and he staggers to a halt when he picks up on a series of noises. Raising his head slowly, Aurelius frowns and then turns towards the guards, who just stare back at him uncertainly. They are unsure of what to do, a lot of them aren't much older then Aurelius and last time they rushed it, it did not go well in the slightest.

Raising a hand hesitatingly, the Investigator moves forwards towards the door first. Though when he gets within arms reach of the handle, he pauses, his head cocking towards the left suddenly as he things something over. He hadn't intended for it, because his brain slams to an unnerving halt and he moves his hand down to rest against his sword.

It doesn't take him long to add it all up and as soon as he does, Aurelius snarls, slamming his booted foot into the door with as much force as he can actually muster. One of the hinges blows loudly, ripping free from the wooden doorframe and sending one of the nails across the room. It flies into the window, into the glass, a spider-web crack forming around it. The Dark Elf in the room suddenly shouts in surprise and when he steps inside, Aurelius perceivers the scene before him with a dulled calculation. The snarl curls into a sneer and he eyes the criminal before him coolly.

"Arvyn Dren..." Aurelius calls, but his voice feels wrong, weird, like he's taking from far away instead. Blinking, he slams the heel of his palm into his forehead in irritation, glaring at the man anew. Not just Dren, really. "You make me fucking sick."

It's the truth, in some respect - but the term feels odd on his tongue. It suggests that he's in some way shocked, but Aurelius isn't, per say. He's not exactly swayed by the sight before him, even if what little culture he's picked up on in the past year and a half suggests that it's disgusting, despicable, horrible. To him, all of this is just a bunch of facts rolled into one scene. He's got the grounds to arrest the Dumner now and this is something that Dren seems to realise too, because he jumps away from the girl, panic stricken. It leaves the girl left pushed over the desk, bent forwards, the trails of tears running down her face. She stares at Aurelius like he's not really there.

That does it for him.

If she was any other girl, perhaps he would have kept his cool - remained indifferent. Or perhaps it's because his wasted. Either way, during the split seconds that they lock gazes, he realises that her beauty was pretty heartbreaking to see up close. She was everything he wasn't and she reminded him too much of his Momma. His Momma had the same golden hair.

All things considered...

Dren's nose makes a satisfying sonorous crunch as Aurelius slams it hard into the wood of the desk and then, for emphasis, the Investigator grabs a handful of the Dumner's hair and grins his hand into the back of his skull for good measure. He's not allowed to kill Dren, of course, but Aurelius knows he can get away with a little mark here and there. The asshole isn't about to get any compensation for it, nor is he pity. Mass-raping Skooma smugglers hardly do. Crying out in pain, and outrage, Dren manages to twist himself around, clawing at Aurelius' face as he pulls him up. The alcohol has done a serious number on his reaction times, so the Investigator just grimaces, rearing backwards and slamming into the wall in an attempt to get hold of the situation.

The sounds coming from the room must be something of a definite warning sign, because Aurelius can't do much soon afterwards. Hands grab hold of his upper shoulders and he's paused aside by the guards. They take over and he doesn't complain, pressing a tentative hand towards the scratch running across his forehead. His fingertips come away bloody and at the sight of it, Aurelius merely grunts in acknowledgement.

In fact, the whole thing leaves him somewhat... well, stunned.

The alochol really is taking it's toll.

"By the Nine..."

Eyes flashing towards the guard who spoke, Aurelius raises both his eyebrows, then looks towards at the rest of the room, at the evidence.

"You were right." The guard looks at Aurelius, disbelief colouring his features as he looks the scene over.

Aurelius just grumps.

"Course' m'right. I'm always fuckin' right"

The girl has moved away from the desk and she's leant up against the broken window. She's not the only girl either; there's another three huddled into one corner of the room, watching the events before them, eyes wide and silent. Another girl, the fifth, is pushed up against the bed frame, her head lolling against her chest and although he's drunk off his skull - Aurelius knows something is defiantly wrong. He goes wandering up slowly, grabbing her chin when he gets within arm's reach.

Nothing.

The blonde girl, his original target, screams when he sees him do it. He doesn't let go, even when she throws herself against him, protest in the form of flailing arms and weak thumps. "Let go of her!" she roars thickly through a river of snot, tears and - unexpectedly - blood, through a thick curtain of hair however she realises through her groggy stupor that Aurelius isn't Dren and she pauses.

Looking towards the girl on the bed, Aurelius frowns. "She needs a healer." he looks towards the guardsmen, who just nods.

"One'll be up with the Captain soon."

The blonde girl is still looking at him and Aurelius blinks, eyes narrowing. "Yeah, I know m'gorgeous."

Avis turns to look at the girl who has since moved away from the desk and is stood near the window, then at the guard who spoke. He's looking back at the rest of the room, at the evidence.

"Good." He replies slowly, but he's too drunk to do much else, so he makes a wide gesture with his free arm. The guard stares at him perplexed until he realises that the gesture was actually supposed to be indication to take over.

"Wow, Avis." He breathes as he passes and because he's fairly certain that Aurelius won't be able to stand for much longer, he grabs both his upper arms and pushes him into the beside table. "Just, stay there. Keep hold of that." Despite everything, he's clearly amused. Some traitorous us part of Aurelius' brain doesn't blame them. After all, to see the high functioning sado-masochist asshole off his head on alochol must be a sight in a half.

For a good hour and a half, he watches them as they go on with their business. They tend to the girls, to the girl he had drugged, to Dren. It's all rather organised, practiced and Aurelius finds himself with little to do as a direct result. It's this feeling of purposeless that gives him the idea of leaving and some stupid part of his brain decides that, actually, that's a good idea. So he mutters something to one of the guards on the way out, feeling inclined to struggle down the corridor, then to fall half way down half a set of stairs to wind up thundering out the back door.

An amasing coolness greets him as he steps outside onto the wet cobbles. The air smells of the docks, the lake, fresh rainfall and a small slither of light from a small nearby lantern reflects against the metal of his boots. Aside from the small glow, everything else is pretty much cast into darkness. There are little, if any, lanterns around here and as he walks, Aurelius coughs, then heaves, gag reflex spluttering something onto the collar of his shirt. He wipes his mouth, disgusted.

In his drunken state, the Waterfront district seemed much larger then it was before. He started to feel a little sick after a few moments, worry building up somewhere in the back of his mind. When he finds one of the East Empire Trading Company warehouses along the southern end of the district, he was pretty thrilled. Though his relief is pretty much quashed instantly when something cool and sharp presses against the back of his neck. He hadn't heard the footsteps, nor did he the shuffle of clothes. He does realise the danger however, so he spins to suddenly finds himself face to face with a scrap of a poor man - but not just any lower class delinquent - but the idiot who first tried to mug him for his pocketwatch a year and a half ago. Rags cover he majority of his torso and through crooked teeth, he demands everything on Aurelius' person.

Because he's too far gone, Aurelius doesn't immediately react. Idly, he looks behind him, then at the mugger, brow lowering in intoxicated bafflement. The mugger however is not impressed and he rips the blade away to smash his knuckles deep into the Investigator's lower gut. When he doubles over, everything pretty much comes back to him.

He's never getting this wasted, never again if he can help it. Or at least until he can get a better grip on things. It's just one thing after another, really. Gods.

"Hey! Step away and drop the weapon -"

The mugger turns, surprised and now that Aurelius is behind him, he takes the man in from a different angle. He's not much of a man - he's younger then Aurelius. He's taller, very much so, but he's also quite handsome too, if you took away the skin defects and evidence of poor breeding. He could have been someone.

Pity.

Aurelius inhales, before snapping the mugger's neck with his bare hands. The vertebrate snaps, shuddering with a gutter and a creak and the boy slumps against the cobbles with a dull thud. From above him, the Investigator watches dispassionately, giving the body a shove with the tip of his boot. He doesn't appreciate being mugged.

"Avis!"

He recognises the voice, so much so that he jerks around in order to face the direction it came from. Running one hand through his hair, Aurelius half grimaces when Adamus Phillida comes thundering towards him, all high and mighty in his shining captain's armour, clanking loudly with every armour clad footstep. He half expects the man to stop, but of course, Phillida doesn't and Aurelius suddenly finds himself being half flung half pushed across the road and into a wall. Again.

This really isn't a good day; he's getting tossed around way more then he should.

"-hat happend?!"

"Mhn, hada'nife." he mumbles, waving his hand at the dead lump of rags and skin disease on the cobbled floor. "Y'seen Dren'yt?"

Realising just how drunk Aurelius is gives Phillida a pause. He's seen a lot in his forty or so years in the Imperial Watch, but he has never seen a drunken Investigator, in the middle of a sting operation, no less. Looking down at the corpse, squinting through the darkness, the Captain then eyes Aurelius, distrusting. "Did you kill him?" he asks, slowly, because Aurelius seems to lose a lot of his intelligence when he's drunk, it seems.

"Didn't mean, jus'happend 'hat way." the younger man says, dumbly, slamming into Phillida's chestplate in order to steady himself. At least it's not a fetching wall. Wisely, the Captain says nothing about it. "Hada' knife, Sir."

"As you said."

"Nhnn, self...fetchingdefence."

"Sir?" comes a shout from further down the road and Phillida looks over his shoulder.

He shouts, waving a hand at the half collapsed Aurelius below him. "Found him."

"Shutupph, fuckss'sake!"

Much to his drunken surprise, Phillida laughs. "You heard the man, is Dren accounted for?"

"Yes Sir."

Suddenly frustrated, Aurelius half growls half snorts and when he moves back, he just manages to avoid chucking up the alochol and this morning's breakfast allover his superior's boots. This time, Phillida is less amused, but he doesn't say anything to suggest so. Just stands firm, staring angrily. It's not that he can just give an order to make the younger man cut it out after all.

At least he caught Dren... even if it did involve butchering every single protocol beforehand.

"Charming." his superior hisses, grabbing hold of the back of Aurelius' collar and wrenching him upwards. He's somewhat surprised when the boy doesn't start instantly thrashing and swearing, as what usually happens when someone grabs him, but he hides it soon afterwards, speaking casually. "Well, your the one who's going to be filling out the paperwork tomorrow, son."

Aurelius stares at him for a moment, eyes squinting in the half-light. "You're fuckin' mean." He eventually concludes, reproachful. He's more of a boy then a guardsmen at this point, and because, technically, Avis is still in what they consider training, Phillida can't do much more then just scold him for it. Well, hand Phillida an apron and call him a housewife - it's going to be nothing but boot polishing and early bedtimes for the so called genius now.

This, is going to cause a lot of headaches. For both of them, Phillida supposes.

"Adaaaaaaaaaaamus!" Avis wails suddenly and the momentary peace pops with a sad little squeak because his is voice raised in that trademark idiocy of all drunken people where they all spontaneously assume that everyone in the world has gone stone cold deaf. "Evidence!" he barks, violently pushing himself away in sudden urgency, Phillida just grabs his upper shoulder in order to keep him steady.

"I don't think so."

"The fuck not?!" with half bloodied hands clenched and his shoulders squared. He'd look pretty intimating, granted...

But considering how he's facing a competently different direction, and he's swaying constantly, Phillida just roll his eyes. He thinks he's a tough customer. How cute. Smacking him hard over the head, the Watch Captain grabs hold of a hand full of the strands and jerks the boy's head up so they relativity nose to nose, glaring all the way.

"You. Dearest, darling, most favourite not-quite-officer in the world ever, are shit faced. That's why."

Aurelius would look vaguely surprised, if he had any idea how, so he just sneers.

"You're-" His insult is completely interrupted as he turns around again to empty his stomach. Phillida feels one of his eyes twitch and a couple of the guards grin from their positions. This is going to be some impressive blackmail material.

Yeah, boot cleaning and early nights. Defiantly.

»THEPRINCIPLSOFREASONINGDEDUCTION«