Yes, I am fully aware that I am behind. In my defense, four things.

First, I'm trying to add words to this thing and fill in the open spaces where Dante keeps jumping around chronologically. (I hate Noctus for getting it into his head that this is perfectly acceptable behavior-it makes things difficult when I'm trying to post this story.)

Second, there were some plot inconsistencies in this chapter (born of aforementioned jumping around) that I had to edit out.

Third... My brain is in coding mode. Nothing but coding gets done when it's in coding mode.

Fourth, and my AEtT readers can attest to this... you'll get everything you're owed eventually. Possibly all in one fell swoop, but eventually. I promise.

Now then... Enjoy. Might put up another tonight, might not. Dunno.

"You have friends for me to meet." -Dante

Chapter 2.1 - Numb
Part 10

The Triet Oasis was hot, and dusty, and bustling.

Danté was amused by the way the place seemed to be an odd cross between Chesedonia and the Zao Desert oasis, looking around and noting all of the gypsy stalls.

He gave the gypsies credit for one thing. They remembered faces all too easily. And for that reason, he wanted nothing to do with them. He wanted the locals, the people who were so used to strangers coming and going that they didn't even notice one more stranger coming and going.

It was nice, being in a town without having to fight with half-elf prejudice again. Iselia was slowly getting better as they came around to the idea that he was sticking around, but for now, at least, Danté still had to argue with one of the shopkeepers over the prices they charged him.

Not that there were many shopkeepers in Iselia at all. Two, actually. A grocer and a little item shop for travelers passing through. And the owner of the latter was not the problem.

Danté been half expecting to have to deal with that here, but it seemed that since he looked human and didn't do anything to dissuade them of the notion that he was human, they treated him like a human.

It was nice.

Especially since he technically was human, and just felt like a half-elf. He and Noishe still hadn't figured that one out.

He crossed his arms and looked around, mulling over his options. Three inns. One was run down and honestly looked ready to fall apart. It would likely be the cheapest, but he wasn't going to stay there. Too high a chance it would be remembered.

The entire point was to blend in.

So, the largest of the inns, he decided. The other one seemed to be more expensive, anyway, though he could tell from the sounds of water and the hanging cloths providing shade over the walled-in back area, it was the most elaborate and probably most comfortable.

He wasn't looking for comfortable. He was looking for a good disguise. And the best disguise was to have none at all.

People saw what they wanted to see. And Danté was a master at making them see what he wanted them to want to see.

A normal mercenary, looking for work, and currently trying to find a place to sleep for the night before he moved on to look for work elsewhere.

He signed in using his real name, Danté Daemione, and then headed up to his room and laid down in the bed for a few moments, making himself familiar with what would be his surroundings for a night.

Then he was on his feet again and striding back out of the inn altogether.

This was where the fun part started. He'd gotten a room for the night, he'd used his real name there, and now he needed to change out of this rather distinctive coat so he could go do assassin business.

Namely, finding himself a contact for an intelligence network.

He glanced through the stalls and found what he was looking for. A simple black coat, albeit longer than he'd have liked, as it was a duster and therefore ankle-length, but it was a simple black coat. So it would serve his purposes.

He was about to simply head off into one of the many nearby alleys with it when he spotted the hat.

Wide-brimmed, black, and it would not only shade his face and neck, it would help hide his eyes.

He went ahead and bought it too.

The man who walked into one end of the alleyway was wearing a rather distinctive tan coat. Distinctive, in that Dirk had somehow managed to add a little of what Danté was quickly starting to call 'dwarven flair' to something very similar to his old coat. Danté gave credit where it was due—at least the dwarf could sew. He certainly couldn't, and he hadn't liked any of the coats he'd looked at in the item shop in Iselia before the townsfolk found out he was a 'half-elf.'

The man who came out the other side was clearly not one to be messed with. The first man's knives were nowhere in sight, nor was a tan coat with too many silver buttons for Danté to bother counting. Instead, a black hat and black hair hid his face, and a black coat swished slightly as he walked, odd silver and black weapons glinting from holsters on his legs.

Danté forced down the urge to smirk as he walked.

It felt good to have his guns back, be walking around in public with them.

Well. Mostly public.

He was sticking to the shadows, the back alleys, and looking for a tavern with a very specific feel to it. There was one in every town with a population over about two thousand, and though the Triet Oasis was barely meeting that mark, it was a merchant's city, a place to stop on the way to Iselia on pilgrimages.

Danté had hated pilgrims back on Auldrant. Here, they were rather useful. Or rather, the geographical location of the Martel Temple was useful, in that it dragged them through a desert he would otherwise be crossing and never bothering to come back through.

If Triet weren't here, he would find it way too cumbersome to keep travelling all the way back to Iselia just to see Lloyd… no matter how far into his heart the little brat had managed to dig.

He finally found the sort of tavern he was looking for, and slipped inside. It was late enough to already have attracted a number of customers, and the bell jingled a bit even as he strode with the utmost confidence straight to the first open seat he could see at the bar that wasn't right between two people.

He settled onto the barstool with a familiar ease, laid his arms one on top of the other on the bar, and leaned forward, tensed and ready to push off and move at the slightest hint of trouble.

The barkeep swallowed and walked over to him. "What'll it be?"

Danté idly considered getting something alcoholic for about three seconds. "Milk, please. And a lemon, if you have any."

The barkeep gave him a bit of an odd look for the lemon comment, but then moved on, and Danté dared a glance around toward the right side of the bar.

Nothing. Dammit.

He glowered at the assortment of beers and whiskeys bottled and set on the wall behind the bar until the barkeep brought him a large glass of milk and three lemon slices.

Wait.

Three lemon slices…?

He glanced up at the man.

Dark eyes darted to the left side of the door, then a spot right behind Danté, then to the corner off behind Danté to his left.

Danté nodded ever-so-slightly, and the man walked away again.

He stuck the first lemon slice in his mouth to suck on for a moment before looking around for a napkin dispenser. They usually had them…

Hm. There's the napkins… and nope. The lady in the corner was not what he was after. Too much gold, too much smug confidence as she looked around. Danté would have said she was linked to the black market back on Auldrant. Slave dealing, most likely.

Here? Far more likely that she worked with Desians. And the vibrant, almost neon purple hair and delicate features helped to lend credence to that theory.

He picked up the wedge he'd dropped and stripped the flesh out, enjoying the extremely tart flavor in his mouth.

So, next one was over toward the door. That was the easy one. He'd been all hunched shoulders and scowls and a request for something decidedly non-alcoholic. So.

He sipped on the milk, then looked over toward the door, as if waiting for it to open.

No, that man wasn't the one he wanted, either. More an information gatherer than the broker he needed. Ratty appearance, but a lithe body underneath it.

Danté sighed a bit to himself.

Now how the hell was he supposed to look behind him without making it obvious what he was doing?

He didn't have to muse over this long, as the barkeep was watching someone behind him, and Danté noted the man who walked up sitting a seat over to his right.

Middle-aged, balding, tanned, sharp eyes, clothes that were neither too nice nor too ratty…

"Usual?" the barkeep asked.

The man nodded, and Danté took another sip of his milk. Interesting... This one was good. He'd noticed the exchange between the barkeep and the assassin, noted the assassin checking off his options, and had decided to spare Danté the trouble of looking directly behind him.

The barkeep brought a glass of whiskey over, and Danté eyed it. "That any good?"

The man next to him shrugged as he sipped on it. "Best in the house. Not that it means much."

"I thought it looked a bit light," Danté mused.

"Bit young to be drinking, aren't you?"

"You do what you have to when it's time to forget," Danté replied. "Life's a harsh mistress." And why the fuck did he just say that? There was no way in hell—

"Ah, but is death any easier?"

…Danté was grateful for years and years of perfecting his poker face. Because otherwise, his reaction would have likely gotten him killed.

"Somewhat. It's nicer to be on the blunt end of a knife, at least."

The man next to him smirked. "Rather interesting tavern this one… It's got a few back rooms if you're interested in doing a little… business."

Danté nodded and tipped back the rest of his milk. "I could use a distraction."

The man was off the stool and headed for one of the doors that led away from the main tavern quickly, also leaving the empty glass behind.

Danté took the other two lemon wedges though. Because it would be a shame to waste those.

They made it to the hallway and found an unoccupied room. Danté could tell from the smells and the sounds that most of the rest held prostitutes and their clients.

The man waited until the door was closed to hold out a hand. "Erik Svenson."

"Danté Daemione," Danté replied, just as honest as his new contact. "Though I much prefer to work by Slate." An alias he'd chosen over a week ago.

Erik nodded. "Understandable, in your line of work," he replied. "Your timing is impeccable, really."

Ooh… Danté grinned. Not a nice grin, either. "You have friends for me to meet."

"Two in town, and a couple dozen more scattered to the winds elsewhere," Erik replied, pulling out a set of files and sitting at the table, pointedly giving Danté a seat that would allow him to get out easily if he felt threatened.

Good man. Used to working with assassins.

Danté sat across from him. "How many in your network?" he asked.

"Five, including myself," Erik replied. "Lyla is the closest, took over from her father a year ago. She's in Izoold. Aseroth in Luin, Callum in Asgard, and a young lad named Silas in Palmacosta. His elder brother was supposed to be taking up the trade, but… ah…" Erik shot Danté a grim smile, and Danté returned it.

Their lines of work were always dangerous, and there was no guarantee that any of them would still be alive at the end of the day.

"Do you have a cover, or…"

"Cover, mercenary," Danté replied. Erik's eyebrow rose as incredulousness settled into his expression, and Danté smirked. "I've got a five-year-old brat that's started calling me 'Uncle' every time he actually thinks about it," he said. The smirk faded. "I have to get back to him. Safest route was the one option no one would ever consider, something I used to scoff at myself before I realized that it was the only way to keep that boy safe."

Erik nodded back. "I've got three of my own. One's the same age, other two are older. Oldest wants nothing to do with the business, and I'm not going to push him."

"Lucky you. Master Ryndor didn't get that lucky with me, and I doubt I'll be so lucky with Lloyd."

Erik handed over a folder. "These are the two here in Triet right now. One of them will be moving on tomorrow morning, you may want to go deal with him tonight. The other isn't due to leave for a few days, but…"

"If I kill one, the other might get cowed and run. Easy enough fix; two in one night is fairly simple if they're in the same town," Danté replied. He noted Erik giving him a wary look, but he didn't feel like explaining.

If Erik wanted to believe his confidence was arrogance, let him. So long as the jobs kept coming.

"You planning to run the whole circuit of the five of us, or sticking in this area?" Erik asked.

"Any other assassins in your employ I'll need to be wary of?" Danté asked.

"No, last one we had working for us went and got himself killed by the Desians."

Ah ha.

Danté pointedly didn't mention that he was apparently a half-elf in this world. Best to not get this man and his associates on the 'half-elves are bad' bandwagon that the citizens of Iselia seemed to have all jumped.

"So I get all of that lovely business coming straight my way," he mused.

"Indeed you do," Erik agreed. "Anything else you want to look over, then?"

"How long ago did the last one go?"

"Two months."

Danté winced as something hit him. "I'm guessing a lot of this is backlog."

"Some of it we've had to remove. Monsters, Desians, the client managing to take things into their own hands and either succeeding or getting themselves killed," Erik replied.

"I'm guessing you take a percentage?"

"Based on the payout."

Danté nodded. The percentages wouldn't be much different than what he was used to working with. That much was clear, though he was still reeling over the man recognizing the code phrases he was used to.

"I'll speak to Lyla when I get to Izoold. How long do I have to wait for payment after taking out a target?"

"You get half of it as soon as we can find you. The other half, we get from the client afterwards, take our percentage, and then pass it on next time we see you."

Danté smirked. "Excellent. Any chance you could meet me tomorrow morning on my way out of town?"

Erik chuckled. "I think I can manage. You've booked a room at an inn?"

"Yes, the main one," he replied, once again looking over the files for the two targets here in Triet. Deciding he'd figured out enough, he moved to hand them to Erik, only for the man to wave a hand at him.

"I've got copies," he said. "And the important part, the contact information for the clients, isn't in there anyway."

Danté nodded, stashed the files away, and then strode out of the little back room after a handshake.

"Pleasure to be working with you, Erik."

"And you, Master Slate."

Danté left before the title could really catch in his mind. When it did, though...

Master Slate.

He was the most experienced assassin still alive in Sylvarant.

Danté swallowed harshly.

Fun Fact: Okay. So. The comment last chapter about Dante being subtle where Forcystus whacks me over the head? Right here, this last little section. Also further up, where Dante automatically pops off with a key phrase and Erik replies. So... I'm still annoyed, but then, I'm at the point where I figure I'm not getting anywhere with those two anyway, so... Moving on.

(Dante is WAY too fond of lemons.)