A/N: Well, I'm fairly behind… o.o Busy busy busy. I'm trying to keep up, but life slipped away from Fanfiction writing and stuff. Heh, we'll see how I try and keep up.
Chapters should run roughly four to seven pages per chapter until major transitions between 'parties' begin happening. :3 You'll see what I mean when it happens.

City of the Ebony Sky

Draft and Small Talk

The soft pitter-patter of rain hit the panes of misty windows and the pure white cobblestone streets and buildings of Alberta, the port city. The port in question remained rather lonely; wet crates and wooden docks as the wind picked up and small waves rippled and sloshed against large loading boats. The rain was gentle, eloquent as it danced in the light wind that was gently sweeping at all who walked out into the cold fall afternoon. The sky remained rather grey, clouds sweeping over the calm city, normally bustling with tourists and civilians, like a bee would over a flower pedal.

All those who decided to walk into one of the buildings was met with instant warmth as the rain outside turned to more or less sleet, rare at the port city, well-known for occasional rain and bright sunny days. One building, however, always seemed shut out, despite its popularity. Found in the south-western tip of the great turf, was the pub. Its windows were grimy, crusted and caked with dirt, smoke and what looked like blood on some occasion. Inside, and even from outside, you could hear loud, rowdy laughter, the rare clang of metal against metal, the common chink of glass cups and loud arguments taking place about the small building.

Women who looked like Dancers, beautiful with flawless skin, were more or less dressed appropriately, despite the tight-material and the tiny skirts and tube tops that were, apparently, part of uniform. Many men, and rarely women, gathered at this pub from all over Midgard, just because of the beautiful waitresses that shimmied around the cramped, humid bar. Occasionally, one of the women would rub against one of the obviously drunk men the wrong way, and force the drunk to believe that she wanted sex instead of a true payment. The owner of the bar always had a small gang of Clowns and Bards supplying the music, she in herself being a Gypsy. She was a kind woman, always radiating a smile.

A crackling fire supplied warmth, as candles were not placed about bar, in fear one of the men would knock it over and start a fire. Heavy smoke and the smell of spice and liquor rested and drifted in the air, the added heat making it hard to breathe if one was not accustomed to such. Some of the men were prone to pass out, this happening only short moments before, after several long shots and not being able to breath through the thick air. Hoarse laughter barked through the music, but two short giggles did as well, not that anyone seemed to notice. Sitting on two uncomfortable-looking chairs in front of the fire at their own table were two of the only women, including the waitresses, in the building. They ceased their odd laughter and continued to speak once more in low voices.

One of the females was a tall, though not lanky, looking Sniper. Her body was curved awkwardly as she stretched with a wide-yawn, her dark chestnut, almost reaching a roan-chocolate, hair traveling to her lower-back like a sheet of silk. A headset perched around her neck had a pair of angel wing ears attached to them, and like any other of its kind, they were not emitting music. Such electric devices obviously not past their beta stages yet, though small devices that could be connected to the headsets were slowly evolving. The female had deep emerald eyes, matching her attire which was also of a dark-chestnut hue other than the beige markings along the Sniper clad outfit most were sought wearing; however, the usual skirts most women wore of the class was a pair of shorts, also trimmed with the light golden fur like her top.

The second female looked a bit shorter, her feet barely reaching the ground despite the massive heels she was sporting. An Stalker, she was, with an impossible grin plastered on her face as tendrils of blonde hair traveled into her line of blue eyes. Her outfit was a light lavender colour, much like the spiked choker she wore around her neck. She had mere black-cat ears perched within her hair, and simple earrings of different sorts dangled off them childishly. The female laughed, sounding with slurred speech, as she spoke to her friend with such casualness. At least, the two seemed friends. They were sitting together, and seemed to be splitting the price of the continuous rounds of drinks they were ordering.

A silence fell over them for a short moment, before finally, the transcended Rogue spoke up, seemingly in place though she did seem to be reaching the line of tipsy.

"So, Demos," she said slowly, her speech sounded slightly impaired, "…why are we here again?" The Sniper looked up from the fire, the shadows causing an eerie glare upon her slender face.

"Because, m'dear Rebellion," spoke Demos, or more commonly known as Demoral Aki. She pulled her hands up from her drink, wringing out her, more or less, wet hair onto the wood-paneled floor. "We are wet, and this is a cheap way to warm up and drink. We just got off one of those cargo boats-"

"Which we had to sneak on," said Rebellion in a reminding tone. Rebellion Ikari was Demoral Aki's best friend. Both girls, despite growing up in complete opposite areas, were tighter than a Red Plant rooted to the ground. Demoral came from Yuno, preached to become a Sage, like her parents, both Professors. Rebellion, on the other hand, came from a family of Thieves, all but her younger sister, who became a Champion, turned into a Transcended Thief-Class. The Ikari family lived and grew up in Izlude, completely opposite of all those who lived there.

Demoral took no offence to this statement. "I am fully aware of that," she breathed slowly, pressing her lips around her bottle of berry liquor, imported straight from Payon, not too far away.

"Oh, good, I thought you forgot," stated Rebellion, simply unaware that she was becoming drunk, unlike Demoral, who could take six bottles of hard liquor and not fall over from poisoning. The Stalker, on the other hand, was near-sensitive when it came to drinking.

"Never," was Demoral's simple reply. "Anyway, what are we going to do? If we can't go back to Louyang, we'll never get that stupid book…"

"'Ey, tis not my fault they seen my footprints…" hiccoughed Rebellion from across the table. Demoral frowned, raising an eyebrow.

"They wouldn't have seen you," she started calmly, "if you hadn't walked through that pile of dust the maid was sweeping up. The floor was pure white." Rebellion had a stony face for a moment, but soon broke into a fit of compulsive laughter.

"Ah, right… totally forgot about that," she said with a wide, lopsided grin.

"That's alright," replied Demoral patiently. Her voice dropped a few nocks in volume and she leaned in, grabbing the Itari by her choker and pulling her in closer as well. Demoral's eyes were flashing, looking over to one of the darker corners of the tavern.

"See that man?" she questioned darkly. Rebellion struggled to turn and look as well, at this, Demoral slammed her elbow into the table, causing Rebellion to splutter a bit. "Don't turn!" she said in a hiss, "Just move your eyes to the left corner."

Rebellion nodded meekly, looking quietly to said corner. Noting the stranger with a cap, one that looked much like a boy's cap, pulled low over his eyes. His pure silver hair was tied back, a heavy cloak draped over his body, as though he was hiding something.

"What about him?" asked Rebellion, seemingly finding her place and sounding a bit more in line.

"Look what he's holding," Demoral whispered quietly, still not letting go of Rebellion's choker. She seemed to fail noticing that Rebellion was beginning to turn a bright shade of pink. Rebellion, spluttering a bit more by now, looked again.

"…It's a book," she spluttered.

"It's not just a book," Demoral pressured. Rebellion, fed up, looked again. Her eyes went a bit wide at the cover of the book.

The book in itself was rather thick, at least a few inches, with a leather-bound cover. On the front, there was a black, curling dragon with a silver, near transparent, cross held within its sharp-looking claws. Rebellion froze before looking to Demoral, who looked satisfied, knowing Rebellion understood. With a quick movement, she let go of Rebellion's choker and reclined in her chair.

Rebellion, massaging her neck for a moment, looked at Demoral, who remained looking smug. "It may be called a choker," she coughed, regaining some speech after downing the last dregs of her liquor. "However, that doesn't mean you're supposed to literally choke the person wearing it!"

"I'm fully aware of that," Demoral said smoothly, coming back to the table quietly and putting her face rather close to her friend's. "Cloak and see what that guy looks like," she mumbled.

Rebellion immediately shook her head. "Oh, hell no. Let's do that later…" she whimpered, looking at the man with a slight fraction head-turn. "He's a shady character, Dem, I'm not about to go over there and-"

"I thought Rogues are supposed to be fearless, silent shadows… Never mind the Stalkers," Demoral cut in shortly with a smirk on her lips. Rebellion seemed to take slight offense to this, but did nothing, only glowered to her, how it happened no one knew, childhood friend.

"Fine."

However, the event did not occur. In fact, both young rebirths were sent out of the bar almost posthaste, blood seeping through the Stalker's hair, and a fist or two thrown at the Sniper, who dodged it with such ease, it seemed almost pointless to have even tried in the first place. The rain was pouring harder and harder than ever, and it seemed the two were most likely never going to be dry, at least for the night.

The Sniper looked slightly over to Rebellion, who stood up shakily. She, unlike the Ikari, hadn't fallen, and looked perfectly nonchalant, though her left eyebrow was scarcely twitching.

"You've lost your touch," she said after a long moment.

"I didn't know he was undercover!" Sparked Rebellion shrilly. "That book was a fake. Obviously they knew people wanted it…"

"Yes, yes, same old story," mumbled Demoral quietly, beginning to walk slowly down a crossed alley. "Listen, got anymore wings? We can get out of here and be back in Geffen."

"I suppose. But… that old man was scary. That whole story about… that… I don't know, that-"

"The tale about the country, small enough to be a town though far larger than two Prontera?" Demoral questioned Rebellion softly, her voice barely heard over the rain. The Stalker looked to her, walking along behind her.

"Yeah. That one… 'Your shadow can't be seen. Like it's hidden but its still there…'

"Wonder what he meant by that."

"What I want to know is why we need to read that book to know, Rebellion-Chan. That is what I want to know."