Judges were sprawling. Everywhere Maeve went she witnessed them questioning civilians of Resistance whereabouts, acts of terrorism, or any signs of misdemeanor involving the Resistance. Many civilians refuted the Resistance's goal, and that there was no intention of harm to the building, but many magistrate soldiers died. Eventually, based on what she overheard, they were forced to retreat as the tower collapsed, begging the integrity of the Magistrate for what seemed to be an accidental discharge of explosives, but forensics argued few explosives of that size were used. Fingers are pointed in every direction, leading to public discord. Just looking at each and every citizen portrayed an aura of distrust, forcing Maeve to remain cloaked in crowds as they began to emerge again, uneasy. Sitting along this ever-mobile pedestrian crowd for a few hours led to the consumption of - although she wouldn't admit - the best honey crackers she had ever eaten. Covered by a black cloak she found in an empty alley, Maeve ventured for shelter somewhere to recuperate and try to understand her new abilities.

As the sun began to rest and the crowd shrunk, the sprawling kingdom slowed down; Maeve needed to find an outpost now or never. Using the cloak to hide her crystal-soaking garb, Maeve wound up entering an inn near the end of town. Rickety and severely aged, the foundations at a glance sunk much too deep, but it seemed to resonate with the girl, almost begging her to choose it, and the security, well, likely couldn't hold up a knife-bearing speedster like her, no way! She casually entered the establishment, blending with a group of men who also entered.

"The Rusty Sparrow" was having a full house, and while its run-down exterior lacked the appeal of nearly all hotels and inns in the district, the interior certainly outclassed them all with style and space. As the entrance led to a hallway Maeve glanced into the "tavern" door, where she saw a large group of bustling men singing and shouting as they clanged their kegs together, jeering and enjoying themselves. The group of men beside her bombastically barged in with a barbarous yell as the rest of them hollered back in response, five times louder. The girl shrugged and entered the door at the end of the hall that read, "lobby." As she slid it open it rang a bell that alerted the clerk. It wasn't that she needed alerting, however, as the lobby was deprived of customers, and the clerk, a drab and awfully large middle-aged woman, sat behind the first desk staring unperturbed at the dark-cloaked, mysterious customer.

"Welcome to the Rusty Sparrow," she monotonously gestured, not moving from her chair with her back slouched. "How can we hide you from judges today?"

Although the woman was sarcastically responding to the conspicuous nature of her mischief, Meave, unbeknownst to the clerk, was slightly moved by the accusation. She tried to deepen her voice. "Yes, um, I'd like to know if I can pay for a room after I stay for one night."

Looking down from her desk to witness the height - or lack thereof - of the customer, the clerk raised an eyebrow. "No, I don't think so, sir," she paused for a brief moment. "How tall are you exactly?

The head under the hood seemed to jolt. "I...uh… one and a half meters?"

The clerk leaned in close: she didn't buy it; he was much shorter. "You see that tavern down the hall? A man in there still owes my bar tab. It's six hundred credits. Not enough to get you a room in here, but with the look on his face, it'll definitely be worth the money. Tell you what? If you get me that six hundred credits from his back pocket, I'll give you a night in here."

The girl was beyond intrigued; this is the kind of job she can do. "What does this man look like?"

The clerk leaned back in her chair, grinning. "Haha, not just any man. Aces Dabloo, probably the richest fixer this side of the kingdom. Never lacks an ace, that man. He haunts this saloon; he bribes judges; he is always in control. I'm sure with his wallet six hundred credits won't move him much, but to know that I've stolen from that man without a snicker in his eye is worth over two thousand! Rich bubbly-lookin' guy, hair's really long, wears a strange necklace rumored to be one of those outlawed crystals, but it's probably not. So get to it, shortie!"

Maeve nodded and headed to the tavern. While she opened the door it seemed to her that no one noticed her entrance as every person in there comically towered over her, their monstrous physiques thinking her as only a mere fly in the air, unnoticeable and intangible. Upon first inspection she became annoyed, for nearly half of the shoulder-to-shoulder tavern hosted men sporting long voluptuous hair. Unbothered by this fact, however, she kept an eye out for the necklace, perhaps even fancy clothing, as the tavern lacked dignity, with cheerful heads constantly banging into each other and colliding in jolly euphoria, drunkenly laughing off whatever stresses the day caused.

"My friends!" A charming, unhinged macho man in the center of the room exclaimed. Maeve locked her gaze at the overbearing man and met with the necklace wrapped around him. "The Magistrate Fortress Keep, oh how we woe for it!" Cackling as he sarcastically mourned the remains of the Keep, the entire block could've heard the collective guffaw when he finished his words. Deafening any other noise, the thief took this as a chance to slip past the crowd, running closer to Mr. Dabloo, practically behind him now.

"Finally the Trade District will be its own business! The Magistrate will tax us none!" Dabloo looked at his nearby companion after another collective cheer, who, still a tower of a man, seemed petty at Aces Dabloo's size. "Still waiting for that appeal for your axe, eh, Trelman?"

"Aye," Trelman responded. "But now I'm sure they got the Lunas themselves on them now, probably already forgot about it."

"Ah, it's no worries, Trelman!" Dabloo reassured, scooting up from where he sat, revealing his back pocket. Maeve was tall enough so that her head just made it to match his buttocks as he sat in a tall chair. "Reach in 'ere, in my back; grab this stick right 'ere."

As soon as Trelman reached his hand to grab the stick stuck in Dabloo's back, Maeve snatched his wallet.

"Oi, oi!" Trelman cried. "It's me axe!"

As the crowd roared in hoorays and cheers Maeve gathered 800 credits and stuffed the wallet back into his pocket rather recklessly.

Aces grimaced. "Hey, wait a minute..." Unheard of due to the tavern's laughter, Maeve ran as fast as she could outside the tavern, door slamming behind her. As she left she briefly spotted Aces studying his wallet, completely unbeknownst to anyone surrounding him. Maeve returned into the lobby, credits in hand.

"All set?" The clerk snarkily jested. The hooded figure nodded, handing over 600 credits.

The clerk giggled. "Good job," A nasty smile invaded her face. "Here you go. Room 11, down the hall to the left; can't miss it." Maeve internally celebrated and started her way to the-

"TRELMAN! YOU THIEVING WRETCH! I'LL HAVE YOUR HEAD!" The clings and clangs of unsheathed axes echoed down the hall behind her; wide-eyed, she entered the room.