The Councilor came stumbling in already stinking of wine. His cheek bled where his wife must've struck him. The Mistress recognized the cut made by the wedding band. She's seen its mark before. Without mumbling a word Moss plopped himself onto her bed. There he sat, awaiting her tender hands. The Mistress moved to close the door he left open. The jubilant laughter coming from the rest of the brothel ceased upon its shutting.

The Mistress soaked a handkerchief in her tub before moving to dab at the Councilor's face. Cool water washed the blood from the man's cheek. When this was done she started unbuttoning his shirt. It was as if he were a child come running home after falling from his bicycle. She doted on him, tending to his scrapes and undressing his torn clothing. Every need taken care of.

As she undressed him, Moss suckled on the wine bottle he brought with him. Its nectar flushed his face red. The Mistress remembered when Colton Moss first came to this city. When he stepped off the Vulcan train to be greeted by the gathered crowd of citizens she had been there. The man's reputation preceded him yet they did not do him justice. Colton Moss was far more handsome than the rumors said. A firm body equipped with a chiseled jaw. Luscious eyes the color of basil. Standing there next to his pregnant wife, waving to the welcoming crowd she thought he was the embodiment of the perfect gentleman. The years since have not been kind to him.

Once a gorgeous face sagged red and beating. Heavy lidded eyes made his expression ever squinting. A muscled abdomen gave way to a paunch belly. Refuge tore this once shining example of a man down to a lowly drunkard. As his mistress, she witnessed the transformation up close and personal over these last few years. It had not been pretty. Yet by his side she remained for she had grown use to his appetites and because Roland Teal desired it.

With the Councilor's shirt done away with the Mistress noticed the ring on his finger. This truly was a poor night for him indeed. Moss usually removed it by the time he entered her room. The mere sight of it at the wrong time would cause the man to break down into tears. She'd then have to swaddle him in her embrace for the rest of the night just to calm him down. That wouldn't do. Not for this once handsome man. The Mistress slid her hand down Moss' arm, sweeping past his finger and twisting the ring free.

Moss caught her wrist in a vice like grip and pulled her close. The spicy scent of his breath was hot against her face.

"What do you think you're doing?" he growled.

"Colton, I'm just removing your-"

The Councilor's balled fist clocked her in the side of the head. Her vision spun and she fell hard onto the floor. Colton Moss readjusted his wedding band on his finger. He stood over her, chubby cheeks quivering with rage. His fist struck down at her again and her vision in one eye went black.

This was not the lustful beating he so enjoyed in her company. Those were real fists filled with drunken rage. The Mistress crawled across the fluffy carpeted floor, shouting out for help. However, the newly fixed door while keeping noise out also trapped her words in. She looked up her expression pleading only to see another fist coming her way, the ring on it speckled with blood.

Colton Moss stood facing large windows that comprised the office wall. Through simple observation one might conclude that he was watching Refuge rouse itself from sleep and that the haggard expression he wore was one born from the stresses of his lordly command over such a prosperous city. However, this was not the case. In reality, Moss stared at his own reflection in the thick glass through red rimmed eyes. His expensive clothes were in a ruinous state. The dress shirt was half tucked into corduroy pants left stained by the wine he held shakily in his hand.

The previous night was a hazy memory for the councilman. He had another argument with his wife. That was painfully clear by the broken skin of his cheekbone where his wife's wedding ring nicked him. She was always a slapper. Moss fiddled with his own wedding band by twisting it with his thumb. The knuckles of his fingers and backs of his palms were bruised purple. Things had gotten out of hand. Several buttons and one cufflink were lost in Moss' downward spiral. Before the sun peaked over the horizon this morning he was dragged out of bed and secreted back into his office by Ira's two brutes. Like a dog with its leash tugged. The thought left a acidic taste on his tongue and no amount of wine could wash it clean.

The soft chime of the elevator announced his new guest's arrival. The voice of Roland Teal was like a drill in the councilman's head. "What crawled up here and died?"

"Would you keep your voice down?" groaned Moss.

Teal chuckled sarcastically, "Oh I see. It's the councilman's dignity. That would explain the smell. Things long dead are left to rot and reek. Tell me, did you come to my establishment last night with the intention to disfigure one of my employees or was it a crime of passion?"

"She tried to steal my wedding ring!"

"She wasn't stealing it you imbecile. She was removing it for you as a gesture of kindness. According to her the sight of it while in her arms makes you weep."

Moss spun around, stumbling a few paces. "We're not in the Flower District, Teal. I suggest you watch your tongue."

"Funny," mused the other man, "I heard similar suggestions from several ladies in my employ last night concerning you. Now, Councilman Moss, if you would like continued use of my services then I suggest you keep that drunken thing coiled behind your teeth."

His words buffeted Moss, pushing him back until he pressed against the window. If the glass weren't there he might've tripped and fell fifty stories down to the Citadel courtyard. Moss meant to open his mouth to retort, but the bartender's gaze held him fixed as if his lips were glued shut. Roland Teal always dressed in his snazzy bartender's suit. As if to disguise the fact that he was anything else.

From her place on the couch Ira Glass shook her head. "You go too far, Roland. Apologize to the councilman."

Teal regarded the woman for a long moment before he turned back to Moss and smiled. "Forgive me, my words were unfair. I take them back and swallow them down my throat so that I may digest their meaning."

Sneering, Moss downed what remained of his wine. "That's disgusting."

"Quite." He made his way around the room, white gloved hands clasped behind his back. His eyes passed over the grandeur that so decorated the office without any appraisal. "So, too which reason was I summoned? I see but two. One in which you intend to scold me, the other you would seek my advice."

"I trust you heard about what happened to our last delivery on the road the other day?" asked Ms. Glass.

"Would I be doing my job if I haven't? Set upon by bandits. Relieved of their cargo, but strangely enough the bandits spared the Ophidian's lives and even left the trucks behind. Which poses some questions. What did they do with all that Dust? And who would be stupid enough to rob from us in the first place?"

Moss poured himself another drink at the minibar beside his desk. "You should know. You met with their leaders in secret last night. They sat down with you same time their men were robbing our trucks."

"While it's true I met with representatives of the Mud District, it was not in secret. If it were you wouldn't have known about it."

"Why didn't you just end it then and there?"

Teal feigned appalment, "You mean kill them? After agreeing no harm would come to them? Who then would trust my word? How could you believe anything I say after such an incident. Kill them…No, that was out of the question entirely. And as it stands there has been enough violence already. Someone needed to talk with them. Find a way to peace if such a path exists."

Ira Glass blew into the mouthpiece of her pipe to clean it out. After a few quick huffs, she brought the mouthpiece to her eye for inspection. "And does such a path exist?"

"I honestly can't say."

"What did you learn then?"

"Well there is the obvious, of course. Their motives are no great secret. They have grown tired of the attempts made upon their lives. They seek an end to it. Can you blame them?"

None spoke for some time. Ira Glass occupied herself by cleaning out her pipe while Teal wandered the office. Both were silent in their judgment of him. Moss knew that's what they were contemplating. His actions after all brought about all this. He wouldn't deny that. But what neither of these two cared to admit is that he was right in doing what he did. Their knowledge of that simple fact kept their opinions to themselves for the most part. When at last someone spoke, it was Ms. Glass.

"The Rangers have failed to carry out their task of seizing the Buffer for some days now."

"Have they said why?" inquired Teal.

"At first there were delays. More reconnaissance required. Preparations to be made for the assault. Too many gathered witnesses from the Craft District. The list goes on. When I last heard from them, Captain Ashur voiced concern over a certain individual in the Mud District. One powerful enough to give him pause. Conveniently, he failed to offer up a name for the threat. What do you make of that?"

Teal rubbed his head, gently combing his hair into a position to best hide his balding. Pathetic. "The Rangers are the last honorable military division Refuge has. They're soldiers, not cutthroats like the Ophidians."

Moss sipped his drink, "Meaning?"

"Meaning, they're not too happy in being ordered to kill the very citizens they were sworn to defend. My guess is that there was a parley of some kind. Between the Rangers and the people of the Mud District. I don't know which side approached who first, but they agreed to delay the attack. Long enough for the Mud District to strike at the now defenseless roads."

"That's ridiculous!" exclaimed Moss, "If these Rangers are as honorable as you say then why did they give up the secret they were sworn to never reveal to anyone?"

"They didn't, councilman. The routes were already known to the Mud District."

Ira Glass stopped fiddling with her pipe and instead leaned forward, giving Teal her complete undivided attention. "What are you saying, Roland?"

"They know about the Quarry." As if anticipating Moss' question Teal continued, "They admitted as much in my 'secret' meeting with them last night. It was foolish of them to tip their hand, but I managed to coerce them."

The Tradeboss remained silent. Her thoughts traced wrinkles across her forehead, the only sign of worry to touch her beautiful features. She always remained in control of herself if not the whole room she occupied. Moss on the other hand could not wrap his head around this revelation.

"How is this even possible?" he asked, spilling a little wine from his glass. "They had no way of discovering it."

Teal wagged a finger at him, "If your back is pressed up against a wall long enough you might attempt to scale that wall."

"Climb the Spine?" gasped Moss, "Who among them is capable of such a feat?"

"Without a doubt, the giant I met is more than capable. I suspect it is Runt Braun who the Rangers fear. Makes sense. According to the reports he singlehandedly tore through the City Guard as if they were aluminum foil."

Ira Glass leaned back on the couch. The bowl end of her pipe repeatedly tapped against her raised knee. "Braun…where have I heard that name before?"

"I was struck with a similar feeling, Ms. Glass, so I did some research. Runt Braun is the youngest child of Tysa Braun. She was a huntress who often came through Refuge during her adventures. She shared her titan size with five of her children and raised them strong. While not licensed huntsmen and huntresses, she took her children on all her missions. Together they were a family of self-trained warriors."

Glass smiled, obviously pleased by some fond memory. "Yes, I remember them now. When I was a girl my father took me to the thirtieth Vytal festival. That's where we first encountered them. A hearty bunch from what I remember. What ever happened to them?"

"What happens to all huntresses and huntsmen eventually." Shrugged Teal distractedly, "They left for a mission and never came back. Except for Runt, who promptly disappeared into the Mud District."

"He disappeared a boy and has resurfaced a man. What's your opinion of him?"

Teal thought a moment and grinned. "Smarter than he looks. He holds compassion in one hand and a stone in the other. He struggles I think, to decide which one to use."

"And the other one?" asked Ms. Glass.

Teal's smile vanished. "Augustus Clementine…Clever and young. The combination of the two makes him arrogant. He thirsts for knowledge for knowledge's sake. An unending curiosity, but an empty one at that. He wants to learn and know things, but only scratches the surface in understanding."

"You sound worried, Roland." Observed Ira Glass, "Do you think he poses such a threat?"

"Individually, no. But if those two work together…they might prove capable of just about anything."

"Thank you, Roland. I apologize for questioning your loyalties."

"I heard no such accusation, Ms. Glass."

"The thought alone was unworthy. You've been a true, loyal partner for so many years now. I hope you can forgive me for doubting you."

Teal hesitated, visibly shocked by the compliment. "There is nothing to forgive."

Ira Glass smiled at him, "We shall not waste any more of your time. Go, return to your day."

Roland Teal stepped towards the elevator but halted. "If I may. What will happen now? Marcus Vulcan will be expecting his Dust by the end of the day."

"And he will get it." She replied, "The Rangers will return to their normal duties and escort another shipment before sundown."

"This is most likely exactly what they wanted. To rid themselves of the threat the Rangers pose. If you do this then their plan has succeeded."

She waved her hand in dismissal, "Let them have their victory, for now."

Teal considered something before nodding to each of them and taking his leave. The elevator doors closed behind him and down he went. When the ground floor lit up, Moss sighed and slumped down at his desk.

"I don't trust him." He said.

"That's because he is smarter than you are. In this world of ours you shouldn't trust people smarter than yourself."

Moss snickered, "I trust you. What does that mean, I wonder?"

The smile she flashed in his direction was a mask. As fake as a whore's makeup. Still just as pretty. Moss found himself thinking of Ira more and more recently. His lust for her was no great secret, yet she either ignored its presence or was blind to such things. "It means dear councilman, you have no choice."

The councilor grunted, unwilling to offer up any reply to that for he knew the answer already. Moss knew ever since he arrived in Refuge. His first act as reigning councilman was to call a meeting of the city's leaders. Among that fell assembly were Marcus Vulcan, Roland Teal, Captain Ashur of the Rangers, and more, each a colossus in their own right. However, every last one of them paid homage to a single woman. A person Moss had not even heard of much less invited, yet she arrived all the same. The Tradeboss they called her. A leader in the shadows with knots tied to everyone present.

Moss called that meeting to assert his authority over this rogue city-state so that he may bring it back into the fold. That was his mission given to him by his peers. They granted him a seat on their precious council just to give him the authority to achieve this task. Moss used to think they did it because of his family's wealth or his promising political career in Mistral. It quickly dawned on him during that meeting that the reason was none of those things. They sent him to Refuge because they were all too afraid to go themselves. It was that day that Glass tied her own knot to Moss, this one wrapped around his throat. The councilman rubbed at his neck, pulling on the imaginary noose fashioned there.

"Without the Rangers, how are we going to drive them out of the Buffer?" His voice was a choked croak. Perhaps the noose was not so imaginary after all.

Ms. Glass had found her way to the window. The same spot he stood just minutes ago, only she did not look at her reflection. No, she stared down at the vastness of her city and found it lacking. "It's a curious world we live in. Humans, Faunus…People. There exists between us such a large range of capability. Each of us as long as we bare a soul have power. One that with time and practice we can harness and master. And yet, the majority of us forsake that gift. Abandon it to collect dust. Leave the fighting for others. The ones who'll venture out and face the world's evils. We are not like our ancestors out there in the wilds surrounded by death on a constant basis. We have walls, protection, and comfort. No need to choose the warrior's life anymore.

"This creates a schism. On one side, there are the people like you and I. Those who seek power from an external source rather than internal. We are the majority. Then there are the others. The fighters. Huntsman, huntresses, rangers, and soldiers. Ones who have harnessed their internal power are equal to a hundred of us. In our numbers, we may fool ourselves into thinking us the superior force, but we merely squabble at their feet. Insects easily squashed."

Moss examined the jeweled dagger on his desk as she spoke. A gift from…someone. He'd forgotten who. His finger traced the honed edges. The design of the blade made the metal reflect in a rippled pattern. Reaching the tip his hand recoiled. A drop of blood welled from the small puncture on his finger. He stuck the thing in his mouth. Still sharp after years of neglect. A deadly weapon empowered by the Dust shard embedded into its hilt. A weapon for warriors such as Glass now described. And yet here it sat, a glorified paperweight.

"Do you understand what I am telling you?" her voice brought his attention back to her. She stood facing him. He noted the look of disappointment. It never left her face. At least not in his presence.

Moss sucked the blood from his finger before plucking it from his mouth with a wet popping sound. "That we are insects among gods, is that the gist?" He grabbed the dagger. Lifting it off its pedestal was difficult. It had been there so long it grew stuck. Moss had to exert himself to break the dagger free. Only when the mantle snapped did he realize a hinge was locking the weapon in place and now it was broken. He swung the dagger in front of him so that in his eyes the honed edge appeared to be decapitating the woman. "If what you say is true then these powerful people-these gods are merely weapons at our disposal. They have no mind of their own. They're simply…used. Just as I imagine that Braun character is being used by the boy-Peaches or whatever his name is."

Ira Glass glared at the dagger, watching as the blade trembled. Holding it with an outstretched arm required more strength than Moss' hungover state could muster so he jammed it point first into his own desk.

"You pose an interesting theory." Admitted Ms. Glass, "But you take things to literal. Imagine if you will, that a weapon has a soul…Therefore weapons can possess their own will. Don't you think? Besides," she nodded to his hand that gripped the dagger, "Even if we do wield such weapons as you say, then we must be careful else we could hurt ourselves just as easily as our enemies."

Moss squeezed the grip so tightly the puncture in his finger oozed out blood in streams that trickled down the blade. He didn't feel a thing as numb and hungover as he was. A mad laugh cackled up his throat. "I denied it its true purpose. I thought it needed reminding. Just a sip. So, I ask again. What do we do about the Mud District?"

"It's possible that Runt Braun is one on the other side of the schism. A weapon and a powerful one at that given Captain Ashur's trepidation. But even over on that other side there is a wide range of skill. Practically another divide within itself. If things fall through with the Mud District and we must cross blades, then I know just the one I'd like to wield. And he is on his way."