"What'll it be?"

"Some food for the boy and the one in white."

As the daemon in disguise blankly placed any desired orders, the group waited nearby; few resting upon seats and around the table at Velvet's heel. Visibly relaxing, many almost melted into the seats after their sore bodies could finally sit and marinate in the soothing atmosphere.

"Mabo Curry is our specialty, it takes a week to stew properly," an elderly woman in black interjected from the tavern keeper's side, one of which that adorned a crimson cloth about his neck.

"Mabo Curry..." Laphicet mumbled in hungry desire at the thought, with the lazing half-malakhim leaning nearby hummed in similar interest. However, all it did was hide his own famished tapping and unfocused mind.

Raising a brow at the kindly yet mysterious old lady interrupting from the side, the ravenette merely shook her head, "Some of that, then."

Whistle

Without looking, but nonetheless allowing a sigh to pass, Velvet raised her right hand for the soft impact of a minor pack of gleaming coins to fall onto it. One thousand gald each. She wordlessly flicked her hand, which Sarid still accepted as begrudged thanks, and slid the bag of intrinsic coins over the desk, before bending over the bar slightly and leaning close. "Say, do you know a man named Baskerville?" she started with a thoughtless glower of seriousness. "I heard we might find him here."

Shifting uncomfortably, but still letting a flash of animosity pass, the tavern keeper roughly wiped down a shining cup resting in hand with a thin line across his lips. "That old man? A scoundrel and criminal who went against the rules of the Abbey. They executed him long ago."

"...Oh," the daemon remarked grimly.

Soon enough, after the coins had vanished from the bar, steaming dishes in hand wafted out in the hands of the peculiar elder; and so the group slipped into the stools lining its side, with the young malak and half-breed graciously accepting the perfect bowls with words of thanks, the Samurai passing a respectful bow - while the stoic Pirate and bitter daemoness each delivered nods of approval. Rokurou had passed on his own additional payment, and was passively enjoying the intense drink while his two ravenous allies dug into their meals.

Sarid, his first proper and amazing meal in perhaps a decade, ate steady and methodical, deeply enjoying every stark taste emanating from the dish. The smoky and hot eastern spice, the juicy and flavourful pork, the soft and squishy tofu absorbing each distinct and powerful flavour. It was exactly what he needed, and Sarid ate with a smile.

Laphicet, however, the spoon as his shovel, hungrily devoured each and every molecule remaining inside the dish, the sheer depth of flavour an impact on his tastebuds; and the boy couldn't get enough. "Velvet, this mabo curry is amazing!" he cheerfully commended, lime orbs twinkling with satisfied joy. Feeling a tap of an elbow shift her arm, her eyes rose to the slightly marred but pleasant expression of the other starved member.

"Go on, give it a go," the man ignorantly recommended, too caught up in his own meal to recall one thing. Velvet frowned, and let the spoonful travel past her lips, and the woman's reddened tongue attempted to savour any sense of flavour. Nothing. As empty and tasteless as river water. She sighed sorrowful and irritably, sinking the cutlery into the pooling curry, disheartened. Sarid grimaced, and the daemon noticed his self-chidden eyes flick away to his own dish.

"You get along so well, is he your brother?" A voice came from behind the bar before them, and looking up, Velvet noticed the peaceful face of the elderly woman on black eyeing the cold ravenette and the still gleeful young boy as a duo. A sense of nostalgia was cemented in silver irises.

Velvet remained silent for the moment, passing a blank look towards the feasting malakhim. "No..."

"No, he wouldn't be, would he," the lady began with an unreadable light in her grey orbs. "After all... Your brother was murdered before your eyes."

The daemon's once vacant look snapped forward with a vicious glare.

Bang!

"How do you know that!?" she snarled, having thrust her palms onto the bar with an inward splintering, suddenly being flown into a blighted mass of wrathful shock. Immediately noticing the ominous switch in tone, the group leapt back from their seats, abandoning their hearty meals with blades of alarm reigning free. Velvet's eyes twitched, glaring deeply unto the still and composed form of the elder.

"The shadows watch those who flinch from the light," she unflinchingly recited, casting the same shadowed gaze over the cautious crew.

Eizen shifted forth, now in understanding of the sneaking intention, "So, the guild is still active, even after Baskerville's arrest?"

"That's right," she confirmed, minor strains of tension leaving their bodies at the abrupt surprise. "Just like how Aifread's crew continues their piracy, even without their captain."

Velvet's once furious grip slipped away from the cracked and wounded face of the bar, eyeing the mysterious woman carefully. "So, you're the contact?" she assumed, placing a hand upon her hip as the atmosphere finally dissipated.

"What may I help you with?"

"I want to know what Artorias is planning."

As if she had expected such an answer, the elder poised hand under chin seemingly in deep thought - the glint of an amethyst peaking through from her violet necktie - and relayed some terms. "Information such as that... It won't come cheap." From under the bar, the woman pulled a dusted and marred sheet of paper, an eloquent quill having written ink what seemed to be instructions for work. "I have here a list of jobs, not one remotely legal. Take care of all of them, and I'll tell you what you want to know."

Swiping the blemished parchment from the bar-top, the daemoness scoured along the onyx trails, divulging in the information gifted from each job description. Destroy marked goods retained within Port Zekson warehouse, locate the missing man Mendi last spotted nearby Galles Lake Road, and lastly foil the ambush aimed at the Royal Medical Society set to take place at Danann Highway. Seeing the requirements, Velvet scowled, but nonetheless marked down on their first contract job; burning the red crates residing at the port.

After deciding to signal the dedicated job with the leftover smears of her once bloodied bandage tips, the daemon turned back to the mysterious owner of the Bloodwing Inn as another paper settled upon the desk. "Take this with you as documentation," the elder stated, pushing forward the stamped and labelled document as proof of the group's entry and exit. "It's fake, but it's a good fake. It'll hold up at Inspection."

Sliding it into her grip, Velvet's pensive mood shifted as her gaze grew incredulous when she ingested the text lying on its face. "It's registered to 'Magilou's Menagerie'?" she questioned to affirm, flat stare boring into the smiling elderly owner.

"Oh? Was that not the name you gave to the guard at the gate?"

And, for what may possibly be the first time in three years, Velvet chuckled as she slipped the now folded sheet into the shredded pants adorned. Nevertheless, the chuckle was dry and callous, light humour wasn't a drop she would fall into now. "Hah, I can see you're a group to be reckoned with."

"Report back here once you've finished, however, be aware that should you fail..."

"Then this conversation never took place," the daemoness interjected with an understanding cross of arms. "Got it. I'll cause you no trouble."

"I appreciate your understanding. You're welcome to stay the night, free of charge. Forget about work until the morning comes."

Velvet shifted on the spot, nodding mildly but as she turned, a burst of soreness welled up in her chest; causing an unknowing wince out of sight. Shaking it off, the daemon bared teeth under the composed expression and clenched bandage at this agitating phenomenon, desiring peace and quiet. She stepped past a conversing and drinking Samurai and Pirate - with a resting coat-less half-breed at their table - clambering steadily up the leftmost flight of stairs to be left alone with her thoughts. All eyes noticed the woman's hurried departure, yet none shared a worrying reaction to this anomalistic behaviour. In the end, Velvet Crowe was a bitter and unreasonable daemon, as is their shared existence.

Outside the serenity of this subdued and inviting atmosphere, polished stare above reigned in victorious, silent rule across the blanketed dark night sky. Whistles of nature snaked between the sleeping homes of many, while the few exhausted exorcists remaining in the waking world sluggishly patrolled the silence of the Jewel. Within, half of the group remained tireless but not quite acute, Rokurou's crude but friendly grin and bombastic voice mingling with Sarid's still lazed yet interested remarks; usually following a warning to keep quiet. Past the only busy table in this otherwise ghostly tavern, Eizen had trodded up to the still owner that remained unshaken and at peace with her smile.

She sighed, whimsical, at his should-be expected question. "...Right. Your missing Captain Aifread. The Captain has done much toward our viability. I promise I'll share anything I hear about him for no charge."

Eizen nodded gratefully, slipping a resting thumb into his pocket, "Thanks. All we know is there was a pendulum on the ground where he was last seen. And, that Legate Melchior is connected to the Captain's disappearance. How, we don't know." Stepping away, the Reaper's palm coiled about a glass bottle that stood at the bar-top, the warm, orange alcohol within sloshing as he placed it upon the table. In addition, a trio of glasses - each containing a cleanly transparent spherical ice cube - were placed there too. Whiskey on the rocks.

Raising his great grey jug in response, the respectful Samurai offered it silently to the returning arrival at the table, with Eizen simply tapping his bottle in refusal, and as it angled over to the lazing half-breed, Sarid waved it off with a smile. So, the warrior merely smirked in understanding, pouring himself another serving into the masu saucer. Sake.

However, as the Pirate sat down, the distinct scent of freshly picked leaves tickled nostrils; opening his lavender pearls to see the owner approach with a strange bottle the man didn't recognise. Until, Rokurou grinned and looked to the half-malak, and the aromatic green liquid within flashed his mind back to one of nostalgic remembrance. Sencha tea.

"Oh...? Well, thank you," Sarid stated with a pleased smile as he took the bottle in his wrapped hands, the warmth tingling the nerves. "And what'll that set me back?" he gruffly yet kindly asked, already reaching for the resting pouch inside his pocket. However as his clothed palms parted the opening of his jacket, the glimmer of the gilded crest at his left side came prominent. And, the tavern owner's eyes caught its distinct insignia with a fascinated but expectant gaze.

Retaining the peaceful smile the owner always seemed to keep, the elderly woman brushed off the offer with a chuckle, "Oh, don't you worry, young man. We have been waiting to use our tea leaves ever since a strange malakhim came in so many years ago... you reminded me of her." Sarid's eyes widening slightly in surprise, the owner slipped a knowing glance past as she set a spare aged yunomi cup down, decorated with artistic cherry blossoms. Wordless, they watched as she plodded away, leaving the trio of men in comfortable silence.

Rokurou had placed his large and mysterious scabbard far against the wall, while the half-breed rested his broadsword just at the table side. Just in case.

Twisting the bottle cap open to let the rush of sharp and smoky alcohol whisk the room, Eizen rested back as Rokurou couldn't help but comment on his predicament. "Seems you've got problems of your own. Do you really have time to take on ours as well?"

"He's got a point," Sarid commented, similarly twisting off the top of his bottle and taking in the refreshing scent of the tea, a fair contrast to the low and intense alcohol pooling the natural aroma. As the verdant and creamy drink filled the cup, he continued on; "Our goals aren't exactly short-term."

Allowing the caramel-accented liquid to simmer upon the bottom of the glass, Eizen dismissed the question with one of his own. "I could ask YOU two why you've tied yourselves up with Velvet."

Downing the lake of sake inside the miniature saucer, Rokurou hummed at the fruity flavour that burned his throat, looking to the pirate as Sarid remained silent. "Me? I've got a debt to repay. Without her, there's no way I'd have found my blade again."

Eizen bit back a small, dry laugh at the outrageous suggestion, "A daemon repaying a debt? Ridiculous," he grumbled with a smirk.

Gulping a vegetal sip of the rich beverage, the half-breed couldn't help but leave a lasting toothy smile and point out the Samurai's one-sided honor. "I'm pretty sure you've caused her some grief yourself, although not as bad as Magilou." The pair of men nighly snickered at the refresher about their circus witch.

"Well, that may be right," Rokurou admitted with a grinning pour, "You reckon all that's as ridiculous as a pirate malak, ya think?"

"An earth malak, no less."

Another round of quiet laughs with the Reaper humming in acceptance, all settled and held back to respect the silent and harmonic night.

"What about you, Sarid? Part human, banding together with two daemons and a pair of rogue malakhim." The yaksha bit back a formidable chortle, with the pirate casting an itching hand to hide the dry smirk.

"...Anything can happen I guess, but I'm pretty sure about this path now," the white-haired half-breed nodded lowly, pulling a loose bandage harsh to veil corrupted skin once again. "I'd like to still think I'm fighting for humanity, the good in people. Let the world take back its wheel, as you'd maybe say, skipper." Lifting his head back to take in another round of his sharp drink, the pirate's eyes spoke of acknowledgement despite his silence.

Rokurou placed his saucer down in understanding, sighting irrefutable sense of duty that sparked the half-breed's soul. "No matter how you look at it," he began, levelling his ochre iris with their gazes, "There's nothing... reasonable about our rogue existence. And in this 'brave' new world governed by reason, a rogue can either rage and become a monster like me, or..."

"...Or band together with others, like a shipful of pirates, perhaps."

"Exactly. I admire Velvet's courage, squaring off against the whole world on her own... Few can accomplish that. It takes strength, real strength, and I'm curious where it comes from."

Sarid's mind was full in the heavy silence, already having drawn his own answer from the gifted history he had seen. "...You can be a god, but without any believers, you're just a myth," he vacantly recited, overcome with the memories of a past that seemed so long ago. "Battling such dire battles alone... even you can become your own enemy."

Nodding solemnly, the Samurai poured his drink silently, "True enough. You speaking from experience?"

Sarid did not react, drinking the aromatic beverage in immersed tranquility, answering the question without a single word.

"Selfless and selfish..." Eizen solely remarked, showing no preference or animosity in either tone, "You're doing it for yourself after all, Rokurou," the pirate asserted, while the samurai merely stared into the motionless reflection of his sake.

"Is that so wrong?" Was the man's only answer, tipping the saucer contents past his lips once again.

"No..." Eizen sighed regretfully, "I'm the same. I need allies on my side, with the strength and courage to combat this so-called 'order' imposed by the Abbey. But, anyone who's willing to put up with the 'creed' folly of Aifread's pirates has to be an even bigger fool than we are," the pirate chuckled dryly at the thought, taking another swig of the harsh drink before clinking it back on the table. "So, I'm like you. I want to see how deep her foolishness goes."

The monotonous pour that circled the table was like clockwork, a group of men bonding over the unreasonable lives they have now been burdened with. "She'd kill you if she heard that you know," Rokurou warned with a smirk, until Eizen slid the spare empty glass forward, the sway of whiskey at the catching the samurai's eye. Rokurou pulled out his own spare saucer, sliding it to meet the glass, and poured its fill, while the final drops of the smoky liquor remained in the bottle. Catching the voided gaze of their silent ally beading into the wall, Eizen shook his head with a humoured exhale, and spent the last dregs of the bottle to trace the bottom of his third and final glass.

"It's a compliment. Fools that big aren't born every day," he dryly responded, before lifting icy blues back to the repetitious half-breed across the table, "Sarid."

Blinking to shake off his fogged mind, the man in question waved a hand to refuse, "Year too early." Nevertheless, at this the pirate heaved a despairing sigh to share with the Samurai's chortle, before sliding the glass across the table anyway and into the Shinobi's open grasp; who merely shook his head with a small smile.

"Aha!" Rokurou remarked as he recounted the malak's comment, "And, I imagine your dear Captain Aifread's much the same." Gracing the chilled glass, Rokurou quietly sipped the swapped beverage with a hum of content, as Eizen tilted back with a small exhale, enjoying the unique fruity aftertaste.

"Aye. That man flies his fool flag proudly."

While the night steadily grew later, and the soothing lights that immersed the Inn would dim into a minor haze, the clinks of their finished glasses in silence was what struck the atmosphere. Even with a humorous air wisping through at Sarid's mild and quiet hacking at the harsh drink. All that remained was one final hour, before dark graced the tavern too: kindred to the outside night. Casting their eyes across, they found the same hushed half-breed sat still and wiping down his unveiled blades with cloth, seemingly unbothered by the fading twilight.

"Hey, I know that look," Eizen stated lowly towards the man, steadily drawing his attention.

Eventually, the sweeping halted, and the man spoke as he guessed why their wondering gazes rested upon him. "It's the only one I got..."

"Come on, you've had a drink, it's a warm and casual night at the bar, what's not to like?" The Samurai's arms raised in a shrug, a comfortable smirk present as leant back. "So, I'd say it's your turn, Sarid." Rokurou's words gave the half-breed pause, until his tired eyes finally rose to meet them. "No pressure, of course."

Failing to refuse at the Samurai's friendly smirk, he decided to at last relent. "...When I got out of that prison, this was meant to be purely brief," Sarid honestly revealed, not much to the samurai's surprise, but it was certainly something the stoic Eizen didn't expect; still only earning a brow crease as the reaction. "Velvet, you Rokurou, just little allies before I got out and got my bearings. Then, I found the Abbey, learned about them. I never even noticed how I began... enjoying the company, until I decided to come back."

Leaning forward slightly, the pirate remained interested in the story of their wild card of an ally, while the samurai hummed in realisation at the statement. "Oh right, how did you get back to us anyway? You just showed up one night, and Velvet told us before dragging your unconscious body away," he recalled thoughtfully, the grin bridging his features as he thought back, "That was quite the impression!"

Staring deadpan at the yaksha's prideful mockery, Sarid rubbed his head in irritation at the rambunctious warrior, even the Reaper leant back with a showing smirk. Waving off Rokurou's obvious recounts of how many times the half-malak was thrown around by this wrathful daemoness, Sarid decided to answer. "Laphicet," he stated to their sudden surprise.

"The kid?" Eizen questioned, as the shinobi removed his hand from the table. In its place, were a set of blackened markings that had materialised from nowhere.

"I placed this on the back of his neck before we fell, and there it sat until I had the chance to return. A teleporter you could say, only placed on surfaces."

Rokurou's hand rubbed at the appearing seal, finding zero change in its lining, "Incredible..." he muttered with fairly impressed eyes. Even Eizen had nodded along with commendation.

"And selfless?" Sarid retorted, thinking back to the Reaper's passing comment before with a chuckle. "I'd never call myself that. Throwing away thousands of innocent lives on a hunch, just because I..." His head toiled about on a swivel, as if hesitant to admit this thought. "...I kind of like this little group." At the half-breed's admittance, an impact shook his shoulder, as a now fairly unhinged Rokurou slapped his back in grinning appreciation.

"Well! I can definitely say for sure that it wouldn't be the same without you!"

"He may be right... and while I wouldn't say I know you too well. You're exactly what I need in my crew." The pirate rose from his seat with a unwinding click of his shoulder. Eizen slipped his thumb into pocket, flicking his gold coin into the air.

"Sail your ship to the end."

~~~

Atop the many rooftops dotting this sleeping city, a single, colourful figure lazed about casually upon one, overlooking the deceived courtyard and a specific tavern, now only darkness marring its fogged glass panes. And out beyond, in the maze-like structures of the capital, hovering lanterns held by patrolling soldiers bobbed over its landscape, dots of light akin to the stars above.

"The Shepherd Artorias, hm? He's got the populace eating from the palm of his hand."

Emerald orbs narrowed onto a darting figure of black, sweeping through the night; anguished and harrowed, while the glistening click of her racing steel boots clicked over webbed stone. The watcher from above smirked fiendishly, gripping the brim of her rosy pink and lavender hat in the skirting breeze biting at pale skin.

"I wonder... Hmmm... Just how deeply will the fangs of our would-be tragic heroine scar this broken world of ours?"

Magilou grinned in amusement, beaming with interest, as one of the roaming lights below vanished before her eyes. A wolf does need its meal for the night, after all.

"I've got a traitor to find, but in the meantime, this should be a good show."