"There is nothing as likely to succeed as what the enemy believes you cannot attempt."
Chapter 14: New Ways To Die
Her mouth tasted like iron and dust.
That was Trifa's first thought as consciousness slowly but surely returned to her. It wasn't exactly a happy reunion. Her throat was parched, her stomach ached, and a dull headache throbbed in her temples. It was only after she lifted her head, that she became even dimly aware of the idea that there was something wrong with her surroundings. It felt like somebody had replaced her mattress with a bed of nails. Except… no. This wasn't where she'd laid her head last night, was it? Where had she…? Her pulse throbbed in her ears, driven quicker by stirring panic.
The moments returned to her with a vengeance – the blood, the bullet spray, the screaming, the screeching of burning rubber. Her eyes, caked with dried blood and who knows what else, snapped open. Slowly, she drew herself to her knees. Her body felt like one giant bruise, and the space between her ears could have been packed with sand and cement for how it felt to move her head.
Deep breaths. Her lungs were still protesting and didn't much like this new plan, but they helped calm her down. Okay. This wasn't the first time she'd woken up in a strange place with all her stuff missing. She could deal with this.
Trifa scanned her surroundings again.
Where the hell was Adam? Then again, maybe it was better this way, avoiding awkward silences and unspoken explanations. That must have been what he had thought too, the faunus surmised, sliding her arm lazily across the side of the bed to stop on her pillow.
To her surprise her fingers ran over something rough and edged and she looked up to see a folded note.
"Don't go outside."
Trifa's eyebrows rose briefly before they twisted into a scowl. She curled up, staring at the scrap of white paper again, turning it over as if something was missing. Suddenly she bristled. Who did he think he was? She wasn't some kind of kept dog, to be told when to sit and when she was allowed to go outside. Not a please, not a thank you, not even her name; which she knew full well that he knew. Always, "Blue" this, and" Blue" that…
Her hand tightened into a fist, crumpling the worn paper.
She had a mind to find him and shove his stupid note up his—
But as quickly as the budding rage came, so too did the wave of bruises return in force, with almost every one of her muscles screaming in outrage at the idea of extended movement. On second thought…she wasn't really in a rush to be anywhere anyway. Gingerly swinging her legs back off the disfigured mattress, and doing her best to ignore the sky splitting headache currently ruminating in her skull, she walked around in the shabby apartment she found herself in.
As her shallow breaths started to hurt less, she squinted, trying to puzzle out her surroundings. First things first. Figuring out where she was. The answer came to her fairly quickly; This had to be Taurus' home. Why else would he bring her here after what happened? Trifa walked into the living room and wrinkled her nose in distaste. The walls were the washed-out hue of a sky just before the rain and were completely bare except for a light switch that controlled the overhead light. A worn brown sofa, buried in a mass of blankets, sat in the middle of the room with an armchair beside it and a coffee table in front, containing a dog-eared paperback lying open and face down. Taking a seat in the nearest windowsill, she cast her gaze around the room with a critical eye. There were no pictures, no new furniture, and none of the memorabilia that one would expect from someone who had been living in Mistral's capital for a while. Hell, the room barely looked lived in…. Aside from the general filth that was. Did he own, or rent? After a few moments' thought, she came to the conclusion it was a stupid question. A faunus? Owning property? Right. With Mistral's land laws, he'd be lucky to own his own cutlery, much less a place like this. Even if it was a shithole.
If he wasn't such a bastard, she might actually pity him.
The sound of sirens outside caused her eyes to snap open, as she quickly made a gap in the curtains with her fingers until she could see what all the noise was about.
Trifa leaned into the window with a quiet exhale. She caught a glimpse at her reflection. Her eyes still seemed a little swollen, and her hair matted with all manner of blood and filth. She could really use a shower. Or at the very least a change of clothes.
She considered for an instant the idea of rifling through his belongings to find something that fit her, before thinking better of it. She didn't much feel like ticking him off more than she needed to, and him coming back to find her rifling through his underwear drawer sounded like a great way to do that. Besides, he was bigger than her, both in height and frame; she doubted she'd find anything that wasn't at least two sizes too big for her. It would be like she was wearing bedsheets. Trifa made a face. What the fuck did he eat, bricks?
Speaking of food though….
Her stomach growled impatiently, as if to physically interject itself into her thoughts.
She couldn't remember the last time she'd eaten a decent meal. A slave to her hunger, the blue haired faunus wound her way through the corridors until she found Adam's kitchen. A part of her was at least a little apprehensive; Taurus finding her pigging out on his dime in his home was just as sure to provoke his impressively short temper, and she'd already seen first hand what happened to people that accomplished that.
The rest of her didn't care. At this point she'd have eaten her own webbing so long as it filled her stomach. Frustrated, she ripped open the first cupboard she saw, slamming it shut with an irritated chuff when she saw the lack of edible contents.
Had it really been so long since….
The Bloodhounds….
The rage returned now; a force of molten magma that practically seemed to bubble under her skin as the memories returned. The ones she tried to try so hard to ignore when she closed her eyes. How she even got to this god forsaken kingdom to begin with.
The protest in Mantle had gone to hell. They'd been attacked by counter protesters, and swarmed. They'd barely made it out of the city with their barely a day out of Mantle's borders… that had been where it had happened. The human supremacists had shown up to finish what the Atlesian police and counter protesters hadn't. Out of the city, out of the public eye…. And it had been a slaughter. The ones who had died first had honestly been the lucky ones. They hadn't been there to see the Grimm show up to pick at the remains, or get picked off from the group like she was and forced to wander the wilderness alone.
Until they'd caught her.
She didn't remember much about how it happened; just flashes. That, and how she hadn't made it easy.
The first she'd known anything was when the gun went off, close to her ear; the flash etched her vision, the afterimage floating in the air like a pale ghost before they were on her like a pack of wolves. She scrabbled, fighting them off with everything she had, but it was not enough. One of them knocked the knife out of her frozen hands, then crushed her up against a tree trunk and pressed the barrel of his gun into her windpipe so hard it made her choke. Seizing her by her hair.
She had struggled madly, kicking and biting like the wild animal the humans always said she was. Bright pain sparkled at her nape as her attackers had torn out a clump of her hair, struggling to constrain her.
A boot to her ribs left her curled up in a ball, gasping for breath. She lay with the jagged frost cutting into her cheek, her ears ringing, disarmed and utterly exhausted as they stood over her, cursing. Somewhere in her ringing ears, she heard a man groaning in pain. They kicked her in the ribs a few times more for good measure before something hitting her in the back of the head.
She remembered how she had woken up in a Dust shipping container on a boat to Mistral with half a dozen other faunus, each of them as bruised and battered as she was. She remembered how she had twisted them futilely in their restraints, rubbing her wrists together, the plastic straps cutting into her skin.
The marks were still on her skin even now. In present time, Trifa shuddered and looked down at herself. Her clothes were splashed with blood. It pooled under her nails in rust brown crescents, and she could feel stiff crusts of it drying on her skin.
They had sold her. Like a thing.
Trifa curled her fingers against her ribs and her frown deepened. It was no use thinking about that now. She was free. And for all his many, many many, faults… she owed that to Adam.
Getting up, she decided to forgo her search for food— Adam's fridge was barren, and she doubted the rest of the cupboards were any better — before trudging towards the living room, deep in thought.
There was one other silver lining now that she thought about it. It looked like they were home clear of the Spiders, at least.
Say what you will about Taurus' planning skills under duress, but he'd also been sure to ditch the car before they reached his lodgings. Admittedly, that had been a good call. Parking it up outside would attract all kinds of nefarious attention that they absolutely didn't really need. Outside of that, it was solely due to divine providence that none of them had been seen as they had scurried through the shadows to the hovel he called home.
The only thing she didn't know was just what his angle was. He hadn't even bothered to answer her questions, she realised now, with an odd sense of annoyance.
She realised that she knew so little about him, except that he was someone that could slice things in the most spectacular and horrifying ways and that he lived alone, as far as she could tell, in this place. And, of course that he was completely different from anyone she had ever known, but that was also feeding something about him she could not quite place. There was this cockiness and reckless carefree attitude but she felt it was masking something darker underneath.
Trifa couldn't get that look out of her head; the one he'd given her when she'd first spoken his name, back at the Widow.
There was no mercy in that look. It was as if… As if he was dead inside. In those brief seconds she was in his sight, was as if there were just the two of them, and the rest of the world could burn in hell. It was terrifying.
There was no two ways about it, she was scared of him.
It didn't feel right to say that about another faunus, but it was the truth.
And he clearly wasn't too fond of her either. The… idea of him made her afraid like nothing else.
Still, Sienna had spoken highly of him. They were friends, best friends even, to hear her tell it. How would she handle him?
Did he know what had happened to her?
Trifa couldn't help but wonder where she was now. Had she survived somehow, enough to rally the others and make it home to Menagerie? Or was her corpse rotting in the Solitasian wilderness, food for the carrion? She shuddered at the thought. That couldn't be true. Sienna was strong, stronger than that. She was fine. Trifa knew it. Probably pissed as all hell, but definitely alive, she had to be. She'd seen her with the twins once the chaos started, trying to shepherd the others away from the gunfire, then fighting back as best they could before…
She couldn't remember what happened after that. The chaos, being separated, being kidnapped by those anti faunus slavers, she could recall just fine, but the middle of that original fray…. Nothing
Who else had survived?
In spite of herself, unshed tears began to leak from her eyes at the thought.
She knew for a fact Belladonna was dead. She'd seen the bullet rip apart his skull herself, and if there was one benefit to the shit she'd been through since, it was that he'd never ruin another life with his idiocy ever again. The man was a coward even unto the end, shouting and raving for someone—anyone to protect him, in spite of his size and perfectly working limbs. Another thing she wouldn't forget. Even as the leader of the humans was holding a gun to his head, Belladonna was begging for his life, wasting his final moments of life trying to appeal to the better nature of someone who had made up his mind long before he'd even set eyes on any of them.
He didn't use it to apologise to the people he so knowingly misled, the situation he put them in by insisting none of them carry weapons on his stupid pointless march. No. He begged for his own life, and he didn't care who else's life he spent trying to preserve it.
Trifa thought she even heard him offer up some of their own in place of himself, but she'd never be sure of that part, because he'd had his brain blown out in short order.
It was better than he deserved, if she was being truthful. Too damned quick.
Her thoughts were interrupted as she spied the edge of a worn duffle bag, hanging from the edge of the sofa. Maybe Taurus stowed his food there? It seemed like a decent bet; more so than the kitchen anyway. Despite her better judgement, her wanton curiosity got the better of her again, so much so that she had completely missed a pair of wide eyes emerging from the pile of blankets bundles on top of it, or the way that they narrowed with intent at her footsteps as she approached.
And that, was how Trifa found herself staring down the shorn off barrels of a shotgun, held by a very angry Malachite.
"Where. The fuck. Am I?"
Each word was enunciated with all the venom that one would expect from a recently awakened kidnapping victim, which given her own recent history, the faunus could definitely empathise with on a normal day. But seeing as she was tired, hungry, and had a grand total of zero answers to the human's question, or her own…Unconsciously, Trifa felt her fists tighten at her sides, fingers longing for a weapon of her own as her eyes narrowed into a fierce glare.
Empathy was the furthest thing from her mind.
Word would spread soon of his little date at the Widow, if it hadn't already, and people would be out looking for his charge en masse; again, if they weren't already.
And to make matters worse, as it turned out, the thug he'd stolen the Scroll from the previous night had the sense to have locked his device with a passcode Adam couldn't figure out.
Thanks to his repeated efforts, the Scroll was now permanently inaccessible for the next 400 hours.
Adam Taurus was having one hell of a morning.
He sighed, hanging his head in defeat. What could he do now? It wasn't like he knew how to jailbreak a Scroll. He also wasn't in the mood to find someone else's Scroll to lift, on the off chance that the idiot who owned it just happened to forget to lock it. Adam had the Scroll, and it almost definitely contained information he needed — all he required was someone with the ability to open it. And it wasn't like he knew one of those.
To add to his laundry list of woes Miltia and Trifa needed clothes that didn't make them look like they'd been in a car accident; it would only draw more attention to them than already existed, and they needed to get moving fast. So naturally, there was just one little snag.
Given his general tour of the city had largely involved detective work, underground fighting and food, clothing stores had not exactly ranked too highly in his interests, so even finding one that had what he needed was a pain in the ass, meaning it had taken him almost all morning and into the afternoon. And that wasn't even getting into the nightmare that started once he finally found one.
Adam rubbed his arms uncomfortably..
He didn't like being exposed like this, and he missed his guns.
Sure, he couldn't deny it; Shuriken were nice, but in his limited experience, he found threatening to shoot people a far more effective method of providing motivation than simply talking to them, no matter what certain pacifistic half-wits might peddle.
In lieu of his preferred negotiation tool, he was left to employ a little social engineering.
The faunus ended up having to hassle a poor female employee in a second hand shop with a sob story about how his girlfriend's apartment was flooded, and she was off crying her eyes out at his place, and please, couldn't she pick out a list of things a young woman her age might need if she was in the same situation, he'd pay for whatever she put on that list. Ordinarily, he wouldn't have thought himself much of an actor, but there must have been something in his haggard tone that inspired belief, which was a clear indication that he was close to losing his mind.
Either that, or he'd started to pick up more than just his pickup lines from Charlotte.
In any case, it had done the trick, and then some; the poor woman was practically in tears herself as she raced off to search for the items, practically begging him to "Wait there!" as she disappeared into the isles with a speed he didn't believe humans possessed until today. Maybe a semblance? He shrugged.
It didn't really matter.
What did matter, of course, was how he was going to get out of this mess.
Adam took a quick left-to-right scan of the store front's wares and sundries while he waited. At passing glance, the booth suggested a fairly touristy aim in mind for it's customers base. Postcards, sunscreens, disposable cameras, etc. However, Adam discerned something quite peculiar upon a closer inspection. The line of straw fedoras and sun caps hooked horizontally above his head possessed a weave of quality far exceeding that of cheap Valean or Solitasian imports. The same went with wrist watches hung front-face on hooks up and down the back wall behind her. Expensive sunglasses filled a modest rotating rack on the countertop to his left, noting several designer brands along the way. Probably all fake, if he was being honest, but maybe that was being too charitable.
He pretended not to notice the slightly unwelcome looks his dusty cloak and hood were getting from some of the other customers. Wasn't exactly like he had an extensive wardrobe of his own to choose from. His jacket held too much utility to be thrown aside— those pockets were exceptional, but conversely drew too much attention to be worn openly the way he traditionally had these last few months; too many people were looking for him after last night's stunt.
So he'd come to the best compromise he could; tossing on said traveling cloak over his regular clothes and hoping for the best. And so far, it had worked just fine. Not only did the heavy canvas hide most of his body with ease, but the large hood obscured the vast majority of his distinguishing features, up to and including his vibrant hair and horns.
He didn't feel anything like shame for being a faunus, and typically had no fear of displaying the hallmarks of his heritage proudly, but Adam simply couldn't afford to let his own pride stand in the way of practicality this time. And speaking of practicality….
He needed to think of how they were going to leave the city, and fast. As well as food, medical supplies for Miltia…so much to do and a rapidly closing window of time. It was already uncomfortable enough he'd had to step out of Yajū, an ostensibly neutral area of the city, to a place where he was fair game for an ambush at any second, but again, circumstances had forced his hands. The girls still needed decent clothes; and he'd have better luck finding ice cubes in Vacuo than in finding even half decent medical supplies out in the slum, and that went triple for food.
His mind couldn't forget how she'd been when he found her. Weak, pathetic…
It brought to mind images of his own past that he'd rather forget.
Fortunately, or unfortunately, the faunus' thoughts were interrupted by the return of the employee; carrying several bags full of clothing and a face strewn with dried tear tracks. Had his story been that moving? Adam almost felt bad for the lie now, and worse still when she went to ring him up and gave him a substantial discount.
"To be fair," he thought to himself as he stepped back out into the cold daylight, "Her reaction to the full truth probably would have been far more severe."
A small cafe, its entrance at the edge of a humble flagstone path, stood, separated from the shopping quarter on either side by what looked to be exotic and manicured greenery. It was a quaint little place, and the smell reminded him absently of Hatter and his abnormal love of tea. Perhaps if Adam survived the coming days, he'd recommend it to the man when he saw him again. He didn't seem like he travelled much, and taking a break now and again from huffing his own gunpowder could only do him good.
It was yet another startling, yet not entirely unwelcome thought for the faunus to realize that on some level, he actually considered the maniacally insane gunsmith a friend.
It was also probably best for his own sanity if he didn't dwell on that.
Once more scanning his surroundings, Adam started to make his way back down the mountain.
Truly, Mistral was a city of contrasts; one could move from opulent luxurious suburbs to the worst of slums with just a ten-minute walk.
The area of the city he was in was clearly one that catered to a slightly wealthier clientele. The shops were cleaner, and the merchandise far more expensive. The fish fresher and the meat several cuts above those he could find in the slum. Even the vegetables seemed to glisten in the morning sun, imported from the south and west coast. The area, however, seemed to hold touches of Valean architecture, seeming almost incongruous with the ancient Mistrali foundations around them. Less people spoke the national tongue here too, which gave Adam the impression that a fair few expats lived here, well within the fringes of a sickeningly middle class community.
The less time he spent here, the better.
He walked into a butcher's shop, aware that the owner's appraisal of him was not positive,nor the glance friendly. The man was waiting on a middle aged couple, who from their speech and mannerisms were probably some kind of government snobs or domestic servants of some description. They were precise, curt and demanding.
"The veal last week was barely acceptable, '' the woman said, her jowls flapping with every syllable. "Do better this time or I'll be forced to order elsewhere."
The owner sighed and shrugged, uttering obsequious phrases of apology, as the woman turned to her escort, no less demanding than she had been to the butcher.
"Wait for the packages. I'll be at the grocer's. Meet me there." The woman left, a pig in search of further seeds of conflict. The moment she had swept out of the shop, her servant turned to the butcher, his demeanour entirely inverted. Gone was the arrogance, and a tired grin appeared in its place.
"Just up your average day, huh?" He said, taking a pack of cigarettes from his pocket.
"Seen better, seen worse."
The conversation would drag on, and Adam quickly lost interest. He'd been hoping to hear something useful; admittedly a vain hope, but eavesdropping had always served him well before. He kept his head down, waited for the snooze fest to be over with, got what he needed, and left.
Fortunately for the faunus, it was his last stop of the morning.
He'd already managed the medical supplies too; bandages, disinfectant, a decent Huntsman First Aid pack and best of all, a bag of QuikClot. One of the best hemostatic agents on the market, using the powder on an open wound would close it at record rates, and far faster than just bandages or stitches; a vital find in the event that Miltia's own stitches came loose, or her wounds reopened unexpectedly.
He walked the narrow stone streets at the edge of Yajū, using the shops as a way of both blending in and examining the faces of the clerks, if nothing else. It was still an…odd sensation to be a part of human traffic, but his time in Kuchinashi had long since swallowed the ire he would have felt at such a revelation. Instead, he tried to let himself be little more than a blade in the crowd; little more than an unremarkable stranger passing through town.
He slowed down and stopped to look into the window of one of the less expensive storefronts that lined the street. There, on the other side of the road, clearly reflected in the window, were a figure who was trying a little too hard to appear inconspicuous. He was being followed.
Well, that sure was fast.
"Less than twelve hours... Say what you will about the Spiders, but they're punctual."
At least he'd have some excitement today.
Adam's mind immediately went into business mode.
He could wait for them to cross; stop and quickly turn, attacking his shadow with a lethal blow to the throat. He could crush the guy's head, preventing a tiring fight. But a kill in the middle of the street would draw attention to himself, which was the last thing he needed.
He needed to get somewhere quiet.
He set off again, now acutely aware of his unwelcome companion. He continued down the street until he came to a quiet alleyway and quickly turned down it. The alley was a dead end, exactly as he had hoped. Behind him he heard the sound of footsteps as they followed him into the shadowy passageway. Adam deliberately quickened his pace, hearing his pursuer getting closer as he walked further into the shadows.
Seconds later, a skinny looking blonde boy in a crisp white shirt and torn jeans appeared, skidding to a halt at the end of the alley, only to see a bundle of shopping bags hanging from a piece of rebar.
He never thought to look up.
But by then, it was already too late.
Adam landed behind him with a thud, cutting off his avenue of escape.
The blonde leapt with surprise, tripping over his own tail — of course it was a damned faunus —stumbling to the ground as his mouth slackened, parting with abject surprise that was reflected in his wide pools of blue. His entire face paled, freezing in cold-blooded horror. The kind that set hearts thudding in backbreaking tempos and sent freezing chills racing down the spine.
The red haired faunus planted a foot in the centre of his chest to keep him from scurrying away.
"Who are you, and who are you working for?"
The boy remained rooted to the spot under Adam's boot, his eyes locked with terror on what was before him- as if he couldn't look away. It was little different than the sheer shock that paralyzes a man on the spot when a bus threatens to run them down— anchored in place, even when running away was the best option.
"It was just…" The blonde monkey boy wiggled in his grasp. I was just going to rob you! You looked like you had money and—"
"Name. Now."
"Sun! Sun Wukong, dude!"
"And why are you following me, Wukong?"
"I've been sleeping on the streets all my life. Ever since my parents died." The monkey gave an impressively pathetic pout. "I...just needed something to get by. I'm a faunus, you're a faunus… we could totally work this out! We could be bros!"
Adam's eyebrow arched questioningly, quietly examining the other faunus with a cold searching eye.
A few moments of silence passed.
And then the little primate smiled.
For the past few months, Adam Taurus had strived to be someone who did his best to control his emotions. His base states of being were annoyance and indifference, with occasional surges of anger, though the apathy has long since started to reign victorious for the most part. But now he felt something he had not truly felt in a long time.
Rage. Pure, undiluted white-hot rage.
It crossed his face like a the winds of a hurricane, disappearing as quickly as it came, but it was enough.
"Lie to me again," He said quietly, with an almost unnatural calm, "and I'll break the other one."
"The other wh—AGHH!"
Adam's weight shifted to the blonde faunus' wrist, before bringing his foot down. Hard. There was only a token resistance for the faintest of moments, before a crunch of shattering glass and the snap of bone rang out across the alley. The blonde boy howled in pain as he struggled desperately to withdraw his broken wrist from his heel. The elder faunus merely watched him writhe with an expression of utter indifference.
"I was actually going to let you off with a warning. Broken fingers at the worst." He knelt down till they were face-to-face, seemingly undeterred by his screams. "I'm not a fan of people taking things from me, sure. But I'll be damned if I let another conniving rat like you manipulate me into feeling sorry for you. Next time you want to play the part of a poor little urchin, make sure you dress the part."
"Wh-What the hell is wrong with you?" the monkey cried, looking up at him in disbelief, "That's not-"
He was interrupted by a boot colliding with his injured wrist enough to send another howl of pain.
"Like I said, I'm not in the mood for whatever horseshit you're cooking up in the hallowed halls of halfwit logic. So I'm going to be blunt. Your clothes are too fine, and your white shirt doesn't have a single speck of dust on it. Pretty miraculous for a city this filthy, especially for someone supposedly sleeping on the streets. You look remarkably well fed, your hands only have minor calluses, your fingernails are clean, and to top all of that off, you're not nearly guarded enough to survive out here as long as you say. Someone would have cut your throat long ago. And not to mention, I just heard, and felt your aura, pitiful though it was, break just now. My guess is that you're some thrill seeking student with too much time on your hands. So listen to me very carefully. I see you again, ever, and I'm going to make you very very sorry. Do you hear me?"
"Y-Yeah...I hear you..." the monkey sputtered, clutching at his limb.
"Good." Adam retrieved his bags, barely sparing the blonde a second glance. "Now get out of here. Climb a tree, eat some bananas, and find something better to do with your life than being a self-obsessed parasite like the rest of your kind, hmm?"
He didn't hang around to hear a reply.
While the encounter had soured his mood somewhat, by the time he'd made it back to the base of the mountain, he had already forgotten the monkey had ever existed. Better still, he couldn't sense anyone following him again, though there were a few uncomfortable moments—police presence seemed to have exploded like a cockroach hive around the district. Did that mean they'd found the car? Unlikely, he'd pushed it into the river himself. More likely an informant had seen it in the area and the cops were following through.
All the more reason he needed to move fast.
Minutes later, Adam found himself at Rodaine's door, knocking gently. He was surprised when the door swung open at the first touch of his knuckles, the draft of wind carrying it backwards with a squeal of rusting hinges.
"...Cueball?"
Who would be crazy enough to leave their door unlocked in this neighbourhood?
Well, aside from himself obviously, but Adam would be the first to admit that he'd hardly been the best exemplar of sanity of late. Whether that was for better or for worse remained to be seen, it did little to assuage his worries.
He stepped further into the room, hand reaching for his weapon before sniffing the air.
The scent seemed to cloy with ash and something else, something that smelt like… iron? Almost like…. blood and yet, somehow not. As Adam tried to make sense of that mystery, his ears started to pick up the sound of muttering, overlaid by an increasingly loud crackling noise.
The ash made sense now. Something was burning.
But before his mind could go into high alert, he turned the corner to see the small bronze incense burner in the shape of a dragon, it's maw crackling and spitting tongues of purple flame.
'Purple…'
"So these are Cueball's flames then." Adam muttered to himself, beginning to relax. "Maybe he likes the smell?"
Again, it was weird, but stranger things could happen.
The talking grew louder, and opening the door to the nearest room, he found its source.
"... Above all Mother, help me to remember to remain humble in the arms of the Earth. For the fields shall grow, whether tended or not. The Snow shall fall, whether I have shelter or not. And the Wind shall blow, even if I am meant to sail the other way. Today demands we reap what is sown, and tomorrow will bring what it brings. For we are but seeds in the wind, and we shall fall where we may."
Rodaine kept his hands clasped for a moment longer, his eyes closed as he seemingly basked in the silence as Adam looked on.
"How long are you planning on standing there, Red?"
The faunus didn't start visibly at the sudden broach of the silence, as his thoughts were elsewhere, but he would be lying if he said he was immune to the surprise of suddenly hearing the other man speak, with his back still turned, still maintaining his position of prayer.
"I figured, I'd wait until you were done here with… what this is." His voice trailed off, his words seemingly stumbling into an ungainly halt.
Hence he did not notice, at least initially, that Rodaine had now turned around, and was now facing him in that instant, curiously studying his features.
"The word you're looking for is 'prayer,' Red. We monks don't stop doing that just because we're not at the temple, you know."
At that little comment, Adam couldn't help but stop in his tracks. "Monk? You?"
Rodaine moved the beads along the string of his necklace, catching Adam's eye, and upon closer inspection, he could see that symbols had been carefully etched into each sphere. Something was scratching the back of his brain as he fumbled for what the marks could mean; He recognised some of them, but he wasn't so good at reading Mistrali- he was only just getting used to speaking it again.
"A monk, yes."
"A monk, that makes weapons and collects debts from crime families."
The bald man laughed. " I guess that might be a little surprising to the uninitiated, when ya put it like that. Truth be told, I'm on a pilgrimage right now. Wandering the land, practicing and honing my skills without the protection of my temple. As such, I'm lending my skills to people I ordinarily wouldn't. The temple is… pretty liberal about that kind of thing."
His tone sounded almost wistful.
"To put it simply, I am a man on a journey, travelling the world to seek out his inner self and acquire knowledge through unconventional means. And I suspect, so are you."
"...You're not wrong there, Cueball."
"Comes with the territory. So how about you grab a pew, and tell me what it is that's got ya so tense?"
Doing as he was bidden, as Rodaine directed them both to his table, Adam launched into a heavily edited account of the previous night's events. He left out Trifa's involvement, the embarrassing fumble with the prostitute— he just knew he'd have a field day with that one—…and exactly how they'd all escaped, but the rest was more or less on point. He watched on calmly as Rodaine seemed to ponder the information, as the faunus found himself trying to keep from retreating into thoughts about Miltia again.
While he was recounting his story, the idea of omitting the fact he had found her was a pervasive one, and almost one he had followed through with, were it not for his own better judgement. Rodaine didn't seem the type to give up, and trying to keep that information secret wouldn't help him any- especially given it was bound to be all over town soon if it wasn't already.
But all that thought did was give him more complications.
He still remembered what she had looked like when he found her. The bloodshot eyes, the desperation in her voice…
Could he really hand her over to Xiang? The same Xiang who had threatened to have Charlotte's organs harvested for no real reason than his refusal to work for him? Even if this girl was human, even if he had sworn indifference to her kind, something about this entire ordeal simply rubbed him… wrong. He wasn't sure what offended him more; having his free will subverted by being forced to aid that bastard, or the idea of somehow worsening the life of some broken wreck of a girl too pathetic to even pity. A cyclone of twisted emotions swirled in him like storm clouds, impossible to resist, or even to comprehend.
In the midst of his thoughts, he caught the monk's eyes shifting to the shape of Wilt beneath his cloak, a frown on his face.
Right.
That.
"There's one other thing I wanted to talk to you about…"
Reluctantly, he handed over the remains of his prized blade with great hesitation. The tattooed man took one look at it, however, and all but snatched it out of his hand, causing the faunus to barely repress a borderline feral growl. Rodaine whistled, a glare on his face.
"Damn, you did a number on this one." He turned the weapon over in his hands, carefully examining it with his ever keen eyes. "The blade itself looks fine—it's quality metal after all, but I'll have to double check and make sure. The hilt and handle on the other hand… those will definitely need replacing. Now, I can do that no problem… but it's gonna cost ya. The best don't come cheap, and this lady here deserves nothing more than the best."
"Done."
Adam didn't even need to think about it. The weapon was practically another limb to him, and as much as he'd pull his own teeth before he admitted it, he trusted the weaponsmith's work. The sooner it was in working order, the better.
"One thing. Tell me you got even with the jackass that did this."
Adam smiled.
"Naturally. Though, while we're on that subject…." The faunus withdrew a familiar looking item, one that he had acquired the previous night and still made little sense of. "It's a shot in the dark, I know, but would you be able to tell me what this is?"
He hadn't been prepared for Rodaine's reaction.
He swiftly moved out of reach, and for the fleeting moment before Adam figured out how to feel about that, his features were a picture of utter bafflement. Then they solidified into something far more dangerous. The barest flickers of grasping shapes skittered across his sleeves, and his fingers crooked into much more familiar positions at his sides.
"You didn't take any of this crap, did you?" There was a dangerous edge to the bald man's voice, one that told the faunus that he might well have the answers he sought, but one that also told Adam that he would have to choose his own words carefully.
The faunus figured he could afford to be truthful.
"Like hell. I grabbed it off the guy that tried to kill me last night after he totaled my sword."
Rodaine visibly relaxed, his grip on Wilt relaxing as his posture slackened in his seat. "Good. I got no patience for addicts." It took a few seconds before he was willing to speak again, and the severity of his words were conveyed in his tone.
"It's a street drug I've been seeing all over the shop for a while. Addictive as all hell. Causes mood swings, aggressive behavior, and a lasting surge of adrenaline. But given time, it'll melt the user's brain to mush; only, the aggression sticks. Rumour has it that it was originally designed for military use – for Atlas rank and file — make them ignore their wounds, so they'll fight longer and harder. Worse than those lovely side effects, it acts like a kinda catalyst to activate dormant ...mutations."
Adam's eyebrow raised. "Mutations?"
"Not too sure of it myself…." Rodaine's tone hardened, and the faunus could have sworn he caught a flicker of lilac flame behind his ever present shades. "But I have seen the results, and they ain't exactly pretty."
The faunus rubbed the back of his neck, a grimace forming over his features. He'd already had a first hand experience of that, and he couldn't say he was in too much of a hurry to repeat it. "Yeah… I can definitely vouch for that."
Rodaine sighed, and pinched the bridge of his nose.
"The Spiders have practically been flooding the market with this crap for weeks. I have no idea how they got their mitts on it, and like I said, I'm no expert on the exact science, but this stuff, far as I can tell, forcefully awakens or evolves a semblance depending on whether or not ya got one. A quick and dirty route to power, if you don't care about your life. If there's any truth to the Atlas Military connection; there's a damned good reason they're not using it now. It screws up your liver, poisons your bone marrow, and cuts your lifespan in half. Can't see that being all too good for troop morale."
With a flick of his hand, he tossed the syringe container and vials into the mouth of the dragon, paying no heed to the crack of glass as the vials shattered, or the dimming of the fire as the liquid met the flames.
"Sure that's going to get rid of it?"
The dark skinned man smiled, as the brazier spat out a gout of lilac fire, engulfing the container, before settling back into a gentle crackling. Adam, despite himself, couldn't help but smile back. A new wariness for his own state of mind flourished and he made a mental note to check his thought processes from there on out just to play it safe.
"Well, fair enough, I guess." He answered slowly. "I was just thinking all that smoke can't exactly be good for your pet bird."
"Pet?"
Adam reached under the table, and presented a long, black, pointed feather from where it had been lying on the floor.
"Even. Not ruffled, or even preened. You don't see that in wild birds, and this one looks like it's been shed pretty recently. So I'd guess—" He stopped suddenly, noting the look in the other man's face. He couldn't see his eyes, thanks to those damned glasses, but he could read the surprise in his body language. Adam's words had seemed to make him recoil, but he was trying to hide it; the way he seemed to subtly lean back, as if threatened by his knowledge. It seemed absurd. In the short time that he had known the man, the faunus couldn't imagine him being threatened by anything. Maybe it was just his ego talking, since Adam had initially attempted to intimidate him and failed, but he couldn't shake the feeling that bringing up birds had put more trepidation in the man than he himself ever had. What he couldn't work out was why.
'What could possibly be so mortifying about having a pet raven? People had weirder pets, and ravens were fairly intelligent animals, all things considered.'
Perhaps it was better that he drop the topic for now. Adam filed the detail away for future reference.
"Right…. I'm getting sidetracked. So about my sword…" he asked with a forced casual air. The idea of asking for help galled him, as did the idea of having so severely damaged something so precious to him. Controlling his expressions was difficult; the monk would be even more unwilling to help him if Adam looked like he hated the world, which he did, but that would hardly be a thing to reveal here and now.
Sensing the moment had passed, Rodaine waved a hand. "Don't even worry about it, Red. I can do this job, no sweat. It's just gonna take me some time to source the materials. Tell you what. You come back down tonight, and I'll have some preliminary designs for you to look over before I get to work."
The red haired faunus nodded. "Sounds good to me."
He almost stood to leave, feeling oddly relieved, before pausing for a moment, turning back to the monk, his quiet voice cut through the other man's musings gently.
"I know it doesn't sound like much, but… Do you have anything I can borrow in the meantime…?"
"Give me a sec."
He left briskly, his large frame disappearing through a bead curtain into another adjacent room.
The faunus crossed his legs, eyeing the monk's back in irritation, before he shrugged his shoulders. He wasn't sure how long he waited, watching the dark skinned weaponsmith rummage and clank his way through his belongings. It all blurred together in his mind, and the red haired man could all but feel his eye start to close. The previous night's events had begun to catch up with him, and he could feel the need for sleep begin to creep into his mind.
Ha hadn't been able to get any decent shut-eye, what with his worries over his current situation, and he'd spent most of his morning while the girls slept hunting around for supplies. All he needed was an hour, maybe an hour and a half, and he'd be back to a hundred percent, but staying still like this….
He reached into his pockets, drawing out a shuriken, and squeezed it as tightly as he could. The sharp edges dug into his skin, and the shock of pain was enough to keep him awake. "For now." He let his thoughts wander briefly, to what he was going to do when he left here. The girls were probably awake by now, but should they stay low, which might keep them safe, but also give the Spiders time to mobilize, or should they move immediately, which might draw unwelcome attention, but mean they could be gone before any counter attack could be planned?
Was Miltia even lucid? Did she even understand her situation at all? What would Xiang do to her if he handed her over? What did he even want with her in the first place—
He took the time to centre himself. There was no sense in going off half-cocked.
Finally, the sound of clattering beads brought him into alertness, and he looked up to see Rodaine returning with a bulky looking case, setting it down in Adam's arms. The case itself was nondescript but eye-catching because of it. No one carried cases like that around unless they were also handcuffed to them. It was almost a cliche.
"What's this?" he asked.
"They're not much." Rodaine explained, casting a gaze at the shuriken in Adam's hand, before waving his hand nonchalantly. "A first draft really. It's quality work, but it's really more of a proof of concept, if anything. But they should do for the time being."
Tentatively, the red haired faunus pulled the case towards him and popped the clasps open. The lid was lifted slowly, first with some hesitance, and then reverence. As he caught sight of what was inside, he allowed himself a grin.
Rodaine sighed.
"Sales pitch aside. Only kept them around because they were the first draft of Malachite's order. It ain't much, but it's what I've got right now."
The faunus stared at his reflection in the steel.
"They'll do."
"I'll have those prelims for you as soon as." The bald man leaned back with a dry chuckle. "Try not to get killed till then, would ya?"
Adam didn't respond as he stood, collecting his belongings.
The gift did a lot to improve his mood, but the loss of Wilt, even temporary as it was, still weighed on him. He cocked his head, jaw tight and shifting under the strain of his tumultuous emotions.
But it was as he neared the door, that he heard it. His ears caught a flurry of activity, footsteps banging over his head. A high-pitched shriek pierced the stairwell before Adam could think. His lungs were burning, his head was freezing, and his legs felt like lead counterweights, but adrenaline carried him forward all the same, as he all but ripped Rodaine's door off its hinges, and took the stairs two at a time, ignoring the other man's calls for him to wait.
Rounding the top of the stairwell, he immediately noted the open door, and barreled through it with an almighty crash, immediately tossing a shuriken at the first thing he saw. He hadn't had time to reach for Thorn, but if he moved fast enough he c—
"Ow!"
Wait. He knew that voice.
He stopped dead in the centre of the room, his brain entirely unable to compute what he was seeing.
Nora Valkyrie stood in front of him with a big red welt in the centre of her forehead, waving excitedly, as if she wasn't standing between a knife wielding faunus and a scared human holding a shotgun. Adam peered closer, looking at the firearm the ravenette was clutching like a lifeline, her white knuckled grip threatening to snap the already fragile carcass of a weapon like a dry twig. Scratch that. His shotgun. Well at least he knew that she wasn't going to hurt anyone with it. Except maybe herself….
Adam cast his gaze over to the left of the room, to see her partner in crime trying to decide whether to intervene. He noted with some vague approval that he seemed a little more confident in himself now, if still totally out of his depth. Though he supposed given the situation, that was to be expected.
Even so, what wasn't expected was the speed at which Valkyrie crossed the room to wrap her arms around his midsection, hugging him so hard that he could only grunt in surprise, his eye widening comically. Instinctively, Adam flailed, trying to extricate himself from her bear-like grip, looking over her head to see that the burst of movement had inevitably drawn the attention of the other occupants.
As the increasingly downcast faunus met their stunned gazes, trying desperately to focus on his surroundings as the ginger girl rambled at a mile a minute, heedless of the ensuing chaos around them, all he could feel was exasperation. He raised his head to the heavens, examining the uneven cracks in the plaster ceiling.
"Another day in paradise…"
It took almost a full twenty minutes to pry Valkyrie from his form, and twice that to finally wrest some semblance of calm into the other idiots; prying his other broken weapon away from Miltia, getting the brats to sit down, and getting Trifa to stop making things worse. With those Herculean feats completed, he pinched the bridge of his nose, the headache at the back of his skull increasing in fever and pitch.
"You."
He pointed at Ren. The boy was attending to his other half, who was still trying to examine Adam's new toys, but hadn't yet managed to navigate the clip securing the briefcase. Adam really hoped she didn't break it, but he also lacked the mental strength to attempt to pry her from the one thing keeping her from invading his personal space.
"How and why are you here?"
"That's— Nora don't touch that, damn i— kind of a long story…"
The red-haired faunus glared. "Elaborate."
"Wesawyoulastnightandwefollowedyoupleasedontbemad!"
"What!?"
Adam snarled, sending Ren scampering back viscerally holding his hands up in front of his face. The faunus pinched the bridge of his nose, taking deep slow breaths. He could sense the two shifting nervously, as his mind raced. When he was finally calm, he spoke again.
"Go on…"
"We saw you three." The boy pointed to Trifa and Miltia, before returning his gaze to Adam himself. "Last night. We were camping out down by the river, and we saw you get out of a police car. You were all bloodied up, and you looked really hurt. And then we saw you push the car in. We tried to get closer and help out, but—"
"And then we saw you push the car into the river! All by yourself too! You gotta be reallllyyy strong! How did you—"
"Valkyrie."
Adam ignored the snort of laughter from Trifa as he spoke. Truthfully, the bluenette was barely a concern. He had spared her purely on a whim; something that he wasn't entirely sure had been the best call, and now that he had his real quarry, she was nothing but dead weight. As long as she didn't rat him out to the Spiders, she could tap dance in traffic for all he cared. What was a concern was that they'd been seen. The very thought of that was enough to make the hairs stand up on his neck— because it meant that any second….
"Was there anyone else with you? Did anyone ask you anything? Did you see anyone?!"
"Nope, nope and nuh-uh!"
Tentatively, he let go of Nora's shoulders, some small measure of calm entering his features again. That was good. It meant he still had time. He could think of something. He could plan. He could…. He pinched the bridge of his nose again, catching Militia's movement out of the corner of his eye.
The girl looked sober at least, if terrified out of her wits. If he was going to make it out of the city; which regardless of what course he took, he was going to have to do, he'd rather not have her be hostile. "Then again," he thought, remembering the condition in which he'd found her "I can't imagine she'd be in any hurry to go back to that." Not to mention that he needed to find out exactly why Xiang wanted her in the first place, which inevitably would mean talking to the girl. But if he let the others over hear…
"Ok. Ok. Trifa." He nodded towards the bags he'd brought with him. "I bought you some clothes and some supplies. Take what you need, and more importantly, take a shower. You smell like a barnyard. Second room to the right."
"Fuck you, you prick! What do you know, you-" she paused in her insult, squinting at the man who was beside her. "-you overgrown bull!"
"….Did it take you all night to think of that? "
Her face dropped into another scowl, her eyes boring into his.
It was as clear a dismissal as she was ever going to get, and his expression left no room for an argument. Returning a glare of her own, she angrily snatched one of the bags before storming off, slamming the door as she went. Adam sincerely hoped she drowned in there; it would solve a fair few of his problems. Speaking of which… Thinking quickly, he directed his attention to the younger teenagers.
"Can you two give us a minute? Knowing how Valkyrie eats, she's probably hungry, and you could probably use a full meal yourself. How are you at cooking?"
The boy, after a moment of consideration, nodded in the affirmative, grabbing a bag and pulling a protesting Valkyrie out of the room.
"And then there was one." He muttered quietly, before he grabbed the closest chair and dragged it closer to where Miltia was lying, the loud sound causing her to wince.
"Who are you?" She finally said, her voice hoarse, bordering on a whisper as she tried to shrink away from him.
He tilted his head and leaned on his elbow, attempting to appear as non threatening as possible. "The name's Adam Taurus. Bounty hunter extraordinaire, Crown Prince of the Kingdom of Misanthropy, martial artist, and master swordsman." He paused. "Even though I'm technically missing the sword at the moment. So you're Miltia. Are you feeling ok?"
"What the fuck is this, meat-for-brains, twenty questions?"
"I need her alive. I need her alive. I need her alive." Adam gritted his teeth, subtly trying to keep control of his baser desire to let loose his deep well of spiteful snark and sarcasm. "I don't work for your mother, if that's what you're thinking."
The disbelieving stare he received in response needed no words. The faunus pinched the bridge of his nose again, feeling his Scroll buzzing in his pocket. He knew who it was. But if he admitted to the Snakehead's mooks that he had their prize, he'd be forced into their timetable, which wouldn't exactly be ideal if he wanted to work out exactly what they wanted with her in the first place; it had to be more than simple leverage. Even more so, in all the chaos of last night's escape, there had to be all kinds of rumours floating around, certainly nothing concrete as to who or what had happened at the Widow, which meant that the snakes would be just as much in the dark as the spiders probably were. And it was in his best interests to keep things that way.
In the meantime though….
The scroll finally fell silent, and he looked to his hostage again, who was shifting uncomfortably, eyes flitting about the room as if searching for an escape route. Gods, he was hoping he wouldn't have to tie her up…
Tamping down his sleep deprived frustration, he leaned forwards, examining her body language carefully before speaking again. He had to find some way to get her to trust him if he was going to find a way out of this mess. And by the look of things, that was going to be much easier said than done.
"I have some questions to ask you, and I'm pretty sure you have some for me. So why don't we start with—" Adam crossed his arms and cocked his head. "How did you end up a prisoner in a brothel?"
The blonde woman walked along a softly lit corridor that ran the full length of the building at one end to a private lift at the other, her high heels clicking on the terracotta tiles. She reached out and pressed the lift button, the white silk of her glove briefly touching silver, and the door opened. It was a small lift, barely big enough for one person, especially one of her size.
She was well dressed; bearing a purple corset in the style of an aristocrat, and a long pleated skirt, layered and embroidered in white and purple. Her short hair, kept in a frankly unflattering cut, framed beady eyes that flickered anxiously as she travelled down the near silent hall.
The lift took her to the third floor of her sizeable home and opened directly onto a room with no carpet, no pictures on the walls, no ornamentation of any sort. Stranger still, although it should have offered some of the most beautiful views in the city, the room had been built without a single window. But if no one could look out, it followed that no one could look in. It was safer that way. The lighting came from halogen lamps built into the walls, and the only furniture in the room was a long glass table surrounded by leather chairs. There was a door opposite the lift but it was locked. Two of her best were standing on the other side, armed and ready to kill anyone who so much as approached in the next half-hour.
Though if this meeting went wrong, there was a good chance they wouldn't be much use.
There were three people waiting for her around the table. It was clear to anyone that the people congregating in this place came from many different parts of the world, but they had one thing in common: a stillness, a coldness even, that made the room seem as cheerful as a morgue. Not one of them greeted the large woman as she took her seat at the head of the table. Typically, she wouldn't have this type of conversation here; shop talk was best handled back at the tavern, but she was almost positive the place was being watched. Crusading cops had been getting to be a real problem since that Torchwick mess. In all truth, she'd rather not have this conversation at all. Hiring outside help was never something she enjoyed; especially people she had no hold over. And that went triple for the Assassin's Guild.
"Good evening."
A few heads nodded but nobody spoke. Greetings were a waste of words.
"As y'all know by now, last night, my daughter was kidnapped. My property was burned down, and numerous members of my little family are in custody."
There was silence in the room. As her guests waited for her to speak again, the faint hum of an air conditioner could be heard. But no sound came from outside.
"The usual bribes have been made, though it's taking a little time to get things moving. It's a loss I can bounce back from. I have my spies in the transport industry looking for any one matching her description attempting to leave the city. The Huntsmen I keep under my employ are also on the lookout. If they all find her, that's all well and good. If they fail, however…"
She looked across the room, addressing each of the others by name.
"Smithy, Harvester, Flower. I want the son of a bitch gutted, and I want my trollop of a daughter dragged back here. By her hair if need be."
Smithy, a pale skinned man with purple eyes spoke first. Mantlean by birth. Former Atlas Cadet, if she recalled. What stuck out to her though, was that he was capable of teleporting any guns he needed to his hands. Well, that and his profile. Smart mouthed and hot-tempered, he'd fled for Mistral when an argument with his CO had ended with his brains splattered over the mess hall table. He'd vanished pretty quickly after that; she assumed the Guild had picked him up then. Mistral's loose extradition laws certainly helped to that end. Still, a handy little semblance if she said so, herself. He didn't summon one now, instead drumming his fingers on the table in a steady, ungainly beat. "That's really tragic and all, Malachite. But what does this have to do with u—"
The man next to him raised a hand, and Smithy's mouth closed as quickly as it had opened.
He called himself Harvester, and he was definitely an odd one. She knew little about him, and there was very little to be known, even by their standards. He wore a Grimm mask, that of a Beowolf, one that covered almost his entire face and seemingly never left it , and for all of her best spies' efforts, she couldn't uncover anything about his past. It was highly irregular, and more than a little frightening.
He spoke now, regarding the crime boss with the kind of stare that a hawk might a mouse.
"Have you prepared the usual fees?"
She felt a sharp chill down her spine at the flow of conversation. He raised his head slightly, staring her right into her eyes with the blank unblinking lenses that hid his own, pinning her down where she sat. She responded in the affirmative, doing her best to muster up a smile. "Three million lien. Up front. It's already been wired to you." Malachite might have a reputation as a miser, but she wasn't stupid. One didn't shortchange the Guild and live to tell about it.
The man in the mask nodded, giving nothing away. "Do you have a face?"
Malachite said nothing, instead choosing to flick a single photograph over the table for his inspection. He picked it up, turning it over carefully in his hands. The picture was grainy, and unfocused, but it was the best her men had been able to salvage. Whoever this little punk was, he was smart enough to erase all of the security footage at the White Widow, and the fire had taken out the backups next door. It was only the luck of being able to get their hands on some of the footage from some of the adjacent rooftops that they'd been able to get even a half clear image.
While she was stewing, she missed Smithy taking the photograph from the other man's hands. "So this guy have a name?"
The blonde barely suppressed a feral growl. That bit of information had yet eluded her. All her spies could tell her was that he was the one chiefly responsible for the destruction of their southern expansion. Single-handedly at that, if the garbled reports were to be believed, even killing that useless dreg, Myst, along with the vast majority of their remaining soldiers in Kuchinashi. And now he had resurfaced here. Oh, she was going to find that little punk. Obviously, he'd gotten bolder — the power hungry always did, thought they could claw their way to the top. Two things had been made abundantly clear. He was capable, and he had a grudge. There was a good chance he'd come for her next. But if this little gnat thought he could play at the big boys' table, he was dead wrong. She'd been turning it over for hours, looking for something, anything, she could still use as leverage. Was it a ransom he was after? Maybe he could be bought? Myst was an asshole— she couldn't hold it against anyone who gave him a one way ticket to the afterlife. Gods knew she'd thought about it. Of course, aside from the newest thorn in her ass apparently being a faunus, she didn't know who the bastard was, who was working for, or even his motivations. And not knowing things made her very angry.
No doubt Smithy could tell, because the cocky bastard let loose a short lived cackle at the sight of her face. "I'll take that as a no. Seriously, why do you even bother paying your guys?"
What little composure she still possessed began to drain away rapidly.
"There is one piece of information I neglected to mention." A cruel barracuda-like smile drew her features tight. "He's already killed one of you. 'That drew his interest', she noticed, with a measure of satisfaction as Harvester seemed to sit up straighter in his chair.
"Is that so?"
His tone was calm and placid, but she could still make out the hint of intrigue in his question, almost bordering on genuine surprise. She couldn't help but silently congratulate herself on holding that sliver of information for last. It had been quite a shock to find one of the Guild's agents masquerading at one of her properties, and even more so to find him dead at the scene. Even she hadn't believed it at first. not until she looked into the matter herself, and had been stumped at the fact that despite knowing the names, details and semblances of everyone who worked at the White Widow, she had been able to turn up astonishingly little on the corpse of the man who'd come the closest that night to putting her current little problem out to pasture.
She allowed herself a quiet chuff. "Ha. Current. I never realized I was the type for puns."
"How? Who?" The two questions were almost spat out by her other two guests, neither of them seemingly possessing Harvester's self control. She could imagine why. The Guild valued their reputation. They were a hidden hand, a dagger in the dark that could appear from nowhere and strike at will, depending of course, on the amount of lien. And this interloper, however tangentially, had damaged that reputation. Perhaps they took the matter personally? Something to note for future reference, she was sure.
"Aren't you supposed to be the best? Go dig for information." Julia smiled, dismissing them with a wave of her pudgy hand. "We'll be sure to charge you discount rates."