Birds of a Feather

[Slavegirl]

The bar was mostly empty, the lunch goers not yet there, and the drunks from the night before woken up and sent home. There were a group of fishermen in one corner, having a meeting it looked like, and a young couple by the front door obviously having an early lunch together, but otherwise Natalya had the place to herself. She’d already mopped the floors, grateful the owner had enough forethought to install slate tiles instead of wood plank. The cool stone was easier to clean (and more difficult to catch fire), besides, it needed to be replaced less often.

Clipboard in hand, a charcoal stick in the other, Natalya took advantage of the downtime to quickly inventory what was in stock at The Sterling Fox. When the owner, Jonathan (or Ol’ Oak as the patrons called him - and she refused to), had advised her of her duties, this was not one she’d looked forward to. It seemed like a waste of time, but he insisted that it was necessary to keep the costs low and only purchase what little was needed. It wasn’t as tedious as she’d thought it would be, and it was infinitely better than cleaning the hearth.

The church bells began to ring, signaling an hour before noon, and Natalya sighed. Unlike large cities, everyone in Moirae (which was the name of the capital as well as the tiny principality and the island on which it was nestled between Corone and Fallien) followed a similar schedule, stopping at noon to eat lunch, going home at sunset, never working on church day. It was amusing and quaint, and Natalya found herself liking it more and more each day. The people here were simple, and honest for the most part, and she was glad she’d taken her friend’s advice and taken the ferry over to the small wooded island to find a job.

The bells over the door jingled, and Natalya looked up with a smile of greeting, setting the inventory and charcoal down, wiping her hands on the towel that hung from her apron.

“What can I get for you?” she asked politely, consciously attempting to mask the trace of Berevar accent she knew her voice carried like a giant sign. That, combined with the tattoo at her throat, were enough to get her in trouble if she wasn’t careful. Most people here weren’t interested in returning a slave to her master, no matter the reward, but she couldn’t be too careful.

“There’s ale on tap, and Jon… Ol’ Oak just got in a case of Salvarian vodka if you’re a liquor man,” Natalya made the usual suggestions, glancing at the door as more people began to trickle into the tavern.

[Logan]

If someone had told Logan months ago he'd be running an elite organized group of various men and women, he'd have laughed in their face. This fact was one even he considered absurd, and always pointed to the help of so many along the way as well as the necessity of every member of the organization. It was even more astonishing how far they'd come in such a short span.

Truthfully, larger groups existed -- well, at least at one point they did; activity amongst the most elite groups was virtually non-existant. Nevertheless, the psion took it upon himself to personally guide, direct, and oversee the addition of all new members from the moment they joined the Family until well after they were situated in their most essential positions. Logan was a bit of a perfectionist in that regards.

He had a thought process to new member development, and it usually began with his personal recruitment. Most recently he had personally brought four or five new faces into the Family, and found their necessity quite high. Each one had a specific purpose for which they ultimately were recruited.

In that moment of his journey, he had taken a temporary "vacation" to the island of Moirae. The island was one of the few places the Family could take refuge without fear of government intrusion. Moirae, in fact, was an island that openly welcomed the business of the Family, and most denizens had also offered temporary residence for any members who found it necessary. Quite unsurprisingly, Moirae had slowly become a place Logan began to consider home, and as time progressed a place he began to consider for the foundation of Vice's operations.

It was a necessity for Vice to have a base of operations, and Moirae was such a perfect place for the most important business. Even still, the psion was hesitant to change, and thus he hadn't made a decision. Most likely, he wouldn't anytime in the near future, but he was also a man who was practically a slave to his emotions -- so really who knew?

Coincidentally, this was only one of the reasons he had found himself on the isle of Moirae that particular day. The other was the tavern he approached with a broad smile.

The Sterling Fox was owned and operated by a dear old friend known as Ol' Oak. In the midst of a conversation between Ol' Oak and Logan no more than the morning prior, the psion's friend had mentioned the recent employment of a particularly intriguing young woman. He had mentioned a few rather notable personality traits, as well as her innate ability to resolve disputes amongst the patrons of the bar. Ol' Oak had also mentioned she was a looker, but Logan wasn't one to really pay much attention to the tastes of the old ship captain. After all, he'd have married Delouise if she had accepted his proposal.

The door swung open as he entered, a few patrons already milling about. He recognized the fishermen at the corner table as Corey, Smitty, and Jacob. All three were members of the Family, and if Logan recalled they were meeting about recent events they incurred in the waters between Fallien and Corone just off the island itself. It wasn't much of a concern of his, though, as he trusted the three men to completely handle the business on their own. Nevertheless, he approached them and patted Corey on the back. A round of nods, and Logan simply moved to a booth a couple of tables away.

As he slipped into his booth, he turned his body to the side and looked toward the woman who was taking orders from various visitors to the pub. Perhaps it was a bad time for Logan to be trying to observe her, but then again what better time than when he'd be least noticeable and blend right in? He waited patiently for her to make it to his table and then with a smile he ordered.

"I'll have a standard ale, flavored with a bit of citrus, for now if you will, Ma'am," he said with an overly polite manner. Well, I'll be, it'd seem Oakey's tastes have definitely changed, he silently thought to himself as she milled about a bit more. Hell, if I were any other man, I'd probably have hit on her by now, the psion quietly mused to himself.

Ironically, one of the patron's at the bar seemed to be making some sort of advance at her. The psion smirked knowingly. Perhaps this time he would just sit back, watch, and eavesdrop a little to see what thoughts she had.

[Slavegirl]

With a curt nod, Natalya swept back over to the bar, snatched up a mug and filled it from the tap, squeezing a fresh lime into it, then perching the slice on the rim. Smiling as cheerfully as her personality would allow, she set the frothy mug down before the customer, paused long enough to give him a chance to order food should he want it, and when he didn’t, continued about her duties. Several other patrons had come in, and she saw to them efficiently.

Back at the bar was a familiar face, and Natalya sighed inwardly, trying not to grimace as she greeted him. He was always there, twice a day, and he’d taken a fancy to her.

“Good afternoon Kavik, what’ll you have?” she asked, “Your usual?”

Dark eyes looked her up and down, appraisingly, one hand grabbing her wrist and pulling her a bit closer. She was glad she could only feel the desire rolling off of him like steam from a boiler, and not hear what he was thinking. Better watch yourself, bastard, or you’ll pull back a stump.

“C’mon love, give your old friend a kiss,” he grinned, the dark skin around his eyes crinkling, “Such a pretty lass to be workin’ in a tavern. Y’should take me up on my offer. I’d make an honest woman out of you.”

“I’m quite flattered,” Natalya lied, tilting her head to one side, coyly smiling at him, taking her hand back under the guise of tucking one raven curl of her long hair behind her ear, her eyes sparkled dangerously in the sunlight that filtered through the windows, “But I’m quite happy on my own, and I assure you, very honest.”

And you’re too damned stupid to realize I’d kill you on our wedding night and have you for every penny you’re worth, which isn’t many, Natalya’s thoughts were dark in contrast to the smile that graced her pretty face. Men like you should be castrated. God forbid you breed.

Since he hadn’t told her what he wanted, Natalya pulled out a glass and poured the usual whiskey and water he ordered as regular as sunrise and sunset. He’d have three before lunch, a bowl of stew, and then be back at the end of the day to spend the rest of the night drinking and grabbing her ass. One of these days he’d turn up missing - although she doubted anyone would miss him.

“I’ll get your lunch in a moment, Kavik,” she dismissed herself politely, before she said something she’d get fired for.

A few more customers had come in, and she saw to them, doling out mugs of ale and plates of ham and potatoes or bowls of stew. Most of the customers had lust on their mind, some were just tired or stressed. She ignored most of them, glad for the ability to filter out their emotions, and grateful she couldn’t hear their thoughts, which she was quite certain were lecherous, especially Kavik’s.

From one customer though, she felt curiosity, and when she glanced over at him he was watching her in amusement. Grabbing a fresh mug of ale for him, she sauntered over to his table, setting it down before him, and perching on the edge of the table.

“Were you going to order lunch, or just sit and stare at me all day?” she asked, rather flirtatiously, “I’m used to the staring, but it’d be nice if you’d at least contribute to my earnings for the day if you’re going to take advantage of the view.”

It was bold, and quite arrogant, but she didn’t care. She was accustomed to being the center of attention, knew she was beautiful. Her master had considered her a prize, showing her off to his clansmen when she grew into her rather striking looks. A beautiful slave was something every master wanted, a symbol of their fortune with the gods, and Natalya’s master was considered a very prosperous man by those standards. Now that she was free, Natalya was quite proud of her appearance, and used it to her advantage when she could. A pretty face was almost as handy as her telepathy when it came to getting her way.

[Logan]

After watching the slight and subtle nuances of the floundering "relationship", between the man at the bar and the lady Logan had come to observe, he realized she was quite adept at holding her own. 'So Ol' Oakey was right about her. Hmm,' the psion wondered inwardly.

Logan knew one very important fact, and it was the one thing which emboldened him in his day to day dealings beyond any other. He had the innate ability to sense the desire's of most people, and play to those. Perhaps it was his mastery of telepathy or something more empathic, but either way he was usually quite keen on who wanted what and how to frame things in speech in such a way friend or foe would find him worthy -- or at least, necessary.

The moment the strikingly beautiful woman approached his table, he smiled broadly trying to hide any trace of his observations. Then she spoke. There were very few times when Logan McCloud had ever been caught off-guard, or at least, unprepared with some sort of retaliatory sarcasm in rebuttal. Yet there he found himself, momentarily speechless, and truly caught completely off-guard and unprepared. It was almost pleasantly ironic in its bitter taste in his mind.

Not really knowing what to say, he composed himself mentally as he looked square at her eyes and nowhere else. 'Let's see what you really want, shall we,' he mentally thought to himself.

As he probed, he did the only thing that came to mind. For him, it was a natural fit in the manner in which he proceeded. His expertise and mastery of the games of the mind would surely spell moral victory for himself, but in a moment's fleeting thought he wondered what the cost might just be. Even still, he slipped the small pouch of gold from his side and placed it into the woman's hand.

His smile faded into more a cheap grin, feigning a slight bit of confusion, "To be perfectly honest, I'm not here to take advantage of the view as deceivingly radiant it may be." He tipped back the frosty mug and took a long gulp. As he set it down with both hands, his eyes took to hers once more, "No, ma'am, I am here to speak to Oak."

A tiny feeling of victory crossed his mind, and a bit of the feeling of success, too. One final blow with his greatest weapon, his wordplay, would free her of any fears about him. "And, ma'am, I intend to reward you for all you do," he quipped as he pointed to the small purse filled with fifty gold coins. In a move more out of the necessity to end the short conversation before being sucked in and probably his true purpose revealed, he picked up the mug once more and drank ever so slowly the remaining contents within.

The subtle nuances of the game had begun to reveal themselves. A chess match of sheer wills had begun in the most unexpected of places.

[Slavegirl]

The last thing she expected as she sat perched there on the edge of the table flirting with the curious customer, was the feel of another mind probing her thoughts. Instinctively she threw up her guard, a barrier around her thoughts and memories to keep the other mind out. Hopping off the table, she looked at the man with a bit of a frown, not sure if he was where the psychic tendril had come from.

As he slipped the purse into her hand, heavy with coins, Natalya became less certain he was the source of the probe. The problem with throwing up a wall against someone else’s mind, was that it worked both ways. While it kept them from seeing Natalya’s thoughts and emotions, it also kept her from seeing theirs.

"To be perfectly honest, I'm not here to take advantage of the view as deceivingly radiant it may be." Natalya raised an amused eyebrow at his overdone flattery, giving him a moment to reveal his supposed real motivation for being there, "No, ma'am, I am here to speak to Oak."

“I’m sure that was the reason for the curiosity, it makes perfect sense,” she replied sarcastically, “I’ll go find Oak for you, I think he’s out in the stables.”

"And, ma'am, I intend to reward you for all you do," he pointed to the purse she still held in her hand, which was rather hefty with the weight of the coins within. Before she could ask anything else, he lifted his mug to his lips and drank. Still feeling suspicious, she turned and went to find her boss.

He turned out to be in the kitchen, finished with seeing to the horses. Jonathan, or Oak as most called him, was a burly man with graying brown hair and a kind face. Once upon a time he had been captain of a ship, but for one reason or another he had decided to give up the wayfaring life and settle down as a tavern owner - perhaps there had been a woman. She didn’t choose to ask.

“Jonathan,” she called out to him from the doorway to the kitchen, “There’s a very generous gentleman out in the dining area who’s asking for you. Do you want me to tell him you’re busy?”

“No lass,” he replied, setting down the copper pot he’d been mending and wiping his hands on his pants, “I’ll be out there right away.”

Natalya nodded, and slipped back out to take her place once more behind the bar. The bells over the door rang, and the other barmaid walked in, a plain little thing with mousy hair and a snub nose. She was nice enough though, and worked hard.

“Afternoon, Nat,” the girl greeted her, grabbing her apron from behind the bar.

“Hello, Em,” Natalya replied, trying not to cringe at the shortened version of her name. She didn’t really understand the point of all the nicknames people used - she absolutely refused to call Jonathan “Ol’ Oak”.

Emily began her round of the customers, refilling drinks and smiling and flirting, accepting pats on the behind and hugs as though they were of no importance. She might not have been very pretty, but she was a favorite at The Sterling Fox. Jonathan came out of the kitchen and strolled over to the gentleman waiting for him in the booth near the door, greeting him with a smile and a handshake. Natalya lowered her barriers and carefully stretched her mind toward them curiously.

[Logan]

Something didn't feel quite right about the woman, and when his mental probe proved fruitless he thought he had begun to connect the dots. Logan began to wonder inwardly if she had some sort of magical protection to stave off probes, which could make some sense considering the slight accent she tried desperately to hide. It wasn't in his nature to let her realize he noticed it, and it probably was better he didn't anyways.

From his experiences, whenever someone tried to cover up or hide a natural part of who they were it tended to belie their resignation for it's part of their lives. Whether that was some bit of their past they chose not to reveal, or something even more sinister, the rule of thumb seemed to always hold true. Not being a betting man, however, Logan had every intention of keeping up his guard around her.

As he mentally surveyed the room, amidst the hustle and bustle of the comings and goings of patrons he realized he recognized the faces of a good ten to fifteen various friends and "family" members within the crowd. The lunch time rush seemed to vary between a few patrons and a lot, but in it all the psion kept one eye on the woman who had moved behind the bar.

He had considered a few times ordering some food off the menu, but decided to hold off for the time being. Coincidentally, it was that precise moment Ol' Oak appeared and outstretched his hand. "Good day, lad," Oak said with a smile from ear to ear. The two exchanged a hearty handshake which led to a quick brotherly embrace, and then both slid into the booth where the psion was seated.

Raising his mug to his lips, he drank a little more of the citrus ale and then set it down gently. As both hands slid around it's surface he gripped it firmly and looked into Oak's eyes letting out a deep sigh.

"I've got to tell ya, Oak," he began in earnest, "you weren't just being kind when you mentioned how beautiful she is." Logan sat back quietly and took another quick glance in her general direction, pretending more to look over at a female patron who'd sat down at the bar. Oak shook his head and laughed the most jovial laugh before slamming his fist on the table.

"I told ya, lad. I did. When the lass first walked into my pub and inquired about employment I just about did faint right there behind the bar. I couldn't understand how such a beautiful lass, quite possibly the most beautiful lass I've ever laid these old eyes on, would need any employment, and furthermore why here in this little pub. But, who was I to deny a lass a job," he ended with a crescendo of laughter before quieting himself to spit out the last few words, "especially when the pub sure could use the help."

The psion nodded quietly and then smiled. "Well, I can definitely say that she does a great job with the mixing of the drinks. This is by and large the best ale I've had in ages," he said through a wry smile. He raised the mug in a sort of salute to Old Oak before tipping it back and downing the remnants of the liquid. Setting the mug down, he stared at his older friend.

"Oak, I've gotta be honest with you," the psion spoke more in a whisper now, "I tried to probe her thoughts and came up empty." He sat back again and Oak did the same, a look of astonishment mixed with curiosity crossing the older man's features. Logan simply nodded. Oak ran a couple fingers over his cheek and then chin.

"Well, that would certainly explain the lass's natural gifting in dealing with the more," he paused for a moment searching for the right word. "Assertive," the psion chimed in with the word Oak was searching for. "Yes, assertive. It would explain how she so adeptly deals with the more 'assertive' of my customers," Oak concluded, satisfied with the choice in words.

The younger of the two men nodded slowly. "I'm not saying you have cause to be worried. She seems outwardly quite pleasant, and most probably is a fine and sweet lady. Personally, I would probably just more or less keep an eye on her to ensure everything is okay," the psion looked to the woman behind the counter, this time raising his mug in the air to signify his need of a refill.

"What do you think about formally introducing us," Logan telepathically asked the much older Oak. Oak nodded, and thus another pawn slid across the board attempting to fell the King.

[Slavegirl]

The two absolutely reeked of kinship, broadcasted brotherhood as strongly as any siblings she’d ever met. But unless Jonathan had lied to her, which she should have known if he had, he had told her he was an only child with no other family left to speak of. So why was he greeting this man as a brother?

They spoke for quite some time, conversing quietly enough that Natalya could not hear them over the din of the bar. It seemed likely she was the subject, seeing as the newcomer repeatedly glanced her direction. The former slave pretended to focus on the customers, half-way hearing their requests and fulfilling them as she let her mind absorb the emotions and intentions broadcasted by her boss and his friend.

"What do you think about formally introducing us?” an unfamiliar voice chimed in her head, and it took a moment to associate it with the man sitting across from Jonathan, then only by feeling where the thought was aimed and seeing her supervisor nod.

Natalya quickly grabbed a mug and filled it with ale, squeezing a lime into it as Jonathan approached the bar. With a smile she slid the mug across the bar, as if that was why her boss had come over.

“Your friend needs a refill?” she asked, and Jonathan looked at her for a few seconds, studying her face as though reevaluating her worth to him.

“Yes, I’m sure he does,” he murmured, “Why don’t you come over, lass, and I’ll introduce you to my old friend.”

Natalya acted appropriately surprised and confused, but shrugged and picked the mug up and followed her boss over to the table, setting the mug before the stranger with a smile.

“Logan, this is Natalya, my newest barkeep,” Jonathan flourished toward her as if she were of some consequence, “She’s quite a catch, no?”

“Pleasure,” she nodded, attempting to act flattered or embarrassed, but only managing to look smug, “And you’re a catch too, Jonathan. Best boss I’ve had yet, let me assure you.”

Jonathan laughed heartily, patting her hard on the back as he always did when he was amused. Natalya kept her mind focused on Logan, her eyes searching his face as though curious, and wishing to the gods she could read thoughts instead of just emotions. Why was this man here asking about her?

[Logan]

In the moment's of his isolation in the booth, the psion felt a sting of relief. He didn't know why. All he knew was there was something about the woman, and something about Oak, that seemed to not quite add up.

Logan knew Oak had proposed to Delouise only nine months prior, as Oak had confided in him about the proposal long before-hand. In the most head-scratching turn of events, she refused the proposal telling Oak she loved him too much to marry him. The psion's friend had been thoroughly devastated. So much so that he sold his ship, the Lily Anne, and then used the funds to purchase the Sterling Fox turning it from the well-used brothel into the tavern as it had become. That wasn't what bothered Logan, though.

Neither was there a concern of his in Oak taking a liking to the younger, and far fairer, woman. However, something about her still stuck with him. For a quick, singular moment in time he closed his eyes and took down all of his walls. He absorbed the aroma of the pub quietly, and it allowed him to fully relax. Muscles stretched in his back, and his mind freed itself from it's highly guarded state for just a split second or two.

As quickly as he allowed himself to lower his protections, so too did he return them to their rightful place surrounding his mind and his soul. Even still, he felt a gentle tug to gaze upon the woman once more, and as he did he caught a glimpse of her conversing shortly with Oak. In a way, he could see something natural in how Oak treated her. Though, if you asked Oak he treated all his employees, especially the females, the same way. Logan wasn't one to be so easily fooled.

Logan watched her mannerisms and movements, trying to once again shield his watching her as watching someone near her. She shrugged after she and Oak spoke a little longer, and then the two approached the table once more.

After quaint introductions, Logan rose from the table and acknowledge her presence with a lowering of his head in a sign of respect. In some small way, he did respect her. She had effectively evaded his probe, and also managed to keep his interest without even trying. There was indeed something enchanting about her, whether beauty or something more hidden beneath.

A sharp smile greeted her as he encouraged her to take a seat, "Please, join us. I am sure the other barmaid can handle things for a few moments." Oak nodded agreeingly, and also motioned for Natalya to take her seat.

"So, Natalya," Logan began as he sat back in his seat and examined her face, and then let his eyes slip to neck where he was interested to find a bit of a clue as to who this woman really was. For the first time he wasn't trying to probe her thoughts, and even more so he was just being normal. Quite the change for the mentalist to say the least.

"I'm sure you're a bit curious as to why you've been brought over here," he hoped his tact was enough to help comfort her a little. He continued, "Well, it's simple really. I'm curious about who you are, and Oak being an old friend of mine...I like to look out for his interests." He tipped back the mug she brought him and then as he set it down his eyes stared into hers, himself almost being captured by their striking beauty. He shook his head.

"I am Logan McCloud, and I am the head of the Family. Well, I suppose if you'd heard of it, it'd probably be called Vice, not 'the Family.' Either way, I am one who tends to be well in the know, and well, I don't know about you. No history that I am aware of besides maybe the marks on your neck, but even then I am not one to pry into that sort of thing. The only thing I found was through a contact of mine who was a dear friend when I was in the ranks of the Brotherhood, and all he told me was you had connections to them as well," he seemed to drone on forever trying to say what he was trying to say -- Logan was not known as a rambler, so this was rather confusing for Oak.

The psion turned to Oak and sighed, "Oak, this might be better done if you'd tend the bar while Natalya and I spoke in private."

Good Ol' Oak knew when he wasn't needed, and he nodded silently. He stood and made his way to the bar, tending to the needs of the barmaids and patrons present.

Logan returned his gaze to Natalya, "So let's just knock the charade. You've got some manner of mind protection, and I'm intrigued. I noticed the markings upon your neck, and am reminded of similar ones I've seen before. Furthermore, to be blunt, you're a mystery to me. I am serious when I say that there are very few on Moirae that I am not fully knowledgeable of and to an extent that scares me."

[Slavegirl]

Natalya’s heart pounded, and she sat back in the booth, looking away and fixing her eyes on the fire that crackled on the hearth just for the brief moment she needed to mask her panic and push her barriers back into place. Instead of fear, her pale face took on a look of confusion, and she tilted her head to one side in a guise of curiosity.

“I’m sure I don’t know what you’re speaking of, sir,” she assured him innocently, “How in the world would you see my mind? And why would you want to?”

Her thoughts bumped round her head like a handful of bees trapped in a jar: who was this man, how had he sensed her barriers, and most importantly, what did he know of the tattoo at her throat. The former slave unconsciously lifted her hand to the markings there, which branded her as a slave to the Yorani tribe of Berevar.

Logan McCloud was not a name she recognized, and she’d never heard of Vice - although mention of “the family” was rather frequent. She’d assumed folks were speaking of the royal family. According to his claim it was some sort of mafia, but then he also claimed connection to the Brotherhood yet she didn’t recall his name or face. Granted, it had been a turbulent time during her tenure as leader of the Shadow branch of the group. Regardless, she didn’t trust the man sitting before her. It seemed all too possible that he was a head-hunter, hired by her former master to find and follow his most valuable possession, and when she least expected it, bind her, imprison her, and return her to slavery. Fortunately for Natalya (and unfortunately for Logan), she always expected it.

“The markings on my neck are simply decoration, something sacred to the religion of my ancestors,” she explained away her tattoo and watched his reaction to her lie very carefully, “And I apologize that our lack of acquaintance disturbs you so, perhaps we should get to know each other better when I’m not working to pay the piper.”

Natalya smiled, attempting to keep the veiled threat from reflecting in her eyes. And by getting to know each other, I mean that your throat gets to know my knife blade very, very intimately.

[Logan]

Logan nodded. Nodding was what he seemed to always do when he genuinely had nothing else with which to respond. Her replies were succinct and did lend themselves to preventing a slip of the tongue. Usually, such succinctness indicated covering something up. Fortunately for Natalya, he wasn't about to pry any more than she had allowed.

He sat back and looked at her face. Her features struck his curiosity. There was an attraction to her pale creamy skin; the one complexion he was most drawn to even if he didn't realize it himself. Add in her lips so full they gave the impression of artificial thickening, and he was nearly sold. What did him in, however, were her deep soul-piercingly dark eyes of nearly black. They would barely be considered indigo, but there was a slight hint of the hue he noted.

Hold on a second. Weren't her eyes blue just a minute ago?

Logan blinked for a split second. This was an intriguing development all its own. There was clearly something very deep to Natalya he wouldn't be able to tap into or unlock there or then. He was okay with that. Something inside him longed for the chance down the road to tap into her, though, but he knew to not even think of trying then.

Every man longed for something, and that something changed over time. For Logan, he had reached a point in his life where his longing was not as much for wealth or power, but for love. No, not lust. Love. It was, to him, a power all its own.

"I suppose you have a point. I'll let you get back to your work. As gratifying and fulfilling as I'm certain it must be."

The last five words he placed a certain inflection and accent upon. He had noticed previously she had slipped and let some of her accent show through when she spoke. Being as he was, he tried his best to mimic the style, inflections, tone, and measured syllables. He didn't realize that was probably a horrible idea, and most certainly gave creedence to her thought he was hired for the purpose of imprisoning her once more.

[Slavegirl]

He held her gaze too long for comfort, but Natalya avoided the urge to avert her eyes, raising an eyebrow as though waiting for him to make a move. Logan seemed thrown off by something about her, and she let a smile curve her lips just enough to be a confusing mix of sweetness and menace. It was tempting to lower her mental barriers enough to see what disconcerted him so, but that would leave her too vulnerable, and she didn’t feel the danger was worth the payoff.

When Logan spoke, dismissing her back to her job, her decision to keep her mind protected proved to be a wise decision. She swallowed the urge to gasp, standing up with a curt nod, and walking to the bar without much response. Her heart was pounding too loudly in her ears for her to hear her own voice should she have chosen to speak.

It was all she could do to fight her instinct to run. Stepping behind the counter, she picked up the mostly full bottle of Salvarian vodka and poured herself a quick glass, lifting it to her lips and draining it in one swallow before setting it back down on the counter. She had to stop herself from slamming it down, and instead of remaining in the main area of the small tavern, Natalya stepped through the door that led to the kitchen.

Letting the door swing shut behind her, she leaned against the wall beside it, closing her eyes and taking a breath to regain her composure. She half jumped out of her skin at the sound of Jonathan’s voice.

“What’s got ye riled, darlin’?” he asked, placing a hand on her shoulder as she opened her eyes and stared at him for a moment before speaking.

“Nothing,” she lied, “Just a bit tired.”

Jonathan eyed her, squeezed her shoulder gently, and slipped out the door, leaving her in silence. With a sigh, she watched him leave the kitchen, her gaze remaining on the door that swung on its hinges behind him. Logan had mimicked the Berevarian accent perfectly. At least, she hoped he mimicked it. If he was from there, she should be headed out the back and hopping on the next ferry out of Moirae. It was a cowardly thing to do though, and he’d only follow her, eventually catching up to her somewhere else. She had to sleep sometime.

But so did he. The only way to keep him from following her and taking her back, kicking and screaming, to her master, was to kill him. With that thought firmly planted in her mind, she smoothed her skirt, lifted her chin, and left the calm of the kitchen to continue her job behind the bar.

[Logan]

After she'd exited the booth, he turned and looked away doing his best to keep his gaze focused at a wall completely opposite the bar. He had begun to think maybe he'd had the wrong impression of the girl. Perhaps she wasn't Vice material after all. When Oak had first spoken to him about Natalya, he'd immediately jumped to the conclusion that she had talents and abilities which would be convenient for The Family. Once he'd met her, all bets were off.

Sitting and staring at the far wall, he quietly sipped the remaining ale he had in front of him. Perhaps you've been too harsh with her. Not everyone likes their mind invaded, and hardly anyone likes a cryptic asshole, he berated himself inwardly. A reminder that he had to be more careful crept into his mind, and suddenly he felt uneasy in the tavern. Resting his elbows on the table, he lowered his head into his hands and sighed deeply.

How'd he let himself mess this up so quickly? He'd always been one to be much more cordial, but yet once he'd met the girl he felt as if he had to be rough and forceful. It felt like he had to be open and upfront, but really that was not his game. That was not how he played. Nobody played the game like Logan. Nobody until her.

She'd already gotten to him, and it had been a single conversation. If anyone who'd known him prior to this conversation had witnessed the interaction they'd think he'd lost his gift. Was he really that helpless? In that moment, it sure as hell seemed liked it.

Rarely did he ever abuse his powers for his own personal gain, but he had which explained why he was paying the price for it. Mistakes were made, and Logan wasn't the kind of guy to ignore such a thing. It ate at him in a way that brought the uneasiness he felt into a churning feeling in the pit of his stomach.

Had she poisoned him when he wasn't looking? When would she have had the time? The thoughts raced through his mind as he felt the need to purge his innards suddenly. Swallowing hard he ran out the front door and to the side of the building where he immediately vomited every bit of anything remaining in his stomach. The taste of the ale the second time around was not so pleasant.

His eyes stared straight down at the ground beneath him. The great psion was standing in a small puddle of his own puke, and he felt frozen. It overwhelmed him, consumed him. It made him want to run back inside the tavern and confront her face to face. He wouldn't give her the glory of thinking there was any chance she'd succeeded in killing him.

Slowly he lowered his hands to the hilts of the Silence Blades and he unsheathed them. The sound was soothing to the psion's stomach. It was familiar. Turning towards the door he took a step and stopped.

What if she didn't poison me, the thought was enough on it's own to stop him dead in his tracks. What if she didn't? What if it was something else? Was the possibility she poisoned him worth losing any chance he had to convince her to join him and Vice? The answer was simple, and it scared him. And he was not one to be scared.

Resheathing his swords, Logan entered the tavern as he wiped his lips on his sleeve. Immediately, he caught sight of Natalya behind the bar once more. There was no need to hesitate. When he arrived at the bar, he removed the few gold coins he had in his shirt pocket and set them on the counter. He looked up at her softly.

"I'm sorry," he began earnestly, a slight shake in his voice, "for earlier. I was arrogant and an asshole."

He turned and went back to his booth. Much to his chagrin, Oak was sitting waiting for him.

"Ol' boy, what the bloody hell did ya to the lass," Oak asked him.

Logan shook his head. "I tell ya Oak...I have no fucking idea what is wrong with me. I was rude, and I was an asshole. I couldn't blame her if she never wanted to see me or speak to me ever again. I tried to play the big bad dude, but I came across as a pompous arrogant jackass."

Oak chuckled. "That ain't be soundin' like the McCloud I know." Oak was always good at keeping Logan from going overboard on himself, which seemed far more frequent in those days.

The psion simply shook his head. "All I know, Oak, is I fucked up, and I'm not sure there's any coming back from it either. She probably thinks I'm somebody or something I'm not. It's not that, really...it's more that she beat me at my own game, and it's because I made the bloody-assed mistake. I NEVER make the mistake! What is wrong with me?"

Oak slammed his fist on the table. In a whisper he replied so only Logan could hear, "Ya wanna know, lad?" The psion looked up at him with eager eyes. Oak grinned. "Methinks ya got a thing for the lass."

As fast as Oak finished the last word the psion's head slammed into the table. Repeatedly.

Fuck, he thought to himself, he's right.

[Slavegirl]

Logan was nowhere to be seen when she took her place behind the bar, but she stopped herself from breathing a sigh of relief. It didn’t mean he was gone, it just meant he wasn’t in the bar. With great care, she once more extended her mind to the exterior of the bar and the rooms upstairs, but before she found the frequency of his thoughts, he was walking through the front doors. He looked a bit green, and she turned away from watching him, keeping the tiniest part of her mind on him.

As he approached the bar, she turned back around to face him, hands on her hips and eyebrows raised. Her eyes were no longer the near-black of before, they were now almost quicksilver pale as she focused on his face. It was slightly surprising to her as he apologized, but since she had drawn her walls back close around her thoughts, she had no way of knowing except from the expression on his face and the tremble in his voice, whether he was sincere.

“Not the first arrogant asshole in the world I’ve dealt with,” she shrugged off his apology, not exactly accepting or refusing it, “And I’m quite certain you won’t be the last.”

This time instead of hiding her accent, she spoke in her natural voice, the guttural consonants and lyrical rise and fall of her native tongue present even in the Common language spoken throughout Althanas. What did she have to hide? If he was what she feared, then he already knew who and what she was. If not, then why had he mimicked her accent?

Logan returned to his booth, and Oak met him there, his stern expression showing that he was not happy with his old friend. Natalya stifled a self-satisfied laugh as she served the customers their drinks, cleaned their emptied glasses and mugs from the counter, placing them in the sink to be washed later.

Glancing up and over at the enigmatic and curious man who had managed to shake her to her core, Natalya was confused to see him cursing and beating his head against the table. It was a bit too strange for her, and she couldn’t quite understand why he would do that. Curiosity would get her in trouble, she was sure of that, but had always managed to extract herself from it up till now, and figured she could do so once more. Filling a mug with his previous request of ale with citrus, and grabbing the bottle of vodka with one hand while carrying the ale, she crossed the room to his booth and slid into the booth across from the stranger.

“Let’s stop running circles ‘round each other,” she narrowed her gaze on his face, her eyes darkening slightly, “I’ll ask the question I have to know, and I expect you not to lie to me. As I’m sure you might have guessed, I’ll know if you do.”

She gave him a moment to process her words, to absorb her ultimatum, before continuing. With more trepidation than she cared to admit, she lowered her barriers, extending her mind towards his enough to know his reactions to her words, and whether he was truthful in his response.

“Do you know what the tattoo on my throat is? And if so, are you here concerning what it signifies?” she didn’t gloss over what she wanted, she didn’t trace around the edges, she jumped in head first, and hoped she could swim.

[Logan]

Oak grinned as he leaned toward Logan and whispered, "'Here she comes lad." The psion sat up a little and tried to straighten himself out. There was no way he could allow himself to be done in by the raven-haired beauty -- was there? Maybe there was. Maybe the point of this whole ordeal was Fate wanting to show him that it was okay to let down your guard and to lose every once in a while. After all, winning wasn't everything.

His eyes traced her movements as she slid into the booth and offered him the drink. Lifting the mug to his lips, he listened to her with an intrigued focus on every word that swam off her tongue.

As he swallowed, he lowered the mug and looked her in the eyes. Normally, he'd give her a glare, maybe a hard stare, but this was anything but normal. The look was soft and gentle, and slightly open. The psion decided he'd stop trying to hide, and for once actually not have to win.

"Natalya, I recognized the markings, but only because I had a friend once who wore, with pride I might add, a similar one. Beyond my friend, I have no connections with Berevians, slavers or slaves, or anything that side of the Salvarian line. Truthfully, I am not here because of your tattoo. In fact, I had no knowledge of it prior to our meeting and seeing it earlier."

He shook his head as he relaxed his shoulders and entire body. It took everything within him to not have to win, to just be normal. Being normal was not Logan, not at all.

"What I said earlier about wanting to offer you a job was honest to goodness truth. I need help with the every day management and operations of The Family. You may have heard of us as Vice, previously, but we've begun a focused campaign on becoming a little less underhanded and a little more honest and legit."

Releasing the mug he sat back and continued to look at her. Suddenly, he didn't feel uneasy in the tavern anymore. As if on cue, Oak stood from the table.

"I'll just be leavin ya'll right about now. And Darlin', I gots the bar."

As Oak walked away he laughed loudly as he shook his head and mumbled something neither of the two would understand.

Logan turned back to Natalya and smiled softly.

"I do know that you have some sort of mental abilities to block out mine. Perhaps you hadn't figured it out yet, though I am sure you have...I am a telepath, though most call me 'the psion'. I am Logan McCloud, and I am what you see before you."

He slid both hands onto the top of the table, showing no weapon in them -- just in case.

"Also, I am more than happy and willing to answer any questions you may have for me. Any."

[Slavegirl]

She hadn’t thought to bring a glass for herself, so she’d have to pay Jonathan later since she wasn’t going to refrain from drinking for such a stupid reason. Lifting the bottle to her lips, she considered his words, her mind ever so subtly feeling him out, gauging his honesty and finding no trace of deception. Natalya set the bottle back on the table, licking the bitter liquid from her lips before responding, carefully, to his repeated offer.

“What I’m not sure I understand,” she began slowly, “Is why you would want a stranger, about whom you know nothing, and whom you have no reason to trust, to be involved in any major part of your organization.”

Jonathan smiled knowingly as he dismissed himself, but Natalya wasn’t entirely sure what it was he thought he knew. Obviously it had more to do with Logan than it did herself. And it must have been important, or he wouldn’t have let her stay there while he did her job for her. Once more she took a drink of the harsh liquor, the alcohol content higher than most, pursing her lips as she set the bottle down again. The whole movement was just a mask for her own uncertainty about what exactly was happening at the table.

So the man knew she had some sort of mental abilities. His own admission of telepathy was almost worthless, considering she already knew about them, but she figured he didn’t realize she had any way of knowing. Perhaps this could be a coin to keep in her pocket for later, a way to manipulate him, a card up her sleeve so to speak. For now though, she’d let him think she was attempting to be complicit or at least somewhat cooperative in what he was aiming for. Whether anything would actually come of it would have to be decided later. For now though, she’d keep playing her little game of cat and mouse, only being as honest as she was forced to be. If he called her on lying, then so be it. At this point though, lying was unnecessary, as all she had to be was vague.

“If you’re so telepathic, and so well known with your little family, why is it you didn’t just find out everything about me when you tried playing with my thoughts?” Natalya reached into the pocket of her apron and pulled out a small metal case, extracting a cigarette, lighting it with a match and inhaling deeply.

[Logan]

There was a certain satisfaction in her asking him for his reasons. On the one hand, he could list them out. On the other, he could just explain. Though, not at that moment. She had more to say, and so he listened. Although, it wasn't so much listening as it was watching her lips move. Only for a split second until he caught himself doing so and forced himself to listen to what she was asking him.

Quickly, he realized she had a point. Even still, he had done his research and he did know some stuff about her. What did he really know about her, though? What was in the files on her, but how did he know for sure that wasn't manufactured by her in the first place? He was slightly torn at that realization.

"Well, first of all, I have thrived in the business of trusting those that nobody else would. It's how I've managed to be successful at all. And secondly, to be honest with you, Natalya, as I feel is only fair. I did my research on you, and I didn't turn up much. In case you are wondering, my research had nothing on your tattoo, and nothing on your past save one period."

As he spoke he was affixed to her cigarette and each time she inhaled he had to move his eyes elsewhere.

"The only thing I turned up about your past was you spent time in the Brotherhood, which I believe I mentioned already. What you may not know is that we both did, and it was around the same time, too. You might remember the one who recruited me, even. Gild."

Sitting back in his seat he looked her over once. The apron was a nice touch to the look. He'd supposed she'd been hiding something, and he assumed by that point it was only her past with the tattoo. What he wasn't sold on, yet, was whether she was just hiding her past or hiding from her past. He was leaning toward the latter.

"And I am really sorry about the earlier probe. I had to feel you out, and well, I failed. You succeeded in blocking me out, and it messed me up for a bit. Kinda threw me off my game, if you will. But, I am not normally one to pry into the thoughts of others. In fact, Natalya, you're the first I've tried it on."

Logan shook his head as he raised the mug to his lips one last time. Tilting his head back he took two big gulps, his adam's apple moving up and down with each swallow. Setting it back down on the table he swallowed once more before finishing.

"And as for why you'd make a good associate in The Family...well, Natalya, who else can equal your skills?"

[Slavegirl]

Rather carelessly she flicked her ashes onto the floor at their feet, resting her elbow on the table as she took another drag and considered his words. Her other hand rested protectively on the bottle of vodka. So, he knew Gild. Problem was, everyone had heard of Gild, and name dropping meant little. For the moment though, Natalya would give him the benefit of the doubt since she didn’t sense any deception from him. She still felt a bit of trepidation at leaving her own mind vulnerable for so long, but it was a risk she’d have to take.

Without speaking, she nodded, eyes on his face as he continued. She finished the cigarette, put it out on the side of the table and dropped it to the floor, as every customer seemed to do. Natalya took another drink from the bottle before deciding carefully on her words.

“We’ll let the probe slide for the moment, considering you are open to mine now. Granted, I’ve not pushed hard, but at the moment I’m not interested in your secrets, only that you do not try to deceive me,” she paused, glancing over at Jonathan who was conversing jovially with one of the regulars from behind the bar, “You ask who else can equal my skills? I do not know the answer to that. Until now, I’ve met no one but my own family with anything even similar to my particular skill set. Perhaps that could be of some use to you, but I’m not sure how it could be of any use to me.”

She took a rather deep breath, searching Logan’s face as if looking for the answer there. Not finding what she was looking for, she lowered her gaze to the table, dark lashes hiding the puzzled look in her eyes. There wasn’t much point in hiding anything, it was unlikely to be successful, but it was a habit she wouldn’t try to break.

“It’s an interesting offer,” she admitted finally without raising her face, “But I hesitate to tie myself to anything or anyone. It rarely pays off, and tends to get me in a bit of trouble.”

When she looked up, a cryptic smile hinted at the corner of her lips and a spark glinted in her eyes. Perhaps it was just the light form the lamp on the table, or the fact that someone had just opened the door and gold from the afternoon sun was pouring in.

“Then again…“ she paused, pulling out another cigarette but not lighting it yet, “I have never been one who could resist a bit of trouble.”

[Logan]

Folding one hand over the other, he watched her as she spoke. Finally, she was starting to see the picture. It was from all appearances looking like she was grasping exactly why he'd come to the Silver Sterling. She was also loosening up, at least a little, and he felt more at ease as she did.

"So you see why I, as the Head of The Family, would take an interest," he paused and caught himself. Clearing his throat he continued, "I mean, um, why The Family would be interested in bringing you on-board. Believe me when I say, Natalya, there is nobody in all of Althanas that has your particular set of assets...err, skills." Even though he was at ease, he wasn't exactly one hundred percent comfortable. Especially when he'd catch sight of her lips.

He coughed and cleared his throat. "As for the offer, you should consider the gold I've already given to you. Perhaps even consider that employment comes with payment in whichever means suits you best."

If she'd agree to work for him, he'd probably pay her anything she wanted. He wasn't going to let her know that, yet. Perhaps later over a drink in private away from the eyes and ears of other members of The Family.

"And I've never been one to avoid a bit of trouble."

He smirked as he watched her, the slight glimmer from the sun and light showing her in a different light. It caused him to shift a little as his hands slid from the top of the table to his lap, and out of sight.

After a hesitant moment, he continued.

"When dealing with the numbers of members in the Family there is a significant amount of stress. I am hoping, Natalya, that you could help relieve some of that for me."

Sitting back slightly he let his thoughts project to her. And then he realized what he was thinking and quickly reeled them back in.

"Um...sorry, that's not exactly what I...erm...meant."

He shook his head. What the hell was Natalya doing to him? It's not like he was one to complain about it, but she had him all kinds of bothered.

[Slavegirl]

“Say what you mean, don’t try to amend your words,” she told him, not really as a warning, more as a recommendation. It was something her mother had always told her, mostly because whenever she would try to take back something embarrassing that she’d said, her mother would remind her that when with other telepaths it was useless to claim you didn’t mean something, or to try to mask your intentions. Why she repeated her mother’s words Natalya couldn’t have explained, since it wasn’t as if she had ever heeded much of what her mother had told her.

“As for relieving stress,” the dark-haired slave smiled a bit as she continued, “I have many ways of doing so, but I’m not entirely sure which of them you had in mind, or for whom. You perhaps should be more clear of your intentions. I don’t want to go digging for them.”

Her face became a bit more serious as she considered what she figured was his intended request. Logan expected her to be able to stop or relieve some of the stress within his organization, and was willing to pay a high price for someone who could offer that service. While she could sense and even experience other people’s emotions, and even read their thoughts if they were comfortable enough around her to relax their innate mental barriers, she had never tried to impress different emotions on those people, or to change the thoughts in their minds. It was considered morally reprehensible to manipulate another person in such a manner. Of course, Natalya was fairly certain that intruding up someone’s emotions and experiencing them for her own pleasure probably wasn’t exactly on the list of things thought to be nice and good.

“I don’t know if I can stop people from being stressed or upset, or any of those other negative emotions which cause trouble when combined,” she began after lighting her cigarette and taking a drag, “It isn’t something I have ever tried. I’m sure it is something that can be done, but we were forbidden to do so. I do know that I can sense if someone in your organization is feeling resentful or upset, and let you know before they take action.”

An amused smile curved her lips as she dipped a little deeper into his thoughts, finding the most delightful combination of attraction and embarrassment. It was too much for her to resist playing a few little games with him. She lowered her eyes in a seductive, yet somehow innocent way, and tried her best not to laugh.

“For your own stress, I’m sure we could work something out,” Natalya looked up at Logan with a pure azure gaze and then over at Jonathan who stood beside a customer’s table chatting away, “Perhaps it is more appropriate to work that out in private, though. Wouldn’t want any feelings to get hurt, no?”

[Logan]

Who was Logan kidding? He knew better than to think a fellow telepath wouldn't be able to read through his long-standing defense mechanisms. She was right. All he needed to do was stop being so embarassed by normal human reactions. There was no longer a doubt in his mind he was attracted to her, but he still had no clue whether she was attracted to him.

A sigh escaped his lips as he watched her inhale the long, slender cigarette. What was it about her he found so alluring? Then the smile came. He shifted again under extreme discomfort. Up until then she'd done very little intentionally, or so he thought, and yet he was already feeling the effects of arousal. Even still, he held a straight look and tried to hide it.

"Perhaps you misunderstood. I don't want you to change the minds of our members. That would be...unethical."

The thought of her seductive movements and her eyes kept running through his mind.

"You're right. We...should discuss this in private. I think...no, I know...I'd much rather private."

Logan looked over at Oak. He knew the old sea-salt wouldn't care. Hell, knowing Oak he'd probably taken her once for himself. The old captain was pretty good with the ladies, and he got the vibe that Natalya wasn't really one to hide from her desires. Still, it made Logan shudder a little bit to think about, and so he stopped.

"Why don't you stop by my room over at the Oasis of Moirae? Room 122. I'll leave a note with the clerk that I'm expecting a visitor."

He looked her over one last time and smirked.

"Oh, and bring something to drink."

He wasn't sure if she understood what he meant, but he assumed she'd figure it out easily enough.

"We have plenty to discuss, and there will be plenty of night to kill."

Standing from the table he walked over to Oak, and the two began to chat.

[Slavegirl]

The man was easily flustered, that was for certain. As he left the table, rather conspicuously aroused, she put her hand to her mouth to cover her laughter. It wasn’t so much that she found his bumbling attraction funny, but instead that she rather enjoyed playing games, and had missed doing so. Leaning back in the booth, she finished her cigarette, and took another swallow of vodka before screwing the cap back on. She’d drunk just enough to have a buzz, although it was probably enough to leave most so intoxicated they wouldn’t have been able to walk straight. Lifting the bottle to eye level, Natalya gauged how much was left and briefly considered just filling it with water and putting it back behind the bar. Jonathan rarely drank, and the patrons wouldn’t likely know the difference, but she decided that in this particular instance she’d do the honest thing. Later would be a different story altogether.

Natalya had figured Logan to be the type not to share a girl, especially not with a close friend. It rather threw her off and made her reconsider his trustworthiness when he asked her to come to his room at the local inn. There was no mistaking why he wanted privacy, especially since she had made it fairly clear that she was willing. Part of her was intrigued and attracted to the utter disregard for his friend’s feelings, wondering just how far his self-interest could be pushed. A larger part warned her loudly of the danger of the situation. If he would betray a friend, it only lent creed to the fear that if she went to where he was staying, and he had her alone, it would soon end with a knife in her back.

Of course, there was only one solution for that particular problem. As intrigued as she was by Logan and his dichotomy of honesty and self-interest, her own self-interest was even greater. The only way to ensure her own skin remained in tact, was to beat him at his own game, even if she wasn’t sure there was a game to begin with. Any man who would settle for his friend or brother’s seconds, and didn’t mind betraying that trust, wasn’t a man who could be trusted with anything else, least of all one’s life.

The former slave considered her choices as she set her bottle in the kitchen for later and went about her duties for the rest of her shift. Several times Natalya had to ask customers to repeat themselves, she was so distracted. They left meager tips, but she barely noticed, pocketing the coins and returning behind the bar. The sun was setting, it’s molten rays slicing through the window by the door and setting the surface of the bar alight with it’s golden fire. It wouldn’t be long before she would be free to go, and by then she had to make her decision.

Either way she intended to go to the Oasis. The question was what happened when she got there. She could choose to trust that he had no intention to harm her, but that would be stupid when she didn’t know him at all. On the other hand, she could go with the anticipation that he might be planning to kill her, and be ready to defend herself. Or there was a third option. She could wait until he slept and go to his room then, not giving him the chance to attack or anticipate what she did in her own self-defense.

Jonathan laid a hand on her back and she jumped, spinning to face him with one of her knives in hand. He stepped away with hands up, but a slight smile on his face. It hadn’t happened in a couple of months, but when Natalya had first started working at The Sterling Fox, she’d pull a knife on anyone that walked up behind her or surprised her in any way. Jonathan had mostly broken her of the habit, earning at least some modicum of trust from the former slave - enough that she trusted him in private when her knives were out of reach.

“A bit on edge lass?” he laughed heartily, putting his hands down, “Seems you’ve been distracted all evening’ Darlin’. What’s got you off your game?”

Natalya forced a smile, making it reflect in her eyes as well and shook her head. She slid the knife home into it’s place between her breasts before apologizing.

“So sorry Jonathan. Kavik was in here earlier making passes at me, and told me he’d be back to pick me up after my shift,” she lied easily, “I half expected it to be him. I should have known better.”

Jonathan shook his head and handed her the bottle she’d hidden in the kitchen, shoving her gently out from behind the bar with a jovial wink. Patting her bottom in a familiar way that made her smile more genuine, he motioned toward the door that led to the few apartments upstairs where she and a couple of the other employees lived.

“Go on, love,” he told her as he stepped into her place behind the bar, “Jocelyn is due anytime. Get on out of here before your shift ends so you can avoid ol’ Kavik. Not that you couldn’t take him of course, but you shouldn’t have to, right?”

“Right,” she agreed with a nod as she took off her apron and tossed it to him, “Thanks Jonathan, I appreciate it.”

___________________________________

Natalya walked through the nearly abandoned streets of Moirae, her skin the same silvery pale of the moon and just as flawless against the black leather vest and pants as the moon was against the night sky. She’d waited until after midnight to head toward the inn where Logan stayed, hoping he was asleep. As if to reassure herself she checked the blades hidden in various places on her person, as well as the more obvious curved dagger strapped in place on her right thigh.

The man at the desk at the Oasis smiled as she walked in, and she raised an eyebrow to let him know she was quite aware he wasn’t smiling because he was happy to see her, but because of how she was dressed and what he hoped he could convince her to do later.

“Logan McCloud said he’d tell you I was to be allowed upstairs,” Natalya told rather than asked about heading up to the rooms above, “Give me the key.”

The innkeeper snickered knowingly, but slid the key across the desk to her like the brainless idiot he was. What a way to prove it. He’d likely be held accountable for the body they’d find in the morning - and by that time she’d be long gone. Without a backwards glance, she disappeared upstairs, taking the steps two at a time in spite of her diminutive stature. It didn’t take her long to find Room 122.

The door barely clicked as she twisted the key in the lock and pushed it open, slipping inside the darkened room with a rather wicked smile on her face. Reaching out her mind ever so carefully, she searched for the sleeping mind of the one she planned to kill in minutes. As she did so, she leaned down, setting the bottle of vodka on the floor beside the door - he had said to bring a drink, hadn’t he?

[Logan]

"Logan, you're lookin' a bit pale, lad."

The psion looked at Oak with some concern. He knew immediately why Logan had given him that look.

"Listen here, lad. I'ma say this once, then you're on your own. That lass be in your head already. It ain't like ya, and knowing her, you better get your mind straight first."

Logan wasn't sure whether Oak was saying that for himself or to protect her. Either way, the psion knew he was right. Very, very right. Natalya was obviously not someone to take lightly, and perhaps even he had underestimated her talents. Maybe there was more to her than he'd really counted on.

Maybe.

Then again, maybe she was everything he'd figured her to be. She was, after all, specially gifted. Talented beyond measure. Far more equipped than even he was. She was beautiful, and as far as he could tell she'd use those looks to her advantage at any opportunity to do so. Perhaps she was just as skilled as he had figured her to be.

"Oak, you're right. I'm gonna head over to my room and relax and clear my mind. Thanks for the advice."

As Logan turned to leave, Oak rested a hand on his shoulder.

"Lad, make sure you be as ready to handle hers as you can be. I tells ya she's a wild one."

The hand left his shoulder, and left him standing there speechless for a moment. He had assumed as much, on both accounts, but to hear it from Oak's own mouth made him shiver a little.

What had he been thinking? If Oak and Natalya had something, then he needed to let sleeping dogs lie.

Logan exhaled deeply and then inhaled. The aroma of the tavern filling his nostrils once more as he returned control of his mind over to himself. He wouldn't let her have it any longer. And with that he exited the tavern and headed to his room.

=======================================

The streets were only slightly bustling in the afternoon sun. A few members of The Family said hi to Logan, and he took up conversation as he could. Even in his state of cloudiness, he managed to keep himself focused enough to listen.

After a couple of hours of mingling and meandering, he made it to the Oasis. The lavish exterior for such a small island made him cringe. Sure, he enjoyed the luxuries of life, but it was even a bit gaudy for him.

Slipping inside the psion approached the clerk, and told him to let his visitor of the night access to his room without question. The clerk grinned assuming to know exactly what he had planned for her. Unfortunately, not even Logan knew what he had planned, nor did he have any clue what she had planned.

He considered only momentarily punching the clerk in the face a few times, but decided that might not look well for Vice among the people of Moirae. Instead, he smiled and nodded.

"I expect you'll enjoy looking at her as much as I do."

With a wink, he left up the stairs and straight to his room. Clicking his door shut, he locked it. Scooting over to his bed, he removed his shirt and sat down. On the nightstand next to the bed rested a glass, and inside the door a bottle of the hardest scotch the psion had ever experienced.

Logan pulled the bottle out, uncorked it, and poured half of the glass. Then he purged it into his system. There was no thought process to it, he just gulped it down as if it were water. It stung for a moment, and then he felt better.

His mind emptied, and finally he was thinking clearly. If she was going to show up, it would be on her terms. There was no accounting for what those were, but he wasn't going to worry too much. She knew he had skills, but beyond that had no clue as to just how powerful he was.

That brought a slight problem to mind, though. He had no clue how powerful she was, either. Damnit, he chastised himself. Shaking his head, the psion stood up and headed for the makeshift bath. Just outside the room was a large tank of water heated by a small fire beneath. Drawing a bucket, he turned and poured. A few more repetitions, and the bath was drawn.

As he slipped out of the remainder of his clothes, he slipped into the tub. The warmth soothed his aches, and moreso soothed his worries. His problems seemed to drain off him, just as the water pooled around his face.

After an hour of relaxing he removed himself from the bath, and drained the water. Moments later he had changed into a new shirt and pair of slacks. He put the bottle and glass away, and tidied up the room. He positioned his swords in specific spots, just in case, and then laid down on the bed.

There was no point in staying awake until she arrived. It was better to be well rested, just in case he was going to be up all night.

========================================

At some point through the night he had awoken, and it was well past the time he'd expected his visitors arrival. She'd stood him up. He'd been such a fool. Rolling over onto his side away from the door, he sighed and closed his eyes.

He tried to sleep for the next few hours, and had been unsuccessful. Then he heard the familiar click of his door, and gentle quiet footsteps. Only one thought crossed the psion's mind, she's not here to talk.

Projecting out, he gave the impression he was asleep. Slowed heart rate. Slowed breathing. He ticked off the various methods he'd learned in his travels. It would be pretty difficult for her to know any better. Then again, she was pretty good at what she did. Or so he thought.

[Slavegirl]

Something wasn’t quite right. Her intuition wasn’t quite screaming, but it was throwing metaphorical pebbles at her, warning that she was getting into something she wasn’t entirely prepared for. Natalya normally listened to her instincts, heeded their threats and warnings, but even pushing a little harder against his mind she felt nothing but the calm stirrings of a mind in deep dreamless sleep. That should have been the first sign that things were amiss. Rarely did people sleep without dreaming. They dreamed throughout the night, but only remembered those they were immersed in at the time they awoke. Only people with certain mental sicknesses failed to dream, and it was that lack of dreaming itself which made them as strange and disturbed as they always were. The second sign was his utter lack of response to her gentle prodding of his mind. While he probably shouldn’t wake up, he would have turned in his sleep or breathed more shallowly, but he did none of these things.

Rather than take her chance to leave, she ignored her intuition and took another careful step into the room. Instead of pulling the long curved knife that laid against her thigh, she took a smaller and sharper blade from it’s place against the left side of her waist beneath the vest. She didn’t need distance, she needed speed, and this was the sharpest blade she’d seen. Her own breaths were so shallow that it would seem to most as if she wasn’t breathing at all, and each step was carefully placed to make no sound. Her boots that she wore had soft leather soles just for the purpose of silence.

Only a few inches from the bed, she paused again, crouched like wildcat waiting to spring on its prey. The moonlight pouring in through the window above the bed glinted off her knife and reflected eerily across her features, pale as death. The smile on her face would have chilled anyone’s soul. In one graceful movement she moved from floor to bed, straddling her prey with her blade against his throat.

Why she hesitated for even the barest second she couldn’t say, and even later would never have the answer for. Perhaps it was a moment’s remorse for killing Jonathan’s friend. She had no remorse for taking a life, but for some reason the idea of hurting Jonathan just didn’t sit right with her. With a shake of her head, she pushed the thought aside, shutting down what little emotion it was possible for her to feel, ready to turn the pristine white sheets to crimson.

[Logan]

Quiet and swift. Her movements impressed him. He'd expected a bit more sound, but the room was eerily quiet save for his breathing and hers. In a way, it was almost serene, although deep down he knew that the serenity was merely an illusion.

Much in the same way as she was. Just a wisp in the wind, here one moment, there the next, and gone before you blink. She was as much an anomaly as he'd ever met. Constantly, thoughts jaded her views even as she fought them back as best she could. And yet, there he sat, listening only to the sound of their breath in the still night in the room.

She'd proceeded to climb onto the bed and he shifted a little, playing more to the thought he was sound asleep than anything else. Then she climbed atop him, pinning him down against the mattress. There was a moment's debate on whether to shift once more, or to remain still.

As much as he tried to remain still, something stirred.

The knife against his throat was a jolt to reality. In a split second she had gone from arousing his lust to arousing his survival instincts. There was a good chance she'd come to regret it, but who was he to deny her the fight she wanted?

Focusing all his mental energy onto her, he projected a psionic blast outward. The Mind Push always proved effective, although with her he wasn't really sure just what kind of barriers she possessed.

If she had the capability to guard against any psionic attacks, he was as good as dead. Sure, he could try to fight her off with his strength, but she did have a knife against his throat. One wrong move and he would be done for. So he opted for the push, in hopes he'd maybe catch her off-guard enough to turn the tables. Then, maybe he'd get lucky...and be able to use his strength to restrain her.

[Slavegirl]

If she’d known he had telekinesis on top of his telepathy Natalya would have been more prepared for the blow that knocked her off the bed and left her gasping on the floor against the dresser. Her knife had fallen from her hand and the room spun dangerously around her. Something dripped into her left eye and she reached up to find a gash on her forehead. Must have hit the corner of the dresser… was the only coherent thought she could put together at the moment.

With more effort than it should have taken she pushed herself into a sitting position, blinking several times to right the careening room. He hadn’t hit her, and he hadn’t tackled her. Much slower than normal, she erected her mental barriers again, not sure if that would have even made a difference before. Whatever he had done was more powerful than she had expected, and that meant that she needed to be ready for whatever he did next.

Trying to hide the movement by shifting slightly to her right side, she got her hand on the wickedly curved blade that clung to her thigh like a lover’s grip in the throes of passion. Rather than trying to attack while still somewhat disoriented, she made sure she could draw the knife quickly enough to drive it into a major organ, and waited breathlessly for his attack.

[Logan]

The force of the push had managed to knock her back off the bed. It took him one moment to lift a finger to his neck and trace the line left from the blade against his skin. The blade didn't slice him as she was pushed off, and he was quite thankful for that. Looking around he remembered his swords, but knew his time was limited.

He'd have to rely on brute strength to restrain her, and though he was concerned she was pretty strong he knew he was most likely stronger. Or so he hoped.

Effortlessly, he slid off the edge of the bed and looked her over. She seemed at the least dazed, if not unconscious. He couldn't be completely sure at that point. Somehow he'd have to restrain her hands and prevent her from kicking or anything of the sort. A decision was made and acted upon.

Swiftly, he threw himself down onto her, straddling her legs and pinning them together. Both of his hands shot down to her arms as fast as he could muster, and grabbed them. Responding on adrenaline, he slid his hands down around her wrists, locking them within his grip. He hoped.

The whole night had been a set up it began to seem. He couldn't knock her out, but he could try to probe her mind now. If she was dazed, he'd gain some advantage. If not, he'd maybe distract her enough to prevent his death. How could he have been so stupid?

It wasn't like the psion to allow anyone, let alone one who had worked for the Brotherhood, to get into his head. He remembered their kind well. Thieves, denegrates, assassins. All kinds filled the ranks of the Brotherhood at it's peak. Even he had at one point, at the approval and welcoming arms of Gild himself, but he still never considered himself to be one of them.

And yet she was, and he had let her get the best of him just long enough to possibly cause him harm. Somehow, he'd have to remedy the situation, and make amends to himself for such an idiotic ordeal. That is...if he survived it.

[Slavegirl]

Fortunately for Natalya, she was just coherent enough to pull out her knife as she tracked movement from the bed, although she couldn’t quite manage a killing strike. As he forcefully restrained her legs, she brought the blade up and sliced it across his shoulder but he grabbed her arms and had them pinned before she could bring the blade down into the back of his neck to pierce his spine. If it had been in her hand differently, she might have driven it upward into his gut, but even if she had been holding it in a way which would have allowed that, it was unlikely she’d have had the room or the force to do so.

As it was, the curved blade clattered to her side and she was effectively disarmed. Logan was easily twice her size, and although she had speed and stealth on her side, and even flexibility, she was no match for him in terms of strength. At first she struggled, trying to bend her body enough to loose herself from his iron grip. This distracted her enough that she missed his initial probe within her mind, and attempted to throw up her barriers too late.

She cried out as her secrets and memories were spilled out before him like a shattered jar of marbles. Every horror of her past, every indiscretion or indulgence she’d held secret, every desire and fear were all opened before him with no way to hide them now that he had managed to slip past her guard. Even as she struggled physically to break away from his restraint, her mind flailed and struggled, trying with everything she had to eject him from her innermost thoughts.

As his mind slipped deeper into hers she tried to muffle a sob, almost as if in pain, but more likely out of fear and shame. Unable to stop his mind from infiltrating hers, she stopped struggling, holding her breath until he had found what he was looking for.

[Logan]

Son of a... he thought as he fought to hold her down. The slice hurt, and he knew without looking it was bleeding. The only thing he could do was try to block out the pain, and it was a significant amount.

Successfully, he had pinned her down, and had held her arms in place. The knife she had concealed had dropped from her hands, and he felt a little bit more at ease. She fought hard, though, and he tensed every time she shifted her weight to try to move. During one attempt, his shoulder had been thrown forward and into her forehead.

He was unsure if it had done any damage to her, but the angle hurt him even more as it forced the laceration on his shoulder open wider. As his shoulder wound pressed against her forehead, her wound touched his and their blood was mixed. And neither would ever be the same again...


==============================================


Within the utter darkness of Logan's mind. Empty, devoid of any sign of anything.

Then, a flash of light beaming upward a distance off from her. Violet-hued, perhaps. At her distance, it would be hard to tell.

A moment later, another.

A few moments more. Another.


Within his mind's depths lurked a beast. And she was about to encounter it.


Approval given by Slavegirl to bunny char into Logan's mind. More weirdness to come

[Slavegirl]

The pain of his shoulder against her head was barely noticeable, but the darkness that enveloped was impossible to ignore. At first she thought she’d just been knocked out, but realized something else, much stranger, was happening when she saw the flash of light that seemed to come from a distance. Natalya looked down to where her feet should be, but it had grown dark again. Hands stretched out before her, she took a few steps toward where she thought the flash had come from. Her choice of direction was confirmed by yet another flash that seemed closer. Not encountering any obstacles to trip her, she moved forward a bit faster, unsure of where she was at first.

When the next flicker of light revealed a cage in the distance, the girl had an inkling. It was almost as if the invisible floor beneath her feet were moving as well, carrying her faster than she could move on her own toward the cage. Her guess was confirmed as the flash of light revealed what was restrained within the cage.

The light grew more constant as she took one more step toward the cage, and heard a clanking of chains. Looking down, she gasped audibly at the chain that hung from the collar at her throat, splitting to encircle her waist. Her ankles were also trapped within manacles, the chains attached to them trailing into the darkness. Her hands went automatically to the collar at her throat, searching for the clasp and finding none. Another chain was linked to the one that trailed down her chest, and it led to the cage.

Natalya lifted her gaze to meet the cold eyes of that which lurked within the cage.

[Logan]

Darkness. It was what was hidden within the deepest depths of the psion. For the longest time, it had remained dormant. Held bound by the cage created by Silence Sei. It hadn't seen the light of day in years. Now, it saw the light of the moon.

The lightning grew constant as the sound of the chains began to rattle from within the cage. The beast had awoken, and the figure began a slow crawl from the far side of cage. Each pull forward forced a rattle of the chains that grew closer as the figure moved toward the edge of the cage closest Natalya.

A single pale hand lifted to the bar of the cage. Coming into view from the darkness, the other hand of the figure pulled himself up using a white twisted staff that he had jammed into the ground. His face moved to the bars and looked through, dark, violet eyes peering at the bound Natalya before him.

The face of the psion came into the light from the hidden burst, but there were some differences. Pale. The face was pale well beyond that of the psion's as if not having seen the sun in a very long time. A scar from his left eye to his cheek broke his normally smooth facial features, and his lips showed less wear than Logan's own. His eyes were no longer light blue, but now dark violet. Were she to stare long enough, she'd see small arcs of electricity flash, but only momentarily.

His hand slid down the bar to the chain that bound her form to his. Pale, bony fingers wrapped around a single link and then yanked it toward him. His dark eyes stared at her, and then a smirk crossed his lips. The psion released the staff, and it remained levitating in the air. His other hand reached down and slid over the chain.

Hand over hand he pulled the chain bit by bit into his cage. As the female form grew closer, he reached out his hand, open-palmed.

"Come meet the beast within, child...."

Projecting into her thoughts, "And embrace your new master."

A cackle filled the emptiness, but didn't originate from the lips of the figure before her. It grew louder with each beat of her heart.

[Slavegirl]

The slave had no choice but to heed the call of the chain, falling to her knees as it was jerked violently by the pale clone of the man she had meant to kill. She crawled forward as he pulled the chain toward him, the pounding of her heart echoing loudly in the penetrating darkness. A ghost-pale hand was extended before her and she looked up into the eyes of the man who held it out to her. Her fear mixed with something more familiar as she met his amethyst gaze, so much darker than Logan’s. The sinister coldness in those eyes could have been her own as seen in a mirror.

Still on her knees before him, she considered his hand, almost as if she had never seen one before, but did not yet lay her own hand in his outstretched palm. He called her child, but they were of an age. Natalya glanced down briefly at the chains, then looked up at a face paler even than her own, her blue eyes large with unanswered questions, as his voice sounded in her mind.

Her hands played over the comforting coolness of the chains that bound her. She had once thought those chains were what held her together, and when they were gone she almost feared she would fly apart as she walked away from the only life she had known into the forest beyond. It had felt strange to be without a master, and if her sister had not been in need of her help, she would never have left.

Now, once more, she was chained and kneeling at the feet of another who wished to control her. Her fingers traced up the length of the chain to the collar at her throat, this time marveling at the rightness of the weight that lay there. It had been almost five years since those chains had fallen into the snow at her feet under the moonlight of the Berevan winter.

Heart pounding once more, this time in anticipation instead of fear, she lifted her arm, laying her much smaller hand into his. As the menacing laughter shuddered through the air, Natalya lowered her head in silent submission to the darkest side that had been hidden within Logan this whole time.

[Zook Murnig]

Quest Judging

Birds of a Feather

STORY ~ 13/30

Continuity ~ 6/10 You got off to a shaky start with this thread, and I only barely had any clue why anyone was there. Natalya had been looking for work and found it at the Sterling Fox, and Logan was looking for something for some elite organization he kept calling the Family, but also threw out the name Vice here and there. A lot of stuff I had to trust you would get around to eventually, and you did for the most part. Delouise was a throwaway that never got picked back up, however, so I was left wondering the whole while who she was and what she had to do with the story. Overall, I had some idea what you were each doing there, and how each event came to pass, but some of the turns were a little...random.

As a side note, Vice, to my knowledge, was purely an OOC group that never actually did anything in character, so Logan probably should not have had as much influence as he did to obtain all this knowledge. However, this is a PG issue and therefore will not affect your score.

Setting ~ 4/10 Nothing really stood out here. You described the bar very basically, but not much else. I knew that there was a barrel outside, and that Moirae as a town looked pretty gaudy, but not how. As well, there was very little interaction with your environment other than what was necessary for the story, such as when Natalya hit her head on the dresser.

Pacing ~ 3/10 God, I have to say, you were all over the place here. You'd get some good momentum going, and then all of a sudden the story would jump around between your perspectives on each and every action. A bunch of fluff paragraphs crept in here and there, mostly in Logan's posts, and there was a lot of pointless rambling that I really wished wasn't there. More on the rambling in Dialogue, of course.

Finally, as the thing that just threw everything else, you ended on the climax. No resolution of conflict. On top of that, the climax had not been even hinted towards anywhere earlier in the thread. Just all of a sudden we're inside Logan's head looking at Natalya chained to a caged beast who is, guess who, Logan with a makeover! I get the feeling that this is meant to be part one of a series of threads, but that doesn't mean there shouldn't be some sort of resolution to the first thread. More on that in Clarity.

Honestly, to improve here the best thing you could have done was collaborate more. Share responsibility for each other's actions and dialogue in your posts, and make it known that bunnies are assumed to be okay. The worst part was going through Logan's dialogue and actions for about three minutes only to jump back those three minutes (or more, at one point we jumped back several hours) and have it retold, play by play, through Natalya's eyes, or vice versa. Collaboration will set you free!

CHARACTER ~ 13.5/30

Dialogue ~ 6/10 Logan, I'm sorry, but this is going to be mostly directed at you. Your dialogue is cliché, and particularly so because you made a big thing about your character being such a smooth operator and able to convince people of whatever. He fumbled and bumbled and rambled on and on, even in his inner dialogue.

Also, be aware that when you're writing the dialogue of an NPC, it's okay to make them a little generic and gimmicky, but keep an eye out for the use of, for example, the word "lass" to describe a person about five times in the same paragraph.

Slavegirl, in this area you really shone. Your dialogue, for the most part, was very descriptive of your character and fit nicely. I got more an idea of the NPCs from you than I did Logan, as well. Keep on keepin' on.

Action ~ 3.5/10 There wasn't a lot of action in this thread until the end, but in its defense that was because it wasn't action-oriented until the end. Still, the little things stood out. How Natalya covered her expression with the bottle of vodka, for example. However, the things you do should be highlighted by the way you convey them. Logan, you had a tendency to use five words to describe an action where two or three would do, and Slavegirl was not free of this either.

On another note, the most important action in this entire thread, the moment where Logan used his mental might to throw Natalya off of him, went completely undescribed. The decision to use the ability amounted to saying that he was using Mind Push (an ability described by that name in your profile), and then we skipped to Natalya describing the result a second or two later after she hit her head on the dresser. Give some thought to how your abilities work so that you can more successfully describe them when you put them into action. For example, sheer effort of will might have formed into an expanding ball of force, or an invisible wall of your will formed between the two of you and then pressed her strongly off of you. Anything would have worked, as long as it was well described.

On the other side, Slavegirl, you could have described what Natalya felt as she was thrown off of her intended target by unseen forces, the battering she took, or even just how it felt to sail through the air. Instead you jumped ahead to when she was already sprawled on the ground. In the end, that single event hurt your score here the most.

Persona ~ 4/10 As with most threads, I started out not knowing diddly about either character, but in this case it took an inordinate amount of time to get any meaningful information. In fact, I think I came to know your NPCs better than the main characters, to be honest. I would learn something about one of you, and then either in the same post or several posts later, it would be contradicted either in word or deed. I would hear about how wonderful Logan is with words, and then he would come off as a cocksure jerk who thinks he's wonderful with words. And then he'd get all weak at the knees over a girl he might have feelings for, or might not. Natalya would act as if she were so afraid of being taken back to her former masters, and then in the end of the thread it almost seemed like she welcomed becoming a slave again.

To sum up, I got a lot of information about your characters throughout the thread, but frequently it didn't add up.

WRITING STYLE ~ 20/30

Technique ~ 6.5/10 Repetitive wording and wordy descriptions abound in this thread, and it really hurt your technique. Use a thesaurus to come up with synonyms for words you think you'll use a lot. And Logan, I suggest you find something other than "the psion" to call your character when you don't want to use his name. Mentalist. Psychic. Kineticist. Telepath. Something. While constantly using the same term to refer to your character keeps it clear who you're talking about, it gets boring very quickly.

There were, however, moments when you really shone through as the great writers I know you can be. For example, in her last post, Slavegirl wrote:


The slave had no choice but to heed the call of the chain, falling to her knees as it was jerked violently by the pale clone of the man she had meant to kill.

This was a great use of alternative meanings of words and other literary devices. More of this, please.

Mechanics ~ 7.5/10 A spelling error here, a run-on there, and one or two sentence fragments, with comma misuse sprinkled throughout. Not a lot of problems here.

Clarity ~ 6/10 Up until the last couple of posts, I knew what was going on at almost all times, time jumps aside. When Natalya started stalking through the room and then suddenly Logan was sitting at the bar talking to Oak, I got really confused, and again when Logan was pinning Natalya and their blood came in contact with each other and they suddenly got thrown into his head. There was nothing to hint that something like that might happen, and it was completely jarring. Those two instances hurt.

MISCELLANEOUS

Wild Card ~ 4.5/10 This story had some serious problems in planning, collaboration, and execution, but it was at least relatively enjoyable. I look forward to the next installment, assuming there is one.

TOTAL ~ 51

Slavegirl gains 1252 EXP and 244 GP
Logan gains 1772 EXP and 229 GP

If you have any questions about the judgment or how you can improve, PM me or send me a message on AIM, screen name SuperSonicMatt1.

[Taskmienster]

Exp and GP added.

Slavegirl is now level 2!