Chasing Ghosts

[Otto]

Closed thread, Resolve excepted. For Otto, this thread occurs soon after this (http://www.althanas.com/world/showthread.php?25156-Gaolhouse-Rock-%28closed%29).



Otto wasn't too sure what he was doing, coming here tonight. Normally, Moody's Ale Cellar was a decent enough place for a cheap drink, and he was normally as happy to go alone as with a few of his colleagues. Mind you, he had always stopped at the drinks, since the company that was offered in Moody's came at a higher price for him when it was available at all. Otto kicked angrily at a loose cobble, which skittered away over the moon-slick road. He thought he had made peace with such things, but clearly tonight was different. A few drinks were the last thing he needed - Otto knew that, and he also knew that he didn't even want to get drunk. So why was he taking himself there?

Where the street outside had been sharp and pale in the moonlight, the inside of Moody's glowed warm and soft. Otto stepped through the door, eliciting no more than a few brief glances from the other patrons and a nod from the bartender. He had left his weapons and armour back at the garrison; after the events of the day, Otto had been impatient to get out of uniform. For this little trip, he had donned just his plain linen shirt and trousers, leather boots, belt and woolen overcoat. There was one thing he was uncomfortable in being without, though, and that was his smithing hammer. He did not trust Anvil to behave himself in the orc's absence.

Otto aimed himself at the bar, taking in the evening's clientele along the way. There was a smattering of drinkers around the room, some sombre, some merry. A corner table was packed with men clearly enjoying themselves, who appeared to be more interested in whatever game they had running between themselves than the well-lit line of women sitting against the wall on Otto's left. These ladies faced the rest of the room expectantly, chatting and giggling amongst themselves, but also doing their best to catch the eyes of any hopeful customers. Well, one of them caught Otto's, and the tall brunette promptly cut the line and threw it back.

Otto continued on to the lightly-populated bar. He pulled up a worn stool to the stained and sticky bench as the bartender ambled over, and the orc set a couple of coins down by a viscous puddle.

"Something strong," he said, hopefully. The craggy-faced man nodded, ducked down to grab a tankard, and shuffled back to a tapped cask. Tar-black porter cascaded out, so dark that even its head was a distinct coffee-colour in the lamplight. When it was set down before him, the rich scent of burnt and caramelised malt churned upwards through the air. This merciful aroma blocked out the sickly stench of stale beer, sweat, not-too-distant latrines and, well... sex. There wasn't really any easy way to put it, but he was noticing a particular smell coming from the rooms upstairs, not to mention a couple of the ladies on display.

That's why he was drinking. Some things stopped mattering, if one had enough beer.

[Resolve]

The young exorcist resided in one of the rowdier corners of the bar, parked on a bench amidst the stragglers of her mother's crew. Many had found temporary work to busy themselves during their downtime, but this handful had decided to enjoy some leave before taking their next assignment from the prolific Captain Curie. This pleased Resolve as their company was a rare treat, many of these colorful characters serving as adopted family since her childhood.

Next to her sat a redheaded dwarf, the only hint concerning Blue's gender being the beautifully crafted braids in her luxurious strawberry-blonde beard. On the other side hunched Roberson, feeling slightly ill from too much cider. Resolve gave up on her relentless teasing to let him nap on his crossed forearms, figuring her mother would give him enough grief later to last a lifetime. A few others, newer faces with whom she was less familiar, crowded the opposite side of the table and enjoyed their own conversation. A couple took turns casually disappearing to unseen places with some of the resident ladies, returning in their own time with flushed cheeks and lighter pockets.

"We really must do this again," Resolve grinned, wrapping a familiar arm around Blue's shoulders. She leaned on the shorter female as if propping herself up against the arm of a couch, feeling warm and fuzzy from her own refreshments. "How long do you have in Radasanth, anyway?"

The dwarf shrugged under the weight of her younger friend's limb, her face as ruddy as her whiskers under the influence of rum. "Don't know. Your ma says we've got a job of a special sort, a change of pace from trade, but it'll take some time to arrange. I might take a kitchen job to pass the time. You think your Moody here'll have me?"

Resolve smoothed her fingers over one of Blue's beaded braids, propping her cheek atop her head. She smelled of sun. "I shall investigate. You could stay with me, and do my hair, and on Tuesdays we can–– gods damn it, Roberson, not there," their chat derailed as the young man leaned ominously over the floor. The girl caught him by the scruff of his shirt and forced him to sit up. He swallowed back something sour and glanced to the ladies, his skin tinted sickly green in the golden lamp light.

Blue sighed reluctantly. "To your feet, lad." She swung her squat leg over the bench and stood to get him up. It was an amusing sight, a stout little creature supporting a lanky fellow such as he, but it appeared to be a routine struggle as Blue dragged him efficiently from his seat and draped one gangly arm around her neck. She hobbled him toward the door with the finesse of a much experienced nanny of drunkards, a role which suited her well. "Be seein' you soon, Rez," she smiled over her shoulder, and the girl watched as their contrasting figures stumbled out onto the silvery cobblestone street.

It was then Resolve realized they'd left her with the tab and her nose crinkled involuntarily. "Smooth, Blue." She polished off the remnants of her mug before peeling herself away from the table, swaying slightly as she brushed some glossy black hair behind her ear. On her way to the bar she exchanged a courteous nod with some of the women along the far wall, then took up a stool one empty seat away from a very gloomy looking orc.

It took her a few moments to scrounge up some change, digging through the voluminous drapery of her crimson sari to extract a couple coins from unseen pockets, and deposited them on the grimy countertop. "One more, Crutchley," she told the bartender as he noticed her new station. "The rest should cover for my friends."

With freed attention, Resolve scoped the remaining crowd and found it disappointingly lacking in familiar faces. It did compensate, however, with a small amount of intrigue originating from the somber fellow nearby. There was something about him –– subtle, no doubt, but quite apparent –– and she decided the remainder of her evening would be best spent garnering new clientele.

He seemed to notice she'd been staring, hazel eyes offering a fleeting sidelong glance from under his heavy brow, before he went back to his beer. Crutchley delivered her some fresh cider and she accepted the mug, then scooted down one spot so she sat directly next to the orc.

"So glum," she commented, leaning against the bar top on an elbow. "If you are in need of help, good sir, I'd like to offer my services." With that she drew out a small gray calling card, placed it on the counter, and slid it across the polished surface toward her victim–– or, rather, potential client. "My office is right upstairs," she added with a friendly little grin.

Of course, this probably came off entirely the wrong way, but she was not beyond a little sneaky advertising to rope some poor souls into her schemes. After all, it was difficult enough to find profitable hauntings in the first place, and even harder to convince a person he's possessed. Even so, she was not a liar by any means; her business card labeled her clearly as an exorcist, if he cared to read it, and there were other visual cues which separated her from the other female solicitors lurking about. The hand which presented Otto with her card was decorated with freshly scabbed knuckles, and if he cared to investigate her person further, he'd find her ample amount of bared brown skin to be riddled with fine white scars and curious designs. From the strength visible in her sculpted arms and shoulders, she was just as likely to put a man out of his misery as she was to entertain one.

To one in the orc's position, this strange young lady likely seemed to be one of three things: an exorcist as claimed, a prostitute with a rather peculiar specialty, or some sort of con artist who'd made a very poor choice of mark.

[Otto]

A slow, yellow bloom worked its way out from the corner of the card which lounged, unnoticed by Otto, in the patch of ale. He was entirely too focused on the girl to his right, and a girl she was - or, at most, not much more than one. Thoughts freewheeled madly inside his heavy skull. Had she just...? Surely not, they never bothered with him. But... he hadn't misheard her, and, well, what else could it mean? Otto gradually noticed a burning sensation in his cheeks; he was blushing, actually blushing! Keep it together, man! He ducked back to his drink for just a moment, long enough to regain some level of composure, and then that's when he spied the card. After some light fumbling, he managed to pinch it between two thick digits, and turned it this way and that so as to catch enough light for him to read.

Otto's childhood inattention in the classroom did him no favours. "Ex... exor... kissed?" he muttered to himself. He had no idea what that meant, but it looked like it might be one of those play-on-word business names. He turned back, with a slightly clearer head this time, to examine his most recent acquaintance. Copper skin, black hair; "Salaam," he said tentatively, guessing at the lass's origins. He didn't know much about Fallien, but he'd managed to pick up a thing or two from one of Marten's friends (http://www.althanas.com/world/showthread.php?25087-Cleaning-Out-the-Clinker-%28solo%29&p=204821&viewfull=1#post204821). Then again, her accent had sounded local.

The girl was showing even more skin than the other ladies in this place, but unlike them, it was patterned with scar tissue and white dots. That was nothing exceptional; a girl on the game could earn quite a bit more from clients with... 'peculiar' tastes. Foreign was always good, and a few liked to play rough. Sometimes, too rough - Otto could not help but be reminded of a couple of his squad's less savoury cases regarding ladies of the night.

He'd had conflicted feelings about getting drunk. Suddenly, he was getting a whole new suite of the same kind, but they didn't involve alcohol. A draft wafted in through the door, and Otto found himself drowning in her scent - hints of cider and perspiration, overpowered by an infusion of sweet smoke and searing spice. The scales tipped.

Common sense was telling him to calm down a bit, but he was about three drinks past the point of caring, and still accelerating. He just wanted to leave the day behind.

"Alright," Otto said. He eased himself off the stool, card still in hand. "Lead the way."

[Resolve]

Resolve smiled. "This way, then," she said, guiding him not up the stairs to the modest spaces allotted for the usual girls, but to the exit. She took her beverage with her, tin mug in one hand as she pushed through the door with the other, which she propped open against her back as she waited for the orc. "Coming?"

He'd hesitated, but between the drinking and the lingering scent of spice, he didn't have it in him to dissect the situation for its suspicious nature. Otto followed, stepping out onto the cool, moon-bathed street with his new acquaintance.

"You didn't look particularly well when I spotted you there," Resolve spoke up after a swig of cider. She let the door swing closed after them. "Have you experienced any unusual symptoms as of late?" Of course, she was just trying to coax some acknowledgement of his supernatural condition out of him before laying on the diagnosis. There was something a bit off about the presence which clung to him, but the closest she had for comparison was a possession, so that was how she'd treat it.

He looked to her a bit oddly, pausing on the cobblestones. "No, that's just how I look. Don't they have orcs in Fallien?"

The exorcist laughed, her voice sharp as it bounced off the surrounding buildings on the quiet, narrow street. Some pigeons fluttered in their nests in the rain gutters above. "Never been, I wouldn't know. What's your name, anyway?"

"Otto."

"It's a pleasure, Otto. I'm Resolve." With that she directed him to another entry separate from the bar, a discreet second door which opened into a steep stairwell. This part of the building had seen some recent renovations, the walls coated in fresh cream-colored paint with pristine white trim. It was surprisingly welcoming, considering the neighboring business –– whatever services the girl offered, they were certainly pricier than the usual businesswomen of Moody's Ale Cellar.

As the girl stepped over the threshold at the bottom of the stairs, however, the light mood changed. She halted. "Did you hear something?"

Indeed, he had. The walls muffled the noise of the bar well enough, but something closer caught their attention: pulling their gaze up to the lamp-lit second floor landing, the distinct sound of struggle reached their anxious ears. A disheveled man burst out of the french doors and stumbled out into the hall above them, saw them staring back, then dashed up the shadowy stairs behind him toward the third floor. A ladylike shriek resounded over the clatter of his footsteps, originating from the nearby apartment.

"Hey!" Resolve shouted, nearly dropping her mug in her rush to deposit it on a stair as she scrambled to pursue. As she reached the top of that flight, a disheveled woman peeked out into the hall. She grasped the neck of a broken wine bottle in one trembling fist, obviously shaken. Her fair cheeks were pink with distress, eyes red, and she clutched a wrinkled robe around her shoulders. "Rosie," Resolve gasped. "What the––"

"I've got one in here," the woman said, glancing halfheartedly over her shoulder. From the hall, they could see one stocky leg sprawled across the floor, attached to a villain out of sight. "Another went out the window." Before she could finish, Resolve was already flying up the stairs. "Don't hurt Fred!" Rosie called after her, ignoring the orc.

"Then what the fuck is he doing in my apartment?" Resolve hollered back, disappearing as she entered her dark parlor through the kicked-in doorway.

[Otto]

The orc's gangly frame powered up the stairs, three to a step. He stopped at the landing, almost as an afterthought, and shot a glance at a prone limb just visible over the auburn-haired woman's shoulder. "Closest patrol should be on Butcher's Lane by now, ask for Jimmy Two-Cheeks," he said, turning his gaze to hers. "Say Otto Bastum sent you, if you have to." Then he spun around and thundered upstairs in Resolve's wake.

He'd not had time to adjust to the relative darkness of the unlit loft, so everything was just black to him at first. Otto thought he could hear muted voices; first, the lighter tones of Resolve, possibly followed by reply from this 'Fred'. He slowed down before reaching the summit, and sidled cautiously into the smothering blackness. "Resolve?", he ventured - and almost jumped when a hand pressed itself flat against his chest. His own automatically went for the hammer pegged to his belt, but he stopped it in its tracks once he was struck by the telltale aroma of overwhelming, smoky perfume.

"Don't... move," the girl whispered, keeping her arm braced firmly against the orc. It had been like walking into a branch; she was much stronger than her slim build belied. Otto paid attention to the urgency on her voice, and froze. The first hints of sight were returning to him, and he could just make out some shapes by the moonlight which streamed in through a span of windows along one side of the room. There were suggestions of a long couch in the middle, a couple of armchairs by a hearth... and something which glimmered ominously on the other side of the room, several feet above the floor. As the blurriness continued to recede, the last object took on an all-too-familiar shape - and it was trained directly on him.

"Look, I'm a friend of Rosie's," Resolve continued, speaking to her uninvited guest. The tiny crossbow didn't waver from the orc. Apart from the weapon and the hand which held it, the man was one step out of the moonlight and masked by shadow. "And this is my place. She didn't seem to want you hurt, so I can only guess that you know her."

"She'll tell you as much herself, so I don't see the point in denying it." Fred's voice was rough, weathered, and almost jolly. The nasty little bow nodded in reference to Otto. "What about him?"

"A potential client. We were just on our way back here."

Laughter. "I see the city's become a lot more accepting," the man chuckled.

"I like to give help where it's needed," she snapped back. Playing nice may have been taking its toll on her mood. "Doesn't matter if they've got tusks, or if they owe me a new door - so long as they can pay."

"Ha. Has Rosie been rubbing off on you?" The man's tone was a bit more relaxed, but that crossbow didn't appear to be going away any time soon.

Otto was starting to feel a bit like a third wheel to whatever rapport the other two were working up. He itched to do something, but moving was not yet an option. A tentative sniff told him that, between the residue on the girl and the lingering fug of spent incense in the apartment, he wasn't going to pick up anything from the man. So he observed, instead, and planned. That crossbow was a one-shot weapon, but there was no telling what the intruder had in his other hand. In any case, if Otto had to find cover then he could probably leap behind that couch, perhaps even stand it up and use it as a shield. But if he had to charge blind, he'd need to take care so as not to bullrush right through the window...

Wait. The window-

Fred must have read something in the orc's face, because he glanced to the aperture just in time to see a pair of heavy, booted feet smash through the panes. Quick as he was, his assailant's momentum was quicker, and Fred's shot went wide into a shrouded corner of the room; Otto winced upon hearing the clunk, whistle and thud of a discharging crossbow. Two stout soles landed with a hollow thump on Fred's chest, and he toppled back - but he recovered quickly. The fall became a backwards roll, and when Fred righted himself by one of the chairs, he grabbed it by the armrests and hurled it towards the man who was now scrabbling to his feet amidst a mosaic of broken glass. Still, the newcomer was no slowpoke himself, and managed to sidestep the ballistic furniture. It tumbled madly on and out the window, while Fred dived through the curtains which separated Resolve's workspace from the rest of her apartment. The three others made to follow, but Otto and Resolve were forced to duck low when the hooded thug flung a something heavy and metallic in their general direction; this hit something tinny, like a pot, which bounced away and freed its many kin from their shelves, thus enlisting a deafening chorus of crashes and clangs in the process. Otto looked over to the prone figure of Resolve. Just below the oscillating ring of a rolling lid, they heard a distinctive, splintering crack from the street below.

"Chair", he grunted.

Resolve swore venomously and pushed herself to her feet. Though Otto did his best to follow, he was just a little bit slower than the lass. One after the other, they burst through the curtain a couple of seconds later and were met by tinkling sound of more shattered glass.

"Window," Otto hazarded.

"Fuck's sake!"

He stayed hot on Resolve's heels, since the only guidance through the pure blackness of her apartment was the furious pitter-patter of feet before him. Then, a pallid rectangle cut through the gloom. Resolve was briefly silhouetted against the window as she flowed out and around the jagged glass which protruded from the sill, and then she was up and out of sight. Otto clambered after her with considerably less grace; the orc's wide frame grated and crushed against the remaining glass on its way through, before he reached up to the gutters and hauled himself to the rooftop.

[Resolve]

The night felt considerably brisker three stories up from the street, the salty breeze carrying in a blanket of silky mist from the river. It settled over the dark city with its calming embrace, slithering down roads and alleys to fill the maze below. Resolve's quickened breath gasped at the humid air as she found footing on the shingles, a difficult job with many of them precariously loose from years of neglect. She nearly slipped toward the edge, one sliding off the roof to shatter ominously against the pavement below. It served as a stark reminder that the sound of a body hitting the ground would be far less clean.

In the silvery moonlight, they easily spotted the shadowy figures engaged in cat and mouse. In a place as architecturally cramped as Radasanth, the roofs offered a second grid of streets above ground level –– that was, if one dared to brave navigating the tricky network of peaks and gables.

Resolve took off after the offenders who'd trashed her apartment, their crimes now personal and wholly deserving of vigilante justice. This gave her a surge of energy as she sprinted after them, agile but reckless as she sent a couple more tiles skittering to the pavement below. They popped against the cobblestones, punctuating the long strings of colorful curses the exorcist muttered in her effort. The orc went slower, but the deliberation in his movement made for efficiency so he never fell far behind.

Fred was noticeably quicker than his pursuer, his own lean frame making like a spider over the challenging terrain, though it was unclear if his speed was due to training or pure desperation. The man who followed had too much bulk to keep close in spite of his stubbornness and, upon noticing Resolve and Otto, must have decided it wasn't worth the trouble.

Predictably, Resolve targeted the pursuer as he abandoned his mission and split off in search of a way out. He gradually descended to the second story, then the first, clambering down sharp inclines to finally roll off the top of a stable. The exorcist followed directly behind him, her own drop bounds more graceful, but still he managed to evade her. She got close enough to spy his broad build and dark clothing, but not much else as their chase continued into the thickening fog.

This left Otto to deal with Fred and, from the hurried echo of steps on the street below, it sounded as if Rosie had gone for help after all.

[Otto]

Otto crested the peaked roof in time to see Resolve swing herself down from the building's rickety eaves. Panic flared in his chest, and he slid himself down as fast as he dared to the edge.

"Hey!" he shouted. Unsurprisingly, the cry didn't stop her descent, but a quick glimpse to down the building's side showed him all he needed to know - the would-be assassin, no more than a silhouette in the coiling, lamp-lit mist, was pounding away down the street. Resolve dropped neatly into the bank of fog and assumed her own brand of furious sprint, hell-bent on the fleeting figure ahead of her and oblivious to distraction. Otto pulled his eyes up to his left, where Fred's own dwindling form was a barely-perceptible shadow amongst the shadows, flying along the rooftops.

Any misgivings Otto had in letting Resolve go at it alone were short lived. He recalled the remarkable strength in those spindly arms, but more than that, he had caught a glimpse of her expression back in the flat, before the two of them charged through the curtain. Otto almost pitied the man currently in Resolve's crosshairs.

So that left Fred to him. Otto clambered back up slope to the roof's peak and resumed a steady run, quite aware of the odd shout, scream and smash ahead of them from the street below. Fred was fast, but from this vantage point, he had a way to go before he left the orc's field of vision. The mist was only just settling in the streets below, so up here the world was cold and crisp, painted in sharp hues of black and silver moonlight. Sharpest of all was the distant gleam in his quarry's hand.

Tiles clacked and cracked underfoot. Otto reached a brickwork chimney stack and threw out a hand to steady himself, then used it to swing around and propel forward. This row of houses were were lined up so tight that continuing the chase required no more than a periodic jump or drop of a few feet onto the next building. He did his best to put any recent memories of rooftop scuffles aside and focus on his current endeavour, but groaned when Fred took a running leap across the street - across the street! - to make a rolling landing on a lower-lying roof over the gap, before springing up and scaling the wall of a taller, neighbouring house. Well, a jump like that required an all-or-nothing approach, so Otto stepped up the pace and took Fred's tried and tested route.

The feeling when he launched into the air, unburdened by his usual mail hauberk, was unlike anything he had ever felt before. Shooting up through a thick blanket of fear, rising higher than he could ever fling his apish frame, was a shrill spike of excitement. The world froze for a split-second when he was halfway between roofs, squarely above the street - and then the wind was rushing through his mane as he descended, and that blanket of fear caught the breeze and flew away.

Otto's landing lacked the same grace; his legs just reached beyond the eaves and took the brunt of the force, but he toppled forward shoulder-first into a roughshod bed of wooden shingles. There was a terrifying crack and the roof sagged - but held. Otto scrambled upright and leapt forward towards the wall of a colombaged house, scrabbling up its face by the wooden beams. His head rose above the rolling sea of roofs in time to spot Fred putting on a turn of speed. Otto heaved himself up and resumed the hunt. Amazingly, his legs and shoulder barely ached, but put it down to sheer adrenaline for the time being.

It appeared that Fred was taking them along another street which had intersected the previous one at a right angle. More shouts were ringing up from below and Otto had a moment of puzzled deja-vu - he spared a glimpse down, and saw two familiar figures dashing through the misty streets. This was probably not coincidence; they were following Resolve and her target. Or rather, Fred was following his attacker. So who, exactly, was hunting who, here? Only one thing was increasingly clear to the orc, which was this: if Fred didn't run out of steam soon, then Otto was going to lose him. Otto could probably run all night, but without the same turn of speed as his quarry, he was gradually being outmatched.

The standard watchman's cry, "stop, in the name of the law!" was only ever of limited use, unless you intended for the miscreants to actually pick up the pace. Similarly, Fred had taken a good look at the orc and his arsenal, so shouting "stop, or I'll shoot!" would probably only make the man laugh. A shingle slipped away, and Otto landed hard on his arse with a curse. The homely smell of woodsmoke pervaded his nostrils when he leapt back up again. An idea was born.

"Run all you like, Freddy! I can smell you out six ways to Sunday!" he yelled at the figure before it disappeared over one of the many undulating, peaked roofs.

Fred had indeed taken a good look at Otto. Good enough to know that, coming from him, that was no idle threat. Except it was - up here, with this wind, and without something as distinguishable as a trail of blood, Otto wouldn't have a chance in hell of finding anything close to followable. He just hoped that Fred didn't know that bit, too.

Otto began to climb the slope after Fred, but slowed a halt. The distant clatter of footfalls he had been following was now absent, and memory threw up an ugly vision of a crossbow leveled right at his heart. He looked back and forth along his side of the roof in sudden desperation - what had he just done? At the very least, he wished he had his shield with him. His eyes settled on a crooked, clinker brick chimney stack right on the crest towards the building's streetward side; that will have to do, he thought, and scurried over as quietly as he could. He paused with his back to the coarse bricks, his hand resting lightly upon the hammer at his belt. His breath came in silent, shallow ebbs and flows.

There was a faint clink just past the corner, towards the street. Otto sprung forward and barged around the side, hammer already flying in a furious arc. It rent the air with a whistle, and continued to hit nothing.

Just for a second, he saw a single wooden slat slide down the side of the roof, before a shadow freed itself from its place on the other side of the chimney, and a well-aimed fist caught Otto's turning head. He stumbled, and the blow was quickly followed by a solid kick to his abdomen. It stole Otto's balance and he fell back, rolled - and found his legs flailing off the edge of the roof. But this day, and this time, he was just a little bit quicker than he'd been for his last rooftop drop. Two hairy arms lashed out and purchased a hold upon the gutter.

Two polished, shiny boots approached into the moonlight, out from the chimney's veil of shadow. Otto stared up past a gleaming belt buckle, ignoring the make of the clothes, even bypassing the man's starkly illuminated features, to settle instead on that recurring image of an angry little crossbow and its bloodthirsty load. The string practically hummed with tension.

The bowstring sang, and the bolt flew.

[Resolve]

The weather usually wouldn't have made a difference in the exorcist's tracking ability, but Resolve's temper clouded her senses and she lost her focus. The man's astral presence slipped from her grasp and into the nothingness of the fog, eliciting a groan of frustration as she realized her effort was for naught. When the watchmen caught up she'd already slowed, ready to return to the pursuit of this Fred character.

"Are you Resolve?" one of them asked through labored breath before she could begin the chase once again. His colleagues continued past with heavy, urgent steps, intent on hunting their invisible target through the mist. Chances of success were dubious.

Her eyes narrowed at the tall, dark fellow, piecing together his uniform in the dim light. "Why?"

"She's asking for you."



For someone in a profession so focused on pageantry, Rosie wasn't one for theatrics. She stood quite cool, arms crossed over her primly tied robe, lips pursed as she watched two officers attempt to rouse her wine bottle's victim from the floor. His tattooed body looked strange draped across her finely woven rug from Fallien, blue-engraved paleness contrasted against the jewel tones of the faraway land. It wasn't his presence that bothered her, but rather the ghastly stain of cabernet which sprayed around him in a sweet-smelling imitation of gore. The hundreds of knick-knacks on her shelves shivered with the never-ending traffic of watchmen, and she retreated onto the love seat in the corner as her visitors worked. Her small, sullen form nearly disappeared as she sunk into the pillows and throws.

"What a mess," Resolve said as she strolled in, taking in the usually meticulous living space. "Are you sure you're alright? You look pale." She braced herself against the back of the sofa, leaning down to brush the backs of her thin fingers over Rosie's forehead.

The frown didn't leave the woman's painted lips. "Did you catch him?"

"No." Resolve shook her head and smoothed Rose's hair before turning to inspect the unconscious intruder; there was something familiar about his markings, especially the animalistic tattoos which decorated his shaved scalp and face. Such modifications couldn't possibly be subtle enough to go overlooked if he was a local, but she couldn't quite place the origin. "How do you know this Fred, anyhow?" she asked, low enough that the officers wouldn't overhear.

Rose sighed. "He's from here originally, we were swell friends for a while, but then he disappeared without a word. Years and years later, he shows up at my door tonight. Said he'd gone to work as a seaman, of all things. Said he was on leave and convinced his mates to come here tonight so he could pay a visit and catch up."

"Right well that went," the exorcist observed.

"You know the sort I like, Rez. Pretty and stupid. I'm afraid Freddy's been a little too much of the latter, but he didn't say what he'd done that kept him away."

Her friend glanced over to the intruder, who seemed to be coming to. "I have an inkling," Resolve said.

"His friends will worry about him," Rose rambled, concerned for someone who was likely nothing more than a stranger after all that time. "Do you think he'll go back or try to lie low? He told me the ship's name–– some flower––"

The girl's attention snapped back to her sulking companion. "Hyacinth?"

"Yes, that's it. You know it?" This appeared encouraging to Rosie, whose frown puckered with hopeful curiosity.

Resolve ran a hand through her chin-length hair, brushing raven strands behind her ear. The half-smirk on her face betrayed just how absurd she found the coincidence. "It's my mother's."

[Otto]

Rosie gave her friend a blank stare, but before she could think of some way to express her disbelief, her attention was snagged by the sound of heavy footfalls coming up the stairs. A hulking shape came into view just outside the parlour doors, which resolved into the shambling figure of Otto under the apartment's welcoming light. The orc had a distant, preoccupied glaze to his eyes as he ambled inside. Resolve raised her eyebrows in surprise.

"That was quick," she accosted him. "How'd you get back so soon?"

Otto slowly swung his head to face her, and fixed the girl with another dull look.

"Shortcut," he mumbled.

It had been a while since he'd seen the business end of a crossbow up that close. In that hair's-breadth of a second, letting go of the roof had been the easiest decision of his life. He'd had the vast reserves of adrenaline coursing through his veins to thank for spurring him to action, and a spirited grab at a rapidly-passing windowsill had saved him from a pair of broken legs - or worse. That wasn't to say the descent had been exactly gentle, though; right now, the excitement and four pints of Amarson's best were presenting the bill to his body, and he'd be feeling the bruises for the next week at the very least.

"He got away, then," Resolve stated. Otto nodded in reply. He walked over to the prone thug and nudged the man gently with his boot. One of the guards, a half-elf with striking, violet irises, looked up sharply.

"Already tried that," the soldier remarked.

"Not a good sign," Otto replied. "There's a good chance he won't wake up if he's already been out this long." There was a sharp intake of breath behind him, and he cursed his own thoughtlessness. He quickly turned to face the shocked visage of Rosie, who had raised her a hand to her mouth. "Er, that's not to say he won't make it. I've seen worse come back."

Resolve just glared at the orc, and continued to smooth Rosie's hair. "Don't worry", she murmured softly to the older woman. "He started to move just a minute ago."

Somewhat abashed, Otto returned the two men watching over their captive. The other, a human unknown to Otto, had knelt and rolled the unfortunate thug onto his side and had begun to bind his wrists with a length of rope. The stuff was a favourite of certain guardsmen, easier to carry around than shackles, and with the benefit of being multipurpose. Resolve was right - the bald man's eyelids were flickering like a fitful dreamer, his fingers twitching against his palms. Otto took the opportunity, while the fellow was still immobilised, to lean in and take a deep breath. The human soldier seemed taken aback, but the half-elf didn't bat an eye. Otto focused on the latter.

"Good to see you, Orlannes," he said, before turning to the other watchman. "Otto Bastum." The orc ripped off a weary salute, which was returned in kind.

"Aaron Coppercut," the human replied. He gave the cord a harsh, tightening yank, eliciting a groan from the waking prisoner.

Orlannes gave Otto a sidelong glance. "It's been a hell of day, hasn't it?"

Otto kept his eyes locked towards ground level. "Yes," he grunted.

"I wish I could have made it," the half-elf continued. "The brass ran a skeleton crew during the day, but we had to keep some bodies out on the streets."

Otto shrugged. "I know."

"Was Becker there?"

Otto hesitated for a moment, then shook his head. "Tallow made it, though," he added.

Orlannes seemed impressed. "He's a tough sod then, that one. From what I heard..." His voice trailed off as he seemed to realise something, and he shot Otto a wide-eyed, apologetic look. The orc, however, simply shrugged once again. It was a well-rehearsed movement for him.

"It wasn't pretty. Not sure I could do the same, were I him."

The three of them became aware of a fourth presence. As one, they looked over their respective shoulders at Resolve. The girl was peering over the guardsmen, running her eyes over the mess of ink visible on every bit of the thug's bared skin. She ceased her examination once she was aware of the guards' scrutiny, returning their blank stares with a steely-eyed glare of her own. These three, at least, were acclimated to instilling a sort of authoritarian dread into others; as such, they were surprised - and more than a little put off - to find it not only matched, but wholeheartedly returned, by a girl quite likely several years their junior.

"Is there anything else you need to do here?" she asked pointedly. "Only, this carpet needs to be taken care of immediately, otherwise the stains are never coming out."

Otto shared his colleagues' sentiment, in that he had no desire to try Resolve's patience. "We can manage him between the three of us, I reckon," he said, looking to the other two guards for support. Aaron nodded vigorously, but Orlannes' face twisted into a malicious smile.

"Oh, I'm sure me and Aaron could manage the bugger between ourselves, if you wanted to stay and finish your business here..."

Otto bit his lip and gave Resolve a long, slow stare. "No-o..." he concluded. "I think I should be heading back now, as well. I'll give you a hand."

"Suit yourself," Orlannes sniffed. He made to haul the still-recumbent man up to his feet, but Aaron hesitated.

"Er", he began, turning to Rosie. "We'll need to take a statement from you-"

"-tomorrow," Orlannes concluded firmly. He had some idea of Otto's condition, and was himself due to hand over duties to the next shift. "Yedda's tits, man, it's almost two in the morning. We can sort it out with clear heads tomorrow, now help me with this." Aaron frowned, but did as he was instructed. They hoisted their captive up between the two of them, and made for the open door. The man's feet dragged lazily across the carpet as his head bobbed groggily back and forth. Once they'd reached the threshold, the three of guardsmen bade the ladies good evening, and then they were out the door.

[Resolve]

Resolve felt a little guilty, but whatever regret she had in regards to having potentially humiliated Otto, the debacle with this Fred won out. She was angry, and Resolve was so very good at being angry.

The inhabitants of Our Hyacinth slept soundly as she snuck aboard, appearing very much as a trespasser might. Resolve crept across the deck of the small merchant vessel and down into the hold, able to navigate in the night just as well as a cat both from memory and her sixth sense. Soon she hovered over Blue's sleeping form, hunched in the deep dark quite like a ghoul conjured up from the sea, and shook the dwarf with urgency.

"Hey," Resolve whispered. "Wake up."

This elicited a groan, the other female not particularly glad to lose the warm, fuzzy rest of a good buzz, but she responded all the same. Her hammock wobbled as she twisted herself upright. "That you, Rez? Something wrong?"

"You've got a Fred here, right? Where's his bunk?"

"What? Why?" The dwarf adjusted her rumpled nightshirt.

"He made a mess back at Moody's, that's why," the exorcist snapped back.

Blue sighed. "Keep it down. Over there, just past Roberson." Both of them peered down the hold, their eyes adjusting to the minimal moonlight offered through the tiny hull-side windows. The lanky young man snored in his nest and, just beyond, an empty hammock swayed with subtle movement of the ship. "Guess he's not back yet."

"I don't think he'll be back anytime soon, not after what happened," Resolve said, strolling over to his space. She opened the trunk at the foot of his bed and dug through it, tossing aside ratty clothes until she found a small bag with some remnant of a spiritual signature on it. "Don't mind if I do," she invited herself to the absent man's belongings, and hooked it over her shoulder.

"Come now, Rez, don't be taking his stuff," Blue grumbled, rolling out of her hammock.

"Damn right I'm taking his stuff," Resolve replied sharply. "My apartment's in ruins and a dear friend's traumatized thanks to whatever mischief he's up to. He owes me, and I'm going to see that he pays."



Back on deck where the moon offered better lighting, Resolve perched on the railing amongst some stays, hooking her arm through the rigging for support as she fished through the duffel bag. She was rather conspicuous, bright red clothing contrasting against the dark, misty seascape, but at this point she didn't particularly care. She discovered a lot of odds and ends that she had no particular interest in, stashes of hard candy and scraps of paper and stubs of pencils, which she tossed into the water below until it was empty. But that wasn't right –– she felt something about this object, and it didn't seem to be the bag itself. Resolve felt the heavy fabric in the bottom, and when something crinkled under her fingers, a smirk stole across her lips. She turned it inside out, drew out her knife, and used it to loosen the inner hem until the false bottom yielded a secret pocket. From it, she extracted a thin envelope of weathered, water-stained packing paper.

Inside, she found banknotes –– many, many banknotes, all conveniently sourced to a Radasanth institution. The girl pursed her lips as she counted the money, an amount obscene to someone like her who grew up at the edge of poverty. Had Fred stolen it, and that was the reason he'd left all those years ago? Did he finally gather the guts to come back and cash in? But while Resolve was adept with numbers, reading was another beast altogether, and she struggled to make out the handwritten name which belonged to whom she assumed owned the account. She'd need help to decipher it.

[Otto]

Back up from the river, through the slumbering streets, the tranquility of the garrison's reception came to a momentary end. A weary desk sergeant looked up across the flagstones when the door burst open, swinging so hard it slammed into the wall with a wince-inducing thunk. Three guards struggled inside with a rather spirited delivery; during the half-hour walk, the prisoner had had plenty of time to wake up, and had adopted a spirit of stubborn - if futile - resistance to the watchmen's efforts. Though Otto had no uniform, all three were acquainted with the sergeant, and gave the man an absentminded salute. He did the same, though he did not rise from his chair in the little caged office, and immediately resumed his previous job of writing something illegibly in a patchwork tome.

"One for the cells," Orlannes reported. Otto took in the lamp-lit antechamber, with its worn floor and rough brick walls, crossbeamed ceiling and, unfortunately, distinct lack of seating opportunites. He settled for propping himself against the brickwork, and flinched.

The scritching continued without pause, while Otto picked out bits of glass from his back. "Already heard from your messenger," the sergeant replied. "Sergeant Wright's waiting for you in number fourteen."

"He's going to do an interrogation at this hour?" Aaron seemed to be a little surprised. The sergeant laid down his quill, gently, and raised his dark eyes up to the prisoner. The man's lackluster struggles settled down, and he responded with a glare.

"For attempted murder, sure. Especially when his old chum attacked one of our own," the sergeant growled. His gaze swept across to Otto. "I see they didn't get you too bad, then, Bastard."

Otto probed tenderly at a thigh. "Not them, no. The other one was a bit more trouble, actually." While he'd found a good few gashes in his clothes, his own hide remained surprisingly intact. Maybe not so surprisingly, though, if he was going to turn out anything like his mentor Erirag (http://www.althanas.com/world/showthread.php?5342-0-). The orcish bard had a skin that could blunt an Akashiman blade. It was just too bad that the local cotton goods didn't measure up to the same standard.

The sergeant grabbed his quill and refreshed it with black ink, before he continued. "Well, I'm sure Wright will want to hear all about it. You three are to go in and report, and he'll give you further instructions."

Orlannes and Aaron saluted again, and tried to go on through to the cell block, but their captive had other plans. He kicked one leg out, bracing it against the office's wooden partition, and pushed back with all his strength. He was a burly fellow, and managed to hold the guards' attempts in check while the sergeant looked on peevishly. Otto huffed, stepped up behind the man, and kicked him hard in the back of the knee. His legs collapsed, and Otto pushed him roughly forward. The two who held him stumbled, but the prisoner came off worse, and tumbled forward. Aaron and Orlannes seized the opportunity and hurried on, dragging the man's feet along the ground behind him before he had a chance to sort them out again.



* * *


Sergeant Wright amused himself by reorganising his canvas-wrapped toolkit on the meagre cell's low wooden bench. It shared the same walls and flooring as reception, but with a bare stonework ceiling, mean little iron grates opening up to the garrison yard above, some rather sturdy-looking black iron bars, and a shallow trough cut into the flagstones along the floor. The latter ran the length of the row of cells, and stank overwhelmingly of poor sanitation. There were other prisoners here; some were simple drunks who'd be seen out the door come morning, others were thieves awaiting some rudimentary form of punishment, and there were one or two of a more sinister past who were destined for the noose. A few of them watched with beady, half-fearful, half-curious eyes, but most did their best not to draw attention to themselves. Wright traced a finger along the outline of a pair of forceps, glinting in the cell block's frugal lighting.

He didn't look around at the distant murmur of voices, nor the bang of an opening door. He folded the canvas flaps back over the selection as the clomp and scrape of boots drew closer. They moved sharply up to the open door of the cell, whereupon they stopped.

Wright forwent the standard exchange of salutes. "Chain him up," he said, in a voice which carried softly through still air, and the guardsmen immediately hauled the prisoner over to a set of wall-mounted iron shackles. The prisoner had given up any form of resistance, and his limbs were guided swiftly into the closing cuffs until he stood spreadeagled against the wall while the burly orc stared him down. The man's eyes darted concernedly over to the unimposing canvas bundle.

"Well now," said the sergeant, "I'll need each of you to give me a report. Just a brief one shall do."

They did as much, though Aaron and Orlannes had little enough to say. Most of the events were recounted by Otto, who spun a succinct if impersonal tale of the night's activities. Halfway through, Wright busied himself with kindling an oil lamp he'd also brought with him and had set down on the bench. When that was done, he proceeded to arrange a wiry little tripod over the open lamp.

When that was done, he took a very small knife from the canvas bag, and rested it on the tripod atop the flame.

"Since you're already acquainted with this, the captain has assigned your squad to the investigation," Wright stated. He ambled over to the bound prisoner and, ignoring the two hateful eyes trained upon him, began to inspect the other fellow's markings. "Lieutenant Orman will be informed of this in the morning. But I think you've earned something of a rest, no? Report for duty two hours after dawn. Dismissed, all of you."

The three guardsmen saluted and shuffled out wordlessly. Sergeant Wright returned to his 'tools', and selected the aforementioned forceps from within its recesses. He preferred keeping them wrapped up during interrogation - it kept people off guard, unsure of what to expect. This man, though, had not begged, had not whimpered, had not uttered a cry so far. He stood there against the bricks, and now he simply grinned. Wright scratched his fuzzy chin with the implements; the next few hours would be no picnic, so if this prisoner continued to act like it was, then perhaps he had something much more dire to fear. The sergeant glanced back at the tattoos on that shaven head.

"It would help if you talked," he murmured, "but it won't be necessary. I'll find what I'm looking for one way or another."

As he advanced, his shadow eclipsed the gentle lamplight in the cell.

[Resolve]

"––olve. Resolve! I swear, if you don't wake up, I'll…" something ranted, perhaps the voice of whatever wriggled under her sprawled limbs, and its relentless efforts finally drew the exorcist from her deep, dreamless sleep.

The world came into focus in bursts of sensory information: the heat of sunlight on her back, breath against her shoulder, something soft and warm tangled up with her within the unexpected texture of satin sheets. "Rooosie," Resolve sighed contentedly, burrowing her face into her friend's perfumed hair. From the sound of it, she had no plan to rise.

"Dear gods, Rez, you sleep like a dead person! It's really quite alarming," the elder woman gasped, doing a poor job of escaping the dead weight of Resolve's arms and legs. "Get up. Sneaking in here was cute when you were younger, but I'm afraid I might not survive another night of this. You've got to sort out that mess upstairs and sleep in your own bed."

This elicited a prolonged groan muffled against Rosie's auburn waves and the plush pillow beneath them, something which perhaps began as a "no" and quickly digressed to something unintelligible. "Fine," the girl finally relented, and she released her prisoner to roll out of the bed's cozy embrace with no small amount of melodramatic reluctance. After a brief stretch, she stooped to collect her discarded sari, and Fred's notes fluttered to the floor as she shook it out. "Oh."

"Rez," Rosie gasped, wide eyed as she peered down from the luxurious bed at the scattered papers. "Where'd you get those?"

The girl chuckled. "Our mutual friend," she said, kneeling to collect them into a tidy little pile. "Found his stash. I suppose I'd rather hunt him down and wrangle a firsthand apology, but this is comforting collateral enough."

Her friend frowned. "I'll say. But… you won't really hurt him, will you?"

Resolve glanced over her shoulder with a shrug, pale blue eyes so innocent in the golden light of the morning. "No more than he deserves."

From the furrow of Rosie's brow, that had offered no reassurance.

The exorcist turned with a sigh, running a hand through her mussed hair. "You don't really think I'm that heartless, do you?" But, with the expression on her friend's face, it was Resolve's turn to find no reassurance where she needed it. "Read this signature for me, will you? Maybe it'll help us figure out what got him into this jam." She forked over the stack of papers, perhaps seeking to change the subject just as much as she hoped to obtain better information.

The woman thumbed through the notes, pink lips puckering as she realized just how much money it actually was, and she eventually shook her head. "It's illegible," she admitted in defeat. "Signatures tend to go for distinctness over clarity. Maybe take it to that smart buddy of yours, the scribe?"

A shake of the head declined her suggestion. "No. I think I have a better idea."

[Otto]

Traffic around Moody's Ale Cellar was rather sparse at this time in the morning. Clients were still nursing their hangovers, and the girls generally came out for business at night. Still, there was the odd civilian using the streets as a thoroughfare, or exiting discreetly from some of the apartments - a bit lighter in the wallet, and smelling strong of secondhand perfume. Three labourers cussed and rolled kegs off a cart round the back of Moody's as Otto and Lieutenant Orman made their way to the building's front. The orc's superior was mercifully silent during the trip; he'd been worried that some pointed questions were going to be aimed his way, centring around his activities in this particular part of town during the previous night.

"Good to see the old place still standing," the woman observed.

"Ma'am?" Otto wasn't too sure as to what he'd just heard. Francine waved a hand at the notorious drinking establishment.

"Adds a bit of colour to the night life," she elaborated, and Otto could only presume this was a joke. "Say what you will, the girls look after each other, and the place keeps trouble to a minimum. Usually."

Otto eyed the decrepit brickwork. "We seem to get a lot of complaints about it," he said uncertainly.

"By people who've never set foot inside, or so they'd have you think. They believe that you can just stamp this sort of thing out, but the harder you squeeze, the uglier it gets. If you want to see it get really bad, you outlaw it. Make the girls too scared to see a doctor, or help each other out, lest they be accused."

"You, er, think this is alright, then?"

Orman laughed. "You wouldn't catch me dead in a place like that, private. But it's better than the alternative."

As the lieutenant didn't have anything more important to do, apparently, and since the squad had suffered a sudden loss of personnel, she had decided to participate in the first interview. These days, she tended to leave the talking to her subordinates, and speak up only if there seemed to be some pressing questions that looked like they weren't getting asked. Otto had never been much of a speaker, and had found the lieutenant's pushes for verbosity daunting at first. Now, he was thankful for her efforts and for the experience. She still deplored his frequent laconicism, though.

They walked past Moody's main entrance and continued on to a separate door, which opened up to a series of floors discrete from the neighbouring apartments above the ale cellar. Orman took in the shiny new coats of paint and fancy balustrade, and whistled in surprise. "Otto, you dark horse, you..."

There it was. Otto felt the blood rise to his cheeks, but in the same moment was relieved of a weight upon his shoulders as the humour in her voice hit home. They climbed smartly up the stairs to the first landing, and the lieutenant rapped on the apartment door. An indistinct figure flitted towards them on the other side of the french doors, clad in a scarlet which mirrored the tabards of the two guards. It was accompanied by some clipped muttering.

"...on't tell me you left something here, R- oh!" the occupant exclaimed, once she made out the figures on the other side of the glass. Rosie opened the door up a crack and peered suspiciously out, narrowing her eyes slightly upon taking in the orc. He and Orman tugged their forelocks in greeting.

"Good morning, ma'am," said the lieutenant. "I am lieutenant Francine Orman, and you've already met private Otto Bastum. We need to ask you some questions regarding last night's incident."

"Yes, of course. Come in," the woman replied. She swung the door open for them, and flounced over to a stove.

Otto closed the door gently behind him. "You look well. Were you expecting someone?" he asked.

"My friend stayed the night, since her apartment's a mess," Rosie said jovially. "She just popped out, actually. I think she's sorting out some new furniture. Tea?"

"I could murder a cuppa, thank you kindly," Orman acceded. The grey-haired soldier had migrated to the street-facing windows, stepping gingerly over a pile of wet rags which lay upon the rug. The merest hint of cabernet wafted up from the mound, probably only detectable to the orc. Otto himself was occupied by the endless arrays of trinkets displayed on the room's shelves. He'd never seen so much stuff just lying around in one place before.

When Rosie came back with a tray, replete with china tea set, the orc was running a greedy eye over striking bracelet. "Look at that banding," he exclaimed. "It's beautiful stuff, urukke steel."

Rosie set the tea down on a table, and poured out three cups. "That's one of my favourites. I believe it came from Tylmerande - the elves there have held on to some very ancient techniques, I'm told. Milk or sugar?"

"White and one," said Orman.

"Black and none," Otto replied. "Thank you. Ever thought of starting a museum?"

Rosie laughed. "I'm terrified they might disappear one by one," she twittered, handing out the cups and saucers. "And besides, I prefer my peace and quiet. It wouldn't do to have crowds gawking away in here," she finished with a wide smile. Even Orman's lips tweaked up at the corners, and Otto buried his face in his tea. It had a wonderful, rich, earthy aroma, and was somewhat more agreeable than the muck they stocked at the garrison.

"Well, we won't keep you too long," Otto said amiably. "Last night, you called this Fred by name. Do you know the fellow?"

Rosie sighed. "Not really. No more than most others. To tell the truth, I wouldn't be surprised if it isn't even his real name. Some of them value their anonymity quite highly when they visit."

"But you seemed quite keen that he not be hurt," Otto countered.

"Of course," Rosie replied, looking at the two officers owlishly. "I find violence abhorrent, and besides - can you imagine what it would do to my reputation if someone died in my home?"

"So you have no idea what the other two men were after," he stated. Rosie shook her head. "Well, then," Otto continued, "could you describe exactly what happened?"

Rosie nodded, and over frequent sips of tea, recounted the tale. She had met Fred early on in the evening, while she was enjoying some air and he partaking in a constitutional. He approached her, and the two of them returned to Rosie's apartment. She had just broken open a red with the customer, when the two thugs had emerged through an open window - if Rosie hadn't had the wine bottle in hand, things could have turned out very poorly for the both of them, but she incapacitated one from behind before they noticed her. While this alerted the other, it also brought the situation to the attention of Fred, who had quickly retrieved a crossbow from his half-discarded wardrobe. Faced with this, the other intruder quickly retreated the same way he had come in.

"Which is where you pick up the rest of the story," she concluded over the rim of her cup.

"And Resolve," Otto mumbled. Orman's fingers drummed lightly on the tabletop. He looked at the grey-haired woman, who met his gaze, and nodded.

"Well, then. Thank you for your time," Otto said, as he and the lieutenant stood up.

"Not at all," Rosie said dismissively, following suite. Orman picked up the tea tray and, despite the other woman's feeble protests, carried it back to the kitchen to help tidy up and exchange more small talk. When the cleaning was done, Rosie followed the two guards to the front door where they exchanged farewells. The door shut with a click, immediately followed by the sound of a lock sliding in to place.

After a brief detour upstairs, the two guards made their way back on to the street. It had been but the work of a minute to find what they were looking for, and the heavy little steel throwing knife glinted brightly in Otto's hands. He inspected it curiously as they ambled back up towards the garrison.

"Can you tell me anything about it?" the lieutenant asked. Otto merely shrugged.

"It looks like a fairly modern Corone design. I can't see any signature markings. Best I can do is say that it's a local make."

"Perhaps whoever made it knew they didn't want it traced back to them. Well, I enjoy a challenge as much as the next woman." Orman looked over her shoulder suspiciously at the apartment block they had left behind. "I'm not convinced that they just happened to meet out on the street, either. We'll hit Moody's later and ask a few questions."

"I thought you said you wouldn't be caught dead in there?" Otto recalled.

"Har bloody har. Don't get excited, Bastard, we're both going to keep things strictly professional. By the way, did you notice the wine while you were there?"

"Er... I think someone said it was a cabernet?" Otto hazarded.

"From Bradbury. And a fine one at that. I caught a peek at what was left of the bottle in the waste bin, and I don't think that Fred was just any old customer..."

Orman trailed off, her eyes fixed on something at the other end of the street. Otto followed her gaze to find a distant figure sprinting towards them, also sporting the guardsman's red. As it got closer, he recognised the dark hair and light gait of Carrin Fitch. The young man pounded to a halt in front of the two, fighting for breath while doing his best to stand to attention and salute the lieutenant at the same time. She returned it, and then looked down sharply at the letter Carrin was now proffering in one hand.

"For you... ma'am..." he wheezed. Orman took the paper and unfolded it. Her eyes darted left to right across the page, narrowing with each line. When she was done, she folded it up with lethal precision and stuffed it in her pocket.

"We have to get back to the garrison, now," she snarled.

[Resolve]

Pockets stuffed with more coin than her bare hands had ever held, Resolve strolled down the street with a grin of smug satisfaction raised to the sunshine. Her cargo clinked heavily against her thighs with each springy step, a pickpocket's dream, but the exorcist didn't fear of that.

Honestly, she had just been surprised that the teller at the bank allowed her to cash in those old notes in the first place. Well, most of them –– she kept one tucked away, just in case. The cash was plenty to fix up her apartment, and then some. She considered the rest her very steep convenience fee.

It took time, but after a while of moseying in plain sight, her prediction proved itself true. In the midst of stuffing her face with a well-tipped pastry in Monument Square, the flashy gold-embroidered violet of her sari flagged down a man who looked remarkably similar in fashion to the thugs last night. The weathered blue tattoos contrasted sharply against his fair skin in daylight, and then Resolve recognized the pattern: it traced an artistic representation of a feline creature of sorts, brows arched and lips curled. She would have taken a moment to appreciate it better if he didn't interrupt her so gruffly.

"Miss Curie," he said, stepping up a little too close. She immediately noticed he was much broader than she, if not much taller. Definitely a dockhand, from the lingering stench of low tide about him. Well, it was either that, or he hadn't bathed in awhile. Probably both.

"Yes?" she replied, eagerness muffled through a mouthful of jam.

Her casual response coaxed the canvas of his forehead to furrow defensively. "My employer would like a word with you."

"And who might that be?"

He frowned, and when he did so, the ink on his face sprang to life. The line work fell into perfect play with the shadows of his grim glare, framing hazel eyes so frightfully gold in the sunlight. The exorcist stared in the face of a tiger and found it simply brilliant. "You shall see," he growled. "Come with me."

Some of the tension in his imposing posture relaxed, perhaps out of surprise, when Resolve shrugged and nodded for him to lead the way.

[Otto]

The trip back to the garrison had been performed at a sprint. One street away from the main entrance, they slowed to a smart stroll. Otto and Orman were breathing heavily, while Carrin was almost blue in the face. The lad was making some unhealthy choking noises, but he managed to keep pace with the other two. Orman didn't let up, however; she ploughed on ahead through the gates, cleared the checkpoint, and marched straight towards the main fort. The tall building rose up a little way back from the centre of the garrison, towering over the surrounding training yards and ring of walls. Its roughly chiseled grey stones caught the sun, turning the otherwise utilitarian, unadorned architecture a dazzlingly dappled white. A large, red flag on the roof made a half-arsed attempt to ripple in the breeze, but kept falling back down under its own weight.

Orman stopped them just in front of the entrance. She muttered a few words to Carrin, which Otto didn't quite hear, but which made the boy look up at her in shock. She said something else - a little harsher this time - and he nodded. She turned away with a scowl, and strode up the steps and through the large doors. Otto and Carrin fell in dutifully behind.

Inside, the trio ascended another flight of stairs to the junior officer's floor. While Orman went one way, towards her own room, Carrin went in the opposite direction. Otto stood, a little bemused, until the lieutenant cast him a pointed glance, and he resumed following her. After a quick walk along a dingy, sparsely furnished corridor, they headed inside a cramped little office that was still too large for the feeble light which came through the window. While Orman kindled a desktop oil lamp, Otto stared through the glass at some moss-covered stones in the garrison's rear wall.

His lieutenant cleared her throat, drawing his attention back to her. She had seated herself at the desk and was preparing some sheafs of paper and ink. "I need you to recount to me everything this Rosie said to us," she commanded.

"Er," Otto replied, his confusion growing. Then he began.

Barely a minute later, and halfway through Otto's verbal report, the door swung open. Otto looked over his shoulder, spied sergeant Wright first, and then the stripes of a captain on the man at his side. The orc snapped to attention and threw a smart salute to his superior. He heard Orman's chair hastily scrape back as she did the same thing.

"At ease", said the other fellow. "What do you have for us, lieutenant?"

"I am just finalising our reports, sir, and will be able to hand over all the case material in a few minutes," Orman replied. Otto blinked, and she went on. "Private Otto Bastum here will also be at your disposal if you wish to interview him in person."

Whitestone took a chair in front of the desk, permitting Orman to seat herself once more and resume her writing. Otto remained where he was, while sergeant Wright plonked himself down in a worn old armchair in the corner. "I could hear," said the captain. "We quickly interviewed one of the men who responded to the alarm last night, but I shall need to do the same for your man here."

"Yes, sir," Orman complied. "Otto, continue."

When the orc finished his account, and while the lieutenant was still writing down the last few words, Whitestone shifted in his seat to better face his subordinate.

"Last night," said the captain. "What do you recall, appearance-wise, of either of the men who escaped?"

Otto frowned with concentration. "Not much, sir. The assailant was hooded, and stuck to the shadows. The punter was fairly well dressed. I think he had dark hair. Bit of an older fellow, too, but I only saw him for half a second."

"This was at the whorehouse?"

Otto blinked again. "Yessir."

He could feel Wright smirking behind him, although neither Orman nor Whitestone showed any awareness of it. "On that subject," Wright piped up, "do you think the whore knows anything else about this 'Fred'?"

Otto remembered what Orman had said about Rosie's story not quite adding up. He also remembered, with burning clarity, watching the sergeant lay his very small and very sharp knife over the lantern's very hot flame until it had glowed. Otto hadn't quit the jail quite fast enough, and had heard their prisoner scream even through the thick cell block door and well into the hall.

"No, sir," he said.

Sergeant Wright hummed, but said no more. The captain, too, seemed out of questions. "I think that shall be all, for now," he remarked, standing up and retrieving the files set before him on the desk. Orman followed suit, and they exchanged parting salutes. Otto kept his up until both men had left the room, at which point Orman collapsed back into her seat. She looked up at Otto.

"Captain Whitestone is now personally leading the investigation, obviously," she said. "We're handing it over."

"A captain?" Otto was letting the confusion enter his voice, now. "On this case?"

Orman nodded. "Not just any captain, either. Look, Otto..."

She trailed off, her attention switching to the doorway. Otto looked over his shoulder to see Carrin standing there with an envelope in his hand. The lad seemed particularly anxious about something as he stepped inside and laid the message on Orman's desk. She quickly broke the seal and pulled the paper out, eyes running hungrily across the page.

"Ma'am?" Otto prompted, to no avail.

Orman folded the letter up slowly. The scowl was gone from her face, and had been replaced by a faint smile. "Good work, Carrin," she said. "I'll worry about getting this back to Whitestone's desk. Since we're off the case, you should have some free time until your afternoon duties. Dismissed."

Carrin saluted. "Yes ma'am. Thank you, ma'am," he replied in a shaky voice, before turning around and racing out the door.

"Otto," she repeated. He looked back. "I don't suppose you could nip down to the bank for me, could you?"

[Resolve]

His workplace revealed itself to be a nondescript warehouse on the waterfront, largely unremarkable save the similarly decorated men who populated it. Resolve stared without shame as he led her through, the interior a maze of brick walls and wooden crates. Along the way, her host made sure she was unarmed, setting aside her sword and knife without a word. She didn't make a fuss.

Toward the back of the establishment sat the office, and that was where they paid their visit. Two individuals occupied the open space, one leaning against a desk covered in documents, another at attention to welcome the newcomers. Their greeter eyed them cautiously as they entered. His lanky build and beak-like nose lent to the avian nature of the feathers scrawled across his bare skin, angular and sleek. "Looks like our Cat's caught himself a mouse," he squawked.

"Shut your trap, Gull," said the man at the desk. Everything about him echoed the bulldog's jowls on his full cheeks, from his hulking shoulders to his nonexistent neck. Even without the decor he would have been a disturbing looking fellow, naught more than a gnarly tank, but the ink transcended him from ugly human to work of art. Resolve actually found herself a little intimidated. "Where'd you get the notes, kid?"

The girl stood in front of the desk, securely flanked by Cat and Gull, and faced the dog with as much confidence as she could muster. Her vibrant clothing wilted gray in the poor lighting, the men blending into the dusky office in their weathered leather. She didn't feel like humoring them quite yet. "Found'em."

"People don't just find a couple grand," he said, crossing his humongous arms. "You can play coy with us, girl, but you'll regret it, I guarantee that. Now, where'd you get the notes?"

Resolve chewed the inside of her lip in deliberation. "Took'em from a guy at the pub."

"Moody's," Bully elaborated, staring without blinking from under his wrinkled brow. "We know who you are, Miss Curie. We know of your mother, her ship and crew. We know where you live, and we know our men went through there last night. If you help us find Fred, you can keep the money to repair the damages."

This quirked an eyebrow. "Of course I'm keeping the money," the exorcist replied, hands braced on her hips. "But I know nothing of this 'Fred'. Why're you looking for him, anyway?"

"What's it to you, if he's just 'some guy at the pub'?"

The deflected question earned a more genuine scowl from the girl and her shoulders tensed. "Whatever drama you've got going on has ruined my home," she spat. "How is it not my business?"

"No need to get yourself all hot and bothered," Bully smirked. "Besides, we know why you're really so upset. Our men gave her a good scare last night, didn't they? The whore, that is." Resolve's stomach sank and the dog stood, taking a couple steps toward her. She instinctively moved back but the men at her sides caught her by the arms, forcing her to suffer the encroacher's putrid breath. "Since you don't seem to understand the situation, girl, I'll lay it out for you. Even if you don't know this bastard, your little Rosie does. If you're such a good friend, you might want to save her the trouble of meeting one of us again and get it out of her yourself. When we go in for interrogation, we won't be as gentle, and I imagine she needs to keep that smooth skin of hers nice for her clientele. After all, what good is a disfigured prostitute?" He paused then, as if imagining it in delicious detail, and his abhorrent smile grew. "Come, now. Be a good lass."

[Otto]

This was going to be more difficult than he had thought.

Otto ambled along the sidewalk, moving with the flow of traffic down towards the bank. He'd ditched his tabard and spear, but had kept the hammer, mail and shield. He considered the latter a necessity when there was even just the possibility that crossbows might be involved at some point in the near future. It was a good policy, he reckoned, and one that he had come up with quite suddenly the night before.

Unfortunately, the kit was drawing a few glances. Otto still had his badge tucked away in a pocket, but even so, he doubted everything would go smoothly for an armed orc walking into one of the city's banks, so unless he wanted to cause an incident, he would have to plan things a little more carefully. And besides... there were other reasons not to let it be known an officer had been investigating here. Word might get back to the garrison, and questions would be asked - maybe even of the red-hot knife variety. He stepped away from the bustle and stood, thinking in the shadow of some great monument, as the people and their noises slipped by him. Try as he might, though, something filtered through the fug of hawkers and merchants, and tugged distractingly at his mind.

Otto put his plan of attack on hold, and raised his nose to the air. The orc's wide nostrils shivered tentatively, dissecting and analysing the smells as he dredged a beer-dulled memory up from the back of his mind. When it all finally coalesced together, he frowned.

He was not as great a believer in coincidence as he used to be.

Otto set off again, but away from the bank this time. He might bother the clerks another time, and perhaps even enjoy it - but for now, he followed his nose. And his nose said that there was a trail - and it was disappearing, fast. He tried to move even faster.

He had considerable success navigating the thicker sections of traffic, as a fellow of his stature presented most of the oncoming pedestrians just two options; they could go around him, or under. The scent of spice continued to linger in the air, and Otto offered some silent thanks for the still winds. If he could still smell her perfume, then the girl must be only a short way ahead of him. The strange thing was how it weaved through the streets, this way and that, meandering drunkenly without any clear direction in mind. She was probably expecting to be followed.

Now, why was that?

He would be sure to ask her, but first things first. The trail had led him on a long and winding journey to a deserted row of warehouses along the riverfront. The docks, as the city's frontier of trade, and with its mess of paperwork, were usually a hub of criminal activity. Otto had the feeling he was getting close. That feeling grew as the scent led him directly to one of the building's doors. He paused there, contemplating his next move, when a sound caused him to look sharply up - just in time to catch sight of a bald head retreating from one of the upper windows.

Otto cursed his shortsightedness; no doubt he had just given himself away. His needed to work on his subtlety.

He tried to move one of the large door which barred his way, and found them locked. They bulged under a bit of pressure, but remained in place. He would have to find another way in, preferably some unwatched side door...

Ah, bugger it. They already knew he was here. Why waste time?

Those watching from inside saw the heavy wooden gates relax back into place, followed by silence. And then - a little distant at first, but quickly growing louder - an accelerating, heavy beat, which traveled to their ears from the feet up.

There was a mighty bang, and the doors crashed inwards in a cloud of dust, splinters, and screaming orc.

[Resolve]

The exorcist felt herself on the brink of letting loose when something barreled in through a door nearby, grand entrance echoed off the high ceilings. In the cacophony of shattering wood, the threatening men released her and poised themselves for confrontation. Cat slipped out to investigate with his claws bared.

Resolve recognized Otto's astral signature immediately. What was he doing there? But no matter now –– she had an impending fray to handle.

A new man, bestial transformation only just begun with the raw pink of fresh tattoos across his scalp, swept into the room to inform them of the intruder. "He's one of theirs", Bully grumbled to the rookie as he retreated behind his desk. "Take him down so we can have a talk."

As Otto wrestled with his feline greeter, slashes retorted with blunt swings, Resolve thought fast. She needed information out of these strangely decorated men and jumping into the middle of the orc's debacle might hurt her chances of getting it, but what else could she do? She certainly wasn't going to take that threat against Rosie sitting down, and she owed Otto one after her deceit.

Her acquaintance dealt with Cat admirably, mail and thick skin holding up well against the slashes of vicious little blades that would turn a flimsy, unarmored human to ribbons. With a heavy, well placed strike, Otto sent him to the ground gasping for air. Resolve heard the skirmish muffled through the walls and knew more would take the offender's place; the rookie was already on his way.

She had barely moved to help when Gull held out his hand to stop her. "I don't think so," he tsked.

"Oh, go fuck yourself," Resolve sighed, attempting to push him out of the way. He replied with the draw of a knife, long and thin, feathered at the edges like a saw. The smirk fled his lips, however, when the weapon failed to intimidate the unarmed girl. Instead of cooperating, she lifted her hand to her stomach, fingers curled. He only barely caught a strange swirl of crackling light within her palm before she thrust it outwards toward his gut, hitting him point blank with a concussive blast of energy. It sent him backwards into a wall, loose bricks rattling from the force before he crumpled breathless to the dusty floor.

Resolve stooped to retrieve the knife he'd dropped, figuring it might be useful, when she realized something: she was alone with the bulldog. He remained standing behind his desk, steely exterior unwilling to give up the hesitance she hoped he felt. He knew who she was, but did he know what she was capable of?

"Are you going to tell me why you're after Fred, or what?" She sauntered closer, arm raised with a fresh crackle of energy balled in her free hand. It was her turn to make the threats.

Bully smiled, a grin of gruesome folds and uncanny creases. He was hideous. "Is that a friend?" he asked, nodding toward the door. "I have a dozen men on this property, all on their way after hearing that ruckus. Neither of you will make it out if you don't help him now."

She knew that was just a deflection –– it wasn't like she could just drag his gargantuan carcass out with her if she was to help Otto –– and as much as she hated him for it, it worked. "I will found out," she sneered over her shoulder as she turned, then dashed out the door.

[Otto]

When fighting a group, one should never stay in one spot; let yourself get surrounded, and it's all over. Two burly men popped up in front of Otto, one brandishing a long knife, the other a nasty looking cosh. Otto barely hesitated before bullrushing the fellow to the right, and a frustrated shout behind him told him the move had been a prudent one. It looked like the man was expecting them to trade blows, but Otto swung his shield to fore and launched through the air. He felt first the knife scrape harmlessly along its wooden surface, then the impact as it slammed into the thug's body. They both fell against a pile of crates, but Otto bounced back and kept moving, leaving his opponent sprawled within the wooden boxes' splintered remains, nursing a set of mangled fingers.

It also didn't matter how stupid or cowardly you looked. It was more important to stay alive.

Otto had to find Resolve. There was no time to wrestle with the guards when the big fish were probably occupied with her. Was she in cahoots with them, whoever 'they' were? Or was the girl pursuing her own investigation? She had certainly seemed hardheaded enough...

The sound of closing footsteps brought him back to more immediate concerns. At least one of them was catching up, and fast. Otto waited until they were but inches behind him, and then let himself drop heavily to the floor. He winced as two heavy feet slammed into his side, and saw someone fly overhead. They landed heavily on the ground, arms outstretched. They had barely begun to hoist themselves up before Otto's own well-booted foot pressed into their back. The orc launched himself onwards once more, and the man wheezed in agony.

He rounded a stack of barrels and saw, through an office door, the slumped figure of a tattooed goon. Otto's lips tweaked up into a grin; it looks like Resolve and these blokes weren't so chummy, after all.

He took one more step past the barrels, and a figure leapt out from its hiding place behind them. Otto had time to register a freshly-inked scalp, still in the process of healing, and then he was lifted off his feet as the man tackled him from the side. They both went down, Otto below, and the impact knocked the wind out of him. He tried to struggle, but without any breath in his lungs, the other fellow had little trouble in pinning him down.

Otto could hear the others getting nearer. He swore at his own stupidity, but it didn't help him any. The thug on top of Otto was pactically sitting on the shield, trapping the orc's arms underneath, and was doing his best to get his fingers around the iron bevor.

"I've got a quicker way," said a man, stepping into view. It was the cosh-carrier. He sauntered leisurely over, enjoying the look on Otto's face, and crouched down.

"Nighty-night." The thug grinned, and raised his weapon.

[Resolve]

Otto hadn't even the time to wince when something struck his would-be assailant from behind, sending him stumbling to the ground. The offender kicked the man forward, sending him into his comrade and toppling them both over Otto's prone form. It was Resolve, bearing a menacing brick as she stood above all three. The dust they kicked up rose around her as she glowered down at them, emphasizing the discomfiting darkness of the gloomy warehouse. For a split second, Otto could have sworn her eyes glowed.

As the bludgeoned man nursed a likely concussion, the shield squatter scrambled for his dropped weapon. Before he could retrieve it, Resolve kicked it away, then swept a glowing palm toward his torso. She threw a blast directly into his gut, sending him twitching and gasping alongside his disoriented ally. As they floundered pitifully on the floor, the exorcist and orc found themselves with their only likely window before they were utterly screwed.

"Come on," Resolve growled, grabbing fistfuls of Otto's clothing and dragging him to his feet. He cooperated, albeit more slowly than she would have liked. He'd only just barely found his breath. "Hurry!"

The unlikely duo emerged from shadow into daylight by the skin of their teeth, skittish feet carrying them well down the busy waterfront before they allowed themselves a breather. The noon sun blinded them and the salty air burned in their heaving chests, but they were safe, and for that they were both immensely grateful. Neither feared that the thugs would follow; as creatures of Radasanth's underworld, they reigned in the night, and the lively dockside streets of the day belonged to Otto and Resolve.

"What did you think you were doing?" Resolve glared at Otto, words hissed through pristine white teeth.

He rubbed his neck, catching a glimpse of his bloodied wrist. For a minor flesh wound, it looked something awful, blood coagulating black against his skin as it ran out from the hem of his hauberk. Fortunately, that was the worst of his injuries. "I was following a lead," he answered truthfully, returning her confrontational stare. "You went to the bank. You expected them to find you. What were you doing?"

The girl scowled, though the object of her frustration didn't seem to be her companion this time, and then she looked away. "Following a lead." She kicked at the ground as they walked, arms crossed tightly over her chest. "Do you… do you and your Watch folk have a safe place Rosie could stay until things quiet down?" She tossed Otto a tentative glance over her shoulder, obviously uncomfortable making such a request. Worry knotted her brow. "She isn't safe where she is. They threatened to hurt her."

He considered it carefully. Otto called the city garrison home, but for a prostitute caught up in such a mess, he wasn't particularly convinced that kind of place would be as safe as it sounded. "Well," he eventually said, turning it over in his mind. This wasn't something he'd take lightly. "Yes. I may have a place."

[Resolve]

When the duo returned to Moody's, they discovered the upstairs apartments deserted. No further damage had appeared since Resolve left that morning, but the absence of her dear friend truly alarmed her. Otto found himself along for the ride as she tore through the building, leaving no corner unchecked, before she started knocking on doors.

Across the hall from Rosie's flat was a coat closet. Resolve opened it, huffed to discover its lack of interesting contents, and slammed shut. Instead of leaving, however, Otto watched with piqued curiosity –– or perhaps concern for her mental state of being –– as she knocked firmly on it several times. He remained quiet as it creaked inward of its own accord and sunlight flooded the hallway, filling it with fresh air and sugary vanilla. A young lady poked her head through, about the same height and voluptuousness of her neighbor, but from the inhumanly golden sheen of her hair and the musical intonation of her voice, she was unmistakably not Rosie.

"Rez!" she tittered, ruby red lips curling into an enthusiastic grin which only widened when she noticed her neighbor's company. In a manner so friendly as to make someone uncomfortable, she waved with a coy wiggle of fingers to Otto. He shifted, unsettled under her intense, mottled gaze of yellow and amber eyes. "Hello, there!"

"Have you seen Rosie?" the exorcist cut to the chase, hands on her hips.

The fey shook her head and something jingled, some jewelry out of sight as she peered around the door. "No… why?"

Resolve frowned. "Never mind, thanks anyways."

"Wait," Agnie piped up as the other girl stepped away, "wait wait wait. Earlier some strange looking fellows stopped by, asked funny questions. Is she alright?"

"I hope so," Resolve sighed at the news, brushing some dark hair from her face. "Catch you later, Ags."

As Otto turned to follow her down the stairs, something touched his bloodied wrist, and he glanced back toward the door to find the fairy had latched herself to him. "By any chance," she batted her eyelashes, "do you like parties?"

Before he could answer, the exorcist intercepted Agnie's offer and guided her back through the door, pushed easily aside in a disgruntled flounce of voluminous petticoats. "Not today," Resolve answered for him, then closed the door in the fey's face. "If she gave you anything," she warned Otto on their way out, "don't eat it."

He didn't have time to ask questions before they reached Moody's, alive with the low hum of midday mealtime. Resolve strolled straight up to Crutchley, the crookedly thin, middle-aged man busy drying mugs at his usual station. "Oh, Rez," he greeted her, eyeing Otto with muted curiosity. "Rosie's here, asked me to send you out back if you stopped by. Told me about that ruckus last night, what a––"

"Oh, praise the gods!" Resolve spoke over him, dashing around the bar and through the door behind it. After a nod of acknowledgement from the bartender, Otto followed, albeit with a touch more courtesy to the other residents of the tavern. He stepped through the narrow door to discover a proper little kitchen, steaming cauldrons and toasty ovens brewing evening fare. The girls weren't far off, a familiar head of auburn hair squeezed tightly to her friend's chest. The cook, a willowy half elf who moved like the wind to attend all the stews and breads and roasts in perfect time, stepped around the desperately clutching women as if quite used to such an obstacle.

After a long moment, Rosie managed to pry herself out of the exorcist's death grip and resumed her seat on a stool at the great butcher block island. From the paring knife in her hand and produce before her, it appeared that she'd been helping. "I went out earlier for some breakfast," she explained, eyeing Otto in a similarly skeptical manner to the bartender. "When I got back, I saw some more of those men go upstairs, so I figured I'd hide out in here for a while." She looked back to Resolve, delicately sculpted brow furrowed with concern. "Do you know what's going on? Have you heard anything about Fred?"

The other girl shook her head. "No. Listen… we've got a place for you to stay for a day or two, just until this whole mess blows over. No buts," she preemptively shot down her friend's excuses. "Come on. Let's get you packed before they come back."

[Otto]

It did not take long to gather Rosie's things. Resolve insisted that she would only need to lay low for a few days, a week at the most, before everything was sorted out. While the two of them were selecting a number of practical (yet stylish) garments and other essentials, Otto prowled the parlour like a crotchety old gorilla. Every now and then he'd stop to admire something from Rosie's extensive collection, but for the most part, he kept his eyes on the door and windows.

"Alright," said Resolve, after a few minutes' work. She was hauling a heavy looking suitcase, while Rosie clutched a much lighter bag in her arms. "Lead on."

"Where are we going?" asked Rosie pointedly, as they descended her building's staircase. "The watch house?"

Otto peered through the front door into the street, then stepped outside. "No. It's not safe there, either."

He thought of sergeant Wright and his hot little knife. Not two hours ago, Otto had thought some brief, if painful, interrogation would have been the worst the garrison had to offer Rosie. Yet, Orman had suspicions about Wright and Whitestone. Although Otto's lieutenant had deemed that sending him to the bank was more important than clueing him in on why Carrin had intercepted Whitestone's correspondence, the orc was wont to trust her. Before he had departed, she had told him to be wary of Whitestone's team.

Rosie sounded increasingly flustered with each step. "Well, if we're not going to the watch, then where?"



* * *


Smiters Row was a long, wide street. It had been built with heavy traffic in mind, though less pedestrian in nature than industrial. Huge wagons, laden with raw materials, came in one way, and manufactured product went out the other. The air reeked of industry - fertiliser, wood, chemicals - and hummed with the background noise of heavy labour. Somewhere, a saw shrieked, craftsmen swore, and hammers beat. The houses, where there were houses, sat huddled behind mills, workshops and factories. On the plots without houses were even larger mills, workshops and factories.

And, of course, forges.

Otto led the two women to an opening in a rough board fence, beyond which lay a packed-earth yard surrounded by lean-tos, a squat grey building up the end, and a two-storey house behind that. One of the repetitive ringing sounds now stood out from the background, so that the trio could hear it emanating from the low building before them.

Otto walked up to the forge's open doorway, looked inside, and yelled. "Marten! Marten!"

Resolve and Rosie could feel the raw heat spilling out from its interior. A couple of seconds later, a grey-haired, but rather attractive, old man ambled out of the darkness inside. He gave the two women a curious look, and then the orc a rather sharper one.

"These are... friends," said Otto. His usual gruffness had been replaced by stark awkwardness, and he rubbed his arms nervously. "One of them needs a place to stay for a few days. I was hoping..."

Marten spared his foster-son's ravaged arms a glance, and then interrupted him. "Inside, Otto. We shan't be a moment, ladies."

The heavy wooden door shut gently, if firmly, behind them, leaving Resolve and Rosie in the yard outside. They gave each other a look, and then rushed to find a suitably open window.

"... I know what they are, boy," came Marten's voice. The women had crouched beside a pot of azalias by a windowsill. "What are you doing bringing them back here?"

Otto's muffled monotone soon responded. "Look, one of them's in trouble. Both, actually, but-"

"Both? Hah! There's but one kind of trouble thems gets into. How could you be so foolish?"

"It's not like that at all!"

"She's convinced you to propose, aye? Told you it was yours?"

"Look - no, shut up - like I said, Rosie - shut up! - it's nothing to do with that. It's watch business!"

This seemed to calm Marten down. They heard Otto take a deep breath, and he continued in hushed tones.

"One of them has information on an investigation, but the Watch house isn't safe for her, and there are other people after her, too."

Marten took his time to register this. At long last, he let out an irritated little hiss, and then spoke. "To be frank, I preferred it when I thought you'd put a bun in her oven. Thaynes, Otto!"

"It'll just be for a few days. Please. Rosie needs to hole up as soon as possible, and there's nowhere else that I know of. Please."

Another pause. At last, the old man sighed. "Alright. She can have your old room. But you're explaining this to Kat, aye?"

[Resolve]

After awkward introductions with Marten, Otto guided the ladies through to the house behind the forge. They used an entry to the left of the building, which opened up into a cozy hallway populated by a staircase and some doorways. He directed them to the right, into the kitchen, and directly under the appraising gaze of his foster mother. She sat at a work bench off to the side, her plump figure bent over some mending.

"Hello, Otto," she greeted him with a tentative smile, though her warm brown eyes fixed entirely on the young women he had in tow. Apparently he didn't invite girls over very often, Resolve mused. In spite of the critical once over she gave their clothing –– Rosie in her exuberant finery and Resolve with her bared midriff –– it seemed more out of concern than outright judgment. Quite astutely, she assumed this would not be a brief visit. "Well, then. Shall I make some tea?"

He nodded, allowing himself deep breaths in preparation for the negotiation. "Thanks."

Aware of the impression she needed to make for this all to go well, Rosie stepped in. "May I help?" She crossed the kitchen as Kat stood, the glimmer of her sky blue silk out of place amongst the modest, homey furnishings. Still, she seemed determined to settle in right then and there. "You must be Kat, we met your husband just a minute ago," she grinned. "I'm Rosie, and this––" she nodded to her friend, still at the threshold–– "is Resolve. You should be proud of Otto here, he's been a wonderful friend in the midst of all this horrid business. There was a break in at my home last night and he was first at the scene, talk about dedication to his work… am I doing this right?"

"Yes, dear, that's fine." As Rosie busied herself with the hot water, Kat offered Otto a strange look from across the room. He occupied himself by washing his hands out of habit in the ceramic bowl Kat always kept ready for her men, meant for the grime of the forge, but instead he did the best he could to rinse the gore from where his hauberk hadn't protected him against the thug's claws. The last thing he needed was to give the woman that kind of distraction from the already awkward situation.

Before long, all four parties sat around the kitchen table, hands folded around warm cups of tea. Albeit friendlier at first, it seemed Kat would be a harder sell than Marten had been. She had a primness to her, held close yet unmistakable, and she still appeared to require convincing that offering a prostitute sanctuary in her home was a good idea. "How long would this stay be?" she asked, looking between Otto and his odd assortment of unexpected new companions.

"A few days," he said, thumb fidgeting at the edge of his cup. "No more than a week. The Watch will resolve everything as quickly as possible, and Marten said it's alright if you agree."

"Hmm," Kat replied, then drew her tea to her lips for a thoughtful sip. After a long moment, she opened her mouth as if to speak, but a new voice interrupted as someone strolled in from the hallway.

"Hello, there," he said, inviting himself unwittingly into the midst of their uncomfortable conversation. He looked considerably more similar to Marten and Kat than Otto, so it didn't take long for their guests to deduce that he was the son of the household. "What's going on in here?"

Katarina cleared her throat. "It appears we have ourselves a house guest for a few days. Rosie, Resolve, this is Emric. Rosie will be staying with us."

Relief from the tension spread throughout the room at the announcement, and Otto and Resolve visibly decompressed. "Hello," said Rosie, the bubbly one of their trio. "I really am sorry for the trouble, I'll do my best not to impose too much."

"It's a pleasure," Emric replied, something a bit smug in his grin as he offered Rosie his own appraisal. By the time his eyes reached Resolve, however, he found himself caught in the vicious death glare of an overprotective friend, and suddenly felt inspired to make better acquaintance with their guest later. "I'm off to work," he said, stepping back toward the hallway. "We can catch up later. Glad you've thought to introduce us to your friends," he winked at Otto, then disappeared through the doorway.

Something about Emric left a bad taste in Resolve's mouth, and from the broody look Otto cast over him, she knew she wasn't alone. Yet again, it fell on Rosie to keep the mood light. "Thank you so much, Kat," she fawned. "And I do wish to help out around the house if I can. I'm quite good with a needle."

Though it had been Marten's approval that had convinced the woman, she seemed to be warming to the thought of having another female in the household rather quickly. The elder woman relaxed, her gentleness returning as she offered a little smile. She stood from her seat, effectively breaking their meeting, and gestured toward the hall. "Let's get you settled in, then. You can borrow Otto's old room."



As they left Rosie in Otto's foster family's care, the guilt bore down on Resolve to the point of distress. Twice in two days she'd used the poor orc, and still she had yet to correct the dishonesty of their initial acquaintance. "Listen," she said with a sigh and a shrug as they waited alone in the little kitchen. "I owe you for this. What can I do? If you take care of this case, will it get you a promotion with the Watch or something? We could work together," she offered, though perhaps out of selfishness again –– after all, there was no way she was giving up her own involvement. "I'll tell you all I know, explain this morning and everything. Would it help?"

[Otto]

The sombre blue eyes looking up at Otto were possessed of something approaching concern. It was the softest he had seen Resolve, and it brought to mind the turmoil he'd first felt when they had met in Moody's. Unlike the previous night, though, he wasn't half cut. With a slight internal struggle, he quashed the feeling in its infancy.

"A promotion could be the least of my worries", he said, turning away. There was a line of windows looking out at the yard; Otto left his seat at the kitchen table and wandered over to it. The day outside was still fine, and Kat had opened up a few panes. Slightly spotty curtains rustled to either side of of the orc, who wrapped his hands around the sill and leaned forward. He breathed in, and tasted wood and dirt at the back of his mouth. Muffled thuds and thumps came through the kitchen ceiling; Kat and Rosie were still moving around upstairs, unpacking things in Otto's old bedroom.

Otto spoke over his shoulder, to Resolve. "I won't pretend to understand, but my lieutenant doesn't trust the team that's taken over the investigation." He paused, wondering how far Orman would be happy for him to go.

What had Resolve been doing at the warehouse? And how often did civilians get so involved in something like this? There was something funny about the girl, though he couldn't put his finger on what, exactly. On the other hand, she was obviously no friend of the strangely tattooed thugs, and the odds of her being connected to Whitestone and Wright were, as far as he could tell, minimal. While he thought, he saw Marten exit the forge and begin to prowl the yard, checking on the stock he had beneath the lean-tos.

"Alright", he said, eyes still on the man outside. "We could use someone from outside the watch. We can pool information, figure out exactly what's going on. But first, and before anything else", said Otto, shifting his bulk to face Resolve once more. "Why? What's your angle? What made you personally track down that gang?"

[Resolve]

The girl crossed her arms tightly across her chest and leaned back against the table, averting her gaze from Otto to the bench where Kat had been working. Quite an amount of mending had piled up in the basket next to it, and Resolve had a feeling Rosie would make herself useful enough that her visit might even be appreciated. That comforted her, at least a little.

"I don't have patience for anything that could bring harm upon my friends," she said honestly. "And he has connections to more than just Rosie. I… it would probably be easier if I just explain from the beginning."

And so she recounted her involvement with this elusive Fred and the thugs who pursued him, tracking her steps from pints with Blue to tracing the man to her mother's ship, where she discovered his stash. While she conveniently left out her motive in introducing herself to Otto at the ale cellar, she was nothing but truthful in the rest, offering all of the important details she could recall. While she wasn't usually the trusting sort, she reminded herself that she owed it to him, and his admittance that his lieutenant took issue with the team in charge of the investigation was enough to convince her that he was being honest in turn. Such an issue within the Watch pointed to much larger problems, but it seemed their own was much more elaborate than she'd anticipated, as well.

"Radasanth has so much unsavory activity, seemingly something for every ship that comes and goes," she sighed, saying what Otto already likely knew. "Of course those assholes are involved with something, but we need evidence if we want to do anything about them. Here." She drew the spare note from her pocket, offering the crumpled, yellowed paper. "These are what he had on him. I can't read the script, and I didn't want to ask the bank about it in case they got suspicious. Thought I'd figure it out after the fact, but you know how that went. Can you make it out? The name on the account could be a good lead."

Otto squinted at the cursive, but alas, between the two of them, their skills in literacy were embarrassingly lacking. "No, but…" he trailed off, thinking of Kat. He was hesitant to bring her into things; the case was quickly spinning out of control, and he didn't want to endanger her further by involving her in sensitive information. He'd already asked enough by bringing a refugee into their home.

[Otto]

The silence dragged on, and Resolve was about to prompt him - but the decisions was soon made for both of them.

"Well, I daresay Rosie's settled in nice enough now," twittered Kat, bustling in through the door. "I'll have to freshen up the sheets, I think, but between the two of us... what's that you have there, dear?"

Otto glanced back at the timeworn paper in his hand, and its illegible script.

"Not too sure," he replied. Then he proffered it to the short woman. "But it seems relevant. We... can't make out the name on it, though. Could you...?"

Kat tutted and, pulling a pair of spectacles from her breast pocket, scanned the document as she laid it flat upon the kitchen table. Otto caught Resolve's wary eye, and sidled up to the girl.

"Kat does classes - teaches kids their letters," he explained. Opposite them at the table, his foster mother snorted.

"I'm surprised you even know that, for all the attention you ever paid," she scolded him. Otto's cheeks were, momentarily, a little bit more pink than normal. Kat whipped off her glasses and handed the paper back to Otto, who passed it on to Resolve.

"They're in the name of a fellow called Gregory Amatild Prankins," said Kat.

Resolve seemed nonplussed; "How'd you work that out?" she enquired.

"I make a living teaching bairns to write, up until they're braw wee lads and lasses. I seen just about every shape that pen can put to paper, m'gel," said Kat, sternly.

There ensued a slightly stony silence, cracked after a short delay by Otto. "Prankins is a big name at the docks. Owns a few warehouses and ships - the company does trade with all sorts of places across the sea."

"It sounds just like what we've been looking for," Resolve stated. She faced Kat and shot her a wan smile. "Again, thank you so much for taking Rosie in, Mrs Smith. We'll be out of your hair in a few days, don't you worry."

Kat sniffed, and nodded her acknowledgement. "Otto's always been a good lad. It's... the least we could do for friends of his."

Despite some lingering hesitance, the woman seemed, more or less, to mean it. Otto gave his own thanks, said goodbye, and had turned to leave, before Kat hurriedly closed a gentle hand around his arm. He looked back at her, blinking.

"Before you go, Otto, I meant to ask if everything's, well, if everything's alright."

Otto nodded, a little stiffly, but Kat's gaze pressed him for more. Otto sighed, and his shoulders sagged. "I'm fine. The service was... nice," he said, somewhat hollowly. Kat took the hint, and released him after a friendly little pat.

"Well, you know, we'll be here. Marten and me. If you ever want to just drop in again - any time - we'd love to see you."

"Thanks, Kat." He looked at Resolve. "I'll need to report back first... but I think we should pay Prankins and co. a visit some time tonight. What do you reckon?"

Resolve's face, momentarily set in an expression of curiosity, hardened. Then she nodded.

"Yes," she murmured, though her voice grew more decisive. "Yes, that sounds like a plan."

[Resolve]

The exorcist took the intermission to pay another visit to her friends on the Hyacinth, as she imagined they may have had more to share if she dropped by at a more reasonable hour. Blue showered her with affection and baked goods as soon as she stepped down into the cozy galley, and it seemed all had been forgiven from the night before.

"So, tell me about Fred," Resolve demanded through a mouthful of apple bread. Roberson and a couple of the newer hands had joined her at the long, narrow table which occupied the main floor of Blue's warm little sanctuary, and the dwarf glared over her shoulder from the stove in warning. "What?" the girl questioned, reaching across Roberson for seconds.

Blue slapped her hand away from the treats, betraying alarming reach for someone so stumpy. The girl gaped as she received her lecture. "You already got his kitbag, and I'm just relieved he hasn't come around looking for it yet. What am I supposed to tell him? I know he made a mess over at Moody's but think twice about what kind of drama you're bringing into our home, little Miss Curie."

Resolve glanced to the others for support, but received none as they concentrated on their bread. Roberson knew better from years of experience, and the two boys followed his lead without question. Blue ran the ship more than its actual owner did; she acted as surrogate mother to the entire crew, and as the matron, her word was the word. "But––"

The cook lifted the notorious wooden spoon from her apron like a schoolmaster ready to punish disobedient knuckles with a ruler, and the girl conceded with a groan.

"Now," the jolly smile returned to Blue's fuzzy face. "Will you stay to sup?"



Resolve nearly forgot the reason she was there amidst the chatter and food. It didn't matter that the dwarf had taught her everything she knew about cooking; even with identical recipes, nothing she made ever tasted as good as when Blue made it. That galley was the closest she had to a childhood home, and somewhere in the back of her mind, she hoped Rosie was having a similarly welcoming experience around the Smiths' dinner table.

As the meal wound down, she found herself antsy, and one of the greenhorns who'd partaken of apple bread –– Rulf, they called him –– caught her eye from the other end of the room with a suspicious nod toward the stairs.

They met up on deck, the pink and gold of sunset settling over the clear blue sky. The refreshing breeze of the sea cut through the summer heat, cool with the first hint of twilight. Once they'd obtained some privacy on the empty deck, Resolve propped her hands on her hips and stood over the boy, overbearing in her enthusiasm. "So? What can you tell me?"

"Ah, what... oh, Fred! You asked about Fred, right?" Shorter and skinnier than the exorcist, he shrank away to fidget with the polished railing of the sterncastle, hazel eyes wide. "Uh, well... not much to say, really. Keeps to himself. Said he was from here, happy to be home, that I remember, and uh, apple bread's one of his favorites, surprised he's not here for it, tell you the truth. He likes that, and this stew Blue makes with that one ugly sort of fish, and this one time––"

"Thanks," Resolve interjected with a sigh and a pat on his shoulder. "Yes, you can stop, thank you for your help." She took a deep breath of the salty air, both to compose herself and to stave away the lethargy which threatened to close in after such a satisfying meal. "I should go back down. Good luck settling in, alright?"

As she turned, however, he caught her by the arm. "Uh, actually, well," he began, quickly drawing his hand away and clasping his hands nervously at his waist. "I wanted to ask..."

It took every ounce of effort for her to suppress another sigh. "Yes, Rulf?"

He stared out at the water, a tinge of pink creeping across his sun browned complexion. "At the place last night, um, there was this one girl, the brunette with the... the thing. Tall. You know?"

"Sure," Resolve said, and finally gave into that sigh.

"D'you think you could, um... well, actually, maybe this isn't such a good idea. Sorry, I'm an idiot. Idiot, idiot," he grumbled, pawing at his curls in self flagellation.

It was painful to watch. "Oh, would you just stop it," Resolve said as she caught his wrist and firmly planted his hand back on the railing. "I'll tell her you said hi. Is that what you want?"

Something brightened in his expression, but skepticism soon clouded it over. "You're just saying that," he accused. "I really am an idiot––"

The girl caught his wrist again before he could tear out more of his tangled mop. "Oh come on, what are you, fourteen? Fifteen? You're not missing out on anything at that pit, I promise. And if you're going to get all sentimental over prostitutes, save it for Scara Brae. You'll get more for your money there and half the attitude."

He stared at her for a moment, as if considering her advice very carefully, and then his eyes widened. "Fred told me about his woman last night," he blurted. "Went on about flowers she likes, purple ones, uh, forgot the name. Roberson said he did flowers before he became a sailor. Imagine, choosing this over posies," he said, as if he couldn't believe any sane person would make such a decision.

Resolve would have agreed, if she believed that story for a single instant. How cute a cover was telling everyone he was a florist? Gods knew he was up to something in Radasanth before he left, something involving tattooed goons and obscene amounts of money. Black market petunias? She could have laughed.

"Yes, thank you, Rulf," she smiled wryly, then turned toward the stairs. "Let's get back to the others, shall we?"

[Otto]

It was approaching supper by the time that Otto had meandered up to the garrison entrance. A half-dozen bored soldiers glared imperiously out at the pedestrians bustling along the street below, but they let the orc pass without more than a few weary greetings once he held up his badge. Otto walked beneath a large portcullis and into a wide open space, surrounded by dark grey walls and dotted by a smattering of buildings around the perimeter.

All that lay below darkened as the sun sank, so that only the sky remained painted in vibrant hues of orange and pink. A grainy-black cloud of gulls swirled out towards the sea, and their chorus reached the yard, buried beneath some lingering sounds of toil and leisure rising from the city. As Otto trudged towards the tall watch house, he passed a line of recruits running in the opposite direction. Their sergeant yelled an order as he jogged past the orc, and they set off away towards the barracks.

Otto walked up the stairs and into a large, rather dilapidated, hallway. Stairs rose on his left and right to individual galleries; Otto took the ones on the left. As he walked along the gallery, which turned into a long, musty corridor, he passed room upon room of harassed-looking watchmen struggling with their paperwork. As the watch did not usually recruit for brains, anyone walking these halls was usually met with the sight of grizzled men - who had gone toe-to-toe with midnight thugs - being reduced nearly to tears by a towering inbox full of forms. As he passed the open door of his own squad's investigation room, something of a din reached his lugs. Carrin was talking to a sour-looking youth of about the same age, also in a guardsman's uniform - probably one of the replacements. Neither looked to be enjoying themselves. Orlannes, meanwhile, was signing for delivery while he talked incessantly with the courier, a pretty young woman who, despite an air of near-crippling demureness, could not keep a coy smile from her lips.

He passed the scene of warmth and noise by, and knocked upon the next door down.

"Come in."

Otto quietly opened the door and slipped inside. Orman's office was small, but organised. It was also dimly lit, mostly due to the fact that her window sat within the shadow of the outside wall. A few sounds leaked in through the walls from the other room, but not so much that Otto could not hear his lieutenant's quill scratch across the paper. He shut the door behind him and stood to attention in front of her desk. After a minute, she put the finishing touches on whatever she was writing, and looked up at Otto.

"Report," she commanded, preparing a fresh piece of paper.

He did so, starting with the trip to the bank, how he recognised the smell of Resolve's perfume and tracked it to a warehouse, and finished with their plan to head to Prankins' that evening. He left out nothing except, perhaps, how much he had passed onto Resolve about affairs within the watch. Though Orman's expression flickered between interest and disapproval, she let him finish without interruption.

"I don't know if we can really trust this girl," she said at last, "but I'm a bit more certain that we need her help. That was a good call."

Otto felt something swell within his chest. "Thank you, ma'am."

"Yes, well, don't let it get to you. Now, tonight - I think you'll need more than just..."

Otto didn't hear her finish, because he looked back over his shoulder at the sound of approaching footsteps. The door was flung open and in stepped sergeant Wright, smiling serenely. Otto shot Orman a slightly panicked look, but he saw that the paper had disappeared from her desk in that short moment. It looked like she hadn't moved an inch.

"Lieutenant, private." Wright acknowledged them, and gave his superior a salute. The other two gave him one in return. "Well there, Otto", he went on. "Not in uniform?"

"Er, no, sir. I was just out. Had the afternoon off."

"You're very well-armed for a spot of leisure time, I have to say."

Otto thought fast. "Spent the afternoon at the Citadel, sir. Hard to get a decent fight if people know you're in the guard... they tend to hold back."

"Smart, very smart indeed!" exclaimed Wright. He slapped Otto jovially on his broad back, beaming all the while at Orman. "I guess they're a bit more clever than we give them credit for, eh?" He glanced at Otto's arms. "But I guess the healers there also had the afternoon off..."

"What can I do for you, sergeant?" Orman's tone could have snap-frozen vindaloo flambé.

Wright's smile slackened off a little. "Captain Whitestone asked me to go over a few details in the report with you, lieutenant. In private," he added, and looked pointedly at the orc.

"Thank you, Otto," said Orman. "I'll see you when you report for duty tomorrow morning. Dismissed."

Otto saluted to them both, walked out the door, and shut it firmly behind him. The murmur of indeterminable voices followed him along the darkening corridor as he thought of warehouses, thugs and hot, hot knives.



* * *


Once Otto had visited the barracks canteen, and stowed a substantial (if unimpressive) meal under his belt, he visited his platoon's dormitory. At the foot of his cot was a large, heavy duty trunk that housed almost all of his possessions. The contents swelled as he stashed the entirety of his armour, as well as his warhammer. He slid his shield under the bed, but held on to his smithing hammer. The bulk of his armour would work against him, given the clandestine nature of the job that lay ahead, but it always paid to take a weapon of some sort or another.

He was just buttoning up his woolen coat when the door creaked open. Otto watched it expectantly for a couple of seconds, and then Carrin slunk through the gap, still in his guardsman's uniform. The youth looked around the small room, but they were alone in here. He shut the door behind him, Otto's face still etched with mild curiosity.

"Hey, uh, Otto..." Carrin began, more than a little awkwardly. Otto's expression didn't so much as flicker, so the other man went on. "About tonight-"

"What about it?" the orc snapped.

"Well, when are we going?" Otto's stare hardened, but Carrin spread his palms out beseechingly. "Oh, come on. You don't think Orman would let you go out by yourself again, do you? Not after what happened this morning. She told me to tag along."

Otto hesitated. How good an idea would it be to bring Carrin Fitch with him? It wasn't just a matter of experience - Orman's paranoia was infectious, and Otto was unsure that he could invest trust in even his closest colleagues. But if Orman didn't trust Carrin, she wouldn't have had him steal Whitestone's correspondence, would she? Or tell him about Otto's escapades that morning. If it was her who told him about them...

"Alright," he said, relaxing a little bit. "But if you're coming, you'd better get rid of that bloody tabard."

[Resolve]

As Otto and Carrin left the garrison together, Resolve already waited outside the entrance. She strode up to them in a flourish of crimson cloth, offering a hand to the newcomer for a quick introduction. The two exchanged greetings and names, Otto confirmed their destination, and off they went into Radasanth's dusk, intent on hunting down one Mr. Prankins.

"I asked the crew about him," Resolve explained to her cohorts, "but Blue wasn't too pleased with the whole ordeal. She thinks it's going to cause trouble for them and she won't be having any of that. I did speak to one of the newer hands about it, but he wasn't very helpful. Mostly rambled about food and flowers. Fred gave them a cover story, it seems, when he joined up." She strolled down the street with her hands behind her back, kicking at the cobblestones with her boots. "Florist, my arse."

Otto considered her lack of information with a neutral "hmm" and Carrin walked quietly alongside him, simply absorbing. He appeared to be young, probably around Resolve's age, but more deliberate in his actions and speech. She rambled on as he contemplated.

"So, what do you think Prankins and his goons are up to? Not that I had a chance to check that warehouse, but nothing seemed obviously amiss aside their ridiculous uniforms." She contorted her face at Otto, furrowing her brows in mockery of the Bulldog. It earned more of a reaction from Carrin, who simply appeared bewildered at the reference, an expression enhanced by doe-like eyes. Resolve snorted a little laugh and looked back ahead.

"Who knows," Otto said, the gears still turning. "If we play our cards right, we could get the information we need to figure it all out. I mean, if he holds the money…" He fell into distracted silence for another moment, then realized Resolve hadn't been listening in the first place. She glanced over her shoulder a couple times, watching the other end of the street, but didn't stop walking. Instead of slowing, she scurried up to his side, leaning in for a whisper.

"We've got company," she said. "Been following since we left. I thought it was a coincidence at first, but now, especially after what you mentioned earlier…"

The orc frowned. "How…?" he began, unsure how Resolve might have noticed something his nose didn't, but left it at that. "Alright. Can you tell where they are?"

She nodded.

"This next block on the right is a short one. You and Carrin keep on, I'll––"

"No," Resolve interrupted without room for negotiation, as if she knew what he would have said. "I'll loop around and we can bookend them. I'm faster and have a lock on them if they notice what we're doing and decide to stray. You two keep walking until you hear my voice. Got it?"

Before he could argue, she dashed off into the shadows of the next alley, leaving himself and Carrin to continue. "So," Otto cleared his throat, realizing the younger of their pair may not have had a full understanding of the situation. "How much has Orman told you?"



When Resolve spotted their tail, she identified him as a more senior member of the City Watch, still uniformed as if on patrol. "Stupid bastard," she grumbled quietly to herself, and then took off after him down the street. She caught up to him from behind, catching him off guard. "Excuse me," she shouted, garnering both his attention and that of her conspirators around the corner quite efficiently. "Sir! You're with the Watch, right?"

Suspicion made itself immediately apparent across his mature features. "Is there a problem, miss?" he asked with cold professionalism.

"I don't know, is there?" Resolve flipped the question with an innocent lift of eyebrows, hands propped on her hips.

[Otto]

Resolve's voice was easy enough to pick out; when she was angry, it fell upon the ears with the same sort of concussive force that Otto needed a hammer in order to replicate. Judging from the exchange behind him, if their tail hadn't brought a helmet with him, then he was in deep trouble.

Otto and Carrin had wandered back about halfway, when the young man ground to a halt. "Oh, thaynes..." he whimpered.

Otto gave him a wary look. "What is it?"

"Wright."

A pause. Then:

"Alright. Stick close, and play along." Otto broke out into a long, loping gait, which carried him swiftly up the darkening brick-paved street. After another moment's hesitation, Carrin broke into a jog, and trailed along at the orc's heels. They closed the remaining distance quickly, and heard the sergeant's familiar tones match Resolve's.

"... there might be," growled Wright, "if you're just wasting my time. Now, why don't-"

But Wright's suggestion was cut short when Otto arrived with a shout of 'Hey!', slipped an arm around Resolve's hips, and - before she could think to react - planted a passable kiss on her cheek. He felt her arm twitch, and was thankful that he'd pinned it to her side with his own bulk.

"Why'd you run off like that?" he asked, staring into her equal parts shocked and furious face. "I thought we were heading back to yours..."

"Ahem."

Otto looked around at the source of the interruption. When he spied Wright standing there, one brow raised expectantly, the orc practically jumped away from the girl, and followed up with a panicked salute that almost poked his eye out.

"Sergeant! Sir, I, uh..."

"You know this girl?" Wright enquired. "You too, Fitch?" he added to Carrin as the lad drew up.

Otto gulped. "Er, yeah. I - well, we, we didn't actually finish last night, so, I thought..."

Wright held up a hand. "Please. Just stop." He looked at Carrin. "You too?"

The youth turned a shade more pale and stammered out a reply as best he could. "She said she has a friend that I could, you know..."

Wright nodded. "Yes, I rather think I do." He gave the two men a disgusted look, but one also laced heavily with suspicion. Then he turned it towards Resolve. "And you wanted to abandon your clients and accost me because...?"

Resolve glared right back at him, but offered no explanation. There was a terrible, heart-stopping moment when Otto could see the entire ploy falling around them in ruins. But then...

"I thought you were all up to something", she muttered. "Following me back. Girl can't be too careful these days..."

Wright's eyes flicked back and forth between them. But at last, he focused on Otto, and nodded at him dismissively. "Well then. Don't let me stop you, private. But just do me a favour and keep her under control the rest of this evening, will you? See if you can't teach her some manners while you're at it."

The sergeant turned aside, and they each caught a smirk on his lips before he had walked past them and continued on his way. They stared after him for a bit, until Resolve swept away, without a word, down an adjacent street. Her legs pumped along furiously, and Otto had to put on an extra turn of speed in order to catch up, with Carrin jogging along behind him once again. He followed her down the rapidly emptying, lamp-lit road, and then into a shaded alleyway off the side. The faintest sliver of yellow light followed them in, for the tall buildings obscured the moon above. Otto could just make out her shape in the gloom, though her perfume stuck out against the smell of accumulated refuse around them like a fat lip.

"Were you followed?" she asked.

"No," said Carrin, sidling in behind Otto, "I just checked."

Resolve's shoved the orc bodily against the brick wall, where his head struck against a protruding block. The alley was briefly flooded with brilliant, swirling spots of light, and Otto crumpled into a heap before Resolve's feet.

"What - were - you - thinking?" Resolve hissed. The stunned orc could do no more than cradle his head between his hands, while Carrin wisely chose to stand uninvolved to the side.

"What were you?" Otto shrieked back, peering cautiously through his fingers. "I'm not the one who ran up and confronted him! Gods, what was I supposed to do? Tell him we knew he was following us?"

"We could have interrogated him," Resolve spat.

"You think my lieutenant's not already keeping an eye on them? If we had tried to get information out of Wright, he'd know we were up to something."

"Oh, I'm pretty sure he already does. Or did you forget that he was following us?"

Otto's arms lowered a bit further, and he shook is head. "He suspects, sure. There's nothing, absolutely nothing we can say or do to stop that. The best we can do is keep it at that - mere suspicion. If we stick to that story, however much he doesn't believe it, then there's not a lot he can do about it."

"Fine." Resolve stepped back, and Carrin helped Otto stagger to his feet. "Alright. It's too late now, anyway. Come on."

[Resolve]

The girl walked ahead, her pace manic at first, but as they neared their destination, Otto nearly mistook her seething for sulking. Or was it…?

"This is it," she said quietly, slowing around the corner from the waterside artery which ran along the docks. Ships and warehouses occupied one side, a series of shops and townhouses on the other; the trio had come up behind Prankins' own office and residence on a side street from behind.

At this point, her companions were more than a little concerned what sort of plans she might have had on how to handle their lead. Carrin spoke up first, much to Otto's consolation, as he still felt a little woozy from the last time he attempted to manage the situation. "What's the plan?" the young man urged, bringing them together into a huddle. "We should all be on the same page before we go in there." He looked from the orc with visible hesitance to the girl, who crossed her arms and stared back. He exhaled cautiously, possibly relieved that she didn't go ahead and deck him for impertinence right there.

As if in stubborn admittance of her hardheadedness, Resolve glanced to Otto, passing it off to him. He appreciated the gesture and allowed himself to think for a moment before speaking. "I'd like to avoid conflict if possible," he explained. "Makes things easier in the long run, and if he has those thugs from earlier at his disposal, we don't need a reason to meet them again."

The others nodded in response, Carrin's with a nervous twitch. He'd only heard part of the report from earlier, so it would've been excusable if his mind ran wild with accounts of hulks of men painted as beasts.

"Glad we can agree. I'll ask the questions to start," Otto volunteered, hoping Orman's confidence was enough to make him the rightful leader of their procession. "All we need is a bit of evidence, something on Wright or Fred, and we've got him well enough to take more drastic measures. While I talk to him, you both make sure you get a good look around. Got it?"

Again, they nodded, and a moment layer, their little posse strolled out from the alley and down the block to the townhouse. An office front occupied the first floor, Prankins' name and occupation meticulously carved into a black sign with gold painted lettering which hung above the door. Understandably, it was quite dark inside at this hour, but a bell pull off to the side reassured them that he kept residence upstairs. Otto took the braided cord cautiously between thumb and forefinger and pulled it.

They heard a far off jingle from above, but darkness also shrouded the second and third story windows. After another ring and long, chilly minutes of waiting, they considered their suspicions confirmed.

"Well, that was anticlimactic," Carrin commented, hands stuffed in his pockets. "Looks like he's out." Otto let out a sigh laced with a low growl of frustration. "Should we return during business hours? Maybe he has employees that could let us in."

A bit suspiciously, Resolve glanced over her shoulder as if she felt the tall silhouettes of the ships were spying, and then she wedged herself in by Otto to reach the door. She drew a peculiar key from her pocket –– brass, with an ornate handle stylized in a fashion unrecognizable as any culture from Althanas –– and pushed it into the lock. With a little jiggling, the mechanism unlatched, and it opened. She grinned over her shoulder to the men behind her, quite pleased with herself as she colored them impressed… or maybe just unsettled.

"Where did you get that?" Otto stared down at her.

She shrugged, slipping it back into her pocket. "Ags let me borrow it." And then, without allowing them to respond with the proper discouragement, she slipped inside.

[Otto]

Otto quickly followed. Carrin lingered, until a long grey arm seized him by the lapels and hauled him inside. The door swung shut with a soft click, and stillness settled down upon the nocturnal street once more.

"I can't see a bloody thing," Otto whispered.

It was Resolve who replied. "There would have to be-" there was a clinking sound, like a much be-ringed finger brushing blindly against a lamp, and then: "-ahah, here we are..."

A match flared in front of Otto, and the room filled with the stink of phosphorus. He was not immediately aware of his surroundings when light bloomed within a small, glass-cased oil lamp, for he was too busy pinching his nose to prevent a sneeze.

"I hade dose dings," he mumbled, his eyes watering.

Carrin caught sight of Resolve's lone, raised eyebrow. "Sensitive nose," explained the lad. "Just don't get him near an onion, let me tell you."

"Bad, is it?"

"He was given kitchen duty once - sneezed all over the taters. Ever seen orc snot? Chef thought it were gravy, and sent 'em out to be served-"

"That looks like it might be an office through there," Otto interjected. The other two looked around to where he pointed, and actually took in their surroundings for the first time.

They stood in a small waiting room, the street-facing walls lined with couches, and its space bisected by a long, well-polished counter. Pigeon holes reached from floor to ceiling behind the bench, save for where two doors broke things up. It was to one of these doors that Otto was pointing. There were paintings around the room, but they contained nothing more than vague, black shapes in the gloom, and a dusty old rug lay slightly rumpled in front of the counter. Each of the tall windows had had its thick curtains closed shut for the night. Radasanth was hardly noisy at after dusk (on the whole), but inside, everything else seemed insulated; removed by an order of magnitude. It also smelled faintly of polish, paper and serious amounts of ink.

Resolve padded over to the door, and tried to peer in through the frosted glass panes set at the top. "Worth a shot, I suppose", she remarked. The key flashed once again in the dim light, and the lock yielded with a shudder. Carrin made to follow her, but Otto grabbed his arm.

"Hold up," said the orc. "We'll need a lookout."

Carrin pouted. "Oh, come on. Who's going to swing by?"

"Prankins? The watch? The same people who know we're looking for them? Look, I'd do it, but Resolve and I have a better idea of what we're trying to find."

"Gah - fine. Piss off, then."

Otto left his colleague to peer suspiciously out between the curtains, and went to join Resolve in the other room. From the lantern's meagre light he could see another cramped space, this time with desk upon desk, cabinet after cabinet. Resolve was thumbing listlessly through a stack of papers on one of the ink-stained desktops. Otto spied another lantern above a boarded-up fireplace, and grabbed it. He gave it an experimental shake; something sloshed around inside, and told him he was in luck. He walked over to Resolve and, when she looked up, brandished his find meaningfully.

"I don't know about this," she said, striking another match for Otto. The other lantern took, and the orc strangled another sneeze at the back of his nose. "This looks like where the clerks work. Think we'll find anything here?"

Otto shrugged. "If Prankins is smart, we'll find as much in here as his own office. But you never know; there might be something useful."

"Perhaps," said Resolve. She stared at the mounds of paperwork in a resigned fashion.

[Resolve]

After a long moment of paper shuffling, Otto made to say something and Resolve promptly hushed him. "Did you hear that?" She lowered herself to the wooden floor, kneeling so she could press her ear against the polished boards. He crouched next to her, causing them to creak, and she shushed again. "He's down there," she whispered.

"Fred?" Otto replied hopefully.

The girl sat up on her knees, shaking her head solemnly. "A thug from earlier. A couple others, too, but I don't recognize them."

He grimaced in response and, before they could commiserate on the best course of action, the exorcist hopped to her feet and strolled across the room. "Here," she directed his attention, lifting the corner of a worn out rug and dragging it off to the side. This revealed a trap door, one of likely multiple options to access the basement. It may have been a remainder from a past storefront when goods were kept cool in the cellar, maintained as an alternate entrance into Prankins' unseemly den.

"How do you do that?" Otto asked, standing next to her. "Wright, and this––"

"Intuition," she answered dismissively, then stooped to wedge her fingers under the latch.

"Wait," he said, and she halted. Standing to look at him, she crossed her arms and waited. "Maybe you don't remember, but we didn't exactly have the best luck with them earlier."

Resolve shrugged. To her, this was the perfect opportunity to ask the questions Otto had interrupted her chance of earlier. "I imagine us stomping around up here hasn't been very subtle. They already know we're here and there are much fewer of them than earlier, so might as well go in guns blazing."

His brow furrowed. "What guns?"

The girl flexed her arms with a cheeky grin, then knelt down to open the door. The soft glow of several lamps shone up through the stairway passage, the room down and around the corner in isolated mystery. Low voices sounded from the depths beneath the townhouse; their appearance had been noted, she imagined, and the villains weren't particularly concerned. Resolve wasn't sure how to feel about that. With a deep breath, she descended, forcing purpose and confidence into her posture. The two of them could handle this.

[Otto]

The staircase was steep and narrow. Otto had to scrunch up to get his shoulders through, and he was almost too focused on the squeeze to avoid banging his head on the floorboards as he went down. Resolve led the way, moving by a comfortable and determined walk. There wasn't much that could be made out from the second-hand light, other than that the corridor was nondescript stone; just a means to get from A to B. It probably had a smell, but Otto's nose was still sulking.

They rounded the corner. The passage went on about twelve feet ahead of them before terminating at an open doorway. The room beyond was warmly lit with yellow light, and another dozen feet long. It had bare flagstones, dripping, simple chandeliers, and a small low table visible through the doorway - but the first thing Otto and Resolve noticed was the man. He was leaning against the far wall, and his shoulders still stretched almost past sight beyond the door frame. The light bobbed over a glistening skull, expertly inked with the features of a long-jowled, snub-nosed canine. He was watching them calmly.

When Otto and Resolve had taken a few steps into the corridor, he turned his head to someone, and nodded.

With the ponderous grind of machinery, a heavy, steel-bar door plummeted from the ceiling in the doorway before them. A crash sounded from behind at almost the exact same time, and Otto looked over his shoulder to see an identical barrier had landed in place and blocked off their retreat. They were not unlike the cell doors at the watch house; rows of stout, blackened bars, closely spaced to prevent human passage, but not much else. He grabbed it with both hands and tried, experimentally, to lift. It didn't move a hair.

He turned around, and saw Resolve standing at the far end, facing the other man. Otto could only imagine the expression on her face.

"You came," said the human hill. He didn't move away from the wall. "Good. Saves us having to come to you."

Resolve wrapped her hands around the bars. "That right?" she said. "So what now? You come in here and teach us a thing or two?"

"I'm not daft," replied the dog-man, as Otto walked up behind Resolve. "And in actual fact, I've got a proposition."

"Yeah, well I propose you stick it up your-" Otto laid a hand on Resolve's shoulder, and she stopped herself short. The brute - the one on the other side of the metal bars - spared the orc a glance.

"You as well," he added.

"And what," Otto intoned, getting to the crux of things, "do you think you can offer?"

Bully smiled, then; a small but sincere little upturn of the lips, and the dog upon his face bared its teeth. He nodded to someone else, unseen in the room, and they heard the sound of footsteps approach. While they waited, he turned his attention back to Otto.

"Have you figured out what business we're in?" Bully asked.

Otto shrugged. "Warehouses, shipping companies, shady bank accounts. My money's on smuggling."

"Very good", said Bully, and his grin widened. Another man appeared in front of the bars, his face obscured by a hood, much like the two of them had seen on the thugs from last night. He held in his hand a gleaming, pristine long sword. Otto took a wary step away, but when the man poked it through the gap, he did so handle first. "Take it," Bully continued. "Give it a good look. You there, bring him some light."

Another masked goon stepped up with a lantern in his hand. Otto turned the blade over and around, examining it. He had a vague frown on his face, like something important was trying in vain to get his attention.

Resolve looked nonplussed. "So you've given him a sword? Smart move."

"It was, wasn't it?" Bully sounded very pleased with himself, enough to prickle the girl's suspicion. She turned back to the orc, whose face had gone pale and wide-eyed.

"Otto?" she asked, uncertainly. He just gaped at the blade, and then her.

[Resolve]

"Look familiar?" Bully's smile deepened the bestial lines in his cheeks and sunken neck, transforming him into something wholly inhuman. The lamplight glistened off the whites of his eyes and Resolve shuddered.

Otto didn't need to respond; the answer was obvious in the ashen pallor to his already gray skin. When the thug extended his hand to reclaim the weapon, the orc offered it with minimal hesitance. The girl frowned.

"Our trade is not in what comes in, but what goes out," the villain smiled without a trace of warmth. "And today we found ourselves a new prospective contributor. That is, unless a man of the watch could offer something more valuable. We always need eyes."

Resolve's jaw dropped. She'd watched their backs when they'd brought Rosie to the Smiths, no one ever tailed the exorcist without her noticing –– Wright had learned that mere minutes ago. "How…?" she asked stupidly.

"Consider this an extension of the conversation we began earlier, Miss Curie." Bully's posture shifted ever so slightly, the emphasis of his bulk placed on his impossibly broad shoulders and deeply muscled chest, and he glared down at the girl with power earned by years of practice in the art of intimidation. "We will find Fred, and you will assist us to your utmost capacity, or we will visit Smiters Row, and we will drag your worthless friend out by the hair and beat her 'til she sings."

He glanced up to Otto to continue, but from his expression, he could see the orc already fully comprehended his own predicament. He stood still, existing passively as the implications spun behind his narrowed amber eyes.

"I expect to hear from both of you within twenty-four hours," Bully concluded. "I expect results." A grating rhythm of cranking metal resounded out of sight, and though they couldn't see it as they stared the dog down, they knew they'd earned their release. "You may leave."

[Resolve]

The pair blew past Carrin in their departure, so focused were they on the burden of Bully's threats. "What did you find?" he demanded, dashing out the door behind them. Resolve left it clattering against the frame in her wake. "Shouldn't we lock this…?"

"Maybe he left some clue back at Moody's," Resolve said as she skipped to catch up with the orc's longer strides, thinking aloud.

"The Watch already scoured it. Any evidence is in Wright's hands now," Otto replied without hope.

The girl considered and suddenly felt a bit sheepish. "But I might catch something they didn't if I look again. Like the trap door." It came much easier to her to chase ghosts all over the city than take a moment to breathe and utilize the kind of reasoning Luned had always tried to instill in her. If her relationship with the scribe hadn't turned sour, she'd likely have been at the library already, asking for her help. She wouldn't have been surprised if she'd missed something important in her manic pursuit of Fred.

Otto looked down at her, brow creased and eyes weary. With his family in danger, distress had settled deep, and he wasn't handling it well at such an hour. Resolve let off, the pit of guilt growing in her gut. Wasn't it her fault they'd found the Smiths? If she hadn't deceived him, he wouldn't be involved as he was, and his loved ones would be safe.

"I'll come find you in the morning," she relented, patting him on the arm. "Alright?" She tossed Carrin an apologetic little grin, turned, and sprinted away down a side street toward Moody's.



Resolve attempted to investigate the tavern and Rosie's flat with the assistance of her sixth sense, but discovered very little of interest. The watch had done its job well, and perhaps she had been too self-deprecating in her assumption that she would have missed something glaring. She wondered if that Wright had concealed anything of importance, but there was nothing she could do about that in her position; she'd have to trust Otto would do some snooping of his own.

Worn and ill with worry, the exorcist finally gave into the urge to trudge upstairs and crawl into bed. The tiny apartment was still an utter wreck, furniture toppled and possessions scattered broken and torn across the floor. The girl unlocked her door and stepped inside, taking a moment to wrestle with a lamp for lighting. As its pale glow spread, casting dramatic shadows over the ruins of her home, it illuminated something peculiar: her coffee table had been returned to its feet during her absence, and atop it sat a chipped vase full of flowers. The yellow eyes of the daisies winked at her as she gawked, mocking.

"Fuck you, Fred," Resolve groaned.

[Otto]

Carrin watched the girl slip away into the night, then turned back to Otto. The street stood empty, and he looked around desperately until he saw the orc's hulking back shambling through the lamplight. He jogged after Otto and, drawing level, slapped his knuckles casually against the orc's shoulder.

"Hey," the man exclaimed. "What's the matter? What'd you find in there?"

Otto blinked absentmindedly, then turned his head to face Carrin. "Nothing," he mumbled, and gazed back towards the road ahead.

Carrin huffed disappointedly, and said "Bugger," in mutual commiseration.

It had been dark on the way to Prankins', but now the night had really settled in. The last vestiges of indigo had seeped from the western horizon, and the sky was almost black. There was, of course, a dandruff-dusting of stars, some faint twists of colour that were the nebulae, and the moon also cast a dull, silver corona. Down in Radasanth, however, the light was not sharp and white, but the soft yellow of artificial luminescence. The two guards strode through its patchwork monochrome, grateful for each others' presence. Radasanth wasn't exactly the safest place, and especially not for a lone copper.

Carrin tried to talk to Otto, but gave up soon enough. The orc's brooding temperament was implacable.

They reached the garrison portcullis, roused the night shift to let them through, and headed into the large open yard within. As they approached the barracks, Otto said he needed to go to the main building first, so he bade his young comrade good night.

The watch house - practically a re-purposed old keep - was generally left open; it was up to each department to monitor their own stations. As such, Otto found the main entrance unlocked when he pushed at the tall wooden doors, which admitted him to a long and darkened hallway. The ceiling was lost in shadow, as was much of the floor. A few doors stood out in the distance, tiny islands of light, and the stairs were bathed in the soft amber glow of candles. Otto took the left staircase, which curved up to an open gallery, and headed along it until he reached Orman's office. The door was closed. When he tried the handle, he discovered that it was also locked.

He stood in front of the door, squeezed his eyes shut, and pinched his nose. An idea must have come to him, because he breathed out heavily and walked to the room next door. This one was open, and lit, and Otto could hear a faint scratching as he approached; he looked in, and saw Orlannes writing away at a desk beside a window. The open oil lamp upon it was the only source of light in the room. The elf looked up as Otto shuffled in, the violet in his eyes almost visible even in the poor light.

"Hello, Otto," he said. "What's up?"

Otto approached the desk, rubbing his eyes wearily. "Have you seen the lieutenant about?"

"Orman? She's gone to bed." Orlannes set down his pen and leaned back in the chair. He put his hands behind his handsome head, and continued, "Anything I can do?"

Otto shook his head. "Thanks anyway."

The elf's eyes narrowed. "You don't look half tired. Get to bed, go on. The others won't thank you if you go stumbling in at one in the morning."

"Aye. 'Night, Orlannes."

"Nighty-night."

Otto gave him a curious look, and turned to leave. He paused, rotated around to face the elf once more (who now bore an equally curious expression on his face), and pointed to a vase of flowers next to Orlanne's inkpot. A slender porcelain cylinder held several flower-topped stalks of white lilies, ethereally resplendent in the lamplight. Orlannes looked from Otto's face, to his outstretched digit, to the flowers, then back to his face.

"Those?" asked Orlannes. "They were delivered a few hours ago. For-"

"Rurin", Otto finished, and lowered his hand. "Yes. Lilies are for funerals."

Orlannes paused, and said in a soft voice, "People are still sending their condolences."

Otto nodded. Then he said "Good night", and left.

Otto walked through the watch house gloom in a foul temper. Where was Orman when he needed her? If there was one person Otto would feel comfortable confiding in, it would be her. She was demonstrably the most competent officer that Otto had known during his years in the CAF, and one possessed of great moral integrity. They were also in this together. He needed to consult her experience and wisdom, of which he was sure she would have, on how to... well, to avoid complete and utter disaster, really. He was being blackmailed to spy on the CAF, which was easily treason or something equally as hideously punishable. And if he didn't comply, then Emric would play right into the hands of those shady weapon-runners, for which the lad could end up hanging. Otto could only imagine what that would do to Marten and Kat.

Otto did not doubt that the sword Bully gave him was Emric's, nor that the lad knew what sort of business he was getting in to. Now that he thought about it, it seemed every bit like something the daft, greedy bastard would do.

So, as Otto stalked out the giant watch house, a sizzling rage simmered in his gut. He was angry at Emric, for being so daft, and he was angry at the inked thugs for daring to come near his family. He was furious with Orman for going to bed at a decent hour, and he felt unutterable rage towards Wright and Whitestone for precipitating all of this. And, most of all, he was angry with himself, for somehow letting it happen.

He did not sleep well that night.

[Resolve]

Otto and Carrin had just begun morning rounds when a familiar figure emerged from an alley, swathed in violet with deep, dark circles under her eyes. The orc wasn't the only one who hadn't slept well. The sunlight stung as he squinted after her.

"Sorry," she said, glancing to Carrin. "Do you mind if we have a minute?"

The young man shrugged, stuffing his hands in his pockets. The prior evening had been enough to spoil his impression of the girl, but he didn't want to be on the receiving end of an outburst if he argued. "Go on."

The exorcist pulled her friend –– or was victim a better descriptor? –– into the alley, immediately noting his similarly exhausted state. Her frown was contagious and he reciprocated, looking down at her with concern. "What is it?"

Resolve did her best not to shrink away as she finally attempted to clear up the wrongs which had built unbearably over the past two days. "I… I just wanted to apologize. For endangering your family, for… if I hurt you yesterday, after that thing with Wright…"

"If anyone should be sorry for that, it's me. I shouldn't have––"

"No," Resolve interrupted, "no, that was fine, I just… there's something I should tell you." She rubbed at her neck and fidgeted with the lay of her sari, unable to still herself. "I-I'm not…"

His brow furrowed in question, big, amber hues focused intently on her. Without warning, the exorcist suddenly found herself fighting an inopportune surge of her relentless temper.

"Why," she snapped in accusation, throwing her hands up, "why did you have to end up so nice? Ugh!"

Bewildered, he stared, instinctively drawing back as she frothed. That seemed only to make it worse.

"Would you just stop it with the eyes, and the face, and the–– gods damn it, Otto," she groaned, rubbing her temples. Finally, she simmered down, turning away and glaring with fierce embarrassment at the dusty ground as she pressed her cool hands to her hot face.

After a long, quiet, awkward moment, Otto thought it might be safe enough to speak. "Did something happen?"

Desperate for a subject change after her failure to articulate, Resolve bit. "Fred came by yesterday," she confessed as if had been the plan all along, smoothing her mussed hair as she looked back up at him. "The cheeky bastard broke into my apartment–– again–– to leave me flowers. Found them when I got home. Can you believe it?"

Something lit in the orc's expression, eyes widening as he nodded. "Yes," he said thoughtfully, "I can. Carrin!" He turned to call to his partner, successfully extracting himself from the dreadfully awkward alleyway.

The young man jogged over from where he'd distracted himself at a window display. "What?"

"We're going to the watch house."

[Otto]

"Why?" asked Resolve, as the three of them strode towards the far-off gleam of battlements. "What's happened?"

Carrin tagged along behind the other two, and moaned despairingly. "We're going to be in so much trouble. We can't just abandon our shift, that's suicide!"

The orc began to walk faster. "I'll think of something," he replied.

"Oh, gods, we're going to be in so much trou-"

"Shut up, Carrin."

The youth lapsed into silence, and settled instead for pulling his hair bemoaningly and letting out the occasional whimper. He jogged along in an effort to match the orc's gait, and together they worked their way up a gentle incline of smooth, well-trodden flagstones. A central median sported an even line of brilliant yellow witch-hazel, the trees' slender branches arcing out in resplendent cones above the pedestrians below. Radasanth's buildings stood to either side, well-designed and sturdy, but with a human touch of homeliness to them as well; flowers trailed down from their pots upon the balconies, artistically framed windows revealed plush and warm interiors, and intricately carved facades shone softly white in the sun.

Resolve waited a little while, then pressed Otto to keep talking. "So are you going to tell us what happened?"

Otto started a few halting sentences, but they didn't really go anywhere. At length, he just shrugged. "I'm not rightly sure, myself. But we need to check it out... just in case..."

"Oh, come on," the girl fumed. "You've got to give me something."

"Well... yesterday, we - the office - we got a delivery. Flowers."

Resolve perked up immediately. "Really? Wait - didn't you think anything of it at the time? I mean, who would send flowers to the guard?"

Carrin stopped tugging at his locks long enough for his eyes to dart uneasily back and forth between the other two.

Otto stared coldly ahead. "There are times," he said, simply. The darkened arch beneath the garrison walls loomed over them, its murk dulling the crimson of the sentries beneath it to a plain maroon. "This may or may not be one of them. We'll find out when we get there."

"'Allo, lads," said the shift leader, walking forward with a chalk and slate. "You're back early. What've you caught?" he added, with a nod towards Resolve.

Otto saluted the man lazily. "Miss, er-" his mind raced "-Sock here wants to make a statement. Burglary."

"That right?" said the man. His walrus moustache twitched with mirth, and the pen scritched away over the clipboard. "Normally, you can just do that on site..."

Resolve opened her mouth, but Otto quickly cut her off. "She, er, said she wanted to speak with a 'proper' officer. I'm taking her to the lieutenant."

"Oh, aye", said the sentry, and leveled a withering look at Resolve; it was people like her, the look seemed to say, that made their job unnecessarily complicated, and he hoped the burglars sold her belongings to wandering Salvarans. "Off you go, then."

Resolve, Otto and Carrin trudged through the thick stone passage, and emerged into a wide, sunlit yard. It was reasonably full of activity, with sunlight glinting off distant helms and coats of armour as their owners bobbed around, jogging in formation and darting with the movement of mock combat. It always smelled dusty inside the walls, as the relentless drum of feet disturbed the packed soil - unless it rained, in which case it smelled muddy. The remote glimmer of movement remained distant as Otto led them to a tall, imposing structure set a little way back from the centre of the fortress.

Resolve waited until they were out of earshot of the gatekeepers, then murmured, "Sock? Sock?" Carrin sniggered behind them, but when he was done, she continued to speak. "Still... you're pretty good at that."

"Thanks", said Otto.

"Mm." It was a noncommittal noise that Resolve made, but it made the orc suspect that her previous comment hadn't been entirely complimentary. They reached the keep, and stepped into the vast entryway. Otto sent Carrin up ahead, to be sure that Wright wasn't lurking about, and then he and Resolve walked side-by-side up the stairs and along the gallery, until they reached the little collective office used by Orman's investigative squad. The bright sun outside worked its way in through the windows, despite the room sitting almost within the shadow of the outside walls. Orlannes was there again, sitting at the desk with the pristine white lilies, and the black-haired youth Otto had seen yesterday afternoon at the desk to his right. They both looked up questioningly as the three of them walked in.

Otto looked at the young man by the elf's side, and said, "Who're you?"

The lad frowned. "Keeves. Who're you?"

"Otto. Mind if I have a minute with Orlannes?"

"Go ahead", he sneered back.

Otto waited, but the kid didn't move. "Alone," he elaborated.

Keeves looked back up from his paperwork, his eyes narrowed to slits. "Sure. The door's right behind you."

"Yes, thank you, Keeves," sighed Orlannes. "Go grab a beer from the canteen or something - you're about due for a break, anyway."

The sallow private Keeves clearly did not appreciate the suggestion, but he got up anyway. As he moved past Otto, the man's shoulder clipped the orc's; Otto hadn't expected it, and actually nearly stumbled. The kid had a bit of muscle behind him, that was for sure. Otto watched him leave, then shook his head and closed the door. He turned back to Orlannes, who bore an extremely commiserating expression.

"Seems nice," Otto remarked. "Rookie, huh?"

"Yup. Mind the chip on his shoulder, it might just knock you over." Orlannes paused, and sighed. "Orman's filling the vacancies pretty quick, that's for sure."

"Just the one?" Carrin asked, but the elf shook his head.

"We're getting a replacement for Becker as well. Looks like she's not coming back... but I can't say I blame her."

"That reminds me," said Otto, "I meant to ask who those lilies are from." He pointed at the flowers in front of Orlannes, helpfully picking them out from the illimitable wealth of blooms that, in no way, graced the rest of the room.

Orlannes blinked. "You know, I damned well forgot to ask. Uh, hold on a moment." The elf reached into the bunched stems and extracted a small white card, which he turned over in his hand, before giving it to Otto. "It doesn't seem to say."

Otto examined it himself, but the only markings were a neat black border, and the words "With sincere condolences" written in elegant, looping writing, the kind that was almost too fancy to read. It didn't seem to spark anything in his mind, apart from reminding him of the now beer-stained card he had received from the girl next to him, so he passed it over to Resolve. Orlannes seemed to really notice her for the first time; his eyebrows jumped up, and then fell back down in a frown.

"Welcome to the office, luv. Wait... aren't you - what are you doing here?"

Too late, Otto realised that Orlannes would have recognised Resolve from two nights ago, when they had collected the thug from Rosie's apartment. He opened his mouth, and said "Er..."

"-I'm helping with enquiries" said Resolve, primly. She met the elf's violet gaze unflinchingly.

Orlannes' eyes flicked over to Otto, who had regained composure, and who said, "I'm taking her to Wright now. Speaking of which, we'd better get moving."

The elf's expression softened, became almost sad, as he looked back to Resolve. "Oh. Well... good luck."

Otto, Resolve and Carrin scurried back out the door, but Otto paused at the threshold, and turned back to Orlannes. "Where did the flowers come from, by the way?"

"I think it was the little shop on Briar Lane, over by the harbour. Why?"

"Just curious," said Otto, and he darted away.

[Resolve]

Orman was in her office, to Otto's relief, and invited their strange little crew in upon his respectful knock. She directed Carrin to close the door behind them, which he did with a soft click.

"So this must be Resolve," she said, offering the girl an appraising glance and a cool smile from her seat at her desk. It appeared that she was in the midst of reorganization, drawers open and folders in piles. "Thank you for your help over the past couple days."

The exorcist returned the smile with tentative warmth to combat the evident unease.

"Spring cleaning?" Carrin asked, stuffing his hands in his pockets.

The elder woman pursed her lips, biting back her anxiety. "Someone has been in here," she said, stern brow furrowed as she looked to Otto. "I discovered some of my things amiss. I've been going through to make sure nothing was taken."

He frowned and they exchanged a look which said everything about their mutual suspicion: Wright.

"It was the flower delivery girl," Resolve spoke up, surprising them all. She stared blankly at the desk as if watching something unseen, drawing back the layers of time to catch a glimpse of the culprit, just as she had done to find the trap door. She recognized the young woman's signature from something which had laced itself around the lilies, an astral imprint. She seized the clue and ran with it.

Anxiety quickly turned to more fierce concern as Orman looked between Otto and the strange girl he'd entrusted with their investigation. Her body tensed, leaning forward. "And how do you know this?"

"Intuition," the exorcist answered, and after she blinked, she seemed to return to the real world. She stared at the grim officer with wide, pale eyes as the implications sank in. "We know the shop," she said, looking over to Otto. "We have a face. This could be what ties everything together. Fred's working us over, but still, what else can we do?"

"I remember seeing a delivery girl here yesterday," Otto confirmed. "Didn't think anything of it at the time."

This seem to appease his superior and she offered him a curt nod. They all knew what needed to be done. "Be careful," Orman piped up from behind as they slipped back out into the hall, standing to exit as well. As they departed, they heard her call for Orlannes. Otto led the way out of the watch house and onto the street, Carrin and Resolve close on his heels.

Though she'd recovered from their first conversation that morning, Resolve continued to be easily flustered, responding defensively to the smallest comments. Eventually they all fell into tense silence, fast feet carrying them down cobblestone streets toward the waterfront. But, still several blocks away, Resolve spoke up with the first useful thing she'd said since meeting Orman.

"Otto," she said nearly in a whisper, stepping in closely as they walked. "Wright's following us again. And I think there might be someone else."

Her pace suddenly quickened and Otto reached out to grab her by the arm, attempting to curb any sudden impulse she might have to handle the situation. She jumped skittishly at the touch, and he let go with a flinch and a hastily blurted "sorry". The exorcist's last response to physical contact had taught him a harsh lesson.

"I'm not going to––… it's okay," Resolve assured him, though her edginess wasn't particularly convincing. "So, what should we do?"

"Keep walking," he said with his voice low, and Carrin pulled in tighter to hear the plan. "Let him follow."

And so they did. Resolve relented, lagging behind as she kept her spare sense focused on the man who followed. Soon enough they reached the harbor and turned to the right, where Briar Lane stemmed off from the main drag in a cozy little side street of touristy shops and cafes. It was just far enough from the warehouse on the river that no one would ever think to connect the two, planted snugly in a part of Radasanth which rarely saw more crime than an occasional shoplifter; Prankins' office sat a mere block away. No one would have suspected the white pickets of the cheery yellow shopfront to harbor more than pretty posies.

[Otto]

The trio stepped from old cobbles onto the maintained flagstones on Briar Lane. As they did so, Otto looked inquiringly at Resolve.

"Where do you reckon Fred fits into all this?" he asked.

She blinked up at him, then frowned. "How do you mean, exactly?"

"Well, back at the garrison, you said Fred's working us over. But where's he been? Haven't seen him since he legged it over rooftops."

"Well, you wouldn't expect to, would you?" she retorted. "Everyone's out to get him. Look, just... think it through. Two nights ago, he shows up back in town, and what happens? We get some shadowy thugs come out from the woodwork, and then we get a slightly different shade of thug tailing us when Whitestone's team commandeers the investigation. Your lieutenant knows something's amiss with the other team, and I'm inclined to agree."

"So where does Fred fit into this again?" The orc looked pitifully bewildered by it all. Resolve could only sigh.

"He left me those flowers as a clue, not an apology. I think. Maybe it was both. Anyway, it was a reminder - he knew I would ask questions and find out about his old ruse as a florist, and the flowers were his way of telling us that there might be something in it after all." She shook her head. "Everyone's out to get him, but it's by - what's the word? Proxy? What they're really out to get is each other, and Fred's the key. Only... he's turning that to his advantage, now. He's using us to lead them to each other."

There was a long pause. Gulls shrieked off in the distance, and a mob of children trailed a mess of noise behind them as they ran around a nearby street. At last, Otto opened his mouth, and said, "I wonder why Wright is so interested in Fred?"

Resolve shrugged and walked on without a word.

Halfway down the cheery little street, Otto saw their mark: a bright, two-storeyed, narrow building, its ground level built of stout grey stone and the upper floor in plaster-coated maison Ã* colombage. A large glass window jutted out on one side of the door, behind which were displayed wreaths and bouquets of brilliantly-hued flowers. There were pink and white posies, iridescent rhododendrons, a couple of sunflowers looming over the lot and, of course, a wealth of roses in all hues. They had been set on clean white linen, but colours danced across the surface as it bled, second hand, from the array of inflorescences.

Otto muttered, from the side of his mouth, to Resolve, "He still there?"

Resolve focused for a moment. "Yes."

"Good."

Carrin glanced at the others uneasily. "What's the plan?"

They looked back at him blankly. "Good question," said Resolve.

"We need to play for time," Otto answered.

They reached the shop's simple wooden door, whereupon Otto looked up and down the street suspiciously (and not at all subtly), opened the door, and ushered in the others.

The large windows let in a comfortable amount of light. Heat, too - the air was stale with it, like the building had forgotten how to breathe a long time ago. A floor of dark wooden boards stretched over to a long counter, cluttered with pruned roses and cat. Otto focused on the animal. It was mottled white and grey, with short dense fur and an ugly, snub-nosed face. Two slit-pupiled, dull brown eyes peered out at the newcomers from under a dense brow, while its tail flicked lazily back and forth. Then a shape shifted in the shadows at the end of the counter, and Otto's gaze swept up along the polished mahogany to the source of movement.

A very short, somewhat old and very much bearded dwarf sat on the counter, with his - no, her, the scent was unmistakeable - booted feet dangling off the ledge. She wore a simple working tunic and leggings, thick gloves, and was using a pair of secateurs to shave and clip the stems of the roses that littered the shop. She hadn't said anything when the trio entered, and had then continued to say nothing. But she did watch them unblinkingly with stern blue eyes, and the secateurs now went snip, snip, snip. The sound filled the shop, cutting through the dead air like it sliced through the thorns and branches.

[Otto]

Otto stared at the dwarf. She was obviously not the girl he had seen making the delivery yesterday. Also, the longer he looked into those grey-blue eyes, the more he was convinced that one of them was fake. The iris colour was a little off, and it had a brittle sort of sheen to it, like glass. She finished with the stem in her hand, and glanced down at a pile of unshorn roses; she picked one up, and focused on that instead of the newcomers.

Snip. Snick. Snip.

Otto glanced at Resolve, and said, "Are we alone?"

"Yes." Her voice was clipped, and she was glaring at the dwarf. She took a bold step forward.

"I think you're just fine where you are, thank you very much," said the dwarf, her eyes still on the rose stem. She had a gruff voice, which didn't separate her from many of her kin, and it croaked with age.

The cat's tail whisked around, and the beast jumped down from the counter. It sauntered past Resolve without a single glance in her direction, and rubbed up against Otto's leg. He blinked down at it, and the cat met his gaze. It went "roowwrrr" in an impatient sort of tone, so the orc lowered himself and gently stroked it between the ears. It closed its eyes and let him continue, so he guessed that it approved.

Resolve had indeed come to a halt, having remembered Otto's plan. "Do you say that to all your customers?" she spiered. "If so, then I can't imagine business is exactly booming."

"I know why you're here", the dwarf replied. However, she didn't seem inclined to expand on the point, because she went back to clipping roses. Resolve looked over to Otto inquiringly, as if to ask if they should keep holding back or just grab the defenseless old woman before them. He appeared a little confused himself, but nonetheless, shook his head ever so slightly. The cat's tail flicked again, and it wandered over to Carrin, who was peering nervously out the shopfront window.

Resolve turned back to their quarry. "Where's your assistant?"

"Making a delivery."

Resolve felt just a tiny bit relieved. "I think we've got it figured out. Well, most of it, anyway," she said.

Snip, snip.

"The only thing missing," she went on, "is where Whitestone fits in to all this. There's clearly more to his investigation than simple civic duty."

The dwarf huffed derisively. Resolve frowned, opened her mouth - but before the words came out, the shopkeep spoke up.

"You shouldn't have come here," she sighed.

Otto stepped forward, and growled, "You didn't give us much of a choice."

"You had a choice." Snip, snip, snip. "You lot keep any pets?" the dwarf asked.

The three of them looked at each other, bemused. "I had a tortoise when I was six," said Carrin, helpfully.

She ignored him. "Curious thing, taking on a pet. You welcome them in, feed them, shelter them, care for them, dote on them. But you have to make a choice." She paused there to look at the cat, now lying in a patch of sun, but the secateurs filled the brief silence. "It's tough, but the other choice is tougher in the end. They gets rowdy. Violent, even. Shag anything that moves, go piss all over the neighbours' porches, tear up anything their paws can reach. They makes trouble, in short. So you clip their nuts, or put them down.

"You coming here, that's trouble. You had a choice alright - and I gave you the easy way out. A momentary pinch, a spot of pain - metaphorically speaking - and then it'd all be over and done with. You'd have been free to go your merry ways, and never have to see my lads again. But now you're here... well, you've made the other choice, and it's too late to go back."

The clicking of the blades filled the stuffy air, a hundred times more ominous than before. Resolve glanced around distractedly, as something unseen and unheard by the others drew her focus. A hundred little warning signs were flashing subtly all around Otto now, and he felt the dread begin to tingle in his fingertips.

"What's your assistant delivering, exactly?" he whispered.

The dwarf's cheek puckered into a half-smile. "A message."

"Otto," Resolve urgently hissed, "I think... I think there are people coming."

"I tried to do this the other way," the old woman blithely said, "But now, I'm going to have to put you to sleep."

[Resolve]

Resolve might have noticed Wright's presence slip away in her peripherals if she wasn't so fixated on the small, encroaching army. Some, she recognized even without seeing, familiar from the warehouse and the imprint on the floral arrangement. "Shit," she muttered, low enough that the utterance sounded more of a pitiable whimper.

Only the cat seemed to understand, standing as if agitated. The dwarf gestured one knobby hand in effort to comfort it. "Be still, Nuggetchop," she cooed. Carrin blinked in disbelief.

And then, just as predicted, the siege was upon them. Bully appeared, his broad frame filling the open doorway beyond the counter. Behind him flashed a glimpse of rosy pink, the delivery girl, and then it fled. Otto and Carrin stepped instinctively back toward the entrance, but Resolve remained still and resigned as she knew what awaited them: Cat, Gull, and the greenhorn, all filtering in silently to form an imposing barrier. More men lingered back. Nuggetchop retreated to the countertop where the dwarf stroked him with an affection which never reached her sharp, narrowed eyes.

"Come now," she eventually spoke, hopping down off the counter with a spryness unbecoming of her age. Her feet met the floor with a thud which resounded up the spines of their unwelcome guests. "Step into my office."

Bully stepped aside to allow the unlikely ringleader to lead into the ominous hallway. The trio of detectives-turned-victims shared a glance, Otto shrugging helplessly. Then their more impulsive counterpart found sudden inspiration to ruin any chance of resolving the encounter peacefully.

"No," Resolve glared.

The dwarf and the neckless man turned to view the dissenter.

"Do you think we're stupid?" the girl began, hands on hips, eagerly embracing an outlet for all the built-up tension.

Bully stared back, unwilling to betray any hint of frustration. "Our turf, our terms."

"Fuck your terms," Resolve spat, and she heard steps behind her as the thugs who formed the barrier closed in on their group. The trio tightened in the heart of the space in light of the rising discomfort, stifled in the haze. "Call off your clowns," the exorcist said, lifting a palmful of crackling energy, "before we waste every single one of you."

The dwarf blinked, grinned, and guffawed in the way only the most self-assured villains do. "Grimhildr––" the man behind her began, and she waved him off.

"Get the curtains, Violet," Grimhildr said, and to Resolve's surprise, the reassuring presence of the sun vanished instantly. Its absence did nothing to soothe the stale, floral heat of the shop. When the exorcist twisted toward the window, the delivery girl stood there at the swiftly draw blinds, prim and silent in her impeccably pressed uniform. How'd she get there without her noticing…?

But Resolve couldn't afford to waste too much of her concentration on this prolifically stealthy Violet. The goons closed in on all sides within the gray wash of shadow, another emerging from the doorway which Bully had blocked from sight moments ago. Carrin cursed in his typically neurotic way, just loud enough from under his breath that all heard over the tense shuffling of soles on floorboards. Soon, the exorcist couldn't contain herself any longer.

She raised her arm and Bully took a heavy strike of energy straight to the face, sending him staggering back and nearly trampling over his employer. He grabbed the counter for balance as blood poured from his nose, knocking the trimmings from the polished wood and onto the pristine floor. Nuggetchop scattered, claws skittering as he tore down the hall and fled into the darkness.

Grimhildr, understandably, was livid as she avoided falling under the man's stumble. Her face contorted with anger accentuated by the creeping darkness, twisting her old age into an embodiment of unadulterated hate.

"Kill them," she sneered.

[Otto]

There was suddenly a lot of steel on display. Otto looked from one leering face to another; here and there, a knife caught just enough sun to paint a glaring line across their invariably marred features - one with a gap-toothed grin, another with a pearly white eye, and ink on each and every one. Oh, and they were slowly getting closer, too.

The air was broken by a sound like someone stepping on a bag of crisps, followed by one of the thugs screaming and stumbling back from Resolve. Otto spared the man a glance and, though he was by no means a doctor, was pretty certain that fingers weren't meant to bend backwards at the joints like that. Otto's hammer came up, and he nudged Carrin with an elbow, which elicited a nod from the young man. Carrin clutched a buckler in his left hand and a short arming sword in the other, and together they positioned themselves back to back with Resolve. Grimhildr's lackeys circled around uncertainly, seeking a flaw in the guard that they could lever open.

A snarling-faced Gull tried his luck, and darted in at Carrin. What the thug saw was a young, scared-looking rookie, a little slow on the uptake and bearing an expression of terminal good-naturedness - just the opening that they would need. What he failed to observe was a honed soldier, drilled daily to exhaustion and regularly trained in life-or-death fights in the Citadel. So, when Gull jabbed out with a long, gleaming dagger, he did not expect Carrin to foil the attack against his buckler and simultaneously counter with a slash of his own. There followed a dull thump and clatter, and Gull stared down in disbelief at his dagger, now lying on the dusty floorboards.

Though to be fair, what he really seemed to be having trouble registering was the fact that his hand was still wrapped around the hilt.

Carrin stared at Gull's bleeding stump for a moment and then, almost apologetically, kicked the man away. This seemed to spur the stricken fellow's mind back into action, for as the he staggered back, he began to hoarsely scream. Otto looked at Carrin. The lad seemed pale, as far as he could tell in this light, and there was a light quaver to his breathing. Even the Citadel couldn't prepare you for reality, not entirely. But his blade held steady, and there was a determined set to his jaw; the lad was bottling the shock and putting it away for later. Good.

A hooded goon silenced Gull with a solid punch, and wound back his arm to throw something at the trio. Otto thought he recognised the build, but knew he recognised the knives - it was the chap that they had met two nights ago in Resolve's apartment. The one that had gotten away. Otto's grip shifted up the haft of his hammer.

The man threw a knife at Resolve. Otto's hammer flicked out, and with a bright ting, the missile glinted harmlessly away into the shadows. Another knife whirled through the air, this time at Otto. Another ring of metal on metal.

The man looked cautiously behind him, where the second knife now vibrated gently in the wall, just a few inches from his head. He put the blades away quite slowly, and unsheathed a dirk instead.

Well. That sorted that out.

The thugs still probed at them reproachfully, but without conviction, which gave Otto time to think. Resolve was a one-woman army, which may have been a problem; so were all their opponents, which simply meant she'd have been outnumbered. Otto and Carrin, on the other hand, were a team. This meant that, whenever one of the hired help made an attack without coordinating with his peers, he quickly found himself facing a brief and uncompromising two-on-one rebuttal. Yet, even so, it couldn't last. There was such a thing as luck, and it was only a matter of time until Grimhildr's spurred the goons on hard enough to break through the trio's defences. They needed to hold out until the second part of Otto's plan came into action. Things were made doubly hard by the fact that, for it to work sufficiently well, they would need to harm Grimhildr's men as little as possible.

"Carrin," he yelled. The lad gave him a sidelong glance, and registered the orc's gesture towards the passage behind the counter. "Take point."

Carrin nodded, broke formation, and vaulted over the counter. Otto directed Resolve to follow suit, and he brought up the rear. Carrin had some difficulty clearing the doorway of a stubborn lackey, until a concussive blast bowled the obstructive fellow head over arse. Otto ambled backwards to the door, doing his best to use his girth, mail and shield to fend off the pressing mass of slashing limbs and swishing clubs.

"Clear!" he heard Carrin shout, and he picked up the pace. Otto glanced over his shoulder for a moment; there was a long, door-lined passageway behind them, and it did indeed appear clear of aggressors. He turned back, and caught a flicker of pale movement by his side. His hammer swung around hurriedly, but then faltered. He stared into the wide, fearful eyes of the soft-faced shop assistant. Panic jerked his arm back, and the hammer went wide.

Her eyes narrowed. The timid features hardened.

Violet was stronger than she looked, and a tour of duty in the country hadn't done Otto's mail any favours. It parted like frayed thread under her keen stiletto. He hardly felt the blade dip into his gut the first time, and even less the second. At last, he remembered himself, and staggered away with a wild swing at the girl.

But she was already gone.

Otto fell backwards.

[Resolve]

By the time Resolve turned to check on Otto, it was too late. She caught the swing and the fall, a glint of metal in the attacker's hand as she slipped away through one of the several doors in the narrow hallway. Carrin appeared at Otto's defense before the exorcist even registered what had happened, blocking the doorway to the approaching thugs. Perhaps she should have followed suit, but upon realizing what had transpired, her temper seized control. In light of Otto's spilled blood, she saw red.

The exorcist tore after the delivery girl, boots loud against hardwood floors as she entered the next room. It was a double office and storeroom filled with a variety of ribbons and vessels for the flower shop's offerings, but with no sign of the demented dwarf. Violet didn't seem surprised to see her and spun into action as if having lain in wait, impossibly quick and light on her feet as she swept up to the other girl's side. Swiftly, she lashed out for blood with that menacing knife.

Resolve dodged, but just barely. When Violet swung a second time, she knew what to expect, conjuring a small shield of energy and thrusting it into the weapon's path. It knocked the stiletto from Violet's grasp, wrenching her hand with a yelp of dismay, and sent it scattering across the floor.

Out in the hall, Resolve heard a commotion, but couldn't afford to break her attention away from the delivery girl even for a second. Violet dove to retrieve her lost weapon but the exorcist wasn't about to allow that, tackling her to the floor in an ungraceful pile of skirts and limbs. They grappled, but Violet found the stretch to reach her knife and immediately curled around her opposer for a vicious stab. The blade caught in the trailing end of Resolve's sari, nicking her just well enough for her side to explode in agonizing heat, and she snarled.

Violet attempted to pry herself away, but such was to no avail. If anything, the immediate surge of adrenaline following the pain inspired greater strength in the exorcist. She grabbed herself a fistful of pretty blonde hair, pulling hard against Violet's scalp, and yanked her down to slam her against the floor.

"How dare you hurt my friend," Resolve growled, straddling the villain to contain the struggle of her limbs. Her vise-like grip on the daintier girl's wrist was nigh powerful enough to break bones, and with a twist, the stiletto fell to the floor harmlessly once again. Violet winced and Resolve answered her lack of remorse with a hard strike to the face, then another. Blood trickled from Violet's delicate little nose, but still, the mysterious delivery girl said nothing. Resolve released her only to pick up the stiletto, wielding it with vengeance, her other hand clamping over Violet's throat. The girl sputtered as blood filled her sinuses, then choked as Resolve stole away her access to air. "I have half a mind to––"

"Hey," someone interrupted. "Hey!"

Resolve snapped out of her fury with visible reluctance, glaring up toward the hallway. Carrin stood sideways in the doorway, savoring a brief breather in the action. A fresh welt swelled on his cheekbone and, from the urgency in his voice, he made the growing desperation of their situation obvious.

"Leave her in one piece, will you? We need her for questioning."

With a sneer –– or was it a pout? –– the exorcist relented, releasing the blooded girl and raising herself to her feet. Violet wrapped her arms over her face, rolling away from the doorway as if to shield herself from the embarrassment of her defeat. "Fine," Resolve sighed, and then her eyes widened. Without her attention so focused by rage, she soon noticed that the occupants of the flower shop had grown in number considerably since the start of the skirmish. Among them, she immediately recognized Wright. But the rest remained fuzzy; her mind wasn't in a place to decipher the whirlwind. She would be the first to admit anger made her stupid, including her enhanced senses. "What's going on?" she asked with fists clenched, on edge. "Wait, where's Otto?"

[Otto]

Blast that girl! Where is she?

Grimhildr tried to remain calm while she methodically spun the safe's combination wheel. What she needed right now was for Violet to be lurking nearby in some handy shadow, keeping an eye out for Grimhildr's personal safety, but what she had was just the two men that she had been able to spare from the melee downstairs. From the sounds of it, things were intensifying below. There was an awful lot of shouting, some screaming, and a sporadic tattoo of thumping feet running back and forth. The noises came up muffled and secondhand through the floorboards, though they still made the curtains in the small, stuffy office sway gently about.

There was a subtle little click, and the safe swung open. Grimhildr quickly stuffed its contents into a leather satchel. One might have expected the rattle and clink of coin, but the dwarf's most precious assets gave the rustle of paper.

She stepped outside the office and nodded at her two hastily selected bodyguards. All three of them began to bustle down the corridor towards the stairs, one man in front, another behind, and Grimhildr in the middle. The vanguard peered cautiously down from the landing, stepped smartly aside as a crossbow bolt whizzed past, rocked forwards again and lashed out with a hand. Grimhildr heard a meaty slicing sound, and then the receding thud as something heavy tumbled limply down the stairs. She felt she had to congratulate herself on choosing such a warren-like building as her headquarters, full of alternate routes and splitting paths; no matter how many coppers stormed the place, it was guaranteed that they would have to split up again and again if they wanted to cover every room and passage. She gestured for the two men to continue, and they cautiously descended the stairs.

Bloody coppers... she should have ousted Whitestone and that bastard Wright from the very beginning, never mind how tricky it would have been. And then that orc, and the floozy! How in the world had they found her out? They were two more people that it would have been better to just kill, but the opportunity to get close to Whitestone and also catch up to Fred (and damn him, too!) had just been too good. Sometimes you got careless and thought only about the payoff, but not enough about the risk...

They were at the bottom of the stairs now, halfway along a nondescript, windowless corridor. There, at one end, was the rear door to the shop - and in front of it, another two soldiers. She heard the distant clack and thump of a crossbow, and one of her guards stumbled back. The other threw a knife back in response, but it whirled harmlessly past and out the exit.

Gimhildr frowned. It was a shame that Violet wasn't here. She supposed she would just have to sort this out herself.

A few seconds later, Grimhildr stepped over the soldiers' prone bodies. Her uninjured bodyguard strode past her into the narrow alleyway that turned sharply just ahead of them, while the other followed stiffly behind. After another short wait, they turned back to the dwarf and nodded. All clear.

"There she is!"

... maybe not.

The shout came from behind, back in the building. Grimhildr caught a glimpse of a handful of soldiers barging down the corridor, before her wounded underling slammed the door shut and collapsed his weight against it. The whole left of his shirt was damp with blood, and clung wetly to his chest. The man gave her a slight nod, closed his eyes, and braced himself as the door shuddered under a solid blow from the other side.

Grimhildr gave the other fellow's ankle a kick. "Get going!" she roared.

The two of them dashed around the corner, with Grimhildr hobbling as quickly as she could manage behind. There, at the far end of the dingy alleyway, was the open street, but that wasn't her destination. No, she owned a few of the properties around here, and had made sure there were ample basement and cellar passages that linked up with the sewers. It was a last-ditch plan, but once she was down that cellar door at the end there, she would be able to emerge practically anywhere in the city...

Several feet in front of her, the thug stopped as though he'd run into a pole. Then she saw the shiny little gleam of metal that had emerged through the back of his skull. It withdrew, and the corpse collapsed to the fetid cobbles to reveal a familiar, wiry figure behind it.

"Well, there's a thing", chuckled Wright. "A dwarf, eh? Wouldn't have picked it, myself." The soldier held a bloody dirk in one hand, rivulets still twining on the steel, and a crossbow aimed steadily at her in the other.

Grimhildr eyed the bow with a calculating expression, but said nothing.

"In any case, we know who you are now," Wright continued. He nodded at the dwarf's bag. "Is that what I think it is? Best hand in over, if so. Come on - once we have it, we don't even need to hurt you."

The dwarf licked her lips. "Aye. But you'll still want to."

Wright grinned. "Captain did say to be lenient if you cooperated. Very fair man, the captain. So just pass it over, so's I know I got what I need, then we can-" he paused when he saw Grimhildr's eyes flicker distractedly over his shoulder, and his grin deepened. "Hah, nice try, but I ain't falling for that old trick-"

"Pity," Otto whispered into his ear. Wright almost leaped out of his skin, but he met the orc's hammer coming the other way, and promptly folded up.

Otto grimaced, and glanced down at his stomach. He had one hand pressed up to the wound and stuffed with linen bandages, which had now turned varying degrees of red and pink.

It had been easy enough to give Carrin the slip, once the boy had been focused on Resolve and Violet. There had been just one short, wondrous moment of opportunity when Wright's cronies had turned up and sent Grimhildr's men into disarray, and Otto had seized it. Slipping away unnoticed at ground floor had been out of the question, and he wouldn't have been able to fight his way out even if he didn't have a couple of holes in his gut. So he'd looked up for inspiration and, remembering the night that started all this, had seen it. Getting to the roof had been as easy as staying ahead of Wright's men, and the buildings were so close together here that the only time he'd had to jump had been on the way down. As this was a rear alley, usually just frequented by the gong men, there had been a distressingly large number of soft targets to aim for.

He looked up. Grimhildr was staring at him with that same, blank, analytical expression.

"So..." he began.

The dwarf's arms flicked up, and Otto found himself staring the wrong way down the sights of two pistol bows.

[Resolve]

Carrin cursed when he realized his partner's absence, but as the soldiers pressed through the barrier made by Grimhildr's men, he didn't have time to panic. Even if they'd lucked out with many of the thugs currently indisposed, they couldn't trust Wright's men.

"He's out back," Resolve gasped as she came to her senses again, interrupting Carrin's busy mind. "With Wright, and… the dwarf! Shit," she hissed, hampered in her lurch toward the door by the wound on her side. Clutching it, her fingers grateful to find it shallow, she peered around Carrin's wiry frame to view the mayhem beyond. One thug lay unconscious on the hallway floor, the others fighting a losing battle against the soldiers in the front room. "Carrin, we have to get to him!"

Such was easier said than done. Amongst the goons still fighting stood familiar faces, and Cat wasn't about to let them out of his sight again. He slinked down the hall to intercept them in a flourish of claws, Carrin fending him off with admirable resilience. Resolve knocked him aside with a blast of energy, sending him just off balance enough to give her unlikely partner an opening, and Carrin took it. But even with that villain incapacitated for the moment, it wouldn't have been long before another took his place, and the pair made to flee down the hall toward the back alley. The back door wasn't an option; Wright's men still contended with Grimhildr's blockade from the outside.

So the pair took a detour, stepping aside into the next room down the hall, which blessedly bore an alternative exit: a window.

It was then something clotheslined Resolve –– a slender arm bearing a shocking level of strength, similar to her own –– and hooked her around the neck to draw her stumbling backwards.

Immediately, the exorcist slumped in that grip, hoping to pull the attacker's center of gravity off with her weight. Violet didn't fall for it, balancing them with incredible grace and thrusting a knife up into Resolve's side. Or at least she tried, but even if anger made the exorcist stupid, she retained some wits about her; the blade met with an instinctual layer of crackling, conjured armor. As Violet reconsidered her plan, the girl in her grasp bolted upwards again, cracking the back of her head against her nose to shatter it a second time. The blade clattered harmlessly to the floor and Violet wavered.

Awash in blood, the girls grappled, and Resolve won the struggle yet again. She snagged herself another fistful of that pretty blonde hair and dragged the whimpering delivery girl to the window with her, Carrin's previous protests wholeheartedly ignored. If they were to face that remorseless creature called Grimhildr, at least they had some collateral.

[Otto]

Orc and dwarf stared at each other, trapped in the short, hot silence which permeated the narrow space between the tall buildings. Otto was the first to move - he dove sideways, spun as a vicious little bolt caught him on the mail sleeve, and rolled behind the wooden skip he had just stepped out from. The first thing he noticed was the fresh bout of red-hot agony in his stomach. The second thing was the rank stink wafting out of the nightsoil bin he had taken refuge behind.

The third thing was the sound of Grimhildr re-cocking her pistol bow.

The fourth thing was the dwarf's footsteps, slowly drawing closer.

Otto did a quick review. What were his options? He daren't free the hand he was using to staunch the bleeding at his stomach. As it was, his small display of athletics were rapidly turning the linen a darker shade of red, and he could feel the warm blood soaking his gauntlets and rubbing against his fingers. He had only one free hand, and a hammer would be no use against the crossbows...

He gently hooked the weapon back in his belt and, with some difficulty, reached over his shoulder to free his roundshield from its place.

Grimhildr's footsteps were much closer, now. Otto reckoned she was just beyond the other side of the skip. He let her draw in a little nearer - perhaps if she was close enough, she'd only manage to take one shot before he reached her. And then, well, they would both see how the famously thick skull of the dwarves held up against ten pounds of iron-shod solid oak. His hand clenched and unclenched impatiently upon the grip.

The footsteps halted. Otto waited uneasily for a few seconds, but the only sounds were the odd shout and a nearby thudding, as though someone was trying to break down a door. Perhaps, he thought, the two of them were waiting motionless on opposite sides of the skip, both unwilling to walk into a potential trap. Then again... Grimhildr was in something of a hurry to get away. She wouldn't be hanging around all day for Otto to make his move, not with Whitestone's men hot on her heels. In his mind's suspicious eye, he peered around the corner and saw the dwarf, sneaking noiselessly along the bricks, poised to leap out on the unsuspected orc...

Otto didn't wait. He pushed away from the wall with a grunt, scrambled around his side of the cover and charged down the alley, shield held aloft. There was no resistance, nor thud of little black crossbow bolts against the oak. A quick glance around the rim showed the lane to be empty. Otto slowed. How fast could the dwarf move? Did one of the doorways further up now hold loitering, height-challenged death? Or perhaps she was still cowering behind the cover of the other side of the skip?

He watched the alleyway for another moment, watching for movement, seeing none. His shield came back up, and with renewed determination, he prepared to turn the corner.

"Up here, copper."

Otto froze. It had little to do with cognitive processes, but resulted from some base, fatalistic horror. He forced himself to turn his head and saw, perched on top of the large bin, the stout figure of Grimhildr. And her bows.

"Nice try," she smirked. Otto noticed - and it was difficult not to - that the ends of both her weapons were aimed at his exposed flank. "Now, normally I'd just kill you, but I want a moment to savour this. Don't worry - I won't take long."

Otto swallowed. "That's alright. I've got all day."

She smiled again, and her eyes flickered to the orc's dripping wound. "I doubt you've so long, so I should make this brief. Don't want anyone else to get the satisfaction of killing you, see? But before I tuck you in, I want to personally tell you what I'm going to do to that whore... and then, your family-"

But Otto was spared the details, because at that moment, he heard the cry of salvation echo in from back down the lane.

"Oi!"

[Resolve]

A crackling blast punctuated Resolve's shout, sailing past the dwarf's form and harmlessly beyond. It nicked the wall of a building just behind Otto, shattering a few bricks, and they kicked up dust as they rained onto the dirt below.

The exorcist dragged her prisoner along as she stalked toward the conflict, Violet's feet dragging as she tried to keep up. Having lost all dignity, the delivery girl had found herself in a tight headlock, just gentle enough that she saw spots but did not faint. Carrin haunted the end of the alley, keeping an eye on the twist just beyond where some men still blocked the rear door. As Grimhildr glared over her shoulder, there was no doubt she saw the blood on her bodyguard's face, but she didn't allow such a pitiful sight to soften the cruelty of her knobby features.

"If you want her in one piece, you'll drop the weapons," Resolve ordered. She couldn't see Otto well until he stepped aside from the bin, and she could have sighed from relief to discover him still standing.

With practice so expert, it could have been mistaken for real grace, Grimhildr spun atop the bin and took a single shot at Resolve. The exorcist blocked it with some energy, the tip of the bolt embedding benignly into the sheer, crackling surface, until the shield dropped and the projectile clattered to the ground. If the dwarf was disappointed, the girl simply knew she had been lucky.

Resolve wrenched Violet's neck in the crook of her arm, eliciting a whimper –– the first truly vulnerable sound she'd earned from the rogue. It was gratifying and she was sorely tempted to try for something better when Grimhildr relented.

"On three, release her and I shall lay down my arms. One… two…" the dwarf counted, squat legs struggling to crouch in feigned elderliness as she lowered herself to deliver her promise. Still, something didn't feel right –– something in Grimhildr's body language was too collected to be without scheme. "Three." Her body began to twist, one of the pistol bows turning toward Otto…

And instinct took hold. Without regard for Violet's dignity, Resolve threw her prisoner unceremoniously to the ground. In fluid motion she whipped both hands into the air, palms already filled with wispy crackles of energy, and commenced a shower of blasts upon the offending dwarf. Some missed from that range, but it didn't matter; the two or three which struck true disarmed Grimhildr of at least one of the firearms, slamming her stocky stump of a figure off the edge of the bin and hard onto the ground below. For a second, she disappeared into a bloom of dust, prone and bewildered and perhaps, blessedly, with a broken hip.

One of better morals may have hesitated to humiliate a crippled elder, but Grimhildr had proven herself unworthy of mercy.

[Otto]

Grimhildr's satchel landed onto the grime-coated cobbles, in between Wright's slumped form and the stiffening corpse of the dwarf's lackey. And there was something else - a light sort of grinding noise which drew the trio's attention. It came from a small object which rolled out from the skip and over the stones, past the satchel and recumbent bodies, until it came up against Carrin's boot with a faint tick. He stared down at the ground by his feet. It stared back.

"Urgh," Carrin groaned, and stepped away. Grimhildr's glass eye rocked a little, but continued to glare up at the sky.

Somewhere behind them came the sound of splintering wood. Whichever side had won was starting to break out into the alley.

"We'd better get a move on," Resolve stated. She gave Violet a solid kick in the stomach before picking her up again. "Carrin, grab the old bag. And her, uh, bag. Otto..."

She turned and saw the orc had slumped against the wall. He looked wide-eyed and fearful, and his shoulders shook with short, sharp gasps.

"Otto? Come on, we can get you out of here." Resolve took a wary step forward. Her eyes were drawn tothe bunched up linen Otto held tight against his gut, which was when she noticed his other hand, a little way above it, scrabbling at the protruding end of a black crossbow bolt.

"Otto! Shit, Carrin, forget the bitch, help me with him-"

Resolve threw Grimhildr's assistant aside for a second time, and darted forward. Otto looked up from his wounds, into her grey eyes.

"Not having... much luck... today," he gasped.

"Come on, put your arm around my shoulder. Carrin! Hold his bandages for him!"

"Can't... br-breathe..."

The girl tried to lift up his arm, but Otto just slid away from her, down the wall. Carrin hurried over, the satchel slung firmly around his shoulder, and groaned when he saw the orc's predicament. Together, he and Resolve each tried to grab an arm and haul Otto back to his feet.

"It's too low to have hit his lungs, I don't know what's wrong!" Resolve yelled. A terrible crunching sound echoed past them, laden with a note of finality; the door was down, and there were lots of footsteps approaching.

"Could have hit his diaphragm!" Carrin screamed back. "We'll have to carry him- stop struggling, you bastard!"

But Otto managed to throw off the younger guard, and with Resolve trying to manage just by herself, he soon dropped out of her grasp.

"Run," he wheezed to her, and took another jolting breath. "Get to," gasp, "Orman."

Carrin hopped nervously from foot to foot. "What did he say?" the lad asked.

Resolve's eyes narrowed. "He said for you to get to Orman," she intoned. Otto, now at ground level, tried to punch her in the shins, but she ignored it. "Now."

"But-"

"Go!" she screamed, and pushed him bodily towards the exit. "Don't make this whole thing a waste!"

Carrin stumbled a bit, flashed her a brief look of shock, and pounded away down the pavement. Otto, meanwhile, was down on all fours, and doing his best not to let the weight of his hauberk drag him further. The bolt niggled him with every inhalation, and he could only take the shallowest of breaths before the shifting muscles threatened to tear against the dart. Blood now dribbled freely from his stomach, and he could taste flecks of the stuff in his mouth. There was a definite fuzziness to the edge of his hearing, and his peripheral vision had begun to swim.

He registered, somewhat lethargically, that Resolve was still trying to drag him off. But he could hear heavy boots charging towards them along the cobbles. He hacked and sputtered, and the foul taste in his mouth intensified. There was a scream, and a shout, and a meaty sort of smack, and more screams. More boots. People. Coming from the other direction... fresh shouts. Steel being drawn.

He looked up to see that he and Resolve were completely surrounded. The figures circled them uncertainly, and wore the red tabard of the CAF to a man, though he was a bit past taking in details at this point. Even so, he knew this was it.

He still had his hammer. Operating purely by rote at this point, he managed to free it from his belt.

One of the figures detached from the group. It stepped forward purposefully, and when it was in range, Otto rolled back onto his haunches and swung-

Firm fingers snatched the weapon away with ease. Otto blinked at the hand, then followed the curve of the arm up to a towering pair of shoulders and, finally, a distant hint of stern features and grey hair above that.

"Wrong team, Bastum," said Orman.

[Resolve]

"Otto."

The young orc blinked out of a doze at the whisper of his name. It took a long moment, but as he gathered his wits, he carefully turned his head to seek the source of the soft, feminine voice.

The watch's infirmary would never feel like home, but in the midst of his prescribed bed rest, Otto had at least gotten comfortable there. Fortunately, he mostly had the place to himself after the first couple days; the men who'd been hurt in the skirmish all seemed to have done better than him, and for that he was grateful. The only company he had left was Nuggetchop, who had been tragically orphaned by means of Grimhildr's apprehension and hence unofficially adopted by the watch. The ball of fur had been curled tightly against his side as they rested, but upon being awoken, offered a futile hiss to the intruder.

"Psst," it rose again, and suddenly a face hovered close above his own. She pressed a finger to her full lips, insinuating a desire for stealth.

Nuggetchop obliged, hopping off the bed in disgruntled fashion, but Otto didn't. "Resolve?"

"Shhh!" She moved her hand as if to clamp it over his mouth, then shied away from contact. Still leaning over him, she gave him a blunt look-over, eyeing his stomach where she imagined he bore a new scar or two. "How… how're you feeling?"

"Been better, to be honest," Otto sighed, the movement of his chest catching sharp in his gut. Fortunately, the monks had gotten him out of the woods, a perk of his affiliation with the watch. But, even so, it would be some weeks before they'd let him back on duty.

Resolve gazed quietly at his face, the furrow of her brow laced with guilt and regret… that was, until her expression turned to frustration. "I tried to visit earlier, and you know what happened? They turned me away," she frowned. "Can you believe it?"

As a matter of fact, he certainly could. Orman had commanded the infirmary staff, at Carrin's request, to bar the exorcist from visiting rights; perhaps rightfully, his colleague had determined her to be a poor influence on his health.

But, of course, she wasn't about to let that stop her. That wouldn't have been Resolve-like at all, and at this point, Otto was getting to know her quite well. Whether this development was good or bad had yet to be determined.

He glanced around the room, scanning rows of empty beds for a sign of something gone amiss, and found none. "How did you get in?"

With an enigmatic grin, Resolve leaned in closer. It took Otto a few more seconds to register the fact that she now floated over him and, in closer range, appeared ever so slightly transparent. He stared up into her pale eyes, the texture of the ceiling just barely visible behind them.

"Eventually they'll learn I am not to be underestimated," she beamed, her hair rising ethereally around her face in her astral form's spooky reluctance to acknowledge gravity. "But alas, in this form, I can't touch anything –– or anyone."

He blinked, unsure how to respond to that… or her apparent disregard of personal space.

"Anyway, I'm here for a reason," she revealed, her hands clasped coyly behind her back. "When do they say you'll be up and about again?"

"Next week." Otto pressed back against his pillow as she hovered over him, but it didn't seem to help. All the tension accomplished was add to the ache of his still-healing wounds.

"Good," the girl smiled. "I believe I owe you… so what do you say you stop by next Saturday night and we'll finish what we started? How does eight sound?"

Before Otto could venture a response, the sound of footsteps and a distant, clattering door interrupted their moment. Resolve struggled to hide her disappointment in their all too short visit. "I won't take no for an answer," she said matter-of-factly, and then she vanished into thin air as if she'd never been there at all.

If not for the interruption, Otto might have written it off as a fever dream. A familiar figure strode through the door at the end of the hall, approaching with a bundle of green and white in his arm. Nuggetchop trotted out to greet him, weaving precariously around his ankles as he walked.

"You'll never guess," Carrin said with snark as he approached Otto's bedside, placing the floral arrangement on the nearby table. "Someone sent you flowers."

Otto groaned. A card peeked out of the top of the flowers, but he didn't need to check it to know their origin.

[Otto]

There was a small table next to each bed, there to hold meals, diagnostic tools, and get-well gifts. Carrin busied himself with filling a slender and chipped vase with water from a pitcher, then stuffed the stalks firmly inside it. Otto watched the little hooded flowers bob about, swaying in and out of the sunlight from the window above his bedside table. He rifled through his sparse memory of Coronian plants, trying to place them: lilies were for remembrance, rosemary for memory, snowdrops for innocence, and...

He finally recognised the bouquet: Canterbury Bells. For gratitude.

"You're welcome, Fred," he muttered sourly.

Carrin looked over at the orc. "What was that?"

"Er, nothing." Otto tried to shift himself to a sitting position, but froze with a grimace of pain. Carrin laid a restraining hand on his shoulder, which the orc shrugged off, so the lad sighed and, grabbing Otto tenderly under the shoulder, helped him up instead. He even took a spare pillow from one of the empty beds to stuff behind Otto's back, which required him to brush off a death-stare from his friend in the process.

Otto glanced blearily around the vacated little room. "Malarkey's up and about, then, is he?" he asked. There was a flash of colour and a slight sense of pressure, and Nuggetchop was back up on the bed, just out of arm's reach. It fixed its beady little eyes on Carrin, and began to purr.

"Aye," Carrin confirmed. He gave the cat a wary glance. "Last one to be discharged, and he's only on light drills, but he should be right as rain. On the up side, doc's extended your visiting privileges, so you'll be seeing a bit more of the squad."

"That's good. Means you can tell me what's-"

"-going on?" the lad finished, and smiled. "Of course."

What Otto had pieced together, mainly from sharing the room with a few casualties of their endeavour, really only covered the events of the raid. Wright had suspected that Otto and Resolve were working with Grimhildr, one way or another, so the presence of a small army of goons had been unanticipated. Still, they had the element of surprise; despite a handful of injuries and deaths, Wright's CAF had won out in the end. Things would have worked out for him... had Orlannes not been instructed to keep an eye on things. When Orman caught wind that the sergeant was rallying soldiers, she hastily assembled her own task force. Wright was down, his men were injured, and a good number had no idea of their superior's illicit associations, either. They had readily crumbled.

The young man poured out a glass of water and passed it to Otto. "Well, we're still going through those documents we nabbed," Carrin said. He walked over to the bed opposite Otto, brushed absentmindedly at the sheets, and sat down. "But we've already rounded up a few names, sent teams to certain properties, yada yada yada."

Otto took a sip. "Where's Wright?"

"In the cells, of course. He was mentioned a few times-"

"In the documents? Why?"

Carrin scratched his head. "Well, it's like this. We've got Grimhildr in the cells as well. From what we're able to piece together, it looks like she was blackmailing members of the force. Turns out some CAF personnel were in the same game as her - smuggling. But it's bad."

"Oh?" Otto was genuinely curious. Obviously, smuggling was illegal, but when had that ever stopped the CAF? In a trade hub like Radasanth, every man and his dog dabbled in at least some light 'informal trading'; cracking down on it would be like spitting on a housefire, and about as dangerous. But there was something about the way Carrin spoke...

The lad fidgeted a little more. "Wright's not the only one implicated, see. Whitestone's down there as well, and a few other COs and NCOs. So there's a lot of shit flying about..."

"Yes, you inferred. But why?"

Carrin permitted himself a worried smile. "Come on, you're a detective. Think about it... Grimhildr and Wright - and his superiors - were competitors. Same business. Now, what was Grimhildr smuggling?"

The memory of a gleaming, brilliant longsword flashed before Otto's eyes. "Weapons?" he hazarded.

Carrin nodded. "For the most part, yes. Now, if you're a weapon smuggler, what do you cross your fingers and wish like hell for?"

That was a no-brainer. "A war."

"Yes!" Carrin's smile widened a little. "And how do you draw out a war and double your profits?"

"You... sell to both sides..."

There was now a glint of comprehension in the orc's eye. He looked up from his glass of water and stared, wide-eyed, at Carrin.

"Wright was selling arms to the Rangers?" he exclaimed. "During the war?"

Carrin nodded grimly. "Possibly the Ixians as well. We're still untangling the web."

"Why didn't Grimhildr just use the information to get rid of the competition, then? That's pretty damning stuff."

"I think it worked out better for her this way, to be honest," Carrin said. He stood up, paced over to the window, and looked out into the yard while his fingers toyed with the dangling blooms beneath the sill. "She ousted her rivals without resorting to a messy territory war, and if the watch ever got on her tail, she had the leverage with which to derail it from the inside. As it is, some of the people named in those documents have friends, and they're making things difficult."

Otto was silent for a little while. At length, he muttered, "You're not just here to keep me company, are you?"

"No. Sorry." Carrin turned away from the window, and the gold-tinted light of an afternoon sun flowed around his face. "Orman's set up a roster so there'll always be someone else here with you." He glanced at the cat again. "Someone from the squad. At least until it all blows over."

The orc sighed, and rubbed his eyes. That politics and corruption went hand-in-hand in the Empire was common knowledge even to things floating in the gutter, but it took either participating in it oneself or joining the CAF two really comprehend just how bad it was.

"Should have brought a packed lunch, then," he said.

[Resolve]

While Rosie stayed with the Smiths, Kat caught up on mending and other household chores for the first time, it seemed, in years. This gave her time to get around to the little things she had always wanted to do. Between the two of them, the women started a little herb garden in boxes which they hung outside the kitchen windows, and with Rosie cooking, Kat finally read some books that she'd stashed away over the years but never found a moment to open. It had been a short but pleasant and productive stay, and the mellow matron couldn't help but feel a bit sorry to see her go.

"Don't forget," Rosie smiled, "tea and chat on Wednesdays. Every Wednesday."

She stood in the kitchen with Kat, Marten, and Otto, her bags stacked next to the door on the pristine floor. Just as on the first day she arrived, her sky blue silk glimmered in stark contrast with their modest home, but they'd grown used to her presence. What had been an eyesore would now be missed.

"I look forward to it," Kat replied, mirroring the girl's smile. Then she found herself swept up into a long, tight hug which nigh took her breath away, Rosie's strong perfume tickling her nose. She patted her on the back. "Safe home."

Marten endured a similar hug, though mercifully shorter than the one endowed on Kat. And then Rosie turned her attention to Otto, who waited by the bags to help her home. "Thank you for coming to help. Though I meant it when I said I'd be happy to order a cab if you're still recuperating," she offered gratefully, forehead wrinkled in concern.

He shook his head. "It's fine. I needed to talk to Emric, anyhow."

"Ah," Rosie said thoughtfully, as if she knew something he didn't. "Were you able to catch up with him?"

Otto waved her off dismissively. "No, he wasn't in at the forge. I'll just hunt him down later. Are you ready?"

After warm goodbyes, the pair stepped out onto the street to make their way back to Rosie's apartment. Otto felt the effects of his week of rest quite keenly as he hoisted her luggage along with them –– Rosie most certainly was not an economical packer –– but did his best not to let it show.

Rosie allowed a few minutes of comfortable silence go by before she spoke up. "I should apologize for Emric's absence," she said, glancing up to Otto as they walked. "It might be my fault… at least partly."

He tossed a glance back, questioning.

"I may have, erm… put him in his place the other day. His pride will recover, I'm sure, but he has avoided me since." She offered a little grin, one that said she had much experience in the matter of turning down entitled young men, and Otto believed it. "Now that I'm gone, he should turn up soon enough, I imagine."

"I see."

The sun was mild that afternoon, shining just warm enough that the shade of Radasanth's taller buildings felt wonderfully refreshing as they walked the winding streets. Puffy cumulus clouds floated amongst the stalks and sails of the docks in the distance, drawing a cheery landscape on top of the azure which matched Rosie's dress almost exactly. They spent much of the short journey quietly, but as they drew closer to Moody's, she spoke up again.

"Any word on Fred?"

Otto shook his head as he watched his step over a rough patch of cobblestones. "No. And if he's as smart as he seems, he won't show his face around Radasanth anytime soon."

"Good point," Rosie sighed in disappointment. "It's probably for the best. Resolve would have his hide if he showed up at Moody's again, anyhow." They both laughed at that, albeit hesitantly, then Rosie began to muse. "The watch should just go ahead and give her a job at this point. This isn't the first time she's helped them out, and it won't be the last. If anything, it'd keep her out of trouble."

"Doesn't she already have a job?" Otto asked with a shrug.

Rosie considered that. "The exorcist stuff? I wouldn't call it a 'job'… wait, what did she tell you?"

Otto's awkward look in response was all it took for Rosie to deduce the deception. Her pace slowed as she failed to decide whether it was more funny or frustrating that Resolve had deceived the poor orc in such a way.

"She didn't," Rosie half-laughed in disbelief, though more out of sympathy than amusement. She reached out and rubbed his forearm as if to comfort him through the embarrassing news. "Oh, dear. Otto, Resolve is most certainly not in my line of work, no matter what she told you."

He'd long had his suspicions, but after her visit to the infirmary and subsequent invitation, he'd written them off. But if this was true…

"Then why did she…?"

Rosie stopped and pulled Otto into a halt along with her, staring up at his face. Her wide eyes betrayed an unbridled lust… for gossip. "Why did she what? Oh, don't go bashful on me now. Spill."

Otto's face felt excruciatingly hot all of a sudden. "She asked me to stop by her place," he finally choked out, "to…"

The woman gasped in delight, grabbing onto his arm. The combination of her weight and the luggage he held nearly threw him off-kilter, and he staggered in place as she tittered. "She would never invite just anyone like that, Otto. Oh, how cute! I admit, I never would have suspected, but you can't really blame her… after all, you know what they say about orcs."

Though Rosie meant her teasing to be harmless, when she realized just how mortified Otto was, she backed off. Letting go of his arm, she stepped away and slowly coaxed them into walking again.

"Sorry, truly sorry –– I just got excited," she smiled. "Of course, it's up to you if you want to go. I know she can be a little, well, intense… but please believe me, she's a good person and a wonderful friend, even if she does play a bit rough sometimes."

[Otto]

The stairs up were a bit of a struggle, but Otto managed. He was simply thankful it was just the one flight he had to deal with. Rosie graciously offered him afternoon tea, but the orc could only apologise and beg his leave, as he had other business to see to before day's end. It wasn't a lie, but he also had a lot to think about, and Otto was the type who usually preferred to be alone with his thoughts. Rosie thanked him again, and they made tentative plans to both be at Kat and Marten's on Wednesday. Then he was out the door, and heading back up the street.

He walked ponderously slow, his legs penduluming across the streets which transitioned from cobbles, to cracked flagstones, to clinker brink, and back again. He turned the corner from busy Willow Lane, with its crowded market stalls and din, into a relatively quiet residential back street. The shadows were a little longer now, the afternoon sun a little more like dull copper, and when Otto sidestepped off the road and into the recess of a narrow little doorway, he blended in almost perfectly with the murk.

He stood there for about two minutes, until another figure entered the street. While the new arrival peered forward, apparently searching for something between the modest little houses, Otto stepped silently behind him and leaned in.

"No sign of trouble yet, then?" he asked with innocence oozing out of every word. He also had to lean back almost immediately, lest the man's jump of fright brain the both of them.

Orlannes spun around, his mouth agape.

"Not yet," mumbled the half-elf, before he managed to rally. "Saw this huge grey bastard, though, face like a dropped pug."

"Better keep an eye on that one, then," Otto amiably agreed. He resumed his stride, and Orlannes joined him at his side. In an uncharacteristic move, Otto struck up some more conversation.

"I hope the lieutenant's got someone watching out for her as well," he remarked.

Orlannes glanced up as clouds tumbled lazily overhead. "She hasn't arranged it, but the rest of the lads are trying to spend a bit more spare time around her. Unofficial, like."

Otto nodded, and decided to change tack. "Any more idea who this Fred is, yet?" he asked, though he knew what the answer would be. Even after all the dark deeds that had come to light, and the time the CAF had spent sifting through every bit of information, there was still little enough that was known about their enigmatic string-puller.

"No, sorry," replied the elf. "Grimhildr's holding out. Could be there's still some stuff we don't know about, something that would cause more trouble for her if we managed to bring him in."

"Could be," Otto agreed. "It's moot, though. She's the type that never talks to coppers, in any case."

"As is Violet, though Fred seems to have been a bit before her time. He might be have been a partner once in the past, or maybe a particularly high-up goon."

Or something else entirely. Otto almost quelled the thought, thinking it too ridiculous for contemplation. But if Rosie was right about him and Resolve... then who knew?

"I guess all that's certain is it must have been quite a falling out," Otto said.

They reached Smiters Row soon enough. A few massive carts trundled along the worn flagstones, pulled by whole teams of thick-set horses. The traffic was mostly outbound at this time of day, the wagons loaded with made or processed goods like furniture, sawed planks, ironmonger's produce, paints and resins, bricks and stone blocks, and much, much more. In the morning, the carts would be converging upon Smiters Row instead; equally massive things bringing in raw materials from their journeys across the sea, or as close to home as Akashima or the barony of Radasanthia itself.

The two soldiers sidestepped the teams easily enough, and Otto led them back to his old home. But once they were in amidst the lean-tos, Otto gestured Orlannes towards the house.

"Kat can make you a cuppa," he said to the half-elf. "I just need a quick word with Emric if he's here, then I'll join you."

Orlannes nodded, and made his way to the abode. Otto, meanwhile, approached the forge, from which rang the rhythmic beating of a hammer. It seemed heavy and slow, and interspersed every now and then with a much fainter ringing. It was a striker's hammer, which meant Marten was in there as well, sharing a workpiece with the lad. Otto peered through the open door and saw that he was right, though he couldn't quite tell what the half-hammered lump they were working on was meant to be. He saw Marten tap it lightly, merely to indicate which section needed another few strikes. Behind him, Emric swung the massive sledgehammer with keen precision, and sent sparks flying around the two of them.

Marten glanced up and saw the orc. He elbowed Emric gently in the ribs, and then they had both laid down their tools and were walking over.

"Back again, lad?" Marten said curiously, a small, welcoming smile on his lips. Emric offered the orc a nod.

Otto clasped his hands behind his back. "Mind if I borrow Emric for a moment?"

Something in Marten's stance hardened, though Emric remained as impassive as he usually was around the orc. "Something I should know?" asked the old man, but Otto shook his head. "Alright," Marten acceded, though he still looked tense. "One of you come get me when you're done."

He stalked away, closing the door on his way out. Otto stared at Emric, and let the sudden silence hold for a couple of seconds. The other man walked over to a long bench and hoisted himself up to a sitting position on it.

"Glad to see you up and about, Bastard," he said. His bland expression had now changed to something approaching smugness, which was at least much more familiar.

Otto glared at Emric, but it had no obvious effect. "Don't call me that," he growled.

"Why not?" Emric's tone was nothing if not innocuously puzzled. "That's what the other soldiers call you, isn't it?"

The orc turned his back to his foster brother, and walked over to a crowded weapon rack. "The ones who earned it just use my name," he replied. The soft whisper of steel sounded through the forge, and Otto turned around with a longsword in his hand. He held it up to the light so he could sight along the blade, then resumed a more traditional grip after a few moment's intense study.

Emric was losing patience. "What do you want, Otto?"

The orc turned back to his brother. "Here," he said, and tossed the blade to Emric. The man didn't even flinch. He just snatched it deftly by the handle, and gave it his own impassioned once-over. Otto began to walk back towards him.

"One of yours, right?" Otto asked.

"Yeah. And?"

"And it's the strangest thing," Otto snapped in return. "I could have sworn I saw a sword exactly like that a day before I got stabbed. Maker's mark and all, down in the Prankins office cellar, where some shady dwarf was running part of her illegal weapons smuggling operation."

Emric stared at the sword once again. "Where are th- is it now?" he asked, softly.

"Everything's been taken into evidence. The few weapons you supplied them as well."

The young man looked up into Otto's eyes, and he truly did looked young; there was a pleading fear in the set of his features, and a sense of vulnerability.

"Otto," he whispered. "If you don't help me... please. If they find out-"

"I'll help you," said Otto, bluntly.

This seemed to take Emric completely by surprise. He blinked, gaped at the orc, and a remorseful smile shaped his lips. "Oh, gods, thank you, Otto," he murmured. "I swear, never again-"

But Otto cut him off a second time. "You misunderstand. Last time something like this happened, when you stole from Marten, I said nothing and swept it under the rug. Now here we are once more. I should have known you wouldn't change, but surely I could have hoped you wouldn't get worse."

Emric's apprehensive eyes tracked the orc as he turned around and moved towards the hearth. Otto leant over the anvil and rested his knuckles on its hardened surface, while gazing into the dying coals.

"The weapons will stay in evidence. But I've moved them. They won't come up in the current investigation, and as far as I can tell, Grimhildr didn't pin you down on the paperwork before we busted her." Then Otto crushed the relief which had briefly resurfaced in the other fellow's face. "But say there's another bust, or some illegally carried weapons found on a gang lackey or another. We might just want to match them to a supplier, so we'll take them down into a little offshoot of evidence storage, and we'll compare them to every weapon there until we get some matches. And after that, the best you can hope for is an early warning so that you can - maybe - get out on a ship before the soldiers catch up to you."

He turned to face Emric, and saw the boy was utterly still. Otto walked back over and tenderly lifted the sword from his unresisting grip. "It's done. You won't be able to change it. If you ever get caught up in something like this again," Otto warned him, "you'll be unmade."

Emric saw Otto look at the sword with a frown with concentration. Then the orc slapped it against the table, and although Emric could have sworn black and blue that the blow didn't have enough force to damage even the wood of the bench, the blade cracked in two with a sharp, short-lived ting. Otto dropped the pieces on the dusty ground and walked past the lad. Glaring copper light splayed across the forge for just a moment as he yanked open the door, and then it winked out with a slam.

[Resolve]

"What if he doesn't come?"

Resolve asked herself the question she was afraid to face, her voice quiet in the cozy serenity of her small apartment. She had no right to assume he would, nor that her eagerness to get to know him would be welcome. She'd lied, and he'd proven himself to be a far better person than she over their short acquaintanceship. But that was why she'd grown to appreciate his company as she did –– his thoughtfulness tempered her intensity. The girl had a way to go in terms of growing up, but she knew herself well enough to understand that this was something she sorely needed: grounding. And she acknowledged, in spite of the blush it incited, that she hoped Otto could help.

Thanks to Fred's money, most of which she'd managed to hide from the investigation, the damage to her flat had been repaired. Windows and furniture had been fixed or replaced, their broken counterparts cleared away, and it finally felt like home again. Something in the oven filled the space with a savory aroma, the richness of sage mingling with the spicy incense from the front parlor. It felt good to cook, as if it somehow symbolized a return to comfortable routine.

The exorcist felt Otto's arrival before he even entered the building. Anticipation caught in her throat and she stood ever so still in the narrow, galley-like room which served as her kitchen. She resisted, with difficulty, the urge to meet him on the stairs.

Resolve felt him pause on the landing outside her door for an excruciatingly long moment. Then, at long last, he knocked –– and, realizing she'd been holding her breath, she exhaled.

Upon opening the door, she discovered an equally tense orc. "Hello," she smiled, holding the door as she stepped aside to let him in.

"Hello," Otto replied as he entered, and only then did Resolve realize he carried something with him: an upholstered chair. He set it amongst the other seating which populated the parlor, and for the first time, got a well-lit glimpse at the decor. In a mirror of Resolve's sense in fashion, bright textiles from Fallien filled the space with jewel tones. In spite of the oddly-arced ceilings, a hazard of attic apartments, well-placed lighting and large, gabled windows kept the space from seeming cramped. "To replace the one that broke," he explained the gift, "but it looks like you've taken care of that already."

Her smiled widened as she closed the door. "Thank you." And then, as Resolve realized this was her chance to make things right, her nerves returned in full force. "Please, sit down," she requested.

Otto nodded, selected a spot on the couch which wasn't quite as overwhelmed with throws and ornately embroidered pillows, and sat down. As the girl approached, however, he held up a hand as if to stop her. "It's alright," he said in a reassuring tone, "you don't have to pretend. I know you're not…" he trailed off, as the rest of the statement seemed indelicate.

To both of their surprise, Resolve let out a little laugh, crossing her arms over her chest. "Of course you know," she said, though more to chastise herself than anything. "It's probably a bit late for this, but… ugh, how to explain without sounding like a terrible person," she stumbled, but who was she kidding? She was a terrible person. "As you know by now, I have a sixth sense of sorts. I see things others can't."

"Aye. That explains Wright, and what happened at Prankins, and how you knew it was Violet at the watch house," Otto nodded. He leaned back a bit as she stepped closer, still a bit shell shocked from her previous unpredictability.

"That night at the bar," Resolve said, rubbing her neck. "I sensed something about you. This might sound silly now, but I thought you were possessed by some spirit or something," she laughed, though her brow frowned. "It's hard to break the ice by telling someone that sort of thing… so I invited you up here, hoping that I could convince you that you needed my help. I shouldn't have misled you, and I'm so, so sorry that I did."

Otto opened his mouth to reply, but she held up a hand to silence him.

"As bad as I've felt about the whole thing, I'm really glad to have had this chance to get to know you, Otto." Her posture unraveled a bit, her hands smoothing the fabric of her rose-hued sari. "I know I don't deserve your friendship after everything that's happened, so I understand if you can't offer it, but I'm selfish and going to ask anyway…" She held out her right hand to him, tentative. "Do you think we could be friends?"

It didn't take long for Otto to decide. "Aye, I think so." He reached out to offer his paw in return, but in her exuberant relief, Resolve skipped the handshake and threw her arms around his neck in a vise-like hug.

"I'm so glad," she sighed as she squeezed him, mindful not to go too tight –– he was still healing, after all. "I made something for dinner if you're hungry. And I hope you like pie," she rambled, "I don't know what you like so I might have made three by accident. But who am I kidding, I got the recipes from Blue, they're all good. Ah, I'm a terrible host––" she drew back, gripping him by the shoulders–– "are you thirsty? I made some tea. Hold on, I'll get you some." Without waiting for his answer, she sprang up, intent on making him feel at home.

Otto took a deep breath as he watched her scurry into the next room, trying to absorb just what exactly he'd gotten himself into.

[Otto]

THE


http://i.imgur.com/6RiusRw.png


END

[Quentin Boone]

Thread Title: Chasing Ghosts (http://www.althanas.com/world/showthread.php?25408-Chasing-Ghosts)
Judgment Type: Full Rubric
Participants: Otto, Resolve



Plot: 21/30

Story- 7/10
The story was an interesting one with enough twists and turns to keep a reader hooked; I thought I'd figured it out on a number of occasions only to find out I was wrong, and did not expect the final reveal with Grimhildr. It was a brilliant tale that served well the purpose of Resolve and Otto forming a friendship. A little more background into events that occurred just before this thread that were mentioned throughout would have earned a higher score here.

Setting- 6/10
A higher score would have been achieved here with a little more description of the various settings the characters found themselves in as they felt a little empty. However, excellent work was done to use all the senses when describing setting - Of especial positive note is the use of loose and falling tiles on the rooftops and how they affected character's movements during the chase. To improve on this score, try adding more relational descriptions as it was difficult to know exactly where characters were positioned within a room at times.

Pacing- 8/10
Overall the pacing was excellent; the story was entered into promptly to garner interest early and continued at a believable pace. You've certainly mastered the introduction-rising action-climax-falling action-conclusion framework of storytelling. Points were lost here due to some of the earlier scenes, however. While switching scenes and time-jumps are sometimes necessary, some of the earlier jumps were distracting. For example, Resolve going from being on her mother's ship to being woken by Rosie felt disjointed - a little something explaining her leaving the ship would have improved the pace here.



Character: 25/30

Communication- 9/10
Character expressions and manners of speaking tone and body language were all excellent. I really got a feel for your characters, and for NPCs, through their communication. Kudos has to be given for Grimhildr's little speech in the flower shop; I was reminded of Lindermann from Heroes, so I think it served its purpose exactly. A perfect score was lost, however, due to over-use of frowns. It felt over-used by the end of the thread, and there are other ways to show worry and concern.

Action-7/10
Actions were used to accurately portray the characters and included little nuances that really brought them to life. Small things really brought home even minor characters, such as Rosie pulling on Otto's arms in excitement and anticipation of some juicy gossip about Resolve. The start of the final fight scene came across as a little unrealistic however, it was shown in earlier posts that the thugs were all pretty violent and up front, so for them to circle the trio and try taking pops one at a time didn't seem to fit.

Persona- 9/10
The inner thoughts of your characters served as a brilliant window into their personalities and they responded realistically to the situations they found themselves in. There were a number of nice touches that showed the character's attachments and loyalties as well. I liked the sadness Otto felt when seeing the lilies and Resolve's panic when Rosie wasn't at home, coupled with the relief to find her downstairs safe and sound.



Prose: 19/30

Mechanics- 5/10
While for the most part your mechanics were excellent, there were a number of errors that could have been picked up with a quick proof-read; things like homophones, words typed twice or missing and missing spaces. A few commas were misused or missing as well. If you want more details on these, feel free to PM me.

Clarity- 7/10
Overall, the story was very clear. An area for improvement is combat-related scenes, as the chase early on and latter-mid sections of the final battle were difficult to follow. To improve this, don't be worried about adding more description, even if it seems out of sync with the rest of the thread's style: Complex scenarios like those need that little bit more to make perfect sense. This was also affected by the lack of relational descriptors, as mentioned above.

Technique- 7/10
Literary devices were used effectively and without excess to add colour to the prose. The use of foreshadowing really helped to build tension and maintain interest, while not bogging down the narrative or slowing the pace any. Although you did well here and didn't over-use metaphor and other devices, a higher score could have been achieved by adding just a little more, especially in relation to the points raised about Persona; this would help your score in that category as well.



Wildcard: 9/10
The story had me hooked from start to finish, and was an absolute pleasure to read. I've given near enough top marks here for two reasons, mainly: 1) I just love how in-tune with each other you are; it was almost like reading a solo! 2) Exor-kissed.



Final Score: 74/100

Otto (http://www.althanas.com/world/member.php?16653-Otto) receives:


4262 EXP!
400 GP!


Resolve (http://www.althanas.com/world/member.php?16124-Resolve) receives:


3864 EXP!
414 GP!

Congratulations!

[Lye]

EXP & GP Added!

Both of you Level Up!