• Mature • The Second Rate Expedition (Graded)

[Finnegan O'Connor]

The Second Rate Expedition

________________________

Finn awoke to the merry sound of loudly speaking drunks mixed with the dreadful scent of ammonia, wafting through the window. His head was light, his body stiff and as he rose he almost feared he’d float away if a stiff enough breeze would come through the window. The room in the attic was a spare room given to those with the smallest purses and the lowest demands of luxury. Indeed, there were only two luxuries in the room: a bed and a nightstand.

Raising himself, Finn noticed the stack of golden nels beside his bed and felt no guilt as he stuffed the coin into his pocket. Whoever had left it there was a fool, undeserving of keeping the money if they forgot it so lightly.

He swung his legs over the edge off the creaking bed and hopped off before making his way across groaning floorboards to the window. There was a distinct splattering sound followed by another wave of steamy ammonia rising up the air, hitting his nostrils. The voices were equally obnoxious, bragging loudly about the greatest treasure of all time and some insane mind powers.

Finn opened the window, stuck his neck out and glanced down, just in time to witness Oberan open a lockbox with naught but his mental powers. He recognized the other man to be the one who’d started the drinking game. With a shock the memory returned to him. The last thing he remembered was seeing the floor. Had he passed out? It certainly seemed that way, but he couldn’t imagine why or how. His ability had never failed him and he’d tasted the salt water. No, it couldn’t possibly been his ability that had failed. There had to be some other explanation. Either way, he’d lost, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t have some fun with the two drunkards.

In a flurry of motion he made it downstairs. The innkeeper called after him, but he ignored the man’s deep voice as he sprinted outside, around the bend, and came skidding to a halt at the back of the inn.

He smirked at the two sluggish drunks. Finn raced toward the lockbox, picked it up, and slammed the top shut before either of the drunks could reach it. He kept a little distance between himself and the drunk men, who were most likely to fall and stumble if they gave chase as he studied the lockbox.

“Is this the greatest treasure of all time?” he grinned at Patrick. “Doesn’t look like much. Just a regular old box, if you ask me.” Yet he knew that couldn’t possibly be the case. “D’you want it back?” he teased as he held the box over his head. “How about… fifty golden nels?”

[Patrick]

Patrick couldn't help it. Everything felt so good when you were piss drunk, that even the act of pissing felt like a romp with an Immortal... not that he'd ever managed that. Though it'd be something worth bragging about for sure, if he ever were to bed an Immortal within his lifetime. Patrick noticed that he wasn't alone either, that the other drunk had relieved the urge to empty his bladder also. Once the bartender himself had finished and tucked away his manhood, he turned around somewhat cautiously due to being outstandingly drunk.

With his hands poorly attempting to button his breeches together he realized that his ass cheeks were a little cold, surprised to find that he'd nearly failed to cover them up entirely. "Whoops." He muttered as he sloppily readjusted his crotch to fit in the trousers. "Yeah! Go ahead man, do whatever thingy... it is... ya... do." Pat had started to encourage as he watched Oberan start to act out some magic trick, only to somehow actually make the damn box unlock with no key or lock pick. His jaw dropped so hard it could've hit the ground, his eyes widened as the box itself flung wide open before them. "NO WAY!" He called out as his eyes fell upon the very item he'd barely managed to reattain.

The Crystal Chalice.

It was right there! Ripe for him to grab so that he could inspect it's designs once more, perfect for the story of the lost fabled city of Orimar he would soon tell. "That's iiiincredible!" He enthused as he looked from the magical drunk with a wide grin. "You can do that on any lock?!" He inquired as he haphazardly approached the lock box, just as he reached out to take the chalice the box itself had then been swiped from Patrick. The reappearance of the boy from earlier could only mean trouble, as he now had in his hands the very item that Patrick had worked... quite hard actually, to regain after parting with it an Arc ago. "Hey!" He called out to the boy with a pointed finger, his head craned in a highly disapproving manner.

"Put it down!" He ordered while the boy remarked about the box being the greatest treasure of all time, determined to taunt the adults with it and an offering of a bargain. "It's not the box kid, it's what's inside that's important!" Patrick slurred as he leaned a little to far forward, nearly in a stagger as he held a finger up to correct the child. "Besides..." He managed to stay on his feet by some odd miracle of backing up. "You already got the six nel from me! I don't intend to pay any more!" It then dawned on Patrick that this boy... somehow reminded him of someone. Himself. A reminder of the younger days he spent with Dom, and how he would often go looking for trouble with adults.

Like now.

While it upset Patrick to nearly act on impulse, he somehow felt it easy to relate to the boy. "C'mere." He motioned as he took a seat on top of a barrel. "I'm not gonna try anythin', so long as y' don't run off with that box. Just... c'mere." He beckoned to the boy in the event he decided to run off. Whether or not he listened Patrick would merely look at him, a half formed smile on his face as he continued to speak. "That thing in that box isn't the greatest treasure, but it actually is a clue on where we'll find it come the beginnin' of Cylus." He glanced back to the other drunken adult and then back to the boy.

"Ever heard o' somethin' called the Emean Jewel? No?" Another glance between the told told him that the name failed to register. "Me neither." Of course he would admit this with a grin, while he rolled up his sleeves to cross his arms in the cold. "It's a mysterious fable that nobody's ever discovered, and I have all the essentials needed to discover it. There's not much known about it, save for that some 'mysterious tribe' vanished a long time ago." The smile then faded as he pointed to the box that the boy clung to so tightly. "And that... is the only thing that'll get us there." Come to think of it the odds weren't exactly even, nor favorable in regards to Patrick's efforts and luck.

Raimeus had a head start and an Arc's worth of time spent into this whole treasure hunt, so he obviously had the better head in figuring out the location of the ruins. But Pat had only one advantage and that was the keys to finding them, unless he were to lose one of them to a scrawny brat tonight... but what if he didn't. "You want fifty gold fer that box? What if I multiplied that fer ya? There's no way of knowin' off hand, but that Jewel has got to be worth ten times more than a mere trinket such as the chalice." His offer extended to the other drunk as well, his groggy eyes fallen on Oberan as he made that clear. "Enough for the lot of us." He implied with another grin as he looked back to the kid.

"So would you rather have a pocket full of nel... or a vaults worth by bringing home some treasure?" He propositioned with a hand held out to the boy, hopeful that he'd see the golden opportunity laid out right before him.

[Oberan]

”Yes I am!” Oberan placed his hands on his hips leaned back slightly, laughing heartily at the face the drunk guy was making. It was absolutely perfect, precisely what he’d wanted to see. A showman’s success depended on making his audience gasp in awe, and nothing had ever been quite as successful in doing so than his “opening the lock without touching it” routine. Well, except for his escape act, but that was just taking the unlocking act to the next level. Of course, most just thought it was a trick, but that still did not stop them from being absolutely amazed. ”There isss nothing B-Bran the iiiiincredible can’t open! ” he grinned, leaning forward just in time to catch a glimpse of a shiny and shimmering chalice—and then it was snatched away along with the box.

The one who took it was no-one else but the brat from the game, who was –now he got a better look at him—also the brat from the Pirate Fiasco. And, if memory served, the brother to resident bothersome blackguard Zipper. Being a pest ran in the family, it seemed.

”Yeah, you put dat down. It’s o-our box.” The Mortalborn frowned as the boy taunted, eyes drifting from the boy, to the other drunk, and back. Fifty nels for the box?

”Y-you drive a hard bar-bargain, brat,” the thief slurred, stroking his goatee. He shifted his gaze to the treasure guy, eyebrows quirked. ”Want me to s-smite him?” Bran raised a hand, ready to snap his fingers. ”Ey, brat? Want me t-to smite you like I smit y-your sister?”

But the other guy did have something else in mind, apparently, and beckoned the boy closer. Oberan shrugged, figuring he wasn’t in the mood for divine punishment. He decided to lean against the wall, but as he forced his body backwards, he didn’t meet the wall as soon as he thought he would, tripped over a loose stone, and landed on his arse. He giggled.

In the meantime, the treasure guy had begun his story, speaking of Jewels, secrets, mystery, adventure, and loads and loads of gold and ancient artefacts hidden away in some forgotten vault somewhere, left behind by some long dead tribe of mysterious tribesmen. ”I’d take the treasure, if I were you,” he told the boy in all seriousness. ”Fi-fifty shitty nel or a v-vault of the greatest treashure and going o-on an adventure with the incredible myself. Yeah I know what I’d pick. ”

[Finnegan O'Connor]

The Second Rate Expedition

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Finn smirked at their desperation. They had the last game, aye, but they wouldn’t win this one. For every step either Patrick or Oberan took towards him, he retreated one more pace, his eyes darting between both men, watching for the faintest hint of a sudden pursuit. The rather bulky blonde with the carefree hairdo claimed the six nels were his. If, however, he expected the funds to be returned to him, he was sorely mistaken. Finn felt rather entitled to the gold pieces that the drunk had either forgotten in the attic or, more worryingly, had snuck into the room while he’d been asleep.

It had been Zipper who’d first taken him to the underground. She had warned him against the dangers, of course, though she had ensured him he wouldn’t have to be afeared as long as she was around. Drunks, criminals, smugglers, low-lives, she had dealt with them all at one point or another and she’d become rather adept at fending them off.

But she wasn’t around this time.

Zipper didn’t need to know, but when she’d left the orphanage, he’d still frequented the underground, and it had soon become clear to him how she’d learned to fend for herself: through gruelling mistakes. He’d been made to feel that drunken fools calling after him, curling their fingers, beckoning him to come closer with their warm, stinking breaths, were not to be trusted. The longer Patrick spoke, the more he was inclined to do the exact opposite of what the shaggy blonde was trying to tell him. His only hesitation was that there were two of them, and at least one of them had been endowed with magic.

His eyes flicked to the other. The selfish, overconfident, proud waste of space that went by the name Oberan. Oh he remembered that face all too well though it was even less charming now that the fool had indulged in a few too many drinks. As soon as the cunt opened his mouth, Finn became even less inclined to linger. Any insults directed at him were promptly ignored, he’d been through the wringer too many times to be bothered by any of it, but when Oberan grinned and spoke of Fiona, his brows furrowed in anger. “Don’t talk about my sister!” he bit back, and a little gust of wind backed his voice. He wanted to say more, but Patrick intervened with a story.

Of all things...

He listened, perhaps out of courtesy or perhaps because he was waiting for the opportune moment to turn tail and run. By the end of it however his confused expression released into a light-hearted chuckle. “You really expect me to believe that?” His eyes brightened as he fired an amused look between the two drunks. “Now that’s insulting. Oh yeah, there’s a great treasure that no one’s ever heard of and we’ve got the key! You’ve just got to give us the chest back!” He started in a mock voice. “We totally won’t hurt you once you give it back...”

He lifted the box a little closer to his chest as he shook his head, his voice light and merry as though he’d just witnessed the best circus act of the arc. “You two are the worst cuntin’ liars I’ve ever met, and I have met-”

He left it up to their imaginations just how many liars he had met as he lowered himself to a crouch, opened the lid half-way and arched an eyebrow at the contents. Perhaps, they weren't lying after all.

Luckily he'd opened the box with the lid facing their way and as he leaned forward, the movements of his left hand were hidden from sight by his loose coat. "Alright," he muttered while his left hand reached for the chalice. "You can have it back."

In one fluid movement he retrieved the chalice from the chest with one hand and closed the lid with the other, all while angling his body to obstruct their view of the cup. When he stood again he kicked the box their way, then turned and stuffed the chalice into the inner pocket of his coat.

Though the bulkiness of the chalice hindered his movements, he had three advantages. First and foremost, as soon as he'd start moving he'd have a head-start. Secondly, he knew Etzos inside out, including the small alleyways, backstreets, trapdoors, and hidden covices. Thirdly, both men were decidedly drunk. It would just be a matter of outpacing them and then taking the box to Mr. Tagley for inspection on the off-chance of there being some truth to Patrick’s story.

[Patrick]

Patrick couldn't help but wonder just what in Idalos did the other drunken guy mean, when he implied that he would smite the younger boy so willingly. Was he too a mage? Did he have some other unusual power that'd successfully get that chalice back into their grasp? Patrick didn't like the implication but it sounded very... sexual in a way and while amusing, didn't settle in very well seeing as how the boy was in fact a boy. Still he wasn't going to judge so easily, but rather note that the boy himself seemed to bolster quite the rage as well.

Wind seemed to pick up around him when he revolted against the comment of his sister, and for a moment Patrick wondered just who both these people were. Etzos was beginning to grow stranger and stranger the more he lingered here, and even when he tried to sell the story of a great treasure... he knew the boy wasn't likely going to grasp it very well. He knew... because Patrick had been there. He'd been in Finn's shoes a very long time ago and, in fact, lived the same particular way the boy liked to live. Precariously. It was always how he lived and he always had an older brother to bail him out, much like the boy had an older sister that Pat was willing to bet would do the same. Fate. It had a sick twisted sense of irony sometimes.

Still he knew the risk and when it seemed as thought story wasn't cutting it, the drunkard's eyes narrowed on Finn as he noticed the boy doing something. It was probably the oldest and easily the most childish trick in the book, and while Pat was very well hammered he could still function decently... Decently maybe. He focused on Finn and with a flash of bright violet in his eyes, Patrick tapped into the traces of Ether that remained within his body. He wanted to Blink initially but... too much danger was involved when he was drunk, Patrick honestly didn't wanna risk hitting a wall. No the best thing to do at this point, was to open a Compression portal that the boy wouldn't be able to run through.

Thus when Finn turned around Patrick rose to a full stand as the air around him hummed, the space before Finn shredded into a tear as he found his only exit strategy blocked. "Nice try kid." Patrick commended but now his tone fell to a more darker seriousness. "I won't ask again." Just as he started to approach Finn he focused on the space behind him, the pocket of space Compressed to link with the portal that Patrick made before Finn. Oberan would likely see the the tunnel effect of the portals through the one before Finn, but remained beyond the one that lingered behind Patrick. There was literally only one way to go at this point, and that was straight to Patrick himself as he held a hand to the boy.

"Give. Me. The Chalice." He demanded as slowly approached Finn, determined to obtain it whether willingly or through brute force.

[Oberan]

Of course, the boy didn’t listen. Of course he was skeptical.

Oberan just shrugged, not really caring one way of the other. He’d smelled adventure, and whether the boy did or did not come along did not concern him.

However, it seemed that the lad had decided to play nice after all, and the Mortalborn nodded contently. No need for Shenanigans tonight, it seemed. Well, or so he thought at first. For some reason the boy’s coat now concealed a rather suspect bump which had not been there before. Drunk or not, some things just wouldn’t fly. Oberan narrowed his eyes in suspicion while the other drunkard’s tone grew noticeably more threatening. A hole in the air opened up in front of the boy with a scream, cutting off the alley. Apparently, this guy was a magic user.

A second portal ripped space itself apart, coming into existence behind the drunk mage. Thinking his newest companion had this in the bag, Oberan remained seated against the wall, leaning back and watching the scene unfold before him. From his position, he could stare into the tear behind the boy, which showed the drunk and the boy in the same alley, with a portal behind them. In that portal, the same scene could be seen, repeating itself over and over. Impressive. But, if he had access to magic, why hadn’t the guy used it to get the chalice out of the box?

The Mortalborn’s fingers curled themselves around a small pebble, and chucked it towards the nearest portal, fascinated to see whether or not it would be transported to the other one. If it was, well, Oberan would grin like a child with a new toy, and begin throwing whatever was on the ground near him into the ripped space, delighted to see it disappear in one spot and reappear in another.

[Finnegan O'Connor]

The Second Rate Expedition

________________________

The voice of the air gave a little shriek as the fabric of space itself was ruptured. This was a different domain of magic, he knew, he could sense the disruption in the ether and heard the distress of the elements as they were forced to bend and fold in unimaginable ways. Like a curtain cracked open to reveal a slither of light, so too did the crack appear, and soon it grew and spread until it occupied the entire breadth of his vision. At first its depths swirled with mesmerizing colors. Landscapes, faces and creatures turned and stirred in the heart of the tear. A blink later, those visions of a million other places were gone and the image stabilized. A broad shadow, seen from behind strode forward with rigorous steps. Finn frowned, then turned with a start as a few too many things happened all at once. First came the realization that what had once been a cobblestone road was now a gaping hole, like a hungry, open mouth trying to suck him in and the shadow shown therein moved eerily similar to the one he felt hovering over him. As he turned, he was confronted by the less than amused face of Patrick, standing frightfully close to him, his voice having lost all patience and politeness. It was natural instinct that caused the final surprise. Just as anyone who claims to be doing nothing when asked what they’re up to betrays their own guilt, so too did the pace backward betray Finn’s guilt, only he had failed to account for the portal behind him and before he knew it, he fell and tumbled through the rip in the air. For a trill he whizzed through the great swirl of noise and color, only to reemerge practically at Oberan’s feet at the base of the other portal.

His backside landing wasn’t particularly graceful and a pained grimace flashed across Finn’s face before making way for profound confusion. It too didn't last. The chalice rolled from its hiding place and across the cobblestone, straight toward Patrick. Yet before Finn could make any sense of the place and time he’d been transporated too his forehead was struck by a light prick of pain. His hand shot to his forehead while his eyes searched his surroundings for the culprit, which he soon identified to be a small pebble. The boots between which the pebble now rested were traced up, revealing dark, too-tight clothes and lead up to a dreadfully familiar, smirking face. He thought he saw Oberan chug a loose stone, pried from the edge of the street, to the side and as he followed the stone’s trajectory into one portal, the horrendous consequence dawned on him, just a fraction before the stone materialized through the other portal and continued it’s flight trajectory undisturbed. He wasn't fast enough. A fraction of a trill later the stone thudded against his shoulder in a puff of dust. “Ow! Stop it!” he cried out, scrambling to shield his head from whatever else Oberan was planning to throw at him, albeit indirectly. “Look!” he gestured wildly in Patrick’s direction, “you already got what you wanted, alright? Just let me...”

He doubted he needed to finish that plea.

[Patrick]

He hadn't anticipated what was to come mostly because, for one, he was far too drunk to really plan ahead. Patrick had never been one that liked to consider the harm of another, particularly when that harm would have to befall a child as young as this one before him. Then there was the second reason as to why what came next proved unexpected, as the boy seemed to back into the portal behind him in a state of disbelief. Admittedly it was clever for Patrick to create a link between two compression portals, even if the end result had been a continuous tunnel vision between the two. He could see the kid back up and at first it looked as though he stood towards Patrick's front, only to walk backwards to where the Rharnian could see him behind his back.

Such a confusing state of things! Patrick had honestly been a little too drunk to keep himself from feeling dizzy, seeing the tunnel effect between portals stretch on endlessly. Yet the boy who tried to break away with the chalice quickly toppled over after he walked through the portal behind, thus as he fell Patrick caught almost a complete three-hundred and sixty degree of the event. Almost. Once the boy hit the ground and dropped the chalice, both portals shuddered and dissipated within the air as the static cackles died with them. Immediately Patrick twisted to look where the kid had fallen and then afterwards... the chalice! Holy shit! He didn't expect it to work out so well in his favor, least not when it came to being this drunk.

Quite eagerly he knelt downward some with a really sharp bend to grip the crystalline cup, his other hand used to keep him on his feet as he felt his balance rush forward. "Whoa... shit." He muttered after a few slow Bits spent recollecting himself, though of course the rise to a full stand resulted in a few teetered steps backwards. Sure enough Patrick quickly figured out just what else contributed to this minor victory.

Oberan had been throwing pebbles like some childish buffoon, testing out the depth of the portals as a kid would with a pond. It nearly led the Rharnian to laugh just about, had he not a substantial matter of importance that required being dealt with. He now had the chalice. Finally! It had been almost too long since he'd last seen it, and as he stared upon it once more the objects faint glimmer intrigued him. Was it because of the moonlight this object glowed so faintly? There existed a sort of forlorn beauty in the object somehow, as though the chalice seemed more special to him than before. Probably because of how reliant this expedition seemed to be with the chalice, and how it could ultimately provide them with the means of obtaining the fabled treasure as well.

Raimeus struggled dearly to try and keep it away from his enemies, which meant by now he could only be leading his own expedition blind. But what in Idalos required the chalice to help them discover Orimar? So far only Crowley seemed to know. "Patrick what-" Speaking of... there he was now, at the end of the alleyway with eyebrows heavily furrowed at them. Right after the boy... pleaded for them to leave.

"Oh hey Crowley, we got the chest unlocked finally!" Pat murmured with a flash of the object to the man, Crowley however only narrowed his eyes as he walked closer to Pat.

"But you had to hurt a kid just to get it?! Are you crazy?!"

"Now now, the kid honestly tried to steal it. We couldn't let that happen now could we?" The Rharnian slurred with a finger pointed drunkenly. "Here, hold this for me." Almost inconsiderately he barely tossed the chalice up for Crowley to catch, as the older gentleman fumbled it a couple of times before it rested secured in his hands. Thus Pat had approached Finn and carefully knelt before the boy, a grunt sighed through his nostrils as he practically sat on his heels. "You're alright kid. Ain't no fall like that gonna hurt ya that bad, and I surely ain't in the business of hurtin' brats like you." As harsh as his tone might've sounded towards the child, Patrick couldn't help but smile a little to the mischievous boy. "Besides you're lucky I like you already, otherwise I wouldn't be leavin' the offer on the table for you."

Yes that's right. Patrick wasn't going to count Finn out of his own little expedition, for a number of considerable reasons too when he thought about it. Surely it wasn't the best idea to allow a child as young as Finn to tag along, but the Rharnian couldn't help but feel the boy deserved a chance. Thus when he rose to his feet once more, he looked at Crowley first and then at Oberan still with a slight grin on his face. "If you're in then you're in. Won't be no second chances, and whatever treasure you find along the way is your's to keep." With that thrown out for the boy he held a hand out, first to help the boy up if he accepted it that is.

After that Pat's hand would be held out before him with eyes watching the others expectantly. "We're no Raimeus nor the best, but our's is an expedition that'll be the first to reach Orimar." Hesitant and likely sure Pat was just drunk, Crowley scoffed and couldn't help but chuckle. Sure enough he fed into the expecting combining of hands, and rested his on top of Patrick's as the Rharnian himself looked towards the other two.

Off Topic

Feel free to make this the last turn guys. We can verify this as the 'official second rate expedition' as a start, since these three are the first of the group.

[Oberan]

Oberan wasn’t too sure what was going on. Some dude came out of nowhere and began chiding Patrick for hurting the boy. Was this the man’s father? Grandfather? Or was it the boy’s? Patrick defended himself eloquently though, supporting his argument with solid reason and logic. If Bran had been in the other drunk’s shoes, he would have done the same.

However, the next moment Patrick was getting friendly with the little brat, and somehow that shiny chalice had been transferred to the older man. Moreover, the brat got a second invitation to the party. Now that was a tad bit too generous, Oberan found. Not only had the child rejected the invitation the first time, but he’d also tried to screw Pat over by taking the chalice for himself. Without even knowing what to do with it. Evidently the boy was unable to correctly assess the situation presented to him. What he should have done was agreeing to come along, and then take all the treasure once they’d reached the hoard. Obviously.

What use was there in stealing the key if you didn’t know what lock it was meant to open, or where said lock was located? That was just stupid. However… that did mean that if the boy did come along, he’d probably take some useless and valueless crap, which meant that Oberan could take more!

“Yes, boy, join the experdiction,” he agreed, wonkily climbing back onto his feet. “Come along on an adventure to Orrie-mar!” He zigzagged over to where Pat was standing, and slapped the man on the back. “Fuck Raymouse! We are the way better than that guy. You have ME, Ricko, and I am the best there is, trust me on this. You’ll find no better expeditioneer than me. People always tell me, Bran, they say, you are the best treasure collector I know. And I tell them, yes, thank you. You are completely right. You are a good judge of character. I’m THE best, not only at that, but at many things, you know. I’m actually pretty amazing, but I don’t usually tell people outright. They get jealous, you understand? Infer-riority complex and all that.” He nodded. “Point being, you needn’t worry, cuz I have your back, and that’s basically a guarantee that we’ll be alright. Moreover, Remmius doesn’t have a Bran of his own, nope, so he’s got a disadvantage. I’m the only me there is, after all, and I’m a fairly excellent specimen, if I do say so myself.”

He fixed his gaze on all three of those gathered in turn, the dark color of his eyes was clear as the night sky. Despite the shit-eating grin he wore on his face, his expression was completely sincere, and the pure light of honestly shone through the windows of his soul, desperate to show his companions he was speaking the Truth.

Without a further word, the Mortalborn placed his hand on top of the others.

[Finnegan O'Connor]

The Second Rate Expedition

________________________

In the few moments Finn needed to reorient himself, the cup rolled to Patrick's feet and the game was up. He expected the man to bestow some vengeance upon him before he discovered that the drunk was struggling to remain standing upright. Now is a good time to leave, he thought to himself as he scrambled, as quietly as he could, back onto his feet. But just as he was about to get up and dash away, a new voice, low and sore from decades of experience, joined their backalley meeting. At the mention of 'kid' Patrick's drunken gaze returned to him, rooting him to the spot. Already Finn reached for the spark inside to defend himself against-

The ether he'd gathered at the tip of his fingers fizzled out with a faint crackle as Crowley and Patrick conversed in excited voices about the chalice. Why was it so important? Surely all this talk of an Emean Jewel and other timeless treasure had been nothing but fantasy, right? Nothing but a ploy to persuade him to give the cup back to them. He narrowed his eyes at Crowley who exuded a wisdom and sobriety that was difficult to argue with. Before he knew it, Patrick had turned around and closed the distance between them. He retreated a pace on the back of his heels as the man lowered into a crouch and stared right at him. He expected a raised fist or for one of those meaty hands to grab his collar and give him a good shake. Not that he would allow it to come that far of course. The blistering vengeance of the elements and raw, crackling ether would descend upon the man before he could ever lay a hand on-

Finn's face contorted into a nasty frown, as though someone had just squeezed lemon juice into his face. "If I'm a brat then you're a drunk," he retaliated, though he realized a moment later that it wasn't the best of comebacks. Where was Zipper when he needed her?

He expected Patrick to say more, but the drunk pissant just kept staring flatly at him. Crowley then? No, the old fart seemed content to let whatever business had occured between his pupil and the child be. Finn's eyes flicked to Oberan and returned to Patrick an instant later. Hoping that the man-child would have anything sensible to offer other than his barrage of pebbles seemed idle hope and so the only conclusion was that he was supposed to say something.
He opened and closed his mouth a few times like a fish run ashore. "You want me, me to follow you two- three on some wild adventure for treasure because...?" Well, he could think of several reasons, most of them ending with him on a slave ship to Athart and the two drunken companions spending their freshly earned cash on another round of ale.

Except, Crowley didn't fit into that picture. Not in the slightest.

"Ori- Orimar..." he repeated slowly, mulling over the word as if to guess if it was even a real place. Mr. Tagley would know. I should ask him, Finn thought to himself. "Can I... can I think on it? I can't just go off-" he accepted Patrick's hand and hoisted himself up. "I have to check with... someone. My sister," he added hastily. "She's what raised me. I could come back here in the 'morrow, if that suits you?"

It was a good thing he'd spent half a lifetime lying or he wouldn't have been able to keep his voice so calm and his eyes so unblinking. When an agreement had been struck and he vanished around the nearest bend, he was convinced he'd never see the drunks and the elderly man again. Not unless that ridiculous story Patrick had been going on about checked out...

But what would be the chances of that?