• Closed • [Foster's Landing] One Step Beyond (Maxine)

[Kasoria]

32nd of Vhalar, 722
Foster's Landing
Noon

"Place still smells like gull shit, Kas."

"Better that'n smoke n' corpses, mate."

Vaul snorted at that, hefting his pack over his shoulder. "Dunno 'bout dat. Can get used t'that more'n fresh shite ev'ree-where."

SNAP-SNAP

All eyes turned to Mikiros and his patented way of getting attention. His mouth moved silently and his hands pantomimed... something. The four other Etzori killers frowned and exchanged looks... and then a candle was lit.

"Ah!" Belial said, pointing. "Better gull shit than horse shit?" An quick nod of a head like a boulder with ears on it. "Ha! Honestly, lads, it's a gift."

A chorus of groans and muttered curses made the expected rounds and Kasoria looked away from the ground. Still smelly and tired from the river, even if it was only halfway through the trial and they'd been sailing for but a few breaks. Four trials they'd been sloshing and rolling on that water, not a hand lifted in effort save to feed their bellies and empty their bowels... and practice, of course. They were men who needed to literally keep their edge. But their were precious few amenities on a travel barge, and now even the eternally scruffy and hygiene ambivalent Vaul was aching for a bath.

"A'right," Kasoria said, in that universal tone of command that said the arsing around was over, and they were to business. As defined by him, thank you very much. "Miki, Raand, make sure all our gear's in order. Vaul, Belial, look to our horses, saddle 'em proper. I'll pay the bargeman an' find us a place t'put our 'eads down."

"What 'bout the wee monster there?"

Kasoria turned and saw the last member of their group, walking down the gangplank. Hair disheveled, face sweaty, yet still even through her pallor and withdrawal she turned many heads. Looking at her meant turning away from them, and he was secretly glad for it. The twinge of concern on his face would have been noticed, and he didn't need these bastards thinking he'd gone soft. Especially not for the sake of some girl. He suspected they thought her either his bastard or his lover. He wasn't thrilled by that, but it beat out explaining in excruciating detail how he just... cared.

No place for that here. Not on this job.

"Wee monster'll stick wi' me, an' learn somethin' a' workin' in a group," he said, tone shifting to that of the hard-nosed teacher she remembered well. "C'mon wiv' yeh, 'monster'. Got a man t'pay an' lodgins' t'find."

The menfolk went their ways with smiles and chuckles... except for Raand. He stayed a touch longer. Made eye contact with Kasoria. He didn't let the mask slip. Couldn't afford to. Just gave the man a quick, curt nod, as if to answer an unspoken question: you sure this junkie can do this?

Yes. I am.

He watched his men walk swiftly away, other travelers on the dock moving fast from their paths, like minnows from prowling barracudas. Every pier was like this, piled with crates and barrels and boxes and human cargo of all stripes... save slaves, naturally. That shite was for barbarians and Immortals. Plenty of new arrivals were coming in... but plenty were leaving, too. Moving from barges snaking down the river, to high-masted ships set to sail over the sea and take them away forever. Kasoria swept his eyes around and saw plenty of folk with the eyes of refugees. Still scared, still paranoid, still running. Even after two years.

They don't feel safe here anymore. Even if they did, between Lisirra and Sintra... this isn't home for them anymore.

Kasoria ground his teeth for a trill and shoved the useless worrying away. They were about their work. Lerrick had said to meet them here, on this trial, and he wasn't about to be tardy to his first official fucking trial on the job. He shifted his pack and his fingers swiftly, semi-consciously inventoried his weapons. He fought the urge to smile. Felt good to be a man armed both in steel and purpose. Even serving some nob from the Citadel, it was something... bigger than himself.

Whatever, old man. Eyes on the job... and her.

Kasoria snapped a sidelong glance to Maxine as she fell in next to him. Four days sailing. Four days of withdrawl. Four days without, save whatever snatched moments of smoke he could sniff on her. Yet she was still standing. Still trying to stick to her word, even as her body and mind begged her.

"Hot bath an' a meal soon," he grumbled lowly, tone changing again, to one she was unused hearing from him. Gruff and hard, but not cold. "Won't be as nice as a tinc' a' fuckin' Key-Too, but it'll help."

[Max]

Maxine had made a terrible mistake.

If she wasn’t so deep in the throes of withdrawal, she would’ve sworn she had to have been drunk, high, or some combination of the two to have agreed to the insanity she’d embarked on. She hadn’t been ready to give it all up. Not yet. For arcs she slipped into the shadow of Etzori society, focused on nothing but narcotics and how to acquire them as quickly as possible in a pinch.

When she woke up in the morning she thought of drugs. If they didn’t put her out, she was thinking about doing more of them when she closed her eyes. When she was high she fell into the relief of the moment and dreaded the depressing, soul-sucking feeling that would seize her when it ended. There was nothing and no one she wouldn’t forfeit to get her fix when she was hurting for it. She clung to that little light left in her life that drugs offered like it was all she had left.

And it was.

Until Kasoria reappeared. No matter how hard she pushed him away, spit vitriol and misplaced blame upon him, he did not budge. He remained with his unconditional, tough love and blunt honesty. He would not let her go to this fate she trudged toward no matter how bad she wanted it. If she was still to be her own end he would not let the defeat come too easily.

Her dealings with The Dorricks had sobered her far better than his cruelty with liquor in that drug den. History repeated along with old habits, and when the smoke had lifted from all the fires she set, a familiar destruction remained. No matter where Max went the pattern continued. She could not escape it. Nothing changed because she hadn’t changed.

Something had to give.

So here she was, feeling half in the grave and grasping a hold of the lifeline Kasoria offered under his watchful gaze like she was a child again. He’d demanded her sobriety as a price. Against her better judgement and equilibrium she promised to give the “cold turkey” purging a shot. The only vice she still clutched was alcohol, but even that she could not drink beyond what was required.

Max felt like she was decaying from the inside. If someone offered a sword over a cleaving stone or a noose from a tree, she probably would’ve accepted the opportunity right then. She spent half the ride hanging off the side of the boat expelling her insides until she didn’t even have bile to offer to the water. She didn’t even want to get in to the horror of what the other end was dealing with, but she knew she would’ve done anything to make it all stop. All that saved this crew was the sureness they didn’t have on board what she would’ve killed for.

Just get off the damned boat.

Now that they had reached Fosters Landing hope was on the horizon. Her mind immediately reminded her there was reprieve here. She knew enough dealers she could have herself sorted within the break. The thought of a joint of Ambrosia, a vial of Katomise, or a sniff of Panorium Powder just barely lifted her mood from the despairing pit she was living in. Then she heard Kasoria call out to her.

"Uh-huh,” was the most Maxine could manage at first in response to her new, affectionate nickname. "I’m coming. Why is everyone in such a rush already?”

And why is the sun so fucking bright?

She squinted against the light and held a hand up to shield her aching, red eyes. Her skin glistened with a fever that still had not broken though the most horrific phase of detox was about through. She caught the ship railing when another ache seized her entirely. After a stiff exhale and a reassurance she wasn’t going to puke right then, she set herself right and journeyed down the gangplank from the ship. She took her place at his side for the walk through the destination.

"Yeah,” Maxine tried to swallow his attempts to console and encourage her efforts. "I’ll probably just…scarf that down.” She hadn’t eaten or slept properly in trials. Insomnia wouldn’t be shaken so easily but she feared what too hearty a meal might exacerbate. "Lead the way.”

Her entire focus wasn’t bit by bit. It was managing one foot in front of the other. The only comforting idea of a lodging was the prospect of collapsing into a bed, curling up, and either waiting for some merciful being to reap her or for her suffering to subside. She didn’t seek to engage with any of the men just yet. She was a bushel of thorns, and the only one she was unlikely to go out of her way to prick was Kasoria. At a time when her head was pounding, she did find she rather liked the silent nature of the mute best.

"How much longer until we’re put out to Rharne?”

[Kasoria]

"Yeah. I’ll probably just…scarf that down.”

Kasoria couldn't keep down the snort of amusement. He'd been watching the girl switch between cursing, shivering, puking, and threatening for the last four trials. A true child of the Oh'Pee, he knew exactly what was unfolding. Withdrawal. Absence. Longing. Yearning. Her body punishing her for denying that which she'd given so freely before. She'd barely eaten throughout their journey. Denied even the most basic assistance, as if she was determined more to suffer alone than actually accomplish anything through it.

He supposed that maybe she thought she was punishing him, by showing him how much his demands for her to be clean were harming her. But he doubted that. Long apart as they'd been, she can't have addled her mind that much.

"Eggs n' bacon, all greasy n' sizzlin'" me said airily, smile widening as a sickened look crossed her face. "Bloody marvelous..."

"How much longer until we’re put out to Rharne?”

Kaosria shrugged, focusing on the crowed swarming about the dock and beyond it. "When we get summoned, m'guessin'. Lerrick knows we're here, or 'ee will do. We find a place t'bed down, he'll come find us, give us marchin' orders."

As he spoke, a group of mingled soldiers and sellswords passed them by. Probably dispatched by the Big Rock to shore up the garrison in Etzos. A mix of clean Etzori Army uniforms and worn, functional, idiosyncratic armor, the milling pedestrians parted for them... and they, in turn, nodded at Kasoria as they passed. Mutters of "Highmark" or "Kasoria" or just "Sir" came from them as they did, and the little man with the black eyes gave just one solid nod in reply. He sighs, closing his eyes and massaging his eyelids for a moment.

"Still gettin' used t'that. But fuck it, makes it easier fer this nob t'find us."

The rest of The Band returned, laden with their supplies and gear... or more accurately, leading the horses that bore them. With a jerk of his head, Kasoria bid them fall in behind him, leading the way as they walked off the docks and into Foster's Landing proper. Westguard at it's busiest was a sleepy morning compared to the port city. It was now one of the prime gateways for trade, travel, news, and above all food coming into Etzos. The streets were packed and stank of everything from unwashed sailors and burning herbs to sizzling meat and... yep, that was gull shit, to be sure. But the crowds moved out of the way for Kasoria, at the head of their little troupe.

It does have some benefits.

The Stomper's Rest was a recent addition to the plethora of taverns, toping houses, shebeens, dives, and lodging houses in the port. Erected by a pair of Rhakros veterans two arcs prior, it was named for the "Rhakros Stomp", an informal, anarchic, but easily recognizable dance that was probably the one bit of culture to come out of the march and siege and sacking of that city. Even seeing the sign over the front door made Kasoria crack a wry smile: two stamping feet in army boots, about to land on a pair of terrified bugs with human faces.

Not too far from the truth.

"Well, do my eyes fuckin' lie? Or are those the fuckin' Irregulars?"

The big man with tattoos across half his face grinned around his pipe and got up from his chair. Kasoria kept walking, arms wide.

"Only if that's the same cunt 'oo still owes me a pot a' nel from dat card game onna' walls. You be he?"

"Dunno what yeh mean, Kas," the big man said, looking down with a smirk. "Wanna scrap fer it?"

"Youse really askin', wee man?"

Of course, he was not. And not because of The Band arrayed behind Kasoria, nor the fierce-eyed lady. Kasoria could have stood there alone and bloodied and Urien would still not have fancied his chances. Best way to deal with a lethal bastard like Kasoria was at a distance, in the back, and repeatedly until he didn't get back up. Up front, with all his senses and his Sparks to boot, well...

"... mebbe I'll knock off the last night. Square us up."

Kasoria held out his arm and the big man took it, pulling them both into a quick embrace.

"Keep it. Jus' make sure yer not cookin' an' I'll be 'appy."

"Cheeky cunt... y'right lads? Raand, Vaul... 'oo's the big fella?"

"S'Miki, friend a' mine from when we were pushin' Sintra outta the Big Rock. Cunts took his tongue an' his eye, s'don't be expectin' much chattin'."

"Yer all welcome," Urien said to the group, before jabbing a finger at Belial. "But youse? Hands off me daughters. We got whores upstairs fer that."

Belial nodded but Kasoria was sure he heard something like "no sport if it's paid for" muttered under his breath. Before Urien could decipher, he plowed on, talking loud and firm over whatever rejoinder may have been coming.

"Lads? Get the horses up, get yer gear, I 'spect Lobo'll be inside t'take us to the rooms. Max, y'go wiv' 'em, then find a table fer us inna tavern. We're all bloody ravenous." If Maxine paused or gave him any lip about such an errand, Kasoria would just stare at her a moment longer. If that didn't work, all she'd get would be, "Y'heard me, monster. Go."

Urien watched the strange group part, knowing his stable boys would be ready to relieve them. As a former soldier, he liked it when a unit worked well, and he made sure Lobo and him had their underlings shifting their arses smoothly when they were here. The horses would be stabled, the gear handed off, and Lobo would be waiting inside to lead them upstairs. While they were unpacking, space would be made for five gentleman and a lady, thank you and quick fucking to it, with ale, rum, and hot food laid on... and all for quite a fair price.

Minus a pot from the walls of Rhakros.

Kasoria didn't doubt any of that. But it wasn't why he'd stayed behind. He waited until Maxine was away... they waited a little longer, because he knew the sneaky little shit could easily just pause and be listening from the corner... then he stepped a touch closer to Urien.

"Youse lads got a dealer in house? Smokes, powders, dat kinda shite? Dun' fuckin' look at me like dat, Uri, I'm not inna life anymore."

"Aye, we do," the inkeeper said, knowing he was hardly speaking to a man who'd judge him for wetting his beak in the local drug trade. It was only here, after all, but by Fuck if wankers were going to sell that shite on his property, he'd be the one taking the prime cut. "Summin' yer after?"

"The opposite. Once we're all inside an' at the table, send 'im to me."

He could practically see the hairs on Urien's neck go up, and shook his head reassuringly.

"No trouble, no claret, Uri. Jus' a friendly chat."

"Friendly?"

"Mostly."

"Yer still a cunt, Kas."

"Aye, pretty much."

[Pig Boy]

The delegation, such as it was, arrived in a long train of carriages. There were quite a few members to their party from the look of things, or else lots of cargo. Each wagon was pulled along by a pair of horses, driven by cantankerous coachmen who looked at the end of their rope of patience for having to babysit for a pack of politicians in training. Etzos had rarely been known for its diplomatic grace. More a state that was riven by internacine conflict, between factions that had disagreements that were in some cases deep as a mine and wide as a trench. The coachman had had to hear all about their fancy plans and strategies on the way.

He had it up to his neck with their demands to stop the carriages too, so one of them could write down a very important note over the bumps in the road, or take a piss here or a shit there. The coachman came to a stop about a dozen paces from the security detail, including Kasoria and Max. If their strange appearances, one heavily mutated by arcana, and the other bedeviled by some sickness of addiction or withdrawal, alarmed him, he didn't show it. He only spat over the side of the carriage as their doors opened, letting out Fagan Maclin and his entourage. There were three wagons in total, two of them bearing the bulk of the party, and the last one containing a large arc or chest. Something that undoubtedly included either a war chest, or some other items necessary to their mission in Rharne. Bribes, samples of the treasures of Etzos perhaps, or even methods of communicating with the homeland. Who knew without looking?

Fagan approached, backed up by at least two dozen courtier-looking folk who were as clean and well-dressed as him. He spoke to Kasoria, "Lerrik sends his regrets that he couldn't see us off, but I see our security detail arrived early? Have you ensured our vessel is secure?"

He waited for confirmation that Kasoria had indeed scouted it out, and made sure there were no threats to their safety. Once everything was settled, Fagan would merely nod at him, and lead his party onto the barge. "We could use some help with the chest there... If you'll lend some muscle to it?" Fagan turned, whistling at the two bearers holding up either end of the chest.

He waved his arm as he walked up the gangplank. They all filed aboard in a orderly manner behind him.

[Max]

Max could only offer a nod at Kasoria's response. If there was time between now and whenever they were summoned, it gave some hope she could go curl up and die somewhere. At this point she didn't care if that "death" was literal or metaphorical. The forest she trudged alone was dark and if there wasn't light through the trees soon, she didn't want any more part of the journey.

A smoke would change everything right now...

The addict sighed at the recurring intrusive thought. It was right. A mere puff of Ambrosia would make her sharper, more awake, and less sickly in a pinch. A snort of Panorium Powder would at least take the edge off everything, if not put her out altogether in a dreamlike sleep of unmatched euphoria. Just a few moments alone and she could banish any pride Kasoria found in the battle she was waging because he'd asked her to.

Max watched with haggard eyes as the parade of stand-issued Etzori soldiers stomped past them. Her mind thought of Martyn in all his polished, creased, and postured self-righteousness. She assumed the Old Man did the same. She did not see the boy's likeness or indignant stare pass them by. Another sharp ache in her body encouraged her to abandon all notion of the estranged son.

The sound of toted weapons, gear, and horse hooves scraped the inside of her skull when The Band returned. She was glad someone else was tasked with the heavy lifting. Only her few personal belongings were crammed in her pockets, attached to her belt, or slung over her shoulder. It was enough to stand upright and follow one foot in front of the other just behind Kasoria's heels. Now that the men had repeatedly brought it up and she took a deep inhale, her stomach twisted in begrudging bewilderment.

Fucking gull shit.

The Rhakros Stomp Inn was a welcomed sight. The booming reception of its owner lent her another pang of migraine, but the friendly jockeying gave promise for quick accommodation. She fought the defeated slump when Kasoria gave her a task along with The Band instead. Eyes filled with protest, she slunk behind The Band as she was told into the tavern. The men were just settling into the table she'd chosen when Miki's giant fingers snapped all to attention. Everyone's eyes followed his stare out the window to where Kasoria conversed in the street with some well-dressed party. The mute didn't need his tongue for all their minds to fall onto the same understanding: the delegation had arrived.

One-by-one they rose from their seats, groaning and griping about barely cramming food into their faces or a drink down their throats. The group looked robust, sans Maxine's sickly frame hiding in the back, and they needed no command from their leader to inference what must be done. When the fancy delegate inquired about the security of their vessel, Raand gave Kasoria an affirmative nod and The Band made quick to board the Sweet Annie without further ado ahead of their patrons.

"Mind yer boots!" a stiff man greeted The Band as they made they way from the barge to the Brigantine ship. "Crew just swabbed this deck. If you lot muck it up, you can swab it 'gain for 'em."
"Aye," Vaul huffed with a twisted expression. "An' who we got to thank for the warm welcome? Captain...?"
"Leoten."
"Hmm. Righ' then."
"Ship'll be righ' as rain, Cap'n," Raand assured with a firm shake of the man's hand. "No one tryin' to shite where they eat trial one. Mind showin' us 'round? Security and what not..."

Captain Leoten looked The Band up and down, taking an especially long pause at the sight of Maxine's pallor. He steeled his gaze on Raand and relented. A First Mate made himself available for the brief tour. He showed the men and woman around the brig, pointing out quarters, storage areas, and little tuck-aways as asked. By the time they were back on the top deck the brig had been well observed from top to bottom. The crew around them continued to busy themselves with preparing for the voyage to come, and Captain Leoten found himself quickly occupied in his quarters.

Vaul, Raand, Belial, and Miki were quick to conversation. Miki was more into urgent gestures and snapping, but the communication was a jesting juggernaut between them. The Rusalka didn't enter their circle. She found a mast to slump against with haste. The lapping of the sea against the hull of the ship, booming laughter of The Band, and general sound of ship work did nothing to quell the relentless pounding of her headache. A gull screeched just over her head, and she found herself feeling like the shit that messed the deck that came from birds of the same feather.

Someone fucking kill me.

"Hello!" Belial called out. "You still alive?"

Maxine pried her eyelids open to find The Band staring at her. Miki snapped his fingers and smiled when he noticed she was indeed awake.

"Wee monster!" Raand addressed her sharply. "Y'hear me?" When Max gave him a curious he broke from the grouping to approach her. His shadow loomed just before her feet. "I told the Cap'n the ship'd be right as rain." Raand gestured to the boot marks and gull shit plastered around the deck. A small parade of boot marks circled the immediate area The Band stomped in. "Hop to."

"Hop what?" Maxine squinted her eyes, glancing about the ship deck and then Raand in particular.

"Aye," Raand responded with more steel in his words. "Start swabbin'." He tossed the filthy ship mop he retrieved from below deck toward her. The Band smirked while Raand folded his arms in anticipation. Max caught the mop handle out of instinct. She blinked a couple times, searching to right herself and wincing. Things started to clear up. Her jaw tightened.

"Look," Vaul chortled, gesturing toward the Rusalka and elbowing Miki. "Wee monster didn't seem t' like that..."

"I dun care what she likes," Raand defended his actions with vigor. "She's been hidin' behind Highmark's skirts, lookin' half a corpse. I've seen dead junkies look more alive. Leas' she can do is clean up after us."

Maxine lunged from the mast with a quickness the men hadn't seen from her since they left Etzos. In an instant she was in Raand's face, so close he could smell the death he accused her of harboring if he tried. The broom was in her hand. Her dark eyes fixed on his hard expression.

"Let's get one thing real fucking clear," she started with fire. "I don't work for you," she pointed at Belial with a rigid finger, and moved it to each of the men in turn. "Or you. Or you." Max shoved the mop into Raand's chest for his hands to instinctively collect. "And definitely not you. I'm not an Irregular or whatever circle jerk you all met in. I don't take orders from any fucking one of you. I'm here for Kasoria and no one else. I'm not swabbin' no fuckin' deck."

"Dat ain't how this works, girl," Vaul warned with a cloudy expression.

"Lemme tell y'somethin'," Raand pointed the end of the mop handle at her. "I dunno what hole Highmark yanked ya out of, but we dunno ya. What I do know is dat y'can't trust no damn junkie. Not with yer life."

"Go on," Max hissed darkly. There was no space left between her and Raand now. Her eyes spoke of the manner in which she salivated for an excuse. "Call me 'junkie' again."

"Yer lookin' a wee rough, wee monster, t'be talkin' dat way."

"Nah. Nonsense." Max leaned away from Raand and broke into a facetious smile. Sweat beaded across her pale brow. "I'm in my prime. Don't I look it?"

Raand caught the way her hands balled into fists at her sides. He stared at her, huffing his resentment before tossing the mop to Vaul. Belial and Miki shrugged while Vaul began his protest. Raand managed to walk about fifteen feet before Maxine's forced composure broke. She stumbled to hang her body over the railing of the ship and immediately vomited overboard. What little food she managed to get down at the tavern was expelled. The Band caught sight and Raand shook his head.

Maxine was cleaned up again, still looking worse for wear, but presentable by the time Kasoria and the delegation might arrive.

[Kasoria]

"We're leavin' now?"

"Yes, of course. Weren't you told? Lerrick assured me that-"

"Fuck me."

Fagan Manclin wasn't ignorant of foul language; he just had little direct experience of it. In his rarefied social circle, such talk was meant to be used at the utter end of need. For when an argument or a point needed a particularly shocking, vulgar cap to it. Something to really sear the words into the minds of those listening... but never in an official capacity, of course. That was just... not done. And to see the words thrown around so freely, to someone of his refined sensibilities, well...

"Is... there some problem?"

"Nah, nah," the little man with the hideous mutations said, rubbing his forehead. "Gettin' fuckin' old, is all."

"Um, well-"

"Oi?! Bell?!"

The ambassador suppressed a flinch as the man roared with a voice bigger than his frame would suggest. After a few trills a tall, fit man twenty years his junior jogged over the gangplank... with a very odd gait. Fagan frowned. Maybe the man was missing a leg? No, probably a foot. Didn't seem to slow him down much. The young man with the bow at his back stopped and came to... nothing near attention. More like paying attention, like a loyal hound.

"Change a' plans, get back to the Stomp, gather up our stuff, we're boardin' right away."

"Checked 'er out while you were gone, Kas. She's clear, bow t'stern."

"Hark at youse, talkin' all nautical."

"Listenin' to the sailors, ain't I?"

"Take Miki wiv' ya, you'll need the muscle."

"Might wanna consider Raand," Belial said with a fleeing smirk. "Think he'd be welcome for the break..."

"Break from..."

Fagan frowned again as Kasoria's words cut off in mid-sentence. A parcel of temporary emotions crowded his face until finally annoyed understanding took up permanent residence. For a brief moment, he swore he saw a pulse of blue light flash in his eyes... then his eyes widened as a fist-sized lump of ether crawled under the man's skin, scaling his chest, over his shoulder, and into his back.

"F-Fates..."

Kasoria's eyes snapped to the man, like a hawk would a rodent. This was his concern, for the next fuck knew how long. Granted, the other members of the delegation would be under his protection, too, but he was fairly sure they could all burn as long as this one soul made it back home. Him and the money, too. Kasoria knew a strongbox when he saw one, being loaded up in front of him. He'd spent half a break going over The Stomper's Rest, from the stable and the shitters to the attic, thinking the delegation would be staying the night. But he'd forgotten Lerrick's letter. They would be leaving that trial, and no later.

Stupid fucking old man. Slip your mind, did it?

"Not me only problem, either."

"Hmm? Excuse me?"

"Nuffin'. Me men'll help yer coachmen wiv' the luggage, the rest've already checked out the ship. C'mon an' we'll meet the Captain..."

Kasoria led the way to Leoten's cabin, and found the very model of a taciturn lifelong sailor waiting for them. Poring over charts and supply lists, resenting any intrusion into this most private of spaces. But Leoten was a man hired, and he respected those who filled his coffers and afforded him the means to keep his ship floating. So he put his charts aside and sat through Manclin's brief but elaborate introduction. Kasoria left them to it and could have sworn he saw a flash of irritation on the good Captain's face, for leaving him alone with this... aristocrat.

Bigger shite to deal with, old boy.

He found Raand and Vaul on deck, swapping stories and gossip with some swabbies. As soon as he appeared they peeled off, Vaul making a quick promise to come back for that game of dice later on. Kasoria looked past them, around them... until he found his true target. Raand followed his gaze and shook his head with a tsk on his lips as he sidled up to his master.

"Dunno about that one, Kas. Deadly wee shite, I'll give yeh, but she's been pukin' an' shakin' fer breaks."

"He ain't lyin', boss," Vaul said, voice not obsequious and simply stating facts. Shoving his tongue up Kasoria's arse was, he knew, s good way to get it cut off. The man respected competence and loyalty, not pretty words and backstabbing. "Wouldn't help wi' the work. Wouldn't eat wiv' us. Wouldn't even-"

"S'ain't a fuckin' pleasure cruise, an' we ain't scrubbin' decks. We're about protectin' those cunts below deck. Leoten wants the ship clean, he can put his own fuckin' men to it. "

"I told the man we'd-"

"You ain't inna position to make promises or give orders. That's my job, Raand. We busy our hands an' eyes with the job. As fer food..." Kasoria's growling façade cracked a moment. "She's havin' trouble keepin' it down."

"Cuz she's a fuckin' junkie, Kas-"

"She's clean."

"Oh, she tell yeh that, did she?" Raand chuckled darkly and shook his head. "Look, girl's tasty wiv' magic an' all, but fuckin' Fates-"

"Yeh took the job, Raand. Yeh took the job, an' the money, an' yeh knew who'd be wiv' yeh."

"No." Raand's voice turned to stone. Vaul tensed briefly. Miki and Belial, returning with bags over their shoulders and just setting foot on the deck, could feel the frigid air radiating off the two men even from where they stood. "You. Vaul. Miki. Bel. Men I know I can trust. Men who fuckin' bled fer me, bled fer our home. Not this fucking-"

"You trust me, Raand?"

"Kas, fuck's sake-"

"Then trust me now."

Raand's jaw tightened. His palms itched. He tossed a glance at Maxine, still leaning against the mast. Kasoria summoned his Sparks, very quietly. All it would take was one smirk, one wink from the girl, insinuating that he was good and whipped as Kasoria's errand boy, and this could turn nasty. Raand's mouth worked roughly, and he looked down at the Raggedy Man. Remembered all the terrible things this slight, skinny fellow could do to a body. Remembered nights of fire and blood in the southern jungles. A city scratched out of existence, and red-handed Irregulars leading the purge...

"What if I can't?"

Kasoria raised an arm, and pointed back to land. Raand snorted and shook his head.

"If yer wrong about her, an' she puts us in danger, then-"

"Then youse won't need to scratch 'er. Cuz I fuckin' will."

Raand swallowed as he looked into those black, pitiless eyes. He saw no lie there, and he lived in a world where seeing deception behind a smile could save a man's life. He nodded, still unconvinced but bowing to the will of his commander. Stomped away with a sideways spit of baccy juice onto the deck. Not near Maxine... but the sentiment was real enough. The rest of The Band clustered and started hefting boxes and crates and bags, leaving Kasoria to saunter across the deck to Maxine... and sniff deeply.

"Sea salt an' fish guts. Town ain't fuckin' changed."

He walked right on by her and braced his hands on the side rail. Back to her as he spoke, staring over the sea he'd crossed arcs before, after an adventure he hadn't told her about yet. Not fully. He couldn't help a rueful smile cross his face. Fates, that fucking Leviathan. If he could die with that one, impossible, unfathomable battle lodged in his mind, he'd be content. Who knew what else awaited him?

"Yer not a solo act now, girl. Yer part of a squad. Yeh knew that when I pitched this to yeh back in Westguard. They ain't gotta adopt ya, but they need t'trust yeh. Youse need t'trust them, too." Now he looked at her, shrugging slightly. "They're wankers, I know, but they're your wankers, now. Shed blood for 'em, an' they'll do the same fer youse."

Some swabbie called from the crow's nest, and soon Leoten's rolling, booming voice like cannon fire echoed across the deck. They were getting read to leave. The horses were brought up last, including Victus and that nag Maxine had definitely not stolen in Westguard. The Raggedy Man turned around and sighed briefly, working his head left and right on his shoulders.

"Right. Gotta lay the law down t'the nobs below deck. Make sure they know t'lissen when the poor wankers protectin' 'em speak. Yer wiv' me fer that."

Kasoria looked up and saw the question in the woman's eyes. She wasn't deaf, or stupid, and she'd heard what he'd said to Raand. He mused over his answer, and had the fucking audacity to grin while he gave it to her.

"No, I didn't mean it. But then again, I'm a notorious fuckin' liar. Shall we?"

[Max]

The brief confrontation with Raand had sapped her. Standing quickly became a chore. Maxine seated herself against the mast on the upper deck once she could pry herself from the side of the ship, finished for the moment with emptying her guts. The Cold Cycle was upon them but she still burned and chilled all at once. She closed her heated eyelids and let the sun bake on her exposed skin. She'd use the last of her energy to kill the man that woke her from this waking sleep.

Maxine wasn't sure how much time had passed when she heard familiar voices again. She didn't open her eyes when she heard Kasoria's low voice growling aboard the ship. Her mind focused on the words being spoken around her, and the senses that weren't her hearing dimmed into the background. Raand's objections rang in her ears even at this distance. She barely raised her palm from her lip, forming a mouth with her fingers and mimicking his yapping to entertain herself. Even that grew tiresome and her hand dropped lifelessly back on her thigh. There was only one whose response mattered.

The answer he gave at last to sate the ego of the one-eared Irregular gave her pause.

She remained frozen where she sat in her misery as she felt the vibrations of his steps near her. She knew his first words to her then were like icebreakers. He knew she'd been listening. Part of her wanted to offer an amused scoff at his assessment of Foster's Landing after all this time. He was absolutely right. The putrid stench had stimulated forgotten parts of her brain and unearthed ancient memories with it. She didn't dare open her mouth to agree or remark on the smell, for fear it might make her stomach lurch at the vocalized thought again.

He didn't waste time before getting into the lecture. She offered a deep sigh and opened her eyes, crossing her feet at the ankles. Her narrowed eyes searched his back as he looked out at the horizon that awaited them. Max didn't protest him. A sigh and a listen was all she could give. Those "wankers" he wanted her to feel camaraderie with were right not to trust her. She was a fickle ally with a selfish agenda, and a penchant for violence that led to unimaginable catastrophe on a whim. Kasoria would be smart to scratch her sooner rather than later. They would be clever to keep her at arm's length.

He needs this.

She pursed her lips in thought and watched her house board the ship after Victus. She could tell by the new pace of the sailors and the shouts of the captain that they were about to be off. This was it. She was about to leave behind Eztos and all the misadventure she'd had here. All the vacation and escapism she'd had from the rest of the world that knew her better was about to end. A return to this past she needed desperately. Falling back under Kasoria had undoubtedly saved her life despite her own plans.

But was she ready to go back out there again?

A few steps and you can bail right off this fucking nightmare...

Kasoria's talking pulled her foggy thoughts back to attention. She looked up at him with that questioning and he knew before she had to articulate it. Maxine expected The Raggedy Man would put an end to the squad member out of regulation. The thought Kasoria might bloody his blade with her, after everything, was the notion that threatened the most grievous wound. Her eyes narrowed some, but she nodded her acceptance of his response.

"If you say so," Maxine said with a grimace as she roused herself to stand, back leaned against the mast. "Why don't you lead?" She fell in behind him, body fighting her all the way. "You know how well I handle authority...and if I get another idiot barking in my face I'll start carving pieces off."

[Kasoria]

I can only say so much. Fuck me, this was easier with the recruits.

Which was a classic example of stating the completely bloody obvious. If one of his students fucked up too much, gave him too much lip, or screwed around with dope, booze, or cunny so much it led to the first two, what happened? He bounced them the fuck out of the regimen and maybe gave them a bruise or five on the way out. There were always more bodies, even as depopulated as Etzos was. He had his tricks, his ways to knock the promising ones back on track... but he had his limits. He was infamous for them.

But there's only one Maxine. More's the fucking pity.

Her grunted reply to his little speech made him purse his lips, but nothing else. No point threatening or cajoling anymore. She was a big girl and he couldn't treat her like a little one. And he knew she wasn't trying to get him to toss her off this job. She was just... her. Fierce and rebellious and proudly, stubbornly, viscerally determined to take no sides and believe in no cause ever again. No teams, no squads, no comrades... no matter what pit that led her to. Kasoria knew that wouldn't end well with her; she hated herself too much for isolation to work.

And I should fucking know.

"Why don't you lead? You know how well I handle authority...and if I get another idiot barking in my face I'll start carving pieces off."

There was a short, harsh bark of sound that was not dissimilar to to a bone breaking. A couple of swabbies the duo passed actually jumped at it. Maxine took a moment to realize that had been Kasoria laughing. He paused and turned to her, eyebrows popped, looking up and down at his protégé.

"Aye? Think I needed yer suggestion fer that, did yeh? When I say yer with me, I mean by me side, not rappin' out orders. That's why the wankers hired me." The Old Man turned as crotchety as Maxine had always remembered for a moment as he started walking below deck. Shaking his head and clicking his tongue. "First Raand, now 'er. Chrien's cunt, fuck do people think I'm 'ere for...?"

The delegation in all its entirety had been gathered in the below decks space that sufficed for a kitchen. The rest of The Band were already down there, lined up on one wall, watching the nobs or glaring at Max, depending on who they were. The delegates were chatting amongst themselves, already poking at scrolls and books, a low, urgent buzz of sound rising from them. It reminded Kasoria of flies over a corpse.

One was not. Fagan Manclin. He stood up as Kasoria entered. Opposite from The Band, Captain Leoten stood with is arms crossed, smoking pipe between his teeth. He was there because, well, it was his ship, and he could be where he fucking liked. Kasoria wasn't about to tell him otherwise. With a quick jerk of his head to the others, Kasoria conveyed his instruction. Fagan turned around and bid his people quieten. The flies ceased their buzzing.

"First off, 'ands up if yeh dun' know me."

No hands were raised. Kasoria nodded, for once pleased with that answer.

"Good. Then yeh know not t'fuck about wi' me. Any of yeh at Rhakros? On the walls durin' the Siege? Crescent Arena?"

Four hands out of thirteen men went up. Slower. Reluctantly. Like men who'd seen and done things terrible to recall and did not want to be reminded of them. Kasoria nodded again, meeting the eyes of each men. Aye... he knew the look. The tightness around the eyes. The tenseness in their manner, and how fast they'd begun listening. So if it all went to shite, at least he had four others he could hand steel to and not expect them to cut their own fucking heads off.

"Good t'know. Me, her, an' those four handsome bastards over there-" Belial actually bowed, the twat "-are yer security detail. Yer bodyguards. Our job is to keep youse safe, until we step back onto the pier we just walked off."

He turned to Fagan for a moment.

"We got lodgings lined up fer when we reach Rharne?"

"Yes, the manor of one Nathaniel Dubois, The Voice of the Council, in the Glass Quarter. Quite a well-known figure, I would-"

"Inside the city, or outside?"

"Um, inside, I believe."

"Good. That'll make it easier fer us to patrol." He turned back to the delegation in general. "We won't get in yer way, but if yeh leave the manor, y'take one of us. If there ain't at least two of us t'be in the manor, cuz the others're guardin' those who've left, yeh don't leave. Yeh wait until the others get back. An' Mister Manclin? Youse don't go anywhere outside the manor wiv'out me."

"Mister Kasoria, that seems rather strict. We have no enemies in Rharne, we are not expecting-"

"No-one's expectin' a knife in the throat until it happens. Chokin' on steel an' shittin' themselves as they bleed out." That did the job of shutting the young noble up. "An' jus' to be very fucking clear, I was the one who was holdin' the knife, back in the old days. So if there's anyone who knows better how many men it takes to properly guard somewhere, or how best to expect an assassin, or where those bastards might sneak in... go ahead an' name them. I'll leave right now."

The delegation did not look enthused with these rules... but no other name was suggested. Kasoria swept a look around the room, seeing averted eyes and fidgeting fingers. The four veterans met his gaze - for what was he compared to the horrors they'd seen, really? - but even they looked uncomfortable. Kasoria felt a nudge inside him. Something his instructor cycles had taught him... something that had started with Max, if he was honest.

Can't be a stone-cold cunt all the time. Can't bear down too hard, or they'll just hate you, and look for reasons to rebel. Steel and gold. Muscle and brains. Hearts and minds.

"I know this seems harsh," he started, voice a tad softer, mostly down to his crisper accent. He was talking to his "betters", after all. "But I want everyone t'come home. I don't know yeh. Any of yeh. But yer my people, speakin' for my home. If yer here, with Mister Manclin, it's cuz the Council thought youse were smart an' loyal an' brave enough t'speak the needs of Etzos t'foriegn lands. That's worth protectin'. An' mark me, all of yeh. If it comes to us gettin' the dagger or the arrow, or you... we'll make sure it'll be us."

The Band looked at him flatly from the wall. Kasoria made a point not to meet their gazes. They would chat about that later.

"We were invaded by Lisirra. Sintra tried to usurp us. An' we lost... so much. Every man here has his story a' woe. All of us."

Now The Band looked at him with something else entirely. Maxine could hardly miss it. Raand fingered the rings at his ear. Vaul looked down at his feet, hands clutching the hilts of his mace and ax so hard his knuckles whitened. Max and Belial stared at Kasoria, unamused annoyance now replaced by a cold, fierce gaze of wrathful memory. Looking at the delegation, she could see the same faces.

No-one was spared. No family. No circle of friends. We’re all survivors now. Bound by that if nothing else.

"We go to places now, where Immortals are accepted. Idolized. Worshipped. Some even walk among the mortals in the cities that follow 'em." A healthy dose of shocked disgust flushed across the group as he relayed that to them. An encouraging and wholly Etzori reaction. "So no, Mister Manclin. We're not enemies... but they ain't our friends. An' they'll be lookin' at us like Morty-hatin' savages who're seekin' to wheedle them of coin an' advantage. So yeh'll 'scuse me, if I believe in takin' precautions, should one bunch of 'em decide we don't belong there."

Fagan Manclin swallowed but didn't avert his eyes. Kasoria respected him a touch more for that. He nodded his head curtly, and turned to his followers.

"They are here for our protection, men. We need them, as Etzos needs us. Listen to their cautions and advice when it comes to your safety, all of them... oh, but doesn't one of you-"

"Miki'll make 'imself known when he needs to, believe you me."

Laughter rolled around the room and Mikiros joined in the jape. Fates, even Raand cracked a smile. Kasoria managed to mirror it for a moment. He looked about the group, then remembered one last person.

"Captain Leoten? We'll no get in yer people's way. That's what yeh want, an' I'll give it to yeh. A nice, quiet ship with passengers who shut up an' let you sail."

No smile from the old man. Just a nod. Well, couldn't please everyone.

"Anythin' else?"

[Pig Boy]

By the time Kasoria was done making his speech conjuring knives in every dark corner, with a hand ready to use it and a will to commit murder against state officials of Etzos, he nearly looked ready to faint, paling considerably and swallowing a large lump in his throat. When the mage asked if there was 'anything else' he merely nodded then shook his head, "Ahh, no. That will.. That will.."

The hands that went up from the Rhakros veterans came forward now to do their duty and buoy the spirits of their 'leadere' Manclin. "Come on, sir, let's get aboard before she leaves."

Fagan gave a long look at Maxine, frowning for a moment but then shaking off the feeling that he'd seen her before. No she was no one important to his eyes.

In the end, the ship embarked upon the river, and would take them out to sea, into the wild ocean of the Orm'del, and eventuallly, one would hope, to Rharne.

Fagan, as it happened, would spend much of the time relieving his stomach of its contents through the voyage. As it happened, protecting Fagan became as much a issue of settling his sea-sickness and anxiety, as protecting him from the hidden knives in every corner.

Kasoria

• Renown: 10
• XP: 15
• Knowledges:
  • Politics: x3
  • Leadership: x3
  • Intimidation: x3

Max

• Renown: 10
• XP: 15
• Knowledges:
  • Resistance: x2
  • Endurance: x3
  • Seafaring: x4

Notes: Well this was an interesting thread. I didn't expect that Kasoria would not take his son, as you had mentioned that earlier. But I suppose sometimes the characters end up going their own way, and act in ways we don't expect, as it is here.

Maxine was a total mess through the thread, as I'm guessing she's dealing with the effects of severe withdrawal. A beautifully written mess, but yeah.

You two have a very distinctive collaborative style that can be great to read. The characters themselves certainly have a lot of chemistry to carry the narrative forward, and it's clear the pcs have a lot of loyalty toward each other. Even as Kasoria says he'll be the first to put Maxine down if she jeopardizes the mission.

Anyway great job! Lemme know if you two have further needs or such along the way! Thanks for the great thread.