• Mature • Squatters (Maxine) [Wealth Thread]

[Kasoria]

The Estate of Nathaniel Dubois
Glass Quarter, Rharne
47th of Vhalar, 722

Very swanky.

Vaul wasn't much for eloquence, but he knew how to get his meaning across well enough. Looking about the greeting hall of Nathaniel Dubois, in all its filigreed finery and marble ostentation, he knew quality and money when he saw it. The decorations and construction of this one room would have bought a street in the Oh'Pee. The time and labor to keep the gardens green and glowing would have done for a half-dozen Etzori farms. This place reeked of money, and the kind of person that needed to show the world he had it.

He kept the observation in his head. So did they all. Mikiros, Raand, Belial, him... all of them had moved in silence through the streets of Rharne as they'd gone from the port to he Glass Quarter. Even Kasoria, flanking Manclin at the head of their entourage, had barely spoken to the man, or anyone else. They'd watched. They'd listened. Eyes flickering to hands, arms, cloaks, belts, shadows, alleys, rooftops... anywhere men like them knew a threat could come from.

"Honestly, Kasoria, you needn't worry," he'd heard the ambassador mutter to the Raggedy Man as they'd walked. "Look at the number of guards we've seen since entering the Glass Quarter. Easily triple elsewhere in the city. Wealth doth draw protection, after all."

"Dun' assume they won't be in on it." Kasoria's reply was typically cynical and hard to argue with. Vaul's lips squirmed for a moment as he crushed a smile. "An' I speak from experience. We're yer protection. Everyone else is suspect."

Manclin had clucked his tongue but that alone was telling. Before their voyage, he might have quailed at that growling voice, that brutal view of the world. Now they were twenty trials away from home, most of those packed onto a single ship together. It hadn't been just The Band that had grown closer in that time; the rest of the Etzori delegation had slowly, tentatively, cautiously opened up to their fearsome protectors. Vaul chuckled at the notion of anyone "warming up" to someone like the Raggedy Man, but he had to admit, the diplomat had adapted.

Now we'll have to do it again.

Rharne was... a city on a mountain. That was about as close to Etzos as Vaul could compare it. Everything else seemed so different. Not from the outside, perhaps. Granite and marble and stone always looked the same, geography just added a layer of variety. The docks were similar to Etzos, only placed at the base of the mountain. Vaul could appreciate that. Gazing up at the mountain, capped by what looked like a fortress, ringed by layers of buildings and walls, sloping down to the base, he could see it was quite a walk to the first layer of defenses. No risk of some naval force sweeping in one night and overwhelming the place sharpish.

Not layer. Quarters. That's what the nods call them. Not Circles.

Vaul had smiled in that lopsided, dead-nerved way of his. Maybe more alike than he thought. Then they walked through the Dust Quarter, and for all its improvements, his amusement vanished. Aye. Very similar. There was an Oh'Pee in every city, and Rharne appeared no different. The delegation tramped across dusty streets, horses and carts kicking up a minor cloud as they advanced deeper into Rharne. Manclin handled everything, of course. He was the mouth, they were the muscle. Vaul just kept his eyes open and watching the world beyond their little gaggles as he and Kasoria negotiated their way into the second-

The gates opened, that dull rumble that had been pricking his ears for the last mile was suddenly revealed, and Vaul saw-

Fuck me. That's a lot of beer.

[Kasoria]

"In the name of The Voice of The People, the Honorable Nathaniel Dubois, I welcome you all to his... humble home."

Polished as the nob was, his welcoming spiel faltered when his eyes landed on Mikiros. A full head taller than everyone else in the room, and Fates, what a head. One-Eyed, scarred, like a boulder with a mouth carved into it. Bronze armor battered and scratched, every white carving proof of an enemy who'd came close, but failed (usually fatally). His bulk, the thickness of him, more like a bear stuffed into clothes than a man. But the real capper?

He smiled. Not a sneer, though. That was likely what the smooth, beardless, fastidious man probably assumed passed for smiling in his kind. That no embers of humor or mirth could exist there, save for delight in pain and animalistic hedonism. What did he get instead?

Miki gave him a grin. Guileless as a child and lined with bright white teeth... which was surprising, considering his tongue was cut and burned out.

"Ah... shall we show you to your wing?"

Oh, please bloody do.

He shuffled and scratched without a care. He wasn't a soldi on parade; he was a ganger and a sellsword and bloody good at it. Just because he scratched against his sweaty clothes and the heat beyond the windows, didn't mean he couldn't do his job. After sweeping the entry hall and the minor crowd within, he turned his gaze back to one of those windows. Manely the one they'd just come through. Peering down the long path that led through shrubbery and well-pruned trees and flower beds the likes he'd never seen before. So much... green. Alive and lustrous, alien to a city boy like Miki. Grass was something you had to plan a day trip to enjoy.

His eyes looked beyond the garden, the vegetation, the grandeur. To the gates they'd walked through, the two guards at alert outside. No-one in the street beyond was stopping to watch the Etzoris arrive. He looked up, one good eye scowling against the sun. Depth perception was something he missed sorely, but it didn't mean he was blind. He looked from window to window on the houses flanking them. One was distant, another garden surrounding it keeping the sprawling buildings apart, but the other... you could have a bowman up there. Perhaps just a lookout. Letting someone know when the targets were on the move...

Ain't the biggest issue, though.

"Our thanks to you, sir!" Manclin's honeyed tones brought his eye back to the group. "We've come a long way and are grateful for the hospitality."

He bowed. The Rharnian bowed. The Rharnians flunkies bowed. The rest of the delegates bowed. The Band did not, and Miki rolled his eye.

Fucking Fates... protocol.

"Wadaya think, Miki?"

Kasoria sidled up next to him as the chatter started up in earnest. Dubois' household staff disseminating among the delegates, taking bags, packages, chests (apart from the strongbox, of course). Names were taken and rooms decided. With a wave of his hand Kasoria sent Raand over to get a look at the list. They'd need a copy for all of them, so they knew who was where. Miki looked back out the garden and swept out a big meaty hand. Taking in the trees, the green... the sheer mass of it... hiding so many places... casting so many shadows already.

The little man with black eyes grunted and scratched under his chin. This heat would take some getting used to.

"Aye. Know whatcha mean. Too much cover. Too many ways in."

"We wun muhk et eezee."

"Course we fuckin' won't, mate. S'what they pay us for."

[Kasoria]

So this is what it feels like on the other side of things.

Which wasn't quite accurate, really. Kasoria had been Vorund's shadow much as he'd been his blade. Accompanying him on sit-downs and meetings. Sometimes openly, more often as a bartender, a servant, a beggar on the corner. But the role had been the same: watch, detect, protect. The rest of the time, it was just to kill. So he'd already had plenty of experience watching for threats, instead of being one. Only this time, it wasn't for some gang lord or underworld fixer. It was for the world above. The Council of Etzos, highest power in the nation (though Vuda would probably have an opinion on that) had tasked him with protecting this gaggle of functionaries and highborns. Moreover, he was on display. Not merely nameless muscle anymore.

Rein it in, old man. You're hardly a celebrity.

Kasoria stifled an amused snort and went back to his job: namely, casing out as much of the Dubois estate as he could see, touch, smell, and walk through. Clearly this was the home of a man with wealth far beyond anyone he'd known. The gardens were vast, the house was towering, and the staff were neat and polite. The guards at the gate looked solid, too, but like he'd told Manclin, he didn't rate them too highly. Himself and The Band were who he trusted with security, not some local muscle who could be bribed, blackmailed, or threatened into looking the other way.

How do you know that? Because it's what you'd do.

"Here's the list."

Kasoria took the paper from Raand and gave it a quick scan. He hadn't got a full layout for the place yet, but it looked like they were all concentrated in one wing of the main building. It spread out like some fat, flightless bird: one fat, straight section making up the main segment, with two long wings on either side of it. One of them had now been given over to the Etzori delegation. Kasoria pursed his lips as he processed this. Concentrated was good: meant less delegates spread out and scattered, less of The Band peeling off and divided to watch them. Also meant all the chickens were trapped in a coop, and these foxes wouldn't bother with claws.

Burn the wing down. That's what you'd do.

"Raand? Miki?" The two men snapped to attention. "Check over the gardens an' the walls 'tween 'ere an' the other houses. Bel?" The archer looked away from a passing maid, charming (apparently) smile still on his lips. "Up onna' roof an' check it out from there. Vaul?"

The branded man pulled down his hood and ignored the brief looks of shock that came from a few of the Rharnians. Aye, that face made an impression when first you saw it. Kasoria nodded towards the delegation, already filing after the household staff to their rooms. "Follow that box an' Manclin, check out the room they're keepin' it in."

"'bout youse an' Max?"

Kasoria suppressed a smile. Not "Monster" anymore. Well... not often. When a name stuck in their world, it never really left you. He'd be the Raggedy Man for the rest of his days, to some people. He'd met men who'd never heard of Kasoria, but were barstool experts on the tales of his alter ego. Now Maxine had her own, won after the savagery she'd unleashed with her bare hands against that smear of shite Merry. She'd earned it again on the voyage over, proving beating down a wretch like him wasn't all she was good for. But in that curious way humans had, that hadn't dehumanized her even more in The Band's eyes. It had given her back her true name, rather than cleared it away completely.

"We'll go over the wing. Inside an' out. Try an' find a map, too."

A brief, bobbing wave of nodding heads and they broke the huddle. They had their orders and their objectives, and Kasoria trusted them all to accomplish them. He wanted Belial up high, with his sharp eyes and lethal bow. Raand and Miki as the first barrier for anyone coming in, beefy bulwarks that anything less than a squadron would break and crumble against. Vaul inside with the money, a dirty, hateful fighter who'd rather die bloody than admit defeat, or failure. But Max?

"C'mon," he said, pulling off one of his now-ubiquitous black gloves. He willed his Transmutation, awaking the eye set into the back of his hand. He could hear the Spark in his blood, eager to touch and caress marble and stone, delve into them and whisper all sorts of secrets. "Lessee what this place can tell us..."

[Max]

Maxine hated this place.

She hated the city, save for the fact it reeked of every vice she desired so very deeply down to the marrow of her bones. She hated the baggage that came with the memory of this land and how heavy it rested on her soul. She hated these politicians she was enlisted to follow around and protect. She hated the elite they parlayed with, especially in the ways in which both sides would bow and preen like serpents circling one another. She hated the illustrious mansion riddled with riches and ridiculous parades of wealth inside it.

She hated...!

Okay, so the Rusalka hated a lot of things these trials.

The only concept that didn't inspire her ire was Kasoria. Maxine had already vocalized her loyalty and trust. He was still trying in vain to save her, regardless of whether she was worth saving, by bringing her along on this endeavor and assimilating her into his band of brutes. The Band was growing on her though. Like moss to a rock in an arid desert, but progress nonetheless. Their company was certainly preferred over the alternatives.

Kasoria must've trusted, at the very least, in her unspoken willingness to follow him to the ends of Idalos. Why doubt her now when she'd come this far for him? After she unsullied herself from all the crutches that both ruined her life time and again yet made it tolerable? She had no where left to turn. Nothing left. They both knew it. Now here she was.

Max stood silently among her companions while they discussed the grounds that would serve as their temporary home. Her hood had been firmly tugged over her head from the moment they reached the docks of Rharne, and whether she was inside or out mattered not. She relied on the dark remnants of her Shadow Matron to conceal her features from the common eye. Her past transgressions on this land were not lost on her. They burned brighter in her mind now. She was playing a dangerous game, but she intended on playing it intelligently.

So long as she could keep it together.

When her name came up she raised her chin to focus. Her eyes immediately met Kasoria's and she gave him a curt nod. Securing a stronghold was no alien task to ex-soldiers and guards. Max had a better history of destroying, sometimes rather impressively, than fortifying. The ghost of the Baron and the ruins of his mansion on Faldrass would testify to that. Her tutelage under Kasoria, it seemed, never ended. There was so very much for her to always learn. So accepted another opportunity for schooling eagerly with a step forward.

"How much free reign we got here?" Maxine murmured when she was beside him. They may have been welcomed guests but everyone had their secrets. Especially, she believed, those who lived in the sort of residences like this one she gawked at as an orphaned child. "Because as much as I wanna know what's in the wings..." Her eyes peered ahead, down the hall of exquisite marble, stone, fabrics, and decorum. "...it's the places they don't want us that tend to be the most revealing."

As they moved and Kasoria awakened his magic, she couldn't resist letting a hand rest idly on the hilt of her gladius. Her steps were slow and nearly silent. She moved only as quickly as her eyes could study the stimulus in front of her. The mounted heads of trophy animals, busts of unknown men, and the hollow echo of general vastness of the place was all peculiar to her senses. If and when something around them piqued her interest, she'd enhance a sense to get a better understanding.

Until then, she settled for trying the occasional door knob as they passed them. Even just to log what was on the other side.

"I know I don't get politics or whatever." She popped open a door only to find a small broom closet, and promptly closed it off again when it failed to keep her interest. "But I don't trust a man so eager to let strangers inside. Not a place like this."

[Kasoria]

"We strike youse as the sorta' crew dat worries overmuch 'bout wanderin' where we shouldnae be?"

Kasoria gave something that passed for a chuckle, shifting his focus back to what his Spark was whispering to him. Identify was the simplest of Transmutation's abilities, and it could not extend far. But at this point, nothing was a mystery to him. Marble and mortar, oak and bricks, it was all so clear to him. Because his Spark knows. It mutters the nature and names of them all. Under the plaster it goes, the paint and the façade. Not too far, but far enough to tell him if any spot was too thin or made off too unusual a substance. Maybe indicating a secret door, a false wall...

Still not as good as your eyes.

If something so intangible and mindless as a Spark could feel affronted, Kasoria was sure it would be. Still, his eyes scanned the tall windows lining the hallway. Peered into rooms. Tried to see beyond the glass and into the rest of the estate. He counted his steps and spent an extra couple of trills on each new face, burning them into his mind. They wouldn't have much time to get used to the place: Manclin and the other delegates had meetings to attend the very next trial. He paused at one door in particular, opening it up to reveal... as expected-

"This's ours. One of 'em, anyway."

It was a bedroom that could have housed an entire Oh'Pee family. Comfortably. The fittings and furnishings were sumptuous, but the beds... they looked new, and not nearly as expensive. One of each side of the room, ample space on either side for clothes, weapons, whatever the occupants had. Kasoria stepped inside and noted the drapes on flanking the windows. They'd be open, most of the time. On his orders. Always better to see your enemy coming, and as he crouched by one of the beds... no, no angles visible from the buildings around the estate. He paced around the room, listening to the echo of his footsteps. Rapping on the walls, checking for hollowness, and his Spark-

Aye. Your eyes can't do this.

Spells. Enchantments. Curses. Wardings. Ether. It was all ether, and his Spark could detect it in the air like a hound would blood or scent. It wasn't just passages and tunnels he was searching for. It was any magical energy lingering where the Etzori would be staying. He had mastered two disciplines, but knew there were plenty of others in the world. Who knew what they could do? Listen to them, speak to them, weaken them... worse?

Paranoia, some called it. Most of those who did were not bodyguards.

Precaution. Big difference.

"He's arich Rharnian nob lookin' t'become richer an' more powerful, m'guessing," he said eventually, just when Maxine started to think he'd not heard her last statement. "Nathaniel Dew... Dub... Dub-War. Summin' like that. Call 'im "The Voice". Politican, speaker fer the people-" he couldn't keep the smirk from his voice when he said that; he'd been steeped and soaked in an egalitarian state that still managed to oppress as well as a monarchy "-or some such. I'm thinkin' he's of the mind dat 'ee can use Manclin an' Etzos fer some plans a' his. Make him more popular, wealthier..."

His voice trailed off along with his line of reasoning. Finally he chuckled, staring out the window. His Spark receded. No magic. No warding in this room. But they had plenty of others to search.

"Ain't one fer politics either, girl. Never wuz. Barely got the gist in Etzos, an' 'ere? I'm as lost as youse are."

It was just the two of them. Mayhap he wouldn't be as honest with anyone else in The Band. Maybe he just saw no point or profit in lying. Dubois was a nob. They played angles. No different to gang lords and kings and... Morties. The trick was knowing what it was, how you fit into it, and whether it ended with you alive, or dead. Understood that way, his life was much simpler. Keep the delegates alive, advance their cause as much as he could... keep his men alive.

Because they're no use to anyone dead, and you can't recruit the locals.

"Eyes an' ears open, wherever we go." His black eyes flitted to her, and he snorted. As if she needed to be told. "The nobs ain't the only ones learnin'."

He walked to the door, jerking a thumb behind him at the room.

"You an' me'll take this'un. Two t'each room. Dun' want us separated at night."

He didn't need to ask if she'd prefer a room all to herself, being a woman and all. For one, any of The Band stupid enough to leer or push their luck would pay for their urges. For another, it was solid tactical sense. Alone, they could be picked off. Even paired off they were more dangerous, and had trained and sparred to become even more so. Of the two points, the second mattered more.

After all, she wasn't a woman to The Band. She was Maxine, and she was one of them.

[Max]

Kasoria was seeing with far more than just his eyes. Maxine knew the look of a searching mage, and she knew they he was likely using his skills to hunt for much more than she could hope to discover. After some failed door pulls and book shelf rousing, the Rusalka found her services likely better off following his lead on this. The Old Man discovered a room set aside for The Band. She peered over his shoulder, noting the two beds and ample space within the large living quarters by their peasantry standards. She eased into the space behind him.

If there were ether traps hidden in these walls Maxine was naïve to them. Her best litmus for hunting a well was, frankly, watching Kasoria. She recalled the effect the well in Rynmere had on Sephira, the way it consumed her slowly any time she used her magic within its reach. If such an object was here she and The Old Man would both know it in that sense. She had learned how to destroy such things. This time, however, she imagined that answer couldn't be to detonate the very quarters meant to safely house their clients.

The rich, Rharnian nob lookin' host probably wouldn't appreciate her methods either.

"Any politician with a nickname like that is a fuckin' nob," Maxine muttered agreement with Kasoria's assessment.

"The Voice" had an ominous ring to it that rubbed her the wrong way. Already her mind had questions. Namely, did he use his voice to truly speak for his people, or cleverly in a way that served mostly himself? He certainly seemed to reap plenty of wealth from his endeavors. Surely he bathed in these stupid corridors, wings, and ridiculous surplus while the people he spoke for starved and suffered somewhere.

When their sweep was complete they got right to the obvious next bit. Multiple rooms, multiple beds in the same living space. Already Kasoria was dictating where her head rested. It wasn't lost on her that it was in the same room as his.

"What's the matter?" Maxine sighed with a roll of her eyes as she dropped down onto one of the beds. "Afraid I'll have too much fun in this city, fall off the wagon?" The mattress was far cozier than she anticipated. She hadn't slept on something this comfortable in ages. Maybe not ever. "Too much trouble I'll get into outside your watchful eyes?"

She was poking the bear now and she knew it. There was no expectation he would reassure her otherwise. There was a plethora of reason Kasoria was right to keep her close, and the state of her ever-threatened sobriety was a mere bullet point on a list. She weighed her other options and laughed.

"That's alright. If you put me with anyone else, them and I would probably kill each other anyways."

She roused herself from the bed and wandered to the window instead. In one sweeping motion her hands threw open the curtains to peer outside. The vantage point was ideal and the visibility was good. Her eyes danced from landscape, to positions of cover, to the sweeping expanse of property to where the city laid. After a couple moments of assessment she frowned.

"This is a lot of real estate," she led with the obvious. "I agree we need the overwatch, but there's a lot of holes. We may be best locking down our end of things tight, and sending an unpredictable rover now and then when we can spare the bodies to check the status of the rest of the place. If we let the delegates make demands rather than the other way around, it'll be easy to spread us thin. It's what I would do."

[Kasoria]

"They're all fuckin' nobs. Some a' just more useful than others."

Kasoria decided to leave his searing political insight at that, and focus on his job instead. Maxine was unlikely to be interested in his bleating, and frankly he had little solid rhetoric to verbalize anyway. A lack of trust in hierarchy and a base belief in humans' ability to thrive without the fucking Morties were the core of what he believed; everything else came from observation, interaction, and then evaluation.

Rharne was unnervingly like Etzos to him, once you sifted away the Immortal-loving shit. It was a city that needed trade, finances, infrastructure, food, jobs, law, punishment... all the tenets of any society across Idalos. Sure as there was any culture with coin, too, there were those that had an abundance, and those that scraped by with little. The former thought that was quite an acceptable situation, and keeping the latter in their state was just as palatable.

Careful, old man. Don't go getting all rabble-rousy in your dotage.

True to form, it was Maxine's smart fucking mouth that dragged him back to reality. He narrowed his eyes at her for a moment as she made yet another quip. She didn't seem to notice. Choosing to wander over to a window instead, stance lax but eyes bright and watchful. She was... not all herself, he supposed. Her body was catching up to the sobriety of her mind... or the other way around? All he knew was her mind was flushing itself of the drugs faster than her body, and while she waited for the equilibrium, she seemed... off.

"Nuffin' shorta' chains an' manacles'll keep youse from findin' trouble if yeh want it. Ain't shite I can do about that." He sidled up next to her, fact that he had to look up into her eyes now doing nothing to minimize the warning in his voice. She knew him too well to associate size with lethality. She'd seen men twice her size turned into fertilizer by this little man with black eyes. "What I can guarantee, is the sheer fuckin' tonnage a' shit I'll shove down yer throat if I catch yeh. An' I will. Sure as sure, an' youse know it."

In the old trials, that would have been that. The threat alone. But these were new trials. They were not as they were. He wanted to, he had to, believe that was for the better.

"Yeh won't, anyway," he said, looking away, seeing the same tactical details as her as he gazed upon the grounds and the buildings rising up around the estate. "Yer not so daft yeh'd fuck up so good a' thing. An' yeh won't shame me by backslidin'."

That might have caught a sharp, surprised look from her. If it did, Kasoria returned it with the same nonchalant, studied, deliberate indifference she'd managed with him. All she'd get would be a shrug and a simple, "Y'know dat, too..."

She was bang on with the last point, though. Giving voice to a feeling that had been crawling in Kasoria's guts for a while now. Too much land, too little hands. He couldn't spread the men out everywhere: they didn't have the numbers and besides, he knew that the man who tried to protect all, protected nothing. Having men in place wasn't the issue: it was having enough men, and the right ones. He stroked his beard as he pondered, nodding his head.

"Remember what I told 'em on the ship. They don't go nowhere without one a' us... but we can limit that t'one outside the estate at a time. One gets back, another one can leave. That way, we've never more'n one man down at all times. Fer the big stuff, wi' Manclin an' his lads, we all go. No point leavin' a man behind when he could be useful. We come back, we can sweep the estate fer anyone waitin' fer us."

He walked along the wall now, eyes fixed out the windows, warming to the subject like any professional would.

"Too big of an estate... ain't too big of a wing, though. Pull out people back t'here, all of 'em. Only one way t'the rest of the mansion, that's good. Means The Band takes the rooms on either side a' the main door, an' we have two men on it around the clock. Same principle as before, anyone wants t'wander, they can take one a' us wiv' em. Less likely t'be trouble here, though. Dun' go thinkin' I trust thus Voice cunt, but it'd look bad fer him if foreign guests got scratched in his very home. He's motivated t'not let that happen."

He stopped, remembering the other things she'd said, and let out a chuckle. He looked back at her.

"Unpredictable. Roving. Well. Look like youse jus' volunteered, girl."

Before she could answer or protest, he strode to the door and called over his shoulder.

"C'mon! I wanna meet the others, 'ave a butcher's at that map, see what the rest've the lads've found. Then we can sort out billets an' who's on first watch... an' tell the nobs the rules from now on."

[Max]

"Hah," Maxine exhaled a laugh in the face of his comment regarding her and manacles. "History says otherwise. The seventh level of an underground prison didn't do. I'd wager nothing short of death or a real cunt of a Morty would do the trick."

The Rusalka knew she was something of a cockroach. Shitheads like her often were. Good people died everyday, especially those that seemed least deserving of their fate. How unfair it always seemed when people like her, taking all and contributing nothing, continued to defy the odds and draw breath. She couldn't help herself when it came to trouble. It seemed to find her like a jilted lover, clingy and impossible to stave off for long. So interwoven it was that her life would seem alien if it vanished.

Kasoria's threats of punishment should she fall off the wagon were predictable. What wasn't was his reasoning, and he saw the surprise clear in her eyes. She shook her head and sighed. Was he still blinded by the memory of that little girl all those arcs ago regardless of what his aging eyes saw in the present? Was he painfully optimistic or nostalgic? It was hard for her to decide where the folly in his logic laid. There were few good things Maxine hadn't destroyed on a whim or a fleeting emotion. The state of her sobriety trembled on a precipice every single moment of every single trial.

He had some sort of weird faith in her.

Maxine had none.

To his own observations about the estate and their business here, Maxine nodded her agreement. They were on the same page, and if The Band were as like-minded as they seemed, they probably already agreed with their leader's assessment wherever they were scouting. Much of their circumstances were not ideal but they had to work with what they could. The collective nobs, their own delegation and their Rharnian host, would likely not know the difference. So long as they kept organized and smooth in their dealings, their obvious flaws would be far less so. The last thing she could bear at this moment was being bested by some unskilled, talentless cutthroats.

"Fine by me," Maxine shrugged at his decision to assign her the roving role. "Standing makes me bored." It was better that her mind stayed active to a task, especially one that changed scenery and allowed for new stimulus. If Kasoria was willing to give her a little bit of leash she would take it.

Maxine followed Kasoria out of the room and back to the established meeting point. Despite the long journey there was an element of focus that came to the men's' eyes as they reconvened. A familiar, savage, conniving part of their brain was given a chance to activate again. Their minds imagined the ways they could see themselves attacking their own place of rest, exploiting their own defenses, and defeating their own measures of threat mitigation. It was from their perspective they returned with their reports about this new position they'd taken up together in Rharne.

"Hello again, boys," Maxine greeted The Band as the pair made their arrival. She had a throwing knife in her hand, giving in a playful flip. "Didn't get lost, did we?" The estate was probably a bigger building than most of them had stepped foot inside. She let them have their rebuttals and quips. When all was through and Kasoria went about his business, telling them all the way of things, she waited patiently for the question she knew was coming. She extended the olive branch that surely made the Old Man glow inside.

"Fuck it. I've got first watch."

[Kasoria]

"Yeah, jus' followed yer smell right back 'ere."

"Fuckin' funny one, in'shee, Kas?"

"Jus' happy t'see yer safe, yeh poor, wee thing-"

"A'right, a'right, shut yer boxes, alla' yuz."

Like that, the snarling and insults and backbiting ceased. That still amazed Manclin. How this pack of wild-eyed upright wolves could snap to attention the moment the smallest among them spoke. He waited with the rest of his entourage, clerks and bureaucrats and assistants as far from The Band as dirt from starshine, still discussing their accommodations. "Lodgings" didn't seem quite the word; this place put most of the manes and great houses of Etzos to shame, it's sheer scope and age... but Fagan made it a point to be impressed, grateful, yet not overawed.

You are not the only house and name and city of renowned history.

Now his eyes found their protectors, back from their inspection. They'd scattered like roaches at Kasoria's command, but roaches with a purpose. He knew each one had a mission and a task, and when they were gathered back together, he saw each man rattle off what he'd found. The little man in their center listened with the map in his hands, eyes focused, frowning slightly. Matching all these words and descriptions to parchment and lead, making the flat outline rich and deep with those details. And again, he marveled at just how quickly they fell to order.

Not subservient, though. Not licking his arse or bestowing flattery. More like... soldiers. Before a general.

After a few moments, something was decided among the group. Kasoria gave a few snap commands and looked to each man in the group. They all nodded; no-one even questioned him. With that, he pocketed the map and marched over to the chief ambassador. The same head of the household staff that had greeted them stiffened and took a step back as he approached. Fagan crushed a smile behind an innocent scratching of his jaw. Ah, yes. The Raggedy Man effect. He'd been noticing it more and more recently, now he was somewhat inured to it.

"Satisfied, Kas?"

"Few fings t'go over, sir." The man always remembered the "sir" when around non-Etzori. Manclin appreciated that. United front and such. "We went over the wing, looks solid. But we wanna keep the delegation t'those rooms, that part a' the house. Easier fer us t'protect it, 'specially at night."

"I can assure you that the guardians of the Dubois Estate are more than capable-"

"My friend, take no offense," Fagan said smoothly, cutting off the blustering head of household with a raised hand and honeyed words. "Mister Kasoria is paid to be paranoid, and I take his advice seriously. Besides, I'm sure a troop of Etzori tramping through the halls would be... somewhat disruptive, hmm? Best we stick to the ample and generous portion you have given to us. Most kindly, I'd like to add."

The corner of Kasoria's mouth twitched. Situation defused, as deftly and decisively as he might have done with blades at a brawl. Only Fagan's weapon was his tongue, and damned if he didn't keep it keen. That seemed to mollify the old Rharnian, and all he got after that was a quick, predictable look of contempt. Practiced and deployed by all preening social-climbers the world over. People like Kasoria reminded them a little too much of where they came from.

"An' when youse go out, y'take one of us wiv' yeh. Aye, I mentioned that before, but there's an addition. No more than one at a time. If each of yeh had an escort when yer out, that means one less a' us here, protecting the rest. Dun' wanna be letting out two or three an' whittling us down to nothin', ken?"

Kasoria thought for a moment that the ambassador might argue his logic. It wouldn't surprised him. Their itinerary was surprisingly full, each trial taken up by visits and petitions and meetings of all sorts. But after only a few moments thought, Manclin nodded his head.

"I'll pass that on to the others. Better safe than the other, what?"

"Aye." He looked to the rest of The Band, and jutted his chin towards them. "First watch. Who's-"

"Fuck it. I've got first watch."

For once, the Old Man would look surprised. Maxine's gnarled mood matched her appearance... at least at first. Sea air and clean veins seemed to have suited her. Made her angry and withdrawn at times, true, but that light shone bright through her skin, now. As if the youth and strength she'd traded away was returning to her. But he'd now thought she'd volunteer for anything. The rest of The Band seemed to think the same: all turning as one to regard her with expressions ranging from shock or suspicion.

"Then you'll have it," he said with a smile that was so alien to the rest of them, for he wore it only for this girl. "Belly? Yer up next. Us old folk need our sleep."

"Fuck're you callin' old?"

Ambassador Manclin turned away with a rueful shake of his head. He'd never understand these men. So coarse and jagged and cold, cold of eye. But among their own breed, they seemed almost as family.

[Max]

Max was no soldier or lifelong tactician. All she learned was through failures, defeats, and unsung victorious won more with chance than skill. This business with Kasoria was the more organized band of...anything...she'd been a part of.

While the other men rattled off their observations and discoveries he was making marks on his map. Her inquisitive eyes watched how he scrawled upon the page, making his plans with the intelligence they'd collectively acquired. She tilted her head from where she peered over his shoulder from a few feet behind him, nearly forgetting herself until he marched over to the delegation.

"He's calling you old," Maxine further teased the heckler when Kasoria was through. "Passed at least a half dozen clean mirrors on the way in, didn't ya?"

Given the state of affairs in their new base of operations, she wagered there was plenty of perfectly polished silver every ugly face had seen their reflection in by now. The last time she'd seen this much material wealth it was in the Dorrick household. Before that, the mansion at...

No.

Another flip of her knife and she shot the group a teasing grin. "Better be off then."

As she made her way down the hall toward her first post, her walk was more of a saunter than a trudge now. As if their heads weren't already spinning, the men looked to one another with twisted expressions.

Was she...whistling?

Truth be told, as much as Maxine wanted to put this effort forth, she was equally happy to be away from the delegation and watchful, judging eyes. She knew Kasoria had kept a close eye on her as of late. The ship had offered little in the ways of privacy. At least while she kept watch and the other men slept she could enjoy some lonesome quiet she craved. The thoughts that gnawed away at her could, and she could weather the familiar melancholy in relative peace.

And if Belly was late to relieve her, well, she'd find fun in that correction too.

Before long she was at her post. Her eyes carefully roved the expanse of ground that was hers to defend and sound the alarm over. Outside, she could see the wider span of Rharne beyond them. She pressed her lips into a line. Arcs ago she was here, fighting, gambling, and making a right mess of everything. Somewhere out there there were platoons of Lightning Knights marching the streets. It had been some time but she bet one or two would recognize her face, and many more her name. Further, an estate occupied by the more famous philanthropist in all of Idalos she swiftly betrayed.

The start of her last end.

Her dark eyes rested in that direction, toward that horizon. Toward the residence of that particular Zuuda.

A person loved by Famula. A shining target for a most perfect, most equal revenge.

The flipping of the knife paused.

An opportunity to punish the Immortal.

Her gaze snapped to a pedestrian who paused at the edge of the property at the gate. A child, playing with a yo-yo, gawking at the expense of garden and standing in the shadow of the impressive mansion towering high above him. A mother, tutting, whisked the child away and quickly they vanished into the streets. Max resumed flipping the knife. Her thoughts returned to Kasoria, The Band, and the task at hand.

Until the sounds of laughing drunks and ravenous partying echoed over the roof tops to her longing ears.

Then, until the one-legged relief arrived, she found herself thinking of little else than breaking her word to The Old Man. Once Belly took her place she was eager to return to the hideaway that was the room she shared with her mentor, behind a shut door, with the sounds of temptation muffled by walls and wood until morning came.