Questionable Business

[Anther]

May 19th, 122PW

Three days. Three days, and two of them spent throwdown deadbeat drunk. Emil had threatened to turn him over on the third, and Anther had seen to it that his state of being was not so obviously odorous as it had been. Talion was a creeping idiot, and that left Anther to go skulking around old haunts searching for a way to complete the damn fool's errand. Yeah, all right, it was for greasers and gaffers all, but he found if he searched squiggling down deep enough, he wanted to do it.

Anther hated magic.

He and his skinny, mumbling elven companion Talion had been captured by the government after a botched thieving attempt had gone very bad. Left to rot in cells, they'd been let free on a word and a promise that they'd help with some dunderheaded issue regarding troublemakers for the government. True, Anther had been a bit cockeyed for most of that, having decided that the magic users were point drawn on him and ready to suck his soul into the Astral Plane, but eventually his body had cranked out of his self imposed ban against sleep, and once freed by the greasy clinker Emil, Anther'd had some time to settle. And he'd come to realize, grudgingly, that the government was right about a few things, Theogios save them all.

Which meant he'd grudgingly cleaned up his act, he and Talion had not so far escaped each others' company or -- as Anther was better used to -- tumbled around with fists to establish some sort of pecking order between themselves, and Emil had given them something a little better than the open disgust he'd first greeted them with the day after Anther had his first real night of sleep in . . .a rather long time. That was all right. Emil was monied, and Anther wasn't. Even if he hadn't been. . .cockeyed, Anther figured the other man would've treated him like dirt, noways about it.

Days had been spent reacquainting himself with the lowtown side of things, remembering the tricks and dirty dicks who might be tipped into spilling the sort of things Anther needed to know. Talion sure as shit seemed to be useless in that arena: Anther didn't know what the other boy had spent his time doing, but he was as unfit as any Anther knew to be surviving anywhere streetside. That was saying something. Still, trips to bars and careful consumption of alcohol eventually paid off with a repeated string of suggestions that eventually narrowed down into the sort of lower scum that boys like Anther and Talion could treat with.

The Bite. The Bitch. The Bitch's Bite.

That then, would be where they headed. Right at that moment, in fact. Anther had his hands in his pockets -- actual pockets, not just layers of rags into which he might shove his hands -- head bent and a scowl on his face. They'd turned out of the more spick part of town, the part where they'd a room at a decent enough place -- still fleas, sure, but the door had a working lock and was thick enough to survive being kicked in -- and could find restaurants that served more than cheap alcohol and cheaper slop. His Fussiness Emil didn't like the fleas, but Anther'd no intention of moving anywhere else. He rather enjoyed the man's discomfort. And that would be missing the point of their little romp. He looked sidelong at Talion, only to find the rotter had dropped behind again. Skinnier even than Anther, the elf had that slouchy timorous quality to his back that made him stand out in the bad places. He was a target. He almost begged to be robbed.

"F'fuck's sake y'rotter, stand straighter'n a fucking corpse," Anther muttered it at Talion as they passed the school with its neat little windows and bright eyed pupils, sneering at it in passing before he turned a scowl back upon Talion.

They were nearing The Bitch, could see the very top of it past a squat row of buildings that had fuck all to do with anything as far as Anther was concerned. There was no evidence of the sort of people who would attend such a place (the ones likely to be doing the robbing of mister-always-daydreaming-like-a-pisser Talion) from the direction they were coming from, but he knew they'd be lurking in the alleys, hovering on the dusty roads from the Historic District. He adjusted his pace to Talion as they slowly reached that almost intimidating and rather infamous building. There was a group of men smoking something that smelled illegal near the door, and they muttered and chuckled amongst themselves as Anther pulled the door open and glared Talion through it. He offered a sneer to the closest of the men and ducked inside himself.

The smell assailed him first.

[Jacel Varti]

Jacel Varti, proprietor of the Bitch’s Bite, watched from the second floor. He peered through the curtain like structure in the wall at the dogs in the ring. The smaller one had turned it around this time-quite surprising- and had put the big dog’s throat firmly between its jaws. Jacel smiled softly as he watched the pressure increase; the victim’s growls silenced while the jaws came slowly down, sinking further into fur and flesh.

I love the smell, he thought, leaning forward with an eager expression. The light that escaped the ring and fell into his darkened office flowed across his form.

It was an odd thing, he knew, to adore the scent of dog blood, but it really grew on a man. The delightful tang in the air—his fat fingers twitched as though pinching the intangible allure, the allure which he was certain he could describe to the regulars and they would nod their heads in understanding.

He took another look through the vents, the yellow light painting more lines across his face. It was over. The dogs were being pulled out, living or dead, and the crowd hustled to pick up bets. He chuckled, amused by the mass of people. He watched it divide, the winners and the losers.

He heard one of the two front doors open and his gaze momentarily drifted to them. Alas, the new arrivals were already covered by the crowd of betters. He was about to shrug it off and turn back to his desk when a wet nose bumped his rump.

“Stupid dog,” He chortled, “I made it clear you’re supposed to sniff the asses of other dogs, not people.” He reached down to pet the top of Bitch’s head. He’d never been a terribly tall man, and Bitch had always been a terribly tall dog. He didn’t have to lean over at all as his hand waved over her brown furred head.

She whined and looked up. Jacel chose to assume she liked the smell as much as he did. “Ah, don’t you worry about it,” He reassured her, moving to the desk, “We’ll find some stupid mutt for you to massacre soon.”

Apparently placated, Bitch trotted over to the corner of the room, curled up and yawned. Jacel mimicked her at his desk, plopping down into the chair and tossing one knee over the other. He leaned back comfortably and pulled up a newspaper, the Daily Tattler.

He unfurled the crinkling paper and opened to a random page. Skimming through the titles, he skipped past “Trouble in Eyropa,” and dropped his gaze to “The Guard Makes Arrests” which he figured was about as obvious a title as some piss-poor writer could come up with. Still, it was probably a more relevant article. His eyes danced downward, flicking over the names and phrases within.

An interesting article, but ultimately just an arrest. The guardswoman they interviewed was probably bullshitting something— he didn’t see how she could have bested someone twice her size singlehandedly, as the paper implied. But it wasn’t something he saw any easy way to follow up on, nor likely to be terribly profitable along the way.

He sighed deeply, wishing he could know everything. It never hurt his business to act out omniscience; even if he didn’t know something, he usually found it better to bullshit the potential buyer into thinking his opponent had already bought his silence. In truth though, Jacel was painfully aware of the very real limits of his organization.

Speaking of his limits, his eyes jealously wandered off the paper and up to the residential district. The wealthy made their homes out there, past that little school of pampered shits. He really needed something for his image. He had to break through the crust of the upper classes. But how was one supposed to get information on the rich when all he had access to were thugs and criminals?

Small steps, he decided, groaning and leaning back, and a load of patience.

Maybe he should get a pipe, though he’d never been much of a smoker. He liked his thoughts precise and crisp, not pleasantly buzzed. A hand went to his chin, where it stroked skin thoughtfully while staring at the light in the ceiling. Perhaps a cane then? He even had a valid excuse, what with his mangled up leg. A nice gilded top to the thing, yeah. He could see himself with a cane.

“What d’you think, Bitch? Would I pull a cane?” He asked. Bitch twitched lightly and snorted, neither opening her eyes nor uncurling in the slightest. Jacel chuckled and stood, setting the paper down.

He stood and limped over to the doorway. It opened with a smooth click, and closed with equal placidity. Leaving Bitch to snooze amidst the shadows of papers and filing cabinets, he wandered through the hallways.

Glancing down the eavesdropping vents he had installed in the floor of the second story, he was slightly miffed to find none in use. Perhaps the right half of the building was having better luck; and it was rather early in the morning for conspiratorial meetings anyways. Personally, he wondered why more didn’t hold them in the morning. It was best to hide where and when no one thinks to look, after all. Perhaps midnight meetings were just more romantic.

He smiled at his small joke as he came to the stairs. Limping down the way was only a slight inconvenience, and one soon overcome. He waddled across the corner at their base and opened a doorway into the main hall. The laughter and prattle of the patrons was magnified without the solid wood between them. Jacel took a second to stand in the doorway and take in his accomplishments.

It looked as if the betters had collected most of their winnings. He saw the losers heading out the door with exasperated expressions on their face. A few were smoking, which Jacel got a laugh out of. Losers paid him twice; once to take their Bishani, and another to take away the sorrow of losing their Bishani.

He was walking to the ground floor office, but on the way he saw the trainer of the loosing dog staring sadly into the ring. He meandered through the tables and crowds to lean on the glass edge with him. The trainer was looking down at the corpse.

“I don’t see the issue, Nathan,” he offered amicably, “Sitter was always the worst o’ your dogs.”

The trainer smiled faintly, but there was no real joy in it. “Doesn’t mean he wasn’t a good one, Jace’. ‘Sides, I was thinking of giving him to my sister. She’s been asking for a guard dog.”

“Why would she—” Nathan glared at him “Right, right, fair enough. Still, you’ve always got the other dogs.” He clapped his worker on the back, but Nathan only nodded and walked out to the back. The information broker shrugged and turned. To each his own.

“Hey,” Jacel called, raising his voice, “one of you fucks better get ol’ Sitter to stop sitting there! I’d prefer we didn’t have to call 'im Stinker.” Just because he liked the scent, didn’t mean every patron did. The Bite was in the business of entertainment. He’d be a sorry entertainer to let the place smell too bad.

[Michael Frodrick]

Michael leaned against a tree, just out of distinguishing sight from the entrance of Marn.

He wanted to see if anyone walking past might recognize him, if anyone was truly still looking for him. Although the seemingly incompetent Tarsis was lazy in everything else, they had pulled their resources to hire a rat in Marn to dig up whatever record the government had on Michael.

After a month, not revealing his or herself of course, the contact had informed them that although the arrest and questioning of all of Michael's family had indeed occurred the government had no idea who Michael was or had any description of him, except that he was a male named "Michael Frodrick."

Michael took out a match and lit a stick of tobacco, casually putting it into the corner of his mouth. Michael flicked the match in the general direction of Marn and watched it land in the grass. The flame was too small, of course, so it was snuffed out quickly, leaving a tiny rise of smoke until that too disappeared. Michael fantasized about the grass catching on fire, then the tree's leading up to Marn, and then, Marn itself burning. It's what the city deserved. Maybe he'd have the pleasure of seeing it done one day.

Michael looked down at his companion and scratched behind her left ear. Michael knew it was Saraphina's favorite spot, but Saraphina sensed Michael's anxiety and didn't take her eyes from the road. They knew each other too well. To Michael, this was more than just the threat of being recognized by one of the guards or by a citizen that would recognize him for some reason. There was a larger threat looming that Michael secretly feared even more, someone he knew for sure would recognize him. Sarah.
Michael was not prepared for a run-in with his past love life and didn't know how he could prepare. All he desperately hoped for was to not see her. Hope that she had died these past three years or moved to another city somewhere.
If they did run into each other, it'd be catastrophic. For all Michael knew, Sarah could turn him into the City Guard the second she saw him. He didn't know her anymore.
Michael knew HE had definitely changed, besides, even if she didn't turn him in, what could they say to each other? Would she have that damned man with her that she replaced him with so easily? Would she try to play it off like she hadn't been sleeping with another man?

The half smoked cigarette fell to the ground as Michael realized he had been grinding his teeth and accidentally bit the butt off of the stick.
Michael spit the butt out and pulled his thoughts back together. Such dramatized episodes in his mind served no purpose. Michael rationalized in his mind that if he wasn't looking for Sarah, they wouldn't see each other. That was the best way to avoid the situation.

Michael pulled out the crumpled piece of paper in his pocket and read of his contact information again.

"Jacel Varti:

Owner of an entertainment business in Marn called the Bitch's Bite. He put out a request for a large quantity of our product and we were happy to come to his aid. He's new to us so be wary of a potential fraud. If he's true to his word and his idea of a "large quantity" if the same as ours then get on his good side, we need a customer of this magnitude. If this jackass turns out to be a fake, take care of him."

Michael read down to the additional sentence that his dilochite, David, had added to the note.

"Michael, I know that you and Marn is not a good mix. I know you have several issues but you're the only one I trust with a job like this. I know the Ring says to kill him if he's insincere but I'm telling you to turn and walk away. Marn is too dangerous, it's not worth the risk."

Michael crumpled up the paper again and put it back into his pocket. He wasn't scared of Marn, but the thought of being locked away and being at the mercy of the city he hated made him sick. He'd gladly die first.

A movement by Saraphina snapped Michael out of his thoughts. She had taken her focus off of the road and began sniffing intently, following whatever she was smelling with her nose until her head ended up looking at the wood line behind them.
A few more seconds of smelling followed, then a light growl. She knew where her target was. Saraphina sat and looked up at Michael, waiting for permission.
Michael knew it was nothing to be alarmed about, if it was a threat of some sort Saraphina knew to act out her suspicions more than just a light growl, usually by pawing his leg or making some contact. It had been awhile since Saraphina had eaten and it was likely that it would be a few more hours before she ate. So letting her feast on this squirrel, rabbit or whatever she was smelling couldn't hurt.
Saraphina knew not to beg, but he could see the desire to hunt in her eyes.

"Alright go!" Michael exclaimed.

Saraphina tore into the woods with as much speed as she could muster. Michael saw the rabbit jump out of the leaves and try to run, but Saraphina was on it.
The rabbit darted to the left and right, trying shake off it's predator. Saraphina, however, as if in tune with the rabbits every move, followed it with ease.
Saraphina dove to get possession of her prey, successfully.

Michael smiled and turned back toward the road. That whole encounter couldn't have lasted more than 15 seconds, an easy prey for Saraphina.

Michael bent down and grabbed his travelers pack that carried the product he was to sell. 5 oz of crude opium, a good starting order for someone who requires a "large quantity."
"Hmph, we'll see." Michael grumbled aloud.

Michael thought out what his plan was for entering the city. It was no secret that Marn was very prejudice to new comers and had no problem searching people in the open. However, if a suspicious guard saw him enter the city and then saw him immediately start spending money, Michael figured his chances for blending into the crowd was much higher.
He'd have to buy whatever bullshit some street vendor was selling which he knew he'd never use, but it was a small price to pay.

Michael strapped the travelers pack across his back and whistled into the woods, signaling to Saraphina that it was time to move.
Michael began walking down the road, Marn's entrance getting closer and closer. He didn't know what to expect walking into the city, but he didn't know how else to prepare either.

Saraphina joined him on his right side, a small hint of red on her chin from the blood of her meal. She continued to lick her lips in satisfaction.

"Ready girl?" Michael asked.

Saraphina looked up in acknowledgement.

"Good, at least one of us is."

[Talion]

While Anther squandered away his time and money on whatever booze he could find, Talion spent the better part of three days on the flea-ridden mattress he called a bed. After spending who knows how long sleeping on the cold floor of a cell or on the hard ground outside, it was the best rest that he could remember, flea bites aside. At first he had questioned the quality of the cheap room they had rented, but as he lay on his stomach, sweating, shaking and dry heaving as his body fought the lack of mind-numbing, magically induced substances in his body; he found some piece of mind in knowing that the owner would likely not notice the addition of drool upon the bedsheets.

He couldn't remember how he got out of bed that next day or how he made it all the way over to Emil's office. Since leaving Justice Hall, everything seemed to mesh together in a sort of half-dream in which events often happened out of sequence. At some point he had been forced to eat some kind of hot broth, in a wooden bowl. Then, Emil had insisted on him obtaining clean clothing, but he wasn't certain if Emil had been the one to buy the outfit or if he had. Then, then there was lots of voices and conversations that blurred together and made him feel sick just trying to untangle them.

He was a mess. He could barely pull his pants on let alone pull himself together. It was a miracle that he could even manage to follow Anther down the street to wherever it was that he claimed was so important. He was tired again, he wanted to rest and forget another day burled in the musty blanket that had recently become his new best friend.

"How much further is this place?" he complained as he stopped to rest again on the side of an building. He wiped away the cold sweat from his brow and took a moment to massage the sore muscles in his leg. "Do you even know where it is we are going?" Three days together and they had already fallen into the routine of bickering and complaining about each other.

When they finally came to a stop at what Talion could only assume to be yet another tavern, he found himself greeted by some rough looking patrons out front and a sweet smelling smoke that wafted out of their little gathering. His nostrils flared as he took in the unfamiliar aroma. He had to force the building saliva in his mouth down his throat. He wanted so badly to beg these men for just one hit, one puff, something to get him by, just for now, but Anther saw the way he looked at these men. He must have seen the way his eyes bulged in his skull, the way his hands twitched, and he made a point to glare at him until he walked past the group and into the building.

It wouldn't kill him to wait just one minute. He only needed a bit, just a little, to get him through. Later, he'd find something else to get him through. He couldn't go one more night of the vomiting, it hurt too much. Right then, everything hurt.

[Anther]

The sound wasn't far behind the smell, and the sights were plenty to behold. The Bitch's Bite was a tangle of bodies packed in tight, men and a few women mixing in, all with the studious toughness of people who'd gone to the worst the city had to offer and come out with all their major body parts still intact. Well, most of them. The building was hot with so many bodies, and that almost made the stink worse. Not that Anther'd anything against blood o'course, but he wasn't drawn to it in any unnatural way. He liked watching fighting though, more than the blood that was its natural result. Blood made him think of his own, and what he'd seen when Sagath'd been near gutted.

Which reminded him why he was there in the first place. He grimaced, reached out and put a hand on Talion's shoulder as if to collar the other man. Not for the first time since they'd left their room, he wished maybe he'd just left the other man behind. Things like this, sure, it was stupid to do them alone, but the way Talion kept staring off at anything and everything illicit -- Sir Righteous Tight Britches had been very specific about avoiding those -- lead Anther to believe that it might somehow be more dangerous to bring the elf along. That took some kind of patheticness. And if anyone knew pathetic, it was Anther. Not by choice, neither. Theogios keep him safe through idiots and the bloody minded.

The voice of a man used to being obeyed rose briefly over the chatter and clink that was a tavern, no matter what other sport it carried within its walls, as Anther half pushed and half pulled Talion further inside. He wanted to go straight to the bar, situate himself in a strange, smoky atmosphere the best way he knew how. But then he might just wind up sitting there all night, sucking down his chosen poison without ever sniffing for what he was supposed to find, and then what'd he tell Master Government Fussy Puppet? No, that wouldn't do him much good. But surely a drink. . .but the voice was swallowed and Anther paused between steps as the push of people buffeted him and Talion. Changers, Talion was going to wind up getting him the wrong side of a blade. He was so stiff, and hungry for whatever it was he must've been hopped up on before they met.

Anther knew the signs. He hated Talion for it.

A sigh and a glower later Anther was guiding Talion in the direction of the voice, and found himself nearing the edge of the ring. Almost against his will he found himself gaping down at the bloodied dog, a vague sense of awe building up in him at the signs. He'd watched men fight before, of course, but he'd never made it into the joints that hosted animals. Seeing the place so busy, so packed tight, he wondered why not. It would've been perfect for lifting -- but maybe it was the crowd. Like with other kinds of fights, it catered to a harder bunch of people, the kind who wouldn't think anything over cutting kids, or anyone else who pissed them off.

"Y'ever seen a dog fight before, pisser?" He was speaking to Talion, but crushed up against the edge with people hanging around them, he could've been talking to anyone. He couldn't look away from that damn dog, feeling a very strange piece of sympathy. It was just a damn dog, but he sure did know what it felt like to be so thoroughly savaged. Oh, Changers, did he ever.

[Jacel Varti]

Jacel watched the crowd for a moment longer. He found it a little bit funny that they all gathered around the ring to gawk at the grim spectacle. Either they were the greedy losers, checking to make sure no mistake had been made, or they were the morbid, coming to stare at a mutilated corpse.

He shrugged it off. What did it matter to him, as long as they paid for their meals and placed bets? He pushed away from the glass rim of the ring, clapped his hands and wandered back towards his original destination. The hardwood floor made insulting creaks as it bore his girth, weaving through the tables over to the door.

He nodded to the guard outside, who returned the gesture and stepped aside. The guard yawned and adjusted his blue sash— as close to a uniform as the Bite had, the sash had a small silver clasp shaped to a dog’s head.

Jacel pretended to ignore the lack of professionalism while making a note to follow it up later. He swung open the door, nearly smacking the guard in the process. He smiled softly as he stepped inside. It seemed that sometimes, inattentiveness punished itself.

Jacel chuckled. It never hurt to add insult to injury, so he said, “and fetch me some of the lamb from the bar, would you?”

The guard placed his palm on the offending door and gracelessly shoved it shut once Jacel was inside. The soft creaking of the shiny hinges was hardly audible over the prattle of the crowd outside.

The elf reached his desk and plopped down into a chair for the second time that day. He let his breath whistle from his lips as he adjusted himself in the seat, then reached into the cabinet under the table and pulled out a quill a few documents. They were simple shipping orders; nothing illegal in the slightest this time. He needed a few new lamps to replace those broken by drunken antics and more damn ham. He swore those people were holding out on him for some reason.

What else was there to do? He knew he was forgetting something.

Ah yes, he needed to prepare for the meeting with the Tarsis representative. Truth be told, he should have done this earlier, but on some days the insidious claws of indolence spared no man. He walked to the back of the room and checked a safe on the wall, where the elf quickly flipped the dial to the proper numbers and the safe swung open soundlessly.

A minty green light faintly bounced from the steel walls of the little vault in the wall. Jacel extracted some bishani and threw them into a sack. It was probably a greater amount than required, but Jacel figured first impressions were more important in the long run of profit; the elf thought this to be doubly true when dealing with sensitive customers like this.

He briefly wondered what sort of person he would be dealing with. Was it to be a big thug, sent to intimidate him into submission, or a charming smooth talker to entice him with promises? Couldn’t rule out the possibility of both, either; Jacel figured the Tarsis had the manpower to run the good thug bad thug gambit.

He smiled and whistled softly to himself when his thoughts were interrupted by a knock on the door. He spoke his acknowledgement, and the guard came in with a platter of food before exiting swiftly. All in all, a smooth save for your earlier negligence. You are forgiven. He bit into the meat and savored the flavor, sparing no more thoughts to the guard.

Ah, but how he did need some real professionals. None of his boys were big names, he could admit it. They couldn’t even be molded into it with the right propaganda, which in Jacel’s experience was far more likely of legends than legitimate skill. His old friend Harroway had been a perfect example of that. Sure, the ol' bastard had been tough as iron, but a knife to the neck had still done its job on the lamentable day. Harroway would have been nothing without a network to talk up his talents.

Jacel went with whatever worked, and a campaign of lies, half-truths and deceit happened to work very well. His job wouldn’t exist if it didn’t. The elf took another bite of the meat before setting it down to focus his thoughts as he returned to practical matters.

[Michael Frodrick]

Michael made his way into the city and immediately felt as if every eye were on him. There were too many people, Michael didn't remember Marn being this populated. But it had been a long time.

Saraphina shared his discomfort and kept herself close enough to Michael that he could feel her fur on his leg.

Michael's insides were in turmoil, but he kept his composure. He checked to make sure his makeshift crossbow was tucked safely in his belt. What the fuck was this? Why hadn't he walked away from the Tarsis yet? This was ignorant, sending in a man that the government considered a criminal, assured of his safety based off of an anonymous contact that said it was all okay. Stupid. But it was too late now, turning around and leaving would look way too suspicious.

Michael spotted a wooden cart in his periferal with buckets of water on the ground all around it. A likely looking older man was waving him over intently, wanting his business, Michael assumed.

This was a stroke of luck, this was exactly what he needed to help himself blend in. Michael made his way over to the man's stand, not running, but definently faster than an average walking pace.

"Aiy, Aiy," the older man said as they reached the appropriate speaking distance from each other. "You 'ook like tha hard travl'r ya do."

Michael noted the accent of Marn's citizens that he had almost forgotten about. The accent wasn't universal, but definently distinctive.

" 'is here water is from tha 'Mar, straight from it I said. Two bishani and you'll drink fer ten seconds, it's good an refreshin for ya ya knoo."

Michael wasn't thirsty, but this was the perfect way to appear relaxed for a few minutes and blend in. "I'll give you thirty for a bucket, no time constraints."

The older man appeared immediately satisfied with that bargain, "Oh yes yes, no time no time. Drink that ther bucket fer as long as ya need."

After paying the necessary amount Michael leaned against the stand and sipped on the water for a few minutes, surveying his surroundings. In his peripheral, Michael spotted two guards. Their attention seemed to be focused in his general direction, but Michael couldn't tell. Were they staring directly at him?
Stay calm, Michael said to himself, continuing his calm demeanor outwardly.
Michael began drinking his water faster, he needed to move soon. The longer those guards had to look at him, the longer they had to form an opinion of him, Michael reasoned, and he couldn't take the chance of it being a good or bad opinion.
As Michael began to swallow the last of his water, he went to reach for his pack which he had laid in front of him. Saraphina rose as well, eager to move.
Michael saw one of the two guards point in his direction and start moving toward him.

The guard was no doubt focused in on Michael and continued moving purposefully to his location. Michael avoided eye contact but knew there was no way out of this.

Michael considered running.

If he did that, it would guarantee his guilt and the guards would have a face to look for in the future. Plus there was a good chance that he wouldn't get away.

If he stayed his ground, he just might be able to talk his way past. After all, what had he done wrong?

Michael decided to stay his ground, ready to curse himself if that turned out to be a poor choice.

Michael strapped on his pack ready to move as if he couldn't see the Guard, returned the used bucket, thanked the stall vendor and only got two steps forward.

"Hey!" the Guard called out. "You!"

Michael made a crisp turn to his right, making a display of surprise and faked a chuckle.

"What's so funny?" the Guard said, walking closer to Michael until he was only an arms length away.

"Oh," Michael replied. "You just surprised me is all. You know I'm constantly amazed at how Marn seems to always have the most intimidating Guard around. The crime rate here must be next to zero."
Michael was amused at the own nonsense coming from his mouth.

The Guard allowed a small grin to form on his face, enjoying the boost to his ego. He was easily a head taller than Michael and Michael stood at six feet.
"We do what needs to be done," the Guard replied. "It's not about intimidation, it's about protection. We care only to keep our citizens safe."

It seemed to Michael that the Guard was saying all this as if to make sure passing citizens would hear him.
"Of course," Michael replied. " and that is very apparent."
Michael so wanted to yell, to scream aloud what he knew Marn was capable of. Protecting the citizens? Bullshit. Who protected his step parents? Or Sarah's father Jeremiah? All of them dead or worse for no legitimate reason. Just out of suspicion.

The Guard nodded, seemingly satisfied with Michael's answers. "So, you don't seem to be from around here. Don't think I've ever seen you here either."

The Guard's tone still sounded of suspicion rather than friendly and he finished the statement obviously wanting Michael to elaborate further.
"Ya, I've been through here a time or two," Michael said looking through the city as if recognizing some things. "It's hard when you live just outside of Keltaris. A long journey, yes, but it's been worth the trip every time."

The Guard nodded, "Good. Strong looking dog here, is she yours?" he said reaching down toward Saraphina.

Saraphina snarled and backed away.

"Whoa!" Michael exclaimed. Michael stood in between her and the Guard. "You'll have to forgive her, she fears anything other than me that's larger than she is." Michael quickly tried to change the subject, seeing that the reaction from Saraphina didn't sit with the Guard too well.
"If it's not too much trouble, actually, I was told to go to a certain establishment if I was looking to spend some money. The Bitches Bite, I believe it was called."

"Oh," the Guard replied laughing. "That explains the snarling huh?"

What? Michael had no clue what the fuck that meant, but decided he would roll with it.
Michael created the most sincere laugh he could muster. "Ya. Again I apologize."

"You can follow me," the Guard said.

Like Michael needed permission. Bastard.

"It been a dull day so far and I wouldn't mind stopping in to see one of Jacel's events." The Guard said walking into the city.

Michael was so relieved to be done with the questioning that, aside from assuring Saraphina was with him, Michael paid little attention to his surroundings as he followed the Guard. In fact, when they arrived at the establishment it took Michael by surprise.
It was a wooden building in seemingly good condition, but that's all Michael noticed before he heard the sound of cheers and laughter coming from inside. The same sound you'd hear from 20 or 30 people yelling at the same time melding together into incoherent babbles.

And what else was that he was hearing? Barking?

"Here we are, you." The Guard said going inside. "Good Luck."

Good luck for what? Michael ignored the comment, glad to finally have the privacy to ensure all of his things were in order away from that arrogant asshole.
Michael wasn't going to stand having to be interrogated like that, especially if he was to start coming here often. A plan would have to be arranged.

Michael made his way into the building with Saraphina at his side. It was much louder now. Michael was met with a unique odor. It didn't stink, exactly. Just a peculiar smell.
There was a bar in the center of the spacious room with tables spread evenly all around.
Patrons were eating here and there, but the main crowd were all clustered around a ring of some sort. Some were cheering energetically, others groaning in disappointment. It was a fight of some sort. Curious.
Michael made his way over just far enough to see one burly dog on top of another dog, ripping furiously at his neck.

The Guards comments were making complete sense now, he thought he was putting Saraphina in the ring.
Michael then spotted the Guard who had brought him here, eyeing the fight eagerly waiting for an outcome.

"Like hell." Michael mumbled aloud. "Let's go girl." Michael led himself and Saraphina around the other side of the bar seeing a likely looking door at the back of the building, adjacent from the entrance, with a single man standing by it. An office. Perfect.

"Aye." A man said.

Michael looked back and eyed the man. He was obviously drunk, but had taken an interest in Saraphina. The man was alone on this side of the bar and everyone else was still cheering by the dog fighting ring.

"It looks like we gert er'selves our next fighter!" the drunk exclaimed, pointing at Saraphina.

Michael turned and looked around intently seeing if anyone had heard. The bartender was busy and everyone was still focused on the fight. "Shut up." Michael said.

"No s'rsly!," the man continued. "This is the one! Shes the next fight!"

"I said. Shut. The Fuck. Up." Michael stated getting more desperate.

"You can't tell me." the drunk said. "Next fight right her!" he said motioning toward Saraphina.

Michael looked around once more to ensure no one was paying attention, took his crossbow out and pressed it into the mans gut. If Michael didn't have better sense, he would've already killed the man. "You say one more fucking word and I'm going to spill your guts. Got it?"

The man got silent, backed away and took his seat back behind the bar. Obviously shaken.

Michael sheathed his crossbow quickly and made his way to the guard in front of the door. It wasn't a city guard, obviously an employee. Michael took note of his firearm.

"What?" the guard said.

"Jacel Varti. I have business with him." Michael replied.

"Name?"

Michael looked at the guard blankly. "He's expecting me."

[Talion]

He hated crowds. He hated the large, hulking bodies pressed up against each other, reeking of sweat, booze and whatever fat-drenched meats they had managed to shove down their throats. It was like a non-spoken test of masculinity, the bigger, hairier, smellier the man the better. It was a test for which Talion was sorely lacking.

He couldn't help but feel out of sorts in such a place. Anther just had to drag him here, pull him though the mass of bodies and humiliate him further. It wasn't enough to deny him a moment of escape, no he just had to drag on his suffering.
Talion clung to his foul mood like his favorite blanket, it was all that was keeping him going at that moment. He wallowed in his own self pity and that somehow made him feel better. Just a little.

Then, they came to an almost abrupt stop. He nearly crashed into Anther as he tried to find his footing. He was in the middle of cursing the man when, when he noticed the stain on the floor that he was transfixed on.

Blood. More blood. He couldn't escape it. Everywhere he went, there was blood.

He saw the child laying on the cold marble floor, there was a girl staring at him with fear in her eyes, his hands, he had blood on his hands and he couldn't escape it.

[Anther]

Questions. It always started with questions. Seeing as how Talion wasn't answering his and a quick glance revealed the boy had gone into some low-down funk, Anther took in a deep breath and let it out in an explosive sigh. He thought hard then about Talion, His Royal Fussiness, and the others he'd left behind. Sagath. Yoger. Rue. He didn't think so hard as to remind himself he missed them. Sagath he could even drudge up some form of distaste for, but even then -- he glanced again at Talion's face, followed the sullen line of him down to his hips and back up (wasn't good to be looking at the floor or near it at a place like Bitch's Bite; that was how you got cold-cocked) -- he would have preferred Sagath at his back to Talion. Prissy ass and all.

He turned away from Talion, manacled the boy's wrist with his hand. Shoulda left him behind, no matter what Sir Righteous Lawlicker said. He didn't belong in the rougher parts of town, not in any functioning way. This wasn't Anther's digs, and he was nervous enough without having to worry about Tal's fate on his head.

Questions. He turned them back to the bar; it seemed as likely a place as any. Bartenders were known to have answers. Whether or not they were the right ones was Anther's problem. Talion was worse than useless. The crowd was still buzzing, and from the snippets of conversation Anther heard he recognized that he and Talion had come in on the tail end of a kill. The dog had looked fresh down there in the pit, but not so fresh as the faces of men and women high off a nice win. They were highlighted only by the faces of the losers, and worst, those who had lost long before they'd stepped a foot into Bitch's Bite. Anther wasn't interested in them. He knew what they were about. He couldn't help the long look he spent on Talion as he found them a place at the bar.

The bishani in his pockets was a sudden and heavy weight; a questionable benefit. He made his choice while looking at Talion, and felt a little sick. Uncertain. What was he even doing?

The bartender was quick to notice him, and though he wasn't slow in getting his rounds done with the slouching malcontents on the other side of his bar, there was a sense of danger about him, an uncouth roughness that spoke to his belonging right where he stood. His glass eye made Anther shiver. This was the man he had to chat up, his best shot at finding information about what he needed to do, where he needed to go. Who. Always who.

Questions.

"Arak," he said, because that was usually what was had on hand in Marn. And then, because he needed his head, he reluctantly added, "Half water. Another for him, over half water."

The bartender had started to turn away, after giving the two of them a look that almost but not quite doubted their ability to pay. Anther put a bishan on the bar's pitted surface. A nod. They turned away from each other: both to duty serious in its own manner, completely different all the same.

"I need you here. Huh? With me? Not off dreamin' like a lackwit. Can you be here, Tal? Or y'wanna go back? Can't have y'here tangling up m'feet." Anther spoke low, and rough, searching out Talion's eyes. He didn't want Talion. Talion didn't want him.

Neither of them had any choice at all.

[Jacel Varti]

Jacel shifted through his meal, poking at the food in a contemplative manner. He signed off yet another form and set a stack aside. He really didn’t feel like dealing with paperwork today. Maybe the Tarsis meeting was making his anxious.

He took another bite of his lamb chops, a huge chomp which took off most of the remaining meat. He tossed the bone to the trash bin under his desk, and hoped he wouldn’t find Bitch ruffling through it later. He stood, holding the paperwork he had finished, and walked over to a cabinet which he knew was full of envelopes, string and stamps.

He had made sure the walls were thick enough that the outside was mostly silenced. After all, eavesdropping was akin to stealing in his line of work. As such, it caught a thoughtful Jacel off guard when the guard swung open the door. “Some guy is here. Says you’re expecting him, and wouldn’t give me a name.”

Jacel narrowed his eyes at the guard. “Damn it Thomas, are you having a bad day today or what? I told you to expect a Eyropan representative.”

“He ‘aint no foreigner. He’s got a citizen’s looks.”

Jacel sighed and hefted the paperwork onto the top of the cabinet. He hastily smoothed it into an organized stack before grabbing the ajar door and swinging it wide open. He looked across at a tall human boy. Jace chuckled to himself. Maybe not a boy. Human ages, honestly, how could one tell?

Oh, he’d give Tom that the boy had the features of a Marnian, but his clothing was nowhere close. Then again, the elf thought, at a second glance it looked a little bit like a half-hearted attempt to replicate outdated Marn fashion. Perhaps the Tarsis had sent someone with history in the area, someone who could try to fit in. The elf smiled his toothy grin. Very interesting.

“Welcome, welcome. Sorry about Thomas, he’s a bit protective at times. Between you and me, I only keep him around for that brother of his. Much more intelligent.” The tone of his voice was not at all subtle. The guard shrunk down a bit behind Jacel, face burning with wounded pride. Jacel turned to face him. “Get out of here, you. I want Cerranel on door duty.”

Thomas complied, exiting the room swiftly. Jacel watched him slide past the Tarsis representative. It was another insult, of course, asking for a loose cannon like Cerranel to be put in his place. He put a hand on the representative’s shoulder and ushered him inside.

“Grab a seat, make yourself comfortable. Changers, grab a piece of meat if you like,” the elf said; he had swung around the desk to lounge in his chair. He clasped his hands together and threw his pointer fingers in Michael’s direction. “I trust you are who I think you are? The Tarsis salesman?”

It was then that Jacel noticed the white ball of fluff which had entered the room with Michael. It was a dog, and looked a little bit disproportional. Big for her breed. Strong limbs, a muscular jaw, Jacel knew a fighting dog when he saw one. She was recognizable too, with that lovely white fur. She could be a famous champion if the Tarsis entered her in the ring, he could see it right now. He wondered at how perfectly the representative seemed tailored to pleasing his interests. He hadn’t thought the Tarsis quite that concerned with appearances.

Deciding not to press the issue immediately, he flung a hand across the desk, expecting a handshake. “The name’s Jacel Varti, but I’m guessing you knew that. Welcome once more to the Bitch’s Bite.”

[Michael Frodrick]

The guard gave Michael an exasperated look, let out an abrasive sigh and entered the room behind him leaving the door cracked slightly. This was his chance.

Michael took the time, before entering Marn, to compact the Opium even further in a smaller, less prominent plastic bag. It was easy, with a light amount like this. It was enough to sustain an individual for weeks, but not quite enough to sell commercially. Jacel had requested a large amount, but the Tarsis knew better than to fall into a trap like that. Michael knew the Tarsis viewed him as expendable, if this was a trap the Tarsis would lose five ounces of Opium and one drug dealer, in return, Jacel would lose a lot more.
The Tarsis never forgive and they never forget.
Still, Michael was not trying to die today.

Michael took the compacted Opium out of the bag and tucked it into the cuff of his sleeve, putting the pack back across his shoulder.

The door swung open and Michael got his first glance at Jacel Varti. Michael was taken aback by the elf's showy appearance.

He wore black dress attire, much like the Tarsis Dicast's wear, and accessories which complimented it all. What followed was a pompous, sincere smile and an apology on behalf of his half-assed guard and then an insult right to the guards face.
Rich, Arrogant, Greedy. These were the first impressions Michael drummed up about Jacel and first impressions are hard to change. Yet, somehow, Michael was amused. Shouldn't he already hate this guy?

After a disdainful command to exit the room, the guard turned to leave, fury dancing all over his face. Michael allowed the plastic bag of Opium to fall slightly from the cuff of his left sleeve so he had good control of the bag in his hand. As the Guard brushed past him Michael inconspicuously moved his hand so the bag would catch into the inner rim of the Guard's belt.
It worked out flawlessly. Perfect.

If this was a trap set up by the government, he just cleared himself of all charges. Of course, it didn't really matter when the Justice system was a fucking joke, but it didn't hurt to take extra precautions.

Jacel placed his hand on Michael's shoulder and ushered him into the room. Michael noted that Jacel was careful not to seem as if he was pushing him into the room, but letting him know that he was ready to do business. Good. As Jacel continued with the pleasantries it was clear this elf was business to the bone, Michael could sense it, and intelligent as well. But he struck Michael as quite the opportunist and a little too friendly for Michael's taste.

Jacel offered him a seat, but Michael remained on his feet.

Michael had dealt with such individuals before, but Michael toyed with the thought that this might be his biggest deal yet. The Tarsis had a problem with literacy among it's ranks outside of the Dilochite's and Dicast's. With the desire to keep Dicast's and Dilochite's off of the streets when possible, Michael was used often in deals like these. So he had the experience.

"So you are who I think you are? The Tarsis salesman?" Michael was prepared to move past those questions without answering, until he saw Jacel take notice of Saraphina. It was a quick, subtle look. But Michael could tell she had made an impression, albeit a quick one.

Jacel shot his hand across his desk with a fresh smile, welcoming him again to his establishment, expecting a handshake.

Handshakes were a sensitive thing to some people so Michael knew he had to proceed carefully. They weren't friends. Yet. And Michael was not going to shake his hand, now. If business went well and Michael felt as if he wasn't going to take a knife to the back when it was all over, he would return the pointless, overused tradition of groping another man's hand.

"Jacel Varti," Michael began, beginning a slow pace to the left quadrant of the office. Michael "clicked" his tongue on the gums of his upper mouth twice and Saraphina acted. She moved to the northwest corner of the office, sat up, got a good visual of the entire room and seemed to go off into a daze.

She was focusing. If anything moved too suddenly or another person entered the room, she would alert him.

"You know, for a businessman, you've been quite unaccommodating thus far." Michael was careful and diligant to keep a respectful but firm tone. He didn't want to come off as a punk, but wasn't going to be viewed as a pushover either.

"You request a meeting, and we travel the entire way. Literally knocking on your front door."

Michael turned to face Jacel again and leaned up against the wall. Now he had a good visual and his back was protected.

"You force us to enter this...," Michael searched for the appropriate word. "....well...established city that loves nothing more than to fine, imprison, torture and kill its criminals." Michael was careful not to say anything that might incriminate him, but would keep Jacel informed enough as to what he was referencing.

"And I, myself, had to undergo an uneasy, forceful interrogation by your lovely City Guard before I was able to have the.....pleasure of meeting you." Michael kept a steady eye on Jacel, to let him know he was being derisive with his words but maintaining the polite atmosphere Jacel apparently wanted.

"And even now, as we speak. I'm cornered in a room with a half-dozen City Guards right outside." Michael pointed into the wall, referring to the main lounge on the other side.

"This looks, smells and feels like a trap Mr. Varti, so you'll forgive me if I skip the pleasantries for the time being."

[Talion]

Alcohol may have been Anther's drug of choice, but it served as a poor substitute for the sweet release that came from a magically-laced high. He craved the tingling feeling on the tip of his tongue. His fingers itched to weave themselves through the many tangled lines of power that floated in the air, and pull them tight in his grip.

He wanted that power. He needed that power. There was nothing that could compare to the way magic made him feel. It made him strong, it made him whole.

Through shaky fingers he took the glass the bartender put before him and he sipped the drink as he watched the room. People watching was his specialty. Anther could chat up the locals and work the room in a way that Talion never could, but Talion had an eye for observing the way others acted around him. It was easy to pick out a group of regulars, the loudest bunch in the lot; while others would keep to themselves and maintain a guarded posture, these guys looked relaxed, almost comfortable, this was their territory and they knew it. Then, there was a group of City Guard members, Talion would never forget that uniform, they too looked relaxed, but they held a sense of self-respect to them or maybe it was pride that kept them from acting like fools. There were the winners and losers of the dog fight each either celebrating their newly earned bishani or washing down their losses.

"There," Talion nudged Anther with an elbow to the ribs, all the while keeping his voice low and his eyes diverted. "See the guy at the back of the room? He just switched places with another guy, same outfit, after some man and a dog went through that door."

If they were there for information of the not-publicly-available sorts, it would stand to reason that such information might be exchanged behind closed doors. There were Guards here! Discussing something that the government thought too dangerous to trust to their own workers, surely that couldn't be discussed in front of Guards! Surely Anther understood that too.

[Anther]

Talion didn't answer Anther right away, and when the bartender came back around Anther turned from the other man in disgust. Alright, fine, he could just sit there like a lump atop his stool and Anther would get the deeds done. Wouldn't be the first time Anther was left to do the work alone. Wouldn't be the last. That was the way of life -- the people you needed died or disappeared.

He leaned away from Talion, closer towards the bartender. "Hey," he said, repeating himself a little louder when the bartender didn't immediately give him the attention he wanted. "Hey, yeah you!"

The bartender, for his part, wasn't impressed. "Joshua. Not 'hey you'."

"Yeah, well," Anther circled his glass with one hand, and wiped his nose with the other. "I got word there's a trail here, for them's interested in, y'know, those rags. Yeah?"

Joshua raised one eyebrow, and managed in the space of a breath to look both bored and affronted.

"Y'know," Anther made a gesture with his snot-smeared hand. He tried not to stare at Joshua's glass eye and succeeded only so far as making darting glances from one eye to the other.

Joshua stared back with narrowed eyes.

Anther shook his head and leaned farther forward still, laughing at himself and the taciturn bartender both. "This ain't no guard haven, right?"

The bartender turned away without a word at the repeated crescendo of another drunk's order. He moved away, and Anther sat back on his seat in disappointment. He stared after, one eye a little squinted as he probed at his lackluster chin hairs, and was about to go after one of the drunks crowding him on the side opposite Talion when Joshua returned.

"No," he said, and looked back and forth between Anther and Talion. His face gave away nothing. "What about it?"

"I gots me an interest in Pa--" Talion's elbow dug in sharp suddenly, and Anther turned towards the other man in exasperation while the bartender watched them both.

"There. See the guy at the back of the room? He just switched places with another guy, same outfit, after some man and a dog went through that door," Talion said.

But Anther was too frustrated. He turned back to Joshua, but the other man had gone to fill some other order. He made a noise in the back of his throat. "What about it? What are you, a sack of lard? What's that got t'do with us?"

[Jacel Varti]

Jacel retracted his hand as the Tarsis lackey circled the room. He clasped his fingers together, his head tilted to the side, as the boy treated him to the little tale of his woes. By the end Jacel wore an incredulous, amused expression which left his mouth hanging half open.

Jacel burst out laughing. He couldn’t help it, it was all damn funny. He slapped his palm against the desk repeatedly, rolling with amusement. The vibrations from his thick arm racketed through the room, shoving a nearby stack of papers into a discordant pile. Even the lonely light hanging from the ceiling swayed slightly, disturbed by the movement around it. Jacel hadn’t found anything this funny in ages.

Wiping his eye of tears brought about by the laughter, he finished his chuckles and composed himself. “Ah Theo, sorry. I haven’t had a laugh like that in too long.” Jacel stood suddenly and thumped both his hands on the desk before swiftly raising one to point at the Tarsis dealer. “No boy, I ‘aint in the business of screwing you, that’d be the whorehouse down the street.” He twirled his pointed finger and let himself fall back into his seat with a thump.

Still chuckling, the elf continued. “A trap. Honestly.” He shook his head. “If you actually thought this was a trap, you would have to be a complete fucking idiot to have walked through that door.” He carelessly tossed a finger to the exit to accentuate his point. “And then you act as though the Tarsis has never bribed a watch or two. Keep your friends close and your enemies closer, isn’t that the way of things?”

The boy was dropping hints like flies. Normal criminals, much less foreign ones, didn’t know much about the dealings of the Marn penal system until they were in chains. The Tarsis would like to use someone with a cursory understanding of the area; that and his heritage named him a citizen. Marn citizens rarely left the nest, and to fall in with a criminal organization like the Tarsis while doing so meant there were few other options. And the boy had felt it necessary to specifically bring the government’s most dubious methods up, as well as his “interrogation” which Jacel was quite certain was little more than a chat with one of the drunks outside. It became easy to put the pieces together. Jacel was very near to certain his theory was identical to reality.

“Course, I can’t really blame a fugitive like you for suspicion.” He held up a hand to dismiss any reaction from the boy. “Don’t worry about it. I meant what I said. This ain’t a trap, and I don’t sell people out.”

Just then the door swung open. Cerranel stood there, looking a bit perturbed. The dark-haired guard wasn’t looking into the room, however. He was staring at something significantly shorter than himself outside the doorway. He shuffled his legs awkwardly from the entrance and Jacel’s favorite, giant brown dog came striding in. It was Bitch, ears pulled backwards. She looked very much like a wolf then, and even Jacel was a bit surprised at the sudden growl that escaped from her fangs.

Bitch had free roam of the building. Where she wanted to go, his guards let her go. Admiring her sharp teeth, Jacel figured it was probably in everyone’s best interest. Carranel closed the door quickly with a brief glance that fell just short of apologetic at the pair inside.

Jacel decided to finish his sentence quickly. If Bitch was doing what he thought she was doing, he had better. “I’ll tell you what kid, if some arse in the guard actually nabs you selling, I’ll personally pay your bail. How’s that sound, eh?”

Bitch jaunted into the room before taking a deep sniff of the air. Her head then swung around as she swirled to look right at the smaller dog. She strutted over aggressively and began to sniff the white fur of her counterpart. She snarled, bared her teeth again, and backed up from the other dog a few steps before sitting and turning her head to face Jacel expectantly.

“Huh.” Jacel mused, letting his head rest on his hand. He was rather impressed, really. It seemed the Tarsis could be remarkably cunning when the situation called for it. “You never mentioned she was a shifter.”

[Michael Frodrick]

Lacking any sense of humor, Michael was stunned at Jacel's burst of laughter. It was so sudden, in fact, that even Saraphina flinched in surprise. What the fuck was so funny? He had thought of this meeting in many ways and it was anything but comical. Other sales objectives had gotten irate with Michael, some tried to kill him. Then there was the occasional meeting that progressed with a fluid perfection without any hostility at all. But this? Michael was not prepared. He had never been laughed at before and the obnoxious chortling by Jacel began to build a rage in Michael that he had to focus on to control.

Jacel, then, revealed what he considered so amusing about the situation, formatting his sentences in a way that categorized Michael's suspicions as childish and unintelligent. An appropriate reaction, straight from an elf living the glamorous, big business life with servants tending to his paltry needs and a silver spoon shoved up his ass. Perhaps Jacel had never experienced what it was like being on substandard terms with the city of Marn. Maybe Jacel had his head in the clouds like every other simple-minded citizen that mindlessly swears their allegiance to Marn with a cult-like patriotism. Michael also took note of Jacel's age. He was not good at analyzing a persons age, especially and elf, but Michael could tell there was an age gap of at least 60 years between the two of them and Jacel's respect for a 22 year old was probably limited.

“Course, I can’t really blame a fugitive like you for suspicion.” Michael allowed a very rare grin to form on his face. So, Jacel had a knack for reading people, interesting. Labeling him as a "fugitive" was a bold hypothesis. Accurate, yes, but an assessment that Jacel could neither confirm nor deny. The fact that Jacel had read him so accurately infuriated Michael.Michael decided to pay extra attention to his word choice for the remainder of the meeting, to prevent Jacel from gaining another inch of intelligence.

Jacel finished his demeaning speech with an assurance that this wasn't a trap and the meeting was sincere. Michael decided that he hated Jacel, not finding his entertained and unprofessional attitude toward their meeting amusing and offended by the laughter from his suspicion. As such, it made no sense to Michael why his instincts approved of Jacel and the safety of dealing with him. Perhaps it was the blatant, arrogant wisdom. In any case, it didn't matter. Michael's instincts were strong and he was there to provide the Tarsis with another source of income, his hate for Jacel would have to be harbored for another day.

Just then, Michael saw the door swing open, Saraphina let out one bark in response and Michael prepared for the worst. Had his instincts been wrong? Michael put his left hand on his crossbow and waited for what would come through the door.
Michael relaxed, moderately, when a dog walked through the door and shut behind it. The dog was extremely bulky and a half-head taller than Saraphina, obviously a fighting dog used in the rings outside. Michael watched the muscular, brown dog approach Saraphina to identify her more personally. The hairs on Saraphina's neck stood straight up and her face became more and more animated, expecting an attack. Michael briefly wondered how such an attack would fare in favor of Saraphina.

The brown dog was taller and stronger, no doubt. But Michael reasoned that Saraphina would have the advantage in speed and maneuverability.

Jacel said something about fronting the bill if Michael was arrested, but Michael's focus was on Saraphina. Hoping she
wouldn't snap and attempt to attack the larger threat.

The brown dog bared her enormous, sharp teeth and lightly snarled as she made her way over to Jacel. Michael noticed Saraphina's hair begin to relax, slightly, but she clearly did not like the presence of another dog in the room. “You never mentioned she was a shifter.” Jacel said.

Michael looked up and sighed, scratching the hairs on his chin and deciding to match Jacel's attitude with an equally
lackluster tone. Michael had no clue what made Jacel make such an assumption about Saraphina, but it was wrong. It was clear Saraphina was the result of a cross-breed with something unnatural, Chow's were very small otherwise. She was not a shifter, however, and Michael took personal pleasure in Jacel being incorrect about at least one thing.

"Well she's not a shifter, that's probably why I didn't mention it." Michael looked back down and began to make his way back to Jacel's desk. Michael tried to mask his anger with amusement and chuckled underneath his breath. "Alright Jacel," Michael began, taking the seat behind Jacel's desk that was offered to him earlier. Michael extended his arms lazily to his sides in satirical submission. "I guess I have to trust you or leave, yes?"

It was obvious that generic sales tactics weren't going to work on Jacel so Michael decided the blunt truth was the best way to proceed. Michael had to maintain his confidence, or the meeting would be a bust. No one respected a man who was easily silenced. "I'm authorized a substantial amount of freedom in how I accomplish the tasks that are given to me. On the other end of the spectrum, however, deviating from my assignments in any way is...." Michael pondered for a moment. "...frowned upon."

Michael put his right elbow on the desk, propping his head with two fingers, and continued. "That said, I did suspect a trap but had to enter the city anyways." Michael looked Jacel in the eyes. "Sometimes you get too deep into something to just walk away, y'know? Or maybe you don't know." Michael broke his gaze and continued to relax his posture in the chair. "My first task was to identify if you were fucking with us, I guess you're not. Especially since you thought it was hysterical that I suspected you at all." Michael vaguely made a motion toward his dog. "Her name is Saraphina, by the way. Good hunter, better tracker."

Michael snapped his fingers and Saraphina abondoned her position to make her way to Michael's side, glaring at Bitch the entire way. Michael sat up straighter. "I can see your time is valuable, just like mine, let's not waste another moment." Michael began to pull out a small box that kept his sticks of tobacco and would offered one to Jacel. Jacel's decision would inform Michael if it was okay to smoke in there or not. While he retreived the contents, Michael continued. "Now that we're here, what exactly are you wanting to gain? I take it you are wanting something long-term and continuous, yes? You wouldn't have contacted a group stationed so far away for just a singular gain." Michael placed the tobacco on the table with a match ready to light, waiting for Jacel's response.