Private Bow

[Mercy]

Malcoma Hesse

The deed was done relatively quickly.

The guy was a push-over once his toy gun was taken away, once his droid was disabled, once her fists were pummeling his face. Maybe about ten minutes, before Mercy walked out of the room with a smirk and a droid slung over her shoulder. Of course that smirk disappeared almost as quickly once the spot occupied by Hesse was now empty.

Blink blink.

A glance back to the apartment. But no, if Malcoma followed her in, Mercy would have noticed that. That place was empty besides the crying shape of a pathetic manling.

"Hrm." Hesse didn't seem like a 'hit 'n' run' type, so something else had to have happened. But what? She pressed the button of her commlink and dialed up Malcoma, while moving back through the complex. Following the same route they had been going through. Maybe Malcoma couldn't handle the sounds and decided to go downstairs?

Maybe the call would clear things up...

 

[Malcoma Hesse]

Mercy

The comm rang until disconnected.

Apparently, Malcoma was too hot for voicemail.

Then, a call bounced back, but it wasn't the blonde's voice on the other end of the line, even more sickly sweet.

:: Ms. Mercy, :: it began. :: You've reached Jysya Irard. :: Something sounded familiar about that name. :: Pardon the...sudden departure of your check. But you've stumbled into a bit of a turf war. ::

If Mercy focused on the background noise, she would be able to hear the whizzing of hover traffic, and, in between two particular whooshes, a soft but suddering gasp. That one was more or less in Hesse's register.

:: You did good work, though, and as the businesswoman I am I will make sure you're well compensated for it. Whatever Madam Hesse agreed to pay you, I'll triple it. Just let me know where to wire the funds. ::

 

[Mercy]

Malcoma Hesse

A blink blink as the elevator began to descend down.

"Who in the nine hells are YOU?" Feeling rather annoyed to be answered by some clippy smooth voice. "Ma'am, ya kno' I dun' do well when I work my arse off an' then am left holdin' da bag..."

Turf war or not, Mercy was getting angry.

When she got angry?

Well, her eldritch arm started to act up even more. Even while holding the commlink her other arm was starting to move on its own accord. Making strange hooking gestures with its fingers. Right now Mercy wasn't paying attention however. Which was exactly why it was doing it. Trying to summon a star-weird.

That would be a pain in the arse for the neighborhood.

Then a blink again.

This time her anger was starting to melt away however. "Oooh... really? Why dun' ya lead with that, ya maniac." A laugh there as her head tipped back, even while the gears were shifting in the back of her head.

"I was liable to tear ya head off 'fore ya said that." A shrug there that nobody but her could see. "Dun' care who pays me as long as am being paid. Tho, yar gonna leave me a review, right? I dun' jus' do it for the cash, I need fresh 5/5 reviews on mah page, ma'am."

 

[Malcoma Hesse]

Mercy

There was a sigh on the other end of Mercy's comm, but not from Jysya. Apparently, Malcoma could be just as annoyed on the precipice of cold-blooded murder as she off of it.

:: I'll do it now. What's the address? ::

Once she got it, the rival madam would bring up the darkweb page for Mercy's Mercenary Services on the miniature datapad that fit into her equally minimal clutch. Her side of the conversation went quite as she signed up—you had to have an account to do almost anything on the HoloNet these days. After that obstacle was out of the way, she began typing out a review.

Malcoma, on the edge of a rooftop somewhere near-by-not-too-nearby, suddenly spoke up over the traffic sounds below, "Triple?" She turned to face Jysya as well. "That will be exhausting." Jysya likewise glanced up. "I said I'd sleep with her."

Said was a very loose interpretation, but honesty would be not only clunky but less impressionable.

"Three rounds tires you, does it?" she asked with the intonation rather than the indenture of a smirk. Now wrapped around the back of her datapad, the comm on her wrist was blinking green, indicating it remained on and broadcasting.

Malcoma did not dignify that with a response. Instead, she attempted to walk forward, but she didn't get more than a few steps on before one of Jysya's bodyguards stopped her. "You'll never run Denon's sex scene, Jysya," she enunciated, conscious to bare her teeth. "I'm Family. You're just a cheap whore. Donna Stroud will find you. And she'll feed you your men's fingers," the man who's hand was currently splayed over her shoulder and collarbone stepped back, "knuckle by knuckle." The other two men, one nearby the first and the other standing astride his employer, exchanged worried glances.

Dismemberment was probably above their paygrades.

Though she had an effect on Jysya's security team, the same couldn't be said for the madam herself. "Deathdoor threats don't suit your lips, Malcoma."

"They're not threats. They're promises."

Malcoma asked herself what she was stalling for. There was no way that the Donna, or Damris, would find her in time to save her from becoming a new blood spatter soaking this district's floorboards. As far as she knew, neither of them were even in the System.