The Inducted [Aver Brand]

[Emryc]

"This is it?"

Archon never looked particularly impressed no matter how pitch-perfect you sang. By now Emryc knew all the tunes, knew all the notes to hit and every drop of tone, but those fething disgruntled lines on his brow had yet to cease forming. Somewhere mingling in those bloodshot eyes was a hint of disbelief. The man licked his thumb and keyed in the pass code on the side of the metallic case. Next came a hiss of gears and his face disappeared as he folded open the top.

"Oh-ho-ho-ho-" that was his sound of appeasement, a very small nuanced difference from his sound of deridement. Emryc simply continued sitting where he was, hunched into his permanent glower. Fingers crawled over the rim of the case before Archon Qosta appeared again, fleshy cheeks spattered by three days of scruff pushing up into his eyes.

He was pleased.

Emryc's brow pulled tight. The suspense was clearly killing him slowly on the inside.

"Let's go," said Archon, sharply snapping the case shut. Emryc jolted at the sound but got to his feet.

"Go where?"

"Shut up."

They were walking down a hall, past doors he'd been in before and ones he hadn't. Beyond the side hallways he'd ever been allowed where the Maw stood on Guard, switching out shifts every six hours. Emryc knew some of their faces, others he'd only recognize through swollen eyes. Blasters stuck out from their silhouettes like extra arms. He could smell the heat of plasma bolts on their leather jackets. All the blood stains that wouldn't wash out. Emryc tugged at his own coat and turned a leery gaze to Archie's back, hunching further.

It's not paranoia if they're out to get you.

Archon always said that.

The man stopped short at the last door on the end and punched a keycode into a console on the side, big sausage fingers obscuring the code from view. The door hissed open and the next hall beyond greeted them with the soft crooning of music.

"What's that music?" Emryc muttered to himself, eyes narrowed at the odd sound.

"Shut up," Archon growled back at him. Emryc patiently complied and followed him in, looking back as the door hissed shut at his rear.

The furnishings here on the walls were different. Upscale, real retro-like. Polished wood stands holding marble statuettes. Paintings of old geezers. A guncase. Archie lead down the hall and the music got louder. Wasn't nothing like the stuff they play in the clubs around Nadir. Wasn't nothing like Emryc ever heard before. No pulsing tempo, no evocative beats. Just a slow, crying draw of notes that made him feel things he couldn't quite figure.

"Where are we?"

Archie rounded on him, big ham-fists balled with one single accusing finger, "I told you to shut up. Twice now. Now before I box your mouth in let me ask you something."

Emryc's frown deepened. He nodded.

"Are you fething deaf?"

Emryc shook his head, "No I ain't deaf."

POW.


~~~~


"Did he get blood on my carpet?"
"Maybe a little."
"You know how much I hate blood on my carpets."
"I know, I'll get it cleaned up. Baking soda, you know? Gets it right out."
"Is that right?"
"Yeah, Erva says so."
"Baking soda."

An office slowly came into view. Emryc found himself sitting half-in a chair. those kind of wooden chairs with leather cushions attached by brass studs. Real fancy-like. The room was fuzzy, the talking figures clouded. Emryc grunted and slowly pushed himself to sit up, grunting. Warmth began to dribble from his lips.

"Archieeee..." a deep, hoarse voice drawled, "he's bleeding on my chair."
"Oh shet," Archie's voice. The man threw a rag at Emryc's face, "clean yourself up kid. And quit slouching."

Floundering to catch the rag, Emryc stuffed it over his mouth to stem the flow of liquid copper. A tooth sat hanging by a thread in there somewhere but his entire jaw was numb and he couldn't right feel it. As the room slowly came into focus he found Archon's bulky form hunching over another man sitting at a polished desk. This man was older, a disheveled businessman judging by the rumpled look of his button-up shirt and loose tie. Hair grew sparsely around the rim of his head, flying off in several directions at once. He wore a pair of glasses over a face pock-marked by many unforgiving years.

They were both leaning over something but Emryc couldn't define what. Somewhere in the room a box filled the empty spaces around them with that same crooning music.

"Did he get it?"
"Oh, yeah, take a look."
"HmmmmMMMMmmmm..." the older man turned, magnified eyes looking wildly as Archon pulled out the briefcase and opened it again, "ohhhhhhh."
"Right? And you didn't think we could get it."
"The kid got it."
"He got it alright. Just like I said he would."

Emryc furrowed his brow, pulling the rag away from his face. No more bleeding. He tested his mouth, jaw still barely feeling anything, "I did get it," he said, eyeing the box, "what exactly did I get?"

The pair of men exchanged glances.

"I thought you told him to shut up," said the older man to Archie.

[member="Aver Brand"]

 

[Aver Brand]

Irony and fate had conspired and put the Qosta meeting place a walking distance away from her apartment. Not that many sane people liked walking any distance through the narrow streets of the Nest, let alone those couple clicks. This particular (arguably) sane person had the advantage of being bigger and badder than most things that haunted those streets, however. She was also several times faster than an athlete on a good day.

There was rhyme to this reason. Arriving by foot, Aver could shake off tails much easier, and also case the joint instead of hopping out of a transport barge with a big target on her chest. The crowd was thick, moreso the closer she got. Mostly Qosta people in the end, all proudly flashing their insignia as they got about their jobs. One look at the main building told her she’d picked the right boss to start with. Understated, with tons of security measures just beneath the surface. There was a thin veneer of pretend-negligence, but a closer inspection revealed multitudes of posted guards and defense systems installed around the perimeter.

Without the symbol on her armor, they singled her out eventually. Palmed their blasters, narrowed their eyes. Careful was a far cry from trigger happy. Another point for boss Qosta.

The men at the gate let her in with the vague ‘meeting’ on her lips. The ones inside did not.

“I’m here to meet your boss,” she said for what felt like the hundredth time. Not one of them had asked for the passphrase yet, and Aver wasn’t given to blurting out important intel.

Eventually, a taller, broader gorilla was attracted by the controlled commotion. He rivaled Brand herself in the department of biggery & baddery, which was achievement enough. They eyed each other like seasoned killers do, grunting their approval in the end. To the trained gaze, their short interaction would’ve looked more like a series of very small, very swift mental battles.

‘The Maw’ said the whispers behind her. This guy did ask, and smiling, she told him.

Not quite as efficient a system as she’d have liked, but that was about to change after today. Confident strides marked her descent, click click click of phrik-tipped boots.

Down into the lion’s den stalked a Ralltiir tiger.

[member="Emryc"]

 

[Emryc]

"Leave him," said the old man after Archie who had started, grumbling, on a path to the pleb in the chair.
"Mmmmm," Archon rumbled in reply.
"Get a drink, Archie."

Archie walked around the desk to a nice little polished wood bar station towards the back and began rooting about the bottles. Seemed there were lots to choose from. Emryc would have bet his right arm that every single bottle back there had come from top shelf or back room. The place where they store the things you don't sell to just any nobody or nothing like himself. He was absolutely certain he'd never had a drop of any of them.

It was sewer water for plebs like him, but after a few rounds of survival you couldn't even taste it anyways.

"What's the name," grunted the old man with a glance before he turned his eyes and those magnifying glasses back to his project. After a beat of silence he waved violently at Emryc, snapping his fingers, "the name, the name. Today."

Cue stage left, Emrcy steps out from behind the curtain and into the spotlight. His skin immediately sterlings.

"Emryc," he muttered dispassionately.
"Not that name, pleh," a barking reply, "the other name."

The name he'd had beaten out of him. Emryc glanced at Archon still with his nose in the bottles.

"Archie, the name."
"Ruen Arrion."

The old man's bushy eyebrows valiantly hefted several lines of wrinkles on his forehead, "Arrion, huh. That's money on the tongue there," a glance as hairy as his brows landed on Emryc, "not for you, of course. Reheheheghegh..."

Emryc felt his own brow tighten and that same slip of youthful impatience produce from within the dumbest thing he could possibly muster, "Yeah, and who the feth are you?" Asked innocently enough. His lips tightened with instant regret. Archie throw a wide eyed glance back at him but he was too busy trying not to spill what he poured to do anything else.

"Who am I? Whoooo am Iiiii," the syllables danced on vocal chords torn to hell from years of chain smoking and crack, no doubt, "I am Qosta," the grin accompanying the words was unsettling in a way that only the truly crazed could unsettle others, "and the Inducted refer to me as Pa."

"Oh feth," Emryc's fingers curled around the armrests of his chair.

"Oh feth is right, Renni. Get used to that feeling cause it doesn't get any better from here on out. Now get out of that chair, my 3 o' clock is here. ...mmmm, Archie give him something useful to do."

"Here," Archie put his drink down on Pa Qosta's project table and reached for the case, "hold this. Try to look like you know what you're doing...and quit slouching."

Emryc held the open case in his arms, standing at Pa Qosta's side with it presented. He took a brief peek down at the contents and was indisputably confused by what he saw: model ships gently tucked into formed velveteen beds, gleaming all chrome and shiny.

He'd risked his life and ditched his partner for model ships? A narrowed gaze finally looked down to what Pa was presently entrenched in: building a model ship - magnifying lenses, tweezers and modular glue at hand, tiny pieces strewn about his desk beneath lamplight.

"Archie get the door."
"I didn't hear anyone knock."
"Get the doooooorrrr...."

The door opened just as [member="Aver Brand"] stepped into the final hallway.

 

[Aver Brand]

[member="Emryc"]

The helmet’s camera was on the whole time as she navigated the refurbished industrial maze. If things went south, she didn’t want to waste precious seconds looking for an exit route. She rounded the last corner, and her face fell. Her goal was at the end of a very long, very straight corridor. Nowhere for rats to hide.

A smile cut across her face, crooked. Whoever was hiding in that room knew his business. Another point for boss Qosta.

Light spilled into the darkness of the hall, outlining a tall figure. Former enforcer, his wide shoulders said, now relegated to some couch in the administration. He’d let himself go, or age caught up with him. Maybe both.

Aver assessed him behind her visor, gaining height as she closed in. Like a storm on the horizon, she brushed past, demanding instead of requesting. She’d waited enough for one day.

The room was warm, the decor tasteful in the way canned food is tasteful. Edible. The mercenary permitted a fleeting sneer as she stopped, two paces inside. Her eyes didn’t so much sweep over the occupants as zeroed in on the broad man behind the desk. Uneven ground straightened in an instant, and the Equalizer had the good humor to chuckle.

“You’re a Forcer,” she said, straightening her back. “Explains a lot, Qosta.” Didn’t offer a boss as an equal, and didn’t offer a Pa like an underling would. Speaking of…

“And the feth is that?” Aver jabbed her chin at the rail-thin boy standing off to the side. He was more coathanger than man, wearing a face riddled with signs of malnourishment and insomnia. Poster child of Point Nadir. That was her, twenty-odd years ago.

The mercenary was about to say more – something about privacy and confidentiality – when her gaze found the model ships. She snorted, pure amusement contained in that one shameless noise.

“Well frak, Qosta. You’re a fething national treasure, ain’t you?” Aver leaned back, pilfered the tall amber tumbler from Archon’s surprised fingers. She stalked over the plush rug like she owned the place, then settled into the expensive chair. Was that real drexl leather?

“Let’s talk,” her metallic timbre faltered for a moment, and then Aver placed her helmet into her lap. Icy blue bored straight into his head as she looked up.

“Qosta.”

 

[Emryc]

"Explains a lot," Qosta echoed the woman as she asserted the room and his peculiar aura of the Force, "only some of the time."

Emryc remained silent, which certainly was the best option for the present time, but did give a confused glance from the new arrival to Qosta at the mention of the Force. The feth were they talking about?

The feth is that?

She was looking right at him and Emryc had the distinct impression someone was pointing a gun in his face that he wasn't aware of. Murky eyes rounded back to her with a look of poorly masked suspicious concern.

"That is history in the making," Qosta gave a cough to clear his throat, the man finally looked up from his project at the amused snort, a broad shet-eating grin pushing at the flesh of his face, "everyone's got a hobby. Rehehehehe..." No shame, no shame at all.

Let's talk. Qosta.

Emryc's lip pricked at the tone of her voice but it hardly seemed to phase the old clan Patriarch who pulled his glasses from his face and blinked into his fingers, "Talk, right," said the man as he stood from the desk and moved back to the bar area, "I'd offer you a drink like a gentleman but you didn't even give me the chance." Pa was quick to pour himself a glass of bourbon. The label on the bottle looked awfully fancy to Emryc; gold foil backed by black. The name on it meant absolutely nothing to him.

Qosta turned and watched her take a sip, a smirk on his face, "Be sure to tell Archie just how good his drink is. I love it when he goes red in the face."

Archon grunted from his seat off to the side where he sat lighting up a cigar.

"Talk, talk, talk," Qosta moved to sit in the very handsome leather chair behind the equally handsome polished wooden desk. He ran his hands over his balding head - strong hands. Scarred and calloused hands. Hands that looked like they'd seen plenty of dirt despite being almost meticulously clean.

"You want to inject Nadir with some fire, eh? Give it a swift kick to the arse. Well I don't blame you, it's gotten awfully dull in the last few years. Same squabbles, the same people. I'd have swallowed the lot of this place whole if I didn't think I'd die of boredom afterwards. Truth be told, I like the squabbles, especially when they involve Meron. I keep waiting for her to pop...eheheh..." a deep inhale, Qosta sat up, brows raised, eyes looking around as if to indicate all of Nadir. He grinned the sort of disgusted grin you might see when one stepped in a pile of shet. Qosta flipped his hands in a gesture to everything, eyes rolling, "You can see my dillema. What do you propose we do with this?"

[member="Aver Brand"]

 

[Aver Brand]

Aver gave an indignant snort. History in the making. Then again… she gave the rangy kid another once-over. Twenty-odd years ago, that was you. History in the making, indeed.
The merc smiled a little private smile, left corner of her lip twitching. Didn’t look predatory for a change.

She tipped her head to the side, half-respect, half-... well, whatever it was. Her Sabacc face had been honed over years of backroom games and lying through her teeth to some of the most dangerous individuals in the galaxy, period. When she didn’t want to be read, the Equalizer showed all the emotion of an ancient glacier.

“No offense, Qosta, but I’m not drinking anything you wouldn’t drink yourself. Or Archie, as the case may be.” She raised her glass in a mock toast, taking another sip of the burning amber liquid. Could almost feel the molten credits caressing her throat.

“See… I don’t like the squabbles. No dilemma here for me, either.” She set the tumbler down, looking Qosta directly into his beady little eyes. Scheming eyes. Keen eyes. This was a man who couldn’t be fucked with.

“Nadir is a majestic beast. Untamed, roaming free, all of that poetic crap. Now, I can and will sell the dream of a lawless paradise to any criminal who so much as glances our way. It’s what attracts the merchandise, the clients, and the people.” Aver ran a single finger along the rim of her glass, somehow making the gesture seem absurdly intimate and lewd at the same time. She grinned a smile too full of teeth. Didn’t reach her eyes.

“But it also needs an economy to funnel them into. And yeah, what you lot got running here, it’s okay. Works well enough.” She paused, the shadow of a scowl passing over her impassive face like a dark cloud.

“Anyone with half a brain can see the potential of this place. When you can’t raze your home turf, expand. This is Outer rim, Qosta. Who’s going to stop you?” A breath, then: “Stop us?”

She raised her hands in an echo, a magnanimous warlord offering mercy to the world at her feet. Her voice was very, very quiet when she spoke again.

“I’ve never met a creature fearless enough to stop me, Qosta.”

[member="Emryc"]

 

[Emryc]

"Listen darling," Qosta slowly sat forward in his chair, a veritable griseled old bear looming over his turf with no intentions of budging, "you're young, you got big ideas, big plans. You're worldly, galactic even, full of piss and vinegar" his words were slow and deliberate, tone was smoothly gruff, eyes catching the scandal of that finger on that glass, he grinned, jaw pushing to one side, "and I like that. It's what Nadir needs and I'm not getting any younger, sweetheart... You, bring me the case."

He hadn't looked away from Aver and it may have appeared, for a split second, that he'd just ordered her to bring him the case. Emryc raised his brows in faint shock at the gesture.

"The case!" Qosta bellowed, baratone booming through the confines of the room. Emryc nearly poodoo his pants. Right, him. He stepped over to the desk and held the case out.

"Fething pidgeon brain..." Qosta muttered as he reached, eyeballing Emryc all the while from beneath very bushy and greying eyebrows. Amusement grew on the old man's expression as he noted the obvious silvering of the boy's skin. Pale and shimmery as a ghost. He licked a grin onto his lips, "you're gonna piss silver by the time you're done here, boy."

Qosta plucked from the case one of the model ships; a luxury yacht as pristine as the day it'd come out of the shop. Not a scratch on her. He set it on his desk before him and made some dramatic flair to push the other items out of the way to ensure [member="Aver Brand"] could see.

"Me, I'm a national treasure," this declaration was said with some air of propriety and a glance at Aver, "Nadir son, born and raised with cement in my teeth and blood under my nails...mm," he eyed his very clean nails, "not today at least."

Qosta shifted in his chair with a grunt and gently prodded the model ship to sit exactly right, "Nadir's no different from any other scummy hive. It's got the same games and the same game pieces, but here I know the gameboard and I know the rules. I've been playing it all my life and I've got all the pieces exactly where I want them... and you," his eyes moved from the model to the woman, "want to feth it all up."

Quick as a whip the man brought a sledgehammer fist down upon the model ship, smashing it to pieces. Emryc flinched.

"Messy..." Qosta frowned, lip twitching at the dust on his shirt. He brushed it away before pushing the pieces around on his desk, "but you have to break a few eggs to make an omelette...isn't that right?"

He found a single item amidst the scattered remains of the model; a datachip containing pertinent information on the main Kingpins of Nadir. Qosta had moles in all of their respective areas. He didn't feth around.

"And feth me, I love a good omelette."

The man pushed the datachip across the desk towards Aver.

 

[Aver Brand]

Oh, she liked this man. Aver let the glacier retreat, and her thawed features curled into a grin of genuine amusement. A rare sight indeed.

The scarecrow kid hastened over the plush rug and nearly tripped over his skinny legs just to deliver the case. She’d have called him overeager, but Nadir did that to you. There were only two speeds here: sweating like a pig, or corpse in a ditch.

In a single fluid movement, the mercenary rose from her chair, glass in hand. The other was still free to grab a knife, or a pistol, or a neck, if shet went down. But looking at the predators in the room, Aver judged them all relaxed. Bellies full of easier prey, still picking the fiber from their teeth. Sometimes, old age did bring wisdom, and Qosta looked to be one of those exceptions.

She stalked closer, licking the last of the alcohol from her lips. It tingled, tiny fireworks of bright orange along her spine.

“Yeah. I’m such a brilliant fether people pay me to do it,” she offered through sharp teeth, indicating the small Equalizer symbol on her chestplate. If you were an enemy and got this close, you just had time enough to realize who was gonna murder you. Professional courtesy.

Like quicksilver, Aver snatched the chip from the table, replacing it with her empty tumbler. She turned it around between her fingers, pretend-scrutinizing the smooth surface. In truth, her perception had snuck into the circuitry, speeding along the electronic highways as she tried to determine if the gift horse was a trojan.

“You could drop by sometime, then. I make a mean omelette. Would you believe I used to be a cook?” She cocked her head, satisfied with her analysis. “Right here, too. Nadir daughter, born and raised with blood in my mouth and fingers in my... ah, but I won’t bore you with the details. It’s all a very long time ago.”

Her smile grew sickly sweet as she leaned over the desk. Model ship shrapnel ground to dust beneath her palms as she braced against the expensive wood, her shadow crawling a lot farther than the overhead light should allow.

“Had a lovely homecoming, though. Spread Selenov over the floor so thin you couldn’t scrape together enough to fill an ashtray,” her voice was like aged whiskey, eyes half-lidded as she looked down.

“Slept like a baby that night.”


[member="Emryc"]

 

[Emryc]

"That right?" if Qosta was impressed or surprised at this news he betrayed nothing. The bear remained unmoving from his position at his desk while the tigress impeded on his space. Qosta grinned, "Did you save any for jam on the eggs?" and then he made the sort of sound that reminded Emryc of bolts scraping across cement in what he could only describe as a chortle.

"I'll come over for your eggs anytime."

~~~

Outside the complex Emryc stood a scarecrow wrapped in a leather jacket. Wasn't his jacket - he'd stolen it from someone ages ago - but it fit him real nice and he'd covered up the identifying marks with dirt, oil, and blood. Still smelled like leather though, leather saturated in cigarette smoke.

"Heard you got inducted. That's real good, Em. Did Archie punch you in the hallway?"
Emryc lifted a brow at this and tried not to tongue the loose tooth in his mouth still slowly stitching itself back into place.
"He did, didn't he? Archie punches everyone in the hallway. It's like...a right hook of passage, haha. Just POW, right in the kisser."
"That why you missing a tooth?" Emryc asked, almost smirking.
"This one? Naw, that's from one of Meron's bogeys nailing me with a bat. Is'aright though, I shot him in the balls. I'd say we're even."

Ryger was one of the few that had managed to slide into Clan Qosta with minimal damage. Good looking fellow, Pretty Boy they called him. Decent enough but Emryc wouldn't trust him any further than he could throw him.

"Got a light?" Emryc asked.
"For you? Newly Inducted," Ryger nodded, "sure."

They smoked in silence for several minutes until Emryc saw the time. With a long, hurried pull he tossed the remaining butt off the curve and stepped off across the road.

"You comin' to the Barrow tonight?" Ryger called after him.
"Nah, not tonight."
"Where you going?"
"Gatta show this armored broad around."
"The Cactus? He gave you the Cactus?"

He could hear Ryger's laugh fading as he rounded the corner and stepped back into the complex.

[member="Aver Brand"]

 

[Aver Brand]

All that talk of food had made Aver one damn hungry mercenary, and so she’d beelined for the nearest street vendor as soon as she’d concluded her business with Qosta.

There was a small scuffle in the waiting line, but her opponent was quickly converted to her point of view when she displayed her skill in the art of the knuckle sandwich. Cleared up right quick after that.

“Gimme three of those bantha steaks.”
“Three?”
“You deaf? Three, and they better be as bloody as that karker’s face.”

Five sweaty minutes later, the greasy besalisk handed her a steaming plate of meat, complete with a side of some fried vegetable. (On the house, I insist.)

She paid with a shrug and retreated to a quieter corner of the main street – that is to say, quiet enough to hear your own thoughts – and promptly dove into the pile of food. It was to this soundtrack of ripping flesh and gnashing of teeth that another’s feet dragged closer, reluctant in their approach.

Aver paused mid-chew. Lifted her gaze. Swallowed.

The frak do you want? was at the tip of her tongue as she took in the scarecrow from earlier. Hands stuffed so deep into his pockets you’d think he was looking for oil. Stormy gaze under a brow dark with lack of sleep. Stub of a cigarette stuck between his lips, just another stain in the toxic air of Nadir.

She wiped off her chin and revised her words.

“The frak do you want, kid?”


[member="Emryc"]

 

[Emryc]

Emryc silently considered the woman and the fleshy dribble of her meal on her chin. In the Qosta office setting she had seemed almost classy. Like an old-time speeder with a few extra-extras on it under the hood. Bit of dark paint, bit of blood, few bullet holes. Now, watching her feast while sitting on the sidewalk, all he saw was garbage compacter grunting down the alley, swallowing great heaps of trash with hinged jaws.

His brow furrowed. Kid.

"Pa says I'm to show you around," he replied, not real loud, gaze flickering off towards the sound of a speeder backfiring somewhere down the line.

 

[Aver Brand]

“Mm. Aight.”

She shoveled the remaining steak into her mouth and dumped the tray into the nearest can. With a lazy stretch the mercenary stood back to full height, towering a whole inch over the coathanger kid. Unfortunate.

“If Pa wants to show off his empire, who am I to object? Lead the way,” she swept a greasy hand in the direction of the Qosta territories, grinning broad as a shark.

The crowd around them ebbed and waxed as the evening stumbled drunkenly into the night. Neon lights blinked back into their broken existence above narrow alleys and narrower doors. The refuse of Nadir crawled to the surface through the cracks in the ground, breath heavy with drink and drugs. It was as if the station had been holding its breath all day long and had only now expelled the filthy air from its mechanical lungs, along with all the debris and dirt lodged within.

Home sweet home.

“You wanna grab a bite on the way, kid?”


[member="Emryc"]

 

[Emryc]

"I'm ok," Emryc was watching the streets ahead, eyes keen on the faces they would be walking through, "I had a cigarette earlier." A sniff, a pause at the edge of the street, he looked back and forth before hunching his shoulders and leading on.

He knew just about every face he was supposed to know in Qosta territory. Knew which ones belonged and which ones didn't. Knew which ones to talk to and which ones to steer clear from. He knew the language of their secret glances and the unspoken rule of never-look-twice. He knew that Clan Qosta was a well-oiled machine and that nobody, but nobody that wasn't supposed to be here would be here.

This didn't keep him from looking. Didn't stop him from glancing back over his shoulder to see who might be behind before looking to Aver, "If you're still hungry we can stop somewhere. Barrows is on the way."

[member="Aver Brand"]

 

[Aver Brand]

She snorted. “Cigs ain’t food.”

The temptation was real in a place like this. Not everyone could stomach bloody work and a bloody meal in the span of an hour. Corpses and appetite mix well only for the rare few that counted Aver amongst their lucky number. For the rest of the ne’er-do-wells, criminals, and wretches inhabiting the gutters of Nadir, the solution was the crutch of habit.

“You look like death, kid. Grab something, my treat. Can’t have my guide blackout in the middle of the streets. What’ll Pa say?”

Pa wouldn’t say anything, of course, because he wouldn’t even notice. Why give a shet when boys like coathanger kid were a dime a dozen? You were nothing here until you weren’t— until you didn’t earn yourself a Name. Everything worth knowing, everything worthy of respect and deference on Nadir, all of that was Named. People, weapons, places even.

Smart, then, to learn as quick and as many as possible.

“And Barrows is?”


[member="Emryc"]

 

[Emryc]

Emryc paused as they entered a crowded walk, making way into the nightlife district of Clan Qosta, and the people were out in numbers. A furrowed brow lifted only slightly as he looked to the woman, "I think Death might be offended by that."

There it was, a spark of personality. Some twitish humor. He said nothing about her offer, but he also hadn't declined. The traffic pushed forward and Emryc started walking again.

"It's a bar," he said, "Archie's brother runs it. Good place to know." And a good enough place to start.

To a Grunt it was home base. The safe place ... mostly. The one location where a Qosta grunt could get a drink without worrying about a Maw braining them for taking their seat. Maw didn't go to Barrow's, they had their own fancy joint closer to HQ. But the Inducted hung out there, too, which meant it was a good a place as any to get the dirt on someone or pick up a side job for your buy-in.

"Ye thirsty?" he asked as he lead her across the street, following the neon sign denoting the bar on the corner.

 

[Aver Brand]

“Don’t know about that. Could give her a run for her money in the gaunt department, I reckon.”

Now that she looked at him close-like, the kid really didn’t look too well. A certain degree of malnourishment was staple on Nadir if you weren’t living right in the Stardome, but coathanger was, well… a coathanger, through and through. If she were anyone else, Aver might’ve been concerned.

Then again, she grew up on the exact same diet – that is, cigs and liquor – and turned out just fine. That’s not to say that age hadn’t tempered her.

“Water’s fine. Drinking on the job’s a bad idea.” Especially if it’s the kinda job that goes down easier with a drink.

Stale warmth and sweat were their sole greeting as they pushed their way inside past a group of rowdy grunts. The interior was heavy with smoke so thick you could barely see the bar, let alone make out the faces around you. Part of its popularity, no doubt. Anonymity, much like notoriety, had its appreciable perks.

Aver cast a wily eye to her guide, then shoved aside a swaying duros. Her elbows landed on the counter with a metal thud loud enough to draw the attention of a beleaguered bartender, complete with his displeasure.

“The kark’s with you bruisers, always thinkin’ you can skip the line?”
“Water for me and a tumbler of something neat for the kid,” she stuck a thumb in coathanger’s direction. “Oh, and throw in a fried gizka or something, will ya?”
“Did you even hear—”
“Heard you alright. Don’t mean I care.”

She flicked him a credit chip and pushed off the counter, intent on conquering a table.


[member="Emryc"]