Maris Fero
Riff-raff, Street Rat.
[Efavan Low City, Vorzyd V (Gambler's World), Outer Rim.] following Bang Bang
“I remember the words of this drunk old preacher -” the youth’s breathy voice reached a wistful pause, as if the memory she recalled was some nugget of sage wisdom from a wise crone’s lips rather than the hushed whispers of some punk kid not yet old enough to place a stake at Efavan’s casinos.
The sudden glow of a burning orange bud illuminated Maris broken lips and she coughed lightly as the unfamiliar sensation of the hot tabac smoke hit the back of her already dry throat. She glanced down at the inhalent she held between unsteady digits smeared in drying rust coloured blood, exhaling a dark breath into the already deep shadows of the makeshift prison.
“- we found him lying beaten in a sub crawl two floors below the poverty line. He’d told us his name - Zazak. I never forget a name or a face.”
She shifted as she recalled the meeting with the long-dead cleric, arching her spine gingerly as the words continued, a wince colouring her words with pain as she worked to loosen bruised and swollen flesh. A soft gasp accompanied an audible pop, betraying the relief she felt as a taut muscle finally relaxed at her shoulder.
Maris spoke again, but her voice was a pale imitation of that frail priest from her past, “ ‘-Life has a way of complicating itself whenever the mistress of fate is bored.’ - That’s you, by the way, life’s little complication... ”
Her lone companion said nothing, eerily quiet for some time and disciplined enough to ignore her rambling for now.
“As he explained it, the preacher had travelled to a different casino on a different world every four years, grifting his con, building donations, then every time he’d take all that money and gamble it all away - lose it all, then go start again somewhere new” Maris sat back in the dark, pulling her legs in and wrapping her bruise marked arms about her knees, examining the blemishes which marred her pale skin and torn material of her clothing.
Though the bleeding from her nose had ceased she still struggled to detect any distinct odors yet;
Probably a blessing, she thought as she considered the ugly, shadowed venue of their discussion.
“Efavan was different. Fifty years of lies and failure and insignificance all of a sudden - Zazak struck it big...”
------
It had been over a year since the five had become three.
Kaperko and Balo were long dead. Maris Fero and the Shrikes, Akro Mallit and the Carriks, Melort and the Diaspora had survived them; Balo’s gangers had split evenly amongst the three factions, Kaperko’s Lower L crew had survived a while longer amongst the smaller factions, but eventually a campaign by the Carriks had pushed the Lower L to seek new allegiance, finding a place amongst the Shrikes under Maris control.
Stability had briefly returned, but all good things must end and the fragile peace was broken when a string of brutal attacks decimated criminal elements across the capital city. A new element had arrived from off-world, they decimated the arms trade beneath Efavan and the other casino cities knocking out key figures in the underworld. New graves and betrayals left power vacuums, disrupted the status quo and the chaos left behind echoed from crimelord’s halls to the lowest street gangers.
Almost overnight the blood had begun to flow in earnest, as the three last gangs of Efavan found the firm hand of their masters absent, and looked to their own for leadership in the dark of Becaad.
(( OOC: probably a long-term solo thread, I have plans ))