• Graded • The Long Arm (Ryder)

[Kasoria]

33rd Trial, Ymiden, Arc 709
Outer Perimeter
1st break

Silk curtains in the doorway. Art, actual paintings on the walls. A couple of chairs and and loungers just built for elegant women to luxuriate in. The scent of jasmine and lavender, covering the sharper, bitter flavors of expensive drugs. Even the ground he stood on was... actually quite tasteful carpeting. He blinked and wondered for just a moment he much it would have cost, then the thought was angrily chased away by more pressing issues.

Namely, why the fuck Kasoria was here, and why the fuck he was here at one in the fucking morning.

The little man leaned against the wall and crossed his arms, resigned to the fact that he'd be waiting a little longer for his answer. The kid that had hammered on his door - and nearly got a gladius in the gut for his efforts - had long since scampered off. Go to the house, bring the man inside, then sod off. Those had been Vorund's instructions, and Kasoria was willing to bet the wording hadn't been much different.

"Could I, um... would you like...?"

His eyes snapped to the woman wringing her hands in the doorway, leading to the kitchen of the spacious house. Her mascara was smudged. She sniffed. She was no young girl unaccustomed to life on the streets, he could tell that much by her bearing and the calluses on her hands. But her eyes were liquid and she blew her nose even as she tried to stammer out again if he-

"No."

She went back into the kitchen. Two other shadows in there, around the table, beyond the silk. Low, angry talking. Sobbing. The screech of a chair slid hard backwards and then an angry voice burst out-

"It's not just how it fucking is! Are you mad?! Do you hear yourself?! If the Blackjack are going to get away with-"

Kasoria couldn't tell who it was, but a fast, round form a little taller than him crossed the kitchen like a rolling rock and seemed to attach itself to the hysterical woman like a barnacle. There was the sound of a quick, firm slap, and a muted gasp. Then more low words, steady, warning, like a child being disciplined. The mouthy working girl nodded and slunk away, out of sight, and then the round shape was heading towards the hall.

"This is your man?"

"Aye. That's him."

Madame Loufet didn't seem to think much of Kasoria, and he couldn't blame her. He barely reached five feet and five inches, and that night only because his wild mass of hair hadn't been tamed by a brush or string. His beard was almost down to his chest and he dressed like the help accompanying her more discerning clients, from the Citadel, don't-you-know. She looked him up and down, from scuffed shoes to furrowed brow, and sniffed delicately.

"I want this handled, Bangun. This is... unacceptable."

An older, taller man walked out from behind her. His step easy but powerful, as if his tread was permitted in every room of Etzos. Bangun Vorund managed a lopsided smile in Kasoria's direction, patting the woman on the shoulder as he passed her. He gave her a squeeze and Kasoria saw a look he was growing familiar with slide over his face like a mask.

Reassurance. Strength. Solemnity. Old boy pulls it off nicely.

"It will be, Lydia. You pay for protection, and that's-"

He paused as a pudgy man with blood on the sleeves of his shirt waddled out from a room further down the hall. As the door opened, Kasoria heard a low, anguished keening, cut off a moment later when it closed. The man was white and trembling, but his eyes were steady. He'd seen worse, but it never got easier, witnessing such... depravity.

Lydia bustled up to him, hands clasped together.

"Is it... well, just tell me."

"The wounds will heal, but the scars will not," the healer said, with the heavy tones of a man who knew what he was doing. Not just imparting bad news, but robbing a young girl of her livelihood. "There are severe lacerations to her cheeks, her brow, her nose is barely attached-"

"Oh, goodness..."

Kasoria and Bangun were smart enough not to ask any stupid questions, or even speak at all. The old man caught his eye and nodded to a quiet corner. He sighed when they both reached it, shaking his head.

"Some bastard cut up one of Lydia's girls. Badly. Second time it's happened this season, on my side of town, at least. I hear tell that last season, same cunt had visited a couple of other brothels on the North Side. Left the same damage, too."

Kasoria noted the word. Damage. Not injuries. As if it was property being desecrated, not a human being. But he was long past admonishing a man like Vorund about his definitions. There was enough blood on his blades and under his fingernails that he had no place judging anyone. All he needed to know was that Vorund was clearly collecting the "rent" from Lydia's gaggle of whores in their fancy cat-house, and he wasn't about to let word get out that his protection meant fuck-all.

"They say he was a Blackjack. Him and another wanker. The other one didn't hold the knife, just kept the others out. When the cutter was done, they fucked off. Decked one of the girls on the way out." Vorund's eyes turned to granite in his head. "It don't matter. You understand?"

The little man cocked his head to one side like a dog, and hoped Vorund got the very subtle "are you seriously asking?" inference from the gesture. He'd been out of the Academy for the last fifteen years. Booted from training in disgrace, barely kept from being thrown into some oubliette deep under the Citadel and left to rot. Kasoria felt an old, persistent twinge. What had caused it. What it had cost to keep him free and disgraced, instead of condemned and forever imprisoned.

It was another life, and he was neck-deep in this one, now. One where he'd swore his sword to Bangun Vorund, and whatever else the old man needed from him. Until death, or your words release me, that had been his voice two years ago, in a deserted warehouse. The boss of the South Side had stroked his wrinkled chin, examined the short, sturdy gladius on the table in front of him... and they had an accord.

Kasoria got what he wanted, and now only himself and Vorund knew what that was. Vorund got a killer that did not question, did not ask, and thus far, had not failed.

The old gangster seemed to remember that as he stared hard into Kasoria's indifferent black eyes. That smile returned and he nodded. "Aye. Of course you do."

"Do you have a name?" The little killer finally spoke again, voice oddly soft and quiet for a man who made his living through murder. "What he looks like? Places he can be found?"

"We'll get to that," Vorund said, huffing a little as he looked around the room, and realized what he sought wasn't there. "Waiting on your partner. Kid who's been running errands for me, here and there. Think he's ready for bigger things."

Kasoria sighed. Bangun smiled. The former held up a hand and the weepy woman shuffled over. Actually, he would take that fucking drink.

[Ryder]

By every Immortal out there, today better go well.

Ryder had a new job to go and see to, one that he looked forward to. It was a step up compared to what he was used to, smaller jobs run by temporary business partners that paid only half of what the young mercenary deserved. Truth be told, the boy did a lot of dirty work for little gold, barely enough to keep himself alive or stable in some way. But that was what his life had become. Only one thing was certain in his line of work. Wherever Ryder went, death came with him - and it was yet to be his.
Eventually, the man arrived at the door of the establishment. He hadn't been told much of the place, or what their job would be, just that his attention was needed at a brothel. Truth be told, Ryder had never stepped in one before, but that wasn't a concern of his. Ryder had yet to find much interest in women, aside from one, and with his line of work he would never risk sharing those feelings with her.

Longsword at his side, the young man walked in to the brothel, immediately catching sight of the men in the room. Ryder recognized one as his boss, the only permanent partner he'd had during this endeavor. The other, Ryder could only assume, was the man he had heard stories about - the man he would be assisting. Everyone that had spoke about the man gave very little detail of who he was or what he looked like, but they had made one thing clear to the mercenary. The man got shit done.
"Sorry I'm late, got caught up" Ryder nodded to his boss, his knuckle dusters in his pocket covered in more blood than they had been when he left. It had only been him against one man, and the man was a drunkard, but Ryder never took well to disrespect, nor did he like the man to begin with. Ryder then glanced to Kasoria, making sure to give the man a friendly nod. He had never met the man, but if the two were to work together then an introduction was needed, as was some form of alliance and companionship.

"Ryder" he stated, offering his hand to Kasoria. When the woman came over with a drink for the man, her eyes met Ryder questioningly. He might be hardened to a lot of things, but seeing someone innocent in so much pain was something that the mercenary might never get used to. He gave her a friendly smile and nodded, his eyes showing sympathy to her.
Then his gaze returned to the men around him, his weapons still on his person. One thing was clear, and that was that the young mercenary was prepared. Masterwork dagger resting on his back in a sheath, with the longsword at his side and the knuckle dusters in his pocket. But his newest investment, one that was yet to be used, was his spring-loaded dagger up his sleeve. Ryder hoped he got the chance to use that.

"Thank you" he nodded as he took the drink from the distressed woman, giving her one last reassuring smile before looking back to the others. "What do you need me to do?"

[Kasoria]

Good start. Mostly.

Kasoria knew that he wasn't the man the kid had to impress, but he couldn't help draw up a little mental list of Good and Bad when he finally swept through the door and joined them. He was a kid, too. Old enough to grow stubble but not a beard. Still with some shine in his cheeks and light in his eyes... and ah, yes, he carried the sword of a warrior, a soldier.

What's yours for, then? Hacking down weeds?

"Don't let it become a habit. I need you when I tell you, not just where."

Vorund was less forgiving, which was hardly surprising. Kasoria remembered the hoops he'd had to jump through for the first arc. Before that it was contract work, by the job, and so there was a certain... flexibility. But once you were Vorund's man, pledged by ink or words or debt, he expected you to take it fucking seriously. The way the old gangster had talked about this boy, this Ryder, he was such a man, or on the way to becoming one.

The little killer watched the exchange with cold, lidded eyes. It had long been his policy to be seen and not heard, given his general role in things. He was the will and arm of Vorund, not the voice or the opinion. So he leaned against the wall with his arms folded, listening, watching, but mentally giving the lad a little more credit.

He apologizes with his first breath, then asks how he can be of service with the second. Not a perfect ratio, but encouraging.

He caught the look the young buck gave the woman with the black eye, too. Fates alone knew how stormy his face would become if he'd seen the real damage done that night. Kasoria had only seen glimpses, the aftermath, the looks on the girls and the madame and the healer after being in the same room with Estelle. A pretty girl, or so he remembered, and felt something brief and sharp and angry stir in him for a moment.

Not anymore.

Vorund laid out in quick, terse words what had happened, and who was responsible. When they were all caught up, he tossed a nod in Kasoria's direction.

"This is Kas, 'nother problem-solver like you are. Since this cunt likes to swan around with a buddy, and they're both likely Blackjacks, figures to me this is gonna be a two-man job. I've got the word out, these two show walk into any brothel on this side of town, I'll hear about it. More'n that, I'll need you two t'hear about it."

Kasoria frowned and immediately saw the difficulty. It wasn't like everyone in Etzos could communicate instantly with each other, throwing their words into a cloud and having them rain down on whom they wanted. Messengers and couriers needed to be sent scampering, and scampering to the right location, where they knew the recipient would be. He scratched at the chin hidden under his beard and pondered the problem. Not that he'd have to ponder for long, though.

"So you two are stayin' here for a while," Vorund said, glancing between them with a look that told them he wasn't asking a fucking opinion. "They've got a spare room, they're right smack in the middle a' Whore's Row-"

"I beg your pardon, Bangun?!"

"Lydia, it's what people call it, it's what they know it as-"

"Well... fine!"

There was a brief intermission as Madame Lydia flounced away with as much dignity as her wounded pride could manage. Men. Honestly. Vorund and Kasoria exchanged a look and then the former plowed on, rolling his eyes but only when they were safely averted from the lady of the house.

"... anyway, feelers will be out, and they'll know that here is where the run to when these cunts are spotted again." He seemed to lean in closer to the two of them, mundane details out of the way and the meaty stuff on his tongue. The stuff that paid well, and risked their necks. "You take 'em both somewhere quiet, and you make a fucking example of this whore-cuttin' cunt. That means you leave the other one alive-" he stressed the word and looked meaningfully at Kasoria "-to carry the message. Any questions?"

"Youse gonna straighten this with the Citadel?"

Vorund stared for a couple of long trills at Kasoria, but the little man neither elaborated any further, nor looked away. Ryder may have been a promising young man to Vorund, but he'd seen none of his skills, his brains, or most importantly, his ability to be trusted. Kasoria knew that his master had contacts in the Black Guard, and elsewhere in the center of the city, that stone fortress where all true power resided.

But he never called it more than that. It was just... understood. Something else he was fast learning about men like Vorund: things were best when they were heeded without words. Like connections that one had, or a message that one sent.

Kasoria already had an idea or two about that message. But it meant nothing if the Black Guard exploded in utter fury at the death of one of their own, and tore the South Side apart looking for the one responsible. Vorund slowly nodded.

"Tonight. They'll understand. Word's getting around that the protectors of the fucking law are cutting up whores because it's fun. They don't want that word spreading."

"They might wanna do it their way."

"You think?"

Kasoria shrugged. Fifteen years had passed, but he knew the mentality that drove the Black Guard. It wasn't just the uniform or the ranks or the authority they carried. It was the little book they were all meant to have, either on them or at home. The Tome Of Law. The guidelines for how citizens were supposed to live, and how even the enforcers of the law were subject to those sacred rules. Cadet Kasoria - as he had once been - had quickly learned from cannier heads that such rigid loyalty was just plain fucking dumb, but the kernel of truth remained for most of those grim-faced Blackjacks patrolling the city.

They were the law. They enforced it. Not the criminals. If that was the case, why not just pack it all in and let the gangs run the city?

Vorund seemed to consider this and scratched his cheek. "We'll talk. But I'm pretty sure I can talk 'em around. They don't want this cunt out on the streets anymore than we do."

Kasoria nodded, and then stayed silent. He only had that one question. Laying up in a brothel didn't bother him: he was getting paid for it (wonder what that makes me?), and didn't have any living creature at his house to worry about. Not only that, but he was more interested to see what his new partner would have to say.

[Kasoria]

"Sir, goda' message f-FUCK'S SAKE!"

"Fate's Cunt, youse never heard a' knocking, boy?"

Bloody well typical, was what it was. First time in four trials he'd had a chance to get his end away - on the house, no less - and just as things are starting to come together (to to speak), some scrawny little sod waving a letter around barges through the door. The girl was really putting forth the effort, too. Making all the right noises, tightening and loosening the right areas... all for bloody well nothing.

"More t'the point," Kasoria said as he rolled out from the tangled sheets, snatching up his breeches as he went. "Are ya fucking deaf, too? She was hardly keeping it quiet, was she?"

"Excuse me?!"

"Oh, shut it, I'm hardly lyin', am I?"

There was a "humph" and his tunic was tossed at his back, but no, there was no real rebuttal. Kasoria dressed himself and remembered the boy was there. Red-faced and staring at the floor, apparently trying to memorize the color and contours of his shoes. The bearded killer fished around for his shoes and snapped his fingers, dragging the boy's eyes grudgingly upward.

"You gonna gimme that or what?"

The boy did, and Kasoria made a little "tsst!" sound of dismissal a moment later. The messenger fled, leaving the man to finish strapping on his boots before unfolding the parchment. Mona (and ever was she aptly named) rolled her eyes and pulled a Euphoria stick from her drawer. She saved them for the post-coital glow, usually, but there was going to be no more "coital", she could tell. The little man had a fire back in his eyes that was spreading to his limbs the more he read. Whatever happened next, it wouldn't be in the bedroom.

Long as Bree gets her justice, it could happen on the fucking stage for all I care.

That thought pleased her more than a mere cock inside her could. She, they, all of them, they were whores, and would be for most of their lives. Such was the hand the Fates had dealt them, but that didn't mean they were animals. Just livestock or sacks of pretty meat, to be despoiled and abused by any shrunken fool who felt like it. Mona screwed her eyes shut and forced herself not to remember that night. So recent, so fresh, but the Euphoria clouded the memory... or it tried to.

She saw Bree's face. The way she was crying blood and into blood and gouges in her dark, pretty face. The way she was wailing without lips and Mona saw it even smudged by the herb-

"Fuck."

She opened her eyes and the sellsword had stopped pacing. He was staring at the letter so hard she thought it might burst into flames, but instead he just shoved it into his pocket and finished getting dressed. Mona frowned. She was used to reading men. Mainly in the sexuak context: paying attention to their voices, their eyes, their sounds, and their bodies. Using her observations to bring them to a swift and heady climax.

But she was also a true Etzosi. She read people, because she was always surrounded by them. And in the Outer Perimeter, you learned fast to avoid certain looks. Like the one the little man named "Kas" had stamped all over his hairy face.

"Something wrong?"

The man didn't respond for a few trills. Long enough for her to assume the pig had just ignored her. He finished his boots and breeches and tunic and slapped the belt with his sword around his waist. Then his cloak went on and just as she opened her mouth to hurl a barb at him-

"Too soon to tell," Kasoria said as he opened the door, slowing but not stopping on his way out, enough to toss a wink over his shoulder. "Best you don't ask questions, love. Answers get you killed in this city."

The door slammed and Mona was alone. She sucked deep and something more enjoyable than a man's seed filled her mouth. She exhaled and snorted softly. Well, that was true enough. Then she checked the hourglass in the corner, sand hissing through the hole in the middle... and it was almost empty at the top.

Better finish up. Next customer will be here soon.

[Kasoria]

"Fuck me, you see the look on that cunt's face? Fuckin' Hells..."

Gabriel couldn't do more than nod his head and grunt and wish for the hundredth time that day, let alone that season, for a bolt of lightning that would turn this monster to ash. They walked out into the night and he'd hoped for the cooler air to wash some of that stink off him. But when he inhaled again, lumbering next to him was that grinning, granite-jawed bastard. Who wore the same armor and cloak and helmet as him. Who was longer in years of service and had friends across the city.

Who thought he could do whatever he wanted, and so far had been proved right.

With me right next to him.

"Aww, c'mon, cheer the fuck up, woodja?" A beefy arm was tossed around his shoulder. Something else Marcus was known for. So gregarious. So ribald. With a laugh and a joke and a wry, rough, "salt of the earth" way about him. Fates, Gabriel wished he could still believe that. "What, y'worried she'll go squealin'? To who, eh? We're the fuckin' law, who's gunna believe some-"

"Look, let's just go, yeah?" He cast his eyes up and down the street, seeing the usual dribble of nocturnal folk he'd gotten used to in the arc he'd been a Blackjack. Certainly less reputable-looking, but on the whole, he'd found them law-abiding... when he was around, anyway. "Least you didn't cut her or anything, like the last one."

There was that chuckle again. Slow and thick like something rancid and rotting trying to slide down a river. Gabriel clenched his teeth and swore to himself he'd try to get a new partner again the next trial. Surely the sergeant couldn't shrug his shoulders again and say no-one else was available. How many season would that have been? Three? He didn't want to face another one, stuck with this dead-eyed lunatic of a Blackjack, careening from whorehouse to tavern to gambling den, extorting and pilfering and beating and... and...

Marcus rubbed his knuckles. Two of them were ugly with fresh bruises. Gabriel swallowed hard and forced himself not to think of his sister, her face on the head of that girl back in there. The one they'd left weeping and bloody in her room, just because Marcus had been too hard at the brandy and couldn't... find his manhood, as it were.

"Aye, well... night's young, ain't it?"

You really don't care do you, the young Blackjack thought with horror as the bigger, older man started to swagger away from the brothel. This whole city just exists to amuse you, doesn't it? And you've put in too many arcs and cleaned up too many messes for anyone to say shit about it. Fuck me... it's gonna have to be-

"Blackjack wankers!"

CRASH

Gabriel didn't believe it when it happened. He turned just as something was hurled through the air, down the street, from an alley opening. He'd got his mouth almost open in query when that shimmering thing shattered against the back of Marcus' armor. A bottle, filled with... not alcohol... but...

Marcus' mouth worked madly, dumbly for a few trills. Until he realized what the foul liquid soaking his cloak was. Then he looked up at the ragged, swaying, drunken little fucker in the alley, laughing so hard he was almost falling over, and exploded.

"You dirty fucking CUNT! GEDIM, BOY!"

Gabriel broke into a run just as the laughing madman threw himself into the alley. A moment later he followed, plunging through darkness and around piles of trash, rat corpses and puddles that splashed and tinkled as his boots struck them. The little fucker was fast, but still a drunk. He careened off walls, spun, almost tripped a time or two. And behind him, breathing hard and heavy like an old bull, was Lance-Corporal Flynt, cursing under his breath and already swearing bloody vengeance.

Then the alley just stopped. Ended in a flat, high, grey wall of cinder blocks and old brick. The drunk skidded to a halt in front of it, palms pressed against the warm stone as if he could somehow push through it. Gabriel stopped, panting, one hand on his sword. Marcus was at his side a moment later, sword already drawn.

"Hold the little cunt," he snarled, wounded pride and cheap liquor driving his addled mind to near-madness. "I'll teach him a fuckin' lesson in respect..."

Gabriel knew better than to argue. The drunk was short, and thin. Dressed in a smelly cloak, barely up to his nose. But he shook his head, and he obeyed. Because the Black Guard was no place for a man who couldn't stand by his brothers. Even a rampant fucking prick like Marc-

Then the drunk turned around, and Gabriel saw the polar opposite of Marcus' slavering malevolence in a pair of eyes that seemed buried under hood and hair and eyebrows. Then didn't blink as they regarded the boy. They didn't screw up in tears and pleas or mad ravings. They simply observed... and then Gabriel realized he couldn't smell any booze on the man. Nothing but sweat from running and the faintest whiff of-

Pussy?

The thought went through Gabriel's head, and then Kasoria stopped fucking about.

Continued here

[Alistair]

Kasoria

Knowledge
Skill
Acting: Playing The Drunken Lunatic
Discipline: Remembering Your Oath
Discipline: Careful Asking Question (Because Answers Can Kill)
Intelligence: Putting Word Out to Informers
Intelligence: Being Mindful of Blackguard Reaction, When Targeting One of Their Own
Tactics: Luring Targets to an Isolated Location

Non-Skill
NPC Lydia: Etzos Madam and "Client" of Vorund
Etzos Blackguard: Known For Cleaning Up Their Own Messes
Etzos Blackguard: Notoriously Corrupt, But Has Standards

Loot: N/A
Injuries: N/A
Renown: N/A

Points 15

Comments: This... almost certainly should have been in the adult forum, but since we're already hereeeee.
This thread was good! Gritty, certainly, but well written and as always with Kasoria, very dark and... worldly, I guess I'd say. Just... real, dark. I appreciated the read! A shame that Ryder didn't post again, but good on you for finishing it. I gave you collab points regardless.