• Closed • Full House (Graded)

[Oberan]

Dice, spinning wheels, bingo, cards… All different, and yet all so alike. None of them kind to his wallet, nor to those of the unexpecting targets he stole from.

The only thing that was regarding him with love and affection was theft, but only because he was its master. Yet, because of his bad luck at the games, he was stuck in a loop where he’d play, lose money, steal money, play again, lose again, steal again, et cetera. Oberan wasn’t getting any richer. The customers weren’t getting any richer. Only Vorund was. Ironically, the mob boss might be earning more tonight due to Oberan’s involvement than he would have if he hadn’t been there. Of course, the Mortalborn himself wasn’t so pleased with that at all.

Once more his coin supply had dwindled to the point that he wasn’t able to meet the quota for the wager, forced to leave the table, increasingly annoyed with the whole situation. His better judgement was right; he should have gone home the moment he caught wind of his almost supernatural bad luck tonight. In fact, he should go home right now. This was as good a moment as any. There was hardly any money in his purse –stolen or otherwise—and all effort spent on picking pockets was wasted when he practically handed Vorund’s dealers his ill-gotten wealth unprompted.

However, in there hid the problem. To leave without earnings? When he still had all night left over? Quit now, when he very nearly won his latest game?

Every moment he remained did the chance of getting caught grow. Danger swelled. Thrill surged. And Oberan thrived. He couldn’t leave. Not now.

A familiar face came his way through the parting crowd. Hairy killer with a refill, like his personal waiter. Beverage gleaming with temptation, kept cold with a cube of ice. His previous whiskeys hadn’t come with ice; this was a surprise to be sure, but a welcome one.

“Your timing is impeccable,” Oberan beamed, reaching out. He was indeed in need of a drink, if only to drown his frustrations. “I was getting rather thi--”

Something other than the amber drink was gleaming in the lighting of the establishment. Near the killer’s side—

Fuck!

His arms reacted, one beginning the motions to defend his face, the other changing it’s target from the drink to the wrist in hopes to intercept.

Pain blossomed. Something inside of his torso spasmed. Before he knew it, he was on the floor, unable to breathe. Vision was going all wonky, the audio input was going from soft to loud and soft again.

Kasoria was speaking, feigning concern.

Little cunt must be laughing on the inside.
Before long, he was dragged up and away, forced back into a chair in some backroom while his ability to breathe returned with gasps and coughs. Oberan pulled momentarily as his wrists were clamped against the arms of the chair by large paws. No give, as to be expected, and then there was a blade near his face. With three consecutive uses of the God Key he’d be able to get himself free in a second, and that dangerous knife would be on the floor, but there was little doubt that Kasoria had more on his person. Not to mention, before the mortalborn would be able to throw himself out of the chair, he’d be punched in the face, the guy, or the diaphragm.

Now if he redistributed some thrill of the trio, and the most dangerous man in the room in particular, to himself before he used the Key—

Of course he knew about that. Perhaps he hadn’t experienced the siphoning before, but the ability wasn’t exactly subtle. Didn’t meant the goons had any idea, though.

“Is that my safe word?” Oberan laughed nervously, trying to keep his eyes on the man with the knife, rather than darting frantically across the room. “Sorry, but I don’t really swing that way, and I like to save these kinds of things for the third daaaate--”

Did he imagine it, or was the steel pressing harder into his flesh? Oberan’s mouth slammed shut with the sound of teeth hitting teeth.

“First of all,” the Mortalborn began another try, desperately attempting to buy himself as much time as possible to come up with something as he blabbered. Not too difficult when nervous, if he had to be honest. Probably had something to do with the improv he’d done every now and then way back when, stage fright made him forget his lines and the resulting stress loosened his tongue.

Stage fright wasn’t an issue anymore, but stress? Just the sight of that old, rusty hacksaw made him sweat bullets and imagine horrible applications. Probably was blunt too. He shivered.

“First of all, why would I remove your limiters when I’m the one in the fucking chair?” It didn’t have the punch he’d thought it would. Probably was because of the tremble in his voice and the sweat on his brow.

“S-second of all—Yes I’m getting to it right now get that away from my eye immediately please I need it to see!”

He panted. Heavily. Unable to keep his eyes away from that sharp metal blade way too close to some vital part of his senses for comfort.

“As I w-was saying,” the Mortalborn continued, trying to convince himself that he could do this. “I am not cheating Mister Vorund--” Yes, that’s right. Mister Vorund. “—out of money. I’m identifying actual cheaters, and pre-emptively removing their chance to be able to use their underhanded tricks to fatten their purse. Everything I take goes right back into Mister Vorund’s pockets via… via strategic betting on unfavorable odds.”

Oberan, you are a veritable genius! Who’d have thunk losing repeatedly would be your saving grace? Story can’t be checked either, as everyone will furiously deny any accusations of cheating. Always. Especially when faced with Vorund’s boys. Everyone knows that. And under torture? They might just confess just to stop the pain. Genius I tell you! Genius!

[Kasoria]

That's right, keep 'em laughing. Right until they cut your head off and throw it down a sewage hole.

Which was definitely on the cards, as far as this particular gambler was concerned. The slabs of meat with arms attached didn't seem capable of anything beyond "break that" or "hold that down", but when you were the size of a gorilla and covered in scars that attested to your hardiness, supreme intelligence was a secondary concern. They'd do whatever was asked of them and then wash their hands and go for a snack, never losing a wink of sleep. Simply because that's what one did in their world. No-one had ever told them different.

The man in front of him was different. He had a brain. He had the ability to think introspectively, abstractly, constructively, creatively. But rather than apply these gifts and be horrified at the mockery of civilized man that he'd become, Kasoria seemed to have no issue with what he did, or could do, or would definitely do, if it came to it. No, he was a man at peace, as far as Oberan could see. Reluctant to a degree, but once a line was crossed and a chance wasted, well...

Cause and Effect. Act and Reaction. Fuck around with scary people, scary things happen to you.

The trapped cheat's attempts at humor started to grate, and Kasoria pushed the top of the karambit a fraction of an inch closer to his eyeball. Almost pinching the tear duct closed. Oberan's amused patter accelerated into a spewing splurge of pleading and Kasoria's frown deepened. This was not going well. He wasn't making any argument, any sense, giving him any reasons to let him go.

His fingers flexed around the blade. He didn't like doing this. But there were plenty of things he didn't like and still did.

Not on me, mate. Should have stayed away and picked some other-

Then Oberan spoke again, and sheer awe at the man's audacity seemed to stay Kasoria's hand. He shouldn't have been that surprised - a man who picked pockets at a place he knew was protected by Bangun Vorund was clearly a man who danced with death on a daily basis - but this... this was such a yarn that it was almost a work of art. The karambit stayed close to the man's face as he spoke, but it seemed almost unnecessary now.

Absolute horseshit, Kasoria decided as Gorch and Larry exchanged confused glances. Because if that were the case, Vorund would know about it. And if he knew about it, I would.

"... wot's 'strategic' mean?"

"S'the long-term plannin' an' implementation uv' tactical operations at a high-level, as opposed to 'tactics', which is da..."

There was a silence broken only by the wooden squeaking of a man squirming in chair as best he could with a knife to his face. Apparently, even Oberan wanted to stare with one eye as Gorch launched into his explanation. The shaven-headed hulk went red as a beet and rolled his shoulders defensively.

"... m'allowed t'know fings, in'I?"

"You really have changed since you learned t'read, Gorch."

"Oi, can we focus on the present business, eh?"

"Right, yeah."

"Sorry, Kas."

Now that he had the floor again - though damned if he wasn't going to waylaid Gorch in some quiet corner later and find out where he'd learned all those words - Kasoria turned his eyes back to Oberan. He pondered. He wondered. He weighed. There were three options open to him, and only one of them involved not shedding any blood in this room. The man was clearly a consummate actor and gifted liar, but that didn't mean much when it was him who had to take the chance.

Because word will get back. It always does. Then you'll have questions to answer and you know the Old Man won't get sentimental over you.

Kasoria snorted softly, and shook his head. Damn him for still being enough of an idiot to had standards.

"Y'know..." He said slowly, tapping the karambit against Oberan's hairy cheek. "... youse played it way too close, this time."

Before Oberan could even speak, Kasoria stepped back, sheathed his weapon and nodded to the two gorillas. "Let him up." They stared dumbly at him for a moment, like he'd just told them to saw themselves up and make use of the sewer for orderly disposal, if you please. Kasoria blinked and widened his eyes for a moment. "I said, let him up."

Scholars they were not (well, we're not too sure now, are we, Gorch?), but they knew better than to ask the Raggedy Man three times. They straightened up and took their paws off Oberan's wrists. Kasoria crossed his arms and sighed, slipping into a role himself. Not one he expected to perform here, in this audience, with this script, but he took to the stage nonetheless.

"I told you when I hired you," he said to Oberan, voice scolding and familiar, all of it for the benefit of the two slack-jawed guards watching it all unfold. "Youse can't go picking every pocket you come across. Grabs too much attention. The cunts we worry about, they don't do that, so it's hardly a proper fuckin' test, is it?"

"Er... Kas? You know him?"

"Yeah, I know him," he ran a hand through his hair, sighed in a way that spoke of a long-suffering relationship. "Lads, Oberan; Oberan, the lads. I paid him t'come tonight. Pick pockets, check out the tables, the dealers, see if you'd catch him with his hand in someone's purse. And you boys-" he leveled an accusing finger and two men with a combined weight of your average bull seemed to quail "-didn't stop him. I had to step in, make a song an' dance, scare off anyone in there who could be cheatin'."

Kasoria sighed again, warming to the role, gesturing at Oberan like he was a sack of garbage he'd been saddled with.

"Now he had t'leave through the sewers!"

"Wait, why duz-"

"Cuz he can't leave through the door, can he? People know what happens back here, Larry! If they see youse an' me take him in, they just let him out a half-break later, what'll that say fer Mister Vorund's rep an' rules? That he lets cheats go?"

"And I sure as shite don't do that."

Bollocks.

Kasoria's head snapped around and he found his master in the doorway, Ilos and Magnus flanking him like carrion crows. He'd been so wrapped up in his performance that he didn't notice the door open behind him. Now the nastiest cunt on the South Side of Etzos was coolly regarding the whole room, somewhere between annoyed and curious. The three men stepped inside and closed the door, shutting off the noise and revelry. Without even being told, Larry and Gorch simultaneously grabbed one of Oberan's shoulders and yanked him to his feet.

"Show some respect, fer fuck's sake..."

"Aye, that'd be nice." The old man approached the clutch of gambler and killer and guards, walking like he always did: slow, purposeful, and in control. Because he owned this place. He owned them. Not just what they did or who they were, but their futures. Their fates. And he was not pleased with his property. "An' speaking of 'respect', Kasoria has some explaining to do, doesn't he?"

Don't react. Don't flinch. Control yourself.

He didn't mumble or stammer. Stutter over the first word and give away the game too early. He'd seen too many bad liars make that mistake over the years; launch into their paper-thin explanations without taking the time to compose themselves. Without that, the finest fiction was am obvious counterfeit. So he did not fall into that trap. He paused. Licked his lips on the inside of his mouth. Then he started.

"Mister Vorund, I-"

"Ah-ah-ah!" Vorund's wagging finger shut him up as quickly as his voice did. "I'd like t'hear it from him, actually."

He stepped past Kasoria and stood before Oberan. He was about the same height as the far younger man, though age had bent his back a little so he looked smaller. He peered upwards with a crooked smile, like some kindly grandfather who'd caught a young relative in the middle of mischief. He reached up and patted Oberan's shoulder, the soul of reason and kindness-

-and Kasoria wondered if that forearm was the one with the spring-dagger attached to it. What he didn't doubt, was if the old man was still good with it.

He always has been.

"So... time t'explain yerself, lad." Larry and Gorch loomed closer behind Oberan's shoulders. Hands closing into fists the size of saucepans. They remembered Kasoria's words. Mage, this one. Has magic. Uses it. So, if Kasoria feels it, krump the little cunt. "Chop-chop, now. Ain't got all night..."

[Oberan]

There was silence for a good couple moments after he’d finished his somewhat hurried explanation of the situation, where he did his best not to look like he’d just pulled some bullshit story out of his ass. Which he, of course, had. Something about the facial expression Kasoria wore told Oberan that the little killer wasn’t entirely convinced, giving him all the more reason to try and look confident.

One of the thugs broke the quiet to ask questions, and as Oberan opened his mouth to respond, someone else explained everything in a better way than the Mortalborn would have managed. Just like everyone else in the room he craned his neck to stare incredulously at the apparently literate thug, though he did so slowly in case Kasoria would take it as an excuse to slice his throat.

Maybe he should have used ‘tactical’ instead of ‘strategic’ in his untruthful explanation, since he’d really not been planning this beforehand. Not in his story, and not for real either. What do you know, people could learn things at any time, at the strangest of places. He did wonder what kind of books the brute –Gulch, Cronsh?—preferred to read. Fiction, non-fiction? Informative texts about animals and cultures? He’d definitely devoured a dictionary, if the expert explanation was any indication.

Alas, the intermezzo didn’t last, and soon enough the three henchmen were back into interrogation mode, Kasoria fixing Oberan with a rather intense stare. He didn’t speak for a few moments, but when he finally did, the thief was fairly sure he’d either have to escape now if he wanted to continue on living, or die trying.

He opened his mouth, desperately trying to think of something, anything that he could use to divert the killer’s attention for long enough –he didn’t need that much time, really—so he’d be able to get back on his feet and out in the gaming hall. Maybe if he spit in Kasoria’s face—but wouldn’t all that hair intercept the phlegm before it could reach his eyes?

“Let him up.”

Wait, do what now?

Not even the thugs were certain they’d heard that right. Yet, the words were repeated, and the grip on his forearms was lifted. Oberan blinked in confusion a couple times, then rubbed his wrists to get the blood flowing once again while Kasoria began his spiel.

And what a spiel it was! Oberan wasn’t sure whether it was because of the thugs weren’t the brightest, or because Kasoria managed to make it utterly believable, but somehow the deception was working.

“I’m… sorry?” he said, managing to sound both confused and slightly apologetic. His mind raced to keep up with everything that was happening. The task to plot an escape plan was abandoned, the words spoken by the hairy assassin were dissected and interpreted, and a prediction of what the end goal could be was created. “No-one was interfering so I figured I was being a little too subtle at first, and I kind of tried to be a little more obvious about it.”

The Mortalborn gave the ‘Lads’ a little wave and a nod, relaxing a little more in the chair now the tension was falling away. Tonight had been a good night. Perhaps not for gambling, but in terms of thrills? He’d gotten plenty. His heart still raced thinking back on it.

Now it was clear what Kas wanted too. Oberan had to leave, and now he was forced to do so. The killer had likely figured that the Mortalborn wouldn’t heed any warnings and advice, hence why he’d been forcibly dragged to the backroom. Good insight too, as it was quite on point.

However, he really shouldn’t have sold the boar’s skin before he’d shot it. Or in this case gotten out of the backroom.

As Kasoria explained why exactly the sewers were the only available option when it came to exits, the door opened, and in strode three new attendees of Kasoria’s Killer Comedy Show. Oberan tried to grab the little killer’s attention with his eyes, but it was already too late. The middle of the three new arrivals spoke up, and Oberan felt as if a nest of hornets had been stuffed inside his abdomen.

Bagun fucking Vorund of all people. And that guy who’d been at the door. And--

He squinted slightly, unable to really place this one’s face.

They closed the door behind them, and Oberan was certain that even Kasoria felt like he might be in trouble. Without warning, the Lads pulled the Mortalborn to his feet, as no-one remained standing in the presence of the host. As was only polite.

Still, Kasoria would think of something to say, something that wouldn’t get Oberan killed instantly, and because he was more familiar with the mob boss, the killer would be able to come up with something good. Surely.

Naïve.

That would have been too easy.

Oberan felt his buttocks clench when the old boss of the South Side ignored his bloodhound and focused on him instead, one hand on his shoulder. Despite the friendly look of the gesture, the grip was firm and slightly uncomfortable. Not quite violent, but not gentle either. The same could be said of that shark-like smile on the man’s grandfatherly face. Something about it all was very unnerving.

Probably the fact that there were two cavemen, one old-guy-in-profession-where-you-don’t-live-long, and the fucking Raggedy Man in the same room as him, all of their attention on him and him alone. It’d been clear before that Kasoria would rather get Oberan out of here than kill him, but with his boss in the room, he feared that there wouldn’t be much hesitation if the kill order was given. The Neanderthal at Oberan’s sides also weren’t those to disobey orders, he figured.

The clerk and the guy who looked like a pimp, though, well, they didn’t matter.

Fodder for Thrill if he needed it. However, if he knocked out one of them, he’d have to struggle against Vorund, most likely aided by violence. Which wouldn’t end well for Oberan. What if he knocked out the mob boss though? He would not be hurting the man at all, and with the Mortalborn’s thrill at max, escaping shouldn’t be difficult. After all, he’d be faster, stronger, and feel very little pain, if at all.

But he’d still have a ragged killer on his tail.

Take out Kas, then escape? Preferably without hurting Vorund, thus not giving any cause for further—

Foolish. No, no. If he escaped through the hall –which was his only option now—he’d effectively trash Vorund’s reputation. Which was arguably worse than clobbering the old man.

But it was a good enough back-up plan.

No choice but to play along for now, then. Once again, his eyes flitted over to Kasoria, locking gazes with the assassin in a vain hope to communicate either via blinking, or telepathically. None of that worked.

How much had Vorund heard? Enough to catch the last part, at the very least. Those gorillas behind the Mortalborn would probably comment on the fact that he was saying something that wasn’t the same as what Kas had told them just moments ago, so making up something else was out of the question.

He took a deep breath when Vorund nudged him again to start talking. “A couple trials ago, I was approached by Mister Kasoria to make an arrangement for tonight. Basically, I was to get in here with someone else’s invitation, and behave suspiciously. You know, busy event, loads of fat purses. Excellent hunting grounds for a pickpocket, right? So I agreed to sneak in, and pick pockets –or at least pretend to in a convincing manner that would get the security stationed around the room to respond.” Oberan paused momentarily to breathe.

“Ideally, I wouldn’t have gotten inside in the first place, you know, since I’m not exactly the lookalike of the guy whose name is on the invitation. Second best scenario would then be that the guys inside the room noticed the ‘pickpocket’ snooping around, and would respond accordingly. Remove me from the gambling hall inconspicuously, get me in here, do a bit of…ehm… interrogation. Then Mister Kasoria would step in before I’d… ehm… get treated like a real thief would." His eyes involuntarily glanced at the hacksaw leaning against the wall. "Lastly, I’d leave through the sewers.”

Another pause, this time because he’d reached the end of his little lie. Well, their little lie.

“It was supposed to be something of a test of the security of these kinds of operations. See what the weak spots are, what needs to be improved, what issues need fixing… that kind of thing. Sir.”

[Kasoria]

Kasoria was halfway to Westguard with blood still on his blades and hands, and it was all because of that bearded fuck the Fates named Oberan. Everyone in that room was dead, cleaved open without mercy, regardless of their intent or disposition towards him. His master, the Lads, Magnus, Ilos (okay, he wouldn't mind that one so much). All dead, all gone, and he was fleing through the sewers, racing against the alarm that would be raised and the retaliation sure to be coming.

Home. Grab your coin and what you need, not want. Then buy or steal a horse, get riding to Westguard without delay. Ride through the night if you have to, get to the boy, get him out of the territory. Hiladrith. Sirothelle. Even further. Doesn't matter.

And all of this, because of that useless fucking cockend standing before him now, spewing his shite at a man who'd heard cleverer from wiser and still cut their throats open.

More accurately, ordered Kasoria to do it. And he had. And would. But this time, he'd have to kill everyone else, if Vorund thought he was lying. Which he would, he just knew it, no-one would believe such a blatant crock of-

"The fuck didn't you tell me about this, Kas?"

There was a vacuum of wordless air that could have snuffed out a black hole. Kasoria looked at his master and blinked quickly a few times. Then his mind started working again and reminded him that the longer he just stood there, the worse he looked, and so-

"Didn't know who t'trust, sir," he said, starting off with the obvious. Fuck, when did one ever know whom to trust in Etzos? "If I told you, might have told Ilos, or Magnus, an'-"

"An' what the fuck is that supposed t'mean?!" Ilos puffed up like a spiny fish, which was comical from a man with the chest of a parrot. "Calling me a fucking cheat, a thief-"

Magus was smart enough not to explode indignity all over the fucking room, and so was silent when Kasoria snarled his rejoinder.

"I didn't know, did I? Weren't youse listening? If I knew who not to trust, I wouldn't have hired an outsider, would I?" He gestured to the slightly breathless man being all but lifted off the ground by The Lads. "I knew he was a gambler, an' good wiv' his hands, an' that's all I needed t'know. I paid him in advance, made sure it was enough so he wouldn't be workin' fer anyone else." Ilos opened his mouth again and Kasoria plowed on. "An' because he is an outsider, he'd not know any other wanker in the city to work wiv' 'em."

Vorund turned his gaze back to the gambler sandwiched between Larry and Gorch. He studied him like a man would a beetle pinned to a board. Looked long and hard enough that the silence started to stifle everyone. Eyes flickered around, rank with mistrust. Kasoria just folded his arms and leaned against the wall, a very picture of assurance.

Fucking glad they can't hear my heart rabbitin' right now.

"Where's he from?"

"Rynmere," Kasoria replied promptly, able to recognize the accent well enough. "Over the sea."

"I know where Rynmere is, Kas."

"Sorry, sir."

Vorund was quiet again. Weighing things up. Seeing how they looked, how they felt. The man was a master at sniffing out bullshit, but hadn't they constructed a good enough forgery? None of what they'd come up with could be deeply disputed. Their stories matched, and his little show with The Lads earlier backed it up, so-

"Where'd you meet him?"

Kasoria didn't say "what?". He knew better than that. You said that, you were buying time. Trying to snatch extra trills to buy a lie. So he didn't say that, but he did... pause. Only for a handful of trills, probably less. Racking his mind for somewhere they'd know, somewhere that would make sense-

"Orboros' card game, above his dad's grocery store. Yeah, saw him there a few trials ago. Didn't recognize him, so-"

"What were you doing there?"

The lies came easier now, once the foundation was lain. He shrugged. "Lookin' for someone I could use, like I said. Thought it'd be a local boy, then I saw him. No-one knew him, so he seemed perfect. Talked to him after he left, an' once I convinced the cunt I wasn't lookin' t'rob him, made him an offer."

"Orboros'll confirm that for us?"

If Kasoria had one wish in the world, it would have been to end Ilos right fucking there. From the cock up. His gaze slid past his old master and to the young underboss, shaking his head with a grimace.

"Nah, don't think so. I didn't play any games, I wuz jus' watching, an' didn't start talkin' t'Oberan here until after he left. Doubt he'd remember me."

"We could ask if-"

"Don't think that'll be necessary, Ilos," Vorund said with a vaguely imperious wave of his hand. Clearly the man was used to being obeyed, for Ilos' teeth snapped shut without complaint... save for a quick, venomous look at Kasoria. 'A'right, lads, hands off the ringer, eh?"

Gorch and Larry did as they were told, and Vorund sighed as he fussed over Oberan's clothes. Straightening and brushing. Eyes and fingers roving over his chest, as if daring him to bat them away. Knowing as well as Oberan did what would happen to those fingers and hands if he was that stupid. Eventually the old man took a step back and snorted, shaking his head.

"Ol' Kas, taking the initiative," he said, as if speaking to himself. "Figured it'd happen one day. But for this... very peculiar."

He looked at Kasoria. Then Oberan. A gaze that came with a smile, crowned by steel in old, grey eyes. His words seemed teetering on a tightrope, ready to fall one way or another. Belief and praise, or denouncement and damnation. Kasoria held his nerve, and mayhap a touch better than Oberan. Because he knew the game being played, now. No matter what he believed, Oberan wanted to make you think he knew better, anyway. That if you did have some secret sin his ionquisitin had not discovered, he knew it anyway.

Only thing better than knowing everything, Kasoria reminded himself, repeating old words from the South Side under-lord he'd heard years ago, is convincing everyone that you do.

"Magnus?"

"Yes, Mister Vorund?"

"This off-the-boat whelp made you and your boys look like morons. That means they made me look like a moron." There were no denials or defenses. Magnus just closed his mouth and swallowed, as if bracing himself for a blade. "Don't let it happen again. Same goes for you two."

"Yes, Mister Vorund."

"Yes, sir."

Mild words, but everyone knew their meaning, maybe even Oberan. When a man like Vorund said you shouldn't let something happen again, he wasn't offering advice. They all knew what happened to men who squandered their second chance. Kasoria more than any of them, since he was the one-

TING

-holding the rusty hacksaw that Vorund just flicked with a finger, chuckling at the odd, bass sound the metal made. He waved another hand, Ilos and Magnus filing in behind him. He spoke as he walked, Magnus scuttling a few paces ahead to open the door.

"I'll be wanting your report tomorrow, Kas," he said, just before he left. "Make sure he goes out the sewer, like you planned. Wouldn't do, everyone seeing a thief walk out, instead of being carried out in bags."

"Aye, will do."

The door closed and Kasoria was left alone with The Lads, and The Cockend. He resisted the urge to sag with sheer relief, thanking gods he didn't believe in and Fates he knew didn't really care about the affairs of men. Larry and Gorch looked much the same, wiping their brows and Gorch gave Oberan a good-humored shove that nearly send him sprawling into a wall.

"Coulda' told us earlier, wanker! Wouldn't have had to have Mister Kasoria get his knife out!"

"Aye," Gorch said with a roll of his eyes. "Fuckin' obstreperous, so it was."

"... what does-"

"Oh no, we're not fuckin' doin' that again," Kasoria said, in a tone that brooked no argument. He launched himself up from the wall and stomped a few times on the sewer grate. "Open this up an' get this bloke gone."

[Oberan]

Both Oberan and Vorund were old foxes, albeit very different breeds. Or perhaps they were the same breed, only Oberan was very much a whelp, just like his appearance would make one assume. Technically he was older than the mob boss, sure, but relatively speaking? When comparing the lifespan of an Immortal and a human? Then Vorund very much was the old fox, weighted down by age, forced to hone gifts other than the physical.

Keen wit. Scrutinizing gaze. A nose that can smell bullshit from half across the world.

Oberan’s story was the same as Kasoria’s. The Lads had heard it from both of them now. Considering the actions both he and Kas had taken inside the gambling hall, the lie wasn’t inconceivable. Everything lined up.

Yet, the Mortalborn was well aware that Vorund had probably heard outlandish excuses from many a individual who’d crossed him. He’d have heard believable ones. Maybe even the truth. Ultimately though, did that matter? Actions resulted in consequences. Examples had to be made. Image had to be upheld.

There was no telling what he would do, even if he believed what he’d heard was true.

When those words left the old fox’s mouth then, relief washed over the Mortalborn, though he did his best not to let it show. Relief would ruin it all. Oberan kept himself in check. Not too difficult. After all, he wasn’t out of here yet, was he?

It was Kasoria’s turn to be the target of the boss’s piercing gaze, though he managed to remain composed than Oberan had. Unsurprising, considering he was the one working for him. Besides, the man was a stone cold killer. Surely it took more than an intimidating glare to make the hairy assassin whimper.

More relief inducing words.

Offset by a new danger, a new test.

Tonight really didn’t stop providing thrill, did it? Making his body quiver and tremble, filling his gut with the torturously tinglish sensation of a million butterflies. Racing heart, shallow breaths. And still trying to keep his composure as the Lads unhanded him, and the big boss himself fixed his ruffled clothing. Close enough to hear his breath, able to feel his heartbeat through his clothes.

It seemed to last for eternity, and when it was finally over, when the man stepped back and made a very ambiguous comment. Well, all notion of certainty was cast out of the window. Replaced with something new. Then some threats, or a warning, if one wanted to be euphemistic, before the boss and his henchmen finally left.

Unlike Kasoria and the Lads, Oberan visibly sagged, though he was back to his grinning self, rubbing his forehead with his sleeve. One of them shoved him with enough force to topple a horse, and the thief stumbled to the side, stopping himself from falling over.

“Believe me, I didn’t want the knife to come out either, but we wanted to make it as believable as possible. Though you did go a little overboard, I think,” Oberan directed the last bit at Kasoria, fingers feeling the spot on his neck where the blade had been pressed into his flesh. “Also, Mr. Vorund is pretty intense, isn’t he? Nearly pissed my pants there!” He laughed briefly, nervously. “For real though, I thought he knew about this. Scared the shit out of me.”

Well, thinking back to the old man’s sharp eyes, there was no way he hadn’t.

“Right then,” he stated, mentally preparing himself for the sewers. The dark wasn’t a problem, but the smell was somewhat… unpleasant. “Lads, try not to interrupt the interrogation next time. Breaks the flow. Otherwise, good work.”

The Mortalborn turned to Kasoria then, nodding slightly at the assassin. A little show of gratitude perhaps? Not that they were even now. You couldn’t put someone in mortal danger, then bail them out and claim the debt owned was paid. Well, the thief hadn’t felt like the killer owed him anything in the first place, so it didn’t matter that much. “Hit me up next time you have a job for me. Make sure--” He scratched his chin. “—Mr. Vorund knows--” The hand lowered again, stuffed back into a pocket of the borrowed trousers. “—about it though.”

Everything said that needed saying, perhaps some that didn’t too, Oberan finally descended into the hole the Lads had opened, nimbly grabbing onto the ladder. He was halfway down before he called back up.

“Oh, and Gorch? Keep on reading. As they say: ‘the mind is a muscle too; weak and useless without training’! You’ve got a nice big muscle up there, would be a waste not to use it.”

No more was said after that, and all noise that reached those in the backroom above was the vibrating of the steel rungs of the ladder, and then it stopped.

Oberan had left the building.

[Kasoria]

All right, all right, don't fucking overdo it...

Much as Kasoria was nearly bow-legged and boneless from relief, he still had enough presence of mind to critique Oberan's last performance. Cocky shit was practically going around and collecting applause. Another encore perhaps? Another chance to get them both gutted, quartered, and gnawed at by rats in a dozen different parts of the city? The killer kept his peace as Oberan chattered away, though. He'd done enough talking for one night.

But then the Man Of Nine Lives was halfway down the hole, and looking Kasoria's way. Now was his opportunity. He nodded and stretched as if tired, trying to make what followed as innocuous and already-planned as he could.

"Yeah, yeah, jus' be at Jessup's onna' first a' Vhalar, yuh'll get the rest a' yer money."

A lightning wink. So fast it might have been a twitch. But he waited until the foreigner was looking dead at him before delivering it, along with a subtle widening of his eyes that seemed to scream "not a suggestion, pay afuckingttention". He hoped the gambler got the message, and he wouldn't be spending all night nursing lonely beers in the shady tavern at the edge of town. Did Oberan even know about the place?

Fuck him, he can find out, Kasoria snarled within his own mind, tossing the fellow a mock salute as he started down into the stinking darkness. Just like he found out about this place.

But, of course, the smug wanker had to toss one more scrap of sage wisdom up before he left. He half-shouted the quotation and three curious heads appeared in the ring of light above him. One hairy and shaggy, the others larger, more... boulder-like. One of the boulder's split into a grin, and replied, "Aye! Jus' like Ser Erasmus of Rharne said in "Meditations On Usefulness and Worth!", dat was!"

The other two heads turned to him for a long moment. There was no sound save the chattering of rats below Oberan, who seemed as confused as then. Finally, after an age or two, Kasoria shook his overgrown locks and sighed.

"Gorch, I don't even have the fuckin' words."

"He's always like dis afta' 'is book club."

Kasoria's head snapped around to Larry so hard Oberan almost heard his neck snap. "He has a... y'know what, bugger it."

Another sigh, a small, hard hand rubbing a rough beard. The expert murderer who was about half the size of both The Lads seemed to age another few years. If Oberan didn't know better, he'd almost say it was the familiar exasperation of a parent. Which was just fanciful, of course. A hard-bitten, ruthless, savage little gremlin like that, having children? Reading bedtime stories and playing catch and all that bollocks? Surely not.

... right?

"Never mind." The light started to die as the grating was pulled back over the hole, and the last thing Oberan heard was, "A'right, get back out there. Night ain't over yet..."

Then metal slammed onto stone and brick, plunging the space below into darkness. After a few trills, though, Oberan would be able to make out the ragged torches shoved down there and tended to by... he wasn't sure, exactly. But he wasn't about to look a gift-light in the flame, as if were. His clean shoes touched down and soon were not, then he was walking, and it seemed the rats were following him out and away.

[Mads]

Oberan Brackling, Djas

Knowledge.........

Acting: Displaying confidence
Acting: Taking the role of a ‘security specialist’
Acting: Improvising your lines
Acting: A convincing heart attack ‘act’
Deception: Using a fake name to get into a building
Deception: Chique clothes make you look more refined
Pickpocket: Picking every pocket catches attention
Pickpocket: Steal the contents, not the whole purse
Pickpocket: Easier when you’re somewhere they’re not expecting it
Pickpocket: slower when you steal what’s inside the purse
Pickpocket: Replacing lost coins with stolen ones
Pickpocket: choosing your hunting ground
Pickpocket: Requires a lot of coordination

Kasoria: the raggedy man
Kasoria: Bagun Vorund’s loyal dog
Kasoria: real fast
Bagun Vorund: old fox
Bagun Vorund: intense
Location: The Floating Fancy, Vorund's Roaming Casino

Loot....................

None

Consequence......

None

Renown..............

+5 for causing a bit of scene at a popular floating gambling den

Experience...........

15

Kasoria of Etzos,

The Dressed-uppity Man

Knowledge.........

Acting: Feigning Concern for a Man You Just Assaulted
Deception: Looking a Man in the Eyes When You Lie to Him
Deception: Making Up a Lie on The Fly
Deception: Don't Pause or Hesitate Before Lying
Detection: Tell-Tale Signs of a Pickpocket's Hands at Work
Detection: Noticing When Details Don't Add Up
Intelligence: The Old "This Is Important" Wink
Intimidation: Running a Blade Over a Victim's Face
Philosophy: No-one's A Traitor, Until They Are
Philosophy: Always Honor a Life Debt
Tactics: Masking a Coming Attack Behind a Proffered Drink
Unarmed Combat (Ki'Enaq): Rear Arm Lock
Unarmed Combat (Ki'Enaq): Brass Knuckles Make a Painful Punch a Crippling Blow

NPC Magnus: Oversees the Books and Guestlist of The Floating Fancy
NPCs Shaun and Efram: Feuding South Side Racketeers, Now at Peace At Vorund's Order
NPCs "The Lads": Gorch and Larry, Bibliophile and Stoic Respectively, Vorund Muscle Comprehensively
NPC Vorund: Mediates Disputes on the South Side
NPC Vorund: Unofficially Endorsed By "The Powers That Be"
NOC Vorund: Murders and Dismembers Cheats at his Games (No Exceptions)
PC Oberan: Smooth Mage, Gambler, Cheat, Actor... and General Wanker
PC Oberan: Gifted Liar and Surprisingly Brave
Location: The Floating Fancy, Vorund's Roaming Casino

Loot....................

None

Consequence......

None

Renown..............

+5 for being a present intimidating force

Experience...........

15

"Fuck around with scary people, scary things happen to you."

Ahaha. Lot's of good stuff in this one; I'm always interested to see how people approach squishing their PCs together, and though the start was pretty slow, it had a nice organic feeling by the time your two solos blended into the actual collab. Oberan was, of course, his usual childish charicature of himself, which is always a journey, but it was really interesting to see Kas in a situation where he was - somewhat - conflicted between what he knows he's supposed to do and what he feels more like what he wants to do. There were a lot of really good lines from both of you (the one above is my most favorite), but I won't lie, I cringed so hard on the Gorch bit haha. The humor itself was fine, and it had the intended effect of making a really tense seen much more light hearted, but it felt kind of like a cheat, since I really wanted that tension. I'm low-key bummed Oberan wasn't gutted, but I'm also okay with him living to be killed another day. Get him, Kas. Teehee!

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