Star Wars Roleplay: Chaos

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Indigo Smoke - [Levantine Sanctum~Adventure Dominion of Sucellus]

Nisha Decrilla

Guest
N
[Aja City / Falxion Avenue / Alleys The Tight Lane Dance & Bar]

Parla ducked into a side alley and slammed Quim against the wall, eyes blazing with fury. Quim had his hands up where she could see them, he knew the drill all to well.

"Come on now Parla, no need for this." he said softly, keeping his voice low.

"Half the people that have died lead right back to you, Quim. Half!" A wicked grin formed on the man's lips and a soft chuckle escaped him. Parla's eyes narrowed.

"Your beautiful when your angry, you know tha-" his sentence ended in a grunt when her knee came sharply up to connect with his groin. "You shoulda seen it Parla," he managed his voice strained "Their deaths were beautiful." Parla stared at him dumbfounded by his confession, to think she had actually liked this man at one point made her sick. Hurried bootsteps reached her ears, eyes widened in surprise. No one ever followed her. No one.

There was a flash of silver as a thin blade slipped from the shadow of her sleeve and came up sharply, sliding into flesh and between ribs to pierce Quim's heart. She clapped a hand over his mouth to prevent the shout that began in his throat and waited until the light left his eyes before removing her blade and wiping it clean on his clothes before stepping back and letting the body crumple to the floor at her feet. The footsteps were upon her now and the blade returned to the shadows of her sleeve as she looked up.

Icy blue eyes met the cold grey gaze of the Levantine, she considered running, but there was little point instead she remained where she was, muscles tensed ready to move if she needed to. Eyes flicked over his form, muscles lean with experience, then to each of his weapons in turn. She had one blade designed for a stealthy kill, not an outright fight and certainly not with this man. This wasn't supposed to happen, he wasn't supposed to see her.

"You should have stayed at home." she said finally, the weight of the blade in her sleeve offering no comfort. she kept her gaze on him as her mind worked quickly to plan her escape route. "Your coming here has unleashed a hell that even the likes of you can't stop."

[member="Seroth Ur-Rahn"]
 

The Hound

Guest
T
[member="Judah Dashiell"]

The young man's grin faded as his blue eyes fell on the villagers. Their plea for help, or lack there of was what drew him to this place. He felt that if he was to make up for his own sins that he would need to do good like this, helping peolpe who couldn't help themselves. Not only did it make him feel good, it felt right and it took his mind away from other things like the life he could be having back in the Republic. Though this life was not nearly as glamorous as the life of a Republic Captain "ace", he felt it was more rewarding than the path they had taken.

A nod. "I did." His answer fit both questions nicely.

The smell of the wet earth nearby that was a small pond filled his nostrils. He wished he could sit on its banks and meditate all day.
 
[member="Turin Val Kur"]

"Uh....Yes, I see."

In fact, Judah was probably a bit confused by the answer. Eyes of the native Felucians fell on him and he offered a small smile to the group assembled.Judging from the reaction by Turin and the nervousness of the assembled lizard-like creatures, Judah was fairly certain the entire thing had to do with the logging operation. Shifting the back on his back, he glanced around the area to get a feel for the people who lived in the space.

"You been here long? Whats the status? I just took a tour and was told this was next in line for operations."
 
[Aja City/A Dank Backalley]

Gravel, porous discarded packaging foam, bits of soggy wood skidded out beneath his boots as Seroth curtly came to a stop. The noon sun had banked away by a few taut degrees, shading the long alley-corridor, whilst strangely cool drafts of air whisked up behind him. Bits of trash and throwaways frothed around his boot-ankles. The lad loosened his cloak throat-catch, peeling back his hood-cowl to note the scene. He could smell the blood tinging the air softly as it wafted like a faint wine aromatic. By the tell of violence in the young woman's eyes, Seroth arrived a moment too late.

Quim, his lead, was dead. Looking at him now, the man wasn't his impression of a conniving middle-man dreaming to ascend up the drug echelons. Quim had been stocky, on a weight gain that showed in his midriff and thighs, sheathed in skin that had taken on an unhealthy pallor of grey before he died. His head was crowned with a thick, curly band of hair around the back of his bare skull. There was a signature tattoo drawn and coloured where hair was noticeably sparse: curling wreaths speckled with bloody rose petals beside thorns hanging clips of razor wire. Blood thick as syrup, redder than carmine, dripped in steady flows from between Quim's cracked lips. There was still heat radiating off his corse, as Seroth stepped in a pace closer to the woman.

She was a hard whip of lean arms and legs, glacial eyes peering with unmitigated violence. The lad didn't know her name, doubted he would if their conversation turned and went sideways. Another long gust of too-cool air ruffled their shoulders as it came behind and down the long alley. Beyond, day-goers, throngs of unknowing foot-traffic, strolled by the alley mouth, not paying much head to the threatening scene. Seroth noted the thin, long killing knife in her grasp. Her dress looked between casual wear and the sort of unassuming work-garb worn by a trained, easy killer. He saw the angle of her body, the bunched, weary coil of muscle in her thighs and calves, and how she was observing him with just as much weariness.

The alleyway gave only a bare two meters worth of room. It wouldn't host his longsword well, where it would clang, batter, and spang off the brick and ferrocrete, useless in the tight quarters. Seroth left it to idle in its charge-sheathe across his shoulder and back. He still had his pivot knives idling in their gauntlet-cages wondering when they'd see a chance of contest. At her taunt, the lad felt bunches of muscle tighten at his jaw-hinges, setting his expression hard and nasty.

"That man had something to do with people dying as their brains and eyes melt," He said. "And so do you, by the sounds of it. What were you afraid he was going to say? Who's manufacturing the 'Bridge', and where?"

[member="Anaya Fen"]
 

Nisha Decrilla

Guest
N
[Aja City/A Dank Backalley]

Parla took half a step back as the expression in the slayers face shifted from an observer to an accuser, the hilt of her knife shifted slightly in her grasp as she considered her situation carefully. The lady Apoleia was coming, regardless of what happened now, of what she told this man, she would end up dead either way. She was not meant to be a part of this, but Hako had invited her, it was for him, for his survival that she needed to silence Quim.

She ran a nervous tongue over her lips, before speaking. "Quim was a monster. When the 'Bridge' came in, all the dealers wanted a piece of it, but the minute people started dropping dead they stopped pushing it, tried to give it back to the source, sadly for them it doesn't work that way. Most of 'em stashed their stock, rest tried to destroy it. Quim didn't give a shid, he just kept flogging it and the body count stacked up. He's dead because he was fething stupid. The trail ends here, you don't get to follow it any further."

A particularly noisy crowd passed the mouth of the alley, their amorous laughter echoed off the shadowed walls and washed over the pair of wolves sizing each other up. Parla cast a glance at them over her shoulder, before looking back at him, a heavy sigh escaping her nose. "I'm just the delivery girl, but I can tell you this. The 'Bridge' is manufactured off world, brought in bulk, distrubuted in smaller bulk and so on. The person responsible for bring it to Succellus is in hyperspace on her way here as we speak. From what I understand, she was sold a faulty product and she means to wipe it off the map so it don't trace back to her. You want to kill monsters, slayer? You kill her. Leave us pawns be, we've enough hell to be dealing with when she sets foot on this little rock."

She knelt then, hunched before Quim, whose dead eyes were still staring up at nothing. She slid her knife into a sheath on her boots, and reached a hand up to gently close his eyes. Then, rising without another word to Seroth she started towards the alley mouth.

[member="Seroth Ur-Rahn"]
 
[Aja City / A Dank Backalley]

She was both Esper and Cypher, a locked puzzle with all the key's to understanding kept tightly stowed under the suede leather of her long jacket. Seroth watched her thin stature walk away with a caliper-gait, disappearing out into the crowds until she was just a pair of bobbing shoulders and face. The lad stepped out to the alleyway mouth, peering down the avenue-way. Gone. Warm air breezed, ruffling ganglions of discarded poster trash, foam cans, broken novelty cups, and bits of dead, organic by-matter. He looked back to dead Quim, considering.

Seroth had seen her step in and put her blade up through his ribs. Quim the Seller died choking on blood, heart failing, probably skewered through several valve-chambers and lung tissue beyond. The lad hunched down by a knee, sitting against cold pavement and litter. Something twitched and gnawed out from beneath Quim's dead flab-posterior: a long rat-lizard with patchy scales. It hissed up at the lad, licked grime from its gums, before it chirped and ran off to disappear. The Woman Killer hadn't answered his question. Her language was dodgy, pinning blame on an off-world source, so she looked akin to a victim caught up in the gears of the machine. That detail was immaterial. Seroth was aware the Bridge was alien to Sucellus. It was a matter of tracing distribution to the Middle Men: agents responsible for networking the Bridge, supplying sellers, tending to logistics, pricing, seeing to their cut.

Though Quim was dead and growing stiffly cold, his killer had been sloppy. Quim couldn't talk. Seroth rifled the breast pockets of his double-sized suit-coat, patting down something hard, thin, and obtuse. His hand withdrew a steel-cased datapad. It's edgings were worn, dotted with inky prints, hinting at extensive, exclusive use. This was Quim's digital life-line. Seroth looked down at the locked, backlit screen asking for entry verification. A simple password lock. The lad felt lucky. If Quim hadn't been cocky his slate wouldn't leave his possession, he could have shelled out for biometric installation. Virtually unhackable. Quim couldn't talk, but he could speak to the Levantines in a way.

What keyword would have struck a chord with the Seller? Despite a further pat-down, the only thing denoting Quim's interests were the gaudy violets of his over-sized leisure suit and black-suede shoes. Seroth thought about simply prying a data-spike into a receptacle-jack. Risky: at first sign of tampering, the data-pad could brick and lock him out. What was it that Rosa liked to say? 'Inspiration and insight are brief choirs of wisdom.' ...He looked to the keypad. Then thumbed a possible keyword: 'beyondthebridge'.

[Accepted] / [Verifying] / [SOA v2.017] / [Welcome]

Seroth stood up from Quim's listless remain, raising the 'pad to his eyes, thumb-locked in a scroll through hundreds if not thousands of text-to-text messages. Manifest lists detailing locales prime for heavy sales. Networked contacts spread out across Falxion Avenue. Beyond. E-mails. Hidden frequencies. Most importantly: storage facilities. Quim had hoarded a great deal of trade secrets; now the lad was the inheritor to all of his analogue gold. The necessary glean to peer into the heart of operations swilling the Bridge and killing too-hooked users. Seroth clipped his comm. piece from its catch on his belt and raised a channel.

"The trail ends...? Maybe. Or maybe your nose was out in the cold.

"Thurion," He said. "Do you want me to tell you how the Bridge is being planted on-world? ...Or would you rather some addresses that you and a few officers could rightly raid for illegal narcotics storage?"

[member="Thurion Heavenshield"] [member="Anaya Fen"]
 

Rosa Gunn

Guest
R
Rosa flowed with the history of the shop, pushing past what did not matter, rushing through the path of its aged appearance until she found Mr Olhado's face. A young Olhado with a jovial face with a woman on his arm smiling and beautiful, a babe cradled in her arms. She pushed again, the shop was dark, a sign read on the door, 'Closed until further notice'. She pushed again, to find another Olhado, face without love or joy, hardened by loss.

Rosa knew that look well enough to put two and tow together. A teenage boy, pale and drawn, yet sharing his fathers dark eyes glowered at the man before him. Push. The girl was in the store, kissing Olhado's son in the shadow of the night. A packet slipped between their hands, pills slipped down their throats and they returned to their lovers embrace. Push. Olhado was screaming at his son, jewelerry was missing. Push. A furious Olhado was moving to deal with the girl, his son came up behind him, cracking him over the head with an old ornament, before fleeing out the back door, while the girl fled into the crowds.

Rosa's eyes snapped open and she swept from the shop. "The hell was that all about?" barked Officer Wiggin after her. She came to stand before Mr Olhado who seemed to deflate beneath her steady gaze. "Your sons name, Mister Olhado?" He closed his eyes in dimsay and brough a hand over his eyes and let out a heavy sigh.

"Knew that bloody girl wasn't any good for him. Told the stupid bastard too, but he wouldn't listen."

"Young love is always the most brutal. its the love that draws you in without thought, that makes you blind to anything and everything else. It always does the most damage. How long have they been together?"

"Couple of months?"

"And when do you estimate he started using?"

"Which bloody using, kids been on all of it?!" he shifted uncomfortably, avoiding her gaze before realizing she wasn't going to relent. "He started talking 'bout the bridge about a week ago." He admitted finally. Rosa blew out her cheeks and exhaled. "Can you help him? His name is Colin. He's a good lad really, just a victim of bad parenting." There were tears in his eyes and Rosa rested a hand on his shoulder.

"I will do what I can."

She turned around, finding Officer Wiggin giving her a curious look. "You need my help?" he asked meekly. She smiled and shook her head, walking away and pulling a comm link from her belt. "Is there a Levantine to help with a man hunt. I've got a kid in desperate need for his next fix pretty much prepared to do anything to get it, even attack his own father, and I would like to find him before someone else gets hurt."

[member="Seroth Ur-Rahn"] [member="Thurion Heavenshield"] [member="Judah Dashiell"] [member="Turin Val Kur"]
 

Valik

Professor of Alchemy
[Aja City / Alleys]


Valik found himself walking the dark corners of downtown Aja City in a remote world called Sucellus near the edge of the Tingel Arm. Normally such sprawling cities weren't where he conducted his shopping, but there were reports on the Holonet of a new drug surfacing on the planet. Valik couldn't say that the spice trade or underworld politics usually warranted his notice either, but multiple reports all pointed to the same thing, an unprecedented quickness in addiction and an unavoidable death following soon afterwords. Together the two properties weren't the profitable but separated? Imagine a gas that killed millions upon seconds of exposure. Or perhaps a truth serum that was nearly instantaneously addictive, allowing you to play truth or withdrawal when interrogating? The thought was enticing, to say the least.

A man on a mission watched carefully at his surroundings, spotting a Kiffar youngling boy to his left. He was perhaps no more than eight cycles old, but his legs gave him the speed of an athlete, an animal even as he darted into the nearest alley way, tightly gripping a purse adorned with floral decorations that seemed as big as the boy's torso. To his right was a Felucian, scars littered across his face. One hand was constantly hovering over a heavy pistol at his belt as he eyed each man coming to his stall, whether they shopped for chronos, spirits, or poorly sliced government datapads. Valik could have done better with a plate of durasteel, some wires and a hydro spanner, but he supposed the Felucian charged only a few thousand credits per service, rather than a few dozen specimens of whatever plant, fungus, or sentient Valik deemed to have potential.

The most important sight to Valik however, was right in front of him, a few shadows of three men to his flank. Those shadows had been there for the past five blocks, with the shadow on Valik's left sprouting a little higher than it's two companions on account of it's owner's spiked hair. It seemed someone had found the skinny tourist as easy pray. Fools.

With a slight wave of his hand Valik sent a wide telekinetic force behind him. A few light thuds were heard as the men tripped to their knees, before Valik turned to face his would-be assailants. Sending both of his hands down he sent another pair of telekinetic pushes, sending the skulls of the left and right men crashing down onto the ground, nearly ringing from the force of the impact. As he was in a public area a lot of blood was inadviseable so he limited the force to merely knocking them out, and giving them a contusion for good measure.

"Looks like your friends have had a bit too much to drink." Valik said as the literal middle man rose, visibly at being addressed so quickly after his friends had seeming been knocked out cold by thin air.

"W-who are you?" He asked with fear permeating his words. Nyarl would be salivating if he were here.

"A tourist looking to have some fun." He said his lips curled in a sinister fashion. "I've heard this place has quite the drugs. Could you direct me to any new highs?" He asked, watching as the man got defensive about the question.

"What are you, a cop?" The man asked, his common sense seeming to come back to him.

"Tsk tsk tsk, do I look like a cop to you?" Valik admonished as he looked to the man's left, then right, bringing attention to the man's unconscious friends, a confession and threat all laced into a couple of glances. The man followed Valik's gaze, fear growing in his eyes, but to his credit did something most punks wouldn't in his situation. He stopped for a minute and thought before he opened his mouth.

"I think you're a man I shouldn't be talking to." He said, giving more curve into Valik's lips. He was more clever than his unsuccessful mugging implied.

"You are correct." Valik admitted, before pressing the man further. "But more than that I am a man you don't need to lie to. Now I'll ask one more time. Where. Can I find. The drugs?" Valik's voice finally finished, each word weighted and deliberate.

"Uhh. Quim. Quim would be your best bet. He normally works out of the Tight Lane Dance and Bar. Maybe six blocks east. They normally have a yellow twi'lek dancer out front advertising." He blurted out info after info, quick as he could manage. Valik waked east, towards this 'Tight Lane', clenching his fist as he walked off, putting just enough force to snap the middle man's neck. He was helpful, perhaps even clever. He'd earned a quick death. Hopefully this drug would give Valik a way to grant billions the same.

[member="Anaya Fen"] [member="Seroth Ur-Rahn"]
 

The Hound

Guest
T
[member="Judah Dashiell"]
"I've been here a while...Had to scare off a few mercenary-looking types earlier who were trying to get the Felucians to leave." Letting air escape his lips in a frustrated sigh he scratched his head in confusion. "I just don't know what we can really do here Judah." His gaze fell on the small village as the members continued to go about their business. "I mean...short of corporate sabotage I don't know what we can do to stop them from uprooting all these people."
 
Aja Central Bank
Sucellus

Things turned quiet for some time, unless you counted the hushed whimpering of one or two of the teenage boys who had just attempted to steal from the bank to pay for their drugs. Thurion remained watchful throughout, even as he entered a state of meditation right in front of them all, sitting on the concrete ground with his legs crossed. A soothing breeze caught his robes enough to make them flutter about around his person, and individual strands of his golden hair got caught as well. He knew the other Levantines would be hard at work trying to find out more about this 'Indigo Bridge', so it would only be a matter of time before they would alert him of any news. Even if these youngsters would not loosen their lips, he would have to remain until local authorities could arrive and take them away for questioning.

"All I need is a name", he said calmly, eyes still shut. Their leader seemed adamant about not allowing his fellow would-be-robbers to talk, but unfortunately for him there was not much else he could do but verbally threaten them. "I-I don't know his name..." one of them mumbled, to which Thurion responded by perking an eye-brow and slowly opening his eyes. "...I swear, I don't know his name!" he cried out, louder this time. "We never see his face. He always wears a mask when we meet with him. He takes our money and we leave with the stuff. I swear, that's all we know!" Rising to his feet, the Jedi eyed the poor lad and his comrades. A gentle hand was placed atop the boy's head, as a father would a son, and smiled down at him. "It's alright. You did a brave thing, one that will save lives. You should feel proud." Sirens approaching in the distance. His watch was getting close to an end. Police cars pulled over in front of the bank where the teenagers were sat on the stairs leading up to the entrance.

When they arrived, the law enforcement never saw a man in robes leave the scene, despite what the boys told them. All they'd seen was a bunch of kids tied up outside the bank, with enough witnesses to make sure they'd get what was coming to them. They would be given a trial in a court of law. All the robed man could do was hope it would a fair one. Desperation is a most corruptive state of mind, one that leads to disaster, one way or another. As Thurion watched the boys in blue take the robbers into custody from the shadows, a holo-call reached his communicator. "Seroth", he responded. "Tell me where to find those responsible for this."

[member="Seydon of Arda"]
 
He tapped and scrawled a naked touch over the pilfered dataslate, syncing to Thurion's communicator. Whilst they spoke, particulars detailing vested names belonging to one of Sucellus' ruggedly parasitic underground unions, a small nation-within-the-nation of individuals disinterested with ordinary means of making a living. Seydon stepped back from the alleyway mouth, drawing up beneath a power-pole relaying local holo-net broadcasts. Behind him, the Tight Lane bounced with SonicTrip electro-songs. The weight of stamping feet dancing in tune was enough to rattle the pavecrete.

"It's an offworld poison, Thurion," Said Seydon into his cuff-mic. "Right now I'm uploading into your datapad some particulars of its distribution. Maybe we won't be able to put the recidivist hydra manning Sucellus' underground to death, but we can break the Bridge. Those names are connected to holdings where I'm confident 'Indigo Bridge' is being stored, if not manufactured. It's... convoluted, Thurion. I think we're dealing with a foreign product that's backfired."

He turned from the club walling, adjusting the ride of his blades and gear, strolling out into heady sunlight while attempting to wave down an air-taxi or passing patrol speeder. "The Bridge isn't a native drug. It's offworld, probably cooked in a backwater laboratory without receiving proper alpha testing outside of projected effects. When it started to kill their consumer base on Sucellus, the out-system supply dried up, so it looks like. ...But now local chemists are making their own variations on the Bridge. ...If we're lucky, we can shut it down in an afternoon. A total raid. I'll trust you'll relay that data to anyone else we have on ground."

Seydon closed down the channel. A brightly lit blue-yellow checkered air-mobile, iridescent dice bouncing to and fro from its cabin rear-viewfinder, pulled up. The heavy-set cabby thumbed to the backseats. Seydon palmed him a credit-voucher in good faith and slid into the back, securing the back-cabin door.

"Where to, ser?" Said the driver.

"...Dafney Square," Seydon replied, reading off Quim's pilfered 'slate. "Off Worq Avenue."

The driver hesitated. "Rough territory, ser, you sure? Maybe take you up to the fight venues, look like you got a taste for that," He pointed round at Seydon's buckled swords.

"I'm sure. Let's go," Said the Dunaan. As they lifted off, he began keying in Red Constable Hajers comm. frequency...

[member="Thurion Heavenshield"]
 

Nisha Decrilla

Guest
N
Aja City/Warehouse District

"Hako!" Parla called out as her boots pounded up the metal staircase, her heart was in her throat. She'd made it two blocks away from the levantine before she realised she'd left crucial details behind. Quim had a bad memory for details so he kept a datapad on him at all times. Loaded with all the information he could ever need about his business. His drop locations given to him by Parla, the locations of the rest of his little gang of dealers. Everything they needed to pick up a trail. Everythign they needed to get back to Hako. Sweet Hako, who had always done right by her.

She almost fell through the door into his office. "Stars, girl!" he blurted out catching her as she almost fell into him, desperately trying to catch her breath. She'd doubled back, found the datapad gone, along with the hunter. Terrified eyes bore into the rodian's "Hako....I'm so sorry, I frakked up...and not even by a little bit, he came out of nowhere, followed the trail to Quim, I meant to cut him off, end the trail there, but I forgot the datapad...frak." The grip on her shoulders tightened and she fell silent, recognising that Hako's mind was at work.

"How many in his circle?"

"What?" she asked, bewildered by his calm for a moment, she blinked. "Ten."

"So eleven, including himself."

"Yes."

"And he is dead?"

"Yes."

Hako let her go, passing a hand over his face letting out a sigh. "Quim was the only link to us. None of the others dealt with you directly. Did they?" He rounded on Parla and she looked away, Hako slid the peices of the puzzle together. Parla's brother had always been one to stick his nose in where he shouldn't. "Damn it Parla! Get rid of the link!"

"I can't!" she replied, her voice trembling with emotion. "You can't ask me to do this."

"I'm not asking you. I'm telling you."

"Hako." the word came out as a whispered plea.

"Listen to me child. We are both dead, if he speaks. So you make damn sure he doesn't speak!"

For a moment, Parla said nothing, simply blinking back against the wave of tears that threatened to engulf her. Then "Yes, boss."

*~*~*~*

Dafney Square

There was no effort to hide the slender sword strapped to her back. Dealing with Quim had been easy, a slim blade was all that was needed but she wasn't dealing with Quim anymore. The skin tight jumpsuit left little to the imagination. A brace on her arm glinted with throwing knives, blasters rested at her hips and two slender daggers rested in sheath's on her boots.

She wasn't going to kill her brother, didn't matter what Hako said about this red woman. He was her brother and the best way to keep him quiet was to be with him to tell him to shut up when they came knocking, which she had no doubt they would. Her fist hammered on the door, tarnished brass numbers glittered in the fading light.'47'. She glanced over her shoulder at an alley brawl. She hated Dafney Square. The door before her opened and she snapped her attention to he brother. Every bit the image of her, save for one very vital thing.

"Whadda you wan'?" he slurred at her, pupils dilated with spice, breath smelling like whisky. A cigarette hung from his lips. An addict through and through, it was a wonder he hadn't started hunting for the bridge himself yet. Seemed to be the only drug he was selling that he didn't take. She took it the ciggarette from him, taking a drag and shouldered past. "Aw feth." he muttered, shutting the door behind her. The apartment stank, girls in various states of undress and drug induced stupors were draped over the chairs of the lounge. Parla pulled a blaster from her hip and fired one round into the ceiling.

Behind her, Dillan muttered curses as the girls screamed and scrambled for their clothes. "Party is over. Everyone out." Dillan watched them go, without so much as a word of apology, before turning his bloodshot eyes on his sister. He watched as she drew the sword from her back and sat in an arm chair, resting the blade over her knees, eyes fixing on the door as she finished the cigarette stolen from her brother.

"That bad, huh?" he stomped over, to the window that graced him with a view over Dafney Square, pulling aside a net curtain and watching as his harem stumbled from the alley that ran alongside the building into the street. "Coulda jus' called, Parla, y'know, like mos' family does."

"Shut up Dillan, I didn't come here to listen to you talk shid."

[member="Seydon of Arda"] [member="Thurion Heavenshield"]
 

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