Thug: "Just a couple, huh...?"
Vulfer weighed the heavy brass cylinder in his hand, his grin splitting his face like a jagged wound.
Vulfer: "Well, nothin' we weren't already expectin'. We'll make do."
He jerked his chin towards the two ruffians standing empty-handed near the workshop's soot-stained brick wall.
Vulfer: "Ya two will be our eyes fo' the night, then. Meet ya back in a few hours, yeh?"
One of the men exhaled sharply through his nose, eyeing the pneumatic contraption with suspicion.
Ruffian: "Your funeral. If those things break on you mid-air, you're on your own."
Vulfer: "Yeh. Wouldn't expect any less."
With a sudden, fluid motion, he raised the launcher, aiming the grappling hook straight at the ruffian's nose. The spring mechanism clicked ominously.
Vulfer: "Now, scram! Before rippin' yer faces clean off becomes the first test... Got some trial runs ta do before the real deal."
Although his tone was serious, the threat fell on deaf ears. A chuckle escaped the ruffians' lips.
Ruffian: "Right. See ya later, fellas. May this be the grandest haul yet!"
They turned and vanished into the smog of the street, leaving an eager, greedy silence in their wake.
Thug: "Hmph."
The sound was dismissive, heavy with reluctance. The thug turned the brass device over in his hands, examining the rivets and the tightly coiled wire.
Vulfer: "What?"
The thug raised the launcher, sighting down the barrel at the slate rooftops looming above them, getting a feel for the balance.
Thug: "We're pushing our luck. That's 'what'."
Vulfer laughed, wrapping a thick arm around the thug's neck and shaking him playfully, circling his own hook in the air like a conductor's baton.
Vulfer: "We're pushin' *boundaries*, lad! We'll be swoopin' down from the skies, pickin' out our targets one by one. We'll come 'n go before anyone notices us... we'll be like black cats in the night...!"
The thug shoved Vulfer's arm away, his expression grim.
Thug: "Don't you get it...? The Rend has never been this well off. Money's pouring in left and right. We've got more men than ever before. We're more organised than ever before... More dangerous than ever before."
Vulfer spread his arms wide, basking in the description.
Vulfer: "Hahaha...! DAMN RIGHT! We've nothin' ta fear!"
Thug: "We've got EVERYTHING to fear."
He lowered the device, stepping closer to Vulfer, his voice dropping to a harsh whisper.
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Thug: "Every day that passes, Aesice loses a bit more of its peace and quiet. Most have stopped walking the city streets at night altogether... We are running out of innocents to hunt, Vulfer. The supply is drying up."
Vulfer raised a skeptical brow, picking at a piece of grime on his launcher.
Vulfer: "Fuck are you on about...?"
Thug: "Look, the man we almost beat to death today? He had hate in his eyes. He would gladly do the same to us given the chance. You only lose your innocence ONCE. How long until we've armed citizens patrolling the streets, doing the work the guards won't...? How long until they lose their fear and realize that if we can dirty our hands without kickback, so can they...?!"
He gestured to the open street beyond the alley.
Thug: "We can't keep taking and taking and taking like this. Something's going to give!"
Vulfer: "Yer in the wrong damn line of work, thinkin' like that."
Thug: "No, man. I was in the right line of work, back when there were just a few of us starting shit here and there. Sticking to the shadows, being invisible... That's what it was all about. Now? Now there's idiots flaunting pins with the Rend's logo on their chests, shouting to the whole damn world 'HEY! LOOK AT ME! I'M A FUCKING CRIMINAL'!"
Vulfer: "Yeah, and they'll prolly be caught and flayed alive or somethin'. Fodder for the guards. But us? Man, we're smarter than that. Why'd ya think I got us these? We'll be untouchable!"
The thug looked down at the brass weapon, seeing not a tool of power, but a heavy anchor.
Thug: "Yeah? Well, I just hope you're right..."
He pointed the hook at the pale, smog-filtered sun.
Thug: "... Still, I've got a bad feeling about this."
And he wasn't alone.
Later, inside one of the commercial district's taverns, tobacco smoke and the smell of roasted pork saturated the air. The din of a hundred conversation bounced off the low, timbered ceiling.
At a corner table, the Lion slammed his fist against the scarred wood.
Lion: "Oh, come on, what's gotten into you?! Spit it out already, Pocna!"
His obsidian mask hung slightly above its usual resting place, giving him room for drinking. The handsome face underneath, though still obscured by shadow and the angle, was clearly marred by irritation.
Pocna rubbed his temples, looking older than his years.
Pocna: "Young Virno, I've told you as it is -- I've just got a bad feeling about this tournament. And I know you do too, I saw the fear in your eyes. When that man with the eyepatch left the Pits...! Look, it's not too late yet. We ought to skip it and attend the next one..."
The Lion tensed. The noise of the tavern seemed to fade into a dull roar.
In a swift motion, he yanked Pocna closer by the collar of his tunic, his voice lowering to a lethal whisper.
Virno (The Lion, whispering): "Pocna. We've settled on this before... I'm not Virno anymore. Not here. Not ever."
Pocna's eyes widened, realizing the danger of the slip in such a crowded place.
Pocna: "Sorry, Sir Vivi... It slipped."
Vivi released him, leaning back and taking a sullen swig of his ale. But the tension lingered.
Outside, amidst the hiss of steam pipes and the clatter of carriages, three figures approached the tavern doors. Their clothes were fine, but they wore them like armour.
Mola: "This is a *terrible* idea."
Bazren's new lips curved into a sharp, eager smile.
Bazren: "I beg to differ. Plus, Xayn himself, master of shutting down plans, hasn't complained yet."
Xayn walked beside them, his hands clasped behind his back, looking at the tavern sign with the weariness of a man marching to the gallows.
Xayn: "I haven't simply because it is an exercise in futility. Fate itself seems to have aligned to give you a damn tournament, so I dare not get in its way over something as ridiculous as this. But, for the record, I do agree with Mola. This is quite possibly the dumbest way we could go about it."
Bazren: "Tsk. You're the one who wanted to measure his character."
Inside, Pocna was still leaning forward, pleading.
Pocna: "But do you understand my concern now...?! What if the Rend are not acting alone? What if it's men like *that* orchestrating it all?!"
The heavy tavern doors swung open with a bang that cut through the ambient noise.
Three figures marched forth.
A woman with shocking pink irises, the pupils shaped like the cardinal points of a wind rose. A man with deep blue eyes, pupils flowing like open ensos. And a smaller, sullen woman trailing behind them.
The woman with the pink eyes stepped forward, scanning the room with a gaze that physically weighed everyone it touched.
Bazren: "Alright. We're looking for a Vivi. Supposed to be the undefeated tournament champion... Anyone seen him around here?"
The man beside her sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose and shaking his head.
Xayn: "Dammit... Couldn't you at least be more subtle?!"
Bazren: "No time to lose. Besides, not like anyone's paying attention..."
She was right. The tavern was just as rowdy as before. The hum of conversation, the clinking of mugs, the occasional burst of drunken laughter -- none seemed to acknowledge them or their inquiry. To the average patron, it was just another loudmouth looking for a celebrity.
None, except Vivi and Pocna.
Vivi stopped his drink halfway to his mouth. A slow, arrogant smirk spread across his face.
Vivi (Virno, The Lion): "Huh... Looking for me. We'll continue this conversation later, Pocna."
As he moved to stand, the heavy iron gauntlet on his right arm scraping against the wood, Pocna caught his wrist.
Pocna: "Please, Sir... If it's a fight they want, do take it outside."
Vivi laughed, a sound of pure confidence, and pulled his arm away.
Vivi: "No promises...!"