Ferei eyed a lethargic, strange-looking pixie with a mix of wariness and intrigue as it rubbed its eyes and munched on one of the tavern's signature pastries. The tiny creature seemed oblivious to the tension in the room and was focused entirely on its treat as it munched away before letting out a deep yawn.
Even though Ferei had never laid eyes on a pixie before, she still knew something wasn’t quite right with this one. Everything about it was unsettling… from the flames in place of hair, the eerie violet, glowing eyes, and the most sinister smile one could possibly imagine.
This pixie looked like it’d take your soul with a smile faster than one could blink.
Shaking her head, Ferei refocused on the hooded figure before her. "Before I agree to workin’ for you," she began, trying to keep her voice as steady and confident as possible, "I need assurances… I need to know yer not gonna use us as some kinda scapegoat and leave us for fodder after kicking the Rotwing nest.”
Elijah leaned back with a relaxed yet commanding posture. His eyes remained sharp as she stared at Ferei with a sharp and knowing glint. He'd been in her shoes before, on the other side of negotiations where every word could mean whether you were literally owned or not. The familiarity of the dance, despite the alien setting, brought a subtle smirk to his lips.
"Assurances?" A chuckle left his mouth as he spoke. "Let me be clear, Ferei. We're not here to bargain. We're here to offer you an opportunity that doesn't come around twice." He said with an underlying steel that brooked no argument
A panicked look flashed across Ferei’s face as her mouth opened to say something, but Elijah decided to cut her off. "Look, Ferei. There are two kinds of people: those who make moves and those who get moved.” He said very slowly as his finger tapped down on the tabletop slowly and methodically. “Right now, you're in a position to make a move. To step up from being just another punk ass bitch snatching a purse just to keep from selling yourself.”
“Cause let’s be fuckin’ honest here.” Elijah continued gesturing to everyone around him. “You’re all here because you don’t have a choice.”
Elijah leaned forward with a smirk that said he was genuinely enjoying himself. His eyes locked onto Ferei and Brak. There was an intensity that made them both shift uncomfortably in their seats. They couldn’t quite place the feeling, but there was… something about this person that was just as unsettling as Pixie sitting on the table. There was an air about him that made their skin crawl as if they were staring into an unknowable abyss.
"Let's call a spade a spade, shall we?" his voice took on a harder edge. "You're not bargaining with a third-party stranger over here because you're in a position of strength. You're here because you're barely holding on."
He paused, letting his words sink in before continuing. "You're losing influence and authority, not just with the townsfolk you're hustling, but..."
Elijah's gaze shifted deliberately to some gang members lingering in the background. Several of them averted their eyes, unable to meet his piercing stare.
"...with your own people," he finished his voice low but carrying clearly through the now-silent tavern.
Turning back to Ferei and Brak, Elijah's expression softened slightly, but his eyes remained sharp. "I took care of one of your problems earlier, Ferei," he said, pointing directly at her. "So let's not play games here."
The atmosphere in the tavern shifted palpably after Elijah's blunt assessment. Everyone seemed to be on edge, the air thick with tension and unspoken threats.
Ferei's face was contorted with a mix of offense and fear when this bastard put her against a wall with just a few words. This was a truth she was desperately trying to cover up, and no matter which way she spun it, this disrespect would severely damage her authority.
Her eyes darted around the room, taking in the reactions of her people. Some averted their gaze, unable to meet her eyes, while others wore expressions of newfound doubt or calculation.
“Y-You! Gimme a good reason I shouldn’t gut ya right here, right now!?” Ferei did her best to snap a threat, but even she knew it fell flaccid.
No one else could see it, but a sadistic smile spread across Elijah’s as he watched the anxiety flash across Ferei's face. Not a single one of her people said a word or even moved a finger in her defense. Everyone knew, even Ferei herself, with a sickening certainty, that her crew was slowly turning their backs on her.
It was only a matter of time before she was replaced, and if she lost her grip on power, she knew exactly what awaited her. She'd either end up dead in some ditch or, worse, forced back into ‘work’ for the people she once ordered around. The thought of being some crew's loanable toy, to be used and abused at will.
Satisfied with his little power play, Elijah leaned in closer, boring into Ferei’s eyes as she tried to find an escape. "When was the last time you paid them?" he asked in a low and probing voice. "You give them steady work?"
Ferei's mouth opened, but no words came out. She seemed to shrink in on herself slightly.
“How many of your people ate today?”
“How many have a safe place to sleep tonight?"
The woman’s blood went cold when her eyes darted around the room, and she saw that the members of her gang hadn’t met her gaze.
"You running protection rackets? Smuggling operations?" Elijah continued, his questions coming rapid-fire. "Or are you just… doing shaking downs for whatever scraps you can get?"
A long silence ensued as Elijah looked over at a few of the gang members standing around and started to laugh slowly. It was as if he legitimately thought it was funny. Mirth was in his eyes as his head looked around at the seemingly unamused faces. “Ahahahaha… Man, that must suck.” He said while pinching the bridge of his nose.
Elijah's laughter finally died down as he shook his head, and his expression shifted to one of bemused resignation. "Okay, you know what," he shifted gears and took a businesslike approach before motioning to the two gang leaders with his other hand in a beckoning gesture. "What do you want? What are your terms? We'll see if I agree to them or not."
The abrupt change in Elijah's demeanor caught everyone off guard.
Ferei was still visibly shaken from Elijah's earlier fusillade of questions and struggled to gather her thoughts. Her mouth continued to flap like a fish as she tried to regain her composure. "I... we..." She stammered while Brak's eyes narrowed with disdain.
The gruff gangster had never truly respected her and saw her as nothing more than as a whore who had lucked her way into power. Now, watching her flounder, he saw his opportunity. "Enough of your blubbering." Brak growled, cutting Ferei off before turning to Elijah.
Brak’s gaze was hard and calculating as laid out exactly what was on his mind. "Here's what I want," he said, emphasizing the 'I.'
He then stood up and leaned forward, causing his wirey frame to seem domineering at the table. "First, I want territory. When this is over, I get the lion's share of Glennsworth. The prime spots, the best rackets." He spat as held up a solitary finger.
To his credit, Elijah remained completely unphased and just gave a look that said he was bored as Brak threw up a second finger. "Second I want immunity. Whatever goes down, I wanna walk away clean. No repercussions, no questions asked."
Push the chair back, Brak then began to pace before another finger went up. “Third, I want a cut of whatever you're bringing in. You're obviously here for something big, and I want my piece of it." He demanded as he shot a look at Azeline and licked his lips.
He wanted to request one more thing, but he was no fool. So, instead, he turned his gaze to Ferei and smirked as a fourth finger went up. “And finally, She works for me now. Consider it part of the deal." He said as he looked her up and down, deciding she’d have to suffice.
A horrified look flashed across Ferei’s face as her worst nightmare came to pass.
Elijah's gaze then shifted to Ferei, who looked at her people with desperate and pleading eyes, but not a single soul would defend her. It was clear the power dynamics had shifted dramatically. The winds of change were blowing, and they weren’t going to be left up shit creek without a paddle. even sneering at her
Ferei opened her mouth to protest, but a yelp left her mouth one of Ferei's own people, a burly man with a scar across his face, sneered at her obvious desperation and grabbed her by the hair. "What do you want us to do with her, boss?" he asked Brak, completely ignoring Ferei's presence.
All the color drained from Ferei’s face as her worst nightmare unfolded before her eyes. Her people had abandoned her, and it was turning to look like she was going to become property once more as their new leader, Brak, appraised her.
If he was being honest with himself, Elijah couldn’t be bothered with the internal politics of some backwater podunk gang. He couldn’t muster the ability to care who was in charge or what happened to Ferei. He needed work done, and if Brak was now the one calling the shots, so be it as long as he did what Elijah needed him to do.
However, Brak’s type was a problem.
Elijah watched the scene unfold with detached interest and growing concern. The combination of Brak's ambitious narcissism and ruthless, calculating opportunism was a dangerous cocktail that he was keenly aware of. Such a personality was volatile, unpredictable, and often prone to overreaching. These traits could jeopardize the delicate operation Elijah was orchestrating in any number of ways, from drawing undue attention to shoving a knife in their back because of short-sighted profit.
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His eyes flicked to Ferei, who was now a picture of defeat and desperation. In his position, she would be easier to control. Her recent fall from power and the betrayal of her own people had left her vulnerable, malleable. She would be grateful for any lifeline to come out of this unscathed let alone a chance to regain some semblance of authority or respect. This gratitude could be leveraged, and her desperation channeled into loyalty and obedience.
Moreover, Ferei has demonstrated a certain level of competence in maintaining her position until now. She might lack Brak's raw ambition, but she has shown an ability to navigate the complex web of gang politics—a skill that could be valuable if properly directed.
A prolonged bout of silence reigned as Elijah weighed the pros and cons of each potential leader. Brak offered immediate control over a unified gang but at the cost of potential instability and unreliability. Ferei, on the other hand, represented a more controllable asset, one that could be molded to suit his needs.
Elijah had slowly drifted towards his pistol as he continued to consider what to do. He had already decided Brak would die, but it was just a matter of how and when.
As a matter of fact, his instincts screamed at him to take care of Brak sooner rather than later before he could become a bigger problem. But he recognized that now wasn't the most optimal time, even as his impulse begged him to act. Sliding his hand away from his concealed weapon, he settled on a plan to take Brak out quickly and quietly at a more opportune moment.
Turning his attention to Ferei, Elijah knew he couldn’t let this piece of shit get his hands on her. She was a lot more capable than most of her crew realized. Maintaining her position and navigating the complex gang politics during such austere conditions demonstrated a level of competence everyone else ignored.
If he could ‘save’ her when she was the most desperate and insecure, then it would go a long way to making her a controllable asset where he could harness her competencies.
“Let’s talk about your requests in order, shall we?." Elijah began, deciding to redirect Brak's mind to another topic and off Ferei for the moment. "You mention territories with all the best spots for rackets… I believe we can work something out, but you’re gonna have to earn it.”
With eyes glinting with greed and anticipation, Brak leaned forward, hanging on to every word from this stranger. He had already done him a great service, so it was only right to put his new boys to good use.
Tapping his finger on the table in a rhythmic fashion, Elijah looked to set the tempo. “Now that you’ve found yourself with a… sizable increase in bodies.” He started watching Ferei’s face distort as she began to shiver. “We can potentially start making moves.”
Brak looked around the table at his newly acquired crew, a shit-eating grin spreading across his face. "Aye, aye," he said, puffing up with pride. "I believe I got a sizable number under me command now... I believe I can get these boys to work."
Elijah nodded, his face impassive. "Good," he said, his voice level. "Because I need the rest of these gangs gone."
The smile on Brak's face quickly fell, replaced by an outraged look. He opened his mouth to protest, but Elijah cut him off before he could speak.
"Relax," Elijah preemptively commanded preemptively. "I'll handle the hard part. I just need you to find out t he the who and the where."
Recognizing that Brak wasn’t picking up what he was putting down, Elijah leaned forward and pointed at the mangy man. "Your job is to clean up and take credit for whatever happens.” He said with a steely gaze. “Give me the info of who they are, where they operate and their key players."
He paused, letting this sink in. "When it's done, you'll step in. You'll be the one seen consolidating power, taking over their territories.” Elijah explained, emphasizing each point with a point of his finger. “To the outside world, it'll look like you've masterfully outmaneuvered your rivals."
Brak smacked his tongue hungrily as he looked around the room at the newly assembled men and women of his gang. His eyes gleamed with a predatory delight as he imagined how to use each of them to his advantage. The man was basically salivating on exercising this newfound power.
"Aye, aye," Brak drawled, his voice oily with self-satisfaction. "I reckon I can get these sorry lot to do whatever needs doin'. But let's talk about somethin' more... substantial." He leaned forward, licking his lips. "Let's talk about my cut."
His eyes darted around the room, lingering lecherously on some of the female gang members and a few of the lingering working girls in the tavern before settling back on Elijah. "After all, a man's gotta eat, don't he? And I got... expensive tastes, if you catch my meanin'."
A rhythmic beat echoed out as Brak drummed his fingers on the table, leaving grimy smudges on the wood with each tap. "I know ye be up to some shifty shite, so I'm thinkin' a nice fat cut of whatever ya pullin' in.” He stopped drumming and paused for dramatic effect “Say... 60%? That seems fair, don't it? After all, I'm the one puttin' my neck on the line here."
A flash of disbelief passed as Elijah's eyes met Azeline's. They simply stared at each other for a heartbeat, processing Brak's words. Then, almost in sync, their lips twitched, shoulders shaking with barely contained mirth.
Elijah chuckled softly in bewilderment as he raised a hand, signaling Brak to pause. "Sixty percent?" he echoed, his voice tinged with amusement and incredulity.
Azeline's eyebrows shot up, a smirk playing at the corners of her mouth. She shook her head slowly as if trying to make sense of what she'd just heard.
"Oh, that's..." Azeline started, trailing off as she searched for the right word. She settled for a snort, her eyes rolling skyward.
Elijah turned back to Brak, his expression a mix of amusement and pity. "Let me make sure I understand this correctly," he said, his tone reminiscent of an adult addressing a particularly slow child. "You want sixty percent of... what, exactly?"
He leaned back in his chair, a bemused smile playing on his lips. The man even started drumming his fingers on the table in the same rhythmic fashion that Brak had done earlier, as if mocking him.
“Do you even know what you’re trying to get a ‘cut’ of?” Elijah laughed, looking at each gang member who seemed to shift uncomfortably. “How much of a fuckin’ amateur can you get if you don’t even know what you’re bargaining for?”
Brak's face turned a deep shade of red, his ego clearly bruised by Elijah and Azeline's mockery. His hands clenched into fists, knuckles turning white as he struggled to contain his rage.
"Ye fuckin’ make a clown of me!? Ye think I be a funny man!?" he snarled, spittle flying from his lips. "I'll show ye what's funny, ya smug bastard!" He rose from his seat, his body tensing as if preparing to lunge across the table.
But before he could move, Brak noticed that a sword was already ready, resting on his shoulder in a lethargic manner as a soft, feminine giggle rang out.
"Oh, aren't you just precious?" Azeline cooed with a voice dripping with affection. "The little man thinks he's scary.”
She gently pressed her sword against Braks neck until it drew a little blood. "Tell me, darling, do you always throw tantrums when you don't get your way? Or is this a special performance just for us?"
Brak stared at Azeline's sword that jutted out in front of him. His eyes were as wide as dinner plates at the realization that this woman was no longer leaning against the wall, but standing right next to him. He blinked hard as his mind struggled to comprehend how she had moved so quickly and silently. One moment, she was across the room; the next, she was close enough to draw blood.
As he scanned the room, he noticed the terrified expressions on his gang members' faces. Fear was sprayed all over their faces as their eyes remained fixed on the blonde elf. Some had even stepped back, trying to distance themselves from what might happen next.
Suddenly, Brak found that his throat was dry. He had dismissed Azeline as mere eye candy with a sword, a decorative piece meant to intimidate through appearance rather than skill. Now, as he felt the subtle press of her blade against his side, he realized he may just have misjudged the situation.
"You... you can't..." Brak sputtered, his earlier bravado crumbling in the face of Azeline's casual
threat.
"Can't what?" Azeline pressed her blade harder against the thug's neck. "Can't put you in your place? Can't remind you that you're playing in a league way above your pay grade?" She smiled gleefully as more blood dripped down his neck. "Oh, sweetie, we absolutely can. And we will if you don't start showing some respect."
Elijah sat back in a relaxed posture, but his eyes were hard and cold. He regarded Brak with a mixture of disappointment and disdain, clearly unimpressed by the man's bravado and subsequent crumbling.
With a heavy sigh, Elijah spoke, his voice calm but laced with steel. "I don't think you really understand our relationship here, Brak."
As he spoke, Elijah's hand flicked around the tavern, drawing attention to the previously ignored members of his ODA scattered throughout the room. The gang had apparently forgotten there were others and eyed each mysterious figure as they pointed their weird weapons at them.
"I'm giving terms because I'm a reasonable businessman," Elijah continued, his tone matter-of-fact. "Do not give me a reason not to be."
Brak remained silent, his eyes shifting nervously between Azeline's blade and Elijah, not daring to move a muscle.
Shaking his head, Elijah quietly muttered ‘Amateurs’ before letting out an exhausted sigh. "Here's what's going to happen. You'll agree to whatever terms or payment I dictate. You can have whatever territory you want as long as it doesn't encroach on this tavern. Otherwise, I couldn't give two shits about your little kingdom or whatever."
He paused, letting his words sink in. The room was so quiet you could hear a pin drop, everyone holding their breath, waiting to see how Brak would respond.
After what felt like an eternity, Brak finally spoke a shaky voice. "Alright," he said, trying to inject some bravado into his tone but failing miserably. "Alright, we'll do it your way. For now." He attempted to puff out his chest, a last-ditch effort to save face. "But don't think this is over. I'm still the boss around here, and my boys know it."
Elijah let out a derisive laugh, dropping his head and shaking it in disbelief. He threw his hand dismissively as if shooing away an annoying fly. "Just fuck off, bro," he said, his voice dripping with disdain.
Brak, attempting to salvage some dignity, lifted his chin in an arrogant fashion as Azeline's sword withdrew from his neck. He strode over to Ferei, grabbing her by the hair roughly. "Come, whore!" he snarled. "I'm gonna need some relief after this."
Ferei yelped in pain and fear as she was forcibly lifted, horror etched across her face. But before Brak could drag her away, Elijah's voice cut through the room like a whip.
"Nuh-uh," he said firmly. "She stays here."
Brak whirled around, his face contorting with rage and frustration. "What? Have ye gon’ daft!?" He growled, turning to Elijah. "Her people are my people now, so she belongs to ME!"
“I don’t give a single fuck.” Elijah shot back in an amused tone. “I’ll tell her to chop your head off. Is that what you want? Let the bitch go.”
Staring hard at Elijah with undisguised hatred, Brak stood there as he yanked on Ferei’s hair in agitation, causing a yelp in pain. His eyes darted around the room, taking in the men with strange weapons and that infernal woman who looked at him like an insect with a smile on her face. He was the type to push it to the absolute limit, but now, Brak felt that he should just cut his losses while still ahead.
Before Brak could decide, Elijah spoke again calmly, brooking no argument. "She works for me now, Brak. Don’t make me start counting."
Brak's face contorted with rage and frustration. A low, guttural growl escaped his throat as he roughly shoved Ferei away from him. She stumbled, barely catching herself on a nearby table, her eyes wide with a mixture of relief and lingering fear.
"Fine!" Brak snarled, his voice dripping with venom. "Have yer fucking whore!"
He spun around, his eyes blazing as he surveyed the room. "Let’s git!" he barked, motioning towards the door.
Without waiting for a response, Brak stormed towards the exit. He reached the door, grabbing the handle with such force it seemed he might rip it off its hinges. With a violent shove, he threw the door open, the wood slamming against the outer wall with a resounding bang.