Absorption 2.3.3_Poisonous Fox

Absorption 2.3.3

Several days passed in a similar fashion, a routine beginning to fall into place.

One night, however, an oddity occurred which was worth noting. While I was working in the tavern, alongside Marianne, several familiar faces entered; ones that I would rather maintain some level of separation with. One of them was a boy named Gregory Silverborn, the very same fool who I had the misfortune of meeting in the wastes. The other, a boisterously all-too-confident girl, Sir Kate Gaurdson.

As they entered, Kate striding forward and leading their pack as though she owned all that her eyes fell upon, she sighted upon me. A broad winsome grin split her face.

I ducked into the service hallway and planned on making myself scarce. For it was bad enough I had to see her in the mornings during combat training.

Marianne followed me to the back, checking on me.

“Is something the matter, Jackie?” Marianne asked, concern writ across her face.

“No,” I denied.

Marianne crossed her arms and gave a flat look.

“Not that I can put into words with grace,” I amended.

“The table with the giant blonde girl then? Did they do something inappropriate?”

“...no,” I admitted. “At least not yet. That girl is Kate Guardson, the one who has been hounding me in the mornings.”

“Oh…” Marianne mouth parted. Her cheeks reddened. “Oh! She’s the one that wants to court you then?”

I winced. “I hope not,” I said. “But I fear so.”

Marianne shrugged. “There are worse suitors you know,” she said, perhaps in an effort to console me. “But if they make you uncomfortable, I can take the table.”

“Would you do that?” I asked her, letting relief sound in my voice and posture.

“Of course, Jackie. Just leave them to me.”

So I did. I let Marianne take that table, and I avoided them despite Kate’s attention to catch my eye. Things seemed to be going well, and later that night, they paid their tab and stood to leave.

Unfortunately, as they were making their way to the door, Kate hollered into the tavern, “See ya tomorrow, Jackie!”

I winced and slightly blushed as I hid behind the bartop as patrons grumbled at the impropriety and the volume. I caught sight of Kate’s smug grin as she left.

When I caught Marianne minutes later, she acted as though nothing wrong had occurred. And perhaps from her perspective, nothing had.

“You gave her my name?” I asked, perhaps demanded, when I saw Marianne.

“Did I?” She asked, taken aback by my vehemence. “Was I not supposed to mention it? It seems odd if you see her in the mornings that she wouldn’t know it.”

I sighed. How could I explain the reason I had for keeping my name from Kate? And I did have reasons, for what if Kate remembered the name of the beast-kin she had encountered in the wastes? I supposed it had been a naive hope on my part to keep my name a fiction.

“Just… nevermind,” I said.

Marianne narrowed her eyes slightly, demonstrating playful suspicion. “You wouldn’t be happening to play hard to get now, would you?”

I shuddered and turned from the conversation, instead focusing upon my work.

Not so many nights later, I once again found myself prowling along the steeply sloped roof of Ma’Ritz.

It had become something of a routine. I would help Marianne with the busy hours in the tavern, before taking several hours to myself, and then coming back out to guard the place at night. Then, the next morning, I would sleep in a little longer than Marianne, head down to the Merc Quarter for training, before starting another shift.

The routine was tedious. Tiring. Exhausting, even.

But it gave me the opportunity to grow my Marks in a useful direction. Besides, it served my purposes better than working exclusively in the tavern. Otherwise, I would be worried about developing some obscene Talent, such as bartending, or flirting for tips.

However, there were downsides to my night-shift.

Particularly, occasionally, I would dwell upon memories that I would really rather not retain.

They would be triggered by seeing someone from what could have been a Pit Crew, or even the borderline corrupt peacekeepers. And then, as soon as I encountered the reminder, I would be back in the midst of the moment, hearing the echoes of the men hitting the ground, of the crackling bones, the smashing of skulls against stone, and the pleasure that my false-arm had radiated.

I still was uncertain if my false-arm even could experience pleasure. I may have been anthropomorphizing unduly. But it almost seemed to shiver when we, when it, did things in line with my expectations for savagery.

These were uncomfortable thoughts, all around.

When they occurred, I attempted to push them from my mind as quickly as possible. To an onlooker, I would have appeared to be brooding while watching another party of drunks pass below the side street.

But as I maintained diligence along the rooftop, towards the front of the building, along the winding main street, I heard a 'psst' from down below.

My ears almost twitched, before they remembered they were those of a human, not those of a beast.

Holding firm to the exterior walls, I bent over and looked at the third floor windows. One had its shutters opened, with Marianne poking her head out and craning her face upwards. She blinked and peered towards the rooftops.

"Can't see anything!" Marianne whispered. "Is that you?"

She had the gall to complain, I thought with some acerbic-ness.

After all, she knew it was me, and she still made a scene. Even though it would draw attention up towards me, potentially revealing my location. Because of this, I almost ignored her. Almost. But this was sweet and naive Marianne Frostlight, and she was undeserving of scorn. She may have also reminded me of a sister I once had. Besides, would I ignore her, she would only persist and increase in volume.

Thus, I leaned out further, precipitously above her, until she could see my shadow against the night sky.

"You should be sleeping," I told her.

"So should you!" she retorted.

This was unfortunately a recurring point of contention between us. Every night, before she went to bed, she would poke her head out, seeking me out, growing progressively louder, all until I responded.

"You know that I cannot," I said. “I was given a task, and I must see it done.”

I could imagine all of the awful things that could happen if I took an inopportune nap while on duty. Even then, as we spoke, I could practically feel sleazy eyes on the back of my neck. I shivered and tried to ignore it.

"You know what I mean!” Marianne huffed. “You're up all night. You wake just a bit after I do. And you're training and then working the tavern and all this other stuff! This can't be healthy. Even Esmerelda agrees."

I resisted the urge to yawn. “I can survive this and grow,” I said, attempting to console her and her frustrations. We had only shared the room as bunkmates for so long before I had been put on this night shift. I wondered if perhaps she missed my company? It was a possibility, and one I was incapable of ameliorating at this time.

She snorted with disdain. "You’re more likely to develop a talent or skill that gives you sleep insomnia," Marianne said.

"Would that not be a blessing though? Requiring less sleep?” I asked. For if my Mark did develop in such a direction, it would grant me additional hours in a day, additional productivity, and it would greatly reduce one of my weaknesses: the requirement for sleep.

"Maybe," she said, admitting my point. She groaned, deflated, and finally sighed. "Just…” she started, looking for the words. “Just don't let them take advantage of you too much, alright?"

"They?" I asked. This conversation had now fallen beyond our usual scope.

"You know," she said softly, but not clarifying who she meant. Likely she was not including Esmerelda, as Marianne practically worshiped the woman.

"Regardless, I find the night-shift to be pleasant,” I said, hoping to raise Marianne’s attitude prior to her turning in for the night. Resting on ill-feelings was harmful.

“Yeah?” Marianne asked, perking up slightly.

“I enjoy the solitude of the night sky, and it grants me the ability to both make a difference and improve myself.”

"...yeah," she finally admitted, sounding rueful. "Well, just try to keep it down when you stumble in tonight. Sleep well Jackie."

"You as well, Marianne," I finished, watching as she closed the shutters and likely turned in.

Not much later, as my eyes scanned the dimly lit street corners, I sighted several silhouettes running through the shadows, just barely illuminated by the flickering lamps.

Silent as ghosts, they slipped between buildings, their dark forms barely visible against the night. There were two of them that I saw. One led, the other followed. They moved with purpose, keeping to the shadows and away from passersby.

I was unable to make out details, but the first appeared of shorter stature than eye, while the second was a behemoth. I wondered how the behemoth could move about so silently.

Confronting them was a possibility, but they were doing no harm to Ma’Ritz, nor to my position. Instead, I watched them until they slipped around a corner, entering a side street less than two blocks away.

The night continued onward without event. I could not help but wonder where those two had come from, and what business they were planning. Were they simple thieves, or something more sinister? Regardless, I had my own problems to focus on: namely, developing my Marks.

I had yet to achieve a combat oriented Talent, at least not directly, though I had yet to really test Eschiver and Evasion on the training court. Thus far, I had been working on drills. I hoped to earn an offensive ability before I wound up sparring. Thus far, I had failed.

But combat was arguably one of the least useful roles I could learn. It lacked synergy with my natural talents. And more importantly, I disliked fighting. It was violent, risky, and brutal.

My false-arm squeezed my collar bone and ribs at that moment, as though in protest.

Not all of me disliked combat then. If my false-arm counted as a part of me. If I was reading its emotions correctly. If it had emotions in the first place.

Regardless of my feelings on combat, fights were always risky. Death would arrive from just one unlucky shot, or one ill-fated step. I had no delusions regarding my infallibility: I was fragile.

The reason I pondered was because I wondered just how attentive my guard duty required me. And, more importantly, if there were some elements of freedom that I could be employing to improve myself.

For example, did I need to stick on the rooftop of Ma'Ritz? At the ground level, I might be attacked or accosted, and I would reduce my already poor visibility. But, did I need to stick on the Ma'Ritz, or could I travel some?

Spying, sneaking, urban travel... all of these felt more interesting than lurking and brooding.

So long as I stayed within a block of Ma'Ritz, I reasoned, then it should be fine.

With my decision made, I slunk to the side of Ma'Ritz, near the narrow side street separating Ma'Ritz from the nearest neighboring building. It was maybe ten feet from Ma'Ritz to the next building, though the next building was shorter and squatter.

Looking down from the third floor to the dark stone street below, I wondered if I might be overestimating my abilities. It would be a rather long drop.

But if I wanted Marks more suitable to me, then I would need to practice and take risks, optimally at the same time. Besides, it should be doable. I had done worse before.

Swallowing, avoiding over-thinking it, I pushed off from Ma'Ritz and pivoted into the air.

I overestimated the torque, spinning too far so that my side was facing the other building.

I crashed against the brick wall.

The impact drove the air from my lungs.

By all rights, I should have slid from the wall, fallen, and smashed against the pavers below. But my Climbing Talent kicked in, sticking me to the side of the building like magic.

You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.

My jump had been ill-timed and poorly executed, and I could have performed it much better. But I survived. And from the tingling on my forearm, the gamble paid off.

Athleticism: 5/9 (+1):

Climbing I: 4/9 (+1)

I climbed to the top of the building and collected myself while crouching and listening to the night. Nobody was reacting to my collision with the wall, despite the noise. Either the residents were deaf or preoccupied.

A boon to me.

I practiced my other skills. I prowled along the edge of the rooftop, my boots barely making a sound on the soot covered tiles. The darkness was my ally, and I made sure to stay low, using the shadows cast by the chimney stacks to conceal my presence. Every time I passed to a new vantage, I scanned Ma'Ritz, or the roads leading to it. I had been sticking within about a single block, never more than a single building away. That did not mean I never lost sight of the brothel though.

It was as I crossed from one building to the next, that I botched a landing on the side of a rooftop. My foot hit a shutter, causing a clanging. I froze where I was, hoping for whatever stealth magic I had to kick in.

"We're not the only ones out here," a girl's voice said from somewhere below.

I tensed, instinctively crouching lower as I peered down at the street below.

There, emerging from a narrow alleyway, were the two I had spotted earlier that night. They were just coming out from the back exit of a cartographer and surveyor's office.

Had they seen me? I wondered. Or was there another they were speaking of.

I made no moves to reveal myself, rather watching them to see what they did next.

“Are we going to fight?” the behemoth spoke in a deep baritone voice that carried more youth than gravel.

“Maybe?” the girl responded, as I did not. She was facing towards where I hid.

Stealth I: 7/9 (+1)

The moment her green eyes flashed over my cover of shadows, she took a step aback, as though surprised. “No,” she said, hurrying. “No. I don’t think we need to. It’s only a voyeur,” she said almost teasingly, though it may have also been false bravado. “And we’re cloaked. Should be good to go.”

“Let’s get gone then,” the behemoth said.

With that, they continued on their course, darting down the sidewalk and boulevard of Blossom Hill. They headed towards the South East, towards the Chasm side of the hill.

Once they were out of sight, I allowed a breath to release. That timing could have been better, I decided.

Rather than follow after them to determine how they found me, rather than risk a confrontation, I decided that I had received enough practice for one night.

Later, from my perch atop Ma'Ritz, I could not help but notice the gains I had in a single night, versus the days of combat drills. One was much more efficient to train than the other. Was that because of my personal disposition, the Marks, or both?

I knew too little to say.

Blessings: Rank (1/9)

* Body: 65

* Mind: 75

* Spirit: 49

Talents:

* Athleticism (5/9) (+1):

* Climbing I (4/9) (+1)

* Featherlight I (3/9)

* Inversion (2/9)

* Stealth I (7/9) (+1)

* Trackless Tracks I (3/9)

* Area Coverage (5/9)

* Alchemical Immunity (ineligible for growth)

* Eschiver I (1/9)

* Evasion I (1/9)

* Impending Sense (1/9)

* Lucky Break (1/9)

Spells:

* Illusion I (5/9)

* Touch (8/9)

* Guise of the Kitsune (5/9)

* Closed

Gifts:

* Obsession (3/9)

* Closed (0/9)

Time continued to pass, and I had yet to develop a means to avoid sleep. Marianne’s concerns grew in credibility each day that awoke through a haze of fatigue with my limbs heavy with weariness.

Such as this morning, in particular.

For as I stirred, it felt as though lead had replaced my bones, making even the simple act of sitting up an arduous task. The dull throbbing of my temples did little to help matters. With a resigned sigh, I swung my legs over the side of the bed and dragged myself to my feet.

My ribs felt tight and my spine misaligned. Massage did little to resolve the pain.

Given my sore state, I could not help but think of my impending training session, and I decided to forgo bathing that morning, for there was no sense in bothering. Shuffling down the dimly lit hallway and stairs, I made my way toward the kitchen where Cook presided over her culinary domain.

And more importantly, her pantry.

And most critically, my breakfast.

My stomach grumbled.

"This one sees the kit," Cook said as I entered her kitchen, pushing through the swinging door. She scanned me almost dismissively until her gaze reached my face; then, her eyes narrowed. "Was your sleep so poor?" She demanded.

"Yes,” I admitted freely. “Of poor quality and limited volume. But the bulk of these problems might be resolved with an appropriate breakfast.”

"Ah," Cook said, her voice gravelly and wistful at once. "This one understands the craving and necessities of a predator, but a favor is owed, and this favor has grown. This one soon requires a... balancing." She seemed to be struggling for words, and I was reminded that Imperial was not her first language. I ignored the temptation to flaunt my knowledge and ability by speaking Kaivan.

"The favor I owe has not been forgotten,” I told her, feeling a slight amount of frustration. “But I still await learning of what task you require of me. I remind you that you have not told me yet.”

"No, this one has not made the request plain," She said. See paused, making a show of thinking, though I doubted she was doing anything of the sort. She spoke again, "there is always oats and vegetables for breakfast, provided by our employers... Perhaps, one should be satisfied with this meal scant of meat?"

I grimaced and protested, “You are jesting, surely!”

My stomach turned at the thought of eating greasy and soggy vegetables. And as for oats, not even cream could render it palatable. I could not let this threat stand, though I had little recourse.

"I suppose I could always seek my meal from a street vendor,” I mused aloud. “Though I do wonder what impression that would make upon the rest of the staff, to see a fellow employee forced to resort to such base nourishment.”

"Perhaps..." Cook mused, fetching a package wrapped in brown paper from behind the counter. She slid it across to me. "There is no need for haste this morning,” she said, almost smirking, as though she had been deriving entertainment from my desperation. “For now,” she said, “Here is a little something to tide the kit's belly over."

I thanked her profusely, not bothering to hide my wide smile. The package felt cold to the touch. Through the butcher paper, I could smell the copper and iron of raw flesh; my mouth began salivating. So eager was I that I started unwrapping this glorious cut of meat as I walked back to the tavern to find a table.

I sat down and bit into my meal akin to a child eating a pear. The flesh compressed and tore and the succulent juices washed upon my tongue. The human portion of me, from before I was stolen to this nightmare of a world, felt revulsion. For here I was, consuming meat raw as though I were a savage animal or beast. But that portion of me grew smaller and weaker everyday, ground down by the necessities of this new life. And besides, that small portion of me could not deny the pleasure I received from this sustenance.

As I ate, Marianne Frostlight joined me at the table, her graceful charms evident even as she slid onto the bench across from me with an effortless elegance. Her glinting blue eyes flicked over my haggard appearance, concern knitted upon her brow.

"Rough night?" Marianne asked, her voice lilting with a mix of sympathy and curiosity. The atmosphere between us remained light-hearted, despite the shadows that seemed to dog my every step.

"Perhaps it was,” I confessed, despite knowing this admission would only fuel Marianne’s ire when she next checked in during the night. I decided to change the subject to something directly actionable. "Actually, I wish to inquire of your information broker. I still worry that I will be unable to locate my family upon their arrival,” I repeated the false story I had created to both receive sympathy and to explain my motivation to meet such an character.

"Ah," Marianne hummed noncommittally, swirling her spoon in her bowl. "I'm still considering whether or not an introduction is wise. I'm not sure they'll be able to help. Or if they'd be willing. They're a bit cagey, you know."

I resisted the urge to growl. This was not Marianne's fault. Likely, her information broker was particular in who their clients were. It would not do for me to alienate Marianne. I sighed.

"I... I understand,” I said, feigning disappointment. “I just wish there was something more I could do."

I might have oversold my hand, as Marianne's face took on a greater note of concern than before.

"Are you feeling alright, Jackie?" she asked, her gaze sharpening on my face. "You look... drained. The bags under your eyes are bigger than..." she trailed off, blushing slightly, before shaking her head. "Well, that is to say, they are quite large."

I nodded. She was right. I did look awful, and there was no use in denying it.

"I may have found myself with too much to do and too little sleep,” I said, rubbing my temple.

"I knew it!" she said, then huffed. "You've been working too hard! It's not healthy."

I rolled my eyes, hopefully furthering the impression of playful banter. "Then, in your infinite wisdom, what choice do I have?"

"This isn’t a joking matter,” Marianne scolded, before shifting. “Though you’re right. I am quite wise. Which is why I brought you this."

She pulled a fist sized corked vial from her pocket. "Let me see your cup," she finished, waving the vial before me. It was murky and brown and looked like something from a muddy puddle.

Still, despite the questionable looking mixture, I pushed my tankard towards her. Some water sloshed over, causing Marianne to frown.

"Drain that first. Make some room," she instructed.

“Bossy girl,” I complained light-heartedly. With three large gulps and with some water trickling down my chin, I finished the tankard and shoved it towards her once more.

"So this,” she said, waving the vial before me and explaining, “It's an energizing tonic. It gives a bit of a boost." She finished, uncorking the vial and pouring the fluid into the tankard, before pushing the tankard back towards me. "Drink up. Best to get it done fast. It's quite bitter."

I eyed the concoction warily, hesitating for a moment before accepting it with a grateful nod. In my head, I tried to compare it to coffee. I hoped the comparison would help. It smelled foul though.

"Thank you, Marianne," I murmured, downing the viscous tonic in one swift motion. I gagged.

"Keep it down, now," Marianne instructed.

"Oh, I shall,” I said. “I doubt I could bear tasting this once more on its way back up.”

"Crude,” she said, smiling. “But give it a bit.”

She started diving into her own breakfast, a bowl of porridge, or oats. I was never clear on the difference between the two. She took a bite.

"So! Anything exciting happen last night? You looked a bit banged up earlier."

"Earlier?" I asked. I had some bruises along my ribs, but I could not remember showing my torso to Marianne. In fact, I made a habit of concealing as much as I could. Some of my false-arm's tendrils were occasionally visible beneath the skin of my torso.

She blushed but looked away.

"Nevermind," she said quickly, her cheeks reddening.

I shrugged and finished eating my far-too-small portion of meat, when I felt a cold jolt travel up my spine. My ears wanted to perk up. I sat straight instead.

"Just started to feel it?" Marianne asked, amused.

"Indeed,” I said, almost gasping. ”This is..." it felt far stronger than caffeine. Sweat prickled under my scalp. "...it feels quite good.."

"Yeah. A lot of people get addicted to the stuff," Marianne shrugged. "Pretty common habit, really. It gets less effective over time, though."

"I could see it," I said, starting to bounce in my seat. "Well, Instructor Blackrest and Sir Kate had better watch out," I joked. "I might just finally show them up, after drinking that bolt of lightning."

"Speaking of Sir Kate," Marianne said, a hint of mischief in her eyes, "I couldn't help but hear about how much you two seem to enjoy each other's company during your training sessions."

I resisted the urge to both blush and grimace, but just barely. "Well, she is a knight and quite skilled. Though I would think that any enjoyment you inferred is incredibly overstated."

"Jackie," Marianne smirked, "you don't need to be coy. It's clear there's something more between you and Sir Kate Guardson than just a student to student mentorship. And besides, a connection like that could prove valuable."

"Oh?" I raised an eyebrow. I was all too familiar with the concept, but I had not realized that Marianne was so impure to think of relationships as commodities.

"Of course! Sir Kate is in the know, well-connected, and respected among the Knights. If you continue building your relationship with her, who knows what doors would open up for you... especially if you were looking for someone in particular? Like say, your parents?"

"That..." I trailed off, realizing the possibilities. Could I use Kate to help find Emboru's sibling? If the Knights knew of the infested, then they would have already acted to root out the infection. But maybe such a relationship could provide value along the way? And if I swept in first to recover Emboru’s sibling, then the entire situation may be resolved beneficially. “You are correct,” I said after a moment’s consideration. “That would come in handy. But at what cost?”

She laughed, "Please! Don’t act like it’s a punishment. But if it’s a confidence issue, then you've got this, Jackie. Just remember what Esmerelda taught us,” she said.

I groaned at the reminder of the overbearing Esmerelda Bogswraith.

“You gotta flaunt your stuff!" Marianne said, before breaking down into a fit of giggles after seeing my disheartened and shamed expression.

Soon after, I left the breakfast table and soon found myself escorted by Esmerelda through the bustling streets of Southbridge towards the Mercenary Quarter. The city was alive with the clamor of merchants hawking their wares, meohr pulled carts clattering over cobblestones, and the scents of various foods mingling with the ever-present tang of Southbridge’s industry.

As we approached the end of Blossom Hill, Esmerelda gave me some advice.

"Pay close attention to the checkpoint up ahead," Esmerelda said, her voice low but insistent. "Watch the people, the guards, everything."

I nodded at the sensible advice, though I was wondering at the reason she had told me this. Did she think I was a fool? I had to wonder.

When we reached the checkpoint, the peacekeepers scowled at me, before catching sight of Esmerelda and waving her, and by extension us, through.

"It's always easier to leave than enter," Esmerelda commented. "When we return, be ready to pay their 'honest due,'" she said without a hint of the scorn I knew that she felt.

As we moved further away, entering the crowd proper of the Mercenary Quarter, Esmerelda finally explained her reasons for informing me of the practical instruction.

"Next time we come this way," Esmerelda said, "I want you to lead. It'll be good practice for you."

"Lead?" I asked.

"Of course," she replied with a confident smile. "You've proven yourself to be a resourceful and adaptable girl. Besides, I won't be able to attend your schedule every morning. Soon, you'll be doing this on your own."

If I would soon be traveling the city on my own, I could use the time and the chance to begin forming additional investigative work. This led to my thoughts drifting towards Emboru's sibling. While no deadline had been given, a sense of urgency had been growing, along with a fear that my time was running out. That I needed to find them before it was too late.

So with a nod, I acknowledged her advice, and the opportunity she had unwittingly provided. It seemed I had received several pieces of advice this morning, and I could not help but feel that I was beginning to make headway towards securing a foothold in both this city and world.