Absorption 2.4.8

The interruption came all too soon for my morning of luxury.

Lucky Break (8/9) (+1)

It came as a brisk knocking at the chamber door; I failed to recognize the cadence of whoever chose to bother me this morning, but whoever they were, they sounded far too impatient for the source to be Marianne and Esmerelda would never have bothered knocking in the first place. Knowing that there was only one way resolve this untenable situation, I groaned out a pathetic, “go away!”

“Jackie!” Kate shouted through the door, knocking once more. “Why aren’t you already up?!”

I sorted through my hazy thoughts, seeking out any reason to justify Kate’s presence outside my door. I could not recall any planned engagements.

“She’s not in here,” I said in a falsetto voice.

“Oh really?” Kate said, I could practically hear the smirk in her voice. “Then there’s no problem if I just come on in?”

Were one to ungenerously describe the sound I next made, they would have called it a strained meep. However, generously, I more accurately said, “No!” I hurried, “Just one moment!”

“Uh-huh,” Kate said. “Better get dressed fast, cuz I’m not waiting a minute longer.”

Putting off the fact that she was acting as though she were entitled to enter another person’s room without permission, I began damage control.I rolled out from bed and slipped on a pair of soft leggings beneath my night shirt. And I finished not ten seconds too soon. The door opened and Kate barged in.

“Hurry up, let’s go!” she said, her arms immediately roaming over the thin shirt material.

I crossed my arms over my chest. “Really?” I said, allowing a portion of skeptical disapproval to leak through, but also tinged with false humor. This behavior was not one I wished to reinforce.

“Yes really!” Kate insisted, either ignoring or failing to pick up my signals. “You shoulda been up hours ago anyways! We gotta get going!”

I rolled my head back and released some of my exasperation before facing her once more. I still held my arms across my chest, though now her eyes danced between my neckline and stomach.

“Your visit is a surprise,” I said. “For I had not been expecting a caller. What prompted your visit this morning?”

“Pffsht,” Kate said. “Hardly morning anymore.”

I turned my back to her as she spoke and I began rifling through my trunk for more appropriate clothing. Namely, a tunic and chestwrap. My boots were already out, laying where I had kicked them off the night before.

“Anyways, hurry up!” Kate once again insisted. “We’re getting you that Mark!”

“...What?” I paused, taken aback. “Already?” I turned to look at her over my shoulder, ensuring she was not playing some elaborate ruse. “I had thought that had yet to be scheduled that that it would be later this week.”

“Yeah well,” she said, scratching an armpit. “Plans changed. And since this is kinda sorta through a favor, we can’t really push back the time. So hurry up! Let’s go already! We can’t miss it!”

“This… is a lot,” I said, still processing. “And quite sudden as well.”

Kate groaned loudly, looking at the ceiling for patience. “So much talking,” she complained.

I sighed, shaking my head, ending my stupor.

“Very well,” I said. “Give but a moment so I may make myself ready.”

“Sure, alright. But you better be fast! The guy was in a mood when he sent word.”

I assumed she meant the Sacred Artist from the context, but I was unsure. However, though she mentioned haste, she still lingered instead of leaving. I ended up having to usher her from the room before shutting the door behind her. But even then, she complained through the door, insisting that I hurry.

Her lecherous and forward nature had somewhat disturbed and distracted me. Once she had left, I had a moment to think things through. If I assumed that Kate was correct, and that my new Mark was at stake due to some sort of scheduling mishap, then perhaps time was of the essence. So, I did as Kate insisted, and I made haste. I dropped my nightshirt, wrapped myself, tossed the tunic over my head, then slipped on my jacket and boots. I left my hair and face as they were. My skin was smooth enough that foundation would only hinder, and my hair and eyes already were bright jewel tones. Admittedly, my hair, while short, may have been somewhat messy. An ignorable offense.

Once I finished, I reopened the door and strode out, bumping into Kate where she hovered just before the doorway.

Her pupils dilated as she took me in. She shook herself from her stupor. “Finally done?! Because I don’t think we’ll get you another appointment with this guy, so if you want that Mark, you need to hussle.”

“Assuming the need for haste–” I started, but cut myself as I realized I had forgotten something that should have been obvious, and would have been remembered had I not been rushed “-one second,” I said, turning and running back to my room and grabbing my purse of chargers from beneath my mattress. This purse was the one that held the bulk of my savings, not the day purse I kept in my jacket pocket.

“Now, I am ready.”

“Yeay, but what was that about?” Kate asked, her head cocked askew.

“I remembered I needed to bring supplies,” I said, skirting the topic of the wealth I carried on my person. “I just need to stop by Marianne downstairs, and I still need to purchase a conductive metal for the Mark.”

“You got a gem too?” Kate asked. “Tell me you already got one of those, yeah? Otherwise we might be able to find one in stock, but it’ll be hit and miss, and we really don’t have the time to track a particular whatever down.”

“The gem has been taken care of,” I confirmed. “Only the metal is required.”

“Nice,” Kate said, nodding. “What affinity did you end up going with?”

I smirked, playing it ‘cool’ as I refrained from disclosing my choice. For by fortune and providence, I had stumbled upon a gem called Blackjack, which came with an affinity for treachery. Likely, that affinity carried societal connotations. Rather than admitting this, I offered her a coy smile and I led the way downstairs.

Kate scoffed, but followed nonetheless.

The early lunch crowd had already arrived by the time I found Marianne.

Rather than follow me completely into the tavern, Kate lingered towards the back of the service hallway, watching while leaning against the wall with a foot propped behind her. I found that curious, as she was normally the type of person to be front and center.

But pushing that aside, I waited for Marianne to finish with one of her tables. She saw me, smiled, and approached with a greeting. “Morning, Jackie,” Marianne said. “Kate found you, then?” She frowned towards where Kate waited, though the frown came and went quickly, practically a ghosting of emotion.

Ignoring that, I answered.

“She did,” I said. The conversation paused as Marianne passed through an order to the kitchen. “I was surprised you had sent her up on her own though.”

Marianne huffed and offered a half-shrug. “Not like I could tell her no. Besides, she knew the way. Why, anything happen?” She raised an eyebrow and gave a half smile, perhaps a false one. “I know she is sweet on you…” She wiggled her eyebrows, though they were practically invisible against her skin.

“No, nothing of the sort,” I said, almost wincing as I remembered her barging in.

“Sure, Jackie. Sure.” She did not sound as though she believed me. Once more, disapproval ghosted across her face before disappearing. “You and her off somewhere?”

I nodded, “We are. I was hoping you had that gem on you?”

“I do…” she said, narrowing her eyes. “Why? Did she want it?”

“No…” I led off, wondering what she thought was going on, then shaking my head. “My appointment with the Sacred Artist was moved up to today.”

Her eyes widened and her mouth hung open. She squealed. “Today?! That’s incredible! What’re you gonna get? Where at? I have so, so many questions.”

“The gem, first,” I said. “And I am unsure if I have time to answer those questions now. Kate seemed to imply we were in a hurry.”

Marianne turned her back on the tavern floor and reached into her bodice, extracting the glowing stone. She handed it to me, keeping it largely covered with her hand. When I had it within my grasp, I closed my fingers to block off the glow and deposited it in my satchel, careful to keep any onlookers from seeing the light.

“Alright,” Marianne said, beginning to head back out to the floor with a set of drinks on a tray. “But I expect to see whatever you get later tonight!”

Kate and I were past the Merc Quarter before she pulled me down a short street and into what could almost be called a culdesac of quaint shops. As they were located a ways off the main thoroughfare, the amount of foot traffic here was lighter, and likely, business was worse for it. It left me curious why Kate had pulled us here of all places.

“Is this where the artist resides?” I asked as she pulled me along by my arm, where her arm threaded through. “If so, then may I remind you that I am lacking the conductive metal.”

“Ha! That’s why we’re here,” Kate answered, pointing out a smaller shop with golden paint decorating a window with elaborate curls and lettering which read ‘Silverborn and Sons, Artificer.’

“They’ll have the metals to choose from,” she explained. “It’s the only place I could think of that I knew would have it on the way.”

I had never been to this exact neighborhood, but I thought that the name Silverborn sounded familiar. It was as Kate pushed the door open and bellowed that I remembered where.

“George! You here?!”

Fortunately, no customers were here to be inconvenienced by Kate’s brash nature. A moment later, a response came from further in. I followed Kate in behind her, though I kept her between myself and any potential source of awkwardness.

“Ack!” A clamor came from across the shop, before a gruff man appeared from further in, from what appeared to be a workshop. “George is out,” he said in a gravelly voice. As he neared, he was accompanied by fumes that smelled of solder. He wiped his hands down before giving Kate a tired smile. “And what can I do for you today, Sir Gaurdson?”

“Pfft,” Kate said. “So Georgie-boy’s off slackin’ around somewhere, huh?”

The man, presumably Silverborn, winked. “Likely. And who is your lovely friend? From the Academy?”

Kate pulled me forward until I stood before her with both her hands upon my shoulder. “She’s attending Academy for the first time this year, a Grace Path.”

The man gave me a once over, eyes lingering at the top of my head. “Grace, huh?” he asked, thoughtfully. “You know, our sales could probably be improved with a gal like that working the front.”

The speculative nature of his comment left me uncomfortable, which was worsened even further by Kate’s.

“Nu-huh,” Kate said. “I got dibs first.”

Pushing through all of that, I gave an awkward wave towards the man and introduced myself. “A pleasure to meet you, Mr. Silverborn? My name is Jackie.”

“Well,” he said, making an inscrutable face and turning back towards Kate. “I’m sure George’ll be back by twelfth bell, if you feel like waiting.

“We’re actually here to make a purchase for Jackie,” Kate explained. “She’s getting a Mark today and needs the metal.”

“Wire then?” he asked, rubbing his chin. “I think we’ve some in stock, depending on the type?”

Kate nudged me.

“High Silver?” I asked, hoping I could afford both it and the Mark. But even if not both, I could always hang onto the material until another opportunity presented itself, and I refused to get a permanent modifier made from anything but the very best.

“Should have some in stock. Wait here…” he spoke, almost a grumble, as he made his way back from where he had come out of, towards the presumable workshop.

I turned to Kate. “I didn’t realize artificed shops carried the types of metals we’ll need for a Mark?”

“Yep,” Kate affirmed. “Though only if they have a workshop attached. Most don’t. We actually will need it as a wire of the right thickness?”

I was going to ask further, but Silverborn returned, carrying a thimble of silver thread. “Not thickness, gauge,” he corrected Kate. “This should be the right stuff, and more than enough for a Greater. That’ll do it?” he asked, placing the thimble on the counter and leaning backwards.

I glanced at Kate and she nodded. I had only given the thimble a cursory glance, though the wire looked thin enough to run through a sewing machine, and the spool itself was even smaller. From my inspection, I would have thought the silver was rather plain and unassuming. But if it was the right stuff, as Kate and her recommendation assured me, and considering that I had no means of independently verifying the spool’s contents otherwise, I quickly gave my approval.

“How much for it?” I asked, digging through my satchel for my purse. I was expecting the price to be indicative of the spool’s size.

As I pried open my small purse, the artificer answered in a roundabout fashion.

“Normally,” he put a finger on the thimble and tapped it, the pad of his index wider than the thimble itself. “Now, normally, I wouldn’t sell this sorta stuff, since I go through it fast enough. But since you’re friends with Sir Guardson, and probably with George too, I’ll sell it for just a bit over what I paid to buy it. That brings it around to… nine hundred, thereabouts?”

I winced and changed course from my small purse to my heavier one, where I kept the majority of my savings.

Nine hundred Chargers.

That was a sizeable sum. Briefly, I wondered if there was room to bargain. Though, bickering over the price was hardly a way to win friends, and I assumed that Kate would have spoken up if I was being ripped off. Still, I almost justified straining the relationship to haggle. But… given the nature of the deal, and given that the price was purportedly near at cost, I consented to the price.

It still hurt, though.

I counted out the Chargers, all charged and emitting soft lights from the internal chunks of gem. I placed them on the counter, and he slid them off into a drawer.

“Cheers then,” he said, pushing the thimble towards me, which I placed in my satchel rather carefully. “Have fun getting that Mark, eh?” he said with a chuckle. “And if you’re feeling up to it later, stop by to see George and show us how it goes!”

Kate grinned and waved him off, once again threading her arm through mine and pulling me out the door.

We moved quickly from there, though with Kate strongly encouraging haste, and while I had a general idea of the situation, I had yet to learn of the particulars. Thus, I asked why her favor had been called so immediately with so little warning.

The answer came slightly more convoluted than a simple rescheduling.

“Well…” Kate had trailed off, chewing her lip as though mulling over her answer. “I probably shouldn’t say all this, but… yeah. The Sacred Artist was robbed last night. Lost all his materials. Had to change locations. It was this whole thing with the Knights and the peacekeepers. Lot’s of fingerpointin’ going around.”

“The Sacred Artist was robbed?” I asked, practically aping Kate. “And he lost his materials? If he’s unable to perform his work, then why are we in such a rush to get there?”

“So, yeah… you see, for this artist…” Kate scratched the back of her head, her cheeks slightly blushing, though this meant a bluish tint more than anything else. “I kinda sorta was never able to get you an official appointment with him–”

“-What?” I asked, cutting in. When we had been planning, I had assumed, and Kate had assured, that the scheduling was practically a done deal, and the only question that remained was around if I would receive the Knight’s discount or not. However, I schooled myself from showing further aggression or displeasure, as I reminded myself that there were other means to receiving a Mark, though the ‘back-alley’ hack-shops carried far more risk.

I wondered if Belobog’s organization had a method of assuring quality.

“But yeah,” Kate continued on, ignoring my interruption. “He normally only works with Crown agents, like the Knights. I was sorta planning on sneaking you in on the books. But then… things came up. This totally worked out in your favor, so, you’re welcome.”

Worked out in my favor? I wondered the reason Kate would consider this, but quickly arrived at a reasonable hypothesis.

“I assume by his ‘materials,’ you mean his inks, gems, and conductive metals? Does he still have the requisite tools to perform his work otherwise?”

“Yeah, he keeps his tools and pattern-book on his person. It was only the inks and metals that got stolen, since they’re a bit bulkier altogether and he was working ad hoc outta this posh inn.”

An interesting tidbit there. I filed it away for later, for several reasons.

Continuing the discussion, I asked, “And I’m scheduled this morning as I already have my materials, meaning I have an advantage compared to everyone else who would have been seen today?”

“Right,” Kate gave a terse nod. “The robbery put a hole in the logistics ‘n stuff. You’re actually taking my spot, actually.”

She only sounded a little put out, but largely excited for me to receive my own Mark in her place. It seemed that the robbery would work out in my favor then, as Kate had said. Though this seemed rather too fortunate for it to have occurred through pure happenstance.

“Any idea who committed the theft?”

“Nah, but my bet’s on Skingineer.”

Skingineer was the predominant back-alley hack, though it might be more fair to say she operated a criminal enterprise more than anything. However, I had actually been wondering if the robbery had been committed by a different organization, especially as it had worked out so well in my favor. I would not have been surprised to see Belobog somehow had her hand in this. It was just too convenient otherwise, especially if I would have been unable to see this Sacred Artist otherwise.

“What makes you think it was Skingineer?” I asked.

“Just my gut,” Kate shrugged, before grinning. “Well, that and some people saw Snake in the area…”

“I am unfamiliar.”

“Just a deviant, one of Skingineer’s enforcers.”

“Just a deviant?” I asked skeptically. “With that sort of name? Given the rumors about Skingineer’s art, I would have thought…” I trailed off.

Kate scoffed. “Well, let’s just say the guy is covered in scales, has a tail, and not much in the leg department.”

My lip quivered slightly in disgust, though I managed to keep my thoughts to myself. I would not want to become known as an elitist.

As we continued onward, and as Kate complained once more about how I was taking her time slot with the Sacred Artist, and how much I owed her for the favor, I raised a potentially sensitive topic.

“Does this mean you will be unable to receive the Mark before Academy begins?” I asked, as the Academy began within several days, and it seemed the sort of question I should ask with a hint of concern on Kate’s behalf.

“Nah,” Kate waved the false-concern off. “I’ll still get one in time. It just means my slot’s been bumped back a bit. Worst case, I’ll get it done next weekend.”

“I see,” I said, making sure to sound adequately relieved. And then to further my act, and to perhaps fish for additional data, I asked, “And do you know which Mark you will receive?” I attempted to sound casual, though I may have missed the mark, considering Kate’s grimace and slight recoil from where she had linked her arm in mine.

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She frowned, almost scowled, and licked her lips with a budding anger. I quickly backtracked.

“Of course, I mean no offense, if this is a sensitive thing to ask. I did not realize this.

“It’s fine,” she said, shaking her head and calming down. She took on a condescending tone though, almost patronizing. “But you really shouldn’t ask that sort of thing. Most people cosider it bad manners. Like, really bad.”

“Then my apologies,” I said, inclining my head in an informal bow.

What I truly wished to say would have been more along the lines of pointing out her hypocrisy, as she knew full well which Mark I intended to take. Though she had aided me in setting this up, and perhaps felt entitled to the knowledge. I was not overly concerned by her being privy to details, as the growth of a person’s Mark was an evolution independent to that person. She would only know its starting point, not its journey or destination.

I could hardly understand how sensitive the question had been. Especially considering that her path at the Academy required a Mark of a certain nature. But, this was not a hill I planned to die on. Ideally, I would never encounter such a hill.

Eventually, as we traveled, she decided enough time had passed for her trite and unwelcome forgiveness. She reached over and patted my arm. “Apology accepted,” she said. “Just don’t do that again.”

We reached our destination approximately a half hour after leaving Ma’Ritz, even including our detour to secure the wire. Considering the distance that we covered, this was proof of our haste, as I knew from previous journeys that the Bridge Tower was quite the walk. And to no surprise, that was where the Sacred Artist was located. The Bridge Tower. The purportedly most secure location in Southbridge.

“And you said that was robbed here?!” I asked with a scandalized tone, intentionally forgetting an earlier fact. My question was outlandish enough that Kate recoiled in shock.

“No! Of course not!” she said, shaking her head then guffawing. “That would be… just… yeah, but no. No. No, no no. After he was robbed the Knights relocated him here.”

“Why would he not have set up shop here first?” I asked, confused that the Knight’s Sacred Artist would have set up shop anywhere else. Though, there may have been other fortifications throughout the city, such as the one near the training yard in the Merc Quarter.

“Ha, you’d have to ask him,” Kate said, shrugging. “Though the inn he was staying at before was pretty posh and that might have had something to do with it. It was up on the Hill, so it was supposed to be protected by the baron. Fat lotta good that did the guy. Heard the rest of the inn wasn’t hit though, so… sucks to be him?” Kate finished with a calloused chuckle.

We made our way in through the same entrance, though this time admittance happened a bit more quickly.

The Low Knight in charge of admittance to the Tower was a different one than from before. I had not seen them before, and while they recognized Kate, Kate failed to recognize them. After some back and forth, Kate secured my passage as a guest, though she was still responsible for my conduct.

From there, we made our way through the byzantine and elaborate hallways until we reached a chamber hardly bigger than a storage closet, lacking windows, ventilation, and decor. It was here that we met the Sacred Artist, and from the accommodations provided to him, I could understand why he may have preferred to set up in a wealthy inn on the Hill.

Naturally, I kept such thoughts to myself.

The artist himself was a heavyset man with the typical tan skin and brown hair. His eyes were bloodshot and from the bags under them, he had gotten little rest the previous night. It was those eyes that he glared at Kate with as he opened the door.

Before he could either greet us or turn us away, Kate made the strategic decision to push inwards, dragging me along with her.

Given the size of the room, the space was crowded before we stepped in. The artist scowled and stepped aside, pressing his back to the wall as Kate pushed me into one of the two chairs, the one with the option to recline. The other chair was barely a glorified stool, and I felt some surprise that Kate left it unclaimed. The only other piece of furniture in the room was a workbench, where a handheld artifice needle gun sat beside a mortar and pestle, several small bottles of clear fluid, and a large leatherbound book.

Rather than sitting down himself, and perhaps a touch affronted, the artist said with a no-nonsense voice, “I told you that I’m not taking any appointments today!” he said.

“Well, not for me personally, anyway,” Kate replied, almost glibly. “Thanks for sending word of that, by the way.”

Even as she spoke I regretted her words, because that was hardly the method to endear oneself to a person that could still choose to decline their services.

Either Kate had not considered this, which was possible, she knew something I did not, or there was also the possibility that she had considered that rudeness might spoil everything, and then discarded that concern altogether. Any of these scenarios was possible with Sir Kate Guardson and her temperament.

“You know what I mean!” he said. “I’m still barely put together here. I don’t know what you and your friend are expecting of me.”

Kate smirked, “Yeah yeah, I know. But there was a reason my appointment was rescheduled, yeah? Care to remind me what that reason was?”

“You’re the captain’s kid then?”

“Yep,” Kate said.

“You think you can walk all over me then?” he asked with a touch more hostility.

Kate blew a raspberry, “What? Course not. I know that. We’re just two people talking.”

The man groaned in baritone exasperation, and I could not help but commemorate with the emotion.

“Well,” he said. “Unless you brought me metal and ink, you’re gonna have to wait. Like I told you all.”

“Huh, that right?” Kate said, amusement dripping from her voice.

The man’s scowl deepend. “Yes. That is correct.”

“Well… yeah, I could see the problem for working on me. Seeing as I don’t have any of that stuff, least not personally.”

By this point, the man must have been picking up what she was hinting at, but from her irreverent tone, likely his temper rose more quickly than his reason. Because he next snapped, “then why in the godslicking Crown hating crack are you here!”

“Because while I don’t have that stuff, my friend here does,” she said, nodding at where she had pushed me into the chair.

The man turned to look me over, now hovering over where I sat. I could smell the spices on his breath. He must have forgotten to brush his teeth that morning… and the night prior.

“She a Knight?” he asked, his tone still far more vulgar than I would have thought for anyone with ‘sacred’ in their title.

“Nah,” Kate said.

“You’re being serious, girl?” Her audacity had apparently confused him. “Even if I had the ink, what makes you think I’d waste my time working on her? My contract–”

“-please,” Kate cut in. “What else are you doing right now?” She gestured around the closet, implying that whatever the man had been doing otherwise was worthless.

His nostrils flared. “As I was saying,” he said. “My contract is with the Knights. Otherwise, your friend will have to pay.” Before Kate opened her mouth again, he added, “Upfront. Now. No discounts. And she better have brought her own ink and conductive.”

Kate nodded, then glanced at me. “Sounds good then,” she said to him, before winking at me. “Just pay the man and get your Mark, yeah?”

“Just pay the man, she says. Well, it isn’t so trite a sum.”

I swallowed and nervously asked, “How much?”

His lip curled as he sensed my unease, likely enjoying a turn about after Kate had exhausted our welcome. “Well, let’s see… without the garrison discount–” he held up several fingers and began adding with them “-twenty-six hundred Cee is fair.”

“What?!” Kate squawked.

“Is what it would be if it were a group deal,” he continued on, a sadistic twinkle in his eye. “I assume it’s just you getting a Mark, since the Captain’s kid doesn’t have what she needs?”

“Just a sec–” Kate began, but the man simply spoke over her.

“Which means it’s actually going to cost you thirty-one Cee. Upfront.” He held out his hand palm up.

“That’s way, way too much!” Kate protested on my behalf. I would have said something, but my throat had suddenly dried and I mentally tallied my wealth. With the amount I had paid for the conductive, I would be surprised if I had more than three thousand Chargers. I might have that much, if I emptied out everything I owned, but I had a feeling I would come up light.

“Oh?” the man asked, turning to Kate with a smug expression. “From your tone, I take it you’re not up for getting that Mark then?”

“No, we’re getting that Mark,” Kate insisted, her cheeks taking a bluish red tinge, a vein beginning to grow pronounced upon her forehead. Her pupils narrowed to a point.

“Well, good luck finding another Sacred Artist, because I’m not obligated to do anything. Especially not if you aren’t paying.”

“We–” I spoke, though with several abortive attempts at getting my voice to work “-we, I mean I, can pay. I think. But it will be close. I might not have brought so much.”

“Jackie… no,” Kate said. “Two thou would have been reasonable. This guy’s just ripping us off because he’s getting greedy.”

“Maybe I should be charging more then?” he asked.

“If you want to make nothing, then go ahead and try.” Kate crossed her arms, jutting out her chin. Given her height, she was taller than the man and she loomed above him in what might have been intimidating, though her display seemed to have little effect. “But we all know he’s not getting business today, and even if he was, he would be getting maybe nine-hundred a pop.”

“Lousy contract,” the man grumbled to himself. “But maybe I want a nap instead of working on your friend. Consider that, girl?” he asked Kate.

She scoffed. “C’mon Jackie. I know a few people down in the Pits that do work. It’ll be just as good and twice as cheap.”

This time, it was the man’s turn to scoff with a hint of indignation. “Good luck with that,” he said, almost laughing. “If you aren’t flat out robbed, you’ll be lucky if you don’t come away with a deviation.”

“As if you aren’t trying to rob us now?” Kate shot back.

“Crown,” the man swore. “Are you this obnoxious with everybody?” he asked Kate.

“Maybe,” Kate said, stepping back and relaxing her shoulders.

“Well, I can’t in good conscience send the Captain’s kid off to the slums. So I suppose I could knock it down to a flat three thousand.”

Kate huffed. “Nah. You said you get nine hundred per pop?”

“For each Knight under contract!” the man said. “There are other mitigating factors in play there.”

“Fine, make it a thou?”

The man groaned.

Haggling quickly ended, and I emptied the bulk of my funds to pay for the service, leaving me a scant few hundred Chargers left. I handed over the materials I had gathered, both the High Silver, and the glowing crystalline gold, the blackjack gem, though he did make a pinched face at the crystal. I rolled up the side of my shirt to expose the ribs opposite the myst egg’s bindings.

The Sacred Artist began an initial assessment, both between my side, my right arm, my false-arm, though I pulled that away from him before he could do more than prod it, and then he flipped open his leather bound tome and flipped through it, turning multiple wax like pages in bunches, before he arrived at the appropriate Mark. Or what I assumed was the appropriate Mark. The writing was in glyphs of a language I lacked knowledge of, and each of the semi translucent wax pages added a separate layer of what could have been circuitry.

He went from glancing at the book, flipping several of the pages, to looking at my side beneath an artificed scope. He peered at my ribs, muttered to himself, and breathed his stink all over me. It was uncomfortable, to say the least.

After he made several notes, he began washing my side with a coarse cloth and what might have been acetone.

As he went, Kate made an attempt at small talk. She asked, “So, where’d ya get that stone? And what type is it?”

I answered Kate as vaguely as possible, “I traded a favor for it,” I said. “And I would rather not say what it is, exactly..”

“Whaaat? Why not?” Kate frowned at the yellow gem.

I refrained from giving her any reasons or hints.

Before she could push me for further details, the Sacred Artist saved me from having to answer by reading through a questionnaire.

“Any active spells or Marks?” he asked.

“No,” I answered at first. “Well, some passives, but they cannot be altered and should not affect anything.”

He frowned at my right arm.

“Then, any ongoing effects you’re willing to disclose?” he asked.

I shook my head.

As he continued his questions, he began grinding down the blackjack gem into a powder. He wanted to know more about my left-arm, as obviously something had gone wrong at some point. I chose not to disclose the details, and told him simply that my false-arm was a deviation. He mentioned there was a chance of a confounding influence without knowing more about how it had developed, or a more in depth examination.

After going through that, he advised me to reconsider receiving any work without significant testing to ensure no further detrimental interactions would occur. Of course, he also stated that no refunds would be given if I did decide to forgo the procedure.

Naturally, I opted to continue.

During this time, Kate had remained in the room, paying far too much attention to what would have been protected by various privacy acts back home.

After he finished grilling me for questions, Kate had the gall to ask the Sacred Artist, “So what affinity is she gonna get?”

Thankfully, the artist had mercy towards me or against Kate. “None of your business, is what it is,” he said.

Kate turned towards me and insisted, “C’mon Jackie, spill!”

I shrugged in a hopefully playful manner, “I thought it was poor manners to pry?” I asked, feigning a smile.

Kate scoffed, “see if I help you next time then.” She said that, but there was little to no heat in her voice, and she remained where she leaned against the wall, watching me with hungry eyes and a half a smile.

Before the artist began, he apparently had a second wind of questions, especially regarding the Mark on my right arm. This was uncomfortable, as that Mark was what could be titled a godsmark, which was grounds for arrest by the inquisition. Fortunately, from external examination alone, one could not tell. Merely that the Mark was advanced. Incredibly advanced.

“Complex,” he said, before pointing out, “I’d be interested in learning who did the work. And who sponsored it in the first place.”

Kate also perked up at that question.

I shrugged helplessly but refrained from answering.

Kate rolled her eyes and grew impatient with what she termed, ‘the boring stuff.’

“C’mon already!” Kate complained loudly.

“You’re friend could certainly learn a few virtues,” he told me, referring to Kate.

“Excuse you?” Kate scoffed.

The man rolled his eyes but otherwise ignored it.

“Well, if there’s nothing else, we might as well get to it then,” he said.

He pulled out a small tray full of solutions and needles, and he mixed the powdered crystal into a bowl with something smelling fairly caustic. He took the wire of High Silver and threaded it into a modified needle gun, which he then slotted a fresh needle into, he then fed a Charger in.

He gave an artificed device a test start, causing the needle to whirr, very similar to a tattoo gun, with a thicker needle, and with the spool of wire feeding in from the top like a strange handheld sewing machine.

“To confirm, you want it here?” he asked, pointing at my ribs opposite to where my myst egg had bonded.

I nodded while Kate leered at my exposed ribs. Perhaps due to nervous anticipation, I allowed some irritation and annoyance to escape. “A little privacy?” I asked Kate.

She snorted a laugh, as though I were joking.

I quickly tamped back on the irritation and flashed her a quick, if nervous smile.

The artist glanced down at his book for a last reminder, resting his wrist upon my flesh. He paused, a second, then lifted his hand and dipped the needle in the ink. Another test start. This time, a fine mist of ink sloughed off the needle. He nodded to himself and returned to my side.

At this point, Kate interrupted with another question.

This time, her question worried me.

“So, yeah… but like, isn’t there supposed to be a numbing cream that goes on first?” She asked with a frown.

“The local anesthetic?”

“Yeah, that. Shouldn’t that go on already?”

“Yes, that is it. It takes some time to set in, and I was under the impression you wished to skip over the boring stuff?” he asked wryly.

Kate blushed and scratched the back of her neck in chagrin, glancing to the side.

“Well, even if we did wait for it to kick in, I can’t apply it since I don’t have it, since it was robbed along with my inks and metals. So unless you wanna quit?”

“Would there be a refund?” I asked.

“No.”

“Haaa…” Kate said, sounding nervous herself.

It was her tone, more than anything, which convinced me I was in trouble. It was almost enough to pre-empt a curse.

“We’re good then?” he asked.

I nodded weakly and dry swallowed.

“Might wanna bite down on something,” he said. But rather than wait for anything else, he began.

At that point, I did curse. “Mother–” I hissed out.

Because his needle-gun stung.

Quite a bit.

“Is it too late… to… reconsider?” I asked with a tight voice.

The artist scoffed and shook his head, otherwise ignoring my complaint.

The stinging sensation only grew from there. My false-arm twitched, either in commiseration or pain. I tried consoling it, worried that it would murder the artist and out me as an agent of the infested. The needle passed over a rib where I thought a tendril might have been, and I felt that same tendril tighten painfully where it was wrapped. I sent calming thoughts to the false-arm, but it was made difficult each time the needle and ink and wire thread rewove over what felt like the exact same spot–I gasped and choked on spit.

Kate spoke, her mouth moved, but I could not discern what it was she said.

My eyes watered. Each second felt like a minute. Each minute felt like an eternity.

I needed this Mark.

I felt unsure I could continue.

But I needed to persevere!

It was just–

Just when I thought I could handle no more, a firm and calloused pressure grasped my hand. It squeezed tightly enough that it drew my attention away from the pain, providing a brief and very welcome distraction. My thoughts returned to a more controlled state, though the pain was still intense. But pain was nothing I had not endured before. In fact, I recalled that I had endured much worse than this. Mother had ensured it.

However, were it not for Kate grasping my hand, I might not have gathered and steeled myself in time.

At this point, without pausing his work, the artist reprimanded me. “Stop wiggling,” he said. “Otherwise there may be a deviation.”

Kate squeezed my hand in her grip and mouthed an apology to me, though she remained holding my hand, which I felt incredibly grateful for.

The needle continued its buzzing for what felt like hours. Where the needle passed, a burning sensation spread outwards across my skin, coupled at the same time with pressure from beneath. It felt as though my internals were swelling, the sensations entering adipose and muscle tissue, spreading even further than that even. It spread in straight lines, rather than following the tissue. While my sense could hardly be accurate, were I to describe it, it would be as a three dimensional maze, centered from where the artist passed the torture instrument across and into my skin.

I had always thought I had a high pain tolerance; now I was revisiting that belief.

The pressure spread beyond my sides, beyond my ribs. My bones ached. My tongue felt swollen. My eyes felt overly full. My temples pounded. The room felt too bright; my blood too loud within my ears. The scent of saline and copper filled my nostrils.

The artist leaned in closer, peering through a magnifying glass as he circled around a series of swirling sigil, focusing on just the last whorl, adding what could have been considered flair. He leaned in closer, muttering, before flipping a second switch on his artificed instrument of torture.

It went from a buzz to a high pitched whine.

Electricity ran through me, causing my entire body to seize tight and spasm. I cried out, or tried to. My bladder nearly relieved itself. My colon flexed. Were it not for the absolute shame it would bring, and were it not for the fact that every muscle within my body contorted, including sphincter, then I likely would have caused myself great shame.

I was fortunate in that regard.

In every other regard, not so much. As for the process itself, It hurt. Terribly so, and worse than before.

At some point, Kate asked with a wince, “maybe lessen up the grip, yeah?”

I came back to myself, and realized my hands were clenched tightly enough to cause both my knuckles and Kate’s fingers to turn an unhealthy swollen white.

“S-sorry,” I managed.

An indeterminate eternity later, the torture instrument switched off. After came blessed silence. Though my muscles still spasmed in infrequent twitches.

“And… done,” the artist said, sounding self satisfied. “That should do it. Course the standard rules go. No Alchemical modifiers of any sort for the next month, and avoid any further Marks until this one settles, at least half a year, though to be safe, wait closer to the full twelve months…”

“I had not realized there was a limit to how often Marks could be received,” I said, still attempting to distract myself from the weariness and the pain that was flooding all of my nerves. The burning wires had not cooled since the artist had stopped, but they had continued spreading, reaching my hips and my neck and continuing onward from there.

“If you ever hear otherwise, you know you’re dealing with a hack,” the artist said, ejecting the needle and wrapping the rest of the leftover supplies up before packing it all away into his tool-kit. I almost raised that point that some of those materials should be returned to me, except I doubted precedent would be on my side. “Now that you’re done, give it a chance to settle before moving around too much.”

“Does she have to?” Kate asked. “Wait, that is?”

“Well, no. But it’ll burn for a couple of days and movement exacerbates that pain.”

“Will it have deleterious effects if I do move about?” I asked, concerned.

“Other than the pain?” he asked. “Not really, no. Not like the circuits would tear. Least they shouldn’t.”

“See?” Kate said. “We’re fine, then. Wanna go test it out?”

“Wait for me to bandage your friend up first,” he said, pulling out dirty-gray looking strips of cloth, along with a cloudy cream. The cream itself was an antiseptic, and not, the pain relieving numbing agent. Otherwise I may have revised my unwillingness to commit murder.

“You wanted to test it?” I asked Kate, taking my attention off the bandaging. “So, what did you have in mind?”

I winced as the artist sprayed his raw and bloody canvas with another caustic solution. He wrapped it with bandages next.

“Aw, nothing too crazy,” Kate said. “Just some light sparring? Give it a go, see what it does?”

The artist finished tightening the bandages around my sides a bit too vigorously as he scoffed.

“You know how to take care of it?” he asked.

Kate sucked both her lips in and looked down at the ground, but otherwise allowed me the initiative.

“As in aftercare instructions?” I asked.

“Well, yes. I wouldn’t want to see my work go to waste.”

“Nor would I–” I started to say.

“Pffft,” Kate blew a raspberry, “I’ll fill her in if she has any questions.”

She put a heavy palm on my shoulder and began somehow pulling me upwards from the chair and towards the door.

The artist rolled his bloodshot eyes and huffed, seemingly content with Kate’s obvious disregard for proper protocol. Perhaps, I thought, he was inured to this behavior. But before I allowed her to lift me from my chair, I thought to ask one question at least before all else.

“What ability will this Mark first grant me?”

“You mean which Greater Glyph?” the man asked, his lips partially sneering. “You mean you don’t already know?”

My cheeks warmed in embarrassment as I wilted beneath the artist's judgemental gaze.

Kate coughed, “No, of course she knows,” Kate said. “We picked it out together. She’s probably wondering what sort of difference it’ll make out the gate. You know?”

He made a sound of disgust in the back of his throat. “No, I do not. Most Marks take weeks to grow and acclimate.”

I wanted to ask for a follow up appointment, to wonder if I would indeed need to wait weeks, or if that was merely a worst case scenario. However, Kate was pulling me, and after sitting through this room in such agony for the past eternity, I had no more desire to remain. I justified the failure to ask follow up questions as a desire to avoid revealing my ignorance, though more than likely I was merely embarrassed.

Soon, we were out the door, leaving the irritable Sacred Artist behind, with me lagging in following Kate. My right side felt overly tight, and I found myself nearly limping, though I was unsure why. My hips and waist were far more sore than the rest of me, and the man’s hot needle had never passed anywhere close to there.

Kate, in a surprising show of concern, slowed her pace, and supported my shoulders gently by wrapping her arm around me. Normally, I would have played somewhat coy. Normally, I would have avoided physical contact. But now, the warmth of the half embrace felt nice, along with the safety that her presence implied.

At least, it comforted me until she next spoke, bringing up a previous topic.

“So, sparring?”

Blessings: Rank (1/9)

* Body: 65

* Mind: 75

* Spirit: 49

Talents:

* Athleticism I (1/9):

* Climbing I (4/9)

* Featherlight I (4/9)

* Inversion (2/9)

* Gymnastics (4/9)

* Stealth I (8/9)

* Trackless Tracks I (3/9)

* Area Coverage (5/9)

* Alchemical Immunity (ineligible for growth)

* Eschiver I (2/9)

* Evasion I (1/9)

* Impending Sense (3/9)

* Lucky Break (8/9) (+1)

* Courtly Dancing: Treachery (1/9)

Spells:

* Illusion I (5/9)

* Touch (8/9)

* Guise of the Kitsune (6/9)

* Closed

Gifts:

* Obsession (3/9)

* Closed (0/9)

* Closed (0/9)