Her temples throbbed.

Her temples always throbbed, but especially after dealing with her most recent recruit. Just something about the girl made it difficult for Belobog to get a solid read. Nevermind the other oddities there… because there were several, and she was doing her best to avoid thinking about one of them. In addition to all the noise, Jackie must have had some sort of Talent to defend with. Probably a good thing, actually probably a great thing, since the girl was insistent enough to play schoolhouse with the oligarch brats.

Or were they noble brats? Belobog mused, distracting herself from the encroaching migraine. No, Belobog decided, wealthy elites ruled the city, more so than any derivative of a pseudo-sacred bloodright. Oligarchs it is.

Even if all that noise was missing, and Jackie offered a clean read of thought and intent, even then, she would likely leave Belobog with a headache. Maybe not a full on migraine, but still. Who just runs off to rob an established gang without thought? Obviously it turned out alright, but what if? Not only was it risky for her, but maybe, also, possibly, risky for Belobog as well.

Naturally, Belobog passed on some wisdom to Jackie, but therein came the difficulties in reading her. Belobog was uncertain if the advice would stick. She was unsure if Jackie had even realized that advice had been given. And if Jackie had realized that, Belobog was unsure if Jackie had realized the sterner warnings that the advice had veiled.

Already, as she was making her way back down the hill towards Laverna’s Cup, she was second-guessing herself. She wondered if she should have just spoken plainly? Typically, that never worked. But at least she would know that Jackie heard it.

It was as she considered this possibility, that she caught a flash of intent.

Immediately, her temples flared. She pushed through the pain, barely wincing, as her mind’s eye tracked the sudden intent.

Danger? She wondered. But there should be none. The Vigilants had no reason to harass her, and no other players were in the area at the moment. She pushed past the discomfort and honed in on the sense of pressure radiating from… oh, it was moving away. But that combination of intentional, yet impatient. Feminine, yet… naive? One of the stranger frequencies that Belobog had felt.

Yet… no, that… Belobog recognized the imprint.

She sighed heavily, letting her tired shoulders sag. Of course it would be tonight of all nights, she thought.

But, she was lacking solid alternatives so she made the detour, following after the faint psychic trail that this familiar imprint had left. It would take a bit, but other than dropping Jackie’s haul off with Joe, and logging the unscheduled but successful job Jackie had taken on, Belobog had little to look forward to back at Laverna’s Cup. Nevermind the inconvenience at the detour. Belobog would be foolish to leave her patron’s agent waiting. And, nevermind that she had never actually met her so-called patron directly. Actually, that was probably for the best, Belobog decided. Especially if the patron was the paranoid sort to tie up loose ends. Especially since Belobog was something of a prodigy when it came to digging secrets.

She continued to follow the trail of naivety and expectation until she reached a small park, almost an alcove wedged between two duplexes. The park was lit by a single lantern by the road, which was insufficient to pierce the rose hedges that encompassed three sides of the park and the bench.

If it were not for her migraine, Belobog might have enjoyed the twilight floral ambience. But as it was, the strong scent left her wincing. She rubbed her temples again, then readjusted her hairband to ensure her horns were covered. They needed to be grinded down again. But the thought of doing just that made her feel like puking.

Belobog passed underneath a hedged archway and found the only stone bench within the park. She dropped herself into it, gracelessly, and lounged with an arm on the backrest and her face pointing upwards. The dark and gray sky soothed her, ameliorating her headache… somewhat, at least.

Their presence grew more strongly.

The agent approached.

Were it not for the migraine, Belobog might have heard the rustle of footsteps upon the green. However, Belobog had enough insights into her own thoughts to know she was merely making excuses for herself. Afterall, her physical senses were not nearly as trained as her psychic; and why would they be? She self-justified. Not that she needed to justify anything, not even Guesswork could claim to be better, and Guesswork had the imperial stamp all over her…

Belobog, belatedly, realized she had allowed herself to drift–a dangerous failing in her line of work.

The bench shifted minutely as the agent sat beside her, all prim and proper.

“Sloppy,” the agent chided.

While they wore a felt cloth mask and a shawl to hide her identity, it was clear from her bearing and mannerisms and the way she perched on the edge of her seat with her knees pressed together and her back arched… and, well, just everything combined, anyone could tell that the agent was a high-brow female, likely raised for her current position. From what Belobog could gather off stray surface thoughts, the agent may have been a personal assistant. Which, considering most would be loath to send useful, expensive, assets into a potentially dangerous situation for little gain, Belobog thought the patron might have been making a statement.

What that statement was, Belobog was unsure. Not that it mattered much at the moment. Belobog could always figure it out later, when she felt more hale.

Meanwhile, the agent continued giving Belobog side eye, judgment written across her face.

“Your horns are visible,” she added. “Fix them.”

Belobog winced as she once more felt at her temples. Sure enough, her hair band had gotten knocked askew. She wondered how long it had been like that. Fortunately the streets were empty so no passerby saw them. That could have been bad, depending on if somebody recognized what they were, what they meant.

“Grind them back down tonight. This is intolerable as is,” the agent continued. “They are far too visible for discretion.”

Belobog sighed once more, already more or less agreeing with her, but unable to come straight out and say it, for reasons.

“Glad to see you care about the little stuff,” Belobog muttered, fixing the cloth once more. If her parents could see her now, they would be mortified. Ha. That would almost make it worth it.

The agent clicked her tongue, clearly irritated by the glib response.

“This is not a light matter,” she scolded. “Your patron has not invested so heavily into this operation for you to get caught, for him to lose, solely because you could not be bothered to maintain yourself!”

“Alright, alright, I get it,” Belobog said. “I’ll have it fixed before I go out again. Was this the reason you decided to meet?”

“Do I need a reason to request a report?”

“I guess?” Belobog answered honestly. “It would be kind of a waste of time, otherwise…”

“Fine,” the woman hissed. “There have been several oddities occurring nearly at once, and I would have the reason for them.”

“Well, don’t leave the psychic in suspense,” Belobog said. “What sort of oddities are you thinking you saw?”

The agent grit her teeth, and Belobog considered that a win.

“It may be benign,” the agent started. “But as I examined the submitted reports, along with my plants elsewhere–”

Belobog had long suspected that her patron had spies all about the city, besides Belobog and crew. This was good to have confirmation. Also, justification for riling up the agent in the first place. Belobog would have patted herself on her back, but she was going through the motions of paying attention to whatever the agent was saying.

“-it struck me as a potential issue.”

“Well, let’s get it out of the way then,” Belobog said. “My head’s killing me, and I’m still not done with tonight.”

The agent huffed in disapproval at the casual remark, but otherwise continued.

“Firstly, tell me this, for what reason are you out at this time of night, with your horns plainly visible to those familiar with such tells.”

“Can’t a gal go for a stroll?” Belobog asked.

“No,” the agent said bluntly, before expounding. “Not when such a gal is such as you, and not when the Vigilants–” she all but hissed the word “-are suddenly overly active, in part due to those aforementioned oddities.”

“Please,” Belobog scoffed. “Those kiddies? It’s past their bedtime.”

The agent huffed, possibly amused. Belobog would look, but the last time Belobog had done that she had been struck with an insufferable and catchy jingle. It was almost a memotic weapon. One that Belobog suspected the agent had trained in the use, to thwart any nosy psychics that might just happen to take a look. It would take effort, but for a person with secrets to keep, in a city with at least two people that could extract those secrets with but a thought, the effort was likely considered a worthwhile investment.

“That may be, but they have been more active recently, and you have not answered my question. Now is not a time for your word games.”

“Fine,” Belobog said. “I was visiting a new recruit.”

“Have you submitted a dossier?”

What?

“No… not yet,” Belobog said, suddenly running out of clever things to say. Improv was not her strongest skill. “I wasn’t planning on it either. Do I need to? What would I even put in one? Seems like a bad idea, all-around.”

The agent sighed in disappointment. Under her breath, Belobog thought she heard the agent complain something about “slothful thieves.” But then the agent shook her head and refocused upon Belobog.

“I expect a write up on this new recruit, including capabilities and liabilities. Submit it tomorrow with your fence, he’ll know what to do.”

“And the contents?” Belobog asked. “Wouldn’t it be easier to just tell you about it now?”

“That would be folly.”

“Ugh. That… how does that make sense?” Belobog spoke as she thought, processing these new ridiculous desires while dealing with an unholy headache. She was not operating at her best, but she was trying. “And writing this stuff down where it could be intercepted. Yeah? Yeah.”

The agent covered her face with her hand in a theatrical display of exasperation, as though Belobog were the ridiculous one.

“Not if it’s secured appropriately, then properly redacted or destroyed, no.”

At the end of the day, Belobog was tired, and she would rather be anywhere else than there. And also, the agent was the one paying the bills. So… yeah.

“...alright,” Belobog said grudgingly. “Still though, this seems like a lot of unnecessary work, but yeah. I’ll do that. For you.”

“Is the bare minimum too much effort for you?”

Wisely, Belobog refrained from answering.

“Is it?” the agent asked in an insufferable tone.

“I said alright!” Belobog snapped, then instantly regretted it as her own voice thundered through her nasal passages and directly into her brain. She ended with a piteous groan.

“Very well. On to the next oddity. Your fence recently moved several goods that likely came from a robbery on the Hill.”

Belobog winced, realizing where this was going.

“I specifically directed you to avoid alerting the authorities until after our campaign had begun. Now, the Hill is abuzz with peacekeepers and Princess Marissa’s toys.”

“Yeah.. uhm… how to say this. It wasn’t us?”

“And your fence just happened to receive artificed goods matching the bill of stolen artificed items?”

“No, so you know that recruit? Well, they took initiative before we really recruited them.”

“Why recruit them then? Would it not be our best interest for the thief to be caught? This would likely lessen security measures.”

“You don’t know that,” Belobog said.

“Would that not make sense? I anticipate that maintaining a state of constant vigil is tiresome for those employed by both Princess Marissa and the Baron Ore.”

“Maybe, maybe not. We don’t know. What we do know, is that we secured a new recruit that’s likely an A-Lister.”

“I do not quite follow.”

“Yeah?” Belobog said. “Well, picture anyone of the Vigilants. Those are all A-Listers. The cream of the crop in terms of ability and potential.”

“An Imperial Sigil?” the agent asked in a worried voice.

“No, I don’t think so.”

“Regardless of the source, significant resources would have been spent then in raising this recruit. Did you not consider this?” The agent asked as though Belobog had not considered this very angle. “It may be a trap.”

Belobog scoffed and tapped the side of her head.

“Psychic.”

“That is not a guarantee,” the agent rebutted.

“Maybe not a hundred percent, no… But I observed for a while before making the move to recruit her.”

“Then I anticipate your report. But while on this, was this recruit rewarded for their indiscretion with a snakestone?”

“The Blackjack?” Belobog asked, taking a moment to match the term snakestone to the stone with an affinity for treachery.

“Indeed. It has been removed from the books.”

Just how much paperwork was Joe doing? Belobog wondered.

“Maybe. We definitely catch more flies with honey, and we want the biggest and best fly for this upcoming job. If you know what I mean.”

“And you will spend this new recruit on such a job?”

“Well, yeah? It fits their skill set.”

“What of the remainder of the team?”

“We’ll be supporting, for sure. But the primary infiltration would be an old hat for ‘em.”

“Very well,” the agent said, rising to leave. “We expect great things. Ensure to submit the dossier. And file your horns.”

“...yeah…” Belobog hesitated for several seconds, watching as the agent began to leave, before venturing enough to ask, “Any word about my brother?”

The agent paused midstep. Their shoulders twitched a fraction, almost sagging.

“We have sent agents to follow up on a rumor of his passing.”

For a second, Belobog’s hopes rose.

“But, the rumors are a month stale at least, and have traveled through several towns and outposts. I advise against raising your immediate hopes.”

“But still… this is a step in the right direction, yeah?”

You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.

“Indeed,” the agent said. “I wish you a pleasant night.”

“Joe,” Belobog called out as she came through Laverna’s back door.

“Oh Joe~” she called out again, this time singing with a levity that absolutely failed to communicate her mood. But these sorts of discussions were always best done with a facade in place.

He either was ignoring her… or busy. Knowing Joe, Belobog suspected it was the first.

Which was irksome, as their little clubhouse was quite large. To put it in scale, Laverna’s Cup was only the middle third of the place. Normally, that would be where she could find Joe, putting on the face of their front. But the bar would be closed by now, and it was hardly like he lived down there.

“Joe?” she called out again. A little louder. She grimaced as the volume of her own voice reverberated through her skull.

There came no response.

Irritating. Vexing, perhaps. Definitely regretful, and not at all copacetic. She regretted that she would have to do this, but she did it nonetheless.

She loosened up on her mental control, and felt the variations in pressure of the world around her. It was not the full psychic sweep, more of an externalized empathy sense, where the emotions a person radiated were more akin to wobbles than sound or vision.

It was hardly coherent without practice.

Even with practice, the passive emotion sense was hardly exact.

And so, she relaxed her senses, letting the world’s noise wash over her. The city thrummed with activity, but it was a distant background, a constant presence, similar to how gravity felt the same, no matter where one stood. Only the sources near her stood out. And from those, she felt more depth than usual, focused in one place.

She bit her lip, beginning to pick through the nested signals.

One of the wave-sources felt faint. That could have been Joe, but it also could have been a particularly strong source in the distance. She walked down the hallway, towards where she felt at least one definite presence, even though those presences were too heavy to be Joe. She already knew, or suspected she knew, who they were. Even if Joe was missing, those two would probably have an idea where he had run off to.

But as she moved, still focusing on the faint signal, she triangulated it to about where the other sources were.

So everyone was together then, she decided, continuing on her course, heading up the stairs to the loft above Laverna’s Cup.

Even while navigating through the dark hallways, she never stopped listening to the three. The frequencies were shifting quickly, a chaotic symphony that not even the maddest-hatter would invent. She wished she could liken the discord to a masterpiece, she wished that she could find enjoyment in it, even if she could track patterns and averages and intuit what people were feeling and thinking, all with just her least passive sense.

But, no… it sounded awful. She hated it.

Since she already knew who she would likely come upon, and roughly where they were, she began walling off the passive sense once more, focusing more on the world around her. She still felt their general pressure, but somewhat muted.

Thankfully, none of them were currently feeling anything strong. Otherwise, it would have been more difficult to block them off, once she had opened herself up.

Eventually, she came to the common living quarters in the loft, meant for a larger crew than they currently had. As she came down the hallway, she slowed, approaching the closed door to the shared space. She heard their voices, and she decided to listen in with her mundane senses, just for a bit, just for the nostalgia, and just in case they were discussing anything juicy that she could hang over their heads.

First, she heard the gruff and deep baritone of Bee, one of the albino twins. Belobog might have wrinkled her nose a bit. She and Bee had difficulties in finding common ground: they came from opposite backgrounds that were just about as polarized as possible. She knew this, he knew this, and they tried to work around it… but to say they enjoyed each other's presence would be a lie.

“-saying, nobody knows. No rep. None–” Bee said. An unusual name for such a figure, but Belobog happened to know his full name. It was a bad name. Belobog would go by Bee too, if she were him. Or, better yet, she would change her name entirely. Shake off the shackles. Leave them shattered and forgotten. But not Bee. He kept his to prove his strength. The lug was an idiot.

“Ain’t that a good thing?” A contralto voice called out, his sister, similarly named Ay. At least his sister was the practical sort, even if she kept with the same dumb name, for solidarity with her lug of a sibling.

“She’s right,” Joe responded, unaffected by the conversation. His faint pressure remained constantly light. Belobog might have considered him some sort of psycho, if it was not just his general apathy. Sure, he put on a good show. But she knew what was under the mask. Nothing. Almost a vacuum of an existence, inured to life. “We are instructed to remain incognito. The less Baron Ore hears of us, the better.”

“-get that,” Bee grunted. “Just. It burns. People should know us. Our names. Strength. Else–”

“You are no longer trapped in an arena in Kwyntral,” Joe said plainly, likely making a tactical decision to distract Bee with memories of trauma. It would be a cold maneuver, if done intentionally.

A silence dragged for several seconds. Belobog could feel the flickering pressure emanating from the siblings, a stream eroding a canyon wall, attempting to create new routes but ultimately rebuffed by stone and falling back to a frothing rhythm.

Perhaps not all of the symphony sucked.

Eventually, something firmed, smoothed, ice forming over turbulent motion.

“Whatever,” Ay scoffed. “The crews on the other side use rep. If people started sayin’ the Garnets were weak, how long do you think that’d stand? My bro might be dim about some stuff, but he’s not completely wrong.”

Bee’s emotions spiked slightly at the insult, but not nearly enough to incite a verbal response from him. Still noticeable, somewhat comparable to a sudden wave in a silent marsh.

“Please,” Joe said, a scandalous tone played through his voice playfully, though completely false. “This and that are not the same. They live in a very competitive environment with limited resources…”

“You sayin’ we don’t?” Ay asked, though her heart was hardly in the argument, and it seemed she largely agreed with Joe, even if she had yet to concede.

Bee seemed to appreciate his sister’s solidarity.

Meanwhile, Joe hardly moved at all. It was always disconcerting, hearing him speak with passion while hearing his actual lack.

Belobog, knowing full well that Ay could continue arguing for the joy of it, having listened to Ay do just that over pointless things that made zero sense, Belobog decided to intervene before her prattle could worsen her headache.

She pushed the door open and put a confident and snapped a carefree facade on as she entered the common area, grinning and waving to Ay. Ay snorted, nodding her head, which was all the more exaggerated with her snout. Bee snorted as well, though his lacked all good humor.

“Finished eavesdropping, are we?” Joe asked.

If Belobog had never met him before, she might have been worried. Might. It was hard to take someone seriously when they had all the emotional weight of a specter. But the twins were there, and she had an image to maintain. So she leaned into it and smirked.

“Who me?” Belobog asked, making a show of glancing around her.

“Oh? Are you claiming you didn’t?” Joe asked.

“No, of course not. I’m claiming I never stopped eavesdropping.” Belobog tapped the side of her head, through the hood which she had yet to remove. “Psychic, yeah? Always listening.”

A rumble came from Bee at the comment, but nothing further. He knew that all of them brought something unique to the team, and the thing she brought meant there was no privacy of the mind. Unlock Bee, Ay snickered.

“What’m I thinking then?” she asked.

Belobog wanted to wince, but she kept a smug smirk. She had been overusing her active psychic Blessings, doing so again would make it worse. However, Belobog knew how to respond, jest for jest.

“I’ve made the mistake of looking once,” Belobog said, miming a shudder. “No matter how I wash and scrub, I still feel dirty.”

Ay laughed, Bee frowned, and Joe continued aping at a smile.

“Well, all fun aside,” Joe said. “You had a late night. Any reason for it?”

“Why?” Belobog asked. “Did I keep you up?”

“Yep,” Ay answered on Joe’s behalf. “Set up to ambush you and everything. Even asked about ya.”

“I did not,” Joe denied.

“Did so,” Ay shot back.

Bee closed his cow-eyes and furrowed his brows. He traced his nose ring with a thick finger, a twitch he used when he wanted to be anywhere else. The boy was hardly what one would call a socialite.

“Well, so what?” Joe said, likely far too bored to continue the immature argument. “Is it wrong to worry about a dear friend? Especially when we’re supposed to be keeping a low profile?”

Ay opened her mouth to shoot back another light response, but her brother clamped a heavy hand down on her shoulder, shaking his head. Belobog took that opportunity to respond.

“Uh, yeah,” Belobog said. “Well, you know our newest hire?”

“Prospective,” Joe added, but nodding all the same.

Belobog had originally set the sack of Jackie’s loot down upon entering, but now she scooted it towards him with her foot. “Well, I guess she hadn’t gotten those instructions about laying low.”

“How loud was she?” Joe asked, all false mirth forgotten for neutral quickness.

“Not. She also hit a gang in the slums. Some interesting intel, there.”

Joe nodded, his shoulders relaxing slightly. Again, his internal sense of passion hardly shifted from apathetic. Truly a bizarre individual.

“You passed along those instructions then?”

Belobog nodded. “Yeah. Let her know to chill for a bit. Also made sure she’s on-board for the gig. Needed to use a bit of incentive.”

“And that was all?” Joe asked, eyebrow raised. “By my estimation, that should not have taken so long. Was there trouble?”

“You’re not her dad,” Ay said, joking. Or attempting one. Given their familial background, however, her intent was hit or miss. Bee grunted in response, temper raising a fraction.

“No,” Joe said slowly, before smiling and adding, “Thank the Crown.”

“Ugh. Yeah. But… yeah.” Belobog shook herself loose from the stupor. Ay and Bee seemed simple on the surface, but there were depths to them she could lose herself in. “Our patron’s agent found me and wanted a report.”

“Anything to worry about?” Joe asked, an eyebrow raising slightly.

“Maybe?” Belobog answered. “Depends on if you like doing paperwork.”

Joe grimaced, a rather put-upon expression, which was exaggerated compared to the numbed down feelings he actually felt.

“Not at all,” he said. “Why?”

“Well…” Belobog led off, acting a fraction shy in response to Joe’s own shift. Were it not for the twins, she and he could have played this straight. “The agent wants a dossier or a write-up of some sort for the new girl. The prospective, like you called it.”

“Ah…” Joe said, tapping his chin. “And I’m to write this?” Joe asked

Belobog nodded, “Agent said you’d know what to do, and I have no idea what goes in one of these. I didn’t even know we did them. Seems like an unnecessary risk for not a lot of profit, but the patron pays the bills, yeah?”

“True,” Joe said, adding on a mix between a snort and a huff, which Belobog thought might have been supposed to be amusement, but she was unsure.

Fortunately, before she had to come up with a suitable response, Bee inserted himself with a blunt question.

“The girl,” Bee said. “She good?”

“Yeah?” Belobog said, turning to where the twins sat. “I mean, she’s at least decent. She’s pulled off some solid heists too. Don’t know what else her credentials are, but she seems competent.”

Bee leveled an unblinking stare at Belobog, as though to complain about the number of words spoken. “She fight?” he asked, simplifying his original question.

As if Belobog needed that. It was Bee that needed to broaden his horizons beyond pit-fights. But, Belobog decided to play the game, leading Bee on for a bit. “Yeah, ‘course,” Belobog said. “You count ribbon-fighting, yeah?”

Bee did not respond in the way Belobog thought.

“Be a fool not to,” he said, in all seriousness.

Belobog decided to play it straight.

“She’s good. Mostly acrobats and infil, though. Not a front-line fighter like you. Maybe more like Ay?”

“Right,” Joe said, clapping his hands once. “She’s a thief of ability. I assume our patron was interested in how she’ll fit into our plans?”

“Yeah, I guess…” Belobog shrugged, before taking the chance to leave, now that her piece had been said. “Look, I gotta bounce, head’s killing me…”

Naturally, immediately, irritatingly, Joe’s eyes went straight to the stubs of her horns.

“Sounds good,” he said, paused, then offered. “Did you want my help with that?”

That… actually would be helpful. Very helpful. There were quite a few nerve clusters in the horns.

“Uhh, sure? I mean, if you wouldn’t mind?” she said, glanced towards the twins, then back towards Joe. “I gotta turn in right now though. So… maybe tomorrow?”

“Ah,” Joe said, nodding. “That is unfortunate, but I understand your desire to put it off. I would too, were I you.”

Bee narrowed his eyes in suspicion, verging on disapproval, while Ay gave a quick peek at her brother to see if he was catching this. He was, to Belobog’s ire.

“Unfortunate?” Belobog asked Joe, shaking off the judgment radiating off the albino Meohrs. “Why say that?”

“Well,” Joe said casually. “It’s just that if we were to do so now, I could offer a strong pain-killer to help.”

“Why not offer it tomorrow?”

“It’s best to sleep it off before attempting duties with potentially dire consequences.”

Not that she had anything specifically like that planned for the next day, but she could see his point.

“Well… I’ll take you up on that now then,” she said. Because, truthfully, she had tried several anesthetics, and none of them really took the edge off. But Joe was resourceful. He probably had the good stuff hiding up his sleeve.

Joe stood up from where he had been lounging, and began to lead the way to the upstairs workshop, when Bee decided to throw his not inconsiderable weight in for a definitely unwanted opinion.

“You shouldn’t disrespect your ancestors,” he said, using a longer string of words than Belobog knew he could say. “Shameful,” he finished with a grunt.

Ay rolled her eyes and slugged her brother in the shoulder. “Idiot,” she hissed. “She’s just grinding them down so she can do her job. Nobody said anything about spitting on her grandparents or whatever.”

“It is the same,” Bee replied sternly.

If Belobg was none the wiser, she would have thought Bee significantly older than his sister. Instead, Ay was older than her brother by several minutes.

“Fascinating as this is,” Joe said, interrupting the conversation before it could reach an unfortunate conclusion, “Belobog needs rest, so the sooner we get this done, the better.”

“But–” Bee began to issue another grudging reprimand, but Joe held up his hand.

“No butts young man, not unless they’re walking themselves to bed. And besides, not all of us can be so proud of your people to wear it.”

Bee narrowed his eyes, Ay cackled, and Belobog was left wondering where Joe had picked this act up from. However, he must have had a better read on the twins, as they dropped the topic and allowed Belobog to depart in peace.

Joe held the door open for her, and then before he followed her in, he bid the twins a pleasant rest, and met Belobog in the workshop, which was mostly there to sharpen weapons and repair gear.

The workshop was still largely too new, having been set up recently. Some of the tools were still unused. The floor-plans had been just slightly overly ambitious, but Belobog had nothing to do with that, and it was their patron footing the bill anyways, so what would she care?

Joe gestured towards a stool in front of one of the benches and he left off to unlock a cabinet that Belobog had never noticed before, to pull out an expensive looking green glass bottle. Before she could ask, Joe answered.

“It’s absinthe, the real stuff,” he said. “Made from wormwood. It’ll take the worst of it off.”

Belobog gave the bottle a closer inspection, though she hardly knew what too look for, and it was unlikely that he would drug her. At least not before she had outlived her usefulness. She hoped. She peeked. She confirmed. Her headache worsened. The man’s mind was solid bedrock. Consistent, hiding gems, but not worth the hassle beyond a quick confirmation of surface thoughts.

He poured several fingers worth of the tan liquid, half filling a tumbler, which he gently set down before her.

“Worth its weight in dungeon stone, so eat up.”

“Spirit cores, you mean,” Belobog muttered idly, not that the point of contention really mattered. They were what they were. Glowing rocks stolen from the hearts of twisted flesh of perverted shrines. “This will really work?”

She tilted the glass and lifted it to her nose. The aroma was strong, sweet, and not entirely dissimilar from some of the poisons she may or may not have worked with in the past.

“Don’t believe me?” he asked, before pointing towards a stamp on the glass of the bottle.

It was the mark of a Crown, meaning that the bottle at least was either a forgery, or incredibly expensive. Either way, it proved nothing as the wax seal had already been broken by the time the bottle had come down. Regardless, she already trusted Joe with her life, or rather, had taken some precautions to guarantee her safety. Were he to make a move, this was hardly the time he would choose.

So, without overly worrying further about things she would struggle to change, she knocked the glass back, sending the contents sloshing against her palate before sliding down the back of her throat. She slammed the tumbler back down on the workbench. “Another,” she said, or implied. She was somewhat distracted by the flavor profile, the burning sensations, and following the absinthe as it ran down her esophagus like lightning.

Joe smirked, pouring another finger for her. He then began picking through one of the only tool chests that saw active use. He came out with the file she had used most recently. It still had black grains of keratin stuck in its crevasses. Joe tsked at the sight, before digging out a wire brush and a very sharp chisel.

She downed another shot, and began ignoring Joe. The man was practically invisible. She glanced around at the largely unused space. Several workbenches had been pressed against the walls, though only the one she sat at had seen any use, at least judging by the wood and metal shavings that had been blown up against the crack between the bench and wall.

It was then that Joe’s presence shifted slightly in frequency and amplitude, growing slightly in pressure. Of course, the change where usually there was none to little drew her attention. He felt… if she had to describe it, as eager. As though he were looking forward to the task before him. But not the current one, which was brushing down the files and ensuring the teeth were sharp. No, the upcoming one. The one that would just so happen cause Belobog quite a bit of pain. It was suspicious.

Well, it was hardly news to her, really. So what, the man was apathetic, slightly sadistic, and very likely broken. She just wished this came at someone else’s expense. At least he was helping her, she consoled herself. Then, because she was still feeling far too much, she shot the next shot back.

The flavor really popped this time. Licorice, with the spice of ethanol and something more. The fumes rising through the back of her throat were causing her head to spin.

Joe glanced up at the noise of the tumbler hitting the bench.

“Another?” he asked, gesturing towards the green bottle.

Her eyes lazily followed where he pointed, towards the curious bottle.

The labeling had been scratched off, but the Crown was stamped into the glass, marking the bottle as an officially produced alchemical. How much had he paid for it? Or had it been stolen. Fallen off the cart, maybe? Regardless, it was… the good stuff.

Not that all of her agreed.

Her headache was resisting. Quite vocally. The sensation of spinning, of dizziness, failed to mesh with the nausea inducing migraine at all. She could either push through, drowning out the sensation and maybe harming her liver in the process, or she could back up and muscle through the anticipated pain.

She already knew her choice. She slid the tumbler towards him and nodded.

Another shot hit the back of her throat. Her migraine conceded defeat, and her face felt fuzzy. So did her hands. A small part of the back of her mind insisted that she was currently vulnerable, that she should release a scream of mental energy to disrupt and disable anyone near her.

She had enough presence of mind to avoid doing so, however. If those around her wished her harm, then she would have already been harmed. They needed her, at least for now.

The corner of Joe’s lips curled just slightly as he watched her drink.

“Good stuff,” he said. While the absinthe kicked in, he began running a wire brush over the file, cleaning out the debris from the grooves. He then began the laborious process of deepening those grooves, a constant and faint shwick–shwick–shwick–

“One more?” he asked.

Belobog shook her head. Any more and there was the risk of embarrassment, vomit, and possibly a psychic scream, possibly lethal. Belobog wondered if there was a special term for accidentally murdering team-mates. She could always find out. Though then the deal would be off with the patron and tracking down her brother. Worse, the patron would already be searching for her brother, and she would be helpless to stop them from finding him and extracting any punishment they felt she deserved.

She managed to shake her head, though her eyes kept following through on the motion even after her neck reversed directions. There was some vertigo.

The file was soon prepared, and Joe raised his hands, moving a bit too quickly for Belobog’s intoxicated state. He pulled back the shawl covering her head, and then tossed the hair band aside. He grabbed her chin and tilted her head each way, inspecting the recent growths protruding from her temple.

“A bit worse than usual,” he said. “Want something to bite down on?”

As he asked the last part, he opened another drawer, showing scraps of twine and leather straps, along with clattering spare rivets.

She winced at the noise, the flavor of absinthe, and the anticipated clash of whatever oiled bit of leather she would be biting down on. Almost, she declined. But the taste really was a boon, if she thought of it. The gross flavor might help distract from the pain. And at the very least, it would keep her from biting her tongue or risking her teeth chipping.

Thus, she agreed. A slip of leather entered between her teeth. Joe brought the file up, it loomed across her vision and she shut her eyes, both to keep dust from them, and because the file and Joe’s hand were uncomfortably close.

And then, it began.

She only whimpered slightly.