Ravela sat in a coffee shop reading The Tribute. While classes weren’t in session she had made a habit of prowling the streets wearing other rings.
Shaking her remaining observer for an afternoon or two while he sat outside watching her empty motel room was highly amusing. She had made sure that no valuables were in her motel. She had precisely two rings on her person.
Her outward appearance was that of a curly-haired blonde conman she had coined Michael Manus in La Heumö. The golden ring with its dark purple veins glimmered in the sunlight as Ravela stretched her hand to grab her bubbly chocolate shake.
She observed a pub across the street. Bifröst was the main meet-up for every Swaddy knucklehead in town, as well as many other crooks who worked under the Swaddy families. Ravela took a slow delightful slurp from the straw sticking out of her milkshake. The decision to spend her Fridays not working on her house had been good. She had gotten to study the underbelly of the city. A woman entered the coffee shop and sat down near the window toward the main street, granting her a complete view of Bifröst’s front.
While Ravela had opted for a spot in the back that gave her a better view of the back exit and the front door. She continued reading her paper, waiting for important guests to arrive or leave.
Her eyes wandered over to the woman sitting in her spot overlooking the entire intersection. Ravela read through the latest explosions in the warehouse district.
Someone was raining fire and brimstone on the Swaddy clans and the police were at a loss for who they were hunting.
There had been nearly a hundred killed and Ravela wondered whose crusade she was slowly sneaking into. The security measures around the place had increased over the last two weeks, and that was just what Ravela could see from the outside.
Strangely, Atla Jaest looked not the least bit interested in the recent mafia stories. Ravela wondered what had Atla come to the same cafe as her. Observing once again a bit too close for comfort on her end, Ravela wagered.
She notices the camera on the table. Openly pointing at the main entrance of the Bifröst.
‘Are we expecting important guests?’ Ravela’s eyes wandered back to the bar.
A black limousine rolled up in front of the bar, and one of the guards almost tripped in his eagerness to open the door for the new arrival.
The tall man got out blond hair that was marbled on the sides in grey. His sunglasses hid his eyes, but the wolfish grin on his face looked forced, and the movements seemed tense. Carrying a metal suitcase seemed odd, but Ravela chalked it up to not knowing her object of obsession too well yet.
A man, Ravela knew, came out of the front door. Morbolfr Krone looked somehow less stressed than the man who was his boss. Either he had a much better poker face or his business wasn’t affected by whatever was hitting the clans.
Ravela glanced over toward Atla furiously pressing her camera trigger.
‘The better poker face,’ Ravela concluded. Whatever happened to the clans no doubt affected him manyfold. Watching as the men vanished inside, Ravela put the money she owed together with a small tip under her empty chocolate shake. She needed more information, and the one who would give her that information also just got up to leave.
Converging at the door, Atla didn’t notice her until Ravela spoke up putting her hand on the door before the journalist could. “Let me get that for you, Mrs. Jaest.”
Atla’s reaction was a look of shock as she turned her head her mouth agape.
Ravela grinned, “Here you go,” As she held the door for the stunned woman.
“Wh-What are you doing here?” Atla composed herself quickly.
“Well, there is a war in the city. Shouldn’t you expect a man such as myself to be in town?” Ravela said nonchalantly replied, and slowly followed the journalist.
“So is it you who does these gruesome things on the docks and downtown?” The woman asked not turning nor slowing down.
“Me?” Ravela slyly grinned. “Oh please, I’m not a hardened killer,” She lied effortlessly while telling herself monsters, demons, and her foes didn’t count. “I’m wounded you’d even suggest such a thing. If anything, I am a savior, am I not? This reminds me our fated reunion comes at a most opportune time-”
Atla interrupted her before she could spin the entire spiel for her by biting back, “For you.”
Ravela replied with glee in her voice. “Indeed.”
“So what is it you want from me?” Atla said turning a corner into a more frequented street.
“You seem to be well informed on the clans in Pliada City. Would it be too bold to ask you for a thorough lecture on their organization and businesses?” Ravela inquired.
“Why would you need that? A man such as yourself, with your connections and powers, should know these things.”
Ravela laughed. “Oh dear, I think you overestimate my connections. And I have a good feeling that you more than anyone are well versed in the day-to-day of this particular breed of filth,” She rounded the fast-walking journalist cutting her off right at a car door she seemed keen on reaching.
Tapping the front article of her Tribute. “Quite the cover story, that one right here. Sadly, it feels like the author in question isn’t too eager to put her name under it.”
“Constantine Severus is quite the capable pen. I am sure he put too much work into this story for it to be attributed to someone else,” Atla snapped back, but Ravela could tell that her heart wasn’t in it.
Ravela acted as though she was doubting herself. Looking down at the paper, making a face like she was weighing her judgment. “Maybe I was wrong,” She put down the paper and leaned in. “But I don’t feel like I am wrong.”
Atla took a step back. “So you want me to explain all of Pliada City to you? That’s it?”
Ravela stood back up, pursing her lip while grinning boldly. “That is if you don’t mind helping your savior out.”
“Fine. Do you have a car?” The journalist asked, frustrated by Ravela’s antics.
You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.
“Oh no no no, I get around by bus. Driving myself is such a stressful endeavor.” Ravela said, tapping her fingers one after the other on the car she stopped Atla from jumping into.
“Fine, get in on the passenger side. We’ll drive to my little office and I will give you the lay of the land, and a recap of the things that led up to the most recent horrors.” Atla shooed Ravela away from the driver’s door and before jumping into her seat she said, “And whip that stupid grin off your face, it’s ticking me off!”
Ravela made her most serious face looking through the passenger window then she got in and said, “Onward then. Time is our most valuable resource after all.”
“Who are you anyways to appear everywhere when trouble goes down?” The young woman asked while pulling out of her parking spot.
“I am Micheal Manus, and if I were everywhere where there happens to be trouble my number would be legion. Our meetings are just happy little accidents.”
They stopped at a red light.
“Don’t expect me to be there whenever someone tries to kill you,” Ravela added.
Atla froze and turned her head. Ravela looked at her questioningly. The light turned green, but the car didn’t move. Behind them, a typical big city driver started honking.
“There wasn’t someone trying to kill me in that cafe, right?” Atla said, color draining from her face.
Ravela shrugged. “Not unless you count the cook serving too much bacon with the eggs.”
Atla frowned. “You aren’t funny, you know that, right?”
Ravela pouted. “I’d like to consider myself an acquired taste.”
The honking got louder, and Atla finally drove.
“Still, Michael, I think you have a reason for seeking this information. What is your plan in this city?”
Ravela looked out the passenger window. “I don’t believe I agreed to an interview, Mrs. Jaest. I got some plans for the criminals in this city, but to actualize them, I need to know who and what I am dealing with.”
“You’re some kind of nomadic criminal then. Making big heists before moving on to the next territory before the established families and players notice you?” Atla started spitballing her ideas, undeterred.
Ravela laughed. “Now, what made me a criminal in your eyes?”
“Last time we met, you talked about more than just yourself. You said ‘we’ do you have a team of some kind? Are you some sort of new federal agent?”
“How imaginative. Maybe I am a foreign spy, and you’re helping a plot against your government, eh? Maybe you should stop worrying about who or what I am and focus on what I am not, Mrs. Jaest. Ravela looked over at her driver. “I am not your enemy. That ought to be good enough for cooperation, is it not?”
Atla considered the information. “So, a foreign spy, hm?”
Ravela threw her hands up in frustration, “Oh, for goodness sake, will you just not think it is some deep conspiracy? I am just by myself trying to take care of some things that sadly relate to the scum of society.”
Now it was Atla’s turn to laugh. “So, you planning on getting out of town quickly then? Because if you were to stay,” She trailed off. “Well, let’s just say I could use a friend of your capabilities for backup sometimes.”
Ravela scoffed. “What? You wanna hire me with the money I gave when we got you out of La Heumö next?”
“Not really, but The Tribute might be willing to pay through the nose for someone trustworthy to gain some protection for its best asset,” Atla replied.
“What? Protecting Constantine Severus?” Ravela retorted smiling. “Or has your story changed, Mrs. Jaest?”
The reaction Ravela got was underwhelming. They pulled into a parking spot near the commercial center of Pliada City. The Pillfort Mall still had elements of the former fort in it bastardized into an ugly shopping center.
They entered a building across from it and to Ravela’s unending displeasure sat down in an office with a direct view of the nasty monstrosity some reckless investor had caused.
“Alright, buckle up this will be a lot. First, the Swaddy clans are one big block that generally cooperates well with one another.” Atla paused. “You know how they generally operate and their history, right?”
Ravela leaned back in her seat. “Explain it to me like I am an alien visiting the planet and have no idea of their costumes and organization. Make it detailed.”
The woman glared at her but indulge Ravela.
“There are tensions between some families. Pliada City is their turf as well as Akasha Ulundi. Their territories stretch to La Heumö as a reservation that is their home, their beating heart if you will. Think the entire upper half of the States.”
She pulled out a folder and began putting pictures on the table. “These are the heads of the East Coast Clans. Beorg Wergr, take note of the blue tattoos, marking him as someone from the very old Clans from La Heumö. Marduk “Winnie” Nors yellow tattoos. He isn’t someone who gets involved publicly often, but yours truly still managed to snap a picture of him with two of the big players in town. The aforementioned Beorg and this fine specimen here,” Atla tapped another picture and Ravela recognized the man with his yellow tattoos right then.
“Is Morbolfr Krone,” Ravela supplied.
Atla stopped. “Yes,... well, anyways these three had a meeting recently. Got them in one rare picture. This preceded the bombing of a Jeweler in Gem Grinder Street by the returning afreean mafia. Five years prior Beorg, Marduk, Morbolfr, and the last noteworthy shaker in town, but not in town, had chased them out of their old homes. Four men organized and dislodged the most powerful mobster family from their two hometowns.”
Atla tapped the last picture and there were three people in it. Two of which Ravela knew.
“The Kordos.” Ravela declared.
“Yes, right again Kotsai Kordo and his recently departed twin sons, the only part of the organization that doesn’t belong to the Swaddy Clans. But the indigenous mobs coexist and cohabit in the same territories. Functionally the American Tribes and Swaddy Clans are the same but don’t tell them that. They pride themselves on the slightest differences and minor interchangeably weird traditions.”
Atla stopped for a moment. “You didn’t have a hand in the death of the twins, right?”
Ravela leaned forward. “Not really, but I heard they died the stupidest death imaginable. For sons of a mob boss that was a pathetic way to go.”
The young woman pushed up her glasses before speaking. “Well, not to worry his younger son is the brains that shall inherit Kotsai’s realm. He never had much stock in the twins. Though they were good for the martial deeds.” She rummaged through the folder. “Ah, here. Nu Kordo. Handsome young man, but rumors have it that he is severely deranged, but sadly also highly competent.”
Ravela looked at the picture studying the man’s features.
“Now on to their back-in-town competition,” Atla pulled Ravela out of her contemplations.
In Ravela's head, a plan for the evening began to take shape the longer Atla explained the organizations and their rivalry. She began to suspect that after the docks went up in flame next would be the mafia-controlled factories giving cover to the clan’s drug business and more industrious criminal activities, as well as allowing them access to certain materials that only the building industry could provide.
Ravela was going to spend the night roaming the facilities there, as Ramiel. She said her goodbyes to Atla after some more explanations on the activities in the city and made her way straight to the mall. Wanting to buy a ski mask.
She went into the ugly building and after entering a public restroom she took off Michael’s ring and became Ramiel once more. Making sure after leaving the bathroom that Atla hadn’t decided that he was a worthy ‘research target’, Ravela went for the nearest sports gear store.
Humming a happy tune because it was finally time to cause some mischief.
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*Meanwhile in the school district*
Safora sat in her room waiting for Laena to leave for the library as she usually did. She had made it a point to skip the Friday evenings on the regular.
It allowed her time to fly around and have fun in the skies. To be honest, she started to feel a bit trapped when stuck to the ground or indoors.
The moment Laena was out of the door Safora slipped into her prepared clothes, slung her scarf around her neck and face, and pull her wool hat down. Her face was fully masked except for her eyes.
Once again she flew off into the night sky untethered by gravity or pesky school work. Rolling and looping to her heart's content over Pliada City.
The dockside sadly remained quiet today. Safora had watched mouth agape the national news and articles in the paper decrying the terrorist that had caused havoc just two days ago.
“If only he would try that today,” Safora said hovering in mid-air. ‘I would knock that madman on his butt.’ She felt like the police didn’t do their job right. How else could someone bomb and burn seven warehouses while they were running through the same district as the culprit? It wasn’t like the person did it all in one moment.
No, he had gone through the trouble of doing one warehouse at a time.
Safora shook her head waiting for something to happen, she began flying figures over the docks.
And suddenly on the other side of the river, she saw an explosion as one of the cement factories caught fire. One of the chimney towers collapsed, and Safora stopped flying around. She swallowed hard. ‘Me and my big mouth,’ The teenager cursed her cocky thoughts.
Nonetheless, she flew over the river in a hurry. She could save people and so she would. Maybe she would even mop the floor with the crazy person who did this.
She arrived over the burning factory as a second explosion rocked the building complex. A bunch of debris splintered out of a wall near the ground floor.
A bunch of workers blocked a road leading to the factory. Safora found this odd. She watched as three cars rolled in before she could even hear the sirens or the fire trucks. Somebody had been expecting trouble.
Two vans and a black limousine stopped outside the factory, as more and more workers fled the burning hall and came out from other halls to block the road.
Two men in suits got out of the limousine. One appeared to be clearly in charge and put down a suitcase on the black limousine after the driver padded the hood with his jacket.
Sixteen men build like strongmen lined up in front of their boss. Safora narrowed her eyes. The man got some weird syringes out of the open case and started injecting the lined-up men. Watching from up high she saw each man struggle for a moment before seemingly composing themself again.
She watched as one after the other stormed into the factory. Explosions still rocked the burning colossus. Once the last henchman had run inside, the second man in a suit, she knew that man from somewhere, took off his suit jacket and pulled up his sleeves, and got his own injection.
After receiving his injection, the man didn’t rush into the building like the men before. Instead, he calmly walked to the trunk which the driver opened for him in a hurry. The man pulled out two axes, polished and highly decorated. He fastened the weapons with straps to his wrist, and only then did he calmly walk into the burning building.
The explosions had become more frequent but less powerful, and Safora could no longer just stand by.
Finding a gap in the side wall away from the public eye, the cocky teenager flew into the building unseen.