Flashback Standover Men

[Konrad Venger]

5th Bell - 15th Day of Summer, 496AV - Baroque Bay

"Poppers! Temper! Warp! Slammer f'youse, mate? Take the edge out? Temper, then? Giz ya a nice buzz, m'promisin' ya!"

Skel was working his magic down Mug Street as Eris paced from side to side, keeping her muscles warm for the run she knew was coming. Later in the day, more and more of the human traffic was peeling off to hand over coin to the wiry tout with the full lungs. He'd barely got his latest announcement out when a couple of brawny, half-naked dock workers sidled up to him, exchanging quick words she knew would end with-

-him beckoning her over with a flapping hand, stuffing her hand with warm, sweaty metal as he growled-

"Four dose a' Temper anna' wrap a' Funkus, go!"

And she was off. Ducking and sprinting down and through the crowd with hr knuckles near-white from holding onto the coin so hard. She'd lost a handful once, near the start of her employment. Smacked into a cart that came out of nowhere and the coins went spilling and tinkling across the stones. She dived for them but it was too little, too late. Couldn't expect coin to last long on the ground in Sunberth.

She'd lost almost all of it, so The Rev and his lads made sure she lost the use of her hand for a week.

Buggered if I'm making that mistake again.

In mere ticks she was two streets away, slowing down as she ducked into an alley cut between two decrepit townhouses, black windows like gouged out eye sockets staring balefully down at her. A head popped of one on the opposite side... saw it was her... and nodded.

Marco, the lookout. And he was opposite the-

Oak door with the boarded-up windows on ground level. Eris knew there were cupboards and dressers pushed against them inside, every hole but the one she was about to knock on sealed up. One way in, one way out. That was how The Rev liked it. She got closer to the door, stepping around a coughing bundle of filthy rags with a begging bowl and a stick-

-that shot out as she got closer-

"Petch!"

-taking her feet out from under her and putting her flat on her face, teeth rattling and a cry-

-killed in her throat as she felt sharp, cold steel against her throat. That old beggar moved with speed enough to tell her this was no "old" anything, and to hide, to disguise himself...

"Petch."

"Shhhhhhh," the old man whispered, sound like steam from a broken pipe. There was noise above her head, a cut-off scream from a window that ended in a gurgle, and she knew Marco wouldn't be waking up for a while... if at all. "Keep it quiet, girly, and you'll live through this. Now.. geddup, and slow."

She did as she was told, still holding onto her coin out of sheer instinct, trying not to let the fear pouring out of her skin betray her. Footsteps. Quick and clicking across the cobbles, businesslike and inexorable. The beggar straightened with her and when they did, she could tilt her head a little and see-

A black hat above a long, black coat, walking down the alley. Something was grasped under the coat, swinging as the man approached. He got closer and stopped, tilted up his gaze-

Eris' eyes widened as she saw the scars twisting and deforming half his face. Without them, he might not be much older than her; still a boy, really, but his eyes... they were deep and cold in a way a child's were not. The black hat sniffed and pulled the sledgehammer out of his coat, gripping it securely... then pressed the fat, heavy head under her chin.

"We know there's a knock y'give 'em when youse come 'round," he said, voice hard like he was chewing gravel. "Yer gonna give it now. Anyfin' else, I use this and break every bone in yer body... before he uses that-" Beggar twitched a touch; Eris flinched as the blade dug a fraction deeper "-an' ends ya. Goddit? Jus' nod."

She did. So did Black Hat. Then he looked up and she could see a pudgy kid with a big nose where Marco should be, waving down and grinning... red across his hands. Sticky and shining.

Shyke, Marco...

"Go."

It was a bare twenty feet to the door, but they were the longest of her life. Flanked by Beggar and Black Hat, Eris didn't think. She was too afraid. She knew what this was, what the sledge was for, what they wanted. She wasn't exactly surprised, but now she was in the middle of it all.

Just do as they say. Do as they say or they'll kill you.

She wished she was stronger. Bigger. Skilled with blades and her hands. But she was just a runner, one of a half-dozen The Rev and his boys employed, scuttling across their scant few blocks, back and forth from The House. She had a knife in her pocket she barely had to use, and couldn't even reach-

The door. She was there. She stared at the wood, the slot that she'd heard scrape open a hundred times a day. She studied the wood and the scratches, the mold and the stains, like she'd never seen them before. She swallowed and thought she might choke.

A hand squeezed her shoulder. Beggar tried to sound like he actually cared.

"Do as we said, girly," he whispered lowly, then slid to one side of the door. Black Hat was on the other, sledgehammer gripped securely, raised up and to his side, ready to come swinging down. "An' youse can run with that gold in her hand. Go ahead..."

You can do this. You can. So do it.

Knock-knock... knock... knockknock

Two, pause, one, pause, two fast. Simple enough for any of the runners to get. She rapped her tiny fist against the wood and there was rumbling and stamping behind it. Ernie getting to his feet from the table and his never-ending meal of brad and cheese, waddling over to slide open-

"Watch'oo need, lit-"

Ernie blinked as the girl he peered at through the slot vanished in a blur of tears and running feet, curse on his lips-

-turning to a huff of disbelief as something of metal and wood swung like a comet down and close from the side-

CRACK

-smashing into the door just below the lock.

"Fuck me!"

Not today.

Konrad grunted as the hammerblow destroyed the handle and most of the lock, door shaking like a thunderbolt had struck it, swinging inward and sending the thug behind it staggering, more out of shock that pain-

-Rayn already sliding in through the gap, his disguise of rags and shit-reeking cloak clashing with the dagger he kept damn-good care of, eager to get them wet and get to business-

He dropped the sledge and with a rasp of steel on leather, filled his hand with his kukri. He licked his lips and stepped in through the shattered door, stink of booze and sweat and all the narcotic aromas of The Berth filling his head.

[Konrad Venger]

Eight Days Earlier

He said his name was Snake, but that was just what he said. Konrad knew you weren't a real street daemon until your birth name died and the name the cobbles and the rabble gave you stuck instead. Only the biggest fish kept their own, like Robern and whatever plated pricks ran the Sun's Birth. The Night Eyes... shyke, he didn't even speculate on who or what might run them.

He'd kept his own. It wasn't theatrical, but it was known. That was enough.

"So, wadaya think?"

Enough to get this tubby sack of shit and his older friend sitting at his table at the Dusty Duck that evening. They looked related but Konrad couldn't quite tell. Sanke and... Rayn, wasn't it? Lined face and an eye recently slashed or gouged. Not so bad that he'd been left with a hole, but now a milky orb stared back along with one of blue. Both of them had sought him out through the smoke and gloom and din.

Konrad reacted as one would expect: with a knife in his hand. Took a good long chime of Snake with his hands out and up and talking fast to Konrad like he was a wild dog before he sat back down. Just wanted to talk a little business. Got an opportunity, see?

"Tell me again."

"Right," Snake wet his whistle and smacked his greasy lips before he launched into it a second time, Konrad's face like stone as he listened. "Me an' Rayn, we got word a' this house in the Bay, yeah? Pumpin' out quite a bit o' the good stuff. Temper, Warp, Slammer, Poppers, Funkus, Winger, even Poke some weeks! Now, it ain't in the Reaches so the Daggers ain't gettin' a cut-"

"But we figure someone is," Rayn cut in smoothly, the voice of weary experience. "Everyone pays a cut, af'er all. These boys probs pays it t'onea' the Baroque gangs. Buckers, maybe-"

"Yeah, but anyway, they're doin' good business. Real good. An' they're smart, see? They've got touts on the streets but they ain't holdin' the stuff. They take an order, 'and off the coin to some kid, kid goes runnin' like a rat through a sewer to this 'ouse, then they get the stuff and giz it to the customer 'round the corner."

"How'd youse hear about this place?"

"Some loose-lipped cunt inna' tavern up by the water," Rayn said, relighting his pipe with a coal from the fire nearby. Konrad liked being by the warm when he was in the Duck. He'd spent enough of his life freezing his bollocks off. "Buyin' drinks for e'ry'one, flashin' 'is purse, tellin' 'em about The Rev and his house. We checked it out, asked some questions-"

"Point is," Snake slid back in like his namesake, unexpectedly considering his bulk. "We saw the touts. Saw the runners. But we go chasin' after 'em, they'll see us. Mebbe lose us. So, we need another set a' eyes. We gotta do it slow, see? Like... piece it together, so-"

"So youse can find this house without tippin' off the runners an' the lookouts."

"Lookouts?"

Konrad tipped back his ale and knew that by even furthering the conversation, he was as good as shaking their hands and throwing in his lot. But that was how the street lore saw it; not how he did. He saw a problem and came up with an answer, but it was just words. If they wanted his wits and his steel, they needed something more... promising.

"House is gonna have lookouts. Ain't gonna jus' rely on people not followin' the runners. If youse two can get this far, others might've. So, you gotta follow the runners, or have eyes on where they go, and have eyes looking for the sentries."

"Sentries?"

"Means lokouts, Snake, fuck's sake-" Rayn shook his head and massaged his face. "That mean yer in?"

Konrad rummaged around in his pocket for a fat little cigarillo of Temper and good tobacco. Lit it off a candle and reflected idly on how oddly good the gods were to give them shyke like Temper and Warp and Slammer. Then again, considering what a hateful fucking mess they'd made of the rest of the world, it seemed only fair.

He liked Temper. He'd like it more if he didn't have to pay for it.

The thought made him smile, a slow, oozing thing that spread across one side of his face and tugged viciously at the other. It was a nice idea... but there was still one question in need of an answer.

"Why come to me? Coulda' gone to the Daggers, or one a' the gangs in the Reaches. Why me?"

They took their time answering. Exchanged a long look and Rayn hunched his shoulders as if to say, well, tell him, already! Snake clearly didn't want to be the one to launch into an explanation, but another swig of grog fortified him and-

He leaned forwards. Ah. So it was like that.

"Heard youse were good with a blade," he muttered. "Youse don't run with the Daggers, but... yeh used to. With that bastard Taz until he got himself dis'peared, aye?" Konrad answered with a stony glare until Snake plowed on. "Well... anyway... whutever 'appened to 'im, youse're still 'ere, ain'cha? Been makin' a name for yerself. Odd jobs, here and there, not pissin' off the Daggers since this is yer 'ome an' all. People know about ya-"

"They know the hat, too. Hard t'miss it."

"-anyway, we thought yeh'd be... motivated, like..." He leaned forward even closer. Oh, so he had some kind of master plan cooking, did he? Konrad struggled not to snort as he took another drag. "Cuz the Daggers? They get their cut, too. All above board, like. We get in with them, nice fat cut of a nice fat payday for us, they'll remember us. We all get coin and dope in our pockets, the Daggers get some n' all, an' not only that, they get some Baroque bastards out the picture, and with them out of it-"

"The dead-heads buyin' their stuff come to them instead, what with the Reach right next door." Konrad finished the plan for Snake and smirked around his Temper Taper. He nodded, and a glimmer of something like respect glittered in his green eyes for a tick. "S'a good plan."

"That mean yer in?"

Konrad pursed his lips... and pushed the empty mug across the table.

"Fill 'er again, an' I just might be."

[Konrad Venger]

The Rev's House

"What in the fuck...?!"

The Rev didn't last as long as he had by falling apart over some loud noises and raised voices. It wasn't fear that first flashed through him when he heard the commotion; it was anger. That someone was petching with his smart, careful and profitable operation. He was on his feet before hos boys, snatching up the cutlass he never had beyond arm's reach.

There was a bellow from downstairs that ended in a screech. Curses. Smashing porcelain and the thump of a body hitting the floor. More voices. Screams from the bitches he had working on his-

"The product," he growled, fury for an instant freezing the three fucks he had lounging around. "Well wadaya fuckin' waiting for?! Geddown there, f'fuck's sake!"

The big guy behind the door died first, and fast. Konrad saw Rayn's daggers flit and fly, reminding him that age or not, the man was a killer. The doorman got in one clumsy swing and a shout before serrated steel pierced his chest, then his throat, and then-

Then it was instinct. Memory. Fun, if he was honest. The planning and the watching had taken a lot out of him. For days they'd been patient and hidden, joining the dots until they had a map and an idea that they could work with. But all of that, and all to follow, didn't exist anymore.

Konrad grinned beneath his hat and sent a nameless thanks into the void. Then he got to work.

The House was tall but narrow. Three stories tall and barely fifteen feet across. A couple of gangers with bare arms shot up from the sofa in the room on the right, grasping for weapons-

-Konrad flew at them without pause, hacking down with his kukri as the nearest lunged for a gladius on the table-

"Fuck!"

-chopping blade hacking through his shoulder like a hunk of cow on the block. The man howled and crashed through the table, weapons and spent tapers of smoke falling everywhere-

-Konrad's boot stomping down as he yanked his kukri back up, crushing his face into the floor, breaking something-

"Bastard!"

But his buddy was moving, determined not to go the same way. Came in fast with a dagger aimed at Konrad's guts-

-so he sidestepped through the filth spread across the floor and dodged it, getting ready for the-

-backhanded slash as Buddy tried to lash out, counter-attack-

-dagger clanging against his kukri instead, stopping it dead-

-giving Konrad an opening to snap his left hand out and grab a handful of hair, yanking back hard-

-as his foot struck out and kicked fucker's legs out from behind-

Another crash as Buddy went down flat on his back, stunned for a tick-

-which was all Konrad needed to reverse his grip and stab straight down-

Buddy's eyes popped open and he immediately regretted it. He saw the blade buried hilt-deep in his chest and barely felt it, just the ache, the realization, the shock-

Konrad twisted it. Hard. That he felt.

He finished up with another crunching stomp that drove his nose into his brain after pulling the kukri free, scrape of bone and spurt of blood following the glistening blade on the way back up. A handful of ticks, three dead man.

Good start. Needs to be better.

Konrad knew that speed and surprise was what would carry them. Hit the bastards where they thought they'd be safe, rip through them before they even knew they'd been hit. So far, it was working. But the noise upstairs, the throaty bastard barking orders...

Time to work for it.

"Fuck outta here, alla' ya!"

He stepped out of the corpse-strewn room and into the hallway just as the half-naked women The Rev had working across the way streamed out of it, titties bouncing, faces either screwed up in fear or stoic in that uniquely Sunberth way. Things went to shit, your boss got hit and his men were being slaughtered around you, and what did you do? You calmed the hell down and got away from the Dying Place. Konrad watched them go and shouldered past the last as he stepped into-

"Shyke."

"Yeah, but the good kind."

The dining table was so covered with bags, paper, powders, herbs, shrooms, scales and little tools for filling the first two that Konrad could barely see the wood. Konrad wasn't a dealer, but he knew he was looking at a couple of hundred mizas worth of gear, all of it being scooped and scraped into the sack Rayn had made appear like magic from his coat.

No money. Keeps it upstairs, probably.

That's when pounding feet and angry voices alerted him to the coming problem. He braced himself inside the room and readied his kukri, holding it across his chest. Rayn gave him a glance and he nodded. Just keep doing what you're doing and leave it to me.

Rayn didn't need to be "told" twice.

He listened. He waited. Until the first unseen figure was mere feet away and-

"Fuck happened to Geist an'-"

Looked the wrong way.

Konrad roared as he shot out from cover, kukri moving ahead of him-

Seeing them all in a blink. Four men, crowded behind each other, on the stairs and coming off it. The closest was snapping his head from the carnage in the living room to Konrad's voice when the flashing blade-

-slashed him across the throat, sending him falling back into his friends, Konrad helping him out with a boot to the guts. The two men behind him fell back, cursing their stupid, dying friend even as they grappled with the banister and the wall to stay up.

"Geddup, you wankers!"

The last one, though, he was on his feet. And shouting orders.

Hello, Rev.

Konrad didn't give them a chance to get up, to stabilize, think up anything new. He stepped closer and hacked out at the first arm he saw holding steel-

-ganger screaming as the Black Hat bastard who just opened up Ungur's throat nearly chopped his hand off, mace falling from his grip and-

-Konrad backhanded the kukri across his face and popped an eyeball with the blow. All frenzy now, all speed. Chopping and hacking and slashing into the mass of dying and struggling humanity that seemed all one to him. Three bodies, one dead, one crippled and disfigured and dying, the last-

"Fuckin' move!"

Pushing his dead friends out the way and coming at Konrad hard with his bare hands. Bear of a bastard, too, filling Konrad's eyes before he could get the kukri back up right, already bleeding across his arms and shoulder.

Hate kept him moving, though. Konrad could see it spilling out of his eyes as he tackled him hard against the wall-

-head snapping up backwards to nail Konrad across the face with the back of it, stunning him for a moment-

"Hold 'im!"

Konrad jerked his own head forward hard, crunching into the bastard's face before The Rev could close in and finish him off with his boy holding him in place. Not as hard as he wanted too, though. Bear shrugged it off and reared back, fitting to smash his own head into Konrad's-

Fuck it.

-and Konrad stooped into the blow, but didn't give him his face as a target. The crown of his skull instead. Bear's forehead hammered into the hardest part, instead of the softest, and Konrad could feel the shock tremble down his arms, his grip-

-giving him a tick to rip out of his hands-

-just before a cutlass scraped and gouged into the wall where his head had been.

Bloody well hurt, though. He staggered away a few steps with his head ringing like temple bells, one hand holding it together, the other with his kukri tight to his side. Bear was shaking his own head free of the stars and The Rev was fresh, yanking his cutlass from the wall and turning on him in a fury.

"Got fucking balls, boy," he said as they advanced together, "Coming into this place and-"

A raggedy figure flew out of the dining room at Bear, dagger first. The big man roared as Rayn latching onto him, trying to shake him off even with eight inches of steel through his back. Konrad reckoned he had to be on serious Slammer to ignore it as long as he did, but-

-he had The Rev to worry about, slashing at him again-

-bringing his kukri up to block it, bat it away-

-punch out in retaliation but the dealer was quick, experienced, jerked his head back and-

-put a boot in Konrad's stomach that nearly doubled him over, one knee hitting the ground-

-following it up with another slash, blocking kukri saving him again-

The Rev was quick. Another boot, this time to his chest, knocked him onto his back and Konrad was scrambling, to get away, get to his feet, to just get in any understanding of the word.

His free hand closed around something familiar. His chest felt like an anvil was sitting on it, but his mind was working fine and he threw the kukri with all the grace one would expect from a street kid-

-which wasn't much-

-but it got The Rev to duck away and slash through empty air, not hitting the spinning blade but still taking his eyes off him-

A tick. Maybe two. Sometimes that's all you got. Most times, if you were a big enough bastard, that was all you needed.

Konrad swung the sledgehammer from his knees in a low arc and pulped one of The Rev's knees like it was made of clay, not bone and ligament. The dealer screeched as he felt his leg bend and snap in utterly the wrong direction, falling straight down and slashing out of instinct-

-now Konrad screamed as he felt the cutlass lash his back, a shallow cut but enough to soak his coat as he threw himself forward and tackled The Rev to the floor.

"Just... petching... die, already!"

That was from Rayn, still busy with Bear, but Konrad could have spat the same thing if he'd the energy. As it was, he devoted all of his to gripping The Rev's head and plunging his thumbs deep into his sockets-

-until the orbs popped and that screaming never stopped-

-elbow snapping out to stop that cutlass slashing at him again before he could swing it a second time, grabbing his wrist and slamming it down and down and down on the bloody wood until the grip failed-

"RRRRRAAAAAGH!"

Gods, the bastard really wanted it. Ruined leg and blind, The Rev folded his big hands around Konrad throat and started squeezing. A vice, a noose that Konrad always suspected would be the way he'd leave the world, cut off his air and suddenly he was scrabbling again-

Grabbing the man's head again, hands slick with blood and nameless shyke oozing from his eyes, picking it up like a boulder-

THUNK

-slamming it down hard, but still the pressure-

THUNK

-again, and there was some release, some morsel of fresh air in his lungs-

THUNK

Third time, one hand fell away, letting Konrad draw his own back and-

CRUNCH

Slam a fist into The Rev's throat. Twice. The man coughed red wetness in Konrad's face and he rolled off him gasping, panting, letting The Rev, or whatever, choke to death a few feet away. Rayn was stabbing at Bear like a madman, fucker still twitching, fumbling for his face even as he died.

Konrad spat blood and reclaimed his kukri, staggering towards the door.

"Hey! Went well, eh?"

He could have fucking clocked Snake for his cheery sodding tone, dumpy cunt meeting them at the door. His smile only wavered a moment as he looked around and saw the bodies, the blood, Rayn rising like a vagrant ghost from a pile of corpses, Konrad leaning on the doorway

"Fuck d'y-" He tried to spit out a curse but his throat was having none of it. So instead he just shook his head and swallowed what felt like rocks, pointing out into the alley. "Les' jus... kfff... fuckin' go. Rayn? God... goddit?"

The old man shuffled up, out of breath and slick with sweat... and patting a bulging sack.

"Aye."

[Konrad Venger]

Mug Street, The Days Before

It was tedious, repetitive, wet, boring and totally petching necessary. The last one was what got Konrad to stick it out for as long as he did. As long as they had to, in fact.

"Smoke! Pills! Powders an' shrooms! All 'ere for... oh, want some, darlin'? What ya lookin' for?"

He didn't have a name for the kid, but he knew the hair. Dyed blue, for some petching reason. The last few days, he'd seen him on Mug Street and Acker's Alley on the right. Him and two others, crowing to the world and potential business what they had for sale. And where they were... yep, there she was.

A little slip of a thing. Black hair. Sandals held together with ropes around the soles, cut from cheap leather. Her and a boy with short blonde hair, eyes always scanning, flitting from the street to Blue Hair.

"Something else, s-sir?"

Konrad turned back to the woman at the stall and squinted through the Summer Syna. He'd forgone his hat for this job: too distinctive. They knew it in the Reaches, no doubt some would know it here. He knew it was probably nothing; after all, it was his face people remembered, but still...

"Nah."

He handed over a copper and bit into the apple he'd bought, turning back-

-just in time to see the little chit go whizzing away from Blue Hair.

He quickened his step but kept on his side of the street. Just another guy eating an apple and heading home. Walked fast because damn, kid could move, but he saw her go around the corner... same one as yesterday... and there was Snake across the way.

He didn't nod, or wave, or point. Snake did that the first day and Konrad gave him a look like he'd walk over there and fuckin' beat him to death right in the street. Instead the dumpy hood just walked with a whistle and followed for a street and an alley. Konrad just hoped that Rayn-

"You see her?"

"Aye."

Age helped with Rayn's part of the plan. Cloak over his head, dog shyke smeared into his breeches, walking stick tapping as he walked, he was just another derelict tottering around the streets looking for a decent begging spot. The girl barely noticed him as she ducked down an alley...

... and he saw her knock on the door... then turn around and wave up at a window... saw a skinny hand wave back.

Rayn turned and kept moving. He'd seen all that he'd need to.

"... an' then I saw some kid wave back."

"Sentry, right?"

"Aye, sounds like." Konrad said as he finished his ale at a grog shop later that night. "Looks like we found it. You go by the door?"

"Later, yeah," Rayn finished his own and ordered another. Konrad's tab, of course. That was the bitch about having partners: you had to treat them nice, or close to it. Fucking expensive habit, too. "Hobbled on by, checked out the door. Big, solid bastard. Slot in it, prob'ly where they dole out the stuff."

"I can handle the door. Jus' need to get hold of a big soddin' hammer."

"Went by the 'ouse the sentry was in, too," Snake cut in, apparently finding his new favorite word. "Petching empty. 'bandoned, like. I could get in there easy enough, take the kid watchin' the door."

Konrad nodded. That was only half the plan, though. Still had to get close to the door. Sentry and runner were only half of it...

His eyes wandered over the shit-reeking cloak Rayn had been in all day. Management was hardly going to complain in this petching pit, but it still irked him. Even a year or two living in sewers didn't totally kill his senses, especially after he'd spent years out of them. But looking at it...

Yeah. That'll work.

"Right," he said, laying out his knife on the table and pointing at it. "This the street-" he tapped his side "-house-" the other side "-sentry. Rayn? We put you here... at the mouth of the alley. Next kid runs past you, trip the we shyke and hold him. I'll be watchin' an' waitin', an' when you do, I'll give the nod to Snake. You go up, do your thing... an' by the time you do-"

"We'll be ready," Rayn finished with a smirk, one good eye glinting as he raised a glass. "Endeavors."

"Endeavors."

"Aye," Konrad said as the mugs clunked together, voice as empty as the formality, but people expected things. "Endeavors... and not petchin' it up."

[Konrad Venger]

10th Bell - Robern's Reaches

The Golden Calf was, by Sunberth's standards, a classy establishment. Oh, it wasn't the Ruby's or the Pig's Foot, but then again, those joints were institutions. There was a better chance of the sea swallowing the city than either of them closing up shop. But the Calf was known for ale that wasn't watered down, grub that was actually cooked, not just thrown only a plate after the "cooks" hit it with a hammer a few times, and seats and booths that were clean and presentable.

Konrad knew all of that wasn't out of pride or dedication. The Daggerhands had patronized the place long ago. The lords of the Reaches expected a higher quality of hole to count their coin in, so they'd chosen the Calf. Now everyone for blocks around knew the score.

You come around, you come polite, and correct, and if you don't, you suffer.

He was definitely intending that when the three of them walked inside, tribute neatly packed in a knapsack hanging from his shoulder. His gait was stiff as he walked, movements careful when he sank down at a table... trying not to press his back too hard against the-

"Hsssssss...!"

Yeah, no avoiding that, really.

"What's yer poison, lads?"

"Three ales," he said to th barmaid that flitted over with commendable speed, nodding over at the back of the bar. "An' we've got something for them."

The barmaid took a breath and her eyes went from Welcoming to Calculating with equal speed. Clearly not unused to that kind of request... which Konrad also knew. He'd known for a while that the young bloods and wannabes flocked to the Calf to make tribute or try and impress the Daggers hanging out there. There were usually Brothers or Sisters there, sometimes Big Brothers and Sisters, the whispered rank of lieutenants between the streets and Robern himself.

"I'll get yer beers... an' 'ave a word."

Rayn gave her a wink. With his bad eye. "Fanks, love."

The brews came in due course and Konrad noticed some people sniffing the air as they went by. He'd tried to hide the stink but that much Warp, Temper, Poppers and whatever else they'd looted was... a little off, by anyone's standards. Not the fetid, choking stink of Rayn's cloak (gratefully cast to the trash, now) but enough to make people look.

Only a quarter of what we took, too.

It wasn't money, but it was as good as in Sunberth. They'd tipped out the bag in a rented room in Sunset - no way were any of them using their own places - and spent a couple of bells gathering up, sorting out and splitting the haul. Konrad guessed there was... probably around three-sixty in the bag. Split four ways, that was ninety gold mizas he'd otherwise not have, and he could think of a half-dozen men who'd buy the lot for just that price.

He was impressed when Rayn and Snake didn't question the fourth share, or that it was equal. The Daggers would appreciate that: made them look like they were as good as a man through the door with them... or could be, one day in the future.

"They gonna let us all back there?"

Snake jutted his chin towards the back, where a rank of hulking minders cordoned off the spacious back of the Golden Calf. Beyond it were red velvet tables, perfumed whores and booze and smokes that Konrad wouldn't smell anywhere else. They could glimpse men in fine threads laughing and gambling, tossing dice, throwing cards in disgust or victory.

"Prob'ly not. Don' wanna risk it."

"Risk it?" Rayn said with a snort, gesturing around them with a mug. "In 'ere?! We'd never get out even if we did try something. Half the cunts in here are Daggers, the other half would scalp their mothers to get in good with 'em. Ain't like-"

"Oi, 'ere we go..."

Snake's muttering stilled them enough to hear the slow, confident steps approaching. A couple of those hefty, smug bastards walked over and sized up the table of street daemons in a tick. Konrad stared back from under his hat and sipped his beer. Snake tried to smile, failed, and went back to picking his nails. Rayn belched. He was old; fuck the young.

"Got something for them back there?"

My-my, how nice they speak.

"Aye. Right here. Tribute."

"From?"

"Think I'll tell them that, mate."

"I ain't your 'mate'."

"An' I ain'cher petching girl, so stop sweet-talking an' lemme back there or tell me to fuck off. Jus' lets not waste time, eh?"

He could almost hear his partners gulp. You didn't get to talk to Daggers like that, even if they were probably just the muscle of Daggers. Especially in the Golden Calf. Talker cracked his knuckles and Konrad made ready to jump but then Quiet One tapped the other's shoulder and shrugged.

"Leave it. Weapons stay here." The three men started to move and he spoke again. "Just you, Gorgeous."

Konrad rolled his eyes. Wow. Not even original. He left his kukri and dagger on the table, not risking it to be searched again back there and have them finding it. Then he got up and the human pillars flanked him all the way to the Better Half.

Just as he'd expected. Proper, genuine Daggerhand brands and tats. Smooth, well-tailored clothes over the hard bodies of brawlers and racketeers. Women that seemed to float, not totter like alley whores. One was even circulating with a little tray with rolled cigarillos, taking tips whenever a man or woman bought one.

Gambling tables loaded with coin and jewels. Especially the one at the back, surrounded in equal parts by bodyguards and Somebodies. Talker bid him stop and went to speak to one man, leaning back on his chair with cards in his hands, lips pursed as he pondered his next move...

Konrad watched words exchanged. An indulgent, slightly interested look slide from the cards to him. Studying him a little... until recognition flared in his eyes. Then he nodded and Talker beckoned him over.

"Got something for me?"

Konrad didn't waste time. He held out the bag... and Quiet One took it instead. He opened it and showed it to his master. Bushy eyebrows shot up to a thinning hairline and his head bobbed in satisfaction.

"Looks like a day's work. If you're at the bottom end of the day, anyway." That got a round of sycophantic laughter, enough to tell Konrad this was indeed a Somebody. "Where'd you get it?"

"Knocked over a dope house in the Bay. There's your cut."

"Oh? And we deserve a cut, do we?"

"Me an' me mates, we work in the Reaches, more often than not. So yeah, y'do."

"I see a lot of product..." Somebody said with another lazy glance into the bag. "... but no coin. That didn't factor into your tribute?"

"Killed the only bastard who knew where the coin was," Konrad said, expecting that question. He'd ask it, after all. "I was injured, my mate was hurt an'-"

"Ah, c'mon, Konrad... you don't have mates."

That made Konrad pause. It didn't exactly surprise him - his was a face you didn't easily forget - but that a Big Brother would know the name along with it... that made him still his tongue. Regroup his thoughts. Try to think around it. Somebody seemed to find this amusing, chuckling as he sorted his cards this way and that, like his discomfort was just background noise.

"You know, Tazloor was a prick. And a cheat. Stealing from us. We suspected, found out from his mistress after he went busy. Makes you lucky, I guess."

Konrad felt hands grip his heart and squeeze his lungs. Tall, unforgiving shapes closed around him. Brass around their knuckles. The table went quiet and everyone watched, eyes eager for a little sport. He swallowed and kept his face blank, like he was as bored as Somebody.

Who kept staring... staring... then smiled.

"That you didn't vanish along with him, I mean."

He knows. He fucking knows you did it, but how, fucking how?!

"Guess you did us a favor," Somebody said, voice half a sigh as he took the bag and tossed it into the pot like it was an errant chip. "See you, raise you... looks like fifty. Call."

Cards slapped down onto the velvet. Swords, Coins, Arrows, Fingers. Then the cards themselves, Whips and Shackles and-

"Damn it all."

The Big Brother cursed but there was no heat in it. He just tossed his buggering useless hand in for a fresh one. Konrad got the message. That's all he was. Something he could afford to lose and not worry about it again.

For him, it was days of watching and a packed five chimes of death and blood. For Somebody? Just another hand in another card game he'd forget in a week.

"Thanks for the 'tribute'," Somebody said as he sipped his brandy, chortling around the dainty glass in sausage fingers. "You can go."

Konrad just nodded. Fat fuck. Fat fuck with his fucking-

"And stop around some time," the big man with careless words and power of life and death said as he started walking away. "Find you some work, maybe. Busting up Buckers is one thing, and it's a good thing. But we always have urgent things that need... urgent men. Tell your... mates, the same."

Konrad nodded again, a little lower. Then he walked away. Smiling.

[Anarkhos]

Character: Konrad Venger

Skills: Planning -3
Observation -4
Leadership -2
Kurki -2
Brawling -2
Intimidation -1
Intelligence -3
Tactics- 1

Lores: Daggerhands: Just another hand to be played
Sunberth: Drugs are as good as money
Sunberth: Reaping what another sews
Konrad: Eye gouge mastery

"A very good thread. I also like the time line setup and how everything was put together to make a very interesting story. Keep up the good work. If you have any questions or concerns please feel free to pm me. Also remember to go back to the grade list and remove this thread. Thank you."