Home Invasion (Tock)

[Wrenmae]

Summer 37, 512 AV Like last time, but be careful. Stay up and beyond the reach of her…abominations. “Got it boss.” Shroud leaned against a home a few alleys down from Tock’s house. Zan had already left him, soaring on his own current of Djed. His assignment was simple, seep into Tock’s house, check it for surprises, and report. Cracking the bones in his neck, Shroud did his part in all of this by chatting with the neighbors. Most of them were amiable, easily trusting of the blue the mage wore. How simple this uniform was, how immediate the effect of its weave. Here he could be a murderer, a complete stranger, and yet the people were assuaged by the navy on his breast, familiar colors that spoke of order and protection. So he manipulated them, casual suggestions to enjoy a meal away from home, to take a walk along the docks, each tiny order punctuated with just a hint of Hypnotism, thoughts really, sudden impulses that were rarely ignored. After an bell, he had most of the inhabitants cleared from around Tock’s home. Ok…so not much change on my end, Zan muttered in his ear, Creepy place, but small. I see she animated a petching shovel in her spare time and…wait…what…is that…PETCH! PETCH! A PETCHING SPIDER! A GIANT WOOD SPIDER! You can fly you petching shyke! Fly! Fly! I AM flying! Still unnerving. Get over it. Anything else? No… Good. Time to come back. Thought you’d never ask. I almost didn’t Ha. Zan returned slowly, a floating globule of water that slipped into the mage’s outstretched hand, becoming a glass flask in a flash of light and quickly tucked away into Shroud’s pocket. Whistling to himself, he strolled over to her door, rapping on it with his knuckles softly. It was a well-made door, no doubt about that, but he doubted it was built to withstand a whole lot of force. Lowering his shoulder, he charged it, smacking against the solid wood and bouncing off, cursing in pain as dust swam into his eyes and nose. No one came to check on the noise. But he lay there for a moment to just soak up the shame. It was all he deserved, after all. After picking himself up, rubbing the sore shoulder, he pulled Djed in strands from his inner self and applied it to his skin and body, warping it with the principles of the Isur form he’d memorized. He didn’t want to make any significant changes, so the transformation was slow. He thickened his skin and bones, already feeling the weary weight pressing down on him. It was enough to do just this, to turn his body into something of a battering ram. Lowering his shoulder again, he took several paces back before charging, leveling his shoulder against the door and hurling it open with a splintered crack. The pressure buckled the door inward, from its lock, destroying the bolt and hurling the mage into Tock’s home in a clumsy tumble of limbs and metal. Again, he lay there a moment, watching the automations scurry away from the noise. Letting the transformative Djed leave his body, Shroud dusted himself off and stood, kicking the door into a slightly ajar close behind him. The small house was almost cozy, well furnished, at least from his point of view, and smelled of sweat and sawdust. Quickly he took stock of his surroundings, the dolls on the shelf, the strange chess set, the curious automations, the drawings and schematics. With two steps he was at her desk, picking up her work and tearing it apart, hurling its pieces across the room. Paper flew and vanished, snow in jagged flakes cascading over her floor. The table was upended, a chair smashed against the floor, her drawers opened and turned out, her things scattered across the ground. The picture of her and the older man. At first it was his intention to take it and shred it as well, he even went so far as to take it from the wall. But something stopped him. Overwhelming emotions, the memories of his own father staggered the mage. Dropping the drawing, he hissed and put a hand to this throbbing head, spinning away. No. No. He couldn’t do that. Nor could he harm her ugly little creations. Instead he grabbed her chess set, sent the puppets toppling to the floor, and put the pieces and board into the backpack he’d brought. The commotion kept the automations away from him, simple in mind, they seemed to abhor the chaos. Stepping back from his handiwork, he checked his belt to make sure his weapons were still on him, turning abruptly and stepping out of the house. The bright sunlight blinded him for a moment, but no one was in the road to greet him. Striding three houses down, he hid the backpack behind a stack of firewood, neatly prepared for the coming of fall and winter. His shoulder still ached, burned actually, but his plan was far from complete. Brushing more woodchips and shards from his clothes, Murdock jogged down the street till he found life. It came in the form of a boy, whistling softly to himself and flipping a miza end over end over his hand. “Boy!” Murdock barked, and the coin missed its mark, clanging to the ground as the youth turned and stood straight, worry creasing his features. “Do you live in this neighborhood?” “Yes sir,” The boy answered shortly, “My name is Jonathan Thatcher, sir.” “Very good. So you know the one called Tock?” “The puppet lady?” Murdock blinked. “Yes. The very one. Run and fetch her. Tell her that she has been robbed and that a Waveguard is tending to the scene.” The boy blinked, nodding nervously, “Well?” Murdock growled, “Off with you!” Away the boy sprang, pausing only to pick up his coin before dashing down an alley. Satisfied, the murderer returned to Tock’s home, pushing open the door and bending to check the lines of fracture in the wood. He waited for her, knowing with such a temper, she would not long be away.

[Minerva Agatha Zipporah]

When the little boy showed up at het work site, Tock brushed him off and said, "Git! I's busy!" "But, Tock!" he protested, stomping his little foot. Tock kept her eyes on the carving she was working into a door, a decorative pattern of waves and sea gulls. "Git!" she said. "I's at work! Ain't time fer no puppet shows today..." "But but but..." She turned and aimed Grippy at him, extending the metal arm and closing the claw around the boy's shirt, then yanking him in. "Ain'tcha got someplace ta be?" she snapped. "Shouldn't ya be off minding yer Ma?" "But Tock, you've been robbed!" he squealed, waving his little arms frantically. "Wha--?" "There there there's a Wave Guard at your house!" he said. "He said someone busted in your door and and and..." Tock released the kid and started running. She ignored her coworkers' protests and questions, and anything else the boy said. She had to protect her babies. She arrived shortly after, frantic and out of breath. She shoved past the uniformed man without even glancing at his face to know who it was. Naily immediately rolled up to greet her, and she swept him protectively into her arms. Tears freely flowed as she looked around, desperate to make sure her family was safe. Boxy was in her backpack, Grippy on her belt, Handy on her wrist. Cutty sat in the corner, quiet and still as usual. Choppy stood next to his brother, turning ever so slightly to look at her, but lacking any intelligence to come to her without being called. Diggy, however, rolled over and nuzzled her with his spade. "Yous okay, babies?" she asked them. If only they could talk, to tell her what happened. The puppets were on the floor. She raised her hand over them, heaving a sob of relief when they rose to her command. She wiggled her fingers to work them through some motions, ensuring they weren't damaged, then had them hug each other. Bitey... Where was Bitey, where was her firstborn? She looked around, frantic, and called out, "Bitey? Where is ya, baby? Come to Mommy..." She spotted him lurking up on the stranger's foot, crawling slowly, steel fangs ready to strike. But when she called to him, he was drawn to her voice and scurried over to her. She scooped him up, cuddling him against her chest, kissing his little glass eyes. Only when she knew all her babies were safe did she become aware of the man standing there. She glanced around, realizing her chess set was missing... which confused her. Why would someone steal her chess set...? It had no value, except to her. She'd carved it with her own two hands. But why would someone take it? It didn't make sense... Her eyes finally fell on the man's face, then narrowed... "You..."

[Wrenmae]

“Me,” Murdock said, straightening up, “How good of you to remember my name. But I must insist on its traditional pronunciation, Wrenmae.” Crossing his arms, he cast a barely disguised glare at her automation ‘children’. “Careful there, Miss Tock, I wouldn’t want to confuse your…toys’ curiosity with aggression.” Still in the doorway, the Waveguard craned his head into the dwelling, clicking his tongue. “Tsk, tsk, unfortunate, and in our fair city no less. Lucky I was here to secure your premises before and of your…toys got out." Running a hand through his hair, he took a step into Tock’s property, pulling one of his blank books, ink well, and quill from his pack. “Do you mind if I come in? I’d like to help you figure out if this was some attack or just a burglary. Protocol demands I be thorough, so…if you please?” The enmity between them was almost palpable. One hand strayed to the hilt of his blade, drumming against the pommel absently. The small shield of the Waveguard was on his other arm, a precaution. He’d seen what Tock could do with that strange grabbing device of hers. She fired it and he’d repel with the shield. Let he try to disarm him with her magical tricks and he wouldn’t be gentle to her ‘precious children’ who attempted to help. She’s pretty, Zan said from the covered hip flask in the waistline of Shroud’s pants, You sure you don’t just want to be friends? Besides the point Zan, we’ve come this far. But why, really? Why? Cause she punched you? Cause she’s communicates like a cornered wolverine? Cause her hair isn’t all one color? Is it because she has a window? Shroud? I bet it’s because she has little created disease immune friends, right? Right? Right? Shut up, Zan. Oh, right. Don’t mind me. I’m just the bottle in your belt. Plenty to do here, like sitting in one place, maybe sloshing. Go on ahead with your devious schemes, I’ll be right here. To his credit, the mage managed to hide the sarcastic scowl. Instead, the pleasant smile only twitched slightly. “Now, Miss Tock,” he began, casting another glance around the house, “Is there anything missing? Do you have reason to suspect any enemies that might seek to hurt you…or mean your belongings ill?” He quirked an eyebrow at her, drinking her in with his eyes, always so poised and confident. It wasn’t that he actually felt in control of the situation. With the menagerie of dangerous friends she had, he felt anything but. Sunberth, however, had beaten in a certain truth that resounded from his heart to the relaxed slant of his features. Victims looked like victims. Weakness was as much about appearance as it was about truth. A weak man who looked strong may escape the troubles a gang might inflict. A strong man who looked weak might dissuade a fighter who was looking to blow off steam in a pitched brawl. Everyone in Sunberth learned to master their features quickly, or instead learned to hide. Shroud, now Murdock, had never chosen that route. He was a thin man, by physiological nature, he looked weak. But in a short season, he had moved up to a recruiter and eventual lieutenant of a gang. A mixture of hypnotism, planning, information, and the abandoning of most moral conveniences had given him a platform to stand on. Here, it simply felt firmer. Here, the only person he needed to stare down was an irate gadgeteer who breathed life into junk for a living. She was the bumbling equivalent of an eccentric, a creature of habit and passion. Here, so close to her, he considered the ramifications of kissing her again. No punch this time, she’d use the saw…or axe he’d seen her use yesterday. There was a lot of himself in her, that take no prisoners attitude he’d worn in Alvadas, before all of this. Would she handle torture as poorly as he? If deprived of light for a season, cast away into some dark, forgotten hole, would she scream? Would she beg? He wondered. But like any wild animal, cornered in her own den would make her quick to strike. Not that he minded getting into a scuffle with a woman like that, but he had to remember his purpose here, and remember the limitations his injuries provided him. Instead, he sighed and smiled, disarmingly, casting line of djed into her eyes from his. It wasn’t a complex manipulation, only a settling of her more abrasive emotions. He invoked calm, hoping it would set her back on her heels enough that he could worm his way into at least moderately better graces. Certainly he still looked hurt, nearly doubled over with the pain of moving, he casually used the doorframe for support. Was it not enough to see this hated man already in agony? He hoped that and his hypnotic suggestions would at least allow him a semblance of conversation this time…the only once since the forum.

[Minerva Agatha Zipporah]

Tock stared the man down, her gut telling her something wasn't right here. She scowled, trying to put her finger on it. Wren was acting... different from before. The first time she'd met him, he had a first been... subdued, then enthusiastic and dramatic to the point of crossing a line. But then in class... In class he had mostly been subdued again. Quiet. Shy. She hadn't ever really paid attention to it, not wanting anything to do with him. But he had struck her, time and again, as a man who... who wasn't really a man. He'd always come off as a bit of a wimp, including the day he'd been beaten up by those thugs without raising one hand to defend himself. The way he'd snatched his purse and ran like a coward. She didn't think of him as anything more than that. A pathetic coward. So what was this? This... professional demeanor. The condescension she sensed in his tone. The glares. She glanced around the room, almost expecting to find someone else there, besides him. And since when was he a Wave Guard? Without consciously realizing what she was doing, her hand moved at her side, beckoning her babies. Choppy waddled closer on his metal legs, and Diggy rolled over on his wagon wheels, the Automatons flanking her, one to either side, just behind her. She wasn't conscious of their movement, being too focused on Wren. "Didja see who did it?" she finally asked, ignoring his taunting words. She didn't care to trade jibes with him. "My chess set what's been missin'. I carved 'er myself... jus' wood though..." Her tone was filled with disappointment and confusion. The chess set wasn't one of her more skillful creations. It was precious to her because she had made it, but it wouldn't fetch any worthwhile price if someone sold it. Why steal it? She set Naily and Bitey down, but they remained at her heels, programmed to be drawn to her side. She set the table upright again, then started gathering up the torn papers she saw on the ground, setting them on the table to be re-sketched. The mess wasn't that bad... barely noticeable compared to her normal mess. She set her puppets back on the shelf where they belonged, and gathered up the rest of the scattered things that needed to be set right. She kept an eye on him... feeling a bit calmer. She was safe here. Fancy schmancy uniform or not, it was still just Wren. And she was surrounded by her babies. If he made one move towards her, they'd protect her. Choppy just needed a single word to strike, and Diggy didn't even need that. The Animated shovel, set on three-foot-tall wagon wheels, was fully independent. He wasn't intelligent enough to do all that much on his own... but his primary directive of obedience to, and love for Minerva, would prompt him to react with the 'face smashing' command she'd programmed him with, if there was cause to. He hadn't reacted to the unknown invader because he hadn't felt threatened, and he wasn't programmed to attack people without cause. But he was programmed to know several methods of assault, from smashing his spade into someone's face, to hurling objects at them like a catapult. So she had nothing to fear, and allowed herself to turn her back on Wren while she straightened up. "Aint'cha oughta be out 'ere lookin' fer whoever did it?" she asked him gruffly. "Ain't what nothin' ta see 'ere. An I gots work ta do..." Specifically, she had to figure out a way to Animate a defender for her home. While Diggy would smack someone in self-defense, he wasn't programmed to be aggressive, nor was he designed to care if someone was in the house. None of her babies had been programmed to react to intruders. Anyone could just walk in here... Well, not after today. She had ideas in mind already, and she was going to make sure her house was safe.

[Wrenmae]

Shroud chuckled, shaking his head as Tock stepped back into her house and began sifting through the debris. He could have done a better job, after all, but the carpenter would have most of this repaired in a few days. Judging by her expanding collection of animations, she might have some defenses set by then as well. “No,” He answered, leaning against the door frame and crossing his arms, laying the book and inkwell on a shelf, “I came after.” What was this then? No sharp tongued retorts? No fury? No punches? Perhaps she was a bit more controlled after all, just as well then. It wouldn’t do to attack a Waveguard investigating a crime scene…even her normally explosive behavior had its limitations. “This isn’t Sunberth, Tock,” He continued, tapping the pommel of his blade, “I can’t simply go to the Dagger hands or Night Eyes and ask for a tip. Zeltiva doesn’t have a pronounced Underground, so most crimes are commited independent of higher purpose. You say your chess set was stolen, hand carved. Has anyone else seen it besides you? If I can establish a motive, I can search for a suspect…but to do that, I’ll need your cooperation.” He shrugged, “Without it, you may as well cut your losses. A theft like this won’t be seen on the regular market. I imagine if only one item is stolen, it’ll go straight to the interested party. If I can find who that is, I’ll retrieve it for you and see that your thief is given justice.” What are you gonna do? Beat yourself up? Manacle your wrists and march yourself to prison? God forbid you stop your own diabolical plan to pretend to sell a chess set to someone who doesn’t exist. Where will the madness end? Zan again, petulant little shyke. I will find the perpetrator of this crime, Zan, even if that criminal does not know his guilt. You’re the picture of justice. And you’re the picture of annoyance. How does annoyance look anyways? Define it for me. Shut up Zan. I’m not the one who’s an imaginary friend. I said SILENCE. His expression twisted, grimaced, but only for a moment. Fine, fine. But I think you’re taking this too far. She could be a useful ally. Fess up now or it’ll be impossible later. Oh to take moral advice from talking water. You take advice from yourself, and you don’t really exist. Shroud said nothing, but a scowl darkened his face again. It was gone the moment it had come though, and his gaze turned back to Tock. Smiles then, all smooth and helpful, poised and confident. “Do you have enemies, Miss Tock? Anyone who might want to attack your home and take your belongings?”

[Minerva Agatha Zipporah]

Tock's eyes narrowed when Wren started talking about the Sunberthan Syndicates. She hadn't realized he knew Sunberth. Was he from there? No... no the day of the big brawl, he'd been too much of a pushover. A Sunberthan born and bred would have had a bit more fight in him. She spat on the ground by his feet and told him, "Ain't nobody seen it but some folks at the Uni. I play 'em in the library sometimes." She still didn't get why someone would steal that, of all possible things. All the bull shyke talk of motive and suspects was meaningless to her; she didn't see the point in that kind of investigation. If the Guards couldn't find her stolen property, she'd just build a hunter/tracker golem to track it down for her. Or perhaps there was a solution in Auristics... though the simple wooden carvings wouldn't have a strong enough or distinct enough aura to be easily tracked. She also wasn't skilled enough yet to check the trail of whoever had been in the house. "Ya go do whatcha gotta do," she muttered as she finished straightening up. "I ain't knows nothin' what's gonna 'elp yer law-doin'. I ain't gots no damn enemies..." None in this city, anyway. She'd left all her enemies behind in Sunberth. Pretty much the only person that had crossed her was Wren himself, and she was mostly over the disgust of the unwanted kiss. Now she had settled into mostly a general disdain for him; he hadn't been gentleman enough to come and apologize to her during any of their classes together, he had proven himself a useless coward when she saved his gold during the brawl (not to mention how he hadn't bothered to THANK her for that!), and now that she knew he was a lawman, she just wanted nothing to do with him. She didn't care for the law. All it did was get in her way and try to tell her her business. And the only supposed GOOD side about the law, protecting the innocent and preventing crime, was obviously useless if all he could do was stand here and ask her stupid questions. Maybe she'd go down to East Street herself. Muscle some answers out of people. That would prove more fruitful than anything a lawman could do. They had rules they had to obey. She didn't.

[Wrenmae]

"No enemies, no help, all brusque and business." Sighing, he ran his hand along the top of the door, brushing away from of the wood dust, rubbing them between his fingers. "If I didn't know better, I'd say you didn't like me much." Your powers of observation are astounding. Shut up Zan. I'm trying, it's very hard not to be sarcastic. "Would it make you feel better if I apologized? I haven't been in Zeltiva long and have had some...troubles, with adapting here. Not that you'd be concerned, of course, but it's a cautionary tale that explains almost everything." He leaned back against the door jam, crossing his arms. "If you can't point me towards enemies, I'll have to write this case off. The Waveguard have the power of inquirey and detainment, but I can't exactly imprison a whole city while I look for a toy..." he coughed, "Excuse me, your item." He tapped on the pommel of his long dagger, drumming his fingers along the cold iron. "But you're in the neighborhood of results, I hear, and so I'll let you in on something." Although the door lock was broken, Wren pushed it closed behind him. "I have other ways of getting things done. Not, of course, that you could prove that...but I have ways of getting information without being waylaid by the usual law and order. If you want your chess set back, I'll retrieve it for you...but I'll need to put a price on it." He held up both hands immediately, smiling, "No gold, of course, but I want a chance to explain myself to you. One evening where you check your attitude at the door and hear me out, no tricks, no problems....granted I can return your chessboard as collateral first." Opening the door again, he poked at the broken lock a few times and shrugged, "Zeltiva is not my home, nor is Sunberth. We aren't friends, but I'd like to try and repair my reputation. Give me the opportunity to return your property and explain." He shrugged, "Or handle it yourself, I suppose, but it looks like you have your work cut out for you here."

[Minerva Agatha Zipporah]

Tock snorted at the offer of an apology. "'Pologize all ya want, Bloke," she told him, crossing her arms. "Ain't make no difference fer what I knows an' what I don't knows. O' what I's does an' what I ain't does." She'd accept an apology if it was sincere, but if he was going to apologize just to try and get her to be nicer to him, then he could shove the apology up his stinking arse and leave it there. She wasn't one to let anyone influence her actions, one way or the other (at least, when she had any awareness of it). She acted the way she acted, and she wasn't going to change that for him, or anyone. She was about to turn away and dismiss him entirely, when he suddenly shut the door. Her gut reaction to that was to get defensive. A man who wanted the door shut to keep any witnesses out was generally trouble, and her hand strayed to her dagger. But then she heard his proposal. And she laughed out loud. "Oy, now we's git down ta it, aye?" she replied with a snort and a snicker. She looked him over in a new light, trying to put the pieces of this man together. "Slap a fancy uniform on an' act like yer what 'spectable, aye? But ain't nothin' but a game, innit? Ya wants fer ta get some 'spect 'round 'ere, thinks fer people look up ta ya, wit'cher fancy Blues on?" She snickered, stepping forward and lifting a corner of the blue fabric in her fingers for just a moment, then dropping it. She had his number now. A pushover, quiet in class, all polite and respectable in private that first night before the show, then putting on big airs and playing a part when the curtain rose and all eyes were on him. All he cared about was appearance. She could guess what methods he'd use to retrieve her property. Too big of a wimp to muscle the information out of anyone, he'd put on an act. Play some stupid part, make himself up to be something he wasn't, just like he was doing with the uniform. Portray himself as someone important in order to pull people's strings and get what he wanted. It wasn't her style... she didn't believe in portraying herself as anything other than what she was. But hell, if he wanted to go lie and make a fool of himself in order to get her property back, then she'd let him. She smirked, tilting her head to the side to peer at him in amusement. "No tricks an' no problems is fine," she said with a snort. "But I ain't change my attitude fer nobody. Ya wanna come 'splain yerself ta me, ya 'splain yerself ta ME, not ta some tame lil ol' thing what ain't the real thing, aye? An' no funny business!" she pointed a finger right in his face. "Else ya wanna 'as another busted nose, aye? But ya wanna what sit an' 'as a chit-chat, 'at's fine by me. Jus' don't go thinkin' what as yer fancy games an' fake poshed-up attitude what's gonna 'as no difference ta me, aye? I's onta ya," she shook her finger in his face, "so's as ya wanna talk ta me, ya quit wit' the actin' like yer all 'is," she flicked her fingers across the front of the uniform, "an' sit an' talk, jus' yous an' me..." She might almost be able to respect him if he stopped putting on airs and trying to be something he wasn't, and just acted like himself.

[Wrenmae]

Shroud resisted the urge to draw his blade on her when she approached, swinging into his comfort zone to pull and pick at his uniform. Smug and entitled. If she was nothing else, she certainly embodied confidence. Shroud drew back when her fingers danced across his chest. There was a lot of nervous energy there. He'd seen what her contraptions could do, what her fists could follow up with. The Sunberthian in him was careful, calculating. He wouldn't let her have the power of domain on her side. With her automations and his lack of preparation, he was hardly at an advantage, quite the opposite. "Very well," He said, forcing a smile, "If you have me all figured out, then perhaps this meeting will be enlightening for the two of us." Turning from her, he pushed open the door, pausing. "I'll see what I can do about returning it tonight, but I can't promise direct results." Without another word, he pushed out of the door and stalked down the street. So...now what? You pick up the sack, go back, give it to her? No you dolt, not so soon. We'll need to wait until the evening. So...we pick up the sack, wait for several hours, then give it to her? We'll need to find someone to punch me. ...You lost me. Try not to think too hard Zan, I wouldn't want you to get lost. Har, Har, Har, remind me to remind you that your ingenious plan involves the theft of a gameboard. Never underestimate the little things, Zan...they often hold the most importance. Turning down the side alley where he left the sack, Shroud hefted it up and made his way to East Street. A darker cesspool of cravens could not be found in Zeltiva. The moment he stepped onto the dirty cobblestone, he could feel Sunberth again. It wasn't here, of course, but its spirit was immortalized in the swagger of the criminals, the careful sway of the prostitutes, and the victimized stares of the beggers. It was the work of a few moments to spy out a haggard brute, half collapsed against a side wall, holding a crushing glare on any foolish enough to walk past him. Shroud strolled directly up to him. One look at the colors of the Waveguard, and the fellow scowled, rising up to tower over the smaller man. "Wotcher want?" Shroud held out the sack to the giant, who took it suspiciously, looking inside. "Wot's this then?" "You stole it, of course," the hypnotist revealed with a smile, "From Tock's house, a well known carver here in Zeltiva. This item struck your fancy and you took it." "Wot? No I didn't. Wotcher trying ta pull on me? I aint a thief." "Of course you are," he continued, "You just haven't remembered yet." Firmly with the giant's gaze, Shroud hurled Djed from within him into the monster's aura, slipping past its rudimentary defenses and flashing memories into his mind. There he was, watching Tock play with the pieces across the board. He couldn't understand the game, but the unique look and feel of the board caught his fancy. Then, the man, a dealer in the darkness who had asked for the board for quite a hefty price, far more than the brute would have considered possible. Then the theft, smashing down the door and wresting the item from the shelf, kicking over the table and scattering papers in the process. All detailed and arranged in descending order, fitting into his brain with chronological simplicity. Now he had a reason to have it. Now he had a reason to care. Snapping out of his hypnotic trance, the brute clutched the sack tighter in his fist. This Waveguard had confronted him about his package, but...he'd been so careful! He took all the precautions and somehow he'd been tracked down. But there was still a way out. There was only one man, and a thin one at that, certainly he wouldn't be hard to overcome. Falling back into the alley, he baited Shroud on who followed with a wince, knowing the next part all too clearly. The moment he stepped into the shadows of the alley, a fist met him in the stomach, folding him over the brawny arm and collapsing to his knees. His attacker didn't give him time to adjust, instead coming down on his head and dashing it against the cobblestones, a red fire of agony lancing through the hypnotist's skull as he desperately rolled. Remind me again the point of this? War wounds make for the best story. And getting slapped around by a meat gorilla is the best way to get them? She's from Sunberth. She'll know self inflicted wounds. Will she also know a dead body? Ha. Just asking. I mean. That's what we're about to be. You could help. Oh right, help. Of course. I'll just fly up and damp him to death. Or down his throat, restrict his air. It's the opposite pipe you usually go down. Sounds messy. So does dying. Fair point. Murdock hit a wall, quickly pushing his hands beneath him in an awkward roll. His head burned, his vision swam. He wasn't the type to take a lot of damage, he much preferred the safer route of manipulating and attacking from the shadows. This...this wasn't like him. All for the sake of the plan, of course. Tock was a quickly rising figure in Zeltiva. If he wanted to return here...he'd need to make an ally of her, even if it was an uneasy one. Again his thoughts caught him in an awkward position. Trying to regain his feet, Zan exited his throat, convulsing the hypnotist as the brute laid into him again. The alley spun as Shroud was sent crashing back onto the cobblestone, held firm by a meaty hand, the other coming down to pummel him. Shroud kicked up, trying to flail and hit the elbow of his assailant, or maybe hobble him. His blows were weaker than the giant sized enemy and a fist smashed into his chest. The dizzying force almost jostled him out of his element, but Zan floated above, nearly invisible in the soft darkness. The familiar needed an opening. Down came the fist again and as it thudded against his ribs, Shroud pushed power into his leg and lanced it up into the mans stomach. The following groan and open mouth, sucking in the breath he'd lost, was all the familiar needed to slip inside. Gagging, the huge brawler let go of Shroud, crashing against the wall and grasping his hands around his throat. He turned, swung, collapsed to his knees, pounded his own stomach, even smacked his throat with a heavy fist, gasping as the Sarawanki cut off his air. It took only a few minutes, it might have taken longer if the fellow didn't struggle so much, but he used up his available air fast. Red faced, unconscious, he thudded to the floor. That's enough, Zan. No need to kill him. Is it really that easy to kill one of you? Yes. Dangerous lesson you just taught me. I have faith you won't be using it on me. Maybe not. But even so, are you comfortable giving me this kind of knowledge? We may need it one day, Shroud mused, coughing, For now, though, let him live. As you wish. And the familiar sluggishly crawled out of his mouth, soaring back to Shroud and hardening into a small flask, easily tucked into his belt. Dusting himself off, wincing, he took the sack and walked back along East Street to Tock's. He waited a few more bells, wasting his time in alleys, trying to dab at the drying blood around his head. Finally, when he was ready, he knocked at Tock's door, once, twice, and then a sigh. "Tock," he said, knocking the contents of the bag against the door, "I have your chessboard. Can I trouble you for a place to rest for a moment?"

[Minerva Agatha Zipporah]

Tock just snorted and ignored his comments, leaving him to see himself out. She had better things to do than trade witty comebacks with him. Like repairing her door. It proved a rather simple project. She stripped the door down and salvaged the hinges and the lock. The wood wasn't good enough for a door, so she tossed it in her scrap piles out back. She never threw anything out; she'd later find something else to make from the materials. Meanwhile, she'd assemble a more stable door. With her babies' help, it was a quick and easy task. Boards cut, lined up, and braced with thick cross-beams. She marked the spots for the nails with a piece of charcoal, and let Handy crawl about, holding the nails in place for Naily to drive in. She added thicker beams than the old door to reinforce and strengthen it, and an extra thick brace on the side with the lock. Another thick brace was nailed to the wall by the door frame, giving the lock something thicker and stronger to latch into. Fixing the lock itself was the more challenging part. Part of the latch was bent, and needed to be hammered out straight again. In order to strengthen it, she added a second strip of iron out of her supplies. Lacking the time right now to head down to a forge and shape a new piece of metal, she kept the strip as it was, and simply used a few cold forging techniques to modify it to fit. She braced the metal and set a puncher against one end, pounding it with a hammer until she pierced through it and created a nail hole. When she reattached the lock to the new door, she carved out an extra slot in the side of the door for the additional strip, mounting it on the same pivot as the original latch. This way when she turned the key in the tumbler to lock or unlock the door, the thinner metal of the latch and the thicker metal of the new strip would move in unison. It would be no more complex to pick, but it would brace the door a lot stronger against a possible break. And as an extra measure of security, she cut and mounted a wooden bar to close across the door. She mounted it on a simple iron bolt to serve as a pivot, with a carved wooden slot on the other side to lower the beam into. When she was at home, she could lower it into place to bar the door from the inside. Perhaps she'd even Animate it to lock and unlock itself when she was outside... She was pondering the possible Animation when the knock came. She considered the time... that had been fast. She'd been expecting days, at the least. She unlocked and opened the newly repaired and reinforced door and saw... Wren looking all beat to hell. She scowled, snatching the bag away, and leaving the door open so he could enter. "Didn't 'as ta go an git all beat up over it," she told him with a sneer, pulling the pieces out and setting them on the table. Nothing appeared missing or damaged. She leaned against the table, setting the pieces in their proper places on the board, and leaving the one and only chair empty for Wren. "Ya think what gettin' in a fight over my stuff's gonna impress me, yer dead wrong, mate." She didn't respect a man that wouldn't stand up for himself in a fight, but she didn't respect one who went LOOKING for a fight, either. Without knowing what had really happened, she imagined Wren swaggering through East Street, all full of his position and authority, challenging a ruffian to face him 'for the sake of honor,' or some horse shyke like that. Fighting because he thought scars would impress the delicate damsel, or some similar ridiculousness like the Syliran Knights got off on. But that sort of thing didn't impress Tock, nor did she have any sympathy for him when she figured his wounds were the result of his own damn foolish pride. Black eyes and bruises reminded her of the men back in Sunberth, and that was a major turn off. But still, she tossed him a waterskin, which was about all she had to offer a wounded man. She thought about thanking him, but it seemed like more trouble than it was worth (the words 'thank you' being almost as difficult for her to say as 'I'm sorry'). Instead, she just asked, "So who 'ad it?"