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The inquisition begins

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A lawless town of anarchists, built on the ruins of an ancient mining city. [Lore]

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Postby Noven on April 26th, 2015, 3:27 am


He was just about to start his interrogation in earnest when Caela slipped back into the alleyway, feminine features troubled. Apparently, Jillene had caught her and was expecting the blond to make her way home. Nov bit back a curse of frustration, not so much because of the minor setback, but because both captives could see their plan being undermined by nothing more than a persistent landlady. He would have to resolve this quickly, or risk drawing this process out even longer if his victims no longer found their situation as threatening.

"Go ahead and pretend you're headed home," the cook responded calmly, as if the issue hardly fazed him. In reality, it was starting to make his forehead prickle with sweat, because there was no telling whether Jillene would decide to do any number of things. But he had to trust that Caela knew what she was talking about, and that the Isur would make no move to follow or inspect. "She shouldn't be a problem for the next few chimes. We still have our rooftop eyes."

He avoided using any names, just as a precaution. The cook waited until the blond left before turning his attentions back to the bound captives.

"Now, where were we..."

He pressed the very tip of the Tamo against Goon the Younger's exposed calf. It made the slightest of dimples in the pale flesh, causing the youth to gulp nervously. "Ah, right. Deciding where to carve first." Nov pressed the dagger a little deeper. His victim practically whimpered. "Or not, you know. Depending on how you answer my questions. I mean, there's no need to make things a mess when we can just be civil about it, right?"

Goon the Younger nodded vigorously, desperately, while the older man beside him spat in frustration. "And what makes you think we'll tell you shyke?"

The cook stared unblinking at the indignant thug for a moment. Then he pressed the dagger with considerably more force, finally breaking skin. The youth let out a dry sob of pain as a drop of bright, red blood began to form where steel and flesh met. "Because," Nov growled in response, all pretense of amiability abandoned, "if he were my son, I wouldn't want him to suffer through the next ten chimes either. And that's just for the first question. You don't want to see if he can handle the second in the same way, I gauran-fucking-tee you."

Tears were starting to trickle down Goon the Younger's face. Ye gods, the kid was truly no good at this. Nov might be doing the Daggerhands a favor by taking this one off their hands.

Apparently, Goon the Elder was thinking along the same lines. Only he was likely considering more specific problems, like whether the gang would believe they'd relented nothing if they came back post-interrogation, and how both father and son would likely be killed anyway. For insurance, as the Boss usually preferred.

The older thug sighed and very acidly, very reluctantly, surrendered. "What do you want to know?"

"Well, first," Nov responded in a manner far more casual than he felt. Inside, his heart was leaping with excitement, with hope. They might finally learn of the childrens' whereabouts! He turned to the kid first. "I want to know your name."

The cook released the pressure of his dagger and pointed the sharp end at Goon the Younger instead. "M-Melvin," the lad answered, shakily but honestly. "My n-name is Melvin."

A seriously unfortunate name, Nov thought to himself. But he kept his opinions hidden and turned toward Goon the Elder next. "And yours?"

The older thug glared at him for an extra tick before spitting out, "Burt."

Nov nodded. "Alright then. Now, switch. You, kid, tell me his name." Melvin did so with a slightly confused look on his face, but complied without much resistance. When the cook turned to Burt and asked the same thing, the man sneered with disdain at what his interrogator was doing, but he obeyed as well. Good. It seemed both were willing to cooperate, and on top of that Noven now had a foundation for each. He knew what they looked like and how they acted when telling the truth. The cook may not have known much of interrogating and torturing yet, but spent enough time around gamblers and criminals to know this basic method.

"Good. See, doesn't have to be so hard, now does it?" He withdrew the sharp end of his dagger and laid it flat against the side of Melvin's calf instead. The younger Daggerhand flinched. There was a thin trickle of blood from the kid's wound, but it was laughably insignificant. Honestly, it was something of a blessing for Melvin, given that Nov had been convinced he'd need to do far more to get either of them talking.

"My first question is simple. Did the Daggerhands take those children from Sunset Orphanage?"

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