Closed Mistaken Identity (Noven)

[Saidra]

Winter 47, 514AV

The Dark wasn't so much a place as it wasn't a place. Much, Saidra suspected, like Knife was and wasn't a person. This Knife, at least. Not the upstart that had tried to lay claim to the alias that she had dealt with earlier in the season at the behest of Goldfinger. That stout annoyance of a man was putting her more and more into danger of becoming associated with the petching Sun's Birth than she cared for despite her protests that she worked for the man, not the entity that backed him. He was the reason she was here, after all.

Earning an audience with the Knife took Mizas, a lot of Mizas, and Saidra honestly could have cared less what it was that the person had to offer. Nothing was worth that much if you weren't even guaranteed to own the item afterwards. It took someone with expendable funds to consider such a thing and apparently the loan shark was just such a person.

Why it was that it had to be her to go and fetch whatever it was for the man, however, she had no idea. Her dealings with Goldfinger had mostly involved her unique methods of encouraging his clients to hurry their repayment along, this however, this felt like some menial task that was far beneath her. The price of being the new person, she guessed. If there was one thing that Saidra had learned in her short time in Sunberth, however, it was that you didn't refuse work when it came, especially if it was offered by someone as dangerous as the loan shark.

Thankfully it seemed her meeting with the Knife had been properly arranged. She had been warned there wouldn't be much in the way of speaking and so a simple slip of paper had been given to her with the offer and supposedly any other information necessary for the transaction. A wax seal had prevented her from reading the details, though Saidra guessed this was one of those times when her ignorance in a situation was actually for the best.

The cloaked figure regarded the slip for far longer than she thought necessary before finally speaking, "This is adequate. Tell your employer to expect the item in two days time."

A rather weighty purse that Saidra had been rather uncomfortable with carrying about was handed off as she tried to regard the individual. The mask concealed the true nature of their voice and their attire made everything else damn near impossible to distinguish. No amount of attempted subtle scrutiny could even give her a clue as to Knife's gender. It was infuriating as much as it was intriguing and she couldn't deny that she was envious of the anonymity they had managed to keep.

It felt strange to have such a transaction seem to simple, though she had been told the haggling had been previously handled and that she wasn't to expect much in the way of actually doing business. It did present a different opportunity, though. One that she wasn't exactly going to let slip away.

"Do you purchase items as well?" She asked daringly.

The figure started, obviously taken aback by her audacity to break the silence between then. The mask tilted to one side, ever so slightly, giving Saidra the impression that they were considering her, weighing her worth.

"Sometimes." It finally replied.

"And how do I find you again?"

She could hear the breath leave Knife at it's obvious annoyance with being asked such a stupid question. Trouble was, she didn't know the answer and asking the source seemed like the best method for obtaining that information.

"You don't. I will find you." The words were practically hissed and for a moment seemed to contain a feminine edge to them, but perhaps that was simply Saidra's imagination projecting the annoyed tone of her own mother onto the individual.

Saidra offered a nod in reply, leaving the sentiment of, well that's not very helpful, unsaid. Another snide comment threatened to bubble forth and again she managed to contain it, though barely. It was best to move along then before her discretion lost to temper.
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[Noven]

Noven had only met Knife in person once. He was very young, maybe no more than twelve or so years, and doing what all boys did at that age: disobeying their mothers. Granted, Nona wasn't his mother by blood. But she was the next best thing by sweat, tears, and the much dreaded backhand. And she had told him not to go fooling around with Henry in alleyways. Especially not after Syna set.

So that was exactly what he went on to do.

He couldn't remember much now. Only the feeling of confusion and terrible realization as he and Henry stumbled after a man they'd marked for practice. Nov never had much of a knack for con jobs of any sort. But Henry...Henry was a veritable master for his age.

He'd started out as a pickpocketing street urchin, as most orphans were won't to do in the Berth. His talents, however, quickly made themselves apparent. Pretty soon the slightly older boy was convincing Noven to join in on his mastermind heists. Nov had refused the first dozen or so times, making up all manner of excuses when they both knew it was because Nona would flay him alive if she found out. She made it her mission to instill better moral fiber in his being. But he was only twelve and desperate to earn Henry's respect. It was just a matter of time before the older boy won this battle of wills.

And so there they were, creeping about the alleys and slummier streets. Looking for someone to be the test subject of one of Henry's newest tricks. Except they had no idea they'd pick the only target that night who knew where Knife opened shop.

One tick they were stalking after the man in the alleys. Thought themselves the stealthiest and cleverest of thieves, too. Keeping the right distance, pretending to place dice if the man stalled for too long, that sort of thing. Had it all planned out right from the get go.

They next, they had unknowingly entered The Dark.

But that was a distant, distant memory now. There was no use in dwelling on the ghosts of ones past. Especially not when they came to haunt you anyway.

Nov sighed and rubbed at his face. After so many nights of sound slumber in the Citadel, it was twice as hard to deal with his night terrors now. The moment he and the other Scars had returned he dreamt of Henry. All the nights that followed up until now grew only progressively worse. If he didn't find some sort of solution soon, the merc wasn't sure he'd be getting any sleep at all.

Tired as he was, he couldn't shake the weight of Cryptly's hard won information. There was another Vexer roaming about in his town. A dangerous woman, judging from the state of her former partner, who was now rotting away in a Nuit-run cell. A ruthless one and none too stupid to have survived this long. Noven knew the one thing that tied her aliases together, but he needed more. Features, favorite haunts, anything that could be of use. And what better way to find an enigma than to ask another?

Unfortunately, he'd spent every day since his return trying to figure out where Knife would open shop next. Nov wasn't exactly the researching nor investigative type. Ten out of ten times he preferred to muscle his way out of trouble. Or into it, if you asked the right people. So despite his best efforts, his chances of finding Knife on his own were close to zero.

It was then, at his lowest point of the night thus far, when Ovek's luck finally seemed to favor him. He was just about to call it quits and spend another fitful night in his woolen cot when he caught sight of a young woman with dark, red hair. She was pale, lithe, and barely taller than Jillene from what he could tell. That, and she was walking with grit and purpose, all on her own.

Well, if that wasn't a godsdamned dead give away.

Nov followed some ways behind her, careful not to make himself obvious and to keep his footsteps soft. She disappeared at some point, much to the merc's frustration, but he was not about to give up. Instead, he loitered around the corner of one alleyway. Hands stuffed in pockets and head ducked, it looked like he was nothing more than another local waiting for some shady contact or other to show up.

And so he waited. Watching for any signs of the woman's exit.

[Saidra]

Saidra could appreciate the secretive or the subtle, most of the time anyway, but Knife and his or her whole over dramatic flare was just a bit too much to spend anymore time on. Then there was the fact Saidra had to return to her employer who of course would be completely understanding if she didn't show up right on time. Petching loan shark, there had to be a better way of earning mizas and keeping herself sane and in relatively decent health. She'd heard rumors of various blood sports taking place in some areas of the city but that came with it's own set of problems - specifically in the form of a certain Svefra barkeep who would find some way to keep her from participating in them.

That little thought kept her distracted enough to not take too much notice of others in the alleyway, which wasn't necessarily a bad thing. It was always a bit of a gamble on whether she would bother to be hyper vigilant of her surroundings or not. No one liked getting jumped in some grimy back street, but when you lived each day looking for an excuse to cause someone else a bit of pain there were distinct advantages to be found in lowering your guard.

Not that Saidra particularly liked making use of Krysus' little gift, especially not with the strange rumors she had caught wind of regarding another Vexer. The whispers didn't exactly express the most favorable of opinions, that was for certain and the last thing she wanted to be caught up in was some sort of hunt caused by panic and paranoia. The damn Lodestar deciding to suddenly turn red in the night was more than enough reason alone, she figured. Figures she would arrive in Sunberth just in time for the entire city to start losing their petching minds over some silly lighthouse and a bit of cold weather.

Okay, so maybe having a bit of discretion until things cooled off wouldn't be a bad thing. Saidra reluctantly had to admit she may have needed a bit of help in keeping her condition a bit more secretive than she'd been. A chill breeze blew down the street and caused the small woman to pull the hood of her cloak up and finally cast a scrutinizing gaze to the path that would lead her back to the Loan Agency. Only one person seemed to be lingering about, nothing too noteworthy about him. That was far more a relief than it should have been. There was a lurking feeling of unease about the whole situation now, though. Stupid thoughts getting the better of you, Saidra chided herself as she found herself tugging unnecessarily at her gloves.
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[Noven]

Now that she was so close, Nov managed to catch a glimpse of pale features and dark, red hair. He had to force himself not to leap at the sight. Burgundy locks...Cerise, Scarlet...red. There was no mistake. She had to be the one.

Two, four, six, eight...

He waited until his target was at least ten steps ahead before he slowly pushed himself away from the wall. Hands hidden deep within his coat pockets, the merc kept in cautious but determined pursuit, making sure to maintain distance and keep as many objects or people between them as possible without losing sight. She was a small woman and easily lost in a crowd. No doubt, Noven thought to himself, a valuable asset she made use of often enough.

As they walked through the night streets of Sunberth, he ran over the few facts he now possessed. One, the woman had red hair. Two, she wore gloves, which she tugged at seemingly out of careless habit--a trait Nov had picked up himself not long after he'd received his mark. And three, she was confident enough to do her shady business alone. Overly so, even. As if she wanted someone to be stupid enough to harass her.

All of this sounded much, much too familiar.

When finding someone to inflict unimaginable agony upon every twenty or so bells becomes as routine as taking a shyke, things change. Squeamishness is the first to go. It's your or them, take your pick. Suffer the most painful kind of death possible or find some scummy rat to Vex. Not a very difficult choice for most.

The second thing to go is any hope of staying out of trouble. In Noven's case, there was never a moment during the course of his day when he wasn't ready to bloody his knuckles. Waking or sleeping, raining or shining. Being a mercenary-- when Jillene bothered to give him a day off from cooking--meant he had no issues filling his quota. On the nights that there were lulls in job offerings, all he had to do was find some fiendish drunk or bothersome pickpocket to get his fix from. The Vexer had to be careful, though. Pick too many in the same area of the same profession or someone with a high profile and people might just be able to connect the dots. Addicts half lost in the seas of oblivion were ideal for this reason, but not preferable. Nov always felt kind of bad jarring them momentarily out of their soulless bliss.

Which made this new Vexer being in town something of a blessing. Now, anytime he had to reset his symptoms, the merc didn't have to spend half his night trying to pick just the right bar fight or track down one cutthroat out of hundreds. So long as he kept himself hard to identify and mostly in the shadows, everyone would just blame this new enigma.

But, convenient as this newcomer's presence may have been in some ways, in others it was downright petching unnerving. Why were they here? What did they want? Were they running from something or toward it, or did Krysus herself have more sinister goals in mind? Nov wouldn't put it past the sadistic goddess to pit two of her pets against one another. From what little he'd managed to learn of her, she enjoyed doing that sort of thing. It was like a test of wits and strength. Weeding out the weak so she could promote the bold.

If that really was the case, then this particular pet of hers was going to come out on top, whatever the price. There was only one thing he lived for now. And no one was going to stop him from carrying it out.

Taking careful steps around a weary passerby, Nov double checked his surroundings and wondered where they were headed. He hoped grimly that they weren't going to end up treading across gang territory. This would make it not only impossible, but also drastically unwise to continue following her.

No sooner had he thought this than the merc notice two men, one stout and burly, the other tall and lean, step in behind the woman, effectively blocking Noven's view. He narrowed his eyes and slowed just a fraction. It didn't look like they were her body guards or acquaintances...they were being too cautious, just as he was. Which could only mean they meant the woman some form of harm or foul play.

Or it could just be his paranoia speaking. Ducking his head a little lower, Nov picked up the pace a little, eager to close a bit of the distance. Whoever these two fellows turned out to be, he wanted to be near if things went south. If for no other reason that to try and discover whether the woman was hiding crimson veins beneath her gloves.

[Saidra]

Paranoia was a strange thing. Sometimes it got in the way of things, made a person unnecessarily jumpy and ofttimes stupid. It wasn't without warrant, though. The world was a dangerous petching place what with gods like Rhysol, Krivas, Vayt and their followers running about - not to mention her kind. To someone like Saidra, though, it was just another piece of reality, an unnecessary evil and a downright useful thing to rely on when you could keep it in check. It made you over-analyze things, which was a bit of a blessing when you couldn't help but notice the sudden carefully paced footsteps behind your own. There was always the possibility of it just being a passerby that was headed in the same direction you happened to be going, but when they echoed each sweep around obstacles that seemed to imply they were attempting to keep the same distance between you and them... Well... that was a bit more coincidence than Saidra cared to try and ignore.

She strained to hear what was behind her but it was hard to tell just how many were there. Was it just the one set of heavy footfalls or was there another lighter step accompanying it? Were the others she heard drowning out the possibility of more or were they adding to their number? For all her wanderings, for all the dangerous places the woman had ever found herself in, it was the city - even one as rundown as Sunberth - that still seemed to throw her. The monsters in the harsh wilderness were far easier to predict than their suburban counterparts.

Saidra hated the possibilities that floated through her head. Was it just a couple of brutes looking for trouble? Was it some of Goldfinger's petching Sun's Birth bastards keeping an eye on her to make sure the job was done? Was it some of the Daggerhands who thought her nothing more than another errand runner for the Birth? Whoever it was, they were advancing.

The Northern woman took a deep breath and slowed. She couldn't just lead whoever it was back to the Loan Agency, even if they were just the shark's lackeys, Saidra would need to make some sort of statement. Whether it was just to protect herself and her investments or a quick notice to keep the damn gang members out of their shared business, the decision had been made. And here she thought it was going to be a nice quiet evening.

Her hand settled against the hilt of her dagger as she cursed herself for leaving behind the small crossbow that probably would have at least managed to eliminate some of the threat. It was amazing how much a bolt in the leg would motivate a person to leave you the petch alone. Or at least slow a person down so you could handle things more appropriately.

It occurred to her then just how little she knew of actually predicting when someone would strike. It wasn't something she had to learn, not when you were used to having allies who were always watching your back and looking for an excuse to put an axe into someone.

Petch.

Leave it to shorter wall of a man to make the first move, though. The arm that suddenly wrapped around her shoulders slid up around her neck far too quickly as all too close behind her ear she could hear him hiss at his associate to grab her arms. Tall dark and gruesome was fast, but only managed to snag her left as he came about which was a damn shame and a poor bit of luck for him, really. While it meant that her dagger was out of play for the moment it did leave her to quickly bring her right hand up to her mouth, teeth grabbing at the fingertips of her glove and retching it off before she quickly let her fist dart towards skinny's face. It was a sloppy punch, more flail than actual calculated move and he brought up his other arm to block the hit. If she was just some regular girl that would have been the moment it all would have been over, a desperate retaliation against her attackers undone by one lousy move.

At that moment Saidra didn't give a a shyke less who found out she wasn't exactly a regular girl. While she had been hoping to make contact with the guy's jaw and leave him fully convinced it was shattered, the flare of her mark worked just as well as her fist made contact with his arm. What may have been nothing more than a minor annoyance at her fist colliding with forearm resulted in something altogether far too satisfying. The taller man howled in agony, releasing his hasty grip on her and clutched his arm as his eyes frantically moved over his skin looking for the source of the inexplicable amount of pain the small woman had wrought upon him.

The malicious grin that had formed on her lips quickly slipped away though as Saidra was forced to realize the miscalculation she had just made. Sure, the use of her mark was going to temporarily take the taller of the two out of the equation, but it also gave the brute behind her ample reason to tighten his hold around her throat and things were going a bit black around the edges of her vision a bit too quickly.

Tall guy wasn't doing her any favors either as he shouted, "Her hand! She has something in her petching hand!"

Thick fingers clamped down around her right wrist before she could use her mark against the second man. Her left fumbled for the dagger at her side as the arm around her throat constricted all the more. Bloody petching embarrassing way to die. She wasn't sure if she was glad or not that the ones she used to call friends weren't around at that moment.
.

"Common" † "Nari" † "Fratava"

[Noven]

oocWoah, had no idea I'd completely failed to reply to this in a timely fashion. Apologies for keeping you waiting!

Nov cursed and picked up his speed. The two goons following his target had finally decided to make their moves.

The shorter of the two hooked her chin with one arm, hissing at his partner to grab her. Judging from the speed and determination of their actions, Nov assumed they were neither amateurs nor acting on their own volition, their coordination much too evident for this to be a crime of passion. Men who wanted to sate their needs through brute force cared nothing for finesse. Mobsters with blood on their minds, however, plucked their targets and threw them back out as cadaverous messages. Maybe in one whole piece. Maybe not.

Had this been a different victim under different circumstances, Noven might have attempted to intervene sooner. He was no hero when it came to street violence, but two gangsters and a lady no where near their own sizes were three strikes too many in his book.

This particular lady, though...if she truly was the newcomer in town so many whispers had revolved around of late, then Nov had every reason to hold back. To wait. Just long enough to see how she would handle herself. The opportunity itself was too precious to pass up on; he would be able to tell from her next course of action alone whether or not she was who he'd been looking for. All from a safe distance, barring his involvement, and maintaining his element of surprise.

In the moments it'd taken for the cook to select his approach, the woman was almost fully incapacitated, her left hand now trapped in the second goon's grip. She had no access to the daggers at her hips. If she was just some ordinary local out for a late night jaunt, she would be done for.

That was when, like a sign from the gods themselves, she brought her other hand to her teeth and ripped off the glove.

The rest Noven could have played in his mind without any visual aids. She tried to punch her taller assailant in the jaw but he blocked with relative ease. Unfortunately for Skinny Goon, allowing any kind of impact was the last thing he should have done. Because it barely took the woman longer than half a tick to flare her mark against him. All too familiar, crimson veins glowed against the dimness as Skinny was suddenly sent reeling back in unexpected pain.

She was the one. There was no mistaking it.

It might've been easier to let the woman die by another's hands. Then he could just turn around and head back to Sunset for what he hoped would be a less fitful night's worth of sleep. Only problem was that, given her rumored reputation, Nov highly doubted two thick-skulled thugs could succeed where so many before them had failed.

This time, the cook surged forward without hesitance. Either he took care of her now or risk waiting for another chance to follow her. And, given the course of events tonight, Nov highly doubted he'd be able to track her a second time through sheer dumb luck. He went for the recently Vexed goon first, using his pained surprise as a distracting advantage. No sooner had Skinny recovered enough to make a grab for the woman's free arm than he was met with another, much more devastating punch. Unlike his fellow Vexer, Noven had all of the momentum built up from his brisk approach to back his swing as he sent his fist flying straight for the goon's nose.

Crack!

The impact sent Skinny's head snapping back in a spray of blood before it smacked soundly against a solid wall. Concussed and broken nosed, but likely not dead, the goon sank to the ground in an unresponsive heap.

Nov didn't wait to check if the man was down for good. He was already spinning around once his first punch had been executed, right hand dipping to his belt before rising again, a gleaming Tamo in its grasp. The first goon was still trying to keep his hold on the woman when he glanced over her burgundy head and noticed his partner crumpled against a wall.

"Oy, Rezo, what the--"

Too slow. Nov was on him in a matter of ticks, one hand slamming against the thug's forehead to keep it pinned to the wall while the other lodged a Tamo deep into his skull.

The cook didn't bother pulling out his dagger just yet. He couldn't allow the woman to escape; she was his number one priority at the moment. So, instead, he shoved the still warm corpse to one side, allowing it to land with a thud against cobbled stone. Then he withdrew his second Tamo and held it at arm's length. The tip of the blade rested gently against her porcelain throat, with enough pressure to cause the barest of dimples. He also made certain he was no where within her reach. One touch could mean the end not just to his investigation, but his life as well if he wasn't careful enough. It takes one to know one, as the saying went.

"Tell me why you're here on my turf, Scarlet. Cerise. Whatever the hell it is you've decided to call yourself this time," he growled. "And maybe, just maybe, I'll decide not to gut you where you stand. "

[Saidra]

It took a few ticks too many to fully realize what was happening as the goons were suddenly bloodied and dropped. If she'd been smarter, or a little less stunned at her rescuer's miraculous good timing there was no doubt in her mind that Saidra would have made a run for it, maybe slipped into the shadows and prayed that she knew them better than any of the three others involved. Well, two, what with the more robust of her original assailants slumping lifelessly to the ground with a dagger's handle sticking out of his forehead. Not that skinny was much better.

Which left her alone with Mr. Intervention and that delightful little telling pinprick sensation at her neck. Some rescue. Saidra did have to give the man some credit though, boy had style. That and she was desperately trying to ignore that envious sensation growing in the back of her mind at the fact that he had so quickly taken out two thugs, the more permanent solution drawing out jealousy and craving in equal portions. Why couldn't that be her dagger that had stolen his life from him?

There wasn't a lot of time for such thinking though, what with the fact she seemed somehow far worse off than she had been with the other two. Saidra slowly let her gaze trail from the blade at her neck down along it's handle, to the hand holding it, and finally to the man wielding the weapon. It was probably foolish to let her eyes meet his in the challenging manner she couldn't stop, worse still to let her lips spread into a slow lascivious smile, but it wasn't exactly like she was entirely in her right mind. A fresh kill, hers or not, had that sort of effect some days. Gods, how she wished it wasn't now, though. Or here. Or around this guy.

His question, though. That was enough to tame her and allow at least some semblance of modesty to return to her visage. Scarlet? Cerise? She knew that first word well enough but the second and the entire thing about his turf left her feeling uncomfortably confused. Her eyes left his to draw once more down the length of his arm. It didn't take a genius to figure out his height and his rather precarious distance from her meant she didn't even have the slightest of chances of drawing her own blade successfully on him. That really left Saidra with only one option, answer the petching question.

"Your turf? And here I thought just about every space in this wretched town belonged to one gang or another, not a single man." Her eyes flitted back to the slight glint of light from the blade pressed to her throat. "As much as I'm sure you'd love a reason to stick me with that, I'm thinking you have me a bit mistaken for someone else. Never have seen much use in aliases myself and my reasons for being here are the same as everyone else in this gods forsaken city - simply surviving."

Not the best answer, all things considered, but at least it was the truth. Not that truth ever really did anyone any good in a situation like this, but Saidra didn't exactly see the point in making a game out of what was apparently a rather awkward and serious mishap. She'd already seen what the man was capable of and had no desire to end up like either of the two men he'd already seen fit to handle.
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"Common" † "Nari" † "Fratava"

[Noven]

There were only a few reactions Nov had been expecting. Shock and confusion, perhaps, if she was innocent and he mistaken. Anger and a desire to fight back if she wasn't. There would be no real point in denying her identity at that point, should those names truly belong to her. The merc doubted Scarlet was able to survive as long as she had by sheer charm and good fortune. People like her, like them, didn't live off of luck. They lived off of blood and pain. A high cost for living, but one they paid all the same.

What he hadn't really been expecting was that this woman cooperate. And not before a clouded look of incomprehension passed over her eyes, as if she was juggling the aliases in her mind and drawing only blanks.

Nov cursed silently to himself. Either this Scarlet was not the Scarlet he was looking for, or she was a superb actress.

But what were the odds otherwise? She was a Vexer. Scarlet was a Vexer. She had red hair. Scarlet and Cerise both meant red. Not to mention even in a city like Sunberth, god marks were a tough business to hide, especially ones as conspicuous as theirs. All his life, Nov had only known of one Vexer in town: himself. Which was why it had been such grueling and tedious work, trying to dig up information on his curse and the goddess who dealt it. The Berth was not a place of academia to begin with; had it not been for his ability to muscle through most obstacles, Nov doubted he would have learned a single thing in the past five years. Even to this day, his understanding of Krysus and her mark were minimal at best. He knew vaguely who she was, how his mark worked, and the consequences he might face if he didn't comply to its terms. Other than that, nothing else.

There was one thing, though, that Noven had managed to figure out for himself. He'd never been what people would call a deep thinker. But what he did know how to use was his gut. Hunch, instinct, a funny taste in the air, whatever folks wanted to call it. And based on this most relied upon tool of survival of his, the cook deduced that Krysus was the worst kinds of crazy, and therefore not above killing off her own pets. She was manic and twisted and there was no reason for her not to enjoy pitting them against one another. In fact, it seemed perfectly within her convoluted principles to do just that. Make them fight. See who came out on top. Not unlike Tall Johnny and his ilk.

Which meant, if she had set them up and was watching right now, he'd better make a damned good show if he had any hopes of surviving this encounter.

As if reading his thoughts, the slender woman before him met his eyes with a challenge and his scornful mask with a carnal grin. Nov could tell she was being stimulated by something...he could see it in the way the black of her pupils stretched, in the slow curve of her lips, and in the slight quickening of the rise and fall of the fabric over her chest. He didn't even have to guess the source. He knew it with sickening clarity, as he was one and the same with justly spilled blood. Only, the man had no idea if Scarlet cared much for the justly part. Most didn't in a city like this.

When she spoke, it was with a predictably flippant manner. People who weren't outright hostile and prickly around these parts were generally not to be trusted and worse than animals behind closed doors. Nov squinted at her nonetheless, trying to gauge whether she was telling the truth or not. His first feeling said she was, but the cook spent a few ticks letting his paranoia chase itself round and round, wondering how good of a liar Scarlet could be.

In the end, Nov found himself more inclined to believe her. But he wasn't stupid. He relieved a smidgen of pressure from the dagger and not a hair more, keeping his guard fully up as he asked his next question.

"If you're not Scarlet," he inquired, "Then who are you, and why the Berth?"

He could pick up from her first answer that she wasn't from around these parts. A true native had a strange sense of pride for their shyke city. Stop any street rat, any fence or thug to ask if they were from around here, and they would spit in your face and tell you they were born and raised. It was harsh, dismal, and unforgiving, but Sunberth was the only home they ever knew.

Before she could respond to his question, Nov got the unsettling feeling that they were too exposed. Passerby's rushed along with faces averted, not wanting to become involved in messy gang related business, but sooner or later the two goons he'd just downed would have people come looking for them. And when that happened, he didn't want any links being made back to the orphanage. Using his free hand to yank his hood over his head, the cook glanced quickly from side to side and jerked his chin to the right.

"Much as I've been enjoying our conversation, this isn't the best place to talk," he admitted, unhappy about having to move but seeing no other option available. Nov prodded the woman along. "This way, m'lady."

He knew just the place for a private chat. In fact, he'd tortured two Daggerhands not a season ago in the same vicinity. The abandoned, junk filled alley behind the orphanage was perfect for interrogations. Noven could only hope the woman wouldn't try to run. Things would get messy fast if she did.