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| − | * - Back to [[GoldenCat/ThirdMovement|Third Movement]]
| + | #REDIRECT [[ADanceOfAngels]] |
| − | * - Back to [[GoldenCat/DanceOfAngels|A Dance of Angels]]
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| − | == Lords of Shadows ==
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| − | Kadel Kurodona was called many things. Pornographer, priest, and informant high among them. Blackmailer, in other circles. The Glass Spider, in nearly all of them. He was the one to go to when you needed to find something out. They said he had spies everywhere in the city, knew the secrets of everyone from the lowliest miner to the King of Whiteshield. Bedroom politics played a lot for that. Child of the Smiling Lover, her face and voice in the every sense. He lead her church, kept the madams in-line, and abused every facet of the system to achieve his own whims. Kadel Kurodona was his mothers son.
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| − | His house was the perfect place for the meeting. A master of spies could do much to ensure that none did the same to him. Far into the hillside community known as Highlane, the Kurodona mansion was a spectacle of gothic architecture and a showcase for the scandalous art he created. Naked statues of lovers adorned the front gardens and stone images of men and woman bound in pleasure hung from the roof top and smiled down secretly at those bellow. But there was a sense of security here. Handsome private soldiers patrolled it's gates and every indecent statue was a ward of protection against unwanted eyes.
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| − | Moon brooded at the end of the table and watched the assembled criminals shift nervously and attempt to talk casually among themselves. This wasn't normal and they knew it. Kadel's agents had come to each of them in turn, hunting them down through channels or digging them out of the holes where they'd gone to ground. The Father of Crows had never called for them to meet together like this. Something big was going to happen and his silence was making them sweat.
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| − | The room in Kadel Kurodona's home was thick with smoke and suspicion. Seated in a den where statues of twisting lovers watched them from between book shelves and an orgy in paint smeared across the dome ceiling above, men and women who would have been at one another's throats normally now tried to smile and trade talks of 'business.' And most of all, they tried not to look at the intense figure at the end of the table. There was enough power in this room to crush nearly anyone in the city; gangsters and smugglers and assassins and informants. United or alone, they merely had to point to see someone dead and right now, a single young punk who ruled a swath of streets most would pass through without noticing had them all scared for their very souls.
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| − | <b>Kadel:</b> As minutes tick by in awkward conversation and the air in the room only grows more clouded with smoke and uncertainty, the Glass Spider is the first to loose his patience. Gracefully, of course.
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| − | One foot propped on his chair and a crystalline chalice of red wine swirling idly in his hand, the spirit-blooded artist cleared his throat delicately. "Masters, friends..." he tipped his head towards the brooding Lunar. "Shadow King. I am certain we would all enjoy knowing why we have been called to this... gathering of minds, would we not?"
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| − | <b>Leonti:</b> The slaver king of the city lays back on his chair, sampling the wine. Two girls lay close to his feet, chains on chokers around their necks. They were gifts for Kadel, afterwards - one of them was a true find! Acreature of the wyld looking like a cross between a girl and an unicorn, flesh pale as snow, a golden horn on her forehead, vaguely equine features.
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| − | His trade was always on the margin of the law on Whiteshield and Windia, but it paid off for what the right people would give for the open secret of owning their slaves quietly. He couldn't love the illegality on those countries more - it was what gave someone like him - young, without much backing at first - the chance to make good with The Guild operating where it shouldn't. He nodded, "Yes. I for one couldn't be more curious... we have matters to attend to, after all. The dead soldiers everywhere are with our dear sheriff. It makes bussiness hard enough... when we are there to look after them."
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| − | <b>Nathaniel Barr:</b> Nathaniel Barr, on the other hand, was an old hand in getting into the city all manner of things that shouldn't be there - the right alchemical ingrendients, the illegal drugs, and all manner of banned weapons - he was old, but strong, slightly scarred from his profession, from the times where he found out weapons such as hungry-ghost transporting rocks and volatile alchemical potions are not safe merchandise. He just grunted something unintelligible, waiting in a little impatience. But not disrespecting the Father of Crows... he still remembers when he was just a boy bringing in spoils taken from a war, and... wait, isn't he old enough to be his grandchild? Nah, this makes no sense, of course it is him, he had to be there then!
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| − | As the second in command there, he had the virtue of being like that - and he had worked hard for it. Now if a boy like Leonti didn't smile and pretend he is loving it... what he was not doing... oh, he would know the anger of Father of Crows. One does not keep being lord of the shadows in a place like the Boil for generations being nice. Or forgiving. Or even safe to be around of.
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| − | *Simma Siray leans nonchalantly on one of the statues nestled against the walls, one hand resting upon a lusciously curved marble hip, the other idly flipping her trusty blade, lovingly named 'Prick', into the air. It flips end over end, high into the air, catching the dim light on its slender, sturdy blade, before she catches it with ease, point first, between her fingertips. Short and wiry, quick-witted and lithely strong, the silver-eyed, blond-haired Wild-Child radiates both an easy confidence and an undeniably blas attitude at having to be present at this meeting at all. No doubt she has participated in many a power struggle between the gangs ruling the streets of the Boil, and vastly preferred the direct route of brawn and steel over pretentious posing and lengthy speeches.
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| − | <i>Whatever is going on, they better make this important to me.</i> The scowl on Siray's face deepens, the resultant creases underlining the wicked scar on her brow. She studies Moon intensely, her chin slightly raised, not at all impressed or intimidated by his "secret identity". <i>I know you, kid – you’re not a pushover, at least. Maybe at least I'll be entertained if you can make these twits dance his dance just by mere reputation. Hah! But I won't be so easy to convince.</i>
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| − | "So, spit it out," she addresses Moon bluntly as the others simper or cower or fidget around wondering how in hell to react to him without being incurring his displeasure. "What is it you want from us, and why the fuck should we do it?"
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| − | <b>Allyster Lazarus:</b> Sitting with his hands joined together on the heavy table, Allyster Lazarus contemplates the surreal scene before him. Deep grey eyes scan every member of the assembled "council" taking their measure and learning as much as possible from the manneurisms and habits.
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| − | For an outside onlooker, Allyster would almost look out of place in this environment. A somewhat short, middle-aged man with tied back greying hair, his simple nature and sober clothing would most likely pinpoint him as some low-end merchant or bureaucrat... Certainly not as one of the most dangerous people in The Boil. And there is a reason for this - Allyster Lazarus does not exist.
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| − | The man that some on the street call "Sweet Hemlock" has never led by intimidation. Nor has he made any effort to make it known that he was responsible for some particularly well plotted death. He started slow, working as a contractor to a few of the Boil's killers and assassins, providing them with work without the danger of exposure their trade brings. Eventually his wits and knowledge of the streets started attracting more and more "talent", and he built up an efficient network of killers that was the closest the Boil had to an "assassin's guild". Although he never claimed taht name, or tried to advertise his services, in the past decade Sweet Hemlock has become a name that streetwise agents learned to know and respect. Word on the street was that he had agents planted in the most improbable of locations, and that his network could act anywhere at any time - should someone ask to have someone dead, and had the right price... Sweet Hemlock had the ressources to make anybody fall.
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| − | His uneasy cooperation with Kadel Kurodona was a dangerous one, but one that benefitted the two men greatly. Kadel supplied Allyster with the information he needed to have his agents be able to complete any sort of contract, while Allyster made sure any man that would manage to learn anything about Kadel and his network would be swiftly disposed of and forgotten. Having himself known openly to the leaders working under Father of Crows was risky business, but a risk that insured him prosperity and success in more than a decade now.
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| − | In the end, he was the one to contact in order to remove any "obstacle".
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| − | Now, he was trying to anticipate what it was that made Father of Crows break the ststus Quo and call them all to meet here. Whatever it was, it was important business...
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| − | And in the type of business they were conducting, something this important would no doubt have need for his trade.
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| − | <b>Fyodor:</b> Sunken grey eyes stare back and forth across the table, flat and lifeless. This belies the dangerous activity going on behind them, fueled by enough cocaine to kill a horse. It takes a certain skill to balance the unavoidable result of being a paying customer and the need to get money out of them, and for the last decade, Fyodor has managed this with aplomb. Everyone needs someone like him in the end, so what is one more meeting?
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| − | <b>Seventh Moon:</b> "Ya always were too fuckin' impatient, Sims." Fangs gleamed in the darkness, stretched into sarcastic grin. "Gonna ruin my show."
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| − | <i>Clink, clink, clink, clink...</i>
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| − | It began suddenly, the moment Simma stopped speaking. A metallic tinkle, like tiny bells out of the shadowy edge Moon had claimed. There was movement around him. Shadow on shadow. His hand appeared on the table top and star-light twinkling beside it. Burning like silver-suns, his eyes hovered above the glint on the table top.
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| − | "I don't think any'a you are gonna like this..." he told them. "You ain't gonna like it one fuckin' bit..."
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| − | <i>Clink, clink, clink...</i>
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| − | "And that's too fuckin' bad"
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| − | <i>Clink, clink, clink</i>
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| − | Something spilled into the light beside his hand, round and metal, rolling on edge across the table. It glided over the smooth surface, then collided into one of the bronze candleholders in the middle of the table, spinning a moment before clattering down. A cloak clasp done in iron with the Deathshead of the Blackcloaks grinning up at the others in the room.
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| − | A clasp stained in blood.
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| − | "Cause you ain't got any more choice now that ya did last time, y'know?" Moon's hand moved with a suddenly violence and the pile of identically bloody claps he had built before him clattered across the table top, spitting off the edge and into the crimelords.
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| − | <b>Leonti:</b> The symbol of the Black Cloaks, the army occupying the city. The people they had been trying /very/ hard not to anger so far... of course, Moon was wanted on the city. Of course, they had burned his whorehouse down. But still...
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| − | "So, you killed them, and got away. So I suppose we will have to be more careful with our bussiness while you lay low?"
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| − | *Nathaniel Barr was less hopeful than Leonti, elbows on the table, fingers entwined in front of his mouth, looking at the bloodied clasps attentively. It wasn't his style. It wasn't his way. And it sure as heck did not seem like a good sign.
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| − | <b>Kadel:</b> The Glass Spider dips in an easy motion, his chalice tipping to the side. Crystal chimes and wet splash follows as one of the clasps plunges into his drink. Better there than his clothing. Or his carpet.
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| − | Setting the cup down, he glanced curiously at the dark blood swirling through his wine, then fished his fingers in and plucked out the iron clasp. "Mmm..." he murmured thoughtfully, holding the bit of metal up to examine it closer. Exactly what he thought it would be. How loathsome it was to be him sometimes. Life held no surprises.
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| − | Without dropping his gaze, his fingers search out the glass of wine and bring it up to his lips. Drinking in blood and wine alike, Kadel takes a long, slow sip and lowers the chalice slowly. "This <i>will</i> be an interesting gathering, won't it?"
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| − | *Simma Siray smirks knowingly at Moon's comment, then -- still grinning -- offers him a short, jerky bow that conveys just about as much respect as flipping him the bird.
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| − | With that, she settles herself back against the statue for the 'show.' In fact, she feels somewhat jealous of the inanimate forms, two buxom, curvaceous women eternally captured in a state of erotic bliss as they share a hot and hungry embrace. Damn, she could do with being hot and hungry right <b>now</b>, and it had nothing at all to do with wanting food. Just good ol' down and dirty, shameless, sweaty, animalistic <i>fucking</i>.
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| − | Her gaze upon Moon is soon sweltering with longing, but she stubbornly keeps her silence as he presents the spoils of his latest tussles with the law. Technically, anyway -- those Blackcloaks were agents of the occupiers, and in that sense, their 'law' meant even less to her than that of the Sheriff and his cronies that patrolled the streets before. They at least had some rapport, some understanding in how they and her gangs collectively kept the peace within the Boil, even though they worked on different sides of the fence, and with much different methods.
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| − | "I don't like 'em either, Moon. Without a doubt. But, y'know, my own always come first, and I won't rile up the gangs against a foe they'll just get slaughtered by. If you've got a plan that's somethin' besides suicide, though -- let's deal."
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| − | <b>Allyster Lazarus:</b> Looking at the bloodied clasps as they dance around the table, Allyster raises an eyebrow slightly before turning again to the young Lunar Exalt. The crimelords had managed to keep the Status Quo somehow since the arrival of the BlackCloaks in town. Open warfare could mean the fall of everything they took so long to build, and Allyster was among those that would not see more than ten years of careful planning and work swept away in a few days.
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| − | Gazing at Kadel's reaction, he removes the blue tinted spectacles perched low on his nose and places a hand on his chin, his mind racing to see all the implications. "It will indeed, Glass Spider", he utters in a rich, practiced voice. He then turns his attention to one of the clasps, slowly picking it up and observing it with fascination as he twirls it between his fingers.
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| − | "I heard about the attack on your... establishment, and how they are after you. With the reputation you now have on the street, it is no wonder they want you down... But somehow, I doubt that what you ask for is for us to shield you from the heat." Tilting his head slightly to the side, Allyster then turns to Moon. "You want the Boil's underworld to support your crusade, is it not? I am not the stubborn old man I appear to be, and although I must say that the Statsu Quo is not interfering with my trade... I'm always willing to listen to a proposition."
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| − | <b>Seventh Moon:</b> "Yours ain't gonna be around pretty soon Sims. Mine either. Anyones" Moon rose slowly from his seat and placed his hands on the table, timbers creaking as he leaned forward towards Sweet Hemlock. "And the status quo don't mean shit man. Business still good? Hey, shit, you kill people for a livin'. Business is probably boomin'."
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| − | He gave the assassin a tight smile. Then looked away, sweeping his burning gaze across the rest of them, straightening off of the table. His voice grew louder, more intense. "But how long you think that's gonna last? Any'a you? You can't say you ain't noticed people vanishin'. Fuckers ain't exactly bein' subtle about it, y'know? People carted off in bunches. Red-haired bitch stealin' girls from wherever she fuckin' wants. People are singin' ghost-chants out there."
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| − | "They don't want the status fuckin' quo!" his fist slammed into the table top with a sudden fury, sending vibrations through the floor that made the statues on the walls shudder. "Only reason they ain't just pulled Cleaning Season on everyone is cause there's still enough muscle here that maybe we could stop 'um! Cause we ain't broken like those poor shits in the Spire or Whiteshield!"
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| − | He took a breath and seemed to recover, lifting his fist away from the indentation it left in the thick table, smiling humorlessly. "So they been killin' us by inches instead. And they ain't gonna give a damn who they kill eventually. We're <i>all</i> trash ta them."
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| − | <b>Leonti:</b> "People... always disappear. Hemlock there does his share of it. My lovely here..." He caresses the boy side-by-side with the Kirin, "Disappeared as well. They do some themselves - didn't the sheriff just make some gang-boys and specially girls disappear? That is what we do, Father. We are in this for profit, we are not able to go and challenge armies, you know."
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| − | <b>Fyodor:</b> "You are saying this as if they care whether or not we are here making monies. Why is the Lover caring if I make a few more talents or not? Ghost-chanters buy our goods too."
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| − | <b>Seventh Moon:</b> "And when they run outta ladies ta rape and they run outta gangs ta kill and then they run outta ghost-chanters ta dupe, then what?" the Lunar sneered at the two men, folding his arms across his chest. "How much money you gonna be makin' when they come for <i>your</i> ass too? You seem ta be missin' the picture here. They want to kill me, and you, and even your lil toy there. They want all our asses <i>dead</i> just because we ain't dead already."
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| − | Moon shook his head. "Naw man... this ain't the garrison you're dealin' with anymore. You ain't gonna buy these fucks off when they come after ya. And they <i>will</i>."
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| − | <b>Leonti:</b> At a command, the boy - looking like he has some southern blood, short hair, but a cute and lithe body - gets up and begins massaging Leonti's back, as he tries to relax. "I will just have to make sure they don't, then. This is why we have you, right? Our organization? For protection. We cover one another, we pay the right people. The red-haired bitch was paid in girls, right? I understand one of them was your sweetheart... but it is still not thinking rationally."
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| − | *Nathaniel Barr shakes his head. The boy was asking for it.
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| − | And yet... he crossed his arms in front of his chest. His wares were useful, but... this was a little too much. Surely he had seen the great red beast lumbering right outside the city?
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| − | <b>Kadel:</b> The Glass Spider keeps silent through most of the talks thus far, seemingly lost in thought as he idly spins the iron clasp between his knuckles and peers down into his blood-wine. Searching for answers in the swirling depths of crimson and red. Business had been quite good for him too. New blood in down. New delights to find. And nominally new souls to keep watch on.
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| − | But only nominally. Far be it from him to <i>encourage</i> this sort of talk and point it out there <i>had</i> been decidedly less people as of late. An agent vanishing here. A 'client' disappearing there. Common occurrences once, yet usually not so close together
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| − | Kadel stopped spinning the clasps and rubbed it thoughtfully between his fingers. Rather disturbing trend.
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| − | *Simma Siray listens with interest for the first time, her simple desires washed away by Moon's tirade. Oh, he was letting himself get all worked up, for sure. Most of time she teased him about it, if she wasn't already yelling at him first. She did like a good argument. In any case, she vastly preferred Moon's dynamic attitude over these pathetic snots lazing about in their proverbial filth, placid in the knowledge they'll at least die in a state of bliss.
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| − | A flicker of worry dims the swirling silver and gold irises of her eyes. Bright Stream. Yeah, Moon had lost a girl, too, hadn't he? A sweet, lovely lady, a prostitute by trade, and his lover for a long, satisfying while. These undead usurpers wanted to steal that fresh, alluring vitality from girls like Sarah and Bright Stream and shackle it to their own use. The thought of her adorable, innocent young lover being yanked into the cold clutches of yet another Deathknight -- it was enough to boil her blood and send her breath hissing through her mouth like steam.
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| − | "Well--<b>I</b> never said I wouldn't help. In fact, I'm right damn <i>itching</i> to." Siray balls her hand into a tight, shuddering fist, squeezing tight the hilt of her knife. "But you still haven't told us much beyond that we <i>should</i>. You've got me -- I've got more t'lose by doing nothing. So what now? If it's fightin' force you need, I got you some right here." She jabs a finger to herself and nods firmly.
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| − | <b>Allyster Lazarus:</b> Raising his chin slightly at Moon's speech, Sweet Hemlock places his spectacles back on his nose as he smiles lopsidedly.
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| − | He was born and raised in the Boil. His mother was a prostitute, and life for the both of them was harsh. He spent his whole life in the streets, trying to make sure he would not end up stuck in a life like the one his mother had. In a way, he liked the fact that he gave some of these street kids a chance to rise above the tough reality of life in the slums.
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| − | He too, had seen some agents disappears. Mostly rookies or less experienced operatives that were not as adept as lying low, but Father of Crow had him there - if the new blood was all taken away, how would anything he built endure?
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| − | "There is something you misunderstand, here, Father. When I said the Satus Quo was not affecting my business, I was not implying that I deal with <i>them</i>. Even if they knew where to look... I don't take contracts from the invaders. Otherwise, they might have tried to ask me to take one on you..."
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| − | He rubs his chin again, then stares right back at Moon. "Now. For a moment, let us suppose I have heard from Glass Spider that the BlackCloaks are bent on trying to rout the true powers behind this city. And, continuing this chain of thought, let us suppose I <i>might</i> be willing to tell my organization that I would dictate some special contracts to be fulfilled immediately. If that was the case, Father, what kind of backing would such an endeavour have? I agree with Simma, here. I might be interested in having some of the invaders disappearing also, but what kind of plan do you have to make this happen?"
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| − | <b>Seventh Moon:</b> Seventh Moon's eyes narrowed at the slaver, simmering bands of white heat. His voice became softer, lower. "You still ain't listenin'. Organization ain't gonna be around ta protect shit pretty soon, cause there ain't no fuckin' protection from this."
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| − | The Lunar looked back to Simma and grinned. Yeah, figured he could at least count on her. Maybe cause she cared a little more. Maybe cause she was like him. Punks like them bleed and died over paving stones in seeding alleyways. They had damn little too loose to ever give up on any of it easily.
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| − | "Other than kick the shit outta these dead fucks, ya mean? We all do what we shoulda done last time, only we don't pull out to early."
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| − | The assassin got a startled glance. Simma he had been expecting and everyone knew Barr was the Father of Crows dog, when it came down to it. But Hemlock...
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| − | There was respect in Moon's eyes as he sized the middle-aged assassin up again. "I had... a talk with Rusty already..." <i>Had my lady whore herself out</i>. Moon's fist clenches tightly, but his face doesn't flinch at the thought. "Gonna talk to that steel-plated bitch in the garrison next. She don't like me for fuck, but she was as pissed as anyone when that pussy Sheriff pulled us down."
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| − | "Ya wanna know what kinda backin' you'll get?"
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| − | "<i>Everyone.</i>"
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| − | <b>Simma Siray:</b> "So--keep it up till the bitter end, eh? If I'll go down fightin', it won't be less than what anyone else expects." Simma returns Moon's grin, skating a fingernail across the edge of her knife, testing its superb edge. It was time Prick got a taste of some dead meat again.
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| − | "But you got some other people in on this now, don'cha Moon? Saw you come in with a bunch of others. Hell -- we might have an even better chance than before. But only if we're all united in the same goal." She turns to the dissenters of the group, her eyes flashing molten fire. "The Boil is our turf... all of ours'. We got no right to benefit from our existence here if we're not gonna fight for it when things go bad. And Moon's right. There'll be nothin' left for us to gain FROM if things keep goin' the way they are. They'll suck the fuckin' soul out of this city. It'll be just another bastion of the dead."
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| − | She shrugs, then, spitting derisively on the ground, not at all concerned for the decor. "And if you STILL don't wanna help, I for one won't turn back and lend a hand when it's your ass on the line. You already gave it up to them by refusin' to act. Or <i>care</i>."
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| − | <b>Allyster Lazarus:</b> "Don't misunderstand me, Father. I'm not the one that robs the rich and gives to the poor, and I'm certainly no leader of any band of jolly outlaws." He plants his eyes in Moon's his face dead serious all of a sudden. "But I also might consider helping out cleaning the streets a bit. When there is too much garbage lying around, it becomes difficult to go about your business without tripping on something you shouldn't."
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| − | Allyster purses his lips slightly. <i>There is no turning back, now.</i> If he chooses to follow, Father of Crows will not accept any turning back. He and his could be hunted down in a gang war, and he absolutely didn't want such a thing to occur. On the other hand, if he chose to lay low and see... More agents could be lost, and his organization would weaken from it. He was confident in what he could accomplish, becasue he was a careful and calculating man - but without the people to back him up, soon, he could lose it all and become as meaningless as any lowly alley thug.
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| − | If he didn't die first. And made to join the invading army in unlife.
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| − | The pondering didn't take as long as he thought it would.
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| − | His face turns up into a smirk, and he absent-mindedly taps the clasp still imprisoned between his fingers. "That's all well and good, Father. I'll even admit, impressive. But you know me, and what I do. My men cannot stand on the walls fighting the BlackCloaks on end. Don't get me wrong, some are amazing fighters, capable to teach a thing or two to the city guards... But I don't have numbers, and that's not what my people do. I do not run a mercenary guild where you can buy yourself some hired muscle."
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| − | "Now, if you want to be able to work on some "disappearances" of our own, and want to weaken the chain of command, that is more up to my agent's alley. But I need somethings then, Father. I need some names. I need a list of their important people and which of them would cripple the BlackCloaks more by 'vanishing' ". He takes a moment to consider the next sentence once more, then nods to himself.
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| − | "If you give me that, Father, then I'll make their heads fall for you, just like in the days."
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| − | <b>Fyodor:</b> "This is far from a disagreeable premise. It is no skin off my back if there is something of a rash of unexplained reactions to my products. But who is going to pull this all together, hrm? Who is keeping our efforts straight, and should we achieve victory, what of the aftermath?"
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| − | <b>Kadel:</b> Last time... Kadel remembered last time quite well. The first time the Father had ever ordered any criminal in the city without Barr speaking for them. Smugglers to sneak supplies in and people out. Punks to patrol the city while the soldiers manned the walls. Assassins, guided by his own informants, to liquidate officers and magicians within the force encamped outside. Drug labs adjusted to churn out wind-fire potions and demon-flasks by the cart-load. He was never certain just what part the slavers played in that affair, but if rumors held true, the moral of the soldiers on the wall was unusually high for reasons other than confidence.
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| − | His own part had been the same as always. Passive observance. Pulling strings and getting spies into the right places. Crafting hidden watch posts within the city walls where no one else would think to look. He had to admit, it had been an exciting challenge. There was a certain thrill to war that boarder on the sexual. But a far more costly one.
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| − | He toyed with the clasp, placing it on the table and spinning it around, watching it blur into an iron orb. Then again it was rather difficult to make money through blackmail when all your victims were dead and a knife was at your throat as well.
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| − | "Mmm" he hummed as Sweet Hemlock spoke, pressing his palm down over the spinning token. "I suppose it is not as if we have much of a choice in the matter, is it?" Kadel looked around, smiling discreetly. "I bare a strong suspicion that our impetuous young friends shall sally forth from the sewers on this mad crusade with or without our assistance. And no doubt drag us all down beside them should they fall."
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| − | He smiled and spread his palms in surrender. "I shall abide, though it pains me greatly to be so forced. My mother will no doubt have my head for not selling for something higher than my life."
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| − | <b>Leonti:</b> "The aftermath! Now, that is something to notice, Fyodor... I would think of it as well... we will be tacking the ... 'law' wouldn't we? Even with Iron Tears' law.... what concessions would be made then?"
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| − | <i>They cannot legaltize our trade, otherwise... I will have better merchant princes to take my turf!</i>
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| − | <b>Seventh Moon:</b> Moon's smile was content. Muscles relaxed along his shoulders and he folded his arms across his chest as he snatched a piece of wall and leaned back. This was more like it. They weren't asking 'why' anymore, only 'so what after?' They still wanted answers, but most of them were speaking as if it were already settled.
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| − | The moment of warm satisfaction was short lived however. As the crimelords began to throw questions and demands into the air, Moon's brow began to darken slowly and he drummed his fingers against his sides. Questions to answer, but too many of them. Everyone was talking at once again, yammering over each other. Moon's teeth ground together a moment.
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| − | And then a hard, sharp whistle cut through the room. Moon glared around at the gathered criminals. "A'ite, shut it! Ya want answers, I'll give 'um to ya, but we ain't workin' it like this, a'ite?"
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| − | Their silence assured for the time being, he moved to the table. Pulling a chair out with his foot and spinning it around he eased into it and folded his arms on the back of the seat. First part had been easy, this wouldn't be. He'd done this once before, but somehow it still felt like the first time. What to say to them, how to order them...
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| − | Moon sighed broodingly before speaking, his voice slow. "Lets get one thing straight. I ain't askin' any of ya ta do what ya don't already do, a'ite? It's just why and who ya do it for. We ain't gonna be in this alone. We ain't even gonna be the ones standing toe ta toe with these undead fucks you and me aside, darlin'." He grinned at Simma, rapping his knuckles on the table top, but couldn't hold the grin. "This ain't the same as last time. They're already inside, they got shit all over the place. They got that fuckin' red... whatever sitting by the gate."
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| − | "I don't know what the fuck comes after this. Don't even know if there's gonna be an after ta worry about. But I know what we gotta do to make sure there's at least a chance of one. And that's gonna start with everyone shutin' up about who gets what when the smoke clears and tellin' me just what the fuck you can all get covered <i>right now</i>."
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| − | *Leonti nodded profusely. And yet, he already knew what he would get out of it. After all... a good deal of the opponents would be captured. Soldier slaves were not the best type... but one could always use working hands in the north, where the cold scythed so many! And he could always snatch the prettiest war orphans as well.... come to think of it... this was a godsend!
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| − | *Simma Siray crosses her arms and resumes her position on the nearby statue, her piece already gone and said. She feels terribly restless now, thirsting for the opportunity to fight, to make things right again for herself and her gang and the place she had called home since her mortal days. The rest of this talk amounted to little for her. They would act. They would bring down their undead usurpers or die trying. They would embody their own justice, the Sheriff's caution be damned.
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| − | Unlike the other gathered crimelords, Simma has little concern for the aftermath. She has no real trade, no flow of monies to be concerned for the future of. Every day for her and the Silver Queens -- for all of the gangs under her watchful eye -- is a struggle for survival. This would merely be survival on a much larger scale. And survival is a game she could play. It is a game she could beat with her eyes closed and one hand tied behind her back. Ol' Rusty had come to realize that since he set her down on the streets as a young girl -- and then, suitably impressed, had her elevated as a goddess.
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| − | So she keeps to herself, now, silent but filled with feral energy fit to burst. Fidgeting with her knife, eyeing the assembled others one by one, nodding with approval as Moon herds them towards a direction of greater focus. Thinking of Bright Stream awaiting her at base, guarded by her loyal girls, ready to greet her with that sweet, delighted smile and enough kisses to render her breathless. Or incomparably lustful.
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| − | <i>That's the sorta thing I wanna fight for. The freedom to <b>feel</b> those things. To live as I choose to live. To celebrate life itself. All this undeath suffocates everythin' I love about livin'. And I ain't gonna take it any more!</i>
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| − | <b>Allyster Lazarus:</b> Raising an eyebrow at Moon's speech, Allyster chuckles softly as he softly taps his fingers on the table. "Well then, Father. I have a few bases covered already - I don't like to be blind and deaf. So I have a few agents planted already, here and there... But I do not have nything that is a big catch. A few patrol officers, that is pretty much it. But with Glass Spider on board, I know I will be able to get the information I want... And then the real work can start."
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| − | He exchanges a knowing glance with Kadel, before turnign back to Moon. "Though I will say that I would rather wait for your word before I have my men actually act. We don't want actions that will make the opposition strike at us prematurely... You want to be able to catch them when they are still in confusion, trying to find what is going on."
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| − | <b>Fyodor:</b> "I have big catches, but when and where are difficult to be arranging. If you are to be generalling, then I will be waiting and getting hands in more ghost-chanter rituals, yes?"
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| − | <b>Nathaniel Barr:</b> Then, that was that.
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| − | They were going to anyway.
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| − | They had the gods on their side, it seemed... and the enemy had their own.
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| − | Whatever was going to happen, the streets would run red with blood, to an extent even the Boil had never seen.
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| − | Nathaniel Barr doubted the wisdom and the motives of his leader. But yet, his hands did not move, his lips did not speak, and they went on.
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| − | To war.
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| − | ----
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| − | * - Back to [[GoldenCat/ThirdMovement|Third Movement]]
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| − | * - Back to [[GoldenCat/DanceOfAngels|A Dance of Angels]]
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