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* Geremi is involved in the utter pinnacle of thiefly business - that is to say, playing solitaire. And cheating. And still losing. <Geremi> ::he is sitting at the smallish table in the far corner of the hotel room where Dawn has holed them up, muttering to himself and occasionally drinking from a mug of what looks like warm, flat beer:: * Dawn returns to the Velvet Pillow in far better condition than when he left, though he still looks a bit worn. He enters the room and looks around. "Where is everyone?" <Geremi> ::tilts his head towards the other room:: Sleepin', them. Violet and that fuckin' yatterbox of yours was up til the wee, talkin' about magic, them. And your woman fuckin' says I swear too much for her t'sleep through. Me. Swear too much. Fuckin' woulda never thought of that one, me. <Dawn> ::drops into the chair opposite Snowman:: Hm. Probably for the best. I notice she's "mine" today. * Geremi glances sharply at Dawn. "Takin' that up with me, you?" <Dawn> ::nods once:: Aye. Bienca's no wilting vio- flower. If she felt she had to complain, you went too fucking far. * Geremi rolls his eyes, taking a swallow of his beer. "Ain't never been too fond, her. Never had luck with her, even before you went and fuckin' knocked her up, me. Think it's just too much close. Both of us fuckin' clawin' at each other." <Dawn> ::eyes him for a moment, then nods:: I'll let it go, then. I know better than to ask you to apologize, but try to keep it contained. It'll be over soon. Brought Angel and Jewel home, this morning. <Geremi> And my Sylvie? ::he flips a few more cards in an attempt to be nonchalant:: <Dawn> I saw her. She's fine. Gave me a kiss for you, but I seem to've misplaced it. <Geremi> ::snorts:: After it's been in *your* fuckin' pocket, don't want it, me. <Dawn> ::grins:: Didn't figure you would. I would've brought her back, too, but she's mothering the refugees. She said they'd be along in a week or so. Group that big, all those women, travels slow. <Geremi> ::peers at Dawn closely:: She's really... fine? Wouldn't fuckin' lie to me, you? <Dawn> Not about that, I wouldn't. A little shook, maybe, but not rattled. * Geremi takes several swallows of his beer, perhaps to hide his expression. "Fuckin' good to hear it, that. Can't... just can't go through that beshitted mess again, me." <Dawn> ::nods, glancing at him sidelong, and leans back in his chair, casual:: She sent a message for you. Didn't think Angel would be willing to give it to you, and you know who gets to do his dirty work... ::sighs:: You're not going to like it. <Geremi> ::both eyebrows go up:: I ain't? <Dawn> Probably not, no. * Geremi finishes off his beer and digs around in a basket at his feet, pulling out another sealed bottle. "Beer?" <Dawn> Aye, sure. ::he takes the bottle:: * Geremi gets a second one, popping the cork out. "Right. What's the fuckin' message?" * Dawn takes a long drink, then looks at a spot on the far side of the room. "Sylvie found out. Tower, Lyegen, whatever he wants to call himself. He's the one who did for Tarish." * Geremi puts his bottle down on the table with a soft thunk. Other than that, he is almost perfectly motionless, barely even breathing. "What?" <Dawn> ::softly, still not looking:: Lyegen's the one who had Tarish killed. * Geremi stands up suddenly, the bottle of beer snatched up and hurled across the room in mere seconds. It strikes the wall with such force that it is shattered, shards of glass embedded in the wall and door frame. "*BASTARD*! I'll kill him. I will FUCKING KILL HIM!" * Dawn doesn't flinch, though he does finally look at Snowman. "Aye, I'd hope so." * Geremi has looked seedy and seedier over the last few years. No longer. Gone is the foul-mouthed curmudgeon. In his place stands an aging, but still strong, warrior, his blue eyes flashing with rage. At last - long last - he has been handed a target for all his grief and anger. "Put his head on a fuckin' platter, me." <Dawn> ::nods carefully:: Aye. Gonna need help finding him, though. * Geremi takes several deep breathes. "Aye. Got anything, you?" <Dawn> ::shoulders ripple in a shrug:: I have a couple of locations, but they're factories, not offices. <Geremi> ::shrewdly:: Might know something, though. Someone. Always does, that. Up to rattling someone's bones, you? * Dawn gives Geremi a long, shrewd look. "Don't suppose I'd have to do much but keep them from setting your ass on fire... Sure. Let me stop in next door and talk to Bienca, though. Been a long fucking day already." <Geremi> ::laughs shortly:: Gonna have to run, you, to keep up with this fuckin' old man. <Dawn> ::drily:: Then I'm not telling you the address until we get there. ::he stands:: Meet me out back. Try not to kill random passersby while you're waiting. ::he grins tightly, and heads next door:: * Geremi snorts, then buckles on his katana. With an air of reverence, he snaps the blade out of the sheath. "Ah, love. At long fuckin' last." He presses the blade to his mouth gently, then makes a quick cut, just enough to bleed, on his forearm before sheathing it again. --------------- <Dawn> ::sneaks through the darkened room to kiss the back of Bienca's neck:: If Geremi gets me killed... I love you. <Bienca> ::rolls over somewhat awkwardly, her pregnancy starting to show:: Is Geremi likely to get you killed, Oyeha? <Dawn> I have acquired new appreciation for the phrase, "riding the tiger." <Bienca> Have you? What's he talked you into? <Dawn> There wasn't much talk involved. He's... It's like he lost twenty years. And he's *mad*. I have to take him somewhere to work off the anger, or he'll just... self-combust. <Bienca> ::one eyebrow delicately raised:: Snowman? I haven't seen him angry in a long time. What happened? <Dawn> ::sighs:: I gave him a message from Sylvie. ::he brushes her cheek with one finger:: Lyegen killed Tarish. <Bienca> ::sits all the way up:: Oh, gods. ::she hooks his chin in her hand and kisses him soundly:: Go on, before he starts hacking up the street. Good luck. <Dawn> Thank you. ::he kisses her again, fiercely, then leaves:: --------------- * Dawn joins Geremi - after what probably seems like forever and is more like five minutes - in the alley behind the hotel, finger-combing his hair. "All right, you can stop pacing. Let's go." He leads the way into the city, headed downtown. * Geremi , to his credit, has not started hacking up random passers by, but his patience is already thin by the time Dawn arrives. Without a word, he falls in behind Dawn, a small cut on his arm already clotting over. <Dawn> ::walks in silence for a moment, then turns toward the leathermaking district. The reek of curing curls into the air around them.:: So, do we have a plan, or are we just going to run in and start hitting people? <Geremi> ::raises one eyebrow, the cocky look on his face barely covering the anger beneath:: Fuckin' kidding me, you. Never made a plan in my whole life, me. <Dawn> ::snorts:: That's about what I figured. ::he coughs as they pass a particularly noxious shop:: I hate this part of town. Stinks worse'n the fucking canals. Street of Skins, we're looking for. <Geremi> ::he fingers the hilt of his katana:: What business? <Dawn> It's where they're making the drugs and poisons. <Dawn> I figure they're more likely to know how to find him than the whoremasters and slavers. * Geremi nods slowly. "Good, that. Should shut it the fuck down." <Dawn> ::nods:: I was planning on it, actually. <Geremi> ::laughs sharply:: See, always with the fuckin' plans, you. Good at following fuckin' orders, me. Gonna let you do all the fuckin' thinking. Safer, that. <Dawn> ::snorts:: Plan this: Try not to kill too many of them. We need them talking if we're going to find out where Lyegen is. <Geremi> ::nods eagerly:: Oh, aye... they'll talk. Fuckin' guarantee it, me. <Dawn> Excellent. Look, there's the street. ::turns:: * Geremi follows Dawn, moving with barely contained energy. <Narrator> ::The Street of Skins is, if possible, even smellier than much of the rest of the district. There are flies everywhere. The street dead-ends at a slaughterhouse at the far end, and it appears that most of the shops deal in processing the raw goods that will eventually become leather. There are a few herbalists dealing in barks and powders used to cure the skins into hide and a few urine collectors with their pots in the street.:: <Narrator> ::The bulk of the shops, though, are large, well-ventilated affairs with fresh skins pulled taut over frames, smeared with something vile-smelling. Their noses shut down after a few paces.:: <Dawn> ::grunts:: Fuck me running. I didn't think it could get *worse*... <Geremi> ::sagely:: Can *always* get worse, that. <Dawn> ::looks around:: You don't recognize any of these fucks, do you? * Geremi glances around. <Narrator> ::About halfway down the street on the right-- should they make it that far without passing out from the stench-- one of the workshops is closed up. The main door-- wide open on most of the others-- is closed and barred from the outside, and an official-looking City seal is pasted across it. Smaller shops on either side are also closed.:: <Narrator> ::Across the street from the closed-up shop, a youngish man lounges on a turned-over crate, apparently taking a break from business elsewhere. He slouches bonelessly against the wall of the shop behind him, black hair fallen over his eyes, possibly asleep, from his attitude.:: * Geremi jerks his chin at Sleeping Beauty. "Seen him afore, me. Not recent, like." <Dawn> ::looks in the direction Geremi indicates:: Aye. Our first customer. Go see if he feels like a chat, will you? * Dawn strolls idly toward the closed workshop, examining the seal on the door. * Geremi looks around quickly, to see if there's anyone else hovering. After noticing no obvious threat, he wanders over and kicks Droopy in the side of the knee. "Fuckin' ain't foolin' anyone, you. Get up." <Narrator> ::the small sign pasted on the door above the seal states that the business has been closed for an epidemic of murrain:: * Droopy staggers as Geremi kicks him, incidentally rolling with most of the blow. "Wha--? Oh... shit." For someone who looks so lazy, he moves surprisingly quickly, and has rolled off his stool and taken to his heels almost before Geremi withdraws his foot. * Geremi sighs. "Fuckin' hate running, me." He reaches over and grabs a nearby loose stone. He waits a moment, gauging the distance, then chunks the rock, full force, at the back of Droopy's head. * Dawn finishes his examination of the door, then turns around and leans against it, folding his arms over his chest to watch Geremi and Droopy. * Droopy stumbles a few more paces and sprawls in the muck in a tangle of limbs. <Geremi> ::leisurely, as if he has exactly nothing better to do, he walks over to the fallen enforcer:: Stupid, that. Pissed off, now, me. <Droopy> ::rubs the back of his head and spits out mud, groaning:: So what else is new, old man? What'd ya have ta go and hit me for? * Geremi "helps" Droopy to his feet. "Didn't feel like fuckin' running, me." * Droopy "ulps" as he's yanked up by his collar, still muttering and rubbing his head. "Didn't have to go and fucking hit me with a *rock.*" * Geremi shrugs. "What, you want me to yell 'Stop' an' expect you to pay any mind? Next time you wanna be hit with a fuckin' pillow, go t'sleep in a hotel." <Droopy> ::muttering darkly:: So whaddaya want, anyway? * Geremi grins. It is not a pleasant expression. "Like to peel your skin off with a dull knife, me. But under orders." He jerks his head at Dawn. "Go on. Don't answer questions. Be right happy about that, me." * Droopy looks at Geremi's expression and shudders a little, despite himself. "What questions? I don't know shit, I'm just on break, here." <Geremi> ::eagerly:: Oh, good... ::glances over at Dawn:: So... kill him now, me? * Dawn is still leaning casually against the workshop door. He shrugs, idly uninterested in Droopy. "Go ahead. Shitbrains won't know enough to be useful, anyway." <Geremi> ::still holding Droopy with one hand, he shakes a blade into one hand from his sleeve:: Sharp one, this, but... <Droopy> Nono, wait-- whaddaya want t'know? <Droopy> I mean... ::shrugs:: Way t' the pisspots, that I can tell you... maybe I'll get lucky? ::eyes Dawn hopefully, one eye showing through the fringe of bangs:: * Geremi decides this is taking *way* too long and, with a quick flash of his blade, peels a nice strip of skin off Droopy's forearm, about a quarter inch wide and four inches long. <Droopy> ::screams in shock, staring at his suddenly red arm open-mouthed:: FUCK! You just-- FUCK! <Dawn> ::softly:: Lyegen. Where is he? <Droopy> ::whimpering in pain, trying to hold his arm without actually holding it, blowing on it gingerly like it was on fire. Blood starts dripping off his fingertips:: Dunno, man, I swear, I wish I could tell ya. He an' his guys left the lab, oh, 3-4 hours ago, I think. Dunno where they gone. FUCK! <Dawn> ::still softly:: Which way did they turn? <Droopy> ::moaning a little:: Only one fucking way to turn on this street, that's the way you fuckers came. Th' other way's the killhouses. It was busy, didn't see past that. I just saw 'em leave, I swear! <Dawn> Who's with him? * Geremi holds up his blade, watching the scrim of blood pool off the silvered edge. "Getting bored here, me." <Droopy> Whole buncha guys. Stripped the lab down to a skeleton crew, looked like. Must be something big goin' down. I don't fuckin' KNOW, man, I been out here on watch the whole fucking morning! <Dawn> ::nods:: All right. Snowman? Kill him. <Droopy> Wait, no, I just fucking SPILLED for you! * Geremi grins. Widely. "Right, boss." He begins to drag Droopy towards the nearest alley. <Dawn> Might've been worth something if you'd spilled on your own accord. You picked the wrong side, Droopy. * Droopy screams hoarsely, struggling against Snowman's grip. <Geremi> ::in a mock friendly tone:: Look at it this way, you. Ain't gotta fuckin' starve to death, now that we're putting Lyegen outta business. <Dawn> ::as they go around the corner:: Snowman! Make it nice and easy for him. Since he spilled. <Geremi> ::nods once:: Aye, boss. ::around the corner, Droopy's struggles suddenly cease as he sprouts several inches of knife through the back of his neck:: * Dawn glances up and down the street, then casts a quick, simple spell to unlock the door. * Geremi drops his burden to the cobbles, then removes his knife. He wipes the blade off on Droopy's shirt before resheathing it. With a casual shrug, he goes through the man's pockets. * Geremi relieves the dead man of money that he doesn't need and a lunch he won't be eating. He opens the paper wrapped packet and sniffs curiously at the sandwich. "Reckon this is safe to eat, you?" He holds up half a rare roast beef sandwich as he rejoins Dawn. <Dawn> If he's had it in *this* place? Wouldn't bet on it. I don't like the sound of "something big going down." Ready to see what the skeleton crew knows? * Geremi sighs and tosses the sandwich onto the sidewalk. "Fuck. *Really* hungry now, me." <Narrator> ::The door bar--which is fake-- doesn't move. Dawn hears the grate of metal on wood inside the door, however, and the door swings a little open on silent, well-oiled hinges. It appears to be a back exit:: * Dawn checks his cloak pockets, then gestures for Geremi to precede him. * Geremi takes point, moving with lethal silence. * Dawn follows, nearly as silently, his eyes sharp on the shadows. <Narrator> ::this entrance is guarded by nothing more than blackout curtains, making certain the front retains its "abandoned" look and muffling the sounds from within. Past the curtains, there's the quiet bustle of activity-- what looks like a lot of breaking down and backing up. A number of crates of varying sizes are stacked on the other side of the curtain, bearing cryptic stamps and labels in an assortment of languages:: <Narrator> ::Beyond, on the work floor, there's a half-broken-down still and a table full of glassware in the midst of being disassembled and packed up. Excelsior is scattered all over the floor (and on some of the men doing the packing).:: <Narrator> ::Two large men are carrying crates, as another two-- armed thugs-- watch the action, bored. Three men are engaged in the actual packing. As Dawn and Geremi watch, one drops a glass beaker and giggles as it shatters at his feet. A smaller man with huge glasses turns to scowl at him and gestures to one of the thugs to get a broom:: * Dawn glances at Snowman, and jerks his chin at the bespectacled man. <Narrator> ::The thug grumbles a little and puts away a throwing spike he's been juggling, and goes to fetch the broom. The bespectacled man goes back to disassembling some sort of glass apparatus. He is a small, shrivelled slug of a man, with a few wisps of hair left on his head. His glasses magnify his pale, watery eyes, and are hooked around a pair of enormous ears.:: * Geremi nods. He reaches into his vest and removes several small throwing stars, their edges glinting in the dim light. "Just him livin'?" His voice is very soft. <Dawn> ::nods once, keeping his eyes on the target.:: <Narrator> ::From the far side of the room comes a faint, hollow groan. From their current angle, the boys can just make out the corner of what looks like a large metal box of some sort.:: <Geremi> ::grins:: Owe you one, me. ::he steps out into the light, his hands a blur as he sends the stars spinning towards a myriad of targets:: <Narrator> ::Geremi's nasty little presents speed across the room. One lodges in the throat of the clumsy packer. He gives a gurgling cough and falls, knocking over a group of small flasks and falling to the floor. He jerks about as if he's having a fit.:: <Narrator> ::The thug bringing the broom curses and drops the broom, going over to the man:: Hells, Felter's having another of his damn-- ::he rounds the corner and sees the blood:: oh, FU-- ::he takes Geremi's second star in the chest. There's a muffled snap, and he falls on top of the twitching man:: <Narrator> ::One of the big men on the far side of the room takes a star in the arm, dropping his crate from a suddenly nerveless hand. It breaks open, and a few wrapped bundles tumble out:: <Narrator> ::The fourth star gives the other enforcer a shallow cut on the scalp as he ducks mostly in time. The last star thunks into the side of a box as the little Kara-Turian lab assistant assisting the bespectacled man turns just quick enough to shield himself.:: * Geremi finishes with the first batch of stars, then dips into the pocket on the other side. In his haste, he nicks one finger - cut to the bone - but doesn't seem to notice. He waits to see which way the herd bolts before snapping off three more stars. <Narrator> ::The herd does not so much "bolt" as "duck and cover." The bleeding enforcer peers up over the edge of one of the long tables, searching for the source of the attack, and ducks again as another star goes whizzing over his head to crash into the beakers behind him. The lab assistant jerks his boss down by the coat as he stands there stupidly, fussing over his broken glassware. The second star slices off one of his huge ears, and his glasses drop crookedly across his face:: <Dawn> ::eyes narrowing:: The assistant might be worth keeping alive. <Narrator> ::The already-injured big guy moves too slowly to avoid the last star and takes it in the back of the neck this time. He drops like a cut puppet.:: <Geremi> ::sighs:: Always with you, fucker, who not to kill. ::draws his katana and spits a word. The blade glows oddly for a moment, then separates into two blades, the original katana and a matching wakizashi:: Oh, come on, fuckin' pansies. Come and *get* me. <Dawn> ::snorts:: You wanted answers, I'm trying to get them. * Dawn eyes the remaining crew, then steps into the room and heads for the alchemist and his assistant, utterly ignoring the enforcers. <Narrator> ::Mole (the guy with the spectacles) and the other big man wisely and silently decline Geremi's polite invitation. The bleeding enforcer curses, and starts to move forward, pulling a pair of spiked clubs and twirling them once as he moves from cover to cover:: <Narrator> ::The lab assistant also starts to move forward, creeping under the tables in a zig-zagging approach to Geremi:: * Geremi waits with the patience of death for the two to come dance with him, his swords held still in the ready position. <Dawn> ::conversationally, as he approaches Mole:: Where's Lyegen gone? <Narrator> ::The big man's head pops up as Dawn moves unconcernedly through the carnage. Unable to resist the opportunity, he chucks a dagger at Dawn's head:: <Mole> He's not here! Go away, you're ruining my lab! ::backing away and ducking under tables to keep sturdy oak between him and Dawn:: * Geremi suddenly remembers a pressing engagement elsewhere. Leaving his two dance partners to blink at his speed, he crosses the room towards the dagger-thrower. The spilled drugs and overturned tables seem to have been placed just so to accommodate Geremi's training, as he neatly floats over and around them. Within two blinks, he has a sword at Dagger's throat. * Dawn moves onward. The dagger slows and stops several inches from contact with Dawn, then falls to the floor. "I know he's not here. Where'd he go?" * Two-Tap, the thug, reaches Geremi first, and curses as Geremi practically vanishes from in front of him, vaulting over a table and heading for the big guy. <Narrator> ::Geremi recognizes the big guy as sometime muscle known by the unfortunate handle of Swee'pea. The man freezes as he finds Geremi's blade at his throat in an eyeblink:: <Mole> ::irritably:: Away! Gone! We're packing up, why don't you follow him? <Geremi> ::pauses just a moment:: Whorepiss. Damnit, Pea, liked you, I did. ::he flicks his katana at Swee'pea's throat:: Sorry. <Dawn> Where are *you* going, then? * Mole's face takes on a crafty look as he backs around another table, palming a flask half-full of something, which he chucks at Dawn's head. "None of your fucking business!! Go *away*!" * Dawn ducks the flask and its contents, though some splashes on his cloak. "This *is* my business. We want him more than we want you, though. Tell me where he is, and we'll leave. Give you a chance to get out of the city before we can get back to you." <Narrator> ::One of Geremi's throwing stars, one ray slightly bent, comes whizzing towards Dawn's back at velocity:: * Two-Tap is warily navigating the tables again, angling for an approach on Geremi as he spins his clubs. <Mole> ::irritably:: Like hell you will. I'll tell you, and then you'll trash my lab and kill us all! Barbarians. * Dawn 's protective spell halts the throwing star as well, though it comes within a bare fingerwidth of touching his cloak. * Mole flings another bottle of something nasty. * Geremi looks around to see who's picking up his weaponry, then looks back at Tap. "Fuckin' coming, or should I get dinner, first?" * Dawn dodges the bottle, and jumps onto the table Mole is hiding behind. "Die, then." * Two-Tap snorts and charges Geremi from behind the last table, swinging a club at his sword-arm. * Mole scurries under the table. "Aaah! Get away from me, you bloodthirsty cretin!" * Dawn laughs and fills the underside of the table with nasty, thick webbing. * Geremi waits until Tap has committed to his move, then jumps, sliding on the floor on one hip long enough to kick the table, full-force, into Tap's face. <Narrator> ::muffled yet vile curses issue from beneath the table Dawn is standing on:: * Dawn sits down on the table, cross legged, and only then notices that his cloak is smoking slightly, the gunk spilled on it apparently highly corrosive. "FUCK. My favorite cloak! You piece of shit!" He bangs on the table with one fist to make his point. <Narrator> ::the table tips over and spins a little, forming an effective shield for a moment and slamming full into Two-Tap's head. His club rebounds on it, and lodges in his own shoulder. He falls back, and the heavy table topples over on top of him with a crash.:: <Narrator> ::the muffled curses change to whimpers:: * Geremi gets to his feet gracefully and jumps onto the table, stamping down on a corner, each time one moves. <Narrator> ::the table (or the person underneath it) groans. When Geremi stomps on the far left corner, the groan turns into a shriek of pain:: * Dawn examines the mess on the table, then goes to see what was in the crates being packed up. <Narrator> ::a length of cord, two iron scale weights tied to either end, comes spinning through the air from somewhere obliquely behind Geremi, aimed at about mid-thigh:: * Geremi stops and does a sudden back-count of the number of opponents he had to start with and the number he has dispatched, just in time to turn around to see the cord spinning at him. "Fucker." <Geremi> ::the make-shift bola wraps several times around Geremi's leg, pinning one blade flat against his thigh:: Oh, you stupid shit. <Narrator> ::the crates-- at least the ones Dawn chooses to peek into-- contain the contents of a packed-up drug lab. Glass- and metalware, what look like an assortment of herbs in one box with foreign labels on them, a few neat tubes of liquids and powders, etc.:: <Zhou Ying> ::as soon as Geremi's one blade is pinned, the lab assistant vaults out from behind an overturned table, brandishing something that looks like a machete with a blood-curdling yell:: * Dawn pulls out a few of the tubes and pockets them, then turns back to survey the fight. "Oh, go ahead and kill him." * Geremi uses the smaller blade to deflect the man's first blow. "Oh *thank* you." His voice drips with sarcasm. <Dawn> ::grins:: You're welcome. * Dawn turns back to examine the large metal box. * Zhou Ying ducks barely in time as Geremi's wakizashi shears right through his blade and nearly takes off his head in the process. * Zhou Ying says what is most likely a very nasty word in Kara-Turian, and flings the remnant of the blade end-over-end at Geremi from close range. * Geremi spits something off in the terse language of Kara Tur, his inflection revealing that he knows exactly what he's saying. {Your mother appears to have fobbed off a girl-child on your father, instead of a son. Coward. Backstabber. The ancestors will destroy you.} * Geremi flicks his left wrist, easily sweeping the flung blade out of the way. He turns the other wrist. With a grunt of pain, he turns the katana, which parts the cord bound around his leg. <Zhou Ying> {Ha! Go count the parasites in your beard, you old monkey-ass!} ::He spins, aiming a whirling kick for Geremi's stomach:: <Dawn> ::looks up at the exchange, frowning:: You speak that nonsense? Fuck me. You read this scratch, too? * Geremi jumps to one side. The crunch under his feet advertises that he's probably broken Tap's nose - if it wasn't already. {Might take a while, that. Better time spent in teaching you the utter humiliation and shame of being beaten by an outside, such as myself.} <Narrator> ::The large metal box that attracts Dawn's interest is quite large indeed-- it looks like someone riveted together several large sheets of metal and cut a few breathing-holes in it. Three locks hold three doors closed on the thing. To one side, there are several smaller boxes with airholes, from which the occasional squeak issues.:: * Dawn frowns and causes a light to shine inside the box as he looks through one of the airholes. VERY cautiously. * Zhou Ying grabs the edge of the table Geremi is dancing on and flips it upwards with a yank. {Ha! You will never defeat me, ass-for-a-head!} * Geremi runs up the slanting table as he tips it and flips over backwards, landing clear of the rubble. {Not doing a terrible well job of it. Infant. Girl.} * Zhou Ying picks up one of Two-Tap's clubs (hey, he isn't using it anymore) and whirls it, flipping over the table to get to Geremi. {I still stand, and you run like a man with shit in his trousers!} * Geremi sighs. <Narrator> ::Meanwhile.... as Dawn sets a light inside the box, he hears a whimper from within. He peers inside the first airhole to see a mess of matted hair. The hair shifts a little, cowering back from the light and revealing a very dirty naked woman in the bottom of the box:: <Geremi> Entertaining, this. But ain't getting me closer t' the fuck who murdered my wife. ::he moves with the grace of a dancer, arriving at the spot where Zhou Ying lands just an instant after he touches down. With an almost negligent swing, he uses his katana like a whip, opening up Zhou Ying from throat to crotch.:: {Nice fight, that.} <Dawn> ::growling:: Fuck. ::he pulls his picks out and sets to work on the locks:: * Zhou Ying expires with a curse. {Withered... monkey... dick...} <Geremi> ::grins:: Sylvie don't mind. {Girl.} <Dawn> ::glancing at the woman as he works the lock:: It's okay. I'm not one of them. I'm here to get you out. * Geremi sighs, then cleans off his blades. He begins a systematic search of the bodies for valuables, information, and anything else that might be worth something. <Dawn> ::over his shoulder:: Fuckhead's under that table, there, if you want to try talking to him. Be careful. I think he bites. * Geremi pockets a good deal of coins, then flips through a smallish book recovered from the now-vivisected assistant. He shrugs, then dabs a bit of blood from the pool around the guy on his forehead in a clumsy rendition of a Kara Tur symbol. {Honor to your ancestors.} He grimaces, then adds {Girl.} <Narrator> ::the woman in the box whimpers, and covers her face and as much as she can of the rest of her with her hands.:: <Geremi> ::grins sharkily:: As do I. <Dawn> Have fun, then. ::to the woman:: I'm not going to hurt you, I promise. Can you even understand me? Do you have a name? * Geremi drops into a crouch a bit of a distance from the desk to peer under. "What's this fuckin' stuff?" He indicates the tangle of goop. <Dawn> ::glances at Snowman quickly:: Web. It'll burn- No, probably not a good idea, here. You want me to nix it? <Geremi> If the beshitted ass under here's gonna be throwin' shit at me, no. ::looks at the glooped fellow:: Feel like havin' a fucking chat, you? <Narrator> ::the woman continues to tremble. As Dawn's little light bobs up and down over her, he gets a little better look--- her arms are covered with puncture wounds.:: <Mole> ::in a tremulous tone:: Savages. All of you, savages. My poor lab... <Narrator> ::the woman pushes a hank of hair from her face and looks up towards Dawn's voice. Her eyes are bloodshot and baggy:: H-Hana. <Dawn> ::smiles tightly:: I'm Dawn, Hana. They've been using you to test this shit, haven't they? When was the last time they stuck you with something? <Geremi> ::nods:: Been accused of fuckin' savagery, me. That a no? <Hana> ::shakes her head, confused:: Don't know... too long, it h-hurts... so cold... <Mole> Yes, yes-- I mean, no! I'll talk, you butcher! Just... ::a bit more meekly:: Please let me out from beneath this table. * Dawn pops open the lock and swings the door open. "Come on out, Hana. We'll get you something to wear in just a moment." He sends his little light into the next compartment, and the third, to check their occupants. <Geremi> ::nods:: Talk first, you. Where is Lyegen? <Narrator> ::The second compartment holds a young boy in similar state to Hana; in the last is a man barely recognizable now as a snotty little enforcer named Nose:: * Dawn growls quietly and sets to work on the other locks. "Hana, you know this kid?" <Mole> I don't know. He was here this morning to pick up the last of his order. He was most upset that we were only able to make 18 doses for him in the time allotted. <Hana> ::peers in hesitantly and shakes her head:: <Geremi> Eighteen doses of what? ::Geremi sinks to the floor in a cross-legged posture, the better to see the man under the desk:: <Dawn> Boy. Can you hear me? What's your name, boy? <Mole> The ostreola compound. The-- ::pauses in distaste for the slang:: "purple passion potion." * Geremi rolls his eyes, looking disgusted. "Don't get e-fuckin'-nough, him?" <Narrator> ::The boy doesn't look up, but huddles in the bottom of his box, shivering:: B-Beran. <Dawn> Beran. I'm not going to hurt you. ::wrenches the lock open, and throws it across the lab forcefully before opening the door:: Come out of there. <Mole> ::crossly:: It's my job to produce, not question his requirements. All I know is that he stopped production of everything else yesterday in order to concentrate exclusively on the ostreola compound. He required 20 doses. It is a delicate, finicky process, and we were only able to complete 18 in the time allotted. He took them all when he came, and told us to start packing up the lab to depart. * Dawn pauses before opening the third door to retrieve shirts from the fallen thugs, giving one each to Hana and Beran. "Dirty, but it can't be helped." <Beran> ::flinches at the violence Dawn uses to open the lock and huddles a bit longer, blinking painfully in the brighter light of the lab. The bottom of his box is covered with effluent, and he crawls out slowly.:: * Beran whimpers at the smell of blood on his shirt. * Dawn sets to work on the final door. "Nose. You still have half a brain in there?" <Nose> ::groggily:: Who? Whooze... askin'? ::he sounds incredibly tired, his speech a bit slurred:: <Dawn> It's Dawn. What the fuck have- Never mind, I can guess. <Nose> Dunno... it's... think they been druggin' the food... haven't eaten in... in... dunno. Then they started pokin' me with shit... * Geremi moves as close as he can get to the man without touching the web goop. "Want to live, you?" * Mole nods as best he can with his head restrained by web. <Dawn> ::nods, clenching his teeth with anger:: How'd they catch you? <Nose> Stupid... on th' Island... jes'... nosin' about, happened on an alley... buncha guys, puttin' the grab on some blond... went to mind my own business, I did, but chased me down an' sapped me... dammit... ::his voice betrays a hint of tears:: * Dawn pops Nose's lock and pulls the door open. "There. Fuckers." * Nose crawls out of his box. He also has the shakes, but not as bad as the other two. * Dawn prowls the room, looking for food and cleaner clothing or blankets. "I've seen fucking rats treated better..." <Geremi> Where is Lyegen? In a really fucking bad mood, me. Give him to me, and take it out on him, me. Don't. And take it out on you. * Nose laughs a touch hysterically. "Th' rats are in th' next box over. Heard 'em, I did." * Dawn goes around the side of the metal box to look at the smaller metal cages. <Mole> ::licking his lips:: I don't *know* where he is. He said something about... going to acquire more merchandise. He was quite upset. ::eagerly:: But I know where he'll be! We're to... ::he glances around, as best he can, his tone turning a touch bitter:: We *were* to rendezvous with him dockside tomorrow morning, to load the ship. <Geremi> ::his eyes light eagerly:: What ship? What dock? When? * Dawn sighs and carefully drops a miniature fireball into each ratcage, putting the living occupants out of their misery, and reducing the stench of the others. <Mole> ::shakes his head:: His ship, was all he said. He would find us once he had his own merchandise secured. We were to rendezvous at the warehouse. <Geremi> ::glares:: What fuckin' *warehouse* then? <Mole> ::blinks:: Lanyard Lane. It was cleaned out, he said it should be safe enough again. <Geremi> ::snorts:: Fuckhead. <Mole> ::blinks:: I beg your pardon? <Geremi> ::shrugs, getting to his feet:: Why not. Pardoned, you. ::he wanders over to see what Dawn is up to:: <Mole> ::rocks back and forth, moaning:: Oh, he will be *most* put out... my beautiful lab... all his raw material... <Geremi> ::under his breath:: Fuckin' hope so, me. * Dawn comes out of an office-sized sleeping cubicle with an armful of clean clothes, and gives Snowman a tight smile. "Snowman. Meet Hana, Beran, and Nose." He starts handing out the clothes. "Here. These are clean. Or at least, cleaner." * Geremi nods briefly. "Beshitted cur's out 'gatherin' more merchandise', says him. To ship tomorrow morning, outta that hellhole on Lanyard." <Narrator> ::Dawn's freed captives huddle to themselves. Nose seems in somewhat better shape than the others, but not by much, and sits in a chair. Beran sits on the floor, knees drawn up to his chest. Hana squats, the ruined shirt Dawn gave her first worn over her shoulders like a shawl, as she seemed to be incapable of pulling it on by herself.:: <Dawn> Fuck. Do we try to find him, or lay a trap? ::glances at the ex-labrats:: Got to take them someplace, too. This is worse than what happened to the others, even. * Nose turns away a little to dress himself, a bit of modesty recovered with his freedom. Beran looks longingly at the clean clothes and scrubs at his filthy skin. Hana picks at the openings for a moment, and then helplessly uses them as blankets, as the first:: * Dawn crouches and takes the shirt from Hana, and gingerly helps her to pull it on. * Hana flinches away from Dawn at first, but slowly unkinks and allows him to help her dress. Her trembling does not slow-- it looks like it's from more than just cold. * Geremi shrugs. "Might want t'report, us. Ain't gonna be pleased, if we go off an' wage war without him." He scrubs at his face with one hand. "An, fuckin' look like hell, you. Need some sleep, afore you go slinging spells more." <Dawn> ::to Beran:: Use the first one for a rag. We'll take you someplace to get cleaned up, but you can't walk down the street naked. * Beran looks up at Dawn wide-eyed and nods. He glances over at Hana and crawls around behind an upturned table, bringing the clothes with him. <Dawn> ::nods to Snowman:: Aye, that was my thought, but I wasn't sure you'd hear it. ::grins briefly, then looks at the three ex-captives:: They've got more shit in their blood than I want to think about. <Geremi> ::snorts:: Angry, me. Not pissin' stupid. What about limpdick, there? ::jerks his chin at the bewebbed desk:: <Dawn> ::coldly:: Dead. ::he looks around the room, and has a thought:: You cleaned up his assistant? He have a funny little amulet, about so big, chicken-scratch writing on it? <Geremi> ::shakes his head:: Just this. ::hands Dawn the book of scratch:: * Geremi nods, then walks over to the desk, drawing his sword. <Mole> What's going on out there? Are you going to let me out? I've told you what I know, already! Leave me alone! * Dawn waits until Geremi is in place, then snaps his fingers, cancelling the web spell. * Mole starts to scramble out from under the table, his joints stiff from having been locked in the same cramped position for so long. <Geremi> ::shrugs one shoulder:: Nothin' personal, that. Too much fuckin' risk, you. ::with a clean sweep, he removes Mole's head from his body:: <Narrator> ::the rest of him slumps to the ground, still half-under the table:: * Geremi wipes his sword again, then involves himself in the thiefly art of looting the body for the final time this afternoon. <Dawn> Personal, actually. And an easier death than he deserved, if only for *this*. ::he glares at the metal box:: Beran? Hana? You feel up to a short walk? <Hana> Away? We're going a-away? <Dawn> ::easily:: Aye. I can't stand the stench any more. <Beran> ::poking his head up over the edge of the table:: C'n try... I... ::starts blubbering a little:: <Geremi> Can carry her, me. ::looks over the woman, appraisingly:: Ain't up for much, her. ::attempts a bow, which isn't entirely ungraceful:: If you're willing? <Dawn> Easy, now. Not your fault. All that shit in your system, I'll be impressed if you make it to the door. I'll carry you if I have to. ::looks at Nose:: You? <Hana> I... ::looks stricken, and attempts a few shuffling steps, leaning on tables. Her knees buckle, and she blinks against tears, looking deeply ashamed. She nods shortly to Geremi:: <Nose> Little wobbly on my pins, but... m'good. I c'n manage. * Geremi scoops the woman up. "Run into trouble, be puttin' you down, left side first, me. Got it?" * Hana nods stiffly. Her muscles are bunched, as if for flight, and she trembles uncontrollably. <Dawn> Right. ::he climbs over the table and crouches next to Beran, and helps him climb onto his back:: You think you can't hang on, let me know. * Beran is also shivering non-stop, but he clings to Dawn like a leech. <Geremi> ::looks over at Dawn:: Where to, us? * Dawn stands, careful not to jostle the boy too much. "Looks like Iselyn gets to own me, after all." <Geremi> ::snorts:: Nice enough, her. Give Lyegen's fuckin' head to her, maybe? Think she'd like that? <Dawn> ::matching Geremi's tone:: Probably not. I think she's more of a flowers-and-jewels sort. <Dawn> ::sighs:: Wonder if Talarin's wife would- Nah, I think Angel wore her right out already today. ::glances at Geremi:: Pretty damn bad off, he was. Almost lost him. <Geremi> ::raises an eyebrow:: All right now, him? ::sighs:: <Dawn> ::nods:: Lady Talarin cleaned him out and fixed him up. He was giving Jewel the eye when I left. * Geremi laughs. "Sounds about right, that." |
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