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[Corker]

"We've got a job!" Thora burst through the door of their shared apartment radiating excitement. "A big one! Really big!"

Gerta looked up from her cards, unwilling to celebrate just yet. "For whom, doing what?" she asked drily.

The noble hunter, already fiddling with the clasps on her good 'work clothes' to spare them unnecessary wear, paused. "Well," she drew the word out, "I spent the evening with Vartag, and - "

"That guy from House Gavorn?" Gerta sat up straighter. "Ancestors, Thora, are you all right?" Not too many nobles would show their faces in Dust Town, but Vortag Gavorn did, and the rumors ran that he came to sate some really unsavory appetites.

Sera, seated opposite Gerta, folded her hand and looked at Thora, too, growling softly.

"Oh, I'm fine," Thora insisted with a wave of her hand. "I ought to pay him, I learn so much listening to that man talk. He can go from gentleman to boot-licker to thug just as fast as I can say it and it all seems so natural! Did you know the youngest Aeducan has picked him for a Second?"

Sera snorted; Gerta just pinched the bridge of her nose. "The point, Thora."

"That is the point, salroka. I've got a job for us from Vortag, but if Vortag's working for Prince Bhelen..."

"House Aeducan? Are you telling me we have a job from House Aeducan?" Gerta stood up so fast her chair fell over.

"Yes!" The two of them squealed with delight. Sera stared at them with unusual intensity until she had their attention, then nodded decisively.

“Sera, we haven’t heard what it is yet,” Gerta protested. Sera’s expression changed to something closer to a stubborn glare; she nodded again, pounding the table for emphasis. “Look, I know you’d want to sign on with an Aeducan, but...”

"Ancestors! Let me fill you in already, Gerta, and you’ll want to take the job, too." Thora pulled up a chair and went to sit, but Gerta threw up her hands. "Clothes! Put them on!"

"Isn't she just so fussy?" Thora asked Sera, who nodded agreement. "You and I should just spend a whole day naked. Maybe she'd get over it." Sera beamed approval while Gerta groaned and ran her hands through her hair. "Fine, fine, I'll get my robe. Honestly, Gerta."

"Thank you, Thora."

"So! It's a simple job - "

"Those never are."

"Shush! Vartag wants some leverage on Frandlin Ivo. Evidence that he's thrown some Provings would be perfect."

Sera growled ominously. "House Aeducan and crooked Provings. You’re in love with it already, I know," Gerta noted. "I thought House Ivo was pretty much pebbles."

"Oh, they are, but Prince Bhelen doesn't play for lyrium. The two eldest are jousting like brontos in season, and word is Bhelen's waiting to see who ends up on top. In the meanwhile, he's not making any big moves."

"Chances that someone will try and dump us in the lava afterwards?"

Thora looked wounded. "Would I have even thought about taking the job if I thought that was likely? It's a bad job only if we screw it up. We do this right and Vortag has Ivo by the short hairs, and Ivo doesn't even know we were involved. And Vortag's got no reason to tell him."

"Never say that. We might end up a sop to someone's honor." Sera shook her head at that and gestured again. Gerta rolled her eyes and Sera made a rude noise. "Pride, honor, whatever. We might be digging something up just so we can be handed over."

"That would be stupid, I think," Thora said thoughtfully. "This isn't the sort of thing one accidentally happens across. It'll be clear that we were hired, and since Vortag will know, Frandlin will suspect him right off. Handing us over might  make Frandlin feel a little better, but Vortag will still be right there laughing at him. No, I think this is straight-up intimidation, not bribery. Vortag has every reason to keep Frandlin from knowing how he knows and very few to turn on us."

"And our potential as open shafts?"

"Low, I think. Vortag's still building up resources. We could be one of those resources. If we do a good job, don't do anything stupid, and stay leagues away from the other princes, that is."

"Any benefit... never mind. House Aeducan or House Ivo? Even a lyrium-addled smith could make that call. If we take this, we play it straight. So what's the catch? Why us? Bunch of dusters wouldn't be my first choice to go sneaking around the Proving Grounds. And... we really couldn't take Sera."

"Won't be any evidence at the Proving Grounds," Thora smiled, tapping the table with one finger. "Vartag thinks Frandlin threw the fights at Beraht's request. We need to get into his Carta and see what we can find."

Sera chuckled darkly but Gerta groaned. "Beraht? Are you serious? Beraht is not 'a simple job,' Thora!"

"I said simple, not easy. They pay wouldn't be as good as it is if it were easy."

Gerta perked up despite herself. "What is the pay?"

Thora preened. "Three. Sovereigns."

Gerta and Sera stared at each other. An entire sovereign apiece? They could easily live for a year on that and still have money left over to buy a little something at Alimar's. "I guess... that's just bronto ****** to somebody like Vartag," Gerta said slowly. Sera nodded confidently. "It's not too good of a deal?" Sera shook her head. "Because, right, it's Beraht." She paused. "Doesn't Vartag do business with him?"

Thora nodded. "That is the word on the street."

"So really, really don't get caught." Gerta frowned. The more connections there were between her boss and her marks, the less she liked it. They could tip Beraht off, and would probably be rewarded for it, but if Gerta had wanted to be working for the Carta boss, she would already be doing so.  Throwing in with House Aeducan was still more appealing. "All right. I'm in." Sera pounded the table with her heavy fist, and Thora clapped with glee. "I'll tell Vortag tonight!"

Modifié par Corker, 18 août 2010 - 11:39 .

[jenncgf]

I like it!

[Corker]

@jenncfg - Thanks!




“Hey, good-looking. You busy tonight?”

Thora turned and flashed a skeptical smile at the Carta thug lounging by the door. “Why? You know a party that needs some girls?”

“If you say, ‘The party’s in my pants,’ I will vomit on your shoes,” his slouchy partner declared.

“Well, I was asking for myself, but I might be able to hook you up with some  business.” In exchange for a little something for himself, of course.  That’s how it was played. “You hunting?”

“Sure thing, duster.” Thora extended a hand, looking up at him from under lowered lashes. “I’m Thora.”

“Leske,” the forward thug introduced himself. “And this is Feren.” He indicated his nauseated colleague. “Who you working for now?”

Thora looked away and shifted her weight slightly, so that when she looked  back it was slightly over her shoulder. Hand on hip, she let her smile  broaden lasciviously. “I like to pick who I screw, Leske.” It was so easy to make names that started with an ‘l’ sound dirty. “I’m  freelance.”

“Our parties are for our girls,” Feren said, more to Leske than to Thora.

“Aw.” Thora pouted at him. “No exceptions?”

He paused to look, which was something. But he gave a half-shake of his head. “Maybe if Beraht said so.”

“Feren...” Leske was obviously displeased with this bit of honesty.

That was all Thora thought she needed to hear. She sighed dramatically, an  expression she was fond of as it did marvelous things to her decolletage. The two guards noticed. “Oh well.” She favored them both with a very warm smile. “Thanks for thinking of me, boys. You let me know if Beraht decides he could do with a little work on contract, all right? I’ll remember who hooked me up.” She sauntered off, hips swaying, until she knew she was well out of sight. Then she walked normally to their watering hole.

Gerta and Sera were waiting for her. “Well?” Gerta asked.

“Might be a little challenging,” Thora admitted. “One’ll have his trousers off if I say ‘go,’ but the other seems to be keeping his mind on the job.”

“Can you do it?”

“Of course I can do it,” Thora said indignantly, tossing her head. “But a little something extra wouldn’t hurt.”

***************

Two days later, when Leske and Feren were both on shift again, Thora came weaving down the street, bottle in hand. Her hair was in disarray and her clothes were just a bit undone. She was almost past the two Carta guards when she pulled up short, looking them over almost in surprise. “It’s my thoughtful, thoughtful boys,” she said, hardly slurring at all. “Help a girl out?”

“We’re broke,” Feren said flatly, giving his partner a warning look.

“Not th’ kind of help I need,” she declared, pressing right up against Leske, who looked like his name day had come early. “Sodding inbred nobles, no staying power at all. Come on,” she insisted, getting a grip on one of the straps of his armor. “Let’s go.” She extended a hand to Feren, too. “I’ll do you both, I am so sodding randy.”

“We’re on duty,” Feren said. He looked a trifle suspicious, so Thora let go of Leske. “Fine. Fine! Sodding ingrates, I’ll find someone else.”

“No no, wait, wait. Feren, come on. Come on, please.” Leske was not nearly as ready to let the opportunity go as Feren was.   “Just... watch the door for a couple of minutes, okay?”

Thora cocked her head at him and gave him a disdainful look. “Better be more than just a couple, salroka, or I’m wasting my sodding time.”

“Right right, I mean... you know, a few. Not... not too many,” Leske tried to appease his partner, who had his arms crossed and was glaring, “but  I’ll take care of you, good-looking. Come on, man, it’s sodding door
duty. Nothing happens anyway.”

Feren rolled his eyes but relented. “Fine. If Jarvia comes out, I’m not covering your sorry ass.”

Leske punched him in the arm. “I owe you one, salroka. Come on, good-looking, let’s - ”

“Wait a minute. I wanna leave this here.” Thora lifted the bottle to her  lips, letting a few drops slide out the corner of her mouth for effect, then brought it down. “Hold this for me, would you, salroka? It’s good stuff so don’t drink... much.” She gave him a broad wink. “Thanks for the loan,” she said, grabbing Leske’s arm and pulling him down a dark alleyway.

Feren sighed and leaned against the doorway. He sniffed at the bottle, raised both eyebrows in surprise, and helped himself to a decent pull from it. He watched the street for a moment and tried another swig.

He didn’t seem to notice that he was slipping slowly down the doorframe, and soon he was a quietly snoring lump on the ground.

From their post nearby, Gerta and Sera could tell it was time to move.

Modifié par Corker, 14 août 2010 - 10:18 .

[mousestalker]

Oooh, the plot thickens!



This is quite good.

[Corker]

@mousestalker - First the Angels have to get the mission from Bosley, then one has to go undercover in a skimpy outfit...





Beraht ran most of his business out of a shop in the Commons, but some things were so dirty they were best left to Dust Town. Vortag Gavorn had provided a sketch of the rooms he’d seen the inside of, and indicated that his own transactions with Beraht were recorded in a ledger kept in a drawer on the lower right hand side of the man’s desk. They had their fingers crossed that payouts to Frandlin Ivo were similarly recorded.

Sera stood in the doorway for a moment, blocking anyone’s view of Gerta lifting the keys from Feren. That would be faster than finessing the lock, which is what she’d have done if Feren had gone with Thora. She put it through the keyhole and turned it, feeling the latch on the other side lift and fall. She replaced the keys, gave Feren a pat, and the two entered Beraht’s domain.

Gerta re-latched the door behind them. No sense in leaving anything out of place. There was a common room of sorts just ahead on the left, and the hallway turned right. The office would be just around the corner. From the sound of it, the common room was occupied.

Sera glanced at Gerta, who shrugged and strolled on. Not too slow, not too fast, just a figure who’d be visible for a split second at the most, moving like she belonged here. All the same, she kept her hand near her blade when she passed the open door.

Nothing happened.

Five steps more, right turn, and there was the door to Beraht’s office, a big gaudy surfacer rug laid out front. Gerta held up a hand for Sera to stop, then drew a little circle in the air with her finger. Sera turned to watch the hall behind them, and Gerta carefully rolled back an edge of the rug.

Yes indeed, a pressure plate. The rug must be a reminder to the local Carta boys to stop stepping on it. But you’d have to step on it to get into the office. Gerta figured it must ring a bell inside, to keep the occupant from being surprised. Casual hall traffic would set it off too frequently, so he put the rug down.

Now, if it also rang a bell somewhere else, that could be a problem. Gerta bit the inside of her lip. She hated pressure plates. If you tried to wedge them into place, just setting the wedges had a decent chance of triggering them. And even if you got the wedges in, sometimes stepping on it would slip it off the wedges anyway.

“Sera,” she whispered, and the bigger woman carefully backed towards her. “Can you stand here,” she indicated the solid floor closest to the door’s keyhole, “and hold me over there?”

Sera’s eyes flickered between the two locations dubiously. She was strong, but holding even someone as small as Gerta that far out from her body for any length of time would be a serious test. Instead, she knelt at the spot Gerta had indicated and bent forward, bracing her arms on her own knees and tucking her chin to her chest.

Gerta carefully eased herself out onto the warrior’s shoulders. It wasn’t much added distance and she had to lean awkwardly, braced on the door, but she could do it. She stuck her arsenal of bent wires and thin slats into her mouth, removing particular ones to root around and through the hole in the door until she had a feel for how the mechanism worked. She pressed one wire against her nose, sharpening the angle slightly, inserted it into the lock and twisted. Something gave way, and the door began to swing open.

The door, upon which Gerta was leaning.

She fell forward, dropped a hand hard onto the back of Sera’s neck to catch herself and pinwheeled her other arm to try and keep her balance. The ugly rug lay two feet beneath her, ridiculous and menacing at the same time.

She almost, almost had it, but she was slipping and...

Sera surged to her feet, right arm going up and over Gerta, tucking her under Sera’s arm like a nug headed for the chopping block. The warrior was turning, in towards the door to pick up the momentum of Gerta’s fall but then continuing the motion around, and around some more, and entirely back around toward the now-open door again.

Sera flicked her arm out and Gerta sailed clear over the pressure plate into the center of the office. On instinct, she tucked and rolled and came up on her feet. She froze for a second, taking in the room, but it was quiet. She looked over her shoulder and grinned at Sera, who returned the smile before turning to guard the door.

Gerta would have preferred that they both get into the office and close the door, but the fewer trips over that threshold, the better. There was the desk and she suddenly wondered: on Vortag’s right, or on Beraht’s? Assuming most nobles were self-centered beasts, she checked the drawers that would be on the right of the person standing in front of the desk.

The bottom one had a little hole just below the pull. Poisoned pin, she thought, and felt along the edges of the drawer. At the bottom was a little lever; just a touch of pressure and it slid down, dropping a guard in front of the hole. She opened the drawer and saw a book, bound in deepstalker hide. She pulled it out and dropped it onto the floor, leafing through the pages quickly. It was a ledger, no doubt. Beraht’s penmanship left a lot to be desired, but the numbers were clear enough. Vortag had provided the dates of the last few Provings Frandlin had fought and she flipped to the most recent. Nothing. Nothing?

Gerta, pulse starting to race, dragged a finger down the page, looking for the distinctive, short “Ivo” that would stand out even in Beraht’s nug-scratchings. No, no, no... there! Two days after the Proving, they’d settled accounts. She closed her eyes briefly in relief, then whipped out a small, sharp knife to cut the page from the ledger. A few moments more and she had two more pages. She replaced the ledger, reset the trap, and stuffed the evidence down her shirt. Good to go.

She figured she could make it over the pressure plate with a running jump. She hissed to catch Sera’s attention and motion her out of the way, skirted the edge of the desk to line up with the door, and -

Felt something underfoot sink a quarter-inch.

Down the hall in the common room, a bell rang.

[Corker]

Sera and Gerta stared at each other. Sera recovered first, as the sound of pounding feet and armor came from down the hall. She pointed at Gerta, then at the desk, and then turned to face the oncoming men.

She didn’t draw a weapon. She didn’t need one, not to deal with a rabble like this.

“Who goes? What are you doing here?” demanded the first man to round the corner. Sera didn’t answer; they wouldn’t understand her hand-speech anyway. The silence was damning and the Carta man cried, “Intruder!” and charged, axe held back over his shoulder.

She waited, motionless, until it started to swing down. One hand shot up, grabbed his wrist; the other, his opposite shoulder. She heaved, and he flew into the wall with a sickening crunch. She could hear his fellows already behind her and drove an elbow back into one of them before she even bothered to look.

Sloppy, all sloppy, each afraid of coming to harm and holding back as a result. Criminals and scum, not real warriors. Certainly no match for one trained in the ancient techniques pioneered by Paragon Astyth the Grey, first of the Silent Sisters.

She broke them as fast as they could come at her, six soon laying scattered on the floor. The last one stood at the bend in the hallway, arms crossed. “Pretty good,” the thug said. The voice was deep but female; Sera knew Beraht had a woman lieutenant and thought this might be her. “But I’m better. You tell me why you’re here and who sent you, and it might just spare you a world of hurt.” The woman drew her two daggers and approached slowly.

Sera, of course, said nothing.

“Oh, goodie,” the other woman murmured, and attacked.

She was good, Sera would give her that. She must have been watching her men fall and learning something from it. She didn’t attack with any hard, crippling blows that Sera could take and redirect into the walls or floor, but with dainty kisses from the tips of her daggers.

If Sera had decent armor instead of the nugskin crap she’d scrounged for in Dust Town, she wouldn’t have even felt them. Still, it was a losing tactic. Perhaps the pain of the flesh wounds would have slowed down a duster, but even years after receiving her brand, she still knew herself to be a warrior.

So the wave of vertigo was unexpected. Sera tipped as she was adjusting her stance, bouncing off the wall and stumbling slightly. Her opponent laughed evilly, and Sera realized she didn’t mean to bring her down with pain, but with some sort of poison.

Time was suddenly not on her side. Abandoning defense entirely, she smashed at the other woman with her fists, stone nuggets crudely wired to her gauntlets to provide extra hurt. The first blow landed solidly, sending her sprawling, and Sera pressed her advantage. She dropped to her knees and pounded, once, twice, three times, but the fourth blow unaccountably missed and she hit the stone floor as hard as she could. Pain lanced up her arm, and then something crashed into her head, knocking her flat onto her back.

Her vision was blurred and her head was swimming; something sharp was at her throat and she heard her opponent say, “I’ll be paying you back for that,” before she slipped into unconsciousness.

**********

Gerta had hidden herself under the desk at Sera’s prompting and had remained there, listening to the sounds of the fight. It was hard to know what was going on, but she didn’t hear Sera roar in pain so she figured things were going well. Maybe they’d make it out of here. If all the Carta men were dead, nobody would know it had been them and it would be all right.

There was a brief moment of quiet, but before she could even think of moving, she heard another voice: Jarvia. Oh, Ancestors, no. That woman was a terror. Gerta huddled herself into an even smaller ball, wondering what she should do. Run? Stay hidden?

She stayed, because she really believed if there was anyone in Dust Town who could take Jarvia down, it was Sera. Maybe, just maybe, they could still walk away from this.

But then the only sound was Jarvia’s voice, promising all manner of unpleasantness for Sera, and Gerta knew that wouldn’t be the case.

“And what were you here for?” Footsteps entering the room. Gerta tried to calm her breathing. She wished that she had her dagger out, although what good would it do her, really?

“Hmph.” No sounds; Gerta imagined Jarvia surveying the room. Footsteps again, but departing. Then a gritty, sliding noise, probably Jarvia dragging Sera somewhere.

Gerta stayed where she was, shaking, for several long moments. Maybe Jarvia didn’t know about the ledger; maybe Beraht wouldn’t want to hear that she’d been in it, even to check on it; maybe she figured she’d find the contraband on Sera. Gerta didn’t know why there hadn’t been a more thorough inspection and at the moment, didn’t care.

When it had been quiet long enough to give her some confidence, she unfolded herself and staggered out. The dusters Sera had put down were all still unconscious, or else dead, so there was nothing between her and the front door.

She opened it, suddenly worried about the two guards, but the one was still asleep and the other was still gone. Had it really all happened that quickly?

She closed the door but didn’t bother to lock it, disappearing into the shadows of Dust Town.

Modifié par Corker, 17 août 2010 - 11:15 .

[Corker]

Thora arrived at their meeting spot not long after Gerta got there. “Where’s Sera?” she asked immediately.

“I got the papers,” Gerta said quietly, handing them over.

Thora took them slowly, alarm spreading over her pretty features. “Gerta? Where’s Sera?”

“She... didn’t make it out.”

“No!” Thora gasped. “Oh no, what happened?”

“Guards,” Gerta said, staring at a particularly interesting stain on the wall above her. “She told me to hide, so I did. I got out, after.”

“But... but it was Sera...”

“Jarvia, Thora. Jarvia was in there.”

The noble hunter paled. “Oh Ancestors. Feren said that. That if Jarvia came out, he wasn’t covering for Leske.”

Gerta turned on her, livid. “And you didn’t think that maybe you should have scrapped the operation right then?”

“No!” Thora shook her head. “There wasn’t supposed to be any fighting at all! I didn’t think...”

“No, no you didn’t think! And now, Jarvia’s going to - “ Gerta stopped suddenly, and Thora’s eyes narrowed.

“Jarvia’s going to what, Gerta?”

Gerta took a breath. “Kill Sera. And it’s your fault!” she accused, trying not to remember the pressure plate clicking under her feet. “You should have warned us!”

“Going to kill - ! She’s not dead? You left her there?”

“What was I supposed to do, Thora? Take on Jarvia single-handed? Then there’d be two of us in there and at least Sera can’t talk.”

“I do not believe you just said that.”

“Why, because you were thinking it too?”

They glared at each other in silence for a long moment. Gerta looked away first. “There’s no way, Thora. I’m sorry. Really.”

“There’s got to be a way! Maybe, maybe Vartag can - “

“Seriously? You think he’s going to trade a single favor to help Sera, when it would just reveal his interest in this whole thing? That’s why he hired us in the first place, to conceal his interest. Otherwise, he’d have just asked Beraht for the pages. She’s dead, Thora. At least... at least it was in service to House Aeducan. Like she was sworn to.”

“I... guess.” Thora’s eyes were bright with tears. “Oh. Oh Ancestors, they’re going to connect me to it, aren’t they?”

Gerta shifted uncomfortably. “Maybe not. If I were those two, I wouldn’t want to admit screwing up that big. If Beraht doesn’t kill them, Jarvia will. I bet they never saw you.”

Thora ran a hand through her hair. “But what if they do? I’ll be so dead.”

“Look. Thora, look, calm down. This is what we do.” Gerta saw it clearly. “You go to Vartag, give him the papers, get the money. Okay? I’ll go with you, just in case.” Just in case you take all three sovereigns and run. “We split the money, and then we split. Don’t even go back to the apartment. One-fifty silver is more than enough to find a place to lay low, for a long time. It’ll blow over eventually.”

“Is that what you’re going to do?”

“Maybe.” Gerta paused. “Or I might go topside.”

“Topside? Are you serious?”

“One-fifty in silver, Thora. That’s gotta go far, even on the surface. And I got skills.”

“Don’t leave me here, Gerta!”

“Hey, I’m not going anywhere right away,” Gerta said. It was true when she thought it, but a lie by the time it passed her lips. Everything was changing, and fast. “Come on, let’s go see your Vartag. First things first.”

And the first thing was always to look out for yourself.

Modifié par Corker, 18 août 2010 - 11:37 .

[Corker]

Author's Notes

So, like I implied to MouseStalker up above, this was supposed to be a silly caper piece. I wanted dwarves, I wanted rogues. I wanted at least one woman on the team, then asked, "Why not all women?" and then the parallels to "Charlie's Angels" started drawing themselves in my head. Bhelen as Charlie - what's not to like?

After the infodump that sets the terms of the job - which was just a simple "go get this MacGuffin" - the scenes were going to rotate through each 'Angel' as a POV character. (Sera stole the show, IMO, with a POV that was really unique to her.) They couldn't just win; that would be boring.

Obviously, somebody would get captured during the heist and need a daring rescue! Also standard 'Angels' fare!

Except my three dusters looked at me and said, "Forget it, Corker. It's Dust Town." There was no possible, plausible way that I could see for Gerta and Thora to free Sera. They're friends, it's true, but breaking back into a Carta hideout that's on full alert and stealing someone out from under Jarvia's nose? When you're not a high-level party with bombs and spells and poisons and Starfang? I couldn't see it happening, not and be at all believable. It'd make Jarvia into a paper tiger, not the fearsome opponent who's widely acknowledged to be one of the harder boss fights in the game.

So... this is the ending it got.