The Other Side of Prime (Mikhail)

[Dominic Veldiris]

TS: Evening 7 of Optia, Summer, Era XIV PF

Just a few rays of light remained in the brightening and Dominic was on the streets again, restless and thirsty for adventure. Perhaps it was dangerous to wander an unknown city just as darkening was about to fall, but he would have daylight for about half a candlemark and besides - he was a teenager, a young invincible.

Dominic walked on, and eventually came to the odd little Durnside Parish, somewhere between the Student and Merchant Quarters. From gossip at the Crown, he had heard a thing or two about the area - about how there were underground gladiatorial games and dog fights and things - and as a curious young man who'd never witnessed such an event, he was curious.

But he didn't know precisely where it was. He was content, then, to just wander, hoping he'd stumble on something interesting.

[Mikhail Vashael]

Resting his laurels and elbows against two beams of hardwood, a broadshouldered Vagaran hunched over a twenty foot diameter circular pit. It was packed with dry dirt, and was bordered by unfinished pine timber. Beyond the circle lay benches used for Parish meetings and stands for social events such as this one. The cockfight was a small arrangement, but it brought a fair crowd never the less. Built around the inner courtyard and arena was the Knackery Housing Project. Pentagon shaped with wide entrances under ever side, the tall building was certainly built to last. It had survived through raids, sieges, plagues, and War.
Laundry lines, smoke, birds and two large oak trees nestled the inner corners of the courtyard. The odd bench lay snugly against a tavern of the same name built into the lower end of the eastern pavilion.
It was in the summer months that the bar slid it's doors and walls wide open, leaving only worn pillars to hold it's patrons from spilling onto the streets.

A rowdy crowd was one that let their coin flow freely. Gold and Glitter for liquor, companionship, song, dance and entertainment. In the world of Mikhail Vashael... that was definitely a good thing.

Three surly humans stood next to him along the sidelines of the arena. They cheered and raised their fists like any other patron, except one thing set them apart. These men watched each other's backs, and were probably more armed to the teeth than any butcher there, save one.

Speaking quietly to a young man with sharp features and black hair combed backwards, the brooding Crimelord poised his words carefully and succinctly.

"I want that money Eramo. You just make sure he pays... How much gold is Calabrin making off this betting? Over 500 gold a cycle. He's got no bookie, because if he did the man would double his revenue. Offer him my proposition.. squeeze him if you have to, but do it discreetly. Everybody pays, Marcus. EVERYBODY."

Turning away from the lad, Mikhail slipped him some unseen object in passing, returning his gaze to the cockfight then to the crowd. Events like this were the perfect opportunity to do a little recruiting. Now that he had become a "household" name within the Parish.. the unemployed, empoverished, the immigrants and the outlaws came to him. All he had to do was show them the way...
This is what he saw in a lithe brown haired human who pushed to the front of the crowd, hoping to get a glimse of the action. From the cut of his dress, the newcomer did not look to be from the Parish and that intrigued the Gangster.
Whispering to a larger muscular and worldly man next him, Vashael struck a match against a board.
"Go with Eramo, back him up but follow his lead. Things get messy, I'm counting on you to clean it up."
The enforcer known as Fletcher nodded then slipped away through the crowd.

Mikhail scratched the blond hairs on his kneck idly then leaned down to watch two huge fluttering roosters peck each other's eyes out.
He moved next to the figure seen earlier, the thin brown haired man.
Feinting arbitrary interest Vashael struck up a conversation.
"Reminds me of my youth, except not near as violent... Who ye betting on?"

There were two combatants at the moment, one giant black feathered mongrel with a broad red comb, and a smaller crazier bird with powerful wings and a brown finish.

"Name's Butcher. Good ta meet ya."

[Dominic Veldiris]

It didn't take him long to find the "something interesting" that he was looking for. Before he knew it, he had stumbled on a cockfight, and not one with a small crowd. It was a rowdy crowd, and Dominic slipped through it silently, although he offered a friendly smile to anyone who would take it. It was a peculiar sight, really - this charming, good-looking teenager sliding through a crowd of vagrants, outlaws, and, at best, the poverty-stricken. He seemed comfortable enough and soon found himself next to the ring.

The two birds were certainly going at it, but Dominic would have bet on the little one. It was fiercer, and the big black one was nothing but a big target, in Dominic's eyes. After a while, the incessant pecking was losing the young man's interest, and he started looking around for someone to take his bet, or at least something more exciting to happen. With an energetic crowd and liquor flowing free, he was sure that something was going to happen.

There was other work going on, that was for sure. In the midst of the shouting and laughing, a few figures marched around purposefully in hushed voices, and the center of it all seemed to be a large Vagaran. Of course, Dominic wasn't rude - he didn't stare at the man, but he glanced at him now and then before directing his attention back to the fight, as Mikhail made his way over and introduced himself.

"I'm thinkin' the littler one might have a good shot at it, what about you?" Dominic said idly before turning his full attention to the Vagaran and offering a hand to shake. Dominic's smile was innocent and trusting, his harmless expression belying a darker outlook on life. "Pleasure, Butcher. Call me Theo. These things happen often 'round here?"

[Mikhail Vashael]

As Dominic spoke, the agile brown haired bird lifted it's self into the air while clawing at it's opponent's eyes and beak until the large black rooster fell over dead. Wild cheers and disappointed sighs lifted up from the crowd in unision, but Vashael only smirked while gesturing his left hand into the pit.
"Hope you put money down on that wager, because it looks like you'd have won."
The Surly man rubbed the undercarriage of his nostrels with a fat finger.

Staring out into the ring almost absently as the owners each retrieved their birds, Vashael turned his head as he spoke.
"Cockfights, Rabid Dogs, brutal hand to hand combat between men.. the odd woman. We get it all here in Durnside. Anything to pull a coin from a nun's arse or prevent the Parishers from rioting."
Blinking, he smiled softly then returned to the conversation.

"Of course, Pit Fighting is not all that we have to offer... what kind of activities would you be looking to partake in? I might be able to point out several locales or individuals that could provide you with a Royal Darkening.. whores, gambling.... gambling and whores.."
Pausing, Mikhail spoke again with light melodic sarcasm.
"Oh, we have a great library too.. very fond of chopping tenderloins over knee high volumes about the Fractum combined back to back with the Farmer's Almanac and the magical signifigance of dandelion root. Thrilling stuff, I can assure you."

Deadpan to his own wit, Vashael turned to observe the crowd as they collected their money from the referee while lifting his eyes slightly in discust. He paused, reflecting on the coins exchanging hands then spoke again as a calm fisherman would to the trout that it was very delicately reeling in.

"Now if you ask me.. I'd say the real enjoyment came right there.. That hot seering feeling in your belly when you watch a handfull of fresh coins fall into your lap. You didn't earn em, you certainly Don't deserve them.. but somehow that makes it all so much sweeter."
The Vagaran rapped his knuckles against the board he was leaning on.

"So you ain't betting, and you don't look the type to frequent a Whore, though you might be born to one... I'd say your here for other reasons, and I don't mean beer and whiskey chasers. Am I right, or are you leaving? Hmm."

Vashael licked his dry lips with a calm, relaxed measure and shifted back to face the man while he imparted his last pearl of wisdom followed by a question.
Not one to mince words, he didn't have time nor energy to court a freelancer when there would be no return to his investment. Be that as it may, there were often very good reasons to use outsiders for jobs too risky or that would draw far too much heat down on his own crew, and he had one such job in mind.

[Dominic Veldiris]

As Mikhail began painting the picture of a side of Prime that Dominic did not yet know, he listened with interest, though careful not to show too much interest. This man seemed well enough connected, or at least well enough informed, and it could be useful for Dominic to know someone native to Prime. Cockfights, dog fights, and fights between men - a rougher, courser version of his own Brawler's Club, turned up for the greatest city in the empire and darkened for the Durnside Parish. Interesting, but just as Dominic did not fight during the darkenings at his club, he certainly did not want to step into the ring with any of these fellows. Not yet, at least. Not until he knew more about them.

As Mikhail kept talking, though, the topic turned to something a little more interesting to him. After all the talk of fights, gambling, and whores, Mikhail seemed to finally hit on something Dominic was always interested in - wealth. A way to earn some crown without earning it, per se. Dominic ignored Mikhail's odd humor and off-hand insult, preferring to get straight to the point.

"It sounds like you've got something in mind, Butcher," he said, crossing his arms and shifting his weight backwards as if to get a better look at the man. "You might be right - I'm not here for gambling or whores... but you sound like you've got some way for me to find more of them 'fresh coins' to fall into my lap."

[Mikhail Vashael]

Looking the young man over, Vashael nodded to himself as if he was conceding against some inner restraint.

"Alright."

The Butcher angled his kneck towards the unshaven and frantic mob behind him.

"Walk with me."

The two men moved through the crowd, out from under the splintered beams of the Knackery and into the dark city streets beyond. Passing a mound of loose hay, several children wrestled for possession of a spotted piglet before the little side of bacon escaped between Dominic's legs.
Vashael put his hands into his pockets casually, then finding what he was searching for, struck a match. Slowing to a halt, the stoic Tradesman placed a stick of tobacco to his lips and lit the end with the tinder. Surprisingly, he offered one to the boy.

"Now, what I'm proposing is a mutally benifical arrangement, mutally because you and I both stand to earn a great deal of money, but particular enough that if you so choose to turn on me, or are indecorous enough to get caught.."

He paused looking down into the man's greedy eyes.

"A reaction of an adverse nature would have serious cause to take effect. Jail food can be terrible so I've heard, a man just last month choked to death on a stale bread crumb.. if you can believe that. Slow, evenly paced bites.. could save your life."

Vashael emphasised his point towards Dominic with the tobacco in hand, then ashed red cinders onto the sunken stone bricks below. The two humans now stood under waining shadows of an all but forgotten sunset in the courtyard of an expansive yet barren Auction Yard.
This.. Butcher's voice was low, baritone with the worn grit of a seasoned smoker. He rarely smiled, but often used a gruesome and expansive vocabulary, if only to make a point.
"I don't trust you, you don't trust me, it's th' I Deal way to begin a long and fruitful business relationship, Theo.."

Vashael spoke the name loudly as if he was mocking the brown haired man's alias, or at least proving he was aware of it's necessary illusion. Controlling any facial reaction to the sentence's weight, the Vagaran let a nostrel flair slip from under his cold exterior.

"So if you want work, we're going to engage in a little enterprise that will create a bond of trust between us, primarily to prove your not a total Fletching idiot. Oh, funeral expenses are on me. There's a pretty grave on the hillside yonder bearing rose bushes and tulips that never, ever gets rained on.. you'll like it. Any good with Locks or did you prefer Fletching rosary beads?"

Inhaling deeply from his cigar, the Thief looked up to the sky slightly while waiting to see if the man still had the stones for a less then honest first night on the job. Using agression, insults and mild threats was simply a way to screen out the wheat from the chaff. Vashael smiled to himself. That sounded like something out of one of the maniac street preacher's indelicate tirades.. how did the ending go again?
And I shall burn the chaff with an unquenchable fire.. Sounded about right.

[Dominic Veldiris]

Dominic watched the children and piglet with interest, listening idly as the Butcher spoke. He was getting ideas - the little critter, as well as being a nice meal, was reasonably quick and agile. Dominic briefly wondered if he'd have better luck catching the piglet, before quickly deciding that he'd be able to catch it with ease. He returned his attention to Mikhail, just in time to decline the roll of tobacco - he didn't smoke. He drank, but he didn't smoke. The coughing was just ugly.

Metaphors. The impressive Vagaran was speaking in metaphors or analogies, or something like it. Dominic wasn't really sure. He was a simpler man, simple both when he was a cheerful boy and when he was a ruthless fighter. He rarely had deep thoughts, but Dominic got the gist of it - he was to be greedy, but not too greedy, and he sure as hell had best be fair to Mikhail.

He too caught that Mikhail didn't trust his name - insightful of him, no doubt, but what was in a name anyway? The name Dominic meant nothing, just as the name Theo meant nothing, and so Dominic felt nothing at the pointed way that the Butcher said it. Besides, it wasn't as if this man's name was actually "the Butcher." Aliases were common and necessary in the underworld, and Dominic would keep to what little security he had.

"I can do locks," Dominic said, nodding and once again ignoring Mikhail's off-hand remarks. "And I can do more than locks too, Butcher. You'll test me once as you please, but I'm not going to waste my time with, ah, what'd you call 'em? Little enterprises, right? Yeah, I'm not going to waste my time with little enterprises to create a bond of trust." Dominic smiled with a lopsided grin, some mix between a smirk and a smile.

"Test me once, then, but I'll be moving on to, well, big enterprises." He shrugged, looking at Mikhail square in the eye. "'Cause, well, I'm not a fething idiot, and I'm not really a fan of rose bushes or tulips. Or rosary beads, at that."

[Mikhail Vashael]

Cigar placed squarely between his teeth, the blonde butcher grinned smugly at Theo's comments. He looked over the man's shoulder, as if watching someone in the distance or lost in some momentary relapse of thought. The kid had guts, and drive. Not bad qualities given any circumstance. He wet his dry mouth and spoke without provocation.

"Lets go."

The flickering tobacco was a quarter spent, but a brisk walk to the twelfth Parish would find it burnt down to a stub. As the men travelled, Vashael took in the delights and visual tapestry that Prime had to offer. It was a beautiful city, truely. Row after row of heavy mortar and wooden structures blurred their stride, much of the brick was fresh or leveled over ancient carved foundations. It said many things.. war, business, destruction, rebirth. In the architecture of a city one could read into the past like a great leather bound tome. Every street a sentence, every parish a chapter.
Reaching the crest of a wandering alley Mikhail gazed over a short expanse, finding the remains of Artes Doces Cemetery placed below him like a scattered seabed at low tide. Stone blocks, slabs, statues and sickly trees dotted the lull of dry grass.
Mikhail enjoyed the view and tested his fingers against the base of a long reinforced knife handle, preparing for what lied ahead.
Spitting the end of the cigar into a ditch, Vashael passed the crumbling Cemetery wall and made for a large grey altar bearing the raised hands of a deathly angel, stained black under the folds of it's dress by rain and mirth. Below the gothic figure sat a balding human idly wrapping a noose around his left forearm as if testing the rope's strength. Vashael nodded and flicked his right hand out of his coat pocket almost like a wave.
Whispering to Theo offhandedly, the Butcher kept his vision focused on the hunched man before them.

"Here's our contact. Try not to mention anything about the rope... "

Truely smiling for the first time ever as far as Dominic was concerned, Vashael's mouth flashed ivory white but his eyes said things only an inmate on death row would understand.

[Dominic Veldiris]

At Mikhail's curt "Let's go," the two set off down the streets of Prime in silence. It was, no doubt, an incredible city, especially to young Dominic who had scarcely left Portshire in his lifetime. The massiveness of each building, and of the city itself, was overwhelming and dwarfed Portshire in comparison.

Dominic stepped quickly, staying in line with Mikhail as they navigated the unfamiliar streets of Prime, until they finally came to... a cemetery? Perhaps it was childish of him, but a chill crawled up Dominic's spine as he realized where they were. It wasn't the cemetery itself - he'd seen them many times before - but it was the combination, he supposed, of the Butcher's mysteriousness, the darkening, the unfamiliarity of the city, the angel sculpture (which looked demonic in the moonlight), and the strange man at its foot. The man was gripping a noose, it seemed - what was he, an executioner or simply a murderous criminal?

After nodding at Mikhail's instruction, however, Dominic remained silent. He knew when his words were needed and when they were not - and when the bosses were playing, subordinates were silent.

[Aqua]

OOC: Moderation by request

The man made the same gesture that Mikhail had just made, and then nodded. "Evening," he said, his voice sounding like a full pail of milk landing on the street after being thrown from a third-story window. "You've got a friend, I see." He inclined his head toward Dominic, but didn't say anything to him.

"What can I do for you?" There was something in his eyes that indicated that this was only partially a request for information, which was true. He assumed that the man who called himself the Butcher would give him some idea regarding how he was to understand the relationship between himself and Dominic. Was Dominic a contact? An operator? Someone whose life was about to end quickly and painfully? He was amenable to any of those answers, if the truth were known.

The man pulled the rope taut with a snap, something that he did without really thinking about it. He kicked at a stray pebble on the ground, which clattered against the base of the unpleasant-looking stone angel. It was, for a night during the summer in Prime, strangely cool, and the wind rose slightly while he waited to see what Mikhail had to say.

[Mikhail Vashael]

Vashael's paw covered the lower half of his face as he lingered on the last of his inhalation. Removing a fresh cigar from his mouth, the man's gaze pierced quietly through the greeting of his contact. Gingerly throwing the figure a loose sack of something that jingled upon reception, Mikhail came to a stop.

"Friends come and go."

His eyes stared blankly, only indicating with a slight turn of the nose that his relationship to Theo could disolve in a flicker's notice.

"You look dire Thadius.. Keeping your deaf ears to the ground, and your gob dumb to the law I venture.."

Mikhail licked his lips in anticipation, advancing one step closer while watching the man's sunken features.

"Every mistress has a backdoor, and you can shed some light on how to tease this one open. The 'Palace. I need specifics. A way in, a way out. Guard number and rotation. Location of the .. special guests, and for that heavy mineral deposit your now holding.. best throw in a little lagniappe while your at it."

He made the cant symbol for Key or Opportunity then flashed a subtle gesture of restraint in regards to Dominic. Pursing a thumb across his lower lip, the Butcher lifted a heavy leather jacket back while placing both hands on his hips. The tobacco hung absently, it's ash forgotten while slowly burning down. Vashael then reached his tongue against the top palette, running it against the inside row of teeth while waiting for an acidic response. He half expected the kid to bolt at any moment, or glance up to find himself alone in the graveyard with only an angel and a hangman for company. That was the problem with the youth of the day.. none of them had the grit of real salt.. the kind that could move the very celestial bodies themselves.

The orb of Lunaisa dropped flat white light over the gravestones, basking the men in the glory of night.

[Aqua]

Thadius gave a rueful grin, but stopped short of actually laughing. "Aye, that depends on what you're wanting to do once you're in," he said. "Just getting into the Palace isn't that hard, if you make some kind of appointment with a clerk and then don't keep it, or if you steal one of the supplier's uniforms and go in with the brightening's food. Security's been redoubled though, after the Regent's sister was kidnapped. We're talking hundreds of guards, no weapons passing through checkpoints. Rosemen by each of the...special suites. Arcana, of course, doesn't work in the Palace at all."

He snapped the rope again. "Of course, if I knew what you wanted exactly, I could be more help. I'm not thinking you're gonna get anywhere without my help, except possibly in jail. Or on the block." His smile was a truly ugly thing, a toothy scar slashed across his face.

That was all that Thadius had to say at the moment. Mikhail would have to either make an offer or a threat in order to get any more out of the hulking man.

[Mikhail Vashael]

Twisting his head into a sweet little grin, the creases round Vashael's eyes deepened.

"Awwhhh, that's really cute, Thadius want alittle Affliction for all his hard work."

Intent on looking over the informant's shoulder and making a soft double clicking sound with both lips, Vashael would use the poised distraction to surprise the man and grip him squarely around the throat. His left arm now held a vice like restraint while his right positioned a boning knife hovered just over the unshaven man's nearest eyeball. Whispering oh so close to the fat man's face, Mikhail could smell the reek of drink running off Thadius's muggy breath. Using gravel and sandpaper, he spoke again.

"Listen you shrivelled sack of rat sh-, I've just layered your wetnap with coin and courtesy, so instead of giving my chain a short yank.. why don't you Give about the NIGHT - Lily Palace.... and I'll laugh off that soiled and colorful opening remark.."

Kneeing the man in the stomach with singular blunt trauma, Vashael would continue.

"If I remember's correctly.. your careless arse was captive there not one Era ago. When I ask to meet Saint Michael's favorite Hangman, I don't come for the company.. and I sure as Hell didn't drag my expensively tailored suit all the way up here just to cut open y'r head like a can of fruit. Frankly, you ain't worth my fletching Time whore's meat.."

Throwing Thadius down, Vashael aimed the stainless weapon directly at the fat man's throat.

"Besides, your canned peaches wouldn't exactly be what they'd call Fresh .. would they now."

Turning the dagger in a courtesy twist, Vashael leered over the man menacingly.. controlling the flex in his lip muscles.

"I'm going to visit an old friend. That's all you need to know. Now GIVE."

[Aqua]

Perhaps the one good characteristic that Thadius had in him was that he knew when he was beaten. He didn't attempt to free himself, didn't respond to the insults that Mikhail had hurled at him. He'd tried what in his rather slow mind was a good trick, it hadn't worked, and now he was back to business.

"The back. The service entrance. It's where they bring the food in. Two guards, rotated every three candlemarks. There are more perimiter guards than that, but they're making patrols with five-minute spacing, so if you time it right, you can get through. Once you're in, go left. All the way to the end. That's where you'll find what you're looking for. Ten or fifteen interior guards, but they're lazy, since they don't usually have much to do except play dice and insult the...guests. Catch 'em by surprise and it shouldn't take too much to take care of 'em. "

A slow trickle of blood was running down his neck from the pinprick wound that the dagger had made. "Anything else, mate? I'm sure you'd rather be on your way than wasting time with old Thadius, no?"

The place that Thadius was talking about would be easy to find, should Mikhail try and go there. Only one delivery every cycle or so came in, and it looked onto a fairly quiet alley that was vastly less traveled than the crowded front entrance.

[Mikhail Vashael]

Elongated shades pulled towards the seams of the crumbling cemetery walls. Vashael gently dropped the man onto the grass with a soft crunch then flattened Thadius's shirt collar.

"Come to Durnside in a cycle. I mean to have work for you."

Leaving the man resting with the dead, Mikhail turned and climbed slowly upwards between chiseled monuments and crooked tombstones. It was time to get to work..

Slipping past wet stone then through the smell of humidity and moisture, a spry shower had passed as quickly as the Butcher's temper. His wet leather bent torchlight sofly into shadow as the man suddenly turned under the damp timber of an alchemist's workshop and followed the runoff into a thin alleyway. Rubbing a gloved thumb under his left nostril, the Vagaran pursed his lips while studying an abandoned doorway. Hidden from the glisten of the moonlight, there was barely a guiding silhouette to indicate the sunken back door in question. Vashael had done his homework, he knew the general layout and circumference.. now it was the moment to put the hangman's insight to proper application. Subtle and direct force allocated towards a precise and unequivocal location. Tucking his head down to avoid detection and the sudden splash of rain, the Butcher braced his coat warmly round his person before stepping into the blackness beyond. With the flick of the wrist and the turn of the forearm, his crowbar had braced under the cast iron lock. Coaxing wood this rotten should be "easy" to tear the thin plating quietly open, giving him leg room to work his magic most proper. Forced entry would be noticeable, but the music was buzzing and he needed to step in quickly. Besides, finding our man inside would soon be the least of any of these blaggards collective worries..

I'd be holding him back.