Golden City Prequel: The Curious Mystery of Elliott Thistlewaite

Pahn · Jan 18, 2018

The Curious Mystery of Elliott Thistlewaite

Thick, black smoke filled the dingy street within seconds. The merchants, who weren't really in fact merchants but re-sellers of stolen goods from the Sky and the Land, coughed and groaned as they covered their products with thin and filthy cotton sheets. Fires were not a rare incident in the Underground of Golden City, and they had become more inconvenience than anything worth being concerned about. Worse things did happen, in this place of despair and fourberie.

Using the chaos that was now reigning in the market place, Brulow Charldin whistled twice and clicked his tongue loudly. From the other side of a decrepit building, two small boys raced each other between the adults, and only a knowing eye could see what they were doing. Amongst the confusing, the boys were slipping past men and women moving away from the out-of-control toxic-fumes-fuelled fire and pick-pocketing specific targets. The fat Ms Collins who beat the girls working for her who failed to bring in patrons to her brothel, the balding Herrintch who sold out children to the mines. Those were the kind of people Brulow and his gang targeted and they did so without an ounce of regret. On the contrary, the young man felt quite self-righteous in his endeavours.

Once the two boys had slipped through the crowd, Ms Collins would find herself without coins or keys for her establishment, and Herrintch would find a special piece of jewellery in his pockets, one they had stolen from an infamous gang leader and who was looking for it furiously right this instant. A smug grin on their ashen faces, the boys followed Brulow down another back alley silently. Each had covered their mouths with a handkerchief, and although their eyes were watering from the fumes and the smoke, they succeeded in breathing lungfuls of nasty air as they darted from one section to another.

"Good job." Brulow knelt and worked the mechanical latch of a wooden door. It was small, and he could fit through it only when he was crouched. Luckily for him he as pretty short himself, so that wasn't much of an issue. "Jeong, the coin purse." The 11 year-old boy grinned widely, showing off a half-grown front tooth, and handed over the leather purse heavy with coins, and the skeleton key. Brulow smiled and ruffled his hair and sent the boy off. "And you Pickle, you slipped the ring in his pocket?"

"Yessir!" Despite his frail frame, Pickle was just a few years younger than Brulow. No one had many hopes of him growing bigger. "It was pretty easy if you ask me. You can send me on harder jobs next time." He puffed his boney chest and placed his fists on his hips.

"Haha, I'll think about it. Go wash up, you and Jeong both deserve a few minutes of clean air."

Pickle's eyes gleamed for a moment and he nodded vigorously. A few weeks ago, Brulow had brought back an oxygen tank he'd stolen from a vicious re-seller at the market. While the air in their little hide-out slash home was better than the one outside, they had agreed to let those who went on their little missions spend additional time with an oxygen mask on. Brulow hadn't tried it himself yet, and he figured he didn't need it as much as the other, younger kids did.

The gang waited a day or two in their hide-out before going out again. It was always best when they made themselves sparse, so no one would recognize any single one of them. The black smoke had dissipated, much to Brulow's relief. He sent a handful of the boys and girls out to scout and bring back news and gossip, either from the Land or Sky, or from other nearby gangs. Occasionally, one of them brought back another kid, either a lost one who just needed help getting back home, or an orphan abandoned to their fate in the pits of the sewers.

Brulow wasn't quite expecting Pickle to show up soon after leaving with another boy trailing behind him. He immediately recognized his clothing - this boy was from the Sky, and judging from the amount of grime on him, he couldn't have been down here for more than a day. The other children gathered around them, eyes wide and slighly in awe at the sheer difference between them and the new boy. To them, he looked something like a prince.

"Hello." Brulow sent a girl to fetch some water and a piece of bread. "I'm Brulow, and we're the Choughs. We're all brothers and sisters here. Take this, you must be thirsty--"

The young man wasn't even finished talking that the boy grabbed the water cup out of his hands and gulped it down under a second.

"You'll want to drink slower next time. Water's a rarity in these places."

The boy grimaced and looked around him, his expression a mixture between disdain and fear.

"What's your name, boy?" Brulow crossed his arms over his chest and stared down at him.

"Me? I'm... I'm Elliott Thistlewaite."

Snowflake · Jan 18, 2018

The clanking of the dirty lift mechanism hammered against Vazkho's eardrums. Gods or Pioneer only know when was the last time that thing was serviced let alone cleaned. He could see the soot and filth fall off the rotating cogwheels missing him narrowly and each time he moved only to see another clump of dust, hair and something disgusting fall right in front of him. The dirty old cloak covered his head and hair and while the cowl could have covered his face he then wouldn't be able to take a drink from his flask and that was more important right now. The damnable elevator was making such a ruckus Vazkho could've sworn it was going to break apart at any moment. He watched the scenery change and reminded himself never to take any tasks that lead him down into the Underground again. The oncoming smoke of dust, smog and filth only prompted him to take another swing of the flask. It was a fitting name they gave it, the difference in air and climate was immediately apparent, it was so sudden Vazkho couldn't tell if it was the booze or the air and motion sickness that made his gut twist and wrench its contents.

How in the world did a little kid end up down there he had no clue and it didn't much concern him either, his job was to get him back, nothing more, nothing less. That alone would prove difficult enough, Cloaks don't often venture down and he had only done so once when he went to find his sister. He knew of the Black Market, most people did, so that is where he will have to start his search. The words following the request to recover the boy were strict and to the point. "Bring us the child or your Medicine is cut." How they would do that Vazkho did not wish to find out, but if they knew how important it was to him then they also knew how to exploit that weakness. It was often better to be friendly to these types, give them what they want and then ask for a bone. Most complied out of sheer sense of business, some did it fearing his potential wrath should he not be compensated for his work. Suppose he just had that kind of a mean looking face.

By now he was deep enough to be engulfed in the smells of the Underground, nothing too kind to his lungs either. Luckily he wasn't a smoker otherwise this would have possibly ended him. With each breath he could feel a bit of his health sheer away from his life thread. He'll be coughing out this mess for a week. By the time the lift had finally reached its destination he pulled up his cowl settling it in along with the hood making sure he's as protected as he could be. With a flick of a hand he wrapped the cloak around himself concealing his revolver. It never paid to be unsubtle, especially not in this place where thieves and crooks run amok. Shadows were not his allies down here, they belonged to the clever Rats and deadly silhouettes, he was merely borrowing them as he traveled towards the Black Market, the kid's photo in pocket, an almost empty flask at his hip and a fully loaded pistol and rifle at his disposal. Just him and his sharp wit against the entirety of Underground.

Anguissette · Jan 18, 2018

A street and a half away, scarcely a wisp of the thick black smoke intruded into the bustling hum of the Underground pub. The Walls was an idea born from necessity that had nevertheless struck a chord with the desperate and the degenerate alike. The sole proprietor was Katherine "Kitty" Llew, a slight woman in her mid twenties who ran the establishment on her own, working a grueling schedule that would be the death of a lesser woman. According to the faded script nailed to the wall beside the door, the place was open for four hours over lunch and another eight for evening service. When - as often happened - the regulars started drinking with their midday meal and showed no signs of stopping, Kitty simply stayed open. She was the barkeep, the waitress, the business manager and the cook. She swept the bar, made basic repairs to thrice-broken tables and made time to buy alcohol and ingredients that hadn't yet gone rancid. The only role around the pub she didn't fill was that of bouncer, which was usually taken by whichever "protector" was presently filling her bed.

Some nights she sang as well, her trained voice leading a drunken ensemble in a random medley of drinking songs and classics as she wove among her nine tables and the bar.

"Aieee debutante went walking, up by the briny sea
She flirted, flounced her parasol - as fayncy as can be
Until she saw a Ratty lad, a reg'lar Soor Marquis
Now she's six months late, still waitin' for his bended knee!"

This was one of her frequent choices, the catchy tune, bawdy tones and solidarity very popular among her drunken patrons. And if they ended up humming the tune tomorrow while they were out about their assorted labours and misdemeanours, well... the free advertising was always welcome. Her violet skirt swirled around her ankles as she set the last drink down on a table and turned to lead her patrons into the familiar chorus.

"Oh, there's Rats in the walls, Rats in the Walls
They come in flurries, come in squalls!
Rob man and maiden to their smalls,
Just look around; there's Rats in the walls!"

By this time she was back at the bar, tolerating a casual grope from a beefy man in the short-sleeved red jerkin then serving the length of the stained wooden surface; throat searing whiskey exchanged for coin that disappeared into the folds of her apron. She exchanged a glance with an unlikely blonde working out of The Walls that night and grinned before hoisting an imaginary toast in her direction.

"Ol' fancy pants came strollin' in the city thought was his
He courted maids, he scattered dosh, he stirred up quite a fizz
But when our gallant rake laid eye on luv'ly-bosomed twins
Both them Ratly girls swiped half his coinage for his sins!"

"Oh, there's Rats in the walls, Rats in the Walls
They come in flurries..."

The pub was in fine form tonight, and her regulars could be relied on to lead the rest through all six verses even without her. The dark-haired woman looked around for anyone obviously in need of a refill and marked instead two men who had just ducked in past the heavy curtain that served as a door. These were not regulars. She could tell they were dangerous men by the way they carried themselves and the way they scanned the crowd they were here for business rather than pleasure. Kitty could tell the moment they saw her; one nodded to the other, and then both muscled their way through the crowd to confront her.

"Gentlemen, " she said, her voice filled with the customary drawl of the Underground-dweller. The barely-parted lips helped to keep the smoke out, or so the old joke went. "What can I do for you today?" She met their eyes, having learned the hard way that showing any kind of weakness when the wolves were circling was a good way to get et.

Never again.

"You can pay the Hound his cut. He warned you about trying to do business on his territory without his approval," the shorter man said. While both were larger than she, he was able to string sentences together and load the words with menace. The bulky man-mountain looked more as though his preferred form of communication was breaking things. Or people.

"And as I told the last goons he sent to see me, this pub was here before this became his territory. We had an arrangement with The Spider, she knew we were more valuable as a place to do business and attract customers than just another protection racket," she retorted. The Spider was reasonable, and in her cold-eyed way had respected what Kitty was trying to do here.

"And you know what happened to the Spider. The Hound is aching for the chance to go another round with her," Small Mountain smiled gruesomely, "he likes making examples of people who defy him. Randall?"

Big Mountain - Randall, apparently - wrapped a hand around each of Katherine's forearms and began to squeeze to the enthusiastic musical accompaniment of her oblivious patrons.

"So once again. Are you going to pay the man his cut? Or do we need to remind everyone what happens to small kittens who fall afoul of the Hound?"

Pahn · Jan 19, 2018

"So, tell me Elliott Thiswittle--"

"Thistlewaite."

"This and that, whistle and little. Elliott. How long have you been down here?" Brulow made a sign for one of his boys to give the new kid another cup of water. This time, he drank it more slowly.

"Two weeks, I think..." His voice was small and timid, as though he was embarrassed by something.

"Wow. I would never have guessed. Good on you, you still look prim and proper. You stand out though, that's a problem." With a confident grin, Brulow took a step forward and wrapped his arm around Elliott's shoulder, guiding him further inside their hide-out. The horde of children followed closely, their eyes still wide in awe and in excitement. "We could sell those clothes of yours for a pretty fair price, to the right people. Here, put those on. At least we won't have any... undesirables fixing their eyes on you."

Elliott was handed a pair of tattered shorts, a little too large for him, and an even more tattered and dirty sweater. He made a face of disgust and Brulow couldn't help the smile on his face. Over a decade ago, he had been thrust into a similar situation, except there hadn't been anyone to look after him.

"Go on, change." As he did, Brulow heard a girl, Priss, come through the door to their lair and chatter loudly about her morning. He was about to go check up on her when Elliott groaned as he slipped on the dirty rags.

"This is disgusting!" He complained under his breath, but he complied nonetheless.

Brulow laughed heartily and slapped him on the shoulder playfully. "You'll get used to it, Elliott. Nothing in the Sewers is truly clean. Which brings me to my next question..." He eyed the antsy Priss waiting to deliver her report. He lifted a finger at her and she rolled her eyes, crossing her arms over her thin chest. Had she been not so malnourished and small for a girl her age, he knew she would have been part of Ms Collins' girls, curse her pretty face.

"Why do I have to answer your questions. I don't want to be here! He dragged me!" He pointed at the boy who had brought him in. The boy blushed and looked nervously at Brulow, but a reassuring nod from the older boy made him relax.

"Look kid, if you want a chance at surviving, we're your best chance. Now, where are you from and what are you doing here? Don't lie to me, I know when someone lies to me."

Elliott Thistlewaite frowned and pouted, tugging at his sweater nervously and looking away from Brulow's face. A minute later, Brulow cleared his throat and Elliott came out of his reveries.

"I... From the Sky. I'm from the Sky. We were on a tour and I just..." His face contorted into a pained expression, and before Brulow could react, Jeong lunged between them and gave Elliott a hug.

"Don't cry! You're safe here, Brulow keeps the Choughs safe!" The boy snivelled as though he'd been the one about to cry, and it seemed it was exactly what Elliott needed to hear. He began sobbing loudly, making ugly faces as the warm tears left little pathways on his dirt-covered cheeks.

Feeling his heart-strings pulling a little too much, Brulow sighed and let the boy cry it out. He swaggered towards Priss and did that special handshake they had started years ago. When they were both just two street rats begging and scraping for food.

"So, what's the emergency report missy Prissy?" Out of habit, he wet his thumb and wiped off a thick splotch of dirt off her forehead. The girl swatted his hand away, annoyed but not truly angry.

"It's about Kitty, she's in trouble. I saw the Hound's men get in her pub. Two of the ones you told us to keep an eye on. They looked like they were on a mission." She looked genuinely worried about Kitty, and with reason. The Hound was bad news for everyone in this neighbourhood, ever since he'd kicked the Spider out and started a new gang war for territory.

"Fuck. Okay, I'll go. Can you watch after Elliott? I think he'll need some food and comfort, especially comfort. Try to make him talk, yeah?" Brulow leaned over and pecked the spot on her forehead he had attempted to clean and slipped out of the lair quietly, feeling Priss's eyes on his back.

While most people avoided the shadows in the streets, Brulow lived in them and used them. The new bouncer at The Walls was a man he didn't recognize, so he waited a good ten minutes before he finally slipped past him. The leader of the Chattering Choughs was short and thin and draped in black clothes, making him nearly invisible when he used those shadows to move about unseen. Once inside the pub and past the heavy curtain, his eyes immediately spotted the two thugs and how one of them was holding Kitty roughly. Anger boiled in Brulow's chest and he wanted to jump out and twist their necks around until they snapped, but he knew better than to attack the Hound's puppies in public like this. Besides, killing people wasn't quite his thing. Waiting for an opportunity to jump in, he kept his eyes on Kitty and wondered if she'd catch sight of him before he'd decided on a plan. Maybe today would be one of those days where he'd go back home quietly.

Snowflake · Jan 19, 2018

What does a man that stalks the shadows do when he finds that shadows have teeth and grow hungry for his flesh. He takes to the light and burns the darkness away. Vazkho avoided the shadows here, they were visceral, filled with cutthroats and thieves. He saw in them his own twisted reflection, what he was without the Inquisition, without the sense of justice that every now and then he did something right. He could feel the eyes on him, the eyes of bewilderment and recognition, a Cloak in the Underground. He noted the eyes of anger and hate, of those who needed enough courage or an opportunity to go up against him.

The Black Market, even The Land dwellers ventured there every now and then looking for things either too expensive or unobtainable through legal means. If the Kid was down there then Black Market was the place to start asking questions. He moved from stall to stall asking around showing the tiny photograph he had of him. Between the 'Piss off' and 'I don't want any trouble' he had no luck finding any trace of the boy. As if the city had swallowed him whole. Down here the flask was his only friend it seemed and as luck would have it his friend needed a drink as well. He could hear the sounds of drunken chorus coming from somewhere nearby. A quick question to a nearby stall owner and he had the direction to a place called The Walls. A fitting name to be filled with Rats he thought and the song sure as hell supported that.

The Land it self was confusing enough with its alleyways and streets, the Underground was even worse. Luckily he asked for directions because sound alone would've been useless from all the echoing streets and alleys. At one point he was sure the place was in the opposite direction from which he was going and yet there it was right in front of him. The joys of acoustics mixed with labyrinthine walkways and lack of noticeable landmarks.

He walked up to the door and gave the bouncer a stern look until the one realised who he was dealing with. He stepped inside only to find a peculiar scene unfolding before his eyes. Two rough and gruff individuals making an effort to terrorize a lady. The drunken patrons barely seemed to notice or mind the hostility, all but one rather short and young fellow. Whatever the reason for him being there Vazkho couldn't just leave the situation alone. Something pushed him on. He patted the little one on his back as he pushed past him and in one fluid motion drew his revolver and held the barrel against the back of the big one's head. "Well, this Hound will hate to waste a bullet on scum like you. I happen to like kitties too." He frowned as he realised there was rhyme there. "You've overstayed your welcome, unless you want payment in lead I suggest you leave." If the noise of the bar was somehow too loud for them to hear the clicking of the revolver's cylinder the big one would definitely feel the mechanism turn as Vazkho pulled back the firing hammer.

Anguissette · Jan 19, 2018

Katherine met Small Mountain's blue eyes with her own grey orbs, setting her jaw and refusing to back down. Randall might be taking a childish pleasure in exerting his strength on the smaller woman, but it was Small Mountain who was deriving a sick pleasure from her pain. She could see it in his gaze, and made a promise to herself make sure she was never alone or at his mercy, whatever the cost. Her jaw was white with tension when she finally forced a smile and managed to speak.

"Fine." There was no immediate response, though Randall looked across at the man who did the talking. "I said fine!"

"Duncan, should we," Randall began, his meaty hands relaxing, "I mean, she said-"

"I know what she said," Small Mountain - Duncan it seemed - said. His baby blue eyes clung to her face feverishly, milking the last moments of her torment before he nodded his assent. "Release her Randall. Fine what, Kitty cat?"

"Fine, I will pay the Hound his cut you fucking flapdoodle," Kitty hammered out, her voice iron as she rubbed at both her arms. Randall's handprints were clearly visible there, and it felt like the ache went clear to her bones. "Tell him I'll come by tomorrow between four and six with the money." She'd find some way of getting the money, though it meant giving up on that extra girl any time soon. And that was assuming the Hound was reasonable and regular in his demands. From what she'd heard about his rule since he overran the Spider's part of the Market, neither of those words had any place in his limited vocabulary.

That was when the cowled man appeared, waltzing straight past her useless bouncer who was more occupied by the (free) ale in his hand. This time it was less of a disaster as he walked squarely up and put his gun to the back of Randall's head. Whether the big man was simply too thick to realize his danger or too angry to care, he turned to glare down the barrel at the newcomer's face. "I don't like you, kitty-lover." The moment was pregnant with violence and for a moment Kitty feared her pub was about to erupt with violence.

"Gentlemen, do we have a problem here?" she asked with a warning tone, still rubbing at her arms.

"...no, no we don't," replied Duncan coolly. "We've got what we came for. You might want to warn your white knight who he's dealing with. We won't be as kind next time." With a dismissive look at the Landsman's firearm, he put an arm on the seething Randall's arm and led him away into the smoky afternoon. Kitty gave her apparent rescuer a wildshy glance and retreated through the crowd towards the bar. Some of the patrons had begun to notice things were going awry and the song had begun to trail off raggedly towards the end. Summoning a surge of energy from somewhere inside, she leapt and hoisted herself to sit on the counter and indulged in some impromptu versification. The final chorus came to an end, and she came in smoothly with her vibrant alto voice, reflectively.

"I wasn't born right down 'ere, among these smoky halls
Not from the great black market, and all its thousand stalls"

Here Kitty's voice began to lift and picked up speed, excited to be bringing the song home.

"I made the choice, came down the stair, ditched landward cant for drawls
Now I'm one of you my friends, all Rats, Rats in The Walls!"

Her arms were spread to all her people, the Rats in The Walls as they all came in with a rousing final chorus that restored the mood in the pub; a merry, drinking, lucrative mood that soon had her selling and pouring a whole new round of drinks. While she was kept busy with a smile pasted on her face, she searched the quieter corners beyond the hub and throng and was strangely unsurprised to see Brulow's piercing green eyes looking back at her. Brulow was a recent addition to the area, but he tended to be protective of those he saw as his friends.

Only a fool would take that as weakness.

She nodded slightly to him, then cast a quizzical look towards the benign stranger with his gun before returning her attention to the important business making the money she needed to pay off the sociopathic crimeboss. How had it come to this?

Snowflake · Jan 19, 2018

With a disgruntled sigh Vazkho holstered the pistol as soon as the situation was resolved. Sometimes he felt there just weren't any right choices. You act and you only make the problem bigger for the victim, you don't and you're heartless and corrupt official who doesn't do their job. He watched the two muscle heads leave, it seemed they were content with whatever the lady told them. How he loathed these situations where his hands were tied, perhaps if he didn't get involved already it would've been easier to ignore it. He shook his head and found a seat at the bar of the pub. Pulling back the hood he revealed a mess of black, dirty and oily hair filled with soot. He hasn't had a shower in weeks, most of which was spent looking for the kid up top. He pulled down the cowl as well, the air here was manageable and his rugged stubble was getting itchy underneath. His face was dirty, stained with black streaks from god knows what filth he managed to pick up on his gloves.

The cloak was as filthy as it comes with all sorts of grime caught on the lower ends. His clothes underneath were a bit less filthy with the exception of his muddy combat boots. Clothes were typical of a man on the move, light garbs with weather protection and a belt to hold the holster and the flask and few pouches for money and ammo. He grunted something unintelligible and rummaged through a pouch only to realise he was fondling bullets, not coins. He switched and found a few coppers. Should be enough for... something, maybe. Shrugging he put the flask on the bar-top along with a dozen coppers and rubbed his tired dark brown eyes further dirtying his face. With how long he's been on his feet it was no surprise he was making dumb moves. For now the only winning move was to wait for the bar-lady to get to him and in the meantime mind his own business. When it was finally his turn to order he just offered the flask. "Fill it up with whatever I can get for this much." His flask has always been a bit of a concoction of tastes. From the day he acquired it he never washed it once, only kept filling it with different alcohol each one taking only a bit of taste from the previous one until it turned into something that people say tastes as awful as he looks, which wasn't far off. "Sorry if I made a bigger problem. It wasn't my intention to come in like that after everything was done and escalate it. I must be tired, or just out of my element here. My apologies, ma'am." He inclined his head politely.

Pahn · Jan 22, 2018

The man who tapped on his shoulder was a pure stranger, and it took Brulow quite some self-control to not grab his arm and twist it. Just as he was about to say something mean, he saw the man take out a gun and point it at the thugs who were harassing Kitty. The young man's frown deepened and he moved over to the shadows in the pub, staying out of the way but trying to get a glimpse at the woman's face. They had been acquaintances for a few years now, he had first met her when his group was growing and she was building her pub. The place was built on her sweat and blood, and he had promised to himself he'd help her around whenever possible.

Once the thugs left with Kitty's promise of additional payments, to which he gritted his teeth, the new man sat down and drunkenly looked for his coin pouch. Brulow recognized his uniform - the man was a fucking Cloak! What was he doing here? Why was he after Kitty?! Sensing the rage boil inside him, he took note of the filthiness of his clothes. So the Cloak had been down here for quite some time, it seemed. Even more suspicious of the newcomer, he returned Kitty's nod and took out a few coppers from his own pouch, placing them on the table.

The young woman's singing voice was absolutely delightful. It was of his opinion that The Walls was as popular as it was in huge part to Kitty's radiance and cheerfulness. While most people were gloomy and corrupted in the Underground, she was like a breath of fresh air. She was perhaps one of the only adults Brulow didn't quite hate.

"Priss came runnin', said some of the Hound's goons were causing problems. Everything okay?" He asked her softly once she came by his table. "Just get me some ale, please." A sincere smile spread across his face, but it didn't quite erase the smug expression that was glued to his face permanently. "Who's the new guy? Friend o' yours?"

Anguissette · Jan 22, 2018

Whiskey, ale, whiskey, whiskey, ale. Behind her broad professional smile, Katherine made a private wager each time as to what the next patron would order. Though tired, she got it right more often than not - the joy of having a crowd mostly made up by regulars. She asked Lazarus about his family, then Harry whether anyone had found her pet cat yet. As they both knew, the most likely explanation was that the cat had either ended up in a stew or sold at the black market in sausages and pies. Still, giving up hope was a step away from giving up altogether as she often said, and before she moved on to her next customer they both agreed that the ginger moggy had certainly found some warm place to sleep and would be back tomorrow.

The next patron seemed like the whiskey type, but confounded her pattern by simply asking for whatever he could afford and dumping a generous stack of coppers out onto the countertop. It was the man with the gun, and after a moment's hesitation she took his flask and gave it an experimental shake. Only dregs by the sound of it, and with an eye on the coppers she reached for a bottle of whiskey on the shelf behind her - not the raw cheap stuff either. "I appreciate the intention Mr Cloak," she said politely, "I certainly do."

She began to pour, eyes flicking reassuringly to the smaller man at his table. "We don't see your kind down here often, and by and large that's the way we like it. Some of us have moderately unfond memories of the law that decided we belonged down here." She held his gaze as she set down the bottle and screwed the top on the flask, then smiled; a quick and subtle gesture easily missed if one wasn't already looking for it. "For myself I thank you," adding weight to this with the sudden appearance of a crude wooden cup which she filled with a last splash of the powerful spirits.

"Although a thing like this, it's never done." Kitty sighed wearily and nodded toward the doorway where the two had left. "Even if you'd shot them both - and that's an if - the Hound would have sent more men the moment you were gone. Less reasonable men." This, while the thick fingermarks on her arms were still turning red. "Th' only way to keep me safe in the long term is if'n you were going to stay, and my man might have somethin' to say about that." The look she gave the bouncer was a mixture of disappointment and resignation, and she simply shook her head. "Not that he's worth much I'll tell you. If you really wanted to do me a favour, you could quietly ask him to leave without making a fuss." She hesitated, then slid the half-full bottle across the bar to stand beside his flask. "Violence is bad for business." The chocolate-haired woman with the sparkling grey eyes gave him a curious smile, collected the pile of coins with a single smooth motion and moved on to the next thirsty patron.

There was another song going, a call-and-response tune about the baker's wife and her adventures on the Elevator ("...and she rode up and down!") which she sang along with as moved out among the tables, planning her course so that she just happened to reach Brulow's table last, with time to stand and speak a spell after pouring his ale into a foaming mug.

She never sat, not while The Walls were open.

"It's good to see you," she said, dimpling the smile she'd reserved for him since catching him feeding his ragged little band out of his own pockets when times were hard. "You know how it is Brulow, he can't stand to see a woman running her own business without trying to put the squeeze on." She shook her head, though the smile didn't quite seem to escape her lips. "It's not the same as when the Spider was here. She was a cold-hearted bitch, but at least she listened. Look..." her eyes dropped, then lifted to his again.

"I wanted to thank you for the supplements for Violet. Priss wouldn't tell me how you got them, but they've really helped. You're not normally a drinker, but there must be something I can do to help." She listened to his response (if any), before turning back to his questions and looking over her shoulder to see what the Cloak was up to so far from his usual haunts in the Land above.

"I saw his Cloak same as you, but I've never seen him before today. His heart seems in the right place at least, though he's got no clue how the Underground works. He might's well have come in waving his badge as that gun." She gave a wry half smile. "Though, he did come. So did you, I notice. I appreciate it, don't think I don't. But I'm... fine, really." She might have been convincing to the most self-obsessed Floater jewel merchant. Then again, maybe not. Everyone in the area knew what the Hound was like. Once he had you under his thumb and beholden to him, he liked to make you squirm.

Snowflake · Jan 22, 2018

Even within the lowest reaches of the city there were still people who wanted Vazkho to solve their problems for them. It was funny how similar the situation was to the one with the Floaters. Even the currency remained the same, favour for a favour. There were days when he felt like all anyone ever did was use him, days when the nickname Hound-Dog felt terribly apt and painful to bear. At least when those days arrived he could always take solace in the fact that all he was doing was to help his sister, that when the burden of it all grew too much he could go to her. Down here, that luxury was lacking, all the safety nets of the Land were absent as well. Just him and a faraway ember of his goal, one step at the time through the darkness he ventured on.

His arrival was met about as well as he expected it to be; disdainful welcome and a 'thanks for trying' remark. At the very least he was happy to learn that despite all that, his money was good here, at least for now that is. He must have made a miscalculation when counting since the copper not only refilled his flask but also netted him a cup to boot, or maybe that was the lady's way of showing gratitude. In truth he couldn't tell, some combination of booze and fatigue made it hard to discern. He yawned fighting it off with more alcohol from the cup. Whatever it was that she served him it looked much better than what the others were having, at least judging from their expressions after downing it.

A bottle slid and stopped before him, along with a request. With a groan disguised by the noise of the rabble he grabbed the bottle by the neck and retrieved his flask fastening it to his belt. As much as he wanted to help this lovely lady with her Hound problem he found that it would probably take more time than he had. If that lost boy wasn't dead yet he might be soon. Perhaps fulfilling this request would push the things in his favor so that he may begin to ask around for information properly. He stepped outside joining the Bouncer at his side noting his seemingly boneheaded intellect. Vazkho wrapped his arm around the man like an old friend would. He handed him the half full bottle of some foul smelling booze. "My friend, your services are no longer needed. Go get yourself some rest, you've earned it." He encouraged the fella to start leaving by giving him a gentle push and tap on the back. Of course should the man think that he wants to stay and maybe get in the owner's pants later Vaz made an effort to appear as menacing as possible by furrowing his brows just enough as he looked up at him.

It was in his best interest to accomplish this task exactly as requested; finding that boy all alone would be almost impossible he realised now. Having at least one person suggesting places to look at would go a long way in his tracking. Somehow he didn't want to disappoint this Lady. She was the first person in the Underground that didn't try and spit on him or run away in terror and that went a long way to him liking a person.
As it turned out he was right about the Bouncer, he did in fact want to stay around and get drunker but as he turned and faced the eyes of a hunter, albeit a slightly inebriated one he thought twice about his decision and with the bottle in hand chose to leave. Satisfied Vazkho let a slight smirk escape him as he went back inside. He did not wish to disturb the lady while she worked but his time was valuable, a constant ticking of his pocket-watch kept reminding him of that. A sea of people was in the way but somehow he managed to break through to the Bar-Lady, hopefully he would learn her name and stop calling her that.

"Please, excuse me for interrupting. I'm... Well, they call me Hound-dog"- he didn't seem too satisfied with that name- "You can just call me Cloak to avoid confusion. I'm here looking for a lost boy from The Sky. He got lost a couple weeks ago near the Centre up in the Land but we found no trace of him. Do you maybe think you can help me find him?" He retrieved a small photo from one of his pockets underneath the cloak and shoved it to Kitty. "He looks like this. Maybe at least you can tell me who might know anything useful."

Pahn · Feb 12, 2018

"You're looking well, too. And don't mention it - Violet is one of my many sisters. I'mma keep your offer in mind though, never know when I might need a hand." Brulow winked and turned his head slightly towards the Cloak. He listened carefully to Kitty as she spoke about the mysterious man, but his eyes quickly went back to examine her face when she reassured him she was fine.

The tavern owner was one of the only adults Brulow wholeheartedly respected. She was kind and without malice, and he had never heard her act all self-important or like she was some big name. He wished he could make all the girls in his lair look up to her and aim to become like Kitty. Priss had a mind of her own, of course, but she had years of living in the Underground with him and the other boys. Girls always had it harder around here than boys.

Suppressing a shudder with a large sip of ale, Brulow turned back to study the cloak. He looked on edge and despite his filthiness, he stood out like a sore thumb. There was this thing about Cloaks and citizens of the Land in how they carried themselves around rats, the extra swagger in their step and pretentious smug look on their faces, that made Brulow instantly loathe them. This Cloak didn't seem any different.

"I hope he doesn't cause any trouble. It's never a good sign when they send their ugliest guys down here. Someone must'a greased his palm. Never a good sign, nuh-uh." Just as he took another sip of the ale, the person in question shouted across the tables at Kitty. Obnoxious and no sense of self-awareness, he won't last long around here. Brulow smiled to himself and rolled his eyes at Kitty.

"Yes, you are interrupting. Hound-dog? Ya might want a different moniker here, mister. If anyone thinks you're related to THE Hound, things ain't gonna be easy for ya." The young man made sure his comments carried over the chatter of the pub, and once his eyes caught sight of the creased photograph, his jaw set tightly. He recognized that child. But he most certainly wasn't about to trust a Cloak with that useful piece of information.

Anguissette · Feb 16, 2018

The more time that passed since the Hound's curs left, the more comfortable the innkeep seemed to get. This was her home after all, if not remotely like the one she'd been born into. Perhaps that was a part of why The Walls had been so successful; on top of her lack of airs, Kitty also retained the traces of the accent of her youth. This made her just that little bit more exotic, more unique, harder to ignore or forget. A peal of drunken laughter snatched her attention away from the young man across the table, and when she turned back her fingers flexed and patted the table in frustration. It was fine at the moment, but her guests were better at keeping to the less destructive side of their drunkenness if there was someone keeping an eye on them.

"I like you Brulow," she said as she turned back. "I like what you're doing, and the way you take care of your little friends. I like the way you keep Violet in your thoughts as well but I'm asking you, please; stay away from her. I don't want her to know a street girl's life, even with a friendly bird to look out for her among the rats." She reached out to rest a hand on the back of his against the table, her face speaking louder than words that she means no offence. "I'm trying to build something here so that she never has to." Her fingers flexed in frustration, then slid away across the stained wood.

"I'd hoped that when I spoke to you next I'd be able to make you an offer. One of your birds who simply isn't tough enough for the street, or needs some extra shelter; I can almost afford to pay a living wage for someone to help me around the place, but now..." Her expression darkened. "I need to deal with the Hound and hopefully make him see that I work better without Management. But it will still take time to be able to build The Walls up so I can pay him his little gifts and save- um, employ someone as well."

That was when the Cloak called out to her. Her eyes went a quick journey from him to the stool at the bar where her drunken former bouncer had already been replaced, then to the lack of bottle in the Cloak's hands. When they returned to his face, they warmed with approval. "Thanks Hound-dog, I appreciate your support there. Boyd cleaned up well but I think he was more interested in helping himself to my stock than helping me in any way that's meaningful."

She took the photo he offered, feeling the edges crisp in her palm as Brulow spoke up. Even in the flickering half-light of the drinking hole she could tell she didn't recognise the smiling child in that picture. She hadn't seen any child that well-dressed, well-fed and happy since she came down here. She listened to Brulow's response, then slid the photo across to him to examine more carefully. "My friend isn't wrong, Hound-dog. I know you're not tied up with the Hound, not with the way you greeted his curs, but most people who hear that name are going to run the other way. I suggest maybe a different handle while you're here. You are allowed to do that, right?" Her voice rose curiously. "I mean, your dark masters in the Inquisition don't insist on you only using the one name? I'm Kitty by the way."

She didn't introduce her friend. She knew Brulow found it hard to trust, and even if she wasn't completely certain of who or why she treasured the fact that he felt comfortable with her. Pointing a finger to the photo, she brought the conversation back around to the Cloak's concerns. "I haven't seen him sorry. The Underground has a way of chewing up the young if they aren't careful, so I hope you're wrong and he never came down this way. Why would you think he did?" She half-smiled, then looked around at the building cries for her attention from the sadly parched gentlemen and ladies of the bar. "I'll just be a minute," she called back and rose to her feet. She wasn't ready to leave just yet, however running a pub on your own seldom left time for conversation.

Snowflake · Feb 18, 2018

Exhaling in disappointment, Vazkho dragged his hand across his stubble stretching the skin. Retrieving the photo he placed it back in his pocket and with a sigh took a sip from his flask. "Yeah well like I said, just Cloak will do for now. This place is hardly crawling with us anyway." As if to make a point he glanced across the pub. "Some witness testimonies put the kid en route to the Underground, ever since his group realised he was missing Cloaks and other fine folks had been scouring the Land looking for him, had he returned someone would have seen him. I suppose he could have found his way here and then promptly ended up dead or worse. I hope that is not the case, I don't want to have to explain to his parents what happened." Vazkho sat down while Kitty rushed off to deal with her guests. He reached up to rub his eyes but thought better and first wiped off his filthy glove on a part of his cloak. "Look, kid." He said rubbing his eyes. "Unlike me, the kid has a future and loving parents. Loving enough to break the law in order to get me down here to look for him. If you know anything..." He stopped halfway remembering where he was and what those eyes saw in him. "Never mind, forget it. Maybe I go ask the Hound, ah but I already threatened his men." He clicked his tongue unsure what to do now.

"At least Kitty has someone keeping an eye on her, don't see what a kid could do against The Hound and his men, but at least you got heart." Even down here people were still the same and Vazkho didn't miss that Brulow was just waiting for a chance to help Kitty. "It's good to know this place isn't as bad as I remember it. I'll be out of your way as soon as I rest a bit." He retrieved a pocket watch from his jacket to check the time. A dull brass thing with cracked glass cover. After winding it up he placed it back in his breast pocket, familiar ticking calming him down. "Fifteen hours..." He whispered to no one in particular barely audible over the noise of the pub. If all else failed he would just have to go to The Hound, make a show of lethality, throw some threats around and see what happens. He truly regretted taking this particular job. It was so much easier to just patrol the Land and occasionally kick someone's ass. "What happened to Spider?" He asked suddenly his mind racing to come up with a solution. A trick he picked up from the Floaters. Have a problem with a gang is easily solved by financing another gang to deal with them, it's always cheaper to go to the competitor than the first and obvious choice. Helping the Spider could get rid of the Hound and also give him the information he needed.

Pahn · Feb 20, 2018

The young man couldn't stifle the laugh that followed Kitty's threat to stay away from Violet. He didn't bother explaining that most (if not all) the kids in the Chattering Choughs were orphaned or runaways. More than once, he and Priss had taken the time to bring children back to their families, whether they were from the Land or the Sky. His little birds were still with him because they trusted him and believed in what they did.

"My birds are all pretty tough, mind you. I'll see what we can do to... Push back." Brulow's eyes ignited at the prospect of getting rid of the Hound for good, and the more ale he drank, the more he felt deep in his heart that it would be for the best. The black market area was crawling with petty criminals, and when the Spider had been the big boss of it, there had been a certain peace and tranquility that he now missed. Rats leave sinking ships, though, and he wasn't dumb enough to think the Spider's goons would go back to her side when the Hound was still around.

He also bit his tongue when the cloak called him a kid again. Maybe where he came from boys his age were green and weak, but Brulow was sure he could survive longer than this pig down here. It wouldn't be smart to retaliate, especially if the old man got suspicious and took him in for questioning. He knew where the boy in question was, after all.

"The Spider?" Brulow eyed the cloak again carefully, debating how much he should say. The Underground's business had never been the Cloaks' business, but he didn't mind entertaining the poor fool. "She got bit by the bigger, badder rats. That rat turned out to be the fuckin' Hound and he hungry." He laughed heartily and finished his ale. Every sip tasted less bad than the previous one, but he would never get used to the bitter taste. "She's still around, licking her wounds I reckon. It ain't smart to go after those whose pride's been hurt. She used to own most of the area around here, and was as fair as a criminal can be, but she wasn't a wicked one. Better her than the Hound." The last bit was whispered as though he was confiding in the cloak. Nothing of what he said was a lie, but it was an oversimplification meant to distract him from actively seeking out the Spider. Brulow wasn't about to let this land dog start another turf war.

Anguissette · Feb 24, 2018

Brulow's glowing eyes haunted Kitty as she danced and wove through the crowd towards the bar. Being on her feet all day and half the night - or was that the other way around? - she was accustomed to an ache in her calves and thighs that only went away as she slept when the sweltering heat from the boilers was just right. The ache in her head was just as easily ignored, a product of the smog from too much industry and the smoke from too many patrons lighting up within her particular hole in the wall. Sure she had a cough now and then. Who didn't in the sooty Sewers? It was the pain in her chest that was harder to ignore when she thought of the raffish young man and his little followers picking a fight with the Houndsmen.

In the days before the Hound seized control of the territory, one after another of the Spider's enforcers had turned up with their throats torn out. Some blamed the Platypus at first, but all drew in a little closer to the lit spaces of the Underground. Who truly knew what lived out in the deep spaces of the Sewers? It was only when a keen-eyed girl told stories of seeing roughly dressed men accosting the Spider's majordomo and using some kind of metal jaws on him that they began to realise the reality; another gang was waging undeclared war on hers. The days that followed were blood-soaked and brutal, sending the more gentle rat-folk indoors until the storm passed. When they came out again, the Hound was firmly in charge, with a deathgrip on the territory's major arteries. The Spider was relegated to a small corner of her old territory with only her diehard supporters around her, stewing in her own bile.

Kitty didn't want to see any of the Choughs like that, little birds broken and torn in pools of their own blood.

Sidling behind the length of wood the smoky-eyed woman slapped a reaching hand away with a warm smile. "Now now Nate, you don't want to steal from me do yer? I din't keep yer waiting all that lon'." The man muttered something apologetic and she deftly poured from the flask he'd been reaching for and took his coin in exchange. She kept one eye on the men she'd been speaking to before as she worked her way down the bar on a tide of playful banter and alcohol, and when she reached the other end she was satisfied that they were still captivated by their own concerns. That suited her just fine and she batted aside the attempt the bearded drunkard at the end made to pay her.

"Doan' yer think ye've had enough, Ewing?" she challenged, watching him intently as he drew himself up.

"I kin' hold ma own Kitty, doan' yer worry none," the old man boasted, then belched wheezily as he attempted again to pay her.

"Then keep yer coin," she said, leaning in with her voice low. "This drink's on me, and yer coin's no good the next time you come in... if you deliver a little message fer me."

The oventender looked owlishly at her, tapping the side of his nose in a parody of subtlety. "Love letters, is it? O' course I will! Who is ther lucky fella?"

She poured his drink and slid it across the wood to him, only responding when he reached out, "Tell Agnetha I want to see her here, by closing time. Tell her I'll make it worth her while." Her smile was wintery then, the smoke in her gaze freezing over. "An Ewing, be persuasive. If she doesn't show - if, say, yer pass out on yer way there an forget - yer coin really will be no good here, ever again."

His hand froze for a second, then he took up the cup and drained it in one smooth motion. "Doan yer get huffy with me missy, Ol' Ewing never put his name to a task but he carried it out but well. Ye'll get yer visit, though I warn against disappointing her. My girl's never been patient with timewasters."

Snowflake · Mar 3, 2018

Vazkho listened to the lad while picking away at the grime from his gloves. It seemed as if this Spider was a fair bit more meek than the Hound, it was probably why she lost her footing. He scoffed. "Merely a couple of hours down here and I am reminded of how much I hate this place. Maybe next time I show up with a few friends, put down a couple of rabid Hounds then go back up." He chuckled gruffly, alcohol from earlier finally reaching his head. "Where can I find The Spider, seems she might be just about the only one I can reasonably expect not to shank me in the ribs for just existing. Besides if she's as fair as you say she might actually help me find the boy. You might think it's not smart to go to her but I have a different view on that." Perhaps it was the mixture of desperation, alcohol and that tiny speck of chivalry that pushed Vazkho on to find a way to deal with both the Hound and the missing kid at the same time. In his clockwork of a mind, all he had to do was speak with The Spider and he would be helping at least two ladies with their problems and possibly find some useful information on little Elliot.

"Or maybe you'd prefer if I left it all alone, eh chap. Just abandon the little lost boy and leave you to deal with The Hound on your own. Not poke the hornet's nest, so to speak." A smirk crossed Vazkho's lips. "Can't do that, I'm afraid. This little piggy will be starting all sorts of trouble around. That little boy might just make the difference between my sister living 5 or 10 more years. She caught some sort of sickness down here, needs Oxygen on the regular along with some Medicine too. You see, someone down here got her hooked on it, poor thing is bedridden most of the time." He looked at the young man with an intense stare, face firm like a statue. "What happens down here is all the same to me, but I have one person I care about." He still needed a bit more rest before he was ready to move on. Of course, at the very least he could thank Kitty for her hospitality.

Pahn · Mar 19, 2018

"And if you care about her, you'll avoid poking the hornet's nest that is the Hound." Brulow borrowed the Cloak's own words against him and held his stare, unflinching and breathing quietly through his nose. The sensitive skin in his nostrils burned slightly from the acrid air, but he was used to it by now. The plum pudding of folks in Kitty's pub always dragged in weird and foul smells. "Look... I can help you find the boy. I just need one piece of information from you."

While he saw Kitty talking with one of her patrons from the corner of his eye, Brulow frowned at their quiet exchange but forced himself not to focus on her private business. He stood up silently and pushed the chair back against the table (he could never get rid of those damned polite etiquette he'd been forced to learn as a child) and walked towards the Cloak. Up close, he looked even dirtier and the desperation on his face was obvious.

"Tell me and don't fucking lie." His voice was low enough that no one but the Cloak would hear him. There was a menacing undertone to it, but nothing that would alarm the old man to malicious intentions, if he thought Brulow had any. "Why'd he run away? Little boys don't disappear unless they're snatched, and if he was snatched, he ain't ever gonna see his mama again. If he ran away, he must've been running from something. I'm not about to help anyone bring a boy back to someplace where he's going to be abused."

Brulow sniffled loudly and rubbed his nose. His familiar smirk slipped across his lips as the warming effect of the ale finally came through. "I'm sure you understand, mister Cloak. Sorry to hear about your sister, can't be a fun situation either. She shouldn't have come here, the weak ones don't survive very long."

Anguissette · Mar 25, 2018

Kitty returned to the little table the same way she'd come, doing an intricate dance that set her sailing between the different tables with a minimum of grab-ass and no empty mug left unfilled. She had to take two circuits back to the bar when either the ale or the whiskey ran short, and knew better than to tempt fate by depositing any coin behind the unattended structure. She lost a little ale some evenings to patrons getting tired of waiting and simply reaching over the counter, but she accepted that as part of the cost of doing business on her own.

One day she'd have a bar girl. Or she'd stick behind the bar and let the girl test how agile she was at serving the floor. Some of those pinches would have bruised when she bathed later, and Vi was getting old enough to ask uncomfortable questions when she saw them. She wanted to give her daughter a good life, didn't want her to accept this as normal or in any way okay. If only Dylan were still alive, he would be the perfect example for her baby in what to expect from a man. Instead... she would just have to be clearer in words than she could afford to be in example.

She returned to the table in time to catch the last few words and the air of confrontation, if not the discussion that led up to it. "The weak don't survive very long?" she echoed, folding her arms. "That depends on who they find - or who finds them first, don't it?" She couldn't understand why Brulow was being so hostile about this. She knew full well that he'd taken in the lost or the doomed once or twice, at least if they were still young enough to be fit into his little flock. For some reason beyond her comprehension he seemed embarrassed by the fact and she wouldn't air his spotless white laundry willy-nilly. But from her tone and her folded arms anyone who knew her could clearly tell that she did not approve of the line she thought he was taking.

She turned back to the Cloak, rested a gentle hand on his arm. "Don't give up hope. There's every chance he's still around somewhere down here, and if I see him I'll keep him by me until you can take him back to his folks. In fact," she shot a glance at Brulow, then back at the Landsman, "If you're going to be down here a few days looking for him, you can sleep at my place. You've seen the great drunken oaf off who was sleeping there before, and I have family I can sleep with instead." Violet's bed was cozy, but it wouldn't be the first time she'd slept there after soothing the girl's nightly fears, when exhaustion got the better of her.

Snowflake · Apr 7, 2018

The man crossed his arms and leaned back as he considered Brulow's question. "Even if I knew or cared to inform myself, do you honestly think I would tell you while trying to garner sympathy in a place where there is none? To you, it might seem like running away from such a decadent lifestyle demands a serious reason, but you have no idea how many of them floater kids run down to the Land to go on these 'adventures' because life at the top lacks adversity and entertainment. If he was snatched then I will deliver back the corpse for a funeral, if he ran... I'd say in about a day more he will realise this place is much worse than anything up there. Personally, I don't care what happens to him after he's back but as far as his parents go they are respectable folk. Not the best of the floaters but I highly doubt they would condone any sort of abuse towards the boy." Vazkho shrugged, it wasn't his business to poke his nose too deep into other people's business when it didn't concern him or his work. In a way, he was a terrible agent but more than made up for it in tenacity. Thankfully he wouldn't have to point that out to Brulow as Kitty reappeared.

It was a welcoming sight to see someone so friendly down here. Could very well be she figured being nice to a cloak would be useful one day and it just so happened that Vazkho was the kind to repay debts sometimes even twofold. "Much appreciated, but in case you plan on stripping me of my possessions when I inevitably pass out from exhaustion or booze, at least leave the iron, down here it's worth more to me than copper." The heavy old thing was more of a blunt instrument than a proper modern revolver. Had a nasty habit of not firing due to excessive grime and constant abuse in the smog filled streets. Calling it a piece of iron wasn't a clever name it was an accurate description. "Thank you very much Ms. Kitty, I might not be able to pay the full price of boarding right now, but at least I can take over as the muscle for tonight and after I return topside I'll send payment your way or come personally if time allows it. That said, hopefully tomorrow I will have more luck searching." Despite Kitty's effort he didn't sound too hopeful about it. If anything it seemed like the yound lad next to him had an idea where to find the kid but refused to tell him. All understandable, no one liked Cloaks that much, the least of all were the Rats.

Golden City Prequel: The Curious Mystery of Elliott Thistlewaite

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