Creature City Revival

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Minerva stood up alongside Dawn. "Employment, you say?" She grinned at that.
 
Jack caught Minerva's gaze and he very vaguely recognised her. Wasn't she the hooker whose younger brother so often came to the Chief for a fix? Jack didn't deal in drugs too much, but Abner (if he was remembering the name right) was so dependent that it was worth just supplying him for all the money he got out of it.
"Yes," he responded simply. "I take it you're interested." His cool gaze studied her intensely.
 
"Yessir, always on the look out for opportunities." Minerva chuckled, four eyes locking with the Chief's own. Vince wouldn't be happy with her words- lord of the Fridgewalt siblings, and testy as all hell when they tried to work under somebody else- but who cared. This guy, he always appeared much more respectable than the likes of Vince.
 
Jack smiled, though it appeared as more of a sneer. Then he ducked out of the break-room without a word and went to stand outside the club in the glare of a streetlight, his cigarette almost permanently in his mouth. He wondered briefly how much damage one could do to their lungs in a single evening, and noticed how he now liked the feeling of smoke moving in and out of his mouth when earlier he'd hated it.
Dawn stood and wrapped a silk kimono around herself, then slipped dainty feet into thigh-high black latex boots.
"He's like that," she said, voice husky, to Minerva. "He demands this weird sort of respect. But he pays well, the Chief; he pays well in money or... other things." There was the faintest scar on the inside of Dawn's elbow, just over a vein. She caressed it before leaving the break-room to join the Red Chief outside.
 
Minerva exchanged a look with Aelia, bemused and slightly energetic, before calling after Dawn.
"I'll join ya!" She ran, sprawling and clumsy from the break-room, forgetting about her night shift.


"I don't trust 'im." Rook folded her arms over her chest, stance wide. Volkof only smiled, that brilliant, red licourice grin.
"Don't be silly, Rook. He's with us." She purred, running her dainty hands through her hair.
"He's going to make us money." She was dismissive, Rook realized, because she liked him. It wasn't the first time she'd mulled the concept over, but now it seemed so real. It was impossible for her fearless leader to see something amiss in the Red Chief's glittering eyes. His charm had won her over.

"When he stood in the hallway, I caught something. A scent maybe. All I'm saying is, he ain't a vampire." Rook said cautiously, broaching the fact awkwardly.
Volkof's patience was waning, and she shot Rook an irritated, exasperated glance.
"Then what is he?"
"Not sure. I think he's covering something up."
 
The cold was biting, but Dawn barely felt it: a dragon's blood runs boiling hot. She came to stand just behind the Chief, and her exhales crystallised in the air in front of her.
"Your work starts tomorrow," said Jack pointedly, taking a moment to crush a dead cigarette beneath his shoes before turning slowly to face the girls. "It will take... as long as it takes. Any shifts you miss at the club due to it, I'll cover with a bonus." He looked around at the faceless creatures passing them. In this dive, there wasn't a soul who didn't recognise him.
"I won't tell you about the nature of the job until we're in a safe place."
Dawn nodded, and said huskily, "I'll take you to my flat, Sir. Come on, Min."
 
Minerva hurried alongside them. She was curious after hearing snippets of their dialogue. Just what did this job entail?
 
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Dawn's flat was seven storeys up. Some of her neighbours waved to her as they passed - Minerva's place, three doors down, was shrouded in darkness. She stopped in front of her door, unlocked it, and went inside. Jack followed.
The smell of incense and weed was strong and a haze seemed to hang throughout the flat. Dawn flipped on the lights and there they were, standing in the lounge. She had two chaise-lounges, both red and a little tattered with gold trims and detailed little legs. The coffee-table was cluttered with empty mugs and a tall, red glass bong. Dawn went to pick up the mugs.
"I would have cleaned if I'd known you were coming, Chief, Sir," she said. The sultriness of her voice seemed suddenly to make sense when she spoke in this hazy atmosphere. She glanced over her shoulder at Aelia and Minerva. "Have a seat, ladies. Sir, I'll get you a key - and can I get you something to drink, or... something of that kind?"
Jack did not sit. Instead, he took small yet calculated steps, slowly surveying the lounge and kitchen, and looking curiously down a darkened hallway.
"I'll have the strongest drink you've got."
 
As soon as Minerva's eyes adjusted to the new light, she stood, hands on her hips in the middle of the room.
"I like the sentiment." She commented, mostly to herself.
 
Dawn held out a glass half-filled with cheap vodka to the Red Chief. He took it, and she went to perch on the edge of one of the chaise-lounges.
"You three are about to become informants," said Jack simply. He knocked back a mouthful of vodka. As he swallowed, it felt like it was burning off a layer of the flesh in his throat. His eyes had never been colder. "There's a man living above The Dragon's Head pub. Wherever he goes, I want him watched. If he speaks with anyone, I want to be told. At all times there are eyes on him - sort the petty details about who watches when amongst yourselves, as long as that remains true. And if I give the order," he paused, just for a moment. It sort of felt like someone was twisting his insides uncomfortably - but he had to ignore it. He breathed in. "If I give the order, he is killed, quickly and without question. Don't worry about repercussions. I can take care of that; you won't come to any harm. Understood?"
 
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Aelia sat calmly, taking in all these details. "Understood," she said, solemn. You didn't say no to the Red Chief once he'd told you his plans if you wanted to show up to work the next day and not in an alley somewhere as another message. She went through a quick map in her mind; the Dragon's Head wasn't far from the strip club where they worked. They could keep an eye on him from the break room upstairs.
 
Dawn nodded curtly, keeping her eyes downcast as she digested this information. Hadn't the Red Chief lived above that pub some time recently? The last time she'd worked for him, that had certainly been his base. She wondered if its new tenant, or perhaps an old roommate, had upset him.
"Understood, Sir," she said. She hoped whoever the man was would be smart enough to avoid having the Chief order his death, so that she wouldn't have to kill him. That wasn't something she'd ever done.
 
That seemed relatively easy work. For most Araneae, it was their lives. Surveillance, informing, or scuttling into the shadows, it was all the same to her.
"You don't need to tell me twice!" She made a mock salute, smiling indulgently at the Chief and Dawn.
 
Jack looked down on Minerva evenly. She would be the best of the bunch, he guessed. Araneae, distrusted as they were, had learned to be good at hiding in shadow. He turned the key Dawn had given him over in his hand, and sat on a chaise-lounge. This was his home for the foreseeable future, then.
He knocked back his vodka in one.
 
Arrow went home. When he'd left the café his ears had strained desperately for the sound of familiar footsteps following him; he imagined arms lacing around his stomach from behind, and turning in their grip to have kisses and apologies rained over his face. But it remained dark and silent. He walked the long route home because he had no-one to lead him expertly through the back-streets.
Walking into The Dragon's Head was like entering a vision of his old life: the bartender called out to him and the regulars grinned and greeted him with warmth. Then someone asked if he was with the Red Chief, and it shattered.
Kastra was asleep by the fireplace. It had died while he'd been out, and the flat was cold. Arrow knelt by it, nudged in some fresh logs, and put his hands to them. Nothing. He shook his wrists frustratedly, trying to conjure his flames. Still, nothing. His angry groan, punctuated with his voice breaking, woke the Griffin; she lifted her head and immediately sat up to cuddle into his side. He eventually gave up on the fire - Phoenixes often can't use flames while they grieve.
Kastra knew something was seriously wrong the moment she got a good look at Arrow's eyes. They were lifeless and furtive, refusing to meet her gaze, and the tops of his cheekbones were flushed red. As she pushed closer, offering her feathers up for warmth and comfort, she watched his eyes get glassy. He started to cry after a minute, soft at first, just a sniffle and a hiccuping breath. Then, when he turned his face into her shoulder, he began to really sob. She let him. The flat was still dark, and the lack of fire meant it was cold now, too. Arrow gripped her like a vice and cried like a baby; Kastra remembered baby Cecilia crying like this when she was an infant left alone for the night, and herself a young beast with a three year old master. Just as she'd done before to the Aster-Pitch children when they cried, she clicked her beak soothingly and bumped her head against Arrow's face. His hands were fisted in her feathers, like she was the only thing tethering him to the ground.
 
Aelia was already forming a plan in her mind. She knew how to keep an eye on people easy; had been doing it for years. The strip club was the best place to pick up on tidbits of information; drunk men and women would, with some light prodding and a dance, spill any information to a hot bunny girl. She'd gained experience in noticing and tracking targets. This would be easy.
Killing, though...that was a new one. An interesting one, too.

Alexis had been asleep for longer than she anticipated. She'd been supposed to meet the girl soon. An informant of hers. Jet didn't know about her; nobody did. One of the many, many wonderful things about her mother training her as well as she did was that Alexis now knew her mother's weak points. She could undermine her.
She was better than her, in almost every way.
But she wouldn't go quite that far unless Jet went soft. No, her mother did need toughening up; and she'd get to that in due time. But Alexis had bigger fish to fry right now.
She slipped out of her room, down the hall to the large, ornate windows at the end. A quick shadowstep got her past them and onto the balcony without making a sound. Calling the shadows to her, she warped them into a net, with two large tendrils reaching up and latching onto the roof. The rest of the net pulled her up soundlessly.
And from there, she spread her wings and flew away.
 
The morning after the dinner party brought grey skies and drizzle; Cecilia watched the winds batter trees in the mansion's front garden, one hand idly carding through Altair's feathers. Ellaria brought her breakfast in bed: a hard-boiled egg, a slab of raw meat and a china cup of jasmine tea flavoured with a little blood. This morning's letters were stacked and tied neatly on the tray. Cecilia opened a few and discarded them if they bored her - she was hoping for correspondence from the Red Chief, but received nothing.
"Did you have fun last night, my lady?" Ellaria asked as she presented Altair with his morning bowl of raw fish heads. From across the hall, the smell of the aromatic bath the maid was running filtered slowly through the west wing.
"Yes! Great fun," Cecilia smiled. Her morning voice was soft and raspy, and she cleared her throat. "Could you have someone pen a little note to Mr Seville thanking him for his company, and that I should like to see him again some time soon?"
"Of course," Ellaria nodded.
"And one for Mr Helarisi. Extend my warmest thanks for joining me at dinner, that I enjoyed his and his family's company, and that I hope to see him at the next event we both attend."
"It will be delivered by midday, my lady. Anything to the Red Chief?"
"Oh, no," Cecilia said. "He can contact me if he likes. I'm not one to chase after delinquent men." Ellaria nodded again, bowed, and left the room. Once the door of the bathroom was closed over behind her she took a moment to text the Red Chief what she had been told.
 
"So who's the lucky fella, then?" Minerva asked, three glittering, black eyes sliding the Chief's way. In order for this to work, they had to work towards finding out what the perp looked like, his regular haunts, and his general habits of behaviour.
 
Jack's breath hitched at Minerva's turn of phrase, but he almost instantly re-composed himself.
"His name is Arrow Seville. He's a historian, something of an antiques dealer; I believe his most recent deal was with the Baroness Aster-Pitch, but I'm aware his client base is varied so he will frequent many parts of the city. He seems a trusting person. Quite sensible - stays away from the pits, goes home each night." He let Dawn come over and light his cigarette and took a deep drag to distract himself from the things he was saying.
 
"This Seville guy, what's he look like?" Minerva tried to paint a picture of him in her mind. A historian, and an antiques dealer on top of that. In her mind the man appeared bookish. Maybe he wore those tweed jackets with the patches on the elbows, had a pair of spectacles with a strip of cellotape over the brim. Suppose he walked with a guarded expression, held his history textbooks to his chest. She shook those thoughts away. Best not to underestimate, especially if the Red Chief himself wanted this guy tailed. To jump to conclusions, especially the faint idea that their subject was harmless, was dangerous. Even antique-dealers, trusting, sensible ones, could be capable of a lot of things. Could look entirely different, too.
 
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