Poisonous Fox

Time had smeared into a sluggish march, each day bleeding indistinguishably into the next beneath the firmament-choked skies of Southbridge. Every morning bore the same smog and iron scent of industry, every twilight sang with the same clanking lullabies from the factories…

At least it would have, if I had lived anywhere other than Blossom Hill. Just thinking of the lower districts left me grateful for my current lodgings. While some elements of pollution reached Ma’Ritz, the location largely sheltered me from the worst of the city’s foulness.

Just thinking of the sewer trenches and where they must flow left me shuddering as I stumbled from bed, for I had just awoken to another day.

However, moving may have been a mistake. My muscles ached sorely and my back felt tender. I may have released an unsuitable noise during my distress.

Fortunately, nobody else heard my indiscretion as the room was currently empty. Marianne must have already been about her business for the day. It surprised me that she had allowed me to sleep in, even if only for a few more moments.

For my morning ablutions, despite the pleasure that soaking in warm water could bring, I skipped a bath, and only did the bare minimum before coming down the stairs and into the kitchen for breakfast. For there was only one thing that helped resolve the muscle fatigue, that granted me the motivation to continue on.

"Please tell me there is some meat available for me," I grumbled as I found Cook starting on her sauce pots and soups for later in the day.

Cook chuffed, her whiskers twitching in her equivalent of pursed lips.

“The kit is welcome to keep her own pantry," she said, crushing my hope for a truly satisfying meal and nearly leaving me in despair.

I could not help but allow this to show upon my face, for I felt a concerning amount of desperation to consume meat, which was hard to find in Southbridge, let alone of the quality and caliber that Cook provided. And it was not only the flavor that enhanced it… there was something else, something else, that caused an intangible yet definite improvement to both energy and mood. While other sources of meat could provide some of this effect, no other source came near as effective as Cook’s. Hence, the unsettling desperation that I felt.

As Cook observed my demeanor, she paused and frowned, her brows scrunching and her eyes narrowing. She made a low, almost yowl-like growl at the base of her throat. She closed her eyes, took a breath, before snorting and staring me eye to eye. She groaned, then offered, "Perhaps a bite still remains."

"Phenomenal,” I answered gladly. But a meal today would not secure a meal tomorrow. So I asked a reasonable question, avoiding any possible accusations of poor inventory management. “But if I might ask, what reason is there for us to be running this low on meat? Has the butcher encountered difficulties?”

“The butcher, the kit says,” Cook chuffed in amusement. “But perhaps there is some truth there. In the future, perhaps the kit may repay this one’s generosity by fulfilling our orders.”

“Yes, of course,” I answered without hesitation. Though privately, I reserved several caveats around my schedule and availability. Though should I learn the butcher’s location, which I suspected was not the typical sort, then I would remove a potential weak link to my continued sustenance. Naturally, I said none of this. “Only tell me when and where, and I will endeavor to do my best.”

Cook snorted. “The kit speaks with the same tone as royalty, yet still offers to run errands.”

I let the comment slide off me as I made my way towards the ice-chest, where there were three wrapped packages, leaking red at the bottom. Each of the packages were no larger than a deck of cards. And that was it. If this was Cook's only meat cooler, then she truly was lacking. Given her own obligate carnivorous diet, it surprised me that she was willing to share.

"Only one," Cook said. "Pick."

Even if what she shared was rationed.

"I appreciate this," I said, my lips pressing into a tight line. I grabbed a wrapped cut and left, hoping that the butcher or runner or whoever the supplier was would come through in the next few days. Or at the very least, that Cook would entrust me with the errand itself.

I left the kitchen and I took a seat at the back of the tavern, near the service entrance. With great care and deliberation, I tried to savor the morsel, letting the richness of the scant juices linger on my tongue. This one came heavily marbled, and had a salty smoky flavor.

It reminded me of pork.

The meal was over all too soon. I licked my fingers clean, and then the butcher paper. My stomach still complained, still far too empty. My schedule was far too active to subsist on so few calories, at least not comfortably. Though already I could feel the effects of the meat begin, an almost humming sensation emanating from my stomach.

Minutes passed as I enjoyed the post-meal bliss. I may have lost track of my surroundings, for I failed to notice her entering or approaching.

"Must be nice, getting a special course from Cook each morn." Tiff's voice grated with venomous sarcasm as she sauntered towards me, contempt writ across her face as she glanced at the used wax paper I had left on the table.

As she had snuck up while I had been perhaps distracted, I jumped just slightly where I sat. I was unsure of what to say nor how to respond, which left me giving her a curious look which likely came across as confused.

“W-why–” I stuttered, before changing tracks. “Gor what reason are you here?” I finally managed to say, although Tiffany Digger had already reached me and was looming over my table.

"And now your tongue is broken,” Tiff said. “Was Cook's meal that rotten? It certainly looked it, you deviant."

"What? no!" I quickly said, worried that somehow words would be put into my mouth and then relaid back to Cook. That was the last thing I needed.

"So then it is a special privilege," Tiffany sneered. "Seems your new job's got perks aplenty, even if it's a deviant one."

Despite her rude behavior, I did know where she was coming from. It was an oddity of the humans in Southbridge, and likely throughout their little kingdom. Eating meat was taboo for humans. It was fine for the beastkin slaves, but not the humans. It was surely an oddity, not the nearly state enforced vegetarianism, but the fact that such an awful society had developed an almost humane diet.

But still, Tiffany required an answer, and I sought to give one that would minimize needless conflict while still preventing me from becoming an easy mark for her bullying.

"Then may I ask what you find to be an appealing meal?” I asked. “Perhaps I can use this alleged favoritism to request it on your behalf.”

She was taken aback for a second, before snorting and shaking her head. “You’d probably steal that too,” she sneered.

An odd choice for a response, as it implied I had stolen from her to begin with. To my knowledge, I had not, and there had been no attempts to frame me for doing so. Fortunately, before I could muster a response, Esmerelda swept into the room, an urgent air about her that brooked no further argument.

"Finished then?" Esmerelda called out as she entered. As she was looking at Tiffany, I assumed she had come for her. “Thought you said it’d be quick.” Esmerelda continued her approach, coming around the corner of a booth until she saw the tenseness between both Tiffany and I. Esmerelda’s eyes also lingered on the used butcher paper. For a second, I thought I would earn Esmerelda’s judgment on my diet as well, but she glossed over it, seemingly uncaring. Instead, she continued with a teasing tone, "Or were you two... preoccupied otherwise?"

Tiffany responded to Esmerelda by glaring at me, as though it were I that proposed indecent relations between Tiffany and I. I shook my head slightly. Tiffany scowled, somehow even more offended.

“Well, sorry to cut you two love birds short, but the kid and I have places to be!” Esmerelda said, already beginning to drag me from my seat. “So I’ll have to get it from you later, Tiff.”

And with that, we left Tiffany scowling where she was as Esmerelda dragged me out, saving me from an unplanned and unwarranted confrontation that I had no desire for. I was sure to express my appreciation as we walked down the winding main boulevard towards the Mercenary Quarter.

Though, as we walked and chatted, I could feel more than one person glance my way. Several even turned up their noses at me, as though they could smell me over the stink of the city. I worried I had made a mistake in skipping bathing that morning, although I doubted that I smelled worse than anyone else. A quick glance towards Esmerelda seemed to imply that nothing was amiss. I felt certain that she at least would inform me if I stank.

However, it was not only these nose-turners who I had caught the eye of.

There were other and far more suspicious characters. Such as a group of men wearing ill-fitting clothes chatting and leaning against a shopfront. They outright glared at me as we passed, and one of them even spat. They muttered several curses, and I felt I wondered what to do. Other than committing their faces to memory for later.

However, before I had the chance to decide, Esmerelda laid a heavy hand on my shoulder and guided me forward, firm but slowly, a silent and unassailable support. Her large stature easily acted as a physical bulwark to the insults and mean glares that several men hoped to 'threaten' me with.

As we passed the checkpoint, one of the peacekeepers there unfortunately recognized me, and I him. He was one of the corrupt ones that had demanded I submit a tribute or sexual favor to, in order for ‘protection.’ Very likely, he was one of the ones to set the Pit thugs upon Ma’Ritz later that night, after I refused. It still amazed me that I and Ma’Ritz as a whole lacked legal recourse to at the very least investigate this obvious source of corruption. It was frustrating.

Of course, we were let through the checkpoint, despite the animosity. Esmerelda would let no other possibility stand. However, even as we passed, the peacekeeper offered another insult, unable to help himself.

"Still waiting on them honest dues," he said, before adding a very unappreciated, “cunt.” Though that was under his breath, likely as Esmerelda looked like she could trounce the lout.

Esmerelda put herself between me and the man, once more acting as a barrier between myself and adversity. She even offered advice as she pushed me forward.

"Keep walking," Esmerelda said. "Don't give them any reasons to make it harder."

After a moment, after we had gained some distance from the checkpoint, entering the busier Mercenary Quarter, I settled into a dour silence. Why should I require protection to simply walk down the street, I wondered with bitterness. I feared that I would always need someone there to protect me, and this left me ill-comfited.

When I had still yet to respond, Esmerelda added, "Jackie?" She glanced at me with concern.

I blew out a heavy sigh and decided to simply play the hand that I was dealt.

"I understand," I replied, letting her know I understood the futility of it all.

Our conversation died after that, though fortunately we had soon arrived at the training yard. I ducked under the chain partition, entering the sand filled area, and began the warmups that Instructor Blackrest had shown me.

Esmerelda left to conduct her own business, leaving me to the tender mercies of the training yard and the care of the instructor.

The next hour progressed quickly, though as I practiced and as I worked up a sweat, I was still haunted by all of the negative attention I had received just that day. The city certainly appeared hostile.

Another hour passed, I began my drills and katas, though I still found myself lost in thoughts and distracted. Which led to Sir Kate Guardson to bark directly in my ear.

"Jackie, focus!" Kate said, scolding me, her eyes fierce beneath furrowed brows. The clang of metal echoed through the dank training hall, reverberating off the brick-walled enclosure like a symphony of war.

I nodded, doing my best to keep my focus. At some point, Kate had joined me, performing her sword kata alongside me, even though her sword kata and my battle-ribbon kata were nothing alike. She was practicing a textbook weighted chop, while I practiced more of a deflect-and-snag. I was sweaty, my muscles ached, my right arm burned, and I regretted being pulled from my distraction, even though focusing was better for my learning long-term./

Athletics: 7/9 (+1)

A minute later, I was rewarded for my efforts with a tingle along my arm as my Mark grew. I resisted the urge to immediately look at it, instead driving into my drill with renewed vigor.

"Yeah, you’re doing better now,” Kate said between resetting her stance. “But something’s up. What is it. Is it me?" She sounded uncharacteristically worried as she finished.

Which was a problem, as I needed to ingratiate myself with Sir Kate as an into the otherside of the actual law. I also wanted to avoid intimacies. Given her seemingly growing feelings for me, it was difficult to balance, but I resolved to continue playing a light and friendly version of ‘hard-to-get.’

I hummed before responding. “Why… Should I have a problem with you?” I asked curiously.

Kate merely gave a winning smile. "Ah.”

We continued for another set of drills, before taking a quick water break. I broached another subject with Kate, granting her a means to redeem herself from whatever she thought she had done. That means, that subject, was Marks, as I still lacked knowledge on this critical subject.

"Every warrior is defined by their Marks," Kate said, her cyan eyes reflecting the storm's intensity. "They're not just pretty tattoos; they're promises of potential. For instance, my Sweord Mark, its living silver and bloodiron. It has several directions it prefers to grow, with some adaptations based upon my own Spirit and my own actions."

"Living silver?" I asked. It was not the first time I had heard that. My unhatched egg (currently held onto by Emboru as collateral), had been bound to me by Living Silver.

"Also called HIgh Silver,” she said. “It's the conductor of the Mark," Kate explained. "It facilitates energy transfer, or whatever terms artificers use. Just remember it's the best one that we can feasibly reach."

"And bloodiron?" I asked. That was the first time I had heard of it.

"Right…” she began rambling. “The gem pigment. Almost like a garnet? I think? It gives the flavor to the Mark, at least mine. Focuses more on blades and combat, and is usually paired with Sweord Marks, though it's a bit spendy. Some people cop out with rust, or garnets. Ends up with a weaker Mark though."

"How do materials work in general, then?" I asked.

"It's... a lot." Kate shuddered. "But you'll want to look at a catalog. Or... encyclopedia. Most people just look at the type of build they want and then find what they can afford."

"And as for the shape of the Mark or Glyph itself?" I asked, confused as to how that worked together with the materials.

"What about it?" Kate asked.

"Do the shapes of the Glyphs mean anything?"

"Course," she said, looking at me as though I were stupid for asking. I chose not to further dig that hole. I would find out how the arcane circuitry worked later.

"Well alright..." A sudden fancy hit me. "Do Alchemists mix the inks together?"

"What...? No? I don't think so anyways. Crown, I hope not."

"Why?"

"Do you even know what Alchemists do? The risks?" her eyes lingered on my left arm. "Nevermind, of course you do. If they mixed inks, then we'd all run the risk of deviations. Can't trust the bastards."

"How do deviations happen, exactly?" I asked.

She grimaced. "Look, Jackie... this isn't really the best place to have this sort of conversation."

"Uh-huh."

"Buuuut, if you want to chat some more about this--"

"No," I said firmly, my lips almost curling upward.

"Yeah, but you didn't even--"

"Nope!" I shook my head. "Answer is no."

"Aw, c'mon!" Kate groaned.

We resumed our training, while I wondered where to find some documentation for Marks and Alchemy. Surely there must have been something out there, even if there was no such thing as wikipedia here.

It was not too much longer before a scraggly looking man wearing sturdy working browns began watching us, in particular, me. He remained there for several minutes, until he saw that I had his attention.

"Little girlie!" he taunted. "Little girlie!"

"Git!" one of the knights shouted at the man, but the man paid no mind.

"Train all you want, but we ain't gonna forget! No ma'am, we won't!" the cretin taunted.

Several knights broke away from their own training to shake the scallywag down, but the man laughed and waved us off as he slipped back into the crowded bustle of the quarter.

"What was that about?” Kate asked me, as the knights resumed their own practice, waving off the spectator as the idiot he was.

“While I am uncertain,” I said, “I think that man was with one of the gangs, the Pit Crews, I think they call themselves.”

“Really?!” Kate asked. “How’d you get mixed up with them?”

I paused. Surely I had told her. I remembered telling her, at least an outline of what had happened. Was she merely making conversation?

“I told you about how they tried shaking down a client at Ma’Ritz, right?” I asked.

“Yeah… but I didn’t realize it was this bad. Are they threatening you?”

“Maybe?” I said. “I probably should figure out how to protect myself from them,” I pondered outloud, intentionally, as Kate had some means and motivation to help resolve this issue.

“Well, the best way to do that is to be so scary none of them mess with you,” Kate said, deciding to ensure I had all the skills I needed to defend myself, which she did by initiating a spar. An unfortunate consequence, though productive.

After several painful exchanges, we reached a stalemate, circling each other at fortyfive degree angles, watching each others hips.

It was then that Kate made an observation. "Your form is improving," Kate said, giving me a compliment.

I was about to respond to the compliment when Kate suddenly lunged forward and thwacked my thigh.

"Ow!" I shouted and jumped back, massaging where there was sure to soon be a bruise.

"But you get distracted far too easily," Kate said, gloating as she strutted around to my side and hung her practice sword.

I complained loudly. "That was cheating!” I protested, though with some good humor. “And I was not distracted. I was just wondering when I would get a new Sigil for fighting," before adding, playfully, a common insult that translated to "Jerk."

"Hey! Don't blame me," Kate said. "That lesson might keep you alive someday. Better now with a wooden sword..."

I grumbled fruitlessly, but I knew she was right.

But still... that blow had smarted.

Blessings: Rank (1/9)

Body: 65

Mind: 75

Spirit: 49

Talents:

Athleticism (7/9) (+1):

Climbing I (4/9)

Featherlight I (3/9)

Inversion (2/9)

Stealth I (7/9)

Trackless Tracks I (3/9)

Area Coverage (5/9)

Alchemical Immunity (ineligible for growth)

Eschiver I (1/9)

Evasion I (1/9)

Impending Sense (1/9)

Lucky Break (2/9)

Spells:

Illusion I (5/9)

Touch (8/9)

Guise of the Kitsune (5/9)

Closed

Gifts:

Obsession (3/9)

Closed (0/9)

Closed (0/9)