Poisonous Fox

“I thought you might be brooding,” Belobog said.

I had just come down to have a more personal conversation with her, not that I desired one. But if I had remained up above, I could not guarantee that she would keep my secrets private, as she seemed content with shouting her side of the conversation up at me, regardless of who may have been listening.

“...And you’re totally right,” she added, a smug grin plastered across what little of her face I could see beneath the shadow of her hood. “I really might have done something like that.”

Already, I had come to terms with the fact that Belobog was seemingly psychic. She had already implanted a suggestion once, as benign as it may have seemed. I should hardly be surprised that she also had a Talent to read a person’s thoughts.

Though, I considered, rather than actual mind-reading, she may have just been relying on cold-reading–

“I’m not,” she said, interrupting my train of thought.

That confirmed nothing.

“What do you want?” I asked with a defeated irritation.

Belobog pantomimed grievous offense.

“What do I want?!” She exclaimed, continuing the farce. “I’m wounded, Jackie. Why would you think I came all this way to visit my favorite floundering and poorly self-directed potential friend?”

I had to run that sentence through my head several times as she spoke quickly and implied far more than each individual word connotated. By the time I finished picking apart what she said, one of the more prominent implications revolved around what could be construed as a threat.

“Potential friend?” I repeated. This was of course ignoring the fact that I would consider Belobog the opposite of a friend, or at the very most an acquaintance. She and I both knew that already. Her words meant something more.

“Well….” Belobog said, trailing off. She then made a show of looking around, to ensure privacy. She then put a hand to the side of her mouth and lowered her voice in a hushed stage whisper. “You didn’t hear this from me, but the team is wanting results real quick. And seeing as you’re already recovered from your new Mark and all…”

Because of course she already knew that I received a Mark and that I had nearly recovered from the procedure. Though I still nursed my sides and felt twinges of discomfort whenever I moved. I would hardly consider myself recovered. I opened my mouth to say just that, but she interrupted me by continuing with her inane platitudes.

“So,” she said, “This is just a friendly reminder, you could say.”

I resisted the urge to throttle her.

And by that, I meant I avoided allowing my false-arm to lash out at the irritating person. It was just… I was unsure why she played these games. Both of us knew she was either the leader, or at least highly appointed, within the organization she alluded to. And as I had recently done business with them, and received, if one were to squint their eyes, an advance for a future job, I could more or less guess what she alluded to. In fact, I could have guessed all of this the moment I saw her on the street below.

Rather than grant Belobog the satisfaction of a visible reaction, I asked in a dull voice, “What do I need to do?”

The next day was busy.

Not only did I need to begin making token efforts towards the task assigned by Belobog, which left me less than enthused, but I also was forced to begin demonstrating efforts towards performing Cook’s favor as well.

Were this all that I was required to accomplish, the day would have been full but not uncomfortably so.

But no. That was not all that was required of me.

For I was to resume my night-shift in full. Additionally, I was strongly encouraged to begin my reading assignments for the Academy. To add to that, I still was recommended to perform the physical therapy exercises Kate had shown me to aid in a swift recovery.

Fortunately, I was recovering. Though the process seemed exacerbated in ways I had not expected. Normally, after surgery or any of that ilk, vigorous movement would hinder long-term health. But in this case, it seemed to be helping my body to better adapt to the upgrade. At least, that was my interpretation of events, though I may have been mistaken.

That morning, I ended up hiking across the city, into the slums. Then, because of course the Garnet Pit Crew still held a grudge, and because of just the general nastiness of the slums, I had to shake several tails. I only had to scale five tenement buildings to guarantee I was not being followed. Of course, while I was there, I attempted to scout the white Kaiva that Cook wished to reconnect with.

I failed to find the beastkin, though I did find plenty of other Kaiva in the vicinity, including the round-ear variant.

The one upside to all of this, was that I stopped by the same butcher that Cook relied upon, and that I was able to stock up on several pounds of dried meat.

After stocking up once more, I returned to my scouting attempts. It seemed that the butcher was located centrally among the beastkin population.

But while I noticed several beastkin, of both the sharp and round-ear variety, I was unable to determine any common gathering locations.

Naturally, I dared not to broach the subject with them directly. Though I did spot several pairs of beastkin, and I did follow one for several blocks. But as I could not determine if they were either coming or going, less if their destination would even be of value to me, I ended the exercise before I completely exhausted my reserves.

When afternoon came, I put my attempt on hold for the time being, and I returned to Ma’Ritz for a potentially even busier night.

It all came back to Belobog, I thought with some bitterness. My night would have been much less work without her.

If she had not dropped by the night before, and had not left me with implicit threats, then I could have cracked open some of the mandatory reading assignments for my upcoming classes. Or, at the very least, ensuring I still had food and a roof overhead. But no, nothing could be that simple.

I continued to grumble to myself as I traveled into the posher neighborhoods, heading past the summit of Blossom Hill, and towards where the baron resided. It was a simple scouting mission that I had assigned myself, as I would eventually be forced to commit to a job in the area. Afterall, preparation was key. Preparation would also keep Belobog off my back.

For the night prior, when Belobog had dropped by, she had left me with an implicit threat behind. Certainly, while delivering the threat she had maintained a friendly air. And while she had avoided mentioning anything so crass as a verbal warning, there was no other way to interpret her presence.

Her organization, which I had yet to learn the name of but that I knew operated out of Laverna’s Cup, appeared to have the resources befitting a large crime family.

They just happened to have a magical gem to act as an incentive while empowering a potential pawn to better serve them. They just happened to know what I needed, when I needed it. They just happened to bring me to visit them after I had made a fairly large score. They just happened to be able to blackmail me or worse, should I renege on any perceived dealings with them.

That very same organization, through Belobog, had offered me a tentative assignment as a test, which I found undesirable for a multitude of reasons.

The job likely carried a degree of danger which her organization wished to avoid risking themselves. The job might also be one meant to burn whoever took it on.

Needless to say, while I had been recovering from what might have been a tattoo-surgical procedure, I had been reluctant to begin her job.

Incredibly so.

Hence, why I found myself blaming her and grumbling less than flattering things.

For while her visit had been courteous, it had also been a friendly reminder of their exploitative leverage that they held against me. No matter how she phrased it, I knew better. I knew just what sort of situation I had been coerced into.

Which was why, towards the end of her visit, my false-arm had begun twitching, and I myself may have been feeling slightly murderous, despite the fact that I had no intention of committing murder. However, that impulse, slight it might have been, had been enough to cause Belobog’s already pale face to pale just a slightly bit further, and had been enough that she had promptly excused herself after.

Another thought that I humored myself with. It was one I toyed with as I made my way across rooftops and up walls, heading into the luxurious pinnacle of Southbridge. Were I to simply murder Belobog and everyone in her organization, then not only would their belongings default to me, but their leverage would likely end.

Assuming I could find all members of that organization.

Assuming they lacked any failsafes or deadman-revenge plots.

I supposed that I could always just disappear and start over elsewhere in the city. Although, many of the same resources I would need, namely to track down Emboru’s sibling, would likely also bring me into the same circles as Belobog and her organization.

It was something to consider, at the very least. But, I decided that prior to committing any hasty or drastic actions, that I should at least attempt this job of Belobog’s, which was how I found myself on my current course. The most feasible worst case scenario would have me disappearing.

But it was towards this baron’s estate I now headed.

The baron’s estate was technically not on Blossom Hill at all, though this was only a technicality. If two hills abutted each other, Blossom Hill would be the shorter, and the baron’s estate the higher. Though technically, the baron’s estate in no way encompassed the entirety of that second hill. That second hill terminated at the chasm, causing half of it to be a cliffside drop down into the chasm. The other half was reserved for nobility and oligarchs, or however these humans organized themselves.

This was why, on my way to scout out the baron’s estate and its environs, that I was forced to descend partially from Blossom Hill, before ascending towards the baron’s estate.

Confusingly, the aggregation of both hills fell under the grouping of Blossom Hill, though the second hill was often called the Baron’s Estate, even though the baron’s estate actually only sat upon a small portion of the second hill.

Regardless of elevation, however, as I made my way towards the estate, the environs continued to improve. The main trees separating the road from the buildings grew more plentiful, and the driveways connecting to upscale homes grew longer.

And then, the rooftops ended in an expanse of green interspersed with spots of color, lights, and the occasional glimpse of glass or marble. The shops and upscale homes had given way to flowering shrubs and fountains.

I could still follow the road, though I would need to do so on the ground. The trees, though plentiful, were short and wiry, ill-suited to travel by tree-top. To make matters even more inconvenient, the parks were illuminated by rows and strings of artificed bulbs.

Thankfully, there were only a few passersby at the late hour. I would hear them before I saw them, or more importantly, before they saw me.

The first time this occurred, I was startled, but otherwise kept my cool. When I heard the voices approaching, I dipped into the shadows of the nearest shrubbery and then crouched low.

As the voices approached, it became apparent that it was a trio of women wearing elaborate skirts. They gossiped loudly and were attended by several kunbeor, as the humans sometimes called their domesticated Kaiva slaves. The three women spoke loudly, one of them joked about some son’s member, and another practically shrieked in laughter. Likely intoxicated, I thought. Even so, I remained still and limited my breathing, and I kept a close eye on the trailing servants.

As they passed near my spot, one of the servant’s ears twitched, and their nostrils flared just slightly.

I held my breath, already planning contingencies in case I was sighted. I doubted the three women posed a risk, and it was likely they would not allow their servants to give chase. However, having my position called out would greatly impede my planned scouting. Afterall, I could hardly continue if an alarm went out.

The servant must have caught my scent, as he began to turn his head towards where I had left the path. His eyes darted across where I hid. His pupils narrowed slightly. His mouth opened partially, his tongue tasting across his needle-sharp teeth.

And then they continued onwards.

The servant said nothing, continuing to trail the women, as though he had detected nothing. While I could not verify this was not a ruse, I doubted that the women truly held his loyalty. I determined that the risk of him alerting the humans was minimal. And even if he did, I could likely escape further notice. Even despite the minimal risk, I remained hidden and silent until they were beyond earshot.

When I was certain they had left, I continued on.

During my trip through the parks and lesser estates which encompassed the hill called Baron’s Estate, I passed several such groups of party-goers returning home. Many of them were accompanied by their kunbeor. Fortunately, the first kunbeor had been an anomaly, for the rest never came close to detecting me. Thus, as I continued, I began to grow confident in my abilities to remain hidden while moving, despite the terrain.

And the terrain was challenging. I had never been here before. Lighting was inconsistent, along with cover. There were many paths and many lawns with infrequent bushes and trees. It was the inconsistency that caused the most issues. For when sneaking, it was best to have the silhouette overshadowed by another object, preferable one at the same level of lumosity. This caused some detours, as I chose to follow the cover, and not the paths. When a path cut through a lawn, I would go around, following the hedges and trees.

It was in this way that I came across a wide expanse of a lawn surrounding a prominent gated and fenced set of buildings. Four major paths entered the clearing, and the walls were well-lit by torches. Multiple peacekeepers stood at each gate, while I could see several others patrolling the lawns surrounding the walls.

As it seemed fortified and somewhat plain, though the materials appeared moderately expansive and befitting of the locale, I assumed that this series of structures was some manner of barracks for the peacekeepers, or at the very least for the baron’s personal forces. In a way, it made sense, as the barracks were centered more or less on the pedestrian highway that led to the baron’s personal estate.

Naturally, I kept a significant distance from the building, choosing to cut through beds of ivy and thorn-laden flowers rather than risk being sighted.

I had just exited one such garden, and was passing across a major path to reach the opposite garden, when the sound of boots padding across gravel came muffled through the greenery.

The nearest shelter to me was the garden I was headed to, a hedge of thorny rose-adjacent bushes.

In my haste to reach cover, I leapt over the bush to find a spot to hide.

I failed to complete the leap seamlessly; my trailing foot snagged several branches, tearing them free and ripping the hem of my pants. Despite this, I landed in a roll and ended in a crouch, surrounded on two sides by cherry trees and on the other by the hedge.

There, I remained frozen and hardly moving as the footsteps approached.

“Heard that?” a man’s voice asked, quick and curt, and surprisingly professional for a peacekeeper.

For the voice had come from a peacekeeper. A squad of five marched down the path towards the garrison. Two of them carried hooded lanterns which served nearly as well as a flashlight.

“Probably just an animal,” a woman replied, though her voice ranged lower than was typical, coarser as well.

The first man scoffed. “You know there aren’t any here. Unless you mean a different sort.”

“Quit bickering,” another man snapped, this one towards the rear. “Eyes and ears peeled. We’re in the final stretch for the night, then we can cut loose.”

They came into view. Their lanterns cast pointed rays of light over the leaves and branches, creating odd shadows.

“Don’t know who thought lining the paths with godslovin’ plants was a good idea. Can’t see shit.” One of them complained; he was shining a lantern along the hedge near where I hid.

“I said, quiet!.” their apparent leader said, some heat in his voice.

“But there’s nothing there,” the woman said, seemingly unconcerned by her leader’s tone. “Nothing would be stupid enough to be here anyways. Just relax a bit, yeah?”

The man in question growled under his breath, likely in irritation. Surprisingly, he did not push further. I took it to mean that he lacked either the social capital, the wherewithal, or the authority to reprimand the others.

“Fine. Have it your way,” the leader said. “We’ll report the disturbance to the captain and call it quits. Almost done with the patrol anyways.”

They soon passed where I hid and made their way across the lawns and towards the garrison. From further in, I could occasionally hear a din of conversation and laughter. The background noise covered me, and as a patrol just passed, I picked up my pace and kept to the edge of the lawns, where I was still covered by the larger plans, but could move much more quickly.

At this point, I could have turned back. I had scouted a portion of the Baron’s Estate, and I could already map several potential vectors for either escape or infiltration. However, if I did quit, I would need to return to gain further intel. I would likely need to do so regardless, but the more I learned now, the less I would need to do later, and the easier time I would have allaying Belobog’s casual reminders.

Thus, I continued onward.

Past this point, the paths grew windier and were marked with signs done in golden filigree. Each turn in a path was lit with a bright lantern, and there were frequent patrols of peacekeepers, though they went in pairs of two and kept conversation to a minimum.

It did cause some issues, but I found I could simply step off the path and crouch low to avoid detection. My Stealth Talents were likely at play, as I could not imagine such incompetence otherwise.

My confidence grew as I continued onward, and I took several detours to observe the mansions as I went. They grew more impressive as I headed further in, and I was already pondering potential targets for personal gain. I imagined that spacing burglaries out across several months would likely net me large gains for minimal risk.

The latest mansion I was detouring around was surrounded by an especially elaborate garden, complete with bronze fencing and marble statues.

Idly, as I looked for means of ingress, I began to suspect that there existed hidden passageways for service. There had to be a host of servants to maintain such a place, and they would have needed plenty of supplies. This, combined with the lack of obvious signs of cart traffic left me wondering if there were subterranean roads that servants and deliveries traveled.

I had perhaps allowed my thoughts to wander in my confidence, thus it came as a surprise when I stumbled upon an angry juvenile male ranting.

He spoke with a loud voice, sounding not all too different from a rowdy drunk. I drew near enough on a path that I saw two figures lounging beneath an artful gazebo.

I would have gone around, but my interest was piqued by what I heard, and I thought that I could perhaps learn something of value. Especially as infosec was taken so casually here.

I paused to eavesdrop.

“Why, tell me why, for all found beneath the Crown,” the boy complained, “That we just must attend another year?” the boy asked in a manner that was clearly rhetorical.

As I remained in the shadows of the path, with vegetation obscuring the sightlines between myself and the teens, I felt relatively safe. The risk of discovery seemed minimal. Listening to two wealthy residents air their dirty laundry seemed useful. At least, potentially so.

There was an intake of breath, not quite a gasp, but the inversion of a sigh. That was followed by a high pitch yet smooth and nearly melodic voice. The way she spoke, she gave the impression of a wealthy debutante that was slumming it with her friend.

“You know why,” the girl said.

I could practically hear her eye-roll, though without a clear view, I had no way to determine that. After hearing her speak, I wished I could see her so that I could find out if her image fit her sound. A foolish notion, but tempting nonetheless.

“And you’d best stop complaining so loudly,” she added.

“But tell me, why?” the boy responded hotly. “Do you fear that Her Highness may hear? This is nothing that I would not have voiced in her presence. You know this. You must.”

Her Highness? I thought. I knew that the princess was somewhere in Southbridge, and it would make sense that she resided in the wealthiest section of the city, but it was still a surprise that this boy was so casually speaking of his relationship with the princess. If not an idle boast, and if he truly was on familiar terms with the princess, then I needed to know who he was. And the girl as well. The more I heard, the more my curiosity grew.

“Oh, really?” the girl said, a smile in her voice. “You would tell her just that, in that exact same tone? And you say I know that? Are you asking me to look?”

“Well,” the boy said, grimacing and shuffling a bit. “Maybe I would speak with her in a different tone… but my point still stands!”

“You’re unbelievable sometimes,” the girl said, shaking her head.

“Ha!” the boy exclaimed. “Not able to refute my point then?” he gloated.

“Not at all,” she replied.

The boy clicked his tongue.

“You know,” he said. “You know, that another term is a waste of time and resources. Our days could be better spent cleaning out the filth infesting east-side. Just last week, an artificed shop was robbed on Blossom Hill… it is positively outrageous! And instead of making our city better deserving of Her Highness, we are stuck playing pretend at things that don’t even matter! So tell me why. Why? Surely you must see some reason that I am missing. Inform me.” He ended on an imperious note.

The girl groaned. “You act as though I asked for this. I don’t want this either. Do you think I enjoy listening to some perverted old man lecture us on economics? No! The filth running through that place, it’s more of a cesspool than a school. I hate it.”

The boy scoffed dismissively.

“Well, it sounded an awful lot like you were taking her side earlier.”

“She’s the princess, V!” the girl snapped. “Not all of us have a death wish.”

I tried remembering if I had heard of any affluent boy with that name, and I was drawing a blank. It was likely a nickname. It was also interesting that he mentioned the artifice shop explicitly, when I knew full well there had been two shops hit that night. But as interesting as the boy and this potential blackmail material was, the way the girl described her school was even more so. It seemed that either she attended a highly toxic classroom, or that she was possibly reading more from her environment than others.

“Oh please,” the boy continued. “As though she would execute us due to a simple disagreement.”

“Maybe not because of a disagreement,” she admitted. “But for disrespecting her? Yes, yes she would.”

“Not after all Her Highness has invested.”

“We’re just tools to her, V. What do you do when they break?”

“A disagreement is hardly equivalent to your demeaning metaphor.”

“Alright,” she said, nodding. “You’re right. Not equivalent at all. But you admit there are some parallels?”

“Maybe,” he said reluctantly.

“You called us an investment?” the girl said, leading him on as though he were a simpleton.

“The Imperial Mark, at least.” He admitted.

“And…?” she trailed off.

“And the rest of it too, I suppose.”

“Then, you agree that we’re highly tuned and incredibly valuable assets then?”

A brief pause.

“I know what you are attempting,” the boy groused. “I refuse to allow it.”

“Really?” the girl asked, sounding shocked, though it was obviously a charade. “What do you disagree with? The asset part? The comparison to tools? Or the fact that broken tools are tossed away?”

He remained silent, but I assumed he was glaring sullenly at the girl.

As their discussion appeared noteworthy, a wealth of insider information that was certainly to be valuable, I edged my way along the path, seeking a view of the two speakers, that I might recognize just who these people were. If they had useful skills, and if they were positioned closely to those in power, then any potential leverage would likely be worth whatever risk I incurred.

“Well, doesn’t matter, I guess,” the girl continued, now speaking to herself rather than engaging in a conversation. “But say you aren’t a broken tool, just another disrespectful boy. There are ways to fix that… Oh, so many ways.”

The way she said that made me shiver. The implications there left me recalling my own time in an inquisitor’s chamber.

“Please,” the boy scoffed, breaking his silence. “Her Highness knows willing and able assets are superior. Forced compliance would hardly work in the long-term. She must know that. Yes?” It sounded as though he might have been attempting to convince himself towards the end.

“You’ll tell her what she knows then?” the girl asked, the derision audible. “Or how she acts? Are you so mighty and secure to instruct Her Highness?” The girl was now mocking him.

“Well, no, but–”

“You have not seen the things she’s ordered. The things she’s capable of. It’s…” she shuddered, rubbing her arms.

I was near enough to better see their outlines, but with them in the shadows, I struggled to glean their details. It was curious though, that the girl spoke with a degree of intimacy that belied her age.

“You sure you should be sharing that?” the boy asked, sounding concerned. “I know you were warning me, but I cannot imagine that revealing this is anything but a liability. Besides, I thought Her Highness was immune to your Talent. Slander and libel are hardly what I would term respectful. The exact opposite, if anything.”

Things were beginning to come together. The more I learned, the greater I deemed the risk of remaining. There was a significant chance that I was wrong, and that this was merely two teenagers parading about in their own delusions… but if everything I had heard was true, then approaching them for a view could end in detection far more easily than I originally anticipated.

To err on the side of caution, I began to slowly edge away from them, always ensuring plenty of vegetation obstructed any and all sightlines.

Meanwhile, they continued.

“You’re right,” the girl admitted. “Her Highness is immune to my Talent. But not Lady Trigg. That–”

“Say no more of this,” the boy cut in, sternly. “It would bode poorly for this to be taken beyond context.”

“You just don’t want to hear about it,” the girl scoffed. “It’s not fair that I’m the one that has to see it. The least you could do is hear me out. Share the burdens.”

“No,” the boy said resolutely, shaking his head. “I refuse… But… your point has been made, rest assured. I will do my utmost to ensure a respectful tone from here on out. Even if we are forced to endure another term of schoolwork. Ugh.”

The girl made an unflattering sound, almost a raspberry.

“I’m sure you suddenly turning over a new leaf has nothing to do with what I just told you.”

“No, of course not!” he said, likely lying. “I would have remained respectful of our leader regardless. One does not spurn a Royal.”

“No, one does not–” the girl agreed, before abruptly stopping. She tilted her head, as though listening. I strained my ears and stilled my breathing, but I heard nothing that would cause such a reaction.

“What is it?” the boy asked.

The girl hissed to quiet him.

I now grew concerned. For as I had listened to the two, I had gathered enough data that I could guess who these two were. The way they referred to the princess, it was clear they served her in a unique capacity. The fact that they felt confident enough to speak of her at all meant that they knew they were valuable to her. But the only teens that fit that pattern were the ones that existed in her… program.

A program which was what basically equated to a paramilitary force of enhanced teens, though of course the city made a production of them. However, the seemingly agreed nomenclature for these empowered indentured servants was the Vigilants. Naturally, that name was far from consistently used, though it seemed the most flattering and the most often used title for them.

And if these two teenagers belonged to that group, then the boy was likely Velvetcall.

Which meant the girl was likely… Guesswork.

This revelation caused a chill to run down my spine.

Velvetcall could control anyone that heard his voice, though the details on this Talent were sparse.

I had to assume that he could not simply mind-control a crowd of people by speaking, at least not without spending some sort of resource. Public opinion was unsure about what it felt like to hear him speak; or if a person would even know if they were under his control to begin with. It said something about him, that even Kate was worried about running into him.

His Talent was dangerous.

But that was not what my current problem was. No, it was Guesswork’s Talent that was causing me to pick up the pace as I left, though I still was attempting subtly. Even if Guesswork thought someone was out there, she probably would not know exactly where that someone was.

“There’s someone there,” Guesswork explained, likely gesturing towards the gardens beyond the estate. I had not been watching her at this point, as I was angled away from them, but I could only hope that she had not been pointing towards me.

“And?” Velvetcall asked, unaffected by the seriousness of her tone. “Many people travel that path.”

Good, I thought. Disregard her.

“That’s what I was thinking when I first scanned them,” Guesswork said.

I had reached a gravel path, though I refrained from stepping on the noisy ground. Instead, I attempted to tread the narrow partition between hedge and path. This slowed me down some, but I could see a lawn up ahead that I could use to gain distance both quickly and silently.

“But then whoever it was stuck around…” Guesswork continued explaining, but Velvetcall was hearing none of it.

“It makes sense,” he said, almost scoffing. “You were speaking loudly enough, afterall. I would not blame a pedestrian for listening in either... This near the estate, whoever it is, they are likely benign. You are worrying about things that lack relevance to us this night.”

“They–she–it? This doesn’t feel benign,” Guesswork said, frustration leaking into her tone. Not that I could blame her, despite however fortuitous to me that the boy’s arrogance was.

I was nearly to the lawn at this point. From there, I was confident in my escape. I would run freely without fear of revealing noises.

“A hint of fear–” she attempted to explain.

“Reasonable,” he said. “Likely scared off by you–”

“A hint of malevolent fear. Greedy subtexts…”

“Who is not?” he said, amused.

Their conversation was growing fainter, but I heard the next part clearly enough.

“They aren’t human, V.”

“What?” Velvetall said, outrage clear on his voice, a sudden reversal of his attitude. “This is certain? Vermin are not allowed along those paths.”

“It’s what it feels like,” she said.

“But… how? No, why?! Who permitted this?”

“And they’re gaining distance quickly. Given the hour, and the feelings… I think it might be a criminal.”

“If they are some bystander out for a late night stroll, then this will be highly embarrassing.”

“There not,” she assured him. “But would it matter, even if they were? They’re alone.”

“I suppose not. Easy to resolve this, however.”

He cleared his throat then spoke up.

Even though I was still on the gravel, I cut loose and began sprinting. As I could not be certain how his Talent worked, I covered my ears as I went. Seconds later, I hit the damp grass. My first steps slid as I changed direction, but I kept my balance and continued running.

It should not have been possible.

It was muffled, of course.

It should have been inaudible over the thunder of my own movement and heartbeat.

But even then, impossible as it was, I heard something.

And then I felt… something.

This was not good.

I slowed to a jog, then to a walk.

This was fine, I thought.

I would just stop, then turn around, and then–

Not. Good.

But why would I do anything other than this?

A small voice in the back of my mind screamed when my hands dropped away from my ears.

Well, my hand and false-hand dropped away from my ears.

Because I had that false-arm that ended with a false-hand.

And that false-hand was three and a half tendrils impersonating fingers.

Which was basically the same–

A squirming, writhing, heat invaded my ribs and collarbone. My neck felt tight. The base of my skull, especially. The sensation was growing to be painful.

Why had I stopped running? I asked myself.

Why had I begun turning back towards where I had come from? Back towards danger, towards enemies?

No, that would be foolish, doing that. I would not have. This was…

But, why had I…

Why was I halfway to covering my ears?

I wished I could say that I knew exactly how I regained my senses. From my perspective, they had never been lost. There was a dissonance between what I knew and what I remembered. Even with the warning from my false-arm, I still could not claim resistance to Velvetcall’s abilities.

But what I did have, was the ability to trust my previous judgment and then carry on and continue whatever it was I had judged. In many ways, this solution was terrifying. As an example, it would be as if a person told themselves they would walk ten steps, and then five steps later, should they suddenly see a cliff before them, continue to walk another five steps. Thankfully, there were no cliffs present in the park. Only vegetation, gravel, and manicured lawns. This made it easier to trust my previous decision to run.

So, ignoring any unexplained urges, I resumed my course along the direction I had originally been headed, and I once more began to run, though my posture was made awkward by holding my hands over my ears.

All too soon I ran out of lawn and I passed once more unto the gravel pathways. Regardless of how loud my footsteps thundered, I maintained my flight.

But holding my ears was ruining my posture and slowing me down. I could be going much more quickly. And I was unsure why I was even holding my ears to begin with. It was highly inconvenient to do so.

I dropped my hands and began pumping my arms, gaining much volume.

Suddenly, I remembered why I ran.

Mother take me! I swore internally.

My mind had just been violated. I had almost surrendered myself to those disgusting animals. If not for… for my false-arm? If not for it warning me when it did, I was unsure I could have resisted.

That had been insidious.

That left me feeling dirty.

Spoilt. Filthy.

Rotten.

I could not describe how awful, gross, just altogether terrible and horrendous the sensation was; I found it impossible to convey this with words, except that I found myself loathing Velvetcall and Guesswork and myself most of all.

“I said,” Velvetcall shouted from somewhere in the distance, “stop!”

And then that something impulse came once more.

Again, that unnatural urge.

But knowing now what it was, how it invaded, I refused to follow the command. At least, if I were generous with myself and my abilities. But what I did was not quite a refusal.

It was less a denial than it was a sidestep.

It was then that I felt a raw pain originating from my side where I was still sore from my latest Mark.

It seemed I had developed in a way to at least partially counter Velvetcall’s terrifying Talent.

This came as fortuitous timing.

If only I had the chance to lift my shirt and read the new Glyph.

If only I had the opportunity to perform rigorous testing.

Though, as Velvetcall once more issued a command laced with his intrusive energy, I could not help but better describe my newest Glyph, or at least, come to better understand my new means of countering Velvetcall’s insidious Talent.

Firstly, what I was doing could hardly be termed countering, or resisting, for that matter.

I was absolutely not countering or resisting anything he said.

In fact, I agreed with him completely. I would almost go so far as to say I supported him.

Certainly, he said stop.

And whatever or whomever he was speaking to, they ought to do just that. Stop, that is.

Fortunately, whoever or whomever he had commanded was not me and was definitely somebody else. Otherwise, I would feel compelled to stop, as was just and right and natural. And since I felt no compulsion to do so, he was not in fact speaking to me.

In a flexible, tautological, and maddening way… it made sense.

Thus, with some frustration evident in his voice, Velvetcall continued shouting.

I remember thinking that whoever he was speaking to should really listen. Possibly some unruly vegetation, I wryly thought.

All the while, I continued my sprint along the gravel, the trees and lanterns blurring past me, along with gates to private gardens.

Despite my speed, and I was certainly running with great speed, Velvetcall and Guesswork maintained my pace. In fact, judging by their footsteps, it became evident that they were gaining on me.

I poured my all into my run, and I eked out a bit more. But even as I went as quickly as I could, I knew it would not be enough.

I would either need to fight or hide.

The next path I reached, I diverted, and then at the next fork after that I diverted once more. The trees and hedges formed a decent enough maze that I thought I could easily avoid the two Vigalants.

Unfortunately, as I took turn after turn, I lost distance between us. This would not have ordinarily been a problem, as they would have been forced to retrace my steps, and likely lose themselves in the process, but for a fact that I had failed to consider.

Both of them were greatly enhanced.

Hence, their ability to leap above what should have been otherwise impediments. And all while maintaining a conversation as well.

“This is bad,” Guesswork called towards Velvetcall. “Worse than I thought. They’re resistant…”

“Do you think… they… have… and Imperial Sigil?” Velvetall responded, his words scattered across his breathing. He, at least, was breathing just as hard as I was.

“I’m unsure,” she said, her volume lessening and growing as the trajectory of her leap carried her further, then nearer. Guesswork landed on a lamppost fifty yards behind me. She hung with one hand and her feet pressed against the metal pole.

“Why…” Velvetcall gasped, landing roughly on the grass besides the path and sliding before regaining his footing.

“If they can resist commands, then what else might they do?” Guesswork cautioned.

“All the more… reason… to stop them…” Velvetcall said. He glanced at Guesswork and watched where she pointed, which was in my direction, before he began running once more.

I may have glanced over my shoulder, but never once did I pause my escape. I dipped around for another turn, breaking sight-lines once more.

Up ahead, I could see the glow from an upper-story window.

Nearly there, I thought.

Even though Velvetcall was lagging behind and could no longer see me, he still let loose another empowered command.

“STOP!” he commanded with his pervasive and insidious might.

My foot caught just slightly, a second’s worth of hesitation as I jumped through the mental gymnastics that allowed me surety that he had been speaking both of and to someone else. What I needed to do was stop hesitating, if anything. Maybe that was what he meant, I wondered.

Just then, Guesswork crashed through a nearby cherry tree, bringing down several branches on her way towards the ground. She had landed within ten yards, far too close.

“I see them–her? Her!” Guesswork called out as she pulled a device from her belt.

The back of the device glowed and it felt easily within her hand, almost resembling the futuristic guns from a sci-fi series. It was smooth and well proportioned for her hand. She lifted it to aim along the top, too close to my direction for my taste.

“Drop now, or I’m taking the shot!” She called out at the same time that her trigger-finger tensed.

I stumbled and fell forward, throwing a step forward and barely catching myself from face planting.

The instant I dipped downward the space above me and in a straight line in front of me flashed, before disappearing.

“Reloading!” Guesswork shouted. “Next one won’t be a warning!”

“You shot… a warning?” Velvetcall’s voice came from somewhere further back.

“Last chance,” Guesswork said, ignoring the boy’s question. She slotted a fresh Charger into the rear of the device.

As she said that, I reached the edge of the park.

I immediately changed the angle of my trajectory, placing the line of cherry trees between myself and her.

There came another flash.

This time, I saw where it hit. A black pockmark now marred the granite brickface of one of the upscale duplexes.

“Gods take you! Stop moving!” Guesswork shouted and swore.

I finished crossing the street and I reached the first building and I scurried up the wall, almost flying with my haste.

Guesswork came running from the park, glancing about before spotting my form as I made it over the edge and onto the roof.

“They’re taking the high-road!” She shouted as she took a running jump. She soared into the air, but not nearly high enough to reach the roof. Instead, she landed along a windowsill, cracking the window with the force of her landing, and then leaping off from there, causing the fragments of stone to break loose and fall.

I lost sight as I passed the other ledge, choosing random roofs to leap to and beginning to climb Blossom Hill.

Guesswork maintained pursuit, though I could no longer detect her partner, Velvetcall.

“Stop running!” Guesswork shouted. “You’re only making this worse for yourself. You’re not even really in trouble! Just stop and talk!”

As if, I thought.

Several buildings were now between us, and I was sure to keep structures between her and I at all times. From so far as I could determine, she had no means to actually see me. And yet, she still managed to loosely follow me, remaining within shouting distance.

Obviously she was tracking me. And obviously, sight was superfluous to her doing so.

I needed a way to stop her from detecting me.

I needed to determine what exactly she was detecting.

I knew she was some nature of psychic, though far less impressive than Belobog. She might have been an empath. She mentioned ‘feel’ when she described her impressions of me. If that were the case, then it reasoned that she was following that same feeling now.

I knew what I needed to change. I needed to feel differently. I needed to blend in with the residents of these homes, at least mentally speaking.

Forcing myself to feel differently in the moment of flight ought to have been difficult. It really should have been. But, between my Mark updating, and improving again. And between the improvement to my Godsmark, it came almost naturally.

First, I cleared my mind, focusing purely on the moment. Then, almost obtrusively, I found myself thinking arrogant and entitled thoughts. Of fine dishes that tasted subpar. Of a woman that was doing it wrong. Of a man that left much to be desired as a partner.

As these thoughts came, I put another building between myself and Guesswork, and then another. I was not counting, as doing so would have been beneath me, but the number was growing.

Soon, I was unable to hear her at all.

Another half-hour, and I had satisfied myself that I had lost all pursuit, and that this was not an elaborate scheme to part me from my wealth.

I returned shortly to Ma’Ritz, where I ascended to my usual perch and resumed my duties as a night-guard. From so far as I could determine, I had escaped without consequence, except that I had failed to finish scouting the baron’s estate. Though, in place, I had learned more of the Vigilants, and I likely could leverage that knowledge for something of value.

With these thoughts, I ensured that nothing had gone amiss while I had been gone, and I went over my gains. To do so, I was forced to remove my bandages. They had scabbed over, and removing them left me quite sore.

Absorption 2.4.10.?

“You’re a new face,” Marianne said, her voice sounding a little too loudly for the early hour.

I had requested her to wake me this morning so that I had time to prepare myself and leave on time. So it was not necessarily the early hour which was bothering me. What came as jarring was what she said, and the way she said it.

However, I understood her tone as I heard a stranger respond from the bunk above me.

“Huh?” came an inelegant reply in a girl’s voice. She sounded as though she were still half asleep, much the same as I had felt just before I had heard some strange girl had apparently fallen asleep in the very same room that I had been sleeping in.

I had not even heard her enter the room, let alone climb to the top bunk. I had been at this strange girl’s mercy. I encountered dread at my own exposed vulnerabilities, regardless of whether or not the girl had acted maliciously or not.

Unaware of my spiraling emotions, the stranger began rambling.

“Oh, uhm yeah… ‘bout that. See, I came in last night and I was told to set-up here? Kinda like a halfway house for fancy night-workers, right?”

As the girl attempted and failed to explain her presence, I had to agree with most of the sentiments she had expressed. For it was not unheard of for the staff to shelter intoxicated and helpless girls in the bunk-rooms, which were next room to the staff bunk-room that Marianne and I shared. Of course, there were empty beds in our room, especially as there were several bunk-beds and only Marianne and I regularly used the room. However, our room was for staff, which this strange and un-introduced girl certainly was not.

“Pardon,” I said, gathering my wits quickly. “But perhaps a mistake was made? Who was it that provided this instruction?”

I wondered if perhaps the girl had unknowingly followed poor instructions.

“You always wake up so hoity-toity, eh?” the girl responded, before realizing she had been asked a question. “Oh! You wanted to know–”

“Yes,” I interrupted, quickly losing my patience with her blundering. “I did.”

“Tiffany did,” the girl answered. “Name’s Fleur, by the by.” She thumped her chest and grinned, as though providing a basic introduction was some achievement. For her, perhaps it was.

“Splendid,” I responded dryly. Then, deciding that poor manners may lead towards superfluous hostilities, I then added with salvaged decorum, “A pleasure to make your acquaintance–”

“-hot damn!” Fleur said, slapping her thigh. “Breakin’ out the big’uns, huh?”

Marianne scowled at this, and I was left in a state of confusion, though I pushed onward.

“You may call me Jackie,” I finished.

“All that, and that’s your name?” Fleur’s brow raised. “I was expectin’ something fancy to call you, at least four syllables, maybe five.”

My state of confusion worsened by the minute. Fortunately, Marianne offered assistance.

“It’s a nickname,” Marianne answered on my behalf, though with an angry chill to her tone. “And excuse me, but we are absolutely not night-workers! I don’t care what Tiff told you, but we aren’t!”

“S’alright,” Fleur said in a manner that sounded almost slurred. “Chill girl.” With how informally she addressed us, I almost expected Fleur to finish her statement with a crude belch.

I found the morning to be difficult.

For, despite my intentions toward hospitality, or at the very least, civility, the very nature of the new girl grated. It was not her burlesque irreverence. Nor was it her forwardness. What I think bothered me was the way she inserted herself.

Even in the baths, I found no solitude. Of course, Marianne followed, but Fleur entered as well, bathing alongside us and addressing our nude forms crassly.

At first, we tried to ignore Fleur.

But then she began commenting on assets and unmentionables.

Incredibly offensive, even if the offense was given unintentionally. She went on to reassure us that despite my arm and Marianne’s other-ness, that despite that, we were sure to find gentlemen callers.

She continued providing these unwanted reassurances as we exited the bathing room.

I could only cringe and refrain from retorting.

Marianne, however, did not refrain. It seemed that the girl had had enough.

“Excuse you?!” Marianne snapped. “Who even are you?! You just show up? Where in Odi–in gods’ loving–name do you come off with the audacity to assume we even want to have callers?”

“What?” Fleur responded, head tilted and brow furrowed. “That’s a different swear. Haven’t heard it before–”

“-don’t go changing the subject!” Marianne nearly hissed.

Fleur rolled her eyes.

“Whatever,” she said. “It’s a whore-house, ain’t it?”

Marianne’s eyes narrowed and her cheeks flushed with a bluish tint and her eyes sparkled with either malice or sorrow. She lifted a finger to point at the larger girl’s chin when I began pulling Marianne away.

Marianne and I had a schedule to keep, afterall.

However, I could not let such a crude misunderstanding remain unaddressed. Thus, in a more reasonable and tempered manner, I attempted to explain to the dull-minded lout.

“A portion of the business does earn revenues from the pleasure industry,” I said, all the while guiding Marianne away from the bathing chambers. Fleur fell in beside us. “But that is not all of it, and it certainly is not an aspect that has ever drawn Marianne’s, or mine for that matter, ambition. It would be easy to interpret the earlier statement in an offensive manner.”

It took Fleur a moment to parse that, and during that time we had descended two flights of stairs and entered the service portion of the tavern floor.

“Eh, whatever, I guess…” Fleur shrugged. “What now? Breakfast? I’m famished.”

“What makes you think you’ll be eating anything?” Marianne asked, once more picking a fight with the girl.

“It’s part of the package, right? Tiff said it’ll be three squares a day, plus pay.”

“For people that work here,” Marianne stated, almost through grit teeth.

“Right,” Fleur shot back, unbothered. We reached the kitchen, where we met both Anne and Cook. “So what’s to eat?”

Marianne narrowed her eyes and looked away from the girl, expressing her interest in ending the conversation. However, a strange girl entering the kitchen was not so easily ignored.

“Who is this?” Cook asked, setting aside a sauce pan and clicking her fingers at Anne to take over the stirring. “And for what reason is that one here?”

Fleur scoffed. “Figures,” she said, almost dismissively. “Tiff warned me about it but still.”

For once, the torrent of inane chatter ended, and for a reason that should not have been a surprise: casual specism.

“She introduced herself as Fleur,” I stepped in, avoiding any further offense, at least in my presence. I hoped to not be associated with Fleur in Cook’s recollection. Considering that Fleur had entered with Marianne and myself, we were all tangentially connected at the moment. “And I believe that she is a new hire, of sorts?”

“Yep,” Fleur said, livening back up. “You’re looking at the newest tavern wench this side of the divide.” She thrust her chest out as if this were an honor. And perhaps, it was, at least to her, given her background.

“Oh,” Marianne said.

Cook gave an almost-snarl that could have been a frown.

“So… breakfast?” Fleur said.

In the end, Marianne and Fleur each received their porridge and took the table at the back, while I myself discreetly and quickly consumed a cold-cut by myself and out of sight. Abandoning Marianne to Fleur’s verbal sewage likely raised Marianne’s ire; however, I felt no need to make a spectacle of myself so soon, especially considering how narrow-minded Fleur appeared to be.

As Marianne and I exited Ma’Ritz, leaving Fleur behind, I expected Marianne to express that ire, or at the very least, complaints regarding the new girl. However, Marianne sounded subdued. “I had wondered how they would cover the day shift with everything changing,” Marianne said. “But I didn’t think they would replace me with… that.”

I nodded in understanding. I, too, had wondered. I had also wondered how Marianne would continue to earn room and board while attending the Academy.

This would have been a perfect opportunity to ask, were the question not itself uncouth.

As Marianne and I made our way across Blossom Hill, we were intercepted by a flustered Esmerelda. Her hair was ruffled, her makeup was rushed, and her skirt was uncharacteristically soiled–only lightly, but still, any sort of stains were highly unusual. In addition to this encounter, Esmerelda appeared slightly out of breath.

Marianne notices none of these signs of distress, or if she did, she made no comment upon it. Instead, Marianne gave a slight squeal and lunged to wrap Esmerelda’s midsection tight in a hug.

“You made it!” Marianne said.

“Of course!” Esmerelda answered, patting Marianne upon the top of her head and gathering herself, at least as much as possible, considering her current state. “Your first day at the Academy! Excited?”

“Uhm, yes, very much so,” Marianne replied.

“And you, Jackie?”

I nodded slowly and considered my response, as Esmerelda was footing much of the bill for Marianne, and some for myself, it would hardly do for me to offend her by downplaying her gift. But then again, expressing an exorbitant amount of gratitude may leave me appearing indebted, which while it was indeed true, did not mean the fact had entered our social dynamic, and I intended to keep it that way.

“Indeed,” I answered, beginning simply and neutrally, before adding, “The opportunity to further my studies is welcomed.”

This apparently was not the proper response according to Marianne, as she gave me side-eye and an expression that was perhaps a mixture of confusion and rebuke.

However, before she could issue forth a light reprimand, Esmerelda responded with an amused snort. The corner of Esmerelda’s lip curled upwards.

“With how formally you seem to naturally speak,” Esmerelda said. “I think you’ll fit right in when you sit down for whatever passes for etiquette class here.”

Marianne shook her head but remained silent on my apparent miscalculation. I decided to take the proffered olive branch and pull myself from the hole I had willingly stepped in.

“One can only hope,” I answered wryly.

We continued to talk as we climbed the steps up to the Academy, and we ended up coming to wait in a queue to enter. It appeared that anyone who had failed to arrive in a carriage was required to show some form of credentials. As it was our first day attending, I anticipated that we would be told where to go after proving our identities.

Notably, the line was largely populated by teenaged students and was lacking adult guardians or chaperones. This left Esmerelda in an awkward position, as compared to these teenagers dressed in school appropriate wear, she towered over them and clearly stood out.

“I should wish you ladies luck and let you both get on with it,” Esmerelda said, stepping to the side as we continued onward.

Already, I caught sight of several adults, assumed administrators, furrowing their brows at her, though none were as gauche as to speak of her directly.

Meanwhile, Marianne remained oblivious.

“But why…” Marianne whined. “You don’t have to leave yet, do you?”

“It is likely as a favor to both her and ourselves,” I said softly.

As Marianne opened her mouth to utter some inanities, Esmerelda gave a wan smile to both of us.

“It’s like she said,” Esmerelda said. “I needed to get going anyways.” She flipped her tone around promptly, suddenly sounding cheerful. “And you’ll tell me all about your day when you get back this afternoon, right, Marianne?”

“O-of course,” Marianne said, though she did sound a bit awkward as she said it.

“Then I’ll be off! You ladies take care,” she said, giving Marianne a hug and throwing me a smile and a wink before departing, drawing plenty of additional and potentially scandalized looks in the process, though unwarranted those looks were.

During this time, my cheeks heated from embarrassment. The children in line, though they may be gossiping amongst themselves or reading through small booklets, were sure to have noticed the scene.

However, we were in luck, as the queue moved quickly, and very soon we were stepping through, passing an inspection, stating our names and paths, and then directed towards another queue inside the Academy to receive our identification placards.

All through this, Marianne clung to my side. And while I may not have clung to her in return, I appreciated her presence in such an unfamiliar setting.

The entire process felt entirely more exhausting than it ought to have. But soon, Marianne and I had our directions and were on our way to our first class. Apparently, the school kept almost an entire wing devoted solely to Grace, though it was the central wing, pressed between the more martial side and the side for estate management.

All told, this meant that our walk down the polished stone floors was a short one.

There was one surprise. As we were almost to where we had been told to go, we were spotted by a lurking Sir Kate Guardson, one who had been waiting, leaning against the side of the hallway.

She pushed off from the wall and intercepted us, her eyes passing over Marianne and focusing upon myself.

“Hey,” she greeted, her voice a tad lower than normal. “Glad to see you made it.”

“As are we,” I said, pulling Marianne into the conversation. “Entering the Academy was a lengthier ordeal than I had anticipated.”

“Yeah,” Kate said, giving a slight shrug. “But only the first time. Just show your badge or card or whatever it was they gave you when you come in and it’ll be fine.”

Uncharacteristically for me, I spoke without planning or thought.

“Odd,” I said, before realizing I had spoken and cutting myself off.

“Hm?” Kate asked, following my indiscretion.

Up to this point, Marianne had remained silent, though she seemed eager enough to join when she said, “You’ll need to give us more than that, Jackie.”

I had not meant to make the observation aloud, and I was forced to think through several possible responses to find the least offensive way to clarify.

“Only that you seemed uncertain as to the form of the credentials, Sir Guardson.”

“Uhhh, yeah…” Kate trailed off, staring at a spot above my shoulder. “I kinda sorta don’t have to.”

“Have to what?” Marianne asked, tilting her head in confusion.

Kate winced, still avoiding eye-contact. “Show credentials,” she said.

Marianne nodded, as though that made sense. And perhaps, it did. Kate’s mother was well-known and influential, and Kate was certainly difficult to mistake for anyone else. And if she arrived in a carriage and was let in through some alternate means, confirming her identity might very well be superfluous.

Before the conversation could devolve into any further awkwardness, Kate cleared her throat. “I still need to get across to the martial courts before I’m late, but I thought I’d check to make sure you made it through alright,” she said.

I nodded slowly, unsure of her motivation. “And I appreciate your efforts,” I said.

“Well…” she trailed off once more.

A playful smile began to develop on Marianne’s face. As Kate was struggling to either continue or leave, Marianne tentatively, and likely in good humor, proposed a possibility.

“You’re hoping Jackie might show you some of that appreciation in another way, right Sir Kate?” Marianne asked.

Kate coughed, a strange amalgamation of awkwardness, laughter, and concurrence. She did manage to get out, “But, yeah… basically.”

Marianne had identified Kate’s motive correctly then. However, even should I desire to commence some form of intimacy with Kate, with the teenagers, administrators, and possible professors about. I thought any public display would bring too much risk.

“Unfortunately,” I said, letting her down easily, “this is hardly the location or time.” I settled on placing a hand upon her shoulder and providing a small smile. “But perhaps later?” I asked, perhaps a bit teasingly.

“Uh, yeah. Of course. But I’ll hold you to that!” Kate finished, turning to leave after giving an aborted hug and a wave.

“I am certain you shall,” I said with intentional humor as she departed.

Once Kate had left, Marianne giggled and said, “Think she’ll be by later tonight?”

I chose to avoid a response. Altogether, the delay was not more than several minutes, and soon Marianne and I arrived at our first class of the day.

The classroom was not the largest, instead made of two rows of raised desk-seats, one row above and behind the other. Both rows formed a half circle oriented around a podium that remained empty. Additionally, there was an unusual amount of clear floor space between the podium and the raised seating, which I assumed had to have been by design.

Seating was not assigned, leaving Marianne and I the option of sitting on the opposite side of the doorway, as far out of the way as we could manage.

Other students trickled in as well, some with meek expressions, others haughty, and all wearing raiments of quality. The haughty ones were each surrounded by a gaggle of the meek, and they largely pressed in towards the most central seats, nearest the aisle.

While Marianne and I watched them filter in, I wondered if any of these teenagers belonged to the Vigilants. I knew that the teenaged paramilitarized force would attend the Academy, but I could not be certain how that fact would affect my attendance.

I could feel several of my Talents at play, both Evasion and Flexibility, similar as to when Guesswork had been tracking me. I found myself only slightly wondering about their identities while sitting there, awaiting the professor. I could not overly seek them out, as at least one of the Vigilants was psychic and would possibly be alerted by overly forward thoughts.

But at the same time, it would not be out of place to casually wonder; likely, other students were doing the same as well.

Of course, it was unlikely that the Vigilants would be enrolled in the Grace Path, or department, as I likened the program. That did not mean that there was no overlap in the classes, as those of other departments could attend desirous classes. However, my impression of the Grace Path was that it had been geared towards courtiers and perhaps high-classed servants… perhaps also third or fourth sons and daughters.

Soon, my speculation came to an end, as the professor arrived, stepping up to behind the podium and chiming a small bell.

“Attention,” he began. The class quieted down near immediately, which I found counter to my expectations. “Students of mine may call me Master Plum. This is my first year teaching within these halls, yet I have much experience in teaching; arguably, of a higher quality than may have been expected. For you see, I originated from Kwin City, where I had the pleasure to personally instruct several of the lesser royal progeny on the manners of courtly bearing. I will make it no secret, I left our capital to avoid the risks that succession carries. I will curb speculation, I immigrated to this puerile border-town to take advantage of the likelihood of Southbridge becoming Marked…”

He continued for some time, and I noticed several students growing bored, despite Master Plum’s purported experience.

“For those sitting for my instruction, I will now begin an introduction to etiquette and courtly bearing.”

What followed was an hour filled with tedium.

Plum began the lecture on the social strata and the reasons that manners had developed and were critical, especially between peers. While the knowledge could be useful, it would not be so in an immediately practical way. Still, I did my best to pay attention, and I saw Marianne scrunching her nose in concentration.

After Plum’s lecture ended, we were given a reading assignment and then sent to our next class. Most of the students moved in the same direction, forming what would likely become a cohort of Grace initiates.

Our next class was the application of sonorous music, where each student was required to select at least one instrument; drums and percussion instruments were prohibited.

After that, came a class devoted to voice control, where we were to exercise our vocal cords, lungs, and mouth to employ the correct pitch, tone, and inflection for all possible situations. It occurred to me at some point that the Grace department was responsible for preparing infiltrators for polite society. But then that expectation was perhaps broken by a mandatory art class, where we began an introduction to oil paints.

The day was stretching long, and I was grateful for an opportunity to break for refreshments, although only beverages such as tea were provided, and this served as another lesson in applied manners. Plum, of course, attended to provide oversight and corrections to our posture and bearing.

The last half of the day was filled with Dance and Massage.

I anticipated I would excel at the first, though when changing into our exercise-wear, I felt several eyes linger on my false-arm. Of course, there was judgment for my deviation.

If only they knew the true cause; the symbiotic or parasitic organism had only been growing stronger over time, and I felt more sure of myself by the day as a result.

If the judgemental stares came when preparing for Dance, it was doubly so when it came time to practice the lessons at easing muscle tension. The only one present who lacked any disdain in regards to the idea of pairing up with me was Marianne. Naturally, she and I were paired in that course.

By the time the last class ended, I felt exhausted, though I also felt excitement at the potential benefits from the Academy. Much of the course load could benefit me, and there was a very strong likelihood of networking and gaining actionable intel.

As Marianne and I returned to Ma’Ritz, I allowed myself to revel alongside Marianne and share her exultations. Though she was required to begin her evening shift on the tavern floor, her mood was hardly hampered at all.

Blessings: Rank (1/9)

Body: 65

Mind: 75

Spirit: 49

Talents:

Athleticism I (2/9) (+1):

Climbing I (5/9) (+1)

Featherlight I (4/9)

Inversion (2/9)

Gymnastics (4/9)

Stealth I (8/9)

Trackless Tracks I (4/9) (+1)

Area Coverage (6/9) (+1)

Alchemical Immunity (ineligible for growth)

Eschiver I (3/9) (+1)

Evasion I (2/9) (+1)

Impending Sense (4/9) (+1)

Lucky Break I (1/9) (+1)

Chance Encounter (1/9) (NEW)

Courtly Dancing: Treachery (2/9) (+1)

Flexibility (1/9) (NEW)

Spells:

Illusion I (5/9)

Touch (8/9)

Guise of the Kitsune (7/9) (+1)

Closed

Gifts:

Obsession (4/9) (+1)

Closed (0/9)

Closed (0/9)