Chapter 6 (Continued)

[Georg Elsebethson]

At Asra's urging, Georg goes, hoping to be far enough down the staircase to avoid being overheard by the time the door opens. Thankfully, there's only one basement room, so it doesn't seem like they'll have to guess where Iana is being held. Georg quiets his breathing and gently sets Asra down so he can hear what's going on better. From the sound of it, it's lucky they arrived when they did, as some unpleasant-sounding magics are being planned. He wonders if Gava is "the boss" currently, or if Chavon is actually in the building somewhere, or if some other boss is present. I'm really starting to hate conspiracies, he thinks. There's a reason he hasn't taken any Obsidian classes beyond the requirements, though that doesn't seem to have helped him at all when it comes down to it.

Once again, steps are approaching a door he's on the other side of, but this time, they can't really avoid a confrontation. Looking at Asra, he mimes throwing a punch in the direction of the door and raises his eyebrows questioningly. He doesn't see a way to take care of this quietly, so the best he can hope for is to resolve it quickly.

[Asralynn Beauchaud]

Asra's nose wrinkles with disgust at the musty smell of the basement. She has been assaulted with far too many potent smells in the course of this investigation, but mold, somehow, still bothers her the most. She doesn't like the sound of this magic that they are planning to use on Iana. It's probably some form of Divination, since that often requires samples from the subject, but without knowing more about what they're after, it'd be impossible to glean more.

Getting set down by Georg comes with mixed feelings. She'd felt oddly safe bundled up in his arms like that, and was a little reluctant to relinquish that feeling given their current environment, but they had a job to do...

So she nods to Georg's plan. Take them out. And if she has time, she'll snatch that tray so they can't do whatever it is they plan.

[AftermathGM]

The door latch groans on a mechanism rusty from the humidity and it takes a bit of a grunt from the other side to pull it open. The door opens into the room away from the stairs and a brighter light shines through, though it's still not particularly strong.

The man -- boy, really -- that appears in the doorway holds a wooden tray that's seen better days. There's a small plate and a cup and pitcher on top of it, but he carries it before him as though it were a precious jewel. Or maybe a venomous snake. They both induce the same sort of panicked, paranoid manner, after all.

"Oh, hey Gava, what are you do--" he says at first, but cuts off with a confused warbling squeak when he realizes neither of these people are Gava. "The fuck are you?"

The other occupant of the room, or at least the only other one who's spoken so far, leaps to their feet. "Calim? What's going on!"

Calim, the tray-carrier, stands in the doorway, his mouth hanging open and his eyes wide. He can't seem to form words to answer the question, nor can he concentrate on holding up the tray. The front dips down and the contents go sliding forward, ready to leap to their shattered doom on the hard floor.

[Asralynn Beauchaud]

The door latch groans on a mechanism rusty from the humidity and it takes a bit of a grunt from the other side to pull it open. The door opens into the room away from the stairs and a brighter light shines through, though it's still not particularly strong.

The man -- boy, really -- that appears in the doorway holds a wooden tray that's seen better days. There's a small plate and a cup and pitcher on top of it, but he carries it before him as though it were a precious jewel. Or maybe a venomous snake. They both induce the same sort of panicked, paranoid manner, after all.

"Oh, hey Gava, what are you do--" he says at first, but cuts off with a confused warbling squeak when he realizes neither of these people are Gava. "The fuck are you?"

The other occupant of the room, or at least the only other one who's spoken so far, leaps to their feet. "Calim? What's going on!"

Calim, the tray-carrier, stands in the doorway, his mouth hanging open and his eyes wide. He can't seem to form words to answer the question, nor can he concentrate on holding up the tray. The front dips down and the contents go sliding forward, ready to leap to their shattered doom on the hard floor.

Asra folds her hands in front of her, furrowing her brow as she takes in the sight of another underprivileged youth being exploited for labor by Chavon (or whoever it was pulling the strings). She almost felt bad about what was about to happen.

...almost.

Smiling sweetly, she reaches out and tilts the tray back up to a horizontal position before anything can clatter to the ground. "Don't mind me, I'll just... take this..." she murmurs quietly, almost reassuringly, as she gingerly pulls the tray from Calim's hands, leaving Georg free to do whatever it is Georg has planned.

[Georg Elsebethson]

"Oh, hey Gava, what are you do--" he says at first, but cuts off with a confused warbling squeak when he realizes neither of these people are Gava. "The fuck are you?"

The other occupant of the room, or at least the only other one who's spoken so far, leaps to their feet. "Calim? What's going on!"

Calim, the tray-carrier, stands in the doorway, his mouth hanging open and his eyes wide. He can't seem to form words to answer the question, nor can he concentrate on holding up the tray. The front dips down and the contents go sliding forward, ready to leap to their shattered doom on the hard floor.

Georg's fist is already in motion as the door opens, his intent being to use the element of surprise to take out one opponent before they know what's happening. He manages to check his swing at the last moment. Fucking gangsters employing fucking kids. As Asra helpfully steps in to take the tray before it makes a clatter, Georg sighs wearily, opens his fist, and presses his hand against Calim's collarbone to force him back from the door.

"Both of you stay quiet, please, I've already punched out more kids today than I would prefer." The number is one, but these two don't need to know that. "I'll still do it if you force my hand, mind you, I'll just feel bad about it."

[AftermathGM]

Calim stares blankly at Asra before Georg's hand is encouraging him to move backward. He holds up his own hands, confused at first by their emptiness, then as realization begins to set in he holds them up in surrender.

The other occupant of the room is more of a threat than poor Calim, who's little more than a message-runner, a page in a lowly court. To a more average-sized person, he would likely be a threat. He stands well over six feet tall with a trim muscular build as he rises from the table he sits at. There's a smooth grace to his motion that suggests he's comfortable in that build and could use it effectively in a fight.

Faced with Georg, however, he does a quick calculation of his odds and finds them distinctly unfavorable. There's a truncheon at his belt, but he makes no move toward it, holding his empty hands up as well.

"Easy, friend," the older man says. "Not sure what you're doing down here, but this is private property and I'm confident you don't belong. Turn back around and walk out and I'll forget this ever happened." Give him points for a good act, at least.

* * *

Inside the room, Iana can hear voices outside, but they're neither loud enough nor close enough to the door to make them out. Changing of the guard, maybe? Maybe Chavon is back again, expecting her to make a decision. The single light globe that's kept the room at least in dim light chooses that moment to flicker through green, orange and actinic blue before it gives up and dies completely. The windowless room is plunged into darkness.

[Asralynn Beauchaud]

Calim stares blankly at Asra before Georg's hand is encouraging him to move backward. He holds up his own hands, confused at first by their emptiness, then as realization begins to set in he holds them up in surrender.

The other occupant of the room is more of a threat than poor Calim, who's little more than a message-runner, a page in a lowly court. To a more average-sized person, he would likely be a threat. He stands well over six feet tall with a trim muscular build as he rises from the table he sits at. There's a smooth grace to his motion that suggests he's comfortable in that build and could use it effectively in a fight.

Faced with Georg, however, he does a quick calculation of his odds and finds them distinctly unfavorable. There's a truncheon at his belt, but he makes no move toward it, holding his empty hands up as well.

"Easy, friend," the older man says. "Not sure what you're doing down here, but this is private property and I'm confident you don't belong. Turn back around and walk out and I'll forget this ever happened." Give him points for a good act, at least.

Asra smiles gently at poor Calim as he holds his hands up in surrender, glad that he seems smart enough not to fight them. The other occupant, however, isn't quite standing down.

Sensing an opportunity, Asra puts on the charm and speaks to him from her defensive position behind her meat shield. "That would be counter productive, friend," Asra tells him sweetly. You see, we are here on behalf of our Lady to retrieve a person who does not belong in your company."

She hopes that name dropping their "Lady" might give him some pause. And if he truly works for Chavon, he might be aware, and even wary, of the Lady of the Mist.

[Georg Elsebethson]

Sensing an opportunity, Asra puts on the charm and speaks to him from her defensive position behind her meat shield. "That would be counter productive, friend," Asra tells him sweetly. You see, we are here on behalf of our Lady to retrieve a person who does not belong in your company."

She hopes that name dropping their "Lady" might give him some pause. And if he truly works for Chavon, he might be aware, and even wary, of the Lady of the Mist.

Thank the Three for kids with enough sense to stand down, Georg thinks as he turns his attention to the other guy. The older man is no slouch, Georg can tell, and probably pretty handy when it comes to intimidating shopkeepers and fighting off other thugs; he's not enough to stop Georg, but he can probably put up enough of a fight to make it noisy. Georg would really rather prefer than he listens to Asra and lets them take Iana and go, so he decides to try and sharpen the stick a bit.

"I'd listen to her, friend," Georg says with a jerk of his head towards Asra. "You're watching me, maybe thinking you can try your luck and get away with bruises and breaks at the worst, but if she decides to step in..." He shakes his head. "First time I saw her fight, she cut someone in half"—Okay, so referring to a corrupted uemerai as "someone" is maybe stretching, but this guy doesn't need to know that—"and that is not trouble you want."

[AftermathGM]

Calim stumbles back to stand behind the table, throwing a panicked look at his companion. The table has the typical detritus of a long shift on guard. There are a couple mostly empty plates with the remains of a meal, what looks like a small book laid open with a rock keeping it from flopping closed. A couple of knives and a fork.

"Go ahead. Cut me in half. You'll never get into that room," the older man says, voice casual but eyes hard as flint. He walks around next to Calim, draping one arm around his shoulders. WIth a swift motion, he locks his arm around Calim's neck, picks up one of the knives and holds it to Calim's throat. The younger man struggles, but he can't shake the iron grip. All it does is draw a thin red line across the skin of his neck. Calim squeaks and tries to hold still, but he can't seem to control his shaking.

"You see, that door is locked to all but a select few handprints. And before you go thinking that you can just kill me and Calim here and press our dead hands to the lock, you should know that it takes a living handprint to make it work and I'll end both our lives this very second if I have to. Because whoever this Lady is, I guarantee you there ain't nothing she can do that's worse than what the Firefly's gonna do to us if we let you in there. So back the fuck off because I won't think twice about cutting both our throats."

[Asralynn Beauchaud]

"Go ahead. Cut me in half. You'll never get into that room," the older man says, voice casual but eyes hard as flint. He walks around next to Calim, draping one arm around his shoulders. WIth a swift motion, he locks his arm around Calim's neck, picks up one of the knives and holds it to Calim's throat. The younger man struggles, but he can't shake the iron grip. All it does is draw a thin red line across the skin of his neck. Calim squeaks and tries to hold still, but he can't seem to control his shaking.

That glint of steel feels directed straight at her heart from the sliver of ice that settles there. She's barely even hearing him, just wide-eyed at the sight of the knife against Calim's neck.

The tray clatters noisily to the floor as Asra's shaking hands shoot up and a blindingly bright flash of hard light slices through the air. The thought was to remove the threat. The threat currently being the hand holding that knife. Luckily for everyone involved, a heavy wave a nausea hits Asra when she pulls upon her power, causing that sizzling plane of light to crash against the wall behind the two goons, leaving a smoldering scar that nearly robbed the older man of his knife hand.

Asra is pale and shaking as she holds her hand aloft, her pupils dilated as she stares at the wound on the wall. She can feel Georg's eyes on her (or maybe she's just imagining it), but its enough for her to whirl on him.

"Don't look at me like that!" she squeaks indignantly, her voice quivering with adrenaline. "I am NOT good in high-pressure situations, and I did NOT sign up for a hostage negotiation!"