Palace of Greed, El Dorado (Library of Ruina)

[] Talky Talk Time. Sun wanted do end things as clean as possible, and – well, that's not your style. You could botch this up, but you guess it's worth trying out. If it fails, it'd sacrifice the element of surprise, and with you standing right in front of six odd numbers, it's going to be hell for you. But if it works out, then it works out. Mao'll back you up on this.


Your blood boils. Talking is not your style – fighting is. You're not some Nest Bastard who talks in loops, and circles. You're from the worser parts of the Backstreets, and violence is how you survived. It's not like you enjoyed it, y'know? You're not like those freaks who go out of their way to get killed, or those freaks who get off from it. But you're a natural at it, and there are few things that are better than the rush that follows once you won your fight. It's that feeling of being at the top; a visceral proof that you're better than these idiots, that you're not at the bottom run, that you can go up, and – you know, it's just all a momentary illusion, lasting for only seconds; meaningless in the grand scheme of things. You don't take pleasure in it, but it'd be a lie if you don't take satisfaction in the violence.

More than anything, you need to blow some steam off.

But that's not what Sun wants – and you don't care what she wants. She even said that it's ultimately your choice. Resorting to things that you're not good at only leads to dying, and – ugh. Guilt, and shame are something you need to throw away to survive. They're just baggage dragging your feet down. But that doesn't mean you don't feel them, alright? There. You fucking admitted it. You feel fucking bad. Rats can go die, you don't give a shit about Fixers, and your neighbors… they've given up a long time ago. But Sun's not like them. She's your client, duh, but she fed you brownies. Who does that? She certainly did not have to, and more than that, she didn't force you to do shit, or make you feel like a piece of shit. No instead, you made her feel like shit. Even worse, you made yourself feel like a piece of shit.

Sun wants to do this clean, and stain-free like. Corpses are easy to clean – you can just chuck them off onto the middle of the streets, and the Sweepers will do their thing. But blood? Blood's a different kind of beast. Sweepers don't care about those. And they stain, stick, rust, and smell. They're also fucking hard to clean, especially if they get on more than just metal. By Landlord Lin's demands, you've spent hours just trying to scrub the walls, and floors clean. Days even, trying to scrape the blood off while at the same time not destroying the surface they're stuck on. Sun would've to hire janitors for that, and even then, the stain would never truly go away. Even though Landlord Lin had gone the whole way to repainting the hallway that one time, you could still see them behind your eyes.

Sagging you turn to over your shoulders, meeting Mao's eyes. "We'll do this your way," you mutter.

Her eyes widen for a bit, before she smirks, shooting you a thumbs-up.

Grumbling under your breath, you turn back to the door, unlatching the chain-lock, and twisting the key. As you twist the knob, you let out a deep sigh, before swinging the door open.

Just as you suspected before, six people stand right in front of the door – and out of them, only two stand out immediately. The first one stands right in front of you, wearing a large grey-beige open long-coat, underneath it a plain brown buttoned shirt, his collar splayed wide. Tall like Mao, towering you by a head, but bulky unlike Mao; his shoulders squared up. Old, you continue, but not too old. He can't be a decade older than you, but his hair is already turning gray, black sprinkled with white salt. Lines, and wrinkles on his face, and bags underneath his flinty brown eyes. You recognize the dead-tiredness in his eyes, like the ones you see in your fellow neighbors. At your sight, his frown deepens.

The four in the background wear similar looking clothes, but without the long coat – a cap on their head and collared up brown clothes on their body with too many pockets. The second person that stands out stands surrounded by the four. Wispy white-blue hair, and a pair of wide red eyes. Unlike the others, he wears a simple shirt-and-trousers combo; something that you wouldn't bat an eye over in the streets. It's something that you would wear.

You might be stupid, but that doesn't mean you're blind. He must be –

"Where's Sun?" the man steps forward, voice raspy, and hoarse. Looks like you're on the mark. "Where is she – Sun!" he shouts, taking another step forward. "I know you're in there! Please, show yourself! It doesn't have to be like this, we –"

"Not another –" before you could finish your sentence, the large man shifts his feet, blocking Moon from stepping closer.

"Not another step, Sir," he speaks, voice low, and heavy, tattered with worn. He sighs. "Wait until this is over – until we finish the job, okay?"

Half-hidden behind the man, you catch a frustrated look on Moon's face.

"Now," the large man turns to you, looming. His eyes glance to your side, and yours to his. A tonfa inside the sleeves of his coat, not quite hidden. You call back to yesterday, to what a certain purple-haired maniac said. Shit, what was his name again? "I suggest you step aside, young girl. Our client's business is not with you."

He's not attacking immediately. That's good. "I suggest you all leave instead," you retort, and the man raises his eyes. What was it that Mao told you before? "You're all not getting paid enough for this."

"Is that so," he drawls out, sighing. "And why is that? As I see it, we've come prepared – and two against six?" for the first time, you catch a semblance of a smile. It's dead cold thing. "We'll take our chances."

[Negotiation Check. Medium Difficulty (5 to Pass). You Roll 3 (2+1). Fail.]

Uh. Okay. Point. What's next? You shift on your feet. Oh, right. "Ya sure? We're from a Fifth Grade Office," you smirk. "Scarecrow Office. You think you could take us on?"

"Yes," your smile falters. He snorts. Behind him, the four Fixers laugh. "Even if I do believe you, I would even still say yes. I have never heard of a Scarecrow Office – and even if I'm wrong," he leers. "You don't look like a 5th​ Grade Fixer. I can smell the green off you, and I bet your partner there is no better."

Well, shit. If he doesn't believe you, then there's not much else you could do. You could at least say you tried. Lifting your hand, you catch the man's eyes narrow, the tonfa in his grip sliding – behind him, the four Fixers pull out their weapons: batons, and clubs. This is going to hurt, but –

"I'd suggest you rethink that, Victor," Mao drawls, her voice somehow piercing. Everything stops, and your crowbar hangs stiffly halfway from raising it up. You feel a pull, almost reflexive, forcing you to look over your shoulders, but you don't – keeping instead an eye on Victors, catching the surprise on his face. "Victor from Vic's Office – quite the narcissistic, and plain name, I'll admit. You'd think it's the other way around, but, ah, excuse my junior's lack of persuasion skills. Somehow, she manages to make the truth sound like a bluff," Mao chuckles.

You grumble under your breath.

"How did you –"

"Ap," you could almost feel Mao raising her finger when she said that, waggling it around. "I'm not done. Ah, what was it, again? Right. Victor, Mellie, Asoka, Miriam, and Vallete. Ninth Grade Fixers, except for the boss himself; an Eighth Grade Fixer. Coming from the Western side of our District, I'm not surprised you don't know us –"this time, you could hear the grin; like a cat playing with a cornered rat. Mao chuckles. "But we do. Jack of All Trades, in the business for ten years. Quite the experience there – why I'm only in this business for at least four years. I should call you my senior," she laughs. "By the way, I am actually a Fifth Grade Fixer."

… Y'know, it's interesting the various expressions one could make under growing terror. Especially when that someone is a supposedly stoic, but undoubtedly stronger-than-you Fixer.

Victor recovers, jaws clenched tight. His face is a shade paler. "… This little girl here is still green. New. I'm not wrong on that front. She'll die quickly."

You narrow your eyes. "In your fucking dreams," you growl. He's right, though. You lost the element of surprise, and he stands there right in front of you. While Mao's stronger than him, he's still stronger than you. You'll hold, but it's not going to be easy.

"My junior is a newbie," Mao answers lightly, and you bristle. "In fact, she just graduated yesterday – but if you have to think twice again. She's not at all green. In fact, she's red."

… Huh. "She's right, y'know," you growl. "You might be able to finish me, but by that time, you'd all be dead."

As if on cue, you hear a click from behind you; something heavy settling onto a wooden surface – and if you thought you saw pale, then you haven't seen this one. They all stiffen. "My junior's too generous. You'd all be dead before then."

"If," Victor starts, then pauses. "If you think death scares us…"

Mao hums. "Oh, pretty sure it does. But we're all Fixers here, right? Death is part of the job; I'll give you that. What can you do, right? But it's good to remember that it's still a job, and if this one's worth dying over."

Defeat. Plain as day even you could see it, cracking through his pale, yet still-stoic expression. "… Fine. What do you want?"

"What?!" Moon chokes. "No no no," he shakes his head. "You've gotta be joking. We're not – I'll triple, quadruple your pay – !"

"Please, Sir," Victor strains out, grimacing. "Even if you could pay us by that much, this is not something we're equipped to deal with."

Moon opens his mouth, and then closes it with a whimper, hugging himself. "Sun!" he shouts. "Please! I just – I love you so much, and I just want to see you again, so please I know you're in there, and you can hear me so –"

"Well," Mao cuts him off, her voice perking up. "You all could leave, but I don't see why Moon has to. I'm sure Miss Sun wants to see him."

"Yes –"

"No," Victor cuts Moon off, grabbing the man by the collar. "We will leave, but not without our client."

"… Even if it means you'd all die?"

Victor clenches his jaws. "This is one thing we will not budge."

"Well, sure. Leave, then."

You watch Moon flail as the Fixers beat a hasty retreat, dragging the man unceremoniously.

You let out a breath that you didn't realize you have been holding. Shoulders sagging, you close the door – doing all the locks over again. You turn around, staring at Mao staring at you with a grin. "Good job," she remarks.

You grimace, dragging your feet. "… I did fuck all," you point out, heaving out a growl as you deposit yourself to same spot as before. "Sun?" you call out.

Mao hums. "We'll talk about that later," she nods, before turning over her shoulders. "Miss Sun? How are you feeling?"

Stiffly, Sun crawls out from the shadow of Mao's back. She looks exhausted. "I'm fine," she smiles tiredly. The corner of her eyes looks wet.

"I'm sorry, Miss Sun," Mao mutters, and you're faintly surprised by how remorseful she sounds. "Even though I had the chance, I missed out on finishing your ex."

"N-no," she whispers out, shaking her head. "It's fine. You protected me, and…" she turns to you. "I'm sorry."

You blink, jaws clenching reflexively. "… Sorry? For what?"

"You almost died, Miss Lily, because of my selfish request," she mumbles out, ducking her head. "I know," she continues, before you could add a word in. "It's part of the job, but that one request… it wasn't."

"Ugh," you grimace, shooting her a scowl. "Look. Who the fuck says I did it for you? I did that for myself."

"Oho," Mao smirks, like a cat who caught the canary. "You should see your face in a mirror, Lily. It's really, really red."

"Hehe," Sun giggles. "Thank you, Miss Lily."

"Holy shit –" you strain out, burying your face into your palms. "Just fuck off, okay. I did it for myself."

"If you say so, miss 'I can dish it out, but can't take it'," Mao laughs. Without looking up, you raise your middle finger. Mao laughs again, this time accompanied again by Sun giggling. You bury your face deeper. "Anyway, looks like our job here is done – but just to be safe, would you mind us standing guard here over the night, Miss Sun?"

"H-huh? But I only paid for…"

"Psh," Mao snorts. "It's fine. Consider it our "First Time Client" bonus – you don't have to pay extra…" she trails off. "Though more cakes would be nice."

Sun giggles. "Well, in that case…"


You're the first to watch for the night, sitting alone by the table under the unlit room. Sun is probably already asleep in her bedroom, Mao inside there to watch over her. It's a weird thing to do, but she's the one who's been doing this for years, so who're you to say anything. Like what Mao said, you don't expect anything to happen. It'd probably take days, if not weeks, for Moon to come again with more Fixers, and by then, none of this would be any of your business. You sigh deeply, pressing your palm against your face. What a fuckup.

"You did good, Lily."

You glance to your side, barely surprised as Mao sits right next to you. "Ya sure?" you snort. "I did fuck all. Just fumbled my words – you're the one who did everything, while I was just standing around like an idiot."

Mao raises an eyebrow, before humming. "I disagree. It wasn't just 'standing around', you stood your ground," she says, staring at the door. You scoff. "That's why you passed, by the way."

You blink. "Whu?"

"Wait," Mao turns to you, smirking. "Did you forget why you're here in the first place?

Oh. Right. "… No?" Mao snorts, and you grumble under your breath. "Whatever. You said I passed? I'm not complaining, but why?"

"Like I said," Mao drawls. "You stood your ground. Five Fixers in front of you. Experienced, and well-equipped. And you, just one day from getting your Fixer's License. You didn't take a step back – in fact, you were prepping to strike them."

"I just wanted to strike back," you grumble under your breath. "Not much else."

"Well, regardless," Mao continues. "Had you taken a couple steps back then; gave those Fixers an opening to go around you, I would've failed you. I said before, that even if our job is filled with death, it's still a job," she muses. "You have to consider each one if they're worth dying over or not. That rule applies little to us Scarecrows."

"Us, huh," you snort. "But how do you mean?" somehow, you think you already know the answer.

"We Scarecrows specialize in Protection – that means putting others first before ours," she explains. "It's one thing to refuse it beforehand, but the moment we take the job – provided our client does not knowingly set us up – even if it means we have to face threats leagues above what we were supposed to deal with, what we can deal with, we don't back down," Mao closes her eyes, stretching her torso across the table. "We're Scarecrows. The moment we're staked to the ground to protect the field from crows, we don't move. We don't budge. Compared to the farmers, to the field itself, our lives are nothing. Do you understand what I'm saying?"

"Yeah," you sigh out, closing your eyes. "I think I get it."

There's a long pause. "If you don't think being a Scarecrow fits you, you could leave. I won't hold it out against you. I'd even contact one of our Sister Offices, recommend you to any which one you think would fit you best."

You glance to her. "You're weird, y'know that, right?" you mutter. "You're strong. Stronger than me, and I guess that grants you the privilege. And you're super annoying, but…" you scrunch your brows. "Even when I mouth you back, you didn't –" you grimace. "I've only worked with you for less than a day, but – ugh," you plant your face to the table. "I can't say it."

Mao snorts. "Cute."

You glare.

Mao smirks. "Nobody cares for the scarecrow. Everyone thinks they're dumb. Foolish. Even to their companions, they're there to be laughed at, not with. Nobody understands them. That's why," Mao muses. "Scarecrows have to stick together, because they're the ones who understand themselves."

You snort. "You're really milking it, aren't you?"

"Well," Mao shrugs, before sighing, closing her eyes. For a moment, she doesn't say anything. When she opens them again, they pin you down like a force of gravity. Her eyes, a golden amber thing, seem to glow. "So, what do you think? I'm giving you a choice. An actual choice."

Article:

Choose 1:

[] Join the Scarecrow Office. What else is there to say? You've chosen this Office, and you're not backing out of it. You stand your ground.

[] Do Not Join the Scarecrow Office. You can't be a Scarecrow. You value your life too much.
-[] Yellow Path Office, Specializing in Information, as well as "Lost and Found"
-[] Lumberjack Office, Specializing in Assassination
-[] Lion Office, Specializing in Team-based Warfare