Alectai
Speaks Words of Wisdom... On occasion
Explains why she seemed so snitty at the end there.
But yeah, good to see that the Tactics were good and had the intended effect!
Palace of Greed, El Dorado (Library of Ruina)
- Thread starter SoothingCoffee
- Start date
Explains why she seemed so snitty at the end there.
But yeah, good to see that the Tactics were good and had the intended effect!
- Location
- United States of America, Michigan
You mean Alexis not Merry right? Unless Merry somehow got over his beating and changed gender it doesn't make sense.
But anyways that's pretty impressive and means that Alexis could have some hidden will power for when it counts to get back up after being knocked down the first time. No delicate city flower like I thought she would be
Alectai
Speaks Words of Wisdom... On occasion
I think she's the Justice postergirl here. Merry is probably Temperance and Min is probably Prudence. Lily has Fortitude, and Cool Girl and the gangster guy are probably just examples of people who were a bit better off coming into the game but not good enough to make it in the long run (Noticably, they had seeming effects suggesting they'd already had some augments going for them)
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- Location
- The Star Kingdom of Manticore
Their relationship does seem... complex. Min clearly has resources to call on given that he had a gun, and well money makes up for a lot of flaws in this city. The gun may be more of a status symbol for him. Selling that and getting some good equipment that lets him handle problems cost efficiently will go a long way in fixing some of the issues he may have.
Alectai
Speaks Words of Wisdom... On occasion
Can't sell a gun, you need special dispensation to be allowed to use a firearm or else the various Corps come down on you like the fist of god. It's one of the few things that will get you killed--and just being a Fixer doesn't mean you're authorized to use one (Though by the time you're Sixth or Fifth Grade, getting one is just a formality)
The Head prefers it when the peasantry have to settle battles in close quarters.
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- Location
- The Star Kingdom of Manticore
Surely there are is someway to get cash for a gun. Sell to one of the few workshops allowed to work guns. Sell it to someone who has the dispensation. Just because someone needs a special dispensation to use guns doesn't mean you can't sell a gun. It just means the pool of buyers is smaller.
LinkOnScepter
The One who Strangles Concepts to death
- Location
- Interwebs
That depends on how far The Head's Influence reaches.
Cause while we know the Head is powerful, influential, and rules the City, we don't really know what they can DO.
Let me put it like this: The Index is one of the Fingers of the Backstreets. They're run by someone who has literal Precognition and gives out Prescripts that, while crazy, always end up benefitting them in the long run.
These guys aren't stronger than the Head.
The Head is literally able to get on over on Precogs.
- Location
- The Star Kingdom of Manticore
The head doesn't like guns, but there is no way for people with guns who no longer want/need them to get rid of them? It doesn't make sense to me for there not to be an established system of getting rid of guns, even if you just smelt it and sell the metal.
EternalObserver
eYe Gaze baCk
- Location
- The Void
[X] Specialized Office. These are Fixer Offices who fill in those niche needs. Sometimes, it's more general, like protection, or warfare and such – but at times, it's more specific like dealing with Distortions, or… well, now that you think about it, they're not that different to the other Offices. They tend to be on the smaller side though, strong, and comes with the benefit of being individual. Mid Experience Gain. High income in Equal Cuts depending on Jobs. Quality over Quantity. Cool senpais. Somewhat specialized. Special Equipment.
-[X] Protection
-[X] Protection
- Location
- Ninja Island
Could have also used the Thumb as an example as they create their own guns and ammo. Granted the ammo have special effects when used but don't use if it isn't needed. They prefer to crush their enemies with the stocks of their guns or use the bayonets that are attached.
The only reason I think they get away with it is that their workshops have the special permits to create firearms.
LinkOnScepter
The One who Strangles Concepts to death
- Location
- Interwebs
True.
Also, I find it funny that the Index Finger is a faction of religious precognitive zealots, while the Thumb is a fucking Mafia.
- Pronouns
- he
[X] Specialized Office. These are Fixer Offices who fill in those niche needs. Sometimes, it's more general, like protection, or warfare and such – but at times, it's more specific like dealing with Distortions, or… well, now that you think about it, they're not that different to the other Offices. They tend to be on the smaller side though, strong, and comes with the benefit of being individual. Mid Experience Gain. High income in Equal Cuts depending on Jobs. Quality over Quantity. Cool senpais. Somewhat specialized. Special Equipment.
-[X] Protection
-[X] Protection
SoothingCoffee
Umumumu
- Location
- The Library
Yeah I meant Alexis. Mixed them up accidentally.
- Location
- The Star Kingdom of Manticore
SoothingCoffee
Umumumu
- Location
- The Library
Calling the Vote.
Looks like a Protection/Bodyguard Specialized Office has won. Welcome to, ah, Scarecrow Office.
Looks like a Protection/Bodyguard Specialized Office has won. Welcome to, ah, Scarecrow Office.
LinkOnScepter
The One who Strangles Concepts to death
- Location
- Interwebs
As long as we don't come across overly wise we should be fine.
Our low Prudence will help us here.
- Location
- Ninja Island
As long as the person we're guarding isn't a target for the Shi Association then we should be kinda ok.
SoothingCoffee
Umumumu
- Location
- The Library
On the bright side, they would only aim the person you're guarding, not so much on the bodyguards. On the not-so-bright side, that person you're supposed to be guarding is also the one signing your paycheck.
Oh.
It do be that way sometimes.
Alectai
Speaks Words of Wisdom... On occasion
We should be fine our Prudence is below 3.
- Location
- The Star Kingdom of Manticore
Hmm... Scarecrow office. Standing around looking scary. What a fitting name for a protection based office.
0.3. Strawberry Shortcake
SoothingCoffee
Umumumu
- Location
- The Library
The Scarecrow Office specializes in protection – specifically towards specific groups, or individuals. Bodyguards, when you get down to it. It's not a niche enough focus – the opposite really – to be the only Office in the market. The Zwei Association, for example, focuses on protection, though they lean more towards the "neighborhood" scale than "individual". However, that alone should tell you enough how profitable the "protection" job market is. It's all supply, and demand, right? More than anything else, people want protection – and Fixer Offices keep popping up here, and there, and the Zwei's long arms grow with each passing day, all to keep up with the demand.
If there's a place where you don't have to worry about not getting jobs, or not getting paid, or getting hungry, then the Protection Market is your meal ticket.
Your body aches, and your bandaged arm twinges every so often. Whenever you take a step, there's a disconcerting creaking noise coming from your body. Your wallet feels light; lighter than you could ever remember, and your stomach churns. Stale bread and sink water await you – any plan for a decent dinner dashed away. Today was the most scared shitless you've ever been.
You feel great. The crowbar in your hand feels right, and hefty – and the card deep inside your wallet feels heavier than any plastic sheet with your face on it has any right to be. On your way, people sneak glances at you. Some in disgust, and some with a scoff. But some, they look at you with wary, cautious eyes.
You're moving somewhere now – going up. At the end of the tunnel, the light seems to burn brighter. You're a changed woman, now.
Of course, the high could only last so long. Eventually, you reach your apartment building, and the smirk on your face dies away. Chipped walls, and peeled paint – your apartment building is a vast three-storied rectangular building, stretching wide. A line of square tiny windows run across the white concrete block; a few has their lights on, but most are off. There are five of them, and another five on the back of the building. There are twenty-five rooms here, but only seventeen of them are occupied; sometimes, that number goes up, but often, it only goes down. But they never stay that way for long, always balancing down to the old seventeen. A middle-aged man leans half of his body out against the window's railings, smoking, eyes dead, and sunken. He's not going to last.
You look away from him, and down towards the entrance, pulling out the keys from your pocket. Quietness assaults you, followed by the sweltering humid heat. Above, the dim light flickers. Rolling your shoulders, you step into the hallway, the door clicking shut behind you. One end leads to a dead end, while the other leads to the staircase. Your room is on the second floor. Reflexively, as you tiptoe on your feet, your eyes jump to one room. Landlord Lin's. Underneath, you see light peeking from the door. You walk past it, and –
"You're not going to greet me?"
You flinch, cursing under your breath. "Didn't want to bother you," you mutter back, turning around.
From a room by the other end of the hallway, Landlord Lin steps out. A long pipe hangs between his lips. Long black-and-pepper hair reaching down to the small of his back. Wrinkles mark the age on his face, and the greens on his narrow eyes are faded. Over his shoulders hang a loose purple robe, worn over a thin black bathrobe – a yukata, they're called, etched with the white shadows of birds. On his hand, a long cane supports him. You don't think he needs it.
Tap, it goes, as he moves towards you.
It's everything for you not to step back.
"How mindful of you," he retorts, voice raspy. His eyes seem to pierce through you. "But how did the exam go, then? Good, I'm suspecting," he muses, eyeing your crowbar.
You nod stiffly. "I'll be working for an Office tomorrow."
He slowly tilts his head. "You're not going to tell me the name?" you grimace. He snorts. "I'll figure it out eventually. Haah," he sighs, grey smoke wafts from his mouth. He looks almost disappointed. "Suppose I can't have you do my errands anymore now."
"… Suppose not."
He hums, closing his eyes. He rolls his pipe, taking another inhale, before taking it out between his fingers. "Do you know why – when your father, and mother died – I decided to take you in, instead of kicking you out to the streets?"
You frown. "… Why?"
"Well, they paid me in advance for one," Landlord Lin smiles; a crooked edge to it. "Three months in advance, time to get you on your feet. And for two, I owed them to some degree."
That perks your attention. "You owed them?"
"Something like that," he muses, nodding his head. He stares at the smoking pipe. "It's in the past now, but after those three months, I did not kick you out."
"You put me into work."
"I invested into you," Landlord Lin corrects, and you blink. He hums, inhaling another puff of smoke. "You see, I always consider myself as a businessman. Long term plans often don't pay out, even when they're theoretically more profitable. It's always a gamble see. You could be making a promising deal with someone today, but tomorrow they might end up dead in some ditch elsewhere – well, what's the point? Short-term works out best, in the end."
You try to keep up and fail. "What's your point, Landlord Lin?"
"Call it a flight of fancy," he says. "But I saw some worth inside you and decided to invest. Not for free, of course," he chuckles. "But look at you now. I've been waiting for this day."
Ah. You feel your stomach drop. "You're going to increase my rent."
"Increase?" his eyes glimmer. "No. I'm returning it to normal: eight-hundred-thousand Ahn at the end of every month.
Your eyes widen. "Eight hundred thousand –" you gnash your teeth, growling. "Fuck off, I know that should cost less. What's to stop me from just moving out?"
"Hm?" he tilts his head. "Well, yes. You can try finding another place. And eventually, you'll move out. But just as it takes you eight-years to get to today, it will not take you until several years before you can do that. Now, there'll be a new tenant moving in tomorrow, and I need to clean up the previous tenant's mess. Normally, I'd ask your help," he grins. "But I know tomorrow's your big day."
He turns around, showing you his open back – and for a moment; for a horrible, horrible moment, you're tempted to swing your crowbar over him. You do not. You shrink into yourself. "You'll get your money," you grunt out, before stamping your way upstairs.
Your room is a small, and plain cubicle team. There's a 'kitchen' to the side, mainly occupied by a microwave, and a bathroom; its door missing from its frame. You lie flat onto your thin mattress, staring at the ceiling. Over in the corner of your eyes, through the sinking sunlight filtering from your curtained window, you catch a picture of your parents. Well, 'picture'. It was simply the doodling of a small Lily of mom, and dad. A pair of shittily drawn stick figures; they both wear a hat. One has a 'stick' jutting out of their face, while the other has a pair of circles drawn on the chest area; lines that were supposed to resemble hair jutting out like freaky pins. They both appear smiling. The paper itself has been crumpled, and uncrumpled up, and the images faded from time.
The frame had cost you some pretty penny, and even today, you wonder what exactly possessed you to do it. Sure, it doesn't cost all that much, in the grand scheme of things. A wrap of HamHam PangPang toast would cost more.
You still can't force yourself to throw it out.
You never asked, of course. There's nobody you could ask. What they looked like, what they did, and why they –
You close your eyes.
The Scarecrow Office is located on the better part of the Backstreets. It's the kind of neighborhood that's considered safe by virtue of the amount of Fixer Offices based around here, their quality notwithstanding. Of course, a Syndicate could still just raid an Office, and the other Offices wouldn't bother to help unless they're going to get paid. Same with the people outside of the business, living in this part of the neighborhood. You think they know that too.
The Office itself lies on the second story of some building. The first floor looks to be restaurant of sorts. A sign hangs by the wall, on it the image of a head made from straws with buttoned eyes and everything; a crow seemingly roosting on top of it. You snort. That seems to defeat the idea of "scarecrow".
You shake your head, and head towards the side entry. There's a button for the second floor. You push it, and it's followed by a buzz, and a then a click as the door unlocks. You eye it for a moment, unsure. "Guess that's my cue," you mumble, stepping in – and climbing up a set of staircases. Eventually, you reach a door, the image of the straw head-and-crow plastered on the door.
Well, since they've buzzed you in – you twist the handle. "Excuse me, I'm coming in!" you call out.
You're struck immediately by the smell of something bitter – and is that? Music? You stop, trying to take it all in. Four pairs of eyes leap their attention towards you, and you catch a familiar tuft of white hair sitting on a sofa – her back against you. Speaking of, a set of sofas, and chairs and a low table sit in the very middle of the room. Two office desks not so dissimilar to the one inside Landlord Lin's office line up against the wall, each one no less cluttered than the other. Fake potted plants, bookshelves, and wooden floor. A set of entry to the side leading elsewhere. At the end of the room is another desk, larger than the other two, almost encompassing. Back against the closed, curtained, and blackened windows facing down the streets, someone sits there.
Reflexively, your attention couldn't help but focus on them.
… A burlap sack covers their entire head; a pair of eyes poking through the eyeholes. On the mouth, a stitched smile. A large, and black pointy hat rests on the top of their head. They wear black vest, and under it a white long-sleeved shirt littered with stitches, and patch-marks; loose strands sticking out. They sit there, slack, limp, and boneless. If not for the visible pair of eyes, you might've thought them a corpse. Unbidden, your eyes move to the crow perched on top of their hat's rim, blood-red beady eyes blinking at you.
"Ah, you must be the other kid Ran talked about," your attention yanks to the source. A slender-looking woman with ponytailed black-green hair who can't be a few years older than you. She sits slack on an armchair, almost horizontally, feet stretched over to the table. She doesn't have a burlap-sack over her head, but you're noticing a pattern in the uniform: a black coat ridden with patch marks, and stitches. Underneath that is a red-and-white squared shirt, looking no better with visible loose strands sticking out, and though you can't see them before, her blue jeans look well-worn, complete with holes as well. In her hand, there's a tiny fork – in the other a plate of cake. "And another girl too. Nice," her eyes glint. "Maybe our Office can stop being a damn sausage party, for once."
"And all it takes is for Marco to die," another wryly muses. It belongs to a large man hulking man, taking the better part of a three-people sofa on the left side of the sitting setup. A side-swept white hair, and a pair of amber eyes. Well-worn beige shirt the color of potatoes, looking as though it's made from the same components as the burlap sack. "Shame, that."
"He was bright," the last man speaks, sitting at the 'head' of the setup – right in front of the large desk, and the burlap-headed man. Dark messy hair forming a rat's nest, and dark sunken eyes. A black vest over a black shirt, patched up with yellows, and greens. His rests his chin on a hand. "So bright," he mutters, sighing. "I liked him."
"Got you that much, huh," the woman mutters, grimacing. "Well, look at the bright side," she gestures at you, and the familiar white-haired girl. "Now," she smiles. It's a lazy, uncaring thing. "Lily, was it? Cute name, by the way. How about you take a seat here too?"
"It ain't not cute," you lash out, before begrudgingly making your way to the sofa, and – yep, that's her alright. Cool Girl. You catch her glance at you, not a hint of surprise in her eyes. You drop yourself onto the sofa, cursing at your slip of tongue, and how soft the sofa is. "Don't call me cute."
"You got spunk, Lily," the woman mumbles, smiling. You flinch. "Not a bad attitude in our Office here," you catch a glint in her eyes as she swallows a bite of a cake. "But you're not used to being complemented, are you?"
You jump. "What –"
"Want a bite?" the woman cuts you off, and you stare cross-eyed, at the proffered bite of cake. You narrow your eyes at her. "Come on, you've been staring at it for a while now."
… Pride is a privilege that you don't have. Quietly, you take a bite. It's very sweet, and soft, and creamy, and a little bit sour from the strawberry jam, and very good. You sag back in defeat to the sofa. In the corner of your eyes, Cool Girl dips her head ever so slightly. You close your eyes and heave out a sigh.
Large Dude, and Rat Hair let out a slow chuckle.
"Enough teasing," you open your eyes; the voice belongs to the man with burlap sack. His voice is low; his tone heavy, as though the act of talking itself is tiresome. "Introduce yourself."
"I'm Mao," the Annoying Woman chimes in, grinning lazily.
"My Vice-Chief," Burlap Man adds, and with that – the position of 'Chief' is confirmed in your head.
"Burke," Large Dude continues, raising his hand.
"Sledgehammer," Burlap Man muses. Burke drops his head.
"And I'm Mori," Rat Hair smiles easily, raising his hand to a salute.
"…"
Mori sighs, dropping his head.
"If it's not obvious," Mao leans into you, 'whispering'. "I'm the Chief's favorite. If he dies, I'm gonna be the one taking over."
"Yes," the Chief confirms, a hint of amusement in his voice. "I am Daniel."
Uh.
"My name is Kai," Cool Girl stands up, bowing her head. Even though you didn't hear her speak a peep yesterday, somehow, she sounds almost exactly as you expected. Cold. Monotone. She sits back down. "I would like to work here."
"Straightforward," the Chief bobs his head.
Guess that's your turn. "Uh. Lily. Guess you know that already," you grumble. "But yeah," there's a pause. "Yeah."
"Awkward."
You stare at him. You're the first to look away. You face feels hot. "Yeah. Sure."
"Knock it off, Chief," Mao says, swallowing the last of the cake. She places the platter down, stretching her arms out with a groan. "So, how's about it, Chief?"
"Your decision."
Mao pauses, her stretched out arms hanging awkwardly. After a moment, she drops her feet down from the table, and lean forward to her knees. "Hm," she frowns, eyeing both you, and Kai. "Personally, I don't mind. It's always nice to have more people, y'know? And it's not like I'm doubting Ran's words either: if she says you're good, then you're good. Shame what happened to her people, but she's still alive for a reason, you get me?"
"… Is that why the Branch building was so quiet?"
You glance to Kai in surprise. She didn't speak a bit last time, and now she's suddenly talkative?
"Noticed it, huh? Awful shit, man," Mao sighs, leaning back to her chair. "Somebody really wants them dead. It's an open secret by now, but it's also one of those things you gotta keep quiet, you know? When it comes to Hana Association, reputation is everything."
You remember Ran's spiel yesterday – to never lie or falsify report to them. "Figured as much," you nod.
"So yeah, anyway, I'm thinking 'bout doing some trial runs," Mao says, after a beat. "Yeah. I know we still got a few Urban Myth jobs lying around – nothing that needs the whole Office to go out for. Was planning to do them today, but two birds one stone, right?" the crow suddenly squawks. You jump. If anybody else is bothered, they don't show it. "One of us three," she gestures at Mori, and Burke. "Is gonna pair up with one of you. Gotta see how you work, and all that stuff with our own eyes. Chief?"
"Sounds good."
Mao grins. "Then it's decided," she claps, jumping up to her feet. She walks to the side of the room. "Mori, go get the Urban Myth files on my desk. And don't you girls worry," Mao swings into view, a pair of similarly patched-up uniforms. Just as the ones they're wearing, they have seen better days. "We still got a few low-grade Fixer Uniforms on hand. We normally use them to gear up our employer, but until we decide to properly recruit you, these will do for now."
She throws one of them to you – and you couldn't help but both grimace, and marvel at it. Despite its rotten, loose-strands-poking-out appearance, they feel incredibly soft. You've slept in clothes that look in better condition than these, but this is something else. Guess it's true what they say about Fixer Outfits being special. For all that Mao called it 'low grade', you get a very distinct feeling that this would still cost you an arm, and a leg.
You're not sure about the design, though. It's one of those tight, and fancy looking office suit. Patched-up, torn-up, and stitched suit-thing with cut up vest, and half-a-red tie. There's one thing to be down on your luck loser, but there's another thing to costume like you're a down on your luck loser.
[Low Grade Fixer Outfit (Low Quality) Equipped: +1 to Armor.]
"Here," Mori smoothly interrupts, his voice carrying a humming quality to it. Onto the table, he slides out three thin files. "Take a looksie, ladies."
You share a look with Kai. Without so much as glancing, she picks out the one on the left, and read it.
Right.
If there's a place where you don't have to worry about not getting jobs, or not getting paid, or getting hungry, then the Protection Market is your meal ticket.
Your body aches, and your bandaged arm twinges every so often. Whenever you take a step, there's a disconcerting creaking noise coming from your body. Your wallet feels light; lighter than you could ever remember, and your stomach churns. Stale bread and sink water await you – any plan for a decent dinner dashed away. Today was the most scared shitless you've ever been.
You feel great. The crowbar in your hand feels right, and hefty – and the card deep inside your wallet feels heavier than any plastic sheet with your face on it has any right to be. On your way, people sneak glances at you. Some in disgust, and some with a scoff. But some, they look at you with wary, cautious eyes.
You're moving somewhere now – going up. At the end of the tunnel, the light seems to burn brighter. You're a changed woman, now.
Of course, the high could only last so long. Eventually, you reach your apartment building, and the smirk on your face dies away. Chipped walls, and peeled paint – your apartment building is a vast three-storied rectangular building, stretching wide. A line of square tiny windows run across the white concrete block; a few has their lights on, but most are off. There are five of them, and another five on the back of the building. There are twenty-five rooms here, but only seventeen of them are occupied; sometimes, that number goes up, but often, it only goes down. But they never stay that way for long, always balancing down to the old seventeen. A middle-aged man leans half of his body out against the window's railings, smoking, eyes dead, and sunken. He's not going to last.
You look away from him, and down towards the entrance, pulling out the keys from your pocket. Quietness assaults you, followed by the sweltering humid heat. Above, the dim light flickers. Rolling your shoulders, you step into the hallway, the door clicking shut behind you. One end leads to a dead end, while the other leads to the staircase. Your room is on the second floor. Reflexively, as you tiptoe on your feet, your eyes jump to one room. Landlord Lin's. Underneath, you see light peeking from the door. You walk past it, and –
"You're not going to greet me?"
You flinch, cursing under your breath. "Didn't want to bother you," you mutter back, turning around.
From a room by the other end of the hallway, Landlord Lin steps out. A long pipe hangs between his lips. Long black-and-pepper hair reaching down to the small of his back. Wrinkles mark the age on his face, and the greens on his narrow eyes are faded. Over his shoulders hang a loose purple robe, worn over a thin black bathrobe – a yukata, they're called, etched with the white shadows of birds. On his hand, a long cane supports him. You don't think he needs it.
Tap, it goes, as he moves towards you.
It's everything for you not to step back.
"How mindful of you," he retorts, voice raspy. His eyes seem to pierce through you. "But how did the exam go, then? Good, I'm suspecting," he muses, eyeing your crowbar.
You nod stiffly. "I'll be working for an Office tomorrow."
He slowly tilts his head. "You're not going to tell me the name?" you grimace. He snorts. "I'll figure it out eventually. Haah," he sighs, grey smoke wafts from his mouth. He looks almost disappointed. "Suppose I can't have you do my errands anymore now."
"… Suppose not."
He hums, closing his eyes. He rolls his pipe, taking another inhale, before taking it out between his fingers. "Do you know why – when your father, and mother died – I decided to take you in, instead of kicking you out to the streets?"
You frown. "… Why?"
"Well, they paid me in advance for one," Landlord Lin smiles; a crooked edge to it. "Three months in advance, time to get you on your feet. And for two, I owed them to some degree."
That perks your attention. "You owed them?"
"Something like that," he muses, nodding his head. He stares at the smoking pipe. "It's in the past now, but after those three months, I did not kick you out."
"You put me into work."
"I invested into you," Landlord Lin corrects, and you blink. He hums, inhaling another puff of smoke. "You see, I always consider myself as a businessman. Long term plans often don't pay out, even when they're theoretically more profitable. It's always a gamble see. You could be making a promising deal with someone today, but tomorrow they might end up dead in some ditch elsewhere – well, what's the point? Short-term works out best, in the end."
You try to keep up and fail. "What's your point, Landlord Lin?"
"Call it a flight of fancy," he says. "But I saw some worth inside you and decided to invest. Not for free, of course," he chuckles. "But look at you now. I've been waiting for this day."
Ah. You feel your stomach drop. "You're going to increase my rent."
"Increase?" his eyes glimmer. "No. I'm returning it to normal: eight-hundred-thousand Ahn at the end of every month.
Your eyes widen. "Eight hundred thousand –" you gnash your teeth, growling. "Fuck off, I know that should cost less. What's to stop me from just moving out?"
"Hm?" he tilts his head. "Well, yes. You can try finding another place. And eventually, you'll move out. But just as it takes you eight-years to get to today, it will not take you until several years before you can do that. Now, there'll be a new tenant moving in tomorrow, and I need to clean up the previous tenant's mess. Normally, I'd ask your help," he grins. "But I know tomorrow's your big day."
He turns around, showing you his open back – and for a moment; for a horrible, horrible moment, you're tempted to swing your crowbar over him. You do not. You shrink into yourself. "You'll get your money," you grunt out, before stamping your way upstairs.
Your room is a small, and plain cubicle team. There's a 'kitchen' to the side, mainly occupied by a microwave, and a bathroom; its door missing from its frame. You lie flat onto your thin mattress, staring at the ceiling. Over in the corner of your eyes, through the sinking sunlight filtering from your curtained window, you catch a picture of your parents. Well, 'picture'. It was simply the doodling of a small Lily of mom, and dad. A pair of shittily drawn stick figures; they both wear a hat. One has a 'stick' jutting out of their face, while the other has a pair of circles drawn on the chest area; lines that were supposed to resemble hair jutting out like freaky pins. They both appear smiling. The paper itself has been crumpled, and uncrumpled up, and the images faded from time.
The frame had cost you some pretty penny, and even today, you wonder what exactly possessed you to do it. Sure, it doesn't cost all that much, in the grand scheme of things. A wrap of HamHam PangPang toast would cost more.
You still can't force yourself to throw it out.
You never asked, of course. There's nobody you could ask. What they looked like, what they did, and why they –
You close your eyes.
--
The Scarecrow Office is located on the better part of the Backstreets. It's the kind of neighborhood that's considered safe by virtue of the amount of Fixer Offices based around here, their quality notwithstanding. Of course, a Syndicate could still just raid an Office, and the other Offices wouldn't bother to help unless they're going to get paid. Same with the people outside of the business, living in this part of the neighborhood. You think they know that too.
The Office itself lies on the second story of some building. The first floor looks to be restaurant of sorts. A sign hangs by the wall, on it the image of a head made from straws with buttoned eyes and everything; a crow seemingly roosting on top of it. You snort. That seems to defeat the idea of "scarecrow".
You shake your head, and head towards the side entry. There's a button for the second floor. You push it, and it's followed by a buzz, and a then a click as the door unlocks. You eye it for a moment, unsure. "Guess that's my cue," you mumble, stepping in – and climbing up a set of staircases. Eventually, you reach a door, the image of the straw head-and-crow plastered on the door.
Well, since they've buzzed you in – you twist the handle. "Excuse me, I'm coming in!" you call out.
You're struck immediately by the smell of something bitter – and is that? Music? You stop, trying to take it all in. Four pairs of eyes leap their attention towards you, and you catch a familiar tuft of white hair sitting on a sofa – her back against you. Speaking of, a set of sofas, and chairs and a low table sit in the very middle of the room. Two office desks not so dissimilar to the one inside Landlord Lin's office line up against the wall, each one no less cluttered than the other. Fake potted plants, bookshelves, and wooden floor. A set of entry to the side leading elsewhere. At the end of the room is another desk, larger than the other two, almost encompassing. Back against the closed, curtained, and blackened windows facing down the streets, someone sits there.
Reflexively, your attention couldn't help but focus on them.
… A burlap sack covers their entire head; a pair of eyes poking through the eyeholes. On the mouth, a stitched smile. A large, and black pointy hat rests on the top of their head. They wear black vest, and under it a white long-sleeved shirt littered with stitches, and patch-marks; loose strands sticking out. They sit there, slack, limp, and boneless. If not for the visible pair of eyes, you might've thought them a corpse. Unbidden, your eyes move to the crow perched on top of their hat's rim, blood-red beady eyes blinking at you.
"Ah, you must be the other kid Ran talked about," your attention yanks to the source. A slender-looking woman with ponytailed black-green hair who can't be a few years older than you. She sits slack on an armchair, almost horizontally, feet stretched over to the table. She doesn't have a burlap-sack over her head, but you're noticing a pattern in the uniform: a black coat ridden with patch marks, and stitches. Underneath that is a red-and-white squared shirt, looking no better with visible loose strands sticking out, and though you can't see them before, her blue jeans look well-worn, complete with holes as well. In her hand, there's a tiny fork – in the other a plate of cake. "And another girl too. Nice," her eyes glint. "Maybe our Office can stop being a damn sausage party, for once."
"And all it takes is for Marco to die," another wryly muses. It belongs to a large man hulking man, taking the better part of a three-people sofa on the left side of the sitting setup. A side-swept white hair, and a pair of amber eyes. Well-worn beige shirt the color of potatoes, looking as though it's made from the same components as the burlap sack. "Shame, that."
"He was bright," the last man speaks, sitting at the 'head' of the setup – right in front of the large desk, and the burlap-headed man. Dark messy hair forming a rat's nest, and dark sunken eyes. A black vest over a black shirt, patched up with yellows, and greens. His rests his chin on a hand. "So bright," he mutters, sighing. "I liked him."
"Got you that much, huh," the woman mutters, grimacing. "Well, look at the bright side," she gestures at you, and the familiar white-haired girl. "Now," she smiles. It's a lazy, uncaring thing. "Lily, was it? Cute name, by the way. How about you take a seat here too?"
"It ain't not cute," you lash out, before begrudgingly making your way to the sofa, and – yep, that's her alright. Cool Girl. You catch her glance at you, not a hint of surprise in her eyes. You drop yourself onto the sofa, cursing at your slip of tongue, and how soft the sofa is. "Don't call me cute."
"You got spunk, Lily," the woman mumbles, smiling. You flinch. "Not a bad attitude in our Office here," you catch a glint in her eyes as she swallows a bite of a cake. "But you're not used to being complemented, are you?"
You jump. "What –"
"Want a bite?" the woman cuts you off, and you stare cross-eyed, at the proffered bite of cake. You narrow your eyes at her. "Come on, you've been staring at it for a while now."
… Pride is a privilege that you don't have. Quietly, you take a bite. It's very sweet, and soft, and creamy, and a little bit sour from the strawberry jam, and very good. You sag back in defeat to the sofa. In the corner of your eyes, Cool Girl dips her head ever so slightly. You close your eyes and heave out a sigh.
Large Dude, and Rat Hair let out a slow chuckle.
"Enough teasing," you open your eyes; the voice belongs to the man with burlap sack. His voice is low; his tone heavy, as though the act of talking itself is tiresome. "Introduce yourself."
"I'm Mao," the Annoying Woman chimes in, grinning lazily.
"My Vice-Chief," Burlap Man adds, and with that – the position of 'Chief' is confirmed in your head.
"Burke," Large Dude continues, raising his hand.
"Sledgehammer," Burlap Man muses. Burke drops his head.
"And I'm Mori," Rat Hair smiles easily, raising his hand to a salute.
"…"
Mori sighs, dropping his head.
"If it's not obvious," Mao leans into you, 'whispering'. "I'm the Chief's favorite. If he dies, I'm gonna be the one taking over."
"Yes," the Chief confirms, a hint of amusement in his voice. "I am Daniel."
Uh.
"My name is Kai," Cool Girl stands up, bowing her head. Even though you didn't hear her speak a peep yesterday, somehow, she sounds almost exactly as you expected. Cold. Monotone. She sits back down. "I would like to work here."
"Straightforward," the Chief bobs his head.
Guess that's your turn. "Uh. Lily. Guess you know that already," you grumble. "But yeah," there's a pause. "Yeah."
"Awkward."
You stare at him. You're the first to look away. You face feels hot. "Yeah. Sure."
"Knock it off, Chief," Mao says, swallowing the last of the cake. She places the platter down, stretching her arms out with a groan. "So, how's about it, Chief?"
"Your decision."
Mao pauses, her stretched out arms hanging awkwardly. After a moment, she drops her feet down from the table, and lean forward to her knees. "Hm," she frowns, eyeing both you, and Kai. "Personally, I don't mind. It's always nice to have more people, y'know? And it's not like I'm doubting Ran's words either: if she says you're good, then you're good. Shame what happened to her people, but she's still alive for a reason, you get me?"
"… Is that why the Branch building was so quiet?"
You glance to Kai in surprise. She didn't speak a bit last time, and now she's suddenly talkative?
"Noticed it, huh? Awful shit, man," Mao sighs, leaning back to her chair. "Somebody really wants them dead. It's an open secret by now, but it's also one of those things you gotta keep quiet, you know? When it comes to Hana Association, reputation is everything."
You remember Ran's spiel yesterday – to never lie or falsify report to them. "Figured as much," you nod.
"So yeah, anyway, I'm thinking 'bout doing some trial runs," Mao says, after a beat. "Yeah. I know we still got a few Urban Myth jobs lying around – nothing that needs the whole Office to go out for. Was planning to do them today, but two birds one stone, right?" the crow suddenly squawks. You jump. If anybody else is bothered, they don't show it. "One of us three," she gestures at Mori, and Burke. "Is gonna pair up with one of you. Gotta see how you work, and all that stuff with our own eyes. Chief?"
"Sounds good."
Mao grins. "Then it's decided," she claps, jumping up to her feet. She walks to the side of the room. "Mori, go get the Urban Myth files on my desk. And don't you girls worry," Mao swings into view, a pair of similarly patched-up uniforms. Just as the ones they're wearing, they have seen better days. "We still got a few low-grade Fixer Uniforms on hand. We normally use them to gear up our employer, but until we decide to properly recruit you, these will do for now."
She throws one of them to you – and you couldn't help but both grimace, and marvel at it. Despite its rotten, loose-strands-poking-out appearance, they feel incredibly soft. You've slept in clothes that look in better condition than these, but this is something else. Guess it's true what they say about Fixer Outfits being special. For all that Mao called it 'low grade', you get a very distinct feeling that this would still cost you an arm, and a leg.
You're not sure about the design, though. It's one of those tight, and fancy looking office suit. Patched-up, torn-up, and stitched suit-thing with cut up vest, and half-a-red tie. There's one thing to be down on your luck loser, but there's another thing to costume like you're a down on your luck loser.
[Low Grade Fixer Outfit (Low Quality) Equipped: +1 to Armor.]
"Here," Mori smoothly interrupts, his voice carrying a humming quality to it. Onto the table, he slides out three thin files. "Take a looksie, ladies."
You share a look with Kai. Without so much as glancing, she picks out the one on the left, and read it.
Right.
Article: Trial Run Time! Pick Someone to Go With!
[] Mao. Gun Specialist. She carries a long-ranged rifle, and machete as side-arm. "I'm pretty handy if you want someone to talk with," she chimes in. "Talk good, and you get job done quick, get me?" "No."
[] Burke. Sledgehammer, as the Scarecrow's Chief said it. "I'm big, and heavy. What else to say?" he grumbles defeatedly. "If there's anything you want to break, then I'm the guy." "Honestly, if you're that down on it, why do you even keep the sledgehammer?"
[] Mori. Stealth Specialist. "Well, not really. I'm good at sneaking around," Mori says, shooting Mao the stink eye. "But I've been working on my arm right here," he lifts his right hand. It unfolds apart into a nasty hook. "It's not as long-ranged, or powerful as Mao's baby there, but it's quiet." "So, a Stealth Specialist."
Choose one Job! It's considered to be an Urban Myth Request, though only barely. Dangerous, but not by much.
[] Lover's Quarrel. "Our client is a young girl named Sun somewhere in her twenties. She just broke up with her boyfriend, and it looks like the boyfriend's not taking this easy. Normally, this would be a Canard level – but it looks like the boyfriend hired men from another Office. I did some investigation, and it's just some no-name 8th Grade Office. Looks like the girlfriend's the bread maker of the two."
[] Three Days Just Can't Pass Sooner. "Our client is a father of two, and it looks like he got a big break recently – some job opportunity down in District 3. Problem is that it takes three days to set things up, and his children will be at home alone. One's a teenager, and the other's still kid; Carol, and Meryl. The father doesn't think there'll be any danger, but – yeah, it's basically a babysitting job. When you really get down to it, that's what we do. Normally, this'd be a Canard thing, but it gets bumped to Myth due to its length."
[] Family, Am I Right?. "Our client is one Mister Zhao, a local business owner down the streets, and he's been having bouts of paranoia. He thinks his family is out to get him – his wife would choke him to death, and his kids would cut him to pieces. There are probably some deep-seated family issues there, but that's not really our problem. He paid us to guard him for one night, from his own family. Enough to bump it up for a Myth level. He's apparently been planning to run away for some time now, and tomorrow's the day. Like I said, issues."
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LinkOnScepter
The One who Strangles Concepts to death
- Location
- Interwebs
Alright, here's my plan:
[X] Mori. Stealth Specialist. "Well, not really. I'm good at sneaking around," Mori says, shooting Mao the stink eye. "But I've been working on my arm right here," he lifts his right hand. It unfolds apart into a nasty hook. "It's not as long-ranged, or powerful as Mao's baby there, but it's quiet." "So, a Stealth Specialist."
[X] Lover's Quarrel. "Our client is a young girl named Sun somewhere in her twenties. She just broke up with her boyfriend, and it looks like the boyfriend's not taking this easy. Normally, this would be a Canard level – but it looks like the boyfriend hired men from another Office. I did some investigation, and it's just some no-name 8th Grade Office. Looks like the girlfriend's the bread maker of the two."
Basically, Mori hides and we just stand there protecting the girl. Eventually the guys come at us thinking we're the only ones protecting the girl. They get cocky, Mori comes in and backstabs them, then we crush.
Being honest, I wish we knew how much we were getting paid here, but whatever.
Also, didn't expect Cool Girl to get here. I've already forgotten who's name goes to who by the way.
[X] Mori. Stealth Specialist. "Well, not really. I'm good at sneaking around," Mori says, shooting Mao the stink eye. "But I've been working on my arm right here," he lifts his right hand. It unfolds apart into a nasty hook. "It's not as long-ranged, or powerful as Mao's baby there, but it's quiet." "So, a Stealth Specialist."
[X] Lover's Quarrel. "Our client is a young girl named Sun somewhere in her twenties. She just broke up with her boyfriend, and it looks like the boyfriend's not taking this easy. Normally, this would be a Canard level – but it looks like the boyfriend hired men from another Office. I did some investigation, and it's just some no-name 8th Grade Office. Looks like the girlfriend's the bread maker of the two."
Basically, Mori hides and we just stand there protecting the girl. Eventually the guys come at us thinking we're the only ones protecting the girl. They get cocky, Mori comes in and backstabs them, then we crush.
Being honest, I wish we knew how much we were getting paid here, but whatever.
Also, didn't expect Cool Girl to get here. I've already forgotten who's name goes to who by the way.
Sightedjt
Everlasting Flames
[X] Mao. Gun Specialist. She carries a long-ranged rifle, and machete as side-arm. "I'm pretty handy if you want someone to talk with," she chimes in. "Talk good, and you get job done quick, get me?" "No."
[X] Lover's Quarrel. "Our client is a young girl named Sun somewhere in her twenties. She just broke up with her boyfriend, and it looks like the boyfriend's not taking this easy. Normally, this would be a Canard level – but it looks like the boyfriend hired men from another Office. I did some investigation, and it's just some no-name 8th Grade Office. Looks like the girlfriend's the bread maker of the two."
Let's get to bonking. We be the muscle, Mao be's the overwatch. And a nice known threat is something nice and simple.
[X] Lover's Quarrel. "Our client is a young girl named Sun somewhere in her twenties. She just broke up with her boyfriend, and it looks like the boyfriend's not taking this easy. Normally, this would be a Canard level – but it looks like the boyfriend hired men from another Office. I did some investigation, and it's just some no-name 8th Grade Office. Looks like the girlfriend's the bread maker of the two."
Let's get to bonking. We be the muscle, Mao be's the overwatch. And a nice known threat is something nice and simple.
- Location
- The Star Kingdom of Manticore
Alright, so I am thinking about hanging out with Mao, not only is she long range and a talker, covering some of our weaknesses, but she is also the vice captain. Unsure about the mission though.
[X] Mao. Gun Specialist. She carries a long-ranged rifle, and machete as side-arm. "I'm pretty handy if you want someone to talk with," she chimes in. "Talk good, and you get job done quick, get me?" "No."
[X] Lover's Quarrel. "Our client is a young girl named Sun somewhere in her twenties. She just broke up with her boyfriend, and it looks like the boyfriend's not taking this easy. Normally, this would be a Canard level – but it looks like the boyfriend hired men from another Office. I did some investigation, and it's just some no-name 8th Grade Office. Looks like the girlfriend's the bread maker of the two."
Go with this for now.
[X] Mao. Gun Specialist. She carries a long-ranged rifle, and machete as side-arm. "I'm pretty handy if you want someone to talk with," she chimes in. "Talk good, and you get job done quick, get me?" "No."
[X] Lover's Quarrel. "Our client is a young girl named Sun somewhere in her twenties. She just broke up with her boyfriend, and it looks like the boyfriend's not taking this easy. Normally, this would be a Canard level – but it looks like the boyfriend hired men from another Office. I did some investigation, and it's just some no-name 8th Grade Office. Looks like the girlfriend's the bread maker of the two."
Go with this for now.
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