| abstract
| - It's a cold New Alhira evening. The sky is clear, but the moons and the stars cast little light on the narrow street at the city's fringe. The buildings at this point all have the same base, though the owner of each has added their personal touch so that the city looks lived in. One exception of the Demarian Unlimited trading company, a building which has maintained its large window storefront and slightly recessed doorway. The only distinguishing touch is its coat of sunny yellow paint and drab sign hanging over the door. Metal shutters are drawn down over the windows, making it apppear locked down. A skinny woman shuffles down the street toward the building, hood of her shabby coat pulled over her head, sunglasses shielding her eyes. With a slim metal rod she feels around the obstacles in her way, continuing toward the trading company's building at a careful pace. Smoketrail has long ago wandered through the streets and alleys nearby, surveying with her own eyes the situation of buildings, doors, windows and potential obstructions. A quarter of an hour ago, she leant against the wall in the mouth of the alley one building down from Demarian Unlimited, polishing off the remaining half of a pastry while she waits, and upon spying the odd pedestrian making her way down the street, she brushes the crumbs from her fingertips and turns with a scuff of boots to slip deeper into the shadows. "Shouldn't you be tucked away somewhere nice and cozy with a dog draped across your feet?" she muses through a throat-mike tucked out of sight beneath her collar, the accompanying earpiece hidden in one ear. "Had one last present for you," Amelia's voice whispers with faint amusement. "I assume you can see me. Come over here, then, and lead me to the nearest alleyway within the camera's sphere of vision." She halts, tapping her silver stick on the ground impatiently. "Augustus, darling that he is, is sitting this one out. I aim to use a different set of eyes." "Ooh, you darling. I love presents," Smoketrail purrs, obediently threading her way between the buildings until she exits just before the woman, playfully hooking a finger through one of hers and tugging Amelia lightly after her; around another corner this time, not even bothering to check the placement of the nearby camera, already all too familiar with the field of view it has. "Just t'warn you, though, I don't heel. Not without a lot more treats, anyway." Amelia seems slightly startled, a soft alto 'eep' escaping her- nonetheless, she manages to keep pace. "I left the fish at home... this will have to do. Forgive me if I get personal." One hand pats around Smoketail's face, neck and shoulders carefully, the other digging out a tiny circular implement that resembles nothing so much as a miniature satellite dish. The Sivadian clips it to whatever passes as the Demarian's lapel, then nods to herself in satisfaction. "I'll keep you posted if anyone comes by out here." "Hmm, fish...that's a good idea. I think I'm finally gettin' tired of dribgib," Smoketrail rumbles, whiskers twitching amusedly at the pat-down. Nevertheless, she holds still obediently through the process, not even an ear flicking until Amelia is done. "You're the best. If this all works out, we'll have to do it again sometime," she only half-quips, giving the woman a light nudge. "Get you going now. The path back's clear." "Oh, I'm not going far." Amelia turns and pats along the wall, sinking down to a sitting position about ten feet deeper into the alleyway. The technician reaches into the pockets of her vast and shapeless coat, pulling out a slim cord that she runs up through the garment to plug directly into her sunglasses. Next is procured a sign that says "Blind, Please Be Kind" and a tin cup, both set at the Sivadian's feet. She slouches over, the veritable picture of a bum to one who doesn't look too closely. But that mostly-hidden cord is hooked into her PDA, and the woman's mind races- trying to tap into the camera and control it. Smoketrail's tufted brows crook high at Amelia's act before she gives a chuff of amusement. "Can't say you don't know what you're doin'. All right then - for luck," she quips, digging out change from her pocket and dropping them into the cup as she strolls past. With nonchalant looks along the corridor she selects to see if anyone else happens to be wandering by at the time, she takes a casual path toward the back entrance into the trading company's building. Rather than appear furtive, she simply walks up like any employee making a late-night visit for something they had forgotten at the office, digging tools out of her pocket like a handful of keys and letting her body block her movements as she works on the door's lock. "So how's it working so far?" she rumbles over the link. "I make the best of what I've got," Amelia murmurs with a note of decided amusement in her voice. "I haven't turned them on quite yet. The hardware's sound, but the protocol to translate it to data my mind can understand..." Silence for a few moments while the woman mouths a wordless prayer, and then she activates the emitters. Even to Demarian hearing the sonar pings are nothing more than a very soft, high-pitched buzz, but a soft gasp escapes the Sivadian. "...Oh, beautiful. I don't have detail, but... yes. Alright. You're in front of the door?" Only the barest flick of an ear, as if at the itch of a misplaced hair, betrays her surprise at the electronic buzz. "Kinda tickles," she subvocalizes as she works. "Good to hear. Yeah...I'm hoping I don't need to outright break it. I'm a little rusty at this stuff these days, but if you've the luck tonight, maybe I can borrow a bit..." "Excellent... refresh rate is a bit slow, but adequate... I'm going to keep my main focus on the camera out here to make sure you've no unwanted company," Amelia mumbles, smiling quite victoriously. "So far for -my- purposes this is a success. Let's hope for yours too." They do not have long to wait - there is the faintest roll of tumblers before her tools and Smoketrail's steadying hand turns easily with the now-freed knob's swivel. "Hrrm, maybe I shoulda put more change in your cup for the rest of the evening too," she muses, sounding a touch surprised herself at the ease with which the lock was surmounted. "Either that, or someone needs t'tip off the city that they needta suggest better locks to business owners." A pause as she listens with sensitive Demarian hearing for anything untoward either just inside or just outside the building, and then she begins to ease the door open just enough to allow her to slip inside. The first thing Smoketrail notices as she steps inside the building is that apparently the back area is the break room. There's a disused and stained coffee pot sitting on a counter. The rest of the office is open, but appears cleared out. Coming from the back Smoketrail can see the main office area in front of her, a space crammed with desks and chairs but nothing else which seems to hint at a business. Stairs lead up to the second level, while a broad desk near the front of the office signals where a receptionist might once have sat. To Smoketrail's left, sharing a wall with the break room, is the only enclosed office in the building. It is dark inside, the door closed. "Might as well believe it's your skill and not the city's failure," Amelia suggests softly, directing the camera to scroll over the streets around them in search of anyone who else who prowls in the night. "Then again, perhaps it was just your kindness to a poor blind lady. ...Everything seems safe back here, so far..." A soft purrl of a chuckle, barely audible even for the mike pressed against her throat, and then Smoketrail is silent a moment as she ventures further into the building, making sure to turn a full circle in each room to give Amelia a look as well. "Someone's been here recently...maybe that male," she murmurs, all business now, a soft snort to clear her nose and then following the tantalizing trail to where it leads. The scent trail is confusing, touching every part of the office. However as she looks around Smoketrail may notice a packet of papers sitting on a desk facing the front window. "He's the only one that's been coming and going... pretty strange for a company, whether it's shut down or operating," Amelia murmurs. "Still all clear out here. Do be careful, though. Important secrets have deadly protection..." "He's been busy in here," Smoketrail mumbles, picking her way patiently back and forth until she halts next to the desk, contemplating the papers for a moment before finally reaching out to check their contents. "Still, nothing ventured, nothing gained...time t'do some rifling." Once opening the packet practically vomits forth papers. It's difficult to take in all at once, they appear in no particular order but are certainly chock full of numbers, tables and important titles like 'expense report: FY 3005'. Once Smoketrail has become interested in the packet the door to the office silently opens inward. A large black Demarian clothed entirely in a black combat suit complete with flexible but firm footies to cover his claws emerges from within. He moves slowly and silently, cold blue eyes intent on Smoketrail's back. His temple are framed by lightning bolt shaped markings. "Anything good in there?" Amelia whispers, unable to read the letters- only take in the papers' existence at large. "That -looks- like the jackpot. Certainly is convenient, out in the open like that. Bloody careless..." She sounds only faintly suspicious, not at all aware of the stalking fellow. Smoketrail is a moment in responding, absorbed as she is in making out the neatly typed forms in the light filtering through the windows. "Expenses and fiscal end of year reports. Didn't even bother with file cabinets," she agrees quietly. "Then again, this place doesn't seem office-like at all either..." As Smoketrail sifts through the documents what appeared to be a motherload of data starts to deteriorate. A closer look at those grand sounding titles reveals sources like 'Fleetpad's Drigbig and Spirits', 'Blacksole's Gardening and Landscape', as well as a series of test scores from a local school. It's as if someone went through the city's garbage and compiled a packet from it. The figure continues to approach, now almost on top of Smoketrail. He spreads his arms wide, revealing the ninja like costume that he wears. Most of it seems to be tough kevlar fiber, but it's remarkably quiet and obviously engineered for Demarians given the slits in his gloves to allow his claws free and the mask over his mouth that perfectly conforms to Demarian anatomy. He is certainly quiet, trained for this, but at these distances a Demarian's powerful sense might overwhelm any effort at stealth... "No, but you'd think they'd at least use something that bloody locked for their sensitive financial documents." Amelia's voice is very dryly sarcastic, now. The sonar isn't sensitive enough to pick up those movements that remain mostly behind Smoketrail, so all the woman reports after a brief pause is, "Quiet out here still." "Thanks." Smoketrail's eyes soon narrow, though, as she begins to skip over the details in favor of haste, riffling quickly through the pages now. "Wait. It's...it's nothing. Nothing but trash," she abruptly growls, teeth bared at the apparent joke, abruptly slapping the sheaf of papers back down and beginning to turn with muscles tensed in anger and wariness at the deception - a breath quickly indrawn as she abruptly notices the shadow that had not been there before in the corners of her vision... The big Demarian, easily around seven and a half feet tall, closes his arms around Smoketrail as he notices her moving to face him. His right hand comes across her muzzle, palm stifling any screams or cries for help before they can form while his thumb presses down on her nose for no other reason than to cause the Demarian pain. The other arm tries to bearhug Smoketrail's arms to her sides. Once in place both arms lift, taking advantage of the diminutive Demarian's stature to try and lift her off her feet and rob her of any leverage she might have. To Amelia this is a blur on the sonar, and a rather loud jolt across the microphone. Amelia grimaces, reaching a hand up to her ear. "-Hellfire-," she swears softly, reaching into her coat's expansive pockets. PDA... commlink... "Oh, bloody..." She rises to her feet, leaving can and sign behind, and sets off for the building with the aid of the camera's guidance and her slim steel rod. The other hand continues to search her pocket. "Think, Amelia, -think-..." Smoketrail's initial snarl is stifled nearly before it forms, muffled into a close-mouthed growl before ending in a startled note at the sharp pain in her nose. Eyes tearing reflexively at the pressure, it only galvanizes her to shake her head even more sharply within the unknown Demarian's grasp even as she is lifted off her feet - and as soon as he takes her full weight, she kicks out sharply against the table's edge, hoping to topple him over, even as she lets him pull her arms close...tries to scissor them close behind her...and with claws full-bared, attempts to scratch at his crotch or anything else senstive behind her. The big Demarian silently goes about his job, holding Smoketrail tight as she struggles against him. He seems utterly cool and collected even as her claws rake against the tough material of his bodysuit to no avail. Her kicking feet find the edge of the table, but unfortunately before she can get the full strength of her powerful legs into play the table topples over with aloud crash that even Amelia can hear outside the building. The useless stack of papers flutter in all directions, filling the room with the noise of a hundred paper wings fluttering back down to earth. The kick does send the Demarian stumbling backward, and as he strikes a wall his first sounds of the night, a strained grunt, can be heard. Amelia moves inside the building, for a moment in the area where neither sonar nor the outside camera can steer her. She only hesitates briefly, however, pausing the active sonar to rewind and view the records of when Smoketrail entered before. And then the woman follows the same path, continuing to poke around in her pockets with the other hand... smiling just slightly when it closes around something. Another muffled snarl, fur bristling until her outline is nearly completely obscured by a halo of silvery-gray points, and Smoketrail continues fighting for her freedom - squirming like an eel, a heavy boot kicking back for the Demarian's knee, while one paw scrapes for another target while she hopes he is fully distracted by her other flailings...one of the knives that she keeps sheathed at the small of her back. The big Demarian grunts as Smoketrail kicks at his knee, causing him to stumble some. Everything else he ignores. Having stifled any initial outcry he releases Smoketrail's muzzle, only to fold his arm around her neck, placing the female in a powerful sleeper hold in order to knock her out. Her hand readying itself around whatever that object is in her pocket, Amelia proceeds into the room where the two struggle and switches back to active sonar. "Hey, big ugly," she calls, trying to sound fierce rather than terrified, "guess what- -she's- not your biggest problem." The woman drops the stick, her other hand sliding into her other pocket as if to draw something- but it's a feint, fingers only closing around her PDA. A startled sound at Amelia's abrupt presence, choked off when the hold shifts to around her neck, and with renewed desperation Smoketrail finally manages to unsheath the knife. With her arm pinned, she can only press the point against the nearest target - seeking for a joint between hip and leg - and with her paw against its end uses what leverage her wrist and pinned elbow can give her to try and drive the edge past into flesh. Startled, the big Demarian quickly turns towards Amelia. He's not about to abandon his hold on Smoketrail but his quick movements allow the point of the knife past his defenses to dig a shallow wound into his thigh. Blood trickles onto his armor. He positions Smoketrail like a Demarian shield, holding her tight as he sizes up Amelia. "I can have the police here in a matter of seconds, and I'm between you and the door," Amelia remarks firmly. That at least has the ring of truth, if nervousness. "We may be breaking and entering, but -you're- committing some awfully serious assault. And I wonder what -is- in this place and how it'd look for you? Why don't you let her go? She's a little short to protect your ever-so-important head." She nudges the PDA forward, creating a suggestive bulge in her pocket for a moment. The other hand, with its cargo, remains still. Smoketrail is visibly lagging now, her exertions compounding the problem of having her airway cut off. Emboldened by her partial success, though, she allows herself to sag completely; struggles weakening until the only movements she puts energy into is the desperate gasp for breath - and sinking the knife even deeper into that one weakness found. "No matter how fast the authorities arrive, they could not bring her-" The big Demarian is cut off by a stumbling wince as the knife is needled into his flesh. He presses down harder on Smoketrail's airways. "-back to life if I snap her neck." He tells Amelia. His eyes are drawn to the rod she was carrying, and then up to her eyepatch. Gingerly, favoring his injured leg the Demarian takes a step to the side and watches Amelia's eye to see if it tracks him. "Don't try and get her past me, I can see what you're doing," Amelia warns coolly, even though the eye doesn't track. "They couldn't bring her back to life, but you'll go to jail for murder. Unless you kill us both- I can identify you. So let her go, and why don't you head for the door?" Smoketrail feels the stumble even through her fading senses. The conversation a mere blur to her wilting ears, Smoketrail's jaws gulp uselessly one last time at air before she uses the last of her consciousness to angle the blade more sharply in that gap it has created, aiming toward the more sensitive nerves near the groin. The Demarian chides himself for being so careless as to allow Smoketrail to wound him as she did. As he feels the female go completely limp, following but a new sharp pang around his leg, he replies to Amelia: "Alright." He says calmly. He releases Smoketrail, letting the unconscious female tumble unceremoniously to the floor. "I'm going to remove the knife." He informs Amelia, holding one hand up with the other grips the hilt and carefully works the blade free. The blood on his armor is now plainly visible. "You do that, and drop it," Amelia warns sharply, blinking once as her vantage point drastically shifts with Smoketrail's fall. "If you even think about throwing it at me, you're through." She shifts to the side slowly, so she's not directly blocking the door. Smoketrail slumps into a limp bundle upon the ground, unmoving but for the faint stirrings of breath as her body instinctively fights to recover what was lost. The Demarian grunts as he pulls the knife free and tosses it back into the office so that if Smoketrail regains consciousness she won't have easy access to it. "As you wish." He replies coolly, but instead of moving towards the door he quietly circles towards the stairs. "I bloody well told you to leave," Amelia shouts, though not with much force. She hesitates a moment, then approaches Smoketrail cautiously. "Sorry," the Sivadian murmurs, bending and plucking off the sonar emitter to attach it to her own lapel. "I've got to be my own eyes now. I hope you'll be alright." And, trembling slightly, she puts both hands back in her pockets and heads for the stairs. Smoketrail gives no answer; not even the stir of a tail or twitch of an ear, while the device is transferred. "I bloody well told you to leave," Amelia shouts, though not with much force. She keeps both her hands in her pockets, turning slowly to follow his progress- as best as she can perceive it. "Out the front door, not up the steps." The Demarian gives no reply other than to charge Amelia, calling her bluff in spectacular fashion as he aims an open handed palm strike at the side of her head with the full force of his massive frame behind it. And a hand rips out of Amelia's pocket as soon as she can sense movement- out come five white delicate Sivadian fingers, wrapped around... A can? More precisely, a can of steelfoam. And as the Demarian charges, with a squeak and a prayer the engineer does her best to plaster the charging man's face with a coat of the rapidly hardening adhesive. She goes full out, trying to empty nigh the entire can across his eyes, nose, mouth- anything she can reach in time. It's not the most usual weapon, but if it connects... a few second's drying will make breathing and/or sight very difficult. The Demarian's eyes widen as Amelia actually appears to have a weapon. He throws up an arm to cover his face as the blasts of steelfoam head his way. While all of the shots miss their intended specific targets the Demarian's frame is large enough that he catches most of the place. He yowls as the foam strikes him in the chest, midsection and on one of his arms. He abandons the form of his attack but is still set to barrel into Amelia. Amelia drops to her knees and strikes out blindly with the hand not gripping the can of steelfoam, trying to latch onto the Demarian's legs and trip him up. Of course, she may be too slow to prevent being squished one way or the other, but the woman's definitely trying as fiercely as she can to fight with her limited resources. And she is not letting go of that can, mostly drained as it may well be by now. The Demarian barrels into Amelia, knocking the human flat to the ground. She does manage to trip him up, which sends the Demarian sprawling. He ends up on top of Amelia after slamming into her, but he has another problem. As he reaches out to catch himself the glob of steelfoam strikes the floor, bonding to it. He yowls, momentarily stuck. Chest heaving with desperate breaths (and squeaking with pain as well as she's landed upon) Amelia doesn't actually try to get out from under the Demarian. She turns her head to the side, free arm shooting out to try and find his head, and whatever it manages to find- it's steelfoam encore time in what she judges to be the proper location of his face. Proximity may be her friend this time, pending there's anything -left- in that can. The problem is that this is a big Demarian, and Amelia is trapped underneath his legs. He sees that can coming and quickly reaches out for it, trying to grab Amelia and turn the can back on her so that she ends up foamed to the floor as well. A soft, rasping cough, and then Smoketrail lurches discoordinatedly at a phantom foe which no longer exists; managing to flop upon her back before awareness struggles a little further toward the fore. "'melia..." she hacks, coughing once more through a bruised throat before she is struggling upright, searching wtih renewed fervor for woman and male Demarian as she begins to recall recent events. Amelia is, sadly, not a very strong woman- the can is wrested from her grasp and her face and shoulders- the nearest part to the Demarian's paws- stuck firmly down. And so she does what any desperate untrained lady might, taking advantage of the fact she's trapped under his legs- crotch shot time. An elbow flails frantically for the unfortunate fellow's private parts. The Demarian grunts, his privates mostly protected by a cup he's wearing but that doesn't mean the woman's flailings go unnoticed or that they don't aggravate the wound Smoketrail made. "So much trouble for a pair of females..." He growls, pulling out a knife and carefully working to cut off the part of his suit that's foamed to the floor. He doesn't seem too worried about the conscious Smoketrail, keeping methodically to his task except for a few kicks aimed at Amelia to get her to stop. Smoketrail growls - even that sounding half-strangled in her abused throat - and heaves herself to her feet. With the male fully occupied by Amelia and the steel-foam, she takes care to approach only when her balance is regained, weariness dragging at her frame though it does not hamper the simple movements of reaching for a shoulder holster and slipping out a pulse pistol. "Trouble's all relative," she rasps, accompanied by the soft click of the pistol's safety being flicked as she stops a few feet away with the weapon aimed. "I'd say you're in a lot more now. Freeze." The first kick makes Amelia cry out loudly, and her flailings slow- the second stops her, the woman evidently no good at dealing with pain. She trembles, breath harsh and fast, abruptly going limp at the sound of the pistol's safety; it seems that at least is a familiar note. "Just bloody shoot him," the Sivadian cries. "Go on, I really don't mind!" The Demarian's ears prick at that familiar sound, and he sighs. He's almost finished cutting through his armor but lies still, on top of his knife. "Can I at least...disentangle myself from your human?" He growls back at Smoketrail. "No," Smoketrail retorts, eyes narrowed and ears flat, accent thick and heavy between her mood and general discomfort. "'m really not feelin' like agreeing with anythin' from you. Cut her free - I advise you t'be gentle, or the first shot goes through your left knee. You get t'stay on the ground for now." "No, really, don't worry about me," Amelia begs, quickly shaking her head with a voice that still trembles. "Leave me where I bloody well am, don't let him put that knife -any closer to me- and for the love of Bacchus -shoot him- or something." She tries to wriggle a hand into her deep pockets in search of something else. "As you wish." The Demarian replies to Smoketrail. He cuts through the last bit of his armor, freeing himself before he spins around to face Amelia. He looks up at Smoketrail as she speaks. The Demarian holding the gun is the boss, and the unspoken question in those utterly serene baby blues is whether or not he should follow the order given Amelia's protest. Smoketrail chuffs in exasperation, her pistol's nose never wavering in its aim as she considers the two for a moment before finally conceding, "Put the knife down next t'her elbow - *slowly* - an' scoot back on your butt against that wall, hands up where I can see 'em the whole time. Darlin'," she improvises rather than use names, "y'can head home soon as y'get yourself free. Sorry for the mess, I'll be in touch." "I've got- mmf-" Amelia wriggles, and if she can get it out of her pocket? Seems the technician had not only steelfoam but steelfoam remover. She does her best with her limited mobility to pour it on the floor, grumbling. "Bloody hell. I did not sign up for this. How idiotic of me. Will you be fine?" The Demarian doesn't pay any attention to Amelia freeing herself, but he does plant the knife right where he was bid before he sits up. He eyes Smoketrail for a moment, as if sizing her up before he pushes himself back until he's up against a wall. He exhales, folding his hands behind his head. "It *was* idiotic of you, but 'm grateful for it nonetheless," Smoketrail notes with a hint of fey amusement to accompany the rasp this time. Nevertheless, her eyes and pistol remain pinned solely upon the Demarian, trusting Amelia to take care of herself. "'m fine now, thanks t'you. Give the mutt my regards." There's still something of a ripping sound when Amelia pulls herself up, and her cheek is red and sore when she straightens- looking truly miserable- but the woman nods. "Alright," she mumbles, rising and limping for the door after a moment's fumbling for her stick. "Tell me if you need the cops." The Demarian meet Smoketrail's eyes, tailtip flicking casually as he waits for Amelia to depart. "You'll be the first t'know," Smoketrail assures with a mirthless quirk of her whiskers, one ear turned to the sound of the woman's stumbling steps departing before she fully focuses both upon the male. "Who're you?" she begins with the most basic question. Silently, Amelia moves on out, relying on whatever sensory modalities will get her to the door. Provided she makes it out without further interruption, the woman gets as far as the alleyway before she leans against the wall and slides down- trembling, arms wrapping around herself. "I'm the reason your throat hurts and your nose aches." The Demarian replies. "More interesting is the question as to who *you* are." He says, grin spreading over his features and his tail giving a twitch. "I'm starting to get an idea. Short female, feisty...Knows her way around a knife..." Smoketrail's eyes narrow, a flick of her tail and a slant of an ear giving silent warning to the male's baiting. "Thanks for the reminder. An' our numbers're low, but not *that* low. Still plenty of other females that'd match that description," she retorts with deceptive casualness. "Considerin' your wear, though, I doubt you're the kind t'make this easy. Are y'mercenary? Is the money worth a few of your extremities?" "I am a tool." The Demarian replies, getting just slightly more serious as he banters with Smoketrail. "And a tool doesn't talk. I have to give the human credit, she was rather resourceful with her tools after I'd put you down. Not well enough, it appears." He shrugs. "But I've done my job. You should know that this is as deep as you should go." "Should, not can," Smoketrail notes with a brief flash of sharp canines. "So just what was the job you were supposed t'do? You allowed t'related that much, or do they have y'fully muzzled?" "Isn't it obvious?" The Demarian replies. "I knew you were coming. I lured you inside. I incapacitated you. I could get creative from there." His blues eyes travel up Smoketrail's form. "I do love the short ones." "Kill him," Amelia's voice- now somewhat steadier- advises Smoketail innocently. "Go on." Smoketrail bares her teeth in earnest this time, eyes gleaming nearly gold in the uncertain half-light from the street lamps outside. There is not even a flicker of the ear in which the speaker rests to betray the human's comment and continued eavesdropping. "Incapacitated me. For what? Was that what you were told t'do, or were you supposed t'kill me an' changed your mind?" "Out of the picture is out of the picture..." The Demarian replies ambiguously, mrring lightly as his tail twitches. "I wonder what the bondmate would have thought when you disappeared. That would have been quite a commotion, especially if you turned up later in...not quite the same condition as when you entered this building." Smoketrail is quite unhappy with that insinuation from the sharp bristle and stiffening of her tail; but with an opponent before her and a weapon in hand, it is other concerns entirely which take precedence. "Regardless, y'failed. Care t'pick up another contract?" she asks with a gleam of teeth. "Otherwise, 'm gonna haveta make some decisions on what t'do with you - an' if y'really know as much 'bout me as you insinuate, y'should know that I don't mind the smell of blood on the hunt." One brow arches. "What kind of contract?" He asks, tilting his head to show interest. Smoketrail slowly crouches down until she is on the same eye level as the male; elbow resting upon one knee but with the pistol still aimed unnerringly upon him, not to be trusted to chance. "Whoever hired you. What exactly did they want you t'do with me? If they wanted me, maybe I'll let y'give me to 'em...and y'can collect your fee from not only them but me also an' go. Otherwise, perhaps we can arrange somethin' else that is advantageous t'me, an' which would let y'go your merry widower-makin' way. After all, we're all professionals here, aren't we?" It's impossible to tell if the Demarian smiles back given his mask, but his tail rolls up and down pleasingly. "I'm sure my employer would love to meet you." He replies. "But I'm not sure if you want to meet them. I'm not lying when I say that they just wanted you out of the picture. I am trusted with that much discretion." "'m pretty sure I don't wanna meet 'em either," Smoketrail chuffs with dark amusement, "but I think I feel a case of stupidity creepin' up. When'd you get this assignment? How long have they known I've been tryin' t'track 'em down?" "You set up cameras." The Demarian replies. "That was a big hint right there." Smoketrail snorts amusedly. "An' they have eyes scanning for 'em all the time too? What's with this building, anyway? Gimme somethin' useful t'bargain for your life, here." The Demarian shrugs. "Ah, but there's the thing...I tell you something good and then you'll kill me." Smoketrail shrugs one shoulder casually. "'m fair. I make a bargain, I stick with it, 'less someone gives me reason t'think it's broken already." The faintest shift of light across the pistol's barrel punctuates the statement. "One professional t'another, like I said. It's really up t'you, though. If y' don't believe me, I'll just kill you right here an' now, regardless." The Demarian eyes Smoketrail, tailtip going still as things start to get serious. "U-261." He says. From afar, Smoketrail (mist) headtilts. "That have to do with Ungstir?" Smoketrail's brow furrows, not bothering to hide her confusion as she considers the male. "U-261? As in Ungstir? What's that got t'do with all this?" "Isn't that what you're here to find out?" The Demarian replies. "What anything has to do with anything?" Smoketrail's lips curl back. "You're just full o' all sorts of wisdoms t'night, aren't you? That's not much of a bargainin' chip for your life, 'less you count it so low." "Sounds like you're fine. I need to get home before the husband wonders where I've been. Godspeed," Amelia's voice softly wishes Smoketrail, quite seriously now. And outside in that alleyway, the woman rises and straggles for home. "When you get there you'll see how important it is." The Demarian replies. "But see this is exactly where I said I would be. I tell you something of terrible importance and my life is still forfeit." Smoketrail snorts with genuine amusement this time. "But y'didn't explain *what* the importance is. So how'm I supposed t'know y'gave me genuine gold, as opposed t' a painted copper piece? Excplain it t'my satisfaction an' I'll call it good." "How about this." The Demarian replies. "You explain to me what you know so that I can explain what I know in a way that is relevant to you?" Smoketrail stares at him for a moment before giving an incredulous snicker. "Like that, eh? Well, whatever. I've noticed there's been a lotta funds that were ferried int' this place. Now, your turn." "I just told you where the funds went." The Demarian replies. "Certainly that should be enough for one who is following the money." "Yeah, but last I checked, Ungstir covers quite a big of territory these days," Smoketrail retorts, brow furrowing. "An' other than the Avalon project an' scattered bands of pirates an' smugglers, I don't see anything else that might pull that sort of money an' still benefit anyone out here." "Does it look like this place is moving money now?" The Demarian replies, as if lecturing a slow student. "U-261. That's all I can give you." Smoketrail sighs, finally conceding that she knows too little to continue badgering for answers she has no questions for. "Fine. Get," she says simply with a flick of her nose toward the door. "Quit your current employment, don't lemme see you again, an' we'll call it good." The Demarian rises, brushing at the missing patch in his combat suit. "Very well, then." He doesn't say anything else as he leaves the office.
|
![[RDF Data]](/fct/images/sw-rdf-blue.png)