Housewarming

This is the final part in a multi-part story. The first part can be found here, the second part here, and the third part, here.

               Resting the stylus on the desk, he allowed her to take the device. Once she had confirmed he had managed all of the right signatures in all of the right places, she placed it aside, to be filed away later. With it out of the way, she rested forward, her hands coming together, her head resting on them.

               “Had some boys look over that video, and start looking through whatever databases we have access to,” she said after a short pause, still apparently hesitant about working with him. He held off a sigh, not wanting to go through that old runaround again.

               “And what’d they come up with?” he asked, resting back in his chair.

               She clicked at her keyboard for a moment, turning her monitor to face him. A picture, likely taken for an ID or something along those lines, of the woman in question was flickering onscreen alongside a cleaned up version of the zoomed in video.

               “Girl’s only got basic information in our system. Name. Date of birth’s apparently pretty fuzzy, but we got a general age. No workplace on record, no family on record, no sort of government assisted income. So on.”

               Elliot nodded slowly, frowning, “That’d explain why the hell she’s so thin.”

               Nadine shuddered, “Don’t remind me.” Regaining her composure, she went on, “That said, does have a residence on record. Lives on one of the lower levels. Got a warrant to search her house.”

               He nodded, leaning forward now, “Sounds like a good deal then. Can get right on it then.”

               She held up a hand, “Yeah. And we’ll get right on it. But we can only bring her in for questioning at most.”

               He frowned. There should be more than that. Some solid charges laid out. Something. “And why is it only questioning?” he had to bite his tongue to not add more to the question.

               “’Cause the footage doesn’t show much.” She took a moment to pause, watching the look on his face drop. “Most we got out of it was business as usual, before the ship stops. There might be something in there of her getting up when it does, but it’s all distorted. Tampered with, because obviously it was tampered with. She never enters the front cabin that we can see. She hardly don’t have any more interactions with the deceased than anyone else did.”

               Of course it had been tampered with. Even if it hadn’t been tampered with intentionally, it had spent the last day or two in a dumpster. Something was bound to be messed up with it.                He let out a sigh, “So we bring her in and you try and break her.”

               Nadine sighed as well, narrowing her eyes as she looked at him. He knew full well what the look meant. The last few times he had tried, she hadn’t let him go out with the ‘real’ officers, when they went to catch anybody. It didn’t help that he had never taken the time to really glance at the laws to see if it was even alright for her to do so anyway, which meant he never even had a defense for himself. When she finally spoke he let out a sigh of relief.

               “Fine. Go with Roger. I hear anything about you getting in his way, this never happens again.” He was certain that there was more she felt like adding to the end to that, but he didn’t give her the chance before bolting for the door.

-----

               “This is the place,” Roger said, his voice low enough that Elliot hardly heard him.

               The walk here had been quiet, though not the sort of quiet that he hated. Roger apparently didn’t have much to say, so he didn’t say anything. Simple. It wasn’t the sort of thing he’d seen before where there was much resentment, or if that was the case, Roger sure hadn’t shown it. A true professional in his field. That or waiting to let it loose later amongst his buddies. Either way didn’t bother him that much.

               Elliot nodded, approaching the door his temporary partner had motioned to. The area wasn’t exactly in the shinier part of town, and the door looked the part. Rusted and potentially on its second or third different location. Roger came upon it from the right, looking for any sort of card reader that might show what sort of lock they were working with. Far as Elliot could tell, there wasn’t one. In fact, there didn’t appear to be any sort of lock on the door, period.

               Elliot brought a hand against the door a few times, raising his voice, “Anybody home?” A distinct emptiness was all he got as a reply.

               “Pull it open,” Roger muttered, pressing his shoulder against the right side of the door, blaster drawn. He certainly wasn’t messing around.

               With a grunt, Elliot grabbed at the bar on the door, pulling it off to the side. At some point he had to assume it had been able to slide open of its own accord, but its prime had to have been years ago.

               Once it had opened with a terrible grinding noise, Roger turned from his corner, blaster drawn. Slowly entering the darkened apartment, he allowed the blaster to shift to his left hand, right hand patting the right wall in a search for a light switch. Elliot heard the click, but hardly noticed the difference when the lights apparently came on.

               The only reason he could tell they had come on at all was that he could barely notice everything the room now, as opposed to the entire place being dark as a cave. The buzz the lights emitted gave another clue, but for all he knew that was just the buzz from some swarm of insect that had nested inside.

               “Anybody home?” Elliot called out, keeping in step behind Roger, who gave him a small nod of approval.

               The officer let out a sigh, shaking his head. His hand lowered slightly, motioning off to the left half of the apartment. “Check off over there.” With that he moved off to the right side.

               Elliot frowned slightly, noting more dusty doors off to the left, while Roger was wandering through what appeared to be a living area. The first door he found proved to conceal a bathroom when he had managed to pry it open. A quick glance in the sink told him it hadn’t been used within the last few hours, dry as it was. The nearby toothbrush meant it was getting use period, though.

               Next door he found a bedroom, complete with a dresser and bed. Approaching it, he noticed a stuffed nerf, resting on top of the covers, looking fairly new.

               “There a kid living here too?” Roger asked, having appeared in the doorway with little warning.

               Elliot bit his tongue at his first thought, hoping he didn’t jump too much at the sudden noise. Turning around he nodded, “Looks like it.” Glancing over his shoulder he gave the bed another look, “Only one place to sleep though.”

               Roger jerked his head back toward the main room, “Couch in front of the entertainment box. Probably sleeps there.” Elliot let out a snort. He hadn’t heard that one in a while. Roger frowned, heading towards a corner of the room. Elliot stood closer to the door, watching the main room in case anyone came in.

               “Huh.”

               Blinking, Elliot turned, looking as Roger plucked up something from the ground, looking it over. Elliot paled as he noticed what it was. Holocron. Sith and Jedi stuff. The few times he had ran across them, it always ended with sabers drawn and at least one person missing a bit of their body. If they were lucky. He didn’t know who was living here, but he did know the types who held on to that kind of stuff, and it was generally crazies and cultists.

               Roger smirked when he noted Elliot backing toward the door, shaking his head, “Least we aren’t leaving here empty handed. Got something to hand off to the evidence boys.”

               Elliot could only stare as his temporary partner with something between contempt and terror. As he made for, Elliot was almost certain that he was running the risk of being struck by lightning, or catching on fire from nowhere. What actually happened wasn’t much better, when he thought back on it.

               When he finally decided to fall into step behind Roger, it actually took him a few moments to realize that there apparently wasn’t a Roger to fall in step behind. Once that had registered, it took even more time to actually find where Roger had seemingly materialized, which happened to be a nearby wall.

               Somehow he was still keeping a hold on the little cube, his knuckles going white from how hard he was grasping the thing. The officer let out a groan as he slowly pried himself from the wall, the floor being colored white with all the chunks of paint it was being covered in. Once he managed to get back on his feet, he began staggering towards the door, only to be tossed aside again.

               Elliot continued to inch towards the door, eyes going as wide as they could manage. He winced as he watched Roger hit another wall, right size first, letting out a grunt of his own when he heard what he could only assume was the sound of the other man’s arm breaking. This time the holocron finally fell from his fingers, landing on the floor with a distinct clunk.

               For a moment things were silent once more. Taking a breath, Elliot moved slowly forward into the room. In spite of every instinct to turn tail and run back down the hall and away from this hellhole, he didn’t feel like being the only one to do so. Once he was close enough, he stuck a foot out, nudging the unmoving Roger with the toe of his shoe, holding his breath.

               Roger’s eyes burst open as he coughed, prompting Elliot to stumble back as though he just watched the dead rise. Pushing himself up with his good arm, the officer managed to find his feet, moving towards the door without any hesitation. Elliot followed behind him, pausing once he reached the door to look once more to the holocron.

               Don’t.

               He felt a chin roll down his spine. The word echoed through his mind, even though he had nothing to do with conjuring it. It was easily the last bit of motivation he needed to pull the door back shut, lest someone looking for a place to stay for the evening enter. With that done, he allowed himself to bolt down the hallway as fast as he possibly could.

-----

               The door clinked shut behind him once more, though this time he didn’t brother removing his face from his hands. The last hour or two had been spent rubbing his head to get whatever images that were likely to haunt him out of it, at least until he had some nightmare tonight.

               “He gonna be okay?”

               He heard Nadine sigh, allowing a space between his hands to see if she was nodding or not. She wasn’t. “Multiple broken bones, probably has some internal bleeding. A few ruptured organs, maybe. Didn’t really listen to all the medical jargon. Main problem they think he’s gonna have is something screwy with his head.”

               Elliot covered his face once more, letting out a sigh, “Well that’s comforting.”

               “Got some Jedi on it. Matter of waiting and seeing.” He just shook his head, not having much to add to the matter. She apparently took the hint, moving onto the next thing he could hardly focus on.

“Got an APB out on the girl. Probably get some higher up agency involved, might get her own wanted poster.”

“Probably gonna have to extend that to off-world. Probably left by now.”

“We’ve got that covered. We’ll find her, one way or another.” He just nodded. She stood. He could tell that based on her boots clicking as she walked across the floor. Her hand was on his shoulder. “You need anything?”

He finally looked up, pulling his hands away from his face. For some reason, he half expected her to ask him if he was okay. But he knew better than that, because that particular question had died a long time ago. Because she knew he wasn’t okay, and knew it wasn’t worth bothering him with asking about it.

Allowing one of his hands to rest on hers, he shook his head, “Nah. Just need to sleep, probably.”

She let out something between a sigh and a laugh, pulling her hand out from underneath his to pat him on the back, “Then go do that. Come back tomorrow and I’ll make sure you’re getting paid for the last few days.”

               It had somehow managed to escape him just how late it had gotten. When he had left the police station the light had recently left, but by the time he managed to reach his office, he was certain it would be returning soon enough.

               The climb up the stairs was as long as it had ever been. A good five minute march past a number of offices he had never bothered counting, the majority of them dark, save for one or two he assumed were filled with people burning the late night oil to churn out one more report. When he managed to reach his office door, he had to slump against it to take a breath.

               Flashing a card at the nearby scanner, the door slid open, allowing him to enter. He groggily squinted down at the floor when he heard an unfamiliar crunching noise instead of the usual carpet. In his blurry vision he managed to identify some sort of yellow rectangle that had apparently been shoved under the door.

               Bending over he picked it up, impressing himself as he managed to stay on his feet. It took holding it in his hands to realize it was some sort of envelope, a short note having been taped to it. Tearing the note from the envelope, he tossed the yellow thing onto his desk, slowly wandering towards the back room and closer to sleep.

               He could practically imagine some high lifer’s stuck up tone as he read the note, making sure to pay close attention to the curvy writing and personal stationary.

               “Dear Mr. Martin,

                              It has come to our attention that you have recently proved useful in regards to a 

most unusual case, regarding less than normal happenings. My employer is interested in speaking with you regarding a similar issue that has been plaguing their family as of late, and hope you may be able to bring the matter to a close.

               Enclosed in this envelope are the details regarding a meeting place, as well as a few articles pertaining to the matter at hand. Among these, you will also find what we hope will be enough incentive to at the least lesson to our proposition.

               We hope to see you soon,

                              A friend.”

         

      His eyes narrowed as he let the letter fall from his hands. They continued narrowing as he let himself fall on top of his bed. By the time they had closed, he had already managed to find something resembling sleep, at the least content that he wasn’t going to be starving in the next few days. 

Shopping

She pressed her face against the glass, eyes going wide at what lay beyond it. It was completely perfect. It was small, and really fuzzy looking, and it looked adorable. But most of all, she wanted it. No. She needed it. The stuffed animal on the other side of the window had to be in her possession, somehow.

               Not yet.

               Almaria sighed, saying to no one in particular, “But I waaaaant it.”

               And you may have it. Once you have retrieved what I have asked you to retrieve.

               The woman let out an overly dramatic sigh, prompting a few of those walking past her to glance at her with some sense of wonder, but not enough to compel them to stop. Someone talking to herself wasn’t entirely out of the ordinary, even among the Core Worlds. Enough people came and went from Coruscant, even in these lower parts, to create some sense of inevitable oddities.

               With another sigh, Almaria turned from the window, continuing down the street. Every now and then she would be prompted to take a turn, winding herself further and further down a back alley, until she was properly delivered to her destination which, as was plastered in fading neon above its door, was a pawn shop. Despite her feelings regarding the smell and the look, not to mention all the scary strangers she had seen on the way here, she knew she had to go in. That stuffed animal was counting on her!

               There was a beep somewhere in the back of the store as she walked past the sliding door. Shelves lined what little space there was, packed to the brim with odds and ends from places she could only dream of seeing, or look up on the HoloNet. Skulls sat alongside ancient technology that had probably been outdated before she was even born, with no rhyme or reason to what was placed where, or at least none that she could decipher. Just past the shelves stood a rusting metal counter, smaller bits and bobs, ranging from small keychains to even smaller chips, resting and gathering dust.

               An older man emerged from some back room, pushing his way through a few protocol droids that stood guard along the back wall, their positions fixed as though they were mannequins rather than machines. With a cough he rested against the counter, squinting at the young woman who had just wandered in.

               She offered an awkward smile, which he returned in kind, motioning her towards the counter. Letting out another cough, he waved a hand around the shop, “Anything I can help you find, miss? Or are we just browsing this afternoon?”

               Almaria took a moment to consider the ‘we’ part of his question, before nodding. “Yes. Uh. Yes, I’m looking for something.” She rummaged around in her pocket, pulling out a flickering datachit and offering it to him.

               Keeping his polite smile, he took the device and giving it a look. When he frowned, she mirrored him, tilting her head to the side, “What?”

               He quickly made to return the datachit, motioning her towards the door, “I’m afraid I don’t have anything by that description here, miss. Perhaps try further down the alley.”

               He’s lying.

               She shook her head, “You’re lying.”

               The shop keep stared her down, eyes narrowing. She had the impression that he wasn’t only looking at her, but seemingly through her, as though to someone standing directly behind her. He bit his lip, arms crossing, “Perhaps you have an order number, and I may check in the back to see if I have it on one of my storage racks.”

               One hundred and forty-five.

               Almaria’s head tilted to the side, “Maybe one hundred and forty-five?”

               The man’s face paled in the short time it took him to turn and head into the back of the store once more. A multitude of sounds filtered in through the open door, among them the sliding of boxes, the opening of latches, and even what might have been the clicking of locks. When he returned he held a box under his arm, setting it on the counter. The box was lined by a distinct band of metal, a keyhole on the side facing her. He rested what she could only assume was the key on top of the box.

               She made to test the lock, before he slapped her hand.

               Don’t.

               “Don’t,” he said, holding the key out to her, “Do not open this, unless told otherwise. Now get out.”

               Frowning once more Almaria tucked the key into a pocket, lifting the surprisingly light box off of the counter and walking out the door.

               She wormed her way under the covers, the stuffed nerf in tow, smiling as she felt the sheets tuck under her. At the foot of her bed yet another holocron was hoisted into the air by some unseen force.

               This one is interesting, though I am afraid it might bore you to sleep.

               She nodded, looking up the ceiling. She knew she shouldn’t ask it, that she might get in trouble by asking it. But she just had to know. She wanted to know.

               Not now.

               Almaria let out a sigh, “When?”

               Sooner than you may think. 

Bedtime Stories

Boom! She let out another giggle as the anthropomorphic nerf took another blaster bolt to the face, rocking back and forth a bit as she sat. Ooo! She knew this part, she knew this part so good she could repeat it word for word without even watching, and even do all the voices, because the voices were some of the best part.

               “That’s gotta burn,” she said with a snicker, following along with the nerf’s personal nemesis, Theodore the Tauntaun as he gave a glance to the ‘camera’, its exaggerated cartoon eyebrows giving a wiggle.

               It was hard not to feel bad for the nerf, though. Sure it was mean, and selfish, not wanting to share whatever it had right now, but still getting shot in the face with a blaster couldn’t have felt very nice, and that made it kind of sad. That didn’t mean she wouldn’t laugh when the same thing happened again in a few moments.

               Click. Her lips pulled down into a pout, arms crossing as she stared down the now blank screen. Shooting a look over her shoulder, she let out an exaggerated sigh when she saw that her bestest friend was playing invisible again.

               “Heeey,” she muttered in a whine few would have not considered annoying, “I was watching that! It was only gonna be on for a few more minutes, and then I was gonna go to bed.”

               Sleep. Now.

               The words echoed in her brain as they did when her friend had decided she didn’t want to be seen. Behind her she heard the buzz of the light as it was flicked on in the background. Sighing once more, Almaria rose from the floor, dragging her feet as she went where directed.

               Was this a good day?

               Now onto the usual questions for the evening. She gave a vague shrug. “I dunno. I guess,” she muttered in a dismissive tone.

               You promised not to lie to me.

               The water in the sink turned on, the facet turned by some unseen force, as she plucked her toothbrush out of the cup and began cleaning her mouth. “Em nawt lyeugh,” she said through the soap, giving another shrug. Spitting into the sink, she began the slow sulk to her room, frowning now, “I guess not. Somebody made fun of me again.”

               I told you to stop listening to them.

               “That’s haaaard,” she said, letting out yet another whine, “I’m always too big for stuff and people look at me weird and they’re all mean about stuff, and then they don’t care that they make me cry, and then they just get even more mean.”

               Do you want me to talk to them?

               “I dunno,” she said, now with a more withdrawn shrug, “Maybe.”

               We can talk to them tomorrow, if you want.

               Almaria bobbed her head, looking amongst the small cubes that lined one side of her room, before picking one up and setting it at the edge of her bed. Crawling in under the sheets, she felt the unseen presence slowly move the sheets under her, squirming playfully as it did. Once she saw that the cube had been picked up, she rested her head back, staring at the ceiling, trying to keep still, despite her excitement.

               Ah, this one. I enjoy this one.

               She gave another nod of the head, smiling wide. Blinking a few times, the smile faded as quickly as it had come. “Hey,” she muttered quietly into the empty air, the lamp in the room switching off.

               Yes.

               “Am I too old for stuff?”

               You can never be too old to do anything. People just like to think you are.

               The smile returned as she nodded once more, “Okay.”

               Now. Close your eyes, and listen.

               “Okay.”

Occasions

Someone must have had a checklist. At least, it seemed that way. ‘Everything people expect at a ‘high class’ party’ or something like that. Fancy chandelier, check. Little foods being carried around by people being almost certainly underpaid, check. Annoying music played by people who looked about as bored as a person could be, check. Any number of people dancing and frolicking about, laughing at whatever little thing they could conjure up, check, check, double check, and triple check.

            She sighed, taking another sip out of the tiny wine glass she had acquired, making note of one of the last pieces of the list. Terrible, minimally alcoholic drinks. Check. Passing the glass off to some passing waiter, she crossed her arms once more, leaning back against the pillar she had laid claim to since she had arrived.

            Every time one of the multiple passing people, all parts of either the higher end of the Imperial hierarchy or a member of some Alderaanian noble house or some other high position she couldn’t help but hate on principle, gave her so much as an odd glance she stared them down. Partially because she hated that look, partially because she expected it, and partially because she couldn’t help but understand why it was being given.

            She would have given someone dressed like her a look like that too. Well, that, on top of whatever backhanded compliment or snide remark she could come up with. Among other things, maybe, depending on how much she managed to come up with. All the same, it wasn’t as if she had had much choice in the matter. Not just in the job, but in the uniform. The formal occasion wasn’t a problem, since that much could be dealt with. Hell, some of those things even allowed people to come in armor, so it would be even less of an armor. So a few weapons would have to be left at the door. Job could still be done with the bare essentials. But when the stupid Sith decided that no, the part required some different dress. Specifically an actual dress. A bright pink one.

            “It looks lovely with your hair,” they had said. Of course it didn’t matter how it looked, she sure as hell would never want to wear it. Not that such a conclusion was an option when working for someone who can flick their wrist and snap your neck without so much as looking at you.

            Her eyes continued scanning the crowd, though she still remained unsuccessful in the endeavor. It didn’t help that half the people present were dressed the same, with many bearing multiple similarities. It wasn’t even one of those ‘all humans look alike’ things, since she would dare same something similar of her own species. More that too many people were apparently following fashion advice from similar sources. Probably whatever was in ‘season’, or however the cycle of trends went.

            Pushing off the pillar, she approached one of the older guests, tapping him on the shoulder to prompt him to turn. After they had finished eyeing her attire over, the Chiss put on her best fake smile, motioning around the room, “I happen to be looking for somebody. Goes by Tobias or something along those lines.”

           

            The older man snorted, what gray hair was left on his head receiving a bit of a lift as his head jerked up. He pointed a wrinkled hand off towards one corner of the room, declaring “Look for either a crowd of gentlemen discussing half the women here, or a crowd of women surrounding one gentleman.”

            She let out a laugh, “That sort of guy, huh?”

            He only shook his head, muttering something under his breath as he returned to his previous conversation.

            Looking towards where she had been directed, she slowly maneuvered herself close to a circle of four or so men, tapping one of them on the shoulder as she had done before. Once again she was closely examined upon the man’s turning, only this time he gave a second look, this one directed to his companions, and some movement of his eyebrows. They chuckled in return, nodding and motioning him on, to which he finally addressed her with a quick “What may I do for you this fine evening, miss?”

            She kept pretending to smile, hoping she could hold it out for however much longer she had to remain, trying to keep her drawl out of her words, “Looking for a guy named Tobias. One of you him, or do I gotta keep playing ‘find the needle in the haystack’?”

            The man grinned, offering his hand, “I do believe you can stop playing, considering you’ve found me. Perhaps next time inform me we’re engaging in a game.”

            Her eyes narrowed ever so slightly as she took the hand, making a slight mental note that a fifth person was joining the circle off to her left, “Daeria, Daeria Malcolm. Visiting on the business of an accounting firm.”

            Tobias raised a brow, grinning even wider, “Malcolm? Did I hear that right?” Her eyes narrowed a bit more as he motioned to his right. His companion pushed the newcomer forward with some amount of force, implying he wasn’t a usual member of the pack. Shifting her gaze to the odd one out, her grin faded, expression going blank. Tobias placed one hand on the man’s shoulder, motioning to him with the other.

“You wouldn’t happen to know this fellow would you? Mister,” he frowned snapping his fingers a few times as he tried to conjure up the right name, “Roger? Roy? Something Malcolm.”

The man in question gulped, “Redamous.”

Tobias nodded, pointing to Redamous once more, “That was it. Redamous. Another Malcolm. So, again. Any relation?”

She put the smile back on, gritting her teeth in a manner she hoped wasn’t too obvious, “Oh, not really. I think I married him at some point.”
            The rest of them shared a round of laughter, before Tobias gave Redamous a pat on the back, “Are you telling me that this fellow has been in attendance here, both without telling you, and without an offer of a dance? Mister Malcolm, I assumed you a man of good business, and here I am finding this out.” He motioned them off, “This must be corrected. Immediately.”

Redamous shook his head slowly, wrapping his arm around her shoulder as he led her off. Behind the two, they could hear the others once again engaging in a round of laughter and conversation. She muttered “Nice friends you got there.”

He sighed, turning to face her, offering his hands as those around him were doing. She couldn’t tell if he actually knew the steps, or was going to mimic whatever the rest of the room was doing. She did, on the other hand know which one she was going to be doing. Once the music started up again she started moving according to what she could see as the steps.

His voice was low as he spoke, glancing around every now and then as he did so. She couldn’t tell if he was making sure no one was looking, or figuring out the next part of the dance. “The hell are you doing here?”

She raised a brow, “The hell do you think I’m doing here. The hell are you doing here?”

He sighed, “If I had to guess, same reason you are. Work. Getting work. Now if you’re gonna be doing what I think you’re doing, that might be a bit harder.”

Daeria rolled her eyes, “Would that be such a bad thing?”

            Redamous bit his lip for a moment, “Not necessarily. But it means I came all the way out here for absolutely nothing.”

            “Got to see me. One upside, right?” she said, sarcasm deep in her voice.

            He took his turn to try out the deadpan, “Oh yeah, right.”

            The music died down once more and the pair stepped off to the side. A small distance away she once again spied the circle of people, this time a few of them making pointed gestures their way. She glanced to her left, shrugging her shoulders, “Sure you don’t want him dead? ‘Cause I can do that.”

            Red blinked, “You weren’t gonna do it already?”

            “Nah. Just stealing the key to one of his hideaway houses. Need some clearance documents or somethin’ for somebody,” she let the drawl slip back in. “Can still make sure there’s some explosives or somethin’ there when I leave.”

            He frowned, biting his lip as he pondered the thought, “I’ll talk to ‘im. You pick his pocket or whatever the hell it is you wanna do.”

            She grinned, “See? This’ll be fun.”

            They began approaching to rejoin the group, as he quietly muttered “But no killin’ ‘im.”

            She sighed, “Less fun.”

Faith

Written as a submission for a Dragon Age-related fan contest, as well as because this is a universe I quite enjoy.


Some potentially required listening/reading, as to make sense of a reference: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qq8ZcIfLDUo


-

The cabinet creaked as she closed the door, the final dish of the evening finding its resting place until the time came for it to be used again. Her eyes scanned the room as she took a moment to admire her work. It had taken plenty of time, the sun was setting by now, but the kitchen was nothing short of spotless. Or rather, as spotless as aging wood could get. The moment she allowed herself some small amount of pride did not get to last for very long, though, as there were still the final chores of the day to be done.

                The blaze in the fireplace needed fed once again, as it often did on such cold days, the kind that turned into much colder evenings. There were still windows and a door to bar. It was only after that was done that she could take a moment to relax, prior to turning in. Years ago she would have been able to make it deep into the evening and early morning of the next day, but that time had passed, with a more modest age having taken its place. She was surprised her husband still managed to get around as well as he did, considering his younger years had been spent with more punishing tasks.

                His absences, in this case he was away trading and bartering at the town down the hill for the coming days, always seemed to prompt her finding some way to keep herself busy for the day. One time she had managed to straight and dust each and every piece of furniture, while on others she had taken to tending to the hides her forgetful husband had left behind. Anything that could keep her occupied and her thoughts away from just how empty the house was anymore.

                Sparks jumped from the fire as she tossed in another log, prodding it with the nearby metal poker. She examined the pile to insure that there was enough to last through the evening, and decided that it would suffice. In the chance that her supply ran low, she was more than certain there were enough blankets around the house to keep herself warm through the early cold hours, rather than having to trek out in the dark in search of soggy, snow covered logs.

                The thought made her shudder. She was constantly reminded that in fact, it would not be dark, as there was always the light of whatever unholy hole had been torn in the sky weeks ago. For some it would have been an excellent reason to relocate but, whether from her stubbornness or her husband’s, they had remained firmly in place, without so much as a conversation regarding the topic. That didn’t stop the fact that there was not some terrifying presence in the sky now that had left a constant feeling of discomfort.

                Aside from the window she had been tossing a few pieces of rotting fruit out of, the others had remained shut for the day. The front door was a matter of tightening the deadbolt, and putting the wooden plank in its place. A grunt escaped her as she hoisted the heavy plank into position, brushing the dirt off her hands on her apron when the deed was done.

                With a sigh of relief, she lowered herself into her chair, scooting close to the fire and allowing herself to relax. She had nearly fallen asleep, before a knocking at the door woke her up. Followed by a demand to open the door.

                She muttered a mild curse under her breath, bringing her fist up to pound against the door yet again. “For the love of the Maker, open this cursed door!” The temptation of attempt to open it was more than present, though something told her that such a thing would only be met with failure. A shiver ran through her body. She was growing tired of these cursed mountains, and their cursed cold.

                Raising her voice, she attempted to imitate something resembling a Ferelden accent, “Please open the door. I mean you know harm, and am simply looking for a warm place to reside for the evening!” Despite having spent years at a time in Denerim, she was far from convincing. An actor she was not. When there was yet again no response, she raised her voice even further, “I know you are in there!”

                Behind the wood she heard a quiet grunt, followed by the sound of metal moving against wood. The door opened just wide enough for the person inside to peer out into the night. The shivering woman offered her politest smile, Orlesian accent obvious as she spoke, “Good evening, madam. I am Gillian Simonette, and if you would allow me into your home, I would be most gracious.”

                The older woman inside visibly gulped, eyes wide but stance firm as she opened the door further to allow the Orlesian in. She stared as the armored woman entered, immediately going for the fire, rubbing her hands together over it in an attempt to regain feeling in them, the armor she wore clinking as she went. A hood hid much of her head, and a sword was sheathed on her belt, and a shield rested on her back, which bore the mark of the Chantry.

                Gillian kneeled, huddling close as she could come to the fire, wincing at the ache in her hands as the feeling returned to them. She looked over her shoulder, offering a polite smile, “I thank you for this.” The older woman nodded, returning to her chair, fingers wrapping around its arms. Once she no longer felt as though pieces of her were at risk of falling off, Gillian stood, taking the second chair near the fire, turning it to where she could look to the woman as she spoke to her, “I did not get your name.”

                The woman bit her tongue for a moment, picking her words with care. “Emily Carol,” she said, opting for the truth. She released one of the chair’s arms, pointing towards her guest’s shield, “I do not think that is the average shield for a Templar.”

                Gillian chuckled, nodding her head in agreement, “I would assume that it is not the average shield of a Templar, but I am no Templar.” Her host’s brow rose, causing her to laugh yet again, “I’ve heard of the Chantry having more than Templar as their guard, especially those who are settled so firmly in territory where those old protectors have skirmishes now. But I am not among them either. I am of the faithful, but I travel of my own accord.”

                Emily frowned, nodding idly as she looked back to the fire, “You don’t say.”

                The wanderer tilted her head to the side somewhat. She blinked as she realized she had kept her hood up, taking a moment to bring it down, revealing blonde, crop cut hair. Coughing into her hand, she spoke with more care, “Would it matter if I were among the Templar’s ranks?”

                The older woman blinked, looking back to her guest. She slowly eyed her over, “I honestly do not know.”

                “I could understand how they could,” Gillian said, frowning, “They have stirred up a fair share of terrible events as of late.” Catching the woman frown, she added, “Not that the mages can be spared such an accusation either.”

                “I know,” Emily said, shaking her head.

                “Have any of them troubled you? Perhaps there is something to be done about such, before I continue on my way,” Gillian said. “It’s the least I could do for keeping me from becoming a frozen corpse.”

                Emily took her turn to laugh, though it was quiet and dark. After a time she nodded, “There are two who trouble me. They trouble me constantly, this mage and this Templar. Any time I so much as think of them I am troubled.”

                Gillian nodded in earnest, “And what do they do? Or have they done, I suppose?

                “Left home,” Emily said flatly, in something resembling a croak. She pointed towards the mantle above the fireplace, where sat an older painting. Gillian couldn’t help but note that the picture’s creator would have paled at the sight of something from across the mountains, before looking to the painting’s contents.

                “Roland was sent off when he was young,” she muttered, “We didn’t want to have hide and worry him. For his safety and ours, perhaps. At some point, and I cannot even begin to dwell on when or why, Lenora decided that she was meant for the Templar Order.”

                “Do they still,” Gillian started before pausing, biting her tongue before she continued the question.

                “I do not know,” Emily said.They sat in silence for a few minutes, before the home’s owner stood, heading off into another room, which Gillian could only assume was the bedroom.

Though she considered making pursuit for the sake of an apology, the younger woman remained where she was, both out of not wanting to make the situation any worse, and sheer exhaustion. It wasn’t too long before her eyes grew heavy, and not long after that that sleep overtook her.

                Gillian awoke to the smell of something cooking. For a moment, she kept her eyes shut, hoping once again that when she opened them she would not be in some strangers home, but instead that lovely Orlesian villa she had known for so long. Such had not been the case for working on a year, and was unlikely to change any time soon.

                Upon opening her eyes she was greeted with the same wooden home from the night before, along with its still crackling fireplace. She stood, making her way towards the scent of food, finding the woman from yesterday standing in front of an older stove, the table behind her partially set. Emily glanced over her shoulder at the sound of footsteps, offering her guest a small nod. Turning back to her work, she said “I assumed you would want something to eat before you left.”

                Gillian blinked, taking a seat, “I would not have asked, though I certainly will not say no.”

                The woman snorted, which was probably the liveliest reaction Gillian had yet gotten out of her, “Oh come now. As though you wouldn’t be starving.” She turned, placing a plate of meat in front of the younger woman, “So long as you like wolf, this should solve that problem.”

                Swallowing as her mouth watered, Gillian nodded, fetching a knife and fork from one side of the table, cutting into one piece of meat and taking a bite of it. She and chewed and swallowed the piece so fast that she barely had tasted the flavor before taking in another piece, and another. Her focus was so firm on the food that she neglected to note Emily, watching her ever so closely. When she finally noticed, Gillian swallowed, “Yes?”

                “What are you doing out among us mountain folk?” Emily said, whatever disinterest she had carried with her the night before having vanished with the moon.

                Gillian blinked, before pointing in the direction she recalled as northwest, “I’m making my way up to Haven.” She continued working at the meat in front of her as it vanished piece by piece, until nothing was left.

                Emily shook her head, “And why would you be daft enough to do that.” If it had been meant as a question, Gillian struggled to tell.

                Pushing her plate forward and taking up a napkin, Gillian dabbed her lips, “Because that is where I must go. That is where many should go.”

                The older woman laughed, slapping a hand against the table, “If you enjoy the thought of a hole in the sky, and who knows how many demons, then yes. As I’ve heard, there is little left near Haven, and I would expect less to be left if you make it.”

                Gillian gave a broad smile, shaking her head. She spoke as a child might of one they idolized, “The Inquisition is there. And if I am lucky, and make haste, I shall be able to get there before they have completed their work with the Breach.”

                Emily blinked, squinting, “And what in the Maker’s name is this ‘Inquisition’?’

                Her guest leaned forward, as though to share gossip, “It is said that they seek to close the Breach, and mend this conflict, and restore the faithful’s trust, and that they are led by one who walked from the Breach itself. One who was saved by Andraste herself, and who heralds her cause now.”

                Emily’s face darkened at the words, “Perhaps they also have walked amongst the Maker, and have word from him that no other has heard. Or perhaps they’ve some old scripture with which they seek to enlighten the masses. Anything to put impressionable people on a pilgrimage into the mountains.”

                Gillian frowned, standing, “I am afraid that, though such could be the case, I cannot believe it.” She bowed to her host, “I do hope that things become better for you in these darker times, though, and that they may be brightened.”

                “Because someone has told you this, or because you honestly believe such?”

                The wanderer smiled, “Because I believe such. I am of the faithful, as I have said prior. Though trying times, I cannot let that tear at my faith. We are taught that such will improve.” She pointed towards the ceiling as she backed towards the door, “Look towards the sky, misses Carol. The dawn is coming, and I am of the firm belief that the Inquisition shall be those who bring it.”

With that, she turned and exited the house. As she turned right, continuing up the road, Emily bowed her head, muttering “Maker, keep that girl alive. She’s just the type of person you want talking in your favor.”

Closed Doors (Part 3)

Part 1


Part 2


-----

            “So let me get this straight,” Frank said, looking the screen over. “We've got a missing crate of off-worlds. Got that. Carryin' minerals. Boys did a pretty crappy job if you ask me.”

 

            Alan nodded, “That's what I said.”

           

            Frank raised a brow slightly, “And how'd that go for you?”

 

            “Still breathing, so she didn't take it too bad obviously.”

 

            Frank rested backward in his chair, slowly stroking his chin. The table in front of him had been cleaned of plates, and now had been promoted to the position of being the resting place of a number of coffee cups and small tablets, each with some flickering bit of information. Some covered up-and-coming news from around the district, or rather the edited version of whatever had originally been sent to be broadcasted. Others held local sports scores and betting rates for whatever underground movement was going at the moment. To most it was a mess of the highest order, with somewhat interesting or useful information sitting alongside boring statistics and stale coffee mugs.

 

            There was some saying Alan recalled from some documentary he had caught some time prior that went on about the look of animals in their natural habitat, how they knew the territory and how to navigate it by heart. It was that same look one could get when Frank Coban actually put himself to working. Once all the food had been stuffed away, the work finally had room to get done.

 

            Frank picked up each tablet one at a time, flicking through whatever he was looking at with the thumb of the hand that held the device, sipping coffee from the cup he was clutching in the other hand. Every now and then he might pick up another device to make a note or two, before the process began again. Recent movements of merchandise. Security camera feeds. A few black market forums. Everything was at his fingertips with the correct connections, and anyone worth their salt had those connections. Frank Coban just so happened to be well worth his weight in salt.

 

            Alan slowly drummed his fingers on the table, focus firmly on the distant skyway. There had been a time when watching his informant work induced at least some amount of awe in him, but that time had long since passed. By this point he knew fully well that it was far more productive to sit back and let the man do his job. From there, he could start doing his.

 

            A solid hour had passed before Frank put down a tablet for a final time, took one last pull from his drink and set it aside as well. He began stroking his chin again, resuming his leaned back position. Alan pulled himself away from his thoughts, coming back to the café, eyebrow raising. The question was obvious: What did he find?

 

            It was rather obvious that Frank was picking his words carefully. His mouth opened a few times before he closed it again, having not been content with his word choice. He brought a hand up, signaling Alan to remain quiet for a moment, “For the love of God, Al. Please. For the love of God, don’t get all worked up.”

 

            Alan took in a slow breath, leaning forward, his eyes boring into Frank. There was a slight movement in his mouth as his tongue placed itself between his teeth, hands motioning Frank to go on.

           

            Frank rolled his eyes, refraining from commenting on the actions, instead focusing on his findings. He tapped the tablet that held his notes, “There is absolutely nothing on any of these materials.” Across the table, Alan brought his hand to his mouth, a number of obscenities escaping his lips as he stared up at the ceiling. Ignoring the reaction, Frank continued, “And I mean absolutely nothing. No mention of any new black market shipments. Nothing from the security cameras. No big buyer callouts. I couldn’t even find anything to say it might’ve been shoved back off-world. There isn’t anything around that’s telling me that this stuff is on the move, or has even been moved. If you asked me, which you are thank you very much, this stuff practically doesn’t exist.”

 

            Alan blinked a few times, cocking his head to the side to be able to read the numerous notations Frank had made about the phantom goods, “So either we’re working with people who are good at this, or this stuff straight up doesn’t exist.”

 

            Frank shook his head, “Oh no. It exists. Or at least, it did. There is firm documentation of it coming on world and getting shipped, stored, and locked up. Somewhere between here and there, though, it just stops existing. Poof. Gone. Vanished.”

 

            “Let me guess,” Alan muttered, “No security footage of it being moved?”

 

            The other man nodded, pouring himself another cup of coffee, “Nope. There are graveyards with more active camera feeds than that place. Guards are just doing their little lazy patrols. Cross in front of the storage box a few times, but besides that? Nothing.”

 

            Alan held a hand out, waiting for a certain tablet to be handed to him, “Got names for those guards?”

 

            Frank offered him one of his devices, which was snatched from his hand, “Figured you would want them. Managed some of their regular hangout places, too, since I assumed you would want to go harass them about it.”

 

            He smirked as Alan rose from the table, heading for the door with a quick mutter of “You know me so well.”

            To say the section of town he had been directed to was shady was an understatement of the highest order. Hidden at the edge of the Myers-held district, the collection of back alleys and side streets were left under the constant shade of overhanging roofs and awnings, leaving all but a few areas in a state of near night. It was a place where the streetlights never went off, and the night stalkers never needed to turn in.

 

            He had popped up his collar to conceal the lower half of his face before he had even entered into the neighborhood, knowing full well that fitting in in this territory meant looking like you had something to hide. He couldn’t count the number of alleys he walked past that had some suspicious looking character, even by the standards of his own field, either in the middle of a deal or looking to make one. Under almost every streetlight he passed by stood some working man or woman, their attire leaving little to the imagination.

 

            Years ago a place like this would have made him think. Every single building and street around him was owned by either the company that owned the district, or the person at the head of it, and yet it was allowed to dip into the things that may have been taboo in other parts of the district. Some time ago he had figured out that this kind of thing was allowed for multiple reasons. There were some people who made sure to dig their fingers into it and scrap out a profit for themselves, while other owners might have made a few trips there themselves to take part in some of their favorite vices.

 

In the case of Allison Myers, it was nothing short of apathy, and it showed throughout the rest of the district as well. The further out one stretched from the view of her tower, the less it concerned her. A very ‘out of sight out of mind’ type of person, and it showed. So this little dark part of town was allowed, and it wasn’t going anywhere any time soon.

 

The sign of place he was looking for had a fair share of letters out. His hands went into his pockets as he approached it, catching the eye of a few of the people standing outside. Walking through the smoke of the cigarettes he pulled the door open and let himself into, not wanting to take the time to have to deal with some stray drunk who was bound to get uppity about a stranger walking into ‘his’ bar.

 

Music was drifting out of a few unseen speakers, mixing in with the sounds of whatever programming was being broadcast on the screens to his left, mounted over a number of bottles, in front of a bar of multiple customers. The only people who gave him the time of day as he entered were a few at tables who had been either chatting amongst themselves, or sitting alone. He pulled something from his pocket, a small, flickering device with a picture on it, before sliding it back into its previous resting place. Scanning the crowd, he spotted his mark at the back of the room, having what appeared to be a rather active conversation with what Alan assumed was some work buddy, as the two were laughing their heads off at some unheard joke.

 

The information Frank had been able to give him had been somewhat surprising, and somewhat discouraging. For the most part the guy, one Hugo Linus, had a near spotless record. Through some stroke of luck, despite guarding some of the most valuable stuff around, the guy had managed to not make too many waves. Aside from getting arrested for a bar fight here and there, usually with the description of “Pointless disagreement” from whoever had done the booking.

 

He made his way towards the rear of the room, weaving in and out among the tables, grabbing a chair and sliding it up right up to his target’s table. The two already at the table turned towards him, offering only a glare. Alan returned the glare with a casual smile, resting against the table as if he were meeting with friends of his own, “Evening fellas.”

 

The two exchanged a glance and a grunt, before the one he assumed was Hugo spoke up, his voice a constant slur, “Whatda you want?”

 

The interloper maintained his friendly demeanor, “To ask a few questions and get out of your hair. You two work down at the shipping yard, right?”

 

The second man nodded, flashing a smile as he shot another glance at his friend, “Do. And ‘fore you even get to the rest of your questions, we didn’t steal nothin’, we ain’t gonna steal nothin’.”

 

Alan raised a brow. It wasn’t surprising that they knew what he was going to ask. Maybe if they were deeper into their drinks, instead of still being sober enough to know which side of the bottle went in their mouths. “That a fact.   Well how about anything out of the ordinary you could tell me about that night, then.”

 

Hugo let out a laugh, “You a cop or something?”

 

“More into private investigation than police work,” Alan said.

 

The friend let out a laugh, “Retriever.”

 

Alan gave a shrug, before nodding, “That’s one word, yeah.”

 

Hugo brought an arm out to wrap around Alan’s shoulder as though he had known him for some time. “Let me tell you, there was nothing off about that night. Didn’t see nobody go near anything, before or after it got locked up. Gone when they did inventory the next morning. Can ask anybody.”

 

“Then what the hell happened,” Alan said flatly. “Stuff just vanished? Teleported away? Turned invisible? If no one went near it, then what the hell happened?”

 

The security guard only grinned wider, letting Alan go as he shrugged his shoulders, “Not a clue.”

 

“Look, pal,” Alan growled, “We both know this stuff doesn’t just get up and scram, so if nobody touched it.” He paused, looking between the two, eyes widening. Hugo sighed, tapping his bottle against the table. Alan slid his chair back along the floor, making to stand, muttering “Well shit.”

 

There was a dull flash under the table as Hugo’s friend drew a knife out from his pocket. Grinning, he pointed towards the chair, “Have a seat, man. Don’t get up and leave just yet.” Hugo continued tapping his bottle against the table, holding it by the neck now, nodding in agreement.

 

Alan gulped, taking a small step to the left. The other two stood, neither catching the notice of the rest of the bar. There always had to be moments like this. Moments where someone got ticked off and started resorting to the old classic, violence. He sighed. There were probably worse methods.

 

Grabbing the table, Alan shoved it backward as best he could, turning as the two grunted, a few curses escaping their lips as he went. He could hear the sound of feet hitting wood behind him and caught the look of a few shocked customers as his two pursuers drew closer.

 

He brought his arm up to brace himself as he bit the door, sending it swinging right into one of the people who had been standing around it when he had entered. Glass broke as it made contact, and what was left in it hit the ground alongside the shards. Amongst “Heys” and “What the hells” he made his way to the street, breaking into a sprint before he had a mob on his tail.

 

The other two exited shortly after he did, as told by their raised voices as they told him to stop, probably directed to him by whoever he had just squished behind a door. Footsteps echoed down the street, one man having his lead on the other two swallowed by their hot pursuit. A few of the idle working people took the opportunity to watch them go by, others not seeing it as worth their time to get caught up in anyone else’s problems but their own. If he were paying them any mind he would have given them credit for how dedicated they were to their job.

 

A few blocks were all he needed. A few blocks and he would enter back into the section of the district that had fewer decaying buildings and cracked streets and more security cameras. Based on how close the footsteps behind him were getting, that wasn’t going to happen. As he felt a hand get a grip on the back of his coat, he dropped forward into a roll, pulling his arms from its sleeves, hat flying off somewhere onto the street.

 

He let out a cough, rubbing the arm he had landed on as he stood again. Noting the two thugs doing the same his coat still in their hands, he took off again down a nearby alley. Curving left and right, he continued on paying little mind to the shouts demanding that he stop. Instead he kept on going until he was greeted by the front door of the Myers Shipping headquarters.

            Allison gave a coy smile as her eyes scanned over the report that had just been handed to her, waving off the messenger as though he didn’t even exist. When she was finished she set the report aside, resting forward against her desk, “Under our nose the entire time.”

 

            Alan nodded, seated in one of the two chairs, “All one big scam.”

 

            She nodded, “We’ll be looking into taking those involved in.” A smirk made its way onto her lips, “I imagine there are a number of ways we can get them to inform of their cohorts.”

 

            “I’m sure there are,” he deadpanned.

 

            Her smirk widened, “But that isn’t what you want to talk about, is it.”

 

            “Not particularly, no.”

 

            She rolled her eyes to feign annoyance, “Money money money. That’s all it is with you Alan. You skip all the fun parts.” She began flipping through her report again, “I don’t recall posting a price on this.”

 

            “Three,” he said, no change in his tone.

 

            Allison looked up at him, an eyebrow raising, “Three thousand?”

 

            He nodded, leaning forward in his chair, “Three thousand. That’s combining labor, contacts, and all of that. Plus counting in the price of the goods.”

 

            For once her expression hardened as she considered his words. Despite what he just said, he knew that it wasn’t his place to be making any sort of demands. Especially since she could snap her fingers and have someone toss him through her window without batting an eyelash, with no repercussion against her. A few moments passed, before she nodded, waving him towards the door. Her voice resumed its teasing tone as she spoke, “Fair enough, I suppose. I couldn’t sleep tonight if I told you no.”

 

            He let out a sigh of relief, nodding as he made his way for the exit. He could hear the grin in her voice as she spoke to him, “I have to say, Alan. I do love the ‘less is more’ look on you. I mean all that big old coat does is hide the rest of you.” Alan bit his tongue, doing his best not to make eye contact as he waited for the elevator doors to close and his descent to start.

 

            He set his coffee cup off to the side, instead deciding to focus on the blurs zooming by on the skyway. Whatever was done to produce coffee here, he was more than certain it needed to be made illegal, as to force them into finding a way that was less terrible. Alan had managed to dig out an old green shirt to replace the one he had been wearing the night before. Aside from that, and the fact that his coat had been left behind on some scummy city street, nothing about his attire had changed.

 

            Frank was, once again, late. But that was just bound to happen. Frank Coban worked in a separate time zone than everyone else, whether from having lived in one place for too long, or from a natural tendency to sleep in. When he did show up, Alan would complain. The two would exchange a few verbal jabs, Frank would order whatever large amount of food he was going to shove into his mouth for the morning, and then they could get to business.

 

            This morning’s business was going to be quick and clean, though. There was no job offer on the table, at least for the time being. There was no evidence to poke through, no shady people to investigate, and nothing that needed tracked down at the moment. Instead, there was money to be split. Enough money that he would be able to afford a way off of this rock, something that Frank would likely opt to do himself. Their destinations would likely align as well, since the both of them had ventured out from the same set of planets in the past year or so.

 

            In spite of what he might tell someone else, especially someone he didn’t know, that was a good thing. It meant that when he started taking work there, he would already have a contact. He would already have someone who knew the territory, just like Alan did, and knew who to call, poke, or listen in on for the sake of information. Which made his job all the easier, even if it meant splitting the profit.

 

            The bell over the café’s door jingled as it opened. Frank made his way to his spot, grin already on his face. “Well aren’t we looking rough this morning,” he stated, waving down the waitress. “Get mugged or something?”

 

            “Close enough,” Alan replied, “Nothing that I can’t replace, at least.”

 

            Frank nodded, laying out his order to the waitress who then retreated back into the kitchen, probably to converse with the cook while he worked. Once she was gone he looked back to Alan, “We’re gettin’ paid though, right?”

 

            “We’re getting paid.”

 

            “And how much are we getting paid?”

 

            Alan took his turn to grin, pointing towards the skyway, “Enough to get off out of town.”

 

            Frank managed to grin even wider, “Oh really now? And what’s the plan after that.”

            “Get another job."