Eagle was far more claustrophobic as a vampire as she had been as a mortal. She discovered that she couldn't bear to sit down in the meticulously clean planning room, even when Dark offered her the seat for the third time. The former Sylvan remained standing just behind the cushioned wooden chair, watching Stitches dart in and out of the room like a small child playing hide and seek. The copper-and-grey haired female, who was calmly sitting at her desk with a few reports out on her table, kept picking small bits of something out of a deerskin laying on her lap and dropping them onto the floor. Knowing that her guest was becoming more than uncomfortable, Dark looked up from her reports to give her a small measure of reassurance.
"This is 'big game' indeed- you always came through on your promises, and I- well, I thought I'd forgotten what surprise felt like." She dropped another bit of whatever she had in her lap to the floor, almost as thoughtlessly as though she were removing a hairball or a harmless insect, then used her left hand to pull a paper that was on the far right side of her desk closer to her gaze. "This is... unusual for Nedstra."
"Strangeness abounds in House Darkness these days," Eagle commented, shifting to her left foot and fiddling with the bottom of her crossbow. "Started with Stitches's evil twin getting down in there- that male just reeks of wrong. He'd kill just to watch the blood spatter drip, looks like. As for the messenger, I'd expected more resistance, I really did. When I realized that the woman was really all on her own, I kind of regretting putting the powder in her pillow. I could probably have just misted by, picked her pocket while she was lying there naturally; there was really no need-"
"No need?" Dark asked, lifting her eyes just far enough away from the paper before her to catch the coppery eyes of the female before her. "We don't survive by assuming our enemies are having an off day, but by crushing their bones to powder when they do. You were... gentler than I expected. I certainly didn't think The Only would make you more merciful."
"He's not as terrible as he pretended at first," Eagle sighed, holstering her crossbow and crossing her arms in a vain effort to keep from fidgeting. "Pleasantly calm, always calculating, yes- reminds me of you, really, but- he's not vicious."
"You thought he would be a monster," Dark smiled, turning her full attention to another piece of correspondence as Stitches skittered in on her right side. "I won't argue with you."
"Oh, the way you say that," Eagle groaned, rolling her eyes in exasperation as she leaned her arms on the back of the chair. "You could just admit that you don't agree."
"Alright, I don't agree with you. But I will not argue with you. And that's enough." Dark waited until Stitches scurried back out of the room again, then picked up another one of the pieces of paper with her left hand. "I don't like this- well, I do, but Nedstra shouldn't. The matron and that half-done priestess are getting far too polite- how is she allowing this to go on without comment?" Her right hand, as if thinking on its own, plucked another piece of whatever-it-was from the deerhide and let it splat to the ground.
"And the priestess carried that note over the borders herself- I wound up stripping all my armor, dumping my weapons, and playing a fresh-turn so I could scare her into a good panic. I know you don't like that, but I wasn't getting it any other way- and to be honest, once I got started, it was kind of fun to watch that big glut run."
"She ought to thank you for the exercise." Dark looked up to watch Stitches scurry back to her side, then put her hand on his shoulder to convince him to sit still for a few moments. "I doubt she'll connect that experience to Spectre, so... no need to actively kill her. This silence from Greycastle's apprentice- she's reading between the lines as well, and is waiting to see who's going to survive to take the reigns." Her right hand plucked another piece from the skin, but simply held it at Stitches's level instead of dropping it, and Stitches carefully used his lips to take hold of it. "Good boy, Stitches. And thank you for this, Eagle. Thorn probably won't admit that he's grateful for the time to heal that wrist, but I'm not ashamed to say it. Now really, as far as I'm concerned, The Only's debt to Spectre is completely paid."
"He'd like to continue to work with you, if that's alright," Eagle smirked, shifting from foot to foot as she looked from Stitches's quivering form to Dark's commanding gaze. "He knows you usually observe and choose your operatives, and so asked me to check with you personally- didn't even feel right writing you a letter. I don't think he'll ever tell you, but he is quite grateful that you allowed me to stay, after-"
"You kept a paladin-led campaign from storming us," Dark replied, raising an eyebrow. "Gods know what supposedly benevolent deity brought those killer 'heroes' thundering down there, but-"
Eagle leaned back on both feet and came around the chair to be closer to Dark for a few moments. "Lucien's lair was right in their way, She. You put operatives on the defense way before you had to-"
"And he's merely guilty that he repaid me by turning one of the best operatives on the job- Tess, you found the lair," Dark replied, sitting back to look up into the coppery eyes of one of the most versatile archers she'd ever known. "Didn't you tell him that you made the decision to park yourselves right in his coffin-room?"
"You're still the reason I was anywhere near there. He's grateful to me too, I know, and possibly a little guilty, but if it weren't for you planning eight to ten moves ahead, like you always do, not only would half of Spectre have been burned out like rats, a seven hundred year old master vampire, who helped to save this whole rotten place from the Shadovar and the Semmites, would have been staked and burned dishonourably in his sleep." Eagle, realizing that she was fighting a losing battle, turned toward the door and took one step toward it- just enough to be able to see Stitches clearly. "Just- say yes, She. He has to use stealth just to exist, and he's an incredible swordsman with multiple Human lifetimes of experience; frankly, I've never known you to turn down a good opportunity."
Dark thought for a few moments, then nodded, beginning to shuffle papers to the left side of her desk with her left hand. "I'll consider it. I will say, I am quite wary of those seven hundred years' worth of experience."
"If you think Lucien will suddenly decide he runs the place, don't worry," Eagle smirked, turning back around and assuming a comfortable at-ease position, hands on her hips. "He'd never survive the tunnels. Funny, for a male who has to sleep in a closed coffin."
"No, completely understandable," Dark replied thoughtfully. "If I'd had to sleep in a deadbox for centuries, I'd long for open space myself."
"I sleep on a cold slab myself," Eagle soothed knowingly. "He laid me on it when he thought I had- well, never mind. Just know that it's that kind of logic that escapes most mortals- that ability to think of things in ways so foreign to your own position- that's why he'd like to be working with you, instead of around or against you." A moment of silence stole between the two women, during which Stitches fidgeted until Dark held another chunk of whatever she had in her lap down for him. Eagle looked down, but the transaction was too fast for her to really get a good look. "Oh- almost forgot- you might want to check up on the word from the catacombs- Lucien says Vhalan is moving out on a quest somewhere with Dodge's ladyfriend. He's concerned for Vhalan's stability- his hunger awakens us all much more often now. Aric may be getting too old to keep restraining him."
"I wouldn't let The Only lose sleep over it; Master Aric's merely managing himself a little more tightly after that last rash of mage burning. He's still got it, I know- stares into my operatives like a banshee ready to wail."
"You think he knows about Spectre?" Eagle asked, a look of concern crossing her stark features.
"Knows?" Dark paused to laugh and shake her head slightly. "He may as well wave his hand over his scry-water and call through a mirror like Master Semnemac. It's just he hasn't come against something he can't handle just by walking up to the front door and saying the magical or spiritual equivalent of 'I see you, and I know exactly who you are.' Thanks for the tip, of course; I'll send for Silent, see what he's seen." Having moved all the papers, she reached for her ink pot- which was just out of her reach. Eagle quickly moved to the left side of the desk and pushed the pot closer to Dark's fingers, brushing them lightly in the process. The red haired woman didn't respond to the gesture at all- physically or verbally.
"Assignment for me?" Eagle asked, eyebrow raised as she looked up from the desk. "I'm still an operative, you know."
"If you still work with Spectre, then you take your cut for all that recon work you've put down," Dark laughed lightly, sitting back again. "As long as you keep avoiding that, I'm forced to wonder how you expect me to settle your score."
"I'll go see Sweetheart, he's-"
"She's," Dark corrected immediately, patting Stitches as one might a faithful hound. For a few moments, Eagle could swear she heard cat-like purring. "It's important to her, she let me hear about it last time."
"Gods, I don't know any other male who wants to be-"
"Mnn-mnn, Eagle, I don't either, but I won't abide judgement," Dark reminded, laying the skin that had been in her lap on her desk with her left hand. It was folded when she placed it, but when it opened, Eagle was slightly surprised to note that small bloody hunks laid there. She leaned back slightly to look down at Stitches, who instantly gave her a red-stained grin with an unsettling purr curling from his parted lips. Dark got up and moved toward a chest of drawers that served as her filing system on the left side of her room.
"Feeding him cut meat? You are just spoiling him, She! He's Mama's little boy- and Mama's spoiling Stitches rotten, rotten, rotten, huh, Stitches?" Eagle managed, trying not to laugh as she centered her balance on both feet again. Stitches gurgled, his fingers twitching slightly as they rested on the floor. "I'll see her, get a few potions, a few weeds to bring back to the lair for the foundling. She's taking much too long to turn."
"He's trying to reverse his work?" Dark asked quietly, searching through the leather-bound files. "At such a young age, he may simply kill the thing."
Eagle bent just slightly, knowing that Stitches would peek the rest of the way around the desk to meet her gaze. Surprisingly, Stitches's face was etched with a distant concern, as though he had actually assigned some interest to the situation. "Exactly, that's what he's worried about. But he won't put her on the healer's doorstep, because he's concerned that she may turn there, and then be alone with both the Pelor Puffshirts and the Cuthbert Crazies ready to turn her into another Vhalan- one without an Aric on the defense." Eagle shrugged, running a hand through her hair and taking it out of the black ribbon it was bound up with and handing it to Stitches, who carefully began tying it around his left wrist. "He's being unusually stubborn about it. Reminds me of you and... well... anyway, do I have work?"
"After you get a detailed list of reagents from The Only and needle Sweetheart for every single weed and dram your heart desires, come back, and I'll see what I can do with you," Dark replied. "And- thank you... both of you."
"She, come on," Eagle pleaded quietly. "You had me fooled for a moment, but... please, you can't keep blaming yourself. Let it go."
Dark let her hands hang in the drawer for a few moments. "Forgetting failures doesn't pay, Tess. You know that."
"Rashiira. Be reasonable with yourself. The rest of the entire team survived, and came back mortal- and there are hundreds of living mortals in these caverns, because you moved swiftly, on good intelligence, to protect them all. How was that a failure?"
Dark closed the files, leaning on the cabinet and holding her body sharply erect. Eagle, desperate to get her message across, had a hard time keeping a respectable distance as she tried again.
"I've had this same conversation with Lucien over a hundred times, Rashiira. It was an accident. You cannot expect that the only people that have bad days, or that make mistakes, are our enemies or our competitors. Every single one of us was all blind slices and wild thrusts- all the preparation and foresight in the world couldn't have predicted what happened when those nutters got in there, and I am one person, out of the twelve that you sent." Dark remained silent, and Eagle rubbed the back of her neck, hoping she hadn't pushed too hard. "Lucien is a valuable asset, and you know it- and my eyes are even sharper now than before. So think it over. For me." Waving to Stitches, who wiggled his fingers at her in response, she left, and Dark took a few breaths before digging into her files again.
Stitches whined quietly for a few moments, and Dark looked over her shoulder at him.
"Don't start," she warned quietly. "Now fetch me Pox, Stitches, go on. Go on, Stitches, fetch Pox for Mama, fetch."
Stitches nickered his disagreement for a few seconds, then moved out of the room on all fours like an ungainly dog. Dark dwelt in the silence he left behind for a few moments, then opened her top drawer and got back to work. Finding the paperwork she wanted, she pulled it out and closed the drawer quietly behind her with her shoulder. She walked back to her desk slowly, discovering and pulling out the previous letter that she wanted on her way. When she sat down, she moved the deerskin of meat cubes to the floor, then spread out the papers again.
Alright, let's see- Illance merchant has all but closed shop due to illness- good enough. Sick, cornered, easy to kill- I can put a green operative and a guide on that. Once he's gone, a few well placed attacks should bring the other milliner's prices down- those hatpins are just perfect for dropping nobles, but even they oughtn't pay more for the hat than I did for the poison. Rogue murderer in Daerlun- not good. Clean, organized kills, well-concealed locations, variety of weapons- but targeting prostitutes. Might think she's god-sent, doing society a favor. I'll put three seasoned assassins on that one- looks like Eagle's got her job after all. Could put two semi-seasoned operatives under her and watch her teach them how it's done- but- no, better give her the goods, in case we're dealing with a Zhenterim hired hand instead of just some holy nutjob. We don't like Zhennies- no, we don't. In fact, better yet- catch her, but let her live with Hammer for a few days. Been too long since the old girl used that forge for anything but metal; it'd be nice to hear her make that bird sing. Who knows- in her delight, she may actually utter a complete sentence.
Dark laughed to herself, looking up to the ceiling for a few moments, then shaking her head clear and getting back to her paperwork. She shuffled a few reports, then pulled the Drow notes right in front of her.
This Bahlzair- one male throws them into this tissy? As though they've never had a slave male down there before? They can't have forgotten literally torturing Stitches out of most of his wits- and they're being strangely gentle with a creature who's practically biting that hand that feeds him clean off. Manipulative he may be, but no one's this good. This smacks of magic work, mental puppetry on a large scale. Nedstra's so dizzy, so- disorganized- it's incredible, even for her. And for Velryne to take off and do correspondence when she's got a shrine to attend to- absolutely atrocious. I'd better check in with my divination expert before I put boots down there, to see if whatever's pulling the strings will mind when I pull a few of my own.
"Please, Dark, for the love of every drop of blood in your body, don't send this bloody creature in me room, eh?" Pox crabbed, hustling into Dark's office and pressing himself to the wall. "He's got the stink of rutting- oh, gods, it's you what's feeding him bits of- oh for the love of-!"
"If it makes you feel any better, Pox, it was an animal this time," Dark soothed without looking up. "I haven't cut up any two-legged race for him in weeks now- nearly a whole month." Stitches peeked his head around the corner, and Dark picked the skin up off the ground, then patted her lap so that he would come all the way into the room. "Stitches only gets that when he makes the kill, right?"
Stitches, instantly scurrying in, smiled an eerily bloody smile.
"It's a fright, it is, to see that grin," the old Human complained, glaring at the ash grey Drow.
"Come now, Pox, he's the only child I can have," Dark beamed, looking at Stitches as she spoke.
Pox rolled his chestnut brown eyes, crossing bare and wrinkled arms over his barrel chest. "I says ye ought to take a proper male mate, instead of taking that thing for a son- pet- toy? Argh, whatever. Give's the job, then, and let's to it."
"As you will have it," Dark breathed, looking up at last. "It's House Darkness. Greycastle's pet is doing just as she would have done- sitting back, watching a deteriorating situation crumble until it falls, and I mean to take advantage of that hands-off approach. If we can complicate the Drow strike team just enough-"
"We can paste us two parts into a whole, eh?" Pox asked testily. "I'd not thought ye to be one of them ones what think we ought to be patched up with them traitors."
Dark chuckled for a few moments, causing Pox to fix her with a concerned look. "Really, Pox? I have every intention of being on more pleasant terms with House Darkness, but it'll be an unusually chilly day in Baator before I ever consent to allowing Spectre disappear like that. I want Nedstra and her house mates dead, and from what I can tell, her matron does too. The difference between what Matron Dhuurniv wants and what I want is that the Dhuurniv bitches are the only ones I want dead, and when they are, I intend to let the survivors know that we took the brunt of the force."
"Well, that does leave whoever's running the show afterward in your debt," Pox admitted carefully. "But what's that do for the rest of us, really?"
"I'd be upset to have my plans questioned, if your curiosity didn't speak so well of your intelligence." Dark, seeing that Stitches was no longer hungry, simply began patting him again as she spoke. "Careful snipping will crush Darkness's loyalty to House Dhuurniv, which in turn crushes their loyalty to the Greycastle pet, who loses the last of her magic-less mercenary forces and thus becomes more vulnerable to plain-arms assault. If we don't make a move against her ourselves- which, actually, I don't prefer to waste operatives on a lich, or a known lich's close friends- I'm sure I can sniff out a few landless adventurers, get a few lawful good types to put a stake in her on our behalf. Also, there's the happy side effect of Hawke's pet mage losing his second-string poison contact. He's hard up as it is, according to the raging letters he's been sending over to Shadowdale and to Nedstra. When I convince House Darkness that he's more trouble than he's worth, he'll be forced to either go above ground, thus exposing the Phoenix for the brainwashed parasites they are, or to start sniffing for us- which, with a bit of patience, means that we get him out of that manse long enough to put a bolt in his brain. I certainly think that pot's worth your chips, don't you?"
"If you think you've got the hand for it, sure," Pox mused, rubbing absentmindedly at a mage burn scar on the side of his neck. "But them castles you're building me are on some mighty distant clouds. What'll you do to keep them bitches from getting in our takes and tills in the here and now?"
"The length of their own leashes," Dark shrugged, crossing her arms. "House Darkness ladies are fit for bit and saddle as soon as they offer their services. It'd be at least easier for them if they were all Drow, but they're not- and even the Drow down there are culturally separated from the Underdark. Their racket will continue to consist of running alchemics and extorting petty nobles for 'damage insurance,' because that's been their bread for years. If the young lady whose attentions I am courting proves to be a more ambitious and intelligent asset, we can prepare some new markets for her team- which will need some hard pruning- but the repressive way in which their organization is designed, denying the very nature of practically every rogue in existance- that alone will keep them from becoming what we are. And besides, how many of me do you think there are around here?"
"Alright, alright, you sold it," Pox replied warmly, sitting down in the wooden chair in front of the desk at last. "What kinda boils and plagues can I fix the missus?"
"Missus!" Dark exclaimed with a short, sharp laugh that caught both Pox and Stitches off guard. "Never mind that- oh my, two surprises in one day. First, find and debrief Spark. I want her on anti-mage duty; I want every caster, male and female, sitting in a pool of their own offal before the strike team even gets to Nedstra's door. I expect chaos while she's doing that, which is a perfect time for you to set some mindfire on the blankets of the big shots- those'll be exclusively female. Get some shakes infection, if you can spare it, ready to go on dagger blades like a poison. For your trouble, take everything you can carry, whether the previous owner is alive or dead, and leave my cut with Dragon- don't pretend you don't know what that means I want. Savvy?"
Pox got up, nodding slowly and eyeing the too-still Stitches. "Spark's still here- was testing her summoned weapons, last I heard- won't take but a minute to get her up to speed and get going. Are you- gonna send-"
Dark smiled craftily, taking a blank bit of parchment out from under the other papers on her desk. "No, I won't be sending Stitches with you. Stitches has a mission of his own."
And as if on cue, Stitches pulled himself to his proper height, standing straighter than Pox had previously thought him able. The new posture was oddly natural- his severely burned hands on his hips, his head held just slightly aloft- though his hair was filthy and matted, and he wore not a shred of clothing, his manner indicated that he was to be respected, and that Pox and Dark were both unspeakably far beneath him.
"It's good, isn't it?" Dark chuckled, focusing her attention on the letter that she'd just begun. Stitches glared down his nose at her as though she'd insulted him deeply.
"Too good," Pox scowled, confused at the Drow's reaction. "I don't know how you set any faith in this thing, Dark, I don't. The thing could kill you in the coldest blood, you know."
"Some secrets are best left to bone rattlers, Pox." Dark laid the skin on the floor and waved her hand over it, and Stitches plopped back down onto the floor to organize the chunks of meat as she moved forward in order to write more neatly. "Thank you for your time."
Pox silently shook his head, leaving the room in disgust. "Right, fine. Off to get Spark and go topside. Won't come back 'til it's done."
Dark finished her letter without looking up, or even making any noise indicating that she'd heard the parting remark. She blew on the ink for a few moments, then set her ink pot and quill back on the far left side of her desk, as per her custom. Stitches picked himself up into a crouch, his gaze pointing meaningfully at the door. Dark looked up to see why he was reacting so poorly without a word.
"Update, mum?" a young Human male asked, peeking in sheepishly. "I seen Pox go out, figured I'd sneak in before somebody else come. Lot to tell."
"Go ahead," Dark replied, sitting up straight and leveling a cool gaze at one of her greener operatives. She merely reached out her hand with the intention of getting Stitches to sit, and the Drow flopped down on his behind on his own. She noticed that he'd piled the cubes up carefully, and was prepared to tie the skin somehow, so she reached into her top desk drawer and pulled out a ball of twine to hand to him.
"Big leatherface's arrest's causing some real trouble with folks, seeing as they know now that Nithraz didn't have nothing to do with his being there. His acting like he did's now making a bloody saint of the guy- folk're even starting to admit if they're aberrant openly, saying an aberrant couple was brought together and blessed by the big bloke hisself, and it ain't as wrong as we all've been thinking. There's quiet talk that neither Nithraz nor the Merchant Council care about the dark quarter at all, and folks's setting up to take care of their own selves- and there's real quiet talk of making their own laws, wearing weapons open in the street so's nobody can force nobody to pay hush money."
"I see," Dark breathed, raising an eyebrow. Nedstra's racket just went from difficult to impossible. I like it. She briefly noted that not only had Stitches tied the skin, he'd also managed to replace the twine in his hair. Independent image awareness, for a few days running now.
"Yeah, and there's a woman you might wanna see- Sofiya- leatherface arcane archer like to make bow toting an art. Pair of eyes you got out there didn't even believe it was her, she been stuck down with them Stingers so long. That's why he ain't said nothing in the last update; thought he was seeing a copycat, wanted to see if it was the real deal, and it is. She ain't killing common folk, and the dark quarter folks's taken to leaving food and drink out for her near the place they seen her last." The young man paused to shrug. "But she ain't a replacement, he told me to say. It ain't nobody can replace Eagle."
"Her skill set is certainly unique," Dark smiled graciously as she began to gather the papers on her desk back into one bound file. "Thank you for the update, but do please refrain from speaking as though you were part of the Merry Mercies. I should be very hurt if you ever called me demonkin."
"I'd never, mum, I'd never," the Human stammered at once, his face paling. "Not even think it, I wouldn't. I apologize, truly I do."
"It's forgiven, considering you likely thought I was Human," Dark said grandly, rising from her desk to hand the dry letter to Stitches and turn back to her cabinet full of bound papers. "You'll find most Humans that were not born in Sembia do not use such slang for other races. It's a most disagreeable reminder of Urmlaspyr's roots, in my opinon- quite out of place in an otherwise civilized city. You'd do well to leave that out of your absorption of the culture here. Go find Stone for Mama, Stitches. That belongs to him, yes?"
Stitches stood up for a few moments, looking at the letter, then took Eagle's black ribbon off his own wrist in favor of tying it onto Dark's left wrist. This task completed, he put the letter in his mouth, dropped to all fours, and was off before Dark could even begin to thank him. She felt the smoothness of the cool satin on her wrist, but denied herself the pleasure of actually looking down at it.
The young Human smiled, his face returning to its natural, rosy nature. Stitches scurried past him, prompting him to back up a half step to watch him go. "Boy, he's quick- I'll watch my mouth, mum. Where shall I go next?"
"Oh, that's up to you," Dark replied. "I do thank you for lending me your time. Now, see what you can come up with for yourself to do- remember to clean up when you're done, and come see me if you have any questions or concerns. I'm always closer to you than you think. Thank you for your time."
"Of course, mum," the young Human replied with a brilliant grin. "It's you what's doing me a solid, keeping me around like you have. Shall I tell you what I'm up to?"
"If you want help, yes," came the buoyant reply. "But don't feel beholden to me- if you're looking for some lone wolf work and training, you're welcome to prove how good you really are. Do be aware that other operatives may kill you if you become dangerous- or if they just don't realize you're on their side."
"I'll try and talk 'em down, mum; fewer dead there be, better day for me," the Human replied, moving down the hallway as he spoke.
"Fen pass fy marks down 'ere, li'ul bruffa!" another operative called from somewhere farther down the hall, laughing loudly at his own joke. Other voices either laughed with him or groaned at him.
Dark chuckled to herself, then began to search through her files for her records on the Stingers. A few minutes later, her gaze finally settled on the black ribbon on her wrist.
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