We All Fall Down

Faerie tales from beyond the veil to the streets of RhyDin

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JewellRavenlock
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Post by JewellRavenlock »

“Pointy eared bitch!”

“You stole our land!”

“You paid me in false gold!”

“Go back underground you monster!”

“It’s underhill,” Jewell mumbled under her breath. “Underhill.” She sent a scathing look to the protesters two steps below her on the sidewalk and in the street, shifting in her lean against the railing and taking a sip of lukewarm coffee. “Morons.”

She was alone on the stoop of Beyond the Veil, doing her best at passive crowd control by looking bored, indifferent, and uninterested. It wasn’t difficult. She was exhausted after last night--dueling, shenanigans, and bad news from Dockside--so she didn’t have to affect a yawn as she stood there, letting the vitriolic chanting and insults wash over her like so much white noise. That’s all it was to her. She wasn’t like Misery. Not anymore. Addie said that the protesters had made the little Banshee Baroness cry. She remembered what it was like when words could hurt like that. But their words couldn’t hurt her these days. Not really. She had spent years hiding who and what she was. She had spent years being unwanted. Being other. They couldn’t make her feel like that again. Not here. RhyDin was her home. She wasn’t going to hide. She wasn’t going to shrink back in fear.

They couldn’t make her. They didn’t have that power.

“Thieves! Every last one of you! Thieves!”

“Murderers!”

The Empress smirked. At least that one was true.

“Look at her! She’s laughing at our pain. You think this is funny, ****? You think my pain is funny? You think my wife’s pain is funny?”

“My children, they were stolen from me! You monsters--” The protester stopped, choked by tears. It was easy to locate her in the crowd, a few people deep and standing in the street. She was older. Maybe late forties. It was hard for the faerie to determine the age of humans. They all looked old to her after a certain age. But this one was careworn, her face marked by sorrow. Her greasy dark hair, badly streaked with gray, was covered by a dingy hat. Her cracked hands tightly gripped a sign, “The Monsters Are Real: Protect Our Children with Iron!” Her grief was too heavy for her to stand on her own, so she leaned against the man at her side. Her husband. The one who had called Jewell a ****. “They stole my children from me! And they left me,” the man wrapped his arm around her shoulders as the woman shook with the force of her sobbing, “they left me sticks. A bundle of sticks!”

Something uncomfortable twisted her stomach.

“Give us our children back,” the husband snarled. “Child stealer! Baby killer!”

The crowd took up the chant. “Baby killer! Baby killer! Baby killer! Child stealer!”

For a moment, The Empress lost her composure. She tossed the disposable coffee cup to the ground, caramel colored liquid spilling across the stoop. “Enough!” she shouted. Even with most of the throng wearing bits of iron for protection, there was a cold power in that command which overcame them. The chanting died. The protesters fell quiet.

All except one man. He laughed. “What’s wrong, bitch?” He called out, his voice booming in the eerie, glamour induced silence that had so suddenly befallen Little Elfhame. “Can’t stand to hear the truth?”

The Empress smirked, quickly reining in her anger. It would not serve her here. She could not let them get the upper hand on her. She needed to be cool and in control. This was a challenge. A game. And Jewell knew how to play. She left the safety of her storefront to step down onto the sidewalk and wade into the sea of humanity. “Excuse me,” she murmured politely. They begrudgingly got out of her way, creating a path for her directly to the giant in their midst. One man made a lewd gesture at her. A woman spit at her feet. She ignored them, red high heels clicking precisely on the cobblestone street as she moved towards her destination, aware that the tide was closing in behind her. She could feel them at her back. She could feel their anger and their hate. It was a taut wire. As soon as it snapped, they would go wild. All it would take was one misstep, so Jewell would have to be very careful.

She stopped in the middle of the street, toe-to-toe with the behemoth of a man, and tilted her chin up so she could stare him down. The bruise on her face from last night’s fight showed she was no pushover, but neither was he. As tall as Kal but at least twice as wide with beefy arms, thicker around than her legs, crossed over his chest. His face was bruised, and there was a cut over his right, mud brown eye. One glance from head to toe and she knew him. She knew his kind. Before he came to RhyDin, he had been a bully. He had been top dog. But that’s not how things worked in the city of diversity. Here, he had been bullied. He had been pushed down by people like her because as big as he was, as strong as he was, he was nothing compared to them. He had muscles not magic, so he had nothing.

He wasn’t a real zealot for the cause though. He was a fighter. He wasn’t filled with righteous fury. He was here to feel on top once more. He was here to cause trouble.

He had picked the wrong neighborhood.

“What about this situation do you find particularly funny, sir?”

“You, Miss Empress.” He used her title mockingly. “You think you’re so perfect. You think you’re so above it all. Well guess what?” He leaned down so he could stare her right in the eyes. “You’re not. We’re coming for you. You think you’re untouchable, but we all know better. I know better.” He unfolded his arms, revealing the chains that crisscrossed his chest and the gauntlets on his forearms. All iron. “You’re on top for now, but we’re going to bring you down. We’re going to bring you all down. And we’re going to make you hurt like you hurt us.”

She didn’t flinch at the iron. She didn’t balk at his words. She just smiled. A slow, cruel smile. “Try me.” A rumble of anger went through the crowd, but the man leaned back. He wasn’t going to do it. He wasn’t going to strike the first blow. She was supposed to hit him. Lil Miss Anger Management. That’s what they called her. She was supposed to be so angered by his words that she lost control. Then the fun could really start!

Instead, she spun about on one high heel, turning her back on the man and showing her absolute lack of fear. Her unconcern. He was nothing. Just a speck of dirt beneath her designer shoe.

His disappointment and annoyance was palpable, but she was more concerned with the man standing directly in her way. He was the guy from earlier. The one with his arm around the sobbing woman. He was short and wiry, made thin and tough by trials, and he was of a different kind than the hulk behind her. He was a believer. There was a fury and passion in his eyes that cut through her bravado.

This man wasn’t here to cause trouble. He was here for justice. He was here for vengeance.

And he didn’t hesitate to hit her.

She only had a half-second to brace herself, emerald instincts kicking in as she twisted to get out of the way. But she wasn’t fast enough. His right hand, encased in a heavy iron glove, slammed into the side of her face.

Jewell saw stars.

All hell broke loose in Little Elfhame.
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JewellRavenlock
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Post by JewellRavenlock »

The Empress held the blood soaked rag to the side of her face, waving away her knight impatiently.

“But Mira, it will only take--”

“What else, Haizea?”

The girl glanced quickly at the fae knight, who was silent but glowering, before lowering her eyes and continuing her report to her lady. “Everything is pretty quiet now. We rounded up twenty-three people. Sent them to the Tower of Gulshan like you said.”

“Where they’ll rot,” Jewell spit out.

Haizea hesitated before continuing, “Uh.. yes. So the twins took them to Gulshan while Samantha made sure anyone injured was taken to the hospital.”

“How many?”

“Forty.”

That was a lot. “Any of ours?”

“No. I mean, a few of our people were hurt. One of the wisp employees. A few of the girls have some cuts and bruises, but Meric and Rosemary have been tending to them.”

“Good. Any fatalities?”

“Uh.. one.”

Ishmerai cut in as he handed Jewell a fresh towel to press to the side of her face, accepting the bloody one from her in exchange. “The fool would not let Meric tend to him. Called him a ‘low-life, knife-eared, soul stealer’. He died on the way to the hospital.”

“Idiot.” Jewell pressed the fresh towel to her face. The deep gash that ran from her hairline to her cheekbone soaked the fabric rather quickly. Damn iron wounds bled a lot. She was a fair mess overall. They had torn her jacket off of her. Ripped at her dress. Her arms and legs were covered in cuts, bruises, and iron burns. But the faerie had given as good as she had received. Better even. Of the forty that had been sent to the hospital, she was sure that at least fifteen were because of her.

Her magic might not work so hot around iron, but she could still wield a blade better than anyone in the crowd. After all, she was The Empress Overlady.

“Was there any trouble in the rest of the district?”

Ishmerai took a seat next to her, nudging a glass of orange juice closer to her hand. “We have heard a few preliminary reports but nothing substantial yet. There are still protests ongoing in the marketplace, and there was some trouble at the Sassy Owl Saloon earlier.”

“Claire’s place?" The Empress smiled as she picked up her glass of juice. "Those poor bastards probably didn’t know what hit them.”
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Post by JewellRavenlock »

Away from the hustle and bustle of the ballrooms and the pleasure gardens, and down the hall from the family gallery, lived the Ta-Neer archives. In her youth, the late Lady Nerissa Ta-Neer had a consort who had been a great reader. He had started a collection of books and scrolls before his untimely death in the Faerie Wars. His lover had continued the collection and built the archives to house it.

By the time Jewell had been born, the archives had stood for hundreds of years. They took up most of an entire wing of the manor house. A large tree grew at the center of the airy, open room, reaching towards the glass ceiling far above. Stairs had been carved (or perhaps they had grown) around the trunk to grant access to the top three floors. The dryad companion of the tree, Chika, was the mistress of the archives, tending to them and curating the collection even after her mistress had passed away.

It was a peaceful place with cool stone floors, rich wood shelves, and comfortable chairs set in deep alcoves. Jewell and Ishmerai had taken over one such alcove on the second floor several days ago. A small fountain nearby filled the air with a pleasant, musical trickling, but it did little to soothe the agitation of the two researchers. Even with the assistance of Chika, they were getting nowhere fast except frustrated.

“There is no need to panic, Mira. We will think of something to do. I promise you.”

“Mother of Nature,” she mopped at her face with her hands. “There’s nothing to do. Short of killing me, there’s nothing to ****ing do!” She gestured at the pile of books and scrolls she had just gone through. “There’s nothing in any of this which could help. I mean, I guess I could have my name changed? But gods, Merai, do you know what that could do to a person?”

The knight cringed. “I have heard things.”

“I’d rather you just kill me,”

“Mira, that is not--”

“It is! If I can’t figure this out then it is an option. It has to be.” She was not looking forward to her death. Even if it meant saving the lives of her friends, she did not savor the idea. There had been a time when she had though. There had been a time when Jewell had longed for death. She had wanted it more than anything. The years she had been trapped in Faerie, the months following the binding of her magic, the weeks after she had learned that her children were dead. She had wanted to die.

Not anymore. Jewell had come to value life again. Not only did she no longer long for death, she wanted to do everything in her power to stave it off. She buried her face in her arms and tried to think of something. Anything.

“I thought you said this one sounded promising.” The knight plucked a scroll from the maybe pile and opened it, reading the part next to the sticky tab Jewell had placed on it. A sticky tab, in Faerie. He shook his head. “‘A powerful object can potentially sever the link of a user and a person’s True Name.’ We just need to find an object that can do that.”

Jewell lifted her head and looked at him morosely, nudging a different scroll. “I thought it sounded promising until I read this one. I don’t know where I could find any of the objects listed on short notice or without getting myself possibly killed in the process.” She sat up with a groan and undid the scroll, reading off part of the list: “‘The still beating heart of a great black wyrm.’” Ishmerai grimaced and Jewell read the next item, “‘An amulet containing the hair of one of the High Queens and made with silver smelted in the fire of an ancient phoenix.’” She let the scroll roll back up and shoved it aside. “Even with all the money I have, I probably couldn’t afford something like that even if I could find it in time.” She settled her head back onto her arms again, defeated.

If she didn’t find something to block the use of her name, they were all screwed. It didn’t matter how many allies they gathered to fight the Temple of the Divine Mother. Jewell knew that under the influence of her name, she could kill most if not all of her friends with little trouble. Few could stand against a sídhe unrestrained and unlimited in her use of magic. And under the binding of her name, Jewell would be unrestrained. There would be nothing holding her back: neither physical nor mental limitations. She would kill everyone in her path even if she killed herself in the process.

It was imperative that she found a way to block the use of her name. There was still the slim hope that they could prevent the Temple from calling upon it, but if not, she needed to protect herself from it. She needed to shield herself.

She needed to cloak herself in shadow.

“****!” Jewell sat upright and stared at the knight.

“What? What is it?”

“I have an idea.”
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Post by JewellRavenlock »

“Can you not just go and physically take the stone from her?”

Jewell laughed. It was a desperate, sad sound like she wanted to cry instead. She did. The tears were continually stinging at the corners of her eyes. She kept blinking them away as they obscured the sight of the calendar sitting in front of her, the last weekend in January circled in red. There wasn’t enough time. Not enough time to cry. Not enough time to save herself with ShadoWeaver. Things were falling apart too quickly. She had many allies on her side (including the Scathachian Sisterhood after her chat with Issy the other day), but Jewell did not feel confident. She felt dispirited and oppressed.

Alain’s people had raided one of the Temple compounds the other night. They had been trying to take out the Namekeeper. A Namekeeper. They weren’t sure. What they got instead was dead and a little foregleam of what the Temple had planned for RhyDin: sucking the power from non-humans and using it to empower their supporters. The one thing they still didn’t have was the when. When was the Temple going to make its big play? They just knew that it would be soon. Probably very soon. The Temple wouldn’t risk having the Namekeeper in RhyDin otherwise.

And if the Temple of the Divine Mother was moving soon, that meant Jewell had to move even sooner.

“Him. KC is a man. And no. That’s not how it works. You’re only the holder if you win it. If I don’t win it, the stupid Opal won’t do anything for me. I mean, not on the level I need.”

“That is…”

“Bullshit.”

“I was going to say disappointing.”

She shrugged. “Same thing.”

“Are you going to try for it anyway?”

“Well… yeah. I mean, unless we all die first.” He didn’t smile at her gallows humor. Jewell wasn’t smiling either. “Even if Alain is wrong and the Temple moves later than we think, it still may be too close, though. But that doesn’t really matter, does it? I have to go after it...”

Ishmerai verbalized the rest of that thought, “Because what other choice do you have?”

“Yeah.”

“We have to think of something else anyway, Mira. Even if you can get the challenge done in time, there is no guarantee that you will win it. We have to have a backup plan. There has to be something else we can try.” She shook her head. They had thought of everything. They had gone through all of Guiscard’s books. They had gone through every scroll in the Ta-Neer library in Faerie. She had even visited The Eagna and asked for her guidance.

Nothing. There was nothing else she could do.

Ishmerai paced in front the windows before turning back towards her, eyes bright. “Once we figure out the day of the purge, we can make a warding circle to contain you.”

She looked at him dully. “You seriously don’t think I could smash right through something like that?”

“Right.” He turned away again, gazing out over the patio and the city beyond.

Jewell stared at the tabletop, tracing an indent in the wood with her fingertip. “I could go to Faerie. Make a deal.” She said it quietly. Reluctantly. Unwillingly. That had been the suggestion of The Eagna. That had been the only hope the creature had offered her. It was a dim hope. Jewell actually considered that the fae might be in league with the Unseelie Queen to even suggest such a thing. Or maybe The Eagna just knew how desperate her situation really was.

The knight frowned as he returned to the table, placing his palms on it and leaning towards her. “With whom would you make such a deal?”

She shrugged, unable to to meet his eyes. “Someone. Anyone. Anyone stronger than me.”

“A queen.” She locked her jaw and nodded. “No.” Ishmerai backed up a step, shaking his head. “No. Absolutely not.”

“It’s not a great idea.”

“Not a great idea? No, that is a bad idea, Mira. A terrible idea!”

“Terrible,” she echoed him. It was a terrible idea. Like the worst idea ever. Perhaps even worse than trading her true name to get her magic back. But just like then, she was starting to feel pretty desperate, and when Jewell was desperate, terrible ideas were tempting. The problem was that if the Temple didn’t have her name (although it seemed likely that they did given the presence of a Namekeeper in the city) and she went ahead and made a bargain with one of the queens anyway, she could very well be signing her freedom away for a very long time for nothing.

Yeah, it was a really terrible idea.

She ran her hands up into her hair, palms pressing into her temples and fingertips digging into her skull. “I guess I could always give someone strong willed my name.”

Ishmerai frowned before admitting reluctantly, “I had considered that before.”

“Me too.” Neither of them had said anything about it though. It wasn’t a sure plan. Whoever at the Temple had her name was probably strong willed too. It could easily become a battle for control with Jewell jerked back and forth between them. There was no knowing what damage she could still cause or what kind of damage it would cause her. What would it be like to have control of her body and soul traded between two people over and over again? The faerie shuddered to think of it.

There were also too many people running around with her name to make her eager to add another person to the list anyway. The more people that possessed her name, the more vulnerable she was. The weaker her name was. The weaker she was.

“Who could you trust?”

She looked her knight in the eyes. She thought of a million times when he had stood by her side (even against his better judgement). Countless incidents where he had caught her when she fell. Innumerable reasons to trust him. “Only you.”

Ishmerai shook his head. “No. That is not right. That is not the way of things. I should not possess such knowledge. Not of you.”

Her hands slipped free from her hair, and Jewell sat up straighter. “No, I guess it’s not. But it may beat having you kill me, right?”

He finally sunk down into the chair caddy corner to her own. This fight was wearing on him. She could see it in the lines around his eyes and mouth. The furrow in his brow. He didn’t even waste his energy responding to her taunt. “I wish you could run.”

“I know.” Her shoulders slumped again. Jewell could run. She could make tantalizing promises to Kal, get him to go away with her. Not forever. Just long enough for this mess to be over. They could go back to that little villa on the beach. The one with the hammock. They could drink and laugh and kiss and screw.

And then a world away, someone would whisper her name and her little vision of paradise would go to hell.

“Will any of the other stones work?”

“Opals,” she corrected, before chewing on the inside of her lip. “Maybe? I don’t know. I don’t know enough about them.”

“You should find out.”

This was serious if Ishmerai was encouraging her to look into the Opals. He had been the one to warn her so strongly against them when she first came back to RhyDin. “Yeah. Maybe I should stop by the Heavenly Boutique tomorrow.”
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“Thanks for letting me steal you away.” Jewell pulled her fingerless gloves off and set them aside so she could wrap her hands around the steaming cappuccino she had carried from the bar to the two-person table that had convenient views of the front door.

Aroma Mocha was a little place in New Haven not far from the Heavenly Boutique. Off the main shopping strip, it didn’t see as much foot traffic as some of the more popular places on Benson Boulevard but still catered to more posh clientele. Ishmerai had found the place for her earlier in the day. He said it was fairly clean, which really meant safe enough to discuss the delicate matter she wanted to broach with the fashionista.

Koy blew on the hot mug of three-berry tea she held in her hands. She didn’t frequently make the trip to Aroma Mocha but when she did she always chided herself for not coming more often - the tea here tasted almost as delectable as what they brewed in Sahyliana’s Sweet Shop back in Langenfirth. Taking a sip, Koy felt the brew’s heat flood through her, warming even her shoulders left exposed in the pale pink voile blouse artfully covering the rest of her torso with its ruffled detailing. Her goal in dressing that morning revolved around a fancy to invoke a winter rose.

“So, here’s the thing. I had been planning on trying for ShadoWeaver.” Jewell paused briefly enough to try and gauge Koy’s reaction before plowing forward. “I know Matt wants it, and I don’t want to cause any trouble with either of you. You're my friends. But I think I might need it or something really bad will happen.” She licked her lips, “The thing is, time is running out and now I don’t think I can even wait. I thought maybe I could, but if I do wait and…” her hands tightened on the cappuccino glass. The light brown liquid swirled in response to the anxiety the faerie was experiencing. “I don’t think I should, but I don’t know if anything else… I mean, any of the other Opals. I don’t know if they will work for this.”

How that winter rose withered under the simultaneous intrusion of and threat to her family’s own desired possession of ShadoWeaver. Two ideas that often warred in her household until now.

“It is astounding to watch your mind struggle with its usual prompts at the mention of my sister and the arguments you can no longer make given your own intentions, Koyliak.” The sudden smooth glossing of MoonBeryl’s honey-laced voice in her mind comforted Koy despite herself more than all the three-berry tea in the city could.

“Don’t ye have someone nearer ta drop in on and taunt?” Koy silently retorted to the Opal who had been her personal confidante for so many fearsome nights and devastating days that he could still barge in on her thoughts whenever the whim struck him.

“Yes, but few things amuse me as much as your… what to call it? A crisis of character? Astounding hypocrisy? Which do you prefer, now that you have lost your great touchstone? You fear Matthew with my sister. You do not invite her in for tea.” Koy knew he wasn’t wrong. She hated that he knew it too. In the past she felt relief when others took on ShadoWeaver so her husband could not possess her. Koy had taken the black stone herself to keep him from fully controlling it. How many times had she preached and railed against anyone seeking to use the Opals’ enigmatic powers because the stones never did anything without taking far more in return?

And here she was. She tried willing MoonBeryl to leave her now, to seek closer minds for his sticky-sweet sounding mental jabs. “Ye’re only bitter I’ve sought out someone else.” One last parting blow and reference to her recent challenge for IceDancer, choosing blue over yellow. More likely the insulted stone left of his own accord but either way Koy felt his rich voice trail away. She remembered Jewell sitting there then, hoping the Empress would take her extended silence as pensive thought.

“At ‘nother time I’d tell ye tha was foolish. But it’s not tha it’s any less dangerous ta go pinnin’ yer hopes on the deceptive likes of ShadoWeaver tha keeps me from sayin’ tha. I can’t call ye foolish since we have similar reasons fer wantin’ ta bring ‘er home.” Distracted, Koy did not cover up the personal way she spoke of the stone as though it were more than an inanimate object. She frowned around the next sip of tea. “I also have too much at stake ta offer up ‘nother chance at bringin’ tha rock back home, I’m ‘fraid. So, seein’ as we’re friends, and we’re smart, well-dressed ones at tha, let’s see iffn we can’t find a way we both leave here happy. Start slower fer me, wha is it ye specifically think an Opal could help ye with?”

When she walked into the Heavenly Boutique this morning to steal Koy for a coffee date, Jewell knew that she would likely have to reveal what was going on with the Temple. Prepping herself for the conversation didn’t make the task any more pleasant. She adjusted her hold on her glass, the drink quickly cooling untouched in her hands. “There are people… people who want to do me harm. Only it’s not just me. I could deal with that. These people, they could do a lot of other people harm through me.”

Shame dropped her gaze to the tabletop. Jewell had failed to protect her children. She was going to fail so many others if she didn’t get this right. To get it right, she had to tell her everything. “They have my name, Koyliak. They’re going to use it to make me hurt the people I love. I need something to stop that from happening. I need something that can shield me. Something more than my own glamour.” She dared to glance up at her friend, “I think ShadoWeaver can do that.”

Jewell’s statement struck Koy, not only for the inclusion of her own full first name but moreso the magnitude of the faerie’s true name residing with someone else. The threat was not lost on the elf. The recording Jewell had shown her and Matt previously of what Koy presumed were the same people chasing down Lirssa in space flashed momentarily before Koy’s forest-green eyes.

“I see.” Koy did not question the severity of the situation. But she also selfishly could not ignore her own personal need for protecting her family. “You are going about it wrong, child,” MoonBeryl’s voice more faintly rattled in her brain. Was it him? Or was it her own inner voice, merging now with the stone? “Ye must understand though, ShadoWeaver has no goodness of heart. Compassion is not somethin’ any of the Opals are known fer. There will need ta be somethin’ in it fer ‘em, and offerin’ ‘em a thing they want is equally as reckless as us lettin’ someone run ye ragged usin’ yer own name ‘gainst ye.”

Jewell opened her mouth to counter that she was willing to make any deal to save herself from being used, but instead offered a noncommittal noise of agreement as she brought her glass up and forced herself to take a sip of chilly cappuccino to drown her words. Koy was right. It was reckless. It was exactly the kind of attitude that got her into this mess in the first place. That didn’t mean she wouldn’t do it anyway, but Koy didn’t need to know that. She didn’t need to know the extent Jewell would go to make this right. “Yeah… but I still need something. Even if it comes at a cost. Nothing is free.”

Koy scrunched her nose, urging her brain to come up with a way for both of them to move forward towards safety, if that ever truly could be attained. There would always be those who wanted more power, more destruction. Which one would help? ShadoWeaver likely wouldn’t even if Koy offered Jewell no ill-will about taking a shot at challenging for the stone. The only reason the dark opal held any hope for the Simons came from her clear interest in Matt, and now perhaps an uncomfortable familiarity with their children, a topic the Simons skirted around even when alone. She didn’t know much of FireStar beyond the damages she witnessed in his wake and IceDancer struck her as the most reserved of all after Matt’s time with him. Out of spite she ruled out MoonBeryl as having nothing to offer in this situation. And then there was…

“PathFinder. Ye know, it was only once, but of the stones I ‘lmost felt a tinge of sorrow from PathFinder, when we lost his holder, Quinn. It’s a long shot but mebbe we can think of somethin’ ta compel ‘em? Of course ye’d have ta win ‘em first.”

The green Opal. Jewell’s brow furrowed momentarily. She hadn’t even considered PathFinder. ShadoWeaver had been her first thought because of the similarities between herself and the Opal. Their powers were akin in many ways. Jewell was perhaps not as heartless as the dark Opal, but she knew seduction and compulsion. She was one of the sídhe. It was in her nature. But that didn’t mean the same wasn’t true of PathFinder too. They were akin as well, just in a different way. A more important way perhaps. The green Opal was of the earth, and what was a faerie if not the most precious of all of Mother Nature’s children?

Her smile was reserved and unsure despite the ember of hope kindling within her. “I guess that could work. I just have to be sure before I do something stupid like challenge, you know?”

While Jewell mulled the possibility over, Koy studied her friend, hating herself for dipping back into her memories of Quinn now not to honor the woman but to uncover something that would let Jewell appeal to the stone in a similar manner. Although, were Quinn here, Koy imagined she would understand what depths a mother would go to for her children. How she wished Quinn were here to confide in once more.

“In full disclosure, I can’t be certain ta how PathFinder truly felt ‘bout my friend or wha their time together was like. Quinn and I didn’t talk in detail ‘bout it, mainly I imagine ‘cause my first reaction ta anythin’ concernin’ the Opals back then was ta ring the alarms and squawk warnings. I’m not sure I was wrong but I see it’s more complicated than tha now. But wha I do know is…” Koy paused, hoping this would not be a betrayal of the dead.

“Oh yes, do tell her about the time PathFinder needed my help. I do love remembering how helpless he was.

“...he was helpless. And he reached out ta me,” a certain emphasis on who PathFinder needed, more to dampen MoonBeryl’s smug intrusion than for Jewell’s sake, “He called me ta where she was buried through my havin’ MoonBeryl at the time.” Koy left out the gruesome nature of Quinn and her daughter’s death. “He had shielded her in the earth until we could collect her. There was no reason fer it tha I could ever fathom other than ‘side from wantin’ help bein’ moved from tha spot himself, he cared ‘nough tha she not waste ‘way there with no one ta mark her passin’.”

“Now wha could compel an Opal ta care ‘nough, I can’t say, though I do recall they spent quite a bit of time together workin’ in her greenhouse. Mebbe he will see somethin’ in ye ta appeal ta tha type of connection, though tha’s assumin’ he’s capable of missin’ it. Perhaps though fer the likes of elves and fae as us, it’s not too far of a stretch ta see a possible attraction? But mebbe iffn ye could convince ‘em PathFinder could shield ye in a similar way, given his abilities with the livin’ world.”

The faerie scooted towards the edge of her seat, leaning forward and eating up Koy’s every word about the Opal. The ember of hope ignited into a fire of excitement as she explained what had happened with Quinn. She was sure that she could make PathFinder see a connection between them. She was attracting everyone these days--squires, playboys, and barflies, oh my!--so why not an Opal? “That’s what I need! I just need a shield. I need to break the connection. Block it. Whatever. Then I can take these bastards out. They won’t be able to touch me.”

Her hands trembled at the possibilities, upsetting her drink. Her laughter was high and nervous as she grabbed some napkins to mop up the mess, continuing to plan out loud: “If PathFinder was able to shield Quinn physically even after she passed… that means he could do that without her help. That means… that means… just think what he and I could do together!” She curled her hand into a fist around the soaking wet napkins. “We could do anything.”

And there it was. That familiar distrust of the stones and concern for those who sought them without understanding how grave the game they played could be ran down Koy’s spine at Jewell’s zealous response. Koy reached across the table to put a firm hand on her friend’s arm.

“I’m serious though, Jewell. I can’t chide ye fer goin’ this route and I hope he helps. I’ll help ye however I can. But do not take this lightly. Ye may have a better grip on these sorts of magics than I do perhaps, but we both know better than ta underestimate such mystical entities. The worst thing ye can do is believe ye can control an Opal. Reasonin’ with one, negotiatin’ with one, aye, it can be broached, but end it there. It does no service ta the rest of us ta be safe from yer name in ‘xchange fer ‘nother untamed force ta be released.”

She heard Koy’s warning, and she even understood her friend’s concerns, but she could hardly put a damper on her elation at discovering a possible way out of her current, dire dilemma. The thought of PathFinder lent wind to deflated sails. The elf could likely feel how Jewell’s arm trembled beneath her hand. Her muscles were tense and coiled up. The Empress was ready to spring forth into action at any moment. She wanted to dash down to the Outback right now and put her challenge up on the board. She wanted to be free of the dread that had haunted her steps every day since Lirssa had returned and named their common enemy: The Temple of the Divine Mother. The people who had her name.

However, she did not want to alarm the fashionista any further. She flashed her friend her most winning smile, touched with glamour at the corner to make her repetition of some of the most famous, fateful last words more convincing than they might otherwise be.

“I’ll be careful. I promise.”

((Much love and many thanks to the ever fabulous Koyliak for brainstorming this idea with me and then writing with me after!))
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Her handwriting was sloppy on the napkin pilfered from the Outback. The eyeliner pencil danced in her trembling hand as she tried to write out the words, fatigue from the night of fighting and anxiety for things to come at work within her.

Andrea,

I challenge you for PathFinder.

It was an honor to face you during the TerraMaster tournament. I look forward to doing so again.

Sincerely,

The Empress Overlady
Jewell
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There was a couch in Kate's laboratory. That's what the hacker called the second bedroom of her spacious Old Market flat. It paid to work for The Empress. Jewell ignored the seat, standing rooted in the middle of the room, her muscles tense.

"Just give me a second and I'll pull it up," the hacker told the other two women, fingers tapping across one of her keyboards to bring up the recording from Alain's raid on the screen.

"Sounds good. Then you might want to step out as we watch it, Kate." She trusted the young, dark haired woman even if she was a human, but that didn't mean she wanted her to see what was on the screen.

Kate snorted. "What? And let you mess up my equipment?"

Jewell shook her head, "It's not that. It's pretty disturbing."

The hacker sent a friendly look over to Mallory like, 'Can you believe this woman?' "Fine Empress, just make sure to replace everything you break, okay?" She tapped a few more buttons and then stood. "Just click the mouse like I showed you before and it should start. I'm gonna go get a snack." And she wandered out of the room.

The faerie licked her lips, looking from the mouse over to Mallory. "Okay, so... like I said, this is going to be pretty disturbing, but I need your help." She had been reluctant to ask the girl, but they were all tired of hitting dead ends and Ishmerai had suggested appealing to Mal several times. Jewell had finally caved.

"With the mouse? You just click it, like she said," Mallory replied, the edge of a shit-eating grin on her lips. She couldn't help the jab. She hadn't seen the footage yet, or comprehended its gravity.

Where Jewell had remained in the center of the room, the witchling was happily stretched out on the couch, a certified expert at slouching at nineteen years old. She brought one knee up to her chin with a stretch, then swung her feet off and padded over to Jewell, joining her in squinting at the screen. "Kate seems nice."

"She's lovely. Unlike you. You are officially the worst right now." She proclaimed with a long suffering sigh but without any bite to go along with the insult. Teenagers! Why was she plagued by sassy teenagers? "Just prepare yourself to watch, okay? It's pretty graphic and I don't want you puking on my shoes." Without any assistance, Jewell clicked the mouse and straightened up to watch the raid footage play out on Kate's biggest monitor. She didn't really want to see it again, but she was trying to spot anything she missed the first time.

"I've seen blood before, and dead people," Mallory began to protest, but quieted when the footage from the raid began. Uncut, it was still less than fifteen minutes long. About one minute in, when she saw one of the four black-clad agents check the cellar window for wards, she slipped a small notepad out of her back pocket and began scribbling notes with a golf pencil.

Stealing the guard's breath, too. She blanched as one of the cameras got a close view of a spray of blood spilling from his throat, but after five quiet seconds, she made herself continue writing. "Do you know anything about these people? The, uh... agents?"

She nodded even though Mallory was probably too busy taking notes to see. Then she repeated the information she had reviewed with Alain until it was burned into her brain: "That one is Quincy. Elven healer. Believe she was into ancestor-worship. Snapper was an assassin. Elven. A shadow mage too." She took a deep breath as things began to fall apart on screen. "Thimble was a halfling. Good thief. And Quarrel was a cybernetic human."

"Was?" Mallory started to look over at Jewell, but then she heard everything go to hell. The priests raising their arms, moving their lips. The strength sapping from the two elves on the team. The ring of light. The Namekeeper's summoning.

And through it all, the desperate final acts, and dying screams, of the assault team.

"I, um..." She was making blind marks on a new page in her notepad, and glanced down at them. She swallowed. Her voice came out shaky when she managed: "I need to see the last two minutes again... please."

Jewell didn't seem to have any trouble using the mouse, pausing the recording as it turned to static and pulling back the bar that appeared on the bottom of the screen to two minutes before the end. She didn't hit start yet though. "Do you need a drink first?" she asked softly. She didn't look at Mallory with pity, only concern.

Mallory sniffled, followed with a deliberate cough, but her red-rimmed eyes were a clearer culprit. "Just some water. You can hit play, though." She bit her lip, staring at the arcane marks on her notepad, then back up at the display.

She turned back to the screen, clicking play before stepping around Mallory and leaving the room, giving her some peace to watch and process what she was possibly seeing and dealing with for the first time in her young life. Jewell had caused more gruesome deaths than those on the screen, and she still found it disturbing.

It took five minutes: Mallory replayed the last scene twice, then made a few more notes, and blew out a long sigh as she sat on the armrest of the couch to reread them. "I think I know what happened," she called over her shoulder, to wherever Jewell had gone. Her voice rasped a little, but it sounded steadier.

Judging by how quickly she reappeared with a glass of water in hand, she was lingering outside the room and waiting for Mallory to be ready for her. She did a good impression of playing business as usual as she handed the glass off to the girl, at ease and casual as she took Kate's normal seat and spun it around to face the witch. "Let's hear it."

Mallory ran her fingers back through her hair, most of it falling to one side as soon as it slipped from her grasp. "So... humans, and a lot of other mortals, take a lot of different paths to power. Pacts and bargains with fiends, ancient beings, even your kind... or ritual sacrifice. These guys, sun-worshippers based on the symbols and astral lines they used -- based on what I saw... I know that ritual. It's a transference of power, taking it from a designated other, and giving it to what they believe is a race chosen to walk in the light of the sun. Humans. But... it's really ****ing weird that they used it right now."

She leaned forward, elbows on her thighs and hands clasped together as she listened carefully to Mallory's breakdown of the ritual. It was different magic than what she was personally used to, but she could follow the premise. It made her feel cold inside to hear it explained. "Why is it weird for them to do it now?"

"Because it's not the right time," Mallory replied, opening her hands as she explained. "Whatever deification of sunlight they revere, there are different times to invoke its power for different things. And for a transference?" She shook her head. "The ideal time is soon... but not yet. These things are usually calendar rituals, there used to be societies infamous for mass slaughter of elves and fey on chosen days."

Jewell swallowed hard, forcing herself to take a deep breath as she sat up straight. She had to be confident and in control here, but her nails were scraping into her bare, bruised thighs. "Even in a place like RhyDin? I mean... does the same calendar still apply here?"

"Probably different than whatever they're used to, but unless they're bigger morons than they are assholes, they'll know that, too. It's..." Mallory pursed her lips and bowed her head, thinking. "...probably more than halfway past winter solstice to the equinox. Mid-February?"

The witch balled up her hands in her lap, flexing her notepad under her tensed fingers. "This is gonna get really bad." She looked over at Jewell. "If I try to See again, I could find something useful, some way to stop this. They'll be setting up rituals on a chosen day, I can disrupt some of them...!"

"Whoah whoah whoah!" she held up her hand. "Let's not get ahead of ourselves, okay?" Jewell wasn't about to reject Mal's offer for help outright, but she was wary of letting the girl in too deep on this. People were going to end up dead. That was inevitable. But the faerie wouldn't be able to sleep at night with the little witch's death on her shoulders.

"I think," she started carefully, "that they're probably going to try for one big ritual if they can. I've... been up against these people before. I know a little bit how they operate. The important thing right now is figuring out the when because we kind of already know the what. I already checked for any full moons and stuff like that in the next few weeks, but it wasn't promising. I didn't think about the sun." She chewed on the inside of her cheek. "What else could empower something like that on a grand scale?"

Mallory was new to heroics, and frankly, the impulse scared her; she was just a little more scared of idiots tearing the city apart, but Jewell's effort to get her to focus worked.

"I can probably figure out an exact date, maybe within a span of eight hours if I'm lucky... but..." I'm going to need resources. "Do you have a library?"

She smiled faintly, glad the girl had taken a step back from rushing headlong into the fray. For now. "Yeah. I mean, it's not terrific. A lost a lot a few years ago in a fire..." she pressed her lips together and shook her head. "But yeah, I have a decent one and know where I can get other stuff too."

Mallory was looking thoughtful again, chewing on her words before she spit them out. "I can hole up and figure out this date for you, practically live in a library, but I'd have to put every other gig on hold. I'd like a per diem 'til the big day."

Her right eye twitched. "That is a possibility. Or we could just figure it out right now?" She wasn't just being stingy. Jewell sounded hopeful and eager. She needed that date. Needed to know when her doom was about to fall. "What would it take to power a ritual like that so it hits the whole city or at least a lot of it?" She had read the files. She knew how the Temple liked to operate.

"A city this size?" Mallory thought about it. "At least a dozen priest circles -- three to each. Most neighborhoods here self-segregate, so they'd tailor each ritual to draining power from a magically gifted race living nearby. That would be the bulk of the power, the fuel in the engine. The battery? That'll be the alignment of RhyDin's sun with its most powerful constellations."

The anxiety and frustration she was feeling crept into her words as the situation sounded more bleak. She could only be in so many places at once! "Are you sure?” she sounded desperate. “Are you sure there won’t be just like one main spell? A really really strong spell? One main place where they do their thing?"

Mallory shook her head. "The only other thing I can think is..." She drew in a sharp breath, ticking one finger in the air, focused on an empty space just past Jewell. "The city itself. If you've been dousing the entire city in gasoline leading up to the big night, you only need one circle. Like Rome so many times, or Sodom and Gomorrah..."

Bright green eyes slid back to Jewell. "There's a saint's day, at the perfect time. The Feast of Saint Valentine."

"You mean the day when everyone..." she stopped. "Oh shit . They could totally use the energy, couldn't they? From the lust and love and..." Jewell sprang up out of Kate's chair, pacing towards the wall and then back again, "Hate is powerful. They've been stirring up a lot of that. But love? Lust? It doesn't get more powerful than that." Faeries knew that. Their glamour could inspire love. Not fake it but create it. It gave them power over people; it was that very power that Jewell had been struggling with lately.

And now the Temple could use it. "Okay... okay. We have to be sure about this. Put whatever else you can aside. I'm willing to pay what you need."

"Thirty silver, per diem," Mallory said, and for the second time, put her hand in the fae's for a bargain struck.

((Thank you to Mallory for playing this with me!))
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“I just don’t know if it’s going to be enough.” She stopped pacing her office, wandering over to peer over Ishmerai’s shoulder at the list he was compiling for her. It followed her rather scattered thought process.
Who do I want with me in a fight? Who can I trust? Ishmerai, Alain, House of Summer girls
Temple can’t know we know--find a way to tell everyone
Letters can be intercepted
Lirssa
Rand/Val
Issy
Safe Havens?
What kind of weapons will they have? Do we need weapons?
PATHFINDER
Cane/Sal?
Barons?
Keepers?
Koy/Matt
I can tell everyone in person maybe--think of something better
Wards against transference spell--ask Mallory immediately
Where are they doing the spell?
Kal? Rather not ask if can avoid it
Jake--maybe
“What am I missing?”

The knight drew a line down the side of the page. “Making sure we discreetly reach out to members of the community that you trust is probably the most important part after making sure we are ready to take these people out. It is hard to see how we can stop this. It is already set in motion. The least we can do is help as many people as possible.”

“Right. So I need a way to tell a bunch of people as discreetly and efficiently as possible.” Jewell moved away from the desk, collapsing back onto the settee with her bruised legs stretched out in front her. She was still achy from the Diamond Quest. Still tired. But she forced her brain to think. She needed to get this right. People were depending on her even if they didn’t know it. February 14th was coming up fast. The faerie could either save a lot of lives or end them. “We could get some of the pixies to do it?”

“I would not trust them,” Ishmerai shook his head. “They would have to understand the message to convey it correctly too.”

“True.” She curled her toes into the plush carpet. “I guess I better start talking to people.”

“But that could bring undue attention on them and you. The Temple is bound to notice that you are having these conversations.”

“Ugh.” Jewell flopped back. “You’re right. So I need a reason to meet with a bunch of people all at once to warn them without it looking like I’m warning them.” She mulled it over quietly for several minutes but kept coming up blank. She lifted just her head off the settee to look over at the knight, “Any ideas?”

“Charity event?”

She let her head hit the cushion again, shaking it back and forth. “No. Too many people and too much work that I can’t take on right now.”

“Something simpler then?”

“Yeah. Simpler.” The Empress chewed on the inside of her cheek. “Cocktail party simple.”
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She shivered as they walked from the Outback towards The Line, either from the cool night air or the way the easy levity began to vanish once outside and her hysteria from earlier rallied for another go. Being unable to secure the opal weighed heavily on her. Just how heavily, Kal couldn’t possibly understand because she hadn’t told him how important this was to her. Jewell shared a lot with the half-elf, but she had hesitated to divulge the full extent of what was going on with the Temple of the Divine Mother and the somewhat rash plan she had developed with the assistance of Koyliak.

Despair loosened her tongue. “I made a deal with PathFinder. I had…” her voice trembled and tears stung her eyes again. She wiped roughly at her face, frustrated that she was unable to fight the tears any more effectively than she had fought Andrea. She had lost. She had lost PathFinder. She had lost her chance at saving herself and protecting the people she loved.

Jewell was pretty sure she had lost the chance to walk out of this alive.

“I had to win him or he wouldn’t help me at all. Said he couldn’t.” There was no disguising her bitterness even if the opal wasn’t to blame. She was to blame. She had failed.

Kal frowned a bit as Jewell spoke of her negotiations with the opal. He wasn’t familiar with PathFinder specifically, but had known his sister and assumed some common familial traits. “Have a care dealing with the opals, darlin’. I guess you have an edge on most, having grown up dealing with Fae intrigue and politics, but it’s still a dangerous game to play.”

He’d mentioned this to her before and what Kal knew of Koy’s thoughts on the Opals, he felt safe in assuming she would have issued the same warnings. Jewell might not be one to heed warnings of course, but there was desperation in her tone now. “Do I want to know what it is you needed from it?”

“I needed it to protect me.” Jewell took a deep breath, speaking more to her beat up, black high heels than to him, “I think the Temple people have my name and I think they’re going to use it.” Her arm tightened around his, “They’re going to use it to make me hurt a lot of people.” It wasn’t that Jewell was opposed to hurting or even killing people if her twisted faerie morality decided that they deserved it or it needed to be done or even if she just plain wanted to do it. The story of what she had done to her cousin Muirenn--a story that she had not hesitated to share with the handsome half-elf last year--clearly demonstrated her position on murder.

But this was different. If they used her name, she would not have control over herself and innocent people would probably die because of it. Innocent people she cared about would die. “PathFinder was kind of my last hope at stopping them.”

Her name. Gods below. For a brief moment he allowed himself to dwell on that as various pieces of the puzzle slid together in his brain. The ramifications of what she'd done, the powers of PathFinder (as well, her questions to him about ShadoWeaver in the past few weeks). There were all the obvious questions he could ask, starting with 'What the hell were you thinking?', but they were immediately discarded. What's done was done and there was no changing it, so they'd need to discuss what came next.

"Camouflage." he stated, naming the PathFinder power she'd obviously been seeking. "You were looking to hide yourself from them. Not to judge. Hiding till it’s done seems like an excellent way to go. Truth be told though, darlin', there's nothing stronger than the pull of a True Name called. I doubt either of the rocks would have done the trick."

The argument that PathFinder could have done it was on her lips, but she hesitated long enough for reason to win out. There was no good to be achieved in telling Kalamere what she had been willing to give to the opal to get the protection she so desired. She didn’t have the stupid rock, and he was probably right anyway. PathFinder and ShadoWeaver had likely been false hopes. She had felt the power of her True Name being called last year. The nightmares of it hadn’t faded. She doubted now whether the opal really could have saved her even if she did join her power to his.

He stopped there in the street, hand on her elbow and turned her to look at him. "So what's the backup plan?" It wasn't a question of if there was a backup plan. She was Fae royalty, hell even if she wasn't this was still Jewell. He had no doubt there were contingencies thought out. "And how bad is it?" That there was a contingency didn't mean he was apt to like it.

He probably wasn't going to like it. She had only one contingency plan left in her arsenal, unless she was willing to go make a deal with a Faerie queen. She wasn’t. “There’s nothing else.” She couldn’t even look him in the eyes. Her gaze remained fixed on the front of his cloak, her voice flat, and her fingers curled into fists so that her nails bit into her palms. “I looked… I looked everywhere. It’s why I went to Faerie a few weeks ago. But there’s just… there's nothing.” Her voice hitched a little, and she bit hard at the inside of her cheek, the side where Andrea’s knee had smashed into her face an hour or so before. The spike of pain did the trick, composing her enough to put her sole, desperate, really terrible plan into words: “If they use my name, Ishmerai has to stop me. I made him promise.” Three times she had made him say it. He had to try to stop her. She only wished she had confidence in him succeeding.

"If there were a trick to hiding from the call, I expect that's where you'd be finding it." Or perhaps amongst those who dwelled in the lower planes. She'd likely consulted Tara already though and even that he doubted anyway. In his years, he'd never even heard rumor of a True Name summoning that'd been ignored.

Kal pulled her closer, wrapped an arm around her and kissed her forehead. It was a terrible plan. He'd contemplated and discarded several others though and as bad as it was, he didn't have a better one to suggest. Lacking that, a bit of comfort was all he could really provide. Well, that and to point out the slight flaw he thought she might need to consider. "You can make him promise, lass, but do you trust it? I don't mean trust him to be keeping his promise. I mean trust him not to hesitate. Because if he does and they have you? He's done."

She squeezed her eyes shut, taking a shuddering breath as she leaned forward to rest her forehead against him, trying to ground herself in his proximity, the familiarity of his scent and the feel of his arm around her. But the words kept spinning through her head: He’s done. Ishmerai was done. As long as PathFinder was a possibility, she hadn’t needed to consider it but it was true. Even if the fae knight could stand his ground against the little sìdhe, he would hesitate. She knew he would. He had hesitated to give his promise and he would hesitate to kill her. Then Jewell would cut him down, tear him to pieces, or shower the streets of RhyDin with his blood.

“I don’t know what else to do,” she mumbled against his chest. “He has to do it.”

"Come on." Kal said as he stepped back and set her arm on his. He took a step down the road, forcing her to turn and keep up, before continuing. "I'm fairly sure you left a bottle of that fae whiskey at my place. We'll put our feet up, have a few drinks and think on happier things for tonight. You can be thinking up alternatives in the morning." His tone was light and he offered his best comforting smile. As he led their way towards The Line though, his own thoughts were running far afield of the advice he'd just spoken. Jewell's state of mind, if nothing else, told him one very important thing: Whatever was going to happen, was happening soon. The city could fend for itself, as could Ishmerai if it really came to that, but securing the property for The Line had taken altogether too much work to let it get caught up in the blaze. He'd need to look to its defenses in the coming days.

The upside to spending time with Kal was that he was handsomely, effectively distracting. It was so easy to slip into their usual, more playful manner. “You want me to believe you didn’t drink the rest of that bottle? Or did you grab another from my place when I wasn’t looking?” Her smile wasn’t feigned as she quickened her stride to keep up with him. Even if the problem wasn’t far from her mind, she certainly wasn’t going to waste the night away worrying about it. If she only had a few more weeks before everything went to hell, she might as well do her best to enjoy that time. Empress life motto: carpe diem. “Just don’t forget that Jules and Val tasked you with keeping me awake all night in case I’m concussed.”

Judging by her laughter, it was a very serious charge.

((Many thanks to Kalamere for writing this with me!))
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Despite anxiety twisting her stomach into knots, Jewell stood at the entrance of the garden to welcome all of her guests to Overlord Isle personally with grace and a perfectly affected smile. Now and then though, her nerves got the better of her and she cast a glance aside to check for Ishmerai. The fae knight was keeping to the shadows tonight, leaving his lady to play hostess alone. Lirssa was also lurking around, having arrived well before the start of the party, eager to be of assistance and observe the others. The rest of the guests arrived in a trickle over nearly an hour, by as diverse means as the city they all inhabited.

Alain and Sophie DeMuer arrived early, emerging from a sliver of green light at the edge of the garden, followed closely by two of their knights; Vaeluthil Whitevale appeared only a few moments after the DeMuers and their knights by way of rowboat that seemed to have no need for rowing, likely thanks to Cael, the druid still grumping about being roused from his evening nap; Rachael Blackthorne arrived not long the Baroness of Seaside on one of the regular boats used to travel to Overlord Island as did Juliane Smith and Isuelt; and Andrea arrived early as well, already drinking so she’d be ready to depart as soon as she could.

A few minutes before the meeting was scheduled to start, Rand and Val arrived by Mist, directly in the garden; Claire Farron, accompanied by Cooper Gallows, showed up abruptly at the end of the isle's dock just shy of the party's start too; Myria came to the cocktail party alone to represent the Crew at Jewell’s request; Cane and Sal had made their way into the gardens at some point and lingered on the fringes of the party; and Koy and Matt joined later than they meant to because, Koy confided in The Empress, she had struggled with deciding what to wear for an event appearing on the surface to be a social calling but carrying the subtext of something more akin to when the Simons served the city’s government.

After about a half hour of allowing everyone to mingle and keep up the appearance of a social event, Jewell called attention to herself by walking up two stairs towards the manor house to be above the crowd and tapped her glass with a fork. “Friends, if I could have everyone’s attention?” She waited until all eyes were on her before continuing, “I wanted to thank you all again for coming this evening. Unfortunately, as I indicated to many of you, although perhaps rather cryptically, this is not an occasion just for socializing.”

She took a deep breath. This was it. She’d held back this information from everyone for too long. “Many of you have likely noticed the continued presence of pro-human protesters in the city. While they have caused some damage to our neighborhood and businesses, they pose a much greater threat.” She licked her lips. “They’re called the Temple of the Divine Mother, a group I’ve unfortunately had dealings in the past. After much perseverance and work on the part of Lord DeMuer and his people,” she gestured to Alain, “we have discovered their purpose and plan for RhyDin.

“On February 14th, they will attempt to cleanse the city of all non-humans.”

A murmur went through the crowd and someone laughed (or perhaps coughed), but Jewell didn’t allow any time for conversation to start up before she continued. “We don’t have a lot of details on how they’re going to accomplish this, but we have enough and we know their history.” She had hit her stride now, speaking more confidently. “We know that they have been gathering people to their cause and that they have been educating and arming these people. We also know that they are going to use a transference ritual. This will allow them to draw power and abilities from different non-humans and give it to their supporters to use against us. We believe they’ll be powering that ritual with lust from the Saint Valentine’s Day celebrations happening that evening.”

She hesitated a moment, taking another deep breath, “And we also know that they have a history of summoning creatures via their True Names to fight for them. So we could be looking at the use of demons or elementals on the fourteenth.” The Empress glanced aside at Alain, “Anything else you wanted to add?”

“We have reliable intelligence on their combat capabilities,” Alain began; he handed his drink to one of the knights as he and Sophie approached the steps; they turned to face the other guests, he with his hands clasped behind his back. “They’ve been training their supporters in melee and unarmed combat, provided firearms training, and schooled them on the strengths and weaknesses of various nonhuman races. The instructors they have acquired are like-minded and stand to inflict serious damage during hostilities.

“I can provide more detailed information on these people on request,” he added, with a careful look aside at Jewell.

“Thank you, Alain.” Jewell nodded before looking back at the guests. “Does anyone have any questions?”

Koy gave a look over at Matt before raising her hand, “Who else can we enlist ta help us? I’d like ta ‘ssume most of our human neighbors would side ‘gainst this but… I’ve ‘lready underestimated how strong the sentiment is fer hatin’ wha’s different.”

Jewell bit at the inside of her cheek a moment, “I’d say anyone you can trust. The important thing is that we do not want the Temple to know what we know. The sooner they know, the more prepared they’ll be for anything we set up against them.”

The baroness of New Haven spoke up next, “The Manor that I am custodian of has been attacked twice recently. In the first attack, the perpetrators used cold iron filings to taint the paint which proclaimed their messages of hatred, the mildest of which was ‘Death To Fae Lovers’, as well as scattering such filings on the grounds. I may be human, but many of mon family are Fae.”

Her sapphire hued gaze, shielded by the dark lenses of her sunglasses, flicked over those gathered. “The night previous, another similar attack was made on the Manor. The security precautions made by mon husband Ian after the first attack… dealt with the perpetrators, efficiently. As for who can be enlisted to assist, I can trust Ian, Johann, and mon familiars to be… discrete. What is discussed here, will not go further than them.”

The Empress nodded to Rachael for the information before looking around again. She could see the concern in the eyes of the people she called friends and allies, but few seemed willing to speak up. Finally, Andrea did: "There's not much I can do on the front lines, but what I can do is open the Tower of Earth to refugees." She started to pull gloves from her coat pockets and slipped them on. "It's not like many are using the library right now anyway, so it won't be too much of an inconvenience."

"You still have the sword I made you?" Andrea posed her question to Jewell, and the Empress nodded. "I'll make you a shield to go along with it." Her short time here at the cocktail party seemed at an end. She started to turn away from the meeting while saying, "You'll owe me a dress from Koy's shop as repayment. Be sure not to die during all this." Andrea then headed off to make for the ferry.

Jewell smiled grimly at that last order from Andrea, exchanging a nervous glance with Alain as the Keeper and opal holder turned away. “To clarify,” Alain said, signaling with a raised hand not far from Jewell’s side, “any detailed plans we want to make should wait until everyone has had a chance to ask whatever questions they have.” His gaze ticked to Jewell and back once more, as if looking for a tell.

There was nothing to elicit concern. The Empress managed a brief, relieved smile at him before looking to field any more questions. Movement toward the back of the gathering caught her attention in the process of glancing around. She watched Cane’s and Sal’s quiet departure as they followed Andrea to the dock. Understandably, no one else seemed to have any questions just now. She knew it was a lot of information to take in all at once. The meeting had given everyone mere minutes to digest it while the faerie had months to do so.

Jewell was just about to turn things over to Alain when Jesse piped up from her hiding spot behind a rose bush. "Sooo.. I'm just going to say this since it's obviously on everyone else's minds.. What about the bodies? Because, before anyone else here calls it, I'm going to call dibs right now. Let me have all the bodies of the fallen and whatever you need of mine tower will be yours in the coming planning stages.. Well, not everything. I can't give you full access to the elemental plane of fire, and it's not as if the keepers abilities are absolute in the realm of Rhydin, BUT, there's still a lot.. A LOT.. of things there that can be used."

“Uh… I guess you can have the bodies? Or at least some of them.” Jewell didn’t sound so sure since, despite what Jesse thought, she at least had not been thinking about the bodies. She rushed to move on, “All right, any other questions?” She didn’t really wait to see if anyone did. “No? Okay, good. Alain, I think you can take over now.” She gestured to her chief ally in this fight as she stepped out of the way. Without offering any further explanation, she turned to head quietly back to the manor house.

The raised voices of her friends plotting the defense of the city chased her out of the garden and onto the veranda. Although she had agreed from the start with Ishmerai and Alain that she was to take no part of the planning process aside from throwing the party, she was still frustrated. It was not in The Empress to sit still and wait for her doom to fall. She wanted to be doing something. Needed to be doing something. Anything.

But she was a security risk. A liability. Once the Temple of the Divine Mother used her name, they could force her to tell them whatever she knew about this little band of resistors she had gathered and what they were planning. So instead of being useful, she was shunted aside. Instead of strategizing, she lingered on the veranda, staring across the water at the twinkling lights of her city, impotent hands curled over the cold, stone railing.

((Written collaboratively with many wonderful people and edited to focus more on Jewell’s point of view. Thank you to everyone who took part!))
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Post by JewellRavenlock »

The biting February wind whipped right through her cotton dress, making her wish she had grabbed her jacket for the five minute walk between the Mills at Little Elfhame and Beyond the Veil, but Jewell didn’t pick up her pace. Instead, she rubbed at her bare arms prickled with goosebumps and allowed the cold to clear her head, making it easier to order her thoughts than it had been while she was stuck in her office all morning. Make sure Mallory doesn’t do any permanent damage to the house. Write a letter to Sapphire just in case. Set up an appointment with the barrister. See about that new order for Summerwine. Personally stop by Piyana’s Pizza and politely ask them to consider the wisdom of failing to pay their “community tax”.

Her stomach grumbled as she passed Faerie Fusion, forcing her to move a little faster. Her red high heels flew across the cobblestones as she fled from the temptation of her favorite rainbow chopped salad. She didn’t need food right now. She didn’t need to “keep up her strength” as Ishmerai encouraged daily. There was too much to do, like finding the time to meet with Koy for coffee so they could discuss the stupid opals and their stupid powers or check in with Alain to make sure there was nothing else she could handle without becoming a greater liability. Besides, come February 14th, the last thing she wanted to be was strong and ontop of her game.

The world spun a little as she hit the bottom step of Beyond the Veil, forcing her to pause and hold on to the steel railing. She closed her eyes, taking a deep breath in through her nose. Maybe not eating was foolish. Perhaps a little snack wouldn’t hurt, but only enough to keep her from passing out and only after she relieved Ishmerai from working the shop. Liesel was ill and Merai had a lot of preparation to complete for next week.

Once the dizziness faded, she opened her eyes and took a moment to compose herself so as not to arouse suspicion in the knight. Then she climbed the final step and pulled open the door. The tinkling of the silver bells made her smile, but the bite of iron that assaulted her as she stepped inside killed it. She wrinkle her nose and looked around for the source.

Ishmerai was behind the counter, his arms outstretched as he pushed a large box back towards the delivery man standing in front of him. It wasn’t their normal RPS guy. Tony wasn’t balding. This guy was. He shoved the box towards the knight again before turning towards the door.

It swung shut behind her. Ishmerai looked up. The scales that lingered at the side of his face were quickly spreading to cover his skin. His eyes widened in alarm. Her heart rose in her throat.

The delivery man hesitated when he saw her before charging forward to push right past her.

Jewell raised her arm to block his path.

The knight shouted her name.

The bomb went off.
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Post by JewellRavenlock »

She could hear the silence.

It was a buzzing in her ears that slowly turned to a faint ringing. It was the first sensation she was aware of when she woke up. Then there was the dry, stale taste in her mouth. The leaded weight of her head. Sluggish thoughts. She must have been dueling last night. And drinking. A lot. Like a whole bottle of whiskey a lot.

Sleep beckoned her back, but panic and urgency tightened her stomach as it tended to do on the morning of a big day. She was forgetting something. She had something to do. Something important was happening today. She needed to wake up. Jewell groaned and opened her eyes to a bright blob of nothingness that made her cringe.

Confusion. She didn’t know where she was. She tried to force awareness, but it resisted, coming in bits and pieces. The world slowly condensed from a formless nothing into tangible details which coalesced into a larger picture. She was lying on her back. Her arms stung. She was not in her bed. She was not with Kal. She was alone. Something was trickling down her leg. Blood. The air smelled like smoke. It was thick with dust. She coughed. Her body was wracked with pain. Her throat stung. She twisted her head to the side. It hurt. The dark blob next to her was a piece of broken concrete. She was on the street. She was lying in rubble. Something bad had happened. She could lift her arm. There was something sticking out of her skin. It burned. It was iron. She had smelled iron earlier. There had been iron in Beyond the Veil.

The box. The delivery man. Ishmerai shouting her name.

Ishmerai

Jewell shot upright and the world spun violently out of control. She turned her head to wretch, bringing up bile, coffee, and pixie sticks (her diet for the last few days). She coughed as the mixture burned her already stinging throat. “Ishmerai?” she tried to call once her body stopped heaving. Her voice was a rusty, dry, croaking thing that couldn’t properly form words. She tried again, “Merai?”

The knight did not instantly appear. He didn’t come to her.

Something was wrong.

She got to her knees, driving the bits of iron deeper into her skin and eliciting a cry of pain. That wasn’t the worst though. The slightest movement sent the world careening out of control. She planted her hands against the cobblestone street, just noticing now the extent of dust and debris strewn across it as it wavered up and down. The faerie forced her eyes closed, swallowing a mouthful of blood and grit to keep the bile back as it rose once more.

The vertigo wasn’t going away. She didn’t have time to wait. Jewell stood up.

And almost immediately fell over again.

She pressed her hands to her thighs and by sheer willpower (and a lot of practice in the Outback), kept herself on her feet. She straightened slowly and looked around. The world was still a silent, buzzing place, obscured by thick dust and smoke. Looming directly in front of her was the broken shell of her store. Their store. They had built it together, but it was unrecognizable now. The windows were gone, the brick crumbling, and the stairs in ruins.

Somehow, her shoes had stayed put on her feet. Jewell stumbled in the red high heels, scrambling over scattered bits of storefront to get inside. She had to find Ishmerai. She was hurt, her property had been destroyed, yet the knight had not come to find her. He had not rushed to her side. Worse than the iron and the blood and the pain and dust and the way the world kept swaying and spinning was the dread curling in her stomach.

Where are you?

The body of the faux RPS man, or what was left of him after he had shielded the faerie with his body from the brunt of the blast, was at the bottom of the stairs. Jewell stepped over him, single-minded in her task. Find the knight. Find the knight. Find Ishmerai. Inside the store, the counter, tables, and chairs were nothing but kindling. The ceiling had partially collapsed, presenting a mess of beams and flooring from the hotel above for her to navigate. The back wall was blown out into the storage room beyond.

That’s where she found him: a broken, ruined body amongst shattered bottles and obliterated shelves.

“Merai.” His name was a sobbed, hallowed whisper. Without hesitation, she knelt at his side in an alarming pool of blood, carefully but adeptly turning him from his side onto his back. “Nooo,” she groaned, “no no no no no.”

Her entire world fell apart in that moment.

His body was a ruin of flesh and blood, torn apart by the explosion and the iron. His scales had done little to protect him. The burnt piece of metal pinned over his heart (a gift from his lady last month) had likely done more. But not enough. It wasn’t enough. Her hands trembled uncontrollably as she placed her fingers on his throat, trying to find a pulse beneath all the blood.

It was there. Thready and weak but there. For now.

“Stay with me, Merai,” she begged. Jewell was usually able to manage calm and control in a crisis, but she couldn’t handle this.

She couldn’t be calm. She couldn’t breathe. This was Ishmerai. This was her knight. He was everything to her. He had to be okay. He couldn’t not be okay. He couldn’t leave her.

Tears cut through the dust, dirt, and blood on her face as she desperately tried to staunch his wounds with her hands and her magic, but she was impotent, made weak and incapable by the iron in the air and her body. Still, she tried. She poured everything she had into him to stop the bleeding, to keep his heart going.

To keep him alive.

“You gotta stay with me. Please. Just stay with me.”
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She was sitting on one of the leather couches, waiting for him as the sun went down over the city. She wasn’t wrapped in lace or silk, like on other occasions, but in dust and grime and blood. Kal had been away when Jewell arrived at The Line, he and Rath out on what Jerry had termed ’an errand’. The sports book was busy this time of year and more bets invariably meant more collection runs, many of which needed a bit more diplomacy than the half-ogre financial officer could bring to bear. Jerry had ushered Jewell up to the loft and through the half-elf’s wards when she arrived, promising Kalamere would return shortly. The slight, mousey man looked on her with concern but had stopped short of inquiring what had happened. He’d worked with Kal enough years to know that sometimes you just don’t want answers.

At some point, she poured herself a glass of the Lagavulin Kal liked, but it went untouched in her hands. Just something to hold onto at the moment. The caramel color liquid swayed in the glass. It had been several hours, but Jewell still couldn’t stop her hands from trembling. Actually, it was likely that she couldn’t stop her hands from trembling because it had been several hours. Several hours of staying at the scene and restoring order to Little Elfhame; of answering reporters’ questions; of refusing to let anyone tend to her wounds or remove the bits of iron shrapnel from her body until everyone else had been treated first; of staying at Ishmerai’s side until they brought him to Faerie; of giving freely of her energy to the knight in a desperate attempt to keep him alive; of walking over to The Line long after everything was over, battered and hurt and heartsore, because she didn’t know where else to go and the prospect of being alone in her own home was unbearable.

She sat on the couch, alone with her scotch for twenty minutes or so before he returned. He stood at the door, just inside the wards and took a moment to look her over. He’d heard rumor in the streets of the explosion and now saw the evidence first hand, his eyes registered the blood stains and grime on her clothes, the dust and marks on her legs where the shrapnel had been extracted.

“Trying a new look, darlin’?” he tried for humor, though couldn’t quite manage the tone.

She didn’t even flinch when he spoke. It was too hard to move or care, and she knew it was him even if she hadn’t heard him come upstairs. “Thought I’d test it out for Koy. Give her some new inspiration for Fashion Week.” She didn’t manage levity any better than he had, her voice rough and strained from smoke and dust (and shouting and crying). She finally took a sip of scotch to remedy that before forcing herself out of the highly undignified slouch with a grimace. She took another sip before twisting to look at him. “They tried to kill Ishmerai.”

Tried. Tried was a good word as it implied the knight would pull through. Jewell’d be inconsolable if it were otherwise. He moved to join her at the couch, plucking the bottle of scotch from the table and refilling her glass before pouring one for himself. As he sat, he slid an arm around her shoulders to draw her closer and offer what comfort he could.

“I had Jerry clear my other appointments.” He wasn’t sure if she needed comfort and a safe place to catch her breath, a co-conspirator to rework whatever plans this turn of events had thrown off balance or just someone to distract her for a little while. He’d let her decide.

“Right. Appointments. Jerry said you were running errands,” she repeated what she had heard stolidly, every motion reflexive. Like the way she lifted her glass for a sip after he had filled it because once she started drinking, it was easier to just keep going even though her head was pounding mercilessly and the scotch was doing nothing to stop her shivering or chase away the cold that had settled deep inside her throughout the afternoon. Or the way she kicked off her shoes so she could tuck her battered legs beneath her and curl against him when he put his arm around her. Even the way she spoke, her mouth forming her usual endearment for him thoughtlessly as she stared straight ahead at things unseen, “Handsome, I need you to do something for me.”

Business then, thought the tall half-elf. He considered that likely for the best, perhaps giving her a point of focus to pull her thoughts back away from the events earlier in the day. Away from Ishmerai. “Aye, darlin’? What might that be?”

“What he was supposed to do.” She lifted her head so she could look at him, solemn and composed. “I need you to kill me.”
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He tensed momentarily at the words. The other day, when he’d pointed out the flaw in having Ishmerai do it, he’d almost volunteered himself to replace him. As a joke. Now it was somewhat less amusing.

Kal took a long moment before speaking, flipping the idea around in his brain. Could he do it? Aye, he figured he could. He’d never hesitated on a contract in his life. Not that this was a contract, but maybe it was close enough. They’d shared a lot together over the years, and beyond that there was still the slight tug of the apprentice bond he’d formed with her, though her ascension in ranks and skill had largely dissolved that. That would make it harder, but not so much so that he should deny her. Should he do it though? That was a harder question. The fallout could be significant. He rolled the ring on his left hand around with his thumb as he considered his answer.

“How do you want it done?” His decision made, he skipped past the questions of whether she was sure there was no other way or if there was someone better suited to the task. She was. There wasn’t. Hesitating might have spared her feelings a bit, but given the events of the day, he felt that what she needed most right now was surety on this one thing.

She exhaled her relief without ever realizing she had been holding her breath. As cruel and cold as his lack of hesitation was, it was exactly what she had wanted from him. It was why she had come to Kalamere over the few people she considered both trustworthy enough to do this for her and with half a chance of walking away from it alive in the end.

She didn’t need hesitation. She didn’t need sentiment. She didn't need to argue about the necessity of this course of action. She didn’t have time for any it. What she needed was reassurance that the job would get done. She needed to know that her soul wouldn’t be subject to the Temple of the Divine Mother and their whims forever.

Kal’s unspoken agreement was a relief.

It also hurt. A lot. But she couldn’t think about that now. There was already too much hurt from the day to process. Besides, if they didn’t get this right, it wouldn’t matter anyway. “How?” She pulled and twisted a bit of her hair. “I don’t know. Fast. Otherwise you’re dead.”

He couldn’t help the grin that found his lips. The timing was inappropriate at best, but that last statement of her’s was practically a challenge and he was nothing if not competitive. Best not to go talking smack as to who would kill whom though. That might have crossed a line.

“There’s an herb.” he began as he stood and moved to the bedroom of the studio loft where he unlocked and opened the oak footlocker at the end of the bed. She stretched into the space he had been occupying on the couch, leaning over the arm to watch him. “It reacts badly with silver. It crystallizes any liquid less viscous than oil it’s been saturated into on contact.”

“Sounds lovely.”

Shuffling things around, he removed a box of vials and a few assorted daggers and other weapons from the box until he found a small tin. He gave it a shake to hear the tablets inside rattle around, then opened the lid to inspect the count. Two dozen. Satisfied, he returned to the couch and held the tin out for her.

She sat up and accepted the box from him, giving the red tablets a careful sniff. Minty. “If you were to be taking an herb like that, you’d need to ingest a bit twice a day for at least two days. That’d assure circulatory saturation an make the prick of a silver blade lethal in seconds. Probably want to leave any silver to sit in the jewelry box for a while. Suicide by broach pin would make a terrible eulogy.”

“I guess that’ll be fast enough.” She didn’t sound so sure, but she didn’t have the energy to argue with him either. “Just don’t think it’ll be easy to get close to me because it won’t. I don’t care how good you are.” She hadn’t missed his grin or its implications. On a normal day, if he hadn’t royally piss her off first, she’d probably bet on Kal in a fight between the two of them. But this was going to be anything but normal. Jewell was going to be at the top of her game, and she was the only one that really understood what that meant.

“And don’t go deriding my Plan B either because I’ll do it that way if I have to.” Killing herself had always been an option, but it was one she had largely avoided considering since there was always the chance that the Temple didn’t have her name. The Empress wasn’t so altruistic that she was willing to die unnecessarily.

She snapped the tin closed. “But I don’t want to have to. Please don’t make me do that to myself, Kal.” There was an edge to her voice now. “Promise me you’ll do it. Promise me that you will kill me if they have my name and use it.”

The grin long gone, a frown replaced it as she drew the promise from him. “Aye, darlin, you have my word. If they call your name, I’ll do it.”

((Co-written with the ever-amazing Kalamere))
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Post by Kalamere »

"Hey Jerry" I called as I reached the bottom of the stairs from the loft down to the bar. I expected he was back there, around the corner cleaning something. He was pretty much always cleaning something.

"Hey boss." he responded while sliding a pair of beer mugs into their designated spots on the rack. "Saw Jewell take off a little while ago. Said she'd be back though?"

"Aye, never mind that though. Have you sent that order in to Henrik?" I set the paperwork I'd been carrying down on the bar, grabbed one of those mugs he had just put away and poured myself a Badsider.

"The smith? Nah, I hadn't gotten around to that yet today."

"Good. Add that top paper there to the order and try to get it in today if you would." I waved at the two sheets of paper lying on the bar. Jerry picked up the first and examined the rough drawing I'd made.

"It looks like an ice pick with a cross guard." Jerry shook his head and gave me the look that asked why I hadn't just drawn it with crayons. What can I say, Rembrandt I'm not. At least I’d written the measurements I wanted down. "Raw iron? Seriously, what are you going to do with this?"

"Less questions, more adding to the order."

"What's this other one?" he asked as he picked up the second sheet of paper and began to scan the contents. "And what is a cardiovascular specialist?" squinting at the word before looking up at me.

"It's a doctor. Get that over the folks we have on payroll at the hospital. I want someone on standby and on site until I tell them otherwise."

"Boss, what the hell's going on?"

"Remember that talk we had about asking questions you don't really want the answers to, Jer? This would be one of those times." I set the empty mug into the wash bin. I figured he needed something new to preoccupy him anyway.

Leaving the bar area and heading back to the hallway to return up to the loft, I paused at the corner and turned back.

"Oh, Jerry, while you're out would you mind grabbing me a tin of mints? I just gave my last ones to Jewell."
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