A Person of Interest.

[Jaycy Ashleana]

“Soon, my pet, you shall be free.”

He extended a hand toward the face of the quaking, bug-eyed boy-wretch squatting naked in his bed of musty hay. A large ring stood erect out of the soiled bedding; a long thick chain of iron held the boy to a small range of movement by terminating at the ring at one end and a bent plate of iron around the boy’s neck. The youngster’s mouth gaped wide and he shrank away from the touch, hands coming up in a futile attempt to ward the questing fingers away. His throat vibrated lightly in echo of a mute scream, sound beyond a mere squeak failing to erupt from him after the loss of his voice from previous days’ hell.

The caress seemed gentle, a mere whisper of a touch of nail over baby-soft cheek. The man, however, came away from contact with a glistening, fat drop on his finger and a long thin, angry streak of dirty red on the boy’s flesh. Vander Carn lifted the blooded digit to his lips and slowly, sweetly, slid it into his mouth. “Mmm,” he purred, tongue brushing over the finger, seeking to draw every last clinging bit of the boy’s vita into him. The older man, also nude, shivered, intoxicated, as the boy’s panic and anguish coursed through his veins. His body betrayed his excitement swiftly and visibly.

The finger left his mouth and trailed down his body, through the air, until it met the most obvious sign of his interest. A razor sharp nail, almost certainly a claw, offered the same caress to his own body as it did to the boy’s cheek. He shuddered again as a groan escaped. The boy, too, made a sound, terror allowing him to release what a broken and bruised throat could not – a strangled scream. The hint of scream proved to be a mistake; Vander’s attention darted back to the miserable child. His dark, sly smile widened.

“Soon, you shall be free. But not yet.” Vander Carn snatched the boy, lifted him from the hay, and slaked his lust. The other four children, situated similarly, sobbed in the knowledge they would be next.

***
Lips peeled back in a snarl as Jaycy peered into the villa’s inner courtyard. She nestled among the nearby treetops, black-striped silver wings tucked tightly against her back. Talon-hands clutched at the tips of the branches she settled in, crushing the first buds of leaves before they had a true chance to bloom in spring.

Her green-gold gaze finally turned from the torture below her and to the rest of her surroundings. The villa rested in a clearing in the middle of the forest; trees surrounded the large square building with an open center. However, while the trees were close enough to allow observing, Vander had been cautious enough to clear them from any missile-weapon range. A shimmering dome, almost invisible, protected the villa from the elements and most likely attacks. She didn’t dare test that theory, however, on the assumption that any attempt to breach the shields would alert him. It would need to be all or nothing, she knew. Too many others had tried to end Vander’s crimes but had turned up dead or not turned up at all. She had been truthful when she told Psly this was a simple matter of killing a blood mage, but she hadn’t told him exactly how either lucky or wily this particular blood mage had been and just how desperate the town was to save their children.

She eased into a more comfortable position on her perch to watch.

***
It was time to prepare.

Vander Carn strode into the courtyard, flowing white robes trailing behind him with his purposeful, measured steps. A twisted, gnarled gremlin scuttled behind, hands wringing as it moved. “Bring me the light one,” the man ordered. He stood next to a plain area at the corner of the yard, a plot of earth void of even weeds or insect life. A wide circular band of silver lay embedded in the ground, top line flush with the ground’s level.

The gremlin hurried to comply, scampering to the boy Vander first took earlier in the day. It knelt close to the boy and pulled roughly on his arm to bring him to the ground. A pop echoed through the courtyard and the boy fall, managing another screech of pain. The gremlin coiled the now-slack chain around the boy’s ankles twice before turning its attention toward the iron plate collar. It grasped the two ends in its hands and pulled, grunting with the effort. The space between the ends widened until it became enough to allow the gremlin to slip off the boy’s neck. The monster dropped the now-useless collar to the ground and hauled the boy up, simultaneously untangling him from the rope while taking a firm hold.

The gremlin dragged its victim through the hay and dirt toward its master. Its head bowed as it presented the quivering child, forked tongue licking out and over cracked lips. “Here, master,” it offered. Vander peered down and gave the gremlin an indulgent pat on its head before curling fingers around the boy’s bicep. He tugged the boy from the gremlin’s semi-reluctant grasp, eliciting a whimper from the child. “There, there,” Vander patronized. “You’ll be soon free. Come.”

He gave a cold chuckle and stepped into the circle with the boy. His free hand dipped into the voluminous robes and drew a long, thin bone stiletto.

***
Jaycy’s eyes narrowed and she lifted the rifle to sight her target. She peered down the barrel, carefully modulating her breathing. She needed to make her attempt before his shields came up; the silver circle and ceremonial robes confirmed what she’d expected – he was about to sacrifice the boy for an influx of power. He would need to raise shields within that circle, though, to contain the power enough for him to grab it. Thus, she had to strike before he finished shielding.

She didn’t expect the rifle shot to work; in fact, she expected that she would need to kill him in close combat (which wasn’t something she had planned on telling Psly or would ever tell him if that was how it happened). The shot was intended to distract him and steal his attention. Besides, what if it did work? Vander assumed no one knew where the villa was despite the precautions he took. Her initial survey of the situation confirmed that.

Her brows furrowed, seeing the stiletto. Shouldn’t it have been silver?

***
Twilight.

Vander turned his face up to the sky, waiting for the moment when neither moon nor sun faced the world. The air around him thrummed, echoed from the terrified lamb and his weapon; a combination of living power-focus and deathly essence-stealer, baptized in the destruction of his first master at the climax of their first (and only) combined ritual.

His grip tightened on the boy, his breath hitched in anticipation.

The moment had arrived. He lifted the bone.

***
Jaycy paused, the barrel of the rifle slowly lowering, pointing toward the ground. That wasn’t any kind of metal – the gleaming white made it obvious what it was, even in the growing dark. Could that mean that he had protections against all kinds of metals, but those same protections meant he couldn’t use metals? Which might mean that bone would be able to get through his shields?

She frowned, watching him. She only had a moment to decide, honestly, before he began the ritual. Either she could continue as planned and hope the silver bullets worked, or fire the more rare and hard-to-acquire bone-tipped rounds at him. Even if they didn’t work either, she would still distract him as she meant, right?

Hurriedly, she ejected the .408 Chey Tac round and dug into the pack at her waist. Once more she raised the barrel and took aim, breathing slow and steady. Vander let the boy go, dropping him like a potato sack and made steps toward the silver circle-edge, presenting a clear shot for the redhead. It was now or never; Jaycy pressed the trigger on her exhale just after he raised the stiletto to begin forming the circle. The specialty bullet zipped through the protective shields and crashed into his chest; at the distance she was much more likely to deal a fatal blow by sending through shrapnel into his torso than into his brain. She didn’t need to be as accurate; there were more chances to kill him from the shot.

She reloaded and fired with practiced efficiency, then repeated the action twice more. One more bullet went into Vander while the other two downed the gremlin. The dissipation of the shields around the villa confirmed she made her mark. With a grim smile, Jaycy re-holstered the rifle in its special harness on her back, between the wings. She dropped lightly off the branch and wings snapped open, spreading wide to regain altitude. After a moment, she flew toward the town to inform them of her success and let them know they could go retrieve their children.

She never noticed the extra set of eyes, watching from deep within the trees.

[Pure Necrosis]

“Where is the Initiate?” Theus sat on a chair that could only be called a throne, given its massive size. Unfortunately, the Spine commander couldn’t sit in anything smaller that wasn’t at least a bench. The Observer standing before him – a hairless man in all white with black stitching in tattooed form across the place where eyebrows should have been and a hood casting a shadow over his face – responded to the question without raising his head. “Ten minutes out, sir.”

“Good, I guess.” The massive man started shifting around in his seat, trying to find a more comfortable position, when Mariah walked in.

“Are we good? Did you get the report yet?” The woman was impatient, and Theus didn’t want to have to deal with her for the six minutes it would take for the Initiate to arrive. As such, he heaved up and out of the seat and motioned for her to follow. “Come with me. He’s about to arrive.”

“I don’t know why you’re so interested in this potential, Mariah. She’s a run-of-the-mill Metahuman with a front that only took the kids a week to track down and crack after the trace. It’s not like you to bother with the paperwork.” Theus’ steps reverberated throughout the hall, as they approached the hangar.

“I don’t know why you care.” Mariah followed him, double-timing to keep up. “It’s not like I have anything better to do, recently. There haven’t been any contracts warranting any of us to do anything in months. It’s either this, or figure out where Elzandri goes at night.”

Theus laughed a deep, booming laugh. “You don’t want to find that out. Believe me.”

As they entered the hangar, the Initiate was already stepping out of the craft. He bowed his head and held out the data disc in his hand for his commander. “Good work,” Theus gave him that much, before realizing he’d stayed in place, “now get out of my sight.” The commander moved to the far side of the room, and the elevators there. Mariah stayed in tow until he was standing with his arm out to halt her.

“What, I can’t see the footage?” She was indignant, and he didn’t care to listen to her for a minute more than he needed to.

“No, you can’t. It’s above your pay grade. Now go shoot something – I’ve got work to do.” The elevator dinged, and the doors slid shut.

[Jaycy Ashleana]

She left a mess.

It was intentional, of course, but it was still a mess. Jaycy heaved a disgusted sigh and turned her back on the carcass and the blood spatters that now decorated the walls of this quiet bedroom. Quick steps took her toward the drawers that protected her filched servants’ livery from contamination; she licked the last of the blood and viscera from her taloned fingers as she walked.

This hadn’t been a job, per se. Rather, it had been a case of one very abusive husband who claimed the authority to torture his new wife based on the concept of might equaled right. And of course the poor girl’s family agreed; the husband was the wife’s brother! She’d learned of this particular family – a family in the city, no less – while she was trailing Vander’s agents through the bars. Admittedly, the husband and his father hadn’t been bragging when they talked about their rule over the household; it was a matter-of-fact discourse on proper husbandly behavior between the patriarch and his offspring. Part of the problem, though, was that the “proper” behavior had resulted in the death of the mother several years ago.

She sighed again, inspecting the talons to ensure all incriminating evidence was gone before allowing the shift from sharp weapons to soft, slender fingers. A lush patch of wool pulled from the drawer cleaned the blood from the rest of her body before being secreted on her person. She unbraided the deep brown hair, brushing fingers through it. A quick glance in the mirror confirmed her ears were once again covered and she appeared clean.

She pulled out the garb a moment later, shaking her head at the coarse and itchy burlap the family forced their slaves to wear. Apparently they felt a slightly discomfited slave was less likely to cause an uprising than a wench, sleek and arrogant and flush in silks, would be.

This man and his father – already dead and not yet discovered – needed to serve as messages to the younger brothers that such thoughts, the abuse of women, were not acceptable. The half-elf glanced back at the shredded torso, brows furrowing a moment as she pondered the message as it was. A two-worded, type-written note laid atop the man’s chest, pinned in place, fibers slowly soaking in the red vital fluid.

For Liysa.

The exact same note covered the father’s torn-open chest in the hovel she’d lured him to with promises of momentary pleasure. Between the two bodies, the message would do; the two boys – young men, actually – would find their brother. The girl was out of town, thanks to a forged note by an “ill” friend requesting company outside the city. The friend knew; she had told Jaycy’s agents the details that condemned the two men. Liysa’s friend, older, wiser, caring, would help the girl through her grief and to understand there should be no guilt if she felt relief that they were gone.

She tugged the burlap sack over her slender frame, belted it with hempen cord, and drew the linens from the bed before stealing into the hallway. This particular family took their unwashed sheets and clothes to a courtyard basin; the public well almost directly outside the walls supplied the water to clean them and would give her the opportunity to sneak away.

The rear gate fed into a small, quiet square bracketed by the fences of the other three houses. The cased well stood as centerpiece for the space. She took a glance around to scout for others and then slipped into the area. She closed the gate gently behind her and leaned against the wall next to it, taking a few moments to breathe in and out, slow, steady and calm. Her green-gold gaze surveyed the upper floors of the adjacent houses in search of signs of life. This, of course, would be the hardest part – getting out without notice.

The house to the west had a yard that fed both into the square at one end and the street at the other; the master preferred to stable his horse at home and it would never do for hoof-marks to mar the interior of the house. Jaycy pushed off from the wall and made her way openly toward the westerly gate. She slipped through, as if on an errand, and then snuck into the single stall.

A set of filched livery from this house waited for her and she swiftly changed into it; she folded the burlap “dress” in half and wrapped it around her midsection. She secured it with the cord before drawing on the loose knee-length cotton shift. Swiftly she made her way from the stall and to the gate; through it and into the street, she turned toward the master’s shop, steps sure and purposeful.

She never made it there.

She ducked into an alley three blocks from her exit point and drew a crystal from a tiny tape-pouch at her hip. She raised the crystal to her lips and murmured. Rainbow light lifted from the ground, ribbons spinning in an ever-increasing circle about the woman’s form. A burst of rainbow light shot from the epicenter and then was no more. The alley was empty once again.

Jaycy blinked the bright from her eyes as spinning tendrils receded into the ground at her feet; Arlen turned his head up from the papers on the table he sat at to gaze at his employer. “Is all well?” He, of course, knew where she’d been – he always knew.

She dropped into the chair on the other side of the table gracelessly, sneaking a look around this room, the back office of Midnight Oils, her stationary shop. “I don’t know,” she replied honestly, frowning.

“It almost felt like someone or something was watching me.”

[Pure Necrosis]

She raised the crystal to her lips and murmured. Rainbow light lifted from the ground, ribbons spinning in an ever-increasing circle about the woman’s form. A burst of rainbow light shot from the epicenter and then was no more.

And then she was no more.

Theus sat at the command console, watching the last moments of the potential’s latest excursion into the realm of vengeance killing. She didn’t make her way to the end of the street. She had detected the Initiate. Theus was beyond certain. It was the twelfth time he’d reviewed the tape. The muscle contractions in her face, the quickness and urgency of the movements. It was more than obvious, but he had to be thorough. He didn’t like his position, most of the time. It was not only messy, but required too much effort in the administrative duties that he was so very much not a fan of.

“Damnit.” He rose, and his lumbering steps brought him to the observational level’s elevator. As it reached the barracks levels, he laced his fingers together and stretched them out in front of him, eliciting cracks and pops that were accompanied by the nonplussed ding of the elevator announcing that he’d arrived at his destination and that it was time to get serious.

When he stepped onto the floor, Initiates, Observers, Cleaners, Juggernauts and Sandmen, indeed the vast majority of the lower echelon Quinzer associates all took notice and stopped in their tracks to allow the commander of the Spine to pass unhindered.

He reached his destination – room 472 – and knocked once. The door hissed open and the Initiate stepped out, face stoic and eyes level with her commander’s.

“Four-Seven-Two, you’ve failed in your duties.”

“Yes, commander.”

“Have you prepared yourself?”

“Yes, commander.”

“Very well.”

Theus reached to the holster at his hip and drew the pistol from it level with her face. He looked over her features, emotionless and impossible to cut through. Her eyes, green and bottomless and beautiful, were accented and framed perfectly by her wavy blonde hair. The scarred-in stitching pattern around her neck marred the otherwise perfect example of beauty this woman seemed to be. For a moment, he thought of what she had been like before the Quinzer vetting process had left her the clear-cut, order-driven espionage and assassination machine that now stood before him.

“You were otherwise perfect. I’m sorry.”

The words seemed to shock a semblance of humanity back into her system, or so it seemed, as her eyebrows gathered and lifted toward the middle and a scarce bit of tearing welled in her eyes, enough to let one slide down her left cheek.

The pistol’s report ripped through the barracks level, followed by silence. As the first Observer turned the corner to begin his duties, he witnessed the Leonine Titan cradling against his chest the very Initiate that should have been in a heap on the floor. Blood from the entry wound followed the tilt of her head, leaving the clear tear on her left cheek to be accompanied by a sanguineous crimson twin on the right.

“Sir, I should really-” The Observer was cut off before he could even finish his sentence.

“No. I’m taking care of this one.”

“Are you absolutely certain that that’s-” Again, he was cut short.

“Are you questioning me?”

“No, sir.”

“Good.” Theus gathered the closest friend he had ever had in his arms, and headed for the morgue.

[Jaycy Ashleana]

“This is one of two things.” Jaycy frowned, leaning back in the chair, allowing its front legs to lift several inches from the rough, dusty floorboards. A hand curled around the edge of the table, short arm extended fully, to keep her from completely toppling to the ground. “Either whoever ambushed me last year has returned, or someone’s trying to get my attention for something.”

Arlen’s lips thinned in disapproval, and he peered down his long nose and through wide, round spectacle-lenses. “Jaycynda, must you risk yourself and the furniture like that?” She sighed, gracing him with a look in return. She did not retort, however, beyond leaning forward and allowing the chair’s supports to crash into the floor. The dull clack of wood failed to echo in the small, insulated room. The frown softened on the lanky man’s visage and his voice gentled, the chiding subtly infused in his next words. “Do not ignore a third possibility. Perhaps this is another party wishing you harm, unrelated to last year.”

She canted her head forward a hint, acknowledging the possible truth in that observation. “Though, I’m not sure I would have noticed anything if that were the case,” she countered. “It was almost as if whatever is was wanted me to know I was under watch. It didn’t feel particularly malevolent; it was just one of those things where the hair stands up in the back of your neck, y’know?” Her head angled in the opposite direction, back and toward the left as she pondered that idea. “There would have been ample time to attack me during the course of the work, especially when I seemed unarmed with nowhere to hide weapons.”

“There is some merit,” he agreed, folding his hands together atop the sheaf of reports sprawled across the tabletop. “What shall we do, then?”

She shrugged, both shoulders lifting and then settling once more. “Either we pull back and wait for whatever it is to come to us, or we offer them the bait and spring a trap when they come for it. They shouldn’t know that I might have noticed them; I used the crystal to avoid leaving a trail behind once I was safely out of range like I would normally have done.”

The manager shook his head slightly, perfectly coiffed salt-and-pepper hair remaining still even in the movement. “I dislike the latter, Jaycynda, and for that matter, what would you tell Pslyder?” She arched brows in response, lips quirking up in a tiny grin. “I wouldn’t tell him anything, of course.” The grin faded as she sobered, responding more seriously. “He’d be frantic, I couldn’t do it. But I can’t just sit here and pretend it doesn’t seem like something is going on.” She paused, then added, “… and really, I can’t just hide in a shell all my life just because someone – or multiple someones – wants to hurt or kill me. Dawn’s been around for years, besides whoever else, and I’m not dead yet.”

He sighed, leveling on her a look of his own. The look contained equal parts care, concern, and frustration. For all that she employed and paid him, he saw her as his own soul-daughter and sought to keep her as safe as he knew how. She was right, though. He had to accept that. Even if she wasn’t right, she would do it anyway, with or without them. “He will find out, Jaycynda. And he will be upset with you for not telling him.”

“I know, Arlen. But let me worry about that.” She glanced toward the plain wooden door, then back to her friend. “What do you think?”

He watched her a moment, silent, assessing. “I do not think you would be able to ‘sit and wait’ for them. Therefore, you must be the bait.” Even though he hated it, he knew how it must go. “How shall you be the bait, however?”

She paused for a long moment, unconsciously tilting her chair back in that posture he had come to hate so much. Green-gold eyes unfocused, grew distant, as she ruminated over the possibilities. “I’ll take another job,” she mused, voice slow and thoughtful, “… one that doesn’t require close contact. Something like that blood mage a few weeks ago. If I sense someone there … and I promise, I’ll be paying attention,” she added at his raised brow, “… then I’ll spring the trap. If not, well, another problem will be taken care of.”

Shoulders lifted once more and she granted him a bright, all-too-cheery grin.

“Let us find your … job … then,” he just sighed.

[Jaycy Ashleana]

It was unusual for Jaycy to be walking through the streets much these days; when she wasn't teleporting to her usual haunts via crystal, she was either usually flying or riding the 'Bucket II. Something had to give, though. She knew the watchers were still out there even if she hadn't yet managed to catch them. She knew because there was no evidence that they had stopped their watching. She assumed, by this point, that they didn't mean to harm her - she'd given them plenty of opportunities to try while completing the three simple jobs she'd taken to try and draw them out. The more convinced of this she got, the more curious she became .... what did they want?

The question drew her into the open once more; she took slow steps down the cobbled way in the still-chilled but bright early morning. True cloud-shapes were missing; rather, wisps of light fluffy whiteness scattered over the sky. Spring was on the horizon, in the air. She inhaled shortly, reveling in the crisp bite still prevalent. For once she had a destination; the proprietor of a certain haberdashery needed a new basket of sweets. At least that was the excuse; rather, she really just wanted to see him. For a moment she allowed herself to forget her secondary purpose for walking; a cheery whistle passed through her lips as she walked.

A pair of men were walking down the street in the opposite direction Jaycy was headed, one in all white business attire with a hooded trench coat, also in white, and another in simpler traveler's wear. He had a knapsack on, straps around his shoulders and over the jacket he was wearing, and a pair of sunglasses on his face. He was clean cut, save the bit of stubble a day's missed shaving would provide. As they closed the gap and were coming up to the passing zone, the man in white moved into Jaycy's path, and stopped. The other man continued on.

The man in white held his hands together and spoke in a clear, friendly, and yet strangely manufactured manner. His face was remarkably average, save the lack of hair and the tattooed on eyebrows, in a tribal and stitched pattern. "Miss Ashleana, I believe it's time we talked."

Stopped short by virtue of a probably-immovable object, she turned her gaze up toward the face of the man in front of her. A light, teasing, and almost playful smile turned up her mouth; a hint of the joy at what her intended mission had been remained with her, the mood unruined by the man's appearance. "It would figure you would come when I actually had something to do, and when I'm woefully under-dressed." A dramatic sigh was cast before she trailed her gleaming and amused green-gold eyes down his white-swathed frame, her own dress a much more casual jeans and green t-shirt. "Well, I suppose the least I can do is offer breakfast." She hefted the basket higher. "Shall we?" she asked, both in offer of food and to get them moving to his intended destination.

"Oh, no thank you. I've already eaten. Don't, however, hold back on my account." The man gestured to a small bistro with sidewalk seating just a few short steps away. This had obviously been mapped out from the moment she'd left the house. The man in white moved over to a table, and pulled out a seat before taking the one opposite it in an eerily fluid manner. "Allow me to cut to the chase. You have managed to draw the attention of our organization, and we hope that you will consider the potential position."

The amused glimmer in her eyes faded as curiosity took hold. She moved easily into the waiting seat without taking her attention from the man so quickly opposite her at the table. "Well, that cut to it, alright." A lean forward to settle the basket at her feet, then she placed her arms carefully on the table, hands folding in front of her. She flicked a glance toward his hands; she'd offered a subtle gesture of trust among ... professionals .... would he reciprocate? She arched a brow, turning her gaze from his hands and toward his face once more. "I'm sure you can guess my next three questions, so why don't you just elaborate, please?"

"Certainly." He smiled, hands still clasped tightly together on his lap, in plain view from his position slightly further from the table than someone would sit had they wanted to lean on it. "We are known as the Quinzer Group. There are currently openings in one of our most prestigious positions due to the deaths of the previous associates that had held them. You have been selected, studied, and followed up on because of your unique methods and reasons for killing. To put things simply, Miss Ashleana - you happen to be just the potential we're looking for."

She didn't bat a lash at the mention of "killing." Their conversation was quiet enough and any reaction would have drawn attention to them. Besides, it made sense - she'd first noted them during an entirely unscheduled, unplanned and unsolicited attack and thought they were showing themselves to her then because of it. "Alright," she said after a minute. "Methods and reasons, aye?" She passed over the mention of Quinzer; there'd be time enough to research the group or ask questions - she was more interested in exactly what they thought they saw in her. "Which methods, what reasons? What would you have me do in this .... prestigious position?" Another moment, then she added, "... how much information do I get before I have to say aye or no?" She presented him with a fleeting, ironic smile at that.

[Jaycy Ashleana]

"There is no reason to try and cage me into saying something that would make you feel as if you had managed to maintain some semblance of the upper hand, Miss Ashleana. I assure you, our reasons for wanting you will become apparent only when - and if - you accept the position." The man's smile hadn't changed at all, it was unsettling. "But job specifics, I'm quite capable of sharing with you. The position we're offering would have you performing work of a similar nature to that which you already undertake, though your resources would exponentially increase and your actions to end the horrors of the people you work for the better of will be more precise and effective. For instance, you would have taken out the crucial leader of the Cabal, instead of the Blood Mage drunk on childrens' sorrows and magic leading to a three week hunt through flea-infested bars and brothels."

His eyes opened from a serene moment of closure. "All that we would ask in return is that you complete assignments that are issued by the Group, to the best of your abilities." His head tilted to the side and his smile faded for a moment. "That, unfortunately, is all the information you get before you say aye or no."

"In other words, I help kill people for your money, and you give me all the resources ... including manpower .... I want to save the world." She tilted her own head in mirror echo of his; her smile reappeared for another moment. "How much will Psly get to know, and how much close contact is there likely to be?" She assumed, of course, that the group knew of her partner and of their mindlink.

"Sex jobs?" she added a moment later.

"Nothing in this or any other reality is ever truly unlimited, but that's the gist of it." His head returned to its freakishly manikin-like position and his smile with it. "If you wish to obtain our resources and cooperation in your own personal endeavors, you will have to ensure that your partner knows as little about us as possible. We are aware of the level of difficulty that will present, but it is necessary for both your and his well-being. Seeing as you will at the very least begin as an outside contractor, it's crucial to know that the dangers of the workplace can indeed follow you home."

"And, the methods by which you complete assignments are left entirely up to you, except under special circumstances."

She listened, and took it in, finally nodding slightly. "Right to veto assignments, at least with reason?" Her brows lifted. "Training program? And how often and long would I be gone? Out of Rhydin, or strictly local?"

"I am not a negotiator, Miss Ashleana. And I am not the coordinator for this or any other particular region. I also believe I have been most gracious in continuing to answer your questions despite already having required your answer." He took a breath. It seemed like something he'd been instructed on doing to appear exasperated. "But, I do have a question for you. Do you really think that an organization that would take such time to study a potential would offer them a position they thought that person would say no to based simply on scheduling conflicts?"

She shook her head. "No, I don't. However, I have two young children and commitments I take rather seriously. While I have no doubt that your organization has studied my family and life in great depth, and offered this despite them, can you honestly fault me for asking these questions in light that I have no idea who and what Quinzer is ... that in fact I'd never even heard of them until today? Your organization, m'lord, has the advantage over me, and if you've studied me that well, you'd know I'd never make a decision without at least taking into account all these factors that I've asked about." She unfolded her hands long enough to spread them over the table, then twined fingers once more. "In fact, would Quinzer actually want me if I were any other way inherently?" She looked out to the street, then back to him. This time there was no hint of smile, or humor, or pleasantness. "Conditionally, aye."

"Excellent. There's only the final test by which you shall obtain the location of one of our facilities, then." He smiled in a way that actually seemed natural, as though he were going to enjoy himself. "Do you remember the man I was walking in the same direction as when I first approached you?"

She again darted a look to the street, then back once more. "Aye." The brows rose again, silently encouraging him to continue.

"You need to find him, and extract the location from him by any means necessary."

"Any time limit?" She chuckled faintly, having guessed the game as soon as he mentioned the other man.

"You have until sundown. Though, I think that if you wait much longer than mid-afternoon, he'll come looking for you. And I believe that in this particular situation, the element of surprise would serve you well."

The redhead quirked a grin, swiftly, almost impishly. "Good. Plenty of time for breakfast." She offered him a wink, then untangled her hands and stood, simultaneously reaching for the basket. "Have a good day, m'lord."

"And you, Miss Ashleana. Allow me to be the first to offer a tentative Welcome into the Group." He rose, and walked away in the direction he'd originally been heading.

She watched him a moment, then sat down once more - she needed a moment to plan.