Yer a Wizard Mach!

[Mach]

OOC Disclaimer and Stuff

This is a continuation of Mach's story! To catch up to the story so far please see the previous thread: The Hunter's Life. With that said...

Disclaimer time – Mach's story is very much for adult audiences. It will deal with dark, gritty, and grim events and circumstances involving folks of varying degrees of broken struggling in a non-ideal world. There will be angry words, lurid words, violent words, ugly words, and foolish words. Any posts that might broach the line of suitable public reading will be marked as NSFW.

As always, feel free to jaw at me via DM or Discord, I don't bite... only nibble.

[Mach]

Mach and the Furry Death

His attempts to schmooze his way out of the hospital had, unfortunately, not been terribly effective. Damn security and their 'you're not medically cleared and, hey, aren't you under watch custody!?' Such unreasonable questions! But, nevertheless, they were true statements and Manny from security had dealt with him enough not to listen to what sweet little lies he plied. And so even without the hawkish gaze of Dr. Ibanez, whom he'd left stunned up on the roof, he still found himself handcuffed back to a gurney. Fuck. But it was, mildly, better than the alternative of absconding and getting a warrant issued on his ass.

Later that morning after breakfast and a little flirting with the nurses, a few watch detectives swung by to question him about the executed body they found him next to. Who were they? Did he murder them? What was he doing there? Did he murder them? What was his relation to the deceased? Did he murder them!?

It was as much a third degree as they could muster with him reclining in bed eating cup pudding. Of course no matter the circumstances, Mach's answers would have been the same - a rare moment of silence interspaced with the occasional 'I'd like my legal counsel.' What? He was a jack booted thug, sure, but a state endorsed and sponsored jack booted thug! And his career tended to put him at odds with local authorities an awful lot so he had a lot of practice playing the legal card. Who said he couldn't learn!

By noon the U.T.R.A. Diplomatic Corp had engaged with the Rhy'Din Watch and provided ample information and legalese reasons for him to have vented the late Cylfer Gaines' skull. The Watch, understandably, didn't take a shine to the fact that he had still plugged a non-combatant. They… had produced that narrative awfully quickly for a murder that had only happened early that morning. Huh. Apparently somebody in the Watch had taken an interest in seeing his ass nailed to a wall… good to know. Still, by mandate of the government from where they'd come from, Gaines was still a dangerous fugitive who had crossed dimensions in an attempt to escape the law. And Mach, as a licensed military hunter for said government, was well within his rights and role to play judge, jury, and executioner. And if the Watch didn't like that they were free to file a formal complaint with the U.T.R.A., but they better not hold their asset less they want an absolute bureaucratic nightmare of a diplomatic incident on their hands.

By evening after more shameless flirting and pudding he was removed from Watch custody. Somebody didn't like him, but apparently they didn't have enough clout to stand down another whole government's efforts to protect him. He'd have snided that he felt loved because of that if not for the fact that he knew he'd have to answer now to his folks for why the fuck was he found next to an executed body. Yay? Better the evil you know then the unknown he supposed.

Getting one last check over by Ruth (who had gone home, slept, and came back… yep, gotta love the speed of bureaucracy) he was finally deemed medically cleared as well. He still had some problem bits that his regenerative potion hadn't corrected but at very least his liver was back in the losing fight of keeping him sober and alive. The good doctor still barred him from potions for another day but beyond that there really wasn't any more reason to hold him other than for her to treat him like a lab rat. Yeah, no, he wasn't sticking around for that. And so with one final assurance that he would follow up on Gaines' lair… someday… he was free to go.

By the time he left Rhy'Din General Hospital the sun had already set but the night was still young, not that he could really enjoy it. One of those 'problem bits' that still remained was his broken ankle. Not exactly ideal for someone who mostly just walked everywhere. And so he chose an efficient path that would take him to a bar, an all you can eat buffet, and a convenience stand that sold his favored brand of cigarettes… what? He'd just been given a new lease on life, damn straight he'd live it up a little!

Or more he just wanted to participate a little in the normalcy of life as he worked through the myriad heavy thoughts which weighed on him. He certainly wasn't going to solve anything tonight, he just wasn't that good at braining, but he could at least work through some of his lingering hang-ups and formulate a general plan moving forward. The crowds and schmoozing actually helped him think, or maybe helped him not to overthink as he was very sure he was prone to do. Working the circuit it would be around midnight when he hit his apartment building, trudging slowly up the steps. He was beat though staying up for a month could do that to you. But now that the battlestim he had been abusing was clearing out of his system, his regenerative no longer fixing the issues that arose with prolonged sleep deprivation he could just feel the tide of fatigue and drowsiness he'd been ignoring all this time. He was going to sleep like the dead and when he woke up, well, then he'd deal with being a mage then.

Pushing through the door, he felt a sharp snap of energy as he passed over the threshold, the tell tale sign that a magic circle had been penetrated. Huh… weird. Why the hells was there a magic circle in place around his apar-

"Mrrreeeeeerrrr..."

That weariness evaporated as a deep, primal fear coursed up his spine. Oh shit! "H-Hey!! S-S-Sir Lemon!! A-About-" He tried to back out the door but something prevented him, a glance back noting nothing but unfathomable shadows behind. Oh Shit!!! "About th-this, er, yesterday, I, um, I can explain!"

"Mrrreeeeeeooooowwrrrr..."

Oh shit oh shit oh shit!!! Okay, think Mach, think! You're trapped in a darkened, enclosed space at night with a creature that can manipulate shadows. What do you do!? With a little hesitation he reached for the light switch, his hand sliding over silken darkness. Oh fucking shit!!!

Taking quick inventory and he had very little on him to really deal with the very pissed off feline. Caster? Toast. Gun? Yeah, shooting the dark was really going to do him a fat load of good! Cantrips? Worthless. Potions? Pointless. He didn't even have any more stunner cigarettes because he wasn't expecting to come back!! The only thing he had to his advantage was that the soul bottle collar he used to trap the bestie would force it to maintain a physical presence. So gun was an option except he wasn't really keen on shooting the cat he'd gone through so much effort to save!

Willing some of his power into his tech eye and… he instantly regretted that. His brain throbbed as the rest of him noped in complying with that directive. Apparently he was magically tapped out, a month of no sleep and fighting a madsci where he suddenly sparked to his power catching up to him with a vengeance! Instinctively he shoved the palm of his organic hand into the bridge of his nose, fighting valiantly against the stabbing pain and phantom sensation of his brain trying to burst out from his eye sockets.

"Mrrreeeeaaaarr!"

He knew it was a dumb instinct the moment he did it as it blinded him to the felines swift pounce. Pain blossomed as he felt wee little murder daggers puncture his arm, claws catching him as the vicious cat snarled while gnawing on him. A surprised gasp escaped him as he swung his arm, trying to dislodge the feral beastie but it simply hunkered into his flesh, holding on for the ride. Worse, worse!! Now he was swinging around 10 pounds of enraged murder fluff as it shredded his arm!

"Let go you damn bastard!! Fuck!" Stopping that panicked flail, he tried to grab the monster by the scruff of it's neck but it wormed around his fleshy arm, biting and clawing as it went. Fuck!!! He'd earned the creatures ire in the past but never this much!!

"Dumb fucking shit hole sniffing-"

Dropping the duffle with his gear in it he'd catch his leather duster on the way down. The heavy garment yanked and pulled him as he used it to beat at the attacking cat, leather wrapping and smacking him in the process though this did little to dissuade the shadow creatures ire.

"Would you fucking let go!!?! Taj vadak!!" Spinning about he whipped his coat around back, catching the furball in the face, stunning it a moment. HA!

"OW! You cock brained ashpit!"

He blinked a moment, jubilation waning. Wait, did he hear something? The thought came and went as the creature coiled and leapt for his face claws first. Holy shit!! He stepped backwards precariously from the attack, the heel of his boot meeting a slick of his own blood which rained from his assaulted arm. His ass hit the ground with comical speed, rolling back as he just avoided a face full of shredders. "Seriously! Quit! Look, I'm sorry but you knew what was up!"

Landing with grace the feline turned and hissed, showing blood soaked fangs, a murderous glint in emerald eyes. "Mrrre-know shit about the dumb fucking-aaaarrrer-brained idiocy of your-rrr. Hiissssaaaa!"

Okay, he definitely heard a voice that time! Pain and fatigue hampered his attempts to think things through as the feline lunged again. He grabbed wildly at the creature with his prosthetic hand but the cat melted about that with poise, springing off shower and straight for the face. He'd just get his other hand in the way, dull pain throbbing as he little shit bit into the flesh of his palm.

"Rrre-fucker tricking me and locking me in this -grlllrrrer-posed to be a team but you always just-rrra!"

Pushing past the copious pain he let the shadow monster gnaw away at him as he focused on the words. "-you think that fucking Olen just gave you a fucking cat!?!"

"Wait… Olen knew about this!?" It was the first thing his sleep deprived brain latched on too but it seemed to give her murderous creature pause in it rending of his flesh.

"... you heard that?" Emerald eyes flickered dangerously as they watched him over the crest of his hand.

"Y-Yeah?" He was pretty sure? To be honest his brain was swirling the toilet bowl but he was pretty sure this wasn't a hallucination. "Something about Me thinking Olen just gave me a cat?"

Sir Lemon watched him ponderously for a long moment before finally relinquishing the mouthful of his hand they had, rising primly even as they licked his blood from their lips. "How?"

He shrugged honestly. "Why now!?"

"Because something happened when I went after Gaines, something… I don't understand. But you said I just thought Olen gave me a cat, what did you mean by that."

The feline watched him for a long moment, emerald eyes growing wide a moment. "You're alive."

He shot them an incredulous look. "Not by any help of y-"

"Release me. Release this binding you put on me!"

The demanding tone surprised him and made him leery all at once. Release the shadow monster who had been chewing a few holes in him, what could go wrong? Still, something about the inflection in those words felt emotional… betrayed. Maybe that was his own guilt reading into things but at the same time the creature had stopped attacking when it realized he could… hear it? Nothing about any of this made sense!

After a moment more of deliberation he made the umpteenth 'whatever' check and reached out to undo the snaps on the collar. The banded leather slipped off easily, taking the harness and bottle still glowing with an aspect of himself within it. "Alright, alright, there."

The feline shuddered slightly as the collar came off, it's outline growing a little diffuse in the dim light of the apartment. Stretching languidly, they shot the bottle a look. "And that."

"Hey, if I do that you'll get your ass linked back to me."

" Regrettably, yes." The cat licked itself casually. " But that is what Olen wanted."

"You still haven't explained that to me yet." A wary jab which warranted a sharp look from the creature.

Glaring a moment longer and the cat shifted as though sighing. "Do you not know anything about familiars?" A pointed look saw the animal cleaning itself once more. "Don't answer that, I know you don't. Look, I don't know Olen's reasoning either but they thought you could support me, and they were right. I don't know why, I don't know how. What I do know is now you can understand me when for years you've been so damn deaf and dumb. Release me so we may return to our pact."

He'd always imagined the damn creature having a dismissive attitude but it was actually kind of aggravating to hear such given voice. "Hey, I never made any kind of pact. I always thought this was some sort of death curse. A final 'fuck you' from that little-YEOW!" He yanked back his hand from the creature as it carved fresh valleys into his flesh with its claws, a low growl emanating from the ball of fluff.

"Do not think to slander the one that summoned me to his existence!"

"Oh yeah? Fuck Olen, seems me they screwed us both!" That growl grew in volume, the breastie flexing its claws. For his part he squared up, readying himself to stand and deliver. "You can't tell me this life after their passing has been a fucking bed of roses for you. I've treated you like a shitty malevolent annoyance for years and that's all on Olen too."

That growl grew but seemed to lose steam as he spoke, their claws flexing back into their murder beans. "That… is true… but you have shown much kindness too."

This warranted a blink. "You've got to be shitting me."

"Only in your shoes..." He blinked again as the cat seemed to make a joke, it's eyes scrunching in silent mischief. "You and I both know what I mean. And besides that you've never tried to remove me before now, before what should have been your end. You understood the ramifications of such, or so I believe, and still did not just act in your best interests and get rid of me as I am sure you could have. You are certainly more resourceful than you appear anyways." Another glare was shot at the collar before the cat returned to cleansing itself.

He wanted to deny the creature's words and yet he knew he couldn't. They were all true, even if he didn't want to admit certain aspects. "So I'm a bleeding heart. You've still got a get out of jail card and every right to use it."

"This is true..." A pause held as they licked their, um, bits, before continuing. "But after consideration I think it appropriate to continue with you. Deal with the bastard you know then the one you know not."

"I don't think that's how that goes..." Hands went up innocently as the feline shot him a glare.

"I also wish to honor that this was Olen's last wish and that there was a reason for this. That reason, apparently, is now."

"Oh bullshit he could have seen this coming… right?"

The cat leveled their emerald gaze at him. "I don't know. It would be unlikely but there was some reason they did it. A feeling or something else. Either way, you'll need me in the coming days and weeks as you come into this… state."

"Need you?" A scoff escaped him but quickly stifled under the creature's murderous gaze.

"Yes, need me. You know nothing of the true nature of the ether and your relationship with it. As a hunter you are nothing but a child with firecrackers, killing yourselves with that which you know not. Even now you assume the ether is just a reservoir of power to be tapped at your leisure when really it is a partnership, much more two way in nature and dangerous then you give it credit for. I can guide you, help you find balance, stability."

"Can you teach me magic? How to use… this?" He flapped his hand emphatically.

The feline sneezed. "Not as you understand magicka, but I can help in other ways. Besides, you should be grateful, I am well assured you would never attract a familiar on your own." Did the damn collection of shadows look smug!?

Considering things for a long moment he finally sighed in resignation. "Alright, alright, whatever, but in honestly I don't actually know how to release the binding..."

This warranted a dim look. "You don't even know how to release your own binding?"

"I kind of… stopped listening to the enchanter after they told me how to cast the binding..." Oof, that look was growing dimmer by the moment! "What!? I wasn't supposed to be around to worry about this!"

"And how did you expect another to free me!?"

"I don't know!? I figured maybe a strong enough magus or at least a determined enough one would have figured something out."

Another sneeze, or was that a sigh? Either way he was sure he was being judged... poorly. "Ok… magic, at its core, is about will, imagination, and intent. If you focus on releasing the binding while doing what you did to bind me then you should be able to reverse the spell."

He mulled that over a bit. "Okay, but what do I say?"

The creature gave him a look before headbutting him. "I just told you magic was based on intent, not given phrases. Say what you think you should, what you think will help a binding release. It has to come from inside you to be effective."

The both of them stared at each other for a long moment before the cat sneezed. It was obvious to the both of them that this was all above the likes of him, especially with how tired he was. But then again he suppose he'd already felt this today, when the name of his dead friend became the onus for that fireball that blew Gaines' up.

Reaching out, he laid his hand on the softly glowing soul bottle, a cold shiver running up his arm and spine. Huh, had that felt so wrong before? Perhaps it was the fact that he could even feel the bottle in the first place given the neurological damage from his once disorder though if he was being honest he wasn't quite sure he was actually feeling the bottle itself. He felt the containment vessel but not the physical vessel if that made any sense. Sure didn't to him and it was his hand!

Thinking back to what was said, to how it felt, he tried to look into himself for guidance... Or words would be useful… Or anything maybe!? Damnit, this kind of crap just wasn't his cup of rum! But… that didn't rightly matter now. Whether he liked it or not, he had to accept it. And so he took another deep breath, staring into the perverted void of his mind as he thought.

"Bound, unbound.
Tied. Untie.
Contained. Be free.
Let this open and what's within be fr-... Let out.
Sirmillion!"

Smearing another smudge of blood on the bottle from the many wounds in his hand, he felt a cold snap of energy breaking. The bottle grew warm a moment, the light within flaring before it faded away completely.

He felt the energy course into him, alien yet familiar. It warmed him and filled him with vigor, like a breath of fresh air or a cool beer on a hot day. And with it he felt something else entering him, foreign and yet well known, nostalgic in the best ways. It crept around the edges before seeming to hesitantly settle in, seeping into his very core.

The rush of sensations made him gasp, feel like he could do all the things! And yet as this rush passed he could feel the riptide of exhaustion yank him down, the world blurring as he grew very whoosy. Balance just up and evaporated as he fell over, his eyes fluttering close against his demands they stay open. But that was one cheque his body was willing to accept - tab was up, time to pay his dues.

He could have sworn he saw a woman stooping over him. Lean of frame and pale of skin, with angular features and deep, emerald green eyes. They looked… familiar… but he just couldn't place them as his eyes drifted closed, his head making contact with a warm, fleshy pillow. Thighs? Whatever it was it was the last thing he felt before he sank into unconscious…

No, no, the last thing he felt was the sharp rap of knuckles across his cheek. "Bastard, this is the only use you have for my name…" And he was out, not to awake for three whole days where he would find himself bandaged, on the floor, and still faced with the undeniable fact... yer a wizard Mach!

[Mach]

Mach and the Brick Wall of Ignorance

Falling back, Mach leaned into the chair's natural inclination to spin, the enclosed world of that office rolling past. Bookcases stood unevenly filled, the bestiary tomes all but untouched while the shelves on magus and magic had been emptied, their volumes strewn across the old couch usually used for sleeping. More books, checked out or 'borrowed' from local shops and libraries also littered any horizontal surface that stood still long enough, a menagerie of receipts, post-it notes, and napkins marking off various sections to return to.

A notebook was laid open on the desk, it's pages scrawled over with little notes and shitty drawings and diagrams. Many of the little tidbits were crossed out with varying degrees of agitation though a few were circled and fewer still circled emphatically. This sat next to an unassuming black box with a single diode blinking green in a slow rhythm. It wasn't a normal part of his terminal, with every cable connection to and between his computer components feeding into and out of the unassuming little cube.

A total system proxy and data capture, courtesy of his madsci friend Regi. Kind of a virtual private network if it were on steroids… and meth… and was maybe a vicious pirate to boot. Ok, maybe not like a VPN but it did the same sort of thing! It let him snope into databases he shouldn't be able to while making it impossible for others to trace said snooping back to him. Of course, rather than a dedicated network of relays to accomplish this, his little devil box kind of… co-opted business grade servers to act on his stead. A bit of a cold blooded method of doing things but he was snooping into hardened military databases guarded by the most vicious programs chained madsci could dream up, he needed some serious processing power of his own to avoid capture. Of course not all business servers were created equally. Like the Temple Educators Credit Union. Down in 5 minutes flat and still having lingering issues with their banking systems… whoopsie! At least he knew where not to open a slush account.

The other feature of the little black box was that it helped him hack into low level systems and it recorded everything that crossed his computer - input, output, keystrokes, mouse movements… everything. The sort of work he was doing was generally regarded as highly illegal so it paid not to linger and leisurely peruse. No, better run along as deep into a topic as links would take him, capturing full scans of the pages for later viewing.

Couldn't he just use his own government login to look all this up? Certainly, but he was already under suspicion by Purity, no need to make himself look guiltier of subversion then he already did! Anyway, his login really only gave him access to ways in which to kill a mage, not how to be one. That discovery wasn't super surprising given the amount of propaganda he was generally fed about mages. Why did he need to understand such a duplicitous and dangerous enemy when he had a gun! Still, he downloaded all the hunter license review material he could get as well just in case it would be useful. And hey, never a bad time to bone up on your handling of dangerous maleficarum… what? He still had his day job!

If anything little had changed about his circumstances after he woke up from that prolonged sleep. He was still Captain Elitia Turner - Mach - Mage Hunter for the U.T.R.A. and general all around asshole. He still had reports to file, cases to work, people to schmooze, and mages to hunt. At very least that last one should have given him pause he felt and yet… it didn’t. They were still maleficarum and he was still a peacekeeper. There were no sudden feelings of camaraderie with these folks, no sudden pangs of guilt or empathy just because the both of them could potentially tap into the ether unfettered. He felt just the same about mages as he did before he fell asleep, as he did months or years before - generally okay but a real bitch to deal with if they decided not to be. You know, people, except normal folk weren’t usually capable of dealing with these particular people when they got ornery. And so, yeah, he still had a job to do, odd and hypocritical as some may have claimed it to be.

Then again his general apathy to the magus plight may have stemmed from the fact that he was, by all accounts, a really shit mage. He wasn’t good at channeling energy, wasn’t good at shaping it, had an ‘ass backwards’ view of will according to Sir Lemon. On top of this he couldn’t cast a spell to save his life, couldn’t even repeat that feat he’d done that night against Gaines. It almost all seemed like a dream save for the fact that he could produce, poorly mind, mana now rather than burning away his own life force to feed his caster. And, well, he was still alive even when by all rights he shouldn't be. Of course he still couldn't feel a damn thing in anything that stuck out of him so it wasn't really much of a life. But… it was his.

Now if only he could do something about it! Slowing his spin, he looked back to the scan of the ancient book of magical treaties and writings from some long dead dudes and dudettes currently displayed in the monitor. Not overly long dead, mind, as one of the authors had only been killed a hundred years or so ago when some unfortunate band of proto-hunters happened upon one of the Lichified writers. Apparently they were still creating volumes right up to their explosive end, a scholar through and through. For Mach's part he was just glad the text had a lot of pictures with it because he didn't understand a lick of the actual written word, and this wasn't even all due to it being written in high Tangreese. He wasn't big on book learning to begin with and this stuff had to be the biggest, bookiest book booking he'd ever laid eyes on. Suffice to say it wasn't his cup of rum, but it was the most useful bit of text he'd come across in almost a week of research.

The hunter scripts had, unsurprisingly, been light on the details of mages other than 'casting mage = bad, pew pew immediately.' He did learn quite a few things that he was sure were just glossed over during his initial time through academy though, if only because they were trying to pump out as many hunters as they possibly could - wartime education and all. As for what he could steal from the mage academies and universities, well, those were… um… very scholarly. A lot of philosophy, theory, and advanced concepts but nothing for beginners… or dummies anyway. This wasn't too surprising, mage training was a very secretive art and he ventured digitizing such only made it that much more stealable. As such, mage training and its materials had remained surprisingly analogue and cloistered for almost all countries across Tang. Apparently they weren't super big on the tech revolution and even less so on the madsci revolution they were living through today. Mages were musty old stubborn grumps, who could have guessed?

As for the stuff he leached from the universities and bookstores around Rhy'Din, well, he just didn't have the background to really make heads or tails of most of it. A lot of the 'beginner' stuff seemed more snake oil or teenie bop exploratory love potion crap then useful learning guides while anything with any pedigree was just too hard to determine if it would work for him or not. He took a lot of notes and tried a lot of things though without that base knowledge he really couldn't tell if he was failing because he sucked or failing because what he was trying just wasn't geared for how Tangians processed ether and magicka. All in all this research had proved to be an exercise in tedium, humility, and downright mockery of the scholastically challenged man.

And as for his 'familiar', well, learning from them went about as well as could be expected. Or about as well learning high concept, ambiguous universal knowledge from a cat could go. Then again Mach was sure the problem simply lay in their incongruent nature's. He was a human and they were an amalgamate of sentient spirit, ether, and magic existing in the most tenuous of terms. Understandably they had very different ways of perceiving and understanding the world around them which made the sharing of concepts… difficult, to say the least. At very least they helped him to understand some of the peculiarities he hadn't been aware of about being a mage, and the dangers that lay within such.

Like how his connection to the ether now made him more susceptible to it or effects transmitted through it. As well, it made him more noticeable and impressionable to those creatures that shared such a connection too. Not to mention there was the ever present feeling that you could do more of anything with just a little more magic. That ever present spectre of power creep which was the veritable crux of the corrupting influence argument that magic had over mages which 'necessitated' the level of suppression and vigilance over them back home. Guess the best propagandas always have some truth to them. Still, his magical desire wasn't some megalomaniacal spiral into scholarly hermitide so much as just wanting to be able to do anything. Power mad Mach was future Mach's problem, so long as he lived long enough to see such a future.

And to do that he was going to need to master these powers, and he was obviously going to need help doing this. But who could he ask for such? It's not like (reputable) mentors were just advertising their services on VisageTome Marketplace. And even then - who could he trust? He was still under surveillance by Purity so whoever mentored him would have to be conspicuous and trustworthy - traits Mach didn’t attribute to your typical Rhy’Dinian. If he wasn’t careful he could end up with another, better hunter coming to show him some perspective for empathizing with mages. Bad prospects all around.

Another look was cast back to the eldrich tomb scan which displayed on his screen - words written in old dead dude surrounding a geometric pattern placed between a drawing of a horny girl with birds in her hair and a sword wielding snake. Huh… right, he’d stopped here because of the girl grinding on the alchemy matrix. Yep, definitely time to go out and get some fresh air, maybe pursue something else because he’d obviously booked himself stupid. Hitting the kill switch on the little black box; the entire system quickly encrypted all its data, cut itself off from the outside world, and shutdown so no one could snoop anything he’d been snooping. As for his notes, these were dumped into the thermite lined safe beneath his desk, the tamper sensors activating as he locked and sealed the box. Try too hard to break into that and the entire damn thing would destroy everything within while melting itself through the floor. A little overkill? Maybe… but these were secrets which could veritably get him killed. And with all this done he’d snag his pack of smokes on the way out, locking the office door behind as he set out to seek some answers elsewhere.

[Mach]

Mach and the Madman's Ruminations

The woman smiled in a very precise, friendly manner, head tilting ever so slightly so as to imply interest. Mach found the whole display disquieting in the polish of its presentation... or because from the chest down they were a rats nest of tubes, wires, and electronics. The minimalist pincer robot arms attached to the soft and voluptuous female… bust… didn't help things either. With a weary sigh he moved a chess piece at random on the board setup between the two. "I leave you alone for two months and this is what you get up too!?"

From their nest of food bar wrappers, empty drink containers, monitors, computers, inputs, and other random tech, the madsci barely moved to look out at him. "I’ve been working on them for over a year.”

Mach shot the man a dubious look while a robot pincer swirled thoughtfully over the chessboard. “I’m pretty sure I’d have seen half a naked girl just laying around here.”

Picking up a piece, the pincer moved and settled it down on the board in a new location, a whir heard as it precisely adjusted the piece to the exact center of the tile. “It is your turn ERROR 1134 - MISSING ID LINK.” His expression withered as the robot smiled sweetly, head tilting in an attempt of being cute.

"They were much more robotic before. It has only been recently that I've acquired the shell which you see now."

He gave the man a look. "I'm probably going to regret asking, but 'acquired' a shell?."

"From the red light district."

Mach sighed, not feeling very good for being right. "So… it's a sex doll."

"Was a sex doll."

"One - ew. Two - please tell me you washed i-"

"It is your turn ERROR 1134 - MISSING ID LINK." Mach felt his teeth grind as he shot the robot a glare. Mindlessly he snatched another piece, moving it t- "Pawns are -never- allowed to move -four- spaces for-" He drug the piece back three spaces with a scowl which seemed to please the robot as it's pincer started up it's 'thinking' idle animation.

"I've autoclaved everything and have been replacing worn down components from reputable sources. The legs, particularly the hips, will require extensive refurbishment which is why they do not have a lower body at the moment."

He considered all that for a moment before throwing the emergency brakes on that line of thought before it went too far. "Riiiight… but you said you've been working on this for over a year."

"I have. The core, or the 'brain' as you would call it."

"That's taken you a year?”

They shot him a bloodshot, dubious look from over a monitor. "I've been programming it and helping it develop and learn organically.”

"Organically? Why not just shove it on the internet and..." The cigarette bobbed mildly between his lips as he thought on this. "...let me guess, that drove your last attempt insane?"

"Depressed, actually. With psychopathic tendencies though it did develop a strong affinity for cats."

"Ah..." That lone cobalt eye shifted to watch as the robotic girl threatened him with the cabbage patch, pincers swirling like a blender. Catching him watching them, the thing paused mid-cabbage, a moment's thought before it bonked itself on the side of the head, tongue popping out the opposite side in a cutesy manner. Seemed the madsci didn't just throw out the internet addled mind, waste not want not after all. Of course that probably meant this thing has psychotic tendencies… awesome. New strategy - let the robot win. Not that he was likely to win a game of strategy in the first place but still! "Still surprised I'd never seen it around, this place isn't exactly huge."

"You have." This garnered a lift of brow… and a roll of hand when that wasn't enough to prompt the man to explain. "That mobile observatory platform that you've seen about. I believe you called it 'trash cat'."

This had his other brow lifting in surprise. They stuffed the 'brain' of the ornery multi-legged, multi-eyed mechanical menace into this girl!?! "It is your turn ERROR 1134 - MISSING ID LINK."

He gave the gynoid a withering look, thinking back to the creature that used to threaten to make him a eunuch every time it tried to crawl into his lap. "Wait… that thing is the trash cat!? Then what the fuck is up with this 'missing ID link' business, that damn menace was always trying to crawl up on me and steal my shit! It damn well knows who I am!" A glare was shot at the robot which observed him a moment before covering its face with its pincers. Rotating left and right in embarrassment, they played back cutesy audio in a gibberish language… Earth Japanese he was pretty sure, something about 'oppai'. This only added to his annoyance.

"Yes, I thought that was odd too. Maybe some data loss after the transfer? Or else they had your ID data associated with something unique to their old body and haven't made the link in their new body. Or they could just never have bothered with assigning you a unique ID..." Mach pinched at the bridge of his nose, that annoyance only growing.

"It is your turn ERROR 1134 - MISSING ID LINK." Another glare was shot at the robot before he took a mental step back. With a silent count down and a drag off his cigarette he let all that agitation out with a sigh of smoke. Right, he had to remind himself that Regi was a madsci and this gynoid was madsci tech, shit just never made sense around them and theirs. At very least they weren't trying to actively kill him, which was a far improvement over his last madsci encounter.

Another move at random was made to placate the talking toaster as he turned his attention back to the madsci in their nest. "You know; whatever, doesn't matter. You get any results off those things I asked you about a few weeks ago?"

"The burnt out caster and the prosthetic arm fragments you provided? Yes, I do have some results on those."

This had him perking up. "Oh? What'd you get?"

The man paused in their typing, thin fingers slipping from a keyboard to shuffle amongst the detritus which surrounded them. After a bit of pile moving they toss a stack of clipped papers to him. He caught the rather hefty stack with a 'oomph' and a scowl. "This is a pretty impressive pile of paper for an investigation that wasn't supposed to have a paper trail..."

Regi shrugged. "Have to get information in some form, and analogue is track and snoop proof if you don't know about it."

His cigarette bobbed mildly in grumbled concession to that point though it dropped as he looked at some of the page headers. "You sent all this in to the U.T.R.A. for analysis!?"

Already the man was back to their computer, fingers flying across the keyboard as a soft 'tack' resounded next to him. "It is your turn ERROR 1134 - MISSING ID LINK."

"Regi!"

"You wanted magical spectral analysis among everything - only people that do that kind of analysis is the U.T.R.A. I sent it as samples to individuals who I trust and know discretion."

An aggravated groan escaped him as he made another move before the robot bitched at him again. "That's not the… I mean… Damnit Regi, I needed to keep all this under wraps! And nothing about the U.T.R.A. is under wraps except maybe the black op goon squad that'll come after me if they link any of this back to me!"

Despite his lividity, the other simply shrugged. "There was no other way. And besides, do you really think a wanted fugitive would do anything that could come back to them?"

Mach opened his mouth, angry finger ready to emote his case though the simple point made did wonders to steal his bluster. "Well… I mean… no, but!" Pointing a few more times at the man for good measure, he finally slumped back listlessly. "Yeah, ok, point. So you've got madsci contacts in the military?"

"More a network than just contacts..." Mach felt an inescapable shiver run down his spine at the implications of such. Like he didn't have enough reasons to distrust the system! Still, it made a sort of sense given that captured madsci were often used by the military as part of their 'rehabilitation and monitoring.' Why the hell wouldn't they have an affinity for their still free brethren… you know, after getting some common emotions beat back into them. And if normies were ever going to form a soft spot for the lot it would likely be when their more amoral and maniacal edges were buffed down with antipsychotics… Did he mention he already had plenty of reason to distrust the system? "But they are discrete and they have already lost any trace of this analysis."

The perpetually paranoid part of him highly doubted that and yet Mach was very well familiar with madsci, even reformed madsci. They were, on the whole, a far too truthful lot thanks to that lack of social conformity. If they told you they did something then it was almost guaranteed to be a done thing. Just the same, if you asked one their opinion on something you better be ready for a brutally honest response. Shaking his head, he moved a piece to appease the gynoid once more as he started to dig through the paperwork. "So… anything of note they found?" A mild look to the madsci knowing that they probably read over this already being a voracious consumer of knowledge. If a guy with a brain had already read this then why not get the Cliff Notes edition rather than relying on his crappy thought porridge to make heads or tales of the highly technical document?

Regi stopped their incessant typing a moment, thinking. "Samples from both sources showed high amounts of etheric saturation and buffeting consistent with combat. This was confirmed by the spectral analysis which indicated a lot of force manipulations along with some high throughput elemental spells. Crystallization stress was noted in both samples consistent with blowback though there was no runic manifestation. The conclusion was these were likely from a caster and hunter armor that had seen battle… though that much was easily derived by just the condition of the metal and ceramic composite."

Mach frowned a little as he took in all that information which read like any other hunt debrief he’d ever had, minus all the preaching about his purity. "So… there was nothing out of the ordinary? Nothing strange about either sample?"

The robo-girl chirped at him about his turn but all his focus was on the ragged man that watched him over a monitor. "No, nothing out of the ordinary. Should there have been?"

He worried the butt of his cigarette between grinding teeth as that lone cobalt eye dropped to the board before him. "I… don’t know..." Which was very true, though he had certainly hoped there would be something. Some evidence that the events of that night hadn't just been a fluke as he was yet to reproduce any of the feats he'd supposedly done. The only evidence that something had changed that night was still just the simple fact that he was alive weeks past what was supposed to be his expiration date. But other than that, well, he had just been Mach, as fucked up as he had ever been and no more the capable of wielding the ether than any other second rate hunter. It was, frankly, getting to be a little galling to have been branded with the bio-signatures of a mage without any of the ability. Shifting his woes from a problem he at least knew to one he had no clue about but would kill him all the same while painting a target on his family to boot.

Struggling with these thoughts, he didn't even notice the lean man crawling out of their technonest until they placed a hand on his shoulder. Looking up, he saw the weary features of the man held to that passive stoicism that was the hallmark of madsci apathy. "Eleanore… I think it's about time you tell me what's going on. With this, and the black box diver you requested earlier, there is something you're not telling me."

He considered the man for a long moment, his jaw flexing as he came up with at least a dozen different ways to dodge the question. At last he let out a plume of smoke as he settled on the least likely of them. "Yeah… maybe… You remember Clyfer Gaines…-"

Settling in, he told the man the entire sordid truth. Only the second person to learn of this dark secret and the first he trusted with it unlike Dr. Ibanez who just happened upon it. It wasn't something he had been keen to do, not because he was trying to protect himself, though there was that too. No, the main reason was, honestly, to protect Regi. Turning a hunter into a mage? That kind of secret was a damning hot brand that would bring down the fiery hammer of the U.T.R.A. on any Tangian who knew about it. And while the madsci was already a fugitive, the fact that they could even live in a city with an active U.T.R.A. presence meant that they were intentionally being overlooked. Kind of like Delorno and their lot - fugitives who were of so little concern to the state that it was easier to leave them be then to bother justifying to the Rhy’Din authorities that they should be dragged back to Tang. Unfortunately, when due process was off the table but someone still had to be dealt with, well, then the solution became starkly clear. It was Rhy’Din after all, folks unalived all the time for numerous mundane and extraordinary reasons that looked suspiciously like murder for hire.

Dumping the rook he just took into his growing pile of pieces, much to the dismay of the robo-girl, he settled back once more to watch the other as they processed through his tale. It was at once a lot and yet not much at all to digest though as the moments mounted he felt the madsci may well be truly grasping the extent of the implications. "So… Gaines somehow elicited an arcane potentiation phenomenon in you?"

He shrugged. "Yeah, that's about the long and skinny of it.”

They tapped their chin with a skeletal finger. " And you do not know how or to what extent this potentiation was actualized?"

"Nope..." He worried that abused cigarette butt a bit more. "And before you ask - yes, I really did have to kill Gaines..." That answer to the unasked question shot off preemptively, defensive even though this just left the other blinking.

"Of course." And now it was Mach's turn to blink at the others' frank acceptance of that.

"That's it…? No 'you could have interrogated them' or 'violence is not the way'?"

Regi simply shrugged. "What's done is done."

His eyes narrowed. "But you still believe I shouldn't have killed them."

"It would have been helpful to have them alive, yes." He scowled but this did little to dissuade the dispassionate madsci. "But they had tortured you for a month, weaponizing your own memories to achieve their outcomes. And they would think nothing of doing such again, and again, and again until they had perfected their craft. It would have been more concerning if you hadn't killed them, because then that would mean they had broken something fundamental in you."

That logical argument quelled his bristling hackles, soothed his punchy personality ready to defend his choices as so often he had to I do. "Oh… huh. Yeah, I guess you're right…thanks Regi."

"It is still a maladaptive trait, but you are who you are."

"Thanks Regi..." And there was the other shoe that was all but guaranteed to drop when dealing with a madsci, though it still stung to be called maladaptive from somebody who was clinically such. Still, approval, understanding, or not, he was still up shit creek without a paddle with Gaines being dead. Damnit, screwed him all ways that bastard did! The thought only made him wish they were alive more now than ever solely so as to plug the bastard again.

"Check ERROR 1134 - MISSING ID LINK." Brought back to the moment by that autotuned mockery of a girlish tone, his expression only soured more, noting the absolutely smug expression that held to the half-automata's face. Damn madsci's one and all! Moving a rand- "You are in check ERROR 1134 - MISSING ID LINK. That move is illegal as it does not remove your king from peril." Or not, what about thi- "You are in check ERROR 1134 - MISSING ID LINK. That move is ill-" His teeth ground as he slammed that piece back in place, a tertiary look actually given to the field of play before he made a move. He waited a moment to make sure the damn toaster was okay with this move before dropping the bishop he just took into the pile of captured pieces.

"Damn it, I was really hoping to get at least a few answers from this!" Tossing the report aside, he sullenly watched as a few shadows from under the couch approached it. Unseen 'eyes' watched him for a long moment before a menagerie of metal hands, paws, pincers, and even tentacles dragged the hefty packet into the murky dark, likely never to get seen again.

For their part, Regi had retreated back to their nest, settling back in like nothing had happened. "I don't think any answers can be found in the past Mitch. This secret is too dangerous for the U.T.R.A. to simply leave accessible behind a few powerful firewalls, particularly not with the 'madsci spring' that's being observed. And the parameters are too strange for conventional investigation."

The man… had a point. This secret could rock the very foundations of the social order in Tanga. If hunters, the protectors of the common man against mages could be turned into mages then what? And if they could then who else? It would be absolute bedlam - riots, anarchy, witch hunts, civil war… a veritable bloodbath that would only make conditions ripe for neighbors to come in and help themselves as they 'restored the peace.' Millennia of self sovereignty destroyed in a few short years of everyone collectively losing their shit. No, if the U.T.R.A. knew about this they'd definitely hide it by any means possible, and certainly secured against any sort of madsci probing given their growing numbers as recent… or survivability at least.

Theories were that madsci had always been about, but it had only been with technology at the point that it was today that they could really flourish. Not to mention the fact that until the modern era, most madsci were either institutionalized or just dealt with via mob before they could really become a threat. A failure of the heterogenization and urbanization of society which destroyed the community centric model which helped keep madsci (and mages consequently) in check. But today, well, not only did most madsci survive their 'spark' event, but also their subsequent 'kindling' which meant much more of them were running around today being problems for society and the government. This also meant you had a lot of lateral thinkers now that could not only poke where you didn't want them to, like Regi, but also compile mass sums of data. If the secret to his change could be predicted or determined by mere models and normal investigation, it probably would have been discovered several times over by now.

Which, all told, didn't leave him in a good place. "So you're saying to stop looking into this?"

The gaunt man shrugged. "I'm saying your time is probably better spent working on the solution than the problem."

His brows stitched in irritation at this. "That's what I've been doing though!"

"No, you've been seeing if you're alone in this, if there has ever been another case like yours. And if there was, then what did they do about it. Barring that, your hoping to get a solution given to you by studying how magic is taught in Tanga."

This had his brows twisting even more though he felt that frustrated tension shifting to aggravated tension. Aggravation that the madsci… that his friend was calling him out. Of course for them to have formulated that opinion they'd have had to know what he was looking for using that little black box of theirs. Secure against back tracing except for the one who made it it seemed. Part of him wanted to snide at what gave them the right to snoop on his snooping but even he knew that would be a tall order of hypocrisy to try and wave away. "So what do you suggest then?"

"Accept your condition as it is - you are the only one you know who has ever faced this and there are no traditional resources for you to figure this out. Now find the solution. Maybe you'll be wasting time reinventing the wheel, maybe not, doesn't matter. It'll be time spent on progress then wasted on navel staring."

The filter of his cigarette pinched shut between the grinding of his teeth, frustrations mounting before at last he blew out a long, tired sigh. Damn it… they were right. He had been hemming and hawing about this, feeling pity that he was alone while desperately trying to find proof that he wasn't and maybe get an easy fix for all his woes as a bonus. But there wasn't any proof for such, and grasping at straws wasn't doing him any good. Learning from Sir Lemon was a bust and there was nothing that he would be able to easily glean from the mages he so hunted. So what did that leave him with? A big ass problem… and apparently a need to do some lateral thinking of his own. He scoffed softly. "That easy huh? Any suggestions then for an idiot that's supposed to somehow reinvent a tradition of mystical craft honed over thousands of years in maybe three tops?"

Regi shrugged. "Maybe see about getting a focus or wand. After that… practice? Maybe a mentor in an adjacent field to magic. Surely you could think of a few of those. And they would warrant much less scrutiny than spending time with a mage."

That… was a rather well thought out plan. It certainly wasn't the sort of thing he expected the man to come up with on the fly which probably meant that they hadn’t. Huh. Maybe he wasn’t so alone in all of this as he thought he was… if only just so. A madsci with a tenuous at best relationship with the real world wasn’t exactly a great ally to have in something like this but… maybe all he really needed was some perspective. It certainly seemed to be helping now as he started reanalyzing the problem from the ground up. It… was not pretty, but then failure wouldn’t be either. “Right, maybe I’ll stop off at a wizardry shop on the way home and pick up one of those thin pricked wooden dildos that seems ever popular.”

This garnered an incredulous look from the other. “You don’t have to reinvent stone too. You know what a Tangian mage uses.”

He blinked at that retort, considering a moment before he had his answer. “Your talking about a battlemages wand?”

Regi nodded, not even looking up from their screen. “Seems appropriate.”

“Me with a sword ‘seems appropriate’?”

They waved a hand dismissively at him. “Get something else then, doesn’t have to be a sword - those doctrine texts you pulled on fighting battlemages say as much.”

“Right. And where am I supposed to get…” A thought crossed him as he dumped the remnants of his cigarette into a nearby soda can. “... oh shit. The burnt out caster!” It made perfect sense. Casters, by their nature, were magical foci… with a bunch of other stuff, sure, but at their core! That was probably why he could use that burnt out hunk of junk to burn a hole through Gaines, it wasn’t because he’d somehow made the damn thing work again, he’d just used the thing to focus the energies he’d gathered.

Bolted up, slipping to his feet. “Ok… ok… I think I got someone in mind who can help me with that. And maybe a pretty bad idea of how to maybe approach the other side of this…” Pausing, he looked back to the frail man in their nest, a smile crossing him. “Hey man… I… thanks. I… think maybe I was a littl-”

“THIS CANNOT BE!” Mach jumped at the aggrieved screech, the madsci following suit as they leaned out of their nest to see what was going on. “I am in checkmate! ERROR 1134 - MISSING ID LINK put me into checkmate!” Looking back to the gynoid he’d sort of forgot about he noted how they’d stopped rolling their torso about in melodrama (why he’d started ignoring them in the first place) and instead… pointed a pincer straight at his face. Yikes!

Still, he looked past the accusatory point and to the board beyond, a quick appraisal warranting a surprised grunt. “Huh… so I did. Lucky lu-”

“You cheated!” Bemusement crossed him as he looked back to the teary faced (minus actual tears mind… probably a few system upgrades needed for that) robot.

“Wha- cheated? How the hell did I cheat? You’re the computer!?”

“Actually she’s an organically raised artificial intelligence that values learning and experience over simply accessing databas-”

“You toyed with my fragile emotions and took advantage while I was distracted!”

This… this left both Regi and he speechless, which was impressively bad. “I what!?”

“I can’t believe you would do such to me Mach!” He blinked in sheer stupefied confusion.

“Oh! Looks like they’ve resolved that identity address issue.” His gaze swung to the madsci looking rather pleased with this.

“Great. Look I-”

“How could you!” Mach looked back just in time to slip away from a flailing pincer, the robot looking particularly hysterical.

“Whoa! Hey! Watch out where your… swinging…” A shiver ran up his spine as his pasta senses for danger ramped up. Taking a quick inventory of his surroundings and he noticed a lot of little robotic eyes now staring at him from the shadows. Oh shit! Regi may have been a mostly harmless madsci… but they were a madsci nonetheless. There was always danger to be had when dealing with any of their lot. “...Regi?”

The man looked back to the monitors for a bit, tapping their chin thoughtfully. “Fascinating. They’ve actually subverted the subnet of the collective consciousness and is exploiting a feedback loop to influence all of the logged in processors…”

He started to back away as the shadows began moving, edging towards him as the unholy girl bust broke down, playing back more gibberish Earthrealm involving a lot of ‘bakas’. “Regi?”

“I don’t think they actually believe you’ve cheated but are using the potential emotional nucleus of that thought as a means to process out and resolve other emotional threads while trying to mesh the results with other examples they’ve picked up from-”

“Regi!?”

“Hmm? Oh, right, yes, run… fast.”

Damn it! Leaping over a hoard of junk bots which surged out from under the couch, he quickly made his escape from the little shop of horrors. Why was it always like this with that man!? One step forward, two steps back… though at very least he had a plan. Damn… he was going to have to thank that senseless idiotic savant… later… much later… and probably from afar if murdertoaster and her horde of minions didn’t get to him first!

[Mach]

Mach and the Head Games
Warning - NSFW Content (pillow talk)

"Ya really want ta do this…?"

Mach popped his neck side to side, smoke in, smoke out as he limbered and pumped up. "Of course, I mean, why not?"

"Caaause domination is bad?"

He pursed his lips dismissively, waving off the half-elves' concern. "Gotta get through my head like a rock first, yeah? Anyway, I'm a hunter, I think I can withstand a little subjugative magic."

"How 'bout the fact ya let me think ya were dead for a month after all tha shite with Gaines? I-" They broke off, jaw flexing as they pushed those emotions back down, keen not to break down again as they had when he first arrived at her little hidey hole in Cadentia. Not exactly the amount of 'get as far away from Rhy'Din as possible after taking your shots' that he'd meant but it worked out at least. Smoothing out their angular features, the woman fixed him with a very intense gaze. "I have good reason ta really give it ta ya."

"That's, um, good!" He sounded a little less sure of himself than before but took the woman's scorn in stride. "I want you to really try! The whole point of this is to get real, but safe, experience with-"

"Contending wit' magic cause yar a mage now, yeah, ya said as such. Still, if that's true then-"

"It's true… or at least my actually being alive is proof enough that something's happened, something that I need to get a hold on."

She waved off his sales pitch. "Yeah, yeah, I get it, or not, doesn't matter. If it's true then ya'll be much more susceptible ta my weavings than before. Just want ya ta know and acknowledge that 'fore ya accuse me of taking advantage."

He considered this a moment before offering them an easy smile. "So I've heard. But I've been working on that… though I still need to test it. Anyway-" And now that smile waned some, burdened. "- I'm still broke down there, yeah? Still can't feel a thing in any of my extremities which makes it impossible for the ol' Captain to stand at attention."

The prostitute gave him an incredulous look. "Ya know, there are other sexy things a fella can do than just pumpin' and dumpin'. And I know yar deviant ass self ain't so very innocent as not ta be into any of that." They shook their head. "Consent is consent Mach. Ya either drop tha bravado an give it or ya find someone else ta try an scramble yar nut ta try an nut."

Mach opened his mouth to snark off but held it back as he noted the dead serious look in those emerald depths. It was a gaze which shamed him as he'd just assumed they'd be fine with whatever given their primary profession. Way to be an ass to the sex worker Mach! Shaking away that feeling of guilt, he nodded solemnly. "Alright, I get you. I consent to and accept all consequences of this pretty stupid idea."

They watched him a moment longer before finally relaxing some. "Really…?"

"Yes Talila. And I give you full rights to hit me with a stick or what have you if I get out of line."

"I do still have my revolver..."

"Okay, I draw the line at assenting to being shot… in critical bits. Non-critical and only if absolutely necessary! So we square?"

The woman watched him for a long moment before smirking. "Yeah, we square. Ready fer me ta rock yar world?"

He smirked, striking a defiant pose as he met their devious gaze "Hit me with your best shot-"

...

...

Mach blinked at the sight of dirty white plaster painted over with the red orange hues of sunset, a cool breeze washing over him. Wait… what? Letting his gaze wander to take in his surroundings he recognized the room as the one he'd been in, just, shifted. For one, he hadn't been on his back before. For another, it had been noon at best, right after lunch. Now, now it seemed to be evening given the picturesque scene framed by the terracotta window frame - rolling curves of sand and shadow, supple plains and hills, the brilliantly full moon on display… and then there was even the view outside the window of the sun sinking below the rooftops of the little desert oasis!

Indeed, he was staring at the very lovely and very nude backside of the half elf woman. Huh. He noted signs of… vigorous exertion… along their form as they lazily smoked a cigarette. Huh. Looking down then and he finally noticed his own lack of clothing, a sheet the only thing keeping the proverbial elephant out of the room. Huh…

His rustling attracted the woman's attention as they looked back, their expression dusky and tired in that fat and sassy sort of way. "Is this Mach or Daddy?" They purred in that husky way only a dame who smoked could, the sound sending a shiver up his spine.

"Um, wait, daddy!?"

"Ah, Mach." There was a hint of disappointment in that tone though he did notice them visibly relaxing. "Ya fully awake yet?"

"Whaddya mean 'fully awake'?"

"Ya know, not fadin' back into..." They gestured about the small room, pointing out a few objects in disarray. A few cleared surfaces, a turned over coach, clothing strewn here and there, a hole in the wall where the door handle had apparently punched through. Wait, wait… shit, right, he'd started out in the living room, he didn't recognize this room! But, yet he did though he wasn't sure why or even how they'd come… he was carrying her upstairs in such a way that would make the kama sutra blush, she was laughing, directing him to the bedroom, he was eating... cake?... off her bust and just kicked through the door eliciting a squeal…

"What… in the-"

"Fuck? Yeah, there was a lotta that going on." They smiled cheekily as they walked over, sitting down next to him. He felt the shift in balance as they sank into the mattress but not the feeling of their tush pressed next to his, nor the squeeze of fingers on his shoulder as they offered him their cigarette. "I, uh, did warn ya that..."

"Oh, um, yeah, you did, you did, and I consented… consent to everything… probably. I just… damn… was I-"

"Really pent up? By Yylsvia yes. But don't worry yar pretty head, ya were still really good. Like, dayum good. Most folk I've charmed usually just rut about in thar own pleasure but ya were a real go getter."

"Huh..." A swell of pride rose in him which he quashed just as quickly - focus Mach, not the point! Taking a drag off the offered over cigarette, he still ruminated on all of this. "I… hrn… I don't really remem-" She held it behind her back playfully, but he just went through than around, grabbing her shirt with his teeth and… A wince scrunched his face as his brain felt like it was streaming a video that had fallen out of sync, racing to try and catch up. For the woman's part they simply shook their head at him, long fingers pushing upon his chest to guide him back down.

"Don't push it, ya will with time. Parta the seduction charm involves messin' with memories, thoughts, turnin' 'I shouldn't's to 'why not's. I did as ya asked and hit you with my best shot… kinda thought ya'd have done better honestly..."

"That makes two of us..." A sour note to his reply as he really was kind of disappointed in his lack of mental performance.[/color]"I'd have thought at least the ring wouldn't have failed me."

A slender finger taped his brow playful, pushing him as he finally complied and lay back again. "Plenty a' ways to bypass that ring if'n ya know what to do. Though..." Angular features scrunched a little now, even as they curled themselves up against him, long limbs sliding to twine with his. "I think what that bastard did to ya… it did have an effect on ya."

This warranted a lift of brow. "What do you mean?"

They shrugged as they rested a mildly pointed ear against his chest, over the stylized fox tattoo printed there. "Just… it was easier, yeah? Yar mind was more open, more… connected… ta tha liowella, the underflow. Different paths then those of men or hunters, of arcanists or even wvotvyl. It made it easy ta slip in and pluck at the strings of yar thoughts."

"And elicit.-" He motioned to the signs of frenetic chaos which surrounded them. "-this?"

The half elf chuckled, fingers stealing the cigarette back from him for a drag of their own. "Oh no, the suggestion jus' helps lower inhibition. 'This'-" She motioned about herself, streaming smoke before she popped the cancer stick back between his lips. "-was all ya."

"Me?" He gave her an incredulous look.

"Yeah, like I said - pent up."

He could feel his expression ease back to merely dubious, but while he couldn't remember the specifics, he could feel the truth in that statement. Mostly from the sluggish responsiveness of his prosthetic - the battery obviously worn down. Dayum… "Alright, alright, Mach's a very horny boy. Still, to jill you off for hours straight… I'm surprised I didn't saw you in half!"

"Jill?" The woman considered this a moment, realization bringing a finger up to poke his nose. "Na my eager beaver, ya were mostly tryin' ta split me like a lumberjack. Took me in every which way..." That smile of theirs turned goofy once more as they purred. "Did ya fella hunters proud I say."

This, of course, drew a curious lift of brow from him. "Took you? With my worthless junk?" The sting he once felt over those bitter words was, like said junk, now simply numb and dull. An insult he'd lived with for long enough now it had lost its novelty, becoming just a part of who he was. Yet another thing robbed from him by that disorder which should have killed him if not for the machinations of that damn madsci. The last straw that had seen him pushing away all close relationships, trying his level best to be an island when he himself admonished others for doing such. Great advice apparently when you weren't the one who had to follow it! Only good thing was that he was naturally so cagey to begin with which made those efforts a little too easy.

For all his emotional damage the half elf simply nuzzled him contently. "Oh worthless would not be what I'd call it. Seemed perfectly capable of standin' at attention, salute an' all. Could certainly pass muster. Were I na sae practiced I 'magine ya coulda hurt me with that!"

He ignored their complaintive mewl as he sat up some, looking at them for some sign of mirth or shenanigans. They appeared to completely stand by what they said… What!? Getting it up much less maintaining such should have been near impossible without medications which would make Viagra feel self conscious. "And did I.. uh, you know..."

"Cum?" The term was simply stated, an involuntary twitch at the corner of his lips though seemed to tickle them. "Orgasm? Squirt da juice? Plant da seed? Spill the-"

"Yes, yes, any of those…!"

They chuckled at his flustered response, booping his nose as they nuzzled his collarbone. "A lot. Pretty glad yar lot is as sterile as mine cause if onea us wasn't I might have ta worry. Did almost drown once… Choke? Both." She nodded firmly in self agreement.

If achieving and maintaining wood was near impossible without sensation, then that was firmly on the other side of the impossible line. And yet apparently he had done just that, a lot apparently though damnably if he couldn't remember! Part of him didn't want to believe such could happen, that the woman was lying or somehow mistaken about things. But even be couldn't swallow that they'd craft such an elaborate lie for no reason, and he certainly couldn't believe that they could be mistaken about such given, well, what it was. All this could mean only one thing. "How…?"

The woman looked up at him, a lazy smile on their lips ready to poke fun at that question. And yet something about his expression seemed to stop them, prompting the woman to sit up, watching him with concern. "Wait, really? All that's a surprise!? I mean, ya said… but I thought ya were, ya know..."

Shock crossed their angular features as he nodded. "Gaines' little 'treatment' may have linked me more with the ether, but it didn't do Jack that I've noticed to fix any of the neuroatrophy that's been affecting me. I really can't feel shit which and a good imagination hasn't done anything for ages so..." He waved about flippantly with his hand, the movement sluggish as it seemed its battery was critically depleted… dayum.

Talila played a finger idly along his chest as their expression screwed in thought. "Huh… I guess that makes sense..." He quirked a brow down at the woman prompting them to continue. "I mean, ya were really amorous after my casting but ya still seemed to be puttin' up a fight so I kinda played with the flow of yar energies. Ya know, get the sexy flowin'? Can make even the meekest Johnny inta a tiger which helps make fer a memorable time."

Energy flow manipulation. He'd heard of this before from Reg, the prospect brought up as a possible cure for what was killing him. Of course nothing came of such, not that he was surprised. Nueroatrophy was merely a symptom of the greater problem, something that could contribute to his demise but not cause it outright. Like treating shortness of breath associated with a heart attack without actually addressing the stopping heart.

But even then, what they'd demonstrated seemed… much milder in effect then this. Was a little pent up horny really so powerful? "Huh… so you're saying you were able to magic my dick?"

The shake of their head took him by surprise. "It's not really 'magicking yar dick' in the sense ya probably mean. More… pushin' around the energy already there. Working it through the connections and-"

"Connections?" He sat up, brining the woman with him as something about that struck him. " What connections?"

"Of yar body." They spoke with a note of incredulity. "Head bone connected ta hip bone, hip bone ta the leg bones, that sorta thing?"

"But those should be..." Destroyed? Vanished? Broken? It wasn't well agreed on why or even how folks afflicted with spirita dissociation got neuropathy. The actual nerve cells weren't physically affected by the dissociative disorder or anything - for all intents and purposes he should have been able to feel things. And yet... he just couldn't. Proof positive that there was more to the self then just the chemical makeup of one's thought porridge though that knowledge only really proved a boon for theologians, academics, and philosophers. Hunters and their ilk though, well, they were pretty much just S.O.L., or so he thought. "...you know, not there. Right?"

The lanky woman considered him as they stole the cigarette again for another drag. "Ain't the case with ya… I mean, they're certainly atrophied, more likea golems than a person, yeah? But they're still there, stronger than some other hunters even I've slept with."

Mach felt his lips straighten at that. 'Stronger than some other hunters…' It wasn't exactly 'smoking gun' kinds of evidence but before his encounter with Gaines, Mach knew he was at his end. Sure he didn't get it quantified, but he could just feel how little of him was left. It was, frankly, a feeling that was probably going to haunt him to his proper end, the closest anyone should ever have to get to actually staring into the not so proverbial abyss. He was well beyond, horny hunter or not, seeking any sort of carnal comforts which should have meant he was worse off than any hunter the night maiden had ever had. And yet… yeah, here they were. Something had changed in him, and he couldn't help but salivate at the possibilities. "So those connections still exist. And you could manipulate them..." He stole the cigarette back for a thoughtful drag. "Is this something you could make permanent? The flow?"

The woman's expression strained a little as long fingers came up to play in his hair. "Sorry Turner, that ain't really my wheelhouse. Imma prostitute, nah a Vyolbelwa..." They offered him an empathetic smile. "I can manipulate such energies when I'm weaving but not elsewise. But… maybe another can help with such?" His brow quirked as they twirled about a lock of brown. "Seems maybe an alteration school of magic, yeah? Or maybe a spiritualist sorta thing. Outta be in someones wheelhouse."

That wasn’t exactly a cheering answer but nonetheless it did give him something he felt he’d been woefully lacking for some time now - hope. For connection, for some semblance of normalcy, for a future that wasn’t just persisting. It was almost too much to hope for which was perhaps why he worked to pump the breaks on that swell of emotion, the jaded hunter whispering at the back of his mind, reminding him who he was. Still… he couldn’t contain all that excitement as he drew the woman’s lips to his, savoring that moment of intimacy, that soft warmth and tender ply.

"I certainly hope so." A smile tinted with true warmth pulled on his lips as he broke away from that kiss, the expression natural… before it curled further into a grin. "Though you think maybe we could make… this… something of a regularish occurrence?"

Emerald eyes fluttered closed as they too enjoyed that kiss, the grin missed though they snorted softly at his words. "Think ya could afford me on the regular hunterman?"

"Afford? I was more thinking what’s a lay between friends every now and then." That cocky smile grew but stumbled as he considered the crassness of his words. Right, gotta remember that not everyone was of so casual morals as he. For all the times such had bit him in the ass he’d have thought he’d have a better grasp of that but then here he was single as a pringle and still very much a hot mess.

Though the elvish woman simply smirked at his terribleness, a kiss planted along his jaw. "Cheap basta’d, though I guess ya do got some rather nice… tricks." Another kiss. "An’ I do fancy ya, when yar not being an absolute dickhead leaving me ta think yar dead for a month." And now she bit him, playfully though with a hint of annoyed aggression. Letting that chuckle slide into a sigh, they settled against him once more, following him as he laid back once more. "Just… wanna make sure ya know this ain’t ever gonna be nothin’ more than a casual little affair, yeah? I like ya Turner, but..."

He felt them shiver ever so slightly in his arms as they struggled with their words, trying their best to be considerate he ventured. Mach was still Mach after all though he couldn’t help but feel that wasn’t the whole story. That maybe they feared what he was beyond the schmooze… or maybe simply what such could mean for them. They’d killed for him, and even now he knew that weighed on them. Burdened them as it should anyone whose life wasn’t predicated in violence, and it was plain to see that his life wasn’t going to be getting any safer anytime soon.

He’d silence them with a kiss, holding it until whatever excuse they had been crafting left them in a breathy sigh. Breaking away as they started to melt into his lips, he’d take the brief dazed moment to tap them on the brow. "That’s your first mistake - liking me. You of all folks oughta know I’m just a walking dick with a nicotine habit and a killer chin." The woman gave him a look, reading that waggle of brows for exactly what it was as they smirked before breaking into laughter that was melodic and tempting, enticing him, calling on him to let go and-

Mach felt a shiver run down his spine like lightning as very graphic memories suddenly rushed into his mind, the buffer apparently finally catching up. That was, he was, they did… da-yum! Blinking back his shock, he barely registered the woman sliding out of the bed, scampering for the door.

"Aye shit man! Yar gonna break me in half!" He quirked a brow as they made their retreat, a playful smile upon them as they pointed to… oh my~! Guess they weren’t lying about him being able to stand tall as he looked down at what appeared to be a circus tent. "I’mma getting something to eat first!"

He watched as that invert heart sprung through the door, fleeing for the kitchen leaving him momentarily with his thoughts. Today had certainly not gone as planned. It was very disappointing to see just how exposed to the effects of magic he was, how easy it was to simply slip in and scramble his brains with him being none the wiser. He’d… have to figure that out. Along with how in the hell to exercise severely weakened, but still present, connections to himself… and the world beyond.

Two steps forward, one step back. But at very least he knew what he had to do next. "Hey, think you still got any of that cake left for daddy?" He called out playfully after the woman as he slid out of the bed himself, taking up naked pursuit.

[Mach]

Mach and the Wand of Stabbing

His vorpal blade hummed as it parted the air, bearing down on the giant's clavicle. The beast let out an enraged roar, fists brought down like thunderous boulders but he was too quick for them. With grace he rounded that blundering strike and cut, cut, cut! The blade rendered flesh like a hot knife through butter, feeding off the blood of his foe, the bloodlust of it's mast-

"Oi! Na fucking around with tha merchandise!"

Mach jerked at the booming command, the sword he was playing with fumbled and nearly dropped on his foot. That, that was a little close… too close given how many inches that black blade sank into the wooden floorboards! Gingerly, he plucked the sword from its sullen placement, the metal groaning with what sounded like a touch of menace. "Barlow! Heeey, good to see ya buddy..."

"We are not buddies." The stout dwarf stomped over (more a product of the plate armor they wore then any rush to save him from his own stupidity) swiping the sword from his hand before giving it a close inspection as though the very act of just interacting with him would somehow damage the blade. Ouch, rude! Well assured he had not screwed up the weapon, the burly man placed the blade delicately back upon its wooden display.

"You know, swords and such are meant to be used, yeah? Not shoved up on display."

"Aye, a tool for a proper handler, na tha plaything of a fool!" The surly man huffed as they trudged back to their counter, a wooden box pulled out from beneath. "What in tha deep are ya doin here Turner? Need me ta tune back up that ceramic suit o' yar's?" From the box they produced a small cigar which they clipped between their lips? Hard to tell with all that glorious mustache and beard the man touted, the braided and beaded tendrils falling down to their belly. Still, they offered the box his way which gave him a moment's pause before he took one of the offered smokes. Smoke em if you got em! Then again he was a little leery of 'smokes' from a culture that collectively breathed coke smoke and forge tar for a living.

"Actually I, uh, kinda broke that..." An anemic grin crossed him as he sniffed at the cigar; notes of rock, dirt, and plant matter you probably shouldn't ingest heavy at the front.

"Well I don't doubt that. Yar dumbass is still about an' that's wha' ceramic's supposed ta da is break rather than ya. Shoulda gone with a proper suit o' armor if ya didn't want ta whine about yar shit breaking!" Biting off the end Mach… didn't see them spit it out before they grabbed a burning coal from a nearby banister, using it to light up their smoke.

"I'm not whining, just letting you know what happened to it is all..." Unlike the dwarf he cut the end of his cigar. Or more accurately he cut it off with a knife built into his prosthetic though the cigar refused to light by the flame of his Zippo knockoff.

This seemed to amuse the surly dwarf as they grinned broadly at him, no teeth showing from beneath the curl of their mustache. "Gotta use an ember. Rotharium an' Deep Thistle won't light by that weak flame! " Luckily he was right handed as he naturally reached with the prosthetic to catch the fresh ember the dwarf tossed him… lovely. "Sa... if not for yar shit armor then what?"

Mach felt like he was drowning in a dry and burning swamp as he puffed that cigar to life, his tongue going numb as the ember was tossed back into a nearby bannister. Fuck, what the hell was wrong with this thing!?! Willing back the urge to cough, his eyes still watered as he spoke hoarsely. "Y-Your wife, Gleda, sa-" A fit of hacking took him as a bit of that oppressive 'smoke' rolled down his throat. For their part Barlow simply ambled over to give a 'gentle' smack to the back, nearly sending him face first into a barrel of nails.

"Oi, ya ain't supposed ta drink it ya idjit!" The middle finger he waved at them seemed to only amuse the dwarf more as they gave him another staggering pat.

"My special order..." Another wheeze as he straightened. "She said it was ready you smartass." Out of habit he lifted the cigar for another puff, being careful to keep the caustic gas to the fore of his mouth. What? It was like breathing a burning tire pile but boy did it hit, and that was saying something for a two pack a day idiot like him!

That grin almost showed teeth before the request drained that expression from the stout fellows features. "Was hopin' ya'd forget about that honestly. Things far tae good a thing for tha likes o' ya." Smoke streamed from their squat nose, sinking towards the floor as they motioned for him to follow them into the back.

He wasn't exactly keen to follow, mind, but the other didn't give him an option as they disappeared through the squat doorway. Damnit. Bending over, he shuffled his way through the dwarf sized hallway and into a wall of oppressive heat. He'd probably have started sweating if he thought it would help, or more maybe he was sweating but it was just evaporating as it left him!

Either way he eyed the wall of furnaces and forges along the wall, numerous dwarves busying about only adding to the palpable heat. A few of the bearded midgets gave him a stinky side eye but they mostly just ignored his existence. Taking another roll of his cigar, he couldn't help but notice the smoke actually rose in here, huh. "That kinda talk might hurt my feelings! Certainly ain't gonna make you popular with customers."

"Bah, I'm a master smith naught a damned milky titted nursemaid! Folks don't like mae can go get fucked." They cast him a look. "Ya'd probably like that." A bark of laughter escaped the stout fellow as they ambled back into another room. A spartan little workshop with a dedicated forge, oven, and smelter along with all the tools a person could and couldn't even think to ask for.

"Don't you know it..." He was a little too fascinated with everything, and a little too being baked, to be glib. Shuffling around to try and avoid all the burn hazards, he stumbled over a pile of blades and tool heads overflowing from a barrel. Some of them looked to be very high quality mixed in with obvious failures and rejects - the dust bin of an obsessive master he supposed. Not something the likes of him could understand, he'd never had that much dedication to anything save maybe not dying. Then again, master of not dying? Ha, his prosthetics said otherwise!

Rummaging around a workbench, the dwarf pushed aside a few works in progress before drawing out a particular blade - an unassuming combat knife with a ten inch blade. Rolling it with surprising dexterity between fingers which shouldn't have been capable of such, the man offered the blackened blade to him. "Here."

Taking the knife, the first thing he couldn't help but notice was just how nice the thing felt in his hand. Relinquishing their hold reluctantly, the dwarf took to leaning against the forge lip as they continued to work their cigar. "Ya human hands are sae dainty it took a bit ta get the handle right."

Rolling the blade, he fumbled and nearly dropped the thing. "Shit! The balance is off you old fart!"

Barlow simply shrugged, blowing out a lazy swirl of smoke. "Nothin' doing fer that. Tha mix of materials and need fer strength means I had ta play around with where the center would be. I pulled it as far back as I could but that's what ya get without just added crap fer craps sake."

His frown seemed to please the dwarf but it was fleeting before surly settled in once more. Giving the blade a few more spins and tosses, he worked to figure out the weight and feel of the knife. The distribution was a little too far forward, more like a long form sword than a combat knife. It wasn't great but he understood the drawf's reasoning, he had made some rather odd requests.

But even then, as he slashed and stabbed the hot air he had to admit it felt good. "Ok, ok, I guess it feels alright..."

The dwarf snorted (they were, as a people, pretty good at that). "It feels damn good ya shit! Anythin' less is a failure on yar part, a real man would just carry a sword."

"Do I look like the sort to carry around a sword? Anyway, that sounds more like an admission of a limitation in your ability than anything wrong with me." He grinned cheerily in the face of the dwarfs glower.

"Ya don't like it ya give it back and I'll melt it down to start again."
There was an edge to their voice, obviously not sharing in his humor nor very keen to have their work questioned.

"Would the Etherium even survive another smelt? I thought the more you worked it the more you broke down it's, um, magic structure." That last bit a mutter as his ignorance and lack of academic care showed. He knew the principle of what he'd commissioned the master smith to craft, he just didn't exactly understand the details behind it. This blade was no mere combat knife - it was a magic focus, a wand in the manner of the battlemages from back home. Functional in all capacities… though they did actually carry swords.

"If yar a fucking imbicile… or a shit human. We dwarves know how ta maintain a crystalline structure." A modest understatement given the fact that what he held now was mostly the remnants of the destroyed caster he'd used in his fight against Gaines, melted down and repurposed given his affinity for the magical focus built-in. Another little thing he'd learned, or probably relearned, about hunters - their connection to their casters and the fact that such grew with use. Kind of made him wonder how much better he'd have been with the thing if he didn't have to replace them so often due to 'gross negligence with equipment.'

Shrugging, he gave the blade a few more practice swipes. "Alright, alright. No need to bother for a novice like me then, yeah?"

"Proper tool fer tha proper handler." Without batting a beady eye, they held out a massive hand for him to return the weapon.

Shaking his head, he took a puff off his cigar, rolling the blade around. "Drama much? It's good work Barlow, sheesh, don't be so quick to melt it down! Anyway, you think someone will take to a tool right away? How about you and your hammers, yeah? Each of these a match made in heaven right off?" He swept his hand across the small workshop.

This only made the dwarf snort again though they did drop their hand. "Most of these are shit. I make 'em sing."
Taking another puff off their cigar, they let the smoke roll lazily about in muddy pools "Tha's what a master does."

"Well surprise surprise, I'm not a master of bladed things."

"This is true." A grin curled on them once again as his own smile soured. "I weep ta think about my work going ta waste on tha likes of ya. But..." And now they shrugged, chucking the remnants of their cigar in the forge behind them. It… it didn't combust. " Maybe it'll help ya from not dyin' from yar own stupidity."

"Your confidence in me is uplifting."

"See, an' ya say ya ain't a master. Why, yar a fine example o' a master smartass!"

The bastard laughed heartily at his expense, the boisterousness infectious as he couldn't help but chuckle himself. "Yeah, yeah, mastery at its finest. So about payment..."

He reached for his phone but the stout man stopped him, shaking their hairy head. "Yar money ain't worth shit here Turner. How 'bout ya come over and have dinner instead? The missus likes a stupid an' hearty eater an' Moval is rather keen on ya. Maybe a few tosses with yar boney ass will set her straight in her tastes!" Cackling, they'd give him another clap on the back almost dropping him on his own blade.

"Barlow..."

They clapped him again before ambling for the doorway. "Don't make mae repeat myself ya dumbass. Yar money bae welcome as ye, and that's that."

Cursing mildly at the feeling of a dwarf hand shaped welt forming on his back, he shot a sour glare after which eased as the other motioned for him to follow. The deal was done and that was that - not that Mach thought it very equitable but then if there were a more pragmatic individual than Barlow he was loath to meet them. A dwarf among dwarves… who would do pretty much any smithing job for him at the cost of the materials alone because he'd saved their family during the whole 'humanity first' bullshit a few years back. Not many would take the surly bastard as a doting family man, but, well, sometimes perceptions didn't quite meet reality. He could certainly appreciate that.

"Yeah, yeah, alright. But I thought we weren't buddies."

This had the dwarf snorting. "We're not." Looking back, they cast him a broad grin. "Yar a warning sign an' I'm a fella in need a such. Now come on, I know it's usual fer yar type but quit draggin' yer knuckles!" And with that they ambled back out.

Shaking his head at the bastard's words he gave his 'wand' one more final look, admiring the fine craftsmanship. It really was a good blade, far too good for his sorts but that was neither here nor there. He'd just have to get good enough to deserve this… or die trying. Wrapping the bare blade in a cloth, he stooped and followed after the ornery little shit, tossing his cigar into the forge as he left.

[Mach]

Mach and the Holy
Trigger Warning - Discussion of Attempted Suicide

Mach's leg bounced restlessly, like a kid who was sitting outside the principal's office, nevermind the fact that he was a grown ass man. He couldn't help himself! Around him he could feel the fuzzy slickness of the darkness, a blob of eerie light dancing around just outside of his perception. The heavy miasma of frankincense and sage which hung in the air didn't help the oppressive atmosphere either, almost choking in its nature. And his sense of sound was dulled as it was assailed by a constant low, thrumming hum of vibrating metal, a mournful whine that left him on edge.

Nope, he didn't like this, he didn't like this at all! That knee took off at an impressive clip even as his fingers joined in, drumming along the top of his thigh. He wasn't sure if anyone could see the sour scrunch of his handsome features as his mind slowly succumbed to the dark, racing through a dozen different things at once. Damnit Mach, focus! He tried his level best to reign himself in, yet for all his navel gazing he just couldn't calm those raw nerves. Fuck! Bouncing and drumming faster, he ground his teeth against that growing agitation, pushing down until he felt-

Stars. And pain!

"OW!" He reflexively pulled away from the hard object making not so loving contact with the back of his head. Opening his eye, he shot a glare up at the older man that loomed before him, casting a disapproving glare back.

They weren't terribly imposing. Even sitting he was nearly as tall as they were standing, their portly form garbed in a flowing robe that was more abused plum then regal purple in color. Still, their fingers were thick if not gnarled from a hard lived life, though more importantly they held onto a wooden cane of particularly hard wood. Harder than his bone head for sure! "What the hells man!"

For his outrage they simply rapped him again with that cane, the pain less so now that he was expecting it but still! "That's my line you overstrung jackass! Just what were you doing!?"

"What you instructed me to do!"

"And how was that relaxing and focusing on yourself!?"

"Well… I mean, I closed my eyes!"

He shied back as they threatened him with their cane once more. "Congratulations, you've gotta be the first idiot I've ever seen fail at meditation. What kind of numbnuts fails at meditation!?" They spoke with a gravely timber born of a hard smoking habit, their words barked boisterously.

"This numbnuts apparently..." He spoke sullenly as he rubbed at the growing lump on the back of his head.

"Obviously." They scoffed, shaking their head. "By the Way! I knew you hunters are a fucked up lot but come on!" Turning, they hobbled off to the vestibule leading outside from the small, spartan room. It wasn't much of a temple, the room more a converted living room than a place of worship, furnished with a couple of pews and a simple pedestal adorned with a singing bowl, a candle, and a bronze incense holder. There was no iconography, holy relics, or artistic depictions to speak of though there were a couple of secondhand bookcases filled with books ranging in topic from philosophy, spirituality, and metaphysics to biology, history, and automotive repair. What there wasn't was any dogmatic scripts, holy books, sacred literature, or anything of that sort, but then Wayism was kind of a weird religion more akin to earthrealm Confucianism than anything. A reactionary belief system that came about after way ancient folks back in his homeland actually killed the gods lording over them. Yeah, hard to get behind worshiping a deity when you've got that little feather in your culture's collective history! Not that there weren't proper religions and cults and the such but, yeah, they tended not to have anymore clout than more mundane opinionated groups like sports teams or how to hang the toilet paper (atop the toilet back so it can be used as an improvised projectile weapon being his preferred method, fuck you fight him.)

Standing up from the pew, he followed after the crotchety bastard who had settled lazily on a rickety bench just outside the door, overlooking a small stone garden. A serene little space, in stark contrast to the hustle and bustle of the old temple district boulevard just beyond the stone wall fence. A bastion for contemplation and self-assessment of one's place in the vast universe, aided by sound suppressive wards engraved in the fence stones and the… caring… tutelage of the priest who lived in the apartment just above the temple. “You know, I always thought priests were supposed to be more… patient… than that..."

"Yeah? Well, I’ve always thought folks ought have at very least a couple of brain cells to rub together but here I find myself once again disappointed." Eyeing him from their perch, the man rudely stuck out a hand in an obvious ‘give me’ gesture as he pulled his pack of cigarettes out.

This prompted a very dubious look from the schmooze. "Oh come on, ain’t nothing in the teachings of The Way says I can’t smoke!"

"That makes two of us!" The comment a sharp bark barely softened by the crooked, toothy grin they shot at him. Great… With a resigned sigh he gave the bastard one of his smokes before clipping one between his lips, the end lit between thumb and palm of- "Lady Luck's? Really? Can't afford nothing better than this?"

-his hand. He took a sharp drag, throttling his aggravation. "Don't gotta smoke it if you don't like it."

The monk's expression soured more than usual before they waved for his hand. Part of him wanted to be a smartass and light their cigarette with magic, maybe burn it down to the filter for giggles. A more responsible part of him knew he did not have that kind of control over his magic, weak as it was, and he was just as likely to light their cigarette as he was to ignite their nose hairs. So with a scowl of his own he let them light up on his inbuilt lighter as he joined them on that rickety bench. Reclining, he let that lone cobalt eye drift to the clouds lazily passing overhead, just enjoying the moments respite from trying to relax meditatively.

The monk seemed to be doing much the same, though their steely eyes watched the burning cherry of their cigarette. "Nothing for it then, they just bring up old memories."

He smirked mildly at this. "Didn't think Wayist priests were afflicted with the past..."

"Ain't a soul exists not affected by the past which molded them. Haven't always been a priest either, and just because I put on the robes don't mean I'm suddenly absolved of jack nor shit." And now it was their turn to smirk as he quirked a brow at their very frank manner. Certainly not very priestly this one though then again he really hadn't dealt with too many Wayist priests even if he self identified as one of their collective flock. It just wasn't that kind of religion. Hells, he'd been brought into the fold along with a bunch of other fresh out of combat school punks during a sermon in some makeshift trenches before his first offensive action. There certainly were no atheists in foxholes, especially when getting bombarded by a platoon of mages casting meteor showers.

Still, there was something about the man that felt at once more familiar and yet distant at the same time. Fatherly, if you had pretty screwed up views of fatherhood. Lucky for them he had all the screwed up views. "Oh? And what were you beforehand?"

"Same kinda bastard that smokes Lady Lucks like they’re going outta style..." They took a long drag off their cigarette, sitting up some as they pulled the hem of their robe up while doffing the flat cap perched atop their head. Even with his long experience with the terrible side of war he couldn’t help the lift of his brows as he noted the metal cylinders that made up their legs below the knee and the raggedly healed over dent atop their bald head which looked to have been a pretty impressive hole when it was fresh. He whistled lowly which only grew their dirty grin. "Yeah, didn’t get away nearly as pretty as you." A motion to his own prosthetic arm as they dropped the hem of their robe though left their cap sitting in their lap as they reclined. "Was a Master Sergeant in the 43rd Mobile Artillery, medically discharged for obvious reasons."

"Obvious is certainly right. Looks like you tangoed with a piece of ordnance."

An amused snort escaped the fellow as they took a drag off their cigarette. "Kinda right on that account. Was down in the Maltvykee theater during the Permiatic, manning AA and long range barrage along the Sandy Corridor. Pretty cush posting really given much of the fighting at that time was east."

"In the Horaken theater..." Spoken dryly as he scratched mindlessly at his stomach, remembering the lovely time there when he got himself ripped nearly in half during his third deployment as a hunter. The Permiatic War was a lot of shit for a lot of folks.

For their part the old man just nodded, steely gaze assessing him with a quiet understanding. "Yep. Ate, slept, shit, caroused, took potshots at any wyrm hunter packs wandered too close - perfect way to spend a shitty war. Of course then those damn Vil’nyr decided they wanted more access to our southern borders, and cloaked up a platoon of beast handlers with a pack of pet Mangdrells to dislodge our position."

Mach felt the corners of his lips twitch downward as he listened to the fellow. Mangdrells were not the sort of thing a person wanted to tangle with. Large as a tank with just as much armor given their hand thick quills, they were also horned, fanged, clawed, and had a tail like a whip but with a bone sword at the end. A hundred stone of pure nasty before adding in the fact that they were naturally aggressive and ether touched, granting them the ability to generate and control lightning. All around a bad time - even hunter doctrine was to turn tail if you encountered one by your lonesome. Not that situations ever let him follow doctrine in his sordid career; the fact that he'd burnt off an arm going commando on a cult to an eldritch being demanding blood sacrifices a prime example of such.

The old priest simply grunted at his expression, streams of smoke curling from their squat nose. "Yeah, things went to shit about as you'd expect. All our equipment was really for long range bombardment though we did have a few dozen fire and forget tank poppers for just in case situations which did well enough. Course some engineering asshole didn't think to program them to recognize Mangdrells as targets so we had to have a spotter keep the beasties laser painted or else they'd lose lock."

"Also had the handlers and their dedicated goon squad to deal with too. We had an embedded hunter element ourselves but our boys were so green they may as well have been shrubs for as much good they did before getting wiped..." They shrugged unapologetically as they spoke without any of the sugar coating one usually got when talking about the cold calculus of war.

"So what, a Mangdrell chew off your legs? They're not really the 'sparing' sorts."

The man snorted in amusement. "Nah, they really ain't. Me and my boys attracted the ire of one hitting it with a popper. Tried to finish it off quick but the damn thing charged and dismembered our corporal with the laser targeter rather than coming for the rest of us directly. Left us with a bunch of worthless poppers and a 70mm gun to our name. All of us figured we were dead anyway so we gave it our all and tried to use our canon but, yeah, not exactly built for stupidly short range combat against highly mobile targets."

"We did get off three shots, even glancing the fucker one which only seemed to piss it off. Made it so when it overran our position it opted to try and fry us."

A mirthless grin pulled on the fellow, giving him a moment's pause before he worked out what they were getting at. "Oh shit..."

"Yep!" A bark of laughter escaped them as they leaned back, pantomiming an explosion with their meaty hands. "Our field magazines didn't take kindly to that ruckus and so all that ordnance went boom. Taught that fucker a lesson they'd never get the chance to remember, turned that hill top into a crater, and made me an honorary member of the air force as I got my ass launched. Flew over a hundred meters before breaking a few trees with my landing."

He grimaced at that. "How did that not kill you!?"

"By the will of the Way obviously..." The priest shot him a dirty grin. "… and a thick sheet of armor steel. Me and the boys were ordered off that shit hill but a few of us stayed behind to keep shooting at the beastie while readying a final 'fuck you' to our monster friend. I'd just finished pulling the primer pins on a magazine of shells when it crested the hill. Figured it would try to eat us but instead it decided to get shocky and caused all the magazines to go off at once rather than just one or two when the fucker was near.

"The motors on my magazine of boom went off first which made the access hatch I'd been working in buck open, catching me just before the warheads went off. I rode that steel hatch clear away from that hill though obviously it wasn't exactly tall enough to protect all of me." They taped the heels of their prosthetics on the stone flooring for emphasis.

"Luckily I fell away from that hatch during my impromptu flight cause it probably would have crushed me like a grape otherwise. Unluckily, when I hit those trees I got a piece of branch shoved up and outta my head. Took a chunk of my frontal lobe and the top portion of my skull with it." And now they patted the gnarly scar atop their head.

Mach could only wince at the mental image all that painted, and marvel at the fact the bastard was still alive. Oh sure, he'd survived being torn mostly in half during that war too, but even then he'd been a hunter. Her fast intervention had been paramount to his survival, but so had the fact that he had a full dose of regenerative on board when the injury occurred. Without that, well, there probably never would have been a Mach ever running around Rhy'Din - much to some folks continued chagrin. "Damn, how did you survive all that!? I can't imagine you were popular with the unlucky medics that found you." He smirked. "Probably hated you more than the Vil'nyr overtaking your position!"

This had the man smirking as well though theirs was much less mirthful. "Well my leg stumps were fine, those got cauterized by the explosion. The hole in my head, well, that I just got lucky."

He shot the man an incredulous look. "Shut up, you're not going to tell me the Way saw you through!"

They shrugged, taking a drag off their cigarette as they looked out to the bustling street beyond the stone garden. "Maybe it was the Way, maybe it was just crap luck. Either way I was found and treated by a healer. Closed up the hole and even filled in some of the stuffing but, you know, with space filler rather than thinking shit."

That incredulous look didn't fade at the others words, but did shift as something about that felt off. "Wait, a healer? I didn't think we had any of our boys in red out that way." Which was to say he knew there shouldn't have been any academy healers out in that theater during the war. One of those little tidbits of knowledge he never thought would come in handy. As a hunter he was constantly briefed on Tanga mage deployments so, you know, if he found one where he shouldn't have he could hunt them with extreme prejudice. Yep, even during a war his government mistrusted their own mages, but then again it was a little more understandable then given the country they were warring with was a mage centric kratocracy and, well, yeah.

The old monk shrugged. "Weren't one of ours, was a Vil'nyr healer attached to that platoon of beastmasters." They chortled as he felt his jaw drop. "Folk who focus on healing others with infinite powers of the universe are bleeding hearts no matter what side they're on. Of course I think they were more just trying to get living folks to pump for operational intel as those of us that didn't run tended to make sure we were too dead for them to do anything with. You know how the propaganda went, how they'll 'melt your mind with psychic attacks and leave you a gibbering zealot if you're captured' or whatever rot you got fed."

"Rot, huh? That sounds kinda zealoty to me." A grin curled on his lips as he half joked with the man so as to cover up the full alarm that raised in his mind. What? He wasn't any kind of ride or die patriot or anything, quite the opposite really. But he still viewed the Vil'nyr Collective with more than a heaping load of suspicion and would take the shit show that was the Tanga Republic any day.

The good Master Sergeant turned Chaplain didn't seem to hold his hangups though as they simply shrugged. "They're just people, same as us. You get your assholes and your bleeding hearts in measure, I just happened to get a bleeding heart. A combat healer that took to the role with aplomb, a right blushing virgin sorts. And the camp I got held in for the remainder of the war wasn't fancy, but it wasn't any worse than the dirt and tent city that had been my home previously. Maybe more PR than anything given how aggressive the Vil'nyr are considered in general."

"Blushing virgin sorts, huh?" They scowled at the thing he naturally attached to though it was more than a little hypocritical for him to give them shit for falling for their angel of mercy.

"Yep. Could've been a sadist underneath though, don't rightly know. After I arrived at the POW camp I kinda stopped caring, so stop thinking with your dick. Anyway, I had a family to go home to." And they shrugged again, finishing their cigarette and holding a hand out for another. He obliged out of sheer surprise that anyone would put up with such a prickly bastard.

Then again… "Had?"

Another scowl marred the fellows' features as they used a book of matches produced from a billowy sleeve to light their second cancer stick. "Yeah, had. Just because I didn't undergo all the nasty drivel the propaganda machines spit out during my internment doesn't mean I got off without trauma. I'd seen plenty of crap even before I got less attached to my feet. The Permiatic War was as much shit show as it was meat grinder, and like any good soldier I carried all that baggage home with me after my discharge. Even got me a bit of traumatic brain injury to boot."

"Bless the kind souls in the VA and my wife with the patience of a saint, but by the fifth time I nearly killed her in my sleep, the umpteenth time I scared my son and daughter screaming like a lunatic at memories only I see, well, they finally had enough. Got a nice Dear John letter telling me I wasn't the man she knew anymore, wasn't the father our children needed. Nothing but truths, but it still hurt like hells to see."

Mach frowned, lighting a second cancer stick of his own as he listened to the old bastard describe a tale as old as war. Of broken soldiers coming home yet no longer able to assimilate back into a life of peace due to the specters which clung to them. Even Mach experienced such though unlike many his meds helped, if only because their more deleterious effects were muted by his hunter physiology allowing him to take an effective dose. Many though… weren't that lucky. And it wasn't like Mach didn't have a whole host of other terrible coping and defense mechanisms born of the traumas of his violent military life. He could certainly sympathize with the monk. "So you turned to Wayism?"

They snorted with dark amusement. "I turned to alcoholism and self loathing. Lost my reintegration job and my military discounted housing. Pissed away all my benefits on drugs and cheap thrills. And when I'd had enough I tongue polished my service piece… made sure to aim back and not up since I already knew up wouldn't do me any good." A bark of laughter escaped as they patted the scar atop their head once more before reaching into their robe and producing a necklace of meditation beads. The beads of various materials, shapes, and sizes were tarnished yet polished by countless worry between the fingers, with one off shaped bead in particular worn to an almost mirror shine. They held this one out for inspection and on closer look he realized it wasn't a bead at all, but a bullet. A .45 caliber, fully intact save for the lone divot which marred the primer. This had been fired… or attempted to. That lone cobalt eye shot to the man who nodded stoically. "Yep, I had the resolve, but not even the universe wanted me."

The monk gave him a moment to process that, or maybe they needed a moment after revealing such a personal detail of their life. Either way, Mach couldn't help but feel a little stunned by that. Odds of a primer failing ignition were about 1 in 300,000. He had better odds of dying during sex than that (much better in his case given his gregarious and deviant lifestyle, but still!) It was no small miracle that this bastard was still alive to be a pain in the ass to him. "Damn..." The word hardly captured his thoughts on this, but it was the best he could muster in the face of such a personal triumph against the odds.

For their part the monk just smirked, unsurprised by his reaction. "Yeah. It was then that I turned to Wayism. Figured there had to be some reason a bastard like me was spared venting my brainpan."

"And…?"

"And?"

"Was there? A reason?"

The man took a drag from their cigarette, watching the smoke stream off into the sky as they exhaled. "Sure, plenty. Unique to me?" They shook their head with a bland shrug.

This brought a frown to his handsome features. "Did it at least help with… everything else?"

They dashed his unspoken hopes with another laze faire shrug. "A little I guess. Time and distance have done a lot more for me I think. But… considering my place in the vast everything? That's just given me perspective. I still have bad days, but they don't weigh on me nearly as much as they did. Helps that my kids have grown and my old lady has moved on, let me focus on myself. With nothing tying me down I set to traveling, thought I'd settle in someplace like the Federation or the Commonwealth Isles but found my feet carrying me just a little further." They smirked as a hand motioned to the surrounding area.

Mach's frown only grew as they spoke about finding their peace, what little they could cobble together, in solitude and an existence away. Hells, he was already living the existence away part and he certainly wasn’t finding any solace! Though that may have been more due to things like getting tortured by his greatest failure or getting his arm burned off which mired such here. Of course his frown was equally due to the fact that there was something disquieting about this. The fact that they were another that fled Tanga for Rhy’Din so as to find peace left him with an uneasy feeling. He’d always half joked about being one of the bad guys being a hunter for the U.T.R.A., for the the Tanga Repbulic, but this pattern really gave him some food for thought, left him wondering.

As he struggled with these thoughts, the bastard cast a sidelong gaze at him, a grin curling on their lips. "Not a very great tale, is it? But I still believe that I am where I am because The Way dictates it. Shepard of a small flock and exactly where I needed to be to do this..." Plucking their cigarette from their lips, they jabbed the burning cherry into his arm just above the edge of his glove.

A jolt of pain had him yanking his hand away, a sneer hitching on his features as he glared at the man. "What the hells was that!?!"

For their part they simply snorted in mild amusement. "Perspective."

He was about to snap at the curmudgeon bastard when something zipped across his mind holding him back. Wait a minute! That lone cobalt gaze shot to the angry flesh that was already swelling, which throbbed in pain from the burn. "Wait… what!?"

The old man grinned. "You’re welcome." They bowed with a mocking flourish, cigarette tucked back between their lips for a drag. "Though I doubt it’s permanent. At very least it's a good proof of concept."

"And what exactly is ‘it’!?"

"Proof that you're an idiot." They grinned at his scowl, a drag taken from their offending cigarette as they reclined once again. "Me and your pretty halfy talked about your condition. Told me about how they 'cured' you a spell. Of course I think the girl got a little too involved with the end results testing to realize at the time that they really only fucked around with your energy at the beginning. Once you got going though, well, that was all you."

Mach worried the filter of his cigarette, thinking through what the man said. "So… you're saying I only need to get the connection started? Get that done and the rest will just keep going?"

"Something like that. The girl was right, the connections are still there, just atrophied."

"How did you get the connection started though? I didn't notice anything… hells, you didn't even touch me!"

They grinned mildly, reaching over to tap his forehead. "And that's why you're an idiot. I didn't do a damn thing but help you forget about getting in your own damn way."

He started to pull away from the brow tapping when those words stopped him. "Wait, what?"

"The only thing I did for you was tell you a story, nothing else. But it was a tale that drew you in, one you could relate to, make you forget all the shit of the now."

Mach considered this. "Okay, so?"

"So you forgot, for a moment, that you shouldn't be able to feel." They shook their head in disappointment as his brows lifted, a pudgy finger halting the obvious questions on his tongue. "We purposely block out that we feel stuff all the time. The air around us, the feeling of our clothes, the pressure of the ground pushing up on us as gravity pulls us down… it's all too much if we were to experience everything all the time. So we don't, we just get it into our heads to purposely forget all the unimportant crap. I think, and am apparently right, that you've just gotten so used to not feeling anything that even now that you can your brain just rejects the sensations."

He felt himself reeling at the thought. Was it really so simple, counterintuitive as it seemed? He had always kind of attributed his loss of senses as a sort of atrophy, but he'd never imagined his continuing problem could be that he had just gotten used to it. Then again he really should have though given his experiences with prosthetics which, unless he thought about them, now felt no different than the original limbs. "So that's it? My own minds just been fucking with me this entire time?"

"Something like that."

He shook his head in disbelief. "But… what about Talila needing to screw around with my, er, mojo to get me to… open up?"

The man simply shrugged. "Like I said, something like that. There probably is a disconnect too between your old senses and your new ones, being a mage and all. That lot do seem to have extra senses, as you aught know. Connected to the ether or such.."

Mach resisted the urge to groan as the fellow laid everything out in such a simple way. A solution to so many of his problems just reasoned out in the course of a smoke break by some random bastard. It was almost galling if not for the feeling of unease that crept up his spine. "Wait, what do you think I-"

"Mage? Your hooker friend told me. Quiet the mouth on that girl, believe you me!" They chortled in a dark, conspiratorial manner. "Maybe a little bit too loose though, for your sake at least. Don't think they'll sink you intentionality, but she could certainly fuck you by surprise." They spoke mirthfully, enjoying all their double entendres though their warning was loud and clear which only made him curse under breath.

"I'll… have a word with her."

"I'll bet." They waggled their brows at him before breaking into a cackle most unbecoming of a priest. "Anyway! I do believe you got what you were looking for, so you owe me 4000 nobles for today's lesson."

Mach felt his dour expression only sour more at the man's ill humor rounded out by a not so subtle shakedown after such a core shaking revelation. "Yeah, yeah… didn't think I'd actually have to pay a shepherd for their services."

They shrugged. "Ain't typical services. Besides, Wayists aren't beholden to any sort of vow of poverty."

"Sure, sure..." Reluctantly he produced the sack of coins for the man who snatched it greedily to inspect it's contents. "Just what the hells you going to spend that all on? Figure it's gotta be local since you made it very clear you didn't want any Tanga din."

"Of course it's all local, you didn't hear my tale? Ain't a thing left for me back in Tanga. Besides, the pachinko parlors and soaplands down on Kabuki Street don't take none of our foreign currency."

A shudder ran up Mach's spine at the mention of soaplands from the disfigured bastard, his mind shutting down the imagination fast on that one. Lovely. But then why not a whoring priest to help solve the problems of the likes as he? Wayism wasn't big on preaching morals; just one's relationship with, place within, and part of the order of the vast universe. You could be a leach, a bastard, or even a psychopath and still be a Wayist, so long as you understood and accepted how such would fit in, or out, of things and what ramifications may come of such. Seemed almost fitting then, in a twisted way, that he'd get such a simple but needed answer from the likes of this man. "Right, right, no need for details buddy." Finishing off his cigarette, he snuffed the butt between gloved fingers as he rose from the bench.

The old shepard didn't even look up at him, still counting out the nobles as they spoke. "So, see you next week, same time and place?"

This arrested his lazy saunter for the gateway leading back to the bustle of the Temple district. "Why? I can't meditate worth shit and I think you've proven this is all in my head so that seems a good place to start."

"By going to a head doc?" They shot him as incredulous a look as he felt about that prospect but he kept his poker face.

"You got a better idea?"

"Well, I can't keep telling you stories whenever you want to feel the burn, but I don't rightly believe therapy is going to help you any being a cagey hunter as you are. So seems to me you're going to need to learn how to meditate."

"I just said-"

"I heard you, boy! You're the idiot that's thinking in terms of black and white, and you call yourself a Wayist!" They snorted as he just gave them a withering look. "It's like throwing a punch - there ain't just one way to go about it. And even if you know how, you still gotta practice to be good at it. Have to condition and build strength too so you've a body that can throw that punch as well as weather those blows you receive from being punchy."

"So, what, you saying I need to practice at meditation?"

"Among other things, yeah. Seems like you could also need some guidance on walking the path, help figuring how to get out of your own damn way, one old soldier to another. And I am a sheherd, after all."

"Could've fooled me."

They snorted. "Was this not helpful?"

His snappy rebuttal caught as the man cast a smug, knowing look at him. There was no way all this was intentional… right? But, then again, maybe the unconventional was what he needed and this most unconventional priest could relate. Or, more likely, they were just an asshole and similar folks got on well together. Either way he wasn't exactly keen to admit such so he simply stuck his tongue out at the man gathering a wry chuckle. "Yeah, yeah, we'll see."

"Well, I'm sure with that glowing personality you'll do wonderfully with a shrink. Or maybe a crunchy hippie in a leotard, learn some yoga while you're at it..."

"Get fucked."

"That's the plan!" They lifted their bag of gains, grinning and cackling as he rolled his eye witheringly. Still, he couldn't help a small smirk as he turned for the gate. "So what's your plan now chief?"

That lone cobalt eye turned back to the man, watching a moment before a half cocked grin pulled on his lips. "Think I may use some of this new perspective and follow-up on a lead I got on the other half of the equation."

"Oh?" They quirked a brow at him. "Thought the halfsy said you were pretty outta luck on the learning magic front." That grin of his faltered a little as they spoke more about what secrets Talila was letting drop, and to a sketchy priest too!

Resisting the urge to palm his face, he simply sighed as he looked back to gate, and the bustle of Rhy'Din beyond. "Yeah, well, I've still been working that angle regardless. Pretty sure this will be a dead end but… perspective, yeah?"

This garnered a grin from the old monk. "Oh ho, sounds like I was very helpful." They snorted out a laugh as he rolled his eye at them again. "So what is this new perspective?"

"'Could be worse.'" He grinned as they scoffed at the dig, that easy banter between soldiers. "Think I'll try hitting up a fugitive battlemage that's made their way to these shores. See if maybe they'd be willing to teach me the Tangian way."

And now the shepherd's smile evaporated as they gave him a very dubious look. "You think you might wanna pay for your next few lessons in advance?"

"Why's that?"

"I don't think I'll be seeing you again is all, on account of you being dead."

Mach smirked mildly at that. "Hey, this could go alright!"

"I can't see any way a meeting between a military hunter and a fugitive battlemage can go except violent."

He shrugged, heading off for the gate. "So it might be gunboat diplomacy, could be worse!"

They balked at the foolhardy confidence which only made him laugh, finally feeling that maybe he'd one upped the bastard, at least once. Then again it really was the old monks' lesson that even made him consider this opportunity as it was, frankly, the simplest solution… if not for the difference in danger level being him feeling outsmarted by a bastard or getting his skull vented by a fireball.

He pushed open the gate and was immediately washed over by the sounds of the city once more, the silencing spell broken. The sights and smells of the old district assailed him though his attention lingered on the phantom sensation of warmth seeping through his glove as it rested on the metal latch of the gate. It would be gone before long, he could tell, but at least he had a way forward, a way back to the life he'd truly abandoned.

Stepping through, he paused at a gruff 'hey' that rumbled behind him, drawing his attention back to the monk. They were standing now, their cap back in place hiding the gnarled disfigurement of their skull. Still the same squat bastard, and yet there was something graceful in the movement of their gnarled fingers as they drew their hand down from the sky to before their face, swooping in to touch over their heart before finally sweeping out to him, or more the world at large. Their expression was relaxed as they smiled at him. "May your steps ever carry you in The Way."

It had been many years since he'd seen the sign, heard the blessing of the religion he was supposedly a devotee to. And damn if it didn't make him feel like a fresh out of academy hunter, huddled in a trench, receiving the word for the first time again. Damn them!

Shaking away that feeling of smallness, be touched his hand to his brow, tipping it forward and back to them, the response bubbling up from memory as he answered. "And yours too."

[Mach]

Mach and the Nice Way

Gunboat diplomacy. He'd been pretty laissez faire with that response to the bastard munk, but standing now in that dingy hallway he was starting to think he wasn't all that off base. This place just oozed seedy, a place not to call home but simply to seek refuge. Where those into dark dealings or on the run went to avoid prying eyes… or eye in his case.

There wasn't a way for him to avoid looking out of place here. He was too clean, too pretty, stood too tall, and walked with too much purpose. Didn't help he was garbed in a leather duster that just screamed armored with a hood worn up in a paltry attempt at anonymity. He'd not seen a soul since the rundown, trash filled street, but he'd felt far too many eyes on him. Paranoia? Maybe, but not today as the 'sense life' potion he'd thrown back earlier made it evident that his paranoia was right on target. The hall he walked was lined with ghostly apparitions, the auras of folks pressed to their peepholes watching this wrong stranger pass, nervous to see which door they were here for. The shapes weren't super detailed but he had enough experience with this potion's shadows to know that more than a few had grabbed weapons, hopefully just to save themselves rather than in some misguided sense of comradery.

Coming up to one non-descript door in particular, he stood to the side, flattening against the wall as he reached across to knock. He paused for a moment, listening, before speaking softly. "Yrvak, I've come to talk."

Another moment was spent in silence, his augmented hearing straining as he tried to pick up any sounds from the other side of the door. The complete lack of anything only put him on edge, made him sigh inwardly as he peeled away from the wall and reached in to produce a hand wide cardboard tube from his coat.

Aiming the danger yellow end towards the door, he twisted and yanked the other end off producing a hardy 'foomph!' as a web of sticky cables splattered across the wooden plane. A thin cable connected the sticky mess to the tube which he jerked free. A moment's delay gave him just enough time to shield his face before the web detonated with a reverberating 'BOOM!'

The door vanished in a cloud of dust and shrapnel which bounced off his coat, driven by the concussive front of that explosion. He weathered the torrent easily enough, the shaped charge sending the brunt of the force into the apartment. A bit overkill, perhaps, but if he were following proper hunter protocol he'd have used the danger red variant of the breach tube and came in through a wall or ceiling. As it was he let his attention flit quickly down the hall, noting the very disturbed and agitated movements of the aura apparitions. Some fled, others squared up, but most important to him was the fact that none of them seemed keen to jump out of their own apartments and into this fight. Good, the less collateral to deal with the better.

Turning his attention back to the still smoldering door frame, he gingerly tossed the discharged canister through the breach. One might expect the way to be quite clear given he sent a door through it but Mach wasn't so keen to trust that logic given his opponent. And to his credit he watched as a spearhead of hardened earth flew out the breach right after that toss, blowing through the door across the hall just ahead of five lances of concentrated flames which tore and burned that tube to cinders. As for the ghostly aura that had been glued to the opposite door, he watched as it was violently thrust away, the glow shuddering before weakening significantly - pulsing in an ever slowing rhythm as the poor bastard began to bleed out from having what looked like a weaponized flower pot rocketed into their chest. Damn…

When hunting maleficarum it was important to try and choose a time and place to strike which would limit collateral damage or the involvement of potential bystanders. A nice sentiment in a perfect world, but ideal hunt conditions hardly ever presented themselves. More often than not Mach had to make a plan, when he was even afforded the luxury of such time, based on factors other than the safety of others. This was doubly so with his current target who happened to play the role of prey very well. They stuck almost exclusively to crowds, only leaving during high traffic times so as to avoid giving anyone an opportunity for a clean engagement. And whenever they left or returned to this constant location they used illusionary baffles to mask their movements, robbing one of even the chance to ambush them. They also used proxies and burner accounts to do all their shopping plus to make a menagerie of dummy orders making it impossible to pin down a schedule for them. The only time to reliably engage them was here, on their turf, by their time if one was even good enough to get this kind of information. They played the game very well but then they knew the system better than most. They were, after all, a former member of the U.T.R.A. themselves.

Popping the processor leash on his caster, he drew his pistol as he dove in through the breach, blind firing a few rounds where he thought he saw a ghostly aura flash momentarily when he detonated that breach charge. His rounds struck plaster walls and a hardwood door frame, punching out splinters and dust but otherwise doing little good. Fuck, this apartment had a different layout than the blueprints he'd pulled from city hall indicated! Considering for only a moment, he leaned into that momentum, storming down the unexpected hallway. A flicker of movement in the shadows, a barely audible muttering of words had him ducking in his charge just ahead of a sharp snap and crackle of electricity blaring to life as it arched out from the doorway he'd shot. The charge whipped and forked angrily, licking around the protective bubble that ebbed around him causing his caster to whine mournfully as it labored to disperse the energy. His little field of safety rapidly shrunk inward, making him flinch even as he leaned even more into that charge, betting, or hoping, that his shield held.

Luckily his instinct paid off as his shield flared, almost reaching saturation just before the lightning flicked and arched, changing target from him to the light socket above. Lightning attacks were finicky like that, generally following the natural tendencies of electricity to go to the closest and most stable ground. All the lightbulbs in the apartment, and likely the surrounding units as well, flickered on at once. Their light grew in intensity, almost blinding before they popped like little firecrackers raining shattered glass. And just as quickly as everything was lit up did everything go dark once again, the smell of ozone taking over the stale air. Reaching the archway where the lightning came from, he only gave it a passing glance, noting no figures in that darkened hallway. He ventured they probably used a totem to cast remotely, that being one of their favored tricks according to the government dossier he had on them.

Instead he focused on the movement of shadows at the end of the hall, scrambling, drawing away as he didn't take the bait. Speeding up, he rounded that archway into what looked like a paltry living room. And in the center stood his opponent, tall and lean with too long of limbs and too wide of eyes with pointed ears and a vicious sneer. It took him only a moment to confirm their identity, but then it was rare to see a proper Tangian plainsland elf anywhere but in Tanga. It also helped that they were brandishing a purple hued silvery sword at him - a mithril blade, the weapon of a Tangian Battlemage.

"Yrvak Dendarow, first sword battlemage of the Tangian Mage Academy. My name is Mach, and you may not believe it, but I've come only to talk."

The man sneered some more as they leveled off their sword, verdant eyes flicking to his gun leveled equally upon them. "Oh, I've heard military dog. But what makes you think I'd want to waste my time with any of your yappings?"

Mach resisted the urge to frown at that acknowledgement which all but confirmed his suspicions. Despite some folks' opinion of him he had tried opening lines of communications with this one ahead of time, which didn't involve a beach charge, but they had seemed to have fallen on deaf ears. Of course this made him worry that they may well bolt now that a hunter had sniffed them out and was trying to reach out to them which, of course, led to this lovely situation. Though then again he did have their attention now so things were working out… ish.

In a show of good faith he lowered his weapon. "Because I've got a proposition for you… and your sister-" The difference between a soldier and a master swordsman were never more evident in that moment as he barely saw the shift of their wrist, the turn and push of their leg, sending the deadly point of the elf's longsword straight through his liver before he could even finish.

[Mach]

Mach and the Hard Way

Mach gasped in both shock and extraordinary pain, pure instinct driving him to grasp the vorpal blade with his free hand, resisting the others attempts to rend it out to the side which would have opened him up like a filet. A momentary lapse before his brain rejoined the fray, sense making sure he didn't resist the bastard yanking the sword straight back as they worked to make distance, avoiding slicing his fingers off on the keening rune which made sure the edge remained razor sharp. He popped a few shots woozily at the bastard, his world wobbling thanks to them putting a two finger wide hole through the proverbial reset button of his body. The shots grouped wide and only split further thanks to the sigil the elf quickly signed out on their retreat, conscripting the aid of elemental air furies to help deflect those deadly projectiles via micro torrents of wind. Shit. And he watched with lightheaded horror as the man coiled like a spring, readying to put another inconvenient hole in him. Shit!

For once he wholeheartedly agreed with his body's frantic pleas to retreat rather than trying to stand and deliver. A few more shots were drunkenly squeezed off as he pulled his hand away from its autonomous grasp over the oozing entry wound to pull a few carved popsicle sticks from his belt and crush them. He concentrated, distilling ether from the environment into mana which he pushed into those cantrips, flaring the embedded spells which caused the wood to smolder and burn to ash even as they fell from his hand. The action made him nauseous as the world swam unpleasantly around him, the liver shot only making the arduous process of focusing etheric energies that much harder. But he stuck with it, and was rewarded with a warble of heat just before the air exploded before his hand, a gulch of flames washing out towards the elf. The micro vortices which helped deflect bullets were plenty enough to protect the elf from the worst of the flames kiss, but the important thing was that they were blinded to his movements and unable to follow his hasty retreat. Of course, that wasn't to say he just ran away, instead opting to crouch down and back, ducking a spear of air which stabbed through the wall of flames, piercing where his head should have been had he just run. Shit!!!

Hunter doctrine specifically discouraged fighting a battle mage in close quarters due to their mastery of combat magic and the mithril swords they carried as magical foci which they were usually very proficient in as well. It was a deadly combination which he was so impressed with he was trying to emulate it though he only carried a knife and was barely a master of sass let alone magic. He was really out of his element! But then again he wasn't trying to kill the bastard, pot shots taken notwithstanding. Any mage who'd go down so easily probably couldn't teach him anything anyway! Then again this was supposed to be a conversation though he always ventured it would probably go the hard way given their respective roles. Still, at this rate he might actually have to try and kill the elf as they were so keen to do with him.

Sliding into the relative cover of the hallway, he quickly tapped a button on the metal collar around his neck as he pulled out a string of grenades with his other hand, lobbing them back into the living room while keeping hold of the cord which tied all their safety pins together. The string of pins popped back, releasing the collection of booms to roll onward towards the elf even as a metallic helmet sprang up and over his head from that collar. He heard one grenade meet its end to a hard thrust of that magical blade, but luckily it wasn't the shortest fused one as a moment later all he could hear was a high pitched ringing in his ears, turning into a bell like toll as the protective mask finished encasing his head, shielding him from the worst of the second flashbang detonating. A third went off in short order before a gas grenade began to belch out a noxious, irritating fog of danger orange smoke. Hunter doctrine for short range fighting of a battlemage may have been don't, but they did have contingencies for when life decided not to play fair. In this case it was to give the mage some good old military style razzle dazzle.

While he may have sucked at efficiently converting ether to mana, the process was still the same for him as for the elf. And that process started with focus, which was kind of hard to do even for masters of the craft when one was getting all their senses fucked over at once! A thumping boom resounded, shaking dust from every surface as a concussive grenade went off, clearing the air of the noxious orange gas just in time for a burning green smoke to take its place. His madsci tech environmental hood took the edge off each bit of nasty, the hall wall helping with the rest though even he felt ill as the assault continued. Still, the distressed, gasping cough he heard from the living room told him that the elf, good as they were, weren't fast enough to counter or escape the effects of his razzle dazzle and were taking them full force - good. Now he just needed to plug them ten times and double tap their brain pan… if he weren't so keen on the contents of said brainpan. Damnit.

Instead he traded out his pistol for his castor, focusing on the stumbling steps as the man scrambled for the window. Pulling the trigger through its double breaks, the primary processor whirred to life, building the spell he couldn't naturally using remnant mana in the environment from their little tussle. The hunter way of casting magic - full of unnatural cheats and workarounds which allowed him to use magic when he'd otherwise have no right to. A mockery of the craft which usually only made hunters even more unpopular with magic types. But say what one will, it granted him one heck of an advantage as he was pretty much still combat ready even as his lungs burned from the little irritant gas which made its way through his mask and the screams from his perforated liver which was healing via regeneration even as they fought.

Daring not to round the corner less he prompt the elf to turn and deliver, he listened as they struggled with the latches momentarily before he heard a sharp, guttural word spit out from the man, echoing and vibrating in a most unwholesome way. "Itvyargav!" He could just feel reality twisting around each syllable, each turn of tone as raw magic twisted and coiled to the command, will manifesting directly into action. A powered word - the quickest and most dangerous kind of magic. Their effects were limited but they were almost always spectacular, and this one was no exception. He wasn't exactly sure of the mechanics of what was going on, but he certainly could feel the effects as the entire room shook with the power of a silent boom, a man sized cavitation bubble violently ripping and collapsing the window, surrounding wall, and even the fire escape beyond into a bowling ball sized mass which plummeted down the side of the building.

There were more muttered words but Mach had a good feeling what those were for as he finally popped out from around the corner, his caster thrust out at the mage as he released his spell. This was done in time with the elf's own spell which lifted them as they leapt out the hole they'd just opened. His caster squealed excitedly before an anemic pop and fizzle sound emanated from the daunting hand cannon. Not very impressive seeming, but the effect was as noticeable as it was instantaneous, the elf's levitation matrix shredding apart under the discordant destruction of his dispel sending the man plummeting rather than soaring out hole with a surprised yelp. That… was very cathartic!

But he knew that such a dick move, unpleasant as it was, would inconvenience the mage at best. And so dropping that environmental protection hood he followed quickly after, holstering his caster as he left cover, a danger red variant of the breach tube from earlier produced from his coat and brought to bear at the wall to the left of the one the elf made. He wasn't the brightest nut in the knife drawer but he wasn't dumb enough to follow through a hole produced by a mage he's purposefully pissed off! Nooo, in this circumstance best to find, or make, a different egress.

This boom was much more bone rattling as the det cord made a Mach sized hole in the wall, raining brick bits and dust on any individual too dumb to have run from the earlier explosions. Grabbing a few cantrips from his belt, he charged with reckless abandon out of the crumbling hole, the spent breach tube chucked at the elf several stories down as he thrust one of the cantrip sticks up, crushing it with a gritted growl. The sound of rushing air filled his ears as a sudden downdraft thrust him groundward, just out of the way of a few earthen spear points which whizzed through the space he'd just been occupying. Fighting mages was mostly gusto, but it did require trying to think ahead of them so you didn't get kabobed in the process. Tactical gusto as it were.

Snagging his service piece as he fell, he took a few pot shots at the elf, putting them back on the defensive while he was helplessly airborne. Mages could be a force of nature all on their own, but an errant bullet could still stop them cold. A nice thing about the modern times, normies had gotten really good at killing folk and at the end of the day a mage was just folk… that could bend physics over a barrel, sure… but folk nonetheless. Well, unless they were a lich, but we didn't talk about liches.

Leveling a few more shots into their defensive barrier, he snapped and threw the remaining cantrips he held towards the ground, the alleyway becoming a maelstrom of flying debris as vortices of air slowed his descent to a mere teeth rattling landing rather than a bone snapping splat. Still, his legs took the brunt of that shock, knees screaming as they didn't immediately bounce back from the abuse. The elf saw this as their hands swiped forward, fingers painting glyphs at a blinding speed as they intoned under breath. Their moves were small and efficient compared to his broad sweeping ones that tucked away his pistol, reaching for the holster nestled beneath his armpit. They would surely beat him to the punch spell wise, were he reaching for his caster. Instead, he drew out his own ethvyrite laced blade which hummed dangerously, cocksure as its owner.

Luckily the mage fell for his rouse as they drew together the forces of the ether, casting razor sharp blades of air at him. Had they cast their usual fair of elemental earth magic he'd have been shit out of luck as such tended to produce a very solid projectile. But that took time which made it great for assaulting folks but not exactly for quick draw magic dueling. So they'd fallen back on their fast magic, elemental air, just as he’d hoped.

Brandishing his blade, he focused his senses, focused his mind as he felt out for the weave of their spell. It was a gamble, but this was the only way he could think of to start a dialogue with the mage who had every right to simply end him and be done with things. Time seemed to slow as he felt for the tether between him and the mage, felt the tenuous tendrils of their magic reaching out for him, guiding the matrix of their spell which shaped the air between them into supersonic streams that could rend flesh like tissue. He felt how the spell was crafted, felt for the streams that shaped and the streams that fueled, felt for the scaffolding that provided structure and the knots of will that orchestrated the entire deadly affair. Dispelling with a caster was all about broad disruption, swinging a big and diverse sledgehammer at a problem and watching whatever you swung at break at an etheric level. But dispelling like a mage was generally more surgical, cutting a spell matrix at just the right spot to unravel the weave. And while he was garbage at trying to shape anything with the ether on his own, even with that masterfully crafted wand, he could at least fuck things up as he was so masterfully capable of doing with near everything else.

Now if he could find the right thing to cut! It was a daunting task made more so as he watched that deadly wall close, the vortices of sonic air glinting like tumbling glass. He'd studied up on this man's particular brand of magic but, like his attempts to learn magic in the first place, this was mired by a lack of material on the subject. What he did know was that cutting the wrong part of a spell matrix could do everything from absolutely nothing to making the thing explode in his face, neither a great outcome for him. Studying the closing mass, he felt the energies move, where they gathered and ebbed, seeking out the one point different from all the rest. And as he did such he focused inward as well, gathering his own energies into that blade, envisioning himself as the blade's deadly point.

Spying what he thought was the heart, he at last thrust his blade at it, focusing and willing that energy to shoot forth. He felt the resistance as his energies struck theirs, a momentary battle ensuing which he would surely have lost were his not so focused on but a singular outcome, honing and strengthening his will. That nexus of energies shattered as it was pierced through, a shockwave rippling through the rest of the matrix just as the first blade of supersonic air carved a groove out of his nose.

The rest was simply a sharp gust of wind which buffeted him as it passed, messing his hair and blowing his coat flaps open in a dramatic display. It… it worked… he'd dispelled their attack! Mach couldn't have stopped that cocky grin that pulled on his lips if he'd tried, the expression only growing as the elves' eyes narrowed, a brow hitching. "And what is this? Some new pytlbegh trick for you dogs?"

Got him. Mages were, at the end of the day, still people, and people were naturally curious, especially about the impossible. "It's what I wanted to taAH-!" That moment of relaxation turned into terror as the elf mouthed another powered word underbrearth, distorting reality. Fuck, he didn’t get them, they got him with that feigned curiosity! Brandishing that blade while he reached for his caster, he readied for a tactical running away but he knew he wouldn’t be fast enough. Powered words were just too fast, and while they took a heavy toll on the caster, he was sure a certified battlemage could probably handle stringing a few together in a battle, especially if they’d end things outright.

Mana washed over him like a hot tide, his teeth gritting as he prepared to try and soak or evade what was coming. Time slowed once again with help of that focus potion he’d thrown back before this encounter, allowing him to see what it was that was going to shake and bake him. But rather than some nasty baseball bat of a spell what he saw was simply agitated ether… and the man’s blade driving in at a frightening pace. Shit, another ruse!? Moving that knife of his, he was just able to turn the man’s mythril blade away from his face, a pitched shriek bellowing as enchanted metal slid across enchanted metal. Were they going to pick him apart with their sword? They certainly could as he had little training in swordsmanship, but he knew enough to know that a mere foot long blade was a huge disadvantage against a proper sword more than three times such length! Still, he stepped back to try and give his blade support, barely avoiding a jab from the other which ended with a bang as they set off a cantrip of their own, his attention too scattered to have noticed the casting during their lunge.

Flames licked at his chin as he stumbled back, his tenuous balance toppling as the elf stepped in as he stepped back. Their foot caught his, arresting his attempted retreat and sending him ass down to the ground. He tried to roll with the fall, pain shooting up his spine as he rocked back to send a foot into the elf’s gut. That desperate kick, along with all the rest of his struggling halted with the sharp swish of that sword that cut down onto his throat.

[Mach]

Mach and the Learning Way

The blade should have cleanly carved through the forward part of his throat, losing his blood from his jugular and ending his existence. He could regenerate a lot of punishment, sure, but nothing was going to save him if he fountained out all his blood before his flesh could knit back together. However, that sharp slash abruptly stopped, the edge nibbling uncomfortably into the flesh of his neck. They had him dead to rights, and both of them knew it. Hells, it was probably more effort on their part not to have just lopped off his head in that little exchange, a fact which had him paying close attention to the man that glowered down at him. “Then talk fast dog, and let not your last words be worthless.”

A dozen plans to escape ran through his mind, each one playing out to him being a foot shorter for his efforts. Fuck. But at the very least it seemed they were finally willing to talk, which is exactly what he wanted… albeit not at such a deathly disadvantage. "It's as it looks, I got turned… awakened… as a mage."

"So now the mutts are being raised as wolves? How rich is that… though it seems your fangs are lacking." They nudged that blade deeper into his neck, flesh parting with ease before the razor sharp edge.

He swallowed down the panic that blared in his mind feeling the warm slick of blood rolling from that wound, a collected face shown in defiance to the malice filled glare that bore down on him from the elf. "No, this ain't anything doing from the U.T.R.A., this was the work of a madsci."

"Isn't it all." They hissed out that response coolly, their disdain obvious. Mages and madsci did not get on well, battlemages particularly so due to their increased interactions with the product of chained madsci research - hunters.

"Yeah, but this wasn't state sponsored." He corrected them.

The elf's disapproving affect didn't falter as they considered this. "So… one of those pylk vul aunotecth have finally figured out how to attune the ether discordant..." Disdain dripped from their words as they dug their blade more into his tender neck. "Good for them."

"N-No-" He forced himself to take a breath, calming fraying nerves as he quickly lost the patience of the magus. "Just hunters… or me in specific."

Almond shaped eyes narrowed mildly as they scrutinized that statement, thin lips twitching softly before at last they smirked. "Oh… I'm sure the brass are having a giggle at that - the ability to turn hunters into mages. Wonder how they'd oppress us attuned then."

"I'm sure they'd have something to say if I happened to tell them."

"Which would be suicide on your part."

"Yeah..." It was hard telling anything about the man's disposition from his up-nose vantage, but the fact that they didn't just snap back responses was probably a good thing. He couldn't tell what they were thinking, but at very least they were thinking.

"So then what is this?" Once more they pushed the blade into his throat, more layers of tissue parting for the unnaturally sharp blade which was getting uncomfortably close to important bits.

"A proposition like I said!" He squeaked a little less manly than he wanted but being decapitated a millimeter at a time seemed like a really unfortunate way to go. "You know what the U.T.R.A. would have to say about this - starts with bang, ends with empty brainpan. They'll not suffer a hunter becoming a mage-"

"And…?"

"And so I want you to teach me how to mage."

This stayed their ever so slow encroachment upon his throat though their expression visibly dimmed. "That… is possibly the stupidest thing I've ever heard come out of one of you attack dogs."

"Well laugh it up, doesn't change my need."

They snorted. "You're a hunter, reading is 'technically' a skill you should possess. Just read a book."

He resisted the urge to shake his head. "Less you've forgotten, books and texts on magic are controlled for everyone's safety."

This earned a disgusted scoff from the man. " Right, the pervasive fear of anything magic, how could I forget." Thinking for a moment, they finally motioned around. "That's not a thing in these lands."

Mach felt his expression flatten some as they treaded ground he'd already gone over, exhaustively, before their meeting. "Yeah, but I don't know what I'm looking for. No formal education means no foundation, which is what makes finding a random instructor that can actually help me here near impossible. Make that double for books and shit."

They shrugged mildly though their gaze lost none of that steely quality. "Sounds like a problem, a you problem."

"Hence why I'm trying to make a deal with you."

"And I should care about the plight of a hunter, why? Less you forget it is the whims of the unjust government you serve which is why I am a fugitive in my own home."

Their words oozed with bitter hatred, and Mach couldn't blame them. Mages were treated like dangerous second class citizens, elves even worse. Combine the two and one was looking at a whole heap of prejudice. But it wasn't like he was one of those prejudiced folks! Not that that seemed to matter any to the elven battlemage just itching to remove his head. "Because I can offer you intel about said unjust government's movements here, make your life easier. Plus I can get you back in touch with your sister-"

"I don't have a sister." Their denial was as sharp as the blade they edged deeper into his neck, the cut ending only because they'd driven the blade as far as it would go without a concentrated effort - which was far deeper than mere threatening.

It was ample reason to drop the subject, but Mach simply swallowed down his fear, locking angry gazes with the man. "Don't insult me - I may be an idiot, but I'm still a hunter. Granted, you did pretty well to try and hide Visalia… or should I say Salara?"

The elves' features darkened, their jaw clenching. If he hadn't added 'hunter' into that little barb they probably would have ended him then and there. But the reminder did its job well as the elf drew the conclusion he hoped for. "Blackmail."

"I prefer negotiative leverage..."

"I'd prefer seeing all your damned lot drawn and quartered!" They hissed angrily, the blade quivering in his flesh as they throttled that rage. A ‘human folly’ their kind often liked to say but Mach was pretty convinced blinding rage was universal. But to their credit they seemed to ease back from that murderous ledge, a much more metered result than his venting of Gaines which did lend a little credence to that opinion though Mach was a poor example of a human. Their voice still quaked with hatred even as they drew the blade out of his throat some. "What, in specific, was it you wanted to threaten out of me?"

"Not threaten… bargain."

"If I gutted you right now would there absolutely be no form of retaliation against myself or my family?" The silence that stretched awaiting an answer felt worse than the blade cleaving through his neck. Mach wanted to deny that he had any such underhanded contingency in play, but not only would that dissolve any obstacle to the elf ending him and being done with this, but it would have been a lie too. Damn he really hated the person he could be sometimes. "So glad to see hunter's honor is being upheld." They spat those words out, drawing the blade further from his neck. "What. Do. You. Want…?"

Guilt weighed on him, but it wasn't enough to make him reconsider what he was doing. The hot slick of blood pooling beneath his neck helped in steeling his bastard's resolve. He may have picked this fight but the elf was sure to finish it if he didn't strike a deal with them. "Twenty lessons, four hours each. I want a full understanding and leg up on the mastery of Tangian magic."

This warranted a dark smirk from the elf. "We discuss magic once until… I lose my patience with you."

He shook his head. "Har, har, not good enough. I need that basis if I'm ever to start figuring things out on my own."

"Then learn what you must and phone a friend. You hunters are good at those I understand."

Their dismissive scoff shamed him, equal parts indignation and bitterness fueling the dirty smirk he cast so defiantly. "Like I said, I don't have enough knowledge to know what kind of friend to phone and probably wouldn’t gain such before you ‘lost patience’ with me. Anyway, I need someone who’s just as wary of oversight as I am..." The response was breezy but held untold truth. He did have more than a few mage friends in this realm, much more than his superious approved of. And if he had it his way he’d happily go to Zynn or Shay or Serah or one of the many others he knew for help. But his flagrant attitude to such relations had not only seen such atrophied during his self destructive spiral before Gaines, but had also made sure all such individuals had ended up on the purity boards watchlist. It wasn’t like the U.T.R.A. had dedicated eyes on each of these individuals, but they did have feelers out for any sightings involving him and they. And were he to start meeting clandestinely with any such individual he was sure it would only warrant unwanted attention.

No, he needed someone who wasn’t a known associate of his, and better still actively avoided the eyes of law enforcement and his government as much as he. The fact that they wanted to kill him wasn't ideal, sure, but then again who amongst his friends didn't want to or hadn't attempted such at some point! Though there was a disquieting edge to Dendarow's hatred, one a little too familiar to him from the homeland that wanted them both dead for being mages.

"But if your fellow mutts catch us, it'll be a charge of treason. Worse than merely being a fugitive mage… such would spell trouble well beyond just me."

Mach shrugged as best he could, still conversing from his back. "That’s why I’m trying to garner the aid of an expert hider! Besides, there would be no extra charge for this, they’ll just actively try to put a bullet in you… but using those my better, and without interest in actually talking things out with you."

His cheery optimism warranted a nasty curl of lip from the battlemage as he took a shot at their pride. "You mean to say it would be okay because your people would rather just kill me than try to bring me in, is it?" He shrugged in response which only grew the elf's sour demeanor. "Oh truly your kind knows how to parley most exquisite..."

"Hey, I’m just being honest with you! This secret is one that you know needs to be kept, and our government will vent anyone with knowledge of it. Flip side is that all this murder would be on the down low so we can mitigate any potential splash..."

"Your government, and I wasn't involved in any of this ill conceived drama until you attacked me."

He squirmed a little under the accusatory glare but shrugged it off as he moved, cautiously, to dig a cigarette out of his pocket. "Maybe you shouldn't have forced my hand by ignoring me."

"Maybe you should have accepted my silence as the response it was, but I suppose such is beyond the likes of a hume like yourself."

Mach felt his jaw flex at the less than subtle jab. "Yeah, sorry, I don't understand broody and pissy."

"It's called composure, but what would your ilk know of such. No, your people just bully and tantrum for what you want, and any in your way be damned. How tiringly typical." There was a chilled bristle to their words. Loathing and condensation in one. It made his hackles stand on end as he shoved that cigarette between his lips with more ire than he intended.

"Well, maybe if you lot ever tried pulling the collective stick out your asses and tried cooperation you might find folks respond better."

This drew a snort from the elf. "Like you would have taken no for an answer. Like any of your kind has ever taken 'no' with more than petulance and barbarism. You take our wisdom, our culture, our land-"

"Nothing I've had a hand in-"

"And yet you happily reap the benefits still. Are yet greedy for more as you coerce me to do your bidding."

He couldn't help but sigh at the guilt trip the elf was trying to lay on him. "Look, I'm sorry for forcing this on you, okay? Really, I do… but yeah, you're right. Martyr away, it's true I had every intention of coercing you, but only because I knew you'd never play ball overwise. Tell me I’m wrong."

Their eyes narrowed as they stared down impassively at him."Why would I lie to you."

"Now who's being typical.”

"And you would rather I what…? Be a good little dog like the dwarves or gnomes? A subservient pet like the goblinoids or Ylvardins? Or perhaps a vysballera cuon bithvo elfosso aas vadar, the perfect little second class citizens…?"

Mach felt his eye nearly roll out of his head as he lit the cigarette in mouth, completely over the fact that the elf was still standing over him with a sword pointed at his head. "Hey, a bunch of species that know how not to be a bunch of collective dicks! Look, be mad at your own cultural rigidity all you want but don't think it's somehow anyone else's fault but your own. All those folks have learned to get along and play nice with ea-"

"You mean bow subservient to their human overlords..."

"Nice with each other." He glowered up at the elf, spewing a plume of smoke in their direction. "Seriously buddy, I'm screwing you today, not your ancestors thousands of years ago! Maybe try not turning everything into an effigy pyre, yeah? Build a bridge or something and leave the baggage where it belongs - not here."

"But aren’t you? This government that robs my people of their dignity, forcing us into reservations like chattel, forcing an exalted one as I into exile out of fear will now actively seek to kill me because one of it’s dogs bit off more than it can chew and so comes yelping to one of my kind for help, smearing my dignity even more with threats."

"Pomp, pomp, high assed bullshit. Do you hear yourself? How pompous you sound. I'm threatening your already threatened life and you make it sound like I've transgressed all of fucking elfdom!"

A snap of their wrist spawned a miniature vortex which dispersed his ashen spewings while coming uncomfortably close to his nose. His annoyance waned a little. "One as short lived as your ilk couldn't possibly understand. We were scholars when your people were disparate tribes, ripe for the picking by goblins and other lesser beasts. My people were debating philosophy when yours were still picking insects from your fur for sustenance. Even I lived through a time when your kind revered swordsmanship and animal riding as your major means of warfare!"

"Yeah, and your lot stagnated. Decided being a bunch of collective assholes was a much better use of your time than, I don't know, doing anything else. Dwarves learned diplomacy. Goblins stopped fucking everything. Ylvardins created airships and magical ordinance. And you lot just stewed, angry that the world didn't hold still for you!"

Their jaw flexed. "One so young-!"

"Oh get over it grandad! Long lived, short lived, hume, elf - none of that matters! I'm making a deal with you here and now, affecting things today. So what'll it be?"

Their jaw flexed more, the leather of their sword handle squeaky slightly as they throttled it. He couldn't read their emotions, but after a tense moment he saw them heave a tired sigh. "You just cannot understand..." Mach felt himself about to have an absolute fit when that blade fully disengaged from his throat. "Ten sessions, targeted, one hour each. And I want all operational knowledge of your government here."

He blinked, stunned a moment, before fumbling for footing. "Um, uh, three hour sessions - one targeted, one exploratory, and one practical."

"Practical?" This was the first time he'd seen the elf show interest, and he couldn't say that he was a fan.

"Yeah, practical. Magical practice and sparring. That sort of thing."

"Oh, I would gladly throw in whipping you free of charge…[/I]" He'd have thought that a joke if not for the pure malice that glinted in their steely gaze.

"Right… it's still supposed to be educative..."

"Oh yes, very educational."

He gave the elf a withering look which seemed only to fuel their dark humor. Great. He moved slow and deliberately as he sat up from the ground."And about my other offered payment?" His movement halted as he saw the other tense up like a snake once more.

"Forget that knowledge. Better, lose it. And if you can, make whatever connections you found between me and them vanish. Pull that trick off and I may even show some gratitude to you."

This… left him at a bit of a loss. "You want me delete all the connections between yourself and your only surviving family?"

"The chimp can hear."

"But they're your family!"

Dendarow smirked darkly, somehow amused by this. Apparently the clueless look on his face seemed to damper that. "They are, and they will remain so whether they're identified as such in your databases or not."

He thought on that a moment. "Huh…yeah, ok, I get that. But what about contacting them? It's been years."

"And we have weathered this time without issue, will weather those to come much the same. To break from this would imperil them merely for the sake of sentimentality."

Standing slowly, he drew out a hanky to press against his oozing throat, brow furrowing though not due to the throbbing pain. "Yeah, but what's wrong with that? I mean, you're a fugitive, it's not like you've got a very stable future. Could be years before you get this chance again. Hell's, you could even get pinched or snuffed out independent of our business, lose this opportunity forever!"

They shrugged mildly as they drew out their own handkerchief, a fluid movement cleansing their sword of his blood as they sheathed it once more. There was a moment's pause before they threw the gruesome cloth at him. "Then that would be my failure, but I will not let such sentimentality, a purely hume folly not shared by my people, blind me. I may be forced to live in your world, but I can choose the manner in which I will conduct myself."

Catching the bloody rag, he tucked it away while dropping and crushing an ampule on the puddle he left on the ground. The clear liquid spread, boiling over the crimson slick destroying any connection the blood had to him. A good thing as he could hear the distant whine of approaching sirens, likely coming up to see what the hells was up with all these explosions. Much like him it seemed the elf wasn't keen to have him associated with any of this. "You mean be an aloof ass hat."

"A colorfully hume term for Pride." A scoff as they turned now, making haste down the alleyway.

"Hey, how will I contact you?" Mach called after, opting not to follow for reasons still very evident from his throbbing throat.

"In one week seek the book 'Delmont's Treatise on Arcane Arts', volume six, at the Bristol Crios Library of Alchemy. You will find instructions there - for contact and for what info I want." They paused just before rounding the corner, a sharp look cast back at him. "Do not seek me before then. And if possible try reading that book."

And with that the elf was gone and he now had someone to teach him proper maging. All in all not a bad deal, even if he almost lost his head while cutting it. Not ideal, but if Mach had learned anything these past months, it was little of this situation was ideal. But he was finally making some headway with everything. Now just not to get nicked for disturbing the peace… today. And so much like his unwitting compatriot he absconded from the scene of their deal, already not looking forward to his reading homework.

[Mach]

Mach, the Witch, and the Wicked Lessons

Text to Spooky Butt: Hey you, long time no chatter
Text to Spooky Butt: But I got a proposition you might be interested in

…

Mach pinched out the end of his cigarette between gloved fingers before flicking the butt towards a nearby trash bin. A shoot and a miss but he wasn't too concerned about the follow-up given how much other garbage surrounded the bin, adding to the subtle ambiance of low grade which the park exuded. Just your average inner city public space, the kind of place one only hung out at to find illicit sales or if their economic situation deemed they had no other choice. Seedy with an overabundance of gang iconography - it reminded him of his childhood. It was also the kind of place where eyes didn't linger and authority had given up and avoided. Perfect for what he had planned.

Subtly checking his watch, he noted that he was finally coming up on the agreed upon meet up time between him and the witch.
Of course he'd been here for hours, scoping out the place ahead of time, getting a lay of the land as it were. A hunter habit and a bad one at that given this wasn't a hunt though he still felt as uneasy as though it were. Nerves? Probably, especially given the 'favor' he'd asked. Then again it was also just as much the fact that he felt very much naked, lacking his usual tools of the trade which he was almost never without. He didn't even have the comforting press of a paddle holster digging into the small of his back much less the girthy heft of a caster or the belt of potions and cantrips which were his daily piss and vinegar. No, the only thing he carried was that blue hued masterpiece of a combat knife he'd had crafted by Barlow, and an emergency medical kit just in case. A precaution, or maybe more for an inevitability.

Another pang of doubt crossed him, handsome features creasing in a thin frown as he worked to shake away those jitters. Oh sure, he'd bound, shot, and promised no small amount of unpleasantness on this one, but that was all water under the bridge, right? Besides, he was indirectly responsible for them having a new body and all; even helped them test drive it to boot!
Yet still, he had asked them to help battle test his budding, or floundering, magical powers. Pretty much gave them the a-okay for some spite driven revenge were they of the mind, and he frankly wasn't exactly sure of what kind of mind they were of.

But that was the point, right? Add an element of unpredictable, but hopefully managed, danger to the equation. Try to emulate the conditions when last he cast so willfully, burning a hole through the bastard that gave him this 'gift.' Though, you know, hopefully there would be no burning of holes in anybody because bad. Yeah… this was going to go swimmingly, or so he lied to himself for the umpteenth time while lighting yet another cigarette with the inbuilt lighter in his prosthetic hand.

"[color=purple"Got a light, buddy?[/color]" A thin, nasally voice piped up. About 15 feet away, a tall, leggy redhead stood as her free hand, the one not holding an unlit cigarette aloft, dug through the pockets of her worn and fraying jeans with increasing vexation. Her ginger locks were pulled back into a messy, tangly pony tail that swayed as she continued to approach. When she looked up, hazel eyes locked onto the hunter with an expectant expression, her full lips pouting her annoyance. Her creamy complexion and shock of red hair offset against her simple white t-shirt, worn soft through repeated use.

He was already moving to draw out his cellphone again, to check the time and maybe catch up on some more gossip rags when he caught sight of the threadbare woman approaching. That lone cobalt gaze wandered shamelessly, or cautiously, taking in the figure as a whole. Still, a breezy little smile pulled on handsome features, cutting the edge of his gaze as those fingers slipping into his breast pocket shifted. He'd not let them get too close before he produced a book of matches, lobbing them casually to the woman in an arc that caught them square in the chest. Thicc Tim's Jolly Toy Emporium was printed on the back of the matchbook along with a very unsubtle logo depicting the kind of wares Thicc Tim dealt in. Wholly inappropriate? Absolutely! That's what tended to help him get his matches back! And matches was what this lady was gonna get because Mach wasn't no dummy - this neighborhood was bad news and he was oh too well dressed and oh too pretty to be so casually approached by anyone not lost or looking to grift him. Still, that didn't mean he couldn't be charming. "Never leave home without 'em. Like an addicted boy scout, yeah?" He'd at least wait for them to read the back of the matchbook before waggling his eyebrows… charmingly.

Her eyes lit up as she caught sight of the procured matches and her hand quickly vacated her pocket to reach up and snatch the book out of the air. Wasting no time, she pulled a match free and struck it against the worn little strip on the back. Once lit and smoking away, she gave the matchbook a more appreciative look, an amused little side smirk quickly forming.

She held the little matchbook between her index and middle finger as she stretched out to hand it back. Curls of smoke drifted up from the cherry lit end of the cigarette, momentarily illuminating her face, revealing a heavy smattering of freckles.

"'Bout as close to a boy scout as you'll ever be, eh, Tiger?" Her wolfish smirk grew until she was grinning downright predatorially.

He reached absentmindedly for the book of matches, only paying half a mind to the predatory grin. Danger was his life, and it would have been a very tiring one if he reacted to every perceived threat. Hells, they hadn't even begun telling him about any evil master plans of theirs or how he was a devil servant of the man, man, or whatever drivel preoccupied folks ready to try and lay the hurt down on him. Frankly, he could deal with creepy so long as creepy didn't follow him home and try to make ornaments of his cat.

Then again something seemed to click in his mind as they spoke, that moniker they threw out in particular itching at familiarity. Tiger… he'd been called that (and many other things, some less flattering than others) by many but in this context it just seemed to make the short hairs on the back of his neck rise. Still, he smirked off his apprehension, playing up his own school boy grin. "Pretty sure I've wrestled a few in my day." Accepting the matchbook between gloved pointer and middle finger of his right hand, his gaze grew more steady. "So how goes it Sammie?"

An almost derisive snort accompanied the crooked smirk she wore. After taking a moment to pull a nice long drag from her cigarette, she crossed her free arm under her bust, plumping it invitingly.

"It goes, stud." She said casually, the smoke from her lungs curling around her lips as she spoke.

"But neither of us is here for small chat, are we?" She took a step towards the hunter, narrowing the gap between them. "Wanna tell me what I'm doing here?"

"The weather's been pretty great, huh? And did you see that duel between… the guy and… that other person? Exciting stuff, yeah?" Oh he wore that pie eating grin well as he made that little joke, eyes drifting to the plumping momentarily before returning to meet the predatory woman's gaze. They were right, after all, this wasn't exactly a social affair, at least not in the traditional sense.

"I did. In text." He motioned to their cleavage as that was a good guess where a cell phone might be concealed in such a getup as the woman touted. "Got a conundrum that I need a mage to help figure, and part of that figuring involves sparring me in magic. Friendly like, mind…not the usual attempted murder kind I usually deal with..." Smoke wafted lazily from his nostrils as he glossed over pretty much everything. Had he told them his unique problem? Hells no! He'd bound, threatened, and, oh yeah, *shot* the witch in their brief history of interactions! And while all was well enough that ended well enough, Mach wasn't that trusting. No, better to let their ignorance of his circumstances work in his favor, especially given what they were and their shared past, fun as some of it may have been.

"Think you'd be up for that?" A smile was offered, even as the tension ratcheted up as he eyed them closing distance.

She listened with as much patience she could muster and it was waning quickly. While it was true, he'd been as vague as she'd ever known him to be, she still had her own sources and she didn't exactly let on as to what she had or had not already heard. As she listened, she took drag after drag of her cigarette, finally reaching the last few bits of tobacco. She somehow resisted the urge to flick the dying ember into tender, strategic places, and instead tossed it down and stomped it out. When she lifted her gaze once more, she sighed.

"What I'm wondering is why the hell you contacted me instead of, oh, I don't fucken know, Rapunzel?" She delved into her bust, just as he'd motioned, but instead of procuring her phone, she pulled out a pack of cigarettes to retrieve a fresh one.

"Especially since you want it to be 'all friendly like.'" She snorted again.

"Besides, she's the actual mage. I'm more of what you might call a hedge witch. You know, not sanctioned or unofficial or some shit." She tucked the pack back into her blouse and smirked at the hunter. "Not that I'm unwilling to take a run at ya, mind you."

The tension was all but palpable coming off the woman as they listened to his unhelpful spiel, their agitation evident. Likely because they were aware he was blowing smoke up their ass. And if they'd done any kind of looking into him then they were probably well beyond having a well mesquited derriere. The life he led, the way he carried himself, and the rumors he perpetuated about himself made it near impossible to get a straight bead on him, just a menagerie of half truths mixed in among flagrant lies and sheet tall tales.

Of course there may also have been something more to their annoyance as he listened to those biting words. It took a moment for him to piece together who held the moniker of 'Rapunzel' but then he did, he smirked. "The ragamuffin? You don't honestly think they could do anything more offensive than making a purposely ill-suited tea suggestion without breaking down into vigorous apologies, do you?" He smiled in a pie eating manner, the kind usually reserved for giving friends shit rather than properly being complaintive.

Still, taking a drag off his cigarette and he'd shrug nonchalantly to that jab of being 'friendly.' "Friendly as in not actively trying to murder me. But I still need you to try and properly kick my ass, unsanctioned magic or not." Since he had the book of matches back, he'd pull one and strike it for the woman, inviting them to light up off the burning match. "You could call it a mildly controlled stress test of sorts. But given I'm hunter you can probably guess why I don't exactly have a long list of magically inclined folks so overly keen for such with me. Give them the willy's, yeah?"

She stared back at him, wholly unamused and outright immune to his grins and charm. The only sign that she hadn't tuned him out was the slow lean into the lit match he offered, those hazel eyes maintaining that hard stare until the cherry end of her cigarette lit up. She took her time and a long drag before finally shifting her weight from one foot to another.

"She's capable of a lot more than she's gets credit for." She said in an uncharacteristically soft and even tone. It didn't last. Surprising even herself, she cleared her throat and immediately hardened.

"You wanna play rough. I get it. Besides, who am I to judge how you get your rocks off. But if, IF... I agree to play in your sandbox, I have a few conditions. You understand." It wasn't a question, but a direct statement of undeniable fact.

He noted the dry lack of reaction to his charms, the subtle tension of someone wholly unimpressed by his game. It wasn't too surprising, given their antagonistic history and him being a general asshole. But hey, they were a body stealing entity of lust and middling malevolence! Probably explained why neither of them had lost the other's number.

Of course the other reason neither had lost contact was likely hidden in that touch of softness which graced the witches words when speaking of their mutual acquaintance. Alexia - cinnamon bun and pain in the ass to all, or a few at least. Their complimentary words for the fae helped ease a little bit of his nerves even as he smirked in response. "I'm aware, she's near murdered me a few times, yeah? Difference is she'd never do such wilfully, certainly not on request… probably." That last bit added with a little half shrug, never one to fully commit to a possibly baseless assumption. "Besides, she's got too much guilt when it comes to lil ol me."

Blowing a stream of smoke through his grin, he rolled his mechanical hand in an accommodating manner as the witch hardened up once more, laying down that ultimatum. "And those would be?" It was with great practice that he didn't just automatically answer such reasonable requests with vague acceptance, particularly when speaking with magic users. Contract magic was a bitch to deal with.

"No collars." She said, perhaps a bit to quickly. "At least, not ones I don't agree to."

Try as she might, she couldn't hide the sly smirk that tugged at one corner of her lips. Then, suddenly collecting herself, she crossed her arms and settled back into an expression that vacillated between aloof and mildly annoyed.

"And guaranteed amnesty. You want me to bring my A game, I can do that. But I don't want to have to worry about more asshole hunters coming after me because I got too rough with one of theirs, feel me?" She took a long drag from her cigarette and held it for a moment or two.

"Spoilsport..." Oh how he grinned as he ribbed the woman. There was something oddly spirited about that grin, perhaps more so than the witch had ever seen before from the schmooze. Playful and smug which only grew as that accession was made, painting the woman as much a dirty bird as he.

Taking another drag off his cigarette, he had to resist the urge to jump eagerly on that second condition. It was not only expected but hoped for and planned on given the truth of things. Secrecy from his government served him very well as any part, even this clandestine meeting would bring watchful eyes down on him. And if that happened, well, Mach would probably prefer getting killed by the witch than by whatever the U.T.R.A. would dream up!

Still, he gave the point a proper amount of seeming rumination before blowing out a mist of ashen smoke. "Obviously, this is a favor for me after all, wouldn't do for you to get in trouble over such, yeah? Anyway, mine ain't keen to posse up for stupidity I willingly engage in, especially if it only involves me."

A crooked little smile as he gave that assurance, devoid of the legalese and politics which actually limited the interferences which peacekeepers of the U.T.R.A. could enact in Rhy'Din. Rules and regulations which Mach flaunted on a regular basis but still. "Do gotta say though, I can't speak for any consequences you might face with the local Watch if you roast me dead, yeah? Granted, they're not the most..." He waved his hand about in a dismissive gesture, his general lack of respect and confidence for the law keepers of the city evident.

"Course that being said I got a few conditions of my own." His hand moved placatively before they could snap back at such a notion as conditions on a favor. "Just… sense things, yeah? I'm looking for danger, not death. I want the A game for sure but, you know, maybe just shy of 10. Maim, not kill. Second - discretion." He paused for a moment to consider his phrasing. "What I'm asking won't get you in trouble with my folk, but could get me in loads of such. You know, the taboo of a mage hunter fraternizing with a mage and all. And lastly..." That buttery smile which he wore between broke into a dirty grin once more. "... no collars for me. I ain't opposed to a good ol pegging but I'm much more the leash holder, not so much the wearer." He waggled his brows roguishly at the informative jab which was flirting and dickish all at once.

"You want A game or not?" She retorted with a snort. And it was gone as quickly as it appeared. Once again, that solemn, almost soft but not quite expression took over.

"One last thing, tiger." Hazel eyes ticked almost guiltily to the dying ember on the end of her cigarette that illuminated as soon as she flicked off the excess ash.

"If Rapunzel asks, you haven't seen me." Her tone made it clear this was not up for debate or questioning.

The comment seemed flippant, particularly as it lacked that certain edge which had been permeating the witches' words to this point, but it gave Mach pause. Control was supposed to be one of those things mages were good at, but then he knew such was a myopic view. Like everything, the practice of magic was a spectrum, and what worked for one certainly didn't work for all - his own problems a fine example of such. Maybe they weren't great at control and this… was a very bad idea. Uncertainty creeped up on the edge of his thoughts as he considered the woman a moment before snorting as he flipped them a smug half smirk. "A Game."

His tone and approach were flippant but there was a seriousness behind that quip. Gaines certainly hadn't been pulling punches when he'd magicked them and while he'd had plenty of deadly danger since then, when the chips were down he'd always fall back on his hunter tools and abilities. But this was supposed to be different, a controlled environment where he could purposely leave that safety net out of reach though that meant he had to face the fact that he might well fall because of it. A daunting prospect, but what choice did he have? He had to learn, or it would cost him. Taking another drag himself, he watched the woman as they made that one last request, or more an addendum independent of this matter, superseding it even. A firm and guilty demand which allowed for no questions.

"Trouble in paradise?" No questions… if one weren't a dick. At very least this one was more goading than anything, teasing yet fishing in that playful manner of his. Whether she took the bait or not, he'd still shrug and offer a smile. "Yeah, sure, no problem. I'm pretty good at dumb."

She would not, in fact, take the bait. It was no secret that the tender-hearted healer had become an obvious weak spot for the witch turned shifter. What wasn't quite so obvious was the long term effect it was having. Rather than soften once more, she grew just a touch irritable. The look on her face very clearly read 'my business.'

As she took the last drag of her cigarette, the ember momentarily illuminating her face, an eyebrow ticked up. Slowly, she let out that plume of smoke and tossed down the dying butt before stomping it out.

"Well, then." She said with a bit of a worrisome glint in her eye. "When do we start?"

Squinty eyes, shoulder tension, twitch at the corners... yeah, about the response he expected. He was probably overthinking things anyway but then given the connection those two had he did wonder if anything hinky was going on because of it. Whatever, he was still a good shot if needs must though he was pretty sure matters of the soul weren't particularly well handled with violence. Then again when you live the life of a hammer every little problem just becomes a nail of varying appropriateness.

Finishing off his own coffin nail, he pinched it out between leather clad fingertips, vanishing the butt with a wiggle of the wrist. He noted that little glint as they asked that very loaded question, their proximity suddenly becoming very worrying once again. Looking back at 'a sound', he casually followed his gaze putting a step or two more distance between them before looking back to the woman cautiously. "Whenever works for you babe. Could even do it right now if you wanted, I did pick this place for its desolation..."

As soon as he turned back toward her, he would see it. A sphere about the size of an apple hovering just above the palm of her hand. It glowed a sickly yellow green with splotches of red, angry and pulsing. It lit up her features, casting almost devilish shadows on her face. Slowly, the corner of her mouth pulled into a terrible smirk once more.

"I'm feeling generous." She began. "I'll give you a head start. Let's say... five."

That smile paled just a bit as he saw that cantankerous orb take form, casting sickly hues which only increased the menace of their smirk. It took more effort than he cared to admit resisting that urge to end things the hunter way which would have involved jumping the woman and trying to open their head against the ground like a piñata. No, he tensed, but he took things with stride as he backed away now, making distance while his hand reached into his coat to release the safety strap which held his combat knife in place.

"Generous, huh..." His tone was glib yet subdued, matching that ever present smile of his as he played up the confidence he certainly didn't have. Drawing that foot length of purple hued blackened steel from its sheath, he held the blade in a very purposeful stabbing grip while the rest of his form fell into a standard fighter's stance around it. An odd choice of grasp, more meant for a rapier than a combat knife but then Mach always was an odd one, or a stupid one depending. He certainly felt like the latter as he slowly breathed out, focusing on the woman and that ball of malevolence which they produced.

She didn't bother with the rest of the countdown. There was no need. Her smirk grew and twisted into a gruesome smile as she hurled the orb in his direction. But, rather than wait for impact, it exploded between them, flashing sickly yellow splashes of pure liquid anguish, rage, and pain everywhere.

(Shoutout to Alexia Longbow for the wonderful scene!)

[Mach]

Mach, the Witch, and Losing Control

Wasting not a second, she quickly rolled away and fired off another similar orb, this one with more angry spots of red, now from three feet to the right of where she once stood. If he could see past the blinding globs of emotional napalm, he would see her pulling them directly from her chest.

That lone eye widened as they hurled the ball of malevolence at him, his curse held back right up till the ball exploded in prismatic terribleness. Shit! Shielding himself as best he could with that spellwoven coat of his, he took a dive while swiping a broad arc at the dangerous spattering. A few of the blobs discolored, their luster fading as they crumbled in the air, robbed of the motive force of magic though they didn't fully dispel. The majority of the blobs traveled through a Mach sized hole in space where he had vacated with speed. And unfortunately a few blobs splattered against the schmooze.

The globs of stuff clung like molten plastic, burning in much the same way. His coat protected against an amount of that thermal abuse but it was far from fireproof, the fabric scorching as he frantically worked to beat the stuff off with gloved hands. Of course no amount of speed was going to save the few areas of exposed flesh which had taken some of that splash, searing pain telling him that he was cooking. And yet that was somehow the least of his worries.

Anguish, pain, fear, rage - a slurry of potent emotions struck him like a sledgehammer. It was almost enough to send him sprawling to the floor if not for the protection of his anti-dominance band, the 'training' he'd been receiving from Talila, and an unhealthy amount of sheer grit against such misery born from an even unhealthier amount of experience. Boy howdy was he glad to have started learning psychic protections thanks to the sexy wake-up call that he had rather than this kind of rude awakening!

Skin reddened and blistered as he beat off the last of that wretched brew, the woman spied in his periphery lobbing another ball of chaos at him, tearing the pure nasty right from themselves. Fuck! He wasn't too sure what kind of magic looked like that, but he didn't need to know the specifics of how it worked to know how much it was going to unalive him if he didn't step up his game! And to do that he couldn't just be passive in this exchange. Thrusting the combat knife at the woman, he grit his teeth, trying to envision what he wanted, what he needed to happen even as he saw that globe of vicious red arc towards him. He needed to blow it apart, catch the woman in the blowback, just like with Gaines. He just had to pull the ether together, shape it.

The air before the point of his knife warbled dangerously, churning uncomfortably as ether collapsed into mana which twisted and shaped by his will. The fundamentals of magic. And with a final little nudge he'd send it hurtling towards the woman in kind… or maybe a shove? His teeth squeaked softly in that concentrated grinding, the coalescent ball of malevolence bursting apart midair as his sat precariously at the end of his knife, flickering indignantly doing a fat load of nothing. He tried to scrape together those feelings of pain, of fear that thumped in his ears, but…but… damn it! He… he couldn't do it!

He was scared, and hurt, and a little bit peeved at the woman, but none of that translated into murderous intent. And that may have been the magic sauce he was missing in order to cast as he had that night, drunk on his own mortality and his sheer hatred for the bastard that had killed his best friend. He'd wanted, needed to see that man burn… but he harbored no such deep seated hatred for the witch whom he fancied enough even to ask a favor of.

And it was in this that he finally understood just how little control he had over his own magic. He'd been learning how not to let it control him, and damned if he knew whether he'd been making any actual progress on this front or not, but he had certainly not truly grasped how to control it. And it was this hubris that was about to see him deep fried! Changing tactic at the last minute, he swiped at the molten globules with his knife while trying to turn as much of his exposed body away from the deadly rain. Panic fueled that flare of magic, a dull arc of orange following in the wake of his knife acting as a barrier against the viscous fire which splattered and hissed against the orange glow. But that same panic saw the swath not expanding to a full shield as more napalm got past than not.

Mach cried out in pain as the molten material splattered across his torso and arms, hissing viciously as it ate away at the protective garments, the heat causing skin to bubble and boil where angry red made contact. The pain of burning seared up into his mind like an old friend, the experience reminding him of when he'd burnt off his own arm. But this was nothing compared to the maelstrom of bitterness and rage that washed over him. He fought against that maelstrom, drowning in the emotion so familiar and yet not his own. It almost overwhelmed his senses as he tore at the burning outer garment, trying to get the offending splatter.

Flailing ineffectually, he caught sight of the witch, grinning with such malevolence. It was unintended perhaps, or maybe intentional given his career, but it gave the man a target to funnel all that unnatural anger, that hatred as he threw off the burning garment, and at once sent out a whip of pure force at the witch. The warble in the air rent earth, snapped tree branches, and bent steel structures as it tore viciously straight for Sammie in a broad arc.

She never stopped moving, not even for a moment. To stop moving meant to provide an easy target. Something that rustled up some strange feelings she hadn't quite dealt with yet. No time. As soon as she hit him with one blast, she changed course, pulled another mass, and took aim at him again. There was no discernable rhyme or reason to her movements. They were seemingly erratic and almost unhinged. Perhaps they were. Or perhaps it was just carefully crafted chaos.

All the while, she shifted at lightning speed. Taking the form of a tall, long, limber gymnast, a local but small time star, and using her willowy limbs to make sharp, clean turns. Next was a bouncer at some posh club, stocky and slow moving, but strong and able to tumble and roll without losing control. Various faces and builds flowed through her like fluid. Then, quite deliberately, she took the form of a sweet, doe-eyed little healer and stared him down. Whether the hunter would take exception or not was a gamble, but she figured her odds were in her favor. She banked on him either taking offense to her use of the one he deemed a ragamuffin, or harboring some lingering resentment from the hand she'd had in many a complicated situation that directly affected him. Only time would tell.

Not making an easy target would have made a lot of sense in a spell slinging fight! Sadly either stupidity, pride, or both gave Mach a rather flat footed response, his coat paying the cost for such though the woman seemed after much more. Holy hells what was their damage!? The negative feelings which came with each attack felt far too personal, and the way they shifted form had a very disturbingly unhinged quality to it. As though they were a mage giving into an abyssal well of trauma, let power take hold and guide them - or, frankly, the exact kind of maleficarun he was intended to hunt and vent.

But he hadn't come here to hunt. Hells, he was feeling like he'd vastly under prepared for this little confrontation, feeling that maybe he'd not given them the due paranoia he ought to have. And now they were going to bake his ass for his hubris and he'd have asked for it! Stumbling into a strategic run himself, propelled by the blowback of that vicious lash out he had, he watched as the woman nimbly dodged that whip of destruction, even as his brain slammed into a sludgy wall of fatigue. His cost for casting such a spell based on pure emotion and his own life force, something the woman seemed to have no issue doing. Shit!!!

Still, he'd try swiping another whip of destruction at them to no avail as his jukes and dodges worked at perpendicular angles to hers. While she moved with unpredictable chaos, he moved with purpose, or as much such he could under that constant assault. And while some of her forms were real bruisers, Mach was gambling donuts to dollars they either didn't have the mass of such forms to truly be a threat, or the intimate knowledge of how to really use such shapes to their potential. A wolf in bear furs, dangerous but not nearly as so as they seemed.

But he wouldn't know until he got close enough to try attacking the witch directly, a leg sweeping for theirs as he dodged below a spray of liquid vitriol. Teeth ground as the sticky fluid burned the shoulder it caught, the foreign emotion screaming at the back of his mind but he kept his collection enough for the attempted trip, keeping his blade held defensively rather than trying to drive it into their skull as that rage not his own shouted at him to do.

She tried to jump over that sweeping leg, forgetting for a moment that the healer she borrowed shape from now had long trailing wings. And while their functionality remained untested, their length proved just a bit too cumbersome. In a familiar, endearing little voice, she cried out as she fell back, her arms flailing as she hit the ground. It wouldn't last long. She gathered herself, both literally and mentally, and rolled away. As that wild maned head popped up, she planted one foot on the ground and crouched back on her knee.

"One for you, stud. What are you gonna do now?" She batted long eyelashes at him in a mockingly innocent expression as she spoke, her hand already pulling another glowing mass of vile hate and anger built up over centuries of her long and questionable life.

To be completely honest he hadn't been paying so much attention to the faces the woman wore as the silhouettes they occupied. Hey, could they blame him! Of course this logic was little balm for when he did place the face just as it yelped falling back. It didn't make him feel particularly great that he was such a fight happy thug that he could get so absorbed.

Still, the surprise did do its job in a way as he hesitated long enough for them to scramble away, that follow through Kirk hammer stayed. He immediately regretted this as they seemed to compose themselves, goading him with their actions and words, all while wearing the face of the ragamuffin like a shield. It was a dirty trick used against the wholly wrong audience. It may have stirred a response in someone like Danny, stealing their thunder or driving them into a rage. For a bastard like him though it did neither as he rushed forward, throwing his prosthetic fist right for their cute as a button nose and too big of doe eyes. Totally the way to fight as a mage! But he was a stolid badass that wasn't swayed by tricks or played by the rules, or so his familiarity with the woman allowed him to be, mixed with a likely unhealthy amount of cagey paranoia. Still, it was a stupidly risky move as he noted them drawing out more hate magic, but if he let them get distance they'd just pick him apart as he had no reliable way to clap back. And he was certain this probably wasn't going to end until one of them was laid out on their ass given what a friendly sorts Sammie was turning out to be.

She stood stock still until the last possible moment, that innocent little face staring up at him. Finally, when he was a hair's breadth from smashing in those lightly freckled little features, she smashed the newest orb into the ground at his feet. This one was different. Instead of thick, viscous, liquid hate, this one released plumes of completely opaque, red-tinted smoke. It immediately filled the space she had just been occupying. With a gleeful, taunting little laugh that echoed and ricocheted in multiple dizzying angles, she rolled away once more.

That was the problem with fisticuffs, or any melee driven attack really - the need to commit. Power came with follow through and hesitation robbed one of such, which was totally why Mach always swung for the stars. That's his story and he was sticking to it! But then again, even his military CQC training had emphasized strike power over defense given the best defense was a knocked out offender.

Not that he didn't have any defense, his other fist planted firmly to the side of his head just in case the shape shifter had decided to morph into a bruiser at the last moment and try to give him what for. But instead they chose the likely smarter option as they retreated while making him see literal red.

There was no avoiding that cloud of negative energy, the foreign emotions screaming into his ear, clawing at him like a bramble. He fought through the disorientation, teeth clenching as his pulse thundered in his ears. Spying a hint of movement, he pivoted to charge the woman, send his fist right into their smug fucking face. But something more happened as his augmented rage bristled, the air around him crackling with energy radiating off him like blistering heat.

It was an errant thought, seemingly unfocused and random but it had all the components needed as that spell woven fabric of his fatigue slacks rippled and flared, responding to the manifestation of will. That lunge was suddenly and violently augmented, vortices of wind shoving him forward like a muscle car that just popped its clutch on the line. It was only by virtue of design that his pants didn't just rip off of him, though unfortunately for the both of them this meant he was launched at the woman at speed, a Mach sized freight train.

She could see, hell, she could feel the sudden shift in energy as that hit came barreling toward her. At the last moment, rather than try to duck and cover or tuck and roll, she quickly shifted into the form of a giant she'd encountered many centuries ago. Granted, he was one of the smaller giants in his tribe, but goal was met. She used his much larger stature to draw insanely large amounts of power directly from the atmosphere. She drew from the air and from the ground, from every surface inch that enormous borrowed physique could touch, and concentrated on solidifying herself almost to stone.

The effect was immediate and, although the impact still doled out damage, it wasn't as devastating as it could have been in her previous choice of forms. She absorbed the hit fully as it made direct contact with the center of her face, knocking her head to the side and driving her entire body back several feet despite her brick-like state. Almost immediately, she released her hold on both her mountainous size and density, and shifted back into the tall gangly redhead that had initially approached him, her ponytail long since knocked loose, leaving those tangly red locks to stick to her neck and forehead with sweat. As blood trickled from her nose and two monstrous black eyes already began to form, a dangerously wicked grin slowly began to form.

"Bout fuckin time." She practically cooed, her voice just a touch raspy.

"You feel that, tiger? That rush? That crackle in your brain? Hold onto it. Beat it into submission and bend it to your will. Come on. Throttle it." Her grin spread into a wild, salacious smile as she reached into her chest one last time, this time more instructionally.

"It doesn't have to be a ball. Hell, it doesn't even have to be from your chest. But it's gotta be from deep inside, just like that last hit. You get me?" She held the new orb out and looked expectantly at him.

The effect wasn't as devastating to them perhaps, but Mach hadn't expected to be the projectile thrown, with force, against a brick wall. He adapted well on the fly, a necessity in his line of work, but the blow was as much a crash test dummy test as it was a prosthetic falcon punch. He could feel doughy flesh twisting and rolling beneath his knuckles, and more beneath his shoulders and ribs as the rest of him made firm contact, his form crumpling like an empty soda can, all his kinetic energy pumped right into the shape shifter.

It was little comfort to think he was probably right about the woman, about their form not conferring mass or probably even skill. This wasn't his first, or second even, time getting thrown into a troll. Suffice to say he had enough rodeos under his belt to know that something felt off about this impact, aside from the fact he'd literally been launched from the seat of his pants. They were too solid in an unnatural way, a magical way much to his detriment.

Dropping in a heap to the ground, he groaned in a faux confident way as he forced himself to his hands and knees. His rattled brain screamed at him that lying down in misery in front of a troll was a very bad idea, especially when said troll was a witch he'd previously shot! And so he pushed forward in spite of himself, fighting vertigo as he wobbled back onto his ass before scrabbling to his feet. The fight posture he took as he sprang to his feet would have made a drunk ashamed but luckily it seemed the woman wasn't readying to take a cheap shot as he ventured they would.

No, rather than a troll's fist, he popped up to the gangly red head once more, smiling like the cat that just ate the canary rather than someone who'd had a face full of hunter unfunly thrust into them. That… wasn't the response he'd been expecting, and the raspy coo of approval only unnerved him more. Were… were they digging for that kind of reaction!? Giving the woman a leary eye, he tried to focus on their words through the dull thrum of blood pounding in his ears, the proverbial 'ringing of his bell' though there was an undercurrent of adrenaline fueled fight or flight mixed with the fading vestiges of that rage which was feeling less foreign by the moment. "Bout time, huh…?"

He didn't sound nearly as sure as the witch was, but then he had a feeling for what they were angling at. Magic, as he understood it, could be practiced in two different ways. One either learned to control it by discipline, structure, and wielding it in a prescribed manner. It was the basis of the mage universities back home which produced masterful, powerful, yet 'safe' mages. The other way was by leaning into one's emotions, dancing with the wild forces inviting potential doom at every turn, where control was tenuous at best and abuse generally flagrant. This created maleficarum, the exact kind of mage he was supposed to hunt and put down with extreme prejudice for being dangerous to themselves and others. The ones that made headlines for blowing up clubs because some ne'er-do-well tried to roofie the wrong person, or burning down apartment complexes because the neighbors were being too loud too late after the hidden magus had had a shitty day.

It wasn’t a means of ‘learning’ magic he’d really given much thought to, given his profession. But then again he couldn’t ignore the results though they still seemed as much fluke as when he’d drilled Gaines. There wasn’t any kind of ‘itch’ that he could readily recall. To take flight and absolutely smash it… which he’d done. His expression thinned as he thought on this, that being a maladjusted, violent thug had been the catalyst for the handful of times he’d successfully channeled the ether in a proactive way since his awakening. It wasn’t a thought that made him feel particularly good, but Mach was finding this new lease on things came with a boatload of unpleasant self-reflection.

Of course all of this begged the question of just what in the hells was wrong with this lady that so casually pulled balls of manifested vitriol from themselves as a weapon! It was this thought that held to his mind as he watched them pull yet another out, offering it to him almost expectantly. “Don’t think there was so much crackle as just blind ire. Not exactly bottleable..." He glanced back to the proof that he was wrong on this, his posture leaning away just a hair. “... or maybe that’s just me. You know, I gotta ask, are you okay? That… bit of nasty seems like it comes a little too natural to you, and I can’t help but think that ain’t exactly healthy..." He certainly knew the dark places that the witches malevolence drew from in him weren’t the good places of his psyche, the ache from the memories touched still raw which may have been why he was trying to avoid their goading to embrace her hate.

She let out an exasperated puff of air. Long fingers ran through the mass of red before she took a rather haughty stance with one hand on her hip.

"What is this, a first date? What's with all the goddamn questions? You asked me to help. This is me helping. If you wanted touchy feely hair braiding, then you should have just gone to Rapunzel. I'm here because I thought you wanted to dig deep and figure out your new found destiny or whatever the fuck is going on with you." Hazel eyes rolled dramatically.

Mach opened his mouth so as to insert his foot, but surprisingly the words held on his tongue. They were right, none of that mattered. Hell's, he had specifically gone to this one over many of his closer relations precisely to avoid the drama and danger that came from this sort of clandestine request. If everything went pear shaped there was a very good chance this one would be dining on a bullet same as he for their troubles. But was that enough for him to meddle in their affairs?

Letting his lips close into a thin line, he considered the woman for a long moment before looking away. "Yeah, right… sorry." That last word was muttered, weighed down by more than a little guilt at the inadvertent danger he was putting the witch in. Decent enough to feel guilty, but still a bastard as he reached out for that orb, involved them in the shit show of his life as he let the howl of the woman's negative emotions seep into him. He grit his teeth, snarling as he tried to focus in on himself, in on the churn of ether passing through him, shifting and molding as his baser instincts took hold. The air crackled about his clenching fist, the smell of ozone stinging as he took a swing, rivulets of lightning arcing about his arm as he drove his fist at blinding speed for their face. He tried to control himself, to throttle back the driving emotions just a hair, but the viciousness of that swing told how little control he had.

A slow, wicked grin pulled at her lips as he took the offered orb. She watched, not at all surprised, as he seemed to absorb it. To use it. Taking a fighting stance, she chuckled quietly.

"Fucken, finally." She muttered to herself, surprisingly a touch amused. As the asteroid of a punch sped towards her, she tried to dodge and was mostly successful, managing to avoid the brunt of it. But it still clipped her chin. With a searing white pain exploding in her jaw, she felt the adrenaline rush return to her body. Now the battle could begin in earnest.

A better fighter would have seen the confidence in the woman, the way they seemed to thrive on the adrenaline. A better hunter would have seen the dangerous glint in their eyes, the shift in their manner as they got precisely what they wanted. But Mach was neither on the best of days much less when he was drowning in a torrent of negativity. It was all he could do to try to focus, try to feel where their rage ended and the deep seated well of his own howling rage began. Feel it, and try to control it even as his body moved on autopilot, the ravenous thug that he was given free reign as that brutal, magic augmented haymaker was followed by another, and another, each booming like thunder as he tried to knock the witches block clean off. No defense, only offense as he took to that lesson in aplomb…

…

Mach wheezed as he lay there, more than a few cuts and gashes oozing blood with every weary beat of his heart. The cool grass felt good on overworked muscles, good against his throbbing head which had been thoroughly rung. He felt like he'd gone 12 rounds in a bare knuckle boxing match, and he wasn't sure if he was high balling or low balling that estimate.

His fingers quivered from equal parts exhaustion and abuse as he took hold of his nose from either side, a quick pop and a grunt of pain setting the offending feature straight once more. And with that he tucked a somewhat crushed cigarette between his lips, a lesser damaged one offered over to the witch. "So… I think we can safely say I won that..." A blood smeared grin was offered, cheeky and full of far too much bluster for someone so pummeled.

Her long, willowy figure contorted into a lean with her arms crossed under her bust, she gazed down at the hunter. With a voice honey sweet and dangerous and a smile to match, she gave a single nod.

"Sure, I'm willing to give that round to ya. Ready for the next?" Her sweet smile turned into a devilish smirk and it was impossible to tell if she was joking. There was only one way to find out.

His blusterous grin thinned a little at how serious they were at that moment. "Damn girl, you can take a beating. Might have to take this to the bedroom…" And his bloody grin turned wolfish for just a bit before faltering as he the thumping in his ears eased up just enough to hear the silence of people purposely trying not to draw attention to themselves. "...but I think we've drawn a little too much attention. Time to call it a day." That lone cobalt eye noted the damage to the park they'd caused, more than a few benches and playground equipment mangled by savage magic.

Pushing himself to his feet, he looked the woman over one more time, trying to catch a bead on them though it was a wasted effort. He may have had a knack for playing friendly with crazy, his long list of madsci acquaintances proving such, but that didn't mean he was any better at understanding crazy then the next asshole. But then given how they'd been fighting the past hour and he was starting to feel that maybe he did face a better understanding than he was comfortable with, and one he might well have to explore more of if he was going to keep up with the witch.

"Can't say it's been super fun but… I think maybe I learned a thing or two…" He scratched at his nose and instantly regretted the nervous gesture the broken feature throbbed angrily. "I'll let you know when I'm ready for round 2 yeah? Maybe find a bit better venue first… He hazarded a look to the distance as he heard the full whine of a Watch siren. Hooking his thumbs on his suspenders, he turned to walk off. "Don't be a stranger, yeah? Feel free to drop a line whenever…" The offer was made with an easy smile as he walked off, ambiguous as the tenuous relation between the maleficarum and the hunter. A relationship that had him now learning dangerous magic from the witch, but as a bastard and a hunter he'd take any advantage he could.

(Shoutout to Alexia Longbow for the wonderful scene!)

[Mach]

Family and Blood - Blindesided

He needed a break. Smoke and condensation mixed equally in the chill autumn air as the schmooze made his way down the worn, cobbled street, hands shoved deep in his coat pockets in a bid against the coming winter’s assault. When he’d first arrived in Rhy’din he hardly noticed the cold, always onboarding a base amount of potions and stims which kept the chill at bay by keeping his body temperature unnaturally high. Later on he just couldn’t feel it due to the neuropathy inherit with the spirita dissociation that was killing him before Gaines had cured him… by almost killing him. Now that he was no longer so blase with potion use nor so dying from soul rot he got to enjoy all the wonders of crap weather like every other schlub… lucky him.

Crossing the street, he looked over the out of place concrete structure that rose like an industrial eyesore amongst the lesser brick eyesores in the area. High walls were topped with utilitarian metal spikes which did nothing to hide their stabbing wall jumpers and pigeons' purpose while a bevy of high power antennas cropped out of the buildings proper, clawing ungainly at the sky. A microcosm of the brutal efficiency of military design which weighed utility and function over all else. It was the extension of the U.T.R.A's power in Rhy'din, a bastion for bigotry and xenophobia… and his desk. That's right, disrespectable ol' him had a desk with nameplate and everything!

Days had a tendency to meld into one another while out in Rhy'din without a proper job. More so given he was on deployment despite outward appearances given his general conduct. Add to this the fact that his 'job' was dictated by the hunt and thus had no regular hours to speak of and it was a wonder he could keep track of time at all. Probably couldn't, or wouldn't, if he didn't purposefully build in scheduled activities into his rudderless life. And today was Thursday which meant check-in and routine paperwork day back at the U.T.R.A. satellite office - his favorite…

Working his way through security, he mindlessly began to go through his mental checklist of what needed to be done. Weekly check-in with the commanding officer - yep. A visit to the quartermaster to resupply on cantrips, cartridges, and potions - absolutely. A mountain of paperwork for supplies used, activities done, and collateral damages made - unfortunately. Making friendly with his compatriots, especially the support hunters, so they were both keen to help him if he got his ass in too serious of trouble while also ignoring his less approved of activities - indubitably. Add in a sprinkle of assorted other clerical unpleasantries and he had himself a proper Thursday with shots and noodles after. With all this in mind his first stop had to be his office.

Well, 'office' may have been a bit generous of a term. It was more like an oversized broom closet, big enough to hold a desk, chair, him, and little else. Hell's, the thing didn't even have a terminal for him to use or any working network hookups! The space was essentially useless for anything more than as a dropoff of things for the hunter. But then assault class hunters weren't really supposed to be sitting on their ass securing a desk like some military roles. Waste of taxpayers money for a mediocre education, madsci augmentation, and training in magically boosted thugary that! But it was a good place to keep all the paperwork for when he wasted taxpayer money in more explosive ways.

Wandering the purposefully confusing maze of concrete, he grinned friendly to the overly serious folk he passed, each a little too involved in their military role. A wasted effort by his estimate given the very anarchist bent of the local populace in Rhy'din, but then that was, as he understood, kind of the reason. When coming from a place of order to one of chaos, one naturally tried to make order no matter how impossible an effort it would be. And while his homeland was hardly the most orderly place itself what with it's madsci and mage woes, it was a far sight more than this meritocratic loony bin.

Turning a final corner and he slid on up to that well known drab, unassuming door. The faux gold placard to the right reading:

1LT Elitia Turner
Principle Hunter

The placard was, of course, wrong as it didn't reflect his proper rank of Captain but such mattered little to him unless he was pulling rank. Or playing a prank as was the reason why he kept putting up his old placard in lieu of the one that was awaiting his return. That and the fact that he'd carved off the 'V.' middle initial on this one and couldn't be assed to do it again on his new one as it was made of actual metal unlike this plastic junker. A 'perk' of rank he supposed…

Turning the knob, he didn't need a key for entry as such would have run counter to the whole drop off ideology. Plus it wasn't like he kept anything in there of value save a stash of Slim Jim's and a bottle of Plantation so he was able to push right in without too much hassle. The door barely cleared the desk corner but resoundingly thwacked into the chair meant for guests, pulled close to the door to act as more storage (currently for what looked to be his replacement spell weaved duster.) The drab, concrete walls were decorated by a map of Rhy'din proper taped up behind his desk and never once used as well as a framed copy of his hunter's license to give the space the credence of credibility. This was all for naught though when one actually saw his desk which was little more than a mess of paperwork, bullets, documents, explosives, forms, and reports. It was a depressing sight but a well known one for the, odd as it was, civil servant.

Organizing the chaos into haulable stacks (and finding a surprise carton of his favorite cigarettes, tribute for beating the pants off a few newly transferred recruits last month) he paused at a curious sight. In the middle of the desk where a keyboard would have gone was a neat manilla envelope with the U.T.R.A. crest emblazoned in the middle. This wasn't odd in itself, the U.T.R.A. crest was printed and stamped on almost every sheet of paper that littered that desktop. But there was something too crisp and clean about this if nothing more than the fact that this was an envelope and not just a harried folder, falling apart and losing the battle to contain the papers within. That usually meant official which was generally worrisome.

In his experience official mail from the military was either commendations, condemnations, orders, or leave. To his knowledge he hadn't done anything to warrant the first two options recently… that anyone official should have been aware of. And as for his very condemnable actions of becoming a mage, well, he wouldn't get a sternly written letter for such unless it could vent his brainpan too. Orders were unlikely as his orders hadn't really changed for years (save for an added fuck up and find out clause at the end of his current ones) and those had to be reviewed over with him personally by his commanding officer (or the commanding officer of the post which, ironically, was lower rank than he.) As for leave, well, he didn't think he had any such coming his way though it wouldn't really matter regardless. It wasn't like he was some hard nosed patriotic nut that lived and breathed military or anything, far from such. But when he did get leave he just didn't see much reason in going back to Tanga. Didn't really have a home to go back to and for all its faults Tanga's police force was a far sight more a pain in his ass than Rhy'dins when it came to him being a charlatan thug. So it just made sense for him to stick around, doing bounty jobs than going back to a place that generally distrusted him so he could do odd seasonal work to sustain his bastard lifestyle. A little sad when he thought about it, but then that's why he didn't.

Cleaning around the distastefully clean envelope for a bit, he finally snagged it with a sigh, rolling on a heel as he crashed down onto his plush pleather chair behind the desk. A boot dagger, still tagged with a City Watch evidence identifier (because stabbing folks outside an arena was illegal), was snagged and used to shear the top off the envelope (and a little off the papers within, whoops.) Pulling out the crisp packet of papers, his lone eye traced over the sharp typeface, skipping over the large amount of pompous dressing to get to the body of the form letter:

CPT Elitia Vance Turner

It is with our deepest regrets that we approve you for emergency leave from post of upwards of 2 weeks to attend to bereavement & personal matters in regards to death, internal family: Matthew Clark Turner. During this time...

The rest of the words fuzzed and blurred together after that; losing meaning or relevance as he focused on that one name. It was a cold shock, blindsiding him and leaving him numb, lost and rudderless in a way he hadn’t felt even remotely close to in a long time. A living nightmare in 12 point font, highlighting yet another personal failure - his youngest brother, his Matty, was dead.

[Mach]

Family and Blood - Roots

It took everything he had not to deck the base commander when he picked up his train tickets to return to Tang that morning. Leaving that notice on his desk to just find was an act of pure spineless cowardice which he couldn't abide. Oh sure, he certainly wasn't Mr. Oo Raw, Oo Raw, G.I. Brave, but even he knew not to do someone dirty like that. It was the kind of move from a commanding officer that eroded trust, and was likely why they'd been regulated to such a crap posting as the S.E.Z. of Rhy'din even though they were, by all other accounts, an otherwise alright administrator. An unfortunate way to discover their particular brand of fuck up that got them here, especially given how seemingly composed and courageous they'd seemed during the Humanity First fiasco a few years back. But then again they had been notably absent from the frontlines so it’s not like the signs weren’t there, he just didn’t care enough about the support structure around him to have noticed. More fool him.

Arriving at the train station early in the morning and once again he found himself leaving the sleepless city of Rhy’din without so much as an ounce of fanfare or a single soul to wish him well. Unsurprising given he’d told absolutely no one about this departure. Very few folks even knew he had family, most likely just assuming he’d been born from a rum cask with umbrella’d drink in hand and a smoke clipped in a schmoozy smile. And of those who did know he couldn’t venture they’d have cared beyond the obligatory sympathies which he generally hated. Again, unsurprising given he’d not talked to most of those folks for years, letting time heal the wounds of their affiliations with him. Despite his new lease on life he’d not dove back into the hot mess of things, instead keeping a fair modicum of decorum and distance. His therapist may have called such growth but in reality the doom that loomed over him now was much more dangerous to relations than a bit of heartache over his self inflicted passing.

No, if he was discovered to be a magus, then those that would come to ‘fix’ that problem would have no scruples in using any relation of his to get at him. These would be, after all, fellow hunters who were at very least if not much more such bastard than he was. This presented a problem as he was certain in any stand-up fight against a hunter sent after him he would surely lose. This wasn’t a self esteem issue or a knock against his particularly stupid brand of piss and vinegar. No, this was a frank and honest assessment of the sorts he knew had his black flagged file. They were very dangerous individuals who lived for the hunt and were masters at flatfooting their prey… and he would be a well studied target. If he were ever forced to ante up against such a fight he would need help; which, funnily, he couldn’t afford to mix up in such an affair.

A rock and a hard place scenario which sat ever present in the back of his mind, a crappy distraction from the sucking grief that had been threatening to consume him for days. He'd learned that the reason why he hadn't heard anything about his brothers passing before that little surprise on his desk was the fact that communications blackout was now in practice for Rhy'din, or more specifically him. A nice little 'fuck you' from Col. Romanii, likely to try and goad him given the fact he'd not nearly been the rebellious piece of it that they had expected him to be. If anything he'd been rather exemplary as a hunter for some time, if only to avoid bringing unwanted attention into his madsci syndicate ties or his high treasonous magus training. Yeah, he had a lot to hide and it had kept him so busy he hadn't even given it any thought when the little trickle of chatter from home he'd taken for granted had mysteriously stopped months back. Hell's, he'd probably still be blissfully unaware of Matty's death if Bri hadn't submitted the formal request for emergency leave. Oh, the request hadn't said who submitted it, but given his family there was little doubt it was her.

Crossing through the dimensional portal from Rhy'din to Tang and suddenly his personal phone exploded with messages. It took him several hours to sort through the backlog of messages, catch up on what he'd been missing. Luckily the number had dwindled once he'd stopped replying, some concern creeping in until someone had finally remembered he was a military man on post. After that the messages all but stopped save for one sender, twice a month… from Matty. They kept him updated on the dumbest of things like what was going on in the old neighborhood or who was dating who from their friends group. They prattled on small talk and nonsense between asking after his latest fling to fail. It was obvious they were trying to keep connected, right up to a few weeks ago when they'd finally stopped due to their untimely demise, their last message as cheery as any other. This… this hit like a ton of bricks, crushing him once more and making him rather glad his only company on this long ride were cargo containers.

He'd recovered by the time the train was pulling into the station with just enough time to change from military fatigues into civvy casual before boarding his transfer train. The uniform always brought questions which inevitably brought knowledge of him being a hunter which brought gazes and whispers and he wasn't feeling plucky enough to live down being an albatross today. No, he just wanted to be miserable Joe Blow riding a train in peace, hidden in plain sight like any illegal magus.

By the time he arrived in Prysbil the sun was sitting low on the horizon, languid and warm in contrast to his mood. Stepping off the train and it didn't take long to spy the hulking figure of his brother Mike who he'd been texting with the past few hours, catching up and making plans. The man walked up, giving him a sad smile that spread wide on broad features, mirroring his own. Without even a word he embraced the man, their branch limbs curling around him heartily as they squeezed and pat/slapped the dreary mood from each other. It felt good, even when the bastard lifted him up and swept him side to side like a little kid. No easy feat that given his own size, but then they had always been much more brawn than they were ever brain.

“Damn Tia, it’s been too long…”

They grinned as they gave him one last squeeze, dropping him just before they clapped the back of his head with a girthy hand. He hissed at the cheap shot, glaring at his brother. “Dude, what the f-”

“That’s for staying away so long.” They matched his glower with one of their own. “Seriously, couldn’t even pop home after getting out of your, what, third incarceration?”

He felt his bluster shrink some at that, guilt taking hold. After his little jaunt in Kerns Mordarte and having to put down his fellow hunter all according to Ivera’s little machinations, he’d sped off back to Rhy’din, or as quickly as he could. He never once tried to spare some time during his preparation for deployment to come back here, and over the years he’d been in Rhy’din since he’d not once made a return trip to his world of origin. At first it was because of his flickering flame, the ever present specter of death that was creeping ever closer to him which saw him avoid home. And after his team switch by way of Gaines, well, he was too busy getting used to the life of a magus, training and learning and scheming for how he would survive this deadly secret. At least, that’s the partial truth he told himself anyway. The full truth of the manner was much more complicated, or felt that way at least. It certainly was something he avoided thinking over in depth and today wasn't going to be any different if he had it his way. "What can I say? Secret shit to blow up, pals to bang, you know how it is…"

"Uh huh…" The incredulousness in their tone hurt, but with a thwack to his back and they were on their way, the subject apparently dropped for now. Mikey always knew when to drop things, whether by emotional intelligence or conditioning he wasn't sure. Just part of that special bond the two bastards shared, molded by a very crappy and all too short childhood together. Whatever you say Tia." Pulling a pack of cigarettes from the breast pocket of their floral print shirt, the man offered him one of the cancer sticks while snagging one for themselves. It was, of course, their favorite brand, the ones they'd been smoking since before he even had pubes.

Snagging one of his own, he clipped it between lips and lit it up between the thumb and palm of his prosthetic hand. Purely habit, but it brought attention to the fake arm and in turn his eyepatch. The larger man gave him a sad look, jaw flexing as they struggled with their internal thoughts. He readied a pithy remark to break that growing awkward silence but his brother beat him to the punch, figuratively even as they clapped his back again. "Bri ain't gonna approve of that shit at all man, you know that, yeah?"

He shot the bastard a glower even as they snatched his prosthetic hand, lifting it up as a lighter. Dick. "I'll be sure to add that to the growing file cabinet of things she doesn't approve of." A grin curled on his features as the man barked in laughter.

"Gonna have to upgrade the size soon I think! " Taking a drag off their ciggy and the man blew out a steady plume of gray, that levity easing into a more serious expression as they began up walk towards the exit. "She won't be in till tomorrow cause of school, know how that goes and all. Jon'll be late too just because he's Jon…" He snorted in time with Mike, the both of them obviously sharing the same opinion of their middle half brother.

"Yeah, that tracks…" He fell in step with the man, canvas duffle slung over his shoulder. "Hey is the Heights Motel still open? Kinda hard to tell from their website since it hasn't updated since mom conceived your ass."

The other snorted, smoke rolling from their nostrils. "Ha ha, hilarity." He couldn't help but grin which, in turn, made the other grin. " But seriously, don't wanna give that place whatever super STDs you bring from wherever your ass is posted. You'll be staying with me; got a pretty cozy couch, or you can snuggle up with me in my bed like the shit ol' times."

He grimaced at that thought. "Yeah… no; big spoon only here." The cigarette wagged salacious between his teeth as he blew out a plume of smoke. "What about Bri or Asshat?"

"What about em?" They shot him a mild glance. "They can find their own digs. My home is your home, you know that." There was a certain finality in that statement that made it hard to argue against the oaf. It had always been that way with them, the two of them against the rest of the world. Not even his relationship with Matty had come close but then Mike and him had essentially raised the others… until he'd run away to play soldier.

With resignation he simply clapped the man's broad back with his prosthetic hand eliciting a yelp. "Sure, sure." He grinned in the face of their glare, a touch of humor lighting that lone cobalt eye before it faded amongst the smoke. "So the funeral is Hasdort?"

Mike held that stink eye a moment longer before nodding solemnly. "Yeah. We got a few days till then. Got a family dinner planned for tomorrow, but otherwise figured we could spook the old haunts, yeah? Raise some Turner revelry for our lost son."

He snorted at that, shaking his head. "You are a fucking idiot. And a menace."

"Yeah, maybe, but I'm your fucking menace."

"And idiot."

They glowered at him again as they shoved him for the steps. "Hur, hur, me no know money. All drinks on talky smartass…" He couldn't help but laughed as he took the lead to raise some hell in the name of their fallen brother.

[Mach]

Family and Blood - Revelry for the Dead

The next few days came and went in a blur between carousing at his old haunts with Mike and spending quality time with the family he had left. Folks were generally okay with him and were both sympathetic and willing to party. But there was always an undertone of discomfort between him and everyone else, born of that stigma he could never live down as a hunter much less as a magus if anyone were ever to find out. As for his family he got much more heat for his absence than Mike ever gave him, and much more fussing over his lost parts. Bri in particular was aghast at how he was still considered duty ready missing an eye and an arm, the doctor in her just not able to accept that the military could be so callous as to patch up their injured to send back into the meat grinder. It warmed him that she turned out to be such an idealistic bleeding heart; meant him and Mike had at least done something right. Jon seemed shocked at his state too but the bastard couldn't help but nitpick and snide him for it.

He took one of the days to go down to his storage locker in town, the closest thing to a 'home' he had. Oh sure he had little stashes of stuff here and there around Tanga, but this was by far his largest. A 10 by 15 box holding the collective sentimentality of the bastard - military awards, knicknacks, memorabilia, objects of nostalgic value. Per usual he spent a few hours just perusing the memories, remembering the good times and the bad. Objects connected to Elena and Gin seemed to hold his attention the most this time around, not surprising given the debacle with Gaines. But at long last he made his way through the collapsable wardrobe that held his good black suit. The one he wore to the funeral of both those dearly departed and many more throughout his years. He was the bastard who’d blown off his own damn arm and yet folks just kept passing him by, leaving him as the survivor when he had no damn right to be. The thought weighed heavy, and made him flee that bunker of memorabilia, collected alcohols, and hoarded weapons before his thoughts traipsed too far down forbidden roads.

Come Hasdort and the weather was muggy and unpleasant, the hot season in full swing. But it did nothing to dissuade the gathering of mourners. There were those dressed as he, solemn and mourning though there was no shortage of garish neons or sparkly bling. Matty’s friends - a flamboyant lot of youths who askewed tradition and social norms, or better known as a freakshow. Still, they were respectful of the dead, and despite their lively getups they truly mourned the death of his brother. More than a few spoke words that made him misty eyed as he stood aside the coffin, observing the last vigil.

Matthew’s corpse was clad in a summer dress, yellow with embroidered flowers tangled with various pins of pop culture reference. Striped leggings ended in combat boots while an assortment of different bracelet types ran up and down their arms; ending in tented, ringed fingers. Their hair was half shaved with the long part combed left in a pompadour, dyed pink and orange in altering stripes. The mortician had made sure they had a proper face of makeup - purple hued eyelids with silver tips, a smudge of red lipstick, and gemstone encrusted jewelry. The smile was gentle, wrong in how lifeless it was; same as the over paleness of their skin which sat in sharp contrast to the dark olive of the desecrated military jacket they'd thefted from him during his first leave. It was carefully folded under their thin arms - Matty's most prized possession from him, with other objects scattered throughout their casket.

After the line of words and mourners passed, he and the rest of his family carried the casket to the crematorium. He'd tried to convince Bri against helping with such a morbid task but got nothing but a smack to the head for his efforts. Got one from Vivi too and a few other friends who wanted to help but he stood firm turning those folk down. This was a Turner family burden. Once in the crematorium the wayist monk he'd found gave the last rites before their brother was rolled into the flames. The remaining circle of close friends and family watched the cremation in subdued silence, those of high emotion excusing themselves to wail outside and keep the peace as was tradition in wayism. He wasn't quite sure if Matty really was a wayist or just a dabbler like him, but the religion turned no one away regardless. The tradition and respect that came with it at least felt right rather than one of the many agnostic services which were typical in Tanga.

Once the body was reduced to ash and fragments, he and his family helped the funeral attendants in scooping the remnants into an urn. A final precession saw the monk speaking about a return to the universe from which one was born. From the ether we form and to the ether we return, no cushy afterlife or punishing purgatories - just melding with the cosmic background noise, potentially coming back as part of something else but never the same. No judgements, no condemnations… it was easy to see how Wayism survived the schism between man and the culling of the Gods from the age of legends. Reaching the mausoleum, only the Turners were allowed in for the sealing of the urn into the small, nondescript vault - one of hundreds along the single wall. Typically they would scatter the ashes, but he'd ponied up for a proper lot to retain one last enduring anchor of the departed in the world. A selfish gesture, perhaps, but he wanted a place him and his siblings could mourn when they wanted.

Afterwards his family and Matty's friends retired to a favored bar of the deceased which he rented out to memorialize the departed and celebrate the continuation of those still living. A freakshow of a gathering showing off just how many lives Matty touched, unbounded by the norms society tried to shackle them with. He didn't even recognize half the folk present, and of those he knew he hardly recognized anymore. Time marching on he supposed, the old neighborhood morphing and changing albeit still suffering from crippling socioeconomic disparity. Leaning against a patio rail, he looked out over the tired cityscape, painted in mauve tones as a storm rolled in from the mountains, swallowing the setting sun. He could hear the dull rumble of thunder in the distance as he nursed his beer.

"Looks like it's gonna cry tonight for Matty." Mike's heavy timbre broke his reverie, that lone cobalt eye of his sliding over to the suited thug as he joined him against the rail.

He couldn't help but snort, taking a sip of his warming beer. "More than the dick and the incubator." This warranted a chuckle from the other despite the topic. Both Matty's parents had been informed of the funeral yet, unsurprising to no one, neither of them had bothered attending. He supposed their father was still disappointed in the lifestyle Matty lived and just couldn't reconcile such even with their death; but then they had moved on to raise a family which had nothing to do with the youngest Turner. As for their common mother, well, he supposed they were probably just too busy opening their legs to their next meal ticket. Of course he couldn't help but wonder if the woman was still bitter against Matty for being a difficult pregnancy which saw both he and her uterus removed, stealing their man trap which had spawned him and four of his siblings. Not the nicest opinion to hold of the women who brought him to life, but then a long list of irresponsible behaviors, constant abandonment, neglect, and siding with those who abused and victimized her children had not done much for their relationship.

"We were way more Matty's parents then those two wastes. The void take them." They spat their own sip of beer over the rail as though the mere mention of those two soured the drink itself.

"Yeah, we were…"

Mike shot him a look. "Sounds like there's a 'but' in that."

He avoided their look for a long moment, nursing his beer thoughtfully. "Not really… just… things don't seem settled."

This warranted a furrowing quirk of brow from the other. "How you mean?" He let his gaze drop to his drink once more, stalling as he went back and forth with himself. "How you-"

"Where's Javier?" That growing agitation faltered at the name, the big man's jaw flexing.

Looking around, they scratched at their nose. "Not here." There tone was as displeased as their expression.

Of course they knew who he was talking about, the guy had been an on again off again boyfriend to their brother since the time he'd been transferred to the Rhy'din S.E.Z. "Yeah...and for good reason too."

"Yeah, because Bri forbid it, you know that. Didn't want any gangbanger bullshit at Matty's send-off."

"Oh come on, you think that little shit would listen to Bri? She's scary to us, maybe, but she ain't that scary."

"Maybe they decided to be respectful." He shot them a look. "For once…maybe?" Apparently only having one eye gave that look some power as his brother finally waved him off. "Okay, okay, little shit's a thug, I remember. So the fucker's trash to the end, so what?"

He sighed, taking a drag of his cigarette. "Look, Matty died from an OD."

"That's what the coroner said, yeah" There was a hint of suspicion in their voice which told him at least they felt how weird that was given who they were talking about. It was no secret that Matthew didn't just like drugs, but loved them. He wasn't sure just how much of their flamboyance was natural versus how much was psychedelic burn in.

"Yeah, thought that was odd too, so I called in a few favors and got the actual report." This warranted a quirk of brow from the other, their attention captured. "Matty did die from an overdose of Spirit. Thing is, he had enough in him to fuel an entire party - hookers and staff included."

Mike grimaced at that thought. "Shit… ok, but this is Matty we're talking about, maybe…" Their thick features scrunched, not even buying what they were about to propose. "Hrn… shit, so what? You're thinking mule job gone shit?" He nodded solemnly, Mike's jaw flexing hard as they processed that, the bottle in hand hurled angrily into the coming night, luckily smashing into the brick building across the way."Fuck! And it-!" That angry growl snapped into a hiss as more than a few heads turned their way. "It was Javier that was making Matty pony up?"

He shrugged, nursing his beer. "I don't know for sure, no. But we know Matt's been pinched before carrying for them, yeah? Served a year last time for possession. And despite their… relationship… we ain't seen hide nor hair of the asshole, complete 180 from their no shits given facade. Hell's, I even saw Benson and Trixie earlier during the precession - if those two pushers got the balls to show to an OD funeral I can't imagine why Javie couldn't… unless-"

"Guilty conscious… fuck!" Mike throttled their meaty hands. "Uncle Ben told me a few months back that shit was getting uppity, that him and his little homies were trying to push their territory." He resisted the urge to frown at the over friendly way the man addressed the drug dealer that had almost killed them back in their twenties, had almost got him hooked on Fizzy when he was a boy, and made a regular customer of their youngest brother. The bastard was a right peddler of misery for the Turners, but they were at least a bastard with scruples unlike what he'd heard about Javier. "I didn't think nothing of it because he and Matty were in a cold spot, but… fuck, fuck!" He touched the man's foreman, shaking his head against that growing anger that was starting to gather gazes. "So what're we gonna do about this." There was a hard edge to that voice which told him the kind of mindset his brother was in - the same kind he had been in since he'd read that toxicology report.

"I was thinking I'd have a little talk with the boyo, see what he's got to say for himself."

Mike snorted. "With your fists you better mean. But that little shit's a gangbanger in a territory war, ain't no way you're reaching him."

He shrugged, finishing his beer. "My entire career is based on applied violence. Against some punks? I think I like my odds."

They gave him a hard, assessing look, their brow furrowing. "Yeah, sure, you're a badass… missing half your shit." They ignored his scowl at the cheap shot. "But still, think having another Turner to watch your back would make our odds better. And besides, I'd love to hear what answers that shit might have for us."

He shot Mike a wary smile, feeling like complete shit. It wasn't a complete lie that he liked his odds… if he was just trying to turn Javier and their goons into a smoldering smear. Leaving them talking though was a feat too much for a magic fueled sledgehammer like him - 'lacking finesse' as Dendarow liked to jab though they weren't wrong. No, he needed more hammers to make things work, and he'd been considering how best to recruit Mike just as long as he'd been planning things. Hunters were equal parts badass and bastard, always playing the angles even if such occasionally turned out to be family. Still… "You know what this'll entail, yeah?"

The larger man snorted. "Yeah, a healthy dose of violence I imagine."

"More like an unhealthy application." His correction drew another snort from the man. "I mean it Mike. You said it, boyo's been making waves in all the wrong ways. Gonna have beefed up security surrounding him and I don't think Javier's going to want to talk to us willingly."

Mike shrugged flippantly but grew serious at the glare he leveled on them. "So it'll be like the bad ol times, but you know I got you, thick or thin. Besides, this is for Matty…" Their expression darkened momentarily before a grin cracked. "And I ain't afraid of no consequences so long as you're the one doing the thinking on this Mr. Military."

A thin smile curled on his lips. "Yeah, okay. Thanks man." The bigger man reached over and rocked him with a fist to the shoulder playfully, the accord made.

"So we got someplace to hit? I ain't ever learned where this shit lived from Matty, not that I imagine they're staying at their pad in the middle of a pissing contest."

He smirked. "Yeah, can't imagine either - good thing this pissing contest is pissing off the wrong folks. I talked to Trixie earlier before they booked it and she gave me some pretty good deets on a few places that Javie's been seen frequenting. Didn't even have to pay for them once I said I was planning on indenting their pretty face depending the answers I got. Better risking my ass than her folk I guess."

Mike nodded thoughtfully, opening their mouth to speak but someone else beat them to the punch. "So you're going to recon and let us know?"

Both of them turned to the latest entrant into their conversation, the slight man puffing up defiantly under their incredulous glares. "Jon…"

"Weren't you watching over Bri?"

The middle most Turner shrugged. "Yeah, then we saw you two, or more Meathead here causing a scene so I sent her off to talk with Tul while I came over to smooth things out." They smirked. "You're welcome."

"Hey man, we didn-" The bigger man looked to him as he grabbed their arm, shaking his head.

"What for?" He smiled thin but innocently at his younger brother.

Jon simply scoffed at the expression. "You don't think Bri would actually approve of what you two are plotting, do you?"

Damn, that pretty much confirmed that they'd been made, and he'd really hoped to avoid involving them. Mike gave him a look which agreed with this sentiment as they shrugged casually. "Don't be a dick Jon. Besides this ain't got nothing to do with you."

There was no hiding that cringe that crossed his face as those words left his older siblings' mouth - dumbass! On cue Jon scowled while puffing up in indignation. "Hey asshole, he was my brother too! If that banger wannabe was responsible for Matt's death then I want in on this!"

Mike had puffed up, ready to get into it with their middle brother until their argument took the wind right out of their sails. For his part he just bit back a curse while shaking his head. "Jon, think this through, yeah? Things are likely to turn hairy with this-"

"I can handle myself Eli! I grew up in the same shit circumstances as you two did, I'm not some punk ass chinchin."

He suppressed a sigh at that slang which just felt so foreign coming from the younger man. It wasn't that he didn't like Jon or wanted to exclude them. Hell's, if this didn't piss them off he'd have to wonder if they were actually related. The problem was that Jon, unlike Mike or even Matt, wasn't really that street smart. They were a brain like Bri, should have gone to college and done something with themselves, been a respectable sort that dragged themselves up by the bootstraps and their superior intelligence. Instead they tried to follow in his and Mike's footsteps, idolized being some street hardened thug without really understanding why Mike and him were that way or having needed to develop that kind of fight in them. Thus they were a little too soft, a little too gullible for the mean streets of Prysbil which had no shortage of bastards willing to use such a dope. And so Jon stole failure from the jaws of success, got themselves a rap sheet with a few felonies which made it impossible to advance in any job that used their nut now. His and Mike's greatest failure until this week with passing of Matty.

Pinching at a point of pain trying to grow between his eyes, he finally did let go of that sigh, shaking his head. "Jon… fine, you can come. But you gotta listen to me, yeah? Back off if me or Mike tell you to-"

"Yeah, yeah, I-"

"No, you don't know and if you ain't willing to listen then you can't go and I'll tell Bri myself, you hear?" He shot the young man a sharp look which made them squirm a little just emphasizing his fears.

After a long moment they finally signed, petulantly, and nodded. "I got it, I got it, I'll listen. So…"

He drilled them with a glare a moment longer before looking away. "I'll check out the leads and let you two know what's going down. Think'll take a day at most and then a few for planning. So probably… Sorndort for actually doing anything so long as Trixie's info isn't bad."

Apparently their angry whispering about warranted the attention of the bar staff as a young woman in a getup that left little to the imagination strolled up with a tray of pink beers atop - a favorite of Matty's that tasted like sugared piss to him. "It's a memorial boys, let's take it down a notch, yeah?" They turned the tray towards them expectantly.

Mike accepted one with an embarrassed grin while Jon did their best not to look down the girls tank top as they snagged one. He smiled easily at them as he took his own. "Sorry Misty, you know how hot blooded us Turner's can be."

"Bunch of fucking menace's, the lot of you…" They smiled sweetly but it held a sad edge before they turned and walked off. It must have been hard working through a childhood friend's memorial - he'd known the girl since the time Matt brought her home wanting to keep her like a puppy when she was six after she'd run away from her drunk father who'd been feeling particularly whippy that day. Shit circumstances but that was just the kind of hard knock life folks who grew and lived here dealt with.

Looking back to Mike and Jon, he raised his glad of effervescent pink beer to them. "For Matty."

Smiles faded into somber masks as the two men raised their glasses up too, tapping his. "For Matty."

They drank in contemplative silence before returning to the motley party, socializing and carousing unburdened by the task they were about to embark on for their fallen brother.