Irihi
Evildoer
- Group
- Dice
- Quests
It was a strange day in Red Haven. The Devil’s Day decorations had long since come down and now the Hearts district was all abuzz with preparation for Veil in Tines; that midwinter’s day when the denizens of The Big Easy would find their hearts (and their wallets) pierced by a thousand needles--tines of love, tines of hate, tines of sorrow and loneliness. Before that, however, mother nature had tried a new trick in her endless battle to scrub the blighted canker of the city by the bay from her swampy shores.
It was snowing in Red Haven, and not just a few flakes to christen the streets--but a good and proper burial, with streets, roofs, and ground six inches under the pale frozen blanket. The day was cold and blustery as well; not the bitter freezes that sometimes seized The Republic, but cold enough to keep most off the streets--and freeze to death some of those with nowhere else to go.
Yet the frosty blanket hid from sight the horrors of their demise. Corpses were swaddled in white, becoming nothing more than lumps beneath the pristine snow. The mostly-empty streets looked almost festive under the veil; whitewashed and pure as the driven snow,
much like the wealthy and powerful of the city--who insulated themselves from the cold and death with “snow parties” in their glittering frosted mansions--white and pure on the outside, with the corruption and rot hidden just beneath their milk-white facades.
Miiya wasn’t a native of Red Haven. She knew snow and biting cold worse than the century-odd storm that had reached the southern bayous. The cold flakes outside held no mystery or mystique for her. “But I can’t believe they’re yfretting closed!” she groused to Stormbreaker, her draconic friend, as the pair trudged through the snowy streets, her wings caped about her, fending off the chill. “It’s just a little snow! Sheesh!
Miiya stopped as they reached the major intersection on the edge of Spades. She surveyed the mostly-empty streets, arms akimbo. “Don’t think there’s much crime to fight today, Essbee. Wanna do some touring, instead?
Despite the snow, and her favorite breakfast shop being closed by it, Miiya was in a pretty good mood. She didn’t have to work her usual 16 hours today---and it was looking more and more like she might never have to, again. I mean, I need to practice, write a bunch of new pieces, and perform, so I’m busy about 20 hours of the day now--but that’s not really work! She thought to herself.
The feathered jack-of-all-trades seemed to be settling into one of them. It wasn’t a trade, really, as far as Miiya was concerned. Singing, songwriting, performing; that was a fun hobby--one her mother had frowned upon, making it all the more appealing to the young Aerial. She was still moonlighting at Vivian’s workshop, but Miiya’s courier day job had been replaced by several small gigs a week, and a couple of really big shows. She hadn’t headlined a concert yet, but her name was out there, in lights, and commensurate money was starting to flow into her pocket. She even had a contract--not a big contract, but still--that paid her an advance bigger than her last six paychecks, combined.
Miiya knew some of her rise to semi-stardom was being facilitated by her shadowy patron. She had shared this with Stormbreaker after they had left Giovanna’s place. Miiya knew she had made a deal with the devil in a desperate moment, and she hadn’t wanted SB to walk into the sametrap situation with her eyes closed--like Miiya had. So far, Mephisto’s deal was paying off in Spades, but Miiya couldn’t help the feeling that she was going to end up an unwilling cog in the sharp-toothed monster’s madcap plans.
“It’s okay, Essbee. He… he saved me. Miiya had admitted, one night, in her grotty studio apartment. She had done her best not to glance over at the spot where she had killed Marek Mephisto had gutted and skinned the corpse of her attacker, before making it all go away. There was a reason she insisted that SB take the bed, while she was sleeping on the threadbare loveseat she had pushed to the farthest corner of her apartment.
“I don’t trust-- …I don’t think we should trust any of the patrons of this city, but Mephisto hasn’t asked me to do anything I wouldn’t already be doing.” Miiya had folded her smaller hands over Stormbreaker’s thick scaled fingers. “But I am glad you’re here now. You give me courage to face him,” she admitted. So far, Stormy had just loomed threateningly in the background during Mephisto’s rare appearances--her presence drawing his viscous grin a little tighter and eliciting a snide comment or two.
…
So, in the weeks since leaving Giovanna’s place, Miiya had been singing, shopping, cooking, caring for SB during her recovery, and continuing to work as Vivian’s lab assistant. She also sometimes helped Stormbreaker practice punching minor bad guys. But that didn't pay anything, nor was it likely to anytime in the future. Thus far, they’d only stopped a couple of purse-snatchers, a shoplifter, and a trio of motherfretting racist pricks who had been harassing a juvenile beastman.
That last act of heroism had been Miiya’s favorite. While all the other riders on the streetcar had averted their gazes from the commotion, Stormbreaker had gotten to her feet.
“I can’t believe you threw them off the bus while we were crossing the bridge, Essbee!” Miiya had chortled afterward. “They flew pretty far, for being wingless.”
…
The always-broke hero was currently crashing on Miiya’s couch--the other way around, actually; Miiya took the couch. She didn’t mind one bit. In fact, the hero “work” the pair had fallen back into was turning into something of a business relationship. Part of the reason Miiya had wanted to take Stormy to breakfast was to discuss hiring the draconic woman as herroadie manager.
“I mean, you already come to almost all my shows, Stormy, you carry my shu, help me set up and tear down, and handle crowd control.” She grinned at SB over her second protein shake. “You’re basically an unpaid manager; let me pay you for it!”
The large restaurant they had settled on--one of the few to open on this snowy day--was pretty meh in Miiya’s opinion, but they served high-calorie food and had reasonably-clean tables. Miiya put her hands on one of the said tables as she talked, laying out a generous business deal between herself and her friend.
This was something totally new to Miiya; being rich enough to be a job creator, and--truth be told--she was glad she could start with Essbee, because I have no idea how to do this! Miiya had always lived hand-to-mouth since leaving home. She had been a literal starving intern, artist, student, and even street urchin--more often than not--during her teenage and adult life. Arriving in Red Haven had marked a change to all that.
Actually, killing Marek was when my fortunes really changed. She stuffed that thought down, and continued to eat, talk, and think about the future.
Miiya was swimming in cash now. She not only had a bank account, but it was an account large enough that the bankers brought her (and Stormy) into the private glass-walled rooms with free coffee and snacks and shu. A month ago, they would’ve been looking down their noses at the scruffy skwitch darkening their doors and having the audacity to breathe their air, now the yfretters bowed and scraped; held her door, pulled her chair, and even gave her more money, for her money--because she already had money.
It was yfretting nutso. It’s like I’m suddenly part of this club--this group of elites--and now they want me to stand beside them--on the necks of all the unwashed peasants .
The thing was, even as she looked uneasily down from the private rooms on the rank-and-file patrons, she knew there were higher tiers that were still looking down on her. As she tried to get her friend to accept payment--to be her employee--instead of trading favors as equals, Miiya couldn’t decide if she wanted to claw her way higher up this ladder, or if the climb was already making her nauseous.
Miiya was always hungry, always scrapping, always scraping, and kinda proud of her thrift. If she lost that part of her, what was going to fill the void? What now? She didn’t have to split a twelve-by-sixteen tenement--with barely enough hot water for 0.75 people--with her friend, anymore. She didn’t have to browse thrift stores for clothing or pawn shops for equipment. She didn’t have to fare skip just to have enough coin left to eat tomorrow. Hell, she didn’t have to ride the street cars at all, anymore.
I can buy yfretting retail.
She didn’t say any of this to Essbee, of course, and she emphasized that they were partners and equals but they weren’t--not when someone was paying someone--and that feeling, these thoughts, were a bit of a paradigm shift for the Aerial woman. Miiya couldn’t help feeling, as she extended a hand to Stormbreaker with a “whaddaya say?” just a hint of the long shadow of her patron twining its fingers with her own.
It was snowing in Red Haven, and not just a few flakes to christen the streets--but a good and proper burial, with streets, roofs, and ground six inches under the pale frozen blanket. The day was cold and blustery as well; not the bitter freezes that sometimes seized The Republic, but cold enough to keep most off the streets--and freeze to death some of those with nowhere else to go.
Yet the frosty blanket hid from sight the horrors of their demise. Corpses were swaddled in white, becoming nothing more than lumps beneath the pristine snow. The mostly-empty streets looked almost festive under the veil; whitewashed and pure as the driven snow,
much like the wealthy and powerful of the city--who insulated themselves from the cold and death with “snow parties” in their glittering frosted mansions--white and pure on the outside, with the corruption and rot hidden just beneath their milk-white facades.
Miiya wasn’t a native of Red Haven. She knew snow and biting cold worse than the century-odd storm that had reached the southern bayous. The cold flakes outside held no mystery or mystique for her. “But I can’t believe they’re yfretting closed!” she groused to Stormbreaker, her draconic friend, as the pair trudged through the snowy streets, her wings caped about her, fending off the chill. “It’s just a little snow! Sheesh!
Miiya stopped as they reached the major intersection on the edge of Spades. She surveyed the mostly-empty streets, arms akimbo. “Don’t think there’s much crime to fight today, Essbee. Wanna do some touring, instead?
Despite the snow, and her favorite breakfast shop being closed by it, Miiya was in a pretty good mood. She didn’t have to work her usual 16 hours today---and it was looking more and more like she might never have to, again. I mean, I need to practice, write a bunch of new pieces, and perform, so I’m busy about 20 hours of the day now--but that’s not really work! She thought to herself.
The feathered jack-of-all-trades seemed to be settling into one of them. It wasn’t a trade, really, as far as Miiya was concerned. Singing, songwriting, performing; that was a fun hobby--one her mother had frowned upon, making it all the more appealing to the young Aerial. She was still moonlighting at Vivian’s workshop, but Miiya’s courier day job had been replaced by several small gigs a week, and a couple of really big shows. She hadn’t headlined a concert yet, but her name was out there, in lights, and commensurate money was starting to flow into her pocket. She even had a contract--not a big contract, but still--that paid her an advance bigger than her last six paychecks, combined.
Miiya knew some of her rise to semi-stardom was being facilitated by her shadowy patron. She had shared this with Stormbreaker after they had left Giovanna’s place. Miiya knew she had made a deal with the devil in a desperate moment, and she hadn’t wanted SB to walk into the same
“It’s okay, Essbee. He… he saved me. Miiya had admitted, one night, in her grotty studio apartment. She had done her best not to glance over at the spot where
“I don’t trust-- …I don’t think we should trust any of the patrons of this city, but Mephisto hasn’t asked me to do anything I wouldn’t already be doing.” Miiya had folded her smaller hands over Stormbreaker’s thick scaled fingers. “But I am glad you’re here now. You give me courage to face him,” she admitted. So far, Stormy had just loomed threateningly in the background during Mephisto’s rare appearances--her presence drawing his viscous grin a little tighter and eliciting a snide comment or two.
…
So, in the weeks since leaving Giovanna’s place, Miiya had been singing, shopping, cooking, caring for SB during her recovery, and continuing to work as Vivian’s lab assistant. She also sometimes helped Stormbreaker practice punching minor bad guys. But that didn't pay anything, nor was it likely to anytime in the future. Thus far, they’d only stopped a couple of purse-snatchers, a shoplifter, and a trio of motherfretting racist pricks who had been harassing a juvenile beastman.
That last act of heroism had been Miiya’s favorite. While all the other riders on the streetcar had averted their gazes from the commotion, Stormbreaker had gotten to her feet.
“I can’t believe you threw them off the bus while we were crossing the bridge, Essbee!” Miiya had chortled afterward. “They flew pretty far, for being wingless.”
…
The always-broke hero was currently crashing on Miiya’s couch--the other way around, actually; Miiya took the couch. She didn’t mind one bit. In fact, the hero “work” the pair had fallen back into was turning into something of a business relationship. Part of the reason Miiya had wanted to take Stormy to breakfast was to discuss hiring the draconic woman as her
“I mean, you already come to almost all my shows, Stormy, you carry my shu, help me set up and tear down, and handle crowd control.” She grinned at SB over her second protein shake. “You’re basically an unpaid manager; let me pay you for it!”
The large restaurant they had settled on--one of the few to open on this snowy day--was pretty meh in Miiya’s opinion, but they served high-calorie food and had reasonably-clean tables. Miiya put her hands on one of the said tables as she talked, laying out a generous business deal between herself and her friend.
This was something totally new to Miiya; being rich enough to be a job creator, and--truth be told--she was glad she could start with Essbee, because I have no idea how to do this! Miiya had always lived hand-to-mouth since leaving home. She had been a literal starving intern, artist, student, and even street urchin--more often than not--during her teenage and adult life. Arriving in Red Haven had marked a change to all that.
Miiya was swimming in cash now. She not only had a bank account, but it was an account large enough that the bankers brought her (and Stormy) into the private glass-walled rooms with free coffee and snacks and shu. A month ago, they would’ve been looking down their noses at the scruffy skwitch darkening their doors and having the audacity to breathe their air, now the yfretters bowed and scraped; held her door, pulled her chair, and even gave her more money, for her money--because she already had money.
It was yfretting nutso. It’s like I’m suddenly part of this club--this group of elites--and now they want me to stand beside them--on the necks of all the unwashed peasants .
The thing was, even as she looked uneasily down from the private rooms on the rank-and-file patrons, she knew there were higher tiers that were still looking down on her. As she tried to get her friend to accept payment--to be her employee--instead of trading favors as equals, Miiya couldn’t decide if she wanted to claw her way higher up this ladder, or if the climb was already making her nauseous.
Miiya was always hungry, always scrapping, always scraping, and kinda proud of her thrift. If she lost that part of her, what was going to fill the void? What now? She didn’t have to split a twelve-by-sixteen tenement--with barely enough hot water for 0.75 people--with her friend, anymore. She didn’t have to browse thrift stores for clothing or pawn shops for equipment. She didn’t have to fare skip just to have enough coin left to eat tomorrow. Hell, she didn’t have to ride the street cars at all, anymore.
I can buy yfretting retail.
She didn’t say any of this to Essbee, of course, and she emphasized that they were partners and equals but they weren’t--not when someone was paying someone--and that feeling, these thoughts, were a bit of a paradigm shift for the Aerial woman. Miiya couldn’t help feeling, as she extended a hand to Stormbreaker with a “whaddaya say?” just a hint of the long shadow of her patron twining its fingers with her own.
Last edited: