Imprint - 25. Ch. 5 Part III

III

New Green River's Market Square was a large open space filled with brightly colored tents in vaguely ordered rows, with people that couldn't maintain a permanent stall wandering around between, their goods displayed on small trays they carried by hand or hung round their necks. They came from all over, all corners, looking to buy, sell, trade, almost anything you could imagine, some things you never would. In any other city, Tallen would've been wide eyed and fascinated, going from stall to stall, talking to everyone he could; any other city, and it would've been perfect.

Tallen hated New Green River.

It wasn't a matter of charm wearing off after too much time, the charm had never been there to begin with. He couldn't say why, but it was all too bright, too busy, too many people standing too close that all wanted to talk with him when he'd rather they go away. He hated having to walk almost a mile in (city streets were almost never set up to accommodate vehicles, the average person didn't own one and they were for longer travel not every day use); he hated the weather, especially when it was winter in Veil and he had to spend time peeling off layers to survive the oppressive heat. He hated having to pick his way to the center of the market to find Nix's contact beneath the red and gold awning; hated dealing with his own contacts who were finally becoming useful, supplying them with various Veil world trinkets, language and history books and enduring their endless questions; he truly despised the Lower Town, black half of the market, with too many dark corners, foul smells, shifty people leaving seedy bars who always had to stop and very obviously size him up. He hated that the man he came to Lower Town to see often as not couldn't just meet up with him like a normal person, but instead forced him to seek out a particular kid that stayed in a back alley selling drugs, begin a game of telephone that would eventually get back to the asshole in his super secret lab Tallen couldn't know the location of for no good reason; he hated having to stand by that same alley and wait, and wait, leaning back against a brick wall in the bright sun, eyes fixed on the hill in the northern end that seemed to loom over the whole city. Tallen hated that hill, too, hated it just for being in his line of sight; in his own bored mental narrative Tallen wanted to put a house atop it, a big mansion or a Gothic castle, a place where a monster would live, something that kidnapped children and...ate them, maybe? Kept them alive but captive, tortured? It was hard to settle on a single idea when so many seemed so right, so appropriate.

It usually took an hour and a half for the contact to arrive, a man whose name Tallen didn't know so he called him Hammerhead, though not to his face. The man was older, bald and thin lipped, with a nose so small it was little more than a pair of enlarged nostrils, eyes that were abnormally far apart, thick glasses that exaggerated it further. Hence, Hammerhead. Unlike many others Tallen had to deal with for the boss men, Hammerhead's persona, when not strictly business, was pleasantly affable, and not only when he wanted something either; past the cunning and ruthless exterior he wouldn't survive without, Tallen suspected he was a genuinely nice guy. That didn't suit Tallen much at all, and he focused instead on how cartoonishly ugly the man was, called him childish names and turned him into a joke; Tallen didn't want to like him, not even in a cautious with one eye open sort of way.

It made it easier to not think about what he was doing here, potential consequences and his responsibility. Tallen had gotten very at good at that, ducking those thoughts, forgetting even that there was something he was ducking. You did whatever you had to do.

Hammerhead had a familiar black box tucked under his arm, not unexpected it was what Tallen was here to retrieve; there was still a momentary flash of disappointment, quickly quashed again.

“That's all of it,” the man commented after a few polite inquiries into Tallen's mood and health, all answered in the vaguest terms possible, handing the box over again. Tallen could hear the thin glass shells clinking against each other, such a delicate sound but he knew by now they wouldn't break so easy, and without an ore conductor nothing would happen even if they did.

Tallen nodded, “Should be.” There were three such boxes, and usually he would be exchanging an empty for a refill with the third standing by for active use. This was not usual, Tallen guessed they were getting ready for something, another territorial dispute, or something more personal masquerading as such; Tallen was betting on the pimp as the next to go down, but he wouldn't know for sure until it was closer to launch.

“So, how is the new schematic working out, you know?”

Speaking of; Tallen glanced up, a little surprised. “You know about that, huh?”

Hammerhead nodded casually, “I make a point to know.”

Of course, the man was an opportunist. Tallen shrugged, “Well, what I heard the last time I was over there, the schematic is evil incarnate, sent up from the foul pits of hell, just to torment him. It should be destroyed, along with everyone who ever looked at it, and its designer but only after his organs have been rearranged by hot pokers and pointy knives. Him, his kids too, maybe his grandkids, just to be sure. It goes on.”

Hammerhead smiled, he was missing several teeth along the left side, what remained were chipped or broken in half. “And that's why I don't do complex sigil work. Only people who can... How do you say it? ...anal nutbags?”

Tallen snorted, “Yeah, that would be it.” He was familiar with more simple sigils thanks to his work with Nix, could prepare a simple battery for a simple device; charging was beyond his ability, so it was pointless to learn anything more complicated than wind, heat, cold, fire, etc. He understood just enough of the process to get a headache from looking at those plans.

“If you don't have the patience, hire someone who does. Save the aggravation...unless you're getting off on it, right?” Another snort escaped Tallen at that, because while he knew that solution wasn't so easily reached for a number of reasons, he also suspected that was a part of it, too; that was what made it so difficult to deal with it, the sense that it was a game. Hammerhead grinned wide, flashing that half ruined mouth without a shred of self consciousness. “So, you going to be needing more material, then?”

And there it was, opportunity. Tallen sobered quickly, “Whether I do or not, I've pretty much milked my sources for the next several months.”

The man shrugged with a blatantly calculating nonchalance, “I have sources you don't,” cocked his head, “Of course, having that much Veilore suddenly walk off might make people wonder, and I'm doubting they'll have to wonder for long. No one wants a border lock down. But some might be willing to risk it, for a price.”

Tallen's features slid automatically into one of its preset masks, a careful balance that both gave nothing away but wasn't unwilling to compromise. “For a price?” Not much question who would pay, if Hammerhead wanted something from the boss men he'd work it out with them directly.

“No one's asking for your virtue, hillbilly. Just a favor or two.”

It was much less comforting than intended, Hammerhead had been trying to maneuver him into some kind of private contract for a while now, efforts which were growing much less subtle as of late. “We'll have to see how the design plays out. Its supposed to intensify damage without needing more raw material, if it works as intended what I have earmarked already will be enough.” If it wasn't he'd go to Trick, or higher up the food chain to put in the actual request, remove himself from the equation.

He could see in Hammerhead's eyes that the man was well aware of Tallen maneuvering away from him again; there was a grudging respect there, along with surprise and frustration. However many years he'd been here, making his rounds, amassing his network, some people still expected him to be a naïve, backwoods idiot that would follow a stranger into his van if he promised him candy. Tallen played it for what it was worth now, and looked forward to the day he could live someplace else, where no one knew where he came from.

With a friendly if unwelcome clap on the shoulder, Hammerhead started walking him down the street, changing the subject as they went. “Speaking of pain in the ass aether formulas,” and Tallen quietly braced himself, hoping for bad news, “we're not much further along with the automatic. Fifteen botch ups and we finally manage to construct a blaster that doesn't melt after a minute. Still overheats bad enough I don't think even your iron man could handle it.”

Tallen nodded absently, kept his voice neutral. “That's too bad.”

“Haven't given up yet. Next step is tweaking the bullet strength. Though my own anal nutbag is guessing the only way to balance out the ejection rate is to depower them down to...well, numbers won't mean much to you, let's say it'd be good for giving someone a skin rash and not much else. I assume that's not what's wanted. There are options after that, but its even more complicated. It'll be months, at best, before I can even guess at it.”

Another nod, “Its fine, no one's counting on it.”

Unlike its Veil side equivalent, blaster weapons were not often used, the aether cartridges more expensive to maintain than disposable bullets. It was still a hack and slash world, shooting reserved for mass crowd control, a rarely utilized last option. Not many would be overly fascinated with Veil's firearms, fewer still would ever think to try adapting them for the broader world; Tallen didn't know most people.

It was still a relief that Tallen would not be responsible for introducing the shotgun beyond Veil. The initial prototype Hammerhead created had a kick back that would rip a person's arm right off; further experimentation only improved it to needing to be inhumanly enhanced to avoid breaking your shoulder. And while Tallen did know one such person, it was unlikely the trend would catch on; that was really what counted, he'd decided. Maybe when the machine gun failed, too, everyone would get bored and move on.

Speaking of... Tallen drew in a slow breath before, reluctantly, asking, “And the Ash Hand?”

Hammerhead scowled, “Oh, that fucking thing.” The hand that ran over his pale skull spoke of bad news, wonderfully hopeless news. “I think I have some idea how I'd rebuild it, that's been the biggest hurdle, I don't think we have anything much like it.” They did, in fact, but it functioned very differently and, under the circumstances, it wasn't a surprise he never made the connection. “Forget the rebuild, I can't figure out how the fuck that thing is a weapon at all. It looks heavy, unwieldy, hard to control, especially held like that. If you swing it, wouldn't it drag you over, on top of it?”

Tallen couldn't help laughing. “Well, yeah. Its not. Its just something stupid he saw in a movie and wanted to make real. It was far fetched at best.” He would have shouted with joy if he could. The cute euphemistic names didn't work as well to distance himself from it, not this time, he did not want to see that made.

“Wait, so...its not real?”

“No, it is real. Its not a weapon, really. You don't mount it on one hand like that, either.”

Hammerhead looked worrisomely intrigued, “You should bring me something that shows how its supposed to be used, that might be more helpful to start.”

Blank faced, Tallen nodded without protest. Yeah, I'll do that, sure thing. Just as soon as I get a free minute. Some time this year, maybe...

They stopped walking abruptly, Hammerhead clapping him on the shoulder again, why did he think he could do that? “Don't know about you, but I could use a break.” The man's other hand reached out and hooked open the door they now stood in front of; Tallen turned his head and caught a sign in the window, a faded painting of a full moon over a frozen landscape. “Coming? Its on me.”

(…. …. …. …. ….)

“No,” Tallen took a quick step back, “No – no.... no, thank you.”

Hammerhead looked mock reproachful, “Its just a quick drink.”

“I don't drink,” another step back, the calm front was getting harder to maintain, “And I'm not much fun when I do.”

“Have water then, just come in for a minute.”

“No, I – I don't...like bars. I promised that-” Tallen stopped, shook his head. “I got a lot of shit to do.”

“You always have shit to do, got to relax at some point.”

He shrugged, “I'm a busy man.” He tried to match his tone to Hammerhead's own, lightly teasing, but it was easy enough to see the genuine frustration underneath. All the more reason not to go, Tallen didn't want to be put in a position where he couldn't ignore the man's overtures of friendship, where he would have to reject it outright; nice guy or not, there would be consequences for that, he knew it. Tallen thought he knew what Hammerhead was interested in, he thought the man enjoyed these experiments with foreign weaponry, wanted to expand beyond the specific requests of a small group and what they needed to keep their territory; Tallen could provide him with inspiration, material, find him a market. You did what you had to do, to survive, and that included drawing limits; Tallen could put a shotgun in his employer's hand and find a way to deal with it, but mass production... that was not-

(“...hear about-... ...say he-”)

(“...put down, like-...”)

(“...everything you touch. And it'll be the same with-”)

(…. …. …. …. ….)

that was not a thing he could live with, not who he wanted to be.

He escaped with a wave and a see you later, quickly before Hammerhead could issue any objection. Tallen kept his eyes straight ahead, he didn't turn or slow down until he started to see color in his periphery again.

He stopped to buy another pack of cigarettes for Frost, turning the paper wrapped package around in his hand with a big grin; no, it wasn't exactly what he'd meant when he promised to take care of him all those years ago, but it was a start. The beginning, making good on the promises he'd made lying

(…on the floor?)

on their shared bed in the

(...cold?)

dark, late at night, struggling to get through

(...the pain?)

to Frost, searching for those signs of understanding, of response. It had taken years to get himself to the point where he could have something to offer, something tangible; it was the only thing that made coming here bearable, carrying this black box home tolerable, because it was leading somewhere. And because it made Frost smile.

It was always tempting here, to buy him something else, a little gift, spoil him like he deserved. After a minute of looking around, Tallen settled on a small fruit tart from a walking vendor; he doubted it had a Veil world equivalent, but he also didn't think Frost would ask questions. It only cost him a couple fire charged stones, fair trade. The vendor walked away, and Tallen found his eye immediately drawn to something on the table that had been behind her.

He walked closer with a practiced calm that was like instinct now, casually perusing the whole assortment of gems and ores, touching a few here and there, before going for the piece he wanted. Running his fingers over it, picking it up, testing its weight, he remained blank faced, any hint of excitement or awe carefully suppressed.

Are you fucking serious? It can't be...

The proprietor, middle aged and travel worn, smiled at him in greeting. “Pretty, ain't it?” he said conversationally. “Bit of cloud rock with an unusual coloring, probably from aether scarring.”

By that he meant quartz, and Tallen could easily see where the mistake would be made; the milky pink coloring was deeper and more consistent than an aether scarring would usually be though. Tallen lifted it to the sunlight, looking for the final proof, the telltale marking that had been drilled into his head; small, dark particles of earth and thin lines of dark red, like veins shot through the center.

Holy shit... He had to fight an instinct to shout in joy, grab that man in a hug and swing him around while a symphony played triumphantly in the background. “It is,” he agreed, putting the piece back down again, “Where did you pick it up?”

The proprietor shrugged, “From another merchant, who got it from someone else. Not sure where it got dug up anymore. Thought I could find a jeweler here'd want it.”

Tallen nodded along. Straight face, straight face, play it cool, don't look too interested. “What are you asking for it?”

“Not much. Pretty is all it is, wouldn't hold a change or nothing.” The man squinted at him, “You're Nix's boy, ain'tcha?”

“In a manner of speaking.”

“The one from-”

“Yeah. Yeah, that's me.”

“So, you know what I'm talking about, right?”

Tallen's jaw clenched hard, and now he was fighting the urge to punch the man in the nose. “I wouldn't still be working for Nix if I didn't. I am capable of learning.” And I'm not the one that mistook it for scarred cloud rock. Even if Tallen hadn't known what to look for, he still thought he would've realized it was more unusual than that, would've been trying to find out just what it was instead of quickly unloading it.

“I was actually interested in four count of this,” Tallen tapped the tray of Dahakr'l silver; he pulled a vermilion coin piece out of his pocket, holding it up, “This is a little much for that, just trying to round out the purchase. I'm sure I could find some use for it.”

Sometimes, stereotypes could be useful, and if the other man wanted to invoke them Tallen saw nothing wrong with playing into it. Just another wide eyed Veil boy chasing after shiny objects. Just indulge me, take my money, shake your head and send me on my way.

The proprietor looked pensive, falling quiet for a long moment. “I know who else you work for.”

Tallen paused himself, this could be tricky territory, depending on how strongly the person felt. “I work for myself. My services can be bought, and are, by many people.”

“You can always refuse services,” was the reply, a sentiment Tallen found naïve, as though its always just that simple. The man made a hand gesture Tallen chose to pretend he didn't understand, “Rumors like that, true or not...I want nothing to do with that. Bad luck, that.”

He quickly rethought his approach, “I don't know anything about rumors,” a lie, but that wasn't important. “I'm not being paid as an interior decorator, people I work for aren't very interested in pretty things.” Technically not a lie, a bending of the truth maybe, but the man left himself wide open for it when he didn't do his research, made assumptions. “The silver's for a personal project, but if it matters that much to you I can take my business elsewhere. Silver's not that hard to find, even if your price is good.” Everyone loves a suck up, just don't lay it on too thick.

The proprietor gave him a considering look, “Personal use, you say?”

He nodded, “Trying to make a lamp.” Completely true, as far as the silver went.

He watched the man thinking it over, saw the moment he capitulated. “Oh sure, why not. Four count, you say?” The man measured out the amount, wrapping it and the allegedly useless gem up for him; he talked as he did so, “So, how are you finding things over here? In comparison, I mean?”

Tallen groaned inwardly, letting his eyes wander away in boredom he didn't try to hide. “Its been almost ten years, more than enough time to adjust.” Not this again, gods how he hated this.

“In the beginning, though? Was it hard to-”

“I never fit in there in the first place.” He made a point of checking his time piece, “If you don't mind, I got a long drive back.”

The proprietor seemed chagrined but complied, while Tallen started composing teasing text messages in his head. Oh Trick, you are going to love me for this. If this worked out the way he hoped it would, it may earn Trick some peace, and himself a few free nights.

Nights he could spend where he wanted, or with whom he wanted.

Tallen had first met Nix a month after he came to Outworld; he'd been sleeping in his truck, parked in what he'd hoped was an out of the way corner, when an older man knocked on his window and woke him up. Man claimed he wanted to check out the vehicle, but it had been Tallen he'd wanted to see; he'd noticed him around, sensed there was something different, something vulnerable about him and, for whatever reason, had wanted to help. He had offered Tallen work, and Tallen, not seeing many other options for himself, had reluctantly accepted and hoped for the best.

At first, Tallen had only been running errands within the border, but eventually Nix had coaxed him into his home with the promise of learning a trade, something useful he could take with him when he found his way out of here. Tallen had been a damaged teenager when he arrived here, seen too much and burned too often, it hadn't been easy learning to trust again, especially an older man, a pseudo guardian and potential father figure; a little at a time, the walls had worn away and Tallen had come to accept Nix as the adopted family he'd wanted to be.

Family wasn't something Tallen had ever had before, not real family, not someone invested in him that cared about his well being; you wouldn't think something like that required getting used to but it did. While he'd been used to living under a constant cloud of disapproval, it was a different feeling coming from someone whose good opinion he wanted to have, someone whose disappointment actually hurt. Fear of being found wanting and left behind was unexpected, sometimes crippling, difficult to overcome; and circumstances forced him to continue to push at that boundary, to disappoint his mentor time and again.

Nix had never approved of Tallen taking his status as a courier and offering himself as a smuggler, hadn't liked it when it was just a favor he was doing for a bartender, expanding his stock for some extra cash; it will never stop there, Nix had said, it will escalate, it will get out of your control and you might find you don't have a choice. Nix had openly disapproved of every new client, every new contact, at the way his reputation spread, and then almost took his head clean off when it turned into a full time, fully sponsored position. Tallen tried to keep him out of it, tried to keep home and work separate, but Nix always managed to find out anyway.

“What the fuck do you think you're doing? You have any idea how hard I worked to keep you away from the bullshit here? Keep you alive, keep you safe? Now you go and take a swan dive right into the middle of the worst of it?”

“Jesus Christ, what did I do now?”

“I heard about your latest client.”

“And? That poppy was for his own use, he's not selling it around. Since when do you care what people choose to do to themselves?”

“I'm not talking about that idiot. I'm talking about the next one.”

“...I – I just agreed to that meeting two hours ago, how did you hear about it already?”

“I have eyes everywhere, don't you forget it. I heard a week ago that ghoul was looking for you. I'd hoped you'd have the sense to duck your head down and wait it out. I see I thought too much of you.”

On a day like this though, the usual conflict was the furthest thing from Tallen's mind, as he let himself into Nix's home/workshop, still high off the excitement of his rare find and the good week it may well end up bringing him. He waved a greeting to Nix's son Kai (grandson technically, but raised from infancy as his own for reasons Tallen was not clear on; Nix was very open about even the ugliest parts of his life, talked frequently about his late wife, but he remained evasive about his son and whatever happened to remove him from the picture), Kai as usual barely glanced up from the comic he was reading to grunt a hello. Never minding, today finding it oddly endearing, Tallen just threw his coat on the couch next to the boy and let himself down into the basement.

That room was always stifling, even when the prepper wasn't running, it was the part of the work Tallen really didn't like. Nix was hunched over the work table, goggles pushed up on his head, no leather apron but the matching gloves rolled up his arms, as he scooped fire chips out of their container and into the small vented metal box in front of him.

“Still with the space heaters?” Tallen commented by way of greeting.

Nix's dark eyes fixed on him, mouth twisting into a smirk, “Halfway done,” he grumbled with an irritation that made Tallen want to laugh, same thing every year. Nix was something of a gear head, or the equivalent thereof, never happier than when elbow deep in some complicated bit of work, but he hated doing the small maintenance, complained profusely but always did it anyway. He was a good man, if gruff, sometimes harsh, with a straight forward, no nonsense approach Tallen had found to be very welcome after all the fake politeness and double talk he'd dealt with before. Even the man's perpetually scruffy, unkempt appearance spoke to that, what you saw was what you got. Nix was, in every possible way, the complete opposite of Harlan Ellison, the reserved clean cut businessman, never said what he meant, avoided everything unpleasant, never wanted to get his hands dirty.

“You want some help with that?” he offered, “Don't have a lot to do tomorrow.”

“Thought you had plans?”

Tallen waved it off, “Personal project, nothing that can't wait. This shouldn't take all day anyway.”

Nix shrugged a shoulder, as though it didn't matter one way or the other, but Tallen knew well enough to see the gratitude in the gesture. Nix pulled both gloves off and removed the goggles from his head, “You just get back from New Green River?”

Tallen nodded, “Yeah, and I got your shit in the truck. The rest will be ready for pick up in about two weeks.”

“That's fine. Get that lazy bum upstairs to help you carry it down.”

“Oh, you can do that. I know how much you enjoy yelling at him.”

Nix frowned thoughtfully, “You seem to be in an oddly chipper mood, all things considered.”

Tallen could feel himself smiling, “I kind of had a lucky day at the market.”

“Oh? That bastard arms dealer keel over dead, did he?”

“No, not – that good. Better.” He held up the wrapped bundle he'd carried in with him, “Guess what I bought for, basically, some left over change?”

“Hmm? Something worth more than left over change?”

“Much more,” Tallen handed it over, “The idiot mistook it as aether scarred cloud rock, and worthless. He also underestimated me for being from Veil, so fuck him.”

Nix held the gem up to the table light, frowning deeper as he studied it. “Well, this is obviously not scarring... Though I'm not sure what it is. Almost looks like cloud rock, but I've not seen these characteristics before.”

Tallen grinned wider, “Yeah, I'm sure, its a really rare piece. That,” and pause for dramatic effect, “is scorched earth.”

Nix stared, “Its – what?”

“Blood of the land? Mined from the spot where the guardian fell? Scorched earth.”

His eyes widened, “...from that wasteland in Whitecapp Valley?”

“Exactly.”

Nix's fingers opened, instantly dropping the rock on the work table; he took a step back from it, “Get that – fucking thing off my table.” Another step back, he looked at Tallen with a grim expression, “Its an impressive find, really. Just...get it out of my sight, out of my house.”

Tallen nodded calmly, not perturbed by the reaction, he'd half been expecting it. “Don't worry,” he said as he picked it back up again, “I won't be leaving it here.”

According to the stories he'd picked up living here and traveling out, the not subtly named Mad Butcher had vanished from history right after murdering his benefactor, wild rumors persisted for several decades, some which turned into local legends, but official record ends there; the more level headed, reality based theories held it was because the Butcher died that same night along with his victim. After allegedly gravely injuring himself while crippling the first twin, actually killing the second had been more than even he could handle, and those destructive powers no man was meant to touch consumed him as well. People in Outworld treated those stories as entertaining fairy tales to be shared over beers, and why not? The Butcher was never here, never a threat, and it was even more distant to someone like Tallen, unreal even despite everything he had seen; Nix though, had grown up on the other side, and portions of his family tree had been wiped out by the Butcher. Understandable, that he would be nervous having even a piece, the power base, of the weapon that had taken the monster out, not to mention the being that had controlled him.

“You know its inert, right?” he continued, trying to make it better, “Tapping it open again is a complex and really precise process, needs specific tools and elements even. And even then, its not going to do anything unless it come into contact with a major energy source. Us humans aren't going to cut it.”

Nix's face hardened, suddenly angry eyes turning to glare at him suspiciously. “You seem to be very well informed about a...rather obscure subject.” His jaw clenched, “Do I even need to ask why? Or who you're giving that gods cursed thing to?”

Tallen felt his defenses rise, tired and resigned that its come to this again, this same old argument. “Don't start with me, please?”

“A ghoul, huh? That's ominous. What, will I be getting him chains to rattle, then?”

“Don't crack jokes, little shit. Its not funny. None of this is fucking funny.”

“... All right, sorry. So what do you mean then?”

“You mean you don't know? That how you do things? Work for random strangers, don't know who they are, what they do, don't know nothing about nothing?”

“Its not work, I agreed to a meeting. That's all. That's usually how I answer those questions. How else would I do it? I wouldn't expect someone to have ghoul printed on a business card.”

“In this case, you'd be wrong. It is a job, A grave robber, stealing from the dead what you can't earn the correct way.”

“...well, that's – doesn't sound like something I could help with.”

“Oh you don't think so? You don't get it, do you? The guy's a murderer.”

“Who here isn't? No, seriously – look, I'm not trying to brush it off, but really? Even you have-”

“Don't you – don't you dare throw that in my face right now.”

“I'm not throwing-”

“I did what I had to do. Its nothing I'm proud of, nothing I'd want to do again. Fuck, even most of the assholes here, and you'll never hear me say this again, but most of them also do what they think they have to do, even if its still their own stupid fault they have to in the first place. Professional idiots, its a different thing from professional killer.”

“...wait, what? What are you-”

“Oh, you get it now, huh? See now how you might be useful?”

“...I didn't know...”

“I know you didn't, Tallen, I know that. But that's the problem with this dumb fuck plan of yours, this is the kind of shit its going to attract. I know what you're trying to do here, but what are you really willing to do to get it? You don't want to be the hand swinging the blade, you okay with putting the blade there in the first place? You're not always going to know ahead of time, the consequences of what you do. How much can you really look the other way on?”

“What the fuck did you expect, telling me this?” Nix threw his hands up in the air, like he wanted to wrap them around Tallen's throat; there were small red burns peppering his fingers and forearms from his earlier work. “Its not just that you're going to hand it over, you were fucking looking for it! You know what it is, you know what it can do, and you still do this?”

“Yes,” Tallen could feel his temper rising automatically, he sounded defensive, “Yes, I know, I know the whole fucking story, better than you do I'm sure. I know what they want it for, and I'm fine with it. In this one instance, I really don't fucking care.” He shook his head in frustration, “Talk to Trick, for even five minutes, and you tell me you don't feel the same way.”

“I don't need to talk to you friend for that. You won't find many who'd mind if the Corrupter were to die.”

“Then why are we arguing?”

“We wouldn't be, if I thought that's where it would end. Can you tell me they wouldn't turn it on someone else?”

That caught him off guard. “Why would they?”

“Why wouldn't they?”

He made a face, “I don't think they're that ambitious.”

“You don't, huh?” Nix's voice was cruelly sarcastic, “Because their actions the last few years certainly don't look like ambition.”

Tallen's eyes turned down. “I think its more consequence than intention,” spoken aloud, it sounded like such a weak excuse.

“Consequence? Well yes, when you kill people, it does usually create a vacuum to be filled. Everyone seems to be bearing up under the burden though.” There was a heavy pause, “Including you. Doing just fine, helping out every step of the way.”

That hurt, as deeply as intended he was sure. “Its not like that.”

“Then what is it like, Tallen?” That disappointment, it never got any easier, seeing that. “You know I was always against this whole business, but at least there in the beginning it was all part of a plan. You used to have plans, good ones even, to get out of this place and live a real life, home and family and everything. All this shit, it was supposed to be a means to an end, it was supposed to be getting you out. I don't see you getting out, Tallen, I see you getting pulled deeper in, every day, with no end in sight,”

“That's not true,” Tallen's hand ran back through his hair, fingers curling around the ends as if to pull, released only with some effort, “Its not – not true. I still have plans, still working on them. This is all helping me.”

“How?”

“...I have a place.”

“If your cushy Pikesville cell is the best you can do-”

“No,” he swallowed, this wasn't something he'd planned to share just yet, hadn't decided yet how to do it. “I mean a home. Over there.”

Nix looked skeptical, “You have a house? Since when?”

“Well...right now, its probably more like a dilapidated shack. But its my dilapidated shack. Its in Adra'hal, right by the ocean, just like I wanted. I can fix it up.”

“And where did you get it?”

“Payment, like I've told you. I have been keeping track.”

“And where did they get it from?” Nix's expression hardened again, “What happened to the previous owners?”

“Christ, Nix, its not like that. You really think I'd do that?”

“Would you know if it had been?”

In truth, he didn't know the details, hadn't thought to ask. It wouldn't have surprised him if there was some underhanded seizure of an empty property, throwing a lock on the door before anyone could protest, property was a different matter there and things like that happened often enough. “Trick wouldn't do that to me,” he stated with absolute confidence, and that he did trust completely. He decided not to mention that, if murder had been an option, he probably would've had his home a long time ago, and maybe a nicer one at that.

In the end, Nix brushed it aside, “Fine, if you say so. So now you have a house, what now?

“Like I said, it needs some work. Some of it I can do myself, the rest...I'll need some help on.”

“Is that your personal project?”

Tallen nodded, “Was going to start with the light fixtures, I have the silver to power some lamps.” To change the subject slightly, he added, “And I'm sorting the family bit out, too.”

Nix smirked, with humor this time, “Sorting? I thought they called it stalking?”

“I was not stalking him, fuck you.” Tallen dug his new Veil phone out of his pocket, pulling up the photo album and flipping through. “There, right there,” he passed it over, “See, there we are, together and happy.”

Nix held the phone with an overly carefully touch, squinting at the image on screen, one Tallen had taken himself a week ago. After a minute, he smiled, “Always knew you'd go for the cute ones,” he said, “Almost exactly what I expected. Except for the-”

“I know,” Tallen nodded, “Frost is special.”

“Sure he is, you wouldn't settle for less.” Nix lingered a moment longer before handing the phone back, “You're lucky. You can tell, way he's looking at you there, he loves you.”

Tallen smiled softly, “You can, can't you?” That meant more to him than he would've thought, more than it probably should. That the man who was the closest thing Tallen ever had to a father could see it so clearly between them, that he actually approved.

(“...nothing but a....everything you....”)

(…. …. …. …. ….)

“What I don't understand,” the change in Nix's tone signaling Tallen's brief reprieve had come to an end, “You have your home, you have your man, why the fuck are you still here? Why are you still working for those people?”

Tallen let out a deep breath, “You make it sound like its all ready to go, its not. It needs a lot of work-”

“How much work? You can't live in it in the meantime? You couldn't get help for it elsewhere? Couldn't put a rush on it if you wanted to?”

“I also thought we were still learning here-”

“I'm not the excuse, Tallen. I'm not going to cut you loose, you know that. I saved your ass, I own it now. You'll be back, and you don't need as much supervision anymore anyway.” A pause, “What's the real reason, Tallen?”

He was squeezing the re-wrapped gem so tightly in his hand it was starting to hurt. “Its...its Frost,” he admitted, “I haven't told him yet.”

“About?”

“About...” a broad sweeping gesture. “I don't know how. I've been trying to think, but everything I come up with just seems... not enough.”

Nix was sympathetic, “Can't be as hard as your making it out to be.”

He snorted, “Really? You think so?”

“You managed it.”

“I am a freak. And I did it by accident, remember? I was in a shitty situation and I just wound up here. I had to deal, I didn't have a choice.”

“And he'll have you to help him deal, something you didn't have. He'd adjust-”

“its not like asking him to move to Europe with me. At least he's heard of Europe before.”

Nix gave him a look, “I find it hard to believe this just now dawned on you. Not a few years back, when you were all ready to storm out there and get him back right now, never once occurred to you. What were you planning to do about it then?”

Tallen was quiet, letting out a long tired sigh, “I thought...I didn't think it was going to be a problem.” Reluctantly, “I thought, when I found him...he doesn't – doesn't function well, without me, I thought he'd be... I thought he'd be a mess, like when I first met him. I thought I wouldn't have to deal with it, not right away. That I could just take him with me and he wouldn't ask questions, and it would all be easier when it was already done.” He shook his head ruefully, “Sounds really shitty when you say it like that. Like I was taking advantage of him or something.”

“You weren't, though.”

He shrugged, unconvinced, “Doesn't matter anyway, because...well, that's not what happened.” He smiled absently, “He's okay, he's done okay. Got his own place, he's got a job, he's got – friends, that he made on his own. He's coping, well enough.”

(….without you...)

“He's...he's been alone, for a really long time. He's been-” a swallow, “he's been hurt, a lot, more than anyone should. And I know what that's like, I know how much he needs this. So...what right do I have to come along and take it all away from him? Especially when I'm the one that left him alone in the first place?”

Nix frowned, “Tallen, you were a child, back then. You didn't have a lot of choice-”

(…. …. …. …. ….)

“No – no, I – I had...a choice. They weren't...good ones, but I still could've done-”

(…. …. …. …. ….)

“It doesn't matter now. It is what it is. There's only what I can do now, and I can't fuck it up.”

There was a pause, “So, what are you saying?” he asked, “Are you...you're not going to live there, with him?”

Tallen shook his head, “No, I – I can't go back there, like I said. That's not my home.”

“And...you're not talking about leaving him?”

“No – no,” he shook his head again, surprised at even the suggestion, “I wouldn't... he belongs with me, I know that, I wouldn't – not leaving him again.”

(“....sorry.....so, so-”)

(…. …. …. …. ….)

“That's not what I mean,” Tallen said, “I'm not saying that he's got, like, deep ties to the community or anything, its all...transitional, I guess. Temporary. And I know he'd pick me, if I asked, he'd come with me. Its just,” a shrug, “He's needs something stable, and he has that now, where he is. I can't offer him that just yet. So why not let him enjoy what he has, for a while longer, until I can? Its better for him, even if I...wish it was different.”

Nix was quiet, looking at him with a thoughtful expression; after a moment, he nodded his head, “Okay. I can understand that.” A grin, “Make a good husband, that way.”

Tallen smiled back, “Thanks, I – I try. I do.” The approval meant everything to him, maybe too much.

(….nothing, but a... ….)

“It doesn't explain why you need to keep doing this work.”

And that comfortable relaxation disappeared in a flash. “God, Nix. Do we really have to do this?”

“You always say you're not involved, you say you can walk away. You have every reason to, why aren't you doing it?”

“Because...”

“What do you want me to do, then? Should I cancel? Is that enough? Change my name, leave the country? What?”

“No, dumbass. You blew that chance when you stuck your head up for the call. You don't say no to people like this. But try to keep it in mind for next time.”

“What then?”

“You keep the meeting. Do it in public, be careful about it. If he asks for too much, or for something you've never been known to move before, plead ignorance, recommend someone else and say good day. If its something you have done before, then do it again. Good enough he has no complaints, not so good he's eager to look you up again. Just get it over with, and get him out of your hair.”

“All right. All right, I will.”

“Because I owe them,” Tallen said, “I owe Trick. A lot. I know you don't understand it, I know you think it shouldn't matter, but it does. I have to finish it before I can move on. For me, no one else.”

Nix shook his head; that disappoint cut deep, always did. “When is that going to be?”

(“...help each other out... ...out. Get you both out.”)

(…. …. …. …. ….)

“Soon. I promise.”