Misnegotiation

	“Lazarus-”

	Cerena quickly bit her tongue as Finch glared at her from the corner of her vision. The two had been walking in silence through the camp but had long passed through the city gates already. “Do me a favor and never call me that again.” he growled in response.

	“Sorry. Finch,” Cerena restarted sheepishly, “Why did the general and the duelist address you as that? I can’t imagine how you could earn that moniker, or pseudonym or whatever it is.”

	“It isn’t. It was meant to be my stage name.”

	“Oh?” Cerena raised a brow in interest.

	“I’ll explain. You know about the ‘Mob of Hanlen’ part?”

	“No. Please inform me of it.”

	“Well,” Finch started, getting into the mood of a storyteller, “long story short with that is the priest in Hanlen thought I was too much of a bad apple for his crop and decided to get rid of me. The easiest way to do that?” Finch slammed his fist into the side of his claw, “Get everyone together, beat me with sticks and fists, and leave me half-dead within the patrol range of the Black Coast. One patrol picked me up and dragged me to a brothel where the owner paid for me, stuffing me full of healing and regeneration potions along the way.”

	“Once there, apparently I shocked everyone with a quick recovery, leading to being given the stage name of ‘Lazarus.’ When I escaped, apparently the bitch who bought me billed my name as being that to keep up appearances or something, I don’t know. Despite all else, for some reason it just seemed to stick.”

	“And…” Cerena interjected, “did anyone ever-”

	“No. I escaped on the eve of the day I was to start thanks to a friend of mine.”

	“Really?” Cerena raised a curious brow. “Who helped?”

	“No one you’d know. She was a random oni. It’s a friggin’ shame I’ll probably never see her again.”

	“And why would that be?”

	Finch looked over, raising a brow of annoyance. “Cerena, she worked as a bouncer at the Black Coast.”

	“Oh.”

	“Yeah I’m not exactly planning on moving there any time soon.”  Finch looked away towards the tavern they had suddenly found themselves in front of. “Cerena, I hate to leave you to deal with the negotiations by yourself but I’ve a serious hangover and can barely keep my eyes open.”

	“Oh no by all means, don’t even worry about it. I share your sentiments in regards to falling back asleep, since I don’t have to be up front with negotiations either.”

	“Well that sounds like a lucky break for once.” Both nodded in agreement but made no further moves to separate. “Cerena, remind me, it’s your mother that’ll be doing the talking right?”

	Cerena’s eyebrows raised slightly, before drooping back in a sense of depressing realization. “Yes...yes she is.” Cerena motioned for Finch to come closer, leaning forward to whisper to his ear. “Finch, please tell me you have a plan for getting out of this city without chains on your wrists.” The fear in her voice was disheartening, worrying even to Finch. If Cerena was fearful of her position as a princess, what chance did he have as a wanted man?

	“If I did, I would’ve told you already.” Finch replied. He turned and walked into the tavern, Cerena herself hiking up her dress to walk back to the castle. Finch raised a silent hand in greeting to the innkeeper, walking past him and towards his room. He began stripping his implements before even reaching his room, breathing is relief as the weight of his jacket was lifted from his shoulders. Walking into his room, Finch locks the door behind him, finishing his strip down to his underwear. Exhausted, he threw open the covers and slipped inside, hoping to drift off to sleep as soon as he closed his eyes.

	Naturally it couldn’t be that easy.

	Finch wished Cerena hadn’t brought up the idea of an escape plan. While his eyes were closed his mind was racing through plans and ideas. Stealing a horse to escape was possible, but Finch personally didn’t trust the things; he had never ridden one before. Even then plenty of mamono could easily outrun one and knock him off. The invisibility spell could be tried again, Cerena would be able to join him and they could escape. But knowing the general, she would prepare measures against it, possibly wards of some kind or alerting the more smell sensitive mamono to their scents. Harpies could only carry so much, but Cerena could probably make use of one via bribery while Finch couldn’t, he’d have to leave his belongings behind; he was not interested in repeating what happened in Van Rourke.

	When next he opened his eyes, he was no longer in his room, rather he was surrounded by a vast abyss of darkness. In front of him, seemingly a hell’s acre away was a giant gash that rose into the sky, pulsing an injured red within the darkness. A tide of various silhouettes poured from it, all monstrous looking with various inhuman shapes and appendages. They quickly approached Finch, who found himself naked and cowed into submission, despite the seemingly infinite distance between him and the towering wound. The forms were upon him, tearing at his flesh, striking at his frame, all the while leaving him unable to make a sound in horror, or pain. It was a silent horror film he was forced to watch.

	Finch awoke with a start, out of breath and covered in sweat. His throat felt hoarse, stinging as he breathed in and out. While he was no longer tired, and felt slightly better from earlier, his head still ached with a dull pain and was joined with a sore throat. He couldn’t remember what had happened in his dream, but he knew whatever it was was as terrifying as the previous ones had been.

	A panicked knocking on the door froze Finch’s heart, before quickly thawing as the Innkeeper shouted, “Mr. Lovejoy, are you alright in there!?”

	“Yeah,” Finch replied, wincing as his voice seemed to grate at his throat. “Why do you ask?”

	“You were screaming bloody murder like you were being attacked by something! Are you certain everything’s alright in there?”

	“Screaming?” Finch lipped to himself. “Yes, I’m fine but a little thirsty. Give me a drink of the strongest thing you’ve got and put it on my tab. I’ll be decent and the door will be unlocked.” The Innkeeper walked away from the door as Finch stood up to dress himself and to open the door. While he dressed, the thought that he had woken up screaming ricocheted within his head about his condition. In the past, he had woken up with a shock and a gasp, unable to recall his night terrors, but now he was full blown screaming? His condition had worsened, that much was obvious.

	Finch found himself dragged out of his thoughts when a barmaid carrying a plate, shot glass, bottle of liquor and a smile. “Hello! Need something for your throat then sir?” She sat down on the bed, right next to Finch, setting the plate on her lap.

	“Yes, thank you.” Replied Finch hoarsely, waiting for the barmaid to finish pouring the drink. The second she finished, Finch swiftly grabbed the glass and poured the contents down his throat, not bothering to savour the fiery taste of the booze. The barmaid gave a small chuckle as Finch winced from the strong aftertaste of the alcohol.

	“Easy now big guy, that stuff’s pretty hard! You could drink yourself to oblivion if you’re not careful!” She took the glass away and set the plate on the floor.

	“No kidding. I’ll keep it in mind.” Finch wiped his mouth in a poor attempt to wipe away the taste. The booze wasn’t any better than a standard moonshine, probably worse at that. He stopped his swabbing as the barmaid saddled closer towards him.

	“Y’know, a lot of soldiers that come in here and stay the night tend to have bad dreams too.”

	Finch looked over to the barmaid with a raised brow. What was she getting at? “I would figure. The shit that happens doesn’t exactly leave you.”

	“Yeah, a lot of them complain about nightmares and bad dreams. Seeing the faces of the comrades they held so close, now gone.” She scooted even closer towards him, leaning over to let Finch get a view of her cleavage. “Many of them find that having someone there to hold them close-”

	“Alright lady,” Spoke Finch, a tone of annoyance in his voice, “which bathhouse in town is giving you commissions for recommending them?”

	“None of them!” The barmaid suddenly raised her voice, offended at the question. She suddenly swinged a leg over Finch’s lap, straddling him in one move. “Why would I want to share you to any of those two bit whores? I want to help you myself.” A wave of shock rocked Finch as the barmaid hugged him with both arms, forcing him face to face with her. Looking into her eyes, he could spy the hints of unbridled lust found in the eyes of mamono. She was completely serious with this.

	It must’ve been the ambient demonic energy around the keep that was driving her to act so lewdly. Before he could voice a response, she held a finger up to his mouth, muting him with the simple act. “Mister, I want you to make me yours. I want you to make me give you a good time, even if it’s just for the night.”

	“Uhhhm,” Finch raised a hand and removed the finger from his lips, “what uh, what do you mean by ‘just for the night?’” A new thought had been taking place in Finch’s from the barmaid ‘s advertising.

	“Well I mean for the night mister. If you want me to hold you for longer, it’ll just cost you a little more~”

	That answered Finch’s thoughts.

	“Do me a favor,” he responded angrily, “and get the hell off my lap. I might catch a bug if you don’t.”

	The prostitute's face contorted with offense, shocked that Finch would say that. “How dare you! I try and give you my body to try and comfort you and you insult me to my face!”

	Finch raised a hand and began shoving the wench away by the face. “I said, get offa me!” Letting her land on her back on the floor, he stood up and began shout, “Get out! And take your cheap, alcohol concentrated piss with you!” The wench quickly stood up, gathering the plate and drink together and storming towards the door.

	Before leaving, the prostitute shouted, “Fine! I hope you have sweet, lonely dreams then asshole!” Slamming the door, she left Finch alone, now standing with a glare and a flaring headache. He sat back down on the bed, cradling his head in his hands to try and massage the pain away. Once again, he buried himself in his thoughts.

	Of course she wasn’t coming onto him naturally, he should’ve known better. It couldn’t have been demonic energy that was making her act outwardly, trying to lust after someone she could love. Naturally she was a whore who wanted to try and suck money out of his purse, all in the name of “making him feel loved.” None of it was natural.

	Besides, who’d love a man like him once they got to know him?

	A tear fell to the floor from Finch’s eye. Another followed. And then another, before he put his hands over both his eyes and began to quietly sob in his loneliness.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

	Finch was unable to fall asleep again, and as such forced himself to pack his things into his duffel. He couldn’t take another day in the deadbeat inn he was at, and prepared to try and find a way out of the city if negotiations went how he thought they were. Seeking to pass the time, he decided to walk out to the keep in order to watch the discussion between the general and the queen to alleviate the boredom. Cerena might’ve also come up with a plan, and Finch needed to hear if she had any ideas of her own. So, just after walking out of the tavern, tripping the bitch that mocked him as she carried an order to a table, he made his way towards the keep fully kitted out.

	The streets of Rumans Keep were empty, with many citizens already home in preparation for the night curfew. The stands and various shops were empty as the owners closed down and began making their way to the taverns for dice, cards and beer. Despite the apparent calmness of the citizens, the atmosphere was tense and foreboding, an invisible weight upon the shoulders of every man, woman, and child within the keep. As of last night, famine had become a very real possibility, as well as the threat of chains if negotiations went badly. Finch’s stomach, reminded by the events of last night, began to gurgle, forcing a hand to his belly. Watching the negotiations now had the added benefit of possibly getting food to eat.

	Within a short while, the doors of the keep were within view, with the order of knights within the keep at the ready, clad in plate with a lance in their hands and a horse between their legs. The lances were topped with various flowery and silken decorations, maintaining the visage of the noble eloquence of the Keep. Near them, the queen stood in all of her old glory, her crown atop her head and wearing a jewel studded, frilly dress. Crowds of civilians were cordoned off to the sides of the arrival area with guards spread evenly amongst them, waiting for whatever the queen and her guard were waiting for. If Finch had to guess, the citizens were more than likely looking for the chance to belt the general with vegetables, if the ones being confiscated were any indication.

	It had all seemed so strange to Finch. The citizens themselves were rabid enough, requiring the need of guardsmen to keep them at heel. The knights themselves, probably fanatics, would certainly harbor a grudge against mamono and yet there they were ready to receive their enemy in peace. Finch himself would certainly receive the enemy, but hardly with the flourish that was being presented. He had to wonder, was it a begrudging respect, or a warmful welcome in attempt for cozier terms?

Finch was so ingrained in thought he hardly reacted when an invisible force roughly pulled him away from the road and flat onto his ass. He had not heard the gallop of hooves and shouts from Pellisia’s honor guard as they trampled down the road on their surprisingly normal horses. He watched, rightly embarrassed, as the carriage and honor guard of nearly a dozen stopped a distance away from the ceremony in preparation to unveil the general. Looking past the stares, glares, and bafflement of the soldiers and civilians, he spotted Cerena and Wren behind a crack in the front door of the keep, rabidly gesturing for him to approach them.

Seeing no other action, Finch quickly scrambled to his feet and immediately began striding towards the door. Before he could make it far, Pelissia’s voice broke through the rabble, shouting, “Lovejoy! Wait a moment won’t you?” Looking back, Finch watched as Pellisia quickly stepped out from her carriage, her guards flanking her, and approached him with typical dark elf grandioso. Finch felt his mood sour once again as she bowed before him in her dress, with a sickeningly sweet smile. “Well Lovejoy, I see you’re taking your freedom to walk where you please. Including into the path of a carriage.”

{“Oh you shit-colored knife ear.”} he thought. “I suppose you could say that. I see you’re still dazzling the town with how superior you and you’re current position is.”

“And I see that you’ve still liquor on your breath.” Pellisia countered, “Not as bad as this morning but…” Pellisia raised a brow as her smile faded. “Your eyes are redder than they were this morning. Are you...doing alright?” Finch had noticed the sudden softening of the general’s tone, even as her bodyguards glared at him from her sides.

Finch nodded his head, replying, “I’m fine. Just hungry is all. I suppose you could say I was looking to see if you ran anything over for something to cook.” He smiled, looking over to the carriage to drive home the deflection.

“Yes...I suppose I could.” Pellisia had obviously seen through the guise. “Finch-”

“Pellisia,” Finch interrupted, “could you please not cry the handle? I’ve reasons for the monikers.”

Her mood visibly soured into annoyance, with her response reflecting this. “Get over it Finch, it’s only a matter of time before everyone in the land knows what the Crab’s real name is. Besides, if you’re smart then you’ll wrap up loose ends before they become loose, but I digress. Finch, is something the matter?”

“Why do you even care? By the time you get out of here, I’ll be betting that you’ll be writing my name on a list of ‘acquisitions’ to send to the queen for some cushy position by her side. In fact,” Finch raised his claw, something Pellisia’s guards reciprocated with their own weapons. “I think I answered my own question.”

“Don’t assume what I do or don’t plan to do Finch. Assumptions like that can get you into big trouble.”

“Oh what, I’m sorry. I guess making the assumption that a dark elf is going to go for the chance of putting a wanted man that doesn’t care for them in chains is totally wrong. What would I know?”

“Did you not notice the kindness I have extended towards you Finch?” Pellisia was scowling, making her short patience visible. “I care about you out of respect of your trials and tribulations over the years, and I suspect-” Movement in the edge of Finch’s vision forced him to interrupt the argument by swiftly raising his claw in defense. The mixed sounds of smashed fruit and of a scuffle drew Finch’s vision back to the crowd and the side of his own claw. A man was being shoved to the ground by several guardsmen and into a pile of smashed vegetables. Now dripping off the side of the claw was a tomato that was, if he had to guess, was on a course for Pellisia’s head.

It would’ve been a nice throw. Unfortunately, Finch was quicker.

Pellisia stepped forward and into Finch’s personal space, laying a hand on his pauldron as she whispered “...I suspect that you DO care.”

Glancing back over, Finch could only frown in embarrassment as Pellisia smiled cooly in her apparent victory. Muttering, “Reflexes.” Finch quickly turned away, plucking the remains of tomato off his claw as he ducked past the ceremony and into the keep.

Cerena and Wren were quick to shut the door behind Finch, now looking over the acceptable looking tomato remains. “You certainly have a flair for appearing unprofessional don’t you?” Cerena asked.

“Cerena, when you’ve been in work for yourself, you learn to enjoy the lack of pomp and circumstance.” Finch took a bite of the tomato as he continued. “And even then, regarding these circumstances, I’d say being pomp is the last thing, that needs to happen.” He swallowed his bite, before going into another to finish the remains. The tomato was a bit mushy, but his stomach didn’t think to argue with the scraps it was given.

“Very funny. While you were napping, did you manage to dream up an escape plan or were you too hungover to think straight?” There was a vitriol to Cerena’s voice that was absent earlier, her usually stoic face now contorted in a frown.

“Christ Cerena, what’s gotten you into such a horrible mood?” asked Finch.

“Finch, have you forgotten the fact that the threats of collars and chains are looming over our heads?! For the Chief God’s sake you were JUST talking to the person who’ll be doing it!”

“Cerena, Cerena! Calm down!” interrupted Wren, grasping at Cerena’s shoulders, “There’s no need to start distancing ourselves from each other. Finch, how has your day been?”

“Well, I woke up early from a nap to a whore shilling her services and an empty stomach. And to top it all off I nearly get run over by a bunch of knife ears and a carriage. You fuckin’ tell me how it’s been going.”

“Well you can thank Cerena for using her magic to pull you out of the way. I suppose you ought to thank her, get back on the right foot.”

“Fair enough.” Finch looked over to Cerena, nodding his head and giving calm, “Thank you.”

Cerena’s shoulders relaxed, air hissing her nose as she responded with a nod and a much kinder, “You’re welcome.” The trio stood in silence, unable to think of what else to say with the anger now disarmed. “We should,” Cerena broke, “probably move elsewhere before the procession comes in.”

“That would be wise,” states Wren. “And, Finch,” he looked back over to the tired warrior, “What WERE you talking with the General about? It seemed like you two delved into a matter or two.”

Finch waved off the question with his claw, stating, “Oh, it was nothing important. Just, ‘hello, how you doing, goodbye,’ that sorta deal.”

Wren raised a brow at the dismissal. “From what we saw, and from what Cerena told me of what happened earlier, I’d say that it seems that the two of you have been getting quite heated into the subjects you talk about. Was there anything strange she said while you were talking?”

“Well,” Finch rubbed the back of his neck with his hand, “she told me to not make assumptions in regards to what she plans to do.”

“And what were you assuming that she was planning to do?”

Finch’s eyes darted to Wren, a light of realization slowly igniting in them. “When I assumed at the end of all this I was going to wind up with a collar.” The words hung in the air, almost tangible enough to be seen. “Wren, is there any way we can watch the negotiations take place?”

	“There is a room overlooking where negotiations are usually held for council members and the royal family to watch. We will not be seen and will be able to listen in.”

“Then let’s go.”

	As they began their jaunt towards the room, Cerena moved to Finch’s side, asking, “Finch, do you really think she’s going to pass up on the chance to put us in chains, let alone you?”

	“I expect the worst to happen, but I also hold some trust to her words.”

	Cerena blinked, contorting her face to confusion in response. “Why?”

	“Obviously she’s an oracle. One that can see the future. I’m guessing that unless she particularly despises someone she has no reason to lie about things of that nature.”

	“Do you think she despises you?”

	“It’s either ‘no,’ or she’s been putting on one HELL of an act to bait and switch me. I’m leaning towards the former.”

	“But why?”

	“Hell if I know. For all I know it could be falling in love or professional respect.”

	“Well, Finch, why should she love or respect you?”

	Finch stopped in his tracks, simply staring at Cerena as she realized he had stopped moving. “I don’t know…” he replied, any strength that was in his voice previously had disappeared, the feelings of despair from earlier surging back into his being. “I just don’t know…”

	“Finch, are you alright?”

	Finch shook himself straight, quickly replying, “Yeah, yeah no. I’m fine.”

	“Are you sure? Was it what I said about-”

	“No! No it wasn’t! It’s just, it’s just I got a lotta things on my mind right now alright?”

	Cerena raised her brows in worry, before silently nodding and continuing on. Now it was Wren who directed a worried gaze towards Finch. “Finch,” he started, “are you quite certain you’re alright? You seem upset.”

	“I said I’m fine. It’s nerves is all.”

	Wren gave a hum before reaching into his coat for an inner pocket. “Finch, have you ever tried tobacco?”

	“No I haven’t, and I’m not keen on starting.”

	“Well believe me,” Wren continued as he pulled out a pipe and a small, brown patch, “you may find it beneficial for calming you down. You can borrow mine for the time being.”

	Finch watched with a veneer of disgust as Wren roughly wiped off the mouthpiece before taking a pinch of tobacco and sprinkling it inside the bowl. Handing the pipe to Finch, he put away his stash of tobacco and pulled out a cylinder of metal that fit in the palm of his hand. Flipping the top of the cylinder open to reveal some sort of mechanism, Finch noted how similar it was to a lighter from home and asked, “You guys have lighters?”

	“Well I do, and it wasn’t cheap. The wizard had a time haggling me for coin for it. Now bend over a bit...” Finch obliged, putting the pipe’s bit to his lips as his leaned over. With a flick of a finger, Wren lit the lighter, angling it over to the pipe’s chamber to light the tobacco inside.
 Inhaling the smoke, Finch immediately began to feel his body relax, the tension dissolving away as he let loose a puff of smoke into the air.

	“Wow, that’s actually pretty good,” he commented, taking the pipe out of his mouth. “I can see why those smoke yokai or whatever they are from the zipangu enjoy these.”

	Wren raised his lips in a smile, proud of his work. “See? I’d figure you’d find it handy. Much more effective than the alcohol you enjoy so much.”

	“Well I’m not sure about that, but thanks for the pipe regardless. I’ll give it back when it’s all done with.” With a nod, Wren gave Finch a quick pat on the shoulder, walking with him the rest of the way to the observation room.

	The room was already filled with various the various council members and generals idly chatting, smoking, and drinking around a table as they waited for the talks to begin. Much to Finch’s surprise, there wasn’t any food to be had within,  Cerena was standing near a window on the opposite wall of the room that allowed a view into the negotiation chamber. Moving to the window, Finch, nodded towards Cerena as she gave a chuckle, joking, “I see Wren has given you a new habit to start Finch.”

	“That he has. I’m honest to god surprised that it’s working so well. Is this stuff opium or something Wren?”

	Wren took a place at Cerena’s side, waving off Finch’s question with a simple “No.” Humming in response, Finch took another deep breath of the smoke, puffing it out as he joined Cerena’s side in watching down into the remarkably simple negotiation room. The room had two doors, both on opposite ends of a table, which clearly showed which side was visiting and who was accommodating. The only notable objects inside was a wooden table with several wooden chairs scattered around it. An elegantly extravagant chair with metal accents and floral patterns within its bark was placed towards the accommodating end of the table.

	“Wren,” Finch asked, “how is it that they won’t see or hear us but we can see them?”

	“Complicated archetitual work. The window here is one way, the other side being a mirror while grates cleverly hidden behind certain portraits allow the sound to travel through tunnels and into this room.”

	Suddenly, the door on the visitor side opened, spilling forth Pellisia and her guards from earlier, still flanking her as ever. As the various officials gathered around, Finch took another puff of the smoke, hoping to god that his prediction and hopes might be right.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

	Pellisia had to give the Rumans family credit, they knew how to drag things out as long as possible. Be it ceremonies, pomp and circumstance, not dying from old age…

	Goodness, from what she’d seen of the princess, she seemed older than her by a few years. She had half expected the queen to have had a pregnancy in the early teens but no, she was an ancient woman, one ravaged thoroughly by age rather than by a husband.

	Damn mamono instinct. All because she’d seen him again. It was strictly to be respectful, but now it was turning into something else. Pellisia rubbed her eyes, growling in frustration as she tried to purge the thought from her mind. When would that old queen get here? This entire charade was beginning to grind on her nerves.

	Looking about the room, Pellisia saw nothing of interest besides the table and chairs, specifically the ornate one across from her. The walls themselves were bland save a few portraits and an oddly placed mirror, not that it would serve any purpose except reflecting the room. Looking at the table, the amount of dust that was accumulated in the hard to reach spots in the corners near the legs, meant that this room was barely ever used, even in the far past. Frustrated, she pulled a chair up and leaned her arms on the table, resting her head in her hands. Closing her eyes, she attempted to divine the future , softly chanting as the streams of fate began to reveal themselves.

	It was as she saw previously, the glint of gold laden carts, open gates, and mamono in the streets, intermingling with the human civilians. Victory was certain. Then, the vision that had bothered her for the past two days, robe laden arms, forming...a chokehold of some kind, around the profile of Lovejoy himself. Certainly, he was within her grasp, if somewhat literally. She only hoped it wasn’t an intimate affair. Pellisia pushed away the thought, hoping it was nothing more than distraction, and reached further into the stream, hoping for new, previously unseen details.

	New visions did form, albeit, disturbing ones. Lovejoy’s claw, disembodied, but still clamping down slowly upon an object, what it is could not be seen, but it now lay broken, in pieces. Then, it lets go of what it was destroying, now whipping out to grab at something, a pair of shadowy legs, pulling them back, a guillotine of some design falling on where the head of a person would be.

	Pellisia shivered as she made sense of the newest visions. She hadn’t seen the claw in actual use, but even she knew its purpose.

	She saw naught but destruction within its future.

	Possibly, her future.

	Pellisia was shaken from her thoughts by the sound of the opposite door opening, Queen Rumans, her glow of spirit energy alone accompanying her into the room. She quickly calmed herself, returning her visage to the cool demeanour she had shown earlier to the others, her air of superiority. The queen began to bow before stopping half way, ogling Pellisia’s guards with a worried look. “Y-y-you,” she spoke with a quivering voice, partly of fear and partly of age, “can’t be h-having guards within this chamber. It’s the way of tradition in our Keep.”

	Pellisia sighed and waved her guards away. “Just wait outside the room for the time being. I’ll be fine if she has no guards either.” The pair nodded, filing out of the room as the Queen and General watched. Returning her gaze back to the queen, she watched as she lifted her dress slightly, before continuing her bow in an obvious show of ceremony. It was only after the Queen’s intent stare for Pellisia to stand did she voice her dislike. “Queen Rumans,” she started, “I grow tired of entertaining your traditions and ceremonies. I had expected this to go on for only so long before we got to talking but now my plans for this evening may be derailed by your dawdling.” Pellisia kept her cool look despite her apparent “anger,” watching with hidden glee as the Queen simply stared wide-eyed.

	“I-I-I,” she choked out, “apolo-gize for the, inconvenience.” Pellisia grimaced as she waited, impatiently, for the old woman to finish her slow, dragged out sentences. “It’s the order of procession. A, keepsake from the family-”

	“I could care less about your ‘order of procession.’ The only order I’ve to follow at the moment is that of my queen, who demands tribute,” Pellisia lowered her gaze as well as her voice, “and plunder.” She paused, letting her gaze wander about this room as the Queen visibly quivered in her seat. Just the reaction she was hoping for. “There’s only several objects in this room that would be eligible for keeping, but it’s a rather minute point. I’ve several terms that I’d like to propose, for peace, that you would certainly find agreeable to take.” Pellisia leaned forward, looking directly into the old woman’s eyes, past the glow, and began rattling off the points nonchalantly. “First, the queen demands a tribute in gold, with the total being a third of your treasure plus whatever valuables your citizenry might have. Second, a tribute of men. Namely, those currently serving prison sentences of some shape or form, with common citizenry being made tribute if my soldiers can so… ‘secure’ them on their own time.”

	“Thirdly, as a lesser request, the city is to become a mamono-friendly state, as per order of my Queen under the yoke of the Demon Lord herself, with the Kingdom of the Black Coast reserving rights to discounts of trade of commerce that results from the opening of business.” Pellisia lounged, if somewhat uncomfortably, in the small chair, trying her best to maintain the facade as her back screamed with uncomfort. She couldn’t help but smile as the Queen simply stared at her, like a deer staring at a hunter. “Of course, this isn’t of any concern to what I want in particular.” Yet again she paused, letting the Queen soak in horrible anticipation while she thought of what she wanted. She could get a bit more of the treasury, but that may cripple the kingdom TOO much. Slaves of some upper echelon family could work, she WAS a dark elf after all, and this WAS a routine conquest by dark elf standards. But then again, she already had a particular slave she’d rather not give competition when he had been so nice already.

	A dress or two couldn’t hurt. Jewelry as well. If she didn’t like them she could always sell them off to some bride to be, get some extra gold out of it.

	Maybe even use it for her own with…

	No no, none of that.

	She would settle for the crown jewels. A necklace or anklet here and there.

	“Now,” she started, looking away dismissively, “onto what I want.”

	Before Pellisia could continue, Queen Rumans interrupted, with a sudden strength and clarity in her voice not heard previously that day. “General. Please, allow me to make a deal with you.”

	Pellisa allowed her brows to drop slightly, looking back to the Queen asking, “But of course Queen Rumans, isn’t that what we’re discussing at the moment?”

	“No, this is of another matter entirely. General, I wish to continue ruling my kingdom as I see fit, but time and my body are slowly fleeting away. I KNOW there are solutions to this that you can provide.”

	{“No way,”} Thought Pellisia, {“She actually wants to monsterize?”} Despite the sudden change in attitude, Pellisia kept her moderately bemused look. “Well, that can certainly be arranged Queen Rumans, but it WILL take some-”

	“There will also be the matter of my council. Their loyalty is slipping, I can see it before my eyes. They are beginning to undermine my authority, conducting raids against my orders, refusing my ideas of surrender to prevent conflict, and…” she paused, uncomfortable with her next point, “overseeing negotiations to make sure I’m saying the right things.” Pellisia’s gaze shot straight to the mirror hanging on the wall, just barely unable to hide her surprise. Of course that’s what it was being used for! “I need them gone. I need you to put them in chains.”

	“And not only them, but my vulture of a daughter as well. She’s just WAITING to get my throne, going so far as to organize her own little hair-brained ‘maneuvers’ under my nose. Despicable.” Pellisia simply stared on, dumbstruck as the queen finally finished with her offer. “Now, I understand that you won’t want to do this for free, but I’m willing to add a sweetener to the deal.”

	It wasn’t until she finished with, “I offer you the monster with the claw, the brute who’s been disrupting your plans, on a silver platter.” that Pellisia’s facade completely broke down, now wide-eyed and confused.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

	It was safe to say Cerena’s face was just as wide-eyed and slack jawed as every single general and councilman within the room. The queen, her mother, had thrown them all beneath the carriage’s wheels! She wanted power solely for herself, and did not want old age and death to relieve her of it. More importantly, Finch was right about her. She wasn’t senile, just plain stupid to be laying all of her eggs on the general accepting her offer. Judging from the General’s own shocked expression, she hadn’t expected this, and probably didn’t even want it.

	Wait a minute, Finch!

	Finch was no longer at Cerena’s side. Moreover, when Cerena looked around, he wasn’t even in the room! The only hint of his departure was Wren’s pipe on the center table, its burning tobacco spilt, and the door to the room now slightly ajar. How could such a man with such a huge burden move so quietly?! Where was he even going?!

	“Wren!” Cerena quickly called out, “Where’s Finch gone to?!” She didn’t wait for Wren to answer before sprinting out of the room and down the hall, towards the negotiation chamber.

	She had a feeling that she already knew where he was going.

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	Pellisia sat dumbfounded in front of the queen, something that did not happen often. She honest to the Chief God wanted her to drag away her daughter and advisors, and wasn’t even busting up. Pellisia hoped for this tradition bound, old lady to burst out laughing, saying it was a joke to lighten the mood of surrender and that she accepted the previous terms. But no, there she sat, with an expectactant stare putting her in line for a response.

	“Well,” she started, “Queen Rumans, uhm.” For once, she couldn’t think of something to say. “While your own demands are, uh, certainly achievable, they are...ever so slightly…” she watched as the Queen’s expression began to slowly darken, “I mean, how do I put this? My liege is...not interested, in long term conquest or gimping.” She clasped her hands together and leaned into the table, recovering her previous facade. “Making anything more of this than just opening a clam for its pearl would be contrary to our goals and abilities. On top of that, such...subterfuge, would leave a bitter taste in my mouth.”

	The Queen looked down towards the ground, dejected with the refusal. “But...but I thought you’d want him, the brute, atop all else with the slaves.”

	“Then you thought wrong.” Suddenly, from the doors behind the queen, the sounds of an argument and commotion was taking place. Curious, Pellisia stood up from her seat and trained her vision upon the entry way with the queen following suit. The noises had escalated to a full on fight, with several parties grunting in pain and sounds of crashing objects reaching through the door.

	“What is the meaning of this?!” exclaimed the Queen.

	“I don’t know,” replied Pellisia, albeit she was sure she had a solid idea as to what was happening, and it horrified her. On que, a single, massive, red claw tore through the door, Lovejoy himself emerging covered in a murderous, crimson haze of spirit energy. The font of power drifted downwards from his helmet’s visor and jaws, veiling any chances of spotting his facial features.

	The Queen stood up fully, beginning to shout something before Lovejoy’s armored hand backhanded her across the cheek, sending her sprawling across the table. Not missing a beat, Lovejoy wrapped his claw around her, beginning to close its talons as he had closed his grip around the general’s wrist earlier. He looked up from his display of murder, unaffected by the gasps and shouts coming from the old woman as Pellisia slowly began to back away. The feelings of fear of impending destruction clawed their way back into her mind, sending a shiver straight to her quivering jaw.

	It wasn’t until the claw closed completely with a wet crunch that Pellisia broke for the door behind her, her facade all but evaporated.

	She burst through the doors, only managing to shout, “RUN!” to her guards who quickly followed suit once they spotted the threat behind her. Even with her head start, the soldiers quickly managed to out pace Pellisia, their endurance and speed from combat training dwarfing her own sedentary ability. Thinking her elven agility would at least outpace the beast chasing her, Pellisia looked backwards to surmise the distance, only to realize in horror that Lovejoy was keeping pace with her. In fact, he seemed to be GAINING! How on earth was he so quick with that hunk of metal?! He was shouting her name, over and over and over again, something she ignored. The panic and fear of his rage reaching for her drove her to near hysteria.

	They dashed through hallway after hallway, before finally emerging to the open air of the outside plaza. The crowd of civilians and soldiers were still waiting for the grand reveal of the peace treaty. Every one of them directed their attention to the outburst of their flight from the castle in both surprise and confusion. Pellisia’s guards, far ahead of her now, made it to the carriage and shouted for the driver to bring it about in the opposite direction, towards the gate of the keep. Lovejoy was dangerously close now as well, practically reaching out for the coattails of her robe as she ran. With how close he was, there would be no way for her to board the carriage without Lovejoy catching her.

	Unless…

	“HELP! HELP, HE’S A MADMAN! HE’S MURDERED THE QUEEN! THE BASTARD’S MURDERED THE QUEEN!” The shout immediately caused an uproar within the crowd, many looking to each other while the soldiers closer to the chase took action, much to Pellisia’s relief. The men swarmed Lovejoy like ants, grabbing at him and attempting to restrain him, much to his very audible protests. She had bought time enough to escape! But already she could hear the banging of metal against metal behind her, Lovejoy brute forcing his way past the human obstacles before him.

	Hurrying to the carriage, her honor guard pulled her up and through the door, immediately shutting it before shouting, “SHE’S IN! GET THIS CARRIAGE MOVING! NOW!” With a jerk and the sound of cracking reins, the entire carriage began moving with the mounted guard ahead of them barking orders amongst each other for formation. Pellisia took a seat within, leaning back and sighing with relief.

	It wasn’t until a loud bang near the rear of the carriage shocked her back to the brutal reality.

	There could be no escape from fate, granted, but there was a first time for everything.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

	“This is just getting ridiculous,” thought Lovejoy aloud as he hung onto the axle of the carriage, “none of this had to happen, ALL you had to do was ask what she meant but no, you were too embarrassed to talk anymore.” He had only just managed to dive onto the carriage’s lower rear frame before it had sped up, now dragging him along. Reorienting himself to face upwards, he climbed further along the bottom of the carriage and towards the front. The back soles of his boots were dragging against the road and practically snagging against every crack, the tip of one of the claw’s blades was screeching loudly against the stone as a consequence of using it to keep a grip.

	{“Then again,”} his ego blurted in, {“You did murder that hag right in front of her without saying a word like a lunatic.”} It was a fair point, but there were bigger matters to contend with. Such as the thuds coming from the carriage floor, accompanied wood splinters and demon steel points poking through newly created holes. Straining his body, Lovejoy reached almost blindly for the lip of the carriage, looking for a handhold to move to. While he did find a handhold, a pair of boots were beginning to stomp on his fingers in an attempt to dislodge them, much to his horror. The speartips were almost through, almost about to stick him, forcing him to take the risk of losing his hold.

	Bracing himself, Lovejoy forced the entirety of his body to move forwards and upwards, grabbing at the lip with his claw in an attempt to reposition himself away from danger. As his fingers slipped away, his claw’s talons caught the lip of the carriage, allowing him to finally pull himself upwards and towards the driver’s seat. Replacing the claw with his hand for grip, he reached up to the horrified carriage driver and wrapped his talons around her, pulling her off and into the street as he found footing on the breeching strap. Stepping to where the driver was sitting, Lovejoy looked about his surroundings to figure out just how bad of a pinch he was in.

	Just ahead of him, some of the mounted honor guard had turned their gaze towards the screaming driver and spotted him, alerting their compatriots to his location. They quickly drew a variety of weapons, some unsheathing swords while others still took out bows and withdrew arrows from quarrels. Back towards the sides of the carriage, the guards that were running with Pellisia were beginning to climb out from the windows towards the roof, in an effort to dispatch him with their spears. Lovejoy was a sitting crab surrounded by seagulls.

	Thinking quickly, Lovejoy quickly grabbed the reins with his claw, wrapping it around its talons and pulling it leftward with all his might to direct the horses down a side street. Just as the horses turned the corner, the whizzing of arrows flew by the carriage and missed by the grace of the sudden turn. Focusing back to the guards mounting the carriage, Lovejoy drew his knife before reorienting the blade to his fingertips. A guard to his right, hoping to stab him with her spear from the window was stopped with a flick of Lovejoy’s arm, his thrown knife burying itself into her shoulder. Surprised by the sudden wound, the dark elf dropped her spear and clutched at the wound before further misfortune struck. The hastily secured door of the carriage swung open, ridding the knife-ear of support and dumping her out onto the street.

	The second guard paused to look at her unfortunate ally before redirecting her fury back to Lovejoy, finally mounting the carriage roof and bringing her spear to bear. Lovejoy raised his arm in a panicked attempt to deflect a spear thrust from his body, his claw still tangled in the reins. Another thrust came, aimed for his now exposed chest that met its mark before Lovejoy could react. He had to give dark elves credit, they had agility to spare. Grunting from the impact in his scale vest, he quickly wrapped his arm about the shaft of the spear and twisted his body to rip it from the dark elf’s grip.

	Dropping the spear from his grip, he turned back just in time to witness the guard drawing her knife to renew her attack with a downward stab! Raising his armored fist to block the strike, he grabbed her wrist and, twisting his body for power, roughly pulled the guard off balance and down into the driver’s seat. Taking the moment to draw his boot back for a swift kick to the guard’s gut, he was caught unprepared as she recovered and tackled his midsection, forcing him down into the seat along with her. She pulled her blade back, roaring out as she attempted to stab the knife directly into Lovejoy’s neck. Clamping his claw shut to sever the reins, he quickly brought his claw over to grip the dark elf’s blade and torso, disabling her as he took the opportunity to toss her off of the carriage, much like her predecessor, the driver.

	Standing back up, Lovejoy realized that, in his panic, he had completely destroyed the reins which now dangled uselessly beneath the carriage. The sound of galloping hooves behind the guard drew his gaze back to the mounted honor guard, now pointing their bows in his direction with arrows nocked. Yelling out, “Oh crap!” Lovejoy quickly ducked beneath the roof of the carriage and into the driver's seat, the projectiles whizzing just above his head or embedding themselves in the back of the carriage. Covering himself as best he can, Lovejoy could only watch helplessly as several of the honor guard galloped ahead of the carriage, twisting about in their saddles to aim directly at him.

	Using his claw like a shield, Lovejoy braced himself as the twang of bowstrings signaled the approaching volley of arrows that barraged him. Several arrows banged and thudded against his claw and wood surrounding him, before pausing. Lovejoy braced himself again, only to look up to the sound of surprised screaming and magical implosions. The riders hounding him seemed to be under attack by some invisible force, most likely Cerena considering her earlier force magic. Standing up from his cover, the riders all about him falling from their saddles, he could see an armored horse catching up to him, carrying an armored knight and Cerena, hitching a ride.

	“Finch!” She shouted, “What in God’s name are you doing!?”

	“At this point I have no idea!” He shouted back.

	“You mean to tell me you went all this way WITHOUT A PLAN?!”

	“All I remember is that it was to keep Pellisia here!” Looking back about, the side street that they had been traveling down looped about back to the main road, something Lovejoy did not anticipate. Just as the horses came to the intersection, a huge conflagration of flames erupted from the direction of the Keep’s castle, sending the carriage horses into a frenzy away from it and directly towards the gate. Lovejoy covered himself from the heat with his arm, just barely able to keep balance from the carriage’s sudden turn. “CERENA!” he shouted.

	“THAT WASN’T ME!” She hurriedly replied. Obviously Pellisia had minored in flame magic, of all things. “STOP THE CARRIAGE, GRAB THE REINS FOR GOD’S SAKE!”

	“I can’t, they’re ruined beyond use!” Lovejoy looked about in a panic, back to the rapidly approaching gate and then down back to his previous foothold, the breeching strap. “Okay,” he whispered, hoping to talk himself to an idea “that’s what keeps the horses connected… Cerena!” He turned back to the princess, still casting an odd spell to deflect an arrow or to dismount an honor guard, “I’ve a plan! Ride ahead to the gatehouse and shut the gate! I need you to trust me!”

	“That’s your plan?!”

	“A part of it!” he lied. That was the entirety of his plan. Cerena nodded and motioned for the knight to gallop ahead, leaving the carriage behind as Lovejoy kneeled down towards his new target. Working hastily, he brought his claw down and around one breeching strap before snapping it apart with the mechanical might of his weapon. Repeating the process with the second strap, he watched with satisfaction as the horses galloped away from the carriage, free of their bindings. Just as he stood up, the carriage wall behind him exploded with a gout of fire, staggering him as a dart of flame smacked him in his steel jaw, forcing him into a spin and tumble off the edge of the driver’s seat!

	Catching the lip of the front in his hand for the third time, he quickly pulled up his head directly into the burning fury of Pellisia’s visage, a ball of flame swirling dangerously in her hand. “I didn’t want to have to do this Lovejoy,” she threatened, “but I’m sad to say you’ve forced my hand!”

	Quickly peeking down and spotting the front axle, he shouted, “I feel the same way! Only with my claw!” before thrusting his claw downward to grip his prize. Just as Pellisia raised her hand to throw the flaming ball directly into Lovejoy’s face, he wrenched the axle to the side, forcing to take a sudden, sharp turn.

	So sharp a turn, in fact, that it forced the carriage into a sideways tumble down the street, throwing Lovejoy and his quarry off the tumbling woodwork.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

	Pellisia’s thoughts were scrambled, to say the least. She could barely orient herself so she was looking downwards instead of up towards the sky. She remembered cornering Lovejoy, about to end him when he grabbed at something beneath him. Then the carriage turned before throwing her off. And then…

	She looked over her body, her robe was torn in several areas and her eye insignia scratched and bent beyond repair. Her arms screamed out in pain, the tears in her robe revealing that they were practically skinned from the impact. Most disconcerting was her legs, she simply could not tell if the pain was that horrendous that she couldn’t feel them at all. Regardless, she could not force herself to stand, her legs simply would not work.

	She looked up and towards the gate, just a dozen meters or so out of reach, before more shouting drew her attention backwards, towards the castle. Various civilians were beginning to come out of their homes to inspect the wreckage of the carriage that lay in the middle of the street, ruined, and defiled from its previous royal grace. Several riderless horses, belonging to her honor guard, ran past the wreck before trampling past her and out of the keep. Their gleaming adornments were likely to never be recovered from the wild. At the wreckage, a sickeningly familiar gauntlet gripped the corner closest to her, acting as a support as its clawed owner stepped out from behind the wreckage, his spirit energy back to a brilliant gold.

	How on earth was Lovejoy still standing from that crash?! He looked towards her, sending a panic jolting through her person. “No, no nononono.” she frantically chittered. There would be no way to defend herself, she was too distracted and disorientated from the crash to cast any spells.

This was fate, rearing its ugly head once again. Lovejoy took an unsteady step forward, stumbling to the ground before using his heavily scratched claw to stop his impact. As he continued his  crippled advance, Pellisia gasped before clawing at the ground, pulling herself along to get away from her pursuer. She needed to get away, to keep away from that killing machine. She crawled forward, hoping to at least get past the gate before it closed, to use it as another obstacle, hopefully one to stop him.

The grinding of gears drew her gaze skyward, her eyes widening as she realized that the gate was indeed closing, as Lovejoy had commanded.

Only, their spikes would be closing downward directly onto her.

She watched, helplessly as the tons of metal began to fall ever closer to her, preparing to impale her with their terrifying weight. Suddenly, she felt her lower body become gripped in a metallic embrace before roughly dragging her backwards, just in time as the gate landed directly in front of her face. She turned to see Lovejoy looking down on her, breathing deeply as his claw released her legs from its grip. He brought his hand up and raised his visor, revealing a sweaty and remarkably calm face. “Jesus,” he muttered breathily, “Christ. Did you REALLY have to fucking run like that?”

Pellisia stared dumbly at him as she processed the situation. Her vision had...come true, in probably the most shocking way possible. “You’re… not going to kill me?” she asked.

Lovejoy raised his brow in a worried, yet annoyed manner. “Fuck no! I was trying to catch up to you to try and keep you here for the fucking peace talks!”

“And it NEVER occured that it’s rather misleading when you up and murder someone and then expect a civil conversation?!”

	“I realize that now! And besides that it’s something you should’ve expected from both rumors about what I DON’T like being called AND from my outburst earlier!”

	“You cold-blooded murdered a Queen Lovejoy! It’s a hell of a thing even for a temper as yours to just up and do!”

	“It’s gotten me into trouble before, how is now any different?!” Before Pellisia could respond, a rising murmur from the street drew both of the arguers’ attention. A crowd of civilians were beginning to approach, some bearing tools of their trade along with less than accepting looks. Lovejoy was the first to act, swearing “Ah crap.” before turning back to the general. “We’re going to need to continue this on the move. I’ve a feeling they’ve got the idea to measure you for a pyre. Can you walk?”

	Feeling as if she had forgotten a part of her morning routine, Pellisia looked back towards her legs, gingerly extending a hand to pat at the exposed flesh. Upon feeling no sting or even caress, she responded, a hint of panic beginning to creep in, “Nn- Finch, I can’t even feel them. Finch, why can’t I feel them? I thought they were supposed to hurt, Finch!”

	“Alright, calm down, calm down,” Finch responded, his voice surprisingly calm given the scenario, “Wora calm down. Your arms still work, I’ll carry you. C’mon.” He offered his mailed hand for her to take, an offer she did not turn down. Turning about, he lifted the dark elf’s arm over his shoulder, before taking her other arm in the surprisingly gentle grasp in his claw. Draping her arm over his other shoulder, Wora found herself being treated as a backpack with her arms wrapped about Lovejoy’s mantle.

	She almost couldn’t believe that THIS was how it was all happening.

	Now facing the peasantry, they indeed bore the look of hostility, and looked ready to skin her alive. Each and every one of them were voicing their stance, a cacophony of hatred directed towards her.

	“Ey! Why’s it you’ve got her on your back? It’d be easier ta end her on the ground!”
	“Yeah! We ought to be getting her and her compatriots ready for a pyre!”
	“They burn down our granary, kidnap our brothers and you’ve the gall ta protect her?”

	Wora tightened her grip around Finch, she was defenseless without her magic, and her legs for that matter. Finch pulled her arms away from him, sputtering, “Not the neck, not the neck.”

	“Sorry.” Wrapping her arms about his gorget, she watched as a particularly gruff commoner approached Finch with a pitchfork in hand.

	“Ey, Why don’tcha let me take that little knife ear off yer back, spare ya tha-” Before the man could finish, Finch shot his claw forward and roughly yanked the man’s tool from his grasp, splintering it like a matchstick within his grasp.

	He quickly wrapped his claw around the man’s being, staring into his eyes and loudly asking, “I’m sorry, did I hear you right? Did you say you wanted to be my NEXT example for the day? Eh?” He threw the man down and onto his back, letting him scramble away as the mob became slowly more ornery.

	On que, the Princess appeared from the gate tower just to Finch’s side. Before she could utter a word, Finch quickly asked, “Cerena, is there a temple dedicated to Eros in town?”

	“Y-yes, if you walk along the battlements and get off at the third tower to the left you should be fine, but Crab you’ve got a-”

	“Thank you. I need to go with this one.” He quickly adjusted Wora to a more comfortable position before disappearing into the tower, slamming the door shut behind him. “So Wora,” he started, seems they were on first name basis now, “how’s to say we play a game of give and take?”

	The shock and panic of the initial ordeal was beginning to wear off, replaced by the annoyance of the whole absurdity of the scenario. “And what exactly would THAT be Finch?”

	“Simple, I ask you a question, and you answer. Then you ask me a question I answer it and we go back and forth to pass the walk.”

	“If we’re doing it then I’M going first.” Finch tilted his head in some sort of private revelation, probably about her tone. “Right, where are you taking me? The castle dungeon?”

“Since you haven’t figured it out yet, I’m taking you to a temple of Eros so they can treat yours wounds. And quit with the bitchiness, I really didn’t mean for this to get out of hand.”

	“Well pardon me, Finch, but my arms are legs are skinned, my dress and sigil ruined, and I can’t feel my legs. And you’ve the GALL to say I’m being bitchy?!”

	Finch looked over his shoulder shouting, “FINE! It’s all my fault you’re a temporary paraplegic! I should’ve been more clear! I should’ve been shouting, ‘hey wait! This is all a big misunderstanding!’ instead of ‘Wora! I’m comin’ Wora!’ There! You happy?”

	She smiled in satisfaction at causing the outburst. While Finch had his own ability to cause them, she could play at his same game without him realizing it. But she had to admit, his outbursts were somewhat endearing. “...better. Now it’s your turn I believe.”

	“Good. So you weren’t planning on putting the royalty, and me, in chains?”

	“Not really. I’ve already a good enough slave and didn’t feel like having to train anyone else. At most I was thinking about one of those dresses they had. Have you seen one of them? Those things are extravagant!”

	Finch shook his head, scoffing, “You dark elves and your need for extravagance.”

	“And you say that after seeing the entire ceremony they laid out?”

	“A fair point, but we’re way, WAY off task with our game, just so you know.”

	“Then how about I restart it hm? So tell me Finch, you mentioned that it was an outburst that started all of this, how spur of the moment was it exactly?”

	“It was a… a bit of a build up really.” Finch went into detail about the previous three days events, talking almost without pause even to catch his breath; from the initial meeting the day of the night raid, to the veto’d raid plan, and to the chew out and eventual sellout.

	“Wow, I was wrong. Your outburst seems a little- only a little- more justified. I’m actually sorry you had to deal with her.”

	“Now you can see a bit of why I cut loose. Oh and uh,” Finch motioned his head forward towards the front of his person, “we’re here.”

	Wora looked up from Finch’s shoulder, to the temple doors that he now stood in front of. She had gotten surprisingly comfortable, hanging off him. The fur lined gorget and collar were nice, Finch himself was warm, and he had a touch about him that was…

	“Damn mamono instinct…” she swore aloud.

	“You haven’t taken a liking to me have you Wora? I’ll have you know I don’t enjoy my coffee dark.” Finch teased.

	“No, no I’m aware enough to catch it.”

Finch pushed open the doors to the temple, a surprisingly busy place with various beds laid about the cloister, attending to none other than members of her own honor guard! A sister of the temple, along with two armored knights covered in heart motifs greeted them. “Ah,” the nun started, “we were expecting you.”

“You were?” Finch asked.

“Yes, indeed. We were informed of your coming, we have a bed prepared for your acquaintance. Right this way.”

The nun began leading them through the rows, the injured soldiers staring in awe as they passed. “Finch,” Wora whispered, “what do you think she means they were informed? From the faces of my guards, they didn’t know you’d be the one carrying me.”

“I don’t know,” he replied, “but I’ve a very good hunch that Eros did a bit of personal meddling, a habit of hers.”

Before Wora could ask what he meant, he began to lift him from his back, positioning her so she could be sat down on her designated bed. She winced and sucked air through her clinched teeth as the pain began to make its presence known. It seemed the adrenaline and distractions were at their threshold for pain relief. Finch backed away from the bed, giving Wora a full view of his body once again, and its golden glow. A full view of his arm and its…

Oh dear.

“Uh, Finch? You’ve got a little-”

“I know I know, I look like crap but hey, I’m feeling remarkably fine!”

Wora paused before continuing, “Y-yes, fine. You were limping when you picked me up but by the time we got here you were already walking normally. I suppose your moniker really does have merit.”

“Probably. Well, Wora,” he stretched his body, “I gotta go clean myself up. I didn’t have the chance this morning and I’m definitely not going to sleep for a little while. So,” he bowed, making his claw and arm prominently seen, “See ya later.” He turned off, leaving the nun and the general alone.

The nun turned to Wora with wide-eyes, asking, “I surely thought you would mention his arm.”

“Well…” Wora looked over to Finch, plucking his knife from the operation tin near one of the soldiers, “I suppose if he doesn’t feel it, it’s not a problem. I’ll let him figure it out.”

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	Cerena met Finch directly outside the temple, both of them stepping aside for two knights of Eros. They were pushing a cart with another injured member of Pellisia’s guard that was plucked off the street. Her eyes darted to his arm before back to his face. “Finch, you seriously didn’t get that fixed?”

	Finch looked up from scanning his knife for major damage. “Get what fixed?”

	Silence. Finch’s arm was beginning to feel a tad cold, probably from a hole from the recent scuffle. “Finch?”

	“Yeah?”

	“You’ve got an arrow in your arm.”

	Finch looked down to his claw arm, double taking when he found that, much to her description, there was in fact the remains of an arrow in his arm. “Oh crap! How long have I been walking around with this thing?” He tenderly poked at it, satisfied at the lack of pain from its jostling. “Well it can’t be a big deal. I surely would’ve felt it if it pierced the skin deeply.” He put his knife away before grabbing at the shaft at the arrow and, before Cerena could stop him, roughly yanked it from its lodging. A sharp wave of icy pain traveled through his arm as he recoiled from the effect of demon silver. His elbow and arm as a whole growing cold as he looked through the hole.

	“Well, fuck me sideways. It did pierce.” He groaned. He raised a finger, whispering, “‘Scuse me.” before turning directly around and back towards the temple, attempting to jive the pain away as he walked back through the precipice.