SPACE STATIONS > The Cancer

Let Sleeping Gods Lie [Mara!]

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Paladienne:
The incessant buzzing continued despite his best attempt to make it stop. His arm flopped this way and that as his hand sought to find the source of the buzzing and destroy it. Sleep was a precious commodity, and he rather enjoyed his investment within the product. And, gods, what time was it, anyway? He lifted the pillow from his head - a poor attempt at using the fluffy material and its trappings to block out the sound, for sure - and grumbled and cursed his way into an upright position. He was slow about it. Whoever was calling at... 3 a.m. - 3 a.m.! Gods! No, those glowing numbers on his chronometer weren’t wrong! - deserved to wait until he felt like bestowing them with his presence. Who called at 3 a.m. anyway? Booty call hours were between midnight and two. All other calls could wait until he was of sound mind to answer. If he answered.

The buzzing continued.

Dontanion finally gained the trajectory he sought and swung his legs over the side of his bed. His bare feet touched the cold wood floor of his bedroom and the shock was enough to clear the rest of sleep from his mind. It was swiftly replaced by indignant anger, irritation, and a severe desire to end whatever was causing the noise. He shoved himself off the bed and crossed the area between his bed and his dresser, where he fished around on the dresser’s top for the irritant’s source. He was helped along by the little flashing light on his com. Of course it was his com. Why wouldn’t it be his com?

His mouth went a little dry when he realized just what com it was.

It was his special com, the one he reserved for a certain patron with very particular tastes. A patron who always paid on time and a valuable source of product for his own business. It wouldn’t do to snap at this particular man, but a glance into the mirror on his dresser showed his normally straight, black hair had started to curl and turn red, with a healthy mix of indigo, so Dontanion was irritated enough that he might just forget propriety and give the man on the other end a piece of his mind.

He picked up the com and answered with a terse, “You do realize what time it is here? You’re lucky I wasn’t in the middle of something important.”

The other end was silent for a few heartbeats before a smooth, deep, cultured voice replied, “You’re never in the middle of something important, and yes, I realize what time it is. But this can’t wait.”

Dontanion blew out a sigh. “I should charge you by the minute for this phone call.”

“This isn’t that kind of line. And you have the wrong parts.”

“What do you want?” Dontanion growled.

His growl was given right back to him, but stronger and more threatening, and the growl thundered through the syllables of the words, rather than the words themselves. “I need a favor. A paid favor, of course, but still a favor.”

Those were two of Dont’a’s favorite words - favor and paid - especially coming from this particular patron. “What kind of paid favor?”

“There’s something I need you to retrieve for me. Something that requires complete discretion. There’s a good possibility of violence.” A pause. “Actually, there’s definitely going to be violence.”

“Well, I know exactly who to send for a discreet, violent job then.” Dontanion replied, his tone acid with a hint of humor. “I need more details than that.”

As Dontanion listened, his hair steadily lost its curl and its color and became straight and black once again. But a smile stretched across his face, huge and greedy, showing teeth. When the speaker finished, Dontanion was practically purring at the thought of the lucrative nature of this operation.

“You’ll be paid handsomely, of course.” the deep, cultured voice added.

“Of course,” Dont’a purred. “I can’t put a guarantee on the time of delivery, but I can put a guarantee on the job being done. I’ve got a good idea of who to hire for both retrieval and delivery. Naturally, I’ll provide you with an itemized list of expenses and damages.”

There was a long pause before the man on the other end growled, “Naturally.”

“Would it kill you act happy? The expenses and damages wouldn’t be mine, of course. My employees need to be taken care of. That’s how you keep good employees.”

There was a profound heavy silence from the other end. Dontanion kept smiling, knowing that he’d won their little tete-a-tete and it didn’t make his patron very happy. He supposed he could give him a discount on the bill, considering the man was actually a very loyal customer and supplier. He didn’t say it aloud, of course. He didn’t want to tip his hand too soon.

“Just get it done.” Click.

Dontanion shut off his com so he didn’t have to listen to the silence of the other line and stretched his arms over his head, twisting at the waist to extend the muscles of his back. Since he was already up, he might as well get to work. The sooner he got this going, the better it would be, anyway.

His client wanted discretion. There was only one person Dont’a had heard whispers of that could deliver on that and more. The other person he knew he could consider for the job had the transportation needed.

It wasn’t hard to get ahold of the transport, and it only took a little bit of sweet talking and explaining the terms of the deal before he got an agreement and a promise that they would be in port on Cancer come late morning or early afternoon, and they would be at his shop a little after arrival.

Getting ahold of smoke was a little more challenging, but Dontanion had his fingers in several underground pies, so it wasn’t hard to leave a message. If his message was found enticing, then smoke knew where to flow, and Dontanion would have an extra guest. If not, then Dontanion still had someone capable of completing the task and the bill would be that much cheaper for it. That done, Dontanion moved to get dressed and head down to his shop to get it ready for company, all while composing the contract in his head. He would have a physical copy ready when the respective parties arrived, and if they wanted to look it over. Terms could be negotiated. So could fees. After all, it wasn’t Dontanion footing the bill.

Marakai2.0:
A pair of eyes stared at him from the mirror. These eyes, drooping with decades of fatigue and the exhausted wisdom that could only come with age and experience, watched calmly, almost sadly, peering into the source of their reflection.

These eyes were not his own, but it didn't matter. They had served their purpose well. Along with the wrinkles, the skin, the old bag of bones his body had become to fulfill the various particularities this job had outlined. Now though, the eyes were useless to him. This form was useless, and moving about as an old human fool had long ago become beyond annoying. The eyes in the mirror closed, and darkness filled his vision. He felt the familiar sensation of his flesh and bones crawling and creaking as his body rearranged itself, his form stretching and straightening from its hunched over position as he took the form of his natural state for the moment.

His eyes opened again, and before him were two featureless, black orbs, large and almost insect like, framed by the smooth, perfect, alabaster skin of his face. He let out a breath, and grinned as he raised a hand to run his fingers through his shock of stark-white hair. That grin was still firmly on his face as he turned to face the rest of the room.

Oh. He'd almost forgotten...he wasn't alone. Almost alone, but not quite.

On the floor, the soon-to-be corpse of the Father glared up at him, his own fountain pen jammed into his neck. His blood flowed in sluggish streams from around the plastic. Vaguely, the viper wondered why the old man was still alive.

"You're more stubborn than I thought you'd, be, guy." Keenah's grin broke into a wide smile, showing a gleaming row of perfectly white teeth. "I've been dipping into that ink of yours for, what, almost fifteen minutes now? There oughta be enough in that pen to write my biography in red, now." The Tsumi kneeled down, careful not to place his knee in. The large puddle of blood that had formed around the slum-lord. "Shoulda wrote yours while you dad the chance, old man. How you feeling, by the way? Cold? Going numb? You haven't tried to move in awhile. Old dudes like you don't move so well anyway, do ya? Well...that's all right. It'll all be over soon." That smile remained in place as he reached his hand out, grasping the two inches of pen that were jutting out from the old man's sagging, bloody throat. "And I'll have me a new pen. It's a shame the man who paid me wanted all your assets, but...man. This is a damn fine pen."

With a jerk of his wrist, Keenah jerked the pen free. The old man's wet flesh squelched, and a thin spray of blood followed after it. The viper leaned away from it, avoiding the spray as he pushed his way up to his feet.

"Think I'll keep it, man. What do you think? Clean it up real nice, add it to my collection." Keenah lifted it to eye level, inspecting it. "It's gonna be all that's left of you, after all. I'll make sure to- oh. You've gone and died on me. Well, isn't that a shame. Guess the inkmeister here was all that was keeping the life-juice in you."

Keenah smirked, his lips twisting playfully, and bent to pull a handkerchief from the expired man's breast pocket. He cleaned the gore from the pen, and then slid it into one of his own pockets. From his hip, he pulled a wicked looking knife, and then he grasped the dead man's right hand. He proceeded to break two of the digits there, his inhuman strength snapping the bones like twigs. Into a small bag, Keenah placed the man's thumb and ring finger, complete with a gaudy looking ring with a ruby the size of a quarter.

"I'm sure your widowed wife will enjoy having this back. She paid an awful lot of money to me to obtain it for her. Maybe don't marry any snakes...we tend to bite, after all....here, man, you can keep this. I've got plenty. A token of my appreciation, if you will." Keenah plunged the blade into the corpse's chest, and then turned to leave the room, bag in hand as he stepped over legs, arms, and torsos, picking his way through the carnage he'd wrought as he cut his way to the man in charge of the operation.

Once he'd made his way to the front of the compound, he stopped at a large, ancient looking console. He hummed to himself as he began accessing the various functions, acting as if it was just another day's work as he found the command labeled "Alert Code: Red - Jettison." He pulled the bag of fingers from his pocket, and carefully removed the thumb, pressing it to a fingerprint scanner on the console.

Then he selected his evacuation time; thirty-five seconds seemed as if it would suffice. It would be just enough time to allow him to escape the compound. He didn't need to worry about security coming after him - all focus would be on the rescue operation for one of the richest men on the Cancer. And all they'd find would be a pile of cut up, shot up corpses, and one dead old man with Keenah's signature sticking out of his chest.

Carelessly, Keenah tossed the thumb over his shoulder, and strode out into thoroughfare, shifting into the form tall, broad-shouldered man just before he entered open view. Behind him, evacuation protocols were being shouted in a computerized voice, abruptly cut off as the airlock slammed shut. With a hissing sound that Keenah barely noticed, the whole compound was jettisoned out into cold space, for someone who cared to be retrieved later. Once the body was discovered, Keenah would be paid. Or, he wouldn't, and his "employer" would be found in a similar state, and Keenah would pay himself. It was no big deal to him, really.

______

Three or four hours, and a couple dozen shapeshifts later, Keenah sat at his desk. Once he was safely within his locked chambers, he had released his form, allowing himself to be comfortable within his own skin for, hopefully, more than a few minutes. The bag containing the Father's ringfinger and that hideous ring sat in front of it, and for a moment, Keenah sat, staring at it, before he decided to get back to work. He poked the screen on his terminal, and watched it flicker to life with a notification. He had, count them, one message. Work had been slow, lately, but that was okay.

He opened the message, finding some sort of here-say about some big job with the possibility of a blank check as payment. The rumors, Keenah had learned, were sometimes better than the actual jobs. Other times, though, they turned out to be nothing more than empty words and smoke. But, something like this - the words "Blank Check" were firmly in mind - was definitely worth his attention. Besides that, his sources were generally very smart about what they did and didn't allow to filter through to him. After all, if they wanted to be paid, they had to find him paying work, right? Rarely did they make a mistake, and even rarer was it for any mistake to be made that allowed something of this magnitude. Keenah would investigate, and if it was as big as it was made out to be, he'd see it done.

He smiled, and pushed his way out of his chair. It looked as if his own skin would have to wait a little longer.

_______

About an hour later, the 'smoke' that Dontanion had been seeking would enter into his shop, in the guise of a small, healthily-tanned elven woman, with sharp eyes and the ghost of a smile. Other than her, the shop seemed empty - but that was to be expected, considering the hour. The lock had been picked open, after all, and nobody else would be around. The hours posted outside said that the shop wasn't due to open for another forty five minutes, but that was fine.

Keenah could wait.

And wait he did, shifting into his natural skin once again as he settled in, walking around the shop, poking around and affording himself some browsing time that no one else would have. He didn't touch anything, and nor would he, unless the owner of the shop couldn't afford Keenah's price. There were several interesting things on display that the Tsumi would indeed love to possess, but....well. It was bad business to steal from a customer, wasn't it?

It was rather odd, he thought, that a shop keeper such as this would be offering a job as lucrative as this one seemed it would be, but...Keenah had taken odder jobs with high stakes, from more unlikely patrons. And if the guy had the money to back it up, maybe he'd be a repeat customer - Keenah was fresh out of those, sadly. In fact, he'd killed his last one just a few hours ago - luckily, the old man's newly-widowed wife was paying him handsomely. The Father hadn't given him paying work in months, anyway.

 After a few minutes, Keenah decided to find a seat, choosing a large display piece that seemed as if it was sturdy enough to support his weight. Some kind of alien design - alien to him, anyway - so it was anyone's guess as to what it was made out of. The Tsumi climbed atop the six-headed conversation piece, settling on its wide shoulders and straddling one head, resting his arms atop it and facing the back stairwell. As of yet, the shop was dark enough that he wouldn't be seen from the front windows. Keenah would be the first thing Dontanion saw, as soon as he turned the lights on.

Paladienne:
“There’s a message. It’s from him.”

“You don’t have to sound so agitated. He pays our bills and then some. Put it up.”

Midi sighed heavily but did as Kyrian asked, allowing the audio file to play over the bridge’s loudspeakers. Kyrian sat in the captain’s chair with his chin propped on his fist and his eyes half closed as he listened to the deep baritone voice roll through the room. It seemed clear enough to Kyrian what his patron wanted, but his curiosity was piqued because the task was purposely avoided being deliberately spoken and yet there were enough hints that Kyrian could almost guess what the job might be. He had Midi play the message over again, then once more, and when Kyrian could glean no further information, he had her erase all traces of the communication.

Midi appeared then, the holograph flickering into existence as she regarded her captain with an expression that was decidedly unhappy. Kyrian only gave her a mild look in return. She blew out a long sigh that turned into a raspberry at the end and threw her hands up in the air.

“Honestly,” Midi griped, “I don’t know why you feel like you owe that bastard anything. All he does is get us into more trouble than we originally budget for. You end up getting shot at, I end up getting shot at, and whatever it is we retrieve and deliver is never enough to cover the repair of the scuff marks on my hull. And he says he’ll pay for it, but then all he gives us is vouchers to make sure I don’t get scrapped every time we dock, and expects us to be happy with that and the pittance that’s barely enough to put food in your belly.”

Kyrian remained silent throughout her tirade. He knew better than to interrupt Midi while she was on a tangent. He was well aware that she could turn off - or turn up - the gravity and shut down life support until he apologized to her. But they both knew that the jobs given to them by their patron were some of the more high-paying ones and that their patron wouldn’t give them a job that would take them into territory they ought not be in, for their own safety. That didn’t mean they didn’t often find themselves facing down the barrel of an ion cannon now and again, but it meant that they at least had a greater chance of survival than they might normally would’ve had. Which meant, much to Midi’s chagrin, they were going to accept the request and take on the job. And before Kyrian even opened his mouth to say such and make these points, Midi was already waving her hand in dismissal.

“Yeah, yeah, I know. Setting course for the Cancer. You know, Kyrian, one day, that asshole is going to get you killed.” Midi grumbled, even as she prepared the ship for hyperspace.

“Well, at least we know my death will probably be swift then. And,” Kyrian added with a smile, “if I’m extremely lucky, it’ll be painless.”

“If that bastard is behind it, your luck would have to be astronomical indeed.”

Kyrian just smiled and shook his head, but he knew, just as Midi did, that death was a shadow that followed them no matter where they went or what they did. Theirs was an existence that burned quick and bright and then was extinguished without much preamble or fanfare. No one would remember their names. No one would remember who they were or what they had been. No one would care. They were, and then they were not. It was something Kyrian had made peace with long ago, and something that he no longer thought of. He had no regrets in his life; at least, none that he truly felt were worth agonizing over at the moment of death. So he would carry on, and he would survive, until the day came when he couldn’t.

----

Dontanion knew someone was in his shop the moment he emerged from his quarters and had started down the stairs. He didn’t react, as years of surviving in the shadows had taught him it was much easier for prey to come to him rather than the other way around. But this presence... this presence wasn’t prey. This presence was a predator, just as he was, one to be taken seriously and warily. This wasn’t a presence to joke with, to insult, or deny. And so he flicked on the lights to the shop as soon as he reached the middle landing of the staircase that separated the shop from his home and carefully continued down to the store proper. His eyes alighted on the figure sitting on the six-headed conversation piece, and Dontanion’s brow steadily rose to his hairline as he studied the creature perched there.

“I suppose I don’t have to tell you that that thing isn’t actually a piece of furniture meant for sitting, do I?” Dont’a asked, his baritone voice rolling through the room like soft thunder. “You’re supposed to use it for more, ah, flexibility training. Or so I was told by the original owner.”

He came further into the shop and passed by his guest entirely, certain that the individual atop the piece of furniture was the smoke he’d been trying to contact, and so he needed to act accordingly. Not quite in deference, but respectful. He headed to the small kitchenette that he kept stocked with coffee, tea, juice, and other, more exotic drinks that he gifted his guests while they were browsing, and began to fill a small kettle with distilled water.

“Would you like something to drink? Eat?” Dont’a asked once he’d set the kettle on the heating plate. “I’d prefer not to get into the nitty gritty of contracts and things like that until our other party gets here. He should be along any minute now, or ten. But you won’t be kept waiting long, I promise.”

Moving out of the kitchenette as the water heated, Dontanion moved toward his guest and offered him the tablet he’d brought down with him, the one that had the mission’s details and contract on it. “But you can get a head start in reading it. Terms are as you see them. Pay’s as you see it. Fine print states that I’m not responsible for death or dismemberment, any misuse of personal ammo, injuries sustained in the line of duty, et cetera, et cetera.” He returned to the kettle, studying it as the water inside began to boil. “Everything’s negotiable, including the pay, if it’s not to your liking. But this is a one-time deal. You walk away, I’ll find someone else. Or the other party gets sole profit if he chooses to undertake it alone.”

Dontanion lifted his head and lips curled into a smile. “If ye speak of the devil, he shall appear.”

And the door to the shop opened to admit a young human male who was every bit a trained killer, hunter, and mercenary. His eyes flicked toward the Tsumi and then to Dontanion, and he stepped further into the shop. He closed the door behind him and flipped the lock, and began to approach Dontanion and the Tsumi.

Marakai2.0:
Keenah was aware of the man descending the stairs long before he'd flicked the light on, listening to the quiet footfalls as his feet took each step. The sounds of those steps, while not altogether loud, were still measured and deliberate. He moved as if this was business as usual - and it might be, as far as he knew. Did this other know that the Tsumi was waiting for him? Was he completely unaware? It was hard to tell, but Keenah knew that he'd be relatively surprised by the first, and amused by the second.

When the light abruptly changed, the shop's fluorescents casting a glare throughout the confines of the room, Keenah didn't react. He didn't blink, he didn't so much as twitch, his amused gaze remaining passively on the stairs before him as he waited for the man to descend. When Dontanion was finally in view, though, the Tsumi tilted his head to one side.

His immediate measure of the man informed him that, yes, he was aware of his presence, before he'd even stepped into the room. Perhaps before he even turned the light on. His reaction, a simple lifting of the brows, as if wondering why his guest had decided to find a perch in such an odd place, threw up a couple of red flags for Keenah. This man was far more than what he appeared to be...Keenah would need to be careful in his dealings with him.

"Oh, I'm well aware. But, it makes a fairly good vantage point, placed as it is directly in front of the stairs. Also, as large as it is, it would also make for convenient object to hide behind if I were here for less...amenable reasons." The Tsumi smiled and followed the man with his gaze as he moved to walk past him, and once Dontanion had gone behind him, Keenah slid down from his perch to land smoothly on his feet, turning to keep the other in front of him in the same movement. He followed him at a respectably safe distance, wary still of this unknown quantity, and stopped when he did. Dontanion offered him food or drink, and Keenah was silent for a beat before he noted the preparations the other was making.

"Tea, if you wouldn't mind. And...." One of Keenah's brows lifted just slightly as he took the tablet in hand, though he hadn't looked at it yet. "....if you know anything about me, you'll know that I usually work alone." But when he looked at the tablet and began reading over the terms, he began to understand. He couldn't possibly travel that distance in his little puddle jumper ship. It would pass everything in space, true, except for every fuel stop on the way - he'd manage maybe a quarter of the distance before he'd need to change out fuel cells. His work never took him far, and rarely off the station at all - he'd never had need of a ship with a hyperdrive.

"This is quite a distance....so I'm assuming the other party is for transport. But otherwise, it looks like a simple retrieval job, maybe with a little bit of blood splashed around. As far as injuries, that's not an issue - I am what I am, after all. Personal misuse of ammo....eh." He shrugged. "It looks fairly standard. I'm assuming there's a catch to all this? Because nothing standard is going to have negotiable pay."

And then, behind him, the door opened. He listened to the new party's steps once again, one hand holding the tablet as he scanned its contents, the other almost casually laying over his torso, though his fingers gripped the handle of a blade hidden from view.

"And party two has arrived...." he said, smirking as he glanced over his shoulder at the newcomer. He could see a good many things about this man, most notable of which was that he, too, had apparently seen his share of action. Keenah could just sense it, the quietly radiating sense of danger that seemed to follow his every step. "Hey, kid," he started, grinning as he took in the sight of him. He was so young it seemed, though he supposed every human that looked about that age was young, compared to one like him. But that wasn't what was important here - what was important was whether or not he could handle himself. Flying a ship was all well and good, but Keenah wanted to get a measure of how well he could manage when he wasn't in the cockpit.

"I started reading ahead of ya, hope you don't mind. Here, catch up." Keenah's grin grew yet wider, as he bodily turned and tossed the tablet in his direction, the device spinning in its trajectory as it flew toward him. The throw was only really hard enough to cover the distance, so it wouldn't be particularly painful if it hit him. But Keenah mostly intended to see simply how he'd react - if he'd recognize it for what it was and catch it, or dodge out of the way out an object flying toward him. Or maybe he'd bash it out of the air and get aggressive.

Paladienne:
Dontanion said nothing as his first guest talked, a sly smile his only response to most of what was being said. When the door opened to admit the second party, he watched as Kyrian quickly assessed the Other in the room, the kid’s eyes quickly going from head to foot and back again on the Tsumi, the orbs never betraying any of Kyrian’s thoughts about the stranger standing in Dontanion’s place of business at such an early hour. Kyrian’s body was perfectly relaxed, or so it seemed. Not even Dontanion could tell if the kid was nervous or intimidated by the unknown quantity. That was something he liked about Kyrian; he always seemed unflappable, like he couldn’t be disturbed by any singular event taking place outside the status quo. He assessed, he readjusted, and he reacted based upon what he saw and what others did. He reacted, rather than acted.

Of course, that being said, Dontanion knew Kyrian could act startlingly fast if he wanted to. And typically when he did that, it was to ensure his own survival.

As he poured the Tsumi’s tea, he watched as Kyrian entered the building and shut the door behind them. The kid walked softly for someone of his size, and somewhere hidden on his person, Dontanion knew, was a big stick. Knife, really. Several knives. Quite possibly some kind of firearm too. Kyrian’s eyes never left the Tsumi once he’d given him the initial once-over, and his face betrayed nothing of what he was thinking.

If the Tsumi knew he was being assessed by Kyrian - and if Kyrian knew he was being assessed by the Tsumi - neither of them showed it on their faces. Dontanion could hardly feel a single sliver of emotion from either of them that betrayed what their faces were saying. Calm, cool, collected, and in the case of the Tsumi, a little amused, but nothing more than what the surface was saying. Dontanion would almost be disappointed if he didn’t know what kind of professionals these two were, and what kind of skills they both had in order to excel in their line of work. Emotions didn’t matter to a mercenary, after all. Neither did things like morals or honor - both of which Dontanion knew Kyrian had in spades which was infuriating to no end sometimes. But the kid did what he was hired to do, and he did it with minimal repair bills. And Dontanion could always appreciate minimal repair bills.

At the Tsumi’s little taunt, and at the sudden motion of his body, Dontanion saw Kyrian tense. At that point, all Dontanion saw was money being sent down the nearest drainage pipe as the tablet went sailing through the air. He would’ve lunged after it himself, to save that precious, precious money, but it was already too late.

Kyrian, however, had seen the slight twitch of the Tsumi’s arm as he started to step into the beginnings of the motion. Just as he’d seen the way the Tsumi’s other arm had been lying across his torso, a completely nonchalant gesture, if the fingers attached to the hand on the other end of that arm hadn’t been curled around the hilt of a knife. It would make the actual toss a little awkward, if the Tsumi had been anything other than what he was.

Kyrian didn’t know much about Tsumi, if he had to be honest. But he could tell quite a bit about this particular one. He was a warrior. A fighter. Nothing he did was without reason. He calculated his actions down to the last micro-movement, all for gauging and assessing. And it didn’t matter what he was assessing; all that mattered was that the person or object had the Tsumi’s attention and he wasn’t going to let it go without giving that person or object some serious scrutiny.

As he moved forward by a half-step - too late to retreat and not quite enough to continue advancing - Kyrian took his eyes off the Tsumi to follow the trajectory of the tablet. As he did, he saw Dontanion’s face - pale, wide-eyed, probably about to have a panic attack, or a heart attack, or both - and knew the man was mourning the money that he was about to lose if that tablet hit the floor and broke. Then his eyes were focused on the incoming target, and he knew he had scant seconds to make a decision to either catch it, dodge it, or whack it out of the air.

The last two would give him immense pleasure, because Dontanion would probably have a conniption and go into a spastic fit over the loss of money the tablet’s breaking represented. However, Kyrian knew the Tsumi was watching, and based on his words, this was going to be his partner for whatever mission it was Dontanion wanted him to run, and so he knew that the Tsumi was testing him. If he knocked it out of the air and approached the Tsumi with even the slightest bit of aggression or irritation that he’d had something thrown at him, the Tsumi would, at the very least, likely kick his ass to the curb and do the job himself. If he didn’t do that, then the Tsumi likely wouldn’t trust Kyrian as far as he could throw him, and Kyrian might find himself abandoned somewhere. If he dodged it, then the Tsumi would think him scared to be injured, scared to fight, and again, he would lose that trust. More so, the Tsumi would likely strike out more on his own and forget that Kyrian was there, too. That, of course, didn’t bode well for the success of the mission they were to perform together. That left only one option.

Kyrian snapped out his right arm, his fingers hooking to form a claw of sorts. As the tablet finished its arc and began to fall toward his face, he swung his arm out left to right in a sweeping arc. His fingers came in contact with the tablet’s edge and clamped down tight. With the tablet secure in his grip, Kyrian rotated his shoulder to bring his arm down and bring the tablet up before his eyes. It was a swift movement, but precise, and it showed some skill in hand-eye coordination, as well as speed. Whatever it told the Tsumi, Kyrian hoped that he’d gotten his answers and formed a favorable conclusion about whatever their partnership was going to be.

Finally he spoke, his voice soft but unyielding. “I don’t mind.” His eyes scanned over the text, a frown finally showing on his face. His eyes came back up, but instead of being on the Tsumi, they were on Dontanion. “You didn’t say anything about transporting it to the intended recipient.”

“I didn’t?” Dont’a said with a saccharine smile. He handed the Tsumi his tea, then folded his arms over his chest. “Well, there it is. Take it or leave it, kid.”

Kyrian dropped his eyes and stared at the other terms. They were acceptable. Violence was always a given in a profession like his, whether he looked for it or not. Waste of ammunition... well, it was better to give a double-tap than to let the guy get up behind you and stab you in the jellies.

He raised his eyes again, his lips pressed into a thin line. “So what’s the catch? Negotiable pay is a dead giveaway. And you don’t do ‘negotiable pay’.”

Dont’a smiled toothily. “No, I don’t.” He looked between Kyrian and the Tsumi, his smile quickly going from fondly amused to serious in the space of a heartbeat. “The catch is that you have to be as discreet as possible. Get in, get the thing, get out. You cannot, under any circumstance, let the people you’re stealing this from get wind of you. And then,” he pointed at the tablet, “like that says, you’re taking it to the recipient.”

“And the negotiable pay?”

“You get to tally up any damages and give him the bill for them.” Dontanion said mildly. “Of course, he’ll know what’s trumped up and what’s genuine. He’s not someone you want to cross without good reason.”

Kyrian frowned. “Trinity isn’t someone you want to cross, period.” He reread the terms of the contract, including the part about the negotiable pay. He weighed the pros and cons of taking this job. On the surface, it seemed too easy. That meant things would easily go sideways and fast, which was why they needed caution and discretion, besides the obvious need. Finally, he switched the tablet to his left hand and pressed the thumb of his right against the screen, allowing it to take a snapshot of his print as his signature to the contract. “Fine, I accept. We accept.” He held out the tablet.

Dont’a took it from Kyrian and looked at the Tsumi. “And what about you?”

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