[b]3:56 PM[/b]

Vladimira sighed heavily as she trudged through the streets of Russel city, dragging both the bike and her makeshift sled behind her. It was slow going, and tiresome, and she didn’t know how long she’d be able to keep it up before she had to call it a day and resume her search tomorrow. Nobody had known who the woman was, or recalled seeing her, and any others who might’ve known had fled at the sight of her arms and eyes.

She spotted a small cluster of people up ahead and figured she’d give it one last try before calling it off for the moment and sleeping… somewhere.

She walked up slowly and did her best to seem as non-threatening as possible, “Um, hi? Do any of you recognize her?” She pointed back to the body on her sled-thing, “I’ve been trying to fi-”

She was cut off as one member of the group shouted, “Gah! Fuck! Get away from us, freak!” The others turning to look before they all bolted in the opposite direction.

Recoiling slightly, she sighed again and turned back, this would’ve been so much easier if her goggles and gloves were still intact. Or the rest of her clothing in general.

She looked grimly at the corpse on her sled before grabbing a hold of the sled and the bike and dragging them along once more, this time in the direction of the Bitch’s Brew.

[hr]

[b]4:07 PM[/b]

She pushed open the door, shuffling through it and relieved to be out of the rain, if only for a short while. She’d thrown a tarp she’d found somewhere over the bike and sled to stop them getting any wetter than they already were. Several heads turned towards her in idle curiosity as she entered the building, and curiosity satisfied, just as quickly turned back to whatever they’d been doing beforehand. 

A sigh drew her attention and she turned to see someone she assumed was the barkeeper with his head in his hands. “Not again,” he sighed, “stop making a mess in the doorway, you’re the second person to do that. You want to make a mess in one of the beds, fine, just not in the doorway.”

“Sorry, what?” Vladimira asked in confusion, turning back the way she’d come and noticing the rather large puddle she’d left behind, “Oh.” She stood awkwardly for a moment, “Uhh, I can do something…?”

“Just buy a drink and I’ll forget it happened.” 

She sighed this time, taking a seat at the bar, “Just give me some water, I’d like to keep my faculties.” She rummaged around in her pockets, pulling out a small handful of 9mm ammunition and handing over the appropriate amount.

The barkeep handed her the drink, commenting idly, “By the way, someone left a message for you, I’ll assume your name is Vladimira, not a lot of women running around with eyes like that.” 

She looked up at him suspiciously, “Yeah, can I see it?” 

Wordlessly, the bartender slid a sloppily folded piece of paper over to her.

[i]Vladimira, Ivan, whichever of you get this, I found out where she's going.  I don't know why exactly, something about gathering Immortals, but she's heading to Isolone.  I'm going to try to head her off and make sure it isn't a trap or something.  Somehow I doubt it; she doesn't seem too dangerous right now, but there's no telling when she might go hollow again.  Whether you follow me or not, stay safe.  The Wings are looking for you two.  I'd keep my head down if I were you.

PS. Her name is Alex.

-James[/i]

“Isolone, interesting…” She murmured to herself, Isolone was out of the way for her maybe she’d go there at some point, but not now. The Wings didn’t concern her, and keeping a low profile wasn’t exactly good for finding whoever had known the body outside. On that topic… “Since you’re not trying to kill me or run away from me like everybody else I’ve asked, you wouldn’t happen to know anybody who knew a woman with red hair, like, a giant shock of it? I’ve got this feeling someone knows her and it didn’t seem right to leave her body in the desert.”

“Oh yeah?” The bartender raised an eyebrow, “This broad got a name or what?”

Vladimira shrugged, “Don’t know, she was killed before I had the chance to actually speak with her. She had a bike though, if that helps.”

With a grunt, he Bartender paused for a moment, putting about half a second of visible thought into the vague description before snorting, spitting into a shot glass and wiping it clean with a rag at least two decades older than he was. “This broad,” he set the glass down, and moved his hands to his own chest, pantomiming what had to be the practiced action of grabbing breasts, “she have big knockers?”

Vladimira raised a skeptical eyebrow, “From what I could tell when dragging her body over here, in the same way you might call a dust storm a bit of sand.” Pausing for a moment she took a sip of water, “Why? That ring a bell?”

The Bartender grinned, “Maybe…” He knocked on the wood of the bar, “You know, information ain’t cheap, miss.”

“True.” Vladimira replied, fishing around in her pockets and pulling out another few loose 9mm rounds, “Now, information?”

Giving a tip of a non-existent hat as he pocketed the dirty ammo he shifted his gaze over to a gap in the wall of curtains, “Sounds like someone I heard the purple stripper talking about once--” He scratched his balding head, “Name’s Octavia. Immortal broad, got a nice rack too,” He gave what might one day be known as the creepiest wink in all of recorded history to Vladimira before finishing, “She can help you out.”

“Your generous act of philanthropy has saved a kitten somewhere, I’m sure.” Vladimira snarked back, “Truly you are a monument to human kindness and selflessness.”

She made her way over to the curtains the bartender had indicated, peering between them. With a somewhat apprehensive glance around the room, she slipped between them. “Eh, hello? I’m looking for someone named ‘Octavia’?” 

Immediately noticing the presence of an outsider, a rather large unpleasant woman who had previously been fanning herself with pages torn out of the bible moved to intercept Vladimira before she made her way any further into the lounge. 

“And whut dew yew wont with Gabby?” Her accent was as thick as the molasses that appeared to dribble out of the sides of her mouth. 

“Well, I was planning to speak with her, if you don’t mind my intruding upon your little sanctuary back here.” Vladimira replied, raising an eyebrow and muttering under her breath, “Пизда стараыа…” 

She looked back at the woman, “If I’m right, she’ll want to see me.”

The woman, whose overstretched tube top had the words ‘Big Bertha’ imprinted in mismatched sequence, shook with religious fervor. Or perhaps she simply gasped in a way that caused a rippling through her layer of blubber. Either way, she proceeded to place a hand over her apparently constantly agape mouth and, with effort, performed the motions of the cross over her chest.


“Baby Christ in heaven save us!” She practically threw the fan in the air, “Now that girl ain’t been here a day and y’all sodomites already…” Straining, she leaned to whispering distance of Vladimira, “...want to do [i]that[/i] with the poor girl!” She gave another gasp, “The bible says it is an ABOMINATION for woman to lay with woman!” She pointed to a random passage on her fan, before giving a hefty sigh. “I suppose it’s only right… y’all ‘Immortals’ ain’t nuthin’ but the Good Lord’s abandoned no matter.  Abominations will commit abominations…”

She gave a sad look to Vladimira before turning to yell ‘[i]GABBAY!![/i]’ further in the stripper’s lounge and returning to masticate. After a moment, hastened by flames emitted from the soles of her feet, a young woman with skin and hair tinted purple flipped into sight. Landing with the poise of a gymnast between ‘Big Bertha’ and Vladimira, she seemed to instinctively the red-eyed Immortal woman had summoned her. 

“Hi! Would you like a private dance?” She asked without missing a beat, with a perky enthusiasm equal parts genuine and force. “My rates are 140 assorted for an hour, 70 for half; fire is an extra 30. Non-negotiable!”

Recoiling slightly at the sudden appearance of Octavia in front of her, it took a moment for Vladimira to recover. “Em, no, sorry, I think.” She paused, “Not sure how to say this, but I just dragged a body here from the middle of the desert, and the barkeeper thinks you know her. I didn’t want to leave her out there so I’ve been going around the city trying to see if anybody knew her.” She paused awkwardly for a moment, shifting uncomfortably, “She’s eh, got red hair and a massive… chest. Ring any bells?” 

Octavia’s eyes went wide. Tits McGee? The drifting doctor was the first person to come to mind based off that description. She had just seen Evelina with Miss Castalia earlier that day, had she not gone with her to the fashion district? As thoughts raced through her mind, Octavia managed to force out a squeak of a reply, in a noticeably dampened tone, “Umm… maybe?” giving an awkward shrug, the woman laughed meekly to fill the now heavy air, “Do you… still have, I don’t know… it? I mean, um… hers? Or rather, [i]Evelina’s[/i] body?”

Giving a simple nod, Vladimira then jerked her head towards the door. “She’s outside, under a tarp and such, I did the best I could to keep her out of the rain while I came in here.” She paused, so her name was Evelina… She shook her head to clear it, “I take it you knew her, then?”

A weak laugh, “Hardly…” Octavia, moving past the curtains, began heading for the door, “She helped me out when I broke my leg once upon a time. It feels like ages ago…” She sighed, melancholy tinged nostalgia, “I saw her again for the first time in years just this afternoon! I guess she and the heiress were an item or something, because I’ve never seen Miss Castalia that happy before.” 

Opia shot through her body as Vladimira’s eyes met her own, “She was a drifter… I don’t even think she really had anybody else… but… she was a really good person.” Outside, the pitter patter of rain meshed with the music of the golden bar. Octavia stopped just shy of the door. Sincerity and a registering of the red-head’s possible death bringing down her mood, “I just hope it isn’t her, y’know?”

“I’d be somewhat concerned if you hoped it was her, from what I’ve heard. If it is her… well, if it is her then the world lost someone it really needed not to lose today.” She stepped in front of Octavia, opening the door and stepping out into the rain. She made her way over to the bike and sled thing, concealed under the tarp. 

She sighed, killing Forsworn or bandits was one thing, but if this woman really was who she’d been told… shaking her head again, she scattered the morose thoughts for the moment, slowly pulling the tarp off. “Well?” She asked simply.

Octavia didn’t know what she was expecting-- she recognized her bike before Evelina’s badly bloodied face was even fully exposed. As she stood, staring at the corpse of someone who might have eventually become her friend, she didn’t experience a loss of words, but instead a loss of action.

As in, she knew what it was she was feeling, her life in Serenity hadn’t been without its loss-- but she wasn’t quite sure how to react to this information. Was she supposed to cry? Octavia almost felt as if she wanted to, but simply couldn’t. It really wasn’t that she was numb to Evelina’s passing, but rather the reality that she simply didn’t know her that well. Octavia felt the pangs of sadness deep within her gut; she frowned, she sighed, she brought up a hand to cover her mouth-- but despite the sympathy-- despite the sad but all too common reality of the world’s loss of another bright light, she really couldn’t bring herself to do much more than look how she felt. A little melancholic.

It was okay, though. She supposed the sky was crying for her.

The novel sensation of feeling the wetness falling from the sky came secondary to Vladimira’s question. Octavia realized she had been standing silently for several minutes by that point. “That’s her alright...” In the rain, Vladimira’s glowing red eyes seemed almost mechanical, “I really wasn’t much more than a patient… but I’m probably the closest thing she’s got to family left…” An idea came into the forefront of her thoughts,  “Well… I guess there’s also…”

Vladimira slowly walked back over to Octavia, putting her left arm around her shoulder. “Sorry.” She said simply. This really wasn’t her area, she’d spent her time trying to find someone who at least recognized the woma- Evelina, and hadn’t thought of what she’d do once she found them.

She paused, unsure of how to ask what she had in mind, “There’s also… who, sorry?” She muttered somewhat awkwardly. Human interaction was difficult, machines were easier.

“No…” Octavia’s downcast gaze didn’t leave the body, “That would be a horrible idea…” She let the sentence drift into her thoughts, an ethereal silence grew as she thought, the odd static of rain became background noise to Octavia’s rapidly shifting mind.

[i]This was gonna suck![/i]

“I guess I’ll take her body… ummm… somewhere, I guess? She deserves a funeral, and she really didn’t have anyone else..” Octavia turned to Vladimira, “Thank you. Seriously. You’ve already done more than like, ANYONE I know would do for me… I mean except my parents!” An uncomfortable chuckle, “But… And I hate to ask this… but there is something else…”

A horrible idea? What would be a horrible idea? Vladimira raised an eyebrow apprehensively, but decided not to ask. “Put it this way, if someone you know dies, you tend to want to know how and why. I can’t provide the why, but…” she trailed off, shifting uncomfortably. “What do you hate to ask, exactly?” she paused, “Does it involve this… horrible idea?”

Pulling the tarp back over Evelina’s face, Octavia sighed before addressing Vladimira directly, “Maybe just a little bit?” Another mirthless chuckle, “I mean, I’m curious, but I don’t know that it’s even my place to ask whys and hows… But I [i]do[/i] know that it’s the place of my employer to ask… I’m pretty sure Tits McGee here and Miss Castalia were at least… I don’t know? Intimate?” She shrugged, “I mean, I just saw them together a few hours ago-- they were definitely on friendly terms. She’d probably want to know… but… I don’t know how smart it’d be to tell her, really….”

Vladimira’s eyes widened. This… Evelina, had been on “friendly” terms with one of the Castalias? She didn’t know a lot about the crime family, but she did know enough to know they were a big deal. “I’m torn.” She finally admitted after an uncomfortable pause, “On the one hand, I think she should be told, if only on principle. But on the other hand, I don’t want to think about what might happen if she [i]were[/i] told. Is there… I don’t know, something you could tell her to convince her she just… went somewhere, or something?” She paused again, “There’s also the matter of her bike and the rest of her things… what am I, or you, or somebody, supposed to do with them?”

Octavia tapped her chin for a moment, “I can deal with her things… she’d probably want to donate them to a charity or a hospital or something corny like that.” She grimaced, “I mean, like as far as Miss Castalia goes, I guess someone could just tell her she… drifted off somewhere? To handle some healing emergency? I mean I’m pretty sure that’s what she did for a living…” 

Of course-- if that were to work, though, she’d have to lie. A skill which she’d never quite gotten the hang of-- and on top of that lie to Lucania ‘Bloody Sleeves’ Castalia. Her employer was an intimidating woman, especially knowing the fact that she [i]just[/i] spent what must have been a decade tracking down the man who killed her last girlfriend.

“Umm…” Octavia gulped, “Umm, well just…” She laughed nervously, eyes going doe-wide, combined with her soaked hair she must have looked absolutely pitiful-- which probably helped her cause. “Well, y’know… I can handle her stuff… so like, I don’t know… maybe, this is just a suggestion, but, uh, maybe, y-you could…” electricity jolted through her being. She couldn’t lie to Miss Castalia! She was such a dope she couldn’t lie to herself! Octavia’s entire figure moved in a motion similar to a bow--

“[i]UhhI’mreallybadatlyingsoIwaswonderingifmaybeyoucouldpleasebetheonetotalktoLucaniaImeanMissCastaliapleeeaaaaaasssssee?[/i]” 

She took in deep gulps of air after she made her request, not relenting from her prostrated bowing position, awaiting Vladimira’s answer as the rain continued to pour over her.

Vladimira wasn’t sure what to say. On the one hand she was somewhat capable of lying, but by no means a master at it- which was probably a good thing. On the other hand… lying to a high ranking member of the Mafia about the recent death of someone who was apparently her girlfriend just didn’t seem like it was something that’d be good for her health. If Evelina really had been a healer, saying she’d gone off for some healing emergency might’ve worked, if the one she’d be telling it to wasn’t a member of the Mafia.

“Чыорт возми…” she hissed, “I’m going to do this, aren’t I?”

She sighed, whipping her head up to look Octavia in the eye, “I’ll do it. I don’t know how, but I’ll do it. Where is she?” She paused, “And she has some ammunition on her, and a gun, I noticed. Perhaps I could give those to ‘Miss Castalia’? That might help… somehow?”

“Thank you!” Octavia immediately straightened up, a perkiness renewed as she addressed Vladimira’s other points, “From what I know about her… and, I mean, I’ve only met her a few times… she’s kind of a… romantic? Is that the right word? So yeah, I guess a gesture like that would go over well?” She shrugged, “-- honestly though, you should take some of the ammo for yourself. Y’know, as like a payment for all you’re doing... Miss Castalia is rolling in the stuff after all.”

Vladimira nodded, “Fair enough, I suppose. I’ll think of what to say when I give it to her, let’s hope I can think of something good to say, I’d prefer not to die horribly.” She walked over to the sled, quickly rifling through Evelina’s bags and pockets to pull out the ammunition and her gun, she didn’t mind looting the bodies of bandits or their ilk, but this just felt… wrong. “I take it you’ll do something with the bike, too? And her sword, do you want that?”

She paused as a thought struck her, “I don’t actually know where ‘Miss Castalia’ is… ehm, could you tell me where she might be?”

Octavia shook her head with a frown, “I couldn’t swing a sword to save my life! And I haven’t the slightest clue where she could be… I’d ask the Bartender, he tends to know theses things--”

Instantly, as if possessed by some otherworldly force, Octavia’s eyes shot wide open, her some expression gave way to a mechanical deadpan, in a fraction of a second she her face became as neutral as granite-- she leaned closer to Vladimira and whispered, “[b]He [i]always[/i] knows.[/b]” 

And just as suddenly as her demeanor had changed-- it went back. As if she hadn’t noticed what she just said, Octavia continued, “But yeah, if you want the sword, take it-- otherwise I’m just gonna donate ‘em to who needs them most!”

Raising an eyebrow at Octavia’s commentary on the Bartender, “Well, I haven’t definitively proved that bartenders are part of a well organized pre-apocalypse information network dedicated to keeping them up to date on [i]everything[/i], but I’m pretty sure it’s the only plausible explanation.”

She paused again, removing the sword from Evelina, “I suppose I’ll take it, could do with a little symbolism of my own I guess.” She grabbed her rucksack and started strapping it to the side before stopping, somehow it seemed like it’d be a bad idea to be caught lying to a high ranking Mafia member about her dead girlfriend while carrying said girlfriend’s sword. “I don’t suppose you could keep this here for me for a bit? At least until after I’ve spoken with ‘Miss Castalia’, it probably wouldn't be a great idea to have that when I'm talking to her." 

Octavia shrugged, “Yeah, sure, whatever you need, man.” Handling the sword with a clumsy, she dropped the heavy metal rod of death on Evelina’s cadaver, “I’ll just be here, disposing of the body of my now deceased distant acquaintance in a respectful manner.”

Vladimira shifted awkwardly in her place. She didn’t really have any reason to stay here other than to ask the Bartender for directions, but she wasn’t sure what to think about just leaving Octavia here with a corpse to deal with. She opened her mouth to say something then decided against it, remaining silent for another moment before coughing awkwardly, “Well, ehm, guess I’ll see you later, then? Name is Vladimira, in case you ever need it.”

She walked back into the building, leaning against the bar and rolling another few loose 9mm rounds across it, “I’m looking for a ‘Miss Castalia’, I need to talk with her.”

At the mention of his employer’s name, the Bartender, who was amidst his generic motion of cleaning the seemingly infinite pile of dirty glasses with his rag, paused. The fear of some vengeful God seemed to flash across his eyes, before slowly, he restarted the repetitive, generic motion of cleaning the mismatched glasses and addressed Vladimira, an edge to his voice, he grunted, “Which one?”

Vladimira raised her eyebrow, “Didn’t know there was more than one ‘Miss Castalia’,” she leaned in closer, rolling a few more 9mm rounds across the table, “but I’m going to assume the one I want to talk to is the one making you sweat like a sinner in a church.” 

“Heh…” The Bartender’s nervous gaze shot down to the rapidly accumulating pile of bullets in front, “Well her drunk sister’s on her way to Serenity as we speak… You’re probably looking for Lucania.” With a pained sigh, he pushed the bullets back to Vladimira’s side of the bar… were those tears in his eyes? Whether they were or not, became irrelevant as he spoke, “And you’ll need a lot more than this to get me to squeal, boss-lady doesn’t want no one knowing where she is…”

She sighed, so a few rounds wasn’t going to cut it then. She quirked an eyebrow, “Alright then, what do you want in exchange for ‘Lucania’s’ location?”

“I’m a simple man, with simple desires… uhhh…. Vladimira? Right?” He didn’t give her a chance to respond, cracking his knuckles, he continued his spiel, “I’m The Bartender!” And then, there was silence. The bar went quiet upon hearing such words leave the man’s mouth, it almost felt as if everyone was watching the two. The band started playing a [url=https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fkNV-0O1ya8]haunting tune[/url] on stage, the two-bit singer they currently had went silent.

He broke in again, this time in D-minor;
[indent][i]“I’m the Bartender!”
“I’ll pour you a drink…”
“Just like any man,“
“I work with my hands,”
“If you come to my bar…”[/i][/indent]

Grabbing a bottle of golden fluid, he jumped atop the bar;
[indent][i]“I’ll get you beer,”
“Whisky ,ale, and rum,”
“I’ll give you advice, for a little price…”
“I’m that simple Bartender…”
“And seeing your chest would be nice!”[/i][/indent]

Vladimira stared at the Bartender and the surrounding patrons incredulously. “You seriously went through all that effort -I don’t even want to know what it took to train your little musical friends to respond to whatever signal they did- and sang a song in time with them, to see me pull my shirt off?”

The Bartender processed the words silently, visibly deflating as a look of sheer horror spread across his face, “Oh my God, you’re right…” Still standing atop the bar, the man rested his cheek against his hand, “All that effort… and for what? A glimpse at breasts that can’t possibly live up to this fantasy I’m envisioning in my head? It’s just a couple of areolas and nipples! Why would I spend hours dedicating myself to getting unsuspecting women to expose themselves to me in such a manner!?” 

The Bartender, now speaking louder, seemed to pose the question to the whole room of bar-goers, “A power trip? Is it less that I, The Bartender, receive some instant sexual gratification from an unwilling woman exposing parts of her body to me and more that I take pleasure in the fact that I wield the power to convince women to expose themselves for me-- that I can view their bodies as objects and then make them act upon my own twisted visions of what they are!?” 

The band stopped playing, for a second time, all eyes were on the Bartender, now fully orating to the room atop his soap-box bar, “Why do we do it men? Why do we objectify women in such a demeaning manner? Why do we take pleasure in a woman stripping for our pleasure when we’ve got wives at home? When we could seek a more personal, intimate, and ultimately meaningful experience right here in Russel City-- Hell, and all over Dust!?You know what?! Women too! Everyone!! Why do we allow sex and the assertion of power over others to be so closely linked-- why do we seek to demean others for some arbitrary cause? Why do we repeat the mistakes of the past-- when we can respect each other as equals, and create a brighter future!!!”

Dead air. The Bitches Brew became as still as a Dead End whorehouse as patrons realized what they were being told. It may have felt like days passing in the minute after the Bartender finished his speech, and each patron and employee appeared mortified.

But then, a woman stood. A middle-aged stripper who had been previously sitting and giggling on the lap of a Gaen businessman. Heads turned to her as she stood, mouth agape, tears in her eyes. 

She clasped her hands together once. Then again-- starting slow, she eventually enticed others to join in, first a few Castalia goons, a stripper here, a band member there, then a drunk woman dressed like a middle-schooler with a hat that was far too large for her head... eventually the whole bar found themselves in an uproarious applause for the man… no, --[i]The Bartender[/i]. 

People soon left their seats, surrounding, Vladimira, and the bar The Bartender was still atop-- the crowd wouldn’t stop cheering. The Bartender had said what they were all thinking, but were too afraid to say.

The [b]TRUTH.[/b]

This was a man they would all follow to the ends of the earth-- a true visionary. He saw what was wrong with things and wanted to speak out about them, all with a cold one by his side. Applause changed to the chanting of the name, ‘[b]BARTENDER!![/b]’ People from other parts of the bar joined in-- filling the main room and prompting an exit into the raining afternoon of CHANGE. Like an Old World rockstar, the crowd eventually lifted the man onto his back, and carried him with their collective strength, like royalty that was too pure to touch the ground.

Before the crowd carried him away, however, he shouted down to a dumbfounded Vladimira over the cheers and chants of the crowd with a smile on his face, “SHE’S IN THE FASHION DISTRICT!!-- A PLACE CALLED [I]‘LA PETITE NOIR’[/I] OR SOMETHING! I THINK IT MEANS SEX IN FRENCH! I HOPE THAT HELPS!” Just before the crowd, carrying their lord and savior, The magnanimous Bartender, left the Bitches Brew completely deserted, the Bartender shouted back to the still completely in place Immortal Russian, “I DOUBT I’LL EVER BE RELEVANT TO YOU AGAIN, VLADIMIRA-- BUT STILL, THANK YOU!! I HOPE YOU HAVE A GOOD DAY AND A GOOD LIFE!!”

And then, the crowd was gone. Everyone was-- literally everyone in the Bitches Brew left to help the Bartender spread his new religion. Even Big Bertha.

Vladimira was completely alone, again.

She stared after the impromptu mob, still utterly dumbfounded. “And to think,” she muttered to herself, scooping up the ammunition she’d lain on the table, as well as looking behind the counter for any more and pocketing that, “that I’d’ve just pulled off my shirt if he’d asked. Walked around the building without it, whatever.”

She glanced around the empty bar, taking the chance to pilfer as much of the half decent vodka as she could fit into her rucksack. Spoils of… something. “Must’ve rolled a natural 20 on a speech check.” She paused, looking at the empty building again, “Or he did. Or we both did.”

She slung her now considerably heavier rucksack over her shoulder, making her way for the door. “That was definitely… something.”

“I don’t know, Vladimira...” Octavia leaned against the frame of the opened door cooly, “I like his points on systemized misogyny and misandry, but his lack of experience in dealing with the unique problems regarding Immortal discrimination-- especially us Immortal women-- really turned me off, you know?”

Raising an eyebrow, Vladimira replied, “As opposed to turning you on and making you want to bang him?” She walked through the door and leaned on the opposite side of the doorframe, “It all started with him wanting to see my chest, and then… I’m not sure. Something happened.”

“Wow, that’s pretty silly!” Octavia looked off in the direction the crowd marched in wistfully, “What a forward thinking, unique and completely irrelevant character.”

Watching the crowd stampeding off, Vladimira snickered to herself, “I get the feeling he’s going to turn up again.”
“Pfft! No way!” Octavia turned to head inside, “I’d bet a million bullets no one ever hears from that guy ever again!”

[hr]

[b]5:01 PM[/b]

Vladimira sauntered down the street with her recently acquired anti-everything rifle slung across her back. Some place she couldn’t pronounce at the moment, that was where this “Miss Castalia” was. She was mildly curious about what a Mafia family member would be doing at a French… place, of all things, but it didn’t really matter much to her right now. 

[i]What to say, what to say?[/i] She thought to herself, grumbling and shooting hostile looks at anyone who got too close. 

She stopped in front of a building that matched the Bartender’s description, the words, [i]La Petite Morte[/i] clearly visible. She stood and stared at it for a while, wishing she didn’t have to walk in there before taking a deep breath and moving for the door.

Lucania blinked her eyes over and over, she felt both an intense dryness and moisture that would not leave. Blinking did nothing. From where she stood, in the lobby of the French woman's... [i]business[/i]... the art that she had been lead back to after her makeup was over came into focus. Everything seemed so much more fuzzy-- the painting, which before had been a beautiful mess of vibrant colors, now seemed but a dim mesh of browns. All of her being dearly hoped this sensation in her eyes wasn't permanent-- apparently they were centerpiece of the French Woman's makeover for Immortals looking to adopt a new appearance.

[i]Contacts.[/i]

"You will adjust."

"I suppose..." The voice from behind her drew Lucania's attention to the Francophone devil, her 'makeover' complete, Lucania now awaited her Windcaller... who was... somewhere? Lucania turned to the voice, recognizing the blurry silhouette of the small lady, "How soon, do you think?" Lucania brought up her arm to rub her eyes and was met with another slap.

"No! No touching ze contacts! Your eyes still need time to recover after the treatment!"

Lucania’s reply bemoaning the indignation of being treated like some furry housepet was put on hold-- a new player entered the scene. With now imperfect eyes, Lucania made out the silhouette of a tall, probably muscled, black haired woman with... odd glowing goggles? Or perhaps glasses? Or maybe they were red eyes? The garb Lucania could make out seemed from out of town, but with the current dismal state of her vision, she really couldn’t tell… although, with the speed the French Woman left Lucania for the woman, she’d have bet that she was an Immortal looking for a quick disguise. It all seemed to be of little consequence to her.

The French Woman practically sprinted to where Vladimira was standing, suddenly all smiles, “Oui! Welcome to [i]La Petite Morte[/i]! Which of our services can we offer you?”

“Fine!” Lucania, still rubbing a red check from across the room yelled, “You’ve got your ammo! I’ll just find my manservant on my own! Blind as a sand bat!” Grumbling, she began to feel her way around the lobby, using the wall as something of a guide.

Vladimira recoiled instinctively as an overly energetic French woman appeared in her face, asking her something about services and offering them. She carefully backpedaled, “Look, eh, I’m not interested in any ‘services’ right now, [i]maybe[/i] later. She slowly crept back through the door with her eye on the woman. “I’m just looking for a ‘Miss Castalia’ right now, I think her name is… Lucania, or something of that nature?”

She looked around the room, seeing Lucania and not recognizing her, she made her way over, “Ehm, hi, you wouldn’t happen to know where I could find a ‘Lucania’ would you?”

[i]Anxiety?[/i]

She was loathe to admit it, but in that moment that woman approached, asking for her, Lucania couldn’t help but feel an acute anxiety tinge all her actions; her sight was already blurred beyond convenience-- all for the sake of eyes that didn’t shift through a myriad of colors the instant she felt anything! Now beyond that she found her breathing labored, her legs locked in place, and even the typically routine task of thinking became strained. She had difficulty analyzing the situation due to her overwhelming fear. She was like… a desert caribou beast in the headlights.

[i]Had the Wings really send an assassin? In broad daylight?[/i] 

Vladimira paused, looking around the room, “I uh, I have something someone I met a good ways outside Russel wanted me to give her.” She glanced back at the French woman nervously, “She’s not going to force a makeover on me, right?”

“Merde! I might!” Tossing her arms up in exasperation, the French woman wandered off, muttering expletives in a language that was probably French, but not before turning in Lucania’s general direction and yelling, “She isn’t an undercover Wing, you paranoid wop-- you can spot those asshole from a kilometer away.”

“Perhaps [i]you[/i] can,” Lucania scoffed. Still, the woman’s words did serve to put her mind at ease, even if only slightly. This person could [i]still[/i] want to kill her, but private assassins were much more easily bought than Wings, and breathing a sigh of relief, Lucania tried to regain her poise. 

“Well, you’ve found her.” Straightening herself, Lucania faced the woman with a patented confidence… only to be greeted with a slightly less version of the red bespectacled stranger. Leaning closer, Lucania squinted, gaining some clarity as her ‘new’ eyes shifted between the subtle browns of confusion and dying fear, “May I ask the name of this ‘someone?’” 

Vladimira raised an eyebrow at the exchange. Undercover… Wing? The woman in front of her was apparently Lucania herself, which solved the problem of finding her, she supposed. “Oh, right, it was… uh, Evelyn? Evelina? Something like that? She wanted me to give you this.” 

Slowly, with her empty other hand in plain sight, she drew out the pistol, holding it by the slide to make it clear she had no intention of using it. She nervously offered it grip first to the Mafia woman, “It was something about not really needing it but hoping it’d help keep you safe, or something.” She shifted awkwardly, “I can’t really remember what she said, sorry.”

Lucania was at a loss for words. “Evelina was her name.” Gently plucking the gun from Vladimira’s grip with two fingers, she very briefly considered throwing the thing across-- of course, knowing her luck, she’d damage the one thing in here she couldn’t afford to replace. Instead, she opted to looking down at the blurry thing-- it was cool, heavy and looked like some formless black letter v in her hands. Where was Evelina going that she didn’t need a gun? Why would she think she’d have any use for it? Lucania’s grip tightened, she could feel the silent frustration seething. She knew what this was.

Her grip loosened, she needed to remain focused. So Evelina didn’t posses the gumption say any of this in person? Well then, it was probably for the best, Lucania didn’t need [i]another[/i] coward in her life. Looking back to Vladimira, she let the gun slip from her fingers and fall to the ground. “And who are you to her?”

“An acquaintance, I suppose?” Vladimira replied, “She was fighting a Hollow, she looked like she could’ve done with some help, so... I helped.” She shrugged helplessly, “All I know is she was going somewhere, where exactly I don’t know, it was something to do medical… stuff, I believe.”

[i]Medical stuff?[/i]

With narrowed eyes, Lucania tilted her head, “Medical stuff? You mean to tell me there was a medical emergency so pressing she couldn’t even be asked to come and say goodbye? And what-- it obviously wasn’t a medical emergency [i]there[/i], lest you’d be far more specific about it... ” Lucania frowned, “I thought she wanted to pursue something…” Lucania rolled her eyes, “What kind of loser sends someone they just met-- while apparently fighting a hollow-- to break up for them?”

Vladimira shrugged, “I don’t know.” She looked at Lucania in mild concern, this wasn’t what she’d wanted to happen. She should’ve thought this through more before barging in and running her mouth with the first thing that came to mind. Perhaps the truth- or some derivative of it- might’ve been the best course of action after all. “I don’t know what was between you two,” she began before sighing helplessly, “all I know is that she wanted me to give that to you, and that she had somewhere she needed to go. There was a Hollow, I helped kill it, she asked me if I could do a favor, beyond that, I can’t say.”

“I apologize.” Lucania relaxed her posture a bit, heat brained from her face as frustration and aggression became annoyance and resignation, she was probably looking too far into it. “Alright, the point is, ‘she’s gone.’ No point in shooting the messenger.” She fished around in her purse for a cigarette and lighter, her eyes shooting to Vladimiras, “And what is the name of that messenger, if you don’t mind my asking? You already know mine.”

“Vladimira, Vladimira Kovalik.” She replied, heaving an internal sigh of relief as Lucania relaxed, at least she wasn’t likely to have her killed now. She wasn’t sure if she’d be able to make it out of the city with the Mafia after her skin. Quirking an eyebrow, she continued, “Why do you ask?”

“No reason.” Lucania smiled cheerfully, “Call me Old Worldly, but I think names carry an importance, both for oneself and one’s family…” Lucania trailed off, following a thought, before returning to the conversation a few seconds later, “Yours in particular, for instance! Vladimira, carries with it some sense of Russia’s Old World strength! And Kovalik…” 

[i]Kovalik? That… sounds quite familiar, actually…[/i]

“Actually Vladimira, speaking of names-- does the name Andrei Kovalik mean anything to you?”

Vladimira started, her attention riveting on Lucania in a fraction of a second. “It. Does.” She stated evenly, showing no emotion, “What about him?” Her mind turned, if this really was Andrei… she thought he was [i]dead[/i], eaten by some angry thing in the desert, or a bleached skeleton grimacing into the sun, the thought that he might be alive… she wasn’t sure if she’d rather punch him in the face, or hug him. Maybe both. Keeping her voice even, she continued, “If he’s the one I’m thinking of, he’s my brother.”

“Ha!” Lucania clasped her hands together, “[i]You’re[/i] the Tsar’s sister? He never mentioned a sister!” Lucania shook her head, “I should have seen the family resemblance earlier!” She squinted, “Although I will admit my vision isn’t it’s greatest right now-- but as I look closer they’re becoming more and more apparent. What a small world we live in…” 

Although she might not go so far as to label him as a ‘friend,’ Andrei ‘The Tsar’ Kovalik was something of a powerhouse in the city of Wolfwater. He was the leader of Moscow Echo, a gang-- or as he often corrected her an [i]organization[/i]-- out of the Wolfwater city-state. She considered the distinction a moot one, in a similar vein as the difference between ‘Castalia gang’ and ‘Castalia crime family.’ Still, she tended to abide by the preference, as it was of the lesser of the man’s numerous eccentricities-- unless she wanted to fluster him. 

Moscow Echo specialized in “completely legal” arms dealing and “private” protection, things the Castalia family needed deary as found themselves expanding into the well-oiled Wolfwater walls, under her direction. The deals she brokered with Andrei eventually gave birth to the Wintergold Conglomorate-- an “above-board” subset of both [s]gangs[/s] [i]organizations and families[/i], designed specifically for the pursuit of anything in Wolfwater that might turn a profit to both parent [s]gangs[/s] [i]organizations and families[/i] that dealt in their combined strengths. Lucania considered the alliance and expansion into Wolfwater one of her proudest achievements, no doubt because it was one made entirely on [i]her own.[/i] 

Wintergold was [i]hers.[/i]

[i]... Well… more or less… it was… [b]half[/b] hers, with Andrei as an equal business partner.[/i]

Which, still, that was more than any Castalia had achieved on their own in decades. Suffice to say, while she might not have considered the lanky, Russia-obsessed weirdo a [i]friend[/i], she definitely considered him a [i]comrade[/i]. 

Which possibly marked the first Italian-Russian alliance in history, as far as she could think of.

“Hmm,” Lucania snapped from her thoughts with the lighting of her cigarette, “So, Vladimira, apparently Moscow Echo’s Tsar’s big sister; Is the obsession with Old World Russian paraphernalia genetic? Or is he just eccentric?”

Vladimira’s mouth hung open, “He’s the… the [i]what[/i]? I thought he’d died years ago! Some skeleton in the sands or whatever. You’re telling me he’s the head of a criminal organization and…” she trailed off, asking after a while, “You know him?” as an afterthought, she added in a slightly embarrassed tone, “And I have no idea, but it’d seem the former. Father collects Russian literature, what little of it there is, mother made Russian styled jewelry, and I’m packing a small Russian arsenal.” She blushed slightly, “O боже, it is genetic.”

“Wait, Russians wear jewelry?” Lucania blurted out, “I mean, I knew Russian fashion wasn’t completely barren! The first time I met Andrei I work a statuesque Soviet dress-- and then he asked me how much I’d sell it for-- but I didn’t know Russia was known for its… Jewelry… that’s interesting…” She shrugged, “Regardless, I do know Andrei! He’s a sweetheart, despite practically ruling Wolfwater. We’re partners in a joint business venture down there-- you should look him up sometime, I’m sure he’d be happy to see you.” 

Vladimira raised an eyebrow, “Yes, there [i]is[/i] such a thing as Russian jewelry, even in Russia wasn’t exactly known for it, my mother would’ve been able to tell you more. I know more about their weapons.” She was silent for a little while as she processed the information Lucania had given her. “I think I’d like that…” she murmured, “I mean, I’d like to see him, then probably punch him in the face, then probably hug him.” She leaned against a wall, watching the opposite wall in what seemed to be fascination, “To think the personable slacker has an entire criminal organization now. Makes me wonder what the hell I’ve been doing hiding in a hole this whole time.” She looked over to Lucania, “You wouldn’t happen to be looking for anyone to follow you around and be scary, at least until you next hit Wolfwater, would you?”

“Wow,” Lucania’s eyes betrayed her feelings of being impressed, as she tried to maintain a neutral tone, “Straightforward [i]and[/i] perceptive. How could you even know that?” Her face became serious, “I suppose I am looking for someone like that… Do you have any qualms with killing people?”

Vladimira raised her eyebrow again, “With a few exceptions, such as myself, no. What exactly would be the circumstances of this potentially needing to kill people?”

“Oh you know, the usual; Mindless bandits looking to make the fortune of a lifetime, Wings looking for a promotion in killing a fugitive, bigoted Immortal hating vigilantes, normal crime hating vigilantes, someone looking for some type of revenge, hits put on me by people in public office, or rival gangs, or my OWN gang…” She sighed, counting by holding up fingers for each threat, “The list goes on an on! Honestly, not asking too many questions about who might be trying to kill me is always a bonus. I imagine my new appearance won’t stop all the assassination attempts…” Rolling her eyes, she finished, “Que sera sera, I suppose. Although I must ask why you seek to follow me until [i]I[/i] reach Wolfwater? You’ve got more weapons with you now than I’ve ever touched in my life, I don’t doubt your capability-- why follow me? The pay?”

Vladimira shrugged, “Honestly I’m not too concerned. They’re all going to be using steel weapons I’ll bet, and, well, it’s a lot harder to attack someone when your own weapon has turned itself around and is buried in your throat. Another [i]excellent[/i] way to avoid death by gunshot wounds: body armor.”

She pushed herself off from the wall, looking directly at Lucania, “Honestly? If you have money that’s great, but all I’d be doing otherwise is sitting in a hole and telling myself I ought to do something, like head to Wolfwater. The truth is, I’m [b]bored[/b].”

“Bored…?” Lucania’s hand came to her cheek as she parroted the word back to herself. Ennui? Was that all it took to drive a person to suicidal lengths? To seek some meaning within a life felt wasted? Of course, Vladimira also wanted to see her brother-- she could be overthinking it, perhaps she just needed more time to steel herself for the encounter? Either way, she doubted that when she [i]did[/i] eventually show up in Wolfwater Andrei would be happy to learn that she’d met his sister, only to leave her in Russel City.

[i]Comrade of my comrade or something like that.[/i]

“I can empathize.” Lucania returned Vladimira’s gaze, “Okay, yes, absolutely! ¿Por Que No?” She walked over to Vladimira, initiating a handshake, “Once our Windcaller shows up, we’ll get out of here.” 

[color=333333][i]Can you not feel their approach.[/i][/color]

On the wall, between ridiculous impressionist paintings, an equally post-post-modern clock struck told counted down another minute. The time was [b]5:15[/b].

[color=333333][i]TICK[/i][/color]

[color=333333][center][i]TOCK[/i][/center][/color]

[hr]

[hider=Translations]Пизда стараыа - Pizda staraya - Old woman (old cunt)

Чыорт возми - Chyort vozmi - Damn it

О боже - oh bozhe - Oh my god[/hider]