[u]Meshach Kalas[/u] The very first thought that voiced itself in Meshach's head when the young woman nearby shuffled within conversation distance and cleared her throat in an unceremonious and very conspicuous fashion, he assumed to catch his attention, was, 'Can't I just have one meal in peace?' He didn't know who the woman who was about to harass him was, and he didn't much care. He assumed some officious classist member of the hoi paloi of the Sector, who was stingy enough to eat a bargain apple from a merchant on the iffy side of the marketplace. The annoyance and subtle resentment that was permanently a part of his expression, like a carving etched in stone, usually warded most people away, but he supposed it couldn't work on everyone. However, as she shifted her hair out of her eyes and leveled her gaze to him with a steely and confident look in her eye, and told him, on no uncertain terms, her honest request, his disposition of her changed almost entirely. She told him exactly what she felt, she said on no uncertain terms what she was asking, and she voiced her distrust and, fairly enough, guessed his own. That meant a lot of things. First, it meant she was honest; the cold, calculated, self-serving brand of true, brutal honesty that Meshach could get behind. Second, she was observant. Observant enough to notice that the Afflicted skins of his jacket indicated he had some combat experience- or, perhaps it was the face; sometimes it shows in the face, surprise surprise- and that people had been shooting him dirty looks as he downed his fresh, overpriced apple, indicating that he had attained some level of infamy, to the point that she was relatively certain he could help her out. Third, she was willing to ask for help, from him. Most people who refused his help got their fool selves killed, and it all added up that, in about a minute's time, he respected her far more than half the obnoxious, supremacist incompetents the slave-happy Council liked throwing into the fray. There were problems with what she was asking of him, though. Mainly in that it was a retrieval job. Meshach was a killer, yes, one of the best damn hunters of Afflicted this side of the City had ever seen, yes, and against other humans he was average enough to get by, also true. But he was no Retriever. Caches attract a lot more than Afflicted, and you can't pawn off Flock birds or Shadow Graphers for money, and Towerspawn never usually leave certain sections of the City, which meant there'd be a lot of wasted bullets with no payoff. However, usually the Afflicted the City took from within itself to guard the Cache were top class creatures, worthy targets and quite a bit of money for their hide. There was just one other thing that nagged him. Meshach realized he had been staring at the girl, Cat, for a few seconds after she finished speaking. He looked away, subtly self-conscious about it. He did a lot of his thinking at his own pace, and sometimes he lost track of time due to introspection. If there was a brooding contest, he would be the grand champion up until and even possibly after his death. Either way, he had a reputation to uphold, and he hoped he had been giving an icy glare, or at least a thoughtful stare, instead of a thoughtless vacant look in his eyes. That would be a chink in the armor, and socially speaking a chink in the armor is death. He pressed his thumb up to his teeth, and pretended to regard her statement, although in his mind it was already pretty much decided. [b]"Well,"[/b] he said, standing up to his full height, [b]"First of all, I know what a Cache is and I know what a Retriever is. Second, you're right about me not trusting you, and, to be frank, you're probably right not trusting me- you seem smart, and you feel like someone who knows how to get things done without getting yourself killed, but that doesn't mean I'm gonna help you if you [i]do[/i] end up getting yourself killed."[/b] He let that sink in for a couple seconds, seeing if she'd back down from the offer. He expected that she wouldn't, she didn't seem the type. Besides, money talks, and they both needed the money. Finally, after about a five-second pause to look into her eyes and see that she didn't back down, he sighed then loosened up a bit, but not [i]quite[/i] enough to crack a smile. Again, he had a rep to uphold. [b]"Half sounds fair, I guess. You make an offer that's hard to refuse. You've got a deal."[/b] [b]"That said, you've got to know something right off the bat, and that's I don't give a damn about the war, and I don't give a damn about making it a permanent position."[/b] It wasn't entirely true, on a personal level the war breaking out meant he would either be sent out to die, called out like some sacrificial lamb and die, or be forced to wander, and wandering had the wretched possibility of leading him back to Papa Legba. And he'd wish he was dead if that was the case. On a more personal level, however, it was true. Politics didn't sit well with him, especially in a shithole world like this where the world itself and every single unnatural abomination you could think up was already trying really hard to kill you or make your life a living hell. Did they really need to add the threat of human violence, too, just for, what, a measly bit of self-appointed power in a recently invented sociological system over ten-thousand or so people who honestly didn't even care so long as they weren't getting getting torn open from throat to pelvis and eaten like a Hot Pocket? [b]"I'm only saying that because from where the green glow is in the sky, it's almost right in the center between us and Sector Nine, and knowing how sick the City's sense of humor can get, I'm guessing that it's at least a little intentional. My sights are set on the Afflicted, and I'm not going to waste bullets taking out a couple of Niners if I can help it."[/b] Finally, he slackened a bit, and intentionally copying her last comment, said, [b]"I'm Meshach by the way. Hunter. And no, you can [i]not[/i] call me Meesh."[/b] --- [color=green]The City whipped up winds, furious, icy things, in the clearest paths to the Cache. It wanted an exhibition. It wanted a show. Where the wind went, the buildings began to erode. Not completely, not like old wrecks, but glass began to fade and crack slightly, the steel began to rust and entire frames began to loosen from their supports, threatening to come off. Lamps flickered out and died, and in many places potholes formed. It had prepared this exhibition for a very good reason, on top of just letting two teams of Retrievers try to snag the Cache and, hopefully, igniting the war. It needed to let itself be known. Also, there was an unruly Servant trying to snag something from the Cache, and that simply wouldn't do. So, The City did what it did best, it conjured and changed. Buildings around the Servant unlatched from the foundations, tilted, leaning dangerously on each other. Cracks in the ground formed as the street buckled and swayed. It wouldn't be impossible to get past it, but it would be a big enough ordeal that the Servant couldn't simply make a run for it. Besides, it was the Servant of a Constant, an Afflicted outside of its control. The mere existence of such a creature angered the City, and even if it was just a big enough fight to keep the Servant occupied enough for the two teams to converge, then so be it. It didn't even have to kill the Servant, and in all honesty it didn't want to. It just wanted to teach it and all Servants and Constants that thought they could walk freely within its active streets a very good lesson about pecking order. So, in order to make it all fun, The City conjured Shadow Graphers. All four sides of the intersection, the shadows formed, coalesced, small twinkling dots and slits of light in the shade swirling and taking definite patterns, before they began to rise, bubble and take form from the ground, reaching tentative, dark hands into the air, grinning slits of light going from one shadowy ear to the other. Shadow Graphers were among the simplest things to create, and they would be a simple challenge. The Shadow Graphers waited on most sides, but the side of the intersection with a running Servant, the one where it toppled two buildings against each other and buckled the pavement, the shadows began to fuse together, some elongating, mouths and eyes forming together, dark shadows taking an almost sharp point as they elongated and twisted into something akin to tentacles, as the rest of the Shadow Graphers began to fuse into something vaguely resembling a creature of the ocean depths, or some kind of Shoggoth. Not too powerful, but just enough to hold the Servant off until all three sides could converge. Then the fun would begin.[/color]