[center][b]Preparations[/b][/center]
[i]"I, I got a new life! You would hardly recognize me, I'm so glad!"[/i]

A new life? Narcissa rolled her eyes and shifted into a more comfortable position on her ivory-colored sofa. The light elf felt like starting over wasn't something to brag about. It meant your situation couldn't be salvaged, and the only way to survive was to somehow create a blank slate. And that usually involved a great deal of violence or money. Sometimes both. The past also had an annoying habit of not staying in the past. More often than not, you ended up spending more time dealing with your past mistakes than thinking about your new future. On the other hand, in a city like Santa Somabra, you were either incredibly lucky or corrupt if your future was something to look forward to. Especially with the impending gang war. 

A war between the Nyctari and the Bloodbloom Syndicate. It sounded like a bad joke, but if even half of what Narcissa had heard about the Red Windmill Café incident was true then it was unavoidable. 

Moments after Nyxvira hung up on the ljosalfr, Grezbill had called Vigilance and her team to fill them in about the madness preparing to engulf the city. The goblin, his voice hoarse with terror, told the group what had transpired at the café and let them know a motorcade was en route to Nyxie's location. To avoid being tailed by Nyctari sympathizes, the queenpin's entourage would be using side streets to reach the the Hotel Imperius. The afternoon sun would keep any vampires at bay, but their devoted thralls were another matter. Taking traffic and the inherent dangers of driving through the backroads into consideration, Grezbill predicted the limousines would arrive in Southwind Park, the district where the Hotel Imperius was located, around two o' clock in the afternoon.

The whole situation seemed surreal, especially when Grezbill ended the briefing by saying Marius, Ted West, and Razorhallow were dead. Three Syndicate members had already been killed in a war that hadn't even started yet. Narcissa didn't believe in omens, but this didn't bode well. 

If the first part of the drive home from Hard Hats had been quiet, this news guaranteed the rest of the ride would be conducted in total silence. The only sound was Baruch Varda quietly whimpering, tears running down his leathery green face.

Narcissa hadn't expected that. She couldn't recall ever seeing an orc cry before. Why was the leader of her bodyguards sobbing like a distraught child? The question bothered her for the rest of the drive, but the answer didn't occur to her until the group was wading through the Hotel Imperius' crowded lobby. Nyxvira clearly wasn't taking any chances. Most of the hotel's employees were heavily armed in case the Nyctari launched a surprise attack. As Vigilance shoved yet another concierge hiding a weapon under his uniform out of her way, she remembered that Razorhallow used to be a high-ranking officer in the SSPD. He'd been quite popular before he was fired, but they'd found vials of Demon's Blood in his locker. Nobody could bounce back from that. Despite this blemish on his otherwise spotless record, Razorhallow managed to convince several other cops that had been kicked off the force to work for his new employer. The Bloodbloom Syndicate. Among these defectors was a young orcish police officer by the name of Baruch Varda. Before earning his gray suit and becoming head of the Hound's security detail, Baruch had been Razorhallow's right hand. They'd committed numerous atrocities together, including the Red Tusk Massacre back in 2010. Razorhallow even told Nyxie it might be a good idea to give Baruch his gray suit early in recognition of his dedication to the Syndicate. And the queenpin agreed. Baruch's tears made sense now. One of his dearest friends was dead.

[i]"I saw the sign and it opened up my eyes, I saw the sign!"[/i]

Thankfully, after a visit to the apartment he shared with the other graysuits to gather ammunition, Baruch had quieted down. At the moment, he was in the Inferno Suite's kitchenette preparing something for Nyxvira to eat when she reached the hotel. Nobody wanted to tangle with an infuriated Nyxie without food nearby. The problem was Narcissa didn't eat much so Baruch was having a difficult time, his constant grumbling barely audible over the music blasting through the suite's speaker system. The ljosalfr wasn't fooled, though. Every now and again, the greenskin would stop trying to assemble his lackluster fruit and cheese plate. His red eyes would glaze over, and he'd just stare at nothing for awhile before returning to his task. He was grieving. It was a curious sight, and not because this was the first time Narcissa had allowed the graysuits into her home. Baruch "The Hammer" Varda was broken up over the death of some old orc he'd idolized after being fired from the SSPD. Bizarre. Still, he was keeping busy and that's what mattered. Inaction usually led to overthinking and brooding. As professional killers, each of the six Syndicate members knew such ruminations were a dangerous waste of time. Instead, they were tending to their pre-battle rituals and preparing themselves for what the next few hours might bring.

By the bay window, Allister Barros was staring out at the city, his lifeless eyes darting from building to building with the intensity of a man watching a whore undress. Narcissa never knew what the emaciated Colombian was thinking. He rarely spoke, but he could make the sawed-off shotgun cradled in his hands dance. The burly Jack Crowley sat on the edge of the sofa beside Narcissa, and he was mindlessly taking his hand cannon apart and putting it back together again over and over. The Englishman was also watching the 25th Annual Santa Somabra Dog Show on the suite's massive plasma screen, though the sound was off. The reason for this was, of course, Shar Goodfellow.

[i]"No one's gonna drag you up to get into the light where you belong!"[/i]

As soon as the group had reached the Hotel Imperius, Shar made a beeline for a pretty, red-haired girl wearing a slightly oversized concierge's uniform. She couldn't have been more than fifteen or sixteen years old. Narcissa had stopped the eager faerie and told him his tryst would have to be put on indefinite hold. After all, Concetto Nyctari had nearly killed the Bloodbloom Syndicate's leader. The former serial killer wasn't pleased with this so he'd decided to make everyone else miserable. After hooking his black Samsung Galaxy up to the Inferno Suite's sound system, Shar had put Ace of Base's "I Saw the Sign" on repeat and began to dance. Badly. Puck Pannod, his green mustache twitching like a rabbit's whiskers, was enthralled by the taller faerie's awkward, jerking gyrations. The rotund graysuit would occasionally let out a delighted giggle and spin around on the stool he was sitting on. The music created a vaguely amusing ambiance, though Narcissa was more concerned that Shar might break something valuable. 

Still, the ljosalfr was glad to have a moment to breathe before going to Nyxvira's suite. She couldn't remember the last time she'd just sat down and relaxed. Perched next to Jack, a rag in one hand and a glass vial of armor polish in the other, the light elf was gently rubbing down her leather armor. While the graysuits had been getting ammo for their weapons, Narcissa had laid all the pieces of her uniform on a large sheet of wax paper covering her coffee table. Cured ogre hide was durable, but it was also ugly as sin. A little armor polish went a long way towards giving Narcissa that sleek, intimidating look the criminals of Santa Somabra feared. 

As the bounty killer ran the oily rag over her chestpiece she noticed dozens of new scuffs and scratches. Mementos from her fight with that druggie girl. The light elf bared her teeth and took a calming breath. Obviously, with the gang war looming in the not-so-distant future, it would be almost impossible for Narcissa to find the time to pursue the scrawny bitch. But the she-elf also knew conflict had a way of scaring rats out of hiding. Maybe she'd get lucky. Truth be told, the ljosalfr might have considered leaving the girl alone if she hadn't snapped Justice in half. Narcissa had been pleased by the number of souls she'd sent into the afterlife during the attack on the goblin's workshop. Seven irredeemable souls. It brought her total up to 157. Unfortunately, the blonde wretch had to pay for defiling her uncle's blades. Not even a war with the Nyctari would stop Vigilance from collecting what she was owed.

Coincidentally, the Nyctari also owed Narcissa a substantial debt. They were one of the few gangs in Santa Somabra she'd refused to work for while building her reputation as a bounty killer and hired gun. The matter of them paying someone to burn down the Laughing Maiden all those years ago stood between them like a gaping chasm. How could she possibly forgive those filthy bloodsuckers for destroying her livelihood? And the livelihood of her beloved Myra...

[i]"How could a person like you bring me joy?"[/i]

Narcissa's rag slipped from her hands, though she grabbed it before it hit the floor. Drops of armor polish splattered messily onto the white carpet, though the light elf didn't care. The staff would clean up the mess in a few days. If any of them were still alive.

Myranda Tavellan. Now that was a name the she-elf hadn't thought about in awhile. Licking her lips and adjusting her grip on the cloth, Narcissa took a breath and continued her work. She wasn't ready to reopen that wound yet. Part of her still believed that, if it weren't for some Nyctari hireling burning down the bar she and Myranda had built together, so much needless suffering could've been avoided. The Great Fire of 1985 never would've happened. She never would've left Santa Somabra. Vigilance wouldn't exist. And maybe pigs would fly and Nyxvira Bloodbloom would go on a diet. 

At any rate, this war could potentially offer Narcissa an opportunity for revenge. Killing Concetto Nyctari would also remove another soul from her debt and distract his followers. Without someone keeping them in line, the vampires would fight each other in hopes of becoming bloodmaster, which would give the other gangs a chance to finish off the survivors. While Concetto wasn't quite the bastard Nyxvira was, the difference was so slim it didn't matter. A corrupted soul was a corrupted soul. Narcissa smirked. People didn't call her Vengeance for nothing, though she wasn't too fond of that moniker. She preferred Vigilance. Or the Hunter. Or the Deathbringer. Regardless, the light elf would make sure Concetto got what he deserved at some point. And Nyxvira too. The conflict would undoubtedly convince the obese faerie to keep Vigilance by her side for protection. This would give Narcissa plenty of time to learn her boss' weaknesses and take her down. 

Besides, it was easy to disguise a murder as a casualty of war.

Although...alot of innocent people would die in the coming days. 

Narcissa flinched, hearing Colette's low-range alto voice saying these words in her head. Seeing the Frenchwoman again had been a jarring experience. The she-elf hadn't expected it to affect her so much. As the centuries passed, the ljosalfr had developed a talent for compartmentalizing her emotions, which allowed her to focus entirely on the situation at hand. It hadn't always been that way, but old age tended to make everything feel unimportant. Like it was happening to someone else. But seeing Colette had filled Narcissa with unanticipated urges and longings. What did it all mean? Did she still feel a connection to the fiery savant? What if something happened to Colette during the gang war? These weren't questions Narcissa was accustomed to asking herself. It was unsettling. Exciting, but still unsettling. 

Shaking her head, the ljosalfr examined her polished chestpiece, which still looked like shit, and set down her rag. Maybe she'd do her bracers next. Her lone sword, Duty, and ceramic elven death mask were resting on the same sheet of wax paper as the rest of her "work attire." The bounty killer snorted and a slight smile lit up her pale face.

There was a joke in there somewhere. Justice was broken, but Duty was fine. And death just sat there, patient and inescapable.

"I saw the sign, I opened up my eyes and saw the sign!" Shar wailed along with Ace of Base as the song reached it's conclusion. Jack sighed quietly from his spot on the sofa, clearly hoping the faerie would take a break from this awful music. Shar did no such thing. Suddenly, Baruch slammed the Tupperware container he'd been rummaging through down on the counter. The orc stomped over to where Shar had put his phone, his face devoid of all expression as he stared at the faerie's pristine Samsung Galaxy. The blue-skinned graysuit sneered and said, "Hey, what are you doing, blubber guts? Don't you touch my phone now." The orc took a breath and brought his massive fist down on the Samsung Galaxy with an audible crunch. Ace of Base took a well-deserved break. 

Shar stared at Baruch, his piss-colored eyes glittering with barely contained anger, and said, "What the fuck, Baruch? I get that you're sad and shit because your old fuckbuddy Razorhallow died. But you need to find your balls and get over it. And you fucking smashed my phone! What the fuck, you green piece of shit?!"

Baruch grabbed Shar roughly by his lapels and said, "I know you're all upset about not getting to fuck that little girl, Shar. And I know you don't have any friends, but some of us do. Now, shut...the...fuck...up." Narcissa's gaze flicked to Shar. The faerie smiled and made a sudden jerking motion. Something metallic flashed in his hand. Baruch roared and a green finger went flying and hit Jack Crowley in the face. The muscular human looked down at the severed thumb in his lap and delicately placed it beside Narcissa's armor.

"My fucking thumb!" Baruch bellowed, holding his hand and glowering at Shar.

"You destroyed my phone, you pussy ass bitch!" Shar snapped and stepped forward, his bloody dagger dripping orcish viscera onto the carpet.

Abruptly, ten strategically placed and lit scented candles flared bright blue. The flames coalesced into ten tiny fireballs that began hovering around Narcissa's head as she rose, setting aside her armor polish and cloth.

"Both of you need to calm down. We already have a war brewing, and I need you all focused on what needs to be done. Baruch, you will replace Shar's phone at your earliest convenience. There should be gauze and bandages in the bathroom you can use to bind your finger. And Shar? Shut the fuck up," the light elf said, looking from the bleeding orc to the infuriated faerie. Shar frowned, but Narcissa knew he wouldn't be an issue. Not yet. He was too excited about having an excuse to butcher people for the duration of the gang war. Baruch simply shook his head and plodded towards the bathroom. Shar stuck out his tongue at the greenskin's retreating back and picked up his phone. He made a face as he examined the cracked screen, but he finally shoved it into his pocket. Narcissa allowed the fiery orbs to fade away and slowly sat back down. Sweat dripped down her angular face, and she felt like an ogre had punched her in the stomach. Repeatedly. It was nearly impossible for her to make her gift work when she wasn't feeling a particularly strong emotion. She'd gotten lucky this time.

Hopefully, Nyxvira would call for her soon.