“Hum, very well,” Jillian answered with a tired shrug, arms crossed in a futile attempt to stave off the cold, “Suits me just fine, [i]partner[/i].” [i]At least he’s using my name[/i], she thought to herself, casting a furtive glance to her strange ally in black who has so adamantly denied her the sound of her first name. Why only was that? Besides it simply being a nuisance to herself, she understood that he must have had some reason to avoid familiarity with her. Familiarity… was that it? Did he simply not want that degree of intimacy with her? It seemed ridiculous; there was nothing to using someone’s first name. It did not even imply a particularly intimate bond. He must either have become absolutely paranoid about forming relations with others – to the point of crippling his social skills at large – or he must simply dislike her personally on a strong level. If the latter was true, however, he would not have risked his life to save her from Anaxim. Maybe he simply found joy in spiting her…

“So, about this escort,” she began after clearing her throat, “I’m to assume that we meet those ‘certain criteria’, yes? He’s not going to kill us if we see him, or a month or two later because we happen to know of his existence now and such, right?”

“Furthermore, where would we meet up with him? Will he be waiting in Fokon for us? Do we wait here for his appearance?” Jillian asked after receiving a satisfactory reply to her previous question, “And what about Renold and Crone? How do they factor into our plans? I can’t see past this dome of hands you’ve so conveniently put around us, partner, but I know they’re still there, probably staring at us. As an aside, you wouldn’t mind telling us what this is about anyway, would you? I saw them as soon as I signed the contract.”

The strange mass of writhing, oily hands seemed so improbable and dreamlike in their existence. It reminded her of the dreams she had in between Anaxim and now of which she only remembered dissociated fragments. On initial attempts to recall details – something about a ship? An island? There was fire, certainly. And Vincent, poor, poor Vincent. He didn’t deserve what happened to him. Had been better off never meeting Jillian at all maybe… – she realized just how dream-like, or nightmare-like the entire day had been. The things she’s seen and done, she had no words for it. And all in such a short time. How did it all come to pass? Was it simply a string of exceptional events that she had stumbled into, or was this common for Gerald? What of the future? Would this streak of mind-boggling happenings continue, or would things be allowed to calm down once their deed in Fokon was done? Doubtful, given their agreement with Crone and Renold, or the possible consequences of their victories.

Maybe it was not as bad as it all seemed. She had always wanted recognition, fame and power. All of them things that had to be obtained through hardship and exceptional deeds. There was no going back either way, every bridge was burned. She would earn her place in this brave, new world or die trying.