The Royal Palace

The glowing disk, a milieu of interspersed oranges, reds, and just a hint of purple, came slowly to the city on this morning. There had been rain the day before, just enough to wash the buildings and streets a little, to leave the traces of something fragrant and fresh lingering in the air that rarely knew such relief. A fine mist still hung suspended in the atmosphere even as the first denizens of Revelation began to stir in their beds.

The mid-spring season was a good one for the gardens in Alpha, and in all likelihood, the young nobles would be out to enjoy it as soon as they could be roused from their slumbers. The shopkeepers in Beta would merely smile at the cleansed storefronts; no need to wash the windows today. In Delta, the beleaguered citizens would relish in the feel of something other than the ever-present soot and ash of someone else’s industry filling their lungs, as though there might be something different out there for them after all, beyond the filth and grime and soot that even the rain could only smudge.

Loki would not be indulging in such flights of fancy. The Princess allowed her maid to help her dress; though she detested feeling as though she could not do something so simple on her own, there was no need to offend the poor, scared mouse of a girl who’d been hired for it. Eventually, the maid- Bianca, she reminded herself- would grow used to the rather abrasive independence of her charge, but until then Loki would do her best not to scare the child. Not because she particularly cared, of course, but because it would be one less thing for her mother to become preoccupied with.

She waved off the servant, hopefully not too rudely, and took care of her own hair. One had to draw boundaries somewhere, after all, lest one be treated like some kind of living doll, and her pride was not going to allow that, thank you very much. A somewhat-informal mess of braids and ribbons later, she brushed imaginary dust off the black gown and frowned at herself in the mirror. Well, it was going to have to do. It was not as though Amon gave a care what she looked like anyway; the man was far to practical for that, a fact she never stopped being grateful for. Reaching into a drawer that Bianca would never come to know about, she tossed one of the resulting blades in the air and caught it again, watching the movement with disinterested violet eyes before tucking four of them away in various places. The one thing about gowns with so much skirt was they were excellent for concealment.

Her personal receiving room was on the ground floor, which took some walking from the suite of rooms she occupied on the third. There was a steam-powered lift for such things, but the stairs ended just outside the throne hall where her mother would soon be running audiences, and she needed to pass by there first. Sure enough, many of the day’s petitioners had already lined up. Unnoticed by the crowd of citizens and guards, she cast a sweeping glance over the lot, reading body language as she’d been taught. There… two or three individuals from the lower districts, but only one looked like he was there to make trouble. Loki stepped a tad closer and made eye contact with one of the guards, who by now was well-used to the way the Princess could creep about without being noticed and so did not even bother to display his surprise at her sudden arrival. Instead, the man raised an eyebrow in inquiry, and she made a curt motion towards the potential issue. Nodding, the guard made no move, but that was what she had expected. The particular petitioner would be redirected to her eventually, but she needed to take care of some other things first.

-=-

Amon Gregory was one of those people who could show himself in if he so chose, and regularly did. Never seen, he’d slip past the guards outside the palace and into the Princess’s office about three times a week. Presently, he was standing in the middle of the room, appearing to survey the furnishings, which, while expensive, showed a taste uncommon in those who could choose outright ostentation. He liked to think he might have something to do with that, but while he knew credit could be given to him for a number of things about the heir, her choice of furnishings wasn’t really one of them.

Sometimes he wondered if he didn’t have too much of a hand in what his charge had become. For the most part, it would not bother him to claim that she was a ward of his, in a sense, but other times, he began to question the wisdom of giving one already so hard and cunning the skills to fully exploit those qualities. He was only glad she seemed to have maintained some level of qualm with what he viewed as excess in machination. Which was to say that she was not yet (and hopefully would not become) the Prime Minister.

The sound of quiet footfalls alerted him to the presence of the subject of his thoughts long before she entered the room, and he abandoned the train of thought for one more immediate. He turned to meet her, merely nodding instead of offering the bow that was due one of her station. They’d long since superseded that obligation with a different one, and it put them on considerably more equal terms, at least when they had no audience. She might be the Princess, but she was also the student, and he the teacher.

“Amon,” she greeted brusquely, though he was far from put off by it. “Have you found anything?” She gestured carelessly for him to sit, and he did so, even as Loki settled herself behind a carved wooden desk- quite the luxury when trees were so few and far between. The space was occupied by little; there was an hourglass, and a compass, though the maps were fixed to the walls rather than laid out upon the flat surface. An inkpot and several quills were gathered neatly at one corner, just beside a stack of parchment and a stamp which he did not have to examine to know bore her personal seal.

The Guildmaster regarded her steadily. “I’m afraid not,” he replied neutrally, trying to gauge her reaction, an effort made considerably difficult by the fact that she could disguise her feelings just as well as he.

There was no visible reaction at all, save the steepling of slender fingers as elbows rested on the desktop. “I see,” she murmured quietly. “I suppose I should not have expected anything so soon. Gilgamesh is not an easy man to spy upon.” Amon merely inclined his head, and acknowledgement of the reference to the man’s near-legendary paranoia. “Well, keep them on it, if you would. Anything will help at this point. He’s planning something; I know he is.” Loki’s eyes narrowed almost imperceptibly.

Amon had not missed the faint purplish bruising beneath them, evidence of sleepless nights in the recent past. Though she was not one for cosmetics generally as far as he was aware, she had taken his advice and used something to lighten them. It would not do to have one’s enemies quite so aware of the effect they were having, especially not when the Princess was supposed to be a rather impulsive harpy of a woman without enough subtlety to understand the gravity of her mother’s troubles. Sometimes, Amon thought he might actually lay down good coin to see Gilgamesh’s face if he ever discovered that this young lady was the real cause of his troubles.

“As you say,” he replied, rising. He might have just left then, but a thought struck him, or rather it appeared to. He’d been planning on mentioning this anyway. “Have you considered making another foray into the city proper? There might be useful information to be gained there…” he trailed off absently, and did not wait for a reply before he exited, as unseen on his way out as he had been on the way in.

As soon as the door shut, Loki sighed and entwined her fingers, resting her chin on them for a moment. He was right, of course. She’d been far too occupied here lately, and she was beginning to feel a bit disconnected from the larger world. Today, she resolved. I will find time today. Her eyes had just begun to drift closed again when a knock was heard at her door, and she abruptly straightened. “I’ve brought the petitioner as requested, Your Highness,” the voice on the other end informed her.

“Of course,” she replied. “Do send him in, Carlisle.” Rest was for other people, after all.

It had been another all nighter for Giacomo as he worked on a new improved steam engine, progress was slow and halter a lot due to mismeasurements by the fabricators and delayed material shipments, but Giacomo had no intentions of stopping with the project. Unfortunatly he was required elsewhere today, since the steam engines of the Royal Palace were up for maintainance and controll. Nothing unusual, just a regular check up to see wether everything still runs as smoothly as when it was designed and to seek out candidates for possible future runouts. He didn't take a toolbox with him as he had a specialized kit with the nessesaries on location.( left behind inside the engine room, so when needed other engineers could solve the problems too)

Upon entering the Palace he was reminded about its public services, as he found himself guided into the line for petitioners by the gaurds. A minor annoyance, but a regular one as most who didn't look extremly rich were guided into the line. Though it was a common thing to be pushed into the line without as much as a word Giacomo hated it as it happened everytime he had business in the Royal Palace. Everytime he had to convince the gaurds that he was Giacomo Vernazza and that he was here on maintainance and controll runs. Most of the gaurds would only give in when other staff members or in a few cases where he had been in the line that long that he ended up in front of the queen, verified his claims. This time however he had lost his calmness since he had two all-nighters in a row already and if he wasted his time much longer he would have another one on the maintainance. "I AM HERE TO MAKE MAINTAINANCE RUNS ON THE STEAM ENGINES!" He yelled to the gaurd once more, hoping it would finally penetrate his helmet and skull, so he finally could go to work.( after a good 48 hours of delays and problems anyone would get stressed)

A moment later he was picked out of the crowd by a few gaurds. Giacomo thought he would finally be able to go to work, he couldn't be further off. When he saw the door to the engine room he wanted to walk towards it, but he was blocked by a gaurd on either side of him and then in confusion he asked: "Uhm, I need to be in the engine room, why are we walking past it?" The gaurd refused to speak, but Giacomo took the silence as trouble. He sighed and mumbled: "Great, more delay and another all-nighter are waiting." The only thing he could do was try to memorise the path and surroundings that he saw since he had never been deeper into the palace as the engine room, the elevators and a few times the throne room. Finally the group stopped near a door and one gaurd walked into the room. A moment later he came back out and dragged Giacomo into the room, followed by the other gaurd they entered the room. There he saw the princess, more or less waiting for him. Half doubting wether it was courtfull to take the monocular off( since it covered the worst part of the crystals) or not, he reached for the strap on the back and lossened it wilst taking the monocular off with the other hand. Underneath there was a mix of crystals shards half sticking out of the skin as a porqupine and the clear cyan eye without an iris or pupil, just an empty cyan stare that seemed to look at nothing and everything coming from the eye. Still trying to figure out what to say or ask he looks at the princess with his left eye.

(OOC: Happy new year to all of you!)

Loki's face retained its typical bored expression as the scientist was ushered in. Probably not too far up in Marchfield, if he were being sent here to do maintenance work (there was no other good reason for a scientist to be here, after all, and the majority of them pretended not to care how much power they had almost as well as she pretended not to care about anything else). He removed one of those peculiar eyepieces in what she assumed was an attempt at proper decorum, and her eyes narrowed slightly at the blue crystals embedded about his eye. Ah, so this is the one who had the Mana accident... Vernazza. However apolitical scientists believed themselves to be, the princess knew differently, and quite regularly kept tabs on the notable goings-on at Marchfield. The incident that had produced this particular disfigurement had been enough to warrant her attention for the time it took to hear it, at least.

Waving a hand carelessly, she adopted the persona most often used with those she did not wish to know the extent of her involvement in the city's governance, which was to say just about everyone. She'd long since mastered the appearance of a somewhat sharp, but occasionally careless, minor administrator. A bureaucrat, if one were fond of such terminology, menace only to the truly incompetent and of course the efficient. "Formality is for the moment unnecessary, Mr. Vernazza," she doubted he was at all surprised by people knowing his name. It was likely somewhat hard to miss a fellow who selectively glowed blue. "I take it you were placed in the general line again?" Without waiting for his answer, the princess selected a piece of parchment from her desk and began writing upon it in a precise, elegant hand even as she explained further.

"A policy has recently been instituted to counter this tendency. I've been issuing missives like this one to the scientists as I catch them." She chose not to mention that she was sick of dealing with the petulance of 'genius' or her poor overworked staff's ranting about arrogance. It wasn't hard to push this one through Parliament; since she'd actually had someone else draft it, even Gilgamesh hadn't resisted. Why would he? Scientists were generally from noble families; less restriction on their access to the palace was immediately recognized as a potential for the gathering of information, she was sure. As though she was stupid enough not to anticipate such a thing. As though her mother were stupid enough. It was only a palace policy anyway. Personally, Loki tended to think that such things shouldn't need Parliamentary approval, but then the Constitution did disagree with her on that fact, and as of right now, that document was the only opponent she bothered with respecting too much.

Signing the bottom with a flourish, Loki folded the parchment into neat thirds and placed it at the edge of her desk. "There. That piece of paper will allow you to get past the lines on scheduled maintenance days. It does, however, only allow you access to the relevant sections of the building, so do take care not to wander too far astray. If that is all, I will let you go about your business. The lift has been lurching a bit of late, usually just when beginning from a standstill." She did not smile, for such was not in her general demeanor, but the implied warning was as polite as you please, though she had been told once that her demeanor tended to leave people with a vague sense of unease. Let it.

Giacomo was slightly relieved when Loki spoke, it seemed that he had worried himself about nothing. As expected it didn't surprise him that anyone around these parts knew his name, wether it was due to his appearance, the history or due to his regular visits to maintain the elevator. The piece of paper however was quite a nice surprise, to be able to get into the engine room without having to wait in the line, it sounded like music in Giacomo's ears. He was about to pick up the piece of paper when Loki told him about the lurching. As he grabbed the piece of paper he said: "At the start of its movement, you say? I'd better do a triple check on that then. And with that if you'll exuse me I'll be off."( he normally double checks everything) Giacomo walks out of the room and straight towards the elevator.

He walked towards the elevator and as he steps into the lift he puts his monocular back on. He presses the button for the first floor and calmly prepares for anything to happen, listening for the fine sounds that normall poeple might not even notice. As the steam engine kicks into action he feels the lurching and almost directly he hears the source, one of the pistons is on its last legs and missing stroke after stroke. At speed this is compensated by the other pistons, but it is a clear indication that things are very wrong. Having identified the problem he continues, untill he finally chooses the top floor.

Everything aside from the failing piston seemed normall untill the elevator closed distance with the pulley at the top, what Giacomo hears there gives him the shivers and at the same time remind him why only he should work on the elevators. A loud creaking noise, like metal that is being torn appart, though loud enough for Giacomo to hear anyone who hadn't foccussed on sounds would have missed it. As soon as the doors open he jumpes out of the elevator and rushes to the pulleyhouse( the room where the pulley is hidden in) there he finds a massive problem corrosion is wearing down on the massive pulley and hair-thin cracks have become visable on the surface. He runs down to the ground floor and presses the button to hail the elevator. Stating to himself: "I am not crazy enough to go back inside that coffin." He runs to the engine room, grabs the demarcation tape and out of order signs, and shuts the steam engine down with an emergency switch. He goes back to every elevator entrance that he covers with the tape and places a sign in front of it to ensure nobody will enter. With the danger in check he walks back to the engine room.

With the engine shut off he took the chance to look at the pistons to see which one was the troublemaker. Quickly he identifies the troublemaker, a piston with weardown on almost every part. He nodded and thought to himself: "This is going to be an expensive repair job. A new pulley, a full new piston and I haven't even ran through it all. At least nobody got hurt, but I'll never give the maintainance out of my hands, if I hadn't noticed it now the elevator might not have made it to the next maintainance run." He walked to a maintainance log and wrote the problems up, adding and underlining: Checkup not finished! He walked to a table where a large book and a few forms for new parts awaited him, and began filling in the forms to order new parts.

Incompetence! I am completely surrounded by incompetence! And incompetents, for that matter! Why must everything be done thrice before it is done correctly? Prometheus noted that his blood pressure was probably spiking, which the strange doctor with the mask had told him probably wasn’t a good thing. Or something. It was largely irrelevant anyway. What mattered was that there was absolutely no accountability in science anymore! When he’d entered the field, the requirements were exacting, strict! None of this ‘do what you can’ business. You were an expert in everything you were asked or you were summarily dismissed.

Take Giacomo, one of the younger generation that actually knew the right end of a flask. His most obvious mistake was an ostentatious blemish! He’d never forget to be careful with Mana again, why couldn’t all errors produce something like that. Reminder! They all needed reminders, or they would forget… something. Something important. Boundaries, possibilities, something.

“Fine,” he snapped, though the frustration in it was aimed elsewhere. “Send my assistant a memorandum listing the two you want to keep. If you think any of the rest of them are at all competent, we might move them to palace maintenance!” His voice drifted from mere sharpness to a shrill crack in the space of those sentences, but Prometheus did not notice, nor would he care if he had. It was not as though he could not allow for mistakes, it was the matter of where and how they had occurred. How was it that someone who professed to be educated in the workings of steam technology could fail to check a simple piston error?

The comments about suppliers and other such details, he did not address. They would arrive when those lazy fools who controlled the mechanics trade decided they would, and not a moment before. This, even he had learned to deal with, though his resignation was tinged with bitterness. The world bowed to business like it never would to reason.

“Do whatever you have to, Giacomo, and have the invoice sent to my office. Just do it quickly. I’ll not have any dead nobles from an equipment malfunction.” Shaking his head ruefully, the temporary mania already leaving him, Prometheus turned on his heel and took his leave. It was back to the lab now, to warn his poor assistant of the onslaught that was to come. Oh, and he needed to check on the Mana valve system. If the energy began to corrupt at the tertiary stage again…

-=-

Loki parted with her mother once the entourage had arrived back at the palace proper. She noted that the lift was still down, apparently not operational in the slightest, and frowned. Perhaps the problem was worse than she had thought. As if to confirm this, the Marchfield Director himself, Doctor Vanderbilt, brushed past her without even seeming to notice her existence, and Loki frowned. Someone as important as that, here to oversee something so small as maintenance? No… that didn’t seem right at all.

There were, however, other pressing matters to be addressed, and she returned to her office with her singular bodyguard shortly thereafter. Carlisle was a good sort, closemouthed and discreet. There was the small fact that he reported to Amon directly, but then neither man needed to know that she was aware of this. It was a complicated game, the one she played with her mentor, and one with many more layers to it than anyone else would expect. Should she be asked to explain the relationship, she would have to first choose the level upon which to answer. In any case, it was of benefit to the both of them, and that was reason enough to allow it to continue in the same fashion.

Selecting another sheaf of parchment from her desk, Loki tapped her fountain pen against her chin for a moment, contemplating how best to approach the situation. Now that she knew Gilgamesh’s angle, she was going to need all the help she could get to make sure he didn’t have his way. The problem was, she could not do anything directly. She had no voice in Parliament, and she did not wish to make herself a public face of any particular opinion just yet. Goldwater, on the other hand, had already done so, and she knew it was to him that she would have to turn.

Something nagged at the back of her mind about that, though. The Marquis was doubtless a decent person (insofar as anyone who danced in this little play of theirs could be called decent) but she had serious doubts about his knowledge of what he was fighting for. She possessed that knowledge, but it would not be the wisest thing to lay those particular cards on the table just yet. No, Goldwater had the power and the opinion, but what he lacked was the experience, the knowledge of what he really needed to do. He could very well end up fighting and conceding in all the wrong places. She would not, but as she had learned that day, she was not alone in this.

With that in mind, Loki penned a quick missive to Goldwater requesting a morning meeting the next day, if he would be so kind. He knew a little more than most people about where the Princess was angled in terms of the Delta question, so he probably would not dismiss it as an idle fancy of a silly girl. How the other recipient of her request would take it, however, remained to be seen.

To the Esteemed Lord Taylor,

Salutations and the blessings of Elisia to you.

I apologize if this missive appears to have come from a most unusual place; please understand that if matters were not so immediate I would be employing all the requisite formality. As it is, however, I am afraid I have not the luxury.

The matter of the upcoming Constitutional review is important to the both of us. I imagine it is quite obvious to you by now that the majority of opinions in Parliament do not currently favor your own position. Tomorrow morning, I intend to meet with Marquis Adam Goldwater to hear his thoughts on the subject, and I believe yours would be most enlightening as well. I would, therefore, humbly request your presence as well in my salon by the ninth hour of day, if it is convenient to you.

-Loki Blackwood, Crown Princess of Revelation

She scanned over the paper. The first bit was the standard court salutation. The rest was… well, quite a bit more direct than nobles usually sent each other, but there was nothing too incriminating in it. Should the thing be discovered, it would give away nothing more than the idle curiosity of an aristocratic lady. She was planning on Taylor being able to understand that it was more than that. Folding the paper twice and affixing it with her seal, she passed the document to Carlisle, who accepted it with a bow, disappearing after she informed him that he was to deliver it to the lord immediately. It was not as though she were incapable of attending herself for a while, after all.

Loki's fingers tapped an impatient staccato rhythm on the padded armrest of the luxurious wingback chair she presently occupied. The piece had belonged to her father, and though the princess was not the sentimental sort generally, she had had it placed in her personal meeting room upon learning of its origin. The rich, darker colors matched well the rest of the space, and to was not so ostentatious as to make the rest of the room appear bereft of anything.

She had been told, once, that her father was a more astute politician than her mother, that for a long time, it was his behind-the-scenes stewardship of the Queen that kept her safe when her compassion should have seen her dethroned long ago. He had become ruthless in his defense of her position, and yet had somehow still managed to be the sort of person that the populace favored. Sometimes, Loki found herself wondering how he had struck that balance. It was a delicate one, the nuances of which she was trying to understand and execute simultaneously. She had been too young upon his death to remember much of the man, but in this alone, this desire to keep Minerva from those who would tear her apart, she felt connected to him on a very real level.

She had gathered from the faint traces of scent still on this bit of furniture that he was both a smoker of pipe tobacco and fond of reading. Parchment and hints of smoke were a rather soothing combination, strangely enough, though she herself had seen too many cases of lung damage to risk the former habit. A knock at the door roused her attention, and she bid the person on the other side enter. As it turned out, her guest was neither Marquis Goldwater nor Lord Taylor, as she had been expecting. Instead, Amon entered, crossing the room to sit without waiting for an invitation, his face set in stony impassiveness.

The mask was far too obvious. Normally, the nuances of his facial expression were carefully calculated so that he would not appear to be wearing one at all. Impassiveness was her tactic, since she had not yet mastered the full effect of Amon's disguise. It appeared, however, that it was beyond even him at the moment, and she could not understand why, nor indeed the reason for his presence.

He made it obvious soon enough, however. "Marquis Goldwater is dead. It would seem that he has been assassinated." Each word dropped like a stone into the empty space between them, and Loki barely swallowed back her own surprise. From his words, Amon was unaware of the culprit's identity, else he would have said so right away.

She stared him down, knowing that she did not need to voice the next question in order for him to answer it. Amon sighed, something she had not heard from him in a while. "I'm already looking into it. Duke Gilgamesh is the obvious answer, but as of yet I have found nothing linking this crime to him. It appears that some kind of toxin was used; I know a few people who would understand how to do something like that. Rest assured that there will be a full internal investigation."

Loki considered this for a moment, then nodded. "I am sure Parliament will attempt the same. This will not be something we can sweep under the rug, Amon. They will all fear for their lives now, perhaps especially Goldwater's allies."

"One of them is scheduled to appear here soon." It was not a question, and so she did not bother to confirm it. "Word has not gotten out yet; I was on my way to inform the Queen for the purposes of ensuring a united front on this. The official announcement will doubtless be out in a few hours or so. You may have to make your own move sooner than you were anticipating, Loki; this is something of an opportunity, though not one I think you would have chosen for yourself. You should know that someone was seen sneaking into a mansion in the general area of Marquis Goldwater's estate; it might be that thief you mentioned; the one who works for the troupe in Gamma."

Loki's eyes narrowed; she doubted that girl, Zade, was responsible for this, but it certainly would warrant some looking into. "I'll handle that, thank you. The last thing the girl needs is to be confronted by assassins accusing her of killing a nobleman. she has enough reason to hate both groups already, if my suspicions about who she is are correct. See what you can figure out about that poison; I think that would probably be the place to start."

"Of course." Amon raised an eyebrow slightly, but said nothing else, instead standing and inclining his head before taking his leave. Loki tried resuming her tapping, but her hand clenched into a fist instead. This made everything more urgent. And as much as she hated to admit it, Taylor's help may no longer be a mere convenience, but a necessity if she was to avert the bloody aftermath that could potentially follow.

Today was colder than usual. Or was it just him? The fat nobles wearing little more than thin formal clothes to form a facade masking the vulgarity they displayed told him otherwise. Wrapped up in a thick woolen coat, the thin young noble breathed gently into his hands. His breath wasn't visible, so it wasn't too cold, but his body was like a broken thermometer at this point. He needed an assistant to accurately tell how hot or how cold it was. The epieu remained at his side, feeling the concealed short spear thump against his thigh.

The walk from his own estate to the Palace was trying. Why did architects see fit to add so many damned stairs? His own estate was as flat as possible, and was very wide- the slow incline leading up the floors was soft on his legs. He had arrived hours early, after waking from a restless sleep. He felt like an old man- early to bed and early to rise. Except he never truly felt rested. The mornings were bitter to him.

He presented himself to a guard, revealing his only weapon- and for good measure. The epieu was concealable, and any attempt to conceal a weapon would link him to a possible assassination or past assassination. He was not stupid, he had received word of Goldwater's death. The public face of the radical movement had been killed, but perhaps this was a good thing. Martyrdom always helped push a cause forward. A talk with the Princess would clear up the situation. He had avoided much contact with the radical group, as they thought his ideals were too much to cover in so little time. He kept his epieu in plain sight, being escorted down the hall.

"Princess, Lord Taylor has arrived." He said after knocking on the door three times. Caelin entered, bowing to the princess once before moving to a chair. Sitting down, he allowed himself to observe her for a second. From the get-go, he got a feeling of shrewdness from her- like a night cat. He couldn't deduce much- as with all other nobility, she could mask her emotions well. If Amon Gregory had been in the room when he entered, Caelin would have never known. That is, if Caelin knew who Amon Gregory was.

District Beta

The hunt was oh-so-successful.

In a cage contained several angry rats. Large, strong, and almost rabid in personality. The masked doctor was never too sure how the people of Delta dealt with these ferocious things, but they provided nice little scapegoats for his experiments. However, now wasn't the time. His apprentice was very angry at him for leaving. She was now taking her work leave, to get some rest and to visit her family.

He let her, and noted as he waved her off that she looked back at him quite a few more times than necessary. Walked a little bit too quickly too.

He walked back inside. Checking the front desk, he noted that she had finished all her obligations before she left. Briefly, he wondered how long it took her to finish the paperwork he left her. He waved it off, and began filling out a request for some chemicals from Taylor's Chemicals. Raw was best, especially when dealing with potions and compounds. There wasn't much else to do. There was a few patients here and there, but it was almost always the usual performer with a broken bone or ripped muscle.

Making his way back to the back room, he started cleaning the equipment he used yesterday at Delta's warehouse. Or hospital. It was business as usual.

Loki was conscious of the fact that she was being studied, but she did not begrudge Lord Taylor this. It was as much a fact of an aristocrat’s existence as the continuous effort to make such scrutiny as useless as possible, for enemies and allies alike. One could never tell, after all, when one would become the other, and it could happen at the mere drop of a hat.

There was a certain level of implicit trust even in this meeting, though, and she knew it would be pointless to keep the entirety of her plan hidden for long. One could not make progress if one was unwilling to bend, after all.

Taylor himself was something of a conundrum. Whereas it was customary for nobles to attempt to exude cool indifference, or perhaps heated vigor when the occasion called for it, the man before her left her with neither impression. Rather, it would seem he was possessed of that rare warmth and actual compassion that she had known only to exist in a very small number of people. It reminded her of her mother, and the Princess wasn’t honestly sure how she felt about that. Deciding to put that one off for now, she waited for him to get comfortable before she opened her mouth to speak.

“I’m sure that you have heard by now, so I won’t waste my breath or your time on explaining Duke Goldwater’s absence. It is also likely that you understand the position this puts you in. While he was not the most… aware of individuals, Goldwater had a sway that could only be considered impressive, one that neither of us presently possess. Your problem, it would seem, is twofold: someone needs to fill his seat in Parliament, and someone needs to spearhead his cause.” Standing abruptly, Loki crossed to a shelf, removing a stack of parchments about three inches thick. Tossing it onto the small table between her chair and Taylor’s, she continued. “This is a dossier; it contains names and information on just about anyone who would qualify to take that seat. As you are doubtless aware, Goldwater was childless, and thus his fortune returns to the Crown, since he had no estate as such. The people listed are those wealthy enough to claim his seat and ambitious enough to want it. I am afraid that there is not a soul within who would support you and the cause you champion for any longer than was strictly convenient for them.”

Loki would know; she had been wondering about the same things herself for a while, and collecting that information had been a joint effort between herself and Amon’s Guild, in an effort to find someone, anyone, to support in the event of a Parliamentary death. They had thought they were waiting for Lord Saunders, the ninety-year-old senior member of Parliament, to die of natural causes, and had been counting on more time to figure something out, but the information was compete nonetheless. “The way I see it, your choices are limited. You could support a candidate who is unqualified or doesn’t want the position and risk weakening your cause, or you could give up and resign yourself to the fact that Gilgamesh will have another puppet to move about as he pleases. You could find someone else that I have missed-” here she shook her head slightly, as if only to herself- “or…” Loki turned on her heel to face Taylor again, and her violet stare was measuring for a long second. “Or you can take a risk, and support me in my bid for exactly that seat.”

That a member of the royal family should assume a seat in Parliament was, she had discovered through exhaustive research, unprecedented, but in no way illegal. Long had she felt that too much of what happened in the legislature was beyond her control; long had she suffered the weakening of her mother’s Crown. Too long, in fact: and now that she saw a chance to do something about it, Loki was more than willing to shed the guise of Minerva’s shadow and make her intentions known. Of course, this depended on a degree of cooperation from one faction of another, and she was most certainly not lowering herself anywhere near as far as it would take to ask Gilgamesh.

Retaking her seat, Loki rested a chin on her hand, raising a black brow. “I do not expect that this will be something you are willing to do without assurance, Lord Taylor, and so I concede: ask of me what guarantee you will, and if it is something I am willing to provide, you shall have it. If it is not, then you can walk out of this room, and this entire conversation will cease to exist.” This was a calculated risk on her part; he could ask her for very important pieces of information or promises she would not want to keep, and she would by the nature of her position be forced to comply. Still, that was only if he knew the right questions in the first place.

-=-
Marchfield Laboratories

Prometheus sat up abruptly, realizing with irritation that he had fallen asleep at his research again. Ah, the trials of age! It made so many things all the clearer, and yet… other things grew faded, and personal reserves of energy and the endurance required to execute three consecutive days of wakefulness were two of the latter, certainly.

There was a knock at his door, and the scientist responded with a grunt, which the man on the other end rightly and routinely interpreted to be an invitation to enter. The door swung inward to admit a tall, lanky man in his late forties, with a surprisingly youthful face and telling purple eyes. “Sir, the maintenance for Delta’s air filtration unit is scheduled for today, but unfortunately you had the engineer responsible fired last week and-”

Prometheus cut his assistant off with a curt gesture. “Fine. Send Giacomo to do it. He’s still waiting on parts to redesign the thing anyway; might as well get himself some experience with the current model. Which reminds me: do we have percentages on that yet?”

Joshua sighed and checked the parchments he was currently carrying. “Presently, the engine is running at eighty per cent efficiency, which is just enough to eliminate approximately half of the industrial toxins in Delta on a daily basis.” This was a set of figures he’d read before, and it seemed to make his employer a bit angrier each time. Indeed, the old man’s eyes flashed for a moment, and he set about muttering darkly to himself as he shuffled past a stack of paper as tall as he was. Knowing better than to interrupt Doctor Vanderbilt when he got like this, Joshua closed the door softly behind him and scrawled a note to Giacomo, which he then slipped under the man’s office door.

-=-
District Beta

Amon did not often pay visits to his former apprentices, nor his employees generally, but every once in a while, the bureaucracy required to get them to come to him was a bit more than he wanted to deal with, and the elegance of efficiency had its appeal most strongly in these moments.

Presently, he had journeyed from the palace straight to District Beta. If there was anyone who knew about toxins and could be trusted to keep mum about the matter, it was the man he presently went to see. Sometimes, the Guildmaster was surprised that none of his predecessors had thought to place an assassin in the Physicians’ Guild for just this reason, but then he had always been a bit on the unconventional side, which was saying something considering his occupation especially. Every so often, he found himself questioning what his own master would have thought of him teaching the ways of the Assassins to a noble, or personally scouting for recruits even at this point in his career, or letting certain former members of his Guild leave it with their lives… it would seem precedent was rarely on his side.

He found the building he was looking for without difficulty, the plain, nondescript signage doubtlessly belying whatever oddities took place within. As it was in fact a public building, the stately man entered without hesitation, adopting the persona of an affable Beta resident, perhaps someone’s uncle. His gait made noise only because he consciously made it so, his perfect posture stooped slightly, the corners of his mouth tilted upwards slightly as though they were always that way, and his eyes softened.

It was in this manner that he approached the young woman behind the desk. “Excuse me, Miss, but is the doctor in right now? I had an appointment, but I can’t remember if it was for today or tomorrow. I’m horrible about things like this, you see.”

She was about as sharp as a kitchen knife. Unfortunately, even with her cool mask and indifferent aura, she inadvertently shared some of what she was feeling. Her concise, planned speech lead him to believe that she did not want to mess anything that she could control up. She listed many options- all viable yet almost certain to be terrible for his position in some way. He definitely could not support somebody that did not back his interests, or the interests of the radical party. Giving up another seat to the control of Gilgamesh was completely out of the question- any more dominance over Parliament, and the man would be able to pass laws and legislations without opposition. He certainly could search for somebody suitable to his cause, but unfortunately time and resources were both limited and he needed copious amounts of both to find a man that would be willing to support the radical party- not Gilgamesh.

However, the last option presented by the shrewd princess caught him completely off guard. His mask shattered, revealing a very surprised noble. Never before in history had he heard of such a thing. Women were far and few in Parliament, and including the Princess herself would be highly influential. Women's Suffrage was at a middling point nowadays, and it would give the radicals that much more reason to push- especially since she was hinting that she would help him in return.

"This is a risky road, Princess. What you propose is something that has never happened since the creation of this floating city. Not only will my own tenuous reputation be in danger, but the respect for the crown." He said, though the look in Loki's eye told him she already knew this. "You tell me that I may have anything within your power- but what can I ask for? I own Taylor Chemicals- a large chemical producer for the Marchfield Laboratories and the Physicians guild. I have all the money and economic influence I need." He needed to show that he wasn't completely without options. The skittish dance of words often dictated it necessary- speech is always wriggling, always finding a nook or crack to filter out into unwanted ears.

His deep, soothing green eyes began to twinkle. "However, you have a point. This unprecedented action might just be the torch necessary to light the flame that can hold back our rival." He said, pausing slightly. "As I said, I have nothing I want personally- but I want you to swear this. If you are to win and secure Goldwater's empty seat, you will ally yourself in a position favorable to my standings."

Suddenly, the young man paused once more- his eyes lighting up. For a brief moment, slight desperation pierced his recollected emotionless mask. "One more thing." He said softly. "You must secure me a heir by the end of two years."

He knew what this was implying, and was quick to act. "I do not mean for your hand in marriage- that is your own choice. I mean I lack the influence of the rest of Alpha and beyond to find myself a suitable heir. You know full well, I am childless- and like Goldwater, I am a radical member. It would be foolish to think that after an action I will take for you, that I will remain in the shadows and out of harms way." He said. He had come up with this reasoning on the spot, quickly hiding the fact that he feared his wasting body would be the cause of his demise. Two years was already trying his luck- he wanted to at least tutor his heir under his morals before he was to be sealed in a coffin.

The young noble's grim face showed that he was not teasing the girl.

District Beta

When the man swept into the small physician's office, the apprentice girl looked up. She smiled at the man, and as it was her duty, readily complied. "I'll check to see if the doctor is-" She was cut off by a high-pitched screeching noise. She hesitated, and called out to the masked doctor. She paused, then called out again.

"Alright, alright. I get it." Came the slightly agitated voice. Etzel walked out of the operating room, giving off the faint scent of rat blood. Once again, his experiments had gone wrong as a reaction between the intense light of the wand and the chemical injected in the rat caused the poor animal to screech in pain and explode. He had just barely managed to get most of the unsightly residue off. He looked through his tinted lens to observe the man that faced him before recognition struck him.

"Ah yes. Your appointment was today. Come, sir. I shall give you your examination as promised." He said smoothly. Amon hardly ever paid visits. He had only seen him a few times, and it was considered an honor for the guildmaster of any sort of guild to visit one individual for any reason. He nodded toward his apprentice, and guided the assassin's guildmaster to the back room. He shut the door behind him, refusing to lock the door due to how suspicious it was.

"Amon Gregory- it is quite the honor." Etzel said, inclining his head once. "To what occasion to I give my blessings for you to visit me personally?"

She watched his impassivity break apart as a mirror struck with stone, and Loki allowed herself the smallest of smiles. Of course, it would have seemed to come from far afield of anything he would have been thinking, and that was the reaction she intended for the rest of Parliament as well. Lord Taylor would not need to be browbeaten into seeing the wisdom of this move, though, and she was actually somewhat surprised at how quickly he seemed to take her seriously. That was good; it would mean far less trouble for any conceivable political alliance.

Still, she heard out his concerns with as much respect as he had given her, though these were indeed things she had already considered. The possible damage to his own reputation was something she counted on him being willing to risk, though, when it came down to it. After all, one did not become an ardent supporter of outer-district citizens and the rights of magi when one was too timid to place one’s reputation at stake. Naïve and easily-manipulated as this man may seem, if that were actually the truth, he would have been long ago laughed right out of his position.

When he addressed her offer, however, he said essentially what she had been expecting- and then something she most certainly had not. Her eyes narrowed almost imperceptibly, and she had opened her mouth to speak before he corrected himself. Not that what he chose to correct was really the issue. Granted, she could not and would not ever use her marriage as a political bargaining chip, but for that very reason, that had not been her initial interpretation of what he said, though his backpedaling on the issue was amusing to say the least, and she resisted the urge to chuckle slightly. I am glad to know that my life is my own as far as you are concerned, she thought wryly. Pity not all think it so.

No, what truly troubled her was the reason behind the request. Granted, Goldwater had just been assassinated, and that could be taken to imply that nobody was safe. But such a request was not one someone like Taylor made on the impulsive basis of an incident the night previous. For all anyone officially yet knew, he might have been killed by an errant lover or a conniving ally, and there was only incidental reasoning for anyone else to suddenly fear the same things. This smacked of something that had been long stewing in the man’s mind, and she immediately wanted to know why that may be. Still, there was no reason for her to ask after it; his motivations were his own, to a point, and she was not so heartless as to fail in understanding that if they were not specified, they were likely not easily-discussed.

“As to the first request, you have my word that our goals do in fact align. I would not have bothered to summon you here if I believed otherwise.” The princess arced a perfectly-sculpted eyebrow. “As to the second… I am assuming a child would be sufficient? If there is any specific quality they need to have, I cannot promise I’ll be able to find it. Two years is a while, though… I will endeavor as best I can manage.” This in truth was quite well indeed, given the resources she had at her disposal. Perhaps a younger child from another noble family; most would be willing to give up their offspring when such power as Taylor’s might come to belong to it. However, ties to more than one source might be a bit messy, especially in the case of a conflict. But any child of Gamma or Delta would be rejected by most of Parliament… which left her fewer angles than she would have liked. Still, she was a woman of her word, and she would do this to the best of her considerable ability.

“I understand that there may be unresolved concerns you have regarding this, and if that is so, I would hear them. It plays to our advantage to be on the same page, yes? My guess is that Gilgamesh, if not explicitly involved, has planned for this eventuality, and likely already has a candidate ready for consideration. I do not think we should give Parliament too much time to get over the shock of what is about to happen, but it might be best to warn your allies of what is to come. Also, if you have time later this afternoon, I think there is someone you should meet.”

---
District Delta

The District Delta Air and Water Treatment Facility was a much less impressive building than its name would suggest, though any resident of the surrounding area would have told you to expect as much. Not that visitors often stopped to chat with the local population, of course. A squarish, steel building with rust stains aplenty, the only entrance was a set of double doors, sturdier than the rest because they were constructed of steel rather than mostly iron.

Inside, one would find a small area in the front of the building designed to admit those who had business there, though the woman behind the counter seemed inattentive at best, and just about to fall asleep at worst. Still, she was friendly enough, not that too many people visited to know that. Her most frequent visitor was a young woman who came every few weeks or so to retrieve a supply of purified water on some nobleman’s billing. A curious arrangement, but not one that the receptionist was interested enough to speculate upon.

Beyond that lay a few offices for the scientists that were required to work here once a week or so, to try and keep the place running for as long as possible. There was little they could do, however, to stop the gradual erosion of all the moving parts and engines, which lay further still beyond their rooms. Various parts whirred and groaned as they were forced to near-continuous movement, their efforts against the pollution of industry as a pebble against a rushing river. One wall contained all the wands that powered the reactions to purify the air before pumping it back out into the atmosphere. Below these rested the less-worked wands for water purification, since only cursory amounts were provided to Delta homes, and the rest had to be purchased.

---
District Beta

The room smelled a bit like burnt flesh, and blood, but if Amon noticed any of this, he did not comment, nor was it apparent on his face. Instead, he took a seat in the examination chair as though it were a rather ordinary one behind a desk, and crossed his ankle over the opposite knee. This was partially a habit and partially a precaution. Unbeknownst to anyone, the boot now easily-accessible contained one of his knives, which was a boon seeing as how he could not well walk into a doctor’s office wearing his blade. The action was not because he feared being attacked necessarily, but because his vigilance demanded that it always be so.

“Etzel,” he returned easily. As Guildmaster, he dealt regularly with all sorts of eccentric and odd personalities, and he was never one to get caught up in the formalities, nor demand that others do the same. Instead, he replied upon a demeanor that was generally polite, but never to the point of inefficiency.

“I have come to inquire after the nature of a poison,” he began tactfully. Unable to study the man’s face for reactions, he nevertheless clued in immediately to any change in body language, breathing pattern, or voice modulation. “Marquis Adam Goldwater was killed last night. It was made to look like the work of a pugilist, but there was a track mark in his abdomen as well, which seems to be what really killed him. The poison does not match anything known, but my estimation is that it has to have been some kind of neurotoxin, that whomever was responsible was able to create the farce of strangulation while he was still alive enough to breathe.”

Amon paused for a second, as though in contemplation. “The maid who found him dead reported that the room smelled of some kind of citrus fruit for a little while, before too many passages in and out destroyed the scent. I do not know if this is actually true, but I have no reason to doubt her impressions.” The gray-haired assassin steepled his fingers together in a characteristic gesture, looking steadily at the journeyman Assassin across from him.

The strung up noble was relieved of his worries. The Princess seemed easily agreeable and had thought it out. Her agreement to his terms would prove beneficial. However, he words danced around the first question- her motives did seem to align with his for the time being, but she could change at any moment. However, as observant as she was and as experienced as she was, she lacked an important thing: Charisma. Many nobles (especially female) were elected through charm, and the princess was just about as connectable as an angry bear. In this case, she would be something similar to a wolf. He did, however, conceal his slight uncomfortable feeling when she asked the reason behind his second request. Of course the reasons she states for asking sounded alright, but he knew instinctively that such a request wasn't something to be poked on by natural curiosity to this extent. He suspected that she wanted to know for personal knowledge, and his ailing health was something he couldn't just simply reveal to a new ally, as trustworthy as one seemed. He smiled in response.

"The reasons behind my second request are personal. This page, I wish to tear out and burn." He replied, uncrossing the arms he held and tapping his head lightly. He was lucky the medicinal concoction kept his symptoms down, as nobles didn't ally themselves with others unless they were sure of his/her strength. He took out the flask and took a drink, taming his body from the symptoms of his affliction.

Her latest mentions amused him, though. He had few allies, and fewer friends and loved ones. There wasn't much he had to do. However, if she were to be elected, Goldwater's seat was almost sure to be full of paperwork that might not even include being the leader of the radical party. There was much organizing in his side, and even if she wasn't interested in being the leader, many nobles had backups of work due to the time they spend on worldly pleasures. Goldwater's may be significantly less, but it wasn't to be certain. Any documents unfinished would be nagged on the princess to finish if she were to take his seat. Luckily, she was young, but unlike himself, she seems to be perfectly healthy. Despite his relative youth, the noble did show signs of fatigue despite his attempts to hide it.

The princess exhaled softly, placing her quill back in the inkwell before her perfect posture slumped, the back of her head lolling back against her desk chair, purple irises disappearing behind slightly-bruised lids. Now was not the time for this. Pain shot through her temples in a throbbing rhythm, matched to the sluggish pace of her wearied heartbeat, subsiding momentarily only to flare to life again in the next instant. This happened to her occasionally, nowadays, these severe headaches. Amon had suggested she see a doctor or a healer about it, but she had refused. There was no point in it anyway. What would they do but give her painkillers that would dull her mind besides? A mage would be able to relieve the pain without any adverse effects, but she didn't much fancy keeping one around just to treat her every time she worked late into the night or scoured fine print for too long.

That was assuming she could even find one in the first place, and the first location to which she would send any such soul would be her mother. Though she was still hiding it adequately, Minerva was getting worse. There was very little the Queen could hide from her daughter any longer, and Loki knew that though she was in no immediate danger necessarily, she was ailing slowly and painfully. One of many things that occupied her ever-whirling stream of consciousness lately. It joined the maelstrom compounded by Eos's story and her impending speech before Parliament, not to mention her promise to Lord Taylor, which was actually her present occupation.

She forced the heaviness from her lids and righted herself. The child, whomever they might be in the end, wasn't about to find themselves. Loki had a young cousin that might do; her uncle worked for Marchfield, and so the only way the boy would ever have any degree of noble status was if both she and her mother were to die or if some sort of foster arrangement was made. Of course, the same lineage which made him such a tempting choice was problematic for precisely the same reason, assuming her uncle would even agree in the first place.

She was tempted to suggest Taylor find a Delta orphan of some variety, but that would never pass muster with Parliament, much as it might with the man himself. At least, not yet. She had to think that it might be possible one day, else she might begin to believe that all her efforts were for naught, which might just drive her mad.

Assuming she wasn't mad already. The thought brought a sardonic smirk to her lips, and Loki shook her head, not relishing the unfortunate stab this produced in her head. No easy answer, then. Fine... might as well leave it be for now. She had other, more impending deadlines to deal with, after all. Filing away the document in her desk, then, she withdrew another one, a list she'd been making based on informal information-gathering of her own. There were a number of healers in Delta and Gamma, but most of them did not run public businesses. Not that she could blame them, given the way those who admitted they were magi found themselves treated. There were a few, though, and she needed to pay one a visit, to see about getting a consultation regarding her mother. This, she could not trust Amon's people to do. Only the Guildmaster himself knew of her mother's condition, and that was only because she'd been unable to prevent him from discovering it.

Standing, Loki scanned down the new parchment, memorizing what little information was contained there, before stowing this as well and locking her office door. Carlisle, usually her shadow, was notably absent today, and this was not without reason. Returning to her private rooms, Loki donned her disguise: a simple linen shirt, laced vest, and pants, mostly in inoffensive, neutral colors. Releasing all the ridiculous pins from her head helped ease the pain there, and she sighed with relief. She'd have to consider a haircut; it was just so bloody heavy this way. Pulling on her scuffed leather boots, she tucked a long-bladed knife away in each, and a shorter one up both loose sleeves. Adjusting her cuffs to ensure that none of this was visible, she nodded and disappeared out the door, ghosting through the palace hallways until she reached the street. It was time to pay Delta a visit.

---

Edward Walsh was a nondescript man of approximately forty-five years in age, but he was also probably the smartest of the city guard, and hence had been appointed head of the official Parliamentary investigation into the death of Adam Goldwater. Presently, they were following up on a lead which they had quite accidentally stumbled upon. During the Physician's examination of Goldwater's corpse, which Walsh had of course been present for, he'd spotted a strange mark on the man's chest, which the Physician hadn't had a good explanation for.

Officially, the cause of death was respiratory arrest, caused by asphyxiation, caused by strangulation, but Walsh wasn't quite so sure. Something in his gut told him that that puncture was suspicious, though he didn't really have any idea how to go about verifying that. Of course, he was immediately suspicious of scientists given that such strange things as those people did had always offended his more Elisian sympathies, especially that business about creating false magic. Real magic was bad enough, in Walsh's opinion; they didn't need artificial magic as well. Did anyone read the Prophesies anymore?

Which meant he had to get answers from someone. Any of them would do, probably. Walsh didn't really know the difference between one kind of science and the next. Plus, he had the power of an official Parliamentary mandate behind him, which meant that he could basically question anyone. Trying to go straight to Vanderbilt had been his first instinct, but his superiors had informed him that might not be the best idea. Fine then, first bloke he saw, then.

"Excuse me," he said to that person, who happened to be a dark-haired man with some sort of ocular devise affixed to his face. "My name is Edward Walsh, and I'm investigating the death of Adam Goldwater. I have a few questions for you." If there was one thing that could be said of Walsh, it was that he was ever quite direct, a quality not always appreciated, but always upheld.

Icarus was lost among all of the notions. He had interpreted Pandora's explanations with all the attention and focus he could spare, but they still came across as backwards and strange. From what she had told him, Icarus understood that they were in the poorest and most decrepit district. This much made sense. There was also a classist attitude shared towards this district by the higher ones, limiting their travel to the outer areas. That was clear. But he was lost to the whirl of events when Pandora received a letter that superseded the social laws and allowed her to travel directly to the heart of the city, all the while offering a generous donation of gold to encourage her attendance. And he was to join her.

The young Fleeter regarded his invitation as a boundlessly generous act of pity. Perhaps, because the mage had found him, she felt obligated to watch and guide Icarus. While this behavior seemed sensible, he had never personally seen it done before. Even his own parents had never seemed obligated to raise or know him, so the kindness he'd seen from Pan was still largely foreign.

It was the opportunity to go out and to see the city that made Icarus willing to accept the gracious offer, and by the time they set out he was in an only mildly cleaner condition than before. Pandora had spared him a sanitation spell earlier that day, and the result was a fair color of skin that he never knew he had. The large, elastic-like jacket that Icarus wore was buttoned to the top, covering his bandaged form and adding a twinge of secrecy to his otherwise innocent figure. His olive eyes were plain and took in the sights with a careful and silent consideration for all that they meant.

Then Eos joined them. The Fleeter's suspicion, a result of his great empathy, was that this was a ploy to establish himself as Ms. Elling's most viable suitor before Icarus could. The attitude that the otherwise generous vagabond had shown up to this moment could point to nothing less. Though Icarus had no conscious intention of filling that role himself, he felt somewhat challenged by Eos' constant presence. If ever they were to walk together, or to sit on a train, he always seemed to situate himself directly between the Fleeter and Pan. It was a passive maneuver that spoke much louder than words: Get out of the way, shorty.

Icarus couldn't be too bothered by the lack of balance in their party, as much as he was distracted by the sheer sensory overload that was Revelation. The people were strange, the buildings extraordinary, and the trains... Well, he'd never seen a train before. However, the most startling thing Icarus saw was the definite shift between the districts of the city. He saw a Deltapause, a Betapause, and eventually an Alphapause: an unsettling band of merging structures that outlined the broken city. It was an odd sight, given that from below, the city always looked like a single large being. The great casts of iron and the shimmering brown belly of Revelation was seamless. From below, there were no borders and classes. Just heaven.

When the trio made its way deeper into Alpha, led by their older female guide, Icarus finally saw the brightest and flawless structures of the city. Eos' dialogue on the train had prepared him for a wealth of upturned noses and snobbish glares, but it seemed that no one in this region could even spare them a glance. The highest class was far too busy to acknowledge them. Still, more eye-catching than the people was the fact that this district was host to an entire fleet of airships. From time to time the hum of such aircraft would litter the air and Icarus would lose himself to their glory. The very idea of such propulsion put his Balloonship to shame.

After some time it became clear to the Fleeter that they weren't in just any fancy structure. The abundance of guards and the sheer quality of the architecture hinted that this was a place reserved for only the finest citizens. This was a palace of government. At this rate Icarus was calm, but inside there was a fear. Pan had called his people something. What was it? Refugees? Exiles? Up to this point Icarus had no reason to place himself against them and judge the difference, but it occurred to him that maybe he even looked like a refugee. Perhaps there was an inherent flaw in his appearance that made him stand out and that would identify him as an intruder. Perhaps he would be made to leave.

If for no reason else, this was the reason for the cold sweat that had broken out on Icarus' forehead when they had come to sit in the same room with two very official looking individuals. An armed woman, an example of beauty rivaled only by Pandora in his recent memory, sat beside the most accomplished looking man he had ever seen. This individual had achieved enough in his life to smile at this very moment, while Icarus was absolutely terrified. Sheepishly following Pan, he took a seat just one space away from her, so that Eos might separate them once more.

Amon watched Loki's visitors file in, one by one, admittedly quite surprised that there was such a variety. In some senses, if all of these people were needed to solve it, Goldwater's murder had been as close to the perfect crime as one could commit within the bounds of the city. Very few people would have the willingness and knowledge to consult such varied parties in their search for the answers.

There was of course Etzel, who Amon had summoned to both explain the poisoning agent they were likely looking at as well as contribute to any discussions of purchases made from Taylor Chemicals or suspicious activity in Marchfield. The latter, he gathered, was what the scientist was doing here. He was mildly interested by this, as Loki rarely gave scientists the time of day due to their (oftentimes) "long-winded and inefficient natures." He supposed she'd picked one she could deal with, or one that would keep his mouth shut.

Lord Taylor was in attendance as well, but the next group he had to admit he had not quite been expecting. Miss Elling herself was not exactly what he expected a respected Delta healer t look like. For one, she was a good deal... younger than he was expecting. But that wasn't even it, not really. It was the fact that she seemed so very... bright. Amon had met a number of mages, and without fail they were bitter or at the very least discontent. This ash-haired wisp of a woman seemed happier than she had any cause to be.

Behind her filed in a youth of in Amon's estimation not yet two decades. He looked much like a Delta denizen as well, and he stuck rather close to Pandora, leading him to believe that they were acquainted. He seemed inclined to take everything in with fascination, and perhaps more than a little wariness, much as a thief caught in a larder, or perhaps just a child where he well-knew he was forbidden to be. Strangely, the lad left a seat between himself and the young lady, and Amon's eyes instinctively flicked towards the door, following the man who entered with a hawk-like intensity.

He leveled the briefest of looks at Loki, whose expression informed him in no uncertain terms that she had not planned for this. Good; it would have been foolish to do so. Eos knew only half the truth, and that half was more than enough that it was quite likely he would-

Amon vacated his chair quickly, as the one Eos had thrown flew in his direction. Sighing inwardly, he caught it and set it down again, not having much desire to see the room destroyed. His former pupil's foot followed, but the Guildmaster simply was not there when it landed. The man had spent a lifetime perfecting his art, and had never once permitted himself to fall out of practice. Eos, from what he had gathered, spent much of his time in an intoxicated state, picking fights with sons of Beta that could no better wield a blade than the average Guild recruit.

"Come now, Eos, surely you see the futility of this?" he questioned, circling the man where he had landed. The truth of the matter was, Amon had both hoped for and dreaded this particular meeting, and it could not have come at a more inopportune moment. There were the other people in the room to be considered, after all, and the information he had hoped to give the former Hand was not something he wished to make common knowledge of. He did not draw his sword for two reasons: first, he did not wish to kill the very same person he had worked so hard to set free, and second, he didn't need it to pose a significant threat.

---

Loki hadn't really needed to wait for the flying chair to guess what would happen. Eos had nearly strangled her for resembling her mother, and she doubted that hatred was one-tenth what he felt for Amon. Still, when the fight did begin, she pinched the bride of her nose with a weariness she disliked showing, and turned to the others. "I advise you not to move." Despite the tone, it was very clearly an order, save to Taylor, who was free to interpret it as a request, and the Assassin-doctor, who worked for Amon, not herself.

They were still one short, and Loki was concerned that Scheherazade wasn't going to show up. If she'd really been casing the residence next door to the place the murder had occurred at almost exactly the same time, she had to have seen something useful, but the princess needed her to attend here in order to better understand what questions to ask of her. There was also the matter of who she was- but no. It would be beyond even what Loki was willing to do to use her in that way. Not now, at any rate.

She turned her attention back to the confrontation. Not even she was privy to the full version of the tale that had transpired between the two men, though she had been told enough to know that not all was what it seemed in this respect. She just hoped whatever happened, they'd get it over with, and soon. There was a city at large to be considered, and she had no desire to waste anyone else's time, besides.

Pan's eyes went saucer-wide when Eos flung the chair across the room, following swiftly after it. she opened her mouth to say something- what, she had absolutely no idea- but the dark woman silenced her with flat words that made little sense to the healer. Don't move? They're trying to kill each other! How could the rest of them be expected to sit there and do absolutely nothing at all.

Still, there was something about the way it was said, about the fact that the woman's uncanny eyes followed every motion without discernible proof that she felt anything about it, that threw Pan off just enough for her to settle uncomfortably back in her seat, worry etched over her youthful face. She had to admit, she had never expected that Eos was this skilled. When he had showed up at her clinic the first time (and on subsequent occasions), he was always quite badly wounded. Granted, it was not as though he appeared to actually feel the pain he should, but that she had attributed to a mixture of alcohol and acclimation. She had not expected whatever this was, and to be honest, she was a little frightened by it. What kind of people needed to know so much about how, when, and where to strike?

If Eos worried her, she was thoroughly petrified by the other man, who had seemed so genial and dignified upon her entrance here. Certainly, there was something intimidating even in that, but the fact that he was not in the slightest fazed by what had thrown her for a loop suggested that he had known what was coming, and been so calm anyway. What in Elisia's name was she doing here in the first place?

With movement almost too perfect for her to track, the confrontation ended, and Eos returned to his seat as though nothing had happened at all. Pan realized she'd been gripping the edge of the table, white-knuckled, and slowly eased her grip on the innocent wood.

---

Scheherazade did not much enjoy being late, but the moment she'd seen the black-cloaked figure waiting at her usual entrance point into Alpha, she'd known that getting where Eris had directed her to go was going to be difficult. That was most definitely an assassin, and as a criminal, Zade had no desire whatsoever to run into one of those.

Sneaking around was something of a forte of hers, but it was what assassins were trained for, and so she knew she had to be as careful as possible. When she'd first read the note, she'd been confused, then disbelieving, but it was the last line that had really done it.

Trust me.

Against her own better judgement, perhaps, Zade did hold some measure of trust for the older woman, and truly there wasn't quite enugh cynicism in the girl yet that she wouldn't do a favor for one of the few friends she had, even if said friend was asking her to meet at a specified room in the Royal bloody Palace of all things. Of course, when Zade had read the word "meet," she had naturally assumed that she was to remain unseen, and so the fact that the assassin was actually supposed to be her guide was completely lost on her.

It took some work, but she managed to get past the gate without incident. She knew she couldn't well just march into the building; she'd have to scale it and find the right window. Sticking to the hedges that lined parts of the building's facade, she privately thought that it would be a really interesting challenge to get to the top, but unfortunately (or perhaps fortunately for her health should she have tried), the specified place was on the second floor.

Counting windows as she passed, she figured it would probably be one of the closed ones, since they probably didn't want any of the guards knowing what was going on. Lucky for people like the thief, buildings in this part of town tended to favor the aesthetic over the practical, which meant handholds aplenty if you knew how to look. With great care, she made it to the window she guessed was her destination and climbed onto the jutting sill, sliding the thing open and clambering inside.

She had closed the window and turned around before she had the distinct impression that she was very, very dead. Sharp golden eyes scanned the room warily, at last landing on Eris's face, only... Zade uttered an oath usually only heard in the worst bars in Gamma. With the very discernible manner of a trapped animal, she considered hauling the window open and making a break for it, but something told her she would not be successful at this. Eris was regarding her neutrally, and Zade glared at her.

Trust you? Trust you indeed. Still, it looked like there was little chance of escape. Maybe that was what the old man with the bum wrist had tried? Gritting her teeth, Zade selected a chair that placed her back to the window, well away from everyone else. "Sorry I'm late," she ground out, still warily eying everyone in the room. She was surprised to discover that she recognized a few faces- that was the doctor who she'd seen but that morning, and the blonde woman matched a vague description she had of Pandora Elling, whose name was well-known by people who risked grievous injury on a daily basis. She looked scared out of her mind, and frankly Zade wasn't sure that was entirely unreasonable at this point.

Amon returned to his chair, but not before dropping into a courteous bow. "Apologies, friends. I had rather expected that Miss Elling would be alone." His smile was pleasant, but imperfect, as it did not quite meet his eyes. Even as he retook his seat, knowing that this confrontation was far from over, he heard the sound of a window opening behind him and turned slightly in his seat. Loki had not mentioned that her last guest was capable of passing his men without attracting attention- and that was something that certainly warranted his.

"Sorry I'm late," the young woman offered waspishly, but he could detect the undercurrent of uncertainty in it. It was far from his place to do anything about it, however, and so he remained silent.

Loki did not. "Of course, Scheherazade, have a seat." She gestured at an empty chair before turning to meet the group at large. "Right... now that we have all becalmed ourselves for the moment, I believe it would be most prudent to inform you of why all of you are really here. My apologies for the deception; a necessary evil, to ensure both your attendance and safety. There are those who would rather the information you carry does not reach any degree of completion, and it would have remiss of me to indicate that I knew you had it."

She tapped her fingertips on the table but thrice, something of an odd contemplative habit of hers. she was scarcely aware of it, but it indicated to the man beside her that she was trying to think of the best way to phrase her thoughts. "For those of you that do not know, my name is Loki Blackwood." the name would automatically associate itself with the appropriate title, so she saw no need to bring it up. "I have summoned you here because a man named Adam Goldwater was murdered, and I believe that each of you is in some way connected to it. The facts are not simple, but I shall do my best to make them so: The Marquis was murdered in his estate by method of an unknown poison, a neurotoxin. It was, however, made to appear as though he were strangled..." here, her eyes at last met Eos's persistent ones, but they quickly moved on. "Only a few people know that this was not the case, but we still have no idea who committed the crime nor how the poison was made or obtained.

There are, of course, a limited number of places with the resources necessary to manufacture such a product, but my supposition is that it took place within the Marchfield laboratories. I do not, as of yet, have any information that confirms this. But between the rest of you, I think, it can be found. I would like it if you could all tell me exactly what you know of it. I assure you that if compensation is what you seek, it will be done."

With that, the princess leaned back in her chair, steepling her fingers thoughtfully, waiting for someone to begin.

Giacomo followed the fight between Amon and the crazy man with an analyzing eye, though Amon was considdered to be the most prominent fighter in Revelation he seemed to have been hurt in the fight, wilst his opponent didn't have anything, but a minor exhaustion. Making him conclude that he was holding back, a lot. Then as Loki explained the situation he remembered the city gaurd that had disturbed him earlier this day. They basically had the same question, where did the poison that fatalized Goldwater come from. Again Marchfield was placed directly in the firing lines, wilst he would more likely set his money of the guild to be origin. Though the fact that Amon was present and sitting next to Loki made a clear statemtn that he didn't have anything to do with it.

Giacomo cleared his throat and then spoke: "I, as a scienstist from Marchfield with a relativly high clearance, haven't heard anything about a poison being manufactured in Marchfield, and we sciensits aren't realy secretive around colleages. I have some close connections with a group of scientists that work closely with the physicians to make anti-poisons and am well aware that many of those anti-poisons are poisonous in itself, but none would be able to kill without leaving very clear post-mortum syptoms, nor would they be fast in poisoning their victim. Giving the victim more than enough time to visit a physician, even in the final stage of the poisoning. So I presume that they aren't involved with this." His voice was calm and reasoning, as one would expect from a scientist, and the entire time as he spoke his eyes were directed at Loki.

He then turned his eyes towards Amon and continued to speak: "However, there also is a small group of scientists from the weapons development department that use the below surface laboratoria and are closely work together with the members of the guild. I've never been in those laboratoria, as my machines are always build in the ground floor halls, due to their size, but what I hear about it they are moslty working on balancing weapons to perfection and developing gear. Though I don't think it's the full story, I just don't have the time to see it for myself. However there is someone present that should have a good understanding of what happens down there." He was obviously meaning Amon with that last sentance, but he didn't want to go as far as to ask it directly.

Pandora followed the discussion as best she could, but so many of the names involved were unknown to her, and truthfully she was still a little overwhelmed by the fact that her hostess was none other than the heir to the crown. So puzzled was she that most of what Mr. Vernazza was talking about missed her completely, though she did regain enough of her faculties to speak next.

"Underground laboratories... um, I might be able to help with that," the healer stated sheepishly. "Er, that is... as most of you know, I'm a healer in District Delta, but my magical leanings are also partially metaphysical and..." she paused, trying to sort her thoughts into an order that would make some semblance of sense to anyone else. "I recently treated a patient that had been poisoned, you see. The good doctor was there, and I really know nothing about chemicals, so he's probably the one to ask about that, but... the thing is, I saw a laboratory without windows, and it smelled like citric acid or some kind. Well, at least that's what the doctor told me it was. I just smelled strawberries."

Her lack of proper terminology was beginning to embarrass her. It figured that she was in front of these important people and couldn't manage to sound like much more than an inarticulate child. "The two people working on it seemed to be hesitant for anyone else to discover them, even down there, so I think maybe it's being done in secret?" She flicked a glance around the room, half-expecting to be thrown out at any second, though why, she was only vaguely-conscious of. Contrary to this, the older gentleman who had fought with Eos was looking rather encouragingly at her, though she wasn't certain if this was a good thing or not. "Unfortunately, that's all I could see. Sound was difficult, so..."

"Did you see a face?" the assassin (for surely that was what he must be) asked, and she shook her head.

"Nothing so useful as that, I'm afraid. Magic is... tricky, sometimes."

---

"I saw a face," Zade murmured from her seat at the opposite end of the table. "Not the same one, obviously, but now that I get to thinking about it..." the thief hesitated; she had little desire to reveal her chosen profession to the room at large, but then she figured if the bloody Princess already knew, it probably wasn't that secret anyway.

"I... steal things, occasionally, from nobles. I happened to be working the estate next door the night Goldwater was killed. Place was a bloody uproar afterwards, too, and I have no doubt those damn guards thought I was the killer." She sounded disgusted, and rightfully so. Zade left the killing to people who had a taste for it- she rather preferred her day job, thank you very much.

"Well, I didn't think much of it at the time, seeing as how I was busy running for my life and all that-" her hand hovered over her upper arm, but she did not touch it- "but there was a man there, nearby. Black cloak and all. I didn't think much of it at the time, since I had no idea anyone had just died, and really you see assassins all over the place in Gamma. I remember him, though, because he had only one eye." She shrugged. "No idea who he is, and I'd never seen him before, and haven't since, but he was there."

"Underground laboratories. Weapons. Hmm, sounds like a nice place. I wonder if I could get clearance. Yes. Perhaps a sneak of the happenings- could be very useful. Would need more subjects- Rats. More rats." Etzel muttered to himself the entire time. When Pandora mentioned him indirectly, he looked up, broken from his ramblings. He decided to pay attention for once. His fingers quietly tapped the table. He didn't like it here. It was too small, few points to escape. Though his apprentice didn't know it, there are exactly thirty-three different points of exit throughout his small clinic in Beta. Suddenly the girl, Zade, finished speaking about the situation at the dead Marquis' manor. He had giggled when Zade gave the murderer's description. He realized most of the attention had turned to him.

"Oh yes. I was present in Ms. Elling's Clinic when a man, garbed in cloth from Beta or Alpha stumbled in. By her request, she kept him stable while I developed a suitable antipoison while taking a swab of his blood where the poison made it's point of entry near the navel area and mixed it with other reactants to check the acidic levels. I was lead to believe that it was some sort of corrosive poison due to the man's synapses firing erratically causing abnormal body movement while our healer kept his body fairly inert which was a surprise considering most neurotoxins are no produced anywhere but Alpha. This man took far longer to die in comparison to Goldwater, which I suspect had a much more concentrated amount of poison injected in him if it took him that long. This man had a scentless, diluted amount of toxin to test rather than outright kill. I don't know whether the perpetrator has confirmed that the target survived but I am sure that they are the same person regarding the similarities between the two poisons due to the inherent incapacitating nature and the mark-less corpse save for point of entry. I have gathered several possible candidates based on my limited knowledge- Jellyfish Poison found in the Laboratories, Tobacco Leaf Extract from the Laboratories, Cyanide and Cyanogen from the Chemical Plants, Gem Leaf Extract from the Laboratories, and... and... That's right, the Dart Poison Extract from the frogs in the Labs."

He didn't particularly care if everyone understood what he was talking about. He couldn't explain any further anyways, his mind worked too fast to slow it down for others that couldn't comprehend it, though he had a slight feeling most of the understood some of what he was talking about.

He contemplated standing up and leaving at this point, but unless Amon or the Princess dictated it he was stuck here, fiddling with his hands and table and looking around uncomfortably.

---

Growing up with chemicals meant that Taylor understood what the masked doctor was talking about. He was rather impressed that he was able to concoct a counter-poison so quickly after a patient had stumbled in half-dead from the toxin itself.

"I can assure all of you," He said after the doctor had finished, "That no Cyanogen has been manufactured- and all Cyanide has been tracked from the production line to the destination." He realized some might not know who he is. Bowing his head slightly, he smiled warmly. "I am Caelin Taylor- Head of Taylor Chemicals dealing with most ingredients volatile and inactive." He paused. "There has been no record of manufactured Cyanide going anywhere besides large Clinics and the Laboratories regarding research." He sat back. There was little he could contribute to the conversation, so he simply conceded with that point.

The princess had chosen to sit in contemplative silence for the most part, allowing Amon to ask the questions when he felt it necessary. She'd had a feeling it was a good idea to bring Zade here, and she had not been wrong in this. Thus far, it was becoming quite plain to her that the chemical for the poison had been manufactured somewhere in Marchfield, and without top-level clearance, but disguised as normal product shipments, which likely rules out mass quantities. A small effort, then, but all the more dangerous for it.

At the mention of a one-eyed man, though, Amon stiffened almost imperceptibly beside her. Now there was an interesting observation, and it told her that they were onto something indeed. And that was indeed the main problem now: the who of it. A rogue faction of scientists would not possess the finesse necessary to undertake a task of this magnitude, especially not if they were so incompetent as to let their test subject escape. If the doctor was right (and despite her misgivings about a man who spoke aloud to himself alone in the middle of a room full of people, he was Amon's, and for that reason alone she had to trust that he knew what he was talking about), that man he and the healer had treated was indeed an experiment, and the people in question were capable of taking someone from Beta at least without fear of repercussion.

Which either made them very stupid, or very well-connected. She was inclined to believe that this could be the work of that pseudo-rebellion that stirred within the lower districts, but for that one small detail. She knew Zade often stole for the same client, which meant that whomever he was, he was wealthy enough to hire scientists, but it was highly unlikely that such a man (or woman, as the case may be) would take the unnecessary risk of kidnapping a Beta denizen when there were plenty of people that would be less missed wandering around your front door. Reprehensible, yes, but also pragmatic.

"It seems," Amon ventured, "that there is a traitor in my Guild." Loki's eyes snapped to him, and the man stood. "I thank you all very much for your assistance; you are free to leave if you wish. It would seem that this is more an internal matter than I had hoped." He was still calm as ever, but his sometimes-protegee, sometimes-adversary knew him much better than that. She was opening her mouth to ask the healer to stay (she wished to see about securing the blonde woman's assistance for her mother) when the door flew open.

An acid-tongued rebuke was half a breath from Loki's lips, but when it was Carlisle who staggered through, clutching a profusely-bleeding side, it died unvoiced. "Traitors," he said, looking directly at Amon rather than herself, and she knew it must be bad indeed for him to break his cover so. He managed two more steps before collapsing onto the ground in a heap.

There was a beat of complete silence before the hall outside erupted in the sounds of a clash. It would seem that the few guards Amon had posted were attempting to fend off the attackers, and without another word, the Guildmaster was out the door, sword drawn. Loki looked to the rest of them. "Escape out the window if you wish, but if they know of this meeting, they surely know of you."

One of the rogue assassins had made it to the door, and the princess set her mouth in a hard line before unsheathing her own knives. They weren't just for show, after all. The assailant, a man perhaps in his mid-thirties, looked positively sick with glee for the chance to kill the princess herself, and she noted that she'd have to watch her back if she was indeed the primary target. A longsword swung in a broad arc towards her shoulder; Loki stepped out of the way and stomped hard on the man's kneecap, causing him to stagger forward. He turned it into a somersault before one of her blades could find his back,, and she caught the slight glint of light as several needles were thrown at her.

Swatting them out of her way with her left knife, she wasted little time in throwing the other one. It had just enough time for one end-over-end turn before embedding itself with a soft thunk in one of his shoulders. Shame; she'd been aiming for his throat, but he'd moved. Flicking her eyes around the room, she decided to take the fight outside, into the corridor. There were noncombatants here, after all, and she did not wish to injure them if she could avoid it.

The damn dress made moving a chore, but it wasn't as bad as it could have been. At least he followed her out. Of course, all thoughts of such small mercies fled immediately upon seeing the devastation in the hallways. No less than ten bodies already coated the carpets with blood, and she knew that she had personally taken the precaution of having this wing cleared of its normal patrol this evening. There would be no reinforcements, and she estimated the number of attackers at a solid thirty-five or so. Amon wasn't going to be a great deal of help; he was presently dueling what appeared to be the commander of this little regiment of fools, and with nothing less than a broken wrist already.

Shit.

Giacomo listened to the conversation and his attention spiked when he heard about the poison presumingly containing cyanide. Cyanide was a substance the scientists worked with almost on a daily basis, they often were so accustomed of being near the stuff that they handled it like any other substance, with care, but not out of fright of the concequences. The barrels of Taylor Chemicals were labelled and if one dissapeared it would be noticed within seconds, but there were other unmarked barrels, the result of a failed experiment to extract the cyanide from almond and abricot cores. This cyanide was roulated around Marchfield as nobody wanted the contaminated junk, it was useless for those who didn't have the weeks of free time to purify the cyanide, and of course no scientist had such time. The worst part was, nobody seemed to know which department had them in their storage as of present.

His thoughts were disturbed by the sudden introduction of a voilent fight in the palace. There was even one that was assualting the princess in this very room. Giacomo wasn't realy a fighter, but he wasn't going to sit around. He jumped up and grabbed the blowtorch from his pockets, if used properly it was more effective as many common weapons, but it did require one to get up close and personall. He ignited the blowtorch and a small nearly explosive sound from the sudden ignition of the gasses sounded through the room and possibly the hallways. With his other hand he grabbed for the largest wrench he had on him, which was about the size of a shortsword. You never knew when you'd need your tools, and exactly that was the reason he always was loaded with them, fortunatly for this moment he held true to that in any case.

As Loki dissapeared into the hallways he ran after her, accidentally igniting a rogue assasins pants as he came out of the door. The man already was on fire, but he still voilently swang his sword at Giacomo, who could barely avoid the attack. In this case his Monocular was a dissadvantage, although it didn't mangificate with the set of lenses that were in use, it still distorted the sight a little, a dissadvantage one couldn't use in a situation like this. With the wrench he pulled the monocular from his head, exposing the underlying crystalic skin. It startled the assasin for a moment, and Giacomo took the chance to slam his wrench into the mans gut. The man dropped the sword and before he could reach it with his hand Giacomo had placed the blowtorches flame on the hilt, heating the metal and igniting the leathery grip. Not many materials stood a chance against a flame specialy made to heat or even smelt metal. He looked around and asside from him, Loki and Amon it seemed like they were the only opposition of the assasins. Things seemed to be more than problematic.

As the debate went on, the doctor became more and more distressed. Such meetings were not for him, especially in such high-end and confined areas. His self-mutterings began to be more and more apparent- it was his sixth sense telling him to leave, and that something was happening. He didn't know anything about the attack that would happen moments later, but Etzel nearly went crazy trying to restrain himself from flipping the table and jumping out the window screaming.

When Carlisle came in the door with a grievous wound in his side, and a single word: "Traitors", he jumped up and started shouting.

"I KNEW IT. GODDESS BE DAMNED I KNEW SOMETHING WAS UP." Etzel screeched, withdrawing his syringe and leaping after Loki toward the door in a frenzy. "KNEWITKNEWITKNEWITKNEWITKNEWIT"

The assailants were many in numbers, but they had to split into small groups to target. The black-garbed man did no hesitate at the doctor's appearance, rather swung a curved blade in a overhand arc. Side-stepping, Etzel jammed the syringe into his side and injected the contents into him. The man flopped over, and moments later started convulsing and screaming like a madman. His fingers clawed at the carpet so violently it left deep rut-marks on the floor. Etzel jumped back, holstering his syringe and drawing his fighting daggers. It felt good to finally act upon his instinct, to finally let his body do as it wanted. He rushed the next assailant, knowing he wasn't going to be underestimated again. Especially after they saw the man who had been injected with god-knows-what (well, Etzel knew but it'd take too long to explain it). He parried the swing of a short sword, attempting to slash the man's sides, but the man dodged and attempted to cut upward into Etzel's arm. Etzel swung around, taking two furious swipes but missed. The man had ducked, and leapt toward Etzel's legs. The masked doctor settled his stance, pushing his center of gravity closer to the ground and rooting his legs in an angular position. The man hit Etzel like he would hit a wall, and Etzel stabbed the man in the neck and upper back several times before leaping back once more to face the rest of his assailants.

He would be lying if he said he were calm, because Etzel was not made for open combat- He was the healer, the one that dealt with unsuspecting targets. Usually his attacks had more finesse, but at this point he was merely trying to survive and after building up all that tension from sitting around while his body screamed at him to escape left him almost rabid-like in movement.

---

The nobleman of Taylor Chemicals listened intently as the conversation shifted around. He paid attention, because in this regard he was part of a case to find out who killed the Marquis. All the information he could get would be good, especially if he could figure out who killed the man (as unlikely as that was). However, when the wounded man stumbled through the door, holding his side Taylor knew something was wrong. Immediately, his hand dropped to a hold on his holstered epieu, and as the doctor vaulted over the table and broke toward the door he drew it. The princess rushed the door as well, possibly to escape. The window was not an option. Hardcore Parkour was not something the weakened nobleman would be able to do, and he would be separated from the group- as well as possibly setting himself up for an ambush. His travels in Delta weren't all fun and games, you know. They taught him to be wary, aware of his surroundings. He decided to help deal with the assailants in any way he could, but engaging in direct combat with them would be suicide- he could handle one at a time at best.

He drew the short spear, preparing himself as a single assailant broke past and rushed the fur-cloaked nobleman. With a deft flick, he caught the man by surprise and disarmed him before ramming the spear into his gut. Taylor drew back, beginning to feel winded from just that much effort. He was going to have to avoid contact- but how? He saw no other way out but toward the door.

As the discussion continued, Pan began to grow slightly unnerved by the mutterings of the doctor, seeing as how they were growing a trifle more frantic than usual. She was nothing if not a tolerant personality, and it didn't bother her so much that he was talking to himself as he seemed to be getting nervous. she didn't really have a grasp on much of the rest of what was being discussed, so she was forced to pay a large amount of attention to it.

Otherwise a little out-of-place, she idly scanned the room with her magic. Maybe something was throwing the doctor off that nobody else knew about. Everything seemed fairly ordinary, except... Pan's eyes widened, and she shot a surreptitious glance at the nobleman- Lord Taylor, had it been? That man was very sick, to say the least, but the strangest thing was that it reminded her in ways of the lung disease she treated in Delta. She cut off the extra perception at any rate, suddenly feeling as though she had stumbled upon something private and feeling rather ashamed of herself.

Still, she really wanted to ask him if he'd consider consulting her about it. It seemed... well, rather grave to say the least. Maybe he was one of those people that hated mages? That might explain it. Maybe it simply wasn't curable by magic, but she wasn't going to try and figure that out without permission. Of course, just as she was trying to figure out how to ask about it in the first place, a man stumbled through the door and collapsed on the floor. Pan's first instinct was to rush to his side, and she did just that, only just catching the Princess's words over the doctor's shrieks. Before she knew it, half the number were out the door, and she was trying to stabilize the man on the floor.

His worst wound appeared to be the gash in his side, and she coaxed his hands away from it, trying to get a better look. It was bleeding freely, but not so deep that it had punctured any vital organs. She reckoned another inch deep and he would have died before he made it this far. With some whispered words, Pan set to work on the wound, but it was impossible to tell if he'd already lost too much blood to survive. She had the distinct impression that this would not be the only injury she tended to today, so she simply stopped the bleeding and started the wound towards healing on its own.

When a black-cloaked man slipped through, Pan froze. She had absolutely no combat skills whatsoever, and the best she would be able to do was cast a shield on herself or the injured man, which still left Icarus and Lord Taylor at risk. She needn't have worried, though, for at that moment, the nobleman drew a small spearlike object and stabbed the intruder. Pan averted her eyes, unable to watch lifeblood spilling onto the floor without feeling as though she were going to vomit.

He can fight, but he's ill. It can't be good for him, she thought to herself, chewing her lip contemplatively. Making a decision she stood suddenly, clearing her throat awkwardly. She had no more clue how to speak to nobility than she would to enter a discussion on chemical properties. "Excuse me," she tried, looking anywhere but at the person she was speaking to, and then just decided to go ahead and do what she was planning on doing anyway. A basic energy transfer was something most mages could do, but directing it to reinforce vital systems was the work of a healer alone. It wasn't the same thing as a medical treatment; all it would do was enable Lord Taylor to fight without being overcome by his illness for a while.

"Please forgive me if I presume anything," she said, extending one arm outward, palm flat towards him. It flared blue-white for a second, and then dimmed, task completed. With that, she coughed and scuttled off awkwardly to attempt and drag the injured man (who was now stable enough to be moved) behind the table and away from the door. It proved to be impossible for someone as frail as she, and she glanced over at the ex-fleeter. "Um, Icarus, would you mind... helping me with him?" She knew he was a good deal stronger than her, at least where the upper body was concerned anyway.

---

As soon as the guard stumbled in, Zade knew this was all going to go south rather quickly, but she hadn't exactly expected half the table to spring into action as fast as they had. She followed a shade more slowly, knowing that she cold to a certain extent fight but not kill, and wondering how useful that was even going to be.

She didn't have much time to think about it, for the moment she cleared the doorway, a man swung at her with a saber, and Zade ducked in just enough time to keep her head. Quickly she flicked her rope-dart into a centripetal motion, flinging it out at the man, who dodged deftly to the side, trying to close and strike at her back. The girl skittered away, feeling an uncomfortable tug as the saber sheared off several strands of red hair from her ponytail. That was far too close a call, and she spun around, meeting aggression with aggression and flinging one of the dart ends with expert precision.

The assassin bent backwards, the razor edge barely grazing his nose, but she circled, tossing both ends in alternation, only for them to be parried by the solid saber each time. Her assailant, clearly impatient to kill her and move on, ended the pattern and dover, swinging at her legs, a mistake. Zade simply tossed herself into a backflip, foot catching him under the chin. The interruption in her motion caused her to land sideways, but he was staggering backwards, and she looked around the hallway for something to help her out.

The lantern on the wall was almost too much to ask for. It was one of those magic ones, but they still issued more than enough heat for her purposes. Zade dashed for the thing, holding the ends of her rope-dart to the heat and trying not to burn her fingers. Looking over her shoulder, she noted that the assassin had recovered and was stalking towards her, apparently not thinking enough to be confused by her strange actions. She turned back to the lantern, imploring whatever gods were out there to give her a break, just this bloody once.

As if on command, the wicking started smoldering, and a tiny flame sprang up in it. With a relieved sigh that cut off as soon as Zade realized she had no time for it, she swung round, the motion nurturing the flames at each end of her rope dart. The assassin blinked at this, rightfully wary of being burned. For her part, the girl grinned, playing her part as well as she knew how. "Dodge this," she taunted, spinning the left end a few times before letting it fly. Predictably, the man hastened to do just that, which meant he didn't she the other end snaking around his saber. With a quick wrench, he was disarmed, and she used his distraction to step into his guard. Knowing that assassins could kill with their bare hands, too, she wasted no time in finding the spot she was looking for between his shoulder and jawline, delivering just enough pressure to send him to the ground unconscious (a rather useful trick for dealing with people causing you problems on the wrong side of the district).

Of course, this was but one man, and a woman soon enough stepped up to replace him, this one already barehanded and looking a tad more cautious. Oh great... this was going to be a long fight.

Slowly, the number of assailants thinned, and those who remained realized they were encountering far more resistance than they had thought. Redoubling their efforts, the rogue assassins felled the last of the guards and focused their attentions on the targets that chose to fight back. Amon knew it looked grave; there were still just under twenty-five men left, and he personally was powerless to do anything about it. His broken wrist screamed at him, but not a trace of that pain showed on his face, the man deeming it better to continue holding it as though he could use it than sparing himself the pain and making his weakness apparent. Ambidextrous, he was, but he did not need to present any targets to his opponent.

The one-eyed man was someone Amon knew well- a master assassin by the name of Gerard Bordeaux. He had been one of the strongest, most vocal opponents of the Guildmaster's ascension to that title, though not because of Amon's relative youth at the time. Gerard had been even younger, and still more ambitious than his present adversary had ever been- and that had continued past the official appointment. His missing eye was a punishment for insubordination, after which Amon had thought his hatred had subsided to at least a grudging respect. A gross miscalculation, it would seem.

Gerard, armed with a hand-scythe, swung at Amon's legs, but the older man jumped, twisting himself to the side in midair to slash at the dark-haired traitor's shoulder. It grazed, but barely enough to draw blood before Bordeaux dove to the side. His recovery was slower than the Guildmaster's landing, however, and in the next second Amon was upon him, pressing his advantage. The hand-scythe barely blocked a downward sweep from the shortsword, but without both hands, Amon lacked the strength to wait to out-muscle him. Instead, he delivered a heavy kick to the side of the downed man, leaping away nimbly as his opponent rolled away from the blow, throwing a poison-tipped needle over his shoulder in the process.

The projectile embedded itself in the wall some distance away, but Gerard was on his feet once again, and the two men circled each other, looking for all the world like two predatory cats locked in some invisible stalemate, each looking for the involuntary twitch, the unnatural intake of breath, that would betray the other's next intention. It was as much a battle of wits as of arms and armaments. Were they younger, more foolish men, they may have been trading insults or banter as they went, or even trying to gain information, but both were eerily silent, not even the footfalls of boots on carpet making enough noise to be audible over the clashes some distance away.

It was a waiting game, a matter of patience, and in this, both had been trained, but only one had achieved mastery. It was in this that Amon alone could be considered the victor, and it was in this that the outcome was readable to those who knew the language. Gerard tensed, coiled, and sprang, but the Guildmaster was ready. The slash was wicked, but a minute movement set it whistling centimeters from the target's ear, and in the scant seconds before it would lash back to embed itself in his shoulder, Amon stepped forward into Bordeaux's guard, sinking his blade to the hilt in the other man's chest. Stepping to the side to avoid the reflexive return of the scythe, he pulled the blade from the other man's flesh, watching with the same cold indifference he gave everything else as his colleague crumpled to the ground.

---

Her first opponent fell, and Loki felt something behind her. Instinctively whipping around to guard, she watched as Eos's fist connected with the would-be assassin's jaw, sending him sprawling to the ground. How... efficient. Loki was rather fond of efficiency, and so when he spoke, she answered. "Probably about the same time we discovered that hired swords can develop their own ideas," she replied in a deadpan. It was a joke- sort of. The truth of the matter was, she had in fact learned to fight because she didn't really trust anyone else to do it for her. It also helped to be armed when journeying into Delta, just for precautionary purposes. She had a tendency to poke around in business that some people thought wasn't hers, and not everyone was appreciative of that fact.

Two new assailants stepped up, and Eos flattened one of them, but was forced to duck the second. Loki shrugged mentally and used the space created by his absence to hurl another knife. This one hit exactly where she intended it to- the man's left eye. He fell without another sound, and she turned back in time to parry the assault from yet another black-robed figure intent on playing regicide a few years too soon.

The two of them were soon surrounded by a group of at least seven opponents, both armed and unarmed, and she sighed, adjusting her position so she was back-to-back with the ex-Hand and thus probably a little less likely to die. "Hmm... seven. I'll wager you upkeep on that girl's clinic for a year I get four before you do," she challenged, still in the same flat voice as ever. Whether she would succeed was largely irrelevant; the sum was a pittance, but she liked to keep things interesting, and she was also admittedly a bit curious if it would mean anything to him. She would not have picked a mage-healer to associate with Eos... or maybe that was the other way around.

Whatever his answer, she was soon occupied, beset by two men at once. A quick glance from the corner of her eye told her that another was joining the woman currently engaging Zade, whose weapons were now quite literally on fire. Loki had known she could do that, but hadn't been certain it was practical. From the look on her opponent's face though, it was at least psychologically daunting. Still, the girl was not trained to kill, and two assassins at once would be difficult. Another two slipped past the group and towards the door, and Loki cursed under her breath. She'd have to hope Taylor could hold them off; as far as she knew, he could use that epieu of his, so it should be fine.

The talkative doctor was confronted by three, but he was somewhat near the scientist Vernazza who was only dealing with one at the moment. Of course, that still left a fair number that hadn't picked targets yet, so that could change at any time. Loki bent sideways to avoid an incoming knife, but hissed when it scored her a shallow wound across the cheekbone, warm blood already dripping down her impassive face. With a steely glare, she thrust forward at the offending attacker with the pommel of her knife, breaking his nose, her second weapon blocking the crude axe swing aimed at her side, though not without effort, and her arm trembled with the continued strain of holding it there. That one clearly thought he was going to overwhelm her with brute force. Broken-nose staggered backward, which gave her enough time to kick at axe-man's groin. He jumped back, but the new angle of his hold was bad enough that she could shove it away. Her last throwing knife found purchase in his esophagus, and she turned back to the man with the bleeding face. Karmic, if she did say so herself.

She would have probably chosen this moment to sweep his legs out from under him, but present circumstances (in the wardrobe sense) prevented this from being a decent idea, and so she swept her combat knife low instead. Instead of jumping back like a smart person would have done, he simply stood there and took it, which placed her in a rather poor position if he managed to get his own dagger around in time to stab her in the back. So instead of trying to yank her knife out of his leg, she let go and grabbed his wrist, grappling with him for a few moments, as he had returned the favor and eliminated the possibility of her simply stabbing him with her second blade. He was larger than she was, but Loki was more... well frankly, she was a little more unpredictable, and so when he tried to twist her around so her back was to his chest and he might be able to work the knife into her gut, she jerked her head backwards, slamming the back of her skull into his already wounded face.

He let go then, and she ripped his own knife from his grip and slid it into his chest cavity, picking her own up from the floor where it had fallen in just enough time to surprise the woman who'd thought to take advantage of her imprisonment and make an easy kill. It was never any bloody fun when they ran straight into your knife, now was it?

Finally the assasin before him had burned to the point where he was either in a coma or death, whether of two it was he wasn't sure and he had no time to determine it. He looked around and saw that they still were overwhelmed by the assasins and that those who were protecting them were dead. He had to move quicker and more effective. He sprinted to the next closest opponent and as he tried to stab him with a daggers held in his hand he lodged the mans wrist into the wrench snapping it as he bend the arm out of the way. His torch went in for the kill pointing the hotspot of the flame straight at the heart. Quickly the flame burned a hole into the flesh of the man and he was deperately struggling to get his body out of the flames path, not that it would matter much as the mans clothes had ignited as well and he would soon die from burning in any case.

From the corner of his eyes he saw another assasin coming at him swinging a sword at him, he could not hold this position and evade the attack, instead he bend the still wrenched arm in the path, hoping it would stop the blow. And it did after a grusome sound indicating more bones had broken or even shattered in the mans arm the blade got stuck, presumably inside the bones of the arm. As the second assasin tried to pull the blade out he positioned himself rather unfortunate and with a quick move with the wrench the pommel of the sword was driven into the mans stomache sending him to the ground hurling blood and his stomache content. A rather unpleasant sight, but so was the sight of the open and burning heart in front of him. The mans eyes had completly gone white and blood was rushing from hs mouth, presumingly because the lungs had been perforated too. He wouldn't do anything anymore, unless he wasn't dead yet then he would still do one thing, die.

His attention turned to the assasin that attacked him as he was burning the heart of another out. The man was still on the ground groping his stomache and unarmed, Giacomo seemingly had hit him harder than expected. He lifted the wrenchand brought it down quickly smashing the head of the assasin wide open, breaking the outer skull bone on the site of impact. Another blow would smash straight throught the underlying bone and into the bone. And so he dealt another blow with the wrench. Another dead, but there were more, too many more.

Another of their group was fighting three assasins at once. Giacomo quickly helped him a hand by smashing the wrench into the back of one head quickly followed by the blowtorches flame that was send down his spine. The mans unawareness of his surroundings had sealed his fate, but he couldn't give the man more attention as another weapon was aimed at him, a hammer this time. Giacomo could see a fatal mistake, the assasin was too far in his swing to stop or change it's direction now. Giacomo avoided the attack barely and as the attack swung through he hit the man on the fingers with his wrench. The sound of snapping finger bones confirmed his thought, the man was holding on to tight.

Pan had accepted the broken piece of chair from Eos, but had little to no intention of using it. She wasn’t exactly trained for it, after all, and in truth she doubted she had the resolve to do anyone harm. Someone had once told her that in order to do more damage to you opponent than yourself, you had to mean it. Every strike and bow had to be carried out with the full knowledge and intent to cause someone harm, and she had spent too long trying to repair the damage caused by people who could muster such resolve to have any of it herself.

That was not to say that she was completely without willpower though. When she heard the shout that carried into the relatively quiet room, she shook her head fiercely, though the speaker was not there to see. She would not, could not, abandon a patient, under any circumstances. This would be no different, no matter what Eos said. Granted, she was beyond grateful to everyone else for risking their lives out there, but that was precisely the reason for her stubbornness. Despite her naiveté, Pandora was not stupid, and she knew that they would suffer serious damage out there. She intended to be here to fix it.

Laying her first two fingers along her patient’s throat, she nodded to herself, satisfied that his pulse was steady and he was simply unconscious, which was probably best for his recovery right now. A noise from outside drew her attention, though, and she sucked in a hasty breath as two assassins appeared in the doorway. Quickly, she tapped into the lesser-used side of her talents, and erected a shield over the door, but not before one of them made it inside. She could feel the other one beating on the translucent wall of her energy, and grimaced. Holding one of those took a fair amount of focus, even if the energy output wasn’t too bad. If that assassin came for her, she’d lose it for sure.

---

Zade was panting heavily by now; her weapon of choice left little opportunity for blocking, and so she was glad she could dodge. Well, mostly anyway. She had an ugly wound along the outside of one thigh, and it burned when she tried to move, but there was little choice to be had in the matter. Her opponent was covered in minor burns, but seemed only to get more aggressive for it.

“I knew I shouldn’t have come here,” she mumbled bitterly, ducking to the side to avoid yet another blow. A deft flick of the wrist sent the flaming blade-end of the rope-dart to catch the woman at the end of her extension, and centripetal force did the rest, the rope wrapping several times about her torso, pinning her left arm in place. Not much time then; the right arm was the one with the weapon, after all.

Zade kneed her opponent in the stomach, for all her desperation not willing to kill the assassin who would do the same to her. She knew it was stupid to think so. If the situations were reversed, the assassin would have aimed higher and strangled the life right out of her, but she just couldn’t do that. It was the only thing that separated her from the likes of the nobility and their lapdog hired muscle. Zade lied, cheated, and stole, but she didn’t murder.

The woman doubled over, and a slippered foot kicked the pommel of the blade in her hand, sending it flying. With troupe-trained reflex, Zade caught it, gripped the blade between her teeth, grasped at the pouch of sand on her belt, and used the contents to put out the flames. The rest was a matter of tying an intricate knot, including the right arm this time.

No sooner than this was done, another appeared- this one a man armed with a longsword. Zade had naught but a long knife, spare wicking, sand, and her wits. The first hit caught her on the shoulder; she gritted her teeth and snarled, thinking fast and hurling yet more sand for his eyes, exhausting that particular resource. Wasting no time, she stepped into his guard while he was still unable to see, but her options were limited. Burying the knife in his shoulder, Zade shifted and threw the man over her hip, jumping atom his back and pinning his arms with her knees. She was slight, but leveraged what weight she did have to keep him there, feet lashing ineffectually a safe distance from her back. Bending forward, she took a deep breath and wrapped an arm solidly around his neck, trying to cut off his airflow long enough that he would pass out.

It was a long process, fraught with error on her part, and a few times she had to shift to try a new grip and gave him a few breaths by accident. Her fresh wounds, oozing blood, caused black spots to cloud the edges of her vision like so many dancing specks of dust. If anyone else attacked her right now, she’d be pretty done for, but luckily she was a bit removed from the main flow of action.

At long last, she felt the assassin go limp, and released, hoping he really was just passed out and not faking it. She didn’t think she could handle much more of this.

A smile found it's way to the man's lips and he couldn't help but grin at Loki's audacity. As the girl got into position at his back Eos couldn't help but feel...relieved. Complete again. Those assassins at his side of the field were not nearly as cautious of their quarry as Loki's opponents were, and all drew knives and dirks, any weapon to stab with. All at once the five attackers came in aiming to make a pincushion out of the Hand. Eos had no time to assess the situation and instinct took over. He leaned back slightly, shifting a small portion of his weight onto Loki and planted his left leg on the ground, bringing the other around in a swift arc.

The five assassins drew back, but not before three were disarmed and one clutching a damaged wrist. It was too late anyway: They were in his range of attack now. In this lapse in defense Eos shifted back into a standing position and met the nearest foe's face with a friendly balled fist that flattened her nose into a bloody mess. Another step and Eos had his hand shooting out in a jab to the sternum. The unfortunate target of the punch stumbled backwards several steps and yelped, doubling over in pain. Eos was crouched now and kicking at the kneecap of his third foe. The man cried out and went down with a wet crack clutching his awkwardly bent leg. The final two assilants on his side of the circle hopped out of Eos's effective range.

Still, his message had been sent. They were drawing more brutal weaponry and circling with wary glares. A rough shove forward sent the two dancing back again, mistaking his stumble for a lunge. Eos glanced back and wheeled around to see the bear of a man trying to crush Loki, at least from his point of view. A two-finger thrust to the base of the skull and one bloody gap in the man's flesh later, Loki's attacker was on the ground. Catching a glimpse of the edged wounds in the fellow's chest though, Eos was unsure of who dealt the killing blow. A sudden exhalation caught the fighter's attention and Eos wheeled back around ducking slightly and landed a punch squarely in the black-clad man's neck.

Eos heard a hollow crunch as the windpipe collapsed under the force of the blow. The man's momentum sent him tumbling to the ground in a nerve-shocked heap. Stepping back again to feel Loki's leg against his, just to make sure she was still there, Eos finally responded without turning. "That makes four and a half now. About that bet though...i'd much rather have a chat over some of that cold stuff you nobles are always eating nowadays...what was it? Iced cream?" while enjoying that, he could poke the young princess's brain and glean some information about the current Guild works. Although Amon didn't show it, the girl made it obvious she thought she had some sway over him. This brought on another smile as Eos patted away a sweep of another foe's mace.

Three? No problem. That was the initial thought of the doctor, but he was reminded mere moments later that they were assassins, trained ones. He was exchanging glancing blows with all three of them, managing only to slice a few centimeters of epidermis. Suddenly, one moaned as a wrench gave off a resounding "crunch". He started screaming as flames shot up his body. Looking over briefly, he saw Giacomo- the scientist and gave a curt nod before turning his attention back to the other two. Now that one was gone, he could handle the rest easily enough. He ducked one's slash, kneeing him in the face before turning and parrying the sword stroke with his daggers. The small blades shot to the man's face, slicing his nose and left eye before the Doctor was forced back. Half-blind and bleeding, the man charged just as Etzel side-stepped, kicking his leg out and moving his hand to trip the man over his leg. He then collapsed with him, sending both daggers into his back. The second assassin had just regained composure.

Etzel braced himself, bringing both daggers up to perform a hard block on the assassin. Collapsing the daggers, he let the sword slice into the assassin under him and he grabbed the man's arms. Throwing him over, the Assassin landed hard on his back, just as Etzel somersaulted over and gave the man a deadly elbow to the solar plexus. Rising into a crouch, he stabbed the assassin's face several times before getting up.

The masked doctor caught sight of the scientist struggling with another assassin, and seeking to repay the favor he made his way over and gave a devastating heel kick into the man's side, then proceeding to tackling him to the floor and begin stabbing the man in the upper torso wildly. Blood dripped off his waxed robes, leaving the doctor nearly spotless even after all the wounds he had inflicted. He looked down on the assailant just as he rose into a standing positions. He hit the heart three times and slashed the lungs five times.

---

Caelin suddenly felt the flow of power as Pandora transferred the energy upon him. He felt stronger, relaxed, and more powerful than he used to feel, but his gaeity crashed as he heard the female medic cough. This was one of the reasons why he refused to let a mage heal him. He was hurting them, and being the kind man Taylor was, the cough made a resounding echo in his head. Even in this state, the girl decided to take care of the wounded man (Carlisle). He decided to give some protection, seeing as he was one of the few that didn't bolt out the door immediately. He would make up for this grant in power. He watched as two other assassins slip into the doorway. He noted that some sort of forcefield had been erected, leaving only one to attack the girl.

"I'm your opponent!" Caelin cried, intercepting the assassin and butting him with the end of the epieu. The assassin immediately turned on him, slashing with the wicked kilij he carried. Caelin deflected the blow, forcing the assassin away from Pandora and her patient. He exchanged a few blows with the assassin, feeling the energy drain at an alarming rate. He had to end this quickly. Slashing out, the assassin leapt back and Caelin rushed him. As the assassin landed, Caelin trapped the killij with his arms, feeling the blade sink into his left arm. He took the epieu, and sliced the man's neck- sending him sprawling while clutching his neck. The lord cursed in a low voice, moving toward the doorway and watched the assassin back away. Suddenly, a dark robed man- the Doctor tackled the man, and begin stomping on his pelvic area gleefully. A mixture of relief and concern was visible on the noble's face as he backed away to cover Pandora and Icarus from the assailants. "Don't waste your energy on the shield if unless necessary." He advised. "I can fight- it's my duty to protect all of you."

One by one, the assassins fell under the onslaught from those who had been at the meeting. The man, having lost their leader and expected much less resistance, grew somewhat panicked, less organized. They had known that Gregory was going to be a major problem, but they had not expected either of the nobles to be able to put up much of a fight, and the other visitors were supposed to include a doctor, a mage-healer (thankfully not a combatant) and a scientist. That left three of them completely unexpected, and it was rapidly becoming clear that the scientist was much less meek than his contemporaries, to say nothing of the bloody masked fiend and the half-mad pugilist.

As had been agreed, exactly two men slipped out a nearby window, leaving the others to handle the situation as best they could. It was time for contingency plans. They did not have a success to carry back to Duke Gilgamesh, but they did have a wealth of new information. The Princess and Lord Taylor were cooperating for some reason, and both of them fought like nobility had no right to. Gregory was committed enough to join the fight, and they had resources that could simply not be accounted for.

Of the remaining men, five surrounded the main target, the Princess, and the fist-fighter with her. This time, they did not waste time worrying about crowding each other, and every single one of them drew something bladed and attacked simultaneously. Two more went for the scientist, eyes fixed on his blowtorch. Surely that thing would run out of fuel soon? Either way, they were going to be extra-careful about avoiding it. Another three chased down the manic doctor, overwhelming whatever traces of barrier remained and bursting into the meeting room, bristling with weapons. One each went for the masked man and the Lord, the third headed straight for Pandora and Icarus.

The cowards of the lot, four in total, tried to back the red-haired girl into a corner. It was obvious that she was the most injured of the group, and each of them was determined to walk out of here or die having killed someone. They noted with glee that one of their comrades was tied and the other not dead but unconscious, and surmised that the pretty little mouse was not quite so ruthless as they.

---

Amon turned, ignoring the body sliding from his blade to the ground and surveyed the situation. Every remaining assassin was occupied somehow, and none of them with him. It figured, of course, but he had a feeling that these were the better half of the squad. Or at least, judging from the fact that they died somewhat less quickly, they were smarter. One of the two; he hadn't really been going at this with a mind to evaluate performance, exactly.

Sharp eyes swept over the scenes of engagement, and he determined that the thief was most in need of assistance. The Guildmaster ran, passing Vernazza Eos, and Loki before springing off the top stair of the set that descended into the small well that set Scheherazade and her assailants away from the rest. He landed with precision on the back of one of her attackers, sliding a boot-knife effortlessly into the woman's jugular vein, leaping off with equal grace and maneuvering himself to stand at the lass's back. He held his shortsword out with his left hand, offering it to her. "Your resolve to maim is admirable, but sadly misplaced," he informed her gently over his shoulder. "If you are determined to adhere to it, however, I shall do the killing, but you must still fight."

---

Loki raised a brow in something akin to genuine surprise, which was swiftly followed by amusement. "Hmm... I think I could manage that. I'll bring it to you, though; you really don't want to try and enjoy something surrounded by people looking down their noses at you, yes?" Four and a half... a tie might as well be a loss, so why not? She had a feeling she was going to be pressed for information, and the fact that Eos was trying to outwit her was just funny enough that she'd allow it, if only to see how he planned on doing such a thing.

As the next (and hopefully final) lot of assassins charged them, she could not help but think of how much fighting with him reminded her of doing the same with Amon. It was a comparison she doubted Eos would appreciate very much, but it was perhaps all the more true for it. That made sense, she supposed; the Guildmaster had taught him to fight just as he had taught her, albeit in different settings, and for different reasons. He had always insisted though, that she know how to effectively cooperate with someone else, and in that moment, she could have laughed for his brilliance in this. Because if Eos knew the same things she did, then he would catch on to what she was about to do.

As the assortment of armed people charged, she tapped his leg with her foot, just once. If he remembered his signals, the two of them would switch places in the blink of an eye, when their opponents had already committed to attacking someone armed and positioned very differently from what they would then find themselves facing. She'd always enjoyed that ploy- the Princess was far from above the use of clever deception in a fight, the more last-minute, the better.

Ducking to avoid the slash of an axe, she blocked with her knife the sword-thrust that came from where she would have been if she'd been forced to dodge instead, say if she were barehanded, perhaps. The swordswoman's obvious surprise caused Loki's lips to twitch, and she shoved backwards, leaving the woman a large gash on her arm. The third of the five was carrying a claymore of all things; hardly a weapon for an assassin, but he probably had cover in the guard or something, who knew? That was going to be a- "duck," she informed Eos matter-of-factly, and did the same thing herself, bracing herself on the floor with her hands and kicking at the burly man's ankles. This caused him to stagger, and she rolled away from the wild, uncontrolled swing that followed. She was only just aware of the return of the axe behind her, and suffered a glancing blow to her ribcage for the trouble.

A rather sarcastic comment about the relative strength of corsets to armor came to mind, but she didn't bother with it, instead gutting the woman with the axe for her trouble. This gave the man with the Claymore time to recover, though, and she was suddenly glad that the injured swordswoman seemed to think focusing in Eos was a better idea. It wasn't, not by a long shot, but that was her mistake, and Loki wasn't going to correct her. Instead, she crossed her knives to block yet another incoming swing, sliding backwards under the force but maintaining her balance with careful shifts in footing. Disengaging, she moved backwards to what she determined to be "neutral" position (or more precisely, where she'd been when this exchange began), but she did not stay there.

Shifting from a more defensive stance necessary for taking on multiple opponents and living through it, she became the aggressor, moving into the claymore's range, trying to provoke the man into striking recklessly. "Come now, assassin, surely it should be a simple thing to kill a mere princess, should it not?"

For someone used to provoking ever-cautious nobles, a combative assassin was no difficult thing, and she almost rolled her eyes when he fell for it, leveling a glare at her and sweeping horizontally. Loki, knowing full well that she'd ducked already and he would be expecting that, instead jumped, utilizing the equality this gave their relative heights (she was not short, but he was tall) and actually tossed one of her melee knives, satisfied when it buried itself in his chest, just below his clavicle. He dropped his weapon, and that finished him. She rushed him and drew the other knife across his throat, using a foot to push him off the first one.

Lord Taylor told her not to sustain the shield, and truthfully she wasn't too fond of the idea herself, but still the basic concern that formed the foundation of Pandora's personality (along with the ridiculous hopefulness that kept her smiling) meant that she tried to protest. "But you're-" she cut herself off. Did she not dislike it when people tried to stop her from doing what she believed was her duty? She doubted very much that this man would appreciate being coddled because of his condition, and so she wasn't going to do that.

The Doctor was here now anyway, so that was something of a relief to her. Where exactly he had learned to fight like that was not something she wasted much time considering; she simply accepted that it was possible and let the last of the selective barrier dissipate- in time to admit three more assassins. One of them took one look at this and Icarus and charged, and Pan's first thought was, absurdly enough, that this was not the part of her city that she wanted the boy to remember the most.

The second thought, much more practical and swiftly on the heels of the first, was that she had to do something. She had an unconscious man and an innocent to protect, after all, and the other two in the room who could do anything about it were a bit preoccupied at the moment. The blond woman gripped her broken chair leg in one hand, knuckles turning bone-white. What was it Eos had said? Go for the groin, they expect to be hit in the head. Well, Pan was sure that was all well and good in most situations, but since the charging figure with the morning star was in fact a woman, it seemed a little misplaced here.

The woman swung while Pan spent far too long thinking, and the healer's eyes grew wide as saucers before she remembered herself and emitted a shrill noise of some variety that she was absolutely certain she had never heard before and ducked. Oh gods, ohs gods, what am I going to do? I'm not built for this, I can't fight, all I can do is- magic. She really could have smacked herself in the face right then, only it would have wasted more time and probably hurt besides, so instead she tried to think of what she could do. Combat spells were completely out- even if she had been capable of them, the idea of hurting someone else was one she found repugnant. Alteration and physical-world spells were bad too, mostly because she was horrible at them, so there was no possibility of something as advanced as a full-body bind, for instance.

Healing wasn't exactly the opposite of what she wanted to do, but it was close. Which left Metaphysics. But that was things like barriers, wards, seeing or inducing sleep states and particular kinds of dr- oh. Well, yes, that would probably do. Pan expanded her awareness to encompass the area, but she invaded nothing but the woman's mind, whispering soft, soothing tones into the center of her consciousness. Sleep, she urged gently, and it was so. The woman stopped mid-strike and simply fell unceremoniously to the floor.

---

Zade was bleeding freely from at least two or three different wounds, and her vision was getting blurry. Unfortunately, the assassins seemed to have little consideration for the fact that she was not at present terribly dangerous. She was in fact largely weaponless and also more tired than she could recall having been in a long time. It had been an annoyingly long day, even with the afternoon nap she’d taken. Her arm was still in stitches, for gods’ sakes!

She was backing up, looking around desperately for some way to resolve this situation, when she noticed the man- Amon- behind her opponents and swallowed. Part of her, as silly as it might be, believed that he was coming to help them. Of course, this part was swiftly quashed as the woman fell beneath his elegantly-efficient onslaught. Before Zade quite knew what was going on, he was holding his shortsword out to her, telling her that, no, she need not kill, but he wasn’t going to do everything for her. Or at least that was what she got from it at any rate.

She couldn’t well turn him down, not when she was smart enough to know that the Guildmaster was the one thing standing between her and a rather gruesome death. So it was with much reservation that she accepted the length of steel. She’d never used a shortsword specifically, but the mechanics were surely similar enough to the wider, single-edged scimitar-type blades she sometimes set on fire and juggled, weren’t they?

Either way, she was about to find out. A man with a wodao rushed her first, and she ducked out of the way, attempting unsuccessfully to get in past his guard and thrust; he simply stepped back, and the space between them was his range again. She half-expected the blade in her hands to flare with some kind of weird magic or something, but it was as far as she could tell a perfectly ordinary blade, but well-balanced. It was actually a good size and weight for someone like her, and she remembered that she was actually a couple inches taller than Amon, though it was so easy to forget given his presence.

She swung and parried, trying to get accustomed to the sword itself, and she knew that Amon moved to account for her mistakes. If she forgot about an opponent, he was there to block. If she ducked backwards, he was not in the way. She wondered at the fact that someone could control an area like that, and yet he had not killed all of them yet. Was it possible that killing his own people bothered him somehow? Or was he trying to do something else? Zade came to the realization that he might well be attempting to teach her something, for he only moved in to deal killing blows when her hesitation to do the same became obvious, and he only allowed in one opponent at a time. When all was said and done, she handed the blade back to him mutely, not exactly sure how to react to this knowledge. Something about the look on his face informed her that he knew she was aware, and he offered a courteous dip of his head as a form of acknowledgement.

She wasn’t really sure how to feel about that, either.

Three more. The noble knew this was going to get dangerous- though with the unexpected arrival of the doctor, he felt a little more at ease- though his fighting style was a cause for concern. It was rather gleeful in taking the blood of his enemies.

At this point it didn't matter as they were fighting for their lives. He could only take on one at a time, so Taylor tried to make it quick. However, the assassins seemed to be getting smarter. This one had a pair of short swords. The combination of blocking and striking left Taylor dancing back and forth trying to avoid the deadly edges. If he blocked on, another would slice him. He needed to trap both. He slashed, which was promptly parried and countered. Taylor felt the rush of the sword shoot just past his neck as he trapped the blade with his bleeding left arm. The man tried to pull back, but Taylor darted in, jamming the short spear into the man's left shoulder. He dropped one of his swords, but was far from dead. His dominant arm, still held a sword, and the assassin had obviously been trained to withstand the pain. Swinging his left arm in a haymaker, Taylor had to duck and try and come under with a slash to the leg. However, the assassin pivoted, bringing the blade down and nearly lopping off Taylor's left hand. Taylor then rolled into the man, forcing him back and vaulted upright, twisting the epieu into a reverse grip and sinking it into the man's upper torso. He was fairly certain he had missed the heart, but the length of the spear tip had sunken completely into the man and caused a mortal wound.

However, the Assassin still had some spunk, and with a deft slash of the blade, cut into Taylor's left side. Stumbling back, Taylor watched the assassin try to limp after him, but blacking out from blood loss. Taylor struggled to his feet, determined to live up to his name as a nobleman. His left arm had been bleeding for quite awhile, though and with another wound on the nobleman, he couldn't fight both, the assassins, and the disease which ravaged his body at the same time. His vision blurred, and he was only standing for a few seconds before he dropped his short spear and collapsed to the floor.

---

"Miss Pandora Elling." The doctor greeted tersely. He had just finished stomping on a man's pelvis until it was little more than a crumbly mush when three more assassins burst into the room. The nobleman to his right was visibly weakening, but he had his own matters to attend to right now. The Assassin facing him wielded a mace. Not the best way to subtly kill somebody, but it was very effective in making sure somebody WAS dead. Even a blow to the leg would have resulted in a cracked femur- an death sentence to those who received it. Well then, it was time to get out of the way.

The assassin gave a vicious overhand swing, a resounding thud reaching the Doctor as it made contact on the ground. Etzel had quickly sidestepped, kneeing the man in the right side and then grabbing his head and swinging him over to his left. He would have then stabbed him, but the Assassin recovered and broke his grip. He then did a backhand swing, nearly crushing Etzel's skull if he hadn't instinctively ducked. Etzel then slashed the man's left leg, sending him stumbling to the side. The doctor took the opportunity to give the man a devastating heel kick to the neck. Falling back, the assassin began to wheeze for breath, cutting off Etzel's attempt to follow up with another swing of the blunt weapon. The assassin then tackled Etzel, sending him to the floor. He raised his mace, preparing to crush the masked doctor, but Etzel rolled the man over as he raised the mace- using the upward force the man utilized to gain the high ground and began viciously stabbing the assassin in the chest. Two death blows and three flesh wounds that grouped together to be another fatal strike.

Getting up, he looked over to see the nobleman had collapsed. "This is where your magic has it's advantage, Miss Elling." He said. "I'll take care of the sleeping one, and you try and take care of the nobleman. I'll cover you." He withdrew his syringe once more, pulling out a vial and punching the needle through the thin foil that separated the liquid from open air. Withdrawing it's contents, Etzel threw the empty glass vial away and injected it into the woman's neck. No doubt she was going to die- it was a lethal dose of depressant. Within minutes, her systems will all shut down and she'll die in her sleep. He then put his syringe away, and readied himself in front of the group.

Death filled the area around them as the assasins one by one fell to the ground, but Giacomo now faced two that seemed to be wary of his torch and were hesitant chosing their weapon of choice. Afterall, the wrench and blowtorch covered both ends, the wrench was a heavy and slow weapon with lots of potential power, to which one would draw a light and quick weapon like a dagger, however the blowtorch was a quick weapon that only needs to touch to generate a waterfall of misery to the victim. In the end they drew daggers and kept their distance with Giacomo, a wise decision knowing the fuel would run out eventualy. It gave Giacomo the option to wait untill the others would be done with their opponents and help him out. Unfortunatly that didn't seem to be a viable option, as the fuel would probably run out before that. And almost as soon as that thought was processed by Giacomo's mind the flame began to die down, it's size deminishing with every passing second untill the flame is to weak to hold itself and ceases to exist with a hiss.

A slight smile can be read from the assasins faces as they draw closer into the safe zone made by Giacomo's torch... Like a mouse drawn to the cheese on the trap. A slight grin makes appearant that the assasins had made a mistake. But before they could react the blowtorch was brought to their faces and a sudden burst of gass sprouted out of the nozzle, the cold gass slow to ignite due to absence of enough oxygen gives the men a cold embrace in their lungs. At least untill the still gass spewing nozzle managed to mix the gass with oxygen and by the nozzles residue heat ignites the gass, turning the air in front of the torch into an infernal fireball. Followed by the screams of the men who were literraly screaming out their lungs, both from pain and in a desperate attempt to survive by forcing the flames out of the body. It however was in vein for one of both, but the other by miracle and by being further from the gass cloud. The still standing man however had coughed up blood and no longer seemed to be as fit as he was, which was not strange. And even Giacomo who was acustomed to the heat of the torch due to the near daily exposure to it had to drop the blowtorch due to the extreme heat from the fireball.

Both of them weren't in their best shape, but neither would show any sign of weakness untill the other was downed. A soft hiss between them confirmed giacomo's thoughts, even with the short moment of sparing the gass it was not enough. His blowtorch was now completly drained of fuel and useless. As Giacomo passed a glance at the blowtorch the assasin went for the chance and tried to stab giacomo in the heart with a head on attack. His attack however proved that he was at his last legs, as Giacomo was able to dodge the attack with relative ease. Still clutching the wrench in one hand he went into his pockets with the other, drawing a rather small claw-hammer out of it. Not heavy enough to make it's flat end usefull, but the clawed back end was known to be a potential headsplitter, at least so he heard from the usual stories that roulated around through Marchfield. Though they were quite often overboard with the concequenses, they did help keep poeple on edge about the dangers of the tools, at least for a while. But now it was the deadly side that Giacomo wanted to use. The assasin still recovering from the failed attack was now easy to hit for Giacomo. Without even needing to resort to using the hammer he swung the wrench at the assasins head, missing it due to a sudden move of the man, but it only changed the place of impact as now the neck and spinal cord were in the path. A loud cracking noise followed by a bloody sight of the internally incaptation and partial external decapitation confirmed the fate of the man, nobody could survive that. Nobody would even want to survive such a horror.

It was with a sinking feeling in her gut that Loki identified the characteristic twang of crossbow bolts being fired. In her current position, she surely would not be able to dodge. Still, she swung around, trying to pinpoint the source of the sound. She most certainly did, but instead of the death swift on the heels of such information, she was genuinely surprised to see Eos stabbing the offending marksman with his own bolt, another one lodged in the Hand himself. He collapsed on the ground with some garbled sound thereafter, and the Princess's impassivity chose that moment to crack.

"You idiot!" she hissed, kneeling beside him and smacking his face with a palm to try and keep him conscious. It wasn't good if he passed out, was it? The effort was in vain, though, and there was a moment of sheer, irrational panic as she realized she had absolutely no idea what to do in this situation. For him to have passed out this quickly, the bolt had to have been poisoned, which meant he needed medical treatment as soon as possible. But she had no idea how to treat poison, and the palace physician- the woman could have smacked herself.

"You're going to think I owe you for this, aren't you?" She grumbled, glaring at Eos even though it was painfully obvious that he could not hear her. "Well, consider the key to your cage and the indignity I'm about to suffer even, hm?" With great effort (she was not uninjured herself, and he was an awful lot of dead weight) she managed to maneuver one of his arms over her shoulder and stand, half-dragging his oh-so-unhelpfully-unconscious self back to her meeting room.

"Miss Elling, Doctor Vasili. This man had been shot with a crossbow and poisoned." She didn't know much about how mage-healing worked versus the traditional kind, but decided that if either one could help, both had best be given the information. As carefully as possible, she deposited Eos on the floor, noting with further distress that Taylor was apparently unconscious as well, though Carlisle seemed to be doing much better, which she suspected was the handiwork of the mage-woman also.

Still, having two possibly-mortal wounds to tend would be easy for niether of them, and she crossed to her desk, yanking open one of her drawers and rummaging around until she found what she was looking for. "Healing wand," she explained. "It won't help any of that, but it should deal with anything else." So saying, she waved it over the wound in her side as well as the cuts and scrapes she'd accumulated over the course of the fight, grimacing as the Manatech stymied the bleeding from her side. She'd have to be careful; the wound would like as not tear open again if she moved around too much.

A noise at the door caught her attention, and she observed that Amon was helping an injured Zade into the area, so Loki set to work on her next. For once in her life, the black-garbed woman's thoughts were plain as day upon her face, and once the initial panic of seeing her allies bleeding on the ground fled, it was replaced by a steely anger that bespoke a mind already at work, seeking for answers, and perhaps more importantly, vengeance.

This was a personal affront; not only an assassination attempt on herself, Lord Taylor, and Amon Gregory, three important figures, but also the innocent. Not that she considered everyone here to be an innocent, but the healer and her young assistant probably qualified, and the positioning of bodies in here indicated that they had been targeted as well. Someone was going to pay for this.

Pan heard her name and glanced up. "Doctor," she returned, deciding that really once this was all over, she should probably ask him what his actual name was. She knew not why he greeted her, exactly, as she had not heard him extend the same to anyone else. Professional courtesy, perhaps? He did have some rather unusual mannerisms generally... and she really did not want to think about what he was doing to that man's bone structure.

Unfortunately for all involved, Lord Taylor's battered body gave out on him about then, and she was up and moving even before the physician urged her to do so. Ignoring whatever he was doing to the woman and reassuring herself for what it was worth that it was bound to be painless anyway, she darted to the noble's crumpled form and laid him out straight, trying to determine exactly what she needed to do first. It was obvious that whatever strain of the lung disease he carried was killing him, and not terribly slowly, either, but she did not think that to be the root cause of his main problems now.

No, that was almost certainly the profuse bleeding issuing from both his left side and his arm. Suppressing the sympathetic wince, she determined that the one in his side was deeper and set about peeling back several layers of thick clothing to get to it. How did he not suffocate from all the heat? Surely- the thought was cut off as she realized just how thin he was under the bulky garments. That explained much of it, she supposed. The healing was going to be tricky; his own vitality would be of no aid to her at all. Normally, a healthy or even somewhat-healthy human body could provide a good deal of what she needed to conduct a healing, but that would not be the case here unless she wanted to risk closing his wounds only to stop his heart or weaken his lungs even further.

She was about to start when the princess returned, supporting an unconscious Eos. Not him, too! When the stern woman, who honestly looked more frightened now than Pandora expected she ever had (especially having noted that Pan's self-appointed guardian was not the only injured party), mentioned poison, Pan's eyes shot to the doctor, hoping (and quite honestly seeing no reason not to expect) that he would help. "I think..." she volunteered, looking back down at Lord Taylor, "That I can close the wound if the poison is removed beforehand. I expect that this is where the physician's art is superior to my own." A subtle echo of an earlier conversation, and she had no more time to waste speaking.

The work would not be complete, not in one go, because she needed to save something for Eos's sake and also because she intended very firmly to do something about the more permanent condition (as it might be the only chance she got), but she could still keep him from dying, she knew that much. "Okay..." she breathed, steadying her nerves for a moment and assuming the levelheaded persona that she needed for this. The characteristic blue-white enveloped her hands and she willed the blood vessels to repair themselves first. That was the most important thing: stop the bleeding. It was minute work, much like weaving, if she had to put a craft to it.

The headache began as soon as the vessels in his side were normal and the muscle knit together. The skin, she disinfected and left. Ordinary stitches or bandages could accomplish that much better than she. His arm received the same treatment, and she had to blink a few times to clear her blurred vision after that. It was clear to her that the corruption in his lungs was advanced, and she had not the capacity to do nearly enough about that right now, but... she could try and stop it from spreading for a while, fortify what of him remained less damaged, and so she attempted that instead, hoping that at the very least the pace of his deterioration would slow for a while and he might get some strength back in his limbs. That would have to be it for now; she was starting to shake already, and Eos was still in need of assistance.

---

Zade was just about finished. Though none of her wounds alone were fatal, she had accumulated quite a number of them, and several had been bleeding for long enough that she felt lightheaded and like she might collapse. So when the Guildmaster offered his assistance, she swallowed her pride and accepted.

It seemed that at least two people were much worse off than she, but then she had not been able to pay enough attention to the main battle to tell what was going on. Eris- Loki was wearing an oddly-human expression for once, and that made her think it was probably bad. the woman was presently wielding a wand, and for a moment Zade had the thought that there was no way anyone she knew could afford one of those. But of course, this woman was not actually the Eris she had known, but the bloody Princess, and nobility just had the things laying around all over the place. She would know- she'd robbed enough estates.

She would not make eye contact with the older woman even as her wounds were tended to. What kind of bloody stupid Princess spent her free time slumming with the troupers and Delta-folk anyway? Did she get some kind of weird kick out of it? Being around the "common" people? Scheherazade sneered. this was why she hated the nobility. So damn self-righteous, they took everything good and ten thought they had rights to the rest, too. Bastards.

She had come to understand that wands really weren't that great compared to mages, and this one did little more than stem the bloodflow for a bit the tingling sensation probably meant it disinfected, too, so Zade tore off her other sleeve (why no make them even from this morning?) and fashioned a makeshift bandage with it. She'd be damned if she accepted any more blue-blooded assistance than absolutely necessary- it was their fault she was in this situation to begin with.

The masked doctor noted with some panic that another wounded was brought in. Not because he felt any particular concern for the man, but because that's one less person fending off potential assailants. However, when the mention of poison was brought up, his ears perked slightly. This was new. Ranged weapons? One look at his hand and the wound that had been inflicted on it definitely meant a projectile. When Pandora noted she'll take care of Taylor while he was unconscious, Etzel bowed his head slightly. "I shall take care of his as best i can, milady." He said, taking out the syringe he had just put away, and sheathed his twin daggers.

First, he needed a sample. He took a swab, and wiped down Eos' dirty drunkard hands. Dear lord, there were so many contaminants. He diluted the small amount in a vial filled with a detection compound. The compound instantly turned clear. Highly acidic. That was not good. "Nope. Not good at all." The doctor began muttering to himself. He whipped out a piece of paper, tearing off a small amount and dropping it in the vial. The yellow paper turned a deep crimson. Very concentrated poison. "Even worse. Hmm. What kind of poison is this concentrated? He's still breathing. Which reminds me." He stuck his syringe into another vial, injecting a small amount of blue-clear substance. "A slowing reactant. Poison won't spread as quickly." He quipped, not really sure why he was explaining this. "Now. What poison could this be? Cyanide... no... Cyanide can't be this concentrated. He'd die near-instantly. Cyanogen? No. Oh heck no. Hm. What is this?" He flicked the wound, and through a very trained eye saw small amounts of particles lift from the surface. Oh no. Acidity had nothing to do with this- it was just some form of liquid concentrate. What this was...

"Oh dear. This is very bad." He commented. Looking up at the princess, he tilted his head slightly "This is anthrax. If it had hit anywhere outside of the extremities, he'd-" he saw Eos' midsection. "WELL." The doctor shouted at the unconscious man. "MAYBE YOU DESERVE TO DIE FOR BEING SO STUPID." Nevertheless, he shook his head, and checked the pulse. "As I was saying. This is anthrax, princess. Unless I get the necessary items ready, this man is going to be vomiting blood and... well.. passing very liquidey byproducts. Feces."

"Symptoms... Lesion of the internal organs... loss of appetite... Oh, and the mortality rate of this kind of infection is about 60%." Etzel reported, while his hands were working on Eos' midsection. "I cannot treat him here, unless you have a biological lab. This is something that I need living agents to take out. I can only stall it's effects for now." Unless Pandora could destroy it. He wasn't sure about the mechanics of magic behind this- but it was worth a shot.

Luckily Pan was done by the time the doctor started shouting, otherwise her surprise might have sent magical energy surging into Lord Taylor's body, and that would have been rather unfortunate for both of them. she was going to need that energy, and an overflow might be toxic for someone whose system wasn't able to process that sort of thing.

She had come to the conclusion that while the amount it took to heal was beneficial to the non-mage, much more could overload their systems, something that synthetic Mana did not do. But that wasn't important right now. What was important was the fact that the masked physician had just said "die" in a sentence directed at Eos, and Pandora wasn't sure she could handle that right now. She listened carefully to the rest of it and shook her head.

"Unless there are any of those bio-labs close by, I think maybe I should try," she offered, making conscious effort to maintain the 'professional physician' voice despite the fact that the person being discussed was one of the only friends she had. It wasn't really working. She glanced to the doctor, and then Lord Taylor. "The life-threatening issues should be... taken care of, but he'll still need help." She wasn't going to divulge the fact that his life was still in very grave long-term danger to anyone who didn't know, but he would need stitches and so forth. "Switch?"

Without really waiting for a response, Pan scooted until she was next to Eos instead and checked over his wounds quickly. The actual lesions could be taken care of, but the poison... that would be hard. Poison was one of those things that was much harder for a mage than an antidote, but... well, there really wasn't an antidote at the moment. No choice then.

This is going to hurt me more than it hurts you, she promised silently, and then she was busy trying to find the places where the toxin had already begun to take effect. Eos was healthier than Lord Taylor, so it wasn't as hard as it might have been, and the damage was still mostly localized, so she set to work neutralizing it with magic. It was a tedious process of about ten minutes or so, and she was forced to break her own concentration a few times, mostly to deal with the symptoms of acute magical overuse. Unlike the more chronic sort of exhaustion that just put her under for a while, the acute sort of problems were characterized by nosebleeds, for starters.

That, she could ignore and work through, but by the time she was done, Pan was shaking like a leaf and coughing blood onto the carpet, well away from everyone else. Crawling back so she was leaning back against a table leg, she focused on breathing, trying to ignore the fact that by this point, she had absolutely nothing left in the way of either energy or dignity. "Still... bleeding," she managed, gesturing to Eos. "Wand or... stitches should help."

She could sense the damage being wrought on her own insides, and knew she'd probably pushed it a bit too far this time. She tried to adjust her positioning again, but wound up falling back against the table leg with a whimper. That wasn't good- something had probably ruptured. If she had a bit more energy left, she would have been able to identify it, too. Pandora knew she didn't want to die, but for the life of her, she could not figure out a way to save herself.

She glances between the assembled faces, and something about the crystals embedded in Giacomo's face gave her pause. Mana- yes, that would do it! But how to explain? A mage's body was a natural conduit for magical energies; it was the reason they could use them. Long past the point anyone else would be poisoned by overexposure, a mage's only worry was running out, as she had. But hadn't Mr. Vernazza told her once that he worked in Manatechnology at Marchfield? Surely such a person would be in possession of a wand or two? That would work; it would have to.

Clenching her eyes shut against the labor of gathering enough breath to speak, she managed a hoarse whisper. "Mana... if you... I can absorb..." but she couldn't force any more words than that, and erupted into a painful coughing fit.

---

"So... what? Are we on somebody's hit list now?" Zade asked the still-conscious, not really certain of what was going on over with the unconscious people but not really able to do anything about it either. She was more concerned with whether or not she was going to have to worry about all this happening again at some point in the future.

The blond girl did not look s great, but Zade couldn't understand what she was asking for. Mana? Wasn't that the stuff in these wands? She looked between the others, thinking that maybe one of them would be able to elucidate.

Giacomo looked in almost disbelief at the scene before him, three of those who had been targetted by the assasins seemed to be in horrible shape. The idiot who had attacked Amon upon sight, Taylor and the mage-healer from Delta, all three in very bad shape. To not look at the scene for a moment he grabbed his monocular from the ground and placed back on it's place. He then heard The mage ask him something about mana, it took him a few seconds to assemble the loose words into understandable terms. She wanted him to let her absorb some mana. It was quite strange, he never knew that the syntetical substitute for the real stuff could be absorbed by mages. He knew that mages could transact the real stuff in cases of emergency, but absorbing mana was of a whole new calliber. Think about the possibilities, and what else it could mean. If she could absorb mana, then maybe, maybe he could absorb the real thing with the crystals.

Almost losing himself in his thoughts he comes back to reality. The mage needed help and he was probably the only one that even knew that it was possible to extract raw mana from wands. It wasn't all that hard to extract it from a wand, as a wand could basically be seen as a flask, and when a flask breaks the content will spill out. He pulled his flare wand out of his pocket, knowing that it served the least use in this situation. dropped it on the ground and smashed it with his hammer. The metal was bend enough to make it release it's mana. He looked at his crystals, they glowed blue-greenish, confirming his thoughts. The wand was an idusterial flare, not as powerfull as a military emergency flare wand, but it contained many uses. Which meant it held a load of mana, but it also made it much more fragile as the mana would seek out any defect and use it to escape, in this case that was usefull as he didn't need to do as much damage as an oridnary wand would need to spill it's content.

He then looked at Loki and even though he would know better than to speak to someone who looked like she could burst into rage at any point he spoke to her: "It seems that someone knew about the meeting, even though we were left in the dark about it. I know that Goldwaters case is very sensitive, especialy now that the information of his real cause of death is leaking out, but this goes too far. To silence us with death rather than with the usual threats and bribes, it gives me the idea that there is something bigger behind it." Of course if Giacomo had, in any form, followed the political debates he would have known that Goldwater had been speaking for the poeple in Delta and Gamma, And that Taylor sided with Goldwater. "The fact that they dared to raise a hand against me, I will make them regret making me their enemy." He sprouted into the room looking at one of the assasins corpses. He kicked it against the head and looked as it moved. His mind was no longer fully with the current situation, his mind was working over-hours making mental blueprints for machines of war. Weapons that were as much inspiring as dreadfull.

Loki took to pacing back and forth across the room as the healer and the doctor did their work, but she could not help the fact that her eyes strayed to the collapsed men frequently. This was not how things were supposed to go. This meeting was designed to be secret. they were supposed to fit together the remaining pieces of the mystery surrounding Marquis Goldwater's death, and then they were supposed to walk away unscathed, paid (in the case of those who were not otherwise obligated to attend), and informed (mostly herself, Taylor and Amon, who would have use for the knowledge).

But someone, somehow, had discovered what was going on, and there was little question that whomever it was had a role in the incident. She had her suspicions, of course, but just because Gilgamesh was a horrid bastard did not mean he was also stupid.

Though... if he had succeeded, it would have been a very smart move. The only people who knew the truth would be silenced, permanently, and the fact that their deaths would have been the obvious work of assassins would have been enough to diminish any sway the Guild itself held. It was a risk, alienating the most powerful guild in the city like that, but if the person behind this somehow knew where Amon's loyalty lay already... did that mean they knew of her as well?

No... or at least not necessarily. Just because the foolish princess was involving herself in the investigation did not mean any of the other things she had going were her own work. In fact, her presence probably diminished any suspicion cast on Taylor also. If anything, it made Amon look the mastermind, and the rest of them his pawns. That, she could work with.

A noise brought her from her reverie, and she observed with surprise that the mage was now bleeding from the nose and coughing blood onto Loki's carpet. Not that she really cared about the carpet, mind. Still, she did not recall the woman having any injuries earlier, and now they looked essentially life-threatening. What she said made little sense to the Princess, but it seemed to mostly be directed at the resident scientist anyway. He responded by smashing one of his own wands, which initially confused her further.

Which reminded her... Vernazza was not a trained combatant, but he had managed to survive a fight with trained assassins. She wondered if he'd be interested in a personal contract of some kind, perhaps additional funding in return for a consulting position? That might work; it would help to have a scientist around who knew what was going on. Inquiries could be so much more... direct, that way.

He spoke to her, and she nodded, impassivity gradually returning as she sorted through her thoughts. "In answer to your question, Zade, yes. I believe we are now all on someone's 'hit list,' and that someone is likely well-funded. Mr. Vernazza, at this stage I know little more than you, but your suspicions are mine as well." Pausing, Loki's gaze swept the room. "Whoever did this has just made it personal, and I doubt they will stop at one attempt. What is worse, they have information now, on all of us. Whatever this was, it was only the beginning, I think." The thought was unsettling at best, and she turned from it.

"How are they, Doctor Vasili?" she asked of Taylor and Eos. Either way, her vengeance would be entirely unrelenting, but if one of them did not survive... Loki's eyes narrowed. If one or both of them did not make it out of this, the person responsible would be inviting much more wrath to his or her doorstep than they had any right to expect.

Mr. Vernazza broke a wand, and Pandora immediately set about absorbing the mana escaping from it. It wasn't the same as magical energy, and would probably make her feel somewhat sick to her stomach as a result, but it was better than dying. Almost as soon as it entered her system, her pain began to ease, and she could sense her internal organs being repaired. The bleeding ceased, as did the ache in her chest that had resulted from the cough.

She was still too weak to do much of anything useful, but at least she wasn't dying. A sigh of relief escaped her, and she looked up at the scientist. "Thank you, Mr. Vernazza," she said, relived that she could at least speak in complete sentences now.

"It's amazing how long he's been living with this." Pandora's head whipped around, painfully so, to see the doctor- the Princess had called him Doctor Vasili- stooped over lord Taylor. So he knew, too, then. She hoped he wouldn't say anything further; weren't doctors supposed to keep some kind of confidentiality with their patients? She didn't know enough to say for sure, but perhaps that was why he did not comment further.

At the news that both men would be all right, though, she was relieved. That was good to know. Pandora had lost patients before, but it was not something she thought she would ever get used to. The fact that one of them had been injured helping her and the other one wouldn't even be here but for the simple circumstance that she was made her feel exceedingly guilty as well. It's fine, Pan. They're fine, so stop thinking about it. The what-ifs and wherefores weren't going to do anyone any good now.

But Mr. Vernazza and the Princess were discussing conspiracies now, and she wasn't quite so sure the what-ifs would desert her so easily. The idea that someone might be after them even when they departed this place sent an involuntary shudder down her spine. Assassins after Eos and Icarus, just because she'd brought them here. This was the worst possible- well, except for everyone being dead, which had perhaps been the most likely outcome. Pan pulled her knees to her chest and listened, knowing that she couldn't contribute much to the information or theories but sensing that it might be important to know.

---

Zade swore under her breath. She knew well enough what this meant. Namely, she would have to learn to defend herself a bit better, or she'd be dead within the next few months. Damn it all. Last time I do a favor for a friend, she thought sardonically.