Snippet #2274940

Between Skyfall & Laowlee

Secluded in the shallow depths of a cell strapped between two dragons, Jennifer felt delirious. Rays of moonlight cut hazard stripes across her perfect form, almost reflecting off the mage's porcelain complexion. The rectangular compartment was pathetically small, its floor space fewer than two by two meters in width and length. The mage’s knees and legs were forced to bend in order to accommodate the span of her seated body. Shifting uncomfortably, Jennifer paused as the plated floor groaned perilously from supporting her simple weight alone. The jail was far from secure and the mage held a sneaking suspicion the rickety design flaw was intended. Its purpose was to deter criminals like her from casting any magic, lest they wanted to plummet a thousand meters to their own death.

Several gaps intersected the metal framework, exposing the mage to a gale of icy wind. Currents twisted her hair, flailing black strands over her rounded cheeks. Eyes watering, the sensation was highly disturbing. Chilling gusts prickled the surface of her soft skin, and in addition to her crippling sense of vertigo, paralysed the helpless mage. Already she was homesick and missed the encompassing embrace of her magnetic assassin.

The sound of leathery flapping hammered her hearing at an almost rhythmic pace, informing the mage of vital details of her captor’s travel. Whenever variation occurred in the wing beats, it indicated a climb or descent in altitude. A skill she had developed out of necessity during her travels with Talon’s dragon, Vy. Predicting the movement of a dragon meant she could brace herself for whatever hellish manoeuvre Talon was about to pull, and thus, save her stomach’s contents from rudely exiting her body. For the most part at least. That exact ability was coming into play now, allowing the mage to adjust her stricken form pre-emptively.

Strangely, Jennifer’s thoughts of air sickness were subsequent compared to her vexing guilt. With a heavy sigh, she reeled her head sidewards, attempting to thwart to onrush of air by shielding one side of her face. Whilst fending off natural elements, she chided her own behaviour that night. She felt undermined, frustrating, upset. She felt oh so stupid that she had played into the gloved hands of that mercurial investigator.

She accompanied Fiddle Fingers under the premise she was protecting Talon’s goals. It was a decision which hinged on Talon remaining in Skyfall and overseeing the order for its success. There was no parting note or warning for that very reason alone. Then ‘Lieutenant Banks’ implanted those seeds of doubt, rattling her mind with the suggestion that the order took first priority for Talon. As silly as the notion was, the split second it lasted was enough for the mage to betray her intentions. Leaving the onyx rock as a clue to her destination of Laowlee was a fatal error. Jennifer could on pray the attentive assassin would miss such an obscure hint for once.

---

Skyfall

Lieutenant Banks stepped outside of the motel he had spent the last night residing in, exposing himself to the morning air. The door shut quietly behind him, guided by his careful composure, as his boots touched the paving with a slight click. Skyfall was doing remarkably well under the rule of an assassin. If the paved roads were not enough of a sign of a booming infrastructure, then the towering stone structures certainly were. Banks admired the technical ingenuity associated with creating vast structures in junction with such heavy materials.

He had remained here to observe the Order of Riena. A task which bordered on the magnitude of impossible, one does not simply spy on an organisation of assassins. Such concepts were better left to the assassins themselves. So Banks had used the assets he was most capable of manipulating, people. It was precisely one of those assets which came to greet him that morning, reddened and slightly breathless from the effort of running across several blocks. Banks smiled warmly at the man who took a second to arrange himself properly.

“Mr Fiddle Fingers, sir!”

The convoluted title caused a deep chuckle to rumble out from the investigator. “Just Banks is fine,” he corrected amusedly.

The other man nodded, showing mild embarrassment before proceeding, “There seems to be some activity in the Order of Riena, they say Lord V’lyn himself even rode out in apparent haste. Do you want us to follow him?”

Banks stood with his own musings, twisting the sharp corners of his beard. If Lord V’lyn abandoned Skyfall now, the Order of Riena would be vulnerable. Blackmailing the mage had been a calculated risk. The question which hung over his mind was, did Miss Live genuinely care about the order? If not he would have died an exceedingly painful death. The risk paid off in the end, fortunately. Meaning there was one less dangerous mage roaming around freely. “No, that's fine. You wouldn't be able to track him anyway, he's far to adept. Thank you for your excellent services,” Banks stated eventually. The informant beamed from the minor praise, sometimes a compliment could be beneficial for increasing enthusiasm. Of course, money was usually better. “And here’s your reward.”

A sack of coins dropped into the man’s waiting palms with a weighted chink. Satisfied after a brief inspection, the informant nodded again and waltzed off to continue his daily routine, business concluded.