Of Monsters and Men

cns: drugging, murder and mentions of child murder, graphic violence, blood, alcohol as a coping mechanism

The Sailor's Bounty had seen better days. Situated close to the city's trade harbor, only a few years ago this establishment had been a good deal: Fair prices, decent food, clean beds and a solid selfmade ale. 

Then, however, the place had gone through a change of management (the previous owner was killed in a bar fight), it had been bought by one of the local loan sharks and since then, it had seriously gone downhill. 

The tables were all notched and dirty, the quality of food and drink were barely above what the city's government handed out to the homeless, and the matresses crawled of bedbugs. 

Perfect for a man like Thees Merryweather. Despite his light hearted surname, Thees had never been a particularly sunny fellow. 

Ever since his childhood, his rowdy disposition had gotten him into fights, to a point where his mother had cast him out at age thirteen. Thees had made a living as a bouncer and cheap bodyguard, and later picked up a weapon or two and cut the odd person's throat every now and then.

Now, in his fourties, his muscular arms were almost equally covered in tattoos and scars. 

He had come to the Sailor's Bounty for one reason only: Because it promised discretion, and that was a thing Merryweather valued very highly. So highly, in fact, that about two years ago a friend had hit him up about a big job an associate of his was searching men for. Insanely well paid, off the books and strictly non-disclosure. Thees, who had done pretty much anything for money by that point, had obviously been happy to get in on and carry out that particular mission.

He had lived very comfortably off the pay for that job; His friend, the one who had tipped him off for the job, hadn't gotten so lucky. Some maniac turtle had bashed his head in.

By now his wallet was getting slim though, and he had come to this place to grab some new work, or maybe just get in a good old fistfight. His knuckles were itching. 

His attention got drawn when the door of the so called tavern opened again and an unusual figure slid into the room. 

Their well-crafted leather coat was slick of rain, and a large longbow made of ebony wood protruded over their shoulder. The Quiver next to it was filled with arrows of, as far as he could tell, excellent quality. The newcomer made absolutely no sound but the dripping of rain from their coat, as they stepped lightly through the room and to the bar. Something about their way of walking reminded Thees of a wild cougar on the prowl, and he leaned forward, interested. This stranger promised at least some entertainment. 

Most of the bar stools were occupied by regulars, most of them shabby sailors and fishermen who spent the day's earnings on a pint and the hopes of a little chat with their friends, talking about the same this and that as every other day.

Their attention, too, was drawn by that part welcome, part unwanted interruption of their daily routine; Many heads turned when the stranger stepped up to the bar and put a hand down on it.. but it wasn't just a normal arm. The strangers forearm was covered in velvety fur, gold on black, and ended in a graceful hand with razorlike claws. 

And not only that: they were holding a whole gold coin between their middle- and index finger. When they put their hand down, the gold alluringly reflected the torchlight from the walls, ensuring every last scoundrel in the entire place was keeping at least one eye on them. 

Under their leather hood, the cat like stranger leaned forward and waved the barkeep towards them. Seemingly aware of all the attention they had stirred, they asked him a question. 

Thees could not understand what they were saying from where he was sitting, but when the barkeep shot him a look and nodded his head towards him while still polishing the dirty beer jug he was holding it would have taken a complete idiot to not understand they had asked about him.

The newcomer played around with their gold a little, then slapped it on the table with a satisfying smack. Scrambling, the barkeep dropped the jug, which subsequently shattered on the ground, and secured the valuable coin before anyone else could nab it. He stowed it away safely in his pockets, looking around with the paranoia brought by a long life in the close vicinity of criminals. 

Merryweather was conflicted. On one hand, this could mean a job, one he could very well need. On the other, this cat folk looked dangerous. He himself was an intimidating figure, standing at two meters and looked like his shoulders were equally wide, his bald head the size of a watermelon. 

He was optimistic about his chances in any fight, but he liked knowing who he was up against. That wasn't given here, a fact that set him into a state of light nervousness. 

In the greasy atmosphere of the tavern, the stranger at the bar turned around. From under their hood Thees could now see two golden cat eyes that rapidly scanned him from head to toe, then they walked towards him. 

Now their manner of moving was more akin to a strut more than a prowl, and Thees relaxed a bit again.

Quickly, the cat had reached his table. "Thees Merryweather?" they asked, their voice soft as silk and sharp as an axe at the same time. 

Discretion, huh. Merryweather glared at the barkeep, who just shrugged with a facial expression that said "That's how business goes". He would have to search for another place to stay after this. For now, that wasn't worth his focus though. He nodded at the stranger. "Aye, that's me. And you are?"

Slender hands reached up, and the still wet hood was pulled back. It revealed a cat's head coloured the same way the arms were, and even though Thees had never had a big thing for nonhumans, he couldn't help but internally describe this particular one as "beautiful".

"Amber Steelclaw. I've been searching for someone like you for a while now. Care if I sit?" 

they inquired, vaguely gesturing towards the chair opposite him. 

"Make yourself comfortable. What can someone like me.. ", he flexed his biceps', "possibly do for someone like you?" he tilted his head. "Need some muscle?"

From up close and hoodless, Amber's physical frame didn't look so threatening any more. They were actually rather small, probably not even a meter sixty, Thees estimated. 

In response, Amber smirked. "Something like that."

Once again, they leaned forward, one hand on the table, and lowered their voice for the next sentence. "I heard you're someone who doesn't flich away from some wet work. Not even if the job gets really ugly. That correct?" 

That made Thees view them in a completely new light. He smelled a new job, a possibly lucrative one. 

"Correct. So you got some to do for me? I need some specifics to call my rates."

Amber quickly looked around to check if they were still being listened to, then looked him in the eye again. "Maybe.. but that's nothing I want to discuss in front of others. You got a room?"

He nodded. "Aye, I do. Upstairs. Follow me." 

Merryweather got up and went up the stairs to his room, one of the more favorable the tavern had to offer. It was a larger one, with a bed providing enough space for two people, a small table and two wooden chairs. He didn't bother to check if the cat was following him. 

When he opened the door, he felt a sting in his right thigh. He scoffed. An old wound acting up again. 

In the middle of the room he turned around and crossed his arms. 
"So, wet work, yes?" 
Of course, Amber had followed him. They were putting their bow down on the table and leaning against the door from the inside (Strange, Thees had not heard them close it again. Whatever.).

"Yes, wet work." they calmly replied. Something subtile in their demeanor had changed; The mercenary couldn't pinpoint it, but it made him uneasy. 

"Heard of one of your past references." Now that was when it got dangerous, but perhaps even more profitable as well. "So? What exactly have you heard?" 

Discretion.

"A thing or two. What mostly got my attention was the implication that you were involved in some raid a year or so back. Big deal, from what I understand." 

While they said that, their drenched coat parted and revealed that they were now holding two long, dangerously shimmering hunting knives. 

Thees suddenly was very aware that his spear and sword weren't within grabbing distance.

"Yes.. big deal." His heartbeat quickened. "We uhm.. got hired to smoke out that little complex. Got a little dirty on the way." Where were they coming from? Were they somehow related to that incident, bound for some kind of crazy revenge? He had only been the hand that wielded the sword, not the brain behind it. They must know that. 

"A little dirty, huh." 

They made a little step forward. 

This wasn't how Thees had imagined this evening to go, but oh well. Better to take the initiative than be caught on the back foot. He was just about to lunge for his sword, the spear would be too impractical in close quarters, when he felt something warm run down his right leg. He stopped in his tracks, reached down and felt something... wet? 

Somehow, a good portion of his leg was covered in blood? He could make out a cut in his thigh, where he could uncertainly remember to have felt that little sting a minute before. 

The world started spinning around him, and as his field of view began narrowing, he staggered.

"We're going to have a little conversation now.." 

That bitch. 

His head hit the ground with a dull thud.

When Amber left the tavern again, they used the front door just like on their way in. 

The bartender was less confused by them being alone than their remark about this being for the cleaning fee when they threw him another gold coin.

The harbor district was quiet around that hour, and when they wandered the empty streets, Amber was left entirely to their own thoughts. 

This had been almost too easy, considering tracking the big guy down had taken months. The poison they used had achieved the promised results; They would have to go get more. The thug's treat, since he wouldn't need his money any more.

Amber would need to get their boots cleaned though.. or just get new boots altogether, to celebrate the occasion.

This night marked the first time they had a solid lead on the Gato-Saka incident since it happened and the muscle bag didn't deserve any better, so what business did that pit in their stomach have?

Cutting him up had felt good. It had felt like justice when, after squeezing all his secrets out of a delirious child murderer, he had found a slow end beneath their knives.

So why did it feel like they were in the wrong? 

Surprised, Amber realized their bloodied feet had lead them back to the inn they had rented a room in: A clean, warm and comfortable place called the Sitling's Nest.

When they slid through the door, still troubled with gut-wrenching guilt, the barmaid smiled at them. Her cordial voice was pure balm for the Tabaxi. "You look like you could use something to warm you up, after hours in this terrible weather! Can I bring you something?"

And almost automatically, Amber smiled back from under their hood. "Firebrand, a double, please. Take your time.. I got all night.", they responded softly.

 

An hour later they were already sipping on their third Firebrand and observing the lively activity in the tap room. Unblemished and innocent people all around were exchanging stories, meeting again after weeks in separation and tending to business worlds apart from what Amber had been carrying out previously. 

Maybe that was why they descended into the gutter again and again. 

To ensure these people would never have to. 

Bottoms up.