[ Original ] Pieces of Superbia;

[murdering]

Bits I've written in my journal, finally collected into one place.

The bar was a basement establishment, front door at the bottom of steep steps that led down from the street. Brenna kept a hand on the rough granite on either side as she descended, distrustful of her balance and the gravel that lay in wait to turn a misstep into a disaster. When she finally reached the threshold, the friction of alchemy was heavy in the air- And there, carved into a receded stone beside the heavy oak, was the sign of a Haven.

She bared her teeth in a grimace, taking a moment to suppress her disgust before opening the door and stepping inside.

It was a surprisingly nice establishment, for a Haven. There was no sign of thieves or fugitives, or many patrons at all at this time of day. In place of crowded tables, there was a pair of leather sofas facing one another in the center of the half of the room that wasn't occupied by the bar. On one of these couches, a rather well-dressed Zhuren man was seated. He was draped in a jacket of fine brocade, lined with some sort of velvet. Long, black hair was smoothed back into a ponytail, tied with a ribbon that matched the hue of his shirt perfectly. In his hands sat a thick book, and he was reading it with an air of complete fascination. It seemed he hadn't even noticed her arrival, despite the bell upon the door.

"Excuse me," Brenna finally spoke up, trying to catch his attention.

He didn't even bother to look up. "The bar is closed days, miss. Come back tonight."

She stepped forward, drawing her chained insignia from her pocket. "I'm looking for Master Xilaou Fuaxuan."

The man did look at her when she said that, regarding her critically from beneath ridiculously long lashes. "You handle that name well for a breed."

Brenna glare was nothing short of withering. "I wouldn't be casting slurs at the girl with a gun, if I were you. Tell me where Fuaxuan is, and I won't break your hands."

He laughed, closing his book and rising to execute an elegant bow. "Xilaou Fuaxuan, at your service, though a pretty girl can call me Lao. Which of my many crimes are you here to interrogate me over, my dear mage?"

"How's about I call you Fleetfern dealing scum, and you stop calling me your dear." She was obviously unimpressed by his flattery, blue eyes icy as she watched his performance.

Lao seemed amused by her frost, but the mention of Fleetfern sobered him quickly. He straightened with a flash of danger in his gaze. "If any Fleetfern is passing through my lines, I wasn't aware of it." Brenna opened her mouth to argue, but he cut her off. "I have a code of honor, despite what you may have heard of me, and selling a drug that drains the soul right out of a person is not something I'll tolerate. Give me a district, and I'll make sure it never happens again."

She was silent for a long moment, obviously distrustful. He held out a hand as a gesture of good intention. "I've been hearing of your work for several weeks, Miss Wyatt. I know you prefer real justice over the laws. Let me prove this much, and I can show you a few rocks to turn over for your superiors' pleasure."

"You've been shot," his voice was shaking, hands pressing down heavily to staunch the flow of blood from her side. The soft blue brocade of her vest was destroyed, a black stain blossoming outward from the tiny hole in her side. "You need to see a doctor, not hide out from your brother."

She made a sound of amusement, leaning her head back against the wall. The pain was getting to her, though she did her best not to show it. Black hair stuck to her brow, sweat standing out on her ashen skin. "It's nothing vital. She just got hold of his gun again... If I go in, he'll get in trouble."

Lao would have slapped her if she were uninjured; as it was, he shoved her further back against the wall, voice raising to a volume that he never used with his girls. "Stop protecting her! You're bleeding all over my bar, you keep letting your family treat you like a dog, and you expect me to just sit here and bandage you up every time without saying a thing?! You're eighteen, Bren- You've got to stop pretending it isn't happening."

She shook her head, as if he was speaking pure nonsense. "Just fix it," Brenna sighed. Something clicked in Lao's mind, however, and without preamble he forcibly picked her up.

"What are you--" She cringed, a hand going to her side as he carried her over the threshold of the bar like a bloodied bride. They were certainly an odd sight, the princely Zhuren striding purposefully down the street with a half-breed soldier cradled in his arms. Lao was not concerned about appearances, however; his eyes were burning with vicious intent, gaze focused on the visible towers of the administrative palace.

"We're going to fix this," he growled. "Once and for all."

They were none too gentle when they shoved the tube down her throat; his throat ached in remembrance of the sensation from years past, jaw tensing as they screwed the mask into the bones of her face. It was almost comical, how heartless his leashed scientists were. They hadn't the slightest idea that beneath the dead eyes, the stuttering pulse, she was fully alert.

No- Alert was not the word. Aza would always recall the sensation, and it was something beyond mere consciousness. Though he had not understood what was going on, he had been aware of everything, and every nerve in his body was blazing an open trail to his core. The slightest touch felt like a heavy tap of the hand, a blow like the impact of a five story fall. He'd been half-mad with pain by the time it was all over.

This girl, however, was not destined for such a quick end to her trials. Aza waved his hand, snapping a warning to take care, and they picked up their new subject to be taken to the laboratory in the heart of the palace.