Training Montage, Rogue Edition

He had the agility and dexterity as a dancer. Now was the time to put those talents to use in a different direction. He went through his wardrobe, skipping the whites in favor of grays and blacks, going for more skin coverage than usual. Casual enough to look less suspicious if he is noticed in the open, but dark enough to be useful in full stealth. Or at least that's what he hoped. He was new to this, so he didn't want to make too many presumptions. He had a proper incantation and the Silent Jar for equipment, but he didn't want to rely on magic for everything. With how quickly he burned through his resources before, he wanted to save as much as he could for emergency troubleshooting.

With Articulous, he had a much-needed connection with the underworld and a source of information. Though the man had been generous in giving them a job to make up for the incident in the Bazaar, The Ko made a note not to read too much into that. Lots of people are in for selfish reasons, so he'd better stay on his toes as he learns. In some ways, it was the social maneuvering that was more daunting, since it was an unknown. In Shadow, there was generally organized crime that held local monopolies and didn't take well to independent thieves. Before he started treading on toes, he'd need to know who'd toes are out there.

Ezra had little idea of what to expect with this particular outing, but a lack of knowledge had never daunted her before; she’d focused on dressing comfortably, though her Chuck Taylors were ever present. The only piece of jewelry she wore was a silver bracelet, slim enough to make no sound and tight enough on her wrist to stay put. She’d spent only a little time considering which resources to bring, eventually pocketing two that felt right. The rest would sort itself out, as it so often did.

As she headed out from the Manor, her thoughts tapped into the Noӧsphere. With a few shuffles and reaches, and just one contortion, she brought together all the names of those who’d agreed to meet up that day.

'Roll call.'

A response comes in: "Ko, The Ko, here. Glad I'm not the only one interested in this 'career change.' It'll take me a bit to get over there, since I'm in Riveriver, though."

He boards the train, taking a seat as its caterpillar legs start inching it along the track, gradually picking up speed.

Soft curls of steam rose from the teacup loosely caged between Alemi's slim fingers as he heard the familiar voices of Ezra and Ko interrupt his current thoughts. For a second, he hesitated, staring down into the remnants of his drink, the glassy surface of pale green reflecting back and beneath it the swirl of a few scattered grains of silt-fine grit which had escaped during the steep. This impending summoning had preoccupied him all morning, and when it finally had come, he found himself caught in the same indecision.

His instincts recoiled at the idea of tangling himself any further into Articulous' network. Alemi had not particularly liked the man, his manipulations which had landed them into hot water with the gerent and his response had been nothing but presumptions that he had the means of smoothing the rippling effects of his disruptive acts. Yet, this excursion was not of Articulous' making, and it promised something that Alemi actually valued:and education.

His uncle had always been a man who emphasized the pursuit of it, generously peppering Alemi's childhood with lessons that spanned an infinite variety of subjects. To broaden one's skillset was to be of better service. Another tool to be added to the belt. Such things could be the fine line, the deciding factor, to sway a situation into one's favour. But the argument for either side could continue indefinitely. Alemi felt once again the pang of his Uncle Stellan's absence, wished for his confident guiding hand whether the risk was worth the price. But his uncle was not here. He was still missing, still without sign if he had even returned after the war.

Time to make a choice. Alemi drew a breath.

"Alemi, here. I'm on my way."

Adra lay on her back on the sofa, one leg draped off the side and her foot tapping on the edge of an ancient rug. She had a jazz record blaring from her stereo across the room, and as she tapped along to the music, she watched an unfamiliar grey cat tightrope-walk along the flowerbox outside her living room window. She didn't remember ever seeing this particular cat before, but it certainly seemed familiar enough to navigate the various ledges and plants out there.

She was trying to decide whether to invite the cat inside when she heard the voices of her friends threading through the music. Adra told herself she hadn't made up her mind, but she had packed her bag hours ago, and it hung now on the coat rack by the door, the mouth hanging slightly open as if to ask a question. When Alemi's reply faded, Adra rolled up onto her knees on the couch.

She remembered Alemi mentioning his uncle being missing, and then Kenza had said something about a sister... ? Anyway, it had made her feel that familiar hollow ache, and she wondered if maybe Alemi's uncle could tell her something about her own family. She had nothing to remember them by, except the peculiar feeling of realizing a space was newly empty without being able to remember what had filled it.

Adra got up and slipped on her sneakers, pulled on her jacket, and draped the worn leather bag across her body. The cat watched her but didn't make a move for the door, so she closed and locked it behind herself. "I'm headed out now, guys. See you soon," she said.

The Ko smiled, glad he's got some moral support in the endeavor. Maybe he could coax some of them to join in on his ambitions of being Satyrine's Robin Hood while they're in on it. There was always a gulf between the rich and poor in the Actuality, and upon returning from Shadow, he had hoped that was one of the oppressive illusions that merely colored his memories. But no, that was the Shadow's reflection of reality. He had largely accepted his role of starving artist in Shadow, and had come to realize that was the life of so many people, with or without art. He was by no means wealthy, but he had been comfortable in his life, especially after becoming a Weaver.

He stopped himself from continuing the introspective rant. He's heading toward the training grounds to learn, and he needs to focus on that before working out what he's going to attempt in the long run.

[Sooth card: Inevitable Cataclysm]

It was Breme who arrived first at the makeshift training ground: Breme with his grigs and his small, quick hands, Breme with his ill-fitting clothes with far too many hidden folds and pockets. The boy flashed a toothy grin when he saw the small crew of vislae approach. Articulous himself was nowhere to be found. But then, Articulous might have been anywhere -- Fartown was bustling, the streets a flurry of red falling leaves and milling beings all busy with their various forms of work and play.

"You lot again," Breme said with a laugh. A grig stepped out from behind him. Its bottle-green wings fluttered as it raised its forelegs to the bowstring of its battered brown fiddle. "Artie says you didn't get enough the first time around. You want another taste, eh? That true?"

The Ko nodded, smirking, "The skills seem appropriate to some things I'm planning, and I figure I've got good natural agility. Just need to keep my flamboyance in check... Unless I'm playing the role of diversion." He noddeed to the grig as well, wondering if it was the same one he danced around during the juggling act. Looking back to Breme, he asked, "So, where do we start?"

Anything that got her one step closer to the demon Articulous had mentioned was a task worth taking on, in Ezra's mind. She found herself mirroring Breme's expression, though memories of how this boy's actions had affected Kenza tempered her smile. She slid her hands into her pockets, keeping the few belongings on her person close.

She shrugged at Breme's question. While this meeting was them continuing to reap the benefits of "Artie's" idea of reparations, she didn't see any flaws in the idea. The more she learned, the better she'd might be able to deal with the beings her order sought communication with.

"What he said," Ezra said, one brow rising as she needed in the Ko's direction. She felt uneasy about giving this boy -- if he was in fact a boy at all -- more details. He probably -- no, definitely -- knew more than all of them combined, whether about this situation or something more.

Adra watched the grig as she listened to the boy. Hands in her jacket pockets, she pulled her coat closer around her. She felt as much as saw Ezra closing off toward the boy, and Adra didn't blame her. She looked back at Breme, met his smirk with one of her own. "I was bored," she said. "Thought I might learn a new skill or two."

Adra wasn't sure how much she could learn from Breme or the training about whatever Articulous had in store for them, but with the apparently wide variety of interests Articulous had, she couldn't help but wonder if maybe this could set her on her own path of discovery - who even was she anymore?

For a moment, Alemi's gaze lingered on Adra, then flickered between his other companions, Ezra and Ko, before resting on the boy, who faced them with such a brazen smile. Whether merely the result of twisted sense of humour or machinations of more devious intent, Alemi found he could not shake the sneaking suspicion that it wasn't just coincidence that Breme, whose sticky fingers had first dragged them down this troublesome rabbit hole, should also turn out to be their teacher. It felt like another sentence in a story, another stone added to a foundation, another scrap of evidence to further indicate their guilt should the gerent ever hear about this particular encounter.

He could still leave. Yet, Alemi found the idea of abandoning the others unpleasant. Even outside the promise he had once made as a child to his mother to watch out for Adra, he'd not forgotten that the others had shown kindness in concern over his missing uncle. He had the inkling that they would likely help him with it if he could find it in himself to trust them enough to ask. Again, his deep blue eyes were drawn to study the others.

In for a penny, in for a pound. And in truth, he was curious. He could taste the crispness of the open air, feel the first sparks of excitement pulse in his veins. The tension once woven in the sharp angle of shoulders eased slightly.

"So," Alemi said, finding a note of playful interest in his voice. "What's lesson number one?"

"First," Breme said, holding up a grimy index finger, "you're gonna learn how to find your marks. You gotta learn how to find the right ones and not become one, yourself." The grig behind Breme turned his bowstring on his fiddle, coaxing from the instrument a series of sounds almost like laughter. Breme's smile didn't waver. His hand turned, finger pointing down at the dirt beneath their feet.

"Any of you hunt? You know how to track?" He studied each face, nodding as they responded in turn. "Look. Deeper footprints, heavier weight. So if the tracks don't match the weight, somebody's carryin' somethin'. Maybe somethin' you want." He slipped his dust-covered hands into his pockets once more. "Watch their faces. Their posture. Who looks like they don't wanna be followed. Who looks like a mooncalf. Or a whole herd of 'em." Breme laughed outright then; the look on his face made clear he had thought then that this motley crew looked like the latter, and that his opinion in that regard had not changed.

"Somebody on this block is carrying a wicked key made of iron. Whoever brings it back wins the first lesson. And maybe even a prize."

The Ko nodded at the instructions, "So, is this all arranged, somehow, or are we actually working in the field?" He realized this could be trouble if Breme was just letting them run wild on a neighborhood without prior experience. He had been expecting something like locksport or some kind of stealth tag game, but it's looking increasingly like the school of hard knocks. It would also be a way to weed out anyone having second thoughts or anyone who's clumsy to the point of liability.

"That would be reassuring information," Alemi agreed, relieved that Ko was taking a beat to better understand the situation. But Alemi doubted their childlike instructor would be impressed by such inquiries. No doubt dismissing need for such context as unnecessary when he seemed to delight in his own cleverness and triumphs with little concern to what effect they might make upon others. Certainly, Breme had made no secret of how little he thought of them during their last encounter. It was safe to say the feeling was mutual, and Alemi was no more fond of this particular lesson either. The idea of such opportunistic thievery struck him as boorish. To acquire something for which you had need was one thing, but to take simply for the sake of taking, or to turn a small profit was entirely another. Displeasure tasted like blood flush over his tongue, the sudden rush of metallic tang flooding the back of his throat that he quickly swallowed down.

Yet, he could understand the value in what little guidance Breme had thus far offered. Deep blue eyes strayed briefly toward the block that Breme had indicated, skimming over the lively thrum of pedestrians, curious if he might notice something in the heft of their footfalls, the set of their jaws, the movement of their hands. There, across the street, Alemi noticed a women, who slipped elegant white fingers into her skirt pocket every few minutes. It was possible she had something important there, whose tactile presence she sought to reassure her. A few feet away a different man, nervously glanced all about him. He too, could carry something of value.

No, Breme's advice to observe carefully was not without merit.

While Ezra found the Ko's attempt to extract further details admirable, she felt it was ultimately a lost cause.

"I doubt he's going to give us a cheat sheet," she commented, watching Alemi watch those around them. This was, after all, a test -- and having her hand held was never one of her strong suits. She kept her voice low as she sketched out a simple plan.

"The Ko, you mentioned being a distraction earlier. Drawing everyone into one place would make this easier, wouldn't it? And then the rest of us can spread out. Keep our eyes peeled."

The Ko smiled, "I can be rather eye-catching when I want to be. Got a particular location in mind?" He looked towards the Grig, "Any way I can convince you to provide a bit of music?"

Adra had questions of her own, but she didn't see the point asking them just yet. She looked around, following Alemi's gaze over the nearby crowd of -- unsuspecting? -- pedestrians. Out of habit, she found herself looking through the crowd for a stray cat. There was always one somewhere, always lurking in her periphery. Sometimes they seemed to be watching her, sometimes ignoring her, but she supposed that was always true of any cat. They didn't seem to be reporting back on her to anyone, so she'd started feeling almost comforted by their presence. She found the cat of the hour, a bright white with a brushstroke black mustache. It was trotting along almost carelessly in the crowd, but Adra realized it kept turning and coming back, turning and coming back, always at the same interval. Strange...

Ezra's assumption was correct; Breme confirmed it with a wink and a flash of one grubby finger-gun. The grig seemed more inclined to offer its assistance, at least when asked so directly. It hopped closer to The Ko, quickly tuned its strings, and began to play a lively jig. The dying sunlight caught its green wings, making them gleam like polished emeralds. A few heads turned, here and there, and vislae gave the creature a wider berth, lest it follow one of them home to fill their space with raucous noise. A few Nons stopped, though, toes tapping to the beat. Breme backed away, waving as he slipped into the throng.

"I'll be at Cafe/Bar," Breme called. "Bring me the wicked key before it switches back to Bar."

Three hours until nightfall. Three hours to find their mark and procure the wicked key. It would have to be enough.

The Ko began his jig, matching the tune, weaving his threads to enhance the spectacle: Grace from Wind to enhance the physical performance and Mystery from The Woods to pull in the curious. He had performed similar weaves on stage to lend his acts that certain something to draw people back for further performances. This time, though, rather than losing himself in the rhythm, he keeps an eye open on the crowd and his accomplices' activities. A different application of playing to the audience, but the core idea remained the same. Draw the eyes, so those backstage can work their own magic unnoticed.