It's a funny thing, waking up to splatter of stagnant water on your face. Dripping down from nibbled holes in the tin roof, smelling of blood and rust. He sat up, rubbing his eyes blearily -- one knuckle gently kneading an eyelid, the other digging at the lip of an empty socket. He sat up, ribs standing out under brown skin, chest bending to knees; denuded, save for a pair of pinstriped slacks loose on narrow hips. Damp straw and other things he cared not to name clinging to his dreadlocks. The smell of the room greeted him before the sight. Stale beer, wood shavings, salt and sweat. Something nostril burning, the scent of last evenings vomit lingering in a swill of sawdust. But Havek was fond of it. The Black Dove was fast becoming his home, after all. There are some things all men can find comfort in, familiarity being among them. Even if that familiarity comes is with the smell of bile, with the rats and the fleas. These things were normal. Havek liked normal.

He crawled into a dank shirt, huddling down from a damp breeze sneaking through the window. Bleary hands pawed underneath a thin blanket, clutching for the swollen body of his satchel and his boots. The bag’s leather was still warm from his stomach, sleeping belly-down on it to quell a snatching. He slung the strap across his shoulder, carefully arranging it across his chest. All was done like clockwork, half-awake but moving on muscle memory. How many times had he done this, now? Waking at dawn, creeping about the harbor for work, slinking back to the wretched tavern when the skies began to purple. The days, the months, were beginning to blur.

The Loshis rains didn’t improve his lot in life, either. For the past weeks, he’d seen Anaxas through a wet, grey pall. The storms blowing in from the sea had been making particularly nasty work of the evenings, as of late. Work was getting hard to come by again. Simple things they’d take a seedy looking day laborer in for – raising fences, thatching roofs, digging graves. Most seem to have been put off because of all the damn rain. It was robbing him of what flimsy sense of security he had. His coinpurse had been growing lighter and lighter as of late, as it inevitably would. It was still a modest amount, plenty enough to scrape by, but Havek would go frazzled when the little pouch wasn’t straining the seams, as he ever would. ‘Plenty enough’ was never enough. He’d needed boarding and food for the past months – miserly though he was, a man cannot exist on nothing. He could certainly try, though. And Havek had been trying his damnedest. The Black Dove was only a step up from sleeping in an alley, and sustenance was a sedate affair when he remembered to eat at all. The state of things didn’t leave him happy, or even content – but he was surviving, and as long as that fact remained, he could keep casting out his nets, dragging in small coin, patiently saving for – what? He didn’t enjoy pondering that. He was cutting this all for something, he was certain. Something very important.

Restless morning thoughts, that’s all they are.

Work. Movement. He needed to be in motion. Then, he wouldn’t think to dwell on uncomfortable questions. Slowly, he rose from his bed of hay and thistle, rocking up on his toes in a cat like stretch, then stooping down to peel his trenchcoat from the straw pallet. The lone waking figure in the little room of sleeping bodies. Pirates and vagabonds and generally unpleasant men. Tip-toeing between them, Havek thought they looked almost peaceful. Better yet, they looked dead. ‘Peaceful’ just goes with the territory. He liked the mornings. Where whole of Vita seemed sleepy and reluctant, from tides to sunlight. When the harbor, in its cold way, started coming alive. It was a solemn silence, its quiet the fading echo of the night’s activity and uproar. He reached for the cock-eyed door handle and –

It flew out to meet his face.

The impact was sharp and swift, the surprise more than the impact sending him reeling. Havek bit back a groan of pain, a spidery hand flapping up to clutch at his nose. The other man’s grunt had been enough to send him running. He whipped around the door frame and squeezed past the hulking blur of flesh occupying the narrow stairs, the myriad things in his bag crashing against each other, making a racket. He sped down the rickety stairs down into the tavern itself, gunning straight for the door. Some alcoholic waste stumbling in from a night of carousing, he supposed. Not that he would stop to be sure. It was not a confrontation he wanted to deal with this early. Or ever.

He didn’t slow until he was safely out of the tavern and into the morning rain. Only then did he pause to creep into his coat and crouch down to slip on his boots, feet naked and damp. He strode out into the walk, tilting his face up to catch the grey downpour. It was cold and clean, and it reminded him that he should probably have a proper bath soon. It had been too long. His hands drifted up, pawing through the ropes of hair. They drifted down, along his cheeks, lingering on his aching nose. A thin stream of blood dripped down, wiped away on the back of his hand. It was sore, but nothing more.

Where exactly he was headed, he was unsure. The Trader’s Square, perhaps? His frail voice didn’t sound up to the task, but of the rare things he could get loud for, work was among them. He’d made the walk too many times before. Every movement was by rote at this point. Coat collar turned up against the rain, bony shoulders huddled down under the thin leather. Ragged though he was, his movements were graceful. Picking through the rain gutted walk like some dark-bodied crane, long-legged and cautious. Just ahead, a single red lamp winked through the rainy haze. He shuffled past it, paused, shuffled back. Stood stock-still in front of the little door. Contemplating.

Shook’s Apothecary. He’d heard of it years before, had wandered past it every day for the past months. A renowned little shop, reputed rich in rarities. Havek was was skilled in only two trades – but the whispers of the harbor’s criminal underground made him cautious to exercise them. Old Rose didn’t seem like the place to smile on a freelancer of poisons and opiates. Legitimate work, however…

Many anxieties had time and again stopped him from making an entrance. He didn’t know if his reputation from the ships had blown into town and – well, to be perfectly honest, he’d spent a great deal of time pondering whether he’d stolen from shop before. He doubted it, however. This seedy stint was not a place he would be quick to forget. The apothecary there was ancient, he’d heard; if Havek had filched some things years before, there was always the fear he’d be remembered. But old men were prone to forget. And young men were prone to desperation.

Broken teeth worried brass rings. His knock was quiet and unsure as the rest of him.

The door to the shop opened with a loud bang, as if a strong wind had blown it open.

It wasn't a strong wind, though. It was a fairly skinny, and if fact rather pale freckled arm that led to an even more freckled face. A young man with lively brown eyes looked out a the darker man. His left hand was occupied by picking at his teeth (although to Havek's knowledge it didn't look like there was much food in them), and his right was like a bar across the door, remaining there in a hostile manner.

"Ye'll be th'one pickin' up the shipment. Look a bit dirty ta be one o' Hawke's men but I en't gonna be th'one t'say so." His animosity dissolved in a moment and he turned away from the man with a grin and a flourish. "Arright then I'll jest get Parrot t'bring out the crates."

He meandered through the rows of spices, herbs, and strange liquids in jars with the practiced air of one who knew exactly where he was going. Havek would have a harder time.

The shop itself was a clutter of shelves, strange looking items, powders, and salts all crowded into a space that was most certainly too small. The odor in the room was faintly herby with a more sinister undertone. Jasper looked entirely too flamboyant to belong in the shop-- and indeed he didn't, really. The true owner of the shop was standing behind a worn wooden counter that seemed to be rotting.

It smelled pleasantly of wet wood and dust, and most people suspected that that was probably what Shook smelled like too. The old man sat, quite hunched, bending over a book that was full of carefully scrawled handwriting. The pages were yellowing, and Shook was wearing glasses that magnified his clear blue eyes two or three times as he looked over the writing.

"Be careful, Jasper!" He suddenly barked. The other man jumped and turned to glare at his employer. "Saffron's quite expensive, boy. Ye'll pay for that with yer hide, if ye break the jar."

The jar in question sat innocently on the side of one of the shelves that Jasper had only just barely avoided grazing.

"PARROT!" Jasper shouted loudly. Shook appeared not to hear him. "BROTHER'S HERE."

There was a shouted, garbled reply that only Jasper understood and he nodded. "'E'll be out in a bit. Jest gotter get things all tidied up for 'is 'ighness." The young man's eyes flicked over Havek again, suspicious of his rags and even of his smell, that seemed invasive in the dusty room.

"...Eyy...are ye sure ye're Hawkes man? Lemme see some identification or sommat." He said suddenly, looking very aware and very prepared. Shook looked up now, his blue eyes bored sharply into Havek's face.

Havek stepped back from the doorway as the door swept open, cringing as if he were about to be struck. The blow never came, however. He blinked up at the boy, slivered gold eye drawing into a squint, right brow curling curiously. Well, this was bound to be the start of a less-than-ordinary day. And less-than-ordinary was a never a good thing.

“I –“ one little sound managed to slip past his lips before the boy crowed and scampered off again. A soft grumble faded over where the mumbled words would have been. He used the boy’s absence to slink up into the doorway, craning his neck to peer about the shop, dreadlocks lank and dripping slightly onto the dusty floor. Oh, wonders and wonders. That hawkish yellow eye widened as it skipped over the ramshackle rows of herbs and unguents. Was that a smile forming on his lips? Perhaps. Crooked, toothy – but a smile, however faint. He would have certainly remembered this. His hands itched, and he wasn’t even in the door. No stealing, he had to remind himself. That was no way to keep a permenant job.

A nervous twitch fluttered across his cheek as he watched the boy bumble through the rows of precious herbs, aching to snap at him, but not having the voice nor mind too. Withered Shook himself – or the man he assumed to be Shook, at least – took care of that well enough. Havek was thankful.

He quickly shuffled out of the doorway when the boy turned his attentions back to him, almost guiltily. A look of confusion deepened across the workable bits of his face. Brother? Hawke’s men? What were they even going on abou—oh. Oh. The bemusement rearranged itself into his usual look of blank coolness.

“I – I never said ‘at I was one of one of…” he paused, rolling the name of his tongue. “Hawke’s men, child. I believe you are…sorely mistaken, perhaps?” Havek's voice was low and cautious.

Jasper's face contorted angrily when he heard Havek say 'child', "'ey you shot yer gob or I'll--!!" He stopped mid sentence. It had actually been barely perceptible, but the old man by the counter had shifted just a little. It had been a minute motion, but apparently enough to stop the younger man.

"Sorely mistaken me erse. I'll sorely mistaken yer mum t'the bottom o'the sea..." He grumbled in a low voice, and then stopped again when Shook moved again, just a little. He sighed and stared at Havek. "Well since ye en't Hawkes man, what're ye here for?" He asked with a sullen scowl, his brown eyes glaring at the customer with suppressed hate. "PARROT. DON'T NEED TH'CARTS. AUGHTER BE SOMEONE BY LATER."

Another mumbled noise from the back room and what sounded like a heavy crate being dropped on the floor.

Jasper didn't tell him about the job opening-- Shook may have noticed it, but Jasper only offered it to the women that came into the shop. The old man didn't really care for the most part... he hadn't exactly been sure he wanted anyone to work alongside with him anyway. How could he tell them everything that needed to be done? That needed to be known? Jasper was here as the help-- and because he'd bee coerced into keeping some younger men to deal with the bigger orders, but someone to actually keep the shop? The idea seemed preposterous.

The potions were all in specific places for specific reasons...he didn't like people messing with his order.

Whistling a little to himself, Charlie Ewing blithely opened the door to Shook's with his habitual flourish. "Jasper my good man, do you have that thing I asked you for the other day, for that awful disease that girl gave m--" He paused abruptly, noticing Havek for the first time. "Oh, er. Hello." He felt rather like he'd interrupted something, and not the sort of something he usually asked if he could then join in on. It was an awkward position to be in, not in the least because he had just cheerfully admitted to having a venereal disease.

Havek flinched again, retreating a half-step from the boy, a hand slipping inside his coat to cradle his silly bag.

“My 'pologies abound. It wasn' my intention to – to, ah, offend ya,” he offered weakly. When had he become so meek? Oh, yes. Ever since he'd been creeping about begging for work. Right-o. That could do it. “--sir,” he tacked on after a moment's hesitation. Words can, in fact, taste bitter as they roll off the tongue. The tone was sweet enough, though. It was accompanied by a small bow, Havek splaying one of his boat oar hands across his chest and dipping his head low. Pride had made his neck sting from the gesture and he felt his cheeks warm with blood. There were more important things than his aching pride on the line here, however. It was a small mercy that his dark skin could betray no blush.



“But I simply--” whatever words to come were drowned out by substantially louder words. He swiveled his head owlishly, peering at the sudden appearance of the young – a shiver crawled across his skin at the sense of his field – galdor. His brows crinkled, one twisting awkwardly around a bar of scar tissue. Other than initial surprise the other man's sudden appearance, Havek seemed flatly disinterested. He was faintly pleased that he'd been momentarily ignored. Though it was surely for no workings of his own – the man just seemed a touch, well, oblivious.

Lips unfurled as if to speak, curving around the beginnings of a question. But the notion of inquiry faded fast. He'd heard the Anaxi galdori spoken of as a strange and cruel lot, so different than the fair arati he could only distantly remember now. This one, however, just came off as...strange. Chirruping about your recent battles with crotchrot in front of a stranger hardly seemed normal for anyone, Hulali forbid a (more or less – and in this case, Havek thought less) powerful magical being. Either way, his ideas of decorum in this instance were blurry. “Pleased to meet ya,” he muttered, offering a swift bow before shuffling aside. He didn't exactly sound pleased. He didn't sound as if felt much of anything at all, admittedly.

His eye soon swiveled back to Jasper, then to Old Man Shook, then back to the boy. A touch of affected servility crept into his into voice. “I...I was simply comin' by in search of work...sir,” he said calmly, raising his voice against the sound of a renewed salvo of rain. His head dipped again in an even more servile bow, ropes of hair slapping wetly against his coat. All this contrived bowing was going to snap his neck one of these days, of that much he was certain.

The use of the word sir caused Jasper to relax a little, although his face was still suspicious of the wick. His mood once again instantly dissolved when a familiar field hit the edges of his perception. He was grinning broadly now. Jasper disliked most gollies as much as the next man, but Charlie was...well he was Charlie. Besides, it never hurt to know a few gollies you could call on when you were hurt. Even weak galdor fields could be enough to intimidate the other person out of a fight.

In fact, it'd be a great idea to use Charlie to dissuade this beggar man now!

"Charlie, ye crazy bastard!" He crowed, his grin stretching from ear to ear. "Th'craziest golly in Old Rose! Killed any 'umans while out on yer walk t'day? No, no-- doan' tell me. Might be a few of me friends, and that'd be a right pity." Jasper wasn't the best actor. He was laying it on thick.

Shook may have rolled his eyes as he was writing.

"This'll be Charlie. Ye'd best stay away from 'im." He said in a warning tone to Havek. It was clear he was trying to imply that he and the golly were Very Good Friends.



Jasper looked at Havek suspiciously and then nodded, satisfied after the other man bowed to him. He opened his man to tell the begger to feck off, but before he could utter a syllable a quiet noise from behind him startled him and he turned.

"I believe Master Charlie said 'e 'ad a problem, dinne?" Shook asked in a quavering voice, magnified eyes looking straight at Havek's. "What poultice would ye say 'e needs, boy?"

Jasper's face changed from indignation to delight. Oh the man was sure to fail this. It was truly a brilliant plan-- get rid of the unwanted beggar by actual legitimate means. He half suspected it wasn't because Shook wanted to save Jasper the trouble of hiding the bodies, but because the last time there'd been any trouble a few of his precious bottles had shattered in the process.

Havek rocked on his heels, becoming a touch agitated as the boy rambled on. Dangerous or not, it didn’t appear as if he needed to be warned to keep a wide berth around Charlie. He had no desire of getting close to him to begin with. His countenance brightened a watt at the sound of Shook’s quavering voice. A weak smile quivered across his lips, flashing the broken gaps in his teeth. Never in his life had he thought he’d actually be pleased at the prospect of tending to some whore-about-town’s…private afflictions. Desperation warped men into such odd little creatures, it seemed

He peered beyond Jasper, that miserable eye squinted intently at the apothecary. It took a great deal of will power to keep his gaze steady on those protuberant eyes. The old wick’s presence was comforting and unnerving all at once.

“Well…I – I s’pose it depends on what exactly he’s gone an’ dipped ‘is beak into…” the words seemed directed more at Shook than the man they spoke of. He’d treated such things before – they were more than common aboard merchant vessels that a young sailor would go carousing on a brief shore leave, only to return to the ship crawling with critters or his undercarriage all in a snit, left to the mercies of the blossoming herbalist’s able hands. Havek flicked his gaze to Charlie, then down to the bodily region in question, eyeing it the way that a dog would examine a turtle. Curious, but without sympathy. How does one go about interrogating a young galdor on the state of his nethers?

There was a brief flicker of hesitation, tongue poised on the backs of his teeth, mouth hovering around a phantom word. When his voice finally came, it was surprisingly steady, almost sure of itself. “Well – well, what ‘xactly does it feel like? I mean – what d’ya quantify as ‘awful’? Ya bleedin’ out any holes? Secretin’ anythin’? An’ if so, wha’ color? Lacerations, pustules, sores? Ya getting feasted on by critters? ” The list of plagues were rattled off with the blandness that comes with a touch of experience. Horrors stopped being horrors when you came to see enough of them. His gaze flicked away from the offending body part, hovering instead over a chink in the door. “Them flowers come in more sicknesses 'an shades. Ya gots to know the symptom ‘fore ya can go conjurin’ up a solution…” he mumbled.

Charlie was a bit taken aback by the implication that he was anywhere near dangerous. Unless you happened to be a solder chip, he'd always thought of himself as rather genial. In fact he was a little miffed, to be honest. He made a point to never harm the locals-- they were no good to him if he had that sort of a reputation! The feeling of minor irritation quickly passed, however, in favor of... Of, well, having his nether regions looked at.

"Ah." There was a bit of throat-clearing. "Well, I'm not precisely sure what it is, the young lady wasn't kind enough to tell me." The Charlie Ewing instinct took over and he flashed Havek a wicked sort of grin. "Don't know that I could describe my symptoms to you properly, might be best if you saw for yourself." Everything about him, from posture to leer, made it explicitly clear that he did not mean this in anything that even approached a clinical fashion.

Havek cocked his head, taking a cautionary step back. Some muttered mugrobi curse ghosted past his lips, barely perceptible. Fuzzy brows crinkled, furrowing. That satyr’s grin was met with snaggle-toothed frown, a look of barely veiled disdain. The body language made something inside him writhe; though the wash of discomfort manifested itself in little more than a sharp eye twitch, the succinct tug of his coat to cover what little of his body wasn’t already swallowed up by all that old leather. Havek looked every inch a stiff stick in the mud, lousy with virginity as Charlie was ripe in amorousness.

This was certainly something new, though. Bony and eyeless rarely translated into one’s definition of ‘desirable’ – he could even faintly recall the sight of a whore or two suppressing a wince at the sight of him. No need to grouse and jaw about it, though. He was certain that the young man wasn’t at all too choosy on who he opted to present his bits too. No matter. The whole business of people’s naughty bits was a trite and dull business to him, one not usually tolerated. But, work was work. So long as the little sleaze didn’t go suggesting he do anything beyond look, he didn’t see the pain.

He turned to face the galdor fully now, leaning heavily against the door frame. “Ya could at leas’ try to describe yer symptoms, fo—sir. But alright—“ he paused, repeated the word again a bit more sharply, as if he were arguing with himself. “If ya can’t trouble yer head over it…Present it.”

There’s plenty more important things than pride, he had to remind himself again. In this moment, however, he just couldn’t think of any for the life of him.

Jasper's face fell when Havek began. He wasn't feeling quite so smug, now he just stared at the one eyed man with sullen annoyance. He leaned back onto Shook's counter. The old man looked impassive as Havek began his questioning.

"I doubt th'lady knows 'erself." Jasper said suddenly, laughing. He may have looked incredibly uncomfortable at Charlie's suggestion. These were two men they were talking about. Things just weren't supposed to work that way.

Shook finally sighed and got up, making his way towards Charlie in a slow, stuttering gait.

"Do what th'man says, lad." The man said in a quiet tone. There would be no fooling around, if Havek was to be hired. Shook had gotten up with the purpose of watching the one eyed man do his business.

"Jasper, get the door."

The young man bounced up and hurried to lock the door.

"Ehhh I'll be in th'back with Parrot." He said edgily, and high tailed it out of there.

Shook barely spared him a glance, "Our back room's got too much in it t'let examinations be in private, ye chen?"

How could that possibly have worked? Surely someone in the store should have said to him, "Charlie Ewing, keep it in your pants." Not that he was going to complain, of course. A cheerful humming started up as he was frustratingly slow with his buttons. There were twelve of them, he reasoned-- that took a long time. And he had to be careful, after all. They were expensive buttons, you see. Delicate thread, that sort of thing. After about five exceedingly long minutes, Charlie pulled it out.

Havek ducked under the doorframe, thankful to be out of the rain. That was a small blessing, at least. The task at hand was…dismal. More than a bit humiliating, too. It was another meager grace that Jasper scurried away into the back room. He didn’t think he’d ever hear the end of it if that boy were to get an eyeful of this. This wasn’t precisely the reaction he’d been expecting – those same little sailor boys would go surly and taciturn under such questioning, sullenly spat ‘I dunno’s in concern to their symptoms. A warning growl of ‘then lemme see it’ was always quick to stoke up conversation. They would sing off the mainstays, telling of poxes true and falsified. That was the usual response, at least. But then again, no one in Old Rose really struck him as ‘usual’.

He tried his damnedest to suppress an almighty eyeroll as the galdor made slow work of his buttons. It slipped past his defenses, however. But it was easily disguised as a curious peering around the shop, flicking from all the little holes in the wall stuffed with herbs, straying over the endless potions littering the counters. That little golden eye seemed to skip in his skull, darting so quickly across all the little treasures. The faint glimmer there could have been awe, or greed, or perhaps some breeding of the two. He clasped his hands behind his back, turning on his heel away from Charlie with a wet squeak. It could have been mistaken for an attempt to give the galdor a bit of privacy while he…disengaged himself, but in truth he just was trying to get a good look at the rest of the shelves. If the hazy smile curling his lips meant anything, Havek was clearly distracted from the unfolding spectacle at hand.

In time, however, the present pop of buttons snatched up his attention again. The vacant smile that been serenely resting on his lips for past minutes evaporated, quick as a snap, once his gaze came to rest on the offending object. He huffed an exasperated sigh, blew it out through his nose. Things like this usually didn’t grate his nerves, but Charlie was just being such a coy little cat about it. He was a man of profound patience, but Hulai below, it was wearing down alarmingly fast. Not that such would be obvious – his whole expression was bland and impassive.

Without a word, he stooped down close before the galdor – unnervingly close, even, as both his vision and the light were poor. The last detail was quickly ameliorated – with a mumbled incantation and a snap, a faint orb of conjured light beaded on his palm, casting a yellow pall on the point of interest. Another sharp twitch convulsed his cheek. But he paid it no mind -- his eye roved over the illuminated area, clinical and curious. After a few long moments, his eye gave a sharp twitch of distress and he jerked his head back, glowering. The answer had certainly been found.

Havek righted, quickly and with little grace. He had no desire of staying down there longer than necessary -- that quick peek had been enough to make him itch. He shuffled a few a squeaky steps back from Charlie, hands clenching behind his back. His gaze lingered on the floor for a moment before anxiously flickering back to Shook.

“Lice, sir.” It was a bland declaration. “They’ve been nesting on ‘im for a week or more, I’d fathom, by th’ profusion o’ critters an’ sores.” His eye slipped closed – he looked almost serene. “Ah…ahm…ragweed. A poultice o’ dried ragweed, wetted in water an’ – mebbe a touch o’ honey fer viscosity’s sake…it’d be good for stavin’ off infection in is bugbites, too. But – yes, it’d be applied to the…ah…afflicted areas for…’bout ten days. Right. Right. Ten…” He trailed off, then, dropping Shook’s gaze as abruptly as he’d picked it up. After a few seconds of silence, without lifting his eye, he piped up again, this time addressing Charlie.

“…ya can put yerself away whenever ya see fit, y’know…ah, sir.”


Then his attention went back to the floor. Havek was fine with the floor.


(( i didn't know if casting a simple, non-combat spell like that would need to be modded. i'll take it out if it's a problem~))

[I'll let it slide this time, but all spells should really be modded. They signify progress and growth in your character's ability for magic. Using magic also means you get to see your character interact with the mona-- who are a separate sort of entity of themselves. ]

Shook didn't show the same impatience that Havek was showing and kept his face as bland as possible, although internally he was ever cursing the gollies that came into his shop and felt they had the right to do what they wanted.

At the one eye'd mug's prescription he nodded. His glasses had provided enough magnification, and he knew the symptoms well enough that he didn't need to bend very close to see.

"Very good." He said, and then began to shuffle through the isles. Even though it seemed that there was no rime or reason to them, Shook seemed to find his way pretty easily. He was taking a few vials down from the shelf and shaking a few others, all with a deft hand.

Once he had grabbed the appropriate medicines he ambled back to his counter and began measuring, always in the cup of his hand, the amounts that were needed. These he put in small paper bags and rolled them up.

"A shill and four tallies."

Their reactions were slightly disappointing. He looked down at himself. No, he was still of a decent size. It was so much harder to charm people, he supposed, when he had some sort of revolting disease. Ah well. He'd get it cleared up, eventually... Maybe find someone to do some spellwork for him. With a little sigh, he started to pack himself away just as slowly and languorously as he had done the reverse, trying to catch Havek's eye the entire time. He wasn't sure why, but he rarely questioned his motivations. Why make a start of it now?

"A shill and six," he said as he cheerfully handed the money over to Shook after finishing with his buttons. "And not a penny more." No one could ever accuse Charlie Ewing of being a man who was stiff with his money. Especially if he felt it was a valuable investment in terms of maintaining an amicable relationship with the locals.

“Very good.”

Three syllables. That’s all it took to coax another weak smile to his lips. It would have been bigger, surely, had he not bitten it back. Somewhere along the line he realized that showing his teeth didn’t come off half as charming as it should have been. It was enough to make him oblivious to the galdor’s lewd show of stuffing himself away, even. Havek had not been called ‘very good’ (or just ‘good’ or even ‘tolerable’) in much longer than he’d have liked to admit. A compliment. Another bow bent him at the waist. As he swept down, the overstuffed bag under his coat rattled fractiously, as it did whenever he moved.

“Oh, I – it is nothing, sir – I…” Another thoughtful pause, brows furrowing. “That was simple, beyond simple, sir, I – I can do other things. Brew elixirs and tisanes, stew dococtions an’ vinegars, brew poisons, an’ potions, tend opium, an’ – “ His words, his voice were like shattered rock candy, scattered and broken, but still sweet.

Nervous babbling is what it was, spoken fast as if he were already getting the door slammed in his face. He pressed three fingers against his lips, squinting back down to the floor. His desperation had sounded far too clear; it was more than a touch embarrassing. “Thank you, sir,” he mumbled flatly, dipping into another bow. The acquiescence was genuine this time around. Havek lifted his head, not straightening up, peering up to Old Man Shook like a dog torn between the expectation of a treat or a beating.

“Is – is there anything else y’could deign to let me do fer you, sir? Anythin’ at all?”

Shook's pride might have wavered when Charlie offered him more money, but he wasn't stupid. He took it and put it away in a series of quick movements-- neither of the men in his shop managed to stop what he was doing with his hands. They did, however, hear a few clunks, as if Shook had pressed a mechanism of some sort. He gave Charlie the entire packet and wrote down the instructions on a small piece of paper, giving that to Charlie as well.

"Your name, boy?" Shook asked Havek sharply, interested in what the boy said he could do in spite of himself.

The door suddenly pounded open and an average man with a mad look hiding somewhere in the depths of his eyes entered the shop.

"Come on th'kings business. Lookin' for a shipment."

"Jasper!" Sometimes Shook wondered why he had hired the man when he was obviously not doing his job.

Jasper skulked out of the back ally, glaring petulantly at Charlie.

"Take care of business." Shook ordered, glancing at the newest man carefully.

Havek slowly straightened up, face darkening for a moment, a shadow there and gone again. Glancing down and away from the old man, rubbing tenderly at the bridge of his nose. The ache lingering ache was slowly coming back. He was scrunched up in thought – far too much thought to be giving such a simple question. He fathomed he must make him look ungodly dim. Or just untrustworthy. Either way, it was no good for business.

For that reason he was almost thankful to see the new arrival, the momentary distraction giving him a second to think. The unfolding exchange made something at his core squirm. All this talk of brothers and kings made the few dregs of Mugrobi morals in him deeply uneasy. Such inklings of conviction would make themselves known at the oddest of times. He suppressed a shiver. He was just now seeing the folly of offering to do ‘anything at all’ at in a place like this. But no matter. Pride had already gone out with a whimper. He could swallow his morals, too, if there was something to be gained. That peculiar eye swept over the Brother once, fleeting and nervous, before flicking back to Shook.

“I’ve…I’ve many names,” he mumbled after a moment of consideration, sniffing wetly. And one of those names was Havek, brittle and leery in sound alone. No, no – that wouldn’t do at all. He thumbed over the list in his head, clutching for the most suitable, the ones least resembling curses. The most simple and gentle of these had come from the mouth of another old man entirely, an old man he refused to dwell on. His step-father certainly had a way of spinning anything into sugar on that honeyed tongue of his, the cold names of cold little boys no exception. The cleaving of a single letter made it all so different, so much softer. “But I am called Hava. Hava Alu—“

The introduction was cut short by a sharp sneeze, quickly muffled by a hand. He cringed and gave his head a hard shake. He didn’t even need to look down to know the damages. The sticky cling that came away on his palm, the warm speckles soaking through the front of his shirt. The metallic scent suddenly joining the dust and damp of the shop. Blood, he knew, and quite a bit of it.

"Hava." Shook repeated and nodded, "I'll be expectin' ye every day in th'morning. And ye'll need sommat for that hole in your lung. And some new clothes. Can't have ye lookin' like some sort o'dumpster rat."

While he was talking Jasper had come out with his friend, Parrot. The larger man was carrying a large crate of something that clinked every time he made a move. They began conducting business in a series of whispers, hand signals, and paper exchanges.

"If ye live long enough for me t'see ye t'morrow I'll show ye some more things what need t'be done." Shook finally finished, glancing sharply at the man who was leaving with the glass things.

Dumpster rat? He ran a hand over his aging leather coat, feeling lesions and wear. He certainly tried to keep his clothing in decent repair, nights spent huddled over shirts and pants, spindle fingers working little stitches and needles. But there was only so much you could do with seashorn rags, he supposed. If this apothecary bit went down in ashes, he supposed he’d make a good housewife. There was always that.

Hearing his name from such a quavering voice again made him feel very, very small. He’d closed his eye and just listened to that voice, head weaving to some unseen song. “Ea, ea, ya, yes...oh yes, sir. I’ll try to keep on surviving, sir, it would be an honor, sir,” he muttered, bowing swiftly – damp dreads bobbing, nose streaming, broken teeth bared in a smile. He looked as though he were barely surviving this moment, to be honest. But Havek was a snake, a cockroach. Small and fast, able to scrape a living from dirt. Spending another night alive couldn’t be too hard, now could it?

He took the old man’s words as if to say it was ripe time for him to take his leave. Curious workings were afoot, unsavory dealings he had no business putting his nose in. Not yet, at least. Havek slowly shuffled back towards the entrance, never once turning his back to the apothecary, peppering in some slight bows, and world of ‘thank yous’, ‘Hulali keep yous’, for good measure.

Before slipping out the door, he paused for a long moment. Flicking his gaze back to Charlie, he offered a low bow, that odd smile never quite leaving his face. “Sana’hulali to you as well, Master Charlie,” he said softly. The man was something you’d want to wash your hands after touching. Thoroughly, thoroughly wash. But damn it if that cesspool of crotch didn’t just get him a job! For once, he was thankful the world was such a filthy place.

And quiet as he’d come, Havek Alu slinked back out into the Loshis rain, a brown smudge in a blur of gray.

Hulali bless all of ‘em, he thought. Bless the lice and the fleas, bless the smog on the sun, bless their Brother- King. Hulali bless all the whores in Anaxas.

Shook stared after Havek and sniffed, "Pilite sorta bastard, inne?" He asked Jasper as he moved back to behind his song.

Jasper looked up, chewing on an unlit cigarette, "Guess he is, that. Prolly some sorta sausage munchin' erse."

The dangerous man who was now holding the crates almost dropped them when the comment startled a laugh out of him. Parrot rolled his eyes and said something that only Jasper seemed to understand.

Shook glared at his two assistants, "Don't ye have things t'be doin'?! I'm payin' ye, ent I?!"