Ceres led Corwynn down the dark corridor, mind struggling now to remember which turn was which. It didn't matter, though; he wanted them as far out of earshot as possible. When they had reached a narrow cul-de-sac with a bookcase that Ceres recognized as a flashy and glaringly obvious trap-door, he turned and faced the other man with a look of resignation in his eyes.

"Let me be blunt," he said. "I feel no sort of kinship with you whatsoever as a result of our race, but I'm speaking to you because I believe you're the only one with more than half a brain in this organization besides Hawke. The cadets are not going to fully comprehend the consequences of what we've just done - that the Seventen now know galdori are helping the resistance. But I imagine that you do."

He folded his arms and leaned back against the wall, fighting the wave of exhaustion that threatened to topple him. "If they're not complete idiots they'll be taking measures to ensure that any of us found outside of our normal place are cut down and arrested immediately.

"The scrutiny of the Vein will begin again, as it did ten years ago. And if they don't find the bastard that flew that aeroship and rescued those people, they won't waste their time with the resistance. They'll come after Hawke's organization. To them, a galdor on the side of the people is the most dangerous thing, the biggest priority."

His eyes said, don't believe for one second that Hawke wouldn't throw you to the wolves if it meant saving the Vein.

Ceres knew nothing of Corwynn's former life, or if anyone in society knew he worked for Hawke; he only supposed that he, like other galdori who no longer flew the straight and narrow, had left a good name and a sizeable fortune behind should he ever want it, perhaps even a convincing cover story. Everything that made him who he used to be might still be around, conveniently waiting for him.

"We need to make them think they've won," he said. "We need them to call off the hunt."

Ceres had no idea how tenuous the position Corwynn usually always assumed himself to be in, even when it came to the King's graces. The blond's father had sold his family into crime, and while he very much enjoyed it for all that it was worth—far, far away from Vienda and from what could even be considered normal social expectation—the gunman had walked both lines and knew what either side of the fence looked like. He'd never needed to give up much of anything, having never desired a good name over the fortune he'd most certainly found on the other side of the coin. He'd buried enough for now, maintaining something shallow and pale for legal realities, but he was not unaware of the thin veil and it's associated risks.

Still, he scowled. Was this a threat? He hardly felt on the side of the people, whether his own or the other races. If he was ever on a side, it was more likely to be his own.

Thin lips tightened, the slightly younger galdor let out something of a disdainful snort through his nose. In all honesty, he totally thought the Resistance immature, a childish organization playing childish games. Crime would always be around, reasoned Corwynn years ago, but resisting the status quo like Ceres and his lot would never amount to anything more than a flash in the pan.

With a smirk, the blond shrugged, "The Vein has nothing to do with your botched jailbreak or your self-righteous cause. We run drugs, pretty island girls, and other such luxuries ... not objections to the way things are, per se. Sure, we put a roof over your head for a while ... but, so what?"

He arched a sun-touched eyebrow, sea-weathered lines of his face drawing together tighter still as he frowned deeper, "Besides, it's going to be clocking hard to convince them they've won anything if everyone they're after still has breath in their lungs."

Incredulous, he added almost dismissively, "Do you really have something in mind to bluff a loss so severe just to keep up your Resistance charade?"

Ceres wasn't a bit surprised at the reaction; it wasn't like a Bad Brother to consider how the world really worked, how the pieces all fit together like cogs in a clock. They existed in their own little universe in the harbor, one where they controlled everything and kept out the ones they didn't like. Safety was never a concern here, as you normally had more to worry about from your next-door neighbor than from the government. They forgot, as pirates were wont to do, that they existed at the pleasure of the Crown.

The older galdor reasoned that if Corwynn was truly unconcerned, he would not have even asked what Ceres had in mind.

"Frame someone for it," he said directly. "You have the resources to do so. Plant the evidence, and I will make the poor man believe he is guilty." Make them think they've found the culprit, he thought. Make them proud of themselves.

"I'm sure," he added, "that you have no end of deserving enemies."

Corwynn rolled his eyes, offering a deadpan expression to the older galdor, unamused. Unlike the majority of his peers and underlings who'd hardly had a real glimpse of how the world worked, at least the gunman had existed in both long enough to understand Ceres' implications, though he could admit it made him uncomfortable. He'd certainly come to enjoy where he was better than where he'd been, despite the nagging awareness of the real machine they were both a part of in their own ways.

"Oh," the blond practically purred, "I'm sure we all have enemies we keep track of, don't we?"

Leaning against the opposite wall and crossing his arms across his chest, Corwynn ran a thumb over the scar of his missing finger almost thoughtfully, not unconcerned so much as jaded, "Again, while I follow your argument, you're still implying this is suddenly our problem when it's still yours. At least, as far as I'm concerned. You want to make it ours so you stay safe in your little game—what kind of kindness is that to show your hosts? Hmm?"

With a wry expression, Corwynn added, "Still, I'm confident there's some possibility of mutual gain in all of this. You'll just need to work harder to convince me it's really worth our time, let alone Hawke's. You seem to have plenty of volunteers of your own, sacrificing themselves for your cause as it is."

Ceres' eyes grew dark. To his mind, Corwynn was the one treating this like a game; he'd been poisoned by Hawke's flamboyance and affectations, drained of everything useful until only shallow self-satisfaction remained. It was clear that whatever bargain he had struck with Hawke did not carry over to the men Hawke employed; truly, he should have realized that long ago, from the way the witches had treated him. These Bad Brothers would fight each other to the death over money and goods, but wouldn't lift a finger to help anyone besides themselves, and indeed would gladly hurt themselves in their mad rush to avoid being helpful...

"Forget it," snarled Ceres, annoyed by the cavalier attitude. "I'll talk to Hawke, then, a reasonable man...far be it from me to inconvenience you, Corwynn. I didn't mean to trouble your little golden head with this. And I'll be certain to remember your opinion on the resistance, so I don't bother you further with my 'little game'."

He strode past him, fuming, and already knowing full well what he would say to Hawke. In his mind, a tirade blew over his rational mind, carrying notes of puffed-up poppinjay and spoiled infant and useless, idiot toffin with it. It wasn't exactly a surprise to him that he couldn't count on anyone in Hawke's organization, but perhaps a small lingering part of him had continued to carry the faith that galdori shared a common bond, common interests, despite his previous disclaimer. Bitterness swelled up inside him and he recognized once more what base emotions had driven him to the resistance in the first place.

"Wait."

Corwynn grinned broadly at the man's dissatisfaction, very much like a cat with the canary. His white teeth all in their genetically predetermined row, the glint in his blue eyes was more than just amused—it was indeed clocking satisfied. The gunman seemed to visibly enjoy the older man's anger,

"That's it? You're just going to give up? How in Alioe's name did you make it this far, old man?" The blond taunted to Cere's back, not bothering to move from the wall, arms still crossed over his chest, "You won't get anywhere with Hawke if a threat and a tantrum's all you've got up your sleeve. Don't think he doesn't see that every day. The government may run on less, but the rest of the world doesn't."

He laughed, "I didn't take you as so shallow, but apparently you've lost your patience for games. Vienda wipe that out of you? Or just the flight over here?"

The younger galdor had his island picked out, his boat always ready, his own life to live far from everything else should something finally decide to not go his way. No one else knew that, and as far as he was concerned, no one else ever would. His laughter faded and the sea-weathered features of his face fell into a scowl,

"Your's isn't the only godsbedamned game of Kingdoms being played in Anaxas and you know it, or else why would you bother with me? You know as well as I do that what you're playing—what we're both toying with, thank you, just on different sides of the street—is dangerous, even for you. Somehow, you hold onto the stubborn belief that if things actually went your clocking way, if you finally got that equality and all that you tell yourself you're fighting for, then those half-breeds and the magic-less masses you set free won't leave you staring at your own blood spilling into the streets along with the rest of us. The rest of the galdori ...

"You tell yourself that surely they must see you as someone else, as something more than just another symbol of oppression. I'm sure if you don't wake yourself up in the morning with that, you're at least reminded of it every day in the faces of the people you call your coworkers—"

Corwynn stood up from the wall then, right hand moving to his weapon, blue eyes narrowing, "—and if you clocking don't, you're a bigger fool than I took you for, Ceres. If you really want to salvage something, I'm not just winding your gears when I tell you you'll need to work harder. Sure, there's plenty of scapegoats out there, but if you've spent so much time thinking about it, then you've obviously got more than just a suggestion on your mind."

Ceres eyed him levelly with a professor's special brand of disappointment, as though he'd answered a relatively obvious question wrong.

"You do talk a lot, for a man who doesn't have much to say," he grunted, turning around again. "That's one thing men like you can't really get past - that someone would do something without the thought of where he'll find himself when the dust settles, what he'll personally gain from the experience."

He turned his head and cracked a weathered smile.

"I was wrong," he said. "You're not prepared to die, even on paper. You're still attached to that life, that society. I can hear it in your voice. I'm certain Hawke would love to hear himself described as a half-breed..."

"Sure he would." Retorted the blond, undaunted by the accusation, unfazed by the thought of saying such a thing to Hawke's face. He'd said worse, he was sure of it.

It was, of course, Ceres' choice to favor something so foolish as sacrifice a worthy way to be part of a cause; Corwynn had decided long ago that was not something he'd ever really be willing to do. He certainly did clocking care where he'd end up once the dust settled anywhere; there was always something to live for, as far as he was concerned. He wouldn't be comfortable anywhere else than where he was now, regardless, "I enjoy my life just fine, but not that one. I made my choice already, it's just not one you approve of because it's hardly self-righteous like you."

He sniffed, incredulous, still quite convinced that the older galdor was only concerned for his own protection than the Underground. Why should he be? They were all scum, anyway, not like the Resistance and their lofty goals. If they were the ones who took the fall instead, then it was no clocking skin off of Ceres' back,

"I'm sure there's someone in our pockets to throw to those green-clad hounds if that's all it takes to help you sleep at night, but I'm still not convinced you can't just do that on your own. I think you need to explain more for it to look less like passing the crowns."