She wasn't sure what day it was. She'd been living mechanically these days, eating when she needed to eat, sleeping when she needed to sleep, speaking when she needed to speak. For the most part she only needed to speak to order another drink. And even that was rare-- it was like she'd turned herself off. Amani didn't want to get drunk. She didn't want to do much of anything, actually.

It had been similar after the war... She'd found nothing to occupy her mind, or her time and had resorted to drinking. But even that bored her, now. She couldn't be bothered to pay for something that she knew wasn't really helping. Helping what? She was fine...right?

The ghost woman hadn't gone away entirely-- or that is, Amani hadn't stopped talking to her. She might have been long gone but the dark woman had fallen into the habit of speaking to someone who probably wasn't there.

She knew it made her sound crazy, she just didn't care. The world was washing by her and leaving her faded and quiet.

Except.

Except she knew some things.

For example, she knew she was going to find out who killed Urchin. And she was going to hurt them. And she was going to hurt them until they couldn't get up. And then she was going to kill them in the most painful way she could think up.

The thought gave her a very abstract, grim satisfaction.

Maybe he was getting too old to get shot all the time or some of the time or as often as it seemed to lately occur. Maybe he just should've been a bit more discerning (or less predictable) about the follow-up activities after a rather sloppy, impromptu patch-up job of a casting. Maybe he should spend less time killing and more time working on his rather distant relationship with the mona. Maybe there was just no clocking way to avoid hanging around dangerous people, given the choices he'd long since settled on being the right ones. Especially if they were pretty. Maybe it was all just the damn rain.

Whatever the case, Corwynn was painfully aware that everything still clocking hurt, and he more than just a little disinterested in doing anything in particular that resembled work.

Sure, he could've totally drank at home and completely ignored the Harbor and its goings on. He could've finally visited that hole in the wall place that was attracting so much attention. He could've even just gone and found things to shoot at ... But, no, the King's golly was a terrible creature of habit.

So, the Dove it was. Disheveled, uncharacteristically unkempt, and more than a little damp from a long, thoughtless walk in the rain, Corwynn was more interested in the distracting hum of the constant crowd than any waitress' smile today. If he hovered in the doorway to note the patrons, it was unnoticeable. If he was surprised by any of the occupants, the blond gunman kept it well enough to himself.

Still, to say the seat he gruffly chose with an inkling of guile was not without reason would have been an obvious and unfortunate lie. There was the grating sound of a chair sliding across the floor and the muffled thud of feet on the tabletop, uninvited but never inhibited. Right arm curling over the rickety chair back, fingers straying to a worn, familiar wooden grip, Corwynn didn't feel the pressing need to bother with being pleasant,

"I clocking hope you're drinking," hoarse but contained, he offered the rather distracted Mugrobi woman across from him something resembling a sneer, weathered features not entirely unfriendly, "because I have a feeling I'm clocking buying."

Nothing demanding. No particular requests. Yet.

"Hello Corwynn." Amani said slowly. It felt as if the syllables of his name were sliding out of her mouth like syrup. But even as she spoke languidly, her eyes were suddenly fully focused and looking directly at his face, studying it. They weren't friendly or familiar, but cold and distant. "If you are buying, I will drink with you."

Behind her, Cara the ghost was whispering in her ear, but Amani ignored her. "You do not look well. I trust you have managed to hold yourself together in the time that I was away?" It might have been humor but the way she spoke was almost too chilly for it to be mistaken as such. Her body wasn't relaxed, but wasn't exactly firm, either. It looked more as if Amani had been shown an illustration of how one should look in a bar, and had then tried to copy it. It resulted in her looking almost as if everything was fine. But there was something slightly off in the way she was sitting.

She looked more like she was posing than actually relaxing. It was slightly unnerving, once you noticed it. All her movements seemed rehearsed-- it even looked as if she thought before she blinked. As if she had to remind herself to do it, because it had ceased functioning on its own.

She looked...controlled.

Something was off, despite what Corwynn considered a rather endearing effort to start things friendly. As far as he was concerned, he had every right to be demanding, but had (to his merit) refrained. Alioe, he'd just been discussing his idle curiosity over Amani's mysteriousness with Mir—Well, she didn't have anything to be clocking pissed about. She had a free stay in the godsforsaken capital and even had a free ride or two. He was even being friendly. Mostly. Sort of. The gunman arched a sun-touched eyebrow and watched her, wordlessly. He didn't know whether to be curious or frustrated. It was odd.

"It depends on how you define together, of course." The blond finally replied, glancing past the swordswoman to attempt to catch the attention of someone serving with a tilt of his head. Returning his focus to Amani, he tried not to feel any further deflated than he did already, wilting visibly, "By the looks of things, we're somehow each on our own pages in the unwell category."

Fingers listless on his weapon, he shifted slightly in his seat, uncomfortable ache in his shoulder refusing to be ignored, "Your stay must not have been as pleasant as my mail seemed to imply ... or perhaps the weather this time of year made traveling more tiring than usual?"

There. He could pretend to be tame, the faintest crease of something roguish like a thin smile peeking at the corners of his expression. Had that waitress even noticed?

"I am...better than I was. Healing." Amani lifted her arm to show him the slightly raw skin from where she'd been burned. She still wasn't wearing a gauntlet on that hand.

"You dumb slut, you're not well."

Amani looked up at Cara, who was slightly to the left of Corwynn's face, staring at her accusingly. She shrugged, a little, and then went back to looking at the gunman with the same studious look she'd pinned on him before. It was an unnerving sort of stare.

"My stay in Vienda was..." She paused to tuck a stray hair behind her ear in a manner that once again seemed rehearsed, "Well enough. I suppose you could say it was my arrival in Old Rose that left me feeling somewhat...disquieted." Her lips pulled into an empty sort of smile.

"And you? Have you been up to anything...special?" There was something odd about the way she said that. Now she really was searching his expression. Although she sat in the same lazy position as before, her whole body suddenly seemed very alert.

"Special? Me? ..." He chuckled, but it was empty humor, "No. Putting a few things in order for a Drain project or two, getting shot for no real clocking reason, sleeping around in my spare time. Nothing out of the ordinary in my schedule lately ..."

He might have been unsure now. Was this all accusatory? Who'd been the one absent for unspeakable reasons? Right. Not clocking him.

Struggling to keep from scowling, blue eyes strayed from her unnerving expression to her arm. Corwynn's default was a natural sort of sarcasm, suggestive as always, especially when he suddenly felt a little under the metaphorical gun, "If you wanted me to show up with bells on or something for your return, you only needed to ask for those things in advance. I'm not really the flowers and chocolate type, if that's what you're implying ..."

He blinked, now too uncomfortable to smile. His free hand rose to his chest just under his shoulder, fingers kneading at rebellious flesh, "... but I've been known to make exceptions. I'm sorry if I missed my chance at playing welcoming committee—"

The blond stopped and sighed, dissatisfied with the charade, "Oh, clock it. Apparently, I'm missing the punch line to your joke."

"I see." She said, although her stare didn't waver. As he went on her face remained quietly unimpressed through his attempt at lightening the situation and she nodded, finally, when he stopped trying to continue it.

"Joke. Hm." Amani said, putting both of her hands on the wooden table and splaying out her fingers. She stopped inspecting Corwynn, instead turning her gaze downward and beginning to trace the shape of her hands as if they were a rare object she'd never encountered. "There is a joke in Mugroba that says one should never cross a woman."

She closed the fingers of her left hand and stared for a second longer. As fast as she was able to she drew a dagger and slammed it into the table. For a very confusing second, it looked as if Amani had stabbed herself with the knife. She moved her hand away and spread her fingers slowly, all of them intact.

"They were right." Her face was as cold, and stone like as ever. Only the dagger remained, quivering, its tip embedded deeply into the table.

"Now he just thinks you're a crazy bitch." Cara said scornfully.

"Did you kill Urchin?" She could think of no one else who knew her enough-- who had the power to hurt her like that. The part of her that had compelled her to ask him, to suspect him, that part of her wanted it to be Corwynn very badly. She wanted to think that there had been a cause to his death. Revenge was fine, even if it was for something petty. As long as he hadn't been killed for no reason.

"The Gods have left you on your own."

Amani didn't know if she said it, or the ghost did.

It slowly dawned on the older galdor that staying home had obviously been the wiser decision, which usually ended up to be the case given the way he was apt to make choices. This was not at all what he'd expected for his morning. Or afternoon. Or day, really. By the time she'd flinched to draw a weapon, Corwynn had instinctually moved to draw his own. It was like breathing, really, though he didn't remove his feet from the table so much as shift in his chair, arm extended into the space between them with a scowl.

Oh, she really had no idea how well he knew that saying.

Thumb on the hammer, he narrowed his blue eyes and growled in Amani's own language, thoroughly disturbed, "Did I what? Gods no—the boy's a clocking genius. Besides, I'd like to think I'm a little above having any qualms with a child."

He blinked, realizing he'd attracted a few stray glances but unwilling to back down under what very much felt like a threat. The blond galdor continued in a lower, barely contained tone of voice, "Look, I don't know what you're talking about. If this is some elaborate way of messing with me, it's hardly amusing. Or, at least, it's lost its charm. I'd say you've taken me on enough of a clocking trip already, all things considered."

Corwynn had the presence of mind to move his thumb away, but refused to lower his pistol, field tense but tangibly confused, "If you'd care to explain, we can go elsewhere. If not, maybe you're better off drinking on my coin alone."

It hurt a little when he said it wasn't him. Amani ignored the gun. She had never managed to find them as threatening as a knife to the throat, honestly.

"I can explain perfectly well right here, if you would care to listen." Amani didn't want to move unless she absolutely had to. It seemed an unnecessary waste of energy. She liked to think she was done with unnecessary wastes.

"Let me see...where to begin." She paused to yank her knife out of the table and stow it in her the buckle of her belt. "When I arrived at Old Rose, I was surprised to find my apartment open. " Amani smiled a little, "Urchin was left dead on my couch. This alone might have bothered me, but it was not his death that was so disturbing--"

Her smile stopped abruptly. "It was what they had done to him before death. Tell me, if this was not done by you or your agents, who would have done this?" She wasn't sure if Corwynn had ever seen her be truly angry. It looked a lot like she was now-- usually minus the talking ghosts at her side.

"Unfortunately, there's any number of other, er, organizations who don't have the same standards as ours." His gun was in his lap then, expression sour as he resisted looking concerned. He wanted to, given Amani's apparent state of mind, but it was difficult not to be bristled at the assuming sort of accusation. Had he paused to consider things, his pride might have stung a little.

Corwynn sunk into his chair slowly, thoughtful but still cautious, "Urchin wasn't an employee, officially speaking. His associations with us aren't unknown in the Harbor, however. I could narrow it down to a few low enough—"

And, with impeccable timing, there was the waitress. Naulanda looking as distant and uncaring as always. She didn't even bother to ask what they wanted, smirking at the galdori expectantly. They had been playing with weapons just a moment ago; she was a little nervous.

The blond gunman paused and turned to roll his eyes at her, "A bottle of something old and Gioran. Two glasses. No questions."

"Sure thing, pet." The human offered a fake smile and disappeared, grumbling once out of earshot.

With a sigh, Corwynn returned his attention to the Mugrobi woman, edges of his expression softening noticeably, "My gut would tell you the Drain, just to piss on our lawn. They've been more bold lately, dangerous and less inhibited. But, well, I couldn't say for sure." His jaw clenched and he hesitated with the discomfort of his next question, "I take it you've already disposed of ... things? I would volunteer Yulina's services. She has a rather disturbing but distinguishing eye for ... style."

He looked down at his lap briefly, tone quietly bordering on the apologetic. The older galdor surrendered reluctantly to concern as if it was painful, "Otherwise, it doesn't hurt to have some ears to the ground. Someone will slip up somewhere eventually. You might have to be patient."

"The Drain...a name I have heard but do not have too much involvement in." Amani hesitated for a moment, "What are they?"

This was dangerous territory, she knew. If she continued people would actually have a reason to kill those who were close to her. Amani plowed ahead anyway.

"I buried him. What was left of him." Skin over bones and what looked like pain. "I do not want this Yulina woman to kill them, do you understand? I need to find out who they are...and who their families are...and who their friends are." She was too calm. She was too calm, and the way she said it was like stones dropping from her mouth, one by one.



"Patient." Amani repeated quietly. She smiled bitterly, "I do not think you understand. When I found him, every single one of his fingers had been broken. His eye had been punctured. He had bruises from head to toe. A long, nasty, infected scrape along the side of his face. Not to mention the other type of abuse he went through."

She didn't specify. "What I am saying, Corwynn, is that I could wait until the end of this world, to hurt those men for what they did. And after that...the Drain...is going to burn."

And I will be the one to light the match.

"They're quite frankly competition, only of a larger variety than we're used to. The Drain has managed to even charm some of our own, much to our disappointment."

If there was anything that managed to rouse both visible an audible vehemence, it appeared to be talking about this very specific rival. Elusive and frustrating, his desire to root them out like so much diseased vermin would've sang in his field had he not been caught up in actual concern. Corwynn scowled, "Yulina doesn't like to kill things in a normal sort of way. What I meant by recognizing style is she might have been able to form a more educated guess as to who would do such a thing through whatever they left behind. It's strange enough anyone would drop something like that in your lap ... there's plenty of other more obvious targets."

The gunman thought he was already uncomfortable, but her description of what had transpired and what state Urchin was apparently left in proved him wrong. While there were plenty of rules he enjoyed breaking and plenty of boundaries he'd crossed over the years, Corwynn disliked children in general. And, well, there were just things you didn't do ... areas of crime that were both unnecessary and unproductive, whatever the job. Children were on that list somewhere. Definitely.

He didn't pale or look horrified so much as wordlessly draw inward, recoiling without a change in expression. This shouldn't have to be anyone's business but the Brothers', and it shouldn't have become Amani's business in such a way as it apparently had. Then again, who could be sure who would really do such a thing? The blond listlessly fiddled with his weapon, looking down at his lap in his disquiet,



"You're not alone in wanting that. It's more than just Hawke's agenda as well, though obviously for less ... personal reasons. It should never have become your burden. Not this way." He sneered, still not looking up, "It's supposed to stay business. What you're saying is a clocking mess."

"Besides being someone to blame, is there something I can do?"

"Yes. That is exactly what it is. A mess." Amani said dreamily, leaning on her hands. Her movements once again seemed rehearsed. After the brief outburst of a more real type of emotion, she was back to that strange detached manner that Corwynn had first encountered her with.

"You can help me find them. And--" She attempted a smile, "I will be needing that drink. " Her attempt at levity was hopeful, but fell somewhat short of genuine humor. "So you have been keeping busy?"

He smirked, bordering on the mischievous, "You'll really have to define busy. It has so many connotations for me."

"I've been working on finding ways to get to the Drain for months now, one bleeding, whining tongue at a time. It's not quite as easy as we'd hoped, I'll admit." Corwynn scowled at this, frustration obvious across his sea-weathered, aristocratic features, "I've got a few plans coming together, but they're long-term. I'd like to get an informant aboard one of their ships and I think I might have found a very nice wick of a bloodhound to do some of my dirty work. Other than that, I've still been biding my time to discuss my ideas with Hawke."

He shrugged, pausing as Naulanda returned ungracefully with a bottle of wine old enough that it was dusty and the label was worn. She set two glasses down and offered something of a more attentive smile than previously,

"Enjoy."

Then, with a weary sigh, the woman was off again.

Without hesitation, the blond galdor took the liberty of pouring drinks for both of them with a thoughtful hum, scowl fading a little at the edges. Corwynn passed one glass in Amani's direction, placing the bottle in the middle of the table. He leaned an elbow on the tabletop, chin on the knuckles of his less-whole hand,

"Don't take this the wrong way—necessarily—but do you need somewhere to stay? Or some hirelings to keep an eye on your place? Of course you can take care of yourself, but, you know, it's just an offer."

"Why do you wait?" Amani asked with idle curiosity, reaching to take a wine glass and sipping carefully. "Why not tell him your suspicions now?" She had never met the thief king, and only the strangest of stories had reached her ears which had resulted in her believing none of them. She had heard him portrayed as a sinner, a saint, and a man who was just...insane.

For now, she'd reign in her judgment until she'd met him herself.

"Ah...no, I will be fine on my own." Amani said with a quiet smile, "Thank you for offering. I am not well known enough yet that I will be in any danger."

"And you sleep with one eye open already. Don't forget that." Cara said sarcastically.

"Well, he and I should be spending some time together ... soon enough." Grunted the blond, tone implying that a random audience was just not something that happened, regardless of the level of familiarity between himself and Silas. Everyone had their own calendars to keep full, after all, "I like to make sure I have everything beginning to fall into place before I present my plans. It makes everything lend itself to a more productive conversation."

If Corwynn was disappointed in the Mugrobi swordswoman's response, he kept it from his expression, choosing to brood over his drink for a while first.

He shrugged, somewhat dismissively, "Fair enough."

"So ..." blue eyes briefly shifted to Amani's arm for emphasis, coy but only capable of asking questions according to his assumptions—brief and uninformed as they were, "Last time I checked, Vienda was a safer city than the Harbor. Has that changed since the last time I was in town for business or do you just attract trouble wherever you go?"

Amani smiled, a more tangible smile than her last. "Tsk tsk Corwynn. I recall saying that I wanted to keep my business in Vienda quite...private. This has not changed." She took a sip of her whine and sighed, flexing her burnt wrist again, admiring the new skin.

"It is natural to be curious, though. I was drunk and lit my table on fire." She flashed her teeth at him, and her tongue flicked out for a moment to wet her lips.

Corwynn grunted something doubtful and disapproving, scowling at Amani from over the rim of his glass, "Of course. That sort of thing happens all the time. I suppose some of the lower parts of Vienda would consider that entertainment."

He grinned, deciding that it was wiser to hold his tongue on his opinions or suspicions in general. It would be poor form to offer sympathy and criticism in the same breath, really.

"Well, hopefully, the next time you have personal business, it'll be a bit ... tamer." The blond refrained from elaborating all that he could've been implying with his simple statement, "For both our sakes, perhaps."