Annie had collected herself enouh after running out of the office to be able to think of what all needed to be done in town. Her first stop was by the Coop to pick up the rest of her belongings. She hadn't figured her room would be kept (it wasn't) but the landlady was nice enough, however, to hang on to most of Annie's things, including her plants. As long as m'coat's still here an' in one piece, we're in business. Annie would have been sad if her coat was gone, partially because she really loved that old thing but mostly because of the four shills she'd sewn into the hemline for safekeeping. Y'never know when ye might needa spot o' pocket ging.

Her second stop was to a used clothing dealer to sell off one of her dresses. She'd liked it plenty, but there's really only one use for a fancy dress--to go somewhere fancy, which Annie only did once a year. Nex' year I'll hafta amember t'rent 'nstead o' buyin' new, she chided herself. The shop owner only wanted to give her two shills, but she'd managed to talk him up to three. Seven shills t'me name, is all I got. I better find somethin' good aroun' here fast, er I'll be out inna streets fer good!

Annie's third stop was the hall of records for a good sit down review of her writ ("Yes, tha's m'signature. Yes, tha's m'name. Been here since I were seventeen. Yes, tha's m'sig--didn' ye jus ask me that?") which lasted about two hours. She hated beaurocratic red tape about as much as she hated editorial red tape, and she hated editorial red tape quite a bit. Everything was straightened out in the end, all the forms were dotted and crossed correctly, filed in the propper direction and so on. Annie left the hall of records as quickly as possible, not daring to stop just in case someone decided she needed to sign something else.

Once outside, with all of her necesary tasks complete, Annie had need of one thing: a good, solid lead. Somethin' nice'n juicy, she thought, that'll really git 'em goin'. She paused to think for a moment, then headed towards one of the many bars in town. Thirsty people like drinkin', an' drinkin' people like talkin', so it only stands t'reason anyplace what sells drinks'll have a lead er two floatin' about somewheres.

Process of elimination lead Annie to the door of the Paper Tiger. She'd been in once or twice to meet and discuss tips with sources over a cold one, but she wasn't a regular. Annie pushed open the door and stepped inside, surveying the interior before approaching the bar.

"Hesta, chip. A pint, if'n ye don' mind t'much. 'Sgood t'be back in town, says I!"

Maria was by far the most interesting looking person in the bar. In fact, there's a fair chance she's numbered well among the most interesting looking people in the city.

Covered in scars, she was sitting next to a small mountain of mugs, shot glasses, tumblers, steins, and lowballs. Maria had the constitution of an ox, and she had been in and out of the bar since early afternoon, trying out every drink in the place, one by one.

Maria rather liked the spunky young wick's look, and she was currently lacking a drinking partner - and who better than another returning Viendan. So she raised a glass. "Hesta!" she called back. "Come'n have a sit over here, girl, an' this roun's on me."

*(I love you so hard right now.)*

Annie November was full of conflicted emotions. On the one hand, here was what looked to be a perfect chance to find something to report back to The Man, but on the other hand, the mountain of glasses next to the woman who had spoken could potentially mark any and all tips given null and void due to sheer intoxication. But on the other hand, the galdor's words weren't slurred (so far as Annie could tell) and with a constitution as hardened as that one, the wheelchair bound walking distillery would probably be her best source of information. But on the other hand, she was a galdor, and Annie was a wick, and if anything didn't mix like oil and water, it was gollies and wicks. But on the other hand, Khymarah was a golly and she didn't mind Annie one bit. But on the other ha--FREE BEER?!

The reporter flashed her most curtious, gracious and charming smile she could possibly muster at the Woman In The Wheelchair and bowed her head. "I'mma thankin' ye kindly, ma'am, fer ye pleasant hospitality." She nodded at the tower of empty drinks. "Now, if'n that ain' the finest c'llection o' glassware an' tumblers I ever seen, I'm thinkin' I might be needin' me eyes checked."

"Oh aye, that it'd be I'll bet. I've just been trying out the wares - I've been gone from the city for a couple years, and I've been looking for a good watering hole." She shrugged. Even above and beyond the scarring and the chair, the woman didn't look well off. She looked like she hadn't slept in some time, and like she was under some kind of extreme stress besides. The bags under her eyes had bags underneath them, and she was only just barely able to keep herself sitting upright in her chair. Her accent was an eclectic mix of wick, foreigner, and merchant drawl, all plastered over the Proper Viendan Golly of her childhood.

"I shouldn'ta come back. Damn city. Everythin's simpler on the road . . . " She said, looking sadly into her almost-empty drink.

Annie reguarded the other woman carefully. Now that she was across a table from her instead of across a room, Annie saw a number of details she'd missed before. The golly was beyond tired--she looked to be flat out exhausted, if her face had anything to say about it. Up close, the scars stood out considerably more, especially considering the rosy color on the woman's cheeks, thanks to the alcohol. Ent as bad as some folk I know, Annie thought, but she's had a bit already. 'ere's hopin' her liver'll hold.

Annie signaled to the waitstaff for a beer, and turned back to the woman across from her. "Might seem simp'ler, but it ent," she replied. "Ent nothin' t'see but grass, nothin' t'eat but grass an' a few roots if'n ye can find 'em, an' ye don' find out what's happened back home 'til ye've reached ye're destination, by which point it's later'n all heck t'get back an' try t'help at all." The reporter shook her head. "Nay, if'n ye want t'know what's goin' on, ye'd best stay put an' see fer ye're self. Take me, fer example. I been kickout outta the city while I were away, di'n even know there were a rule about writs 'til I got back. Been gone fer a month er so, I have, an' it's all a big blank spot as t'news. Ent found nobody t'fill me in yet."

She didn't say it, but Annie's eyebrows issued a challenge to the woman, almost daring her to tell what had been happening in her abscence.

"That's only a worry when you've left anything behind . . . " Said Maria. Indeed, when she left Vienda, she never planned to return. Family estranged, friends alienated, and belongings sold off, she had seen nothing to return to. But, somehow, the city still managed to pull her back.

"Riots in the streets. Wicks need papers now. Even the seventen is . . . " Her voice trailed off. "These are dark days." She added, finishing off her glass and ordering another.

Annie took a longer draw of her drink. This conversation was looking to be a bit more difficult than she thought.

"Aye, that they are. Good thing I'm back in town t'shed a little light on th'truth o' it all, ye chen?" Provided, o' course, I get somethin' t'shed light on.

Annie wondered if the wheelchair bound golly could read thoughts. Neh, prolly not.

The reporter extended her hand across the table, careful not to disturb the tower of tumblers. "M'name's Annie, by the by. Annie November, at ye're service."

"Maria LaCosta." Says to woman, managing a broken smile. Even at the best of times her smiles bordered on the grotesque to those unused to her scars, but on days such as these she was downright frightening. "A pleasure t' meet'choo. What do you do about town, Annie?"

((SFSR!))

Annie grinned at the woman, determined to look her in the eye the whole time. Scars or no scars, Annie November would never be intimidated by another golly again.

"Whadda I do aroun' town? Ye migh' say I'm a public infermationist, tellin' it like it is an' gettin' th'truth out to folk what might not hear 'bout it otherwise. Reportin' the news, that's me game, an' newsprint's me weapon o' choice. I work over at the Kingsway Post, ye mighta heard o' it." She took another swig of beer. "Aye, the paper's runnin' a bit slow these days. Got us a new editor, ye chen, what don' like truth told t'folk what he don', erm, 'approve of'. Sent me out t'find him a story, an' all I've run inter so far is a bunch o' red tape an' radicalism, neither o' which he'd approve of fer the front page I kin tell ye that!"

Annie casually glanced around the bar. It was still relatively early in the afternoon; the regular patrons wouldn't be coming in for at least another two or three hours. It was quiet except for the clink of a glass here or there; the perfect atmosphere for sharing a juicy tip, says I, the reporter thought to herself.

"S'tell me, Maria. Ye know as well as I th'city's on edge. The air's thick wit' tension. What'd be happenin' recently to make erryone so anxious, eh?"

Maria paused, as the words penetrated the alcohol, sidled past the sleep deprivation, and finally pushed their way through. "Ah. The press" Said Maria, as realization slowly dawned. She was speaking to The Press.

Maria had heard of the press, and it seemed like an enormously powerful weapon in the right hands. As a soldier, Maria's professional opinion was that the press aught to be controlled just like any other weapon of mass destruction. Allowing a free press to operate seemed to her to be somewhat akin to handing out free guns to anyone with two fingers.

That said, she rather suspected the press was firmly on her side in this particular war, particularly given how much trouble the gollies have been giving them. However, that did little to assuage her discomfort. News folk sometimes had a funny sort of loyalty to The Truth, taking it to be somehow more important than the men it served. The Truth (Like almost everything else, in Maria's eyes) was a weapon, intended to be thrust into one's enemies wounds, and mercilessly twisted whichever way causes the most grievous harm. Holding to one particular truth just because it happened to be true was like taking orders from one's own sword - patently ridiculous.

Of course, Maria did not convey all of her thoughts in the moments after Annie spoke. Nevertheless, her voice was several degrees colder when she finally muttered. "I see . . . "

I wonder who you serve, Annie November . . .

"Given how new I am to the city, I don't feel I have much of a useful perspective on the matter. I hardly know more than you do." She said carefully. She had considered each word with care, unwilling to give Annie anything worth quoting.

((SFSR, again.))

Annie allowed her eyes to narrow, but only slightly, towards the other woman. If anything, she was almost an expert at reading intonation, and Maria's voice change had seemily sucked all of the warmth out of the room. Not even the alcohol was as cold as the woman sitting across the table now seemed to be.

"Aye, the Press," Annie replied in almost as frosty a tone. "It's a tough job if'n nobody'll talk to ye, but if'n it weren't fer us, nobody would know nothin'. We're a right useful bunch, us Press, even if'n I do say so m'self."

S'that's how ye're gonna play, Annie thought as she finished off her drink. The reporter nodded slowly, staring intently at the bottom of her glass. Shoulda known better'n t'trust a golly fer a tip. S'all they like t'do, lead us on 'til we're hooked, then leave us hangin' out t'dry with the warshin'. Finally, she looked up, locking eyes with Maria. "Well, I thankee kindly fer the enlight'nin' conversation, Miss La Costa, but I'd best be on m'way. Don't worry 'bout gettin' up, I kin see m'own way out," she said with an overly toothy grin before rising from her seat. Annie tipped her hat at the woman and turned to head towards the door, pausing for a moment to toss a shill at the bartender. "That oughta be 'nough t'cover m'drink an' the trouble ye'll go to cleanin' up all o' hers," she said, lowering her voice just in case it carried further than intended. "Ye migh' consider makin' her next one wit' more water'n liquer, ye chen?" she added with a wink before opening the door and stepping back outside.

Well, tha' puts me back at square one, she mentally grumbled. A bigger waste o' time I ent e'er known. She shook her head as she continued down the sidewalk, her head down in frustration. There had to be something--

Annie stopped, her eyes catching sight of something she hadn't begun to think of until now: another newspaper, crumpled in the gutter. It had to have been at least two days old, and while the rain had ruined most of the type, part of a title was still visible. Annie fished it out of the rubbish and smoothed it out to read it better. "--ANGE DEATHS CONTIN--" it read, with a smaller line underneath, "--ten Continue to Search for Hatche--". If there was any one word that could sell a paper, death would be it. Make it plural and you're really in business, Annie mused as the gears began to work in her brain. This could be m'ticket back t'the KP!

Nora was on a delivery mission. She had slips of paper in her boot that were on their way to members around the city; ducks, goats, and even a chicken or two were soon to be tied with orders and messages of varying importance. Nora had all afternoon to get it done, and she was taking her time to enjoy the fresh air, nervous as it made her to be out and about with the sun still up. Everyone needed their creature comforts.

She rounded a corner and caught sight of a familiar face, though the hair had changed. And the hat was a little different. She smiled and sidled up behind the other wick, putting on a deep voice, "You have a permit t'be readin' that, miss?"

Annie jumped with a start, her shoulders bunching quickly as her head snapped up. "Permit! O' course I have a permit, why would I bother even t'pick a paper up if'n I didn'!" she said alarmingly as she turned to face the person who had so rudely accosted her from her mental notemaking. The look of frustrated anger and slight fear splayed across her featers melted away rather quickly, however, once she saw the person behind her. A large grin spread from ear to ear, and Annie let out a laugh.

"Well, I do de-clare! Ent ye a sight fer sore eyes! How fares it, Miss Nora?"

"As well as can be expected, I guess," Nora shrugged with a grin, "Still working for the man. The usual. Had a big ordeal when they were trying to get some out early and couldn't get 'em loose and had to cause a scene."

Nora was weighing her words carefully. She hoped Annie would understand that there was a lot that had happened in her absence. The resistance always was a tricky subject to talk about.

"How about you? What have you been up to? The papers they bring us at work don't have your name in them very often anymore."

Annie chuckled. "That's cuz I ain't been here t'put m'name in 'em fer a while. Been outta town on, erm, business. Yeah. Helpin' a friend an' the like." Annie wasn't sure if Nora knew about Emme, or what Annie had done to help her leave the city, but the last thing she wanted was a public display of Resistance related anger from an ally.

"Then onna whim I dropped by Surwood fer the Wick festival an' met me act'al fami--turns out I'm Crow, if'n ye'd b'lieve it. Heard tell o' a spot o' trouble fer us types here in town while I were away. Hadda get a rescrip' o' me writ just t'prove I 'xsist in town." She shook her head sadly. "'Sa cryin' shame when the damn gollies can't trust the very folk what makes up this here city. Vienda'd fall apart if'n it weren't fer us."

Annie held up the paper in her hand. "Speakin' o' fallin' apart, d'ye know anythin' about these here deaths? Cain't hardly make nothin' out on the print here, but there's somethin' about a hatcher on the loose? I bet that don' sit too well with the Folk, eh?" Whether Annie was referring to the galdori or the Resistance, it wasn't entirely clear, but either way the reporter knew somebody wouldn't be happy about it. If'n I know anythin' about this town, it's how quick talk spreads.

(( I forgot!! I suck, I suck, I suck! Sorry! ))

"Hm," Nora looked apologetic, "Well, I don't get out much... and when I do, talkin's not high on my list of priorities."

She reached out and took the muddled print from Annie, examining it closely. She closed her eyes a moment to focus on what bits and pieces she'd picked up, "I've heard... in passing... that there have been some pretty gruesome deaths. People found in alleys, and I think one just out in the open, that kind of thing. What little I've heard tells me it's always a pretty nasty scene. Some people think it's some vicious animal on the loose, but by the sound of it, a lot of people are expecting a person. A monster of a person, but human, anyway."

She handed the paper back to Annie, "They're guessing human, anyway. Doesn't seem to be any magic involved."

If Annie's eyes had grown any bigger, they would have popped out of her skull.

"Holy hells!" she exclaimed, barely able to grip the crumpled newsprint being returned to her. "Y'mean, someone's been hackin' up folk in town, an' there ent none what can find whoe'er's doin' it?!" Annie's mental process went completely beyond the various stages of grief and shot straight to the multiple ways she could spin the story for a good shot at the front page. She could feel the blood flowing through her body, the adrenaline pumping as her brain went into an overactive hyperdrive of calculations and headlines. To the uneducated observer, she would have seemed very happy about something; in a way, they wouldn't have been far off the mark.

"Ye wouldn' by inny chance know a name o' sommat who's been takin' care o' the bodies, would ye? Obv'ously the 'ten ent gonna be no help t'me, but if'n there's an undertaker about, er et least a doc who's been inspec'in the victims, I'd love t'make their 'quantence an' pick their brains. This ent th'kinda thing what outta be kept quiet, ye chen? Why, any one o' us could be nex'!" Annie shook her head in disbelief.

"I though' th'ten were more better about this kindo' thing. Takin' care o' the folk what live in th'city, ent that their job? Some job they been doin, lettin' folk get ripped t'shreads on streetcorners, then not tellin' others t'be careful."

"Well, I don't know where in particular they take them," Nora said, looking pensive, "But there are a few funeral homes around the city you could look into. Maybe gravediggers could tell you, as well?"



"You know, they can't be everywhere all the time. Otherwise the party couldn't do a thing," she winked at Annie, "but I get you. It kinda gives you chills, doesn't it?"

Annie shook her head. "Chills don' e'en half cover it, mate. Firs' they kick us outta town, then they only let us back in if'n we got our writ on hand--which none o' us never used to did--an' now they're lettin' some monster roam free onna streets, hackin' at enny pore soul what gets in its way." She leaned closer, her voice dropping in volume a bit. "If'n ye ask me, I wouldn' be one bit s'prised if'n they di'n let this thing loose on purpose, or at leas' are 'gnorin' it long 'nough t'let it scare us all away. Saves 'em the time an' trouble, an' the rain makes fer easy cleanup, ye chen?" Annie tore the damp article out of the ruined paper and stuffed it into her coat pocket before crumpling the other pages and dropping them back into the gutter. "Granted, I ent got no proof er nothin'...it jus' makes ye wonder a bit why they ent tryin' harder t'stop the clockin' thing."

The reporter stared at the sidewalk in thought for a moment before looking back at her friend. "Grave diggers an' fun'ral homes, ye say? Sounds like as gooda start as any, I say. Much obliged to ye, Nora. It were good seein' ye 'gain. Keep yer head down an' yer ears open. If'n ye hear ennythin' else about this, make sure t'let me know somehow, aye? There might be somethin' t'alla this that could cause more trouble than we might want." With a tip of her hat, Annie turned and began walking away down the sidewalk. Something occured to her, and she paused, turning back to Nora again.

"Say, ye might knowa somethin'...since ye're inter Partyin' an' th'like. 'Amember that girl, the blonde one what got showed off that one time? You hear tell o' how she's been doin', what she been up to recen'ly? One frien' t'another?"

"I'm sure they're doing the best they can," Nora objected, mentally wincing. I must be the worst wick who ever lived. She wrapped her arms around herself. The hazy atmosphere was starting to coagulate and drip cold drops on them.



"Of course," Nora said, "If I can't reach you myself, I'll send someone up with'a message."



Nora looked confused for a moment. She hadn't been at the How the night Emme was pulled before the crowd. She only just been initiated when they made a spectacle of the poor girl, and still in Brunnhold at the time. But she knew of her, at any rate, though she had never seen the girl, and she wasn't of any rank to be included on Emme's global position. Nora shook her head and shrugged, "I don't know. I haven't heard anything."