They're in Qarinus. Which strikes a bit fucking funny, between the posh pair of them; even with her nearly-ordinary eye, and his shirt bleached a few shades nearer brown than black. Still, reputation outpaces effect, and they're far from the city's strangest sight. Hard times come for everyone.
Today, they're scouting safehouses — a funeral parlour, well-appointed to hold the corpse before cremation, while speeches are had and tears crocodiled. There's a service on upstairs, replete with chilling runes and an outrageous quantity of incense. Some beloved old bastard called Pelican Jim,
Whose body they'll be swapping with one of the Blades', tomorrow: Carried out of the city in casket, toward pyre-ground. What will become of James is a question best left unanswered. A tunnel leads from icy basement to a distant, cramped room, and a trapdoor for the clinic above.
There's money in the death business. More of it, for the unscrupulous. Swap a gold ring for painted tin, trim the hair, pry out any particularly good teeth. So this is maybe not their most reliable option. A taste for gold (and Southern novels) is not the strongest claim to loyalty. Still, people come and go. More often, of late.
They've been left alone,
"Bone in his soup," Isaac suggests, tracing a hand along one rime-enchanted wall. "Choked to death."
They don't know how Jim died. It's fair to gamble.
GWEN | Qarinus
They're in Qarinus. Which strikes a bit fucking funny, between the posh pair of them; even with her nearly-ordinary eye, and his shirt bleached a few shades nearer brown than black. Still, reputation outpaces effect, and they're far from the city's strangest sight. Hard times come for everyone.
Today, they're scouting safehouses — a funeral parlour, well-appointed to hold the corpse before cremation, while speeches are had and tears crocodiled. There's a service on upstairs, replete with chilling runes and an outrageous quantity of incense. Some beloved old bastard called Pelican Jim,
Whose body they'll be swapping with one of the Blades', tomorrow: Carried out of the city in casket, toward pyre-ground. What will become of James is a question best left unanswered. A tunnel leads from icy basement to a distant, cramped room, and a trapdoor for the clinic above.
There's money in the death business. More of it, for the unscrupulous. Swap a gold ring for painted tin, trim the hair, pry out any particularly good teeth. So this is maybe not their most reliable option. A taste for gold (and Southern novels) is not the strongest claim to loyalty. Still, people come and go. More often, of late.
They've been left alone,
"Bone in his soup," Isaac suggests, tracing a hand along one rime-enchanted wall. "Choked to death."
They don't know how Jim died. It's fair to gamble.