...

Friday had rolled around, and as expected, the fallout of Gale’s marriage and/or arrest was still the highlight of social media. Memes had been created, some in support of him, others simply to garner likes and follows. Trending alongside it seemed to be the focus on TV chef and part time agony aunt Ethel’s unexpected pregnancy. Who was the father? Was having children really the right thing to do at her age? 59? Far too old. Even though Quinn’s world had stopped, everyone else’s spun on at a relentless speed.

The party should have been battling a vampire lord, discussing the pros and cons of ascension at great extent rather than even interacting with the awaiting NPC, but instead they still found themselves moping over the loss of a single member, one who had only joined their group for a short while and yet added so much heart, or at least that’s what she chose to believe.

“So, we’re on the city wall?” asked Astarion with less passion for the game than he’d usually held.

Wyll’s response was even less energetic. “Probably.”

“And we need to persuade some brainwashed minions for access?”

“Yeah, if you want.”

Astarion scrawled a hasty doodle of a bat on his character sheet, his jaw locked as if he were about to dive across the table and attack Wyll in person. Would Bones still make them roll for initiative?

“How about making the bail money ourselves?” Wyll continued with more of a spark to his words. “You know, like fifty thousand or something.”

“And while we are at it, we can defend him in court. I’ll be Tom Cruise, and you can be, I don’t know, Jim Carrey."

“Firstly,” Wyll began, Astarion’s comeback getting under his skin,” are those really the only movies with lawyers you’ve seen? And secondly, could you not have chosen someone decent like Denzel Washington or Jamie Foxx?"

“Have they ever been lawyers?”

“Yeah, there was that one film with Tommy Lee Jones.”

“The Joker?”

“No, that’s Jack Nicholson.”

“Guys, can we get back on track?” Quinn cut in. Normally she’d delve into any argument on movies, eventually ending up on a streak in six steps to, but now was not the time for it. “He’s probably got his own representative already, and besides, I can’t afford something like that right now.” The lingering thoughts of job loss and Mystra’s shrewd face still sat at the forefront of Quinn’s mind. They had no solutions, no way to bring their wizard back, So much for overthrowing the corporate one percent.

---

“I’ve got a lov-er-ly bunch of coconuts. Did-ull-di-di…”

Gale had never learnt the second verse. It had never really occurred to him to memorise it when the works of Neruda and Whitman existed to be recited aloud. Yet, for some unknown reason, when in the confines of his own prison cell, his mind had devolved to the most basic of melodies.

The room had good acoustics, he’d found. The thick layers of lead paint, combined with the steel doors and little furniture, meant the room produced enough of an echo without letting the sound dissipate too much. Now, if everything in the cell hadn’t been various shades of grey, it would have made for a lovely nook in which to read whilst listening to the classics.

“If you like a lot of chocolate on your biscuit, join our-”

His recital was interrupted by the click of the sliding lock on the heavy metal door. Behind it would no doubt be the burly oaf of an officer, ready to grunt one-word commands. Up, sit, hands. Just follow the orders as if you’re married, Gale reminded himself.

Being led into the same small interview room he’d been pressed in a few days prior, he was curious to see who would want to have words with him this time. On more than one attempt Volo Geddarm had pretended to be a distant investigator looking for information. Only once had he got into the same room as Gale before being caught.

The guard gestured to the empty wooden table, the coffee ring from the previous questioning still printed onto the aged plywood. “Sit."

“As talkative as ever,” Gale commented, taking the available seat nearest the wall. There was no need to be impolite, even if they were stuck together in such a dire situation. “Perhaps a long night dealing with the riffraff and hooligans?”

No response came aside from a brutish grunt and the heavy slam of the door.

“Sometimes it’s hard to be a… No, not now,” Gale sighed. The concrete walls smothered his voice, keeping everything locked in tight. The only way sound would ever leave would be on the plastic ribbon of the recording’s tapes.

---

The week couldn’t have gone any better, Mystra had decided as she ran a finger down the spine of the prone figure beside her. Rolan had been quick to answer her call those few nights ago, when she’d dialled his number with a whimper in her voice. “He’s cheating on me,” she’d weakly admitted before falling into the young and naïve man’s arms.

He was dark-haired like her former partner, desperate for attention and power, and thankfully, also quite easy on the eyes. Rolan had never been far from her grasp, but as always, playing the victim had a habit of bringing people firmly together.

“Selling the company now would grant a net profit overall,” she uttered, watching as relaxed muscles subtly tensed under her fingertip. “Especially with the media stir, we could use the sale to our advantage. Something along the lines of ‘our deepest apologies to the gaming community, distancing ourselves from former associates. What’s the script we used last time?”

Rolan twisted onto his back, his eyes dark with want. “I think you used re-branding and finding your true self when switching to Mystic Arts.”

“Hm… it’s been so long since those days.”

“Need help finding yourself again?”

A light, feminine titter was released from her lips, eyelashes batted as if she were an animated Disney princess. “You read my mind.”

Before both could move, Mystra longing to be pinned between the sheets, they were interrupted by a sudden knocking on the hotel room door. She hoped it was just room service bringing up an expensive order of wine, but that idea was spoilt with the call of a voice.

“Ms. Dekarios?"

“Moonsong,” she viciously snapped back, shoving a bewildered Rolan aside and onto the floor. Ignoring a feeble whine, she grabbed a dressing gown and hastily made her way to the door. “What is it?” she barked, as a before her stood the trembling form of her most recently employed underling.

“It’s… There’s a…”

Of course he stammers, she thought to herself. Had this blue eyed, pale streak of piss been one she had interviewed, or had he been sent by the agency? Reminder to self: Harsher screening in the future.

“We tried to…”

“Get on with it.”

Mystra had no time for this, not as Rolan lingered behind her, partially dressed and far too curious for his own good.

“You’re required at the office,” came a practically whispered reply. “We couldn’t get him to leave… He said he’d…”

“He?”

“Mr. Aumar.”

The door was slammed shut as Mystra spun on her heels. Shoving Rolan into the bathroom, she had no time to hear his complaints as she dug out a crisp grey trouser suit from her luggage. Finding herself would have to wait.

---

Astarion’s phone pinged with an obnoxious squeal of the song ‘Single Ladies’. He practically jumped out of his skin, fumbling the device to silence it.

“Star,” spoke an exasperated Quinn, “that’s the third time now. At least answer it and tell them you’re busy."

Lifting the phone to his ear, he spoke in hissed tones. “I’m busy- Just- what do you mean-” He raised an eye to the group, all of whom glared at him. “Okay, just calm down. No, I’m not saying- Will you just get to the bloody point!?"

Astarion knew he shouldn’t have raised his voice, that hell would practically be funnelled through the phone lines to rain down on him, but it was too late. A woman’s voice blared through the receiver, cold and sharp with each forced syllable. “I will take down the loathsome trollop with my single dying breath if I must, but you need to be the one to draw the blade.”

“Now, darling, are you not being just a tad melodramatic?”

Again, the group’s interest was peaked as the volume of the caller raised.

“If you were anyone else, I would tear off what little manhood you cherish with my bare hands. Now, read what I have sent you and do what I have asked!”

The phone line went abruptly dead, accompanied by nearby sniggering from both Wyll and Quinn. Astarion wouldn’t rise to the bait. Flicking to his emails was easier to focus on and certainly more productive than cursing the others with a lifetime of rolling natural one and d4s in their shoes.

His eyes widened as he read each line of text. Embezzlement, Blackmail, Bigamy? Was this all real? The page couldn’t load fast enough as he scrolled further and further through screenshots of emails, phone records, bank statements. It was everything they needed, and at that moment, for the first time in a lifetime, he was speechless.

---

“Peanut butter jelly time,” murmured Gale, bored out of his mind from waiting. He’d considered scraping away the coffee ring but wasn’t sure how long it had really been there and what sort of bacteria might be festering beneath it.

The door clicked open, sounding the return of his only companion.

“Visitor,” spoke the guard, though Gale was unsure if it had actually been said or he’d misheard a snort and got his hopes up.

It wasn’t until a woman’s form appeared in the doorway that he knew he had heard correctly. Shrewd, sharp features and a mane of white hair that sat professionally styled greeted him, but there was no friendly expression on her face, no joy at being there in the darkness of her eyes. He swallowed his nerves, tentatively getting to his feet. This was not the visitor he had ever expected, and certainly not the person he would ever have chosen to represent him in court.