“He won’t deal with you.”
Quai folded her arms. “I have it on good authority that he will,” she replied. The burly man folded his arms across his chest as well— one of his hairy forearms was easily bigger than Quai’s thigh. He leaned down, his face close to hers.
“He does not deal with mainlanders,” he said in a low voice. His accent was thick: old-old Alterac, generally only heard in the very tiny and remote human settlements in the northern part of the Eastern Kingdoms.
“He is a mainlander,” Quai replied, her voice equally as low. A steady drizzle had started to fall as they stood outside the nondescript building in the heart of Dampwick Ward; they were barely covered by a patched awning. Behind the enormous brute of a door guard lay a restaurant, its tables mostly empty. Candles stuck into the necks of bottles guttered feebly at each table. A cold breeze blew through the twisting maze of ramshackle buildings and chilled Quai through her heavy cloak. The large man narrowed his eyes at her for a moment, then straightened up once more.
“You will be leaving your weapons at the door.” He gestured to the small crate at his feet.
Quai unclipped her utility belt and dropped the whole thing into the crate, then hooked her fingers through the handles on the six kunai that were strapped to her thighs, drew them, and dropped those in as well. From one boot she pulled a switchblade and a butterfly knife, and from the other she took out a slim, wooden tube filled with five thin blow darts— those, she placed carefully on top of the other weapons. She straightened back up and made to pass the man, but he cleared his throat and tapped his wrist. Realization dawned on Quai’s face, and she reached two fingers into a tiny pouch on her left glove to pull out a razor blade, which she also dropped into the crate.
The guard gave a heavy sigh and gestured for her to spread her arms and legs so he could pat her down, so she did. He ran his hands quickly and professionally along her arms, sides, and legs, then had her turn around.
“And this? This is for health, I am to be guessing?” he grumbled as he pulled a very small pistol from its holster that was strapped to her separately from the utility belt. He dangled it in front of her face.
“Honestly forgot about that one,” Quai replied with mild surprise. “Sorry.”
“I have half mind to strip you down and see what else you are hiding from me,” the guard replied as Quai turned back to face him once more.
“Look, I’ll walk in naked if it makes you feel any better— but mark my words, if I wanted him dead, he’d already be dead,” she said, clearly finished with humouring him. The guard raised an eyebrow at her.
“Ah, Miss Mason, glad you are stopping in,” she heard as she was ushered into a room off the back of the restaurant kitchen. The door shut and locked firmly behind her, and Quai squinted into the semi-darkness. The light in the room grew a bit brighter as a man seated behind a mahogany desk leaned over and turned up the whale oil lamp. Quai drew the thin robe more tightly around her naked frame.
The man was about fifteen years older than her, with a head of slicked-back salt-and-pepper hair. His eyes were green like hers, with pronounced crow’s feet at the corners. His skin was weathered but pale, and his clothes looked expensive. The bottom part of his right ear was missing, as was his right canine, which had been replaced with a gold tooth. He had a bit of a gut, but otherwise appeared in fighting shape.
“Dmitri,” she replied curtly. “Still using any excuse to be in a room with an undressed woman, I see.”
“Still the coldest cunt this side of Northrend, yes?” Dmitri retorted. He folded his arms and looked at her; she stared back, her expression flat.
A few seconds later, at the same moment, both of them burst into simultaneous laughter. The man called Dmitri pushed his chair back and came around the desk: he wrapped Quai in a tight hug, which she returned with one arm (as the other was holding the threadbare robe closed). He then held her at arm’s length and made a tutting noise as he ran a thumb gently across the newer scarring on her face. “Pity,” he said of the scarring. Quai shrugged in response and smiled a bit.
“Part of the job. I assume that’s what your man up there will say about this?” Quai replied as she gestured to the robe she was wearing. The stone floor was cold on her feet.
“I am sorry about Ivan,” Dmitri said as he pulled out a chair for Quai. His accent was far less pronounced than Ivan’s; it had developed a sort of Kul’Tiran lilt, which gave his cadence a slightly less menacing quality. “He is, ah… quite invested in this job.” Quai sat and shook her head.
“He’s thorough, I’ll give him that,” she replied with a chuckle as she settled into the padded chair, “but it’s good you have someone like that you can trust. Gods, you’re pale,” she added as Dmitri passed to the other side of his desk and plopped down into his chair.
“Ah, it is this place,” he replied with a wave of his hand. “Is only sunny two days out of the year, so not much I can do with that.” He leaned forward and clasped his hands together on the desk. “Drink?”
“Anything to take the chill away,” Quai replied with a smile. Dmitri snapped his fingers and a dangerously thin man in a well-worn set of tails took two steps out of a shadowed corner and nodded. Quai followed him with her gaze as he went over to a bar cart and carefully poured two small glasses of clear liquid, which he walked over and set on the desk, along with a bottle that bore a red and silver label. He then turned and— with what appeared to be all his strength— lifted two heavy logs onto the fire that was burning in the blackened hearth.
Quai turned away and picked up her glass. “Thought he was a wax figure when I came in,” she remarked as she raised her glass to Dmitri.
“I pay him a lot of money to come off like that,” Dmitri replied. “Thank-you, Andrey— you may leave us.” The thin man gave a slight, stiff nod and opened the office door, then backed out into the hallway and shut the door quietly behind him.
“Do you feed him?” Quai asked quietly. Dmitri let out a bark of laughter.
“Of course I do! He eats as well as I do, but some of these Kul’Tirans…” He trailed off and shook his head. “He is just thin. Like you, little bird.”
Quai smiled and took a sip of the drink. “No one’s called me that in ages, not since you were in charge down in the ‘Bay,” she said. She looked over at him for a few long moments and let out a slow sigh. “A lot’s changed, Dmitri.”
Dmitri took a sip of vodka and set his glass down. “You are still married to James?” he asked curiously. Quai shook her head.
“No, he…passed, a few years back,” she replied delicately.
“Can you really die if you’re already a soulless husk of a human being?”
Dmitri chuckled heartily. “I never was liking him. Still a criminal?” he asked of her. Quai bobbed her head.
“Not in the official sense,” she said slowly. “My record was expunged and I’m captaining a brig of my own, I’ve got a small crew. Andrew’s with us,” she added. “You always liked him.”
“I tolerated him, little ptitsa, as he tolerated me,” Dmitri said with a shrug. “It is good to hear you’re on the right side of the law with the rest of us,” he added with a wink. Quai grinned a bit, then took another sip.
“I don’t think you could even describe the right side of the law if you tried, Dmitri. How much are you paying them to keep from extraditing you back east?”
“Entirely too much,” Dmitri replied through laughter. “I help them with certain matters, however, and they, ah…look elsewhere on occasion. However, as a rule, I do not leave this part of the city.”
Quai raised a brow. “Ever?”
“Unless something is very, very wrong.”
“Let’s hope it never comes to that.” Quai raised her glass to him, and he raised his to her, and they both finished off their drinks.
“To business, yes?” Dmitri asked as they set their glasses down. He reached for the bottle and poured two more short drinks for both of them.
“Yes. Small request, really,” Quai said to him. She leaned forward a bit. “I need bombs, wired and ready to go—”
“How many?” Dmitri asked as he pulled a pad of paper towards him. He took a pencil from behind his ear, touched the tip to his tongue, then began to write. Quai picked up her newly poured drink and took another sip. She thought for a moment.
“How many bridges lead to the Au’llon estate in Tiragarde Sound?” she asked. Dmitri furrowed his brow and thought for a moment.
“Four— two larger, two smaller. This is what you need bombs for?”
Dmitri stopped writing and was silent for a few moments.
“You know,” he said slowly, “bridge is infrastructure. You need bomb for cave? For making trees fall, making evidence go away? I help with that. But investigators will look into bridges’ destruction and will be finding bomb parts that are consistent with products I move. I will be putting myself in line of fire if I am to be giving you these.”
“It is important, I know,” he cut her off gently. “Important to you, but a death sentence for me, you see. I do not deal in bombs anymore, my friend, and for that I am deeply sorry.”
Quai ran a thumbnail along her left eyebrow. “I’ve got to say, Dmitri, I’m rather disappointed. You can’t even spare a few kilograms of Seaforium for an old friend?”
Dmitri looked across the desk and his face lit up. He clapped his hands together.
“You will take Seaforium?” he asked happily. “I have! There is much of it stored here—” He scooped up the pencil and started to scribble on the paper, then tore the paper from the pad and passed it to her. Quai took the paper and looked down at an address and a set of instructions.
“How much for it? I’ll need wiring, too— and timers,” she added.
“Yes yes, you buy wires, though,” he replied.
“How much?” Quai repeated. Dmitri smiled.
“Nothing is free, Dmitri.”
“Is welcome to Boralus gift,” he replied with another hearty chuckle.
“In my experience,” Quai said slowly, “when you give someone a gift, you expect them to owe you. Is that what’s going on here?”
“Not this time, little ptitsa. This first one is free, like real gift. Next time,” he see-sawed his left hand: his ring finger was missing down to the second knuckle, and a crude, faded tattoo outline of a bird covered the stump. “Next time is different.”
Quai eyed the tattoo on the stump of his finger for a moment, then looked back to his face. He winked and leaned back in his chair.
“You will take this. Is only offer,” he said gently.
“I thought you didn’t deal in bombs anymore,” Quai said with a bit of a grin.
“Is not bomb. Is Seaforium,” he replied with a shrug. “Timer is simple pocket watch, found in any local shop.” He tapped the side of his nose. “No trace.”
“No trace,” Quai echoed. She held her glass out and Dmitri leaned forward with the bottle to pour another measure of vodka.
((Relevant: @blackbay-wra @brian-wellson @ephriza-dawnblade @killerkyara @juniper-rose-blower @malodarstarstrike @mycoronervinny))
