Drystan & Fiore / Thieves /29

where: mercury's abode, eterna

when: after he knows his palington's are alive and well

note: dropping things makes my tummy hurt so i wanted to offer something new as an apology

In the window nearby, Drystan’s reflection sharpened—arms crossed, jaw tight, eyes already narrowed. Fiore didn’t even look at him before shutting the other from the conversation.

Fiore’s grin returned easily as he looked back at Casimir. “Besides, I know you’d do the same if it were us. And if the day ever comes where I need my ass saved, I'll come knocking.”

His tone lightened even more as he added, “And I’m not naming a price because if I do, Drystan might actually start keeping track. And no one wants that kind of audit.”

"You're conscious to the fact that you're not the fun one, yes?" That said something coming from Casimir, though he'd learned a thing or two slinking around humanity for the past century to have gleaned some personality quirks. However, now was not the time to banter, each second counted and he was unsure how to convince this one that this was something of worth to quantify in Drystan's scope.

"Danger isn't something I expected you to slink away and cower from," Casimir could understand the lengths one would go to protect another, even if he didn't understand the true weight a changeling underwent when it came to such bonds. He'd get nowhere with his current tactic, but Casimir couldn't help himself sometimes; he'd not called upon any simple member of the guild, he had asked for these two considering how seasoned they'd become so quickly within the ranks.

"I wouldn't pander if it wasn't family on the line," and that meant everything to Casimir, someone established through bond, not by blood. He'd do everything to ensure Juneau was safe, though her final message haunted him, playing cruelly in his head and marking a substantial sense of failure for the dhampir.

“Fun doesn’t keep us alive,” he said simply. “And I don’t cower from danger—I plan around it. Because my priority is ensuring we come out the other side breathing.”

He let the weight of that hang in the air, eyes locked on Casimir’s like he was trying to measure every unspoken motive. But it was the word family that cracked something in his armor—not visibly, not quite. Just a shift. A breath held too long.

“You’re looking for the Kossith ship that went dark in the Azure Sea,” he said. “I picked up chatter on another job—Kossith protocols say if a ship is compromised and goes silent for too long, it self-destructs. You’re already working against the clock.”

He stepped back and knelt, drawing a rough map into the soot-dusted rooftop with a piece of chalk pulled from his pocket. “You’ll want to watch for the change in current. Kossith ships are big, heavily engineered—they displace water like a moving island. If you scan for drag patterns in the tide around their last coordinates, you’ll narrow your field.”

And just like that, he shifted.

“Well finally,” Fiore said with a grin, stretching like a bird who’d just been let out of a cage, his falcon wings flaring into existence from his back with an audible whoosh. “We flying or what?”

He's better than you give him credit for, Fiore muses in his head. Drystan ignored him.

“I hope you have something for them,” he muttered, glancing sidelong at Kay before fishing a small cloth-wrapped bundle from the inner lining of his coat. “Mix this in with whatever you’ve got. It'll knock them out cold—won’t kill ’em, just make ‘em nap hard for a few hours.”

He pressed it into Kay’s hand without breaking pace, eyes flicking up toward the balcony above. “Heard this guy keeps more than jewelry and blackmail in his vault. Someone’s been paying him for documents—maps, patrol shifts, weapon shipments. I need to know how much he has. If it’s legit. I’ve got another job that could use the intel."

Ben Hardy

There was advantage to the Great Game, it placed her at all the right parties, to blend into the background as the court traded secrets and yet there was a part of her that savored music just for her, it was how she found herself at the tavern.

A twist of her lips into a smile once she spotted Fiore and there was something genuine in it, a smile that wasn't just for show, she nodded in appreciation as she took a seat on the stool. Her hand curving around the glass.

"I heard the Kossith are marching towards Haven." It wasn't a secret for just the Nightingales to know but it was how the birds kept their secrets, to find the right ear and trade gilded words. She rarely acted without wanting or trying to gain a certain advantage. "I'm going to Haven to help." An invitation in her eyes as she returned Fiore's gaze, her voice low meant just for him, the road ahead wouldn't be easy.

“You sure about that?” he asked, voice low, a faint edge beneath the easy charm. “Because the Kossith would love to get their hands on a druid.”

He leaned in a little, not enough to draw attention, but enough that his words wouldn’t carry. “I’m not about to play hero in someone else’s war, Lily. But if I was going to involve myself, it’d be for answers. You hear anything about where the Kossith are keeping the ones they’ve already taken from Aventia?”

“I figured you’d piece it together eventually,” he said coolly, voice still layered through the mask’s modulator. “You’re not as stupid as you act.”

He vaulted the gap to the next building with practiced ease, landing in a crouch before straightening and continuing without waiting. “And yes, I do this for the money. Wars are breaking out like mold in summer. Extra coin buys distance if I need to disappear overnight. Can’t exactly fund a clean exit with charm and eyeliner, can you?”

He glanced over his shoulder just as Kay made a show of batting his lashes again.

“And for the record—attraction is a liability. That’s why your picks are sloppy and your exits are slower than they should be. You’re too busy trying to be admired to be efficient.”

The Kossith's letter to the queen had been dispersed easily, a token of information from the Nightingales while the Queen and her brood remained quiet currently. Casimir would have liked to be naive, to presume they were merely working on a strategy to not only free those captured but to defeat the Kossith where they stood. He would have liked to be naive, but he wasn't and such a group was unknown even to Casimir. They'd taken over Itzcoatal long before he was born, and Veilcrest was far separated from such lands. What he knew, what was any other person knew, and that frustrated Casimir incredibly.

Any reconnaissance would be a suicide mission to complete, but he'd had to ask this of Fiore anyhow. Through his own networks, this had become personal for him; Sakkara was gone, Juneau too, the inquisitor. He wasn't compelled to care for much in this world but two on such list were untouchable to him, and the other had been growing on him with furthering insistence.

On the roof of one of Westreach's buildings, looking out over the sea, Casimir met Fiore. He needed someone with a particular ability; if Casimir could morph into a crow, then he needed one with a similar ability. From the looming scent of death which continued to be purged from Aventia, the systemic rot and blight, Casimir had to figure they wouldn't be able to glean much more than anyone else; but the Shade felt he had to try.

Fiore’s grin widened, already halfway into some smart remark when his shoulders suddenly stiffened. The air around him shimmered faintly, and in the blink of an eye, the delicate lines of Fiore’s face sharpened into Drystan’s more angular features. The mischief drained from his expression, replaced by cool precision. Where Fiore had stood moments ago, Drystan now towered—broader, colder, and far less inclined to banter.

“And I don’t appreciate being summoned to a rooftop with no information, no plan, and a vague suicide mission written in invisible ink,” Drystan said flatly, stepping closer. His eyes flicked across Casimir’s face, always searching to get a read on a person.

“I know this has to do with the Kossith. And I know you know how dangerous that is for us—especially him.” He jabbed a thumb toward a nearby glass surface where Fiore now leaned in the reflection, chin in hand and wearing an overly dramatic pout.

What are they gonna make me do? Be their personal messenger pigeon?

He took a deep breath for the sake of his nervous system, calming and gazing over at the other. "This ain't business anymore, I owe you one." He nodded to himself and took a ring off his finger - one that he got from his crew. "Keep this. Whenever you need anything from The Leviathan Armada, it's your's, Fiore. Not going to take no for an answer." He was well aware there wasn't as much habitual camaraderie between Thieves in the Guild than there was among pirates, but he didn't care. Once the wolf's loyalty was won, it was unshakeable.

Still, he wasn’t foolish enough to turn down a favor when it was being handed to him. Even if the whole thing was completely unnecessary.

He turned the ring over between his fingers, exhaling through his nose. “You’re being dramatic,” he said, dry as ever. “I didn’t save you, I just…” A beat. “But fine. If you’re going to be stubborn about it, I’ll take the favor.” He slid the ring into his pocket with an air of disinterest, as if he hadn’t just been handed something incredibly valuable. “Just don’t expect me to call it in anytime soon. I don’t make a habit of needing help.”

“You wanted to see the temple for Mythal at the outskirts of Eterna,” she reminds gently as she gestures at him to follow. Although most Lysarans followed the Lysaran pantheon, there were enough elvhen in Eterna that there were temples for their gods all over the city. The one she was taking Fiore towards was one of the smallest ones, perfect for a first venture into elvhen religion. “And I remembered that the temple does a soup kitchen for orphaned elvhen during big festivals, like this one. So we will be volunteering for a few hours.”

It had taken some effort to convince Fiore to do as much, but she had pointed out that it would give him the opportunity to talk to the other worshippers and learn more of how others worshipped the All-Mother, something he couldn’t experience just by relying on Lailani’s stories. 

Volunteering wasn’t exactly his thing. He and Drystan had grown up with the belief that it was every man, woman, and child for themselves—no one was coming to save you, so you had to fend for yourself. But Mythal had been in his dreams. Or, at least, he thinks she'd been.

As they made their way through the streets, Fiore took in the vibrant displays for Progress Day—the banners strung between buildings, the smell of roasted meats and fresh bread drifting through the air, the occasional burst of laughter or music from street performers. It was… a lot.

“So,” he said after a moment, sliding a glance at Lailani. “Do we actually have to cook anything? Because I feel like you, of all people, should remember what happened last time you ate something I made.” He smirked.

His gaze flicked over the other man as he settled into his little performance, all easy confidence and raised brows. Unfortunately, Kay paid well. Very well. That was the thought that anchored him, that kept his expression smooth, his tone amicable.

Drystan even managed a smile.

"Anytime you need someone to go over numbers or ensure everything remains strictly legal," he said, voice perfectly even, "I’d be more than happy to schedule an appointment."