#dixie blogs

Previous: Boots on the Ground 1

Jugen sat up in his bed, papers clasped to his chest, and a sense of new found peace washing over him. It would come here and there. Doubtless at some point near the evening, when hope felt lost all over again, he was sure he'd feel less enlightened. But for now, his mind was taking the words of his friend Fiendal to heart. He accepted the value of himself as just a man. Accepted his value as someone seeking to do what was good in the here and now, unfettered from the past.

He turned to gaze across the hallway, and caught sight of the cell across from him...

...

The good feeling was gone.

There was just one problem with making sure Jugen's arrest wasn't announced to official records yet. And that was he was marked as a generic 'low flight risk' detainee. Which meant that another generically marked 'low flight risk' detainee would be posted in the neighboring cell by the guards who didn't know the wiser.

The Indigo Phantom was a mere handful of meters away, and the sight hit Jugen with sour memories and present feelings like an ice wave.

He was sure his short, but growing hair, extra facial scruff, rawhide clothes, and tanned, wilderness worn, skin would only conceal his identity for a precious few moments before he was recognized. And Jugen had to admit...he was not ready for it.

The Great Hall was packed with celebrating rebels and joyful citizens of the Wilderwest. News of Central's most recent break had spread quickly. Many were optimistic that perhaps this would be the blow that finally put a stop to the brutal regime. Amid the clamor, Dixie made his way briskly through the crowd, and thrust himself down across from Darien. He gave the man a hard, calculated gaze with his cold eyes, and then lifted his chin a little. "I need you to answer a question for me...and please...if nothing else let your response be plain and honest."

Dixie slipped into Grey’s office. He looked, well, fabulous as usual. Except this time he was a little more tattered around the edges. The black of his struck eye had faded, but other small bumps and scrapes could be scene. Under his arm he held a large leather bag, a record book, and some scroll. “Thank you for meeting with me again.” He sighed as he stepped forward. “Your patience is...ever appreciated.” 

Dixie stood on the ridge in an outlandishly puffy boat that made his body look like a plump yak in full winter growth. He scrutinized the map in front of him moved around the forest below, both Farris and Tael by his side. “Gracious these openings are obscure...” He looked up at the bright sun that shone above them. “But it’s still bright out, so our chances of them being inside are better than what they would be at night.” He sniffed and glanced at Tael. “What do you think? You figure we’ll be able to block all of them before evening?” 

*occurs after A Warning and before It Simply Cannot Be.*

The last few days had been...bitterly disappointing for Dixie. His mind continued to seethe after his visit from the Dark Brotherhood. Also, on better terms or not with Grey, what could not be rightfully undone by her hand still kept him awake at night. The lack of sleep and sense of hopeless injustice had caught up his mind into a whirling dervish of experimental thought...and plotting. After his letter delivery to Grey, Dixie had sought out and followed another possible thread that he thought might help him, only to quickly realize that he would need help.

Which is what brought him to the fence of a small garden in the village. With a carful hand, he reached out his cane to tap on the wood of the fence. “Dario Hijort?” 

Dixie stood stoic faced as the yardsmen prepared his ship, a large crate already in the process of being loaded. He turned as he saw Indigo, and tension sparked between them. He turned and strode over to stand before him. "Mr. Phantom..." he said, ice cold. "I believe this is the last we'll dealing with one another...I leave in but a few moments."

“It has come to my attention that my personal property, one zippleback powered projectile weapon, was found on scene after the aggravated assault against Darien Whiteland, on Haligan Island. 

For official record that, I’ll have it be known that this item had been stolen from my possession days before. I had conducted a hunt against renegade dragons days prior to the incident. It was during this fight that I realized that my property was not longer on my person or packed among my possessions. 

The last location I had seen it was on the nightstand within Mossoak Inn, where I stayed the night before. Although I have already been confronted and accused of further involvement by third parties, I would like it to be a matter of stated record that I am innocent in this matter. I was also in the middle of the ocean during the time of the attack.

I don’t pretend to hold any fond feelings towards Darien Whiteland and, despite the fact that I have been vocal about my distain, I am not to perpetrator behind this attack. I am simply one of millions that would have seen the man dead, but never took up the action this particular assailant committed to. 

As a matter of transparency, I have also paid the amount of 300 to a private investigator to apprehend the guilty party without harming them, for the sake of information.

I wish you well in your investigation.”

Best Regards

Dixie Donz

Previous

Rest hadn't found Jugen that evening, so he contended to seat himself in his cell, back straight and head rested on the wall. He listened to the sounds of nighttime beyond his jail cell window, and breathed evenly. This conversation with The Arbiter had been everything he had hoped for. While waiting for the demon, he would be forced to contemplate his choices within a cell. When called to task, he would live in a state of continued reflection in the wilderness, with no roof or material good to comfort him. The task would be dangerous, but not selfishly suicidal. It would lead to no wealth.

But the demon earlier warnings and admonishments still haunted him. Jugen knew he'd have to carefully maintain the delicate balance of knowing he, as flawed as he was, was enough; while also ensuring he continued to step further, and further, away from his old temptations of greed. So he took the time now to find solace now within his confines…however…the calm stream of released thoughts and feelings were interrupted.

"Hey mate,"

Jugen inhaled sharply and cracked his eyes open. A man in commoners garb sat across from him outside the door as he shook a parchment bag in his hand. He was bald with a mustache and goatee, and a demeanor that was the embodiment of calm. Jugen looked each way, and then pushed himself up a little. "Is the guard okay?"

"Relax, I got permission to be here. I'm a normal visitor for a deemed low flight risk prisoner. They're peaking at us from either end of the hall though so no loud talking." The other man glanced up at him, and offered the bag. "Want some taco bell?" Jugen shook his head, but did stand up to greet his visitor. The man leaned away as Jugen came further into the torch light. "Ooodin…" He whistled. "Look at you. Seems like you strayed a little far from your gilded tower eh?"

"I've been getting that a lot. It's good to see you, Boots…"

"Yea…glad you aren't dead. All the way that is…the fuck happened?"

"What can I do for you?" Jugen knew this couldn't just be a social call, so he may as well skip the backstory.

Boots took a bite from the soft shell in his one hand, and gave a sniff as he produced a rolled up flyer with the other. "You wanna tell me what's up with this?"

Jugen unrolled the paper, and immediately pressed his lips together. "Oh…this."

"Yea. That." Boots quirked his eyebrows as he took another bite, and then shoved the remaining food back in the bag. "Don't get me wrong, mate. I'm glad your okay, but this is a problem."

"I know…" Jugen murmured, almost to himself as he looked over the 'dead-only-bounty' posting he himself had made not that long ago. "This was never supposed to be issued…It's why I canceled it…"

"It's why you thought you canceled it, Dixie…" Boots corrected. "Turns out, you don't hold all the cards like you fancy yourself having. You got a collective action problem on your hands now."

"I'll take that one day at a time, for now, this cannot happen."

"Think about this for me. I prepare for the jobs of a lifetime, yea? The kind of jobs where if I got em done, I'd never have to work another day of my life. My kid set for life, the whole bit. You vanish, time ticks by, the people upstairs you filed this with give the word because they figure you ain't coming back. And then 'poof,' the moment it gets the thumbs up, you seemingly call the whole thing off from beyond the grave."

"I'm sorry." Jugen told him. "I selfishly didn't expect to be alive during the fallout from this, and I am sorry to get your hopes up. I'll do what I can to make it right…but this had to be stopped."

Boots held up a few fingers as he spoke. "You put out this job in proverbial blood, Dixie. You were a little too savvy with the bureaucracy of it for your own good, even for underground standards. When you die, the half spiders Malak and Opie die, Indigo the Phantom dies, and Darien Whiteland dies. You issued this knowing full well it wasn't the kind you could take back."

"I found out about the Dark Brotherhood." Jugen told him. "I was foolish, I was arrogant, and I felt threatened by them. I hated that there was someone else with money and organization that operated in the shadows aside from me. We were at odds…and I wanted to be sure I had the last laugh."

"Well ha, ha." Boot said. "There. There's your laugh. The problem still exists though."

Jugen waved his hands as if to ward off the words. "No. No." He sighed. "It was a mistake. I was blind to myself and trying to outplay perceived threats." He pushed the bounty back through the bars. "Malak, Opie, all of them even…" He swallowed. "…even Indigo…are not to be killed."

"Not even Darien Whiteland?"

"No! Not even Darien Whiteland."

A slow, dangerous smile crept over Boot's face. "But what if I wanted to kill Darien Whiteland?"

Jugen was silent.

Boots gave a chuckle, and then took the bounty back. "Relax. I'm fucking with you. Everybody wants to kill him. And you're alive aren't ya? Nothing to worry about…for now."

"For now?" Jugen challenged. "Boots, I am the author. I am the one who issues or withholds payment. And I have called it off."

Boots twisted his mouth to the side and shook his head. "Mate…you issued the mother of all post-mortem bounties...ever. The targets you listed…folks would have done that for free, to say nothing for more money they would ever have a chance to spend in their lives. Every hitman in Aidorian was ready to the claim the stacking fortunes you dangled over their noses. Every letter in this is so iron clad that even if someone with serious underground pull back you in calling it off, most would ignore it, do the job, and demand payment anyway. You realize the wasp nest of anticipation that went off when you vanished? And then when it was canceled? It's like trying to talk down a platoon of berserkers on the frontline out there. Were you flaunting your wealth to the desperate and less fortunate for your own amusement?"

"Of course not-!"

"Or did you just suddenly find yourself having something in common with the likes of kid killers, rapists, and the worst fascist the continent has ever seen?"

"No!" Jugen almost shouted before he stifled his voice. "Boots, of course not."

"Well whatever it is, it's enough that your pardoning them. These are the questions people are asking underground, Dixie."

"I. Will. Not. Issue. Payment." Jugen enunciated.

Boots spread his hands. "Look mate, I'm hearing the stories, I'm looking at you…I can see things are different. Now, you've gotten me to quit on a job once already. It cost me a good contact, put me in some heat, but you took care of me. I'll always be grateful. But facts are facts, you opened a box you can't close when you did this. People aren't going to let it go. So…" He extended a hand and beckoned towards himself a few times. "Give me the money, I'll fake their deaths, get em in hiding, everything handled with a neat bow. You know I'm the only one out there able to do that." Boots watched Jugen carefully, and then his shoulders lowered as he saw him look away. "Oh…you gotta be kidding me. Where's your money gone?"

"It isn't mine to give away…"

Boots pressed his hands together. "Dixie…according to your own terms, you can't cancel this job, only change the conditions. But someone has to die. Whoever dies has to be on the same level of bad. And who ever does the killing needs to get the money for it."

Jugen halfway shrugged. "I- I don't know what else I can tell you."

Boots leaned forward. "Then you need to figure it out." He suggested. "Mate, if you just pass off the money for free it'll piss a lot of people off. If you don't pay up after the job is done, it'll piss a lot of people off. And if they all get pissed off too much it'll be your ass, and along with everything else that belongs to you." He pushed a fresh set of papers through the bars. "Here's some amendment orders for bounties. I have a terrible terror outside your window. Make the adjustments, send it out, fix this mess. It's not hard, list a single miserable bastard the world is better off without, and siphon enough money to keep up appearances." Boots backed up a few paces, lifted a hand, and then dropped it. "I'm glad you're okay." He affirmed again. "But no one just walks away from the kind of shit we chose to step in. You gotta do it right…I'll see you around, Dixie."