#pravde

“You’re a mess.”

“Yes sir.”

“I’m hosting my board of investors tonight, you alley mutt! I can’t have them see you like this! What were you doing, chasing the Straight Street tenants through a slaughterhouse?”

“The. Debtors you assigned us to. Collect from led us-” “Shaddap mutt, I didn’t ask!” Pravde shuts up. “I don’t have time for this. Basement, now.”

Dripping, Pravde turns for the stairs. They know where to go.

“Ugh, it’s everywhere. I’ll have to hire an express cleaning service; this’ll cost me, you know.”

Master Swaine opens a rusty iron door down a dark hall. The hinges creak badly. “In.”

Pravde enters. The door groans shut again and Swaine locks it with a jingle of keys. The room is maybe two paces across, and not much deeper. Thick dust buildup under the door blocks any light from Swaine’s retreating lantern.

Pravde sits on the dirty floor in their congealing rags and waits.