#tutell

It started with a hell of an invitation. 

… Actually, that’s definitely not what she should call it. Mayara had just gotten back from a mini-raid on the local rail yard. Successfully commandeered enough thermite to follow through on the plans she and Al laid out. Plans she intended to do set up for the same night, if it were not for the sudden intrusion.

Some raucous blueblood (also in a fancy-lookin’ dress) broke the back door in, shattering it to pieces. She had a toothy grin and introduced herself as ‘Tutu,’ saying someone wanted to see her- and that she didn’t have a choice in the matter. Hard to argue with a girl like that, especially when she’s got two other guys with her and guns pointed at your head. They didn’t take anything from the shop, at least. Seems the only thing they were there for was her.

Next thing Mayara knows, she’s on one long buggy ride to the complete other side of the city. It’s dead quiet. No one says anything. All the noise she gets is the hum of the motor, the occasional clunk as they pass over a bump in the road; the various buildings move past in a blur. 

The strangest thing is that despite ‘not having a choice,’ they didn’t tie her hands or blindfold her. One’d think that could be a little comforting, that it means you’re not in that much of a bind. But it’s not. If anything, it’s even more anxiety inducing. It means they’re confident that you’re not getting out of whatever’s in store for you.

Maya hasn’t felt this kind of dread in a long, long while. Hell, it reminds her of her first encounter with the Chromes- back when Nbiish was in charge. She was as much of a little shit back then as she is now, deciding to play around with some dangerous individuals.

The drone of the car ride fades out as she takes a different trip- one down memory lane.

She wasn’t always involved with gangs. Before any of that, she’d studied under a professional gunsmith and started out doing basic mods and customization. His name was Kilens, a teal- tall, scarred individual with long curly hair, short pointy horns and a million freckles. He was kind enough to agree to her pleading, so long as she didn’t ask for much other than learning. 

Later, she’d start learning the actual craft and discover how much she enjoyed it. The satisfaction with making something herself, and knowing that it was decent work. The ability to learn how to make it stronger, faster, better. The process was slow but legitimate, and she should’ve just been satisfied with things going at the rate they had been.

Instead, she took matters into her own hands. Snooped through her mentor’s notes and plans. Poked around in places that she had no business being in. Discovered that he was being harassed by local miscreants for weapons, and wanted to do something about it. Got caught sabotaging the next batch that was for them, and would’ve been shot on sight if not for a little interference.

Maya’s not sure if she should count herself lucky that she wasn’t, given the timeline of events that follows. What she is sure of is that she doesn’t regret doing it- just that she was caught in the act.

“You’ve got a lot of guts to pull this sort of shit, kid.” 

Unfortunately for her, the one that was picking up the goods that night was the boss himself, Nbiish Gwinet. Another tall man, decorated in bright flashes of yellow and purple. Usually it was just a grunt. Of course, of all times that she decided to do something- it was the worst possible time to do it. Some luck.

“Nbiish, please. She didn’t- I- she’s just a study of m-”

“Shut it, Kilens,” he interjects. “Clearly she knows a little more than you’re letting on. Enough to work behind your back, anyway. Now miss, what were you thinking when ya’ decided to make an enemy of us, hm?”

Gwin taps her head with the end of his pistol in a threatening manner, looming over her. Mayara had already had her face busted in and bruised, and was pinned to the floor by some… other person- she doesn’t remember their name.

“Fuck you.” She replies in a quick and blunt manner, spitting on the boot placed in front of her face.

“Hm. So that’s it.”

“Doll, I don’t think you quite get it. Y’ realize the situation you put yourself in, right?” He moves to wipe the blood off on her shirt, shaking his head solemnly. “I’m bein’ generous here. Something I’m not known for, so you best take advantage of it while you can.”

Maya still doesn’t say anything. Since she’s vouched for silence, Gwin moves on to monologue a bit.

“Y’know, it’s interesting. You show up and start workin’ on things with Killy over here, and suddenly he’s able to actually meet demands and deadlines. Now, I’m not much of a gunsmith myself- That’s what he’s for. But I did notice a difference in the work. And I like it. Well, I did anyway.”

“Next thing I know, there’s a sudden decrease in quality. They’re not firing, and those that did- explode in my friends’ faces. Now that got me thinking. ‘That’s not Kilens’s work. He wouldn’t do that to me.’ And sure enough, I was right.”

“I decide to check up on my old friend, and find you diggin’ around in things. It wasn’t hard to put two n’ two together. But here’s the thing. Like I said, I liked it. You catch on quick, and obviously know what you’re doin’. I want you to keep doing it, but it looks like I gotta convince you of that.”

Nbiish stands up straight, stepping on top of Mayara’s head to keep her down. He motions his other lackey over towards Kilens, who pushes him down right next to her. Their eyes lock with each other for a brief moment, a silent exchange of emotions. Fear, defiance, hate- an apology.

The boss speaks again. “Since ya’ seem to be a better… iteration, of our friend here, I want you to take over his position. His debt, so to speak. I think you’ve earned it with the shenanigans you tried to pull."

"There’s just one thing that I need to burn into that think pan of yours.”

It… it all happened so fast, but the event plays back in slow motion. That look of terror on Kilens’s face as Gwin pointed the barrel to his head. The bang still rings in her ears every now and then, the memory of blood pooling on the floor and under her cheek keeps her up in the daytime still.

“This is what happens to those that think crossing me is a good idea. Next time, it’ll be you.”

For the first time in her life, Mayara was truly afraid. 

She doesn’t really like this trip all that much anymore. The mental one and the physical one she’s on right now. It slowly passes by without so much as a single utterance from anyone in the vehicle.

Eventually, the car rolls to a stop. She’s soon forced out and escorted into the back entrance of a building. Did that say ‘Lounge’ on the front? 

Tutu, as she’s called, leads Maya to a waiting room of sorts- in which another troll is waiting for her, hands tucked behind his back. He’s also dressed up in slacks and a fancy vest. Guess she wasn’t kidding about there being a dress code around here.

“I assume you’re ‘Moxie,’ then.” As he speaks, the cobalt leaves the room, shutting the door behind her. He looks her up and down, making a judgemental huff.

“You will address the boss as ‘miss’ and nothing else unless they say so. Anything that happens here, stays here. The details, anyway.  You may be a guest, but I expect you to speak politely and only in turn. Do I make myself clear?”

A guest? To the boss? She’s totally screwed. 

Maya nods her head, smiling weakly. “Crystal.”

With her agreement, the troll says nothing- leading back into and further down the long hallway. At the end they’re approaching lies a solid, ornate wooden door. Just standing on this side of it, the atmosphere’s changed. Thick enough to cut with a knife, smelling vaguely of booze and fancy tobacco. Is the air around here actually heavy? Or is it all just in her head?

She doesn’t even remember him opening the door and escorting her inside. In the center of the room towards the back sits a tall, imposing force. The seat they’re stationed in could be likened to a throne with how regal in design it appears. Draped in a beautiful black satin dress- pearl embellishments and a low sweetheart cut. Her eyes are veiled by a similarly colored wide-brim hat. She brings an opera-length cigarette holder to her lips, taking a long drag of it and letting out an even longer exhale.

“Well, well. We finally meet. ‘Moxie,’ was it?”

Her voice is deep and velvety. She smiles, looking down on the two trolls who’d entered her presence. And my, what a presence it is.

The escort is quick to dig an elbow into Mayara’s side, reminding her to speak when spoken to.

“Ah- yes… miss. I received your- uh, invitation.”

“Hm.” The woman replies idly. “I’ll apologize on behalf of Tutell there, she can be quite demanding and brutish from time to time. Either way, I’m glad you came.”

“Not like I had much of a choice,” Maya grumbles, before quickly being elbowed again- harder.

“Do you know who I am? Where you are?” 

“Mm. No miss, can’t say I do- other than impressive, and on the complete other side of town.” Despite the fear creeping up her spine, she finds the sarcastic attitude to deflect the questions.

That elicits another smile from the woman. “You can call me Nacre. I’m the head of this organization, and as for why you’re here?”

She pauses to take another drag off of her cigarette. “I think we have a bit of a common interest, you and me. Why, I was intrigued to hear that someone else wanted to take a crack at Marote and his gang.”

Mayara doesn’t get much of a chance to say anything before they continue their little speech, but they’ve definitely got her attention- evident by the look of recognition on her face.

“I’ll be brief, dear. You’re not in any danger from me. Quite the opposite, actually. The Chromes have been a pain in my side for far too long. Not only are they trying to run me out of business, they’ve also taken to killing off my men whenever they get a little too close.”

Nacre leans back in her seat, looking Maya dead in the eyes. “I don’t take kindly to competitors in the first place, and I really don’t care for losing six of my already few agents,” they hiss.  “But Messiahs forbid I go and pull a revenge plot in plain sight.”

“So that’s where you come in.” She pauses, tapping her chin with the mouthpiece of her holder thoughtfully.

“Let’s see… I’ll give you three trolls to go and rig the explosives in each of Chrome's hideouts- Vizz here being one of them, along with whatever else you need to make your plan work. Sound like a deal?”

The look on the gold’s face is one of utter bewilderment. Maya fully expected to be beaten and bruised into submission, not have every resource she could want handed to her on a silver platter. She doesn’t know what to think- she knew her original plan was ambitious, but suddenly getting a call card from another fucking mafia boss, to take down the one she was after? She’s confused. Angry. Bitter.

“Deal? Deal?” The mix of emotions burns like acid in her tone. “You’re just- assuming I’m gonna agree to whatever you have planned without giving me any further details?” She gives an incredulous scoff. Nacre makes a nod towards Vizzya to stop, who was about to elbow and cut her off again.

“Wh- y’ giving me all this, and then I’m gonna be indebted to you or something, right? That’s how this usually works. There’s always a reason why you people want someone else to do your dirty work. So tell me, why the fuck should I take any of this?”

“Why should I, huh? I don’t need your… your help- your pity.” Maya takes a few shallow breaths after her spouting, half not expecting an answer. She just lost her shit with the person in charge, why would she get one?

There’s silence for a while. Deafening, drowning silence that weighs on the room like a ton of bricks. That is until Nacre speaks up again, no longer wearing the gentle, amused smile she once had.

“Normally? That is how it works, dear. But not in this case."

"You see, I have a bit of a… reputation to uphold. One of strength, but of utter neutrality- if I go and eviscerate one group, who’s to say I won’t do it to anyone else? That’s what my business partners will think, and that’s the last thing I want.”

“So in short, you get the credit and reputation to precede you. I keep my relationships and relieve my sanity by doing something to help. We both no longer have persistent thorns in our sides; both of us get our vengeance.”

“You’d be doing me the favor. A win in both of our books, as far as I’m concerned.” Nacre sighs, flicking ashes into a nearby tray.

So that’s it then, huh? No funny business, no debts, no nothing? Just… genuine support? It’s hard for Mayara to believe. Honestly, it’d be hard for anyone to believe. But the fact that she’s here herself, offering her these things personally- that’s hard to ignore. That, and she likely needs all the help she can get to make sure everything follows through.

There’s just one thing she wants to know first. “How’d you find me, anyway? ‘S not like I made it easy.”

The taller woman hums for a moment before responding. “No, you really didn’t. In fact, the only reason I knew who to talk to was because I know one of your friends. He convinced me that I should try and work something out with you.”

Allaik. Of course. But how the hell does he know this lady? Let alone well enough to talk casually and ask favors?

“Fine, miss. Let’s say I agree to your little offer here. What kinda proof ya’ willing to offer to show that you won’t stab me in the back? Y’know. As most mobs tend to do.”

Nacre smiles again, looking down just enough that her hat covers her eyes. “I think you’ll find we’re slightly different from any old mob cluster, but I digress. Vizz- if you will.”

“Yes, miss.” The troll standing next to Maya turns to face her, taking her hand and placing three strange coins in her palm. This whole time he’s been rather quiet and expressionless, but he takes a moment to explain what he just gave her.

“What you hold in your palm there is a type of currency around here. Not only that, it’s a symbol of favor given to you by Nacre themself. Anyone who shows one of these to the hostess of the lounge here will be given refuge and treated with respect worthy of a highblood noble.”

“That is, so long as none of the lady’s rules are broken. They can also be ‘spent’ on a number of things, including but not limited to guild access, special intel, and running a request by Nacre. Though, whether she agrees to it or not is entirely up to her. Understand?”

The coins are minted with the design of a hooded, blindfolded figure with arms crossed in front of her. A dagger is held in one hand, and a scroll grasped in the other. She studies one of them for a moment, before glancing back at Nacre.

“Understood.”

“Good. Now, if that’s enough to assuage your… concerns, I’ll introduce myself as well- seeing as I’ll be working with you.” He folds his arms behind his back again and nods, making no effort to break the neutral facade. “Vizzya. It’s a pleasure.”

“Right, I’m sure.”

That’s quite the change of heart from earlier, she thinks. If they plan on giving her three other people to work with, that means that the plan can come to fruition in just one night instead of taking several to set it all up.

“Well,” Nacre interjects, “I’m glad we could come to an agreement. Vizzya can show you to everyone else- they’ll be at your beck and call to finish whatever you have laid out, so long as there’s no chance anyone will recognize them.”

“Noted.” That shouldn’t be an issue for her at all. “I don’t think I’ll need anything other than extra hands anyway. Don’t suppose you have somethin’ else ya’ wanna ask of me?”

The woman ponders for a moment, before replying in a jovial tone- “Make it painful and slow.”

Vizz is taking his turn sighing. Wouldn’t kill her to pay full attention for once, or act like a person worthy of being so high in rank.

“We’re supposed to listen in on something here. Client hired us to figure out what’s going on. We don’t step in at all, no matter what happens. Strictly bystanders.”

“That’s it?” she hisses, her tone still quiet but snappish. “You couldn’t’ve called me to go do something a little more… important?”

So now he’s bringing her around to do this garbage? It’s not like she even gets to do anything. This isn’t any fun at all. Her silent tantrum is quickly dismissed by the glare her partner throws at her.

Vizz doesn’t even have to say anything, she knows what he’d go on about. How that every job was important, and how if they’re incapable of doing even menial things, the boss’s reputation will falter. There was probably a good reason it was entrusted to them, and them alone.

A few moments pass as they exchange leers. She scoffs, annoyed with… everything about him.

“God, shut the fuck up Vizz.”

“I didn’t even say anything yet.”

“Don’t need to. Your face says it all.” Tutell looks back down at the warehouse floor below. “I don’t really see why we’re both needed here.”

The sound of footsteps approaching echoes through the building. A lone individual moves into the center of the space, looking around suspiciously as if he’s waiting for someone else. They’re dressed in an unremarkable way, holding a case of some kind.

Adjusting his glasses, Vizz looks down at the newcomer, who happened to arrive just on time. “Beats me, but orders are orders.”

The two finally settle into their positions, falling silent as the other party arrives not long after. There’s three of them, dressed in obnoxiously bright colors. The one in the middle looks plain compared to the other two, dressed mostly in red and black. No one says a word, only causing the tension to increase to near unbearable amounts. The first troll looks like he’d rather be anywhere else right now. 

“Well, well, glad to see you made it back in one piece.” The red anon speaks up. He talks with a certain weight and charismatic nature- definitely believed he was important.

“You- I wasn’t supposed to meet you here. Where’s Finnic?” The one holding the case stands still, clutching it to his chest. He seems bothered by the change of personnel.

“Finnic? He’s uh, busy. Something came up at the last moment. Wouldn’t tell me what, but I got sent here instead. I’ll just… stand in. Now. What were we here for-”

“-No, this- this isn’t right. He- he promised he would be the one meeting with me." The poor guy stutters and stumbles over his words. "Even if he did send you, wouldn’t he have told you why you were here?”

The one in question frowns, rolling his eyes and dropping the friendly act. “Oh come on, no one asked you to play legislacerator.”

He wasn't even trying to pretend his intentions were less than hostile.

“He’s not coming. Spit out the info I’m lookin’ for and maybe I’ll go easy on you. First off, where’d you get sent off to? Secondly, why?”

The next few words out of the messenger’s mouth spit out like acid. “Why the fuck do you care? We're tryin’ to tie up loose ends, and you want to know why? Shouldn’t it be obvious?”

Something clicks in Vizzya’s mind. He knew exactly why they were both there now. A group had leapt from the shadows recently, and nobody knew anything about them including Excelsa. It scared a lot of people, no doubt. Someone must’ve gotten a tip, and wanted to know more without going through the trouble.

Typical, but he can’t complain. Others have been trying for weeks to get something, anything about who the new players are. Nobody even knows if they’re actually new, but this is a prime opportunity to find out.

“Oh. Is that what this is about? Well, another question for you: What’d ya’ manage to get your grubby mitts on while you were there? And why the hell did Finnic want it?” He gestures towards the case, pistol drawn. The other two beside him don’t move a muscle. When did he even have time to pull that out? 

“Fuck you. You wouldn’t.”

In an instant, the instigator had shot the poor guy in the leg, leaving him to cry out in pain and grovel on the concrete. Strolling his way, he crouches over the individual with the other two falling in line beside him.

“I don’t know why they always say that. As if it’s ever helped anyone’s situation. ‘You wouldn’t!’” he mocks. “Clearly, I would. Tried to be nice, but now we’re doing it my way. What did Finnic want?”

“What.. he’s wanted f-for a while. Same as the boss-”

He’s cut off with a swift strike to the face. “I think the fuck not. Marote wants her alive, on our side, and said to be fucking quiet about it, from what I last heard. Now we’ve got all eyes on us, dipshit. Do you see how you followed exactly none of that?”

His ‘interrogation’ is interrupted by one of the others. “Al. Isn’t this one of Moxie’s designs?”

They had opened the case that the smaller troll had dropped when he fell to the floor, and Al moved to look.

Neither of the two watching the scene from afar could see what was in it, nor did they know who the fuck “Moxie” was. But from the sounds of it, the time in the spotlight was a complete accident- the work of some rogue faction amongst the group. It’s not much to go on, but it’s better than nothing. Now, there’s names, motives, and even a lead as to why they stood out in the first place. 

Al sighs, closing the case and tucking it under his free arm. “Yeah, no mistakin’ it. I’ll have to have a chat with her when we’re done here. This changes the plan just a bit, though.”

He turns around and playfully shrugs. “Sorry pal, but I can’t be havin’ any more loose ends. Nothing personal- I’ll be sure to tell everyone how brave you were in the face of death’s maw.”

"And truly, thank you for cooperating so well."

With that, he puts the injured troll out of his misery. It's a terrible fate to be left like that to die, but such is the world of the underground. Uncaring, and cruel. Tutell looks at Vizz, and he at Tutell. As if on the same wavelength, they decide that it’s time to leave.

The two look back down one last time to find the tall troll staring directly back at them, smiling. What the hell is he so happy about? It's strange, but he doesn’t make any moves to threaten them, other than the insincere greeting. Tutell had started move out already, but Vizzya sticks behind for just one more moment before running after her.