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Beneath all the pomp and glamour of showbiz, The Tusk Company was currently branching out into arms manufacturing. After all, a man of his calibre required no less than an arsenal worthy of a King. To facilitate this, they'd scoped out a suitable facade for a factory in the outer reaches of the district: The Great Heron's Tower. It was a dump. More specifically, what used to be a respectable civic hall a good decade ago had since been reduced to a dumping site for fireworks left over from past spring festivals. It was pitied enough by the public to be left as a monument of bygone times; it was also out of the way enough for no one to suspect its covert repurposing. Brine stood at the foot of the abandoned structure, gazing dully to the top. Behind her, Tusk puffed on a comically large pipe, surrounded by his men. He had a glint in his eye. "Well? Get to work, rookie!" He grunted at her back. With a queasy grimace, she entered the tower - her fellow henchmen following suit, each carrying a hefty crate. As the crew set about filling the ground floor with enough metal to arm a village, Brine slinked upstairs. "Checking the structural integrity" seemed like a decent excuse to get some time with her secret gift from Spritzer: a quarter-empty bottle of liquor, stuffed with a rag in lieu of a cork. Even then, the dilapidated state of the place alone had her somehow compelled to keep up the climb, the droning sound of moving objects gradually fading behind her. Before long, she was admiring cobwebs and forgotten tapestries between light sips. The air grew heavier with each flight of stairs; by the time she reached the top floor, it had taken on an almost foggy quality. Dust-ridden bookshelves were rudely obstructed by boxes upon boxes of old fireworks. At the center stood an unfinished loft - hardly more than a slab with rails. Climbing up the ladder, Brine looked over the room from her vantage point, and found herself escaping to fantasy again. Some time passed. By now, she was probably in trouble. "Break time's over, I guess~..." Intent on coming back, the girl started lighting every torch she could find as she hobbled downstairs - paying no mind to the eerie shadows flitting about in her peripheral. She'd made it back to the second floor when she noticed something was off. The door to the next staircase had been locked tight, for one; on top of that, she could hear a terrible racket coming from below. It sounded like a brawl - and she was missing out! Cursing under her breath, Brine started banging on the door, oblivious to the sound of fabric fluttering behind her - only to perk up at the distinct flick of a blade. She ducked and watched as a sword impaled the wood. A brief scuffle ensued, her unknown assailant giving her no room to ask what the hell was happening. Only with a blind knee to the stomach was she able to create some distance, the two now staring each other down. He wasn't much taller. This made her feel better. They remained locked in their tense little standoff for a short while - Brine suddenly guarding the sword stuck in the door with her life, while the thuggish character seemed to be weighing his options. He then moved, and she braced herself - but nothing happened. Rather, he was now running up the stairs, snickering like a teenage boy. It was then she looked down at her hands and realized, her bottle was missing. "... ARE YOU KIDDING ME?!?" | |