dmitri-savkin

[dmitri-savkin]

The flat was modest: a small living room with a blue threadbare sofa and a couple of squashy armchairs, a bedroom with a single bed, a postage stamp-sized washroom, and a kitchen that was mostly just a large fireplace and a worn table. Being in the attic, all of the windows were small and round: with a view of only the clear sky high above the other rooftops, it almost gave one the impression of being at sea.

Dmitri smiled as he shut the door behind him. He liked this flat— he’d always liked it. The low living room ceiling sloped where the windows were, and in the cramped space underneath was a line of bookshelves crammed with books on just about every practical subject. He set his rucksack down and walked across the scratched floor, and propped his cane against a spindly table as he sat heavily in one of the armchairs.

“Hey bud, you lost?” a voice asked from the kitchen. Dmitri paused with a hand still extended toward his cane and looked over: Andrew was leaning against the door frame, his tattooed arms folded across his chest. He raised a brow at Dmitri.

“Yeah, you, old man. How’d you get in? You pick the lock?” Andrew demanded. He took a step towards him, something glinting in his hand: a penknife he’d pulled from his vest pocket. Dmitri chuckled as he stood.

“What are you going to do with such tiny blade?” he asked. He clasped his hands behind his back. Andrew stopped and blinked.

“...Dmitri?” he asked, incredulous. Dmitri nodded and raised a hand to stroke his fake beard.

“I see your deductive skills are still middling,” he responded as he started to work the beard free from his clean shaven face. Andrew closed the penknife and tucked it back into his pocket.

“Shit, I thought you were here to rob the place. What’re you doing in Stormwind?” he asked curiously. “I thought you were still in Boralus.” Dmitri finished pulling off the beard and gestured to Andrew.

“A cloth with warm water, please— I have never enjoyed the feel of glue on skin.” He tucked the beard carefully into his coat pocket and removed the squashed cap from his head, then hung the coat and hat on a wall peg. Andrew returned with a damp cloth and handed it to him.

“As for question of location change,” Dmitri continued, “let us just say it was… time to be leaving Boralus.” Dmitri wiped the remains of the glue from his skin. He folded the washcloth into a square and handed it back to Andrew. “Is time for me to be home.”

“Dunno if anyone’s told you, mate, but Alterac’s gone,” Andrew said with a chuckle as he accepted the folded cloth. Dmitri ran both hands through his salt-and-pepper hair.

“My Boralus operations,” he said slowly, “are in hands of Kul Tiran guard. My closest friend and confidant has fled. I have not spoken to my daughter in many years— not since she was small. She will not see me.” He sighed. “My only home is with oldest friends, now. You,” he nodded to Andrew, “and Quai.”

“Yeah, well, what’re you doing here? If you saw Quai, you know she doesn’t use this place much anymore.”

“I have been tending to business in city, and staying here. I have key,” Dmitri added, holding up a battered brass key. Andrew squinted at it.

“How come there’s no evidence of you here?” he asked, gesturing around. “Everything’s the way I left it last time I was in town a few weeks ago.”

“I know,” Dmitri replied simply. He smiled at Andrew and headed towards the kitchen. “Is housekeeper still leaving scones in— ah!” he exclaimed softly as he lifted the lid on the cake stand in the middle of the table to reveal a pile of still-warm scones. He took one and sniffed it before taking a small bite. “Mmn.”

Andrew had followed him into the kitchen.

“Okay, so you have a key and you’re good at cleaning up behind yourself. What’re you hoping to do, though? Quai and I have jobs. Lives.” He kind of shrugged at Dmitri.

“Yes— she mentioned some work… very vague, our ptitsa,” Dmitri replied with a chuckle. Andrew looked away.

“It’s not the kind of stuff you really talk about,” he said evasively.

“Is not ‘kind of stuff’ you talk about, perhaps,” Dmitri said as he held part of a scone up with one hand. “Is perhaps of interest to me, however.” He stepped closer to Andrew.

“Look,” Andrew said as he took an automatic step back, “it’s not that I don’t want to tell you, it’s that I can’t. Quai— she holds a position, she can make a decision, let you into the fold, y’know?”

He was backed up against the wall, deliberately avoiding eye contact with the older man. Dmitri stood close to him, almost relishing in how— even after all the intervening years— he still had the ability to make the idiot uncomfortable. His gaze moved from Andrew’s face to his hairline, where the tiniest beads of sweat were starting to form. He smiled. After a moment, he clicked his tongue.

“I talk to Quai,” he said as he stepped back and popped the last of the scone into his mouth. Andrew breathed an audible sigh of relief.

“Great, I’ll let her know you’re looking for her,” he said as he kind of shimmied along the wall to the kitchen door. “Good seeing you!” he called over his shoulder as he made for the door. Dmitri chuckled quietly and picked up another scone.

“Is good to be home,” he said quietly as he turned his gaze to the cloudless sky beyond the window.

(Mentioned: @andrew-mason​ )

[dmitri-savkin]

Homecoming

The cane went first: a tap on the wooden dock, then a slight groan and a few shuffling steps as the man followed behind. A woolen cap was pulled low over his face, and he was sporting a scraggly grey beard and mustache. He adjusted the rucksack slung over his back, his grip tight on the cane as he shuffle-tapped down the dock towards the busy market. To his relief, the guards paid him no mind, their gazes sliding from a group of soldiers to a pack of camera-toting tourists, passing right over the hunched old man with the cane. 

He stopped as he reached the end of the dock and looked up at the maze of ascending stone steps that all led to a city he hadn’t seen in over twenty years. With a click of his tongue, he shielded his eyes from the sunlight and moved his gaze over the crowd until he spotted her. A smile passed across his whiskered face. 

“Ptitsa,” he said in a gravelly voice, when he reached the woman a few minutes later. The woman turned her gaze to him: piercing green eyes narrowed momentarily, then she broke into a smile. 

“You’re older than I remember,” she teased as she reached out and tugged at the fake beard. Dmitri swatted her hand away. 

“You are more insolent than I remember,” he replied, chuckling. Quai folded her arms, though she was smiling. 

“You look like you need a shave, and maybe a time machine. Lunch?” she asked. Dmitri cast his gaze around the crowded docks. 

“Where is Ivan?” he asked, in search of the man who had become his right hand over the past two decades. 

“He’ll meet us,” Quai assured him with an easy smile. “What’s with the disguise?” Dmitri waved a hand and leaned in: 

“Is for fun,” he said with a wink. “Keeps guard on their toes. Now,” he said, straightening up a bit, “you were mentioning lunch, yes? All I have for two days is pitiful excuse for meal on boat. I want…” he took a deep inhale, then smiled as he exhaled. “The usual.” 

Quai pushed herself off of the wall and offered him an arm. 

“The usual it is,” she said as Dmitri looped his arm through hers. They walked silently— and slowly— up the many steps, stopping twice along the way: once for a bottle of wine, and once for a half loaf of fresh bread and a large chunk of brie wrapped in waxed paper. 

They had passed behind the cathedral and down a connecting alley, when Quai suddenly stopped. Dmitri paused and turned to see a man standing behind her, with a hand on her shoulder and a rusty blade pointed at her neck. Dmitri slid his gaze slowly from the man’s wild-eyed expression to Quai, who dropped a hand to her side: a moment later, a little silver punch blade had appeared in her hand. 

“Please, good sir,” Dmitri said as he tapped his cane on the cobblestones, “please— take me instead.” 

The man grinned, teeth yellowed and rotting. 

“Nah,” he said, squeezing Quai’s shoulder, “I think I’m good with her, old timer. She’s more my type.” Dmitri simply shrugged in response. 

“Is your funeral,” he said as the man tried to pull Quai away. Dmitri met Quai’s gaze, and she flashed him a grin. In the space of just a few seconds, she drove her head back into the man’s nose, then ducked sideways and punched him in the gut with her little blade. The would-be abductor staggered backwards and collapsed on a stoop, clutching his stomach. 

“The fuck!” he shouted, flecks of spittle and blood flying from his mouth. A bit of blood bubbled up at his right nostril and popped as he glared at Quai. 

“I didn’t hit anything vital,” she said, “but you should still see a medic, unless you want to die of sepsis.” She took a handkerchief from her pocket and wiped the blood from the blade, then turned back to Dmitri, who was smiling widely. 

“You have not changed,” he said as he watched the little blade disappear in a swirl of shadows. 

“I’ve changed a bit,” she argued as she held out an arm for him again. 

“Perhaps,” Dmitri conceded. He glanced back at the man who was groaning on the steps. 

“This city really deserves a better class of criminal,” Quai remarked as they set off down the alley once more. Dmitri chuckled. 

“All in good time, ptitsa,” he assured her as they rounded a corner to head towards the Dwarven District. “All in good time.” 

((Mentioned: @quai-mason))

[dmitri-savkin]

“He should be here on next boat,” Ivan grumbled. Quai glanced up at the hulking man next to her, then checked her pocket watch and went back to looking out over the Stormwind harbor. 

“Twenty minutes until it arrives,” she replied. “They let him go, then— that’s good news,” she said, continuing an earlier conversation. 

Ivan folded his arms across his chest, silent for a few moments. Below, dockworkers and merchants milled about, calling out to each other over the price of fish and imported produce. Every half hour or so, a new boat would arrive at the end of one of the long docks and set off a half hour later, bound for Northrend, or Pandaria, or the Broken Shore. The Kul Tiras dock was empty, save for a few guards and a handful of military personnel milling about under a blue-canopied tent. 

“Is no good news. Dmitri cannot go home.” Ivan let out a long sigh. “I cannot go home,” he added. Quai reached up a hand and gave his forearm a gentle squeeze. 

“I’ll arrange for someone to get your and his things from the restaurant and the flat,” she assured him. “Did you want it scrubbed down?” 

“Proudmoore Admiralty likely already ransack place,” Ivan replied, frowning. 

“They didn’t, actually— Andrew took a walk by on Saturday, it’s all locked up. There’s notices on the doors, but nothing’s been seized yet, and they’ll likely be tied up in paperwork for a month before anyone gets the go-ahead to take a look.” 

Ivan seemed to cheer slightly at that. 

“Is good news. You have crew to take care?” 

“I know a few people who wouldn’t mind the extra cash. I’ll need the combinations to the safes, and anything else we should know about the place before going in. I can get it done as early as… say, Saturday?” 

“I get you combinations and keys.” He raised a meaty hand and clapped Quai on the shoulder: her knees buckled a bit. “You are good friend, ptitsa,” he said genially. 

“Well, I try,” Quai said as she steadied herself against the wall. “D’you think you two will go back into business here?” she asked curiously. 

“Perhaps,” Ivan bobbed his head. “How are you making along?” 

“I’m doing just fine. I might be able to find you two a home, if you like,” she offered. Ivan lapsed into silence for a few minutes as he considered. 

“I think,” he said at last, “is time for me to stop.” 

“Stop?” 

“In business. Cousin owns orchards up North, is looking for tractor driver.” 

“You’re going to quit your lucrative criminal life to be a tractor driver at an apple orchard?” 

“And pears,” Ivan added. Quai raised a brow. 

“You’re pulling my leg.” 

“I pull no legs.” 

“What’s Dmitri going to do without you?” 

“Dmitri will survive. Here—” 

“I guess…” Quai looked down as Ivan held something out to her: a battered communicator and a tarnished silver pendant in the shape of an anchor. She took them and stared at the items for a moment as they rested on her open palm. 

“When will you—?” She looked up again, but there was no sign of Ivan. “Ivan?” she called out. A few people glanced her way, but the large man was nowhere to be found: he’d disappeared, seemingly, into the bustling crowd around them. 

“Well, shit,” she said to herself as she pocketed the pendant and the comm stone. She folded her arms and leaned back on the wall, waiting for the green-sailed passenger ship from Boralus to arrive. 

((Mentioned: @dmitri-savkin​))

[dmitri-savkin]

“Mason? You are there?” 

The gravelly voice in her ear snapped Quai to attention and pulled her gaze briefly from the road. She sat up a little straighter in her seat and tapped the comm stone as her horse-drawn cart made its way up the winding mountain road. 

“Ivan?” she asked. 

“Yes, is me,” Ivan replied in his heavily-accented Common. Quai scratched her cheek. 

“You know I’m not working out of Boralus anymore, what’s going on?” she asked. “Did something happen to Dmitri?” 

“Yes,” Ivan replied curtly. “He is having trouble with Admiralty guard…payments are not accepted, they no longer turn blind eye to… activity.” Quai squinted as she heard a noise in the background: water. 

“Are you at sea?” she asked. “Is Dmitri with you?” 

“He is sleeping. Is long day.” 

“All this happened today?” 

There was no immediate answer. 

“Ivan,” Quai pressed, “tell me what’s going on.” 

A sigh answered her, then: 

“Dmitri tell me, ‘Ivan, pack things, go to boat, is fine’ so I pack things and go to boat. He say he talk to guard friend, he leave to talk to guard friend, he never return. Admiralty guard come for boat, say they arrest Dmitri.” 

“On what charges?” Quai demanded. “Did they tell you what the charges were?” 

“They were…er, ausweichend…” he trailed off. 

“Evasive?” 

“Yes. They tell me I know for what Dmitri is taken. I say I do not know, they tell me I have two hour to leave city. I take boat.” 

A man with his own horse-drawn cart appeared around a bend, fifty or so meters ahead of Quai on the narrow road. They both slowed their horses and maneuvered carefully around each other, and Quai smiled politely as the man tipped his hat to her. 

“Mason?” 

“Sorry— yes, Ivan. You took the boat. Where?” 

“Stormwind.” 

“They won’t let you—”

“I have papers. Enough to fool dockmaster. You will be meeting me here, yes? Dmitri… cannot stay in Boralus prison.” 

“Ivan, I’ve got a few things to take care of, then I’ll meet you in Stormwind. Tomorrow, alright?” 

“That is fine. Our old spot?” 

Quai laughed a bit at that. 

“They’ve put the Embassy in our old spot, I’m not about to meet you there. Go to my flat in Old Town, but wait around the shop downstairs for me. Mister Sidney is still there.” 

“Is good to know some things do not change,” Ivan replied with a tense chuckle. 

“Indeed. Okay, so where is he being kept? The local jail, or the Admiralty prison?” 

“Local jail, I believe.” 

“Good, that means they don’t have enough to charge him with, yet. You know,” she added, “there’s a chance they’re just flexing— showing him they’re no longer under his thumb. He might be out in forty-eight hours.” 

“Will we wait for that?” 

“I think it’s best to not ruffle any more feathers than necessary. If he’s charged and transported, we can always grab him on the way. How long’s it been since he’s been rolled up in a rug?” 

It was Ivan’s turn to laugh. 

“Too long. He is perhaps overdue.” Quai smiled. 

“Alright, tomorrow. Five Deadly Venoms, early.” 

“Early,” Ivan repeated. There was silence between them for a bit: the gentle slap of waves against hull came from Ivan’s end, and he could hear Quai’s cart rolling along the bumpy mountain road to the tune of distant birdsong. 

“He’ll be okay,” Quai said, breaking the silence after a long minute. 

“Yes,” Ivan replied firmly. “He will.” 

((Mentioned: @dmitri-savkin​))

[dmitri-savkin]

The Basics ––– –

Name: Dmitri Anton Savkin Nickname(s): Bull Age: 50 Birthday: February 21 Race: Human Gender: Male Marital Status: Widowed

Physical Appearance ––– – Hair: Salt and pepper blond Eyes: Blue Height: 6’2” Build: Muscular; ageing Distinguishing Marks: Missing right earlobe; missing left ring finger down to second knuckle; burn scar on left side of neck; gold-capped right canine tooth Tattoos: A crude outline of a bird on the stump of his missing finger; an anchor on the bottom of his left heel Piercings: Gold hoop in left earlobe Common Accessories: Gold rings with precious gems; gold chains around his neck; stylish hats; usually a cravat

Personal Information––– – Profession: Restaurateur; Fixer Hobbies: Sword fighting; drinking Languages: Common, Orcish, Goblin, Troll, Dwarven, Gnomish Residence: Dampwick Ward, Boralus, Kul Tiras  Unknown Birthplace: Alterac City, Alterac Religion: N/A Patron Deity: N/A Fears: Few, if any

Relationships ––– - Spouse: Wife - Zoya Bykov - Deceased Children: Nadya Bykov - Whereabouts unknown Parents: Nadia and Pytor Bykov (both deceased) Siblings: N/A Other Relatives: Some distant, scattered Northern nobility Pets: A cat named Cat Sexual Orientation: Straight

Traits ––– - * Bold your character’s answer. Extroverted / In Between / Introverted Disorganized / In Between / Organized Close Minded / In Between / Open Minded Calm / In Between / Anxious Disagreeable / In Between / Agreeable Cautious / In Between / Reckless Patient / In Between /  Impatient Outspoken / In Between / Reserved Leader / In Between / Follower Empathetic / In Between / Apathetic Optimistic / In Between / Pessimistic Traditional / In Between / Modern Hard-working / In Between / Lazy Cultured / In Between / Uncultured Loyal / In Between / Disloyal Faithful / In Between / Unfaithful

Additional information ––– – Smoking Habit: A tobacco pipe Drugs: No Alcohol: Frequently

[dmitri-savkin]

It was late when Quai arrived in Boralus, and the market square was nearly deserted: a cold sea breeze rattled the empty carts, and a few gulls lazily circled the docks, allowing themselves to be carried off course every so often by the gusts of damp wind. A few guards milled about, engaged in conversation with the odd sailor or passing merchant, not really paying attention to the comings and goings of the people using the portal room. Quai slipped out into the street and around a corner, past the gryphonmaster, and towards Hook Point. Half an hour later, she arrived at the front of a familiar, dingy restaurant, where Ivan stood vigilant with his thick arms folded across his chest. 

“Mason,” he said by way of greeting. 

“You don’t even have a coat?” Quai asked as she rubbed her hands together for warmth against the biting cold. Ivan shrugged. 

“Alterac is much colder,” he said simply. 

“Well, I won’t argue on that. I’m leaving my weapons with you, but I’m not putting on one of those godawful robes,” Quai said as she pushed the hood from her head and looked up at him. “It’s far too cold for that.” Ivan responded with a short grunt and a nod, and Quai offloaded her daggers and a few other small weapons into Ivan’s hands. They looked like children’s toys in his massive mitts. 

“If you are thinking to try anything funny,” Ivan warned as Quai moved past him, through the door of the restaurant. 

“Not this time,” Quai called over her shoulder. She moved through the dusty dining room, past the empty kitchen and the office where the chef was smoking a cigarette with his bare feet up on the desk, then finally through a curtain and down a short flight of stairs. She knocked twice on the door. 

“Enter,” called Dmitri from the other side. Quai pushed the door open and was immediately greeted with warm air and the scent of roasting meat. A fire burned merrily in the massive fireplace, and Dmitri was pouring a measure of clear liquid into two glasses from an unmarked bottle. 

“I wonder,” Quai said as she pulled off her traveling cloak, “has the guard given you any trouble since your return?” Dmitri shrugged. 

“They try, ptitsa, they try. I am having too many of them on payroll, however,” he said with a wink in her direction. Quai smiled a bit. 

“I was hoping they wouldn’t hassle you at all, but after what we did…” 

“They are just wanting to vent frustration,” Dmitri said reassuringly. He slid a glass across the desk to her. “Drink,” he instructed. Quai picked up the glass and tossed back its contents in one gulp, motioning for another as she set it back down on the desk. Dmitri tossed back his own glass and then picked up the bottle to pour two more shots. 

“It has been long time since you visit us here,” he said as he leaned across the desk to fill her glass. When he’d filled his, both of them picked up their glasses at the same time and drank again. 

“I’ve been busy,” Quai said with a shrug. 

“You have been in prison,” Dmitri said. Quai chuckled softly. 

“Nothing gets past you, does it?” 

“No, ptitsa, it does not. So! What brings you to fair city of Boralus?” 

“I’ve actually got something I need you to take a look at,” Quai said as she dipped her hand into a pocket and pulled out a piece of folded paper. She handed it to Dmitri, who unfolded it and took a few silent moments to read the paper’s contents. 

“I have looked. What is it you are wanting to know?” he asked curiously. Quai gestured at the paper. 

“She’s a relative of Brian’s, as I’m sure you’ve guessed by the surname.” 

“Mhm…” 

“I’m looking for her. She was part of the Admiralty guard for a number of years, but now I’m told she’s operating out of the city in a…less official capacity.” 

“You mean not as guard.” 

“No, definitely not as part of the guard. Her record might give some indication.” 

Dmitri hummed to himself, then opened a drawer and slipped the paper inside. 

“You look hungry,” he said as he pushed back his chair and stood. He moved over to the fireplace and picked up a meat fork and a knife, and started to cut slices from the chunk of meat that was warming by the flames. Quai nodded and watched him: he was older and greyer than the last time they’d seen each other, on the shores beyond Anglepoint Wharf. 

“I could eat,” she agreed. Dmitri hummed to himself as he placed a couple of slices of what smelled like roasted boar onto two plates. “I don’t want to put you out, though…” 

“Nonsense,” Dmitri replied with a chuckle. “Spending time with friends is never putting me out.” He spooned a bit of jus onto the meat, then speared a few small potatoes for both of them. “Eat, while is still hot,” he advised as he set a plate with a fork and knife down in front of Quai. 

“Thanks, Dmitri,” she replied as she took up her knife and fork. Dmitri poured two more shots of the same clear booze, then sat back down across from her with his plate. 

“So,” he said as he tucked into his meal, “why are you wanting to find Jocelyn Wellson?” 

((Mentioned/relevant: @brian-wellson​ @enigmatic-elegance​ ))

[dmitri-savkin]

“I am growing too old for this, Ivan,” Dmitri said as the pair watched Malcolmson’s body— weighted with a heavy rock tied to his ankle— sink to the bottom of the wharf. Distantly, Vincent and June were heading into the hills to go after Quai and Malodar as they followed the sniper’s trail.

Ivan handed Dmitri the bulky camera, which he’d used to take a picture of Malcolmson’s body before they’d heaved him into the water. “I am thinking—”

“Always dangerous,” Dmitri interrupted with a tired grin. Ivan chuckled quietly.

“I am thinking,” he started again, “that if you are helping Mason and MacLeod with investigation, perhaps is help with freedom?”

Dmitri stroked his beard thoughtfully. “Is possible, yes,” he said slowly. “But we are having to turn against people you know…people you have built up connection with.”

Ivan drew himself up to his full, imposing height. “Dmitri Savin only true friend. Everything I do, I have done for sake of you,” he said firmly. “Even so-called friends in Ashvane.” 

Dmitri gave Ivan’s arm a gentle pat. “I know,” he said quietly. “You are feeling up to this, then? We will be left with nothing.”

Ivan smirked. “Not nothing. Have been siphoning funds from Ashvane for very long time… have hidden in secret place.”

“Not those wretched cellars in Unity Square, I am hoping,” Dmitri said warily. Ivan laughed.

“No, no. Better than that.”

Dmitri folded his arms and looked up at his bodyguard. “Enlighten me.” The setting sun glinted in his eyes. 

Ivan leaned over. “Proudmoore Academy.” He grinned as he straightened back up.

Dmitri’s face went pale. “Proudmoore Academy?” he echoed, his voice a whisper. “Proudmoore Academy?!” he hissed. He smacked Ivan on the arm. Ivan recoiled.

“Is right under noses!” Ivan insisted. He shuffled away a bit.

“Proudmoore Academy!” Dmitri exclaimed. He threw his hands in the air. “Yes, we just walk back into Boralus and stroll into keep and how the HELL are you even doing this in first place?! Is dangerous!”

Ivan shrugged. “I go with tour group, every few months. Hide money in secret place. No one will find,” he said with an air of absolute certainty. 

Dmitri’s face had turned an ugly shade of puce. His brow wrinkled in confusion and anger. He seemed to be momentarily at a loss for words; Ivan took a few more steps out of his reach.

“How much?” Dmitri asked at last.

“Lots,” Ivan confirmed. “Comfortable for rest of life, for Dmitri and Ivan.”

Dmitri’s shoulders slumped. “Proudmoore Academy,” he said miserably.

((Mentioned/relevant: @brian-wellson @killerkyara @juniper-rose-blower @malodarstarstrike @mycoronervinny))

[dmitri-savkin]

A week or so ago…

“He won’t deal with you.”

Quai folded her arms. “I have it on good authority that he will,” she replied. The burly man folded his arms across his chest as well— one of his hairy forearms was easily bigger than Quai’s thigh. He leaned down, his face close to hers.

“He does not deal with mainlanders,” he said in a low voice. His accent was thick: old-old Alterac, generally only heard in the very tiny and remote human settlements in the northern part of the Eastern Kingdoms.

“He is a mainlander,” Quai replied, her voice equally as low. A steady drizzle had started to fall as they stood outside the nondescript building in the heart of Dampwick Ward; they were barely covered by a patched awning. Behind the enormous brute of a door guard lay a restaurant, its tables mostly empty. Candles stuck into the necks of bottles guttered feebly at each table. A cold breeze blew through the twisting maze of ramshackle buildings and chilled Quai through her heavy cloak. The large man narrowed his eyes at her for a moment, then straightened up once more.

“You will be leaving your weapons at the door.” He gestured to the small crate at his feet.

Quai unclipped her utility belt and dropped the whole thing into the crate, then hooked her fingers through the handles on the six kunai that were strapped to her thighs, drew them, and dropped those in as well. From one boot she pulled a switchblade and a butterfly knife, and from the other she took out a slim, wooden tube filled with five thin blow darts— those, she placed carefully on top of the other weapons. She straightened back up and made to pass the man, but he cleared his throat and tapped his wrist. Realization dawned on Quai’s face, and she reached two fingers into a tiny pouch on her left glove to pull out a razor blade, which she also dropped into the crate.

The guard gave a heavy sigh and gestured for her to spread her arms and legs so he could pat her down, so she did. He ran his hands quickly and professionally along her arms, sides, and legs, then had her turn around.

“And this? This is for health, I am to be guessing?” he grumbled as he pulled a very small pistol from its holster that was strapped to her separately from the utility belt. He dangled it in front of her face.

“Honestly forgot about that one,” Quai replied with mild surprise. “Sorry.”

“I have half mind to strip you down and see what else you are hiding from me,” the guard replied as Quai turned back to face him once more.

“Look, I’ll walk in naked if it makes you feel any better— but mark my words, if I wanted him dead, he’d already be dead,” she said, clearly finished with humouring him. The guard raised an eyebrow at her.

***  

“Ah, Miss Mason, glad you are stopping in,” she heard as she was ushered into a room off the back of the restaurant kitchen. The door shut and locked firmly behind her, and Quai squinted into the semi-darkness. The light in the room grew a bit brighter as a man seated behind a mahogany desk leaned over and turned up the whale oil lamp. Quai drew the thin robe more tightly around her naked frame.

The man was about fifteen years older than her, with a head of slicked-back salt-and-pepper hair. His eyes were green like hers, with pronounced crow’s feet at the corners. His skin was weathered but pale, and his clothes looked expensive. The bottom part of his right ear was missing, as was his right canine, which had been replaced with a gold tooth. He had a bit of a gut, but otherwise appeared in fighting shape.

“Dmitri,” she replied curtly. “Still using any excuse to be in a room with an undressed woman, I see.”

“Still the coldest cunt this side of Northrend, yes?” Dmitri retorted. He folded his arms and looked at her; she stared back, her expression flat.

A few seconds later, at the same moment, both of them burst into simultaneous laughter. The man called Dmitri pushed his chair back and came around the desk: he wrapped Quai in a tight hug, which she returned with one arm (as the other was holding the threadbare robe closed). He then held her at arm’s length and made a tutting noise as he ran a thumb gently across the newer scarring on her face. “Pity,” he said of the scarring. Quai shrugged in response and smiled a bit.

“Part of the job. I assume that’s what your man up there will say about this?” Quai replied as she gestured to the robe she was wearing. The stone floor was cold on her feet.

“I am sorry about Ivan,” Dmitri said as he pulled out a chair for Quai. His accent was far less pronounced than Ivan’s; it had developed a sort of Kul’Tiran lilt, which gave his cadence a slightly less menacing quality. “He is, ah… quite invested in this job.” Quai sat and shook her head.

“He’s thorough, I’ll give him that,” she replied with a chuckle as she settled into the padded chair, “but it’s good you have someone like that you can trust. Gods, you’re pale,” she added as Dmitri passed to the other side of his desk and plopped down into his chair.

“Ah, it is this place,” he replied with a wave of his hand. “Is only sunny two days out of the year, so not much I can do with that.” He leaned forward and clasped his hands together on the desk. “Drink?”

“Anything to take the chill away,” Quai replied with a smile. Dmitri snapped his fingers and a dangerously thin man in a well-worn set of tails took two steps out of a shadowed corner and nodded. Quai followed him with her gaze as he went over to a bar cart and carefully poured two small glasses of clear liquid, which he walked over and set on the desk, along with a bottle that bore a red and silver label. He then turned and— with what appeared to be all his strength— lifted two heavy logs onto the fire that was burning in the blackened hearth.

Quai turned away and picked up her glass. “Thought he was a wax figure when I came in,” she remarked as she raised her glass to Dmitri.

“I pay him a lot of money to come off like that,” Dmitri replied. “Thank-you, Andrey— you may leave us.” The thin man gave a slight, stiff nod and opened the office door, then backed out into the hallway and shut the door quietly behind him.

“Do you feed him?” Quai asked quietly. Dmitri let out a bark of laughter.

“Of course I do! He eats as well as I do, but some of these Kul’Tirans…” He trailed off and shook his head. “He is just thin. Like you, little bird.”

Quai smiled and took a sip of the drink. “No one’s called me that in ages, not since you were in charge down in the ‘Bay,” she said. She looked over at him for a few long moments and let out a slow sigh. “A lot’s changed, Dmitri.”

Dmitri took a sip of vodka and set his glass down. “You are still married to James?” he asked curiously. Quai shook her head.

“No, he…passed, a few years back,” she replied delicately.

“So you killed him.”

“Can you really die if you’re already a soulless husk of a human being?”

Dmitri chuckled heartily. “I never was liking him. Still a criminal?” he asked of her. Quai bobbed her head.

“Not in the official sense,” she said slowly. “My record was expunged and I’m captaining a brig of my own, I’ve got a small crew. Andrew’s with us,” she added. “You always liked him.”

“I tolerated him, little ptitsa, as he tolerated me,” Dmitri said with a shrug. “It is good to hear you’re on the right side of the law with the rest of us,” he added with a wink. Quai grinned a bit, then took another sip.

“I don’t think you could even describe the right side of the law if you tried, Dmitri. How much are you paying them to keep from extraditing you back east?”

“Entirely too much,” Dmitri replied through laughter. “I help them with certain matters, however, and they, ah…look elsewhere on occasion. However, as a rule, I do not leave this part of the city.”

Quai raised a brow. “Ever?”

“Unless something is very, very wrong.”

“Let’s hope it never comes to that.” Quai raised her glass to him, and he raised his to her, and they both finished off their drinks.

“To business, yes?” Dmitri asked as they set their glasses down. He reached for the bottle and poured two more short drinks for both of them.  

“Yes. Small request, really,” Quai said to him. She leaned forward a bit. “I need bombs, wired and ready to go—”

“How many?” Dmitri asked as he pulled a pad of paper towards him. He took a pencil from behind his ear, touched the tip to his tongue, then began to write. Quai picked up her newly poured drink and took another sip. She thought for a moment.

“How many bridges lead to the Au’llon estate in Tiragarde Sound?” she asked. Dmitri furrowed his brow and thought for a moment.

“Four— two larger, two smaller. This is what you need bombs for?”

“Yes.”

Dmitri stopped writing and was silent for a few moments.

“You know,” he said slowly, “bridge is infrastructure. You need bomb for cave? For making trees fall, making evidence go away? I help with that. But investigators will look into bridges’ destruction and will be finding bomb parts that are consistent with products I move. I will be putting myself in line of fire if I am to be giving you these.”

“I wouldn’t ask, but—”

“It is important, I know,” he cut her off gently. “Important to you, but a death sentence for me, you see. I do not deal in bombs anymore, my friend, and for that I am deeply sorry.”

Quai ran a thumbnail along her left eyebrow. “I’ve got to say, Dmitri, I’m rather disappointed. You can’t even spare a few kilograms of Seaforium for an old friend?”

Dmitri looked across the desk and his face lit up. He clapped his hands together.

“You will take Seaforium?” he asked happily. “I have! There is much of it stored here—” He scooped up the pencil and started to scribble on the paper, then tore the paper from the pad and passed it to her. Quai took the paper and looked down at an address and a set of instructions.

“How much for it? I’ll need wiring, too— and timers,” she added.

“Yes yes, you buy wires, though,” he replied.

“How much?” Quai repeated. Dmitri smiled.

“Is free.”

“Nothing is free, Dmitri.”

“Is welcome to Boralus gift,” he replied with another hearty chuckle.

“In my experience,” Quai said slowly, “when you give someone a gift, you expect them to owe you. Is that what’s going on here?”

“Not this time, little ptitsa. This first one is free, like real gift. Next time,” he see-sawed his left hand: his ring finger was missing down to the second knuckle, and a crude, faded tattoo outline of a bird covered the stump. “Next time is different.”

Quai eyed the tattoo on the stump of his finger for a moment, then looked back to his face. He winked and leaned back in his chair.

“You will take this. Is only offer,” he said gently.

“I thought you didn’t deal in bombs anymore,” Quai said with a bit of a grin.

“Is not bomb. Is Seaforium,” he replied with a shrug. “Timer is simple pocket watch, found in any local shop.” He tapped the side of his nose. “No trace.”

“No trace,” Quai echoed. She held her glass out and Dmitri leaned forward with the bottle to pour another measure of vodka.

((Relevant: @blackbay-wra @brian-wellson @ephriza-dawnblade @killerkyara @juniper-rose-blower @malodarstarstrike​ @mycoronervinny​))