Ignis had never preferred sleeping alone. In her younger years, while her mother toted her throughout Terminus, they had stayed in small, one bedroom apartments. The young avian would sleep curled up besides her mother --or on nights when Corvis worked late, wake up beside the blue-feathered woman. When they had returned to Quippe, Ignis had gotten her own room for the first time. It had taken months to adjust, the preteen preferring to sleep in a nest of blankets on her mother’s bedroom floor to her own room.
Even after learning to sleep in her own room, once Ignis had made friends her own age, she used the opportunity for sleepovers. Ignis and the other young enlil girls would all pile into someone’s bed for the night, or, when the weather was nice, go camping and build makeshift nests in the trees.
When the enlil had finally set out on her own, she had Amicus to keep her company but it wasn’t the same. Ignis had managed, though. Her issues with sleeping on her own resurfaced with a vengeance following the events of the 500 P.T Nocte Nils.
The year or so Ignis had spent living with Harper, under the subtle threat of being turned in by his boss, had been confined to the houses Eden used to board her employees and the bar where Harper worked. Solitude was erased from Ignis’ vocabulary and her life. For a year, more or less, Ignis had slept at Harper’s side. The subtle stress of being in the hands of someone who would just as soon cash in her bounty as they would feed her to the basilisks had made Ignis jumpy. Harper had been her support, representing safety. He had been, as enlil called it, her tree.
The enlil had forgotten what it was like to be alone --the childhood days of drawing, sprawled out on the floor of a dingy apartment while she waited for Corvis’ return were so long ago they hardly counted anymore. The quiet unnerved Ignis now, even with Amicus’ occasional rustles and Cora’s warbly chirps.
Without the muted bustle of Igne Ebruis during the day or the knowledge that Harper was somewhere nearby, Ignis felt oddly alone and vulnerable. Of course, the avian did her best not to dwell on it. Deni and Aeria helped to keep some of these feelings at bay, but they weren’t always around. When Ignis retired to the small hole in the wall apartment she’d rented at night, she was on her own. Not even holding Amicus to her chest as tightly as she could completely erased the sense of loss.
The feeling was akin to that of reading most of a book and then losing it before finishing the second to last chapter. Ignis had come to know Harper well; his presence had been a constant, familiar like a favored paperback with dog eared pages. She had come to know what his facial expressions meant, even though Harper rarely made it easy to read him. Ignis had memorized his presence, his smell, the curl of the short brown feathers atop his head. She could recall at a whim the slight difference in texture between his skin and the scales on his face. The number of mornings she had woken up by his side and the moments where Ignis would preen his feathers --something the grumpy man had only ever allowed begrudgingly-- had accumulated into hours of time familiarizing herself with her companion.
And now, she had no idea where he was. Ignis had been afraid to go back to Igne Ebrius. She was half certain Eden would have her turned in up the very moment she set foot inside. That woman seemed to hate her.
The absence ached.
Still, Ignis would occasionally go for walks. Her feet would lead her, as if guided by some magnetic pull, back to Igne Ebrius. She’d stand, watch the pub for a few seconds, and then hurriedly keep moving, careful to avoid the roads that lead to the housing complex the employees used. Ignis was careful never to go closer than a block or so away, keeping her face obscured with the hood of her cloak. She never took Cora with her. Then, just to make sure no one realized why she frequented the area, Ignis would continue to a tea shop maybe half a mile away.
At the shop, a small establishment run by a friendly enlil-laicar family, Ignis would take a seat along the wall or in a corner. She would perch on a wooden stool and unbutton her cloak. Amicus would sit atop her knees while the engineer worked on some design or other.
Ignis frequently flipped through pages of her leather bound notebook, not hovering on one idea too long. She kept her mind off balance, forcing herself to do complex calculations mostly in her head and switch between half written ideas and projects. Occasionally, no more than once every five minutes, the engineer would take a few sips from her tea.
The routine rarely varied. Ignis wouldn’t dare go through with it more than twice a week and never two days in a row. Ignis was perhaps a bit paranoid, but she was taking no chances with Eden even tangentially involved and the enlil couldn’t not try to work up the courage to ask after her friend. The only reason Val never called her a coward was because the grumpy voice in her head remembered the basilisk Eden had tried to feed her to all too well.
Ignis shuddered at the thought and grabbed her mug of tea, draining it of its contents. Dropping a few x shaped coins on the table, the enlil stood to leave. She refastened her cloak --while most enlil weren’t too picky about whether or not she wore clothes, Ignis had learned early on that most laicar were uncomfortable with nudity-- stowed her sketchbook, and hastily made her exit.
The avian walked at a forced leisurely pace on her way away from the tea shop so as not to attract any undue attention. Usually, Ignis would avoid Igne Ebrius on her way back to her apartment or the Societas’ headquarters. Anxiety brewed in the pit of her stomach, the enlil worrying her lower lip with her teeth in response. These days, her lower lip was tender and a few red marks persisted from her habit. She didn’t wince, though; Ignis had long grown used to the sting of her sharp teeth against tender flesh. Ignis bit down a little harder, drawing blood this time. Her tongue swiped over the puncture, catching the coppery taste of the red liquid beading from the wound.
Beneath her cloak, Amicus worried.
Ignis ignored him and continued her walk, relaxing her pace because she was tired. She didn’t sleep well on her own anymore. The avian slept too lightly after hours of studying the ceiling or the wall across from her. Some mornings, just before she’d wake from her restless sleep, Ignis would dream she was back in the housing complex with Harper. She’d cuddle up even closer to her pillow and try to nuzzle her face into his feathers. The pillow was the wrong texture, which would bring the enlil out of her dreams. Disappointment would set in, sometimes followed by a few frustrated tears. But Ignis would always wipe away any salty water on her cheeks and all traces of her troubled expression before heading out to face another day.
The mere thought of trying to sleep made dread settle heavily in Ignis’ chest. She stopped walking, sighed, and then turned around and headed off in a different direction.
For the first time in over a year, Ignis entered Igne Ebrius.
The bar was just as she had remembered it, soft lighting, well kept but slightly shabby wooden furniture, minimal decor. Ignis made her way to the bar and sat, not bothering to remove her hood.
Parker, the bartender, approached the newcomer and asked, “Do you know what you would like? It is a little early for a drink, perhaps you would enjoy a hard cider.”
“A shot of ghost fruit for old time’s sake.”
“I did not expect you would have returned,” the demvir lowered his voice, “neither did your friend. He set off, feeling there was nothing left for him here.” The bartender straightened and went to prepare the drink.
Parker set the shot glass in front of Ignis. “This one is on the house. I imagine you will need it after hearing such news.”
The enlil nodded and downed the shot. The alcohol burned her lips and warmed her throat on the way down. It tasted a bit like disinfecting alcohol, albeit sweeter and with a tang of fruity flavor in the aftertaste. The warmth of slight inebriation spread, but did little to numb the sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach.
“Do not worry, you are still welcome here anytime, my friend. After your last performance, ‘The Flame’ gained quite a bit of popularity. Even though she is not necessarily fond of you, Eden is not short sighted enough to be blind to how much more valuable you are free.”
Ignis opened her her mouth, but no sound came out. She closed it, frowning.
“Here, this will help.” Parker set a drink in front of her. “I call this one Fireball.”
Ignis accepted the glass with hoarsely whispered thanks.
When Lottie heard that there was someone in town looking for information, a sharp toothed grin had spread across her face.
“Why, you’d think if she was looking for someone known to be in these parts, she’d a been a might quieter ‘bout it,” the brown-skinned spurii drawled. “I wonder if she’s paying. You spect, I can make anything off this?”
The bartender shrugged, frowning. “You do know you’ve bought quite a bit of alcohol, don’t you? Can you really afford to buy everyone you want to talk to drinks?”
“Loose lipped people give information away like candy, and information is worth a lil’ investment, Laurie,” Lottie said. She dropped a small coin bag on the counter and stood, sweeping her dreads back into a high ponytail. She secured them there with a thick piece of twine before sashaying out of the bar.
“Oh, yes indeed. Somebody rushing around here like that can’t be too good in the subtlety department,” the woman murmured to herself.
Finding Furi hadn’t taken Lottie too long, not counting the time it took to get to from Lupanar to the district the supposed bounty hunter was in. The woman stuck out like a sore thumb in Lottie’s opinion. The way she loitered too much, the number of people approaching her, and how sharp and shiftily her eyes watched the crowd were obvious as a bull in a china shop.
Lottie had found one of Furi's other informants looking for information and liquored him up until he let it slip who the orange eyed woman was looking for. She hadn't gotten much, just a couple of names.
That suited Lottie just fine, it was all she needed. She’d edged her way over to the laicar and spit her game. Furi had been suspicious at first, but once Lottie dropped Harper and Sarkis’ names, she had been willing to listen. The way Furi had looked at her expectantly, like Lottie was one of her street urchin spies, had irked the spurii, but not enough to dim her smirk. Lottie had left that encounter with another job.
She returned to her small apartment at the outskirts of “The Little City”, tired and short some exa. Between catching rides on basilisks and walking, the freelance agent --she hesitated to call herself a spy or detective-- had a fine coat of dust on her boots while her clothes smelled like stale alcohol and travel.
“Ah, it’s good to be home,” Lottie said aloud to no one in particular, stretching her arms above her head. She entered the apartment complex, a slightly rundown building with three stories and people sitting on the stoop, smoking. Laundry lines were strung up between the bricks on the wall of this building and the next, various garments and a few sheets hung from them flapping a little in the breeze. Weeds and crabgrass sprouted up in cracks on the steps, and the railing on either side of the landing looked rickety.
Lottie nodded to the people on the stoop as she made her way inside and waved to a few who called greetings from the small balconies on the front of the complex.
The spurii’s apartment was on the second floor on the left side of the building. She made her way up the stairs, footfalls quiet despite the age of the building. Lottie had become accustomed to these steps and could make her way up without a single creak.
Apartment number 25A was structured identically to the other rooms with cream colored walls, cheap wood floors, mostly open area with an island protruding from the far wall to separate the kitchen and the diningroom and form a sort of hallway between it and the bedroom wall. The bathroom was adjacent to the bedroom, not four feet away from the icebox.
Lottie had personalized the space with a couch and a few paintings done by an older woman who lived in the apartment below hers. A few rugs in the kitchen and bedroom added a splash of color to the otherwise dull apartment.
The agent sat at the table in the dining room and started sifting through the newspaper articles and wanted posters she'd left on the table.
“I really should organize these,” Lottie muttered, discarding unwanted papers into piles.
“Aha!” she cried out in excitement, “here it is.” The woman held up a wanted ad labelled 'Harper’. The paper was creased, but the drawing depicted a distinctive man and had details that would aid her search.
Harper was a spurii wanted for involvement in the theft of an important document from the Specula Sorcere.
“How did he pull that off?” Lottie scanned the ad for any other details, but there wasn’t much on how he and another accomplice had managed it. She set the paper down on the table retrieved an easel, which she set up across from the table and tacked large sheets of paper to it. With a stick of graphite from her pocket, she wrote Harper's name in large letters in the center of the page and circled it. Then, she jotted details nearby with lines between the bullet points and the large circle.
Lottie rifled through the news clippings, but didn't find much else. Satisfied with her start, the spurii shuffled off to the bathroom to shower before bed. She filled an urn with water and set it by her fireplace to heat up, stoking the members to revive the flames. Humming to herself, she rummaged around the kitchen to make a quick snack before bed.
Fed and increasingly more tired, the spurii lugged the urn back into the bathroom and set it in her porcelain tub. Leaving her clothes in a dusty pile on the floor and stepped into the tub. Lottie scrubbed the dust and sweat off of her dark skin and violet scales before pouring the warm water from the urn over herself and sighing. She toweled off and slipped into bed afterwards.
The agent fell asleep as soon as her head hit the pillow.
The next day, Lottie got to work, poring over newspapers for any information she could find on Harper. There was an article about the break in he'd been involved in, of course. Most small time robberies barely got mentioned, but luckily for her he'd managed to lift some from the Specula Sorcere and escape authorities. That kind of thing didn't escape the notice of the press. There had been others involved in the heist, but only one other name. Nysvernera also had a bounty on her. The agent wondered if Furi was looking for her, too.
Lottie made a note to look into the matter further before heading out for the day.
She was off to a good start; the spurii had a few names to look for information on and at least two of them were connected to a somewhat infamous event. That meant plenty of people were talking about it and finding someone who knew something wouldn't be too hard.
Lottie decided to start at Igne Ebrius. They always had the latest and hottest information on what was going on in The Little City and sometimes information about high profile people found its way there from other parts of Terminus. When she entered the pub, the agent debated between approaching the demvir at the bar and checking out the wanted posters and missions tacked up on a board on the back wall.
She drifted toward the bar just in time to see a cloaked woman downing a drink. The enlil was very pretty, pale, and had dark head feathers. Lottie squinted for a moment. The enlil seemed to be a regular. The agent could swear she'd seen that face somewhere before.
The only thing she could make out of the conversation without getting too close was “the flame” and something about a friend moving on. A second later, Lottie remembered there had been talk about an enlil who had fought a basilisk in the arena. That was The Flame?
The spurii walked away, leaving them in privacy while she mulled over this. Who was The Flame and could whoever had moved on have something to do with what she was looking for? It wasn't likely, but the agent would've been remiss not to consider the possibility. She examined the mission board, glancing over several tacked up requests and posters of local criminals and their bounties. Lottie was surprised to see that Harper's bounty wasn't listed. Even though he had no known connections to Lupanar District, Eden would've known about something like the Specula Sorcere being infiltrated, especially with the hefty bounties placed on the perpetrators’ heads.
Lottie scanned the board again and frowned when she saw a wanted poster for Nysvernera. Why would there be a poster for one of the culprits, but not the other? This couldn't be a mistake.
Briefly, the agent wondered if anyone else infamous was missing. She noticed a bounty for one Aelflead, who was suspected to be involved with the prison break from the Arx. Beside it, there was an article pinned up describing the incident.
Lottie raised her eyebrows. Bounties on various suspected AnO members had been raised. The poster for Ignis of Animi was missing. Her frown deepened.
Were Ignis and Harper somehow connected to Eden? Had they managed to get a favor from her? What other reasons could there be for the lack of wanted posters and bounty postings?
Lottie glanced back at the bar, but the cloaked enlil was already gone. She approached the bar and sat down anyway.
“So you decided on a drink after all,” Parker said genially.
“I did,” Lottie agreed with a smile. “Can I have a half shot of ghost fruit in cranberry juice?”
The demvir hesitated briefly, but nodded and moved to start preparing the drink. “An excellent choice.”
“I heard about that fight a few months back,” the agent said conversationally, “a newcomer took on a basilisk.”
“That is true,” Parker told her. He set the drink in front of the woman and watched her, apprehensive.
“She was called The Flame, right?” Lottie sipped at her drink.
“Indeed she was. What piqued your curiosity? If I might ask.” Parker started polishing the countertop with a rag.
“I've seen a couple events at the arena, but never anyone against a basilisk. It caused quite a stir, everyone was talking about it for weeks. Did they live?”
“She survived... barely. You know, eavesdropping is impolite...” Parker intoned reproachfully.
“Sorry.” Lottie looked a little sheepish. “I didn't mean to overhear, I was just deciding between sitting here first and checking out the missions board.”
“Indeed.”
“I got a little too curious when I heard The Flame’s name. I heard she used to frequent here.” That was a lie, but that wasn't discernable by the look on the agent's face.
“You seem to know quite a bit,” Parker scrutinized the woman on the other side of the bar.
“Not too much. I know a lot of rumors go in and out of here, Eden keeps up with goings on real well.” Lottie settled down, reminding herself to sit upright roll her shoulders back. She had to look confident to sell this.
Noting the change in her demeanor, Parker leaned in. “What are you looking for?”
“Just wondered if any rumors about a spurii came through... heard he got into the Specula Sorcere and even escaped.”
“That depends on who's asking.”
The agent sipped her drink. “I think we can negotiate an exchange... I don't have any personastakes in this, I'm only looking as far as I'm paid to.”
“That sounds fair,” Parker agreed. Eden would be interested to know about who was asking questions about Harper and why.
Lottie smiled. This investigation had taken a rather interesting turn.
