9 | VIGOR
Hands in the pockets of his coat, Tycho stood in the middle of the sidewalk just outside the looming arches of the Commercium building. Once before had the aspiring mogul crossed the glass-paneled threshold of the organization’s largest branch and, as of the incident of several weeks prior resulting in the relocation of Guns & Game, he was overdue for another visit to update the records concerning his new setup. The current staging area for the shop was still registered under one Gorgines Riggs; Tycho had made sure that, at the very least, the whereabouts of the skilled weapons craftsman were only in question and not certain.
Since the move, Tycho enjoyed the business that the surname, Riggs, engendered. Even though his own work didn’t nearly live up to those lofty expectations, they still bought the merchandise, at least partially believing it to be the old man’s work; within a few days, Tycho had practiced reproducing Gorgines’ maker’s mark on scrap material enough to perfectly duplicate it and fool even the most loyal and enduring of the old man’s extended clientele.
Only one thing would’ve motivated him to come, that which consistently was both his ambition and his bane.
Removing both hands from his pockets, in his right was a piece of paper folded several times over. Tycho unfurled it to give the particulars of the assignment a once-over again. He had seen it enough times. There was nothing he had missed. He was simply reminding himself why he was here, his eyes locked on the reward amount for the seemingly straightforward bounty. Although, seeing as the man had come this far already, what point was there in turning back now?
Well, maybe the fact that the branch was closed.
The sky was cast in a sort of fiery red as the planetary curtain was slowly pulled over Caesar. Although the bustling city remained crowded, as always, the streets were noticeably quieter now as the day neared its end. Most businesses were closed or closing, and hundreds and thousands flocked to the margins of the city to get a more picturesque few of the rarefied spectacle up above. Tycho had heard about the event all day, but didn’t pay it any mind.
It was because that he had spent most of the day contemplating other means and schemes -- both legal and not -- to manufacture over two thousand exa within the next couple of weeks.
Tracking down a target that wasn’t quite so easy to lure as a hungry beast in the woods was not in his repertoire. Anybody that the recluse had sought out in his previous life was typically someone he already knew or wasn’t hard to find in the first place. It took him a good two minutes to finally admit to himself that he would have to foot it all the way back to the Conexus branch where he pulled the bounty from.
Turning on a heel, Tycho glanced up above at the ominous, blazing red ring in the sky before starting his trek.
The door to the police station flung open, though the occupants inside were either too sleepy to react or it happened far too often for them to care. Sauntering inside, the dark-skinned gunsmith wiped the perspiration from his forehead. He could still feel all of the sweat that had soaked into his plaid buttoned shirt and the grey cardigan on top of it. As disgusting as it was, Tycho learned to deal with it over the last few hours and countless blocks traversed between the Commercium and here.
An elderly enlil officer, covered in downy blue-grey feathers which had turned grey and withered in many places over the years, looked up from behind the reception desk. His eyes narrowed curiously on Tycho as he plopped into the row of waiting chairs adjacent the counter, breathing wearily. A humored smile spread across his mug as realization hit him.
“Thought I’d see you again,” the officer commented, lifting his head up to see over his nameplate snug on the edge of the counter. Tycho squinted on him, not knowing who he was, but found it in the foreground: Odgar Clodian. “You snatched that paper, and walked right the heck out. Figured you’d eventually be making your way back in unless you knew something we didn’t.”
While the old avian chuckled to himself, Tycho gave an irked snort and eventually made to his tender feet. He pulled out the bounty paper, and tossed it over the counter in front of Odgar who watched it slowly spin to a halt.
“You got any information on him?” Tycho asked, still with paced breaths.
Odgar cocked his head to read the sideways parchment, and then pushed away from the desk, rolling in his chair to reach the filing cabinet behind him. Heaving the old container drawer open, the officer leafed through a few folders before giving a low “Ah!” and pulling the right one out. Throwing the comparatively thin folder over to the desk, he rolled back and flipped it open. Surprisingly enough, the naturally-impressive eyesight inherent to his kind had faded enough for the necessity of reading glasses.
Tycho lost his patience after a few unresponsive moments, leaning in closer to ask, “What’s it say?”
“He apparently worked for the Commercium,” Odgar finally replied, pausing with each sentence. “Doesn’t anymore as of right before the incident with the magister. He’s a demvir.” Tycho’s eyes flashed, his evaporating quickly. “He was apparently known to… ‘mingle with new arrivals to Terminus.’ Likely helping merchants register and whatnot.” He was reciting exactly what was already on the bounty paper! “And he may be in communication with or working for the Astra non O---”
“I already know all that shit…!” Tycho growled with barely contained anger. “Anything else?”
As of completely unaware of the man’s seething anger, Odgar thumbed through more papers in the file, taking an excruciatingly long time before giving another “Ah!”. Tycho waited in tense anticipation for some nugget of gold to lead him in the right direction.
“He’s been on the run for a year, and…” Tycho’s jaw dropped. Odgar gave a surprised look, stating, “His bounty’s went up quite a bit.” The old avian gave an oblivious smile to the gunsmith, laden with the kind of innocent idiocy that most people would think adorable. “Nice little chunk of change you’re chasing after, bud.”
That ‘adorableness’ was completely lost on Tycho.
“Can anybody else help me!” Tycho screamed aloud, still with his eyes boring into Odgar, and the old avian’s smile melted away. He turned to the rest of the room, throwing his hands up. “Anybody at all…?”
Everyone in the lobby, officers and convicts and suspects alike, looked at him like he was crazy but no one offered any assistance. Tycho’s hands fell to his sides in defeat. He stomped toward the door but, before he could throw it open, Odgar had found something else and spoke up.
“Del…” the officer stuttered, trying not to mispronounce the name. “Delphina?” Tycho looked back at him, still with one hand on the door handle. “I don’t know, that’s sound right, I guess. She apparently spoke with the guy a couple months before the attack on Eximium.” Tycho sighed through his nose. Finally, something worthwhile, he thought to himself. “She helped ‘er register a shop out in town when she arrived.”
Tycho was almost scared to ask, but he did anyway and immediately. “Where?”
Odgar paused, his old eyes squinting through his glasses on the paper again. He gave a drawn-out “Uh” and Tycho clenched his teeth nearly hard enough to draw blood.
“Western market,” Odgar finally gave. “Drops of… Aquilonia.”
There was a loud shudder and slam and, before the old veteran could bring his eyes up, the gunsmith was gone into the overwhelming darkness.
1,293
Hands in the pockets of his coat, Tycho stood in the middle of the sidewalk just outside the looming arches of the Commercium building. Once before had the aspiring mogul crossed the glass-paneled threshold of the organization’s largest branch and, as of the incident of several weeks prior resulting in the relocation of Guns & Game, he was overdue for another visit to update the records concerning his new setup. The current staging area for the shop was still registered under one Gorgines Riggs; Tycho had made sure that, at the very least, the whereabouts of the skilled weapons craftsman were only in question and not certain.
Since the move, Tycho enjoyed the business that the surname, Riggs, engendered. Even though his own work didn’t nearly live up to those lofty expectations, they still bought the merchandise, at least partially believing it to be the old man’s work; within a few days, Tycho had practiced reproducing Gorgines’ maker’s mark on scrap material enough to perfectly duplicate it and fool even the most loyal and enduring of the old man’s extended clientele.
Only one thing would’ve motivated him to come, that which consistently was both his ambition and his bane.
Removing both hands from his pockets, in his right was a piece of paper folded several times over. Tycho unfurled it to give the particulars of the assignment a once-over again. He had seen it enough times. There was nothing he had missed. He was simply reminding himself why he was here, his eyes locked on the reward amount for the seemingly straightforward bounty. Although, seeing as the man had come this far already, what point was there in turning back now?
Well, maybe the fact that the branch was closed.
The sky was cast in a sort of fiery red as the planetary curtain was slowly pulled over Caesar. Although the bustling city remained crowded, as always, the streets were noticeably quieter now as the day neared its end. Most businesses were closed or closing, and hundreds and thousands flocked to the margins of the city to get a more picturesque few of the rarefied spectacle up above. Tycho had heard about the event all day, but didn’t pay it any mind.
It was because that he had spent most of the day contemplating other means and schemes -- both legal and not -- to manufacture over two thousand exa within the next couple of weeks.
Tracking down a target that wasn’t quite so easy to lure as a hungry beast in the woods was not in his repertoire. Anybody that the recluse had sought out in his previous life was typically someone he already knew or wasn’t hard to find in the first place. It took him a good two minutes to finally admit to himself that he would have to foot it all the way back to the Conexus branch where he pulled the bounty from.
Turning on a heel, Tycho glanced up above at the ominous, blazing red ring in the sky before starting his trek.
The door to the police station flung open, though the occupants inside were either too sleepy to react or it happened far too often for them to care. Sauntering inside, the dark-skinned gunsmith wiped the perspiration from his forehead. He could still feel all of the sweat that had soaked into his plaid buttoned shirt and the grey cardigan on top of it. As disgusting as it was, Tycho learned to deal with it over the last few hours and countless blocks traversed between the Commercium and here.
An elderly enlil officer, covered in downy blue-grey feathers which had turned grey and withered in many places over the years, looked up from behind the reception desk. His eyes narrowed curiously on Tycho as he plopped into the row of waiting chairs adjacent the counter, breathing wearily. A humored smile spread across his mug as realization hit him.
“Thought I’d see you again,” the officer commented, lifting his head up to see over his nameplate snug on the edge of the counter. Tycho squinted on him, not knowing who he was, but found it in the foreground: Odgar Clodian. “You snatched that paper, and walked right the heck out. Figured you’d eventually be making your way back in unless you knew something we didn’t.”
While the old avian chuckled to himself, Tycho gave an irked snort and eventually made to his tender feet. He pulled out the bounty paper, and tossed it over the counter in front of Odgar who watched it slowly spin to a halt.
“You got any information on him?” Tycho asked, still with paced breaths.
Odgar cocked his head to read the sideways parchment, and then pushed away from the desk, rolling in his chair to reach the filing cabinet behind him. Heaving the old container drawer open, the officer leafed through a few folders before giving a low “Ah!” and pulling the right one out. Throwing the comparatively thin folder over to the desk, he rolled back and flipped it open. Surprisingly enough, the naturally-impressive eyesight inherent to his kind had faded enough for the necessity of reading glasses.
Tycho lost his patience after a few unresponsive moments, leaning in closer to ask, “What’s it say?”
“He apparently worked for the Commercium,” Odgar finally replied, pausing with each sentence. “Doesn’t anymore as of right before the incident with the magister. He’s a demvir.” Tycho’s eyes flashed, his evaporating quickly. “He was apparently known to… ‘mingle with new arrivals to Terminus.’ Likely helping merchants register and whatnot.” He was reciting exactly what was already on the bounty paper! “And he may be in communication with or working for the Astra non O---”
“I already know all that shit…!” Tycho growled with barely contained anger. “Anything else?”
As of completely unaware of the man’s seething anger, Odgar thumbed through more papers in the file, taking an excruciatingly long time before giving another “Ah!”. Tycho waited in tense anticipation for some nugget of gold to lead him in the right direction.
“He’s been on the run for a year, and…” Tycho’s jaw dropped. Odgar gave a surprised look, stating, “His bounty’s went up quite a bit.” The old avian gave an oblivious smile to the gunsmith, laden with the kind of innocent idiocy that most people would think adorable. “Nice little chunk of change you’re chasing after, bud.”
That ‘adorableness’ was completely lost on Tycho.
“Can anybody else help me!” Tycho screamed aloud, still with his eyes boring into Odgar, and the old avian’s smile melted away. He turned to the rest of the room, throwing his hands up. “Anybody at all…?”
Everyone in the lobby, officers and convicts and suspects alike, looked at him like he was crazy but no one offered any assistance. Tycho’s hands fell to his sides in defeat. He stomped toward the door but, before he could throw it open, Odgar had found something else and spoke up.
“Del…” the officer stuttered, trying not to mispronounce the name. “Delphina?” Tycho looked back at him, still with one hand on the door handle. “I don’t know, that’s sound right, I guess. She apparently spoke with the guy a couple months before the attack on Eximium.” Tycho sighed through his nose. Finally, something worthwhile, he thought to himself. “She helped ‘er register a shop out in town when she arrived.”
Tycho was almost scared to ask, but he did anyway and immediately. “Where?”
Odgar paused, his old eyes squinting through his glasses on the paper again. He gave a drawn-out “Uh” and Tycho clenched his teeth nearly hard enough to draw blood.
“Western market,” Odgar finally gave. “Drops of… Aquilonia.”
There was a loud shudder and slam and, before the old veteran could bring his eyes up, the gunsmith was gone into the overwhelming darkness.
Last edited: