Every so often Emmaline promised herself that she was going to knuckle down and study. Like most of her promises these occasional vows were pretty hollow, abandoned for the more attainable goals of sleeping late, drinking wine and lifting a few stray Imperials from an overburdened mark. Running around in the hold of a barge filled with gunpowder moments away from being torn apart by a corpse that had birthed a scorpion the size of a horse seemed like a particularly poignant kick in the rump from the gods to actually follow through this time. She ran along the length of the barge, screaming all but incoherently in the classical arcane tongue. Golden light spilled from her finger tips as she touched each keg of gunpowder. The effort was making her dizzy, but the imminent fear of death was an excellent motivator. She wouldn't have attempted this in her dizziest day dreams if there were any other choice. She made a circuit of the barge, breathing hard from fear and lack of recent vertical exercise. The barge groaned alarmingly as her spell took effect, settling deeper into the water. Her work done she stuck her head up to see Neil wisely fleeing from the frustrated chaos beast.

"Run to the back!" she shouted breathlessly.

"You mean the stern!" Neil yelled, wheeling around and bounding over shattered timbers towards the rear of the barge. There were shouts of alarm from the shore now as the ruckus wakened the city watch and the populace alike. The moonlit night was even punctuated by the odd crack of musket fire as watchmen or citizens decided, understandably, that the barge was under attack by the agents of Chaos that besieged the city. Emmaline was dimly aware that the stray musket balls were more threat to her and Neil than they were to the chitinous horror that was pursuing Neil across the deck. By now the Engineer had reached the rear of the barge, back against the railing. He was staring at her as though asking for instruction. Emmaline didn't have the breath to shout and wouldn't have been heard of the shriek of crushed timbers as the spider crap thing smashed its way back along the barge to finish of the young thief. As soon as its forlegs touched the step up onto the quarter deck Emmaline cast her spell, sending arcane flames into a barrel of powder beneath the decks. There was a mighty boom followed a half second later by a roar which shattered the glass on the houses to either side of the river. A great gout of smoke and fire erupted beneath the beast, stabbing upwards like a pillar of flame. The blast caught the thing just forward of center, flinging it fifty feat into the air. Its shattered carapace smoked and its legs pinnoned as it arced over the Reik like a nightmare pinwheel before crashing down on a stone quay with a crack like the gods smiting a vast lobster with a hammer. Emmaline was thrown off her feet by the blast momentarily stunned as purple white after images danced in her eyes. It occured to her that she should probably give an offering to Ranald on the next feast day that she hadn't been shreded by flying splinters. Neil was frozen with a rictus of horror on his face, clearly unable to process that the barge hadn't been blown to atoms by the blast which had, hopefully, finished off the scorpion thing. Emmaline staggered upright and pulled herself towards the hole in the deck. There was an unpleasant sound of sloshing water but when she looked down into the waist of the ship she could see that the remaining casks had the grayish hew of granite rather than the dark timber they had had before she worked the transmutation. Four kegs of gunpowder had detonated, surrounded by the stone kegs her spell had protected. An alarming amount of embers danced on top of the temporarily inert barrels and the shock of the blast had started seams. The barge only had a few minutes before she settled to the bottom of the Reik.

"Can you swim?" Emmaline asked as she crawled to Neil's side. Her ears rang prodigiously and she could hardly understand herself.

"What whim?" Neil asked, shaking his head in confusion. Emmaline pointed to thick cable, and then to the shore. Neil blinked for a moment and then nodded in understanding. He grabbed the rope and leaped into the dark waters, striking out towards the stunned onlookers on the shore. In the end they managed to haul the barge ashore before it grounded in the muck.

"We are Agents of the Order of the Fiery Heart," Emmaline lied as a squad of terrified guardsman rushed aboard halberds leveled.

"You men, get to work unloading these barrels, and douse whatever embers you see with river water," she commanded in her best Altdorf Noble accent. Emmaline was not sure what an Agent of the Order of the Fiery Heart sounded liked, but figured that was her best chance of being obeyed. The guardsmen looked shocked and confused.

"NOW YOU MEN! Do you want half the city to go up in smoke!" Neil roared in a credible imitation of a drill sergeant. That seemed to do the trick and the guards began to dump helmets full of river water onto the charred timbers around the blast site. Others began to haul up the stone kegs. Already the stone was fading back to the original timber as Emmaline's spell began to wear thin. Exhausted and emotionally spent, she sat down on the cobblestones beside Neil and watched the city guard and citizenry form a chain to begin passing up kegs of gunpowder.

"That better be worth a Tower," she muttered.

The next day...

Emmaline and Neil had a fitful sleep. The kind of slumber that one got when they were so tired they could barely sleep, intermittently waking up every few hours to check there was no mutant standing over them with a battle axe. Neil finally woke up for real to an overcast sky, thunder or cannon fire or both, he didn't know, rumbled in the distance. Emmaline shot her head up when he stirred, her blonde hair frizzled and wild, awakening in mid-snort. She had bags under her eyes and drool on her lips. She looked like Neil felt, and judging by the sounds, the battle was still raging out there.

"Ugh...fuck it." Neil said, swinging his legs over and getting up out of the bed. They hadn't even had the energy to make out much less make love last night, and now the giant centipede, lack of sleep, and the overall existential dread of whether or not beastmen would break into the city had Neil grumpy, which was a rarity. He was a happy guy usually! He rubbed his left eye, scratching off bits of flaked, loose material that had coalesced over night and groaning.

"What babe?" Emmaline asked with a yawn, curling up atop the covers like a cat.

"I said fuck it." He relayed, chopping his hand out as if to cut a metaphysical cord that connected him to his bad mood. "Look, we've saved this city twice, we've almost died a bunch of times, I'm still considered dead and your cover is too and people here have mostly treated us like shit." He shook his head, as if what he was about to say was the most natural thing in the world. A cannon shot rang off just before he said it, the whistle of the ball high in the air. "Let's go looting."

Emmaline's full lips tried to articulate a question or response, but nothing came out other than a "huh?"

"Look," He said, turning around and placing his finger on the bed. "I know where some of the best booze in Nuln is, right now. The guards are too busy with the siege and the other looters and whatever beastmen can swim. We're not going to take anything that starving people will need, but I want to get drunk, have another party with you, and then if we can we leave the city..." He shrugged, "and if we can't at least we had a good time before we had to start fighting for our lives. Let's just go and grab the biggest haul of alcohol and chocolate that we can, bring it back here, and eat it right on this bed. Don't we deserve something nice? That sounds good, right?"

"Well it's not my usual manner of work, but... yeah, that sounds good." She admitted.

"It's not mine either, really. And by looting, I mean we should still be subtle about it. But it sounds cooler to call thievery looting. I think in a city under siege, legally we are obligated to call it that."

"I don't know if that's really the case..." Emmaline said, though she did smile a little.

"And after we loot and party and drink and fuck, I'll take us out of here and I'll give you Karl Franz's palace like I said." He told her. It was hard to imagine he was being serious, but it was always hard to tell with Neil Edwards.

Emmaline sat up in bed, warming to the idea. In truth, she would have been glad for any excuse to dwell on something other than the low grade fear of the city's possible fall and the sharper fear of what she had seen on the barge the previous night. The fact they hadn't yet received a visit from their new found 'friend' at the Order of the Fiery Heart, suggested that their work had been appreciated and that their right to squat in the tower was at least not officially refuted. A harmless bit of looting seemed just the thing to start of the morning and she suspected that the salted fish she had stored in the lower levels would get pretty monotonous if the siege dragged on. Of course monotony might not be such a bad thing when compared to the excitement that would ensue if a horde of ravening beastmen managed to break the walls. Emmaline tried to imagine what the odds of that happening might be. Nuln was a mighty city and well defended. Beastmen rarely took walled towns, having not the skill to construct siege engines. And yet why try if it were doomed to failure. She brushed the thoughts aside.

"Can I wear my looting clothes?" Emmaline asked excitedly. Neil gave her a look, cocking his head and arching an eyebrow.

"Do you have looting clothes?" he asked. Emmaline sniffed hautily.

"A proper lady has clothes for every eventuality," she declared.

"Right, but what about you?"

Her pillow bounced off his face.

The streets of Nuln were not quite empty. Here and there people tried to go about their regular business, though there was a furtive aspect to them. Occasionally soldiers could be seen tramping through the street towards the walls. More than once Emmaline saw men in splendid armor and fine cloaks with polished weapons being chivied towards the walls by the rough and ready city watch. Someone had obviously decided to strip the nobles of their personal guards and send them to defend the city. Evidently this met with some favor from citizens who had only ever seen the noble's personal bullies swagger and swive in taverns and shove their way through the markets. Their forced patriotism was greeted with cheers and cat calls and the occasional handful of thrown mud.

"Do you have a plan for where we should begin?" Emmaline asked as they walked through the twisted streets. Much as Neil had predicted there were guards set on granaries and mills but as yet little care had been taken for private stores which traded in foodstuffs. For the most part the toughs who policed such places were being swept up to defend the walls. Emmaline saw several stores protected by nothing more than 'closed' signs.

Neil turned right, passing through a throng of listless citizens and making his way up a short, steep hill before making a right, deeper into the southern portion of the city. The two thieves marched through a street with a myriad of shops of pottery and various crafts for the well-to-do earners of the city state. One shop had been broken in, but the rest remained whole, a few hard looking men with grim looks leaned against the walls bestride the varying alleyways, just a few paces from a few of the shops doorways. Neil saw their manner and could tell right away they were 'scarecrows,' unofficial muscle for the shop owners, meant to dissuade any activity near the closed stores. The idea was they looked shady enough to keep other, less reputable men from approaching, unable to tell if the street toughs were merely loitering in a foul mood or if they were standing watch for their thieving friends, already looting inside. It was a somewhat cheap but effective way to keep rioters from entering their businesses without hiring true guards that required arms and training. Neil could play a lot of roles, but he didn't have the look for that kind of work.

"I know exactly where we must go, my dear." Neil said to Emmaline in his most aristocratic elocution, his arm around hers as they passed through another herd of the desperate or worried, nearly bumping into a garishly dressed courier evidentially carrying an urgent message. Emmaline was merely overcome by a sudden tide of the crowd but Neil managed to smuggle her out with a quick tug and they stepped into a connected, less crowded street.

"And that is?" She asked, rubbing her thick head of blonde hair. Neil raised an eyebrow at smirked at her.

"Come on, isn't not knowing a little bit sexier?" He asked her.

"Far be it from me to lecture the great Neil on what is sexy, but I think it would behoove you to let me in on it," she said, drawing very closer, adding a flair to her already admittedly upper-class altdorf accent. Neil sighed theatrically, pinching the bridge of his nose as if to act like she vexed him terribly, but he couldn't wipe the smile from his face.

"Very well my darling. Never let the boys at the academy learn of my weakness to beautiful blondes." He said, and they shared grins and then a quick kiss. Neil glanced around, and thankfully the only people close were lone walkers that had their backs turned to them. The jettying buildings leaning over them cast a conspiratorial shadow over the two. He whispered to her, regardless of no one visible being in earshot. Neil wasn't about to let a score and a date get ruined by an eavesdropper. "There's a trading company called the Golden Kettle based here in Nuln. Word on the street says they have outposts all along the reik and talabec, but all of their gold goes here, as does most of their luxury goods, since the best sweets from araby and most of altdorf's wine has to go through Nuln anyway before it gets shipped out, and the rest needs to be sorted here and payments are double checked. So they have a few silos with varying items cordoned off near the docks. Now, the food and most of the gold will be heavily monitored, but the drink and sweets and some of the jewelry might be less so since they aren't in high demand or aren't highly valued in a siege."

"And what guards they have left will think starving people will be after the food and thieves will be after the gold," She reasoned, idly playing with the fringe of his black hair.

"And there's still probably a sizeable amount of gold we can find less guarded, or sizeable enough for two people. Sound good?" He asked.

The compound of the Golden Kettle Company of Altdorf was impressive. It was fronted by a handsome gatehouse built on a stone arch and topped with half timber and plaster construction. It was surrounded by a wrought iron fence, black and shiny with new paint and taller than a man. Piers and jetties reached out into the Reik like fingers, summounted by cranes and masts hung with limp cordage. Two beamy barges swung idly, bumping against their painters in the sluggish current. Three long warehouses fronted the water, behing which were silos, a stable and a large counting house that served as the main offices. There were no guards visible, but a number of suspiciously fit 'clerks' were lounging about with sack wrapped bundles. Whoever was in charge was clearly no idiot, having realised that any fighting men were liable to be pressed to the walls. As Neil had suspected, the guards were clustered around the counting house and one of the warehouses.

"Well this looting is kind of new to me," Emmaline said, "do you have a plan?" Neil shrugged eloquently.

"First step, reconioter," Neil suggested.

"So no plan, got it," Emmaline concluded. She hiked up her skirts and marched down the street with Neil following in her wake. She stomped into the archway and into the compound with her nose held high. One of the 'clerks' started at her arrival and moved to intercept, but she marched straight past him and into the office.

"What is the meaning of this!" Emmaline demanded in an outraged Altdorf accent. The ink spotted clerk, a real one by his stained fingers, started wake from where he had been dozing. He spluttered for a minute eyes wide with panic.

"Ma'am?" he asked blearily. One of the guards stepped in, saw that someone one in authority was dealing with the issue and leaned against the door jam. Neil had already vanished, though Emmaline had no doubt he was usefully occupied somewhere.

Sigmar, this was too easy. In Marienburg, men had the sense to make the buildings either uniform or ubiquitous so as to confuse would-be thieves on where the goods were. But he knew just where to go from an idle glance. He could tell exactly where the gold was, the food, and just where he needed to be. Each storage house looked much the same. A single story building near three stories high, windows at the zenith, the buildings stacked up with sensible stoneworks with large wooden doors at their front, locked with large iron shackles. It would take a man on a demi-gryph or a team in a steamtank to break apart the doors with brute force, but Neil didn't need that.

Or the keys.

Neil had managed to smuggle his way into the thoroughfare between the office and the first silo, and while he was taking a guess, he knew the managers of the Golden Kettle were too smart to give the keys to the closest guard, but too lazy to keep it on their person in case they needed to unload hurriedly. So Neil, slinking his way silently behind a stack of timber, slowly reached out and gnabbed the keys off the first 'clerk' he saw, the man reclining just before Neil and the furthest from the silo he sought. His fingers slowly lifted the keys up and out of his belt, and to his delight he saw there were three of them on the iron ring. Did they have multiple copies of the same keys, or were these all fake? Even if they were fake, it would take the man, who looked like he was about to doze off, a good while to even notice they were gone. Neil and Emmaline would be long gone by then.

Neil started out the back of the timber pile, though a noise ahead had him freeze against the lumber. There was another, identical noise, and he knew it was footsteps. He grabbed the lip of the topmost timber and climbed up it with alacrity, flattening himself atop it, as to let what he believed to be two men walk by.

"That woman's got something the boss wants." Said a voice. "Mark me."

"Gods, she's got something I want too." The other said.

They laughed and began bantering, continuing on their way. Neil heard the keyman stir at their presence, snorting. He mumbled something to himself, but didn't get to his feet. Rather, he sneezed and hacked up something particularly gruesome, but apparently kept to his spot. Slowly, like a serpent across the sands, Neil slid off the timber and landed noiselessly, padded away into the alley. The thief stopped often to be safe but otherwise made an unobstructed path to the far storage house.

The waterfront was mostly deserted on this end, save for two men on the jetty pulling up the mooring line of a ship, and so he decided it was best not to sneak this. He simply had the keys in his hands and walked round, stepping into the light of the day and facing the great door. With his back turned and without a skulking look, anyone half looking his way would think he was an employee. The second key fit perfectly, and once the lock's inner mechanism 'clicked' he slowly unwound the shackles on the door and opened it just far enough for him to slip in, closing it behind him so no one would think it odd to be left open.

He hoped Emmaline was keeping them busy. He needed a bit more time.

And something to carry it in, he thought. Neil gave a soft, suggestive whistle as he saw mounds of stacked and tightly wrapped chocolate, with the symbols of Araby and even far Cathay on the opened crates. To his right were barrels and barrels of drink set as a base for racks filled with bottles of vodka, wine, and much, much more. Neil went to the drink first, pulling out bottles from the makeshift shelves. Some were local, and there was some reikland vintage as well. Good stuff, but no, he could get that anywhere, even if it was expensive. Some stirland moonshine? Nope.

"Oh hello..." He whispered, pulling out another bottle. Manann's Own? That was rare, she would like that. Some Carcassonne Special Reserve? He was up to try some of that and... Neil laughed in disbelief. He had cast his eyes downward, and the barrel he had been standing right in front of was a barrel of Bugman's!

"Yep, I'm getting lucky tonight."

"My family has thousands of Gelt invested in your company! How dare you refuse to allow me to retrieve my goods!" Emmaline raged, thumping a small balled fist against the top of the table. The clerk was fully awake now, and possesed of the panic of any low level official who suddenly found himself in well over his head.

"Your family...frauline... who is your family?" he stammered, knocking over his ink bottle in a panic and making a desperate grab to contain the mess.

"Who are they?! WHO ARE THEY?! Who in Sigmar's name do you think they are?!" Emmaline demanded all but shaking in simulated rage.

"The.. the Van Gelders?" the clerk stammered.

"The Van Gelders!" Emmaline agreed, seizing on the information provided with an actors fluidity.

"I am Margaritte Van Gelder and I demand you turn over my family's property to me immediately," she snapped. The clerk picked up his ink stained ledger and brushed at it, flipping pages desperately. Emmaline made a face and took a step back to avoid flying droplets of ink. The clerk peered owlishly down at the page.

"What property are you talking about, our records show you as investors in coin and in lumber," the clerk read. Emmaline narrowed her eyes as though she were just about to begin shouting once again.

"Do you think I cam here looking for lumber?!" Emmaline demanded. The clerk gave her a panicked look and frantically turned a few more pages.

"Are you refering to the 'special' order," he asked quickly, brightening considerabley.

"Of course I am," Emmaline snapped, stamping her foot pettishly, relived that she wasn't going to be forced to walk out of here with a few tons of lumber. The clerk relaxed, obviously pleased to have found a solution to what a moment ago had been an insuperable problem. Unfortuantely that newfound confidence made his officiousness return.

"Frauline, it isn't our policy to simply release goods without..."

"Policy? It is your Policy?!" she stomped to the window and threw up the window. It didn't actually look out at the walls, but it served as a good reminder about what was going on beyond the compound.

"Do you see what is going on out there?! There are hordes of beastmen at the gates! I demand you release my family property to me now. At any moment the Countess might demand these storehouses might be emptied for the war effort. Where will my property be then, pawed at by soldiers!"

"Ummm..." the clerk temporized, a look of panic entering his eyes at the idea that the Countess might seize the contents of the compound. Such a calamity would be ruinous to the company, even if the Elector Countess reimbursed them, that would be months or years from now and probably for coppers to the gelt.

"One word to my father..." Emmaline threatened, feeling victory beckoning. It was a mistake, the clerk frowned, his eyes losing a little of their panic.

"Your father... but he passed away..." the clerk interjected. Emmaline cursed internally, but was too practiced to simply give up. That would have been more dangeous than pressing on.

"My grandfather dumpkoft!" she snapped in exasperation. "who is as close to me as my dear father. How dare you bring up my families tragedy!" The clerk threw up his hands, to the snickering of the guards behind her. He pulled open his desk and retrieved a pair of brass keys. Then stood up and lead her through the door and into the nearest of the warehourses. It was dark and cool and smelled sharply of spices and teak. They passed bales of wood and indigo stacked on shelves, and barrels of preserved meat, currants, and spices laid out on wooden palettes marked with chalk and parchment notations. The rear of the warehouse was a stone structure with a large door of metal banded wood. A pair of guards stood dicing on a barrel, but they swept up their dice and coins as the clerk approached. The clerk either didn't see it or ignored it, taking the key he unlocked the door and swung it open. The guards on the inside, warned by the noise outside, were standing at their proper stations, heavy clubs and pistols thrust into their belts.

"One moment," the clerk told her, and opened a cabinet to retrieve a heavy ledger. He pulled it open and turned the pages till he found what he was looking for, then retrieved an inkbottle and quill and made a notation. He turned the book so she could read it. An entry said 'special order' Van Gelder. The clerks signature, Heinkrick Sclemov, was beside it with a place for a second signature beneath it. Emmaline picked up the quill and signed Margaritte Van Gelder. The clerk scrutinized it for a moment, perhaps expecting to find some error in the script, but Emmaline wrote letter perfect in the Altdorf style, down to the exaggerated flourishes that were in fashion. He grunted, then opened the rear door with the second key, leading her into the strong room. Three walls of the windowless room were lined with shelves, piled with boxes. Some were simple wooden affairs, others carved and ornate. A few were wrapped packages to oddly shaped to be easily boxed. Each was tagged with a name and a date. The clerk took a large cherrywood box a shelf and passed it to Emmaline.

"I acknowledge the release of goods to you Frauline Van Gelders," he said formally. Emmaline flared her nostrils.

"Do you expect me to carry it like a servant sir?" she demanded. The clerk sighed and hefted the case.

"I will take it to the gate for you Frauline," he admitted in a broken tone.

Neil laughed to himself, the sort of evil chuckle one gave when they were facetiously performing for themselves. He had hit the eye of the ungor, as they said in middenland. Neil had even found some Ulthuan Dreamwine, which might be a pit too rich for him but he would try anything once. The chocolate wasn't stashed in his pack yet, nor the drinks, but he was making a pile of 'to steal' things in the corner of the storehouse so he could just sweep it all in and flee in one go. It might be a bit superfluous, but he might climb out of the window, though glancing up at the portal, he wasn't sure if it was feasible.

"Ok so," he whispered to himself, taking stock of the stash he had accumulated. "This should be enough for three days, even considering Emma's bottomless pit of a liv-"

"Hey! Who the hell are you!?" A strong voice asked, Neil spinning to see the gateway opened, a burly 'clerk' looking at him with accusatory eyes. He pulled out a cudgel, gripping it so tightly Neil saw his knuckles whiten. The man approached, Neil stepping to the left to keep away from his picked stash. Especially the chocolate. It looked easily smooshable. "Answer me, drawlatch, or I'll silence you for good!"

"I'm just inspecting the stock, I promise." Neil said, holding up his hands. He idly stepped closer to the racks of alcohol. "I got hired last week."

"Oh, last week, eh?" The man echoed, mirroring Neil's movements to make sure the thief had no escape route. Luckily for Neil, he wasn't looking for an escape, and instead nestled himself just beside the crates and the rest of the alcohol stock. The man gave a practice swing of the blunt instrument in his hand. "Last week Karl Franz gave me a runefang and kissed my arse. That's about as likely as you being hired by the Golden Kettle Company!"

He gave a wide swing at Neil, the thief ducking, cudgel swinging wildly over his head. Neil was going to kick out, but the man wasn't hired just because he was big. He stepped out of Neil's reach and came back in, this time slamming the cudgle into the ground, Neil barely having time to dodge. The guard hadn't noticed Neil's hand gripping the neck of a bottle, and as he stepped to the right his arm swung, the thick glass cracking over the man's head. It shattered, blood and alcohol sliding down his scalp. He cried out, catching himself as he near lost his balance. Neil saw the man's eyes listless and unfocused. Unfortunately, he didn't think the fellow had the frame of mind to swing again, but he did. Neil was hit by a surprise strike, hitting him in the shoulder.

"Ack!" Neil hit the crates, just as the guard was charging in at him, wanting to press home the advantage. Neil leaped up, pulling himself above the charging man. His balance still a bit untethered, the alcohol he slipped on didn't help him the next few moments. He hit the crates like a bull, only he had no horns. Neil winced when he hit the wood with his already bleeding cranium, the man falling back and slipping into unconsciousness, the cudgel falling from his limp fingers.

"Shallya's mercy, that was close," Neil marveled, slowly climbing down. He stepped over the fallen guard, nearly slipping on the alcohol himself, but managed to make it over to the pile he had gathered and shoveled it into his pack like a dwarf shoving precious stones into a minecart. Carefully, he hefted the sack behind his back and left the man there, closing the gate behind him and walking back into the thoroughfare, climbing over the wall just as another group of men walked past. He would circle round to the front and wait by the alley for Emmaline. He hoped she was alright.

The clerk, now considerably more solicitous, escorted Emmaline to the door. A pair of guards followed at a respectful distance, probably more interested in observing Emmaline’s departure than providing any actual security for the ink spotted young man. As they stepped out into the street the clerk looked around, clearly expecting to see a coach or some servants.



“Did you come here alone Fraulein Van Gelders, it isn’t safe for a lady to wander…” he began. A large coach with a four horse team rattled down the cobblestone street, coming to rest in front of the group. Footman in livery stepped down and opened the door, folding down a cunningly made ladder. Emmaline realized with a sinking feeling that the coat of arms emblazoned on the side of the coach was very similar to the one on the case the clerk was still carrying.



“Ah, splendid,” the clerk said, clearly assuming the coach had come to pick up ‘Margarite’. A youngish man with a pointed patrician nose and expensively tailored velvet suit stepped down.



“Good morning Sier Van Gelders, I was just concluding our business with your sister,” the clerk simpered. The cold gaze of the aristocrat swiveled to Emmaline. Of all the cursed luck. Emmaline stepped forward and hugged Van Gelders, who stiffened in shock.



“Hello Brother mine,” she said brightly, then snatched the case from the clerks hands at the same instant she drove her knee into Van Gelders’ crotch. The nobleman let out a shriek of agony and doubled over. Emmaline snatched the case from the clerk and brought it round in a wide arc, connecting solidly with the point of the noble's chin. He snapped back upright, cracked his head against the coach and pitched forward into the gutter. Emmaline leaped into the open coach door and flung the purse she had pulled from Van Gelder’s double into the face of the nearest guard. He reeled back in a shower of gold and silver as coins rained down on the pavement with a musical rattle. Bright light sparked behind the horses and as one they screamed and bolted. The carriage lurched down the street, bouncing high into the air as the horses, panicked by Emmaline’s magic sting, ran pell mell down the street, shattering the ladder in spray of splinters. The coachman was hauling on his reins trying desperately to halt the now out of control horses, screaming at the few townsfolk on the street to get out of the way. They struck a sausage vendor's cart with a glancing blow, flinging bratwurst and hot oil in all directions. The proprietor, a mustached man with a stained leather apron, chased after the coach, waving a fist in the air and howling obscenities. Emmaline bounced around the inside of the coach like a pea in a whistle, desperately clinging to her case. A glance behind her showed one guard helping Van Gelders to his feet while the other, accompanied by a Golden Kettle thug, were sprinting down the street after the runaway coach.



Emmaline gripped the plush seat and spoke another word. The metal fittings attaching the team to the coach exploded in showers of rust and the horses broke in all directions away from the now out of control carriage. They bumped up over a small rise and began to race down the other side towards the fish market. The district spread out before them, a long curve of the Reik built up with piers that were crammed with fishmongers, pie vendors, and cheap eateries where dock workers could get fried fish and ale from stalls of brightly colored canvas. The road ended fifty feet short of the river bank, protected by bollards of stacked river stone and ancient rope so rotten it wouldn’t have stopped an ambitious child. The driver, not paid enough to die at his post, leaped clear, hitting the paving stones and rolling to a stop against the side of a chandlers shop. The coach was jouncing violently on the uneven paving stones, racing downhill into the pall of smoke from dozens of shallow pots where fish and sliced potatoes were being fried. Shouts of alarm were already sounding in the street below.



“Ranald’s bloody balls,” Emmaline gasped as the coach picked up speed. She stood up, bracing herself with both feet and one arm, and ripped the plush cushions from the seats. Before she could stop herself she stepped across to the far door. Gathering the cushions around her body she timed her opening, took a deep breath, kicked the door open, and leaped, sailing out of the coach and into an alley mouth as it flashed past. The forward momentum of the coach smashed her into the side of the fullers shop, driving the air from her chest even with the cushions to break her fall. She fell on her back in the alley, the stolen case still clutched to her chest. The screams from below grew in volume and then there was a tremendous crash of splintering wood and tearing fabric from down the road.



A vagrant was sitting against the side of the alley, a mangy dog at his heels, his face was frozen in a mask of shock, a stick of grilled meat halfway to his lips, as the blonde woman picked herself up and brushed dirt from her dress. She cast aside the plush cushions and checked to make sure nothing was broken.



“Are you ok miss,” he asked, clearly at a loss for what else to say when a pretty blond in a fine dress flew into his alley.



“Yes of course, why do you ask?” Emmaline replied, risking a peak out of the mouth of the alley. The coach had plowed directly into the fish market, a bollard having smashed its front axle on the way across. The rear wheels were elevated and spinning, its front end half submerged in silvery fish that had been released from shattered barrels. Amazed looking citizens stood around, doing alot of pointing and gawping. Emmaline looked back up the road to see the two guards who had been in pursuit cresting the rise. She ducked back before they could spot her and pressed herself flat to the alley wall as they raced past, brandishing cudgels and shouting down into the fish market.



“No reason,” the vagrant replied. Emmaline plucked the second purse she had swiped from Van Gelders from a pouch, hefted it once, then tossed it to the man.



“Ranald’s blessing on you friend,” she told him and hurried down the alley, intent on putting some distance between her and the bedlam she had just created. Whatever was in this case had better be worth it.

They were located on the southern bank of the river reik, near the docks. Neil didn't want to make for the bridge straight away, and so he prowled through the alleys and lesser used side streets, moving further south so he could then make his way round and meet Emmaline at the bridge. Neil padded along a small street, keeping his eyes skyward to dodge any civilian dropping spoiled porridge or refuse into the gutters from a window above. Just as he suspected, a portly woman with a wart the size of a rat poked her head out to gaze at the weather, not the street below, and she unceremoniously dumped the contents of some chunky, smelly concoction out of an iron pot right atop Neil's position.

Neil leaped to the right, the filth missing his dark head of hair, but it splattered onto the cobblestones and small droplets flecked his ankles. His skin crawled, and he waved a hand upwards and shouted. "Hey, be careful with that shit!" Though the woman had already retreated into the apartment. He shook his head, backtracking into the main street. He gradually became aware of a loud screeching, an odd wailing of metal on stone rapidly coming closer. Neil turned up saw a carriage, unbound by horses and wheels, rocketing towards him like the twin tailed comet itself.

"Fucking balls!" He cried, sprinting across the street and hitting the wall just before he was crushed. Neil looked around and then back at the departing carriage, watching it slowly unravel into a thousand pieces of kindling and metal rivets. He had seen a lot of crazy shit in his day, but that was something new. He sighed. "This either has to do with the war or Emmaline. If it's her..."

His question was answered almost immediately. What little crowd there congregated at the street, all gazing at the flying carriage and the guards chasing after it. All save one person, a shapely woman with blonde hair Neil could never mistake. She was at the lip of an alleyway, getting to her feet and looking away from the street, speaking to someone. Neil looked both ways to make sure there wasn't another projectile, and he hurried over to the otherside of the street, but she had begun to depart immediately. Neil followed her down the alley, the scent of human waste mixing with the aroma of freshly cooked meals from the windows above.

Emmaline hustled away into a cross in the backstreets, next to an abandoned shed and a restaurant that had been converted into a closed shop of knicknacks. She suddenly stopped and turned, pulling out a dagger and glaring at Neil, her eyes glowing as the steel of the knife was transmuted into three smaller slivers, all floating in her hand, ready to plunge into her pursuers chest. Neil watched her intimidating manner dissipate like morning dew when she realized it was him.

"You've got some explaining to do." Neil said, raising an eyebrow.

"About what?" She asked, her eyes big and doe-like. Neil wasn't fooled, but he did smile. He waited until she knew he wasn't going take the bait. "Look, I had a little accident, but it's all solved now. We're away and we have uh... this!" The woman presented the case, fluttering her lashes.

"I'm not mad, but next time you hop into something that starts careening down a street, I want in on it." He told her, jealous she got to fly out of that thing like a goblin doom-diver. Though his train of thought was interrupted when she showed the case, and he tilted his head, curious. "What's that?"

“That,” she said, “is a very good question, but one we probably should investigate in private, seeing there are probably people who will start looking for it once they realize I'm not spattered over the inside of their very expensive carriage.”



They took a circuitous route back to the tower, swinging well wide of the docks to avoid anyone who might be searching, dodging patrols of soldiers as they went. They passed the water filled crater where the magazine of the Imperial gunnery school had been blasted a few days before, and paid a local fisherman a few coppers to take them across the Reik to the small island.



Emmaline was keen to continue looting but curiosity regarding the case was getting the better of her. As Neil spread his own considerable haul out across the table Emmaline tried to open the case. To her irritation she found that it resisted her efforts, locked closed with a small keyhole built into the side. Frustrated she tried a spell, but the mechanism stubbornly refused to yield. She was on the verge of simply breaking it open when Neil intervened, thrusting a pair of slender probes into the keyhole. He was silent and focused for perhaps a minute and then there was a snapping sound. Neil jerked his hands away with a curse as a slender needle projected from the lock, its tip glittering with some black fluid. The thief breathed out a sigh of relief, holding up his unwounded hands.



“Felt the secondary click as it came unlocked,” he explained. Emmaline frowned and picked up a knife, carefully lifting the lid with the flat of the blade. The interior was black velvet, sconces inside held eight greenish stones, faceted and polished till they were shown. They were arranged in a rough circle around a golden bracelet wrought in an elaborate ouroboros design.



“Holy Sigmar,” Neil breathed, reaching for one of the stones.



“Stop!” Emmaline snapped, clapping a hand on his wrist to prevent him from touching the stone.



“What?” Neil demanded. “What is it.”



“It’s wyrdstone,” Emmaline said quietly. Neil frowned, evidently unaware of what the problem was.



“Is it valuable?” he asked in puzzlement. Emmaline nodded her head. There were wizards in Altdorf who would pay a thousand gelt for a few ounces of the stuff, and here were several pounds, cut and polished to look like gem stones. Emmaline wasn’t fooled however, she could feel the raw magic radiating off the stuff.



“It is valuable because it is pure magic,” she explained, remembering the few lessons Albrecht had bothered to impart on his apprentice.



“It is dangerous too, the stuff of Chaos made manifest.” Wyrdstone was incredibly rare, but their were stories that it possessed near miraculous power, able to cure the sick, bring statues to life, even grant immortality. Of course it never worked out for the wizards in those stories and the study and possession of it was strictly forbidden by the colleges. A fact which, of course, did little to prevent the practice.



Emmaline reached out with the knife and prized up the black velvet. Beneath the fabric was a layer of dull hammered lead, overwhich brass bands had been laid. They made a complicated eight pointed star with the bracelet in the center. Emmaline spoke slowly in the language of magic and her pale hand began to shimmer and then went dull and metallic. She reached in with her metalized hand and plucked the bracelet free. All eight stones throbbed angrily and she slammed the case shut. Instantly the sense of malevolent magic, like an incipient sunburn was gone.



“Love the gold,” Neil said, “but should you be touching that?”



“It feels safe, I think the stones were keeping it contained,” Emmaline explained, examining the bracelet closely.



“If they were keeping it contained, then by definition it isn’t safe,” Neil pointed out, though it was clear he was as fascinated as she was. What was this thing and why did the Van Gelders have it. Even more to the point why was it in the lock room of the Golden Kettle Company and not in some private family vault. If the Templars of Sigmar ever found out they had so much wyrdstone questions would be asked. Questions that even the wealth of a powerful family wouldn’t be able to make go away.



“I’m sure it is perfectly… fuck!” Emmaline squawked as the bracelet blinked both its emerald eyes. She dropped the thing but its formerly solid gold seemed suddenly lithe and animate, it wrapped its tail around her wrist to keep from falling and let out a startled hiss.



“Shit, shit, shit!” Emmaline cried, shaking her arm frantically to dislodge it. Hissing in panic the metallic snake curled itself around her wrist and suddenly vanished.



“What the actual fuck?!” Emmaline demanded, sighing in relief, then let out a startled scream. A perfectly life-like snake tattoo, complete with shocked look, was curled around her wrist.



Neil looked pale.



“What a perfectly normal and not at all ominous thing,” he said through tight lips.

Neil poked her skin experimentally, eyes boring into the tattoo his new girlfriend now sported. He admitted it looked pretty cool, and he would have definitely asked who gave her the ink if he hadn't seen the snake-demon thing leap into the two dimensional space. He shook his head, perplexed. He wasn't drunk enough for this, he decided. Luckily Neil had bought a myriad of drinks for he and Emmaline to imbibe in throughout the coming evening.

"So... this doesn't hurt, right?" He asked, stroking his chin.

"Uh... no? But I'm still wildly confused?" Emmaline said, fretting. The snake thing remained unmoving, but Neil didn't trust it. Would it pop out of her skin and bite or strangle either of them? It seemed like a dumb way to go, but he had seen more humiliating and strange ways to die before. Neil and Emmaline exchanged looks of confusion, but as the woman began to shake her head and part her lips to say something, there was a distant knock. Neil lifted himself up and turned his head like a meerkat, another knock following.

"_{Neil Edwards!}" a voice called.

Neil sighed. "Great, it's Inspector Leizbauhnor." He muttered.

"You don't think..." Emmaline said, uneasily clutching her bodice.

"ONE SEC!" Neil called through the open balcony door. He turned to Emmaline and shook his head. "Nah, I doubt it. Even if it's the case, I'll just shoot him and we'll get back to drinking."

"Drinking is a good idea," She said, the blonde thinking back to the chase, the crash, and now this weird serpent familiar embedded into her body.

"Wait, wait." Neil held both index fingers up. "Before you drink and before I go out there, I have an idea. In the closet there's some dye."

"Uh, yeah?"

"Look, they're going to be looking for a blonde woman. You might want to think about changing your hair color. Wait! Just for a few days." He reasoned. "If this Leizbauhnor guy is here, he's either here with that description of you or he's wanting us to go back out and do something for him, in which case someone might spot you. You can't really hide that banging chest and that big butt, but you can look different with the hair..."

"Some guy saw you too!" She protested. She didn't seem disturbed by changing her hair, but it was still likely a hassle.

"Some guard saw me steal a few bottles of the good shit and some chocolate. Em, you have an entire city looking for you. Just change your hair to whatever we have just for a few days, and by the time it's out of your hair we'll be sailing to Tilea or Stirland or wherever, alright?" He placed a hand on her cheek and kissed her. "I'll go see what the walking stick wants and then we'll get to drinking. One second."

Neil departed out of the bedroom, hurrying down the stairs to the hall in the second floor, opening up the wide window to peer down at the tall, thin man with the wide brimmed hat and the spectacles. Beside him stood a man that looked carved from granite, grey eyes staring out just below a bronze circlet with the twin tailed comet emblazoned at its apex. He wore great plate armor, and in his hand was a large, ornate warhammer that looked more than adequate enough to break through the tower door if the man felt so inclined.

Neil leaned over the side. "You boys missed the parish by about two miles. Just head right down that road and keep walking until you hit the wall. You won't miss it, it's full of beastmen."

"Mr. Edwards, where is your plump companion?" Leizbauhnor asked, adjusting his glasses. He looked to have gained a new scar since last they met. Perhaps the man did more than bookkeeping for the Order of the Fiery Heart.

"She is currently indisposed my good man, shall I bring her a message?"

"Were you two near the southern docks, anytime recently?" He asked, betraying no emotion. The warrior priest remained silent, just staring at Neil.

"We were just out, but no we were up near the palace. We were just helping some of the common folk, putting out some fires. It was the priest-er, the least we could do. So many looters, nowadays. This city won't hold together if we don't stick together. Anyway, could you get to the point? It's been quite a day, sirs."

"Very well. My companion here, Warrior Priest Valkar Baudenhal, is tasked with stamping out all corruption in the city. Rampant magics and such. He asked for my aid, and I knew just who to requisition for help. My two lawless initiates who happen to be quite useful at sniffing out trouble. A number of notable families, including a very prominent one just the other week, have been accused of heretical practices. I believe are familiar with one case that was infested with mutants..."

"-Yeah, shit's messed up-"

"-and it is paramount that we remain vigilant. So, I would ask you and your...friend... to keep an eye out and have a few names to add to our list when I return in three days time."

"Uh... well, I'll see what I can do. Is that all?" Neil inquired.

"For the moment." Leobowitz said. The grim-faced Warrior Priest finally opened his mouth and said. "I look forward to working together."

"Yeah, me too! Ok! Thank you! Goodbye! Goodbye-" He closed the window and superfluously locked it. Immediately he was thinking of the family Emmaline had stolen from, but that would put her in the crosshairs of the law. No, no, the best option was to just somehow leave the city before three days time. He would talk with Emma about it, and so Neil walked back up the stairs to make sure she hadn't guzzled half the keg of Bugmans.

Emmaline was less convinced that Neil that dying her hair was really necessary. 'Finding a blonde in Reikland' was a common street adage for a reason afterall. She might have ignored the matter all together but the presence of the wyrdstone set her on edge. Even behind the lead sheeting it tickled at her. She wondered what use she might put it to with proper study, what potions might she concoct, maybe even a minor talent like hers could work wonders.

"Shit!" she yelped as the tattoo turned back into the snake. She flicked it away and it rolled a few feet feet. Emmaline snatched up bowl and slapped it down over the snake.

"Got you!" she crowed in victory. There was an irritated hiss and the two dimensional tattoo slid under the lip of the bowl and then plumped back up into its serpentine form. Emmaline was uncomfortably aware that this would not look good if Leizbauhnor burst in. Not that the piled loot on the kitchen table was going to stand them in particularly good stead. She picked up the bowl again and the snake rolled its emerald eyes and stuck its tongue out. Emmaline watched it for a moment. It flickered with whisps of magic, perhaps all the winds, but it didn't feel corrupted. Should it? Would she be able to tell?

"Were you imprisoned in the case?" she asked. It felt insane to be talking to an animate metal snake, but to her surprise the little golem nodded. It cocked its head, and then bowed slightly.

"Is that a thank you?" she asked. The snake nodded again.

"Well...uhhh... you are welcome," she managed. The snake slithered over to the shelf resting its forehead against a pot. Curiously, Emmaline reached out and took the pot, inside was a fine red powder, rubia by the smell of it. Emmaline cast her eye at the snake.

"You think?" she asked. It nodded.

______

When Neil came back in Emmaline's hair was a lustrous shade of red. It hadn't been necessary to go through the effort and mess of actually dying her hair. Disguise and subterfuge were among the skills Albrecht had thought worth teaching her, and as such she had a spell that could change her hair color so long as she had an appropriate pigment. The rubia powder had yielded a solid red shaded with a darker crimson and highlighted with a soft almost fox orange. Neil's momentary distraction passed and he jumped slightly, pulling a knife from somewhere as he saw the snake. It hissed in alarm and darted back behind Emmaline.

"He is alright," Emmaline told Neil. She wasn't entirely sure why she trusted the thing, but she had a sense that if it meant to do her harm it could easily have done so.

"I take it our friends at the temple have decided not to arrest or evict us?" she asked.

"Whoa..." Neil said, a bit overwhelmed by his admiring of her. She was no more pretty red headed than blonde, but there was something about variety that sparked a fire in a man, and he didn't think he would ever be disinterested in this mischievous woman. He smoothed his hair like one did when talking to a pretty girl, without thought or intention. "No, uh... wait what?"

She waved a hand in front of his face, and the nimble thief caught it. "Hello?"

"Sorry," Neil replied honestly, sighing. She had been through a lot today. Fun later, after their anxieties were alleviated. "They did come asking about the Golden Kettle." He saw her eyes widen, but he held his hands up. "They didn't think we did it, just that we should find out information about possible chaos incursions within the walls. They think cultists had something to do with it."

"So my theft got them to be extra alert in dealing with the subterfuge of the ruinous powers?" She asked, smiling.

"You can spin anything, can't you?" Neil grinned. "It was my idea to go looting by the way."

"I never said it wasn't!" She remarked innocently, her eyes going to the stash Neil had accumulated for them atop the table. The wrapping of the chocolate looked so very peelable, and the drinks were incredibly expensive. Neil had actually done quite well, despite Emmaline's escape being the talk of the southern district. Neil smirked and grabbed the keg of Bugman's. There were two pewter mugs set aside on the desk, the thief procuring them and pouring each one to the brim. Emmaline took one mug in her hands, and they both settled on the couch in their usual positions. Neil on the cushion and Emmaline snug on his lap.

"I suggest we leave the city in three days. Just long enough to enjoy what we have before things go tits up. Sound like a plan?" He asked her, awaiting her answer with his mug held out so she may bump it in response. He grabbed a large, sixteen ounce bar of chocolate and opened it, holding it just before her to bite down on.

Emmaline sat down and began to unwrap food. Neil had done a remarkable job of carrying off contraband. There was rich chocolate wrapped in waxed paper, candied pomegranate seeds, sweet meats packed into artfully peel orange rinds, jerked meat treated with lime juice and salted with pungent hot spices, and hard biscuit that seemed to be made of crushed almonds and other nuts. There was thousands of gelt worth here, more than they could eat certainly, and more luxury than most people in the Empire ever saw.







Neil stabbed a knife into the top of the small keg of Bugman’s ale, sliding it along and then striking the top of it with the flat of her hand. The rich yeasty smell flowed out and filled the tower. Dwarven ale was incredibly rare and expensive even in Altdorf, and no table in the Empire could boast Bugman’s ale more than once or twice in a generation. He took two, more or less clean, mugs and dipped them into the open barrel, lifting out two foaming tankards. He sat one down infront of Emmaline who picked it up eagerly.



“Too looting,” Emmaline proposed.



“How very civic minded of us,” Neil agreed and they clinked glasses. They both took long drinks. It was intense and creamy as whipped milk, malty and potent beyond anything Emmaline thought of as ale.



“How do you propose to get out of the city?” Emmaline asked, brushing her newly auburn locks behind her, as she peeled the paper away from a bar of chocolate and broke of a corner. She popped it into her mouth, it was dark and slightly bitter in the Brettonian fashion, and it melted most wonderfully in her mouth.



“They tell me there is a siege on.”

"Yes, dreadful business," Neil remarked snobbishly, taking a bite of his own chocolate bar. It was heavenly, and it melded well with the wonderfully potent Bugman's. The brew burned satisfyingly as it went down, and yet it had a deliciousness about it he couldn't really appreciate to the fullest extent because he had nothing else to compare it to. Weighing it up against other ale was just cruel. He almost broke character, but he managed to retain his effete manner. "Seems the whole city is in an uproar! Darling, did you say you needed more drink?"

"Don't change the subject, but yes please." She said, holding out her mug for Neil to scoot over to the table with his longer reach and refill the mug.

"Luckily, the city is-" He groaned and pulled back, handing her the mug and refilling his own, before reclining back into a comfortable position. "-even more expansive below ground as it is above."

"Hmmm?" She wondered, her mouth filled with chocolate. Neil wiped a smudge from her cheek with his thumb.

"The sewers. I know a sewerjack that knows the undergreound top and bottom. There are tunnels that make it miles out into the countryside. We just need to take them." He explained, biting into his chocolate bar once again. His left cheek was half-full as he chewed. "You know, it'll suck to see this place go. But it's for the best. Plus in a month or two the usual tenants will be back anyway and kick us out."

Wow, Neil thought. He had a sudden realization that one mug of Bugman's was already causing him to feel loose. Another one might knock him into inebriated. This stuff was powerful. He was suddenly fascinated by Emmaline's new hair, running his fingers through it. "Where do you want to ko... uh, go after this, hot stuff?" He asked her, and he hiccuped. Neil blinked, his lips unbound by even his normal, low supply of inhibitions. "Hey, did I ever tell you I think you're too good for me? You outta be... you uh, you should be someone important and like, w-where? I don't know where I'm going with it, but you're amazing and I love you."

Emmaline finished her mug and dipped another. She felt as buzzed as though she had been drinking for several hours but as yet had none of the dizziness she would have expected with that load of alcohol. She chewed some of the spiced chocolate and then tried some of the almond bread. She probably should have eaten something before she started drinking. Even in her current state she wasn't sure crawling through a sewer into a forest filled with beastmen sounded like a great idea, but that didn't seem important right now.

"Gooo," she giggled as Neil's fingers ran through her hair. The spell which had dyed it left no residue the way regular dye might have done and it was indistinguishable from her blonde self save for the flaming color. She took another drink of the dwarven ale, the taste so good it overwhelmed her drinking knowledge.

"I... I've always wanted to go to Marmarianburb," she slurred. She twisted her eyes downwards to look at her rebellious mouth.

"Mammar... Maroon," she tried and then gave it up as Neil continued to speak.

"Too... good? I'm a discased failed..." she hicupped.

"Failed wizard," she managed, "You are am enginfeer with a... bright future... you have a certificate and everything," she giggled. Her ale fogged mind caught up with the rest of what he had said and she started, feeling slightly more sober.

"People don't love me," she managed, popping some more chocolate into her mouth.

"They 'love' me," she said, putting her hands beneath her breasts and hefting them towards Neil. The slight sadness in her tone at odds with the lewdly suggestive act.

"Marienburb?" He asked, not quite catching on the incorrect pronunciation of the name. "Me too! I mean, haha. I mean, you should have told me bat! Because I'm from there...!" He placed his hands against his chest, or one hand and a mug, the brew sloshing onto his shirt. He was vaguely aware of it, rather his mind preoccupied with concentrating to the best of his ability on Emmaline's lamentations. He looked crestfallen she would even suggest such things! Baby!?

Of course his eyes bugged out when Emmaline lifted her chest in his face, but he shook his head despite his gaze never quite leaving them. "No, no, no, no...no, babe. No..."

He placed his mug down, blinking. "No, because those peeble don't get it. They're just jealous you want, you wan smart enough to take their stuff. But you need brains for that kind of thought work. And I love both of you." He patted the top of her chest, and then patted her cheek. "Both the head part and the body part, because together they make my girlfriend which is you who are. Who you- uh, who you are!" Yeah, nailed it. "Me? I'm just some engineer in a city full of fucks like me! But you got the thought and acting and the magic and the scehems and the just amazingness."

He pressed his palm to his chest, as if he were making a great confession at a trial to decide the fate of his life. "I-I love all! The entire all of it. All that and the tiddies too! Jus like how you like me for me but also my handsomeness, because I'm-" He started nodding, as if it were time to admit it finally. "-really cute. It's true. Mmmhmm, I might be waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaay worse than you, but I got pretty eyes and a good smile. Would be mere hubris if I did not think so, right?"

Emmaline peered at Neil, unable to make heads or tails of anything he was saying. She nodded her head with drunken solemnity, more because it seemed appropriate to the moment than she knew what she was nodding at. There seemed to be a slight delay between her commands and her body's obedience to it. She noticed that Neil had spilled ale on his shirt which suddenly seemed a tremendous tragedy. Eager to avert the tragedy she leaned forward, over balanced slightly and bumped her head against Neil's chest, before sucking on the fabric of his shirt and drawing some of the ale out. She leaned back and hit the back of her chair closing her eyes against the slight list that seemed to have entered the world. She took another mouthful of ale, which seemed to help somewhat.

"You jash saying that because you like my jussstiisar castume," she accused.

"But you do have really nice... teeth and big thumbs," she declared with an encouraging smile.

"Plus the city not full of enngnnnarrrs since some got blowed up and the others are not good at stealing chocolate like you," she continued, the sentence accelerating considerably in the middle portions and drawing out at the beginning and end.

"You are from Marambug, I thought... you were... you know from dempire," she said, her tone quite amazed at the revelation. She took another mouthful of ale and caught sight of the golden snake sniffing at the candied pomegranate seeds. She picked it up by the tail and dipped its head into the mug pulling the dripping serpent out and dropping it with a magnanimous smile. The snake hissed in irritation, shaking beer foam from its head.

"Mother would be angry that my boyfriendsfrommarumbug even... even if he does have nice teeth," she snickered, finding the whole idea suddenly hilarious.

"An you got a cute lil nose," Neil said, poking her nose gently.

After her words sunk in, just after she had finished sucking on his chest, he came to terms with her parent comments. "Is it because Altdor is so hoity toity? Here-" He placed another bar of candy in front of her face, this time the crunchy kind of chocolate. She bit into it greedily. "Look, Marnburb is just like an imperal city, just less Sigmar and Franbz flags. You'd like it, lots of opportunity to-" He started laughing, already tickled at the idea of swindling people in Marienburg with Emmaline. She would be dangerous there, though it was also a dangerous city in turn.

"Lots of space for us to have fun, and lotta money, and the ships to go whereverelsewhere we want to be, ya know?" He paused, his mind stop working for a good moment. "My momther would think you were ok, probably. She died few years ago. My sisters would think you were somthing. I dunno, haven't thought of them in awhile. They're probly gone to live in stirlan or something. You-...what you laughing at?" Neil asked accusingly, and he started laughing too. Emmaline downed her mug, a small stream of ale sliding down her neck and onto her chest. Neil had finished his third mug already, and he knew if he had another, he would be gone from consciousness. Still...

The rogueish and very drunk thief drew close, and lapped up the bit of alcohol running down her bosom, licking her bare skin. Emmaline squeaked and snorted and then giggled, dropping the empty mug once it was done.

"Tastes evem better this way. It's ok, redheads are ok with it," He said, not even knowing what he, himself, meant at that. He made sure to nibble a bit of her skin with his nice teeth.