It was, of course, about the sword.
Amaya allowed Gerome and Roland to banter as she ate, one steady spoonful after another. It was more for sustenance than pleasure now, just fuel to get her through the next set of troubles that was undoubtedly unfolding before her. A mysterious, wealthy client who sought the assassination of a higher existence, for purposes yet unknown. A Dungeon, containing a creature that her sword could fell, yet that was beyond anything that anyone in the Dark City could yet comprehend.
And, of course, a reward in the promise of limitless funds…at least until Gerome cancelled the card.
The raven-haired woman finished the rest of her meal, washing down the teriyaki taste with the remains of her tea. She rolled her head from side to side, cracking her neck, her spine, her hips. Then, methodically, she put away her possessions once more. The spoon was licked clean and wrapped in a paper towel. The kettle was emptied into an aluminum bottle before being returned into her bag. And the bag she zipped up herself, removing a couple knick-knacks to jam into the pockets of her leather jacket before she turned to Roland.
“I’ll leave this here and pick it up after. Give three days before you think about selling it, ok?” She patted the bag, as if biding farewell to a friend, and then strode towards the projected entrance to the Dungeon. A shaft of light shone from the creases in her gloved hand, becoming material as she clenched her fist over it. The Bane of Demons, the Metric of Reality. A divine weapon to rend absurdities material.
Amaya let out a breath.
"Things are rarely so simple. Any consequences for failure?" A pause. "Assuming I survive that 'weakened being'."
"From me? None. I am hiring you, not punishing you, ma'am. You're only consequence besides a potentially pitiful death is that much less cash in your bank," Gerome said with closed eyes. "And I suppose perhaps my disappointment."
“I can live with that.” Amaya popped an earbud into her left. “I’m good for money though, Gerome. If you’re the knowledgeable type, I’d rather ask a couple questions instead.”
Her boots approached the precipice now. Mages from Houses earned their Crafts through study and meditation, communal knowledge that spanned generations, but for freelancers like herself?
Violence was the only way to gain what was needed to survive the Dark City.
“See you.”
Step through.
