Amaya nodded at his question.
“Yeah, I can’t.”Hadn’t been home for a long while. At this point, it’d be more trouble if she returned than if she simply continued to maintain radio silence. Couriers like herself didn’t have the same sort of enemies that a House member would have, but she’d definitely find it harder to keep those around her safe than a House with all their resources and people would.
That wasn’t to say that they were impenetrable though. Even the finest clothes frayed, and most Houses were unkempt antiques whose value came more from age than from quality.
“Call me Amaya,” the raven-haired woman spoke, in time with the beeping of her kettle. As the water boiled, she pulled out a pack of Mountain House Teriyaki Chicken and an aluminum mug, blue with white specks. A bag of tea was dropped in the mug and hot water was poured, before she torn open the dehydrated meal and filled that up to the line as well. A puff of teriyaki powder bloomed in the air; she waved it aside before stirring the bagged meal with a spork, then sealed it up. Roland seemed the decent sort. Some smokers seemed to delight in tipping their ashes wherever they wanted, like marking their territory. Some residents of the Dark City liked to posture and jockey for authority, every line designed to scrape out more information or win some invisible social war.
Mere creatures, granted power they used without thought or purpose.
The door rattled. Her eyes lifted towards the windows, translucent slits evolving with every raindrop that cascaded against it.
“Did they follow you?”Amaya dabbed the teabag around the mug, steam bursting apart as the surface rippled without rhyme.
“Did they follow me?”She lifted the mug to her mouth, blowing upon it before taking a tentative sip. A wince, and she placed it down. Her tongue stuck out as she fanned it. Too hot still.
“Or are they the one who’s followed?”Turning on the bar stool, she faced the door entirely, yellow eyes gleaming in the dim lighting of the warehouse. There were more dangerous things than non-dangerous things in the Dark City, more villains than innocents stalking the umbra of the Realspace. Didn’t mean that she had to be the one who pulled the trigger first though.
There was a door, after all. Maybe they’d just leave.