He Did That

Politics. It was a subject that Savard always tried to avoid, whether in public or the privacy of his own mind. Rionnach’s politics were complicated, tied to so many parts of a wolf’s identity. It shaped the choices they made, the wolves they followed, and the lies they believed. Jacobites, Royalists, Voxi… what did they all have in common? Their cause had to have legitimacy, something that it could provide to the common wolf to win them over. The Jacobites, justice, the Royalists, order, and the Voxi, fairness. That’s what it seemed to the reclined observer, of course. It seemed that in Rionnach, to side with one of these three was to give up on the other two virtues. It’s perhaps why Guilders believed in a fourth virtue above all else: profit.

Savard had returned to an old familiar tavern all to himself, a place well visited. It had been the place of some of his most profound exploits as of late. He had met old friends and new, dealt with a sadistic Guilder-turned-officer, and now… contemplated his life choices and political leanings. There was talk, after all, about battles to be fought soon. And at that time, as Savard drank his drink alone, he thought about the healer fae he had met in Sussex not too long before, her paws stained in blood. How weary she looked then, how worn out and tired. It had to have made one think about how difficult these wolves and their virtues made the lives of innocent wolves. Adamh, Jacob, did they care for these wolves at all, Savard wondered? It’s best to ask such questions in the silence of one’s own head, rather than in the bowels of a deep dungeon. Or worse yet, a lake.

there exists a tipping point—

There are few things that would dare to bring Abraham this far south, but he is no fool; a direct order from his prince is something he would never consider denying. It is not in his nature, regardless, and he has the advantage of being a faceless drone without notoriety or easy recognition of his features. He blends in amongst the wolves of Rionna easily—perhaps more-so than many of his northern allies, who could never quite time the wild from their features. To be sent into the heart of Rionnach’s royal city could be considered nerve-wracking at best, but Abraham is practiced and proven with years in his trade, and he made peace with his potential death long ago. It is a risk he takes every time he leaves Inverness, and this mission is no different.

Locating his target had been simple enough.

Enacting the justice owed is considerably more complicated.

He knows he will not have an opportunity until late into the hours of the night, and so Abraham has opted to spend the evening in a local tavern. He rarely indulges in more than a drink or two, but he always finds the most fascinating things in places like this; the drink makes tongues loose and tempers unpredictable. There is a great deal of information to be obtained from well-informed wolves with a bit too much to drink in their systems.

He makes his way to the bar, orders a drink and thanks the bartender, and settles himself in one of the few unoccupied spaces left in the place. To his right, the wall and dark corner of the bar shield him—to his left, an average (if not somewhat whethered-looking) man, to whom he offers a small nod of acknowledgment. Abraham is a quiet sort, and the idea of striking up a conversation is the furthest thing from his mind as he casually sips his drink and tunes in to the overlapping conversations of the bar’s patrons.

"speech"

—between gods and monsters

code // art

@Savard

As Savard minded his own business, in came a wolf that, suffice to say, was no regular. After all, in a place like this, Savard tended to know who he had seen before, and who hadn’t. But nevermind his self-destructive habits. The point was, that this wolf was a newcomer to the tavern, it seemed. That, or he must frequent the establishment whenever Savard isn’t there. Silently, he studied the wolf as he carried on, getting his drink, taking a seat in a far corner all by himself, and briefly locked eyes with him before giving a polite nod. The gesture, however, was not returned. After all, Savard had already surmised there was more to this wolf, perhaps. He had taken a rather inconspicuous spot in the corner of the tavern, sat alone, somewhat silhouetted. Now what would a newcomer to this establishment be doing in such a place and in acting in such a way, if he wasn’t here for business? Business happened, no doubt, and usually it wasn’t any of Savard’s business. But then again… considering recent events, what if his old friend had sent someone to check in on him? It was unlikely, but one could never be too careful these days.

But as Savard waited and waited for his associate to show, and with every brief glance his way or so, not a look of concern or worry crossed his face, it appears he was wrong about it being business. He didn’t seem too keen on socializing with his fellow patrons, and he didn’t seem to be having company coming. Now he seemed quite the relaxed type, surely conveying a genuine sense of disinterest in all others around him. But Savard knew his type, been around it his whole life. He was here for something, if not someone. That, or Savard’s suppositions about such encounters made him borderline paranoid. Was this, perhaps an Imperial spy? In a place like this, it was a possibility. Jacob’s army wasn’t this far south either, so that had to have ruled them out. Voxi, well, they were everywhere, or perhaps nowhere given how quiet they had been. But then again, the asocial, quiet type, he’d be the perfect professional for a discreet mission to foreign, if not hostile, land. He could have been any one of those three, it would seem. But the question remained: what was he doing here, and was it in Savard’s interest to know?

As Savard continued to study him, and more and more took note of his unshakeable expression, it began to dawn on him that this wolf was a heavy hitter by the looks of it. True, he may have been there minding his own business, simply trying to sample Rionna’s finest backwater tavern. But what kind of wolf so quiet and so reclusive seeks out such a boisterous environment? That is, unless he was after something? He did everything right, whatever it was he was doing. He didn’t draw attention to himself, didn’t stick out, didn’t say a thing to anybody. Whoever he was, he knew what he was doing by coming here. He probably had been doing what he had been doing for a long, long time. Unfortunately, in his arrogance, Savard knew that he had made one mistake. He wasn’t the only working wolf in this city.

there exists a tipping point—

Abraham is not here to socialize. He's not here to get drunk, either. He never has more than the one drink, sipping it idly as time creeps past him. He watches patrons enter and leave the bar, placidly observes a scuffle or two from his derelict corner, and files away snippets of information about Rionna's citizens when they're too inebriated to watch the level of their voices. He is aware, as shadows grow dark enough to obscure the streets outside the windows, that there is another patron who is nearly as immovable as himself.

A few times, he's felt the telltale prickle of someone watching, but nothing about the assassin suggests that he's aware of it. Eventually, Abraham glances through the glass, determines it to be late enough for his task, and slips from his seat in the corner and out the front door.

The darkness of cobblestone alleys swallow his shape, his footsteps nearly mute as he melts into the darkness; rounding a corner, Abraham pauses and turns on his heel, his ears swiveling intently. He isn't certain if the wolf from the bar—or anyone else, for that matter—will follow him, but he's the type who prefers to be safe rather than sorry. He cannot afford to be caught doing anything suspicious.

—between gods and monsters

code // art

Neither of them seemed to be willing to make the first move. Thankfully, Savard knew what it meant to be patient, and as he sat in his spot of the tavern looking equally quiet, he knew he had all the time in the world. All he needed to do was to wait, and blend in as he could. He took a drink, then another, but no more than that. He pretended to watch the fire, watch brawls as if he had an interest in them. And all the while… his friend only had one drink. He seemed to be waiting for someone, or something. Soon enough, the light in the room started to fade, and his friend began to stir. As dusk settled on Rionna, the wolf rose, and without so much as paying for his drink, left. Had he been made, Savard contemplated, or was this wolf simply on the clock? Either way, whatever this wolf was here to do, it concerned Savard enough to follow. After paying his tab (and throwing an extra Renown in for the tab unpaid), the older wolf knew it was his time to take his leave. After all, he didn’t have much time to spare now that he had to follow, and with the city being as sprawled as it was, it was quite easy to lose somebody. And if this wolf was skilled, he’d know how to do it. Stick to the shadows and the roads less traveled, and don’t look out of place. There were a number of narrow cobblestone alleys along the aged streets, any number of which would fit the bill. If this wolf was truly on the job, he would have noticed them before he set a paw inside the tavern, so no doubt he’d have used them. Thankfully, this was home turf for Savard, and he knew the streets better than perhaps almost anybody in the city. At least… for a few blocks. But then again… if the wolf he was after got away, it perhaps spoke to his allegiance, in the same way if he were caught too easily. Savard decided to amble across away from the bar and circle around, cutting across the streets and alleys to attempt to head the wolf off from his direction. With each alley he walked along, he darted quick glances across, peering into them in order to see if he might catch sight of that wolf as he fled. No luck was had, alas, for each street he spied down was lifeless, empty. But then again… perhaps he had gone out too far. So, deciding to push back towards the bar, Savard turned right into the alleyway he next came upon, and walked towards the direction of the tavern he had come from. There was no saying that it would work out. If anything, he would give it up and go back to his days of nothingness. There was but silence, silence upon silence. Even his own footsteps were quiet, perhaps partly his practice, partly the road he walked. But all that changed when he rounded a corner, and there, but a hair in front of him, was the wolf he was after.

everything he touched fell apart

code // art

there exists a tipping point—

Abraham is patient enough to wait; everything about his position requires an endless reserve of both fortitude and caution, lest he wind up at the sharp end of a blade himself. Despite his general ambivalence towards his duties, and his apparent lack of regard for just about everything else, he is rather fond of the breath in his lungs and the blood in his veins. He is nearly lounging, his hip cocked against the alley wall, when the wolf from the bar comes around the bend.

He straightens, standing squarely in the path, and tips his head slightly to the side, his gaze somewhere between analyzing and predatory. "Is there a reason you're following me?" he asks coolly, immediately challenging the stranger's intent with the sort of unbothered tone that suggests it's not the first time he's found himself facing a potential threat, and it won't be the last. He would prefer not to draw the attention of a fight in downtown Sussex, so the likelihood of him aggressing is low—but he'll rise to a challenge if one is presented.

—between gods and monsters

code // art

Calm, cool, and collected, the stranger seemed relaxed as he greeted the pursuing Savard. It was a relief that this wolf was not the kind to bite first and interrogate second… mostly. If he had been attacked then and there, then this wolf was not the kind who cared about making a mess in a place he didn’t belong. That would have been far too amateurish for a wolf like him. But by how calm he was about Savard’s presence, and his seeming avoidance to engage unless it was necessary was quite telling about Savard’s instincts. He was spot on. He’d be surprised, if his experience hadn’t taught him these lessons already. “Just a concerned member of the public,” Savard retorted, plainly, albeit sarcastically, “one who takes an interest in wolves… conducting business where I live. Especially when they’re not from around here. Care to tell me what you’re doing?” Savard’s calm demeanor didn’t belie his prepared stance, in case anything went wrong. One could never be too careful these days. And yet, if this wolf had gone through so much effort to avoid drawing attention to himself, and if his cover hadn’t been blown by anyone but a stranger, he had no reason not to comply. True, he had done almost everything right with whatever he was doing, everything in his control at least. But for a wolf like him not to know the difference between a social tavern and a drinking tavern indicated he wasn’t a local. And for a heavy hitter like him, at least as far as looks went, that made sense. Savard knew a thing or two about sizing other wolves up. Hell, everyone knew that… but fortunately for him, neither side were desperate enough to involve him in the war, the pointless, bloody affair that destroyed far more than it changed. He had no quarrel with either side overall… even if he had his quarrels with certain wolves. It remained to be said if this stranger would be added to the list or not.

everything he touched fell apart

code // art