The Meeting

[Due Machiavelli]

Rogues tavern sat on the harbor. When the tide came in to its fullest it was as though the building would fall into the water itself but somehow, on posts coated with barnacles and wood that was grey with age, it never did. The window panes of the establishment were thick and old, the images of people on the inside distorted in the oil lamps which burned brightly. Most of the time when merchants came through the town they went here. It was close to where they docked and looked like it would charge reasonably, if not cheaply, for a brew.

Inside the establishment was a small run of people, most of which didn't appear terribly comfortable. It was hard to with one of the brothers sitting there, like that at the end of the bar, as if he were expecting something. The man had olive skin and black hair like an Italian. He was young, but there was a certain age about his eyes. Had the personality been different, women might have remarked upon the pleasant turns of his bone structure and his thick locks of hair. Youth had a way of making everyone beautiful at least once.

Waiting. The brother was waiting for someone to show up. Though the owner to the tavern and he had gotten into some skirmishes, the man did not attempt to keep him from his tavern. The Brothers returned to it often as though making sure that they retained control and knowledge over what transpired in the city. The sides of his glass were sweating, forming a shallow puddle around his drink.

Waiting. Waiting for the next slew of new merchants and travelers. There was word that a silk trader was coming through, that meant a lot of money. Everyone was always talking about silk traders coming through, though. All it had to be was an unknown face. Some ships had been scheduled to arrive, he wanted to know just who they were. The books had been vague.

[Jennet Shorditch]

He was here again. Jennet had already had this pointed out to her by a couple of her regulars, most of whom were aware of the tensions between herself and the brothers who wanted control of her tavern. Still, unless he tried anything, she was content to let him sit there and wait for whatever it was that had brought him here this time.

Of course, she knew what that something was. It had to be Gregor. The silk merchant only came through the Widow's Spoon once or twice a year, but whenever he did come through, wealth flowed through the hands of those who did business with him. His silks were of the finest quality, and though buying them was expensive, to those he considered good partners, he would always cut a little off the price. This was why the rooms in the Rogue were decorated with silken drapes - Gregor had been a very great friend of her father's.

She couldn't, however, let this half of the wishful-thinking brothers believe that he was safe from her interference. With a tray of dead tankards under her arm, she made her way through the tables in a swish of skirts and her usual merry laughter, pausing in front of the brother with a look that was less a welcome and more a challenge.

"If you're t'wait in here, you've t'drink more'n one drink o'er the hours you're wastin'," she informed him brusquely. "Else I'll have Bor toss y'out like any other waster, brother or no."

[Due Machiavelli]

"Is that so?" He leaned back in his seat to look up at her. His eyes were shadowed by the strong contrast of light in her tavern. Eyebrows went up to emphasize the expression, to test to see if her interest really was in throwing him out. Did she really have the nerve to even do it? She could be stubborn, he'd learned that much about her all ready.

"You know life would be a lot easier for you if you would just look the other way. Or," He offered, wetting his lips, "You could just make a business arrangement with us. I could get you some of those ale barrels for half the price you're paying now and all you would have to do is what you're doing now plus a few other things. It's a trade that's really more than fair." Eyes went down to his empty glass before he looked back to her, "Why not? What's the point into holding onto...whatever it is you're holding onto? This place is a dump," he waved his hand to the surroundings of the old, over used tavern and looked back to her, "Why not move somewhere else... with a whole new, nicer place?"

When he heard the door his eyes jumped away from her to it. No, that wasn't the silk dealer, either. She had his full attention again, he folded his hands and let them rest upon the table's top, "Now you know as well as I do that you keep the books. You know the merchant's schedules, in fact, I wouldn't be surprised if you were the one that set them. That's problematic for me, you understand."

Other people in the tavern were stopping their conversations to watch their interaction. It wasn't often that someone carried on such a long conversation with a Brother without it being an argument. Perhaps they were waiting for the explosion or they were just staring because they wanted to know how it would end. Everyone in town knew that they had begun to clash weeks ago, but Jennet had always held out strong. It was one of the reasons why the locals still felt comfortable coming there. And today? Would she hold out strong today as well?

"What would be best is if you gave me your books so that I didn't have my books filled with assumptions and guesses." Who knew if the silk merchant really would arrive here today? Jennet, daughter of the man who was his best friend, she did. She knew why he was here and he didn't see much use in lying about it. He lied plenty of times, but lying here and now just seemed dull, stupid and obvious. The brothers were about in their mid twenties, it was odd that such young faces should have such clear and brutal intent. "I could pay you for the books... or perhaps some other trade is in arrangement?" They wanted control of all the town. They wanted control of all the money.

They needed the town.

[Jennet Shorditch]

"Oh, but love, 'tis so much fun watchin' y'get y'assumptions an' guesses so very wrong," Jennet countered with a cheerful smile. The hand not holding onto her tray of empties had come to rest upon the generous curve of her hip as she stared the Brother down, deliberately not letting her irritation with him show through her mildly amused expression.

"As t'life bein' easier, well, we both know yer offer isn' so much a fair trade as a millstone made pretty-like and tied up wi' ribbons," she added in her merry way, determined not to let this dissolve into an out-and-out argument this time. "I pay m'dues an' work m'time, and m'honest wi'it. Workin' f'you and yers'd jus' make me another criminal, and m'not interested in that, love."

She bent to gather his empty glass into her free hand, meeting his gaze head on without a flicker of uncertainty. "If th' Rogue's such a dump, why're y'so interested in buying me out, hmm? Rogue suits me, like it suits m'customers, an' it must suit you, too, else y'wouldn' be in here ev'ry other day tryin' t'talk me inta givin' it up."

Straightening, she rolled her shoulder, tilting her head to look down at him with a glint of steel in her eyes. "Aye, I keep m'own books. Aye, I know th' merchants' schedules. And aye, I'll not be handing that information o'er t'anyone, be they friend or foe, 'less those merchants give me permission. S'called a bond o'trust, ties o'loyalty ... or p'raps those don't mean nothin' t'you an' yers?"

Her brow rose as she looked him over, considering his implication of another form of business. Whatever he meant by it, she very much doubted her father would approve of her even considering it. "I don' like yer tone t'day. Buy a drink an' keep t'yerself, an' yer welcome here. Cause trouble or try t' intimidate my customers, and Brother or no, ye'll be floatin' in the harbor courtesy o' Bor and his friends."

[Due Machiavelli]

"I see you're as salty as ever," said with a slow, small frown on his lips. He disliked dealing with her. Sometimes he felt that the difference between them wasn't based upon morals or principles at all, as she advertised. At times he suspected that she just enjoyed being one of the few that wouldn't let him have his way. Had he been some pleasant stranger asking for the information he wagered she'd be more easily inclined to give it up. As was, they were rehearsing this argument again.

The Brothers were handsome men when robbed of their personalities and demeanor, though some women enjoyed their brooding airs. On facial features alone they had been gifted, but it was with their concern and unnerving interests that their brow was heavy and their lips prone to a self entitled smirk. It was one thing to feel attractive, it was another to know it. This attribute had helped them sparingly on their conquest, most of their power had been derived from their reputation and acts. It was widely believed that people had already been killed and some had suffered greatly. All it took was being alone with them too long for them to strike. They almost never made a move in public, they weren't that powerful yet. Detective James Owen had already been driven from the city.

"It is a dump, just because a prostitute is well used does not make her high quality, or a desirable woman. She's just there for a cheap price so everyone takes her," His rather crude analogy not one he hesitantly spilled. Then his chin lifted up as he looked at her, over his cheekbone, "But it does have some desirable quality. It's right here and the merchants do come in and out readily. But what about what you want? Surely you want a nicer establishment with gentler customers?" To this end, he knew he was offering her not much that she wanted. Whether it was just for the sake of countering him or if it was because of her father and that mess, he was fairly certain he was entertaining a dead point.

"What was that?" At one of her sentences there was a break in their rehearsal and he stopped and tilted his head to the side as if curious, "So all it is that I need is for one of your merchants to give me the go ahead and I can see your books?" His smile caught the air and he rose to stand. The brother was not taking her words lightly, he intended to follow through with her statement. What did it matter if it was only one vendor? The listings of other vendors would be close beside so it would only take him but one to gain access to all. It was her requirement, not his own, that it would be so. This would force him to go to the docks and intercept a merchant before his arrival here. Most people tended to buckel with bribery or just gently asking. Most of the merchants knew him well enough to give him suspicion when he was kind and asked for a favor.

Generally, most were just afraid to say no.

[Jennet Shorditch]

The allusion to prostitution was not one Jennet appreciated. She'd come across a few who thought that, simply because she was a woman who ran a tavern, her favors were there for the asking. Handsome the Brothers might be, but she'd slit her own throat before even hinting that either would be welcome in her bed. Her eyes hardened for a moment before she regained her sunny disposition with a laugh that almost, almost, didn't appear as forced as it was.

"'Tis nice that y' hear what y'want t'hear, love, but t'was not what I was sayin'," she assured him with a confidence borne of being in her own place, of knowing that most of the ears listening to their back-and-forth conversation were more loyal to her than him. "I said nothin' o' handin' o'er m'books, nor that the permission o'one'd get y'the information o'all. One says y'kin see their schedule, then that one's schedule is all y'get t'see."

A familiar creak sounded in her ears, and she glanced toward the door. The regulars knew not to step on that board out on the porch, but those who were not so often in town did not. Gregor, the silk merchant, for one, always managed to inadvertantly announce his presence like that. As the door opened, however, it was revealed to be another such merchant - she searched her memory for the name - Angus, the spice man.

Raising a smile for him, she offered the Brother a coquettish little wink and a flick of her skirts, just to tease and remind him that for all his reputation and power, he and his brother had no power in her little kingdom of gossip, rumor, alcohol, and good company.

"Do be 'scusin' me, love, I've work t'be doin'," she beamed at him, eyes twinkling with the suggestion that she'd won this round. "Drink merry, or don't, 'tis yer choice. Cause trouble, an' the fishies'll have a visitor. Fair day t'you now."

Sweeping away in flash of brightly colored skirts, she handed her tray to the barkeep and all but ran over to Angus, the spice merchant, greeting the old man with a warm embrace and a kiss, which he received just as warmly. For all that these merchant men had known and trusted her father, there was genuine affection in most of them for the young woman who had shouldered Mark Shorditch's tavern and responsibilities before her time; they always made time for her, and were rewarded with the very best of what made Jennet who she was.

[Due Machiavelli]

"Don't worry about it." Responded to her in that fake-friendly way. His eyes went to the door to the spice merchant with whom they shared a nod of acknowledgement. The merchants may have been in her corner but he was still responsible for half of them lining their pockets and vice versa. Just not the silks merchant, he hadn't been able to square away anything with it yet. He almost sold directly out of the tavern.

But Jennet had a point. If he couldn't get to her then he would have to get to her merchants to know the bookings. It wasn't an impossible thing to do, it was just a lot more effort than what he was hoping for. If he could undermine her book keeping then he could undermine a lot of what was keeping her head above water. The Brother wore his smile like a mask for her and stepped out of the tavern as he brushed pasted her exchange with the spice merchant. Giddy exchanges like that always felt showy and unreal. Were two people ever that happy to see each other?

It was a rather long and brisk walk to get to the Hive. One had to go north and follow the hook of the harbor almost to the point that the harbor ended. There, on a somewhat low rise hill, was a warehouse made of metal walls nailed together on thick timber posts that smelled of moist cedar. On the outside it was just a warehouse where men were coming and going with boxes of goods and low brow swears. Stopping outside of it he looked up at the metal, partly rusted fascade and then it was as if two of the nondescript men working around the warehouse recognized him and moved to open the loud, rusted wall by sliding it back.

Inside the Hive the ground was dry and kicked up small clouds in his wake. Some of the walls were more finished and there were laterns strapped to the support beams which burned brightly. He scaled a curcling staircase to a metal door which opened smoothly. It was the room to their office where his twin brother was lounging with a tired, bored malice. When he stepped in the office his brother's eyes switched over to him but he did little else to move.

"Something has changed." He said to him, shouldering off his jacket and laying it on the desk, "I have an idea."

The reply from his identical twin was to blink as if nonchalant and then slowly sit up, eyes holding onto those of his mirror image's readily.

"We need to buy out some of the merchants, they need to become our merchants." He explained, sitting on the edge of the desk, "We'll begin to get some control over Jennet's merchant books then. If we establish enough control to worry her regulars and get our hands on her alcohol vendor then we can choke the life right out of that tavern. When she's forced out of it cause she's bankrupt we'll take the place...fix it up a little, change it just a hair, open it back up and stick another woman in there and run it like she just sold the place to this other person. We'll say she's her cousin or something."

"Then what?" the Brother had no patience for these schemes. He wanted blood like vampires do.

"Then we control all the economy here."

"..."

"Which," he said, standing upright again after he shoved off of the heavy oak desk, "means we control the city. I will go to the harbor and try to buy out one or two of the merchants. It's been a hard year for some of them, I'm sure they'd be happy to sell their troubles for a bit of money."

[Jennet Shorditch]

For all her seemingly giddy displays, her merry facade, Jennet Shorditch was no fool. In the last years of her father's life, he had made certain that she was aware of all the tensions within the city, knowing that his own time was running out. If all had gone the way the Brothers wanted, Mark Shorditch's death would have handed the Rogue's Tavern to them on a platter. As it happened, Jennet had stepped in to fill the breach with barely a hiccup, stifling their attempt to take over.

When the Brother left, she waited ten minutes, enough time for him to have stepped clear of the tavern and be out of sight, and moved to the doorway, pulling it open. On the edge of the porch, a group of local kids, the urchins of Widow's Spoon, were dipping their feet in the high tide, laughing and sharing a chew of tobacco they had managed to pickpocket. She smiled at them, and within moments, the eldest had come over.

He was a ragged sort, close onto twelve years old, possessed of scruffy sandy hair and a filthy face. His clothes were slightly too big, provided by various kind-hearted women of the town in exchange for little favors. It was time to make good on returning a favor to Jennet.

"Aye, aye, missus?" he asked, too big to submit to a hug, but still young enough to appreciate the way she wrapped an arm around him, ignoring the dirt that covered him.

"I've got a little job for your guys, Nate," she chuckled, moving with him to crouch down among the grouped boys and girls. Away from the Brothers and their paid ears, her jocular coloquial accent was no more, replaced with a clear, well-educated tone that held only a slight burr of her born accent. "I need you to run down to the docks and put the word out to the merchants that the Brothers are heading their way. Any of them who want it, the Rogue will provide safety for them and their families, and they may continue their business inside the tavern. Got it?"

With various nods and grins, the eight or so young lads scattered in a cacophony of laughing insults and rough chatter, each taking their own route toward the docks, secure in the knowledge that in return for this little job, they would eat a full meal tonight, courtesy of Jennet and her cook.

The tavern owner turned to Nate, who remained under her arm. "I've got something else for you to do," she told him quietly, tucking into her voluminous apron to produce a bronze token. It was almost the same shape as a coppy penny, but stamped with the symbol of the Rogue on one side, and a bee on the other. Pressing it into the boy's hand, she held his gaze quite seriously. "Take this to the coppers. Show it to the feller at the gaol, he'll get you taken to the one who knows me. Tell him that the merchants are under pressure. He'll know what you mean."

"Righ' y'are, missus," Nate nodded hurriedly, closing the little token firmly in his fist. He weighed it for a moment, then palmed it into his mouth, tucking it safely between cheek and gums.

"And Nate ..." Jennet squeezed his shoulders. "Please be careful. Stay out of sight as much as you can. If they catch you carrying messages for me, you're as good as dead."

Solemnly, the boy nodded once more, disengaging himself from her grip to swing himself down into the water and swim beneath the porch, wriggling into the outlet for the drains. It was one way to stay out of sight, right enough. Jennet frowned, chewing on her lip as she looked out across the harbor, her arms wrapped about herself as she thought over the past hour. Something was up, she could feel it. All she could hope for was to put as many obstacles in the Brothers' path as she possibly could.

[Due Machiavelli]

Past the office is another room, where the Brothers sleep. Some thought that their eerie attachment to one another echoed something else more problematic. Others who had known about the connection which twins shared did not find their interlaced selves to be so odd. There were two queen sized beds in the same room, two dressers, two closets. It was as if a military set up the items were so similar. They didn't always sleep at the same time but they did share the room and exchange properties readily.

This was not accidental.

The Brothers had long ago dissolved their identities into one another. It was difficult for people to discern the difference between them, especially since they encouraged that they shouldn't. They bought everything in double, sometimes triple just to have a back up. Every day like a uniform they checked with each other and wore a matching attire. It was said that they were moody or that only one of them was moody. Such great lengths were taken to to make them impossible to discern so that no patron, no coworker, quite knew who they were dealing with. The Brothers trusted one another all the more, the capacity to keep secrets from each other was greatly diminished when the world took them to be the same person. If they weren't called the brothers they were called D or Due. Everyone knew who they were, though.

Part of this act was also not spending a great deal of time with one another. They had the advantage of being one person who could be in two places at once.

Right now the sound of flesh getting beat against a brick was echoing off the alley walls. A brother was jamming the point of his shoe into a man's stomach as Clive stood at the mouth of the alley way, serving as a foreboding sort of look out. His breath came out of his mouth like a smoker's cloud and he looked back at the raspy-breathing man, doubled over on the ground. It was against one of the shops and really, Clive didn't need to be a look out. It just wasn't worth it to get in the way of a Brother and besides, Jennet was inside her tavern. She could only protect those that were in her kingdom.

"You'll pay your dues to us," The brother kicked him again. He didn't care about the dues, all he cared about was the way it felt to land a kick in the man. It was the mask his brother let him wear, that they wore. The man choked out another cough and the Brother spit on the ground. His knuckles were red from when he had first pummeled the guy, "When we ask for something, we mean it. When you agreed to it, we held you to it."

"But--"

"I don't want excuses. Do you understand what you're suppose to be doing with yourself?"

"I... I'll talk to the merchants."

"And..."

"The harbor master. I'll talk to the harbor master."

"I want every boat that comes in regularly to have to register with the harbor master, do you understand that?" He kneeled down by the man to examine his face. To be sure that the fellow understood, "If the harbor master gives me any grief I will make it my priority that his daughter disappears. Do you know what a pretty, blond thirteen year old girl sells for in the marketplace? I don't so much as have to blink for her to be sold and once she is he will never...ever find her. She will never come home."

"You want him to start having to register all the merchants that come in?"

"Yes, make them pay a small fee for it. A copper. In exchange he'll watch over their boats and supplies from bandits or whatever. That's what he needs to tell the merchants when they ask, that some of the kids have been lifting small items from the boat and he wants to make the area more secure for the vendors. Then at the end of three months he'll be turning that book over to me. I want to know who comes in goes, what they're selling and how heavy their pockets sound when they leave. Is this all clear to you?"

"Y-Yes."

"I will beat you to death, Nicholas." The brother stroked the side of the man's head, "I'll watch you die if you screw this up. I'll make it a personal mission. I will go out of my way, I will spend quantities of my time and money just based on priciple alone because you screwed up and screwed me over."

The man couldn't think of how to respond to the Brother. He couldn't get up for holding his stomach, now spotted from the bruises of their conversation.

"Goodnight, Nicholas," The Brother mussed his hair before standing upright again. His hard heels clipped down the alley as he walked, stopping by Clive to light a hand rolled cigarette. Some blood was down the side of his hand, but Clive didn't say anything. He just squinted ahead into the dark and then looked at the Brother who touched the outside of his arm and pointed ahead, "Come on, let's get something to drink. Let's check to see if Jennet's smile is still painted on."

Clive's lips tightened but he didn't smile. His nod came like a duty and together they made a fast paced walk to Rogue's tavern. The brothers came almost every night, as if their constant presence and visits would weigh more and more upon Jennet's shoulders. Humans had their limits, the Brothers had just been working to find her's. As they walked to the tavern the aimless harbor boys scattered away from them like birds. None of them were brave enough to pick pocket a Brother, the risk wasn't worth whatever he had in his pockets. Plus, they listened to Jennet when she told them to stay away from the Brothers. His hand pressed on the face of the door and he stepped in, going to the table which he always sat at. The one that other patrons were starting to quit occupying. Once he and Clive had settled at the table his eyes went to find Jennet to ask his favorite question.

"Miss me? I'll have a brandy."

[Jennet Shorditch]

With an armful of fresh linens ready to be placed on beds in the rooms upstairs that would shortly be housing families too frightened to live in their own homes thanks to the Brothers' bully-boy tactics, Jennet had been watching this one from the moment he walked in. As usual, she didn't know which one he was, and frankly, she didn't care.

As for his companion, well, she knew Clive well enough. He was a regular, had been considered a friend for a few months now. To all intents and purposes, he looked to have sold her out for the Brothers' continued goodwill. She hid a faint smirk in her armful of linen, reaching out to catch her younger sister as she walked by.

"Take these upstairs and stay out of sight, lovey," she told Mary. "The less they see you, the less they'll need to know."

As Mary took the linens and hurried up the stairs, removing her teenaged dark good looks from the calculating eyes of the town's major predators, Jennet moved back toward the bar, waiting for her eye to be caught. It was only moments before that did, indeed, happen.

"Miss you, love?" she countered, unstopping the brandy bottle and pouring out her usual measure. "Could say that. Money up front, them's th' rules. Usual f'you, Clive?"

Before Clive could answer, she was drawing a mug of foamy beer from the barrel behind her, bringing both drinks over to the table claimed on their entrance. She did not, however, put the tray down just yet, waiting for the flash of silver and copper. There was no such thing as credit for the Brothers or their stooges in this tavern.

"Looks like you've had a busy day, Mr D," she commented mildly, dark eyes lowering to peer pointedly at the blood stains on the brother's hand. "Not heard o'any murders, so's m'guessin' th' fella's either still walkin', or not local." Her fingers drummed on the edge of the tray. "Pay up, or y'not gettin' y'drinks."

[Due Machiavelli]

Clive had not comfortably fallen into his role just yet. There was the sense of shame no matter where he looked. With the Brothers it was always the problem that he had not joined sooner. With Jennet it was the problem that he had joined at all. But the Brothers were persistent and he just found that he couldn't... he just couldn't keep up his guard like that. He'd spent too many nights curled up in an alley bleeding and he just wanted it to stop. Though the violence to him had decreased he had also noticed a division in those he knew. Some still greeted him with half-warmth while others shunned him. On the other side of it, other lackeys for the Brothers greeted him quite friendly. It had succeeded in flipping his world and associates, certainly.

So it was that when Jennet approached that he managed a small smile and moved to pay for their drinks immediately. The Brother didn't even flinch, his eyes were studying their reaction to one another. It wasn't a far cry to say that they could be paranoid-- he knew Jennet and Clive had been on friendly terms. If anyone was tempted to be a spy, it'd be Clive. It was one of the reasons he was keeping the man close.

"Not a problem, Jennet," The Brother said with a smile, leaning back in his seat with a relaxed slouch, "Did you think anymore on my offer? You know it could take the heavy weight off your shoulders. Wouldn't even have to do anything-- just tell me you're in and we'll handle the rest."

They were rehearsing again and before it repeated itself too much, he added, "You know you can't win this battle. You know that some people are apt just to move away than put their necks on the line for you. They'd rather live somewhere else than cope with the situation here." His eyes went back up to her's. He was looking for a waver, for some insecurity or self doubt. In his experience, that was when they knew they'd won. Not when the majority was on their side or when the goal was attained-- the Brothers always knew they won once their opponent believed they did. It just took that change of mind and nothing else to confirm it.

"What do you say to trading some partial information? I'm sure there are some people you wish to keep safe," he lit a cigarette, not responding to her comment of the blood on his hand but wiping the side off it off on his pant leg. Most of it came off, the dark outline of where it had been remained, "You know you can't save all of them so maybe you should pick one or two and... maybe only give me a page or two from your book? How's that, a man's life and livelihood in exchange for some those papers you guard so well?"

[Jennet Shorditch]

Sweeping up the coins Clive held out to her, Jennet gracefully put their drinks down in front of them. The money disappeared into the recesses of her apron as she folded the now empty tray under her arm, offering the Brother one of sweetest smiles.

"Are you sayin' m'lookin' all bowed down an' weighted under, love?" she asked him innocently. "An' here's me thinkin' th' pair o' you jus' came in here to ogle m' dazzlin' beauty an' enjoy m' witty repart-ay."

It was a dangerous game, teasing either of the Brothers, but someone had to do it, if only to remind those who watched that they were still just men, however powerful and threatening they might be. That Jennet did it at all was a testament to how secure she still felt in her little bastion of a tavern, certain that she had something they wanted. And equally certain that if anything happened to her, there would be an outcry to rock the whole of the Widow's Spoon rather than let the Brothers profit from it.

"Always have t' lose a coupla battles in a war, love," she reminded him shrewdly. "Don't mean I've lost th' war, jus' means y' won't know where'm gonna come at y' from next. Sure y' want t' push me that far?"

She leaned down, one hand on the table as her gaze drew level with that of the relaxed slouch from which she was being addressed. For all she cared, Clive could have been just another piece of furiniture in the place - her attention was all for his companion.

"Now why'd you be makin' an offer like that, 'less you've been busy an' y'think I won't know 'bout it 'til it's too late?" she asked the Brother, her tone still just as sweet and light as before, and yet somehow holding a snarl that was only just noticeable. "I ain't stupid, love, an' y'knows that, right enough. But m'fair, fairer'n you, so's here's what I'll do. You'll get a page or two, right 'nough, when them as you've threatened come t' me wi' their permissions. But I wouldn' trust what y'get from the harbor master, if'n I was you. 'Cos th' minute that lass goes up on the stand - no matter where y' choose t' sell her - she's mine, and he's safe. An' jus' think o' all the fun y'kin have workin' out how I knows about it, an' all."

She straightened up with a rather smug touch to her expression, privately thanking the boys who were her eyes and ears outside the Rogue. No one noticed a small boy lurking in the forgotten shadows of an alleyway, not when they had a beating to hand out and threats to deliver. And while she might display what she knew openly, she'd never hand the means of getting it to any of the Brothers' men. The ball was in their court now.

[Due Machiavelli]

The volley back and forth was starting to carry electicity. The Brother watched her with such a steady address of his eyes that it made Clive uncomfortable. Did he hardly even blink? Jennet acted just as immovable as him but Clive... he knew the brother and he knew Jennet. The woman was real, flesh and blood and thoughts, emotion and caring. She was dynamic and human. During even his short employment with the Brother he had begun to question if some human element had been excluded from them. There was some dimension that was gone, some versatility they were lacking which would have offered up the soft underbelly of a man.

"You're right, she won't go on the stand," the Brother said, quite content to change his mind, "I'll choke the life out of her, how about that?" His eyebrows arched up, he took a swallow of his drink and set it down, "If you're so intent on interfering, I'll be sure that there's nothing to interfer with. What does it matter to me how a man suffers so long as it is suffering?" To that, he took another swallow of his drink and rose to stand.

There was something else he was going to say until his eyes went to the doorway of the tavern and his eyebrows lowered in a reprimand. The other brother was standing there, dressed identically to him but with a jackal smile. They were similiar enough that Clive looked back and forth between them, it was always alarming to see them in the same room like this.

"Excuse me," it sounded too polite a thing for him to say, but his mind was occupied. He went around the table, abandoning Jennet and Clive and going to the door. His hand caught his brother's arm above the elbow and something forceful was said under his breath. They pushed out of the tavern-- but the newly appeared brother did not seem concerned, his smile was broad as if he invited the offer of violent chiding from his mirror half. It was known that their arguments could carry on like hurricanes when they happened. Peopel didn't stop it, they just boarded up their homes and hoped it wouldn't roll into them.

Outside the tavern he swore under his breath to his other, "What's come over you? Why have you come out here tonight?"

"It was you that was out the night before," now jerking his arm away and then scouting the surrounding area, "Besides, something has happened."

"Hmm?" They were walking side by side now, not towards the Hive but the city and the shops. The aggitation between them appeared like debris that was starting to settle.

"Look what I intercepted." The brother held up a letter and presented it to the other with a grin, "Look who it's from."

"James Owen?" His mirror reflection said in awe at the letter. Then his eyebrows lowered and he moved his thumb to see who it had been addressed to, "Why is he writing to Jennet?"

"Come," his brother whispered into his ear, "let's go home and read what the good detective is up to."

"It is odd," he said with a blink, looking back down at the letter and then back to his Brother. The air was still as if to give them a clear moment for discussion. His lips parted, wordless and then, "I didn't know that they knew each other. I can't...recall seeing them talking, before." It was true. Though he stopped to recollect their many interactions in town, he had no memory of the two together yet he thought that he should have. James use to frequent the tavern to monitor the two of them before the Hive had grown to what it was today. When a detective alone was powerful enough to get in their way. Now it took Jennet and the network she was starting to patch together to make a difference.

"Let's not waste time."

"Where are we going?"

"It's time to get something to eat."

"I'll go back to the Hive, you can bring it home." He shoved the letter on the inside of his jacket and grinned at his brother, whose dark eyes looked starry with excitement and dark humor. There was only the two of them in the world, after all. Everyone else... they were just ghosts or inanimate objects.

[Due Machiavelli]

[end of thread]