don't look back

DECLAN

In the wake of a newly-forged alliance and the dead body that accompanied it, Declan's been laying particularly low. Rae's Fingers-low. Getting mixed up with the smuggler crowd happens often enough for him, considering his job entangles with theirs by definition. He's not one to turn down a good payment, and he's known for his sealed lips.

Now, however, he doesn't carry a parcel in his hands or an envelope in his coat. Only a cigarette between his lips and a small torch in his bandaged hand. There is a spot of blood staining it, but for the most part - thanks to Ray's help - the cut's come along fine. As for the wounds left in his mind over what happened that day at the Slagveld, those will need more time... and answers.

Through the criminal grapevine (which has strong roots in Torchline), Declan's heard about a new businessman among the smuggler crowd. A man that provides security.

The silhouette of our little detective here hovers and drifts over walls, his pace slow. His eyes, darkened by uncertainty of what he may find or who he may run into, peer down rocky corridors as the tunnels twist and turn.

you can never tell whether you are a monster
when you're human like the rest of them

i'm just waiting 'til you really let your guard down

Our little detective has a habit of biting off more than he can chew, it seems. There are eyes and ears all over Torchline, after all, and sooner or later they'll trickle right down that grapevine and into the wrong place. So it is that Declan may think he is alone as he strolls through the labyrinth of Rae's Fingers in the dead of LongNight... but he isn't. And in this sort of place, with these sorts of people, that's anything but comforting.

It starts, at first, as a suspicious echo - a double of his own footsteps, perhaps? A trick, an echo off the cave walls. But then there's a scraping, like a knife on stone, or tinder being struck for light. How curious. How suspicious.

Keep going, little detective. You might just find what you're looking for.

But you might not want it, once you've found it.

SHAJU

DECLAN

There's a certain depth to the shadows that makes the hairs on Declan's arms rise, makes his steps slow to become even more deliberate. He shrugs further into the Fingers, but no smugglers are crawling about to ask questions of. He thinks it's a little strange. Usually there's someone down here...

The path he's walking eventually comes to a bend. He hesitates, not sure if it's worth continuing, and that's when he picks up on it; a delayed echo of his own steps.

Surprised blue eyes lift over his shoulder to look back into the darkness. He props his cigarette between two fingers and a puff of smoke is forced out of his lungs. Someone is definitely here... right? It couldn't be his own mind playing tricks on him, could it? He stiffens a fraction when he hears something more. It's distinct but it can't be placed, either.

His shoulders brace as if expecting an impact of sorts and he calls out, almost angrily, "Who's there!?"

you can never tell whether you are a monster
when you're human like the rest of them

i'm just waiting 'til you really let your guard down

The darkness, of course, offers no response. Unfortunate, that - perhaps Declan would be able to have a conversation with the man who stands in those shadows, if he had not already determined that his fellow Accepted has been doing a little too much digging for his liking. And so as Declan stops, considers, calls out, he’ll find pitifully nothing in return. In fact it seems as though the shadows, now, are purposely silent. Suspiciously silent, one might say.

So unless he wants to go back the way he came (not recommended) the only thing to do is press on forward (also not recommended, but what are you going to do at this point?)

Should Declan choose to go onward, around the bend he’ll find nothing more than an innocuous pool of water, a foot deep at the most, and a few sandy footprints from smugglers who have passed by previously. Nothing untoward. Why would there be?

SHAJU

DECLAN

Any sounds the tunnels were echoing stop when he challenges the shadows and whoever lies within them. The hairs on the back of his neck lift up with his paranoia and tension, shoulders hunching. The silence is like a breath being held. Darkness is always so reluctant to reveal its secrets. Declan's heart sinks. Something tells him he can't turn back but that he's also not welcome here.

He rolls his shoulders and moves forward, feet moving quicker now. A cold sweat beads along his brow. The torchlight flickers with the sudden movement. Its flame is too weak to hold fast and it dies. It's at that moment that Declan feels something slosh beneath his feet, the splash taking him by surprise. His cigarette floats down into the pool, but he can't see it in this swallowing darkness.

Needing the light, Declan retrieves a match to relight his torch.

you can never tell whether you are a monster
when you're human like the rest of them

i'm just waiting 'til you really let your guard down

The torch dying and the fumble for the match are all the distraction he needs. It's a swift thing when you mean it, is death, and Shaju always means it. A leg will shoot out to take Declan's balance out from under him, letting him crash into that oh-so-innocent pool of water. Only it isn't that innocent any longer, not when someone's hand is fastened on the back of your neck, holding you under. It takes longer to drown someone than they say in stories, but Shaju is patient. He waits until it is over, until the struggling stops and the water runs still.

When it's over, he lights his own cigarette and places it between his lips. He smashes a bottle of rum against the stone wall, and half empties another over Declan's unmoving legs. A job well done. Another problem solved. As far as anyone who finds him will know, the silly drunk passed out and drowned.

What a shame.

~FIN

SHAJU