The moment she id eyes oructure, with its bcked-out windows, she fully expected to be antagonized or even openly attacked. As she walked through its halls, somewhat to her disappoi, she only got hateful stares from beyond cracked-open doors. Before she could reach her informant’s basement door, a group of three surprisingly bulky, strongly-built fly-men, each proudly and openly dispying their natural vedesian markings, emerged from his door. They stopped the moment they saw her, and the rgest of the three, over two meters tall and with spiky, armor-like chitin, stepped forward. Until now she had only received a few random, barked slurs from the locals. This man, who she mentally niamed Tsetse after the eponymous giant fly, attacked her with a tirade of insults pertaining to her species, sex, manner of dress, status as an a, and finally, the supposed impendiermination and e of all non-evoy.

  It was undoubtedly a withering verbal assault by anyone’s standards, but, having actively participated in unities where such tirades were a part of normal versation, it washed off of her like water off a turtle’s back. The answer which she gave, masterfully trolling her violent impulses, was a venomous smile, marking the moment when she mentally reached her hand into the pool of distilled vitriol in her head, dipping her retly-gained knowledge of this world and of evoy culture in the vile substance.

  “I could fry you into the wall right this sed, if I wanted, but I’m feeling mighty peaceful today, so, my feces-feasting friend…”

  This was followed by a tirade of entomological and religious slurs as well as absurdly gruesome threats too graphid hateful to be recorded in writing. Throughout her tirade, Brunhilde burhauma and built up a charge within her left arm, until it cast a light over the whole of the hallway. Meanwhile, as she spoke, she spewed smoke with each word, which she purposely imbued with Isotope to give it the unmistakable rancid quality. The sheer vitriol behind her words was such that, by pure act, it imbued her Thauma with a malicious quality a her smoke upohree evoy, eroding their Wards. When she was doh her tirade, she finished: “...now, if you would, stop wasting my time and go kill yourself some other way.”

  She was well aware of the fact she had just spent the better part of two minutes doily what she was acg the speechless, fused Tsetse of doing, but that didn’t matter. Before he could realize what was happening, she had already Astro Dived, power-walked through him, auro physicality, banging on her tact’s door. She was betting that he would choose to remove himself from the situation out of a mixture of fusion and intimidation, and, this time, her bet proved correct wherio shuffled away muttering insults and threats to pcate themselves.

  “Who is it?!” came a buzzy, flighty voice.

  “An urgent yellow-banded delivery from Tajik,” she answered in codespeak.

  “...I don’t ‘member orderin’ anything from Tajik.”

  “Open up before I put a reaper through your keyhole. I just want to ask a question.”

  It was a truly stupidly-wide keyhole to go with a stupidly-ky lock.

  “What’d you do to Tajik?!” the voice questioned. Light footsteps. A key plugged the keyhole. Rattling of s and deadbolts followed.

  “I got him zonked out of his gourd on Sabbi Root and showed him a yellow talisman paper. He’s probably nursing a horrifying hangover by now.”

  The moment the door even cracked open, Krahe pushed her ast, diving to bypass the fly-man altogether. His home was a hoarder’s one, and his form, startled and panig, was the most fly-like she had seehere were the obvious patterns that marked him a vedesian, though they were so slight and faint that it took active effort to notice them. He ambled about on four spindly legs while ceaselessly, ically rubbing his forelimbs together as a proboscis darted in and out of his mprey-like mouth. A harness was strapped to his body, a backpack power source where his wings may have once been and a pair of meical arms to the sides, gesturing as he spoke.

  “Ey, the fuck’s that supposed to be, eh?! You ’t just break into my home like that! Who the fuck are you, anyway? An… A? Oh. Oh no. Oh nonono. I ain’t got no fu’ Css 3 Painkillers, y’uand?”

  “Do I look like I need painkillers? . I’m looking for the Talisman Mistress,” Krahe said, juring the yellow talisman paper into the palm of her hand. She waved it bad forth in front of the evoy’s nearly-expressionless face. He licked it.

  Then, his pound eyes fshed red and Krahe felt an appraisal attempt smack impotently into her deathsmoke shroud.

  “Y’involved with an od by any ce?” he asked with an uling calm.

  “Don’t try to turn shit around on me, Nozar. Tajik seo you because he thinks you might know where to find the Talisman Mistress.”

  “I know. She’s moved ily, just a week after that big fuckoff ar fsh sent everyone pa’ from Jas’raba. Pushed out half my tele from the market with her product. Half of ‘em want her dead and the other half wanna lick her feet for a peek at her source charts. Question is, whie’re you?”

  She didn’t like this. The fly-man had suddenly bee utterly, rapturously calm, as if some realization made him think he had nothing to fear from her, or perhaps a chip to py that would secure his safety.

  “The kind with a vea against one of her ers.”

  A tilt of his head. Another cycle of forelimb-rubbing.

  “So you’re lookin’ for her ‘cause you want information. Funny thing, she’s been lookin’ for someooo. Won’t say whive any criteria… But hell, maybe bein’ able to find her is qualifier enough. I tell you what I know, for a price.”

  “.”

  A finger-wag gesture from his right mech-arm. The iicidal urge within Krahe grew.

  “No. You know how these deals work. You make the offer or there’s no deal.”

  “How about I spray your brains over that pile of trash? I’ve got three more leads to get to, one of them has to be less obnoxious than you.”

  The fly-man rubbed his forelimbs, absently staring at her with his pound eyes.

  “Y’willin’ to make that bet?”

  Akaso