“I don’t know why you feel the need to protect me.”

Glimmering eyes never meet hers, the tenseness of his form is held by the approach of strangers which force him to let fingers slide from beneath the hemp stretch of bandages-- immediately the aura disappears as the murky fog of the shrouds stirring lifts. The violent suppression of feeling dies as if it had been snatched from existence with haste, one minute there, next minute normal, yet swept-away heat does nothing to lessen the tension however. It was too dangerous to taunt the beast with people so nearby, one minor mistake and the knights too would be cleaved from the scene by way of the scissoring of gnashing teeth--

And for some strange reason, Lucero finds it appropriate to take his free hand in the moment with a purposeful amount of strength. Rois laughably jumps at the sudden contact-- its entirely unexpected-- and looks down to their entwined hands with a vague look of confusion… his fingers do not seek to tangle with hers. The heat of skin against skin does nothing to comfort him. Instead, the man is raising his arm and attempting to shake her off as if she was a bug who could be made to leave if he tried hard enough,

“Blah blah blah, Silas, you are all but people. It does not matter if you are scared or not, you would die all the same.” The older man’s jeering cannot dig beneath his skin, now that the actual threat has been lessened significantly Rois allows himself to meet the others with what would have been a lazy smirk if he wasn’t trying to get Lucero off by walking a little to the side in a slow stalk, tugging, “You should be thankful Lucero is here, because if she wasn’t… well.”

There would not be the need for hesitation. Even now it is her closeness that makes the butcher lesser in his aggression, the red-head is very careful: he could have shoved her. Could have seen her knees buckle with a kick, she’d no doubt let go to find the ground beneath her. But even in Rois’s attempts to loosen her grip upon his hand he is very… very… cautious. Black nails are pointed straight, unwilling to risk their pointed tips dragging against her tender skin. She is pulled but never yanked, these soft attempts show that he rightfully dislikes the situation but as the knights argue amongst themselves it also displays a shield of sorts-- as long as the healer was there the beast would not be.

And this is what he’d call 'the weakness of the heart'. It is disgusting.

… But he is in her debt for the alleyway. And so, as vile as the gentleness is towards her, it never tips into actual hostility. Not towards Lucero.

The rest of them are regarded as dirt beneath his feet as they attempt to whittle away at his credibility, no, he doesn’t care who the bodies are or what they had or had not done as long as he gets paid, but Rois knows admitting as such would only serve to work against him in that moment. Instead, he gives up on trying to get Lucero to let go (and wishes he could cross his arms against his chest in disapproval) to spare the gaggle of idiots a half chuckle, half snort,

“Help you? Help you with what,” Red eyes fall atop Lucero’s head, “I do not know what a ‘Crimson covenant’ is because I am not in the business of caring about cults and whatever depraved stuff they do behind closed doors. But even if you explain it to me… why should I help?”

Thank you for caring about my right not to be goaded into sex for money, he thinks dryly, suppressing the rolling of his eyes to instead meet Silas with a good amount of cruel humor shimmering within them,

“Old captain limp-dick over there called me ‘scum’, and it hurt my feelings.” A taut mocking voice, raising a hand to inspect his nails nonchalantly with a short ‘tsk’ and the shaking of his head… “Maybe if grandpapa apologized, I’d reconsider withholding that weird woman’s order details…”
 
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Rois raised his arm so Lucero raised hers. He took a step to the side so did she as if unaware of his discomfort. It was a lesser evil, holding onto Rois so tightly as if he were the rope that kept her from falling over the cliff, instead of risking for either him or Silas in making a move that would warrant a fight. Words could very much hurt, Lucero knew that well, but she knew Silas wouldn't risk losing his cool again with Nemera and Rakan watching. At least, she hoped so. She was somewhat certain that holding Rois's hand offered some sort of protection, but the thought of taking another punch for him... she shivered.

Silas' brows fall heavier on his dark eyes, glancing at Lucero, taking in the situation with a new look at the two. He had been right, despite Nemera cursing him out about not rushing fast enough to save Lucero, he was right. He had no idea about the brief moment in the alley, Lucero being adamant to share nothing other than they had gone to a quiet place to talk because she was interested in him. Silas could believe that while drunk but never while sober.

"Rois," Lucero turned her head to face him, eyes suddenly and acutely staring straight into his eyes as if she knew where they were all along. Moon-white, star-bright, soft-light drowning in the bloody, crimson haze. "All cults lean into the cruel and the unjust, but the Crimson Covenant is unlike anything we've ever seen. They steal young men and women and they... call it the Metamorphosis. After the ritual they're not really human but instead...." How to explain it? She didn't know where to begin and there was no one word that came to her that explained it all. Instead she had too many words that only did a little bit.

She could explain what she saw, but where would she stop? When she told Rois about the fetish of sticking animal parts onto women to create chimeras, or bloating their stomachs with things that didn't belong. Would she stop when she told him what torture their children experienced just because they shared a roof with their mother? Would she stop when she got to the part of being unable to fix them, Rois's words echoing in her head.

Once broken, always broken.

"Don't bother tellin' him," Silas said, able to cross his arms over his chest as if knowing Rois wanted to do exactly that. "He has no heart."

"He has one." Lucero didn't look away from Rois. She knew he had one.

"Don't be a smart ass now." Tension still thick in the air. From Lucero the midnight gaze went to the indifferent man inspecting his long black nails. Silas assumed he painted them and grew them out to such a point. Fuckin' diva, he thought, no wonder why Lucero is all over you, little miss captain save-a-hoe. "You think I won't apologize to you 'cuz of my pride. Somethin' about that pisses me off." Now Lucero turned to look towards Silas. He wasn't lying. Lucero tugged gently on Rois's hand to pull him back, but ended up having step partially in front of him like the dutiful meat shield she was becoming to be.

"I'm sorry if I hurt your poor little feelings, asshole, so go on, tell me what they wanted."

"Syr," Lucero was about to scold Silas but Nemera was faster than the words on her tongue.

"If you don't help us then you're an accessory to their crimes against humanity." Nemera had a strong, steady voice. She had been confident for years and it showed in not only how she spoke but in how she stood. "If you're half shroud fiend, maybe a jail won't work for you, but we are no strangers to spirits and exorcisms. Even if Lucero won't do it, the three of us could together. That's why you help us, because you're selfish and you want to keep going about your business."
 

She clings like she’s frightened he’d start running, abandon them all and their questions and deprive them of answers they’ve been desperately hunting, and looking leftwards down the darkened path of curled trees and dancing grass graced by the moons touch Rois thinks about why he shouldn’t. Even as the butcher looks down to meet Lucero’s surprisingly lucid gaze in the moment his facade as expressionless as it is likewise full of consideration, yes, to run would be a cruelty to Lucero. Would be to ignore her rushed words that are drowning in a desperate plea, because young men and women… well, they don’t matter to him. He certainly did not care for the plight of children snatched, he was a boy once amongst men and women in darkened corners using his mouth and hands for money and none had ever shown consideration for him. It hadn’t been a cult, but the cult of deprivation prevailed none-the-less in every inhabited patch of land throughout the world--

A glance at Silas, if only to try and ignore Lucero’s forlorn stare.

“I don’t, she’s lying.”

Rois suffers from an inability to be serious for too long and opts for playfulness in the moment because Silas is rambling in his little pathetic way with a voice he thinks is strong and masculine and the apology is spat but it is an apology, way to back down, the half-beast does not suppress a snicker because he is acutely aware it will only piss Silas off more. Toying with them would have been his go-to option. If Luce was not there to briefly tug him back down to earth with a warm hand and a step forward to obscure the knight afar with deep auburn locks he’d probably have continued to play, but Lucero. Any time the red-head wanted to veer off the tracks there she was, demanding in presence, steadfast in her ability to cling, no freedom, no fooling around, such a bore--

… So, why does he want to help her regardless?

It isn’t because of Nemera’s thinly veiled threat, his shoulders rise in a chuff as Rois pointedly ignores her to stare at the back of the healers head with an intensely glittering gaze, why…? She’s annoying, but shes innocent. She is dumb as a brick, but she wants to help all the same. A silence in the way of a drifting chill deprived of shroud-heat rolls about them as the man forces the group to be quiet by not responding, maybe it is because she is so hopeless… like a little rabbit against the swaying high grass. They danced the fields because they had to, not because they wanted to, they flirted with danger because the world was danger and to hide was to die; so they found the bravery deep within, no matter how small such minute threads of courage could be. They pulled happiness from the simple daffodils and the white speckles of daisies and chose life over the talons of the hawk or the teeth of a dog, day by day, they knew the violence that awaited them and still they poked their fluffy heads from the warmth of aged burrows and let the sun lick their fur in spite of it all. A natural tenacity. The spirit to never stop the pursuit of life and its goodness.

He… fleetingly wished someone like her would have been there when he was but a little, frightened thing defanged by woe and strife. There had been a lengthy, dangerous period where all that had consumed his own fluffy head were shaky thoughts of how Rois could bring his life to an end in the most painless way possible, varied attempts, none obviously successful, hysteria and terror always took over in the latter moments-- but if someone like her was there then maybe the half-beast would not so easily recall the feeling of the noose tightening about his throat or the sting of blades at his wrists or the icy-cold of surging water, if someone, anyone would have reached out to stand before him, to take his hand, then…

… And maybe these stolen boys and girls… feel the same way. They are waiting for an outstretched hand, gentle words, the courage of one that could drag them from the shadows of circumstance-- helpless things awaiting the bravery of another--

“... I do not care about your accusations or your threats.” The quiet is suddenly broken, eyes steadfast glare at Nemera with the coldness of a stranger regarded as nothing beneath the weight of his importance, “You don’t intimidate me, and the fact you assume you’re in a position to even say such things tells me you really do not understand how much danger you’re in.”

A pause… and a placid look down to Luce, head on a slight tilt.

“But I will help you, however. Because that bastard over there apologized,” A free-hand thumb jerk to Silas, “And because it seems important to Lucero, so.”

Rois’s apparent smugness is a thin veil for the small licks of emotion about abstract black and dangerous red. A pale shade of orange, pastel, pleasant, kindness, the want to do good--

“... We received an order by courier two weeks ago. It was a weird one, they wanted twelve pairs of breasts, contained no names and listed an address and time to meet up for delivery.” The butcher begins with a stifled voice, attempting to sound nonchalant about it all, “The parts they wanted specifically had to be the kind that had all mammary glands intact, which requires a deeper yet finer cut into the chest wall to achieve; and if you don’t know what those are, those are the milk-making bulbs within the tissue itself. So I knew something was up, because fetishists usually do not care about the back of the tits, just the front. The request said their condition must likewise be excellent, and, well, not to brag but we have a reputation, and I am a very good butcher.”

A haughty air, Rois does not care how disgusting this probably is for them, to him, this was normal. For a brief moment the man laughably sounds like hes stuck in an advertisement for his own company,

“My custom built carriages have a freezer in them. Over the years we’ve collected quite a large number of chest meat from cadavers, they are flash-frozen by our dedicated ice-weavers so they are as fresh as the day I carved them. For me, this was an excellent chance to get rid of things we had been hauling around for a while… so I took the deal. People do not usually buy breasts to eat, after all. They aren’t highly sought after, so some of the pairs are literally two to three years old… not that you’d know because of the cold-storage.”

For someone to gain such a large amount of anything to do with bodies, murder would have to be involved if the timeframe was but two weeks. However, if they were frozen and months to years old, this corroborated the man’s story; no-one was actively killed for the breasts. They were by-products from bodies that were either in parts and frozen too or decomposed into nothing by now. Rois is as truthful as ever. No colours that betray any sort of lie occurs as the butcher cocks his hip and rests a free hand there,

“I’d be happy to show you the carriage to confirm this is all true, ‘cept, I don’t trust any of you but her.” He’d never allow the rest of them to get within any meaningful distance to his staff. Never. “Besides, it isn’t a necessity. I’m not lying because I have no reason to lie, I got paid in exchange for handing over stuff I didn’t want taking up space, I would have been a fool not to take this deal. And I haven’t the faintest clue as to what anyone would need that much specifically cut flesh for. I assumed it was for an orgy, or to make a titty monster, or something. Either way, that isn’t any of my business.”

As eloquent as ever.

“Are you satisfied?”
 
At first Lucero had smiled when Rois said he would help. She doubted it came from Silas's apology, or that it was even much for her as it was for Rois. He had made the decision to do so, and Lucero believed more decisions when it came to aiding another always came from the heart. She was no liar about his heart, she knew it was there, and right now, she felt it, like back in the inn when he had been gentle in showing her how he was different.

A flash of joy, see, she wanted to tell him, you're not so different from me after all.

Her hand slipped away from his as he kept talking, letting go of Rois so she could try to steady her flipping stomach. It wasn't the details he gave, Lucero could stomach that easily. Instead, the sick was brought on by thoughts of the horrors the cult would create. Their request for specific pieces of a woman's body could only strike Lucero as disgusting with a sinister undercurrent.

As a woman, Lucero instinctively crossed her arms over her chest. Having breasts wasn't always pleasant. Sure, there were times when it brought her joy, because through them even a soft touch brought pleasure, and sometimes at night it was a comfort to hold the one closet to her heart. But Lucero remembered when her father had to sit her down and explain how she could no longer get ready for the day by pulling on a tunic. She was a woman now, support was needed, and actually it was more than just support, but a whole new wardrobe change of long skirts and dresses and buttoned up blouses. Lucero had to be a proper woman.

But even being a proper woman didn't keep her safe from everyone's eyes. If it were only the boys her age, Lucero would have been able to bare it without shame, she might have been embarrassed by any older boys, but when it were the men? Her stomach curled all the tighter, bile threatening to come up her throat. Men who stared not because she had a lot to show but just because they could stare, they could know, they could sniff out that her body was changing despite wearing layers to hide it.

There were so many horrors that came with puberty, but the realization of how much men could stare, unashamed, at someone still considered to be a girl had been the worst for Lucero. It was a good thing that not long after her father made a mistake and she became blind to it all. But the fear could not be forgotten. Being with the Knights, sometimes it was easy to pretend that the world treated women the same way.

"How can we be satisfied with an answer like that?" Syr Silas growled. "That told us nothin' new!"

"He explained his business model to us," Rakan said with a roll of his eyes. Nemera spat at the ground. "Not that any of us asked for it."

"Time to huddle up," Silas said, waving away Lucero as she stepped forward. "Naw, you stay over there." The knights took a couple of paces away from Rois and Lucero, bending their heads close together. Nemera was quick to move her hands and arms quick and violent, her hushed voice only a faint murmur. Silas kept shaking his head, and Rakan stared openly at Lucero and Rois, ears pricked towards them.

"How could you say that you don't care if they make a monster?" Lucero wasn't crude enough to stay titty. She still pressed a hand against her stomach. "How can you devalue life so much?" She pivoted on her heel so she could turn her face towards Rois. "I could maybe ignore your choice of profession if it were done with good intentions but..." Lucero frowned, mulling over the thought before continuing. "Why do you even do it? Butchering up dead bodies without a care as to the why?"
 

“So what you’re telling me is that you do not think the inclusion of mammary glands and a neat extraction from the chest wall in an order is important-- when everyone else doesn’t care about such factors and these people do.”

Rois regarded them like they are idiots.

“You’re all morons.”

If the order had been normal, if it had just been the usual cutting off of tits to throw at perverts, anatomical correction would not be necessary. The careful, circular cutting deep into the chest wall that the request had required meant that they needed to perfectly line the major arteries up against something carved in the same way, it spoke volumes about intent. Normal people did not possess the skill to deliver such a cut, only those who knew human anatomy could process such a large amount of meat so finely, it had been the reason that they had come to him in the first place; maybe they thought anyone could do it. Maybe they thought it was easy, and maybe they in turn did not consider how much easier and smoother the process of grafting would be if a professional had his way with part of the subject-- as they huddle afar and begin to converse amongst themselves in whispered tones, the red-head rolls his eyes so hard he fears they’d pop out of his skull and addresses Lucero’s chattering at his side,

“... Huh?”

A sudden barrage upon the mans psyche, Rois quints a little like a confronted cat and makes no attempt to hide how little he cares about the cost of his actions-- but… something green, shades of swaying mountain grass, confusion? It is not confusion directed upon Luce herself, but because he himself has no real idea why he does not care; empathy had never came to him easily, it has no natural home within his skull. No emotion is spared for others outside of his family, they mattered, they were all that mattered and if the butcher had his way it would always be like that. Now that she has allowed him the freedom of movement he finally gets to cross strong arms against his chest, arching a single eyebrow upwards,

“… I just don’t really care about life that much.” Halfly mumbled, so the others could not hear lest they get any other presumed ideas about him, “We all have to die eventually. Most of us aren’t so lucky to die in a warm bed asleep, either; that is just how the world is.”

A static tone, it has a touch of bite; something unsaid. A secret. It would be disallowed to reach her ears.

“I am biologically half monster, in case you forgot.” And this isn’t the reason but it is part of it, as such, due to Lucero’s own knowledge, this does not appear as a lie of any kind. Rois remains honest, “If I myself do not consume the flesh of people, what do you think happens? Do you think these,” And a finger scrapes the edge of a mottled bandage edge, “Will be enough to stop it from appearing? I cannot afford to care, I need money to live and support my employees and I need meat so that others get the chance to live, or am I not deserving of that chance too, Rabbit?”

The smile spread upon his lips is cold,

“Should I be put down like a dog?”

… Wrong line of questioning, they do not move but the emotional gap of trust and companionship widens a touch as she is regarded with the bitterness of anger that could never reach a fever point, the sort of icy-stare of someone who had just been basking in the warmth of joy… now gone at but a moments notice. Oh, she and hers cared about life alright, but not all life equally-- they were content to let anyone they deemed outside of their ascribed set of rules on what is ‘good’ to rot. If they did not plainly execute them themselves then wishful thinking that their deaths would swiftly occur, this person does not deserve to share the same air as me, Gods, strike them down for the betterment of us…! Rois lets his narrow gaze fall upon the slight rocking of sprawling branches afar, barely touched by the pale light above, their shadows shifting upon the ground they stood upon. Perhaps he had assumed something, too.

That maybe Rabbit was different from them.

“My profession is done with good intentions. The outcome of those intentions is not something I can control.”
 
"You don't care about life?" It struck her as funny that he mentioned the gift of dying in bed, the one way that Silas always told her, almost on a daily occurence, that was how he wanted to go. In his sleep, in a warm bed, not feeling in a pain, and then with a whisper he was gone. But Rois kept talking, too fast, not letting Lucero get a word in edgewise, even if she tried to interject multiple times.

But he was a man, his voice louder than hers, his voice deeper than hers, and he was born with the right to speak while she was without that birthright.

He didn't even give her a chance to answer his rhetorical question. When it was all over, there was too much of it. But Lucero always tried, no matter what, she would keep trying.

"Hey," her voice softened, the anger put on a shelf to be revisited later. "You're getting too in your head. I never said for you to be harmed, I never said for you to repent, I never said for you to be dead. I had asked why, I asked for you to explain." Lucero sighed and shook her head. Where to begin, where to start, what to answer, what to ignore?

"I didn't know that it made you eat... others." Lucero didn't like the thought of it, but if they were already dead and this was helping the living.... but Lucero knew spirits whose bodies had been desecrated, sometimes they came to her, sometimes they only followed her, and other times they cried, unearthly and terrifying wails. But he couldn't see what she saw, just like how she couldn't see what he saw.

Their thoughts were different, the foundation of morals they had both built up for themselves.

At the same time, knowing more about the shroud fiend intrigued her. She wanted to know more, wanted to feel it again like before despite how frightening it had been. In some ways, the fear, now that it was gone, felt invigorating. But there were more important things to discuss.

"Rois," a whisper, "they don't know about the mountain, you mustn't mention it, please." A pause. "No one knows about the alley, the inn." Another pause and her voice dropped lower, Lucero stepped closer so only he would hear. She was sure her hearing was better than his, and she knew what she was going to say next. "I have lied for you, protected you. You have said the truth for me, protected me." A soft curl of the lips on one side of her mouth. "We've both done bad things, but we've also done good. If we assume what the other thinks how will we ever become friends?"

An olive branch.

"Oh, but please don't call me rabbit, my father used to hunt them." Lucero would go to bed hungry once she realized what it was, even at the age of four.[/wheat]
 

You’re getting too in your head.​

Rois wants to viciously argue this point-- but can’t. He is and she knows, the way red like acrid mist settles against his skull, all bad thoughts and worse feelings. The butcher taps a foot for a few moments sporadically and allows the time to settle down a little, be calm, Lucero was not the enemy no matter how much it felt like that in that specific horrid moment where he wished he could snatch those pretty eyes out of her skull for knowing, but she speaks onwards, right, she is not the enemy. A harsh quirking of his lip as an uneasy growl tumbles from them, head tipping to stare at the others afar in an attempt to rid his sights of the healer and her stupid logic,

“... I needed flesh for it, and the business came second. It just made sense.” Frustratedly drawing arms tighter against his chest as if the restriction would cause his poor heart to settle down, “I could either be a cannibal murderer choosing victims at random whenever I needed them or I could be a business man who dealt in dead bodies. It was the kinder option.”

And perhaps he hates admitting that, the first option was so much easier, so much freedom to roll around to whichever town and obliterate the lives of people there to contain the monster confined behind the coil of bloodied bandages; less risk. If Rois was fast enough he’d never get caught, but no, instead the harder option had been chosen and it came with rules and scrutiny and yes, more money, but it also meant he’d end up in situations like this. It was only… partially worth it. Ruby eyes slip back to her,

“... I don’t remember the ‘friendship’ thing.” As if he’d forgotten the inn room, it is a whispered lie to save face and it mattered little if it was obviously untrue; but… there was a distinct wavering of the previous bite to words, “But I have no intentions of talking about those things. It’d only get me in more hot water.”

Right, right, getting too much in his head, she was right. A further settling down, even if it was not admitted aloud the butcher had not thwacked the olive branch aside and had taken it in the same manner a fool would take a lifeline, because… Lucero had protected him. How annoying it was to be in debt to someone so vigorous in their pursuits and so innocent in their inquiries, if Rabbit held a lick of spite he’d be done for. She’d stepped forward, he stepped back,

“Rabbits are hunted by everyone. That is kind of the point of the name.”

Turning to the knights with a vaguely annoyed expression afar to yell out into the darkness,

“Oi, can I go or are you lot going to continue to waste my time? I have people to get back to.”

And no part of Rois wanted them to come looking.
 
Rabbits are hunted by everyone.

Lucero's brows furrowed, her smile fell, the hopeful cheerfulness she normally used as a mask crumbled. Shoulders hunched, wrapping her arms around her chest as if it were armor, hugging herself to protect herself. Suddenly much younger, softer. Rois didn't know about her past, couldn't understand that she had indeed been hunted, alongside her mother and grandmother.

Unlike Rois, Lucero could easily give someone the benefit of the doubt. He had calmed down, the misunderstanding he had created now left behind. Both their blood pressures must have risen. It was time to cool them both off.

"I see," Lucero said, lips twitching, reduced to giving Rois a partial smile. "I'm glad you didn't mean it in the sexual sense, then." She turned on her heel just as he called out to her fellow Knights. Lucero got the sense that Syr Rakan had been listening to them, or trying, too. He had good hearing as well, but he never shared how good it was. She hoped he hadn't heard what she whispered.

The huddle disbanded, Syr Silas taking the lead once more.

"You said you got the message by courier? That mean it was written?" Lucero's white eyes went wide, already catching on to what Silas was thinking. How did she forget about that when it was her who had the ability to even do what Silas was thinking? "Didja throw it out or do you still got it?" Lucero deflated a bit again. Rois didn't seem like a sentimental man who would keep letters asking for human breasts. It would be incriminating.

But if he had it... if he had anything tied to whoever had written it that could be exactly how they found Ambre in a city as big as Telephassa.
 

A pause, stop, an incredulous look as she recoiled gently… but it was not because the healer was shrinking so. It was because she had mentioned the name being in reference to something sexual,

“Why…-- oh.” … The thought had not even crossed his mind, the nature of rabbits and their eagerness for kits, if this wasn’t Lucero there would have been a witty retort that no, not everything was about sex, pervert. But she wasn’t a pervert. Well, at least she had not revealed herself to be as such so far. Thankfully the awkward beat of silence between them as the subject hung in the air was broken by the loud growling of the beloved syr Silas afar--

“I still have it.” Not a single lick of hesitation. “I keep correspondence up to three months after a deal.”

Because he was a businessman, and how unwise would it be to simply toss out evidence that something had even taken place when said business laid halfly in shadow? The customers could only sometimes be trusted. Receipts for large orders were mandatory in the event that said order wasn’t requested via courier, and through experience he knew that if trouble did not arise within a quarter-year then it was most likely to never arise at all. His sweet little accountant kept records on what they had and what didn’t, and even if a memoir from the event was lost or damaged it would still be written there in the stock book, the time and date of the meats arrival, and the likewise date it left their possession.

There was a problem with this, though.

“If you want it, you’ll have to give it back eventually; I need it for records, but I do not care about loaning it out.” Eyes thinned, a head cocked slightly to the side, they just wanted proof the deal had gone through, right? “However… I’ll need to go get it. And like hell are you lot coming near my camp or my workers.”
 
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